#I just remembered it and I need to read it again

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Werewolf

There's something terrorising your town every full moon. And a stroke of bad luck has you running into it more than once.

There's something terrorising your town.

The chickens are turning up dead, torn apart with their feathers and blood clumped together all over the yard. The pigs spend every full moon squealing and running around their pens like they can smell a predator in the air. The hunters say there's strange tracks out in the deep woods, tracks bigger than any wolf they've ever seen.

And there's scratches on your door - deep, gouged out claw marks like something wants to dig its way into your house.

You try not to get worked up about it.

It's probably just a fox or a coyote, right? Everyone knows they steal a chicken now and then. And you've seen the six-packs of beer your dad takes when he goes hunting. Dog tracks look pretty damn big when you're drunk and it's dark out, don't they?

You try not to get worked up about it, but every full moon you double check your locks.

You're squinting at the local paper when your best friend comes up behind you and slings his arm across your shoulders. He plucks the paper out of your hand and scoffs at the headline.

"Chickens found dead at McKinnly farm? No one should be surprised by that. Old McKinnly doesn't even have the coop properly fenced in."

"Hey! I wasn't done reading that."

He balls the paper up and tosses it into the dustbin with a smooth overhead throw.

"You are now. C'mon y/n, don't tell me you're buying into all this werewolf business too?"

Your best friend towers over you, every inch of him well bred, football star muscle. You have to crane your neck to properly glare at him.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's just sensational nonsense."

"Oh yeah? So you ain't scared of a big bad wolf breaking into your bedroom one night?"

It's your turn to scoff. "That's a pervert, not a wolf. How's a wolf even supposed to open a window?"

The school bell rings before he can give you an answer.

He groans. "I've got extra practice again tonight. Will you come watch me? We can get pizza after."

You grin. "Breaking News! Star quarterback needs his favourite cheerleader around to make life bearable."

He flicks your forehead. "Damn right I do. So whatcha say?"

"Sure. Someone's gotta be around to keep you on your toes."

It's only when he's long out of sight that you remember - you're one night away from the full moon.

He destroys his team mates at practice. When he's pounding down the field, head down and his fingers curled like claws around the ball, he almost looks inhuman.

After practice, he catches you before you can scramble away and rubs his sweaty face all over you.

"Ewwww." You shove him at him unsuccessfully. "You do that every time! It's so gross!"

"Gotta be faster than that squirt," he laughs.

By the time he's done in the locker room, you've already ordered pizza for the both of you.

You head up to the overlook, his old Mustang growling down the highway.

The overlook is exactly what it sounds like - a hill high over town with a great view of the twinkling streets far below. It's a clear night, and the almost full moon casts a silvery shadow over everything.

He slings his arm across the back of your seat and complains when you pick the olives off your side of the pizza.

"God, I hope your taste in men is better than your taste in pizza."

"My taste in men and pizza are equally questionable, thank you very much."

He laughs, "At least you're self aware. Speaking of guys, I know Murrey from Algebra asked you to prom, and Dave from Homeroom."

You groan. "How did you even hear about that?"

"I've got ears like a wolf." He turns to face you. "What did you tell them?"

"I said no. You and I go together every year."

"Atta girl." He sounds pleased.

You offer him some of your discarded olives and he bites them straight out of your fingers.

"Y'know, lots of girls were awfully disappointed you didn't ask them. When are you gonna get yourself a girlfriend, mister star quarterback?"

He leans down and ruffles your hair. "I got you in my life, don't I? That's plenty."

Eventually, his arm finds it's way to your shoulder, and he pulls you against his side. He's warmer than you and when you curl up against him, he smirks and says that's what you get for being hopelessly under dressed.

There's an old love song on the radio and you fall asleep with your hand knotted in his jacket.

He drives home extra slow and when he shakes you awake, his hands linger on your waist.

You rub your eyes groggily. "Goodnight mister wolf."

You're already halfway up the driveway before he replies, his voice too soft to hear.

"Goodnight little lamb."

On the night of the full moon, you wake up to a cloudy sky and your dog scratching at your bedroom door to be let out.

You struggle into your slippers and mutter about better toilet training. When you open the back door, he slips past your legs and shoots off into the trees. Yawning, you rest your elbows on the porch railing and try not to fall asleep.

It's only when you hear him yelping that you come awake fully.

"Cruiser? What's wrong boy?"

The street lights reach all the way to the edge of your lawn but the trees beyond are black dark. You make you way down carefully, your sense of unease growing with every whistle he ignores.

Your dad left his old wind up torch near the shed and you grab it. It whirs to life with a dull flicker.

Cruiser is whimpering louder now. You follow the sound of it, ducking under branches and trying not to slip in your flimsy slippers.

The clouds clear and for a minute or two, the forest is bright enough that you barely need the torch. You find Crusier backed up against a tree, his tail tucked between his legs. He ignores you when you call him, staring out into the dark and whining like you've never heard before.

"What's wrong boy? What's out there?"

You can't help the fear you feel. Your dog is hard to scare and you've never seen him this frightened.

Twigs snap in the gloom and you swing your torch around wildly. You try and tell yourself that it might be a deer, wandering in from the deep forest. But all you can think about is the local paper.

"Chickens torn apart. Vet suspects large wolf on the prowl."

But it can't be here, right? You're practically on the main road. You reach down and grab Cruiser's collar, your heart racing. The dog barely acknowledges you when you tug on it.

"Heel Cruiser. C'mon boy."

You try and whisper, but your voice comes out high and nervous. His whimper changes into a low growl that vibrates through his collar.

That's when the moon comes out again. And you see the werewolf.

It's coat is dark and thick, and it's crouched halfway behind a tree. Less than twenty feet away.

How the hell did it get so close without you hearing it?! Adrenaline slams into you and your heart skips into overdrive. You turn on your heel and run.

The funny thing about adrenaline is the way your own body takes control. You duck under branches before your conscious mind even realises they're there. You run faster than you ever thought possible, trees streaking by in black blurs.

You hear footsteps behind you but you can't tell if it's Cruiser or the wolf. You don't bother checking. You just keep your head down and sprint like the Devil is on your heels. Hell, he might be.

The werewolf catches you just as you break out of the tree-line. It slams into you from the side and sends you sprawling.

As you scramble to your knees, you get your first good look at the terror of the town. It's bigger than any wolf you've ever seen. Closer to the size of a small grizzly, with the thick fur to match. It's down on all fours, but it's forelegs are unusually long. It's paws are strangely misshapen and for a second, they look almost like hands. It's body feels more ape than wolf.

Oh, but it's teeth are all canine. All sharp, curving fangs, shining with spit.

It sniffs the air and with a start you realise that you're bleeding. Your palms are sliced up from trying to cushion your fall. Blood, you think numbly. Blood is supposed to make carnivores more aggressive. Whett their appetite.

Staring up at its drooling maw and narrowed eyes, you find it hard to believe anything could be more bloodthirsty.

It lunges for your throat and if it weren't for Cruiser, you'd be dead.

The dog shoots out from the forest, barking loud enough to wake the neighbourhood. He jumps at the creature's back, sinking his teeth into the fleshy muscle where neck and shoulder meet.

The werewolf roars.

It reaches up and tears Cruiser off with one nasty yank. Your dog thuds into the ground with an ugly cracking sound.

You scream - half terror and half rage. Cruiser is trying to stand, but can't manage it. One paw hangs uselessly. Oh, your poor, brave dog.

You act without thinking.

You lunge forward and punch straight at the werewolf's nose. It's hard and wet, and your fist keeps going even after contact. His teeth leave shallow cuts on your knuckles.

The werewolf yelps. Like a kicked puppy.

It backs away a few steps before lowering it's head and snarling. It gears up for another pounce.

That's when your daddy shoots it. The blast from his shotgun knocks the werewolf right out of the air.

It crashes down and scrambles to its feet. Its head swings wildly between you and your father. It growls one final time before turning on its heel and bounding into the trees.

How the hell could it even stand after a blast like that? You shudder, your eyes fixed on the trees.

You can hear your dad on the phone, frantically reporting to the Sheriff's office. You sink to your knees next to Cruiser. He draws his eyes up to yours and whines.

"My brave boy..." You stroke his head with the back of your hand and accidentally stain his fur with blood. "I'm so sorry. I'm so damn sorry."

He cranes his neck and licks the tears off your cheek. Just like when he was a puppy. You laugh, high and hysterical. And once you start, you can't stop.

Somewhere in the forest, the wolf howls.

You can't sleep at all after that. And when the Deputies question you, it takes almost all night. They don't believe you entirely, but the tracks their dogs pick up are strange enough to garner a few nervous looks.

You're on the porch, clutching a warm drink and watching the sunrise, when your best friend finds you.

He sweeps you up in a crushing hug, his cheek pressed firmly against your hair.

"Are you okay? I came as soon as I heard."

You pull away, confused. He cups your face in his hand and gently twists it left and right, scanning for any cuts or bruises.

"What? Who told you?"

He cooks his head. "You did. A few minutes ago."

Did you? You don't remember calling him. But you're tired and frightened. Maybe you just can't remember everything.

He sits you down on the porch swing and carefully inspects your palms while you tell him what happened.

"It wasn't a wolf. You believe me right? I saw it clear as day."

"You were pumped up on adrenaline and fighting for your life. You can't be sure what you saw." He sighs, "Maybe it was a wolf or maybe it was a bear or maybe it was some exotic animal that we've never heard about. But really y/n, it sure as hell wasn't a werewolf."

"Yeah... but..."

In the daylight, werewolves and horror feel silly. Illogical. You aren't a kid anymore, you shouldn't be letting your imagination run wild. There's definitely a reasonable explanation.

But every time you think about it, the more sure you feel. That creature was nothing normal or logical at all. It was wrong. Anatomy all out of proportion, eyes too bright and aware, the smell of it more like human sweat than dog musk.

No, you didn't imagine any of it. It wasn't a wolf at all.

"How's Cruiser doing?"

You take a sip of your drink and try not to cry. "Not good. The emergency vet came by and rushed him to surgery. Multiple broken bones they say, maybe some internal bleeding."

He sucks in a breath. "Oh y/n, I'm so sorry."

He opens his arms and you curl up against him gratefully. His letterman jacket is soft against your skin and the smell of him envelopes you.

"I still remember the day you got him for me," you say.

He rubs soothing circles across your back.

"He was such a runt back then. All eyes and big floppy ears. When you pulled him out of your jacket, I didn't realise he was a puppy. I thought you got me some weird stuffed teddy."

He laughs. "I tried putting a bow on him y'know. But he kept tryna bite my fingers off."

You laugh too. "I could never figure out why he didn't like you."

"Jealousy I say. Didn't want me to steal you away."

You punch his arm, smiling. "You're the only guy who'll compete with a dog for my attention."

"If that's what it takes. Put a leash on me right now if you want."

You scoff and curl up closer against him. "I would but they don't come in your size big guy."

You're too tired to notice the bruise on your best friend's nose, or the way he flinches when you touch his side. For a little while, you make the awful mistake of forgetting about the beast.

Prom comes faster then you expect. Your dress gets measured and tailored and steamed. You spend days practicing different hair styles. Cruiser limps around behind you, whining for treats like he wasn't touch and go just a month ago. The moon grows thin and then round again.

When you pull up at your best friend's house, his parents are on their way to a party of their own. His mother gives you a peck on the cheek and says you look stunning and to not forget the keys when you leave.

You laugh and wave them off and almost forget about the full moon streaming through the trees.

The house is quiet and you make your way to his room, your heels hanging from your fingers.

"Hey princess!" You knock on his door. "Are you ready yet? I'm coming in!"

You open the door to an empty room, his tux still on its hanger.

"Oh. My. God. How are you still not done?"

You can hear the shower running and you pound at the door. "We're gonna be late! I swear I'm going to kill you when you get out of there."

No response.

"Hey! I know you can hear me!"

Still nothing.

You try the handle and the door swings open a crack. Steam billows out and you slap a hand over your eyes before you can see anything too revealing.

"Hurry it up! We're gonna miss all the good songs if you don't get dressed soon. Do you really wanna slow dance to something Mr Jared the gym teacher picks out?"

You hear the slap of footsteps on wet tile and breath a sigh of relief. "Did all that football practice knock your ears outta wack? I've been yelling at you since I got here."

Something growls, low and deep.

Your eyes shoot open and you step back. But you're still too slow to react and the werewolf leaps at you. Its heavier than a man and you tumble to the floor together, its paws pinning you down by the shoulders.

Its snout is right in front of your face, almost touching your nose. Lips curl away from awfully long fangs.

It growls almost like a man, almost like it's saying, "Mine."

You scream, kicking and tossing and failing to get away. It's claws prick holes in the satin of your dress and draw little beads of blood.

You scream your best friend's name, terrified that the beast got him too. You're going to die, you think desperately, you're going to die and your poor mother won't even be able to refund your prom dress. If you weren't screaming, you might have laughed.

But the monster doesn't kill you.

Instead, it licks the tears off your cheek. Just like Cruiser did a month ago. It growls again, but the sound is lighter. Pleased almost.

You grow still, confused and terrified of provoking it. Your best friend's room is cluttered with football gear - trophies and jerseys and signed helmets. The moon shines dully off all of it. And you're in the very centre, with a monster pinning you to the ground.

The moon dips behind a cloud and the werewolf changes right before your eyes. Hair and snout receding, his eyes darkening from wolf amber to warm brown.

It's only his teeth that stay the same. All sharp points that peak through his lips.

Your best friend is on top of you, totally naked and still warm from the shower.

"I didn't want to hurt you y/n, I swear."

His voice is lower somehow, like the wolf's growl is just under the surface.

You're too shocked to move. Too shocked to scream. This must be a dream. It's too surreal to be real.

He leans down and kisses you on the cheek. "I wanted to tell you. But it would have sounded crazy. I grow claws and teeth on the full moon? I heal faster than I used to? I can smell when you're ovulating and when you're on your period?"

He pulls back and tilts his head. "When we were kids, we promised we wouldn't keep secrets. And now you know."

"You...you were outside my house that night."

He laughs. "I'm outside your house every night dummy. That was just the night you caught me."

"Why?"

He shakes his head the way he always does when you say something dumb. "To keep you safe. To keep other animals away from you. To protect you, like I said I would."

His hands slip from your shoulders to your waist. "But now you know."

He grins, his teeth awfully sharp. "Now I can make you just like me."

He holds you down and kisses you and nips at your neck hard enough to draw blood. And when the clouds clear from the moon, you feel your teeth start to lengthen.

Something is terrorising your town. And you should have know better than to cross its path.

[thephilosophicalengineer]

I read an article years ago—I can't remember where—but it discussed a teacher teaching her students the "correct way to apologise". It consisted of four steps:

Step 1: Say sorry. Saying sorry is necessary but incomplete when apologising. Some people stop here, others don't even get this far. But it is important.

Step 2: acknowledge what you did. You're apologising for something that you did, so you need to acknowledge it. This goes both ways: you also need to know what you're apologising for!

Note that an apology doesn't include:

Step 3: acknowledge the harm done, or at least why the action was wrong. This requires you to think about your actions and how they impact others, which leads to

Step 4: describe how you will avoid this in the future. A real apology sets up a change in behaviour and can't be used as a band-aid you just say each time you offend, with the intention of offending again.

self flagellation

Excuses, or even an explanation (although that might end up in step 4)

Demands for forgiveness

The article went on to say that not only did the students started acting much more civil with each other, they taught other students not in her class how to apologise too, and she saw students using her four steps outside of class.

Sure, you know how to self-flagellate, but do you know how to apologize? Saying "I'm a stupid idiot" is not the same thing as saying "I did something wrong."

[lunarsilver]

What awaits you in 2025?

REMEMBER

I’m not a doctor, a psychiatrist, a therapist nor a psychologist. Divination will never replace meetings with them.

It’s a general reading, so not everything will resonate.

If you can’t choose between two piles, probably both of them have some messages for you. You can also not identify with any of them, and that’s okay, too.

Readings can help you make a decision, but they shouldn’t be the main reason for making it.

1 ~ 2 ~ 3

4 ~ 5 ~ 6

PILE 1

What will this year teach you? 

Strength

The Major Arcana shining on your 2025 is Strength. That’s my favorite Tarot card if I’m being honest so I may be biased lol. You’ll learn this year you have way more strength than you thought you have - especially the psychological and mental one. This card is both about your inner strength and the way you are able to influence others. You’ll learn how to channel this power.

The main theme of each season for you

Winter: Summer (expansion, growth) - Spring: Leaves (renewal, revival, progress) - Summer: Bird (freedom, opportunity) - Fall: Moon (phases, cycles, intuition)

Funny that for the winter season we’ve got a card called Summer, huh? The first three months of this year you’ll find new ways to grow and work on it. This trend will continue in spring, though you’ll correct the course a bit, maybe come back to something (a hobby or a dream?) and realize that hey, you actually still like it. Summer is the time of vacations, so it only makes sense you’ll feel more freedom in your wings. An opportunity may come to you. Fall will be a more reflective season. Noticing patterns, being after some time again in a similar situation or place, getting more in tune with your intuition. 

Main blessings for you this year 

Longevity (Chrysanthemum) - Productivity (Kent pumpkin) - Hope (Daffodil)

Longevity suggests good health and a lot of energy. For some it may be even about curing a serious illness or surviving a dangerous situation, but obviously I won’t throw such statements lightly. With how we’ve already talked about your growth and nice opportunities during this year, it’s no brainer that you’ll be really productive and have a hopeful attitude.

The main challenge of this year

Ring - Moon - Sun

Commitment to the deep desire of being happy.

Okay, pile one, looks like your main challenge is literally being consistent lol. Literally the only person that can sabotage your huge growth this year is you yourself.

How will you grow? 

8 of Wands R - Justice R - The High Priestess 

After some time of frustration and slowing down, you’ll take full accountability for your actions and take your fate in your own hands. Thanks to this, you’ll be more in tune with your intuition and get more at peace with yourself.

A piece of advice 

Third Quarter Moon - Disseminating Moon - New Moon in Cancer

“Adjustments are required”, “Take time to breathe out”, “You and your loved ones are safe”

Think about what needs small changes. You’ll probably think mostly about what adjustments you should make during spring, as we’ve talked about it, but there’s no reason why you couldn’t do it now. Just take a deep breath and relax a little, it’s gonna be okay, both with you and your close ones, no need to stress out so much.

PILE 2

What will this year teach you?

The Sun R

This Major Arcana came up in reverse, so it’s more about your inner world. During this year you’ll learn how to take care of your inner child, how to balance optimism with realism and how to have fun with your hobbies that you thought you had buried a long time ago.

The main theme of each season for you

Winter: Cup of Tea (patience, reassessment) - Spring: Autumn (bounty, balance) - Summer: Tend (maintenance, encouragement, guidance) - Fall: Oak Tree (power, courage, strength)

The last card fell out even before I finished asking my question. This year will start slower for you, just to harvest the crops near the end of it. This winter you’ll reconsider what’s the best for you right now, patiently making plans with your interest in mind and seeing the first result of it in spring. Continuous work on it during summer will lead you to feeling way more empowered by the end of 2025. 

Main blessings for you this year

Refinement (Dahlia) - Healing (Geranium) - Duality (Banana)

The last card showed up as I was shuffling, so I consider it the most important one. Balance keeps coming back in this reading. I think healing refers to healing your inner child, and refinement is about getting better at what you already have; progress.

The main challenge of this year

Coffin - Fox - Heart

The end of a selfish love.

It looks like you’ll get over some crush/ex, though it may refer to any kind of love. Moving on will be hard but necessary.

How will you grow?

The Tower R - Two of Cups - Queen of Pentacles

Despite the fear of change, a personal transformation will take place. This will lead to a joyful partnership (a relationship, perhaps) and you being this confident, earthly Queen of Pentacles: a person good at finances and comfortable in their body.

A piece of advice

Void-of-Course-Moon - New Moon in Capricorn - Third Quarter Moon

“Nothing will come of this situation”, “Your hard work is paying off”, “Adjustments are required”

The thing with the end of a relationship of some kind keeps coming back. Nothing will come of it, so time to move on. It’ll only benefit you, pile two! Correct your course a little and act because you’ll reap your rewards.

PILE 3

What will this year teach you?

The Lovers

2025 will teach you how to make right choices, how to be in harmony with yourself as well as with others. You’ll learn a lot about navigating relationships and getting closer to people.

The main theme of each season for you

Winter: Basil (prosperity, luck, love) - Spring: Seeds (new ideas, hope, open-mindedness) - Summer: Sow (planning, setting intentions, optimism) - Winter: Leaves (reneval, revival, progress)

Winter looks very happy for you - good luck both in money and in love. During spring, you’ll stay open-minded and find new ideas thanks to this. With them in mind, you’ll start making plans and work on them till the end of the year.

Main blessings for you this year

Tranquility (violet) - Clarity (carrot) - Grounding (potato)

A pretty calm, steady vibe. You’ll be able to stay at peace, gain a better perspective on certain matters and be down to earth. Stability and a more mature approach .

The main challenge of this year

Mice - Book - Heart

Misinformation about love.

There’s something you won’t know at first or get a false impression regarding some kind of love. Someone may not have your best interest at heart.

How will you grow?

The Tower R - The Sun R - Knave of Wands

Something is going to end, and this will lead to you withdrawing and thinking more about what you actually want and need. This period of introspection is needed because it will help you to become this Knave of Wands - someone fierce, fiery and passionate. 

A piece of advice

New Moon in Scorpio - New Moon in Pisces - Full Moon in Aquarius

“Work through your fears”, “Meditate and contemplate”, “Show the world the real you”

The cards encourage you to face what you’re running away from. Think, meditate, maybe pray. Everything you need to make it easier for you to show the world what you have to offer.

PILE 4

What will this year teach you?

The Moon

You’ll get way more in tune with your intuition, as well as learn how to deal with your fears. You’ll mature a lot emotionally. You’ll get better at “reading” people but also at understanding your own patterns.

The main theme of each season for you

Winter: Cup of Tea (patience, reassessment) - Spring: Salt (protection, banishing negativity) - Summer: Earth (peace, grounding) - Fall: Hearth (safety, comfort, spiritual connection)

This year looks to be more on a quieter side. It’ll start off a little lazily. You’ll observe and revalue some things, and decide to leave what doesn’t serve you anymore; cut yourself off from toxic people. Thanks to this, you’ll have a much more peaceful life. You’ll get more in tune with nature, as well as more spiritual. You’ll feel more comfortable thanks to this decision of leaving people and situations that cause you harm.

Main blessings for you this year

Happiness (Marjoram) - Continuance (Apple) - Clarity (Carrot)

This year will be joyful and peaceful. You’ll move on from doesn’t serve you and get a better perspective on what surrounds you.

The main challenge of this year

Book - Birds - Mice

Knowledge about dirty gossip.

The thing with some people you should get rid of because they don’t have your best interest at heart keeps popping up. 

How will you grow?

Queen of Pentacle R - The Fool R - Seven of Cups R

You’ll start putting yourself first more often. It will take some time, but at last you’ll get more financially independent and prioritize your personal values. 

A piece of advice

New Moon in Aquarius - Waning Moon - New Moon in Cancer

“Bring love into the situation”, “What do you need to release?”, “You and your loved ones are safe”

Forgive yourself if there is anything you keep blaming yourself about. Release what doesn’t serve you. Both you and people you love are safe so make more room for the ones who want good for you.

PILE 5

What will this year teach you?

The Hermit R

The main thing you’ll learn about this year is being alone - depending on your situation, either that you should reflect and meditate more, or that it’s time to finish your solitude and go out to people. Based on other cards, I think for most of you it’s the latter.

The main theme of each season for you

Winter: Broom (energy clearing, freshening) - Spring: Potion (invigoration, empowerment) - Summer: Moon (phases, cycles, intuition) - Fall: Bird (freedom, opportunity)

You’ll start this year with cleansing - both physical and more metaphorical/spiritual. You’ll be very energetic during spring, as well as more in tune with your personal power. You can do so much, and this season will show this! Later, you’ll learn to be more intuitive, you’ll notice some patterns that were hidden before. Something from your past may show up again. Maybe vacations to the place you always come to, or your old friends or love coming back into your life. Some nice opportunities will show up for you in fall.

Main blessings for you this year

Healing (Geranium) - Focus (Stock) - Luck (Lime)

You’ll heal some part of you that was hurt in the past. You’ll find out what you should focus on and actually commit to it. “May the luck be ever in your favor”.

The main challenge of this year

Dog - Man - Clover

A friendly man’s offer.

Now, that’s interesting and can go a few ways.I highly doubt that the man represents you. Your main challenge of the year is this person that will probably give you some kind of opportunity. With how the cards before were, I think it’ll most likely happen either during summer or fall, so the second part of the year. The guy is a kind and loyal one, so don’t worry, the offer, while challenging, will be a good thing.

How will you grow?

Knave of Pentacles - Five of Wands - Queen of Pentacles

I think it’s lovely how you’ll grow from the Knave of Pentacles into the Queen of Pentacles. You’re starting as someone great already, and then become even better lol. You’re hardworking and productive. A challenge will show up, a conflict or disagreement between you and a few people. Probably a rivalry at work. You’ll emerge victorious and stronger than before: a royal who knows their worth and how to deal with earthly matters.

A piece of advice

New Moon in Taurus - Waxing Moon - New Moon in Aries

“Prosperity lies ahead”, “The energy is gaining momentum”, “It’s time to take action”

All the cards talk basically about the same thing: it’s your time. I think it’s about your career or your school. You have strong cards so time to play.

PILE 6

What will this year teach you?

The Empress

Regardless of your gender, you’ll learn the power that lies within femininity. Who said someone nurturing and empathetic isn’t strong? There are also lessons about utilizing creativity and discovering what makes you beautiful, as well as understanding better your sensual side. For some, this year may also teach you a lot about motherhood.

The main theme of each season for you 

Winter: Oak Tree (power, courage, strength) - Spring: Sage (wisdom, purification, harmony) - Summer: Pine Tree (vitality, longevity, perseverance) - Fall: Summer (expansion, growth)

You’ll start your year strong and then only continue at getting more knowledgeable and in tune with your needs and inner self. You’ll secure what’s important for you and grow even more. Looks like an intense and rewarding year, happy for you! 

Main blessings for you this year

Healing (Geranium) - Success (Peppermint) - Divination (Chives)

Yeah, we get further confirmation this year will be focused on you growing and learning how to nurture yourself. There will be work put into healing the part of you you’ve rejected and a lot of different kinds of successes. The Divination card is interesting. I think it means you’ll learn more about this topic (especially if you practice or think about practicing divination). Maybe you’ll have a spiritual awakening. For some, it’s simply about divination helping you navigate your journey.

The main challenge of this year

Heart - Garden - Moon

A loving community’s desires and expectations.

Social fear is your main challenge for this year. You’re scared of people’s judgement. But worry not, because there is a loving community for you out there, and they’ll love you the way you are. 

How will you grow?

Three of Cups R - The Devil R - Three of Pentacles

You’ll release limiting beliefs and limit contact with people who don’t have your best interest at heart. If you’re lonely, it’ll come to an end. There are people out there with whom you’ll communicate easily and work as a team. You’ll learn a lot from each other and probably do something creative together.

A piece of advice 

Full Moon in Capricorn - Full Moon in Taurus - New Moon in Scorpio

“The end of a tough cycle approaches”, “Your dreams need a practical plan”, “Work through your fears”

Yeah, it looks like it’s been kinda hard for you recently, huh? Well, this is coming to an end. Time to plan your next actions and face your worries. Time to deal with them, you can’t run away from them.

[reginamillls]

I Saw My Uncle Kissing Santa Claus

"You really gotta tell him man," Tommy hears Howie's voice coming into the kitchen from the hall. He's about to come in, but the answering voice makes Tommy stop.

"I know," Evan says, sounding odd. "I can't keep this a secret for much longer, it will just make things awkward for Tommy. He needs to be prepared for whats to come."

Tommy's brows furrow at that, and his palms feel sweaty all the sudden-

Things were going good between them, slow sure, but better then it was before. Stronger. This is their first Christmas together since their last one was spent apart and Tommy-

Is overthinking.

Tommy steps into the kitchen then and is met with two identical looks of surprise.

He's been caught.

"No time like the present, hey Buck," Howie grins as he claps Buck on the back before walking past Tommy. Howie then winks at Tommy, and any thoughts he had to worry melt away.

"You know you should really be the one to tell him-" Evan starts but Howie interupts him.

"You owe me big time, good luck, thank you!" Howie sing songs before he's stepping out of the kitchen, leaving a pouting Evan behind.

Tommy decides he just has to kiss that pout and Evan smiles against his lips before grabbing at Tommy's waist and bringing him in for a deeper kiss.

"You're-" A kiss. "Stalling."

"Okay," Evan admits. "I have something to tell you, and ah - I guess, I guess ask of you to." He starts, rambling. "And it-it's kinda cute?"

"Cute?" Tommy asks, raises a brow. "What-"

"Jee thinks you're Santa." Evan blurts out and Tommy's eyes widen.

Out of all the things he expected, that wasn't one of them.

"She. Thinks. I'm. Santa."

"Yup." Evan pops the 'p' at the end.

"Um, why?" Tommy asks, and he's leaning against the counter now, confused at the turn of events.

"She has a list," Evan says and he pulls it out of his pocket to present it to Tommy. The piece of paper has Jee-Yun all over it, from the stickers of every genre to the glittery writing. It makes Tommy smile when he looks at it.

"Why Tommy is Santa-" Evan starts and he clears his throat, being a little dramatic.

"One. He flies." Evan starts and Tommy nods his head.

"I do fly-"

"And so does Santa," Evan pokes at Tommy's chest. "Can I continue?" Tommy makes a motion to do so, and Evan lifts the list off again to read it off.

"Two. Tommy took us to see reindeer, and Santa has reindeer." That was true, Tommy knew a guy who worked for the zoo and was on a team that was rehibiliating some reindeer. Tommy had taken Jee and Evan there a few weeks ago.

"Three. He has a long red coat." That one was a stretch, but Tommy wouldn't argue against it. He had a long wool coat for when he camps out in the mountains, and it was indeed red, though it was a more muted shade then he thought Santa would wear. Jee had seen it last week when she had been over for the night with her brother to give Maddie and Howie a night off.

"Four - and this is where it gets cute," Evan says, completely fond of both his niece and his boyfriend. "He has a big smile and he laughs and makes people happy."

"That's sweet," Tommy says, blushing. He ducks his head and Evan steps closer into his bubble, wrapping his arms around Tommy.

"There's more, like how you always remember what kind of gifts people want and ah-" Evan pauses briefly something that happens sometimes whenever their breakup came into the conversation. "You were gone last Christmas, and I think she thought you were busy."

"Being Santa." Tommy huffs, shakes his head. "Better than what actually happened."

They've talked about it, how Tommy threw himself into work to cope with everything. It wasn't healthy, but he's working on it.

Evan nods his head and the hand on Tommy's waist squeezes.

"She still believes," Evan says. "And with the baby this year, I think she feels a little left out. So when they got into Christmas folklore at school, I think she latched onto the idea that you were Santa. It's why she's been so shy today."

"Okay," Tommy nods his head. He gets it. Believing in something when things were a little difficult could get you through hard times. His old man had told him the truth about Santa when he had been young, and Tommy didn't have that little bit of Christmas magic growing up.

"Do you want me to tell her I'm not?" Tommy asks, undure what they should do here. Evan shakes his head then and Tommy relaxes.

"Chimney and Maddie want to talk to her about it, they just didn't want you to think she was ignoring you-" Evan grins. "I think she's trying to be on the good list. I've never seen her room so clean."

Tommy huffs out a laugh at that. He had thought it was a little strange that Jee hadn't come running to them for a hug when they came, but he figured that she was just being quiet for her brother's sake.

"And what list are you on?" Tommy asks Evan, voice low as his eyes dart over Evan. The other man snorts out a laugh then before he pulls Tommy in for a kiss.

"I think I've been on the good list, Santa-" Evan whispers in Tommy's ear.

Tommy tries.

He really does, but he lasts about two seconds before he bursts into laughter. Evan joins him then, and it feels good, laughing with his boyfriend.

"Uncle Buck?" Tommy hears, and he sees the very person they were talking about coming into the kitchen. "Can we play cowboys and princesses and aliens?" She asks and Evan straightens away from Tommy and he gestures as if he's wearing a cowboy hat, tipping it to Jee and the girl giggles in return.

"I reckon the Princess Cowboys have a lot to do before Christmas Evan tomorrow." Evan says in an exxagerated southern accent.

Tommy is completely charmed by him.

"Are you too busy to play Uncle Tommy?" Jee asks and Tommy feels like his heart skips a beat.

That was the first time Jee has ever called him 'Uncle.'

"Yeah, that sounds fun. Can I be a Princess?" Tommy asks and follows Jee and Evan back into the living area.

He prefers Unlce to Santa, anyday.

[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.”

[livroni]

I hold them as close to me as possible. I knew this had to come eventually, but did it have to be so damn soon? How am I supposed to tell them that everyone they know will come to pass long before they even mature? How am I supposed to tell them that I wont be by there side every step of the way. I hold them closer still.

We stay like that for what feels like hours. I dont think either of us want to let go, as if doing so the other will fade out of reality like a dream.

Dreams. I always dreamed of being a parent. I always dreamed to teach a little creature to walk, to talk, to learn to experience the joys and hold their hand through the pains. But. I cant do that, can I? I take a deep breath, Sorting out emotion and logic, rational. My child needs a parent right now. They need that hand to guide them through the uncertainty so they can learn to pass the brambles on their own.

“I love you. I will always love you. Beyond this plane and further, even the gods know my love for you.“

“If you love me so, how could you leave me alone?” She looked up at me. Those wide, wide icy gray eyes. How I remember them peering the world with wild curiosity, the way they lit up when i taught them how to eat Honeysuckles, the way they shone when reading of myths and monsters, the way they focused when helping another being. Now? They looked to me with longing.

“My child, I have many more years left with you. And yes, you will have to walk this path alone one day. It is just the way the world works.”

“Thats stupid.”

“It is. It is very stupid. But nothing physical lives forever. You will die one day too.” I pause, and hope the words resonate with them. Im so terrified to put more fear into her gentle heart. They are quite delicate, children. Bluntness is required, but painful. And I would never lie to them.

“But even then, my love for you for you transcends the planes. Including the planes which separate life and death. While I may very well die one day, my love for you wont. My hand will always be in yours, my child. I will always, always be there for you.”

She sobs again, but its not as pained before. We cry together a bit more. I sing them a lullaby (their favourite). And my child, my sweet strong gentle loving child, falls asleep. Tomorrow will be a day full of fun and joy, I promise them that.

You're a single human parent of a Elf child, today has you ready yourself for bed you hear them burst open the door with tears in their eye as they jump into bed with you and hold onto you tight, has you comfort them you hear them say through their whimpering and sobs "i don't want you to die".

[reidmarieprentiss]

Call Me Dad

Summary: You take Spencer home for Christmas.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, comfort

Warnings/Includes: use of Y/N, you have a mom and a dad, airplane

Word count: 8.7k

a/n: i literally wrote this dinner the summer and just remembered it lmaooo NOT PROOF READ

Spencer and you have been dating for six blissful months. You are his first girlfriend at 25 years old, and while he is still anxious he could do something wrong, you prove time and time again that he has nothing to worry about. You've already told him you love him, and he treasures the way you feel. He hasn't returned the sentiment yet, but you're not upset about it. You understand that he needs his time, and you're more than willing to give it to him. 

With Christmas approaching, you ask him to come home with you for the holidays. His mom is on a Caribbean cruise with her residents and caretakers, and you can't stand the idea of him being alone during this special time of year. Spencer hesitates at first. Memories of his dad leaving him when he was young, combined with his mom not often being in a state to parent, have left him unsure of how to navigate familial interactions. 

Despite his nerves, Spencer accepts your invitation, knowing how much this means to you and wanting to be a part of your world. He's never been good around parents, but he knows this is a chance to experience something he's always wanted: a warm, loving holiday with someone who truly cares for him.

Spencer's anxiety was at an all-time high as the two of you made your way through the bustling airport. You could feel the tension radiating off him, his shoulders hunched and eyes darting around as if he were expecting something catastrophic to happen at any moment. His usual calm demeanor had all but disappeared, replaced by a bundle of nerves that made him appear more like a skittish cat than the brilliant profiler he was.

Recognizing his unease, you took the lead, gently guiding him through the labyrinthine halls and throngs of people. Your hand wrapped securely around his, you navigated the chaos of the airport with practiced ease. Spencer was content to let you take charge, grateful for your steady presence beside him.  

Once you reached security, Spencer fumbled with his belongings, his fingers trembling slightly as he removed his shoes and placed them into the plastic bins. The noise and commotion seemed to blur together, creating a cacophony that only heightened his nerves. 

"It's okay," you whispered reassuringly, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand. "Just breathe. We'll be through this in no time."

He nodded, taking a deep breath and doing his best to focus on your calming words rather than the endless line of travelers. With you by his side, he managed to get through security and baggage checks without too much trouble, though he was visibly relieved when the ordeal was over.

As you settled into your seats on the plane, Spencer finally seemed to relax, even if just a little. The roar of the engines and the hum of people boarding around you faded into the background as he focused on the comfort of your presence. He clasped your hand tightly, resting it in his lap as if it were a security blanket. 

Despite his well-documented aversion to germs, Spencer was willing to overlook the potential contamination of the airplane seat if it meant keeping you close. In truth, he needed something tangible to hold onto—something that reminded him he wasn't alone in this unfamiliar and slightly terrifying journey. 

"I'll definitely need a hot shower once we arrive at the hotel," Spencer muttered with a half-smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. 

You chuckled softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Well, if that’s the price of getting to spend Christmas together, I think it's worth it. Besides, the hotel has great water pressure."

Spencer managed a genuine smile at that, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as the plane began to taxi down the runway. The steady thrum of the engines provided a soothing background noise, and he found himself focusing on the rhythmic sound of your breathing instead of the clamorous thoughts still circling in his mind.

As the plane ascended into the sky, Spencer gave your hand a gentle squeeze. He felt a warmth spreading through his chest, grateful for your unwavering support and the way you always seemed to know exactly what he needed. 

The steady hum of the airplane engine and the gentle warmth of the cabin worked their magic on Spencer, lulling him into a deep sleep shortly after takeoff. The tension that had gripped him so tightly began to ebb away as his eyelids grew heavy, and soon he was slipping into a much-needed rest. His head rested comfortably against your shoulder, a soft snore escaping his lips as his breathing evened out. You watched him with a fond smile, glad to see him finally relax.

—

The flight seemed to pass in the blink of an eye as Spencer remained blissfully unaware of the turbulence or the occasional announcements crackling over the intercom. When the plane finally touched down, the jolt barely registered in his sleepy daze. 

You gently nudged him awake, whispering, "Hey, sleepyhead. We've landed." He blinked groggily, trying to shake off the remnants of his nap as he stretched and rubbed his eyes under his glasses.

"Mmm," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. "We're here already?"

You chuckled softly, helping him gather his belongings. "Yes, we are. Come on, let's get through the airport."

In his post-nap haze, Spencer moved almost on autopilot, following your lead as you navigated the bustling terminal. The world around him felt surreal, the bustling crowds and overhead announcements fading into a distant hum. He kept a firm hold on your hand, trusting you to guide him through the maze of travelers and luggage carts.

Picking up the rental car was a blur. Spencer watched as you handled the paperwork, his mind still foggy from sleep. He leaned against the counter, blinking slowly as if trying to process everything happening around him. Once the keys were in hand, you led him to the car, and he gratefully sank into the passenger seat.

"Why don’t you close your eyes for a bit while I drive us to the hotel?" you suggested, glancing over at him with a smile.

Spencer nodded, resting his head against the window. The rhythmic motion of the car soon lulled him back into a state of semi-consciousness, where he drifted in and out of sleep, vaguely aware of the passing scenery.

When you finally arrived at the hotel, Spencer was roused once more, his sleepy daze still clinging to him as you checked in and made your way to your room. He stretched as he stood in the elevator, trying to shake off the last vestiges of slumber.

Once inside the hotel room, Spencer looked around with bleary eyes, taking in the cozy atmosphere. "This looks nice," he mumbled, a hint of appreciation in his voice.

"It does," you agreed, dropping your bags and heading toward the bathroom. "Why don't you take that shower you were looking forward to? I'll unpack while you do."

Spencer nodded, grateful for the suggestion. The promise of a hot shower was too enticing to resist, and he quickly gathered his toiletries and a fresh change of clothes. As he stepped into the bathroom, the sound of the rushing water immediately filled the space, creating a soothing ambiance.

He let out a sigh of relief as he stepped under the showerhead, the water smoothing over him with an invigorating force that seemed to wash away the last remnants of travel fatigue. The hotel, as promised, had excellent water pressure, and Spencer couldn't help but revel in the sensation. He closed his eyes, letting the steam envelop him as he began to feel truly awake for the first time since they boarded the plane.

With a renewed sense of calm, Spencer finished his shower and emerged from the bathroom, feeling refreshed and ready to embrace whatever came next. He found you unpacking and couldn’t help but smile, appreciating the small but significant act of settling into this new space together.

"All clean?" you asked, glancing up from the suitcase with a knowing grin.

"Yes," Spencer replied, running a towel through his hair. "And you were right. The water pressure is fantastic."

You chuckled, walking over to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Told you so. Now, are you ready to explore? I figured we could take a walk, get some fresh air, and maybe grab something to eat."

Spencer nodded, feeling more at ease than he had all day. "That sounds perfect," he said, slipping his hand into yours as you both headed out into the world beyond the hotel, eager to make the most of this special time together.

— 

That night, Spencer found himself lying wide awake in the darkened hotel room, his mind racing with thoughts that refused to quiet down. The shadows danced across the ceiling, and the gentle hum of the air conditioning did little to soothe the anxious thrum of his heart. His anxieties swirled relentlessly, fueled by the thought of meeting your family for the first time. 

He couldn't help but wonder what they would think of him. The prospect of meeting your parents was daunting enough, but what about your siblings? Did they have partners? How many people would he have to interact with? Spencer's mind spun with hypothetical scenarios, each one more nerve-wracking than the last. He feared making a poor impression or saying something that would betray his social awkwardness. Would they see him as the socially awkward genius he often felt like, or would they recognize the man you loved?

He turned slightly, glancing over at your sleeping form beside him. The moonlight filtering through the curtains cast a soft glow on your peaceful face, and Spencer felt a wave of gratitude wash over him. You looked so serene, so completely at ease, and he envied your ability to find rest so effortlessly. He couldn't help but feel a deep appreciation for your invitation to join him for the holidays. It was a significant gesture, a sign of trust and affection that meant more to him than he could easily express.

As he watched you sleep, he couldn't shake the guilt that crept in alongside his fears. You had been nothing but supportive and understanding since the day you met, always knowing how to ease his worries with a kind word or a gentle touch. And yet, here he was, plagued by doubts and insecurities. It felt unfair, especially when he knew how excited you were to introduce him to your family.

"If this family raised you," he mused to himself, "they couldn't be all bad." The thought lingered, providing a small comfort amid the turmoil of his mind. After all, if they were responsible for shaping the incredible person you had become, surely they possessed qualities worth admiring.

Spencer let out a soft sigh, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling once more. He tried to focus on the positives—the fact that you wanted him there with you, that you believed in him enough to introduce him to the people who mattered most. It was a gesture of acceptance, a sign that he had become an integral part of your life, and that alone was enough to make him feel a little braver.

In the quiet stillness of the room, he closed his eyes and tried to calm his racing thoughts. He reminded himself that he was not alone in this. You were there, right beside him, and that was more reassuring than anything else. As he listened to the gentle rhythm of your breathing, he slowly began to relax, the warmth of your presence wrapping around him like a comforting blanket.

—

The next morning, Spencer awoke to one of his favorite sights: you, comfortably nestled against the pillows, your hair tousled from sleep. The sun filtered gently through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. You were sitting up with a book in your hands, your glasses slightly askew, an endearing nod to your dedication to the story that had captured your attention even this early in the day.

He watched you quietly for a moment, a soft smile spreading across his face as he took in the familiar scene. There was something immensely comforting about the way you immersed yourself in your book, completely absorbed in the world the author had crafted (he doesn’t know you’re reading smut). It was a reflection of the curiosity and passion that he admired so much in you, a trait that you both shared and often bonded over.

“Good morning,” he finally murmured, his voice still a bit husky from sleep.

You looked up from your book, your eyes brightening as they met his. “Morning, sunshine,” you replied with a playful grin. “I didn’t want to wake you. You seemed like you needed the rest.”

Spencer stretched, feeling the remnants of sleep ease out of his muscles. “I appreciate that,” he said, propping himself up on one elbow. “Didn’t sleep much at first, but I feel better now.”

You set your book aside, giving him your full attention. “Were you up worrying about today?”

He nodded, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “A little bit,” he admitted. “I couldn’t stop thinking about meeting your family. It’s kind of a big deal.”

You reached over, gently adjusting his hair, which had gone a bit wild during the night. “I get it. It is a big deal, but I promise it’s not as scary as it seems. They’re just people who love me, and they’ll love you too because of that.”

Spencer felt his heart swell at your words. Your unwavering confidence in him was like a balm to his nerves, calming the storm of anxiety that had plagued him. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Probably stay home and read all day,” you teased, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. “But you’re here with me, and that’s what matters.”

Spencer chuckled, feeling some of the tension lift from his shoulders. “True. I’d much rather be here with you than anywhere else.”

“Oh, just a little fantasy novel,” you replied, holding the book to your chest with a private smile. “Faeries, creatures, magic, the lot.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow, a look of genuine curiosity crossing his face. “Really? I didn’t know you were into fantasy.”

You shrugged playfully, a mischievous glint in your eye. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Doctor Reid. I have a soft spot for worlds where the impossible becomes possible.”

He chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “I suppose that makes sense. You’ve always had a knack for finding magic in the mundane.”

You leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “I think you’re the one who does that, Spencer. You make even the most ordinary things seem extraordinary.”

He felt a flush of warmth spread across his cheeks at your words. It was moments like these that reminded him of how lucky he was to have you in his life. Despite his initial hesitations, you had shown him a world full of wonder and possibility, much like the stories you loved to read.

As you both settled into the morning, Spencer felt a renewed sense of hope for the day ahead. He knew that with you by his side, he could face whatever challenges awaited him, including meeting your family. Your presence was a reminder that he was not alone in this journey, and that thought brought him more comfort than any reassurance ever could.

With a deep breath, Spencer pulled himself up to sit beside you, the two of you leaning against each other as you shared the quiet morning together. The world outside might have been bustling with holiday cheer, but inside this little bubble, it was just the two of you, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and understanding.

“Ready to start the day?” you asked, glancing over at him with a smile that made his heart flutter.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Spencer replied, feeling more confident than he had the night before. He was ready to embrace whatever the day had in store, knowing that he had you to guide him through it all.

And so, with a sense of excitement and a touch of nerves, Spencer prepared to meet your family, his heart full of hope and gratitude for the love that had brought him here.

—

As you turned onto your family's street, Spencer's fingers fidgeted nervously in his lap. The drive had been filled with light chatter and music from the radio, but now that you were only moments away from the meeting he had been anxiously anticipating, the familiar weight of worry began to settle back into his chest. He watched the rows of houses pass by, each one decorated with festive lights and wreaths that hinted at the warmth within.

When you pulled into the driveway of your childhood home, you noticed Spencer take a deep breath, his eyes fixed on the cozy-looking house adorned with strings of colorful Christmas lights. You could feel the slight tremor in his hand as you reached over to give it a reassuring squeeze.

Turning to him, you offered a soft smile, trying to ease his apprehension. "Spencer," you said gently, "are you sure you're ready for this? We can always take a few more minutes if you need to."

He met your gaze, the earnestness in your eyes helping to ground him. "I think so," he replied, though the edge of uncertainty in his voice was still present. "I mean, I've faced serial killers and the most dangerous criminals, but this... this is a different kind of pressure."

You chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "I promise my family isn't as scary as a room full of unsubs."

He laughed softly, the sound easing some of the tension from his frame. "I know, but meeting the people who raised you... it's important. I just want to make a good impression."

"You will," you assured him, leaning over to brush a gentle kiss across his lips. "They'll love you just as much as I do. Besides, you've already made an amazing impression on me, and that's not an easy feat."

Spencer's smile widened, the warmth of your words settling comfortably around him. He took a moment to look at the house again, imagining the family inside who had shaped the person he cherished so deeply. The thought was daunting but also exciting in a way he hadn’t expected.

"Okay," he said with a renewed sense of determination, "let’s get inside."

"That's the spirit," you said, giving his hand one last squeeze before opening your door. Spencer followed suit, stepping out into the crisp morning air and taking in the sight of your family home, with its inviting front porch and the faint aroma of pine and cinnamon wafting from within.

Together, you made your way up the front steps, your fingers intertwined with his, a tangible reminder that he wasn't facing this moment alone. As you reached the door, you gave him a reassuring nod before ringing the bell, signaling the start of a holiday filled with new memories and possibilities.

The door swung open with a dramatic flair, revealing your sibling, Charlie, standing there with an expression of gleeful mischief painted across their face. "Y/N!" they exclaimed with a sing-song voice, their eyes gleaming with the thrill of having caught you red-handed. "I saw you kissing in the driveway!"

You sighed, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress a small smile at Charlie's antics. "Charlie! You had sex in Mom and Dad's bed! Are we even?"

Charlie feigned shock, clutching their chest with mock indignation. "Lips are sealed," they said with a smirk, clearly amused by the little exchange. Then, their gaze shifted past you to the man standing beside you. "Who is this beautiful man?"

You couldn't help but chuckle at Charlie's dramatic introduction to Spencer. "This is Doctor Spencer Reid," you said, gesturing to him with a flourish as if presenting a prize. "I found him on the corner. Only $20 an hour, can you believe that?"

Spencer, who had been standing there looking slightly bewildered by the sibling banter, let out a nervous laugh. He adjusted his glasses, clearly unsure how to respond to the unexpected introduction. "Well, technically, it’s a little more than that, considering inflation and all," he said with a small smile, his awkward charm instantly endearing.

Charlie burst out laughing, their eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oh, he's a keeper, Y/N! I mean, you found a guy who's both handsome and economically savvy? What more could you ask for?"

You and Spencer both laughed, the tension easing from the room as Charlie's infectious energy lightened the mood. It was moments like these that made you grateful for having such a lively and supportive sibling, someone who could turn any situation into a moment of joy and laughter.

As you walked deeper into the house, the familiar warmth and coziness enveloped you both. The comforting scent of home, mixed with the aroma of freshly baked cookies, filled the air. Spencer hesitated slightly as he stepped inside, taking in the comforting chaos of your family home, and the subtle charm that only a loving household could offer.

Charlie led the way, beckoning you both into the living room where the sound of a football game played on the TV. The announcer's voice carried through the house, mingling with the occasional cheer from the fans in the stadium. The room was filled with soft, golden light from the fireplace, casting a warm glow over everything.

As you rounded the corner, you found your mom and other sibling, Finley, lounging on the couch with a bowl of popcorn in their lap. Their attention was momentarily focused on the game, but they quickly looked up as you entered, a wide grin spreading across their face.

"Hey! Look who finally decided to show up!" Finley called out, putting the popcorn aside and standing up to greet you. They wrapped you in a quick hug, squeezing you tightly as if to make up for lost time. You could feel the warmth of their embrace, the familiar scent of home that always brought a sense of comfort and belonging.

"It's so good to see you, Fin," you said, pulling back slightly to look at them. "I've missed this place."

Finley grinned, giving you a playful nudge. "Well, it's about time you came back. We’ve got a lot to catch up on."

Then, Finley turned their attention to Spencer, their expression friendly and curious. "And you must be Spencer," they said, smiling with genuine enthusiasm. "I've heard a lot about you. All good things, I promise."

Spencer returned the smile, trying to channel his best impression of confidence. “It’s nice to meet you, Finley,” he replied, feeling a little more at ease thanks to Finley's welcoming demeanor. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you too.”

Finley chuckled, a twinkle of mischief in their eyes. “All good things, I hope,” they teased, shooting a knowing glance at you.

You rolled your eyes playfully, feeling the warmth of the familial atmosphere settle around you. “Mostly good,” you teased back, “but I might have left out the parts about your questionable taste in movies.”

Finley gasped in mock offense, clutching their chest dramatically. “Hey, my taste in movies is impeccable! It’s just...unique.”

Your mom, who had been quietly observing the exchange with a smile, finally chimed in. “Don’t mind Finley, Spencer. They love to exaggerate. We’re just really glad you could join us for the holidays.”

Her voice was warm and welcoming, instantly putting Spencer at ease. He nodded, grateful for the kindness being extended to him. “Thank you for having me, Mrs. L/N. It’s nice to be here.”

“Please, call me Sandy,” she insisted with a wave of her hand. “We’re all family here, after all.”

Spencer nodded, feeling a small weight lift from his shoulders. Your mother’s acceptance was a reassuring start, and he couldn’t help but feel grateful for how natural this all seemed. 

As you settled into the living room, Coconut, your dog, padded over, sniffing curiously at the newcomer. The dog’s tail wagged enthusiastically, thumping against the floor with each swing.

Spencer knelt down to greet Coconut, his fingers gently scratching behind the dog’s ears. “Hello, Coconut,” he said softly, his touch unsure at first but growing more confident as Coconut leaned into him, clearly enjoying the attention.

You smiled, watching the interaction with a fondness that only grew as Coconut plopped down at Spencer’s feet, making himself comfortable. “I think Coconut likes you,” you observed, giving Spencer an encouraging nod. “That’s a pretty high honor.”

Spencer chuckled, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease further. “I suppose that’s a good sign,” he replied, continuing to pet the dog as Coconut rolled over, demanding belly rubs.

Your mom settled back onto the couch, a cup of coffee in hand, her attention shifting between the game and the scene unfolding before her. “So, Spencer, do you follow football?” she asked, glancing over with genuine interest.

“Not extensively,” Spencer admitted, “but I know a bit about it. The strategies can be quite fascinating.”

Your mom nodded, pleased with his response. “Finley here is the real football fanatic. They make sure we’re watching all the big games.”

“Guilty as charged,” Finley said with a grin, tossing a popcorn kernel into their mouth. “But don’t worry, we’re not too intense about it. It’s more about enjoying the day together.”

You reached over and gave Spencer’s hand a reassuring squeeze, sensing that he was beginning to relax. “We’re just happy to have you here, Spence. Family is about spending time together, not about impressing anyone.”

Spencer nodded, the warmth of your words resonating with him. As he settled back into the couch, he realized that this was exactly what he had always imagined a family gathering to be: relaxed, full of laughter, and surrounded by people who cared for one another.

As the game continued, you and Spencer joined in the lighthearted banter and conversations that filled the room. It wasn’t long before he found himself genuinely enjoying the company, the initial nerves giving way to a sense of belonging that he hadn’t anticipated.

With Coconut snuggled at his feet and your hand in his, Spencer began to see that maybe, just maybe, this Christmas would be as magical as the ones he’d read about in stories.

“Did I hear my favorite child is back?” your dad teased as he walked in from the kitchen, a towel slung over his shoulder and a warm smile on his face. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and holiday spices trailed behind him, adding to the cozy atmosphere of the room.  

"Dad!" you exclaimed, jumping up from the couch and hurrying over to give him a hug. "I've missed you!"  

He enveloped you in a bear hug, squeezing tightly before holding you at arm’s length to get a good look at you. “You look great, kiddo. I was just thinking that the house feels complete now that you’re here.”  

You laughed, feeling the genuine warmth of your dad's words. “It’s good to be home. And look, I even brought a guest!” You stepped aside to gesture toward Spencer, who was now standing a little uncertainly, unsure of what kind of greeting to expect.  

Your dad turned his attention to Spencer, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Ah, you must be Spencer,” he said, striding over to shake his hand. “We’ve heard a lot about you, son. Welcome to the family.”  

Spencer’s nerves eased slightly at the friendliness in your dad’s tone. He returned the handshake with a grateful nod. “Thank you, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you. And thank you for having me.”  

Your dad waved off the formalities with a chuckle. “None of that ‘sir’ business. You can call me Bruce.” He turned to the rest of the room, saying, “Now that everyone’s here, we can finally get this holiday started right!”  

"Already trying to win the Best Dad Award, huh?" Finley quipped, tossing a playful grin his way.  

Your dad shrugged, feigning innocence. "Well, I’m just trying to stay ahead in the rankings. Gotta keep you kids on your toes."  

“Don’t worry, Dad,” you said, shooting Finley a teasing glance. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. You’ve always been my favorite.”  

Spencer watched the exchange with a small smile, feeling a sense of warmth at the easy banter. The rapport you had with your family was evident, and it was a relief to see how effortlessly you slipped back into the rhythm of home.  

As your dad settled into the armchair by the fireplace, he picked up a steaming mug of coffee from the side table, taking a satisfied sip. “So, Spencer, are you ready for the full holiday experience? We’ve got quite the lineup of activities planned.”

“Oh, um, yes. Looking forward to it,” Spencer replied, attempting to match your dad’s enthusiasm while simultaneously scanning his memory for any relevant data on traditional holiday festivities. 

“Don’t worry, Spence. He’s teasing,” you assured him, a playful smile spreading across your face. “We don’t do too much. A quick present exchange, some of Dad’s famous cooking, and a lot of drinking.”

Spencer chuckled, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. “That sounds like something I can handle,” he said, relaxing further into the cozy atmosphere of the living room.

“Just be prepared,” Finley added, shooting your dad a mischievous grin. “Dad’s cooking is legendary. He’ll try to send you home with a week’s worth of leftovers if you’re not careful.”

Your dad feigned indignation, placing a hand over his heart. “Hey, I take pride in my culinary skills. Besides, isn’t that what the holidays are for? Making sure everyone leaves with full bellies and fond memories.”

“That, and making sure we all drink enough eggnog to last us till next year,” you teased, giving your dad a playful nudge.

Your dad chuckled, raising his mug in a mock toast. “To family traditions, then. May they never fade.”

Spencer smiled, feeling the warmth of your family’s love and joy seep into his bones. He realized that the dynamics in this household were vastly different from the ones he had grown up with, but in the best possible way. Here, there was a sense of ease and openness that made him feel welcome, despite being the newcomer.

—

You and Spencer walked back to the hotel room hand in hand, the crisp evening air wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. After a casual dinner with your family, filled with laughter and easy conversation around the football game, Spencer seemed more relaxed than he had been earlier in the day. 

As you entered the room, you couldn't help but tease him, “So, how do you feel? Were they as scary as you thought?”

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head as he slipped off his shoes and hung up his coat. “Honestly? Not at all. I was so worried for nothing. Your family is wonderful. They were so welcoming, and it made me feel at ease.”

You smiled, feeling a sense of pride in your family's hospitality. “I told you they’d love you. But I understand why you were nervous; meeting a partner’s family is always a big step.”

“Yeah,” Spencer agreed, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking thoughtful. “I think it was the idea of making a good impression. I just wanted everything to go smoothly, and it did. Your dad’s humor really helped break the ice. And Finley... well, I wasn’t expecting the football trivia quiz, but it was actually fun.”

You laughed, remembering the light-hearted trivia challenge Finley had orchestrated during halftime. “Finley does have a way of keeping things interesting. They were trying to see if you’d fit into our family banter, and it seems like you passed with flying colors.”

Spencer leaned back against the pillows, a content smile playing on his lips. “Your family dynamic is so different from what I’m used to, but in a really good way. There’s so much love and warmth in your home.”

You joined him on the bed, resting your head on his shoulder. “I’m really glad you’re here to experience it with us. I know it’s not easy to put yourself out there, but you did great. I couldn’t have asked for a better day.”

Spencer wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. “Thank you for inviting me. I’m happy I got to meet them, and it’s nice to be part of something so special. Plus, your dad’s cooking was definitely a highlight. I’m still thinking about those garlic mashed potatoes.”

You smiled, pleased to see how comfortable and at home he felt. “Dad does make a mean mashed potato. I’m glad you enjoyed it all.”

After a moment of silence, Spencer turned to look at you, his expression thoughtful. “You know, spending the day with your family made me realize something. I’ve always been a little afraid of getting too close to people, of letting them in. But being with you and your family... it feels different. It feels right.”

His words warmed your heart, and you met his gaze with a soft smile. “I’m glad to hear that, Spencer. You’re a part of my life now, and I want you to feel like you belong here, with us.”

Spencer nodded, feeling the sincerity in your words. “I do. And it’s because of you. You make everything feel less daunting, and I’m grateful for that.”

You leaned in to kiss him gently, feeling the connection between you deepen. “I’m grateful for you too, Spencer. This Christmas is already one of the best I’ve ever had, and it’s because you’re here.”

He returned the kiss, feeling a sense of peace and happiness that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Being with you, experiencing the warmth and love of your family, had opened his eyes to the possibilities of what life could be when shared with someone who truly cared.

As the night wore on, you and Spencer talked about everything and nothing, wrapped in the comfort of each other’s presence. The city outside was alive with the sounds of the holiday season, but inside the hotel room, it felt like time had slowed down, leaving just the two of you to savor the moment.

“Goodnight, Spencer. I love you,” you said softly, slipping under the covers and curling up beside him.

“Goodnight,” he replied, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close. “Thank you for today.”

As sleep began to take hold, Spencer realized that he was no longer plagued by the anxieties that had haunted him the night before. Instead, he felt a deep sense of contentment and belonging, knowing that he was exactly where he was meant to be—with you.

—

The holidays had been a whirlwind of joy and laughter, each day unfolding with new experiences and moments of bonding that brought Spencer closer to your family. From playing with Coconut in the backyard to cozy evenings by the fire, the week had been a beautiful blend of warmth and happiness that Spencer had never quite experienced before.

On your last night at your family home, your dad approached Spencer with an unexpected invitation. "Hey, Spencer," he said with a friendly nod, "how about joining me for a drink on the back porch? It's a bit of a family tradition."

Spencer blinked in surprise, feeling both honored and slightly apprehensive. He had learned throughout the week that your dad was a man of deep wisdom and care, and being invited for a private conversation felt significant. As he followed your dad out to the back porch, Spencer couldn’t help but wonder if this was going to be the talk — the one where your dad would lay down the law about how he expected his daughter to be treated.

The night air was crisp and cool, stars twinkling overhead as Spencer and your dad settled into the comfortable chairs on the patio. Your dad handed Spencer a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light from the porch lamp.

"Thanks," Spencer said, taking the glass with a slight nod. He took a sip, feeling the warmth of the drink spread through him, doing little to ease the nerves bubbling in his stomach.

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, the quiet hum of the neighborhood providing a peaceful backdrop. Spencer braced himself, expecting the shovel talk that he’d often seen dramatized in movies.

Finally, your dad turned to him, a gentle smile on his face. “Spencer, I wanted to talk to you about something,” he began, his tone thoughtful yet reassuring.

Spencer looked over, curious and slightly terrified. “Oh?” he replied, unsure of what to expect.

Your dad chuckled softly, taking a sip from his glass. “I’ve seen how you are with Y/N these past few days. The love and care you have for her is plain as day. And I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate that.”

Spencer blinked, taken aback by the unexpected compliment. He felt his heart swell with emotion, a mixture of relief and gratitude washing over him.

“I know Y/N doesn’t need anyone to take care of her,” your dad continued, his voice steady and sincere. “She’s always been independent and strong, and I’ve never doubted her ability to stand on her own two feet. But it makes me happy to see that she has someone like you in her life—someone who clearly loves and respects her.”

Spencer was speechless, his mind racing to process the words. He had prepared himself for a stern lecture, but instead, he found himself enveloped in a warmth he hadn’t expected.

“Thank you,” Spencer finally managed to say, his voice thick with emotion. “That means a lot to me. More than I can express.”

Your dad nodded, his gaze steady and kind. “I know you didn’t have the best relationship with your own father,” he said, his tone gentle as he broached the sensitive subject. “But if you ever need someone to talk to, for advice or anything else, know that you can always come to me. You’re part of the family now.”

The offer left Spencer profoundly moved, a lump forming in his throat. He had never expected to find this kind of acceptance and support, especially from someone who barely knew him. The absence of a father figure in his life had always been a quiet ache, and here was an unexpected balm for that wound.

“I... I really appreciate that,” Spencer said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never had someone I could go to for that kind of support. It means more than I can say.”

Your dad reached over, giving Spencer’s shoulder a reassuring pat. “We’re glad to have you with us, Spencer. You make Y/N happy, and that’s all a parent can really ask for.”

Spencer nodded, feeling a sense of belonging that he hadn’t anticipated when he first arrived for the holidays. The conversation had taken a turn he hadn’t expected, filling him with a profound gratitude for the connection he was forming with your family.

They sat together for a while longer, exchanging stories and insights about life, relationships, and everything in between. As the evening deepened and the stars twinkled above, Spencer felt an overwhelming sense of peace and contentment.

Later, when he returned to the warmth of the house, he found you waiting in the living room, curiosity dancing in your eyes. “How was it?” you asked, a knowing smile tugging at your lips.

Spencer smiled, his heart full. “It was... wonderful,” he said simply. “Your dad is amazing. I feel really lucky to have met all of you.”

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. “I knew they’d love you, Spence. And I’m so glad you’re part of my life.”

He held you close, feeling the truth of your words settle deep in his heart. For the first time in a long while, he felt truly at home, surrounded by love and acceptance in a way that he hadn’t thought possible.

—

Later that night, Spencer found himself lying awake in the hotel room. The day's events played over and over in his mind, the words from your dad echoing with a resonance he hadn’t fully anticipated.  

You were already asleep beside him, your breath slow and steady, a comforting rhythm that usually soothed his racing thoughts. But tonight, Spencer felt a wave of emotion rising within him, a tide of feelings that he could no longer keep at bay.  

He had been holding it together all day, trying to process the overwhelming acceptance he had found in your family, the kind of love and support he had rarely experienced growing up. Now, in the quiet darkness of the room, the dam finally broke.  

Silent tears began to slip down his cheeks, tears of joy mixed with a deep, profound sense of healing. For the first time, Spencer allowed himself to feel the full weight of what he had been missing all these years—the absence of a father figure who cared, the lack of a family who embraced him fully and unconditionally.  

His younger self, the boy who had longed for approval and a sense of belonging, seemed to stir within him. Memories of lonely holidays and awkward family gatherings resurfaced, but they were now met with the warm, soothing balm of the acceptance he had found with your family.  

The tears continued to flow, and though they were born from happiness, they carried the weight of years of unspoken pain. Spencer turned slightly, trying to muffle his sobs against the pillow, not wanting to wake you. But the tears wouldn’t stop, and soon, the quiet sounds of his crying filled the room.  

You stirred beside him, sensing his distress even in your sleep. Blinking sleepily, you turned to him, concern immediately etching across your features as you registered the tears glistening in his eyes.  

“Spencer?” you whispered, your voice gentle and soothing as you reached out to touch his arm. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

He shook his head, trying to find the words to explain the cascade of emotions washing over him. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m just... overwhelmed, I guess.”

You shifted closer, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into a comforting embrace. “Hey, it’s okay,” you murmured, your voice soft and reassuring. “You don’t have to apologize. Just tell me what’s going on.”

Spencer took a shaky breath, trying to compose himself enough to explain. “It’s just... your dad, your family, everything,” he said, struggling to articulate the depth of his feelings. “I never expected to feel so accepted, so welcomed. It’s like... it’s like a part of me that’s been missing is finally starting to heal.”

Understanding dawned on you, and you held him tighter, your heart aching with empathy for the man you loved. “Oh, Spencer,” you whispered, feeling the weight of his words. “You deserve all of that and so much more. You’re part of our family now, and we love you for exactly who you are.”

He nodded, the tears flowing freely now as he allowed himself to fully embrace the reality of your words. The younger version of himself, the one who had always felt out of place, began to quiet, soothed by the knowledge that he was finally where he belonged. 

As he held onto this newfound sense of peace, Spencer whispered something he hadn’t quite had the courage to say before. “I love you,” he murmured, the words slipping out like a gentle exhalation of truth. 

You froze for a moment, not sure if you heard correctly. The quiet intensity in his voice seemed to linger in the air between you. “What was that?” you asked softly, wanting to be sure you had heard him right, a gentle smile starting to form on your lips.

Spencer met your eyes, his expression both tender and vulnerable. “I love you,” he repeated, a little louder this time, the conviction in his voice clear and unwavering. It was as though saying the words aloud had finally solidified them in his heart.

A warmth spread through you, a feeling of joy and completeness that you hadn’t realized you were longing for. You wrapped your arms around him tighter, your heart soaring at his heartfelt confession. 

“I love you too, Spencer,” you replied, your voice filled with sincerity and happiness. “So much.”

He let out a breath he’d been holding, relief and joy mingling with the last traces of his tears. The weight of his past fears seemed to dissolve, leaving behind only the certainty of the moment and the bond you shared. 

“I’ve wanted to tell you for so long,” Spencer admitted, his voice still a bit shaky from the emotional release. “But I was scared I wouldn’t be able to do it justice, to make you understand how much you mean to me.”

You reached up, gently cupping his face with your hand, your thumb brushing away the remnants of his tears. “You didn’t have to worry, Spencer. I’ve always known. Your actions speak louder than words, and I’ve felt your love in everything you do.”

He leaned into your touch, feeling a profound sense of gratitude and contentment. “You’ve changed my life in ways I never thought possible,” he said, his eyes locked onto yours with a sincerity that made your heart swell.

You smiled, feeling tears of your own threatening to spill over. “And you’ve changed mine,” you replied, your voice filled with emotion. “I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

Spencer let out a soft, shaky laugh, feeling lighter and more at peace than he had in years. He pulled you closer, reveling in the warmth and comfort of your embrace, knowing that this was where he was meant to be.

As the two of you lay together, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you and the love that bound you. Spencer realized that he was no longer defined by the loneliness of his past but by the connection and happiness he had found with you.

In that moment, he knew that the future was bright, filled with endless possibilities and the promise of shared adventures. With you by his side, Spencer felt ready to face whatever came next, secure in the knowledge that he was loved and accepted for exactly who he was.

As the night deepened and sleep finally began to claim you both, Spencer held onto the truth of his feelings, knowing that he had finally found the home he had always been searching for—in you.

—

The next morning dawned crisp and bright, with the sky painted in shades of soft pastels. As you packed up your belongings and prepared to head back home, there was a bittersweet feeling in the air. The holiday had been a whirlwind of joy and connection, and neither you nor Spencer was quite ready to say goodbye to the warmth of your family.  

As you made your way through the house, exchanging hugs and well-wishes, Spencer felt a familiar tug of anxiety mixed with gratitude. This time, however, the anxiety wasn’t accompanied by fear but by a deep appreciation for the acceptance he had found within your family.  

When it came time to say goodbye to your dad, Spencer found himself standing on the front porch, the crisp winter air wrapping around him. Your dad approached with a warm smile, extending his hand for a farewell shake.  

“It was great having you here, Spencer,” your dad said, his voice filled with genuine warmth. “You’re welcome back anytime.”

Spencer shook his hand, feeling the sincerity in your dad’s grip. “Thank you for everything, Bruce,” Spencer replied, his voice a little rough with emotion. “It’s been wonderful to be part of your family for the holidays.”

Your dad paused for a moment, then gave Spencer’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “you don’t have to call me Bruce anymore. Just call me Dad.”

Spencer’s eyes widened, a fresh wave of emotion washing over him. He felt the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, his heart swelling with a mixture of gratitude and love. This simple gesture, this offer of familial connection, meant more to him than he could express.

“I... thank you, Dad,” Spencer managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper as he swallowed the lump in his throat. “Goodbye, Dad.”

Your dad gave him a nod, the look in his eyes filled with understanding and acceptance. “Take care of yourself, Spencer. And remember, if you ever need anything, I’m just a phone call away.”

Spencer nodded, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over. “I will. Thank you.”

You watched the exchange with a full heart, knowing how much this meant to Spencer. As you wrapped up your goodbyes, you could see the mix of emotions playing across his face—the joy of being embraced by your family and the sadness of leaving it behind.

Once you were in the car, Spencer settled into the passenger seat, his mind still processing the weight of the morning’s farewell. He was quiet, lost in thought, and you could tell that he was holding back tears as he reflected on the kindness and acceptance he had been shown.

“Hey,” you said softly, reaching over to give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Are you okay?”

Spencer nodded, though his eyes were glassy with unshed tears. “Yeah, I just... I never expected any of this. It’s overwhelming, in a good way.”

You gave him a warm smile, understanding exactly what he meant. “Take your time. I’ll drive us to the airport.”

Spencer nodded gratefully, letting out a shaky breath as he tried to compose himself. You started the car and pulled out of the driveway, leaving the cozy warmth of your family home behind as you began the journey back to reality.

As you drove, Spencer gazed out the window, watching the landscape blur by. The silence in the car was comfortable, a space for him to gather his thoughts and emotions. He marveled at how much had changed in such a short time, feeling a deep sense of gratitude for the love and acceptance he had found.

He reached over, intertwining his fingers with yours, feeling the warmth of your touch grounding him. “I never knew I could feel so... at home. You’ve given me something I didn’t even know I was missing.”

As you both made your way through the airport, ready to embark on the next chapter of your journey together, Spencer knew that whatever lay ahead, he was no longer alone. He had you by his side, a family that embraced him, and a heart full of love that would guide him every step of the way.

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

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[papurgaatika]

Keep A Leftover Light Burning

Pairing: joel miller x Ceramicist! reader

MINORS DNI WITH MY WORKS PLEASE !!

A/N: howdy howdy and welcome all now this is a very special fic for @burntheedges for the @pedrostories secret santa event!! I hope you like it and find it as fun as i did. I think this isnt a trope that we see very often, but after a healthy dose of tiktoks (and watching the scene from ghost again) this came into being. As always thank you to my beloveeeeeeed @carlynkurin for beta reading, and peace and love on the planet earth from me, xoxo Remember that TLOU is created by a zionist so please look at the resources at the end of this fic and in my bio on ways to donate and educate yourself!! tags: Ceramicist reader, smut, porn with plot, oral (f! receiving), publicish sex, strangers to lovers, lots of wet clay, joels arms require their own tag Word count: 3.4k Summary: Sarah forces joel to go take a day to himself, pushing him in the direction of your pottery studio. Despite calling yourself professional and priding yourself on your morals, you can’t help but… fantasize about the man in front of you. 

Joel needs to take time for himself. He’s always on, always ready to go at the flip of a switch,  never taking time to sit and breathe. Everyone knows how hard he works, and despite what he says, Sarah knows that he needs to do something calming. Something that doesn’t involve carving wood or going to the shooting range with Tommy on the off chance that both of them are free for long enough. So being the perfect daughter that she is, she enrolls him in a ceramics workshop that she had gone to once. It was a small studio, tucked away next to the Palace Theatre in downtown Georgetown, soft and quaint in the suburbs, away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Sarah managed to get a hold of you over the phone and explain the situation, a smile threatening to creep onto your cheeks at the sheer amount of care she had for her father. You tell her not to worry about the price and that you would stay open for an extra hour next weekend just to get him in, a squeal on the other side is all the confirmation you need as you pencil it into your schedule. 

Sunday rolls around and Joel… Well, he was being Joel. Stubborn and groaning as Sarah essentially pushes him out the door to make the drive up IH-35, complaining about “I build things for a living,” and “it’ll be a waste of time.” but Sarah is hearing none of it and one look from her has Joel slipping on his boots. In any other circumstance, he would have praised her for holding her ground, but right now he just sighs and gets into his truck realizing just how much of his stubbornness had rubbed off on her. 

He ends up at the studio just before 5, the sun starting to dip under the horizon, casting beautiful pinks and oranges around the sky. He’s still bitching and moaning as he makes his way to the building, taking a deep breath as he steps inside. You barely even hear the jingle of the little bell above your door, too busy fighting with your sink: now clogged with clay from your last class with 3 kids under ten who didn't understand that when you told them not to dump clay inside the sink. You had meant it. “Fucking thing!” you groan, poking a paintbrush into the drain, hoping to get enough clay out of it so that it would run again. 

Joel stares at you, half confused and half amused with the scene in front of him; your hair a mess, your apron covered in clay and paint, hacking into your sink in ways that he knows won't do you any good. He clears his throat after watching you struggle for about 30 seconds, stifling a smirk when you jump and look back at him. “Need some help? I’m s’possed to have a class now- my daughter-” he shakes his head at the idea of sharing the whole story again “Did I get the wrong time?” 

You look absolutely mortified, dropping the paintbrush in the basin and giving the man in front of you a weak smile “No! No, I just got a little... occupied… you’re on time” You wipe your hands on the front of your apron, not even bothering to attempt to fix your hair, before walking over to greet him. Properly this time. “You must be Joel. Your daughter was very persuasive on the phone.” 

Joel’s smirk shifts into a full-blown smile at the mention of Sarah, the pride he has for the girl shining through. “Yeah, she’s a good one.” he praises. Despite his reluctance to listen to her advice, he knows just how good her heart is, and how much she cares about him. I “Ain't sure what she told ya, and to be honest she hasn't told me what I'm s’possed to be doing here either”

You can't help but smile at his words, the pure adoration for his daughter combined with the slight nervousness in his voice was endearing in ways you weren’t sure how to describe. “No worries, I promise it isn’t anything scary.” You glance around the studio. Outside, the sky had begun to darken, the soft lighting of the different lamps inside the building casting the both of you in a warm glow. The glaze on the ceramics you had on display was a wide assortment of colors: intricately painted motifs, bright splashes of colors, silly cartoons, almost anything you could think of. You pick up a faded apron and hand it to him, watching him stretch as he puts it on. A brief flicker of guilt passes through you as you ogle him, but then you see the way his biceps strain against the fabric of his shirt and the guilt gives way to something primitive. 

He turns back around and you look away with a cough, a slight warmth creeping up your cheeks when he raises his brows at you. “Right um-” you stumble over your words, more unrefined than you would have liked to be “Sorry, sorry. We’ll start with choosing what you’ll want to make. I always recommend something easy, like a bowl or a spoon rest..” you pick up a pencil cup that had been painted to look like a pencil and a spoon rest that was a simple blue color, to show him “I already have the clay prepped so we can get started straight on th-” 

Joel cuts you off as he glances around the studio, pointing at a lidded cookie jar “That one.” His words leave no room for argument but certainly bring questions up to the surface. “I'm gonna do that one.” You had been making ceramics for years, starting with air-dry clay in school, continuing to use the wheel throughout university, and eventually quitting your day job to start the studio. You knew the skill level it took to make a jar, the precision and technique to keep it balanced, and it just wasn’t a beginner project. 

“I'm sorry, the cookie jar?” You try not to let your voice betray your disbelief. It wasn't that you lacked faith in the man in front of you, you made sure to be confident in all of your clients, it was simply an issue of skill. “I don't know if that’s the one for you to start out with, it’s a little advanced-” 

But Joel was having none of it. If he was going to be forced to sit here and make something to “calm him down” then damn it it was going to be something that takes skill and effort. Something that he could bring home to Sarah and brag about slightly. Was it a little strange that he wanted to one-up his daughter and prove that he didn't need to be here? Maybe a little bit, but he didn't dwell on it. “Yes ma'am.” His voice is set in the decision. “I'm sure it can't be that bad, let me at it.” 

Never one to truly tell people no, you simply nod and get the prepared clay out. It was soft and slippery, staining your hands a taupe color as you brought it to the wheel, plopping it down on the wheel, and pressing down on the sides to make sure it stuck. “Alright, so with the jar..” you gesture for him to take a seat in front of the wheel, moving to stand behind him “It’ll be a little bit more involved than something simple, but you're in good hands I promise.” Your words are soft, and frankly, you were excited. You didn't throw fun projects with clients as much as you’d like to anymore, focusing more on teaching the basics, so this was honestly a welcomed surprise. “We’ll just start with getting the basic shape of it, you’ll take your hands like this, and we’ll work it up.” 

You sit on your stool behind him, usually, you’d be able to reach around and help with hand placement but good god was he broad. You adjust and readjust your position a few times, finding it oddly difficult to find the right mix between comfort and functionality, eventually ending up with your legs spread a little bit past their comfort level, so that you could lean over his shoulder and help him with the shaping. You squeeze some water onto his hands, moving them to cup the base of the clay and pop the wheel to life. His hands were big under your smaller ones, the roughness contrasting both the soft clay and your skin. You can't help but feel a twinge of something stirring inside you as you help him bring the clay up and down, your hands guiding his. Joel’s brows were knit together in concentration, both endearing and attractive as you watched him focus on the clay. The movements of his hands under yours were careful, almost hesitant, his eyes peeking back at you every so often for assurance. 

Once the clay was at an appropriate size you moved your hands off of his, the wheel slowing to a stop. You swear that you see his hands twitch to stay under yours, but your mind might be playing tricks on you. “Now call me unartistic but this ain't really lookin’ like a cookie jar yet.” Joel raises his brows, a slight hint of teasing hidden in his southern drawl, and you can’t help but snort at the comment.

“I will not call you unartistic, it isn't supposed to look like a jar yet.” You hum and wipe your hands on your apron “We’ll do the lid to it later, but you have to actually make it into a bowl first.” your thumbs gently press down onto the center of the clay to form a soft dent. The wheel starts back up again slowly and you start to open the center up a little bit. “Right so now you just gotta take your thumbs like I did and- perfect!” Joel manages to press his fingers slowly against the clay, working it open, and god you wished that was you more than anything at that moment. You press on the sponge, the water dripping down his hand and onto the clay, almost sensually. Your eyes are locked on the way his thumb dips into the clay, the way the clay comes up onto his skin. Your mouth is dry, and you cough as you stand up, needing to take a deep breath and try to compose yourself. 

“Everythin’ alright?” Joel's voice rings out from behind you as you move to take a drink of water, and you swear if his voice was just a tinge deeper, you would have choked right then and there. In the rush of getting up, your brain had ceased to realize that moving off the pedal would stop the wheel from turning.

You feel like an idiot. A stupid, hormonal, completely unprofessional idiot. You take a moment to scold yourself mentally before turning around to face him again. “Yeah, yes. Sorry I just realized how thirsty I was, I just needed water.” You move back to your stool behind him, halfway composed, and move to start the next step. If you'd been in front of him for one more second, you would have seen the knowing smile on his face. There was no denying the attraction between the two of you. Pressed up against each other, hands touching, dim light surrounding you both, it was inevitable. You move your hand to show him the right finger position “so you’ll want to take your middle and ring finger-” You press the two of yours inside of the bowl to give him an example and you swear he laughs a little bit. 

“Oh, believe me, darlin” his voice rings out, big fingers expertly finding their way into the exact position. “I know all about this one.” You watch his fingers glide up and down the inside of the bowl, your hand on top of his, steadying his wrist. You bite at your lip, fingers shaking slightly on top of his. Your chest was pressed against his back and you could feel your nipples hardening. You were annoyingly turned on. This wasn’t normal for you, this wasn't something you do, get the hots for a client, but here you were. And with the way Joel's fingers were methodically moving over yours, you were begging that he felt the same way. “Wouldn’t mind showin’ ya all I know about it.” The want in his voice makes you clench subconsciously, your breath faltering for a second. 

You hold your breath for a moment as if trying to make sure you hadn’t imagined his words in a haze of horniness, only to be broken out of that haze when he shifts and pushes his stool back, and turns around to face you. Both of your hands were covered in wet clay and your aprons were messy, neither of which stopped you from pressing your lips against his. You sigh against his mouth as your hand's fist in the fabric of his shirt, staining the fabric with readily drying clay. “I don't usually do this,” you murmur when you pull away for air, your lips swollen and red. 

Joel just grins at your words “S’alright, honey,” his lips find their way to your jaw and move down to your neck, his nose nudging at the fabric of your shirt. “Don't gotta explain anything to me.” His voice is like molasses, smooth and syrupy, keeping you stuck on his every word. You let him move you around, the small wooden stools were less than ideal for either of you. In the mess of standing up and finding a table to bend over your shirt comes off and he groans at the sight of you, his hands grabbing at your waist, staining your skin with water. “Good god… sight for sore eyes…” You can't help but flush slightly at his comment, feeling more exposed while you stare at his fully clothed figure.

 Joel picks up on it, his hands moving from your waist to his shirt and apron, a frustrated noise leaving his mouth when the knotted strings keep him from taking it off. “Let me,” you whisper, reaching around to undo the strings, the fabric of the apron sagging and then getting tossed to some other corner of the room. You stare at him. You couldn't not stare at him. At the hair covering his chest leading down to his belt, the soft yet strong features of his body, at his hand undoing his belt. Your own shorts had been removed, your hands moving to reach into his jeans until he stopped you, a pout and protest forming on your lips. 

Joel just shakes his head at you, picking you up and setting you on a relatively clean table, his body wedged between your legs. “My momma raised me to be a gentleman,” he hums against your skin, kissing the tops of your breasts, nudging your nipples with his nose before giving each of them their own kisses “I didn't take ya to dinner, at least let me get my fill yeah?” Your back fully arched into his mouth as his lips wrapped around one of your nipples, hands gripping the edge of the table so hard your knuckles were white. The feeling of his tongue flicking against the hardened bud had you moaning out in ways you had never imagined you would, and you swear you could feel him smirk even as he licked a stripe down the soft skin of your tummy. 

His knees crack as he settles between your legs and the sight of him is so sinful you can't help but moan softly. He raises his brows at you, a warm chuckle leaving his mouth at the sound, his lips pressing against the inside of one of your thighs “Look that good?” His voice is laced with a gentle mocking as he presses another kiss, a hair's breadth away from your aching cunt “think I got the better view though.” You don't even have the time, nor the brainpower, to reply before his lips press against you, a groan vibrating against your skin as he tastes you. “Sweetest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had… could get damn addicted.” 

Your lips are parted as his tongue swirls around your clit, your whines and moans spurring him on even further. “F-fuck joel-” you manage at some point, his broad shoulders keeping your thighs spread apart, despite how much they’d like to clamp around him. He was good at this and he knows that, moaning at the sound of his name on your lips, the words giving him a newfound energy. You feel his warm palms against your thighs keeping you spread open for him, and you almost whine when his tongue leaves your clit, only to cry out in ecstasy when his tongue prods at your pulsing hole. His nose is pressed up against your clit, giving you just the right amount of friction as he gathers your slick on his tongue, cycling between fucking it into you and laying it flat over your cunt. “Joel- joel oh fuck-” Your moans are frantic as he continues to send you closer and closer to that edge, his motions only getting faster as your hand fists in his hair. “Oh my god- fuck fuck fuuuuck-” your legs shake around his head, his hands keeping them apart as he works you through your orgasm, not stopping until you were spent and hazy, laying back on the table with shuddering breaths. 

Your eyes were pressed shut, chest rising and falling rapidly in the aftermath of your orgasm, only to peek open when you hear the clink of his belt. His mouth was covered in the sheen of your orgasm, a hungry look in his eyes as he spits into his hand and pulls his cock out. “Tasted like a damn dream,” he groans while he strokes himself. “Gonna remember this forever…” Your eyes are locked on the motions of his wrist, the steady pace, the pearly precum that was leaking from his tip. “Fuckin’ perfect… makin’ me feel like a damn teenager again.” You wait with bated breath as he continues to stroke himself, wiggling your hips in order to entice him. 

 “Joel,” your voice is soft, but so heavily full of need it was almost painful “Please… I want you.” If you were being honest, you thought that it would take more convincing, that you would have to ask more, but Joel was desperate, maybe more so than you were and so when he sinks his cock into your dripping cunt it was ecstasy for both of you. Your eyes fall shut again at the feel of him, the stretch so much but so good. “Oh my god…” you whine, pushing yourself onto him further, your breathing stuttering when one of his hands palms at your breast, the other one gripping your hip with so much strength you think it would leave a mark. 

“That’s it…” he groans, slipping into you all the way. “Fuckin’ perfect pussy, like she was made for me.” His words are punctuated with shallow thrusts that fill you up again and again. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in closer to you. The feeling of his hips pressing against yours is something you would never be able to get out of your memory. 

You both lay there, bodies pressed against each other, his hips rocking into you slow and steadily, the dim lighting of the studio casting an ethereal glow over the scene. His hips move at a steady pace, keeping you full of him as the coarse hairs around him press against your clit with the right amount of friction. It doesn't take much time until he's panting on top of you, your lips pressed against each other's in a heated kiss as you feel him spill inside you. 

“That was…” you were breathless, his chest still against yours, the rhythm of your hearts syncing up. 

“Yeah…” He grins, pressing a kiss against your forehead gently. “I know I told ya I was a gentleman but, I really would like to see you again… of course no pressure if you don't want to or anything-” 

You cut him off with a small laugh before he can keep going, nudging your head against his. “I want to, Joel.” You smile gently at him “Plus, you didn't finish the jar.” You grin, looking in the direction of the unfinished work of art he had started. “And then I have to fire it, then glaze it, then fire it again, then… well you get the point, I think I’ll be seeing you quite a few more times, Joel.”

A/N: From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free

READ: This account stands with Palestine unequivocally, and so— I require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE;  HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. Silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist.

PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. 

Thank you for reading, and free Palestine

[chancloud8]

Christmas Love {2}

Pairing: bf!skz x reader

Tags: fluff, sugestive

~ gift giving based on this fake texts smau

part 2: minho, seungmin, jeongin

-> read part 1 with chan, hyunjin, jisung and changbin here

Minho - Visiting cats at the shelter

The local shelter is a familiar place for both you and Minho. Three of the five cats you have at home come from here and you also try and volunteer whenever you can, so when you walk in, hand in hand with your boyfriend, multiple people greet you by name. 

‘I can’t wait to see all the kitties, it’s been a while since we’ve been here and they always get so many new strays around the holiday,’ you say, leaning your head against Minho’s shoulder. 

‘Yeah, one of the reasons I hate people,’ Minho murmurs and you chuckle.

‘Just so you know, we're only bringing home one cat,’ you say, wagging your finger in his face as a warning. ‘So don't go falling in love with siblings or duo's that have to stick together.’ 

Minho snorts and snaps at your finger with his teeth. ‘I should be telling you, kitten, remember last time?’ 

‘We're not talking about that right now,’ you reply, poking your tongue out at him. ‘We both have a weakness and we know it.’ 

The two of you easily find your way into the shelter, wave at the people behind the counter and then slip into the room where some of the cats are allowed to wander around and play with each other. Immediately multiple cats come running your way, rubbing their bodies against your legs and purring loudly. 

‘Aww hey, guys,’ you coo, getting down on your knees to properly pet them. 

Minho does the same, sitting down cross legged and within seconds there’s a cat on his lap and one on his shoulder, sniffing his hair. You laugh as he lifts the cat off his shoulder by the nape of his neck. 

‘Bad kitty, you can’t just climb people like a tree,’ he scolds the cat, setting it down beside him. 

‘You sure about that baby?’ you tease, scratching the orange cat next to you behind his ears. ‘What if I want to climb you like a tree?’ 

Minho gives you a heated look. ‘You’re the only exception to that rule.’ 

‘How is that fair?’ you laugh as you get up, walking further into the room to greet the cats that don’t dare to come closer right away. 

‘Life isn’t always fair,’ Minho shrugs. 

You roll your eyes and bend down when you see a small black cat with big green eyes staring at you from underneath one of the cat trees. 

‘Hello gorgeous,’ you say softly, holding out your hand for the cat to sniff if he wants too. 

At first he just looks at it like he’s never seen a human hand before, but then his nostrils flare and his ears twitch as he slowly stretches his neck to reach your fingers. You stay as still as you can to not scare him away and after a few seconds the cat slowly moves forward, its body staying close to the ground. 

‘That’s it, come say hi,’ you coo, keeping your hand still. 

‘Oh he’s adorable,’ Minho pipes up from behind you. ‘Look at his eyes.’ 

The cat lifts his head when he hears Minho’s voice, but he doesn’t run away. 

‘He’s going to need a lot of love,’ you say as the cat turns its beautiful eyes on you again. 

‘Good thing we have plenty to give,’ Minho smiles, shuffling closer to you and the black cat until he’s behind you, his chest touching your back. ‘Cause I don’t think we’re leaving here without him.’ 

You turn your head to look at him, a grin already on your face. ‘Really?’ 

Minho presses his lips to your temple in a soft caress. ‘Really.’

Seungmin - Pink collar

At first you didn’t plan on actually getting the collar, thinking Seungmin was only joking when you asked anyway, but the more you thought about it, the clearer it became to you that he wasn’t joking. He had hinted about it before, showing you images of other collars while wiggling his eyebrows, but you’ve always laughed it away, thinking he was just teasing. 

You also knew he liked wrapping his long fingers around your throat when you were being intimate together, as well as pulling on any necklace you'd wear. So, after careful consideration, you decided to buy the collar he sent you as his christmas present. You also got him his favorite perfume, a new sweater and some of his favorite snacks, just in case it had been a joke after all. If he didn't really want it, then at least you could laugh about it. 

‘What’s up with you tonight, babe?’ Seungmin asks, placing his hand on your thigh when you nervously shift in your chair again. 

‘Nothing,’ you smile at him, putting your hand on top of his. ‘I’m just excited to give you your presents.’ 

Seungmin raises his eyebrows at you and his eyes scan your face carefully. 

‘I promise Minnie,’ you say when he keeps looking at you. ‘Now eat your food.’ 

Your boyfriend however has other plans and pushes his chair back. ‘Nope, I can’t enjoy your delicious cooking when you’re anxious. Come on,’ he says, holding out his hand for you. 

You sigh in defeat and place your hand in his so he can help you up, it’s no use arguing with him anyways. Seungmin interlaces your fingers together and leads you to the living room, only stopping until you’re in front of the Christmas tree. 

‘I still have dessert, you know,’ you say when he turns around to face you. 

‘We can have it after,’ he replies, pushing a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. ‘Do you want to start or shall I?’ 

You reach down to grab one of his gifts, the perfume, because you’re too much of a chicken to give him the collar right away. 

‘Here, Merry Christmas love,’ you smile, leaning in to press a kiss on his lips while giving him the wrapped present. 

Seungmin frowns when he sees the perfume and your heart sinks when he looks up at you. Shit. Did he not like this perfume anymore? 

‘This is what you were anxious about?’ he asks, pulling you close to him. Oh. ‘Baby–’ 

‘No, no,’ you hurriedly interrupt him. ‘It’s another present.’ 

‘Okay,’ Seungmin says. ‘I’m sure I love whatever you give me, I always have.’ 

You grab the small box from under the tree, eyeing it for another moment in hesitation, before putting it in Seungmins hands. 

‘Open it, but keep in mind that you asked for it and it’s totally okay if you don’t like it.’

Seungmin rolls his eyes at you and takes off the lid, exposing the pink collar. It has the pink bow in the middle, just like the picture it send 

Seungmin blinks, and then blinks again.

When he looks up at you again you can't quite figure out what the look in his eyes mean, but it makes your stomach flutter anyways.

Seungmin carefully takes the collar out of the box.

‘Turn around,’ he says. No, he orders.

Heat spreads to your cheeks and neck, but you do as he asks, lifting your hair up for him so he can put it on. The cool leather touches your skin and you shiver when you feel Seungmin's fingers at the back of your neck where he fastens the collar.

You turn back to him to see his eyes locked on your neck in fascination while his fingers come up to touch it.

‘It looks absolutely incredible on you,’ he groans.

You giggle and bring your own hands up to touch the leather as well. ‘So you like it?’

Seungmin's eyes meet yours and then he hooks his finger under the collar to pull you close.

‘I more than like it, I love it and I think we should skip dessert and head upstairs.’ Without waiting for a reply, his lips are on yours and he starts to walk the two of you backwards and out of the living room.

Jeongin - Matching pyjama’s 

‘No,’ Jeongin says, shaking his head. ‘Nope, nu-uh.’ 

In his hands he’s holding the soft pink pyjama bottoms you bought for the both of you. The fabric is covered in Hello Kitty's and bows in a darker shade of pink. 

‘You said not to get you the grinch pyjamas,’ you pout at him. ‘And you look great in pink!’ 

Jeongin shakes his head again, putting the pyjama’s down on his lap. ‘I’m not sure what’s worse, the grinch ones or these.’ 

‘Obviously not these, we’re going to look so cute together!’ you giggle, leaning against your boyfriend to press a kiss on his cheek. 

‘We’re always cute,’ Jeongin says, taking a hold of your chin to keep you close so he can properly kiss you. 

You hum against his lips and kiss him back, moving your mouth over his. It’s soft and sweet, and when you pull back you feel warm and fuzzy and loved. 

‘I got you something else too,’ you whisper, blindly grabbing the present from under the tree where you put it not too long ago. 

Jeongin accepts the box you set down in his hands, eying you curiously before carefully undoing the bow and opening it. 

‘Oh,’ he gasps. ‘Y/N, it’s beautiful!’ 

Inside the box is a silver bracelet you designed yourself along with a matching pinky ring. You had one for yourself as well. 

‘Do you like it? I didn’t know what to get you, but I figured some new jewelry would never hurt,’ you smile. 

Jeongin looks up at you with sparkling eyes. ‘Like it? I love it, baby. Will you help me put it on?’ 

You let out a sigh of relief and take the box from him, carefully taking out the ring first. Jeongin holds out his hand and you gently slide the ring on his pinky. 

‘This feels weird,’ Jeongin laughs. ‘I should be the one slipping a ring on your finger.’ 

‘Then you should be getting down on one knee,’ you wink, picking up the bracelet next. 

Jeongin freezes, but only for a second and you look up at him in confusion. 

‘You know I’m joking right. I mean, of course I want you to ask me one day, but I’m not like expecting anything now or soon, or I don’t know in the near future,’ you ramble, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment. 

‘Hey hey, look at me,’ Jeongin says, his fingers once again grasping your chin as his eyes lock onto yours. ‘I will ask you to marry me. Not today, but I will.’ 

You gape at him and he grins, leaning in close to nuzzle your noses together. 

‘One day you’ll be Mrs. Yang.’

a/n: Happy Christmas Day everyone!! Part 3 with Felix will probably be up tomorrow, I wasn't able to start his yet and it's family time now :) Hope you enjoy <3

taglist: @jaeminie-cricket @jeonginsbaee @staylovesmiley @newbbystay @cashtonsbetch @mariahxrrera @kaleigh-2002 @silencionyx @smileykiddie08 @my-neurodivergent-world @yaorzu-blog @yoongiismylove2018 @staytinyluv @bookswillfindyouaway @queen-thiccness @notastraykid @ateez-atiny380 @estella-novella @furfoxsake22 @hyunjinhoexxx @insomnjen @hannahisnotblue @vivilovesuu @velvetmoonlght @skz8love @corgilover20 @littlelostdemonofthelight @stephanieeeyang @zulie-and-cats @chanshugsaretherapy @pizzalove5000 @dazzlingjade

[randomcreator-09]

Small Heath's Songbird: Christmas Eve Special (Thomas ShelbyxOCY/N)

(GIF ain't mine > I forgor ack pls dm me if it's yours)

ARGHHHHHHHHHHHH THIS SCENE MADE ME WANNA EXPLODE XD

Part One - Part Two

>>>MINORS DNI<<<

✨Pure fluff, Lil Angst, No Grace, Smut >:D [pnv (wrap it before you tap it), slight choking, bottom!dom Tommy, switch!dom reader, overstimulation(m&f)] Happy Ending ^^ (cuz I've had enough bad endings irl TvT)✨

🐧Hoe Hoe Hoe all of us HAHAHAHAHAHHA XD. I hope ya'll getting laid this Christmas Eve cuz, I aint X"D. Anyways you do not need to read part one... this can be just a one-shot itself, but fair warning you might not understand who our OCY/N is so... yeah... go read part one XD Tried to make it as short as possible since it's just a special but seemingly failed :"D but ey... Merry Christmas ^^!!!🐧

Own character description but it's Y/N POV

3.2k words

REBLOG TO SPREAD ADDICTION and kudos are appreciated too thank you ^^

Enjoy reading ^^

Part One - Part Two

-----

It has been more than a week since your last encounter with the owner of Arrow House, Thomas. Your first kiss with him last December 15th was something that kept you giddy to work as soon as the morning sun rose and before Miss Florence could knock at your door to wake you up, your room was already empty.

You went with your usual routine of sweeping off dust on paintings and sculptures, careful not to break or tear anything. This wasn't the first house you became a personal maid for someone, you've basically worked as a royal made once before getting kicked out by the head maid for "Eloping" with her man (which you didn't. The man was just accusing you because you said no to all his advances, which ended up with you on the whore house with 'Missus'). Humming as you cleaned and twirled, Miss Florence saw you and turned away with a smile.

-----

However, as fast as you were giddy that day, it was also punched right out you when you were called to attend to one of Thomas's whores.

"Ah! Y/N?" She slutterly (is that even a word??? XD) mentioned your name as she walked around you with the same dark coat Thomas had placed upon your shoulders to keep you warm yesterday.

"Yes." you muttered between gritted teeth, trying not to yank the coat away from her filthy body.

"Mmm... Mr. Shelby kept mentioning that name in our session." She said with great despise. That information had your body in tingles. 'My name? in sex? in a normal convo? with another woman?' this came up to mind as the whore walked away after wafting her hair and up the stairs to Thomas's room, possibly to regain his favours to her.

Questions bursts out your mind to the thought that was left behind. "...Mr. Shelby kept mentioning that name..." but why?

-----

After that day, you have never seen Thomas again in Arrow House. Miss Florence said he was on a business trip somewhere and would not be back till Christmas. That gave you time to think and to reflect on the kiss. AND to that whores last comment on their 'sessions'. Weird enough you thought that maybe she just heard it wrong, if not wrong then... why?

That had your mind busy for the rest of the week. Although with all the chores in hand, it made you forget Thomas easily. Suddenly remembering that the audition to the Garrison bar was going to be held on Christmas Eve. You had asked Miss Florence to be excused for that day, which she allowed.

-----

"Y/N!" a familiar voice called out to you through the swirling snow. You turned and saw ‘Missus,’ bundled in her thick, patched-up coat, her breath visible in the cold air as she waved enthusiastically.

“Missus,” you greeted her with a smile, tugging your own coat tighter around you as the wind picked up. Despite the chill in the air, her warmth was contagious.

“Still don’t know why you’re wastin’ that voice of yours on dusty houses. Tonight’s your chance, love. Show ‘em what you’re made of!” she declared, stepping closer. Her cheeks were flushed, whether from the cold or the drink she’d likely had before venturing out, you couldn’t tell.

“Didn’t think you’d actually come,” you teased lightly, though you were secretly glad to have her there.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she replied, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Now, let’s get inside before we freeze to death.”

The two of you entered the Garrison, the warmth and chaos of the pub hitting you like a wave. The air was thick with smoke and laughter, and the smell of ale lingered heavily. At the center of it all was a rather tone-deaf singer, standing on the makeshift stage, belting out a rowdy tune. Her pitch was so off that even the drunkest men in the room winced occasionally.

The pub owner, Harry, stood near the bar, shaking his head. “Alright, that’s enough! Off you go!” he barked, waving her down.

The woman staggered off, her cheeks burning as the crowd erupted in laughter and went back to their conversations. Harry rubbed his temple, muttering to himself as he reached for another pint.

Missus nudged you forward with her elbow. “Go on, love.”

You hesitated, your nerves getting the better of you, but Missus had no patience for second-guessing. She marched you straight to Harry. “Oy, Harry!”

The man turned, clearly unimpressed. “What now?”

“She’s here for the audition,” Missus announced proudly, gesturing to you like you were already a star.

Harry raised a skeptical brow, his eyes raking over you lazily. “You sing, do ya?”

“Yes,” you replied, your voice firmer than you felt inside.

“Sure, why not,” he said with a shrug. “You lot are all bloody awful anyway. The men are drunk enough, so go ahead—ruin my ears like the rest of ‘em.” He waved a dismissive hand toward the stage.

Before you could argue or even steady your nerves, Missus grabbed your arm and practically dragged you toward the stage. “That’s my girl!” she shouted, her voice echoing over the clamor of the pub. She plopped herself down at a table near the front, pint in hand, cheering you on with the enthusiasm of ten people.

You stood on the small stage, feeling the weight of every eye in the room—except for the ones you wanted most. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Thomas and his brothers seated in the far-right corner, engrossed in their own conversation. Thomas was leaning back in his chair, cigarette in hand, his expression unreadable. His brothers were equally disinterested, laughing at some joke you couldn’t hear over the din.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped closer to the piano and sat, your hands trembling slightly as you placed it on the notes. The room began to quiet down, curious about the new face on stage.

>>>>MOOSIC<<<<

As the first notes of “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” left the piano chords, the pub seemed to hold its breath. As you started to sing though that's when everyone was in awe. The soft, ethereal melody floated through the room, starkly different from the raucous atmosphere moments ago.

"It came upon the midnight clear,

that glorious song of old,

from angels bending near the earth

to touch their harps of gold:

"Peace on the earth, good will to men,

from heaven's all-gracious King."

The world in solemn stillness lay,

to hear the angels sing."

You glanced around as you sang. Some of the patrons were swaying gently, their mugs forgotten for a moment. Harry stood behind the bar, his usual gruffness replaced with a look of mild surprise. Missus was, of course, beaming at you, her pint raised high in salute.

And then your gaze landed on Thomas. He was no longer leaning back in his chair, his cigarette halfway to his lips, forgotten. His sharp blue eyes were fixed on you, and for a moment, it felt as though the rest of the pub had melted away.

His brothers seemed to notice his sudden silence, exchanging glances before following his gaze to the stage. But Thomas didn’t move. He simply watched, his expression a mix of curiosity and something deeper—something that sent a thrill through you as you hit the chorus:

"Peace on the earth, goodwill to men,

from Heaven’s all-gracious King..."

Your voice grew stronger, more confident, as the room continued to listen in hushed awe.

"Still through the cloven skies they come

with peaceful wings unfurled,

and still their heavenly music floats

o'er all the weary world;"

Your voice rang clear and steady now, weaving through the smoky air like a hymn in a sacred hall. The clamor of the pub had ceased entirely, save for the occasional clink of a glass or the creak of a chair as someone shifted to get a better view.

"Above its sad and lowly plains,

they bend on hovering wing,

and ever o'er its Babel sounds

the blessed angels sing."

Your eyes swept across the room as the words spilled effortlessly from your lips, each note carrying a haunting beauty. The drunkards, their mugs poised mid-air, watched you with wide eyes. Missus raised her pint higher, tears glinting in her eyes as she mouthed along with the words, clearly as proud as any mother watching her child’s first recital.

But it was Thomas’s gaze that kept pulling you back. He was leaning forward now, his elbows on the table, his piercing blue eyes locked on you with an intensity that made your heart falter mid-note. His brothers were as amused as Thomas was, their quiet singing along going unnoticed by him as he remained transfixed.

The pub faded into a blur around you, and for a moment, it was just you and him. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly, not quite a smile, but something softer, something rare. It made you feel both seen and exposed, like he was peeling back every layer of your soul with just a look.

You closed your eyes, letting the final verses of the carol guide you.

"For lo! the days are hastening on,

by prophet bards foretold,

when with the ever-circling years

comes round the age of gold;

when peace shall over all the earth

its ancient splendors fling,

and the whole world give back the song

which now the angels sing."

The last note hung in the air, delicate and trembling, before dissolving into the stillness.

The room erupted in applause, shattering the quiet spell you’d cast. Missus was on her feet, cheering loud enough to make up for anyone who wasn’t clapping. Harry nodded approvingly from the bar, a rare grin on his face.

And then there was Thomas. He didn’t clap, didn’t cheer, but his eyes said enough. There was something unspoken there, something electric that left you breathless as you stepped off the stage.

Missus grabbed you the moment your feet touched the floor, pulling you into a bear hug. “That’s my girl!” she hollered, spinning you around.

-----

As the noise swelled back into the room and the drunken revelry resumed, you glanced toward the far-right corner one last time. Thomas was no longer were he was, you looked around to see his brothers were eyeing you. John was grinning from ear to ear as he tipped his hat to you, you gestured with a soft smile. Arthur, visibly high from whatever he took, winked at you, making your soft smile widen a bit at the gesture as you shook your head continuing your drink with missus.

"Got a voice young lady, you ain't no whore like missus here ain't you?" Harry asked as he passed you your glass of water (you don't drink, taking care of your voice).

"No sir," you said in a hushed tone as missus and Harry glared knives at each other, clearly having a mental fight.

"Alright! you got the gig, every Saturday at noon. Don't be late." he huffed as he tended to other customers on the pub.

You beamed as you silently squealed with Missus. You now had enough jobs to be able to earn and go for an adventure; now it's just time to earn until-

Your reverie was cut short when a sudden familiar voice lingered behind you.

“Looking for me, darling?” His voice carried that familiar gruffness, the edges softened by something you couldn’t quite place.

You turned, startled but delighted. “Thomas,” you breathed, standing instinctively. His sharp blue eyes met yours, and for a moment, the entire pub seemed to dissolve around you.

“You’ve got a voice, Y/N,” he said, his tone quieter now, almost reverent. “Had the whole pub hanging on your every note. Even Arthur stopped his nonsense to listen.”

A faint blush crept up your neck at his words. “Thank you,” you murmured, your gaze falling briefly to the floor.

“I mean it,” he pressed. “Didn’t know you had that in you. If I’d known, I’d have dragged you to sing long ago.”

You smiled shyly but then felt the weight of a lingering question pull you back. Gathering your courage, you glanced up at him. “Thomas... about something the other day…”

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

You inhaled deeply, your words tumbling out before your nerves could catch you. “That woman. Back at the Arrow House. She said you... mentioned my name. During her... visit.”

For the first time, you saw Thomas falter. His jaw tightened, and he cleared his throat, glancing away. “Ah, bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, raking a hand through his hair.

“Well?” you prompted, your heart pounding.

He sighed, cursing himself softly before meeting your gaze again. “I did,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “She said somethin’ about loyalty or... some nonsense, and your name just... slipped out.”

“Slipped out?” you repeated, your brows arching.

“Can’t help what’s on my mind, love,” he said with a sheepish grin. “After our kiss in the kitchen that night I couldn't stop thinking about you, I couldn't possibly have you on your knees all of a sudden," he paused as he huffed another batch of his cigar. "You-your were a lady when I first saw you. Not a personal maid, so I fell for your soul and well voice now too and it’s going to be bloody distracting now that I have these in mind.”

He paused yet again, seemingly trying to recall all his thoughts, which were now visibly in jumbles. "I like to get to know you," he said as he stubbed his cigar dead on the ashtray. "It seemed like I've known you for years when we had just met that very day, and I won't be able to stop thinking about you now."

Your cheeks burned at his confession, and you averted your eyes, a small, flustered laugh escaping your lips. “Well, I... I suppose I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you either,” you confessed, your voice barely audible over the noise of the pub.

His grin widened, the rare softness in his expression making your heart stutter. “Then we’ve both been fools, haven’t we?” he murmured, stepping closer. “Let me make it right. Take you out. Like a real lady.”

Before you could answer, Missus yanked you back by the arm, her eyes narrowed. “Not so fast, lover boy,” she said, pointing a finger at Thomas. “I’m takin’ her home, since you two might start shagging when she goes back to Arrow House today.”

“Missus!" shocked by her boldness but not surprised as she was already dragging you toward the door.

“Tomorrow, then!” Thomas called after you, a smirk tugging at his lips.

-----(Present Day, December 25th)

The warmth of the fireplace cast a golden glow over the living room as your daughter sat cross-legged on the floor by the Christmas tree, her curious eyes fixed on you. “But Mommy! Missus says she did no such thing!” she exclaimed, giggling.

You shot a playful glare at Missus, who was sitting comfortably in the armchair by the fire, sipping her tea. “Oh, did she now?” you teased, shaking your head.

Missus laughed, her graying hair framing her face. “Don’t listen to her, love. I was just keeping your mother out of trouble.”

The room filled with laughter until a familiar voice interrupted. “Baby, Daddy needs Mommy for a while, yeah? Why don't you go and play with Missus for a while.” Thomas said, stepping into the room.

Your daughter lit up and nodded. “Okay, Daddy!” she chirped, running over to Missus with her toys in hand.

Thomas extended a hand to you, his expression as unreadable as ever but his eyes warm. As soon as you were in the hallway, he leaned closer. “What were you tellin’ her?”

You smiled, leaning into his touch. “Just the story of how we met. You know, the softer version.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Softer version, eh? Did you leave out the bit where I killed Luca Changretta for your hand?”

A laugh bubbled from your lips as you shook your head. “No, it’s a bit too brutal for a five-year-old, my dear Tommy.”

He smirked, his hands sliding over yours. “In time, then,” he murmured, his voice laced with affection. “But for now…”

Without warning, he scooped you up in his arms, carrying you effortlessly toward the stairs.

“Thomas!” you squealed, laughing loudly as you clung to him.

“Merry Christmas, love,” he whispered, his grin widening as he carried you up, your laughter echoing through the house.

-----(Thomas's POV)

Thomas scooped you into his arms, holding you close as though you were the most precious thing in his world. He started up the stairs, his steps steady yet unhurried.

“You don’t have to carry me, you know,” you said, a soft laugh escaping your lips.

He looked down at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief and affection. “Oh, I do. You’re my princess tonight—and every night.”

Your cheeks flushed as you playfully swatted his shoulder. “You’re so cheesy, Thomas.”

“Only for you,” he replied, leaning down to brush his lips against your forehead.

As he entered the room, he nudged the door shut with his foot and gently placed you on the bed. The golden glow of the fairy lights illuminated your face, making you look ethereal. He slowly placed you down onto your shared bed and paused, taking you in as if committing the moment to memory.

“You’re staring,” you teased, your lips curling into a soft smile.

“Can you blame me?” he replied, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “You’re breathtaking.”

Your smile faltered, replaced by a look of vulnerability. “You make me feel that way,” you murmured.

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. “That’s because it’s true,” he said softly, his forehead resting against yours.

He began to trail kisses along your cheeks and down your neck, his movements slow and deliberate. “Tell me if I ever do too much,” he whispered against your skin, his breath warm and comforting.

“You could never do too much,” you replied, your voice steady but filled with emotion. “I trust you.”

His lips curved into a smile against your neck. “I’ll make sure you never regret that,” he said, his tone serious yet filled with love.

As your connection deepened, you let out a soft laugh. “You’re so gentle, Thomas. It’s like you’re afraid I’ll break.”

“I’m not afraid,” he replied, his voice a mix of playfulness and sincerity. “I just want you to know how much I adore you—every part of you.”

As he said those words, his lips were now down to yours. Tickling your lower abdomen with soft kisses and slowly licking your clit from top to the bottom, making you hiss in pleasure.

He couldn't get over the taste of you, finer than the whisky he drinks and the cigar he smokes. He can forget Ophium, when you are one addicting woman.

"Fuck... I love you Y/N" He mutters as he laps his wet tongue through your slit and holds your hips as you were twitching heavy. His thumb on your clit drawing circles slowly and at rhythm to his tongue.

When he hears you scream his name like a prayer his pants suddenly felt tight and he couldn't let it wait any longer, he had to make you cum on his mouth now or never.

"Cum for me baby. Please... Oh God Please let me taste you" as he enters his tongue in you and his nose nuzzled on your clit and fingers twisting your nipples, fast.

"Th-Thomas! I-I'm Ah!" and release you did. However that didn't stop him and he kept his ministering to you until you could feel that satisfying release on the depths of your stomach.

"Thomas! I... I might make a mess..." You plead him as you trashed on his grasp without avail for his biceps were locked on your hips and legs. "Then make a mess. I'd love to see you make a mess for me, love"

And you squirted on his mouth. As he slowly pulls himself away and smirks looking at your majestic image, "Fuck, love you look gorgeous".

He was about to come back down and devour you once more but you won't let that happen this Christmas day. So, when you took control, he couldn’t help but smile up at you as your fingers traced the sharp angles of his face. “You know, I don’t think I say this enough,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“What’s that?” he asked, his hands resting on your hips as he gazed up at you, completely captivated.

“I love you,” you said simply, your words carrying the weight of your feelings.

His eyes softened, and a slow smile spread across his lips. “You don’t have to say it all the time. I feel it every moment I’m with you.”

When you finally lay side by side, your breaths still mingling, Thomas turned to you, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re my everything, you know that?” he said softly.

You smiled, your eyes glistening. “You’re mine, too,” you replied.

He chuckled, his voice warm and low. “Merry Christmas, love.”

“Merry Christmas, Thomas,” you whispered back, as you kissed him softly on his lips.

Thomas groaned, a low sound of pleasure, as you shifted your position, straddling him. Inserting his cock to yours, His hands instinctively found your waist, holding you steady as you began to move. His breath hitched, and he looked up at you with an expression that was equal parts awe and adoration.

“You’re going to be the end of me,” he murmured, his voice strained yet teasing, as his hands tightened slightly on your hips, guiding your rhythm.

You leaned forward, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, “I think you like it this way.”

A chuckle escaped him, though it quickly dissolved into another groan as you continued. His head fell back against the pillow, exposing his neck as he surrendered entirely to you. Your fingers slid to his jaw, tilting his face back toward you.

“Look at me,” you said softly, your voice firm but full of affection.

His eyes fluttered open, locking onto yours as your hand moved to his throat. You applied the slightest pressure, watching as his breath hitched and his gaze darkened.

“Is this okay?” you asked, pausing briefly to ensure he was comfortable.

Thomas’s hands slid up your sides, his grip reassuring. “Perfect,” he rasped, his voice thick with emotion.

You continued, your movements slow and deliberate, savoring the moment as much as he was. His hands roamed your body, occasionally tightening as he got closer to the edge.

“I’m not going to last,” he murmured, his voice strained.

You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his lips as you whispered, “Then don’t hold back, baby.”

Moments later, the tension in his body gave way, and he groaned your name, his voice heavy with release. You followed shortly after, your body trembling as you reached your peak.

Breathless, you collapsed onto his chest, his arms wrapping around you protectively. Neither of you spoke for a while, the only sound in the room being your steady breaths mingling together.

Thomas finally broke the silence, his voice soft and full of contentment. “Merry Christmas, love.”

You smiled against his chest, your fingers drawing lazy patterns on his skin. “Merry Christmas, Thomas.”

----

🐧Hopefully I ended that well :"D aha... mhen :"D I just wanted it to be cute and all since its christmas aha~ so merry christmas everyone ^^ have a happy holiday ^^🐧

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Part One - Part Two

[crimsonmochi]

Personal ― S. Gojo

Synopsis. Pornstar!Satoru is used to fucking for money's sake. It's something he does often and something he does really fucking well. When he is requested to guest you, however, it shocks everyone to see an immediate energy shift.

Pairing. Satoru Gojo x fem!reader

Content. MDNI, fem! pornstar! reader, chubby! reader implied, gender neutral pronouns used for reader, no use of "y/n", smut, p in v, cunnilingus, slight choking, some semblance of onlyfans, pussydrunk! gojo, gojo is left handed canon, a little bit pathetic, and a little nasty, probable breaches of work boundaries, no beta

Word Count. 3.9k

A/N. baby's first jjk fic, be gentle </3 please give me feedback and lmk if i forgot some tags :3 reposts encouraged!

Rain dribbled and splattered on the window, the tiny water beads reflecting and refracting the dim light from Satoru's phone. He sat upright on his bed, muscular back against the headboard, upper arms aching from his last session two days prior. He had reluctantly agreed to participate in a "professional"―which, to Satoru, was just a word for more work, smaller pay―shoot with some girl he could barely remember the name of.

The result? The director had barked at him to put himself in impossible positions for the camera's sake, which left his limbs sore and not in a good way. Satoru forced the scene to end, left with his money and a vow to himself to never ever work for studios again. He hated being told what to do, especially from guys who don't actually have what it takes.

While painkillers and a nice massage from the spa below his apartment complex did not eradicate the pain, it did make it much more tolerable.

Satoru's thumb swiped across the screen, scrolling through comments from his latest post, a message to his subscribers asking for content ideas. Sure, he did not like being told what to do, but being kindly suggested by his fans to fulfill their desires was different. In the end, he was still in control.

And it probably won't land him in a pharmacy either.

The request that Satoru found came up the most was for him to do ASMR; some fans wanted to hear those pretty praises, those filthy words he gives to his co-stars, spoken to them instead. Although the idea was alluring, Satoru would rather be on camera than behind a fancy microphone in a recording booth—primarily because he was too proud to opt out of showing his god-crafted body (that cocky bastard). But then again, he could find a way to do both...

He shelved that idea for later.

Other requests were suggestions of people to shoot with. Some popular names came up, women and men he had already filmed with and didn't find too interesting. He could fake it, of course; he was an actor, it was half of his job―but he would be unsatisfied with the end result.

Satoru was about to quit reading requests, bored and uninspired until his cerulean eyes stuck themselves to a particular comment. The space between his eyebrows creased as his eyebrows furrowed. It was a subscriber recommending another star, explaining how they weren't very well known, but they believed them and Satoru would make a great pair.

The wording was not what caught his attention, he had gotten plenty of requests with the same exact sentence before. No, it was the name, your page's name―which, to Satoru, felt familiar yet distant. He hadn't shot with you before, no, that wasn't it. Yet he was certain he knew you, knew of you at least.

His thumb reached for the search bar to type in your alias, his eyelids flickering when his gaze fell on your profile, your soft face on display. Satoru felt his length chub up in his boxers, soft lips parting to accommodate for a sudden need of oxygen.

Just as his subscriber said, you were less popular than him, with less than half the number of subscribers he had and an inarguably cheaper paywall in front of your content. Memories of happily searching for his new credit card numbers to pay for your videos came back rushing to him, memories only a few months old.

Satoru recalled seeing a preview and being immediately smitten by your pretty figure, your plush thighs and your tummy, that tiny thrill in your eyes. Fuck, how he had spent half of his revenue giving you tips on an anonymous account―just to obtain a personalized picture of just those pretty thighs, fisting his aching cock to that image for days.

Just looking at that profile again, oh my god.

His eyes laid on the subscription button. He did not even bother getting on an alt account this time to press it, watching the confirmation request pop up on his screen to gather his fingerprint in order to complete the purchase. When the paywall finally went away, Satoru let out a breath he wasn't even aware of holding, his hand travelling to his boxers, palming himself through his briefs as he scrolled.

And oh, he was gone again.

Satoru had never sent a message to his agent that frantically in his life, asking her―no, begging her to contact you to secure a shoot with you. Asked her to do whatever she could to get you in the studio.

The next few days went by without a reply from your part, and Satoru was going mad. He could not remember being this nervous for anyone, this needy. In between sessions of overthinking (maybe he should have asked you himself or maybe offered something more), he found himself replaying videos of yours he had already seen, notably the ones with other men. He knew them by heart.

Those guys didn't seem to appreciate you nearly as much as you needed, as much as you deserved. It pissed him off beyond what he thought was possible, yet made him so hard; He knew he could fuck you so much better than those amateurs you were with, pleasure you in ways they wouldn't even dare.

Unbeknownst to Satoru, you were just intimidated by his offer. Too much money from too big of a creator and an offer that seemed too good to be real to not hold a catch, which is why you did not answer right away, anxiously weighing the implications. It wasn't until he, in a moment of pure desperation and haze, shot you a private message confirming the offer that you replied, shyly agreeing.

From then on, Satoru could barely contain himself, daydreaming about everything he could do to you with his left hand eagerly moving up and down his cock, breathy exhales escaping his mouth and shaky fists gripping his bedsheets. Too often, he found himself checking the calendar on his phone, awaiting the shoot date, disappointed every time that it was still the 15th instead of the long-awaited 21st. Satoru Gojo did not exactly believe himself to be a patient man.

He sent you little messages throughout the week with ideas and reassuring messages. He wanted to know everything about you, your likes and dislikes, what you thought of him, how your body worked, and how he could get you to whine and moan for him.

On the day of the shoot, Satoru was almost unrecognizable to others involved―his agent and the friends he'd stopped to visit on his way to his studio. The man people had described as cocky, overly confident, and self-absorbed was reduced to a nervous, lost-in-thought mess. All because of you, the pretty little thing he would get to have his hands on later that evening.

He'd showered three times, spent too long in his room figuring out what clothes to wear, as if that would matter, and freaked out over his hair. His hair.

And when you finally arrived at the studio with your assistant, he nearly forgot how to breathe. That, or he was purposely holding back for fear of scaring you off, this cute little thing before him. You introduced yourself, pretty eyes gazing up at him, taking a second to admire each and every one of his features. As soon as he saw your smile, here in person, he told himself he could die happy.

Well, he could die happy after having a taste of you.

You were shy while introducing yourself to him. The interaction could easily have been misread as awkwardness, and that was what Satoru would have gone with, too, if he didn't know any better (if he didn't think so highly of himself). Your softer voice, your pretty eyes, god, those eyes. He could tell you might've had a tiny crush on him as well, and he would be lying if he said it didn't make his head reel.

Your assistant all but confirmed it when you excused yourself to the restroom, admitting that you hadn't stopped gushing about this opportunity since you got it.

And when you got back, he had the most annoying smirk and glint in his eyes, looking down at you.

After discussing what he wanted for the scene, making sure you were comfortable and willing to participate―a gentleman, truly, asked you so many times that you started chuckling your answers―he had his agent and your assistant leave the studio after you agreed to dismiss them. He did not mind an audience, but he wanted this to be personal.

"I film all my own shit anyways," he hummed, hopping behind the camera to adjust the angle.

In the film room of the studio was a bedroom set with a queen-sized bed with navy sheets and a wooden frame. A sliding-door closet with mirrors stood tall on the left side, and a bedside table on the right.

The scene you and Satoru agreed upon was vanilla, but he was pleased with the gist of it. Any way he could have you is a way he'd be pleased with, however. It didn't really matter how for the time being.

You sat in the middle of the bed, your back against the cold headboard and palms against the soft sheets, gazing at Satoru as he grumbled at the camera, shifting through the studio to find a new battery with his lips pursed in a pout. It amused you, seeing a different side of him.

It was only three minutes later that he climbed onto the bed, knees against the mattress as he moved towards you, those blue eyes staring at your frame through those pale lashes. He moved to straddle you, his back straight, his body looming over yours.

"Fuck, you're so pretty," mumbled Satoru, his hand firmly landing on the headboard to support himself, making a louder sound than he intended. "You tell me if I'm too much for you, alright, pretty?" he followed in a softer tone.

You nodded, the pad of your index landing on his shoulder and travelling down his torso, trailing close to the sweatpants he wore. Satoru reached his own unoccupied palm to your face, his fingers hooking themselves at the nape of your neck to pull you towards him. His nose brushed against yours before capturing your lips with his.

Satoru had never felt drunk on a kiss until you entered his studio.

As if a switch flipped in his head, he kept you closer to him, desperate and unwilling to pull away from your lips. He breathed shakily, his minty breath fanning over your mouth.

"Oh, you're good at this," he laughed, an arrogant laugh that made your pussy ache.

"Yeah?" you murmured.

"Yeah."

The hand on your cheek moved to your throat, squeezing at the sides―not enough to hurt, just to make oxygen sparse in your system. "I'll make you feel good, sweetheart, hm? I'll do better than those fucking losers on your page."

The sweetest words said oh so cruelly.

Although it was increasingly hard for you to think, you were able to click the pieces together pretty quick, your eyes widening and your pupils dilating.

'Fourth wall break wasn't part of the plan.

Oh.

He watched.'

Satoru's gaze had changed. Deep, yet precise in conveying the exact energy desired. A short, almost inaudible gasp escaped your lips, and fuck, he fed on that, on your reactions to him, no matter how small or insignificant. It mattered to him.

Warm fingers slipped under your the black camisole hugging your body before you could even notice his hand had left your throat, caressing your skin until he his the jackpot, massaging the same breasts he had spent hours looking at only within the past week.

"Oh-ho— nothing, no bra for me?" Satoru chuckled. He captured your nipple between his index and his thumb, rolling and pinching at it until it pebbled, drawing out a whimper from your lungs.

Satoru was fascinated by what he had under his hand, taking a too-curious approach to exploring, as if he had never seen or felt another body before this point in his life. He took his time to gently remove the fabric off of your body, imagining all the ways he could bind and explore it, worship it, cum all over those pretty tits—

It wasn't until he felt your soft hands trying to discard his shirt that he snapped out of his haze, realizing he was fucking up the pacing.

Satoru latched his mouth to one of your breasts, biting and sucking gingerly while he focused on getting you out of those tight leggings you wore just for him, that truly left nothing to the imagination. He frantically worked to get those white laced panties out of the way with a tad more force than he should have, causing a tear to rip into the fabric.

"Satoru—" you gasped, only halfway acting.

"I'll get you another pair," he groaned against your chest, licking over one of the bite marks he had left before unlatching to look down.

Satoru's brain short-circuited.

Sure, he's seen your body time and time over, but that had only ever been through the careful separation of a screen, a paywall. It was different to have access to it, to be able to touch and feel.

He thanked his earlier self for asking if he could eat you out, for now, getting to have your supple thighs around his face and neck. Fuck, he could really die happy now.

Satoru caught sight of your dripping cunt, juices dripping and latching onto your skin. He felt hungry for what seemed to be the first time in his life, moving down your body to kiss right over your mound, your scent filling his senses.

"Oh, s-shit, look at that," said Satoru.

Had he just stuttered?

He nudged his nose in between your folds, brushing against your clit with a swiftness that made your figure jolt. He chuckled, moving his arms to trap your hips and pin them to the mattress, muscles flexing under his skin to intimidate.

"God, she wants me so bad."

Satoru languidly licked up and down your slit, careful to miss your sensitive bud in the meanest way. He whimpered at the taste of you on his tongue, sweet in a natural way, catching both you and himself off guard. If his face wasn't buried in your cunt, you could have seen the faint blush creep to the surface of his cheeks.

"You ever had someone do this, sweet'art?" he mumbled against your heat, lips finally latching on to your clit.

"N-No, not really," you sighed.

"Mh," Satoru hummed disapprovingly, toying with the bundle of nerves between his teeth, one of his arms sneaking away from your hips. He teased his ring finger at your entrance. "You're, fuck- fuck― you're so― taste so good..."

He pushed his finger past the ring of muscle until he was knuckles deep, groaning before he returned his mouth to your clit, sucking in small intervals as he pumped in and out of your velvety walls. Satoru whined when your hand flew to his hair.

And when you moaned for him, he was a goner. He noticed the usually loud and audibly altered sounds had turned saccharine and almost timid.

You had been faking your moans?

He snickered at his realization, breaching through the noise of your moans and the quiet slurps. "I think she loves me," said Satoru in between breaths.

"Wha-, who―"

"Wasn't talking to you, love." Satoru's words drastically contrasted with his soft tone.

He punctuated his sentence by curling his digits to find and abuse that spongey spot, earning a string of nonsense words and whines from you, only encouraging his endeavour. The soft squelch of your pussy around his fingers and his mouth was enough to drive him to buck his hips toward the mattress.

When Satoru felt your soft thighs tighten around his head, he forced himself to pull away, grunting as you desperately moved to grip your fingers in his hair, trying to keep him there. If he hadn't had such strong convictions, he might have stayed down there for the rest of his life, dying happy with his face buried in your pretty cunt.

Satoru straightened his form, his fingers pulling out to find your clit, rubbing it in soft circles. You protested, whining pathetically.

"I know, I know, sweet girl, I'm sorry. Wanna... wanna have you cum on my cock. Can y'do that love? Want you all over me.."

He was mumbling, staring into your eyes with his pupils blown wide. The blue of his irises was overtaken by those black orbs, capturing you in his sight. His chin was wet and dripping, and his lips were slightly swollen.

A gorgeous mess for you to gaze upon.

Satoru's eyes dropped down to the sweatpants he threw on earlier (and called Suguru about just to make sure it looked "casual but not fuckboy"―Suguru called him a dumbass and hung up), carefully bunching up the fabric as well as his boxers before pushing down. Hissing as his length perked up, angry and weeping pre, he breathed a little heavier than before, his shoulders rising and falling. Satoru hadn't felt this worked up in months, maybe years, all from this.

For you.

And you would not be lying saying that had to be the prettiest dick you'd ever seen.

"Shit― look at that, hah," Satoru softly chuckled. "Lift your legs up f'me, pretty, come on.."

He grinned down at you as he helped you push your knees up to your limit, delicately placing your ankles on his shoulders and leaning his torso forward. Satoru placed one of his palms behind your cranium, a small yet protective measure.

"This okay?" asked Satoru, nudging his tip against your folds, collecting your slick to drench his cock, gliding over your clit.

"Y-Yeah, this is fine..."

It was rare for you to be nervous, given that you were used to having sex, filming it, and posting it for hundreds to see. Intercourse was not something you had any insecurities about. Usually.

What caught you off guard was the look in Satoru's eyes, the way he carried himself with a gentleness foreign to anything you've seen from him.

Satoru leaned down to press kisses against your jawline, open-mouthed and delicate, exhaling as he guided his length past your entrance, satisfied at the small gasp he heard from your lips.

"Oh my god, it's even fucking better than I imagined," said Satoru, his voice strained.

He could feel the stretch, your walls fluttering to accommodate him, still so tight and fuck―the tiny high-pitched, almost inaudible whimpers that escaped your throat.

"Don't know if I'll be able to pull out, sweet girl, hah―shit―she's sucking me in, look."

"Then don't," you mumbled, turning your head to meet his lips.

"You can't say shit like that," Satoru scoffed.

"Why not? I want it."

If you were simply pretending for the camera, that was some damn good acting. Good enough to turn Satoru into putty in your hold, to shut his brain off and make him act on instinct alone, script be damned.

Satoru pushed in until his pelvis hit your flesh, his hold on you faltering in strength momentarily, a helpless expression on his face. He listened to your quiet whines, his free hand returning to your clit in hopes of easing the strain.

"Just fuckin' perfect, holy fuuuck―" he strained out.

He withdrew his fingers from your clit to taste you once more, addicted. He drew his hips back slowly, just enough to leave about an inch inside, before thrusting back in at a slightly faster pace, setting a rather slow, intimate rhythm for you to follow.

Satoru watched as your breath picked up, how the slow rock of his hips made your eyes unfocus, and your mouth hang open. He watched as your forehead started to sweat, how your hair moved along his movements.

More importantly, Satoru listened. He heard those moans, shakier and uncalculated. He knew he wasn't crazy earlier when he had the reflection that you had been faking them.

Actually pathetic, those "men" you had been with.

"You're so pretty, y'know that?" Satoru mumbled, out of his mind. Like he was a schoolboy talking to his second-period crush. "So pretty... s'not fair..."

"H-Huh―?"

"S'not fair how it's gonna be―mh, shit―over, how s'gonna be over."

Satoru angled his hips differently, aiming for that spongey spot he had found earlier. That said, he would have had to be able to think straight to get it on the first try; which he could not, not when he was buried deep inside your cunt.

"W-What―aah, fuck, Satoru~"

You couldn't recall any shoots you had done―or any sex you had had at all, actually―that felt as good as Satoru.

"Right there, right? S'that i-it?"

He drove his movements faster, his pelvis hitting the back of your thighs and your ass with a louder SMACK! than it did previously, his breaths becoming further shallow and desperate. His skin grew increasingly damp as his efforts increased, and what were previously grunts turned to shameless moans, whines and whimpers, wanton and needy.

The man was losing his mind, so unlike anything you had seen from him.

Satoru's thrusts soon became erratic and uncoordinated, his face buried in your neck, drinking all of the sounds you were making like he was getting drunk on them.

"Can't... won't last l-long, okay? M'sorry I can't..." Satoru wailed.

His hand found your breast, flicking at your nipple in hopes of making you cum faster, needing to feel you. You were teetering on the edge, and he could feel it, feel how your pussy drew him in.

"Y'know you've been― y'been teasing me for two fuckin' weeks―aah... shitshitshit, so so g-good―two weeks." He paused to groan, pinching your flesh between his index and thumb to elicit a reaction from you. "Can't get enough of you, you're so―and you know it, you fuckin' know it too, I-I know y'do."

"Satoru! So close, please d-don't stop," you yelped, walls constricting around his length.

"Y-Yeah, pretty, I know, fuck―I know, sweet thing. I got you," Satoru panted and tightened his grip on the back of your head as if to brace for impact. "Y'do know how to drive me fuckin' crazy, with―mh, you're so soft and pretty, m-makes me want to quit the business, make you my own, God, make you my pretty wife."

Satoru's mind was running on overdrive, trying to keep up with what the fuck he was saying and making sure you felt good, as good as him. No easy task.

"Shit, gonna make you mine, I promise, fuck―"

His his stuttered as he spilled himself inside you, crying out like a wounded animal. It felt too good, it was too much.

Satoru kept going, although fucked out of his mind, determined to make you cum. He lapped up the sweat from your neck, not caring if it was nasty, while he reached down to your clit once more, slapping the sensitive bud a few times, stopping when he felt your cunt constrict and clench around him, a nice little ring of creamy mixed arousal forming at the base of his cock, gliding down your ass and spilling on the bedsheets.

"Such a mess, oh my God," Satoru whined.

He gathered some on two of his fingers, wiping it right off of your skin. "Taste it f'me, pretty," Satoru groaned.

He could have ascended to heaven right then as you wrapped your lips around his digits, glossy eyes peering up at him through your lashes.

"I gotta keep you."

pt. 2?

[vengefultakeover]

In Need of a Master

The rock hit my head with thunk and it sent me to the ground, cluthing the side of my skull while everyone rushed around me. I was in the parking lot when the round pebble nearly creacked my skull open. I could see it under my car, a circular opject, smooth, grey and speckled. I shook it off, thinking it was just some accidental debris.

"Are you alright?" I was asked by an elderly woman. There was someone behind them on the phone, calling the cops or maybe an ambulance?

"I'm fine!" I laughed it off, dusting my pants off from the asphalt sticking to the fibers. I scurried over to my car after picking up my groceries and tossed them into the back. The onlookers were shaking their head and their worried faces started to disappear as they went back to their normal lives thining nothing of it. I unlocked my car and then reached under, feeling around for the pebble until I felt it against my finger tips.

"Gotcha!" I said, pulling it out and turning it over in my hand. I felt it prick my finger, a spot of blood appearing on the outside. It disappeared as it quickly absorbed into the stone.

I am in need of a master. Are you the one? I heard behind. I spun around thinking it was right behind me and finding nothing but more rows of cars. I looked down at the pebble and shook my head thinking it may have just been the result of the thing hitting my head. I slid it into my pocket and forgot all about it on the drive home.

My roommate was chugging a glass of water in front of the sink when I dropped all my groceries on the counter. He was shirtless, as usual, and I watched him acknowledge me before going into his room. I was putting things away, the assigned spots around the kitchen, in the cupboard, and the refridgerator. Devin was playing video games in his room and I took this moment of solitude to read a book on the balcony. I looked across the way at the building and remembered the stone in my pocket just as it slid out and bounced along the ground. I picked it up, and slid my fingers over it. I set it down on the table, returning to my book when it vibrated.

"You are my new master." It had a voice and it sounded like my own.

"What the fuck?" I backed away from it, standing there in shock before getting closer again.

"You are my master. I am here to do what you will." It said, vibrating again.

"What are you?" I asked.

"I am a species from another world, subservient to one. My previous master is dead." It vibrated. I picked it up. Turning it over to see if I could find where a speaker may have been hidden.

"What do I do?" I asked.

"I am in need of a host. In order to serve you better I must take on your species' form. I do not normally look like this. This pebble is a camoflauge tactic. I was picked up by someone and thrown in your direction. I apologize, master, for any pain I may have inflicted before making myself known." It vibrated in my hands. I thought of my roommate when it finally clicked he needed a host. He was kind of an asshole, worked out a lot, and barely paid rent on time.

"Maybe Devin?" I said.

"Yes, Master." It said and then remained quiet. I thought it might do something, tell me what to do, but I returned to my book. I would occasionally peer over the top of my book. I took it inside with me when it finally got dark, and placed it on my beside table before doing my nightly routine. I thought maybe it would do something, especially since I could hear Devin's snore through the walls, but it was just there. I even said goodnight to it before clicking off the light and going to sleep.

The following morning it was gone. I thought maybe I had dreamt it. A concussion dream I was experiencing throughout the evening, but I noticed a slimy substance on the floor. I followed it out of my room, careful not to step on it just in case it was something dangerous. The trail led out into the hal and then into Devin's room. The door was wide open and I could hear something happening inside. Devin was asleep when I peered around the corner, but I could see something much larger next to the bed. It was curled up, looking over Devin.

The creature suddenly grew arms, long tentacles that curled and wiggled until they latched on to Devin's body. He was still asleepm his arm above his head and the blanket barely covering him. The thing slithered on top of him, leaving a slimy trail in its wake before the tentacles became taught. The head of the creature pushed against his stomach, now startling Devin awake as he tried to push the thing off in panic. His stomach seemed to open up for the creature, slurping its ways inside of his belly button and with every amount of bulbous form slipped inside the less Devin was struggling. His hands started to slip, suddenly losing control and then slamming against it. Devin's eyes rolled into the back of his head as the creature was almost in, the last of it wriggling and shaking as it forced itself into him. his abs tightened and his belly button slurped as the creature popped inside. Devin's body bounced on the bed and then his back arched before collapsing back into his sleeping pose.

"Devin?" I asked, making myself known and standing at the foot of his bed.

"If that's what you wish to call me, Master." He opened his eyes and looked down at himself.

"Are you okay?" I tilted my head.

"I am perfect. This form will hold me as you wished." He looked over at me, lifting his arm above his head with a smile as I walked around.

"That's awesome." I said.

"I am glad you think so master." He responded. I wanted to touch him so bad. Reach out and worship that body I had been jerking off to night after night.

"What now?" I asked.

"I am yours to control, Master." He said. I won't lie, I loved that he called me Master. I loved it so much that when it came out of Devin's mouth it made my cock bounce. I reached out, touching his chest as he looked at me with those obedient eyes.

"I see you like this body." He flexed it, his pecs tensing under my palms. When I rand my hand down his chest to his abs he tesned them and I jumped on top of him. His cock was pulsing under the blanket.

"I do. You will do anything I say?" I pushed my hands into the blanket and felt his cock. My fingers squeezed it which made his eyes flutter.

"Yes, Master. That feels good." He groaned as I pulled on his balls.

"Okay. As much as I like you calling me Master, don't do it in public." I squeezed his cock and it made him moan.

"Yes, Master." He said as he writhed underneath me.

I leaned in close and whispered, "I want you to beg me to fuck you. Pretend to be Devin." I leaned back, but he didn't let. He gripped my arms and pulled me in close, kissing me.

"Please fuck, bro. I have wanted you inside me since we moved in together." He said, sliding his hand down his body. He pulled himself out from underneath me and perked his ass up.

"Since we moved in, huh?" I said, throbbing.

"Yes. I need that cock inside me." He reached back, pulling his cheeks apart. His hole puckered as I leaned in and gave it a lick. He moaned out, his whole body tensing as I teased him with my tongue. I made him turn around, his mouth drooling as my cock bobbed in front of his face.

"Suck it." I said. His mouth enveloped it and I leaned my head back as I let out a moan and as he sucked I could already feel my balls churning from the pleasure. I pushed him away from me, my cock wet from his saliva.

"Beg." I said. He turned around, his ass up in the air and he pulled his cheeks part for me one last time.

"Please. I need it. This fucking hole needs it, bro. I'm all yours." He was almost whining and it was enough to entice me. I pushed my cock inside, feeling his tight ass against me as it slid into him. He gasped and gripped onto the edged of the bed, the springs creaking as I fucked him hard. His hole felt amazing on my cock, especially when he clenched it and my cock throbbed against it while sliding in and out of him.

"Tell me you want me." I pulled him up, my cock pulsing as I slid my hands around him and along his body. I squeezed his muscles, enjoying them in my hands.

"I want you to fill me up with your fucking load, bro. This ass is yours. This body is yours." He flexed for me as I felt him up, pushing him back down and holding onto his waist as I felt my cock nearing the explosive end. I was fucking him hard when I felt my whole body trembling and I blew my load inside his hole. The image of the creature squeezing into his body flashed in my mind. I was shaking from the adrenaline, from having this power over his body and we collapsed onto the bed. I was on top of him, kissing his back as he smiled.

"I'm happy to please you, Master." He said, my cock still lodged inside his hole. He playfully tightened himself around it and I whimpered, enjoying him. I pushed myself over and looked over at him as he laid there, eyes staring at me.

"Okay, so, I think you're going to be my boyfriend. At least pretend or I don't know." I said, my hand resting on his back as he rest his head on his crossed arms.

"Of course, Master. That will be easy. You're much nicer than any other Master I have had." He said.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Well, from here on out I want you to have a little freedom. Enjoy this body and also blend in as him. He still has to pay rent." I chuckled. The creature didn't understand the joke and laughed too.

Years later and he's still inside. Enjoying the pleasured of his human form and every chance we get, no matter where we are, he reminds me he's inside. Plus, I love having him around even if I am his Master.

[mangoshorthand]

A Hargreeves Christmas Carol | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader | Ch5 Final Chapter!

SUMMARY: Luther is the sort of idiot who goes around with a 'Merry Christmas' and a goofy smile on his lips. In your opinion, he should be roasted with his own turkey and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. Who better to teach you the error of your ways than Luther's brother, the man who holds the power of Christmases Past, Present, and Yet to Come in the palm of his hand? Info/Announcement Post

<< Read Chapter Four

Chapter Five (Rated E, 4.9k words)

The End of It

You awoke on Christmas day with a feeling of unreality. Was any of it real? Was this real?

Yet the bedsheets were your own, the bed was your own, the bedroom was your own. And, as what happened solidified in your mind, you realised that, best and happiest of all, all the time ahead of you was your own. 

Time to make amends, time to build some bridges, time to live your life. 

Today, you had three things to do. As you jumped in the shower, you imagined each of them with a smile. The first was so simple, the second so overdue, and the last so needed. 

The first two could be completed almost immediately so, fresh out of the shower, you immediately set about choosing a nice outfit for the day. 

As the wardrobe door creaked open, you smiled again. It was a beautiful wardrobe, big enough for a grown man to hide in before taking you on the trip of a lifetime. For that, you’d love it as long as you lived.

Dressed, you cantered into the living room intent on another piece of furniture. The old bureau had been left virtually untouched since the apartment passed into your name. You laid hands on it, smile trembling with emotion, and felt beneath your palms before you unlocked it.  

There it all was: keepsakes and framed photographs stacked or stowed away in inner drawers. Your hand went automatically to the topmost drawer, where you knew you’d find what you were seeking. You remembered carrying it numbly back from the hospital and locking it up tight; locking away the fact she was gone.

You picked up her necklace and held it to the light. The silver encrusted with rhinestones still looked like diamonds to your eyes. It sat on her collarbone, twinkling in the light day after day. The pendant was one snowflake-delicate flower hanging from another, leaf detailing leading off them to form Y shape up each side of the chain. 

It was her all over, and you kissed the pendant in your hand. 

“I love you, Grandma.”

Your heart fluttered with the small moment of feeling, and then soared as you fastened it around your own neck. It was like a talisman: with its comforting weight against your chest, you could honour the past, live for the present, and look with new eyes towards the future. 

The first of your three tasks done, you set about the second, pulling out your phone and sitting down to compose a message to Robbie.

When you rang their doorbell later that morning, intent on your third task, you bounced nervously on the balls of your feet, bottles clinking in the stuffed-full bags by your sides. 

Sloane answered, and you faltered, remembering what you heard her say yesterday, but when you looked at her face, she seemed more surprised than anything.

“Happy Christmas,” you said, smiling a little awkwardly.

She returned your greeting with a slightly cold smile. 

“Is Luther in?” you asked, “He invited me today, but I was pretty rude to him so…”

You tailed off, and her expression softened slightly.

“I brought booze.” you joked tentatively, “A peace offering.”

Sloane smiled then.

“Come in, it’s cold out there. He’s in the kitchen.”

“Cooking since five AM I bet?”

She gave a surprised chuckle.

“Yes actually. They’re been working their asses off. Just let me go get him.”

You gave her brief thumbs up and she walked briskly towards the kitchen.

You looked around affectionately at the Academy’s entrance hall. Far from being intimidating, it now felt like an old friend. 

Only a few seconds later, hurried footsteps announced Luther’s arrival.

“You came!” he cheered, bounding towards you. 

He was wearing an expression of pure, unbridled joy on his face and a comically tiny apron embroidered with poinsettias and adorned with frills. You held out your arms and hugged him.

“Happy Holidays. I’m so sorry about yesterday,” you said fervently, “I was such an asshole.”

“Forget it,” Luther replied, sounding as if life could afford no greater promise for the day than to have you here, “water under the bridge.”

“I don’t deserve you.” you said, hugging him harder, “Thank you so much for putting up with me.”

“I don’t put up with you, I like you.”

When you broke apart, you briefly hugged Sloane too.

“You’ll stay all day, right?” she asked, “And sleep over. We have so many spare rooms.”

Apparently her dislike of you wasn’t so deep that a decent apology couldn’t undo it all, and you were glad for that fact. You knew from Luther that Sloane was his perfect match, and you hoped to find a friend in her too.

“If you’ll have me, I’d love to stay.”

“Gladly,” said Five’s voice.

You broke apart from Sloane to find Five standing in the doorway, clad in his own frilly apron tied over his new sweater and drying his hands on a dishtowel. 

Though you said goodbye to him only a few hours ago, it felt like much longer. You felt renewed, joyful, and invigorated, and with it came a new perspective. Every person was a fellow passenger onwards through time, but only you and Five were united in having seen the destination and decided to change it.

Luther and Sloane exchanged a significant look as you and Five moved towards each other.

“Happy Christmas,” you said. 

The consciousness of what passed the previous night crackled between you, and you exchanged conscious, conspiratorial smiles.  

“Happy Christmas.” he replied, tucking the distowel in his apron pocket, “Nice necklace.” 

“Thanks. Nice apron.”

He gave a self conscious smile, and his arms gave a strange sort of twitch outwards, hands hovering uncertainly at his sides as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them.  

You took pity on him and hugged him, which he gladly returned. 

So far, most of your touches had been unconscious, unconsidered, or instinctive. This time, you made a conscious decision to kiss him on the cheek. It was platonic enough, but that didn’t stop Five’s grip almost imperceptibly tightening around your upper arm as shivers ran down his spine. 

The four of you entered the living room, where you were finally introduced to the people you’d seen last night. Viktor and his girlfriend Annabelle, visiting for Christmas for the first time; Klaus all smiles in his sequins; and Lila and Diego, joined at the hip. 

“You’ve been cooking with him?” you said to Five in an undertone the moment you got an opportunity, “That’s sweet.”

One corner of Five’s mouth rose in his lopsided smile.

“He’s a surprisingly good cook, actually. Taught me a thing or two.”

“I’m glad for you.”

“What are you two whispering about?” asked Lila, honing in on an interesting dynamic with the precision of a sniper. 

Five turned to her with the air of a father holding his patience with a bratty child. 

“Just making a pact to grin and bear it when one of you idiots inevitably suggests Charades after dinner.”

“Ooh! Charades!” Lila said, boisterously, “Yeah, great idea!”

“Uh. Charades?” grumbled Diego.

“Shut up, Diego,” she scolded, slapping him on the arm, “don’t be a killjoy.”

The day progressed as most family Christmases do: there was Christmas meal in which the potatoes were slightly overcooked (Five’s fault), little squabbles breaking out over the gravy, (Diego and Luther’s fault), and one serving platter broken in the production-line of dishwashing (a mortified Annabelle’s fault).

Afterwards you all retired back to the living room and, while Viktor piled up the fire and the family began to chat, someone mentioned drinks.

“I brought some stuff with me from Maggie’s,” you said, eagerly, “I thought I could say thank you for inviting me by making a few cocktails, if you’d like that?”

“You sure?” asked Luther, looking at you doubtfully, “I don’t want you to feel like you’re at work.”

“I’d love to actually,” you said, earnestly, “mixology never feels like work to me.”

You caught Five’s eye, but continued speaking as if to Luther.

“And I’m taking a step back in the New Year anyway. I’ve asked Robbie to manage the place for me.”

“Really?” Sloane asked, surprised, as you went to grab your supplies from the entrance hall. 

“Mm-hm,” you said, re-entering the room, “It’s long overdue. Robbie’s always wanted to manage, and I need to reevaluate what I want in life.”

“Good for you,” said Five, quietly.

You couldn’t help but look at him then. His approval felt good. Very good. 

“I wanted to try out a recipe idea I had.” you said, again deliberately addressing anyone but Five, “Tell me what you think: it’s whisky, cinnamon, maple syrup, egg white, and a dash of lemon.” 

You turned to catch Five’s eye as you finished, eyes practically sparkling with mischief: 

“I call it the Ebenezer Splooge.”

There was a polite chuckle around the room, and Five’s face worked very hard not to draw attention to himself. There was a blush high on his cheek, and his mouth gave a violent twitch.

“Hence the egg white?” he asked, careful to keep his voice steady.

“You’re a quick learner,” you replied.

Five bit his lip, the line bringing back the memories you’d deliberately evoked; that night back in March when you turned his drunk ass down. It hit something inside him. 

Up until last night, he’d been content with masochism: drinking in your little touches whenever he could get them, enjoying the flirting and quietly dying inside every time you so much as poured a drink with that elegant poise of yours. 

He couldn’t do it anymore, not when he knew what it was to hold you in his arms, to feel your lips on his skin, to be party to your grief and revelations. It was better to look to love that he could have rather than pining after yours. It felt so near sometimes, yet, whenever he reached for it, it was inaccessible. 

The promised game of charades came and went. The booze flowed, and the atmosphere got livelier. It was all a whirl of caterwauled Christmas songs, champagne, and late-night turkey sandwiches. 

They were a friendly group, and it felt good to be among them. This was what Christmas was supposed to be, spending time with people who made you feel loved and welcome.  

By this stage, all of you had been dancing, and you flopped down on the couch beside Five, a stitch in your side. 

“I’m going to have to go to bed,” you said, grinning at him, “Klaus is going to tire me out!”

“He has that effect.” Five remarked, glancing fondly at his brother, “Want me to show you to a guest room?”

“Yes please.”

You said your goodnights, and when you were both out of earshot in the entrance hall, Luther turned to Sloane:

“I bet you fifty dollars Five doesn’t come back downstairs.” 

“It’s about time,” Sloane replied, grinning, “he’s been hung up on her for months.”

“How about you and I go upstairs?” he said, with a sly smile. 

“Soon, sugarplum,” she promised, and kissed him gently.

“So you’re taking a step back from Maggie’s?” Five said, as you mounted the stairs together.

“Yeah,” you said, with a gentle smile, “I woke up this morning and I just knew. I don’t want to sell the bar, but I don’t want to spend my life chained to it either.”

“So what’s your plan now?”

“The plan is no plan,” you beamed, “I’m just going to build my bridges, follow my heart, have some fun, and see where it leads. I’ve got some catching up to do.”

Five was silent for a few moments. 

“And where’s your heart leading you now?” he asked, uncertainly. 

“No idea. I guess we’ll see.”

He stopped and opened a nearby door.

“Does this room work for you?” he asked, casting an eye around to check its suitability. 

“Are you in love with me?”

He blinked once at the unexpected question, and then answered without hesitation or preamble, as if he was simply giving you the time.

“Yes.”

Your arms, legs and sex tingled with the admission.

This was it. You were done with self denial and done with pushing people away. Five was everything you wanted right now, and you wanted to pull him as close as two people could be.

“Then spend the night with me.”

His mouth fell open, and he let out one or two disbelieving breaths. You took each of his elbows and pulled him closer to you.

“This is…unexpected,” he said, and swallowed. 

Your eyes immediately flew appreciatively to his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, and when you raised your hand to touch his face, you were surprised to see a hard expression there. 

“I don’t want to be a one night thing for you.”

“You won’t be.”

“I don’t believe you.” he replied, resentfully, “You just said that your plan is ‘no plan’. You’re just throwing spaghetti at the wall and seeing what sticks. I’m not going to-”

You silenced him with a kiss, pulling him to you by the collar. It was one you’d been holding back for as long as he had, and when your lips connected with his, you felt your body wanting to melt, permeate his skin and sink into him.

You could taste his last scotch on his lips, you could smell that maddening cologne. 

But he took you by the upper arms and pushed you away, firmly. 

“Five,” you pleaded, “Five, please. Please.”

“No. I’m not going to be some experiment for you. I’ve wanted you for too long to just be some no strings fuck. I’m done.”

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted you?” you pleaded, shaking him slightly by the front of his sweater, “Pretty much since you first came into Maggie’s!”

There was a needy, beseeching tone in your voice. It would have embarrassed you before, but now it just felt good to wear your heart on your sleeve. He opened his mouth to object, but you spoke over him:

“I’ve been hiding from my feelings for years: hiding from Grandma dying, hiding from how I feel about you, and I’m done hiding!”

Five looked down at you, at your pleading face. 

To think you were literally begging him for sex - the stuff of his wildest fantasies - and he was turning you down.

He bit his lip again and looked up at the ceiling, away from you, and tried to think. 

This didn’t help quell your desire, finally released from its bounds after years of repression and cold showers. His neck looked unbelievable, all stretched and arched that way, and it took some restraint not to dive forward and taste his skin. 

“God, Five. I need you.”

He let out a little growl of frustration. 

“No. I need to know we have a chance at a future!”

The fragile note in his voice broke through your fever. Guiltily, you loosed your hold on his sweater and backed off. 

You closed your eyes for a second or two, and then spoke again:

“Okay. I understand. I’m sorry I kissed you like that.”

“It’s fine,” he croaked, sounding far away.

You put a hand on the spare bedroom door frame, signalling your intent to leave him alone. 

“I’m going to go to bed, but let’s talk in a few days, okay?”

He nodded, opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again.

“Maybe we’ll go for dinner?” you added, tentatively, “We can take it slow. You’re worth the wait.”

He flushed at this, and his fingers moved restlessly at his sides.

You gave him an understanding smile, and then, echoing his leavetaking of the previous evening, you took one of his hands, raised it to your lips, and gave two delicate kisses to the backs of those fingers. 

“Goodnight,” you said, tenderly, “Thanks for today. And last night. Thanks for everything.”

With that, you retreated into the bedroom. 

But before you could close the door, he was over the threshold.

“I won’t last long,” he said, voice low. 

And, before you could process what he meant, he kicked the door closed behind him with a bang, pulled his sweater over his head and cast it away from him. 

If his voice smoldered, his eyes were aflame; being the object that gaze felt like being scalded by hot honey. It seared your skin. 

With a rush from your toes upwards, you threw yourself at him, sending him falling back against the door with another loud bang.  

His tongue was in your mouth: plunging, searching, tasting; teeth clashing against yours with the urgency of desire. You moaned into his mouth and sagged, weak with the feel of it, and he grunted in displeasure. His hand came to the back of your head and held you fast, pressing your face harder against his. 

Though you initiated the kiss, though it was you pressing him against the door, though it was you begging for this only a few moments prior, it was his passion that won out, leaving you wilting in his arms, eyes helplessly closed. 

At last he came up for air, loosening his hold on you and breathing hard.

He looked too full of lust for words, eyes were darting all over you, teeth exposed. You could relate, your pussy aching like a tuning fork struck too hard. 

You dropped immediately to your knees, hands coming up to fumble at his waistband.

He groaned in anticipation, head hitting the door as he slumped back against it, the mere prospect of being sucked almost undoing him. 

“You shouldn’t -” he gasped, sounding a little embarrassed, even through the lust-induced haze. “I’ll come. It’s been a long time, I’m already-”

But he gasped again when you took him, hard and heavy, into your hand. It was clear that he hadn’t been exaggerating; his white underwear and pink cockhead were already moist with leaked arousal.

His cock was thick, uncut, and long enough to exceed your grip by half. His shaft was curved and sculptural like his forearms; veins standing out attractively. It twitched invitingly in your hand and, as a little more precome dripped from the slit, you felt yourself gush into your panties.

“I want to taste you,” you said, looking up at him.

“And I want to give you a good time,” he said, fretfully.

“You will.” you smirked, lips an inch away from his tip. 

He answered only with another sound, and when you tasted him, he hissed, and bucked his hips immediately into your mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, “it’s hard to control.”

You only smiled and took him back into your mouth, tasting the salt of his arousal, the delicate musk of his cock, and yet drinking in his whines more greedily than either. 

“Oh fuck,” he choked. 

He was perfect: sensitive and desperate. He writhed, cursed, tensed, and whimpered: one fist contracting in your hair and the other against the door handle as he fought fiercely against the need to come.

You took pity on him then, content with having had him in your mouth for the few moments he could manage.

“You’re going to kill me,” he said, breathlessly.

You grinned up at him. 

“Then eat my pussy and calm down.”

His cock twitched, and he gave another small cry. 

“That didn’t help!” he yelped, agonized. 

You chuckled mischievously and stood, just he started to unbutton his shirt, kicking the pants and underwear off from around his ankles. 

Even this momentary delay to getting some part of your body back on some part of his was too much, and you cast your dress away as roughly as Five had his sweater. Meanwhile, he was wriggling out of his shirt, swearing as his wrists caught in the cuffs. Your fingers shook as you unclasped your bra and, as you struggled, his eyes fed on you.

“Can I take off your panties?” he asked. 

No sooner had you answered in the affirmative, finally succeeding in removing the cursed bra, Five was on his own knees, shimmying your panties down your legs, and helping you to step out of them.

“Against the wall,” he growled, cock protruding invitingly between his legs and bobbing with his movement. 

No sooner had you obeyed than his mouth was inches away from your pussy, helping one leg up onto his shoulder to give him better access.

He looked at you for a moment, fascinated.

“Holy shit,” he said, awed, “you’re so wet.”

“I’ve been wet since the hallway!” you breathed.

With that same expression of fascination, he dragged a single finger between your labia, from your hole all the way to your clit, collecting your juices, and then put it in his mouth. 

He let out a low moan as he sucked his finger clean, one hand darting lower to gently roll his foreskin back and forth. 

He looked up at you with a cocky grin at the effect he’d already had on you, the appearance of even more thick fluid evidence enough that you liked what you saw. 

He leaned forward, nose less than an inch away from you, and lingered there.

“Please!” you said, desperately. 

“Call this payback for the Ebenezer Splooge,” he said, playfully.

“No! Please!”

He took another, momentary pause, and then mused:

“You do sound good when you beg.”

His tongue protruded, his breath hot and torturous against your inflamed, excited pussy… and then he paused there, tongue tip millimeters from your clit.

Just as one of your hands came to urge him forward by means of his hair, he gave your clit two or three experimental licks. 

You squeaked, hand finding a grip in his hair anyway, and he dragged his tongue deliberately up and down. 

“Oh fff-fuck.”

He hummed delightedly against you, and started to eat you out in earnest, kissing your labia, slipping his tongue inside you, and alternating between nudging your clit and sucking on it. 

You urged him on, trying hard not to moan too loudly, stroking his thick hair, and trying hard not to surrender too much of your weight to the wall as your supporting leg went weak. 

His face wormed its way further between your thighs, and his mouth closed around your clit, lips and tongue at work against you, eating you like a ripe fig; sucking your juices down his throat with a snarling, feral sound. 

As it turned out, Five didn’t need to worry about his lack of stamina: he might not last long, but neither did you. With only a few minutes of concerted licking, tongue swiping side to side, he only had to introduce a finger for you to keen, shout, and then come. 

You flailed and cursed as the pleasure slammed through you like a wave smashing you against the rocks. It floored you, and then that hot-honey was back, engulfing all your senses in a thick, shimmering molasses haze. 

As the feeling subsided, Five slowed his licks, kissing your pussy lips and easing you out of the orgasm with increasingly gentle attentions, mercifully avoiding your over-sensitive clit. 

When your breathing was back to normal, you unhooked your leg from his shoulder, and he looked up at you, face wet with your juices. 

“Good?”

You didn’t need to answer him, your fucked-out haze of an expression was enough. 

He smirked and stood so that you were on a level once more. He kissed you deeply, hands coming to cup and fondle each of your asscheeks and holding you up as you slumped bonelessly against him. 

“We need a condom.” you said, breathlessly. 

“Right,” he agreed, distractedly, setting you on your feet and bending to locate his wallet from his pants pocket. 

“Still in date,” he said, sounding slightly surprised as his trembling fingers located the rubber and opened the package, “I haven’t needed one in a while.”

“You can’t get STDs from the cable porn ladies,” you quipped.

“Shut up,” he smiled, rolling the condom down his shaft and leading you to the bed.

He sat down on its edge and looked up at you. 

Ride me,” he said huskily, “I promise I won’t take long.”

Though already exhausted from your orgasm, the need to have him inside you overwhelmed it, and you nodded. He guided you onto his lap facing him, your thighs around his waist and his arms around your own.

As wet as you were, it was still a slow, tight slide down onto his cock. Five buried his head between your breasts with a strangled moan at the sensation, intense even through the condom. When you started to ride him, he was beside himself in no time at all, feet planting on the floor and pushing helplessly up and into you. 

It felt good; full and intimate with your arms wrapped around each other, eyes and mouths occasionally locked as you thrust into one another, meeting the other’s body and pushing as deep as you could go. 

It was his face that made your nipples harden, the feel of his strong, lithe body between your thighs that made you bite your lip, and his pelvis moving against yours that made you bend to finally taste his neck. 

“Fuck,” he said, roughly, “Gonna come already. Been too long - thinking about you - can’t believe we’re - oh sh-iii-t!”

He came with a yell, surging upwards in the grip of his orgasm, head thrashing and arms tightening reflexively around you. His thrusts became disorganised, messy and uncontrolled, eyes screwed up, teeth gnashing against the air, and neck once more arching in that delicious way. 

He collapsed onto the bed, panting, and you leaned forward to give him a final kiss before climbing off him and wriggling into bed beside him.

You stroked his hair idly as he came down from the high, regaining his breath and dealing with the condom. For a few moments afterwards, he just stared at the ceiling. 

“That was amazing,” you said.

“Yeah,” he replied, distractedly.

“All okay?”

“Yes,” he said, sitting up but not turning to face you, “I’m gonna go get cleaned up, but I’ll be back, okay?”

Sitting in his pajamas on his own bed, Five plucked another hair and inserted it into the briefcase on his lap. 

He’d get over you. If that really was a quick fuck while you rediscovered yourself, then that would suck, but he could face it and survive. What he couldn’t face was becoming that lonely man with the child-molester mustache. 

He had to know that it wasn’t inevitable. Because if that wasn’t inevitable, then it proved that the power really was still in his hands.

And maybe it even proved that he had a chance to make you love him back.

He set the briefcase to the same date as last night, braced through the static of time travel, and then immediately regretted not putting on shoes.

Snow was soaking through his socks. 

“Great,” he grumbled.

He was standing in the front yard of a little house, alone on a snowy country road, and a quick glance at the briefcase proved to him that it was the same night as before: Christmas Eve, ten years from the present. 

It was different, that was for sure.

He hurried as quickly as possible off the snow and onto its covered doorstep, where the light from the front window drew him to it. With a strange sense of deja vu (shouldn't he be standing beside an azelea?), he looked through. 

There was a small but cozy living room, a lit wood fire, a Christmas tree with wrapped gifts beneath, and himself. 

He was wearing the same sweater Klaus got him for this Christmas, his socked feet up on the coffee table and a book in his hand, reading contentedly. Instead of the pedo ’stache, he sported only a little scruff around his jaw. 

It was all he needed to see, and Five let out a deep sigh of relief. 

Alone he might be, but with that many presents beneath the tree, he at least had family coming.

It was almost perfect, he thought, as he set up the briefcase for the return journey.

But then something caught the periphery of his vision.

There you were, entering the room and handing him what had to be a glass of Ebenezer Splooge, garnished with a twist of orange zest. 

“Hi,” he whispered, climbing back into the guest bed beside you.

“Hey,” you replied, sleepily, shuffling up beside him and laying your head on his shoulder. 

For a few moments, he just enjoyed the warmth from inside and out. 

“Thank you for tonight,” he whispered, “that was amazing.”

“It was a long time coming,” you mumbled, “and when we wake up, we’re doing it again.”

“Good,” he said, breathing in the smell of your hair.

His future was all here in the here and now: his family downstairs, you held here in his arms, and his resolution to deserve it all by being good to you all.

And he’d do it too. He’d be better than his word. He’d be as good a friend, as good a brother, and as good a man as he could. Perhaps his siblings might laugh to see the change in him - all loved up and cheerful for once -  but he found he didn’t care. His heart sang: and that was quite enough for him. 

As he drifted off to sleep, the woman he loved in his arms, he barely heard your sweet voice as it observed:

“Your feet are fucking freezing!” 

The End

A/N: Did you think I was ending this without smut? Have you met me? Thank you for all your lovely comments and reblogs throughout this fic and all my others this year. They really do make the difference and constitute roughly 80% of my self esteem. Happy Christmas to all who celebrate, and here's to a better 2025, (slim hope, but bring on the revolution etc etc).

Scrooge and Bob Cratchit, or The Christmas Bowl by John Leech, 1843 in Dickens' A Christmas Carol, first edition (1843).

Dickens' A Christmas Carol full text available here.

Read it! It's a much better than this, and you can see how many lines I stole verbatim or clumsily referenced.

Dividers used in this series by @bernardsbendystraws (garland) and @strangergraphics (lights)

Taglist: @nevbrooke-555, @fiannee, @abeeabee6969, @chalametabingbong, @lolawassad, @icantpickanamefromonefandom @thebearmage @kaybreezy3000, @starlitflora (comment to be added or removed)

Megalist

Request info + rules

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

[ya-zz]

Ramattra Drabble

Wherever the omnic went, there was always a book in his hand or under his arm. At first, you thought it was just some reading material, but as time went by, you concluded that it wasn't a novel of some sort, but rather a notebook.

You had asked him about it multiple times on various different occasions but he never opened it up to show you. In fact, he never spoke about what was inside of it.

Figuring that it was something to do with his work, you stopped asking, admitting defeat and dropping the subject entirely.

There had been days, however, that he would leave it on the table or on the counter but he always came back within minutes to retrieve it, not leaving you with enough time to sneakily flip through the pages.

But you respected him. You trusted him. You wouldn't actually bring yourself to do it, no matter how much it gnawed at you. It was important work, so you thought. Maybe he'll show you when he's achieved what he needed to.

Months went by before the book was even mentioned again, but it wasn't you who sparked that conversation. It was Ramattra.

"You have wanted to see what was inside of here for so long." He looks down at the book in his hands before glancing back up at you, optics studying your face. Confusion but also curiosity. His arm extends outwards, book between his fingers as he holds it out to you.

"You're finally letting me look?"

Ramattra nods once before speaking. "Yes. Though, it will not make sense at first." He watches as you take the book, sitting down beside him so he can watch you turn the pages.

He wasn't wrong. Omnicode and equations riddle the first set of pages, scribbles of what you assume were weapon ideas and snippets from newspapers of world-wide events. It wasn't entirely what you were expecting.

As your fingers flip over to the next page, things start becoming a mess. Equations are scrapped, red and blank ink hiding what was once written and some pages were crumbled, seemingly from a small fit of rage where he scrunched the page.

"What is all of this?"

"That is not important." He silent urges you to keep moving ahead in the notebook and when the next few pages are turned, his systems momentarily freeze. His optics were locked onto your face, studying your features.

"Ramattra...?"

Amidst the omnicode, small sketches of you fill the page. At first, it was just one or two that fit the spread but as you continue to turn the pages, the sketches become larger, filling the pages entirely. Various angles and poses, sometimes when your back is turned, others when he's been sat directly across from you and you didn't even realise.

The omnic couldn't find the words, his vocaliser emitting a small hum of static. His hands that rest on his knees begin fidgeting, pulling at the soft fabric of his pants or rubbing the metal joints of his knuckles.

You can feel your heart fluttering, chest growing warm with what you believe is affection. The parts of you that you hate, he's sketched so perfectly. You're seeing yourself as he sees you.

"How long has this been going on for?"

Ramattra realised he never even dated them, but his memory serves him well in remembering the first time he sat there and sketched you. "Since the start of the year."

"And you've done so many-" You keep your eyes glued to the pages, admiring each and every single sketch. Some in pencil, some in pen.

"You are too beautiful not to draw." He chuckles when he sees the flush that instantly appears on your cheeks and he couldn't stop himself from bringing his hand up to cup your face.

You had reached the final page of the notebook, noticing how the final page was yet to be filled. Looking up at the omnic sat next to you, you're about to speak before he cuts you off.

"I was saving that page for now, if you would let me?" He watches as your eyes widen and that flush only deepens. The timid nod from you causes the omnic to tilt his head, his systems warming up.

His hands retrieve the book from you as he watches you get comfortable on the sofa. Before he starts, he hears you speak up.

"Thank you." You can sense the confusion so you elaborate. "For showing me. I didn't expect any of this."

"Thank you for being a perfect model." He chuckles along with your nervous giggle.

He admires you from the opposite end of the sofa, the way your eyes glittered in the light of the room, the flush that still painted your cheeks and the soft smile that graced your face.

Now knowing that you're aware of what he's been hiding all year, it causes his systems to heat up, fans whirring loudly in the otherwise quiet room. He speaks, a hint of sheepishness in his tone as he begins, pencil scratching at the final page of the book.

"You are the definition of beauty, you know?"

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 24

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, swearing, drug addiction, violence.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

NOAH

"It's important to stay well-hydrated, eat properly, and maintain a good sleep routine. It’s not like this feeling will disappear overnight, but a lifestyle more focused on your well-being might help…”

My attention was fixed on the hourglass on his desk, the sand sliding down into the lower compartment at a slow rhythm. If I said I was paying attention to anything, I’d be lying. Ever since I walked into this room, I’d been high on intravenous medication and completely oblivious to what was happening around me, slouched in a position in this chair that would surely give me a backache once I returned to my senses.

I didn’t know it was possible to feel even more apathetic.

“I can refer you to regular sessions with a professional—what do you think?” he pressed, trying to regain my attention again. “Your tests didn’t reveal anything I should worry about, but if these symptoms persist, it would be wise to seek a second opinion. It could help, considering your physical reactions are becoming increasingly severe.”

I let out a scoffing laugh without looking at him.

“Do you think I’m losing my mind?”

“I think your body is sending signals that it needs care. That’s common when patients are going through difficult times or even under pressure.” The deeper he delved into the topic, the more nausea churned in my stomach. I sighed as though trying to reclaim air in a near reflux. “Have you experienced anything like that? Feeling trapped in a state of excessive melancholy that seems to take longer to pass with each episode?”

Absolute silence.

“Do you think I’m planning to kill myself?” I asked with irony. “My contract doesn’t allow that.”

“I think it would be wise to take some time off to rest.”

I had a flight with the band in two hours, two festivals over the span of a week in different countries. Resting was only an option in my dreams—and even then, there was a risk I’d be working in them.

“Can I ask you something?” I finally shifted my attention from the hourglass to the man in a lab coat with graying hair behind the desk.

“Of course, Noah.”

“The girl who brought me here—she’s still in the hospital?” I asked carefully, biting down on my lower lip.

The doctor looked at me for a few seconds as if reading my microexpressions or whatever the hell I carried in my eyes. I felt a faint discomfort, but it wasn’t greater than the curiosity clawing at the inside of my skin.

“I can’t say for sure, Noah, but there’s a girl listed as your contact in your file. I’m just not sure if it’s the same person we’re talking about.”

I hated how my body reacted immediately, as though erasing the entire conversation about the studio and clinging solely to the fact that she might still be here—with me. Nothing else seemed to matter, none of the other things I was feeling, because somehow, she managed to give me the false sense that my heart was at peace again.

Like at the studio, when the touch of her hand silenced the chaos in my mind, even if it was just a fleeting truce, since everything came back threefold the moment she moved away.

I must have been losing my mind. I no longer had any awareness of my actions or control over them. I couldn’t filter my feelings, making them even more confusing each time I smothered them with some new, unrestrained emotion.

As I exited the consultation room, I saw nothing but other patients waiting to be seen. Gradually, I let my shoulders drop while I walked, scanning the reception area with slow steps when I didn’t see any sign of her around. What passed through my head wasn’t disappointment—certainly not.

A sudden jolt from physical contact made me turn sharply, my brow furrowing as I saw a girl greeting me with a hug I didn’t reciprocate, keeping my arms stiff at my sides. I blinked a few times before looking down and seeing the fiery red hair on top of her head.

“Scarlet?” I asked, confused.

“When I returned to the observation room, they told me you had woken up and gone to see the doctor. How are you feeling?” she asked sweetly, frowning as I moved her away from me by grabbing her arm.

“What are you doing here?”

“Are you disoriented from the meds? I received you at the hospital on behalf of the record label’s team and have been accompanying you ever since, silly!”

“But…”

Had I been mixing things up? As far as I remembered, it wasn’t Scarlet who had been with me when I arrived here or when the medication knocked me out. But was I coherent enough to argue? My head was beginning to throb again, and my thoughts were as tangled as the sequence of events.

I definitely didn’t remember this particular cut.

“How about lunch? There’s a restaurant nearby that—”

“I just want to go home.” I interrupted while craning my neck to look around.

“Alright, I’ll drive you!” she replied with unshakable enthusiasm, and I let out a deep sigh.

“Isn’t there anyone else who can do that?”

“Noah, you don’t have to be so hard on me, okay? I know you’d rather have someone else in my place, but there’s not much I can do if she didn’t want it that way!” Scarlet’s tone was almost offended as she shrugged. “Let me help you—I promise that’s all I want.”

Meeting her bright green eyes as she fluttered her long lashes, I just turned around and started walking toward the exit. Scarlet sighed in satisfaction behind me, following like a duckling trailing after its mother.

On the way to the car, I tried to pull as much as I could from my worn-out mind, demanding myself to recall the route from the studio and my time in the hospital, but it felt as though a gaping hole had formed in my memory.

“I have good news for you!” she said, tapping her fingertips together as she closed the driver’s door.

“I don’t like people beating around the bush. Be direct.”

“Well…” Scarlet cleared her throat awkwardly. “Bryan has to miss the band’s trips this week, and I’ll be replacing him as the photographer. Isn’t that amazing?”

I was still searching for the “good” part of the news.

“Since when do you need to take band photography jobs?” I asked, perplexed, shifting my gaze to her. “That makes no sense when you make triple the amount from a single modeling gig.”

“I haven’t had as many jobs lately. This opportunity came up, and since you guys already know me from photographing the band’s collection, I took it!”

“Does everyone know about this already?”

"I thought I only owed explanations to you."

"I'm not a solo artist, and changes need to go through everyone in the band first!" I tried to moderate my tone as I turned back to the dashboard.

"Well, my hiring was cleared by Gerard, and now you're being informed about it. I don’t think anyone else is left on my list." She concluded with conviction after adjusting the rearview mirror to see her own reflection.

The girl lowered her sunglasses and started the car, keeping a moderate speed and playing some generic pop music that scratched at my ears.

I was about to open the door and throw myself onto the road at any moment.

At home, I barely had time to sit and breathe before being bombarded with calls and messages about being late to the airport. Moving at the slow pace I was still processing things, I threw a few pieces of clothing into a backpack and called a taxi to meet up with the band as quickly as possible.

"Hey, man! How are you feeling?" Folio greeted me at the entrance with a light slap on my arm.

"I'm fine," I replied, forcing some enthusiasm into my voice as I followed him. "You seem excited to travel."

"And when am I not?" he said as if it were obvious, raising his hands in the air. "I thought we were all eager to get back on stage after some time."

"You're right..." I felt like I couldn’t say the same. "I am, too."

In the boarding line, I bit the inside of my lips as soon as her perfume arrived first in the air, infecting everything in the blink of an eye as if it wanted to suffocate me. From the corner of my eye, I saw her stop behind me, wearing sunglasses and focused on a piece of paper she was holding, her long black-painted nails adorned with rings she rarely took off.

"What are you doing here?" I heard her voice and turned to see she was speaking to Scarlet, who had taken a spot behind her.

"Didn't Noah tell you?" the red-haired girl replied with raised eyebrows. "I'll be accompanying the band as a photographer."

"No, Noah didn’t tell us..." She smiled slowly and turned to look straight at me. Every word she spoke to Scarlet didn’t require the slightest eye contact—she directed her harsh words while fixing me with a furious glare. "I didn’t know he was hiring just anyone to keep his girlfriend around."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, lowering my voice as if each word pierced my brain, my headache still relentless.

"Listen here, girl, you respect me because I am not just anyone!"

She laughed, covering her mouth with trembling fingers before recomposing herself and gliding her lipstick-coated lips together.

"Thank you so much for the info, sweetheart! Good luck keeping an eye on him backstage."

Like a furious storm, she delivered her acidic words while brushing past me, heading toward our friends up ahead.

"I find her so rude," Scarlet muttered with a dissatisfied grunt. "No wonder if she's high, acting so full of herself."

"Why don’t you just shut up?" I snapped, cutting her words short with a cold sideways glare. "If you found a way to insert yourself into the band through work, then do it. Pretend the rumors about my personality are true—don’t talk to me, don’t sit next to me, don’t ask me for anything, and definitely don’t meddle in my life. I sincerely hope I don’t have to hear your voice until the plane lands, or I’ll ship you off to an island in New Zealand."

"But Noah—"

Before Scarlet could say anything else, I turned my back on her and followed the rest of the team. Fortunately, I was so exhausted that the rest of the trip seemed to promise immediate sleep.

On the plane, however, my mood worsened even more when I realized I’d been assigned the worst seat possible: right behind Ruffilo and the others, who were laughing loudly and joking incessantly with her.

Ruffilo’s loud laugh cut through the air, and something inside me pulsed with growing irritation.

"Could you all keep it down?" I snapped, sharp enough to silence them. "I’m trying to sleep."

"Sorry, Noah..." Ruffilo apologized, pulling an exaggerated pout. "We were just trying to distract her."

I rolled my eyes. "Her fear of flying will only ease if you let her sit by the window. Acting like clowns won’t help. Now stop bothering me."

An awkward silence settled momentarily, soon replaced by careful movement in the aisle. She swapped seats, taking the one by the window. The light filtering through the clouds bathed her face with a softness that, against my will, held my attention for a few seconds longer than it should have.

Her expression was tense, her brow furrowed, almost in agony over something as she looked outside, her delicate fingers tapping quickly against the seat’s side. Her scent lingered in the air—subtle, but impossible to ignore.

I caught myself inhaling deeply, without realizing it, before quickly averting my gaze and leaning my head against the headrest, trying to ignore the silent chaos she caused in me.

The landing was turbulent, both literally and emotionally, as I still struggled to fall asleep. The uncomfortable silence during the remainder of the flight was replaced by the team’s bustle during disembarkation, everyone busy gathering their belongings. I, on the other hand, kept my distance from Scarlet, even when she was just a few steps behind me.

We arrived at the hotel, unfortunately crowded with other teams and bands participating in the festival. The marble lobby reflected the golden light of the chandelier, creating an environment that felt suffocating after such an exhausting day.

Ruffilo led the small line at the reception desk, collecting room keys and handing them out. Everything seemed to be going smoothly until Scarlet cleared her throat loudly, drawing everyone’s attention.

"And my room?" Scarlet asked, crossing her arms, visibly annoyed.

Ruffilo hesitated, glancing at the receptionist before turning back to her. "You… didn’t book a room?"

She rolled her eyes. "I thought someone on the team would do that for me."

My patience, already frayed, was about to snap. "And no one thought to tell you that you needed to handle it yourself?"

"Don’t start, Noah," she shot back, her cheeks tinged slightly pink but her tone sharp. "I can stay in your room."

The suggestion—or rather, demand—made my head turn in her direction so fast I felt tension in my neck. "Absolutely not," I replied, my voice firm as contained thunder.

Scarlet raised an eyebrow, defiant. "Oh, what's the problem? I'm not asking for much."

"It's not happening," I emphasized, gesturing toward the group. "Why don't you share a room with the only other woman here?"

The suggestion was logical but caused a pause in the room. Scarlet looked at me as if I had just gravely insulted her, while the girl chewing gum and inspecting her nails smirked faintly, almost imperceptibly.

"Great idea," she said with false cheerfulness, a lightness that contrasted with the tension in the air. "I don't mind sharing a room with you, Redhead."

Scarlet turned to her, clearly indignant. "You must be joking."

"She's not," I interrupted, more firmly than I intended. "Problem solved."

Scarlet huffed, shooting a final look of displeasure before grabbing her things. I watched her walk away, the sound of her footsteps echoing on the marble as she reluctantly departed.

"Did I mention how much I love your grouchy old-man spirit today?" Ruffilo commented under his breath, barely holding back a laugh. "It's rarely this entertaining."

"I just want to figure out what the hell that girl is doing," I muttered, cutting off the joke as I grabbed my key and headed for the elevator.

"Replacing Bryan, right?"

"That's what it seems…"

But I had a feeling Scarlet's presence was more than just coincidence.

After settling into my room, an uneasiness began to consume me. The hotel was too dull, and the day's tension lingered in my head like an endless echo. I decided to head out in search of something to eat—anything to get me out of that oppressive atmosphere.

I called a taxi, and as I waited at the entrance, the cold night air brought momentary relief. As soon as the car arrived, I opened the door and got in, giving the driver an address I vaguely remembered seeing in a travel magazine. Before the taxi could leave, the opposite door suddenly opened, and a familiar figure climbed in without hesitation.

"Of course," I muttered, already exasperated as she settled in beside me with a mischievous smile.

"How lucky for me," she said, feigning enthusiasm. "Sharing a taxi with the devil himself."

"Seriously? Can't you take another one?" I asked, already considering opening the door and getting out.

"I'm already here; there's no way I'm letting a ride pass by," she retorted, fixing her hair as if that would end the argument. “Besides, I’m looking for a place to eat. What a coincidence, huh? Hey, where's Scarlet?"

"Perfect," I muttered sarcastically, leaning back against the seat and looking out the window, trying to ignore her.

The ride was silent—on my part, at least. She seemed quite pleased to tease me with remarks about the city, the driver, and even how I always seemed grumpy.

When we finally arrived at the address, I got out quickly, eager to rid myself of her. But, unsurprisingly, she followed right behind me, the sound of her boots echoing on the sidewalk.

"Why are you getting out?" I asked, turning to face her.

"Because I decided to eat at the same place as you," she replied with a challenging smile.

I rolled my eyes and started walking, but soon noticed something strange. The address I had chosen… didn't seem right. There was no restaurant in sight, just old buildings and poorly lit streets.

"Are you sure this is the place?" she asked, glancing around with raised eyebrows.

"Of course I am," I lied, though the discomfort was evident in my voice.

"Oh, then where's the restaurant, genius?" She crossed her arms, tilting her head at me with a look of fake patience.

"Maybe it's around the corner," I replied, pointing randomly and starting to walk, even though I wasn’t certain.

"Or maybe you just have no idea what you're doing," she quipped, following me.

"You didn’t have to come," I shot back, spinning on my heel to face her.

"And you didn’t have to get us lost," she countered with a shrug.

The argument escalated quickly. Our voices echoed through the deserted streets as we argued about whose fault it was—mine, for choosing an address without checking, or hers, for insisting on tagging along.

"You think you know everything, don't you?" she exclaimed, shaking her head.

"And you think you have the right to meddle in everything," I retorted, pointing at her.

She opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by a distant sound—something metallic, like a gate slamming shut. We both fell silent immediately, the atmosphere now much quieter and stranger than before.

"Great," she muttered, glancing around again. "Now we're lost on an empty street and probably about to get mugged."

"If you’d stop complaining for a second, maybe we could find the place," I replied, trying to ignore the growing unease inside me.

But deep down, I knew she was right. The night was only getting worse.

The sky began to shift slowly, the bluish tones giving way to a deep orange that soon turned into an oppressive darkness. What once looked like deserted streets now carried an unsettling aura. The buildings and sidewalks disappeared, replaced by empty lots and sparse trees. The silence was broken only by the sound of our footsteps, which seemed louder with every second.

"What’s the matter, Noah? Afraid of the dark?" she teased, wiggling her fingers, though her voice trembled slightly, betraying her growing discomfort.

"Stop being pathetic!" I snapped, forcing sarcasm to mask the anxiety creeping over me.

The real trouble came when my phone vibrated one last time before dying completely.

"Perfect," I muttered, holding the lifeless device in my hand.

She glanced at her own phone and made a face, letting out a dry laugh. "Mine’s almost dead too. We’re out of GPS, no taxi, and no idea where we are."

"Oh, so you’re just now realizing this was a terrible idea?"

"You brought me here!" she shot back, arms crossed like she owned the moral high ground.

The argument continued as we walked, but the energy was draining along with the daylight. The jokes and taunts gave way to irritated grumbles and, eventually, to an uncomfortable silence. The cold began to set in, making her rub her arms and mutter something about how much of a waste of time this all was.

That was when we spotted a structure in the distance, partially hidden by the trees.

“Is that a house?” she asked, her voice tinged with doubt.

“Sort of,” I replied, eyeing the weathered, timeworn structure. It was small, with cracked walls and windows boarded up with planks.

It looked like it had been abandoned for years, but at least it offered shelter.

“I can’t believe I’m going in there,” I said, taking a step back.

“Great. Stay out here and see how much you like the freezing wind,” she shot back before pushing open the slightly ajar door.

The inside was no more inviting than the outside. The wooden floor creaked with every step, and the smell of mildew and dust filled my lungs. There were only two rooms: one that seemed to be the main living area and another that might have been a bedroom. Unlike me, she was enthralled, poking around at everything from the walls to the furniture and even amusing herself by sniffing the abandoned food in the fridge.

I hated how she could turn any situation into a joke.

“Do you think it’s safe?” I asked, following her hesitantly.

“No idea. But it’s better than staying outside.”

I scoffed, glancing around with disdain.

“So, what now? Are we setting up camp here and waiting for sunrise?”

“Maybe. Did you bring a tent? Because there’s only one bed, and I’m not sleeping with you, Mr. I-Snore-All-Night.”

“Funny,” I said mockingly, throwing a dusty pillow at her. “I don’t snore anymore.”

The tension between us kept building, every word dripping with irritation and exhaustion. My heart was pounding harder—not just because of the situation, but because of her presence, so close yet so infuriating.

“I feel like you planned this just to get some alone time with me!” she accused, her eyes gleaming with anger. “At the very least, I expected a less exotic location.”

“Disappearing your body behind this house at sunrise is still an option.”

“I definitely deserve more than being dumped in the middle of nowhere!” she declared haughtily.

“I can’t believe I have to spend the night under the same roof as you! I’d have preferred being mugged outside.”

“Then go back out there, Superman!”

Our bickering echoed off the empty walls, the anger making the discomfort almost palpable. Yet, in the midst of our insults, a sound from outside cut through the tension.

A low rustling, like leaves being stepped on.

We both fell silent immediately, our eyes darting toward the open door. The air grew heavier, and for the first time since we left the hotel, I felt something close to genuine fear.

“Did you hear that?” she whispered, her voice finally stripped of sarcasm.

“Yes,” I replied, my gaze fixed on the darkness outside.

Something was out there.

And, for the first time that night, our argument ceased to matter.

⭑ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lacy1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline​ ; @just-randomm-stuff

[bunnivez]

˗ˏˋ 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐈 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 ´ˎ˗

⟡ ݁₊ . Waking up early in the morning, you notice a nicely wrapped box with a pretty bow, on top of it— laid a nicely folded letter with your name on it. Upon inspecting the mysterious gift; you came to a realization of who the gift is from. Your heart flutters with warmth, it seems your lover didn’t forget.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Dear (Y/n), Merry Christmas to my pretty girl, hopefubly you didn't think I'd forget to get you a present. Honestly I feel kinda corny doing this, i'm not really used to it but 1 figured it would bring a smile to your face. Hopefully you like my gift, I actually made it myself. It took me hours, deadass; but you know i'll do anything for my baby.. Love, Zoya

You giggled softly at your girlfriend’s letter before unwrapping the small pretty box. You were met with a hard cover purple box this time, and inside it contained a beautiful handmade bracelet with beads of your favorite colors. It was honestly surprising to know Zoya made it, you’d think it would end up messy but it was actually the opposite. Well, you have to give her credit; she is a fast learner.

As you put on the bracelet you notice a small note at the bottom of the box; I’ll be picking you up at 2, make sure to wear something warm and easy to move on.! What does she have planned?

Dear (Y/n), Merry Christmas Princess! I Really hope you like my present, I thought it would look cute on you and it's really helpful, especially in this weather. Apart from that, it will come in handly later for what I have planned. I'll be picking you up around 11; pretty early, I know, but I promise it will be worth it, you'll see.. Love, Cinnabar

Your lips parted slightly as you read the letter; a date??? You set the letter aside and unwrapped the box. Inside contained a lovely fluffy sweater of your favorite color(s). It was very pretty and warm, Cinnabar was right, it looks very helpful with the cold weather. However, what exactly is the occasion?

You took some time thinking until you remembered. She mentioned once about wanting to ride her horse with you on a snowy day, specifically at a park she knew where the view was beautiful. You quickly get ready with a huge smile on your face.

Merry Christmas to my sweet angel <3 I hope you like my gift, I made it just for you, it took me hours but it was all worth it, especially when I know it will bring a smile to that sweet face of yours. I love you so much baby, and I hope my present brings you some comfort for when you need it and i’m not there. Once again, Merry Christma, angel… with lots of love and kisses, Garofano

You smiled as you read the letter, her handwriting was neat and beautiful, you’ll save it like the other letters she has written you. The way that even through letter— she still calls you her angel. Your eyes looked at the pretty, purple with green stripes box with a nice white ribbon on it. As you held the box, you realized it was pretty light, it didn’t make much noise either when you shook it.

Lifting the lid, you quickly gasp and take out the hand made gift Garofano made. It was a plushie of you! It looked so cute and silly; she added a lot of detail to the outfit. You hugged the plushie happily before whipping out your phone and sending a picture of you holding the plushie to Garofano, letting her know just how happy her present made you.

Меrry Christmas baby! Im your dear sweet santa clause this Christmas ho ho ho :p. You know, photos are very impertant. They capture and freeze moments and carry many memories. I sound really poetic now, but in sure you can already guess what I got you. Hopefully with this we can capture happy moments of our own… Love, Deren

You giggled and neatly folded the letter. Your girlfriend had a way of bringing humor even in letters and it always made you crack a smile. You opened the box, first undoing the pink ribbon. Inside the box laid two items, a Polaroid camera which you first notice, and a hard cover book. You smiled in excitement and grab the book first, opening it to see the first page covered in pictures of you and Deren— taken by herself.

As you turned the other pages, the rest were left blank. You glanced at the polaroid camera, Deren left the rest for you to fill on your own. Capture the happy moments in life and glue it all in the book to look back to. Oh once she comes back theres no way you will let her go.

────୨ৎ────

©bunnivez — do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my works without my permission.