#and seeing how he interacts with his family

[nyankochan]

Unwrap Me

Synopsis: you and Leona visit his family for the holidays. You prepared a special gift for him but can’t quite give it in front of his relatives

Content: Leona x fem!reader, afab!reader, reader implied to be Leona’s finance, oral (male and female receiving), dirty talk, penetration, rough sex, dacryphilia, overstimulation, multiple rounds, breeding kink

w/c: 3K

A/n: todays my birthday (*^_^*) and it’s also Christmas so as a gift, Leona Kingscholar. A happy holidays to everyone

Just one week.

Seven days. 168 hours. 10,080 minutes. 604,800 seconds.

That was how long Leona had to put up with his family for the holidays. That was it. One short week. If he kept repeating that to himself, then perhaps being around his extended family would be manageable.

As long as he knew there was a deadline, he could tolerate Cheka’s begging to bake Christmas cookies and his brother’s pestering about him coming home more often. He could put up with his sister-in-law’s insistence on the family taking updated photos in coordinated pajamas and Neji’s nagging about whatever he chose to complain about Leona not doing right at the moment.

He could handle it.

That’s what he told himself. But after the first forty-eight hours, Leona’s patience already began to wane.

Usually, Leona would hover close to you, using your proximity as an excuse to avoid interacting with his family. But of course, they, for some reason, all seemed to hog your attention from the moment you arrived at the Afterglow Savannah. Cheka wanted to decorate the tree with you. His sister-in-law took you away with his mother to talk wedding details and planing Leona didn’t quite care to participate in. The only time he got to see you was at dinner, because often times, you’d either come back to your room late or he’d find you already asleep.

The final straw was Christmas Eve. Leona had hoped for some time alone with you only for you to get swept away by Farena to help wrap gifts. It was well after 1am by the time you came to bed due to the sheer number of gifts he had bought Cheka.

At that point, damn Christmas and damn the gifts. All Leona wanted at this point was you and a moment of alone time before he went mad from having to watch another corny Christmas movie or pretend to like his sister-in-law’s awful cooking.

“Leona, don’t be such a grinch, smile a little. It’s Christmas!” Farena chided, making the younger Kingscholar roll his eyes. It was finally Christmas Day, and of course, Cheka woke everyone up with his excited yells at five in the morning. Needless to say, Leona was less than thrilled about having his sleep interrupted because “Santa came.”

“Be grateful I’m even here,” Leona muttered under his breath.

The family gathered in the living room, the adults sleepily making their ways in with coffee in hand and an excited five year old at the center of it all. Leona sat on the far end of the couch, immediately closing his eyes and trying to ignore Cheka’s questions about which gifts he could open first. Dressed in your robe, You plop down beside him and lean against his shoulder. You look exhausted, but hide it well with a smile.

For the next couple hours, everyone opens their own gifts. You got a few nice things from your wishlist, Leona gifting you the most expensive (despite your protests) being a new set of headphones you were eyeing. And he was quite pleased with one of your gifts to him, new spell drive equipment, among other things he received from his brother, parents, and Neji.

“Oh, Leona, I got one more gift for you,” you whisper. There’s a cheeky smile on your face as you reach into your robe’s pocket and pull out a small wrapped black box.

“Huh?” Leona’s ears twitched in slight annoyance. “We only agreed to do one gift this year.”

“I know but you’ll really like this one. But it’s for your eyes only. M’kay?” You kiss his cheek when you’re called by Farena’s wife to help make breakfast. After giving one last wink to Leona you skip off.

Confused yet curious as to what you had planned, he undoes the silk red ribbon holding the box together. Carefully, Leona lifts the lid. There’s nothing but a bunch of tissue paper inside. He pulls the paper out and at the bottom of the box is a small piece of the same red ribbon and a photo. Upon seeing what the picture is actually of, Leona immediately closes the box back before anyone else could accidentally see what was meant clearly for his eyes only.

“That little…ha…” Leona sighs, a grin spreading across his face.

He definitely wasn’t expecting that. But he surely was going to enjoy every bit of this gift. And if Cheka was allowed to be impatient, waking everyone up at the ass crack of dawn to open gifts, then Leona felt justified to do the same. He wanted to unwrap the rest of his gift now.

In the kitchen, you were helping the women make breakfast. You half paid attention to their conversations, mind drifting to Leona and what he thought of your little gift. You were quite excited and wished you could’ve seen his instant reaction to the surprise you had left in the box.

“Oi, Leona, if you’re not going to help in here then get out,” Farena’s wife scolded. You look up from what you were mixing to see your fiancé who has quite an unreadable expression on his face. But the intense look in his emerald eyes told you all you needed to know.

He opened your gift.

And you were in for it.

“I need to borrow Y/n,” Leona said, pushing past the lioness to you. “I’ll bring her right back. I forgot to have her open up one more gift from me.”

“What! Wait-“

“Just let them go,” Leona’s mom chuckles. She gives you a knowing wink, shooing you two away.

“But-“ Farena’s wife begins to protest.

Leona ignores her, grabs you by the arm, and drags you out the kitchen quickly. His pace is fast as he walks through the hall with a clear destination in mind. You can’t help but giggle, antsy excitement coursing through your veins. The two of you arrive at your shared room and he immediately locks the door.

“Leo~I was busy helping,” you feign innocence. “It was rude to interrupt.”

“I don’t care,” Leona said , taking a step closer to you. “Your little note was cute. Expecting me to wait until tonight for my gift?”

“Patience is a virtue you know.”

“And I don’t recall ever claiming to be a patient or virtuous man.” He takes a seat on the bed, spreading his legs slightly. Like a king on his throne. “Take it off.”

You undo the tie around your robe, letting the fabric slide down your shoulders slowly. Leona’s eyes seemed to dilate as he took in the attire you wore underneath: A sheer red baby doll. White lacy under garments and stockings with red bow detailing everywhere.

“You’re such a vixen wearing that underneath while around my family,” Leona lets out a shaky breath as he pulls you closer to him. “You did this on purpose, did ya?”

“Mhm maybe,” you tease, shivering as his thumb traces across your hips. “To be fair, not being able to see was equally annoying on my part. You don’t know how many boring meetings I had to have with your mother about flower arrangements and table decor. But she should get the others to leave us alone for a few hours.”

“Yeah? And how’d you convince her to do that?”

Your grin is wicked. “I might’ve promised her a new grand baby if I could have you to myself on Christmas.”

Leona’s eyes widened briefly before a smirk settled on his face. He could feel his cock stir within his pants. “Well, then, I guess we should deliver.” Leona pulls you into his lap, smashing his lips against yours in a frivolous and desperate kiss. He groans against your mouth as your hips rock against his, intense heat blossoming between the two of you. “You know,” Leona mumbles, “you’re almost too pretty to unwrap. I could admire this gift for hours.”

“I thought you were impatient,” you pant. Leona’s hands tightened around your waist. His teeth graze across your neck making you shiver.

“I am. But I still want to admire my beautiful fiancé.”

“B-but this gift was for you.” you whimper out as Leona nips at your neck, squeezing your breast through the bralette. “So let me admire you too.”

You slide out of Leona’s lap to kneel between his legs. His thighs tense as you trace your delicate hands up them to the drawstring of his pajama pants. The crotch bulges, the fabric held high by his erection. He groans when you grope him.

“Don’t tease me,” Leona warns. “Otherwise I’ll make you regret it.”

“So impatient,” you laugh, pulling his cock out of the confines of his boxers.

Leona lets out a shaky moan as your mouth envelops around the swollen head of his cock. You immediately take him deep, tears springing against your eyelashes as you begin to suck. “Fuck don’t stop,” Leona groans. His fingers tangle themselves in your hair, grabbing a fistful of it. His hips jerk up. Your tongue tracing the sensitive vein on his shaft. “Fuck. I’m gonna move you. Let me know if it’s too much.”

“Mhm.”

His other hand grips your head. He then roughly thrusts up while simultaneously forcing your head down his length. You whimper as you begin to gag. Tears trickle down your cheeks as Leona continues to fuck your mouth, his low grunts turning into quick pants. “Such a good fucking girl, taking my cock like this. Gonna swallow all of me okay?”

Leona’s eyes scrunch shut as he comes down your throat. He lets out a shaky moan, keeping a tight hold on your head so you can’t pull away. Your body trembles. Your eyes roll back as the lightheaded feeling makes you dizzy.

“Swallow,” Leona commands. And you do, opening your mouth to show you had. “Heh. Come here.”

His hands settle on your waist as he takes in your lingerie. His gaze a mix of adoration and lust that leaves you feeling bashful under the heat of his stare. “So fucking pretty.” Your cheeks warm and you stare at the floor, making him chuckle. “Why so shy now? You were quite bold earlier leaving that photo in that box with your cute little note. What did it say again?”

You climb back into his lap. Your breath hitches as his cock brushes against your clothed clit. Your panties soaked and needy, desperately wanting Leona in your most intimate region. “I don’t remember,” you tease. “Maybe remind me?”

Leona grins. His hands are soft against your skin. “I think it said something like…hurry up. And what else? Your pretty pussy is waiting to be unwrapped?”

“Hm that sounds about right. So then-“ You rock your hips against Leona’s. “What are you still waiting for?”

His mouth is on yours again, sucking all the remaining air out of your lungs. The two of you tumble into the bed, tearing at each other’s clothes until there’s nothing separating the two of you except your lacy panties. Leona has you pinned underneath him. He traces down your jaw and the side of your neck, biting down on the sensitive spot near your clavicle.

“Since your pretty pussy was wrapped up so nicely for me, it is only fair if I have a little taste, no?”

Leona settles in between your legs, pressing his nose against your cunt to inhale your intoxicating smell. He suppresses a groan. Your scent alone was addicting. It was like he was drunk on you, and he couldn’t think about anything but the way you’d feel around his cock. But first-

He pulls down your panties with his teeth. Dragging the thin fabric around the curve of your plush thighs before dropping them on the floor. Your folds are glistening with your arousal, pretty and puffy. And all his.

With a tight grip on your thighs, Leona takes a lick at your core, pressing his rough tongue against your pussy’s lips. The first wave of pleasure shoots through you which has you trembling. “You taste so good,” Leona groans. He eats you out greedily, tongue moving in and out of your folds.

“Fuck Leona!” Your back arches off the bed as Leona nips at your clit. He buries his face deeper in between your thighs, bringing you to the brink of release. Your body tries to writhe away from him, but his grip keeps you pinned down. You come with a low cry, Leona’s name on your tongue.

Leona drinks you down. His cock is now painfully stiff against his abdomen. All just from the addicting taste of your arousal. He stifles a groan, wrapping his hand around his shaft. He was so hard it fucking hurt.

“I’m going to fuck you in every way possible,” Leona says, licking his lips clean. The tip of his cock prods at your wet entrance. He grips your hips, trying to ease himself in. “I’m going to pump you so full of my cum that there’s no way you won’t leave this room without getting pregnant. After all, you were the one that went behind my back and promised my mother a grand kid.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close to whisper, “then you better get to it.”

Leona growls. He pushes into your cunt, groaning at how you squeeze around him. His head drops to your shoulder as his body trembles as a wave of pleasure courses through him. A low curse leaves his lips.

“L-Leo? Y-you okay?” You whimper.

“Just give me a minute.” He kisses you, softly this time. “I’m trying to control myself so that I don’t hurt you.”

“It’s okay. You can be a little rough.”

Leona’s ears twitch. He could feel his dick throb at your words. You groan as his size seems to swell.

“Heh, you asked for it.” Leona folds your legs to your chest making you gasp. “Don’t go begging me to stop later. Because I’m not until you’re carrying my cubs.”

“Please fuck me, Leona,” you mewl.

Rolling his hips, Leona pulled his cock from your hole and with a sharp snap, drove himself back into you. The sheer force of his scorching length shot the first wave of pleasure through the both of you. The two of you let out low moans.

Your body shuddered slightly anticipation. You clung to Leona and dug your nails in his shoulders trying to keep him close. That first penetration gave way to a succession of increasingly rougher thrusts that took your breath away.

“A-ah L-leona t-too much,” you babble. Leona growls, pushing your legs closer, burying his cock even deeper. “Leona!”

“I told you-“ Leona grunts, continuing his brutal pace. “You asked for it. You wanted it rough.” His cock kisses that particular sweet spot, making your insides tense. You cry out as your orgasm leaves you seeing stars. Your legs shake over his shoulder, and a tight pressure coils within your stomach.

“Fuck you’re squeezing me so much,” Leona groaned. “You like when I pound into you like this, don’t ya? Your pussy’s gonna fuckin’ kill me.” Your nails rake into his back, leaving bright red marks. You clamp down on his shoulder, biting so hard you broke the skin. Leona lets out a low hiss. “I’m gonna come-“

A loud moan left his lips. His hips stilled and his release hit. You shivered feeling yourself be filled while your own orgasm hit, this time with more intensity. Leona slowly pulled out and sat back on his heels. His seed leaks from your swollen sex on to the bed sheets. You let out a quiet whimper and push your fingers into your cunt, trying to stop it from spilling out. Once more, his cock stirs, the carnal desire within him burning.

“Are you okay?” Leona swallows, trying to maintain a sense of control. You sleepily nod. “Good.”

You squeak as you’re suddenly and roughly manhandled. Leona flips you on to your hands and knees, shoving your face into the pillows. “L-Leona-“

“Sorry, kitten-“ You gasp as he enters once more, his thick cock stretching your walls until you feel so full of him. Leona squeezes your hips, pushing his cock deeper. “but I want to enjoy my gift a little longer.”

~*~

You and Leona had been gone for hours.

Breakfast passes without your presence. And needless to say, neither Farena nor Neji are pleased. It is only due to Farena’s mother’s insistence that the two don’t venture off to look for the missing family members.

“Just leave them be,” the older lioness would dismiss.

“But mother, Leona-“ Farena huffed.

“It’s fine. They’re probably busy with wedding stuff. Some things they need to figure out on their own as a couple.”

You and Leona don’t emerge until right before dinner, trying to act as inconspicuous as possible. Like you hadn’t snuck off to fuck for a couple hours.

“Auntie Y/n!” Cheka excitedly runs over to you. You bend down, despite the ache in your hips and lower back to catch his hug. Cheka gives you an odd look as you pick him up. He looks at you then to Leona, back to you and then his uncle. It’s like he’s searching for something and when he doesn’t find it, he sulks in disappointment.

“Whatcha looking for Cheka?” Farena asks.

“Auntie said she and Leona would give me a cousin for Christmas, but I don’t see them.” The cub continues to pout.

Immediately, your face explodes red, and Leona rubs his temple in annoyance. The situation doesn’t improve as now the attention is on the two of you and what you were most likely doing in your absence. Leona and Farena’s mother only laughs in amusement. She spent the last several hours covering for you, so if you didn’t have a grandchild for her in the next nine months she’d be highly disappointed.

[dreamsteddie]

Steve and Eddie childhood friends au where Eddie's mom, Elizabeth Munson, is hired on as Steve's nanny when Steve turns four.

Elizabeth may not have the best reputation in town, but she went to school with Linda Harrington before she threw her life and money away on Al. She was young and foolish and thought he loved her like she loved him. It hurt to be proven wrong, that he loved her modest saving account more than he could ever love her, but at the end of the day, he gave her Eddie, so she carries on.

Linda had known her from before she met Al. They weren't ever friends, but Elizabeth was from a nice lower middle-class family and had long black curls that the other girls could admire. Not popular by any means, but someone who could be partnered up with Queen Linda for a history project without heads turning. Linda also knew from health class that Elizabeth was good with kids, so it's not a complete surprise when she gets a call asking if she'd like to nanny her 4-year-old son, Steve, for the foreseeable future so she can return to work with her husband.

The Harrintons are a wealthy couple, for Hawkins Indiana at least. In the grand scheme of things Richard's position as one of many property realtors in a major corporation keeps them comfortably in the upper middle classes, but the dollar stretches almost twice as far in the sleepy parts of Indiana.

Still, to Elizabeth who has never known more than a modest three bedroom and little Eddie who has never lived outside the tin walls of the trailer park, the Harrington home seems like a mansion fit for a king.

Or in this case, a little prince.

Steve is a sweet little boy, if a little bratty the first few times Elizabeth has to tell him no. When she first comes to the house to be briefed on all Steve's needs and how the house runs, he clings to his mother's perfectly pressed skirts and looks up at him with big brown eyes that remind her so much of Eddie's, full of barely contained curiosity. It doesn't take long after she introduces himself to him, stooping down to say hi and shake his little hand, for him to lose all that shyness and start, trying, to ask her questions. He's not at a place where he can use full sentences, but he makes do with pointing and the words he does have.

It's easy to see that Linda doesn't know how to interact with Steve, telling him more than once to let the grownups talk and to stop holding her skirt. Elizabeth doesn't say anything though, it's not her place and she could really use the job. Edde is sprouting up like a weed, and her previous income from the diner wasn't enough to get him all the things he needed. The Harringtons, for all their faults, are offering her more than a fair salary to look after their son.

The next week, she brings her and Eddie bright and early to make sure they get there just as the Harringtons head off to work. Elizabeth knows Richard wasn't keen on Eddie coming with her, probably not wanting his son to associate with a child he sees as lesser, but Elizabeth quickly realized that matters of the home like childcare were left to Linda's discretion, and she hadn't seen a problem with it.

Steve is waiting for his mother on the front porch, clutching her hand as hard as he can. When Linda pries his hand away he starts to snivel and cry, but to Elizaeth's surprise, he doesn't start to wail and scream. The first time she had to leave for work Eddie just about had a complete meltdown, not understanding where his mom was going or why he had to stay with his Uncle Wayne. Steve stays quiet, muffing his cries in a way that tugs at her heartstrings.

She takes his hand and guides him inside, holding back from scooping him up in her arms like she would Eddie to sing him a song and dry his tears. Something tells him the Harringtons wouldn't appreciate that.

So he waits, watches their car depart from the open doorway, and once she's sure they're completely out of sight she swoops down to hold him in her arms. The act opens the floodgates. Steve starts really crying and wailing into her arms, asking for his mama and clutching hard at the sleeves of Elizabeth's blouse.

That's when Eddie steps in, placing his hand on Steve's shirt and rubbing clumsy circles on the younger boy's shoulder. Eddie's not five quite yet, has about four more moths to go, but he's talking much more than Steve is and seems to relish in the use of his voice. Right now he's using it to soothe Steve, telling him it's going to be ok and his mama will come back and that they can share his mama until she does.

Then he does the damnedest thing.

He starts singing.

It's the same thing she's always done for him. Every time Al comes home and leaves again, when he falls off the jungle gym at the park, when one of the kids in town points out that his shoes have holes in them and that he must be poor. She holds him close, rubs his tiny shoulder, and sings her favorite Patsy Cline song into his ear.

The three of them stay in the Harrington's entryway for as long as it takes for Steve's tears to dry out, starting this new phase of their lives to the tune of Sweet Dreams.

[keferon]

Blurr doesn't believe in ghosts.

-------------------------------

Blurr's been in accidents before, so he's not entirely unfamiliar with the routine of waking up in hospital.  What's new this time is the flood of relief that he wakes up – because he was certain he was dead, there was no way he wasn't dying when his eyes had closed. 

Still, Blurr knows this routine.  The first few days are filled with an overwhelming amount of cards and flower bouquets – well-wishes and sympathies expressed by everyone ranging from fans to sponsors to business partners and company executives.  Few actually visit, fewer still stay with him very long. 

Swindle is one of the only ones who returns more than once.  He's done more than Blurr ever thought he would to uphold his word from their early meetings – that anything Blurr needed, anything at all he could call on Swindle and Swindle would provide.  Because as Blurr understands it, Swindle is the reason that Blurr's here at all.  Swindle's the one covering Blurr's medical treatments and handling most of the publicity for Blurr's condition.

That in and of itself doesn't entirely surprise Blurr.  Afterall, their business relationship is valuable to Swindle.  Blurr's recovery is valuable to Swindle.  What does surprise him is that Swindle stays and talks with Blurr.  Comes back to keep talking.  Answers Blurr's calls when he's too bored or needs a distraction from the pain and the numbness of it all.  And he doesn't have to.  It's enough to almost have Blurr believing that Swindle values him not just for his face or his fame, but for what he can do as a person.

But Blurr can also see with each passing visit the strain that events have put on Swindle.  He can see how the dark circles grow under the other man's eyes.  Notices how visits are growing further apart, happening later in the day.  Phone calls and conversations are shorter. 

Blurr can see there are things Swindle isn't telling him.  Some days, he even gets Swindle to outright admit to that fact.  But Swindle always avoids the issue.  Ensures Blurr that all he needs to focus on is his own recovery – that Swindle will handle everything else. 

And then, the day comes when Swindle finally lets Blurr in on the truth.  Blurr gets the sense that Swindle would rather have never told him what the game is that they're playing – that he only did so because he felt he had no other choice.  Blurr isn't sure how he feels.  Some days -- a lot of days, if he's being completely honest -- he finds himself wishing he never knew, wishing things could go back to the way they'd been.  The one thing he knows for certain is that Swindle's visits are no longer just those of a friend stopping by (if they ever truly were).  They are back to business.

Other things Blurr knows for certain is that recovery is long and agonizingly slow and terribly lonely at times.  There are the visits from doctors and nurses.  Lab technicians and physical therapists.  But it's not the same as having visitors – as having friends or family to look in on him.  And while Blurr sees crowds of people when he's outside the hospital with Swindle, everything Blurr does – every interaction -- is an act.  An act that only serves to exhaust him further.

There are days where Blurr struggles to tell whether any real progress is being made – with his recovery or with Swindle's efforts in mecha.  There are days where he's certain there is no progress, will never be any progress, and it's hard to remember why he keeps trying, keeps fighting. 

And then, the ghost visits him in the middle of the night. 

The next morning when he wakes he doesn't believe it was real.  He's on strong drugs to keep the pain at bay – more so on the days when the strain of recovery and public appearances take too heavy of a toll. 

Blurr doesn't believe in ghosts.  Drug-induced hallucinations, yes.  Figments of a dying mind, yes.  Figures that appear haunting his dreams, yes.  Because Swindle had told Blur finally, in one of his rare unguarded moments, that not everyone made it out of mecha.  That one of the mechanics – the one who according to Swindle had been enlisted by Blurr to navigate the collapsing building – was missing.  Missing so long at this point he was presumed dead.  And Blurr has hazy recollections of seeing a ghost in his dying moments.

Even though the mechanics official status is uncertain, Blurr knows not everyone made it out of that building.  And Blurr knows the ghost is not real.  Knows that if it is anything, it is his own guilt come back to haunt him.  Guilt that he wasn't fast enough.  Guilt that he had needed to pull anyone else into risking their life alongside his own.  Guilt that he survived.

Only, the little Blurr can recall of the ghost's visit feels different than the dreams where Blurr's dying.  It feels more – real.  Blurr doesn't know how that can make sense when it comes to ghosts.  But he supposes if aliens are real, then maybe it's not such a stretch.  And come to think of it, the ghost had claimed to be an alien.

It takes a little while from when Blurr first confronts the ghost to pick up on the signs.  It's little things.  The light flickering away over only part of a lightbulb.  A shadow on the ceiling with nothing to cast it.  The curtains that continue to move on their own so as to shield his eyes from too much glare from the sun.  The way that Blurr can see sometimes see Swindle's collar move when they are out and he leans close for extra support or to whisper into Swindle's ear – even when there's no breeze or they are indoors. 

But it's the night that the call alarm next to Blurr's bed goes off on its own, while he's still trapped in the throes of a nightmare, thrashing, in pain, that convinces Blurr.  Maybe whatever he's noticing isn't entirely made up by his mind.

He starts to take comfort whenever he sees the lights flicker or a shadow where it doesn't belong or an unexplainable twitch of Swindle's collar.  The room feels just a little bit brighter, the burden that he's carrying just a little bit lighter for believing that maybe he isn't so alone.

Ghost.  Alien.  Guardian.  Whatever the presence may be, it strengthens Blurr knowing it's there, watching over him.

And when Blurr can tell he's being cornered into a medical conversation he isn't certain he wants to have, the mecha employee appearing from seemingly nowhere to give him a way out seems too good to be true.  Blurr wouldn't be believing it if he wasn't watching the scene unfold before his eyes, wasn't playing a role in it himself – nodding along with the frantic employee even as the technical details of what emergency he's agreeing with slip way over his head.

It's only when the doctor is gone that Blurr lets down his guard, dares to reach out.  Because the voice talking to him feels familiar. 

Blurr pulls back the brim of the cap. 

He feels his heart skip a beat in his chest and for a rare moment, Blurr finds himself completely at a loss for what to say, what to do.  Because he knows the face looking back at him.  It's the face of a ghost.  The face of his ghost.

Neither of us is real.

The words drift across Blurr's mind.  Words that he knows with sudden clarity were the last he had ever expected to hear.  Only, here they both are.

The ghost smiles cautiously up at him, shifting slightly from foot to foot as Blurr stares.  And in the warmth of that smile Blurr feels blinded. 

The small part of Blurr's mind that isn't reeling trying to process what all he's just uncovered wonders if this isn't the closest he'll get to feeling what other people seem to experience when Blurr himself walks into a room.  Because Blurr is frozen, even as his thoughts race in a hundred different directions at once and his heart pounds in his chest.  Because the ghost is real.  And just that knowledge makes Blurr feel slightly less alone in all this.

  Because... the ghost is real.  And just that knowledge ...makes Blurr feel slightly less alone uh??????

[mggslover]

How the Unsub Stole Christmas ❆

A Holiday to Remember: part 2

In which the BAU's holiday getaway takes a dark turn when a family is found murdered on Christmas, forcing the team to investigate while reader struggles with painful memories of her past and her growing, unspoken feelings for Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!bau!reader Genre: crime, angst, smut (18+), fluff, found family Content warnings: graphic cm case descriptions!!, mentions of shitty childhood, reader getting in some unsub trouble, oral (f receiving), p in v sex. Word count: 9k 🫣 i swear it reads really fast A/n: read part 1 first! writing this story genuinely brought me so much joy, and i hope you will experience the same while reading this. this will be my last fic for the year 2024, so thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the support, i can't wait to see what the new year will bring for this blog. don't forget to interact with this post if you've enjoyed! 🎄🤍 dividers by @issysh3ll

It shouldn’t have surprised you that you’d be called out for another case. Still, the disappointment lingered thick in the air.

“It was fun while it lasted,” Garcia murmured softly, her tone sad. JJ wrapped an arm around her, bringing her in for a side hug. “Don’t worry,” she reassured gently. “The trip isn’t over yet.”

Penelope seemed satisfied enough with that answer, but then spoke up again. “I don’t want to stay here on my own. It’s spooky knowing someone got murdered just miles away.”

“You can come with us to the station. Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss and Y/L/N, you’ll head to the crime scene. A deputy will be waiting for you there.” Hotch instructed. 

You exhaled softly and gave a brief nod. Spencer glanced over at you, his eyes filled with that quiet empathy you’d come to recognize over the years.

“Good luck,” he said, his voice low but sincere.

“Thanks,” you replied, your words equally soft. “You too.”

Half an hour later, you arrived at the crime scene. The neighborhood was so small it hardly felt like one—just a handful of houses scattered across large, snow-dusted plots of land. It looked peaceful, almost idyllic, as if nothing could ever disturb the calm. The street was adorned with Christmas lights and festive decorations. The only thing slightly out of place was a crack in the bench beside one of the houses. Otherwise, the neighborhood looked like it had stepped right out of a holiday card.

As you stepped out of the car, you noticed the few neighbors who hadn’t yet been driven inside by the cold. They stood in clusters in front of their homes, bundled up in scarves and coats, watching the scene unfold with cautious curiosity.

You looked over at Prentiss. “We should start doing some interviews—maybe send a few of them over to the station.”

She nodded, her expression focused. “Got it.” Without another word, she made her way toward them.

You followed Rossi and Derek toward the red wooden house, where the Deputy awaited by the front door. He looked young—probably around your age. 

Rossi introduced you to Deputy Wilson. Wilson gave a sheepish smile, “Sorry it’s just me. Almost the whole department is unavailable because of the holidays.”

“Convenient timing for a murder,” you mused.

“The scene’s been left as it was when we found it,” Wilson continued. “The back door’s been forced open, and you can see boot prints in the snow leading to the backyard.”

Morgan immediately stepped forward. “I’ll get a shot of those prints for Garcia,” he said, already heading toward the backyard.

Wilson looked at you and Rossi. “You want to take a look inside?”

You paused before heading in, shaking the snow from your boots and making sure not to use the doormat—the one engraved with the names of the family members. It felt wrong, almost disrespectful, to dirty the only thing that might be left of them. 

You took in a sharp breath as you entered the house. Your gaze was first taken by the large Christmas tree standing in the corner of the living room, decorated in red and gold. But then you noticed the bloody mess underneath it. Four bodies—two adults and two children—lay scattered on the floor, broken Christmas ornaments surrounding them, as though the killer had dropped them carelessly after his violent act. The mother and father were draped over each other, their throats slit cleanly. The teenage daughter, too, had her throat cut, but her body was twisted in a way that didn’t seem accidental. The small boy—no older than ten—was slumped between them, his face frozen in an expression of terror, a look that would haunt you for days.

The scene before you was a sickening parody of a perfect Christmas. But the most disturbing part wasn’t the carnage—it was their faces. Each of them wore a grotesque, unnerving smile, painted onto their lips in blood. It was a mockery of joy, an image of happiness forced onto the dead.

You felt a wave of nausea rise in your throat and turned away, needing a moment to breathe. It was then that you noticed the walls, once filled with smiling family photos were now smeared with blood. Shattered frames lay scattered on the floor, as if the killer had intentionally destroyed the family’s history, piece by piece. 

Rossi spoke first. “The unsub who stole Christmas,” he mused, his tone almost playful despite the grim reality.

You gave a sharp exhale, a brief scoff escaping your lips. “Yeah, you could say that.”

You put on your gloves and picked up a shattered picture frame from the floor. You handed it to Rossi without a word. He took it, studying it for a moment before speaking again. “One thing’s for sure—this wasn’t just a murder. This is deeply personal.”

You nodded, scanning the room. The starkness of the crime scene was still sinking in, but your mind was already running through the facts. “The execution was meticulous,” you murmured, your gaze flickering over the room, “but the aftermath... messy. The unsub rushed out of here—didn’t even bother closing the back door behind him, and those footprints? Almost like he didn’t care at all about leaving evidence. We might even get lucky and find DNA on the bodies.”

Rossi considered it. “It could be that he was in a hurry. In a small neighborhood like this, people will notice anything out of the ordinary. He probably knew he had to move fast.”

You hummed in return. “It still doesn’t add up. You can’t plan a murder with this much detail and then completely overlook how to cover your tracks afterward.”

You took another slow turn around the room, examining the details. Every piece seemed to add to the strange puzzle, but none of it fit together. As you passed the fireplace, something caught your eye: a piece of paper tucked into one of the stockings. You reached for it carefully, your fingers brushing the corner stained with blood.

You unfolded it with precision, revealing the scrawled words in black ink. The sentence was short and written in Latin, a language you hadn’t encountered in years. You stared at it, furrowing your brow as you tried to make sense of it.

“You wouldn’t happen to know Latin, would you?” You asked Rossi, half-joking, though the seriousness in your voice remained.

Rossi looked up, his expression a mix of confusion and dry humor. “Does it look like I know Latin?”

You smiled, already pulling your phone out of your pocket and speed dialing Spencer. As the phone rang, you turned your attention back to the paper, the blood spatter still making your stomach turn.

“Hey,” you breathed out as he picked up the phone after the second ring.

“Hey,” Spencer replied. “Are you okay?” His voice was soft with concern, your single syllable being enough for him to decipher how you feel.

You glanced over your shoulder at the murdered family, swallowing hard before turning away. “I will be,” you responded. Once that fucker is behind bars.

You straightened, pushing the thoughts away, and focused on the task at hand. “I’ve just found a piece of paper at the crime scene. It’s a text written in Latin. I figured it’d be quicker to ask you than wait for Garcia to look it up.”

Spencer hummed in acknowledgment. “Good call. What does it say?”

You glanced at the paper again, stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar words. “Nunc sciunt te perfectum non esse.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line before Spencer spoke, his voice calm but precise. “Nunc sciunt te perfectum non esse. ‘Now they know you’re not perfect.’” His perfect Latin pronunciation made you wince at how poorly you’d read it.

“What’s that supposed to mean? A taunt?”

Spencer’s voice was thoughtful. “Sounds like he’s trying to prove something. It’s definitely personal.”

You exchanged a look with Rossi, who was standing nearby, holding the broken picture frame. “Yeah, that’s what we’ve been thinking. Whoever this unsub is, he knows the Reynolds family intimately.”

“Garcia’s already digging into the family’s background,” Spencer replied without missing a beat, already a step ahead.

“Good,” you muttered, relief washing over you for a moment. “How are things going over there?”

“JJ’s been trying to reach family, but they don’t live nearby,” Spencer answered. “A snowstorm hit. I’ve been tracking the meteorological data, and the chances of them making it are close to zero.” 

You nodded, a dull ache settling in your chest. “Well, I’m going to keep looking around here. The bodies will be picked up soon to go to the lab, and then I’ll be heading over to the station.”

“Alright,” Spencer replied, his tone warmer now. “I’ll see you there. Be careful.”

“Always am,” you said, offering a small smile even though he couldn’t see it.

The words on the note kept drifting through your mind. Maybe it was the sentiment that came with Christmas—or maybe it was the fact that, up until now, you were having a perfect holiday, something you never thought you’d get to experience—that made the scene remind you of your childhood. How everything looked so joyous from the outside, especially during the holidays. But if you looked closely, you’d see the cracks. The ornaments on the tree, hastily glued together, their edges jagged and uneven. The hole in the wall, cleverly concealed behind your stocking. 

You were probably overthinking it. After all, it wasn’t the family that was broken like yours was—it was the unsub who had shattered their picture-perfect life.

Rossi’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You okay, kid?”

You blinked, pulling yourself out of the past and into the present. “Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s get out of here.”

You and Rossi walked into the secluded room the Sheriff had arranged for the team, exchanging your findings with Morgan and Prentiss along the way. You’d made a quick stop at a Chinese takeaway to grab food for everyone, knowing the team needed fuel for the long hours ahead.

The rest of the team was already seated around the table, and Reid was in the middle of showing Hotch something on the map of the neighborhood.

“Oh, you guys are the best!” Penelope sighed, her voice full of appreciation as she caught sight of the plastic bags you were carrying.

“We couldn’t leave you to go hungry,” Emily responded with a grin.

You took a seat closest to where Spencer was standing, and he naturally slid into the chair beside you. You reached into the bag and pulled out the only plastic fork, knowing he’d struggle with chopsticks. He flashed you a grateful, closed-lip smile as he took it from you.

Once everyone had filled their plates, the conversation turned back to the case.

“Garcia dug up some useful info,” JJ began. “Stephen Reynolds owned a construction company that’s on the verge of going bankrupt. It’s possible the unsub was an employee who got fired—or was cut loose because the company couldn’t afford him anymore.”

“It seems like the whole family was targeted,” you added, leaning forward. “The note was left in one of the children’s stockings. It doesn’t feel like the murder was just directed at Stephen.”

“That’s why we need to find out more about the Reynolds family outside of their neighborhood,” Hotch said. “The employees at the construction company could have insight. It’s clear the neighbors aren’t going to give us much.”

Rossi’s eyes narrowed, a skeptical look on his face. “Did they really not give you anything? The neighbors, I mean.”

Prentiss shook her head. “Nothing useful. They kept insisting that the Reynolds’s were a perfect family. They even seemed offended when I pressed for more.”

“That doesn’t sit right. The note specifically mentioned how the Reynolds’s are not perfect.” Rossi replied. 

“I gotta give it to them, though,” Garcia chimed in. “The Reynolds’s are model citizens. The parents were both heavily involved in charity, and the kids have won multiple prizes in spelling bees and other competitions.”

“Has anything bad ever happened in that neighborhood?” Morgan asked, clearly skeptical about the idea of perfection.

Penelope clicked away on her laptop. “Well, there was a fire in one of the houses about ten years ago, because of damaged Christmas lights.” She made a sad face as she continued searching. “Oh, and a cat got stuck in a tree once… didn’t make it.”

“What happened to the family in the house?” Spencer asked.

Penelope’s fingers paused over the keys. “Uh, let me see… The Eriksens died from smoke inhalation. Oh… this is sad. They left a child, Christopher Eriksen. He was put into foster care when he was just eight.”

“Did the Reynolds’s live there when that happened?” JJ asked.

“Yeah, they did. Actually, they organized a fundraiser to build a bench with the parents’ names engraved on it, in their memory.”

You felt your pulse quicken at the mention of the bench. Something about it seemed strangely familiar, but you couldn’t trust your mind right now—not with everything still scattered from the case, and the ghosts of your past tugging at the edges of your thoughts.

You could feel Spencer’s gaze on you, but you decided to ignore it, keeping your focus on Hotch as he spoke up. 

“It’s best if we head back to the cabin to rest up,” he said. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day, and the station’s closing tonight so everyone can spend time with their families.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, the relief of getting some rest evident on their faces. But as the team began gathering their things, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled in your chest. You hated the idea of putting the case on hold, even if it was just for the night. The face of that little boy kept haunting your thoughts, his wide eyes silently pleading for answers, for peace. You couldn’t help but feel like you were letting him down.

Spencer’s hand snakes up on your shoulder, his warm hold holding you in place. His lips barely moved as he mouthed, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you whispered, shaking your head.

The entire car ride had been silent. Spencer’s gaze would occasionally flicker over to you in the backseat, but you kept your eyes fixated on the road, watching the scenery blur past.

The silence stretched on as you said your goodnights to the rest of the team and walked toward your shared room with Spencer. As you both got ready for bed, there was an unspoken tension hanging in the air. Now, lying in the king-sized bed, you both stared up at the ceiling, the quiet stillness between you thick with unspoken words.

“When are we finally going to talk about what’s wrong?” Spencer’s voice broke the silence, careful but insistent.

You stayed quiet for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts. “Nothing’s wrong,” you replied, your words coming out a little too quickly.

“There’s obviously something wrong,” he pressed gently. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

“I know,” you answered, your voice softer now, more honest. Usually, Spencer never had to press. There was something about him—something warm and patient—that made it easy to open up, to share your thoughts without fear of judgment. But this time, it felt different. It wasn’t just the case. It felt personal, something you couldn’t fully explain.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” you said, thinking aloud. “It’s just… something’s off. And I don’t know if it’s just me.”

“What do you feel?” His question was quiet, but his concern was clear.

You hesitated. “It sounds stupid,” you muttered, brushing it off.

“Nothing you could say would sound stupid to me.” His words, soft and sincere, made your chest tighten with warmth. You turned your head to look at him, noticing the closeness between you, the way his gaze lingered on you.

“You thought it was stupid that I shower at 115 degrees,” you said with a playful smile.

Spencer let out a soft chuckle, the tension easing just a little. “I don’t think it’s stupid that you like it,” he said, his voice gentle. “I just think it’s stupid that you’d risk hurting yourself over it.”

His eyes warmly looked at you. One hand rested underneath his pillow as he lay on his side. You turned toward him, mirroring his position.

"I’m really struggling with this case," you softly admitted, trying to keep eye contact, though your gaze flickered down, betraying the weight of your words.

“Was it hard seeing the crime scene?”

"Yeah," you choked out, your throat tight. You blinked quickly to try to stop the tears that threatened to spill. “It was... it was horrible.”

His hand reached out to gently rub your bare arm under the blanket. "It’s completely normal to feel affected by what you saw," he began, his voice steady but laced with the kind of empathy that only someone like him could offer. "Witnessing something as violent and horrific as the bodies of two children—it’s traumatic. The brain processes trauma in complex ways, especially when it involves young victims. According to studies in neuropsychology, traumatic experiences, particularly those involving children, can cause the brain to release a surge of stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline. This flood of chemicals can lead to acute emotional responses, such as anxiety and flashbacks.”

“I’ve been experiencing flashbacks,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. You met his gaze, looking for reassurance, and he gave you the space to speak, waiting patiently. “It actually started earlier today, when we arrived at the cabin. I’ve never experienced a Christmas like this, you know, the kind that feels warm and joyful. I- I don’t know if I’m making connections that aren’t there, but the feeling I had in that house was the same feeling I used to get when I was growing up.”

He tilted his head. "What feeling?"

“...Jealousy.”

His eyebrows knitted. “Jealousy?”

You nodded, swallowing hard, gathering your thoughts. “You could feel so much rage in there. Everything that made the home feel homey—that warmth, that love—was completely shattered. The way the unsub positioned the family members under the Christmas tree, the way the note was tucked into the stocking… There’s a reason for it. Christmas represents this idealized view of perfection. I don’t think the message was to prove that the company going bankrupt is some sort of imperfection in the family’s picture-perfect life. No, it feels like the unsub was jealous of their happiness. Of the fact that they had a family who seemed perfect—something he never had. He wanted to destroy it. To ruin their happiness. He could never have it, so he shattered the illusion of perfection entirely.”

Spencer was quiet for a moment, processing your words. “So you think the Reynolds’s were targeted as surrogates?”

“I guess so. But you don’t just stumble across a neighborhood as desolate as theirs.” you responded.

“It could still be one of the employees of the construction company. If Stephen bragged about his perfect family to the wrong person, it could have triggered something.”

You hummed in agreement, but Spencer could see there was more on your mind. He raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

“As I got older, I learned that blaming others wasn’t going to make me feel any better about my situation. It’s like the unsub hasn’t realized that yet. The way he executed this crime—it’s almost like a child throwing a tantrum. He was so meticulous in setting everything up, and then once he got what he wanted, he just… walked away. There was no care for the aftermath, no consideration of what would happen afterward.”

“Do you think the unsub could still be a child?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Your mind clicked, and for the first time, the puzzle pieces seemed to fit together. “How old was the kid when he was put into foster care?" You asked, already knowing the answer.

“Eight. Why?” Spencer's confusion was evident.

“It’s been ten years since that house caught fire. That would make him eighteen now, and—"

Spencer’s eyes widened as realization struck. “And that he just got out of foster care.”

"Exactly," you said, rolling out of bed and storming downstairs.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Spencer called after you, quickly grabbing his cardigan from the chair in the corner of the room before hurrying to catch up.

“Be quiet, I don’t want to wake anyone.” You instructed, feeling Spencer’s presence behind you as you moved toward the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” he hissed in a whisper as you opened Garcia’s laptop on the table. You didn’t respond, your fingers already flying over the keys as you settled into a chair.

Spencer huffed, knowing full well there was no stopping you once your mind was set. He hovered behind you, draping the cardigan over your shoulders. “I’m not covering for you if Garcia finds out,” he warned, glancing over your shoulder at the screen.

“That’s fine. I know exactly what to say to win her over,” you said nonchalantly, clicking away. In your mind, the image of Spencer in the shower was still vivid—a story you could easily use to distract Penelope if it came to that.

You paused, your heart skipping a beat as you found the file. “Here it is,” you muttered, eyes scanning the information on Christopher Eriksen. You clicked to open it fully, Spencer already reading ahead of you.

“They found bruises all over his body when he was put into foster care,” he read aloud, his voice tense as the words sank in.

You leaned forward, your breath catching. “This is it,” you murmured. “His parents— they must’ve bought into that ‘perfect family’ image of the neighborhood, but behind closed doors, they were hiding this. Can you imagine what it must’ve been like for him? Everyone thinking his parents were saints, while they were hurting him? All the while, they’re the ones who get a memorial bench, their lives celebrated while they tortured him.”

“It was on Christmas that he was put into foster care. Now, it’s the first Christmas since he’s been out. It makes sense to go back to the place where it all started,” Spencer concluded.

“I need to go there,” you said urgently, slamming the laptop shut.

“Have you lost your mind?!” Spencer asked, bewildered. He immediately followed you as you rushed to the door, still in your pajamas. “You’re not seriously planning on going out like that?”

“It’s just a quick peek. I need to see if I was right about the bench,” you said, almost to yourself, already focused on the task ahead. You didn’t even glance behind you as you pulled on your shoes and yanked open the front door, wrapping Spencer’s cardigan tighter around yourself to ward off the cold.

In moments like these, Spencer knew exactly who had trained you. You were unmistakably like Gideon—determined, single-minded, and often impulsive once your mind was set. And that, in turn, always left Spencer in a state of mild panic.

“You can’t drive at night,” he said, his voice rising with concern as he followed you into the snow-covered yard. “You have nyctalopia!”

You didn’t stop, your focus unwavering. “You should take night-blindness seriously, it takes forever for your pupils to dilate, and by that time, you’ve already missed the stop sign or, I don’t know, hit a pothole or something. Your contrast sensitivity goes down, so objects blend into the background, and—did I mention the glare from headlights? Because that’s a huge problem, and it makes it worse! You’re already having trouble seeing, and now the glare from every car that passes is just blinding you. It's like trying to navigate in a fog, but it’s just light fog, which—okay, that’s a really bad analogy, but you get the point!”

His words fell into the background as you continued walking, your mind fully occupied with proving your theory. The case had been driving you mad. If you could just confirm that the bench was broken—that Christopher was the one who’d done it in a moment of anger—everything would click. The case would be solved. You’d give the Reynolds family peace. And, selfishly, you’d give yourself peace.

“Please,” Spencer begged, now standing in front of the car door, blocking your path. “If you’re going, at least let me drive.”

His comment made you halt in front of the car. “You hate driving,” you pointed out.

“I’d rather be uncomfortable for a few minutes than risk something happening to you,” he admitted.

You stared at him, feeling a surge of gratitude for how much he cared, how he believed your theory and was willing to go along with you. 

You reached out and took his hands. It was a gesture he rarely tolerated from anyone, but you’d learned over the years that Spencer appreciated it when it came from you. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. “Thanks, Spence,” you said softly, the words simple but your voice full of appreciation.

He swallowed, his eyes softening as he nodded. “We’ll just take a quick look, right?”

“I swear,” you promised, a reassuring smile tugging at your lips. “Just a quick look.”

He sighed, still clearly uneasy but unwilling to argue. You handed him the car keys and moved to the passenger side, sliding into the seat. 

—————

Spencer slowed the car as you neared the familiar area, the headlights casting long shadows over the snowy driveway.

"Let’s stop the car here," you suggested. The thought crossed your mind just in time—it would be very inappropriate to drive into a quiet neighborhood with an unknown car at this hour, especially after a murder had taken place.

You and Spencer stepped out of the car, the cold biting at your skin as you walked side by side. You stayed close to him, partly to keep warm, partly to follow his tracks through the snow, the dark pressing in around you. The Christmas lights that had lit up the neighborhood earlier were now off, leaving everything shrouded in an eerie quiet.

You made your way to the bench. Your hand skimmed over the smooth wood, lingering on the top right corner where you felt a distinct break—something sharp and jagged where a piece had clearly been broken off. You exhaled in relief. You were right.

Spencer’s hand shot out to gently grab your wrist, his fingers warm against the cold night air. "Careful," he said, his voice low but insistent. "You don’t want splinters. Stay here, I’ll grab a flashlight from the car."

You nodded, watching as his footsteps faded into the distance, swallowed by the thick darkness around you.

Alone now, you scanned the area. Everything was still and silent, save for the occasional crunch of snow beneath your feet. Your eyes were drawn to a dim light flickering from inside the rebuilt house where the Eriksens used to live, just past the bench. Curiosity nudged you forward, and before you could second-guess yourself, your feet were already moving toward the light.

You crept closer to the window, standing on your toes to peer inside. The house was barely furnished, still very much in the process of being worked on before it could be sold. You pressed your hands against the cold glass, forming makeshift goggles with your fingers, your face just inches away from the window as you tried to get a better look.

A sudden pressure on your stomach snapped you out of your thoughts. Before you could react, an arm tightened around your waist, yanking you away from the glass. For a brief moment you thought Spencer was playing some kind of prank, trying to startle you—but the movement was so fast and forceful, you knew Spencer would never grab you that aggressively.

Your gasp caught in your throat, immediately silenced as a cold, rough hand clamped over your mouth. Panic surged, but your body went stiff when the sharp edge of a knife pressed to your throat. You didn’t need any further confirmation that this was the unsub.

"I don’t know who you are," the voice rasped, low and dangerous, his breath hot and heavy in your ear. "But you shouldn’t have shown up here."

The tension in his voice was unmistakable. You could feel his rage, his plan disrupted by your unexpected presence. Every instinct screamed at you to fight back, but you remained frozen, knowing that one wrong move could end it all.

“I didn’t plan on killing anyone innocent, but you’ve put yourself in this situation,” he spat, his grip tightening on the knife.

In that fleeting moment, you made a decision. Taking a leap of faith, you sank your teeth into the soft flesh of his palm. The sudden bite startled him, and by sheer luck, he loosened his grip on the weapon.

“Christopher!” You shouted, the name ringing out with urgency.

It was enough to catch him off guard. In that instant, you turned, quickly positioning yourself with a better angle. He was taller than you—still, just a boy, consumed by something far beyond his control. His pain was evident, lurking beneath the fury in his eyes. You knew this wasn’t what he wanted. 

“Who are you?” His voice was strained, the words gripping with suspicion and confusion.

“I’m here to help you,” you said sincerely, keeping your voice steady.

“No, you’re not,” he denied.

“I swear I am. I know what happened to you. I know what your parents did to you.”

Without warning, he shoved you hard against the house. Your head slammed into the window, a sharp pain exploding in your skull. “You don’t know anything!” he screamed.

“I do, Christopher. I do!” The words came from a place of desperation, your breath ragged. “I understand. I know how much this eats at you, how alone you feel because you’re the only one who knows the truth. But it doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t have to hurt anyone else. The truth will come out. People will know what your parents did, what really happened here. You’ll get what you want, the world will see that they’re not perfect.”

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—something soft, vulnerable. 

“They all knew what happened!” He said in anger, pointing at the houses surrounding you. “They all knew and no one said anything!” He shook his head, “I’ll never get what I want. It’s too late for that.” he muttered bitterly.

Despite his words, you felt a flicker of hope. He was talking. He was listening. That had to count for something.

“It’s not too late, Christopher,” you said, your voice gentle but firm. “I thought the same thing once. But family… family isn’t just the people you’re born to. You can build your own, one that will love you despite everything. I’ve got that family now.”

He swallowed hard, his face momentarily flickering with doubt. “I wish I could believe you,” he said, his voice quiet, tinged with regret.

And then, in a flash, his arm shot out. Instinctively, you braced yourself, squeezing your eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable strike.

As the seconds stretched on, memories—both regrets and cherished moments—flashed before your eyes, a cruel reminder of everything you had to lose.

But then, a loud thud echoed in the night. Christopher crumpled to the ground, his body going limp. You whipped your head up, heart in throat, and saw Spencer standing behind him, the butt of his gun covered in blood, the impact of the blow knocking Christopher out cold. 

A shaky breath escaped you, half a sob, half a gasp of relief. You stumbled toward Spencer, your legs nearly giving out as you threw yourself into his arms. 

“I’m so sorry,” you cried into his chest, voice cracking. “I was so stupid. I shouldn’t have—”

He shushed you softly, brushing a hand through your hair as he held you close. “It’s okay. You’re safe now,” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

Twenty minutes later, the team and the police arrived. Spencer had called Hotch the second you’d calmed down enough, and by the time they got there, Christopher was still passed out. The officers dragged him into the back of their car, while JJ and Prentiss took it upon themselves to reassure the neighbors that they had someone in custody.

You knew exactly what was coming when Hotch finally made his way over to you and Spencer, but your head was pounding too much to care.

Hotch scanned the two of you with a sharp, disapproving look. “Really? You went to catch an unsub in your pajamas?”

“The whole ‘catching the unsub’ thing wasn’t exactly part of the plan,” you muttered, wincing slightly as the headache flared.

Hotch exhaled sharply, then turned to Spencer, his gaze a little more pointed. “I could’ve expected this from her, but I expected better from you, Reid.”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably, knowing there was no defense. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Hotch gave a sigh in response, his expression softening just a fraction. “I’m too tired to deal with the two of you right now. I expect to see both of you in my office in the morning.”

“Actually, I checked all the rooms in the cabin, and there’s no office. Which is surprising, considering—”

“Spence,” you interrupted him with a nudge of your elbow.

He shot you a tight-lipped look, turning back to Hotch. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

—————

The second you closed the car door behind you and buckled your seatbelt, you passed out. You’d always slept best during car rides, and especially now, with your mind much quieter now that Christopher Eriksen wasn’t your problem anymore.

When you finally arrived back at the cabin, you were still sound asleep. Derek told Spencer to wake you, but he didn’t have it in him. Instead, he carefully made his way to your side of the car, unbuckling your seatbelt. He lifted you into his arms, trying not to huff too loudly as he carried you through the thick snow. He made his way up the stairs quickly, hoping Penelope wouldn’t notice the wet tracks from his boots inside the house—he couldn’t take them off while holding you.

He was glad you were in your pajamas as he gently laid you on the bed. He walked over to the closet, grabbing some extra blankets and draping them over you, hoping it would help you regain some warmth.

Then, he crawled into bed beside you. Closer than he would’ve dared if you were awake, not quite touching, but close enough to share body heat. His gaze lingered on you, watching how peaceful you looked. The night had been a lot to handle, but he knew he’d do it all again if it meant keeping you safe.

The bright light reflected off the snow outside, filtering into the room. Groaning, you rubbed your eyes, the movement only making your headache worse. You huffed and carefully opened your eyes, being met with the sight of Spencer. His hair was a curly mess, and a small, warm smile painted his face.

“Hey, how’s your head?” he asked softly.

The events of last night rushed back to you, and you groaned again. “So, all of that really happened?”

“It did,” Spencer confirmed.

“I really hoped I just got drunk on too much Glühwein,” you sighed, wincing at the thought.

“You can still do that tonight,” he teased.

“No,” you muttered in disgust. “I need to recover from this first.”

You glanced over at him again, seeing the concern still shining in his eyes.

“I’m sorry for putting you in that situation last night,” you said quietly. “Everything about it was just... stupid.”

“If you hadn’t insisted on going, who knows who else he could’ve hurt,” Spencer pointed out.

“I guess that’s true.” You thought about it for a second, the weight lifting slightly. “Still, I shouldn’t have dragged you into it.”

“I’m glad I went with you,” Spencer said, his voice softening. “If I hadn’t... I don’t want to think about what could’ve happened to you. I would never forgive myself if I wouldn’t have been there in time.”

You gave a heavy sigh, turning your gaze to the ceiling. “That’s why it’s probably best we stay friends,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to him. Despite Emily’s pep talk, this was proof that it wouldn’t be wise to start something serious with Spencer.

“Friends instead of what?” Spencer asked, his voice higher, as if eager to hear the answer.

“Instead of us dating,” you said, almost offhandedly, not realizing you were speaking aloud about something you’d never discussed before, even though the topic would come up eventually.

Spencer froze, his eyes wide, hope flickering in them as he looked at you. “You would date me?”

Your heart skipped a beat. You froze too, catching up with the fact that you had said that out loud. Your cheeks warmed, and you immediately turned your gaze to the ceiling, not daring to look at his expression.

“Uh—hypothetically,” you stammered, scrambling to cover your tracks.

“You would hypothetically date me?”

You swallowed, still too flustered to look at him. “Yes. If... you would, I mean. If you wanted that, too...?”

Spencer was silent for a beat, his gaze never leaving you. “Do you really mean that?”

“Yes,” you answered, your voice steady despite the racing thoughts in your head.

He slowly moved closer to you, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. You flinched back instinctively, and he immediately withdrew his hand, his expression apologetic.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your heart beating faster.

“You said you’d want to date me,” he murmured, his voice unsure.

“Yes, but—” you stopped yourself as the realization hit that he was planning to kiss you. “Oh.”

Tentatively, you reached out and placed your hand on his cheek. You leaned in a little, but this time it was him who pulled back.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice breathless.

“Kissing you.”

“Oh,” he breathed out, his tongue darting over his lips. “Okay.”

You smiled softly, then closed the distance, your lips gently pressing to his.

Spencer hummed in satisfaction, both of you staying like that for a moment, neither of you wanting to pull away. You were the first to break the kiss, catching your breath. If it were up to Spencer, he’d keep his lips on yours forever.

Your eyes fluttered open, faces still inches apart. Spencer cupped your face and pulled you back in, placing several soft pecks on your lips before he leaned on his arm, slightly hovering over you as he deepened the kiss.

You tried to mirror his movements, but a sharp pain shot through your skull. “Ouch,” you hissed, pulling back.

“Just lay down, let me take care of you,” Spencer assured, the warmth of his words making your heart flutter. You slowly lower yourself onto your back, the soft sheets crinkling beneath you, and Spencer moves above you, the blankets still covering both of you.

His lips found yours again. He kept them slightly parted, giving you the chance to slide your tongue against his. The world outside seemed to disappear as you melted into each other, lips moving in sync.

The kisses become more heated, each one a little deeper than the last. His hand moved to cup your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek, the other hand resting on your side, his touch sending little sparks of warmth wherever it brushed.

You could feel the heat between you growing. “I’m so warm…” you mumbled against his lips. 

His eyes darkened slightly. “Yeah?” His voice was rough as his fingers lightly trailed over the buttons of your pyjama shirt. “Do you want me to take this off?”

You nodded, and he slowly started undoing each button with purposeful care. His gaze flickering between your eyes and the exposed skin. He let out a moan when your shirt finally fell open, his eyes taking you in. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed out in awe, before pressing his lips to yours again. 

You responded eagerly, your hands fumbling between your bodies to undo his shirt in the same way. You slid the fabric off his shoulders, letting your hands run over the muscles of his back, feeling the heat of his skin. 

He gently pressed his body weight down on you, and you shuddered at the feeling of your nipples pressing against his bare chest.

His lips delicately kissed your face, until he reached your ear. He nipped at your lobe, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. “Do you like that?” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

You answered in a soft moan, your body arching into him. He didn’t need to ask again; he could tell you were enjoying this as much as he was.

His lips slid lower, kissing and sucking on your neck, while his hand slid down to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, teasing circles.

His mouth moved to your collarbone, and then he teasingly dipped lower.

“God, Spence,” you softly moaned as he placed a wet kiss on your lower stomach. “That feels so good.”

His hand, which has been resting on your breast, trails down until it reaches the waistband of your pyjama pants.

“More, please,” you whimpered, lifting your hips instinctively. His fingers slide around the band as he slowly pulls them down, his eyes drinking in the sight of you.

He lowers himself onto his stomach on the mattress. With a tender touch, he lifts your legs over his shoulders.

“Is this okay?”

For a moment, you’ve lost yourself in his gaze—those warm brown eyes looking up at you, his pink lips swollen from his kisses…

“Y-yeah,” you manage to respond, nodding.

You moaned as his mouth made contact with your inner thighs, his tongue warm and wet against your skin. He took his time, kissing his way to the sensitive spot where you needed him most.

“Spencer…” you breathed, your voice shaky with need.

The anticipation was unbearable as his hot breath tickled you, but you didn’t have to wait much longer. Slowly, his tongue flicked over your pussy, and you gasped, your body trembling at the touch.

He moaned in response, as if he couldn’t get enough of the taste of you, his tongue swirling in soft, teasing motions that had your hips lifting off the bed in search of more. 

“So fucking sweet,” he muttered against you, before repeating the motion, licking you again and again, while he grinded himself against the matress.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him closer, deeper, your body quivering as he continued. He alternated between sucking and licking your clit, his finger moving up and down your pussy until it entered you gently, then slowly adding another, the stretch an overwhelming pleasure. 

You gasped his name, your body writhing beneath him as the pressure built with every move. “Spencer… please, don’t stop…” you begged, voice thick with need.

His fingers curled inside you, pressing just the right spot as his tongue continued swirling around you. Your legs started trembling as you reached the edge.

“I’m—“ you gasped, but the words dissolved into a string of moans as the wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your legs were shaking as you came undone, clenching around his fingers, your hips bucking against his mouth. 

Spencer didn’t stop, though. He kept going at a gentle pace, letting you ride out the intensity of your orgasm. Then, he slowly pulled away, his lips glistening as he looked up at you, eyes wide and full of wonder. 

“Was that good?” he asked softly, licking his lips. 

You laughed breathlessly as you nodded, your chest still rising and falling rapidly. “Come here,” you whispered seductively, pulling him in by the back of his neck to kiss him. You could taste yourself on his lips, which only added to your arousal.

Spencer’s eyes darkened with desire, his forehead pressed to yours. “I need you. I need to be inside of you.”

You nodded, moving your hand down his body, feeling the hardness of him against your palm. He helped you pull his pants down, and you stroked him gently, feeling him twitch in your hand before guiding him toward your entrance. He let out a low groan, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly pushed into you.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he moaned, his hips stuttering as he filled you completely. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as his thrusts grew deeper, more urgent.

You could feel every inch of him, every movement as his cock repeatedly hit those places inside that made your head spin. The room was filled with the sound of skin against skin, your moans mixing with his ragged breaths.

“You’re so warm,” Spencer whimpered. “So perfect for me.” 

Your hands gripped his back, nails digging into his skin as you urged him on, your body moving with his. His pace quickened, and you couldn’t hold back the desperate cries that escaped you. 

“Spencer… I’m so close,” you gasped.

“Me too,” he moaned, his hips slamming into yours. “Let me come with you. Please, let me come with you.”

You nodded, your body trembling. “Now, Spencer…” you begged in a breathless plea.

His breath hitched, his body tensing as he gave one last deep thrust, and then, with a loud, guttural moan, he came inside you. You followed a moment later, your body clenching around him as you fell apart. 

The room was filled with nothing but your ragged breaths, the sound of two bodies, tangled in a quiet, shared moment of bliss. Spencer collapsed beside you, his chest rising and falling as he took your hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it.

“That was… perfect,” he whispered, his voice full of awe.

You smiled softly as you placed your head on his chest, fingers lazily tracing his stomach. “Yeah,” you said in a breath, your heart full of him. “It really was.”

You let out a soft groan as Spencer stood up, and you instinctively reached for his hand, pulling him back toward you. “Don’t go yet,” you pouted.

Spencer smiled, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and affection. “I’ve got something for you,” he said, wrapping a blanket around his waist before walking to the corner of the room. He rummaged through his bag, his back turned to you for a moment as you blatantly checked him out.

“I miss you,” you murmured, leaning back into the pillows.

He chuckled softly, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m not even five feet away from you.”

You shrugged, your voice a little teasing. “Still feels like you're miles away.”

With a smile, he walked back toward you, sitting down on the edge of the bed, his hands behind his back. “Which hand?” he playfully asked.

“Left,” you replied without hesitation.

He swiftly shifted the small box he’d been holding from his right hand to his left, then grinned, revealing the gift. “Here you go.”

You blinked in surprise. “That was your present?” you asked, your voice filled with wonder as you recognized the familiar wrapping Garcia had handed you the day before.

Spencer nodded, watching you closely. “Yeah. Open it.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you unwrapped the gift, your heart racing with excitement. Beneath the paper was a velvet black jewelry box. You glanced up at Spencer, your eyes searching his for reassurance. He gave a soft nod, his smile encouraging.

With a gentle flick of your fingers, you opened the box—and there, nestled inside, was the most stunning heart-shaped locket you’d ever seen.

“Oh my God, Spencer,” you breathed, your voice a mixture of awe and disbelief. “It’s… it’s beautiful.”

A shy smile tugged at Spencer’s lips as he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it behind his ear. “It used to be my mom’s,” he said. “She doesn’t wear jewelry much anymore, but she wanted me to keep it... to give it to someone special one day.”

Your heart melted at the thought, and you looked at him with newfound tenderness, the weight of his gesture sinking in. 

“She was happy when I told her I wanted to give it to you,” he added, his eyes soft with sincerity.

Your eyes widened slightly. “Your mom knows about me?”

Spencer nodded, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I tell her pretty much everything. She likes hearing about you most.”

“Why?” You curiously asked.

Spencer's smile deepened, and he looked down at his lap for a moment, as though gathering courage. When he looked up at you again, his eyes were soft, full of love.

“Because you make me happy.”

After your intimate moment with Spencer, the inevitable conversation with Hotch had to happen. Just before the talk, Hotch received a call from the lab confirming the DNA found on the Reynolds matched Christopher Eriksen’s—meaning the bittersweet news of Christopher going to prison.

“I still don’t get how the two smartest people on the team act like half a brain when they’re together,” Hotch had said with a half-smile, glancing at you and Spencer. “But… you did good work.”

—————

Later that morning, Emily spotted you, her eyes immediately drawn to the locket around your neck. “Fancy,” she commented, her smirk growing as she cocked an eyebrow. “Where did that come from?”

You felt your cheeks heat up as you absently played with the necklace, a soft smile on your lips. “It’s Spencer’s. He gave it to me.”

Emily’s smirk turned into a knowing smile, and you could see the proud glint in her eyes. “You two are something else.”

—————

Throughout the day you and Spencer did your own thing, trying to act casual in front of the team—yet every time his hand brushed your back or he leaned in for a quick kiss in the empty hallway, your heart fluttered. You couldn’t help but sneak glances at him as he played chess with Rossi, your eyes catching his in those fleeting moments.

You felt Spencer’s presence behind you like a familiar warmth as you stood in the kitchen. He slipped his arms around your waist and buried his face in the crook of your neck, placing soft kisses.

“Who would’ve thought you’d be such a romantic?” you mused, running your fingers through his hair, the feeling of him against you enough to make your heart race.

His lips hummed against your skin. “It’s your fault,” he stated, his voice thick with affection. “You drive me crazy.”

You tugged him up the stairs to your shared room, pushing him playfully onto the bed. You stood between his legs as you began to slowly peel away your clothes, revealing the red laced lingerie set Derek had gifted you during Secret Santa.

“Never thought I’d be thanking Derek for gifting you this,” Spencer mused, his hands sliding up and down your legs, a smirk displayed on his lips.

You smiled, tracing his jaw with your thumb, the heat between you growing. “What do you think of checking out the hot tub?” you purred.

He swallowed nervously, his eyes flicking down to his lap. You rolled your eyes as you responded in a sigh, “You can choose the temperature.”

Before you could say another word, he scooped you up, lifting you over his shoulder with a playful slap to your ass. You yelped, giggling as he carried you off toward the bathroom.

—————

The cabin was large, but unfortunately not big enough to avoid Garcia, so you knew what was coming when you heard the familiar sound of her heels clicking against the hallway floor. She was heading straight toward you, her finger pointing accusingly at you.

“I slept with Spencer.” you hurriedly spilled out before she could say something.

She stopped in her tracks. Her face went through a thousand different expressions in the blink of an eye—confusion, disbelief, excitement—before she finally let out a high-pitched squeal. “You... you slept with Spencer?”

“Twice,” you giddily answered, the smile creeping across your face before you could stop it.

Garcia’s expression finally broke into a huge grin, and without missing a beat, she grabbed your hands and started bouncing on the spot. “Derek is gonna lose his mind!”

You barely had time to protest before she was already up the stairs.

As the end of the day drew near, the group gathered around the fire pit in the backyard, cocoa mugs in hand, the warmth of the flames casting flickering shadows on everyone’s faces. 

“Are you sure your phone is on silent?” Garcia asked Hotch, eyeing him with suspicion.

“I’m sure, Garcia,” Hotch replied with a small smile.

She was satisfied, her focus shifting to Rossi. “The honor is yours. You may present the last Secret Santa gift.”

Rossi cleared his throat, glancing around awkwardly. “Now, this might sound like a cheap excuse for forgetting to buy a present…” Laughter rippled through the group, and Garcia shot him an offended look. “But... I think I can speak for all of us when I say the best gift is us being together in this beautiful location.”

He turned to Hotch, his voice genuine. “Aaron, you’ve built a good team here. A good family. You should be proud.”

Hotch’s smile softened, his eyes briefly glancing over the group, the weight of the moment settling on him. “I am. Thank you, David.”

And for the first time, you didn’t question whether you deserved a place in this loving, dysfunctional family—you knew you belonged.

[deansbeer]

𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐀𝐒 SKIES & 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒 TIES

001. ARE WE MORE THAN FRIENDS? ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ִ ݁ ♡ .

✸ 𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐋 𝟏��𝟗𝟔; four months after you and jensen met.

PAIRING. cowboy!jensen x female reader ꒱

SYNOPSIS. it's been four month since you and jensen met during that stormy december, and now he's around a lot more. between family dinners, stolen moments, and clearing the air about daisy, things between you and jensen are getting sweeter—and a whole lot more complicated.

WARNING(S). fluff | hand-holding | forehead kisses | flirting | romantic tension | developing feelings | playful family teasing | confrontation (toward daisy) | made-up rumors | sisters' tease reader but r supportive of the blossoming relationship | dads' subtle matchmaking attempts | extended family (jensen's family) | past insecurities | self-consciousness | mutual pining | animal interactions (baby foal) | country lifestyle | ranch work references | rural texas.

kari yaps. merry xmas eve! my lil gift to u for the holidays. teehee, i'm already so obsessed w these two, not even kidding. this one is a lil longer than the prologue (obviously) so ur in for a ride !!! i want cowboy!jensen n his charming fine self <3333 yeehaw! 🏇 edit. i don't like how it came out, so im sorry, if it's shitty compared to the prologue :((( + im not feeling as festive & have been crying since earlier over it. anyway, i would hate to ruin anyone else's holiday spirit, so lemme just stop there <3 with that said, i hope ur all enjoying christmas, my loves. and to those who don't celebrate, i hope ur having an amazing day <3

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. ୨ৎ 𝐉𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘.

APRIL in texas brought wildflowers and warm breezes, painting the ranch in vibrant colors that made everything feel new again. four exact months had passed since that stormy december day when jensen first walked into your life, and somehow everything was different while staying exactly the same.

"he's coming over again?" hannah teased from her perch on the kitchen counter, watching you fidget with your hair in the reflection of the microwave door. "that's the third time this week."

"his dad and our dad are friends," you muttered, though you couldn't hide the flush creeping up your neck. "they're working on something."

kimberly snorted from the kitchen table. "yeah, working on getting you two married off."

"shut up, kim!"

"girls," your mom warned, but her eyes were twinkling as she kneaded dough for her famous cinnamon rolls. "leave your sister alone. though i must say, alan has been mighty pleased with how well you two get along."

you groaned, dropping your head onto the counter. "can we please talk about literally anything else?"

the sound of tires on gravel saved you from further torment. through the window, you could see alan's truck pulling up, jensen climbing out of the passenger side door. your heart did that annoying little flip it always did when you saw him now, but at least you'd learned to hide it better.

"sweetheart," your mom called as you headed for the door, "why don't you show jensen those new foals while your dad and his dad talk business?"

"subtle, mom. real subtle."

but you were already out the door, the spring air warm on your skin as you jogged down the porch steps. jensen met you halfway, that easy smile of his making your stomach flutter.

"hey," he said softly, like he always did, like it was just for you.

"hey yourself." you nodded toward the stables. "want to see the new additions?"

he fell into step beside you, close enough that your arms brushed. "lead the way."

the past four months had smoothed out most of the awkwardness between you, replaced it with something comfortable but charged with possibility. you'd learned things about him—how he took his coffee (black, two sugars), his favorite time of day (dawn, when the ranch was just waking up), how his laugh changed depending on what made him smile.

"you know," he starts, as you reached the stables, "my aunt martha's been asking about you."

you laughed, remembering the energetic woman from last month's family barbecue. "is she still convinced i need her secret recipe for peach cobbler?"

"she says, and i quote, 'that girl needs to know how to make a proper cobbler if she's gonna be part of this family.'"

your steps faltered slightly, but jensen pretended not to notice. that was another thing you'd learned about him—he knew when to push and when to let things breathe.

"your family's really taken a shine to me, huh?" you said, trying to keep your voice light as you led him to the newest foal's stall.

"can you blame them?" he leaned against the stable door, watching as you checked on the baby horse. "you're pretty easy to like."

before you could respond, a sharp voice cut through the air. "jensen! i thought that was your truck i saw!"

the happy bubble around you and jensen burst at daisy's sharp voice. she stood at the stable entrance like she owned it, her blonde hair perfectly curled despite the texas heat, wearing a sundress that seemed impractical for a ranch visit. your stomach twisted—she looked exactly like the kind of girl who belonged next to jensen.

"daisy." jensen's voice was flat, nothing like the warm tone he'd been using with you moments ago. his shoulders tensed, and he shifted slightly, putting himself between you and her.

"i've been trying to catch you at your place," she said, her boots clicking against the stable floor as she walked closer. each step felt deliberate, calculated. "daddy keeps saying you're never around anymore." her eyes flicked to you, a quick dismissive glance that made your skin crawl. "now i see why."

"been busy," jensen said shortly. you could see the way his jaw clenched, the way it did when he was holding back words. he turned back to you, deliberately showing daisy his back. "speaking of, you were gonna show me those training techniques you mentioned?"

daisy's perfectly painted lips curved into a sneer. "i guess the rumors about you two are true, then? funny, i always thought you had better taste, jensen."

"excuse me?" the words left your mouth before you could stop them.

jensen's hand found yours, squeezing gently. "there aren't any rumors, daisy," he said, his voice stern in a way you'd never heard before. "and even if there were, it wouldn't be any of your business. never has been."

she flushed, anger flashing across her face. "i just thought—"

"you thought wrong," he cut her off. "there was never a 'we', daisy. you decided there was something between us without ever asking me what i wanted. you showed up at my ranch uninvited, tried to insert yourself into my family, and spread rumors when i made it clear that i wasn't interested."

her composure began to crack. "that's not—i never—"

"you told half the county we were dating," jensen continued, his voice steady but angry. "even went as far as making things uncomfortable for everyone, including your dad. and now you're here, on private property, trying to do it again?"

"jensen—"

"you're wrong, daisy," he said firmly. "now, if you'll excuse us, we've got work to do. i'm sure you can find your way out."

daisy's face contorted with anger and embarrassment. "this isn't over," she spat, but her voice wavered. "daddy won't be happy about how you're treating me."

"your daddy knows exactly how i feel," jensen replied calmly. "has for months. why do you think he stopped bringing you around?"

she opened her mouth, closed it, then spun on her heel and stormed off. you could hear her volkswagen beetle engine rev aggressively as she peeled out of the ranch.

silence fell in the stable, broken only by the soft nickering of horses. jensen's hand was still holding yours, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your skin.

"i'm sorry about that," he said finally, turning to face you. "i should've handled that situation better months ago."

"you don't have to apologize," you reassured him. "it's not your fault she..."

"got obsessed?" he supplied with a wry smile. "yeah, well. maybe if i'd been clearer from the start about where my interests lay, she wouldn't have gotten the wrong idea."

your heart skipped. "your interests?"

his free hand came up to cup your cheek, and suddenly you couldn't remember why you'd ever worried about daisy at all.

"listen," he moved closer, his eyes serious. "whatever you heard about me and daisy... it wasn't true. never was. she just... decided things were a certain way, and no matter how many times i told her different, she wouldn't listen."

"oh." you fiddled with the hem of your shirt. "i just thought... i mean, everyone said—"

"everyone says a lot of things," he stepped closer, his fingers catching your chin. "but the only girl i've been interested in since last december is standing right here, trying real hard not to look at me."

your eyes snapped to his, heat flooding your face. "jensen..."

"dinner's ready!" kimberly's voice rang out across the yard, making you both jump apart.

jensen laughed, shaking his head. "your sisters have terrible timing."

dinner at your house had become a regular thing, both families crowded around the large oak table your grandfather had built. your mom had outdone herself tonight—pot roast, fresh rolls, and three different kinds of pie.

"this is incredible, melanie," alan said to your mom, helping himself to seconds. "you've outdone yourself."

"oh, it's nothing special," your mom waved him off, but she was beaming. "though, i did try that new seasoning donna suggested."

jensen's mom smiled warmly. "i told you it would make all the difference."

you were seated between jensen and hannah, trying to ignore the knowing looks both your sisters kept shooting your way. jensen's knee pressed against yours under the table, a steady warmth that made it hard to focus on your food.

"remember when these two first met?" your dad chuckled, gesturing between you and jensen. "her in those pajamas of hers, looking like she'd seen a ghost."

"dad!" you groaned as everyone laughed.

"oh, i remember," alan grinned. "jensen came home that very next day talking about—"

"hey, dad," jensen cut in quickly, his ears reddening. "maybe we should talk about something else?"

hannah leaned over to whisper in your ear. "bet he told his daddy all about how pretty y'looked in those shorts."

you elbowed her sharply, but you couldn't help smiling.

after dinner, everyone migrated to the back porch. the texas sunset painted the sky in pinks and purples, the air cooling just enough to be comfortable. you found yourself sitting on the porch swing with jensen, your families' voices creating a comfortable backdrop of chatter.

"so," you said softly, "what exactly did you tell your dad that night?"

jensen groaned. "you're not gonna let that go, are ya?"

"nope."

he was quiet for a moment, then he spoke up, "i told him i'd met the prettiest girl i'd ever seen, even if she was wearing pajamas and looked like she wanted to murder me."

"i did not!"

"sweetheart, you looked at me like i was the devil himself."

"well, you were smirking at me!"

"because you were adorable," he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "still are."

before you could respond, kimberly's voice floated over, "you two want some privacy?"

"kim!" you hissed, but jensen just laughed, his arm sliding along the back of the swing behind you.

"nah," he answered coolly. "just enjoying the view."

your mom then appeared in the doorway, holding a fresh pie. "who wants dessert?"

as everyone headed inside, jensen caught your hand. "hey."

"yeah?"

"just... i'm glad your dad made you help that day. even if you did try to hide from me for weeks after."

you ducked your head, embarrassed. "well, to be fair, i thought you were dating daisy."

"never," he said firmly. "not her, not anyone. been waiting for the right girl."

"is that so?"

his thumb brushed over your knuckles, just like it had that night. "yeah."

"jensen! honey, you want apple or cherry?" his mom called.

he squeezed your hand once before standing, pulling you up with him. "we should get in there before they send out a search party."

"or before my sisters start making more comments?"

"that too." he tugged you closer, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead that left you stunned. "come on, pretty girl. let's go face the firing squad."

later that night, after both families had gone home and your sisters had thoroughly exhausted their teasing, you lay in bed thinking about everything. your mom poked her head in, smiling knowingly.

"you have a good day?"

"mom..."

she sat on the edge of your bed, smoothing your hair back like she used to when you were a little girl. "you know, i remember when i first met your father. he had that same look in his eyes that jensen gets when he looks at you."

"mama," you whined, but you were smiling.

"i'm just saying," she stood, heading for the door. "some things are worth taking a chance on."

as you stared up at the ceiling of your bedroom, you thought about jensen's words, about waiting for the right girl. maybe, just maybe, your mom was right.

𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 taglist. @deanswidow @a1ecmcdowell @beausling @titsout4jackles @frosttbitessam @aileenunfiltered @deansbite @jasvtsc @fallbhind @ostaramoon @lacydollette @ultravi0lence14 @rubyvhs @s4wdvator @depressionbarbie2023 @spcncershasting @severe-mental-illness @lmg14 @bluestrd @starkeysprincess ◟ ☆ ݁ ⋆ 🏇 ˚⊹ ˖ ﾟ✶ ݁. comment OR send an ask to be added / removed !!!!!

𝐂𝐎𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍 © 2024. ✶ please DO NOT copy or plagiarize my works.

[ask-the-pioneer]

I have a question for marbles, If they were to meet all of the slugcats from downpour and vanilla (minus Artificer & Inv), what would their interactions be, and who would they like most and least (maybe like a teir list?).

// I will answer this in text, I hope that's okay!

Gourmand, Survivor, and Monk - Marbles will meet all three of them in Act 2, when a colony of slugcats is temporarily staying over around NSH's can. They can't progress further into the area of the big slugcat trees (known in-game as Outer Expanse) as the way is blocked by the heightened presence of vultures. Gourm is the colony leader who bravely ventured out to the 5P can to scout the area and find a different, suitable spot for the colony to spend the dryer season. On his way back he found Surv and Monk (who are also from his colony), and brought them back safely to their parents.

Gourm - fella is a gentle giant with a big heart and a passion for cooking, he and Marbs would get along well! In my story he teaches her new delicious recipes as a thanks for housing the colony members.

Surv - they are about 20 in human years by the time Marbles meets them, so only slightly younger than our protagonist. Being peers, I think they also would get along well. Surv would tell her all about their adventures in the 5P area.

Monk - Surv's younger sibling in my AU, they are about 12-13 at the time of meeting. Monk miraculously survived their journey to save their older sibling despite being very very young themself, I headcanon them to be maybe 8 or so when their in-game campaign begins. They would be shy, but Marbles had a lot of adoptive younger siblings so she would know how to win Monk over quickly.

Hunter is Marbles' adoptive parent, he found her when she was about 7-8 years old, and raised her as his own (along with over a dozen other slugpups that he found orphaned during his expeditions). They have a very strong familial bond.

Arti - Marbles' long-lost mom. They meet again in Metropolis after almost 15 years, but it's not a happy reunion. After Marbs makes her leave the scav colony, the two of them move on to live with other scugs around NSH's can. Arti is very socially maladjusted and avoids contact with anything that is not her only surviving child - the only person in the entire world she has love for.

Saint - they will make a brief appearance during the story (visiting Hunter after he's brought back to the NSH's can and given rot treatment), but they probably won't meet Marbles in person. If they did, I see both Marbs and Saint having lengthy philosophical conversations about the nature of life, karma, ascension, and so on.

Spearmaster - won't be appearing in my AU in-person as I assume them to be very old and retired at the time of my story taking place, or even deceased... perhaps already reincarnated? Or ascended? I haven't decided yet. However, they will show up in Hunter's flashbacks. If Marbles and SM were to meet, she would probably be scared of them, lol. I imagine Spears to look very tall and freaky for a slugcat, but also very collected and duty-driven like Hunter.

Rivulet - Riv won't show up in my AU, their campaign takes place far ahead in the future and it wouldn't make sense to include them (sorry!). I headcanon Riv as very energetic, and so if Marbles met them she'd find the aquatic scug rather... overwhelming.

[carmenberzattosgf]

It‘s that time of the year again and I am thinking about taking carmy to my fams christmas party and him just being welcomed by my family and my aunts all fussing over him 😩i think he desperately needs that..

maybe also some good breeding later when he sees how good we are with kids 🙇🏽‍♀️🙇🏽‍♀️

lsvfjjeekkdbd I am loosing my mind olive

I took the breeding part and RAN

Carmy didn’t expect seeing you interacting with all the kids at your family’s Christmas party to have such an effect on him. It truly flipped a switch, though.

He makes that clear when you get back to his apartment after the party. Once he’s in the door after locking it, he has you pinned up against the wall, kissing you fiercely. You gasp into the kiss, which lets him press his tongue into your mouth.

You try to pull him back to get some air, and he relocates his lips to your neck to suck and bite at the skin.

“Carm—what’s gotten into you?” You say, completely breathless. What Carmy says next is mumbled into your skin, but you can still make out his words.

“You’re so fucking good with kids—wanna have one with you. Can we?” By this point, he’s pulled back from your neck to look at your face.

“Fuck Carmy— you can’t just say stuff like that.” You’re already soaked at the thought of having Carmy’s baby.

“If we start tryin’ now, could have a baby by next Christmas.” You can feel his hard on pressing between your thighs. “Please. Wanna get you pregnant,” he murmurs, voice laced with desperation. His hands slip underneath your shirt, holding you close to him by the skin of your hips. Carmy’s basically rocking his length onto your thigh, trying to provide a little bit of relief.

“I can stop taking the pill—if that’s what you really want.” At your words, a massive smile travels across his face.

“Love you so much. Wanna do this with you. Wanna make us parents.”

All of this results in Carmy pounding into you with both of your legs thrown over his shoulder. After he cums inside of you, he doesn’t pull out immediately. He lays on top of you, rubbing at the skin of your hip and kissing the skin of your chest and neck. “Kinda hope it doesn’t stick the first time… wanna do this over and over.”

[rahuratna]

Courtney, this was just an incredible piece of writing. Absolutely stunning. Something I picked up immediately, similar to a previous fic of yours I once reviewed, was your mastery of the passage of time. The pacing is perfect. The way time moves in your stories is like a waltz, steady and full of rhythm and grace in certain places, and full of vibrancy and energy in others.

Next, this is one of my favourite portrayals of Hiromi I've ever read. You wrote him subtly, with passion, poignancy, a rare playfulness, all while losing none of his quiet determination, dedication to duty and the single-mindedness with which he pursues his goals.

I love that you've written his intensity as a character, all while maintaining that tender and gentle banter he would have with someone he truly cares for.

Furthermore, the other thing that I consistently find to be a sterling characteristic of your stories is that attention to detail. The realism of the world you build lies in those details, in the rooftop haven you've created, in the description of Hiromi's apartment, in the specific ornaments that are used to decorate the tree ... it's phenomenal how vivid the imagery you generate is.

The developing relationship between Hiromi and the reader is just amazing. The way you've shown that minute progression of their interaction, year by year, marked by Christmas is an inspired one. There's so much symbolism here. Christmas is a holiday we typically associate with friends, family and the spirit of togetherness.

For someone like Hiromi, building up to that point where he could finally lay claim to the Reader's company, to the time, attention and effort that went into making him feel less alone, is the hallmark that decides the direction of this relationship. Hiromi's character strikes me as one that wanders through the world with detachment, mind focused on the task he's assigned himself with unerring focus. It would take a LOT to derail him even slightly from that, but here you've written a scenario that encompasses that aspect of his character, whole also giving a real view of how this situation could happen.

Finally, the love scene between them was so incredibly sexy, passionate and tender. I love how you've captured the way someone like Hiromi would treat their lover, should they breach those unspoken barriers between them. To see that focus normally reserved for his work now turned to the subject of his desires is just ... mind-melting.

Thank you for writing another masterpiece. I'm in awe of how you write these characters we love with such passion, complexity and elegance.

Pairing: Higuruma Hiromi x Reader (Vicky)

Rating/CW: fluff, smut, explicit sexual content, vaginal sex, oral sex, holiday romance, MDNI!

WC: ~5.2K

Summary: A holiday tale of three Christmases with your neighbor Higuruma.

a/n: As part of the Secret Santa Fic Exchange hosted by @nanamiscocksleeve, I wrote this for my secret santa @sassypossum. This is my first Hiromi fic, so I hope you enjoy!

Divider: @arminsumi @mikeykuns

The first time wasn’t planned.

Most people fill their December evenings with bright parties that have too much alcohol and shopping bags, with wrapped presents and spiked eggnog. But not for you. This Christmas night, you find yourself climbing to the roof of your apartment building, a thermos of hot chocolate warming your hands.

The day hadn’t started great—an alarm that never went off, a train ride that was twenty minutes late, and your favorite tea that you’d spent money you would rather not think about had arrived in a package soaked to the bone, destroying the precious herbs inside. Just being in the walls of your own home wasn’t enough.

So now here you are. The city sprawls before you, and blocks of flickering concrete, reminiscent of your Christmas lights before they blew out from a fuse you still can’t find.

You don’t expect to find him there.

Not too tall, standing at the edge of the roof with his back turned. A suit as black as night and wrinkled along the hem, swept back hair fluttering faintly in the chilly breeze. His shoulders rise just slightly and then relax, a plume of smoke curling into the air. You’d seen him around the building enough to know his name—his habits. 

Higuruma Hiromi, a man who consists of late hours fighting endless battles most would consider already lost, exhaustion always clinging to him like a second skin but always sharing a gentle smile when you both brushed past each other in the hallway.

You’d seen him around but barely had the confidence to actually have a conversation. There was something about him that always made you stop short, to open your mouth and then close it again in fear of humiliating yourself just by asking him out for coffee.

“Mind sharing that rail?” you called out, watching him startle slightly before craning his head over his shoulder to look at your approaching form. His small pupils, a deep chocolate brown, focused on you with an intensity you couldn’t quite place, then flickering to the thermos.

“It’s public space,” he resigned but shifted slightly to make room for you. The metal railing was cold against your thin pajama pants as you settled beside him, close enough to smell the tobacco and what might have been a hint of coffee on his breath.

“Rough case?” you asked softly after a few quiet moments, your eyes on the Tokyo skyline as you offered him your thermos. 

Higuruma’s tired eyes look from you and down to the thermos in your hands, hesitation flashing over his features before he pops the cigarette in his mouth and uncaps the lid. “Hot chocolate?” The surprise in his voice is enough to make you smile despite his evasiveness.

“With candy canes,” you add. “Christmas tradition.”

His quiet laugh catches you off guard—a warm and low hitching in the back of his throat that sounds misplaced, as if rusty and remembering how to work. “God, I don’t think I’ve had hot chocolate since…“ he trails off, eyes jumping from building to building in order to remember before giving up.

He pulls a heavy drag instead, turning his head away to exhale the thick gray smoke and take a sip of your drink. The city hums with holiday energy, lights brighter than usual, cars honking louder and longer than necessary.

“I usually work through the holidays,” he says finally, cigarette already half gone. The confession hangs in the air between you, heavy with years of solitary Christmases. Of declining parties and get-togethers and finding company in himself and the bed he collapses into after a long day. 

You don’t know what makes you say it. The serenity in the air. The subtle jumping of your heart when you watch his lips purse and the embers of the butt illuminate the curve of his nose. 

“Well, now you have company this year,” you reply gently, trying to ignore the feel of his fingertips brushing yours when it’s your turn to collect the hot chocolate.

He hums noncommittally; gaze turned back to the city long enough for you to study him. He’s a handsome man with lean features and a strong sense of justice that makes your heart flutter in ways you don’t understand. 

You drink the last of the hot chocolate—the peppermint of the candy cane forming a syrupy concoction at the very bottom that slides along your tongue—but you don’t leave. You stay with him until his cigarette is ash, until the bottom of your thermos is dry, until the December air has painted both your cheeks pink. 

The next day, you don’t speak when you pass in the elevator, but something’s changed—like the first note of a song neither of you knows you are waiting to hear.

Time flies when you become aware of things, and a year passes like seasons through a window. There are glimpses of each other in the elevator, shared cigarette breaks that become a habit, the way you learn to read his different types of tired. Just like that, winter finds you again, this time in the lobby of your apartment building. A convenience store bag is clutched in your hands, fingers shaking with the prospect of what you want to do, your eyes watching the numbers above the elevator tick down.

Maybe he’ll be there again. Resting on the railing, smoking a cigarette with his gaze on the city skyline. Maybe he’ll smile when he sees you, just like he did a week before when you both checked your mail at the same time—brushing shoulders, a joke passed back and forth, his lips breaking into a smile that lingered long after he was gone.

When the doors open, he’s there—suit jacket missing and sleeves rolled to show sinewy forearms. Those small pupils widen slightly at the sight of you, a year’s worth of rooftop conversations living in the space between you, unspoken but undeniably present.

“There you are,” he says casually, stuffing his hands in his pockets as you cross the threshold of the elevator and slink beside him. The words are simple, but they hang in the air, heavy with an implication that’s enough to still your heart.

The elevator doors slide closed slowly, casting you both in silence, and the subtle ‘ding’ of levels climbed. He turns, leaning one side of his body against the elevator wall, his full attention on you in that intense way you have learned by now is not apathy. 

It didn’t take very long to read him, to pick past the perpetual weary expression on his face to take in the ticks in his jaw, the furrow of his brow, the blinding smile he gives when he gets past that initial few minutes of shyness. That sense of conviction he has for his cases translates to everything else in different ways. And now, it’s on you, a look so intense with something warmer. Something sharper.

“Late night?” you ask, trying your best to cast the room into something else other than your nerves that seem to ooze out of your skin like tendrils. You squeeze the handle of your bag, the plastic rustling faintly in the quiet. His gaze flickers down to your hands, taking in the brand stamped on the bag.

“Always.” That weariness is softer now, worn smooth like a river on jagged stones from all the nights you’ve shared his silence. “I take it you have plans this year?” He nods to the bag in your hand.

You try not to think about the resignation in his voice. You clear your throat, opening the bag for him to peek inside. “If by plans you mean a Christmas cake? Then yes, I have plans.”

The elevator dings again, five stops away from your shared floor. He whistles long and low, pulling a snicker from your chest as he pulls out the cake and turns it in his hands to examine. “You sure you can finish this on your own?”

You scoff, feigning offense and snatching the cake away to shove back in your bag. “I’ll have you know that I have a very insatiable appetite.”

“Is that so?” he asks, dripping with so much suggestiveness that you’re convinced you’re just hearing things. The elevator doors slide open, but neither of you moves. His gaze catches yours, steady and unyielding, and suddenly, the air feels heavier, your chest tighter. 

“I have coffee,” he offers finally, his voice low, deliberate. The words carry so much more—an invitation, a continuation, a year of understanding distilled into a simple gesture. “If you would like company…for your plans.”

He smells like a hint of cigarettes and cologne that makes you lightheaded, but you pull in a deep breath to let the smell fill your lungs, willingly disorienting yourself.

“Sure,” you say gingerly, your voice catching slightly in your throat. He steps aside, holding the elevator door open for you, and you follow him down the hall.

His apartment is exactly as you imagined—case files neat on every surface, the quilted throw blanket on his couch that he had wrapped around you two days ago on the roof, that cheap coffee maker you’ve heard him defend countless times humming in the corner. But there are new details too—a mug you recognize from the combini downstairs, the one you mentioned liking a month ago. Artwork that looks like it came directly from a museum on every wall, adding a quiet sophistication to the otherwise practical space.

You can only take in so many details before he’s moving, kicking off his shoes and taking the bag from you as he walks to his open kitchen. “How about tea instead?” 

He opens one of the kitchen cabinets to display a plethora of neatly arranged glass jars filled with tea bags and loose-leaf blends. The sight surprises you, your breath hitching slightly as he quirks a smile. “You like tea.” And it leaves his mouth as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

You do. And the fact that he’s remembered this small detail leaves an electric warmth in your chest that you try not to let show. Instead of responding, you focus on unloading the cake from your bag, carefully peeling back the wrapper without smudging the icing.

Behind you, the quiet clink of jars being opened and spoons measuring tea and coffee into a pot fills the space. There’s a domesticity to it—the ease with which he moves around his kitchen, hovering and reaching around you without invading your space—feels almost surreal. It’s the kind of quiet moment you’ve imagined in fragments, alone in your apartment, in the early mornings when you’re mind is more imaginative than usual, during work meetings that you should be paying attention to. It’s something you’ve thought of, but never quite dared to believe could be real.

When he sets two mismatched mugs on the counter, a tea bag hanging from the one you mentioned, the steam curls between you both like an offering. You look up at him, your heart stumbling over itself at the softness in his gaze. The darkness beneath his eyes is still as intense as ever, but there’s an undercurrent of care painted over his skin that eases your worry.

For a moment, neither of you speaks, the quiet filled with the whir of the coffee maker as it cools down and the warmth of the tea between your palms. He cuts the cake evenly, sliding the entire treat between you both and presenting two forks of equal size.

The first bite of the cake is far too sweet, the tea doesn’t have the amount of honey that you prefer, but neither of you seems to mind. The world feels impossibly small—just this kitchen, just this quiet, just you and Higuruma.

He presses his forearms on the counter, leaning on his elbows and tilting his head to regard you. His dark hair flops over one side, wild and ruffling and itching for you to touch. His curved nose only enhances his features to create a devastating concoction of tired beauty.

“You really brought all this just for yourself?” he presses, voice soft but laced with that quiet amusement you’ve come to expect. There’s no judgment in it, just a curiosity—an invitation for honesty that he already knows if you’re brave enough to give it.

You shrug. “I imagined you had the expertise to solve this kind of question on your own.” 

Higuruma snorts, stabbing a corner of his side of the cake. “Uh-huh.”

“Don’t ‘uh-huh’ me,” you playfully hiss, pointing your icing-covered fork in his direction like an accusation.

He takes a slow sip of his coffee, unflinching despite the heat, his eyes locked on yours in a silent battle that you’re definitely losing. The cup clinks onto the counter, cutting through the silence.

“You like me.”

Several things happen at once. 

Internally, you’re panicking, heart picking up in speed, stomach coiling with nervous heat, mind screaming at you to abandon ship like a giggling school girl. 

Externally, you narrow your eyes, feigning indifference with all the composure you can muster. “Or, I just thought someone could use a little Christmas.”

If he believes you, you can’t tell. That level of apathy you can read has only taken you so far, and without the experience of working with him, there’s no way you can pick apart the mask of a lawyer who has the answer but doesn’t want to give it away.

But slowly, his brow lifts, something in his expression shifting—warmer, softer. “Someone?”

Your fingers tighten around your mug, the ceramic almost too hot to hold. You bring it to your mouth, stalling with a long sip as your chest tightens, and somehow manage a small shrug. “Yeah. Someone.”

He hums, contemplative, accepting even as he forks a piece of cake and presents it to you like a silent toast. “Well, if I were this someone—which clearly I’m not,” he drones, smirking at your rolling eyes, “then I would say thank you for bringing it to me. And Merry Christmas.”

The silence that follows isn’t empty. It’s full of something unspoken, something that hums in the space between you like an unsung melody. You hold your fork aloft, mirroring his gesture, and lightly tap the prongs against his.

“Merry Christmas, Hiromi.”

Outside, the city glows with the soft pulse of winter as Christmas draws to a close, but here, in the warmth of his kitchen, the world feels impossibly still. Just this quiet, just this moment, just you and him. 

Time moves differently again.

Too fast, yes, but now when you’re falling for someone in fragments—in elevator rides with your shoulders pressed together, in text conversations that stretch into dawn, in the way Higuruma’s tired eyes seem to hold more light when they find yours. Another year passes like this, in moments you collect like precious things.

Your apartment feels unusually warm, the faint scent of pine mingling with cinnamon from the candle flickering on the coffee table. Your Christmas tree stands in the corner, a decent height with artificial branches fluffed to their best shape, the entire ensemble still missing the final touch—the ornaments scattered on the table beside two mugs of tea.

You glance at the clock nervously, dusting imaginary lint off your sweater. He’s late, not by much, but enough for you to wonder if he’s had second thoughts. You know you shouldn’t entertain it. Higuruma is more than able to text you should anything come up. But still—

There’s a knock—firm and stead, unmistakably him and your heart drops to your stomach. He’s there, of course, when you open the door—suit jacket gone, dark hair messy from running his fingers through it, tie crooked and loose. His dark eyes meet yours, and the weight of them is both comforting and disarming.

“Please tell me you didn’t put it all together without me?”

You roll your eyes, letting him inside and silently swallowing the hint of tobacco that wafts from him. “Saved the best for last.”

It doesn’t take long for you both to fall into a rhythm. The ornaments vary—some old and sentimental, others newer and playful. He’s careful with each one, furrowing with that harsh concentration as he places each bauble on a branch that seems to hold significance. You both work efficiently, a hum of Christmas music filtering through the air, the warmth from the fireplace warming your toes. When you catch a glimpse of him on the other side of the tree, your mind wanders.

You know him better now. Know that he likes his coffee with two scoops of sugar (and a dash of cream when he thinks no one’s watching), how his voice sounds rough with exhaustion after long cases, how he hates when his hair touches the tips of his ears, how his usual detachment melts into something softer when it’s just you two. 

“Before you…I hadn’t had a Christmas tree since law school,” Higuruma muses wistfully.

You glance at him, admiring how the firelight softens the perpetual exhaustion in his features—the glow illuminates his face so you can trace his aquiline nose, the slight darkness beneath his eyes, the length of his dark eyelashes that blink slowly. 

“Not even those years you won bigger cases? Feels like that’s worthy of time off to enjoy the holidays.”

“Especially not then.” He picks up a small ornament, rolling the metal hook between his fingers. “Never seemed important enough to take the time.”

You busy yourself with pinching the flimsy metal hook of a larger ornament, trying to ignore the resignation you saw in his eyes often during those late nights when he opened up to you. Another victory only meant more time to take on another case, another person with the system automatically turned against them in need of his help. Even with the knowledge, there’s something that still twists in your stomach. Spending every Christmas like this—hunched over a desk, buried in work, alone.

You hold an ornament for him—a tiny racing car from your third year of life— wiggling it like a wad of cash before he rolls his eyes and snatches it playfully from your hands. The tree slowly begins to take shape, lopsided and shedding plastic pine needs, but still beautiful in its imperfection. As you both begin to hang the smaller ornaments one by one, you ask, 

“So…before you decided to take on the world, what kind of trees did you have growing up?”

Higuruma pauses, a faded blue bulb hanging from lightly tanned fingertips. For a moment, his gaze drifts, his already solemn expression dipping fractionally, and you wonder if you’ve pushed too far. But then he speaks, his voice softer than before.

“Real ones,” he mutters. “Tall ones that shed pine needles all over the floor and made the house smell like a forest.” He places the ornament on a branch near the top, bending the thin metal hook to secure it. “My mother used to insist on decorating it all herself, though. She had this thing about symmetry.” A small, nostalgic smile tugs at his lips. “I think I preferred watching her more than actually helping.”

You smile softly, picturing a younger Higuruma sitting cross-legged on the floor, hair probably shorter, eyes smooth around the edges and free of sleep deprivation, observing with quiet curiosity. “What about you?”

“Depends on the year,” you shrug, holding up a Spongebob ornament and inspecting its slightly chipped edge. “Some years, we had fake ones like this. Other years, my family would drag a real one home and spend the next six months vacuuming pine needles.”

His chuckle is low and warm, seeming to drift across the room, wrapping around the tree to warm your skin. For a moment, the air between you feels lighter, more familiar.

The tree glimmers by the time you’re done, a haphazard mix of ornaments and lights that somehow works. As he helps you pack up the empty boxes, Higuruma pulls something from the depths of one—a sprig of artificial mistletoe.

You freeze, hair standing on end as he holds it aloft, an eyebrow quirking in amusement. “Were you planning on using this?”

“Not intentionally,” you murmur, rushing to him and reaching to snatch it from his hands before he tilts it away and dangles it above your heads. The sight of where it is, the implication of what it means, makes your throat dry up quickly.

“Isn’t it a tradition?

“It’s cheesy,” you try to reach for it again and sigh when he raises it higher. “And for someone who hardly pays attention to the holidays, why do you suddenly want to follow tradition now?”

Higuruma grins, and the look of it, the way it makes him seem so much younger and filled with mischief, only makes heat spring to life in your belly. Unwarranted and quickly flaming out of control.

“Because for the past three years, you’ve made sure I follow at least some kind of tradition. You want to try this one too?”

You open your mouth to retort, to tell him that you don’t want to kiss him, and spend the next few nights crying because he doesn’t feel the same way. You don’t want to finally put yourself out there and then be so miserably crushed that you’ll probably find a way to break your lease.

But the words dissolve on your tongue when his free hand cups your jaw, his touch warm and grounding with the faint littering of callus. The space between you shortens, the air thin so quickly you can barely breathe, his lips brushing yours so lightly it’s almost asking the question again.

And because you don’t know if you can wait another year to be in this position again, you close the gap. Your hands twist into the front of his shirt as you pull him closer, deepening the kiss, the weight of three years fizzling into nothing as he wraps his arms around your lower back, the mistletoe dropping to the floor.

It’s not enough for your brain to process before you break apart, both of you breathing heavily, his forehead resting against yours. 

“Good?” you exhale, the word trembling on your lips.

Those down-turned eyes study you, taking in the curve of your eyebrows, the length of your lashes, and the humps of your lips. He responds by pulling you back into him, his kiss feverish now, mouth pitching against yours until you open with a soft gasp and welcome his tongue.

For as much as he smokes, he barely tastes like tobacco. Your tongue picks up on coffee and spearmint, licking against him and resisting the urge to bite down when the hands on your hips dip past the hem of your shirt, brushing the bare skin of your sides. 

When he pulls back again, the sound he makes in his throat feels as if it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done. He presses a kiss to your forehead, your nose, and one cheek. “Is this okay?”

For a moment, you want to be offended by the question. This man, who you’ve wanted for years, is stopping the very thing you want to ask questions. But when your brain puts two and two together, when you realize that, of course, he’s asking for permission, it only makes that heat in your belly curdle.

“Yes,” you breathe against his lips, pulling him into you again. His touch is deliberate yet tender, palms exploring more of your skin and pulling you into him like he can’t get enough. The intensity of the kiss leaves you dizzy, and you barely hold on to his neck long enough for him to hike up your legs and wrap them around your waist. 

The journey to your bedroom is hazy. You register when your back brushes against a wall when he stumbles, a sting in your lip when he bites down. By the time you both fall into bed together, the sheets are cold, your skin naked and flush with his and you blink away the arousal enough to take him in. Despite his outward appearance, Hiromi is beautiful. The sinewy muscle that curves a faint impression of abs, firm pectorals, and lean thighs with a thick line of dark hair that collects where he hangs heavy.

He leans down, trailing soft kisses from your lips down the column of your throat, licking the curve of each nipple before taking them in his mouth one by one. You arch into the wet feel of his tongue sliding down your stomach, nipping down your pelvis as he slides large hands under your thighs and throws them over his shoulders. The sight of him there, between your legs, hair mussed and falling in front of his eyes, sends a rush of heat through your body so quickly that you almost choke on a breath.

“You like me,” you can’t help but tease, exhaling in a fluttering laugh when he snorts and presses a kiss to your inner thigh. It feels as gentle as a promise, flaring in importance as he works his way up, the stubble of his jaw grazing your sensitive skin, leaving a blistering trail of fire in its wake.

“I definitely do.”

Your back, which is already unconsciously arching slowly from the feel of his breath at the apex of your thighs, practically snaps when you finally feel him on you, a cry leaving your throat inhibited. The world seems to narrow on the feel of him, the way his thick tongue moves with unrelenting accuracy, the way his lips press and suck, groaning into your folds when you unleash sounds you didn’t know you were capable of making. 

“Hiromi,” you gasp brokenly, your hands tangling in his hair and tugging closer as the tension builds in your core. He hums against you, sucking your clit into his mouth, a vibrating jolt of pleasure shooting through your body. It’s too much and not enough, your breath coming in ragged gasps and pleas as he takes you apart.

When you finally shatter, it’s with his name on your lips, your body shaking wildly as waves of pleasure consume you. Through it all, he doesn’t waver, licking you slowly through the aftershocks, his hands stroking your thighs to work you down.

When he finally pulls away, his lips glistening with your essence and dark eyes fixed on you, there’s an intensity in his expression that steals the breath from your already struggling lungs. He trails wet kisses back up your body, hands picking up what’s missed until his tongue slides back in your mouth again. The taste of you is enough to lick that flame back to life again.

“Still okay?” he asks gently, roughened by desire but laced with unmistakable care that makes your eyes sting.

You nod, your chest still heaving from your orgasm, but the weight of your emotions and the look in his eyes demand words. “Yes. Always, Hiromi.”

Something passes over his features at the sound of his name on your lips, soft and unguarded. He kisses you once more, slow and deliberate, as if he’s savoring you. It’s not just want—it’s need, tethered to something deeper that’s been growing between you for years, but you were always afraid you wouldn’t be as strong on his side.

“I need you to know…this isn’t just tonight for me. It’s not just because that mistletoe was in that box.” He swallows, resting his forehead against yours. “I want you…this.”

The words settle between you like the freshly fallen snow that started a few hours ago, soft and weightless but undeniable. For a moment, your chest tightens, a fragile knot of hope loosening into something sure as his gaze searches yours. You cup his jaw, tilting his face so you can look into his eyes through your blurry vision. 

“It’s not just tonight for me either.”

The tenderness in his expression melts into something more charged, more finite—lips claiming yours and tip pressing to your entrance before he carefully slides in inch by inch, his eyes never leaving yours until he’s fully seated inside. It’s overwhelming—pleasure and emotion weaving together to make your body tremble beneath him.

It feels like it takes so much time and none at all for momentum to build between you. The heat of his breath, still tinged with your scent, fans across your cheeks as if he’s memorizing the shape of them. His hands dig into your hips and pull your closer to him, curving his cock with a blissful thrust that makes you see stars.

“Perfect,” he whispers, reverent as he kisses up your neck. “So perfect, angel.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, nails digging into the meat, yanking him impossibly closer as your throat pitches moan after moan into the hot air of your apartment. Each thrust is slow, deep, and intentional as if he’s trying to show you everything he can’t yet put into words. But you can feel the promise in the way his hips smack against yours. In the way he groans against your lips and swallows your pleas for more.

“I’ll do it right next time,” he whispers. “I’ll take a few days off work. Take you to dinner at the izakaya up the block you’ve been talking about.”

“Hiromi—”

“Three years of wanting you, of pretending—” You can’t answer him, can’t really soothe him when his movements are growing desperate when he kisses you in a way that makes you lose yourself even further. 

You’ll muster up the energy later for another round, but right now, you’re rushing to the finish line, whimpering against his lips that turns into a debauched moan when his fingers find your clit, rubbing slowly despite the frantic clap of his hips.

You fall over first, you can’t help it. The whisper of your name from his lips is enough to yank you over with an embarrassed keen. He follows not long after. It’s not just pleasure—it’s the unraveling of three holidays spent balancing on the edge of this moment. Every rooftop conversation under snow cloud-covered skies, every flicker of shared warmth over tea, every stolen glance and whispered joke—all of it spills out now. It’s every lonely Christmas rewritten in the language of him, of this, of now.

He’s holding you through it as your orgasm pulses through you like its own heartbeat but doesn’t let go. In the quiet that follows, you think of that first night—how you brought him hot chocolate and warmth when he thought he needed neither. His lips press soft kisses to your temple, your shoulder, your fingers. His eyes so heavy with the need to sleep but his actions saying everything but.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmurs, his voice filled with something you hope to have a name for in the near future. 

You smile, dragging your fingers up and down his back. That unspoken thing finally becomes tangible, a soft tune creating harmony with the Christmas music still playing in your living room.

“Merry Christmas, Hiromi.”

Merry Christmas, @sassypossum!!!

[curseofhecate]

MERRY CHRISTMAS, I MISS YOU | LN4

an: This is based on Merry Christmas, I miss you by Alex Crichton. It can be read as part to to merry christmas, please don't call. Again, depressing but I can't help it. This is Lando's point of view.

w.c.: 1.3k

December 25th, Christmas.

The view from the cabin was captivating. Especially now that the sun had gone down and it was snowing again. Everything outside seemed so calm and peaceful, the complete opposite of the war that was currently going on in Lando’s mind. 

His plan hadn’t been to spend Christmas in a cabin somewhere in the french alps. It had actually been Max's idea, to make their annual ski trip overlap with Christmas this year. He knew his friend very well to know that if Lando was left alone this year on Christmas day he would have ended up wallowing in his sadness. 

The whole day had passed by in a blur. Presents, skiing, food, jokes, card games, it had all been a well revised plan to keep him distracted. And it had worked. Up until now.

It was late in the evening and everyone was off doing their own thing. Lando was sitting on a couch, half watching the snow fall outside through the floor to ceiling window and half watching the movie Pietra and Max, who were cuddling on the other couch. 

Love Actually. He remembered when his girlfriend had forced him to watch it with her around this time last year and how he had complained it was a dumb movie without actually having seen it. Well, ex girlfriend, because he had ruined that.

He hadn’t really meant to. It was something he either did subconsciously or it was out of his control. Usually, he likes to blame their falling out on the distance, on his job, on his career. And while all of those things had played their role in how things progressed between them, what had really destroyed what they had was their communication. Or better said, their lack of. And it killed Lando to admit that his inability to let someone see him for what he really is, had ruined the best thing he had ever gotten hold of.

It is weird how quickly things change.

Exactly a year ago, he could have sworn they’d be infinite. It was the day he had taken her to meet his parents. She was nervous and he had spent the whole car ride down to Bristol reassuring her that his family would love her. What she didn’t know was that they already did. Lando hadn’t stopped talking about her since the day they'd met. 

He had convinced her it wasn’t that big of a thing. Which was a lie because Lando never introduced his girlfriends to his parents. Mainly because most of them couldn’t even be considered girlfriends and fit more into the ‘casual hook ups’ or ‘friends with benefits’ categories.  

He remembered how he had spent most of his time watching her interact with his family and feeling proud about how well she fit in with them. That was the moment that solidified for Lando the feelings he had for her. And as he sat there and watched her interact with his niece we thought about how Christmas would be ten years from now, when they’d be married and have a family of their own. 

It was the moment that made it clear to Lando that this was the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. The girl he was going to marry.

If he were honest, he always knew. From the moment he first saw her, at the back of that party on Christmas day two years ago with a drink in her hand and looking awkward, he knew that something was different about her. 

When he first walked up to her, Lando was nervous. Which was the most unlike Lando thing ever. Normally he was really open and comfortable around people, the definition of an extrovert. But for some reason this was different.

The first thing he told her was some lame joke about both of them being out of place since they knew no one and their friends ditched them, He didn’t get much of a response, except for a forced smile, and for a bit lando felt as if he was having a one sided conversation. But the longer he kept talking the more at ease she started to feel around him. 

The walls didn’t really come down until Lando made another joke about something stupid, what he couldn’t remember. What he remembered though was the way she had thrown her head back laughing. And from that moment, he was a goner. 

It was crazy to think how two years ago they didn’t even know each other and last year at this time she was curled up against him, head on his chest with his arms wrapped around her and watching cheesy Christmas movies. And now she is gone. He had lost her. 

Sometimes he wondered what he could have done differently. He knew it wasn’t entirely his fault and some things were out of their control but he couldn’t help but want to go back and change everything. 

What he had felt for her, he hadn’t felt for anyone else before, and he was convinced he wouldn’t feel for anyone else in the future. 

Usually he tried not to think about that. During the season it was easy. He was preoccupied with races and the possibility of winning the drivers championship. Being a formula 1 driver didn’t allow him much time to wallow in his self pity. 

But now, it is really difficult. Especially considering how he kept thinking about the Christmas they’d spent together last year. The look on her face when he’d told her it was too early to blast Christmas songs on November 1st, the domestic feeling it brought him decorating his London apartment together, the way she’d force him to do silly childish activities, like baking cookies and decorating gingerbread houses and how he’d complain even though he always ended up loving it.

Waking up with her in his arms on Christmas morning and pretending to be asleep as soon as she started stirring, just to make the moment last longer, knowing well that she wouldn’t have the heart to wake him up. It all haunted him.

But most of all, it was the what ifs that tormented him.What if she has moved on? What if she’s with someone new? What if he’s nothing but a ghost that lingers in her life?

But then what if she was lonely? What if she missed him as much as he missed her? What if she had realised how big of a mistake this had been? What if she wants to reach out but is afraid to? What if the reason she didn’t is because she thinks he has moved on. 

Lando thought about this far more often that he would like to admit. All he could think about lately was her. And even though he appreciated how his friends tried to distract him he couldn’t help but feel suffocated. 

He missed her. He missed her a lot. How could he not? He was in love with her, he still is. And so he can’t help but wonder whether she would answer if he called. 

He hoped she would. 

Sighing, he picked up his phone and tapped on her contact. He typed out a paragraph, explaining how much he missed her and how he wished he could have her back. His finger hovered over the send button but he hesitated and erased the message, turning off his phone frustrated.

He couldn’t go on like this. 

If she didn’t want to talk then she wouldn’t reply. But if still cared then maybe she would. And for once in his life Lando Norris had nothing to lose. 

He turned on his phone again and typed out another message, hitting the text button and turning off his phone before he could overthink it.

[shhtickerbook]

Baby Feathers

Merry Christmas!

(Helluva Age regression ficlet that takes place post sinsmas)

I don’t see enough fics that have caregivers who want to try regressing!!! So I decided to fill that void and the soul destroying events of sinsmas gave me lots of agere fodder. have a lovely holiday everybody!!! Fic below!

Stolas had everything planned. It was new years Eve and both Stolas and Blitzø had the holiday just to themselves. Millie and Moxxie were spending the holiday with Millie’s family in Wrath, whilst Loona was going to another party at Beelzebub’s. Stolas had spent many a New Year’s Eve at insufferable galas, but there had always been one silver lining. Both himself and Via would slip away from the ball, where the two would sit on the roof of their mansion and watch the first new year’s moon come to rise. He still hadn’t realised that this would be the first year where they wouldn’t be able to share their tradition. He couldn’t stop thinking of Octavia, their last interaction cruelly playing on loop in his mind. His heart was breaking with every second, but at least he had Blitzø. If he hadn’t been grieving so painfully, maybe he’d be able to enjoy himself.

There was one aspect he found great comfort in though, and that was being able to take care of Blitzø. Over the past few months he’d been introduced to the Imp’s smaller side, which had taken a while for Blitzø to open up about it properly. He was a pretty headstrong character, and struggled s lot when it came to expressing any kind of vulnerability.

Stolas had actually found out by accident, with Blitzø regressing involuntarily after a bad night terror. Stolas’s heart had broke when he found his partner looking so afraid and vulnerable. Blitzø wasn’t able to really explain what was happening, but Stolas was already a parent, it was second nature to know how to comfort little ones after a bad dream. The next morning Blitzø had explained what happened, sometimes he found himself slipping younger in age, usually when he was stressed or was reminded of bad things. Especially since he lost his mother, she was the only person who treat him with gentle nurturing care. When he lost her, he never got to feel that again. So when he began to have these episodes, it became a part of himself he had to hide out of shame.

For a long time he continued to suppress this side of himself, pushing away all these childish longings. But he could only hold it back for so long until his body decided for him. When he did find out, Stolas was almost too supportive of it, finding this side of Blitzø absolutely darling. Lavishing him with toys, clothes and all kinds of things he never even considered trying. Stolas even found himself getting a lot out of caring for him too, it made him feel needed.

-

Blitzø had to admit that it felt great to not hide this side of him anymore. Stolas had officially seen every episode of that pony show, and helped Blitzø brush the manes of every single horse figurine he owned. But ever since the trial, neither Blitzø or Stolas had the time or the mental energy to take come time to relax.

Stolas had felt so guilty that in his current state he hadn’t been able to care for Blitzø, and had even collected a set of gifts for him to open from Sinsmas. On the day itself he’d set aside his little gifts so that he wouldn’t have to open them in front of the others. So he’d made the decision to surprise him with a “little sinsmas” on new years, when they knew they’d have the house all to themselves.

Stolas woke up early to get out the gifts he had stored away. Thankfully he had purchased these before he’d lost all of his money and possessions. But when he did get up, he felt awful. The former prince had slept terribly, tossing and turning as he once again replayed what had happened with Via. He was then cursed with unpleasant dreams that only tortured him further. All he wanted was his daughter, but she wanted nothing to do with him.

Regardless of how he felt, he pushed himself through it, today was for Blitzø. The imp had done so much for him recently, he had to pay it back somehow. He quietly looked through Blitzø’s wardrobe in search of some of his little clothes, choosing an oversized hoodie with some colourful horse motifs. It even had an adorable woollen mane that went down the hood. Last of all he collected a plastic box at the bottom of the wardrobe, stolas recognising it. Inside Blitzø kept all of his baby things, pacifiers, some teethers and other equally adorable equipment. It was adorned with multiple stickers, all in the horse variety.

As he entered back into the main room, stolas began to gather some ingredients for breakfast. The plan was to make Blitzø some oatmeal for breakfast, which was simple enough. Blitzø always liked it drizzled with cherry syrup, and if he was feeling little enough he’d even let Stolas feed him.

Stolas carefully arranged the gifts wrapped in coloured paper by the tree, flicking on the fairy lights for added effect. He loved the small touches of sinsmas, indulging in the little details that made it feel magic. Blitzø had mentioned how sinsmas wasn’t really a special thing when he was a kid, the circus would perform through the whole holiday. Which included an extra special sinsmas day show which was very popular, but it meant he never got to really enjoy the holiday.

He thought of a little blitz crouched by the tree, tearing open coloured parcels in glee. You couldn’t help but smile. As a final touch, he pulled the blinds open to let the light in. Such a simple action turned into a huge mistake. As Stolas glanced outside, his gaze was caught to the horizon. Peeking just through the clouds was the new moon, only barely visible. By tonight it would be hanging at the peak of the sky, even in daylight it was beautiful.

How could something so beautiful destroy him so painfully? Stolas remembered everything, his special tradition with his daughter. He thought of Octavia, sitting alone and watching the moon rise. The way she spat her words towards her father, looking like she genuinely despised him. Who was he kidding? It didn’t look like he hated him, she did hate him. Stolas just sank to the floor, his beak quivering as he felt tears building in his eyes. It was all too much. All he wanted was to hold his daughter in his arms again, but would that ever happen again?

she hated him.

she HATED him.

-

Blitzø turned over in bed, dozily reaching over into the empty space of his bed. He’d gotten so used to sleeping next to somebody again, so when he didn’t feel any feathers in his grasp, it pulled him out from his snoozing.

“Mmme- Stolas?”

He mumbled, eyes fluttering open. As suspected, Stolas wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Pushing himself up onto his elbow before rubbing his eyes, recently Stolas had been the one who stayed in bed. Blitzø would usually let him sleep in for as long as he needed, sometimes leaving a note if he had to leave for work.

With a yawn Blitzø pulled himself up, before hearing something from outside the room. It took him a second to realise in his sleep addled state, but he could clearly hear a sadly familiar sound of crying. Within a second he’d jumped from the bed and thrown open the door.

“Stolas? are you okay?”

In hindsight it was a pretty stupid question, especially when he found said bird on the floor of his sitting room. He was curled in on himself, sobbing bitterly. It was uncomfortably reminiscent of what he’d been like when Octavia had rejected him.

“Hey hey- what’s going on?”

Blitzø joined him on the floor, resting a hand over Stolas’s shaking back. Stolas flinched at the touch at first, but couldn’t help but fall into Blitzø’s hold. Blitzø could feel Stolas’s feathers quivering as he tried to control his sobbing. The Imp couldn’t help but notice that a lot of his little stuff was scattered across the room.

His box of pacifiers and that one hoodie he liked to wear, there were also some new gifts under the tree.

“I had planned to- I’m sorry, i just wanted to make today special for you.”

Stolas whimpered, feeling like he’d ruined everything. He thought he would feel better today, if he got to care for Blitzø. But right now owl felt as fragile as glass, but Blitzø held onto him tight and securely. It clicked as he realised what Stolas had been trying to do, his expression softening.

“Oh stolas, it’s okay.”

“It’s not! All I’ve done is mope around and you’ve had to do everything for me. Not to mention the money you’ve spent and the time I’ve taken up. I had it all planned, you deserved a break-“

It took him a little time to string together his response, tears continuing to dribble down his feathers. He felt pathetic, how was he going to care for a regressed Blitzø when he was this much of a mess? It furthered his suspicion that was just a complete failure when it came to any kind of caregiving.

“Stolas listen to me, it’s okay. It’s.. really sweet you thought of this.”

Blitzø gently tilted his beak to meet his face, the tearstained bird’s expression tugging something on his heartstrings. He looked around, spotting the half made breakfast and carefully arranged presents. All the effort he’d made, for him no less.

“I don’t deserve you.”

He chuckled, managing to pull the lanky heap of owl closer into his lap the best he could. His statement seemed to reactivate Stolas tears though, who cried intelligibly into his chest. It was the other way around, it was Stolas that didn’t deserve him.

Whilst Blitzø still wasn’t entirely sure on what had triggered this, it didn’t take an idiot to know it was related to Octavia. In the time Blitzø had known Stolas, he’d never seen him like this. The Goetian Prince was so broken, fragile. But thankfully Blitzø had some experience in that feeling already.

He let him cry it out for a few minutes, with the shoulder of his shirt becoming very wet. He ran his fingers up and down Stolas’s feathers, gently preening him as he murmured comfort. The sobs eventually died down into sad sniffling, but the grip around him still hadn’t broken. Although Stolas’s heart was breaking, Blitzø’s grip around him was at least keeping said shards in place.

As Blitzø rubbed his back, he was hit with a sudden idea. He felt a little guilty that Stolas had gone through all this trouble for him, especially as he wasn’t feeling anywhere near small. And as much as he cared for Stolas, he couldn’t fake his regression either. Anyways, he didn’t feel like he was the one need in comfort right now.

“Hey, here’s an idea. I know we’ve never talked about this before, but what if you let me take care of you today?”

Stolas stirred a little with a frown, peeling his crispy feathered face away from Blitzø’s chest.

“What do you mean?”

“You take care of me when I’m feeling low, why not let me baby you for once? You’re lookin’ like you need it.”

The more Blitzø thought about it, the more he wanted to give it a try. There was something about the forlorn bird in his arms that melted his heart a little. Was this how Stolas felt with him? Nah, he couldn’t he this cute.

“No, you’re my baby. I care for you, I care for people- it’s what I like to do.”

Stolas suddenly felt flustered, face lighting up bright red. He’d never even considered the idea of swapping roles before. Blitzø was his baby, never the other way around. He wasn’t sure if it felt right to him, he wanted to be the one caring for Blitzø.

“Yeah, and you do a great fuckin job at it. So why not let me return the favour, you might even like it?”

Blitzø teased as he gently pinched the owls red cheeks, already delighting in the idea. Stolas found himself wavering a little, especially with how shivery and weak he was. He looked over at the gifts guiltily, but Blitzø already had it covered.

“Look we could try it today, if you don’t like it, we’ll stop. We can save the gifts for tomorrow, and then you can have your turn babying me, sound okay?”

Blitzø sounded so sure that Stolas found it hard to disagree. Although it still felt very alien, he definitely appreciated this cuddling part right now. So in the end gave a defeated shrug, Blitzø’s face lighting up.

“You just relax and let me take care of everything, feathers.”

Stolas shook for a second, before burying his beak into Blitzø’s shoulder again. Fresh tears erupted seemingly for no specific reason. But this time there was a sense of catharsis that came with it, to be able to cry in safety. Was this how Blitzø felt when Stolas would comfort him whilst small? He hoped so, as it felt pretty damn good.

Blitzø began to rock him back and forth, kissing the crown of his feathers. He gave him a few more minutes to cry, Stolas had been forcing himself into long periods of numbness recently and clearly needed it. Eventually Blitzø shifted Stolas to the side a little, who whined at the movement.

“Lemme just move ya onto the couch, I can’t feel my fuckin’ legs anymore.”

With quite a bit of effort, Blitzø managed to lift the bird onto the couch. Unfolding the blanket over the armrest and tucking it around his skinny frame. Whilst no longer sobbing, Stolas had been reduced to the awkward hiccupy stage. Blitzø told ahold of his hand, squeezing softly to get his attention.

“Hey try and breathe a little, in and out.”

The imp demonstrated, and Stolas tried his hardest to follow. But he found himself falling back into the unhelpful gulping, even with Blitzø’s help.

“Here’s an idea.”

Blitzø turned and rifled through his little box, finding an unopened package. Blitzø himself still hadn’t used these ones as he didn’t like the colours. Stolas turned to see what Blitzø was doing, with his pupils pin-pricking when he spotted it. In his hands was a package of pacifiers, a pack of three different shades of lilac to dark blue.

“You’re doing a shitty job at breathing right now, try one of these. You’ll have no choice but to breathe a little slower.”

He spoke so casually, holding out a dark blue pacifier. Stolas had seen this kind of item many, many times now. But now when it was being presented to him, rather from him? It felt a little scary. Blitzø watched as stolas internally fought with himself, rolling his eyes.

“Cmon, open that beak for me, feathers.”

He used the pet name for the second time, which made Stolas melt a little. As if beyond his control he held his beak open, Blitzø placing the pacifier there before he could change his mind.

The sensation was certainly strange at first, the bird wasn’t really sure what to do with it. But his body was still hellbent on breathing hard, so he focused on trying to breathe nasally instead. Without realising he began to suck on the bulb, and breathed in and out. If it hadn’t been such sad circumstances, Blitzø would’ve definitely taken a photo. It was just too fucking cute. Instead he joined Stolas on the couch, still demonstrating his breathing in time to Stolas’s.

“Feels good doesn’t it?”

Stolas looked up at him lazily, his was face a little red self consciously. But he couldn’t lie, the rhythmic sensation of the pacifier was incredibly soothing. With each minute he understood just why Blitzø liked them so much. There was a cloudy fuzzy sensation in his head, one that forced him away from all the sad and scary feelings. It was a blissful escape, but it wasn’t numbing him the way his pills used to.

So he nodded at his partner, squeezing his hand back tight. They spent the next twenty minutes just cuddling, and Stolas honestly felt the calmest he had in months. Blitzø eventually had to pry the owl off of him to sort out breakfast, turned on the TV for Stolas. He considered what to put on, before setting on an incredibly corny fairytale movie about a princess. But it was worth it to see the way Stolas’s eyes lit up when it came on.

Blitzø made himself a cup of coffee, and poured one of Stolas’s weird fancy teas into one of his own sippy cups. Choosing the moonlight unicorn design, after forcing stolas to watch every episode of his horse show, Stolas had eventually chosen his favourite character. When he returned to the couch, Stolas shuffled over to curl into his chest again. The pacifier still hasn’t left his beak since placing it there, he looked undeniably adorable. Blitzø was just so happy to see him looking content for the first time in days. The two could just spend their day with each-other’s company, enjoying every moment.

-

Neither demon even made it to the end of the movie, the two of them passed out in a tangle of limbs. The bird with his head curled underneath Blitzø’s chin, the imp’s hand subconsciously still stroking his feathers. Blitzø had gotten so used to himself being the baby in their relationship, that he’d never considered how much he’d enjoy swapping places. The remainder of their day continued in a similar fashion, Blitzø leading Stolas along in hand. And to his surprise Stolas was a very quiet little, who didn’t speak much for the rest of the day.

It was different than when he was quiet when he was sad though, Stolas would still giggle if Blitzø said something funny and was clearly enjoying himself. Stolas just felt happy that he didn’t have to try and think of words right now, he could just be. He allowed Blitzø to dress him in some loose cuddly clothes, and even hand feed him little squares of pancake when he felt up to eating.

Blitzø loved learning more about this little side of him. And Stolas found himself embracing a part of himself he’d never even uncovered. They spent the day indoors, playing games and watching movies. In the evening when Blitzø was busy running a bath for him, Stolas couldn’t help but glance outside. The moon was beginning to rise in the early evening, himself and Blitzø agreed to head to bed before midnight. The whole new year’s celebration never interested him too much, he really only ever used it as an excuse to get wasted.

Stolas pulled the pacifier from his beak and dropped it to the floor. Feeling the fog of his small space drift away, he took in a deep breath. Slipping outside onto the balcony, he dared himself to look up at the moon. Giving anything just for one more moment with Octavia, wondering what she was doing right now.

“I know you hate me, and that you can’t even hear me- But I love you so very much.”

He spoke to himself quietly, not breaking eye contact with the rising moon. Hoping that just maybe Octavia could somehow get the message. He stayed there for a little while, not even realising the slow tears dripping down his face until he felt a hand on his. Blitzø didn’t say anything, he stood aside the Owl for a while until he stirred from his trance.

“I got your bath ready, even added a bunch of those bath nukes you like.”

“Bath bombs- you mean.”

Stolas couldn’t help but correct, although he still sounded sad. Blitzø held onto his hand and lead him back inside, finding the pacifier abandoned on the floor.

“Hey you still want this buddy?”

He held it up, unsure if Stolas was feeling completely big again. The owl looked at the object, clearly considering it. He watched the Imp as he stared up at him with genuine adoration. Instead of a verbal response, he just took the pacifier back and allowed himself to sink back into that comforting headspace. The Goetian prince stood tall above Blitzø, and to any old person they must’ve looked ridiculous. But Blitzø looked up at the tall owl and only saw a little baby bird, one that was in desperate need of some love and care.

“Cmon then baby feathers, I have a whole collection of rubber duck horses just waiting to play with ya-“

Merry Christmas y’all ❤️❤️❤️

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 45

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 3,850ish

Summary: On the road, your group finds a family in need of help.

Warning(s): lots of movie dialogue, canon violence, injuries, character death(s)

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

The four of you found yourselves back on the road soon after the wedding ceremony. Things seemed lighter in a way. Laura and Charles sat in back while Logan drove and you sat beside him. Logan kept one hand on the wheel while his other kept a firm hold on yours. He didn’t want to let you go before your marriage was official, but now he really didn’t want to. 

Charles was drifting in and out of sleep as Laura stared out the window with her sunglasses, locking and unlocking the door.

“Knock it off,” Logan said, voice gruff. Laura made no move to stop. “I said, knock it off!”

“She’s a child, Logan,” Charles said. “And, point of face, she’s your—“

“How long has it been since you took your meds?” Charles exhaled, annoyed. “Tell me, how long has it been?”

“I don’t know!”

Logan scoffed. “You saw what happened yesterday. If that shit had gone on any longer, everything in that casino—“

“I did what I had to do to save Laura and Y/N.”

“What?” You questioned, turning to look back at Charles.

“I knew you wouldn’t get to my meds and I kept you from doing so. You wouldn’t have been able to take on all those men while protecting Laura and I.”

“You had a fucking seizure on purpose?!” Logan exclaimed, clearly furious.

“I guess you prefer me pharmaceutically castrated, rambling on like a lunatic. So much easier for you.”

“Easier? There is nothing easy about you, Charles, nothing!”

“Yes, yes, please be like the rest of the world, blaming someone else for your boring shit.”

“I know, Pop, I’m such a giant disappointment.”

“What? Logan, you’re not a disappointment,” you tried to interject. 

“You honestly derive no sense of purpose from what we’re doing?” Charles continued.

“Okay, what are we doing?” Logan questioned. “Hmm?”

“There is a young mutant sitting in our car.”

“Yeah, I see that.”

“And where we’re taking her, there are others. Does that mean nothing to you?”

“Yeah, means nothing to me. Especially since Nurse Gabriela made all that Eden shit up with fucking comic books.”

“What are you talking about?”

Logan let go of your hand and opened the center consul. He pulled out a bottle, handing it to you. “Give those to him, will you?”

“Logan,” you tried.

“Give ‘em to him.”

You sighed, opening up the bottle and taking two pills out. You turned back and handed them to Charles, giving him a sympathetic smile. Charles took them and tossed them into his mouth before getting a drink.

“I wanna see it,” Logan said, looking at Charles.

Charles made a noise as he opened his mouth and stuck his tough out for Logan to see. Logan took the bottle from you, threw it into the consul, and then slammed it shut. You sighed, so much for the happiness that the small wedding brought. Logan glanced over at you as you stared out the window. He took your hand and brought it up to his lips for a kiss.

“Sorry,” Logan muttered. “On edge.”

“Clearly,” you replied, turning to face him. “Can you try not to be mad at anyone in this car? The rest of the world, sure, but those in this truck are off limits. Got it?” 

“Only for you.” He kissed the back of your hand again.

“Whipped,” Charles muttered.

“Have something to tell the class Professor?”

“Nothing.”

Your group fell into a calm silence for a few moments until one of the auto-semi-trucks moved too close to your truck.

“Motherfucking auto-trucks!” Logan exclaimed.

“Language, Logan,” scolded Charles. “And you’re screaming at a machine.”

“Oh, what? She can gut a man with her feet, she can’t hear a few naughty words, huh?”

“She can learn to be better.”

“You mean, better than me?”

“I’m sure that’s not—“

“Actually, yes,” Charles interrupted you. 

You knew Charles wasn’t totally in his right mind, but you wished he could fully realize how much his words affected Logan. 

“And, by the way,” continued Charles, “Laura’s foot claws are the obvious result of her gender, you know.”

“Is that a fact?” Logan asked.

“In a pride of lions, the female is both hunter and caregiver.”

“Good to know.”

“She uses her front claws for hunting and the back claws defensively.”

“Oh, yeah?” Logan’s sarcasm was clear.

“Thus, ensuring their survival.”

Laura watched this—and every— interaction with curiosity and caution. It was clear to her that her comics were right about somethings. One being that the Wolverine was tough and hostile, but had a soft side for those he cared about. Especially for you. Though the comics Nurse Gabriela had shown her did not do the love you two shared any justice, both the good and the bad. Laura could tell that Logan didn’t know how exactly to deal with Laura and who she was, but she could tell that the hostility was dying, though extreme slow. Laura knew that was thanks to you. As she continued to watch and listen, you looked back to check on her. You shot her a soft smile. Laura wanted to give you one in return, but she really didn’t know how, so she opted for a nod and to turn back to the window.

Just then, an auto-truck honked and began to move over to the lane that your truck was in without even waiting. Logan was forced to swerve quickly, driving into oncoming traffic. Laura held onto Charles trying to keep him steady while you gripped the handle near your door and the middle consul. Logan maneuvered through the oncoming traffic until there was a clearing and he could turn around, coming to a harsh stop. He looked around, noticing that everyone was clearly shaken up.

As the four of you tried to calm down, you watched as a truck pulling a horse trailer stopped across the road. The horse trailer had been knocked open in the incident, with the horses running out. A young man and his parents got out of the truck, rushing to get the horses off the road.

“We should help them,” Charles suggested.

“No, we have to keep going,” Logan retorted. “Someone will come along.”

“Someone has come along.”

Logan looked your way, wanting to know your thoughts.

“I think it would do us some good to help someone else right now,” you told him.

With a sigh, Logan drove the truck across the lanes of traffic and parked it in front of the other truck. Charles rolled down the window and closed his eyes as you and Logan exited the truck. You watched as the horses all came back over and lined up in the trailer. Logan looked back over at Charles with a angry look. You caught it, slipping your hand into Logan’s and giving it a light squeeze. Laura slipped out of the car and stood a bit behind you two.

“Hey, uh, you need a hand?” Logan asked.

“Yeah,” the woman replied. “Our truck is stuck. After we get the horses in, we could really use some help getting it out.”

Once the horses were in the trailer, the woman got into the driver’s seat and turned on the truck to help reverse it. Logan and her husband got in front to push it while the son was helping from the side. Once they were all set, they started moving the truck back.

“Ah, good,” the husband patted the front as soon as the truck had moved to a good spot, “got it. Come on, let’s get home.”

“Laura! Y/N!” Logan called. The two of you were standing near the trailer, Laura looking at the horses.

“Thank you so much for your help,” the woman said. “I’m Kathryn.” She reached out her hand.

Logan shook it. “James.”

“This is my son, Nate.”

“Hi,” Nate said.

“Hey,” Logan responded.

“Is that your wife and daughter?” Kathryn asked.

“Uh, yeah, thats, uh—“

“I’m Y/N,” you walked up to Kathryn, “his wife. That’s our daughter Laura.”

“Yeah, and that’s my dad, Chuck,” Logan pointed to Charles in the truck, who waved. “Come on, Laura, let’s go.”

“Well, can we show our appreciation and treat the four of you to a decent meal?” Kathryn wondered. “We don’t live far from here.”

“Uh, no, thanks.”

“That would be lovely!” Charles exclaimed. 

You stifled a giggle at the look Logan shot Charles. You walked over to Logan and took his hand. “As long as we aren’t a bother,” you told Kathryn.

“Of course not,” she said. “Just follow us home.”

~~~

“I don’t like this,” Logan grumbled as the table was being set. “We need to keep moving.”

“Logan, it’s just one night,” you told him. “No one would suspect us to stop somewhere like this.”

“Still.”

“Everybody, have a seat,” Kathryn said. 

“James, why don’t you sit at the end of the table?” Will, Kathryn’s husband, suggested.

Will sat on one end while Logan took the opposite seat. Kathryn and Nate took one of the longer sides, while Charles, Laura, and you took the other.

“You wanna say grace?” Kathryn asked. “Say grace, baby.”

“Uh, thank you, God, for this food,” Nate said, “and for our new friends, the Howletts.

“Mmm. They came to our aid. Amen.”

“Amen,” you joined in with the rest in saying it.

Everyone began eating. Logan noticed quickly that Laura was stuffing the food into her mouth using her hands. He reached over and handed her, her fork. The bowl of corn got passed to her and she quickly began scooping. Logan took the bowl away before she could take it all. You bit your lip as you noticed how the others were watching you all. 

“Oh, there’s plenty more if she wants,” Kathryn offered. 

“She’s fine,” Logan said. “Thank you.”

“This is delicious,” Charles said.

“Oh, thank you,” Kathryn responded.

“It’s so good.”

“Where are you all headed?” Will asked.

“Uh, Oregon,” Logan said at the same time that Charles said, “South Dakota.”

“Well, Oregon and then South Dakota,” Charles corrected.

“Vacation?” Kathryn wondered.

“Uh, yes. Uh, long overdue. We’re city folk. Always wanted to take a road trip, see the country. And meet the people in it.”

“Well that sounds lovely. Been trying to get Will here to take a vacation for years now.”

“If we go traipsing all over the country, who’s gonna take care of this place?” Will retorted.

“Exactly. I say, let it go.”

“And live off what?”

“The Lord will provide.”

“I”m still waiting for the Lord to provide me with a new thresher.”

“All the same, I’d love to travel someday.”

“And I bet, you will,” Charles told her.

“I could drop out of school,” Nate offered.

“Okay, let’s not go that far,” Kathryn said. 

“I mean, I’ll do it.”

“No, no.”

“Why not? You wanna travel, I wanna travel.”

“Son, son.”

“That sounds good to you, right?” Will asked.

“It’s the perfect plan,” said Nate.

“Why oddly you want to do that, Nate?” Charles wondered.

“Careful,” Logan spoke up, “you’re speaking to a man who ran a school for a lot of years. Right, Charles?”

“Really?” Will asked.

“Yes, it was a… it was a special needs school,” Charles said.

You tried not laugh at his description.

“Uh-huh. That’s a good description,” Logan smirked.

“He was there, too,” Charles pointed at Logan. “In fact, these two both were.”

“Yeah, I got kicked out a few times.”

“Some of them were by choice,” you spoke up, teasing him.

“I wish I could say you were a good pupil, but the words would choke me,” Charles said.

Everyone laughed, including Logan.

“Not that Y/N was much better,” Charles added.

“Wait, what?” You questioned.

“When Y/N first arrived at the school, she hid and refused to participate. Took me years to get her to do anything.”

“Hey, woah. Not years. Maybe one.”

“Whatever.”

The laughter and chatter continued until everyone was full. Logan stood up.

“Ma’am, I can’t thank you enough for this,” he said. “Uh, it was great. But we have a long drive ahead of us, so—“

“But you need to rest, don’t you?” Kathryn questioned.

“Yeah, we’ll find a motel somewhere.”

“The nearest one is two hours from here and it’s not even that nice,” Will said. 

“We have a perfectly fine room upstairs for your father and your daughter if you don’t mind you and your wife sleeping in the living room on the convertible,” Kathryn offered.

“Kathryn, it’s very, very nice of you, but we really should go.”

“We can leave early in the morning,” Charles said. “Break of dawn, as it were.”

Logan looked at you, hoping that you’d side with him. You weren’t going to though. It was nice to interact with others and seem normal for a while.

“Okay,” Logan sighed, “why don’t we wash up, Pop?”

Logan pushed Charles away to the bathroom.

“Would you two like some dessert?” Kathryn offered.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” you replied.

“Of course not.”

“You all have been really kind to my family. Thank you.”

The water coming from the sink suddenly cut in and out. 

“Oh, shit!” Will exclaimed.

“What’s going on?” Logan asked, stepping out of the bathroom.

“Nate, go fill up the tub before we lose pressure.”

“They shut if off again,” Kathryn said.

“They are just not going to let this thing go.”

“Well, you might as well handle it now.”

“It can wait till the morning. We just had rain last night.”

“We got four houseguests and a sink full of dishes.”

“Alright, alright.” Will turned to talk to Logan. “The pump station that supplies us is a mile and a half from here. Sometimes it gets itself shut off.”

“By assholes,” Nate added.

“My son is happy to go with you,” Charles offered.

“No, no, no, that’s fine,” Will said as Logan gave Charles a look of unbelief. “The men that do this, sometimes they can be—“

“I can go,” Nate said.

“No,” Kathryn said, “you’ve got homework.”

“Alright, I’ll go,” Logan said. “Just, uh, let me get my dad settled.” 

He walked over to Charles and picked him up. Your heart broke as you could hear the strain in Logan’s breathing. You took Laura’s hand and followed Logan and Charles up the stairs to the open bedroom. Laura saw Nate in his room and opted to follow him.

“Behave,” you whispered to her with a smile before letting her go. 

You peeked into the room, watching Logan get Charles tucked in. He held up a remote.

“Want TV?” Logan asked. “There’s TV here.”

“I’m fine,” Charles breathed out.

“Okay. Get some rest.”

“You know, Logan… this is what life looks like. A home, people who love each other. Safe place. You should take a moment and feel it. It’s been too long since you’ve had that.”

“Yeah It’s great.” You stepped back as Logan came to the door.

“Logan. Logan! You still have time.”

“Charles, the world is not the same as it was. We’re taking a risk hanging around here, you know that. And where we’re going, Eden… it doesn’t exist. Her nurse got it from a comic book. You understand? It’s not real.”

“It is for Laura… It is for Laura.”

“Get some rest.”

Logan walked out of the room, completely shutting the door, to find you there.

“What are we doing, Logan?” You asked quietly. “If you don’t believe that Eden is real, then where are we taking Laura? What are your plans with her?”

Logan sighed, coming up to you and placing his hands on your arms. He ran his hands down until he could hold your hands. “I… I’m trying here.”

“Try harder… for Laura, for Charles… for me. You need to decide if you believe in it and if you’re willing to trust that Eden will be a safe place for your daughter.”

“Do you believe in it?”

“I hope it’s real. For her sake.”

“Then I’ll try a little harder, okay?” You nodded, leaning into Logan. His hands dropped yours to wrap you in a hug. “I won’t be long.”

“Be safe.”

The two of you met for a brief kiss. You walked Logan down the stairs and watched as he and Will headed out to the fields. You saw Kathryn in living room, reading the pull-out bed. 

“Thank you, again,” you told her.

“Of course,” she replied. “It seems like you all have had a long journey and need some good rest.”

“Yeah,” you nodded.

“The bed’s all ready. Sleep well.” 

Then Kathryn walked away. You crawled onto the bed and curled up, thinking of Logan. You heard footsteps just as you were about to fall asleep, the weight was familiar. Your back was facing towards the slow, on coming footsteps.

“Logan?” You whispered quietly, only to receive no verbal response. 

A hand fell to your back, moving until it was above your beating heart.

“Logan, what are you—“

Quickly, the hand formed a fist and three metal claws entered your heart. The darkness came instantly.

~~~

When Logan and Will arrived back at the house, Logan went to the truck to try to calm down his coughing. A gunshot and screams had his head snapping in the direction of the house. Logan raced inside the best he could with his limp. Will was at the bottom of the stairs, claw marks through his chest. Logan looked up to see a copy of him—younger and less scarred—carrying a screaming and bound Laura down the stairs. Logan froze, only able to pant and stare as the copy of him walked past him, Laura still screaming.

“Charles!” Logan shouted up the stairs. “Y/N! Charles! Y/N!” 

He used the railing to get him up the stairs faster. At the top of the stairs, he found Kathryn dead with Nate at the entrance of Charles’ room. He froze for a moment upon seeing Charles bloody and barely breathing in bed. Blood was running out of Charles’ mouth as he shakily reached for Logan. 

When Logan finally broke out from his trance, he rushed over and used some of the bedding to pack Charles’ wound. He maneuvered Charles’ hands to be over the bedding.

“Hold this,” Logan whispered, fear coursing through his veins. “It wasn’t me. It wasn’t me.”

Logan picked Charles up carefully, still scanning the house for any sign of you. Charles let out a moan as he struggled to keep conscious.

“Just hold on, Charles,” Logan said.

Logan went out the side door and rushed Charles over to the truck, placing him in the bed.

“I’ll be back,” Logan promised, before going back inside. “Y/N! Y/N!”

Suddenly, his nose got whiff of a familiar scent. Your blood. He rushed for the living room, where the pull out bed was out. There was a large bloody stain on it, but no you. There was no sign of your fire or your smoke or your ashes. Logan’s heart hammered in his chest as he continued to find no sign of you in the house. Logan stammered out of the house to hear more screaming and gunshots. He saw his duplicate self killing the men who turned off the water. There was a military grade truck past his duplicate. Logan noticed Laura on the ground but when he his moved, his breath caught in his throat. 

They had you in a glass box, like Snow White or a doll. There was blood on you and Logan could tell from where he was standing that you weren’t breathing.

“Charles!” Logan exclaimed quietly. He went back over and pressed on the wounds. “Hold this down, right now, tight!”

“Save them,” Charles whispered. “I’m… sorry…”

“What?”

“Go…” Then Charles heart stopped.

“No.” 

Rage grew inside Logan. How dare they create a duplicate version of him and have him kill you and Charles? He had to get to you before they did anything. Suddenly, the military truck blew up, throwing the glass case you were in forward, crashing next to Laura. The glass broke. Logan needed to move fast. He knew that if you went up in flames and your ashes were separated, there would be no coming back for you. He wouldn’t be able to continue on the rest of his short life without you.

Logan snuck up on his duplicate as the duplicate marched towards you and Laura. With each grunt, he plunged his claws into the duplicate. But his copy made no move to fight back, just walking backwards with each hit. Logan plunged both sets of claws into the copy.

“What the hell are you?” He grunted.

The duplicate stabbed Logan in the shoulder and tossed him over to the ground. Logan shielded himself with his claws before the duplicate could do it again. Every muscle and bone was straining with Logan, but he couldn’t stop. Not when you weren’t safe. Logan jumped back up and continued fighting, but the duplicate was better, stronger. The copy kept making hits, causing Logan to yell out in pain. 

Eventually, the duplicate had Logan pinned against a large tractor tire. Before it could make the final kill, Will’s truck rammed into the duplicate, pinning it against the fence. Will stumbled out of the truck with his gun, shooting into the duplicate multiple times. Once Will believed the duplicate to be dead, he turned his gun on Logan, but couldn’t do anything before he fell to the ground, dead. 

Laura’s shrieking continued as she laid bound beside your dead body. Logan stumbled over to the two of you, bloody and bruised. He knew that you needed to get someplace safe, but he also knew that you would never forgive him for leaving Laura. He grabbed Laura and carried her over to the truck, placing her into the seat next to his before turning to get you.

As he knelt beside you to pick you up, the tears fell. The three punctures over your heart was enough to tell him that his copy had done this to you. He groaned as he picked you up and cradled you against him.

“It wasn’t me,” he whispered, like him saying that would wake you. “It wasn’t me.”

He carried you to the truck and slipped you into the back seat. Laura turned around and saw Charles dead in the bed of the trunk and you dead in the back seat. Her shrieking got worse as she fought against her bindings. Logan turned on the truck and sped off into the fields. Laura thrashed around, trying to free herself. With a shaky hand, Logan released his claws.

“Hold still,” he told her, moving the claws over to her cuffs. “Hold still.”

He cut through the bindings and quickly put away his claws, focusing on driving through the field. Laura crawled into the back seat and placed your head on her lap. Logan glanced at her through the rearview mirror, not missing the tear that slipped down her cheek.

next chapter >

[mggslover]

The Holiday Getaway ❆

A Holiday to Remember: part 1

In which the BAU's holiday getaway takes a dark turn when a family is found murdered on Christmas, forcing the team to investigate while reader struggles with painful memories of her past and her growing, unspoken feelings for Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!bau!reader Genre: bau found family fluff and comedy, slight angst Content warnings: mentions of shitty past christmases, suggestive content Word count: 5,8k A/n: merry christmas eve! this is part 1 of my holiday special and focusses all on the fun, cute found family vibes of the bau outside of a case. next part will explore a crime case and delve deeper into reader's relationship with spencer (smutsmutsmut), so be sure to check it out tomorrow! don't forget to interact if you've enjoyed this, it'll mean a lot 🎄🤍! dividers by @issysh3ll

Snowflakes swirled against the windshield of the car, vanishing as quickly as they arrived thanks to the rhythmic sweep of the wipers. The soft hum of Christmas music filled the SUV, providing a festive backdrop to the ongoing bickering between Garcia and Morgan in the front seats. 

You were on your way to the BAU’s first official holiday getaway. It was a couple of weeks ago when Garcia came up with the idea to spend the holidays together. She planned the entire thing out and got a cabin in the woods booked, without so much as a heads-up to the team. Garcia was adamant about making this a traditional Christmas weekend getaway: Secret Santa’s, hot chocolate by the fireplace and snowball fights. As tempting and relaxing as those activities sound in comparison to the usual unsub hunting, a traditional getaway also meant no GPS, since that “ruins the fun”. So much for being a tech analyst.

“Okay, now take a right,” Penelope instructed Derek, holding a map like it was some kind of ancient artifact. “This is the shortcut. I swear.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “A shortcut? You sure? Because if we get lost again, I’m pulling up the GPS.”

Penelope made a face. “We do not need the GPS. I know this route like the back of my hand.”

Spencer and you shared an amused glance from the backseat, feeling like the younger siblings on a family road trip. You couldn’t help but wonder how the other SUV was doing. It wouldn’t surprise you if Hotch, Rossi, JJ and Prentiss already made it to the cabin, warming up by the fireplace, probably betting on how many wrong turns you'd taken by now. 

After about six more chess matches on your tablet with Reid, you’re already the children of the trip, no need to hide the iPad kid allegations, the car finally slowed as Penelope’s excited shriek filled the air, announcing that you’d arrived. 

You squinted through the window, shielding your eyes against the soft, bright snow that blanketed the landscape. There, nestled in the distance, was a massive wooden house with a smoking chimney, decorated in twinkling fairy lights. The scene looked copy pasted straight out of a Christmas movie. Spencer leaned in beside you, his curls brushing against your face, eager to see the scenery. When he pulled back, his eyes sparkled with excitement. 

“Come on, let’s go,” you said with a smirk, pushing open the door. Everyone piled out of the car, the crisp air biting at your skin. Derek moved to the trunk to grab the bags, handing them out one by one. The hum of the engines of the other SUV echoed in the distance as Hotch waved from the driver’s seat, pulling up alongside you. 

“Ha! I told you it was a shortcut!” Penelope teased, giving Derek a playful punch in the arm.

“I know, I know. Never doubted you, baby girl,” He responded, holding his hands up in surrender.

You turned to Rossi as he slowly emerged from the other car with a huff, stretching his legs in exaggerated motions.

“You doing alright there, Rossi?” you asked with a grin.

He groaned, bending down to touch his toes. “I didn’t sign up for a six-hour car ride,” he muttered. 

“Poor passenger princess,” you shot back, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips. 

Emily and JJ stepped out of the car, their boots crunching softly against the snowy driveway as they approached you.  

“How was the ride?” JJ asked, her breath visible in the crisp winter air.  

“An eventful one, that’s for sure,” you replied with a knowing smile. “What about you? What did you two get up to?”  

“Well, we took a trip down memory lane,” Emily smirked. “Rossi finally spilled the tea on what really happened with all of his ex-wives.”  

“No way!” you exclaimed in disappointment. “I’ve always been curious about what went down with his third wife.”  

JJ chuckled, her arm slipping through yours. “One of these days, I’ll give you the whole story—over wine, of course.”  

The group moved toward the house, and as you stepped inside, the scene before you took your breath away. If the exterior had been magical, the interior was nothing short of a Christmas dream come true.  

The vaulted ceiling soared high above, its beams adorned with twinkling lights and garlands of fresh pine. In the corner stood an enormous Christmas tree, its branches heavy with ornaments that shimmered in the golden glow of soft fairy lights. The very tip of the star-topped tree nearly grazed the ceiling.  

One wall of the living room was a seamless expanse of glass, framing a picture-perfect view of the Winter Wonderland outside. The warmth of the room drew you further in—a handwoven rug stretched across the wooden floor, anchoring a cozy sitting area arranged around a roaring fireplace. The flames crackled and popped, casting flickering shadows over the deep brown leather couches and armchairs.

Hotch and Derek, ever the gentlemen, were already gathering the luggage toward the grand staircase, Penelope instructing them on where to place everything.  

You laughed softly. For a moment, the scene around you felt overwhelming. Being surrounded by people who felt like family, people who cared enough to include you in something so meaningful—it was almost surreal. You couldn’t help but feel a little out of place, like you were stepping into a picture-perfect moment that wasn’t meant for you. 

The thought brought a bittersweet pang, memories of past Christmases creeping in. You remembered locking yourself in your room as a kid, trying desperately to block out the shouting from the other side of the door. And later, when you lived on your own, how the silence of those solitary holidays had felt just as loud.

You blinked back the sting in your eyes, unwilling to let the weight of the past overshadow the beauty of the moment. JJ squeezed your arm lightly, breaking you out of your thoughts. “You okay?” she asked softly, her eyes kind and knowing.

You nodded, managing a small smile. “Yeah,” you said, your voice a little uneven. “Just...taking it all in.”

JJ returned your smile. “She really outdid herself, huh?”  

Your gaze flicked to Garcia, now descending the stairs with Hotch and Morgan, their laughter filling the space. “Oh, she really did,” you chuckled, the aching feeling being washed away by gratitude.  

“My brilliant, beautiful people! Let’s gather around!” Garcia announced, her hands fluttering theatrically as she beckoned everyone closer. She reached into her coat pocket, taking a notebook out with on the cover a pug wearing a Santa hat. 

Clearing her throat with mock importance, she held the notebook up. “First of all,” she began, “I want to say how ridiculously happy I am to be surrounded by all of you today. Truly. I mean, look at us! My fabulous crime-fighting family, all gathered in one glorious Winter Wonderland!” She placed a hand over her heart dramatically. “I’m especially glad I managed to convince you all that spending the holidays here is way more important than whatever terribly mundane plans you had in mind for the weekend.”

Her announcement was met with a round of chuckles and a few amused groans.

“I won’t leave you hanging for that much longer, I know everyone is excited to go wander around, so now, I will be announcing the bedroom arrangements for the next two nights.” 

She flipped open her notebook with a dramatic flair. “For our fearless leader and our Italian stallion,” she began, gesturing dramatically toward Hotch and Rossi, “I’ve selected the room on the far left—peaceful, secluded, and far away from the rest of us loud, lovable lunatics.”

This earned some chuckles. Hotch and Rossi exchanged a nod.

“Next,” Garcia continued, “Emily and JJ, my glorious goddesses, you’ll be sharing the suite next door to them. Roomy, cozy, and perfect for midnight gossip.”

“As for me and Hot Stuff over here,” Garcia said, flashing a grin at Morgan, “we’ll be right next door to the goddess suite. And last, but certainly not least,” she declared, looking over at Reid and you, “my beautiful geniuses will take the far-right room. Bright minds need a quiet place to rest after dazzling us all day long.”

The group clapped and cheered as Garcia snapped her notebook shut with a satisfied nod. There were no surprises in the arrangements—everyone naturally gravitated to their usual pairings. With that, everyone began to disperse, laughter and easy conversation filling the air as they made their way toward their assigned rooms.

“I hope we get a room with a window,” Spencer said as the two of you walked toward the stairs, his tone light with anticipation.

“Oh, me too,” you replied with a dreamy sigh. “Imagine waking up to that view.”

When you reached the door to your room, you gestured for Spencer to open it. “Go ahead, Dr. Reid. The honor is all yours.”

Spencer turned the handle and stepped inside, his gaze immediately drifting to the far wall. “We did get the window room!” He said, his voice tinged with genuine delight.

But while Spencer was marveling at the view, your attention went straight to the king-size bed dominating the center of the room.

You froze. Then you heard it—the soft, innocent “Oh” from Spencer as he realized it too.

“Uh... yeah. One bed,” you said, your voice tight.

Spencer turned to you. “Well, at least the window is nice,” he offered helpfully.

You blinked at him, then quickly turned on your heel. “Wait here. Don’t move,” you ordered, making a beeline for the room next door.

Three sharp knocks later, Penelope swung the door open, her expression a mix of surprise and curiosity. “Is everything okay?”

You peeked into her room, your eyes landing on the two neatly made single beds. “Oh, everything is not okay,” you replied, crossing your arms.

“What’s up, sweet cheeks?” Penelope asked, feigning innocence.

“What’s up,” you said, voice rising slightly, “is that there’s one bed in our room. One!”

Penelope scrunched her face in mock surprise. “Oh no, that’s so weird! I could have sworn all the rooms had two beds.”

“Pen,” you groaned, narrowing your eyes. “How could you do this to me? I can’t share a bed with Spencer!”

“Why not? You have a crush on him!” Penelope replied, dropping the act. “I thought I was doing you a favor.”

“Yes, a crush!” you hissed, glancing nervously over your shoulder to make sure no one could hear. “Crushes are for daydreaming about, not for... for sharing beds! That crosses all the boundaries—professional, personal, existential! All of them!”

“We’re not at work, darling. We’re just a group of friends having a fun weekend together. Friends can totally sleep in the same bed without it being a big deal,” she tries to encourage.

You groaned again, burying your face in your hands. “This is a nightmare.”

Penelope stepped closer, her tone shifting to something gentler. “Okay, okay, calm down. How about this? Derek and I can swap rooms with you two. We’ll survive the whole one-bed situation, no problem.”

You peeked up at her through your fingers, your heart racing at the thought. “Oh, uh, no, no,” you stammered. “That’s not... necessary.”

Penelope’s eyebrow arched slowly, a knowing smirk creeping onto her face. “No?”

“No! I mean, we’re professionals, right? It’s just... sleeping. Innocent, completely normal sleeping, next to each other, in the same bed. Totally manageable,” you babbled, the words tumbling out in rapid succession.

Penelope crossed her arms, smirking even wider. “Uh-huh. I’ve never met two people more professional than you and Spencer.”

“Exactly!” you squeaked, nodding so fast it felt like your head might fall off. “I’ll, uh... I’ll just let him know we’re keeping the room.”

“Great plan,” Penelope said, patting your arm in encouragement. “Go get ‘em, babe.”

You shot her a panicked smile and turned back toward your room, heart pounding as you steeled yourself for the next step.

With a deep breath you entered your shared room again, seeing Spencer seated on the edge of the bed, playing with his tie. He looked up as you creaked open the door.

“Hi, I—uh, Penelope made a mistake with the beds,” you said, stepping into the room.

Spencer faintly smiled. “I assumed as much.”

“Is it okay if I grab a quick shower before the whole Secret Santa thing?” you asked, hoping to keep things casual.

“Of course!” he said quickly, nodding a bit too earnestly as he shifted on his feet.

“You can stay here, you know,” you offered, gesturing to the bed. “Watch some TV or something. I won’t take long.”

But Spencer was already shaking his head, waving off the idea. “No, no, it’s fine. I, uh, still have some things to take care of.”

“Alright,” you replied, trying not to overthink his reaction. Was the whole one-bed situation making him uncomfortable?

Spencer grabbed his bag and slipped out of the room as you headed for the connected bathroom. The moment you stepped inside, your annoyance with Garcia melted away.

The bathroom was like something out of a dream. Hanging lamps casted a warm, golden glow, and the walls were made of rich oakwood, giving the space a cozy yet elegant feel. The floor was cool stone tile, and to the left, a matching wooden vanity stood under a large mirror. On the right, a sleek glass shower. But the real showstopper was the round bathtub at the far end of the room, set under yet another window with a breathtaking view of the snow-covered trees. Judging by the controls on the side, it looked like it doubled as a hot tub. Either Penelope had blown the entire budget on this trip, or this was her attempt at matchmaking taken to the next level.

Shaking your head, you stepped into the shower, letting the warm water wash away your tension as you tried to stop obsessing over the sleeping arrangements for the night.

Meanwhile, Spencer was spiraling. The second he left the room, he raced to Penelope and Derek’s room, knocking urgently.

The door opened a crack, and Penelope peeked out. “It’s just a bed, don’t stress about—oh! Spencer!” she squeaked, clearly expecting you.

“I’m not worried about the bed,” Spencer said in a rush, his eyes wide and earnest. “I need to talk to Derek.”

Penelope blinked, thrown by his sudden intensity. “Uh... okay? Pretty sure he went outside to look around.”

“Thanks!” Spencer called over his shoulder, already halfway down the stairs.

Penelope watched him go, her curiosity piqued. “Oh, boy,” she muttered under her breath. “This is going to be so good.”

Spencer’s eyes darted frantically around the room until they landed on Derek. He sprinted toward him, halting abruptly when he saw that he was in the middle of a conversation with Emily.

“Derek,” Spencer called, getting his attention. “I need you.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, a teasing grin tugging at his lips. “Now, I was expecting you to confess to me one of these days, but certainly not like this,” he joked, making Emily stifle a laugh behind her hand.

Reid rolled his eyes, his voice tinged with impatience. “I’m serious. Please, just come with me.”

Derek glanced at him, clearly confused. “Alright, man,” he said slowly, trying to figure out what got Reid so worked up. Emily waved them inside as she stayed behind.

“What’s up?” Derek asked once they were inside. 

“You picked Y/N for Secret Santa.” Spencer stated.

Derek blinked, still processing. “Yeah, I did. Why?” His eyes widened as the realization hit him. “Oh, you peeked, didn’t you? Penelope’s going to kill you.”

“She doesn’t have to know,” Reid replied quickly, his voice almost pleading. “Look, I need to swap with you. I got Garcia.”

“What?” Derek asked, clearly offended. “No way. I already bought something for Y/N.”

“I’ve got something for Garcia too,” Reid said, lifting his bag as if to prove it, “it’s probably better than anything you could come up with.” 

Morgan shook his head, refusing to budge. “I’m sorry, man. I don’t know what you’ve got against Garcia, but it’s not happening.”

Spencer paused, pursing his lips. “It’s not about Garcia,” he began, thinking his next words through. “I’ve got something special for Y/N, and I really want to give it to her tonight.”

Morgan’s eyes widened in surprise. He had a thousand questions ready to ask, but over the years, he'd learned not to press Reid when he got this sincere. He’d be sure to get the full story from Garcia later.

After a long pause, Derek sighed. “Alright. Fine. But you owe me big time.”

Spencer exhaled in visible relief, a genuine smile flickering across his face. “Thanks, Derek.”

You’ve got yourself all cozied up on bed, a book in your hands and wearing the matching Christmas pajama set you got with the girls. The door creaks open, and you look up to see Spencer standing there, a small smile tugging at his lips. His posture is less tense than before—his shoulders are relaxed, and the frown on his face seemed to have melted away. The time spent alone seemed to have calmed the both of you.

You turn fully to your side, facing him. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he replies. “How was the shower?”

“Oh God, Spence,” you sigh, the memory of it still fresh in your mind. “I swear, you need to give it a try. It was the most heavenly experience of my life.”

He chuckles in response. “I can’t say no to that.”

Spencer places his bag down on the chair by the door before heading into the bathroom. Your fingers flick through the pages, content when you find the sentence where you left off. 

Suddenly the peaceful silence is interrupted by a piercing scream. You’re sure you’ve broken a world record, because in a split second, you’re off the bed, gun in hand, and racing toward the bathroom door. 

You quickly scan the room, finding no danger. But there, standing under the shower, is Spencer—completely naked, eyes wide in panic, hands clutching at his skin. The glass shower walls don’t hide anything, and in a blur of horror, you realize everything is on full display.

You join his screaming, and instinctively, you spin around, covering your eyes even though your back is already to him.

“I didn’t see anything! I didn’t see anything!” you stammer, not sure whether you’re trying to convince yourself or him. Because, well, you definitely saw a thing.

Both of your screams come to a halt. The silence that follows is thick with awkwardness, and after a beat, Spencer’s voice cracks through the tension.

“You—you set the water temperature to 115 degrees!” he says, sounding somewhere between panicked and utterly exasperated.

You blink, still trying to recover from the shock of what you just witnessed. “I thought you were dying!” you blurt out.

“My skin was dying! You’re stripping away the natural oils your body produces to protect itself. You know the skin is an organ, right? It’s not some random thing you can just ignore. Plus, your body’s not a furnace—it can’t handle prolonged exposure to that kind of heat. It messes with your blood vessels, makes your heart race, drops your blood pressure. It’s like you want to dry out your skin and potentially knock yourself out.”

You throw your hands up in frustration, running your fingers through your hair. “Spencer, it’s freezing outside,” you argue.

He sighs dramatically, as if this is the least logical thing you could have possibly done. “Cold is a much better option—it buys you more time to either get to safety, or, well, succumb without experiencing rapid organ failure.”

You’re about to respond when you hear him turning on the water again—this time at a much lower temperature—and with a hasty glance over your shoulder, you quickly avert your eyes again.

You shake yourself out of the random exchange, your heart still racing. “Whatever. I’m going downstairs. I’ll meet you there.” You hurry out, hoping the quick exit will help shake the awkwardness.

Downstairs, Rossi is waiting for you in the open kitchen. He places a bottle of wine on the counter, offering you a glass with a smile. “A 2008 well-chilled Pouilly-Fuissé for the lady.”

You take it gratefully, letting out a soft sigh of relief. “Thank you. You have no idea how much I needed this.”

“Wine time already?” Emily asks, her voice filled with curiosity as she strolls over, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Every time is wine time,” Rossi replies with a wink, pouring her a glass as well.

Emily takes a sip, her sharp eyes immediately flicking over you, scanning you in that way she does when something’s off. You feel your cheeks flush, and of course, Emily notices.

“Alright,” she says, her voice dropping a notch, “spill it.”

You take a slow sip, swirling the wine in your glass. “I don’t think I should. You know, very expensive carpet and all that.”

Emily rolls her eyes but smiles. “Don’t try to outsmart me now. You’re rarely this flustered, and no—” she points a finger at you, “—you can’t blame it on the alcohol.”

You hesitate for a moment, then give in with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. Just… Can we go somewhere a little more private?”

Emily’s grin widens as she leads you to the living room, and you both sit down. “So. You’re gonna tell me why you look like a deer in headlights.”

You glance around, making sure no one’s close enough to overhear. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, you say, “I just saw… Spencer’s…”

Emily raises an eyebrow, urging you to go on.

You take a deep breath before muttering, “Penis.”

Emily almost chokes on her wine, letting out a wheeze and nearly dropping her glass.

You quickly hush her. “Oh, come on. It wasn’t a big deal.”

She recovers, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “No? So he’s…?” She makes the universal ‘small’ gesture, her fingers pinched with a tiny gap between them.

“No!” You blurt out, suddenly defensive. “No, no, not at all! He was… he was good.”

The look on Emily’s face is pure delight as she bursts into a fit of laughter. “I cannot believe this. You just—wow.”

“It really isn’t that dramatic,” you mutter, hoping to deflect the tension. “I accidentally saw him in the shower.”

Emily’s eyebrows lift slightly, an expression that mixes curiosity with a touch of amusement. “Did anything happen?” she asks with interest, aware of the dynamic between you and Spencer.

“No,” You scoff with a short, dismissive laugh. “Especially not after I almost burnt his organs to a crisp.”

Confusion flickered across her face. You see it, but before she can ask for clarification, you wave off the subject.

Emily leans back on the couch, her eyes softening as she studies you, a calm yet knowing look settling on her face. “Look, I get it,” she says, her voice lower now, almost reassuring. “This was an awkward moment, but it’s not the first time you’ve wasted an opportunity in showing him how you feel. You’ve been tiptoeing around this for long enough. Come on, it’s Spencer. If there’s one person who you should feel comfortable with to confide in, it’s him."

“I know that,” you answer, the words coming out as a quiet sigh, the weight of it all pressing down on you. “It’s just not convenient. We’re colleagues, and on top of that, great friends. If I wanted to pursue something, I should’ve done it when I first joined the team. It’s too complicated now.”

She leans in slightly, her voice becoming more direct. “It’s only complicated because you’re making it complicated. You like him, and from what I can see, he feels the same. He’s probably just waiting for you to make the first move.”

You shift uncomfortably, not meeting her eyes, your fingers tapping nervously against your knee. You want to argue, but it’s hard to deny the truth. You’ve been tiptoeing around Spencer for so long—too long—burying your feelings beneath the surface where they could never cause any disruption.

“And if you don’t do something about it,” Emily adds, her tone soft but heavy with meaning, “you’ll regret it.”

A shaky exhale escapes you, as the reality of her words sinks in. “I don’t know, Em. There’s so much that could go wrong.”

Her gaze lingers on you, but it’s not pitiful. She sees right through you—sees the fear, the hesitation, the walls you’ve built up. The truth is, you’ve spent years convincing yourself that being close to Spencer was dangerous. Not just because of your professional relationship, but because of the way he anchors you—keeps you grounded when everything else feels unstable. He’s always been there, the rock you cling to when everything else feels uncertain. And the idea of stepping into something deeper with him, risking that connection, terrifies you more than anything.

Because if you lost him—if you let yourself love him and then something happened to him... you’re not sure you’d survive the fall.

The words you’ve been avoiding finally spill out of you in a quiet, strained whisper: “I’ve kept him at a distance, you know? I’ve always kept him at arm’s length because I’m afraid of what would happen if something bad happened to him. If I opened up, fully, and let myself love him… what if I lost him, Emily?” You swallow hard, the vulnerability in your voice feeling raw, exposed. “It’s a risk I’m not willing to take.”

For a long moment, Emily says nothing. She simply watches you, her expression unreadable, but you know she’s hearing you. When she finally speaks, it’s with a calm certainty that cuts right through your fear. “There is also so much that can go right,” she encourages, the words simple but heavy. “You’re not the only one who’s afraid of losing something. He’s been walking the same tightrope for as long as you have.”

Her words linger in the space between you, the silence hanging heavy. She doesn’t look away, doesn’t let you escape the truth that’s been right in front of you all along.

You open your mouth to respond, but your throat tightens, the words getting stuck. The risk of losing him is real, but so is the risk of never knowing what could be. And the more you think about it, the more you realize that the regret of not trying, of letting fear hold you back, would hurt so much more than anything else.

Emily shifts in her seat, clearly sensing the shift in energy. “Alright, enough of the heavy stuff for now. We’re supposed to be enjoying the holiday, remember?” She glances toward the doorway where the sound of laughter and festive chatter floats in. “It’s Secret Santa time. Now just look cute and pretend you’re excited before Penelope walks in.”

You chuckle, giving Emily’s hand a light squeeze, silently thanking her for steering the conversation in a lighter direction. 

One by one, the team filters into the living room, settling into the couch and chairs. Spencer walks in last, looking effortlessly beautiful as always, his hair still damp from the shower.  He offers you a sheepish smile as he sits down beside you, and suddenly, the anxiety that’s been gnawing at you melts away. Emily was right, it’s just Spencer. Your Spencer. Everything is fine.

Penelope takes her rightful spot in front of the Christmas tree, her arms outstretched toward the pile of gifts that are scattered across the floor. Her eyes gleaming with excitement. “Alright, everyone! Get ready, because it’s time for Secret Santa!”

“How exactly are we going to go about this? Any specific rules or guidelines we should follow?” Reid asks in interest.

“I am so glad you asked,” she responds in delight. “We’re keeping it simple—because let’s be real, our brains have been on overdrive and we all need a break. Here’s the plan: We’ll go in a clockwise order starting with Emily. Everyone can pick a gift from under the tree and open it. After that, you’ll have to guess who it’s from. And once you make your guess, the Secret Santa will reveal themselves!”

“Sounds easy enough,” Emily announces as she stands up, walking toward the tree. Her eyes quickly landed on a package with her name scrawled in sharpie. She sits back down on the couch, everyone’s eyes fixed on her with eager anticipation as she tears into the wrapping. Inside, she finds a leatherbound journal with a blackbird embossed on the cover.

“I love the song,” Emily says, running her fingers over the emblem. She looks up at JJ, a knowing smile on her face. “This could be from no one but you.”

JJ smiles in return. “It’s for writing down the thoughts—and everything else—you don’t always feel like saying. Sometimes putting pen to paper helps more than we realize.”

Emily's smile softens at the gesture, touched by the thoughtfulness behind it. Next, it’s JJ’s turn. She received a sleek organizer, and as she flips it open, the first page is a collage of photos—her wedding pictures, memories of Henry, and fun moments of the team.

“Only a parent would add a page like this,” JJ says, recognizing the personal touch. She looks at Hotch, and he nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I figured it might help with the chaos,” Hotch replies.

“You’re all too good at this guessing game,” Penelope complains playfully. “It’s no fun when everyone’s a profiler.” She bends down to pick up her own gift, the package heavy in her hands. She sits on the floor as she unwraps it carefully.

When she sees what’s inside, her eyes widen in delight. Inside the package is a DVD player that also doubles as a radio—something you've seen in ads countless times.  “Oh my god, please tell me it has the voice,” she says, fingers hovering in excitement over the buttons. She presses one, and suddenly, Derek’s programmed voice comes from the speaker, making you snort.

“Hey, baby girl. It’s December 24th. Ready for some music?”

Penelope’s face lights up, and she squeals in delight, wrapping her arms around Derek and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’re the best!”

Derek shakes his head in amusement, giving her a quick smile before rolling his eyes at Spencer, who’s watching the exchange with an almost childlike excitement. 

Next, Derek gets a ticket to Vegas. “Once we have a free weekend, I’ll take you with me on my Sin to Win weekend,” she teases, and Derek laughs, already looking forward to it.

Just then, Hotch’s phone rings. “Excuse me,” he mutters, heading to the kitchen.

Penelope pouts. “It was his turn,” she says with disappointment.

“No worries, Garcia,” Rossi reassures her with a wink. “My present will be better anyway,” he jokes, making her smile.

He unwraps his gift—a vintage bottle of whiskey—and holds it up with a grin. “See? It doesn’t get better than this.”

Laughter fills the room, but your heart is pounding as it’s now Spencer’s turn. You watch him closely, knowing that this is the moment when he’ll open your gift. It’s a small box, and as he unwraps it carefully, his fingers pause when he sees what’s inside: an exclusive Doctor Who Time Vortex watch. The watch has a leather blue strap, gold-plated Roman numerals, and the intricate inner workings of the watch are visible through the glass. You’d spend ages hunting down this piece online, fighting off a dozen eager Doctor Who nerds, and paying well above the asking price just to secure it.

“Wow…” Spencer breathes, his voice tinged with awe as he examines the watch. His eyes flicker up to meet yours, immediately knowing it’s from you.

“How did you get this?” he asks softly, his eyes full of gratitude and wonder.

You smile, trying not to overthink your response. “It wasn’t easy, but you’re worth the effort.”

A blush spreads across Spencer’s cheeks, and for a moment, the two of you share a quiet, intimate glance. Just then, Penelope’s voice interrupts. “Hey, Y/N has two gifts! That’s not how this works!”

Spencer’s eyes narrow, shooting daggers at Derek, who unapologetically shrugs.

“Ooh, I’m special!” you tease, grinning as Penelope hands you two gifts—a big one and a small one.

“Big one first,” you say, excitement bubbling in your chest as you accept the pink box with a bow on top. You rip into the paper. A red lingerie set stares back at you from under the packaging, and you throw your head back in a laugh.

A few weeks ago, Derek had come back from another late-night fling, and the conversation still echoed in your mind.

“How come women only own the same three pairs of bras?” he’d asked, genuinely perplexed.

You’d just sighed, shaking your head. “Derek, you’re lucky you don’t have boobs. Finding a bra that fits—and is affordable—is probably the hardest task one could face.”

Now, with the lingerie in your hands, you raise an eyebrow at Derek. “Do I want to know how you got my exact size?”

Derek looks over at Penelope with a sheepish grin. “I had some help from one of Santa’s elves.”

Penelope mischievously adds, “I may have hacked your computer to check out your purchases.”

You raise your hand in a dramatic, 'there you go' gesture, not at all surprised. “Of course you did.”

“Well,” you begin, looking at the box in your hands, “just know that you're never gonna see me in this.” You wave the red lace and satin teasingly in front of him, feeling a surge of amusement as Derek’s face falls in exaggerated disappointment.

You laugh, then glance over at Spencer, who’s sitting beside you. You can barely make out his muttered, “Good,” under his breath, though it’s enough to catch your attention.

You’re about to take initiative, maybe throw some playful banter his way, when the sudden sound of footsteps in the hallway cuts through the light moment. The door to the living room opens with a soft creak, and you look up as Hotch strides into the room. His jaw tight, his posture all business, and you can feel the shift in the air immediately.

“We’ve got a case. A family is murdered twenty minutes away from here.”

PART TWO

[ladykailitha]

Howlin' For You Part 2

I love how that rhymes! What can I say I'm a dork!

Ah yes the little ficlet that got away from me. The first part is here. The main story is here.

I actually just love this verse in general. It's just a fun little world to play in.

Tomorrow there will be no WIP Wednesday due to the holiday. But I will be back next week with maybe a new fic for you to request. We'll see how far I get.

Sunday is also the beginning of my hiatus. Every once in awhile, I take a break from posting to relax, spend time with my family and fluff back up my backlog. I'm just not sure who long it's going to take. I said two weeks last time and I was ready to get back at it after a week. But we'll see.

~

Steve thought he looked ridiculous, like he stepped off the covers of some Harlequin romance. All he needed was a busty blonde trying to rip his clothes. Which he honestly didn’t know any. He was too well-bred to tug at his cravat even though he wanted to.

Not that it was too tight. It was impeccably tailored. That was the upside to having friends in every avenue of the supernatural community is that clothes were always made by the best tailors and seamstresses in the world. Saville Row in London wished they had the talent of the elves that made his attire tonight.

His outfit was based on the military attire of the period he was representing tonight. All of his pack were dressed similarly. Even his female alpha wore the white slacks and red coat, though hers was less resplendent then his. Her words, not his. But they cut the dashing pair.

Next to him, Chrissy was wearing a classic ballgown all in black and trimmed with red lace. But only a fool would think either of them weak.

There was no softness in her features. If Steve looked like he walked off the covers of a Harlequin romance, Chrissy looked like she walked off the cover of a gothic horror romance novel. Her eyes were cold and calculating. Though, her cover would absolutely have a pretty young woman in her clutches.

He looked up as Eddie and Wayne were announced and smiled. Now he knew why Robin was insistent on their looks. Now, Eddie and Steve would match. God, he loved his best friend.

Next to him, Chrissy bristled when Eddie’s friends came up to him as soon as he entered. Steve put his hand over hers.

“Now, now,” he murmured. “The silkie, sirens, and gwyllgi don’t owe the vampires any deference and don’t know Eddie and Wayne are supposed to greet you first. And they will. Just wait.”

Chrissy took a deep breath. “You’re right. My apologies. I’m not used to interacting with the supernatural community at large. Vampires tend to be very insular by nature. Comes with the whole needing to drink blood to survive.”

Steve nodded. Werewolves were the same. But that was the reason for this ball in the first place. To foster those connections with the supernatural beings they went to school with, worked with, lived along side of.

After the showdown that left the coven in tatters and the werewolf pack in chaos, both Chrissy and he thought this would be a good idea to have an occasion to celebrate the community that came together to rid this town of evil.

Halloween and New Year’s Eve had been floated around, but Steve thought the best night to have it would be the winter solstice. It wouldn’t be on the same day of the year and full moon excluded, it held a great significance for many members of the supernatural beings that made up their small town.

And so the Yuletide Ball was born.

It was going great so far. Well, mostly. There was that one incident...but no one was hurt and everything was fine. It was!

~

Eddie couldn’t take his eyes off Steve and Chrissy. They exuded power in a way that drove him wild. Wayne had that from years of experience, but these two were born to it. Eddie was so glad one was his best friend and the other was his boyfriend.

He was about to go over to them to greet them like he was supposed to, when Gareth and Brian came up to him with their dates. Barb looked stunning in a dress that looked like waves out on the water in various shades of green, while Brian was in a tux and feathered short cape. Gareth wore traditional hunter’s garb with a black fur cloak. His date was another gwyllgi from his pack, a young man named Darren, who was blushing next to Gareth.

“Hey!” Eddie said with a big grin. “You all look great!”

They chatted for a moment before Eddie finally made his way to the center of this and every universe, Steve.

“Hey, darlin’,” he greeted with a kiss and then bowed to Chrissy. “Your Dominus.”

“Eddie,” Chrissy said as they kissed cheeks. “I’m so nervous right now. A fight almost broke out between Jonathan Byers and Darren Driscoll.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide. “What happened?”

“Apparently werewolf greeting and gwyllgi greeting are two separate things,” Steve said with a wince. “Only no one was told, so when Darren wouldn’t bare the back of his neck as per werewolf greeting, Jonathan got his hackles up thinking Darren was trying to slight him.”

Eddie blinked at them for a moment. “Oh shit. Yeah, gwyllgi only scent each other if they hadn’t been introduced first.”

“Yup,” Steve said pursing his lips and rocking back on his heels. “Thankfully Gareth dashed between them and explained things before either of them transformed.”

“Thank god for Gareth’s quick thinking, then,” Wayne said, coming up behind Eddie. “We should get Nancy to interview and catelogue all the different set of manners from everyone to avoid that next year.”

Steve smiled. His former female alpha had found herself at loose ends after Robin replaced her and this would help with that. “I think she’d like that a lot.”

Wayne bowed his head to Chrissy. “Your Dominus.”

“Your suggestion is elegant,” Chrissy said in lieu of a greeting. “Would you wish to inform her of it?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Wayne said with a smile. “I’ll go to see to it now.” He bowed his head again and then was gone.

“My apologies, Eddie dear,” Chrissy said, “but I don’t know how Billy tolerated your in his territory for as long as he did. That man is simply too powerful.”

Eddie smirked. “Because it’s not Billy who did the toleratin’, and by extension you. He tolerates you in his territory. He’s been here since the town was seventy settlers, nine vampires, and sixteen werewolves. And I think it’s best you remember that fact.”

Chrissy opened her mouth to protest but found that she couldn’t. She stared at Eddie in shock and then bowed her head.

“Whoever sired your uncle must have been powerful indeed,” she murmured.

Eddie licked his lips slowly and the look on his face sent a shiver down Steve’s spine. Eddie, of course new who his grandsire was. But whoever it was, the young, newly turned vampire wasn’t saying.

Eddie bowed and then turned to Steve. “May I have this dance?”

Steve nodded and let him take him by the hand to lead him out to the dance floor. Unlike the vampires here, he didn’t need to afford Chrissy any deference as he was her equal. They glided together as they moved across the dance floor.

“Is your pack still pressuring you to take a mate?” Eddie murmured into Steve’s ear.

“No,” Steve said fondly, “after the events with Murray and Billy they aren’t keen to see me reproduce. Too afraid that I would imprint my forward thinking views on the new pups.”

“Baby,” Eddie said morosely. “That’s not a good thing. They should be respecting you, instead of this backtalk again. Didn’t they learn anything?”

Steve snorted. “I guess not. I thought that having Robin as my female alpha would help, but it someways I think it’s made it worse. The two outsiders running things.” He shook his head ruefully.

“Especially after you had to expel Tommy from the pack as Keeper,” Eddie murmured. “Thankfully no one had the ill sense to take his side, especially since he went willingly. But the fact that a Keeper hated the alpha so much he turned traitor? Yeah, that’s not a good look.”

Steve pressed his cheek to Eddie and breathed, “They don’t like that I’m dancing with you, either. But somehow Lucas and Max are perfectly fine to be pressed cheek to cheek as they glitter like stars on the dance floor.”

“That’s because I was born to ruffle feathers, darlin’,” Eddie said with a sigh. “Or in their case fur. But you’ll have a long and prosperous reign as alpha and they will either change with the times or leave.”

“I wish I could follow through with my threat and make you my mate,” Steve murmured, “werewolf law be damned.”

“Um...” a voice said timidly behind them, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but there’s no law that says your mate has to be a werewolf.”

Eddie and Steve stopped dancing and turned around. Standing there was a spunky blonde girl with actual fucking ringlets.

“Who are you?”

The girl beamed up at him. “Hi! I’m Suzie Bingham! Dustin invited me.”

Eddie and Steve shared a look of surprise. Dustin had been sent to a science and math camp for werewolves the last part of the summer and had come back with a supposed girlfriend. A girlfriend no one thought existed.

Until now.

“Hello,” Steve murmured. “You’re from the Provo pack, correct?”

“You remembered!” Suzie said brightly. “But about the whole mate needed to be another werewolf is bull crap.”

“And how do you figure that?” Eddie asked eyeing her curiously.

“Mormon werewolves get a bad rap because of the whole polygamy thing,” she said with a wince, “but we’re really good at keeping records.”

Steve rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “And what do your records say?”

She beamed up at him. “That the most famous pack in the Midwest had silkie for a mate in the 1840s.”

“Okay,” he hedged nodding with pursed lips. “But I doubt the silkie was male. The point of the alpha is to breed.”

Suzie wrinkled her face in disgust, pulling her chin down to her chest. “Gross. And I thought our family values were messed up.”

“Listen, Suzie was it?” Eddie asked with a feral smile. She nodded, her sunny attitude never dimming for a moment. “Would you please get to the point? Please!”

“Oh!” she said, eyes wide. “Shoot! Right. So the purpose of an alpha male isn’t to breed with the alpha female or any of the women of the pack to breed more werewolves. The point of the alpha is turn people into werewolves to prevent inbreeding. Which brings me to my point. The point of the alpha’s mate isn’t to bring pups into the world but to stand as his second in command.”

“But isn’t that the point of the female alpha?” Steve said, tilting his head in confusion.

Suzie shook her head. “The point of a female alpha is so that the women of the pack have someone to go about problems inherent in being...well female I guess.”

Eddie and Steve stared at her in shock and then glanced at each other.

“I don’t even know where the notion that the female alpha was supposed to be the second in command came from,” she continued to ramble. “Maybe someone looking at wolf packs would be my guess. But werewolves and wolves aren’t the same thing. Even the wolves we turn into tend to be bigger than any beast found in nature. I’m hoping my dad will let me study them so I can compare the two cultures.”

“And would you be willing to tell everyone that?” Steve asked innocently.

“Oh I already have been,” she said with a grin that belied the cute exterior. “Since I got here yesterday, in fact. But you’ve been so busy planning this wonderful party, that I haven’t gotten the chance to tell you that.”

Steve smiled at her. “And will you be joining us for the full moon celebrations on Monday?”

Suzie batted her big blue eyes up at him and smiled so sweet and innocently. “It would be my honor.”

She curtsied and then was off again, probably back to Dustin. Steve watched her go with growing fondness. He looked over at Eddie who was grinning at him.

“What?”

“Are you going to adopt every teenager you meet or just the werewolf ones?” Eddie asked sweetly, leaning into his space.

Steve’s jaw dropped and he nudged him out of his space with his elbow. “Excuse you! Mr. I-Must-Adopt-Every-Lost-Sheep-in-High-School!”

Eddie batted his eyelashes. “Darlin’ I don’t believe I implied that I wouldn’t co-parent with you, I was just wondering how big our brood was going to get is all.”

Steve threw back his head and laughed. It was Eddie’s favorite laugh. Eyes screwed up tight, mouth open and wide, his shoulders shaking with genuine mirth.

“Not all of them,” he said when he could catch his breath. “Just that one. Because she’s right, vampires tend to be insular because they have to be, but werewolves shouldn’t be. By their very nature they have to be social.”

Eddie nodded, his lips pressed in a firm line. “And thanks to the former pack going to crazy with the whole killing humans and all and the aftermath of that, for the last fifteen years the former Harrington, now Roane pack have been isolated from other packs.”

“Thanks to Murray,” Steve said rubbing his chin. “But how to convince them that everything they know was fed to them by fucking Wormtongue.”

Eddie kissed him firmly on the lips in the most searing kiss.

“Wow,” Steve said blinking in shock. “What did I do to deserve that?”

“You talked nerdy to me,” Eddie growled. “You said Wormtongue and you got it right. That was so hot.”

Steve blushed.

Eddie tapped Steve’s forehead. “But enough about the pack and all that bullshit. I shouldn’t have brought it up, we’re here to party and not play politics.”

And then as if the musicians Chrissy hired had heard him, the music changed from a minuet to something more upbeat.

Suddenly the floor was flooded with people and they were dancing. Eddie twirled Steve around and Steve laughed as he gracelessly stumbled around in a circle. Even Chrissy and Wayne were out on the floor cutting loose. They made for an odd couple, but they were clearly having fun.

Then Steve spotted him. He was hiding in a corner, sipping on mulled wine and trying to look inconspicuous. Which probably would have worked on every other member of the party, but not Steve.

He whispered in Eddie’s ear that he’d be right back. He beelined it straight for the pillar he was hiding behind.

“Dr. Sam Owens,” he said smoothly, “I was starting to wonder if my invitation had gone awry.”

Sam choked on his wine and started coughing. Steve slapped him on the back until he got his breath back. He looked up at Steve with watery eyes and a half-hearted attempt at a glare.

“I forgot my magic doesn’t work on you.”

Steve chuckled. “Being a Van Helsing really does have its perks. Now why are you hiding here instead of dancing with Wayne instead of Chrissy?”

“I’m not immortal like he is,” Sam muttered, “and if he tried to turn me it would kill us both.”

“Ah.”

Because yeah, Steve got it. As werewolf, he would live a couple hundred years, but Eddie? Eddie would live forever unless someone killed him or he took his own life.

“And quitting the VHS won’t help?”

“No,” Sam said, his glare more effective this time now that he was no longer choking on his wine. “Because if we lost our protections when we left, that would leave us vulnerable to attacks from people who didn’t like us sticking our noses in their business.”

Steve barked out a laugh. “Fair enough. But from one hopeless romantic to another, it doesn’t matter how long you have, share it with him. After all nothing is promised.”

Sam nodded.

Steve gave his shoulder a squeeze. “And maybe make a grand entrance, yeah?”

Sam barked out a surprised laugh. “Yeah okay.”

Steve went back to dancing with Eddie, promising him to tell him later what all that was about. They laughed, danced, ate, and drank their way through the night until about halfway through when Sam suddenly appeared at the top of the grand staircase, resplendent in silver and blue. A perfect complement to Wayne’s outfit.

Eddie pointed up at the stairs to Wayne, whose smile took over his face. He walked over to the stairs and reached the base just as Sam did.

“Sam...” Wayne breathed. “You’re here.”

“For you,” Sam murmured, leaning over and kissing Wayne’s knuckles. “May I have this dance?”

And the music changed again to something softer, more tender and dear.

“I’d be honored.”

Steve took Eddie into his arms and sighed happily. “I think this is going to be the best Christmas I’ve had in my life.”

“Yeah baby, how’s that?” Eddie murmured, pressing his cheek against Steve’s.

“Suzie will help straighten out the pack so I can be with you,” he said softly, “Sam and Wayne are back together. Nancy will be writing that supernatural manners book. And the other members of the supernatural community in Hawkins no longer feel like second class to the werewolves and vampires. Really what more could I ask for?”

“That does sound like an amazing Christmas present, baby,” Eddie purred. “Happy Yuletide and Merry Christmas, Stevie.”

“Merry, Christmas, Eds.”

~

Tag List: COMPLETED

1- @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[flaggermuser]

The First Christmas

1,238 words || Fluff, Christmas, GN Reader, Doctor Reader, Parent & Child Relationship, Parent & Child Attachment, Not Beta Read, Tawny is used to mean parent as reader is GN ||

I originally planned to do three Christmas fics but didn't get the time.

Previous Tawny fics: When You Loved Me, Home Is Where His Heart Is, They Took My Sunshine Away & Take Me Out To The Ball Game

This is also unbeta'd so we are dying like kings

It has been a long time since you celebrated Christmas.

Sure, you’ve been to friendly gatherings, invited in by neighbours to celebrate, even bringing homemade pies but it never felt as good as a family Christmas. Your parents had died years ago and you didn’t have any other family, so often you spent the day alone with a prepackaged dinner, watching the various Christmas specials; you always record the Vought ones.

But this year's Christmas is different.

You've had a busy morning, waking up early to start the preparations for lunch and you've pulled out all the stops to make sure that it's perfect.

There's turkey with all the trimmings, roast beef, a rack of lamb and smoked salmon. Then there's a range of desserts accompanied by home baked gingerbread people and a gingerbread house, as well as cookies in Christmas shapes topped with icing.

Your dining room table and your kitchen counters are overflowing with food, enough to feed around ten people instead of you and the two very special guests joining you. It seems extravagant but then again, they're used to the much finer things in life. You hope you've done enough, that they'll enjoy spending Christmas with you.

There's not just an abundance of food either, you've gone all out decorating your home. A real fir tree sits in one corner of your modestly sized living room, decorated with lights, baubles and tinsel, with a pleura of gifts underneath. You've spent a great deal of money on those presents and you pray that they'll like them.

If only you knew that your existence was more than enough, that you were the greatest gift he'd ever received in his whole life.

The doorbell goes and slight panic sets in, so you do a last minute check on the way to the door, taking off your apron and hanging it on the back of the kitchen door. You make a brief stop at the hallway mirror, straightening out your clothes so you look presentable before opening the door with a smile.

Ryan isn't really sure what to make of you.

Naturally he knows about the lab, Dad had been sure to tell him all about it. And despite his repetitive reassurances, Ryan is still reluctant to meet you.

After all, you were part of that team once, the one that tortured Dad in the lab, that turned a blind eye to him when he screamed and cried, begging for some form of human interaction.

“They’re not like the others,” Dad says. “Just trust me champ.”

Ryan nervously stands a few feet from the front door, breathing hard, doing his best not to panic but it’s getting difficult. He’s not prepared to meet the human-shaped monster on the other side. He sees the door open but from where he's standing, you're obscured so he only hears your voice

"Merry Christmas John."

Your voice is soothing and he watches as Dad falls into your arms, your hold on him tight. You're showing a great deal of affection towards Dad, something that Ryan knows Dad hasn't received from anyone else. When the hug ends, Dad looks back at Ryan and motions for him to come over.

Ryan slowly approaches, getting more anxious the closer he comes to the door. By the time he reaches you, he's not sure how to react. Who he had expected is the complete opposite of who he sees.

Instead of a monster, it's just you.

"Merry Christmas Tawny," Dad says before looking at Ryan. "This is Ryan."

“Hello Ryan,” your smile is humane, your hand stretched out to greet him.

Your handshake is warm, your grip isn’t tight, it’s almost as if you’re treating him like he’s made of glass or a delicate item that needs to be handled with care.

"Come on, let's get you inside."

Ryan’s eyes are glued to the festively decorated mantelpiece.

Pictures of Dad through the years, all in those fancy frames, accompanied with newspaper clippings. Then the one in the middle, the one of Dad when he was young, sitting on your lap with a smile on his face.

He can see why Dad is so attached to you - you were… you are nice to him.

You love him.

“A glass of milk for John, a glass of lemonade for Ryan and a plate of cookies to share."

Before you can return to the kitchen to continue cooking what smells like a feast, Dad takes your hand and squeezes gently, prompting a parental smile.

Now Ryan is far less intimidated than he was when he first arrived, reassured by the way Dad reacts to you and your affection practically beaming, how happy Dad is for you to call him by his actual name instead of his title.

Half an hour later, you return to the living room to announce that lunch is ready so him and Dad follow you into the dinning room, Ryan's eyes widening at the way the table is arranged and decorated. There's so much food, that Ryan isn't sure how the three of you are going to finish it all.

But it's clear that it's all made with love.

Ryan doesn't remember the last time he was so full, or the last time he had a proper home cooked meal.

There's still some food left over that you started to plate up as leftovers, and he can hear you telling Dad to take quite a lot with him. When you both emerge from the kitchen, Ryan is drawn to the bags that Dad holds, clearly overfilled but Dad doesn't seem to want to argue.

Dad is more than willing to do what he's told by you, his parent.

His Tawny.

Ryan spends the rest of the afternoon with you and Dad, watching the Christmas specials. He feels at peace, enjoying the familiar domestic simplicity that he can never experience at the Tower. It reminds him of Christmases at home with his mom.

Right down to the iced festive cookies on the plate on the coffee table.

There has been an abundance of gifts for Ryan all day and you've added to the pile, yet there seems to be more for Dad. These gifts are thoughtful, not just things that Dad probably won't use or doesn't want. You gone to a great deal of effort to make sure that you give Dad the best Christmas possible.

And that makes Ryan happier.

Eventually, it comes time for you to have your gift.

"Sorry about the wrapping," Dad says, handing it over. "I've never been very good but I wanted to do it myself."

Ryan watches you open the present with care, not just ripping the paper off as many usually do. The atmosphere changes and Ryan sits up straighter, filled with concern at your reaction.

You stare at the photo frame in your hands, shedding tears of what he hopes is happiness. Getting up from your seat, you head over to the mantle, moving some of the other frames out of the way to place this one down pride of place next to the one of you and Dad from the lab.

"We need to take just one more, just the two of us. It's important."

It's a photo of Dad and Ryan, immortalised in an ornate frame.

A picture of your son and grandson, the only family that you have.

And one that deeply loves you.

[grammarpedant]

Nope. Trap card #2, activated: There's no evidence that Gurathin is from the Corporation Rim.

The fanon that Gurathin is CR comes from a single line in Exit Strategy: Ratthi says, "It came to Preservation packed into the hold of that much bigger ship, the one that’s become the station, with our grandparents. Well, not Gurathin’s grandparents, he came later." Personally, I think there's even room here to interpret Gurathin as being born on Preservation as the child of immigrants, if Ratthi's use of "he came later" is taken as an imprecise synecdoche for Gurathin's family origins as a whole. Given that this is Ratthi "I'll get the cases" "I'm a biologist, I don't understand this money stuff" being sentimental and distractable in this scene, it's a fair cop.

Either way, "came later" does not mean "from the Corporation Rim." There are plenty of other places in the setting that are neither Preservation nor the CR. As early as Artificial Condition another set of non-corporate polities is mentioned, Rami's Divarti Cluster; it's not clear whether Don Abene's homesystems in Rogue Protocol are corporate or noncorporate, but she certainly has no "bone-deep" fear of SecUnits; Fugitive Telemetry meanwhile expounds on travel routes through Preservation Station stretching elsewhere "outside the Rim." The Rim is only one group of places that a human could be from.

No, people are mixing up Gurathin's backstory with Human One's. It's Human One who is the former corporate contract slave, and SHE is the one who acted rationally on her bone-deep, knee-jerk fear of SecUnits in shooting Murderbot in the back. She's not the only corporate-background character to interact with MB, though—even if we did want to headcanon that Gurathin did hail from the CR, we might just as reasonably compare Gurathin's "We just have to keep you immobilized" to Ras and Eletra's "Just tell it to take orders from us" and "It seems like you don't know how to control it" in Network Effect. Their corporate fear and prejudice and desire for control certainly does not stop them from thinking—with clear self-interest, if not rationally or clearly.

People can headcanon whatever they like, of course. By all means, if giving the backstory of a strong and fascinating female character to Gurathin tickles the fancy, then I encourage people to do that on their own time. But this post is my post, and I am not obligated to care about the things people made up outside the text in my analysis of the text.

Finally, let me address a point that's cropped up more than once now. We all know it's not easy to set aside prejudice and in-group bias and fear of the unknown to make rational or kind decisions. We all live in the real world and many of us have personally had to wrestle with the effects of unthinking fear and prejudice, both others' and our own. The Murderbot Diaries is a series that speaks to us as full thinking adults on this matter, that's why kindness is presented as a rational choice, not merely a morally right one. The series acknowledges that it's hard, but at the same time doesn't allow you to wallow in your own struggles to the exclusion of others'—it still asks you to try to see other people clearly for who they are and what they need, and use what agency you have to do right by them. Gurathin fucked up in this scene, then later stepped up and learned better, and rather than focusing over-much on how hard he had it we should learn from his example and do better.

Gurathin is not only wrong, his argument is fundamentally irrational

Gurathin's argument in ASR:

We need to immobilize this SecUnit stat, because it's going to kill us.

I know it's going to kill us because its logs show that it's rogue. If there is no way to control it, then it is dangerous to us.

It is controlled by the Company to sabotage us. "The missing hazard report, the missing map sections. The SecUnit must be part of that." If it wasn't, that would be a coincidence, which is unbelievable.

This SecUnit has gone rogue and killed people in its charge before. It may do so again.

PresAux's counterargument:

It may be rogue, but that doesn't logically mean it will kill us. "The fact that the Unit has been acting to preserve our lives, to take care of us, while it was a free agent, gives us even more reason to trust it." (Volescu)

Someone may be sabotaging us, but that doesn't logically mean it's the Company or our SecUnit. "There were only three SecUnits for DeltFall in their specs, but there were five units in their habitat. Someone is sabotaging us, but I don’t think our SecUnit is part of it." (Ratthi)

If the SecUnit was trying to sabotage us, then why would it tell us about the combat module sabotage and shoot itself? (Bharadwaj, Overse)

The SecUnit believes it went rogue as a result of malfunction, and that hacking its governor module would prevent a repeat occurrence. Confirmation of its sincerity comes from the same logs that Gurathin accessed for his arguments. (Volescu)

Gurathin's counter-counterargument:

Well it gave itself an edgy nickname

[thebiggerbear]

A little collection of Christmas Fic Recs

Here is a list of some great Christmas fics for anyone who is feeling in the holiday spirit and would like to check them out:

Twinkling Tree Dreams by @winchestergirl2 - Trying to spread some christmas cheer doesn’t go quite how you planned, but maybe it will turn out even better than you hoped. (Alec McDowell x Reader, Dark Angel)

Presents and Gingerbread by @lila-lou - Ben has little interest in the season’s traditions but keeps up with the wrapping and decorations just to see you happy. Still, it didn’t take long for him to draw your attention away from the preparations, making it clear that you’re the only thing he cares about. (Soldier Boy x Reader, The Boys)

Let It Snow by @wayward-dreamer - As snow begins to fall, Dean and Y/N some much needed cuddling time in the perfect ambience they’ve created for themselves. (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader, Supernatural)

Merry Christmas Sweetheart by @jawritter - Time doesn’t heal all wounds, sometimes it just drives them into our bones and festers there, until forgiveness is a four letter word, and it’s to late for second chances. (Jensen Ackles x Reader, RPF) [Warning: ANGST]

Mechanic and Mistletoe by @deanwanddamons - Y/N, an ER nurse is driving home to her Mom on Christmas Eve. Her car breaks down on the side of the road. She calls Winchester Singer Autos and Bobby sends Dean to help her. Will she make it to her Mom in time for Christmas? And will she get back home in time for her shift on Boxing Day? (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader, Supernatural)

Let It Snow by @nesillia - Day 4 of the Christmas advent (Negan Smith x Female!Reader, The Walking Dead)

Operation Christmas Couple by @janicho88 - Some of the cast members of Supernatural have been watching the interaction of two close friends around each other. Neither one will admit to there being anything more between them. With the most magical season of the year upon them, what better time to open their eyes? Brianna and the girls, along with some help from Jared have come up with just the way to accomplish that. But are Jensen and the reader going to cooperate, or are they going to foil their plans? (Jensen Ackles x Reader, RPF)

'Twas the Night... by @zepskies - Dean listens, sometimes when you least expect it. This year, Christmas begins to become something new for both of you. (Dean Winchester x Reader, Supernatural)

Snow Globe by @jessjad - A visit from Dean and Sam in the week around christmas is a nice surprise, but will it bring more than just presents? (Dean Winchester x Reader, Supernatural)

Shades of Him by @zepskies - You make sure Beau isn’t alone this Christmas. (Beau Arlen x Female!Reader, Big Sky)

Christmas On The 26th Floor by @wayward-dreamer - Still keeping their relationship a secret, Dean and Y/N attend the annual Christmas party at Smith Construction Co, where they still manage to find a way to spend the night together. (CEO!Dean Smith x PA Female!Reader, Supernatural)

Sleigh Ride by @zepskies - Yet again, you convince Ben to indulge you in a new Christmas tradition. (Soldier Boy x Female!Reader, The Boys)

Bah Humbug! by @crashdevlin - Y/n meets Tony Stark at her job and somehow catches his attention. Y/n’s a bit of a Grinch, but when Tony Stark invites you to a party, you go. (Tony Stark x Reader, MCU)

Love Actually by @zepskies - Ben gets in late on Christmas Eve with a Grinch-like attitude, but you’re determined to force some holiday cheer into his system. At least, you hope you can, before he meets the rest of your dysfunctional family on Christmas Day. (Soldier Boy x Reader, The Boys)

Subtle Hints by @polkadotpenguin16 - Fills the Only 1 Bed square for @storiesofsvu’s Holiday Bingo 2024 (Sonny Carisi x Female!Reader, Law & Order: SVU)

Get Stuffed by @zepskies - Dean enjoys the way you cook Christmas dinner with a Latin flair, even if Sam likes to tease him about his insatiable appetite. You remind Sam about the true reason behind one of Dean’s biggest quirks. (Dean Winchester x Reader, Supernatural)

Dear Santa by @selfcarecap - Your best friend and roommate Wade is a little lonely over the holidays, third-wheeling with you and Logan the entire time. But the holidays are all about giving, so you and Logan decide to fulfil some of the more sexual wishes on Wade’s wishlist. Or: You have a threesome with Logan and Wade. (Logan Howlett x Female!Reader x Wade Wilson, MCU)

The 12 Days of Christmas Masterlist by @winchesterwild78 (Various)

I'll Be Home For Christmas by @wayward-dreamer - Dean resigns himself to the fact that his girlfriend has to miss out on Christmas with him, hard at work and trying to meet a deadline over the holidays, states away. He hopes she can make it. (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader, Supernatural)

Christmas Masterlist by @tortureddarkstar (Various)

The Christmas Party by @bring-forth-his-sac - Your first year at Alexandria High is going smoothly, until you accidentally offer to plan the staff Christmas party. To make matters worse? You're stuck planning it with the one person you made a terrible first impression on; Negan. (Negan Smith x Reader, The Walking Dead)

A Car For Christmas by @legalmente-loca - Dean doesn't seem to want to be there for Christmas, but it seems that it was quite the opposite. (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader, Supernatural)

full of us by @nochedie - dean pulled your name for secret santa - day 16 of prompt-mas for supernatural writers community! (Dean Winchester x Reader, Supernatural)

A Christmas Carol by @thesilmarillionblog - Along with other team members and their infants, Soldier Boy and you decide to spend Christmas at Butcher’s house with your three children. He has to act nice. (Soldier Boy x Reader, The Boys)

Christmas Alone With You by @winchester-girl67 - The holiday season is always a little rough for the reader and working as a photographer at Santa’s Village in the mall isn’t helping. When the guy playing Santa gets the flu and is replaced with a younger version with a pillow for a stomach, her Christmas spirit is practically non-existent. Little does she know that he might just be the one to turn things around for her this year. And maybe she can do the same for him. (Single Parent!Dean Winchester x Photographer!Reader, Supernatural)

wish list by @wildwestdean - dean shares his christmas wish with you - a short and sweet piece for day one of the Promt-Mas 2024 event in our lovely supernatural writers community; prompt 1 ’all i want for christmas’ (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader, Supernatural)

just want you for my own by @witchywithwhiskey - you convince your husband to stay home from work and pretend you've been snowed in so that you can spend the day decorating for christmas. - here's my third fic for @the-slumberparty's december daze challenge, using the prompt: "It's too cold, stay in bed." (Husband!Bucky Barnes x Curvy Female!Reader, MCU)

"it's a secret, baby" by @figurantedefilme - you just want to have a good christmas this year. - day 1: “all i want for christmas”. for the prompt-mas 2024 event from supernatural writers community (Dean Winchester x GN!Reader, Supernatural)

A Christmas Miracle by @supernotnatural2005 - An imaginative and innocent request to Santa leads to a Christmas morning revelation that brings a new level of joy and excitement to your family. - Prompt-Mas - Day one: “All i want for Christmas” - This is my first tackle at @chevroletdean Prompt-Mas for the Supernatural Writers Community. (Dean Winchester x Reader, Supernatural)

where the love light leads by @elizabethwritesmen - in high school, steve and y/n were the best of friends. now, she’s moved back to hawkins, and he hasn’t seen her since her graduation 7 years before. (Firefighter!Steve Harrington x Reader, Stranger Things)

Wishing You a Merry Christmas by @ask-paralaxis - Soldier Boy surprises Reader at work when her boss doesn’t let her off for the holiday. (Soldier Boy x Reader, The Boys)

One Cold Night by @xylodemon - They work a case, get snowed in, and share a bed, all in time for Christmas. (Destiel, Supernatural)

Christmas magic by @jessjad - Sometimes all you need is a little christmas magic to help you be at ease with the decisions you made. (AU!Dean Winchester x Reader, Supernatural)

If You Want It To Be by @zepskies - When your car breaks down after a hunt, Sam and Dean tow you back to the bunker for Christmas. This time of year gives you and Dean a little courage to be honest about what you both want. And what you want, is for him to see you. - Here’s one of my entries for @deanwinchesterswitch’s TGWRC: Christmas in July event! (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader, Supernatural)

Surprise Gift by @bullet-prooflove - Christmas Bingo Card 2024 (Joe Velasco x Reader, Law & Order: SVU)

'Tis the Damn Season by @waynes-multiverse - Dean’s had his eyes on a mysterious girl on campus since his first week at MIT. After yet another accidental run-in with his dream girl, will he finally get a chance for more this holiday season? (Engineering Student!Dean Winchester x Biology Student!Reader, Supernatural)

A Christmas wish by @jackles010378 - Weeks after the death of Dean in that barn, y/n was nearing her first Christmas without her boyfriend, as she sat under the stars and saw a shooting star she prayed to Jack for one last day with Dean as she didn't get the chance to say a proper goodbye, but knowing Jack was hands off she didn't hold her breath. As she woke up on christmas morning a surprise was waiting for her in the bunker library……….. (Dean Winchester x Reader, Supernatural)

Sam's Winter Tale by @chevroletdean - Godfather Bobby made a very special Christmas gift for Sam this year. Soon after receiving the Nutcracker doll, he is drawn into a world of wonder and adventure. (Sam Winchester x GN!Reader, Supernatural)

from me, to you by @retrosabers - as bucky’s secret santa, you’re determined to give him the best christmas present he’s ever received. (Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader, MCU)

Present by @montimer - Hc's for xmas (Wade Wilson x GN!Reader, MCU)

First Moments: Christmas by @wandering-winchesters - your first Christmas with Dean (Dean Winchester x Reader, Supernatural)

Favorite Gifts by @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior - You and Dean know exactly what you want for Christmas…just each other. (Dean Winchester x Reader, Supernatural)

Dig That Crazy Santa Claus by @pamwritessometimes - Your daughter may have uncovered her dad’s greatest secret ever. - A Tuesday’s Gone Christmas drabble (Russell Shaw x Reader, Tracker)

Christmas Wish by @kickingitwithkirk (Jensen Ackles x Reader, RPF)

FicMas List by @retrosabers

also you can check out these events and the incredible works they've spawned: @clexmas24, Supernatural Writers Community Prompt-Mas 2024, @the-slumberparty December Daze Challenge, @spnchristmasbingo

*I will add more as time goes on & I'm able to read more

dividers by @firefly-graphics