#I have to do ALL the work around here huh

[everythingspokenfor]

Casually thinking about older!Bakugou . As usual, all characters are aged up 18+. MDNI.

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

Older!Bakugou who is still in his early 30s, being pestered by his mother to at least get a girlfriend (and eventually settle down). She is afraid she'll never be able to meet her grandkids if this continues.

Older!Bakugou who has attended weddings of his friends, co-workers and even few of the people he had rescued. Although, had no intention of settling down anytime soon, wanting to focus on hero work because it gave him a drive, something to look forward too.

Older!Bakugou who was never really interested in any women that threw themselves at him, always keeping to himself, mellowed out with age. His friends no longer setting him up on blind dates because it was all in vain.

Older!Bakugou who hires a new support tech, because he was impressed by the work. Who meets the newbie in the hallway of the building, screaming at a rookie prohero.

"this is my resume", you shoved an open file into the rookie's face,"on page 12 it list all the things I was hired for", you pause pulling the folder, skimming through the pages to open page 12, he assumes. "Here, now read carefully, does it say 'write reports for rookies because they are apparently incapable of writing it' huh?", you slam the folder shut on the table. " Don't ever expect to do your work, rookie."

You turned around and left the hallway, not really noticing that you almost ran into Pro-hero: Dynamight.

Older!Bakugou who observes you working around the lab, fierce support tech that minds her business and prefers talking to her projects over actual people. Diligent with her work, getting her job done.

Older!Bakugou who enters the lab one day because his gauntlet need to repaired.

"they are too chunky." You don't really have a filter, already working on dismantling the whole thing, not sparing Bakugou a glance.

"You should focus on your work, kid." He was already staring at you.

"What do you think I am doing, Dynamight? This chunk isn't going to fix itself."

He is glad that your words remains same, irrespective of who you are talking to. Always stating the obvious.

"watch it, kid." He walked out of the lab.

Older!Bakugou who is surprised when the new tech remodels his gauntlets but also repairs the old ones, showing him the perks of new ones while still repairing the old ones just in case he doesn't like the new ones.

Older!Bakugou who, at 32, finds himself horrified by the idea that he might be interested, in someone, someone who is younger than him. You are 24, barely am adult in his eyes. You are smart, snarky and considerate.

You explain things to people, help around the lab, yet you are still sharp can take a joke, can make a joke.

Older!Bakugou that is nervous, prospect of asking out a girl making him sweat. He stands at the entrance of your lab, clear door doing nothing to hide his hulking frame, you are still working on something, hunched over a table with a chunky metal in hand.

"you know, I can see you, right?"

He lets out a breath, a small smile breaking onto his face, he moves into the lab. You notice he is wearing casual clothes, sweatpants and a t-shirt, carrying take-out boxes in his hand.

"I was getting dinner, thought I'd get you some too." He is already setting up on the 'not work table' in the room, already aware of what would happen if he put food on your 'work table'.

"What did you do, boss?" You voiced suspiciously, already moving to wash your hands.

"Can't even get people dinner in this economy"

"People", faux disbelief evident in your voice,"I wouldn't call me people, boss" you pulled the chair out and sat in front of him.

"Why not, tech?" He teased, handing you pair of chopsticks.

You look at him with mischief in your eyes, you lean over and play your hand around you mouth, almost as if sharing a secret,"Because you don't practice asking 'people' out, Suki."

His eyes widened,"You heard that? I thought the glass door was fucking sound proof." He let out a sigh, hours of practising and he doesn't even get a chance to say it.

"They are soundproof. From the inside tho." You looked over to him, before placing your hand over his," And I'll go on that date, also we should totally check the sound proofing of the lab tonight."

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

[stxrslutrestored]

BE STILL

pairing; rafe cameron x sweetie!reader

summary; rafe works a lot, and you need a lot, that means sometimes you have to come to a compromise 

content; ddlg dynamics, subspace, slight dry humping, cockwarming, female masturbation

authors note; lowkey I rushed the ending but I wanted to have at least one new full blurb out on each of my blogs

rafe is working in his office, doing some pointless admin work on his laptop that he claims is crucial, you know it’s not.

all day you’ve been huffing and puffing. hot and bothered, unable to calm yourself down. you need to be taken care of. you’d told rafe as much but all he’d done is promised you that he would later. you don’t want it to be later. 

it’s about midday when you decide enough is enough and go to see rafe. your mind is already starting to go fuzzy and you fear you won’t be able to stay stable by yourself. you pad down the hallway in your bare feet towards his home office. 

he doesnt turn back when you walk through the door, approaching from behind. you go up to him and he swivels his chair round momentarily, letting you climb into his lap and straddle him. you immediately cuddle up as he turns back to face the desk. 

you sit in silence for a moment before he speaks “what’chu doin’ up here huh?” he murmurs, still working around you, fingers tapping away at his keyboard. 

you bury your face in his chest “need you rafe.” you tell him, “need to stop thinkin’ please.” you say. 

rafe nods, rubbing your back with a free hand for a moment, “thought I told you to wait for that baby? don’t remember that?” he asks, still not looking. 

you whine, “can’t wait daddy.” you tell him, “just can’t wait. tried so hard but… but need you daddy.” you look up with your best wide eyes, needing him to take care of you right now. you notice that you’re absentmindedly starting to grind forward, your crotch starting to rub up just a bit against his. 

he sighs, “you really can’t wait huh?” you shake your head, affirming his question. he sighs again and then nods, “I’ll take care of you baby.” he tells you, “but gotta let me finish my work. gonna sit n’ be nice an’ quiet for me okay?” 

“okay,” you nod, feeling immense relief as you finally let your thoughts begin to melt away. you’re grinding on him now, weakly, but surely you are. his hand comes to your back to support you for a couple of seconds. 

“wanna kiss. c’mere real quick, yeah?” you immediately comply, starting to suck on his bottom lip with great vigor. he kisses back for a little bit before slipping his thumb into your mouth and pulling you away. “gonna sit on dad’s cock now. yeah? but gotta be real still.” 

barely registering his words you move back, ketting him undo his fly and then pull your panties down from under your short skirt. he takes you by the hips and brings you forward, gently lowering you onto his cock. 

you whimper at the stretch, it stings just a little but you quickly get settled. the first few seconds are okay, because you normally don’t move to start with anyway. but after those seconds pass it starts to feel weird. you have the urge to squirm around and stimulate yourself but the moment you even make a hint of a movement he stops you and murmurs “be still.” 

you whine, “dad,” you fall into his chest, propping your head up on hsi shoulder, “lemme cum first please.” you ask him, “gonna be still after that daddy. promise.” 

rafe shakes his head, “why don’t you rub that little clit of yours, then. can make yourself feel good on daddy’s cock by yourself, but I aint doing any work until later.” you huff at that response, but mind ever so cloudy, you decide to do it anyway. 

your hand snakes down to where your pussy is wrapped around rafe’s cock, you start to rub little circles. while it’s exhausting and irritating at first, it eventually feels good, and you allow yourself to get lost in the feeling. 

rafe may be a busy guy, and sure he doesn’t take care fo you in the most conventional way. but really, you wouldn’t wish to be doing anything else right now. 

[greatw0r]

DOMESTIC MOMENTS with sevika ✶ sevika x female reader -> just fluff and happy christmas everyone !

˖ ࣪⭑

waiting for her to come home, it's late and cold- she walks in and quiet as she thinks you're asleep " hi sev " you said softly from the couch and she turns around with an frown.

" I tought you were asleep honey " she said and walked over to the couch, pulling your legs to her lap caressing them soflty.

" I wanted to wait for you " you said resting your head on your hand. " I can't sleep well without you anyways " you smiled soflty and so did she . She could see the tired look in your face and how you were about to dooze off.

She was tired herself but she got up and scooped you in her big arms, lifting you without a struggle. " let's get you to bed now , I'm here " she said and walked to your room , gently putting you on the bed and pulling the covers on top of you.

" want me to give you a massage ? You look like you need one " you said making yourself comfortable under the bed, watching her change to some more comfortable clothes and take off her heavy boots.

" you look like you'd fall asleep on top of me- its okay doll thankyou anyway " she said with an chukle watching your eyes threatening to close for once.

she took off her ponytail and got into the bed, immediately pulling you close to her body and you happily let her, feeling the warmth that came from her body.

" I love you " you whispered into the comfortable silence, and she tightened her grip you. "I love you too sweet thing"

˖ ࣪⭑

" you know what we should do ? " jinx's voice loud and a little to annoying for sevika.

" what ? " you asked from your spot on the couch, jinx laying upside-down with her head on the end of the couch and legs on the top.

" we should totally cook something ! I'm starving and so is Isha " she said and little Isha nodded agreeing .

" last time you were in my kitchen you nearly exploded it all off " sevika groaned and you chuckled patting her thigh.

" well she was alone- I'm sure us four could do something eatable " you said and winked at jinx who squealed and jumped off the couch heading to the kitchen, Isha running after her.

" she's going to burn our house " sevika said and you kissed her cheek , wiping the lipstick off her. " if we keep an eye on her she won't- cmon " you said and got up, grabbing her arm and pulling her off the couch- her rolling her eyes with an huff.

As you two walked into the kitchen jinx already had eggs, milk, butter and other ingredients you didn't remember you had . " oh slow down- maybe don't empty our fridge yes ? " sevika said looking around the mess.

" jinx- what are you making ? " you asked and she turned around with her hands up.

" pancakes duh ? - Isha requested " jinx said and Isha smiled.

" do you know ... how to do it ? " you asked and sat down on the kitchen table- sevika following you and Isha immediately runned to her, getting lifted by her arm

" of course ! can't be that hard " she said and you nodded . cut to everything getting done and surprisingly it was good- not great but- definitely eatable.

" see ? I'm a professional " jinx said and you feed sevika a bite, watching her eyebrowns go up in surprise.

" right- don't feed her ego tho " sevika mumbled to you and you laughed.

˖ ࣪⭑

" here " sevika said watching you get ready, handing you a box simply decorated but with love, your name written with a heart in the end- that had to be jinx's work. you turned to her with an smile .

" it's not midnight yet " you said and grabbed it from her hands. " I know- but ... I wanted you to wear it while we're having dinner and-.... I already told you what it is " she sighed and shaked her head.

" oh sev its alright- " you said and opened the box, revealing a long dark brown dress- you look at her and at her dark brown bottom up shirt. isn't she adorable.

" it's beautiful... you just wanted to match huh ? " you smirked and took the dress out of the box.

" It was jinx's idea... but she made a good point " she said and watched you get undressed .

" and what it was ? " you asked putting the dress on

" we are a couple- you're the women of my life and she said couples to this- match and all " she said wanting to sound like she didn't put much thought to it when all that was going on in her head was if you really like the dress and the meaning behind it.

" that we are ... " you smiled and adjusted the dress. " can you help me with the - " you didn't have to finish- her hands were already on your back, lifting the zipper up and giving your shoulders a squeeze.

" thankyou- I love it - we look beautiful " you said looking at the two of you trough the mirror and sevika smiled, pressing her chin on your head and wrapping her arms around your waist.

" we sure do " she said and kissed the top of your head.

" you're gonna have to wait until midnight for yours " you said and she turned you to her. " that's no problem angel " she said and kissed you reaching her hand to cup your cheek and pull you closer-

" I guess I'm a brilliant advisor " jinx's voice stopped your moment and she laughed- making sevika groan.

" you are now shoo- go see whats Isha up to " you laughed and kissed sevika back -

[oblivious-aro]

This was pretty much my exact same thought process a week before I made this post. I do get where you're coming from, but here's a question: when does the episode explicitly condemn Danny for cheating? Does TUE actually say “cheaters deserve to watch their family die”?

Furthermore, consider this line from the end of the episode:

Remembering this line was my turning point. Clockwork is a very wise character (he was literally just established to be omniscient right before saying this), and he’s the one teaching Danny the lesson TUE wants him to learn. If the lesson is supposed to be ‘cheating is bad’, wouldn't that be completely undone by having Clockwork immediately turn around and, by his own admission, and in those exact words, “cheat”? It’s a very prominent line with a lot of attention called to it, too.

“Cheating is bad” is the kind of moral you’d expect this kind of kids cartoon to make, so I think a lot of us preemptively filled in that blank without truly listening to what the episode was actually saying. I get it, I watched my sister struggle through the public education system while getting practically no help or sympathy from it, and I'm sure a lot of viewers were in the same boat as her. Academic pressure can be a sensitive subject, especially if it looks like a character is being chastised for struggling, but that's not what’s happening here. We jumped the gun. The text doesn’t look down on Danny for wanting to cheat. He’s in a difficult position, and being forced further and further into a corner is a feature of the story, not a bug. Danny's situation feels unfair so that the audience understands why he wants to cheat:

"OK! I get it! You're brilliant, I'm stupid, and I'll never be able to get as high a score as you."

"Guys, come on. I'd love to have spent the last month studying, but I was fighting ghosts! Besides, if you two think this test is so meaningless, why do you even care if I cheat? Why shouldn't I open this up and study the answers, huh?"

TUE’s stance isn’t that “cheating is evil”, it’s “cheating isn’t worth the risk”. Despite what Danny’s been led to (erroneously) believe, he’ll have other chances and opportunities if he does badly on a test, even one this big. There are people in his corner looking out for him (Mr. Lancer gives him to come forward even when he knows Danny stole the answers, and literally offers him a make-up test. Clockwork messes with the timeline just to tell Danny that he’s a good kid who deserves more than one chance), but getting caught cheating really could screw up his future. You could still say that’s an anti-cheating message, but the writers do show more sympathy for Danny than people give them credit for.

I don't think the concepts are that abstract. Everything that happens in the present is presented directly, and the main idea you need to get out of the future stuff (bad stuff happened because Danny got caught cheating) is pretty simple and clear. Everyone I've heard talk about the episode seems to get the basic idea.

As for all these events caused by Clockwork… yeah that's 100% true. But given that Clockwork is all-knowing, the master of time, and clearly sympathetic to Danny, it can only be assumed he’s doing what he can to help Danny. Omniscient/psychic characters are kind of weird like that. They make the stories they’re in a bit messy, and you can't really judge their actions by typical standards (ie. Garnet from Steven Universe). Same with time travel, but I won't go into much into detail, because this post is long enough and discussing rules around time travel can get overly technical, but the gist of it is Clockwork is on Danny’s side, but he’s working under some very specific restraints, either from The Observants or from the natural laws of the timestream.

Danny isn’t being taught that cheating makes him bad, he’s being taught not to place such unhealthy (and unrealistic) importance on his academic performance. Sure, this lesson isn’t explicitly stated in exact words, much like the themes in Teacher of the Year, but I don’t think it’s fair to say that the writers were just trying to condemn Danny in either intent or execution.

And as was the original point of this post, the episode really speaks for itself:

"Maybe that's all anybody needs…a second chance."

"I guess the future isn't as set in stone as you think it is."

"And here we are with you, a fourteen-year-old child, risking everything to save the people you care about. You've given everyone else a second chance. Why not you?"

Me for years: I can't believe The Ultimate Enemy is telling kids they deserve something as horrible as watching your entire family die for cheating on a test!

the Ultimate Enemy:

[peachylynnie]

gift exchange

word count: 2.4k

synopsis: in which you get sick on christmas, and sylus is there to make it better.

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."

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.

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?!"

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."

[always-just-red]

Merry Christmas, guys!!! Ok, so this is a day early, but I wanted to say thanks to you all with a feel-good follow-up to my Game Night fic! So, here: a Christmas Eve sleepover with the boys, and they’re on their VERY best behaviour this time, I promise 😌

The Night Before Christmas

L&DS Boys X Reader

(Recommended to read this fic first, if you haven't already!)

Summary: It’s time to get the gang back together!!!

Genre: Fluff + humour

Warnings/Additional Tags: gn!reader, kinda poly? but mostly platonic, a lil bit of wholesome intimacy, one particularly suggestive joke from Sylus (he can’t help himself), also probably needs another proofread but my eyes are tired 💀

| Word count: 4.8k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Right! Let’s try this again.”

You glance around your living room with your hands on your hips, channelling your inner Captain Jenna as you fight to suppress flashbacks that verge on traumatic.

Some of this is exactly the same as last time. Sylus is sprawled in the same spot on your couch, looking inordinately pleased with himself for someone who has only just arrived. The very image of smugness; you immediately suspect that something is horribly wrong, or on track to go horribly wrong. You glance to the other couch, where Xavier and Rafayel sit, equally braced for your presentation. Neither one has been teleported to the roof of your building.

Sylus is reading your relief, and he gives you an exclusive smile, as if to say: yet.

Try not to think about it.

You stand by a large drawing pad— currently flipped closed to create a suspense that only Xavier has bought into. He gives you an eager nod, the blue of his eyes warm and encouraging.

The faces around you haven’t changed, but your little apartment has. Strings of twinkling lights run around your walls, casting faint, festive glows. There’s frost on your windows. Littered everywhere are ornaments: small, glittery birds and wintery creatures. Lots of snowman plushies, courtesy of a few, dedicated arcade expeditions with your favourite doctor.

New season, new start.

“We all remember how this went last time,” you push on finally. “Mistakes were made. Shit happened. Whatever— we’re not gonna dwell on it.”

Sylus lifts his hand. “I, for one, would enjoy a reminder of said mistakes.”

“Motion denied,” you dismiss with a grin and a customer-service enthusiasm that screams: don’t fuck with me right now. Sylus’s eyes sparkle, like embers anxious to become something brighter— more destructive. Don’t think about it. “It wasn’t my fault. You outnumbered me four-to-one that night, which is why my first order of business today is to appoint a co-host.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots into the air. You look at him incredulously. Zayne is stood beside you, his arms folded, and everyone else in the room has connected those particular dots.

“It’s Zayne, Rafayel,” you sigh. 

“What?!” He sits up straighter. “Why him?! What are his qualifications, huh? His credentials?”

“I’ve never set the kitchen on fire,” Zayne says.

The artist scoffs, adds under his breath: “Turned it into an ice rink, though.”

There’s a chuckle from Sylus, and a part of you feels bad, pitting Zayne against the others like this. But he’s not alone. He has you, just you, so you should probably do something. “That actually brings me really nicely to my next point, Raf, thank you.”

Unexpected praise. Rafayel stutters, a faint blush to his cheeks, and you take full advantage of having staggered him. “Zayne, do you wanna…?”

“Of course.” The dark-haired man adjusts his glasses, then addresses the rest of the room. “In the interest of everyone’s safety, we have devised a few rules to be adhered to for the rest of the evening. These will be enforced by a point system, which we will record… here.”

He flips the drawing pad open, and a blank table fills the top half of the page. Each quarter has been assigned a name. “Basically—” you gesture to it— “three strikes and you’re out.”

None of your guests look perturbed by this.

“The first rule is simple,” Zayne explains, pulling away a strip of paper from the bottom of the page, then reading the writing underneath: “No unauthorised use of Evols.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots up again. You tilt your head at it. “Yes, Raf?”

“Ok, so what if there’s a power-cut or something? Lights are out. Heating’s out. Big disaster, yeah? You’re saying I couldn’t—?” He clicks his fingers, spawning a small flame.

“We would use my Evol,” Xavier says with the gentle authority he uses to steer civilians away from a Wanderer incursion. “It’s safer.”

The flame is snuffed out. Rafayel huffs: “Don’t you use it to, like, kill things?”

“Yeah…” Xavier shrugs. “Bad things.”

“Second rule!” you chime.  

“Second rule,” Zayne echoes, peeling back the next strip of paper. There’s absolutely no showmanship, nor energy at all as he continues, “No unauthorised sarcasm.”

Another hand raises. “What would be authorised sarcasm?” Xavier asks, squinting as though he can’t quite figure it out on his own.

You purse your lips in thought. “If it makes me laugh?”

Rafayel is stroking his chin, his eyes narrowed, because he’s also thinking. “High risk, high reward,” he muses, and you shoot him a smile.

This is going better than you thought it would, actually. If you were to turn a few more pages of the drawing pad, you would see crude illustrations of the worst-case scenarios you’d sketched out for Zayne earlier. There’s one where Rafayel is trying to strangle Sylus with Christmas lights. There’s another where Zayne has turned you all into snowmen.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, though. The evening is young, and the snowman scenario is still very much on the table.

Culprit of about ninety percent of your nightmarish visions and drawings— Sylus has been unnervingly silent. You meet eyes with him, an inherent mistrust in your gaze. The success of this sweet, humble Christmas Eve hinges on you figuring out what he’s here for. His agenda. His ulterior motives.

What does he want from tonight? He smirks at you. You’re vaguely competent, and you can figure it out without him holding your hand, can’t you?

That reminds you of something. “Zayne.” You jostle your co-host by his arm. “Do the last rule!”

You’re excited about the last rule.

Zayne isn’t; he hesitates. “The last rule…” He rubs at the back of his neck. “It’s… it’s only applicable to you, Sylus.”

Sylus is now also excited about the last rule. You can tell from the way his lips part, for a second, like he wants to tell you just how flattered he is you spend so much of your time thinking about him.

You put Zayne out of his misery, tearing the final strip of paper away from the pad. The paper flutters to the ground like a very plain snowflake, and you wiggle your fingers, adorning the final rule with a touch of pizazz:

No smirking, sass, or general smugness.

A corner of Sylus’s mouth lifts. “Believe it or not, kitten, your little point system doesn’t scare me.”

You pick up the pen and score a mark under his name.

“Oh no,” he mutters lifelessly.

“Sarcasm!” Rafayel coughs.

You’re well ahead of him, already turning to make another mark. “Gods,” you hear Sylus grimace, not much more than a whisper, “you’re such a boy scout.”

There’s a snort from Rafayel. “Sorry, say that again? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you totally getting kicked out of here.”

“Sarcasm,” Sylus says.

“Wait, I didn’t mean— no!”

You giggle as you issue Rafayel’s first strike, and he groans behind you, slumping down in his seat. When you turn back around, his face is buried in his hands.

Sylus is smirking again, but the expression drops the moment he senses your gaze. You both know what’s at stake here. Back in the N109 Zone, Luke and Kieran are lamenting the fact that you’ve stolen their leader— it’s not very Christmassy of you, after all. There were a lot of things they wanted to do with him. Snowball fights, presents, and a heist that required disguises: Santa and his two, hard-working elves. They already have the suit, custom-made for him.

So here is the big, bad boss of Onychinus, hiding in your apartment, and definitely not smirking.

You pop the lid back onto your pen, then post it into your pocket like you’re holstering an all-powerful weapon. That’s one point to you and Zayne, and zero points to Sylus, thank you very much.

…

“What are you doing?”

Sylus sighs, evading a furious lilac gaze while he focuses on the task at hand. Freshly escaped from you and the doctor’s terrifying lecture, he’s making the most of his liberty.

“What I am doing,” he mumbles, tying string around a sprig of mistletoe, “is between me and our charming host. Run along, little artist.” He tightens the knot. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Rafayel crosses his arms, his eyes dark. “You’re cheating.”

“Ha.” Sylus spares him a glance out of pity. “You’re jealous.”

“Am not.”

He definitely is, but Sylus doesn’t have time for this game. He can hear you in your bedroom, rooting around for the phone charger you’d vanished in search of. Your door isn’t closed, but it’s closed enough. You can’t see him. He can’t see you. What a perfect opportunity.

“Give it to me,” Rafayel says— an interruption that warrants a roll of the eyes.

“No.”

“Give it—“ the artist starts again, then makes a grab for the mistletoe. Now that’s jealousy. He could incinerate the plant with a click of his fingers, but no, he wants it. Covets it.

Sylus chuckles quietly, his arm stretching up: holding the mistletoe out of an ever-more desperate reach.

To Rafayel’s credit, he persists. He goes up on his toes, tugging at the older man’s sleeve to try and drag the mistletoe closer. The plant evaporates in a swirl of dark energy the second he succeeds. It materialises behind Sylus’s back, in his other hand, and Rafayel realises instantly. He tries to stretch his arms around him. To take it from him.

“Absolutely not!”

Sylus’s fingers are suddenly empty. Mistletoe-less. He turns reluctantly, still holding Rafayel back.

You stand at your wide-open door, one hand on your hips and the other clutching his confiscated item. You’re frowning. Tapping your foot. Your lips are pursed adorably.

“What a coincidence, kitten,” Sylus smiles, and behind him, Rafayel pokes his tongue out, overcome with nausea. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Clearly.” You jostle the mistletoe, looking… disappointed? Huh. “Never thought I’d catch you indulging an old cliche.”

Sylus shrugs charmingly, like a cat performing a leisurely stretch after toppling a vase from a very high shelf.

“Give me the rest of it,” you command.

“Hmm?”

“The back-up mistletoe, Sy. I’m not an idiot.”

Sylus scoffs, but you do have him wrapped oh so prettily around your finger. He rolls his neck, stalling. If giving up were a slope, he would already be a heap at the bottom of it, but he doesn’t really mind. Three more sprigs of mistletoe appear from thin air, dropping into your open hands.

“Honestly, Sylus,” you groan, stepping past him. Then you thrust the plants to the artist’s chest. “Burn these, Raf.” You’re dusting your hands down as you walk away.

Sylus frowns. That’s neither ideal nor part of the plan.

Rafayel is looking at him, telling him with gloating silence that there’s no playing diplomat, here— no negotiating the return of the hostages. That bridge has been— rather fittingly— burned. The mistletoe turns slowly to ash: darkened by licks of flame that curl with the eager spite of their master’s lips.

It would be beautiful if it wasn’t so damned inconvenient. When the fire’s had its fun, one sprig of mistletoe remains, rich green and ivory— wholly untouched. You’re across the room, talking to Zayne, so Rafayel smirks in triumph. Tucks his prize into his pocket.

Sylus’s heart sinks with it, but he still smiles back.

…

Rafayel isn’t looking too good.

Well, the Rafayel is looking fine, but your Rafayel? Not so much. You steal a glance at the artist across the cluttered kitchen island; he’s sat, leaning, propped up on his elbows, his eyes glazed— he’s clearly away with the fishies. He catches you staring. Gives you a wink.

You glance down at the gingerbread man you’ve been decorating: the blue-pink of his iced eyes, and the mess of purple hair, at least three shades too dark. Oh, gods— probably a million shades too dark through the gaze of a Lemurian. At least the outfit is cute? You’ve recreated Rafayel’s signature cardigan. The plaid pattern isn’t quite straight, but that was a… deliberate choice. This is your interpretation of his cardigan, and you wanted it to reflect its owner. A little all over the place, but still, you love it. Even when it’s coming undone, it keeps you warm.

“Would you like to go next?”

Zayne is talking to you, smiling at you. He was the first to reveal his gingerbread creation: a miniature Xavier that was surprisingly true to life. Your hunting partner had almost glowed with delight, while you were dark with jealousy. The biscuit sits before you all, boasting details that could only be achieved with an exceedingly steady hand.

Worse: Rafayel’s gingerbread is next to it, stupidly, predictably perfect. It’s Zayne. It’s really Zayne, from the sweep of black hair to the hazel eyes; how on earth did he manage to make that colour? The tiny doctor is dressed in his lab coat, sporting his badge and a pocketful of even tinier pens and medical instruments. There’s… shading? Ugh, you can see the creases in the fabric.

“Umm… sure, I can go next,” you mumble.

It was just your luck, pulling Rafayel’s name out of that hat. Sheepishly, you move aside the cookbook you’d stood to guard your project from any prying eyes. Your gingerbread is nudged forwards.

“That’s me!” Rafayel exclaims.

“Yeah…” you confirm half-heartedly. “Sorry, I know it’s not great, but I—”

Lack the skill of a celebrity artist, or the steady hands of a cardiac surgeon? You have no idea which exact pool of self-pity your sentence was set on drowning within, but it doesn’t matter. Rafayel has plucked your gingerbread up for a closer look, and his smile is enormous. “This is amazing!”

“You don’t have to—”

“That’s my cardigan!” He’s crashing the pity party again. “And look at my eyes— the colours! This little guy is so handsome, yeah? You really did me justice, cutie. Look at him!”

He holds the gingerbread up to his face, trying to match its two-dimensional grin. He looks around for affirmation, and it’s just his luck, because is a single man at this table ever going to insult your hard work?

“The eyes are amazing,” Xavier enthuses. “Like the sky at sunset. Who knew my partner was so talented?”

“I did,” Rafayel chirps happily.

Xavier frowns. “No, it was rhetori— never mind.” He smiles at you. Rolls with it. “I knew too, by the way.”

“As did I,” Zayne adds.

Everyone looks at Sylus, who shrugs a shoulder and says, “It was up for debate.”

“Can we please move onto the next person?” you press. This is all too much attention. “Sylus, can you… please?”

He does like it when you beg, but he likes it even more when he can play knight in shining armour. “My pleasure, sweetie.”

For a man whose creative side is mostly indulged by vintage gun restorations, he reveals his gingerbread with a staggering amount of confidence. It’s placed at the centre of the kitchen island, where you all stare down at it. Its hair is snow-white, and its eyes: blood-red.

“That’s…” Zayne begins.

“That’s you, Sylus!” you take-over, voice shrill with betrayal. “You were supposed to say something if you picked yourself! And you— wait, what are…?” There are distinct lines over the gingerbread’s midriff. It dawns on you: “Are those abs?!”

Sylus shrugs again.

“They so are!” You snatch up the biscuit, standing to wave it in Sylus’s face like a crime-scene photo. “Where’s his shirt, huh?”

“He lost it.”

“Bullshit!” you snap. This gingerbread competition had come with its own set of rules, one of which was very clearly: “Nothing obscene! I said nothing obscene, Sylus!”  

He leans away from you with a tut. “It’s tasteful, sweetie. The artist will tell you.”

“The artist is staying out of this,” Rafayel murmurs, off to your side.

Sylus crosses his arms, regardless, as though his case has been made. You cross your arms too.

“Can I show you my gingerbread now?” Xavier asks, and his tone is deceivingly soft: a hand on your shoulder, pulling you back.

You release the tension in your body with a sigh, then set the gingerbread down so you can’t throw it at Sylus’s un-smug face (which he’s been very careful about.) “Of course, Xavier,” you smile, slinking back onto your stool. You can throw something at Sylus later. “Ooh, is it me? It has to be me, right?”

Xavier chuckles awkwardly. “It’s you. I don’t think it’s very good, though.”

“Show me!” you insist.

The final cookbook is removed, and Xavier unveils his hard work. You clamp a hand to your mouth.

You don’t have a single word for what you’re looking at— only laughter, and you can’t let yourself laugh, no matter what. If that gingerbread is you? Then it’s a you who’s been torn apart by Wanderers, at least seven consecutive times. Your face is a swirl of colours and features— you think Xavier must have tried to wipe it off to start again, more than once, but it hasn’t worked.

The gingerbread has been broken, too. Three of the four limbs, to be exact, and that you could forgive, but… did he have to use dark red icing to glue them back on? It drips out of the joins messily, almost making you wince.

Everyone is silent.

“A perfect likeness,” says Sylus.

You burst out laughing, and the moment you do, Rafayel’s right there with you. Even Sylus caves— it’s one of the most sincere laughs you’ve ever heard from him. There are tears in your eyes; you can’t help it. Zayne is the strongest of you, but even the tight line of his mouth quivers. He’s biting his lip.

But it’s fine. Xavier is laughing, too. “I said it wasn’t very good!”

“Xavier!” you wheeze. You can’t even look at him. Your stomach hurts. “What… what happened to me?!”

“What do you mean?” he practically giggles.

“What do I mean?” you repeat, and it tips you into another breathless bout of laughter. You go to point at the gingerbread— all the explanation you need— but it almost kills you. You really can’t breathe. After half a minute, you try again. “I look like I’ve been in an accident!”

“Here,” Rafayel grins, and he slides the Doctor Zayne gingerbread over to poor, suffering gingerbread you.

“Aww!” you smile, having finally caught your breath.

Wordlessly, Zayne retrieves his likeness— pulling it away from yours. You frown at him, as confused and wounded as Xavier apparently imagines you. “Even I have my limits,” the doctor shrugs.

That’s it. You’re gone again, your sides aching as your whole body shakes with laughter. It’s too much. Gods, it’s too much. You’re gonna need another minute.

…

“I can’t believe you made you.”

It’s been fifteen or so minutes, and you toy with Sylus’s gingerbread counterpart, pinching his hands between your thumbs and forefingers— making him walk (well, penguin waddle) across the kitchen island.

“Believe it, sweetie,” Sylus huffs with a smile.

“Is this really how you see yourself?”

Before you can walk the gingerbread any further, his creator plucks him up by his head, away from your reaching fingers. “It’s how I think you should see me,” he chuckles. He holds the gingerbread out to you. Wiggles it. “For your eyes only, kitten.”

“Except the other guys saw it—”

“Shhhh, shh shh!” In his haste to silence you, he almost pushes the gingerbread to your lips.

You glare at him. Complain from behind it: “Get your shirtless abs out of my face, Sylus.”

“Make me.”

You snatch the gingerbread, pinning it down on the counter. “Keep pushing your luck, Sy. Wanna see what’ll happen?”

He absolutely does, and his eyes glint with mirth as you reach for a near-empty bowl of crimson icing. You scrape some of it up with a discarded teaspoon, then let it drip generously over his gingerbread. It takes a few, long seconds to really cover him in it. To make him look as fatally tragic as gingerbread you.

“Here,” you say, dropping the spoon in a bowl with a satisfied clink. You hold out the gingerbread. “This’ll be you when I’m done with you.”

Sylus regards it for a moment, his eyebrow quirked. Then his eyes find your gingerbread likeness. “Want to see what you’ll look like when I’m done with you?”

His hand goes out for the bowl of red icing, except… it goes past the bowl of red icing, and lands on a tube of white icing instead. He holds it up with a smile.

“Inappropriate.”

The tube is swept out of his fingers, and he blinks at the empty space, legitimately surprised.

“It was snow, doctor,” he remarks bitterly, once he’s recovered from the second ambush of the evening. He glances over his shoulder. “From a snowball fight?”

“Sure it was,” Zayne mutters, already turning back to the bowl he’s washing in the sink.

Sylus is frowning, affronted, but the expression softens when you’re filling his gaze again. You: your hands on your mouth, so close to spilling laughter. “Oooooh,” you tease with a secretive sing-song voice, “you got in trouble!”

He wrinkles his nose like ‘trouble’ is an insult. It sets you off sniggering uncontrollably.

“What did I miss?”

It’s Xavier, back from the lounge.

“Nothing,” Sylus answers.

“He got in trouble!” you counteract with a not-at-all quiet whisper.  

You earn a glare from the criminal, and a little laugh from the hunter. “Third-strike trouble?” the latter enquires. He might have handcuffs on stand-by; it wouldn’t surprise you.

“Not yet,” you grin cheerfully.  

Zayne sets a plate on the drying rack. “Give it time.”

…

“I don’t think we have enough, sweetie,” Sylus quips, peeking over the stack of blankets you’ve piled high on his arms. 

What was it Rafayel said? High risk, high reward? You mercifully chuckle. Your arms are wrapped around three, plush cushions— the last of your sleepover supplies. Snacks? Are ready. Guests? Haven’t killed each-other yet. You toe open your bedroom door, shouldering the rest of the way through with your missing puzzle pieces of luxury.

“Oh, nice!” someone exclaims from the kitchen. Xavier is watching you, starry-eyed, and his cheeks are full; he’s midway through a cookie.

Sylus steps through the door behind you, issuing a faint noise of disgust. He sounds like he’s being attacked by a bug, so you turn around, ready to leap to the rescue. He’s stood within the door frame, eyes cast upwards to where a sprig of mistletoe hangs on the end of a string. It’s swaying gently; he must have caught his head on it. You frown, lips parted. He was with you the whole time you were looting your bedroom. When did he…? How did he…?

He looks down at you, the mistletoe still hovering above him. You raise an eyebrow, waiting for the inevitable joke, or the even more inevitable invitation. 

“I…’ he starts gingerly, “I didn’t…” 

Oh. He’s just as confused as you are, and it’s… really cute. He’s lost for words— the man who came here with not one, but four sprigs of mistletoe. The man who threatened your gingerbread with white icing. The man who’s spent the entire evening thinking about how he wants to be close to you.

Sylus laughs, but it’s full of nervousness. “It’s alright,” he says, “you don’t have to—”

You tilt him towards you, your hand on his shoulder and cushions around your feet. “Merry Christmas, Sy,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his cheek. It’s warm on your lips.

His eyes flutter closed. “Merry Christmas,” he breathes, barely more than a whisper. 

You hum contentedly as you pull away from him. When his eyes reopen, they’re warm with a nostalgia you cannot explain, but you can feel, too— so inexplicably. His gaze is blood-red, but it makes you think of flowers. 

What a funny feeling. It strikes you a lot, nowadays, and not just with the man in front of you. 

Speaking of the others, you glance towards your lounge. Xavier is telling Zayne a story, and Rafayel is watching you from over the back of the sofa— turning away when you spot him. That’s one mystery solved. You collect the cushions from the floor, sparing Sylus a smile before you meander back to your party. The coffee table’s a banquet of sweet, sugary snacks, so you carefully skirt past it.

Xavier’s hands grab at air. You laugh and toss him a cushion. “Thanks,” he grins. 

“Here— your favourite.” Zayne is pointing at your freshly-filled mug, and you grin your own thank you as you settle down next to him. 

Sylus soon arrives too, handing out blankets, and for all the evening’s animosity, he gets a grateful smile for each. He sits down next to Xavier, and it’s odd, you know? You’ve slain Wanderers, saved lives with every person around you. You’ve seen them bleed and kill.

They’re all wrapping themselves up, like snuggly little Christmas presents. Xavier’s managed to collect another cushion— from Zayne, maybe?— and he’s practically building a fort on his side of the couch. Some of it infringes on Sylus’s space, and you notice him notice, but he doesn’t say a word. Oblivious, tucked under two blankets, Xavier’s already looking sleepy. 

Someone’s making less of an effort to get comfortable. On the other side of you, Rafayel sits, uncharacteristically quiet. He hasn’t met your eyes since you sat down. You remember him, watching you under the mistletoe from across the room, and the thought has you leaning in closer. 

“That was sweet of you,” you whisper, even though he disobeyed you. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shrugs.

But he does, so you kiss his cheek, ever so fondly, with that funny feeling in your chest again. It’s the first time, but it doesn’t strike you as such. Uncharted waters, a foreign land— when have I been here before?

Rafayel has relaxed: sunken deep into the sofa and the security of your touch. You smile, pulling his blanket up higher around him— tighter around him— until he’s as much of a cocoon as everyone else. His lips curve with a smile of surrender, ever-willingly captured. Silly fish. 

You draw away from him, readjusting in your seat until you’re cuddled up next to Zayne. You don’t see the wink Rafayel shoots Sylus, or the look of begrudging respect in the latter’s red eyes. 

“Are you comfortable?” Zayne asks, head angling towards yours. 

Co-host to co-host. “Yeah.” You snuggle closer to him. “This is kinda perfect, isn’t it?” He feels cold, despite his Sylus-issued blanket, so you lend him part of yours.

“No,” he confers softly, distractedly. 

“No?”

“No.” He gives you a look, and you know it as intimately as the chill of his hands and the warmth of his heart. His ‘I know something that you don’t’ look. Sure enough, he says: “I think it’s missing something.” 

On the other sofa, Xavier is beaming at you, having caught onto your conversation. It’s suspicious— harmless conspiracy, surprise-party sort of suspicious, but your pulse still picks up. 

“Close your eyes,” Zayne instructs. 

And you do, without question. Darkness, yes, but you’re under his care, aren’t you? There’s no anxiousness in your excitement, just trust for the man who was looking out for you long before he was your doctor. Your hands are over your eyes and you’re younger, again, playing hide-and-seek, again.

Zayne’s is a familiarity you can place. A nostalgia built on memories, not reveries.

Something icy touches your hand, then melts without any resistance. 

“Open,” Zayne prompts, leaning against you to stir you. 

Your apartment has changed again. The lights are all out, save for the fairy lights. The spectrum of colours flicker from the walls and the tree, catching on tiny, white specs in the air. Snowflakes are drifting down, impossibly. Falling, dancing— maybe a bit of both. You look up and some land on your face, cold with their kisses. You giggle in delight. 

Everyone’s gaze is on the ceiling: sapphire, emerald, amethyst, ruby. It ought to be dark. Instead, an entire night sky fills the space above you, scattered with thousands of stars. Every pinprick is deliberate. Meticulously placed. There are constellations— infinite patterns that transcend every life you might’ve lead, and every life you’ll ever lead (if you believe in that sort of thing.)

Xavier glances at you, and you forgo the spell of his masterpiece so that you can glance back. Snowflakes are in his hair, dusting him with sparkles. He smiles in a way you think could defy lifetimes, too. 

“This is… really something,” Sylus says, and there’s not a hint of sarcasm. 

It’s everything. The stars, brighter for darkness. The snow, only novel in warmth. These things don’t always work— they’ll undo each-other, overpower each-other, but there’s an ultimate balance, in-between every conflict. An occasional harmony, and it’s… 

Perfect. 

Rafayel scoots close to you. “Was this authorised?” he whispers. 

You look over to the point board, where there are first strikes beneath Zayne and Xavier’s names, and you don’t know how long they’ve been there. 

“No,” you laugh tenderly. “No, it wasn’t.”

[wendichester]

༘⋆📼 ｡˚ songs that make me think of d.w.,

summary. driver picks the music, shotgun... made the mixtape .ᐟ

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 844.

The gas station is quiet, the kind of place you only stop at when there’s no other option. Snow drifts lazily down, coating the ground as Dean pulls the Impala up to the pump. He steps out of the car, stretching with a grunt as the cold air hits him, walking around to the gas station to fill up. You sit in the passenger seat, glancing back at Sam in the back, his face pressed against the window, dead to the world. He's been asleep for the past couple of hours.

You reach down to grab the cassette tape resting in your lap. Songs That Make Me Think of D.W. is scrawled across the label in your handwriting. The whole drive here, you’ve been working up the nerve to give it to him. You try not to overthink it, trying to convince yourself it’s just a fun little thing. No big deal. Except it is a big deal because it’s for Dean, and everything with him feels bigger.

By the time he slides back into the driver’s seat, you’ve almost chickened out.

Dean exhales, rubbing his hands together for warmth before starting the engine. “Damn, it’s freezing,” he mutters, glancing back at Sam to confirm he’s still asleep.

You feel the weight of the tape in your hand as you glance over at Dean.

“So, what’s that?” he asks, voice still teasing as his gaze flicks to the tape in your hands. Of course, he noticed. He had noticed miles ago. But decided to wait to see if you would say anything. He got tired of waiting.

You hesitate, but finally, you offer it to him. “It's a mixtape,” you say casually, pretending like it’s no big deal. “I made it for you‒for the road.”

Dean raises an eyebrow, looking at the label. “Songs that make you think of me, huh? Well, color me intrigued." He chuckles. "What is this? Some kind of Christmas gift?” He smirks, clearly amused.

You roll your eyes, leaning back against the seat. “Don’t make it weird. It’s just some songs that remind me of you. Thought you might like it.”

Dean chuckles, sliding the tape into the deck. “Oh, I’m definitely making it weird. This is prime teasing material, sweetheart.”

As the first song starts, you feel the warmth in your chest when you hear the opening chords of “Simple Man” by Lynyrd Skynyrd. He leans back, letting out a satisfied sigh as he listens, his fingers drumming lightly against the wheel.

You can’t help but glance over at him, watching the way the music seems to take him in, his shoulders relaxing. His lips curve up at the edges, his eyes softening.

“You know,” he says after a few moments, his voice a little quieter, “this is one of my favorite songs.”

“I know,” you reply with a small smile, trying to keep the heat out of your voice.

Dean looks over at you, a glint of amusement still in his eyes. “Yeah? You think of me when you hear it?”

You shift in your seat, giving him a sidelong glance. “Maybe.” You bite your lip, feeling the slight weight of the moment between you two. “It’s… fitting. You know? With the whole ‘always on the road’ thing.”

Dean smirks, his thumb lightly brushing the steering wheel. “Ah, so you’re saying I’m a ‘simple man,’ huh?”

“Not exactly,” you tease. “But you do have your own way of doing things. And yeah, it’s a little… comforting.”

Dean raises an eyebrow, glancing at you again. “Comforting...” He pauses, his lips curling into that signature grin of his. “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You roll your eyes, trying to fight back the grin that’s tugging at your lips. “Just take the tape, okay?”

“I am taking it,” shaking his head as he shifts the car into drive and pulls back onto the highway. The song continues to play, filling the space between you. Sam stirs briefly in the back but doesn’t wake. “But I’m gonna get you back for this. You’re too cute when you get all flustered.”

You smirk, feeling your face heat up. “Flustered? I’m not flustered.”

Dean chuckles, the warmth in his voice making you feel like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you say.”

He keeps driving, the snow swirling outside the window as the song plays on. You’re not sure if it’s the music, the moment, or the way Dean is just… there, but the silence that falls between you doesn’t feel awkward. It feels… like home.

Dean turns his head, his gaze lingering on you. “You’re not getting out of this easily, you know. I’ll be playing this mixtape for the rest of our trip.”

You grin, the feeling of him staring at you making your heart race just a little. “Glad you like it.”

Dean’s fingers lightly tap on the wheel again, and he finally looks away, focusing back on the road. “I do,” he says softly, and you can hear the sincerity under the teasing tone.

taglist ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ֶָ֢ @deans-daydream

[mattslilies]

✩ model!reader - models for fresh love ✩

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

you pulled up to the building, double checking the address before you got out of your car and walked in. you'd had a scheduling mishap and your manager had double booked you for the day, so you swore under your breath when you noticed that you were showing up late, and for a brand you'd never worked with.

you'd seen the founder, one Chris Sturniolo, follow you on Instagram about two weeks ago, and after scrolling through his account, you'd ended up following him back.

not long after you did, you noticed him liking quite a few of your posts, and then came a ping from your phone, signaling a new message.

2:16 pm: "love all the shoots you've done, they look amazing. i have a shoot for my own brand coming up, was wondering if you wanted to model?"

you read the direct message, the gears in your brain beginning to spin. you couldn't lie, you thought chris was incredibly attractive, and you almost never turned down a good modeling opportunity.

2:23 pm: "what's the brand? would love to look into and consider it."

2:24 pm: "@/freshlove"

a fast responder, then. you scrolled through the account that he had linked, and while it wasn't the type of thing you normally modeled, you were always up for a little bit of a change, a little step outside of your comfort zone.

just as you clicked out of the page, a new message notification crossed your screen.

2:27 pm: "hope you consider it well. would love to see your face there."

was he flirting with you?

you smiled to yourself, never turning down an opportunity for a little fun.

2:28 pm: "i will. would be a shame to miss out on such a nice looking offer. the clothes are cute too."

your only response was a heart reaction to your message, and just two weeks later, here you were.

slipping your phone into your pocket, you glanced around at all the people bustling through the building, unsure of where to go.

"you showed up."

you spun around, quickly realizing it was chris who had spoken, and who you were now standing face to face with.

"yes, i did. i'm so sorry i'm running late, my manager double booked me by mistake-"

chris just laughed, cutting you off.

"don't worry about it. double booked, huh? you must be popular."

you smiled back at him, a teasing glint in your eyes.

"yes, incredibly so. you should be grateful i chose this shoot over the other one i had scheduled today."

his grin only widened, enjoying the playful banter.

"well, consider me lucky i scored such a high demand model. i'll show you where you can grab clothes, if you'd like."

"after you."

it wasn't a far walk to where the rest of the models were setting up, most of them smiling and immediately welcoming you. you settled in easily, not noticing where chris disappeared to, but putting it mostly out of your mind as you let the makeup artist do her job.

the shoot went smoothly, you being the last one to go. chris coincidentally reappeared just in time to oversee all of your photos, smiling when the cameraman showed him each one.

"how's it look?" you called, that same confident smile on your face.

you'd learned early on that insecurity gets you nowhere, and while you weren't cocky, or egotistical, you were photogenic.

"perfect." he was incapable of hiding the smirk on his face.

the shoot wrapped up, and chris showed up once again as you were exiting the changing room, the outfits you'd just modeled draped over your arm.

"pictures looked fantastic."

"thank you. are they going on the instagram?"

chris nodded. "as soon as i get them, yes."

"tag me in them." you winked, starting to head out of the building after grabbing your things.

chris shook his head, smiling, privately loving your confident but playful demeanor.

"can i walk you to your car, or are you too booked and busy?"

you waved your hand in the air, dismissing the joke with a smile.

"never too busy to have a pretty boy walk me somewhere."

quickly finding your car, you and chris walked over there, generally chatting about both his brand and your job. he seemed genuinely interested, which was a nice change of pace.

"well, this is me."

you felt a slight twinge of disappointment as you held the handle of your car door, having thoroughly enjoyed the day.

chris still held eye contact with you for a few moments, not making any move to walk back inside, before gently pressing his lips against yours.

taken by surprise, but not uncomfortable, you kissed back, feeling his hand wrap around your waist. after a few seconds, he pulled back, that same smirk painting his lips.

"i hope to see you next time i have a photoshoot."

"i'll be expecting a message."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n: this was a little longer than i expected!!!

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part one

I'm backkk 👀 Reminder that y'all do NOT like each other (for now 🤭)

I did a lot of math to make sure I had my timeline in order but I won't bore y'all with all the numbers. Some basics, tho: we're somewhere in s5/6, Foyet doesn't exist here but Haley and Hotch are divorced and Jack lives with Haley, Reader is in her mid 30s and Hotch is in his mid 40s. That's all for now, happy reading! xxx

Chapter warnings: these two are at each other's throats! and a new case begins ofc

Your day started out perfectly.

You sorted more of your belongings into boxes for the movers. Everything will be shipped ahead so it arrives shortly after you do at your apartment in Virginia. You’re running ahead of schedule, so you even have time to stop for a good breakfast before heading into the office.

The day felt…too good to be true. And you quickly find out why. 

“The BAU?”

Your superior, Agent Reynolds, sits across from you and raises an eyebrow, assuming incorrectly that you haven’t heard of the branch. “The Behavioral Analy—”

“Yes, I know what the BAU is,” you cut him off, something he’s used to, waving your hand sharply. “Why the BAU?”

“You were requested,” he replies simply with a slight shrug.

“By who?”

“Agent Hotchner, as I’m told.”

That is the last name you ever expected him to say. 

“Hotch?” you echo incredulously. “You’re kidding.”

Reynolds sighs. “I’m really not.” You know deep down Reynolds will miss you, but he’ll also thank god every day that he doesn’t have to put up with your attitude anymore. 

“Huh.” You could laugh. You almost do. “Interesting.”

Your now ex-boss gives you a look, and a sigh. “What now?”

“Oh, nothing,” you shake your head. “Agent Hotchner and I have met before, that’s all.”

+++

Ten and a half years prior to the present day, you worked on a case with Aaron Hotchner. 

Key word: case. One singular case.

You were joined by agents Gideon, Morgan, and, of course, Hotchner. You were the only woman with them at the time, and that already threatened to drive you up a wall. To make matters worse, you and Hotch could not get along to save anyone’s lives.��

The two of you butted heads for two weeks straight, but even that is sugar coating it. He raised his voice at you and you raised your voice right back. Of course, only in private. In the field, you were as professional as can be. But in the tiny conference room that you had to set up for them coming in unannounced? All bets were off.

You’ve never been a particularly angry person, but something about Hotch brought all your anger to the surface.

He was the most arrogant man you had ever come across. He explained things to you that you already knew, and even when you told him you were aware of the topic, he’d continue explaining like he hadn’t heard you, just out of spite.

He underestimated you in ways that had your blood boiling. He wouldn’t send you to interview anyone, despite that being your area of expertise. He had you doing busy work, like a goddamn intern. 

You were your office’s own little BAU. You had read Gideon’s papers, been to profiling lectures. You became a profiler because you knew your city needed one, and by your fifth year in the office, you were one. You knew what you were doing, and Hotch treated you like a newbie. 

He always walked around in a damn suit and tie. Does he not own a t-shirt? Does he know what that is? Would it kill him to breathe once in a while?

Why does he have to look like he constantly has a stick up his ass?

Of course, you aren’t totally innocent. You found his buttons and pushed them since day one. He hated being talked over or shouted at, so those became your favorite things. Especially after he began doing them to you.

Don’t disobey direct orders, he said. You did. And you got the results needed, so he had no choice but to move on.

Don’t come into the interrogation room unless asked for, he said. You did anyway. The unsub needed to feel important, a high priority, and he wasn’t. So, you walked in and told Hotch that the Attorney General of the United States was on the phone. It worked. While Hotch “spoke with the Attorney General,” you got a confession. Hotch had to thank you through gritted teeth.

When the case was solved and the BAU left town, you popped a bottle of fucking champagne. Good riddance you screamed and drank straight from the foaming top.

+++

You mutter under your breath the entire drive to the BAU. Your boxes arrived this morning, but you haven’t had a chance to unpack them, so your apartment is currently a shitshow. 

And now you’re driving to deal with another shitshow. 

You haven’t received any emails or texts from Hotch, which is odd, but you’re sure as hell not questioning it. The less you have to deal with him, the better. He probably shares the same sentiment, which is why he hasn’t contacted you.

From far away, Quantico looks more like a prison than it does a headquarters. You hope it doesn’t feel the same way it looks.

The BAU office is just a short elevator ride up from the parking garage, and you dread every second of it. When the doors open on the BAU floor, you want to scream.

But you’re a professional, not a toddler, so you walk your ass through the glass doors and into the bullpen, your head held high like an adult.

“No. Fucking. Way.”

“Hi Morgan,” you mirror his grin, accepting his hug. “Miss me?”

He’s in the same black t-shirt and black jeans he always wears, his haircut just the same but shorter. And he finally got rid of the “shaving my face every morning” routine. Stubble looks much better on him.

“For ten years,” Morgan reminds you. “What brings you here?”

You shrug cheekily, feigning innocence. “I heard there was an opening.”

His grin, somehow, grows wider and brighter. “Come here!” He tackles you in another hug, this time lifting you up and spinning you. “God is on my side to-day. Where’s Reid?”

“Putting a disastrous amount of sugar in his coffee,” a blonde woman says as she passes, then stops. “Oh, hi. I’m JJ, you must be Agent L/N. I heard you were coming in today.”

You escape from Morgan’s grip to shake JJ’s hand. “That’s me. JJ, you said?”

She nods, shifting her feet to a more comfortable position in her heels. “I’m the BAU liaison, so you’ll see a lot of me. And very little of me. It’s complicated.”

“I hear that,” you chuckle, just glad to see another woman has joined the team.

And to your surprise, another joins the circle, this one with black hair parted down the middle. “Emily Prentiss,” she says, sticking out her hand. “Are we finally getting another woman around here?”

You nod, glad to hear she agrees with your unspoken comment. “Looks like it.”

“Did someone call my name?”

You turn and see the infamous Dr. Reid stirring a mug of sugar with a splash of coffee. He’s wearing a cardigan, per usual, and what looks like the same pair converse from when you first met him five years ago at a lecture the BAU put on. He was brand new back then. His eyebrows furrow when he sees you, and then they go wide.

“Y/N? Hi!” he says excitedly, nearly spilling his drink. “It’s been so long! Wha— What are you doing here?”

You give JJ and Emily a look that only you three truly understand. “Why do none of the men assume I’ll be joining the team?”

Emily laughs. “Believe me, I wish I knew.”

“Wait, seriously?” Reid blurts. “Are you really joining us?”

“Sure am,” you grin. “And once I get out of this meeting with Hotch, you’re telling me when the hell you joined a boyband.”

“Oh, ouch,” Morgan taps Reid’s arm lightly with a grin.

“Uh, you too, Derek,” you punch him, letting him know he isn’t off the hook either. “What’s up with the shirt? Do you not own another color?”

“Damn, momma,” Morgan groans. “You haven’t changed.”

“Neither have you,” you pat his cheek.

“I like you already,” Emily grins.

“Agent L/N,” an unmistakable voice comes from the top of the stairs, effectively ruining the moment. 

He definitely hasn’t changed, you think to yourself as you slowly turn around. 

“Agent Hotchner,” you mimic his tone. “Nice to see you again.”

He grips the railing a little too tightly. And he’s still wearing a damn suit, with a damn tie knotted so tight you wonder if it’s choking him. If it’s not, you want it to be. Maybe he’ll shut up then. 

“I believe our meeting was scheduled for 9am,” he says, earning a sideways glance from the other man standing on the balcony. 

“It still is,” you reply, looking beside his head at the clock on the wall and shit. “I’m late. That’s my fault, sir. I apologize.”

“Yes, it is,” he says. “We need to make this short. Hurry up.” 

He turns and disappears into his office like some imitation of Dracula. You give Derek a helpless look.

“Welcome back,” Reid says, grimacing.

“Thanks, bud,” you reply, knowing he means well. “If any of you hear any screaming, pay no mind, that’s just how we greet each oth—”

“Agent L/N!” Hotch shouts from his doorway.

“Coming!” you shout back, just as loud and just as annoyed. “For fuck’s sake,” you mutter to yourself.

You hop up the stairs two at a time, reaching Hotch’s office in seconds. 

The man that was beside Hotch offers you a smile. “I’m Agent Rossi,” he extends his hand. 

“Agent L/N,” you return the friendly expression, shaking his hand, just glad that he at least seems happy to meet you. “I’ll see you soon, I’m sure.”

Rossi nods slowly, mouthing, “Good luck.”

You like him already. You smirk.

Hotch is standing behind his desk when you walk into his office, anger written all over his face. His arms are crossed over his chest, fingers picking at his nails ever so slightly.

“Close the door.”

“Promise not to shoot me?” you joke, but it doesn’t land. You shut the door and take a seat in front of his desk while he remains standing. “Well?”

Finally, he speaks. “What the hell are you doing here?”

You let out a laugh. “Oh, great.” You sit up because this is just stupid. “Are you kidding me? This is the last division I wanted to work in, but I was transferred here. At your behest, might I add—”

“I can assure you, Agent L/N, I did not request that you join my team,” he says as he sits down, rolling toward his desk and placing his arms over the files littered before him.

“Well then Agent Reynolds is a fucking liar, I guess,” you deadpan. “He’s the one who told me I was assigned to the BAU — because of you.”

“Well it wasn’t me.”

“Glad we got that settled,” you shoot back, wanting instead to add, like I fucking care if it was you or not. “Listen, whether either of us likes it or not, I was assigned here, so I’m here. If you want me to leave, take it up with Agent Reynolds or whoever the fuck really requested me. But I can’t do shit about this, and this is now my job, so I’m not leaving just because you want to have some pissing contest.”

He looks like he’s chewing on fire. “Your job security is not my problem—”

“For God’s sake, call your fucking boss, it won’t make you any less of a man to ask a goddamn question about why you have a new agent in your office.”

Hotch glares at you, but does as you say, picking up his desk phone and pressing a few buttons.

You sit back in your chair, waiting in silence. You turn your head to look through the blinds because Hotch didn’t close them all the way, and you nearly start to laugh. Huddled around one desk, Morgan, JJ, Emily, Reid, and another blonde woman dressed in bright colors and shapes are listening intently to Reid who is no doubt lip reading and translating this entire conversation.

Finally, the line connects and Hotch starts speaking. Almost as quick as the phone call begins, it ends.

“Well?” you ask.

“There was some miscommunication,” Hotch admits, though he does not look happy about it. “Welcome to the Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

You smile sarcastically. “Thank you, Agent Hotchner.”

“You’re dismissed,” he says. “We’ll meet in the conference room in five minutes to discuss the rest of today. Don’t be late.”

“Yes, sir,” you mutter as you escape his office, just glad he didn’t torture you with a handshake.

Emerging from Hotch’s office, you stand against the railing and ask the team where the conference room is.

Morgan points to your left. “Why?”

“He told me we’re meeting there to discuss—”

“That’s on hold now,” JJ says, whirling around the BAU with an armful of files. “We’ve got a case. Missing girl, thirteen years old.” She passes out files in the bullpen, handing one to you as she ascends the stairs.

“Shit,” you mutter. “How long has she been missing?”

“Starting without me?” Hotch asks as he walks out of his office. He takes a file from JJ and says a quiet, “Thanks.”

“Yep, we are,” you say right back, scanning your file. You think you hear Rossi let out a chuckle at your response. “Gone since this morning. Are they certain it wasn’t overnight?”

“The mother dropped Lila off at school this morning at seven, and by nine, she was absent,” JJ explains as everyone fills into the conference room. “They paged her at school over the intercom, but she’s not in any of the classrooms.”

“How are we hearing about this so quickly?” Morgan asks. “I mean, I’m glad, but it’s been…just over an hour. We don’t normally have this much time.”

“Because,” JJ pauses, pointing the remote toward the TV. “This is Lila’s father.”

On the screen, the FBI’s Most Wanted are staring back at you. JJ clicks again, and one face comes forward.

“Who?” Emily says.

“Richard Monroe,” Reid says aloud. “He’s been on the run for almost two years. He’s said to have killed a dozen people, all females, but they suspect there might be more. Every time we’ve come close to catching him, he gets away.”

“And now his daughter is missing,” Rossi adds. “I’m guessing this guy is our unsub.”

“I don’t know,” you stare into Richard’s eyes on the screen. “When was he last seen?”

“You can investigate that when we get there,” Hotch says curtly. “They’re waiting for us and we’ll lose time by flying. Wheels up in ten.”

Everyone files out of the room and Hotch stays back, waiting for you to be the last one in the room.

“Agent L/N,” Hotch gets your attention. “Since you’ve never tackled a case like this before, try your best to follow orders, and watch what the team does. Don’t make any rash decisions and don’t go off on your own.”

None of his comments anger you as much as the first one. “You don’t know that I’ve never encountered something like this.”

“Don’t argue with me when we have a missing girl,” Hotch snaps. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” you reply, pushing past him.

“I hope you have a go bag,” he calls after you. “There will be no time for shopping when we’re on the ground.”

“Then I’ll just wear your clothes!” you yell back, knowing it’ll get a rise out of him. You hear Morgan snicker down in the bullpen. 

“Agent L/N,” Hotch says, and when you turn around, you see he’s giving you his famous stare.

You sigh. “My bag is in my car. It’ll take me two minutes to grab it. That’s clearly less than ten. Unless you have anything else to say that might delay me further?”

“Go,” he says, waving you away as he heads into his office to grab his bag. “Now.”

+++

While you’re on the jet, you do some research on Richard Monroe. He’s a grade A piece of shit if you’ve ever seen one.

But he’s not the type to go after his daughter.

“Garcia, can you check and see if Richard tried at all to contact Lila on her cell?” you ask.

“I would, sweets, but I can’t find Lila’s phone. Their house phone, however, has no calls.”

“He wouldn’t call the house phone, not with Lila’s mom watching over her like a hawk,” you murmur. 

Hotch lifts his head. “How do you know that?”

“Know what?”

“That her mother would be overbearing.”

“Her father’s a serial killer on the run, Hotch,” you reply. “Any mother would keep tabs on her daughter’s every breath if she had a father like that. It’s logic.”

“She makes a fair point,” Rossi says.

“It’s unfounded,” Hotch ignores him, still dead set on irritating you. “Until you talk to her mother, don’t jump to any conclusions about her behavior.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Until I do?”

“Yes, you will be talking to her mother when we get on the ground. Morgan will go with you.” He nods to Derek. “Reid, you and JJ get set up at the precinct. Prentiss, Rossi, and I will go to the middle school. We’ll meet back at the precinct to discuss our next steps.”

You share a look with Morgan before sinking back in your chair, glaring at the file instead of Hotch.

It's going to be a long fucking day.

[thef1diary]

How would dirtbag!danny react to you sending him some risqué photos 😏

— that is a dangerous game, nonnie 👀 I’m imagining him miles away, where he can’t come over right away so he’ll have to make do with the photos you sent him, after degrading you on a call that is. 18+ content below

Your phone buzzed almost immediately after you sent the picture—a few sultry shots of you sprawled on your bed, wearing the tiniest scrap of lingerie you owned. The text was simple, just a playful “Thinking of you ;)”, but you knew exactly what you were doing.

Daniel’s reply came in fast.

Holy shit, sweetheart

Another buzz.

You really wanna do this to me right now?

And then your phone rang. You barely had time to speak before his voice came through the line, low and rough. “You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

You smirked, twisting a strand of hair around your finger. “Am I?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” he said, a hint of a laugh in his voice. “Sitting there looking like that, knowing damn well I can’t touch you. You’re cruel, you know that?”

The sound of him shifting—the rustle of fabric—caught your attention, and your breath hitched.

“Bet you’re feeling real proud of yourself, huh?” he drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. “Sending me photos like that and leaving me sitting here hard as a fucking rock. You’re lucky I’m not there, or I’d have you on your knees, choking on my cock until you’re begging for mercy.”

Your smirk deepened as his words poured through the line, every filthy syllable winding you tighter. You shifted on the bed, your thighs clenching instinctively, and you couldn’t help but tease him back.

“Oh, is that right?” you murmured, dragging your fingers along the edge of your lace panties. “All worked up just from a picture? Thought you could handle me better than this, Danny.”

He let out a low, mocking laugh, the sound rough and filled with promise. “Sweetheart, if I was there, you wouldn’t even have time to be a smartass. I’d already have my hand wrapped around that pretty little throat of yours, reminding you exactly who’s in charge.”

You let out a shaky breath, his words igniting something deep inside you. “Big talk for someone miles away. What are you gonna do about it?”

“Oh, you think distance is gonna stop me?” His voice dropped even lower, laced with that dangerous edge that always made your knees weak. “Sweetheart, I don’t need to be there to control you. You’re mine, remember? And you’re gonna do exactly what I say, no questions asked.”

Your breath caught, a mix of anticipation and defiance bubbling in your chest. “And if I don’t?”

“Oh, you will,” he shot back smoothly. “Because you know what happens when you don’t listen. And after these little photos, you’re already in trouble.”

The casual threat sent a shiver down your spine. “Trouble?” you repeated, feigning innocence.

“You think I wouldn’t notice the time? Sending me that when you know damn well I’m busy?” he asked. “That’s gonna cost you. Next time I see you, I’m gonna put you over my knee and spank you until that ass is covered with my fucking handprints. Then, maybe you’ll think twice before teasing me like this.”

You swallowed hard, the image vivid in your mind, and let out a shaky, “Danny…”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said smugly. “Now, here’s what you’re gonna do. Slide those panties off—slowly. I want you completely bare for me. Then, I want you to touch yourself, but don’t you dare cum. You’re gonna edge yourself for me, sweetheart, keep yourself nice and ready for when I get there.”

You hesitated for a second, the teasing smile on your face faltering. “And if I don’t?”

His laugh was dark, almost amused. “If you don’t? I’ll make you regret it. I’ll tie you up and make you watch me get myself off instead of giving you what you’re begging for.”

The thought sent a rush of heat through you, and you found yourself complying, your fingers sliding under the waistband of your panties. “Happy now?” you murmured, your voice breathless.

“Not yet,” he said, his tone sharp. “I want proof. Send me a video—of those pretty little fingers working. Let me hear you whine for me, say my name like you mean it. But don’t even think about cumming. That’s for me to decide, not you.”

You bit your lip, already feeling the ache building as your fingers brushed over your slick heat. “You’re impossible,” you muttered.

“And you love it,” he shot back. “Now be a good girl and show me exactly how much.”

He ended the call and with a shaky breath, you propped your phone up and hit record, knowing full well that this little game was far from over—and the consequences would be everything he promised and more.

want more dirtbag!danny? send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts and it’ll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days

[enhaeil]

NITE AND DAY! ☆ 엔하이픈

"i can tell you how i feel about you, nite and day."

nite and day - al b. sure

ENHYPEN AT A COOKOUT!

c/w: implied black reader... but i mean, anybody can read ig!

heeseung

"baby i'm so nervous to meet your family. i mean what if they hate my gifts? what if they hate me? do i stink?-"

you cut him off, laughing at his nerves. "hee, my momma already loves you, so you're one step ahead. and for the record, you don't stink. you smell like me."

"not my fault. i can't keep you off of me." he says smuggly.

you roll your eyes playfully before opening your car door. "last time i checked it was you who couldn't stay off of me, mr. made-us-late." you say as you walk up the stairs to your porch. you look behind you and notice heeseung still nervously standing in front of the house.

"heeseung, get your ass in this house!"

jay

your family decided it was about time they hosted a family reunion. it would be the first family event since you and jay got married, so you thought it'd be a good idea to go.

you finish ironing the reunion shirts and throw yours on, handing jay his. you turn around in the mirror to look at where it shows your now shared last name on the back.

"mr. and mrs. park huh? who would've thought!" he says, wrapping a hand around your waist. he leans down to press a kiss on your lips before you guys head out for the busy day.

you finally arrive at the house and are immediately bombarded with family. jay feels a little awkward at first, but once the family starts giving out hugs, he's in.

you run inside to help your mom prepare some food real quick and leave jay with your brothers.

"excuse me," he feels a small hand tug on his pants. "who are you?"

he looks down at the voice and notices a small child, presumably your niece. he crouches down to her height. "well, i'm your uncle jay."

"hi uncle jay. do you want to play dollies with us?" how could jay say no to such a cute face?

by the time you come back out, jay is standing by the grill with a 'kiss the chef' apron on. you dont hesitate to make your way over there and give him a smooch.

"looks you're fitting right in baby." you say as you wipe some sweat off his forehead with a cloth.

jake

you left for 3 minutes, and you come back out to your boyfriend jake being tackled by all your little cousins.

you rush over there to save him, yanking the little ones off one by one and helping him up off the grass.

"jakey. mind explaining what happened?" you giggle, dusting grass out of his hair.

"it started off as one. then two. then the whole stampede came running towards me. they really love their uncle jake!" he says, catching his breath.

you drag him towards the food table, fixing his plate as he takes a breather. "here, you've probably worked up an appetite."

he wastes no time chowing down. he finishes his food quickly, holding his stomach as he leans back.

"you know what this experience has made me realize, y/n?" he says casually. you hum, waiting for him to continue.

"i'm ready to have a baby." you almost choke on your potato salad.

"a baby, jake? i mean,... sure, but at least put a ring on me first!"

"i'm already one step ahead of you, babe."

sunghoon

sunghoon is usually reserved and to himself around new people. however, your family has seemed to turn him into a new man.

you're flipping some meat on the grill before you feel your mans presence behind you. he wraps his arms around your waist, swaying you to the beat of the music playing.

"hi, hoonie. what's up?" you say as place your hand over his.

"i was thinking. we should take your little cousins ice skating one day." he presses a soft kiss against your check.

"you think so? what, you wanna show off your skills?" he chuckles and nods his head.

"of course and i think it'll-" he starts before he's cut off.

"aye hoon!!! come over here for a round of dominos."

"gotta go, baby, your cousins are about to teach me how to play their version of dominos!!" he says, running off like an excited kid.

sunoo

sunoo wanted to make the best impression on your family, so for the potluck, he decided to make dishes from his culture.

you watched your boyfriend as he slaved over the stove to whip up some samgyeopsal and tteok, making sure they taste perfect.

you can't help but go up to him and kiss his cheek. "it's so cute how hard you're working, noo. they're gonna love whatever you make."

"i sure hope so. i mean, y/n. these are my future in-laws we're talking about here. i refuse to be known as the brother in law who can't even boil water!"

"that will never happen! and if it does, i'll cook something, and we can say you did it." you giggle.

jungwon

jungwon had never been to a cookout before. actually, he's never been to a black cookout. man was so excited he slept next to his outfit instead of you.

you sit by the coolers as you watch jungwon mingle with your uncles. before he comes jogging back to you.

"hi won, you hungry?" you say, standing up to hug him. he presses a kiss onto your cheek before replying. "yes, let's eat!"

you fix jungwon's plate and you guys sit down and eat together. the moment he takes that first bite you swear you see his eyes light up.

"y/n. baby." he says, one cheek stuffed with chicken. you hum in return.

"i think i just fell in love."

jungwon definitely returned for seconds and a to-go plate.

niki

you were home for college and decided to bring your boyfriend back with you. every spring, your family held a reunion, and niki decided to tag along.

"are you sure i'm not invading, y/n? i mean, it's a family reunion." he says, watching you do your makeup in the mirror.

"no nik, you're good, i promise. as long as you're with me, you're family."

that afternoon, you guys arrive at the park where it was being held and make your way to the picnic area.

everyone greets you and niki as the party starts to kick off.

niki is awkward, and he doesn't know what to do at first until some of your male relatives drag him away.

by the time you see riki again, it's as if he's a different person. "y/n, baby!! come here and dance with me" he says, holding on to your waist as y'all "step in the name of love."

what does he even know about that?

[bambisnc]

can you write something about winter????? write harever you want with gn!reader. thank you!!!

apple cider [ft. k.mj]

pairing : winter x gn!reader genre : everything i write is crack honestly. some fluff cw/tw : swearing + uneditted af xx + reader is js confused <3 wc : 0.7k?

your first time meeting kim minjeong had entailed a bruised hip, a spilled drink and a late pass.

it was almost as if the universe had had it pre-determined; made up its mind, even, for you to not like her.

... sure, it might've slightly been your fault that you were late and scrambling to find a seat in the already pretty hectic classroom that caused you to bump into said girl,.. which in turn had the equal and opposite reaction of her managing to push you and your (now bruised) hip with a loud thud! towards one of the tables.

which lead to you spilling your entire drink all~ over your shirt.

your favorite shirt.

before you even knew her name, you had decided you were not a fan. and even now, having spent considerable time in roughly the same friend group,.. you really don’t get the hype around her. 

okay, yes, you admit she’s, like, really nice and pretty and helpful and cute, but it’s whatever.

hence, obviously, the only liable course of action then was to take advantage of the fact that your teacher announced a project to be done in pairs and end up being minjeong’s partner because you don’t really like anyone else in that class which somehow ends up with you having to break her out of a literal, physical fight with some girl whose name you couldn’t even be bothered knowing.

huh? 

“let’s meet at the library.” she had suggested, “it’ll be quiet – it’d be easy for us to focus and get our work over and done with as fast as possible.” 

you had taken a little offense to that. but hey, at least you knew your (slightly) bitter feelings towards her were just as reciprocated. 

so naturally you were surprised when you walked straight into a crowd in the otherwise quiet hall, and happened upon the previously mentioned scene. 

the tense scene was captivating, to say the least. both girls involved showed no apparent signs of remorse or stopping. it even took you a while to manage to pick up your jaw off the floor and move to intervene, albeit your actions being mostly on instinct.

you’re not quite sure why you did it. maybe because your project was at stake? yeah that was probably the only reason.

… doing so was shockingly easy, however. the minute minjeong felt your touch on her, she paused, quietly. a strangely herculean feat on her part, considering how fiercely she’d been fighting merely seconds ago.

but her opponent didn’t have the same mindset. despite the comparatively much more bruised appearance (minjeong barely even had a scratch on her, really), she still found the ability to paste on a sneer and speak out. “wah~ your beloved’s here for you, huh? here to rescue you? just like you were trying to keep their name clear from the rumors-” 

at which point, the girl previously in your grasp all but leapt out to land one last (rather satisfying) punch square on her opponent’s face. 

and then, wordlessly, effortlessly, she walked out;... with you trailing behind, mind chock-full of questions but not being really sure how to express even one of them.

you could only watch as she walked all the way to the courtyard with all the casualness of the world before sitting down on one of the benches .. and soon find yourself stopping in front of her, offering her the bottle clutched in your hand all this while, surprising not only minjeong but also yourself. 

“...you’re probably tired out after all that .. exertion. plus dehydration’s never fun.” is your flimsy, offhanded excuse.

she smiles, then, and accepts it, but both you and her know that she doesn’t really believe it. 

your eyes meet hers, finally, asking if she’d mind company. she shakes her head, no, shifting to make space for you. 

the warmth of the late evening embraces both of you with an orange haze. from where you’re sitting, a disarmingly comforting scent invades your senses, your mindspace even. 

it’s somewhat fruity. and it’s so inexplicably kim minjeong that you feel like you’re almost going crazy for thinking about it like that.

when minjeong hands you back the bottle, you notice rather grimly that she’s finished almost the whole drink, “i didn’t know you liked apple cider too. it suits you, weirdly.” 

her words only barely register, but her voice manages to crash your reverie completely. 

what exactly was that bitch girl saying earlier in the library?

why are you even here with kim minjeong right now? it’s not like you owe her comfort or anything, it was her fault for getting into an unnecessary fight (over you?....) in the first place  –  god knows you don’t even like her that much.

…

wait. fuck.

notes : tysmmm for requesting lovely <3 im sorry it took like. almost exactly 6 months (june 24th.........) :( + [m.list] song rec : ill edit link in later but apple cider by queen bea

𐙚 . regulars : @brocoliisscared ⋆

[scary-grace]

(secret) santa, baby - part 11 of a shigaraki x f!reader fic

Shigaraki doesn't want to participate in the office's Secret Santa exchange, but when Toga promises to make it easy on him, he gives in. But making it easy for him makes it a lot harder for you -- you're the one who got his list. Office AU, no quirks. A fic in 12 parts. Divider by @ wcnderlnds

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi part vii part viii part ix part x

part xi (under the mistletoe)

Dabi: watch out when you come in this morning

Dabi: mistletoe fucking everywhere

He's texting the whole group chat. Tomura has to wonder why Dabi’s at work this early, but he appreciates the warning. Last year Tomura called out sick rather than deal with all the mistletoe-ing, but it would take the entire building being covered in poison ivy to make him think twice about going into work today, and even then he might still risk it. He doesn’t have your phone number yet. He doesn’t even have your email address, and he knows you don’t check your work messages on the weekend, which means he hasn’t talked to you since he and Machia dropped you off at your apartment the first night of the storm. He has to talk to you today. He’s been thinking about it all weekend.

You didn’t hook up. You didn’t even kiss. Tomura hadn’t been the one to float the idea – it was you, but only as part of the list of things people in horror movies do that get them killed. Tomura thought you sounded regretful when you said it. Whether you were regretful or not, you stayed close to him, and the two of you talked for hours. Tomura can’t remember all the things you talked about. It felt like everything, and by the time Machia honked the horn from the parking lot to let Tomura know he was there, the two of you were curled up sideways on the couch, Tomura’s hands inside your jacket and your fingers gently pulling apart the knots the wind put in Tomura’s hair.

Tomura didn’t want to get up. He was almost asleep, and as the two of you got into Machia’s truck, Tomura almost asked you if you wanted to come back to his place instead. Right now, thinking about how good it felt to have you pressed against him is making his face feel hot, but that night he was tired. He was almost asleep before. He wanted to fall back asleep with you and not think about anything else until morning.

But he didn’t ask, and when he actually got back to his apartment, he realized what a mess it was. Even if it hadn’t been a weird question, it would have been a bad idea, one Tomura wouldn’t admit to having if someone put a gun to his head. But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been thinking about it, about you, since he watched you climb out of Machia’s truck and hurry through the storm into your apartment building.

Tomura gets to work a few steps ahead of Spinner, who calls for him to wait up. Tomura slows down. Spinner draws even with him, out of breath. “I saw Dabi’s text. What’s he doing here this early?”

“No idea.”

“Do you think he’s joking about the mistletoe?” Spinner asks. The automatic doors hiss open and Tomura tries to shake off the memory of walking through them with you, your arm around his waist. “I thought they banned it after last year. Didn’t they say it made a hostile work environment or something?”

“The decorating committee found a way around it,” Magne says from the far end of the lobby. There’s a table covered with boxes and it smells like food. Tomura and Spinner trade a glance, then beeline for it. “Watch out, there. Stay out of the blue squares.”

Huh? Tomura glances down and sees that some of the tiles on the floor have been outlined in blue tape. “What are those?”

“Mistletoe zones,” Magne says. Tomura looks up at the ceiling. Sure enough, there’s a weird plant stapled up directly over the square. “No kissing allowed unless you’re standing under one of these.”

“That’s stupid,” Tomura says. He points at the boxes on the table. “What are these?”

“Christmas cookies. There’s a box for everyone,” Magne says. She picks one up and inspects it. “Everybody on the decorating committee was supposed to bring some in, but Dabi’s sister made half of them anyway. That’s why he’s here so early.”

“He was making Christmas cookie boxes?” Spinner asks, then cracks up when Magne nods. “He must be pissed.”

“He’s been eating Fuyumi’s cookies all morning. I’m jealous,” Magne says. She hands a box of cookies to Tomura and one to Spinner. “Good luck today. Watch out for mistletoe.”

Dabi wasn’t kidding about the mistletoe. It’s everywhere. On the stairs. In one corner of the elevator. Every twenty feet or so along the hallway. When Tomura and Spinner get down to the basement, they find Toga and Twice taping down a blue square right in front of the printer. “Hey. Get that out of here. We don’t want that down here.”

“When was the last time either of you printed something?” Toga asks. She looks up at Tomura and her eyes instantly sharpen. “That’s a cute hat.”

Of course it is. It’s your hat, which Tomura wore today to make sure he wouldn’t forget it at home. “That’s not your hat,” Toga continues. She straightens up and comes closer. “Whose hat is it, Tomura-kun?”

“Nobody’s.”

“I’ve never seen you wear a hat before,” Spinner says. Spinner’s supposed to be on Tomura’s side. Tomura glares at him. “Where did you get that?”

“Nowhere.” Tomura sidesteps around them and sits down at his desk. There’s a present waiting for him, which means his Secret Santa got here early. A knot of anticipation pulls tight in Tomura’s chest. He has a present for you, too, but now he’s missed his chance to leave it at your desk instead of in your mailbox. “Leave me alone.”

“It’s from your Secret Santa!” Toga flops down across the back of Tomura’s chair and scares the hell out of him. “It is, isn’t it? She’s doing such a good job –”

So his Secret Santa is a girl. Tomura’s pretty sure Toga wasn’t supposed to tell him that, just like he’s pretty sure she’s the only person in addition to his Secret Santa who read his list. He knows it’s not Toga – she got Uraraka, or gave herself Uraraka on purpose. Which means his Secret Santa is probably – “It doesn’t matter who it’s from. I just borrowed it. I’m giving it back.”

“Borrowed it,” Twice repeats. He’s making a weird face. “When?”

Tomura hasn’t told any of his friends about getting stuck at the office with you, and he’s not planning on it. He keeps his mouth shut and they keep harassing him, until Chikazoku arrives and tells them to clear out. Chikazoku must have missed the mistletoe warning. He steps right into the square Toga and Twice just taped down, and Twice plants a kiss on his cheek before running for the hills. That’s probably the only way the mistletoe’s getting used today. Somebody stepping into the squares by accident. Tomura can’t imagine anybody doing it on purpose.

Tomura’s imagination apparently isn’t very good, because as the day wears on, he sees plenty of people hanging out in the squares, waiting for somebody to come by and kiss them. And he sees a weird number of people taking them up on it. He hears from Compress that some of them have turned it into a game, trying to collect a kiss from one person in every department. IT is the smallest department in the company. For the first and probably last time in Tomura’s life, there are multiple people wanting to kiss him at once.

Hatsume’s taking advantage of the situation, handing out kisses in exchange for bribes, and Chikazoku hasn’t left his desk since Twice sneak-attacked him. That leaves Tomura, Spinner, Saiko, and Aiba as potential kissing options for everybody else. Spinner kisses Magne on the cheek to help her complete her Bingo card, then gets sucked into a lengthy negotiation with two girls from HR of all places over whether or not he’ll kiss them platonically. Aiba, meanwhile, parks herself in one of the squares outside the break room and waits.

Tomura figures out what she’s waiting for right around when you get there. You stop to talk to her, then turn away, and make eye contact with Tomura. He hopes he’s not imagining the way your eyes brighten, and he’s definitely not imagining you walking towards him. “Hi,” you say. “How was your weekend?”

“I need your number,” Tomura says without thinking, and your eyes widen. “I wanted to talk to you and you don’t check your work messages on off days.”

“This weekend I was,” you admit, and Tomura kicks himself. “You can have my number. But only if you keep my hat.”

“It’s your hat,” Tomura says. “It looks better on you.”

“I think it looks cute on you,” you say, and Tomura’s face heats up. “Keep it. And give me your phone so I can put my number in it.”

Tomura unlocks his phone and hands it over, and while you create a contact for yourself, he keeps an eye on Aiba over your shoulder. You follow his eyeline and look too. Tomura sees your shoulders slump slightly. “What?”

“I’ve seen him,” you say. “He’s playing the game.”

“So he should get down here. He’s the only person in the building who’s got an IT kiss he doesn’t have to bribe somebody for.”

That’s not quite true. You wouldn’t have to bribe Tomura for a kiss, but Tomura knows without asking that you’re not playing the game. You’re shaking your head. “He got his IT kiss already,” you say. Tomura stares at you. You lower your voice. “From Saiko.”

Tomura forgot about Saiko. “What the fuck?”

“He’s her Secret Santa,” you say, like that explains everything. The next thing you say explains better. “She likes tea, doesn’t she?”

Saiko can’t shut up about tea. Still – “What the fuck. Did you see it?”

You nod. “They didn’t see me, but I saw them.”

“You talked to her. Did you tell her?”

“She asked me if I’d seen him, and I said yes. I didn’t tell her where or who he was with,” you say. You look unhappy. “If I tell her and she tells him, he’ll just say they were playing the game.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Tomura says, probably too loudly. You catch his arm and tug him around the corner, away from Aiba and the break room. “If I was playing that stupid game – which I’m not – I wouldn’t kiss anybody except –”

You. Tomura cuts himself off, averts his eyes, and that’s when he realizes where he’s standing. And where you’re standing. There are two mistletoe zones right next to each other, and you’re each standing in one.

Did you do this on purpose? Tomura doesn’t think so. You look just as surprised as he does, and your face turns red. “I’m not playing the game, either.”

“If you were, you wouldn’t have to bribe me,” Tomura says. “But if you were playing the game, I’d want you to lose.”

You look confused at first. Tomura sees when you get it, though, and he sees you swallow hard. “I don’t want to win the game.”

There’s nobody in the hallway, which is good. Tomura doesn’t want to kiss you for the first time with an audience. He reaches out and catches your hand, pulling you a step or two closer and deciding that it’s more fun to hold your hand when he doesn’t have gloves on. He has a free hand, too. That’s good. If he doesn’t hold onto your face so you stay still, he’s probably going to miss. He might miss even if you hold still. Why is this so hard? Why can’t Tomura just lean in?

Your free hand comes up and grabs his shoulder, and Tomura feels a surge of relief. Maybe he won’t have to. Maybe if you just –

Noise suddenly erupts from around the corner, scaring the two of you apart, and a moment later, Tomura hears running footsteps. He doesn’t have even a second to be pissed about the interruption before Aiba bolts past him down the hallway, face buried in her hands. Tomura’s not exactly a student of human nature, but it’s not hard to guess what must have happened. “She knows.”

“Someone should go after her.” It looks like you think ‘someone’ should be you. Your hand pulls free of Tomura’s, and you step out of your mistletoe zone without hesitating. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Tomura says. It is and it isn’t, all at the same time. He doesn’t like that you’re leaving. He likes that you want to help somebody who’s hurt. “I’ll see you later, right?”

“Right,” you say. You glance down at Tomura’s feet, then up at the ceiling – and before Tomura can do much else than realize that he’s still firmly in a mistletoe zone, you lean in and plant a kiss on his cheek.

It’s not really his cheek. Either you missed or you were aiming lower, and he thinks you were probably aiming lower, because your lips linger just below the corner of his mouth in a way that tells Tomura it wasn’t an accident. “Sorry,” you say again, and you take off down the hallway before Tomura can tell you not to apologize for the best thing that’s ever happened to him under the mistletoe or anywhere else.

He doesn’t think you’re sorry for that, anyway. He thinks you’re sorry that you had to leave. Tomura knows the feeling. It’s the same one he’s had since Toga’s Christmas party, and as weird of a feeling as it is, it’s nice to know he’s not having it alone.

<- part x part xii ->

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XXXIX)

Chapter 39: ‘He grew so tender and I so grateful which maybe tells you something about how it was’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! Alright, things can’t be perfect all the time, let’s spice things up a little bit…

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so no minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 4508

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Here

After it ended badly it got so much better which took a while of course but still he grew so tender and I so grateful which maybe tells you something about how it was I’m trying to tell you I know you have staggered wept spiraled through a long room banging you head against it holding crushed bird skulls in your hands your many hearts unstrung unable to play a note their wood still beautiful and carved so elaborately maybe a collector would want them stupid collectors always preserving and never breaking open the jars so everyone starves while admiring the view you don’t own anyone everything will be taken from you go ahead and eat this poem it will help

Kim Addonizio

“You should bring Y/N over next Sunday.”

Raine’s invitation wasn’t the first one of this kind, and Andrew smiled as she offered to welcome you to Saturday’s family dinner. Still, he didn’t want to push you, you had been together for merely a couple of months, he didn’t want to rush you.

“Soon, I promise, mom.”

“You know we like her already… but your dad and I want to know her better.”

“I know, mom.”

“Then bring her next week.”

“I’ll think about it.”

The door of your shared office opened, and you walked in, smiling as you saw him. God, you were so beautiful today…

“I have to go, mom. I’ll call you later, yeah?”

“Sure, honey. Have a nice day.”

“You too, mom. Bye. Love you.”

“Love you, Andy.”

He ended the call and turned to you as you walked around your desk, putting down your bag.

“How was your meeting, babe?” Andrew asked, walking over to you, bending to avoid the lamp hanging from the ceiling and burying his hands in his pockets.

“It was… interesting.”

“That bad, huh?”

“We’ll see. For now, some professors are reluctant at the thought of organising a full set of conferences around women and the female gaze. They fear there ‘won’t be enough speakers’.”

“Bullshit.”

“Yeah… it’s okay, I can still convince them.”

“I’m sure you will. You can do it, babe.”

“Thanks, honey.”

You smiled up at him when he moved even closer, so close you had to lean against your desk.

“Did you want something else, professor?”

God, his heart was beating so fast… it was so fucking hot when you called him that…

He had to remind himself that you were working, that he couldn’t simply devour you…

“Professor…”

“Stop it… we can’t.”

“Hmmm… I know.”

“Then why are you teasing, professor?”

Your lips parted for a second, and he smirked at the tortured look on your face.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, until he rested his hands on your desk, right next to where your lower back was pressed against the furniture, enclosing you between his arms.

“I like it when you blush,” you confessed, making him laugh.

“That’s still pretty cruel…”

You let out a sigh when he connected his lips to your neck, when he bit and kissed your pulse, his hold on your desk tightening so he would keep his composure. Your fingers got lost in his hair.

“Was that your mother on the phone?” you asked, breathless.

He merely hummed in response.

“How is she?”

“Fine…”

Gently, you pulled him away from your skin.

“We can’t, not here…”

Andrew nodded, trying to hide how hard it was to pull away.

“How are your parents,” you asked while he took a step back, remaining close to you, but none of you touching the other anymore.

“They’re fine. Just… the usual. My mom is working on a new painting.”

“Amazing!”

He thought about asking you, then. But it was too soon… it was too soon…

Were you really over Frank? Would you really stay? He couldn’t get his parents involved if you simply chose to disappear…

“Yeah, it’s pretty nice.”

He shook himself, put his hands into his pockets again.

“I should go back to work,” he reasoned. “I need to go to the library this afternoon, will probably work from there for a few hours.”

“Yeah, I should go back to work too… I have so much to do.”

“You’re still coming over tonight, right?”

“Of course!” you answered with an excited grin.

“I might not come back to the office before heading home…”

“Okay, I’ll see you tonight at seven, then?”

“Yeah, sure.”

You rose to your tiptoes to peck his lips, before turning to your computer, and Andrew walked back to his desk to gather his things.

He kept on wondering if bringing you to his parents was a good idea or not…

Andrew was an overthinker, which meant that he had a special talent for ruining his own life.

His day had taken a bad turn after that shared moment in your office. He was frustrated with the article he was working on, and the conversation with his mother kept on being played on repeat in his head.

And he simply… doubted himself.

There were days when his brain got too busy, too loud, and darker thoughts and doubts were enhanced in those times. And now that he was torturing himself on whether or not he was going too fast, his own insecurities were coming back. Was he really good enough for you? So far, he hadn’t had to change to make you love him, wasn’t that strange? He was used to tune down some of his interests, to be quieter than he wanted to be, so Sam would love him.

Wasn’t it strange that you were still talking for hours? That you were still interested in him? That you… didn’t ask for him to change?

And what if you longed for Frank still?

Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed the knocking on his front door. Only when Elwood sprinted across the room and barked at the wooden surface did he realise that it was already 7 pm, that you were waiting on his doorstep.

He heaved a sigh, forced himself to hide his pain, before walking across his flat to welcome you in.

You greeted him with a grin, and a pizza box.

“Brought dinner!” were your first words, and he couldn’t refrain a smile as he took the box you were handing him.

“Thanks, baby.”

You went to your tiptoes to kiss him, and while he pecked your lips he wondered if it would be too much if he yielded to his impulse and hugged you now.

Yeah… probably… he would be too much…

“How was your afternoon?” you asked, taking off your shoes and jacket, before giving Elwood some scratches.

“Erm… yeah… it was fine.”

You looked at him, something expectant on your face, but he didn’t want to bother you with some unimportant problems. Sam was never interested in those anyway…

“Are you hungry, then?” he asked, already walking to his kitchen.

“Erm… sure! Yeah! Starving actually!”

“How was your afternoon?”

“Nothing very important happened… but I’ve found some interesting articles…”

He let you babble away for a while, nodding while he set the table.

You started eating, but then you grew quiet, and he wasn’t sure why. You had been excited, and then you simply… stopped talking.

Was he being annoying? Was that something he needed to change?

At the back of his head, his mother’s voice was still asking to invite you, and he was still debating on whether it was a good idea or not, and what about Frank? Did you still think about him? Did you still want him? Did you…

“Andy?”

He looked up at you, surprised that you were using his name. You hadn’t in a few weeks. The pet names were all you used when you were alone by now.

“Hmm?”

“Is there something wrong?”

“No… why?”

“I don’t know, you’re… you’re very quiet tonight.”

He couldn’t tell you that he was asking himself a thousand questions, that he was doubting himself, that he wanted to hold you close, because he would be too much then, and anyway he couldn’t talk about his feelings, he was never good at it and…

“Did something happen this afternoon? Are you okay?” you insisted, and he looked away, rubbing at his collarbone now.

“No, no… I’m okay.”

You remained quiet for a while.

“You can tell me anything, you know? I’m your girlfriend, I’m here for you,” you offered in a gentle, soothing voice.

“I’m fine.”

“Okay.”

“You… you were talking about your seminar… what about that speaker you wanted to contact, then?”

“Erm… I’ll contact her tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He waited for you to speak some more, but you didn’t, and the silence that settled was awkward, at best.

This was so unusual for you. It was supposed to be easy to be with you, what was happening,? What was he doing wrong?

Would you leave? Would you regret Frank all over again?

“Andy.”

“Yeah?”

“Please, tell me what’s wrong. Why aren’t you talking to me? Is there something bothering you? Have I done something?”

“No, no… nothing, I’m just… tired.”

You stared at him, but there was nothing else he could say without talking about his feelings, and he couldn’t do that. He didn’t want to bother you, to be too much, and anyway, he didn’t like talking about his feelings, so what was the point in burdening you with those…

“Oh, okay… do you want to go to bed early?”

“Erm… sure, yeah…”

“Okay… I’ll clean up with you, and then leave you to it, then.”

He blinked up at you as you got up and picked up your plate.

You were leaving? You were supposed to stay the night…

“You… you can stay, if you’d like.”

“It’s okay, I understand that you’re tired. We can have dinner again tomorrow.”

“Okay…”

You gave him a bright grin. Were you happy to leave?

He started fidgeting, hurried to clean up the table. He noticed the way you seemed disappointed when you moved to his hallway though.

He was doing everything wrong, somehow, what was he doing wrong?

You wanted Frank again, of course, because he would know how to hold you back, and Andrew didn’t, and…

“Andy?”

“Hmm?”

“I get that you’re not in the mood to talk, but… I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong, babe.”

“Please… you’ve barely said a word tonight. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, I just… wanted to listen to you.”

You frowned at that.

“You… you didn’t say anything.”

“I had nothing to say.”

“Now, that’s not true. Why are you lying?”

“I’m not.”

“Andy…”

“I said I’m fine!”

Your eyes grew a little round at his harsh tone, and he regretted snapping as soon as the words passed his lips, but it was too late to take the words back now.

“Why are you mad at me?” you asked, hurt evident on your features.

He heaved a frustrated sigh.

“I’m not mad at you, I’m… I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright… well, I’m here if you change your mind.”

He watched as you grabbed your jacket, couldn’t refrain the words from passing his lips.

“Why are you leaving?”

You turned to him with a puzzled frown.

“You said you were tired, and you don’t want to talk to me… I thought you didn’t want me to stay.”

“I… I didn’t mean for you to leave.”

“Then… talk to me.”

He heaved a frustrated sigh, ran a hand through his hair.

“I… there’s no need, I’m fine.”

“That was almost convincing, I’ll give you another try.”

“It’s not funny.”

You put on your jacket, and he was so frustrated right now, by his own thoughts, by you leaving, by his stupid feelings making him vulnerable and overreacting and…

“Are you angry?” he asked, but you shook your head.

“No… disappointed, rather.”

You were disappointed in him… of course, you were. You thought he was worth the trouble, but he wasn’t, and you were realising it, and Frank was better even though he was a fucking jerk and…

His hurt came out of his mouth as acidic words.

“Right, leave then.”

You froze, flashed him a glare.

“What’s wrong with you?”

He rubbed at his neck, until it was painful, but he didn’t care.

“Nothing’s wrong…”

“Of course, something’s wrong! I’m not blind! I’m not an idiot!”

“Why are you leaving? You said you’d stay tonight…”

“That was before you acted like you didn’t want me here.”

“I didn’t…”

“Of course you did!”

You started to put on your shoes.

You were leaving… you were leaving…

“Alright then, leave!”

“That’s what I’m doing!”

You were leaving because you didn’t want him, because he wasn’t enough, because he hadn’t changed for you, because Frank was better, Frank…

“Well, then… go back to Frank!”

The look of horror on your face sobered him up, made all traces of frustration or annoyance vanish. Instead, he was just afraid.

“You don’t mean that.”

Your lower lip trembled, he saw tears glimmering in your eyes.

What had he done? What was he doing?

“Take that back. Andy, take that back…”

He remained silent, staring at you and rubbing at his shoulder and collarbone.

He was fucking up everything…

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you tonight, but I hope you’ll tell me once you’re calmer again,” you said in a cold voice, and he hated that tone.

And then you turned around, your hand on the doorknob.

You were leaving, you were leaving… because he couldn’t open his fucking mouth and be honest…

“Don’t… please, don’t leave.”

His voice was fragile now, and he hated it, he hated the weakness that transpired through it. You stopped your movements, turned to him, but your fingers remained on the doorknob.

“I just… I want you to stay,” he pleaded, but you raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

You crossed your arms before your chest. You were angry, but at least you weren’t about to open the door anymore…

“Really? Cause you don’t look like you want me around tonight.”

“I do. Please…”

“What’s happening? What’s wrong?”

“I just… I’m sorry… my head’s all over the place… I do want you to stay though. I really do.”

You heaved a sigh, took off your jacket again.

“Talk to me, then, okay? If you don’t want to tell me what’s bothering you, then… tell me about your day. Or anything… I just… I want to understand what’s in your head right now. And please, stop this, your skin is all red.”

He was surprised when you reached for his hand, stopped his nervous gesture, and rubbed soothing circles in the back of his hand.

“Why did you talk about Frank?”

Andrew looked down at his feet. You were still wearing your shoes.

“That…that was really hurtful.”

“I’m sorry…” he mumbled under his breath.

“Why would you say that? Did you mean that? Do you… do you want to get back with Sam?”

“What?! Of course not!”

“Why would you say something like that, then?!”

“Because I… I don’t…”

He heaved a frustrated sigh.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Slowly, you nodded. He could see you were hurting though…

He was hurting you. He was hurting you… his silence was hurting you…

God, it was so painful to admit it all this out loud.

“I’m afraid.”

You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, your expression softening.

“I’m afraid… about this. About you… leaving, and… I’m afraid you’re going to regret Frank. I’m afraid you’d choose him over me. And I’m… I’m afraid to go too fast, and to make you freak out. And I’m afraid because… I’m not changing for you, and that means I’m not giving you what you want, and…”

“Wait… what?”

“Sam… I was quiet with her, and I knew what parts of me she didn’t like, and so I tuned them down, but you’re… tonight you said you didn’t want me quiet, the way she wanted me, so… so what should I do? What should I do, so you can love me?”

He blinked tears away, and he hated it, he hated being so vulnerable before you, you could destroy him entirely with how much of his heart you owned and…

You reached up to gently stroke his cheek, and he was taken aback by your tender gesture.

“Andy… I don’t want you to change anything for me. I love you. Just as you are. I don’t want you to be quiet, I don’t want you to tune down any part of you. I just… want to be with you. That’s all. And I don’t regret Frank, not at all. I’m very happy with you.”

He blinked, trying to process your words.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. And I… I would choose you over him. If I had to make that choice, I would choose you. I love you, not him. Not anymore.”

He brushed the tear that had begun rolling down his cheek, nodded.

He wasn’t sure he believed everything you were saying, and yet he knew you were earnest, that you weren’t lying.

“I’m sorry for tonight, I just… got really into my head, and just… I really doubted… everything, and… I’m sorry. Please, don’t leave, Y/N. I don’t want you to leave.”

“What do you want then? Earnestly. What do you want?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Why would it be? I’m your girlfriend, you can tell me anything.”

He forced the words out of his mouth, despite how vulnerable it made him feel.

“I… I really want you to hold me, right now.”

He let out a wry laugh.

“Christ, that’s pathetic…”

But before he could add another word, you were holding him in a tight embrace. All he could do was to hold you just as tightly.

“What about we go to bed, and cuddle?” you offered.

“Yeah… please…”

“Alright, I’ll get changed, okay?”

“Okay.”

You took off your shoes, picked up the pyjamas you had left in his drawer a couple of weeks ago, and disappeared in the bathroom. Then, Andrew got changed as well, and when he walked inside his bedroom again, you were already in his bed, waiting for him.

“Come here,” you invited him, opening your arms for him.

Slowly, like he couldn’t quite believe it, Andrew walked around the bed, lied down and nestled into your embrace, burying his face into your neck. For the first time that day, he let his body fully relax.

“You’re okay?” you asked, and he hummed in response.

“Yeah… much better. I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay. We can talk about it again tomorrow. Let’s just rest now.”

You turned off the lamp on your bedside table, and in your arms, Andrew was out like a light.

Andrew woke up to the smell of coffee.

You had closed the door of his bedroom when you got up, to let him rest a little longer. As classes were over for this year, you could allow yourselves to arrive later at work. As long as the job was done, no one cared when you arrived or left.

He checked the time, it was almost 8 am.

He forced his body to move, to get up, groaned as he stretched the sleeping muscles of his long back. He almost hit his head in the doorframe, forgetting for a second that he needed to bend to avoid it.

You were there alright, in your pyjamas, putting butter on toasts and talking to Elwood. Andrew’s heart melted at the sight.

You fitted so well in his life, in his home… this was obvious, you and him. Everything about it was obviously right, so why was he sabotaging himself?

You turned to him as you heard him enter the room, welcomed him with a smile. But it wasn’t as bright as your usual ones, and a lump crept up Andrew’s throat.

“Morning, babe,” you greeted him, voice soft.

“Morning, love.”

He wanted to reach out, to hold you close, to kiss you and apologise, but he was too afraid of messing up everything again…

“Slept well?” he asked instead. “Thanks for breakfast.”

“Yeah, I slept well.”

You poured him a coffee, stared at him as if gauging his reaction.

He heaved a sigh.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he let out in a whisper.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not. It… it really is not. I’m sorry.”

“I just… I don’t really understand what happened.”

He started fidgeting, but he spoke anyway.

“I… like… I was stressed, and tired, and got stuck into my own head and… I think… I got really insecure.”

He heaved a frustrated sigh.

“I’m not… I’m not very good at talking about how I feel in those moments. I just… get stuck in my own ugly thoughts, and I fuck up everything.”

Slowly, you nodded.

“I see… is that okay if we talk about last night some more?”

“Sure… yeah…”

“Andy… Look, I’m sorry if I didn’t react well. Maybe I could have handled that situation better…”

“It wasn’t your fault, it was mine,” Andrew shook his head. “I told you, I got stuck in my head, and was a mess…”

“Maybe I’ve triggered this…”

“You didn’t. Really, Y/N… none of this is your fault. I’m sorry.”

“Last night… you said some things… we need to talk about them.”

“Do we?”

He averted his eyes, spinning his toast in his hand, without taking a bite.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you said in a weaker voice. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, it’s not your fault.”

He knew you were right. You needed to talk about last night. He needed to clear the air, make up for the stupid things he said.

The stupidest of all was easy to remember.

“I’m sorry I mentioned Frank. It was cruel, and uncalled for.”

“Why did you say that?”

He shrugged.

“I just… I don’t know.”

“It hurt.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Like… I’m scared, Y/N. I’m really scared you’re going to wake up soon and regret giving me a chance, and regret not fighting for him more and…”

“I’ll never regret you, Andy.”

He looked up at you again, let his heart bloom with hope.

“I… I don’t have everything figured out either when it comes to us,” you admitted. “Sometimes, I worry too… that you’re going to leave, that you’d rather be with Sam. But I need to believe that you’d choose me over her. And you have to believe me when I tell you that I would not hesitate for a second. I would choose you, Andy. Even if Frank came begging to get me back, I would not hesitate, and I would choose you. I don’t love him anymore, I love you.”

Slowly, he nodded.

“Do you believe me?”

He couldn’t lie to you, he simply couldn’t. He knew you were being vulnerable now, and he couldn’t answer with a lie, even if it meant to make things harder for you.

“I know you’re telling the truth,” he nodded. “But I… my brain just… like… I’m really struggling believing that’s the case.”

“Why? Don’t you trust me?”

“I do. Of course, I do. But I’m… I’m not used to having someone who loves me the way you do. And with how Sam left, I… I thought she was a safe place, and it turned out she wasn’t. It’s hard to come back from that.”

Slowly, you nodded.

“I understand.”

“It’s not that I believe you’re lying, or that you could hurt me on purpose. It’s more that… I feel like you’re going to wake up one day, and realise you’ve made the wrong choice, and you’re just going to leave…”

“The way Sam did.”

“Yeah…”

“I’m not her, Andy.”

“I know. And I’m not Frank. Could you love me the way you loved him?”

He was surprised when you smiled, and even more so when you got up and walked over to him. He pushed back his chair so you could stand between his parted legs, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I don’t want things to be the way they were with Frank,” you answered, staring intensely into his eyes, and he lost himself in the shades of your gaze. “I want better than him. You are better than him. I want to love you better than Sam loved you, too. I want this to be better, Andy. I’m not going to love you the way I loved Frank. I’m going to be happier with you.”

His heart grew warm at your words, at the sincerity in your voice and eyes as you spoke them. He blinked tears away…

God, he was such a sap, these days… crying over everything…

“All I want is for you to be happy, Y/N,” he whispered.

“And I want you to be happy, too.”

“I’m happy with you.”

You held him close, he nuzzled his face into your chest, his forehead resting against your chin.

“I’m happy with you,” you confessed. “And Andy… last night… I meant what I said. I don’t want you to change. I want you. Okay? I want you to be yourself when you’re with me. I want to talk with you. I want to hear everything you have to say. And I… I don’t want you to be afraid when you’re with me. I love you. I want to be here, with you. I’m certain about this. This… us… it feels so right…”

He took a moment to let your words sink in. And perhaps he could learn to believe them. That you could love him fully, like that. Yeah… yeah, he could believe that, with a little bit of time…

“Loving you is… I feel like myself when you’re with me,” he admitted in a fragile whisper. “And it’s… it makes me happy. But I’m not quite used to that. I’m sorry, if it takes me some time to adjust.”

“I understand. You can take all the time you need. Just… just promise me you won’t use Frank and Sam against me ever again…”

“I won’t. I promise you, I won’t.”

“Okay… I promise I won’t either.”

“Thank you.”

You heaved a relieved sigh.

“We should get ready for work.”

“This is nice, though… give us five more minutes.”

You chuckled, making him smile.

And he thought back about his mother’s words, and he forced himself not to be so scared anymore.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” you hummed, kissing his hair, holding him close to you.

“Would you like to come to my parents’ for dinner this weekend?”

He was surprised when you started laughing.

“So… we’re resolving our first real fight… and you directly jump to bringing me to your parents’?”

He couldn’t help but laugh too.

“Yeah… that’s a way to change the subject, I guess,” he joked, making you laugh again. “My mom asked for you to come, though.”

“Really?”

“Hmmm…”

“And you want me to come?”

“Yeah… but I’m worried I’m going too fast. I don’t mean to freak you out.”

“Who will be there?”

“My parents and my brother.”

“I’ve never met your brother.”

“No… but you’ve met my parents.”

“Yeah… and you have to warn your father, by the way… I will ask for our bet to be honoured. He lost. I was right about the rugby match we placed bets on. He owes me a beer.”

Andrew laughed.

“Alright… I’ll warn him. Do you want to come, then?”

“Of course, I want to come.”

“Is it not too soon?”

“No… it’s okay… I want to see them. And I want my free beer.”

You were laughing at your own joke, but he quickly shushed you with his lips.

Yes… perhaps, one day, he could believe that you loved him as much as he loved you…

[lemonlimestar]

timmed konne 18?

ignoring the date on this ask for my own sanity. merry crimah rimi…

18 | “Can I join you?”

Tim adjusts the bow on his tiny package for the umpteenth time, trying to think up an excuse to linger outside of the door longer. ‘He’ll either like it or he won’t,’ he tells himself, ‘Get over yourself, Drake.’

Tentatively, he raises two fingers to rap at the door. “Come in!” Kon’s voice rings out before his hand even makes contact. Of course he would know Tim was standing out here all this time. Accepting his fate, he shuffles inside.

Kon is sitting at his makeshift vanity (a funky-looking mirror propped up on his desk) surrounded by various makeup products Cissie “let him borrow” and earrings that have no matches. They’re only going to a small holiday get-together with their friends in a few hours, and Kon has been making a desperate attempt at seeming nonchalant about the whole deal; Tim knew as soon as he slipped off to change his outfit that something was up.

“Hey.” Tim greets.

Kon finishes smoothing out the color painted on his lips with a ‘pop’ sound. He frowns at his reflection. “Sup.”

Tim knows his kneejerk response of ‘what’s wrong?’ will only be deflected. So instead, “Can I join you?”

Kon meets his eyes in the mirror. “Go ahead.”

A beanbag chair pulls itself over from the corner of the room for Tim to sit in. He sinks into it with a sigh, making sure his package isn’t jostled. He taps Kon’s foot with his own. “You look nice.”

Turning around in his chair, Kon squints at him. “Don’t lie.”

“Why would I?” Tim asks, smug as he deliberately trails his eyes down Kon’s outfit—a bulky sweater that cuts off to reveal the bottom half of the dress that hugs his hips in a way that forced Tim to rely on discrete breathing exercises when he first saw it. He makes a face in response that tells Tim that his ogling worked.

“Well,” he clears his throat, “Thank you. I just—I can’t get the makeup right. I can’t tell if it’s too neat or whatever.” He pauses, taps his fingers against the desk. “Yeah, I’ll blend more.”

Tim rises out of the beanbag to scoot in closer, sets his chin beside Kon’s arm. “More glitter usually makes you feel better.” He reminds him. The box—still in hand—almost begs to be gifted, but he can wait a little longer; he needs the perfect moment.

“It’s not about me feeling better, it’s about me looking better.” Kon mumbles. He faces Tim again. “So, how do I look now?”

Peering down at him, haloed by over-bright lamp light, eyes adorned with faded, pale blues, Kon’s even more of a sight than usual. Tim’s never been a flowery language guy, so he goes for blunt. “You’re gorgeous, you know that.”

Kon sputters, stutters, and presses his lips shut. If Tim touched a hand to his face, he’s sure he’d be burning up. “Oh. That’s… nice.” He eventually gets out, rather than a typical “Aw, Robbie, you gotta crush on me?” That’s how Tim really knows he got him.

Tim sets his free hand on Kon’s thigh, massaging the tension there. “Uh-huh.”

“Good. Great. Awesome.” Kon sets his hand atop Tim’s, squeezes. Then, his tone sheepish as he questions, “You’re not just saying that, are you?”

Tim scoffs. “When have I ever ‘just said’ something?” He reaches up to cup Kon’s cheek, smiling when Kon melts into the touch.

He really does look stunning, his curls—venturing toward chin length—framing his face, his broad shoulders still defined through the heavy material of his sweater. Kon seemed uncharacteristically anxious as he explained that he wanted to try something new earlier today; Carefully, cautiously, he’d placed his heart in Tim’s hands in an entirely new way, and Tim intends to put his all into taking care of it.

“Although… I will say, the look is missing something.” Before Kon’s expression can fully shift, Tim drops the box in his lap.

At a snail’s pace, Kon undoes the ribbon. The top is gently set onto the desk, then Kon pulls out the pair of dangly, dropped-shaped, turquoise earrings. He rotates them back and forth, completely silent. Kon is almost never silent. Shit.

“One is a clip-on,” Tim starts up,” If you ever wanted to wear both. Or, you can wear neither. Uh. It was just something I randomly thought of. And I know how you feel about your earring, so if you don’t want it—“

“Tim.”

“—I totally get it! It’s not a huge deal. You’ve just, y’know, been trying new stuff and I wanted to be supportive—“

“Tim.”

“—I should’ve asked first. Final. I shouldn’t have sprang this on you; I knew I should’ve just kept it at that deluxe Wendy boxset—“

“Tim.” Kon grabs him by the shoulders, now level to him on the floor. He has the earrings on, Tim notices. “Stop talking.” Then he kisses him.

It’s more passionate than expected, but he’s not complaining. One of Kon’s hands tangles in his hair as their heads tilt to better slot their mouths together, and Tim wraps his arms around his waist. After a few seconds or several, the hand buried in Tim’s hair pulls him back to break the kiss. Tim almost complains until he sees the look on Kon’s face.

“You’re the best, Rob. I love them.” He traces Tim’s bottom lip with his thumb, kisses him again for a moment.

“I’m,” he takes a deep inhale, “I’m glad to hear that. I was hoping you would.”

“Are you kidding? These are sick! I’ll never take ‘em off.” Kon decides, nodding. Tim raises an eyebrow at him. “…Okay, that’s probably unrealistic. I’ll add one to my uniform.”

Tim mentally fist pumps. Knocked it out of the ballpark with this one. “Sounds great.” Tim leans back in, eager to test the longevity of that lipstick.

So what they end up being half an hour late to the party, and Tim gets heckled for the lipstick stain he couldn’t get out of his shirt, all that matters to him is the smile stuck to Kon’s face.

[hawkinsbnbg]

all i want for christmas is you

prompt: christmas | word count: 1000 | rated: T | tags: ex-hookups to lovers, fast burn, getting together, future fic. | @steddieholidaydrabbles | ao3

steddie bingo prompts: cuddle, sing, guitar | @steddiebingo

It was finally Christmas and Eddie was gonna meet Wayne's mysterious partner, who had been a famous topic in their conversations lately.

Not that Wayne had mentioned seeing someone, yet. But he knew his uncle well, or he'd like to think so, and Wayne wasn't the type to just talk about some random people during their weekly phone calls.

And since he'd been hearing about Stevie this and Stevie that for months, he'd braced himself for the family dinner™ when he visited Wayne this year.

That was why he didn't expect to see Steve Harrington when opening the door.

It'd been what? Ten years and the other man still looked as beautiful as ever. Even without his signature polo and khakis, Steve still managed to look unfairly cute in his winter outfit, big doe eyes and rosy cheeks, sweet and fluffy like a cute muffin.

Eddie wanted to eat him.

Before he could say anything, however, Wayne appeared from behind and pushed him out of the doorway.

"Come in, son. You're gonna freeze your ass off if you stay out there any longer."

Steve ducked his head to hide that endearing shy smile of his and stepped inside the house as prompted, sighing in appreciation when the warmth embraced him.

Standing awkwardly next to Wayne, Eddie held the cookies Tupperware Steve had brought over, watching him take off his maroon knit scarf, mittens, and earmuffs then change his shoes and hang his jacket.

As Wayne pulled him into a fatherly hug that Eddie had been given hours ago, a lightbulb moment finally happened to Eddie.

"Holy shit, you're the Stevie! What're you doing here?" Eddie didn't mean to sound so blunt, wincing internally at the hurt flashing in those hazel eyes.

Thankfully, before he could ruin everything with his loud mouth, Wayne interrupted gently.

"I invited him here to have dinner with us. You got a problem with that, son?"

"Nope," Eddie wisely shook his head, then gave Steve a (hopefully) charming smile. "Don't mind me, sweetheart. I was just worried that I haven't bought a gift for you since I didn't– You know what? I’m gonna go set up the table. You two continue catching up, okay?”

His retreating tactic only worked for about two minutes before Steve joined him in the kitchen. Without Wayne as their buffer, he didn't know what to say and neither did Steve by the look of it. But the silence was stifling and his self-control had been shot to zero anyway.

“So, you're friends with Wayne, huh?”

“You could say that,” Steve glanced at him briefly before looking away again. “He talks about you a lot, you know. Said he’s really proud of you. For living your dream and making a life out of it.”

Unable to help it, Eddie swayed closer, breathing in the familiar floral and fruity notes from Steve's cologne and body wash, smiling when he caught the sweet scent of baked cookies.

“For the record, he also talks about you a lot, Stevie.”

He felt a little drunk when Steve's ears and cheeks colored in a lovely shade of pink that matched his sweater vest, and realized how much he’d missed this. The easy flirting. The natural way they moved around each other. Maybe he was getting ahead of himself, or maybe it was the domestic air of the occasion, but he could see them like this one day—happy, in love, together.

Eddie shook his head. All those years, and here he was, still just as hopeless.

Dinner was a delightful affair. Wayne made it his duty to regale them both with their embarrassing tales, more of Eddie's than Steve's. Turned out, Wayne had helped him get acquainted with the neighborhood when he first came to live here. Once they found out about their mutual love for sports and gardening, they’d become fast friends and the rest was history.

(“Wait. You walked here?? In this weather???”

“There are only a few flurries and I don't even live that far away from here. I’ll be fine.”

“Uh-huh, says the man who has pneumonia and still took a stroll when it's brass monkeys outside.”

“Like you're one to talk. Remember when you sprained his wrist and ankle because you refused to use the front door like normal people?”

“Listen–”

“Boys.”

“Sorry, Uncle Wayne.”)

At some point, Steve revealed that he was teaching at Hawkins Middle, and proceeded to gush about a bunch of kids Eddie had no idea about but still grew fond of anyway if only because they were the reason for the smiles on Steve's face.

After doing the dishes, they joined Wayne in the living room, drinking hot cocoas by the fireplace and bickering over their tastes in movies and music. Eddie got to show off his guitar skills, playing every request from Steve and Wayne.

They all sang along to Queens and ABBA, laughing when he missed some chords. Eventually, Wayne called it a night and retired upstairs, leaving him and Steve on the couch, cuddling and sharing body heat beneath the soft quilt.

Amidst their mindless bantering, he raised a hand to cradle Steve’s face, and asked softly. “May I?”

Like a dream, Steve leaned into his touch with a soft smile.

“Yes, please.”

Oh, sweet Santa. This man was gonna be the death of him.

Once they eventually parted, Eddie suggested that they should kiss under a mistletoe next time, and Steve quickly pointed out they’d just done it considering their quilt was patterned with mistletoes—something they’d failed to notice until they were done kissing. Somehow, that made them break into a fit of giggles, having to cover each other’s mouths to muffle their noises like a couple of giddy children.

“What do you want for Christmas?” Steve asked after a while.

“You,” Eddie pecked his lips tenderly. “It's always been you, baby.”

“You have me,” Steve smiled into the kiss.

And Eddie knew he was gonna do anything to make them work this time.