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wardenparker · 3 days ago

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Who Took the Merry Out of Christmas

Frankie Morales x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: Explicit for family dysfunction. This blog is always 18+ Word Count: 10.7k Warnings: Post partum depression, marriage trouble, mentions of addiction, demanding family, abusive parents, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, dysfunctional family, a very sweet baby who has done nothing wrong ever, parents abusing their adult children in front of others. (There is a happy-ish ending, I promise.) Summary: It's only been a few months since Frankie came home from South America, and both of your families are bearing down on you for the holidays. A rocky marriage and even rockier relationships with your parents are bound to make for a very tense Christmas. Notes: Sorry it's not light and fluffy this year, gang. It just hasn't been a light and fluffy time. Considering how dramatic this holiday season has been, this little slice of family trauma seemed pretty appropriate.

Christmas. The time of year that is supposed to merry and bright. Well, the bright is accurate, especially in south Florida. Not a dusting of snow to be had, the palm trees in the front yard decorated with lights and the temperatures still letting everyone wear shorts and t-shirts if they wanted. It’s definitely not the white Christmas you had grown up with, but Frankie prefers this over freezing his ass off while shoveling snow off the driveway just to go to the store to get diapers.

The magic rubs off over the years. From childhood we outgrow the sparkle of the Christmas season as we stop thinking of it as magical, and now it's just another set of expectations that inevitably seems impossible to meet.

Both sides of your family had expected you and Frankie to host this year. Because of the baby, they said. Because now that you had a real family, it was time for you to take on the responsibility of holiday hosting. It's frustrating enough to be a first time mother of an eight month old. It's sleepless and difficult and Frankie has only barely gone back to work so money has been tighter than tight.

“Why don’t we just tell them that we can’t?” Frankie leans back from the sink where he’s finally shaving to look at you perched in the bed. You are tired and he knows that despite what you’ve said, hosting Christmas is the last fucking thing you need. “We have the baby. It’s a lot.”

"Because Christmas is next week, Francisco," you remind him. The baby monitor is on your nightstand, and you fiddle with it, but it's mostly a nervous habit. Mirabel wasn't a good sleeper for the first few months and you're constantly worried that she'll start having trouble again. "And they're coming here because of her. It was a miracle they didn't all fly down to cram into the delivery room when she was born, it seems mean to say they can't see her at Christmas."

“One— I wouldn’t have let them in the delivery room.” That memory was for him alone, he has absolutely loved being the first to hold his daughter. To be there to help and watch as you pushed his child into the world. “Two, shouldn’t that mean that they want to save you the stress of hosting?” He asks, leaning back in and putting the razor back to his cheek. “Hell, I say we order Chinese and be done with it.”

"I would agree." Stretching out in bed helps a lot. You've been dealing with a little hip pain lately that gets exasperated by carrying Mirabel around and you make sure to do stretches every morning and night – at least for a few minutes. "But we're in it now. Flights are booked. Meals have to be planned."

“I’ve got to mow the grass tomorrow.” He knows you will remind him of it so he goes ahead and checks it off your mental list. “And you need more mushrooms, right?” He makes a face in the mirror, hating mushrooms but you don’t seem to have picked up on that.

"Beef Wellington on Christmas is a family tradition." Your mother made it ever year from the recipe that her mother-in-law taught her, and now you make it every year for you and Frankie and however many of your friends you end up having over to dinner on the holiday. Usually it's the Miller brothers, this year might include Pope as well.

It’s good that he’s in a different room than you are so you don’t see the face that he makes. He hates the Beef Wellington, he’s just never been able to admit that. When you were dating, you could have served him a boiled shoe and he would have praised it. It was better than an MRE or the shit they served in the chow hall most days on base. And Frankie’s idea of cooking was either firing up a grill or going out to eat, so home cooked whatever was good to him. Especially when he knew he was getting laid after dinner. Now he’s stuck eating mushrooms every damn Christmas and it sucks. “I know.” He sighs, turning on the water to rinse the hair out of his razor. “I changed the sheets in the guest rooms.” He tells you. “And made sure your mom has the ‘good pillows’.” He rolls his eyes, again, happy you can’t see him because you would definitely scold him for that.

“Thank you, honey.” You know damn well he thinks it’s ridiculous and probably had a running monologue going why he made the guest beds about how picky your families are, but his parents are just as bad as yours in different ways. That’s why this holiday is going to be so fucking stressful. Part of why you work so hard to make family visits perfect is because his mother has never approved of you. “We’ll make sure everything is perfect. It will all be fine.”

Frankie hums as he finishes shaving and wipes his jaw dry. It’s a little jarring to see the smooth skin, he’s sported a patchy beard since getting out, but he’d decided that one thing he needed to do was look better after getting his pilot’s license back. He steps out of the bathroom and grins at you. “Hey baby.”

“Hey.” You say it before you look up, and when you lift your eyes you do a double take. “Clean shaven, huh? It’s been a while.”

He shrugs slightly, reaching up and rubbing his cheek lightly. “Figured your mom would complain less if I was clean shaven.” He had even gotten a haircut, not nearly as short as when he was active duty, but trimmed from the longer curls he had recently been sporting.

“Mira’s going to spend half of tomorrow poking at your face,” you predict, smiling softly. It will be the first time your daughter has ever seen him clean shaven.

He snorts. “As long as she doesn’t cry.” He slides his eyes along your body, not caring that you are in a comfy t-shirt and short, you look sexy to him. “So what are my chances of getting lucky tonight?” He asks, lifting a brow.

“Are you suddenly into somnophilia?” It proves your point that you can barely stifle a yawn. Getting up multiple times a night to pee or see what Mirabel needs takes its toll on your rest, and god knows you never ever get to sleep in anymore. Sure, you knew being a mother was going to be exhausting, but this is above and beyond that.

His playful grin slips and he shakes his head. “No baby, not if you’re too tired to enjoy yourself.” He doesn’t sigh, but he does miss the intimacy, the closeness of sex. Instead of complaining, he reaches back into the bathroom to flip off the light and starts walking towards the bedroom door. He will check the doors and downstairs windows one last time before setting the alarm, a habit of his. “You need some water or something downstairs?”

"No, I'm okay." It's not that you don't want him. He's still the same gorgeous man you married and conceived your daughter with. It isn't a matter of want. It's a matter of being so exhausted and feeling so disgusting from never having time to thoroughly shower and always ending up sweaty and sticky somehow. You don't feel like yourself, and you haven't since your second trimester.

But unloading all of that on Frankie doesn't seem fair when he's finally getting back on his feet with work and therapy and kicking his drug habit. The man doesn't even drink anymore, because he doesn't want to slip up again. So you keep your mouth shut and don't bitch about your own discomfort.

He sighs softly as he goes downstairs. Another night where he’s turned down, but he understands. You’ve been dealing with some postpartum issues and he doesn’t want to push. He just wants to make love to his wife more than once a month. It’s another reason why he had thought hosting Christmas would be a bad idea. You are already worn down and frazzled, despite Frankie sharing the load of the house and baby with you as much as he possibly could. This is just going to add more stress to your already loaded down shoulders and he doesn’t like it at all.

You turn over and slip under the covers when he goes downstairs to check the alarms. Being overwhelmed and depressed has you feeling like you're out drowning in the middle of the ocean and have suddenly forgotten how to swim. The best thing you can do right now is try to sleep.

Frankie comes back upstairs, slipping into the bed and curling around you. He hates that instead of curling against him, you huddle against your side of the bed. Wondering if you are secretly still pissed at him for the entire Coke thing. “I love you.” He whispers before he closes his eyes.

You love him, too. You do. And you have this whole time. It's just so hard to pull yourself out of the bottom of the ocean of your depression and uncertainty that you just pretend to be asleep and hope that you both knock out quickly.

Maybe tomorrow will be better. Probably not, but maybe. After all, it can't be worse.

******

“It’s okaaaaaaay.” Frankie bounces his very upset little girl on his hip and shoves a finger in her mouth. She’s teething and of course woke up in a horrible mood. She hiccups and he grabs the teething ring to throw it back in the freezer for a little bit. “It’s okay, baby girl. I know it hurts. Believe me, it doesn’t get better when you have a cavity either.”

"But she'll have good dental hygiene and never have a cavity in her whole life." You call from the kitchen, working your ass off to make sure that each and every bit of Christmas dinner is accounted for perfectly. Frankie isn't the world's best cook by any means, but this family tradition is ingrained in your bones -- beef Wellington, scalloped potatoes, green beans with almonds, and a demi-glace gravy to make everything even richer and fancier. It's a far cry from what you normally eat but that is sort of the point. It's the holidays. This is the time to be fancy.

He snorts. “Not if she gets her teeth from my side.” He calls back. “I’m ninety percent fillings at this point.” That makes her giggle and he grins at her. “Was daddy funny?” He walks her back into the kitchen to find you frantically stirring something. “I’ve got the living room vacuumed and the egg nog is in the garage fridge.”

"Have you heard from your parents yet?" Your in-laws are always early, which is not exactly a sin but it is inconvenient. If they say they'll be somewhere at 7 then they are always there by 6:30, wondering where on earth you've been for the last half hour.

“Not yet.” He loves his mom, he really does, but he’s not blind to her persnickety nature. He’s talked to her about it but it seems like she doesn’t bother you. A wonderful thing considering she’s run off more than one girlfriend of his over the years. “You know her, she’s gonna show up when she wants to. At the most inconvenient damn time.”

“I just want to have dinner in the oven when they get here.” The Christmas after Frankie proposed, your own parents had hosted everyone and Vanessa Morales had been less than impressed when your mother was still getting things into the oven when they arrived. It apparently didn’t matter in the least that they were early.

“Roger.” He kind of treats the parents visiting like a mission, a hostile one.

“Where did the Millers end up this year?” You can’t tell if it’s better or worse to not have his friends here as a conversational buffer. Part of you is grateful for fewer people in the house and half wishes you had friends here to lean on.

“I think Will and Teresa are going to get back together.” Frankie admits. “He said him and Benny were going to have Christmas with her and her brothers.” Frankie had always liked Will’s ex-fiancée and he knew you did as well.

“Good.” That’s a relief, showcased with how easily your shoulders drop with just a touch of tension dropped. “Good. That’s…That will be really good for them. I know they’ve missed each other.”

“They have.” Frankie pauses for a second . “Ben said he was going to swing by and check on Molly and the girls.” He murmurs quietly, regret lacing his tone.

“Where is Pope spending Christmas?” It’s not necessary to express more regret over Redfly’s death. Every single one of you have shed your tears over it and you make sure to check in with Molly at least once a week just like you always have. Family that you choose means you choose each other over and over again.

“He’s still in Australia.” Frankie sighs softly. Yovanna has covered her tracks well and he’s still looking for the woman he had fallen in love with.

"Shit..." All you can really do is shake your head at that. Even if Santiago Garcia is on your shit list for inducing the entire team away to South America for weeks, what happened there wasn't really his fault. It sounds like everything that could go wrong did, and the best that you can do is be grateful that Frankie came home to you in one peace.

“Yeah.” He shuffles slightly, rocking the baby as she continues to gnaw on her first and drool all over his shirt. He knows you aren’t happy with what happened, and he’s never been able to tell you all the details.

The tentative expression on his face makes you shake your head, and you turn back to the pan you have on the stove with a sigh. "You'll tell me when you're ready." It's been months and he's still keeping the whole story from you, but you have always been patient. You have always let Frankie come to you. "Let's just not do it on Christmas Eve. Our families are almost here."

“Okay.” He knows you are upset that he won’t talk to you, but he steps closer and leans down to kiss your shoulder. “Thank you for understanding.”

He'll come to you when he's ready. And you're doing your damnedest to be patient. But it's fucking hard when you feel like you're weathering a private storm on the edge of an ocean hell bent on drowning you.

For better or for worse, that is the moment that the doorbell rings.

“It’s showtime.” Frankie mutters, trying to plaster a happy smile on his face and just managing to look constipated.

"Shit, shit." You shove two trays into the oven right away, barely able to check to make sure that everything is assembled correctly but just dying to have it all in the oven. "Okay. That's got to be your parents." Frankie has walked away with the baby, leaving you to quickly wipe down the kitchen and pray you're not smelly from the sweat you worked up preparing dinner.

Frankie opens the door, smiling when he sees his mother and stepfather standing on the porch. “You made it.” He greets them. “Made good time getting here.”

“Of course we did.” Vanessa Morales moved into the house with determination, but the first thing she does is reach for her granddaughter. “Ay, hola Gordita! Eres mucho más bonita que tus fotos.”

Suddenly feeling shy, she pulls back and buries her face in Frankie’s neck. “Est�� bien, es tu abuela.” He soothes, rubbing her little back. “She’s cutting another tooth.” He explains.

“Pobrecita.” Vanessa coos, not taking the baby’s cue at all. “Come give your abuela a kiss, Gordita. Dame un beso.”

Mira doesn’t like it when someone crowds her face that she’s not familiar with and she immediately starts to cry, clinging to Frankie and trying to get away from her. “Mama.” He huffs, holding her tighter and cooing softly. “Give her a few minutes to warm up to you.”

Vanessa frowns, but relents when her husband agrees with Frankie. Instead, all she says as she’s lead into the house is, “Your sister’s bebes didn’t need time to warm up.”

“Gabriella lives in the same town as you, mama.” He reminds her, rolling his eyes at her miffed reaction. “Mira has seen you twice since she was born.”

“Even so.” His mother huffs, as though it were a personal affront.

“Feliz Navidad, Vanessa.” You come out of the kitchen a second later with your face freshly washed just to give yourself a boost and offer your in-laws a smile. “Hi, Javier. It’s nice to see you both.”

“There’s my favorite daughter-in-law.” Javier might just be a step-parent, but he has always thought that Francisco had chosen the best woman for him, despite what his wife might say. Vanessa is prickly, and while he might find that attractive since he’s a self-confessed asshole, he tries to make you feel accepted when he’s around. He steps around Vanessa to pull you in for a hug.

“Feliz Navidad, Javi.” The extra moment of consideration from your husband’s stepfather is dearly appreciated, and you accept the hug whole-heartedly. “How’s things?”

“Same.” He doesn’t mind slightly offending Frankie, so he kisses your y forehead and leans back to wink at you. He was a ladies man back in the day and still a silver fox, so it’s always fun to raise the hackles of the man he loves like his own son. Just for shits and giggles. “Better now that I’m around three beautiful ladies.” He turns that charming smile on Mira and leans in. “This one most of all.”

He earns a full belly laugh from his granddaughter and you feel yourself breathe just a little easier. Javier in a good mood bodes well for the night. “Can I offer you both something to drink? Vanessa?”

“I don’t suppose you have wine,” Vanessa manages to make it sound vile, to not have wine in the house. “Actually, mom, she picked up a bottle of your favorite sangria.” Frankie pipes up.

“Let me get you a glass.” The atmosphere is already frigid but that’s just how it’s always been between the two of you. Thank God she doesn’t know about the coke or she’d surely find a way to blame you for Frankie’s addiction issues, too. Just like she’s blamed you for everything else she deems wrong with her only son’s life.

“Javi?” Frankie lifts a brow towards his stepfather. “You want a whiskey? I’ve got a bottle in the den.”

“Good man.” Javi commends, and clasps his stepson on the back as they disappear into the other room together.

Vanessa turns towards you expectantly and pulls a tight smile. “When will dinner be ready?” She asks. “Assuming you’ve started cooking, of course.”

It’s too much for how exhausted you are, and even being prepared doesn’t make it okay. Without a buffer, Vanessa aims all of her venom at you endlessly. “It will be ready in an hour. No need to worry.” And the sooner your own parents get here the better — not that they’re perfect by any means.

“You look tired.” It’s not an observation born out of concern, but criticism. “You should really put a bit of effort in.” She hums. “Fransisco deserves that, doesn’t he?”

Yes. He does. But your husband of six years is also well aware of how much work raising a newborn is. Which is why you just smile and bite back how much his mother's constant nitpicking bothers you. "Your son prefers a natural look," you inform her as politely as you can without snapping. "No make up. So that I always look like myself."

She can’t possibly argue with that, because it would mean insulting her precious baby boy. Instead she just looks around like she’s never seen the place and starts to wander off towards the kitchen.

You’re debating whether or not you need to follow her when the doorbell rings. It’s still a touch too early for your parents to arrive — they shared their location with you so you could track their driving route on your phone from the airport. It should be ten more minutes until they arrive.

“I’ll get it!” You call, wondering if Frankie heard the doorbell in the den, and head back to the front.

“That must be her parents.” Frankie sighs and looks longingly at the bottle of whiskey but he knows he can’t have any. It wouldn’t be fair to you or to Mira.

“Save it for later.” Javi advises. “When your mama’s gone to bed and the baby is down, and you can relax with your wife.” It seems like Frankie is struggling more than he has let on, but there isn’t time to talk about that now. “Go say hi to your in-laws. I can take Mira if she’s okay with it.”

Surprisingly, it doesn’t take much convincing on either man’s part for Mira to go to her abuelo. Immediately little fingers dig into the hair covering his upper lip and Frankie chuckles. “She doesn’t understand why I don’t have facial hair today.” He explains.

“She can play all she wants.” Javi laughs, bouncing the little girl in his arms. “I got her, Frankie. Go on.”

It’s almost jarring to the aloof and broody man he had spent his teenage years around laughing and chortling at a baby, but Frankie smiles at the sight before turning to see about mitigating the next disastrous arrival.

You’re already at the door, half-smiling and half-bewildered as your parents hand off a bag full of wrapped presents to you like a butler and chatter away as they enter.

“It’s good to see you dear.” Your mother hums, “our trip here seemed to take forever.” She opens her mouth to once again suggest that you move back home and Frankie comes in to greet them.

“It isn’t exactly a short flight.” You can acknowledge that, and it’s why your parents don’t visit more often. Your dad isn’t up to that much traveling anymore. “I’m glad we’re able to spend Christmas with you.”

“So are we.” The problem in Frankie’s eyes about his in-laws spending Christmas with you is that they treat the house like a hotel and you like staff for the visit. They don’t Think they should lift a finger for themselves. “Hey, glad you made it.” He gives them a polite smile and nods at your father before holding out his hand to shake it.

“Francisco.” Even after a decade together, your father still refuses to call your husband by his nickname. He shakes Frankie’s hand with unnecessary force, like usual, and grunts with approval. “How’s things?”

“Going well, sir.” Despite the difficulties raising a child, he knows voicing that to your parents would do neither of you any good. “And you?”

“Retirement is boring.” Your father gripes good-naturedly. “Thinking about finding something part tune just to get out of the house and avoid the nagging at home.”

Frankie snorts. “Yeah I could see how that would be a little overwhelming for you.”

"Never stop working, if you can help it." The older man claps Frankie on the shoulder like he's doling out the sagest advice in the world. "She'll be fine with the baby. But the second you're home for more than twenty minutes an extra day? You'll have a Honey Do list longer than your arm."

Frankie doesn’t mind spending time with his daughter and cleaning up around the house that is also his responsibility but he just hums. “That’s some advice.” He makes it sound like he agrees just to keep the peace. You need help with things and his father-in-law’s outlook is a little old fashioned for him.

“You’ll thank me for it,” your father advises, and gives Frankie another friendly-if-condescending pat on the arm before walking away in search of whatever it is he wants but hasn’t asked for yet. Presumably to find his wife, but that’s an assumption.

“Jesus.” Frankie sighs and turns to start taking jackets and bags from you. “I’ll get their bags to their room.” He grins. “Do I get a tip?”

“Does a kiss count?” Just because you’re both exhausted and you haven’t been in the mood for sex doesn’t mean you don’t love your husband or appreciate the things he does to help you.

“The best kind of tip.” He vows, leaning in and stealing a quick kiss before pulling away. You seem to shy away from physical displays when your parents are around. “I’ll be right back.”

“Thank you, honey.” Having him jump on board to help means everything, but you frown a second later. “Where’s the baby? I thought I put her playpen away.”

“She’s with Javier.” He smirks slightly. “Old man apparently still has it with the ladies.”

"Well, that's something, at least." Something that his mother is going to hate – that the baby hid from her and went straight to her abuelo instead. "I'm going to pour drinks for people and get the shrimp cocktail out of the fridge so everybody can focus on food instead of bickering."

“I’ll be there as quickly as I can dump these in their room.” He promises, you having already determined which room your parents are staying in.

But as fast as Frankie can move in spite of his bad back, it isn’t fast enough. By the time you walk into the kitchen you find all four of your collective parents staring at each other like it’s a stand off at the O.K. Corral.

“How about a little appetizer?” You ask, after a few seconds of trying to read the room and finding the stony silence completely impenetrable. The only thing you care about is keeping them reasonably civil and having your little girl back in your arms. “Thanks for hanging on to her, Javier.” You offer him a smile when you take her back.

“Oh that’s no problem at all.” Mira giggles at him and leans in to cuddle against his chest, making him smile proudly. “Nothing I wouldn’t do for this little beauty.”

“You wanna stay with abuelo, sweetheart? You go right ahead.” It leaves your hands free, and you’re grateful to have that for a few more moments. So instead of extracting your baby girl from her grandparent, you kiss her curls and cross to the refrigerator to retrieve the tray of shrimp cocktail you put together this morning. “Can I get anyone a drink? Or a refill?”

“Since we are already starting with the alcohol, I would like some wine.” Your mother eyes the glass of whatever is in Vanessa’s hand and tuts slightly. “White of course, red wines are too heavy for me.”

This is what holidays are. What family gatherings are. What they always are and why you dread them so much. Conversation can never seem to be civil, no one ever offers to help. Frankie is always putting out proverbial fires with all four parents while you work to be the perfect hostess but it’s never even enough to keep the peace. Everyone leaves feeling worse than when they came and yet they still insist on seeing the two of you. It’s enough to make you want to flee the scene, but you would never give your mother-in-law the satisfaction of seeing you run scared. It would only cement her low opinion of you.

So you pour drinks and serve appetizers, plastering the smile on your face and eventually taking Mirabel back from Javier just for utter relief of having your daughter back in your arms. By the time Frankie comes back downstairs, the doorbell rings again. Oh god, is all you can think, because you’re not expecting anyone else. What fresh hell is this?

Frankie frowns slightly, exchanging a confused look with you. “I’ll get it.” He promises, slightly caught off guard and wary by the unexpected arrival of someone else. Not that a fucking drug cartel would ring the doorbell. A firebomb through the window would be more their style.

The impatient chimes ring twice more before Frankie makes it across the house, not because it takes long but because of the insistent person on the other side. If your mother wasn’t already inside you would have guessed it was her without hesitation.

“Coming!” The friendly tone that Frankie adopts does stop him from reaching into the entry way dresser and pulling out the snub nosed .38 he keeps in there for just this occasion. He tucks it into the back of his pants before opening the door to find that it’s not necessary. “Benny!”

“Hey man.” Benny is grinning from ear to ear when he leans in the doorway to embrace his friend, slapping Frankie on the back in the process. “Sorry to drop in, but did you get Pope’s text?”

“Haven’t had time to look at my phone.” He hugs Ben Miller back just as hard as the bastard tries to squeeze him after the back slapping. “Everything okay?” He asks that quietly, since you have company and you don’t know about what happened in South America.

“Yeah.” Benny nods like a bobble head, immediately ready to reassure his friend. His brother. “He’s back. Brought Yovanna with him. He was texting around for a ride and a place to crash.”

“Holy shit, he found her.” He had his private doubts about tracking the lover he had sent to Australia down, but he’s happy for Pope. “And you decided to play Uber.”

Benny grins, wide and unapologetic, before standing aside with a flourish. “Special delivery!”

The shorter man grins but he doesn’t rush to embrace Frankie. A little unsure of how he will be greeted, but Frankie bursts out laughing “Cabron!” He huffs, lunging forward and wrapping his arms around his brother in arms.

“Feo.” Pope returns the hug easily, not caring that he holds his best friend a moment longer these days than he might have before. Shit’s changed, after all. “You remember Yovanna?” He knows that everything about that trip is burned into Frankie’s brain just like the other guys, but it seems the polite way to go about reintroducing them.

She seems nervous, hesitant. He knows that Pope had to have told her what happened to Tom. "Sure." He nods and flashes her a smile before he moves out of the doorway. "Come in. Please."

"Lotta cars here..." Pope observes, though 'a lot' is only two besides the cars that are supposed to be here.

"We'll see you guys tomorrow." Benny waves as he jogs back to his truck. Everybody is with family today and that includes him, because Will is the only member of this damn group that can cook worth a damn somewhere other than a grill.

“Thanks Ben!” He knows that Mira can sleep in the bassinet in your bedroom and he can pull down the Murphy Bed you both had decided to keep in there for those late, rough nights with the baby. “Take your shit up to the bedroom next to mine.” He tells him with a smirk. “I’ll let my mother know you are here.”

"Nessa's here?" Pope brightens measurably as he whisks Yovanna into the house. "Christmas with the fam, man. I'm telling you. This is going to be great."

He snorts as he closes the door. Hopefully this won’t make you feel even more overwhelmed than you already have been.

"Frankie!" You call from the kitchen, and he can hear shuffling chairs and footsteps. "Who is it, honey?"

“Well, uh—”

“Hoooooooney, I’m hooooome.” In typical, dramatic fashion, Pope swoops into the room with a broad grin, although he’s not directing it at you since you might actually hit him for that shit earlier this year. Instead, he aims that charm at Vanessa. “I heard the most beautiful lady this side of the border was here and I had to come.”

"Aye, Santiago mijo!" After a lifetime of being best friends with her only son, Vanessa looked at Santiago Garcia as being the baby boy she never had. She disregards everything else in the room to go and hug him, but for a single moment you're actually grateful for that. It gives you the time you need to catch your breath after your heart stops at the sight of your husband's best friend. The one who supposedly was still in Australia.

“There she is!” Pope shoots you a quick glance and an even quicker wink before he is folding Frankie’s mom into a tight hug. He knows that you and your mother-in-law don’t get along, and hopefully you won’t kick him out on his ass in exchange for distracting her from harassing you.

Immediately, Vanessa is fawning over Santi instead of picking on the fact that you haven’t dressed your baby girl specifically in pink. It’s so much of a relief to see him alive and well in your kitchen that you barely register anything else — and it takes you a second before you register the gorgeous woman standing anxiously in the doorway. Mira tucks her little face against your shoulder at the sight of a stranger, but you just at your daughter’s back and gently step closer. “You must be Yovanna?”

"Sí, I mean, yes." She knows that you and Frankie speak Spanish, but she also knows that she's in the United States, so practicing speaking English is necessary. Her eyes flicker between you and Frankie before she nods. "You must be the wife that is the best thing that ever happened to Francisco." After Pope had found her again, he had started telling her everything that he couldn't before. The flight from Australia filled with stories and names. "You're not Molly, right?" She asks, embarrassed that your name isn't quite coming to her. "That was the rude one's wife."

You tell her your name and disregard the comment about Tom because it’s accurate. You and Redfly never got along but you do try to respect the dead, so you won’t badmouth him now. “We’ll introduce you to Molly tomorrow, if you and Santi are going to be around. We always do a post-holiday thing with the team.”

"I think we are going to find a house?" She admits, shrugging slightly because she doesn't really mind where she is. As long as her brother is safe and she gets to be with Santiago. "That is what he was talking about."

“I’m glad to hear it.” To have him nearby and settled will do wonders for Frankie. He’s missed Pope and missed having his lifelong best friend close at hand. As much as you love each other and as much as you will always work to keep each other supported and happy, there is a part of him that isn’t quite full or right without Pope around. It’s the same way you feel about your own best friend. “Well, um…” Taking a second to grin at your bashful daughter, you turn slightly so the baby can see Yovanna over your shoulder. “This is Mirabel. She’s princess of the palace, and just…welcome. Merry Christmas. Dinner is in the oven and there’s plenty to drink.”

"I am sorry for intruding." She offers, smiling at the baby. "I hope it is not too much?"

“The team is family.” And sometimes family can be exhausting. Sometimes family can be troublesome. But family means doing the work. Which is exactly why you didn’t tell your parents to get stuffed over hosting this Christmas even though you’re exhausted and overwhelmed. “At the holidays, family is always welcome,” you tell her with certainty.

"He did not know how you would accept him." She admits softly, happy that he had been wrong about you being put off by him bringing your husband into the mess he had. "But it is good you have not had any problems since Lorea was killed."

“We haven’t,” you assure her quietly. “It’s the secret that we keep to make sure the boys are safe, and thankfully we have been safe.” For Santi? You can only shake your head and shrug while you bounce Mira in your arms. “I’ve over being upset with him, though it did take a while. Now? I’m just glad you’re both safe. That my husband came home to me. And that he won’t be doing anything like that ever again.”

“I understand.” She agrees. “It was stupid for them, for me. But at least they are home safe now.”

“Our families don’t know anything about it,” you tell her, not admitting for the moment that all you know is the name Lorea and that people had died. Two facts which Frankie had only told you so you could gauge your own safety if you were ever approached by someone who claimed to know him or know about what happened on that mission. You hadn’t asked more and he hadn’t offered, and since you had still been upset with him for going at all, it had never been brought up again.

Yovanna tilts her head in curiosity but she doesn’t comment on it. It’s very obvious that you don’t know the details and she doesn’t think that it’s her place to tell you about it. “Is there anything I can do to help?” She asks. “Since we are showing up unannounced.”

“Get settled and help yourself to a drink or an appetizer,” you offer, motioning to the small table on the other side of the kitchen counter. It’s where you and Frankie usually eat, especially with it being easy for placing Mira’s high chair, but tonight dinner will be served in the formal dining room. Which makes the little kitchen table a perfect apps-and-drinks table. “Welcome.” There will be plenty to talk about. More than plenty. But right now you refocus your attention. It’s time to give Mira a bottle and set her down for a nap, which will hopefully mean that she sleeps through the setting of the table and even the eating of dinner.

Everyone has been chatting, or at least Santiago has been distracting his mother while your father and Javi chat amiably. Your mother is fusing with something, one of the sides you had already prepared. Tasting it and adding something to it. He wants to stop her, but then he will just be told he doesn’t know what he’s doing in the kitchen, so he decides to not fight that battle today.

"I'm going to feed Mira," you tell Frankie as you slip past him in the kitchen. It will be a much-needed moment of relative quiet and you aren't going to pass it up. "I'll just go upstairs so I can feed her and put her down without fussing with a bottle. Is that okay?"

“You do that, babe.” He reaches out and squeezes your shoulder supportively. “I’ll try to keep everyone from killing each other.” It’s a large task, but hopefully he will be able to do it.

"Santi can help." It's not a suggestion that will take much pressing. Your quiet, introspective husband's best friend is a magnet for attention even without trying. "I'll be back down in a little bit. If you need me sooner, I have my phone on me. Just send an SOS text."

"I won't need it." He promises foolishly, unaware that the mothers will start in on him individually just as soon as he walks back into the kitchen.

"Good luck," you hum under your breath, before whisking your daughter off up the stairs.

"Francisco, be a dear and run this upstairs." Your mother's purse, one that she had earlier insisted that she needed to keep on her, now needs to be put in her room. She waggles the bag at him impatiently when he doesn't immediately jump to take it.

"She can do that, can't she?" Vanessa looks around, not even using your name to refer to you, and frowns after a moment. "Where did she go, Frankie? She should be taking care of her guests."

"She's feeding Mira, mama." He explains. "You remember what it's like to have a hungry, tired baby." He frowns slightly at her and takes the purse. "I'll take it upstairs, it's not a problem."

"So she took her away to feed her?" Vanessa clutches the pearls she isn't wearing. "One of us could have easily given her a bottle! She's teaching our granddaughter to hate us right away. Pobrecita Mirabel."

"She's breastfeeding." He huffs out. "Plus, she's putting her to bed."

"We're mothers too." To Frankie's surprise, your own mother chimes in, in support of Vanessa's viewpoint. "We can give a bottle just as easily as anyone else."

The look that your father shoots Frankie is apologetic at best but he says nothing, only drinks from his glass and turns to say something to Santiago, whom he vaguely remembers from your wedding. It's just about the least helpful atmosphere in the world but at least he isn't adding to the fire.

He shakes his head and doesn’t point out the glaringly obvious fact that if you are sticking your boob in his daughter’s mouth, then they couldn’t just as easily fed her, but it’s not worth the argument. Instead he turns around and hustles upstairs to deposit the bag at the foot of their guest bedroom.

It isn't exactly an ideal day. For anyone, it seems. But the only way out is through so he heads right back downstairs again once that is taken care of. When he comes back to the kitchen it's your father at the stove that catches his eye this time, but again Frankie doesn't say anything on that point. There's no use rocking the boat. Not now that his stepfather has most of the room entertained with a work story and no one is complaining at the moment.

"Oh damn." Your mother huffs, waggling the bottle. " We are out of wine." She raises her eyebrows at Frankie. "Will you be a dear and get another?"

"Is there another?" His mother asks, as if it was necessary to make the request any more irritating.

"Of course, mama." The implication that you didn't prepare well for today doesn't sit well with him, and Frankie heads straight out to the garage to get more of the wine that had been specifically bought for today.

You had bought an entire case. The sight of it makes Frankie smirk with pride. "That's my girl." He hums as he grabs another bottle. Hopefully this means that both mothers will get drunk enough that they won't be able to nitpick you.

It's a hope, as in vain as it might be, and when Frankie goes back into the house he finds things much as he left them. He refills both mothers' wine glasses and then ends up fetching the scotch from the den again for the fathers. It's constant back and forth, not able to sit and talk to Pope or to Yovanna, or even remember where he puts his own drink while he makes sure everyone else is settled.

"Goddamn." He mutters to himself. It's almost as if it's coordinated. Like a family who keeps a server running for their table by requesting something new every time they come back.

And it stays that way until the second you come back downstairs, baby monitor in hand, and sniff the air with a growing look of horror and panic on your face. "Shit. Shit!" You race to the oven with tears already stinging your eyes to find smoke and the smell of burning food coming from your finnicky, ill-behaved oven.

“What?” Frankie rushes back from den where he had been sent to dig out the bottle of bitters after Javi offered to make his father-in-law the best old fashioned he had ever drank. The bottle had been pushed to very back of the cabinet where the liquor was locked up and he had been half convinced it had been thrown out. “What’s wrong?”

"This!" When you drop the oven door open, a cartoonish cloud of smoke billows out. The once gorgeous-looking beef Wellington that you took such tender care to assemble is blackened beyong recognition when you pull the pan out and let it drop onto the stove top like a brick.

It's ruined. Completely and entirely. And you can feel your mother-in-law watching you while she picks out her preferred insult.

“Shit.” Frankie knows how much you have been anticipating this dinner. You hadn’t specifically said to look in on the damn thing but he feels guilty. “Babe, I’m so sorry.”

"I don't know how—" With your shoulders hunched and tears making your voice wobble, you pull the other pan out of the oven to find that the potatoes are scorched as well. Half of dinner is completely ruined. "I've made this a dozen times before!" Sure your oven isn't the best, but replacing it is expensive and you have just learned to live with how it cooks. But nothing like this has ever happened before. "How? How did this happen?"

“Well, you had the oven set to low.” Your mother offers and Vanessa nods. “You cannot possibly cook your little beef thing when it is set so low.” Your mother-in-law adds most helpfully. “I noticed it and asked your mother, so we turned it up for you. I’m sure that you are just too overwhelmed with things to have noticed.”

“It was set low on purpose.” You turn again, this time look at the temperature setting on the oven, and feel yourself deflate when the digital read out says 425F. “Our oven runs hot,” you explain to them, so upset that you’re physically shaking while tears stain your cheeks. They push in and they treat you like shit and then they ruin things and yet they’re still acting like you’re the one who is incompetent. “If you had just asked, I would have told you why it was set low. You’ve essentially set my oven to over 500 degrees and burnt half of dinner because you didn’t think i knew what I was doing.”

“How was I supposed to know?” Your mother gives you a bewildered hurt expression and covers her heart like you are attacking her. Frankie moves over to you and sighs softly as he sees the burnt remnants of the meal you had worked so hard on. “Why have you bought a new oven?” She demands. “Your husband is a pilot. He should be taking care of these things.”

“You should have asked, Mom.” But of course she didn’t. Your mother is the queen of that ‘Mother Knows Best’ attitude and has never admired to being wrong in your whole life. “Being a pilot doesn’t make him a millionaire, and we’ve got the baby. Life is expensive right now. We’ve been saving up like reasonable people.”

Vanessa bristles at the implication that there is something lacking in her baby boy but Santiago sees that as well and quickly steps in to distract her. “It’s being taken care of.” He assures your mother but she huffs and shakes her head. Which makes Vanessa snap her head to the side. “Don’t you dare think ill about Francisco.” She hisses. “He works all the time to make sure your daughter stays home. He’s working himself to death.” Frankie rolls his eyes. “Mama. Stop.” He ordered, feeling like this is getting out of hand. “It’s true. You don’t think I know you called Javi to borrow money?” She demands.

"I work from home, Vanessa. I don't sit around on my ass all day doing nothing!" True that you took your maximum maternity leave, but you had damn well needed it. Postpartum healing took its toll and the depression that went with it had hit you hard. And after Frankie had come back with so many secrets? Well, it's not as if your home life is all sunshine and roses right now.

"Then why does—"

"It doesn't matter why, Mom. It's only our business." None of them need to know about what happened with Frankie's license or anything else. It's not as though they have ever offered to help or support you before so you're not about to share your troubles with them now.

“But—”

“ENOUGH!” Frankie nearly bellows the order, making your mother jump and snap her mouth shut, eyes wide in near fear. Your father looks down at his glass guiltily and even his own mother gasps as she presses a hand to her chest. Only Javi looks somewhat amused by the entire thing, a small smirk of approval twisting his lips. “I don’t give a damn that you drove for hours or flew here to see us for Christmas.” He seethes. “This is our house and I am not going to put up with you mistreating my wife.” His eyes narrow as he turns towards his mother and then towards his mother-in-law. “Either one of you. You don’t like it? Leave.” His tone is stony and flat, leaving no room for argument.

Pope and Yovanna are dead silent in the corner, not willing to meddle in family drama when they've only just arrived, and three of the four parents exchange appalled looks.

"We didn't raise you to be so disrespectful." Your mother snaps, standing from her chair with steam practically pouring out of her ears. "Or to be a terrible cook. Go get our things. We're going to a hotel until you come to your senses."

“Go get them your goddamn self.” Frankie snaps back. “And you aren’t welcomed back until you apologize to her.” That’s one set of parents he’s pissed of completely, so he turns to his mom. “Mama? You gonna be nice or is it gonna be more passive aggressive bullshit comments? Because if it is, you can get the fuck out too.”

"I have never made a passive aggressive comment about--" she begins, but Javier actually laughs at her pious pearl clutching.

"Nessa, that's all you've said to your poor daughter-in-law for years." He tells her bluntly. "Come on. I'll get our stuff." Vanessa looks absolutely appalled, but Javier just shrugs. "Prove me wrong," he insists. "Apologize."

Frankie waits, brows raised and he actually hopes for a moment that his mother will apologize. Her mouth opens and she starts talking, making his heart sink.

“She should—”

“Nope.” He cuts her off, a disappointed look on his face. “I should have put my foot down years ago. That’s my fault. Until you apologize to her, and mean it, you aren’t welcomed in our lives.” He tells her, even though it breaks his heart. “You’re my mother and I love you. But this is my wife. The woman I vowed to spend the rest of my life with. The woman I love. You would have never put up with the kind of shit you give her out of Javi’s dad.” He reminds her. “And I’m done having her cry when you leave.” He nods towards the door. “Merry Christmas. Now I’d like you to leave.”

The stone-silent kitchen is a staring contest for long moments while Frankie’s mother realizes that her son is actually giving her an ultimatum. With a dramatic huff, she pushes out of her seat and storms to the door, shouting something about how his sister would never treat her like this. She shouts so loud that the sound of the baby crying bleeds through the baby monitor and cuts down the stairwell, but when you let out your own wretched, exhausted sob, Frankie stops you.

“I’ve got her.” He promises, reaching out and holding onto your shoulders. “I want you to pour yourself a big glass of wine and go upstairs and get into a bath.” He knows how much you love to soak in the tub, but you haven’t had much of a chance to do that since Mirabel was born. “I’ll take care of everything.”

"I have to figure out what the hell to make for dinner," you insist, intermittently glancing back between Pope and Yovanna, and toward the stairs where your baby girl is screaming.

“I’ll handle it.” Frankie implores, lifting his brows. “Trust me, baby. Go upstairs. I’ve got this.”

"I'm so sorry." The entire day has collapsed and it feels like it's your fault. Despite the fact that you were actively sabotaged and abused for the last hour – only an hour! – it still feels like you failed.

“It’s not your fault.” This comes from Javier, sighing softly as he glances at the two of you. Your mother and father are still upstairs, rummaging around after leaving the kitchen quietly in the face of Frankie’s ultimatum. “Don’t be sorry. Let your husband take care of you.” He looks at his step-son. “I’ll read her the riot act.” He promises.

"You're the only one I wish could stay," you admit to your father-in-law with a deflated shrug, but lean into your husband's side for a moment and just breathe Frankie in. "Okay. I'm going to have a wine bath. Whatever else we end up doing for dinner, there's a huge salad in the refrigerator and a tray of Christmas cookies in the pantry."

“Okay.” He kisses the top of your head before he pulls away to grab the monitor. “Big glass of wine.” He reminds you before he looks over at Pope and Yovanna. “You two good?”

"We're good." Pope nods, but he's already out of his chair and moving to wash his hands. Even after being gone for a few years, he still knows this house and these people as well as anything else in the world. "Go take care of your baby girl. We'll be ready to help when you get back."

“Thanks man.” He nods towards Javi and then rushes out of the room. “Daddy’s coming, Mira.” He calls out. “It’s okay.”

"It's...not usually like this." It's the best you can do to reassure Yovanna when you come out of the pantry again with a bottle of your preferred white wine and a large glass. That bottled sangria that Vanessa likes is garbage, no matter what she pretends.

“It is okay.” She promises. “Family can be difficult.” She smiles, knowing how often her brother puts her in hard situations.

"I'll...be back in a little bit." The idea of a glass of wine in a bath is basically unheard of in your life now and it's something you used to do at least once a week. The chance to relax and feel like you get to start the day over again is incredibly welcome.

"Take your time, hermana." Pope insists. "Take the bottle with you, if you want. We've got this."

With Mira, Frankie has her up on his shoulder, rocking her soothingly. “It’s okay. Shhhhhhh shhhhhhh.” He shushes softly, angry at his mother for not caring about waking his daughter up. She hiccups and starts to quiet down, not needing a bottle or a diaper, just some comfort. “It’s gonna be alright.” He promises, to both her and himself.

He can hear you in the hallway, light steps on the way to the master bathroom so that you don’t make more noise and disturb Mirabel any more than she already is.

It doesn’t take long for her to fall back asleep, although he spends precious minutes carefully laying her back down and making sure she stays asleep. Smiling softly when she shoves her thumb in her mouth as she sleeps. He creeps out of the room and back downstairs as he hears the water start to run from the master en-suite.

“Okay.” Pope is standing in the kitchen with a tied off trash bag sitting near the garage door and the two pans formerly full of burned food now scraped out and refilled with steaming, soapy water. “What’s the plan?” He asks, nodding to Yovanna beside him. “What can we do to help?”

“I’ve got some steaks in the freezer.” It’ll only take twenty minutes to thaw them. “If you want to go fire up the grill, I’ll pull them out.”

"Heard that." Thankfully the stunning Florida weather guarantees a warm Christmas with perfect grilling weather, and Pope heads outside immediately. He can have that grilled fired up and ready in no time.

"I can help, too." Yovanna insists. She would feel awful to not help out under any circumstances, but especially now. "Anything, Francisco. I'm happy to."

“There’s salad, but I know there’s also a carton of mushrooms.” Frankie explains. “Will you slice them and an onion to sauté?” He asks. “She loves onions and mushrooms on her steak.”

"Absolutely." A relatively small task that will make all the difference to someone who is having a hard day? She is more than happy to do what he asks. The three of them set to work immediately and within half an hour the smell of burnt pastry and potatoes is replaced with grill smoke and sauteed aromatics.

You come downstairs in clean, comfortable clothes with a glass of wine in your system, smelling like a bath bomb and looking like you're just starting a brand new day. When Yovanna is in the kitchen with a sautee pan instead of Frankie or Pope, you have to sit with your embarrassment for a moment.

"I'm sorry for...before. That wasn't the first impression that I wanted to make."

“The men are outside.” She tells you with a smile. “The salad looks gorgeous but Francisco said you like onions and mushrooms on your steak.” She explains. “And do not worry. I am just happy that you look more relaxed now.”

"Much." You huff out a laugh, feeling sheepish about the whole thing. "Families at the holidays..."

"Are always pretending to get along?" She laughs. "It is the same everywhere."

"Well...thank you, again." If you knew her better you might go so far as to give her the giant hug of gratitude that you would like to, but that will keep for later in the day. For now the two of you exchange knowing smiles about how ridiculous families can be and you go out the sliding door to the patio where Frankie and Santi are standing at the grill inspecting the image of your sleeping daughter on the baby monitor.

“I’m telling you man, she’s gonna be a problem when she gets older.” Pope huffs. “We need to start scaring away the boys now.”

"What if she grows up to like girls?" Of course they're already in protective mode. That doesn't surprise you in the least. "Or maybe she won't want romance at all. Anything is possible."

“Yeah but the boys can get her pregnant.” He points out, lifting a brow at Frankie’s immediate frown. “Well that��s not happening since she’s going to stay a virgin.” The overly protective father scoffs.

"She's going to be educated on her body and consent, and she's going to have the unwavering support of her parents," you correct them both. But there is still a soft smile on your face when you tuck yourself under Frankie's arm. "And if all else fails, she has Uncle Pope, Uncle Ironhead, and Uncle Benny to scare off anyone who doesn't respect her."

“What about me?” Frankie huffs as he settles his arm at your waist and hauls you closer. You look relaxed, and he’s glad. “How are you feeling, baby?” He asks.

"A little better. Pretty stupid, but better." When you lean into his chest he presses a kiss to your hair and you sigh. "Think our mothers are ever actually going to apologize?"

“If they don’t, we will have peace.” His eyes slip closed and he smiles slightly. “The dream.” He jokes before he opens his eye and looks at you seriously. “They will eventually. When they realize we are serious.”

"No contact with all of our parents except Javier." Another huffed laugh from you ends in a sigh. "Merry Christmas, I guess. Is it bad that I feel relieved?"

“We are having Christmas ribeye’s, with that salad you made, you can have your onions and mushrooms, and I know you have those rolls in there.” He grins. “Washed down with your wine and Christmas cookies.”

"Well...Mira is having a bottle the rest of the day anyway. No reason not to enjoy." With your arms around his waist, you tug Frankie tighter and practically shudder with that sigh of relief that rocks out of you. "Thank you, baby. I know neither of us ever wanted it to come to that with our parents, but thank you for stepping in. And for taking care of things afterward."

“Of course.” He knows that your trust and faith in him has been shaken by the drug charges and then disappearing to South America, but he wants to rebuild it. “Anytime, baby. I love you.”

“I love you too.” That, thankfully, was never in doubt.

******

A year passes with so much incident that it is a task of its own to decide where to start when someone asks you 'what's been going on?'. Planning the next Christmas is easier simply because of logistics. Hosting doesn't feel daunting when the people who are coming to the house are supportive, helpful, and kind.

Dinner is a potluck this year, with all the boys from Frankie's unit bringing their partners. Even Benny has a girlfriend – one who promises she's capable of bringing more to a potluck than jarred salsa and bagged chips – and Frankie is once again going to grill ribeyes. New traditions are falling into place, but the fact is that you're actually looking forward to things this year instead of dreading them.

“Babe.” Frankie ducks into the kitchen to admire the new oven that he had delivered six months ago. “Do you want to do that mashed potato casserole you were talking about or do you want to do baked potatoes this year?”

"Why don't we do baked potatoes and we can put out a bar of toppings and stuff? I can throw some bacon in a pan and chop some scallions." Things are better. You're talking more. You're listening to each other and asking questions instead of assuming. Frankie even comes home early from work once every other week to look after Mira while you have therapy. It's helped your postpartum depression immensely.

“That sounds good.” He agrees, grinning at you. “Pope and Yovanna are going to bring the salad this time. She loves that dressing recipe you gave her.”

"It's a good one." Yovanna has fast become a close friend, joining the sisterhood you have with Teresa, and now with Benny's girlfriend Roseanne. "Everybody should be here pretty soon. I figured there was no use in pretending this is formal. We're all perfectly happy to sit around together and hang out."

“Have you heard anything?” He asks softly, aware that you might have some feelings about everything that went down last year.

"Only from Javier." Frankie's stepfather was the only one who had been in contact, and even that was respectfully sparse. "I've sent him some photos of Mira and he texted this morning to say Merry Christmas and that he hoped the package he sent got here in time."

Even though you have been remarkable about the silence, Frankie steps closer and folds you into his arms for a reassuring hug. “It’ll all work out, baby.” He promises. “I just love seeing you excited for Christmas.”

“It’s easier to be excited when I’m not dreading the arguments and insults.” You lean into him a little tighter and sigh. It’s shit that things had to blow up the way they did last year, but things are better now. You’re both happier. The boys are all back together and Pope had proposed to Yovanna at Thanksgiving. Will and Teresa are ecstatic about expecting their first kid together. Things are good. “I love you, baby. So much.”

“I love you too.” He murmurs softly, kissing your forehead. He had told you everything that had happened and while you were unhappy about it, you hadn’t held it against him. That’s the best gift he could have ever asked for. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Frankie Morales #Frankie Morales x you #Frankie Morales x reader #Frankie Morales x female reader #Frankie Morales x f!reader #Santiago Garcia #Francisco 'Catfish' Morales #Santiago 'Pope' Garcia #Triple Frontier #Triple Frontier fanfic #TF fic #Christmas fic #dysfunctional family

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sparks-and-smoke · 23 hours ago

Note

Hello!

What about an avengers reader and bucky fic where reader dosnt realize they are in an depressive episode but bucky or steve or both ( platonically or romantically) notices.

Haha I just surfaced from a major depressive episode so that's where the inspiration came from.

Also hi!

Hi <3 this one is a little longer because, well I guess I needed it too. Plus fluffy lovey Stucky is my bread and butter.

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky barnes x reader, Stucky (but not really the focus)

Content/Warnings: mental health, depression, anxiety, self care

Author Note: as someone who also struggles with mental health I personally loved this ask. Thank you, and I hope your feeling better sweets. Take care.

(Bonus note from my editor @voice-of-velhart)

Editor Note: Depression is not an easy thing to make your way out of, but I'm proud of ya'll for pushing through it and I'm glad your here. <3

The brain fog was the thing that set in first. It was hard to fall out of a routine living in the compound. Day in and Day out it was training and meal regimens. Sparring and paperwork. Someone was always around and yet you felt like you were drifting. Going through the motions with little to no reason to do so other than if you didn’t what else would fill your day. No one seemed to notice your lack of enthusiasm, or how your typically attentive nature had been slipping lately. Your reports were still on time and you weren’t pulling your punches in training so you were probably fine… right?

It was burn out or maybe you were feeling under the weather. At least that's what you told them if they asked. And while your friends and team loved you, they were busy people with the literal weight of the world on their shoulders. So who could blame them when they didn’t keep tabs, or at least you thought they didn’t keep tabs.

Bucky sat in the library trying to find a fantasy book he hadn’t already read. Tony was a brilliant guy but he had horrible taste in written fiction. As he perused, he kept you in his peripheral vision. You stared down at your now cold cup of coffee looking lost even though you weren’t moving. He had noticed you are like this a lot the last few weeks. You shower less and less, your normally shiny maintained hair more often than not on the greasy and dull side of the spectrum. And he hadn’t seen you touch the piano or your switch in days. He was getting concerned.

He taps Steve with his foot. “What?”

The big guy had been deep in thought, sprawled out in a lounge chair with his nose in a tablet. “Have you noticed Angel is different lately?”

Steve glanced up, taking a look at their girl as she swirled the coffee in her mug, totally disassociating. “Yeah, she said she was under the weather. I tried to get it out of her what was wrong but she’s being cagey.” his brows knit together in a mask of concern. “Sure is lingering a long time to be just a bug, don't cha think?”

Bucky nodded, “Yeah I do… what are we gonna do about it.”

Steve sighed heavily and set down his tablet, giving the issue his full attention. He thinks back to those long cold winters in brooklyn. When the snow was deep and his bones would ache so bad he didn’t wanna get out of bed. There were always little things that would help him get out of those slumps. Bucky making him get up and shower was always a good start, followed by warm food and if they could find it, sunlight.

“I think we're gonna start by helping our girl feel human again..”

~~~~

Steve and Bucky formed a game plan. The two men are nothing if not efficient and tactical. Steve went down stairs to start food. Something starchy and savory. Comfort food. Meanwhile, Bucky started operation Angel Self Care.

“Angel.” Bucky's voice was soft, wrapped in warm velvet. And you barely registered it before he was crouching down and smoothing back your hair from your face. Taking your untouched cup out of your hand. “How long have you been sitting here, beautiful?”

You shook your head as if you could wave away the mist behind your eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. Lost track of time I guess.” Bucky just hums. Yeah, he knows that feeling. He also knew it never led anywhere good.

“Lost in thought?”

You looked up to meet his gaze, warmth and concern mixing in the set of his jaw and the draw of his brows. “Yeah I guess. I’m fine babe. Don’t worry about it I’m just..”

“Feeling under the weather. Yeah, I know. You’ve been saying that a lot lately. I’m starting to think it’s a cop out.”

It is and you know it but you don’t know what else to say. “I just. I don’t know what wrong with me lately. I just… I don’t wanna do anything. Like anything ya know? It’s like sometimes waking up alone is all I have in me for the day. Do you know how that feels.”

If anyone knew how you felt it was Bucky. Hell sometimes he still felt that way, decades of torture and actions out of his own control had left him with more then his own share of depressive tendencies that drag him deep down under the current of reality pretty regularly. There are days he goes completely nonverbal, only going through the motions on autopilot. The only people who can pull him out are Steve, and you. And therapy, lots of therapy. “Of course I do. You know I do. But Angel, you can’t live there. It’s ok to feel it, but you need to acknowledge it and try to crawl back out. It’s ok if you can’t do it alone baby.”

You feel a thick lump forming in your throat that you can’t quite swallow down. The urge to argue, to tell him your fine and he’s being overbearing was there. But more then that you knew he was right. Something was wrong, and you couldn’t climb out on your own. But you weren’t ready to say it. Not yet.

“Come on honey, let’s get you cleaned up and get some food in your belly. That might help a little.” Bucky didn’t wait for you to protest, he slid one arm under your legs and the other around your back and headed up to Steve’s quarters. Not caring in the slightest if teammates or recruits saw. That was a problem for later Bucky.

~~~~

The big six had full apartments in the upper levels of the compound. Which means he could squirrel you away to Steve’s private bath and get you in the shower. Vetiver and pine, a familiar comforting scent. Gently and quietly he started the shower to an acceptable temperature for you (hot enough to turn your skin the next shade of blush.) and stripped you down to help you in.

There was nothing sexual about the way he did this. It was all just about loving you. Helping you, as he guided you into the water and let it wash away your stress. He pulled you back against his chest. “There’s my girl. That feel better Angel?”

You nod as the smell of Steve’s body wash fills the small space. “Do you mind if I wash you?”

With your permission he sets about cleaning you up. Slow loving strokes over your body as he pulls you back to lean on his chest. “You know you can talk to us about anything right. Steve and I love you. You’ve been here for us. Let us do the same.”

“I would tell you… if I knew why I felt this way.” You confess. “If I had some inkling of what I needed to get out to feel better but I don’t.”

Your voice wavers and it breaks Bucky's heart just a little. He wants to fix it. But he knows he can’t. All he can do is be there for you. “Well, I’m glad you trust me enough to help you.” He tilts your head back. Starting to wash your hair. “We’ll just take it one step at a time till we find ground again. Ok?

~~~~

Downstairs Steve fretted over the stove. Sweet potato pierogi and with onions and butter. It was easy, simple even. But it always made him feel better as a kid and the few times he had made it you liked it. He looked up as he heard feet pad down into the kitchen. Hair still damp, but clean. In fresh sweats and Bucky's shirt.

“Ahh, there you are. Do you feel better?”

“Yeah… a little.” You admit, sitting on a stool across the island.

Steve rounds the counter to kiss your forehead. “You look better.” He inhaled her skin, the longer scent of his soap and Bucky's touch still there, along with that sweet undertone that was all you. “Smell better too.” He teased.

You breath out your nose with a half hearted huff. “Thanks.”

“Always angel. Here. I made you some food. You don’t have to eat it all but at least a few bites would ease my mind. And then maybe we can go up to the room and get you some sun hmm? Would you be ok with that.” Steve slid the colorful pasta across the counter to you with a warm smile. Trying to coax you to follow his lead.

“Yeah. Sounds good.” You eat mostly in silence. Steve and Bucky don’t push you to talk as you fill your stomach. You know they're worried. But even just these small gestures are helping you feel like maybe there is an end to this malaise. You see Steve smile and kiss Bucky softly in thanks as they wait for you to tell them you're ready.

They spend the rest of the day trying to get you some sun. Fresh air and movement.

“We’re gonna do this a little everyday till you start feeling better. And if you need it or feel up to it we can look into talking to a therapist too.” Steve assures. His hand firmly laced through your own. “You are not alone in this. We all feel this way sometimes. But I’m proud of you for trying love.”

A flicker of hope flies in your chest at his words. You aren’t alone, this isn’t forever. And your men are gonna love you through it till you can do it on you own.

#marvel #bucky barnes #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky x reader #female reader #reader insert #sparks picks up

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sherewrytes · 2 days ago

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𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕟 ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕤, ℝ𝕪𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕊𝕦𝕜𝕦𝕟𝕒 6

↳ Sukuna x f! black reader

Summary: After the death of his grandfather, Sukuna Ryomen is left to shoulder the weight of his family, caring for his younger brothers, Yuuji and Choso. As he withdraws into grief, his relationship with Y/N, his girlfriend of a year, begins to crumble. When Y/N discovers the truth about his grandfather’s passing during a heated argument, it leads to a painful breakup. Now, both are navigating life apart, but Sukuna’s heart aches for Y/N. Determined to win her back, he must confront his pain and find a way to break through the walls he’s built. Can he rekindle their love, or is it too late?

contents: heavy angst, modern au, 18+, smut, dark romance, drug use, talks of depression and similar topics. (a lil )

fic warnings. ooc, profanity, mental health issues, toxic relationships, cheating, explicit smut, serious drug use, mentions of depression + more to be updated as story progresses.

Please read with proper discretion. this is a work of fiction. all characters are written to portray roles that are necessary to the plot and are in no way a reflection of their canon counterparts.

Taglist: @for-hearthand-home@clp-84@thelightknight21@favvkiki @helightknight21 @dylsw @ria-s-writes @sleepymothafterhours

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Here is another chapter cause I'm still writing out the other fics right now :)

Chapter 6: The Weight of Loss

Y/N’s POV

It’s almost comical how different my life feels when I’m at school compared to when I’m at home. At Pratt, I’m a student, focused, and driven, with an entire future ahead of me. The campus is buzzing with the usual energy—students chatting, the sound of sketch pads flipping, the hum of distant studio lights. But the weight of everything outside these walls presses down on me more with each passing day.

It’s been weeks or days since the breakup with Sukuna.The loss of our relationship feels longer than the time we actually broke up but it feels like the echo of it still reverberates in everything I do. I’m trying to push forward, trying to act like I’m okay, but the reality is… I’m not. I haven’t been okay for a while.

The work in front of me should be enough to distract me. Finals are coming up, and my portfolio still feels like it needs a hundred more hours of attention before it’s anywhere near perfect. But I can’t stop my mind from drifting back to that night—his touch, his voice, the way he looked at me when he left, the pain in his eyes I couldn’t fix.

I sit in one of the studio rooms, surrounded by scraps of fabric and sketches, trying to focus on the design I need to complete for my final project. My hand trembles as I draw out another silhouette. It’s difficult to concentrate, especially when my phone buzzes on the table.

I don’t even need to look to know if it's from Utahime. She’s been checking in on me regularly. She doesn’t understand everything, but she knows enough to ask if I’m okay.

I pick up my phone, hesitating for a moment before responding. Yeah, I’m good. Just a lot of work to get through.

It’s a lie, but I don’t want to burden her with the truth. Everyone has their own problems, and I don’t want to be the one who drags them down.

I scroll through the texts, my heart dropping when I see a message from Toji. It’s just a short note, nothing particularly alarming. Sukuna's in the hospital. He’s okay, but he had a breakdown. You might want to check on him.

I read it three times before I let it sink in.

Sukuna’s in the hospital.

I bite my lip, the sting of old wounds coming back. What’s going on with him? Why does everything feel like it’s falling apart? I don’t even know how I feel anymore. I spent so much time loving him, fighting with him, then pushing him away, only for him to spiral deeper into whatever this is. And now, he’s in the hospital… alone?

I don’t even have the right to care, do I?

I put my phone down, my hands running through my hair as I try to make sense of it all. What should I do?

There’s a knock at the door, and I look up, startled. Utahime enters with a cup of coffee in her hand. She smiles when she sees me but then stops when she notices the look on my face. She doesn’t even need to ask.

“Something’s wrong,” she says gently, placing the coffee down in front of me.

I swallow hard, my throat dry. “Sukuna’s in the hospital,” I say quietly. The words feel so surreal coming out of my mouth.

Utahime doesn’t speak for a moment, just nods, as if she knew this might happen. “You’re thinking about going, aren’t you?” she asks, her voice soft.

I shake my head, my chest tightening. “I don’t even know what I’d say to him, Utahime. I—” I stop, the emotions threatening to spill over. “He played with my feelings, and I let him. I gave him everything, and now... now look at us.”

She sits next to me, her presence comforting. “You don’t have to go to him if you’re not ready,” she says, her hand gently brushing mine. “But don’t ignore what your heart is telling you. Sometimes it’s easy to get lost in anger or pride, but if you care about him, and you think he needs you—maybe you should go. Just to know he’s okay.”

I stare at the coffee in front of me, the steam rising gently. I feel so torn. Part of me wants to throw it all away and run to him, to make things right, but the other part is terrified of what that would mean.

“I’m just… so tired, Utahime. Tired of trying to fix everything,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “And I don’t think I can keep doing this. I don’t want to keep getting hurt.”

She leans back in her chair, giving me space. “You don’t have to fix him. You just have to decide what’s best for you. It’s okay to care about him, but it’s also okay to take a step back. You don’t owe him anything.”

I nod slowly, but the weight in my chest doesn’t lift. If anything, it feels heavier.

As much as I want to ignore the message, as much as I want to pretend everything’s fine and keep moving forward, I know deep down that the story isn’t finished yet. But the question is, how do I make peace with it? How do I let go of the part of me that still wants him in my life?

I guess I’m going to have to figure it out, even if it hurts.

I stare at the message from Toji, my thumb hovering over the reply button. I could feel the tension building in my chest, the pull to cave in and see him, to check on Sukuna, to offer whatever comfort I could. But I can’t. I won’t.

I text back quickly, trying to keep my answer as firm as possible, even though doubt gnaws at me. Yes. I’m sure.

I put my phone down and take another sip of the coffee Utahime bought for me. The warmth soothes me, but it’s not enough to quell the rising discomfort I feel. Maybe I’m running away from something I should confront, but every time I think about him—about everything that happened—my chest tightens. I know I’m not ready to face him.

Mei Mei sits beside me, her usual confident and laid-back demeanor a welcome distraction. She smiles at me, her eyes bright despite the obvious tension in the air. “I heard you’ve been dealing with some drama,” she teases, nudging my shoulder playfully. “You always seem to attract it, huh?”

I laugh, but it’s hollow. “Yeah, it seems like it. Just trying to get through finals without any more drama.”

She leans back in her chair, clearly not convinced. “If you say so, but I’ve known you long enough to know when something’s bothering you.” She raises an eyebrow. “You’re not fooling anyone. What’s going on?”

I set the coffee down, rubbing my forehead. Mei Mei’s known me for years. She doesn’t give up easily, especially when it comes to stuff I’d rather keep to myself.

“It’s… complicated,” I say, sighing deeply. “Sukuna’s in the hospital.”

Mei Mei’s expression softens. “Hospital? What happened?”

I explain the basics—the fallout from our breakup, his breakdown, and the fact that it seems he’s been spiraling for months. As I talk, it feels like I’m peeling back a layer of myself I’ve been trying to keep hidden.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” I continued, my voice shaking slightly. “But now… I just feel like I made it worse.”

Mei Mei listens, her face serious. When I finish, she doesn’t say anything at first. She just looks at me for a long time, her eyes calculating, like she’s trying to figure something out.

“You can’t keep carrying his weight, Y/N,” she says gently, her tone softer than I expected. “He’s not your responsibility anymore. I get that you care, but sometimes stepping back is the healthiest thing you can do—for both of you.”

I nod, trying to hold it together, but her words sink deep into my chest. I know she’s right. If I keep going back to him, trying to fix things that aren’t mine to fix, I’ll just keep breaking myself in the process. But knowing that doesn’t make the choice any easier.

I reach for my phone again, checking for another message. There’s one from Toji.

Y/N, I know you’re upset. I get it. But you need to understand he’s really struggling. He’s not the same guy anymore. Please, just think about it. He’s not okay.

I feel the weight of the message, the silent plea in his words. It almost makes me want to go. But no. I made my decision.

I turn my phone face down, looking back at Mei Mei. “I’m done with it. I need to focus on my future. On me.”

She smiles, a little proud of me. “Good. It’s about time. You’re a strong woman, Y/N. Don’t forget that.”

I lean back in my chair, feeling the exhaustion from the last few months hit me all at once. Finals are coming, and I don’t have the luxury of letting my emotions run the show anymore. I have to finish this. For me.

But even as I sit there, I can’t ignore the small ache in my heart, the part of me that still cares, that wonders what could have been. For a fleeting moment, I let myself imagine a different reality, one where everything with Sukuna was easier, where we were happy and I didn’t have to make these impossible decisions.

But that’s not my reality. Not anymore.

Toji's POV

I stare at the screen of my phone, Y/N’s last text still lingering in front of me. Yes. I’m sure.

The words hit harder than I expected. I knew she wasn’t going to just drop everything and run to Sukuna, but hearing it from her directly… it stings. She’s shutting him out, and there’s nothing I can do to change it. Nothing any of us can do.

I glance over at Sukuna, still out cold in the hospital bed, his breathing steady for now. He’s been through hell these past few days, and I hate to admit it, but I’m worried. Despite all his bullshit, the bravado he puts up like a fucking wall, he’s broken. And it’s not just the aftermath of Jin’s death or the guilt he carries around like a fucking anchor. It’s more than that.

I thought, maybe if Y/N came, it would snap him back. But she’s not coming.

I let out a slow breath, running a hand through my hair. The room feels too quiet now, even with the constant beep of the heart monitor in the background. The silence between me and Sukuna is almost deafening, and I can’t shake the sense of impending disaster that hangs in the air.

I think about what Y/N said—how she couldn’t keep carrying his weight. And part of me gets it. She’s right. I told her before that Sukuna wasn’t the only one who needed to get his shit together, but I guess… I didn’t expect her to walk away. Not like this. Not after everything.

I can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if we’d all handled this differently. If we had talked more, not let everything fester. Maybe she wouldn’t have had to make that decision. Maybe Sukuna wouldn’t be lying here, broken and lost. And I wouldn’t be standing here, feeling fucking useless.

Sukuna murmurs in his sleep, his hand twitching slightly, and I look back at him. He looks so different when he’s not putting on that mask. I can see the fear, the guilt, everything he hides away in his waking hours. It’s all on display when he’s vulnerable, like this.

He whispers something under his breath, and I lean in closer, straining to hear him.

“Y/N… I’m sorry…”

His voice cracks, soft and fragile. He doesn’t even know I’m here. Doesn’t know I’m watching him break down piece by piece. But I heard it. He said her name.

It’s fucking killing me to watch him like this.

I stand up, running my hand over my face, trying to shake off the weight of everything. I can’t do this. I can’t fix this. No matter how many times I try to tell myself that this is his fight, not mine, I can’t stop feeling like I’m responsible. We all are.

I check my phone again. Y/N hasn’t replied. I don’t expect her to. She’s made up her mind, and honestly, I don’t know what I would say if she did respond.

All I can do is sit here and wait, hoping that Sukuna pulls himself out of this hole he’s dug. He’s going to need all the help he can get, but I’m not sure I can even be that for him anymore.

I glance back at him one last time before walking out of the room. Whatever happens next is out of our hands. I just hope for his sake, he’s not too far gone to fix it.

I step out of the room, needing some space to breathe, even though the weight of everything is still pressing down on me. My phone buzzes again. Another message from Y/N. I don’t look at it. I can’t. Not right now.

The hallway feels emptier than usual, and I’m just about to sit down when I hear footsteps approaching. I glance up, already knowing who it is before I see their faces. Gojo’s impossible to miss, his presence like a fucking storm in the calm. And right behind him, Geto, walking with that same quiet intensity he always carries. They're holding bags in each hand, the smell of fast food wafting into the air.

Gojo gives me a lazy grin like he's just come back from a fun afternoon instead of dealing with a pile of shit that’s only getting worse.

“Got you something.” He waves the KFC sandwich in the air, the crispy fried chicken peeking out from the wrapper. “Figured you could use something real to eat. You’ve been looking like you’ve been living off hospital snacks.”

I glance at him, but I’m not in the mood for a joke. I just stare at the sandwich for a second before nodding. “Thanks.”

Geto just raises an eyebrow and slides a bottle of cold Coca-Cola into my hand. "It’s cold. Thought you could use a little sweetness with all this shit."

I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I take the sandwich, unwrap it, and take a small bite. The taste is oddly comforting, and for a moment, it feels a little bit of normal. But only for a second. My mind is still a million miles away, locked on Sukuna, on Y/N, on everything that’s been happening. I can’t seem to get a grip.

Gojo leans against the wall casually, clearly unaffected by anything going on, while Geto remains quiet, eyes focused like he’s waiting for me to crack. The silence stretches, uncomfortable in its own way.

"Is he awake?" Gojo asks, breaking the tension, his voice light but his eyes searching mine for an answer.

I take another bite of the sandwich and sigh, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "Yeah, but he’s not really there. Talking in his sleep… saying her name. Y/N."

The mention of her name hangs in the air for a moment, and I watch as Gojo’s expression shifts slightly. He doesn’t show it often, but I know he can’t be completely oblivious to what’s happening. Not with how tightly he and Sukuna have been bound, even when things were rough.

“I’m sure he’s just… in his head,” Gojo says after a pause, trying to sound nonchalant but clearly struggling with his own thoughts. “He’s got a lot of shit on his plate.”

Geto’s expression hardens slightly. “He’s not the only one, Gojo. Y/N’s been through her own hell. She’s not just some side character in his story. It’s never been that simple.”

“Yeah, I know,” Gojo mutters, though he doesn’t seem entirely convinced by Geto’s words. He glances back at the door where Sukuna lies, still deep in his own turmoil. “We all know what happened between them. It’s fucked up, but that doesn’t change what he’s going through.”

The words cut through the tension like a blade. I swallow the rest of the sandwich, my stomach growing heavier with the implications of their statements. The more I think about it, the more it feels like we’ve all fucked up in our own ways. We’ve all allowed this to spiral out of control, and now, we’re left picking up the pieces.

“I get that he’s hurting,” I say, voice tight, “but what do we do now? What can we even do? She’s not coming, Gojo. She’s done.”

The words feel bitter in my mouth, even though I know they’re true. Sukuna has lost her, and there’s no going back.

Gojo and Geto exchange a look, the silence dragging on as the weight of the situation settles in. Gojo pops the cap off his own bottle of Coke, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“You just keep pushing forward,” Gojo says after a moment. “You don’t get to wallow in this shit. That’s not how it works, Toji. You just keep moving forward. That's all you can do.”

I’m about to respond when I hear a low murmur coming from Sukuna’s room. The door creaks open slightly, and I glance toward it, the worry clawing at my insides again. Gojo stands up and gives me a pointed look.

“Let’s go see how he’s doing,” he says, voice more serious now, and I can hear the weight of his words.

We all walk to the room, our steps heavy with the unspoken truths we’ve been avoiding. Inside, Sukuna stirs in the bed, his eyes barely open but wide enough to see the panic in his gaze.

“Y/N,” he whispers, almost like a prayer, his hand gripping the bed sheets tightly.

The room feels cold as we stand there, watching him struggle with the demons only he knows. His words hang in the air like a knife, cutting through the silence.

“Maybe we can fix this,” Gojo mutters softly, more to himself than anyone else. "But not like this."

I watch Sukuna’s face, the same man who used to be full of fire and rage, now broken. Maybe Gojo’s right—maybe we keep pushing forward. But even I know, with everything that’s happened, there’s no easy fix to the mess we’ve created.

Sukuna's POV

I’m trapped in the in-between, stuck in the land of the awake but not living. I can hear them talking, but my mind refuses to connect. Every word that escapes their lips feels like a blur, and I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear about Y/N or Jin or my own damn self.

The steady beeping of the heart monitor is the only thing grounding me in reality, reminding me that I'm still here, still breathing, even if it feels like everything else is slipping through my fingers. The voices swirl around me, but none of them cut through the fog in my mind. Not even Gojo’s voice, not even Geto’s.

Y/N.

Her name lingers in the air like an echo I can’t escape. It’s all I can think about. How I fucked things up. How I hurt her. How I lost her. I can’t get away from the image of her, standing there in her apartment, looking at me with those eyes—those brown eyes I used to drown in. Eyes that no longer saw me the same. Eyes that were filled with pain.

My stomach churns. I want to scream, but the words catch in my throat.

My younger brothers.

Yuuji. Choso.

I’m supposed to be their older brother. I’m supposed to be strong for them. They’ve lost so much already, and I can’t afford to lose them, too. But if I keep spiraling like this—if I let this guilt eat me alive, if I let my demons drag me under—then what happens to them? What happened to me?

I’m supposed to protect them, but I’m barely holding myself together. I can’t keep breaking like this. I can’t keep letting everything fall apart just because I don’t know how to deal with the shit that’s happened.

I’m supposed to be better. Better for them.

But how? How do I fix this? How do I fix myself when everything feels broken beyond repair?

I hear Gojo again, his voice louder this time. "He's just... lost in his head right now. We can't help him until he helps himself." It’s all I need to hear to understand that I’m not getting any sympathy here. Not from any of them. They know me too well.

And maybe that's what I need.

I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to block out the pain. Maybe if I don’t open them, I won’t have to face the reality of what I’ve become. A broken man. A fuck-up.

But the truth is, I can’t run forever. I can’t stay in this fog of regret and self-loathing. I don’t want to be this version of myself. Not for my brothers, not for anyone. I’ve been here too many times before. Spiraling, falling, too afraid to face what’s staring me in the face. I’ve always been this way. But I can’t afford to be anymore.

I can’t let myself be the reason they lose me. Not when I still have a chance to fix it.

I hear Geto’s voice again, softer this time. "Sukuna... we’re here. But you need to come back. Come back to us." His words hit me harder than I expected, and I feel the weight of them pressing down on my chest. Come back to us.

I’m not sure how, but for the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself feel something other than numbness. A crack in the wall I’ve built around myself. A tiny opening to a possibility that maybe—just maybe—I can still get out of this.

But first, I have to face the one thing I’ve been running from.

I have to face myself.

“Y/N,” I whisper to no one in particular, my voice hoarse, rough. "I'm sorry."

I don’t expect anyone to hear it. Hell, I’m not even sure I believe it yet. But it’s the first step. And for now, that’s all I can give.

I open my eyes slowly, squinting at the harsh fluorescent lights above. The hospital room is sterile and unfamiliar, and for a second, I forget where I am. But then it all comes flooding back—the weight of my actions, the destruction I’ve left in my wake, and the realization that I can’t keep hiding from it.

I don't even remember when I said it, but those two words still echo in my mind: I'm sorry. They were the first words I’ve said aloud in what feels like forever, but they carry so much weight. So much guilt.

I sit up slowly, feeling the ache in my chest. I’m not sure if it’s from the panic attack, the guilt, or just the overwhelming sense of being broken. But whatever it is, it makes it hard to breathe, to think. To feel.

Gojo is still here, his presence just as obnoxious as ever. But there's something about him being here that gives me a sense of stability like maybe he doesn’t expect me to be perfect, but he’s still here, regardless. And Geto... Geto is just sitting there, staring at me like he’s waiting for me to get my shit together. Maybe he’s right. Maybe they both are.

“Fuck,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. "How did I get here?"

Geto looks up from his phone, catching my eye for the first time in what feels like forever. “You’ve been here, Sukuna. You know the drill. You need to pull yourself together, for them.” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it. He’s tired, I can tell. We all are.

“Yeah,” I replied, my voice cracking. "For them."

It’s a mantra I’ve been repeating to myself for weeks now—for them. For Yuuji and Choso. They’ve lost so much already, and I can’t be the one to break.

But I don’t know where to begin. I don’t know how to fix this. How do I rebuild what I’ve destroyed? How do I fix myself when I’m not even sure who I am anymore?

Gojo leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You’re not alone in this, you know.” His words are blunt, but there’s something softer in his eyes. He doesn’t say it often, but I can see it. The understanding.

"I know." I don’t meet his gaze, my eyes locked on the floor. It’s easier that way. “But I still fucked up, Gojo. I messed it all up.”

Geto sighs heavily, shaking his head. "You didn't just mess it up. But that doesn't mean it’s over. You’ve got to take responsibility for it, man. For her... and yourself."

For a moment, I don’t know what to say. The words feel like they’re stuck in my throat. But then I think of Y/N. Her face, her eyes... the way she looked at me when I ruined everything. I see her pain in every single interaction we had before it all came crashing down. I can still feel it. The way she’d retreat from me, the way she’d pull away. And the way I never truly let her in.

"I didn’t mean for it to go like this," I finally whispered. "I never meant to hurt her."

“You need to talk to her, if she’ll allow it” Geto says, standing up and moving closer. “And if she’s willing, maybe... maybe you can fix it. But you have to start with yourself first.”

I feel the weight of his words, like he’s trying to lift me out of the quicksand I’ve been sinking into. But I’m stuck. I’m stuck in the guilt, in the shame, in the regret.

“What if she doesn’t want me back?” I ask, barely above a whisper. "What if I’ve already ruined it too much?"

"You won’t know unless you try," Gojo says, stepping forward. “You can’t undo the past, but you can at least try to make the future better. For her. For you.”

I feel something shift inside me, something small but significant. Maybe it’s hope. Maybe it’s just the desperation that’s been eating away at me. I don’t know. But it’s there, and for the first time, I let myself feel it.

Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe, just maybe, I can start rebuilding—starting with myself. I have to try. For Y/N. For Yuuji. For Choso. For me.

I stand up, feeling the weight of my body shift. My legs feel weak, but I force myself to stay upright. Geto watches me carefully as if waiting for me to collapse, but I don’t. Not this time.

I might not have all the answers, but I know one thing for sure.

I’m done running from it.

“I’ll fix it,” I murmur, barely believing the words myself. But I have to say it. I have to believe it.

For the first time in a long while, I don’t feel so alone. Maybe I’m not as far gone as I thought. Maybe I can still fight my way back from this.

Maybe I can still be the man I used to be.

the nurse filled in, "We tried to contact your emergency contact yn ln but they didnt respond. Do you have anyone who can keep an eye on you?

The nurse’s words hang in the air, thick with unspoken tension. I feel the room grow heavier as they linger, and I find myself grasping for a response. Y/N’s name still feels like a foreign sound on my lips.

I open my mouth to speak, but the words don’t come. What would I even say? She won’t answer me anymore. Not after what I did. The silence stretches between us, suffocating.

"I have—" I start, but the weight of it stops me.

Before I can finish the sentence, Toji speaks up, his voice cutting through the thick air like a knife.

"You can take my information. What do I need to know?"

I look up at him, and for the first time in what feels like days, I feel a bit of relief. Toji, as blunt as he is, never lets me down. He’s been here since the start, and I know, deep down, he’s always had my back, even when I didn’t deserve it.

The nurse nods, taking out her tablet and entering Toji’s information with practiced ease. It’s almost like they’ve done this a thousand times before, and maybe they have. Maybe they’re used to people like me. People who screw up their lives and end up here, needing a reminder that they’re not completely gone yet. That there's still a chance.

But I don’t know if I believe that.

I watch the nurse leave, and the silence settles back into the room like a heavy blanket. Toji stands there, looking at me with something between concern and resignation. He doesn’t need to say anything. I know exactly what he’s thinking.

"Stop blaming yourself," Toji finally says, his voice low, but firm. “You're not in this mess alone, and you’re not gonna fix it overnight. But you’ve gotta stop running from it, or you'll end up buried.”

I can feel his eyes on me, watching for any sign of weakness, but I can’t give him that. I can’t give anyone that. Not after everything.

"I know," I mutter, my voice barely audible.

Toji shrugs and moves to the side, making space in the small hospital room. "We all fucked up, Sukuna. But it’s not the end of the world. You’re still here."

The words settle somewhere deep inside me, somewhere I didn’t even know was still capable of feeling something. I look away, pretending the words don’t hit me the way they do.

But I can’t stop thinking about Y/N.

Her face. Her eyes. How she would look at me when I failed her. The way she pulled away.

I failed her.

But I still want to fix it. God, I want to fix it so badly that it hurts.

I’m not sure how I’m supposed to do that. I’m not sure if it’s even possible. But for the first time in months, I feel like I can try. I have to try.

For me. For her. For everyone I’ve hurt.

“Thanks,” I say to Toji, my voice gruff and unsteady. "For doing this... for me."

He doesn’t respond right away, just gives me a sharp look like he’s waiting for me to crumble again.

But I don’t.

Not this time.

Instead, I stand up slowly, feeling the weight of my legs beneath me. There’s no escape now. No more running from my mistakes. No more hiding. I have to face this.

And maybe... just maybe, I can start with making things right.

For once, I don’t feel like I’m completely drowning. But the battle is far from over.

"I’ll make it right," I say softly to myself, more than to Toji.

The words feel fragile like I’m trying to piece together a shattered mirror. But I have to try.

I won’t be the man I used to be. I can’t go back to that.

But maybe, just maybe, I can be someone worth loving again.

For Y/N. For everyone I’ve hurt.

And for myself.

I’m finally being released from the hospital. The sterile white walls feel like they’re closing in as the nurses hand me a prescription for the medications I’m supposed to take. But I don't care about that right now. I just want to go home. I just want to breathe again.

The ride back to the apartment feels like it takes hours. The air in the car is heavy with the weight of everything I've done, everything I’ve messed up. I haven’t spoken a word the whole way. Toji’s driving, the only sound between us was the soft hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of the road beneath the tires.

When we get to the apartment, I’m not sure what to expect. The door’s wide open when I walk in, and there’s Choso, pacing back and forth. His voice rises, sharp and full of frustration as he glances over at me. His eyes are bloodshot like he hasn’t slept in days, and I know it’s because of me.

"Sukuna!" Choso shouts, throwing his hands up in the air, his face a mix of anger, pain, and worry. “What the hell were you thinking?! You scared the shit out of us, man!”

I flinch at his words, the sting of them going deeper than I want to admit. But I don’t say anything. I don’t have a defense, not for this. I can’t make it better with a few words. So, I stand there, silent, my head hanging low.

Yuuji’s sitting in the corner of the room, his eyes glued to the floor, his friends Megumi and Nobara beside him, looking as stressed as he is. The weight of it all crashes into me. I did this to them. I’ve been selfish, and it’s clear they’re carrying this burden with me.

Yuuji finally looks up, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm glad you're home, bro."

His words don’t hit me like I expect them to. Instead of feeling the relief I thought I’d get from hearing him, I just feel hollow. I’ve caused too much damage to fix it with just a few words. He shouldn't have to say that. I shouldn’t be the one causing him so much pain.

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” I mutter, the bitterness slipping out before I can stop it. "It’s not like I’ve been some fucking good example for you, right?"

Toji steps up beside me, his presence grounding. “That’s enough,” he says, his tone low but firm. “He’s home, and that’s what matters. Stop making this harder than it needs to be.”

Choso doesn’t let up though, his hands on his hips as he glares at me. "You’ve been running from everything, running from us, from yourself. We were worried you were gonna fucking end up dead, and now you’re back, but are you even gonna stay back?"

I want to answer him, to tell him that I’m trying, that I’m going to get better. But I know he won’t believe me. None of them will. Not after everything.

"Look," I say, my voice thick. "I’m sorry. I’ve fucked up, and I can’t fix everything in a day. But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere right now."

It’s all I can offer, and I know it’s not enough, but it’s all I’ve got. I can’t be the man I was before. I can’t just wipe away all the mistakes I made with a simple apology. But maybe I can try to be better.

Yuuji stands up slowly and walks over to me. I brace myself, waiting for him to yell, for him to say something harsh. But when he reaches me, he simply pats me on the back, like he’s trying to offer something I don’t deserve.

“It’s good to have you back, Sukuna,” Yuuji says quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat growing. I don’t know if I’m crying or not. But it sure feels like it. Maybe this is the first step in making things right. Maybe not for everyone, but for me, for Yuuji, for Choso... and Y/N.

The tears come without warning, falling like a flood. I feel them before I even know they’re coming, a warm rush down my face, blurring my vision. I can’t stop them. Not anymore. I’ve been holding everything in for so long, trying to keep the pieces of myself together, trying to be the strong one for my brothers. But I can’t do it anymore.

My knees give way, and I drop to the floor, the weight of everything—of all the things I’ve lost, of all the things I’ve fucked up—crushing me. My chest aches, tight, like it’s too small to hold all the guilt, all the pain.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter through gritted teeth, though I don’t know if I’m saying it to Choso or Yuuji or even myself. My voice cracks, the rawness of it is unfamiliar and painful. “Jin’s gone because of me... and Grandpa... he’s gone. They’re both gone.”

The tears come faster, like a storm I can’t outrun. I can’t hold it together anymore. Not for anyone. Not for them. Not for myself.

I hear Choso’s footsteps, feel his arms around me as he pulls me up, but I don’t want to be touched. Not right now. I want to crawl into a hole and disappear, to not have to face any of this, to not have to be the one who let them all down.

“Grandpa's funeral,” I whisper, my voice ragged. “Our parents didn’t even show up. They didn’t care. They never did.”

The words sting, but it’s the truth. The truth that I’ve been running from for years. Our parents left us. They abandoned us, and the only one who was there, who gave a shit, was Granpa. And now he’s gone, too.

“I’m tired of holding this in,” I choke out. “I can’t keep pretending to be the fucking strong one. I’m... not strong. I’m broken.”

I look up at Choso, and his face is pale, but his expression is gentle. I can see the hurt in his eyes, but there’s something else there too: understanding. He knows. He knows what it’s like to lose, to feel like you’re drowning in your own shit. And maybe he’s the only one who can truly get it.

I look over at Yuuji, and his face is full of concern. He’s standing in the corner of the room, silent, but I know the words are there, sitting heavy on his tongue. He doesn’t need to say anything, though. The fact that he’s here—just here—means more than words ever could.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” I say, my voice low and broken. “I don’t want to be like this anymore. I don’t want to let everyone down. I don’t want to keep losing people.”

But I’m scared. Scared of what it will take to fix all this. Scared of how much of myself I’ll have to break in the process.

“I’m so fucking tired,” I admit, my voice barely a whisper.

Choso pulls me close, his hands gripping my shoulders as if he can somehow hold me together. “You don’t have to have it all figured out, Sukuna. We’re here. You’re not alone in this. You never were.”

His words hit me like a lifeline, but the truth is, I don’t know if I deserve it. I don’t know if I’ll ever be the person they want me to be.

But I know one thing: I can’t keep drowning in my own shit. I have to try to be better. Even if it’s just for a little while.

I’m home. But the journey to redemption? That’s just the beginning.

#jjk x black reader #sukuna x black reader #sukuna angst #sukuna x female reader #sukuna smut #sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk x you #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #black tumblr #black reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #sherewrytes

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elljayvee · 3 hours ago

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I loved this show when it was in first run, for reasons I (a baby bisexual) did not understand at the time. I adored Michael & Joey's relationship. Looking back on it as an adult, part of what I liked was that it (almost certainly unintentionally) casually depicted bisexuality and aromanticism, and also part of what I liked was that it also (...probably more intentionally) depicted a world with much lower homophobia and missing the AIDS crisis.

You're supposed to read Michael & Joey's relationship with each other as a couple in some ways, but not in others. They're practically married (the show makes this point several times, most clearly in "Joey's Mother-in-Law"), but they're (probably) not having sex: they're having sex with women, but they're Super Weird about it -- this is partly Sitcom, partly Dated Sexist Nonsense, but also partly Inherent To This Particular Family Setup. It ends up feeling to me very much like two men who aren't...really...sure how to deal with feelings for each other that are sexual/possibly romantic when they clearly feel attraction to women. Do you know how many bisexuals go through this. For years. For decades. Sometimes I, a bisexual who has been out since the 1990s, ask myself if I am "really" bi. It's a fucking brainworm that so many of us have. This show, in its own way, laid that problem out before me as if someone out there understood it.

As for the aromanticism, Joey says in the pilot that Marcy is the last woman he loved. He has a whole relationship with a different woman not because he loves her but because he wants to dad her kid. This man is sexually, but largely not romantically, attracted to women. (Is he in love with Michael romantically? I don't know! Maybe! He's definitely in Kinda Obsessed with Michael, though.)

And then....it's in a kinda, gentler, less homophobic world where no one is dying. And that's....almost certainly just a product of it being a sitcom from the 1980s. You weren't going to address those topics in a sitcom about "what if the Odd Couple had to raise a kid lol", but as a result, for me, I get a combo of Powerful Nostalgia Bomb and Everything is Beautiful And Nothing Hurts from this show. It's not that other characters don't react to two men raising a kid together, because they do -- but mostly they are a little puzzled about it. No one is hateful. No one attacks them over it. The only times that judgement of the relationship is more than a passing event ("Joey's Mother-in-Law" is yet again an example), the person being weird about it is dealt with firmly and clearly.

It has its flaws (....1980s sitcom....) but oh. it has its joys.

(I refuse to acknowledge the final episode, though: it's up there with HIMYM for betraying the show before it. I'm convinced that was the network just being like "well. we can't have the show's finale be. they continue to live together." in my heart they continue to live together. they don't talk about it ever until Nicole leaves for college and then they both panic and agree obviously. they can't split up. where will Nicole go for winter break if Michael moves out? Joey panics and has sex with way too many people about it while drawing 3 million pictures of Michael in his sketchbook. Michael dates like normal but feels weirdly sad every time he kisses his dates. It's fine. It's all fine. Nicole comes home for Thanksgiving and is like. Dads. What is up?? Joey's art is depressing and Michael is working 80 hour weeks? Maybe you two should get a dog. Three weeks later Joey comes home with a three-legged golden retriever and Michael has a sobbing breakdown into its fur and falls asleep in Joey's bed. No they do not get it together after this, they are both disaster bisexuals, this goes on for SEVERAL more years.)

“My Two Dads” was Simply Ahead of its Time: A Short Essay by an Offspring of Same-Sex Parents

In 1987, the show “My Two Dads” premiered on NBC, staring Paul Reiser, Greg Evigan, Staci Keanan, and Florence Stanley. Nicole Bradford (Keanan) is a 12-year-old girl whose mother Marcy Bradford dies suddenly, and she is ��willed” more or less to two men her mother was once in love with, Michael Taylor (Reiser) and Joey Harris (Evigan), who were lifelong friends before they fought over Nicole’s mother. Despite attempts at blood tests, the paternity of the child was never confirmed, and after a rocky start, Michael and Joey agree to live together and raise Nicole as a family.

What we have here is a simple, relatively family friendly, prime-time sitcom that shows a very positive interpretation of a kid with same-sex parents. And it is delightful.

I am speaking openly as a queer person raised by two mothers (now four w/step-moms). When I decided to try this, I was bracing myself for the absolute worst most offensive thing I’d ever seen.

And I swear to God, what I got instead is one of my new favorite shows of all time. The characters are lovable and well-rounded, the acting is great, the humor is actually funny, and, whether this was intentional or not, is one of the most progressive shows of its time.

I keep seeing people throwing around the word “homophobic” with this show, and I’m here to politely and firmly disagree with that. Instead, I will opt for the word “dated.” “My Two Dads” was still a product of its time, so I firmly believe many of the choices regarding Joey and Michael’s dating life were made to appease the censors. I never felt like any decision was made in malice to target the queer community. (Not to mention, I could/will make a whole LIST of reasons why Michael and Joey are 100% in love, if not an active couple, despite many attempts to convince the audience they are straight.)

I spent a good chunk of the show laughing to myself and saying “it’s like homosexuality doesn’t even exist in this universe” for how much NOBODY cares about Nicole having two dads or questioning why the dads live together. (Them being potentially gay is only questioned ONCE in the series.)

In the 90s and early 2000s, people never shut up with the questions once I told them I had two moms. I somewhat think this exclusion was also a writing tactic, not wanting Nicole to have to constantly repeat what the audience already knows.

There are jokes that haven’t aged amazingly well, but I feel like it was much more that the writers were ignorant as opposed to being active bigots.

I also really appreciated this show’s depiction of a kid who has a great and loving relationship with a parent she may not be or isn’t biologically related to. Nicole doesn’t care who her biological father is, and loves Joey and Michael equally. Again, as someone with two moms, I get really defensive over the notion that someone isn’t your real parent unless their DNA matches yours. (Side note, always say “biologically related to” as opposed to “REAL parent” whenever asking someone about their parentage. Please. It hurts every time.)

If I admittedly had one qualm about the show, I’d say it hasn’t aged amazing in terms of sexism. Throughout the whole show, it always felt like the women Michael and Joey dated were either complete jerks or bimbos. With the women they finally end up with being boring and rushed. And they also at one point have a female boss, and…it’s pretty bad. Nicole and Judge Margaret were great (Judge being my 2nd favorite character, behind Michael.), but other female characters not so much.

But overall, I really do love this show. It’s one of those really nice warm & fuzzy shows, too (Think “Full House” with slightly funnier writing. Yeah, I said it!). I really wish more queer viewers would try it.

#my two dads

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definitelynotshouting · 2 days ago

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now that its been a while since you first came up with the list of what different emotions taste like to grian and you've been writing in hunger au for a while, do you have an updated list? like, is there any specific emotional nuances that have specific tastes to you, or do you just go based on vibe and whatever you need for what youre currently writing? (i mostly ask because i've been trying to figure out a taste for Relief, and the most i've been able to figure is some combination of happiness, anxiety, and maybe a bit of sadness, but those flavors dont exactly play nice together)

I sorta play between both vibes and what i think constitutes as the general categories of emotion!!!

A very long time ago i was introduced to this wheel, and found it super useful as a guide on helping group emotions together-- so whenever im coming up with a new taste, i try to stick to some core tastes that correspond with the 7 emotions defined at the center of the wheel, then introducing nuances that can adapt to the scene at large :]]

Emotions that fall into a happier range taste like sickly sweet burnt sugar, while anger is rich and gamey. Fear fizzles like pop rocks and tastes a bit coppery, often overlapping with anger, while sadness tastes like salt and acid. Surprise i think falls under spicy, disgust is more minty, and "bad" is a bit harder to define. I think bad either doesnt really taste (i cant imagine boredom tasting like Anything except maybe cardboard lol) or just happens to share overlap with anger, fear, and disgust

Aside from that tho yeah i do tend to go for vibes within them EKFHWKDJDK and i have in fact had to go back and be like "DID I ALREADY ESTABLISH THIS. OH MY GODS I GOTTA START TAKING MORE CONSISTENT NOTES" 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂 every day my long ass update schedule bites me

Anyway for relief specifically i think i would personally group that closer to happiness and surprise-- if i had to define it in a vacuum, id say it would taste somewhat like honey chipotle for Grian, a sweet-and-spicy mix. But honestly after a while the vibes do hold more sway than the consistency, and thats where all those mixed emotions come in too. Admittedly, them NOT playing well together is actually kinda on purpose-- i like the idea of this incredibly depressed bird having malignant synesthesia /silly

#shouting speaks #asks #hunger au #i do try to remain somewhat consistent!! and also attempt to use mouthfeel rather than taste to communicate the feelings happening in story #sometimes #this is such a fun question thank you for asking!!! :DDD #i hope my answer made sense LOL im still coming off of very little sleep for the past two days #txt

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theflagscene · 2 days ago

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My Top 10 Fave QL Characters of 2024 🤩

More end of the years lists from me, because clearly I have nothing to do for the rest of the week... I wish I was joking. Much like my pervious lists, my only rule for this is that at least some of the series needed to air this year. It can have started in 2023 or will be ending in 2025, as long as some—or all—of the series aired this year, then it's fair game.

1 ) God - Monster Next Door

What can I say about God that hasn't already been screamed from the rooftops by literally everyone who watched the series? He was aptly nicknamed, because this gentle giant was a gift from heaven. The greenest green flag, even when mad or upset, he was still as green as a damn emerald! The sweetest golden retriever character to have graced my screen this year, I will always love this character and this series, it's become a comfort watch for me, that's for sure.

2 ) Yai - The Sign

There aren't enough sweet himbos in QLs imo, typically whilst cute but dumb, they're also mean or bigoted or just not very likable. Yai broke all of those stereotypes, he was cutest himbo around, a perfect brother, friend, bro and husband. I knew I would adore him from the very first episode and I was not wrong, he did not disappoint. Every scene Yai was in wasn't enough, I wanted so much more of Yai (and his scary beautiful wife, Sand).

3 ) Joker - Jack & Joker: U Steal My Heart

Joker and his emotional support idiots might have fumbled the ball at damn near every turn, but he was absolutely adorable whilst doing it. I think it's physically impossible for me to dislike a character War plays, so me adoring Joke was not a surprise to me. A master thief who really wasn't that great at not getting caught, a hopeless romantic, mama bear and perfect grandson-in-law? What more could I have asked for?... Possibly better fake tattoos, but we can't have it all lol.

4 ) Jeff - Pit Babe

I admit with no shame whatsoever that I found Jeff to be one of the most interesting characters on the show. His powers were the ones with the farthest reaching consequences and the most difficult to live with, he was tragic in all the ways I love a character to be tragic. I really wished I could've watched a version of the series from his pov, because I feel like I would’ve fast forwarded way less lol!

5 ) Tae Myungha - Love For Love's Sake

His depressive aura bewitched me body and soul, what can I say? The fact that he tried so hard to make everyone around him feel loved, wanted and important whilst he spent his entire life feeling none of that just broke my damn heart. He was the perfectly example of: the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy because they know what it's like to feel absolutely worthless and they don't want anybody to feel like that.

6 ) JJ - This Love Doesn't Have Long Beans

Poor JJ has an idiot for a bestie and a douchebag (affection) for a love interest, this dude did not have an easy time of it lol. His forever exasperated resting bitch face and constant annoyance at literally everything that came out of both Plawan and Methas's mouths made me laugh so much, JJ had absolutely no time for any of their shit and yet he was constantly dealing with their shit. The poor guy needed a vacation away from the people in his life even though he loved them, which I totally understand lol!

7 ) Aylin - 23.5

While this wasn't my favourite series, Aylin was definitely one of my favourite characters. Her autistic coded self just spoke to me, I too dislike humans to a level that I would easily take the first alien spaceship off the planet lol. Aylin was so sweet and funny, I loved the way she spoke and her lil hats! I just wanted to squish her!

8 ) Fadel - The Heart Killers

Was I expecting to go into this series loving Fadel? No. Should I have? Absolutely. I have always loved the shrew characters when it came to adaptations of The Taming of the Shrew, which is the point of the character so ya know, duh! Lol. Any series with FirstKhao in it I always assume one of them will end up being my fave because well, it's them! But Fadel is the realest of the real when it comes to the slog of daily life, his routines, his annoyance with the general population, his need to remind himself that killing people whilst working in customer service is not worth the clean up nor the prison time. Sure, he's an assassin on the weekends, but hell, who isn't working two jobs in our current economy?

9 ) Rock - Cherry Magic TH

Rock was the perfect sunshine dope of a sidekick and I loved him for it, completely oblivious yet extremely caring at the same time. A man smitten with the idea of a woman who wants to eat fatty foods, will kidnap his Phi for a super secret mission no questions asked and respects a woman's right to say no without becoming an incel about it, he really was a joy to watch. It also helped that Sing played him, because Sing is an adorable ball of sunshine and I luff him.

10 ) Tan - We Are

The first person to get his man, and so easily. It made perfect sense why Fang fell for Tan, his hyperactive sunshine energy was like an instant 'smile' button. He was so genuine with his emotions and interests, he was a simp and made no apologies for it. He loved Fang so completely and unconditionally, he did whatever he needed to make sure that Fang felt safe and cared for. Tan really raised the bar when it came to clingy boyfriends that aren’t cringy, which is a hard thing to do.

#ql superlatives 2024 #monster next door #the sign the series #jack and joker u steal my heart #pit babe the series #love for love's sake #this love doesn't have long beans #23.5 the series #the heart killers the series #cherry magic th #we are the series

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rizzoreads88 · 3 days ago

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I just want to tell you even though I have never shipped elriel its so nice to see at there are some elriels out there who love Lucien.one thing I can stand about most elriel shippers is they try to villianize Lucien all the time.

Hi anon,

Ohh man is this going to be a loooonngg response ….There are a lot of Elriels who still like Lucien. However I can understand what your saying too as I think at times certain shippers from both sides tend to try and paint Lucien/Azriel in a bad light depending upon who they ship…

Some E/uciens say Azriel is incel who feels entitled to woman and only cares about sex while some Elriels say Lucien is a coward and didn’t help Feyre enough. While neither are perfect( because no one is )none of this is true about either. I think both sides of these arguments contradict each other.

⭐️Lets start with the “Lucien didn’t do enough to help feyre” and he’s a coward argument

Do we forget Lucien was putting his life on the line UTM to help her whenever he could? He was also thrown into the second trial and almost died for being her friend… in Acomaf when everything was going wrong between her and Tamlin Lucien did try to help them both. And neither listened. (I don’t see how anyone can blame anything on Lucien seeing as he wasn’t in that relationship and Feyre was a grown ass woman but I digress). Then in acowar Feyre uses him as a pawn to try and make Tamlin jealous not even caring the repercussions it could have for Lucien. After all this when Feyre was escaping the spring court to go back to the night court Lucien was willing to die by the weird Hybern twins so she could escape…Lucien has helped Feyre in many ways. She would have never gotten back to the Nc without him or survived the trials UTM without him. He also did try to help her AND tamlin and neither listened… “well all he did was talk to them that’s not enough” What are you supposed to do when two grown ass adults are in the throes of PTSD and depression and in a consenting relationship if they won’t listen to anyone? Not to mention while this is going on Lucien is busy trying to protect the spring court citizens, gets attacked and injured by amaranthas beast, is trying to help Tamlin rebuild the spring court and dealing w his own mental health issues too. He’s being put in the middle of Tamlin and Feyre and tries to help them both and they don’t listen but “he didn’t do enough”? I’m sorry what a senseless argument that is…

Let’s look at the flip side… if you blame Lucien for not “helping feyre enough” do you blame Azriel for not helping feyre or nesta as well? Azriel had no issue going along with Rhysand taking away feyres bodily autonomy or lying to his high lady… Azriel said nothing when everyone found out Nesta could make made weapons but Amren & Rhysand felt she shouldn’t know about her own body (Rhysand seems to have a pattern of keeping info from women about there own bodies🥴), Azriel said nothing when Amren lied about court laws to manipulate Nesta into the house of wind or when they actually locked her in the HOW. How about in HOFAS when rhysand exploded rooms out of his anger for Nesta and he triggered ember, azriel said nothing to defend Nesta or call Rhys out and azriel had actually been around Bryce and got to know her more then them. You can’t say Lucien is a coward and didn’t help Feyre enough if you don’t hold that same smoke for Azriel in all these situations either. Let’s also not forget Lucien went on a dangerous mission to find their dad and Vassa and helped fight in the war. Lucien is no coward.

⭐️Now let’s move on to Azriel is just a incel who feels he’s entitled to women and only wants sex…

If you truly feel this about Azriel after Acosf and Hofas you don’t understand his character. Sorry not sorry. This man has never once acted entitled to a woman. “ well he literally says in his bonus chapter he feels should get elain because she’s the third sister”. No he doesn’t. He was asking how it’s possible the three of them came into their lives and rhysand and cassian fall in love and are mates to Feyre/ Nesta but he has feelings for Elain and yet can’t be with her. He was questioning fate over Elain. We know this because he then goes on to question his own damn religion over her too when he questions the cauldron over her. Friends let’s be so for real here…. You don’t hang out in the garden until the wee hours of the morning with someone, you don’t risk your life not caring you could die to rescue someone and then carry them while your bleeding out and won’t go get looked at until you know there ok…. You don’t save someone’s gift for a year and look at it every night… you dont lend someone your most prized possession that you never even let your best friends or anyone else touch… if you just feel only lust or entitlement to them. You and I both know Azriel has deep feelings for Elain. The antis know it too no matter how much they try and act like they don’t.

Let’s look at the flip side of this… if you hold this against Azriel do you also hold this against Lucien? Remember when Lucien left with feyre to go to the Nc to see if Elain was worth it? Or how about the first thoughts he had when he saw her at the spring court being “Touch her, smell her, taste her—“ even though he noticed how her depression had made her so thin… “well those are mate instincts” your right they are but that was still one of the first things he thought… so again you can’t act like azriel is a incel who only wants elain for a booty call and is entitled to her when Lucien thinks lustful thoughts about her and doesn’t even know her like Azriel does.

✨At the end of the day BOTH Lucien and Azriel are good men. Let’s not forget Feyre even talks about how good of a man Lucien is to Elain. We all know how the inner circle feels about Azriel as well. It is evident by both of thier actions they both have great hearts. I hate when either sides put either down because of the ships. You can still love a character and ship them with whoever.✨

#acotar #sarah j maas #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #pro lucien #azriel #pro azriel

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mya-jaa5 · 23 hours ago

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jealousy

scaramouche and you have been friends for a while, at first you two didn’t talk to each other, until he started greeting you in the mornings, or talk to you during class, even sometimes helping you with homework at lunch. scaramouche was funny, he had sarcastic humor, you like to tease him, just to get a reaction from him since he likes to act nonchalant all the time… But it was just all fun.

Until recently you noticed even when you don’t sit next to him in class, he glanced at you a lot, he’s quiet, not a lot of friends, but he can talk if you talk to him, like teachers. Even your friends tell you how he always glances at you in class, you were a little happy, getting small attention from a guy who’s practically a loner…. He’s cute… You don’t care for his reputation, just his personality.

You weren’t the most popular, but you and your big friend group made you known… seeing this scaramouche became a bit hesitant that you were gaining more friends, people to talk to, even when you weren’t around your main friends you always had someone else you talked to… Scaramouche knew this was your personality, you had no control over it…. Surly he could so something about it.

Slowly…. Scaramouche started doing little things for you, like if you didn’t have a pencil, he’d go in front of the class just to get one for you, or if you printed photos out for a project he’d pick it up and hand it to you, even going out of his way to give you snacks without asking you. It was the little things that made you happy.

Scaramouche started to overthink also, what if you started another friendship? With another guy, what if you two get closer than what scaramouche and you have, i mean technically you may have put your friend group over him but… But that only means for little competition for your attention, but it made sense why since he’s a guy… Scaramouche wants to be your first, your to go person, the person Y/N seeks too, message, any type of time spent with you, and your attention focused him.

Scaramouche decided that now he needed to save you.

It was the perfect time around, winter hit, seasonal depression slowly getting to you, well just recently you’ve been feeling down, your friends were in a bit of a argument, which caused you to choose between your friends, and your home life… Man scaramouche would never tell you, but it was pathetic, plus with all the progress he made just to be close enough to you to listen to your problems, issues. Scaramouche knew he soothed you, comforted you. Everything he did was intentional.

Soon you will see.

____

Today a guy ends up confessing to you, the guy told you to text him how you feel since you didn’t have an answer right then and there. Later you and scaramouche had class together, you both normally chatted, scaramouche was focused on his assignment while you were looking at the board, cus you were done.

“Yeah some guy had confessed to me today… I didn’t really know him so i told him to give me time” y/n said.

Scaramouche didn’t look up from his paper, he was focused on his assignment.

“You didn’t really know him?”

Scaramouche repeats what you said.

“The answer is clear y/n, why do you need time to think about an answer.”

Scaramouche was saying that the clear answer was no

“Your only gonna get his hopes up, if you had gave him the straight forward answer you wouldn’t be worrying about this”

still focused on his assignment

You thought for a moment.

“Yeah well… He also said he wanted to get to know me… And we could take it slow… That sounds a little reassuring….?”

Y/n said.

Scaramouche looks up at you blankly.

“y/n… You’ve gotten this far right? What’s to change for this boy you barely know, not only that but going for a guy who gives you the slightest bit of attention? Don’t be a pick me….”

You were a bit surprised at his honesty, you knew he was blunt but geez…

“Hey! i’m not a pick me… It’s not like i fell in love with the guy already… i just considering it… Maybe talking to him, getting to know him would be nice, and a nice way to enter a relationship-“

“Stop there y/n… You don’t work on relationships… They just happen, that’s like me saying i’m working on being best friends with someone, that’s just weird. If you want a genuine relationship just let it happen.”

He sternly said, like he’s shutting down your idea.

You scratched your head as you turn to look at him.

“…. This situation don’t feel like something genuine…?”

You asked scaramouche, actually wondering and considering his words.

He gave you one glance, then returned to his homework.

“No, if you need emotional support i’ll go with you to refuse his confession.”

“hm…” You look down at your paper now thinking.

His words were a little harsh, maybe you are over thinking this, you finalize your thought with a “it’s better to be single” and accept it.

“…Yeah your probably right..…” You say.

after a moment a silence…

Scaramouche looks at you once more, his eyes softening just a bit if you were really paying attention… You were looking at your homework now.

“Just text him y/n… I’m sure after that he’ll leave you alone… Plus i’ll probably provoke him so, don’t think too much about it.”

He tells you reassuring you.

It did reassure you, since you didn’t want to approach the guy to only tell him bad news… texting him would be much better, easier and no drama.

You’d come up with a explanation and text it to him soon…

_______

Few days later scaramouche invited you to go the store with him after school, saying he’d give you a ride back, and that he needed supplies for a certain project in one of his classes. Now who are you to turn down a free ride, and a nice car? currently scaramouche was taking you home, you were just drinking a soda scaramouche bought you, and thankfully graced him for, you were quite thirsty, you even forgotten your water bottle that day... though it tasted weird… metallic almost… you look down at the drink seeing it fuzz… like it’s reacting to something in the drink, kinda looked like powder in the drink.

“this taste weird… did you taste the drink before buying it-“

And next thing you know you were knocked out…

____

You soon wake up… Candle scented room… You open your eyes and see that your in a room… You were laying on a towel of some sort on the floor, the room is pretty empty, besides some drawers or rubble… also the fact that the whole room is covered in saran wrap…

You try to get up only to hear a shackle sound, you froze and tried again… Seeing that it resisted you there on the hard railing, only one of your hands but there wasn’t anything you can reach with your arm chained to the bed… despite it being black in the room the candles showed just a little, only 2 being lit. Seems like you made a lot of noise because…

You hear the room door unlock.

Scaramouche comes into the room and throws a bag filled with something heavy on the floor. Then comes up to you.

“Hello y/n”

He squats in front of you, this was the first time you ever saw him smile willingly, or up most… this side to him was new, he had crazed eyes, he was fidgeting a little.

“Scaramouche why am i here…??”

You say timidly.

Scaramouche eyes seem to soften when you spoke in a low scared tone, something that’s rare for scaramouche. Scaramouche sits a bit besides you.

“Your so pathetic y/n… Wanting love, accepting any kind of love without realizing it’s love, you always been desperate for a lover….”

Scaramouche said the end with a bit of irritation and condescending tone.

“But… I know you don’t do it intentionally… mya i don’t want you to be hurt… I want to protect you from all that… Your just too dumb without me…”

Suddenly he hugs you.

This is weird… Walls and furniture being wrapped up… Even the floor… Being kidnapped, you weren’t all that dumb, what else could you assume, that he was most definitely going to kill you. He nudged his nose into your neck.

“A-Are you gonna kill me…?”

Scaramouche starts to sensually rub your shoulder with his hands, then your arm, Scara purrs in your ear, seemly lost on the moment being close to you.

“What makes you think that sweetie?”

Y/n look around the room, and scara does too, realizing you noticed the saran wrap all over the room. Scaramouche smiles at you and pats your head.

“Your so observant, you like to watch crime shows a lot? Well your not so dumb afterall… ah but no i’m not, we have another guest…”

Scaramouche pulls away from you sighing, at the loss of touch from you. Leaving the room and coming back with… Someone on a chair.

“scara… you didn’t….”

You say shocked and disbelief, scaramouche brought the fucking guy who confessed to you… what’s with all this…

“Yup just that guy! it really irritated me when you told me he confessed, not only that but he was still waiting for an answer?”

He pulls the guy head up by his hair, his face mixed with blue and purple… His face plumped up like he got bashed with something… Scratches all over his face. Your face contorts at the thought of going though whatever that guy went through.

“Did you ever text him? like i said y/n.”

He saids looking at you sharply, and with authority.

“Um… I never sent it”

you say nervously, and quickly looking away.

Scaramouche chuckles.

“Yeah well i’ve always known, y/n you should start listening to me more often… Anyway i knew because i saw you never texted him on instagram, then i started to wonder if he contacted your number, or other social media i don’t know of… Don’t worry y/n… I got it under control. Imagine what he would’ve done just for an answer, consistently text you, go up to you…. Stalk you……

And unfortunately, If you wont do anything about It I will, mya from now on, you listen to me, and everything I say.”

You were surprised by his tone how… How you almost listened to him…. You quickly gained some confidence to say something back .

“Y-You can’t just command me…!”

Scaramouche gives you a death glare. Daring you to say anything else.

“Y/n, i’m only trying to give him a lesson, but if you’d like to get one afterwards…”

He saids sinisterly and irritated.

You decide to shut up after that.

“Ah that’s what i thought… Anyway …”

Scaramouche then pours water on the poor guy, and he wakes up

*he gasps and flinches, seemly scared the moment he woke up. “please no…“

Poor guy face was so beat up he couldn’t even figure out what he was looking at now….

“Cmon dude! it was just a crush not even that serious… Just let me go please i don’t deserve this!!

The man cries and whines, begging for his life.

“Shut up… “ scaramouche grumbles

Scaramouche goes and picks up that heavy bag and drops everything in it all on the floor… It’s weapons… Knifes, chainsaw, machetes, torture devices, all that stuff…

“Now mya.. To prove my love… I want you to pick one, for me to use.”

He looks at you with twisted affection….????

“What-?! You want me to pick how to kill him?? No i’m not doing that!”

the man turns his head over while scaramouche not looking to see what that sound was, as you watch him you see his face go cold, he starts sobbing and even praying.

“y-y/n?? Is this some sick plan?? Please y/n give me mercy…..” the poor guy said.

“Shut the fuck up, or should i break your face until you look different .”

Despite scaramouche not talking to you… You were surprised that it almost shut you up too, he was glaring at the man currently.

“Scaramouche… Please let him go…”

You say timidly. Scaramouche visibly looked like he was gonna swing at him just for uttering your name.

Scara looks back at you, sighing audibly, he still looks mad but his voice softens as he responds to you…

“Y/n… Im not gonna do that, anyway… I’m sure you can think of some creative way from those crime shows you watch…”

He was getting closer to you, like he was trying to persuade you, using his charm at you despite the situation.

“Cant you see y/n… I’ll do anything for you… Please just give me something… Just point a weapon at least…”

He sat back on the floor next to you, He’s now buried his head in your neck.

“I can’t just…”

You hesitantly said, scared to say the rest of your sentence or you’ll get shutdown again.

Scaramouche grabs you by your waist now looking down at you.

“y/n it’s inevitable…. Let it go… Let it happen”

With much guilt…. You look at the floor full of weapons… And point at the small pocket knife

He looks over, and he sighs looking back at you.

“What would you be without me…”

He smiles and kisses your cheek softly and affectionately, and gets up and off of you and goes over to pick it up, though it seems he missed it… Instead picking up the axe right next to it.

“S-Scara please hold on…”

“I love you y/n… I want you to watch please”

Scaramouche smiles. now walking next to the guy tied to the chair, smiling from ear to ear, just happy that your there.

“Are you ready shitface?, all that work for nothing… she was never gonna choose your weird body built self.”

Scaramouche presses the axe onto his arm, just giving him a scratch, deep enough to draw blood, giving a teaser of what he’s about to get.

“fuck you!! and fuck you y/n!!!”

the guy yells and screams. Slowly scara fully gets back, and plunges the man in the chest with the axe… by throwing it…

“ACK-“

the guy immediately coughing up blood.

The blood spattered everywhere, blood dripping from his chest…. The axe must i’ve not hit his heart yet… Since he’s still full on screaming, but now grasping onto life…

You were shocked… This is new to you so you were processing everything slowly, but everything was happening fast, you just now registering the fact you can see the insides of his chest, his ribs showing also omfg…

“o-oh my FUCKING GOD SCARAMOUCHE??”

(You start to crawl back the edge of the bed.)

The poor guy continues screaming, and he begins to have a seizure, the poor sight of seeing foam and blood come out his mouth, it’s traumatizing to watch. Scaramouche quickly goes to get another weapon, that small knife you actually chose, and comes over and slices his throat to cut off his vocal cords, but then continuing to cut through, likes he’s trying to cut off his head, ultimately the guy dies…

YES you were crying a little, you were scared as FUCK. You try your best not to look at the now dead man, seeing he had an axe through his chest, and his head now being held off his neck… Like it would drop his head due to the pressure of it being on its side… Blood being splattered everywhere even on you and especially scaramouche… It’s just something your not used to… You were shaking so much.

“y/n…. This makes me so happy”

He finally turns away from the man, Scaramouche looks like he relieved…? Much more calmer, you were surprised by his reaction initially just staring at him, emotions everywhere and overthinking.

He comes up to where you sitting, though you back away from him scared of him, pushing him away with your hands*

Scaramouche tilts his head confused.

“Y/n…? No no don’t look away.”

He gets closer and pulls your arms towards him, and tilts your head up to look at him. By this point your back is against the wall, while scaramouche is inching more in front of you.

“Are you also happy mya? Your free now…”

He looks at you now caressing your face looking at you affectionately.

You try to look away from the blood… Splattered on his face. Only for scara to force your chin back to him. Feeling the smudge of blood on his hands on your chin and cheek.

“mya we can focus on just us now… Now there’s nothing holding you back, I can have you…

He sighs like a big bolder just got off his shoulder and puts his face in your neck, sniffing you like a pervert.

“I- I don’t wanna be in here… Scara… It’s creepy in here…” you say in a very low low tone, this did affect you a little

Scaramouche doesn’t move from your neck.

(“Do you like your new clothes, I picked them myself… I think it suits you…”

Scara taking the time to appreciate the lingerie and nightgown he had put on you..

he sighs.)

“All this work just to make you happy Y/n…. It’s fine because it’s worth it… I’ll be back”

He goes to the drawer and grabs a syringe

“this will prick your neck a little…”

he suddenly kisses you softly as he then puts it in your neck… soon you fall asleep to remember the rest….

____ part two soon, im still not done w it but there will be smut

#kunikuzushi x reader #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche genshin impact #wanderer genshin #murder #dark #scary #tw kidnapping #drugged

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mizutsugi · 3 days ago

Text

have yourself a merry little christmas... ❅ (spn x reader)

↳ synopsis: you and castiel wanted to give sam and dean a normal christmas for once and surprise them with a classic, proper celebration- tree and all!

↳word count: 2,199

↳cw: fluffy fluffy fluff! gn reader, not proof read!

You had been living in the bunker with the Winchesters for just about a year since your first hunt with them, and you had grown used to the fact that your lives were not even remotely conventional. You were on the road every other day, and you often ate at shitty diners and slept in even shittier motels. When you were at the bunker, though, you tried to make the most of it and live as semi-normal humans. You and Sam cooked (Dean had given up when he burnt a grilled cheese), and you tried to make your house feel more like a home. You all had missed out on Thanksgiving since you were out on a hunt in Montana, but you knew you’d be home tomorrow for Christmas, and you wanted to make it special. You knew the boys had never really had a proper Christmas and it broke your heart. You knew it was a bit of a sore spot for the both of them, and that they were used to sleeping on a boxy bed with Chinese takeout for dinner, watching the NFL channel all day. While that became a tradition in of itself, you wanted to give them something more substantial and, frankly, less depressing.

You had convinced them to go out and get some groceries and lunch, keeping them out of the house for a few hours so you could decorate. You woke up Christmas Eve with a big smile on your face, knowing your plan was in motion when you peeked in the garage and saw the Impala missing. You had slowly built a collection of decorations in your room, having to hide them since Dean had insisted it wasn’t a big deal and he’d rather not make a big “hub-bub” over the holiday. You had started to make your way around the entrance and living room, hanging string and holly all over the walls and stairs. You had your favorite Christmas playlist on from your speaker, occasionally humming along with the songs as you decked the bunker out with silver tinsel and little glitter-dusted stems of pine. You adorned the ends of the stairs with big velvet bows, and just as you began to drape a big red and green runner over the map table, you heard a slight flap of wings behind you and a big thud sound as a box hit the floor. You smiled and turned around to see Castiel in his usual trench coat and tie, looking around the room and admiring your handiwork so far.

“Thank you so much, Cas.” You said. He had picked up a fake tree for you from the store and brought it over, since it was something you didn’t have the time to do yourself.

“You’re welcome. The decorations look very, uhm…”

You laughed, lightly placing a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “ ‘S okay Cas, you don’t have to lie. It’s tacky, I know.”

“I was going to say,” He paused, looking for the right word, “...Nice. It looks nice.”

You smiled, even though his eyes were slightly squinted with furrowed brows. “Thank you. Again.” You gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before kneeling down, opening the large rectangular box and beginning to pull the stem of the tree out. Castiel went to the other end of the box and pulled, allowing you to yank the rest of the tree out and onto the floor, fake pine needles littering the tile. You and Cas began to assemble the tree, propping the whole thing up on a base and admiring the completed product- nearly your size.

You grabbed a box from nearby and placed it on the table, pulling out a small box of lights and ornaments. You and Cas began to decorate the tree, wrapping the lights tightly around each limb and gently placing ornaments you had picked out around each branch.

“Is it weird celebrating Christmas? As an angel, I mean?” You asked, watching as the taller hung a santa-hat-wearing Snoopy ornament near the top of the tree.

“Seeing as Jesus was born in September, and Christmas as you humans celebrate it is just glamorized commercialization… Yes, it is a bit odd. ” He responded, reaching for another decoration. You smiled, placing your final ornament before stepping back.

“Awe man, you don’t buy each other angel Xboxes and bake heavenly sugar cookies?” You smiled, watching him as he placed another red bulb on the tree.

“No, we do not do that.” He answered, semi-humorously as he completed his job, too. You both stood back and admired the tree, watching each colorful bulb glisten under the assortment of cute and classy ornaments. You smiled widely, reminded of all the Christmases you had growing up and the pride you had as a little kid when you got the “good job” from your parents.

“Want to help me with the food? Sam and Dean can put the star on when they get back.” You gestured towards the kitchen, where you already had all the ingredients laid out and ready to go. Cas nodded, and the two of you made your way to the kitchen to cook. Castiel wasn’t the best at cooking, since he really didn’t need to eat, but he still was able to help chop things and mix. For the next hour, you and him were glazing and cooking a honeyed ham, making mashed potatoes and green beans for the side. You made a brie and cranberry crescent roll wreath you remember having every year growing up, smiling fondly as you placed the lightly glazed pastry into the oven. Cas and you made small talk, as he asked you about your family traditions and you explained. He asked about Christmas movies, and you gasped when he said he hadn’t seen Love, Actually. It wasn’t even your favorite… but still.

Just as you pulled the ham out of the oven, you heard the doorknob upstairs turn, with heavy footsteps sounding in pairs from the foyer.

“Holy…” You heard Dean exclaim, as you ran as fast as you could out of the kitchen and into the living room to see Sam and Dean, grocery bags in hand, looking around in shock.

“Merry Christmas!” You beamed, running up the stairs to help them unpack. Sam looked around with hesitant eyes, and for a minute you were scared. You knew this was a weird day for him- one that was often disappointing- and one he wasn’t incredibly keen on celebrating. You took the paper bags from his hands, watching with caution as his dark green eyes dragged across the room.

“Do you uhm… like it?” You asked, suddenly self conscious. You really hope you weren’t drudging up any memories…

“It’s great Y/N.” Sam smiled looking down at you with soft eyes that single-handedly soothed your worries. He bent down and gave you a light hug, paper bags crinkling between the embrace. You leaned into him since you coultdn’ wrap your hands around him. As you pulled away, you saw Dean shrug off his leather jacket and hang it on the coat rack, shaking his head in disbelief at the festive decor.

“You threw us a surprise Christmas?” He asked, smirking with his eyebrow cocked. You nodded, and he patted your shoulder, giving you a sincere smile before making his way down the stairs, where Castiel was watching the interaction.

“Don’t just stand there like a weirdo,” Dean punched Cas’ arm lightheartedly, “Did you help with this?”

“Yes.” Cas answered shortly, feeling a bit out of place.

“Well it’s pretty awesome. You guys went full deck-the-halls on this place.” He looked around, feeling relaxed despite his original objection to the whole thing. Usually he was the one who had to make Christmas special, so when someone else had done it for him, it was nice to just take it all in.

“Get settled at the table, the food’s ready.” You said, rushing back to the kitchen to begin bringing out the food. At some point while it was cooking, you had placed utensils and golden plate chargers across the table on top of red table mats. Maybe you had thrifted them and they had seen better days, but it was still a nice gesture and looked pretty classy. The boys took their places at the table, glasses of spiked eggnog already on the table for them. They felt a little awkward getting table service from you and Cas, but nevertheless got comfortable as the meal started coming together. You and Cas crossed back and forth from the kitchen a few times, bringing out a basket of rolls and all the sides to go with the ham. You brought it out on a big platter, perfectly golden skin glistening under the light. You placed it down in the middle of the table, taking a moment to catch your breath before sitting next to Cas. Sam and Dean admired the spread in front of them, starting to reach for their food.

“It’s enough to make a man cry.” Dean stated, loading his plate with mashed potatoes. You laughed, watching them build their plates before doing the same for yourself. Cas even took a bit to fit in. You all dug in, talking about recent missions, favorite Christmas songs (Dean’s was All I Want For Christmas and Sam’s was Happy Xmas (War is Over)), and arguing about if the concept of mall Santas is creepy or not. Once you finished your meals, you looked towards the tree, gesturing to it with a nod of your head.

“I left the star for you guys to put on.” You got up, tucking your chair into the table before making your way to the tree, pulling a large silver star topper out of a nearby box and holding it up. Sam and Dean looked at each other before looking back at you and the tree, slowly getting up from their spots. Cas got up too, and they all made their way over.

“That’s nice, thank you Y/N.” Dean smiled, looking between you, Sam, and the star.

“You guys can put it up together or something. I don’t know, just do, like, a cute brother bonding thing.” You said, handing the star over to Sam. The two looked at each other and shrugged before taking an end each and lifting the hefty silver star to the top of the tree. They placed it gingerly over the plastic limb that jutted out to the roof, steadying it so that it wouldn’t topple over. They stepped back and both grinned, admiring the fully finished tree.

“There’s a few gifts under there for you, too… from Santa.” You smiled. “You too, Cas.” You turned to Castiel, watching his face slightly tilt to look at the colorfully wrapped gifts.

“Aww man… this is too nice.” Dean said, descending downward to grab his gifts, shaking his head.

“You really didn’t have to do all this.” Sam said, feeling shy to accept his presents. Dean passed them up to him anyway, also passing a few boxes to Castiel, who held them in his hands like a detonated bomb, feeling equally as shy.

“It’s Christmas! Hunters or not, we should be able to celebrate.” You shrugged. They all stood around you awkwardly, looking at their respective gifts in silence.

“Oh my god, just open them already!” You groaned. Sam and Dean laughed before beginning to unwrap their presents. You got Sam a new leather journal to replace his old beat up and filled one, as well as a new burlap sweater in a nice maroon color. Dean got a pine-y cologne that he said he liked in passing, and a new set of accessory rings- it was your subtle way of saying he should start wearing jewelry… he said he’ll “work on it.” You got Castiel a new tie, if he wanted to replace his old one, and a DVD player with a few of your favorite movies so he could catch up on some more classics without Dean shoving old spaghetti westerns down his throat 24/7.

“We got you something, too.” Sam said, looking to Dean who got up to retrieve a paper bag they had somehow managed to hide while you helped them unpack the groceries earlier. He handed you the bag, and you dug through crumpled up newspaper to find a few of your favorite snacks and a plushie of a cat with a big yellow bow around its neck. You smiled, holding it to your chest and squeezing.

“Thank you guys, I love it!” You said, cracking open the chocolate bar they got you and taking a small bite.

“It’s not nearly on the same level, and it’s kinda all we could find at the store, but…” Dean said, before you cut him off.

“It’s perfect.” You held the plushie firmly in your hands before giving them each a hug. “Now, can we get shitfaced and watch the Hallmark channel?”

“Uhm, yeah.” Sam laughed, the four of you making you way to the TV in Sam’s room and gathering around the bed to finish the night with some terrible holiday movies and a bottle of whiskey.

↳a/n: merry christmas and happy holidays lovelies!! <3 please ignore this is technically being posted on the 26th... let's all pretend it's still christmas. anyways, hope everyone had/is having an amazing holiday break and enjoy my fluffy little jot. i rewatched the christmas episode of spn and i literally cried... sam and dean deserve a nice normal holiday for once :(

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