#IT'S NOT MY FAULT IT'S THE WORLD AROUND ME

[harrysfolklore]

christ-max -mv1

summary: you invite your boyfriend max to spend christmas with you for the first time, however, your family doesn't quite believe you're dating a formula 1 world champion. wc: 5.8k

folkie radio: HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL OF YOUUUU! i hope you're having the best day ever with your loves ones. this fic ended up being longer than i intended but i hope you like it!

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

You're nestled into Max's side on his couch, wrapped in the soft throw blanket he keeps specifically for these quiet moments together. The afternoon light filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his Monaco apartment, casting a glow across the room. Your feet are tucked under you, and you can smell the lingering scent of the coffee you both made earlier.

The Netflix show you'd put on - some random documentary about deep-sea creatures - has become mere background noise. Max's fingers are threading through your hair in that gentle way that always makes you melt, occasionally stopping to massage your scalp. .

"I can't believe the season's actually over," you murmur, tracing lazy patterns on his arm. "Feels weird not having to plan around race weekends anymore."

Max chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest where your head rests. "Yeah, but now we have to plan around all the end-of-year events instead. Did you see how many galas and ceremonies are coming up?"

"At least those don't involve you flying halfway across the world," you tease, tilting your head to look up at him. His hair is slightly messy, free from its usual styling, and you resist the urge to reach up and run your fingers through it.

"True," he agrees, then glances at his phone on the coffee table. "Speaking of events, I can't believe it's already December. Christmas is going to be here before we know it. Guess time flies when you're busy winning championships."

Your heart skips a beat. This is the opening you've been waiting for. You've been thinking about this for weeks, planning how to bring it up. "Actually… I wanted to ask you something about Christmas," you start, sitting up slightly to face him better.

Max's blue eyes meet yours, curious. "What's on your mind?"

"Well…" you bite your lip, suddenly feeling nervous despite knowing there's no reason to be. "I was wondering if you'd want to spend Christmas with me and my family this year? I know we've kept things private, but I really want them to meet you, and-"

"Wait, really?" Max interrupts, his whole face lighting up with that boyish excitement that made you fall for him in the first place. "You want me to meet your family?"

You can't help but smile at his enthusiasm. "Of course I do. We've been together almost a year now, and they keep asking why I'm always smiling at my phone." You playfully poke his side. "Which is your fault, by the way."

He catches your hand, intertwining your fingers. "My fault? I'm just being my naturally charming self," he grins, then his expression turns slightly more serious. "But are you sure? I mean, won't they be surprised when you show up with, well…"

"With a four-time World Champion?" you finish for him, laughing. "Actually, my dad might pass out. He's been watching F1 since before I was born. He has no idea I've been dating his favorite driver."

Max's eyebrows shoot up. "I'm his favorite driver?"

"Don't let it go to your head," you warn playfully. "But yeah, he's got your merchandise and everything. It's actually kind of embarrassing how much he talks about you during race weekends."

Max throws his head back laughing, and you can't help but join in. "Oh God, this is going to be interesting," he says, wiping at his eyes. "What about the rest of your family?"

"Well, Mom will probably try to feed you until you burst - she's like that with everyone. And my little sister Ruby, she's seven and she's going to have so many questions. She's in that phase where she wants to know everything about everything."

"I can handle questions," Max says confidently, then hesitates. "What kind of questions are we talking about?"

You pretend to think about it. "Oh, you know, probably things like 'How fast have you ever driven?' 'Have you ever crashed?' 'Do you want to marry my sister?'"

Max nearly chokes on air at the last one, his cheeks turning slightly pink. "You're joking, right?"

"About Ruby? Nope, she has absolutely no filter," you laugh, then soften your voice. "But seriously, they're going to love you. Just be yourself - the you I know, not the racing driver everyone else sees."

He pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I'd love to spend Christmas with your family. I can't wait to meet them." He pauses, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Should I wear my race suit when I meet your dad?"

You swat his arm, laughing. "Don't you dare! He'll actually faint." You settle back against his chest, feeling warm and content. "Thank you for saying yes. It means a lot to me."

"Thank you for asking me," he murmurs into your hair. "I love you."

"I love you too," you respond, smiling as his arms tighten around you. The documentary continues playing, forgotten again as you both start planning for Christmas, trading ideas and jokes about how to break the news to your family.

You're sitting cross-legged on Max's bed while he's in the shower, your phone propped up against a pillow as you FaceTime your family. Your mom's face fills most of the screen, with your dad peering over her shoulder and little Ruby bouncing around trying to get a better view.

"Honey, we can barely see you. The lighting is terrible," your mom critiques, and you adjust your position slightly.

"Better?"

"Much better! Now, what's this important thing you wanted to tell us about Christmas?" Your mom asks, while Ruby shouts "Is it presents?" in the background.

You take a deep breath, trying to contain your smile. "Well, I wanted to let you know that I'm bringing someone with me this year… my boyfriend."

There's an immediate explosion of excitement. Ruby starts jumping up and down, your mom gasps dramatically, and your dad's eyebrows shoot up with interest.

"Finally!" your mom exclaims. "We've been wondering when you'd introduce him. You've been so secretive about this boyfriend of yours."

"What's his name?" Ruby pipes up, her face suddenly taking up half the screen as she pushes closer to the camera. "Is he nice? Does he like Disney movies?"

You laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Yes, Rubes, he's very nice. And his name is…" you pause, knowing what's coming. "Max. Max Verstappen."

There's a moment of silence before your dad bursts out laughing. "Good one, sweetheart. Now, what's his real name?"

"I'm serious, Dad. I'm dating Max Verstappen."

Your mom is trying to hold back her laughter now too. "Honey, isn't that the racing driver you and your father are always watching? The one your dad has all those caps and shirts of?"

"Yes, and I'm actually dating him," you insist, feeling your cheeks heat up.

Ruby's face scrunches up in confusion. "The fast car man? From TV?"

"The very same one, Rubes."

Your dad wipes tears from his eyes. "Come on now, what's next? Are you going to tell us you're best friends with Lewis Hamilton too?"

"Dad!" you groan, running a hand over your face. "I'm being serious! We've been dating for almost a year. I'm literally at his place right now!"

"In Monaco?" your dad asks skeptically. "Prove it."

You swing your phone around to show the familiar view of Monaco through the windows, but your dad just shakes his head. "Could be any apartment in Monaco."

"You're impossible!" you huff. "Fine, don't believe me. You'll see at Christmas."

Ruby presses her face closer to the screen again. "Will he bring his race car?"

"No, Rubes, he can't bring the race car," you say, softening your tone for your little sister. "But I promise you'll love him."

After a few more minutes of your family teasing you about your "imaginary Formula 1 driver boyfriend," you end the call with a mix of frustration and amusement. Just as you flop back onto the bed, you hear the bathroom door open and Max walks out, his hair still damp from the shower.

"How'd it go?" he asks, noticing your expression.

You let out a laugh. "They think I'm making you up. They literally don't believe I'm dating you."

Max raises his eyebrows, looking amused as he sits next to you on the bed. "Really?"

"Really. Dad laughed so hard he nearly cried. And Ruby, my little sister, just wants to know if you're bringing your race car for Christmas."

"Sorry to disappoint Ruby," he grins, then looks thoughtful. "You know, maybe we should've waited to tell them in person. The looks on their faces would've been priceless."

"Oh, don't worry," you sit up, wrapping your arms around his neck. "They'll still be priceless. Dad's going to lose it when he realizes all those times he was rambling about you during races, he was actually talking about his daughter's boyfriend."

Max laughs, pulling you closer. "What else should I know before meeting them?"

"Well, Ruby's seven and obsessed with Frozen. She'll definitely make you watch it and probably sing along too."

"I can handle that," he says confidently.

"And recite all the lines?"

"…Maybe not that."

"And act out the scenes with her?"

Max's eyes widen slightly. "What have I gotten myself into?"

You kiss his cheek. "Too late to back out now, Verstappen. You're stuck with us."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," he murmurs, pulling you in for a proper kiss. "Even if it means playing Olaf the snowman."

"Oh no, you'll definitely be playing Elsa. Ruby's very particular about casting."

The look of horror on his face makes you burst out laughing, and soon he's joining in too. As your laughter dies down, you can't help but think about how perfect this feels - being here with him, planning to spend Christmas with your family, even if they don't believe you yet. You can't wait to see their faces when you show up at their door with Max Verstappen himself.

"Hey," Max says softly, breaking into your thoughts. "What are you smiling about?"

"Just thinking about how Christmas is going to be interesting this year."

"Interesting is one way to put it," he grins. "Should I wear my race suit when we arrive?"

"Don't you dare! Dad will actually faint."

"That's kind of the point," he winks, and you grab a pillow to hit him with, both of you dissolving into laughter again.

"Let me guess, another text from 'Max Verstappen'?" your dad teases from his spot at the kitchen counter, making air quotes with his fingers. He's wearing one of his many Red Bull Racing shirts, completely oblivious to the irony.

"Actually, yes," you reply, rolling your eyes. "He'll be here soon."

Your mom chuckles while peeling potatoes. "Honey, you can just tell us who your boyfriend really is. We won't judge, even if he's not a Formula 1 champion."

"Mom, I've told you a million times-"

"LOOK!" Ruby crashes into the kitchen, pointing at the TV in the living room where they're showing highlights from the last race. "It's YN's boyfriend!" She dissolves into giggles, clearly in on what she thinks is a funny joke.

"Very funny, Rubes," you mutter, but check your phone again when it buzzes.

Max: "Just turned onto your street. Nice neighborhood 😉"

Your heart starts beating faster. "He's here," you announce, heading toward the front door.

"Oh, we're still doing this?" your dad calls after you, amused. "Should I get my Max Verstappen cap for him to sign?"

"Actually, Dad, yes, you should," you shout back, slipping on your boots.

"Sweetie," your mom starts in that gentle voice she uses when she thinks you're being ridiculous, "you don't have to-"

The sound of a car pulling up interrupts her. You open the front door and step out onto the porch, watching as Max's car comes to a stop in your driveway. Your family has crowded behind you in the doorway, probably expecting to catch you in your "lie."

Max steps out of the car, looking unfairly handsome in his dark winter coat and scarf. His face lights up when he sees you, and you don't hesitate to run down the steps toward him.

"Hi," he grins, catching you in a tight hug and lifting you slightly off your feet. "Missed you."

You hear a loud gasp behind you, followed by what sounds like your dad choking on air.

"Missed you too," you murmur against his chest before turning to face your family, keeping one arm wrapped around his waist.

The scene on your front porch is priceless. Your dad's mouth is hanging open, his face pale except for two bright red spots on his cheeks. Your mom has both hands pressed to her face in shock. Ruby is the only one moving, bouncing up and down with excitement.

"IT REALLY IS THE FAST CAR MAN!" she shrieks, breaking the silence as she barrels down the steps toward you both.

Max laughs, crouching down to her level. "Hi Ruby. Nice to finally meet you. Your sister has told me a lot about you."

"You're real!" she exclaims, poking his arm as if to make sure.

"Very real," he confirms, looking thoroughly amused.

"I… you… but…" your dad stammers, still frozen in the doorway.

"Hi, Mr. and Mrs. LN," Max says, standing back up and guiding you and Ruby toward the porch. "Thank you for having me for Christmas."

Your mom seems to snap out of her shock first. "Oh my goodness, please come in! It's freezing out here. I… oh dear… the potatoes… I should… more food… I need to…"

"Mom, breathe," you laugh, as Max follows you inside.

Your dad hasn't moved an inch, still staring at Max like he's seeing a ghost. "You're… you're actually… the Brazil overtake…"

"Dad, no F1 talk yet!" you warn. "Let him at least get his coat off first."

"Right! Yes! Coat!" your dad says frantically. "I'll take your coat! And then maybe… could you… would you mind signing my…"

"Collection?" you finish for him, smirking. "The one you thought I was making up?"

Max raises his eyebrows at you, remembering your conversation about your dad's merchandise collection.

Ruby tugs on Max's hand. "Do you want to see my Frozen dolls? And can we watch the movie? Sissy said you've never seen it!"

"Ruby, let him settle in first," your mom calls from the kitchen, where she appears to be panic-cooking. "Oh God, is the food good enough? Do Formula 1 drivers have special diets? Should I-"

"Mom, the food will be perfect," you assure her, then turn to Max. "See? I told you they'd be cool about it."

Max tries to suppress his laugh as your dad continues to stare at him in awe, your mom stress-cooks enough food to feed an army, and Ruby continues pulling on his hand.

"Very cool," he agrees, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Though I think your dad might need to sit down."

"I'm fine!" your dad squeaks, then immediately sits down heavily on the nearest chair. "Just… just give me a minute to process that my daughter is actually dating Max Verstappen and I've been accidentally talking about my future son-in-law during every race and-"

"DAD!" you exclaim, feeling your face heat up while Max chuckles beside you.

"What? I'm just saying… all those times I said 'that Verstappen boy would make someone a good husband someday' and it turns out-"

"Okay!" you interrupt loudly. "Who wants coffee? Max, come help me with coffee!"

As you drag a laughing Max toward the kitchen, you hear Ruby start explaining the entire plot of Frozen to him, your mom muttering about needing to buy more food, and your dad still talking to himself about racing statistics.

"Still think this was a good idea?" you whisper to Max.

He pulls you closer, grinning. "The best. Though you might want to tell your dad to breathe before he passes out."

"Can we build a snowman after coffee?" Ruby calls out.

"Only if Max gets to be Elsa!" you shout back, earning you a playful glare from your boyfriend.

Looking around at your slightly chaotic but loving family, and seeing how naturally Max fits into it all, you can't help but smile. This is definitely going to be a Christmas to remember.

The initial chaos has settled into a cozy scene in your living room. You're curled up on the couch next to Max, who has Ruby practically attached to his side. She hasn't stopped talking since everyone sat down, and Max, to his credit, is giving her his complete attention.

"And then Elsa makes this huge ice castle," Ruby explains, using elaborate hand gestures. "Can you drive as fast as Elsa runs up the mountain?"

"Probably faster," Max answers with a grin, making Ruby's eyes widen.

"Even in the snow?"

"Even in the snow."

Your dad, who's finally regained his ability to form complete sentences, sits in his armchair trying very hard not to bombard Max with racing questions. He keeps opening his mouth, then closing it again when you give him a warning look.

"It's okay, Dad," you laugh. "You can ask him one race question. Just one."

Your dad looks like he might cry from happiness. "The overtake in Brazil-"

"Which one?" Max asks with a playful smirk, and your dad launches into an enthusiastic discussion about racing lines and grip levels.

Your mom returns from the kitchen with a tray of hot chocolate and cookies, having finally accepted that she doesn't need to cook enough food for an entire F1 paddock. "Here we go. I hope it's okay, Max. YN mentioned you like hot chocolate."

"It's perfect, thank you," Max says warmly, accepting a mug.

Ruby immediately reaches for a cookie, then pauses. "Do race car drivers eat cookies?"

"Only the fast ones," Max whispers conspiratorially, making her giggle.

"Ruby, give Max some space to breathe," your mom says gently, noticing how your sister is practically in his lap.

"It's fine," Max assures her. "I have nephews. I'm used to it."

Ruby beams at this information. "Really? Do they like Frozen too?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure they'd love to hear your explanation of it," he says, and Ruby launches into another detailed plot summary.

You catch your mom watching the interaction with soft eyes, all her earlier panic forgotten. She meets your gaze and mouths 'He's wonderful' when Ruby isn't looking.

Your dad has moved on from Brazil to discussing tire strategies, but stops himself mid-sentence. "Sorry, I'm probably boring you. You live this stuff."

"Not at all," Max says sincerely. "It's nice talking about it with someone who understands racing. YN usually just tells me to stop being a nerd when I talk about tire compounds."

"Because you spent two hours explaining the difference between C3 and C4 compounds!" you defend yourself.

"It's fascinating stuff," your dad says eagerly, and Max nods in agreement.

"Oh no, there's two of them now," you mutter to your mom, who laughs.

Ruby tugs on Max's sleeve. "Can we watch Frozen now? Please? You promised!"

"Ruby, let Max rest a bit," your mom starts, but Max shakes his head.

"A promise is a promise," he says solemnly to Ruby. "Should we watch it now?"

Ruby squeals with delight, jumping up to get the remote. Your dad looks slightly disappointed that his racing talk is being cut short, but you can see him hiding a smile at Ruby's excitement.

"Fair warning," you whisper to Max as Ruby sets up the movie, "she knows every word. And she will sing along."

"As long as she doesn't expect me to sing," he whispers back.

"MAX!" Ruby calls, patting the spot next to her on the floor where she's arranged pillows. "You have to sit here! It's the best spot!"

Max obliges, settling down next to her while you stay on the couch, exchanging amused looks with your parents as Ruby starts the movie, already mouthing along to the opening music.

Your mom leans over to you. "I'm sorry we didn't believe you," she whispers. "He's lovely. And so good with Ruby."

"I told you," you whisper back, watching as Ruby explains to Max why Elsa has ice powers.

Your dad joins in the whispered conversation. "Think he'd sign my mug collection later?"

"Dad!"

"What? I'm just saying, Christmas cards would be sorted for the next few years…"

You're about to respond when Ruby shushes you all loudly. "This is the best part!"

Max catches your eye and winks, clearly enjoying himself despite being roped into a Disney movie viewing with a very enthusiastic seven-year-old commentator. Your heart swells watching him with your family, how naturally he fits in, how gentle he is with Ruby.

"Do you want to build a snowman?" Ruby starts singing along with the movie.

"Later, Rubes," you promise. "Let's watch the movie first."

She nods seriously, then turns to Max. "Pay attention to this part. It's very important."

"I won't miss a second," he promises, and Ruby beams at him before turning back to the screen.

Your mom reaches over and squeezes your hand, giving you a knowing look. Even your dad has stopped thinking about racing long enough to appreciate the moment – his youngest daughter sharing her favorite movie with your boyfriend, who happens to be the F1 driver he's been fan-boying over for years.

It's perfect, you think, watching your family and Max together. Different from how you imagined telling them, but perfect nonetheless.

"Shh!" Ruby whispers loudly. "Elsa is about to sing Let It Go!"

Max shoots you a slightly panicked look as Ruby starts to stand up, clearly ready to perform the whole number. You just grin and shrug. After all, you did warn him about the singing.

Later that evening, you finally manage to steal a moment alone with Max. Ruby had fallen asleep during the third replay of Frozen, and your parents took her up to bed before retreating to the kitchen to finish some Christmas preparations.

You find Max on the back porch, leaning against the railing and looking up at the stars. The winter air is crisp, and you can see his breath forming little clouds in the darkness. Quietly, you step out and wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his back.

"Hey," he says softly, turning in your arms to face you. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer. "Needed a little break from being Elsa?"

You laugh quietly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. "You were amazing with Ruby today. I think you're officially her new favorite person."

"She's a sweet kid," he smiles, then adds with a playful glint in his eyes, "Though I didn't expect to watch Frozen two times in one day."

"Just wait until tomorrow. She'll probably want to act it out."

He groans dramatically, but you can see the fondness in his expression. "The things I do for you."

"Mmm, and I appreciate every one of them," you murmur, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him softly.

Max responds immediately, one hand moving to cup your face while the other pulls you even closer. The kiss is gentle and unhurried, full of unspoken emotions. When you finally pull back, he rests his forehead against yours.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"For what?"

"For being so perfect with my family. For watching Frozen multiple times. For not running away when my dad started his racing commentary."

He chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest. "I like your family. Your dad's racing knowledge is impressive, your mom's trying very hard not to mother me to death, and Ruby…" he pauses, smiling. "Ruby reminds me of Victoria at that age."

You snuggle closer, seeking his warmth in the cold air. "I was so nervous about telling them, and then even more nervous when they didn't believe me. But this… this is better than I imagined."

"Even with your dad asking me to sign his entire Red Bull merchandise collection?"

"Hey, at least he waited until after dinner," you laugh. "Though I'm pretty sure he's in there right now planning which items to bring out first."

Max wraps his arms more securely around you, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I love you," he says quietly, and your heart skips a beat like it does every time he says those words.

"I love you too," you reply, tilting your face up for another kiss.

This one is deeper, more passionate, until you hear the back door creak and quickly step apart.

"Oh!" your mom exclaims, looking flustered. "Sorry, I just… wanted to ask about breakfast preferences… but it can wait… carry on!"

She disappears back inside, and you both burst into quiet laughter.

"We should probably go back in," you sigh, though you make no move to leave his embrace.

"Probably," he agrees, but instead of letting go, he pulls you back for one more kiss. "Five more minutes?"

You smile against his lips. "Five more minutes."

In the quiet of Christmas eve, wrapped in each other's arms, you can't help but think how perfectly he fits into your life, into your family, into your heart. Tomorrow there'll be more Frozen, more racing talk, more of Ruby's endless questions, but right now, it's just the two of you, and it's everything.

The winter sun is just beginning to peek through the curtains of your childhood bedroom, casting a soft golden glow across the room. You're wrapped in warmth, nestled against Max's chest with his arm draped around your waist. His steady breathing tells you he's awake before he even moves.

"Good morning," he murmurs against your neck, his voice still rough with sleep. His lips brush against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

"Morning," you whisper back, feeling his hand slowly slide beneath your sleep shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

"Sleep well?" he asks innocently, but his actions are anything but innocent as he presses closer, leaving a trail of kisses from your shoulder to your ear.

"Max," you breathe, caught between wanting to lean into his touch and knowing you should stop. "We can't… my parents…"

"Then we'll have to be very, very quiet," he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. His hand travels higher under your shirt, making your breath hitch.

You turn in his arms, ready to either give in or properly protest - though the way he's looking at you, eyes dark with desire and that signature smirk playing on his lips, makes you lean heavily toward the former.

"You're trouble," you murmur, reaching up to run your fingers through his disheveled hair.

He leans down to capture your lips in a heated kiss. "You love it."

Just as his hand starts to wander again, a voice pierces through the quiet morning:

"IT'S CHRISTMAAAAS!" Ruby's excited scream echoes through the entire house, followed by the thundering of small feet running down the hallway. "WAKE UP! WAKE UP! SANTA CAME!"

Max drops his forehead to your shoulder with a frustrated groan. "Your sister has impeccable timing."

"Welcome to Christmas with Ruby," you laugh, pressing a consoling kiss to his cheek. "I tried to warn you."

"YN! MAX!" Ruby's fists pound on your door. "GET UP! There are presents EVERYWHERE! And it SNOWED!"

"Five more minutes, Rubes!" you call back.

"NO MINUTES! NOW!" she insists, continuing to knock. "Mom said breakfast is ready and Dad made hot chocolate and I SAW A HUGE PRESENT WITH MY NAME ON IT!"

Max chuckles against your shoulder. "I suppose we should…"

"PLEASE!" Ruby calls again. "I promise I'll let you drink your coffee first!"

"That's quite the offer from her," you tell Max. "She usually doesn't allow any delays on Christmas morning."

"We're coming, Ruby!" Max calls out, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. "Give us two minutes to get dressed."

"TWO MINUTES! I'm counting!"

You can hear her dramatically counting down in the hallway, making Max laugh. "She's serious about this, isn't she?"

"Oh, you have no idea."

The living room is a festival of color and chaos when you finally make it downstairs. Ruby's bouncing by the tree in her Christmas pajamas, while your parents are settled on the couch with steaming mugs of coffee.

"Finally!" Ruby exclaims. "I counted way past two minutes!"

"Sorry, princess," Max says, accepting a coffee mug from your mom. "But I'm here now."

"Max, sweetheart, you really didn't have to get us anything," your mom says, noticing the pile of presents he'd arranged under the tree last night.

"Of course I did," he replies warmly. "It's Christmas."

Ruby's practically vibrating with excitement as your dad starts distributing gifts. "Can I open mine from Max first? Please?"

At your nod, she tears into the elaborate wrapping paper, gasping when she reveals a beautiful wooden chest with golden details. "It's like a treasure chest!"

"Open it," Max encourages, smiling.

Ruby lifts the lid carefully, her eyes widening. Inside is a complete collection of princess dresses, each one a perfect replica from different Disney movies, along with matching accessories and a tiara for each one.

"The chest is magical," Max explains, kneeling beside her. "Every time you open it, there might be a new surprise inside. And look at this…" He reaches in and pulls out a small envelope.

Ruby opens it to find a letter with the Disney castle letterhead. "Dear Princess Ruby," she reads aloud, her voice getting more excited with each word. "You are cordially invited to spend a royal weekend at Disney World, where you will have a private breakfast with all the Disney princesses…"

She doesn't even finish reading before launching herself at Max, nearly knocking him over. "Thank you thank you thank you! Can I try on the Elsa dress right now?"

"After presents," your mom laughs. "Let's see what else Santa brought."

Your dad opens his gift next, finding an envelope that makes him pause. "Son," he says, voice thick with emotion as he reads the contents. "This is…"

"VIP passes to the British Grand Prix," Max confirms. "Including garage access, grid walk, everything."

Your dad has to sit down, clutching the passes like they might disappear. "This is… I can't…"

"And this," Max hands him another package, "is just a little something extra."

Inside is a vintage racing jacket from your dad's favorite driver from the 80s, signed and authenticated. Your dad actually tears up.

Your mom opens her gift next, despite protesting again that Max shouldn't have gotten them anything. She unwraps a beautiful pair of earrings.

"Oh, Max," she whispers, "This is beautiful."

Ruby, who has been surprisingly patient, tugs at Max's sleeve. "Can we do my princess breakfast now?"

"After we finish presents," you laugh. "And maybe we should have real breakfast first?"

"But I'm a princess now," she declares. "Princesses have special breakfast times."

Your mom shakes her head fondly. "How about pancakes fit for a princess?"

"With chocolate chips?" Ruby negotiates.

"With chocolate chips," your mom confirms. "Max, honey, how do you like your pancakes?"

"However they're made is perfect," he assures her, but your mom is already heading to the kitchen, muttering about making sure she has enough chocolate chips.

Your dad finally finds his voice again. "Max, this is too much…"

"It's not," Max says firmly. "You're… you're family now. Or at least, I hope…"

He glances at you meaningfully, making your heart skip a beat.

Later, after pancakes and multiple princess dress changes from Ruby, you manage to steal some time alone with Max in your favorite spot on the back porch. The morning sun has warmed the air slightly, but there's still a crisp winter chill that gives you an excuse to stay close to him.

"Your turn," Max says softly, pulling out a small wrapped box from his pocket.

Your hands tremble slightly as you unwrap it, revealing a velvet jewelry box. Inside is a delicate silver necklace with two intertwined pendants - a heart and a tiny racing helmet.

"Max," you breathe, touching the pendants gently. "It's beautiful."

"Look at the back," he says quietly, his voice carrying a note of nervousness you rarely hear.

You turn the heart over to find an engraving: "You're my biggest victory. -MV"

"I love you," you whisper, pulling him down for a kiss. His arms wrap around you, holding you close as if you're the most precious thing in his world.

When you finally part, you hand him your gift - a wrapped box that makes him raise his eyebrows at the weight.

Inside, he finds a handmade scrapbook filled with your personal moments - sneaky paddock kisses, quiet mornings at home, victory celebrations, and candid moments no one else has seen. The final page holds a photo from yesterday - Max on the floor with Ruby, both laughing during their third viewing of Frozen.

"This is…" he starts, voice thick with emotion.

"Wait," you say softly, reaching into your pocket. You pull out a key on a simple keychain. "I thought… maybe… if you wanted…"

"Move in with you?" he finishes, breaking into that brilliant smile that never fails to make your heart race. "Yes. Absolutely yes."

He pulls you into another kiss, deeper this time, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other holds the key carefully.

"MAX!" Ruby's voice carries from inside. "I need help with my Cinderella shoes! And then we have to build a snowman! A FROZEN snowman!"

You both laugh against each other's lips.

"Duty calls, Elsa," you tease.

"Only if you'll be my Olaf," he grins, pressing one more quick kiss to your lips.

"Always," you promise, letting him lead you back inside where Ruby waits, already changed into her third princess dress of the morning.

Your dad catches your eye as you pass, "If you don't marry this boy," he whispers, "I will."

"Dad!"

"I'm just saying," he shrugs, then heads outside to join the snowman-building committee.

Your mom appears at your other side, wrapping an arm around you. "He's right, you know. He's perfect for you."

You lean your head on her shoulder, watching Max let Ruby direct him on where to place the snowman's arms. "I know," you smile. "I know."

"Best Christmas ever?" she asks softly.

Looking at your family, and Max in the middle of it all, belonging there like he's always been part of it - you smile.

"Best Christmas ever," you agree.

[aimfor-theheart]

to break first

|| mel medarda x reader, jayce talis x reader, viktor x reader || E/18+ || messy dynamics/hurt/comfort || wc: 6k || ao3 ||

minors and ageless blogs dni, 18+

Your lovers are strange, demanding types.

a/n: idk man. but this revived my writing so. pls take it. dividers by @/cafekitsune

tags: messy dynamics, light smut/smut mentioned and implied, implied rough/hate sex, some hurt/comfort, ends on a hopeful note. not beta read/edited.

You've never liked Jayce much.

And you might just be the only person he doesn't like, either.

He plays nice, though, especially around Viktor. You think Jayce has teeth that he tries to hide, but you catch the flash of them from time to time. He smiles at you and it doesn't reach his eyes. It's just shy of contempt.

It makes your grin cheshire and sharp. You like watching him squirm. You like watching him wrestle with his distaste for you, try to keep his teeth hidden. Especially here, at this gala, all gold and sparkling and pristine, for all the world to see.

Bubbling rosé is bright and fruity on your tongue. You're shoulder to shoulder with Viktor, the two of you half-miserable together, stuffed into formal wear and ripped from your respective labs and studios. Which is why Jayce lingers; he's hovering in that annoying way of his. Bumbling a little. He's trying to make Viktor feel more at home but—

You have something Jayce doesn't.

Only you can do that.

You're Viktor's childhood friend, thick as thieves and twice as inseparable. You're an artist from the Undercity—a painter, a poet, a musician. An artistic genius, the world claims, an artistic savant. And one of the rare, lucky few who has been exalted and raised above your station to be paraded around Piltover like some trophy of success from their lowest. It's mostly Viktor's fault, you claim—the moment Heimerdinger found him, he also accidentally found you.

"Ah, if it isn't one of the most brilliant and groundbreaking artists of our generation." A smooth, easy voice floats through your thoughts. You turn your head to find Councilor Medarda, swathed in what could be a starry sky of silk and gold.

She's even more beautiful in person somehow; if you were to paint her, she'd be all easy, graceful lines, curved and long. A lily stem. The arch of a tiger.

"Just the person I was looking for." She muses.

"Me?" You balk, at the same time that Jayce gaps, "Them?!"

You swing your gaze to glare at him and even Viktor wrinkles his nose. Jayce tries to clear his throat, clear the mistake.

Councilor Medarda raises a brow at Jayce, but then her eyes flicker to you, honing in on you. Hazel and gold and reflective; a kaleidoscope of color. And with such—intensity. You feel it in her. Thrumming. "Yes, you." She says smoothly and she smiles in the elegant way of royalty; perfect and mysterious.

"Are you sure you have the right person, Councilor Medarda?" You joke, "you know I'm just—"

"I'm certain. And please—call me Mel. I'd love to commission you for several art pieces to be displayed in the council chambers."

Viktor whistles a little, impressed, though you can tell it's a little dry.

(He both rambles and rants about Councilor Medarda from time to time and you can never tell if he adores her or resents her.)

Jayce startles at this, but again, he tries to play it off. He places his hand on her lower back, "I didn't know the council chambers was looking to display art."

Mel allows his hand to remain, but she tilts her chin up and her eyes flash somewhat—quick, sharp. There's a silent conversation there that you can't decipher.

But you can tell there is something more than just coworkers happening between them.

"I'm looking to display art in the council chambers." Mel then says.

Jayce looks away, cowed somewhat, tail tucked between his legs in a way that makes you smile.

Mel drifts from Jayce's hands, offering her arm to you, "will you walk with me? I'd love to discuss what I have in mind."

If only to steal her away from Jayce, you finally peel yourself away from Viktor's side and the wall. Your shoulder, where it was touching his, goes cold. But Mel's arm is warm as you twine it around yours.

She draws you away from the scientists, into the fray of swirling, dazzling people.

You glance over your shoulder only once and catch Jayce's eyes, and let your smile curl into something a little smug, almost vicious; baring your teeth as if to gloat at his own, still tucked behind his lips.

***

"Mel's an artist." You say to Viktor, offhand. "A good one, too. You should see her paintings—"

Viktor sighs heavily, snatching one of the little tools that you'd been fiddling with out of your hands. "You sound like Jayce."

You wrinkle your face in disgust, reaching back for the tool and grappling with him a moment for it. You press all against each other, squabbling, before you win out and take it back from him. He stares at you, almost in some form of a glare and you stare back, watching his eyes, dark in the low light of the lab. He glances at the tool in your hands like he might try to take it back, and when he moves, you move faster, and hold it out of his reach.

"Are they together?" You ask.

He gives up on the tool.

Then, he lifts his shoulders in some form of a crooked shrug, eyes going skyward. "One can only assume."

"She's out of his league." You sigh, throwing your weight back in the chair in despair.

Viktor snorts at that, returning to his work, "I'm sure few are in league with Councilor Medarda."

His voice is dry. A little brittle.

"I don't know what you have against her." You then venture, speaking more to the ceiling, returning to fiddling with the tool. It twists in your fingers, the sound of metal whirling and softly grinding.

"I have nothing against Councilor Medarda." He says too evenly.

"You know, I've never been able to tell if it's contempt or adoration you have for her." You continue, as if he hadn't said anything to contradict you. "But either way, she gets under your skin."

"She does not—"

"Are you jealous? She took your big, dumb partner away?" You press, twisting and twisting away at the tool.

"No—" Viktor says sharply, but it rings with a note of truth. It's not quite that then.

You pause. And then.

You crack your eye open, "I think she likes me."

Viktor pauses now too, metal clinking quietly with the sudden stop of his work again. He knows that tone of your voice. His face pulls; distaste. Frustration.

(Jealousy.)

His speech is slow as he tries to parse through what to say, "Councilor Medarda is charming and—"

"She invited me to dinner." You say and now you're watching him carefully, "at her personal suite. Just us."

Viktor rounds on you, "you're going to get yourself into trouble."

You can't help but smile, slow and amused, "I feel like it's good for the art—fool around with a politician—"

"You know, I have always wondered if you would learn your lesson," Viktor continues over your monologuing about drama and passion and politics, "—maybe this time, you'll finally learn it."

He snatches the tool from your hands and throws it down on his desk.

"I love learning." You chirp innocently and he shakes his head, face flushed with passion.

He looks at you again when he can, shakes his head some more, some of the irritation fading from his features. He never stays mad at you for long; doesn't have it in him. Besides, he causes his own trouble. Doesn't learn his own lessons. And when the dust settles, the two of you are still here, beside each other. The artist and the scientist, making messes, breaking things—all for some higher purpose only the two of you have ever understood.

(You've loved him your whole life. Sometimes, you think you carry half of the other's ribs inside one another. He must have twelve of yours, and you must have twelve of his—)

You lift your foot, nudging his calf beneath the desk with it, then up to place it in his lap. An olive branch, of some kind. Your affection is unsurprising to him and he sighs. He drops his hand to your ankle. He squeezes.

"She's going to eat you alive." Viktor finally warns.

"One can only hope."

A laugh startles out of him, rough and raspy, before it dissolves into coughing.

You lurch up to give him water, sitting near you, and bring the glass to his lips on reflex, like you used to as children. And on reflex, he drinks—he doesn't try to take the glass from your hands right away or push you away. Instinctively, you care for him, and instinctively, he lets you.

(You think you're the only one he'd ever allow to do this, born out of years of pressed side to side in the same bed, listening to him weather the nights. Born out of years of your love and stubborn care for him.)

After a moment, he lifts his hand and slowly replaces yours.

You hover over him. He sets the glass down. The water is almost gone. You'll replace it for him before you leave the lab.

He settles back into his chair, eyes returning to the pieces in front of him; all the odd metal scattered like little silver stars in front of him against a vast, dark sky. He picks up one, and then another, and tries to fit them together.

Then another. And another.

You watch him twist and turn, put the puzzle together.

He says, "Lately, I feel as if—" his fingers are careful, almost shaking, as he tries to create something of the scattered, broken pieces, "everything is quite fragile. And it's all just going to—" he presses a little too hard, and the metal all splinters apart, clattering back to the desk, "break. At any given moment."

After a moment, he looks up at you, still hovering over him, "I fear you're heading towards a breaking point."

You hum a little.

"What is it you scientists say?" You ask, running your fingers through his dark hair, thick and tousled. You twirl a strand around your finger, let it fall;

"It has to break first, before you can discover anything."

***

You'd say Mel Medarda is a wolf in sheep's clothing, but she doesn't feign anything so harmless or lost as a sheep.

You do think she's—

A little like Jayce, where she hides her teeth. But where Jayce irritates you because he's certainly trying to seem better than he is, or more harmless than he can be, Mel does so with intention. Mel hides her teeth to lure you closer. She doesn't pretend she doesn't have them; she waits until you're in range before you catch a glimpse of them.

And by then, well. It's too late.

You realize this over dinner, as she laments about what art she'd like from you and she's adamant about not censoring you.

(You're known for you controversy; whether in your physical art, your poetry, or music. Once pulled to the light of the Upper City, you refused to let them defang you. Where Jayce pretends he doesn't have teeth, you bare yours proudly, and sometimes wish you could tear the tender parts of Piltover open.

You strive to do it with your art. And while applauded in some vague capacity, you are also kept on a tight leash. Your patrons are warily supportive of you. Your commissions are strict. You're treated the way you think a wild animal is; with utmost care and fear and awe.)

In fact, her only rule for you, is to not hold back.

Which, given the growing tension between the Upper and Lower Cities, you realize this cannot only be from the goodness of her heart or for the integrity of art but—

You tilt your head and consider her.

"Am I a political move, Mel?"

She smiles in that enigmatic way of hers, her teeth flash, "isn't all art?"

You narrow your eyes, "perhaps. I wonder of it's effectiveness when it's employed by the people it often critiques." You lift your chin and pretend to be hurt—or perhaps, mask your hurt within dramatics to make it seem ironic, "and here I thought you really liked me—"

"I do." Mel assures, "I've admired you a great deal from afar. And getting to know you, your mind, it's—" she considers her words, "it's been nothing short of mesmerizing. Astonishing."

She sounds sincere. But you wonder if she always sounds that way.

She can tell she hasn't convinced you because you've never been able to mask your emotions well, so she leans forward and says, "unfortunately, everything I do is a political move, whether I'd like it to be or not. Both can be true—" she says, "I can adore you. And I can also need you to make a public point, wield you like my own elegant weapon."

"Artists make for disobedient weapons, usually." You say.

She laughs a little at that and agrees, "True." And then she lowers her voice, looks at you through the fan of her dark lashes in such a way that seizes you—arrests you, holds you right there, caught, in her heady gaze;

"But I don't need you to be obedient."

"I can never tell if you're trying to seduce me or persuade me." You blurt out, the words running from your mouth like a rabbit from a wolf. Your desire bursts from you like frightened birds taking to flight, like most of what you feel does, all of it spilling out of you in a gush of rawness.

She stands gracefully and again, you think of how you'd draw her—how you'd capture her in a poem or a song. The sharp curve of her waist, the predatory grace she carries effortlessly. You think her song is a croon from the deep part of your chest. You think her poem looks like an hourglass on the page and she slips from your fingers as easy as time does, too.

She rounds the small table to your side.

You look up at her. Your heart kicks up into a quick dance.

She brings the back of her knuckle to your jaw and gently—with all the carefulness in the world, strokes you.

(She touches you the way one does a bird, as if they know it's fragile. Perhaps as if they know it might fly away.

Or maybe she touches you the way one does an animal they're not sure of; will you bite? Will you lean into the touch?)

"Both can be true." She finally answers.

When she kisses you, it's fiercer than you're expecting; a lightning strike, a blow to the heart.

Your teeth come up against hers.

She gasps when you drag her further down to you, greedier than she's ever known, meeting her fierceness with your own, like the clashing of blades, or the destruction of stars.

And you think, if you don't want obedience, then I'll show you.

I'll show you.

***

"What are you playing at?"

Jayce's voice is a vicious little hush in the caverns of the council chambers. Mel has just left you after peaking over your shoulder to view the preliminary sketches.

You lift your head and blink up at Jayce slowly, dragging yourself from your sketch; from your world of art.

(It sets his teeth to grinding because Viktor makes that same look, when he's so deep into his work and Jayce disturbs him. It's a face he finds endearing on both of you, unfortunately. He imagines your minds are in heaven and he's selfish enough to drag you both back down to earth.)

"What do you mean? For the art piece?" You ask, glancing down at your lap, at the series of gestures and lines that you've been lost in. Maybe you're feigning innocence a little. But you want him to say it, if he's going to pick this fight.

Jayce's eyes flash like the too-hot part of the flame.

You have to bite back a smile.

Come on, you think wildly, say it. Let's fight. Here in the chambers, where you try so hard to be their golden boy.

"What are you trying to get out of Mel?" He asks and it makes you laugh outright, because he's dancing around what he really wants to ask.

Your laugh echoes in the hall, bouncing off all this marble and gold. It's out of place here, too loud, too free.

"The better question is what she's trying to get out of me." You say, "do you think I have it in me to manipulate the Mel Medarda?"

He goes quiet at that.

"Are you doing this to get back at me?" He asks after a moment and it's so close to what he wants to ask, so close to what he really wants to talk about.

"She kissed me first." You answer. "Have you had this conversation with her?"

You can tell by the shadow of uncertainty that passes over his face that he hasn't. You stand, easily setting your sketches and pencils aside, and drift nearer to him.

"Oh," you hum, "you didn't know. She didn't mention some plan of seduction to you? Maybe she really does like me."

He rounds on you so sharply that you are genuinely surprised. You gasp when your back hits the wall and he's got you caged in, a snarl on his lips and you finally get to see those teeth of his—

"You just always have to push me, don't you? In all the years I've known you, you've only ever tried to get under my skin. I tried so hard, for so long, for Viktor's sake to get along with you." He says lowly and distantly, you think, does he cage in Mel like this? With his big arms and broad chest? Or does she have him on a tight leash, underneath her?

"This time, I didn't mean it. Surely, you understand—" you say slyly, "when she comes onto you like that, all honey-voiced and half-lidded. She's hard to resist, isn't she?"

The grip he has on your biceps tightens to a point of pain—he'll bruise you. You'll be tender there, where his big hands gripped you, and it only makes you smile.

"Stop it." He snaps.

But you can't help yourself now, because once you've got something between your teeth, you've never been able to let it go;

"I just want to know if she kisses me the same way she kisses you? Does she play nice with you? She's quite fierce with me—"

When Jayce kisses you, it's a crush of aggression.

You laugh into his mouth wildly as he shoves you harder against the wall, teeth mean in the tender part of your bottom lip so that your laughter melts into a groan of pain. Of pleasure.

You claw at his back and wonder if Mel does, too.

You fight and hiss and snarl, show him your teeth when he sinks his into the fluttering pulse at your throat. You try to draw blood. You think he tries to bruise.

And well, you always wanted to see his teeth—

Just never thought you'd end up with a ring of their mark on your neck.

***

You're not really sleeping—nights are long. Days are longer. You're in the studio too much. This art piece is strangling you, wrestling with you and you're losing. Your lovers are strange, demanding types. Jayce comes to you at his lowest, and Mel at her highest. She licks the wounds Jayce leaves on you, purrs about how good you're being for her, goads you into putting up more of a fight that she likes to quell. She asks, have I stolen your bite? Are you going soft on me? Until you try to wrestle with her, too.

Mel subdues you the way snakes do—constricts and tightens and puts all that pressure on you until you just burst.

Until you go slack in her grip.

Jayce takes his anger out on you and he's not so cunning or delicate as her. You think Jayce struggles with you the way he must with his hammers, with high heat and all his strength.

Your art is starting to look like pieces of them; brutal and brilliant and cunning and beautiful. Tricky to capture, even more difficult to mesh together.

You're covered in paint when Viktor comes to visit you, frustrated with the canvas in front of you, which you think you'll end up scrapping again.

(This is the fourth one. You've been trying to fit all the components and pieces together but none of it's working, all of it's a mess. Splintered apart on the canvas. It looks like a disaster on the page.)

"Have you eaten?" Viktor asks as he comes to stand behind you. He gazes at the canvas n front of you.

You sigh heavily. "Have you?" You return.

He snorts at that, "No. I'm coming from the lab and thought I'd check on you—Mel mentioned you were here."

He pauses and then, "that you'd been here. For awhile now."

You hear the layers in his voice; the worry, but then the—

Irritation? Disdain?

"Are you asking me to dinner?" You say instead, dashing the canvas with a sudden great, horrible X. It's your meager attempt at some sort of joke or flirting, but your voice is perhaps too thin for it. You stare at your canvas, now dripping with that great X, the paint slipping down and marring it further.

When you turn to look at Viktor, he regards you warily. He glances at the canvas you've just ruined, and then back to your face.

He takes in your appearance; your disheveled hair and the paint all over your clothes and skin. And then his eyes skip down to your throat, to your arms. All marked up and bruised, unhidden and worn proudly here, in the safety of your art studio.

"Should I be concerned?" Viktor asks instead and you've always loved his bluntness. His lack of tact is like coming home. It's a relief, when you're constantly with Mel and Jayce lately, who talk in riddles and niceties and flowered language that hides their intentions or feelings.

There is a bitterness in Viktor's voice that you know well, too.

"About?" You prod.

"I'm no fool." Viktor answers, "I know you're sleeping with Councilor Medarda."

"Is that all you know?" You return, tilting your head.

"Is there more to know?" Viktor asks, eyeing you.

"Jayce hasn't said anything?"

You watch a strange shadow pass over Viktor's face as he slowly comes to the natural conclusion that you've lead him to. He's right, he is no fool. And then you watch his eyes catch fire, catch jealousy.

"I warned you—" he starts, suddenly.

"And I told you, it's good for the art—" You joke.

"Obviously it isn't!" He snaps, gesturing to the canvas behind you, ruined and glaring at your back. And then he heaves out a rough, agitated breath, dragging a hand through his hair. "Do you ever think of consequences?" He demands.

"Sure," You say, "I'm exactly where I want to be."

"You know, they are my colleagues. What am I supposed to do if—?!"

You laugh at that, enough that it startles him out of his beginning tirade. He comes up short and his shoulders bunch with tension as he glares at you.

"Is something funny?" He hisses.

"Your colleagues?" You repeat, "that's all they are to you?"

"Well—yes, technically." He stumbles on his words here.

"Are you jealous, Viktor?" You ask. "You don't have to be."

"I'm not jealous—" He refutes, even as his cheeks grow ruddy. And for a moment, you could be twelve with him again, his face flush as he looks at you after you'd kissed him for the first time because he'd never kissed anyone before. Or twenty-two and drunk, kissing one night under the stars when you felt so lost and disorientated in the Upper City—just wanted to feel like yourself again.

Or now, at thirty-two, staring at the man you've loved your entire life and whatever mess you've made out of everything.

You reach out and touch his cheek, glowing with color, and at first he winces away, but when you persist, he relaxes. He presses his cheek to your open palm and looks at you; raw and frank and so Viktor that you can't help the faint smile that touches your lips. Even as he frowns at you.

"What are you meddling with?" Viktor murmurs, turning his face into your cupped hand. You feel the faint brush of his lips, a little dry, and soft. Warm.

"Apparently our political landscape." You respond and that at least gets a laugh from him. You feel it against you and some spark shimmers through you, shudders and opens itself to you.

(Your desire for Viktor is something always with you, ambient, perhaps dormant, that always resurfaces like the great fins of some horrible, huge monster in dark waters. Your desire for Viktor is a symptom of your love. You've never know what to call it except that, except his.)

"Have I upset you?" You ask now as his laughter fades, and with it his amusement.

He sighs deeply and you feel his breath against your skin. You draw nearer. He leans back onto his crutch only slightly, only for a moment, before he allows you further into his space.

"I don't—" He struggles for the words before admitting, "yes, somewhat. For some reason."

"Are you feeling neglected?" You ask and try very hard to keep your amusement out of your voice, lest you irritate him further. He's always had a jealous streak in him, even as kids. If you made another friend, he would pout until you draped yourself over him and showered him in your attention again.

Even your previous relationships had bred some sort of jealousy in him; he's never liked any of your partners.

(It's so endearing to you that you have to tuck your teeth into your own lip and hum a little.)

You lean towards him, ducking your head so that your nose dips to brush against the line of his jaw. You feel his body shudder more than you see it. His breath goes tight. Your eyes flicker, a flash in the sun-spun light of your art studio;

"Do you want me to kiss you the way Jayce kisses me?" You murmur, your lips hovering over his. You watch his face gutter, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. His breath goes shallow.

"Or would you prefer Mel?" You murmur, just before you close the distance and kiss him with a certain fierceness, a meanness that you don't usually have with him. He stumbles back a little with the force of it and your hand that had been holding his cheek, slips into the hair at the nape of his neck.

A groan startles out of him when you tighten your hand into a fist and pull.

You part from the kiss, panting a little, and he looks down at you, eyes molten gold and burning.

You're about to kiss him again, when he murmurs, "I want—" he swallows hard, "I want you to kiss me the way you do—I want—"

You press back into him instantly, suddenly overwhelmed with the thought, with the notion that his desire, his jealousy—

You kiss him like you always have, overeager and desperate and messy. You urge him backwards, towards your workbench, all cluttered with paints. His crutch clatters against the ground uselessly as you grab for each other. You knock over a jar of brushes half-haphazardly placed on the floor.

You're overwhelmed with the thought that his jealousy might've been for you, too.

When he braces his hand against your work bench, he knocks over a cup of paint. You laugh into his mouth as you paw at his stupid, perfectly buttoned vest. When he touches you again, he stains you blue—and later red and violet. Burnished gold and paint so silver it makes the stars look dull.

A mess, he tsks, impossibly fond, as he looks at you and himself and the work space.

At all that you'd done.

***

"You've been pulling strings," Mel says as you lay in her lap, letting her pet and stroke you. Her fingers dance over the ridge of your brow.

You blink up at her slowly, eyes fluttering. "Shouldn't that be my line?" You ask.

"I'm not naive to the way you've been pulling our strings." She muses, fingers tumbling into your hair. She's gentle here, careful as she cards her way through your hair, her fingers nimble.

"Pulling strings is a far too sophisticated thing to call it." You snort and lean into her touch like a cat, preening a little.

"What would you call it?" Mel asks and the smile she wears is less of a mystery to you now, and you can tell there's a fondness to it.

(She does really like you—she is really being sincere, you've learned.)

You think about this for a long moment; you toy with saying a fucking mess. Or digging my own grave. But neither feel quite so full—while true, in many ways, there leaves little room for—

Well, this.

The way she holds you. The cat's curl of her smile, pleased and mischievous. Her fingers, gentle and coaxing, urging you to unfurl and bloom.

Or Viktor's rasping laugh that you can pull out of him. The fondness you hold for him like a pearl held inside a clam, growing and glowing. The way you drape yourself all over him, and he accepts it as easy as the day accepts the sun, or the night accepts the moon into its skies.

And even Jayce and the strangled back-and-forth that the two of you dance; it's still yours. It's still his. And the way he cups your cheek admist the violence or how he let's no one speak ill of you in front of him.

(Or the way Jayce and Viktor's minds work together, or how tactical Jayce and Mel can be; sharpened like daggers and twice as pretty. Or the creativity you pull out of Mel, allowing her to see the world like a boundless piece of art. Or the way Viktor's science influences your art; how your art influences his science. The fierceness you bring out in Jayce—the passion he brings out in you.)

It doesn't quite account for all the parts that make you burn and grow and shake out your great, big wings to fly.

Finally, you say, "it feels like I'm trying to find the melodies and harmonies and how they mesh—or the composition of a painting, or the feeling of a poem, but some of the words are still missing. It feels like when I chase art and try to break it open, to reveal what it wants me to learn—or show me."

"Have you figured it out yet?" She asks and she's genuinely curious, almost quiet in her desire to know.

At that, the door creaks open and there are several hushed whispers before Jayce suddenly strides into the room with all the false confidence in the world. Viktor looks sheepish behind him.

You sit up sharply, trying to detangle yourself from Mel.

"I told you they were here—" Viktor hisses to him, "and we shouldn't—we shouldn't be here."

Jayce isn't listening, though, and he's clearly inflating himself to get out, "I've come on important business of the council."

Mel raises her brows and throws you a sideways glance. She then says, "then come in, Councilor, since it's so important that you've come to my personal quarters. Unannounced."

Jayce at least has the good sense to look a little sheepish now, too. You can't help the laugh that springs out of you.

He throws you a dark look before clearing his throat.

"Councilor Haskel and Salo are seeking to strike down the art deal." Jayce announces and your heart drops a little, sinks in your chest.

You look at Mel. She purposefully keeps her face a mask of coolness. She rolls her shoulder briefly, which is your only tell of irritation or concern.

"Come in, Jayce." Mel finally says, "and you, too, Viktor. Shut the door behind you."

Both wander into the space and it's such a surreal moment, all four of you, for once, in the same room, that you can't help but laugh again.

Mel sighs in a way as if to say, I suppose this would happen eventually.

Jayce and Viktor can't quite look anyone in the eye and they both take uneasy seats int he living room.

Again, you feel like laughing—you're not sure what all the trepidation is for. Each of them have you seen you naked; you have seen them naked.

"What's their angle?" Mel asks, ignoring both Jayce and Viktor's shyness.

Jayce clears his throat, "they don't think it's worthwhile to support an artist from the Undercity at this time."

You wince and Jayce adds, "their words, not mine."

"Well, that won't do." Mel tsks and she suddenly moves to stand, graceful as ever, her robes trailing in a wave of silk and the smell of lillies. She likes to pace when she's thinking, and she pads over the window, to look out at the city.

Eventually, she says, "we'll need a grander plan. Something they can't refuse."

"What are you thinking?" Jayce asks.

She turns and all around her, she's doused in gold light, glowing in the evening sun as if she was born to it. "Perhaps combining some science with it." Now she looks at Viktor, "something symbolic to the current advancements with Hextech, perhaps."

Viktor looks at you, then back at Mel, "I can do that."

"Jayce, I need you to talk to the other Councilors and be sure they're not swayed by Haskel or Salo." She then adds, "and I want more publicity around it—and around our artist and scientist."

Our artist.

Our scientist.

"Ah—" Viktor starts, "I don't want to be in the public eye."

Our, our, our.

"It'll put pressure on Haskel and Salo if the people are behind you both, too." Mel presses gently, though her gaze has softened on him; she's sympathetic to his desires.

To assure him, you chirp, "I can do all the talking."

"Not sure that's our best idea." Jayce remarks.

"I am certain I can name several worse ideas of ours." You quip without thinking, and then you toss one of Mel's throw pillows at him; the beautifully embroidered one that's likely far too expensive and made from the rarest threads.

It hits him with a dull thud. And for a moment, he's shocked. The room is silent.

Still, your heart sings our, our, our.

But then Viktor snorts, before breaking out into his low, soft chuckle. And then the twinkle of Mel's giggles, coupled with your own laughter that bursts from your chest like a bird taking to flight.

And Jayce watches a moment, all of you laugh and smile, and if you could paint him in this moment, you would—

A little awe-struck. Tender around the edges, burnished gold. Breath stolen from him.

(Oh, he does really like you, too. All of you.)

But then laughter rumbles from him, too. And the tension slips from all of you, drains from your bodies with each bubbling sound.

And all of them together—finally together—are the melody you've been looking for, the words you couldn't place. The color on the canvas that finally brings it all together.

It's all the broken pieces like a mosaic, finally put together to create something whole.

And it's all ours, you think, the sun a flare of light and beauty bursting through the room, bathing all of your favorite people in it's gold and glory;

It's all ours.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Leaving: Christmas

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: Christmas with Menor

It's not often that Eli gets to have all three of you in the same place, not with you off travelling the world for your tennis, practically in a different country every month.

But the winter months is one that she can almost guarantee you'll be home for.

You finish your tennis season on a high, lifting the trophy at the WTA Finals before you spend a few more weeks in Poland with your training team coming up with a rough schedule of what you want to compete in next year.

But you're home now which means that Eli has all three of her daughters in the same country. Which also means mandatory days out together on the run up to Christmas.

It's easier to get you sorted than Alexia - still playing football every week - and Alba, still teaching as the schools haven't gone on holiday yet.

You're back in your childhood bedroom and seem to delight in sleeping the day away and only getting up around two in the afternoon to migrate from your bed to the sofa.

Occasionally, you roll out of bed early in the morning to take part in some sponsorship commitments.

Your tennis season has been nothing short of extraordinary this year and you've somehow become Nike Tennis' golden girl along the way with all of your tennis gear bar your racket being supplied by them.

Like how now, you and Alexia are wearing the exact same Nike shoes as you all walk through the Christmas market together.

"Mami!" You complain over the noise of the crowd," Mami, make them stop!"

Somewhere between the stall making handmade Santas and the stall with fresh paella, Alexia has gotten you into a headlock and is none too kindly ruffling your hair while Alba pinches your cheek between two fingers.

"She started it!" Alexia yells back.

"Alexia," Eli says with a sigh," You are thirty years old-"

"Yeah, Alexia!" You butt in," You're old."

"No, y/n, that's not what I meant," Eli tries to correct you but she's interrupted yet again.

"Yeah, older than you!" Alexia says," Which means you're meant to do what I say! Listen to your elders!"

"Oh? So you're elderly now? Maybe you should sit down, Ale, and rest your old back!"

You shove her off of you, stamping on her foot before taking off down the street.

"Hey! Get back here!" Alexia yells, taking off after you as she forces her way through the crowd.

Alba shakes her head in mock disapproval. "You know, Mami-"

"No, Alba," Eli says," I will not only buy you stuff tonight. Stop trying to get your sisters in trouble."

Alba shrugs. "It was worth a shot."

By the time Eli and Alba catch up, you and Alexia have forgotten whatever argument you've been having in favour of nosing around some of the stalls together.

Somehow in the time it's taken for Eli and Alba to return, you've both gotten cups of hot chocolate with caramel sauce and marshmallows along with little Christmas ornaments to hang on the tree.

"Must you two spend so much money?" Alba complains as she points at the little paper bags that Eli hadn't even noticed.

"It's not our fault that we've got a lot of it saved up."

Alba rolls her eyes. "It's exactly your fault! You don't have to keep winning so much in prize money."

You shrug. "It's not my fault I'm good at what I do."

"It's your fault you're not spending it on me," Alba says, tongue poking out of her mouth.

"If I buy you stuff, will I get sister points?"

Alba doesn't even have to think about it. "Yes."

You grin. "What do you want?"

Eli sighs. "Alba, please stop exploiting your little sister's goodwill."

"Yeah Alba," Alexia butts in, her own tongue sticking out," Don't exploit our little sister."

"You do it all the time!"

"I'm allowed to!"

"Girls," Eli says wearily," Please stop exploiting each other."

It's a weak request, one that Eli knows will be ignored but she has to at least attempt it, if only to look like a good mother in a crowd of strangers.

She easily tunes out the bickering of the three of you as she turns to the hot chocolate stall and buys herself a cup of it.

You and Alexia have good taste, she can give you that because it's delightfully creamy and Eli takes a long gulp before turning back around.

She's not surprised that the three of you have disappeared.

In all honesty, she's surprised you all stuck around for so long.

Usually, the three of you go off by yourselves the moment you step into a market. Eli's kind of been a bit antsy for you to all disappear. She does her best Christmas shopping when none of you are around.

"Alexia!" You complain," Hurry up! Alba's saving us a spot in line."

"But..." Alexia pretends to stumble, making herself seem suddenly weak and weary. "I...I don't know if I can go on! You know, with my old bones!"

"Alexia, you're so dramatic!"

She grins. "Yes."

"Come on!" You say," I want to go on the drop ride!"

"You always want to go on the drop ride!"

"Exactly," You say, pulling her more forcefully than before," Because it's tradition! Don't ruin tradition!"

Alexia laughs, finally having stopped digging her heels in to throw her arm over your shoulder.

"You know I'll never break tradition."

[helen-with-an-a]

Christmas Eve - Beautiful Girl series (18+)

Hiiiiii - Merry Christmas and a happy holidays to everyone. Have a smutty Beautiful Girl fic to read as you spend time with family and loved ones hehe <3<3<3

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Beautiful Girl Masterlist

Description: It's Barça's Christmas Party

Word Count: 7.4k

TW: Smut, 18+, semi-public sex (in a bathroom), fingering (R giving)

“Look at you, pretty girl,” you whistled softly, your voice filled with admiration as Alexia stepped out of the walk-in wardrobe. Her hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, curled to perfection. A shy blush bloomed on her cheeks as she fidgeted with the delicate earring she was fastening, her fingers slightly trembling. She hesitated for a moment, meeting your gaze with a mixture of bashfulness and pride, as if she wasn’t used to hearing such words. “So beautiful, baby,” you murmured, stepping closer to her. You gently reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her lips curled into a small, shy smile, and she looked down briefly, unable to hide the way your words made her heart flutter. There was something so captivating about how she glowed, standing there under the soft light, a vision of grace and beauty that took your breath away.

You smiled at her, movements slow and deliberate, as your eyes trailed over her figure. She looked stunning, her dress hugging every curve in a way that made your breath catch in your throat. Without a word, you crossed the small space between you and wrapped your arms around her waist, pulling her close until her body was pressed snugly against yours. The warmth of her skin seeped through the fabric.

“Makes me want to stay here,” you murmured, your voice low and playful as you leaned in, your lips brushing just shy of her ear. “Ditch the party and have our own fun, yeh?” You teased, your breath warm against her skin. You tilted her face slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, lingering just long enough to make her pulse race. Your hands slowly began to trail down her back, fingertips grazing the curve of her hips before inching toward the soft swell of her arse, squeezing ever so gently.

"Mi amor," Alexia whined, her voice betraying a mixture of exasperation and desire as she glanced up at you through her lashes, a small crinkle forming in her brow. Her hands found your shoulders, a half-hearted attempt to push you away, though she didn’t try too hard. You could feel the tension in her, the way she fought against the pull of your teasing. “That’s not fair,” she sighed, her lips curving into a reluctant smile despite herself. "You know we have to go."

Her eyes flicked toward the door, but her body stayed pressed against yours, and for a moment, you could tell she was considering giving in. But the sense of responsibility tugged at her just as hard, and with a playful shove, she tried to peel herself away from your grasp

"I know, baby, I know," you said softly, your tone a blend of understanding and mischief as you pulled her just a little closer. Your hands lingered on her waist, your thumbs absentmindedly tracing slow circles. "But it’s not my fault that you look so stunning though," you continued, your voice dropping a little lower, laced with a playful edge. You tilted your head, gazing at her with mock helplessness, as if her beauty were a burden you were struggling to bear.

"If I didn’t know any better, I would say it’s you that’s not being fair." Your eyes roamed over her again, taking in every detail of the way she looked tonight. "Getting all dressed up and pretty, letting the world see just how gorgeous you are," you said, your tone teasing yet sincere, "knowing full well I can’t do anything about it."

You let the words hang in the air, the suggestion heavy between you. Your fingers gently tightened around her waist, and for a moment, you leaned in again, letting your lips hover near hers, not quite touching, just close enough to feel the warmth of her breath. "It’s almost cruel, baby,” you murmured, your eyes never leaving hers, "how you make it so hard to let you leave."

Alexia’s eyes softened as she bit her lip, fighting back a smile, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink. She knew exactly what she was doing, and that little sparkle in her eye told you she was enjoying it just as much as you were.

She leaned in slowly, her eyes never leaving yours, the space between you shrinking until her lips were just a breath away. Her warm breath mingled with yours, a soft sigh escaping her as she closed her eyes.

Her movements were deliberate, savouring the moment as she kissed you slow and deep, her lips moulding to yours in a way that made your pulse quicken. Time seemed to stretch as you melted into the kiss, your hands instinctively sliding up her back, pulling her closer until there was no space left between you. The taste of her lingered on your lips, familiar and intoxicating, while her fingers found their way to the back of your neck, gently threading through your hair as she deepened the kiss, her body pressing closer to yours.

You reluctantly pulled back, your lips lingering just a second longer before breaking the kiss, leaving her wanting more. A slow, teasing smile spread across your face, the kind that always made her heart skip a beat. "Vamos, hermosa," you murmured, your voice soft yet playful as you watched the flush on her cheeks deepen. Her eyes fluttered open, still hazy from the kiss, and you could see the way she was struggling to regain her composure.

"We’re going to be late," you added with a wink, the corner of your mouth curling up in a grin. Despite the heat between you, you knew you had to tear yourselves away from the moment. Stepping back, you straightened up and held out your hand waiting for her to take it.

The cool night air brushed against your skin as you both stepped outside, the excitement of the evening ahead not quite able to erase the lingering heat between you. You glanced over at her once more, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as you watched her fix her hair in the reflection of the window.

You were grateful that the party was being held at a fancy hotel, the kind that exuded elegance with its grand chandeliers and polished marble floors. As you stepped into the venue, the atmosphere immediately caught your attention. The blaugrana decorations were tastefully draped around the room, blending seamlessly with twinkling Christmas lights that cast a warm, golden glow over everything.

The festive mix of holiday cheer and team spirit made you smile, the lights shimmering like tiny stars above the crowd. Wreaths wrapped in ribbons of blue and red hung on the walls, while towering Christmas trees adorned with baubles in the same colours stood in the corners, their branches heavy with ornaments that glittered under the soft light. It was the perfect fusion of elegance and celebration, with just enough holiday charm to put you in a festive mood.

"Feliz Navidad!" Mapí called out excitedly as she came rushing over, her voice warm and full of holiday cheer. Her eyes sparkled in the soft glow of the Christmas lights, making her look even more vibrant and lively as she beamed at you. She was practically glowing, wrapped in the festive energy of the night.

"Merry Christmas, María," you smiled back, mirroring her enthusiasm as you pulled her into a friendly side hug. Her familiar energy was infectious, and you couldn’t help but laugh as she wrapped an arm around you in return. "Where’s the better half?" you teased, glancing around with playful curiosity, knowing that wherever Mapí was, Ingrid wasn’t far behind.

"Uh," she gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her heart as if you’d deeply offended her. "The better half? Excuse me?!" she added, eyes wide in mock outrage. But, despite her playful act, she quickly caved with a grin. "Ingrid’s getting drinks," she offered up anyway, her tone softening as she glanced over her shoulder toward the bar where her girlfriend was probably charming her way through a drink order.

"Ooo, drinks!" you said with a raised eyebrow, your expression shifting from playful to intrigued. "Now that’s a shout," you added with a little nod of approval. You turned toward Alexia, squeezing her hand gently to catch her attention. "Ale, baby," you asked, leaning in a little closer to her, your voice dropping into that soft, affectionate tone reserved just for her. "Do you want a drink?"

"Por favor," she replied with a small smile, her eyes lighting up at the thought. She shifted a little beside you, her fingers lacing through yours in a way that felt so natural, her presence always grounding you in moments like this.

"G&T or cava?" you asked, already knowing what her answer might be but loving the small routine of checking in with her anyway.

"Cava, por favor," she responded, her smile widening as she caught your gaze, her soft request carrying that understated elegance that seemed so effortless for her.

"Alright, cava it is!" you grinned, turning back toward Mapí with a knowing look. You could already see Ingrid at the bar, her head bent slightly as she chatted with the bartender. You nudged Mapí with your elbow, teasing her lightly, "Better hope she doesn’t forget yours in all the excitement!"

"Ingrid, don’t you know it’s bad to flirt when you already have a girlfriend?" you teased, your voice laced with playful mischief as you sauntered up to the bar where the Norwegian was casually leaning. She was waving her fingers at the man behind the counter, signalling for the drinks with that effortlessly charming air she always seemed to have.

At the sound of your voice, she turned her head slightly, her lips curling into a knowing smirk as she shot you a raised eyebrow. "I don’t flirt with a person that has a penis," she replied dryly, her voice deadpan but her eyes twinkling with amusement. The sharpness of her wit was something you’d always appreciated about Ingrid, and it only made your teasing that much more fun.

"Ah, so you wear the strap then," you quipped with a laugh, leaning in to nudge her shoulder playfully. The joke caught her off guard for a split second before her face broke into a wide grin, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she shook her head at your antics.

"Faen ta deg," she groaned in mock exasperation, her Norwegian accent thickening with the curse, but the smile on her face gave her away. Without hesitation, she pulled you into a tight, familiar hug, wrapping her strong arms around you as if she were giving in to your teasing. You laughed against her shoulder, the warmth of her embrace drawing a sense of comfort that only came from years of friendship.

You squeezed her back just as tightly, the both of you swaying slightly as the laughter lingered between you. "You love me," you teased again, your voice muffled against her jacket as you held her close.

"Ja, I do," she sighed dramatically, giving you one final squeeze before pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, her expression softening. "But you’re still a pain in the ass," she added with a wink, her humour ever-present even in moments of affection.

"Dues copes de cava, si us plau," you said with a nod to the bartender, your Catalan rolling off your tongue with a little more confidence than usual. You stepped back, satisfied as the bartender gave you an approving nod and began preparing the drinks.

Ingrid, ever quick with her teasing, cocked an eyebrow and gave you a playful smirk. "Look at you with your Catalan," she teased, folding her arms as she leaned against the bar. Her eyes sparkled with amusement, clearly enjoying the way you were trying to embrace the local language.

You let out a small, fond sigh and rolled your eyes, though the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. "Ale’s been making me practice," you admitted, the affection in your voice impossible to hide. The lessons themselves had become a running joke between the two of you – your pronunciation often shaky at best, but Alexia’s encouragement never wavered, even if it came with a few teasing remarks of her own.

Ingrid chuckled knowingly, already guessing where this story was headed. "Oh yeah? How’s that going?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she took a sip from her drink, clearly waiting for the punchline.

You shrugged with a grin, your mind flashing back to the countless 'study sessions' with Alexia. The lessons rarely stayed focused for long. In fact, you could barely get through more than a few correct phrases before Alexia would pull you close, her lips finding yours in a heated kiss as a reward for your efforts. "It’s," you began, your voice laced with amusement, "going well as I expected it to ..." You trailed off, your grin widening as you gave Ingrid a knowing look.

Her eyes widened in mock surprise before she burst out laughing. "Oh my God," she said between chuckles, shaking her head in disbelief. "So you say a few words, and she rewards you with a makeout session?"

"Pretty much," you laughed, your cheeks flushing slightly as you recalled the many times Alexia had turned your failed attempts into something far more... enjoyable.

Ingrid laughed even harder, her hand covering her mouth as she shook her head in amusement. "You lucky bastard," she teased, still laughing as she nudged your shoulder.

"What can I say, I’ve got a very pretty girl willing to do a lot of things for me," you laughed, your voice light with affection as you turned your gaze back toward where Alexia and Mapí were standing. The sight of them made you smile even more. Alexia’s head was bent slightly, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to hear Mapí over the music. The lively, fast-paced rhythm of the party filled the room, but Mapí seemed completely oblivious, happily chatting away with her usual energy, her hands flying through the air in animated gestures as she told what was probably an overly detailed story.

Alexia, ever the patient listener, nodded along, though the slight crease in her brow and the subtle tilt of her head gave away her confusion. She clearly wasn’t following Mapí’s whirlwind of words, but her expression stayed kind and attentive, as it always did. It was one of the many things you adored about her – her ability to make anyone feel like they had her full attention, even when she had no idea what they were saying.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the scene, watching as Mapí continued her enthusiastic storytelling, completely unaware of Alexia’s polite confusion. The contrast between them – Mapí’s high-energy rambling and Alexia’s gentle patience – was both endearing and amusing.

"Don’t we both," Ingrid chimed in, her voice softer now, a warmth creeping into her tone. You glanced over at her, and her expression had shifted from playful to something more tender. A soft, love-filled smile had settled over her lips as she watched Mapí, her eyes shining with that unmistakable look of adoration. It was the kind of gaze that only comes from someone who’s deeply, irrevocably in love, the kind of love that shows in the smallest of moments.

She followed Mapí’s every gesture with her eyes, clearly amused by her girlfriend’s boundless energy, but there was something more in her gaze – a deep affection, a sense of being utterly content. You could see it in the way her features softened, in the quiet way she observed Mapí, like she was taking in every little detail and storing it away.

You nodded, understanding exactly what Ingrid meant. "Yeah," you agreed, your voice quieter now, a little more thoughtful as you looked back at Alexia. "We’re pretty damn lucky." It was hard not to feel overwhelmed with gratitude in moments like this, surrounded by people you cared about, watching the person you loved simply be herself, even in the chaos of a crowded party.

The night was definitely one to be remembered, a vivid blur of laughter, music, and warmth that seemed to stretch on forever. The party had reached a crescendo, the lively energy of the guests filling the room with a palpable sense of celebration. Lights danced across the walls, and the rhythm of the music seemed to weave through everyone, binding them together in a shared experience.

Somehow, amidst the clamour and cheer, you had managed to pull Alexia onto the makeshift dance floor that had formed in a corner of the room. It was a cozy little space, illuminated by strings of fairy lights and surrounded by a circle of friends who had also surrendered to the infectious rhythm of the night. The floor was a mix of polished wood and carpeted sections, but it was perfect for the impromptu dancing that seemed to be happening everywhere.

As the beat of the music pulsed through the room, you found yourselves swaying together, completely in sync with each other and the rhythm. Alexia’s hands were warm and reassuring as they pressed gently against your hips, guiding you both in a gentle, swaying motion. The closeness of your bodies created a bubble of intimacy amidst the chaos, a small sanctuary of connection in the midst of the lively crowd.

You threw your head back against her shoulder, the softness of her skin and the steady beat of her heart providing a soothing backdrop to the vibrant energy around you. The sensation of her breath against your neck, the subtle way she moved with you, made everything else fade into the background. It felt as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

The music seemed to wrap itself around you, the melody and beat a perfect accompaniment to the tender, carefree moment you were sharing. Every sway and shift in the music felt like a new chapter in your night, a fresh layer of connection and joy that you both embraced wholeheartedly. In those moments, surrounded by the laughter and cheer of your friends, everything felt right, as if you were exactly where you were meant to be.

You smirked, feeling a thrill run through you as Alexia’s warm lips pressed delicate kisses along your exposed neck. The sensation of her soft, teasing touches sent shivers down your spine. Her hands, large and comforting, splayed across your stomach, their warmth seeping through the fabric of your clothing.

The crowded dance floor seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of you enveloped in your own private world. The noise and lights faded into a distant hum as her kisses travelled up from your collarbone to just beneath your ear. Each gentle peck was a whisper of affection, a silent declaration of her presence that made your breath catch in your throat.

“Mi amor,” she murmured softly, her breath warm against your ear, the words barely audible over the thumping music. Her voice was tender and intimate, carrying a depth of emotion that resonated beyond the surface of the party.

You tilted your head slightly to give her better access, surrendering to the warmth and closeness of her embrace. The world outside seemed to pause for a moment, encapsulated in the cocoon of your shared affection. The music played on, but in this little bubble of yours, it was as if everything else had faded into the background, leaving only the sensation of her touch and the tenderness of her whisper.

You felt her hands gently trying to turn you around, the subtle pressure and guiding touch clearly communicating her intention. The way she manoeuvred you spoke volumes, making it clear that she was trying to direct the situation to her favour. Her movements were soft but insistent, her touch a delicate plea wrapped in the language of affection.

“What do you want, baby?” you asked with a teasing smile, your eyes sparkling as you looked up at her. You turned around to face her fully, your arms wrapping around her neck in a comfortable, intimate embrace. The warmth of her body against yours and the softness of her touch only heightened the playful tension between you.

“Por favor, mi amor,” she pleaded gently, her voice a whisper that carried a hint of vulnerability beneath its sweetness. “Take me home.” The way she said it, with that mix of desperation and charm, made it clear that she was both earnest and endearing in her request.

“But I don’t want to go home, baby,” you replied with a teasing edge, raising an eyebrow and forming a fake pout that was more playful than serious. The expression was a mix of mock disappointment and affectionate defiance, designed to make her smile despite the situation.

“Please, mi amor,” she whined softly, her voice taking on a coaxing tone that made it clear she was trying her best to be persuasive. “I’ll be good.” Her words were accompanied by a soft, almost pleading look in her eyes, a look that made you chuckle despite your resolve.

“Oh, I know you will, beautiful,” you said, leaning up to place a gentle peck on her lips. The brief kiss was a tender acknowledgment of her desire, a silent promise of affection despite your teasing. “But I’m not ready for home just yet.” You pulled back slightly, maintaining eye contact as you spoke, the playful glint in your eyes revealing that you were thoroughly enjoying this little game.

As you looked at her, you could almost see the internal struggle playing out in her mind. You could sense the war raging within her: should she put aside her impatience and wait patiently for you to finish enjoying the evening, or should she indulge in a bit of bratty persistence to get her way? The conflict was visible in the way her brows furrowed slightly, the tiny, telltale signs of her internal debate.

In that moment, everything seemed to pause, the world outside fading as you both focused on each other. The playful tension between you was electric, a blend of affection and teasing that made the night feel even more special. You knew she’d eventually concede, but the way she looked at you, with that mix of determination and sweetness, made you realise just how much you enjoyed these little exchanges with her.

You made up her mind for her with a decisive grin, grabbing her hand and gently but firmly pulling her off the dance floor. You had no idea which way you should be going, but you remembered seeing Patri head in this direction when she announced she was heading to the bathroom earlier in the night.

“Mi-mi amor?” Alexia’s voice was tinged with curiosity and a touch of confusion as she followed your lead, her hand gripping yours tightly. She glanced around, her gaze flitting back and forth as she tried to figure out your plan. “Where are we going? The exit is that way,” she said, pointing back over her shoulder with a slightly bewildered look.

“I’m not looking for the exit, baby,” you replied with a playful wink, your tone light and teasing. “I’m looking for the bathroom.” You said it with an air of casual nonchalance, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

As your words sank in, you could almost see the moment of realisation dawn in her eyes. Her expression shifted from puzzled to understanding, and the weight of her earlier reluctance seemed to lift. Her eyes widened slightly as she processed what you had said, and in that instant, her demeanour changed entirely. She was no longer a passive follower but instead, she was engaged and eager.

Suddenly, she was no longer dragging her feet but rather matching your pace, her excitement palpable. The realisation of where you were heading seemed to invigorate her, transforming her from a hesitant companion into an enthusiastic participant. Her hand tightened around yours in a show of affection and anticipation, and she fell into step beside you, her previous confusion replaced by a sense of purpose.

You could feel the shift in her energy, the way she seemed to be drawn forward with a renewed sense of direction. The playful tension between you now carried a sense of mutual excitement, and the anticipation of finding the bathroom became an adventure of its own.

The bathroom you entered was one of those stylish all-in-one washrooms. The moment you stepped inside, you were greeted by the sleek, clean lines and polished surfaces that defined the space.

On your left, a spacious granite countertop stretched along the wall, its dark, lustrous surface reflecting the ambient light with a subtle sheen. The countertop was immaculate, with no clutter to disrupt its smooth, glossy finish. A large, rectangular mirror hung above the sink, framed in a minimalist metal that complemented the overall aesthetic of the room. The mirror’s surface was perfectly clear, offering an unobstructed view of the reflection, adding a touch of sophistication to the space.

It was far too fancy for what you had in mind, a stark contrast to the typical restrooms you were used to. The room's high-end design seemed almost too refined for your plans, but you had a hunch that more than one patron might find the lack of interruptions a welcome luxury.

You released Alexia’s hand, enjoying the playful whine she let out as you did so, a sound that only made you smirk wider. The sound was a mix of impatience and anticipation, and it was clear she was just as eager as you were. With a swift, practiced motion, you locked the door behind you, the click echoing softly in the otherwise quiet room.

As you turned back to her, your gaze softened with affection and desire. "You look so beautiful, baby," you murmured, your voice low and filled with admiration. The way her features lit up under the soft lighting only made her more captivating. You began to cross the room, each step purposeful and filled with intention.

Your body pressed gently against hers as you guided her to the countertop, your hands resting lightly on her waist. You allowed your eyes to roam appreciatively over her. “So pretty when you do your hair and make-up,” you continued, your voice a hushed whisper as you took in the meticulous effort she had put into her appearance. “And this dress,” you said, letting your eyes rake slowly from her shoulders down to the curve of her hips, appreciating every detail. “So fucking sexy, my beautiful girl.” Your tone was a blend of awe and hunger, a reflection of how deeply you were captivated by her.

Slowly, almost agonisingly so, you began to gather the fabric of her skirt, inch by tantalising inch, revealing the smooth, tanned skin beneath. Each movement was deliberate, savouring the way the material slid up, exposing more of her body. Your fingers brushed against her skin with a feather-light touch, making her shiver with anticipation.

“Almost didn’t want to come tonight,” you continued, your voice a low murmur laced with desire. “If I had it my way, I would have taken you right there and then.” You paused for a moment, letting your gaze linger on the exposed skin of her thighs. “As soon as you stepped out of the cupboards, I would have bent you over and made you mine.”

You leaned closer, your breath warm against her collarbone as you pressed a heated kiss there. Your lips lingered, your mouth creating a dark, possessive mark as you sucked gently, revelling in the way her body responded to your touch. “Maybe I would have had you on your back, legs spread nice and wide for me,” you whispered, your voice dropping to a husky tone as you described your fantasy. “I’d take my time with you, nice and slow, making you feel every inch of me.”

You pulled back slightly, your eyes meeting hers with a predatory gleam. “Or maybe I would have you on your hands and knees,” you continued, your voice a seductive murmur against her ear. “So I could pound into you, feeling every delicious inch of you clenching around me.” The words were barely audible, but they were laced with a raw, primal intensity that made her breath hitch.

“Or perhaps,” you said, shifting your grip to hold her waist firmly as you imagined the scene, “I’d have you on top of me, riding my cock with that perfect rhythm of yours.” You let your lips brush against her ear, your voice dripping with lustful admiration. “Watching you whine and moan, knowing how much you love it when you’re on top, how you grind against me, making me lose myself in the sensation.”

Alexia's moan escaped her lips, loud and unabashed, as soon as your fingers made contact with the delicate fabric of her knickers. The damp patch on the fabric was unmistakable, a clear sign of her arousal that made your pulse quicken with anticipation. Her reaction was immediate and intense, a mixture of pleasure and need that was palpable in the way her body tensed against yours.

You took your time, deliberately rubbing slow, gentle circles over her clit through the thin layer of fabric. The friction between your fingers and the damp material created a delicious tension that had her squirming, her breath coming in shallow, gasping bursts.

As you continued to draw out the moment, your lips found hers in a deep, passionate kiss. Your mouths moved together in perfect harmony, a dance of longing and desire that mirrored the slow, deliberate pressure you were applying to her clit.

You could feel her moans vibrating against your mouth, her body responding eagerly to the combination of your touch and your kiss.

“Por favor, mi amor,” Alexia gasped as you pulled away slightly, her voice trembling with urgency and desire. Her breath came out in shallow, ragged bursts, her chest heaving with the intensity of her emotions. The expression on her face was a mixture of longing and need, making it clear that she was deeply affected by the sensations you had been creating.

“What, beautiful? What do you need?” you asked softly, your voice filled with concern and affection. You studied her closely, taking in every detail of her flushed cheeks and the way her eyes searched yours for reassurance.

“You, you. I need you,” she managed to stammer out, her voice a blend of desperation and longing. The simple declaration was enough to make your heart race, knowing just how much she craved your touch and presence.

“I’m here, baby,” you reassured her, your tone tender and soothing. “Tell me what you need from me.” You could see the apprehension flickering in her eyes, the uncertainty of how to articulate her desires in the midst of such intense emotions.

You leaned in slightly, your eyes never leaving hers as you offered her a choice. “Do you want my fingers, or my mouth?” you asked, your voice a gentle murmur that carried both promise and affection. The question was a way to ensure you were meeting her needs precisely, to give her the control she needed in this intimate moment.

“Fingers. N-need you close,” she breathed out, her words coming in a rush of urgency. The request was clear, a plea for the closeness and direct touch that would satisfy her longing.

“Good girl, baby,” you responded with a warm, approving smile, your voice filled with pride and tenderness. “So good for me, telling me what you need.” The praise was meant to reassure her, to make her feel cherished and understood. “And of course, I’ll stay close to you. You’ve got me for life, my beautiful girl.”

“F-for life,” Alexia echoed softly, her voice trembling slightly as a small, tender smile played at the corners of her lips. The words held a mixture of reassurance and intimacy, a promise that resonated deeply between you.

“For life,” you repeated with a gentle smile, the sincerity in your voice reflecting the depth of your commitment. You leaned in to capture her lips in a soft, lingering kiss, the tenderness of the gesture a testament to your shared affection and connection.

“Lean back for me, baby,” you instructed with a tone that was both firm and affectionate. “Open your legs for me too.” The command was a gentle guide, and you watched with admiration as she complied, her body moving in response to your words. Her head fell back slightly, a look of trust and anticipation on her face.

As she settled into the position, you began to tenderly massage the inside of her thigh, one moving with deliberate, soothing strokes as the other settled around her hips, keeping her close. “So good for me,” you whispered, the praise a soft caress against her ear.

Unable to resist the allure of the expanse of exposed skin before you, your gaze lingered appreciatively. You leaned in closer, your lips finding her neck as you started to place a series of gentle, affectionate kisses along the sensitive skin.

Each kiss was a tender exploration, and you took your time to savour each sweet spot you found. You sucked and nibbled softly, your touch a blend of passion and devotion, marking each area with a blend of warmth and pleasure. As you pulled her underwear down, your movements were slow and deliberate, ensuring that every action was met with her comfort and eagerness.

As your fingers finally found their destination, she let out a deep, throaty moan that resonated with the pleasure she felt. Each stroke was slow and purposeful, applying just the right amount of pressure to elicit the most satisfying response. The sensation of your fingers against her most sensitive spot made her body tense in anticipation, her breathing becoming more erratic as she adjusted to the touch.

You could feel her muscles contracting slightly in response, the way her entire being seemed to focus on the contact between your fingers and her clit. The rhythm of your circles was consistent but varied in intensity, your touch an intricate dance meant to drive her wild with desire.

As you continued, the moans escaping Alexia’s lips grew louder and more insistent, each sound a reflection of the waves of pleasure that were washing over her. Her body moved with the rhythm of your touch, a dance of need and satisfaction that you were orchestrating with your skilled fingers.

“Más, mi amor. Por favor, más,” she begged, her voice a desperate whisper tinged with need. Her hand reached out, grasping your forearm with a firm, almost pleading grip. The intensity of her gaze and the urgency in her touch conveyed just how much she craved more, a silent demand for increased pleasure.

You couldn’t help but smirk at her eagerness, the sight of her in such a state fuelling your own desire. With a slow, deliberate motion, you sank a finger into her, the sensation causing her to let out a deep, throaty groan. Her body responded instantly, her nails digging into your skin as she braced herself against the overwhelming pleasure. The sharp bite of her nails was a stark contrast to the soft, sensual movements of your fingers, adding an edge to the intimate connection.

The groan she emitted was a sound of pure gratification, a reaction that spurred you on. After a moment of adjustment, her breathing became more ragged, her desire growing ever more palpable. “Mas rapida,” she gasped, her voice trembling with the intensity of her request. The urgency in her tone was unmistakable, a clear signal that she needed you to quicken the pace to reach the peak of her pleasure.

Her words were a potent mix of instruction and longing, pushing you to match her increasing need. You responded by picking up the speed, your finger moving in a rapid, rhythmic motion designed to amplify her pleasure. The combination of her passionate response and your skilled touch created a symphony of sensation for Alexia.

“You look so beautiful like this, baby,” you murmured, your voice laced with both admiration and desire. “And you feel so good.” The praise was a tender caress, meant to make her feel cherished and adored. As you spoke, you watched her cheeks flush with a deep, rosy hue, a visible sign of her embarrassment and pleasure. Her eyes fluttered closed, rolling back slightly as she lost herself in the sensations you were creating.

“What would the team say if they saw you like this?” you teased gently, a playful edge in your voice. “Their Capi being a good girl for me in the bathroom.”

Her reaction was immediate, her voice breaking and breathy as she responded. “N-not Capi. Jus’ Ale.” The words came out in a whimper, a mixture of protest and plea that only made her more endearing.

“Not their Capi?” you continued, your tone teasing but warm. “That’s right, you’re my Ale, aren’t you? My beautiful girl.” The affirmation was meant to ground her, to make her feel secure in the fuzziness of her mind. “My beautiful, perfect Ale who looks so good right now.”

Your words were a soothing balm, wrapping around her like a protective embrace.

You could tell she was on the edge, her entire body a symphony of tension and anticipation. Her hips moved in sync with the rhythm of your fingers, a fluid, instinctive response that spoke of her increasing pleasure. Each movement was a testament to her desire, a delicate dance that matched the steady pressure and motion you provided.

Alexia’s chest rose and fell with each breath, the rhythm uneven and jagged as her breathing became more erratic and shallow. The sight of her heaving chest was both captivating and poignant, a visual cue to the overwhelming sensations she was experiencing. Each inhale was a gasp of anticipation, and each exhale was a soft, trembling sigh that betrayed the intensity of her emotions.

The way her body shook slightly with every breath revealed just how close she was to her peak. The trembling in her limbs and the subtle quivers of her muscles underscored her heightened state of arousal. You could see the conflict in her expression – the struggle to maintain control while being overwhelmed by the pleasure you were giving her.

The combination of her rhythmic movements, laboured breathing, and the palpable tension in her body painted a vivid picture of her near surrender. It was clear that she was on the brink, her entire being focused on the sensation you were creating, each touch and stroke pushing her closer to the edge.

“You look so pretty right now, baby,” you said softly, your voice filled with both admiration and desire. “So beautiful when you’re about to cum for me.”

You let your eyes roam over her, taking in every detail of the intimate scene before you. Her dress was gathered around her waist, the fabric bunched up in a way that accentuated the curve of her hips and the delicate line of her thighs. The way the dress was pulled up revealed the expanse of her smooth, heated skin, the sight of her vulnerability and arousal making your heart race.

Her underwear lay discarded on the floor, the contrast between the elegance of her dress and the disarray of her clothing only heightened what was happening. Her head was thrown back, her expression one of pure, unfiltered pleasure. The sight of her face, flushed and marked by the overwhelming sensations coursing through her, was both captivating and deeply erotic. Her eyes were closed, lost in the waves of ecstasy that were cascading through her body, each wave making her tremble and moan softly.

You watched her with a mixture of awe and pride, treasuring the way her body responded to you. The sight of her – exposed and blissful, caught in the throes of climax – was a testament to the deep connection and intense pleasure you were sharing. The moment was a beautiful, intimate exchange, captured in the delicate balance between control and surrender, pleasure and adoration.

“I’m gonna cum,” she warned, her voice a breathless declaration that sent a thrill through you. Her hips moved erratically, driven by a primal rhythm that seemed beyond her control. The intensity of her impending climax was evident in the way her movements became less coordinated, more frantic, as she approached the edge.

“Yeh? You gonna cum for me, baby?” you asked, your voice low and filled with a teasing edge. “You gonna make a mess on my hand?” She nodded furiously, her eyes squeazed tightly shut. “You gonna tell everyone who’s making you feel this good?”

The combination of your words and the relentless pressure of your fingers drove her to the brink. With a loud, unrestrained shout, she came, her body convulsing in a powerful wave of ecstasy. “Amor,” she squealed, her voice trembling with the intensity of her release. The sound was a beautiful, raw expression of her pleasure, each note infused with the electricity that surged through her body.

You continued to work her through her climax, your fingers maintaining their steady, rhythmic motion. The sensation of her inner muscles contracting around you, combined with the way her body trembled and quivered, was a testament to the depth of her pleasure. Your touch remained consistent, providing both stimulation and comfort as she rode out the waves of her orgasm.

“Good girl,” you cooed gently, a warm, affectionate smile spreading across your lips as she finally opened her eyes. The sight of her, still flushed and basking in the afterglow of her climax, was a vision of pure contentment and vulnerability.

“T-thank you,” she whispered shyly, her voice barely more than a soft murmur. The gratitude in her tone was palpable, a sweet acknowledgment of the pleasure you had just given her.

“Look at you using your manners,” you teased playfully, your eyes twinkling with amusement. You couldn’t help but find her shyness endearing, a charming contrast to the passionate intensity of the moment. As you spoke, you began to slowly withdraw your hand, each movement deliberate and gentle, to ensure she felt comfortable and cared for.

“Gotta be good for you,” she responded, her words tinged with a hint of playfulness and affection. Her behaviour was so endearing that if you didn’t know better, you might have thought she was tipsy from a few too many drinks, her words and actions carrying a dreamy, almost disoriented quality.

“You’re always good for me, my beautiful girl,” you reassured her, your voice full of warmth and sincerity.

“T’estimo.”

[letskilltimetogether]

Omg I’m so sorry for leaving you hanging ;-; I can only offer the excuse of crippling school projects, but I’m back!

Dr. Stone Spoilers for most of the story

Okay so your point about him being a good leader actually opened up a can of worms in my brain. This is def kind of off topic? But I think it’s interesting so I want to write it down for my own sanity.

For a while know I’ve been coining Senkuu as a bad leader, or at least not ideal for personal writing purposes, but your comment made me rethink it. Looking at things with a fresh start, I realized Senkuu is a good leader, but not in the way I was originally imagining. (Doing my best to keep it as canon as possible) Senkuu 1. Cares deeply about people, not just his own 2. Is very strategic and thinks of the future 3. Does not want power. These 3 aspects make him a good leader, especially in the setting of Dr. Stone.

To use an analogy, He would be a very good science club leader, which is kind of what he is. He is dedicated to the craft, and can manage a small group of people with similar goals, and rather than excluding others, he encourages and fights for them to join his club of nerds.

However!

For the first part of Dr. Stone, that works fine. It’s just the Kingdom of Science and the Empire of Might. It’s like 140 people, who although need some coaxing, can work together. But once America hits and they have Zenos people how have very different ideas, and all sorts of other civilizations across the globe… people are going to have conflicting ideas. There’s always going to be Tsukasas, misguided people, and Hyogas and Homuras, people who don’t mean well and try to shape the world in their making. This is where I believe Senkuu is no longer the best choice, as I don’t think he could handle managing and keeping peace between all of these people, in addition to perusing and steam heading science projects. Obviously there’s people to help him do these things, but it’s a lot.

Many people instead make Ryusui the main leader, which is not a bad decision. He’s used to leadership and thrives in positions of power, and cares about the people around him, even if they don’t like him(most of this comes from his confidence/arrogance, but still). He is great at planning and managing people, and is decent at working with people who have different views than him. However he doesn’t really understand the differences between what people say/think they want, and what they need, and he could make bad decisions based on that misconception. In addition, Ryusui is pretty disconnected from the people around him as he had a very different upbringing, and can’t always relate to people. This makes him a caring leader, but unable to properly act this way.

Both he and Senkuu are decent leaders on their own, but still not great. In conclusion, I say the best solution is to have the 5 generals, so some other council, in charge. They balance each other’s faults, this sharing of power relieves the pressure of leading the entirety of humanity from 1 person’s shoulders.

Main tangent over lol.

I def agree about Senkuu trying to save everybody, including Tsukasa, with all of the stuff happening at the beginning of Treasure Island Arc being a lot to juggle. This means to me that his decision to give Hyoga and Homura to the “authorities”/legal system is weak evidence for him being lawful.

I feel like we’re running this thread dry, so I pose another question: How do you feel about the ending of the manga, and how would you change it? I have some strong thoughts about those last few arcs lol.

*offers microphone in one hand and a bag of chips in the other*

Also happy holidays!!

Your honor they're homosexuals

[pricetagofficial]

Day 23: Movie Night

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: Language, Dick is a menace

A/N: Welcome to day 23! We are in the final days until Christmas! I hope you all have a good week! Header by me, Divider by @cafekitsune

Masterlist

It was the final few days until Christmas, and you and Jason were sitting on the couch together enjoying the night.

Or you would be, if you could decide on a movie.

What was originally supposed to be a movie night, turned into you finding out just how many movies were banned in Wayne Manor growing up.

Some of the most iconic Christmas movies ever made, Jason has only seen a few times to not at all.

"So, explain to me why Elf is banned again?

Jason had his arm wrapped around your shoulders, holding you tightly into his side as the movie of topic played on the television.

"This one wasn't actually anyone's fault. Bruce just hates Will Ferrel and never let us watch it."

You were about to argue, but looking at the movie you were watching, maybe it was a good idea. You didn't want to know what Jason's siblings would do when they were kids with this movie.

"Polar Express?"

"Dick tried to the hot chocolate thing with Tim and Stephanie. You remember the rug that used to be in the lounge?"

You looked confused. "What rug?"

"Exactly."

That sounded like a lame reason, but you didn't exactly blame Bruce either.

"Grinch?" You tried.

"Tim and Duke tried to make the sleigh, and rally poor Titus into it. Bruce banned it because Damian almost killed them for that." he chuckled. "Hilariously, it was Dick's idea but Damian would never do anything to him."

You laughed, you could see the scenario playing out in your head. Damian running around with his sword, after a frantic Tim and Duke with Titus barking after them with a single antler on his head.

"The Santa Clause?"

Jason snorted. "Bruce woke up one night with Dick on the roof trying to scare Santa."

Your eyes almost bulged out of your head. "What in the world?"

"Is a much nicer sentence than what Bruce said when he found him. At least, that's what I've heard."

At this point you were running out of Christmas movies.

"Home Alone?"

"Dick."

White Christmas?"

Jason nodded. "That's allowed."

"A Christmas Carol?"

"Muppet version only,"

"Why?"

"Dick."

You didn't know what else to say. "Just how many of these are Dick's fault?"

Jason didn't even hesitate. "Just about every single one of them."

A meeting needed to be scheduled to speak with Dick and why he must ruin every Christmas movie.

"What about Die Hard?"

You watched as Jason shifted beside you. "That's actually my fault," he admitted.

"What did you do?"

Jason chuckled as he looked at you. "I may or may not have hidden in the vents one Christmas after coming back, with an airsoft gun and may or may not have shot everyone, except Aflred obviously."

Your jaw dropped. "You did not, as a grown-ass adult?"

He nodded. "I even quoted the movie every time I shot them."

"You are unbelievable."

Jason seemed to take offense to that. "Hey! Dick literally recreated the traps from Home Alone and made them more effective. If he wasn't stopped, someone was going to die."

You crossed your arms looking at him. "And how old was he?"

"He was like 12."

"He was a child!

"He acts like one."

You let out a groan and leaned back on the couch. "Well good news. He isn't here to ruin them so we are watching every movie you missed out on."

Jason looked at you once more with a smile. "Sounds like a plan, princess."

[roonotrue]

Twisted Wonderland - He Hears You Singing (About Him)

Twisted Wonderland Writings Masterpost

Heartslabyul Edition, Savanaclaw Edition

Prompt: While relaxing, and doing chores around the Ramshackle dorm for your weekend restoration of the barely standing building, your thoughts drift to love songs from your old world. You think of songs that remind you of your closest fellow NRC student and significant other, and end up singing one while you work.

Reader: GN reader - They/Them pronouns and they are referred to as 'MC/Prefect' in this one. And let's all just agree that MC is a great singer- cuz some of these songs have mad vocals that I would never dream of trying to sing myself with my incredibly average voice, and I imagine a lot of you are the same.

Included Characters: Octavinelle Edition!

Warnings: None.

Request Rules & Information Here

~~~

Azul Ashengrotto - "Adore You" by Harry Styles

- Why did he stop by Ramshackle? He can't remember. It was something about taste testing the new spring menu, maybe? He's not sure it matters anymore, given how enamored he is with the sound of your voice right now.

- Is frozen in the doorway like a deer caught in headlights, he hadn't even realized it was you singing (he thought it was from your phone or something on a radio) until he turned the corner and saw you.

- When you see him, he turns all kind of shades of scarlet, embarrassed at being caught staring, but he quickly composes himself.

- Immediate compliments followed quickly by an offer to sing at the Mostro Lounge sometime- you'd be paid generously of course-

- On the outside he's acting cool, but the song in question really did fluster him quite a bit, and thoughts of you singing it again just for him keep intruding in his mind, and if you look closely you can see his ears remain a pretty shade of pink the whole conversation after.

- Does truly think you would look stunning dressed up in lavish clothes, preforming on the stage of the Mostro Lounge, are you sure you don't want to? He'll throw in a free meal plus pay!

"My, my, MC, that was a lovely performance. You should put those wonderful vocals to use, I'm sure everyone would be in awe of you at the Lounge. Some may even show up just to see you- I certainly would."

~~~

Jade Leech - "Dive" by Olivia Dean

- He's honestly quiet pleasantly surprised when he enters Ramshackle (without knocking of course) and hears your wonderful singing voice.

- A soft (dare I say genuine?) smile makes it's way to his face as he approaches the living area where you're cleaning, and stands patiently in the doorway for you to finish the song- one he's never heard before but it flows rather smoothly, much like the jazz played at the lounge.

- He finds the lyrics rather intriguing too, now what would inspire you to sing such a romantic song? A crush perhaps? The idea of you having enough of a crush on someone to sing such a song about them makes him... Well, he'll just focus on what he has right in front of him for now, and save those pesky feelings for later self-analysis.

- When you catch him he is completely shameless in his staring, as a matter of fact, his smile grows, before he gives a curious tilt of his head and motions with his hand for you to continue.

- What? Your voice was beautiful, of course he wants to hear it more. What's he doing here? Oh, well, he's come to ask if you'd like to be the first to taste test the Mostro Lounges new spring menu.

- Sure he didn't knock, but it's honestly your fault for not locking the front door- oh, the locks are broken? That can't possibly be safe. Perhaps you should stay at Octavinelle until they are fixed, that way he can hear your voice much more often.

- As a matter of fact, instead of 100 thaumarks a night for a room, he's sure he can arrange for you to sing at the Lounge every night for payment instead.

"Oh, please don't mind me, continue. Your voice is quite delightful, you should consider singing at the Lounge- though, I'm not sure I want anyone else to hear you but me..."

~~~

Floyd Leech - "Risk" by Gracie Abrams

- oHohOHo, you're never gonna live this down PT. 3

- The moment he barges into Ramshackle in a poor mood, looking for his favorite Shrimpy to cheer him up, he freezes at the sound of you're voice.

- But not for long.

- One second, you're alone, singing as you do some chores, and the next second you're being spun around in Floyd Leech's arms as he laughs cheerfully.

- He loves your voice. Keep singing! He wants to dance with you while you do! Forget those boring chores! He's here now, so you can both have fun! You're so adorable he could squeeze you till you pop!

- You should come by the lounge sometimes and sing to him to make his shifts less boring. He's sure Azul wouldn't mind- and if he does, then you two can just leave and have your own party elsewhere!

- He will, without a doubt, demand that you sing to and for him at the most random of times, hell, he might even barge into the middle of your class in a foul mood and demand a serenade from his Shrimpy.

- If you truly won't sing to him, his mood may worsen and you won't see him for awhile while he sorts himself out, whereas if you do sing for him, he will immediately start to feel better.

- The best moment he could ask for to fix his mood, is laying beside you his head in your lap, while you sing. It helps him decompress, and feel so much better from whatever was overwhelming him or souring his mood.

"Shrimpy~! Nice set of pipes! Well, don't stop singing, let's dance together! I knew you'd be doin' something fun, you always cheer me right up!"

~~~

Can you guys tell that Octavinelle is one of my favorite dorms? Particularly the twins? Especially Floyd, his unpredictability with his mood swings are very relatable as someone with severe untreated ADHD and bipolar tendencies. I just think he's neat guys. And fun to write. Anyway! Merry Christmas everyone, and I'll see you next post! ~ Roo

[choc-ice-on-wheels]

Humor me but I was trying to explain to my friend about how it feels to enjoy trains. Even as a novice I cannot help but romanticize them and wanted my friend to see through the mind of an engine or how I imagine an engine sees itself.

Imagine being so strong and nothing can really hurt you. You’re in a perfectly safe space made just for YOU (the rails) And your job is to go FAST as fast as you were made to be. Or to be strong and to be as strong as you were made to be. You were made to be fast and strong! There was intention in your design. Science, engineering, something real, something you aren’t taught to believe in the walls of a church. Power you can touch, see, and feel. You are imagination made real!

A person has to live under constraints and social pressure. And although you were made for people, their rules that restrict you like speed restrictions or what color you must be painted will never eclipse the truth of what you are and what you were meant to be.

Imagine being a thing built to work and LOVING to work and WANTING to work and when you’re tired, there are people who will fix you and you pay them with your work which also pays you! You are compensated by your mere existence and your usage! And people tell you you’re marvelous and strong and beautiful and it’s true because you are!

It’s like!!! Living an absolute perfect truth. And when you’re speeding down the track whistling as loud as you can for you’re meant to be loud and going as fast as you can because that’s what you’re meant to do; when you’re doing that, you’re living in perfect happiness.

The happiest one could ever be! No biological desire no concept of denying yourself your ultimate calling. Just doing what you’re made to do and loving it unconditionally. And being praised for it and never needing money because it means nothing to you! Incredible.

I just think it would be the most amazing feeling ever. But also!The saddest feeling to be broken! To be unused and waiting in a museum or a siding or a scrapyard. To be told you’re useless. To be melted down for some unknown purpose and to never feel the wind across your frames again and to never scream at your highest pitch that you’re alive and you’re loud enough to drown out the rest of the world! To be silent and only to take up space until you are removed from the beautiful rails and destroyed.

To no longer be what you were made to be. So cold you crack and rust away. And people only speak of your glory in past tense and blame you for things you couldn’t control.

Didn’t I do a good job?

Didn’t I pull? Didn’t I push trucks around nicely? Didn’t you get to where you needed to go? Did I ever treat your destinations as unimportant? Did I ever ask you to justify the direction I took you in? All I ever asked was to be what I was meant to be.

Now you say I’m too expensive. That I take up space. That no one will take care of me anymore. That I’m bad for the Earth I was made from and the living things on it I was made for. Why is this my fault?

Why is any of this my fault? When you made me this way?

Didn’t you benefit from what it took to give me power? Weren’t we all working together? I’m not sorry. I’m just sad.

So many times that came that never had to. So much work left undone. If I were an engine with my life cut short, how I’d cry over the loss of what could have been!

But no one would hear me. I can only be heard when I’m doing what I was made for. My truth only can be spoken when I’m given a voice.

I don’t know! I think trains are neat.

[winchesterwild78]

Broken pt 1

Master List

Characters: Jensen x Reader (wife)

Warnings: Angst, Infertility issues, Language

A/N:  Idea given to me by @cheekygirl2309. This one is a little different than what I usually write. It has angst, lots of angst to start, and infertility issues. It's going to be a short series.

Minors DNI 18+

I stood at the sink in our shared bathroom waiting and staring at the test on the counter. Another month has come and gone, another month of trying to conceive. The timer went off and with shaky hands I looked at the test, negative. My heart broke. 

Jensen and I had been trying for months to get pregnant and nothing we did was working. Frustration was beginning to take over and overshadow the possibility of being a parent. 

Jensen sat on our bed, phone in hand and leg bouncing. I walked out of the bathroom and he looked up at me, “Well?” I shook my head no. He let out a frustrated sigh and ran his hands through his hair and down his face. 

“Jens, I’m.” He lifted his hand and cut me off. I felt a pang of sadness fill my chest and a lump form in my throat. 

“Just don’t, please. Don’t say how sorry you are. It’s not your fucking fault. Maybe we should just stop trying.” Tears pricked my eyes at the harshness of his words.

“You don’t mean that, Jensen. Please, we can keep trying, we can go to the doctor and see what’s going on. Please, don’t give up on this.” 

“It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m leaving for Toronto in a few days.” I spun my head and looked at him, “What?! I thought you were home for a while.” 

“Well I guess not. We were called back for reshoots.” 

“Damnit, Jensen! This is why I can’t get pregnant. You’re never fucking home. Between filming and your convention schedule you’re not home long enough.” 

“Y/N, don’t start! I have obligations to the people I work for and with, and to my fans. You knew what you signed up for when we got married.” 

“I didn’t sign up to be alone all the time, and obligations!? What about your obligations to me, to us, our marriage? Does that mean so little to you?” 

“Fuck! I’m not going to spend the next few days arguing with you.” Jensen growled and grabbed his suitcase. 

I stood in disbelief. The tears that pricked my eyes were now falling, and my chest felt like it had a massive hole in it. 

I stood watching him pack and load up his suitcase without saying a word. As he passed by me he looked at me briefly but then looked away. No words were spoken. 

Jensen carried his suitcase downstairs while he was on the phone. He was booking a plane to leave tonight. An audible sob left my lips. 

“Jensen, are you really leaving tonight?” Without looking up he said, “Yes.” 

“Jens, please don’t do this. Please stay here. We need to figure this out.” 

Jensen’s phone went off. He looked at it and stood up, grabbing his suitcase, “I have to go. Goodbye, Y/N.” I swallowed hard. I usually drive him to the airport.

Before I could respond he was out the door, no hug, no kiss goodbye. I let out a loud sob and collapsed to the floor. He left. 

My world spiraled around me. The harsh words we spoke to each other replayed in my head. Did he really just walk out, did I lose him?

Jensen’s POV

I climbed in the Uber and headed towards the airport. My harsh words replayed in my head. The hurt on her face with another negative test and again when I left. The Uber driver was nice, making small talk, and I tried to be polite. 

My world was crumbling and I plastered a smile on my face and ran away from the problem. I’m a fucking coward. We wanted a baby, and I can’t even give her that. 

She’s right, I leave her alone too much. How can I expect to get her pregnant when I’m only home for a week at most. 

Reader’s POV

I cried, harder than I had in awhile. It felt almost therapeutic. I stood up, locked the door and crawled into bed. I grabbed Jensen’s pillow. The faint smell of his shampoo and cologne lingered on the pillow. 

I missed him so much it hurt. Was this argument the one that broke us? Will we be able to fix this and move forward?

I looked at my phone, hoping for a text, but I had nothing. He left. Left without hugging me or kissing me. He left early so he didn’t have to deal with this argument. He was done. Done with me, with trying for a baby, done with our marriage. 

I decided to send him a text. I had to lay it out there for him so he knew exactly where I stood. 

Me: I don’t know if you’ll read this, or if you even care, but I had to send this so you knew what I was feeling and where I stand. Jensen, I love you. I’ve always loved you and I always will. If you don’t want me, us anymore I get it. I just want to know. You left me tonight. No kiss, no hug. Just a cold shoulder and not so much as a goodbye. I deserve better than that. I’m sorry I haven’t gotten pregnant yet. I don’t know why I’m not, but I was willing to keep trying. I know every time the test comes back negative it hurts, but this hurts worse. 

Jensen, we made a commitment to each other and I still believe in it. I’m okay with putting trying to have a baby on hold, but I’m not okay with putting us on hold. I hope you have a safe flight, and I truly hope you still believe in us enough to fight for us. I know I do. Please call me or message me back. I love you, Jens, today, tomorrow, forever. 

I sat my phone down and curled in a ball. Sleep slowly washing over me. 

Jensen’s POV

I sat in the back of the SUV taking me to the apartment I had rented for filming. Shit, I forgot to turn my phone back on. 

As soon as I turned it on a message came through from Y/N. Arriving at the apartment I grabbed my bags and walked into my place. 

Pulling out my phone I read the texts. Tears pricked my eyes. I let out a frustrated sigh, and ran my hands down my face. 

I fucked up big time. This was one of the first tests in our marriage and I ran like a coward. No wonder she thinks I want out of our marriage. 

I looked at the time and realized it was really late. She was probably asleep but I didn’t want to just text her. I took a deep breath and called her.

“Hello” she answered groggily. 

“Hey, sweetheart. I got your text.” 

“Jens, oh. I’m so glad you’re okay. Baby I’m so sorry. I know this isn’t easy on you. You were right, I did, do know what I signed up for with your schedule and your job. I let my frustration get the better of me.”

“No, I’m sorry, Y/N. I left you alone in this, and ran like a coward. You have every right to feel the way you do. Hell, I feel lonely too, and I’m surrounded by people. I can’t imagine how you feel. Baby I don’t want to stop trying for a baby. I love you so much and I still want us and a baby. I am so sorry I spoke to you the way I did and left you instead of working through this. Say the word and I’ll fly back home tonight. I don’t care about the shoot, you’re more important to me. Our marriage is more important than the shoot.” 

“Jensen, I don’t want you to fly home. You have to stay and go to work. How about I fly to you in the next day or two? I’ll take some time off work and come to Toronto.”

“That would be amazing, sweetheart. I can book the ticket and let you know. Oh sweetheart, I am so sorry. I wish I could hold you right now.”

“Jens, I do too. I’m sorry too. Promise me we won’t do this again. If we get into an argument or have any disagreement we will talk it out. Stay and talk it out.” 

“I swear, Y/N. I’ll never run off again. I love you too much to throw this away.” 

“Good, because you’re stuck with me Ackles.” He chuckled, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

I yawned and so did he. “Jens, I hate to cut this short, but I’m really tired. Thank you for calling me baby. That means so much to me. I love you, baby.”

“Of course, sweetheart. I’ll let you get some sleep. I love you, darlin’. Good night, Y/N.” “I love you too, Jens, good night.” 

We hung up and I placed my phone on the bedside table. I smiled, pulled Jensen’s pillow to me and fell asleep. Feeling a bit better. 

I fell asleep, my heart lighter than it was before, knowing we were both willing to fight to save our marriage. 

My last thought before I fell asleep was, Now that Jensen and I have made the commitment to always keep communication open, what else could go wrong?

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[violenteconomics]

“so what?” ace says defensively. “mind your own business. deuce is his own person — it’s not like i’m forcing him to do this.”

riddle clenches his fist. reminds himself that it won’t be smart to get angry. “deuce said it was because he didn’t want to cause problems. whether you meant to or not, you coerced him into working himself to the bone because he didn’t want to bother you.”

“and? that was his choice.” ace steps back towards his room, face stone-cold. 

(for whatever reason, ace's frosty, unforgiving expression brings to mind a memory from what feels like years ago.

an image of ace, holding a hodgepodge of hedgehogs in his arms, laughing as the perfect day glimmers behind him, smiling at riddle in a rare moment of earnestness, flashes across riddle's eyes.

back then, riddle had thought: this is must be what true happiness feels like.)

“he’s still a child, ace.” riddle spits back through tight lips. “he’s impressionable. you can’t just pressure him into doing nothing but study and expect that to end well.”

“look, if he doesn’t get it up into high gear now, he might actually flunk out of school.” ace explains, crossing his arms. “i’m trying to help him out here. figured you of all people would understand “tough love”, housewarden.”

strawberry tarts glistening in the store window like forbidden jewels. books stacked all around him like the bars of a cage. the garden outside but a distant dream. the woman in the doorway, smiling down at her perfect trophy.

the boy standing in front of his housewarden, looking at him like he’s all that’s wrong with the world, just like riddle did in his first week at night raven college.

“he and i came here experiencing the same thing, y’know?” ace says, sneering. “we tried to indulge you because cater and trey told us it was the right thing to do. how is it my fault deuce hasn’t broken out of that mindset yet?”

riddle grits his teeth. “even still, that’s no excuse to exploit it.”

he loved you, he thinks. and you’ve used that love against him.

(much like he did with trey, he supposes.)

“maybe not.” ace concedes with a shrug of his shoulders. then, because he’s not done tormenting riddle, he puts on a snarky grin. “but hey. i’m a child. i’m impressionable. you can’t just put a collar on me and expect that to end well.”

and that burns. embarrassment and shame and frustration and misery — in equal measure, all at once.

and it all burns inside of riddle, flames lapping at the broken boy inside of him that screams for his mother to forgive him.

ace turns away and walks back into his bedroom with a two-fingered salute. “if that's all you have to say, i'm turning in. g’night, housewarden.”

I am in dire need of more of that AU that The First years get The upperclassmen toxic traits,i realy want more of It,like;

A way to include octavinelle and scarabia,maybe like,3 First years(Ace,deuce,Jack) get some of azul's toxic traits,other Three(epel,ortho and sebek) get Jamil toxic traits and yuu get both

Second thing

More reactings please,i NEED The staff,ALL The dorms and even the relatives seeing The First years developing those toxic traits,the overblots+Trey and cater for deuce getting their toxic traits right back at their face i beg you🙏🙏

anything 4 u, baby.

(but for real, though, this is an AMAZING idea, love you so much for tilling the ground for my brainwormies, mwah mwah 😘)

(also, this might get REALLY long, so hang tight!)

it was just a seed at first — a tiny idea that stuck around despite the first-years not even realizing it was there. but as the poison from their actual housewardens starts to develop into something truly deadly, so does that seed. it shows up later... but it makes itself known nevertheless.

ace, deuce, and jack have all worked for azul at the mostro lounge at one point, and though it was a very brief moment in time, it was just long enough to worm its way into their heads.

it starts with ace trappola, who's already pretty slippery with his words. but working at the mostro lounge, taking subconscious note of all the underhanded deals azul is making, he starts to pick up new... skills, let's say.

it starts small, with ace starting to give out certain favors to his fellow freshmen to earn some money. if you give him ten thaumarks, he'll do one of your everyday chores for you — dusting your room, cleaning your bathroom, making dinner, what have you. if you give him fifteen thaumarks, he'll do your homework if you don't feel like doing it, or take class notes for you if you don't feel like showing up. if you give him forty, he'll help you with something less-than-moral and definitely against the rules (he did it once back at the atlantica memorial museum — he can do it again).

there's an obvious power imbalance in all of these scenarios, but ace effortlessly words in a way that makes it seem like it's a win-win situation, when in reality, it's more like a zero-sum game.

it gets to the point where ace builds a black-market sort of reputation, and all of the freshmen know that if you need something done, ace is the person to go to.

...but then, something shifts.

at some point, ace starts a black-mailing campaign for the people who paid for the forty-thaumark favor. if you don't want your secret — one that might get you expelled, suspended, or worse — getting out, then you can pay for ace's silence with a favor or more money.

the worst part is: there's no way out. if you try attacking ace, it'll seem like you assaulted him for no reason, since if you try to explain he was blackmailing you, you'll have to tell them what he was blackmailing you with, which you obviously can't do — or else what was even the point? the same rule applies if you try tattling on him to one of the teachers or the housewardens or anybody else. and ace is a better liar than most people will ever be in their lifetime, so it's a losing battle even if you do manage to get someone to take your side.

so if you want to cross the bridge, my sweet, you've got to pay the toll.

(it's not even about the money anymore, really. riddle's thirst for control and azul's desire for recognition have clashed inside of ace in the most violent way, and now, it's all about the power it gives him over other people. and after how powerless he's felt this entire school year, being thrown left and right by overblot after overblot with no say at all, this is a power trip he never wants to come back down from.)

but ace realizes he's making quite a few enemies with his little money-making strategy, and he needs someone to help him just in case someone does come up with a plan to wipe him out. i mean, just look at azul — even with all of the loopholes and leverages in the world, even he was taken down eventually without outside help. if he wants this to last as long as possible, he needs... incentive for people to listen to him.

his own jade and floyd.

his own red-and-black collar.

using his riddle rosehearts-born dominance, and taking advantage of deuce's trey-and-cater-born passiveness, ace convinces deuce spade — one of the strongest people he knows — to help him in his economic ventures.

and deuce, seeing this as a way for ace to vent some frustration and unwilling to be on the other end of ace's ire, hesitantly agrees.

he doesn't piece together that ace is acting suspiciously like azul, but he still recognizes his own role in this whole scheme. ace is running a business, right? and deuce has only ever worked in one business before. he remembers what jade and floyd were like back when he worked under them, and so he uses that experience to inform his new position.

deuce becomes known as ace's right-hand man. he'll hunt you down if you don't pay, and he's not afraid to use force to "compel" you to. there have been stories about cat beastmen getting thrown up into trees and being left there for hours. about students getting forks "accidentally" thrown at them in the cafeteria with such precision, it doesn't really feel like an accident. about a student with a spade on his face who can throw back any attack sent his way with just as much force.

and there's nothing you can do about it, because he's in service to someone who has made himself pretty powerful. ace's silver-tongue gets deuce out of any and all trouble he inevitably finds himself in — and is ace is so brutally honest, why wouldn't people believe him? so even if you try to do something to deuce, ace has his back no matter what — and he'll win almost every time.

you mess with deuce, you mess with ace, which is already bad enough. but if you fuck around with ace, you better be prepared to find out with deuce.

they're a pair — that's always been true. but never before has that fact been so threatening.

jack howl comes next. we all know how much jack despises octavinelle's business model. but, begrudgingly, he will admit there are a lot of things he can learn from octavinelle. and more knowledge is never bad. as long as he doesn't actually use it, it should be fine.

(jack is more dangerous than ace and deuce, in a way — his toxicity is insidious in a way it just couldn't ever be with them.)

with excellent hearing, eyesight, and memory, he silently keeps note of every bribe he hears being taken. every lie he knows is being told. every mistake that gets swept under the rug. it's not long before he starts actively looking for it. it's not long before jack's uncovered dirt on almost every freshmen in school. it reminds him a bit of his time working at the mostro lounge. but instead of memorizing orders from customers, he's memorizing all their dirty secrets.

it's to protect himself, jack reasons. after all, it was only his input that put a stop to leona and ruggie's plans back during the spelldrive exhibition. he's just... preparing for another disastrous event, that's all. it's just precaution. insurance.

if it's not, then he'll have to accept that leona's overblot bothered him more than he thought. that he was weak enough to let it.

(and jack can't face that yet.)

and if, once in a while, ace comes to him looking for a little bit of information, then well, that's just lending a friend some advice. nothing wrong with that.

epel, ortho, and sebek don't have any direct ties to jamil, but they are certainly... impressionable, aren't they?

sebek zigvolt is a bit dense, certainly, but even he can see how well jamil takes care of his master. and with a master that's as ditzy and forgetful and all-over-the-place as kalim, that can't be easy. even if they are merely humans, and their experiences can't even begin to compare when it comes to serving a fae prince, sebek reckons that he can learn a thing or two by observing them. so that's exactly what he does.

one day, when kalim spills food on the floor in a hilariously ridiculous move, sebek notices something few others ever would. jamil gives the tiniest twitch of annoyance — the same way silver, in all his stoicism, often does when sebek gets too loud — but then he's back to being perfectly dutiful and polite and says "i'll go get a napkin."

it's... admirable, honestly. sebek doesn't put it into practice right away, but it stays in his mind long after he first sees it.

and then, after malleus's overblot, sebek's emotions feel like they're on fire. after being stuck in a world where it took just the tiniest crack to shatter a perfect illusion, he's wary of nearly everything that disrupts his day. now every single slight against him, no matter how unintentional it may be, feels like a personal attack on his very life. but sebek can't show these ugly emotions so outwardly — that would be dishonorable behavior that could damage malleus's reputation. instead, he resorts to subtle methods that can't be easily traced back to him like putting in frogs in schoolbags and setting brooms on fire or replacing shampoo bottles with tar.

but his repressed feelings of anger start to build to the point where he's now feeling unprecedented resentment towards... well, almost everybody.

when sebek has very first negative thought about malleus in history class — "reckless bastard" — he instantly hates himself for it and throws up then and there because how dare he.

he tries to shut them out, but the more he does, the more these intrusive thoughts start to bombard him with their uncharacteristic cynicism.

he looks at lilia from across the breakfast table, and his first thought is: heartless liar.

he spots leona lying in the botanical garden and he thinks: brainless cretin.

he even sees jamil, walking through the halls, and his mind screams: manipulative bitch.

but sebek shoves it all down because he's in no position to say that. it gets to the point where he's walking around as a silent, unfeeling husk, because to be anything else would be like inviting his inner demons to visit him on the outside. he pushes his emotions down as far as they'll go, and that's just going to have to be enough to get him through the day.

ortho shroud begins to follow a similar principle. his idia-inspired pessimism has led ortho to see others as less like people and more like characters. it's easier to think of every school day as a dungeon in an rpg. it's easier to convince himself that the other students are taunting him because they're programmed to be that way than face the reality that they just don't like him.

but the problem with seeing life as a video game is that you start seeing others as just ways to complete your objectives. like npcs or maps.

and when it comes to using people, jamil viper is king. or, for ortho's purposes, the ultimate survival guide.

ortho shapes himself into a model night raven college student — kind, charming, and sweet for the teachers, but just mischievous and rude enough to still fit in with the students.

he goes to housewarden meetings with idia to "gain leadership experience", taking notes and hearing out of every single little idea he can get his hands on (these are the people who have not just survived, but thrived. they must be doing something right). one time, riddle even pats his head and praises him for his proactiveness.

his classmates adore him for always been willing to help and being so calm about even the worst outcomes.

ortho makes himself as available as possible to the rest of ignihyde, brushing off homework or studying to help them with whatever they need — fixing game consoles, wiring in controllers, checking the internet connection, et cetera.

eventually, everyone believes in him almost as fiercely as scarabia believed in jamil, once upon a time.

ortho doesn't like telling all of these lies, but it's necessary to protect himself. it's like grinding to earn coins until you have enough money to buy that special armor in the shopkeeper's store.

...or maybe it's more like those cheesy dress-up flash games ortho used to play all the time — fleshing out the perfect outfit and hairstyle and makeup that'll earn you the most points.

if people feel like they need him, he'll be able to breeze through school without any more problems. he's put the whole system on easy mode! it feels a bit like cheating, almost.

it is like a game, isn't it? it's fun.

(at some point, ortho forgets how to stop.)

as for epel... well, he knows that his sudden snappish behavior towards the other pomefiore students won't go unnoticed for too long. but this is one of his only ways of venting, so he needs it to go under the radar long enough for him to... to squeeze out all of this sudden venom that's built up in him.

epel's not oblivious. he knows how sebek and ortho have changed over the weeks, and he knows why. but epel can't pull off "repressed" like sebek, and neither can he suddenly turn into the best person ever like ortho. but they do have the right idea about taking inspiration from jamil, so epel can fall back on what there is left: gaslighting.

every time kalim blacked out, jamil blamed it on him being sick. every time someone thought kalim was being awfully uncharacteristic, jamil called it a "mood swing". every time someone asked jamil about why kalim was acting so weird, jamil claimed ignorance.

at least, that's what yuu tells epel.

and it's perfect.

so now, every time someone confronts epel about his overly critical behavior, he lies and says he's doing it for their own good. you need pressure to make a diamond, after all. and besides — vil won't settle for anything less than absolutely perfect.

("i'm just trying to catch your mistakes before he does. and i think you and i can both agree that i'm a lot nicer than he is about it.")

every time vil confronts epel about all of the complaints he's been hearing from the other students about how epel's been tearing down their ideas for outfits and hairstyles with no mercy, and disregarding all of their achievements as "not good enough" to be proud over, epel dons a confused face.

("vil, between studying for tests and the crazy physical regiment you have me do, i barely have time for myself. you honestly think i have the energy to criticize other people?")

epel even starts turning people against each other so they won't focus on him. epel subtly threatens to take away the upperclassmen's position in the hierarchy, which sets up the other underclassmen as a threat, and epel grouses to the underclassmen that the upperclassmen look down on them for not living up to pomefiore standards, under the guise of regular teenage bitching.

but all of this, combined with their self-entitlement, leads to a mini-war in pomefiore. but since this is, well, pomefiore, where being perfect and poised is the standard, the others make sure never make it obvious in front of vil or rook.

epel plays everybody like a fiddle, and ensures that none of it can be traced back to him. it's a good way to get out his frustration. and hey — it seems like everybody's upped their game along the way. vil seems pretty happy that everybody's improving in their efforts so greatly, practically overnight!

epel wakes up with a feeling of accomplishment everyday. for once, it seems he did something right.

now if only rook could stop looking so somber...

then we come to yuu, whose inner darkness has been left to fester all year. if people think they can treat them like a ragdoll, it's only fair they do the same.

there's a lot yuu doesn't have, but one thing they're really lacking is a bit of respect. that's what it means to be magicless in an arcane academy. you're at the bottom of the food chain.

and look at what a bit of self-interest can do for you! yuu studies in the library until late into the night, burning the metaphorical candle at both ends, learning everything they can about magic until they're more well-versed in it than most students in the school. yuu starts making potions that aren't nearly as good as azul's, but they're cheap and work well enough. they start making study guides for others with their new-found knowledge, even if they do bristle with the fact that a damned study guide is what caught them in azul's tentacles in the first place. they start learning anything and everything, clinging to whatever scraps of knowledge they can write down.

with this, they successfully make their case for why they should join ace and deuce's business. eventually, they're just as feared as they are among the other first-years.

but that's not enough for yuu. the power of fear is nice, but the power of controlling other people would be much more cathartic.

so that's what they do. while ace is more focused on monetary gain, yuu uses their mountains of blackmail to convince others to do whatever they want.

if crowley throws another ridiculous task at them, yuu simply hoists it off to somebody else to do. if ramshackle dorm needs a few repairs, it's only a matter of contacting a few people before a whole construction crew paid off by somebody else comes knocking at their door. and they'll do it, if they don't want to get kicked out of the school or have their reputation ruined.

but somehow, even with all of this, yuu sets themself up as the nicest out of their little trio. they're willing to let payments slide from time to time. they listen to their clients' problems. they take constructive criticism and always seem to improve in their potions and study guides based on feedback. and if you do do yuu a favor, they'll give you certain favors right back.

so even when yuu is a covetous, greedy, all-consuming shark, the students still think they're so very, very nice. because compared to ace and deuce, what else is there to think?

but this can only go on for so long. and yuu knows that.

one day, they get called to the headmage's office. yuu is already going through their contact list — a list that's quadrupled ever since they joined forces with ace and deuce — to see who'd be willing to do them a teensy little favor for them, but when they step through the door, they pause.

inside the office are all the housewardens, their vices, the teachers, and everybody else yuu has grown to know over the past year.

yuu narrows their eyes as riddle steps forward.

"yuu," riddle starts sternly, "from one housewarden to another, i believe we need to talk."

^

(i will address everyone's reactions in a reblog, because this is honestly getting really, really long, lol. but don't worry, the reactions are coming! 🥺)

(but i should mention that there is already a good reblog of the original post by @thenumberhuntress which addresses the upperclassmen's reactions that you can find here. go read it. it's peak.)

(once again, thank you for the great ask! this was fun to make!)

[ikkyfics]

Invitations

James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: "You always pick the prettiest things," he said lightly, though there was genuine admiration in his voice. "It's because you're like that, I think."

Warnings: none

Part 5 of Marry Me

Masterlist

Choosing wedding invitations should have been a simple task, or at least that's what you thought. After all, they were just pieces of paper, right? But no, not when it came to your wedding with James Potter. The living room of the Potter house was filled with samples of invitations—some elegant and sophisticated, others completely ridiculous. Each one had some peculiar magical detail: one released the scent of flowers when opened, another let out tiny golden sparkles that dissipated in the air, and the worst (or best?) of them all played a cheesy tune every time you unfolded it.

You were sitting on the floor, your legs crossed and a pile of invitations around you, trying to keep your focus. Trying. James, however, seemed to be having more fun than helping. He was sprawled on the sofa, glasses slipping down his nose as he laughed at one of the most absurd invitations.

"This one's a classic!" he exclaimed, holding up a piece of golden paper that emitted off-key notes of a dreadful love song. "Imagine the guests opening this during dinner. It would be the event of the century!"

You rolled your eyes at him, narrowing them in a way that was far from threatening. "James, if you want our friends to show up at the wedding, you'd better forget this idea."

"Oh, come on, love," he retorted, with that mischievous smile that always weakened your resistance. "Look, it even releases rose petals!" James shook the invitation, and small paper petals started flying through the air.

You laughed, lowering your head while picking up one of the floral-scented invitations. "This one's pretty," you murmured, bringing it to your face and inhaling the soft aroma that seemed to come straight from an enchanted garden. "Simple, but delicate."

James slid off the sofa and sat next to you, messing up his already wild black hair even more. He leaned in slightly, looking at the invitation you were holding. His glasses slipped again, but he didn’t bother adjusting them.

"You always pick the prettiest things," he said lightly, though there was genuine admiration in his voice. "It's because you're like that, I think."

You felt your face warm immediately and tried to look away, focusing on the papers around you. "James, please," you murmured, your voice slightly embarrassed.

"Please what?" he teased, a smile playing on his lips as he leaned in to peek at your face. "It's not my fault you look so beautiful when you're picking things for our wedding. I mean, look at you."

He raised one hand and gently brushed a strand of your hair away from your face, his fingers grazing your cheek softly. You felt the touch like an electric current—gentle and intimate—that made your heart race. When your eyes met his—those bright blue eyes full of affection, shining behind his glasses—it was impossible not to smile, even if just a little.

"You're unbearable," you murmured, though your voice came out sweeter than anything.

"And you love me anyway," he replied promptly, with a wide and proud smile.

James picked up one of the cheesy musical invitations and, intentionally, opened it once more. The off-key melody filled the room, pulling another laugh from you despite all your efforts to remain serious. He smiled as he heard your laugh, as though that sound was the best music in the world.

"That's it, now we're set!" he said, pulling you gently closer. "Perfect invitation, with a soundtrack and everything. We can get married right now."

"James!" you protested, laughing as you felt his arms wrap around your waist.

He took advantage of your distraction and stole a sweet kiss from your lips. It was light at first, just a simple touch, but it quickly deepened into something more tender and lingering. James had a way of kissing that always seemed to make the world around you fall silent. When he pulled back just a few inches, his lips still grazing yours, he whispered:

"Don't look at me like that, or I'll think we need to get married today."

You blushed, completely defeated by the smile he wore. Not that it was fair—how could someone with perpetually messy hair and eyes so ridiculously beautiful have so much confidence?

"You’re impossible," you murmured, but let your hands slide to his shoulders, gently squeezing the fabric of his shirt.

"And you love it," he teased, bringing his lips to yours again for a shorter kiss this time, just to steal another shy sigh from you.

Finally, he picked up the floral-scented invitation and held it between you two. "So, it's decided then?"

You nodded, still feeling your heart beat faster than usual. "This one’s perfect."

"Perfect indeed," he replied, though it was clear he was talking about you, not the invitation.

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the blush creeping up your face, but James didn’t miss a second. He smiled that smug—yet still loving—smile, as if he’d won the biggest bet in the world. Still holding your hand, he brought it to his lips and placed a soft kiss on the back.

"You never get tired of being like this, do you?" you asked, trying to keep your tone dry, but he just smiled even wider.

"Like what?" he retorted, leaning in closer, his blue eyes fixed on yours with that mischievous glint. "Irritatingly charming? Extremely in love with my fiancée?"

"You’re unbearable, James Potter," you muttered, but the laugh escaped before you could stop it, betraying how much you really liked that side of him.

"I prefer 'adorably irresistible.'" He winked, and before you could respond, he was jumping up to his feet. "Oh, by the way, I almost forgot!"

"Forgot what?" you asked, watching him cross the living room toward the desk, where he rummaged through a drawer full of messy papers.

James returned with a folded piece of paper in his hands, his smile even more mischievous than before. He stopped in front of you and, dramatically, unfolded the paper, revealing its contents.

You had no idea what to expect, but it definitely wasn’t... that.

It was a drawing — or rather, an attempt at a drawing — in the most awkward style possible. Two stick figures represented you both, with hearts floating above your heads and a giant sun in the corner of the page, as if a child had drawn it. To top it off, he had written "James and You - The Most Beautiful Couple in the World!" in crooked, exaggerated letters.

You looked at him, completely incredulous, before looking back at the paper. "James..."

"Don’t say anything," he interrupted, holding one hand to his chest as if offended in advance. "This is art! Pure inspiration!"

"This is horrible!" you laughed, taking the paper from his hands to take a closer look. "Did you really make this by yourself?"

"With my own hands," he replied proudly, leaning in to see your reaction. "They say art comes from the heart, you know? And I poured all my talent into this masterpiece."

You brought one hand to your face, laughing harder than you should have. "Merlin, James… This is worse than I imagined."

"You say that now, but in fifty years, when we’re old and grey, you’ll look at this and think: ‘James Potter really knew what he was doing.’"

"Knew he was torturing me, maybe," you retorted, trying to look serious, but your expression was completely defeated by the huge smile that refused to leave your face.

He smiled smugly, as if he had won a great battle just by making you laugh. James sat back down beside you, stretching his long legs out in front of him and resting his chin on your shoulder in an almost clumsy but incredibly cozy way. His voice came softer this time, sweeter:

"I knew you were stressed with all the wedding preparations. I thought you needed a break, and what’s better than laughing a little at my complete lack of artistic talent?"

You looked at him, surprised by the change in tone. James could be teasing, full of jokes and impulsive actions, but he always — always — knew exactly what you needed.

"Thank you," you murmured, the paper still crumpled in your hands. "It’s silly, but... it helped."

"Hey," he said, leaning a little closer so your faces were near each other. "It’s not silly. It’s a one-of-a-kind gift from the world’s most talented future husband."

You couldn’t help but laugh again, even when he tilted his head and brushed his lips against yours in a sweet, slow kiss. The world seemed to shrink until only he and that moment remained. His fingers gently glided across your face before settling in your neck, holding it with such tenderness that it felt impossible for anyone not to melt in his presence.

When he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his smile was softer now, less playful.

"I’m serious," he whispered, his intense blue eyes locking onto yours. "All these preparations, the details... I know it’s important, but nothing’s more important than this. Us. This wedding is ours, understand? It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be us."

You bit your lip, feeling that familiar warmth in your chest that only James could provoke. With a shy smile, you cupped his face in your hands, your fingers lightly brushing through his unruly hair.

"You have such an annoying way of always being right," you murmured, before pulling him into another kiss — as sweet as the first, but with the certainty that, even amidst the chaos, everything was exactly how it was meant to be.

When you pulled away, James was blushing, which made you smile even more.

"See? You’re too much work for me," you teased, relishing the rare chance to see him flustered.

"Me?!" he widened his eyes, one hand on his chest, pretending to be offended. "You can’t resist my charm, that’s what."

"You’re impossible, Potter."

"Impossibly in love with you," he replied without missing a beat, before kissing the tip of your nose.

And there, sitting on the messy floor, surrounded by scattered invitations and his ridiculous paper still in your hands, you knew the wedding would already be perfect. Because nothing — absolutely nothing — could be more perfect than being with James Potter.

taglist: @hisparentsgallerryy

[starryhutcherson]

━━ BED HEAD

author's note: my christmas gift to my lovely followers and viewers <3 yes i am aware i've been M.I.A for the entirety of the second half of the year. forgive me! when the jhutch nation died a piece of me died with it. pls enjoy this apology fic, made it nice and sweet for my mike lovers (cough cough for me). enjoy!! ps. this is my personal favourite that ive written, boyfriend mike just hits different so expect a lot more of him coming soon wink wink! i mean it this time

'୧ ‧₊ pairing: boyfriend!mike schmidt x reader warnings: 18+ sexual content! oral sex (f!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, swearing word count: 2000+ ⋆ ✩‧₊

Early mornings make for soft kisses. Outside, the streets are licked with hazes of morning fog, sprinkled with droplets of dew and not even ghosts wander the empty streets. In here, in Mike’s house, there’s no need to worry about the world beyond his peeling windowsill. You’re cradled into his chest, his arms which encircle your torso and his legs which tangle into a web with yours. The mornings are just for you. 

And Mike always wakes up before you. It’s not something he does intentionally, but rather the blessing of his eternal clock, stirring his soul before the sun has so much as nipped at the horizon – and yet he reckons this is the best part of his day. It’s the part where he gets to see you at your most vulnerable, your most unaware. Your lips are parted, carrying an imprint of yesterday’s smile, and your hair is sprawled around you too deliberately– like you were made to be perfect, even in your imperfection. 

He likes to trace each fault and flaw that may linger in unsuspecting places with the plush pad of his calloused thumb, to explore the way your body dips at its own will, to memorise each pathway of skin that leads to your heart, a map that’s solely his. He might pluck an eyelash oh so carefully of your cheek, he’ll watch as your chest greets his with each soundless inhale, only to part momentarily when you breathe out again. He likes it best when you’re slotted right between his heartbeat. You’re a dream he’s afraid to wake up from. 

Of course, these moments are only beautiful because of their status as moments. They aren’t eternal, they were made to be preserved. They fade when you wake up; when your big eyes blink up at him like a heedless doe. Like now. When you start to stir, your face scrunching up in a sleepy frown, Mike immediately closes his eyes. He rolls onto his back, one arm draped over his face like he’s shielding himself from the non-existent sunlight, like he hasn’t been watching you for the last ten minutes.

You crack an eyelid, admiring his figure as it soaks up the beginnings of a sunrise. “Morning bedhead,” you tease, grogginess and all. He grunts in acknowledgement, not shifting from his position of comfort. 

“Morning,” he grumbles back, not appreciating the teasing but not having the energy to send anything worthy of offense back at you. Your eyes trace over his messy hair, wild unruly ringlets of chestnut licking at his temples. 

You shuffle over to him, wading through the sea of tangled bedsheets, and ruffle those curls, making his face bunch up like crumpled fabric, in mild irritation. “You look like you lost a fight with a lawnmower,” you snort. He catches your wrist with a solid grip; sturdy as a tree is, down to the root. “Don’t even start. Pretty sure you’ve got me beat.” His voice is a baritone grumble as he references to your own head of locks, knowing full well that the cascading waves of pure velvet that are sewn into your head aren’t even close to looking messy. He teases anyway. 

“I dunno about that,” you murmur. Cocking a hesitant brow, watching his body flex into the sheets as each limb slowly begins to arise from slumber at it’s own snail pace. It’s then you pad out of bed, to go attempt to start the morning━ and he stops you. A dull grunt sounds from his lips and he tugs at your arm. 

“No,” he mumbles━ broken by a dull yawn. “C’mon. You can… you can stay. S’still dark. Nothin’ to do yet.” The sort of puppy-ish pleading that swallows his irises is too strong not to resist to. So you let him have his little ritual; he tucks you into his shoulder, thumb circling supple skin. You let him smell behind your neck and nip at the junction where your collarbone becomes your shoulder becomes your arm. Suddenly it’s turned into lazy tastings of your body. He’s drinking you in in the morning light, rolling you down and deep onto your back to make sure you’re imprinted on his fabric for later, lonelier nights. 

“Mike━” He cuts you off. He has a habit of doing that, when he gets like this. All agitated and croaking, like you are his eternal life source. 

“Shh, no, let me━ let me have this.”

And he’s trekking lower, still. Warm hands planted on your knees, he’s opening your thighs for himself with that look in his eyes. He’s a paradox, greed and yet utter selflessness as he buries his body right where you want him, idly tugging at the waistband of your cotton pajama pants.  

“Gonna make that bedhead worse.” He mumbles almost comically to himself. “Gonna, gonna give you some bed head.”

You roll your eyes, heat of the moment evaporating as you erupt in stupid giggles. “You’re such a dickhead,” you tell him, admiring the smug expression that spreads across his features. He looks like he’s where he belongs, nestled comfortably in that gap he’s made just for him, cradled by your legs. 

“Maybe.” He mumbles with a stupidly self-satisfied grin, delving into you like he knows best. He rolls the cotton comfort of your legs and exposes you to the chilly bedroom air, and knowing it must be unpleasant to be so cold when it’s so early, he’s latching onto you as quick as he can to try and maintain heat pumping through your system. 

And he’s a cocky motherfucker who knows that it works; molten fever rushes through every aching crevice of your figure and pushes to the surface as he flicks his tongue with expertise. He knows every spot, every stroke, every single way that makes you tick. He’s spent a lot of time practicing, exploring, just so he can be perfect. 

Every. Single. Time. 

You’re writhing already, with each motion. Calling his name out to nothing and nobody, the silence of the morning suddenly so obnoxious when it’s broken by the cracking chorus of your moans. Mike. You cry. Mike, Mike, Mike. 

And he’s all entranced by you, you, you, as you quake right into his palms, just how he wants. The perfect way to start the morning is by breaking you apart and dealing with the mess. He admires, awfully, every tremor, every sob, every time your eyes lock with his and you watch him worship you, even if just for a fragile second before they roll back into your skull. 

He plugs you up with one thick finger, reeling in the wet squelching suction of your cunt around his digit. Another follows, curling beside the first, resting snugly inside you. A few testing movements as he tries to find that place, and then finally you double over into yourself mewling like a lamb for slaughter. 

“Oh, that’s it? That’s the spot?” He mutters, baritone voice just so sexy when it’s the only melody spilling into your ears, your brain, you soul. You answer with a little hum, and he coos as your hips buck to meet his palm; catching your weight as you grind your clit into the heel of it. You need more━ you need so much more. 

So he mutters a brief apology as he severs your orgasm; saving it for later, the upcoming future. And leaves you for just a moment, carefully maneuvering himself free from his sodden boxers and pumping his angry length a few times, convulsing as he does so. He’s more sensitive in the mornings, every single goose-pebbled part of him. You bite your lip in anticipation, pink flesh billowing white under the force of your teeth. 

His eyes glance up to you; coffee and caramel stirred with a copper spoon, awaiting your command. “You... you want me, right?” He breathes gently. Shuffling himself closer, hoping to meld a piece of his soul into yours. To secure you to him, through and through. And of course you nod, with ego-inflating eagerness. 

“Course I do. And how about━”

It throws him off when your tender hands grip onto his shoulders; like a turning tide your body steers him of course, pummeled over so he can drown under your current as you position yourself ontop. “Let me,” you whisper, holding his cock so gently in your hands, a contrast of efforts in the way you stroke so slowly, so patiently. In all honesty, he hasn’t got much of that left. 

A salacious groan slips free from his throat. “Shit, can you just, uh, can you please put it in, I can’t━ I’m gonna blow right now.”  

He expects another mocking comment but all he gets is compliance. A gentle kiss, fanning across his freckled cheeks that glow so red in the heat of the moment, a slow and calculated sink of your pelvis against his, and a juggled handful of shared rugged breaths as the feeling of fullness branches across the pair of you. He’ll never get over your fit, it’s too hand-crafted, too cunningly created. His hands shakily struggle to make their way onto your hips, not so much for control as it is to keep himself grounded. Skin to skin to skin, as though to prove you aren’t just a fabrication from his desperate, delusional morning mind. 

When your hips begin to roll, it’s lazy. Grogginess permeates every part of you and there isn’t enough strength for anything more than gentle juts; back and forth, back and forth, a seesaw of sorts, but he appreciates the movement anyway. Mike’s head falls back into the pillow, framed by a halo of his own sweat and drool as he lets you do the work. It’s his own hazy heaven, the morning he wishes he could preserve. 

You suck his cock up deeper into your hole, clamping down on him in a vain attempt to try and keep him there, tucked away inside you forever like a pocketed memory of sorts. He begins to meet your thrusts, sending sparks through each wild thrust of his flying hips. 

“Want this every day,” he whines, deep through his throat like he can’t even contain his words as they bleed all over you in a wash of near orgasmic bliss. 

“Yeah? You do, Mikey? Wanna─ wanna just wake me up to fuck me like this? Right here on your bed?”

His eyelids flutter and unfocus, blunt nails severing the skin of your hipbones as he begins to forcefully drag you across his cock, faster faster faster until the headboard squeaks along with you and he’s completely wordless and wounded. “Wanna fuck you. Wann─ needa fuck you every day, yeah, jus' like that, shit, you were made for me,” he whines, pummelling into you with purpose. Force and purpose. 

He’s spearing you open on his eager cock, nudging your cervix, coaxing an orgasm out of it’s grave, the one he ended from earlier. You can feel it brewing and bubbling inside you, erupting it’s carnal desire like acid wash across your narrow cunt as you drink him in tighter, willing him to come with you. “Mikey, mmm, come with me, c’mon, please─”

And it’s your begging that sends him over. A saccharine flush melts across his entire body, bottom to top, and he’s moaning as he tugs his length from beneath your folds and showers your sweaty torso in a creamy wash of white ribbons, spraying buckets from your belly button right up to your chin.

There is calm after the storm. A tranquil quiet falls back over his modest bedroom, accompanied by heavy breathing and the rustling of sheets. The aftertaste of the morning is careful sponge-washing and coffee. He clears you off with a damp washcloth, love ebbs from every action from him to you, like an endless chain. A circle has no end because it has no beginning; Mike thinks he’s always been drawn to you, even before you both knew it─  because he’s always been looking for this. For the gentle fleeting kisses that he’s showered in before the morning, for the bed he returns to which smells like sex and sodden promises. He can’t wait for you to get home so that he can come back to his bed-headed girl. 

masterlist

[cupidlived]

Ride That Wave | intro

summary — After a reckless night changes the entire sphere of your life, your parents send you to live with your aunt in North Carolina. In a setting far from your old, glittering life, you’re left to confront your guilt and the secrets you’ve been running from. Things seem like they’re going uphill after your aunt’s pool boy, JJ, helps you settle in, but will you be able to keep yourself from slipping into your bad habits?

pairing — kook!reader x jj maybank

content — slow burn, strangers to friends to lovers

“You know,” your dad starts. “This is where your mother and I met.”

From the backseat, you resist the urge to roll your eyes. You’ve heard this story before, and right now, with everything that’s floating around regarding your future, the last thing you want to hear about is your parents’ past.

When he’s met with nothing but silence, he continues. “Yep, back in ‘95.” He looks at you in the rearview, taking in your faraway look.

“Honey, you could at least act a little interested.” Your mother snaps.

“Well, excuse me for worrying about bigger things.”

“Don’t you take that tone with me,” she glares over her shoulder. “With the way we’ve stuck our asses out for you, the least you could do is slap a smile on your face.”

Your father is suddenly quiet, staring forward at the road ahead of him. Silence overtakes the rest of the ride, and you start to feel slightly guilty.

After all, it was your fault that any of this happening. As your mom had so eloquently put it when you were packing, ‘maybe the distance will help clear the coke from your nose and put some thoughts in your head.’

Despite the fact that you wouldn’t touch drugs with a 10-foot pole, you couldn’t argue that she was slightly right. You knew your lack of direction was a topic of conversation between your mom and her sister, Aunt Vick. If you didn’t get your act together during your gap semester, you were as good as cut off.

As you ponder the very real possibility of being penniless, you decide to leave your parents (at least your dad) with a positive last impression.

“So, has Figure 8 changed much?”

this is my christmas gift to the world, i hope it’s adequate 😖lmk if you’re interested in updates/joining a tag list!

[moody-alcoholic]

These Violent Delights

Chapter 6 - Bonus

Summary: poly 141 x fem!reader, a/b/o AU. WC: 850

CW: mentions of heat, mentions of sex.

TVD masterlist - next bonus

Enjoy <3

“So how many hours do you think we’ll have to kill?” Johnny asks as he spots Kyle.

“Depends on how out of practice he is.” Kyle chuckles.

“I reckon he’s got more stamina then he claims. Just likes to watch us do all the work.” Johnny says winking at him.

“Pff, you’re a menace you know that.” Kyle says, putting the weights down.

“What do you think LT?” Johnny calls over at Simon, who’s sat on the next machine reading a file.

“None of my business Soap.” He says without looking up. Kyle looks up at Johnny moving off the machine.

“Christ what’s up your arse today?” Johnny scoffs taking Kyle’s place on the bench press.

“What do you think it’s going to be like when she’s in heat?” Kyle asks.

“Don’t know. Dr. Montgomery knows what she’s doing.” Johnny says picking up the weights. “Besides we’re not the ones who have to worry, right Si?”

Simon sighs trying not to let his irritation come through.

“She’s definitely pretty.” Johnny says. Simon looks up at him as she brings the weights down.

“What you thinking about?” Kyle asks.

“Nothin’ just mentioning ‘s all.” He grunts pushing the weights back up. Simon sighs again going back to the file.

“You’re sayin’ you wouldn’t if you had the opportunity?” Johnny asks the room sitting up. Kyle scoffs.

“Well, it seems so complicated.” Kyle says shrugging.

“Pff, it’s just sex.” Johnny chuckles. Simon stands up. Kyle and Johnny watch as he heads to the door.

“Where you off too?” Johnny calls.

“To find some peace and quiet.” He calls back.

“Jesus. Do you know how quiet you are?” Piper says jumping at the hulking figure who seemingly just appeared next to her. Simon smiles under his mask.

“What are you working on?” He asks. She sighs pulling a paper towards her.

“Hale made the formula to resist almost all known pathogen’s. I’m trying to find if there are any he missed.” She says as he comes round to sit next to her. “You okay? I would have thought you’d be in bed by now.”

“Fine.” He replies. There’s a silence in the air, Piper doesn’t push him scrolling through something on her computer.

“Why did she choose him over me?” Simon doesn’t move, his gaze fixated on the piece of paper in front of him. Piper looks over at him, he fidgets with the paper.

“I don’t think she did.” She says. She’s not quite sure what to say. She has to be careful with her words.

“Simon, it’s normal to have the same urges as John. But it’s not her fault how things have happened.”

“I know that.” He scoffs, there's hostility in his voice. “Never mind.”

Piper goes back to the computer. The data she’s looking at suddenly seems like the most tedious job in the world.

“You told me you thinks she hates you.” She says, testing the waters. He just hums pushing the piece of paper away. “Do you still think that?”

“No.” He sighs. “I think she’s scared of me.”

“She’s not scared of you. She’s not used to having people around her she can trust. Especially alpha’s.” She says looking over at him. “You already come across as an intimidating person.” He turns to look at her and she smiles. She can’t read his expression under the mask as easy as she wants to. He looks back down at the table.

“You could try going for a walk with her. She likes the outdoors.” She suggests. He hums.

“Do you really think there could be a double claiming?”

“I don’t know. But if you would have asked me a few weeks ago if a pack could survive with 2 alphas I would have laughed in your face. It seems to be working out well.” She says.

“Maybe we’re special.” He says, she can hear the bitterness in his voice.

“Yeah, I think you are.” She says ignoring it. “You don’t need do anything fancy, or have sex with her. Just be there, talk to her. She’ll open up to you.”

“You have to open up too though. Don’t get something for nothing.” She says nudging him. He takes a big breath in.

“Now that I don’t believe,” he says, Piper smiles turning back to her laptop.

“It’ll work out Simon, whatever happens you’ll face it as a pack. That’s a strength a lot of people will never have.” He looks over at her the laptop lighting up her face as she works. He presses his lips together looking back at the piece of paper he’s been fiddling with.

At least when they have a cure he won’t need to worry about this anymore. Life can go back to normal. There's a photo of you pinned in the corner of the paper. It makes him smile.

"Need a hand?" He asks pushing the paper away.

"Always." She chuckles.

Chapter 6 - next bonus

Dividers by plum98

[0hcicero]

It was definitely more from the military end than the rural end, and your points are all very good on that note. For me the main ‘this sits wrong, and I need to say something about it,’ really came from two things - trusted characters like Sworn being so down on lower ranks (imperial infantry) as a whole, and then Brennan’s dismissiveness and framing of them in the Fireside. I also do believe part of that was showing the faults of Sworn this episode, but in this, with the imperial infantry, it seemed like everyone was saying they sucked as a whole, and then we see them truly fucking sucking when they were creepy to Ame and racist to Eursolon. I didn’t love that there didn’t seem to be any redeemable characters in that group, but I was really willing to hold judgement until I heard the context in the fireside.

I was really hoping that the fireside would give a clearer picture on why the lower ranks were painted in the way they were, which in my opinion, very much felt like the same bad brush, and then some of the statements about rural people in the fireside rankled as well. And to be fair, I have only listened to it the once, so perhaps I was in a mood to take things wrong, but that’s fairly unlikely. I’m not condemning anyone, I’m just saying for me some of the statements felt thoughtless and unnuanced.

As for the ‘soldiers’ that were killed, those were Azure Battalion (aka wizards with name cloaks, and therefore higher-ranking) not Imperial infantry (aka lower ranking soldiers without natural magic).

And as I said in my original, I do agree, we haven’t seen enough in this arc to know, and I do believe we’ve seen the cast and Brennan portray people and groups in a nuanced way, and I am really hoping for that as well. One thing I love about WBN is the complexity with which the world and the characters are portrayed, no one is wholly good or wholly bad and their facets all seem contextual and make sense, which was why this stood out to me as strange. Everyone seemed to have a negative take, and all of those negative takes seemed to have been borne out of the truth of the world as it is, which seemed suspect, and then the statements in the fireside also seemed to lack nuance, and felt like a stamp of approval for character and world choices and that didn’t sit right for me.

It may not be something that bothers you, and that’s totally ok. Your point about other rural communities holds true and I withdraw my larger judgements, though the comment in the fireside does still rankle. However I hold firm on my opinions around lower ranking military folks until proven otherwise by the show and by the commentary.

To be clear up top, I really love Worlds Beyond Number, and I love the stories and the authenticity and groundedness of it. But listening to this last episode and then the fireside was doubly difficult because:

- I come from a military family that is not officer class (aka my fam would have been imperial infantry and not wizards)

- I grew up rural around lots of farmers and hunters

And some of the statements around both rural people and rank and file military (while likely very true in the story and in this world) in the fireside rubbed me the wrong way. I love Brennan and his mind and worldbuilding, and I understand the purpose of this episode was to lean into the tensions in Ame’s worldview and the truth of Eursolon’s backstory, but damn. The whole ‘these people are stupid and ignorant’ thing sucks, because yeah, there are stupid and ignorant people for sure that are rank and file and rural, but also the perspective feels quite privileged. We got to see good wizards AND bad wizards, but we only get to see shitty and dumb lower ranks. And that’s not the truth I knew growing up military, at all. We got to see very kind but stupid farmers, and while the kindness was a bonus the stupidity across the bar sucked, because some of the smartest people I ever met didn’t make it through grade school.

There was talk in the fireside about xenophobia, and it just felt kinda bad that this person I see as a very clever smart and educated person couldn’t see some of the hypocrisy in that.

So to counter some of what I heard, I want to put out some of my experiences.

Military

- there are xenophobic idiots in the lower ranks, that’s for sure, but there are also a lot of people who are much more involved in the ‘boots on the ground’ field work, especially in peace-keeping, in the lower ranks. This includes cultural exchange and engaging and helping the populace. They often see more and know more, speak the language, and learn proper customs.

- Promotion is supposed to be a meritocracy, but often it is not. If you buck against the system and call out its errors, you won’t be promoted, much like my mother, who was a woman, a corporal, and got the wing commander’s commendation more times than most officers in her squadron, started a mediation program, and was an outspoken feminist who was constantly pushing for justice and fairness.

- typical, lower ranks consider anyone above a seargent fairly ‘out of touch’ with reality, and may have to do their best to work around bad orders, because often, officers are seen as ‘not getting their hands dirty/knowing the truth of a situation’.

- typically higher ranking officers are arrogant and rude and have an elitist mentality, thinking they are better than the lower ranks. In my experience, this is often not the case, as higher-ranking officers typically pay their way for their rank (can afford officer training) which is typically not something available to they generally poor and lower class rank and file.

- sometimes people in lower ranks think very simplistically, and are not good people, but that’s a general outlier in the same way that it is for other groups of people. The bell curve applies to pretty much everything.

- many people in lower ranks join up because they are poor and need money, and the military pays for schooling and is an opportunity to travel. They typically don’t join up because they’re stupid, crude, crass fuckos who like to hurt people. The military is predatory and it feeds on the poor and lower-class citizens who don’t have much social mobility. They’re often not stupid, but they are typically pragmatic, and yeah, the language can be crass, but speaking crassly speaks to culture not goodness.

Rural

- intelligence is, in my opinion, situational. I might be able to quote Shakespeare and get into a deep philosophical debate but that’s not doing me any good when I need to help a cow that’s scared and in pain give birth to a breeched calf. But this very cool farmer I knew could talk down this cow and know just where to position his hands to turn a calf inside the womb. Show me a typical master’s student who can do that.

- I knew people who could read weather sign, bird sign, tree sign, and bear sign, who could read the woods and the trails like a picture book. They might not be able to speak much about the science of climate change, but they damn sure know it from a micro level by being able to spot the size of tree buds in the winter to know spring’s coming earlier, and that’s bad for a lot of plants and animals and the ecosystem that sustains itself, which they are intimately aware of.

- I also knew farmers and rural folks who were highly educated and moved out to the country to enjoy the wide open spaces and privacy, who had big libraries and talked about history with me, who fed my curiosity and helped me stay humble and ask questions.

- I knew rural folks so poor they lived in a shack and ate squirrel, and I also knew how everyone in the community took care to give their kids’ piano lessons because it was the only money coming into that household, and took care to just have accidentally bought a little more than what they needed of this or that and ran it down to that family.

- I also know we were so poor sometimes that I went without a winter coat in northern Alberta for 3 years, but that I was always given lots of hats and scarves and mittens and sweaters by the neighbours.

- I also knew lots of shitty, stupid, sexist and racist people who were essentially brainwashed by a cult and who were never taught to think critically or encouraged to do so. I know that they are afraid of the world because that’s what they’ve been taught. And yes, it’s on them for never getting out and being way more comfy in their bubble than outside of it, but that’s what being in a cult does, it stacks the deck against your own intelligence and curiosity.

- I knew too, many of rural folks who would have been extraordinarily embarrassed to be impolite and refer to a trans woman as a man, or vice-versa, because manners and politeness matter a whole lot in a small community. At the same time, there was definitely the opposite as well, and I knew kids who gotten beaten up regularly for being 2SLGBTQIA+.

It’s complicated, complex, and nuanced everywhere. No group is a monolith, even if it feels justified and easy in the world we live in to lump all ‘like’ people together. I just really hope in the next few episodes we see some nuance in the infantry and the officers, as well as with any rural folk they engage with too. They’re all usually so good with a nuanced take, and I really really hope this was just one episode and an off-the-cuff, didn’t-really-think-about-what-he-was-saying discussion.

And I get it. To my knowledge, Brennan grew up in New York (or at least a city?) and may have not had a ton of experiences living rural outside of the summer camp he was a counsellor at, so he may not have had a lot of time or opportunity to engage with rural people at a true community level. I don’t know his engagement with the military community either, and my experience is with Canadian and not American military, so there’s likely some difference and nuance too.

I dunno. I have a lot of hope and faith in this very cool group of storytellers, and they have not disappointed me in the story thus far, so I believe we’ll see some great nuance to come. Just had to put it out there.

[sahrii]

¡! orbiting pluto ❞

osamu miya x fem!reader

m.list word count! 1.6k warnings! an interpretation of su!cide, no direct mentions of it, parent pressure (?).

❛I'm holding my breath with a baseball bat, though I don't know what I'm waiting for❜ - townie by mitski

and when i first saw her

my heart tugged at me a little

and whispered

she could turn your world upside down

chapter 1.00 - gravity’s collision !

YOU should forgive him, he was young and immature, is what people shouldn’t be saying about assholes. especially assholes like akio, who’s been an asshole through and through. yet again, that’s exactly what her mother just told her an hour ago, which is what led her to this abandoned bridge near campus.

“he loves you and he regrets it,” her mom said talking about her ex. her mom is a liar. a big fat liar. 

a frown was etched onto her face. her elbows were leaning against the brick railing of the bridge, which was rough. she had valleys and hills carved into the skin of her elbows because of the railing’s uneven surface. her chin was propped up in the palms of both her hands as she stared at the body of water in front of her. 

she thinks her head feels a bit heavy in her hands. she wonders if that could be attributed to the number of thoughts her brain is generating per second.

she had to go soon. she promised she’d be back in time to try and help bokuto with an assignment. and hinata. at this point she should just attend their lectures instead of them. and get their degrees instead of them. she didn’t want to leave, though. even though the thoughts in her head amplified to bewildering echoes, they felt more quieter than ever. 

maybe it was because of the hum of the wind in the drums of her ears. or the moon’s reflection on the volatile surface of the water, fracturing every now and then. or the breeze playing with the locks of her hair. or because she had the freedom to scream. 

she can scream and curse and cry. alone, and for some reason, at this very moment, loneliness never felt more liberating. she always hated it. she hated being alone, so she surrounded herself with people who will never leave her alone. 

and so, she decided to scream. but not anywhere. she decided to scream while standing at the top of the brick railing she was leaning on a few seconds ago. her elbows are no longer on the brick surface, but her hands are instead, and they’re gripping on it with sheer force as she brought her leg up, setting a foot on the railing. then the other foot. and now she was standing on the railing, nothing but two steps away from falling into water. and that feeling in itself made her a new person. 

she was about to scream. keyword: about to. but she didn’t, because someone else started screaming.

“stop!” she heard a voice yell. a deep, masculine voice. she snapped her neck towards the voice, only for the owner to be a grey-haired man.

a grey-haired man, with hot, molten silver eyes. a grey-haired man with a sweaty forehead. a grey-haired man with a rising and falling chest and breathless gasps, probably from running.

“don’t jump off—get the fuck off of the railing.” he yelled, concerned more than angry. his hand gripped on her wrist and pulled her elevated body down to his level. 

she stumbled a bit but straightened her posture right away while her hands gripped onto the railing for extra support. she wanted to speak, but the words caught up at the back of her throat. she looked at the grey of his eyes and damned herself.

“i don’t know what you’re going through—and even if i do. ending your life isn’t worth it!” he said, and she didn’t feel like crying earlier. she was never a crier, she never cried when her boyfriend broke up with her, or when her mom told her it’s her fault, or when her dad told her that he went bankrupt. she never cried. but today, maybe she was a crier.

or not. 

she swallowed the ball of fuzz in her throat, wanting to speak yet again. his grip tightened around her wrist, and she wanted to tell him that she wasn’t going to jump. she wasn’t, really. so why did she feel like crying when he told her not to? 

she didn’t speak—or couldn’t speak, because she got caught up in the silver of her eyes. it was pulling her, tugging at the frayed strings of her heart. they almost swallowed her whole. almost. but she broke free.

“uh—no. you got the wrong idea—i wasn’t about to jump,” she shook her head as she waved her free hand in front of her and smiled awkwardly. he opened his mouth slightly, wanting to speak, but didn’t.

“i—um—wanted to scream, weirdly enough. sorry, didn’t mean to make you run here like that, i must’ve looked like a maniac,” she chuckled dryly. he stared at her for a beat longer and let go of her wrist. he didn’t want to, but he also couldn’t keep holding into it.

“oh. no—it’s fine. i’m glad you weren’t going to jump…i just—i don’t know i panicked when i saw a figure standing on the railing and ran here.” he sighed in relief. 

“no im sorry—it’s my fault,” she shook her head, a small smile forming on her lips. she turned to back to the railing, her elbows back to where they were 10 minutes ago, and her head in the palm of her hands again. she noted that it felt slightly lighter than 10 minutes ago. her smile grew.

it was quite silent now. his body was slightly tilted towards her, but he was able to look over at the body of water and he was able to stare at her face at the same time.

the silence was comfortable, maybe even reassuring. it was the silence where words didn’t have to be spoken out loud, because their hearts did so anyway. he stepped forward a bit, wanting to sneak a glance at her face. 

she was pretty—maybe the word pretty didn’t do her justice. she was pretty and she looked like the stars and the moon and the galaxy all at once. she looked elysian under the moon’s gleam. and his heart was acting weird and wanted to pop out of his chest. he thought maybe it was his turn. his turn to feel loved and appreciated for what he was, not for what his brother was. Maybe it was a gift from the universe for enduring all these years of living in the shadows of his brother.

“you know i recognise you right?” she asked, her eyes stuck to the water. 

“you what?” he was startled and his heart swelled. 

she rolled her eyes and turned her head to meet his eyes. “why are you shocked? we go to the same uni. everyone knows the atsumu miya,” she grinned. but he didn’t.

crack.

his heart cracked—or rather, his already cracked heart cracked again. he was confused, or not. because it was always atsumu. atsumu this. atsumu that. atsumu atsumu atsumu. he loved his brother dearly, he really did. but at this very second, he carried the smallest amount of hatred towards him. 

and he thought, maybe if he’s had no luck being osamu, being atsumu for a small while wouldn’t hurt. being atsumu to her and only her wouldn’t hurt. He didn’t know what’s special about her. He wanted to keep talking to her. She looks fun. And maybe he was crazy because if it was any other girl he’d flip her off and leave. he was indeed crazy, because his heart was beating like an absolute maniac, and he didn’t like that. maybe he did like it though, but he’d never admit. 

as he was opening his mouth to respond, he closed it right away because her phone started ringing. she rummaged through her pocket and picked up the phone. her wallet fell out, but that went unnoticed.

“yes kou?,” she sighed through the phone. “i’m coming okay? i was running an errand. sure. see you. ugh you’re not my dad shut up. bye” she pulled the phone away from her ear and back into her pocket.

“i—im gonna leave. it was nice finally meeting you,” she turned to him, backing away slowly.

“i won’t ask for your number this time—but if i ended up meeting you in uni, just know that you’re not leaving my sight till your number is saved on my phone,” she waved as she yelled, the distance between them growing till she was no longer in his sight. 

It’s stupid. She wanted his number. She’s begged bokuto for atsumu’s number. But she wanted to test something. If they do meet again, maybe she should just ignore bokuto and give atsumu a chance. If they do meet again, maybe it is meant to be. 

and he just stood there dumbfounded. dumbfounded and confuzzled and warm. everything, he felt every emotion to ever exist. he sighed, leaning down to grab a pebble to chuck at the water, but while searched for a smooth, round pebble amongst the degenerate ones, he spotted her wallet and picked it up instead.

“oh she dropped her wallet,” he stated, to no one in particular. he opened it, and it was empty—well, not completely. a few yen’s were there, a couple of cards, along with a small slip of paper that said: “IF YOU FIND THIS, PLEASE CONTACT ME ON [81 xxxxxxxxxx]. THANKS” and a polaroid picture with her, bokuto and akaashi in it (which is a secret, she didn’t want to know she kept a picture of them in her wallet. she’d get teased about it until death)

he sighed again and thought that maybe it was indeed his time to shine. or maybe this will flop. he grabbed the wallet and left the bridge. He knew one thing though: he was stupid. But that won’t stop him from trying. 

[notes] akio is her ex bf! this was their first meet up, she’s gotten osamu and atsumu mixed (she doesn’t know that atsumu has a twin) and he’s obv hurt by it! i tried to make it as like natural as possible lol also i hope i didn’t forget anyone on the taglist ill cry if i did.

taglist ! [taglist is open, ask or comment to be added !]

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