#and ask her in the voice of an excited child

[ventismacchiato]

16 stuck with you — im so obsessed with your ex !

scaramouche x gender neutral reader

“It’s finally happening,” Yae sighs with a gleam in her eye, practically floating into the dorms. She sits next to Scara on the couch, her excitement palpable. “The three mystery guests are arriving! Finally, some drama!”

“I feel like there’s been enough drama,” Aether mutters.

“This will take the cake,” Yae giggles, clearly delighting in the upcoming chaos. “Trust me.”

“I think I’ll just stay here then,” Scara mutters, sinking deeper into the couch, his arms crossed tightly as he tries to resist the inevitable.

“Not so fast,” Yae says, “I need you there, especially.”

“She’s scaring me,” Yoimiya pipes up with a nervous laugh, inching her way toward the bedrooms, clearly trying to make a quick exit.

“Come on, enough chitchat,” Yae declares, standing up. She grabs Scara by the shoulder and yanks him up off the couch, practically dragging him by his feet. “I think the guests are situated.”

As you all make your way down to the beach and head toward the kitchens, you can't shake the uneasy feeling sitting in your chest. You’d known guests were going to join the main lot for the show, but no one ever told you who they could be.

“Oh my god, is that Diluc?” Lumine pipes up as Childe begins to fix his unkempt hair in response.

“Oh, hell no,” Scara mutters, his face immediately twisting with disgust as he takes one look at the scene in front of him. His instinct is to turn and leave, but Yae grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him forward, much to his annoyance.

“Is that my ex?” you say in disbelief, glancing at the table. His burgundy hair was recognizable even from how far you were standing. At the same time, everyone in Delusion turns to you, their eyes wide.

“Since when did you have an ex?” Aether asks, genuinely curious. Even Scara looks over at you now, his gaze lingering a little longer than you expected.

“Heizou and I had... a thing for a while,” you murmur, suddenly feeling awkward. “It was more of a situationship. How did you find out, Yae?”

Research, baby,” Yae says smugly, clearly enjoying this too much.

“What kind of research?” you ask, eyebrow raised.

“Xiao. We asked Xiao.”

“She loves to gossip,” Xiao adds offhandedly, giving a shrug that seems almost apologetic.

“This is great,” Yae exclaims, her eyes lighting up as if she’s already imagining the chaos. “Let’s have some jealousy arcs!”

“I need to drown, I need to drown right now,” Scara mutters in exasperation, visibly agitated. He pulls his arm away from Yae’s grasp. “Please, just let me go.”

Even you’ve never seen him that agitated around you.

“Hush, it won’t be that bad,” Yae says, pulling him along  like a petulant child despite his protests. The rest of the group follows hesitantly behind.

The tension in the air thickens as the group walks into the dining area. The three figures sitting at the table come into full view. Mona is sitting nearest to the door, her posture more relaxed than you would have expected, while Heizou is across her, looking just a bit too calm for comfort.

Her eyes immediately fall on Scara, and she offers him a gentle smile. It’s sincere but carries a hint of hesitation.

“Scara,” Mona begins softly, her voice almost tender. “It’s been a long time since we’ve met, hasn’t it?”

It’s clear she’s trying to be civil, maybe even friendly, but Scara is having none of it.

“Yeah, not long enough,” Scara mutters as Yae pushes him into the chair beside her.

Meanwhile, you sit yourself next to Heizou, which is coincidentally also right across from Scara. Heizou looks as unbothered as ever, though you notice how his gaze flicks between you and Scara. 

“So... long time no see,” Heizou says, speaking in a neutral tone, trying to ease the tension in the room. He flashes one of his smiles, pretending not to care about the undercurrent of discomfort between everyone. “How have things been? You know, outside of... whatever this is.”

You can’t help but chuckle at how easily you slip back into conversation with him. You can’t help but notice the way he leans just a little too close when he says that last part, like he’s testing the waters. 

“Things have been fine,” you reply, your tone playful, “And you?”

“I'm doing better now,” he smiles, his eyes trailing you for a second. You feel your ears burn under his gaze.

Meanwhile, Childe, who’s been awkwardly sitting beside Diluc perks up, “Hey, uh, I like your music,” Childe says, his voice unexpectedly shy as he glances over at Diluc.

Diluc, who’s normally a man of few words, gives a rare smile, his expression softening. “Thank you,” he replies in his low, gentle voice, making Childe shift in his seat.

“So... uh, you like being an idol?” Childe continues, his words tripping over themselves in an effort to keep the conversation going.

Aether, sitting next to him, raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by the sudden shift in Childe’s usual extroverted self. “Wow, you’re really wooing him, huh?”

“Shut up!” Childe hisses, elbowing Aether in the ribs, his face flushed. “I’m trying!”

୨୧✧

The rest of breakfast goes on in a strained silence. Scara refuses to even glance at Mona, his arms crossed tightly and his eyes fixed on his plate. He’s not engaging with anyone. 

On the other hand, you and Heizou are catching up, your easy back-and-forth making the tension at the table feel a little less suffocating. So much so you don’t even realize Scara’s listening in on it.

Heizou, with his usual calm smile, picked up a blueberry tart and slid it across the table toward you. “I remember you really liked these,” he said, his voice warm and casual. “So, I asked them to bring some for you.”

Scara, who had been uncharacteristically quiet all morning, suddenly spoke up. His voice was flat, and his gaze remained fixed on his plate. “Yn doesn’t like blueberries.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the room fell silent. Every eye turned toward Scara, the unexpected interruption making the tension in the air feel even heavier. Scara, clearly aware of all the attention, slowly lifted his eyes, his expression unreadable.

Heizou’s polite smile didn’t falter, but there was a hint of confusion in his tone. “Yes, they do. I used to gift them to them during our trainee days, right?”

He looked at you, his eyes searching for confirmation. But you, suddenly feeling like the weight of the room was on you, couldn’t meet his gaze. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat and looked down at the tart in your hands.

“Actually,” you said, sheepish, “I’m not very fond of blueberries.”

Heizou blinked, clearly surprised, and for the first time, his smile faltered. “...Oh.”

Scara, who’d been content to stay silent up until now, couldn’t help the smug grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “Told you.”

“And why do you care?” Heizou asks, raising a brow at Scara.

Scara, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, looked entirely unbothered. “I don’t want to see them gag at the dinner table,” he said dryly, glancing at Heizou for the first time. “I’m already losing my appetite sitting across from you.”

The table fell silent again, the weight of Scara’s words hanging heavy in the air. You couldn’t help but notice the way Heizou’s smile tightened, as though his polite exterior was beginning to crack. He leaned back, trying to brush it off, but you could see the slight strain in his shoulders from the tension Scara’s jab had caused.

“…Whatever,” Heizou muttered, though you could tell Scara had bothered him, turning back to you. “What did you do with all the tarts I gave you then?”

“I gave them to Venti,” you admitted, still feeling a little awkward.

Venti, ever the enthusiastic one, raised his hand with a mouthful of tart. “They were good!”

For a moment, the tension in the room dissolved into awkward chuckles, but you could feel the remnants of discomfort still lingering. You couldn’t ignore seeing the flash of hurt in Heizou’s eyes upon realizing you didn’t enjoy his gifts. That man had bought you a lot of blueberry related snacks. 

On the other hand, Scara seemed less tense after his squabble with Heizou. 

The awkwardness lingered, but before anyone could say anything further, Mona, who had been quietly watching the scene unfold, spoke up. “Yn, I also don’t like blueberries that much.”

Scara scooped his plate forward, pushing his untouched blueberries onto Mona’s plate. Without a word, he walked out of the room, leaving a trail of silence in his wake as everyone wrapped up their breakfast.

Mona remained unfazed by the small act of defiance, simply getting up from the table and following suit.

After breakfast, Yae gathered everyone around outside with her usual enthusiastic flair. Well, gathered might be too generous a term since she practically herded you all together. She had to ask the film crew to chase down Scara who was surprisingly athletic when it came to escaping Yae’s stupid games. Well, game was a strong word for whatever this was. It was all rigged from the start, Yae wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to get you and Scara paired with your exes on live television. 

"Could you at least pretend to smile?" Yae sighed, pointing to her lips in an attempt to show him as Scara leaned back, clearly not interested in playing along.

"No," Scara deadpanned, scooting further away from Mona.

“Fine, if you won’t sit by her, at least go sit by Yn,” Yae quipped, clearly amused at his indifference.

Surprisingly, Scara did exactly that, stepping over to your side. Seems he found you more tolerable than her. 

Yae clapped her hands, clearly pleased with herself, and shot a thumbs-up toward the film crew. "Alright, are we all set?" she asked, the microphone in her hand now buzzing with static. "Okay, contestants!" Her voice rang out, louder than before, making everyone jump a little. "We’ll have a quick challenge to see which two couples get to go on a date at Paradise's carnival!”

She lowered the mic, cupping it with her palm and muttering, “Obviously, we need those four to win this,” gesturing at you, Scara, Heizou, and Mona. She paused before continuing with a sigh. “But I’ll get everyone else catering to make up for it.”

"I keep getting my hopes up and forgetting this is all rigged," Childe moaned dramatically from the sidelines, earning a laugh from Diluc, who patted him on the back.

Yae rolled her eyes but wasn’t fazed. She raised the mic again, her voice returning to its enthusiastic pitch. “Alright, time for a little competition to earn your prize! You guys are going to participate in a quick trivia game about each other!"

You didn’t want to win this, especially not when it involved a fake date, but it was becoming clear there was no escaping it.

The teams were set up, and you ended up paired with Heizou, while Scara was stuck with Mona. Yae started her rounds, and the questions were as ridiculous as you expected. It wasn’t a serious trivia challenge, but that didn’t make it any less awkward whenever it was your turn. Everyone else was having fun answering, unlike you. You should’ve known most of the answers about Heizou, but your mind was surprisingly blank on all the details you used to remember.

“Yn, what’s the name of Heizou’s first album?” Yae asked. 

You blinked, then grimaced. “Oooh, can I get a new question?” you asked, trying to deflect.

“It’s called After Hours,” Yae instructed, her voice a little too chipper. "Just say that, and we'll move on."

You hesitated, then awkwardly repeated, “After Hours.”

“Correct!” Yae singsonged, moving on without missing a beat.

You shot Heizou with a sheepish look. “Sorry. I swear I did listen to your album... it just... slipped my mind.”

Heizou chuckled, though there was a hint of hesitation in his smile. “It’s fine. Honestly, I wouldn’t have remembered the title of yours either if I didn’t see it sitting on my shelf every day.”

You blinked, surprised. “You bought my album?”

Heizou shrugged casually. “Yeah, why? Did you not buy mine?”

You pause, “I was broke when I first debuted,” you awkwardly reply, suddenly feeling rather guilty. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Heizou answers, looking the other way. 

Meanwhile, Scara was making a game out of trying to tank his answers, but Yae didn’t even bat an eye. She was too busy setting up the drama.

“Now, Scara, what’s Mona’s stage name?” Yae asked, shooting him a smile. 

Scara barely looked up, “Stardust?” he says with a bored tone, flicking his gaze to the ceiling like he couldn’t care less.

“Correct!” Yae cheered, almost too enthusiastically.

Lumine, sitting nearby, raised an eyebrow. “Won’t people know this is fake? It’s Astra, isn’t it?” she pipes up, “That wasn’t even close.”

Yae waved her hand dismissively. “We’ll voiceover the correct answers later. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay, bonus points for anyone who gets this!” Yae announced with a sly grin. “If any of your four, apart from Scara, can answer this right, I’ll cut your awkward date short on the island.” Yae adds, looking at you, clearly not expecting you too.

“What was Scara going to originally name his debut album?” She asks, grinning.

“How the hell are we supposed to know that?” Mona muttered, glancing at you, only to be interrupted by your sudden answer.

“Meet Me at Midnight,” you said, almost instinctively, before you even realized what you’d said.

Yae’s eyes widened, a look of disappointment on her face. “That’s correct!” she gasped, then immediately slapped a hand to her forehead. “Wait, why did I bet on that one?”

Scara turned to look at you, genuinely surprised.

“How do you know that but not my debut album?” Heizou asks with a surprised laugh.

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “I remember because I told him it was a terrible name for an album,” you said, looking at Scara. “Now it’s just called Midnights.”

“It was an alright name,” Scara mumbles to himself.

“Sure it was.”

Yae, already over it, clapped her hands with exaggerated enthusiasm. “And that wraps up our trivia game!” She paused for dramatic effect. “The top four contestants are... Yn, Scaramouche, Mona, and Heizou!” She feigns a gasp as everyone rolls their eyes, “What a twist! You four will be off to the island soon for a double date!”

As everyone else started discussing what food to get Yae to cater, you could feel the weight of your fate hanging over you.

୨୧✧

After the game, everyone else heads back to the dorms for some free time, while the four of you are left to awkwardly prepare for your double date. You couldn’t think of anything more awkward as Yae explained how you guys would be spending the day at the carnival on Paradise. Just great.

Once everyone is gathered outside, Jean approaches with a clipboard in hand.

“So, we need to figure out if you four want to take the helicopter or the boat with the crew to the island,” Jean announces, his voice carrying her usual professional tone, unlike Yae who was having a little too much fun. 

Your heart sinks at the mention of the helicopter. You try to act casual, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, but you feel your stomach knot. Scara notices the subtle change in your demeanor.

Heizou speaks up with an excited grin. “Wouldn’t the helicopter be a nicer view? Plus, it’s quicker.”

Mona, standing beside him, nods in agreement, her smile sweet and sincere. “I think the helicopter would be lovely,” she says, her eyes flicking toward Scara. It’s a small, calculated glance. You can’t help but feel a pang of discomfort.

You force yourself to keep a neutral expression, trying not to give away how uncomfortable you feel. You hate flying. The last time you were in a helicopter, you barely made it through without a panic attack. And Scara had been there to witness it. You don’t want to relive that embarrassing moment, especially not with Heizou and Mona around.

Clearing your throat, you try to sound casual, although your voice betrays you with a slight tremor. “I’ll just go on the boat, if that’s okay,” you say, not looking at anyone directly. There. Perfectly played. Totally.

Heizou gives you an amused look. “Oh? Your loss,” he says with a grin, his tone light and teasing. “The helicopter’s way more scenic.”

But then, to your surprise, Scara speaks up, his voice flat as always. “I’ll take the boat too,” he mutters, already turning away as if the conversation had never mattered to him. He starts walking toward the dock without another word.

You blink, taken aback. Mona looks at Scara in surprise, clearly expecting him to choose the faster, more fun option. But Scara just keeps walking, his footsteps heavy with disinterest. He doesn’t look back. 

Jean shrugs, unfazed. “Alright then. We’ll all meet at the carnival on the other island.” She gestures for the crew to follow you two, and the tension seems to dissipate as everyone moves on to their respective transport.

You follow without saying anything, still processing Scara’s response. It wasn’t like he had to take the boat. He could’ve gone with Mona. And yet, here he was, going with you.

Once aboard the boat, the sunlight shimmers across the water, making everything feel a little more serene. The boat rocks gently beneath your feet, and you settle in, stealing glances at Scara, who’s staring out at the horizon with his usual unreadable expression. His posture, though, seems stiffer than usual.

“Thanks for coming on the boat,” you say, breaking the silence. Your voice sounds too loud against the stillness of the water, and for a moment, you regret even saying it. The awkwardness of it hangs between you like an unwanted presence.

Scara doesn’t answer immediately. His eyes stay fixed on the water, but after a few beats, he finally shrugs. “Didn’t wanna sit next to Mona,” he mutters lowly, as if the answer is self-explanatory.

“Alright,” you reply, though the simple response feels like it doesn’t quite cover the weight of the situation. But still, you can’t ignore the fact that he chose to sit with you instead of her. “But still.”

You had been disappointed when Heizou boarded the helicopter without you, but you didn’t blame him. Things had been rather awkward since breakfast, and there was no way to get around it.

Scara shifts in his seat, his eyes flicking toward the water as he says, “Whatever. It’s fine. You don’t have to thank for shit like this.” His voice is as nonchalant as ever, but you can sense there’s more to it. You don’t push it though, choosing to remain quiet, happy just to have the ground beneath your feet. After all, not dangling thousands of feet in the air is a small victory.

୨୧✧

You arrive a bit later than Heizou and Mona, who are already waiting for you both on the island, standing near the carnival entrance.

“Alright, Yae and I will be on the boat while you four go on your date, in your ears,” Jean explains, skimming through what was on her clipboard. “Just go explore the carnival together, and please, try to keep it civil.” Her gaze lingers on Heizou and Scara as she says that last part.

“Actually, I think they’re adding some good drama,” Yae whispers to Jean, her voice carrying a playful note.

“There’s a line between drama and full on fighting,” Jean sighs, clearly unamused.

Once the film crew is situated, Yae starts her spiel again, her voice ringing out through a mic.

“Alright, the winning pairs have arrived and will be having their double date here at Paradise's carnival!” Yae says enthusiastically. “You four must stick together as you explore the attractions! No running off now! Have fun!” she singsongs.

“Where to first?” Heizou hums, his eyes scanning the map board in front of you all.

“Maybe some games?” Mona suggests with a bright smile.

“Sure,” you reply, even though the idea of spending the day with your ex and Scara on a date makes your stomach twist in awkward knots. Scara, as usual, hangs back, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he follows behind the group with no real enthusiasm. You don’t blame him.

The smell of buttered popcorn and sugary cotton candy drifts through the air as you walk through the carnival. The place is mostly empty, though you suspect the company rented the space out just for you all. It’s quiet in a way that almost feels like a trap.

“This one looks fun,” you say, pointing to a ring toss game in front of you.

“Would you like to win something for your date?” The man working the booth asks Heizou, waving some rings around.

Heizou grins, catching your eye. “Sure, which plush is catching your eye, Yn?”

You glance at the display and point to a penguin plush. “I guess the penguin’s pretty cute.”

“Five tries,” the worker explains, handing Heizou the rings, “Three to win.”

Heizou takes the rings and tosses the first one, missing by a wide margin. One miss. Two miss. Three miss. Four miss. Five... another miss. Heizou manages to miss every single one, which, frankly, seems impressive in its own right. You start to wonder if the game is rigged.

Scara, who had been watching with mild amusement, can’t help but chuckle at Heizou’s pathetic attempts. Mona pats him on the back sympathetically, equally entertained.

“Sorry, Yn,” Heizou says with a sheepish grin, clearly embarrassed.

“It’s fine,” you say, rubbing him awkwardly on the shoulder.

“How about you?” The worker asks, nodding towards Scara. “Want to try and win your pretty lady something?”

“Win me the cat plush,” Mona says, folding her arms with a smirk as she glances over at Scara.

Scara rolls his eyes but takes the rings with a lazy flick of his wrist. His first throw barely makes it off his hand, landing miles away from the bottles.

“Oh no. I lost,” he says in his usual monotone voice, clearly throwing the game on purpose.

Even so, Heizou seizes the opportunity to provoke Scara. “See? You’re no better than me,” he teases, his voice light.

Scara gives him a glare as he raises his hand again. “Actually, I’ll take another round.”

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. He easily lands all five rings around the bottles. The worker blinks, clearly surprised.

The man reaches for the cat plush Mona had pointed to earlier, but Scara interrupts.

“That one.” He points to the penguin plush you had chosen earlier. His voice is flat, but you wonder if he’s doing it to spite you.

Instead he grabs the penguin and tosses it over to you without a word.

“At least one of us can actually win a plush,” he says, smirking at Heizou before walking off towards the next stall. Mona sighs and follows him.

You look down at the penguin in your hands, still processing what just happened. He’d won, but he’d also given it to you. 

Every game after that is a repeat of the same pattern: Heizou trying (and failing) to win, and Scara effortlessly collecting plushies. By the time you leave the stall, you’re carrying an absurdly large pile of stuffed animals. You’re forced to hand them off to one of the cameramen just to be able to walk around. You almost feel guilty, offering Mona the cat plush she’d wanted earlier.

Soon, the date devolves into nothing more than Heizou and Scara making bets with each other as you and Mona trail behind, quietly watching them one-up each other in a strange unspoken rivalry. 

“Hey,” Mona says, nudging you gently. “Let’s sneak away.” She nods towards the rides you haven’t touched yet. “You were eyeing the swings.”

You look over at Heizou and Scara, who are too absorbed in their competition to notice anything else. The worker at the fishing game is giving them a look of horror as they try to fish rubber ducks out of a tiny pool.

“You know what?” you say, relieved by the chance for a break. “Yeah, let’s go.”

She grabs your hand and tugs you along toward the swings, placing the cat plush between you two as you hop onto the ride.

As the swings start to rise, you glance over at Mona. She’s screaming with excitement. You can’t help but smile at her, but the smile quickly fades as you find yourself wondering about something. What happened between her and Scara? You know the basic gist of it from what your fans post on social media and from what gossip Xiao has passed on to you, but the Mona you’re seeing now feels oddly different from the one who’d dated Scara.

The ride slows, and you look down to see Heizou and Scara finally noticing that you’ve gone missing. Scara looks up, and you and Mona wave at him as the ride speeds past.

Once you’re off the ride, you suggest grabbing some snacks before Heizou and Scara catch up.

“Chocolate churros sound good?” you ask, already feeling the weight of the strange tension between the group. Mona agrees, walking up to the food stall to ask for a few.

You find a bench to settle on as you wait, the stillness between you and Mona only slightly alleviated by the warmth of the churros.

“Thanks for dragging me away,” you say, looking over at her. “I had fun.”

“No problem,” Mona hums, her voice light as she takes a bite. “Besides, I wanted to check out the rides too. And bonus, got to make Scara upset.”

You glance down at the churros at that, having the urge to ask her about what really went down between her and Scara. But it isn’t quite your place to ask. 

Your train of thought is interrupted when Mona reaches out, brushing some chocolate off your lips.

“You got something…” she murmurs, her face much closer to yours than you expected.

You blink, caught off guard by how close she’s sitting to you. She seems so casual about it, but you start to wonder if she has a different intention than just being friendly.

“Huh?” you murmur, turning towards her.

“Shh,” she whispers, her palm caressing your cheek as she pulls her hand back. “He’s watching.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Heizou and Scara making their way toward you. Scara’s gaze is unreadable, but his stare is piercing.

“Just wanted to make him jealous,” Mona smiles mischievously, her hand gently pinching your cheek.

You try to mask the surprise that rises in you as you look up at Scara. His expression remains neutral, but there’s something unsettling about the way he’s staring. Mona seems to notice too.

“Sorry for abandoning you guys,” Heizou apologizes, looking sheepish as you hand him your extra churro. “Got too caught up in competition.”

Scara says nothing. He doesn’t seem at all sorry for leaving you both. He takes the seat next to you, not Mona, who’s holding out a churro for him. His eyes flicker over to her before settling back on you.

“We should all ride something together before we leave,” you suggest, trying to shake off the tension. “How about a coaster?”

“Sure,” Heizou hums, though you can hear the hesitation in his voice.

Scara shrugs, nonchalant as always. “Whatever.”

The rest of the night drifts by in a blur of rides and laughter, though it’s hard to tell just how much fun Scara’s actually having. He never fully cracks a smile, his face as unreadable as ever, but there’s something about the way his posture relaxes just slightly on the rollercoaster that makes you think he’s enjoying it at least a little bit. Heizou, on the other hand, is the opposite and makes it known how much fun he’s having. He’s as animated as ever as he throws flirty comments your way between rides. 

The weirdness from earlier fades between you and Heizou, especially as he ends up sitting next to you on every ride, his easy smile gradually putting you at ease. 

But Scara? He’s hard to read. He follows along without complaint, occasionally joining in on the banter between you and Heizou, but when he’s not pulling one of his usual stony expressions he’s somewhere else. You catch him staring off into the distance as the carnival lights flicker in the fading sunset, his gaze fixed on something beyond you. It’s moments like these that make you wonder what’s really going on in that head of his. Something you never used to care about before.

Before you know it, the night sky has fully taken over, the bright carnival lights casting long shadows behind you. You pause for a moment, just long enough to breathe in the cool air, the faint smell of popcorn and sweets still lingering in the breeze. 

Mona and Heizou end up walking ahead, chatting about something or the other. Meanwhile, Scara trails along beside you. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t walk ahead either. You almost feel like you should say something, if only to break the silence, but you’re not sure how to approach it.

“Thanks for the plushies, by the way,” you pipe up, the words feeling almost too casual, but you don’t know what else to say. Your hand instinctively grips one of the stuffed animals, the penguin that Scara had won for you. You’d given the rest to the crew, but you wanted to hold onto this one. The soft plush feels comforting against your palm. 

Scara doesn’t immediately respond. You can feel his eyes on you for a brief second, before he looks back down at the ground, his expression unreadable. “No need,” he says in his usual flat tone, like it’s no big deal.

“Didn’t think I’d see you giving out prizes, Scara,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them. You try to make it sound lighthearted, but your voice catches a little on the last word. “You seemed pretty determined to win... for Mona.”

“It wasn’t for her,” he immediately says. But then, after a beat, he answers, his voice a little softer than usual, “I just didn’t want to hear Heizou gloat.”

“Besides,” he adds, eyeing the plush in your hand, “it looks better with you.” His steps slow, just slightly, and for a moment you think he’s about to say something else, but then he just keeps walking towards the dock.

You stand there for a second, a little caught off guard by his words. The air between you two feels charged. He said it so nonchalantly, like it didn’t matter, but there was something in the way he said it that made you wonder if it did.

With a small sigh, you hurry to catch up with him. As you walk alongside him, you can’t help but glance at the penguin plush in your hand, still unsure of what to make of this strange, quiet moment between you.

୨୧✧

Since you and Scara had chosen to go by boat you two had to wait a while longer for it to arrive. Mona and Heizou were already off to the island as you stood by the beach. You look over and see Scara sitting by himself.

He was sitting by the edge of the dock, legs dangling just above the water, his posture tense as he stared out at the horizon with a detached sort of focus.  

You weren’t stupid, you knew he was trying to be alone. But with the way he’d been acting off all day and was now sitting out here by himself you felt your chest twist with something. Something that made you carry your feet over to him. 

You hesitated for a moment, watching the way the wind tousled his hair and how he drew circles in the water with his feet.

"Scara," you called out, your voice quiet.

He didn’t respond.

You sighed, stepping closer. "Kuni," you tried again. 

This time, he turned his head, his eyes flicking toward you, just enough to acknowledge your presence. He said nothing, but he scooted over on the small dock.

You hesitated for a second before taking a few steps and sitting next to him at the edge of the dock. The tension between you two was still thick and unresolved.

“So…” you began, trying to break the silence with casual ease. “It’s weird with our exes, huh?”

He let out a low, almost inaudible sigh, his eyes returning to the water. “Yeah.” His voice was flat. He was frustrated, whether it was with Mona, with Heizou, you, or himself, you couldn’t tell, but you figured it was a mix of all of it. 

You watched him for a moment, then took a breath, deciding to ask something that had been nagging at you since breakfast. “How do you remember the blueberry thing?” you asked, eyes narrowed in curiosity.

Scara’s gaze flicked to you again, and this time, he raised an eyebrow, as if the answer was obvious. “Why wouldn’t I remember?”

His tone was casual, but there was a sharpness to it that made your chest tighten slightly. You’d never really considered that all the times you’d argued, all those little details, would stick with him over the years. 

The silence stretched between you two, and you looked down, finally noticing the cigarette hanging loosely from his fingers.

“I thought you quit,” you said, offhandedly, trying to push the knot in your chest aside.

He didn’t even glance at you. “Don’t worry, I did,” he muttered, voice as indifferent as always. “I just carry one around.” He doesn’t question how you know about him quitting.

You were unsure if you should press further, so instead you just hummed in acknowledgment. You’re about to stand up and leave when Scara’s voice breaks through the quiet once more with a question of his own.

“So, you and Heizou?” he asks. 

“Yeah, a long time ago,” you say, your tone more guarded than you intended. You didn’t think he’d ever cared about it. Then again, maybe he was just being nosy, as usual.

“Why didn’t you date him?” Scara asked, his eyes still trained on the water, watching the waves as they lapped lazily at his feet. He absentmindedly twirled the cigarette between his fingers, but you could feel his attention on you. You always could.

“I don’t know," you said after a long pause, your voice quieter. Your throat tightened. You hadn’t thought about Heizou in a long time. "He switched companies, and then... I debuted." You shrugged slightly, trying to make the words sound casual. “No time, or whatever.” You hated how unconvincing that sounded, but there it was.

Scara didn’t look at you, but you could feel his gaze. Then, after a moment, he said something that made your throat tighten even more.

“You have the time now, don’t you?”

You blinked at the question. For a few seconds, you didn’t answer. Three years had passed since then. Three years of nothing. You could have found the time. You could have sent a message or tried to find him after a concert, maybe even crossed paths at some industry event. You could have tried. But instead, you were caught up in everything that had come after…you’d been occupied with Scara. 

You spared a glance towards him, but he wasn’t looking at you. He never looked at you when the questions got too close to something real. He was staring at the water, still twirling the cigarette between his fingers, but there was an unreadable expression in his face.

“I was occupied, to be honest,” you said, your voice unsteady.

He scoffed, “With what? Your other ten exes I don’t know about?”

“With you.”

There was a brief, charged silence. The weight of your words hung in the air, and you didn’t even understand what you meant. He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he continued twirling the cigarette, his fingers moving mechanically. But you could feel his gaze shift towards you, sharper now. The unreadable expression on his face faltered just for a moment, but it was gone before you could place it.

Finally, he huffed out a breath, leaning back slightly, “Whatever. Not my problem,” he glances at you, “Can’t blame me for that.”

"Yeah, sure." You paused, your voice softer now, tinged with frustration and something else you couldn’t quite name, “But arguing does take up a lot of time.”

He didn’t answer right away. What was there to say? You could feel the unspoken weight of the past between you two, the years of frustration, of unspoken words. 

All of the time that had slipped away, together but apart.

But instead, he just exhaled sharply, pulling himself to his feet with a lazy, practiced motion. He tucks his unlit cigarette away as he reaches his palm towards you. He hoists you up with ease, and you stumble a bit on the dock. His other arm grabs your waist to steady you before letting go, his touch lingering for a moment longer than he needed to.

“The boat’s here,” he murmurs, eyeing you. 

You stare at his hand, your waist still warm from the brief contact, and then at the boat approaching in the distance. The night is settling in, the world around you dimming as the sky deepens to purple and dark blue. The quiet between you is thick, like the air before a storm, and for a moment, you can’t tell if you’re relieved or frustrated that he’s not saying anything else.

You swallow, a mix of something bitter and sweet twisting in your chest. “Yeah. Guess we should go.”

But as he walks, his pace a little faster than before, you catch the faintest of glances over his shoulder. His gaze meets yours for a fleeting second, almost like he wants to say something but stops himself. 

And just like that, he’s gone, stepping onto the boat with the same indifference he always carries.

[00:00:00] GUEST INTERVIEW TAKE ONE

YAE: What's your name, my beautiful queen?

JEAN: Oh God, cut!

[00:00:03] GUEST INTERVIEW TAKE TWO

YAE: [SIGHS] What's your name?

MONA: [LAUGHS] It's Mona! You all know me.

JEAN: How has your first week on the island been?

MONA: Honestly, weird. Scaramouche has been giving me the nastiest side eye but I still want him to at least acknowledge me, and Y/N is so socially awkward it kind of hurts and—

YAE: Haha, so funny! [PAINED LAUGH] What about a good thing?

YAE: [WHISPERS] This isn't a good look for you, Mona.

MONA, STILL TALKING: - and you know, Fischl is beautiful, but how am I supposed to talk to her? I know I'm a bad bitch, but I can't fumble this one. It'll be so bad for my image and-oh, sorry, did you ask me something?

JEAN: What's... what's a good thing about your first week here. [SOUNDS PAINED]

MONA: Oh! Getting to tan. I'm so pale being inside all day as an idol, it's nice to get some sun. [SMILES]

YAE: Cut!

[00:00:00] POST DOUBLE DATE INTERVIEW

YAE: So, how are you feeling about our guests?

YN: You are an evil woman for bringing them here.

YAE: [GIGGLES] Right? I’m so good at this.

YN: Seeing Heizou was a little awkward, but I think we’re okay now?

YAE: Any sparks flying? 

YN: I’m not sure, I don’t think so.

YAE: And what are your thoughts on Mona?

YN: Well, she was nice…?

YAE: [RAISES A BROW AND GESTURES FOR YOU TO CONTINUE]

YN: Well, she was nice on the date. But looking back I think she was just trying to get a reaction out of Scara [SIGHS] I still had fun though.

YAE: I see all those plushies your not date won for you [WIGGLES HER EYEBROWS SUGGESTIVELY] That was romantic, right?

YN: [WAVES HER OFF] He was just competing with Heizou!

YAE: [GROANS LOUDLY] 

JEAN: Don’t mind her–

LISA: [ALSO GROANING BEHIND THE CAMERA]

YN: Archons, sorry. 

YAE: Yeah, you should be. Open your eyes. 

YN: They’re open I swear! [PUTS HANDS UP]

YAE: Hmph. CUT!

stuck with you!

masterlist — prev | next

btw chapter eleven is when yn mentions they don’t like blueberries, told ya it would come back (and sorry again if u actually like them, replace it with a fruit u hate)

also typo slide 27 it’s supposed to say yn weverse update

me tryna figure out how to do backstory: twitter thread! more scaramona backstory next chapter so be patient xx

i cudnt fit the written text below pic in this as much so make sure u read all the written parts!

also scara only saying his body count after yn shows interest i know what u r

pls comment or send me an ask if u enjoyed i need motivation 🤗

comment on the MASTERLIST if i can use ur user as a fan in the au!

notes — wow 3 updates in one month merry christmas also btl easter egg who caught that

synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!

taglist — @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @iheartpieck @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @flowerypesky @creammpuff @boxdisappeared @kissingkzuha @webbywill @kazusboyfriend @s3xpistolss @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @kosumos @danfelions @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @haeunoo @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @ttalgi @esuz @tokkishouse @kitsuvil @scarasmood @ihearttori @nomurahayami @starringyau @androxphobic @reivelmin @animeobsessed56 @femaholicc @vi0let-writes @izayumi-chan @aloflapse @migorengeaterrr

[tbaluver]

I Saw Mommy Kiss Santa!- The Love And Deepspace Men

in order: xavier x reader, zayne x reader, rafayel x reader, sylus x reader summary: your child(ren) caught you and santa kissing! genre: fluff fluff + silly + drabble a/n: hihi again lovelies ! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ justt one moree holiday drabble just bc i love the holidays and i've always wanted to do holiday posts! this isn't proof read btw i had the idea written out and i wanted to make sure this gets posted before christmas at least- i hope you all enjoy reading and i hope you all have a happy holidays! (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

it was well past midnight meaning it was officially christmas day. the cookies you and the kids had left out were completely gone, quite literally no crumbs on that plate and the glass of milk was left empty right beside it.

although xavier didn’t really like the idea of santa claus, he could tell how excited his boys were when santa was going to visit overnight. you had mentioned that they might try to peek, given how excited they were that they couldn’t sleep, so xavier thought it was a good idea to help keep the surprise.

however both of you didn’t expect that they would peek in the worst possible moment.

xavier had just finished placing the last presents under the tree while you were wrapping up the dishes you’d used to bake with the boys. as you walked over to him, you’d admire the scene he’d set up for them so perfectly, you couldn’t help but smile. it truly did look like santa had come.

you lean in to kiss xavier, his hands naturally wrapping around your waist as he pulls you closer. but little did you both know, your two boys had quietly sneaked down the stairs and were watching from the steps.

before either of you could react, they charged at xavier with plastic swords in their hands, ones that he had given them, and began attacking him. he was quick to stop them and the boys froze, their eyes wide in realization.

“huh? but we saw santa..where did he go?” the older one asked, clearly confused. their plan had failed.

“um.. ho ho ho? merry christmas?” xavier scratches the back of his head awkwardly as he sets their toys down on the couch.

“papwa where did santa go?” the youngest asked, his voice trembling as tears were welling up in his eyes.

“santa was in a hurry tonight,” xavier says softly, kneeling down to their level and pats both of his son's head. “santa was nice enough to lend me his suit..so i became santa’s helper.”

you crouch down beside them, trying to calm them down. “why did you attack your father? i’m sure santa wouldn’t have liked that.” you asked softly.

“we saw santa kiss you momma!” they exclaimed in unison.

xavier turns his gaze to, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. “santa kissed you?”

you had to explain to xavier later that he was santa after you put the boys back to bed.

Zayne:

it was well past midnight meaning it was officially christmas. your daughter was tucked into bed while you and your husband just waited a little longer to ensure she was asleep before starting to make it look like santa visited.

your husband loved you and your daughter more than anything. which is why tonight he was determined to make it perfect and the reason why he was wearing the santa suit you had secretly bought him. it was an effort to see that big smile on her face when she woke up. however you try to hold back your laughter every time you pass by him in that red suit.

zayne used his evol to make a few final touches to the scene. he conjured up a powdery snow on the floor, carefully leaving footprints to mimic santa’s path. he made sure to eat the cookies and drink the milk that you and her left out, also leaving snowy handprints. zayne also made sure to leave a beautifully written thank you note near the empty plate, making sure it was written differently than his.

once everything was perfect, you leaned into him as he wrapped an arm around your waist, the other gently cupping your cheek as he leaned in for a soft kiss. as he pulls away, he whispers, “merry christmas my love.”

but neither of you were unaware that from the spot behind the stairs, your daughter had peeked through the railings, watching you kiss santa.

christmas morning

your daughter came running into your bedroom, squealing in excitement as she jumps onto your bed. she tugs both of you to get up as she drags you both down to the living room where a mountain pile of presents laid under the tree.

but there was a moment of hesitation on her face. you exchange a curious glance with zayne as your daughter stopped in front of the tree.

“what’s wrong dear?” zayne asked, kneeling down to her level.

she twiddles her thumbs nervously, her gaze darting back and forth between you and zayne. “well..” she hesitates, “i-i know i wasn’t suppose to be awake last night.. but i hear santa’s boots and i wanted to see if he was really there. and he was!”

you raised a brow, realizing what she meant. but you didn’t understand why she seemed so conflicted. “you heard santa? did he wake you?”

you daughter nodded eagerly, “yes i saw him! but..i saw mommy kiss santa!” her voice trembling.

you both froze for a moment, exchanging a look. zayne tried his best not to crack a smile but you could see the corners of his lips twitching.

“no, no hon,” you try to reassure her before it escalates to anything else, “i didn’t kiss santa.”

zayne nods along, “it’s true she didn’t kiss santa. she was just giving him a hug, my love.”

your daughter’s eyes widened with curiously as she darts her gaze between you and zayne, “really?”

zayne smiles softly, lowering himself to her height. “yes, mommy was just thanking santa for all the presents because you’ve been such a good girl this year.”

relief flooded your daughter’s face, making you both relax. her smile lights up the room as she threw her arms around you both, hugging you tightly. “yayyy! santa must like mommy a lot then!” she chirps happily.

“of course he does. now, let’s see what he’s brought you this year.”

Rafayel:

surprisingly it did not take you that long to convince rafayel to play santa. sure, it was meant for you rather than for the kids but he took the role very seriously even when the children weren’t evem around to witness it.

all he had to do was eat the cookies, stomp around in his boots to make sure the kids could probably hear him in the living room and neatly arrange the presents under the tree. but no, rafayel decided to go all out. and honestly, you couldn’t say no his dedication and work.

he starts by making a grand entrance, the sound of jingling sleigh bells ringing near the children’s room, only for it to backfire. the noise woke up the kids and they all debated if they should sneak out to see if santa was really here.

rafayel didn’t stop there just yet. he called a in a few of his friends, the seagulls, to nibble on the carrots left for the reindeers, making sure there were a few crumbs scattered to ensure they were eaten. he even made sure to leave tracks outside the house to show that reindeers were definitely there.

but that wasn’t the end of it. using powdered sugar, he carefully creates santa’s footsteps around the living room to make it look like santa himself had walked around and set up the presents. as you finished up filling the fifth stockings and stepped back to admire the scene, you couldn’t help but feel excited when your children wake up in the morning.

rafayel steps out of the powdered sugar footprints and saunters over to you with a playful grin. “well? give santa a kiss?” he says, spreading his arms wide. you rolled your eyes playfully but you couldn’t resist. walking into his arms, you lean up to press a soft kiss against his lips. his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer while the other tangled gently in your hair, deepening the kiss.

but before either of you could fully enjoy the moment alone, you heard a small thud and a very panicked rafayel. “hey!! glub glubs-!”

the kids had been watching the entire kissing scene unfold from the stairs and before any of you could react they rushed over, tackling santa rafayel. the squealing stopped abruptly when they looked up. their faces frozen in confusion as they realize it’s their father.

“fawther?” one of them asks, eyes wide.

“papa?” the other repeats, staring at him in total disbelief.

“you..you’re santa?”

rafayel sat up as he brushed himself off, “listen glub glubs..don’t tell anyone okay?” he winks at them, motioning for them to come closer. “you see.. us lemurians actually work with santa. we have an important job in making sure sharks don’t eat him if the reindeers fall asleep. and this year.. santa needed a little help making sure your presents came in extraaaa safely!” he closes his eyes dramatically while nodding. he knew he played it off well when he hears the kids gasp and squeal in excitement

rafayel grins, standing up and playfully ruffling their hairs. “yupp! now let’s get you all back to bed. ya know you shouldn’t be up right now or santa might come back and take all your presents away!” he teases as they gasp in unison, shaking their heads furiously.

“what if he comes back and kisses mommy this time?”

rafayel chuckles as he turns his gaze to you and raises a brow, “puh-lease. as if i’d ever let him.”

Sylus:

it was a few hours past midnight, meaning christmas had finally arrived. while your daughter was tucked in, you and sylus worked under the warm glow of the fireplace and the tree lights, setting up presents and carefully arranging them to make it look like santa paid a visit.

you thought it would be funny handing him a red suit and boots to stomp loudly on the floor but little did you know sylus had his own revenge. with a smirk, he hands you a silly oversized elf hat. ‘my perfect little helper’ he teases.

you carefully stuffed extra toys and candy into her stockings that hung over the fireplace as sylus made a show eating a few of the cookies you had baked together with her, making sure to offer you a couple bites as well. he made sure to leave her a special postcard for her and made sure to ‘accidentally’ drop one of santa’s golden bell.

when you both finished setting everything up, you stood back and admired both your work. everything was perfect and you couldn’t wait for your baby girl to see that santa had visited.

sylus slips his arm around your waist, pulling you close. he lowers his height and presses his soft lips against yours as you slip off the ugly elf hat he’d given you. but neither of you knew that your daughter along with mephisto was quietly watching from behind the banister.

her eyes widened in disbelief as she exchanges looks with mephisto. how dare santa make a move on her mommy? before either of you could react, she charges down the stairs.

your daughter rushes straight at sylus, who was dressed as santa while mephisto swung at you instead, squawking extra loudly as it flapped around you. your daughter tugs at santa sylus’s boots, wailing, “go away leave mommy alone!”

but when ‘santa’ crouches down at her, her eyes widened with shock. she realized that it was her father underneath the suit. he gently scoops your daughter up as he stops mephisto from attacking you. “what’s the matter, sweetie? you know you’re not supposed to be awake right now,” he says gently.

her eyes threatened to spill tears while her lower lip trembled, “i-i..i heard santa and I just wanted to see him! and then i saw mommy kiss santa!” she whimpered

sylus glanced at you with a raised row, trying not to crack a smile. “sweetie..don’t worry. mommy would never kiss anyone else but you and me,” he says softly, brushing her hair from her face. “santa knew you were awake, so we switched places.”

you daughter gasped, sitting up in sylus’s arms with wide eyes. she looked back and forth between you both, “waaowww!”

you were honestly equally impressed by how quick he had come up with an explanation and at how well he played along. “now, now..let’s all get some sleep and we can see what santa left us in the morning, okay?”

“yayyyy!” she cheered, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug.

[enwoso]

FIRST OF MANY TOGETHER — alessia russo x leah williamson x child!reader

twelve days of christmas | day 12

based on this request

a soft hum could be heard throughout the hallway of the house, a soft glow was peering through windows giving it that warm and cozy feel as you rushed through a small little bell on the santa hat you had in your hand as you reached the door of your mummy's bedroom.

a small creek could be heard from the door as your barrelled you way into the room, your curls bouncing with excitement. "mummy! its christmas, wake up!... c'mon le wake up, santa's been!" you squealed, hoping onto your mummy's bed with no hesitation. your mummy groaned playfully as she turned onto her side and feigning sleep, "are you sure its christmas? what if this is all just a dream?" alessia joked as you gave her a look which she didn't see as she had her eyes shut.

"no, it's not a dream." you sassed, as you shook the bell on your santa hat hoping the noise would wake your mummy and leah who hadn't even stirred yet.

"mummy wake up!" you tugged on her arm as she huffed slightly running her hands across her face, before pointing for you to do the same to leah as you had a playful grin on your lips.

"wakey wakey le!" you cheered as you shook the bell over leah's head. leah moving as her messy blonde hair stuck out at odd angles, as she opened her eyes a sweet smile appearing across her lips. 

"hang on, are we certain santa came" she asked her voice raspy and filled with sleep as she rubbed her eyes, "has anyone checked the carrot and milk?"

you froze, mid shaky the bell as a gasp escaped from your lips as she shook your head, "the carrot!" you scrambled off the bed as you sprinted in direction of the living room.

"you're creating a little monster" alessia whispered as she giggled, leah just laughing to herself as she rolled to face alessia. a grin finding its way onto her lips as she placed her hand on alessia's chin not before brushing a loose hair behind her ear as she leaned in to kissing alessia softly, "merry christmas, love" leah mumbled against her lips.

"merry christmas," alessia whispered back chasing leah's lips as they got a little further away, before placing one last kiss to her lips as she pushed the warm covers off her. "come on, lets see if santa has left anything under the tree!"

making their way to the living room, your voice echoing throughout the stairway as you called for them to hurry up. by the time your mummy and leah joined you, you had already carefully inspected the fireplace where you'd placed the milk, mince pie and carrot, where there now just lay crumbs and a few drops of milk left in a glass.

"he was here!" you pointed in awe, your eyes going wide with excitement as both your mummy and leah stood with big smiles on their face.

"well santa must of left something somewhere then!" leah teased as she pointed toward the carefully decorated tree which you could say you proudly help with doing - more you just put the same colour bauble next to each other, so alessia admittingly had to do a little reorganisation when your were asleep that night.

your head whipping round, looking at the glowing tree where there was a pile of brightly wrapped gifts waiting all with bows and pretty wrapping paper on them. your mouth dropping open, "presents!" 

leah had helped you find the pile which was yours, wrapped in red and white wrapping paper, alessia made herself and leah a coffee before the two settled on the couch warpping themselves in a cozy fuzzy throw. you of course starting with the biggest one, immediately tearing the neat wrapping.

"woah" you gasped as you pulled off the rest of the paper, revealing a red bike with flowers on the sides as well as training wheels on it. "mummy, look its a bike!"

alessia chuckled at your excitement, "now you can go on your bike around the training ground and it even has a little seat for esme at the back look" 

another gasp came from you as you inspected the small seat at the back, immediately taking your esme the elephant from her seat next to your mummy on the couch and sitting her in the seat, strapping her in with the little straps. "i think she likes it" you grinned as your mummy and leah couldn't help but smile.

the unwrapping continued, and the room grew messier by the minute as paper, ribbons, and bows scattered everywhere. your face lit up with every new gift—a new colouring book and proper pen - much to your mums distaste you not having the best history with pens, a couple new barbie dolls, and the pièce de résistance: a barbie dream house for all your barbie’s to live in.

"look!" you exclaimed, opening the tiny windows and doors. "it's perfect!"

leah and alessia shared a secret smile. they had spent hours assembling it together over the previous week, complete with tiny furniture and little house accsessories. but seeing your reaction made all the patience testing parts worth it. 

once all the gifts were unwrapped, alessia stood up and stretched, "who wants breakfast?" you jumping up and down repeating 'me, me' as your mummy smiled. 

"i want christmas tree pancakes!" you declared, still hopping up and down, alessia's eyebrows rising in surprise before nodding, "your wish is my command, lovie" your mummy grinned as you cheered watching as your mummy spun on her heels, her coffee cup still in her hand as she made her way to the kitchen.

while alessia whisked the batter and expertly shaped it into christmas tree just like you has asked, you and leah were pouring syrup into a little jug and arranging strawberries into neat piles on each plate - well, leah was, you mostly were just sat on the counter top swinging your legs back and forth as every few strawberries placed on the plate, one ended up in your mouth.

the three of you, sitting down at the table digging into breakfast as small stifled laughs could be heard from leah and alessia at how fast your pancakes disappeared quicker than they could be refilled.

"mummy,' you said suddenly, looking between alessia and leah, "i think santa missed something off my list" as the words left your lips a flash of worry washed over alessia's face, she had tried to make as much of your list possible as she could. a wave of mum guilt flooding her body at the thought of missing something.

"has he?" alessia asked intrigued, putting her fork down on her plate as she listened. leah also listening as she knew how much effort alessia had put into making the festive time special for you.

you nodded as you took a sip of your juice, "yep, i asked him about arsenal winning the league but there still second." you told your mummy as a short sigh left her lips in relief, that wasn't something that was entirely in her hands and it wasn't exactly something she could buy from the shops.

alessia sat for a moment trying to come up with a reason as to why santa hadn't brought you that before leah spoke up, "but lovie the season hasn't ended yet, arsenal can still win it" you gazed over a little confused as to why you couldn't just have arsenal win the league for christmas.

leah begining to explain it in the best way she could so that you would understand it, but that led to an onslaught of questions of 'why'.

a small part of alessia was slilently cheering for the fact she didnt have to answer each and every single one of your 'why's' at it really made you realise how much thought went into small things.

leah pausing for a second to help wash her plate as alessia was making her second coffee of the morning, you more than likely thinking of another question to ask leah when she came back. leah leaning into alessia, "we are going to do everything we can to try and win that league for her" leah whispered in alessia's ear as she agreed.

leah quickly placing a quick kiss to alessia's cheek as she breathed a relaxed sigh, her heart feeling as if it was about to burst to seeing how much leah cared for you just as much as alessia did, really made alessia fall more and more in love with the blonde - if at this stage it was even humanly possible to do so.

the rest of the day was a whirlwind of joy, you had gotten your answers to why santa hadn't brought you arsenal winning the league - putting it down to the fact that santa mustn't of had time yet to talk to the footballing gods. after breakfast you were quick to rush your mummy and leah into warm coats, scarfs and gloves so you could head outside on your new bike.

you just going around the streets of where you lived but soon enough with a little help from your mummy since leah said she may not be the best to help on a bike.. you finally got it and were riding the bike yourself with the help of the training wheels.

"look, mummy i’m doing it!" you squealed as you rode down the path yourself, pedelling away as your mummy cheered you on with encouragement. 

"you may need to ask lovie for some lessons" alessia teased with a smug smile, bumping leah's shoulder who just scoffed giving her girlfriend a playful glare as she shoved her back.

leah and alessia walked down the street, holding hands as they watched you grow more and more with confidence on your bike, a festive joy filling the streets as the moment felt peaceful, like time had slowed down just for them.

"i don't think i've ever felt this happy" alessia whispered as she leant her head against leah's shoulder a smile hadn't left her lips the whole morning watching you with such excitment being surrounded by those who she loved, the day for alessia couldn't get any better.

"me neither," leah replied, her voice soft. alessia opening her mouth to say something else but quickly seeing you on your bike coming toward the two at some speed.

"i- lovie! slow down" alessia quickly called out, "the breaks lovie- use them" your mummy rushed out but it was no use, you barralled into the legs of your mummy as she stumped backwards - to leah surprise alessia didn’t fall over as you just giggled out a sorry. leah trying her best to stop the laugh that so despeerately wanting to slip from her lips.

"what did you say before, i should ask-" leah began but the glare she got from her girlfriend was enough to stop her in her tracks as alessia kneeled down to your height. 

"lovie, i think we need to teach you to use the breaks-"

once they returned home, and you had learnt how to use the breaks on your bike. the evening was spent snuggled up on the couch watching the tv as three mugs of hot chocolate dressed the coffee table with mashmellows and whipped cream. you curled up between them, your head resting on your mummy's chest you having not made it past the first twenty minutes of the film, clutching onto your esme the elephant. 

the credits starting to roll as the room grew quiet, alessia looking over at leah smiling, "i think this has been the best christmas" alessia admitted, leah's brow furrowing waiting for the blonde to elaborate.

"just it being you, me and lovie. it was just the perfect christmas all together" alessia shrugged as leah leaned over to kiss her temple, her smile mirroring alessia's "the first of many together" 

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Sweet Dreams.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

blurb masterlist.

in which, its christmas eve, and harry is tucking his daughter into bed, just like he does every night.

word count - 800.

Bed time had always been Harry’s thing.

Every night, after his wife would give there daughter a bath, he would be the one to get her to sleep, she claimed he had the magic touch, whenever she would be unsettled as a baby, his hands running through her hair would instantly soothe her into a soft sleep.

It was Christmas Eve.

And this was the first year she was properly going to understand what Christmas was.

The nursery is filled with the soft glow of the nightlight, and Harry sits in the rocking chair, his little girl curled in his arms.

Her damp curls are pressed against his chest, her tiny fingers clutching at his shirt. She’s cozy in her sleep sack, but her wide eyes sparkle with excitement, far from ready to close.

“Dada,” she whispers, her voice soft and slightly garbled, still touched with the babyish lilt of her words. “Santa comin’, wight?”

Harry smiles down at her, brushing a stray curl away from her forehead. “He is, love, but only if little girls go to sleep. That’s the rule, you know.”

She shakes her head, her pout exaggerated and dramatic.

“No sweep,” she declares firmly. “I wait fow him.”

“Not even a little bit tired?” Harry teases gently, tilting his head as he rocks her.

“Nuh-uh.” She shakes her head again, her curls bouncing slightly. “I see Santa. He gonna bwing pwesents.”

Harry chuckles softly, his heart swelling at the sight of her determined little face. “He is, but Santa’s very sneaky, you know. He only comes when everyone’s fast asleep. If he thinks you’re awake, he might skip this house altogether.”

Her eyes grow wide at his words, her tiny mouth forming a surprised “O.”

“Nooooo,” she whines, clutching his shirt tighter. “No skip my house, Daddy! I be good!”

“You’ve been very good,” Harry reassures her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “But he still needs you to go to sleep. That’s the rule.”

“You want your bottle, love?” he asks softly, his voice low and tender.

She perks up immediately, nodding her head eagerly, her curls bouncing with the motion.

“Baba, pwease,” she says, her small voice filled with enthusiasm, as though it’s the most exciting thing in the world.

“Alright, m’darling,” Harry says, reaching for the bottle on the table beside the rocking chair. He holds it up to her lips, even though she’s perfectly capable of holding it herself.

But this is their ritual, his way of making her feel small and safe, and she leans into him without protest, her hands lightly brushing his as he steadies the bottle for her.

She takes slow, content sips, her eyes fluttering as the warmth and familiarity of the moment begin to lull her closer to sleep.

Harry watches her lovingly, his free hand gently stroking her hair, smoothing the damp curls against her head.

“You’re my clever girl, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice soft and melodic. “Santa’s going to be so proud of you this year. So many presents waiting just for you under the tree.”

She hums softly around the bottle, her eyelids starting to droop, but she fights it, her little fingers reaching for his shirt as if to keep herself grounded in the moment.

“You’re safe, m’love,” Harry whispers, his voice warm and reassuring. He begins to hum a soft tune, the familiar notes of her favorite lullaby wrapping around the room like a gentle embrace.

As the hum turns into words, his voice fills the quiet space, tender and soothing.

“Sleep, my baby, close your eyes,

Santa’s magic fills the skies.

Dream of reindeer, dream of snow,

Christmas morning’s not far to go…”

That was the words his dad used to say to him as a child and so it was only right he repeated the same ones to his children.

Her body relaxes completely against his chest, the bottle slipping from her lips as her breathing evens out.

Harry smiles, his heart swelling as he watches her drift off, so small and peaceful in his arms.

Carefully, he sets the bottle aside and cradles her closer, rocking her gently as he continues to hum.

“Sweet dreams, m’darling,” he whispers, pressing a final kiss to her forehead.

He stands slowly, his movements practiced and deliberate, and lays her in the crib that, for now, still feels like the right place for her.

Pulling the blanket up to her chin, he lingers for a moment, watching her sleep before softly padding out of the room.

[scribblesofagoonerr]

first christmas | buddy & monkey: double the trouble

summary: the second part of the flash back to buddy & monkey's first christmas.

double the trouble masterlist

Christmas morning had arrived, and the faint golden light filtered through the curtains. You tiptoed down the stairs, the cosy warmth of the house contrasting with the crisp winter chill outside.

As you reached the bottom of the stairs, your eyes widened at the sight before you. Beneath the Christmas tree, a mountain of presents was neatly stacked up, each of them wrapped in colourful paper.

The room seemed to sparkle with magic, it was the kind you had only seen in movies or dreamed about as a child.

"Woah," You whispered, your voice filled with disbelief.

Leah appeared from the kitchen, holding a steaming drink in her hands that definitely wasn't for her considering she despised coffee, "Merry Christmas, my girl." She said warmly, stepping closer to you.

You blinked, still trying to process what you were seeing, "Are... Are all of these for me?" You asked hesitantly, as if afraid the answer might be no.

Leah chuckled and nodded, "For you, and for Buddy," She said, gesturing toward your favourite little buddy, who was babbling happily on the floor, sitting between Jordan's legs, attempting to chew on wrapping paper.

Jordan grinned at you, "Go ahead and open them, little one." She encouraged you.

You were hesitant, glancing at the sheer number of presents under the tree, "But... But I didn't ask for any of this," You said quietly, your fingers brushing against the wrapping paper of one of the small gifts.

"Well that's okay," Leah said, placing the steaming mug on the coffee table before moving to crouch down beside you, "You've been on Santa's nice list, and luckily, he knew exactly what you would like."

You brow furrowed as you tilted your head, "There's so many of them-- Wait, he knew?" Your eyes felt like they bulged out of it's sockets at those words.

"Yeah, he's been watching you all year round to see whether you've been bad or good," Leah stated, her expression turning playful, "Clearly Santa thinks you've been good this year." She added.

You scrunched up your nose, "He still sounds like a creep," You muttered, making Jordan burst into laughter from across the room, "I don't know what to open first." You added, feeling slightly overwhelmed.

"It's okay to take your time with them," Leah reassured you, "How about you over this side first?"

"Okay," You said, picking up a box about twice the size of your hand as you carefully tore into the wrapping paper, revealing a LEGO set. Your eyes lit up in excitement as you held it up, "Whoa, cool! LEGO! Thanks! I wanted this!" You exclaimed, turning to Leah and Jordan with a wide grin.

"There's plenty more to open," Jordan said, nodding toward the pile.

You dove back in, picking up another package, this one wrapped in a different kind of wrapping paper, "Cool! I love it, thank you!" You exclaimed, holding up the hoodie in your hands.

"That one is of my parents," Leah explained, smiling softly.

"Really?" Your eyes widened in shock, "I... I never expected it. Can I open the rest?" You asked eagerly.

"Of course you can," Leah said, ruffling your hair affectionately.

Meanwhile, Buddy had found her own source of entertainment: the discarded wrapping paper. She giggled and crinkled it in her tiny fists, clearly more interested in the noise it made than the actual gifts.

"She's more entertained by that than her presents," Jordan laughed, shaking her head in amusement.

"We could have saved so much money," Leah joked, amused with Buddy's antics, "You're not supposed to eat it, bubba."

But you were too engrossed in your presents to notice, "Woah! No way-- I have wanted one of these for ages! Thank you!" You grinned, holding the box of a fresh Nintendo Switch, one that you'd been looking at for ages.

"Don't thank us, thank Santa Clause," Leah teased.

"No way. That dudes' a creep!" You shot back, making Leah and Jordan both laugh, "Can I set it up, now?"

"You still have other presents to open, but in a bit you can," Leah said, shaking her head fondly.

"Can I take it out with us? Please?" You asked, already planning how you'd show off your new toy.

"That's fine, just be careful, okay?" Leah agreed.

"Deal! Thank you-- Whoa, this is totally awesome. Cool, Mario Kart!" You exclaimed, holding up the game in your hand.

"Open the present on your right, little one," Jordan prompted, clearly knowing what it was.

You tore into it eagerly and gasped, "A steering wheel? Awesome!"

"Apparently this is the one that's top of the range at the moment," Jordan explained with a proud smile, "We asked the man himself, who was certain about it."

"So cool!" You said, your excitement growing with each gift.

By the time you had opened all of your gifts, you were overwhelmed with the stacks of presents that you had from Leah, Jordan and both of their families, "I... I don't even know what to say," You admitted, looking at Leah and Jordan with wide eyes, "Thank... Thank you."

Leah smiled, leaning down to hug you tightly, "You're worth it, my girl."

Jordan joined the hug, Buddy nestled in her arms, "Merry Christmas, little one. Welcome to the family."

"Are we there yet?" You groaned, slumping dramatically in your seat as the car pulled out of the driveway.

Jordan glanced at you through the rearview mirror, one eyebrow arched in bemusement, "We've only just left our house, little one. At least wait until we're on the motorway before you start complaining, eh?"

"But I'm bored, and the car is cramped!" You whined, squirming in the backseat for emphasis, you were sat beside Buddy in her carseat, making the space feel even tighter, "How much longer until we're there?"

"About forty minutes," Leah replied from the passenger seat, scrolling idly through her phone.

"Forty minutes? That's, like, forever!" You protested, dragging out the word with as much melodrama as possible.

"Time will pass before you know it," Leah said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at your dramatics.

"I don't think it will. I'm so bored," You complained, letting out an exaggerated huff and then leaned forward slightly, "I'm hungry. Can I have some chocolate?"

"No," Leah replied firmly, her tone leaving no room for debate, "You'll spoil your dinner."

"But I'm really hungry," You pressed, sticking out your lower lip in an attempt to look pitiful.

Jordan chuckled in amusement, her eyes focused on the road up ahead, "I'm sure you'll survive until we get there, little one."

"I don't think so," You countered with mock seriousness, "I'll starve before we get to Milton Keynes!"

Leah snorted, shaking her head, "You're being ridiculous. You literally had breakfast this morning. You'll survive."

"I'm not convinced," You grumbled under your breath, slumping further in your seat. Turning your attention to Buddy, you wiggled your fingers toward her sock-clad-feet, earning a squeal of delight from the 8 month old, "What do you think, Buddy? Aren't they being unfair?"

"Oh I'm sure she's definitely going to agree with you," Jordan teased, glancing at you in the rearview mirror, a smirk tugging at her lips.

You continued entertaining Buddy, making silly faces and tickling her feet, "Mummy and Mama are trying to starve me," You declared dramatically, "It's an outrage, right?"

Buddy responded with a happy babble and flailed her little arms, which you immediately interpreted as agreement, "See? Even Buddy agrees with me!" You said triumphantly, "So, can I have chocolate now?"

"My answer is still no, Menace," Leah said without missing a beat, her tone firm but playful.

"Ugh, so not fair," You grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest and slouching back into your seat.

You absolutely despised long car rides, and you definitely made sure that both Leah and Jordan were painfully aware of your feelings.

"Are we there yet?"  You questioned no less than 10 minutes later.

Leah let out an exaggerated sigh, "Not since the last time you asked, no."

"I'm bored!" You exclaimed dramatically.

"Hi, bored," Jordan quipped without missing a beat.

"Ha ha ha, you're hilarious..." You muttered sarcastically.

"I know," Jordan replied smugly, "I get that a lot."

You scrunched your face up, "Urgh, you're so annoying, and I'm still bored."

"Hi, still bored," Jordan teased, flashing you a cheeky grin in the mirror as she strummed her hands on the car steering wheel to the music that was playing, and ironically enough it was driving home for christmas.

"Babe," Leah chuckled, shaking her head, "Maybe I should've gotten you a Dad Jokes book for Christmas instead."

"No need, love. I'm naturally gifted," Jordan replied with a wink.

"More like you’re naturally annoying," You muttered, earning a laugh from Leah.

"Alright, Monkey," Leah said, turning slightly in her seat to face you, "If you're going to keep whining, how about we play a game to pass the time?"

"A game? Like what?" You asked cautiously.

"How about the quiet game?" Leah suggested, her lips twitching with amusement.

You scoffed, shaking your head in protest, "That's lame! Can't we play something better instead?"

"Like what?" Jordan questioned.

"Um... I don't know, like 'I spy'!" You declared, your eyes lighting up.

"Alright," Leah said with a sigh, "You start then."

You grinned mischievously, "I spy with my little eye... something red!"

"The air freshener?" Jordan guessed.

"Nope!" You exclaimed.

"The presents in the gift bag," Leah tried her luck.

"Wrong again!" You smirked in amusement.

Jordan arched her eyebrow, "Buddy's coat?" She asked.

"Nope, not even close," You said smugly.

"Something red? There's not much else in here," Leah mused.

"Give up?" You asked, bouncing slightly in your seat with excitement.

"I do," Jordan admitted, using her free hand to scratch the back of her neck.

"Not yet," Leah said, narrowing her eyes as she scanned the road, "Is it that road sign we just passed?"

"Nope! You know, you're both terrible at this!" You teased, leaning back with a triumphant grin.

"Alright, what is it?" Leah finally asked.

You grinned mischievously, glancing between the two of them, "It's Leah's face when she's mad!" You exclaimed, dissolving into giggles.

Jordan burst into laughter, clapping her hands on the steering wheel while Leah groaned, shaking her head, though a small smile tugged at her lips despite her mock glare.

"You are such a little Menace sometimes, you know that?" Leah said, her tone affectionate even as she rolled her eyes.

“We’re here! Finally!” You exclaimed, eager to escape the confines of the car.

“Finally! I don’t think I could handle anymore of your complaining,” Jordan quipped, turning off the ignition.

“Cheer up, grumpy. It’s Christmas!” Leah chuckled, undoing her seatbelt with practiced ease.

“Yeah, Jord, cheer up. It’s Christmas!” You echoed Leah’s words, grinning mischievously.

“Ha ha, very funny. I’ll give you ‘cheer up’” Jordan retorted with mock indignation as she climbed out of the car, “Looks like your mum’s already waiting at the door. How about you get Buddy out, and Monkey and I will grab the presents?”

“Sure,” Leah replied easily, moving to unbuckle Buddy.

You, however, scrunched up your nose, “Do I have to?” You groaned.

“Come on, there’s not a lot,” Jordan nudged you lightly with her elbow as she walked around to the boot, “I promise I won’t make you carry the heavy ones.”

“Fine,” You muttered, taking the smaller gift bag Jordan handed you.

“Merry Christmas!” Amanda’s cheerful voice greeted from where she stood on the doorstep, waiting to welcome you all inside.

“Hi, Mum!” Leah waved as she lifted Buddy out of her car seat, expertly balancing her on hip while shutting the door, “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas!” Jordan shouted back in response.

“Oh, there’s Nana’s little princess!” Amanda cooed, her attention immediately on Buddy, “Merry Christmas, sweet girl.”

Leah faintly smiled, “She’s been a bit fussy this morning, and she hasn’t napped at all.”

“Oh, is that so?” Amanda frowned, her arms outstretched, “Are we being fussy for your Mummies, hm?” She scooped Buddy into her embrace, cradling with her with practiced ease.

“Just a little bit,” Jordan chuckled, catching up to her with the presents in hand.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” Amanda greeted you, readjusting Buddy her arms so she could envelope you in a warm hug.

You smiled slightly in response, “Hi. Merry Christmas.” You greeted, though, you were still feeling a bit reserved and shy despite the festivities.

“Are they here yet? Are they here yet?” A voice boomed from inside the house as Jacob bolted down the stairs. His excitement was palpable as he skidded to a stop, “You’re here!” He exclaimed.

“Hi, J. Merry Christmas!” Leah greeted her younger brother, but his attention was entirely on you.

“Monkey!” Jacob yelled.

“Jacob!” You parroted with equal enthusiasm, your shyness now completely revoked.

Leah gave her brother an exaggerated look of mock hurt, “Wow. Just forget I exist, huh?”

“Best friend already,” Jordan chimed in, amusedly.

“Come check out the new Xbox game I got for Christmas! You have to see it” Jacob tugged at your arm, his excitement infectious.

You hesitated, the sudden attention making you flinch slightly, “Uh… Can I?” You turned to ask Leah and Jordan.

Leah nodded warmly, “Go ahead, Jacob seems itching to show you it.”

“Dinner’s not for a while yet,” Amanda piped in.

“Come on!” Jacob insisted as he practically dragged you toward the stairs, “Wait until you see it!” He called over his shoulder, practically vibrating with excitement..

Amanda chuckled as she watched you disappear upstairs, “They seem to be getting along already.”

“Like two peas in a pod,” Jordan agreed, settling down the presents in the hallway.

David appeared in a festive jumper, his face lighting up when he saw Leah, Jordan and Buddy, “I thought I heard familiar voices,” He teased, pulling Leah into a hug first, “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

“Merry Christmas, Dad,” Leah smiled, returning the hug with the older man, “I love your jumper. Is that a Christmas gift from Mum?” She teased.

“Oh yes, your Mum brought it for me,” David chuckled, moving to exchange a hug with Jordan, “Hi, Jord. Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, David,” Jordan replied, grinning.

David’s attention shifted to Buddy, “And here’s our little angel!” He cooed, tickling her sock-clad feet, “What’s with that frown?” He wondered, noticing the grumpy expression the 8 month old currently had on her face.

“She’s grumpy, I think she’s had too much excitement already,” Leah explained, amusedly.

“Oh I see,” David chuckled, reaching out to take Buddy from Amanda, “You want to come to Grandad for a cuddle? Oh, come here–  Are you having a good Christmas?” He cooed to the little girl in his arms.

“Yeah, we’ve tried to eat all of the wrapping paper of the presents this morning, haven’t we?” Leah cooed, gently stroking Buddy’s cheek, “I honestly think we’d have saved money just by giving her that.” She joked.

Amanda chuckled, shaking her head as they all headed further inside the house, “So, how’s it been so far?”

“Yeah, it’s been okay. We opened presents this morning, I think Monkey was a bit overwhelmed with the amount there was,” Leah began to explain in a gentle tone of voice, “But I think she’s liking it so far.”

“That’s good then,” Amanda smiled brightly, “Did she like the hoodie that we brought her, and everything else?” She asked.

“Oh, yeah. She loved it!”Leah replied, nodding in agreement, “She’s obsessed with Shrek so it was perfect!” She added.

Jordan chuckled, “You should have seen her face, it was a picture.”

“And how’s little miss been?” Amanda wondered, gesturing to Buddy, who was wriggling in David’s arms and eager to be close to the tree, “Did she enjoy opening her presents?”

“Oh, I think she was more interested in the wrapping paper than her actual presents,” Leah joked.

David laughed in amusement, “Well that’s to be expected of course at her age.”

"Yeah, she's obsessed with anything that she can grab and put in her mouth at this point,” Jordan retorted as she began to take her coat off, “The baubles and the lights on the tree haven't stood a chance.”

"Still trying to eat everything, huh? She's just like Leah when she was that age. Couldn't leave anything alone," David quipped, shooting a playful grin at Leah.

Jordan smirked, "That explains a lot."

Leah shot Jordan a look of outrage as she took her coat off and hung it up on the coat rack just as Amanda chimed in, "Your Grandma will be arriving shortly. I think she's looking forward to seeing both of the girls again."

Just then, Jacob's voice echoed from up the stairs, "Monkey has just beaten my high score!"

You couldn’t resist a cheeky reply, “Can’t help it if you’re a sore loser!” Your playful tone earned a round of laughter from the adults in the room.

“Well it sounds like those two are having fun at least,” Amanda remarked with a smile.

Leah turned her attention to Buddy, who was starting to squirm and whine in David’s arms, “Oh what’s the matter, bubba?” She cooed, gently taking the 8 month old back from the man.

“I think somebody’s a bit fussy and wants their mummy,” David cooed.

Leah kissed the top of Buddy’s head, bouncing her lightly, “Come here, bubba. You’re tired, aren’t you? There’s just so much excitement going on today, isn’t there? Everyone’s coming round to see you!”

Just then, the doorbell rang.

“Oh, that’ll be your Grandma arriving I think– Or maybe someone else,” Amanda said, heading toward the hall.

“I’ll go and answer it,” Leah shifted Buddy slightly in her arms, “Shall we go see who’s at the door, bubba? I wonder who it could be,” She murmured softly as she approached the door.

Opening it, Leah smiled warmly, “Oh look, it’s Grandma Berny!” She exclaimed, her voice tinged with excitement. Adjusting Buddy to free one arm, she leaned in to hug Berny, “Hi Grandma, Merry Christmas!”

“Hello, love,” Berny greeted, wrapping Leah in a warm hug before turning her attention to Buddy, “And if it isn’t Grandma’s little Christmas pudding! Oh, don’t you look absolutely adorable?” She cooed, gesturing to the outfit Buddy currently had on.

Leah smiled and offered Buddy to Berny, “You want to go to Grandma for a cuddle?”

“Oh, come here, darling,” Berny cooed, taking Buddy into her arms.

Leah glanced at the bags Berny carried, “Do you want me to take anything for you?” She wondered.

“Oh, if you could, thanks love,” Berny replied warmly, shifting Buddy slightly to give her a better grip. She turned her attention to the baby in her arms and smiled, “Are you having a good Christmas, darling? I bet your Mummies have spoiled you absolutely rotten, haven’t they?”

Leah chucked, her eyes full of affection as she watched the two, “She has been spoiled. They both have,” She admitted with a proud smile.

“I don’t doubt that for a second. Where is Monkey?” Berny asked curiously.

“She’s upstairs with Jacob playing on the Xbox,” Leah replied with a small smile.

“Oh I see,” Berny chuckled, knowingly, “Did she like her presents I bought her? Your mum mentioned you’d be opening them at home before you came over.”

"Yeah we figured it would be easier to do it all in one place to save Monkey feeling too overwhelmed, because this is all just so new to her. But she really did love all of her presents," Leah said warmly.

"I'm sure she did,” Berny said reassuringly, “She'll get used to it in no time, love. It'll just take a bit of time, won't it?"

Leah’s smile faltered, “Yeah, I hope so. It just makes me so sad that she's never gotten to experience this all before, you know?"

Berny nodded, her expression softening, “I know, love. But there are still so many years to make up for it.”

"Few years to make up for what?" Jordan’s voice chimed in as she entered the room/

"Hiya, Jord. Merry Christmas!" Berny greeted her warmly.

"Merry Christmas, Berny!" Jordan replied with a smile.

"I was just filling Grandma in on how this morning went with the girls opening their presents," Leah explained.

Jordan sighed lightly, “Oh yeah, I think it was a bit much for her.”

Leah’s jaw tightened, her frustration bubbling to the surface, “It just makes me sad that Monkey never properly experienced this all before, all because of that waste of space.” She said bitterly.

Jordan placed a gentle hand on Leah’s arm, “Careful, Le, she might hear you.”

“I just don’t get it,” Leah continued, her voice low but firm, “That man, honestly! He’s… He’s treated her horribly in the past. You can tell by the way she reacts sometimes.”

“I know, love,” Berny interjected softly, “But she’s a part of this family now, and we’re going to make it the best for her. I know you’re angry, but holding onto that won’t help anything now, will it?”

Leah exhaled deeply, nodding, “Yeah, I suppose you’re right there,”

“Exactly,” Berny said firmly, “Now, I need to go and say hello to your mum and dad. Has anyone else arrived yet?”

“No, you’re the first. But I don’t think they’ll be long,” Leah replied.

From upstairs, you couldn’t help but call out, “Jacob’s crying because he’s a sore loser!”

“I am not!” Jacob’s voice protested indignantly and loud enough to carry through the house.

“Oh, that sounds like trouble,” Leah muttered, wincing at the sheer volume of your teasing, “That’s my cue to go sort it out.”

“I think I’ll join you in the living room,” Jordan chuckled as she followed Berny back into the other room, “Good luck with that one, Le.”

You smirked as Leah’s footsteps approached, “What’s going on up here then?” She asked, stepping into the room.

“Jacob’s crying about the fact he’s losing his game,” You replied with a mischievous snicker, thoroughly amused by his sulking.

“I am not!” Jacob fired back, his cheeks flushing, “All I’m saying is–”

“All he’s saying is that he’s a complete sore loser who can’t handle it,” You interrupted with a cheeky grin.

“No, I’m not!” Jacob protested.

“Yeah, right,” You quipped, smirking at the lad.

Leah rolled her eyes playfully, “Alright, alright. It sounds like this arguing isn’t getting either of you anywhere. Grandma’s arrived if you want to come and say hello.”

You shrugged nonchalantly, glancing at Jacob with a smirk, “To be continued…”

“To be continued,” Jacob grumbled in response, clearly not over the teasing.

As you followed Leah out of the room, she glanced over her shoulder, her gaze softening, “What’s he like, eh? Honestly, such a big kid sometimes. You wouldn’t believe he’s 19,” She joked, noting your distant change of behaviour, “Hey, you alright? You’re very quiet all of the sudden.”

“I’m okay,” You murmured, keeping your voice steady.

“Are you sure?” Leah pressed gently, stopping to look at you properly, “Listen, I know today might feel like a lot for you, and it’s okay if it is.”

“I’m alright, I promise,” You assured her, even though your chest felt a little tight.

Leah nodded, but didn’t move just yet, “Alright, well, if it gets too much then you’ll let either me and Jord know, yeah?”

“I will,” You said, your voice soft.

“Good,” Leah said, a small smile tugging at her lips, “Okay good. We just want you to have the best Christmas this year, Monkey.”

“I’m okay,” You hesitated for a moment before speaking, “I’m enjoying the day… It’s just… Well, it’s a lot. I’ve never gotten anything like this before, and now with all of your family… I’ve just never gotten to experience anything like it.”

Leah crouched slightly to meet your gaze, “I can understand it’s a bit overwhelming for you, my girl.” She said softly.

“A little,” You admitted, feeling your cheeks heat up, “But I’m grateful! It’s just… I didn’t expect to get so many presents. I’m just still trying to wrap my head around it.”

Leah’s expression softened even more as she gave your shoulders a reassuring squeeze, “You’re a part of this family now, Monkey, and you are so loved, my girl,” Her voice remained soft but steady, “You don’t have to try and wrap your head around it all at once. This is new, I know, but you deserve all of it, okay? Every single present, every cuddle and every once of love.”

You blinked, your throat tightening as her words sank in, “Thanks Le.” You managed to give her a small smile.

“That’s my girl,” Leah said, grinning as she pulled you into a warm hug, “Now, come on, let’s head down and see Grandma before she starts wondering where we’ve disappeared to.”

You followed Leah down the stairs, her hand still lightly on your back, grounding you. The warmth of the living room enveloped you as you entered, the hum of chatter, laughter, and the gentle crack of the fireplace filling the space.

“There she is,” Berny exclaimed, spotting you standing beside Leah, “Hello dear! Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, Berny,” You murmured shyly, feeling a slight blush creep onto your cheeks.

Amanda approached with a cup of tea for Berny, grinning as she glanced at you, “See, Mum? She’s fitting right in, isn’t she?”

“Of course she is!” Berny declared, beaming at you, “This family wouldn’t be the same without her now, would it?”

Leah flopped onto the sofa beside Jordan, while Buddy was nestled against her chest peacefully asleep, “I told you, Monkey. You’re stuck with us forever.”

“Forever,” Jordan echoed with a wink.

“I’m glad to be here,” You couldn’t help but smile a little wider, the overwhelming sensation from earlier ebbing away as you settled amongst the warmth of Leah’s family.

"Oh, I'm so full from Turkey. I don't think I could eat anymore," Jacob complained, slumping down in his seat.

"I'll second you on that one," Ben replied in agreement.

"Oh right, well in that case then, I guess it's more pudding for the rest of us!" Amanda joked, knowing it would spark a reaction.

"Pudding? I always have room for that!" Jacob exclaimed, sitting upright in his chair again.

The conversation continued as you glanced around the room. Here you were, sitting at the large table with Leah's family -- her mum's side at least. You donned an emerald paper hat on the top of your head, the result of winning a Christmas cracker earlier. The joke you pulled out with it had been painfully cringeworthy, yet it still made you giggle. In your hands was a small whistle you'd been blowing occasionally, much to Leah's annoyance. She had already shot you several pointed looks, though the little smirk on her lips betrayed her amusement.

"What's so special  about this pudding anyway?" You asked, leaning closer to Jacob and Ben.

"It's not about the pudding, Monks'," Jacob replied, declaring his own nickname he’d given you for himself, "It's about the tradition. And the custard. Lot's of custard."

"Don't forget the brandy sauce," Ben added with a grin.

"You lot had better save some for the rest of us!" Holly called from the other end of the table.

"What time is the Queen's speech on? We can't miss that!" One of Leah's Aunts questioned, you were a bit unclear on their name though since there was so many of them.

"Oh, it's about to start-- quick, somebody find the remote!" Amanda exclaimed, her sudden urgency making you jump slightly.

"Has anyone seen it?" Leah asked, standing up to help look.

"Found it!" David called, holding the remote up triumphantly.

If there's one thing you had learnt about today, it was that Leah's family was very patriotich when it came to anything to do with the royal family, as they all clustered around the TV.

Buddy, who had just woken up from her nap, was wide awake and wiggling around on her playmat that had been set down on the floor.

At least yourself, Jacob and Ben didn't seem too bothered about the speech though.

"What was so special about a speech from the Queen?" You whispered to Jacob, curious to know what had everyone so hooked.

"It's another tradition," Jacob replied, "Though it's a bit boring, really, if you ask me."

"It definitely is," Ben agreed, clearly unimpressed.

"Shush! It's starting!" Holly hissed, glaring at the three of you.

"Geesh, so serious," Jacob joked, winding his cousin up.

Ben snorted, leaning over to you, "She's always like this when the Queen's speech comes on. One year, she even shushed the dog."

"I heard that!" Holly said sharply, throwing a napkin in Ben's direction.

"Shush, you three," Leah chimed in, sending you a pointed look, but you couldn't help but giggle even more.

The speech began, and the room fell into a respectful silence-- well mostly. Buddy didn't want to be quiet, with her tiny fits and infectious giggles, and seemed completely uninterested in the royal tradition. She was quite happy to babble, grabbing her toys that you and Jacob waved in front of her.

"She's got the right idea," Ben joked, laughing softly as Buddy squealed in delight, "It's boring ain't it, little miss?"

Amanda shushed everyone, but you couldn't help but smile as Buddy wiggled happily, oblivious to the importance of the moment.

"Is it over yet?" You whispered to Jordan, who chuckled in amusement and wrapped her free arm around your shoulder, "How long does this thing go on for?"

"It's almost over, little one," Jordan replied in a hushed tone of voice.

You were most relieved when the speech ended, as Berny turned to the group and sighed contently, "That was lovely, as always. A nice way to reflect on the year."

"Reflect on how I've still never made it through the whole thing awake," Jacob muttered in response.

"Alright, who's ready for dessert, then?" Amanda asked, standing up, "We've got Christmas pudding, mince pies, yule log, and Ben's favourite-- trifle."

"Trifle? I've got room for trifle!" Jacob declared, already heading toward the kitchen.

"Of course, you do," Leah muttered, rolling her eyes.

Amanda caught your eye and smiled warmly, "Do you want to help me serve, sweetheart?"

"Uhm, sure," You replied with a slight bit of hesitance, standing to follow her.

As you helped bring out the desserts, Amanda leaned in closer, "How are you enjoying the day? It's so lovely to have you here with us, you know."

"Thank you," You said, a bit shyly, "It's been nice. It's different from what I'm used to, but still good."

"I'm glad," Amanda said gently, "I know change can be difficult sometimes, but Leah and Jordan, I know they think the world of you. They're so proud of how far you've come."

You felt a lump in your throat at her kind words, "I'm really grateful for them, and for being here with you all, too... And, thank you for my presents. I didn't expect anything, I love my Shrek hoodie."

"You're welcome, sweetheart. We're the lucky ones to have you as part of this family now," Amanda moved her free arm around to give you a side hug, "Now, let's get this dessert out before Jacob starts to raid the fridge now, eh?"

The evening continued with more laughter and chatter as the pudding was served. Buddy sat in her high chair, clapping her hands excitedly as Leah fed her small spoonfuls of custard.

"You're going to spoil her," Jordan teased, watching Leah's doting behaviour.

"She's just enjoying Christmas, aren't you, bubba?" Leah cooed, pressing a kiss to Buddy's cheek.

As the evening began to wound down, you found yourself nestled on the sofa in between Leah and Jordan as the family gathered for a raucous game of charades.

"No, that's cheating-- You can't do that!" Leah shot out in protest.

Ben chuckled, "Why not? It's not in the rules!"

"Yes it is," Leah fired back, her competitive streak showing.

"No it's not," Ben scoffed, "Someone? Help us out here..." He looked to the rest of the family for their help.

Holly glanced over the rules briefly on her phone after a quick Google search, "He's right, Le. It's not in the rules that he can't." She added, sticking up for her younger brother.

"Since when?" Leah muttered in disbelief, arching an eyebrow.

"Since always if you read the rules," Ben quipped, smirking.

"Outrageous that is!" Leah scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest, before it was time to take her turn.

"You call that a gorilla? It looks more like a constipated penguin," Jacob teased as Leah flailed her arms around.

Leah took the chance to throw a cushion at him, "You couldn't even guess 'Kangaroo' so you can't talk!"

You were starting to feel yourself growing tired, opting to rest your head on Jordan's shoulder, "You doing alright, little one? I know it's been a big day."

"M' okay,"  You replied quietly in agreement, not wanting to stir too much attention to yourself, "It's been the best Christmas I've ever had." You added, wrapping your free arm around her.

Jordan smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head, "Good, you deserve it, Monkey."

You couldn't help but faintly smile, watching in amusement at the bickering between Leah and Jacob still about the game as your eyelids started to become heavier.

"I think it's time to call it a night," David retorted, motioning to the way you were practically almost falling asleep, "Monkey's falling asleep."

"M' not tired," You protested against the idea, but the way you couldn't keep your eyes open spoke for a lot of things.

Leah turned her attention away from the competitive game, her lips quirking into a knowing smile, "I think you might be right there, Dad," She agreed, taking a glance at the clock, "Alright, time for bed."

You would be spending the night in Leah's childhood home, so at least you didn't have to travel back to London tonight, considering Leah and Jordan had both had a bit to drink and neither of them could drive under the circumstances.

You groaned softly at the suggestion, not thrilled with the idea of leaving the comforting warmth of Jordan's shoulder, "M' not tired." You mumbled again,  though the sleepy slur in your voice gave you away completely.

Jordan chuckled, gently nudging you upright, "You can keep saying that, but your heavy eyes are telling us a different story, little one."

Buddy, meanwhile, was still awake, babbling happily on Amanda's lap, her tiny hands reaching for Amanda's face as she giggled, "I think this one's trying to pull an all-nighter," She joked, bouncing Buddy lightly.

Leah smiled as she approached, effortlessly scooping Buddy into her arms, "Oh, no, missy," She cooed, "It's bedtime, isn't it, bubba?" However, Buddy responded with delighted squeals, clearly not in agreement.

"Come on, little one," Jordan said, standing up from the sofa as she reached out to help you up, her strong arms steadying you as you wobbled slightly.

You sighed, reluctantly letting her guide you towards the stairs, "But it's still Christmas," You murmured, glancing back at the warm inviting living room and the game still going on.

"And Christmas will still be here tomorrow morning," Leah reminded you with a gentle smile as she followed, Buddy snuggled in her arms, "You're exhausted, you need to sleep, my girl, so you can wake up tomorrow and enjoy Boxing Day fun."

Jordan led you up the stairs, her hand warm and reassuring on your back, "Besides," She said with a smile, "We can't have our Monkey turning into a zombie tomorrow, now, can we?"

You mumbled a small protest, but it was half-hearted at best. The truth was, you were far too tired to argue properly. Each step you took up the stairs felt heavier, and the idea of the comfy bed was becoming more and more appealing.

Leah trailed behind with Buddy, who was still wide-eyed and squirming with excitement, "This one's determined to stay awake," She said with a small laugh, pressing a kiss to Buddy's cheek, "It's time to sleep now, bubba. Something tells me we're in for a bit of a challenge with the baby."

Once upstairs, you managed to change into your pyjamas with some help from Jordan, the soft fabric instantly adding to your comfort. You climbed under the warm duvet, letting out a small sigh as you nestled into the cozy bed.

"Are you comfy?" Jordan asked, leaning down to flick on the bedside lamp.

"Mhm," You murmured sleepily, clutching your stuffed animal close.

"Good," Jordan replied, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, "Good, I'm glad. Get some rest, little one."

Leah peeked into the room a moment later, Buddy now resting her hand on Leah's shoulder in a cozy onesie, her eyes beginning to flutter closed, "All sorted in here?" She asked softly, her gaze warm as she took in the sight of you snuggled up.

"Le... Are all these football shirts yours?" You asked, your curiosity slipping through your sleepiness as your gaze wandered around Leah's childhood bedroom. The walls were adorned with Arsenal and England shirts, each marking a moment in her career.

Leah chuckled, stepping further into her old bedroom, "They are," She said proudly, "Hopefully more to come." She passed Buddy to Jordan for a moment, leaning down to tuck you in properly under the duvet, "Sweet dreams, my girl. We'll see you in the morning."

"Night, Le. Night, Jord," You mumbled, a soft yawn escaping your lips.

"Goodnight, Monkey," Jordan whispered as she turned off the bedside lamp, her voice soothing in the quiet.

Leah lingered for a moment longer, gently adjusting the covers before adding, "We love you."

Just as they turned to leave, you spoke up, your voice small and soft, "Le? Jord?"

They both paused in the doorway, "Yeah?"

"Thank you... For the best Christmas," Your mumbled, half asleep as you could barely keep your eyes open any longer.

Leah's smile widened, her heart swelling at your words, "You're welcome, my girl." She said warmly.

With Buddy now dozing in her arms, Leah glanced at Jordan as they left her childhood bedroom, "Boxing Day's going to be chaos, isn't it?"

Jordan chuckled quietly, nodding, "Absolute chaos, but that's what will make it fun."

jordannobbs posted

liked by bethmead_ and 1,106 others

jordannobbs nothing better than the magic of christmas time and spending it with the ones' closest to you🎅🏼🎄✨

a day full of excitement for both the girls who have been absolutely spoilt rotten. now all tucked up in bed and ready to do it all again tomorrow! 🤭

merry christmas to you all, from the williamson-nobbs family x

View all 133 comments

leahwilliamsonn our two girls 🥹 they really have had the best first christmas 💗

view 11 replies liked by 110 others

katie_mccabe11 merry christmas!! hope the girls have a had a great day x

view 6 replies liked by 12 others

bethmead_ oh buddy's little face with her santa hat on! 🎅🏼❤️

view 10 replies liked by 22 others

jenbeattie merry christmas girls! is monkey still terrified of the man in red and white? 🤣

view 3 replies liked by 19 others

stephcatley spoilt girlies. we love you so much 🥹💗

view 8 replies liked by 10 others

© scribblesofagoonerr

[pamwritessometimes]

Tuesday's Gone — Chapter 10

Russell Shaw x Reader

Summary: When the police does little to no help to find your missing daughter, you are forced to contact Colter Shaw. What you don’t expect is how his investigation will reveal secrets about both your past and your daughter’s, in ways you never imagined.

Warnings: fluff, otherwise none I believe

A/N: Alright, so there’s a tiny chance I may have written my dog into this. But hey, who’s to say? Here we are at the endgame, and I’ve baked this epilogue to be the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed… by the way, I’ve gotten so attached to these characters that we’ll likely see more of them down the road. In the meantime, a huge thank you for tagging along on this journey with me. Ily🤍🤍🤍

Title’s based on Tuesday’s Gone by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Catch up on Chapter 9 here

Tuesday's Gone masterlist

━━━━━━━━━━✦✧✦━━━━━━━━━━━

“I can’t believe you talked me into this” you muttered under your breath, feigning annoyance.

Truth be told, you were thrilled to be here. But no way in hell were you letting either of them know that.

Russell leaned down, his voice low in your ear. “Come on, it was her idea. And don’t even try to act like you’re not fuckin’ enjoying this.”

You shot him a look. He wasn’t wrong, though. The sight of Emma skipping ahead, practically buzzing with excitement as she followed the shelter worker to the kennels, was worth every bit of this “reluctant” family outing.

This wasn’t some spur-of-the-moment decision either. You’d been thinking about it for a while now, especially after everything that happened nearly six months ago. Emma had been so strong through it all, and if anyone deserved this, it was her.

She’d just turned five, and when you asked what she wanted for her birthday – same as last Christmas – her answer hadn’t wavered: a dog.

And, well, you weren’t exactly against the idea anymore. Neither was Russell. 

Team Dog was winning at last.

So here you were, standing in the local animal shelter, after weeks of background checks, interviews, and what felt like an application process to adopt a child. All of it leading to this moment: finding the newest, furriest member of your little family.

By the time you reached the kennels, it was clear Russell had an agenda. 

“What about this guy?” he said, pointing to a massive German Shepherd mix that looked like it moonlit as a bouncer. The dog let out a low, rumbling bark that made Emma flinch.

“No!” she protested, darting behind you for cover. “He’s too big.”

“Too big?” Russell sounded personally offended. “He’s not big. He’s just… sturdy.”

“He’s terrifying” Emma whispered dramatically.

“He’s majestic” Russell shot back.

Meanwhile, you wandered to the next kennel, eyeing a floppy-eared mutt who wagged its tail so hard it was practically levitating. 

“This guy, uh… girl looks sweet” you said upon taking a closer look.

Emma peeked out from behind you. “Maybe. But I want to see more!”

“We have a lot of options. Why don’t we take a look over here?” the shelter worker smiled. 

The next row of kennels was filled with smaller dogs, and Emma’s excitement skyrocketed. She stopped in front of a little black-and-tan pug with a squished face and a perpetually surprised expression.

“This one” she declared with wide eyes. “I want this one!”

Russell, however, recoiled like someone had shown him a tax bill. 

“That? That’s not a dog. That’s… I don’t even know what that is. A loaf of bread with legs? It ain’t even aerodynamic.”

Emma ignored him, crouching down to coo at the pug. The dog tilted its head, then waddled closer, sniffing her fingers through the bars.

“His name is Misha” the worker lady behind you announced.

“Oh, great. He already comes with a ridiculous name. Misha? Misha?” Russell scrunched his face.

Em turned to the shelter worker. “Can I meet him?”

The worker nodded at her with a smile, opening the kennel. Misha ambled out like he owned the place, his curled little tail wagging as your daughter crouched down to pet him.

“Look at him! He’s perfect” she insisted.

Russell groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. Perfect wasn’t exactly the word he’d use to describe it.

“Em, come on. What about one of these guys?” He gestured to a sleek, athletic-looking dog further down. “This one looks like it could run a marathon. That thing” he pointed at the pug, “looks like it’ll need a nap after climbing onto the couch. And an airbag after waking up from a nap.”

The shelter worker cleared her throat, smiling gently. “Actually, Misha’s in great health. Hadn’t had any major issues in his four years of life. He came to us recently. His previous owner passed away. He’s house-trained, doesn’t chew furniture, and loves kids. He’s very low-maintenance, too.”

You perked up at that.

“Wait, he’s not pooping inside? He’s already house-trained?” 

You crouched to look Misha in his bug-eyed little face. 

God, why does he have wrinkles at four? 

“Well, buddy” you patted his head, “that’s a telltale sign you’re coming home with me.”

Russell groaned, clearly fazed by you giving in so easily.

“Unbelievable. We’re bringing home a pug named Misha.”

Emma squealed in victory, while Russell groaned like he’d just lost a bet. “Fine” he relented, glancing at Misha. From this angle he found him almost… cute. Like, cute in a grotesque way. 

“But if that thing starts snoring louder than me, we're gonna have a serious talk” he called after you and Emma as you headed off to sign the paperwork, officially making your little loaf of bread the newest member of your family.

━━━━━━━━━━✦✧✦━━━━━━━━━━━

“Misha, no! Misha!” Russell shouted as the dog launched himself out of the Chevy, heading straight for the building like a furry missile.

“Well, I’ll be damned. They weren’t kidding, he is in good shape” you remarked, helping Emma out of the car. 

In the three weeks Misha had been living with you, you’d learned that his idea of a good day was a 22-hour nap followed by some seriously relentless running.

And the clinginess? That was definitely a thing, too, especially with Russell despite his best efforts to act annoyed. But he couldn’t fool you. Not with all the photo evidence stashed away on your phone showing him passed out on the couch, Emma tucked under one arm and Misha curled up in the crook of his other. All of them snoring in harmony. Or that one time you caught him absentmindedly scratching the dog’s belly while staring at his phone, completely unaware of how soft he’d gotten so quickly.

Misha also grew fond of you and Emma, too, and soon you figured he wasn’t about to wander off too far even without a leash. Probably still a little rattled from his previous owner’s sudden passing. He loved spending every minute of his time in a now somewhat stable family.

The building the dog was charging toward was a big, brick beauty, with towering windows and a brand-new sign hanging proudly above the door. It was the final product of an ongoing battle of bad brewery name ideas between you and Russell.

You’d pitched some real gems like Hop Notch Brewery, Sweet Foam Idaho, and Shawbusiness. You were obviously just having fun, knowing it was Russell’s dream project. 

“I’m just trying to help!” you exclaimed playfully. 

But still – Shawstopper was practically genius, right?

He, of course, was more into traditional names like Shaw & Co Brewery or Shawcraft. 

But then… you pitched the one name that made him crack. One that he absolutely hated. Hated it so much that, for some bizarre reason, he thought it was twistedly brilliant. So, here you were, standing beneath the freshly hung sign above the front door of…

“Shawshank Brewdemption” Emma read out loud, brows furrowed. You were surprised she could read it relatively effortlessly with all the consonants in there. “I don’t understand!” 

“You will when you’re older” you said, crossing your arms with a smirk and gazing up at the sign like it was a masterpiece of wit.

It was the first day this place would be soft launching into the market, with hosting a small gathering to your family. It wasn’t only Emma’s birthday this month. Funny enough, her dad was also a Leo. 

So here you were, standing in the small, but cosy main room of the brewery with a nice, industrial-style bar with wooden panels, decorated by the first two batches of Russell’s now-semi-home brew, waiting for your and Russ’s guests to arrive. Tthe white stucco walls were your handiwork – well, mostly. Emma contributed by slapping on a few chaotic brushstrokes before abandoning the task entirely to play around in the unfinished rooms. There were wooden tables – made of walnut tree to match the bar and the legs of the barstools, with black leather couches and chairs.

It wasn’t exactly your vision, but it was definitely your sweat and tears. Russell had thrown himself into perfecting the beer, leaving the interior design entirely to you. His initial ideas? Hilariously unhelpful and vague.

“I dunno. I just want it to look hip. Or whatever kids call it nowadays.”

That hip, he later explained, was what you could best describe as an industrial minimalist style. 

“You know... Some brick walls, some white ones, maybe those long black lamps hanging from the ceiling. Oh, and wood. Lots of wood.”

Somehow, you’d managed to turn his disjointed aesthetic wishlist into something real, and now here you were, standing in the finished product. One wall was left bare, the brick foundation shown – hence his request. Though, you’ve given it your touch: the area was filled with green. Snake plant, chinese evergreen, swiss cheese plant, you name it. They really gave the otherwise minimalist interior design a touch of life.

As you stood there, soaking it all in, Russell walked up beside you, sliding a beer onto the bar. “What do you think? Good enough for a little gatherin’?” he asked, his voice warm but his tone just a bit hesitant.

Emma cut him off with a delighted squeal from across the room. “Look, Daddy! Misha’s helping me decorate!” She was tying a stray piece of ribbon loosely around the pug’s neck, who was, unsurprisingly, just letting it happen.

Russell glanced over, then back at you with a sigh. 

“I swear, that dog’s plotting to take over my life.”

“He already has. I caught you sneaking him bits of bacon this morning despite my continuous requests not to. Who’s the softie now?” you smirked. 

He rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. Instead, he glanced at the room around you.

“You really pulled this place together” he said, his voice soft. “I don’t know how you took my half-baked ideas and turned them into… this.”

You arched an eyebrow, smirking. “So, what I’m hearing is I’m the brains and the talent here?”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the grin tugging at his lips. Instead of arguing, he slipped an arm around you, pulling you in for a side hug and pressing a kiss to your temple.

The truth was, you’d poured everything into this. Both of you had. This wasn’t just a brewery. It was something bigger, something that felt like a foundation. Russell had dreamed it up, sure, but somewhere along the way, it became more than his dream. It became your dream too. Not the brewing part, for sure. You weren’t about to start debating hops or malts anytime soon. It was the building part, the fact that this place stood as proof of what the two of you could do together. It wasn’t just about beer or business; it was about creating something solid, something lasting.

It was about saying, without words, that this thing between you and him was real. Serious. Built to last, like the walls around you. And standing here, side by side, you couldn’t help but feel it in your bones: this wasn’t just his place or yours. It was yours.

The rumble of an engine outside broke the quiet anticipation inside the brewery. Misha, the self-proclaimed guard dog, leapt off his cozy bed by the bar and started yapping like the apocalypse was imminent.

“Relax, Napoleon” Russell muttered, scooping the tiny pug up and cradling him like a football. “You couldn’t scare off a squirrel.”

You hadn’t seen Colter in weeks, but you could recognise his car anywhere. He’d been off doing his thing, of course. But from what you could gather from Russ, they kept in touch, even if just by texts. And in the last few months, he made sure to come by every once in a while.

“Uncle Colter’s here!” Emma squealed, bolting toward the opening door.

Emma launched herself at her uncle, and Colter caught her mid-air with practiced ease, his face softening just a little.

“Hey, hey. I swear you can’t stop growing” he said, setting her back down with a pat on her head. 

His eyes drifted toward the furball in Russell’s arms. “What is that?”

“This” Russell said, biting back a laugh, “is Misha. Emma’s choice, of course. And now your new favorite family member.”

Emma chimed in, bounding forward and wrapping her arms around Colter’s waist. “Isn’t he perfect?”

Colter looked at the wiggling ball of fur. “Perfect’s a strong word.”

“Careful” Russell said, his tone amused. “He bites.”

You laughed, stepping forward to give Colter a quick hug. “Good to see you, too. Glad you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it” he said with a faint smile. Then, he brought in a clumsily wrapped gift box. “Where should I put it?”

Slowly, everyone arrived, which meant the present pile began to look like the Annapurna. Your mom and dad brought food enough to feed an army, despite you saying you had everything ready, they just had to show up. Your mother, of course, adored the place. Your dad, more direct, gave Russell a curt nod, saying “nice sign, birthday boy”. 

Soon, Russell’s sister, Dory also arrived. You’d only met her a few months ago, but the two of you had clicked instantly. Similar in age, similar in humor, meaning similar in your mutual ability to poke fun at Russell without remorse.

Finally, Anna arrived too, juggling a tray of brownies, asking a breathless “Am I late? Because I feel late.” 

You couldn’t help but take a step back to soak it all in. 

Emma was proudly parading Misha around the room like he was the true guest of honor, his curled tail wagging as if he knew it. Your mom was stationed near the bar, taking charge of the food table like it was a military operation. For her, it kind of was. Meanwhile, your dad stood nearby, his chuckles an unmistakable sign that he entertained Colter with his infamously dry one-liners. Anna was chatting with Dory about some undoubtedly exaggerated childhood story that had both of them laughing hard enough to wipe away tears. Russell hovered nearby, refilling drinks and making sure everyone was comfortable. Though his eyes kept drifting back to you.

The mismatched puzzle pieces of your life, both old and new, were all here, fitting together in a way that felt just like it was meant to be.

And now, nothing could ruin this. James Rourke was behind bars, and as Corter kept reassuring, he wasn’t getting out of that prison uniform anytime soon. Horizon owed Russ big time, and they made sure nobody would disturb the three of you again.

Russell strolled over to you, sliding his arm around your waist as the two of you watched your family fill the space you’d built together. 

After a moment, he said, “If you told me this would be my life a year ago, I’d think you gotta be shittin’ me.”

You leaned into him, resting your head lightly against his shoulder. 

“Yeah, well, life’s funny like that” you replied, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “You go from being a flight risk to hosting family gatherings in a brewery called Shawshank Brewdemption. Quite the character arc, Russ.”

He laughed softly, his thumb brushing idly along your waist. “Don’t act like you’re not impressed.”

“Oh, I’m impressed” you teased. “Mostly by how you’re managing to look calm while Misha’s trying to con your sister into feeding him cake.”

Russell glanced over just in time to see Dory holding a fork suspiciously close to Misha’s eager face. He let out a low groan. “I swear that dog’s smarter than he looks. And that’s saying somethin’.”

You chuckled, watching Emma swoop in like the world’s tiniest referee, wagging her finger at both Dory and Misha in mock outrage. 

“She’s got your bossy streak” you said, nudging him gently.

“And your stubborn streak” he shot back, grinning.

You smiled back at him, enjoying the easy banter between you two. You took a sip of his brew, then asked, “So, how old are you getting again?”

“39 and still full of charm” he replied with a wink.

You quirked a brow in mischief. “How long have you been 39, huh?”

“Not that long” he quipped with an equally playful expression.

You chuckled, reaching over to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. “Come on” giving his shirt a playful tug. “Time to go bask in the glory of those presents.”

━━━━━━━━━━✦✧✦━━━━━━━━━━━

Aaaand, that’s all, folks! I hope you enjoyed this final chapter. Wishing you all a very merry Christmas, filled with love, cookies, home-cooked meals, and plenty of bejgli (especially to my fellow Hungarian moots, though I probably have none), because that’s exactly what I’ll be indulging in.

Thank you again for keeping up with this story again. If you’re reading this, I thank you personally. Yeah, you. 🤍

xx Pam

🤍Taglist🤍

@bitchykittenconnoisseur @smoothdogsgirl @spnfamily-j2 @winchesterwild78 @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @zepskies @kr804573 @sebastianstangirl01 @kmc1989 @drakelover78 @amberlthomas @lomlbuckybarnes @n-o-p-e-never @roseblue373

[vxnuslogy]

— a magician’s choice, one you already know.

pairing: lyney x gn!reader

premise: christmas was a holiday that goes uncelebrated in the hearth. but it didn’t have to be that way this year, not when you’re around.

— warnings: ooc-lyney (?), cheesy romance, tooth rotting fluff.

— author’s note: for the beloved admin of the writing server that gave me nothing but joy, to miss yona (@pneumosia), i hope you enjoy dancing with a charming magician :) 

— tags:@ryescapades @mitsvriii @https-sourlimes @dazaisms ; if you’d like to be tagged, please fill out the form on my pinned or send me an ask off anon!

christmas was a holiday rarely celebrated in the hearth. everyone would either be too busy with tasks or in mourning. the job of being a father’s favorite had its pros and cons, and to lyney, the cons weigh heavier than the pros. but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to try. not when you had gleefully recounted tales from when you were still a child, untainted by the fatui and his father. you detail the lights hanging from every nook and corner of your old home, a massive tree in the center with a bright star, and the warm hot cocoa drank by the warm fireplace. lyney knew he wanted to experience that with you and the rest of his siblings. and thus began his mission of trying to convince the knave.

the first few missions were a  perilous battle between father and son. the knave caught on quickly with the children’s hopeful stares and overheard conversation. she had once caught sight of a defeated lyney with his head on your lap as he tried to strategize to get her to say yes. father took it upon herself to start leaving the hearth at the cracks of dawn and overstay her welcome in the palace. most times, she’s met with a victorious sight of you laying a blanket over lyney’s body by the fireplace.

the magician pondered—all pouty and frustrated—on why you didn’t try to convince the harbinger yourself. you merely replied with a simple shrug of your shoulders, “if she’ll listen to anyone’s wishes, it’ll be yours.” with your words, lyney felt his heart burn with a new fervent hope. and the following day, he woke up earlier than father and waited for her arrival in the dining room with fresh plates of breakfast and hot cocoa from your secret book of recipes as bait to try and lure the predator out of her den.

now, you already wake up earlier than the rest to help freminet cook breakfast. so color yourself surprised when you enter the kitchen and are met with the sight of plates of food already prepared. “by the gods, did a miracle crash upon us?” you ask with an amused lilt to your voice. from the pantry, you see lyney’s head poke out. lilac eyes from spring bloom with a newfound emotion you can’t quite put a finger on as he called your name—victorious and high spirited.

the magician bowed his head, hand to his heart, and reached for your hand to press a soft peck to your knuckles. you ignore the burning in your cheeks and the way a grin threatened to spill from your lips as he pulled you close. one hand in his, the other on his shoulder as he laughed and pulled you to a dance. his overdramatic theatrics stole a breathy laugh from your lungs as he waltzed to the dining room with you and sat you down in the seat usually reserved for him.

“a miracle indeed has graced our humble abode.” he sat in the seat right across from you and started putting food on your plate, all the while he hummed an all too familiar tune under his breath. you furrow your brows in confusion, lyney already acted over the top everyday, but the tune he hummed and his eagerness to welcome the other children for breakfast bugged you.

you stopped mid chew of your breakfast when the realization hit you like a bright star dead in the face, “you convinced father.”

all clattering of utensils ceased as all heads turned to you and the cheshire cat grinning in front of you. you laugh, in disbelief and excitement as the other children flooded his side, all bombarding him with questions if he truly did.

“now, now,” he sat everyone down in their proper seats before leaning over your (his) seat. arms folded over its elegant arch, tone accompanied with a pout as one of his hands slither to settle on your shoulder. “must you spoil my surprise, starshine?”

like a bomb reaching its final countdown, everyone cheered. white napkins with intricate embroidery of their names flew with the wind and everyone once again got up on their seats. poor father who had just entered the dining room was attacked with excited children, all asking her if a christmas party will truly ensue.

“how’d you do it?” you tilt your head back to meet the magician’s eyes. his hand traced from your shoulder to your jaw to gently cup it. fingers tentatively brushing the smudges of food at loitered at the corners of your lips. you feel a shudder go through you when he merely chuckles.

“it’s as you said, father listened.” he said in a hushed tone, as if your conversation was meant for only the two of you. “but if i were to really guess, your christmas spirit might’ve rubbed off on her.”

“how so?”

he smiled, all doting and tender, “you’re a lot more special than you think, starshine.”

—

christmas was never celebrated in the hearth, and it was never supposed to be. but this year is different, because the next father of the house is soft when it comes to his siblings and younger kids. 

for the past week, lyney has been rounding around the mansion, clad in a red jumpsuit and an itchy pretend beard and obnoxious santa hat. giggles and laughter rang as often as the children sang christmas carols. you had to painstakingly watch your siblings chop down a tree nearby and drag it to the living room. the minutes spent outside the blaring snow was worth it when lyney had handed everyone a cup of hot chocolate.

“no cup for me?” you joked with a tilt of your head. dusting off any remnants of snow on your person as lyney beams at you. you try to take a peek at the item he hid behind his back, but your little santa had side stepped quickly to avoid your hawkish gaze.

he puts up one finger and states a playful condition, “one cup for each of father’s subordinates you can name!”

you laugh, all warm and merry like the burning flames in the fireplace. lyney’s grin stretched further to the stars when you grabbed his hand and shook it firmly. a determined flicker of stardust caught lyney’s eyes as you proudly named every harbinger that arlecchino has worked with.

recounting each mission with fondness, neither you nor lyney noticed how you both sat down by the fire, relishing in stories father herself had once told you. 

how childe had cracked the ice forming over the lake and nearly drowned in ice water. from the corner of lyney’s eyes, he sees lynette sit down in one of the seats. legs tucked to her chest, a cup of coco in her hands as she wrapped the sweater you created tighter around her body.

the three of you laughed when the regrator had to remind father of the expenses she’d been spending on their behalf. freminet quietly sat by your side, pers on his lap as a small fond smile tugged at his lips. he let out a small chuckle when you reminded him how stubborn father was when she needed more funds to buy him new diving gear because the last one broke.

or that one time columbina decided to pay you all a visit and ended in a slight disaster. everyone wanted to hear her sing, so badly to the point you and lyney had to stop them from fighting for the spot right next to her. (also ignoring the fact that you both kicked each other’s legs and warded the other off. even the both of you wanted to hear the fallen angel sing.)

lyney feels his heart expand tenfold when more and more children decided to join you. one lay peacefully in your lap as you brushed her hair, others piped in to tell their own stories. he doesn’t realize that he’s been staring at you the whole night–stories went in one ear and out the other–until you had to tap him out of his daydreams about you.

“so,” your voice was just above whisper. lyney feels electrified when your fingertips brush against his forehead as you push away his bangs. you stare at him with such stars in your eyes it makes him want to melt into a puddle beneath your feet. “do i get a cup of hot chocolate now?”

lyney doesn’t verbally say it at first, but he would give you anything you’d wish for. a rainbow rose from fontaine, a book from sumeru, or even the throne in the hearth, he would gladly give it up for you. he instead, takes your hand in his, as gently as he could—forever afraid he’d stain you with the redness of his hands—and pressed a soft kiss. he doesn’t mention the way your cheeks flush or how he could feel the upbeat of your pulse by his lips, all he did was smile and say:

“all the hot chocolate you want, starshine.”

—

getting your father to participate in your festivities was as hard as trying to bury an ever burning flame beneath layers of snow. the children don’t understand how lyney does it—how he doesn’t get so discouraged and just smiles, waiting for another time to try. because he knows arlecchino doesn’t have enough time for each of her children’s wishes.

“well aren’t you santa’s little helper.”

but the children don’t notice the twitch of lips whenever father closes the office doors nor how he clutches the little red hat tighter towards his chest. it was only and always will be you who notices the cracks of his perfected mask of joy and entertainment. 

he only nods in greeting, smile barely reaching the night sky as he quietly hangs the porcelain ornaments on the christmas tree. lyney feels a presence press up to his side and it doesn’t take long for him to succumb to your embrace. this was the thing lyney never really understood—just who were you to create cracks and dents on his walls with only just a breath? even now, as you murmur soft reassurances in his ears, he finds himself lost in a trance, following the soft glow of the fire’s embers he’s started to associate with you. 

“father will make time,” you whispered, hands caressing his hair as he huffs childishly to your chest. if you closed your eyes and imagined hard enough, you’d see a lyney pouting like a little boy as he kicked his feet. 

“but what if she doesn’t,” he tried so hard to remain indifferent to the situation, but he still failed—purposefully or not, he also doesn’t know. you just laughed, the sound so reminiscent of a childhood love he’s spent all his life pinning over.

“we’ll just have to wait and see.”

lyney wonders if you could predict miracles.

not long after your interaction by the tree, children of different ages raced down the stairs like a fleet of reindeers ready to fly across the sky to assist their beloved santa. lyney laughs as he seats everyone by the dining table while you and his sister hauled out the feast you had prepared earlier. everyone cheered and once they had their portions, gulfed down the food as if they’ve never eaten in years.

you were a great cook. but something about tonight’s dinner made it all the more special than usual. maybe it's the way you glowed with the christmas lights or when you held a finger up to your lip as you slide last minute presents by the tree. lyney loved seeing you like this—so merry and joyous. and he felt his skin tingle when you grab him by the wrist and tug him to the direction of the fireplace. 

you sat him down with the rest of the children and cleared your throat, “technically speaking, it’s not christmas for another six or seven hours. but i just know none of us can wait, so let’s start our secret santa!”

lyney scrambles to catch the gift carelessly thrown to his lap. he glared at lynette who only shrugged her shoulders as she came to receive your gift, she even stuck out her tongue at him. he rolls his eyes and pays attention to the person in front. he doesn’t notice his nervous fidgeting until you take his hand in yours. there was a brief moment of stillness, your palms lying face flat against each other before he pulled you in like a magnet. for the rest of night, your hands stay interlaced with his.

“to lyney,” freminet shyly said. arms outstretched with a gift in hand as lyney gasps dramatically as if he’d never known.

“for me?” he asked with a hand to his chest. “thank you, freminet. any gift from you is sure to be precious indeed.”

the younger brother smiled and gave him a short embrace before he cleared his throat. his eyes caught your eyes and he couldn’t help but think you were saying, “she’ll be here, trust me.” so with a deep breath in, lyney smiles and said:

“to father, who made this celebration possible.”

everyone gasped but not even a second later, laughter erupted.

lyney finds himself looking at you again, tired of staring at the cold door that remains unopened. with a firm nod and smile from you, he continues.

“it was rather hard to find a gift for her, i wanted it to be useful but still hold meaning, but also won’t break easily. something to remind you of me but also remind you i’m no longer a child needing your protection,” almost forlornly, lyney gazed at the small box wrapped in red, his signature black cat hangs by the edge of the ribbon with his name written with your favorite pen. he smiles, “but that doesn’t mean i’m ungrateful for the protection you’ve given me thus far. as your next successor—this house’s next king—i vow to protect it as you have all these years.”

lyney raised his head to the door once again when he heard slow clapping. his eyes quickly found yours as you grinned. the tips of your lips reaching the moon as arlecchino slowly made her way towards him. children flocked by her feet like little baby chicks as she patted lyney’s head. he feels his cheek flush by the sudden affection, how long has it been since father had done this?

“thank you, lyney,” she muttered, a hand stopped at his shoulder as she slowly looked at everyone in the room before it settled on you. “unfotunately, i have no grand speech like your older brother, but i do hope you find enjoyment with my gift, [name].”

lavender eyes of spring caught the glint of gold under the christmas lights. as you gracefully stood up to receive her gift, you stare at the old rusting key in curiosity. lyney felt a nudge at his side and when he turned to look, arlecchino had whispered to his ear, “just tonight, i will allow you to enter the gardens past bedtime. just be sure to lock the gates when you’re done.”

he beams, like the fresh morning rays of sunlight. “thank you, father!”

arlecchino gently pushes lyney towards the door of the garden as she ushers you over. she whispers something in your ear as red flushes your cheeks. lyney feels his throat close on itself as you look at him from over father’s shoulders with a bashful smile. you hug her, tight and lovingly, before running up to his side.

like the north and south poles, you find your hands already in his as you both run towards the garden. bubbling laughter echoing into the dark hallways you both once feared as children. 

“are you ready?” he asks, one hand on the handle, the other still in yours as you nod. he guides your hand to place the gold key on the rusting lock. the cold winter air greeted your skin, the harshness of it has you closing your eyes as lyney tugs you in towards the center.

you feel something warm land on your cheeks as an arm wraps around your waist. when you try to open your eyes, a palm shadows over them and you feel lyney’s warm breath by your ear with a small request, “keep your eyes closed for now, my dear. it’s not time yet.”

you chuckle and nod. you lift both your hands up as the other trails up his shoulder and ready yourself for a dance. lyney hums and the first step is taken. he twirls you with care, a secure hand at the small of your back. even under nothing but the light of stray fireflies and the moon’s glow, lyney is breath taken by the sight of your hair catching snow and the way your face flushes under the cold. 

“you look beautiful,” he mutters just a breath away from your lips as he presses your foreheads together. 

“is this your gift? a recreation of our first dance when we used to be kids?”

the hearth loved you, not just because you were strong, but because of your love for small details. you remember everyone’s favorite color, the utensils they always use in the dining room, delicious food that satisfies their cravings, and memories they hold dear. you are simply timeless, and lyney loves you until he takes his final breath.

“must you always spoil my surprises?” you laugh at him like you did when you were kids. once afraid of the dark walls of the house, preferring the hide behind the shadows of your eyes until lyney makes you double over in laughter.

“you’re not very secretive. everyone in the hearth already knows what you got father.”

he sighs because of course you noticed. “well, you simply make it hard to keep things a secret. not when you repay me with that smile of yours.”

“since when did you become this cheesy?” like the morning dew, a smile erupts from your face and lyney feels his heart leap straight into your arms.

“since i started loving you.”

“and how long has that been?”

he takes a minute before confessing, “since forever.”

you open your eyes just in time for lyney to pull you impossibly closer. he takes both your hands in his and presses a soft kiss on your knuckles. you let out a quiet gasp when you notice the item weighing down on your finger.

“father told me once,” lyney tells you with hearts in eyes. “that if i ever wish to leave the hearth to run away with a beloved, she’d allow it. but you wouldn’t.” he tilts his head at your silence but smiles, “you learned how to love every cracking wallpaper and paint in this house to leave. like father, you wouldn’t hesitate to give up anything for the sake of everyone’s protection. so, under the watchful gaze of sneznhaya’s winter, i ask of you,”

lyney slowly drops to one knee, one hand behind his back while the other continues to hold the hand with the glimmering ring on your finger.

“[name], if given the choice to stay with me in these walls for eternity, would you be willing to—”

you don’t let him finish as you dive straight into his arms. lyney lets out a grunt as you both fall on the snow. your head finding solace in the juncture of his neck as you whisper.

“you’ll always be the choice i choose, lyney.”

you feel his arms tighten around you as his head drops to your shoulder. his own shaking as he laughs and ruffles your head.

“by the gods, must you always ruin my surprise?”

© VXNUSLOGY 2024 — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate works without the knowledge or consent of the creator in other platforms or websites.

[wholoveseggs]

A Tale of Tinsel and Turmoil

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}{Five Days of Fluffmas}

{Elijah Mikaelson x Reader} When Kol brings home a Christmas tree too grand for the Mikaelson courtyard, the family’s decorating antics spiral into chaos...

♡♡Merry Christmas♡♡

1.5 words - Warnings: flufffff, holiday decorating gone wrong, mischievous Kol, Christmas tree theme debates, Hope's word is law && lots of love and laughter...

@starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05 @sweetieseven

@xoxo-shy @nova-j @decaffeinatedparadisepost @fandom-princess-forevermore @theotherworld97

@origshipfan @cocoabliss @eternalnoble @darth-laeka

It had been a while since the entire Mikaelson family had been under the same roof, but when Kol came through the door carrying a massive Christmas tree, he was quickly met by an excited Hope, who had been waiting impatiently for him to come home.

"Uncle Kol!" the little girl cried, rushing into his arms and hugging him tightly. "You brought the tree!"

"Well, of course I did, little darling," he said, returning the hug just as eagerly.

Elijah cast a skeptical glance at the towering tree as Kol began setting it up in the courtyard. It stretched nearly to the third-floor balcony, its branches sprawling like a small forest.

"Was a tree of this size really necessary?" Elijah asked, his tone dry but patient.

Kol shrugged, carefully securing the base. "Why not? The holidays are all about extravagance," he replied, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

"Daddy! Mommy! Come see the tree!" Hope cried out, racing off to find her parents.

You leaned against the second-floor railing, watching the commotion below. Kol stood proudly by the massive tree, grinning like a child on Christmas morning, while Klaus approached, already scowling.

"Where did you get this?" Klaus asked, arms crossed. "They certainly aren’t selling these at the tree lot."

"I found it," Kol answered vaguely, his mischievous grin widening under Rebekah’s pointed glare. "Perhaps with a bit of magical assistance,"

"Kol..." Elijah warned, his calm tone carrying a note of exasperation.

Before Kol could reply, a small voice interrupted. "Uncle Elijah," Hope said, tugging on his sleeve. Her big, hopeful eyes were enough to melt even Elijah’s stoic demeanor. "Will you help me decorate the tree?"

Elijah smiled warmly, lifting her into his arms. "Of course, sweetheart."

Your heart melted at the sight. Elijah had always had a way with Hope, his tenderness shining through in moments like these.

"I can help too, uncle Kol can't keep me from it," Rebekah said with a smirk.

Klaus was quick to jump in, "oh please, Bekah, I think we all know I'm the better decorator."

"Go get the decorations, and then we'll see about that," Rebekah told her brother, crossing her arms.

Elijah handed Hope off to Hayley and went to the storage room where the ornaments were kept. As he walked, he caught your gaze, and gave you a soft smile, his eyes twinkling. You found yourself following him into the storage room.

"Do you want me to carry that?" you asked, taking in the large cardboard box Elijah had pulled from the shelf.

"Thank you, but I'm perfectly capable of carrying a box," he told you with a chuckle.

"Well, it looks heavy," you replied, giving him a smirk.

He raised his eyebrow, "are you saying I'm not strong enough to lift a box? My dear I can lift you without even breaking a sweat."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes," he told you, stepping closer.

You bit your lip, trying to keep yourself from grinning. Elijah's eyes darted to your lips, a smirk forming on his face. He stepped even closer, his body almost brushing yours.

"So, are you going to prove it or not?" You asked, a challenging tone in your voice.

He smirked, leaning in close enough for his lips to brush the shell of your ear. His voice was low and raspy when he whispered, "I will be more than happy to show you later,"

Your breath hitched, and heat pooled in your lower stomach. You looked up at him, his face only inches from yours, and his gaze was hungry, but he wouldn't move any closer, not until you told him. The two of you had been dancing around each other for months now, neither one wanting to make the first move, but you were starting to think he might actually kiss you.

"Are you two love birds coming?" Rebekah's voice called out, effectively shattering the moment.

You stepped back, blushing furiously. Elijah gave you an apologetic smile before lifting the box and carrying it to the courtyard.

The ornaments were quickly passed around and the decorating began. Klaus, Kol, and Rebekah were trying to de-tangle the string lights, while Hope was helping Freya and Hayley pick out the prettiest ornaments. You and Elijah were sorting through the tinsel, contemplating which colors to use.

As the family began decorating, the bickering started almost immediately. Rebekah held up a string of red and gold ornaments. "We’re going traditional! Red, green, and gold. It’s classic."

Klaus scoffed. "Traditional? How dull. We should go for a winter wonderland theme. White, silver, and blue. Sophisticated."

"Traditional is timeless!" Rebekah snapped, hanging a gold bauble on the tree.

"And winter wonderland is elegant," Klaus retorted, tossing a strand of silver tinsel onto the tree.

Kol, watching from the sidelines, smirked. "Both of you have awful taste. Let’s make it fun! Bright colors everywhere. I bet this sturdy tree can hold all of our ornaments,"

The three of them turned toward each other, their voices growing louder. Freya sighed and crossed her arms. "Are we seriously doing this? Hope is right there. Can’t we go one holiday without arguing?"

"We’re not arguing," Klaus said, his tone anything but convincing.

"We’re discussing," Rebekah added with a sharp smile.

"Oh, really?" Freya asked, raising an eyebrow. "Then why do I hear so much shouting and so little decorating?"

Before anyone could respond, Hope, who had been quietly observing, spoke up. "I want it all purple! Purple is my favorite!"

Everyone turned to look at her. Klaus, ever the doting father, immediately relented. "Purple it is, my little princess."

Elijah chuckled softly, already retrieving the purple tinsel. "It seems the debate has been settled."

"Smart choice," you teased, watching him as he carefully handed a strand of tinsel to Hope.

As the decorating continued, the tree began to take shape—a towering display of purple tinsel and a mix of ornaments, each with its own bit of family history. Despite the occasional bickering, the atmosphere was warm and filled with laughter.

Finally, Klaus stepped back, surveying the nearly finished tree. "Now, we just need the topper," he declared.

"I want to do it!" Hope said, bouncing on her toes.

Klaus’s eyes widened. "Absolutely not. It’s too dangerous. The tree is massive."

"But Daddy—" Hope started, her pout already forming.

"No, sweetheart," Klaus said firmly. "Uncle Kol chose the most ridiculous tree imaginable. You won't be able to reach the top."

Hope crossed her arms and let out a dramatic sigh, she was so much like her father sometimes. 

"Finnnnne," she groaned. "But someone needs to do it!"

"I got it," you offered, climbing the stairs to the second floor balcony.

Elijah followed you. "You should let me," he said, reaching the railing and offering his hand. "If you fall, you could really hurt yourself,"

"Are you going to catch me if I fall?" you asked, your eyes twinkling with mirth.

He grinned. "Of course, I will.”

In one smooth motion, Elijah placed his hands at your waist and lifted you effortlessly. You gasped, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders as he steadied you, holding you high enough to reach the top. Hope clapped her hands below, beaming with excitement.

"Easy now," Elijah murmured, his voice calm and steady. "You’ve got this."

You placed the star carefully, adjusting it until it sat perfectly centered. "Done!" you exclaimed, turning to beam at him.

But in your excitement, you shifted your weight too far. Elijah tried to steady you, but the combination of your movement and the tree’s precarious balance was too much. The massive tree wobbled, then toppled, sending all of the ornaments and purple tinsel scattering across the courtyard.

Chaos erupted immediately. Klaus shouted something about Kol ruining Christmas, Rebekah shrieked about broken ornaments, and Freya and Hayley tried to calm everyone down. Hope, however, clapped her hands, laughing as she declared it "the funniest Christmas ever."

Elijah, still holding you securely, slowly lowered you to the ground. His expression was a mix of exasperation and amusement. "I think we may have caused a bit of trouble," he said, his tone light.

You couldn’t help but laugh. "A bit?" you echoed, gesturing to the glittering mess.

His hands lingered at your waist, steady and warm as you met his gaze. For a moment, the chaos around you faded. Elijah’s dark eyes softened, and you felt a pull so strong you couldn’t resist. Leaning up, you pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was soft and warm, a long-awaited moment that felt just as perfect as you’d imagined. When you pulled back, your cheeks were flushed, and Elijah’s signature smirk was firmly in place.

"I suppose toppling the tree was worth it," he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"Completely worth it," you replied, grinning.

Kol groaned loudly from below. "Oh, for the love of Christmas, can you two stop being disgustingly cute for one second? Come help us clean up,"

Elijah didn’t even glance at him. "Perhaps if you weren’t so careless with your magical trees, Kol, this wouldn’t have happened."

As the family bickered and laughed, you stayed where you were, Elijah still holding you close. In the middle of the glittering mess, surrounded by laughter, love, and a little chaos, you realized there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

[steddieas-shegoes]

homemade with love

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'stocking'

all of my holiday drabbles will be from the bear hugs universe. many of them could probably be read standalone, but will make the most sense and be enjoyed best if you read that first!

rated t | 582 words | no cw | tags: established relationship, fluff, good parent eddie, good parent steve

🧦🧦🧦🧦🧦🧦🧦🧦🧦🧦🧦

Eddie is sitting at the sewing machine when Steve walks in the kitchen, humming to himself with his tongue poked out in concentration. Steve doesn’t say anything, doesn’t want to interrupt whatever he’s so focused on.

The whirring of the sewing machine is loud, and Steve is a little worried it might wake Sawyer up after he just managed to get him to sleep for the night, but just as he’s about to say something, it stops. Eddie holds up what he’s working on and grins.

“It’s perfect.”

Steve raises a brow as he steps closer to see what he’s been working on.

It has the shape of a Christmas stocking, but it looks like-

“Rory gave me her old hockey socks to turn into a stocking for Sawyer. I fixed the hole in this one,” Eddie points to the gold one that’s taking up the backside of the stocking. “And sewed them together. The top part is the special ones we got her for holiday camp last year.”

“I see,” Steve takes it into his hands and flips it back over to the front. Eddie’s embroidered Sawyer Munson in gold to match the back. “He already has a stocking, though.”

“But that’s from a store. This is handmade. Way more special.”

Eddie is so excited, and Steve thinks it’s amazing the time he’s put into it, but one thing is at the front of his mind. Something that he knows Eddie didn’t purposefully ignore.

“Is Rory getting one?” Steve asks.

Eddie’s face falls.

“Shit.”

Steve smiles sadly. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t forget. I swear.”

“It’s okay. Rory has a special stocking so it wasn’t your first thought. I just wanna make sure it is a thought,” Steve says before kissing Eddie’s forehead and walking over to the fridge to get a drink.

Eddie is quiet. The sewing machine doesn’t start back up.

Steve looks over and sees him biting his lip, trying to hold back tears.

“Baby, it’s okay.” Steve walks back to him and pulls him close, holds his head against his stomach and runs his fingers through his hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I don’t want her to feel forgotten,” Eddie admits, voice broken.

It was one of the biggest holdups they had with having a baby. They never wanted Rory to feel like they loved a child they had together more than they loved her. She would always be their first.

“She doesn’t.”

“I asked her for her old socks to make this! What if she thinks I love him more than I love her?”

Steve huffs out a small laugh. “She knows you love her so much. You don’t need to worry, baby. We could grab my old socks and make her one?”

“Could we?” Eddie tilts his head back, looking up at Steve with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Sure. I’ll get them now, but she’ll be dropped off soon so you may wanna wait to make it.”

Eddie nods and hands Steve the stocking he made for Sawyer.

“I’ll clean all this up and then make pancakes for dinner,” Eddie says excitedly.

Steve shakes his head fondly. “Just try to keep it down. Sawyer’s sleep-“ A cry is heard from Sawyer’s nursery and Steve sighs. “Never mind.”

Eddie gives him an apologetic smile, but continues his tasks.

Steve stops at the fireplace before going to Sawyer’s room, hanging up the new stocking and wondering how he got so lucky to have all this love in his home.

[yuomizuu]

♡ | holiday, peppermint candy ── childe x reader !

synopsis: it’s the most wonderful time of the year in which everything is merry and bright! well.. it would be, if you weren’t so cramped with schoolwork. but as the saying goes, there’s always room for a christmas miracle to find its way in, even if temporary.

additional: w.c 1.6k ⸝⸝⸝ ( content includes: modern au, uni au established rs, gn reader, holiday fluff, mini smau snippet at the end )

(🧣 ) yuomi’s note: plays the trumpet poorly – introducing my holiday piece of the @stellaronhvnters secret santa event! this gift is specially written for and in dedication of @mitsvriii !! i hope you enjoy this piece ohka ^w^ ahshwaj i lowk struggled for a bit trying to grasp childe’s character since i haven’t ever written for him before so im hoping i got his characterization right for the most part😭im wishing you a very happy and wonderful merry christmas and a happy new year as well! may the coming year treat you kindly in your future endeavors <3

once more, it appears as though that particular time of the year is starting to steadily approach. where a light snowfall pleasantly greets you on a slow morning and you bask in the tranquil silence of the world outside through frosted window-panes whilst the city transforms itself into a snowglobe of winter wonderland.

for some individuals, they cannot help but dread this time of year. the idea of having the once long days now cut short, shoveling heaps of snow off their cars or driveways, and wearing layers upon layers of clothes just to keep warm was anything but agreeable. of course, you understood such sentiments; it wasn’t like you haven’t had your fair share of difficult winters before such as that one time you ( unfortunately ) ended up waiting an hour for the bus outside in the freezing cold, only for it to never show up. your entire body had felt completely numb, you almost couldn’t even bring yourself to walk back to your apartment thinking that it was probably a better fate to just freeze to death. needless to say, you ended up skipping out on all your classes for that day — something that your boyfriend, ajax, found to be far too exciting than it should have been.

because while you remained moping and complaining to him on the phone about having to miss out on your classes and therefore, unable to take notes which will undoubtedly cause you to fall behind in the semester, he appeared to have other things planned up his soft winter sweater sleeves.

“—and the worst part about it is that the professor doesn’t even upload the lecture slides online! how does he expect us to have our notes written down when we can’t even have access to the damn thing?”

the frustration in your tone is evident and ajax does his best to respond with understanding of the situation, something you appreciate him for in that moment because archon knows you’d be long spiraling into a panic by now without his voice of reason. “i’m sorry to hear that babe, is there no one from your class that you can ask to send you the notes?”

heaving out a sigh, you sink further back into your bed with a frown, running a hand over your face. “no… lynette is usually able to help me with that but she went away on some holiday vacation with her family last week. i have no idea how she isn’t stressing out about this like i am.”

”hmm, what about emailing your professor for the lecture notes?”

for the next short while, you and ajax went back and forth on discussing different solutions to your dilemma with the former occasionally voicing a ridiculous suggestion like raiding him in snowballs or sending him an overbaked, unsavory fruitcake for the holidays. admittedly, they coaxed a chuckle or two out of you, briefly distracting you from the overtaking stress until you need to quickly redirect the conversation back to that matter at hand.

as the two of you continued to discuss however, you couldn’t help but notice the odd sniffle or two that would sound on the other line

”ajax, are you coming down with a cold?” you asked, an undertone of concern in your voice that elicited a soft chuckle to ring in your ear.

”no, no, i’m alright babe. i was just outside for a bit taking out the trash. it was supposed to be scara’s turn but you know how he is with this kind of weather.”

an unknowing sigh of relief slips past. “okay good — make sure you’re bundling up properly before going out, and warm yourself up right away once you get back inside. you’ll catch a nasty cold if you don’t.”

”i will, i will..” you could almost hear a slight hint of a smile in his voice as he answered. even when you were in the middle of dealing with an academic crisis, you still went out of your way to make sure that he was doing okay. “buut… i want you to warm me up instead.” 

“huh? me?” you question, pointing to yourself as though he could see you in the first place. “i mean unless there’s a way for me to do that through a phone call, i don’t think i can even—eh? ajax?”

the call abruptly ends with the other end hanging up and you pull your phone away from your ear, blankly staring at ajax’s intact page in confusion. strange… did he lose signal? a power outage maybe? or maybe his wifi’s finally kicked the curb.

just before you could press the call button again to see if you could still call him, the sound of knocking on your door grabs your attention. with a small groan, you climb out of bed and make your way over, unsure of who awaits on the other side. honestly, who would even be out and about in such cold weather in the first place? and yet to your surprise, the moment you open the door you’re suddenly enveloped in a chilling embrace.

“ack! ajax?” well that was certainly unexpected.

burying his face into your neck, the man lets out a small, content sigh, his warm breath fanning against your skin which is a complete contrast to the coldness nipping at his nose — or his entire body for that matter.

a shiver runs down your spine. ”ajax! you’re freezing!” you complain, attempting to squirm out of his grasp that only results in him tightening his arms around you even more.

”that’s why i’m hugging you, so you can warm me up,” he mutters, voice muffled against your neck and you can't help but almost deadpan in response.

“that’s such a cheesy thing to say..” 

“maybe, but you love it either way!” he remarks, pulling back with a smile that you always resembled to a golden retriever ( demeanor wise ). he then feigns a look of thought. “or would you prefer if i did this instead?”

before you can even take a moment to wonder what he means, he’s already reaching out and cupping your face with his ice cold hands, the feeling of which has you yelping in protest once again. “babe, no! stop treating me like your personal heat warmer!”

yet no matter how many times you attempt to pull your head away from his hold, he doesn't seem to budge in the slightest, simply staring at you in amusement. eventually though, he relents from torturing you any further with his teasing antics, giving a light pinch to your cheeks until he leans in and captures your lips in a brief, chaste kiss that manages to make your face grow flush, almost to the point where you can’t tell if it’s his hands that had warmed up already or your face is just too hot to even realize.

“now that i’m all nice and warm, we can start having our indoor christmas date!” ajax says, welcoming himself further into your home without explaining himself any further.

“wait… what? ‘indoor christmas date?’” you repeat, still a bit dumbfounded from the kiss shared a moment ago. closing the door behind, you walk over to the kitchen counter where ajax as already set down his backpack, watching him pull out the various things carried inside one by one.

“well, since you won’t be able to attend your classes today, i figured it was the perfect opportunity for us to spend the day together instead. look! i brought packets of hot chocolate we can make, your favorite christmas movies–along with some of my own–and i even found these cool little gingerbread house building kits in my dorm!”

you have to admit, a part of you can’t help but become intrigued at all the items and activities placed before you. college so far has been nothing short of stress and fatigue on your already weary self, taking up so much of your time throughout the past month or so. because of that, you’ve barely gotten the chance to even enjoy the festivities of the holidays this year, too preoccupied with meeting deadlines and wrapping up group projects. now that you’re presented with the opportunity to indulge in the holiday spirit and best of all, with your boyfriend, you’re almost tempted to give in. but…

“ajax, this is all really sweet but.. i really can’t spend the day doing all this, i’ll still need to catch up with my classes online and do the work there–”

“c’mon babe, please? just for a little while and then i promise i’ll help you figure something out with your classes.” 

archons.. there he goes giving you that look again, the one he knows you can’t resist no matter how much you attempt to deny it. you let out a sigh of resignation. “.. okay fine. but only for a little while and that’s it.”

that supposed plan of yours ended up going down the drain real quick.

although the situation with your professor ( or the rest of your classes for the day ) was far from over, you would inevitably find yourself forgetting about that situation entirely throughout the rest of the day. your build up of stress would be released via warm cuddles beneath soft heated blankets and equally warm cups of hot chocolate as you and ajax would have a marathon of some of your favorite christmas movies. but that was of course after you two spent a good while making your gingerbread houses together. at first it started out as a cute little activity with the goal of just getting the pieces to remain standing for longer than two seconds but after about ten minutes or so into the session, that was when you noticed ajax began to get a little too invested into his gingerbread house. for  now though, you’ll simply ignore the way he went full on architect mode on his building–sooner or later all his hard work will be reduced to nothing but mere crumbs and leftover pieces of candy, but you won’t tell him that.

⋆｡˚❆˚ ｡⋆

divider credits: @/issysh3ll

[thatsladyfaggottoyou]

My James/Madeleine obsession is reaching. some weird new heights.

[genderqueerpond]

amyeleven fivenyssa crossover

[itsalwaysdark]

we had fun tho the whole family hung out and we did some sporclee and chronophoto and then globle me n lamp nd father did globle bc mein mamma went to sleep. yay :]

[khioneee]

tap out. pt ii.

warnings. mentions of death, emotional distress, grief and loss, pregnancy.

a few years later, another tap-out ceremony arrives, but this time, the air feels different—heavier, somber. simon’s been gone for over a year, his deployment unexpectedly extended due to an incident overseas. you’d been told he couldn’t come home for a while, but that didn’t make the waiting any easier.

today, you stand among families who aren’t just here to tap out their loved ones but to say goodbye to those who didn’t make it home. tears stream down faces as loved ones gather around caskets, grieving the soldiers they’d lost. the sight fills you with a mix of dread and relief, knowing simon is still out there, waiting.

simon stands in formation, rigid as always, but he has a sense for you. before you even appear in his line of sight, he knows you’re near. but imagine his surprise when he catches a glimpse of you in his peripheral vision, a small bundle wrapped securely in your arms.

his heart hammers in his chest, quickening as he realizes what this means. his breath catches, his eyes fixed on you as you approach. you look up at him, your eyes sparkling, a knowing smile on your face as you watch the subtle changes in his expression—the slight twitch of his eyebrows, the way his breathing picks up as it dawns on him.

both of you had been trying for a baby before he left, and now, standing before him, you hold that precious life in your arms. it had been a struggle going through pregnancy without him, feeling his absence during every kick and every sleepless night. but seeing him now, looking more than ready to meet your child, all the pain fades away, replaced by a joy so profound it fills every inch of you.

‘daddy’s home,’ you whisper softly, tilting the blanket so simon can see her tiny face, fast asleep, a perfect mirror of him in miniature. she’s got his nose, his quiet strength already etched into her tiny features.

with tears in your eyes, you reach up, your hand finding his cheek, tapping him out in the gentlest of touches.

the moment your hand connects, simon moves, breaking formation as he pulls both of you into his arms, holding you close as if he’ll never let go. his voice is thick with emotion, barely a whisper as he murmurs, ‘my loves.’

you knew your husband had a reputation in the military—a man as cold and unyielding as steel, a fortress no one could break. but as he held you and your newborn in his arms, that carefully built facade cracked, revealing a vulnerable side of him that only you ever saw. the tough soldier was gone, replaced by a man whose heart lay entirely with his family.

‘do you want to hold her?’ you ask softly, watching his eyes light up with a blend of surprise and joy.

‘her?’ he whispers, voice catching on the single word, as if it’s almost too much for him to believe.

you nod, smiling through a haze of happy tears. ‘her.’

with slow, reverent movements, you pass your daughter to him, watching as she looks impossibly tiny cradled in his strong arms. simon looks down at her with a mixture of wonder and fierce protectiveness, as though he’s already memorizing every detail of her face.

as if sensing her father’s gaze, the baby yawns, a soft little sound that makes simon’s eyes shine with awe. you catch the faintest smile pulling at his lips, a rare, tender expression that he reserves only for moments like this.

he leans down, pressing his lips gently to her forehead. ‘never gonna let anything happen to you,’ he murmurs, voice thick with love and quiet promise.

while simon was lost in his quiet moment with your daughter, a loud shout cut through the air, breaking the peaceful silence.

‘is that our baby i see?!’

simon’s head snapped up, his expression immediately shifting to something harder. he turned to see soap grinning widely, practically bouncing with excitement. with a sigh, simon reached over and smacked the back of soap’s head, though his movements were careful not to jostle the sleeping baby in his arms.

‘there’s people grieving, you idiot,’ simon muttered, but soap only snickered, completely unfazed.

‘and what do you mean, ‘our’? she’s y/n’s and mine. you’re not part of this relationship, mate,’ simon added, his tone dripping with mock irritation.

but soap, undeterred, just ignored him and held out his hands, wiggling his fingers in a display of exaggerated excitement. ‘oh, come on! let me hold our child!’

simon groaned, looking down at you with a glance that seemed to ask, ‘do i really have to put up with this?’ but he couldn’t hide the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as soap’s enthusiasm filled the air around you.

reluctantly, and with another sigh, simon finally leaned over, carefully passing your daughter to soap, though not without a low, ‘if you don’t keep her calm, you’re not holding her again.’

soap just grinned, taking her into his arms as if he’d won the lottery, cradling her gently and cooing softly.

soon after, the rest of task force 141 gathered around, drawn by the excitement, each member eager to catch a glimpse of the new addition to the family.

you and simon stood to the side, watching with cautious eyes as they took turns holding her, each one adopting a careful gentleness you wouldn’t have expected from hardened soldiers.

price held her with a proud grin, murmuring something about ‘training her to be the next captain,’ while gaz made her giggle softly with his gentle cooing. even the usually reserved roach softened as he held her, a rare smile tugging at his lips.

you glanced up at simon, watching his face as he stood beside you, arms crossed in a show of casual indifference.

but you knew him too well. beneath the mask of stoicism, there was something warmer, a subtle softness in his gaze as he watched his team, his family, sharing this moment with him. this gruff, unbreakable soldier, who had once thought he’d lost everything, had found a new family among them, one that shared in his joys and sorrows alike.

reaching over, you took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. he didn’t say anything, just gave your hand a quick squeeze in return, a quiet acknowledgment. but you could see it in his eyes, that gratitude for a family he never expected to find—a family that had now become part of yours.

[bunnis-monsters]

Sacrificial Heifer

Bull Hybrids x Cow Hybrid!Reader

Commissioned by: @yuriohoe04

WC: 1k

A/N: Only 2 more slots for my commissions rn! Make sure to get them while you can. Once my comms are closed I won’t be opening them again until all my comms are finished ^^

Warnings: dubcon, breeding, lactation, pregnancy, gangbang

🥛 🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛

It had been a week since the farmer announced that you and your barn mates were ready to be bred for the first time.

At first, the lot of you were excited, some even ovulating and ready to breed. One of your friends had her tail lifted up, and it swayed softly as she sighed.

“Can’t you imagine it, being bred by a handsome bull? Do you think they’d want to settle and become mates?”

You rolled your eyes, swatting her thigh with your tail. “Not likely. Most bulls are just looking for a heifer to breed and toss aside for the next one. You’ll be lucky if they give you more than a few minutes of your time.”

An older cow had warned you many times that bulls liked to play with young heifers’ hearts, and that if you wanted to live a peaceful life on the farm, then you’d just breed and go about your day.

That’s what you told yourself out of fear of getting your heart broken… until the day finally came to breed.

All the other heifers were filling themselves up, brushing out their hair and tidying themselves up. The pheromones wafting through the barn were thick, almost stifling.

This all changed when the bulls walked in. They were big, bulky, and honestly? Terrifying.

They walked in with confidence, eyeing the new heifers with keen, sharp eyes that told you they were more than experienced when it came to breeding.

“Alright, who’s first?”

All the heifers shivered at the authoritative tone of voice. They had never been spoken to in such a way. The farmers they’ve had in the past had always been gentle, giving their bottoms hearty slaps as they herded them into the barn.

These bulls didn’t look like they even knew what the word gentle meant. They knew how to work with an inexperienced heifer, how to breed them into submission and stuff them full of cum.

You looked on with a mix of nervousness and curiosity. The bulls were definitely handsome, and despite their rough way of speaking, the way they tried their best to look a bit smaller told you that maybe they weren’t as bad as you had been told.

Before you could retreat to observe them from the back of the stall, you were shoved out into an open space, landing in the arms of one of the bulls.

“A volunteer. Cute one too.”

You yelped as your ass was groped, the bull squeezing it lightly before inspecting your face. “Little heifer, no need to be nervous. Gonna put a calf in you, alright?”

“Quite small, ain’t she?”

Another bull approached you from behind, lifting up your tail to get a better look at your fat ass. “Perfectly plump too. Got them child bearing hips… mmm…”

The feeling of a cock rubbing against your panties made your body freeze up. They both cooed at you, already able to sense your pheromones spiking. “Someone’s begging to be fucked silly, huh?”

One of the bulls traced circles over your clothed clit, laughing as you blubbered our half hearted pleas for them to let you go. “Hush, heifer. You’re soaking my hand, gotta breed that fat cunt of yours.”

Before long you were being hoisted up, a big fat cock pushing against your pussy. It was huge, and you were sure it would tear your body in two!

“Sure this little thing can take it?” another bull asked, this one playing with your clit as the other two bulls prepped your hole. “Smallest heifer in the herd I’ve seen so far…”

“She’ll take it.”

And with that, he rutted into you, stretching your fat pussy out as he bounced you on his cock. It was painful at first, tears prickling in the corners of your eyes, but your body was built for this. You were made to be bred by bulls, to get pregnant and produce milk and calves.

You felt your pussy gush as he fucked into you, biting into your shoulder. “That’s it, baby. Cream on my cock, lemme hear you cry out for me.”

You were passed around by the bulls, feeling so full and happy. As you were bent over and groped by another bull, you let out the prettiest of moans.

“God, that’s it, that’s a good heifer. Take my load, fuck…”

A bull took one of your nipples into his mouth, suckling as another mounted and bred you thoroughly. Before you were a virgin, and now you were being fucked by so many different cocks that you could barely think.

They rolled you onto your tummy, lifting your ass into the air and eating the cum out of your pussy, wanting to give you a nice and fresh creampie and hoping their’s would be the load to impregnate your fertile womb.

All the other heifer’s watched in awe and jealousy as the bulls kept their attention on you, unable to spare a second glance to the others. You were so cute, a small, chubby little heifer that was perfect for beating calves. How the hell were they supposed to breed anyone else when you were bouncing on their cocks?

By the end of the breeding session, your belly was distended, stuffed full of cum. None of the other heifers were bred because the bulls were way too busy doting on you after they all got a turn.

Now, as your belly began to swell with a calf and your tits got heavy and full, the bulls couldn’t help but cum all over and in you. Your pretty mouth and pussy was always keeping someone’s cock nice and warm.

Drinking milk from your fat and heavy tits was the best part of their day. They had to test your milk to make sure it was high quality… and they also just wanted to suck on your nipples.

After all, you were their perfect little breeding cow. None of the other heifers compared to you, none as sweet and soft and pretty. If anyone had a problem, they could take it up with the bulls.

You sat on your bed, being fed strawberries as your belly was massaged.

Maybe that older cow was wrong, because these bulls adored you with their entire heart… and you were excited to be thoroughly bred again once you gave birth.

You were a cow hybrid after all, and needed to produce lots of milk and calves. Being a breeding cow was your job…

And you were damn good at it.

——————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @buckoothecow @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143

[rememberwren]

Skin Deep

Tattoo artist!Simon x fem!reader. Reader, looking to expand your horizons, you get your first tattoo from an enigmatic artist deemed “Ghost”. 8.4k. Features: soft!Simon who is bad at people-ing, vaginal sex, lots of nipples, like at least three nipples, poor writing, abrupt transitions, shy and awkward reader. Based on this post.

Sequel here.

-

“I bit the bullet!” you shout over the music, hand cupped around your friend’s ear to be better heard. She shrieks in delight at the sound of your voice, turning to wrap her arms around your waist and pull you close to her swaying body. Many eyes in the club follow her movements. She has always been the wild child to your wallflower, attracting attention wherever she goes.

“You bit what?” she shouts back, her breath like a mint julep. 

“The bullet,” you laugh. “I called that guy you recommended and set up an appointment. For the tattoo I wanted!” 

She stares at you blankly. Her silky little tank top is drooping off of one shoulder, so you reach out and tuck it back into place. The longer she stares, the more nervous you grow. She’d been so encouraging after your last boyfriend dumped you—encouraging you to step outside your comfort zone, to ‘make more mistakes’, to live life more fully. Now she’s staring at you like you’ve grown a second head and it’s the one doing the talking. 

“What guy I recommended?” she asks. 

“Kevin!”

“Oh no. No, no, no. Not Kevin. Not Kevin. Why, Kevin?” 

You frown. “You said you went to Kevin.” 

“It wasn’t a recommendation, sweetie, if anything it was to caution you away from him! He’s a creep; there’s a reason why I never went back.” 

You deflate like a balloon, going limp and letting her drag you to the nearby free seats at the bar where you sit heavily. It’s not just the tattoo. It’s the icing on a shitcake of a day. 

A new song seamlessly starts, and the dancers nearby go wild with excitement. Your mood is the antithesis of the event; everyone seems to be having a great time except for you. Story of your life. 

“You conveniently left that out. Ugh. I’ll cancel it. What am I even fucking doing—thank you—” you accept the cup of ice water the bartender slides in front of you with a shy smile, sipping at it and keeping your hand curled over the top of it protectively. “—none of this is like me.” 

Your friend frowns. She steals your drink and sips at it. “You were the one who said you’d always wanted a tattoo. You’re an adult. These are exactly the kinds of decisions you’re old enough to make. Look, fuck Kevin. All my friends hate Kevin. I know another guy, and he’s highly recommended. Let me give you his number. Alright?” 

“Alright,” you sigh. You make a silent promise to yourself though: if it doesn’t work out with this next tattoo artist, then you won’t be getting one at all. You’ll take it as a sign from the universe to get back in your comfort zone and stay there, once and for all. 

-

What kind of a moniker is Ghost? you wonder to yourself as you skim the Instagram of the shop this Ghost owns. The profile picture is one of the building itself, and all of the pictures are of various inked body parts. Beautiful ones, admittedly. But no hint of the mysterious figure who owns the shop. There is a personal instagram linked @GHOST89 but it is private when you try to click on it. 

The phone number your friend gave you rings straight through to voicemail. You let out a shaky breath. Fuck, you hate voicemail. Talking to people was difficult enough; talking to people’s disembodied machines was even worse somehow. It isn’t until you’ve hung up after leaving your message that you realize you forgot to tell him your fucking name (genius!). Groaning, you contemplate dialing him back when the phone in your hand rings—and it’s him. 

“Hello?” 

“I’m free Wednesdays for consultations,” says a baritone voice from the other end of the line. 

Nice to talk to you too, you think dryly. Maybe this guy is as bad at the phone as you are. “I work Wednesdays. Are you free in the evenings?” 

He sighs, like this is going to be very strenuous for him. 

“Name a time. I’ll pencil you in. Half is due at the end of the consultation upon booking an appointment. Cash only,” he says. 

Jesus Christ, could he be anymore abrupt? While a tiny part of you is grateful that he isn’t trying to make small talk, a larger part is terrified that you’ve already made an impression so foul that it’s incurred his wrath. What other reason could he have for being so stilted? 

“Alright,” you answer cautiously. “How’s five?” 

“Five. Don’t be late.” 

He hangs up on you, leaving you wondering why every step outside your comfort zone must be so bloody far.

-

You arrive early to the consultation, only to find that the building itself—a tidy little brick two-floor, adorned with a sign that dubbed it SKIN DEEP tattoos & artisan piercings, which you recognize from Instagram—is locked. A note written in neat handwriting taped to the door declares NO WALK INS. Your palms are sweaty. You wipe them on your work slacks, but it doesn’t help. How are you supposed to get in? 

All at once a shadow appears on the other side of the door. The shadow is enormous: well above six feet tall, and broad shouldered. A black surgical mask is tucked up over his mouth and nose, which only adds to his intimidating aura. Judging by the impressive sleeve of tattoos he has, you imagine that this is the guy. 

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. And Ghost. 

Dark brown eyes stare down at you when he opens the door, cocking a hip against the frame, staring at you. Waiting. 

Waiting for you to explain your presence, you realize. 

“I have a consultation,” you blurt out. “At…five?”

He opens the door wider to let you pass without a word. He’s so broad that you can smell him as you pass him: clean and masculine. The inside of the tattoo shop is bigger than it looks on the outside. There is a reception area with a desk and a computer and printer. The glossy wooden floors are polished to shine, leading to an open floor plan. There is a small sitting area with armchairs, a wide sofa, and a table on which rests two bottles of water, a notebook, and a steaming mug of liquid.

“Sit,” he says, his voice the same deep rumble you recognize from the phone. He chooses the chair beside the mug. His body is so goddamn long, his legs lean and thick all at once where he stretches them out in front of him. He reaches for the mug and takes a sip—of tea, judging by the smell. “Name?”

You tell him, perching yourself anxiously on the other chair. He glances up at you, eyes raking over your posture. Suddenly he tugs the mask down to rest beneath his chin, revealing a full, pale mouth. A straight, noble nose. A pink scar stretches across his lips and up towards his cheek. 

“The water is for you,” he says. 

“Oh!” You reach forward and take one bottle, breaking the seal. “Thank you.”

“This is your first tattoo.” 

“What gave me away?” you ask with a weak laugh. 

He doesn’t laugh. “Everything. Is someone putting you up to this? This smells like Soap.” 

“What? No, of course not. I want this, I’m just, I’m an anxious personality. I promise.” You hesitate and then add: “I probably smell like soap because I showered this morning.” 

His mouth twitches. He leans back in his seat and sucks on his teeth, and you get the distinct feeling that he is trying very hard not to laugh at you. Why had you mentioned to him that you showered? What was wrong with you? Just as you’re comprising a list of things, he picks up the pencil and the notebook, opening to a fresh page.

 He asks what you want and God, that’s a harder question. 

You do your best to express your idea, but your words feel halting and silly. His pencil scratches rapidly at the paper as he listens in total silence—pausing only once, when you say that you want this to be a sternum piece. Only then does his pencil seem to hover over the paper, his dark eyes seeking you out and pinning you in place on the armchair. 

He reaches for his tea to take a generous sip and then continues writing. 

He asks a few pointed, concise questions (and you’re just thrilled he was actually listening), following your answers up with more scribbling in his notebook. At length, he shuts the book. 

“I think I see the vision. Give me thirty to sketch something and we’ll see if you want to book an appointment. Something this size, on your sternum could take more than one session, depending on how well you sit. How do you take pain?” 

“I mean, it hurts?” you offer. 

He stares. “Two sessions. Let me sketch something. Drink your water.” 

You think that maybe he’ll move to another room to sketch, but he just flips to a clean page and begins to work right there (drawing the mask up over his nose and mouth again). With nothing else to do, you can’t help but watch him. 

He’s handsome, in an odd sort of way. His brow is a little too low, his gaze a little too intimidating to be considered conventionally attractive, but you find him fascinating to look at, especially when he is so clearly in the throes of something he enjoys doing. It’s almost like watching someone have sex. The thought makes your face go warm. You pick up your phone, determined not to look at him again. 

“Here.” 

You glance up from your mindless scrolling. What he shows you is a beautiful rendition of what you had expressed wanting. There are a few key differences, and he patiently explains why he made the decisions he did. He didn’t make the changes because he thought your idea was stupid. He made them so the image would better fit the contours of your body. He made them because the ink will spread over time, and he wants the look to stay clean. 

His thoughtfulness touches you. 

“I love it. I want it,” you say, enthusiasm getting the better of you. 

“This is just a first sketch,” he says dryly, making that warmth return to your face. “I’ll text you a few variations this week, and we can nail down the final piece. You want to book?” 

“Yes,” you say, nearly buzzing. “I really want to book.”

He’s expensive—but judging by the book of his artwork that is available for you to flip through at the front desk while he quotes you a price and writes you up a receipt, he is more than worth the money. Fuck, he’s got skill. You thought that maybe his art style was too dark for what you wanted, but you found that he was able to adapt styles nicely. You just hoped this tattoo wouldn’t bore him to death. 

“Thanks again for meeting with me,” you say as he sees you out. “I’ll be waiting for your text.” 

“You’ll get it.” He glances past you out the window. It’s dark. “Did you walk?” 

“No, my car is just there.”

“I’ll wait.” 

And he does. His figure darkens the doorway until you have shut your car and locked the doors, temporary insanity making you give him a short wave. He raises two fingers and then disappears. 

-

You didn’t tell me this guy was cute, you text to your friend. 

GHOST? Cute? I’ve never even seen his face lol. He’s always wearing one of his masks. 

You chew over this information. Yes he’d been wearing a mask, but he’d lowered it for you. Did that mean something? Did it mean something that you wanted it to mean something?  

Masks are cute, you say. 

Fuck the tattoo artist!!!! she says. Maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

You’re terrible. 

You’re…thinking about it. 

-

Two days later, you squint blearily into the darkness at your phone after it vibrates on your nightstand. The time reads twelve past one in the morning. It’s from GHOST. 

The two images he sends are beautiful; enough to rouse you straight from sleep into wakefulness. 

I love them both, you tell him. But the second one is amazing. I think that’s the one. 

Keep your appointment. Ten minutes later (after you have already fallen back to sleep) he sends: wear something appropriate.  

And fuck, you didn’t even think of that. 

-

“You’re being ridiculous,” you mutter to yourself in the mirror, turning sideways to assess yourself. On the bed behind you are a series of button up shirts, all of which you have tried on at one point or another. 

“You are,” your friend agrees from where she lounges on your bed, scrolling on her phone. “Your tits are cute. Let Ghost see them.” 

The look you give her is the one the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ was modeled after, surely. She doesn’t even see it, so the effect is lost entirely. You turn your gaze back to the silicone nipple adhesive covers again, still stuck to their adhesive backing. You’ve already used one set of the pack of three, and they covered your nipple and areolas nicely, but still left you feeling so exposed. 

“Be glad you’re not going to creepy Kevin anymore,” your friend says.

“Very glad of it.” 

You felt reasonably safe with Ghost, but still a degree of embarrassment about your own body. Or perhaps that was too strong a word—it didn’t embarrass you, but it felt private. Baring your breasts to a near stranger (especially one you had a grudging attraction to) made your anxiety reach epic level proportions. 

“You should text him about it, see if he has any advice for you. He’s been doing this for years. I’m sure he’s seen it all,” she says—the first good idea she’s had all night, miles ahead of ‘Just let Ghost see your cute tits’. 

That night, you take her advice and text him, hoping you aren’t overstepping some weird artist-client boundary. 

I’m a little nervous.

You can cancel, is all he says. I’ll refund your money.

It’s not that. 

What is it? 

Not really accustomed to the nakedness tbh. There. You said it. Let him think you some prim priss; it was true. 

But all he said back was: how can I help?  

I don’t know, you admit. Then; sorry. I’m probably bothering you with this while you’re working. 

I’m not working. Five minutes later, when it seems as if you aren’t going to message back: I keep the shop closed to the public. One customer at a time: you. I’ll let my piercer know I’m with a client and not to walk in. I’ll keep you covered every moment I can. Better? 

Relief, warm and sweet curling low in your belly, you let him know: much better. 

-

You bring the pasties anyway. 

-

The day of your appointment, you are so nervous you are shaking. Now you know the truth behind the phrase ‘knees knocking together’, as you stand outside SKIN DEEP waiting for Ghost’s hulking figure to appear on the other side of the glass. 

When it does, he’s like a little punch to the gut. That black surgical mask is in place—typical for him, if your friend’s words are to be trusted—but his blond hair, cropped short to his scalp is riotous in a way that is adorably charming, like he hasn’t been able to keep his hands out of it. His black t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, and his jeans fit him nicely around his thick thighs. 

You’re horrified to find that your attraction to him has grown. Exponentially. Your friend’s words echo in your mind—fuck the tattoo artist, maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

“Hi,” you squeak. 

Ghost raises both his brows. He opens the door wider for you to slip past him. Fuck he still smells good.

“I’m still nervous,” you blurt out, hoping that speaking the truth out loud will help you feel better. It doesn’t. 

“That’s normal. You can back out at any time, but the earlier the better. Come look at the image and tell me if it’s still what you want.”

It’s exactly what you want, and more. 

“It’s perfect. You’re very talented.” 

He huffs a little, like you shouldn’t have said such a thing. 

The chair is a great leather contraption which reclines comfortably once he’s gotten you in it (after making you use the restroom first, during which you took the time to splash water on your burning face and double check that your pasties were in place covering all the cutest bits according to your friend). Simon moves around you, making preparations with the ease of someone who has done this work for many years. 

You fight the arousal that blooms in your belly at the sight of him doing such benign things as washing his hands, putting on gloves, opening fresh needles, preparing little wells of ink and sticking them to the movable cart with Vaseline. There’s just something about a person who knows exactly what they’re doing and who is able to do it with efficacy.

“Ready?” he asks at length. 

You nod, hoping your nerves don’t show on your face. Steeling yourself, you unbutton the shirt you’re wearing. His eyes follow your hands, but there is a detached, clinical sort of expression in them. He’s not watching a strip tease, he’s looking at a canvas. 

Finally, you sit in front of him in only the pasties, the shirt lax around your shoulders, and your sweatpants, socked toes curling in anxiety in your shoes. Without missing a beat, he leans the chair all the way back. Then he opens a fresh disposable razor and shaves you. 

“Am I hairy?” you ask, resting your hands oh-so-casually over your breasts to keep them out of his way. 

“Yes,” he says. Then his eyes flicker to yours. “Everyone is. Everywhere. It’s normal.”

“I’m just teasing you.” 

“Didn’t think you had the breath in your body left to tease me,” he mutters, voice nearly lost behind his mask as he carefully works the razor across your skin removing the baby-fine hairs from beneath your breasts and across your sternum. “You’re nervous, I mean.” 

“Would you take the mask off?” you ask on a whim. It had helped last time, to see his face. 

“No,” he says. He adds: “Sorry. It’s more sanitary f’you if I keep it on.” 

You get the feeling that he really is sorry—and that’s well enough. Some of the anxiety in your belly fades away. He would take it off if he could. The most anxious part of the process (baring yourself to a stranger) has already passed. Maybe now you can begin to relax. 

After cleaning your skin, he carefully lays the stencil and has you stand up to look at it in the mirror and make sure the placement is correct and holy fucking shit. It’s sexy. You’ve always been attracted to tattoos, and fancied the idea of getting one on your sternum for far longer than you’d ever admitted to anyone, but seeing it come to life gives you a rush you hadn’t expected. You feel so…badass. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Very good,” you answer, sitting back down, hoping he ignores the way your breasts bounce a little as you do. He leans you back again and this time breaks out the needle gun.

But before he uses it on you, he carefully takes a clean towel and lays it over your left breast, covering the parts of you that are not nearest to his eyes. His gentleness and thoughtfulness go straight to your cunt. 

“Thank you,” you say softly. 

He just nods. The gun buzzes to life. “I’ll make a line and see how you feel. Last chance to back out without any souvenirs.” 

“I’m not backing out.” 

He clicks his tongue as if to say, It’s your funeral. Then he lays his hand on your sternum above your breasts, pinning you in place, and makes a gentle line. 

It burns more than you expected it to. There’s a sandpaper quality to it, almost like the rasping of a cat’s tongue. The pain is sharp and bright, but it isn’t overwhelming. In fact…a strange part of you sort of enjoys it. Maybe it’s the rush of endorphins. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Good,” you squeak. 

You hear his quiet laugh, no more than an exhale of breath.

“Let me know when you need to break.” 

You don’t know how you feel about the way he phrases that: when you need to break. He adjusts his mask a little, leans over you, and gets to work. Sometimes the needles pass over a place that is more sensitive than the others, making you flinch. He pauses when this happens, eyes flickering up to your own, making sure you are alright even though he can likely feel the pounding of your heart beneath his hand. That hand on your chest, wrist just brushing the top of your breast, is a solid warm weight that seems to tether you back down to the earth as he lines you. He is very careful not to brush against your breast when he wipes away the excess ink and traces of blood, but you feel hyper-attuned to how easy it would be for him if he wanted to. How huge his hand is compared to your tit. Beneath the pasties, your nipples ache with tension, a tension that is mirrored between your legs. 

“Alright. Break,” he says, abruptly turning the gun off. He covers your exposed breast with another towel. “Take ten.”

He disposes of his gloves and disappears behind a curtain in the back, leaving you throbbing between the legs. Worming your phone free from your pocket, you scroll aimlessly, hoping to calm your raging hormones. He returns right at the ten minute mark, just as his cellphone rings. He glances toward where it rests on the table, but makes no move to answer it. 

“Do you need to get that?” you ask, offering him an out.

“No,” he says. “I make everyone leave a message. Weeds out the cowards.”

It had almost weeded out you, you think about telling him, but in the end you decide against it. He gloves back up. 

“Good for more?”

And so it repeats. 

At one point, he runs into a patch of sensitive skin on your ribs just overlaying the bone. It has you sucking in a breath through your teeth, eyes squeezing shut. It’s too late to turn back now you tell yourself; the only way out is through. 

His thumb gently strokes your sternum. 

“It’s rough. You can take it,” he says, quiet and focused. The buzzing of the gun never ceases as he tries to make his work as quick as possible, his words a little distant and distracted. “Just keep breathing. That’s it. Good girl.”

Jesus. Did he not have any idea what those words could do to a girl? A groan escapes your lips, and he clearly mistakes it for pain, because his thumb strokes again the soft skin over your heart, just above the curve of your breast. 

“You can do it. Just a little longer for me, and we’ll break.”

“Hurts,” you breathe, flinching again. 

He hushes you, surprisingly tender. 

“This is the worst of it.” This time, his thumb does brush the edge of your breast, making you suck in a gasp. He recoils, hand lifting away from you and curling into a fist. He rests that against you instead, taking away any further hope that he might brush his fingertips against you. You make it through the rough patch with tears in your eyes but no worse for wear.  

“Break. Ten minutes,” he says again, already shredding his gloves and moving to disappear behind the curtain. 

You call out: “Hey, wait—I’d rather just get through it in one go if I can. If this really is the worst of it.” 

“I need breaks too,” he says stonily.

You duck your head, feeling silly. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He vanishes again. 

He is late to return to you. Only by five minutes or so, but noticeably for a man so usually punctual and so demanding of punctuality in you. His face is stoic—what bits of it you can see from behind the mask—as he washes his hands thoroughly and preps his work station again. 

This time his hand keeps a very respectable distance from your breasts—a fact which you both lament and appreciate all in one. He works with single-minded efficiency, giving you his entire focus. You break once more, but this time he breaks in the room with you, stretching out his back and neck (giving you a generous glimpse of his belly when his shirt rides up, exposing cut abs and a happy trail you’d give your life to follow). 

“I think we could do this in one sitting, if you have nowhere else to be,” he mutters at length. 

“Eager to be done?” you wonder. 

He stares at you, expression flat, and says nothing. Nothing needs to be said. 

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” you murmur, staring up at the bright adjustable light that he has positioned over you. You hope he mistakes that for the reason behind any mistiness in your eyes, his rudeness cutting you deeply. 

So the two of you push through later into the evening, until you are sweating at your temples and the base of your neck from the continuous pain for so long. At last he lays the last gradient for the shading, sprays you down, and wipes you clean so very gently. 

“Go take a look. I’m going to cover it up.” 

It’s beautiful. Stunning, even. You let your shirt gape closed and cover the pasties, revealing a broad glimpse of the sternum tattoo, and it is the sexiest you have ever felt. It almost makes your eyes burn anew.

“I love it,” you choke out. “Thank you.”

“Can I take a picture of it?” he asks. “For Instagram.” 

“Sure!” It will feel a little like being famous, you think, judging by how much notice each of the photos on his Instagram garners. He crouches down on the floor to be at the perfect height, reaches out and gently adjusts your shirt. Parts of the tattoo are covered—the very far edges—but you can’t deny how sexy it is. Maybe he feels the same way. 

After he takes the photo, he posts it and asks for your handle to tag you in it. Then he says: “Let me cover it up. Keep it covered overnight, but tomorrow let it breathe. Keep it clean. Don’t do anything stupid to it. Understand?” 

“I understand.”

“And if you have any questions—text me.” 

-

You get home to find that Ghost’s personal account has requested to follow you. Thrumming with nerves and excitement, you accept the request and send one of your own, spending the night scrolling through his Instagram (so, so carefully to avoid any incidental ‘likes’). Plenty of the photos are of his artwork, still. But there are ones of his dog: a German Shepherd that is thankfully much more photogenic than her surly owner. There are three or four photos featuring Ghost himself, and only one has his full face in the picture. You find yourself staring at his fixated expression for longer than is respectable. 

-

Three days later when you find yourself panicking, you don’t text him like he asked you to. You call. 

Your skin is peeling off. Peeling. Off. The sight of it makes your stomach roll. The entire tattoo is hot to the touch, and the skin around it feels warm as well. Flushed. Is it supposed to hurt this much? 

The internet doesn’t help. The peeling is normal, sure. But everything else is suggesting that your tattoo could be infected. What sort of ink did Ghost use? Was it reputable? What if the infection reaches your bloodstream? You were too young to die! Your anxiety spirals like a plane with one wing, trailing smoke as it soars straight down, determined to take you with it.   

With shaking hands, you don’t even think about texting Ghost. You go straight to calling him, tapping his number in your phone and pressing it to your ear, listening to the ring. 

He’s going to send you to voicemail, just like he does to everyone else—except he doesn’t. All the sudden there is glorious feedback from the other end: a cacophony of voices and laughter, clearly some sort of gathering. 

“Yes?” Ghost says into the phone, as if that’s a decent hello. 

“There’s something wrong with my tattoo!” you cry. 

“Wait—get out of my goddamn way.” There is rustling, and then the noise decreases substantially. You can almost see him standing outside whatever bar his friends have brought him to, mask down around his chin, hand over his other ear as he strains to listen to you. “Say it again. Now I can fucking hear you.”

“There’s. Something. Wrong,” you say through your teeth. “With my tattoo!”

“Well? What is it?”

“It’s falling off, for one!”

He snorts. “That’s normal. That's why you called?” 

“It’s all swollen and hot. And it hurts.” 

Now that shuts him up. He sighs a little, switches the phone from one ear to the other. “Hurts how bad?”

“Worse than getting it.” 

“Fuck me. Alright. Meet me at the shop in…twenty?” 

“Twenty minutes from now?” 

“From when else?” He hangs up. Man doesn’t know the meaning of the word goodbye. 

-

The night is cool. You don’t bother with a bra, not when it irritates your tattoo so much. Pulling your jacket closed more tightly around yourself, you walk from your parking spot along the street to the tattoo shop. 

Ghost stands outside at the curb. His figure is unmistakable. He is smoking, mask down, the lit end of his cigarette a burning ember that flares bright in the darkness. When he sees you coming, he crushes the cigarette beneath his boot and opens the door to the shop, which is still and dark. He flicks on a light switch as he goes, casting the place in a warm glow. 

He’s dressed in his usual dark jeans and an obscenely tight t-shirt, his sleeve of tattoos on display. He leaves the mask down. His eyes are on your tits—or resting where your tattoo is beneath your clothes. 

“Well. Sit. Show me.”

You sit in one of the armchairs, your shoulders rising in defensiveness. “What, just flash you?”

“Nothing I’ve never seen before.” 

Gritting your teeth, you begin unbuttoning your shirt until it gapes open. You cup your breasts with your hands, maintaining your modesty while putting the tattoo on full display. He narrows his eyes, leaning down. His fingers reach out, but then he thinks twice and washes his hands. 

“I was smoking,” he says when you roll your eyes in exasperation. 

“You’re worried about getting the chemicals on my skin but not in your lungs?”

“Fuck my lungs,” he mutters. His fingers hover over your tattoo. “Can I?”

You nod. His fingers are cool when they gently prod and ghost along the edges of the tattoo, feeling for the signature warmth of an infection. “Any fever?” he asks. 

“Not that I’ve noticed.” 

“You feel warm, but I’ve felt warmer. I don’t think it’s infected. Have you tried icing it?”

“No,” you admit. 

“Ice will help. Just use something clean, for fuck’s sake.” As he speaks, his breath fans across your chest, making you shiver. He sees this, his eyes darkening. “When you called, I thought it was for me.”

“It was for you,” you say, brow furrowing. “Who else?”

He snorts, lips quirking. It tugs on the scar across his lips. “Forget it.” 

“Forget what?” 

“Talking about it goes against forgetting it.”

You groan, tossing up your hands. “You’re impossible.” 

He reaches out and jerks your shirt closed, hastily doing up a button. Your face burns as you do up the rest of the buttons—you end up having to backtrack and redo them because he was off by one. 

“Thank you for meeting me. I’m sorry it was for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” he says. “And I wasn’t doing much.”

“You were with friends,” you insist.

His eyes narrow. “Who told you that?” 

“I saw it on your Instagram tonight.” 

“Nosey.” 

“I could buy you a drink sometime,” you offer after a lengthy pause, your heart pounding loud enough to fill the silence between you. Are you really doing this? Are you really asking him out?  “Make up for the ones I lost you tonight.” 

“Maybe.”

God, it’s like he’s not getting it. Maybe you need to be bolder. Fortune favors the bold, doesn’t it? Your hands are shaking when they fall back to the buttons on your shirt. 

“Would you take one more look at my tattoo? Just to be…positive?”

He sighs and makes an impatient hand gesture. Your fingers fumble through the buttons again. You don’t cover yourself with your hands this time; just keep the halves of your shirt over your nipples. He dutifully exams the tattoo again, prodding gently, laying the flat of his fingers against it to feel the warmth it lets off. 

“Maybe you should look closer.” 

His eyes flicker up to yours. “Closer.”

Your mouth is dry. “Yeah.”

“Can’t get much closer than I am.” 

“You could—if you wanted to.” 

“If I—“ it hits him then. You can see it in the fractional widening of his eyes, the way his mouth parts softly in blatant surprise before he shuts it, dark eyes returning to your sternum. He says: “Closer.”

“Mhm.”

The back of his hand brushes against your breast, causing your breath to hitch. His thumb traces softly along the outline of the tattoo, following the path just beneath your shirt, nudging the fabric aside slowly, so slowly, until your breast is bare, nipple puckered and aching. 

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. His eyes flicker to yours as if to see if you really want this—and whatever he sees must reassure him, because then he is sweeping his fingertips along the bottom curve of your breast and taking it into his hand, his palm rasping gently over your nipple. All the breath rushes out of you. Your thighs clench together. Already you’re aching—have been since you saw his mouth around that cigarette on the street—but he moves with determined caution. His thumb finds your nipple and teases it, pulling a desperate little sound from the back of your throat. 

“Pretty little tits,” he says, his voice a warm, smoky rumble that goes straight to your core. He captures your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching softly. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, one hand reaching out to brace yourself against his shoulder. He is solid and firm beneath your touch, unmoving and unmalleable. Your breasts have always been sensitive, but it feels like every touch is directly related to the feelings in your cunt. You find your back arching, hips searching for friction against the seat of the chair. 

“Be still,” he says firmly. Another pitiful sound slips past your throat. “Let me play with you.” 

“Please,” you gasp. “Play with me—even if that’s all you want—just don’t stop, please.” 

His mouth parts as he listens to you, his eyes so, so dark. The pupils have nearly swallowed his irises whole, until you can see yourself bare from the waist up in the reflection. He shakes his head a little. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“I do. I—“ your words are cut off with a gasp as he hauls you out of the chair by your wrist and onto his lap. He’s so thick thighed that it stretches you obscenely to have him between your legs. His hands tear the button-up off your shoulders and down your arms until it flutters to the floor, leaving you half naked. Dipping his head, he presses a heated kiss to the place on your sternum where he had rested his hand during the tattoo—and then trails wet kisses towards your left breast, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking with a decided softness. 

You let out an unflattering, choked groan, resting your weight heavily against him until you can feel the prominent bulge in his tight jeans. His hands find your ass and grip you tightly, working you back and forth, rubbing that bulge against your clothed sex. 

“Driving me fucking crazy,” he mutters against your skin, opening his mouth to drag the sharp line of his teeth against the curve of one breast before switching to the other and flicking his tongue over your nipple. 

You gape at his admission. Had you been? He’d been so closed off and cool…though now that you thought back, maybe that was just his way of hiding it. Suddenly he grips the back of your neck, where your hairline ends, and pulls you to his mouth. He tastes faintly of smoke, even fainter of the drinks he had had earlier in the night, but it is an intoxicating mixture. Your tongues find a rhythm as your hips do the same, both of you fucking in every sense of the word except the literal kind. 

He takes one of your thighs and wedges it between his own, until you’re no longer grinding against his cock but instead his denim-clad thigh. “You the kind of girl who can cum like this? Just from this?” 

“Uh-huh,” you promise, head bobbing. 

He buries his face in your neck. “Good. I won’t last when I’ve got my cock in you. I’d like you to cum at least once before then.”

“Oh god,” you groan, gripping his shoulders fiercely as you begin a halting, stilted rhythm against his thigh. The denim is rough against your leggings. He feels all around you: his scent, his taste, his touch. When his hands find your hips to help you work yourself against him more smoothly, a sigh of gratitude fans from your lips. 

“What else do you need?” he asks. 

“My—touch me—“ He abandons your hips once you find a suitable rhythm. He finds your nipples again, teasing them with clever fingers. The stimulation has your peak approaching faster, building like a storm in your lower belly. 

Ghost leans back to look at you, eyes trailing over you from head to toe: your face burning with warmth, your breasts with peaked little nipples, your leggings nearly soaked through at the crotch with how wet you are. He shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. 

“Fucking perfect.” You bury your face in his neck, feeling a warmth inside your chest. He grips you by the neck again and tugs you back. “Look at me. Look at me.” 

You look at him for as long as you can, but when the band in your belly finally snaps, your eyes roll up and slip shut, your mouth drops open in a choked gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as you shudder and shake in the throes of your pleasure. 

He leans down to kiss you through it, tongue teasing at your slack mouth. 

When he stands, he takes you with him, hauling you up until you wrap your shaking legs around his waist. It’s probably a good thing too. You aren’t sure you could walk otherwise. He carries you the few steps to the couch and lays you down, curling his fingers in the waistband of your leggings. You nod. He strips them off you, along with your flats, and your panties until you are naked as the day you were born.

Your thighs clamp together shyly. He lets them, reaching behind himself to pull his shirt off. Something catches your eye in the streetlights streaming in through the window: Ghost has one of his nipples pierced, a neat little barbell through the sensitive flesh. 

Fingers enter your vision—your own—reaching out on instinct. You hesitate, unsure if he is receptive, and a little afraid to hurt him. He’s so bloody tall, too…but he takes care of that himself by kneeling down by your side, his eyes cautious. Closer, you can see the scars: silvery in the moonlight, crisscrossing over his torso. 

“Does it hurt?” You ask, softly stroking your fingers beneath the pale pink skin of his areola. 

“No,” he says. You can feel the timber of his warm voice vibrating through his chest, up your fingers, straight to your pussy. “You can play with it.”

You shyly run your thumb over it the way he had yours. He sighs, breath fanning across your arm. His eyes go heavy-lidded, tongue flashing as he wets his lips. After a moment, you grow insecure and move your hands away from his nipple down to a scar that crosses his sternum. He lets you, very patient, like a dangerous creature withholding its bite. 

“You’re so—“ the words are whispered dreamily before you have any idea how you plan to finish the sentence. Flushing with embarrassed heat under his wary stare, you finish: “—hot.” 

He physically turns away, expression inscrutable. You can’t help but feel like you have said the wrong thing. He puts a hand on your belly, stroking the softness. “You broken, or can you take more?” 

“I want more.”

“Want my cock?” 

You nod, feeling like a bobble head. 

“I want to hear you say it.” 

“I want your cock.”

His hand reaches for his belt, unbuckling it. Your eyes track the movement with hungry nerves. His hands put butterflies in your belly: thick palms with long, slender fingers, veins criss-crossing along the backs. An artist’s hands. He works his belt free with nimble grace and shucks down his jeans and underwear in one smooth movement, revealing his cock to your gaze and the light from the street lamps. 

He is huge here to match. Downright intimidating in length and girth, uncut with a nice curve toward his belly. He grips himself and gives a series of smooth strokes, the muscles in his abdomen flexing into sharp relief. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter. 

“No gods here,” he says, kneeling up on the couch. His hands part your thighs, and for a long time he just looks at you, that sensitive, swollen place between your legs. He stares so long that you nearly cover your face, embarrassed by whatever he is thinking. Then he touches you, and when he does, he touches you with surprising reverence. He touches you like you are art. 

“Can’t believe you let me ink you,” he mutters, stroking your vulva with his warm palm. His eyes are on the sternum piece now. “Practically let me carve my name into your skin. Anybody around here who sees it will know who did it. They’ll know who touched you.” 

“Good,” you breathe. 

His sigh is shaky. You’re learning his reactions, his very breaths. That shaky sigh means he’s pleased with you. You’ve said something right. 

He reaches down to his jeans on the floor and works a hand into his pocket, pulling free a condom. He hands it to you—for inspection, you realize, though you’ve had so few one night stands (try zero) that you’ve never had the need to inspect a condom before. The package is intact at least. There appears to be an expiration date which you squint at. All looks well. You hand it back to him and he tears it open, rolling it down his considerable length. 

Then he goes back to touching you. One hand braces himself against the back of the sofa so he can lean down to kiss you, tasting your mouth deeply. The other hand finds your entrance, circling it with a finger before slipping inside you all the way to the last knuckle. You are wet enough and relaxed enough that he slips in easily. 

“Relax…there you go. Let me in,” he says under his breath, working a second finger in beside the first. It is a bit of a stretch—he’s thick everywhere goddamn it—but it’s a good stretch, a much needed one. The third finger has you stiffening, whining at the pinch of pain. He slows his fingers and lets his thumb find your clit, muting the pain with little jolts of pleasure. 

“Ghost,” you groan, toes curling against the leather of the couch.

“I think you can take it,” he says, thumb so soft and insistent against that aching pearl of nerves. “But what do you think?” 

“Your cock—want it—please—“

“Alright,” he laughs, pulling his fingers free and wiping the wetness on his cock. “No need to beg.” 

He notches his cock against your entrance and slips inside you. Both of you inhale together, like on cue. Just the first few inches have you feeling full beyond your comfort zone, but he seems to understand in his silent, all-knowing way. He stills, working that free hand between you both to play with your clit until you’re clenching around him, body trying to pull him deeper. He slips further in and then reaches the end of what your body can take. You feel fucking stuffed, your hands shaking where you have gripped his naked shoulders, nails digging into his skin. 

His own breathing is ragged, pecs brushing your nipples with every inhale. The little bursts of pleasure help, until you find that your hips have grown restless, working back and forth as much as his substantial weight will allow when you’re pinned beneath it. 

“Stay still,” he mutters into the juncture of your neck. “Stay still or I’ll cum and this is all over.”

“Can’t,” you gasp, his revelation electrifying you. “Have to move, ‘m so full—“

“Fucking hell,” he groans. He pulls out, leaving you feeling gaped. “Roll onto your side.” 

He gives you instruction but isn’t shy about reaching out and physically arranging you until you are both spooning, your back to his chest. This time when he enters you, it is more shallow, and easier for him to reach around and play with your clit. 

You arch your back, seeking more of him, pressing your breast into his free palm. He plucks at the nipple, teeth nibbling at your throat. 

“Want you to cum again,” he says, stilling your movements so that you can’t fuck your self back against him. “Give me one more. Then it’s my turn.”

“Ghost—I can’t—“ you’ve never cum twice before. Not even with your favorite toys have you been able to scrounge together more than one illustrious orgasm. This knowledge and your expectation of his disappointment has you stiffening in his arms. 

“If you can’t, then don’t,” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He keeps his fingers soft and insistent against you, and only after a few lengthy moments does he feel confident enough to work his hips against you too. He pulls out too far and his length drags across your labia, the head brushing where his fingers play with your clit. 

You give a sighing little moan. His head cocks; you aren’t the only one listening to sighs. Now when he gives those lazy, lackadaisical thrusts, his entire length just strokes the outside of your sex. 

“Oh fuck,” you whine, feeling that band in your belly begin pulling tight again. 

He hums behind you, a smug sound. 

“Not sure I want you to cum now,” he says. “Hold it. I’m thinking it over.” 

“Ghost!”

He laughs, honest to God laughs at you. Tears prick your eyes from the sheer need (and a bit from embarrassment) but his hips never cease nor slow their tireless thrusts against you, not even when you grow close enough to beg, close enough to plead. 

He loops his arm around your waist and pins you against him when you cum to keep you from rolling right off the couch, your body wracked with shivers and spasms. The warmth of your release washes over you from head to toe, and you are still basking in it when his cock finds your entrance again and enters you. 

The position keeps the penetration blissfully shallow (otherwise he might give your cervix a painful beating), but he still reaches new lengths inside you, filling spaces you didn’t know were empty. The shop is eerily quiet except for the sound of his hips snapping against your ass and the frequent breathy sounds his cock punches out of your lungs. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck and lets out a series of sounds that are toe-curling: deep groans and raspy curses, whispered praise and hisses through his teeth. His hand grips your hip tightly, leaving shadows the shape of his fingerprints on your skin as he fucks you. 

Sooner than you’d like—but he’d warned you, hadn’t he?—his thrusts grow sloppy, the sounds messy thanks to your wetness as he finds his release and moans it into the skin of your throat. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. And again: “Fuck, fuck. You broken?” 

“Yes.” 

He snorts. Then it turns into that laughter, warm and rumbling against your back. You smile where he can’t see. 

-

“Sorry about this,” he says as he ties the condom off and throws it away, naked as the day he was born. You’re still naked too, though much more shy, legs crossed demurely and arms wrapped around yourself. 

“Regretting it already?” 

“Yes,” he says. Then, when he sees the stricken look on your face, he adds: “Should have at least taken you to dinner first.” 

“Dinner?”

“You owe me drinks. I owe you dinner.” He finds his boxers in the darkness and slips back into them. Then, because the expression on your face still hasn’t relaxed, he says: “I don’t regret the sex. Do you?”

You shake your head. 

He scoffs a little. 

“I mean it,” you insist. You touch your tattoo. “I wanted it…the day you did—this.” 

He raises both brows at you, silently calling your bluff.

“I didn’t think you were interested,” you admitted sheepishly. 

“I jerked off in the back just from seeing half your tits,” he admits, slipping into his jeans now too. His mouth curls a little at the corner when he sees the way you gape at this news. “I was interested.” 

You laugh; you can’t help it. “Dinner, then? Or drinks?” 

“Yeah,” he says. “Alright. Get dressed.”