#and of course it could change at a moments notice...

[little-jana]

"Good Girl"

Pairing: postprison!Spencer Reid x reader

Genre: steamy, 18+, fluff, no smut

Warnings: kissing, Spencer calling reader a good girl

Words: 3.4k

Summary: Spencer giving Reader a lot of compliments and one of them makes her blush a lot.

Spencer had been different since prison. Not entirely in ways the team would notice—he still rattled off statistics, quoted obscure literature, and beat everyone at chess. But when you’d known someone as deeply as I knew Spencer, even subtle shifts felt monumental. He was sharper now, his edges honed by experiences no one should have endured. But when it was just the two of us, in those quiet, stolen moments, he softened.

That’s why I stayed by his side tonight instead of joining the team for drinks. Spencer had waved off the invitation, saying he needed a quiet night, and when I hesitated to leave him alone, he’d asked me to stay. It wasn’t much—a shared meal and a chess game in his small apartment—but to me, it felt like everything.

“I can’t tell if you’re planning your next move or plotting my demise,” Spencer said, leaning back in his chair as he watched me.

“I can do both,” I said lightly, though the truth was, I’d been staring at the board for so long because I had no idea what to do.

He smirked, tilting his head slightly. “You’re stalling.”

“I’m thinking,” I corrected.

“You’ve been ‘thinking’ for six minutes and thirty-two seconds.”

“Are you timing me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, but I glanced at the clock when you stopped moving your hand after your last turn.”

“Of course you did,” I muttered, my eyes flicking back to the board. “Not all of us have an IQ of 187, you know.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. The soft light from the lamp behind him highlighted the sharp planes of his face, and for a second, I forgot what we were talking about.

“You’re better than you think,” he said, his voice low.

“Better at chess, or better in general?” I quipped, trying to deflect the heat rising in my cheeks.

Spencer didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied me, his hazel eyes unblinking and intent.

“Both,” he said simply.

My heart skipped a beat, but I forced myself to focus. This was just Spencer being Spencer—kind and honest to a fault. It didn’t mean anything. Not really.

Finally, I made a move, sliding my bishop into place. I looked up at him triumphantly. “Your turn, genius.”

Spencer’s eyes flicked to the board, and he moved his queen with a casual grace that made my stomach sink. “Checkmate,” he said softly.

“What?” I leaned forward, scanning the board. He was right. Of course he was right.

“How?” I groaned, sitting back in my chair. “I was so careful!”

“That was a good game,” he said, his tone genuine. “You lasted longer than usual.”

I rolled my eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

“No, really,” he insisted. “Your defense has improved. That last move was smart.”

“Then how did I still lose?”

His lips quirked into a smile. “Because I’ve been playing chess since I was four, and you’ve only been playing for—”

“Three months,” I finished for him.

“Exactly,” he said, his smile widening. “But you’re learning fast. Good girl.”

The words hit me like a freight train. My cheeks burned, and I ducked my head, pretending to fiddle with the edge of the table.

“Something wrong?” Spencer asked, his voice tinged with concern.

“No,” I said quickly, my voice higher than usual. “I’m fine.”

“You’re blushing,” he observed, tilting his head.

“I’m not,” I lied, even though I could feel the heat spreading down my neck.

His lips twitched, like he was fighting a smile. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m not lying,” I said weakly, avoiding his gaze.

“Hmm,” he hummed, his tone teasing now.

Desperate to change the subject, I stood and grabbed the empty takeout containers from the coffee table. “I’m going to clean this up.”

Spencer followed me into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as I tossed the containers into the trash. His presence was a tangible thing, and I could feel his eyes on me as I wiped down the counter.

“Good,” he said softly.

I turned to face him, confused. “Good what?”

“Good technique,” he said, nodding toward the counter.

My cheeks flamed again. “Are you just saying that to mess with me?”

“No,” he said, his expression softening. “I mean it. You’re good at a lot of things, but you never give yourself credit.”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. “I think you’re overestimating me,” I said quietly.

Spencer stepped closer, his gaze never leaving mine. “No, I’m not,” he said firmly. “You’re smart, capable, and one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. You’re… amazing.”

My breath caught in my throat. The sincerity in his voice, the intensity in his eyes—it was overwhelming.

“Spencer…” I trailed off, unsure of what to say.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against mine. The touch was so gentle, so careful, it made my chest ache. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

I shook my head slightly. “It’s not that… I just don’t see myself the way you do.”

His brows furrowed, and he tilted his head slightly. “You should. Because I’m not wrong.”

The silence between us stretched, thick with unspoken words. I felt like I was standing on the edge of something, and for once, I wasn’t afraid to fall.

“You’re doing it again,” he said softly.

“Doing what?”

“Doubting yourself,” he said, his voice laced with a quiet kind of sadness.

I opened my mouth to argue, but the look on his face stopped me.

“You’re a good girl,” he said, his voice low and steady. “You just don’t know it yet.”

My cheeks burned, and I looked down, unable to meet his gaze.

“Hey,” he said gently, tilting my chin up with his finger. “Don’t hide from me.”

“I’m not hiding,” I whispered, though the words felt hollow.

“Yes, you are,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “And you don’t have to.��

Before I could overthink it, I stepped closer, closing the small distance between us. “Spencer…”

“Yes?”

I hesitated, my heart hammering in my chest. But then his eyes softened, and I knew. I knew he would catch me if I fell.

“I want to kiss you,” I said, my voice barely audible.

Spencer's lips curved into a small, surprised smile. “You do?”

I nodded, my cheeks flaming. “Is that… okay?”

His eyes softened, a mixture of surprise and something deeper—something that made my heart race. “It’s more than okay,” he said quietly.

I barely had time to process his words before his hand cupped my cheek, his fingers feather-light against my skin. He was so close now, his breath warm against my lips. For a moment, we just stood there, suspended in time.

And then he kissed me.

The world fell away.

It started soft, tentative—like he was afraid I’d disappear if he moved too quickly. His lips brushed against mine once, twice, each touch careful and reverent. It was everything I hadn’t dared to hope for: tender, consuming, perfect.

But then I leaned in, my fingers clutching at the front of his cardigan, and something shifted. The kiss deepened, and Spencer’s hand slid from my cheek to the back of my neck, pulling me closer. His other hand rested lightly on my waist, steadying me as my knees threatened to give out beneath me.

The softness gave way to something bolder, more urgent. His lips moved against mine with a fervor that left me breathless, and I couldn’t stop the small gasp that escaped me. Spencer stilled for a fraction of a second, as if startled by the sound, but then his grip tightened ever so slightly, and I was lost all over again.

He tasted like peppermint tea and something uniquely Spencer, and I never wanted it to end.

When we finally pulled apart, I was dizzy, my head spinning in the best way possible. Spencer rested his forehead against mine, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts.

“That was…” He trailed off, his voice unsteady.

“Amazing,” I finished for him, my voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and intimate in the quiet of his apartment. “Yeah. Amazing.”

My cheeks flushed, but this time it wasn’t from embarrassment—it was from the way he was looking at me, like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admitted, his voice low.

“Really?” I asked, my heart swelling at the thought.

He nodded, a small, shy smile playing at his lips. “But I didn’t think you felt the same way.”

“Spencer,” I said, shaking my head with a soft laugh. “How could I not? You’re… you.”

His brow furrowed slightly, like he was trying to puzzle out my words. “I’m not always good at recognizing when people care about me,” he said quietly.

“Well, I care,” I said firmly, my hand still clutching the front of his cardigan. “A lot.”

He smiled then, a real, unguarded smile that made my chest ache in the best way. “I care about you too,” he said softly.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air between us was thick with unspoken promises, the kind that didn’t need words to be understood.

Spencer’s hand slid from my waist to my hand, his fingers curling around mine. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

I looked away, flustered. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” he said, tugging me closer. “You’re smart, kind, and strong. And you’re a good girl.”

There it was again, the phrase that sent my heart into overdrive. My cheeks burned, and I bit my lip, trying to suppress the shy smile threatening to break free.

“You really like saying that, don’t you?” I teased, though my voice came out softer than I intended.

“Only because it’s true,” he said, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.

The sincerity in his voice, the way he was looking at me—I couldn’t take it. I hid my face in his chest, my fingers curling into the fabric of his cardigan.

“You’re impossible,” I mumbled against him, though my tone lacked any real heat.

“And you’re adorable when you’re flustered,” he replied, his voice filled with gentle amusement.

I tilted my head up to look at him, narrowing my eyes in mock indignation. “You’re lucky I like you.”

His smile widened, and he leaned down to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “I’m the lucky one.”

---

After we settled onto the couch, Spencer pulled a blanket over us, his arm draped around my shoulders as I rested my head against his chest. The quiet hum of the world outside seemed so far away, replaced by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“Spencer?” I asked softly, my voice breaking the comfortable silence.

“Hmm?”

“This is real, right?” I tilted my head to look up at him, my eyes searching his face for any hint of hesitation.

He glanced down at me, his brows furrowing slightly. “Of course it’s real. Why would you think it’s not?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, my cheeks flushing. “It just feels… too good to be true.”

Spencer’s hand came up to cradle my face, his thumb brushing lightly over my cheek. “It’s real,” he said firmly. “I’m real. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them away, focusing instead on the warmth in his gaze. “Promise?”

“I promise,” he said softly, pressing another kiss to my forehead.

And in that moment, with his arms around me and his words echoing in my heart, I believed him.

[2crtz]

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ TEMPTATIONS, DESIRES, AND IMPULSE.

CHARACTERS: capitano x f!readers

WARNINGS: mdni. arranged marriage. virgin reader. breast fondling. capitano has a big dick. probably ooc capitano. SYNOPSIS: after your recovery, you expected your relationship to change with your husband. however, it changed into something you could only dream of.

WORD COUNT:  2.830 A/N: i haven't written smut in so long so i hope i don't disappoint. this is part two. can be read as a standalone but i highly recommend reading part one.

Months have passed since the initial injury. Improvements have been made in your footing, yet not in your marriage. Capitano had been nothing but helpful during your recovery, but since healing, he's gone back to being distant.

You worried that you had said something wrong or been too demanding in your requests.

Maybe I've asked for an abundance of food or denied his company.

No matter the case, you prayed that things will be smooth sailing from there, but the gods did not answer you.

Capitano sat in his office most days, buried in work from the Tsarista. He never has a moments rest. Recently, he was sent off in Inazuma to aid a comrade whom lost an ancient relic. You have never seen a person's seething attitude fill up a room like his.

During his absents, you devoted your time in maintaining the garden, vigorously cleaning its stones and tending it with care. The garden became a safe haven, a place where you could run off to and soak in its beauty.

And when your husband came back from his travels, he headed straight to his office.

You never understood the allure of his office. Why did he choose it as his refuge instead of the comfort of his chambers? Lacking the courage to step foot into that space, its secrets remained a mystery.

────

Capitano looked out the grand window and viewed the meticulously tended garden. A stir of frustration flickered in him as he realized you have pushed yourself to keep the grounds beautiful, despite recovering.

Even if it had been months since the fall.

Yet, with a pained feeling in his heart, he found himself battling the tides of thoughts. Months have slipped passed-- months spent avoiding your presence, months where he sought refuge to his calloused, rough hands. Still, those vivid images of you lingered in his mind, taunting him.

Capitano considered himself a coward for succumbing to lustful thought of his wife. The flame of carnal desires coursed through his veins, causing it to be exceedingly difficult to maintain and keep his composure whenever he is near your being.

However, we he did find the courage, one look into those bright and pure eyes, his mind betrayed him and he found himself avoiding you once again.

It wasn't until a knock on his office door rang him out of his thoughts.

Never once have you shown a passing interest in Capitano's line of work, nor dared to interrupted him during his paper work. So why was this evening unlike any other?

As Capitano rose from his chair and opened the heavy wooden door, his eyes fell on you holding up a silver tray of dinner you prepared earlier.

Once realizing the time, he undoubtedly missed dinnertime.

Capitano side-stepped to allow you into his office and you took a long look around. It wasn't anything you expected.

Towering bookshelves reaching up to the heavens, a grand window that bathed the room in a soft light from the setting sun, and his desk sitting adjacent to the window, giving his access to view the garden.

You understood why he spent his time in here.

As you deliberated where to put his dinner, you noticed the lack of space on his desk from the overwhelming amount of papers. Noticing your trouble, Capitano silently collected his documents and neatly gathered them to one side to make room for you.

"You need not to trouble yourself with bringing my food here," Capitano eyes gazing upon the meal you have prepared. Not understanding why you went through the lengths, he could not suppress the appreciation sprouting within him.

"It is no problem at all." you replied softly, placing the tray down with care. It took every ounce of power within you to conceal the tremor in your tone, aching to reveal itself.

There you stood, in a delicate light blue nightgown barely reaching below your knees. A picture of a woman prepared for bed. And there, a familiar peak poked through the thin fabric, teasing and taunting Capitano once again.

He swallowed quietly, avoiding your gaze and instead looked down at his food. To him, you looked far more delicious than the meal. Your presence igniting a hunger he could not simply fill.

"Thank you."

In your head, that was your cue to leave, but when Capitano handed a piece of silverware, his unspoken invitation sent a flutter through your stomach.

For the first time, you were having dinner with your husband.

────

The grass felt soft beneath your fingertips. A blanket of feathers could not compare to how the garden comforted you. While you wished you could spend time with your husband here, he was simply too occupied with work.

Again, only a prayer would give you a smidge of hope.

A prayer indeed.

Your eyes grew heavy as the beaming sun hit the peaks of your face. A soft breath exhaled through your lips while your arms outstretched onto the soft ground.

"It is not clean for you to lay on the ground." A deep voice spoke above you.

Opening your eyes to a man whom never showed his face nor allowed himself to be vulnerable before others. There he was, bent down with his hands resting on his knees, your husband, was in the garden. With you.

The scene before you exposed a shock in your core, and in an instant, you shot upright sitting up in a sharp motion.

Noticing your sudden movement, a low chuckle erupted deep within his thick, metal armor.

The sound was an unfamiliar sound in your ears.

"Would you like company?" he asked.

Perhaps the heavens have heard your prayers, waiting until this moment. You have longed nothing more than to spend time with your husband, even if his heart remained distant and shown no affection or serenaded you with tender words.

You quickly nodded, a gentle, but faint, smile stretching your lips, and patted on the space beside you.

Silence hung in the air for a moment before Capitano decided to speak first, his tone laced with genuine curiosity. "You spend most of your time here. Why is that?" he held your gaze.

"I enjoy the sun." you replied. While his eyes remained hidden, you imagined the way they might look, perhaps softening as you answered.

"I cannot help but wonder why, out of all the time we have been married, you choose now to come into the gardens." you felt your body involuntarily moving closer to his. "Are the orders of the Tsaritsa too much to bear?"

Capitano took a moment before replying. "Since I am away most days, and soon will embark on another mission, I suppose I wanted a moment to escape from reality." He took a pregnant pause.

"I want you to be my reprieve from the demands of my work, my anchor." his tone had a humorous tone hidden, though he was being honest. "But before I place such a burden on you, I must get to know my wife."

A laugh escaped between your lips. It was sudden, but not unwanted. "It is strange how we are married but complete strangers."

"Life has other plans." Capitano looked off into the distance, onto the lush horizon. "Ones that betray our dreams."

There was something you've always wondered about your husband. What was underneath that helmet of his? Did he look like a troll? A disfigured man? Or a scarred, damaged face?

"If you don't mind me asking," Capitano's attention turned towards you. "may I know what you look like?" you asked.

Curiosity flickered in your eyes, a look so earnest that Capitano could not refuse. And slowly, he removed his steel helmet, revealing his face.

A soft gasp freed itself from your lips, eyes settling on his face. It was neither mangled nor deformed, but a strikingly beautiful one that was half in black. Could this be the rumors of the decay?

You've heard tales about the brave Capitano's face, but none prepared you for what sights you might see.

As if on command, you hand reached out to touch the void-like black decay that marred his visage. It felt like skin, but didn't all at once. Your eyes soaking in the image of his face, his skin, his eyes. A piercing, bright pale blue color glowing beside the darkness that engulfed him.

Only one word could muster out your lips. "Breathtaking."

Your touch igniting fire within Capitano, coursing through his veins, setting his entire being ablaze. He found himself vulnerable without his helmet, but could not help but lean into your touch for warmth.

A new sensation awoke in Capitano. So foreign, so raw it threated to consume him whole. One that can only be described as love. A feeling so intense it burn holes in his heart.

For the first time, after all this time his gaze stayed hidden, you could finally meet his eyes.

Like an impulse eating him alive, from how your gaze held his, Capitano felt his being leaning towards yours like a magnet, closing the distance, and capturing your lips with him.

You felt your heart beating out of the confines of your chest. The sudden kiss had your mind running laps, but once reality settled in, you could finally relax into the kiss.

His hand reached behind your head and gripped softly onto your hair. Capitano felt his groin on fire, attempting to break free from his trousers.

As the kiss became intense and heavy, he broke the kiss before it went further.

"Tell me when to stop and I'll stop." A string of saliva that connect you broke and you stared into his heavy-lidded eyes.

"Don't stop."

Those two words were enough for Capitano to gather you into his arms and walk into your shared chambers. It was the first time you've truly been in this room together, and in this moment, was the perfect time to break it in.

Your heart pounded more vigorously as he laid you onto the bed, his hands steady yet deliberate. His movements were agonizingly slow, each motion a taunt to tease you as he unbuttoned his shirt. With each button undone, more of his sculpted torso was reveal. An ache began to appear between your legs.

The black decay reached even below his neck, following down inside his trousers.

Capitano's shirt throw carelessly as he lowered back down to you, seizing your lips once again and his hands searching your body. Rough hands that squeezed each part of your body, acting as his anchor, resistance, before grabbing hold of your intimate parts.

What Capitano didn't know, was that you were impatient. Your hand collect his black hair and gripped it tightly, asking for more.

Once receiving your silent request, his hands reached up to your breasts where he felt your harden nipples. Ones whom taunted him were now in his hold.

With his free hand, he lifted your nightgown. There, your bare body was exposed beneath his eyes.

"You are truly," his lips connected of your bare stomach, then reaching up to your neck, until he finally reached your lips. "flawless." his pitch went down a decibel, still holding a sultry tone.

If that didn't cause you to die on the spot, nothing will. Not even a spear through the chest.

Your heart burst into millions of particles and still, you were growing impatient for his touch, needy for him.

While he littered your breast with kisses, a hard object pressed itself against your core, sending volts of electricity through your body. A soft moan escape from your lips.

"You like that?" his voice low and breathing spreading across your body like a wildfire.

You absolutely loved it. You wanted, no, needed more.

Understanding your silent response, he pressed himself harder onto you, causing you to shift in your spot. "Please," you pleaded quietly.

"Please what?"

"Please touch me. Please, Capitano." finding your voice was a difficult task, but you needed the touch only your husband could provide.

Hearing his name from your mouth started the gears in Capitano's head. His cock was begging to be freed. It craved to be sunk into you.

A guttural groan formed within his throat and he wanted nothing more but to please you. His hands fiddled with his pants, fumbling with the button before completely tearing them off his being.

Capitano was known for being a patient man, but it all dissipated within seconds.

When your eyes landed on his cock, his sized terrified you, intimating you. Nowhere in that innocent mind of yours could fathom the thought of his whole length fitting inside you.

"I'm sorry, darling, but I am being impatient." Capitano apologized before he touched you.

You didn't care. You wanted be touched by him and only him.

Before he could fuck you relentlessly, he needed to prepare you. The leather gloves were quickly removed from his hand and his fingers grazed your wet cunt.

You relaxed against his touch, enjoying the delicate movements of his digits. When inserted a finger, your teeth captured your lips. You've never experimented with yourself, not understanding what to do, however, you wish you had.

Euphoria had unleashed and your body reacted with Capitano's fingers.

It wasn't until the second finger stretched you out when you felt the pain course through you. It was a sudden shock that hastily turned into pleasure.

As Capitano deemed you ready, he retrieved his fingers, leaving you empty, but lined his cock straight to you. It started with his tip then he slowly slid in.

He watched the expression on your face, ready to pause when it becomes overwhelming for you. And it was. The foreign object forcing it's way into you caused a rippling feeling, too much for you to handle.

"Is it too much for you, my dear?" his eyes holding so many emotions within them-- worry, lust, and care. Your hands reached up to hold his head.

"I can handle it." you reassured him.

Capitano loved your touch, and without missing a beat, he began moving into you until his length disappear in you, bottoming out. His fantasies being buried in you were no longer dreams. Finally, they were reality.

Sweat coated his forehead as he thrusted slowly, pacing himself to ensure you were comfortable.

Your moans echoed throughout the room, reverberating against the walls and back into Capitano's ears. His appetite was not clenched yet. His pace picked up, his hips moving sloppy.

Warm arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down until his face was buried into the crook of your neck. His moans spread through the hollow of your collar.

The feeling of his cock rubbing every inch of your cunt had you mind in a daze. Your breathing labored, trying to find your breath as he took every ounce of air out your lungs.

"Capi-- Capitano!"

He finally found the sweet spot he'd been searching for. His arm picking your leg up to gain more access within you, picking up the pace until you become a disheveled mess.

Holding a tight grip around his hair, you couldn't allow him to free himself from you.

His nails dug deep into your flesh, anchoring you to stay in place as he pounded harder. "You are the definition of perfection," he spoke into your neck. "One only I can turn into a mess."

Your leg begun to shake from the building release. It was becoming too much. Your body was ready to fully shutdown, but you were too cock-drunk.

Feeling your body, Capitano was damn near to spilling his cum into you, filling you up.

"You're close." he felt it. You were tightening around him, suffocating him. "Come on, darling, let it all out."

Like on command, your body sputtered and shook, releasing all over him. Your breathing was heavy, working overtime to get a full breath of air.

Capitano spilt all in you, filling you to the brim with his cum. He rode out his high, leaving himself in you to watch your face.

Your face was one he could never forget. The image branded itself onto his memory, a scene he refuse to get over.

The sweat coating your face made you glow under the soft light from the window. Capitano noticed a tear running down your face. Not from sadness or pain, but pleasure.

His thumb ran across your cheek to wipe it.

Before he could utter a word, his body collapsed on yours.

You couldn't help but to laugh. It was soft, yet came from the chest. "You are something."

"I hope only good." his arms wrapped around your torso, holding you closer to his body.

"Far better than good." your looked straight into his eyes. "You are remarkable. Something I only see in my dreams."

Capitano smiled before lowering his head back down into your neck.

"You no longer have to dream, my dear. I am now your reality."

do not edit, modify, or republish.

[chanranghaeys]

🥂 a tale of two lonely souls

pairing: idol!minghao x gn!bar owner!reader word count: 1.4k+ genre: fluff rating: pg tags: christmas fic, open ending, meet cute in a bar, yes it’s yet another slice of life from me, minghao is cocky as always but you’ll love it bc reader will make minghao realize he’s found his match at cockiness warnings: alcohol, drinking, mentions of multi-race parents, reader owns a bar in this setting a/n: i’m so honored to be part of @camandemstudios’ A Very Seventeen Christmas Secret Santa event for this year and surprise @ylangelegy, i’m your secret santa! 🥳 bless u kae, here’s a little gift for you for making me feel so many things this year bc of your fics ���� merry christmas and happy holidays to y’all!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“All alone on Christmas Day?”

The hooded figure at the bar looked up from their phone. You notice their fingernails painted in shades and lines of black and glitter that glinted under the lights. When the figure pulled down their hood and face mask, you realize that the man looked startlingly familiar. You just couldn’t place from where…

“Maybe,” he replied. A slight smile graced his features, a welcome warmth from his initially cold aura.

“Well, that makes the two of us alone on Christmas.” The place was empty, save for two tables with a few customers—one large group, two duos, and this man on the bar counter.

It was a few hours before the end of Christmas Eve, and this recently opened Asian fusion bar had yet to welcome its throng of guests. In hindsight, maybe setting it up in a more secluded area of Itaewon wasn’t the best decision.

“If that's the case then maybe we’re not alone.” He gestures his finger between the two of you. You roll your eyes at the attempt to lighten the mood.

“It’s okay. I’m used to it.”

“Used to what?” He tilts his head curiously.

“Being alone.”

“Why not change it then?” He steeples his hands and rests his chin on them, his eyes studying yours as if trying to decipher a puzzle—as if he was used to analyzing people quietly.

It was unsettling…but you liked the challenge.

“Well, why don’t you change?” You counter back at him.

“Change what?”

“You being alone.”

He snickers. “Why don’t you get me something to drink first?”

“Alright, Mr. Bossy,” you say with a raised eyebrow and a matching smirk. “What are you having?”

“I heard you have Kweichow Maotai. That’s the only reason why I’m here.”

Interesting. He’s a man of taste. The way the Chinese syllables easily rolled off his tongue gave you further evidence of his identity—you just needed one more clue.

Without a word, you turn to face the wall of bottles to find the spirit you’re looking for. But before reaching for the iconic white-and-red bottle, you stop yourself.

“You know what, it’s Christmas.” You turn back to him with a smile. “I’ll get you something special.”

You return with another bottle of Maotai—but he instantly recognizes the difference from the one at the bar. His eyes widened the moment you came in holding the gold bottle tied with a red ribbon.

“No way you have that.” He marveled at the sight in front of him, his eyes filled with seeming reverence. “How—”

“That is a story for another time. But now, please enjoy. I’ll just charge you the regular Maotai rate, don’t worry.” You wink and hand him the small tulip glass, full to the brim.

“Just tell me that I’m not drinking a shot of illegally-sourced vintage Maotai.” There it is again—the analyzing look.

“If it were, then I’d be out of business. Can’t have that then, can we?”

“Of course not.” The man raised his glass to meet your own. “I can’t lose my favorite Maotai supplier in Korea now that I’ve found you.” The light brought the ring on his pinky finger to your attention. Suspicion confirmed.

You didn't reply, but opted to down the contents of the small glass—potent but familiar. He followed suit. You hoped that the warmth that bloomed in your mouth and your chest didn’t manifest itself too much on your cheeks. You could blame it on your Asian flush anyway because you had to give it to him—he was surprisingly smooth with his words.

“This is the rare moment I get to be alone,” he said after a beat. “Believe me, I wish I had more of it, but my parents are arriving here tomorrow from China. So no, I will not be as alone as you think.”

It took you a moment to realize he was continuing the conversation from earlier. “That’s nice. Why are you here in Korea then, if you’re from China?”

“Who said I was from there?”

“Well, you have parents coming from there.”

“Who’s to say that they aren’t coming home here?”

“The way you said Kweichow Maotai was too smooth.”

He shrugged deliberately. “I know Chinese.”

“I know Chinese, too. You can’t fool me.” You said this in perfectly placed Mandarin. The look on his face was priceless as he was rendered speechless.

“I cannot believe you managed to surprise me twice in one night,” he replied in the same tongue.

You smirked and poured another tulip glass for the both of you. “Glad to know that I managed to surprise a K-pop idol tonight. And in my bar, no less. Xu Minghao, correct?” You push the refilled glass and meet his ever-analytical eyes. It seemed like you knew how to play his game, after all.

The smile he returned was ethereal. “To whom do I owe the pleasure of tonight’s company?”

And that’s how you spent the remaining hours of Christmas Eve, with conversations as free-flowing as the Maotai and whiskey and bar chow. You learned that his parents’ flight was actually delayed—he was actually on his way to the airport—and he learned that your Chinese is courtesy of your father’s heritage and your Korean address from your mother.

You also ended up telling him the story about the vintage Maotai, which had him in stitches by the end of it. Thankfully, the bar had long been empty and your staff had all gone home.

“Why haven’t you left then?”

“You might’ve forgotten that I own this place.”

“And how does it not have more customers at this time?”

“It’ll pick up soon. I’m sure of it.”

Minghao pursed his lips in thought. “Give me your Maotai bottle. And a marker.”

“The vintage one?”

“No, the regular one over there!” You obliged to his requests, and he returned the liquor bottle with a freshly minted autograph from Seventeen’s The8.

Why didn’t you think of this earlier? It might be because the whole time you were talking, he didn’t even seem like an idol. He was just…a guy. A frustratingly charming and quick-witted guy.

“Merry Christmas to you and this wonderful place.” His examining gaze was long gone, replaced by eyes that disappeared whenever he smiled wide. “Thank you for…making me feel safe.”

“Merry Christmas, Minghao. Everything’s on the house. Consider it a Christmas gift.”

“Absolutely not.” He brandished his card and pushed it to you. “I will not rip off a starting business all because of celebrity status.”

“I didn’t say it was for your celebrity status.”

“Still.” He was insistent. He took your hand and placed his card in it. “Charge me as necessary.”

You were just as insistent, though. “No.”

“Fine. Then give me your phone.”

You did. And he input his personal number in it.

“I have to go now, but please message me. I mean it.”

You did. And the back-and-forth banter didn’t stop. Surprise remained an element in your dynamic, apparently, because the conversations seemed as natural as the days transitioning from one to another.

You didn’t catch when Minghao took photos of your place. But the moment he posted it on his Instagram, customers started coming in waves. This secluded corner in Itaewon has never had a lull day since Christmas.

New Year’s was no different. After the festivities and the celebrations, it was finally time to call it an early morning at 3 am. But not before you welcomed your last customer.

“Alone on New Year’s as well?” You hold back a smile when you find him standing at the door. The way your heart was beating was undeniable, and you knew you couldn’t hold that back.

Up until then, you didn’t know if you would ever see Minghao again beyond your messages. They became more occasional as time passed, but you knew enough from his stories that their schedules were not to be underestimated. Seeing him here now was—as expected from your dynamic—a surprise.

“No. I’m with my favorite Maotai supplier in Korea, how can I be alone?” He drew closer to the bar and to you as if you were reeling him in with an invisible string.

“I thought your parents brought you a bottle last Christmas?”

“It isn’t a vintage Maotai, though.”

“What makes you think I’m bringing it out tonight?”

“Because we’re starting the new year together. I’d say that’s a cause for celebration.” And bring it out you did. As if you could resist him.

Before you can open the bottle, he grabs it from your hands to pour out the drinks himself. As you two raise your glasses, he leans in close, and you see nothing but an openness in his eyes. Warmth. Hope. “Happy New Year to you, then.”

“To us. Happy New Year, Minghao.”

Your glasses clink and your Maotais are downed. It would seem that happiness is on the books for the year ahead.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

post a/n: pleaseeee i felt so pressured to write for u (looks at my inbox with full knowledge your request still lies there unwritten fskf) ((i promise i’ll get to them)) but i hope i did minghao justice. i was very much inspired by your own minghao fics skl hehe and tbh this is almost less of a drabble and more of a potentially longer fic but i held back bc gah. merry christmas again and i hope you liked my pamasko, kae! 🎄🎁✨

post post a/n/n: ALSO thank you to @tusswrites for quick beta-ing this one even tho she wasn't supposed to bc she's also in the same event and apparently you can't do that HAHA thank you still all love mwa

[bunnysdollette]

WAYS IM PREPARING FOR THE BIG 2025 PT 1 ⟢

♡˚₊· ͟͟͞͞ Hey angels! I basically just wanted to come on here today and share some ways I’m preparing for the new year. Feel free to take inspiration from this post. :) Stay cute

BEFORE ANYTHING…

Before starting ANYTHING off new this year, I really just wanted to take time and reflect on what I did well and what I need to work on next year and also what I’ve LEARNED this year to make a game plan.

For example, some things I’ve noticed this year that I need to work on is better time management, balance between work and life, taking more time for my mental health, and pushing myself more towards my goals.

I recently also read a post about resetting before 2025, which I think is helpful. I’ll link it right here.

ENVISIONING THE YEAR

for me, setting an expectation is SO important. It just defines everything I want to have and accomplish, it lets me believe that my desires can be attained and really just cultivates that kind of positive mindset I need going into the new years.

Here are ways I’m currently making space for that vision for the big 2025.

♡ vision boards

(could be about beauty, manifesting, money, studying, or a combination! whatever you’d like, but I’d recommend not sharing to keep that energy private to you. it’s important to move in silence.)

♡ inner work

(maybe some difficult events have happened this year or recently. it’s important to go into 2025 releasing everything negative and leaving all grudges behind. 2025 is a NEW year. let’s make sure our mental is great now so that we can charge into 2025 ready to go.)

♡ self care time

♡ social media detox

♡ planning new smart goals

♡ stricter mental diet

START NOW

guys, you’re gonna have to trust me when I say START NOW. of course your resolution isn’t officially in effect til the start of January, but PLS. start now while your motivation is here or even if you aren’t motivated. START working out, start taking those little steps to move like your dream self, DO IT.

The problem is that usually a “new years resolution” person will give up after not even a week of being in it, so START now. Give yourself the space to make mistakes and work out those kinks NOW so you can really go into the new year feeling refreshed and ready to conquer every single one of your goals.

HARSH MOTIVATION

“The person with the same goal as you is working 10x as harder as you right now.”

I saw this quote on my feed and it really resonated with me, because I want to pursue a career in nursing. It made me think of all the people who are studying hard right now and doing pre-med programs right now to be two steps ahead and really excel in their performance as a nurse. And what am I doing? Slacking.

No more slacking in 2025! I have to realize this and tell you this, that nobody is holding your hand anymore! It’s just you versus the world. What will you do to succeed? You need to act NOW while you’re realizing this, or be left behind. That’s just the way things work.

Take that time to yourself. Take that time to reflect, think, and rebuild your self concept for the beginning of the new years. This is YOUR moment. This is YOUR year. YOU’RE her, so start acting like it.

ahihihihi and bd changes her layout again? guys I’m rlly struggling with this theme shit 😪 I feel like I can’t really find a format I can stick to. I think I’m in my divine feminine era..kinda loving it but doesn’t match the cute pink teenage vibe I have for the rest of my blog. anyways have a wonderful holidays n 2025 angels hoped this helped msg me byee ♡

[johnbrand]

Collateral Damage

Max rushed into his roommate’s room as soon as the coast was clear. With Nate off to the gym, he would have at least three hours to mess around, and possibly more if the oafish jock went out bar-hopping with his bros afterwards. Knowing his roommate well enough, Max probably could have gotten away with what he was about to do without Nate ever finding out. But even through his horny haze, Max knew better than to risk the off chance of the obtuse, muscular Adonis ever connecting the dots.

“Yes!” Max snatched the stained white fabric off the floor of Nate’s room before scampering back to his own. Once the door was shut, he immediately dove his nose in.

“Yeah…” Max moaned, his dick throbbing as the rush of his jock roommate’s scent rushed over his thin body. Max had always secretly had a thing for straight men, but there was something about Nate in particular that drove him wild. He was practically a walking stereotype of natural, heterosexual masculinity in its prime. It made perfect sense for Max to be completely infatuated, even if his roommate was too simpleminded to realize it.

Without further ado, Max dug into the underwear as if it were a special feast prepared just for him. The sweat residue served as a first course, a salty appetizer coating Max’s tongue like a hand-crafted (or in this case, balls-crafted) brine. Followed by a quick palette cleanser of pubic hair, the twink moved onto the main course: a double delicacy of piss and cum interlaced into a single stain. Max’s taste buds went into overdrive, sent to ecstasy by the taste of a straight man’s elixirs. He was even lucky enough to score dessert, a delicate but appreciable skid mark to finish his meal.

“I love you Nate!” Max exclaimed to no one. Now finished “cleaning” the underwear, Max followed through with the next steps of his fantasy. In moments, his clothes were discarded into a small pile on the floor. Max brought Nate's underwear up each of his legs. The waistband and pouch were a bit distended, but otherwise they almost fit.

Expectedly, a shock of ecstasy rumbled across Max’s frame. “Oh gOd!” his voice cracked. Immediately, Max jumped onto his bed and began furiously jacking off his mid-sized pecker. Nate’s overused, dirty underwear was like magic to Max’s dick, its sensuality delivering more dopamine across his entire body then he had ever experienced. The arousal was incredible, to Max it was almost as if his body was somehow evolving.

Now lost to the lustful fog, Max did not realize that he was in fact changing. Metaphorically starting at the source of the crime, Max’s buttocks gradually inflated, becoming two squeezable balls. His testicles doubled in weight while the cock in his hand doubled in size. New abs led up like a ladder to firming pectorals, thickening quads trailed down to bulging, shapely calves. At the bottom, Max's feet plumped a few sizes larger. And at the top, the changes split: bloating Max's arms with muscles and his hands into mitts and restructuring his face to the classic, traditional masculine aesthetic.

But Max pumped away, not registering the sudden rush of body hair that coursed along his skin. Not picking up on the locker room-like funk that began to emit from his own pores. Not even noticing how each moan of euphoria deepened a bit further, eventually devolving into carnal grunts. Max would not even recognize the mental changes progressing in his own mind, his intellect deteriorating and his interests realigning to simpler values. And this was standard: none of Elliot’s past victims had ever been able to recognize the conversion.

Max did not know that up until the night before, the version of his roommate that he thought he knew had never existed. In fact, Nate had been Noah, a clean, proper young man with a slim body similar to Max’s. But less than 24 hours earlier, Noah had hooked up with Elliot. Noah could have never known that his fling was cursed. Furious by Elliot’s hypersexual tendencies, which led to an incident of cheating, an ex-boyfriend of Elliot's hexed the miscreant. Every boy that Elliot made love to would transform into “his worst nightmare,” which for Elliot meant a stereotypical straight jock.

And yet, knowing the consequences, Elliot had made love to Noah, shooting a load of his thick, tainted semen directly down the poor twink’s throat. Elliot was gone by the morning, and so too was Noah, for his body erupted with masculine glory and Nate had taken control.

Reality adapted accordingly, except one miniscule fragment of Elliot’s actions remained. The evidence took a few hours to process through Nate’s muscular system, but it eventually splattered onto the seat of his underwear thanks to a rotten protein fart. And it was that same underwear that Max was currently wearing, now secured tight to his newly jockish frame. That same underwear Max had moments before licked the cursed agent clean from.

Max would never know that he had been collateral damage to a relationship he had never met, but unfortunately the deed was done. Feeling the final surge of ecstasy approaching, Max released a primal roar as his hot, heterosexual baby batter blasted into the tainted underwear.

“Ugh, that was so good bro…” Matt chuckled dumbly, biting his lip as he slid the cum-soaked garment off. “Gonna need to change quick if I’m gonna meet up with Nate and go out clit-cruising tonight.”

[vitalverstappen]

Snowed In - L. Sargeant

summary: being stranded in the airport is never ideal... and you're stuck on Christmas Eve... with Logan.

pairing: Logan Sargeant x ex!reader

warnings: being alone on Christmas Eve? Unexpectedly seeing your ex?

word count: 3.3k

a/n: Merry Christmas Eve/Merry Christmas depending on where in the world you are! Hope you guys all have a great day!

masterlist

“You’ve got to be kidding me” you muttered as you stared at the screen. Every single flight going out of Heathrow had been either yellowed with “delayed” or completely red with “cancelled.” 

You let out a long, frustrated sigh as you ran a hand through your hair, shoulders slumped in the middle of the airport. The clock on the wall seemed to mock you, ticking steadily as if time wasn’t moving at a snail’s pace. Christmas Eve, and you were stuck in the middle of Heathrow Airport, thousands of miles away from your family. 

You’d been looking forward to this moment for months - coming home to your parents, reconnecting with old friends, and of course, celebrating the holidays with the traditions you had done since you were a child. But now, it seemed like the snowstorm outside had other plans for you. 

A blank expression was on your face as you stared at the board again, willing one of the flights to magically be changed to the green “on time”, but the board remained unchanged. Every flight, one by one, flashed red or yellow, like some twisted game of “guess who’s not going anywhere.” The snowstorm outside had wrapped Heathrow in a thick blanket of ice and chaos, and your hopes of making it home for Christmas were quickly melting away. 

“Perfect. Absolutely perfect.” you muttered under your breath, rolling your eyes. You checked your phone again, but there was no update on your flight. No apology. No comforting message to reassure you that the airline was doing its best to get you home. Just silence.

You glanced around the terminal, taking in the sea of people who looked as defeated as you felt. Some were huddled in family groups, others pacing with their phones pressed to their ears, desperately trying to figure out their next move. There was no warmth to the place, just cold metal chairs and a sense of resignation hanging in the air. Everyone was stuck in this mess together. 

You sank into one of the nearby seats, trying to take a deep breath. The reality of being away from your family on Christmas was starting to hit harder than the cold air from the open doors leading to the runway. 

As you stared blankly at the flight board in the distance, the familiar, rhythmic sound of a suitcase being wheeled across the floor caught your attention. Without even thinking, you glanced up, your eyes locking onto a figure pushing his suitcase through the terminal.

Of all the people you could have looked at, of course it had to be him. 

Logan Sargeant.

You froze. The last person you ever expected to see at Heathrow, much less on Christmas Eve. Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, it felt like the world was spinning around you. He hadn’t changed much - still that easy smile, the same messy hair, and those soft blue-green eyes that had once made you feel like you were the only person in the room. 

He paused, his suitcase coming to a halt as he noticed you sitting there, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. His brows furrowed for a second, but then his lips quirked into that signature grin, the one that made you weak in the knees years ago. 

“Y/n?” he asked, his voice laced with a mix of surprise and amusement. 

Your pulse quickened. What were the odds? You hadn’t seen him in years, since he broke up with you to move from Fort Lauderdale to race in F1. You had kept up with his career occasionally since he moved, but hadn’t come across anything pertaining to him in the past few months. But there he was, standing a few feet away, in the same airport, on the same night, with the same flight delays. 

You swallowed hard, trying to muster up some composure. “What are you doing here?” You hated how defensive your voice sounded, but you couldn’t help it. You were just as surprised to see him as you were frustrated about everything else. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” he replied with a playful tilt of his head. “Seems like the snowstorm is messing with everyone’s plans.” 

You nodded stiffly. “Yeah, guess so.” 

A long, uncomfortable silence stretched between you two, both of you awkwardly avoiding eye contact. The tension was thick - he had always known how to make you feel things, even after everything that had happened. After all these years, you still hadn’t figured out what to say to him, or if you ever would. 

“So, uh, how’s everything been?” Logan asked, rubbing the back of his neck as he shifted his weight, clearly as unsure of what to say as you were. His voice was quieter now, a little more guarded than it had been in the past. 

You tried to keep your cool, glancing back at the flight board as if it might hold the answers to your growing confusion. “It’s… been good.” you replied, trying to keep your tone neutral, though it felt forced. You cleared your throat. “I mean, life, you know? Busy. Same as everyone else, I guess. I got relocated here for work a few months ago.”

Logan gave a small, knowing smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He seemed to be measuring his next words carefully. “So you moved out of Fort Lauderdale? I guess that explains why you’re flying out of here tonight. Though knowing you, I’m surprised you didn’t get an earlier flight home.” 

The mention of “home” hit you harder than expected. You suddenly realized just how much you’d been hoping for a connection this Christmas - any connection at all. You hadn’t expected it to come in the form of Logan, of all people. 

“Yeah, well…” you began, but the words came out flat, stuck somewhere between old memories and present circumstances. You shrugged. “Things don’t always go as planned.” 

Logan nodded, a soft chuckle escaping him. “I think that’s the understatement of the year. What do they say - ‘plan for the best, expect the worst?’”

“Something like that,” you muttered. A deep breath followed, and you realized you hadn’t taken in much air since you’d first spotted him. Your eyes glanced down to his suitcase, where the letters “FLL” were displayed in bold lettering on a tag. He was on his way to Fort Lauderdale too. You could feel your heart in your throat as you realized that you would have crossed paths with him regardless. 

“So… you’re still with Williams?” The question came out in an almost accusatory tone, even if you hadn’t meant it to. You were just trying to fill the silence, trying to make some sense of why he was standing in front of you, of all places, on Christmas Eve of all days. 

His face softened at the mention of his racing career, but there was a shift in his posture, like he was bracing himself for something. “Not anymore.” he said, the words flat, almost matter-of-fact.

You blinked, surprised. “I-I didn’t know you were done.” You swallowed thickly. You weren’t sure why it felt like such a punch to the gut. Maybe it was the fact that so much had changed - your lives, your relationship - and yet, standing there, it was as if time never moved forward at all.

He leaned against the pillar near you, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Yeah, I got dropped from Williams a few months ago - right after the Dutch Grand Prix.” 

“I’m sorry,” you said, the words coming out a little more quietly than you intended. It was hard to imagine how much of a blow that must have been for him. His entire career had been built around getting into Formula 1, and now… it was like everything had crumbled. 

Logan shrugged, trying to play it off, but you could see the frustration still lingering beneath the surface. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s not what I imagined when I first got into it. But yeah, you get used to the ups and downs in this business.” 

A quiet pause followed, neither of you quite knowing how to continue. The sound of the airport buzzed around you, a stark contrast to the quiet tension between you. After all these years, there were so many things you still didn’t understand about him. So many things left unsaid. 

“So,” Logan spoke up again, clearing his throat, “what about you? Settling in okay over here? It’s been what-” he glanced up at the clock briefly, as if checking the time. “-a few months now, you said?”

You nodded, not sure if you were ready to talk about everything that had led you to this moment. “Yeah, work’s been busy. Getting used to the change, the pace. It’s been a lot, honestly.” You hesitated, then added. “It’s not Fort Lauderdale, though.” 

Logan chuckled softly. “I don’t think anything can replace home.” His voice was light, but there was something in the way he said it - something nostalgic, something lost. 

The ache of that place tugged at you too. Fort Lauderdale had been home, the place where so much of your life had been mapped out. The place where you and Logan had planned a future - your future together. But that was before everything had changed. Before he had changed. 

“Yeah,” you said quietly, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “I miss it too.” 

Another silence fell between you two, as if you both were processing what you had just said. You silently hoped he didn’t pick up on what you had accidentally implied. You missed Florida, sure, but Fort Lauderdale wouldn’t have any meaning to you if it weren’t for the people who made the town so special.

“So what now?” you asked finally, the question more out of instinct than curiosity. “What’s next for you?”

“I’ll be in France next season, I signed a contract with IDEC to race for them in ELMS.” he said, a hint of a smile coming to his face as he brought up the news. 

“ELMS?” you asked, your head tilting slightly as you did so.

“European Le Mans Series” he explained, quickly remembering you had limited knowledge of motorsports. “It’s endurance racing.” 

You nodded slowly, absorbing the shift in his career path the best you could. “That’s… that’s awesome. Really.” you said, trying to sound encouraging. The truth was, you weren’t sure how to feel. Even as a kid, F1 was such a part of Logan’s life, and to hear that he was now moving to a different league caused a mix of admiration and sadness to bubble within. 

“You think so?” Logan asked, his eyes lighting up for the first time since the conversation began. “It’s not F1, but I’m excited. It’s a different kind of challenge.”

You could hear the passion in his voice, the same fire you’d known when he first started talking about racing all those years ago. It was almost like hearing him talk about his dreams as if no time had passed at all. 

“I’m genuinely happy for you, Logan. You deserve it.” you smiled, the words feeling authentic, even if the ache in your chest didn’t fully go away. 

Logan shifted his weight from one foot to the other, glancing back at the departure board that was still covered in red and yellow before turning his attention back to you. “Thanks. That means a lot hearing that from you.” He hesitated, then added. “Would you wanna maybe go get a bite to eat? I think we still have some time to kill.” 

You blinked, the question catching you off guard. The idea of sharing a meal with Logan seemed strange, but at the same time, almost comforting. The thought of sitting down, away from the chaos of the people shouting at the airline workers, and just… talking, felt like a small refuge from the stress of everything else. 

You glanced at your phone again, checking the time and seeing no updates on your flight. “Sure,” you finally said, nodding “Why not?” 

Logan smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as his relief was evident. “Great. There’s a cafe around the corner. Not much, but at least it’s warm.” 

You stood up, your legs a little stiff from sitting for too long. Logan shifted his suitcase slightly, guiding you through the crowded terminal toward the small cafe he mentioned. The snowstorm was still visible through the large windows, swirling around the airplanes parked in their aprons, and it only made the warmth inside seem more inviting. 

As you approached the cafe, you felt the tension from earlier starting to melt away, replaced by a quiet kind of ease. The cafe was tucked away near the back of the terminal, and as you entered, the cozy, dimly lit space felt like a world apart from the frenzied hustle of the airport. A low hum of quiet conversation filled the air, and you could already smell the rich scent of coffee, baked goods, and overall comfort - something you’d been craving since you got the flight news. 

Logan led the way to a small table near the window, where a couple people were already huddled in quiet conversation, nursing steaming cups of coffee. You slid into the chair across from him, feeling a little self-conscious but surprisingly at ease in his presence. It had been so long, yet it felt like a small part of you had never really left him. 

As Logan settled into his seat, a soft chuckle escaped him, breaking the quiet that had settled between you. “I can’t believe this is how we’re reconnecting.” he mused, shaking his head in disbelief. His eyes softened as he looked at you, a subtle warmth radiating from him despite the coolness of the airport surrounding you both. 

You smiled faintly, leaning back into your chair, the soft clink of cups and the low hum of airport conversation in the background. “Yeah, of all the places. If you’d told me a year ago I’d be stuck here with you on Christmas Eve, I’d have laughed in your place.” 

Logan raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into that familiar smile that used to make your heart race. “You were always the cynic, weren’t you?” 

You rolled your eyes, but still felt a tug at your heart at the sound of his teasing. “Someone had to keep you grounded. You were always so caught up in your own head. I used to think you’d get lost in your own race car if you could.” 

Logan’s chuckle echoed in the small cafe, and he leaned back in his chair, looking at you with a mix of amusement and something deeper. “Yeah, well, I did spend most of my time racing around tracks. I was so focused on getting to the top that I… missed out on a lot of things.” 

The shift in his voice was subtle but undeniable. It was as if the facade he’d worn when you first saw him was melting away, replaced by a more reflective version of the Logan you used to know. The same Logan, but somehow changed. 

“You always were single minded when it came to racing.” you remarked, trying to keep the tone light, though the words carried more weight than you intended. The memories of you together, back in Fort Lauderdale, flooded your mind - the long days spent at the beach, laughing in the sun, the plans you made, the future you had imagined. 

His gaze softened at your words, and for a moment, he seemed far away, lost in the same memories. “Yeah” he muttered. “I was always thinking about what came next, but never really took the time to look around and realize what I was leaving behind.” He paused, his voice dropping a little. “I think I always thought I’d have time for everything… until I didn’t.” 

The nostalgia in his voice was tangible. You could hear the regret in his words, but also kind of resignation, like he was finally coming to terms with how much had slipped through his fingers. How much had changed. 

You leaned forward slightly, meeting his eyes. “I get it. You wanted the career. You were so driven. I don’t blame you for that.” You hesitated, biting your lip as you tried to articulate what you’d been feeling all this time. “I think I just… wanted to be a part of that. I wanted to be a part of your life, but you were always so focused on the next race, the next move. And I just ended up… waiting.” 

There was a long pause as the weight of your words hung in the air, thicker than the coffee around you. Logan looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then, quietly, he said, “I never meant to make you feel like that. I never meant to make you wait.” 

His words, though simple, were sincere, and they hit you in a way you hadn’t expected. Maybe you hadn’t realized just how much you’d been holding onto that unspoken feeling - the feeling of being forgotten, of being the second choice. 

A small, wistful smile crossed your lips. “I know you didn’t. But… we were both so young. We had those big dreams, and I think we thought we could have it all.” You paused, staring down at the table for a moment before looking back up at him. “And I guess sometimes you can’t have it all.”

Logan’s gaze softened even further, and for the first time in years, there was a warmth between you, something that had been missing for so long. “I guess not. But if I could go back, I’d do things differently. I’d make sure you knew how much you mattered to me.” He let out a breath, a little shaky, as if the admission was harder than he anticipated. “I was so focused on my career, on proving myself, that I forgot to prove to you that you were important too.” 

You swallowed, the ache in your chest making it difficult to speak. But you managed, your voice quiet. “I think we both got lost in everything. In life. In who we were supposed to be.”

Logan nodded, his hand running through his hair, the familiar motion pulling at the memories of late-night drives and quiet conversations between you two. “Yeah. I guess we did.” 

For a moment, you both sat in silence, the weight of everything said and unsaid hanging between you. The past was never easy to confront, and yet, somehow, it felt good to talk about it, to acknowledge the things that had always been left unspoken. 

Logan broke the silence with a soft chuckle. “Remember when we used to drive around, listening to music, pretending we had it all figured out?” 

A smile tugged at your lips as you nodded. “How could I forget? We were both going to go to UMiami and graduate before moving in together. We thought we had all the time in the world to figure everything else out.”

“And then life happened.” Logan added, his voice laced with a mix of ruefulness and nostalgia. “And suddenly, it felt like we were running out of time.” 

You smiled softly, the old ache still there but now softened by the familiarity of the moment. “Yeah. But I don’t think I ever really stopped caring about you, Logan. Not completely.” 

His eyes flickered with something unreadable, but there was no mistaking the tenderness in his gaze. “I didn’t either. Even when I tried to push it away, I couldn’t. I never really got over it.” 

You both sat there for a while longer, lost in the quiet hum of the airport cafe, the past lingering around you like a shadow. Maybe the story wasn’t over. Maybe you’d never fully understand why things had ended the way they did in your teens. But as you shared that moment, that space between words, you couldn’t help but feel like you were both starting to find your way back - slowly, cautiously, but undeniably home. 

[tedsbogusjourney]

Kickstart My Heart

Ted "Theodore" Logan X fem!reader genre : one shot - fluff warnings : english isn't my first language. Enjoy !

The record store was quiet, with no customers this early evening. The music playing softly through the store speakers was Dangerous - Shark Island. You blinked, trying to shake off the usual fatigue that crept in at the end of your day. Your gaze landed on Ted’s goofy smile—the one that always gave you butterflies. You’d grown so attached to him over the years, his unshakable optimism like a beacon. His sunny personality had always lifted your spirits, no matter how tough things got.

You missed him more and more now that he, Bill, and you had graduated high school and ventured into your respective lives.

“How’s work going?” you asked softly, tilting your head slightly. His honey-brown eyes sparkled with excitement as he studied your face, his enthusiasm shining through.

“Totally awesome, dudette! College? Not really my vibe, y’know... I’d much rather be here. Way more excellent!”

He ran a hand through his messy dark hair, his trademark grin plastered on his face. You knew music was his life, even though his dad had never approved it. These days, Ted shares an apartment in San Dimas with Bill. Briefly, you wondered if he still had a strained relationship with his father. Of course, you didn’t dare ask. It was a sore subject, and you didn’t want to dredge up painful memories. You’d seen him defeated enough times in high school, back when his dad used to threaten to send him to the military.

“It’s cool that you’re here,” he added, shifting topics with his usual enthusiasm. “I’ve got a late shift tonight—like, really late. But hey, at least it gives me time to spin some killer records and check out non-heinous releases!”

You noticed his shoulders were a bit more muscular than they’d been in high school, and you wondered briefly if he worked out now. Physically, there had been small changes, but mentally? He was still the same Ted—the goofy, happy guy you’d always known. Sometimes, you wished you could be more like him. You, with your overthinking and constant worries, envied his carefree approach to life. Ted tackled problems with a lightness that disarmed you, while you often let your worries weigh you down. Being Ted seemed so much simpler. Maybe even freer.

“I’m glad you still enjoy the job. Are there many customers during the day?”

“Depends on the day,” he replied, setting a Scatterbrain - Here Comes Trouble vinyl on the counter and absentmindedly running his fingers over the cover. “But weekends? Totally triumphant—you wouldn’t believe it!”

He finally looked up at you, his honey-colored eyes gleaming with sincere curiosity. “What about you? Still with the bookshop, or did you find something even most excellent?”

You shook your head slightly, pulling yourself back to the moment as his sparkling gaze met yours. He twirled the record in his hands before gently placing it on the counter. You were deep down gushing about how adorable he was.

“Yeah, still working at that bookshop. But… I think what makes my day really great is coming here and seeing you sometimes. You make everything feel so much lighter, Ted.”

For a moment, Ted seemed surprised by your words, but then his grin widened even further, lighting up his entire face. “Whoa, for real? Thanks, dudette. You’re, like, totally righteous.”

He spun another vinyl, Motley Crüe’s -Kickstart My Heart song blasted through the speakers. He nodded toward you.

“Check this out. Isn’t it totally triumphant?”

You stepped closer, leaning in slightly to hear better, and your shoulders brushed. Your heart skipped a beat. But Ted, being Ted, didn’t seem to notice your nervousness. He turned to you and murmured like he was sharing a secret.

“This is, like, my all-time favorite song. It always makes me feel like everything’s gonna be okay.”

Of course, your crush on Ted wasn’t new. Elizabeth had beaten you to it back in high school, and the two had dated right in front of you. You’d done your best to hide the pain all these years. It was hard. Bill had told you a few months ago that they’d broken up. You weren’t sure what had happened between them…

You took a step closer to look at the vinyl he held, and your fingers brushed lightly against his. A shiver ran through you, but Ted, ever oblivious, just smiled wider, like everything was perfectly normal. Meanwhile, you felt… different, a little lost in that closeness.

Ted leaned forward to adjust the music volume, and suddenly, there was no space between your bodies. You could feel the warmth of his skin, the familiar apple scent of his shampoo on his dark strands, and your heart began to race.

When he straightened, his eyes met yours, a new glimmer in his gaze.

“Wanna see another vinyl? I’ve got something super excellent to show you.”

You couldn’t seem to find your voice, your breath hitching slightly. Was it the music, the closeness, or just Ted himself making your heart pound so hard? “Y-yeah, show me,” you stammered, feeling like an absolute idiot, your eyes locked on his.

Ted spun another vinyl, and Skid Row-Psycho Therapy song boomed through the speakers.

“So, what do you think, dudette? Isn’t it, like, totally excellent?” he asked, nodding along with the beat, his messy hair bouncing with the movement.

“Yeah, it’s… really good,” you replied, smiling, though you weren’t paying much attention to the music. You were too aware of Ted’s presence next to you.

He leaned on the counter beside you, and suddenly, as if struck by a brilliant idea, he jumped up. “Oh, wait! I’ve got something super awesome!”

You watched as he rummaged under the counter, his usual clumsiness sending objects clattering. Finally, he emerged with an old acoustic guitar, a little battered.

“See this? My secret weapon for when the store’s too quiet. Bill says I shouldn’t play it here, but hey, he’s not around, right?” he added with a conspiratorial grin.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you gonna play something now?”

Ted squinted, exaggerating a look of seriousness. “Is that a question, or, like, a challenge?”

“A bit of both,” you replied, crossing your arms with a teasing smile.

“Alright, brace yourself. I’m gonna play… uh…” He paused, glancing densely at the guitar. “I don’t know what yet. But don’t worry—it’s gonna be awesome!”

He strummed a few clumsy chords, but his beaming grin made the whole scene so endearing that you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing. Between two off-key notes, he looked up at you.

“Okay, maybe it’s not exactly most excellent, but… it’s the thought that counts, right?”

“Definitely. I’d say you’ve got a unique style, Ted. Like very… Ted-esque.”

He paused mid-strum, tilting his head with a mock pout.

“Unique, huh? Is that your way of saying I’m bad?”

“No! It means you’re… you,” you said softly, your laughter fading as your gaze met his twinkling eyes.

He set the guitar down, the silence returning, broken only by the faint crackle of the speakers. This time, he didn’t step away.

“You know,” he said, his voice lower now, “we’ve known each other for, like, forever. But sometimes, I feel like there’s so much I don’t get…”

“Like what?” you asked after a silence, your breath catching slightly.

Ted shrugged, hesitating, and for once, his usual grin faltered. “Like… you. What you’re thinking...Sometimes you get this look… like, right now.”

“What kind of look?” you asked, swallowing hard.

“I don’t know babe,” he admitted, adorably awkward, his eyes searching yours. “A look that makes me wanna do… this.”

Did he just call you babe!?

He leaned in slightly but stopped, doubt flickering in his eyes. You could almost feel his breath, yet he didn’t move closer. “But I don’t wanna mess things up between us. You’re, like, super important to me…”

“It’s not weird,” you whispered, your voice warm as your hand brushed his. “It’s just… you.”

Before you could second-guess yourself, you closed the gap, brushing a soft, tentative kiss against his lips. The moment was gentle, hesitant, and wonderfully awkward.

Ted froze for a second as if trying to process what had just happened. Then he pulled back slightly, his cheeks red.

“Whoa,” he said, touching his lips briefly. “That was like… totally excellent.”

You chuckled softly, your heart still racing. He nodded enthusiastically, his messy hair adding to his boyish charm.

“… Does this mean we’re, like, the heroes of our own epic adventure now?”

“Maybe,” you replied, your sly smile barely hiding your own nervous excitement. “But in this adventure, you’d definitely be the bard playing questionable chords to distract the dragons.”

“Woah,” he said with a nervous laugh. “Okay, fair point dudette. But hey, with my legendary music, I’ll totally protect both of us!”

He looked at you for a moment and gently placed his hand over yours, his expression almost hesitant.

“Thanks for coming tonight. I know I’m not the coolest or most excellent dude, but… you make everything so much better.”

“You don’t have to be impressive, Ted. You’re already you, and that’s more than enough,” you replied softly, your tone reassuring.

He gazed at you, his grin softening into something more tender. Then, as if deciding something important, he jumped up.

“Alright, it’s official! Next time, we’re going on a real epic adventure! With dragons. And magical records. But first, we’re finishing tonight with another non-heinous song.”

As he searched for the next track, you leaned back against the counter, your heart feeling lighter, basking in the warmth of the moment you had just shared, your cheeks flushed with a soft pink hue.

[yoursinisforgiven]

SKIN TISSUE ──

pairing: xanthus x reader (love) x dontis

cw: pure filth. (smut), afab reader, threeway, porn with feelings, mentions of dontis’s listener (hunter) & their father, reader passes out, religious symbolism, mentions of alcohol, xanthus feeds off of dontis, bloodplay, light spanking, mfm aspects, infidelity (i suppose), no use of condoms, breeding without the intentions of pregnancy, anal (reader’s not receiving), spit used as lubricant, multiple orgasms. oral (male receiving) vaginal fingering, penetrational sex, floor sex.

you are responsible for your own media consumption.

The smell of herbs and sizzling garlic filled the air, a quiet symphony in the otherwise silent kitchen. 

Dontis moved with effortless grace, his hands deftly chopping fresh basil, the rhythm of his knife almost hypnotic. “Do you believe,” he asked suddenly, his voice soft but laced with a thoughtful edge, “that people are meant to suffer to understand what it means to live? Or is suffering just… meaningless cruelty dressed up as divine design?”

His words slithered into the quiet, wrapping around your thoughts like vines. You leaned against the counter, watching him work, the question settling heavily between you. “I’m not sure,” you replied, your voice quieter than you’d intended. “Maybe it’s both. Or neither. Suffering changes people, but whether it’s meaningful depends on what we do with it.”

He turned slightly, the faintest smile curling his lips. “Interesting perspective,” he murmured. “Almost pragmatic, but not quite. It sounds to me like someone trying to reconcile chaos with order.” His gaze lingered on you, sharp and unyielding, like he was peeling back the layers of your soul one by one.

As he turned back to the stove, you felt it—a flicker of something foreign, something wrong. You couldn’t explain it, but in that moment, you saw him for what he truly was. A serpent. A deceiver. 

The serpent beguiled me, and I did eat.

The thought struck you like a hammer. His every word, his every movement, felt like a calculated strike against the bond you shared with Xanthus. That bond was sacred, wasn’t it? A covenant, a tether blessed by something beyond comprehension. Yet here was Dontis, whispering truths and half-truths, sowing seeds of doubt with his silken voice. His charm wasn’t innocent; it was poison wrapped in honey, tempting you to take the bite that would undo everything.

The thought struck like a lightning bolt, your bond with Xanthus stirring as if in warning. You pulled back slightly, your gaze darting to the delicate bracelet on your wrist—a physical reminder of the connection you shared with him. Dontis’s presence felt dangerous, not because he threatened you physically, but because of the way he made you think, feel, wonder.

“You know,” he said, breaking the silence, “you remind me of something this dish always makes me think of—a delicate balance of bitterness and sweetness. Too much of either, and it’s ruined. But find the right harmony, and it’s perfection.”

The words sent a shiver through you, not because of their meaning, but because of the way he said them, as though he were speaking about you, to you, and not the dish. You realized then, in that fleeting moment, that he was dangerous in a way Xanthus had never been: not a predator, but a temptation. A choice.

“I should check on Xanthus,” you murmured abruptly, stepping back, breaking the fragile thread of the moment before it could tighten around you. Dontis looked up, his expression unreadable, the shadow of a smile still lingering.

“Of course,” he said, turning his attention back to the stove. “But remember—sometimes it’s the choices we don’t make that haunt us most.”

 ──

Surely God had been testing you, testing your loyalty, your endurance. Dontis was an incubus—surely he had been doing this on purpose, right?

His every movement seemed calculated, designed to draw attention, to spark desire, even when you tried desperately not to notice. The way his laughter lingered just a second too long, the way his gaze seemed to pierce through you as if he knew every thought in your head. It was maddening.

Xanthus stood nearby–despite you offering him to sit next to you, he assured he had to keep a ‘lookout.’, a silent sentinel, but his presence did little to ground you against the whirlwind of emotions Dontis stirred. The bond you shared with Xanthus hummed faintly, like a distant melody struggling to break through the noise of Dontis's presence. Was it enough to shield you?

Dontis leaned closer, his voice like silk, laced with both mockery and intrigue. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asked, his lips curling into a knowing smile. “It’s not intentional, I promise. It’s just… my nature.”

“Dontis,” Xanthus’s voice cut through the moment, low and warning. “Enough.”

The incubus’s smile widened, but he leaned back, his expression a portrait of feigned innocence. “I’m merely being a gracious host,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “You know me, Xanny. I’ve always been accommodating.”

Something flickered in Xanthus’s eyes—a brief, almost imperceptible hesitation. It was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual stoic demeanor, but it was enough to make you wonder.

And yet, as the incubus’s laughter echoed softly, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d already failed just by letting the thought cross your mind.

You swallowed the spit gathering in your mouth. This was one moment of many, and with it, you were able to come to three conclusions.

First, Dontis was absolutely doing this on purpose. There was no mistaking the deliberate way he manipulated the space around him, the calculated charm in his every word and action. This wasn’t just his nature; it was a game, and you were the unwitting pawn.

Second, Dontis thrived on pushing boundaries. He wasn’t merely testing you; he was testing the strength of your relationship with Xanthus, probing for cracks he could exploit. Whether out of amusement or something more calculated, you couldn’t tell, but it made you all the more determined to hold firm

Third, and perhaps most unsettling, some part of you wasn’t sure if you wanted the tension to stop. It was a dangerous thought, one that you quickly pushed aside, but it lingered like a shadow at the edge of your mind. Did this mean you were weak, or simply human?

You glanced toward Xanthus, hoping for a moment of clarity, but his face was unreadable, his gaze fixed firmly on Dontis. The vampire’s presence was steady, grounding, but his silence spoke volumes. He was giving you space to navigate this, to prove your loyalty—to yourself as much as to him.

“You’re quiet,” Dontis remarked, breaking the silence. His tone was teasing, but his eyes gleamed with curiosity. “Deep in thought, perhaps? I do have that effect on people.”

You straightened, forcing a steadiness into your voice. “Some of us value thinking over speaking,” you replied, the words sharp enough to wipe the smirk from Dontis’s face for a fleeting moment—only for it to soon return. 

Xanthus’s lips quirked upward ever so slightly in approval, a subtle but reassuring sign that your resolve had not gone unnoticed. The bond hummed stronger, a gentle reminder of where your heart truly lay, even as the challenges loomed large.

You closed your eyes and leaned back against the couch. Its upholstery was a deep shade of purple—not bright or garish, but rich and sultry, an echo of Dontis himself. It was as though the very fabric of his home was steeped in his essence, every corner of the space designed to draw you further into his world. The soft velvet beneath your fingertips whispered of indulgence, temptation, and secrets better left unspoken.  

The air felt thick, almost tangible, laden with the faint scent of incense and something indefinable—something uniquely Dontis. It clung to you, invading your senses no matter how hard you tried to resist. Even the dim lighting seemed complicit, casting shadows that flickered and danced, teasing the edges of your vision.  

This was more than a house. It was a reflection of him, a stage upon which he played his games with unnerving skill. And you? You were part of the performance, caught between the lure of his charm and the strength of your bond with Xanthus.  

Xanthus, who remained steadfast, a silent protector in this den of sin. The faint hum of your connection thrummed louder now, a lifeline grounding you in the face of Dontis’s relentless pull. His presence was your anchor, a reminder that there was more to you than the doubts and desires Dontis sought to awaken.  

For a moment, you let the tension ease from your shoulders, inhaling deeply as you tried to reclaim a sense of balance. Dontis’s world was suffocating, intoxicating, but it was also temporary. You had endured this long; you could endure a little longer.  

"Comfortable now?" Dontis’s voice broke through the quiet, smooth and amused. You opened your eyes to find him watching you, his expression one of feigned innocence, though the glint in his eyes betrayed his true intentions.  

You didn’t answer immediately, letting the silence stretch just long enough to unsettle him. Then, with a calm you didn’t quite feel, you replied, “The couch is nice, though it seems a little too fitting for you. I’m not sure whether to find that amusing or suspicious.”  

Dontis laughed, the sound like warm honey with a bitter aftertaste. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, leaning back himself, the picture of ease. “It’s always gratifying to be... unforgettable.”  

From the corner of your eye, you caught Xanthus’s faint smirk, the subtle curve of his lips like a quiet victory. Despite the incubus’s games, you weren’t as easily swayed as he might have hoped.  

The room seemed to exhale with you, the tension loosening its grip. For now, at least, you had found your footing again. But the night was far from over, and in Dontis’s lair, the real test was only just beginning.

 ──

New Orleans was alive with glamour, music, and the tantalizing aroma of food that seemed to waft from every corner. The city was a living, breathing entity, its streets pulsing with a vibrancy that could only exist here. It took no small effort to coax Xanthus out of the sanctuary of Dontis’s home—his carefully constructed fortress of control.

The Trimidainy, had made Xanthus almost painfully vigilant. It wasn’t paranoia, exactly, but a relentless need to maintain constant awareness and control. Xanthus didn’t trust the world beyond his walls, not fully. He had his reasons, of course, though he rarely spoke of his thoughts. Dontis had mentioned it in passing, almost casually, as though it were obvious. “He’s always been that way,” the incubus had said with a smirk, though there was an undertone of something like exasperation.

The streets had an almost ethereal glow, the gas lanterns lining the narrow alleys casting flickering light onto cobblestone paths. Music spilled from every corner—haunting jazz melodies that seemed to weave into the humid night air, enticing you to linger. But there was no lingering with Xanthus. He moved with purpose, his eyes scanning every shadow as though he expected something—or someone—to emerge from it.  

You trailed behind him, the bond between you a quiet reassurance, though his tension was palpable. Dontis sauntered a step ahead of you, his stride languid and almost dismissive, as though he owned the very streets beneath his feet. He tossed a careless smile at passersby, some of whom turned to watch him go, entranced despite themselves. The power he carried wasn’t merely in his nature but in his effortless ability to command attention.  

“Relax, Xanthus,” Dontis drawled, his tone both amused and faintly mocking. “No one here poses a threat to your precious fortress of paranoia. It’s New Orleans. Let the city work its magic.”  

Xanthus shot him a look that could have cut glass but said nothing, his jaw tight. You could feel his frustration like a ripple through the bond, though he held it back with his usual stoicism.  

Dontis chuckled, clearly pleased with himself, and turned to you instead. “What about you? Surely you’re not immune to the charms of this place. The music, the lights… the promise of secrets waiting to be uncovered.”  

You glanced around, taking in the sights. The air was thick with the mingling scents of spices, perfume, and something faintly metallic that made your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t quite place. It was intoxicating, but also unnerving—like the city itself was alive and watching.  

“It’s beautiful,” you admitted, though your voice held a hint of caution.  

“See?” Dontis gestured at you with a flourish. “At least someone here has taste.”  

Xanthus ignored him, his gaze fixed on a small group of musicians gathered on the corner. Their song was slow and mournful, a melody that seemed to resonate with something deep within you. Xanthus lingered, his posture softening just slightly, and for a moment, you saw a glimpse of the man beneath the armor he so carefully maintained.  

The moment passed quickly. Xanthus turned sharply, his voice low but firm. “We should keep moving.”  

Dontis rolled his eyes but fell into step beside him, though the tension between them was almost visible. “You’re wasting the night,” Dontis said, his voice lilting with exasperation. “There’s so much to see, to experience. Honestly, Xanny, I don’t know how you can live like this.”  

Xanthus didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than you expected. “I need to keep them safe Dontis—it is my duty..”  

Dontis raised an eyebrow, but there was a flicker of something in his expression—curiosity, perhaps, or recognition. He didn’t press further, though his silence felt heavy, as though the conversation had only just begun.  

The three of you wandered deeper into the city, the vibrant energy of the French Quarter giving way to quieter streets where the buildings loomed taller, their wrought-iron balconies casting intricate shadows. It was here, away from the crowds, that the city’s true age became apparent.  

“This,” Dontis said suddenly, his voice softer now, “is where the magic lingers.”  

You looked around, unsure of what he meant, but there was a strange stillness in the air—a feeling that the past was closer here, brushing against the edges of the present. The city seemed to hold its breath, and for a moment, even Xanthus paused.  

“This city has seen things,” Dontis continued, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “Things most people can’t even imagine. Blood, love, betrayal… it soaks into the very bones of the place.”  

There was something in his voice, a hint of wistfulness that caught you off guard. You glanced at Xanthus, but his expression was unreadable, his gaze fixed on Dontis as though he were trying to decipher a puzzle.  

“Don’t get lost in it,” Xanthus said finally, his tone sharp.  

Dontis laughed, the sound echoing softly against the walls. “Oh, Xanny,” he said, his smirk returning. “Getting lost is the best part.”  

The tension between them was like a taut wire, vibrating with unspoken words. You felt caught between them, their history a shadow that loomed larger with every step you took.  

“Where are we going?” you asked, breaking the silence.  

“Patience,” Dontis said, his smile sly. “You’ll see soon enough.”  

And so you followed, the city wrapping itself around you like a living thing, its secrets waiting to be revealed. But with every step, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were walking deeper into something far more dangerous than the night itself.  

──

The further you walked, the quieter New Orleans became, its bustling energy fading into a softer, more intimate rhythm. The narrow streets were kissed by the glow of lantern light, casting warm golden tones over the cobblestones. You followed Dontis as he led you through a labyrinth of alleys and courtyards, the city’s heartbeat slowing in these hidden spaces.  

“Not much further,” Dontis said over his shoulder, his voice smooth and unhurried. His steps were deliberate, his presence magnetic even when he wasn’t trying—or perhaps especially because he wasn’t trying.  

Xanthus followed closely, his posture stiff as always, though there was a subtle shift in him. The tension in his shoulders was less severe, the faintest relaxation in his gait betraying the pull of the city’s charm—or perhaps, something else.  

The three of you emerged into a secluded courtyard hidden behind wrought-iron gates. It was like stepping into another world: a single oak tree dominated the space, its gnarled branches heavy with lanterns that bathed the area in flickering light. A fountain bubbled quietly in the center, its gentle melody mingling with the faint hum of the night.  

Dontis paused beneath the oak, his silhouette a striking contrast to the golden glow surrounding him. “This,” he said, spreading his arms, “is one of my favorite places in the city. Quiet. Private. Beautiful, wouldn’t you agree?” His words lingered, heavier than they should have been, and his gaze flicked to you briefly before settling on Xanthus.  

“I've only showed one other human this place, a hunte—”

Xanthus moved cautiously, his sharp eyes scanning the courtyard before stepping closer to the fountain. “Why bring us here?” he asked interrupting the incubus, his voice low, though not hostile.  

“Because,” Dontis said, his tone softening, “even you, Xanthus, deserve moments like this. Even you can appreciate beauty when you’re not too busy pushing it away.”  

Xanthus’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the fountain, his hands brushing over the stone as if grounding himself.  

You hesitated, caught between the two of them. Dontis stood under the tree, a figure of deliberate ease, while Xanthus sat by the fountain, a quiet storm of unspoken thoughts.  

“Don’t let him intimidate you,” Dontis said, his tone playful but carrying an edge of something deeper. “The fountain is plenty big for two.”  

Three, you thought but held your tongue.  

You moved toward Xanthus, sitting beside him. The bond between you hummed softly, a tether that steadied you even in the face of the tension Dontis so expertly conjured. But tonight, the bond felt different—alive, as if it were its own presence between you. It pulsed faintly, a living thread weaving through you and Xanthus, growing stronger not in opposition to Dontis but because of him.  

Xanthus didn’t look at you, but you felt the faintest shift in him, an almost imperceptible easing of his guard.  

Dontis remained where he was, leaning against the trunk of the oak tree. His gaze lingered on the two of you, something unspoken flickering in his eyes. “You know,” he said, his voice quieter now, “this city has a way of exposing what’s hidden. Sometimes it reveals things we’d rather keep buried.”  

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, you thought they might have been meant for Xanthus. But when you looked up, Dontis’s gaze was locked on you. It wasn’t the usual teasing glint—it was something deeper, rawer. A yearning that made your breath hitch.  

Xanthus seemed to sense it too, his hand tensing against the stone. “Dontis,” he said, his voice sharp, “whatever game you’re playing, stop.”  

“I’m not playing a game,” Dontis replied, his tone softer than you’d ever heard it. He straightened, stepping closer, though he stopped a few feet away. “Not tonight.”  

You looked between the two of them, caught in the weight of the moment. Dontis’s eyes softened as they held yours, his usual smugness replaced with something achingly sincere. “You’re stronger than you realize,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “But even the strong need to be seen. To be wanted.”  

Your heart twisted at his words, the vulnerability in them cutting through your defenses. It wasn’t just a ploy; there was truth in his gaze, a longing that made it impossible to look away.  

Xanthus shifted beside you, his presence a steadying force. His hand brushed against yours—not just a fleeting gesture, but a deliberate connection. The bond between you surged in response, like a second heartbeat, alive and radiant. And for the first time, you understood: Dontis wasn’t unraveling it. He was strengthening it.  

His words, his presence, his relentless push against your walls—they weren’t breaking you apart. They were forcing you and Xanthus to acknowledge the depth of what you shared. And yet, there was something else—a thread of tension woven into the bond itself, something that pulsed faintly in Dontis’s direction.  

He saw it too. You could tell by the way his gaze lingered, not with triumph, but with something quieter. You felt Xanthus’s hand tighten on yours, a grounding force that didn’t deny the truth in Dontis’s voice.  

The night seemed to hold its breath, the three of you caught in a moment too fragile to shatter. You glanced at Xanthus, his eyes dark and searching, and then back at Dontis, who stood before you with a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show.  

The bond between you hummed louder now, not as a barrier, but as a bridge. It was alive, growing, adapting to encompass truths you hadn’t dared to face.  

In this quiet corner of New Orleans, hidden from the world, the weight of what lay unspoken between you all pressed down like the humid air, heavy with possibility. 

 Music poured from open doorways, laughter bubbled over from shadowy corners, and the aroma of spices and sweet pralines wafted through the air, mingling with the faint scent of jasmine. But in the quiet, tucked-away courtyard where the three of you lingered, the world felt suspended, holding its breath.

Dontis leaned casually against the wrought-iron railing, his eyes glinting in the dim light like dark jewels. “You’ve both become... quite the pair,” he said, his tone light but tinged with something unreadable. His gaze lingered on Xanthus for a moment longer than it should have, a flicker of something in his expression—fondness, regret, maybe both.

Xanthus didn’t reply immediately. His grip on your hand was steady, grounding, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed the unease he refused to voice. “We’re stronger together,” he said finally, his voice low and firm. “That’s all that matters.”

Dontis tilted his head, a smile curling on his lips that was neither mocking nor entirely sincere. “Strong, indeed,” he murmured, his gaze flickering briefly to you, then back to Xanthus. “I can see why you’d hold onto it so tightly this time.”

This time. The words echoed in your mind, subtle yet loaded, like a secret whispered just loud enough to tease but not to reveal. There was history here, intricate and layered, but it stayed in the shadows, unspoken. It made the air between them hum with an unnameable tension, a thread you couldn’t quite grasp but couldn’t ignore.

The bond pulsed faintly within you, alive and aware, as though it too was listening, learning, feeding off the emotions swirling between the three of you. Where you had once thought Dontis was a threat to it, you now felt the opposite. His presence, his words, even the emotions he seemed to draw out—none of it was fraying the connection you shared with Xanthus. If anything, it was weaving the bond tighter, making it stronger, more vivid, more alive. 

You had been so quick to see him as a serpent, a deceiver. A threat to everything you held sacred. Your bond with Xanthus had seemed untouchable—a divine covenant, a blessing etched into your very soul. And yet, Dontis’s words didn’t feel like poison anymore. They felt… like truth. Not a truth that sought to unravel, but one that sought to reveal.

You leaned against the counter, staring at the faint reflection of yourself in the window. Was this what the garden was truly about—That’s what he was, the garden. Not the garden itself, but what it represents. Choice. Change, Not the loss of innocence, not the bite of temptation, but the moment where choice created meaning. The moment when free will transformed the static into the infinite.

“Dontis,” you said softly, drawing his attention. His gaze shifted to you, dark and probing, and for a moment, it felt like he could see into the very heart of you. “You’re not as detached as you pretend to be.”

A laugh escaped him, low and velvety, but it lacked his usual sharp edge. “Detached,” he echoed, as if tasting the word. “Maybe I’m just... careful.” His eyes flicked to Xanthus again, something unspoken passing between them before he looked away, his expression shuttered. 

Xanthus’s hand tightened around yours briefly, a silent acknowledgment, though of what, you couldn’t quite say. “Careful is one word for it,” he said, his tone edged but not unkind. “Calculated might be another.”

Dontis smiled, a faint, bittersweet curve of his lips. “And you would know.”

There it was again, that subtle thread of something deeper between them, something steeped in a past you weren’t privy to but could feel in the air, in the way they spoke, the way they moved around each other. It wasn’t hostility, not exactly. It was... complicated.

The tension shifted, not dissipating but evolving, becoming something heavier, more charged. The courtyard felt smaller, the space between the three of you narrowing as though drawn by invisible strings. Dontis straightened, his eyes lingering on you, then on Xanthus, his smile softening into something quieter, something more honest.

“Shall we call it a night?” His voice was smooth, almost teasing, but there was a vulnerability in the way he asked, as though he wasn’t sure what the answer would be.

Xanthus glanced at you, his expression unreadable but his bond with you thrumming faintly, reassuringly. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice steady. His eyes flicked to Dontis, and after a moment’s hesitation, he added, “You’re welcome to join us.”

Surprise flickered across Dontis’s face, quickly masked by a smile that was almost too casual. “How generous of you,” he said lightly, though his voice carried a warmth that betrayed the act. “I’ll take you up on that.”

──

As you walked hand in hand with Xanthus, the city’s nocturnal hum began to fade, replaced by the steady rhythm of your bond. It pulsed with warmth, a living connection that had carried you through trials and doubts. Tonight, however, it felt different—richer, as if the presence of Dontis had become a note woven seamlessly into its melody. Not discordant but... complementary.

The incubus walked quietly beside you, his gaze flickering from the ground to the horizon, then back to the two of you. His usual smirk had softened into something thoughtful, even vulnerable. It was an expression you rarely saw, but one that stirred a strange ache in your chest.

On an impulse, you reached out and clasped Dontis’s hand, intertwining your fingers with his. The warmth of his touch was immediate, steady yet electric. He glanced at you, his lips parting slightly in surprise, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his grip tightened, a silent acknowledgment of the gesture’s significance.

Xanthus, on your other side, gave your hand a gentle squeeze. The weight of his gaze settled on the intertwined fingers between you and Dontis, but he didn’t seem upset. If anything, his expression softened as his eyes returned to yours, his own hand grounding you further. The bond, once a private thread connecting only you and Xanthus, seemed to hum louder now, expanding, welcoming. It was alive, growing, strengthened not by division but by the shared energy flowing between the three of you.

The walk back to Dontis’s home felt longer than it was, each step steeped in unspoken words, shared glances, and the tension that coiled tighter with every passing moment. The air carried a charge that was impossible to ignore, a promise of something transformative waiting just beyond the threshold.

As you walked along the cobblestone streets, your gaze wandered to Dontis, whose attention seemed anchored to a bar you were passing. His expression, so often composed of teasing smirks and playful glances, now held something more subdued—something unspoken.

“What is it?” you asked, your voice cutting through the quiet.

“Nothing,” Dontis replied, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. His eyes lingered on the bar, its old wooden sign faded but still legible. “I just… I met someone there. A hunter. Long ago.”

Your brows furrowed slightly as you studied him. There was something in the way his shoulders tensed, the faint flicker of nostalgia or regret crossing his face. “Go on,” you prompted, sensing the weight of what he wasn’t saying.

He let out a soft laugh, the sound tinged with self-deprecation. “It’s a long story,” he murmured, his fingers brushing absently against the edge of his coat.

“We have all the time in the world,” Xanthus said, his voice low but steady. Dontis met Xanthus’s gaze, and for a moment, the incubus’s carefully crafted mask slipped. His eyes softened, the usual glint of mischief replaced by something raw and unguarded.

──

When you finally arrived, Dontis opened the door with a graceful sweep, his home aglow with a dim, golden light. The warmth of the room wrapped around you as you stepped inside, the rich, velvety scent of incense brushing against your senses. The door clicked shut behind you, sealing you away from the outside world.

Dontis turned to face you both, his usual playful smirk replaced by an expression that was unreadable, almost tender. His gaze flickered between you and Xanthus, searching, lingering. “I’d ask if you wanted a drink,” he murmured, his voice lower now, quieter, “but I think that’s not what anyone needs tonight.”

Xanthus took a step closer, his presence as steadying as ever, though his eyes gleamed with something unspoken. “You always were good at reading the room,” he said, his tone soft, yet there was a weight behind the words—a history that hinted at shared moments long buried but never forgotten.

Dontis let out a quiet chuckle, though there was no mockery in it this time. “I try.” His eyes met yours, and the vulnerability in his gaze was startling. “This… whatever this is… it’s not something I want to ruin.”

“You’re not ruining anything,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions brewing inside you. “If anything, you’re part of what makes it stronger.”

The incubus seemed momentarily at a loss for words, his fingers still entwined with yours. Xanthus stepped closer, his free hand brushing against Dontis’s shoulder—a simple touch, but one that spoke volumes.

“We’re all here,” Xanthus said, his voice rich with meaning. “About the past, I’m—.”

“Enough, Xanny.”

The bond between you all seemed to thrum in agreement, alive with the promise of what was to come. 

As the three of you stood in the softly lit room, the atmosphere was charged with unspoken emotions and a palpable tension that seemed to thrum in the very air around you. The bond connecting you and Xanthus pulsed with a newfound intensity, now harmoniously intertwined with Dontis's presence, creating a triad of connection that felt both exhilarating and profound.

Xanthus's gaze met yours, his eyes reflecting a mixture of love and desire, silently seeking your consent for the uncharted path you were all about to explore. Dontis, usually so confident and teasing, now watched with a vulnerability that spoke of his longing to be part of this intimate convergence.

With a slight nod, you affirmed your willingness, and Xanthus stepped closer, his hand gently caressing your cheek before his lips met yours in a tender, lingering kiss. The familiar warmth of his embrace grounded you, even as the excitement of the unknown sent shivers down your spine.

As you parted, Dontis moved nearer, his eyes searching yours for permission. You reached out, your fingers grazing his cheek, and he leaned into your touch, his breath hitching slightly. When his lips finally met yours, the kiss was both tentative and deep, a melding of curiosity and suppressed desire that had been building between you.

The three of you gravitated toward the large plush seating area, a silent agreement guiding your movements. In this intimate space, words became unnecessary, The air was thick with tension and anticipation as the three of you settled onto the plush, velvet-covered chaise. The soft glow of the room enveloped you, casting a warm, intimate light over your entwined forms.

Xanthus's hand found yours, his fingers interlacing with yours in a gesture of comfort and connection. His touch was familiar, yet now imbued with a new layer of intensity, a silent acknowledgment of the shared bond that had grown between the three of you.

Dontis, usually so confident and teasing, now watched with a vulnerability that spoke of his longing to be part of this intimate convergence. His gaze flickered between you and Xanthus, seeking, searching for a sign of acceptance, of invitation.

As if sensing your unspoken consent, Dontis shifted closer, his hand coming to rest on your thigh. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, a delicious anticipation of what was to come. His lips brushed against your neck, a feather-light touch that sent goosebumps racing across your skin.

Xanthus's presence remained a steadying force, his hand moving to cup your face, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. His eyes, usually so guarded, now shone with a mixture of love and desire, a silent pledge of devotion that transcended the physical.

The air seemed to crackle with energy as the three of you moved together, a dance of touch and caress that was both familiar and new. Dontis's hands explored your body with a gentle reverence, his touch igniting sparks of pleasure that mingled with the warmth of Xanthus's embrace.

As the moments passed, the barriers between you began to dissolve, the boundaries of your individual selves blurring into a single, harmonious entity. The bond that had grown between you and Xanthus now pulsed with a newfound intensity, intertwined with Dontis's presence, creating a triad of connection that felt both exhilarating and profound.

The room seemed to fade away, the outside world ceasing to exist as you lost yourself in the sensations of the moment. The scent of incense mingled with the heady aroma of arousal, Xanthus's eyes, already darkened with desire, flashed with a hunger that went beyond the physical as he gazed upon your exposed neck. His gaze was intense, almost feral, as he leaned in closer, his cool breath ghosting over your racing pulse. You could feel the heat of his body pressing against yours, his arousal evident even through the fabric of his clothing.

"May I?" Xanthus murmured, his voice a low, hypnotic rumble that sent shivers down your spine. At your whispered consent, he didn't hesitate. His lips parted, revealing the glint of his sharp fangs, and then he was upon you, his mouth latching onto the tender skin of your neck.

The sensation was unlike anything you had ever experienced - a sharp, intense pleasure-pain that had you gasping and arching into him. Xanthus's tongue lapped at your skin, his fangs piercing, and then the first draw of your blood hitting his palate. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through his chest and into your own.

As Xanthus drank, you could feel a corresponding ache building between your thighs, a throbbing need that grew with each pull of his mouth. His hips began to move, rocking against yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm that mirrored the cadence of his feeding. The hard length of him pressed against your core, separated only by the thin barrier of your clothing, stoking the flames of your arousal.

As Xanthus continued to feed, his hands began to roam your body with a newfound urgency. He tugged at your clothing, practically tearing it in his haste to remove the barrier between your skin and his questing fingers. Buttons popped, fabric ripped, and then his hands were on your bare flesh, calloused palms skimming over the soft curves of your body.

Dontis, not to be outdone, joined in the fray of disrobing you both. His deft fingers made quick work of the remaining scraps of your clothing, leaving you bare and exposed to their hungry gazes. The cool air kissed your heated skin, pebbling your flesh and making you ache for their touch.

"Exquisite," Dontis breathed, his voice rough with desire. "Even more beautiful than I imagined." 

Lost in the haze of sensation, you barely registered Dontis's movements until you felt calloused fingers skimmed over the swell of your breasts, teasing the sensitive peaks until they pebbled and strained towards his touch.

Dontis leaned down, his tongue flicking out to lace over one straining nipple before drawing it into his mouth. He suckled gently, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud, sending jolts of electricity straight to your core. His other hand continued its exploration, drifting lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants to cup your mound.

The dual sensations of Xanthus feeding and Dontis's touch were overwhelming, pushing you closer to the edge of a precipice you'd never before approached. 

Xanthus pulled back from your neck, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he licked the last drops of blood from his fangs. His eyes, now darkened with lust and power, roamed over your flushed face, taking in the dazed expression of pleasure that graced your features.

"Dontis," Xanthus purred, his gaze flicking to the incubus who was still lavishing attention on your breasts. "Have you ever tasted the blood of a human?"

Dontis paused in his ministrations, his head snapping up to meet Xanthus's gaze. There was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, a hint of the insatiable hunger that was a part of his very nature. "No," he admitted, his voice a low rumble. "Never."

A wicked glint entered Xanthus's eyes, a predatory smile curving his lips. In one swift motion, Xanthus grabbed Dontis by the hair, pulling him up and into a searing kiss. The vampire's tongue delved into the incubus's mouth, forcing the taste of your blood onto Dontis's tongue. Dontis's eyes widened, a low groan escaping him as the unique flavor of your essence flooded his senses.

Xanthus deepened the kiss, his fangs grazing Dontis's lower lip, the coppery tang of blood mingling with the heat of their passion. Dontis's hands fisted in Xanthus's hair, pulling him closer, wanting more of that intoxicating taste.

As the two men lost themselves in each other, you lay back, your chest heaving, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks of pleasure. Your gaze drifted over the erotic scene before you Xanthus and Dontis locked in a passionate embrace, their mouths and hands roaming over each other's bodies with a hunger that was both primal and arousing.

The sight alone was enough to reignite the fire within you, and you found yourself arching into the cool air, craving more touch, more sensation. Your hands drifted down your body, fingers teasing over the sensitive skin of your stomach. 

As they explored your body, their own clothing began to fall away, revealing the hard planes and sinewy muscles beneath. Xanthus's chest was a work of sculpted perfection, his abdomen a six-pack of lean, taut muscle. Dontis's body was no less impressive, his broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, his skin a warm, dusky hue that spoke of his incubus heritage.

The sight of them, all raw power and barely leashed desire, had your mouth going dry and your heart pounding against your ribs. You reached out, your hands greedy to explore the expanse of their chests, to feel the heat of their skin, the play of muscle beneath flesh.

Xanthus caught your wrist, bringing your hand to his mouth. He pressed a kiss to your palm, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin, before guiding your hand lower, over the ridges of his abdomen, to the thick, hard length of him. He was impressive, long and thick and throbbing with a life of its own.

Dontis mirrored Xanthus's actions, taking your other hand and guiding it to his own impressive arousal. The heat of him seared your palm, the silky hardness a stark contrast to the velvety softness of the skin. He hissed through his teeth as your fingers curled around him, his hips rocking into your touch.

You began to stroke them, your grip firm and purposeful, your thumbs swirling over the sensitive heads to catch the beads of moisture that leaked from the tips. Xanthus's eyes fluttered shut, a low moan escaping his lips as you worked his thick length, while Dontis's gaze remained locked on yours, his expression one of pure, unadulterated lust.

As you continued to pump their cocks, Dontis's hand joined yours on Xanthus's shaft, his long fingers wrapping around yours, stroking in sync with your movements. Together, you pleasured the vampire, your combined touches making him shudder and gasp, his hips rocking into your joined fists.

Spurred on by Xanthus's reactions, Dontis leaned down, getting on his knees, his tongue flicking out to taste the weeping slit of the vampire's cock. Xanthus let out a sharp hiss, his fingers tangling in Dontis's hair, holding him in place as the incubus's tongue swirled around the swollen head, lapping up the salty-sweet essence that leaked from the tip.

Emboldened, you joined him—sliding off the plush coach and joining him on your knees leaning in your tongue joining Dontis's in its exploration of Xanthus's thick length. Together, you lapped and suckled at the vampire's flesh, your tongues dancing and twining around his throbbing cock. Xanthus's grip on Dontis's hair tightened, a guttural moan tearing from his throat. You could feel the heat building, the air growing thick with the scent of sex and the sound of panting breaths and pleasured cries. Your own arousal mounted, your core clenching and fluttering around nothing as you lost yourself in the act of bringing Xanthus to the brink of ecstasy. 

You and Dontis worked in sync, your mouths exploring every inch of Xanthus's thick, throbbing cock. Your tongues swirled around the swollen head, lapping up the salty-sweet essence that leaked from the tip, the taste of his arousal exploding on your taste buds. You could feel the heat of his skin, the silky hardness that pulsed with a life of its own as you both lavished attention on his impressive length.

Dontis's hand joined yours at the base of Xanthus's shaft, his long fingers wrapping around the thick flesh, stroking in time with the bobbing of your heads. Together, you pumped and suckled, your tongues dancing and twining around his cock, your lips stretching wide to take him deeper into your eager mouths.

You could feel Xanthus's grip on your hair tightening, his hips rocking into the dual assault of your mouths, seeking more of that exquisite pleasure. His moans and growls filled the air, the erotic symphony spurring you on, urging you to bring him closer to the edge of release.

As you pleasured Xanthus, Dontis's hand drifted lower, his fingers slipping between your slick folds. He groaned against Xanthus's flesh as he felt the evidence of your arousal, your body dripping with need. Two fingers plunged into your hot, tight core, pumping in time with the stroking of Xanthus's cock, the combined sensations pushing you both closer to the brink.

You could feel the coil of tension building in your stomach, your body aching for release as you lost yourself in the act of bringing Xanthus to his peak. Your free hand drifted to your breast, kneading the soft mound, plucking at the hardened nipple, the dual stimulation making your head spin with pleasure.

Xanthus's balls tightened, his shaft throbbing against your tongue as he neared his climax. With a curse, he came undone, his hot seed erupting from the tip of his cock, flooding your mouth and Dontis's in thick, creamy ropes. The taste was overwhelming, the sheer volume of his release making you both struggle to swallow it all.

Throughout his intense orgasm, Dontis continued to stroke Xanthus's shaft, coaxing out every last drop of his release, while his fingers pumped into your dripping core, taking you over the edge with him. 

As Xanthus rode out the waves of his intense climax, his grip on your hair tightened to the point of pain, holding your head in place as he emptied himself into your eagerly suckling mouths..

Xanthus's moans and growls softened to low, satisfied rumbles as the last spurts of his release dribbled onto your tongues. Finally, his grip on your hair relaxed, his hands falling away as he slumped back against the plush of the couch, his chest heaving with the force of his breathing.

Dontis released Xanthus's spent cock, his tongue lapping gently at the softening flesh to catch any stray drops of the vampire's essence. 

He turned to you, only then does he pull his fingers from your core. His eyes glinting with mischief and a hunger that was far from satiated, he brings his fingers to his lips sucking on your arousal from them. "You taste divine together," he purred, his voice a low, seductive rumble. 

With that, he captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to dance with yours. You could taste the mingled flavors of Xanthus's release on his tongue, the salty-sweet essence making your head spin with renewed desire. As you kissed, Dontis's hands roamed your body, stroking and caressing, stoking the flames of your arousal that had only briefly been banked.

Xanthus watched the erotic display through heavy-lidded eyes, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "Insatiable creatures," he murmured, his voice a low, approving rumble.

You couldn't help but notice that while Xanthus had found his release, Dontis had not. A flicker of concern crossed your mind, followed swiftly by a surge of determination to ensure the incubus was just as satisfied as the vampire.

Breaking the kiss, you trailed your fingers down Dontis's chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “You have yet to come Dontis”

Dontis's eyes flashed with hunger as he met your gaze, a wicked grin spreading across his face. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him, letting you feel the hard, aching length of his arousal pressing insistently against your stomach.

Rolling onto your back, you guided Dontis to settle between your thighs, your legs falling open in clear invitation. He settled his hips against yours, the head of his cock nudging against your slick, swollen folds, teasing you with the promise of what was to come. You shiver slightly against the carpet of the floor.

As Dontis began to slowly push forward, easing the thick length of his shaft into your tight heat, Xanthus moved off the couch to kneel behind the incubus. You watched, transfixed, as Dontis shuddered, a low moan escaping him as he felt Xanthus's presence behind him. "Fuck," Dontis gasped, his hips jerking forward, driving him deeper into your welcoming body. 

Emboldened, Xanthus spat directly onto Dontis's hole, watching as the saliva dripped down to coat his fingers. Without warning, he pressed a finger into Dontis's ass, feeling the tight ring of muscle clench around the invading digit. He pumped his finger slowly, working Dontis open.

Meanwhile, you wrapped your legs around Dontis's waist, your heels digging into the small of his back as you urged him deeper,

Xanthus worked a second finger into Dontis's tight hole, then a third, pumping them slowly, stretching the incubus. Dontis grunted and moaned, his hips rocking back against Xanthus's hand, seeking more of that delicious friction. All the while, his own hips never ceased their steady thrusts into your hot, slick channel, the wet sounds of your coupling filling the room.

"Enough," Dontis growled, his voice strained with need. "I need more, Xanthus.”

Xanthus chuckled darkly, removing his fingers and replacing them with the swollen head of his impressive erection. "As you wish," he purred, gripping Dontis's hips tightly and pushing forward.

Dontis threw his head back with a guttural moan as Xanthus's thick shaft breached him, the tight ring of muscle stretching to accommodate the vampire's girth. Xanthus didn't stop until he was fully sheathed, his hips flush against Dontis's ass, his heavy balls resting against the incubus's skin.

You reach a trembling hand up to rub the pad of your thumb along Dontis’s cheek—an attempt at comforting, though you wondered if you found pleasure in the pain.

The dual stimulation of your tight pussy gripping his cock and Xanthus's thick length buried deep in his ass was almost too intense to bear.

Xanthus set a hard, driving rhythm, pounding into Dontis with supernatural strength and speed. The force of his thrusts drove Dontis deeper into you, his cock slamming against that sweet spot deep inside that made you see stars.

"Harder," Dontis demanded, his voice a low, feral snarl. "Fuck me harder, Xanthus."

Growling, Xanthus complied, his hips slapping against Dontis's ass with brutal force, the obscene sound echoing through the room. Dontis soon realized his body was no longer his own as he was used for both of their pleasure.

His cries of ecstasy filled the air, mingling with Xanthus's dark, approving rumbles and your own moans. The room grew thick with the scent of sex and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, the erotic symphony pushing.

Your inner walls clamped down around Dontis's pistoning shaft, gripping him like a velvet vice as your climax crashed over you. Wave after wave of ecstasy washed through you, your body convulsing and shaking, your toes curling from the sheer intensity of your release. You threw your head back, a silent scream of pure rapture tearing from your throat as your pussy gushed around Dontis's cock, drenching his shaft and balls with your honeyed essence.

Your head felt heavy, as though it were submerged in a fog you couldn’t quite shake. A strange, unnatural warmth coursed through your body, seeping into your limbs and making it difficult to move. Panic began to creep in as your vision blurred, the world around you fading into a wash of brilliant, blinding white.

Xanthus chose that moment to lean down, his lips ghosting over the tender juncture of Dontis's neck and shoulder before sinking his fangs into the soft flesh. Dontis cried out, his voice a mixture of pain and pleasure that echoed through the room. His body convulsed as a bolt of white-hot ecstasy surged through him, the sharp sting of Xanthus's bite melting seamlessly into an overwhelming flood of bliss that left him trembling.

The coppery tang of Dontis's blood spilled onto Xanthus's tongue, rich and intoxicating—a taste he savored not out of hunger, but out of pure, unbridled greed. Each pull from the wound was deliberate, each moment a declaration of dominance, and yet there was an intimacy in the act that left Dontis's heart pounding. “Xanthu—!”

Dontis's words dissolve into a guttural moan as his orgasm crashed over him like a tidal wave, his cock pulsing and throbbing inside you as he found his release. His seed erupted from his shaft, painting your walls with his hot, sticky essence, the sensation pushing him off the edge.

Xanthus groaned above you, his hips stuttering as he rutted into Dontis's spasming ass, chasing his own rapidly approaching climax. The feeling of Dontis's silken walls gripping his cock like a hot, wet fist, along with the erotic sight of your body writhing in pleasure beneath him, was quickly becoming too much for the vampire to withstand.

"Fuck, I'm going to... I can't..." Xanthus grunted, his voice a low, guttural rasp as he teetered on the brink of release. With one final, brutal thrust, he slammed into Dontis's ass, burying himself to the hilt as his orgasm overtook him.

Xanthus threw his head back, unadulterated bliss erupting from his throat as his cock jerked and throbbed, painting Dontis's inner walls. 

As Xanthus's hot seed flooded Dontis's ass, Dontis let out a guttural groan, his body shuddering with the force of his own intense climax. The feeling of Xanthus's thick, pulsing cock throbbing deep inside him, pumping him full of the vampire's potent release, pushed Dontis over the edge once more. His own shaft, still buried to the hilt inside your fluttering pussy, jerked and twitched as he found an almost immediate second release, his seed erupting from his cock to mix with the slick fluids already filling you.

As Xanthus's climax began to subside, he collapsed forward, blanketing Dontis's back with his powerful, sweat-slicked body. Dontis welcomed the weight, making sure to keep him upright. 

 ──

How should I hold my soul, that it may not be touching yours? How should I lift it then above you to where other things are waiting?

Ah, gladly would I lodge it, all forgot, with some lost thing the dark is isolating, on some remote and silent spot that, when your depths vibrate, is not itself vibrating.

You and me—all that lights upon us, though, brings us together like a fiddle-bow drawing one voice from two strings it glides along.

Across what instrument have we been spanned? And what violinist holds us in his hand? O sweetest song.

-rainer maria rilke

──

author's note: said it would take me at least a week and it took me less then a day, true dedication.

[deeptrashwitch]

Secret santa's gift!

Alright, in Discord we made a secret santa event and I was assigned... *drumrolls* @revnah1406!!! I made this little one-shot about Abby and Woods during christmas, I hope you like it. Merry chirstmas, darling 🎆✨🎉🎁

December 24th, The Vault

Abby was looking at the snow in silence, just thinking while she stared at the starry sky of december. Her eyes followed the movements of the stars and she murmured the names of some of them to herself. At some point a voice startled her from behind, making her jolt in her place with a yelp.

“What’s with you?” Frank Woods asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Goddamnit, old man, you’ll give me a heart attack!” She exclaimed, then looked at him and huffed. “Where’s the nurse?”

“Nurse Batshit? Who cares? Probably somewhere around here” He said, moving his wheelchair nearer to the window. “You didn’t answer the question, kid.”

She sighed softly and stayed silent for a second. “Just thinking…”

“About?”

“Many things. Do you think my parents…well, my mom, will make it on time?”

Woods just glanced at the clock on the wall in silence, noticing that it was almost past midnight. He sighed softly and simply went to get something from a nearby drawer.

“I’m not sure if Alice will make it, but you know David would like to be here.” 

“But he can’t because of his missions, I know, I know.”

For a second, Woods noticed Abby’s expression saddened before she went back to look out the window. 

“Listen, I’m not supposed to give you this before tomorrow, but screw that.” He murmured, giving her a package neatly decorated and wrapped. “Here, merry christmas, Abs.”

“Thanks, old man.” Abby smiled softly and opened the package. 

Inside, a neatly folded map of the stars and constellations awaited her along with many pairs of socks, each one with sillier patterns than the ones before. She laughed softly and started to look closely at the pattern.

“Oh, this is amazing! But, why plain brown ones? I don’t get it.” She asked, curiously.

“Unfold them, I know you’ll like them.” Woods said with a knowing smile.

Once she unfolded the pair of socks, she couldn’t avoid a laugh when she saw them right. The pattern made them look like hoofs, with the details and everything. It made her face light up with a huge smile, still giggling at the socks.

“These are great. I’ll go put them on now.” She said with a bright smile. “I’ll be a fucking faunus! Hell yeah!”

“If you will, do it quickly, I need your help in the kitchen.”

“Oh? What for?”

“What else for? Cooking, kid.” Woods said, rolling his eyes with a smile. “Move your ass, we’ll make your favorite for tonight.”

“Really?! Like, for real for real?! Then I’ll leave the socks for later, hehehe.”

“Yeah, now move it or I’ll change my mind.”

Abby laughed and cheered, but nodded and jumped off the window ledge to follow Woods to the kitchen.

“Will you ask the nurse for help?”

“Fuck no.” Woods said almost immediately, making Abby snicker and smirk. “Oh, look at that, are you mocking me, kid? Really?”

“Nooo, of course not.” She said, holding back her laughter. “What kind of granddaughter do you think I am?”

“Haha. Yeah right, and that smirk means nothing. Suure thing.”

“Exactly!”

Woods chuckled and shook his head softly. “You little troublemaker…”

“I learnt from the best, don’t you think?” She asked with a soft hum, proud of herself as she walked.

“Maybe too well.”

She just smiled in silence, but Woods kept smiling as well. Once they reached the kitchen, Woods started to read out loud the recipe, with him making some parts of the food while Abby made the others, sometimes adding her own touch of flavors when Woods wasn’t looking. It was a moment where they joked sarcastically with each other, also with Woods retelling for the nth time one of his stories, which Abby loved to hear, simply paying attention while she cooked.

When the food was ready, Woods just could chuckle at Abby’s happiness at the sight of the dish. He turned his face away since it smelled strongly.

“Dammnit kid, this is like a nuke itself. Why do you like it so much?”

Abby shrugged and poked out her tongue mockingly. “It's delicious. It’s not my fault you can handle it, so more for me.”

“How funny…you know I’m an elder, I can’t even try to think of eating that.” Woods said dramatically, huffing softly.

“Sooo, should I make you some bland-ass chicken with broccoli and some oatmeal?” She asked mockingly.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Abigail.”

Abyy laughed loudly, but nodded calmly. “Alright, alright, stop the drama, old man. I made you some more normal, ehem bland, food so you can eat without problem.”

After a while, they went to eat together while the snow kept falling outside, with Abby humming Christmas carols while she ate. Woods chuckled softly when he noticed Abby’s face was all red because of the spice, but when he offered her some water, she shook her head and kept eating despite the hellish spice. 

And when they finished and Woods sent Abby to sleep, she just huffed but nodded. She smiled a bit and sat beside the wheelchair instead, that was near the fireplace. 

“Seriously?” Woods asked.

“I’ll go to sleep, don’t worry, buuut not yet!”

Woods shook his head and put his hand over her hair with a huff, simply hearing her ramble about everything and anything. He made noises of surprise and commented sometimes, smiling at Abby’s happiness as she spoke, and like that the minutes ticked away. Slowly, Abby started to doze off a bit lulled by the heat of the fireplace, resting her head against Woods’ knee.

“Hey Abs.”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t tell your parents I gave you your gift early, alright?”

Abby chuckled a bit, mumbling softly. “I promise, merry christmas. G’night gramps…”

She sighed softly and fell asleep next to Woods, who only caressed her hair gently before he looked at the fireplace in silence.

“Goodnight Abby, rest well, I’ll be here when you wake up.” He said with a soft smile, grabbing a book from the nearby table to pass the time until sleep got him as well.

[hell-drabbles]

Lucifer 5

Summary: Lucifer, compared to the other devil kings, tends to keep his distance, often preferring to be alone with his thoughts, ever observing what's going on around him. With you, however, you noticed he's been getting closer.

(More Companion and Lucifer intimacy! Been a long while. I wonder what other intimate moments between the Companion and Lucifer I should write?)

Of all beings, you never thought Lucifer would get caught up in your rhythm. Every other devil king you've met has been a storm of their own, a being that walks forward and expects everything and everyone to follow without a single question. They take pride in that, so much so that it leads to constant clashes with all the other kings around them.

All the other kings, save for Lucifer. He and the other devils share the title of kings, and are all collectively known as the seven kings of Hell, but that's about where the similarities end.

You can't say that the other devils treat Lucifer with respect, so much as they just generally leave him to his own devices, as though any attempt to butt heads with him was just not worth it. It's… almost a kind of caution, an awareness that so long as they don't directly challenge him, then Lucifer won't say a thing. It's almost the same social distance they give Asmodeus.

You can't say you're shocked, those two don't exactly think, nor carry themselves in the way the other devil kings do.

That being said, it was very easy to notice the way Lucifer was always one step closer to you than others. How he's taken to always face you with his entire body whenever you talked, no matter how he had to adjust his seat or posture. How, whenever you take a walk through Paradise Lost, Lucifer would eventually drift by and walk with you. Whatever you do, Lucifer was bound to not be too far behind.

And so here you both are, near a tree that Lucifer was just napping under until you walked by and paused to give him time to rouse himself. You didn't need to say anything. You both knew he was going to walk with you. It's routine by this point.

Lucifer walked past the usual distance he'd keep with others. He stopped right before you, shoes almost touching yours. You both nodded in greeting, then simply stood still, enjoying the gentle whistling of the wind and the calm flow of your breathing.

"Huh, you like being near me." It's not really a question, simply a statement of fact. No need to be a tease or coy about it. Why bother making a game out of it when the reward was right there for the taking?

"I do," he said, with that rare, gentle smile of his, barely there but too big a change to ever ignore. Of course he wouldn't mince his words.

"You find comfort in a human like me." You didn't lean away nor yearned to put distance between the both of you. Instead, you uncrossed your arms and upturned your palms. As though you've both done this thousands of times, Lucifer slid his hands against yours. "Weird."

"How so?" Lucifer's face settled into a carefully neutral expression, but you can tell he's just a hair away from frowning. You're sure an expression like that would scare the shit out of Ra-on.

"If you wanted to, I could easily just be another smear on the pavement." And such power brings about the expectation of arrogance, whether intentional or otherwise. All the other devils here, big and small, carried themselves with that air that only became more apparent once your physical limitations were discovered. You've grown used to arrogance and were ready to take it in stride. If not dismissed, you expected to be treated as the most fragile thing in Hell. "And here you are, treasuring me like an equal."

Lucifer didn't set you aside, nor did he insist what you can or can't do. Your anger was not a childish or reckless temper tantrum but a reaction to a problem that he knows must be resolved. For the first time in a long while, you found a piece of yourself relaxing. If you were to nap now, you know you'd wake up without dreading what you'll have to tolerate for that day.

"The place you call home weighs heavily on you," Lucifer closed his eyes, as though trying to imagine your every burden as his thumb stroked your skin, "in much the same way it does for me. Is it wrong to find solace in someone that understands? In someone that needs the quiet as much as I do?"

A short chuckle escaped you as Lucifer leaned in closer, but stopped short of pressing his forehead against yours. "Seems we're both just incredibly lonely, huh? But no, it's not wrong in the least."

"Then, I can assume that we both bring the other joy?" Strands of Lucifer's hair moved to the side as he tilted his head, pretending to be curious even though that smile said he knew what your answer was.

"Joy, huh?" you sighed, and allowed yourself to indulge just this little bit, "Yeah, I guess you can assume that."

[nowoyas]

the crows and cats christmas reunion (kuroo tetsurou/reader)

m.list - read on ao3

A/N: written for @hatsukeii for the hq x reader secret santa exchange! I hope you enjoy ✨ also special thanks to @nectardaddy for the divider!

Summary: Your high school crush on your rival team’s captain actually comes to fruition in college. The problem? You both receive invites to the upcoming Christmas-slash-reunion party, and you’re nowhere near prepared to tell your high school social group about your new boyfriend. The solution, at least, is easy enough: just don’t tell them!

Warnings and Tags: university au, reader is a former karasuno manager, christmas parties, fluff and a lil bit of crack lmao, alcohol use, gender neutral reader

Words: 1700+

It was his laugh that did you in.

You couldn't begin to guess what he'd been laughing at, just that Karasuno had just beaten their sworn rivals and you were in tears, and that you'd paused everything because Nekoma's captain just laughed in a way that had him throwing his head back, chest fully shaking with the force of it.

That had been your reckoning: the flash, the oh, the clichéd emotions gripping you and not letting go.

Not a problem. He was the captain—now former, as of that exact moment—of your rival team, and you had a duty to be loyal to the team you managed for, and you could be, because he was graduating and you wouldn't see him again. Not a problem at all.

Only, see, that crush had been easy to ignore when he wasn't in front of you, when you didn't have to confront the sound of his voice or his stupid hair or the shape of his shoulders or—god forbid—his laugh again. So, naturally, he'd gotten into the habit of dropping in on joint training camps, wearing stupid hoodies that looked unbearably good on him and—you swear it—smiling at you when he caught you staring. And, naturally, you had somehow been the one he asked with some stupid excuse about how he didn't know his way around anymore and could you help out, if you weren't busy?

You hadn't been.

So in your final year of high school, at some training camp you hardly remember except for that one moment, escorted a definitely-for-sure lost alum of Nekoma High School out and paused when you rounded a corner and found that the two of you were completely alone. And maybe, yeah, you kissed him, then, and yeah, he walked away, and somehow, you didn't even feel heartbroken about it. No words, just that.

You'd given your first kiss to Kuroo Tetsurou, and nothing had changed at all.

Then college. Moving on. Living your life, working towards your degree, and surely you must be over him by now, like it would ever have gone anywhere to begin with. Yeah, you think about it—how could you not when he showed up to the games and the camps and smiled at you every time, when you still remember that kiss but can't remember his reply except that nothing had come of it and he still smiled at you after that so clearly he didn't hate you?—but you're over him and over it and goddammit there he is on your campus. Something which you could have anticipated, if you'd thought about the fact that Kuroo Tetsurou with that enchanting laugh who you kissed that one time went to the same university, hadn't he been wearing a university sweatshirt when you'd kissed him?

But you hadn't anticipated it. So of course you noticed him. Of course you stopped in your tracks. Of course you'd stared, and spilled your coffee all over yourself like a dumbass, and frantically tried to blot it out with the meager napkin supply that had come with your coffee and pastry, and then found yourself interrupted by—who else?—Kuroo fucking Tetsurou, smiling at you in that crooked way, eyes alight with recognition.

"My dorm's not far," he'd said, "do you want to maybe borrow a shirt?"

You deflated. You agreed. You borrowed a shirt and left with his phone number—ostensibly to pick your shirt back up later and return his—and a date, which had been amazing and maybe you're still dating by the time December rolls around and maybe, just maybe, you're in his lap when his and your phones both ping with texts in perfect unison.

And maybe you hadn't mentioned to any of your high school friends that you'd begun dating the rival high school's former captain.

"I don't see what the big deal is," he laughs as it dawns on you. "We can just tell them."

"Okay, no, not with the guys I graduated with. The guys in your year were reasonable, Kuroo. The rest were and are half demons and half the type of guys who can survive multiple years of sustained contact with the demons. They're gonna flip."

"You spent years wrangling them, I'm sure you can handle it."

You whine, drop your head against his shoulder. "What if we just… didn't tell them yet? Get through the party, pretend everything's normal, and then we can come back and go wild."

"We'll see how that goes."

#

For your information, that is going great. You'd shown up separately, gravitated naturally to different parts of the room—you're catching up with Shimizu and the other upperclassmen, drink in hand and eyes firmly pointed away from where Kuroo's harassing Tsukishima, amongst others. Sure, Suga's been doing his damnedest to get you to admit details about the secret boyfriend you obviously would have gotten the second you went away to university (you appreciate his faith in you). He thinks he's being slick, but he's really, really not.

"I told you, Suga, I am focusing on my studies."

"Does your studies pay for dates?"

You roll your eyes. "Yeah, sure. You're awful interested in my dating life, Suga-san. Why's that, again?"

"Oh, no reason."

The gambit for tonight absolutely requires that you let on nothing. You're not even entirely sure where Suga's idea that you got a boyfriend came from. You've been doing good. You're barely even looking at Kuroo. You're not even visibly reacting when you hear his laugh from across the room! The Crows and Cats Christmas Reunion (per the invitation—you've been calling it "garbage dump Christmas") is going great.

And then you catch Nishinoya on Tanaka's shoulders, pinning what you think is probably supposed to be mistletoe but is definitely holly to a door frame. It's visibly fake, but they're clearly putting a lot of effort into it.

Not a problem—you avoid it pointedly, watch a few others get caught under it and peer-pressured by tipsy busybodies into sharing a kiss with their fellow victims. The night drags on, and you have fun but maybe one drink too many, and when you slip into the hallway towards the kitchen to hopefully snag some water, a very familiar hand rests on your shoulder to help guide you.

"Hanging in there alright?"

"Kuroo," you whisper, "we're not supposed to be—"

"[name]-san!" Nishinoya shouts at the top of his lungs. "Kuroo-san! You're under the mistletoe; you gotta kiss!"

"—oh my god," you mutter, dragging a hand down your face.

A few of the rowdier guys cheer their agreements. You roll your eyes, turn to explain why you will not be doing that no matter how nice Kuroo looks in that sweater, and get as far as "that isn't even mistletoe—" before long fingers are gently tilting your chin up for a kiss.

Of course you kiss back. Bastard.

His lips are soft and warm and everything and he tastes vaguely like beer. You lean into it, mostly just to shut the guys up as your hand slides up to the nape of his neck. He responds in kind—free hand finds the small of your back, pulls you just that tiny bit closer, and for just a moment, you forget where you are and who's watching.

When you pull away, you're met with narrowed eyes.

"That was not the first time you two have kissed. There's no fucking way," one of the guys shouts.

You roll your eyes, try to play it off. "Maybe you should stretch before reaching like that. You're gonna pull a muscle or something."

"No, but, like, you were totally heart eyes at him all throughout school," Tanaka says. "If that had actually been your first kiss, you'd be like, dying on the floor right now or something. You're doing that whole tough thing."

"Has it occurred to you—"

Ennoshita cuts you off with a sharp look. "That whole tough act they do when they're trying to avoid questions? And aren't you two at the same university now?"

"You bagged him and didn't tell us? [name]-san!" Noya's voice is absolutely aghast.

Kuroo's eyes linger on you. "Bagged me?"

"I maybe had a little crush on you," you mumble, cheeks burning hot. "Did you not know? We straight up kissed at one point?"

He blinks. "What?"

"What?"

"That never happened. I have no idea what you're talking about."

You look at him. You're starting to get pretty good at reading whether or not he's messing with you for fun, but he seems completely, genuinely serious.

"We did. Last year. You came to visit and we ended up kissing but then you never—"

Oh. Oh no.

Oh my god.

The realization sinks in, and as you stare into your red solo cup of mysteriously strong holiday punch, you realize there's no getting out of this.

You tip the cup back and chug the rest. Kuroo is laughing over the music and the flood of alcohol burning your system, and you put all your mental energy into not crushing the cup in your hand.

"Wait, who are you thinking of?"

"Who would [name] even have mistaken him for? It's not exactly easy to mistake Kuroo for anyone else," Kenma says.

Point of order:

You don't remember how you ended up kissing. You don't remember how he reacted or why. Every time you saw each other after that, he acted like nothing ever happened.

"What, babe," Kuroo teases, "did you mix me up with someone else, or did you just dream it entirely?"

"S-shut up," you mumble.

"Oh my god. Did you actually—"

"No, nope, we're not talking about this—"

The grin on his face widens. "I think we are. Did you actually convince yourself that we kissed in your third year? Is that why you got extra skittish in the back half of the year?"

"Kuroo, I am going to kill you—"

The mortification feels like it's seeped into your very bones, but then he drops his head back and laughs and you can't bring yourself to finish the threat. You might not ever live this down, but it's made him laugh, and for a moment, you can forget that your friends are watching this and someone's gonna bring up this story if you ever make it to a wedding.

You always have been weak to that damn laugh.

Tags: @deeplightgarden @idonthaveanameideayet @dusstory

[yunwangja]

faultline | 5th shift

masterlist

“the highlight!” bokuto proclaims, his voice brimming with excitement as he dramatically gestures toward the massive roller coaster towering above the park. “finally!”

it’s clear this is the moment most of your friends have been waiting for. well, except for tobio and you.

tobio stands stiffly, his discomfort palpable as he eyes the ride with growing dread. you, on the other hand, aren’t nervous—just indifferent. you’ve never been the roller coaster enthusiast of the group, and the thought of enduring the ride drains your enthusiasm even further.

amid the chatter and laughter, shoyo’s energy is unmatched as he cheers alongside bokuto. kiyoko, ever calm, walks ahead of the group, guiding everyone closer to the looming attraction.

“alright, everyone,” she says with a clap of her hands, her usual composed voice cutting through the buzz. “group yourselves into twos.”

bokuto wastes no time, throwing an arm around akaashi in a show of exaggerated affection. akaashi, ever unbothered, simply accepts his fate with a small sigh that suggests he’s used to this by now.

meanwhile, shoyo shoots tobio a wicked grin, clearly plotting something. tobio, however, just crosses his arms and stares off in annoyance, no doubt regretting all his life choices that led him to this moment.

and then there’s you—standing off to the side, arms crossed, fully prepared to sit this one out if you could. beside you is suga, who has been stealing subtle glances your way.

everyone else is stuck in the middle of a silent debate: should they play matchmaker and risk your wrath, or leave things alone and avoid becoming casualties in the process?

since suga’s confession, things have shifted. there’s a new awareness between the two of you, but it’s surprisingly less tense than you’d feared. it’s like a weight has been lifted. still, the others don’t know how to navigate it just yet.

kiyoko, however, is deliberate as she steps in. “tsumu,” she says smoothly, her gaze sharp as she assesses him, “why don’t you come with me?”

tsumu, however, has other ideas. with a mischievous smirk, he slings an arm around your shoulders, leaning into his usual playful demeanor. “nah, i’m taking yn. right, yn?”

you narrow your eyes at him in suspicion, already sensing that he’s up to something. but with a shrug, you give in. “okay.”

out of the corner of your eye, you notice suga’s face shift slightly, but he quickly turns to kiyoko, engaging her in conversation as they pair up.

tsumu grins, satisfied with himself. “shall we, then?” he asks with mock grandeur, gesturing toward the ride like a gentleman offering his arm.

you roll your eyes but follow his lead, already bracing yourself for whatever antics he has in store. something tells you that for tsumu, this is less about the roller coaster and more about getting under someone’s skin.

tsumu had been testing your patience more than usual today.

he’d latched himself onto you from the moment you all entered the theme park, like some kind of human barnacle. it wasn’t subtle either; every overly casual arm draped across your shoulder, every little nudge or whispered comment, screamed that he had one goal in mind—to annoy the hell out of suga.

why? who knows. maybe he was bored. maybe he was trying to tease you too. you didn’t care enough to unravel the inner workings of tsumu’s chaotic brain, but one thing was crystal clear: it was working.

not on you, of course. you were too used to tsumu’s antics to take them seriously. but suga? yeah, you could see it in the way his easygoing demeanor faltered every now and then. a brief tightening of his jaw, a quick glance your way before he turned back to the group—subtle, but there.

after a long day of rides, games, and chaos, the group decided to wind down with a leisurely walk away from the noise and flashing lights. the cool night air was a welcome change, the wind brushing past you like a gentle sigh.

you were tired too. the day had been more physically demanding than you’d admit. you had the energy to terrify tobio on the roller coaster, shove shoyo off his horse on the carousel, and splash water at everyone during the log ride because “that’s the point,” but even you had your limits.

beside those, you were just chill, honestly. well. you did enjoy yourself.

bokuto, the birthday boy, was now happily demolishing a free oversized serving of nachos from a nearby food booth, with akaashi silently helping him polish it off. kiyoko and suga trailed behind them, keeping an eye on everyone to make sure no one wandered off. shoyo, jacket-less and shivering, was bickering with tobio, who was bundled up in his hoodie and refusing to share.

you were at the very back of the group with tsumu, who, to your relief, seemed to have finally tired himself out—or maybe he’d just gotten hungry. either way, he’d abandoned his mission to torment you and joined bokuto and akaashi in devouring the nachos.

it gave you a moment of peace, a chance to focus on the night sky. the stars were faint but steady, scattered across the inky expanse like tiny pinpricks of light. you let your gaze wander, letting the stillness wrap around you.

that was the cue.

without you noticing, suga slowed his pace until he was walking beside you. you didn’t see him at first, but you heard the faint sound of his camera, the strap rustling softly against his jacket as he moved.

you glanced to your left, your eyes catching the slight downward tilt of his head. his gaze was fixed on the ground, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

you didn’t say anything. instead, you turned your attention back to the path ahead, letting the silence stretch between you. it wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable either. you just didn’t know what to say.

so you stayed quiet, the distant murmur of your friends’ laughter and banter fading into the background as you focused on the sound of his footsteps matching yours.

“i wasn’t able to talk to you today,” he said, breaking the silence.

without looking at him, you replied, “well, i was busy.”

“more like tsumu gatekept you,” he said, a pout coloring his voice.

you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “he didn’t.”

“he did. i just know he was trying to annoy the shit out of me.”

you could tell by his tone he wasn’t seriously upset, but the thought still amused you. before you could respond, shoyo’s voice cut through the air.

“look! there’s fireworks!”

everyone turned to where he was pointing, only to find the fireworks barely visible in the distance.

“it’s miles away. we can’t even see it that much,” tobio muttered, unimpressed.

“still!” shoyo insisted, already pulling out his phone to record. he slowed his pace, dragging tobio along with him until the two of them had fallen behind.

you glanced at suga, who was now looking straight ahead. but there was a quietness to him, a subtle expectation that he was still waiting for something.

you glanced at suga, who was now looking straight ahead, his posture relaxed but not entirely at ease. there was something unspoken lingering in the space between you, a quiet weight in the way he matched your pace without saying more.

“tsumu’s my best friend,” you said finally, breaking the silence. “he’s always like that.”

suga shrugged, the movement casual, but his tone betrayed him. “whatever.”

you turned to him again, and that’s when you saw it—a slight pout tugging at his lips, barely there but unmistakable. it wasn’t exaggerated or playful like tsumu’s antics; it was softer, quieter, the kind of expression that made you realize how much he must have wanted to spend time with you today.

it caught you off guard for a moment, the way he stood there, his camera dangling idly from its strap, his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance. he didn’t press you for more or try to explain himself, as if he didn’t need to.

turning back to the path ahead, you let a small chuckle escape, soft and almost hidden beneath the sound of the night.

silly, you thought. what just did i do to make him be this way?

notes

A LONGGGG UPDATE FOR YOU GUYS <3

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE EVERYONE, PLEASE HAVE A GREAT ONE !!!!

i think next update will be within new year AHH!

bokuto has principles. free food over theme park rides. PERIOD.

poor akaashi had to help him finish everything

shobio contributed though

yns gift was an owl mug. and yes bo cried because - "YN KNOWS I LOVE OWLS :(((((" (remember at the character intros hes lowkey scared of yn and stuff)

kags gave him .... a pack of instant coffee. since he said "he needs it". bo loved it anyway because he'll use it together with yn's owl mug <3 my appreciative king

i also want to emphasize that yn WAS chaotic during that day. she doesn't tweet a lot about it but she had so many schemes.

taglist: @lvtilzs @uraviriot @adorawritesalot @nachotrash @staygoldsquatchling02 @gigiiiiislife @rowensboat @frootloopscos @ruwhimsical @mintynoo @chaotic-neutral-ig @zippymaezie @cupidsblonde

[lyculuscaelus]

Answers

(My EtM secret Santa gift for @betterbekind ! Merry Christmas!)

Sometimes, he would dream of the bright sun, the fleeting cloud, and the forested mountain that lay above the waves.

Sometimes, he would dream of a verdant branch of olive, casting a shade on him, blessing him with a sense of safety.

Sometimes, he would dream of a large fleet, radiant with high spirits of its crew, launching into the rosy-fingered dawn with many oars ploughing a salted field that was the wine-dark sea itself.

And sometimes, he would smell the fresh scent of soils, blinking his eyes bright with innocence, wondering why the donkey had suddenly halted by his side.

And sometimes, he would feel the warmth of the cradle, hearing his own name in his sleep, when a tender voice whispered gently, “…then I shall keep you far from war…”

And sometimes, he would notice the song of winds, wordless, like the sobbing of two parents.

But sometimes he would dream of those suitors. They always came in groups, playing, yelling, cramming his father’s palace with their filthy forms and noises of revelry.

And sometimes he would dream of their words—haunting, like the neighing sea.

For they said, “fight, little wolf; entertain us like you always do.”

For they said, “cry, little wolf; only your misery will comfort you.”

For they said, “die, little wolf; your incompetence will be the end of you.”

And he would think of those times when he failed to punish the suitors; and he would mourn the old days when seas and forests were all he could dream of; and he would grieve for the journeys he failed to start—the journey to prove himself worthy. Worthy, as the son whose blood echoed the name of a great hero.

But he never felt like it.

Odysseus would’ve killed them all so long ago, the moment they revealed their intent to woo my mother; Odysseus would’ve taken the crown and reigned over this kingdom already, instead of sitting in the courtroom mourning for a king forgotten, a father lost; Odysseus would’ve done so many feats before he even found himself stuck in a bedroom, dreaming of all the things he could never do.

And he would scream silently, in a dream that felt like reality.

Or was it the other way around? He didn’t know that anymore. Days were only pretenses of joy, while nights…

Well, only nights knew his silent tears, when he mourned for his father…when he mourned for himself.

I am no legacy of my father. When he thinks of me, I will only be known as a failure.

Because that’s what I am—a failure. Someone who doesn’t deserve to be the son of Odysseus.

Please. Just tell me I’m wrong—tell me, before it becomes all I can remember, all I can believe…

Please. Somebody…anybody…

And it was always silence that answered him.

Silence. Just another name for loneliness.

And sometimes, it was the very silence that shall wake him from his dreams.

Tonight was no different.

Telemachus opened his eyes to stare into the dark ceiling.

The dream still felt vivid. It was just like every other nightmare of his—full of taunts, full of grief. He was almost used to them at this point. They’re just dreams. They can’t hurt me.

No. Not on the outside, of course; but Telemachus couldn’t face what lay within. At least, not now, when the suitors were still—

Wait. No. He corrected himself quickly. The suitors are dead already. Killed by the very man I wish to meet for the first time in twenty years, only two days ago.

Telemachus shook his head with a bitter smile. It’s almost as if nothing has changed. I know my life is different now, but somehow it still feels the same—as if the suitors have never truly gone; as if my father has never really come back; as if there hasn’t actually been any victory.

Hard to believe, isn’t it? 

He let out a heavy sigh.

Guess I’m just not used to happiness like this.

Climbing out of the bed, putting on a chiton quickly, he walked to the door before realizing it was only in the middle of the night.

Doesn’t matter. As if I’m not used to waking up at this hour already…

He pushed open the door to welcome a silent hall, where only darkness would be his company. Sometimes breezes too, if the gods were keen enough to send those.

If only…so that he’d make it home so much earlier. So that we’d need to face no sorrow like this for years.

He paced quietly in the halls empty of the living.

If I start humming, will it startle anyone from their sleep?

He wasn’t sure. But a tune had already flown out from his mouth, dissipating into the air. It was a song Phemius used to sing.

It was about the Nostoi—the return of heroes. There were all the Achaean kings—Diomedes, Nestor, Idomeneus, Agamemnon…and eventually, Menelaus, when he became the last Achaean hero to make it home—

Before my father did, that is. He mustered a smile. But surprisingly, there isn’t any song for him…yet.

Telemachus was musing when he came across a huge pillar.

Maybe there will be. In days to come, perhaps, when people weave their memories into songs, songs into epics…

“Can’t sleep?” a new voice came suddenly, startling the young man. Telemachus almost raised his fists before realizing who it could only belong to.

It was the voice of a fresh old man, a bit hoarse due to years of seafaring; but there was a commanding tone lying underneath, for it probably wasn’t a stranger to war-cries and orations. There was only one man who could wield a voice like this, Telemachus knew.

Even though it wasn’t a voice he was used to hearing.

“Father?” he called softly, trying to locate the source with no success.

“The moon is still young,” he heard his father murmuring. “There’s nothing to see but the stars. Stars who relate their stories, who keep the night sky from loneliness, who are keen enough to guide the sailors home, if the sailors are still keeping their eyes open to all this.”

“Where are you, father?” Telemachus prompted with a question.

“Somewhere, in the dark, where my rest lies alongside my vigilance.”

That’s not a helpful answer… Telemachus thought to himself. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping too, father?” he asked.

“Ah, yes, sleep. Last time I fell asleep letting go of all my worries, it ended with…well.” that was all his father replied.

Telemachus waited for a moment, but his father didn’t continue. So Telemachus spoke out again. “But you were in your bedroom—with mom,” he said, walking a few more paces to the direction where he heard his father answering. “Why did you come out here?”

He heard a heavy sigh, then came a sound almost like sobbing. Telemachus almost found his way there before hearing his father’s reply.

“I…I was afraid. Afraid of hurting your mother by accident,” the great-hearted man muttered.

Afraid of hurting mom? Telemachus remarked in shock. What could it possibly be—a nightmare? Just like one of mine?

No. Maybe father’s was way more eventful. But still…

“What were you trying to do, father?” he asked again.

“Hiding,” there came the reply—Telemachus was almost certain it’s the right spot— “No. But that wouldn’t be necessary…she’s not here—she can’t lay her hands on you anymore, Odysseus,” the sacker of cities was whispering to himself. “No, you’re safe now. That’s Penelope by your side—yes, Penelope. The one who loves you. The one you love. You’re home now, Odysseus. It’s your own son you’re talking to. It’s alright. It’ll all be fine…”

The next step brought Telemachus to a turn where he felt someone suddenly approaching—

—and ran into a fierce embrace, as his father held him so tightly that he couldn’t even stretch out his arms to return a hug.

“It’s alright now…” he could still hear his father murmuring. “You’re safe now. You’re safe at last.”

“Father?” Telemachus could only muster the strength to ask. The hug felt even heavier than the first one they ever had, only a few days ago. But his father was so aware of himself then, not like…this.

What could have happened to the man of twists and turns in his days of missing?

It was after a moment that lasted like years that Odysseus decided to let loose the embrace, finally facing his son in the darkness, still putting both hands on his shoulders, now speaking in a tone so much softer. “I’m sorry, Telemachus…I shouldn’t have let you see me like this. This isn’t what a father should act like…I’m so sorry…”

“Father, don’t be,” Telemachus reached over to hold his father’s hand. “Just tell me what happened, maybe? If you wish to, that is.”

His father sighed. “Nothing…just some bad memories. Something that haunts me in my sleep—picked some of them up in these years of wandering.”

Telemachus lowered his head and mused. Just like those dreams of mine…

Then he felt a touch on his face. Telemachus raised his head to meet his father’s gaze in the darkness, as Odysseus continued slowly. “But I might tell you all my stories…maybe some other time, when our hearts aren’t so laid down by the weariness of sleep. It’s nothing I haven’t endured before, really. But what about you, Telemachus? You did not go through a long trek with all the hardships—what could’ve woken you in the middle of the night?”

This time it was Telemachus who heaved a sigh. “It’s…nothing. Just bad memories.” Something that haunts me, too, in my sleep. Something I picked up in these years of waiting, wondering, dreaming.

“Of those suitors, I presume?” Odysseus prompted.

“Yeah,” Telemachus replied with a nod. “Maybe more. But for the suitors I dreamt of their faces, smirking in mockery; I dreamt of their words, saying nothing but taunts…”

“What did they say?” he could tell his father’s eyebrows were creasing when saying this.

“Father…” Telemachus didn’t expect this. Should I tell him or should I not? Only the night keeps my secrets—should I let father know this, too? “It’s pretty much just nonsense, really. It’s not like they can hurt me—”

“But can they?” 

Well…yes. A lot, actually. 

But it’s just something I don’t want to admit.

“Father, trust me—I can tackle them, all of them—I mean, most of—some of them…I guess.”

“That doesn’t sound very reassuring,” his father only responded.

I know…but I just don’t want to bother you with this…

Telemachus lowered his head.

“Father, there are enough matters kept in your mind now. I just don’t want to trouble you with yet another problem…a problem I’m supposed to overcome on my own. But instead I just keep failing…”

“In that case,” Odysseus was saying. “Why not share the burden with me? Share it with your dear father who’s been waiting for ages, to help you out in your time of need—something I failed to do for so long…but no longer. Share it with me—let us carry your load together. What better thing is there to do as father and son?”

A smile was playing on Telemachus’s trembling lips. A smile that tasted bitter, like the sadness of tears.

Yes, he’s here now, Telemachus—your father is here at last, after all the years of hoping—hoping he’d hearken to your distress, wishing he’d give you his counsel, dreaming he’d comfort you with a smile…he’s here now, ready to help, as a father he always wanted to be, reaching out to the son who lives beyond his memory.

And how can I reject something so beautiful, like this?

“Thank you, father, thank you so much…” Telemachus could only mutter. “It’s something I never thought I’d need…”

His father only replied with a gentle pat on his shoulder. It felt warm, like the heart of a hearth, where home lies.

So Telemachus took a deep breath, facing his father at last.

“But I just want to know…do you think I’m a failure, father?” he finally mustered the courage to ask.

Odysseus’s expression was almost unreadable in the darkness. But Telemachus could tell he was apparently surprised. “A failure? Who has been keeping your mom safe while I was making my way home? Who has been my aid when we slaughtered suitors? If anyone dares to call you that, Telemachus, I swear I’d—”

“Father? It’s me,” he cut in before Odysseus even finished that curse. “I call myself a failure, in my dreams.”

“Telemachus…”

“I know I might’ve proven my strength, my courage, when days ago we slaughtered those suitors. But I couldn’t help but think back to those times when I failed,” his voice was cracking a little when he answered. “And I know that all this happened because of me: it’s my fault that I failed to dissuade all those suitors to leave with my speech; it’s my fault that I couldn’t keep them from wasting our wealth, our livestock; it’s my fault that I didn’t take vengeance upon those suitors, something I could’ve planned out already…”

“You did what you had to do as a host,” Odysseus answered calmly. “You gave them Xenia like any noble man would do. It’s never your fault that they overstayed your welcome—you rewarded them with death, something they deserved from the start—you did well, Telemachus, son of mine.”

Telemachus blinked his eyes in surprise. But is it…true?

“Do you…really mean it?” Telemachus almost broke into tears. “But I failed to live up to your name—gods, I failed so miserably. I didn’t carry the crown young, something you have done so long ago. Do you content yourself with stories only? No, you’ve sought out adventures, winning so much glory…”

“Telemachus,” his father cut in, murmuring in a voice so weary. “You know I mean it with all my sincerity. You know I’m proud of you as who you are—not who you want to be. Have I ever spoken of the weight of the crown? It has deprived me of the joy of childhood—does that sound familiar to you? And have I ever told you how I left our homeland against my will, forced on a path to seek glory in war, to add weight to my name with all my sufferings? I do not ask for any of these—but they come to me. They always find me when I do not wish for their presence. They haunt me just as your nightmares. Do you think I can hide my tears behind a strong heart? No, I weep even more than you ever could. What you just saw that happened to me…it’s only an echo of what haunts me from within, of all the things I’ve seen and gone through—something I pray that should never happen to you.”

Telemachus listened quietly, his head dizzy. If only I knew…if only I knew all this so long ago.

“Father,” he replied softly, a moment later. “Father, I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be, son,” he felt the caress on his face, as his father reached out again, sharing the warmth of a weary palm. “Know that I’m right here with you—that would be enough.”

Telemachus smiled—just a little.

“But…there’s something else,” he could feel his heart aching as he said this. “This might sound ridiculous…but deep down I dwell on it, a lot. I know how everyone tells me how I resemble you in form—something I have no way of knowing…until now. But do I ever have your strength in me? They said that I have your eyes—but do yours blink with naïveté? They could hear you in my voice—but does it ever echo your authority? They saw your shadow in me—but isn’t that all there is? Just a shadow, living in the light of your glory…”

“And does that make you any less the son of mine?” his father responded gently. “You don’t have to be me—you don’t need to be like me to be known as a hero. A hero that you already are. Don’t you see? I don’t wish for you to lead a path like the one I treaded, with so much sorrow and pain. I don’t want you to end up like me, suffering too much for something so easily achieved for others. No, you deserve a life so much better than the one I left you with. And you know what, Telemachus? We’ll make it a reality—just you and I, your mother too—this is something only meant for you.”

This brought a gasp from Telemachus. How do I only get to feel the comfort of family so late in my life?

“I couldn’t take from you all the sorrows you’ve been through,” his father continued. “But I can make sure the same thing never happens to you, ever again. Know that I’ll find every opportunity to give you happiness—you deserve it, Telemachus, and now I finally have the chance to give it to you, after all the years of my absence from your life. On this I give you my promise—know that nothing will stop us. Know that all your waiting wasn’t fruitless, after all. And know that I’d trade the world, Telemachus, just for you.”

Telemachus finally gave in to his sobbing—was it joy? Was it sadness? Telemachus didn’t know, but it was the best feeling he could ever have asked for, really. It was the realization of the fact that his family was actually complete, at last. It was the hope that nothing grievous would’ve happened to them, ever again. It was the knowledge that he had found the reassurance from his father—the acceptance he most needed, coming from the sacker of cities, the great honor of Achaeans, the hero he most admired—his very own father.

And wouldn’t that be the best kind of relief, after all?

So he buried his face in his father’s embrace, putting his head against that sturdy chest, feeling the shelter of those gentle arms. Tears streamed down his cheek like plowing, laying down two trails of solace. In his laxness he noticed his father joining him too, as his own hair felt the tender touch of teardrops, drenched in happiness, at last.

And he was joyful, for it was no longer nothingness that answered him.

And he was grateful, for silence could no longer haunt him, in his dreams, in his reality.

And he immersed himself in that embrace, rejoicing in the very answer from his father, after all the years of questioning.

Maybe tonight was different, after all.

[himegureisu]

1 | Christmas Eve

Summary: Your first Christmas together.

Your side of the bed was cold.

This was the first he noticed the moment he opened his eyes. His last memory of your change of clothes on the edge of the bed was cut short by slumber. His hand instinctively reached out for your familiar warmth, his sleep-addled mind slowly processing before finally getting up from the comforts of bed.

Where were you? His frown returned in your absence.

The Malfoy’s Annual Christmas Eve Dinner has sapped his remaining energy for the evening. His exhaustion was evident in how he didn’t remember if you ever joined him in bed, hadn’t even felt the bed dip from your weight.

In his drowsy state, he treads carefully across the wooden floor, following the faint sounds of music coming from downstairs. His hands come across the silver garlands you decorated on the staircase and then pieces of the puzzle clicked.

His enchanted gramophone was put to good use as tunes played in the background of your late-night decorating. From the middle of the steps, he could see you beneath a Christmas tree that certainly wasn’t there when you both came home hours before, surrounded by gift wrappers, fairy lights, and covered in glitter.

Though, he didn’t celebrate the holidays as much as others would before. His outlook in life had drastically changed ever since you’d formally been together. With you, there was something to look forward to.

This would be your first Christmas together, and he awaited the day you would ask when you would shop for decorations but you didn’t probably conflicted to ask but this will not do the next time.

His steps are cautious as he sits down behind you, arranging actual gifts beneath the tree, before slowly wrapping his arms around your waist. Though you could smell the faint jasmine of your body soap that he always ‘mistakenly’ used, you let him embrace you from behind.

“I missed you,” he whispered, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder, as his eyes locked in on the wrapped items and then you, “but it seems you were quite productive in my absence,”

Your cheeks heat up at his words and he presses another kiss to your temple.

“I’m sorry I know you don’t like celebrating,” you turned and explained. “But I hoped you’d make an exception,”

“I will,” his grip around your waist tightened, as your smile widened, “Every year for the rest of our lives,”

“Please don’t joke with me,” you gaped. His gaze was steady as his fingers brushed away the glitter that dusted your cheeks, “Really?”

“I hope you left something to do for me,” your heart swelled at his words. “I can’t have you doing all the work,”

“There is one thing,” you reached for the star, behind the wrappers, and presented it to him, “For you,”

Severus sighed.

Of course, you saved this particular thing for last but then again you couldn’t reach the top of the tree nor would you want to use magic to do this sort of thing.

In tandem, you stand, Severus on his toes as he reaches up to place the star at the top of the tree, and as soon as it’s situated it illuminates a soft yellow glow. Your eyes twinkled happily, and his heart was full at the sight of your happiness.

In the background, the clock chimes midnight. Just in time.

“Happy Christmas,” you whispered. Your lips curved in a smile as you faced him, “Happy Christmas, darling,”

Without a word further, his lips meet yours in a warm and gentle kiss. The world fades into the background in his arms. Your soft breaths further urged kindling desires as you pulled back for air.

Your foreheads rest against the other’s, cheeks tinged pink, and lips plump as his eyes only focus on you. There was a smidge of glitter on his sleepwear from your antics.

“Can we take this to bed?” his voice baritone vibrated through as he flicks his wand effortlessly to clean up, “If you’re not too exhausted?”

“No, never for you,”

[randomfoggytiger]

"No One Gets There Alone"

The X-Files and Beauty and the Beast 1987 crossover. A sequel of sorts to "I Know You. It's What I Do."

Dedicated to @amplifyme, once again (and always), for introducing me to the World Below.

*-*-*-*-*

It was a year later: cancer had taken root, and Dana Scully hadn’t thought about the significance of age thirty-two since she emerged from the New York tunnels. 

“Thirty-three,” she murmured, staring at the Apollo 11 eagle and stars twirling around and around with her keys.

“What?” Mulder turned away from the basement door, his own keys suspended mid-air as his chin tilted to match hers.

She rolled the moment away, rolled her head sideways, rolled her thumb once more over her birthday medallion before trotting forward down the hallway, coat swishing in time with his and her steps.

He caught up effortlessly and beat her to the car.

*-*-*-*-*

“Thirty-three,” Mulder said over noodles, taking a quick, wolfish breath to blow over his soup broth.

Of course he wouldn’t let this go. “What about it?”

They could have danced around the issue, takeout paper bowls heating their clammy hands as each probed and deflected further and further from the more personal, perilous nature of his request. 

“Seemed… big, back there.” 

Big: a detached, all-inclusive, non-committal catch-all. Scully appreciated the tact.

“It’s just.” She pursed her lips, lowered her increasingly stained chopsticks. “Last year, when we investigated the string of murders in in New York--”

“The deaths in Central Park?” Mulder was shifting: not just his posture-- his whole demeanor was withdrawing, drawing into himself. Odd, she thought. Another twist inline with journal peeping and birthday acknowledgements.

“We never discussed it in-depth but… the woman I told you about, Diana Bennett? She said something that I’d forgotten-- until tonight, oddly enough.” 

“What?”

“‘I was thirty-two when my life changed'. I guess what struck me is... I was thirty-two then; and she knew, somehow. She said she wanted to help me 'start my own thirty-two'." This was rapidly evolving into an important conversation; and one, Scully decided, rising to store her soup in the kitchen, that required purposed focus. She returned empty-handed, noticing her partner had set his food aside. “It didn’t…. It didn’t hit me until now that Melissa was thirty-two when I was taken against my will, and returned. And that Melissa was thirty-three when she was murdered.” 

His mouth popped open; his breaths slowed, stilled, through practiced concentration. “And that means...?” 

“I don’t know. All I know is, I'm now the same age my sister was when she died."

“When she was murdered, Scully.” The distinction between the specifics of 'murdered' and the broad generalities of ‘died’ mattered to him, then. Any other time it would matter to her, too. 

“I’m not--.” She stopped, sighed roughly through her nose. It was imperative he understood. “I’m not giving up, Mulder. I told you: I won’t let this thing beat me.” Watching his shoulders droop with relief, she added, “But….”

“You’re wondering if it means something.” 

Her partner’s eyes were a shadowy, secretive green when she looked up.

“No. It does-- mean something to me. But why?”

*-*-*-*-*

Mulder was never one to dwell long in silence: spiraling into melancholic bouts of reflection and distemper or flying off and away before those dark moments descended. It fell to either one of them to break the tension, deflect the mood, or jump on the next lead or topic. It wasn’t a surprise, then, when he looked down to flex his restless fingers-- gathering resolve, she vaguely supposed, to voice a different thought he’d flicked to. 

“Scully, did I ever tell you what happened in Central Park?” 

“No,” she confessed, poised against the shift in his tone. “You only said you’d heard the angels sing.” 

“And you wrote that in your report to Skinner.” 

“Yes. And he decided we'd possibly ingested too many sewer fumes and put us on mandatory leave. Why? You read my report.” 

“But you never mentioned Diana Bennett or her story, or Vincent or the Tunnels.” 

Scully sighed, craning her neck upward. “Mulder, for all we know Diana Bennett and whoever her cohort was overheard our conversations and decided to, to lead us through an elaborate prank. There was no proof what she’d said was true, nor that she, and whoever Vincent is, was part of the murders.” 

“So you don’t believe her?”

Mulder wouldn’t let her eyes go, and she knew she was caught. “I don’t know if I believe everything she said, but she seemed to believe it.” 

“I saw it, Scully.” 

“Saw what?”

“I saw the Tunnels, I saw Vincent. I spoke with Vincent. I saw some of where they live. I saw--” he stumbled for a word, scrunching his face for a second, “-- the Chamber of the Winds. I saw the study, I saw their patchwork existence, I saw… I heard the angels sing.” 

She didn’t know what to say. For a half second, she considered taking up Skinner’s line of reasoning. “Mulder--”

“I know what I witnessed, Scully. People live down there, good people. Outcasts, wanderers, loners-- they formed a free society. I was told children are born and grow and thrive there.” He laughed, a wheezing, deflated noise through his grinning lips. “There was a Samantha there, too. She wasn’t…. Vincent had a recording of her singing along with some kids. She leads the choir down Below.” 

“Wh….” What was there to do, or to say, to properly measure this revelation? “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Mulder shook his head, flexed his whole hand. “I don’t know. Maybe because you seemed….” 

Her voice had sunk to an involuntary whisper. “What did I seem?”

He moved closer, only a little closer, to stifle his fidgets. “Like thirty-two wasn’t your year.” 

*-*-*-*-*

“What made you believe him, Mulder?”

“Who?” 

Evasive maneuvers. But she wasn’t Skinner; and she wouldn’t be put off. “Vincent. What did he say that made you keep everything secret?” From me, she didn’t clarify; but she thought of the key chain he’d given her, and thought of her ideals of teamwork. 

There was a struggle: his cheek muscle twitched violently, his eyes darted away, his legs shifted in restless impatience. Trust won out. “He had everything, Scully, tucked away under the city. A home, a family, a shared community. Love.” Mulder recaptured her gaze. “All of it was built on a tenuous foundation of secrecy, and so constantly in danger from threat of exposure that I couldn’t betray them, to anyone. He and Diana… they were fighting for their own truth. And we Mulders,” he added, bitterly, “know how to keep secrets.” 

Scully kicked her foot at him with a one-two poke. “That’s a pretty big secret, Mulder.” 

“Yeah?” He looked unwound, exhausted. Ready to drop. The night, it would seem, was drawing to a close. 

“Yeah.” 

Goodbyes were coming: he standing, she following; both of them casting one last glance at her tidy key bowl and shiny new key ring; she locking the door after he disappeared. It was now or never to remind him that thirty-three was a new year-- that she needed to know everything he hadn’t told her in thirty-two. 

Instead, she said, “Good night, Mulder.”

Instead, he smiled, and nodded, and led the way to the door. 

*-*-*-*-*

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic.

[speltfields]

NO WAAAYYY YOUR NEW WIP 😭😭😭😭 YOURE TRYING TO KILL US !!!!!

and about music he listens to it's so hard for me to decide some genre i've listened to all the shane playlists on spotify and i can't decide

what about you????

-🫶 anon

ok so first off to my non stardew followars (sorry) im gonna start tagging everything with #sdv posting so u can blaclklist. love u

answer under the readmore to save u all from the harmful psychic rays of my thoughts

i habe been thinking about the answer to this question for SOOOO LONGGGGG because i feel this has layers like here's all the different factors I have to consider

[and willfully ignore because hes my wet pathetic doll i can do whatever i want with]

1. stardew takes place in like the 80's yeah? 🤔🤔🤔 i ignore this one most of the time. giving them cellphones is funny. its the 2020s they all just have bad cell service and dial up still

2. emilys 8 heart event shane dresses like a punk. Dude gives off "i wanted to be a goth in middle school but couldnt afford tripp pants from the mall but now im an adult and too lazy to try" vibes. maybe his music taste reflects this

3. Umm he's "old" Lol (affectionate) I see him like late 30's early 40's...

4. But is he like COOL old or THINKS hes cool old (important distinction you have surely been around both types of men before and know the difference)

these are all of the factors i have to consider when choosing what music he would listen to.. the like "game takes place during the 80s" thing is the rule i play fast and loose. I only care about it if its funny contextually. usually its funnier if its not the case. Anyways onto the actual headcanons

I think shane would have pretty bad taste in music but once u are friends with him he's open to listening to new stuff and if you show him something new he hadn't heard before he'd say "Huh you're kind of weird aren't you 😏" making fun of you for it but secretly he'd think it was good/ he is def open to listening to new stuff. He secretly does like old school country as well. Noone knows this. You discover john denver/johnny cash cds buried under his bed (he listens to them to feel cool)

I think he would believe he had an eccentric music taste but then you'd go through his collection and its like... weezer. rhcp. maybe some metal. and ur like. This is Dad Rock Radio Tier and he'd be like "WHAT green day isnt dad rock" (i dont believe this yet but id say it to him anyway to make him mad. you understand)

you'd show him some shit like roswell kid and he'd go crazy for it even though its kinda cheesy. also he's randomly into stuff like aphex twin too.

I feel compelled to make him listen to the music i like but i know that that's wishful thinking. he's a dork that's why i like him. i might have to compound on this later when my brain works better (it takes me several weeks to form a single creative thought)

I haven't listened to any shane spotify playlists maybe i should... i do have my own playlist of songs that REMIND me of him but not necessarily stuff i think he'd listen to. I'm too embarrassed to post this 😈