#and what that could possibly mean for him

[bitchimasnake-sss]

☆ fury unleashed!

── a blue lock fanfiction.

synopsis: when the blue lock boys lose a match and come back bitter 'n all to you. pairing: afab!reader x multiple men [aged up isagi yoichi, rin itoshi, hyoma chigiri, rensuke kunigami, nagi seishiro, reo mikage, oliver aiku.] // separate for all the characters. cw: NOT PROOFREAD. WRITTEN JUST CAUSE I WAS BORED. MDNI. nsfw concludes: mean men, penetration, handjob, blowjob, teasing, nicknames teasing, overstimulation, sex in too many places [shower, locker room, car, etc.], marathon sex, aiku's is slightly lovesick help me. like, share, subscribe guys :) m.list

♡ isagi yoichi!

all this anger and only one way to end it: you!

you knew your own boyfriend, of course. you had seen how his words turned razor-sharp on the field, how his gaze hardened and how he almost ripped his own players to shreds when the game didn't go his way.

but despite it all, isagi yoichi was not a sore loser. in fact, he took every loss as another opportunity to be better. maybe... maybe that's why seeing him like this was a wicked surprise.

"baby?" you had called out from the kitchen as the main door had opened, and then shut just as soon. a loud, rippling bang had reverberated through your apartment as you saw isagi pass you by.

"what's wrong? how was your... match?" you had tried again, calling after him. but isagi had just given you a tight-lipped smile, "don't wanna talk about it. 'm just gonna go shower, wanna join?"

"oh?" you had given him an easy smile, thinking you could knead away the tension from his shoulders as the hot water ran across his muscled body, "'course, baby."

that was thirty minutes ago, and now you could barely stand.

perched against the wet bathroom wall, the same hot water was a soothing sting against yoichi's administrations.

"ha-hah, yoichi!" your words were a rough pant, your eyes closing at the harsh thrusts.

but isagi yoichi was unforgiving.

sinking his canines into your shoulders, hot drool collected over the newly blossomed bruises before being washed down and slipping down your syrupy body.

he pulled away, his reddened lips connecting to your shoulders with a lewd string of glistening saliva. his crazed eyes came to search your face, and he brought up a hand to pull your cheeks into a harsh pout. his words were laden with unresolved anger, "can you fuckin' believe it? he didn't even score."

your words were a lost gurgle, eyes widening as he continued, "i really don't fucking get it. that fuckin' idiot."

the star player didn't even give you a moment to recover, using the same hand to press down on your mouth to suppress your gasps and broken whines.

you choked on your own sounds, his palm flat against your kiss-bitten lips as he continued fucking you into the wall behind you. using all his anger, isagi vowed to ruin you utterly the way he would have the rival team.

"y-ichi." your muffled words reached his ears, even more weak under the sound of the falling water crashing against the bathroom floor. the footballer nodded, half in his senses and half in delirium, "what?"

he pulled his palm back, the skin now tainted with your drool and you burst into a fit of moans, "'m gonna cum ag-again."

"oh?" the man bunched his brows together — as if he had quite forgotten what his actions were doing to you, "are ya?"

you nodded and your eyes snapped shut at his repetitive thrusts within your cunt. barely managing a coherent word, you mewled, "y-yeah. fa... faster, ichi ngh—"

isagi grinned, a man maddened who could only see one goal — and that goal being splitting you on his cock and fucking you even dumber if possible, "c'mon, gimme all of it."

"y-yoichi 'm gon—" your words burst inwards, toes curling and nails scratching down his biceps in a desperate effort to ground you. but despite your desolate reactions, your boyfriend kept fucking into your snug cunt, relishing in the spasming sensation against his needy cock.

as you found yourself coming back to earth, yoichi gently picked you in his arms. his biceps flexed, muscles shifting against your naked body as you slumped against him completely. the water was turned off, and he stepped out of the shower.

as yoichi lay you down on your bed, you smiled up at him for his sweet action, "t-thank you, yoichi."

but he just cocked an eyebrow. his words were nothing more than a soft hiss, "what for? 'm still angry."

oh? the night was still young, it seems.

♡ rin itoshi!

the man with jersey number 10 loses his sanity!

truth be told, there was always this air around rin — the kind that always made everyone assume he was mad. with his icy gaze on the field, and snarls and insults thrown around, it was hard not to assume that rin itoshi was a very bitter man.

but in all honesty, rin was never bitter with you. he tried to sigh away his annoyances, and kiss away his anger with you around. as cringe as it sounded, he couldn't help but melt whenever you met his gaze.

maybe that is why the younger itoshi never quite looked at you as he fucked all of his anger into your weeping cunt.

after a match gone wrong, rin had his hand pushing your face against his locker door as he fucked your pliant, destitute cunt with reckless abandon. his strong grip groped the fat on your hips and thigh, ensuring that each fucking thrust within your heat had you betting your sanity on a losing match.

his ITOSHI: 10 jersey held up by his teeth, hair damp from a match gone wrong, and the ITOSHI tag on his locker rattling with each hard thrust into you.

"fuckin' shit—" the man grunted, and the jersey glided down his milky abs and bunched on his waist. gripping your leg harder, your boyfriend pushed your back further in, deepening the sinful arch. his body chased yours, his chest pressing against your stuttering back.

a steady rhythm of thwap! thwap! thwap! resounded in the abandoned room. and the cool metal against your cheek was a stark contrast to the hot sting against the fat of your ass from his body colliding against yours.

"ri-in" you whined, still meeting each of his thrusts with a sly roll of your own hips despite your reluctant words. your skin burnt with another calculated smack! against your ass and your clawed at the metal — deprived.

seeing the desperate action, rin brought the hand on your head down to your hand and intertwined — such a romantic gesture despite the way he fucked into you as if you were nothing more than a toy.

"yeah— fuck, what?" rin thrust deeper at the desperate echoes of his own name. his achy tip rubbed against your volatile spot, smearing pre against your sodden walls with each careful movement.

"rin, p-please—" limbs trembling, your words almost slurred at the way his hand came back up and squished your cheek against the metal, "please aah— f-fuck."

"please what?" grunting, he brought his fingers to your throbbing clit. pressing swift figures against your, he pressed his chest against your back tighter.

rin repeated, this time with a harsh, little slap to your mewling cunt, "please what?"

"please..." barely managing to move your face under his grasp, you looked back at him. your bleary gaze met his sharp ones, and your wobbling lips sagged open to let out a pathetic request, "fuck me harder."

and rin itoshi — the ever stoic man — laughed. he laughed, trailing the hand that was pressing down your head down to your nape and dragging your entire body back into him and his deprived cock.

each pull back into his muscled body had your limbs spasming, each roll of his hips had him hitting your g-spot and each word past his spit-soaked lips led to your demise.

"fuck you harder?" his hips snapped at a deadly pace, brows bunching at the way his own girlfriend had become so cockdrunk, "you want that?"

you nodded just barely, still under the control of his palm on your nape.

"okay, then." rin hiked up your legs impossibly higher, and your muscles burned with each shove into you, "I'll fuck you harder."

♡ chigiri hyoma!

trust me, meaner than he looks!

"hyoma?" your brows knitted together, a soft frown across your face as you recalled the live telecasting of your boyfriend's match online earlier today.

his team had lost, badly at that. and here you were halfway across the world, just to see chigiri's breath stutter and jaw tighten on your camera screen.

"h-hyoma?" you tried again, just to be met with eerie silence on his end. but being a woman of unyielding devotion, you tried yet again, "'sokay, you guys did your best, didn't... you?"

but the man on videocall just grunted, a sliver of a nod from his side.

"hyoma," you tried one last time, "is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"

and those words had landed you in this position.

"faster."

"b-but hyo—" your own hips jerked, too out of control as you tried to hold the position steady, "i can't. i c-can't do it anymore— nghh—"

with your phone carefully perched against your pillow, it showed your boyfriend all the obscene ways in which your essence dripped out of you and onto your shared bed. the sheets under you were tainted with your honeydew essence, a wayward breath stuck in your throat as you pulled and pushed the rabbit vibrator in and out of your greedy hole.

toes curling, head thrown back, teeth sinking into your bottom lips — it was so, so hard to keep your thighs apart and put on a show for your eerily calm boyfriend. the very same boyfriend who was currently using one hand to control the app and another to lazily tug at his erection.

"h-hyoma—" you whined again and your boyfriend cocked an eyebrow at your disheveled demeanor, as if he wasn't the very cause of it. "why're you whining so much? too much for you?"

and acting as if he were a benevolent man, chigiri clicked the button on his phone and the buzzing ended abruptly. the slightest of smiles tugged at his lips as he hummed, "that better?"

your arched back fell back onto the sheets, your sweat-slicked skin falling limp in disappointment. this wasn't the first time chigiri had shut off your toy, or the second, or even the third. your benevolent boyfriend had been turning the precious toy he had bought you on and off again, and again, and again on his vicious whims.

with a shuddered breath trapped within your chest, you looked at him and whined yet again, "can you ju-jus' fuckin' turn it back on."

"huh?" your pretty boyfriend bunched his eyebrows together and drew closer to his laptop screen. nimble fingers still tugging on his tip, coated with his pre, he almost laughed at your tone, "are you really giving me that fuckin' attitude?"

"n-no." your eyes widened, body coughing up a shiver at the way chigiri's cold words rung through the speaker. you swallowed but your mouth felt awfully dry, "h-hyoma... just please, please turn it on."

"fine." the pro-player pressed the button on the app with reckless abandon, and the toy started up against your drenched, quivering cunt... and then stopped yet again. throwing your head back dangerously, you felt your limbs shake with frustration, "hyoma. please."

and even with your eyes clenched shut, you could hear the slightest of smirks in his words, "say nicely. y'know i don't have it in me to be nice today, baby."

snapping your eyes open, you tried to meet your unsteady gaze onto the phone screen, "i'll be good. i'll be s'good, i p-promise— just please let me fucking... c-cum."

there must have been something worthwhile in your drunk, lewd words that made chigiri finally tap the button on his phone again. and this time, he threw his phone somewhere on his bed, aiming to let the device get lost within the foreign sheets.

this time, he planned to watch the show without any interruptions.

the buzzing against your needy clit, and the shove within your greedy, gummy hole rendered you useless with orgasm upon orgasm till all you were doing was babbling on and on and on about how fucking sensitive you were.

"s-stop." holding your thighs together, you brought them up so that the toy fucked into your pussy with another angle. tears pooled at the edge of your eyes, and you found yourself aching for freedom from this torment. words just a wet plea, you asked, "pl-please ohmygod— hyoma, fuck fuck fuuck—"

with the blood rushing in your ears, you missed your boyfriend sodden, little hum — a warning, "you can do more than that, can't you?"

♡ rensuke kunigami!

swear up and down, he's the devil!

you were sure there was god up there somewhere, because how else could you explain the very re-incarnation of devil that was fucking into your spongy spot? you couldn't quite see his eyes, but if you did, you were sure to find no traces of guilt in rensuke kunigami's eyes for the way he was ruining you.

the muscles in your thighs burned, your limbs pinned upto your chest with his broad palms. perspiration across your body dripped onto him, your soaked back rubbed against his chest as kunigami snapped his hips into your inviting, plush cunt with inhumane stamina.

"c'mon." he panted, hips following the soft rhythm of his syllables, "the last stretch, 's the last."

"fu-fuck, fuck fuck re-rensuk- nghhh—" your nails dug into the very hand that was holding you still, trying to pry him off your malleable body. but it was all in vain, he had already planned your demise.

your head lolled back as you found the pro-played clawing out another orgasm out of you. limbs spasming, lips kiss-bitten and raw, and your poor cunt bulging obscenely with his length within you — you didn't even know how you ended up in this situation.

rensuke had come home with a dangerous glint in his eyes — of course, you hadn't been able to see that.

he had come upto you as you were unloading the clothes from the dryer and had pressed such a sickly sweet hug to your back. his hulking body was steady against yours, and his breath was hot against your neck.

"rensuke?" you had laughed as his grip across your waist grew tighter slowly. bringing up a hand to his hair, you had softly patted him, "what's wrong, ren?"

"think you can help me?" kunigami had breathed the question out so gently, "let me fuck you, yeah? i had a hard day."

and despite being such a simple question, here you were with your throat scratchy and muscles aching.

your boyfriend had planted his feet onto your almost-broken bed with all his strength, using it to leverage nasty, bruising thrusts within your sensitive hole.

"jus-just a bit more." your boyfriend sunk his teeth into your shoulder, and you yelped at the added stimulus, barely coherent with whatever was going on. all you knew was that you were being ravaged by the beast underneath you.

with every mean, little thrust inside you, kunigami's jaw tightened, his muscles flexing and unflexing as he supported your completely limp body. he heaved again, a ragged promise on his tongue, "i promise, just a bit more. jus' hold on a l-little bit f'me, baby."

how were his words so sweet when his actions were not?

"you can hold out for me... ri-" a harsh roll into your cunt, and the man felt himself losing his coherence, "right?"

"uh huh. i- fuck oh ngh— i can, i can." being an ever-loving girlfriend, you nodded. frankly too cockdrunk to really grasp his words, anyways.

a bit of drool threatened past your lips, and all you were aware of was the dreadful coil in the pit of your stomach. it wrapped it's tendrils around your muscles, then your throat and lastly, your sanity.

but kunigami kept on babbling his candied lies, as if blinding you with his words would undo the hell he was unleashing on your poor, sensitive cunt. each word a rough pant, he reminded you, "you're doin' so well for me, holdin' out s-so well for me, aren't you?"

"i- i am, ren." you nodded, and he felt his tip ooze out nasty smears of pre to paint your insides at your pliant reactions. tightening his hand around you and holding you steady, the man brought his skin against you in an accursed symphony of skin upon skin, "good girl, such a fuckin' g-good girl... yeah?"

"just." smack! "a." smack! "little." smack! "more." smack!

his length throbbed inside your spasming, inviting cunt with heinous intentions. fucking into you like he was fucking into a ragdoll, he asked a question — a question you were too fucked dumb to even answer.

"we're going again, right?" kunigami nudged his face next to yours, holding your shivering body as he felt his own body tightening up, "when we finish?"

despite the lack of oxygen in your brain, and lack of logic in your system, your eyes widened as you babbled out your own nonsense chorus, "w-what? ren... but y-you said—"

"—again."

"b-but i can't..." walls spasming, you tried yet again to pry him off, "i can-not."

"but you can." the man pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, the kind that were in clear juxtaposition with the depraved plunges he placed within your heat. he repeated with just the tiniest bit of insanity mixed into his syllables, "you can."

♡ reo mikage!

got an heir wrapped 'round my finger!

"reo?" you had cocked your head to look at the mikage industry's heir's sideways, trying to check if he was okay after that failure of a practice match, "you okay?"

he hummed out a faint yes but his knuckles tightened against the steering wheels far too easily. chuckling, the words came out somewhat strained, "of course, why wouldn't i be?"

you had tried to put a palm on his thigh, just to find the clothed muscle tighten, "can i help?"

the car steered sideways on the long-abandoned road, now coming to a steady crawl as he parked it.

reo's voice shook, eyes clenching shut as he addressed you again, "can you?"

despite the dangerous lilt to his words, you couldn't help but trail the hand on his thigh somewhat higher, teasing him. you smiled, and your lips curled so cashmere at your lewd intentions, "i can help take your mind off of things, reo."

his veiny hand gripped the headrest harder, manicured nails indenting frenzied dents onto the expensive leather. strands of his hair fell in front of his face in shuddering gasps as you flicked your wrist with each tug of his sensitive cock.

down on your knees for the man, you looked up at him with a sinful gaze — the kind that had reo hiss out weak moans of your name with each one of your reckless flicks.

"reo, are you okay?" you purred, lips curling deviously at the way his entire body stuttered out a falsetto. from the bunched eyebrows, to the quivering lips, to his lead-like limbs — reo mikage was rendered useless under your kitten licks and sultry tugs, under your already pearlescent hands.

how many times had he come undone, anyways? two? three?

"thr-three." reo breathed out shakily.

the man attempted to nod quick after, trying to forge a sign of sanity despite his shaking thighs and curled toes.

oh? did you ask that out loud?

"three?" you cocked an eyebrow, the same vicious smile still tugging at your lips like you were planning to suck the soul out of him tonight. "then, you can still go for one more, right?"

at your purr, reo's eyes widened, "n-no, this is— 'senough. i f-feel better, i promise."

but your tugs didn't halt, still such cruelly pulling at his sensitive tip, "but you're being such a good boy for me, right?"

at the petname, reo let out such an obscenely saccharine moan. eyes rolling back, he ran his helpless fingers through his soaked, hued hair. thighs trembling all over again as the mikage industry heir almost cried, "y-yes."

maybe you were a woman capable of mercy. because you stopped the slow, dragged out flicks of your hands against his flushed tip slowly. half-standing, you leaned to press a kiss to the tip of his flushed nose.

"tell me, baby." you cooed, pressing another kiss to his cheek, and another to the side of his swollen lips. dragging your vixen-like figure over his body, you caged him in so helplessly, "tell me, think you can handle if i use you?"

"i— ngh ple-please." and you heard the most sinful whimper tear out of reo's throat, eyes all but rolling into the back of his skull with the way you straddled his hips and pressed his wet, sensitive dick up and down your syrupy folds.

still playing with the flushed mushroom tip, you found it all-too-easy to hook the tip against the hood of your drumming clit. repeating the action again and again, you found yourself lazily biting out a moan of his name.

afterall, reo mikage was being so nice.

he was holding his breath in his throat, clenching his fist around the leather, biting down obscene curses — all in an effort to be good for you.

so, ofcourse, you had to reward him, didn't you?

with a hasty roll of your hips, your ravenous cunt pulled in the tip of his aching cock. inch after inch, the veiny, overstimulated muscle stretched within you and—

"—fu-fuck, fuck, fuckk." reo panted, eyes widening and body shivering when he let out the salacious beads of his orgasm within your voracious cunt.

"'msorry, 'msor-ry," he clenched his eyes shut, not quite looking at you as you were pumped with his essence, "i did-didn't mean to... to so— soon."

when his jitters subsided, you hooked a careful finger under his sweaty jaw to pull him upwards. a soft hiss on your tongue, "feel better?"

reo nodded softly, and you smiled so easily at him. but maybe you missed that glint in his eyes, or maybe you forgot that reo's play-style was copying. because now his fingers pumped in and out of you, a sly smile on his spent face as his demolished you.

reo mikage said it real slow, "tell me, angel... think you can handle if i use you?"

♡ nagi seishiro!

breaking that pretty cunt tonight!

"sei!" you had turned your head from the couch to the door that had opened to reveal your boyfriend, "hey!"

hair damp and face monotonous, he had given you a nod, "hey."

"something wrong..?" your voice had trailed off as the man walked upto you and easily picked you up in his arms without even as much as a sliver of explanation.

"need a shower," nagi seishiro had quietly answered, yet you could hear the slight rattle in the fractures of his words, "just tired."

"s-sei... c-can I move?" now, your manicured fingers kneaded his shoulders, trying to ease away the tense feeling lodged within the fibres of his muscles. the snowy-haired man had his head in the crook of your neck, lapping on the soaked skin lazily at the slow gyrations of your hips against his.

sitting in the heated bath, it was your idea to cockwarm him, your idea to sit excruciatingly still to let your boyfriend feel better. and yet, as your slick glossed over his muscled thighs, you shuddered out a pathetic sigh, "s-sei, please..?"

it just had been so long, almost felt like an eternity with the way your drooling cunt kept clenching around him — brewing up a violent storm of heady desires in the bottom of your stomach.

"se-i." the syllable rolled of your tongue with another desolate plea but nagi just tipped his head back, ignoring your forlorn words.

the damp strands of hair stuck to his forehead and glinted under the overhead ambient lighting. he sighed, and his deltoids flexed as he stretched his limbs out on the bathtub's edge.

biting your lip, you tried again. this time growing mouthy, "sei, jus' let me move."

the man cocked an eyebrow, a feeble smile tugging at his lips with the way your aching cunt seemed to suck him in, "nah, don't feel like it yet."

"i-i'll do all the work," you found yourself striking a deal with a demon reincarnate, found yourself pleading to a deaf god, "i promise— jus' let me move."

at the statement, your stoic boyfriend laughed. and once done, he nodded — an action so soft that you would have missed if not for the fact that your entire body was finetuned to his. at his action, your depraved hips caught up a lewd rhythm. grinding up and down, his flushed divot caught against your fraught spots and with each manic plunge.

"shi—" his usually downturned eyes widened for just a second, a restrained mewl lodged in the back of his throat as your greedy pussy sucked up the sloppy, spilling pre, "s-slower, baby."

but you just looked at him so dolefully — with your wretched, doe eyes tearing and lips quivering, "n-no."

"can't go slower?"

"don— don't want to."

and despite the tension etched into his sore muscles and the meagre patience, nagi laughed. plump lips curling up, he planted a careful hand on your soft waist to support your delicate figure, "that good?"

after an eternity of cockwarming, how could nagi seishiro even ask you if it was 'that' good? how could he ask that when practically each trivial stutter of his achy mushroom tip against your walls had you gasping for air and throwing your head back?

but you didn't have the coherence to say all that, so, clawing your nails down the same flexed deltoids, you nodded vigorously, "mhm— y-yeah, so good sei—"

with each nod, your body shivered and cunt mewled distraught at the way his cock split you apart at his sheer length.

bringing his quick fingers up to your face, nagi plucked away the damp strands of hair from your flushed face with a soft sigh. tucking the same stand behind your ears, nagi rolled his pelvis once and you fell forward onto his chest.

his lips ghosting over the shell of your eyes, the pro-player smiled, "having fun?"

nodding again, you stole another needy gyration or two as if nagi couldn't feel it, as if he couldn't feel you — you and your filthy, yearning pussy pulsating around his dick.

you heard the slightest click of his tongue, "'msorry then."

"f-for what..?" before you could raise your head to meet his eyes, or to question his words — nagi seishiro splayed his fingers against the fat of your hips and pulled you up and down on his whims.

with each nasty smack! of skin on skin, the man seemed to hit a deeper spot and you— oh, you were seeing stars.

head lolled, eyes rolling back and nails still digging into his flesh to mark him — you came on nagi's dick with a few, mean strokes into your heat, "jes—jesus fuck! se-i... sei— ohmygod—"

still now out of your orgasmic bliss, still caught up in the trance of his skin against yours, you almost jumped when you heard nagi seishiro whisper again, "'msorry. trust me, i am."

wobbling lips too tired to conjure up a reply, you just looked up to a strange, almost barbaric look flash in his irises. his hips snapped into yours, his cock ramming into your bruised walls with an inhumane force.

"sorry, babe." the pro-player breathed out a half-baked excuse, "sorry— think 'm gonna break this pretty pussy tonight."

and you didn't miss the slightly sadistic resonance in his words. oh no.

♡ oliver aiku!

fwb aren't supposed to do this, right??

"what d'you want?" you had slammed the door open to see the man of the very hour — oliver aiku — standing at your door, leaning against your wall all so nonchalantly as if it weren't three in the morning.

rolling your eyes, you regarded the tired man, "what? hoe no.3 busy that you had to come to me?"

"don't be ridiculous," aiku slipped past you and into the familiar apartment he had spent far too many nights in. his cadence dropped low, "you're hoe no.3."

although bitter syllables clung like dew onto your glossy lips, you closed the door behind you anyways. "what do you want? we didn't have any plans today, righ—"

"needed some help." and the former captain found himself turning on his heel to face you, "needed to blow off some steam. please."

well, plans be damned. this was the first time the oliver aiku had uttered the word 'please' to you.

"oh my god—" one of your fists clenching against the fabric of his shirt while the other rubbed desperate figures against your sloppy clit, you barely held your gaze steady against his heterochrome eyes.

he had been so desperate — oliver aiku had been so desperate — that the dress that you were wearing had been hastily bunched up on your waist, and his shirt had stayed on.

he had kissed you, and then he had kissed you again and again and again till his lips were bruised and swollen and his head wasn't quite screwed on right.

shoving your figure against the nearest wall, the man had caged you in with a forbidden whimper of your name. his muscles shook, eyes searching your salvaged form like a predator on hunt, "i tried going on a run, i hit the gym— fuck, didn't fucking help."

the clicking of the belt, followed by a swift shove within your velvety hole, and you heard the man audibly hiss at the feeling of his tense erection bruising your walls with every dragged out, filthy plunge. he mumbled false nothings, praying to a deity that would never answer, "i tried everything. b-but you—"

now, clenching his jaw, the former u-20 captain tightened his hold against one of your thighs, stretching the limb out so that he could fuck into your sopping cunt harder. all while another hand supported your crumbling figures against the creaking bed.

"too much? too much?" meeting your pelvis against his in a lewd dance, the man grunted out strained words, "sorry— 'msorry, tough... tough day today, ma."

"mhm," you nodded, your sugary lips falling into an easy pout, "'s okay, what's wr-rong?"

oliver scoffed — you and him were nothing more than a series of horny, reckless favours, and yet you were looking up at him like you meant your question.

usually, your sessions were fast-paced; the sound of skin on skin, damp hair, scratches down his skin and bruises blossoming on your skin where people could see — rabid animals in a wicked arrangement. that's all you two could ever be.

but today, his thrusts were slower, more calculated despite the anger that lingered in each movement of his lagged limbs. and if you had been in your senses, you could see the sliver of yearning in his eyes as he took in your shaking figure under his gaze.

"i—" words a wet gurgle, he tried to think of the reason he was fucking you like this — soo slow, like you meant something more, "s-shit match."

"oh— aah—a-aiku!" whatever reply you had thought of dissolved as oliver shoved his tongue in your mouth. the muscles caught in a lewd dance, the pro-player tried to shove down any thoughts. moaning against him, you sounded so sinful... did you always sound like aiku's demise or was he imagining things in his lucid state?

when he parted from you, the glistening strings lingered between you — a haunting sign of the way you were making him feel. so, obviously aiku just clutched your leg harder — almost bruising — and fucked into your cervix.

body moving mechanically, each crevice of his mind was occupied by you. how soft your skin felt under his skin, how warm you were, how your breath hitched with another orgasm knocking down your insides.

and as you threw your head back, exposing your shuddering neck and chest, you clenched your eyes like you always did. weak fingers kept rubbing frenzied circles onto your drenched cunt, rosy cheeks scrunched up in a forbidden delight — oliver had seen this scene so many times, then... why did he feel so utterly stupid looking at you?

didn't he come here to blow off steam..? and yet, the pro-player felt like he had found more things to be worried about as he found himself spilling the pearlescent fluid within your plush cunt.

well, nothing another round or two couldn't fix, right?

a/n: did you know aiku is his first name and oliver is his last?? bro. insane. anyways make isagi and bachira kiss u losers i know they wanna. also, im sowry cause i know some part is long and some isn't, i have been writing this over the course of many days, hence, the inconsistency in writing style and length :') tagging: @fantastically-imperfect @moodswing101 @isabellalovesyou @mininji @scara-simp69 @heartfeltstarry @actuallynarii <3 hope you enjoy mwuah mwuah <3 m.list

[wholoveseggs]

Stocking Stuffer

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

♡♡Merry Christmas♡♡

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!reader} Elijah spends the season giving to others, but tonight, it’s your turn to show him how much he means to you.

3.4k words - Warnings: sssmuuuttt, riding, festive roleplay, stockings (the sexy kind), praise, oral (m!receiving), blood drinking, slightly sub elijah (if you squint) && a santa hat...

@starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05 @sweetieseven

@xoxo-shy @nova-j @decaffeinatedparadisepost @fandom-princess-forevermore @theotherworld97

@origshipfan @cocoabliss @eternalnoble @darth-laeka

Christmas time is always a busy time of year, especially when you have a big family. There were decorations, shopping, baking, and more decorating. Elijah had been running around for weeks making sure that his family would have the best Christmas possible.

You had spent entire days shopping with him, watching him meticulously pick out the right gifts for his family and friends. You helped him wrap the gifts, decorate the house, and hang stockings. He was endlessly giving, endlessly sweet. Yet, as much as you loved his dedication, something tugged at your heart. Watching him scurry off to take care of yet another errand, you couldn’t help but smile—but it wasn’t without noticing how tired he looked.

But there was one thing that bothered you. Elijah was taking on too much by himself. You wanted to show him how you appreciated him, how much you loved him. But every time you tried to take something off his plate, he refused. He had a certain pride, a desire to shoulder everything alone. But love meant knowing when to intervene.

And tonight, you would.

While he was out doing errands, you took some time to set up. You grabbed a santa hat that was hanging in your closet and put it on. Then, you kept looking around deep in your closet for the perfect present to wear. When you finally found what you were looking for, you grinned.

It was a pair of stockings, not the kind you hang over a fireplace. These were the type that were only for Elijah's eyes. You had purchased them for an elf costume you wore last Halloween, and they had been tucked away in the back of your closet. You had a red one and a green one, both with little pom-poms at the top. You slipped them on and looked in the mirror. There was a childlike glee in the way you giggled at your reflection. Elijah was going to love this.

You took off everything else you had been wearing. All that remained was the stockings and the very important santa hat. At first you didn't know where to sit, perhaps the chair in the corner? No, that's not quite right.

You decided on sitting on the bed, your legs crossed and waiting. Nervously anticipating Elijah's arrival, you bit your lip and tried to get comfortable.

Candles were lit, twinkle lights hung, a bottle of whiskey was ready on the nightstand, and your favorite playlist was ready to go. Even with all the romantic touches, you could feel the nervous energy bubbling under your skin. What if he was too exhausted? What if the moment fell flat?  

The front door opened, and the sound of bags rustling filled the hallway. Usually, you would be rushing downstairs to help him. But this time you sat there quietly. Your heart pounded, each thud matching the rhythm of his approaching footsteps

"Y/N?" He called out. You didn't respond.

There was a loud sound of bags dropping and him rushing up the stairs. "Y/N?!" He called out, worried.

You grinned when the door flew open and Elijah ran in, his hair a mess, and his shirt half untucked. His face was full of worry and his chest heaved as he caught his breath. "Are you oka-"

Elijah froze mid-sentence when he saw you sitting on the bed. The soft, colorful lights of the room gave your skin a glow, and the candles illuminated the space. His eyes scanned your body, from the santa hat on your head to the red and green stockings on your legs, and all the bare skin in between.

"Merry Christmas." You said softly.

Elijah swallowed and took a step toward you. "Am I dreaming?"  

You smiled and shook your head, slowly uncrossing your legs and leaning back onto the bed. "I want to show you how thankful I am. For everything you do. For being so good to everyone."  

His lips turned up in a smirk. He started walking towards the bed and began unbuttoning his shirt. You noticed the small details. A slight tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders relaxed as he stepped closer. The weight of his responsibilities seemed to melt away with every button he undid. "Oh, I see. So, this is all just to say thank you, then?"

"No," you said softly. "It's to show how much I love you."

He tossed his shirt to the side and knelt onto the bed, crawling his way up between your legs. His hands moved up your legs slowly and stopped at the tops of the stockings. He pulled on the little pom-pom and let it go, listening to it snap against your thigh.

"I love you too." He leaned down and kissed you softly.

Your fingers dug into his biceps as he pulled you closer, your legs wrapping around his hips. His hand pressed into your lower back, holding you in place as his lips began to travel across your jaw and down to your neck. You tilted your head back, giving him better access.

"I do have a special request." You moaned as his lips grazed your neck.

"Anything." He murmured.

You ran your hand through his hair, tugging gently as his tongue ran along the side of your neck. Then you pulled the santa hat off your head and placed it on his. You pulled away to see the red hat against his dark hair and couldn't help but giggle.

"It looks cute on you." You admitted.

He gave you a mock glare, his playful side shining through, as if daring you to say it again. The contrast between his serious demeanor and the ridiculous hat made your laughter all the sweeter.

You kept your eyes locked with his as you tugged on his belt buckle, pushing it open and pulling his pants down. He pulled away and finished undressing. Standing there in just a santa hat, his broad chest rising and falling, the glow from the lights dancing across his skin.

"Dear Santa," you began, biting your bottom lip. "I've been a very good girl."

"And what is it that you want for Christmas?" He asked, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

"You."

Elijah grinned, his dark eyes raking over your body, and leaned down to kiss you again. Your hands ran up his arms, across his shoulders, and down his chest.

You could feel his hands moving up and down your sides. Every so often his fingers would dig into your skin, reminding you of his strength. You arched your back as he slid his hands down and pulled your hips toward him, his touch igniting a trail of heat. 

"You look so sexy in these stockings." He groaned.

"They're elf stockings."

"Sexiest fucking elf I've ever seen." He whispered before kissing down your neck again.

"I love when you swear."

Elijah chuckled against your neck, the sound vibrating against your skin, and then bit down. You yelped and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close. He sucked the spot where his teeth had just been, soothing the ache.

Then, his hand ran down your stomach and between your legs. Slowly, his fingers moved up and down. Teasing you, drawing out little whimpers. The ache inside you grew unbearable, every stroke of his fingers leaving you trembling.

You were already wet. You had been anticipating his touch for too long. But, as usual, he liked to tease you. It was his way of getting even.

But tonight wasn't about you, it was about him. So, you pulled his hand away and brought it up to your mouth. You made sure his eyes were on yours as you licked his fingers.

You were delighted when you heard his sharp intake of breath and felt his grip on your thigh tighten. You wrapped your lips around his fingers and sucked a little harder, swirling your tongue just the way you knew he enjoyed. The low groan that escaped his lips sent a shiver down your spine.

He watched as you swirled your tongue around his finger and then released him with a soft pop.

"Lay back," you whispered, your voice soft but commanding.

Elijah smirked, his eyes dark with desire, and did as you told him. While you leaned over him, there was a fleeting moment where you simply admired him. His chest rose and fell in anticipation, and his dark eyes were locked on you like you were the only thing that mattered. His vulnerability, his strength, the unwavering love in his eyes. You wanted to give him more than pleasure. You wanted him to feel adored.

You kissed his neck, nipped at his skin, your lips lingered at the hollow of his throat, savoring the slight hitch in his breath before trailing lower. Your lips brushed across his chest, leaving soft kisses in your wake, moving down to his stomach.  

His fingers threaded into your hair, his other hand gripped the sheets tightly. The faint tremor in his grip told you how much he was holding back, letting you take control. You kissed his hips, and then ran your tongue along the crease where his thigh met his hip. His breathing grew heavier, and the muscles in his arms tensed.  

You licked the underside of his length and looked up at him. He was watching you intently, his pupils dilated, the intensity in his gaze making your skin flush.  

Your tongue ran across the tip of his cock, tasting him. Then you wrapped your lips around the tip and swirled your tongue. His hands gripped your hair, holding you there, the gentle tension making your scalp tingle.  

You sucked on the tip of his cock and slowly took more of him into your mouth, your tongue flat against the underside of his length.  

He let out a soft moan as you took more and more of him. Each sound he made sent a spark of heat through you, fueling your movements. When he reached the back of your throat, you hummed, enjoying the way his grip on your hair tightened and his breathing picked up.  

You bobbed up and down his length, using your hand and your mouth to give him as much pleasure as possible. His hand was still wrapped in your hair, gently guiding you. His moans encouraged you to go faster. To take him deeper.  

You felt his cock twitch in your mouth and his grip on your hair tighten. You knew that meant he was close, so you slowed down. You wanted to drag it out. Make him desperate.  

"Fuck," he groaned, his head falling back onto the pillow, the santa hat slipping off his head.  

You continued to suck his cock. Slowly. Savoring the weight of him on your tongue. Enjoying the way he tasted. Enjoying the way he clung to the sheets, his muscles tensing. You enjoyed the noises he made. Soft moans. Groans. Begging. He wasn’t just beautiful. He was utterly undone beneath you.  

You knew he was trying to hold back, always the gentleman. But tonight, you didn’t want him to be the gentleman. Tonight, you wanted him to be greedy.  

So you pushed his cock all the way to the back of your throat and hummed. You felt his body tense up, his hand gripping your hair. His breathing was ragged, and his hips bucked. And he finally let himself go.  

His cum filled the back of your throat. You swallowed every last drop, the salty warmth making you hum with satisfaction. You licked his length, making sure to clean up any excess. You pressed one last kiss against the tip of his cock and pulled away, your lips tingling as you smiled.  

His chest was heaving, his eyes closed. His features softened, completely at peace. You could tell he was enjoying the post-orgasm bliss. You smiled, feeling rather pleased with yourself. You did a damn good job.  

But, the night wasn’t over yet.  

You gently crawled on top of him, straddling his hips. Your hands pressed into his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat, and his eyes fluttered open.  

"Mmm," he hummed, his voice low and velvety.  

"May I sit on your lap, Santa?" you teased, biting your lip.  

He let out a soft laugh, his chest rumbling as he nodded. Then his hands moved to your thighs, his fingers running across the lace and silk stockings. You grabbed the fallen santa hat and placed it back on his head. Then you reached down and placed his hands on your ass.  

"Santa needs to fill this naughty elf’s stocking," you teased, running your hands over his chest.  

He squeezed your ass, his dark eyes glittering. "Oh, I’ll fill your stocking. I’ll make sure it’s stuffed."  

You giggled, leaning down to kiss him. Your breasts pressed against his chest, and you could feel his cock pressing against your stomach, his arousal already returning.  

You reached between your bodies, guiding him to your entrance. The head of his cock nudged against you, slick and hot, as you slowly sank onto him. The stretch was exquisite, a perfect mix of pleasure and pressure as he filled you completely. You gasped against his lips, his breath hitching at the feeling of you enveloping him. His hands gripped your hips firmly, his fingers digging in just enough to steady you as you adjusted, your bodies perfectly aligned.

Slowly, you began to rock back and forth, letting him slide in and out. Your hands pressed against his chest for leverage, his skin warm beneath your fingers.  

You were already so turned on from earlier, that it didn't take long for your body to respond. His hands ran up and down your back, encouraging you.

"That's it. Good elf," he praised.

You let out a breathless laugh, tilting your head back and letting his cock slide in and out of you. You picked up the pace, riding him harder. Your hips rolled and his hands gripped your waist.

You could feel the pressure building in the pit of your stomach. He was so deep, filling you up perfectly. His hands held you tight, and his eyes locked with yours. You took one of his hands and placed it on your throat, encouraging him to hold you there.

His hand pressed against your throat, gently squeezing. Not enough to hurt, just enough to add a new sensation. Your mouth opened, a soft gasp escaped.

He smiled at you, his eyes hooded, and his hair messy. The santa hat was barely hanging on. You felt yourself get wetter. The sight of him underneath you, the feel of his cock inside you, the pressure of his hand on your throat, it was all too much.

The orgasm tore through your body, waves of pleasure washed over you. Your nails dug into his chest as your back arched. Your eyes closed, and you cried out his name.

Elijah's hands held you in place, keeping you steady as your body shuddered. He whispered words of praise and encouragement. He told you how beautiful you were, how amazing you felt. His voice was like velvet.

When the orgasm subsided, you slumped against his chest. Your breathing was heavy, and your body was warm.

Elijah pressed a kiss against your forehead and then rolled over, placing you on the bed beneath him. The santa hat long gone.

He hooked one of your legs around his hips, feeling the stocking against his skin. You were so pretty, your cheeks flushed, your eyes sparkling, and a smile on your lips.

He took your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours, and then pressed them against the bed. Slowly, he eased himself back inside of you. Your body was sensitive and still buzzing from the orgasm. So he took his time, making sure you were enjoying yourself as much as he was.

His hips began to move. Slow, sensual, deep thrusts. His lips brushed across your neck, you could feel his fangs against your skin. But he didn't bite. Instead, he left a trail of kisses along your jugular. You knew he wanted to sink his teeth into your neck. But he wouldn't. Not until you told him it was okay.

Your eyes met, and you tilted your head back. You pressed a finger against your neck, an invitation.

"Go on," you whispered.

His eyes darkened, his teeth grazed the skin of your neck. Your breath caught in your throat as his lips moved to the spot on your neck where your pulse was the strongest.

There was a brief moment of pain. A pinch. Then, your entire body filled with euphoria. He held you like you were glass, so careful and precise.

With each sip, your body responded. Your hips rolled. Your toes curled. You let out a soft moan. His hips were still moving in a perfect rhythm, his cock hitting the sweet spot deep inside you.

Elijah's hand slid between your bodies and found your clit. He began to circle it with his fingers, applying the right amount of pressure.

You felt your muscles tense, your back arch, and another orgasm build. It was stronger this time. The pressure coiled tighter, and you let yourself fall into it completely. Your eyes rolled, and your legs trembled.

The room was filled with moans, groans, and gasps. Skin against skin. The two of you chasing bliss.

And then, everything came to a crescendo. Your entire body lit up, the pleasure so intense it bordered on overwhelming. Your vision blurred, and your ears rang. Pleasure coursed through every fiber of your being. Your body was shivering. Your nails dug into his skin, leaving marks.

He drank deeply, tasting the euphoria in your blood. His own orgasm followed soon after. He came hard, his body shuddering.

When his teeth left your neck, he ran his tongue over the wound. Closing it up and soothing the ache. Then, he kissed the spot, his lips lingering.

You laid there, breathless. Your chest heaving, the santa hat was somehow underneath you, and your stockings were a mess, torn and twisted on your thighs.  

He rolled off of you, staring at the ceiling with a stupid grin on his face.  

"You’ve definitely been very good this year," he said softly.  

For the first time in weeks, he truly seemed at ease. The lines of stress that creased his face were replaced with a contented glow. The sight filled you with pride.  

You smiled, getting off the bed and handing him the bottle of whiskey. He sat up, his chest glistening with sweat, and opened the bottle. He took a big swig, his eyes roaming over your naked body.  

"What?" you teased, raising an eyebrow.  

He put the bottle down and grabbed your hips, pulling you onto his lap. "I'm afraid I'll have to keep you."  

You giggled, grabbing the santa hat and putting it back on his head. Then you wrapped your arms around his neck as you pressed your forehead to his. "I think I’d be okay with that."  

For a moment, the two of you sat there in comfortable silence. His hands rested on your hips, thumbs idly stroking your skin as he leaned back, taking in your presence. "You’ve given me a lot of gifts over the years, but this might just be the best one yet."  

"You deserve it," you said softly, running your fingers through his dark hair. "You give so much to everyone else. You deserve to have someone give back to you for a change."  

His grip tightened slightly, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "I don’t think you realize just how much you mean to me." His voice was low, steady, filled with an intimacy that made your chest tighten.  

You kissed him gently, savoring the moment. "I love you, Elijah."  

"I love you, too," he murmured against your lips.  

The warmth of the room seemed to wrap around the two of you as he shifted, pulling a blanket over your shoulders. "Now, I think santa’s elf needs some rest before I keep her up all night," he teased, his signature smirk returning.  

You laughed, nestling closer to him as you rested your head on his chest. The faint scent of whiskey lingered as his hand traced lazy patterns along your back.  

The world outside faded. No more stress, no errands, no responsibilities. For tonight, it was just the two of you, wrapped in the glow of candlelight and the quiet hum of contentment.  

"Merry Christmas, my love," he whispered.

You smiled against his skin, closing your eyes. "Merry Christmas, Elijah."  

[nhlclover]

3, 2, 1! LUKE HUGHES

— event masterlist !

pairing: bratt!sister!reader x luke hughes

summary: amidst the glittering chaos of a new year's eve party, you attempt to find closure with the boy you've been crushing on since you came to new jersey.

warnings: bratt!sister, jespers younger sister, brief mentions of drinking, a big ol' kiss

wc: 1.31k

notes: 11 of 12 in my xmas celebration! not technically christmas but i love new years first kiss plots!!

The evening begins in a blur of anticipation, a mingling of nerves and excitement that coils in your stomach like a restless storm. New Jersey isn’t where you thought you’d find yourself spending the holidays, but with Jesper’s insistence and the comfort of your brother’s familiar presence, you had stayed. And now, you’re en route to the Devils’ New Year’s party, clad in a deep navy sequined mini dress that glitters like the night sky, trying to pretend your heart isn’t racing for reasons that have nothing to do with the party.

Jesper’s hands rest casually on the steering wheel, but his eyes flick towards you every so often, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re nervous,” he says, breaking the silence.

“Am not,” you reply too quickly, fiddling with the rings that adorn your fingers.

Jesper huffs a laugh. “Right. So, who’s the lucky guy you’re hoping to kiss at midnight?”

You roll your eyes, fighting the flush creeping up your neck. “No one. I���m just going to celebrate and have fun, okay?”

He hums thoughtfully. “Not even Luke?”

The name hits you like a slap, your head snapping towards him. “Why would you bring up Luke?”

Jesper grins now, openly amused. “Oh, come on. Just because I didn’t go to fancy, smart people school like you doesn’t mean I’m stupid. You should see the way you two look at each other. It’s… gross.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you cross your arms, leaning back into the car seat as you glare at Jesper. Moving to New Jersey for hockey, and heading to Princeton to play D1, had been a whirlwind in itself. You hadn’t anticipated the move would also bring a perfectly sweet and charming boy into your life as well.

Every interaction with Luke had an undercurrent of something that felt almost electric. His teasing remarks always carried a hint of sincerity, and his soft smiles lingered just a second too long. You weren’t blind to the way his gaze would find you across a room, or the way your pulse quickened whenever he was near. But neither of you had crossed the invisible line between harmless flirtation and something more, leaving you in this frustrating limbo of uncertainty.

Your throat tightens as you fumble for a rebuttal, but nothing comes. He notices.

“Exactly,” Jesper says, his voice laced with triumph. You open your mouth to retort, but Jesper cuts you off. “Look, all I’m saying is that you’ve got an opportunity tonight. New Year’s Eve, champagne, fireworks—literally the most romantic setup possible. If you like him, just… do something about it. It’s not that hard.”

You bite your lip, Jesper’s words rattling around in your brain. Could you? Could you really make the first move? Or, more terrifyingly, what if you were wrong? What if Luke didn’t feel the same way, and you ruined everything?

As the car pulls up to the party, Jesper glances at you, his usual grin softened into something gentler. “Trust me,” he says as if he could read the little thoughts of uncertainty running through your mind. “He likes you.”

The party is already in full swing when you walk in, the hum of music and the buzz of conversation creating an atmosphere thick with celebration. The room is a wash of twinkling lights, champagne flutes, and laughter. You smooth your hands over your dress, the sequins catching the light with every movement, and try to swallow the lump in your throat.

Jesper winks at you before disappearing into the crowd, leaving you to navigate the throng of people on your own. And then, almost as if drawn by some magnetic force, your eyes find him.

He’s leaning casually against the bar, dressed in dark jeans and a Ralph Lauren sweater that fits just right—effortlessly polished yet entirely approachable. His brown curls are longer than when you last saw them, sitting in a boyish heap on top of his head, and his expression is easygoing as he laughs at something one of his teammates says. But the moment he catches sight of you, his face changes. His posture straightens, and a flicker of something — relief? Awe? — crosses his face. His gaze sweeps over you, lingering a beat too long on your dress, and you feel heat rising to your cheeks.

But before either of you can act, someone claps a hand on Luke’s shoulder, pulling his attention away, and a cluster of teammates intercepts you. The moment is gone.

The night becomes a frustrating dance, a game of cat and mouse where you’re always just out of reach. You catch glimpses of Luke across the room, his head turning as if searching for you, but something — or someone — always gets in the way. One time, you enter the lounge area and spot him on the other side, his eyes lighting up when they meet yours. But just as you step forward, someone grabs your arm, pulling you into a conversation about your studies at Princeton. By the time you politely excuse yourself, Luke is gone. Again.

You find yourself checking the clock more often than you care to admit. Time feels like sand slipping through your fingers. The minutes tick closer to midnight, the air buzzing with anticipation as people gather their champagne flutes and prepare for the countdown. Your heart sinks with every passing second you don’t see him. You resign yourself to the fact that this night might end like so many others — with a lingering sense of what could have been.

The final countdown begins at thirty seconds. The room erupts in excitement, voices growing louder with each passing number. You lean against a high-top table, frustration seeping into your bones as you watch couples and friends gather in anticipation. Your chest feels tight, disappointment creeping in as the seconds tick closer to the new year.

10… 9… 8…

You scan the room one last time, half-hoping, half-defeated—until you see him. Luke bursts into the room, his expression frantic as his eyes search the crowd. When they finally meet yours, a visible wave of relief washes over him.

7… 6… 5…

He’s moving toward you now, weaving through the throng of people with long, purposeful strides. Your breath catches as the crowd seems to part for him, every other noise and movement fading into nothing.

4… 3… 2... 1...

He reaches you just as the final seconds vanish, his hands finding your hips, pulling you flush against him. The room erupts in cheers, a cacophony of “Happy New Year!” echoing around you, but all you feel is Luke. His lips crash against yours with a fervor that takes your breath away, his hands anchoring you to him as though he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You kiss back without hesitation, your arms winding around his shoulders to pull him closer, your fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sweater. It’s a kiss that’s been building for months, maybe longer, and it’s everything—soft and urgent, sweet and electric.

When you finally break apart, the world feels fuzzy around the edges, the noise of the party and the faint sound of Auld Lang Syne fading into a distant hum. Luke’s forehead rests lightly against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he searches your face.

“We’ve waited too long for that,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

You don’t trust your voice to respond, so you nod, your fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater.

The corners of Luke’s mouth lift into a soft smile. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” you manage to whisper back, your lips brushing his once more as the words leave your mouth.

Around you, the party rages on, but in this moment, it’s just the two of you — finally on the same page, finally saying all the things your hearts had been trying to tell each other for months.

[calcifiedunderland]

The Prefect’s Kiss~

—When a Night Raven College’s housewarden falls under the Sleeping Curse, only one person can wake them up.

Riddle Rosehearts, Azul Ashengrotto, Kalim al-Asim x gn! Reader

“Oh! How terrible! Oh woe is me! How could this happen?!”

Crowley wailed at the news, sobbing fake tears beneath his mask. “What will I tell the parents?! The press?! How will I be able to afford vacation- I MEAN funding for my wonderful students?!”

Crewel rolled his eyes. He’d actually feel sorry for the Headmage if he was actually crying tears. The tissue clutched in Crowley’s fist was still dry.

Trein sighed, “this is the antidote recipe for Sleeping Death. Although, the materials are extremely hard to come by.” Crewel scanned the paper, noting the ingredients. “The recipe is possible, although they are quite expensive.” Crowley cringed, “how much will it be?” He screeched at the amount Trein said.

Meanwhile, Crewel muttered to himself. “The only other option is possibly true love’s kiss.” He looked up, “well, I’ll get the ingredients first thing in the-“ He stopped. Where Crowley was standing, was now a few black feathers fluttering down to the carpet. Crewel’s face fell, “oh no…”

In Ramshackle dorm, the Headmage chuckled nervously, sweating. You stared in disbelief, “I… honestly can’t believe that happened?” You were beyond shocked to hear that a Housewarden of all students had been knocked out with Sleeping Death. Crowley nodded wisely, “And I have decided to generously ask you to do the honors!”

“Huh?!” You stared incredulously at the Headmage as he ushered you out the door. He looked cheerful, “ah, aren’t I so gracious? I’m reuniting you with your true love!” You stared at him, jaw dropped, “HUH?!”

Riddle Rosehearts

♥️ The Headmage’s speech about True Love’s Kiss echoed in your head. You’d admitted to your friends that you had just a tiny, itty-bitty crush on your beloved Teapot-Tyrant. You didn’t know if he’d ever like you back, even though Ace swore up and down that Riddle gave you special treatment when you, Ace, and Deuce got into trouble (aka gently scolding you while they got collared and yelled at)

♥️ You didn’t want to give yourself false hope, even though you got butterflies every time Riddle personally waited on you during Unbirthday Parties and offered to tutor you when you didn’t understand something. If only you didn’t look away every time you got flustered, then you see the sweet blush on Riddle’s face and the gentle look he’d give you when you were together.

♥️ Now, you stared at the boy in front of you. Your beloved hothead-redhead looked too peaceful to be under a sleeping curse. You deadpanned at Ace and Deuce. “Explain.”

♥️ Apparently, while the two of them were messing around in the botanical gardens, they dropped some draught into Trey’s strawberry plants. And Trey baked the strawberries into a tart for Riddle. It was just your luck that your two beloved idiots had Sleeping Death as their potion.

You rubbed your temples. Deuce held his head in his hands. “The Housewarden will be so furious,” Ace said in a daze. Cater nodded solemnly, tucking his phone away, “your heads’ll be off quicker than you can say Magicam.”

“And they’ll be permanently off if you don’t leave them now.” Trey’s aura made them bustle out of the room, and Cater flashed you a little kissy face before leaving after Trey. You turned back to Riddle, sitting next to him. You gently cupped his cheek, brushing his bangs away from his face.

Even though you wanted to do it so many times before, thought of kissing him made you nervous. Especially when he could never wake up. Still, you leaned forward.

“Please wake up Riddle, I’ll miss you too much” you begged, before gently pressing your lips against his. You lingered there for a few seconds, before gasping and pulling away when you felt him move. Riddle’s eyes were wide open and staring at you, his face growing red. “P-prefect?! What is the meaning of this?!”

You threw your arms around Riddle, who dazedly hugged you back. Ace and Deuce fell through the door, and Cater and Trey rushed in. Deuce grabbed Ace and forced him down, bowing before Riddle, “we’re sorry, Housewarden! It won’t happen again!” Riddle looked at Trey and Cater in confusion, who explained “you were under the Sleeping Curse thanks to these two.”

You felt Riddle tense under you, and you pulled away. You cupped his cheek gently as he grit his teeth, “deal with them later, ok? Just rest,” you kissed his cheek and Riddle’s anger fizzled out as Ace and Deuce ran out of them room. Cater chuckled as he and Trey left, “we’ll leave you two lovebirds!” He sneakily snapped a photo, with you and Riddle wrapped in each others arms gazing at each other. He dm’ed you the photo, #truelove’skiss #finallythesetwoaretogether #getaroom

Azul Ashengrotto

💜 The Mostro Lounge was still running normally thanks to Jade. It seemed that only him and Floyd knew that Azul was under the Sleeping Curse. The entire dorm might revolt against working if they knew their Housewarden was cursed. The thought made you giggle, despite your growing nervousness of your crush being cursed.

💜 It was a long shot that Azul would like you. After all, more often than not you caused a lot of trouble for him. But still, you supposed you did get more discounts than the average student. And Azul did seem more keen on roping you into contracts, but somehow your end of the ‘deal’ wasn’t as harsh as others…

💜As Jade lead you into Azul’s bedroom, you asked what happened. Somehow, one of his edible mushrooms had been watered with Sleeping Death. They were making new dishes for the menu, and Azul accidentally ate it. You supposed they knew who spilled the potion into Jade’s precious mushrooms - you saw Ace and Deuce being worked to the bone in the kitchens.

💜“I’ll leave you two,” Jade looked worried when you first arrived, but somehow he looked amused as shut the door.

In the watery lighting of Azul’s room, the quietness felt loud as you remembered the Headmage’s words. You had to kiss him. He was your true love. You brushed Azul’s hair from his face, “are you?” You wondered out loud.

For a while, you tried to squash the growing feelings you had for him. But you couldn’t help but get flustered when he smiled so charmingly at you. And the way he’d offer you anything, anything Prefect please accept this, probably in a guilty attempt to ‘repay’ you. But deep down, you knew there was only one way you wanted him to repay you.

Despite yourself, you felt a lump in your throat as you watched Azul sleep. You grit your teeth. “You can put me in any contract you want. Whatever the price for this is, I-I’ll pay it,” you bit your lip, “just wake up, Azul.” And you pressed your lips to his before you could back down.

You couldn’t hear anything over your heartbeat loud in your ears, as you watched his chest move upwards while he breathed in deeply. His eyes snapped open, and immediately he focused on you, albeit blurry. Still, he could recognize you anywhere.

“Prefect?” Azul’s voice was raspy, and he frantically felt the nightstand for his glasses, “wh-what are you doing here?!” Your mouth flopped open but no sound came out. You stared at each other as Azul shoved his glasses on his face while scrambling to sit up. “A-AZUL!” You said too loudly, “you’re awake!” You both probably would’ve stayed there, staring, for the rest of the year when the door slammed open.

“Azuuuul~” Floyd ran in. “Guess ya finally woke up~ ” Jade sauntered in, and you could see relief in his face. “Yes,” Jade smirked at Azul, “it’s a good thing Prefect was here, isn’t it?”

Azul turned pink, and mercifully the twins seemed to think he’d had enough. They looked at each other with a grin, and excused themselves. You found yourself smiling shyly at Azul. “Are you feeling okay?” Azul seemed spaced out, but he snapped back to focus on you. He gulped.

“On account that you’re my… true love,” Azul took a deep breath, “perhaps you’d like to sign a contract now?”

Kalim al-Asim

🧡 The Headmage had barely said anything before Jamil slammed down your door and grabbed your wrist, hauling you straight to Scarabia. You’d never seen Jamil so stressed, ever. Crowley promptly abandoned you, wailing that he had to “go appease the parents.”

🧡 You could at least see why he was upset. The al-Asim’s were no regular family, after all. And neither was Kalim. Still, you couldn’t shake the thought. Bright, bubbly Kalim laying in bed under the Sleeping Curse. It didn’t matter how rich he was, how could someone do that to him?

🧡 Maybe it was because of how everyone at NRC was, but you’d come to appreciate Kalim. It wasn’t a stretch to say you enjoyed his company - whether it was him dragging you out on midnight carpet rides, or out to a party. His smile made the chaos bearable.

🧡 You never hid how happy he made you, especially so during his parties. Kalim always made sure to play your favorite songs, but you never noticed his smile widen when he saw you dance. You always looked so carefree, like a bird in flight. He always beamed when he got you to relax and have fun.

Jamil wasted no time dropping you off at Kalim’s room. “Just… please, I-” He swallowed thickly, before nodding at you. “I’ll leave you be.” He closed the door, and you slowly made your way to Kalim. He was laying among a dozen pillows, the with a few rays of sunlight peeking through the curtains. You sighed and sat next to him.

Scarabia felt downright somber without the sunniness of their Housewarden. Kalim’s usually smiling face was now devoid of any emotion. It bothered you more than you thought, to see Kalim with a neutral expression. You idly twisted a lock of his hair. The air felt thick without him to lighten the mood.

You didn’t want to think about never seeing Kalim again. Ever. “The dorm feels empty without you, Kalim,” you gently stroked his cheek, begging “you have to wake up to make it come back to life.” Softly you kissed him, closing your eyes tightly. You hovered there for a second, and pulled away with a gasp when you felt movement.

Kalim began stretching, still laying on the bed. “Mmh? Prefect?” he sat up with a small yawn, “What are you doing here?” He suddenly gasped, ruby eyes brightening. “Did we have a sleepover?! I totally forgot!”

You burst into laughter, feeling your eyes grow wet. You launched yourself at Kalim, both of you falling back onto the bed. Kalim hugged you back tightly, “Huh? What’s this about? Don’t cry, Prefect - I’m here!”

—————

I finally got some free time so here’s the fic three months late oops

Thanks for reading!!! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated, I hope you enjoyed 😄 the rest of the housewardens should be posted soon!

Take care shrimpies~ ✨ calci

[heavenorhella2001]

This had never occurred to me way back when when I first watched playthroughs of the game/played it myself, but;

Seeing this post made me remember Max's nightmare, when she was trapped in her own mind/a broken version of reality.

And seeing this now?

Max definitely has PTSD.

Everyone always primarily discusses/ focuses on Chloe's trauma (which is understandable. I'll always be a Chloe defender and don't want to downplay her trauma by any means.)

But, unfortunately, Max's is overlooked.

Now, a lot of people might view this skeptically, question the idea of Max having PTSD. To many, it might seem like Max doesn't really have any lasting form of major trauma after the events of the game. Maybe she really was content and at peace and happy-go-lucky. (I've always scoffed at that scene at Chloe's funeral, when Max smiles at the butterfly.) And I'll admit, within the context of the story maybe we aren't supposed to think so. But if that's the case I just have to assume that's due to the developing team's lack of knowledge, experience with mental health and how it works, the impact things like this have on someone. Not that they are coming from a malicious place, of course. But very rarely does a person 'get it' unless they've been through it themselves. The average person simply won't understand.

But if you see everything I've described here as it's laid out, it makes total sense;

Let's talk about Jefferson. He is just one of many elements in the game contributing to Max's trauma. He was her teacher, someone she looked up to, respected, and was supposed to be able to trust. She truly felt safe around him. It's implied she had a crush on him. But her image of him completely shattered. After the truth about him was revealed, she was no longer able to trust her own judgement of people, her perception of reality.

He drugged her when she was vulnerable, and she was helpless to watch as he shot and killed the love of her life right in front of her. He kidnapped her, and she was thrown from the frying pan right into the fire. When she woke up she was tied up in a basement, helpless, and he had burned all her photos. Not only precious memories, but also one of her only means of going back and fixing things. He then took photos of her, over and over, this went on for who knows how long, while she was drugged, tied up and helpless, in order to satisfy his own perversions. Throughout, he mocked and tormented her.

Then, let's go into what happened with Chloe. Having to watch her best friend, the girl she loved, die over and over and over again. Max felt responsible for fixing it, preventing it, because she was the only one who possibly could. She would blame herself, think of it as a failure on her part each time Chloe died.

After watching her die in various ways, so many times, I'm sure Max questioned if she really even could save Chloe- or if Chloe was supposed to die from the start, and the universe was determined to restore the balance, no matter what Max did or how hard she tried.

And then there's Kate. This could go one of two ways depending on your choices, one of which is infinitely worse and more traumatizing, but either way it would definitely have haunted Max and left an impact on her.

Imagine how you would feel, knowing one of your closest friends was being bullied. Knowing they have been drunk/drugged and taken advantage of at a party. Yet instead of anyone coming forward, doing the right thing and helping Kate out of that situation, everyone at the party instead weaponized it, used it against her, slut-shamed her even though she wasn't in her right mind, was barely even conscious and was in no way able to consent to anything that was happening. Not that slut-shaming her would have in any way been okay or excusable even if Kate was acting of her own volition. Knowing that, even though you don't agree/don't identify with that, that your friend is deeply religious and clings to faith as a means of comfort. Knowing that she feels like a failure, that she feels like she's betrayed her faith, everything she stands for, and her family, even though she was in fact a victim in her situation. Being able to read letters, watching her family victim-blame her, hide behind their beliefs as a means to tear down someone they should feel obligated to protect, to support. Watching your friend be alienated by everyone around her, including her own family. Watching the school bullies write obscenities about your friend on the walls, and in the bathroom, make jabs at her and taunt her at every possible opportunity. Your friend's light has begun to dim, she starts pulling away from you, begins hiding away in her room more, which now feels like a dark, oppresive void. You know your friend is depressed, and you're trying to be supportive in any way you can, but there's a distance building between you you feel you can't bridge.

Then it happens. She kills herself/tries to kill herself. In front of you, and everyone who tormented her. Even then, the people who hurt her have no shame, laughing and recording her when she's in crisis. You begin to question and blame yourself, blaming youself for not noticing something was severely wrong earlier, not recognizing the impending signs for what they were. You want to help your friend, to save her, but your powers at failing you at the worst possible time. You only get one chance to do this, like everyone else, and you have to do it the right way.

If Max managed to talk Kate down, that's still an instense emotional weight, still a serious event to work through and process.

If Kate jumps…well…

Max feels like a failure. Like she contributed to Kate's death just as much as everyone else. Like she may as well have pushed Kate off that ledge herself. Not only watching your friend die in front of you, but knowing that it was self-inflicted in a moment of desperation, that they chose to do so and your words had no effect…

Now, the end of the game. Depending on what you choose, Max either has to to feel an immeasurable weight on her conscience, the responsibility for the destruction of the town where she was born. Where she grew up. Where she has countless memories, despite its' faults. The deaths of almost everyone there she's ever known.

Including (especially) Joyce.

The guilt of feeling like she took Chloe's mom away from her too, after Chloe had already lost her dad.

Oh. And that reminds me.

It was an incredible miracle, Max discovering her ability to go back through time via photos. Being able to go back 5 years, to when she and Chloe were only 13, before all the horror had happened, and save William. The sense of sheer relief, happiness and accomplishment she felt. She felt like a hero.

Only for it to all blow up in her face in the worst possible way.

Seeing Chloe, now a total shell of her former self. Completely disabled, and paralyzed. Helpless. Unable to live on her own. Seeing firsthand the emotional and financial stress William and Joyce are going through as a result of the accident. Chloe having so little quality of life that she pleads with Max to kill her, because she can't even do it herself.

(This is not my narrative or opinion on Chloe's situation, by the way. This is how it's portrayed. Quality of life, determining whether your life is worth living to due a life-changing accident or consequent disability is the choice of the invidual whom it effects. I'm not saying that anyone in Chloe's situation, who is paralyzed would inherently have no quality of life or no reason to live. That really depends on the invidiual, what that person needs in order to truly live and thrive, whether that person has family and friends and an emotional/practical support system in their life, etc. For Chloe, for me, and for many other people, though not all, living that kind of life would not be worth it.)

Max, depending on your choices, having to kill Chloe, to choose the merciful path, allow Chloe to exercise her autonomy in a world in which she can no longer do so and put her out of her misery. Knowing that she's doing for Chloe what she'd want someone to do for her if she were in that situation, yet still full of pain and regrets.

Max then having to go back and undo it all. Allow William to die again. Watch Chloe experience that horror and trauma again, knowing now she could've prevented it. But at what cost?

Lastly, if you chose to let Chloe go. To let her die.

That makes it immeasurably worse in my opinion.

The week she and Chloe spent together, reconnecting and rebulding their friendship, everything they went through together, would essentially never have happened.

Chloe, in this timeline, died alone in a bathroom. She never recieved any sort of closure, never got to know what happened to Rachel, questioning if Rachel perhaps just abandoned her, similarly to how Max did.

She never got to resolve things with Max, never heard from her again. She never got to know that Max still loved her, still cared about her and thought of her, but was too scared and guilty to reach out.

She never got to patch up things with her mom, or with David.

Everything Max went through. Everything she experienced.

To recap:

Having to watch her best friend, the woman she loves, die over and over again, feeling helpless, trapped in this endless, hellish cycle of death.

Being lulled into a false sense of security, betrayed and abducted by someone she thought she could trust, someone she looked up to.

Witnessing firsthand Kate's suicide/attempt, feeling like she failed her.

Being forced to let William die again, and force Joyce and Chloe to suffer that loss again.

Having to watch Joyce mourn her only daughter, after already losing her husband. Knowing she could've prevented it.

Everything that happened would still exist, but only in Max's mind.

She has no one she could ever confide in, talk to, or open up about it.

Chloe, for her, was that person.

No one would believe her, albeit understandably.

It's implied her powers vanish after she goes back that final time to let Chloe die.

She'd have no way to prove her story was true.

Carrying the weight of that burden, that knowledge and trauma, alone, would drive anyone insane.

Feeling like everything she went through, all the efforts she made to keep Chloe alive, were pointless.

I don't believe there is any way Max could be okay after that.

She'd be a hollow shell, just going through the motions. Totally disconnected from the world and the people around her. (Understandably. Who the hell could she connect to? Who would understand her?) Everyone at Blackwell, and their student lives and petty drama would feel so insignificant. So incredibly stupid and shallow to Max after what she's been through.

In fact, I've always felt - years after the events of the game, were you to choose to let Chloe die - that Max likely killed herself.

Over time, she probably began to question herself, to feel crazy, and begin wondering whether any of what happened, actually did, or if it was just something her mind created.

Max's trauma, her thoughts and emotions in regards to all of this are reflected in this part of the game, her mental breakdown. You can see her self-loathing, the way she blames and criticizes herself, in her interactions with herself and in her distorted journal entries.

Anyway. I never really liked Max all that much as a protagonist.

I thought she was a pushover, a little shallow, cared too much about what people like Victoria thought of her. I thought it was pretty unforgivable the way she ghosted Chloe, at the most traumatic, formative time of Chloe's life, when she had just lost the most important person in her life, besides Max. I understand anxiety, feeling awkward, helpless and flailing in that situation and not knowing what to say or do to make it better, but it just doesn't matter to me. Nothing excuses that.

However…

Max, did ultimately (well, depending on your choice at the ending,) make it right.

This has given me some perspective, and I have a lot more empathy for her now.

     you thought you could control everybody and everything, huh?      —   twist time around your fingers?

[peachylynnie]

gift exchange

word count: 2.4k

synopsis: in which you get sick on christmas, and sylus is there to make it better.

contains: sylus x mc!reader (not dating but sylus is down bad), christmas themes, a singular reference to his myth, a singular reference to grassland romance, mentions and consumption of food, suggestive themes, cursing, angst, and fluff.

a/n: i got sick. again. on christmas too. you know what that means. sylus time! on a related note, i hope everyone had a wonderful christmas. my rafayel fic is gonna upload soon as well. enjoy! reblogs and comments always welcome! do NOT copy or translate my work. sylus does NOT endorse plagiarism.

you curse as you rip open a hot chocolate packet. "sick on christmas," you grumble as you pour the contents into a mug. "how the fuck is that even possible."

of course, anyone can get sick at any time. it's inevitable. but, seriously? of all the days the pain in your throat and ears could have appeared, it just HAD to be on fucking christmas day. sure, it's not like you had any plans. normally you would celebrate with grandma and caleb by feasting on countless dishes and singing christmas songs from an old karaoke machine caleb swears isn't broken. but they're not around anymore.

you sigh miserably as you trudge over to the water dispenser for hot water, not wanting to think about your lost family. as you press the button for hot water, you lean against the dispenser, trying to figure out what you're going to do for the rest of the day. you were planning on visiting the market to make a nice dinner or perhaps order takeout at your favorite restaurant. but those are no longer viable options since your throat is killing you and your ears are incessantly burning. maybe you can order delivery? but that means you're going to have to clean up afterward, and you did NOT want to clean anything at the moment, especially with the state you're in.

shaking your head, you bring your mug back to the kitchen counter and search for a spoon.

"water for hot chocolate? i'm disappointed, sweetie."

you jump, an "oh, fuck!" leaving your mouth. sylus had materialized in front of you, a plastic bag in his left hand and a present box in his right. not like you noticed though. you were too startled by his sudden appearance. "what the fuck, sylus?! can't you knock?!"

"no," he deadpans, placing the bag and box on the kitchen counter. his fingers make quick work of untying the double knot on the bag. "besides," he spares you a glance. "i don't think someone who uses water to make their hot chocolate deserves a knock."

you roll your eyes. of course he fixates on that and doesn't explain why he's in your crappy apartment slandering you instead of downing at LEAST three glasses of wine in his luxurious penthouse on christmas day too. "well, screw me for being lazy, i guess," you mumble, crossing your arms.

"don't tempt me."

"huh?"

"what?"

you shoot him a look before grabbing your mug and heading to the other side of the kitchen counter. sitting on your squeaky high chair, you ask, "why are you here, sylus?"

he takes out a styrofoam container and opens its lid. immediately, the comforting smell of miso greets you. as sylus opens a cabinet to retrieve a pot (you don't question how he knows where to find it), you try to look at what else is in the plastic bag. tilting your upper body, you notice another container and hope it has some rice inside. what you don't notice is sylus' breath hitching when he turns back to you after pouring the miso soup into the pot and turning on the stove.

you were wearing a nice, loose top in your favorite color. except, its neck portion was completely cut off, leaving your collarbone and shoulders deliciously exposed. and because you were leaning on your side to take a look at what he had brought you (he loves when you're curious about anything involving him), the sleeve was slowly yet surely sliding down your arm, threatening to show a cup of your bra.

sylus instantly turns back to the stove, even though the miso soup shows no signs of boiling. rubbing a hand over his face, he shakes his head. no, he's not here to ogle at you (the top looks really good on you, and fuck, did your bra cup your breasts really nicely). he's here to take care of you. earlier, mephisto alerted him you were taking some cough drops. and knowing you, you probably didn't have any food on hand to sustain you through your sickness, given his last (secret) visit to your apartment to stock your (empty) fridge. taking a deep breath, sylus returns to the kitchen counter, reaching for the other container. he notices your inquisitive eyes.

"i'm here because it's christmas." he opens the container, and to your delight, it's omurice. marveling at how fluffy the omelette looks and how savory the fried rice appears, you almost miss his answer.

"huh?" you frown. "you're here because it's christmas?"

"is that not what i just said?" sylus jests as he plates the omurice and places it in your microwave.

"well," you start carefully. "shouldn't you have better things to do? like take luke and kieran shopping or pop open another bottle of wine because woo! christmas!"

the silver-haired man shakes his head with a chuckle, propping his hands on the kitchen counter. you try not to focus on his exposed forearms too much. forget the omurice and miso soup; you'll take his arms instead.

"first of all, luke and kieran are busy—"

"on christmas?!"

"yes, sweetie, on christmas." he raises a brow at you for interrupting. you drag your sleeve back up sheepishly.

"second of all, what makes you think i haven't already indulged in a bottle of wine today?" he tilts his head and crosses his arms, gazing at you with a hint of amusement in his ruby eyes.

you pout and look away. "fair point, i guess."

enjoying your cute reaction, sylus returns his attention to the stove. pleased to find the miso soup boiling, he turns off the stove and takes out a bowl from your cabinet (again, how does he know where to find that?). using a ladle to pour into the bowl, he hums a little tune. you try not to snicker at how terrible he sounds. after sliding a bowl of soup and a plate of omurice to you, sylus plants his elbows on the counter and rests his chin on a palm, allowing him a perfect view of his beloved (though you don't know you're his beloved yet; luke and kieran called him a loser before getting their asses handed to them).

"uh," you look at sylus, then at the food, and then sylus again. "you're not going to eat?"

he shakes his head. "i already ate before coming here."

hesitantly, you pick up your utensils. "you know you technically haven't answered my question, right?"

"i'll tell you once you finish." sylus responds immediately. it's almost as if he knew what you were going to say.

no longer wanting to torture your stomach, you cut into the omurice and take a bite. "mmm!" you cover your mouth as you chew. the softness of the egg, the savoriness of the fried rice—oh, you're in heaven. "this tastes really good, sylus!" you take a sip of the miso soup as well. not only does the warm broth soothe your throat, but the spice that comes with it clears up your sinuses, ceasing the burn in your ears.

the man in front of you can't help but smile at the sight. you, in your most vulnerable, beautiful state, enjoying his cooking. he could die a happy man here. and it wouldn't be the first time his cause of death is you. not that he minds or anything.

"thank you, sylus." you take a few more bites before swallowing. "seriously, i needed this."

"i know, sweetie," he says gently. "i know."

you glare at him, but not with as much malice as you used to. "did mephisto snitch on me or something?"

sylus lets out a laugh before grabbing the present box and joining you on the other side of the counter. "he simply saw a poor little hunter in need of some saving."

"since when does being sick mean needing saving?" you mutter as you set your utensils down, having finished the meal. you make a mental note to ask where he got the food. you're definitely going to visit wherever this exquisite meal came from (the man sitting next to you would die if he knew you wanted to visit his place).

sylus hands you the present box, causing your eyes to widen as you finally process its existence. "merry christmas, sweetie."

instead of accepting it, you jump out of your seat and dash to your room, though not without yelling a "wait here!" your heart beats rapidly as you open your closet door, your eyes landing on a small box wrapped in glossy black paper. yes, you were planning on spending christmas alone. yes, you were planning on giving this to sylus as nonchalantly as possible AFTER christmas (as much as he infuriates you, you still wanted to gift him something. why? you're not sure). and yet, here you are, holding the gift to your chest as you sprint back to the kitchen. "here," you pant as you thrust your gift into his lap. "merry christmas, sylus."

now it's his turn to be surprised. peering at what you just put in his lap, sylus can't help but blush profusely. you gifted him something. you actually gifted him something. you went out of your way to buy something for him. you thought of him. sylus brings a hand to his mouth, his fingers gripping the sides of his face hard. oh, you're too much. it's taking him everything to not crash himself into you and hold you tightly with his arms, to press himself so deeply into you until there is no chance in heaven or hell you could be separated from him.

"sylus?" you snap him out of his thoughts. "you okay?"

he blinks. "ah." releasing his face from his grip, sylus looks at you with a composed smile. "i'm alright, sweetie. thank you for the gift," he says as he starts unwrapping.

"it's not much," you say shyly. "thank you for your gift too. i'll open it after you finish opening yours."

sylus nods as he opens the box. his lips part when he finds what lies inside. a pair of black gloves, thermal lined with genuine fleece and adorned with adjustable straps. but most importantly, embroidery by your hands. he could recognize your handiwork anywhere thanks to your previous adventure in the grasslands. the white dove delicately sewn into the wrist of the right glove and the initials of his name intricately engraved into the wrist of the left. the man can't help but smile for the umpteenth time tonight. you really were something else.

"i noticed you wear fingerless gloves whenever you ride your motorcycle," you start as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt. "as stylish as they are, mr. sylus," you tease. "i think it's better to have gloves that keep you warm during late-night joyrides, especially now since it's winter." finding the courage to grin at him, you conclude your explanation with, "merry christmas, sylus."

sylus swears he sees an angel sitting next to him. how could you not be an angel? with the way you're smiling at him right now? and the amount of thought you put into this gift? (he's trying not to obsess over the fact that you observe him whenever he rides his motorcycle.) the head of onychinus has never believed in angels. but now, he does. thanks to you.

"thank you, sweetie," he tries to say as calmly as possible. "i will cherish them." when he attempts to put the gloves on, you stop him.

"wait, you don't need to put them on yet! you're going to get hot."

"it's fine," sylus assures as he secures the straps. "i want to."

"okay," you flush, happy that he likes the gift. "let me open yours now."

you wonder why his box is so heavy as your fingers rip off the tape. a gasp escapes your mouth as the wrapping paper falls to the ground. "sylus," you tremble. "i can't accept this."

a record player. a sleek, gorgeous record player with an obsidian platter, supported by a mahogany base and a crystal case. you stroke the tonearm, dragging your index finger all the way to the headshell and relishing in the cool feeling the metal provides. "sylus…" you trail off.

"there's more, sweetie." he murmurs. out of thin air, sylus materializes several vinyls with his evol. your eyes widen, recognizing the images that lie at the center of each disc.

"oh my god, sylus!" your favorite band, he got you vinyl records of each album from your favorite band. they've never even had vinyl records before. holy fucking shit. "sylus!" you chant excitedly, leaping into him as you wrap your arms around his neck. "sylus! you shouldn't have! oh my god!"

you jump up and down eagerly, leaving the man stunned in his chair. his arms are outstretched, unsure what to do for the first time ever. you freeze, realizing the position you are in. "oh uh," you quickly retract from him, a red hue forming on your cheeks. "sorry about that." you go to sit back down in your chair, but sylus doesn't let you. he pulls you back to him with an arm around your waist and a hand at the back of your head. standing at full height, the head of onychinus hugs you tightly, so tightly it's as if he never wants to let you go. you hesitate before returning the hug, questioning the man's motives. but he doesn't say or do anything. just stands embracing you. realizing he bears no ill will, you pat his back playfully. "you know i'm sick, right?"

his grip doesn't loosen. "yes, i know."

"you're going to get sick, sylus," you tease, trying to pull away. as much as you appreciate his warmth, the last thing you want is for him to get sick. just the thought of it strikes fear in your heart. you're not sure why. "come on, let go."

sylus sighs before untangling his arms and sitting back down. he'll give in for now. besides, he wouldn't trade that elated look on your face when he revealed the records for anything in the world. he supposes he can enjoy such a view some more.

you giggle excitedly as you examine the vinyl records. "oh, should i play this one first? oh, what about this one? no way! you got this one too?!"

as always, you don't catch the woozy, lovesick smile that appears on sylus' face as he folds his arms and leans back to admire you. if this is what christmas with you is going to look like in the future, sylus desperately hopes you'll spend every christmas with him from now on. but, just to be sure, because nothing is guaranteed in the future, he follows your example and says for the second time of the night, "merry christmas, sweetie."

[hoe4hotchner]

Not worth the tears | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader | WC: 1.6k  | CW: Angst, no use of Y/N, mention of cheating, reader was dating a man, crying.| Summary: reader got cheated on - Hotch is there to pick up the pieces

The weight of your phone felt heavier than it should have in your hand as you stared at the screen. The text was still there, glaring at you, a brief, emotionless exchange that had just ended your relationship. You couldn't feel much, not at first. There was shock, a numbness that spread through your body like ice. Your partner had cheated— of all things he had cheated. And it wasn’t even a messy confession or an argument where the truth slipped out. It had been revealed so casually like it didn’t matter.

Your thumbs had moved faster than your brain, sending a few bitter replies before cutting off contact completely. Now, you sat alone at your desk, a dull ache blooming in your chest, your breath shallow. He had taken all the air out of your lungs and drained every bit of hope you had put into him. The thought circled through your mind—I tried. I tried for him. I gave everything, but it wasn’t enough.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling slightly. The words blurred on the screen, and you blinked back the tears clouding your vision. That was it. It was over. You stared at the empty chat thread—his response was short, dismissive, almost as if what had happened didn’t matter. As if you didn’t matter.

You rubbed your hands over your face, trying to swallow the knot in your throat. You were supposed to be working—on a case, of all things—but the walls of the BAU felt tighter than ever. The world outside of this room, outside of the text that had wrecked your day, seemed far away.

As you leaned back in your chair, your thoughts spun—how long had it been going on? Did the moments you’d spent together mean anything at all? The memories felt tainted now, like ink smeared across a once beautiful piece of art. You'd done everything right. You tried to make it work. But it was over. And it was time to face that truth, even though it burned.

It felt like a punch to the gut, that revelation. He had betrayed you in the worst way possible, and all you got in return was a half-hearted apology and an empty text saying it wasn’t a big deal. You should’ve seen it coming, right? But you’d held on, hoping that things could change, that he could change, despite the cracks that had started to show months ago.

The pain was suffocating. You stood up from your desk, pacing the room, trying to shake off the weight pressing down on your chest. But it wasn’t going away. It was just getting worse. You'd loved him, believed in him, and he tossed you aside like you were nothing. He'd broken you in ways you never thought possible, and now you had to pick up the pieces.

Again.

Your thoughts spiraled as you stared out of the window, lost in a haze of disbelief and hurt. You wanted to scream, to throw something, anything, to just feel something other than this emptiness inside. The room felt too small, too confining, and your heart ached like it was splitting in two. Maybe it was. Maybe that’s what happens when you give someone everything, and they rip it all apart.

The glass door into the BAU creaked open, and Hotch’s presence filled the room before you could even look up. He stepped inside, his brow furrowed, as usual, a file in hand. His eyes scanned over you, a practiced intensity in them, as though he was ready to talk about whatever work issue had brought him here. But then, he stopped.

“Are you okay?” Hotch asked, his voice soft but carrying that steady authority. It wasn’t a question he asked often, and when he did, it was because he already knew the answer. He had this way of reading people—of reading you—like any of the case files that came across his desk.

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, brushing a hand through your hair as you shook your head. You forced a weak smile, but your throat tightened, betraying the fa��ade. “It’s nothing, Hotch. Just… work stress.” You waved a hand dismissively. But the lie tasted bitter on your tongue. The raw emotion in your voice gave you away, and you knew Hotch could see it. He always could.

He stood there, watching you closely, then set the file down on your desk without a word. It was the first time you'd seen him hesitate. “Something’s wrong. Talk to me.”

You wanted to hide it, to shove the pain down and pretend like you hadn’t just lost someone who wasn’t even worth the heartbreak. But this was Hotch—someone you trusted more than anyone. Your lips parted, and the words came tumbling out before you could stop them.

You felt your walls crumbling, the mask you’d tried to wear falling away as the weight of everything hit you all at once. Your chest tightened, and you tried to hold it in, but the pain surged forward, unstoppable.

“I broke up with him,” you said, your voice trembling. “He… he cheated on me.”

Hotch’s entire body went still. His expression, once concerned, darkened with something else entirely. His jaw clenched, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. It was as though he was holding back from storming out and finding the man who had hurt you. “He what?”

You nodded, the tears you’d been holding back finally spilling over. “I tried, Hotch. I really tried. I wanted it to work, but… it’s over. He didn’t even care.”

The room was heavy with the weight of your admission. You had never seen Hotch angry like this—at least, not for something personal. His dark eyes were clouded, and the controlled, calm leader of the BAU was nowhere to be found. But then, just as quickly as it had come, the anger softened, replaced by something much gentler, much deeper. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush the tears from your cheeks, his touch soft, careful, as if you might break at any moment.

“Did he tell you? Or did you find out another way?”

The look in his eyes was enough to make you swallow thickly. It was protective, fierce, as though he was barely keeping himself together. You hadn’t known it then, but Hotch loved you. And the idea of someone hurting you, betraying you, was enough to make him want to hunt down the bastard who had done it.

“He told me,” you muttered, looking down at your lap. “Like it was nothing. Like I didn’t matter.”

Hotch inhaled sharply through his nose, his hands flexing. For a moment, you could tell he was fighting the urge to walk out and do something rash, something you knew he would regret.

“I'm sorry,” he said quietly, and there was something deeper in his voice, something that made your heart skip a beat. “You didn’t deserve that,” he said quietly, his voice laced with something you couldn’t quite place. “He didn’t deserve you.”

You sniffed, wiping at your face as you tried to pull yourself together. “I just… I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Hotch shook his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” his voice was firm. He moved to sit beside you, his presence somehow grounding in all the chaos that had filled your head. “This is on him. Not you.”

The conviction in his voice made your breath hitch. You stared at him, taking in the intensity of his gaze, the way he looked at you as if you were the most important thing in the world. Your heart twisted painfully. You had never seen him like this before.

“He wasn’t worth your time,” Hotch continued, his tone softening even more. “You deserve someone who will fight for you, someone who will never hurt you like that.”

You could feel yourself breaking down again, the tears coming back, and you didn’t fight them this time. You didn’t have the strength to. Instead, you let yourself fall, collapsing into Hotch’s arms as he caught you without hesitation. He pulled you close, holding you tightly against his chest, his hand stroking your back in soothing circles.

For the first time all day, you felt safe. The ache in your heart hadn’t gone away, but being here, with Hotch, made it bearable. He didn’t say anything more, just held you, and somehow, that was enough.

For a few moments, neither of you said anything. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak, and he seemed to understand that you needed the silence.

“I wanted it to work,” you whispered between sobs. “I really wanted it to work.”

“I know,” he said softly, his hand soothing as he rubbed slow circles on your back. “You deserve so much more than what he gave you.”

As he held you, a thought crossed your mind—Hotch had always been there. He had always cared, always looked out for you. And as he held you now, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek, you wondered if maybe he had cared more than you’d realized.

You lifted your head slightly, meeting his gaze. There was something in his eyes, something soft and warm, but it wasn’t pity. It was deeper than that. It was understanding. It was… love.

You blinked, trying to process the moment, but the sadness and exhaustion weighed you down too much to explore it further. Instead, you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. Hotch didn’t hesitate.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure why.

Hotch shook his head, his expression tender. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, and for a moment, the world didn’t feel so broken. In his arms, you could breathe again, and maybe—just maybe—your heart wasn’t beyond repair after all.

Because even though everything had fallen apart, Hotch was there to help you pick up the pieces. And this time, you weren’t alone.

[babybearnation]

driving home for christmas

⎇oscar piastri x gn!reader - you're spending christmas alone... or are you? (oneshot) ⎇author's note: my first ever oneshot and ofc, it's a gift fic hehe. MERRY CHRISTMAS @koalapastries I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!!!!!! (also sorry, i know you're australian but i know nothing about australian xmas so uhhh reader lives in england) ⎇content warnings: crying, implied depression, light angst with a happy ending ⎇word count: 1.1k

Y/n sighs, nudging the fridge door shut with their hip, a few things rattling inside. Christmas steadily ticks closer and closer and they were not looking forward to when the day would actually arrive. For the first time ever, they'd be spending Christmas alone, and they weren't looking forward to it.

Y/n sighs once more before focusing on making their hot chocolate, craving that much needed chocolatey warmth. Maybe it would make them feel better. Probably not, but it was worth a shot, right?

A bleep from their phone pulls their attention away and they look down at the device, placing the milk to one side to pick it up. What greets them is a text from their boyfriend, Oscar, who'd gone home to celebrate Christmas with his family. The message preview is just a simple [image attached]. Y/n smiles softly and unlocks the phone, a frown quickly forming on their face instead mere seconds later.

It's a cute photo - Oscar's got a silly little Santa hat on and there are all manner of tinsel and light decorations behind him - but Y/n feels bitter and jealous. Why couldn't they be there, celebrating with Oscar and his family?

Y/n sends back a few simple hearts before locking the device and turning back to finish making their drink with a heavy sign. They cradle the hot cup in their palms and stare around at their undecorated apartment with tired eyes.

"This holiday season is gonna suck."

"Hey baby." Y/n says, smiling as Oscar's handsome face fills their phone screen. His camera is more pixelated than normal and he appears to be in a car, the occasionally jerk to his body being captured by the camera.

"Hey, sorry. Meant to call you at home but something came up and now I have to go somewhere. Still wanted to call though." Oscar's voice crackles through the speakers, and Y/n smiles softly. It's a bit rough, but it's better than Oscar not calling at all.

"Where you off to?" Y/n asks, tucking their legs under themself as they stare at Oscar's form, albeit a much poorer quality version. Oscar hums distractedly before registering what Y/n had said, a soft blush coating his cheeks. Y/n's eyebrows furrow in confusion. What could possibly have him so distracted?

"Just a last minute visit to a family friend, that's all. Travelling across half of Australia for it." Oscar says and Y/n hums, frowning softly as they avoid looking at the screen. "You okay?" Y/n sighs at that. Why did everyone have to ask them that question all the fucking time?

"Just... first Christmas all alone, remember? Not even a pet to keep me company." Y/n scoffs, tears building in their eyes. They sigh and lift their head up, blinking away tears. "Sorry..."

"Baby, please, don't be sorry. I'm not gonna claim to know how you're feeling but I'm always gonna be here for you. I'll spend as much of my Christmas with you as I can, I promise you that." Oscar says, the endearing sweetness that made Y/n fall for him evident in his voice. When Y/n looks back down at their phone after blinking away the handful of tears that had graced their eyes, they're greeted by a softly smiling Oscar. Seconds later, he turns his phone, his mum appearing on the screen instead.

"Hello sweetie. Keep your chin up, okay? Next year, you can spend it with us if you're still alone." Nicole says, beaming at Y/n. Y/n smiles and chuckles softly, wiping away the new batch of tears that had sprung up out of nowhere. God, why did this make them so emotional?

"Thank you, Mama Piastri. That means a lot." Y/n smiles softly. Nicole smiles and wishes them a Merry Christmas before the camera is filled with Oscar's far too handsome face again. He looks apologetic and Y/n knows he's about to say goodbye. It hurts, but Y/n can't prevent it.

"I gotta go now, okay? I'll talk to you as soon as I can." Oscar says, a genuine sadness staining his expression. Y/n smiles and says their goodbyes, the call ending seconds later. Their phone drops to their lap as tears flood down their face.

Y/n winces as the brightness of their phone screen hits their face and fills their vision. December 25th, 7:18am. Still nothing from Oscar. It had been over an entire day of no Oscar and Y/n was starting to worry they'd scared him off with their crying a few days ago.

With a groan, Y/n rolls out of bed, padding over to the window. They tug open the curtains, taking in the frost-covered grass at the front of their house. A unfamiliar car is parked outside and Y/n grumbles to themself about neighbours not having the courtesy to ask to use the parking space before doing so.

The more they observe the random newcomer car, the more they notice. The driver is still inside, and unlike the other, more familiar cars that dot the street, this one seems relatively unblemished by the ice and frost outside. Y/n furrows their eyebrows before sighing and turning from the window.

"What am I doing?" Y/n murmurs. They cross to their dresser and pull out some clothes when an insistent knocking sounds at the door. They huff and drop their clothes onto their bed before traipsing out of their room.

Seriously, who the fuck was knocking at damn near 7:30am on fucking Christmas Day? Y/n was alone, sure, but no one else they knew was alone and all of their neighbours kept to themselves on Christmas Day. So who the fuck was it?

Y/n tears the door open as they reach it before freezing, eyes wide in shock at who stands before them. "Oscar?"

"Surprise." Oscar says. Y/n doesn't let him speak further after that, diving into his arms. His bags clatter and thud against the floor as he drops them, lacing his arms around Y/n's torso. "You didn't think I'd let you spend Christmas all alone, did you?" He whispers into their hair.

Y/n pulls away and cups his face, tears threatening to drip from their lash line. Oscar reaches up and wipes away the dampness, a soft smile on his face. Y/n tugs him into a kiss, not caring who could see. Oscar responds eagerly, fingers dipping below the hem of their shirt, brushing along Y/n's soft skin.

"I love you. I love you so much. I love you, Oscar." Y/n says. It's the first time they've said it, yet they know they mean it with each and every fiber of their being. Oscar smiles and kisses them again, tugging them even closer.

"I love you too, baby. Merry Christmas."

© all rights to babybearnation 2024.

[acanvasofabillionsuns]

[ID: The first image is a movie poster for the Dreamworks movie Home, showing Oh, a Boov (a wide, short, purple creature), Tip, a black girl, and a calico cat. The rest of the images are screenshots of sections of The True Meaning of Smekday, by Adam Rex.

In a ridiculously short amount of time, the Boov determined that humans were unwilling to mix peacefully into their culture. They pointed out all the people who fled instead of welcoming their new neighbors, even those whose homes had been taken outright. Captain Smek himself appeared on television for an official speech to humankind. (He didn't call us humankind, of course. He called us Noble Savages of Earth. Apparently we were all still living on Earth at this point.) "Noble Savages of Earth," he said. "Long time have we tried to live together in peace." (It had been five months.) "Long time have the Boov suffered under the hostileness and intolerableness of you people. With sad hearts I now concede that Boov and humans will never to exist as one." I remember being really excited at this point. Could I possibly be hearing right? Were the Boov about to leave? I was so stupid. "And so now I generously grant you Human Preserves—gifts of land that will be for humans forever, never to be taken away again, now." I stared at the TV, mouth agape. "But we were here first," I said pathetically.

The tent was strung with white Christmas lights and packed with people, all facing a stage on one end. And on the stage stood a redheaded man in a wifebeater with a Viking tattooed on his chest. People were booing him. "Shut up!" the redhead was saying. "I have the stage! All I'm saying is, now that we've all had to leave our real homes, we got a chance to get America right! There can be a place for the Saxon Americans, and a place for the coloreds, and a place for—shut up!"

"So every place has some kind of leader?" I asked. It had all happened so fast. "Sure. Most of them are former state governors, or senators, or whatever. The president runs a little town called Rye." "Just a little town?" "Yes..." said Mitch. "He's not very popular anymore, because of the invasion. People assume it was his fault somehow. But we have to have leaders. We have to have government." "I guess," I said. "Daniel Landry's district is far south of here," he said, "on some former Indian land." "Indian land? Like a reservation?" "That's right." "Is this Dan guy an Indian?" "I don't think so, no. I'm pretty sure he's white. He wasn't a governor or anything before, but he's really rich, so I imagine he's a good leader." "Uh-huh. But he's white," I said. "The Indians elected a white guy?" "Well...I don't know. I imagine all the other people elected him. It's mostly white folks living on the reservation now." I frowned. "And the Indians are okay with this?" "What do you mean?" "Well...it was a reservation," I said. "It was land we promised to the Native Americans. Forever." Mitch looked at me like I was speaking in tongues. "But...we needed it," he said.

"Mr. Hinkel," said the Chief, jerking his head toward the sleeping man. "He thinks Indians like me ought to live somewhere else. Likes to tell me about it a lot." I didn't really want to talk about Mr. Hinkel. "Well, maybe they'll let him go soon." "Doubt it," said the Chief. "Got beat up pretty good by someone who thinks gay people like him ought to live somewhere else."

The last excerpt from the book is in comic format, divided into four main panels. The first is captioned, "2,000 (two thousand) years ago - Many schools closed by the HighBoov, because Money is Needed Elsewhere. Boov are told not to worry about learning unimportant things. Boov are told to learn one useful thing that may be done over and over again and give their life meaning. HighBoov devise clever tests to find which Boov should be taught more, and which Boov should not be taught because Money is Needed Elsewhere." Boov are shown doing things like guarding, serving food, and taking care of children.

The second panel is captioned, "1,150 (one thousand, one hundred and fifty) years ago - Certain Boov who were taught many things announce that industry is polluting the waters of Boovworld." Boov in uniforms point to a chart of their world and gesture to something outside a window, presenting this information to other Boov in fancy outfits. "These scientist predict that the oceans soon will no longer be able to sustain life, unless things are changed."

The third panel is captioned, "1,149 (one thousand, one hundred and forty-nine) years ago - HighBoov declare that these warnings of pollution cannot be proven, so therefore nothing should be changed. The scientist Boov who gave these warnings are declared evil-evil that they should call our God unclean. These Boov are named the Forgotten and sent onto land into exile forever. Some of them die of asphyxiation. Most don't." A line of Boov trudge out of water onto land.

The fourth panel is captioned, "1,003 (one thousand and three) years ago - God dies of asphyxiation." There are many skeletons with lots of darkness in the background.

Plain text: "1,003 years ago, God dies of asphyxiation" End ID]

like the most politically neutered movie of all time unironically

[julietsf1]

Holly Jolly Faking - Franco Colapinto x St.Mleux!Reader

summary: Two people who can’t stand each other agree to fake a relationship to avoid meddling friends and unwanted matchmaking during their Christmas weekend away. What could possibly go wrong? (8k words)

content: fake dating! reader is Alexandra's sister; Franco is COMMITTED;

AN: who doesn't love a good fake dating scenario? happy holidays sweeties!

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

Snow crunched beneath your boots as you trudged up the icy path leading to the chalet, Alexandra practically bouncing beside you. She clutched your arm, grinning as if dragging you along to a winter wonderland wasn’t her latest attempt at orchestrating your personal life.

“You’re going to love this,” she insisted, her voice carrying above the stillness of the snowy evening. “I don’t think you’ve ever been to a Friendmas like this one.”

You shot her a look. “Alex, you’ve been talking about this weekend non-stop. I know exactly what to expect.”

She huffed, playfully rolling her eyes. “Yes, but actually being here? It’s magic. Charles did such an amazing job with the tree. You have to see it!”

“Is that before or after you shove me into George’s arms?”

Her cheeks flushed, though whether from the cold or guilt, you couldn’t tell. “Oh, stop it. George is lovely. You could at least give him a chance.”

“Alex,” you said pointedly, pausing to adjust your scarf, “I’m here for you, Charles, and the snow. Not a setup.”

“Fine, fine.” She waved you off, though her mischievous grin lingered as she dragged you forward.

The chalet came into view, its A-frame design illuminated by strings of fairy lights draped over its sloped roof. Smoke curled from the chimney, and warm golden light spilled from the windows, giving it a postcard-perfect charm. It was gorgeous. You hated that Alexandra had been right about it being magical.

The door flew open before you even reached the steps, Charles Leclerc standing there with his signature grin. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and he wore a red sweater that made him look annoyingly festive.

“Finally!” he called out, spreading his arms as if to gather you both into a hug. “We thought you’d gotten lost in the snow.”

“Blame Y/N,” Alexandra said, releasing your arm to greet him. “She moves like a glacier.”

“Only because you packed half your wardrobe in the car,” you shot back, but Charles laughed, pulling you into a brief, warm hug.

“It’s good to see you, Y/N. Welcome to Friendmas!”

“Thanks,” you said, glancing past him into the chalet. Laughter and voices carried from inside, blending with the crackle of a fireplace.

“Come in, come in,” Charles urged, stepping aside. “Everyone’s excited to see you—Lando is even more energetic than usual.”

“Lovely,” you muttered as Alexandra pushed you through the door.

The interior was just as cozy and picturesque as the exterior promised. Pine garlands hung from the rafters, and a massive Christmas tree stood in one corner, decked out with ornaments and twinkling lights. The scent of fresh pine mingled with hints of cinnamon and something buttery, probably cookies.

A chorus of voices greeted you from the living room. Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri were sprawled across the couches, mid-conversation, while Carlos Sainz lounged nearby, sipping from a mug. Max Verstappen, wearing his signature Red Bull polo, leaned against the back of an armchair, holding what I can only suspect is a glühwein in his hands.

“Y/N!” Lando called out, bounding up from the couch like an overexcited puppy. “Finally! We need reinforcements.”

“For what?” you asked, setting your bag down near the stairs.

“To take down Max and Carlos,” Oscar explained, deadpan. “They’ve been dominating every game we’ve played since we got here.”

“It’s not domination,” Carlos corrected, grinning. “It’s skill.”

Max gave a barely perceptible nod of agreement.

“You mean cheating,” Lando muttered, earning a laugh from Oscar.

“Welcome to the madness,” Alexandra said, nudging you forward. “Get comfortable. There’s a lot, but it’s fun.”

“And I’m sure George will be thrilled to see you,” Charles added, his teasing tone making you bristle.

“Where is he?” Alexandra asked, glancing around.

“In the kitchen,” Carlos said. “Probably perfecting the whipped cream on his cocoa or something.”

“I heard that,” George Russell called out, appearing from the kitchen doorway. He carried two steaming mugs, his sweater perfectly fitted and his hair neatly combed, as always.

“Y/N, how wonderful to see you,” George said warmly, handing one mug to Alexandra.

“You too,” you replied, noting the subtle look Alexandra threw you. You shot her a glare in return.

And then, of course, Franco made his entrance.

He leaned against the fireplace, his green eyes glinting with amusement as he surveyed the scene. His tousled hair and casual stance gave him an air of effortless confidence, which only annoyed you further.

“Y/N,” Franco’s voice broke through the chatter, his tone slow and laced with mockery. “What a surprise. I didn’t think you’d make it. Busy schedule of glaring at people, I’m sure.”

“Franco,” you replied, deadpan, without so much as a glance in his direction.

The others continued their conversations, seemingly oblivious to the exchange, but Franco stepped closer, his smirk growing like he could sense your irritation.

“Still radiating warmth and goodwill, I see,” he quipped, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“Still trying way too hard to be funny,” you shot back, finally turning to face him.

His grin widened. “Oh, come on. I’m hilarious, and you know it. People have been laughing all evening.”

“At you, maybe,” you replied smoothly.

The retort earned the faintest snicker from Lando in the background, but Franco remained unfazed. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as if to keep the exchange just between you. “I’ve missed this, you know. You keeping me in check. Someone has to, I suppose.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you replied, your tone cutting. “Keeping you in check would imply you’re worth the effort.”

His smirk grew as he straightened, undeterred. “You’re quick today. Must be all that Christmas cheer getting to you.”

“Must be,” you deadpanned, narrowing your eyes.

For a moment, you stared each other down, his grin still annoyingly present as your pulse quickened in frustration. The way he looked at you, like he knew exactly how to push your buttons, made your skin prickle.

“Anything else, Franco?” you asked, your tone clipped.

“Not yet,” he replied smoothly. “But don’t go too far. I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

With a final smirk, he leaned back against the counter, casually reaching for a glass like the conversation hadn’t just left you fuming. You turned back to the others, but the weight of his gaze lingered, prickling at the edge of your awareness.

…

The dining room buzzed with warmth and chatter, the glow of candles reflecting off plates piled high with roasted chicken, potatoes, and vegetables. Alexandra had gone all out, decorating the table with garlands of pine and gold-rimmed glasses, while Charles played the perfect host, ensuring everyone’s wine was topped off.

You were trying your best to enjoy the evening, but sitting between George and Franco wasn’t making that easy.

George, ever the gentleman, was pleasant enough, keeping the conversation light. He asked about your travels and your work, always attentive and polite, and while you appreciated his effort, the attention made you squirm. Alexandra, of course, wasn’t helping.

“So, Y/N,” Alexandra began, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “Isn’t it nice to have someone else here who knows Monaco as well as you do?”

You resisted the urge to sigh. “Sure, Alex. It’s always nice.”

George, ever gracious, smiled at you. “It’s been a while since I’ve spent a proper holiday there. There’s something special about it in the winter, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely,” you replied, forcing a polite smile of your own. “The harbor looks magical with all the lights.”

Alexandra pounced on your response like a cat with a mouse. “Exactly! George, doesn’t that sound like the perfect setting for a romantic evening?”

“Alex,” you warned, your voice laced with both amusement and irritation.

“What?” she asked innocently, though the twinkle in her eye gave her away. “I’m just saying. You two have so much in common. You could plan a trip back together!”

Your face burned, and you quickly took a sip of your wine to hide your discomfort. “I think George has plenty of plans that don’t involve me tagging along,” you said lightly.

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind,” George said, his smile kind. “I reckon it would be nice to have someone to share the nostalgia with.”

Your smile wavered as you searched for a way to steer the conversation elsewhere, but Alexandra was relentless.

“See? It’s perfect!” she declared. “I mean, what are the chances? It’s practically fate.”

Your grip on your fork tightened. “I think that’s a bit of a stretch, Alex.”

Charles, ever the romantic, sighed wistfully. “Love often comes when you least expect it. Imagine walking along the harbor together, the lights reflecting on the water…”

You groaned, though you couldn’t help but laugh. “Why are we discussing this at the dinner table, guys?”

“Because it’s fun,” Lando chimed in, grinning. “So tell me, do you like horses? I know George adores posh shit like Polo.”

Your laughter faltered, your cheeks flushing as all eyes turned to you. The attention felt suffocating, and you fumbled for a response.

“Lando, that’s enough,” you said, your tone more strained than you intended.

“Oh, come on,” Alexandra added, her smile too wide. “You and George would make such a good match. It’s about time you found someone who—”

Franco coughed loudly, the deliberate sound slicing through the chatter. Everyone turned to him, their laughter and conversation abruptly halting. He leaned back in his chair, his green eyes glinting with mischief as he set his wineglass down with theatrical precision.

“She’s with me, actually,” Franco said casually, his voice ringing with the kind of confidence that demanded attention.

The silence that followed was deafening.

You froze, your fork clattering against your plate as your brain scrambled to make sense of what he’d just said. The warmth of the room seemed to vanish, replaced by a prickling heat crawling up your neck.

“What?” you managed to choke out, your voice barely audible.

Franco didn’t so much as flinch. He shifted slightly in his chair, and before you could react, he reached over, sliding his hand over yours where it rested on the table. His touch was warm, his grip firm but not forceful. You stared at him, wide-eyed, as his smirk widened.

“You heard me,” he said, his tone maddeningly smooth. “I couldn’t keep it a secret any longer.”

Alexandra’s jaw dropped, her wide-eyed gaze darting between the two of you. “You’re joking,” she said flatly.

“Not at all,” Franco replied, looking entirely unbothered. His fingers drummed lightly against the back of your hand, a silent challenge. “Isn’t that right, sugarplum?”

The word hung in the air like a ticking bomb. Your pulse thundered in your ears as every pair of eyes at the table turned to you.

Your throat felt dry, and your voice cracked when you finally managed to speak. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Oscar was the first to break. His laughter erupted like a tidal wave, loud and uncontrollable, as he nearly fell back in his chair. He clutched his stomach, tears streaming down his cheeks. “This… is… the best thing… I’ve ever heard!” he wheezed, struggling to catch his breath.

Lando wasn’t far behind, his wide grin splitting into a delighted laugh. “No way. You two?!”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” George said, his tone laced with disbelief.

Charles, however, looked positively enchanted. He leaned forward, his hands clasped together like a starstruck poet. “Love and hate are two sides of the same coin,” he declared, his eyes practically sparkling.

Carlos chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, this is a twist.”

Max leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a skeptical look. “Ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, though the faint twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement.

Alexandra, however, wasn’t so easily convinced. She narrowed her eyes at you, her brows knitting together in confusion. “But… when? How? You’ve barely even mentioned Franco to me.”

“It has been a whirlwind,” Franco interjected smoothly, shooting you a sidelong glance. “Right, my little lovebug?”

You glared at him, your jaw clenched as you fought the urge to strangle him on the spot. “Uh, yeah. Something like that,” you said through gritted teeth.

“Fascinating,” Alexandra said, still clearly unconvinced.

“Tell us everything!” Lando demanded, leaning forward like a gossip-hungry child. “When did this start? Was it one of those dramatic, enemies-to-lovers things? Did you secretly kiss during a race weekend?”

“Lando,” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended.

He leaned back, unbothered, and waved you off. “Fine, fine. Keep your secrets.”

“You’re full of surprises, Y/N,” George said, his expression hovering somewhere between confusion and polite disappointment.

“Trust me, George,” you muttered, unable to meet his eyes. “I was just as surprised as you are.”

The teasing and laughter continued, the group trading increasingly wild theories about your so-called relationship. Meanwhile, Franco seemed to bask in the chaos he’d created, his smirk never wavering as he leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying himself.

Under the table, his knee brushed yours, and you shot him a death glare. “What the hell are you doing?” you hissed under your breath.

“Saving you,” he replied quietly, his tone annoyingly casual.

“By making my life worse?”

He leaned closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “Oh, come on. You’d rather sit through more matchmaking from Alexandra?”

You couldn’t argue with that, but it didn’t make you any less furious.

As the group began to move on, shifting the conversation back to other topics, you slumped slightly in your chair, exhausted from the ordeal.

This was going to be a very, very long weekend.

…

The morning sun streamed into the chalet’s large windows, gilding the room in gold. You stirred your coffee slowly, staring out at the snow-covered peaks in the distance. Peace and quiet were rare in a house full of such chaotic personalities, but you’d stolen this moment for yourself.

Or so you thought.

“Morning, sugarplum.”

The sound of Franco’s voice made you visibly tense. You didn’t need to look to know he was leaning against the doorframe, his green eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You’re really committed to that name, aren’t you?” you asked flatly, turning just enough to shoot him a withering look.

“Would you prefer ‘honeybun’?” he replied smoothly, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Or maybe ‘snugglebear’? I’m flexible.”

“How about you don’t call me anything?”

“Not very girlfriend-like of you, sweetheart,” he teased, taking a sip of his coffee and leaning casually against the counter. “People might start to doubt us.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, already feeling your patience wearing thin. “If anyone doubts us, it’s because you’re about as subtle as a flashing neon sign.”

Franco grinned. “What can I say? I’m commited.”

Before you could retort, Lando appeared, sliding into the kitchen with his usual chaotic energy. “What’s this?” he asked, his grin widening as his eyes flicked between you and Franco. “Secret lovebird meeting?”

“We’re not—” you began, but Franco cut you off, slinging an arm around your shoulders with infuriating ease.

“Just waking up my muffin,” he said smoothly.

“Muffin?” Lando repeated, his eyebrows shooting up.

“She’s sweet like one,” Franco explained, giving you a squeeze that you immediately wriggled out of.

Lando barked out a laugh, grabbing an apple from the counter. “You two are ridiculous,” he said, shaking his head as he left the kitchen.

As soon as he was gone, you turned to Franco with a scowl. “What the hell have you gotten me into.”

“Relax, cupcake,” he said, smirking. “Although I am loving seeing you worked up like this.”

You crossed your arms tightly, your glare unwavering. “You could’ve warned me before throwing me into this mess.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he quipped, his voice maddeningly light. “You’re quick on your feet; I figured you’d keep up.”

Your frustration bubbled over, and you took a step closer, pointing at him. “This is not fun, Franco. This is me playing along so you don’t make it worse.”

“Relax, cupcake,” he said, smirking again. “You’ll get used to it. And honestly? You’re kind of good at it.”

You threw your hands up, exasperated. “Stop calling me that! This isn’t a game.”

His grin only widened, but there was a flicker of something softer in his gaze as he said, “It’s not a game, but it is very entertaining. Trust me, you’ll survive.”

Your jaw tightened, and you turned away, trying to steady yourself. “If you call me ‘cupcake’ one more time, I swear—”

“Duly noted,” he interrupted, his voice filled with amusement.

You huffed, grabbing the spoon and stirring your coffee again, trying to focus on anything but the smug grin you could still feel behind you.

...

Later that afternoon, you found yourself elbow-deep in a bowl of icing, surrounded by flour-dusted countertops and trays of freshly baked cookies. The group had decided on a cookie-decorating contest, and Alexandra had enlisted everyone with the enthusiasm of a drill sergeant.

“You’re going down,” Lando declared, grabbing a piping bag.

“Not likely,” Max replied, his expression as stoic as ever, though his hands worked with surprising precision.

You were concentrating on spreading icing over a snowman-shaped cookie when Franco appeared at your side.

“Need help, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice dripping with false sincerity.

“No,” you replied sharply, but he was already grabbing a piping bag and leaning into your space.

“You missed a spot,” he said, his grin widening as he leaned even closer.

Before you could react, he dipped a finger into a bowl of icing and held it up to your mouth.

“Say ahh,” he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Franco,” you hissed, your cheeks burning as the others turned to watch.

“Come on, sugarplum,” he said. “You’ve got to taste test your work.”

Gritting your teeth, you opened your mouth just enough to swipe the icing off his finger with a quick flick of your tongue. The room erupted into a mix of laughter and groans.

“That’s disgusting,” Lando said, though he was clearly enjoying the chaos.

“Get a room,” Max muttered, though his lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile.

You glared at Franco, but his smirk only grew. Grabbing the nearest piping bag, you squeezed a glob of icing onto your fingers and smeared it across his cheek.

“There,” you said sweetly. “You missed a spot.”

The table roared with laughter, and Franco’s grin never faltered as he wiped the icing off with a napkin. “You’re feisty today, snugglebear.”

“Stop calling me that,” you snapped, though there was a faint twinkle of amusement in your eyes.

Alexandra, who was trying to keep the peace, clapped her hands together. “No arguing please. This is supposed to be festive!”

“Don’t worry,” Franco said, his voice smooth as ever. “We’re perfectly fine. Right, sweetheart?”

You didn’t dignify him with a response, instead turning your attention back to your cookies.

“Don’t be shy, sugarplum,” Franco added, leaning closer. “Tell them how much you love me.”

“I hate you,” you muttered under your breath.

“Love you too, honeybear.”

…

By the time the chaos of the afternoon subsided, you were desperate for solitude. The chalet’s constant buzz of laughter and chatter had become too much, so you slipped away, finding refuge in the small, cozy study near the back of the house.

The fire crackled softly in the corner, casting a warm glow over the room. You curled up in one of the oversized armchairs, a cup of hot chocolate warming your hands as you tried to collect your thoughts.

The peace didn’t last long.

The door creaked open, and you didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“Found you, sugarplum,” Franco’s infuriatingly smug voice broke the silence.

You groaned, not turning around. “Go away, Franco.”

“And miss this little brooding session? Not a chance,” he said, closing the door behind him.

You heard his footsteps cross the room, and within moments, he was perched on the armrest of your chair, his presence looming far too close for comfort.

“What do you want?” you snapped, finally looking up at him.

“To check on my darling girlfriend,” he replied smoothly, his green eyes glinting with mischief. “You seemed a little… tense earlier.”

“I wonder why,” you said dryly, taking a sip of your cocoa.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, feigning thoughtfulness. “Is it because your sister is practically shoving you at George every five seconds? Good thing I swooped in to save you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You didn’t save me. You made it worse.”

“Worse?” he repeated, mock-offended. “I saved you from months of awkward George politeness and Alexandra’s relentless matchmaking. You should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you?” you repeated, incredulous. “For turning my life into a circus?”

Franco smirked, leaning closer. “You’ve got to admit, it’s entertaining.”

You glared at him. “For who? You?”

“For everyone,” he said, laughing softly. “But mostly me.”

Your grip tightened on your mug, your patience hanging by a thread. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, here I am,” he said, grinning. “Your knight in shining armor.”

You snorted. “More like the villain in a rom-com.”

“Rom-com?” he mused. “I like that. Does that make you the quirky lead who doesn’t realize she’s in love with me until the final act?”

“I hate you,” you muttered, though the corners of your mouth betrayed you with the faintest twitch.

“No, you don’t,” he said lightly, leaning back as if he had all the time in the world.

The fire popped loudly, filling the silence that followed. For a brief moment, his teasing smirk softened, his green eyes flickering with something unreadable.

You shifted uncomfortably, suddenly feeling too exposed. “Why are you really here, Franco?”

He tilted his head, his smirk returning, but a subtle hint of sincerity was now present in his voice. “Just checking in. Making sure my favorite sugarplum isn’t plotting my demise.”

“I’m always plotting your demise,” you said flatly.

“Good to know,” he said, standing but lingering by your side. For once, his smirk faded, replaced by something softer. “But seriously… take it easy, okay?” He paused, his voice dropping slightly. “I’ll make sure tomorrow isn’t so bad.”

He was halfway to the door when it swung open again, revealing Lando, grinning like he’d just stumbled upon a jackpot.

“What’s this? Private lovebird time?” he asked, stepping into the room without waiting for an invitation.

“Oh, absolutely,” Franco said, his grin widening. “She couldn’t keep away.”

You groaned, setting your cocoa down. “Lando, please.”

He ignored you, leaning casually against the doorframe. “So, Franco, what’s tomorrow’s nickname? Angelcake? Lovebug?”

“Love nugget,” Franco replied instantly, his smirk smug as ever.

Lando cackled, nearly doubling over. “Love nugget! Oh, this just keeps getting better.”

You buried your face in your hands with a groan. “You’re all insufferable.”

“No, no,” Franco corrected, his grin widening. “I’m the insufferable one. They’re just my audience.”

“Exactly,” Lando chimed in, still laughing. “We’re just here for the show.”

Franco clapped him on the shoulder as he left the room. “Come on. Let’s leave my little honey bunny to her brooding.”

You threw a pillow at them as they walked out, but your aim was off, and their laughter echoed down the hall.

…

The living room buzzed with laughter and chatter, the fire crackling warmly in the hearth as snow fell softly outside. Lando stood at the center of the room, waving a bowl filled with folded slips of paper.

“All right, people!” he declared, his grin as wide as ever. “Time for charades! Teams have been pre-assigned by yours truly, so no arguing.”

“Lando, what did you do?” Carlos asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Created the perfect teams, duh,” Lando replied smugly. “Here we go. Team one: Alex and Charles. Team two: George and Oscar. Team three: Max and Carlos. And finally… Franco and Y/N!”

You groaned audibly, shooting Lando a glare. “Seriously?”

He smirked. “You’re welcome.”

Franco leaned closer, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. “Look at that, sugarplum. Fate wants us to win.”

“How wonderful,” you muttered under your breath.

“Okay, everyone knows the rules,” Lando continued, ignoring the tension between you and Franco. “No talking, sound effects are allowed, but only one person on the team acts at a time. And remember, you’ve got thirty seconds per round. Got it?”

Everyone nodded, settling into their seats as Lando pulled the first slip from the bowl.

The first few rounds were as chaotic as expected. Alex’s exaggerated gestures left Charles laughing too hard to guess, and George and Oscar worked surprisingly well together, securing a few easy points. Max and Carlos turned every clue into a competitive showdown, each accusing the other of overcomplicating things.

By the time it was your team’s turn, the energy in the room was electric, and the scoreboard showed a tight race between George and Oscar’s team and Max and Carlos’s.

“Franco, you’re up!” Lando announced, handing him a slip of paper.

Franco unfolded it, his smirk growing as he read the word. Without a word, he turned to you and held out his hand.

“Come here,” he said simply.

You narrowed your eyes, immediately suspicious. “Why?”

“Just trust me,” he replied, his tone smooth as ever.

Reluctantly, you stepped forward, and he wasted no time pulling you into the center of the room.

“Franco, what are you doing?” you hissed, but he ignored you.

The room fell silent as everyone watched him intently. Without warning, he placed one hand firmly on your back and clasped your other hand in his.

“Wait—”

Before you could protest, he spun you out dramatically, then pulled you back in, his movements fluid and precise.

“Is this—”

“Shh,” he whispered.

Your heart stumbled in your chest as he led you through an impromptu tango, his grip firm but surprisingly gentle, his hand steady on your back as his green eyes locked with yours.

The room erupted in cheers and laughter, but all you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat, loud and insistent in your ears.

You barely had time to register what was happening before he spun you out dramatically, then pulled you back in for a final dip.

“Guess the word, sugarplum,” Franco whispered, his voice low and teasing.

Your brain refused to cooperate. You opened your mouth, but no words came out as your heart pounded in your chest as you stared up at him, completely flustered..

“Uh…”

“Time’s up!” Lando shouted, his laughter ringing above the chaos. “The word was ‘tango!’”

“Oh, come on,” Franco groaned, straightening up and releasing you. “She had one job.”

“I—” You struggled to form a coherent sentence, still reeling from the unexpected intensity of the moment.

“She was too flustered,” Oscar said with a grin. “Can’t blame her for that.”

“You call that acting out?” Max asked, raising an eyebrow. “That was more like showing off.”

“Showing off or not,” Charles interjected, his eyes alight with romantic fervor, “it was beautiful. Truly.”

Carlos clapped Franco on the back. “Points for commitment.”

Lando was practically in tears, clutching his stomach as he laughed. “Please, we should do Friendmas more often! You guys are killing me.”

You crossed your arms, glaring at Franco. “Was that really necessary?”

“I wasn’t trying to win,” Franco said casually, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “Just wanted to make it memorable.”

The laughter and teasing in the living room still rang in your ears as you slipped away into the quiet of the kitchen. The glow of the firelight from the other room faded behind you, replaced by the soft hum of the under-cabinet lights. Snow fell steadily outside the large window, each flake illuminated by the warm outdoor lanterns.

Leaning against the counter, you cradled a glass of water in your hands. The coolness seeped through your fingers, grounding you, though it did little to steady the erratic beat of your heart. The tango performance replayed in your mind—Franco’s confident hold, the sharp dip, and the way his gaze lingered on yours a moment too long.

“Y/N?”

The familiar voice made you turn, startled. George stood in the doorway, his posture upright, his expression thoughtful but tinged with hesitation.

“George,” you said, offering a small smile. “Everything all right?”

He stepped inside, his shoes tapping softly against the polished wood floor. “I was about to ask you the same. You seemed, well, rather unsettled during charades. I wanted to make sure you’re… alright.”

You laughed softly, trying to deflect. “Just overwhelmed, I guess. All the attention gets a bit much sometimes.”

George raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. He moved a little closer, his hands sliding into the pockets of his trousers with an air of casual elegance. “May I speak frankly?”

“Of course,” you replied, though a sinking feeling began to settle in your chest.

He hesitated for a moment, his gaze fixed on you, his words carefully measured. “Are you and Franco actually serious?”

The question hit harder than you expected.

George continued, his voice soft but deliberate. “It’s just… unexpected. I didn’t think he was, er, your sort of man. But if he makes you happy, that’s what matters. I merely—” He paused, his eyes searching yours. “I’d hate to think you’re settling for anything less than what you deserve.”

Your throat tightened. The sincerity in his tone was disarming, and the lie you’d been weaving all weekend felt heavier than ever.

“I—” You faltered, words failing you.

The door swung open, cutting through the tension like a knife.

Franco stepped inside, his presence filling the room instantly. His gaze flicked between you and George, his green eyes sharp but unreadable. His usual smirk was tempered, his expression calm but watchful.

“Hi there,” Franco said, his voice light but laced with a quiet edge. “Am I interrupting something?”

George turned slightly, his shoulders still relaxed but his tone more clipped. “Not at all. Y/N and I were just having a chat.”

Franco’s eyes lingered on you, and without a word, he stepped closer, his hand sliding to rest gently on your waist. The touch was subtle but deliberate, his fingers warm against the fabric of your sweater.

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” Franco said, his smirk returning faintly. “But don’t keep her too long. I might start missing her.”

George’s brow twitched, his eyes flicking briefly to Franco’s hand before returning to yours. “Right,” he said after a moment, his voice still measured. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.” He hesitated, his gaze softening as it lingered on you. “Do let me know if you need anything, Y/N.”

“Thank you, George,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

He nodded once before stepping out, the door closing softly behind him.

The room fell silent, save for the faint crackle of the fire in the distance. Franco didn’t move, his hand still resting firmly on your waist.

“You okay?” he asked finally, his voice quieter than you expected.

You nodded quickly. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

His lips twitched, a faint smirk threatening to appear, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” you replied, though the slight shake in your voice betrayed you.

He tilted his head, his gaze fixed on yours. “Because you disappeared pretty quickly after the game.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he continued before you could.

“I came to check on you,” he said, his tone casual but deliberate. “Can’t say I’m surprised though that George went to find you first.”

Your brow furrowed. “What does that mean?”

Franco shifted slightly, his thumb brushing subtly against your waist in a way that sent an unexpected jolt through you. “He clearly wanted to test the water,” he said, his voice low, almost conversational. “Cornering you in here like that. Asking questions he knows might throw you off.”

“Sure, sweet George had sneaky intentions,” you said, though a soft laugh escaped you.

“For sure,” Franco insisted, the faintest flicker of irritation crossing his features. “He’s too polite to make it obvious, but trust me, he knows what he’s doing.”

You couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not,” Franco replied, the smirk returning. His thumb moved again, a slow, absent stroke against your side as he spoke. “He’s clever enough to know when to push without it looking like he’s pushing.”

“And you think that’s what he was doing?”

“Even is he wasn't,” Franco said, meeting your gaze squarely. For a moment, his usual bravado was replaced by something more sincere, more grounded. “I just wanted to make sure he knows you’re mine.”

Your breath caught, the words hanging in the air between you like a delicate thread.

He must have noticed the way your expression shifted because he chuckled softly, his smirk softening. “You know, for now. Until this whole thing is over and you can go back to being everyone’s favorite single lady.”

You rolled your eyes, though your heart was pounding. “Oh, how noble of you.”

“Very noble,” he said, his tone teasing again. “It’s hard work being such a convincing fake boyfriend.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossible?” he repeated, his smirk deepening. “Or exactly what you need?”

The moment stretched, his hand still resting on your waist, his touch grounding and unnervingly warm. For a split second, it felt like the world outside the kitchen had disappeared, leaving only the two of you in this small, quiet space.

“You know,” you said quietly, barely meeting his gaze, “Alexandra’s matchmaking ideas don’t exactly… line up with what I want. So you don’t have to worry about that.”

Franco’s brow lifted slightly, but the faintest smirk tugged at his lips. “Good to know.”

He cleared his throat, stepping back just enough to give you some space but not enough to completely break the connection. “Come on, sugarplum. We should get back before Lando starts a search party.”

“Right,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

He gestured for you to lead the way, his hand lingering just long enough to make your skin tingle before he finally let it fall.

As you stepped back into the chaos of the living room, you couldn’t help but glance at him out of the corner of your eye. The smirk was back, his confident demeanor firmly in place, but something about the way he’d spoken lingered in your mind.

…

The lake glistened under the pale winter sun, the ice reflecting the snowy peaks surrounding it. The group was a riot of scarves, gloves, and thick jackets, their breath visible in the crisp, cold air.

“Right, bets are open!” Lando declared, pulling his gloves tighter. “Charles versus Carlos: who’s wiping out first?”

“Carlos,” Max said flatly, tightening his own skates.

“I’m offended,” Carlos shot back, puffing his chest dramatically.

“I’ll take that action,” Oscar quipped, producing a crumpled bill from his pocket.

Meanwhile, Franco stood next to you, his hands tucked casually in his coat pockets as he watched the scene unfold with a grin. “Think you’ll make it through without falling, pudding pie?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Think you can go a full hour without making a comment like that?”

“Nope,” he replied, his grin widening.

Charles and Carlos were already on the ice, their playful bickering carrying across the frozen expanse as they started an impromptu race. Charles was fast but clumsy, slipping every few strides, while Carlos cackled loudly, skating circles around him.

Lando and Max, true to form, took their positions at the sidelines to heckle and place more bets.

You laced your skates carefully, trying to ignore the fact that Franco’s gaze was on you the entire time.

“Ready?” he asked as you stood, wobbling slightly.

“Don’t laugh,” you warned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, though the smirk playing at the corners of his lips said otherwise.

The ice stretched out before you, gleaming under the pale winter sun like a vast, treacherous mirror. Each step felt like a gamble, your skates threatening to slip out from under you at any moment. Franco skated backward effortlessly in front of you, his movements smooth and confident, as if he’d been born to glide.

“You look like a baby deer,” he teased, his green eyes alight with amusement.

You shot him a glare, your arms flailing slightly as you tried to regain your balance. “Thanks for the support.”

“Relax,” he said, skating closer. His hands reached out instinctively, steadying you with a touch that was firmer than necessary but far from unwelcome. “You’re doing fine.”

“I don’t need your help,” you muttered, though you made no move to pull your hand away as he laced his fingers with yours.

He smirked, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles in a way that sent a small jolt of warmth through you. “Sure you don’t.”

Behind you, Lando’s voice rang out, cutting through the stillness of the lake.

“Max is going down! I can feel it!”

Max, ever unbothered, glided past with surprising ease. “You’re the one who’s going down, Lando,” he retorted without looking back.

Franco chuckled softly, his gaze flicking briefly toward the chaos around you before returning to your face. “You’re lucky I’m not like them.”

“What, loud and extremely present?” you quipped, your lips twitching in the beginnings of a smile.

“Exactly,” he replied, his grin widening.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the way your shoulders relaxed slightly under his steadying touch.

Taking a deep breath, you let go of his hand, feeling a surge of confidence as you took a tentative step on your own.

The sudden scrape of blades against ice drew your attention to George as he skated up beside you, his posture impossibly straight, his movements smooth and deliberate.

“Need a hand?” he asked, his tone warm and polite, as always.

You glanced at him, your heart sinking slightly at the hopeful look in his blue eyes. His hand hovered just in front of yours, an offer you knew he thought you might take.

“That’s sweet of you, George,” you said gently, forcing a small smile. “But I think Franco’s got it.”

His hand lowered slightly, and his expression shifted, though he recovered quickly.

Before the silence could stretch too far, you turned back to Franco, raising your free hand toward him. “Hold my hand again?”

Franco raised a brow, clearly surprised by the request, but he didn’t hesitate. His hand slid easily into yours, his grip firm and steady as he pulled you closer. “Anything for you, sugarplum.”

The words, playful as they were, carried a softness that hadn’t been there before, and for a moment, you forgot about the chill in the air.

George hesitated briefly, his gaze flicking between you and Franco, before nodding once. “All right then,” he said, his tone polite but slightly clipped. “I’ll let you two be.”

He skated ahead with a precision that seemed a little too deliberate, his back straight and his strides measured.

Franco watched him go, his lips twitching in the beginnings of a smirk. “Smooth,” he murmured, turning his attention back to you.

“Don’t start,” you said quickly, though the warmth of his hand made it impossible to sound annoyed.

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough for only you to hear. “You could’ve let him help, you know.”

“I didn’t want his help,” you replied, your gaze fixed on the ice in front of you.

“No?” Franco’s smirk deepened, his thumb brushing over your knuckles again in a motion so casual it felt intentional. “Guess I’m doing something right then.”

You didn’t respond, though your cheeks burned under his gaze. Instead, you focused on moving forward, your steps growing more confident with his hand in yours.

Around you, the chaos of the group continued unabated—Carlos yelling at Charles for cutting him off during their makeshift race, Lando shrieking as Max lunged at him with outstretched arms, and Oscar laughing so hard he nearly fell over.

But for a brief moment, it all faded into the background, leaving only the sound of your blades against the ice and the warmth of Franco’s hand in yours.

…

The chalet buzzed with noise and laughter as we stumbled back inside from the frozen lake. The warmth from the roaring fire hit me like a wave, thawing my frozen fingers and toes. Everyone was shedding layers—scarves, coats, gloves—creating a chaotic pile near the doorway.

“I had him!” Charles was practically shouting, his voice thick with indignation as he gestured wildly at Carlos. “He tripped me on purpose!”

Carlos, leaning casually against the back of a chair, raised a brow and smirked. “I didn’t trip you, mate. You tripped yourself.”

“Oh, sure,” Charles shot back, throwing his gloves down dramatically. “You just happened to be in my way.”

“Can someone trip him again? I need a replay,” Lando quipped, flopping onto the armrest of the couch with all the grace of a cat falling off a ledge.

“You’re all terrible,” Charles muttered, though the corners of his mouth betrayed his amusement.

“You know what’s really terrible?” Max cut in, pointing a finger at Lando. “Lando’s skating. I’ve seen toddlers with more grace.”

“Excuse me!” Lando sat up, mock-offended. “Who got you to fall, hmm? Oh, right—it was me. Call it strategy.”

“It was chaos,” Oscar said, sipping his tea as he perched on the edge of the couch. “Pure chaos.”

“Chaos,” Alexandra chimed in, walking past me as she unwound her scarf, “is you all trying to one-up each other like you’re in some kind of Winter Olympics tryout.”

“Alexandra, be honest,” Carlos said, leaning toward her. “Who was better—me or Charles?”

She pretended to consider it for a moment before shrugging. “Neither. You were both disasters in your own way.”

I snorted, pulling off my gloves and tucking them into my coat pocket. “She’s not wrong.”

Max turned his gaze to me, smirking. “Speaking of disasters, I saw you almost fall twice.”

“Almost being the key word,” I shot back, narrowing my eyes at him.

“You only survived because of him,” Max said, jerking his chin toward Franco, who was currently leaning against the fireplace like he had all the time in the world.

“Is that true?” Alexandra asked, her eyes flicking between Franco and me.

“Absolutely,” Franco said, his grin lazy as he met my gaze. “Graceful as ever, aren’t you, sugarplum?”

The group burst into laughter, and I felt my cheeks heat. I rolled my eyes, grabbing the hem of my sweater and pretending to brush off invisible dust. “I’m going to make hot chocolate. At least that won’t involve falling on my face.”

The kitchen was warm and quiet, a perfect escape from the chaos of the living room. I stirred the bubbling cocoa on the stove, letting the rhythmic motion calm me as the faint hum of voices filtered through the walls.

The door creaked open, and I glanced over my shoulder to see Franco stepping inside. His hair was still tousled from the cold, and his green eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and something softer.

“Couldn’t resist joining me, huh?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, someone had to check on the quality control of this hot chocolate,” he quipped, leaning casually against the counter.

I snorted, turning back to the pot. “As if you’re qualified to judge.”

He grinned, pushing off the counter and taking a step closer. “Bold words for someone who didn’t even add marshmallows.”

“They’re coming,” I shot back.

“Sure they are,” he said, his voice teasing but light.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. I focused on the cocoa, feeling his eyes on me. When I glanced at him again, he was fidgeting slightly, his hands shifting in his pockets.

“What’s up?” I asked, my brow furrowing.

He hesitated before pulling a small, slightly crumpled package from his pocket. “I wanted to give you something,” he said, his voice quieter now.

That caught me off guard. “You? Giving me something?”

“Yeah,” he said, pulling out a small package wrapped in slightly crumpled paper. He set it on the counter between us, his movements slower than usual.

“You’re serious?” I asked, eyeing the little package, still in shock.

“It’s nothing big,” he said grinning shyly. “I just… wanted to give you this before the whole Secret Santa circus starts later.”

I stared at the package, my curiosity piqued. “You’re not my Secret Santa.”

“Nope,” he said, popping the “p” as he placed the package on the counter between us. “I’m just really bad at following the rules.”

I looked at the package, then back at him. “Is this going to explode?”

“No, it’s not going to explode,” he said, his grin softening into something almost sheepish. “Just open it.”

I stared at the package for a moment before taking it, the weight of his gaze making my chest tighten. Carefully, I peeled back the wrapping, revealing a delicate gold bracelet with a tiny heart-shaped charm.

I turned it over, my breath catching when I saw the engraving on the back: Sugarplum.

“Franco…” I trailed off, brushing my thumb over the charm.

“It’s just a silly thing, got it in town this morning,” he said quickly, his words tumbling over each other. “For when this weekend’s over and you’ll start missing my nicknames. Or, you know, to apologize for dragging you into this whole fake-dating mess in the first place.”

“I don’t mind as much as I thought I would,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

He glanced at me, his green eyes flickering with something I couldn’t quite place. “Still. I thought it might be nice to have… a funny memory. Or whatever.”

I slipped the bracelet onto my wrist, the charm resting lightly against my skin. It fit perfectly, as though it had always belonged there.

The bracelet’s charm glinted softly in the light as it settled against my wrist, the chain fitting perfectly. I turned it over once more, running my thumb across the tiny engraving.

“You really didn’t have to do this,” I said, glancing up at him.

Franco shrugged, leaning back slightly against the counter. “I know. But… I wanted to. It felt right.”

I raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Right?”

“Okay, maybe ‘right’ is overselling it,” he admitted, his grin faint and a little sheepish. “But I figured, if we’re doing this whole fake-dating thing, we might as well have something to laugh about later. You know, when we’re telling everyone how much we hated it.”

His words were light, but something about the way he said them made my chest tighten. “I don’t really hate it,” I said quietly.

He blinked, his grin faltering. “No?”

I shook my head, the bracelet shifting slightly as I let my arms fall to my sides. “It’s been… weird. Definitely not what I expected, but not all bad.”

“Not all bad,” he repeated, his tone teasing but softer.

“Yeah,” I said, shrugging a little. “I guess I’ve gotten… used to you.”

He tilted his head, his green eyes narrowing slightly. “Used to me? Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Take it however you want,” I said, fighting back a smile.

“Noted,” he said, his lips curving into something closer to his usual smirk. “I’ll put it right up there with, ‘Franco, you’re annoying, but tolerable.’”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “Don’t push it.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “You know,” he said after a moment, his voice dropping slightly, “it hasn’t been all bad for me either. I mean, you’ve got your moments.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Moments?”

“Yeah,” he said, his grin softening. “Like when you aren’t rolling your eyes at me or threatening to throw something. Those are nice.”

I rolled my eyes instinctively, but the warmth in his gaze made my stomach flip. “Oh shut up,” I muttered, though there was no real heat in my voice.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air between us shifted, growing heavier, and I felt the distance between us shrink even though neither of us moved.

“You’re going to keep calling me Sugarplum, aren’t you?” I asked finally, breaking the silence.

“Oh, absolutely,” he said, his grin returning. “You’re stuck with it now.”

The room felt smaller suddenly, the warmth from the stove and the weight of his gaze wrapping around me like a blanket. My heart pounded as the silence stretched, the unspoken words hanging between us growing louder with every passing second.

“Franco,” I began, not even sure what I was going to say.

His eyes searched mine, his lips parting slightly, as though he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

Without thinking, I leaned forward and kissed him.

The movement startled him at first—his breath hitched, his hands hovering awkwardly—but then he responded, his touch finding my waist as he pulled me closer. His lips were warm and soft, hesitant at first, as though he wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to kiss me back.

When my hand slid up to the back of his neck, threading through his hair, the kiss deepened. His grip on my waist tightened, his other hand brushing lightly against my arm before settling on my lower back. The air between us seemed to crackle, the faint scent of cocoa mingling with the heat of his touch.

He kissed me like he was trying to memorize it, his lips moving slowly but deliberately, as though he didn’t want to rush.

When I finally pulled back, my forehead barely brushed against his, our breaths mingling in the warm air of the kitchen. My cheeks burned, and my pulse hammered in my ears, but I couldn’t bring myself to step away just yet.

Franco’s green eyes searched mine, his usual confidence replaced by something quieter, softer. His lips parted slightly like he wanted to say something, but the words didn’t come right away.

“I didn’t think you’d do that,” he finally murmured, his voice low and uncertain.

“Good surprise or bad surprise?” I asked, my tone light despite the way my chest tightened.

“Good,” he said without hesitation, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Really good.”

His hands were still resting lightly on my waist, his thumbs brushing against the fabric of my sweater. The warmth of his touch was bringing my head back to earth, making the moment feel more real than anything that had come before it.

I wasn’t sure who moved first, but before I knew it, I was leaning back in, capturing his lips in another kiss. This one was slower, more deliberate, the kind of kiss that felt like an unspoken promise. His hand slid up to cradle my face, his thumb brushing softly against my cheek as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss.

The sound of the door creaking open made us jump apart, and I turned sharply to see Lando standing frozen in the doorway, his mouth hanging open.

For a moment, none of us spoke. Then, Lando blinked, his gaze darting between us as his brain seemed to catch up with what he’d just walked in on.

“Oh my god,” he blurted out, his voice a mix of shock and triumph. “You’re actually for real..”

“Lando—” Franco started, his voice low and exasperated.

“No, no, wait. This is—wow. I mean, Oscar’s gonna lose his mind. And ten euros.” Lando grinned, his excitement building.

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “Lando, can you please just—”

“Leave you to it?” he interrupted, smirking as he leaned casually against the doorframe. “Sure, I can do that.” 

The sound of his retreating footsteps was immediately followed by his voice erupting from the living room. “OSCAR! MAX! THEY’RE ACTUALLY TOGETHER! PAY UP!”

Franco let out a long sigh, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’m going to kill him.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling up unexpectedly. 

I glanced down at the bracelet on my wrist, the charm catching the light. The warmth spreading through me was impossible to ignore, a quiet certainty settling in my chest.

“Still worth it?” I asked, my tone teasing but soft.

His eyes flicked to the bracelet and then back to me, and the smile that followed was warmer, more genuine.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Definitely.”

[zyhkoo]

🦢 flaws and all

fluff, f!civilian, suggestive in second part, 1 + 2

( spending your days with him. )

Jason had just finished up patrol, he had been satisfied with his work but when he was about to head back the rain began to pour. Jason stood in the dim alleyway, the rain pouring down around him. He let out a frustrated sigh, knowing that he was in for a long, wet walk back to your apartment.

He cursed under his breath, his gaze flickering over the rooftops that seemed more slippery than usual with the rain.

Jason stood by the window your, the soaked bottoms of his boots leaving a damp trail on the floor as he shut the window behind him. Shaking off the excess water from his clothing, he took a moment to catch his breath.

Once the initial wave of cold and shivers had passed, he sighed and scanned the apartment for any possible damage. He noticed the drops of water that had leaked onto the floor, so he grabbed the mop that was leaning on a corner and began mopping the wet spots.

Jason walked toward your bedroom as quietly as possible, trying not to wake you up. Once inside, he closed the door behind him and began to strip off his damp and now heavy clothes, letting them drop to the floor with a soft thud.

He reached into the bottom drawer of your dresser, where he had stashed a change of clothes for nights like this. He rummaged through and found some comfortable sweats and a t-shirt, quickly putting them on.

Jason heard the loud thunder rumble outside, the sound cutting through the silence of the night. He winced, his heightened senses making the sound even more pronounced in his ears.

He paused for a moment, his eyes drifting towards the window. The rain continued to pour, the raindrops tapping against the glass in an almost rhythmic pattern.

He could hear shifting in the sheets, Jason turned his attention back into the room, his eyes locking onto the bed. He hadn't expected you to be awake, "You awake?" he asked.

“Yeah.” you softly answered, pulling the sheets closer. Jason felt a pang of guilt as you spoke, realizing that he must have disturbed your sleep. He stepped closer to the bed, his feet not making a sound on the floorboards.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, "I didn't mean to wake you." you shook your head, “It’s not you.” you replied.

Jason frowned, not quite believing your words.

"Then what is it?" he asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to you. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, but he tried not to disturb you. Jason was silent for a moment, listening to the sound of the thunder outside. Then it clicked in his mind. He knew that you had some issues with storms, and he was mentally berating himself for not thinking of it sooner

He sighed, his hand hesitantly reaching for your shoulder under the covers. He moved closer to you, his touch gentle as he squeezed your shoulder in a comforting gesture.

"It's just a storm," he murmured, his voice low and steady. "It'll pass soon."

“I know..” you said, Jason was aware that you knew that the storm would pass. He knew you were probably just trying to convince yourself of that. But he also knew that it didn't make it any less frightening. He hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "You want company?" he asked.

Jason felt a small sense of relief when you nodded, with a small sigh, he moved to the other side of the bed and slowly laid down next to you. As Jason settled onto the bed, he turned his gaze onto you. Your body was concealed under the blankets, revealing only your face and a portion of your hair.

Your eyes met his, and his attention was drawn to the pillow you were clutching. He remained silent for a moment, then spoke in a soft yet steady voice.

"Come here," he murmured, his hand motioning for you to move closer to him. Jason patted the spot on the mattress next to him, silently inviting you to move closer. He knew that sometimes, being held could help provide a sense of comfort and security during a storm.

Jason felt your arm wrap around his waist, pulling yourself against his body. He let out a soft exhale, welcoming your touch. He moved his own arm to drape around your shoulders, gently pulling you closer as he tried to provide some comfort through his presence.

You sighed against him as you laid your head on his chest, “Thanks Jay.” you murmured. A storm with him around made it more tolerable. He could feel your breath, against his skin. He swallowed, his throat feeling unusually dry as he responded, "Mhm."

Your word of thanks resonated with him. He knew you found comfort in his presence, and it made him feel relieved. He tightened his hold on you slightly, his fingers unconsciously tracing patterns on your back as he spoke in a hushed tone.

"You don't need to thank me," he muttered, "Just... let me do this for you." he paused for a moment, his voice soft yet firm as he continued, "Just let me be here for you, okay?" you nodded, “Okay.” you whispered back.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering for a few seconds longer than necessary. He found it ironic, really, how the most dangerous and feared vigilante in Gotham could be reduced to a soft person in the presence of one person.

“You make me feel stuff.” he said. Jason's gaze met yours as you looked up at him. “Is it bad?” you asked. "No, it's not bad." He reached up to gently cup your face, his calloused fingers caressing your skin. "It's just... new." he admitted, his voice a deep and gruff whisper.

"I've never... felt like this before." he continued, his fingers tracing your jawline. "With anyone." He paused for a moment, his eyes searching yours as if trying to convey the depth of what he was feeling. You softly scoffed, “It can’t be just me, there must be someone else.” you replied.

Jason let out a low huff, shaking his head slightly. "Trust me." he said, his fingers still gently tracing your skin. "There's nobody else." He paused again, his gaze not wavering from yours. "It's just you, and the things you do to me." You looked down, doubting him “Are you sure it’s me?” you asked.

Jason frowned at your question, his grip on your face firm but gentle.

"What makes you say that?" he asked, as he tilted your head up, wanting you to look at him. “Just..” your eyes darted away, “I’m usually just second choice you know?”

He shook his head, his grip on your face tightening just a fraction. "No." he said firmly, his voice low and fierce. "Not with me."

He paused for a moment before continuing, his tone softening but still firm. "You are not a second choice. Not to me." you flushed as your eyes softened, “You really mean it don’t you?” Jason leaned in, his face just a few inches away from yours. He held your gaze, his eyes boring into yours.

"Yes." he said firmly, no trace of doubt or hesitation in his voice. "I mean it. You are not second choice. You are the only choice." He let go of your face, but instead of pulling away, his hand moved down to take yours under the covers, his fingers intertwined with yours.

Your hands shook a bit as you felt a lump in your throat, “I..” Jason noticed the slight tremble in your hand and the way your voice cracked. He could see the emotion in your eyes and wanted nothing more than to reassure you.

He brought your intertwined hands up, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand before lowering them again. "You don't have to say anything." he murmured. He shifted his body slightly, pulling you closer to his chest as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. With his free hand, he reached down and pulled the covers back up to your shoulders, cocooning the two of you in warmth and comfort.

The storm continued to rage outside, the rain still beating mercilessly against the roof and windows. But trapped in Jason's embrace, wrapped in the coziness of the covers, you felt a newfound sense of safety and reassurance.

“I love you.” you murmured. Jason felt his heart skip a beat as the words left your lips. He held you a bit tighter in response, his arms wrapping around you like a protective shield. His gruff voice was softer than usual as he murmured, "I love you too."

Jason slowly stirred awake, his eyes blinking open as he felt the warmth of your bare back against his chest. He let out a low sigh, still half-asleep but slowly becoming aware of his surroundings.

He felt your legs intertwined with his and the familiar scent of your skin filling his senses. The morning light streamed in through the window, casting a soft glow into the room. Still drowsy, he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you a little closer to him and nuzzling his face into your neck.

The feeling of your soft skin against his chest was comforting, and the warmth of your body against his brought a sense of peace. Jason let out a low, contented sigh as he gently nuzzled your neck again, his lips brushing against your skin in a light, affectionate kiss.

You hummed, “I’m awake you know.” you murmured with a little chuckle

Jason felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him as he heard you speak. He pulled his face away from your neck, slightly flustered at being caught. He mumbled into your ear, "Thought you were sleepin'."

Jason shifted slightly behind you, pressing his body a bit closer. He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder before mumbling again, his voice slightly muffled against your skin, "Why you up so early?"

“The light woke me up.” you yawned, scratching your eye. Jason hummed in understanding, his cheek resting against your shoulder as he held you close. "Guess the sun had to ruin it." he grumbled, his arm giving your waist a gentle squeeze.

You then faced him, “Last night was nice.” Jason met your gaze as you turned to face him. He nodded, "Yeah. Yeah, it was." he replied, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your hip.

Jason's eyes searched yours for a moment before he leaned in and gave you a slow, lingering kiss. The touch was soft and affectionate, his lips moving against yours with a gentle pressure.

He pulled away after a few moments, his gaze remaining on your face as he studied your expression. His thumb traced small circles on the bare skin of your waist, the gesture comforting and subtle.

You chuckled, “You’ve gotten sappy.” Jason rolled his eyes, a hint of embarrassment showing on his face. "Whatever." he muttered. Jason was still not used to waking up next to someone else, the warmth of your body and the softness of your skin a new and slightly unfamiliar sensation.

Your eyes trail to the numerous scars from his body, all from his past battles and patrols. You knew that he was self-conscious every time you looked at them. Jason tensed ever so slightly as he noticed your gaze on his scars. Despite his tough exterior and stoic demeanor, he was still self-conscious of his body and the scars that marked his skin.

He shifted slightly, a subtle movement intended to distract you from the imperfections on his body. Jason's eyes searched your face, trying to gauge your reaction. He knew you had seen the scars on his body, and he had no doubt you'd seen his visible discomfort with them. But he also knew you never asked about them, never pressed for explanations of how he got them.

Jason felt your touch on the small scar on his shoulder, your fingers tracing it gently. He let out a soft sigh, his eyes fixed on yours as he allowed you to caress the mark.

His body relaxed, though he still felt a bit uneasy with the attention on his scars. Your hand continued to explore his scars, there were long and small ones, some stitched and some burnt, Though you never flinched or reacted in disgust.

You then looked back at his face, searching for his eyes “Are you okay?” you asked, in case he Jason met your gaze, his features softened by the concern in your eyes. He took a moment before answering, his voice low and gruff.

"I'm fine." he said, his arm around your waist tightening its grip ever so slightly, as if reassuring himself of your presence.

He swallowed and shifted a bit, his eyes flickering down to your hand, still tracing his scars. was uncomfortable. “Should I stop?” you continued to ask. Jason sighed, his gaze darting between your face and your hand tracing his scars. A part of him didn't want you to stop, your touch was comforting and reassuring, but another part feared the memories that could be stirred by it.

"Do what you want," he murmured, “Well I want what you want.” you replied. He swallowed, his throat feeling dry as he struggled to find the right words.

"I want your touch." he admitted, his voice husky. "But sometimes it brings back bad memories." Your hand moved away, “So should I stop?” Jason felt a pang of disappointment as your hand moved away from his scars, the absence of your touch leaving a cold, empty feeling on his chest.

He shook his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours again.

"No." he said gruffly. "I don't want you to stop." He paused before continuing, "Just don't... don't pity me." You shook your head, “I won’t.” your hand then trails to the scars on his chest.

As you saw a particularly large one, you moved down and placed a kiss. He swallowed, his chest rising and falling slowly as he felt the weight of your gesture, the way you accepted and accepted his scars without a second thought.

His hand moved to your hair, gently brushing through the soft strands, a silent thank you for your understanding. “Let’s dress up and eat breakfast.” you murmured in his chest.

Jason chuckled softly, a hint of relief in his voice. He knew you were changing the subject on purpose, giving him a chance to compose himself. "Yeah, sounds good." he agreed, his hand gently rubbing your back before pulling away from your embrace.

He started to sit up, grabbing the discarded clothes from the night before.

You sat on the floor, surrounded by your record collection, scanning through the albums with a growing sense of boredom. You had listened to all of them repeatedly, and the thought of playing them again was no longer appealing.

You let out a heavy sigh, feeling the weight of the boredom settling over you. Just as your eyes lingered on a record you had played a dozen times, the sound of a deep throat being cleared, made your head turn towards Jason.

He watched you for a moment, his eyes trailing over the record collection spread out around you. "You're gonna pick one already? It’s been a while." he asked, his eyebrow raised slightly.

You huffed to yourself as you placed a hand on your cheek, “I’m pretty bored of these, they’re good but I’m tired of listening to it repeatedly.” Jason’s expression softened slightly, seeing the boredom etched on your face. He walked over, standing over you as you sat on the floor.

He looked at the spread of records, then back at you.

"Didn’t know you could even get tired of music," he said with a hint of a smirk. You smiled up at him, “Well, it happens to me too.”

You sighed, shaking your head “More than 30 bucks for a vinyl? I don’t have the money for that..” you frowned as you picked up your records. Jason knew you loved physical media, but you were right. New records were expensive, especially ones you liked.

Jason studied the records you were holding, taking in the names and artists. He paused for a moment, thinking before speaking again. "I’ll get you albums.” You only scoffed in reply, “Where do you even get your money?”

Jason raised an eyebrow at your scoff, a playful smirk forming on his face. "Where do you think I get it?" he asked, his voice tinted with a hint of amusement.

You darted your eyes away pondering, if he was a vigilante… does he get his money from the government? “GCPD…?” you answered cautiously.

"GCPD?" he repeated, snorting. "You think I get money from the *GCPD?"* You looked away embarrassingly as you stocked your records on the shelves. Jason’s smirk widened at your embarrassed expression, enjoying the way you avoided his gaze.

He leaned against the shelf, his arms crossed as he watched you organize the records. "C’mon," he teased, his voice filled with playful mockery. "Guess again." You huffed, “I don’t know, tell me.” Jason pushed himself off the shelf, standing upright as he spoke.

"I spend Bruce’s bank account, or I steal a few stuff from thieves I caught.” Jason gave a shrug, as if the thought of swiping money from a billionaire was the most normal thing in the world.

You raised your brow, “Money from Bruce?”

"Yeah, Bruce has a lot more money than one person could spend in a lifetime. He won’t even notice if I grab a few bucks."

You thought for a moment, “Well, I mean.. that is true.” Jason nodded in agreement, his smirk returning slightly.

"See? It’s a no-brainer. Why not use it when it’s there for the taking?" his hand touches your shoulder “Come on, why don’t I buy those record albums for you tomorrow?” You raised an eyebrow in surprise. Jason was actually offering to buy you records, and you had to admit, the idea did sound appealing.

"Really? You would do that?" you asked, your curiosity piqued. Jason shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. “Why not? They make you happy, don’t they?” You felt a warmth spread through you at his words. The idea that Jason was willing to spend money on something that simply brought you joy was oddly comforting.

You nodded, a small smile on your lips. "They do, yeah.” Jason saw the smile on your face, and his expression softened. He gave your shoulder a slight squeeze with his hand, his grip gentle. “Then I’ll take you record shopping tomorrow."

When Jason took you to the record store, you looked like a kid getting its gift for Christmas. He was amused by the look of excitement on your face as you scanned the records, your eyes scanning each album with childlike wonder.

He followed you around, watching as you picked up records of your favorite artists, and sometimes stopping to show him one that particularly caught your interest.

He couldn't help but smile at your enthusiasm. You looked like a kid at Christmas, and the way you handled each album with such care and reverence was almost endearing.

After that, you and Jason finally made it back to your apartment, clutching several bags filled with your newly purchased records. You wasted no time in setting them down on the coffee table in the living room, eager to go through each one and see which one you wanted to listen to first.

“This is what I call mid-year christmas.” you mused with a smile. Jason scoffs, "Mid-year Christmas, huh?" he said. "I guess that’s one way to put it." Jason rested his hand on his chin, watching as you flipped through your new albums, a small smile on his lips.

For a brief moment, he could forget about the world around them, the troubles and dangers that loomed in the background. For a little while, he could simply enjoy the sight of you being happy, with the music you so adored.

You stood up and carefully placed one of the vinyl records onto the turntable, the soft click as it settled into place filling the air. Jason leaned back on the couch, his eyes still fixed on you, as you gently lifted the needle and placed it on the record, starting the music.

Jason stood up alongside you, his hand reaching out to take yours.

He looked down at your face for a moment before pulling you closer, his other hand finding your waist. He began to move with the rhythm of the music, slowly dancing with you in the living room. The room felt warm and intimate as you swayed to the music in Jason’s arms. He held you close, his hand resting on your waist as he led you in a slow, gentle dance.

The music played on in the background, the notes and lyrics filling the silence between you as you moved in each other’s embrace. “Did you agree to buy me records just to dance?” you chuckled.

“Maybe. You’re not complaining, are you?” he replied as he held your hand tighter, “But no.” he said. You tilted your head in response as Jason leaned closer to you, "Maybe I just like seeing you happy," he admitted.

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin as he spoke, his words making you feel tingly all over. You hadn't expected such a sincere answer from him, and it filled you with a sense of warmth.

"That's sweet." you murmured, a smile playing across your lips. "Just a little." he grumbled, his eyes locked on your face. “Sure.” you said, leaning your cheek on his chest.

He tightened his grip on your waist, pulling you just a little closer as he continued to dance with you.

🐇 Merry Christmas!

[littleslaywrites]

joy to the world | spencer reid x bau!reader

summary: you surprise spencer with big news on christmas morning

word count: 1.1k

cw: fluff, pregnancy, mentions of birth control, JJ heavily featured (no jeid mentions)

The presents had all been opened, and you were sitting on the couch with Spencer in front of the fireplace. Crackles from the fire mixed with the sound of the radio playing Christmas music. You were dipping cookies you’d made the night before in a shared glass of milk. His arm is wrapped around your waist and your head is on his shoulder. 

You'd been anxious all day, waiting for the right time to give him his last gift. You knew he’d be excited, but you also knew it’d change your whole lives. 

It had been just over a week since you’d found out you were pregnant. JJ was the first to know, being the one who suggested it as a possibility. You’d been nauseous for a week, hardly having the appetite for anything. Any strong smell made it worse. JJ has suspected something was up, but what made her voice it to you was when you mentioned your period was late. It was a passing comment, but she pulled you aside, mid-case, insisting that you take a test. 

“Could you be pregnant?” she asked, whispering as to not alert the others in the local police office you were set up in. 

“I mean, I guess,” you said, trying to remember if you had missed a pill recently. You realized that, with your frequent time zone changes, you had probably mixed up times at some point. “Oh god, yeah, I could be.”

“What are you thinking?” JJ asked, sensing your nervousness. 

You had talked about having kids with Spencer, so you were sure he’d be excited, but you didn’t expect it to happen so soon. 

“I’m thinking a lot of things,” you respond. She grabs one of your hands, subtle enough to not draw attention. 

“We can find a drugstore tonight and get a test for you,” she says as the two of you are called back into the conference room. 

That night, you two gathered in your hotel room. The test sits face down on the bathroom counter, phone timer counting down. When the alarm goes off, you don’t move from where you’re sitting side-by-side on the floor. 

“Turn it over,” you tell JJ.

“Me?” she says. The two of you go back and forth on who has to turn it over, giggling like school girls. Your play argument ends with the decision that you’ll flip it together. 

“What do you want it to say?” she asks when both of you are standing in front of the test. 

“I think…” you hesitate for a second, considering the two possibilities. “I think I want it to be positive.”

You imagine your life with Spencer as a family, creating a new human that’s half him, half you. 

The two of you count down from 3, flipping it over, revealing the tiny words. 

Pregnant

“Oh my god,” you say, glancing over at JJ.

“Oh my god!” she says, grabbing you by the arms. “You’re going to be a mom!” She’s jumping up and down, almost more excited than you are. You’re standing there in shock as she pulls you into a bear hug.

Pulling back, she asks “How are you going to tell Spencer?”

That’s how you two came up with the idea to tell him on Christmas. JJ knew just as well as you did that Spencer would be overjoyed. You could hardly keep the secret from him, wanting to tell everyone you knew. Penelope knew something was up, catching onto the looks JJ gave you. It was torture not being able to tell her, wanting Spencer to find out before the rest of your team. It was almost impossible to have any secrets in an office full of profilers. 

“I’ve got something else for you,” you say as Spencer is cuddling you with the cookie tin on top of his legs. 

“What is it?” he says. 

You stand up, getting the small gift bag you had hidden inside your closet. “So, you know how you like to journal?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I got you one that you’ll be needing soon.”

You hand him the gift, sitting back down as your heart pounds inside your chest. 

He opens it, revealing a small book that says “First Time Dad’s Journal” on the front. 

You try to read Spencer’s eyes, shuffling through a range of emotions. “Are you…” he trails off, meeting your eyes. 

“Yeah,” you say smiling. He grabs your hands in disbelief. 

“Are you serious?” he says, borderline giddy.

“Completely serious.”

He pulls you close, holding you tight. When he pulls away, you see light tears brimming in his eyes. “This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.” He lightly kisses you, smiles breaking across both your faces. 

“Who knows?” he asks, keeping your hands locked inside his. 

“Just JJ. She was there when I found out, but I wanted you to know before everyone else.”

Spencer can’t stop smiling. His eyes are studying you, seeing you in a whole new way. “When will we tell them?”

“I guess we have to tell Hotch pretty soon. Once we tell Penelope, I’m sure everyone else will find out.” You both giggle, imagining how she’ll react. 

The moment settles, both of you slipping into the quiet of the evening. You find a place again at his side, him holding you even closer than before. 

“I want to be a good dad for you,” he says quietly, “for you both.”

“I know you will.” There’s no doubt in your mind. You’ve seen him with kids before. “You being worried shows that you care.”

He hums, hand finding your stomach. “I just don’t want to be like my father,” he says, almost whispering. 

“You won’t. You’re already nothing like him.” One of your hands goes to his hair, playing with it. You wish there was a way to make him know how perfect he’ll be as a father. He’ll know when the baby gets here, you think. 

Silence overtakes you, the both of you imagining your new future. You’d always planned on having children, but it felt more real than ever before. You can almost picture another set of legs running around the apartment. 

Your phone rings, breaking through the quiet. You answer it, Hotch on the other end apologizing for interrupting your holiday to inform you that you have a case. 

Getting ready to go, Spencer stops you in front of the bathroom mirror by hugging you from behind. 

“Please don’t get all overprotective,” you say.

“You know I can’t promise that.”

Spencer pulls you into one last kiss before you head to the office.

author's note: merry christmas to all of you that celebrate!

[ivyues]

Laptop Delivery - Bang Chan

Practice got a little more eventful thanks to an forgotten laptop.

It was a peaceful morning. Fresh from your shower, you padded into your kitchen, planning to grab a quick breakfast before heading to uni. But something on the counter stopped you in your tracks – Chris' laptop.  

Your heart sank. He’d stayed over last night but had to leave early for dance practice. The sight of his laptop sitting on the counter screamed trouble. Normally, he wouldn’t bring it over – it was too precious, filled with tracks, demos, and other vital material for the group. You knew his schedule was packed, and forgetting something this important could only mean bad news.

You snapped a picture of it and sent it to him with the caption:

"Forgot something?”

Still, you couldn’t shake the thought that it might be much more important. Without hesitation, you called him, even though you knew he was at practice.  

After a few rings, he picked up, slightly breathless. "Hey, baby. I’m… kinda at practice right now – what’s up?"  

"Did you leave your laptop here on purpose?" you asked, though you already knew the answer.  

"What?" His voice was sharp with confusion. "No, I thought I— wait, let me check the picture you send me."  

A muffled curse followed as realization hit. "Oh shit, no. I’ve got a meeting with some producers right after practice. I can’t believe I left it there." His tone was laced with stress.  

Chris hesitated. "I—" he started, then stopped himself. You could almost hear the gears turning in his head. He was probably considering rushing back to your place after practice, which would make him late for the meeting. Worse, you wouldn’t even be there to open the door since you'd already be at uni by then.

"I… could… bring it to you," you offered cautiously, knowing what value the device had to the group.  

"Really? Would that be possible?" His voice softened, a mixture of relief and guilt.  

"Yeah, but I’d have to leave now. I still have uni today," you said, already moving to grab your things.  

"Ah, that's amazing. You're an angel," he said warmly. "I’ll text you the room number."  

Skipping breakfast, you grabbed his laptop and headed out. On the way, you planned to stop by a bakery for something quick after the delivery, before heading straight to class.  

-----

At the JYP building, you knocked lightly on the practice room door, despite Chris’ text saying you could walk right in. The door opened to reveal Felix, his face lighting up with a grin.  

"Hey!" he greeted, pulling you into a quick hug.  

"Hi, Lix," you replied with a small smile. From across the room, Chris’s head shot up, his eyes locking on you. Relief and affection softened his expression as he quickly made his way towards you.  

"Hey," he murmured, stopping just in front of you.  

"Hi," you replied, reaching into your bag to pull out his laptop. As soon as the sleek silver device emerged, the room fell silent.  

The members froze, eyes wide. It wasn’t just a laptop to them; they knew what was inside – tracks, demos, lyrics, everything. The fact that you were holding it was proof of something bigger: the trust Chris had in you.

But before anyone could speak, Chris gently pulled you into the room, his fingers brushing your cheeks as he softly pulled your mask down.  

And then, he kissed you.  

It was natural, familia – something the two of you had done countless times before. But here, in the quiet practice room, with – unbeknownst to you – all eyes on you, it felt different. His lips were warm and soft, a silent expression of gratitude and love.  

The members didn’t move, still processing what they were seeing. None of them had expected this. Sure, they knew how much Chris cared about you, but seeing it displayed so openly caught them off guard.  

When he finally pulled back, his ears burned red, and he muttered a sheepish "I’ll call you later, okay? Thanks again.”, as he took the laptop from your hands.  

You, cheeks blazing, barely managed a nod as you stepped back. The silence lingered for a beat longer before you mumbled, Y-yeah. Bye, everyone.”

You turned and left, closing the door behind you.  

The moment the door clicked shut, chaos erupted.  

"YAH, HYUNG!"  

"I can't believe you just did that!"

"PDA MUCH?!”

"Channie hyung, what was that?!"

"Wow, so smooth. Too bad your ears give you away."  

Outside, you heard the screaming teasing very clearly and couldn’t help but smile, your cheeks still burning as you walked down the hallway. Chris could handle the teasing – he brought it upon himself after all.  

[reginamillls]

'Twas the Night Before Christmas

"-and with our final Christmas Mystery. One year ago today, LAFD Firefighter Thomas Kinard went missing-"

Buck is quick to turn off the TV, not wanting to hear anything more from one of his exes talking about the other one.

It hurt still, a year later, to find out that Tommy had gone missing on Christmas Eve, and that no one had reported him as gone until the 28th. It hurt that Tommy had been alone enough that no one noticed it, it hurt that even a year later, Buck was still hoping for some kind of Christmas miracle that he would come back.

Most people assumed he was dead. California wouldn't declare him as dead until he was missing for five years, but search efforts have gone down. He's heard all the theories, that Tommy was one of the Serial Killer's first victims, that he had flown off and crashed somewhere, that he moved away with out telling anyone -

That he was a lonely man who just decided Christmas was too much.

Buck didn't want to think about it, but he couldn't not just wonder what the hell happened. No one had heard from Tommy since the break up, and Buck didn't reach out - he was trying hard to just enjoy the Christmas season (the one they had made plans for together) and he wanted to reach out to Tommy more than once, but he always just threw himself into another activity not to.

The last time anyone saw Tommy was in a bar just before closing on Christmas Eve, 2024. Walking out into the dark streets. Alone.

After that? Total mystery. Tommy's house showed no signs of a break in, and he had gotten a ride to the bar that day, so his truck was safetly parked in his driveway. He had off on Christmas (had taken off to be with Buck) and his captain was the one to report him missing.

The police came and questioned him, wondering if he had anything to do with it. Buck had to explain their breakup, and the rest of the 118 had backed him up. Athena ended up stepping in at the end, and the investigation moved on from Buck.

Four days later, Buck had a letter from a law firm that stated that Tommy's house and all of his posessions were given to him.

It just made Buck think that maybe Tommy really had ran away?

Why did he leave everything to Buck?

Why didn't he say goodbye?

Buck chose to believe he was still alive out there somehow, he had to. Just because they were broken up, didn't mean that Buck wanted Tommy to be gone. He hoped that every new lead would lead somewhere, even when everyone else seemed to lose some faith.

There's movement and Buck wakes up to see Amelia wide awake, her head looking out of the bedroom into the living room. She jumps down and runs out, and that's when Buck notieces that the lights in the hall are on.

He knows for a fact, that he turned them off.

Buck gets up and grabs the wooden baseball bat that Tommy had in his closet and holds it carefully. After he had been given the house and Tommy's cat as well, Buck had made the decision to move in. He had been given some brows at doing so, but Buck had wanted Tommy to still have his house if he came back.

When he came back.

Amelia isn't one to be brave around strangers, so her running into a possible break in had alarmed Buck more then the hall light. Eddie had a key to Tommy's place too, but Eddie was with Chris tonight and at this late hour, they were both most likely asleep.

There's movement, louder then anything Amelia could make and Buck spots a large shadowed figure bent at his chistmas tree.

He swings the bat.

The bat smashes against the man's back and splinters.

"What-"

Amelia howls and runs away, and the figure straightens up. He's tall, as tall as Buck, and built to. The jacket he is wearing is red, with white fur on the cuffs and the lapel. There's a red hat on his head -

"Santa?" Buck asks, dumbfounded.

"For a while yeah-" Santa says, but it isn't Santa, or at least, he wasn't just Santa.

"Tommy?"

"Merry Christmas Evan."

Tommy's hands were up in the air, his blue eyes darting to the splintered bat still in Buck's hands and Buck drops it.

"What-" Buck asks and Tommy snaps his fingers and the lights come on in the living room. Buck blinks against the harshness of all the lights being on and he blinks a few times to adjust. In that time Tommy had lowered his hands, and Buck looks.

And stares.

Because it is Tommy, Buck would know his voice anywhere, along with his deep blue eyes that are looking at Buck warrily.

There's been some changes though.

For one thing, Tommy was wearing a Santa Suit. A high quality one in a rich red color that looked like it was hand made and not from a halloween store. There were sturdy black boots on his feet and a leather sack at his side, but that had only been what he was wearing. The real change had been his hair.

"You have a beard-" Buck blurts out. And it was a full beard. Salt and pepper, though a little heavier on the salt. Tommy's hair was the same, and yet he didn't look any older.

Buck had discovered a few grey hairs when they had been dating, had even imagined a future where Tommy looked like he did standing before Buck, he just expected that it would have happened in a few years.

"Comes with the job," Tommy says, rubbing at the beard. "I was told it was mandatory-"

"What the fuck?" Buck interupts, voice sharp. The shock of seeing Tommy again was quickly turning into anger.

"Please, let me explain?" Tommy asks and before Buck can answer Amelia has come back into the room and is pawing at Tommy to lift her up, and Buck notices just how exhausted Tommy looks.

"Sure-" Buck answers because once upon a time, Tommy allowed him the same and Buck can return the favor.

What comes next is a crazy tale of Tommy finding a man after he fell off the roof and the man begging him to put on his coat and finish the night. It's a story filled with impossible things like magic and elves and talking polar bears. Giant reindeer and Christmas abilities that Tommy is actually afraid of. If it was anyone else but Tommy, Buck would have believed it all to be a lie.

"-I'm just a temporary replacement," Tommy says. "I need to find the real next Santa tonight, or I'm stuck with this job and I'm not meant to be that person Evan," Tommy says warily, hand's in his magically greyed hair. Just sitting here now, Buck can see that it's more white than it had been an hour ago.

"Why did you come to me?" Buck asks. His ex-boyfriend is Santa Claus and he hasn't been dead this whole time but had been stuck in the North Pole and he had a Lawyer Elf give Buck his house and his cat because he knew they were safe with Buck, and he was on a desperate mission to find the next true Santa. He had magical gifts that he couldn't always control, a whole army of mythical creatures that shouldn't exist, and physically was almost like a Christmas super hero. He had all of this plus a deadline of Christmas morning to worry about. Buck didn't actually think Tommy needed him at all.

So why was he here?

"I told you, that I can hear what everyone wants for Christmas," Tommy says, and he taps the side of his head. "And you-" Tommy swallows and looks up at Buck, and he's looking at him like he did before they broke up, with a fondness that made Buck feel whole.

"You wanted me."

Buck's breath hitches.

He can't even deny it, not when all he wanted this whole year was for Tommy to come home.

"What happens if you can't find the new Santa?" Buck asks, changing the subject away from himself and how even over a year later, he still wanted Tommy. Tommy, thankfully, doesn't switch back to what they were talking about before.

"Then I become Santa," Tommy says, and he sounds desperate and his eyes are scared.

"Okay," Buck says and he stands up from the couch and takes Tommy's hand.

"Lets find Santa."

[your-hockey-mom]

loved your sick gf/helpful quinn post

can we get a sick quinn this time? I feel like he'd be a big baby when he's sick

Quinn had coughed all night.

It had started off small but had quickly developed into something more consistent and with a persistent wheeze alongside it. He seemed so uncomfortable: tossing and turning, trembling with the chills and cold sweats. It seemed like with each passing hour a new symptom appeared: from the cough to finally the body aches. You wanted to soothe his pain and make him comfortable but he just pushed you away, It had kind of hurt your feelings having him reject you time and again, but you were just trying to help. Best you could do was tell yourself it was just because he felt bad and that he didn't mean to be that way.

By this point, you couldn't sleep. Quinn's constant shifting and coughing had given you no peace or himself for that matter. Sometime in the night, you grabbed your pillow and went to the sofa instead, You didn't want to leave him, but if he was sick, he would need someone to care for him come the morning. If you were running on a couple hours sleep, it wasn't going to be you; you might as well be sick right alongside of him.

Even from the living room, you could hear him cough, hear the wheeze cause him so much pain with its ability to take his breath away. You probably didn't sleep any more on the sofa than you would have beside him. Every so often you'd force yourself to get up and check on him. He had a fever and was burning up yet he appeared to be asleep. Quinn needed medicine and as soon as possible but you weren't about to wake him up to take any. Instead, you'd dig through the bathroom cabinets and find some multi-symptom cough syrup. The label said it would help counteract each of the things Quinn was dealing with but would it be enough? You'd leave it on his bedside table for the next time a coughing fit woke him.

When morning came around he seemed worse. Congestion had set in and it had changed the sound of his voice to something nasally instead of its usually velvety tone. Getting him to take anything was like pulling teeth because he just wanted to lay with the pillow over his head, hidden from everything especially the morning light. Though Quinn wasn't normally the dramatic type, when he was sick, it was like the end of the world.

"Baby, please, just take this and I'll leave you alone. That's all I asking you to do."

"I'm fine. I just-- I'm fine," he said from under the covers.

"You're not and you know it. Please, just take it?"

"I just need to sleep it off."

You tried to contain your sigh but it was hard. He was being completely unreasonable and it was starting to wear on your nerves. If he just took the medicine it would help but getting him to see that point wasn't going your way. This wasn't the first time he had probably felt like this, so why was he being such a baby?

"Why won't you take it, Quinn?"

There was a long pause. You knew he wasn't asleep. Was he ignoring you in the hopes that you'd give up and just walk away? If that were the case, you were close to it.

"Okay, fine. Suit yourself." Leaving the medicine on the table, you'd leave the room defeated. What else were you supposed to do? He didn't want to be touched, loved on, or anything but left alone. At least that's how it seemed. Even simple conversations were proving to be a battle.

You shut the bedroom door behind you and went to the kitchen. Food didn't seem like the magical end-all-be-all cure to his cold but if he didn't want it then you'd just take it for yourself. Soup seemed like the best choice even if it was the cliche option. "Comforting to the soul and stomach," your mom always said when you were sick. However, a quick assessment of the pantry revealed you didn't have what you needed for soup.

Instead of sticking your head back into the bedroom to let him know you were headed out, you texted his phone saying something similar.

"I going to the store. I'll be back in a bit."

Short and painfully to the point. It wouldn't be until you were in Quinn's car that you felt guilty for how you had come off. You'd text him once more before finally leaving; trying to rewrite your sour attitude towards him.

"I love you."

- - -

When you returned to the apartment, you could see signs of life that hadn't been there before. The cough medicine was now on the island; the used dosing cup had remnants of the syrup still in the bottom, A loaf of bread was poorly wrapped up alongside it, and what looked like a simple cheese sandwich sat on a napkin with one bite taken out of it. And finally, on the sofa, was a bundled up Quinn, his tangled curls spilling out over one of the pillows he rested his head on.

"Hi," he said, when you walked past him. His tone was defeated, moping even. Had you hurt his feelings? It wasn't your intention to, but it was just frustrating trying to help someone who just came off like they would rather stay miserable.

"Hi, baby."

"Where did you go? I came out and you were gone." Quinn didn't lift his head off the pillow or even his eyes. When you looked over at him he was looking at your feet.

"I texted you. I went to the store to get stuff to make you soup."

"I haven't looked at my phone. You didn't have to do that." His monotone was worse now, tinged slightly with his own flavour of annoyance.

Had you been in a worse mood, you would have said something about checking his phone, but instead you were able to bite your tongue. He didn't feel good, you had to remind yourself of this fact. This wasn't your Quinn - your sweet Huggy Bear - this was someone struggling with their body fighting against them to get better. You knew Quinn would never purposefully give you an attitude or be short with you, and the same should have been said about you.

"I'm sorry I was short with you, Quinn," you finally get out. You had hoped that would have removed some weight from your chest but instead it only made it heavier. He still wouldn't look at you. In fact, he closed his eyes after you had spoken your apology. Seeing him ignore you that way felt terrible, but you felt you had earned his cold shoulder. You had been sick a few times since you had been together and Quinn had been so kind and selfless. What had given you the right to be so unsympathetic?

"It's fine," he said, snuggling deeper into his self-made cocoon.

"It's not fine." Your heart hurts as you cross the room to kneel before where he lay. "Honey, I'm sorry." You brush the sweat-matted hair from his forehead. He was burning up with fever but this time he managed to look at you. He looked like he could melt into tears at any moment.

"I'm sorry I ignored you earlier," he replied, meeting you halfway with his own apology.

"You don't feel good, Quinn, it's okay. I'm sorry I got mad. I had no right to."

Quinn sniffled, either from the congestion or just because he was getting that emotional. Either way, you leaned forward and gave him a tender kiss to his forehead. This made the faintest smile appear on his half-concealed lips.

"You probably shouldn't kiss me," he mumbles, silently thankful for the gentle affection. Deep down, he wanted it; wanted to be babied and taken care of but instead of asking for it, he just found himself coming off as hard-headed.

"It's alright," you reassure him, a second kiss finding its mark along with the first. "I'll just get sick right with you."

"I don't want you to get sick, though."

"I know you don't but sometimes it happens. At least we'll have soup." You give him a smile, the first one that day. He returns the sentiment.

"What kind?"

"Broccoli cheddar and the classic chicken noodle. Which do you want first?"

"You got stuff for both?" His little voice sounded shocked, amazed that you'd treat him to two different types of soup varieties. Sometimes it was the little things that made the biggest impact.

"Of course I did."

Quinn tries to sit but gets winded halfway through, a coughing fit taking what strength he had built up.

"Oh, baby, you need to rest. How about you get a nap and I'll wake you up when I get something done?"

"Okay."

"It's okay, sweetheart, I'll manage." You wink, trying to reassure him that everything would be okay, and that you could handle some soup-making alone. When you stood up, you caught the subtle trembling from under his blanket. "I'm going to get you another blanket, okay?"

"Okay."

Those short responses you recognized were the best he could do at the time and didn't strike a nerve like they had earlier. But walking away from him still hurt like it had the first time, and you could feel his eyes on you still. From a tote under your bed, you found a heated blanket your parents had sent you after you made the decision to move to Vancouver. Hopefully this would bring Quinn some more consistent heat despite his body running his internal thermostat like a child left unsupervised.

"Here, baby, this should help you. Do you want this overtop or...?"

"I want that one," he said, pulling the original one from his body as best he could.

"It's okay, it's okay. Here, let me get it," you say, helping Quinn untuck himself before draping him with the ultra-plush heated one. "Should be nice and hot in just a few minutes."

"Thank you," he said, gripping it tightly. "Thanks for helping me."

"Thank you for letting me. I'm going to go make you some soup, okay? I'll try to be quiet so I don't wake you."

"I'll just...I'll be right here," he said through a yawn, the medicine finally kicking in and lulling him to sleep.

[henneseyhoe]

Home For Christmas

Terry Richmond x BLACK!FEM!reader

WARNINGS: none, lil bit of angst if you squint, fluff, short.

SUMMARY: Your husband, Terry, promises to be home to you and your daughters for Christmas, but will he really?

✮✮✮✮

The snow outside lit up the yard in the moonlight, frost nipping at the windowsill the more the weather dropped. There wasn’t a soul outside, not even the little black cat you saw wandering around late at night. Even she couldn’t be bothered with the harsh cold.

The house was warm and so was the hot chocolate you cuddled in your hand, but nothing could warm you the way you needed to be warmed. Nothing could make you feel the Christmas spirit you wanted to feel.

You missed your husband like crazy and your kids did too. They could feel the sadness radiating off of your body and it didn’t make it better for them, but you couldn’t help it. Terry had been stuck in another state for work, promising that he’d be back on time for Christmas, yet, he hadn’t shown and it was 5 hours to 12.

The roads had closed and from what you heard, till further notice. Flights were being canceled left and right, hell, you were nearly snowed into the house, only a small walk way you shoveled earlier prevailing, but even that was starting to freeze over a bit.

“Mama” Your 7 year old daughter, Tiana, called for you, looking up from her laying position in your lap.

You gave her your attention, a soft smile spreading on your face. She looked just like you when she was upset. You felt bad that she was sad too, but it was the cutest face she made that made you smile.

“I thought daddy said he’d be here by nowww” She whines, her baby sister, Jasmine, almost immediately getting annoyed as this was her fifth time mentioning what she thought was the obvious.

“Ana, you have to wait! Mommy told you already” Her little finger pointed at sister with agitation on her face that made you wanna laugh, but that’d just get you scolded by ‘little miss thinks she’s mommy’ too and you didn’t think you had the energy to correct it tonight.

She had so much attitude before she even turned 4, all of it inherited right from Terry when it came to people she cared for the most, a trait of loyalty you were sure Terry also took part in.

Before they could even get to arguing, you set your mug down on the windowsill and gathered them both up next to you, their matching onesies getting all bunched up from mixing in one spot for so long.

“Aht, cut it out you two. Daddy means well when he tells us things, but…maybe he just got the times wrong. If he isn’t back by tomorrow, then we’ll just have to forgive him, okay?”

Your youngest’s eyes quickly fill with tears that pull at your heart strings, her lip poking up with a quiver only Terry could settle at the moment. “So he’s not coming back tonight?”

You sigh. A few more hours of this and you were sure to cry with her.

“How about we wish really hard and go to bed, then see what happens?” Your children were quick to try and disagree while attempting to flee, but you swooped them up into your arms anyway and cuddled them close, giving them their nightly kisses.

Your back may be aching tomorrow from sharing a couch with two children, but they convinced you earlier to be around here to ‘catch santa’ and you couldn’t help but give in with the possibility of Terry not being here and upsetting them further.

Hours ticked by and you counted almost all of them, going in and out of sleep until you were knocked out of your cycle by the sound of boots against hardwood. Your eyes cracked open, seemingly at the same time as the mini-me’s laying on top of you, that followed by a gasp from both of the girls.

You and the kids almost leap from your seats, the sun outside the floor to ceiling windows in the living room making an attempt to blind all three of you, but all of you were on a mission that couldn’t be ruined by sleep still being in your eyes.

“DADDY!!!” The screams of joy were so loud from the kids that you would have thought they were awake all along, not a speck of grogginess in their voice.

Terry toppled over with both of them jumping for his legs, but he still managed to hold them properly, giving them both kisses on their chubby cheeks that they happily accepted. You had no idea how he pulled something like this off, not to mention bringing the rest of their presents from ‘santa’ in without disturbing anyone’s sleep.

“Really?” You ask in disbelief, Terry giving you a shrug before sitting up, sending the two off to pick a present out to open.

You were still curious, a shrug not being enough for you. “How?” You squint, helping him up from the floor.

“Christmas magic, baby. I always find a way”

He smiles and kisses your lips, then leads you to the tree. Again, the explanation wasn’t enough.

“Oh, please! Don’t gimme that, I’m not five, Terry” You complain, pulling his hand off of yours to demand a direct answer.

Terry sighs and looks at you with his arms now crossed, still happy despite being pressed before you even moved to give him a kiss first. “If I told you, you’d call me a liar”

“Well…” You wait, tapping your foot to add on effect.

There was a hint of childishness in his smile, you already knowing this wouldn’t be the answer you wanted either. “Santa brought me”

“….Nigg-”

Before you could even call out bullshit, You were quickly shut up by the presence of your kids, the both of them gasping in awe at what they just overheard being revealed to you.

“You know what…fine” You throw your hands up in defeat and chop it up to what he said, Christmas magic.

✮✮✮✮

As the children settled down and played with their toys, you became stuck to your husbands side like you were glued there, your arms wrapped around him. You admired him while he admired the kids, your tummy fluttering with butterflies similar to when you two first met.

“I really hope you know…” You started, bringing his attention to you.

“Hm?”

“That I love you and your determination to always come through for us, especially your kids, makes me love you even more”

He smiles brightly, his heart skipping beats. “I’m supposed to. Not that I don’t want to also, but I hate to see yall upset. Plus, I couldn’t miss their faces opening their new ballet shoes”

You smile back at him and stand on your tip toes for a kiss, savoring the warmth of his embrace.

“Oh, and I was gonna let them jump you if you were late. They told me not to tell you” You say after pulling from your fifth kiss that day.

“Wooow, straight out the gate? No warning?”

“Mhm! nothing but elbows as soon as you walked through that door”

Terry shook his head with a laugh, already plotting on catching the two off guard with a little roughhousing session.

“It be your own kids”

“Yup. May have told them to get a little lick in for me too”

You shrug, letting him go and walking off into the kitchen, knowing he’d follow like a stray.

“Damn, mama too? What’d I do to her?”

Wrapping his arms around you while still in motion, he mimics your footsteps all the way to the counter.

“Leave me with two hard heads for a week. I got something for you later though”

He smiles against your neck then playfully bites at you, your chin tucking in to protect yourself.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Mrs.Richmond”

✮✮✮✮

💌- Merry Christmas! i hope yall enjoyed yalls holiday. Here’s something short and sweet cause i love a good family fic lmao. <3