#It Was Probably Exactly What He Wanted Too

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Werewolf

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

There's something terrorising your town.

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

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

You try not to get worked up about it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Atta girl." He sounds pleased.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Goodnight little lamb."

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

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

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

"Cruiser? What's wrong boy?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Heel Cruiser. C'mon boy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The werewolf roars.

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

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

You act without thinking.

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

The werewolf yelps. Like a kicked puppy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Somewhere in the forest, the wolf howls.

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

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

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

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

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

"What? Who told you?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah... but..."

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

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

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

"How's Cruiser doing?"

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

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

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

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

He rubs soothing circles across your back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No response.

"Hey! I know you can hear me!"

Still nothing.

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

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

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

Something growls, low and deep.

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

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

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

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

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

But the monster doesn't kill you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why?"

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

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

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

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

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

[minkoq]

Hi 👉🏻👈🏻 I honestly craving to read some shower sex with Katsuki. He can be as rough as you want unless it us happening in the shower, do as you like!! 💚🫶🏻

🍓 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

shower sex with katsuki bakugou; fem! reader

warnings: nsfw, shower sex, dirty talk, backshots, unprotected sex, p in v, not proof read.

🍓 — he expected it to happen, but it didn't. is cozy morning sex too much to ask now? katsuki looked around the empty bedroom, the spot beside him empty but still lingering with warmth of his girlfriend.

🍓 — he groggily sat up, yawning as he did so. he huffed in annoyance. his gaze fell down to his loose boxers, a very obvious tent formed earlier while he was still asleep. and now you were no where to be seen to help him. were you making breakfast? probably not.

🍓 — he threw the blanket to the side, then he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stepped onto the heated wooden floor boards. he stretched his upper body and stood up, sluggishly walking over to the window and letting the gentle spring air waft into the bedroom.

🍓 — his ears perked up slightly when he noticed the soft noises of water hitting some tiles, katsuki turned around to look at the bathroom door, the running shower notifying him where you are exactly.

🍓 — in the shower.. without him. he turned his body to the bathroom and stalked towards it. he gently opened the door, he knew you wouldn't mind. he wanted to surprise you, he silently closed the door behind him.

🍓 — he opened the shower curtain gently, and it revealed you; having your back turned to him as you washed your face and hair. his crimson hues fell onto you body, onto your waist, and then down to your butt.

🍓 — he probably was gonna give you a heartattack now, but he was just a tad bit too horny to even care. his calloused hands reached out to caress your waist. you squealed as you quickly turned around, your heart pounding as he startled you.

🍓 — katsuki just gave you a cheeky little smirk, "showering without me?" he just whispered out, his deep voice sending shivers up your spine. the little droplets of water hitting his chest, he knew he also had to get in.

🍓 — he removed his boxers and tiredly stepped into the shower, his strong arms immediately wrapped around your waist, his hard length pressing against your butt. "this excited in the morning already?" you asked him with a soft giggle.

🍓 — katsuki just grumbled in response, his forehead pressing against your shoulder blade. he sighed when the hot water hit his muscular back, he loved the skin on skin with you. it felt intimate, especially with the hot water.

🍓 — he littered kisses onto your shoulders, brushing your wet hair away so he could get better access to your neck. it was soft, a stark contrast to his slightly chapped lips.

🍓 — he held his hard cock in his right hand, gently nudging your legs apart; careful so you wouldn't slip on the tiles. he whispered quiet praises to you, not in the mood to raise his voice to not disturb this silent intimacy.

🍓 — he slipped his cock between your folds, he moved his hips into the wet heat. he noted that you were already wet, maybe you played with yourself already? he didn't care right now, he just wanted to feel you.

🍓 — more heated kisses met you neck right now, his thick cock spreading your pussy so deliciously, you couldn't even complain.

🍓 — you leaned forward, your hands meeting the wet shower wall. his tip rubbed onto your clit, you let out soft moans at his gentle assault on your cunt.

🍓 — he leaned his body away from you, his gaze ran over your back then to your ass cheeks and then to his prized possession; your sweet pussy.

🍓 — his right hand massaged your back and gripped your right shoulder, you tried to look back at what he was doing but he quickly pushed your head back in place to eye the wall.

🍓 — his grip on your shoulder tightened for a second there but he let loose and caressed the spot gently. a silent apology.

🍓 — his left hand took his cock and pressed into your welcoming pussy, his mouth hung open when he finally entered. "shit," he cursed underneath his breath as he started thrusting.

🍓 — with each thrust he send you more and more into the wall, until at some point you were fully pressed into the wall. your hands still keeping in contact with the wall, but also your sensitive breasts and stomach.

🍓 — his left hand gripping your hip and his right hand, still, on your shoulder. you helplessly moaned. his cock always made you feel out of control, it was so big; it almost hurt. but the burn of the stretch always made you see stars.

🍓 — his movements grew rougher, his ball slapping against your clit. with each thrust your legs shook, you gasped as his right hand pressed your head onto the wall roughly.

🍓 — his raw cock continued to stretch open your cunt, the water made everything a bit slippery. he didn't want to be too rough and risk you or him slipping and hurting themselves.

🍓 — he hissed when the water hit his eyes, he squeezed them shut, and oh, just in time when your tight pussy tightened up even more.

🍓 — his hips stuttered, he felt his cock leak pre cum, he knew he was close. "fuck," now both his hands hugged onto your hips. fucking into you with deep, harsh thrusts. "fuck, yeah, i'm gonna cum." katsuki gasped out.

🍓 — his cock was buried fully into your puffy pussy, "not inside," was all you managed to whimper out in your submissive situation.

🍓 — he cursed underneath his breath and thrusted into your pussy for a few more time, to fully get everything out. then he removed his twitching cock and shot his load all over your ass and back. he watched as the water washed it quickly away.

🍓 — "now let's get you to cum, too, huh?" he rasped out and bit your shoulder gently. his hand finding his way down to your aching clit.

[headkiss]

it’s christmas (this is gonna be a nightmare)

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: steve puts a little too much pressure on himself to make this holiday a magical one. or: 4 times steve messes up your first christmas together, +1 time it's perfect.

word count: 7.4k

content: established relationship, one injury (no blood!), some kisses, a lot of steve's thoughts, and a love confession <3 fluff all around!!!

a/n: a full length fic!! it's a christmas miracle!! thank you to the anon who sent the ask that inspired this fic and to all of u for being here. i love u, happy holidays <3

⁺̇◍̇̇̇⁺̇̇̇��̇̇̇̇⁺̇̇̇◍̇̇̇⁺̇

Steve Harrington doesn’t know too much about what exactly a perfect Christmas looks like. He has his parents to thank for that.

What he does know is that this year has to be just that: perfect. Because this year he has you.

Though you went to high school together, you and Steve properly met in the summer. Right at the beginning of it, where the evenings still have a chill of wind but the sun cuts through it with welcomed warmth. Robin convinced him to take her to the flower shop just outside of town, and you’d been behind the counter to greet them.

Robin recognized you, and she chatted your ear off while you helped her pick a bouquet with the sweetest smile Steve had ever seen and he felt like an absolute moron for never having noticed you before at school. But he noticed you then.

He’d forced Robin to wait for him in the car while he stayed back, bought you your own bouquet of flowers from the store as if you weren’t the one who’d made them, and asked you on a date. Steve fumbled the whole way through, pricking himself with a rose thorn and cussing mid-sentence, but you still said yes.

You’ve been together ever since, and Steve feels incredibly lucky for it. Lucky for how kind you are, how well you fit in with his friends, how much the kids (Max, especially, though he won’t call her out on it) like you. Lucky for being allowed to grab your hand, to kiss you whenever he wants.

And, on the nights you stay over that grow more frequent with each month, lucky to have you fill the space in the Harrington home that usually feels so cold and empty.

So, maybe the holidays make him extra sentimental, maybe he cares a little too much about making sure it’s the best damn Christmas you could have. Maybe, for once, he’s actually looking forward to it all.

Robin startles him into the present — leaning on the counter at Family Video — with a stiff poke to the cheek. “Dude, I can literally tell you’re thinking about her by the look on your face. It’s kinda gross.”

He scoffs at her, even though he probably was making a face. “Sounds like jealousy to me, Buckley.”

“Shut up, if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even know each other! I deserve compensation.”

Steve hangs his head dramatically. Robin is never letting that go. Ever.

“My friendship isn’t enough for you?” Steve says, placing a hand over his heart, “You wound me.”

“You annoy me,” she says, flicking his arm.

“Ow- whatever. You’ll be free of me in like five minutes.”

Steve checks his watch just to be sure. Robin’s closing by herself today, and while Steve would normally just stay and bother her anyways, he’s got plans that involve you and takeout and napping together on his couch.

As if the thought conjures it, you walk through the door, the bell jingling cheerily above your head, Steve’s car keys dangling from your fingertips. (Yes, he lets you drive the BMW.)

“Thank God,” Robin says when she sees it’s you. ���Please get rid of him, he’s getting on my nerves.”

You smile and walk towards Steve, who immediately tosses an arm over your shoulders and pulls you in close, stamping a kiss to the side of your head.

You turn your head to the side and look at him, “What did you do?”

Steve gasps, “Me? Honey, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

You send him a wink, and Steve grins. He fucking loves having you with him, being able to speak without speaking. Your hand grabbing his and squeezing says I missed you, his squeezing back says me too.

“Okay, please remove your public displays of affection from the store and leave me alone with the overplayed Christmas song radio station, thank you.” Robin announces.

“Don’t miss me too much, Robs. I know it’ll be tough,” Steve says, guiding you forward.

“Good to see you, Robin!” you wave on your way out.

“You too!” And just before the door closes behind you, Robin’s voice rings out; “You’re my favourite half of the relationship!”

Your smile widens. Steve is the best thing that’s happened to you, and his friends becoming yours is one of the greatest bonuses you could ask for. It’s like his life made room for you as simply as the ocean’s tide pulls in and out. Gentle and certain.

He catches the keys when you toss them to him, and Steve’s mood just seems to lift and lift on the drive back to his place with you in the passenger seat, Christmas lights lining the streets glowing on your cheeks.

Yeah, he thinks, this Christmas is going to be perfect.

-

1.

That weekend Steve calls you and tells you to be ready by noon and to dress warmly. He doesn’t tell you much else besides his usual ‘see you soon, honey’ or ‘miss you’ murmured sweetly through the phone.

As instructed, you’re dressed in a pair of jeans and one of your favourite knitted sweaters, your brown leather jacket overtop and socked feet stuffed into your Doc Martens. Though you feel plenty warm, Steve will probably fuss over you and hold you close for body heat anyways. And, well, you’d never be opposed to that.

Steve’s BMW rolls into your driveway exactly one minute past twelve, and by the time you walk outside to meet him, he’s already standing on the passenger side of the car waiting to open the door for you.

“Always a gentleman,” you say, kissing him quickly on the cheek.

You slide into the seat that’s become yours for the most part, and Steve ducks down to kiss you properly on the mouth before pulling back, “Mm maybe not always.”

He closes your door and you laugh lightly, your face a little warm even though he’s been your boyfriend for months now. You don’t think you’ll ever be unaffected by Steve Harrington’s charm, ever be used to it being aimed at you.

Of course, you knew of him in school, but knowing the real thing, the kind, caring boy who’d been buried under King Steve back then, is probably the greatest gift you’ve ever had.

Steve drives with one hand just above your knee, his thumb running back and forth over the stitching in your jeans. Still, he doesn’t tell you where he’s taking you, his only hint was to “pay attention to the radio station.”

It’s playing Christmas music. Like that narrows things down a whole bunch.

You chat the entire way. Steve asks you how the flower shop is doing (“Poinsettias are flying off the shelves”), you ask him who he got for the group’s secret Santa this year (“Max. I’m going to need your assistance”). It’s so easy to talk to him, to laugh and joke and not have to worry about what you say or how you come off.

You never knew being with someone could be so easy until Steve.

Eventually, he pulls into the long driveway of a farm. A Christmas tree farm, to be exact, if the wooden arch you drive through is to be trusted.

“What are you planning, Harrington?”

He shrugs, his hand squeezing your knee, “Thought we could pick out a tree together. Put it up at the house. My parents aren’t gonna be around — shocker, I know — I figured we’d do it together. Make it our own.”

Steve pats your leg before letting it go and putting the car in park, his palms dragging over his thighs like he’s suddenly nervous.

“Our first Christmas tree,” you say quietly, almost to yourself, a smile creeping onto your face. He really is sweet. “I love it. Let’s go adopt a tree, Stevie.”

He flashes you a smile before getting out and jogging around the hood to open your door for you. You’ve learned to wait for him to do it since you’ve been together. The last time you tried to open your own door he made you close it again just so he could be the one to open it.

Before, you’d never really cared about that sort of thing, but Steve has single-handedly raised your expectations.

He grabs your hand and leads you towards the classic red and white barn, following the signs painted simply with a tree and an arrow pointing you in that direction.

When you turn the corner and see the selection of trees, however, Steve pauses.

There are maybe seven trees left, none of which are very impressive upon first glance. Their branches are skinny and the pine needles leave a lot of space to see through them. It’s safe to say these aren’t the Christmas trees Steve was hoping to surprise you with.

He was sure there’d be something better left, at least. And he’d been wrong. Minus a point on that perfect Christmas, he supposes.

Still, he walks you to the selection, the farm’s employee greeting the two of you as you walk up; “Hey y’all. Good afternoon!”

“Hey man,” Steve starts, “you wouldn’t happen to have any more trees left, would you?”

“Sorry folks, this is all we’ve got. Most people like to get ‘em early.”

Steve’s hope dwindles, and you can see him deflate a little bit.

You, however, don’t mind one bit. You tug on his arm to get his attention, and Steve turns to look at you, brown eyes shining like honey in the sunlight. “It’s okay,” you tell him. “Even the little trees need homes, right?”

He shakes his head with a small smile. It’s cute, he thinks, the way you tend to talk about plants as if they have feelings. You do it when you tell him about the flowers you sell, too.

“Right as usual, honey,” he decides. “Pick your favorites.”

So, you wind up with two small Christmas trees rather than one full one, and there’s a small victory in it when you and Steve strap them both to the top of the BMW without too much of a struggle.

Another victory when you sing along to ‘Last Christmas’ and hold out your fist as if there’s a microphone in your grip to get him to join you. Admittedly, it isn’t a very good rendition, but Steve loves it all the same.

You have a way of turning things around for him, even without knowing it.

When you get back to Steve’s, he brings both of the trees inside and sets them up before bringing down the bins of ornaments and lights from the attic. He only shouted once when a spider crawled over his hand.

Having two trees makes it easy to turn decorating into a lighthearted competition. You both claim one as your own and decorate them with string lights and tinsel and ornaments. Steve’s mom would probably have an aneurysm seeing them used so haphazardly.

Though by the end, your tree is definitely prettier, Steve still feels like he’s won something as you lean your back against his chest and his arms cross over your own, keeping you there.

As a kid, he wasn’t even allowed to do the decorating. Mrs. Harrington had to make everything look picture perfect, and Steve’s hands didn’t help with that. Not according to her.

Today couldn’t feel more different from those memories of his childhood.

“Yours is better,” he tells you, chin perched on your shoulder, his voice low in your ear.

Objectively, it probably is better (your prior experience with arranging plants was an advantage), but you don’t actually care about that.

Today felt like a little glimpse into the future you and Steve could have. It’s easy to picture it: your own apartment, buying decorations you both actually like, setting it all up together every year.

“I think they’re both brilliant,” you say.

And while today wasn’t what he was picturing, wasn’t what he’d hoped for with his ideal holiday in mind, Steve finds that he can certainly live with that. Your adorable little clap when you’d finished decorating was enough to cement it.

It’s only one thing. He’s got plenty of chances to be perfect later, he guesses.

Steve dips his head and kisses the top of your shoulder over your sweater.

-

2.

You stay over at Steve’s that weekend. You’re both off work, and you find yourself spending your days (and nights) off with Steve more and more.

In the morning, you blink your eyes open slowly, naturally. No alarm set, your boy wrapped around you. It’s how you’ll spend every morning someday.

The sunlight sneaks through a crack in the curtains, cutting a line across Steve’s blue bedding. You squint at it, shifting onto your back gently. Steve’s arm remains slung over your waist as you move, his knee against your leg. You roll your head to the side to look at him, a smile creeping over your mouth at the way his cheek is smushed into the pillow, his lips pouting and hair a mess over his forehead.

Mornings have easily become your favorite time to spend with Steve. He’s cuddling you in some way every single time without fail, even when he wakes up. His voice is all low and gravelly from sleep and it feels like an honor to get to be the one to hear it like that. Usually, you spend an hour in bed with him after waking up. Laying together, talking, kissing. Sometimes (often) more.

You’d stay put right now if you didn’t have to pee so bad.

Slipping out of bed without Steve noticing proves a challenge, his arm tightens over you in his sleep, his brows scrunching. You whisper a soft “I’ll be right back.” He mumbles something incoherent, but his arm relaxes and you’re able to sneak away.

On your way back from the bathroom, you pause and take a peek out the window. You gasp happily at what you see: snow. A bright, white layer blanketing the ground sparkling in the sunlight.

You turn back to the bed and let yourself fall to it with a bounce, earning another grumbled protest from Steve, but there’s no way you’re going back to sleep now. You trail a hand up his arm to his shoulder, giving it a small shake, “Stevie, wake up.”

“Hm?” his eyes scrunch before opening. “What happened, honey?”

“It snowed!”

“Yeah?” he huffs a laugh at your excitement, his hand searching for yours in the sheets.

“Yeah, and it’s so pretty. We should go out before it melts.”

“It’s winter, sweetheart. Not gonna melt that fast.”

“Steve.”

“Okay, okay,” his hand leaves yours in favor of wrapping itself around you again, and he uses it to tug you close again. “Just five more minutes.”

His nose is pressed to the top of your head, and he breathes you in, smiling to himself. Mornings are Steve’s favorite, too. Only when they’re spent with you.

Secretly, he’s also happy about the snow. He was hoping mother nature would be on his side so that he could check yet another holiday item off his list with you. Hopefully one that will turn out nicer than the tiny trees you’d ended up with.

It’s definitely more than five minutes by the time you get Steve to get up and out of bed. You attempt to get him outside right away. He stops you with a: “No snow-related activities on an empty stomach!”

So, it’s a rushed breakfast of bagels and coffee provided by Steve, and then you’re gearing up and heading into the back yard.

The cold bites at your cheeks, and the tip of Steve’s nose is pink within minutes, but you love it.

There’s a snowman built together, snow angels made that get ruined when Steve rolls himself on top of you and steals a kiss or five. Naturally, all there is left to do is have a snowball fight.

You start it when you’re still on the ground, a hand sneaking into the snow to grab a handful and pressing it to the back of Steve’s head. He gasps, and you take the opportunity to push him to the side and get up.

“No fair!” he calls. “I was distracted and you went for the hair.”

“Your fault for not wearing a hat, babe,” you laugh.

“Oh, you won’t be laughing for long, honey. You’re in for it.”

And just like that, you’re running around like kids in a schoolyard, hiding behind trees, slugging snowballs at each other and cheering when you manage to not miss.

Steve silently thanks mother nature or the universe or whatever made it snow for the wide smile on your face, your eyes shining with mirth.

At one point, you’re suddenly distracted by something in the trees, and the snowball is out of Steve’s hand before he sees you start to look towards him again.

It hits you square in the face.

A quick “Ow” comes out of your mouth, though it really doesn’t hurt that bad. Your first reaction is just to let it slip, but Steve’s heart sinks to his stomach.

“Shit, honey.” He runs over to you and cups your face in his hands, his mittens soft against your skin as he brushes the snow from your face. “Fuck. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t tryin’ to get you in the face.”

Minus another point, for sure. Perfect Christmas: -2.

“I know, don’t worry,” you tell him, because he clearly is worrying.

“You okay?” he checks. He literally winces when you sniffle, frowns when he sees the way your eyes water. “Honey. I’m sorry.”

“Honestly, Steve, I’m fine,” you reach up and grab his wrists, squeezing them over his jacket. “I’m only crying ‘cause it got my nose. It doesn’t actually hurt.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” you assure him. “Didn’t you used to play sports in school? Thought athletes had better aim.”

“I was a swimmer, baby. No projectiles involved.” He smiles softly when you laugh, but he can’t stop himself from asking one more time. “You’re really not hurt?”

“It’s just a bit of snow, Stevie.”

His eyes run over your face anyway before he nods. Then, he dips forwards and lightly kisses your cheek, the other, the tip of your nose, and your mouth.

“Well now I’m certainly all better,” you say against his lips.

Steve pulls back but doesn’t go far. “I think this snowball fight is over.”

“Buzzkill,” you tease.

He bends down and picks up a handful of snow before shoving it in his own face.

“Steve!” you laugh.

“There, now we’re even,” he says, snowflakes clinging to his lashes.

You let him lead you inside after that, his arm draping over your shoulders, yours hugging his middle as you walk across the yard.

Once you’ve both shed your layers of coats and boots and hats and mittens, Steve takes you upstairs and runs you a bath to warm you up. He apologizes another two times when he looks at your face for too long, and you have to kiss him to stop him uttering another ‘sorry.’

Hell, if it’s gonna make him this sweet on you, you’d probably take a snowball to the face any day.

Eventually, when the bathtub is full, a layer of bubbles over the surface, you coax Steve into joining you. He leans against the side with you between his knees, back settling into its home against his chest, his chin resting atop your head.

Steve runs his hands over your shoulders, presses kisses into your hair. All along he’s reminding himself that the next thing will go right. He won’t be throwing anything, at least.

-

3.

The next weekend Steve calls you again. He asks you to be ready in the evening this time, but still keeps things vague other than the fact that you’ll be outside and need thick socks.

You have a pretty good idea of what he has in mind, but he’d called it a ‘redemption date’ over the phone and even though you truly don’t think he has anything to redeem himself for, you don’t want to spoil his plans, so you play along.

He comes to the front door when he picks you up this time, knocking gently as if you hadn’t been waiting for him by the windows.

“Hi, honey,” he drops a quick kiss to your lips, “had to come and approve your outfit. Don’t want you getting cold and stealing my jacket again.”

He’s lying, really. Steve fucking loves draping his own jacket over your shoulders and seeing you pull it tighter around you. When that happens, he braves the cold, but he figures that probably won’t be smart for spending hours outside.

“Aww, but yours is so much warmer than mine,” you pout jokingly.

Steve simply grabs your thickest jacket from a hook by the door and holds it out for you to slip your arms into.

As suspected, he drives you to a skating rink. He chose one a town over from Hawkins, where they have twinkle lights strung above the rink and rainbow Christmas lights lining the boards. Steve smiles when you gasp lightly in delight at the sight of it. The brightness cutting through the already dark night sky.

Steve guides you over to the skate rental booth first, bumping his hip into yours when you attempt to pay for the rentals. “As if. My idea, my wallet.”

“You don’t even let me pay when it’s my idea, either.”

“Well, that’s just chivalry, babe.”

You roll your eyes at him and thank the man behind the booth when he hands you both your skates. As you walk towards the lockers and cubbies set up nearby, you lean up and kiss Steve’s cheek, his light stubble scratching your lips.

“Thank you for this,” you say.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he tells you. “Though I should warn you that I’m not very good at this.”

“What? You, not good at something? Please.”

“No, seriously. I’m like bambi on ice.”

You laugh and shove his shoulder weakly, “Don’t worry. I’m probably even worse.”

Steve grins. So far, so good. This one will be perfect. Well, as perfect as it can be considering his skating skills.

You sit on one of the benches and Steve puts both of your shoes in one of the cubbies. He ties his own skates first before kneeling in front of you to help you with yours. He knows how to tie them, at the very least.

He helps you slip your feet into the skates first, then tightens the laces on one before peering up at you and checking, “Feel okay? Not too tight?”

“It’s good, Steve. I feel like Cinderella.”

“A perfect fit! She must be the one!”

“Dork.”

“That’s prince dork to you.”

Steve finishes up with your skates, squeezing your ankle before setting your foot down and standing back up.

On the ice, neither of you are very graceful. You hold onto the boards most of the time, and Steve stumbles and nearly falls every few strides, but you’re laughing and having fun, so who cares?

So what if you get lapped by multiple people on the rink, including children? So what if you get some side eyes for being too slow or in the way? Neither of you can bring yourselves to be bothered.

Best of all, Steve keeps a hold on your hand the entire time. He literally saves you from falling with his grip on your hand squeezing and pulling you up straight.

However, your hands being clasped also means that, inevitably, when one of you goes down, you both do.

It happens after a decent amount of laps; your toe pick catches on a dip in the ice and it’s all it takes for you to lose your balance. Steve somehow twists himself to catch the brunt of your fall.

He expected that to come with some pain, a couple bruises, maybe. Instead, his wrist twists painfully against the ice as he falls, as if he’d tried to catch himself with it, and he can’t help the hiss of pain that comes out when he lands.

“You okay, honey?” he asks you.

“Of course I am. I landed on you, Stevie. Are you okay?”

He tests his wrist out by flexing it, wiggling his fingers, and he tries to hide it but he winces when he does, a sharp pain shooting up his arm. “M’fine.”

“Bullshit, I saw that wince, Harrington.” You manage to get back up on your feet and hold out a hand for him to grab, “Up, I’m taking you to the ER.”

“No, no. I’m good.”

“Steve.”

“Baby.”

“Come on, you don’t want to make it worse, do you?” you urge him. “Plus, I’ll only keep worrying and bugging you about it until you let me take you to the doctor. Your wrist is already swelling, babe.”

Mostly because he doesn’t like the thought of you worrying about him, Steve agrees.

When both of your skates are off (your doing, this time) and given back to the booth, you reach into Steve’s coat pocket and grab the keys to the BMW. He doesn’t protest, and that alone tells you he must be hurting more than he’s letting on. You even manage to open your own door for once.

Steve’s quiet on the drive to the hospital, his hand resting limply on his leg. His brows are furrowed, his eyes squeezing shut every so often when a burst of pain comes. You do your best to avoid any pot holes or bumps along the way.

Once there, you make him sit in one of the waiting room chairs, “I’ll get the check in forms and everything. Stay put, yeah?”

“Your wish is my command,” he says, trying to joke. His voice wobbles a tiny bit, though.

It’s at least an hour of waiting before someone can see him (and that’s including your many pesterings to the front desk). You don’t mean to be a bother, but you’ve never seen Steve injured in any serious capacity, and it’s messing with your head.

He took the weight of that fall to make sure you wouldn’t get hurt. The way he pays attention to things like that is one of the many reasons you love him.

You love him. You haven’t said the words to each other yet, but you’ve felt them for a long time already. It’s hard not to love Steve Harrington.

Finally, the doctor takes him back, and you follow. After an x-ray and some prodding, he determines that it’s a sprained wrist and that he should keep it wrapped for a few weeks to make sure it heals. They give him a prescription for some mild painkillers, too, for the first couple of days.

You breathe a sigh of relief knowing it isn’t broken, but Steve’s shoulders are still slumped.

He’s in pain, sure, his wrist now wrapped up in a tensor bandage, but really he feels defeated at messing yet another thing up. Third strike.

Steve lets you guide him back to the car and drive back to his place. You’ve decided you’re staying the night to take care of him, and as much as he hates looking weak or feeling useless, he’s glad to have you around.

You dote on him back at home, grabbing an ice pack from the freezer after making sure he’s settled on the couch, throwing a frozen pizza in the oven, bringing him meds and water.

“Honey, it’s just a sprain. Please stop fussing and sit with me.”

His brown eyes shine a little, and you could never say no to him when he looks at you like that.

You sit beside him and he drops his head to your shoulder, your hand coming up to play with the strands at the nape of his neck, scratching his scalp gently. His uninjured hand rests on your thigh and squeezes.

“Best painkiller ever,” he says.

-

4.

Steve has convinced himself that nothing could possibly go wrong this time around.

His plans for today involve staying at home, just you and him, no outside forces to deal with or avoid. So much less potential for failure. That’s what he thinks, at least.

Steve knows nearly every piece of you, so, obviously he knows you like to bake. You’d made him a cake for his birthday, and every so often you bring him other treats from home. Naturally, that meant that there was no way he was leaving out Christmas baking.

He’d considered doing gingerbread houses, and then remembered that the last time he tried that in a competition with the kids, his house was nothing more than a messy pile of gingerbread slabs. One with a bite taken out of it.

So, considering his past failures this holiday season, he’d settled on something that he thinks — hopes — is really hard to mess up: sugar cookies.

His mother’s collection of cookbooks had never been used for more than decoration until now. Steve searched through them until he found a recipe, wrote down the ingredients, and bought them at the grocery store to make sure he had everything.

In school, he never did much studying, but he reread the hell out of that recipe in order to get at least this one thing right.

The tensor bandage is still wrapped around his wrist, which is fucking annoying, really. He has to adjust it every day, and it’s hard to do with a single hand. He much prefers when you do it for him, sealing it with a featherlight kiss.

Worse, the thing still hurts, and you refused to let him drive and put more strain on it than necessary, so you took the bus and walked the rest of the way to his house.

He’s got all of the ingredients and tools laid out on the island when you ring the doorbell. “Hurry up, Harrington, it’s freezing!”

Hurry he does. He lets you in and helps you unwrap yourself from your bundle of a scarf and hat and mittens and jacket. Steve dips in to kiss your cheek, your skin cold against his lips. “Wouldn’t have to freeze if you let me come get you.”

“I don’t want you hurting yourself for no reason, I’m fine,” you grab his uninjured hand and kiss the pads of his fingers, “and I like these hands.”

He smiles at your words, smug, “Yeah, I know you do, honey.”

You shake your head at him, but you’re smiling all the same, “I take it back. Your ego is getting too big.”

“Nooo, it’s just the right size,” he winks.

“Don’t you have plans, Steve?” you ask, changing the subject. “Getting a little off track, aren’t we?”

“Later, then,” he says, taking your hand with his good one and leading you to the kitchen.

You pause at the entryway of the kitchen, scanning over the things on the island, two aprons Steve must’ve dug up from somewhere hanging from the knobs of the cabinets.

“Tada,” he says, “we’re making cookies.”

“This might be my favourite one yet, Stevie.” You walk over and grab one of the aprons, leaving the other (a pink floral number) for Steve. “I’m in charge, though.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he says, taking the other apron without a complaint. “This is your kitchen today, chef.”

“Mm. That has a nice ring to it.”

“Chef honey,” he says, planting a kiss where your neck meets your shoulder, breath warm even through your shirt.

You get started after that. Predictably, you make a mess with flour on the island and mixing bowls strewn about the surface. You get distracted with a bit of a flour war somewhere in there, Steve smudging it onto your cheek, you onto the tip of his nose.

When it’s time to roll out the dough and cut out the cookies, Steve grabs a handful of cookie cutters from one of the drawers, setting them onto the counter with a small clang. They’re all holiday themed. Candy canes and snowmen and Christmas trees.

“Someone’s prepared,” you say, bumping your hip against his.

“I run a serious establishment here, baby.”

“I thought I was in charge.”

Soon enough, after sneaking bites of raw cookie dough and cutting out as many cookies as you could manage, they’re placed into the oven, the timer set.

You end up in the living room, a random channel playing on the TV while the cookies bake. It starts innocently enough, just sitting next to each other, shoulders and thighs pressed together.

Then, Steve’s good hand wanders, starting above your knee and moving up and up until he’s squeezing the top of your thigh, tracing patterns with his thumb. When he speaks a husky, “Come closer?” how could you ever say no?

So, somehow, you’ve ended up straddling Steve’s lap, his injured hand resting loosely on your waist, the other pressed in between your shoulder blades to keep you close. Yours are in his hair, running through the strands, tugging even.

It grows heated fast, and all of a sudden you’re making out like a pair of teenagers, Steve urging you to press further down in his lap, to writhe there while his mouth works yours until it’s all you can think about. All you can feel.

The room feels warmer, Steve’s jeans tighter over his lap, your chest bumping against his, hearts racing. Even just kissing him feels better than anything you’ve ever had in the past.

He kisses you like he’s starved everytime, sometimes a ravenous hunger, like now, or, when he’s gentler, something tender and soft. A sweet tooth.

The cookies are long forgotten. The timer sounds and nobody hears it. You would keep going forever, if you could. But then there’s the smell that hits your nostrils. The smell of something burning.

“Steve?” you say against his mouth.

“Uh-huh?” he breathes.

“Do you smell that?”

He pulls back, and it’s immediately after you say the words that the alarm goes off, piercing through the air, killing the mood, much to your dismay. Even more to Steve’s.

“Fuck,” he groans.

You’re both rushing to the kitchen then. You, fumbling off his lap, him beating you to the kitchen and frantically taking the baking sheet out of the oven and turning the thing off. You grab a towel from the counter and start fanning beneath the alarm to get it to go off, and when the cookies are dealt with, Steve joins the efforts.

Eventually the thing stops beeping, and you both rest your arms. The room still looks a little cloudy, the cookies black at the edges.

Steve doesn’t say anything, only rests his elbows on the island and slumps his head, defeated.

He’s so frustrated with himself. Not for kissing you. No, he could never be mad at that, but at the outcome of his final attempt at a holiday date going south again.

You frown at him, walking over and placing a hand on his back, rubbing gentle circles. “Steve? You okay?”

“I just- I messed it up again.”

“Hey, I’m as much to blame as you are. It takes two to tango, as they say.”

He huffs a weak laugh, picking his head up and twisting to look at you. Your pretty face, eyes nothing but kind. Fuck, he loves you, and he just wanted to show you that. To make Christmas as magical as it's supposed to be.

“I really wanted it to go well, you know?”

You realize then that he’s not only talking about today. That he’s been putting this pressure on himself all month to make plans and something has happened every time. You don’t blame him for that, if anything, it makes your heart ache with adoration.

“Steve, it doesn’t matter to me. Things happen, it’s okay,” you kiss his bicep lightly. “I’d rather things go a bit wrong with you than to have them go right with someone else. You are the best part.”

“I-” love you, he almost says. But he doesn’t want the first time to be like this, in a room that still stinks. “You’re the best part for me too, honey.”

You decide that next time, it’s your turn to do something for him.

-

+1

Steve comes home from work on Christmas Eve, eyes tired and feet hurting despite having worn relatively comfortable shoes today.

He’d tried to get the day off, tried to be able to spend it with you in bed for hours and hours and not getting up until the afternoon. Keith had other plans for him.

He even tried to dramatize his wrist injury. Still, he was forced to go in.

Walking up the driveway, Steve sees the glow of lights inside filtering through the curtains. He’s fairly certain he hadn’t left any on, but he also knows he’s often wrong about these things, so he shrugs it off and goes inside.

There’s noise coming from the living room. Crackling of the fireplace that he barely ever uses, music playing quietly, and then he hears you humming along.

“Honey?”

“Yup, it’s me!”

You know where the spare key is, Steve’s the one who told you the information and encouraged you to use it, but you’ve often been too nervous to do so. Not today, it seems.

While Steve was at work, you’d set up your plan for him.

He follows the sound of your voice without much of a thought, a moth drawn to a flame. When he turns into the living room, he stills.

There are strings of warm white Christmas lights hung about, the fireplace is actually housing a fire, and in front of it is a fort made up of red and green and white blankets and pillows. Some plaid, some with snowflakes, all Christmas themed.

“Did you do all of this?” he asks, walking slowly to where you stand by the fort.

“Figured it was my turn to organize a date, don’t you think?”

“Baby. This is all really sweet, but wha-”

You cut him off, “Uh-uh. Let me explain.” You reach for Steve’s hands, and he meets you in the middle willingly. Suddenly nervous, you shift your weight on your feet. “I thought we could do presents a little early.”

His brows scrunch, “But Christmas is tomorrow.”

“Please?” you ask, squeezing his hands once.

And, really, Steve would never say no to you. Especially not when you’re saying ‘please’ all sweet and delicate like that.

“Okay,” he says. “Yours is in my room. I’ll go grab it. And change; I smell like Family Video.”

“‘Kay, Stevie.”

You kiss his cheek before he goes for good measure.

Steve is confused the entire time, wondering what it could be that you’re up to, but he does as he said he would. You’d been wearing a set of pyjamas (one he loves on you; a soft baby blue pair of shorts with a matching sweater), so he goes for one of his pairs of plaid pants and a plain t shirt before grabbing your messily wrapped gift bag from where he’d hidden it under his bed.

Back in the living room, he finds you now settled on the ground of the fort, which you’d lined with fuzzy blankets and the biggest of the pillows. His gift is sat beside you, a gift box wrapped in a lovely bow. Your skills of wrapping bouquets are transferable, he’s learned.

He joins you, sitting across from you, but close enough that your legs tangle and knees bump.

“You go first,” you tell him.

“Okay,” he scratches the back of his neck, handing you the gift bag. “Let me explain it before you say anything.”

That grabs your attention, but your plans aren’t about his present to you, really, and you know you’ll love it no matter what because Steve knows you better than anyone.

You lift out tissue paper first, uncovering multiple different things inside the bag, also wrapped. It pieces together as you go. A toothbrush, toothpaste, a hairbrush, your entire skincare routine, a couple of pyjama and underwear sets.

“It’s so you don’t have to bring an overnight bag every time you stay over now. I, um, cleared out a couple of drawers in my dresser and the bathroom.”

“Steve,” you look at him, heart squeezing. It’s so thoughtful, so him, and you surge forward you wrap your arms around his neck and breathe into his skin, “I love it. Thank you. It’s perfect.”

Perfect.

“You really think so?”

“Of course I do,” you sit back into your spot. “You know I hate carrying things.”

“I never let you carry anything, honey.”

“Exactly,” you nod. Now, you hold out his gift for him to take, “Your turn.”

You watch Steve’s hands as he tugs the bow undone, then lifts the lid of the box.

Nestled inside are four delicate ornaments. A Christmas tree, a snowman, an ice skate, and a plate of cookies. One for every date he’d planned for you.

Steve frowns at them, not because he doesn’t like them, but because he doesn’t quite understand where you’re going with this.

“I thought it was time we started collecting our own ornaments. For our place, one day,” you tell him.

“They’re lovely, but honey you- you really wanna remember these things?“ he shakes his head, more at himself than you. “I messed ‘em all up.”

“There’s one more thing in there,” you say quietly.

The thing you're nervous about. A thing you’ve never said out loud before.

Steve finds it beneath one of the ornaments, a small piece of paper folded up. When he opens that, his heart stutters in his chest. Written in your handwriting are three words: I love you.

He blinks away from the paper to look at you, though his thumb continues to trace the words absentmindedly. “Honey-”

“I love you, Steve. Okay?” You shift closer, kneeling at his side, your hands coming up to frame his jaw, your fingers kind against his skin. “I don’t care that things didn’t go how you planned. I mean, I would rather you didn’t require an ER visit, but the point is that I don’t need things to be perfect. And I know you’ve been hard on yourself trying to make them so.”

He lets go of the paper and reaches up to grasp your wrists, his thumb finding your racing pulse. His uninjured hand holds on tighter than the other.

“Thank you for trying for me,” you continue, “for caring. But no matter what happens, things are perfect for me. Because I get to do them with you. Got that, Harrington? You’re perfect, and I love you, and-”

He shuts you up with a kiss. It’s a simple but firm press of his lips against yours, but it says enough.

“I fucking love you too, honey,” he says, his forehead against yours, lips only a breath apart. “You saying all of that it means — you mean a lot to me.”

“Yeah, well, I meant it.”

“I know you did,” he nods. Steve pulls back the tiniest bit to be able to see your face fully, his sweet brown eyes locked on yours. “I wanted our first Christmas to be perfect, and I didn’t wanna let you down, but you’re right. They were perfect, because you’re here. And I love you for bein’ here.”

“As long as you’ll have me,” you say. You push his hair off his forehead before letting go of his face and sitting back, “Why don’t you give those ornaments a try?”

“On those trees?” he asks, eyebrows lifted, voice joking.

“Steve.”

”Okay, okay.”

He picks up the skate first. Surprising, considering that one had ended in a physical injury for him, but you say nothing and watch him walk over to your little trees by the window. You join him, sitting on the arm of the couch nearby while he scans over the tree.

“Pick a spot, handsome,” you encourage. “There’s really no wrong answer here.”

He goes to hang the first ornament, hand wavering before setting on a branch.

“Well, maybe not-” Steve tackles you onto the couch before you can finish. You dissolve into giggles as he pokes at your ribs, his head on your chest.

Steve’s done keeping score.

Perfect Christmas. That’s it.

⁺̇◍̇̇̇⁺̇̇̇⊛̇̇̇̇⁺̇̇̇◍̇̇̇⁺̇

thank you so much for reading!! if you enjoyed please please consider leaving a comment and/or a reblog and letting me know what you thought! it would mean a bunch of<3

[rambling-at-midnight]

When the Truth Comes Out

Request: Reader asks, "So, when are you going to ask me to marry you?" I hope I did your prompt justice!

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: It’s been three and a half years since Jason asked you out, and he knows you’re the one. He knows every part of you, the good and bad, and loves it all. The problem is that you don’t know everything about him… and his secrets may ruin everything.

Word count: 3.5k

Jason’s never been one to window shop, but lately he’s been noticing the glint of jewelry.

You give him a weird look when he stumbles in the middle of the department store. It’s because a ring display caught him off guard like a punch to the gut, but he can’t explain that, so Jason waves off your concerned questioning.

You give him a weird look before turning back to the toy aisle. The two of you spent the morning bickering over what present to give Damian for Christmasukkah. You want to give him a keyboard to learn piano, but Jason’s sure that Damian would be happier receiving an art kit. He knows violin, which is a strings instrument, not whatever the piano is. Besides, the kid’s a brat. He’d want a full-size grand piano that originally belonged to Mozart or some shit and costs a hundred thousand dollars, which isn’t exactly pocket cash for the two of you.

And, sure, Jason’s got one of Bruce’s credit cards in his wallet—Bruce offered to give him one in Jason’s name, but it was the principle of using the stolen card, so Jason turned him down—but he’d be damned before he spoiled the kid any more than he already is.

He keeps his eyes firmly on you after that. It’s where they’re supposed to be, anyway.

You end up getting the keyboard after surreptitiously checking your bank account against your projected budget several times. It’s funny. After three years, you still think you can hide stuff like that from Jason. Probably because he pretends not to notice. He makes a mental note to stop by your landlord’s and see if the Red Hood can make any suggestions about lowering rent for your building.

As the two of you walk out of the store, a cold gust of wind tries to steal your breath away. You step closer to Jason, cold fingers twining with his, and he easily drapes an arm over your shoulders to keep you close. “Was that the last one?”

“I think so,” you reply, checking your list again. “The keyboard for Damian, massage gun for Dick, matching pajamas for Cass and Steph, Pokemon expansion pack for Duke, and the fuzzy socks for Tim.”

The socks are decorated with the words ‘I BREACHED CONTAINMENT’ in black stitching. Jason saw them in a tourist trap he saved from a D-list rogue and remembered how Tim looked like the bog monster after falling into the sewers the day before. They’ve been sitting in his closet since the end of August.

“I have too many siblings,” Jason sighs.

“Have you figured out what you’re giving Bruce?”

Jason bites his lip.

You say, “Ah. Well, you still have a couple days.”

Yeah. Jason has two. He’d been supposed to look out for anything to catch his eye in the store, but all he noticed was the stupid ring display.

He opens the car door for you, then shoves the keyboard in its box into the backseat and starts the engine. Jason drives home one-handed. The other holds yours loosely over the console. You’re checking your bank account again on your phone, frowning slightly, thumb brushing up and down Jason’s palm. He keeps an eye on you as he drives, playing idly by squeezing your fingers one by one until you have to try to hide a smile by looking out the window. 

He doesn’t let go of your third finger. Something nags at the back of his mind, like—

Jason realizes that he’s trying to find a ring, and his heart stops. The car jumps forward when he slams on the gas, and he drops your hand to put both of his on the wheel as he swerves around a minivan. You let out a startled yelp, hands flying out for something to grab onto. The stupid keyboard slides off the back seat and into the footwell.

Two cars lay on their horns when he nearly sideswipes them. Jason responds with an emphatic middle finger and cuts across three lanes to get away. The poor car doesn’t respond as well to his driving as his motorcycle does, and the engine whines as he leaves the other cars in the dust until he eases off.

As soon as the car reaches a relatively normal speed, you say, “Jay! What just happened?”

“Sorry,” is all he can say, keeping both arms stiff on the wheel. “Sorry, honey.”

“You okay?”

“‘M good. You good?”

“I’m okay, I was just…” You keep looking at him, and Jason’s skin prickles. Do you know? Can you tell?

Jason creaks like old wood, but he pulls back his right arm and puts his hand on the console, palm up. After a moment, you put your left overtop it. He can feel your pulse racing through the thin skin of your wrist.

He squeezes.

You squeeze back.

The day before Christmas, Jason still doesn’t know what to give Bruce. He’d hoped that baking would fix the block, but as he abuses the poor sopapilla dough, he’s no further to any answers.

You’re at the counter, offering moral support but not physical help. Jason’s a bit of a control freak in the kitchen when he’s anxious.

He’s not anxious. He’s not! It doesn’t matter if he gives Bruce something for Chrismukkah. Bruce doesn’t even celebrate Christmas. ‘Not trying to kill him’ is probably a good enough present.

Or the sopapillas. Sure, everyone’s bringing a dish, but no one said it couldn’t also be Jason’s present. But if he goes that route, then the pastries have to be perfect, and the last batch didn’t fluff up the way they did when Catherine made them.

“Jay,” you say after another five minutes of Jason punching dough that is already thoroughly kneaded.

“Yes, love?”

“I think the oil might be ready.”

Judging by the hiss and pops behind him, it is, and has been for several minutes.

Jason tries his best to follow his mother’s actions through his memory, but this batch doesn’t turn out right, either.

“Here,” he says wearily, placing the overflowing plate in front of you. “Let ‘em cool off.”

You wait as long as you can, fingers drumming on the counter as you watch tiny curls of steam drift up from the pile of pastries. Finally, you give in. “Oh my gosh,” you say around a mouthful that was a little too hot, judging by your wince. “Jay, these are amazing.”

“It’s not right, though,” he argues.

“Jay, I didn’t even think it was possible, but these are better than your last batch.”

He shakes his head stubbornly.

“Well, we’ll keep working on it,” you decide. “But really, if you bring these tomorrow, no one will complain. If they do…” You hold up a fist and shake it, mustering up (what you think is) a ferocious scowl.

Jason’s lips twitch. “What if Damian complains? Are you prepared to hit a child?”

“I can’t believe you would even ask me that,” you say. “I live in Gotham. I’ve been waiting for that moment my entire life.”

Despite himself, Jason laughs. He picks up one of the pastries from the dish and bites into it. They could have used more honey. Maybe that was the problem. But you’re right. These are good, and if they’re not, so what? It’s not like Bruce expects much from him anyway.

Jason’s chest squeezes.

Bruce should just be grateful that Jason is there at all.

Fuck.

It’s getting too hard to deny. Despite all his best efforts, Jason has to admit… maybe he does love his family.

It’s the first holiday season where he hasn’t been incandescent with rage toward one of them or another, and he’d underestimated just how nervous he would be. Despite everything that happened between them, he wants tomorrow to go well. The first night of Hanukkah is the same day as Christmas this year, which hasn’t happened for about twenty years. It’ll be Damian’s third Chrismukkah and the first where everyone is in attendance—Jason wasn’t on speaking terms with the family his first year, and Bruce was in the time stream and Tim was across the world last year.

“Hey, Jay.”

“Hmm.”

You swallow without making eye contact, and if he was paying even a little bit more attention, he would have known to prepare himself for what you said next.

“When are you gonna ask me to marry you?”

Jason is a selfish asshole. It’s a miracle that you haven’t figured that out yet after three years of dating him. He half-expects to come back to the apartment to find his stuff in bags. That’s the main reason he’s still out in the cold.

He’s in the middle of another drag when a teasing voice says from behind, “Ooh, must have been a rough day.”

Jason’s hand twitches for his gun, but he recognizes the voice. So he only rolls his eyes and says around the cigarette, “What do you want?”

“Your partner asked me to check up on you. Apparently you looked pretty freaked when you took off.”

Fuck. Jason groans. “How worried did they seem?”

“Ummm….”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, you kind of messed up.” Spoiler sits next to him, dangles her legs over the side of the roof, and lets them swing idly. “Or they messed up. I thought you quit smoking?”

He exhales a thick plume of smoke. “I did,” Jason says. Dying from smoke inhalation was bad once, but a habit is a habit.

“If it makes you feel any better, they seemed more concerned about you. Not, like, mad or anything.”

Well, that’s something.

“So what happened?”

Jason grunts. Maybe if he stares into the horizon long enough, Spoiler will give up. That was the technique Batman always used when Robin asked the tough questions like, ‘Why am I going home early so you can interrogate Catwoman on your own?’

It only worked sometimes.

Unfortunately, Spoiler seems immune.

Jason grunts and drops the butt of his cigarette. He itches for another, but you’ll already wrinkle up your nose at the smell of one. And, shit, what are you even going to think about him high-tailing it out after that question, leaving for hours, and coming back stinking of smoke?

“I’m a fucking idiot. And an asshole.”

Spoiler huffs. “Everyone already knows that, dumbass. They certainly do.”

“Thanks,” Jason says drily.

“Anytime!” she chirps.

Her heels beat against the side of the building.

She’s not leaving anytime soon, so Jason sighs and gives in. “They asked when I was planning on proposing.”

Spoiler gasps and jumps to her feet. “Oh my God!”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my God!”

“Yep.”

“So you’re engaged?”

“What? No.”

“What?”

“They asked when I would propose. That wasn’t a proposal… I don’t think so. I mean, there wasn’t a ring,” Jason says helplessly.

Spoiler socks him in the shoulder.

“Ow!” Damn, but the girl can pack a punch. He rubs at the sore spot, scowling.

“You stupid idiot!”

“I know.”

“And you just ran away?”

Jason cringes and admits to his lap, “Yes.”

Spoiler hits him in the exact same spot on his shoulder.

“Goddamn it, stop that!”

“I’m going to kill you, Jason Peter Todd.”

“You could certainly try, Stephanie… Brown,” he shoots back.

“You don’t even know my middle name?”

“I don’t care about you.”

She lifts her fist again, but Jason twists out of the way before she can hit him a third time in the same shoulder. It’ll be bruised tomorrow.

“You don’t get it,” he says, balancing on the edge of the roof and feeling exceptionally unstable, even though he’s walked across ledges like this since he was twelve.

“What don’t I get? That you have an awesome partner waiting for you at home? One that wants to get married? One that—”

“One that has no idea who I am,” Jason hisses. He brandishes his helmet at the girl. “We’ve been together for three years. They have no idea that I’m the Red Hood. It made sense, at first; I can’t go around telling everyone I kiss what my identity is—”

“Right,” she scoffs sarcastically, “like you’re some kind of serial kisser, Todd. Half the city would know your identity if you did that.”

“Shut up,” Jason half-says, half-groans, and by some miracle, she does. “At first, obviously I couldn’t tell them. Then I wanted to keep waiting. I wanted to know that they were, you know, the one and everything.”

Spoiler fake-gags. Jason ignores her.

“And after that it was just too late. I waited too long. I can’t marry them unless they know about the mask, but who would agree to marry someone that’s been lying to them for three years? The entire time they’ve known me?”

“Huh,” says Spoiler.

‘Huh’ indeed.

“So I ran,” Jason says. “I don’t even know if I said anything. The next thing I knew, I was in the street with a pack of cigs and a lighter in my pocket. I came up here to smoke a couple before going back and ending things.”

“You—wait, ‘ending things?’” Spoiler’s head whips around, the white lenses of her domino widening. “What are you talking about?”

“I can’t lie to them,” says Jason. “When I go back, I’ll tell them the truth. And they’ll break up with me for lying for years. I was just trying to put it off.”

The worst thing was, he wasn’t even trying to lie for most of it. You took his excuses easily, believed him about a boxing gym membership to explain away the bruises, and never uttered a complaint about the odd hours he worked. Every time he was late to a date or canceled, you understood. Every time he forgot something important, odds were that you’d forgotten, too, without him to remind you.

All things considered, Jason might have found the single least curious person in all of Gotham, if you hadn’t figured it out after three years. But he’d gotten so comfortable that he’d forgotten that it was a secret, really. It had all rushed back in when he heard your words like a smack to the face, and he’d panicked.

“You don’t know that,” Spoiler says softly.

“Could you forgive someone for something like this?”

She stays silent, and that’s answer enough.

Jason huffs. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He reaches into his pocket, pulls out the pack of cigarettes and lighter, and considers them. Then he sighs and drops both on the ground. “Might as well get this over with.”

The cold Gotham air whips away the reek of smoke by the time he’s back at your apartment. Jason looks at the door like a condemned man looks at the gallows. He could sneak in through the window like he usually does, but he selfishly wants you to open the door for him. Show that he’s welcome now, even though he won’t be for long.

Seconds drag on like torturous minutes until he hears the familiar click of the lock. The door inches open with a screech.

Jason’s mouth goes dry at the sight of your wide eyes. “Hey, darling.”

Wordlessly, you open the door further and step aside to let him in.

Funny how a place he’s practically lived in can feel so unfamiliar. Jason shifts between feet as you re-lock your door.

The moment you turn around, he blurts out, “I’m sorry.”

You say the same thing.

“What?” Jason asks.

“You don’t need to apologize,” you say.

“No, I was an ass,” he insists. “I shouldn’t have left.”

“I didn’t mean to push you. I just saw you looking at rings, and we’ve talked about it, but still, marriage is a big step, so I wanted to be prepared,” you ramble. “I mean, we said that we could get married, but we never discussed when, or when the proposal would be—”

“Honey!”

You fall silent.

“Just wait,” Jason begs. He can’t stand any more of your endless understanding. You’ve only ever understood him, no matter what, and he’s going to miss it so much. He’s going to miss you so much. “Wait one second.” He retreats to the bedroom and returns a moment later with something clutched behind his back. Your eyes dart to the awkward way he’s contorted his arm.

Your face goes blank when he pulls out the spare helmet he keeps below your bed. He’d only used a domino when out with Spoiler, but that wouldn’t do for the grand reveal.

“I’m the Red Hood,” he says in a rush, then braces for your judgment.

You don’t react except to say, “Jason.”

He doesn’t understand. You’re not scared of the killer in your apartment. You’re not furious at the man that’s lied to you for three years. Obviously you don’t understand what he’s saying. “Honey, I’m the Red Hood. The vigilante.”

“Jay—”

You’re still just standing with no reaction. Jason holds the mask up so you’re making eye contact with it.

You push it out of the way and cradle his face with both your hands. “Jason Peter Todd, look at me,” you command.

Jason holds your gaze. It’s the last time he’ll ever be so close to you, and he never wants to forget what your presence feels like.

“Jay, I’ve known basically the whole time.”

What.

Jason blinks.

“What?”

“I already knew.”

“Honey, I don’t think you understand what I’m saying. I’m the—”

“Red Hood, yes, I know.” You muster up a tremulous smile. “And Bruce is Batman. Dick is Nightwing. Steph is Spoiler, Damian is Robin, Tim is—”

“Oh my God, you knew? How did you know?”

“Jason. My love. My darling. My honey bunchkin.” You give him a mildly scolding look. “I’m not an idiot.”

Jason’s ears heat. “And you’re not… mad?”

“That you’re the Red Hood?” You cock your head. “Of course not. I worry about you, of course. But you have to do it. I know that. Or am I mad that you tried to keep it a secret for three years?” You press your lips together to hide a growing smile. “No. I’m not mad about that either. You can’t exactly go around telling your secret identity to everyone you kiss. It’s just something I had to figure out on my own.”

“You knew,” Jason marvels. “You knew this whole time.”

“Most of the whole time,” you say. “But yes.”

“Oh my God.” Jason’s moving before he can stop himself, and he wraps you up in his arms and spins you around. “I thought you would hate me,” he confesses, still clutching you like his life depends on it. “When I finally told you.”

A soft hand runs through his hair. “Is that why you ran?” you ask softly.

“Yes. I’m so sorry, honey, I just—”

“I get it,” you interrupt.

“You were scared.”

A thought occurs to Jason with such clarity he nearly drops you. “Wait, so you were going to marry me even after you knew about the mask?”

“Of course,” you say. “I love you, Jay. Mask and all.”

“I don’t have a ring.”

“I don’t need one. Don’t you get it? I only need you.”

“I only need you, too.”

“Good.”

“Good,” Jason agrees, and he probably looks like a fool with his wide grin, but you can’t stop smiling either. He dips his head, and you rise up to press your lips to his, even though with both your grins you end up clicking teeth.

“Good,” you repeat.

“Good,” Jason says, just for good measure, and this time he makes sure the kiss is better. Lightning shoots up his spine and he pulls back to ask, “Wait, are we engaged now?”

“Um… yes?”

“That’s awesome.”

Your smile is so wide that your eyes nearly close. Jason’s pretty sure he looks the same as he sweeps you up and spins you around. You fit perfectly into his arms. He’s never going to let you go.

“My fianceé,” he says fondly. “I’m never going to get tired of saying that.”

“I’m marrying you,” you marvel, sweeping your thumb over his mouth. “I have the prettiest husband-to-be in the whole world.”

“I love you,” Jason confesses. “So much.”

“I love you, too.”

Seconds before your mouths meet for another kiss, Jason’s phone buzzes. On the off-chance it’s an important alert, he pulls it out, but it’s just Spoiler asking for an update.

Jason stows the device. “I have an idea.”

“Yeah?”

“I think I know how to make the sopapillas the right way.”

“Oh? And how’s that?”

It turns out that Jason’s right.

Making them with your help turns out to be what was missing the whole time.

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[eggfriedricedwasian]

Tim Drake probably got into fights at school, but he didn't start the fights, he'd finish them. He'd also get away scott free.

People think that they can ruin the Drake's name with their kid getting into fights and causing problems, but no. They encourage him to do these.

Janet had a firm stance in her belief to have the upper hand, so he'd never get in trouble, because she'd blackmail and/or grill into the principal so hard they had to let him go and give the other kid(s) punishment.

Jack had one solid rule, don't start a fight, finish it, and always win. He enforced it by having occasional spars with Tim whenever he could and signed Tim up for all kinds of martial arts to make sure he knew how to fight.

Janet signed him up for whatever else extracurriculars he wanted(ballet, gymnastics, theater, art, vocal coaching, instruments, figure skating, track, etc.).

So just imagine, Tim Drake, publicly known to get into and win so many fights but with no prior context is seen as a trouble maker till they see how well behaved he is. They talk badly about him though, how much of a bad kid little Tim Drake who physically looks like his father but has the face and acts exactly like Janet when he speaks and leads.

And then his parents die and he doesn't cry. They think he's an even horrible kid for not caring about his parents' death even though he's torn.

And then he becomes a Wayne and his reputation, which only Alfred and Bruce know, brings the Wayne name down.

And then he becomes CEO of Wayne Enterprises and everyone expects him to be just like Bruce. What they don't expect is Janet Drake 2.0 when it comes to getting his way and the way he acts or Jack Drake 2.0 with his outstanding leadership and ideas and proposals and what not.

When the rest of the Waynes find out about his reputation, they don't believe it till they see it for themselves.

It's probably at a gala or some sorts. A socialite is being inherently racist towards Damian and talking about how bad of a kid he is. Tim is not standing for it.

"Oh I'm sorry!" he says just a but too loudly to get the attention if everyone in the place, "Would you care to finish that vile comment about my brother? That he was a what now."

"I do, in fact. Perhaps after everyone hears this you Waynes will do better to control that little devil and his unnatural brow-"

The socialite doesn't even get to finish his sentence when Tim karate chops their neck, making them choke(literally) in their own words.

"Oh what was that? Did someone who is actively cheating on their own wife with the underage heir of another company be racist towards my underage and tri-racial brother? Sorry? Did a pedophile defiling the 15 year old daughter of the Miller's family say my 11 year old brother's skin was the sign of the devil? Hm?"

No one says a word, even as they watch Tim twist his words and spill out every secret and dirty fact about the socialite.

They don't even stop him as they watch him beat the crap out of the person with out even trying when said person tries to throw hands with Timothey Jackson Drake, publicly known for getting into fights and winning as well as being graduated from every martial arts class in Gotham ever.

Police were involved, headlines were made, the Miller heir was no longer seen in public and her younger sibling was pronounced heir, and Tim Drake, not Wayne, got off without a scratch, repercussion, or warning.

Damian has never felt an older siblings' loving protection more than he did when he saw Tim grill that socialite. He s never felt more respect for the guy before. And suddenly Dick was lower on the sibling scale.

He was lower on the sibling scale for everyone. Good by #1 sibling Dick Grayson and hello Tim Drake.

Have a problem? Someone's mean or is picking a fight? Don't worry, Tim Drake's there.

Drake is more noticeable than Wayne when it comes to Tim, and everyone finds it out the hard way.

[momolady]

Kirilka the Orc

𝔉𝔢𝔪𝔞𝔩𝔢 ℜ𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔵 𝔐𝔞𝔩𝔢 𝔒𝔯𝔠

ℜ𝔬𝔶𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔶 - 𝔄𝔭𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔶 - ℌ𝔢𝔞𝔳𝔶 𝔅𝔦𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 - 𝔉𝔬𝔯𝔠𝔢𝔡 𝔓𝔯𝔬𝔵𝔦𝔪𝔦𝔱𝔶 - 𝔄𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔶𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔱𝔬 ℜ𝔬𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢

When your brother married Tashka, the whole kingdom thought he was insane. What was the future king doing marrying an orc woman? But you knew exactly why he did, because Tashka was exactly what your brother always wanted. Sure, she wasn’t the frail princess everyone imagines for someone like your brother, but he never wanted frail.

“Hurry, the baby!” Your brother was fretting while you were doing the best you could to hobble down the hallway. Since you were little you needed leg braces, now you hold a cane to keep steady.

“Pasha! I am doing the best I can!” You tried to comfort him, after all his first baby was just born a few short days ago. The birth had been hard, but you had studied and trained for all that, helping Tashka through the difficult birth. Now, Pasha was worried about the state of his daughter and wife.

“Is he fussing at you?” Tashka asked softly as you went into the room. “I told him not to worry! I just had a simple question.” She tsked while gazing back down at the baby.

“You said-” Before Pasha could finish, both Tashka and you quietly shushed him.

“What’s the matter Tashka?” You set your cane aside and took your bag from Pasha. “Is she feeding okay?”

“Oh yes,” she said proudly, if not a bit sleepily. “But she’s getting these little bumps around her mouth.” She showed off the baby, pale soft green and already plump. Around her mouth was a bit of small red bumps and dried skin. 

You smiled, gently brushing the soft, fawny hair on her head. “Nothing to worry about. Just a bit of drool rash.” You reached back for your bag. “Nothing a little ointment won’t fix.”

Paha had tears in his eyes already.

“I knew it wasn’t anything too bad.” Tashka’s gentle smile was so beautiful, you could tell why Pasha fell for her. “But Pasha and my brother,” she scoffed.

Ah yes! Tashka’s brother, Kirilka. You had run afoul of him since coming home. He didn’t seem quite trusting of your medical background, despite the years of training you had taken. He seemed assured only orc knowledge would be good enough for his sister and brand new niece.

“Firstborns have the ability to make panic occur with the slightest sound,” you say while applying some of the specialty made ointment to the baby’s mouth, making sure to wipe away excess.

“I’ll say,” Tashka chuckled, glancing towards her husband.

Pasha pouted but then broke into a smile as he took his wife into his arms, hugging her while gazing lovingly at their child.

“I’ll go make you a little kit.” You take your cane back in hand. “So you can be better prepared for rashes and the like.”

Tashka sighed, exhausted and relaxed in the same breath. “Thank you. I’m very relieved knowing this little one is getting the best care..”

You puffed up with pride.

“This little one also still needs a name,” Pasha remarked.

“It’ll come to us,” Tashka mused. “I didn’t get my name until I was a month old.”

You rather liked the orc tradition of letting the baby’s name come naturally. You found it much more personable. “Well, I’ll come back later. You three should rest.” 

“Thank you again,” Pasha sighed.

You nodded, leaving the royal bedchamber and heading back out into the hall. Pasha had made you private work quarters down the hall, but it was still quite the long hall. You were nearly down it when Kirilka started walking up it.

“Dammit,” you grumbled to yourself.

“And what were you called for?” Kirilka grumbled. This beast of a man towered over you, casting a dark shadow wherever he went. Growing up on one of the largest farms in the kingdom, probably on this side of the Cobra Strait, he’d grown up a farm boy, rearing animals, tending to fields and working day in and day out. He was built for it, built for a lot of things probably. His long hair was always tied up into a thick, ropelike braid that he kept coiled up into a bun.

“The baby had a little drool rash, nothing awful, nothing even too concerning. I'm going to make a kit of ointments and the like for them now.” You said sternly, if not a little brusk. 

His amber eyes looked you over, taking in the cane then focusing on your own eyes. You knew you weren’t his version of a healer. You dressed prettily, wearing fancy but comfortable dresses you had collected from your travels for education. Compared to him you were a dumpling beside a steak, that probably also irked him.

“What sort of ointments?” He sounded like he was ready to discourage all your ideas.

You sighed. “Look, Kirilka, I know I’m not the healer you want for your sister. But I’m using my education for what it is for and it is taking care of her and that baby. And you, if you should walk into a doorway.”

He sneered, his upper lip curling ever so slightly. “All I asked was what ointments you were planning on using. Orc skin isn’t like human skin.”

“Oh?” you feigned ignorance. “Is it not?”

He scowled.

You stomped your cane in lieu of your foot. “I’ve been trained in such things, you know! And if you must be so nosy, I am making a comfrey mixture.”

His brow raised slightly. “Comfrey?”

“I did train with orcs at the university,” you scoffed. “We shared our knowledge, rather than test one another.” You continued to try and walk ahead, but to your dismay, Kirilka kept following.

“Kirilka, please,” you huffed. “I’m just doing my job.”

“No,” he snarled, stopping you from continuing forward.

Dammit, you thought. This wasn’t what you wanted today. You knew the tension between you and Kirilka had been building, but you didn’t realize he was willing to throw down over it. Maybe you could get in a few good jabs with your cane. You knew you should have accepted your uncle’s offer of a sword cane. 

“I know how people look at my sister here! I know how we are treated amongst your circle. I also know how I look, and if I can use it to protect my sister and niece I-”

Your mouth hung open. “Protect them? From me?” You slapped your hand against your chest. “I adore Tashka! I brought that baby into the world with my own hands, I would die for that child!” Your voice was raising, your blood was boiling. “Even if I didn't, I took an oath to care for people and see after their health. How dare you?” You stomped towards him, clomping down your cane like you were going to take one of his toes. “I love my family, which now includes you unfortunately! I helped convince my father to accept Tashka! Did you know that? I was almost thrown out of the castle! Protect them?”

Kirilka was backing down now, looking frightened.

“Let me work, farm boy!” You snapped and stormed past him, getting to your office and slamming the door shut. You huffed, glaring into the room. “Who does he think he is?”  

After working for a few hours to distract yourself, you came out of your office, a new baby kit prepared and placed into a beautiful tin. You knew how Tashka liked roses, so you had painted the tin with them just for her. 

You knocked on the bedroom door and waited, admiring your handy work on the tin when the door opened. You smiled to greet your brother, but it was Kirilka. Your smile vanished.

“Quiet,” he whispered. “They’re finally asleep.”

“I’ll just leave this with you then,” you grumbled, offering out the tin.

Kirilka took it. “Wait,” he set the tin inside the door then stepped out himself. “I want to apologize.”

You furrowed your brow. “Really?”

He returned the frown as he gently closed the door behind him. “I didn’t realize all you had done for Tashka.”

“You’ve treated me like scum since I got here. Don’t mind me saying I feel the apology comes a little late.” You then rolled your hand in the air. “But go on.”

Kirilka walked you a little further down the hall, away from the bedchamber. “Ever since Tashka became queen, I have heard the most vile things spoken about her. The past two years my head has been full of them, and being in this castle makes them sound like cannons in my head.”

You sighed. “The moment I met Tashka I liked her. Pasha doesn’t fall in love easily, you know. Surrounded by dancers all his life, I never saw his eyes turn once. Not until Tashka.”

Kirilka looked away, pouting.

 You moved to stand in his line of sight. “I stood up for your Tashka against my father. I stood beside her when she was crowned. And I am going to fight for that little girl to be heir. She’ll be queen one day.” You watched him, waiting. “Now what do you say?”

“I’m sorry,” he growled under his breath.

You cupped your hand around your ear. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“I. Am. Sorry,” he said through gritted teeth. He turned those amber eyes back upon you and huffed. “I misjudged you.”

You nodded in agreement. “That’s right, you did!” A smirk crossed your face. “I’ll forgive you. But that may take time.”

His lip curled and he clicked his teeth. “I get it.”

This was such a good feeling! All this time you wanted to smack him around, now it felt like you’d gotten in the first whack. “But maybe now we can be friends! After all, we’re both the eldest sibling, we should have a lot in common.”

He looked distrustful, eyeing you up and down wondering where the rest of you was.

“That’s right! I came out of the womb first,” you announced proudly, puffing out your chest. “But for health reasons I abdicated my spot to my brother.”

Kirilka’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t even know you were twins.”

“Yes , well, Pasha went on to train in ballet while I read in bed with several illnesses. That can change figures.” You patted your belly. “And hobbling around isn’t the exercise I make it look to be.”

You saw it! He was suppressing a smile!

“I blame it on Pasha sitting on my head in the womb.” You peeked at him again, seeing the corner of his lip curl ever so slightly upwards. “I’ve delivered orc twins, you know?”

“Those are quite rare for us,” he muttered, wiping away any semblance of his previous smile. “How did that go?”

“Very well, my teacher and I together came up with a new method that made the birth easy for the mother and safer for the babies.” You then offered your hand to him. “Since our siblings are asleep, why don’t you and I have tea together?”

He looked unsure, eyes darting away. “I don’t like tea.”

“Then you can eat scones the entire time. Come now, we have a lifetime to deal with one another. The first foot was awful, like mine, but the second foot can be a strong one, like mine.”

He was forcing that smile down hard again, but he took your offered hand, shaking it heartily rather than be delicate. His fingers flexed after touching you. Perhaps he was more used to rougher palms?

He was silent for most of tea, taking sweets and cookies eagerly while you went on and on about your schooling. Afterwards, he made an excuse to leave while you finished the teapot by yourself. 

Over the next few days you passed him in the hall, attempting to make small talk. It took a while, but after a while he began offering more than monosyllabic responses. He was also joining you for tea more often, actually offering you bits and pieces of his life. He had prize cows he loved, bison he raised from birth, and sheep he spent summer nights sleeping beside.

“Where do you harvest your comfrey?” He asked one day, having come into your office with a rather large cut on his palm.

You were cleaning it, using a cloth and a strong alcohol, watching to make sure there was no debris in the cut itself. “I was gifted a plant by a friend of mine at university. I came home and planted it in the garden a few years ago. It’s spread out quite a bit, I have decades worth now.” You were even surprised he came to you with such a wound, but you were glad he did.

“We have large patches of it all around the farm. Our mother loved it,” he murmured.

“Tashka told me she was quite the gardener,” you murmured. You dabbed away some blood and remarked on an old fairytale from your youth. Something about a field mouse and a lion. 

“She loved flowers. Her roses were used during your parents’ wedding. So it’s funny how this all worked out.”

You stilled and looked into his face. The way the light from your small lantern hit his face made him look much handsomer than you were used to seeing. “I didn’t know that.”

He nodded, long lashes falling to his cheek. “They bought every single one she had. I had never seen the farm look so…empty I guess is the word. She worked hard all year to make sure there was enough.”

“Wow.” You were more remarking on how differently he looked, how long his lashes were, how full his lips appeared. You swallowed, trying to hide your blush. “I’ll just put some of said comfrey on here,” you laughed nervously.

“Thanks,” He muttered. 

You bandaged him up, flexing his fingers to make sure nothing was wrong. “There. Should be good as new eventually.” His hand then captured yours, locking his fingers around your own. You looked unsure up at him. “Arm wrestle?” You chuckled.

“Let me thank you.” He pulled you close, closing the gap between you and placing a soft kiss on your lips. Oh, it was heaven! You leaned in, closing your eyes and melting. You then came to your senses and hurriedly pulled back.

“What was that?” You snapped.

Kirilka chuckled. “What do you think?” He focused upon your eyes, freezing you in place with how intense his gaze was. “You impress me. I like a woman who frightens me a little.”

Your stomach flopped. “Oh.”

“You remind me of the ram who guards my sheep. Small, soft, but very ferocious. I’ve seen him take down a mountain lion. I want you to do that to me.”

What was this? Your mind was racing, your heart was trying to keep up with it. Your mouth hung open but you closed it back quickly. “Th-that’s enough out of you!” You stood up quickly. “You should go check on your sister.” Turning around, you tried to ignore him while cleaning up your desk.

“If you’re at all curious, meet me in the garden tonight. Right near your comfrey.” Kirilka got up and left.

You huffed, clutching your chest as the door shut. “Fucking hells! I’ve not been turned on like that before,” you whispered to yourself. You glanced back at the door. “Who the hell does he think he is?”

𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖙𝖜𝖔 𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖆𝖘 𝖆 𝖋𝖗𝖊𝖊 𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖓 𝖕𝖆𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖔𝖓!

[cognitiveoverload]

The secret is out (Aaron Hotchner x fem!BAU!reader)

summary: You and Hotch have been dating for half a year in secret. When the team decides it's time to help Spencer ask you out during the Christmas dinner you host for them, Hotch realizes that it might be time to tell the truth.

note: Takes place after Hotch's divorce, but before Haley's death.

The whole Christmas dinner is the result of a chain reaction. You invited Penelope, who invited Derek, who invited Spencer, who invited JJ, who invited Emily, who invited Dave, and finally, Dave invited Hotch. And to make things worse, this time there is a plan—the plan to help Spencer make the first move and finally ask you out. 

When Dave tells Hotch about it in the car on the way to the dinner, he smiles and acts like it’s adorable. Normally, it would be exactly that. They all love Spencer, they all want him to be happy, but considering Hotch only left your apartment this morning, he isn’t the right person to ask for help with this. This only makes him wonder if you should make your relationship official, if you should tell the team that the two of you have been seeing each other for over half a year now. 

“The early birds,” you say with a warm smile when you open the door and let them inside.

Dave glances down at his watch for a brief moment, then, as he walks past you, he speaks up. “I guess it means we’re the first ones.” When you hum in agreement, he stops and turns to look at the other man. “I told you we’re gonna be way too early.”

It takes every ounce of willpower not to tell him it wasn’t his idea to come together. He’s here exactly when he wanted to arrive, it’s not his fault that Dave decided to tag along. With a forced smile, he shrugs and shows you the two bottles of wine he brought as a gift. “Is there a wine cooler somewhere?” he asks casually.

You close the closet where you put their coats, then turn back to nod. “My parents love wine, so of course they have one,” you reply with a short laugh. “Not like they were alcoholics, they just… you know.” Hotch has to fight hard to keep his emotions in check, but you notice. You always notice. “Oh, sure, I’ll lead the way,” you say, signaling him to follow you. 

Since you made sure Dave was occupied with the photos in the living room, you quickly take the bottles from Hotch to put them in the cooler, then return to him with a seductive smile. “I missed you.” He leans closer, his lips almost touching yours as he speaks, knowing perfectly well this most probably makes your heart rate jump. “I’m sorry, Dave insisted on coming with me.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him with a loving smile.

These are one of those rare occasions when Hotch can loosen up, getting lost in the moment, so he doesn’t hesitate to close the gap and kiss you gently, letting his arm sneak around your waist as he pulls you closer. He knows he has to warn you, and he knows you should know how he feels about that plan, but it’s so good to have you like this again. You’re like a drug, and he loves the high you give him, and each time he tastes your lips, he just knows you should make your relationship official.

As stupid as it is, he wants to let everyone know that you’re his, he wants to mark his territory, and if he has to face the wrath of his team for hiding something like this, so be it. Because whenever he sees you interact with his son, he knows this is what he wants, and not just with Jack, but with a child that’s yours entirely. This is what’s been on his mind lately, and the thought is driving him crazy.

“There’s something I want to discuss with you,” he speaks up as he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

But before he could go on, you hear Dave clear his throat in the door, and when you both turn to look at him, he’s watching you with a knowing smile. “I wanted to tell Hotch we left the gifts in the car, but I guess I’ll bring them in myself since he’s busy at the moment,” he announces teasingly. 

Hotch lets you go and takes a step closer to his colleague. “Dave, I can explain,” he says, knowing he should give an explanation. After all, he’s your boss, you’re a lot younger, and he just agreed to help Spencer ask you out a good half an hour ago. It probably doesn’t look good from the outside. 

Smiling, Dave shoves his hands into his pockets. “No need to explain, I’ve seen enough. The best you can do now is laying your cards on the table when we’re all together. Spencer really likes her, and tonight everyone will be doing their best to get them together. Just be honest,” he tells the two of you, then turns around to leave the house.

You wrap your arms around his body and bury your face into his chest, and he lets out a sigh before placing a kiss on the top of your head. “He’s right, we need to tell them,” he says softly, leaning back just enough to look you in the eye. 

“Okay,” you agree weakly. 

For a few moments you watch him with those big, doe eyes, which brings back his earlier thoughts. “There’s something I want to tell you before Dave returns,” he begins, his voice carrying the kind of uncertainty and vulnerability that he only allows to have around you. When you hum to make him continue, he exhales slowly to prepare himself. “I would like to have another child. With you.”

At first, you don’t react at all, as if the statement completely froze your brain. But then you slowly blink at him, your lips slightly parting as you take a breath. “A baby?” you ask quietly, earning a nod in response. 

“I know we haven’t been together for that long, but I know that I love you. Sure, we don’t have to start the baby project right away, I understand if you’re not ready,” he assures you.

A sweet smile slowly appears on your lips as you stand on your toes to place a soft kiss on his cheek. “I love you too, Aaron. And maybe having a little kid together isn’t such a bad idea,” you say kindly. But then the sweet smile shifts into a wicked one. “Can you stay the night? I hate to be alone in this stupidly big house, and I think I’ll be too lazy to drive home after dinner.” 

There’s something else, something you’re not telling him, and it takes him a moment to realize what it is. “Oh, wait, you mean…? Tonight?” he asks, unable to hide the confusion that slowly mixes with excitement. 

With an adorable giggle, you take his hand and lace your fingers. “Why not? Unless you have better plans,” you add, looking up at him through your lashes. 

“If you’re serious about this, I won’t have better plans until we have a positive test,” he states before kissing you again.

“I think they’re looking for glasses in the kitchen.”

Hotch is quick to step away from you, grateful that Dave gave you a chance to find an excuse for being there alone. So, without much hesitation, you point at a cabinet and then move to another where your parents keep the coffee mugs. He takes out enough glasses for everyone, then heads to the dining room with them. He can see JJ and Dave discussing something, and she flashes a smile at him when their eyes meet.

“She’s in the kitchen?” JJ asks him, to which he replies with a nod. “I’ll see if she needs more help then.”

When she disappears, Hotch stands in front of Dave with an uncertain look on his face. “Thanks for the warning. We discussed this whole thing, and we’ll tell the team once everyone’s here. This is for the best,” he says. 

The other man lets out a short breath with an amused smile, but he doesn’t say a word–not yet. But then, at the moment they hear a car stopping, followed by the sound of a cheerful conversation, he finally opens his mouth to speak. “You’ll have to talk to HR about this.” Hotch nods. He’s painfully aware of that conversation. “But you both look happy, and if you’re both happy, I’m happy too.”

A sigh of relief escapes his lips upon hearing this. It’s good. You have at least one person in your corner. 

Within a matter of seconds the remaining guests appear, smiling happily as they balance the wrapped gifts in their hands. Once the newcomers settle down, Hotch shepherds everyone into the living room, deciding that this is the perfect time to make the announcement, before the little schemers set their plan into motion. You look a little uncertain, but he doesn’t want to let you feel like that. He stands next to you, but he avoids physical contact for now. 

“There’s something I wanted to tell you all before we sit down to eat up all the food our generous host prepared,” he begins, and out of the corner of his eye he can see you roll your eyes. “You know me, you know I usually respect the regulations, but a few months ago I crossed a line I shouldn’t have. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret it, and I don’t want to stop after this conversation we’re having now. I just wanted you to all know that we started to date a few months ago,” Hotch says as he wraps an arm around your waist to pull you closer. 

Surprise, surprise, a little more surprise, and then there’s the look of betrayal on Spencer’s face. He avoids your gaze, and he doesn’t look at his boss either, but that’s okay, he didn’t expect him to start cheering. This might be tough for him, but he’ll get over it for sure. But the others soon turn supportive; they start to tease them, they come up with jokes, and some even begin to dig deeper to get some more details out of you two. You quickly loosen up enough to answer them, but Hotch doesn’t let you do the talking alone, he’s staying by your side the whole time to support you. 

You’re a little team of two now. Hopefully, you’ll be the mother of his youngest child in the future. It’s his duty to always protect you.

[crepezinhos]

Sucumb to the Sin

POV: You and Sunday are currently trying for a baby, but as you two do it, the task turns out to be harder than Sunday thought it would be, so he decided to listen to his sinful friend’s advice to try achieving it… and he fell in love with it. Art Credits

⚠️ WARNINGS:

— This is a fluffy NSFW piece

— Reader is FEMALE and uses SHE/HER pronouns

— AU is: Modern

— Virgin!Catholic!Sunday x Virgin!Catholic!Reader

You swallowed.

Don’t stare, don’t stare, don’t stare, don’t stare…

You repeated to yourself in your head over and over while staring at the blank white roof above you.

But the way you could hear noises of silver tingling and clanking, then noises of a zipper being pulled downwards, made your heart accelerate its pumps with anxiety and unease.

I swallowed.

Don’t stare too much, don’t stare too much…

I repeated to myself in my head over and over while trying my best to not succumb to the temptation while staring down at her… breasts.

But the way they moved up and down according to her slow breathing made butterflies kick my stomach, whether I wanted to feel them or not.

“Are you… Are you ready, my love?” You heard his voice speak calm and low above you, his body slowly leaning down so he could make better eye contact with you.

“I…” You stared back at him out of respect, although it was a very hard quest. “I am.” You nodded your head, confirming your consent.

One of Sunday’s hand moved down and gently stroked his own length, very cautiously positioning it between your folds, right outside your hole. Sunday couldn’t help but sigh very hard in anticipation, feeling your wet flesh almost making him slip inside.

A little hic of anticipation escaped your lips when you felt his tip touch you, knowing it was probably going to be a little painful to lose your virginity. You pressed the pillow under your head a little harder, trying to get ready for it.

“Don’t worry… I’ll be gentle.” Sunday whispered, and his hips finally started hooking forward as soon as he saw you nod again.

You really tried keeping your hands in the pillow as his length begun stretching your insides, but you just couldn’t. They savagely reached up to Sunday’s shoulders midway and your nails begun crawling on them.

“AaaAHhh!!” You screamed in pleasure and slight pain, causing Sunday to pause almost immediately.

He somehow managed to hold a grunt of pain down his throat due to your nails.

God almighty.

Why the heck does this feel so weird but… so good?

No matter if Y/N is hurting my shoulders, my body feels like it’s begging to keep—

…

… No. I shouldn’t be thinking about this or… desiring this.

This is really one of the most dangerous sins, isn’t it..?

I quickly shook my head away from these thoughts and focused my eyes back to Y/N.

“Are you ok?” His voice was very sweet, trying to comfort you the most he could.

“S-Sorry…” Your wings instinctively moved forward and covered a bit of your eyes from him. “You can… keep moving…” Sunday nodded as soon he heard your weepy voice giving him consent.

He unpaused his initial thrust, the skin of his hips finally slapping against yours after a few seconds pushing in.

“Ah…” He couldn’t help but groan out of the pleasure he felt and relief of finally being able to drop his elbows to the bed and relax his arm muscles.

As the Bible says…

“Halovians ought to cover their eyes during the act with their cranial wings.”

So that’s exactly what I did next, finally respecting Y/N’s privacy and the Bible’s prophecy.

“You can move…” You consented again, lowering your hands to his wrists, trying to find better comfort, while your cranial wings repeated Sunday’s actions.

Here it comes…

The moment Catholics most fear throughout their lives trying to obey God’s checklist for Heaven.

Resisting the temptation of carnal activities.

But… it is unfortunately the easiest way you and Sunday could afford to breed a child.

You remembered your friends, who were definitely not a member of your religion, describing in a few conversations how it’s not easy for women to reach what you need to ‘complete’ this session of carnality…

An ‘orgasm’.

It made you wonder multiple questions. Why is sex a way to procreate? Is it a test from God? Were your friends being realistic about their claims? Were you and Sunday going to have to stay in such awkward situation for a long time?

It didn’t matter. Sunday begun to move.

He slowly started pulling out and pushing in again, trying to treat you and your virgin body like a wet pot of porcelain.

Although you knew agreed with Sunday being gentle at first, so he wouldn’t hurt you, you found it weird how he didn’t seem to be trying to increase stimulus. He kept slapping his hips against yours as slow as a snail and at a disappointing strength that barely made you even feel his length around your gummy walls.

You deeply love Sunday with every corner of your heart, but… does he know how to do this..? How to take lead on this..? Because… you don’t think either of you would ever achieve an orgasm at such an embarrassing pace like this.

Am I… doing this right?

This is how you do it, isn’t it?

Then why is she not making a single noise rather than a few of grunts that sound uncomfortable..? This awkward silence is killing me but there can’t be a better way than this.

Any other way to do this is merely lust. Lust is a sin.

Remember to not succumb, Sunday Oak.

To make your embarrassment worse, you realized just how it felt bizarre to have Sunday’s naked hips touching yours and feeling his dick reach such intimate depths of you, especially whenever his testicles tickled your skin every time he went down too.

Testicles are a… funny organ… to say the least.

Oh, my God, you were actually sharing your nudity to him.

“How do you feel..?” You heard Sunday’s voice above, sounding a little hoarse due to the effort he was doing to thrust you.

“Ok…” You awkwardly answered the most honest opinion you could give him without offending him, attempting to cover your face even more due to an instinctual fear of him possibly looking at your nudity.

‘Ok’? That doesn’t sound good.

But I… I can’t do nothing greater than this, can I?

This is probably everything that the Bible allows me to do for this kind of process…

Still, even if your answer was an obvious ‘yellow flag’, for the next minutes, you just kept yourself laid down under him like that while he kept thrusting your insides in that same boring formula.

Slow pace, weak thrusts, slow pace, weak thrusts, slow pace, weak thrusts…

Was it even doing something to his body? Because yours felt as normal as ever, and even… empty.

Is this even doing something to her body? Because mine feels as normal as ever, and even… empty.

God, what an embarrassing situation.

All you two have to do is to make Sunday ejaculate inside you, yet it doesn’t look like you two are even trying to reach it. It actually looks like that you two are torturing yourselves.

The weak soggy noises coming from his thrusts filling the room accentuated the awkward silence even more, and neither of you could help eachother. You’re both not allowed to moan due in this process according to the Bible, especially you, a woman.

You and all women, who heir Eve’s sins, that could only possibly be purged with procreation, are a danger to men, and you’ve always done your best to not make your dear husband get close to make a sin.

If you sin, Sunday can fix it for you.

But if he sins, it’s over for the both of you.

And you love him too much to make a mistake that would lead him to go to hell.

I gently spread my wings away from each other, finally giving me the answer I was looking for.

Her face seems relaxed too, with only a few exceptions whenever she decided to let out a grunt. She was doing such a good job at keeping her moans jailed inside her body, but this body of hers is—

Stop it, Sunday! You’re not supposed to be looking!

But… does that mean I also can’t… do other things to her..? As long as I’m not looking, could I…

What was it again..?

“Ratio, I need to ask you something…” Aventurine banged his cup at the table as he called Veritas’s attention.

“What?” Ratio made sure to also place his cup down at the table out of reciprocation with his friend.

“Have you ever made a woman cum yet?” Such a lewd question made Sunday’s eyes widen in shock immediately, but Ratio remained unmoved by its lewdness, letting out a chuckle while taking another quick sip of alcohol. “I mean, you’ve slept with a lot of women yet, haven’t you? You’ve surely—” Aventurine felt pressured to contextualize his question.

“One of the easiest equations I’ve ever done.” He responded, taking an extra, unnecessary sip from his drink as a prize for his achievement.

Babysitting drunk Aventurine alone was hard enough, but accompanied by another drunk-head was definitely a challenge for such a pure guy like Sunday.

“How do you do it? Topaz kept complaining about it to me last time we did it and I promised I would make her orgasm next time!” Aventurine threaded his fingers in his hair in stress while venting.

“I’ll pray for the both of you tonight.” Sunday commented, trying his best to focus singularly on the book he was reading rather than the God-offending ambient around him, but he wanted to be there for his friends if they needed him.

“The clit.” Ratio initiated, but Aventurine seemed to be a little lost in the matter. Sunday couldn’t deny his own confusion and curiosity too. “The little bulge above their vaginas. That’s the clit.” Aventurine finally seemed to understand his words and nodded in excitement like an obedient dog.

“Yeah? What about it?” He sounded like an excited kid.

“Mess with that while you fuck her g-spot. Fingers, mouth, whatever. It makes women go crazy.”

Do I… really need to do that?

Dang it…

You felt the left side of the sheets become lighter, meaning that Sunday had taken of his left hand away from there.

“Y/N…” He moaned your name very lightly. “Do you mind if I… touch you?” Sunday’s wings were flapping due to the enormous embarrassment.

“W-… What..?” You found that question really random and… sinful.

“I don’t think this is taking us anywhere, so…” He paused his hips. “I want to try… making this… feel a little bit better.” As soon as you heard those malicious words come out of his mouth, your wings spread wide away from each other too, meeting him staring at you.

And you took it as an offense.

For how long he has been staring at you?!

“S-Sunday, that would be a sin!” You immediately moved both your hands down to your boobs and covered them.

“But, Y/N, how else are we gonna going to make this work?! We’ve been like this for the past 5 minutes now, which should’ve been enough to make at least one of us close to an orgasm according to the Priest!” Sunday decided to pull his length out of you, getting turned off by your immediate discomfort, rolling his body until he was sat in the edge of the bed.

You sat up too, but not moving close to him.

“I feel horrible about doing it too, Y/N, but an in-vitro fertilization costs almost 5,000 dollars.” Sunday threaded his fingers on the hair that was resting in his forehead, as if he had some sort of headache. “It would still need me to commit a sin to get my sperm anyway… both are pointless.” His voice sounded more defeated and stressed out, which made your heart melt in worry and regret of being so rudd.

You decided to redeem yourself and crawled closer to him, careless about the fact that both of you could clearly see each other’s genitals now.

“Oh, Sunday…” You hugged him by the neck sideways, your breasts rubbing against his arms with no bad intentions. “I don’t know… I believe my advice would be useless and dangerous to you.” Sunday looked at you likr you had offended him rather than yourself.

“Don’t say that, Y/N.” He turned his chest to you. “I fell in love with you and married you for a reason. I don’t think you’d ever make me do a bad choice.” His face leaned closer to yours, gently smooching your lips.

“Sunday…” Your hands moved up to his cheeks, wanting to hold his face that close to yours.

“I’ll take all responsibility for this decision.” Sunday’s hands reached down to your hips and started threading your bodies together again. “I won’t… touch you too much, I promise. It’ll be very little. Just until we reach an orgasm, ok?” He reassured you once again and paused for a beat to organize his thoughts. “I mean… we’re just… trying to make the most sacred thing in the world… a baby, aren’t we?” Sunday started to gently push the both of you down to the sheets again.

The way he whispered about your objective made you feel a little sparked again and your wings instinctively reached for your eyes again.

“No, no… Don’t do that.” You could feel Sunday’s breath itching your nose as he positioned between your legs again, and you felt obligated open your wings again, meeting his eyes dark with anticipation as he admired you from such an intimate proximity. “Let’s do this together. Eyes open.” You felt hands move up to thread with yours, perfectly pining you against the bed.

“Are you sure, my love..?” No matter your worry for his decision, you still complied to him and hugged his hips with your legs, preparing for his entrance.

“Yes, my dear.” He very gently reached his lips to smooch yours another time.

But you couldn’t help but reach your wings to his head, trying to make that quick smooch become a kiss, one of that quickly became deep, warm and intimate. As you two spent some seconds savoring each other’s tongues and dancing them around as a pure demonstration of love and care, you started to feel his length beginning to make way inside you again, accompanied by his wings embracing your head underneath your wings too.

Sunday grunted in your throat at how your gummy insides were already more aroused and welcoming than before.

Perhaps my comforting words made her feel better?

I should… remember that.

While you were distracted by his dick feeling thicker and longer inside you, a hand of his climbed down to where you two were fully connected, and a sudden feeling of his index touching your raw flesh made your legs shiver in pleasure.

“Is this it..? Your clit..?” Sunday asked when he found a little bulge right on top of your hole, fully dependent on his touch to tell what’s your clit or not since he didn’t want to take his eyes off yours.

“Y-Yes!” You moaned as Sunday started touching it with more fingers and delicacy.

He had no idea what Dr. Ratio meant with ‘mess with it’ that day… he assumes that he should just… rub it around with his thumb while his passionate thrusts melted you.

“Aaahhh! Sunday!” You couldn’t help but scream and squirm with the amount of pleasure he was serving you now compared to before.

Your pussy instinctively tightened around his length, which made Sunday uncontrollably let out a louder, sinful moan. He wasn’t expecting such a dramatic reaction coming out of you with so little effort, but he couldn’t deny it that he definitely didn’t hate it.

“And this... this is your g-spot..?” He paused for a moment just to grinf against that sensible spot of yorus that made you quiver immediately.

“Ah, yes! Right there, right there!” You hated how your human instincts were making you act that out of your mind, making you beg like an unholy prostitue for him to continue fucking that spot of your walls, but Sunday was equivalently responding to you, nodding at your answer like an obedient nasty dog.

And havng nothing else to do and see rather than your teary eyes and sweaty hair, Sunday decided to reach his mouth down to yours again, sealing your wet lips shut in a serious kiss.

Fuck.

This is good.

This is really damn good.

Oh, God, forgive me… this is really hard to resist.

You felt Sunday’s knees climbing upward, forcing your hips and legs follow his due to your connection, now in an angle where your genital was barely facing the entire roof.

And finally, Sunday started quickening his pace with the help of gravity making his thrusts deeper and harsher against your g-spot. No matter if your mouth was being devored by him, you couldn’t hold back all the petty moans andn screas that needed to come out, and Sunday didn’t dare making you stop emitting them.

“Oh, yes! Yes, yes, yes!” You hated to part away frm his lips to make such slutty noises, but the position simply favored your pleasure way too much for you to ignore it.

You thought it was very mean of him to keep rolling your clit with his thumb even if you were already stimulated enough.

And Sunday took it as a compliment, a living proof that he was doing way better this time. The addicting way your warm, soggy walls were embracing his cock so passionately and your moans echoed in his ears were definitely stimulating him into insanity.

This can’t be that sinful, right?

I’m just making love to my wife and myself so we can have a baby. We’re just… pleasuring each other with the biggest level of intimacy a couple could ever have, aren’t we? It’s love. And this might be my purest demonstrtion of love because I’ve never felt this good pleasing my wife.

And, God, I promise you… I’ll never do this out of lust…

Your hands felt bored being so oppressed against the sheets and finally crawled away from his grip, reaching his back instead and hugging him closer to you. You decided to repeat the same movements with your legs too, somehow trying to make him reach even deeper corners of your walls.

Sunday decided to crumble his only hand that was keeping him in that position, making his chest fully attach to yours, the fluffy dough of your breasts making him let a deep, long grunt again.

“Huuummm… Ah! Aaah!” You were surprised at how Sunday’s tough character broke voice, beginning to repeatfly moan in an erotic, broken tone.

Oh, God… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry!

You decided to be a little dominant this time and you were the one to take Sunday’s lips, making him shamelessly whimper inside your mouth.

You were whimpering with him too while his precise thrusts perfectly punched your g-spot over and over. If only you could roll your head backwards and see stars on your own to not let the pleasure overhwlem you, but it was perfectly pleasing to be threaded Sunday like this.

Nothing else mattered to the both of you anymore.

You were feeling every raw corner of each other.

“I love you, Y/N…” Sunday suddenly whimpered, a thick chord of saliva connecting both your tongues.

“Oh, Sunday, I love you too..!” Your hands couldn’t help but roll upwards and hook his hair with the tip of your fingers, carelessly hurting his sweaty, blue scalp.

“I can’t wait…” A tear fell down from his right eye, pausing to moan at the feeling of your pussy gushing his crotch. “I can’t wait to have a baby with you, my love.” His cheeks flushed as he thought of the scenario of your bloated belly or you breastfeeding a baby in your arms.

“I can’t wait for it either, Sunday..!” Your back arched and your legs spread further, trying to facilitate his sloppy thrusts inside you so you could reach your objective faster.

“I’m gonna… fill you up…” His eyes darkened with that overwhelming lust that he couldn’t hold back anymore. “Make sure that we’ll only need to do this once…” Sunday’s thrusts started building up into a more erratic pace. “Impregnate you in a single round…”

“Do it, Sunday! Do it! I’m feeling so good!” You tried your best to not say anything more obscene than that, but at the same time attempting to incite him into achieving his orgasm.

“Are you gonna… cum with me too..?” Sunday’s eyes widened, trying to get an answer out of you from your eyes.

“I think I am..!” Your hands clawed his head more violently, causing Sunday to groan.

“Fuck, honey, I’m sorry…” Both of Sunday’s hands suddenly slammed the sheets by your head and he rose his chest again, forcing your hands to fall down to the pillow again.

Sunday’s cranial wings were fully spread due to the stimulation, flapping and shivering while his eyes locked in your bouncing body.

“Sunday, you can’t—!” You tried turning your head to side and covering your eyes from the intoxicating view of Sunday’s upper body while your hands tried to make a barrier infront of his eyes.

“N-No..!” A hand of his quickly reached one of your hands. “Please… let’s look at each other for… stimulation.” His words slowly convinced you to turn your eyes to his again, but with a lot of embarrassment and resentment, and your hands held his wrists again just like at the first try.

Oh, God… how gut-wrenching was to see Sunday’s chest moving and up and down frenetically while ripping your virginity away, and that irresistible fucked-out face, hyperventilating to survive.

Sunday’s cock slowly started to feel thicker, as if your pussy was swelling around him even harder than before.

“Aaahhnnghh! Sunday, I’m close!” Sunday growled at the view of your body curling under him, giving him such a twisted, erotic view of you that made his cock twitch in the spot.

He had to swallow all the accumulated saliva pooling in his mouth so it wouldn’t drip down on you like a starved predator, although that wouldn’t be a bad alternative either.

“Let’s do it together, ok?” He tried his best to remain calm and sane for the sake of ‘purity’.

You nodded weakly and Sunday started pinching your clit rather than just rubbing it in loops, trying to tick that orgasm out of you. Your head rolled back once again, and Sunday took the opportunity to lean down and kiss you in multiple spots, starting from your collarbone to your neck and jaw as a way to comfort you through that building climax.

“It’s coming..!” He grunted with a lot of effort, his heart aching due to exhaustion it was going through.

And finally, with a final thrust of his, you started feeling a whole load of a hot liquid being spilled inside you mercilessly. No matter if Sunday had thrusted you the deepest he could, he still kept pushing his hips inside you while pulling your hips closer, trying all his best to make sure that you’d drink in every drop of him cum so he wouldn’t need to sin with you like that anymore.

Your whole body spasmed accompanied by a desperate scream, feeling your womb release all of your buildup with Sunday like a firework bring fired. You were absolutely surprised with that new feeling, not expecting such ecstasy to overtake your whole body so easily.

Sunday was also grunting in a high volume, but still sane enough to bite his inferior lip and hold most of it back.

Lord almighty..!

I never expected this to feel so—!

Argh!

Control yourself, Sunday!

Neither of you knew what to say. The more that sensation of orgasming dissolved, the more you two quietly stared at each other’s face, beginning to feel guilty immediately while still trying your best to not look down at the rest of his body.

You saw Sunday swallow hard again.

“We’re…” It still seemed like Sunday was too distracted by the view of your flushed face to continue speaking properly. “We’re done.” Even though his words claimed finality, his body didn’t dare move a single inch out of you.

“Yeah…” You were too distracted by his sweaty face too.

“Ok…” He awkwardly mumbled, and after some other seconds staring at you, he finally covered his eyes with his wings once again, and begun the process of pulling out.

You, as obedient as you’ve always been, decided to cover your eyes too, and let the moment finally be over.

As soon as you felt Sunday’s body moving away from you to get up, the first thing you did was immediately sit up and cover yourself with the sheets of the bed.

You had finally seen your husband, who you’ve known for over 5 years now, naked.

You could hear the sounds of the bedroom’s bathroom’s sink running water and noises that reminded you of someone washing their hands.

I have seen Y/N naked.

I have seen Y/N naked.

I have seen her breasts.

I have seen her vagina.

I have seen Y/N naked.

You couldn’t help but pout in your mind about the fact that you technically didn’t actually see Sunday’s penis.

It wouldn’t be that bad if you peeked at it when he came back, right?

Ok, Sunday, breathe in… breathe out…

You’ve exhausted her and yourself.

Is she even ok..?!

“Y/N.” You heard his voice back to his normal tone again.

“Yes..?!” You were awaken from your perverted thoughts, slightly getting scared with his call.

“Are you… ok?” His voice sounded a little bit more low and embarrassed now as he’s asked that intimate question.

“Yes…” You were embarrassed too.

“Do you want me to bring you a cup of tea?” His body lingered against the wall that separated the bathroom and bedroom.

“I… sure.” Your mouth watered at the thought of drinking a good cup of tea, now realizing how your throat was dry.

“Ok.” You heard his steps slowly becoming more and more distant.

After a few minutes of silence in the room, and many noises of things moving in the kitchen, he came back to the bedroom, still naked, with half his face censored by his wings.

“Sorry, I…” You finally realized Sunday was carrying an entire tray of appetizers and that he was walking towards you too. “I was a little thirsty too.”

“It’s ok! Thank you for… bringing more than just tea.” You gently placed your hands on the edges of the tray, trying to replace his grip with yours, but that caused him to twitch, rumbling many of the glasses in the tray.

Luckily, none of the cups had fallen, but you had to hold one to make sure it wasn’t going to fall.

“I-I’m sorry!” He quickly let go of the tray as soon you were officially carrying it.

You giggled in response.

“It’s ok, Sunday…” You quickly placed it down at your lap and started exploring the menu of sweets while your back relaxed at the fluffiness of the pillow.

Be a man, Sunday!

It’s just your wife!

Your… naked wife.

…

Oh, God, why did I remember that?

“I brought your favorites…” You saw his wings tightening around his head, practically blinding him entirely, finally giving you a chance to…

…

Oh,

My

God.

How did that fit inside you..?!?!

He’s gigantic and he’s not even hard anymore!

You quickly censored your naughty eyes using your white feathers and tried focusing on the food.

“Thank you.” Your voice sounded more unstable now that you were a little embarrassed again. “You can… lay down. No need to keep watching me.” You tapped the sheets beside you, and Sunday immediately took the order.

He quickly walked to your side and sat down on it just like you, staring at the wall ahead of you two blankly.

Neother of you could help but remember.

The wet, slapping noises.

“I feel so good!”

“I love you, Y/N…”

“Do it, Sunday! Do it!”

“Impregnate you in a single round…”

Both your wings shivered remembering those moments and dramatizing them with your own little fantasies.

You, imagining this more dominant and confident Sunday, particularly trying to make you feel the most pleasure between you two.

And Sunday, imagining this more submissive and loving woman, smiling and enjoying every ounce of his dick inside you, praising him and embracing him.

While you enjoyed your lunch, he couldn’t help but become more and more nervous about the fact that he wasn’t doing anything at all. He was just sitting and staring at the wall after finally having sex for the first time in his life. How pathetic could that be?!

“It was good.” He suddenly blurted, making you turn your head to him immediately in shock.

Although you were munching the sweets he brought you, you were also doing nothing rather than stare at the wall, which was why you got so shocked at listening to his voice out of nowhere.

And you didn’t what to say.

A). Pretend like you didn’t hear so he’d feel more comfortable in stating that confession again.

B). Thank him.

Or…

C). Reciprocate.

And at the desperation of the moment…

“Thank you… Itfeltgoodformetoo.” You quickly rambled your confession to not overload yourself with embarrassment.

B and C.

Sunday couldn’t help but feel glad when he heard that, his wings flapping gently as a response. Yours were barely flapping too, but you were really trying to not let that happen, and was succeeding.

“May I have a piece of—” Sunday begun reaching his hand to your tray, and you immediately leaned it closer to him.

“Yes.” He was surprised at your instant reaction, but he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity given to him.

You and him shared food with each other while still staring at the wall to reflect over what tou two just did, now with the tray between you too. Your hands sometimes bumped at each other, which made the both of you flinch, but quickly, your hands finally couldn’t feel nothing on the plates with sweets rather than their glassy texture, nor would any liquid slide to your mouth whenever you placed the cup on top of your inferior lip.

Finally, the tray was carefully put on your nightstand, and you finally laid your whole body down, turning your body to the wall instead of Sunday.

He was a little concerned when he saw you neglecting him like that, his eyes stoned at your sleeping figure so hard you could feel his stare. When he laid down his whole body too, you didn’t feel him choosing a side, meaning he was probably staring at the roof at this moment.

Did I… take it too far..?

Was she lying about her liking it?

Is she scared about the fact that I’ve sinned and made her sin too?

Oh, God… I messed up, haven’t I?

After a few minutes of attempting to rest your brain, you finally felt Sunday moving in the bed.

And… you were feeling him move closer to you.

You felt something touch and embrace your hips from behind, making you immediately look backwards.

“Y/N…” Sunday’s sweet voice whispered in your ear, truly apologetic. “I’m sorry if I… scared you. We can go to church tomorrow as soon as possible to repent—” His embrace became a little tougher as he tried to compensate you.

“Scared..? I’m not scared…” You really didn’t understand what Sunday meant with that apology, cutting him off before he could get you even more confused.

“You… aren’t..?” You felt his head move upwards, trying to take a better look at your whole face, feeling warmer seeing how normal it seemed.

“I’m just… a little embarrassed.” You looked away from his mesmerizing face again.

“Oh…” Sunday’s wings almost closed his entire face again as he remembered the act you two just did, but after confessing that, you finally felt a little bit more… free.

You started worming in the bed, trying to turn around in a way that wouldn’t move too much of Sunday’s hand in your hip, and you finally managed to do it in a few seconds.

“I really hope I get pregnant…” Both yours and Sunday’s wings flapped with your words.

Is it ok to wish she doesn’t get pregnant?

…

Probably no…

But…

“Do you think it’s ok if we kiss each other right now? Despite being naked? Because I really want to kiss you right now.” Sunday’s cheeks darkened in red as he also confessed his affection, his wings indecisive rather they flapped away or in direction of his face.

“I… I think it is…” You immediately started leaning your head closer to Sunday’s.

And it didn’t take him a second to reach your lips.

Nor did it take him another second to use his arms to embrace the back of your chest. Arms, hands and fingers, all clinging into you while you two shared a passionate kiss at 12 AM.

Taglist: @komelliko

(Not tagging anyone else because I don’t know how you guys feel about Honkai Star Rail posts)

Don’t forget to like and comment if you liked it <3

[katsu28]

connection

pairing: max verstappen x reader

summary: when a holiday gala that neither you nor max want to be at brings two people from vastly different worlds together, you find out that you might have more in common with the four time world champion than you think you do. (3.6k)

warnings: swearing, creepy men (not max don’t worry)

a/n: day three with max :) somewhere along the way this became less of a holiday fic and more of me projecting onto my characters but fuck it we ball! 

You don’t want to be here. 

Truthfully, toting around trays of champagne flutes and painfully tiny hors d'oeuvres to fancy rich people is the last place you want to be on a Saturday night, but your friend had roped you into working this event with her and you need the extra money a holiday event pays, so here you are. 

You’re not even sure what exactly it is either. All you know is that it’s some gala for folks in a totally different tax bracket than you, and you need to be on your best behavior—which, you’ll admit, isn’t your strong suit.

Your loved ones would say your headstrong, take-no-shit personality is one of your admirable qualities, but you know they only say that because they know the real you. 

These people don’t. They don’t need to. All they need from you is whatever you’ve got on the silver platter you’re holding. 

You glide through the crowd like a woman on a mission, turning up the charm to an eleven to get rid of these beef tartare crostinis as fast as you can. 

It’s part of the job description, but apparently some of these old men think you’re throwing yourself at them. The amount of ass patting bordering on groping, and sleazy comments about how you’re young enough to be their daughters you’ve had to endure in the last few hours is astonishing, and not in a good way. 

What you want to do is slam them upside the head with your tray, but you can’t. So you grin and bear it, redirecting their leering as best you can without causing a scene. What a way to start the festive season…not. 

Soon enough you’re out of food and you’re glad for it, because it grants you even just a little reprieve when you return to the kitchen. 

“I swear to god, I’m gonna punch one of those old fucks,” You fume, having just pushed through the adjoining door leading from the ballroom. 

Your friend offers an amused snort from where she’s waiting on a refill of stuffed figs. “Yeah, don’t do that, probably.” 

“They’re disgusting.” 

“They’re entitled.” 

“Okay, so they’re disgusting and entitled. God, the nerve!” 

“Y’know what, maybe you should take your break now? Cool off a little bit before you rip someone's throat out and get us both fired?” She tips her chin towards your hands, and when you look down, your fists are clenched. You’ve got them clenched so tight your nails are starting to dig crescent shaped divots in your palm. Any tighter and you’re sure to draw blood. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s—I’m gonna go,” You mutter. You can’t afford to be dismissed from the event and lose out on the payday. The best thing to do is find somewhere quiet, somewhere you can be alone and settle your temper. 

-------

Max doesn’t want to be here. 

Truthfully, milling around shaking hands and making small talk with these people is the last thing he wants to be doing on a Saturday night, but he has obligations to fulfill, appearances he needs to make to cast Red Bull in an admirable light in this season of giving, so here he is. 

His suit is expensive but itchy, the starched collar of his crisp button up pulled too tight around his neck. What he wants to do is rip it off and go home to his cats, but he can’t.

So he grins and bears it, summoning all his years of PR training to get through the next few hours as best he can. 

“Max, there you are!” His press officer materializes right next to him, clamping a hand down on his arm. He bristles a bit at the sudden touch, but it soon dissipates as he realizes it just means he has yet another hand to shake and conversation to make. “There’s some people you should meet with. They’re from one of our smaller sponsors, but important nonetheless. Think you should have a conversation, find some common ground.” 

“Do I have to?” The question is a moot point, but Max feels the need to ask anyway. Just in case the answer has changed since the last time he asked. When all they do is fix him to the spot with a deadpan look, he sighs. “Yeah, heard. Lead the way.” 

Small talk comes easily to him at this point, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t mind numbingly boring listening to the two middle aged men go on and on about something Max couldn’t care less about. 

To the untrained eye, it would appear that he’s listening intently, feeding into their words with every carefully timed nod of the head. A chuckle here, a smile there. All the while, he’s itching to get away. The itch grows and grows and grows until Max can’t take it anymore.

He has to go somewhere. Anywhere other than here. 

Before he can second guess his gut feeling, he excuses himself quickly and expertly, making his way carefully through the crowd and towards the nearest exit. Another glass of champagne couldn’t hurt, so he snags one off a tray on his way out, sipping on it leisurely as he searches for a place to be alone. 

That’s how he finds himself outside in this open area looking over the water, somewhere completely empty and quiet, save for the slight breeze sending tiny waves splashing against the rocks below. 

Max sheds his jacket, undoes the first few buttons of his pressed shirt so he doesn’t feel like he’s being choked anymore. His chin tips towards the sky, eyes scanning the sky above. 

The moon is out in full swing tonight, hanging big and bright in the sky, illuminating the beautiful architecture around him. Max has always liked the moon. It represents success and fulfillment and power, but also has an element of mystery to it. He thinks that, in a way, the moon is kind of like him. 

He doesn’t know how long he stays here, just knows that he doesn’t want to go back inside. Finds himself dreading it, actually. Knows that inevitably he’ll have to make his return, but he’ll delay it as long as he can before someone comes looking for him.  

The sound of a heavy door creaking open draws his attention a little while later, and it makes him sigh. Looks like his time hiding out here is over. He pushes off the pillar he’s leaning on, ready to spin some half assed excuse, but then he hears it.

“Fuck!” You bite out, letting the door slam behind you. The empty area provides an echo to your dramatics. 

Max peers wide eyed around at the sudden expletive, spotting you across the way. So…definitely not his press officer. You’re already pacing back and forth, hands on your hips as you shake your head. 

He should say something, right? Announce his presence? 

He’s about to, but then you start muttering to yourself, something about old rich men thinking they can do whatever they want just because they have money. Colored by a plethora of choice swear words, you look and sound entirely pissed off. 

Probably best to leave you alone for the time being. He doesn’t know you, but he knows anger, and yours has a fire that almost rivals his. You’re also very pretty, but he pushes that thought aside for the time being. 

For the first time tonight, Max’s interest is piqued. Even so, he feels like he’s encroaching on something too personal, too private for anyone else’s ears. 

Maybe he can sneak away undetected? 

He doesn’t remember the champagne glass he’d set down until his foot hits it, and then it’s too late. Thankfully it doesn’t shatter, but the clinking against the cobblestones as it rolls away gives him up automatically. Your head snaps towards his general vicinity, eyes going wide with fear. 

Max imagines it’s probably scary for you to think you’re alone and realize that you’re not, and he’s not a monster. He has no choice but to step out from the shadows, raising a hand in awkward greeting. “...Hi.” 

“Jesus. Shit. Uh, I didn’t know anyone was out here,” You breathe, already slipping back into that carefully practiced professionality. Embarrassment and a little bit of shame runs through you at the same time as realization blooms of who this man is. Everyone knows Max Verstappen is, and you just cussed out his colleagues big time. Oh, you’re so getting fired. “Sorry you had to see that, Mr. Verstappen.” 

Max waves a hand in the air with a shake of his head. “Please, we don’t have to do that. Call me Max.”

It feels a little wrong to do so, but you oblige. “Right. Well, sorry you had to witness that, Max.” 

“Oh, that was nothing. Plus, god knows I’ve done worse.” Somehow, that doesn’t make you feel any better. Max steps out a little further into the light, stooping down to grab the rolling glass before it gets too far. “Is everything alright? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

“Does it look like everything is alright?” You shoot back, throwing your hands up into the air. Then you remember just who the fuck you’re talking to and you freeze. “Sorry! I am so sorry, I—” You take a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment. Max isn’t who you’re mad at. This has nothing to do with him at all. “You didn’t do anything, I shouldn’t be taking my anger out on you. I apologize. Again.” 

Max feels his lips quirk into a smile. He doesn’t remember the last time someone had spoken back at him like that. It’s actually quite refreshing. “No need. Probably very warranted too. I’ve been told I’m quite a good listener, if you need to let things out.” 

“I shouldn’t,” You sigh, pressing your lips together. Max raises a questioning brow. “It would be extremely unprofessional.” 

“You’ve just caught me out here hiding from doing my job. I think we’re past professionalism at this point,” He snorts. He takes a seat on one end of the concrete bench nearest, tipping his head towards the empty space next to him. “The floor is yours.” 

You explain your situation as best you can without getting too heated again, half expecting Max to grow defensive of his acquaintances—they always do. 

It’s a pleasant surprise when he does nothing of the sort. Instead he calls them all assholes, along with some other choice words you won’t dare repeat. He apologizes for them, says he’ll do his best to remedy the situation, but you’re sure all it’ll do is make things worse if he gets involved. 

“So…that’s why I’m out here. What’s your excuse?” You finish, letting your shoulders drop. It feels nice to get all of that off your chest for once, and to someone who actually gives a shit. 

Max sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. It probably makes it stick up at all odd angles, but he can’t bring himself to care. “I don’t really like these things. Talking to people, making small talk—between you and me, it’s the worst part of the job. Not my thing.” 

“You like to do your talking on the track,” You supply. 

Max lets out a sharp exhale, leaning back against his palms to regard you with careful amusement. “You watch?” 

“No, but I think I’d have to be living under a rock not to know a little bit about it. About you.” 

“And…what do you think you know about me?” He tilts his chin up almost in challenge, as if he’s daring you to analyze him. 

Challenge accepted. 

“I think you’re lonely.” 

A surprised laugh escapes from his mouth. He certainly wasn't expecting it, but quite enjoys your forwardness. “Well, that was unexpected. Why do you think that?” 

“You’re untouchable. A four time champion, I’ve heard.” 

“World champion,” Max corrects, but not obnoxiously. It seems like a habit to add that distinction, years and years of hard work and dedication and training for the recognition. 

“World champion, my bad.” You nod. “Congrats on that, by the way.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Like I said, untouchable. You’re the best of the best, and I’d assume even though it’s nice to be regarded as so, it’s hard for you to know when people actually want to know you, or if they just want something from you. Hence…why you’re out here.” 

“Whoa. Didn’t know this was going to turn into a therapy session.” 

“Am I wrong, though?” 

“No. You’re right on the nose, actually.” He shouldn’t be admitting this. He’s supposed to maintain the image that he has going for him, but something about you makes him feel like he can trust you with his true self. 

You’ve drifted closer together without realizing throughout your conversation, shoulders brushing, knees bumping. Max’s pinky moves to brush over yours. You let it happen. 

He’s got really pretty eyes, you notice, steel blue staring right back at you. Piercing the careful facade you have to put up when working these events. Some people are charming, and you’ve learned to keep yourself a closed book to keep yourself safe. But Max feels different. Max’s interest seems genuine. 

It only intrigues you even more. You don’t know him, but you want to. 

Max clears his throat suddenly. “I should go,” He says. 

You wait for him to back away, to put some space between the two of you, but he doesn’t. If anything, he looks like the last thing he wants to do is leave. 

Part of you wants him to stay, but you know he shouldn’t. The same is true for you. He needs to get back to his job, and you need to get back to yours. 

“Me too,” You reply, taking careful notice to keep your tone from sounding too dejected. “Thanks for listening to me rant. I feel a little better now.” 

“I’m glad I could help.” 

You force yourself to climb to your feet, putting that distance between Max and yourself up before you have the urge to do something rash. A flash of your mouth on his zips through your mind for a split second. 

No. You can't do that. 

“Bye, Max. It was nice meeting you.” 

“Yeah. Nice meeting you too.” 

Now is the time for you to leave—one foot in front of the other, away from him, back to reality. 

“Wait!” He calls before you can get far. You turn on your heel like you were expecting him to say something else, waiting for him to reach you. He catches your elbow, squeezing gently. “What are you doing after this is over?” 

“Honestly? I was going to go home and pass out on my couch.” Max’s eyebrows pinch in the middle. “But I could be persuaded otherwise. Why?” 

“Would you want to get a drink? With me.” 

“Not really helping the lonely allegations,” You tease, smiling warmly despite your ribbing. Max rolls his eyes goodnaturedly.  “Yeah, I’d love to grab a drink. But I don’t get off until late, so it might be a while.” 

“I’ll wait.” His answer is immediate. Firm. 

“Okay. Okay, cool,” You say, fighting a smile. “I’ll find you after everything is over.” 

“I’m counting on it.”

The night flies by faster now that you’ve got Max to look forward to by the end of it. By the time you’re freed from the shackles of customer service, you don’t feel as drained as you normally do. You’re strangely excited to get to know him some more. 

You find Max waiting for you just outside the coat check, pretty eyes searching the dwindling gala goers until he spots you approaching. He smiles, nods his head in greeting.

“Hi. Everything alright?” 

“It’ll be better the sooner we get out of here.” 

“Let’s go, then.” 

Instead of a bar, he brings you back to his place. It catches you by surprise when he asks, but he assures you it’s more for privacy purposes than anything else, strictly two new friends sharing a drink and some more conversation. 

You’re not sure what you were expecting for a man of his financial standing, but a massive penthouse overlooking Monte Carlo makes sense. You do your best to tame your reaction, but it really is impressive. 

His living room is probably the size of your whole apartment, and that’s just what you can see right now. A pristine white couch sits in the middle of the room on an even whiter carpet in front of a sleek, top of the line entertainment unit, and there’s some sort of sim racing setup with a fancy chair nestled in the far corner near a wall of floor to ceiling windows. Surrounding the rig are a handful of trophies and racing helmets, each of them polished to perfection. 

Over in the far corner is a huge evergreen tree, decorated with twinkling lights and silver baubles. It looks extremely professional, almost staged, and the more you look at it, the more you’re sure he hadn’t been the one to put it up.

“What do you like to drink? I’ll make you something.” Max’s voice pulls you out of your gawking at his home. Your eyes snap over to him hovering next to a bar cart stocked with liquor, sweeping a hand along the bottles. Twisting your lips to the side in contemplation, you tell him your drink of choice and he smiles. “Nice one. I’m more of a gin and tonic kind of guy, but hey, to each their own.” 

You find your way to one end of the giant sofa not long later, aforementioned gin and tonic in his hand, your drink nestled in yours. “I did you, now you do me.” 

Max nearly chokes on his drink, brows flying high at your bluntness. “Sorry, what?” 

You look unphased. “What do you think you know about me?” 

Oh. Of course that’s what you meant. 

He takes a few beats to ponder your question, eyes squinting in thought. Then he fixes you to the spot with a decisive look. 

“I think you have big dreams. Changing the world, making it a better place—but you haven’t quite figured out how to do it yet,” He says, tilting his head. Your chest tightens at his words, because they’re true. “You’re going in circles, not able to figure out that one thing that’ll break the cycle you’re stuck in. I think once you do figure it out, you’re going to do great things. Big things.” 

Like before, somehow the space between the two of you has dwindled into nearly nothing as he looks at you so intently with those piercing eyes of his. You’re a little surprised by how on the nose he is about you, but it also makes sense. Max seems very observant. Perhaps it comes from being on the lookout all the time. 

“If the racing doesn’t work out, you might want to consider psychology,” You manage to say. 

He chuckles, nose scrunching. “Sure, I’ll think about it. Though I think it’s going pretty well at the moment.” 

-------

“When can I see you again?” He asks a while later, head lolling to face you lazily.

His hand has somehow found its way spread over your knee, nimble fingers tap tap tapping mindlessly. The first few buttons of his shirt have been undone, hair mussed from how often he'd been dragging his fingers through it.

Your drinks have worn off ages ago, but you still feel warm and fuzzy. Though you suspect it’s more from the man you’re with rather than the residual alcohol talking. 

You’ve been getting to know each other as the night goes on, swapping stories about your lives until you feel like you haven’t just met him a few hours ago. His are by far much more entertaining than yours, but Max seems to enjoy the mundane of yours. 

Part of you is surprised by his question. In your mind, you were expecting this to just be a one time thing. An easy way to fill a boring night, never to be thought about again. But Max does want to see you again. You don’t let it phase you. Instead, you raise an amused brow. 

“Why? You planning on kicking me out anytime soon?” You joke. Max’s fingers twitch, and he shakes his head. 

“No, I just—I’d like to see you again, is that so wrong?” 

“Not at all. I’d like that too.” You smile at him. “Though it is getting late, so I should probably head out anyways.” 

Max doesn’t push for you to stay, just nods understandingly. “You’re sure you’re okay to make it home on your own? Let me order you an Uber,” He says, digging his phone out of his pocket. 

“Yes, Max, I’m fine. And I can get my own Uber, thank you very much.” 

“Please, let me. I asked you here, the least I can do is pay for your ride home.” He seems like a very insistent person, so you sigh goodnaturedly, waving a hand for him to go ahead. When he’s done and a car is on its way, he turns to you, propping his chin up in the palm of his hand. “I had a nice time tonight.”

You scoff lightly, raising a brow. “I recall you saying something about how company galas are the worst part of your job.” 

“I dunno, this one wasn’t that bad.” Max shrugs, a fond smile playing at his lips. “I met you, didn’t I?” 

“Best night of your life then, huh?” You tease, winking at him. 

“It’s definitely up there.” 

“Too bad it’s ending soon.” 

“Too bad,” He echoes. He tilts his head, rubs at the smooth fabric of the sofa cushion just so he has something to do with his hand. “Looks like we’ll have to see each other again soon.” 

You have all the time in the world to unravel the mystery that is Max Verstappen, if he’ll let you. And judging by the way his hand inches towards yours until your fingers intertwine while you’re waiting for your Uber to come, he will.

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new writing :)

[1425fivefive]

landoscar & overstim for the kink prompts ?

landoscar & overstimulation my beloved!! (from the kink prompt asks)

“Please, I can’t—” Oscar breaks off on a frantic moan, thighs twitching next to Lando’s ears. When Lando glances up at him, Oscar’s eyes are squeezed shut, brows pulled together, hands tugging uselessly at the cuffs hooking his wrists to the headboard.

Lando mentally pats himself on the back for having the foresight to handcuff Oscar for this. He knows if Oscar could he’d be shoving Lando away, shaking from oversensitivity.

As it is, Oscar can only let out a devastated whimper when Lando sucks Oscar’s soft cock into his mouth, still sticky with the remnants of Oscar’s last orgasm. Lando wonders idly how many times he can make Oscar come tonight. This will only be Oscar’s second, and he’s already acting like he’s being tortured, back arching off the bed like he’s being electrocuted every time Lando licks over the head of his cock.

“Lando,” Oscar whimpers, flushed and sweaty, trying to twist away from Lando’s mouth. “Please, you have to—it’s so—oh.”

Oscar breaks off on a shaky moan, mouth dropping open as Lando slips two fingers into Oscar’s arse. The slide’s easy. Oscar’s still wet and open from when Lando fucked him. Lando aims for his swollen prostate right away, rubbing mercilessly as he starts up a steady rhythm on Oscar’s stiffening cock.

“Fuck, shit, I—” Oscar gasps, thighs slamming shut, whacking one of Lando’s ears.

Lando pulls off. “Should’ve tied your ankles too,” Lando muses, wincing when he brings the hand not currently buried in Oscar up to rub his sore ear.

Oscar immediately lets his thighs fall open, looking down at Lando with a devastated expression. “Sorry,” Oscar whispers.

“Nah, all good,” Lando says, leaning down to press a kiss to Oscar’s sensitive cock, grinning when Oscar whimpers. “Just, like, maybe try not to knee me in the face again? Sort of trying to ruin you right now.”

Oscar lets out a shaky laugh that turns into a moan halfway through when Lando slips a third finger into his arse.

“Maybe next time?” Oscar asks.

Oscar’s voice was so quiet Lando’s not sure he heard him correctly. “What next time?”

“Maybe next time you could like”—Oscar takes a shuddery breath, flush darkening—“tie my ankles, too.”

“God,” Lando moans, heat shooting through him at the confirmation that Oscar likes this, that Oscar likes this enough to want Lando to do it again.

Lando can’t help himself, has to lean down and suck Oscar’s cock into his mouth, groaning at the taste of Oscar’s pre-come dribbling onto his tongue. An image flashes through Lando’s mind of making Oscar come so much that he doesn’t have anything left, his cock twitching and throbbing with nothing coming out. Giving all of it to Lando.

Before long, Oscar’s trembling under him, cock growing impossibly harder in Lando’s mouth, leaking pre-come. Lando knows he’s close. Knows it’ll only take one well-timed thrust against Oscar’s prostate to have Oscar spilling in his mouth.

Oscar can’t stop whining, face, neck, and chest all flushed a gorgeous pink. His hair’s sticking to his forehead and he’s hiding his eyes against his bicep, like he can’t bear to see what Lando’s doing to him. Lando knows it probably hurts, knows Oscar wants to come even as he’s achy and oversensitive, even as he knows Lando won’t stop even after he comes. The thought has Lando’s hips hitching against the bedsheets, trying to get some relief.

“Close,” Oscar gasps. He doesn’t sound happy about it and Lando sees a tear slip from the corner of Oscar’s eye.

When Lando moans around him and sucks hard, exactly the way Oscar normally likes, Oscar lets out a desperate sob, shaking his head frantically. “No,” Oscar begs. “No, I—don’t make me come.”

Lando doesn’t hear Oscar’s safe word, so he keeps doing exactly what he’s doing.

Oscar comes with an awful little whimper, whole body shaking as he fills Lando’s mouth with a pitiful amount of come. When Lando keeps sucking even after Oscar’s come, Oscar’s leg kicks out and his hands open wide above his head, fingers splaying out.

“Stop,” Oscar pleads, twisting underneath him. “Please, stop, I can’t—oh.”

But Lando keeps sucking him, enjoying the sobs Oscar lets out, the way he can’t seem to figure out whether he’s loving or hating it, pushing up and pulling away from Lando’s mouth.

Eventually, Lando’s own arousal is too pressing to ignore and he pulls off Oscar’s cock, shuffling up the bed.

Oscar goes lax against the bed, brow smoothing, and Lando wants to laugh when he realizes Oscar thinks they’re done. That Lando would really let him off the hook after two measly orgasms.

Lando doesn’t say anything to correct that misunderstanding, just grabs the lube and slicks up his cock.

Oscar doesn’t realize what’s happening until Lando’s already pushing in.

Oscar’s eyes fly open and he looks up at Lando with a panicked expression, his face wet with sweat and tears, skin flushed an outraged pink.

“God, Osc,” Lando moans, getting his hands on the backs of Oscar’s thighs and pushing, spreading Oscar open. The slide’s impossibly easy, Oscar too fucked out to do anything more than moan and clench weakly around Lando, rim barely able to tighten.

“Lando,” Oscar whines. “I can’t—hurts.”

Lando snorts. “What’re you complaining about? You get to come again.”

Oscar’s eyes go wide and he shakes his head, frantic. “No, I don’t—I don’t want to.”

“Already, Osc?” Lando asks with a mean little laugh. He starts up a steady rhythm, moaning at the sight of Oscar’s soft cock bouncing against his stomach. “Remember you saying you could give me at least four.”

Oscar screams at that, toes curling, hands scrabbling at the cuffs. “I can’t,” Oscar pleads. “I can’t, fuck, no.”

Lando shrugs, bringing a hand down to play with Oscar’s spent cock, heat flaring in his belly when Oscar sobs at the feeling, trying to get away.

“Nah, you’re right,” Lando says. “Reckon you can give me at least five.”

[acowardinmordor]

I think when Steve gets Vecna'd, Eddie adds together what he knows about the situation and comes to a logical conclusion. To him at least. He knows that Steve came here asking for heavy drugs and high quantities. He knows that Steve was sounding a hell of a lot like 'sleep' meant something worse.

He knows that Steve is X, and that means all of the horrible things that Eddie knows X thinks about himself, the guy in front of him thinks that too. He knows that Steve, ever since the letters stopped, has been upsetting the freshmen by being distant and cold.

The only assumption he can come up with is that Steve already took something, and it's hit. Or it's causing a reaction. Or its a bad trip.

He has no hesitation about touching him, immediately checks his breathing and his heart rate. It sorta, kinda seems like an overdose, a little bit could be an allergic reaction, but Steve is trembling like he's scared, and his body is stiff. Those explanations don't make perfect sense, so he watches for something that would mean it IS medical, and heads towards his better guess.

Bad Trip.

Steve is high, and is in a bad brain place, and that means he needs to be grounded. Music helps, right? When he was on that bad trip with Rick after his first senior year, Rick put on one of Eddie's tapes, and talked to him. Calm shit. Encouraging shit.

Eddie fully ignores the flickering lights - electrical gets weird in the trailer sometimes - and grabs the mixtape he made for X, and shoves it into his sorta fucky boombox. It's a mix of X's favorite songs, and the ones he mentioned in his own letters. He doesn't know if Steve ever listened to them, but that tape is the only thought he has.

Gets it playing, and grabs hold of Steve's arms. He knows that Steve stopped talking to him. Since Steve knew who he was, and Eddie didn't know who X was, it means Steve probably doesn't care if Eddie wants him to be okay.

Eddie talks about how everyone else feels.

He tells him about how protective Dustin is. How angry Lucas gets anytime anyone says a bad word about Steve. How Eddie has never seen Robin smile so much. How no one judges him for needing to repeat a year. Everyone knows about how hurt he got, and everyone gets it. No one thinks worse of him for it.

He knows his voice isn't exactly calm and soothing, but the longer this insane eye-flutter, non responsive thing goes, the more terrified Eddie is.

"Steve, please, please, it's okay. Just find your way back. try to breathe, try to feel your body, and you'll be okay. I know - I know I've been an asshole to you. I know, okay. But the boys, Robin, shit, fuck, Steve, I need to apologize for shit, so you gotta slow down your breathing. Whatever you're seeing, it isn't real. I promise it's not real, okay? Come back to the real world and I can get you feeling better, I promise. Steve? Steve?"

He doesn't notice at first that Steve is starting to float. He's too focused on his face, the way his eyes are still rolled back. He lets go before he can notice his own hands rising with him. Shits too real, this isn't just a bad trip, he needs help, he needs an ambulance, a cop, anyone that can actually help Steve.

He has the phone in hand, and is about to dial when he turns back, needing to keep looking at him while he begs someone to come fast. He sees Steve in the air.

One step closer, then another. He keeps trying, another whispered sentence or three. But the lights are going crazy, and the music is staticky, the dialtone is screaming, and suddenly Steve is flattened to the ceiling, arms pulling slowly to the sides.

Eddie runs.

Leaves the door swung open as he throws himself into his van. His hands are shaking and he's hyperventilating too hard to notice Max Mayfield sprinting across the road, up the stairs and into the trailer. He's pulling away, when Max screams as Steve falls.

He hears the scream, he hears and feels the heavy thump of a weight hitting the ground. He knows what that sound must mean.

Eddie runs.

Behind him with the tape still playing, Max holds onto a terrified Steve, who has trickles of blood on his cheeks, and bruises blooming on his arms.

Steve, alive, cursed, who immediately asks if Eddie is safe.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One ThirtyNine

prompt from @mugloversonly @after-the-end-times @spectrum-spectre

It’s a little odd having a birthday banner hanging across the Christmas Tree, but everyone was pretty determined that this is Eddie’s birthday, and that’s a totally different thing to Christmas Eve. So everyone is here; Joyce even baked a proper birthday cake, and now they’re doing the thing where they bring out the cake and everyone sings.

It feels bittersweet to Steve; Eddie’s first birthday. It was a year ago today that Steve pulled Eddie out of the pool. A year ago today Eddie came back to him. He remembers vividly struggling to get Eddie up the stairs. Cleaning all the filth off him. How he’d looked, with no hair at all, all skin and bones, wobbling his way down the stairs. The noise he’d made the first time he ever tried bacon; the startled look on his face the first time he’d ever hiccuped.

Eddie stays where he’s been put, sitting at the head of dining room table, proudly wearing a Birthday party hat. Eddie’s been to a couple of birthdays this year, mainly for the kids, so he knows what’s coming. He looks fucking delighted at the sight of the cake, but he still checks, “I can blow out the candles?”

“Yeap,” Steve tells him.

“Make a wish first!” Joyce calls.

“I wish-”

“Nooooooo!” probably half a dozen people yell, “keep it a secret or it won’t come true,” Robin adds. Eddie stares hard at the candles for a long second, and then he looks up, finding Steve. Steve can see the moment Eddie settles on his wish.

He’s still staring at Steve when he blows them out.

“So...things with Eddie are good then?”

It’s a little uncomfortable, but all the stuff that happened feels like it was a long time ago now. Nancy has definitely been making an effort to build a fresh friendship, and Steve can’t fault her for it, not really. Steve finds Eddie, he can see him through the doorway into the kitchen, making something with Robin and Chrissy, “yeah everything is...great. Like really great.”

“I was...a little surprised, you know?”

“Yeah that’s...understandable,” and it is. Eddie is literally a creature from The Upside Down; he didn’t even look remotely human to begin with, half of him was literally a fish. Plus Steve’s never really been interested in guys before, but he guesses there must have always been a little something there for him to take to it so easily. Granted the circumstances forced his hand a little, and he’s still had a couple of things to work through but...he feels pretty good about it. Besides, Eddie still isn’t even really human, so it probably doesn’t exactly count. Not with his lack of nipples and his downstairs situation anyway; you can’t exactly try to stick Eddie into a category...he’s Eddie, a unique and perfect thing all his own.

In the kitchen, Robin spills something, Chrissy shrieks and Eddie manically dashes for a cloth, cackling. The chaos of it makes Steve smile at them; everyone is at least a few drinks deep, Steve’s sure.

“You really care about him though?” She presses a little. Nancy’s never been able to just let it go, especially if she doesn’t understand it. She always needs to know, Steve’s pretty sure it’s not a nosiness thing; more an understanding thing.

“Yeah, yeah I love him,” Steve tells her unabashed, it is the truth, “he loves me too.”

“You’re sure it’s not just...I mean you did rescue him, plus, where would he even go if you weren't together-”

“Are you suggesting Eddie has some sort of-of-of Stockholm syndrome?” Steve can’t help but laugh, a little incredulous at the suggestion.

“Well no, I just. Think you should both be sure-”

“How are you and Jon then?” Steve cuts her off. He chooses to lean into the spirit of Christmas and assume that Nancy’s concerns all come from a good place. Even so, it’s not a good intention Steve has to tolerate if he doesn’t want to. He raises his eyebrows at her, waiting.

Nancy draws breath, like she’s not done, but then clearly rethinks it and chooses her battle, Steve can see the moment when she decides not to pursue it, sipping her drink before she replies, “yeah, really good,” over her shoulder, Eddie, Chrissy, and Robs have their heads together, the conversation clearly turned serious.

“That’s good Nance,” Steve chooses to be the bigger man, “I’m just really glad you’re both happy,” he tells her pointedly. In the kitchen, Eddie’s turned to find Steve, watching him back. Steve can’t quite decipher the look on his face, but Robin’s clutching his arm, on her toes, speaking urgently to Eddie. She looks kind of panicked, which immediately worries Steve.

“Well, I mean, obviously I want you to be happy, I mean I’m glad, really glad it all worked out for you.”

Eddie has a look on his face that Steve’s pretty certain he’s never seen before. He can’t quite work out what it means other than...Eddie’s pissed. Like, really fucking angry. And he’s marching closer, shaking off both Robin and Chrissy in the process.

Steve has no clue what’s happening as Eddie approaches, pushing Steve away from Nancy to press him against the wall and then...kisses him. Steve has his eyes open, not sure what to make of Eddie’s rage, but he soon lets them slide closed. He melts against the wall. Eddie’s kissing him like he’s got something to prove. He’s almost bitey as he sucks at Steve’s lips, leaving little scrapes that don’t quite break the skin. The passion is surprising, but so fucking hot Steve leans into it fast, matching Eddie’s energy and he sucks on Eddie’s tongue, curling his fingers around Eddie’s hips to pull him closer, no longer wanting to stop to question Eddie’s motives.

Eddie pulls back, pink and flushed, an inch of space between them, panting for breath Eddie asks, “you and Nancy used to be together?”

“I-” Steve can’t help his gaze flicking side wards to Nancy, and then back to Eddie, Eddie’s eyes narrowing at the sight, something flashing in the depths, “yeah?” Steve confirms weakly.

Eddie presses closer, his claws pricking Steve’s skin through his clothes; Eddie’s never been possessive like this before, and Steve is...well they’ve had a lot of sex, and Eddie pressing himself against Steve like this, kissing him like that...Steve’s body is only reacting the way it always does, which is a little mortifying in a room full of people.

Eddie leans his face closer again, his hair brushing Steve’s forehead, his breath warm as he growls, “you had sex with her?”

“Eddie!” Steve splutters, but apparently even that is too much, Eddie has him by the wrist, not quite painful, but very harsh compared to Eddie’s usually gentle nature. Eddie turns, pulling Steve along and he...bares his teeth at Nancy, actually hissing at her on the way past.

“Eddie!” Steve starts again, shocked, this time a reprimand, “be nice!” That’s no way to behave, and Nancy is unnerved enough that she takes a big step back. Steve is dragged along behind Eddie, ending up locked into the downstairs bathroom together. Eddie pins him against the door with his body, kissing Steve soundly.

“Baby,” Steve starts, his words broken by kisses, “what’s gotten into you?”

Eddie just growls. It’s not a sound Steve’s ever heard before, and he can feel it, rumbling in Eddie’s body where their chests are pressed together, “need you.”

Eddie starts nipping at Steve’s throat, stinging kisses that makes Steve’s hips roll, looking for friction against Eddie’s thigh. His brain feels like it’s going a little mushy, Eddie’s being unusually forceful, and Steve’s vaguely aware that everyone is still out there and, probably, are now very aware that they’re shut in here together but...as Eddie’s questing fingers find the button on Steve’s jeans, he’s struggling to care about that stuff.

“We’ve got to be quiet,” Steve breathes out, a final token protest, giving in to what's about to happen. Eddie huffs dismissively, tugging down Steve’s jeans and underwear together, Steve angling his hips away from the door to help. Eddie abandons them there, bunched around Steve’s thighs, surging up for another possessive kiss. Eddie grabs Steve’s bare ass with both hands, his claws digging into the meat a little as he squeezes, pulling Steve against him.

“She not touch you again,” Eddie growls against Steve’s mouth, words choppy, “promise.”

“I...I promise baby, of course,” Eddie stares into Steve’s face, their warm breaths mingling as Eddie inspects him from inches away, like he’s searching for any hint of a lie, “no one else ever again, I swear it.”

Eddie nods once, sharply, before spitting into his palm and grabbing Steve's now, very hard cock. He had no idea he’d be into this, but possessive, bossy Eddie is lighting him up in a way he didn’t know he’d like, his brain turning to mush a little as Eddie touches him. He feels too warm, flushed and sweaty already, the world narrowed down to Eddie’s touch on him, hard and fast, intent on getting him off.

“And you,” Steve’s mouth is insisting before his brain catches up, he needs it, needs to make Eddie feel good too. Eddie doesn’t stop jerking him, but he does slow it down, leaning back a tiny bit, giving Steve space to reach past the bend of Eddie’s own arm to get to the button on his jeans.

Steve sees the fabric move. He can see Eddie’s cock desperately wriggling for freedom beneath his zipper. Eddie’s told him before that it gets real uncomfortable real fast, and Steve tuts quietly, “baby.”

Eddie’s cock forces it's way free before Steve even has the zipper half down, already having found it’s way through the slit in Eddie’s boxers, it rushes into Steve’s fingers, greeting him eagerly and tangling itself firmly there. Eddie groans, shuffling close again. The head of Eddie’s cock opens, setting sucking kisses on every part of Steve’s hand and fingers it can reach. They arrange themselves as Eddie’s hand speeds up again, “fuck, baby, yeah.” Steve’s cock is leaking, making Eddie’s hand slick, but Eddie still stops to spit again, landing the glob on the exposed head of Steve’s cock. It’s red already, and Eddie squeezes, forcing Steve’s foreskin up to roll back up and partially cover the swollen head.

Steve’s guts are tight already, the muscles in his ass and legs tensing, he can’t stop the shift of his own hips as he works his thumb in circles across the head of Eddie’s own cock. Eddie jacks him again, slow and so firm, forcing a massive dribble of pre come out of the head of Steve’s cock. Steve groans again, “baby, I’m gonna’-”

“Wait,” Eddie uses his free hand to push Steve’s hand off himself, letting his cock to wriggle free between them. It stands tall, searching, the black petals rippling.

Eddie angles Steve’s cock out, pulling the head down and towards himself, and Steve instantly knows what Eddies planning, “oh fuck baby, yes, yes please.” They’ve never done this before, but just the idea of it makes Steve hips shift, his balls going tight, the orgasm bubbling at the base of his cock, “please, now,” Steve vaguely aware that he’s whining, loud and desperate.

People can hear; he doesn’t give a fuck. He wants this.

Eddie’s cock latches to the head of Steve’s, the black petals stark against the dark pink spongy head. The fit is perfect, the slit of Steve’s cock, the head, being suckled and gently rubbed by all those little bumps, the sucking pulse feels like a mouth, the texture incredible. Eddie drags his hand upward, forcing Steve’s skin up again, his foreskin sliding over top of the petals. Eddie makes a choked noise, his free hand scrabbling again at the meat of Steve’s ass. Steve desperately locks his knees to stop himself from falling. The pulsing, sucking, pulling sensation is relentless.

Eddie moves his hand again, dragging Steve's foreskin back down, revealing the filthy sight of those jet black petals cupping the head of Steve's cock, the body of Eddie's cock writhing. Steve’s head thumps back against the door, his hips wriggling now, unable to stop himself moving in tiny little thrusts, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” Steve groans, “baby-”

Eddie leans up for a kiss. It’s messy, uncoordinated, both of them groaning and panting into each others mouths, and Steve cries out against Eddie’s lips as he comes. The pull is sharp, the stimulation on the head of his cock turning frantic as, just like with Steve’s spit on his cock, Steve’s come works to push Eddie into his own orgasm. Eddie accidentally catches Steve’s lip with his teeth, and the sting is delicious. His orgasm seems to go on forever, Eddie's cock suckling fiercely, and Eddie’s hand working him so perfectly.

Eventually, Eddie slumps forward onto Steve, Steve using his back to the door to keep them both up. “That was…” Steve starts, but doesn’t know where to go. He doesn’t know how to describe what just happened. It was maybe the best orgasm of Steve’s life.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, muffled where his face is smushed into Steve’s shoulder. The head of Steve’s dick is suddenly cold, and he figures Eddie’s dick has gone back in. They stand there for a few minutes, Steve rubbing Eddie’s back, gathering themselves. Eddie clears his throat, lifting his head so he can look Steve in the eye, “I’m sorry.”

Steve frowns, brain still a little flooded with happy chemicals, “what?”

“For before. I just...I found out about you and Nancy and I got...I got so angry. It,” Eddie makes a motion between them, a churning of his insides that he can’t express, “I’ve never felt like that before it was...like I hated her. And I needed you and I don’t understand-”

“You were jealous, baby?”

“I...yeah, it was horrible. And stupid- I didn’t – there’s no-” Eddie huffs, struggling for the words.

“How you feel doesn’t always make sense. There’s no...rules, you know.” Steve frowns, remembering, “should probably say sorry to Nancy though, you like, hissed at her which, kind of funny but still.”

Eddie looks a cross between horrified and mortified, “I don’t even remember.”

“Wow,” Steve can’t help being smug, “got it bad for me, huh?”

Eddie limply slaps at Steve’s chest, sighing through his nose, “shut up.”

Steve hums, “uh huh. We should get cleaned up.”

“Probably.”

They peel themselves apart, Steve leaning to grab for some tissue off the roll as Eddie starts to pull his pants down a little, but as Steve investigates, his finds his cock dry, “huh, where did it go?” He wipes up a little, the skin tacky with spit and precome, but otherwise everything is clean and dry, “uh...is my come on you? I can’t, uhm, find it?” He tucks himself away, pulling everything up so he can help Eddie.

“I don’ t think so?” Eddie replies, touching himself, his slit, the crease of his thighs, when Steve goes to wipe at him with the tissue, since Eddie usually makes a lot of come, there’s nothing, “I’m clean,” Eddie tells him.

Steve frowns, “did you come?”

“Yeah,” Eddie huffs, “I definitely, definitely did. That was…”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, “but you’re dry?”

“Yeah,” Eddie scissors his thighs together, something he normally does when he’s spreading all the jelly like come about, “nothing there.”

“This is weird, where'd it all go? And why haven’t you, you know?” Steve feels for himself, running two fingers gently along Eddie’s slit, pushing in to part him the tiniest bit, Eddie makes a breathy little noise as Steve pulls away, “you sure you came?”

“Steve,” Eddie replies flatly, pulling his pants up and buttoning them.

“Right right it’s just...weird, right?”

Eddie shrugs, “makes it easy?”

“Yeah...don’t look a gift horse in the mouth I guess, considering we now have to go out there and face everyone.”

Eddie grins, “I like that they know.”

“Of course you do,” Steve sighs, fixes his hair in the mirror, and opens the door.

It’s after midnight; Eddie’s birthday is officially over. All the kids have gone home with Hopper and Joyce, and before everyone else heads home, since it’s Christmas, they’re going to exchange gifts now.

Steve had been, mildly mortified after they came out of the bathroom, not really wanting to face Joyce's raised eyebrows or the girls giggling...Eddie however, has been strutting around like a proud peacock, so Steve hasn't been feeling too ashamed about the whole thing. He is however, glad of the distraction of the gifts.

All the gifts are stacked under the tree, and Steve has been voted to distribute. A lot of the labels have been made from cut up magazine letters so that the hand writing won’t be recognized; to Steve they vaguely look like ransom threats.

They go around the room, opening their gifts one at a time, trying to guess who got them. They mostly work it out. Steve isn’t that interested in his own; he’s more interested in what Eddie got. The box is actually kind of heavy, and it’s pretty big.

Eddie opens it happily, pulling out a record that Steve knows he’s wanted for ages. And then...a denim jacket with no sleeves that Steve knows he was eyeing at the thrift store. Steve watches with mounting suspicion as Eddie pulls out a book he's talked about. The box, now Steve’s thinking about it, is wrapped with very familiar wrapping paper.

“Eddie, you got loads, they definitely didn’t stay on budget. Who got Eddie? Steve, was it you?”

“No, no it wasn’t me,” Steve quietly chuckles to himself. He half listens as Robin goes around the room, and every single person denies getting Eddie.

“Whoever pulled your name must know you pretty well, huh Baby? They got you exactly what you wanted.”

“Yup,” Eddie grins happily.

“Steve, come on, it must have been you, it wasn’t any of us.”

Steve just shakes his head in denial before turning back to Eddie, “baby...it’s kind of against the rules to pull your own name.”

Eddie frowns, “no it isn’t,” the whole room erupts into laughter around them.

Steve tries to clear up some of the aftermath, but it’s nearly two in the morning and he can’t be fucked really. He collapses on the couch, finishing his now warm flat soda. He can hear Eddie pottering, “we should go to bed!” Steve calls. He’s not loud, not much above speaking volume really, but he knows Eddie will hear him.

“Can we do our gifts now?” Eddie asks from the doorway.

“Sure Baby, if you want to. We’re going to be out most of the day tomorrow anyway,” they’re spending Christmas with the Hopper-Byers brigade, and Steve is kind of looking forward to it. Eddie’s second ever Christmas.

Steve heads off to his hiding place in one of the spare rooms to get Eddie’s gifts, Eddie does the same; Steve knows his are stashed out in the utility.

He’s been pretending not to know.

“Okay, me first,” Eddie says, sitting and pulling out what Steve knows is the record. Steve eyes the gift he has from Eddie; just the one, but it’s fairly big looking. Square. Steve has no idea what it could be.

Eddie likes the record; he absolutely loves the book of Metallica tabs and almost leaves to get his guitar right there and then, but Steve stops him, “tomorrow baby. We really need to sleep after this.”

Eddie laughs at himself and his own excitement, agreeing. When he opens his final gift, the guitar pick necklace, he puts it on immediately and swears he loves it so much he’s never going to take if off. Steve’s glad to hear it, even if it makes him feel, momentarily, a little weirdly possessive.

“Okay, this first,” Eddie pulls over the box, “Chrissy helped me,” he admits as Steve unwraps it, carefully pulling out the frame inside. It’s wrapped in soft packing paper, and Steve pulls that away to reveal his crown. It’s been artfully arranged behind the glass, all dried now, the tufts of grasses stand tall, still twined up with all the little flowers that Eddie had included. Clearly someone spent a very long time carefully setting it out, and it looks beautiful. Steve had carefully stored it away in a shoebox, so he hadn't even noticed it was gone. He’s...touched, by the memory of them in the woods around Hopper’s cabin. Eddie had told Steve he loved him for the first time not long after.

“Thank you...it’s so thoughtful. Thank you. I can hang this up and remember it forever, I love it.” Eddie smiles, slipping off the couch to kneel in front of Steve. Steve sets the frame down.

Eddie pulls a little velvet box out of his pocket, “I didn’t understand what it meant,” he starts slowly, “when you put this on me,” he lifts his left hand, rubbing at the ring with his thumb. “I didn’t know what being engaged was, or weddings or...any of it. I didn’t know, but you loved me anyway, and I’ve never taken it off,” Steve swallows thickly, he knows, he knows in his bones where this is going, but he lets Eddie speak. If Eddie’s saying so may words in one go, it means he’s really thought about, and Steve won’t interrupt him. “But I know now. I understand all of it, and I know I’m a guy, and...we can’t get married, but I...wanted to show you that I know. I know now, and I love you too.”

Eddie opens the box, it’s a simple silver band, thicker than Eddie’s but still, it matches. Steve isn’t sure he’d be able to speak, his eyes already feel wet, so he silently holds his hand out for Eddie to slide the ring on; it fits perfectly.

Steve feels like he’ll crack open if he tries to talk about what he feels right now, it’s too big, too much, “you measured my finger didn’t you. Before the mall? So sneaky.”

Eddie nods, his own eyes looking suspiciously misty, smiling and biting at his lip, clearly nervous, “do you like it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I love it, thank you. I love you.”

Eddie smiles, sitting up for a kiss, “love you, too.”

[cuubism]

I REALLLLLLLLLLLLLYYYY LOVE YOUR BELOVED PROFESSOR DREAM FIC!!!!!!!! PEOPLE TEND TO FORGET THAT!!! EVEN IN CANON!!!! HES FULL OF LOVE!!!! AND PASSION!!! AND HE CARES SO MUCH IT LITERALLY DOOMS HIM!!!!! AND IF ONLY HES BEING GIVEN A MUCH MORE KINDER CIRCUMSTANCES!! HE WOULD BEHAVES EXACTLY LIKE YOUR FIC!!! I FEEL SO CRAZT!!!! PLEASE NEVER DIE I LOVE YPUR WORKS SO MUCH!!!

I've grown quite fond of him myself 🥺 @five-and-dimes and I discussed him at length and created more lore for him. It was determined that Dream's earnest whimsy probably got him bullied a lot when he was younger. Not since he met Hob though.... it's probably a coincidence 🤷‍♀️ surely everyone just realized the error of their ways and decided to grow up and be kinder! Dream knew it would happen some day :)

-

Dream is still reeling as he reaches the cafe where he's meant to get afternoon coffee with Hob. He feels a bit shaky, but happy. Joyful. In disbelief.

When Cori had cornered him after class, Dream had been sure he was going to shove him up against a wall, or throw his books on the ground, or any of the other number of things he seemed to get satisfaction out of doing. He'd clutched his books tight, bracing himself.

Instead, Cori had, with halting, uncomfortable words, apologized to him. Actually apologized! Dream had been wary at first, sure it was just another way to hurt his feelings--he's been called gullible many times and he knows there's truth to it--but Cori hadn't taken it back, or suddenly turned on him again like he had every other time Dream had tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. He seemed genuine.

It was what Dream had always wanted, what he had always hoped for, so decided to take it and just pray that Cori wouldn't change his mind again in the future. Or trip him as he walked away.

He didn't, though. And as Dream left to walk to his next class, he couldn't help but feel victorious. He knew he would get through to him eventually! He'd always known that eventually people would grow out of their juvenile pranks and learn to treat others better. And finally it was starting to happen.

None of the other usual suspects bothered him that day, either. Nobody tried to trip him, or snickered when he said something overly sentimental in class. It was like overnight the world had woken up and decided to better itself. It was magical.

So he's still shaking a bit when he sits down across from Hob, who's already gotten him his mocha latte. When he doesn't say anything at first, just takes several long sips of his drink, Hob nudges his leg under the table.

"Everything alright?"

"Cori," Dream says, "apologized to me."

He must have milk foam on his lip, for Hob reaches across the table to wipe it away with his thumb, lingering on the corner of Dream's mouth. "Did he?"

Dream nods. "It- it did not seem to be a joke. Hob, I think he actually learned."

Hob smiles sweetly. "That's great, honey."

"Nobody tripped me today," Dream muses. "Or made fun of what I said in class. I cannot believe it. I knew that eventually people would grow up and learn how to treat others kindly, but it's startling to see it happen in real time."

"They must have learned from your example," Hob says. He takes Dream's hand on the table and starts playing idly with his fingers. Hob is very touchy-feely with him, always holding his hand, or playing with his fingers like they're a fidget toy, or petting his hair while they're lying in bed together. Dream found it strange at first. He was used to others he had attempted to date wanting to rough him up a little. When he questioned it, they would say, with a laugh, you're just too sheltered. Dream didn't think he was, particularly, he just didn't understand wanting to push someone around. At least not without finding out if they even liked it.

When Dream mentioned it, Hob had said, with a grimace, that Dream's kindness could be misinterpreted as innocence, and it made people want to 'corrupt him.' Dream didn't get it, but there were a lot of things he 'didn't get', at least according to other people. In any case, Hob didn't do that, because he knew Dream didn't like it, so Dream is content now. And he has Hob to at least attempt to interpret other people's odd behavior for him.

"I hope it sticks," he says, worriedly. "I would hate for Cori and the others to backslide now that they're finally making progress."

"Oh, don't worry," Hob says, bringing Dream's hand to his lips and kissing his knuckles. He looks at Dream over their joined hands, gaze absolutely sure, a look that never fails to make Dream shiver pleasantly when it's directed at him. "I think it'll stick."

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

There's a present under the Christmas tree that wasn't there two hours ago. 

It makes Tommy stand stiff as a poker in the doorway of his own living room, his mind full of possible break-in scenarios. However, the typical signs are missing. No ripped-out drawers, no shattered glass; and what burglar would bring instead of taking something? The somewhat sad little tree, which Tommy didn't actually want to put up in the first place but then did because it's Christmas after all, seems to shine a little brighter thanks to the present. 

Carefully, he approaches the tree under whose green branches the box lies. Its red wrapping, decorated with little Christmas trees, is reflected in the equally red and shiny Christmas baubles. Of course, there’s only one way to how the present got under the tree, only one person who’d be able to do it. Buck still has a key to Tommy's house. He hasn't been in touch since the break-up, and Tommy has missed the perfect time where you presumably ask for the things that the other person still has in their possession. 

The little red box bears Evan’s signature so much, it hurts. It is not particularly carefully packaged, although you can see he's made an effort. Instead of just buying a box, he has wrapped whatever is in the parcel in wrapping paper. It’s wrinkled, the small trees on it are uneven. Tommy can almost see it: Evan sitting at his kitchen table, his tongue between his half-open lips, concentrated in a tangle of adhesive tape. A man with such skillful hands, yet he simply can’t coordinate them. Hands that save lives but fail when cutting paper. Opposites that are downright confusing - and yet so attractive. 

Tommy lets out a sigh that echoes off the walls of his room, as if his own house is mocking him for his self-inflicted loneliness. He holds the small gift in his hands and wonders whether he should really open it. What’s the intention behind it? Why give him a present? The truth is, Evan had gifted him with his mere presence, probably without even knowing it. Getting that back would be a far greater gift than whatever may be in this box. 

The only problem is that he believes he doesn't deserve either. 

Tommy carefully pulls on the adhesive strip, runs a finger beneath the paper and very gently removes it. There is a plain white box underneath. Maybe it was a spontaneous idea to wrap it, but then why go to all the trouble for an undertaking that Evan also knows he hardly has mastered? Tommy's thoughts are on a rollercoaster, a constant up and down, and every steep descent causes tingles in his guts. 

Tommy shakes the box. There’s a soft tinkling sound inside, metal scraping against the cardboard of the box. He turns the box over in his hands, looks at it from all sides, but he is only delaying the inevitable, and he knows it. Opening the lid feels like tearing off a band-aid. Inside is a folded note on a layer of tissue, as green as the little trees on the wrapping paper, but not as green as the branches of  Tommy’s Christmas tree. Green as hope, maybe. 

Tommy,

I still see a future. E. 

Tommy stares at the note, his eyes actually looking right through it, far away; back to a time perhaps when he was less afraid. His fingers carefully feel their way over the tissue in the box. There’s still time to put aside the message, the box, the hope. Maybe he's too much of a coward for that, too. Tommy reaches under the paper, lifts it out of the box and tosses it aside. It gently slides under the tree, almost exactly where the present was. A sign, or not; everything is a sign or it isn’t. 

There’s a key in the box.

That’s not the key to Tommy’s house. Even if it would have been a weird way to return it like this, his deceptive heart feared just that for a moment. But it's also not the key to Evans Loft, because Tommy didn't give it back either. Silly, that they both had clung to this symbols so much. So, it’s neither his key nor Evan’s, and it only takes a quickening heartbeat longer for Tommy to realize. It really is a symbol, this key. One that not only relies on Tommy's curiosity, but also trusts that he will rise to the occasion. 

Suddenly, his phone is in his hands.

This the key to your heart, Evan? 

Bating his breath, he’s waiting for an answer.  

[pintrestgrl]

https://www.tumblr.com/pintrestgrl/770753479445708800/merry-christmas-eve-yall-let-me-know-if-we

what abt one of the girls wearing a christmas themed lingerie and surprising rafe while they're with family (maybe in the bathroom or while they go get the food in the kitchen)

this is so roxy coded bc she rly do not gaf i promise u.

here’s the panties n what she was wearing too

also this isn’t like a whole long story kinda just a drabble

she was at tannyhill for christmas dinner and was helping rose set the table. she not so smartly decided to put on bright red panties bc she knew she was sleepin at rafes.

she stood on her very tip toes to reach the fine glass china in the cupboard , her dress rising up as rafe stood behind her. he caught the tiniest peek of bright red poking out n his eyes literally widened. he knew roxy was crazy but she was literally surrounded by his whole extended family.

the more she stood high the more he saw , his eyes zoning in on the cut out right on the familiar sight of her pussy. he swallowed thickly , covering her and pulling her and her dress back down roughly.

“you fuckin’ serious, roxy? everybody just saw that shit.” he spoke, whispering quietly as he furrowed his brows. staring at her. she was a fuckin’ cunt sometimes. she knew exactly what she was doing, and that’s why she did it. she wanted to embarrass him.

she smiled, rolling her eyes. “okay? i really don’t care, i promise you that.” he rolled his eyes right back at her, pulling her dress down as far as he could. “you’re such a fuckin’ whore. seriously. my dad is here, for fucks sake.” he spoke.

she laughed, writhing his hands away from the hem of her dress. “yeah, i know. maybe that’s why i did it.” he scoffed. he knew his dad was a weirdo; so did she. anytime roxy came round the house he would watch her— as if he wanted to live through rafe.

roxy always felt mr. cameron’s stares too. she just thrived on it. it made rafe mad enough, because he knew she probably liked it. deep down. “shut the fuck up. you sound fuckin’ stupid. go sit down somewhere.” and she would. she brought the plates over to the table, setting them down before politely seating herself.

rafe watched her movements. making sure they were just as calculated as he wanted them. and they were. because sometimes, sometimes she would listen. just enough to keep him around.

[penkura]

Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Summary: Straw Hat Christmas parties are always large events, but you wish Sanji would stop and join you all for more than a few minutes at a time.

Note: Just another with a small moment in it, I couldn't help myself but to do it with Sanji. :)

You’ve known from the start that when the Straw Hats party, they party and it’s always a big event, no matter what the reason for it. It’s a given that whatever you might be partying about, there’s going to be copious amounts of food and drink, all prepared by your crew’s amazing chef.

It seems like Sanji never gets to take a break, you’ve always hated that part about these parties, despite loving his food. You wish he’d take a break, join you all out on the deck for more than a few minutes at a time, only to hurry back to the kitchen for whatever he was cooking. You hated watching him start to relax only to be dragged back in there, even if the kitchen was almost a safe haven for Sanji, he deserved to take a proper break like the rest of you.

It’s not even that Luffy has asked for more food in the last hour, there’s plenty made, but Sanji knows your captain will be asking for more later, he’s trying to keep ahead and it’s leaving him without a moment to breathe anymore.

You hate watching him do this to himself, overworking even when he should be taking a break. When you see Sanji go back into the kitchen, after leaving for not even five minutes, you huff and lean against Nami, making her raise an eyebrow at you.

“What’s gotten to you?”

You nod your head towards the kitchen and she knows what you’re saying without a word, Nami sighs and shakes her head.

“Ever the one serve without a break…maybe he’d come relax for a while if you talked to him.

“Why would he listen to me? I think you’d be the better option, Nami.”

Nami rolls her eyes, pushing you off her lightly and towards the kitchen.

“No, definitely you. Go get him out here already!”

You’re confused but do as Nami says, heading for the kitchen with every intention of bringing Sanji back out on deck with you. You have a slight idea that Nami knows something you don’t, or she’s seen how Sanji seems to go with you no matter what you’re doing or where you’re going, though you don’t think there’s anything more there.

You slip into the kitchen easily, Sanji normal leaves the door unlocked when he’s working in there anyway, especially if you, Nami, or Robin need anything. When you get in there you smile to yourself seeing Sanji is relaxing a bit, he’s taken a break probably while something is in the oven, sitting the table with his head in his arms on the table, like he’s trying to fall asleep. You’ve caught Sanji sleeping like this before late in the evenings after dinner, always deciding to surprise him by wrapping your arms around his shoulders from behind and convincing him to go on to bed. Of course it’s how you decide to try and get him to join the rest of you, he’s not even surprised when you do it, Sanji’s so used to you coming to get him at anytime of day now.

“Sanji, come take a break with us! You’ve been doing too much for this party.”

“I will,” Sanji sighs and pats one of your hands, making you frown when he goes to get up again, “I just want—”

“No, now, Sanji,” you grab his hand to keep him from going back to the oven,  causing him to give you a confused look, “Please. You deserve to take some time off just like the rest of us…things can wait until later.”

Sanji knows that you’re right, he gets that, and he wants to keep working so all of you had enough to eat and drink. He’s aware that it’s not exactly a healthy work ethic, but it’s all he’s ever known. He’d rather have everything ready before he takes a break, even with you giving him the look that always makes him give into what you want.

“Its fine, you know…I don’t mind working if it means you all get to relax.”

“But everyone wants you out there already!”

“Everyone, huh?”

“Hmm,” pretending to think, you glance away briefly as Sanji laughs a bit with a nod. “Maybe Zoro doesn’t care, but…I want you to come join us already…”

There’s just a moment before Sanji sighs with a nod, you grinning as he turns around to turn the oven off, removing whatever was in it and taking off his apron. You give him a tight hug when he comes over to you, Sanji kisses the top of your head in return before pulling away and taking your hands.

“Well, let’s go back to everyone then, yeah?”

“Yeah, let’s do that!”