#but fun reminder for gift exchanges

[craftybookworms]

we also have gift wrap! (photo from google)

and I can confirm that it is a hit at family gift exchanges!

theres a popular brand in canada called no name brand and it manufactures everything you can imagine in a grocery store and it kind of makes me feel like im in a world no one bothered to do much world building for

[pistachiofiasco]

My contribution to the ikevil gift exchange organised by @aquagirl1978 - thank you for arranging this, it was really fun! my giftee was @judejazza - I hope you like it!!!! I had mostly finished this before her newest designs went up, so if there's anything you'd like me to change, let me know! (also if you'd like a higher quality copy to save bc I will fight w tumblr's posting system until the end of days probably smh)

Reading about Aurelia, I just thought it would be cute if this woman who gets flustered around her crush accidentally fell asleep on his shoulder during their return from a mission. And he liked it. (gasp)

I do not remember the last time I did any art with a proper background, so this was definitely a learning experience! The concept was just so clear in my mind, there was no going around it lol

[radioroxx]

would errrmmmm would tumblr be interested in a fnaf at freddies secret santa type sorta thing btw. just wondering… no reason at all……

[ruffolive]

My v-day exchange gift for @teucrow !! This character is mega cute so I went mega cute. Thank you @mesevents for hosting this awesome event! Image described in alt text + less decorated version below cut!

[real-life-cloud]

:) 🧡

[retrosabers]

𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐞, 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

FICMAS DAY 3: GIFT-GIVING

bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: as bucky’s secret santa, you’re determined to give him the best christmas present he’s ever received.

contains: grumpy buck fluff, some angst, idiots who are crushing hard, swearing

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this is a long one i’m apologizing in advance

i am SO SORRY for crickets in the ficmas department the past week, i hit a big brick wall with this and i’ve been so all over the place with my own holiday planning and such that i ended up having to cut the masterlist in half because i knew i couldn’t get it all done. i’m very sorry to anyone who was looking forward to what got scrapped, but i couldn’t bring myself to rush through writing and put out something i don’t believe it my best work.

also, do people even want avengers fix it fics anymore?? i debated between the “everything is fine the team lives at the compound together” vibe and setting this post tfatws, but ultimately decided the former was easier to write. and i think it worked in my favor because this turned out really cute :)

!! divider by @strangergraphics !!

FICMAS MASTERLIST

your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest.

who’s idea was this again? wanda? tony? steve? it didn’t matter anymore. all that mattered right now was that you didn’t pass out in the elevator. a feat that was becoming more and more difficult the closer you got to your destination.

a secret santa is supposed to bring you joy, not near paralyzing anxiety.

at first, you were 100% on board with participating in a gift exchange. as much as you wanted to shower all of your teammates with presents galore, not everyone shared the same sentiment, and thus the idea of a secret santa was proposed.

excitement courses through your veins as you reach your hand into the cheap santa hat tony grabbed from god knows where in storage, with little pieces of paper containing the names of your fellow avengers. you decided to wait until you were back in the privacy of your room to open it up, afraid of any wandering eyes taking a peak. the last thing you wanted was the element of surprise to be stripped away. it was half the fun after all.

as sam pulls the last name, you quietly excuse yourself and all but rush upstairs, too eager to get in the holiday spirit and brainstorm. as soon as the door shuts behind you, you hurriedly reveal the contents of the paper.

if it’s natasha, i can get her a pair of ballet slippers. she’s been mentioning how she wants to start dancing again.

what about bruce? maybe a journal for all his ideas? he always seems to be losing sticky notes in the lab.

a million different ideas swirl around in your head, reminding you just how much joy this time of year brings. to you, there was nothing better than seeing the gleeful looks on people’s faces when they opened their gifts. the corners of your mouth turn up at the memory of your first christmas with the team. how shy and reluctant you were, afraid of going overboard. now, a few years later, you’re completely unabashed in showing just how much you care about them.

your bright smile morphs into a deep frown as you unfold the paper.

bucky barnes.

quite possibly the most difficult person you could’ve chosen.

to be clear, there’s nothing wrong with bucky. he may be a bit grumpy and standoffish, but it’s with good reason and you know it. that also doesn’t change the fact that he’s going to be impossible to try and shop for.

what do you get for the man who seemingly despises anything the modern world has to offer? the same man who you’re 99% sure hates your guts. come to think of it, how did you even pull him? he most definitely wasn’t downstairs 20 minutes ago when everyone scribbled down their names and tossed them in tony’s direction.

it was irrelevant now. you were stuck being his secret santa, and you’d be damned if you didn’t give james buchanan barnes the best christmas gift he’s ever gotten in his century-long lifetime.

the two weeks it took to come up with an idea sure felt like a century. if it wasn’t for the concerning amount of snooping you did, you’d probably be showing up empty handed. thankfully, at almost 1 in the morning on a random tuesday, a lightbulb went off in your brain. you scrambled bright and early the next day to go shopping, and by some lucky form of divine intervention, you acquired the perfect gift.

flash forward to now, and you’re carrying an insanely large box up to bucky’s room. in a blatant stray from what the rest of the team was doing, you decided to give him his present one on one, secluded from everyone else. partly because you were afraid of public embarrassment if he hated it, and partly because you knew bucky wasn’t very fond of being put on display.

you hope he’ll at least be grateful for that.

when the elevator finally chimes, signaling you’ve arrived at the dormitory floor, the box nearly slips from your grasp. not just from how heavy it was, but from the nervous sweat coating your palms.

the hallway is quiet enough to hear a pin drop, save for the faint sound of christmas music playing over the speakers. with careful, calculated steps, you make your way down the length of the corridor, dragging your feet the closer you get to bucky’s room. there’s a small part of you that hopes he’s downstairs in the gym, the kitchen, the backyard, anywhere but here. dropping and dashing wasn’t what you had in mind, but the anxious thumping of your heart was becoming unbearable. you know it will only amplify tenfold if you’re forced to stare into those steel blue eyes of his. the thought alone sends a chill down your spine.

you freeze in place when you hear the sound of a door knob clicking open.

please be wanda’s room, please be wanda’s room.

in front of you, the very last door on the left creaks open, revealing the tall and brooding super soldier whose company you were aiming to avoid.

it’s easy to forget how handsome bucky barnes is when he normally does nothing but grimace in your direction.

you still weren’t used to his new haircut, but it was clear he felt significantly more confident with it. is that a hint of aftershave, or cologne? whatever it was, the scent fit him perfectly; cedarwood with a hint of spice. the green henley he wears fits snugly against his broad frame, emphasizing all the muscles you’ve been caught staring at on more than one occasion. for once, he’s not wearing a scowl, though that changes when he catches sight of you.

surely you must look strange, standing dumbfounded in the middle of the hall with a box covered in santa-printed wrapping paper and a big bow that you can barely hold. right now the floor opening up and swallowing you whole was at the top of your wish list. and st. nick better make it quick.

bucky’s expression shifts from one of disdain to curiosity as he quirks a brow wordlessly. your own knit together in frustration, knowing you now had no choice but to do this exchange face to face.

“need any help?” he questions monotonously. as much as you want to be prideful and reject it, your arms feel like they’re going to fall off any second. he seems to catch your drift despite a verbal response, because in the blink of an eye he’s striding towards you, sweeping the gift from your arms and into his own with ease. you try not to gape at the way his biceps strain against fabric.

you stutter out a “thanks,” as you straighten out your sweater. bucky grunts in return and eyes the package in his hands cautiously. you’re half expecting him to shake it like a child when you catch the tiniest twitch of his upper lip.

it’s the closest thing to a smile he’s ever shown in your presence. something that gives you the courage to actually form a sentence instead of continuing to gawk at him.

here goes nothing.

“this is for you, actually,” you manage to shakily breathe out. bucky halts his observations, a glimmer of surprise briefly dancing across his face.

a beat of silence passes between you. “don’t remember asking for anything," he finally says. it’s still laced with his typical dry sarcasm, but there’s a legitimate amusement in his tone that can’t be missed.

you narrow your eyes at him playfully, feeling a little bit more at ease now that he didn’t completely rebuff you.

“i’m your secret santa, smartass,” you jab with your hands on your hips.

for the first time ever, bucky smirks at you.

“don’t recall asking for that either.”

you throw your hands up in defense, offering him a surprisingly nonchalant shrug. “don’t blame me, i’m pretty sure steve was the one who put your name in.”

“punk,” the man grumbles. he shakes his head, attention turning back to the present in hand once more.

despite his apparent annoyance, you can’t seem to stop yourself from continuing on.

“i know you’re supposed to do this kind of thing with everyone around,” you start off shaky, afraid of upsetting him any more than you may already have. his gaze immediately falls to you upon hearing your voice.

“i also know you’re not a big fan of being the center of attention,” you continue, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jeans. “figured you’d like this better if it was in private.”

bucky’s features soften. his jaw unclenched, his eyes not so narrow and judgmental. he looks relieved, flattered; a myriad of things you can’t name or place.

“i appreciate that,” he admits, suddenly shy and impish. for a second, he completely forgets about the gift you brought. the simple fact that you were kind enough to consider his feelings, despite how cold he could be to you, makes his heart skip a beat.

you simply nod your head in reply, teetering back and forth on your feet awkwardly trying to decipher your next move.

“you don’t have to open that right now you know.”

he sets the box down on the floor next to his door. “kinda defeats the purpose don’t you think?”

you shrug. “whatever you’re comfortable with. doesn’t matter what you’re “supposed to do.””

why did you care so much about his comfort level? he hardly showed any concern for yours. the notion consumes his thoughts, prohibiting him from offering anything except a nod of acknowledgement.

that awkward silence comes once again, signaling maybe you’ve overstayed your welcome, or that the moment of peace is over. you check your watch in hopes that father time was ending this exchange for you.

just your luck, he’s right on schedule.

“i uh, better get downstairs,” you announce, pointing your thumb in the direction of the elevator. “don’t wanna miss thor forcing everyone to do christmas karaoke.”

a noise akin to laughter snorts out of bucky’s nose, evoking a delightful warmth in your chest. it was different than all the other times you’ve been flustered in the presence of the super soldier. this was less about intimidation and more about…camaraderie. now wondering if maybe he doesn’t hate you as much as you thought.

it’s exactly what you need to reignite your holiday cheer and shed any remaining worries.

before you can second guess, you turn on your heels, closing the gap between your bodies. wrapping a hand around his arm, his metal arm, and offering a gentle caress, the sincerity in your words is clear as day.

“merry christmas buck.”

your touch burns straight through vibranium all the way to his chest. across his entire body, igniting every cell ablaze. a fire consuming him in ways unimaginable.

and yet. he enjoyed the burn.

as you pull away, much to his dismay, the tips of his fingers brush against the inside of your wrist. goosebumps errupt on your skin, from the cool metal, or that fact that bucky was so pretty this close, only time would tell.

“you too,” he murmurs with a faint grin. the soft crinkles by his eyes are likely going to be the subject of your daydreams for the next week.

you flash him a smile over your shoulder before turning down the hall and averting his gaze, not wanting him to see just how much you were blushing.

while unbeknownst to you, bucky was now a very bright shade of red.

he waits until he can hear the elevator doors close before slipping back into his room and very carefully unwrapping the box. there’s a nervousness in his stomach that’s unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. as the bare brown packaging becomes exposed, he begins ripping back the numerous layers of packing tape. you really took your time on this, he thinks to himself.

that funny feeling only amplifies when he sees the contents of the box.

a record player, a very expensive looking one at that, sits inside with another three wrapped items that he concludes are vinyls, judging from their flatness. on top of it all, there was a small note shrouded in luxe stationary. bucky’s heart stutters when he sees his name scribbled delicately in your handwriting.

his fingers falter briefly before he digs into the envelope.

i know this isn’t like the ones from the 40s, but it’s the closest thing i could find. also got a few of your favorite records, and one i think you’ll like too. don’t forget i have quite a collection of my own in case you ever want to try something new.

merry christmas ♡

bucky unceremoniously plops down on the edge of his bed. the normally stiff feeling mattress now mirrored a sea of clouds and feathers. he’d gladly sink into the abyss of softness, if it meant pumping the brakes on his thundering heartbeat.

from the moment he met you, bucky knew he was in trouble.

you had an aura about you that was magnetic, always drawing people in and bathing them in your light. your unconditional kindness and consideration, hell, even your mere presence in a room seemed to liven it up entirely. it was a hypnotizing, almost dangerous thing for the man, and if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was to push people away. for their sake, and his. bucky was certain that once he started keeping his distance, that you’d eventually give up in trying to crack his tough outer shell, or that the silly feelings he had would disappear.

but right now, as he’s staring at your handwriting and rubbing his thumb repeatedly over that little heart, he knows it was all in vain.

later that night, he stares up at the ceiling, listening to the familiar croon of it’s been a long, long time wafting from his present. he tries to focus on the beauty of the song, or the lights he can see from his window twinkling out on the lawn, but it’s nearly impossible. you’re the subject of all his thoughts. have been since the moment he saw you standing out in the hall. from the scent of your perfume to the little intricacies of your penmanship. the thing that’s plaguing him the most, however, is your hand on his arm.

bucky’s real arm had been gone for over half a century, having stopped experiencing phantom limb syndrome ages ago. yet somehow he felt it there, clear as day. the same tactile sensations on his flesh, right arm, in the metal prosthetic of his left. an electric shock that he’s never recognized before, and that he wouldn’t be opposed to feeling again.

tomorrow, he plans to thank steve for mischievously adding his name into the lottery.

and to ask you about your record collection.

thanks for reading! <3

tag list: @alastor-simp @j4desblurbs @pandapetals

!! if you would like to be tagged in the rest of the ficmas blurbs, please send me an inbox message or leave a comment !!

[street-smarts00]

Santa Doesn't Know You Like I Do

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Your first Christmas with Spencer and you get his name for secret Santa. 

WC: 1.8k

Tags: Fluff, Secret Santa, friends to lovers, one use of Y/N I think A/N: Sorry I went MIA :( I got busy with school. I hope to push out many ideas while I’m on break tho. Here’s something cheesy and festive for the holiday season I hope you enjoy! (not beta read don't kill me)

Nothing was right. Nothing you found was the right present. 

This was your first secret Santa with the BAU and you picked Spencer's name out of penelope’s mug. At first you thought it would be easy to buy a present for him because you knew him so well. In almost a year of being with the BAU you grew the closest with Spencer. 

What you didn’t expect was your present ideas to not live up to your own expectations. Nothing you came up with could live up to your own standards. Of course your “slight” feelings for him definitely affected this, but you tried to tell yourself that wasn’t true. 

You ran through dozens of ideas. Clothing, a new scarf, tickets for a play, special edition of a book he loved. But nothing felt like the right present. 

You almost gave up in your search for the perfect present for him. The gift exchange was in less than a week and you still had nothing. Sitting at your desk in the bullpen you considered settling with one of your first ideas. 

While getting up to refill your coffee mug you noticed Spencer’s attention was focused on his computer. He sat there deep in thought with his brows furrowed and lips in a fine line. When you walked by his desk you saw he was playing an online chess game. 

“Working hard or hardly working?” you joked. 

He popped out of his focus from your presence. “I finished my files a little early,” he responded bashfully. 

“Are you at least winning?” 

He smirked, “I’ve won four times. But that’s not even the fun part. The fun is doing different plays every time and seeing what the computer comes up with as the best response.” 

That’s when it hit you. An idea for Spencer’s gift. 

Finally something that felt like a good gift for him. At the end of the day you rushed out of work to go to the craft store and get your supplies. You worked on the gift everyday after work. 

Soon the weekend rolled around and you found yourself at Rossi’s. His living room had the biggest Christmas tree you’d ever seen. Everyone’s gifts sat there for the evening. After dinner you all sat down to exchange gifts. 

“I want to go first!” Garcia exclaimed. She jumped up from the couch and hurried to the tree to grab her gift for JJ. 

JJ excitedly opened the gift bag to find a small black and grey purse with a colorful crochet keychain. The idea that Garcia also handmade part of her gift gave you a sense of relief. 

“Oh this is so pretty. Thank you so much,” she beamed, admiring the bag and twirling the keychain. Garcia squealed in happiness before JJ offered a hug to her. 

JJ then handed over her gift to Rossi, a bottle of scotch. He smiled and thanked her for the bottle saying how his collection needed a new addition. 

He stood up and brought his hands together looking at the tree. “My turn.” He grabbed a thin box wrapped in silver sparkly wrapping paper and walked over to you. 

“For you, my dear,” he handed you the box. 

Your eyes widened and lips perked up at the gift. It may be a little silly but, part of you wished that you were Spencer’s secret santa. You reminded yourself that the possibility of you both picking each other's names was unlikely. The possibility of some things being the same between the two of you was … unlikely. 

You ripped back the paper to reveal a large eyeshadow pallet. Upon opening it, you saw an array of beautiful shades you couldn’t wait to try out. 

“Rossi, this is so sweet. I love it,” You thanked with a bright smile. 

Now it was your turn. Everyone’s eyes only made the moment more stressful. You got up and grabbed the box with a nervous hand. What if he didn’t like it? What if he thought it was too cheesy or corny? What if he thought it was useless as he already owned two of them?

You tried to quiet your thoughts as you handed him the box, but they had no intention of leaving.

“Merry Christmas Spence,” you said softly.

When you turned and walked back to your seat you neglected to see the rising blush on his face. 

Spencer glanced down at the white and red striped paper. He carefully peeled it off and opened the lid to reveal a chess set nestled in between red tissue paper. The board spaces were off-white and royal purple with corresponding chess pieces the same colors. When he picked up the wooden pieces and saw small leaves and flowers painted on them. The King and Queen specifically had crowns in a shimmering gold. 

“Wow look at that,” Emily admired.

Upon further inspection he noticed the small human imperfections in the details. The way not one leaf or flower looked exactly the same. Or how the clear coating over the paint was slightly streaky in some spots. 

“Did you paint this?” He asked.

You nodded your head and answered , “Yeah I did.” 

A faint “awe” could be heard across the room from Garcia. 

“Y/N,” Spencer started, his voice full of admiration. “This is … beautiful.” 

The butterflies in your stomach were getting restless. 

“Really?” you asked, not able to hide the smile spreading on your face. 

“Yes! It’s Perfect,” his eyes sparkled at you. “I love it. Nobody’s ever given me something like this.” He beamed at you with a smile that made you love sick. 

The realization that you both were not alone set in and Spencer cleared his throat before closing the box. The gift exchange continued as Spencer handed over a present to Morgan. 

The rest of the night was filled with catching glances and far away looks between you and Spencer. He seemed to feel more relaxed in a way after receiving your gift. Not that he was acting any differently. He just seemed more open. With the group and with you. 

You lived off that feeling the whole evening. The idea that you made him happy. You helped him see he was appreciated and loved. 

Not that he had to know you loved him. 

He didn’t know that. Right? 

As the hands on the clock passed you announced your departure and said your goodbyes. You stepped outside and felt a chill against your skin. 

You held tight onto your keys as you walked to your car. The snow had just started to fall. Occasional little flurries fell down from the sky. 

“Wait!” Someone yelled from behind. 

You turned to find Spencer trying his best to run but not slip on the icy parts of the driveway. When he got closer you noticed his cheeks and the tip of his nose were pink. Probably from the cold weather you thought.

“I wanted to formally say thank you for the chess set,” he explained. 

“You’re welcome,” you replied with a smile. You stuffed your hands in your pockets away from the cold. “I’m glad you like it. I was worried you’d find it cheesy.” 

He looked confused. “Why would I find it cheesy?” 

You shrugged, “because I hand painted it.”

“But that’s what makes it perfect,” he reassured. His voice is sincere and soft. “It’s personal and shows you care.”

His eyes widened. “Oh um-“ 

He suddenly remembered why he rushed outside and scrambled for something in his jacket pocket. It was a small cube shaped box wrapped in paper covered in snowflakes. Quite fitting for the weather.

“I know I technically wasn’t your secret Santa but I still wanted to get you something.”

You took the gift from him with a slack jaw. “Spence-“

“This isn’t because you were my secret Santa. I still wanted to get you a gift regardless,” he reassured. 

“I- Thank you,” you started unwrapping the gift. 

“It’s not homemade like yours but I hope you still like it.”

”It doesn’t have to be homemade for me to-“ the wind was stolen out of your lungs.  

The gift was a small gold and white music box you immediately recognized. You opened the lid to reveal a ballerina in a pink tutu spinning as Sleeping Beauty Waltz played. Your heart ached as you admired the tiny dancer.

”Is this the music box from that antique shop in Seattle?” 

While on a case in Seattle, you and Spencer went to an antique shop to ask the owner about evidence found at the crime scene that was purchased there. You fell in love with a beautiful music box in one of the aisles. 

“It is. I saw how you looked at it in the store and in the car you said it reminded you of when you used to do ballet. So before we left Seattle I went back to the store to get it for you. I thought it would make a great Christmas present.”

“But, that was three months ago.”

He sheepishly smiled and his cheeks only got more red. “Yeah, I had to keep it a secret for a while.”

Your heart rate started to pick up as the butterflies returned. “I can't believe you went back and bought this for me,” you muttered in disbelief. 

“Of course I would. You mean a lot to me and I knew this was something that would make you happy.” 

You admired the music box before carefully placing it in your purse. “Thank you so much. I love it.” 

His smile grew and reached his eyes. His eyes looked beautiful in this lighting. The Christmas lights from the house made them look practically golden. Even in the freezing cold you could melt from his eyes.

He shifted his weight and licked his lips. He seemed wrapped around the words in his head. “I also wanted to ask if maybe you’d want to go see The Nutcracker with me.” 

Your heart damn near stopped. 

“It’s playing at the theater downtown. I was thinking if we don’t get a case then we could go see the show on Friday. Maybe, if you want to, that is,” he rambled in nervousness. 

“I’d love to,” you beamed. 

His face brightened at your eagerness, but his nerves were still present. “But not as friends. As a date?” 

You chuckled, “Yes Spencer, I would love to go on a date with you. I think the nutcracker is a perfect first date.”

“Great,” he said with relief. “And maybe afterwards we might have time for a game of chess with my new board.” 

God he was cute. 

“That sounds great.”

[d-emeter]

Secret Santa on base (but the entire 141 is desperate to pull you) — plus-size!fem!reader x task force 141

CW: christmas (?), the boys being a little bit creepy but they're just in love leave them be, allusions to sexual activity

So this somehow ended up from Laswell's pov for the most part lol but it switches to reader for the end! Also happy holidays to everyone that celebrates! <3

When Laswell had brought up the idea of doing a secret santa on base — well, it had been her wife who said they needed some more holiday cheer, and who was she to deny that? — she had not expected it to become something akin to a battlefield. Maybe she should have known better, the soldiers surrounding her were competitive by nature. Winning was always the main goal.

But this time, there was no enemy to defeat, no intel to gain, no hostage to save. No, this time, you were the objective. Laswell was not stupid, in fact, it was her job to be observant, to figure out that which others could not. And to her, Task Force 141 was an open fucking book.

It was in the way Price would leave his hand on your shoulder after offering you an encouraging pat, and how that hand would move lower down your arm or back while he talked to you. It was in the way Ghost would always prepare an extra cup of tea to bring to early morning briefings, trying to subtly push it your way while you were rubbing at your eyes. It was in the way Gaz would lean over you when you asked him to come look at something on your laptop, arms on either side of you and practically caging you in. It was in the way Soap would always find a way to touch you, without fail, calling you 'bonnie' or 'love' in that obnoxious Scottish accent as he threw an arm over your shoulders. It was especially in the way the other three would scowl at whoever had your attention for the moment. It was clear as fucking day — they all wanted you.

Laswell knew this and, in hindsight, should have taken that into account when organizing the gift exchange. This realization came when Price knocked on her door just after the announcement had made the rounds. He had inquired if she was going to be the one to select the secret santa's, and if he could maybe take a look with her — just to make sure they weren't pairing up people that disliked eachother and causing issues, he explained. When she told him no, some random online generator would do just fine, Kate got her confirmation that he was lying about his motives — she'd never seen the captain look that disappointed.

After the secret santa's had been given out, she realized that maybe it was time to do some damage control. She had walked into the rec room to find Gaz grilling everyone in there on who they pulled, seeming more agitated each time they did not answer with what he wanted to hear. A few hours later, he had apparently found the one he was looking for, as Laswell overheard someone talking about how Sergeant Mactavish had offered the person in question nearly 100 bucks to switch. Then the report came in about Lieutenant Riley threatening that very same person, and Laswell had had enough.

REMINDER: SECRET SANTAS ARE FINAL AND CANNOT BE EXCHANGED.

She pretended not to hear the huffing from Price as he read the email she had sent around.

Kate had hoped the situation had been subdued with that, yet still couldn't shake the weird feeling in her underbelly when the base christmas party came around. Everything seemed fine, at first; there stood a sadly decorated plastic tree in the corner, lights were strung up around the room and the secret santa table was overflowing with badly wrapped gifts. Everything would be fine, right?

—

Wrong.

You had been excited about the gift exchange. It was a fun way to interact with some of your coworkers that you hadn't done so with yet, and you had always liked giving out presents. You tried not to beam too bright when Kate unwrapped the gift you had got her, and got up excitedly when your name was called. It was nothing special, really; a cute mug with a bar of chocolate inside, courtesy of some random private you had never really had the chance to talk to. You were grateful nonetheless.

But then your name was called again. And again. And again. The flush of embarrassment grew with each one. By the end of the night, you had five gifts in total, somehow. The second gift was a bottle of perfume, and you had to stifle a gasp as you saw the brand — it had to have been close to three figures in price. You tentatively spray some on your wrist, and- Hadn't you smelled something similar on Gaz when he greeted you earlier?

The third gift was a basket filled with goodies; all your favourite sweets and snacks, a pair of fuzzy socks, a book you had had on your wishlist for a while, and, wait, was that..? You're so preoccupied with using the socks to hide the box of XXL condoms that you don't notice how Ghost's fingers move to adjust himself in his pants.

You start to feel really flustered when your fourth gift is handed to you, trying not to flounder under all the stares you're getting. The box looks expensive, and reveals a gorgeous pearl necklace when you open it — God, that must've been at least triple the given budget. You have to hide the added note from view when you read it: 'Just a placeholder until I can give you a pearl necklace of my own -S'.

You don't even open the fifth gift, choosing instead to quickly accept it and ushering the announcer into calling the next name. You feel a little faint when you actually open it once you're in the privacy of your room — it's a fucking vibrator. The little instruction manual says something about it being remote controlled — so where is the controller?

[memorabxlia]

Tied Up ━ 방찬

genre: smut summary: “It’s long enough to tie you to the bed.” warnings: language, bondage, oral (fem receiving), begging, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (wrap up irl!), Chan is referenced as Chris in this, I most definitely forgot something pairing: boyfriend!bangchan x fem!reader wc: 1.2k a/n: DAY 12!!! nets: @blossomnet @k-labels @k-films

The room smells like pine and cinnamon, a lingering reminder of the Christmas morning chaos. The discarded wrapping paper is scattered across the floor, remnants of gifts exchanged with laughter and delight. You’re perched on the edge of the bed, holding a long piece of red ribbon, about to toss it into the trash when Chris stops you.

“Hey, don’t throw that away,” he says, his voice low and teasing. His eyes gleam with mischief as he plucks the ribbon from your fingers, letting it slide through his hands like silk.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued but skeptical. “And what exactly are you planning to do with this? Tie up some more presents?”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he steps closer. His body radiates warmth, and you feel the heat of him even before he touches you. “Oh, no. This has a much better use.” He leans in, his breath brushing against your ear as he whispers, “It’s long enough to tie you to the bed.”

Your stomach flips, a mix of surprise and anticipation coiling tight inside you. “Is that so?” you murmur, your voice trembling just slightly. The idea sends a shiver down your spine, but not one of fear—no, it’s something far more electric.

Chris smirks, his hand trailing up your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “You’ve been teasing me all morning,” he says, his tone playful but laced with something darker, needier. “Every time you bent over to pick up a gift, every time you leaned forward to grab a cookie… you’ve been driving me crazy. And now…” He holds up the ribbon, letting it dangle between his fingers. “Now I think it’s my turn to have a little fun.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “And what if I say no?”

His grin widens, and there’s a glint in his eye that makes your knees weak. “You won’t.”

Before you can protest, he’s gently pushing you back onto the bed, the soft comforter cushioning your fall. The ribbon slips around your wrists, cool and smooth against your skin. You gasp as he tugs lightly, testing the knot, and then secures your hands to the headboard. The sensation is strange but thrilling, the way the ribbon bites just enough to remind you that you’re at his mercy.

“Comfortable?” he asks, his voice dripping with faux concern.

You tug experimentally at the restraints, feeling the ribbon hold firm. “Not bad,” you admit, trying to sound casual despite the adrenaline coursing through you.

Chris laughs, a deep, rich sound that fills the room. “Good. Because I’m just getting started.”

He kneels between your legs, his hands resting on your thighs. His touch is warm, possessive, and you can feel the weight of his gaze as it travels over your body. Slowly, deliberately, he traces patterns on your skin, his fingertips skimming higher and higher until they brush against the fabric of your panties.

You bite your lip, arching into his touch, but he pulls back, smirking. “Not yet,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. “I want you to beg for it.”

You groan, frustration mixing with arousal. “Chris…”

“Shh,” he interrupts, pressing a finger to your lips. “Patience.”

He drags his hands back down your thighs, his touch feather-light. Then, without warning, he brings his palm down sharply against the tender flesh of your inner thigh. The sting catches you off guard, and you yelp, your hips jerking involuntarily.

“Sensitive, huh?” he teases, his voice dark with amusement. He does it again, this time on the other side, and you squirm, the sensation mingling pain with pleasure in a way that leaves you breathless.

“Chris, please,” you whimper, your voice breaking. The ribbon tightens as you pull against it, your body straining toward him.

He leans down, his lips brushing against your hipbone. “Please what?” he asks, his breath hot against your skin.

You moan, unable to form coherent words. He takes that as encouragement, his mouth moving lower, trailing kisses along the curve of your thigh. When he reaches the juncture of your legs, he pauses, his breath ghosting over your aching core.

“Tell me,” he demands, his voice a growl.

“Eat me out,” you plead, desperate for relief. “Please, Chris, please.”

He doesn’t make you wait any longer. In one swift motion, he yanks your panties aside and buries his face between your legs, his tongue delving deep into your slick folds. The sensation is overwhelming, and you cry out, your hands clenching into fists above your head.

He moans against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. His tongue flicks over your clit, fast and relentless, and you writhe beneath him, helpless under the onslaught of pleasure. Every lick, every suck, feels like it’s lighting you on fire from the inside out.

“So good,” he growls, his voice muffled against you. “You taste fucking incredible.”

His hunger is insatiable, his movements almost frenzied as he devours you like a man starved. You can feel the tension building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter with each passing second. Your breaths come in ragged gasps, your back arching off the bed as you hurtle toward the edge.

“Chris, I’m—” you start, but the words catch in your throat as he sucks hard on your clit, tipping you over the edge. Pleasure explodes through you, white-hot and all-consuming, and you scream his name as you come undone.

He doesn’t let up, his tongue coaxing every last drop of pleasure from your trembling body. By the time he finally pulls away, you’re a wrung-out mess, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick with admiration. He climbs up your body, settling between your legs, and you can feel the hardness of him pressing against your thigh.

“Need you,” you whisper, your voice hoarse.

“You’ll get me,” he promises, his eyes dark with lust. “But first…” He grabs the end of the ribbon, slowly pulling it free from the headboard. Your arms fall limply to your sides, but before you can move them, he’s gathering your wrists together and securing them once more, this time behind your back.

“Chris,” you protest weakly, though you’re too spent to put up much of a fight.

He silences you with a kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth as he positions himself at your entrance. “Trust me,” he murmurs against your lips. “You’re going to love this.”

And then he’s inside you, filling you completely in one fierce thrust. You gasp, your nails digging into your palms as he sets a brutal pace, fucking you deep and hard. Every stroke pushes you closer to the edge again, your body already wound tight from your last orgasm.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans, his hands gripping your hips as he slams into you. “So tight, so perfect.”

You can’t speak, can’t think, can only feel as he drives into you with unrelenting force. The room is filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, your combined moans echoing off the walls.

“Cum for me again,” he commands, his voice raw with need. “I want to feel you—”

The words are cut off as your body convulses around him, another wave of pleasure crashing over you. He follows close behind, his release spilling deep inside you as he collapses on top of you, his breathing ragged.

For a moment, you both lie there, tangled together in the aftermath. Then, with a wicked grin, Chris sits up, his eyes gleaming with renewed mischief. “Think we should save the rest of the ribbon for later?”

❥﹒ stray kids taglist: @minkilicious @casemoa143 @instabull @lice @amarecerasus

[strawberryblue-blog]

Kisses —FC BARCELONA.

summary: What are their kisses like or how do they like to kiss you?

warnings: none. cute, soft, fluff, headcanon.

—Pedri Gonzalez.

His kisses are too long and affectionate. He likes the sensation of feeling you close to him, he thinks it is intimate and the most tender way to show love.

He could spend hours kissing your lips, soft and delicate, showing you how much he likes your lips. He is very shy at times but if you kiss him first, he will not be able to stop.

Your soft and full lips are like an addiction for Pedri, he loves the sensation of feeling them on his skin at any time. Whether on his cheeks or forehead. During sex, he also kisses your lips a lot, especially to silence his squeals and to make you feel loved. Because he really loves you and your lips a lot.

—Pablo Gavi.

One of the most amateur kissers in history, not of your lips but of your neck and jaw. He likes your lips but is obsessed with the soft, supple skin of your neck.

Especially because he likes to mark his trails, so when his lips are on your neck, he will play with you until you turn red. He loves the sensation of hearing you gasp and laugh at the same time.

During sex, he prefers not so much to kiss as to watch. Watching you is more his thing, but, after the action he is very affectionate and caring. Maybe there he kisses you too much to make up for what he couldn't kiss you before.

—Ferran Torres.

Ferran knows what a good kisser he is, he always received compliments about it and you always remind him of it. So when he is with you he likes to kiss you all the time because he knows how much you like his kisses.

He kisses you anywhere, no matter where it is, he knows how to make your skin bristle with so little. On your lips, neck and shoulders. Your shoulders are his weakness.

When you are having sex he doesn't kiss so much because he likes to concentrate on you but from time to time he seeks your lips. His kisses are very long and seductive.

—Fermin López.

Fermín loves kissing, loves kissing you and loves to be kissed by you. An exchange of mutual love which, for Fermín, is heaven itself. He loves to feel your lips on his, short or long, he doesn't care.

He could kiss you all day long, on your lips, your thighs, your belly, your neck or your face. He's super cheesy and tender. He knows you like it and he will take advantage of it to feel you.

Not necessarily during sex, because sometimes he can't hold back the moans and has to let them out but after he's done, he'll be a ball of love. He will kiss you so much, until you fall asleep. Just like the next morning, he will wake you up with his kisses.

—Alejandro Balde.

Although he loves to kiss your lips, his lips always find your hands to kiss them delicately. He is so tender and delicate, he loves to make you feel like a princess.

Although your lips are his favorite, he will kiss them whenever you can. Every now and then he will give you a peck on your lips. He finds it fun and romantic. He is obsessed with your mouth, so lips and tongue for him.

When you are having sex, he likes to kiss you even more. It's a different kind of connection and he loves to feel your warm lips on his.

—Hector Fort.

He's definitely a kisser, a lot. Too much. And not only that, he kisses like the gods. Hector has a gift and he knows how to use it on you.

Kissing your neck, chest and shoulders is his favorite pastime while you're together. No matter what you do he will come and take his time with you. He concentrates on you, kissing your skin delicately with that seductive and haughty touch he has.

During sex he kisses much more your breasts or shoulders than your lips. But when you're done, he'll take care of leaving you with lungs and lips asleep.

—Lamine Yamal.

He is overconfident and despite being young, he has a certain amount of experience. He loves to kiss you either on the lips or on your forehead, he finds it protective and tender.

He likes to kiss your nose too, as a little detail he has with you. But sometimes he plays rough and wants you to kiss him and take the initiative.

In sex he is a little kisser but not so much, maybe more your neck or bite your shoulders but he will definitely do it when he finishes and kiss you for a while afterwards.

—Pau Cubarsí.

He is not a big fan of kissing on the lips because he thinks he doesn't give them correctly. He's still young and just learning, he's also a bit insecure.

Clearly he doesn't agree with that, Pau is a good kisser and when he kisses you he is intense and fiery. But he likes it when you kiss him long and deep.

He prefers to kiss your face how, forehead, nose, cheeks and ears. He finds it tender and that is his way of showing his love. In bed he may be a little more kissy to show his love for you, he likes to be gentle and soft with you.

[keferon]

Hmmmm. New infection: Blurr/Swerve

Your writing has radioactive qualities but in a comic book super powers granting kind of way.

Merry Christmas from me to you.

———————————————————————

There was single spark of Christmas in the deepest dark of space. Far, far from the warm fire of Earth.

With the sort of warmth reserved for children’s holiday specials, Swerve and Jazz exchanged small improvised gifts.

Prowl also participated, with all the stone cold concentration of a bomb defusal.

Turns out, there was a decent amount of dropped shanix down various vents that Jazz had gotten a hold of. Swerve helped him pick up a gift for Prowl the next time they stopped at a trade depot. It was some of the most fun he’d had since waking up.

Prowl. ALSO, required Swerves help in picking out a gift for Jazz.

Never, never, never again.

Later, Swerve would watch as Jazz helped Prowl loop a striped scarf over his shoulders and across one half of a chevron, laughing and smiling all the while.

Swerve wasn’t jealous. No no no. He really was happy for them! He was! And maybe a little sad.

Prowl nodded at something Jazz said and took his leave to head back to his, their hab suite. Jazz jogged over to where Swerve had been slowly been drilling a pen into the drawing pad Jazz gotten for him.

“So you going to go see them?”

Swerve abruptly dropped the pen and flattened a hand over the sketch he’d definitely not made of the person he totally wasn’t thinking about.

“Whaaaat? No, no I’m sure they’re fine. Not! That I was still thinking about him! THEM.”Swerves optics darted rapidly from Jazz to the drawing, making sure any evidence was fully concealed.

“Besides, I’m not gonna leave you alone on Christmas Eve.” He said a bit more seriously, remembering Jazz’s current isolation. Unlike him, Swerve could visit Earth whenever wanted.

“Actually, Prowl was talking about some silent holovid earlier, so we were going to watch it tonight. It’s cool man, go check on your boo.”

Jazz looked, well, happy. And his field (wow, Swerve was still mind blown that humans had those the entire time) reflected that.

Swerve did a poor imitation of nonchalance. “I mean, only if you’re totally sure.”

Jazz put his hands in his pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet a little, “Hmmm, you could always join Prowl and I for the holovid. You know, the one we’re gonna watch together? Inside his room?”

HA!

Hahahahhaha!

Oooooh Swerve saw THAT trap and did not need the stress induced nightmare fuel that’d surely come from third wheeling on a date with Prowl.

The Christmas Shopping was enough.

With Jazz’s blessing, and Prowl’s glaring, seriously he could feel it through the wall, Swerve wished them a Merry Christmas and went to his room. Just a little bit quicker than necessary.

———————————————

Blurr’s hospital was one of those really fancy ones that looked more like a hotel room from the right angles.

There were simple decorations, extra furniture like a nightstand and a small couch, as well as fairly thick curtains framing a large clear window.

Christmas lights were strung up outside, adding to the ambient glow of the city lit up below. Snowflakes drifting through the air fuzzed the details. Made everything a little soft.

Swerve zeroed in on closing the curtains out of habit.

“Leave th-“

Swerve shrieked, nearly clipping through a wall with how hard he jumped.

Lying on his good side on the couch, Blurr merely blinked at him slowly before finishing his sentence.

“Leave the curtains open, please.” He pulled a blanket that didn’t look thick enough a little more securely over his shoulder.

Blurr didn’t resume looking at the falling snow, instead he took Swerve in with a half lidded eye.

“So are you my ghost of Christmas past, present or future?”

Swerve was uncomfortably reminded of how he looked at the moment. Colorless, grainy and mostly transparent. Slowly, he turned up the sliders on his holoform. “Heh, uh, option D? None of the above?”

Blurr didn’t have an IV in, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still on some other form of painkillers. Either way, he seemed a little more aware than what Swerve was prepared to deal with.

So why was he moving to get Blurr a better blanket?

Eh, he probably won’t remember this, but his recovery will. Swerve rationalized. He thinks I’m a Christmas ghost anyways, it’s just a dream to him.

When Swerve was almost out of sight, he was stopped by a small, “Stay?”

Swerve stayed.

He shuffled where he stood, Blurr continued to look at him. Slowly, the former racer tried to sit up.

Swerve was there right away, moving softly as he helped him up. In order to support Blurrs weight as best as possible, Swerve ended up sitting halfway onto the couch where Blurr had been laying.

Blurr placed a hand on his arm for support, and when he was most of the way upright, Swerve felt him sigh and rest all of his weight onto his holoform.

Comfortable.

Trapping him.

Holoforms can’t explode right?

Swerve was living both his greatest fanfic dream as well as his second greatest real life nightmare. He really, really hoped holoforms couldn’t explode. Fuck knows he’d put this poor man through enough.

How many layers of guilt were there again? There’s the initial parasocial idolization thing. There was the time Blurr saw all of his destroyed merchandise. So he thinks Swerve hates him. Did. He did actually hate him. Not really, but he wanted to. Oh and then Swerve left him for dead! Because he treated him like he wasn’t an actual living person who could feel fear! Or pain! Or. . . Alone.

On Christmas.

Swerve got a little more settled onto the couch, letting Blurr use him as his personal cushion a bit more comfortably. Leaning his head on his shoulder, Blurr was watching the snow again.

“When I was a child, I spent every Christmas at a ski lodge to the north” Blurr spoke quietly enough that the silence stayed resilient.

“I’d stay up late, watching the snow drift down through the mountain lights for hours. It felt a lot like this.” Blurr’s eye was fluttering more and more the longer he spoke. Each time it closed, Swerve could see the effort it took to open again.

Blurr, readjusted his body one last time me. Then mumbled. “You’re very warm for a ghost.”

Swerve, desperately, wished he could remember a single smart thing he’d ever written. “I got a slider for that.”

Swerve was going to find the self destruct button.

Blurr snorted a genuine single laugh. His eye had closed and he’d stopped fighting. Gradually, Swerve felt him breath a little slower, sinking into him and the couch. Swerve held still, until all the screaming, embarrassing panic in his mind resolved into white noise.

Swerve stayed for as long as he could. And when his time was almost up, he carefully lowered Blurr back onto the couch. Getting him a thicker blanket, and a non-Swerve pillow, for Christmas.

———————————————————————

- SSTP

"Prowl. ALSO, required Swerves help in picking out a gift for Jazz.

Never, never, never again."

LMAO

"Oooooh Swerve saw THAT trap and did not need the stress induced nightmare fuel that’d surely come from third wheeling on a date with Prowl."

AHAHAHAJFJGMGJGKRJ WHEEEEEEZE HELP

ANON. SSTP. DEAR. MY TREASURE. MY SWEET NUCLEAR POWER PLANT OF A WRITER. I LOVE THE WAY YOU WRITE THEM. BOTH JP AND BLURWERS. YOU HAVE NO BUSINESS TO BE THIS FUNNY AND CUTE /J

Also The scene with Blurr is just SO cozy auughhggj I wanna wrap them both in a blanket and send to the magic ski resort where nothing bad ever happens*

[archangeldyke-all]

merry chrtismas angel !!!<3

idk if your taking requests today but anything with sevika and reader who celebrate Christmas with isha and jinx and everything is happy and jolly and everyone is alive and well

-💌

merry christmas to all my readers who celebrate!! and if you don't: i hope whatever holiday you partake in is festive and fun and EASY this year (i.e. no family drama ahahhaahha)

men and minors dni

"we might've overdone it..." you consider as you examine the literal mountain of wrapped gifts shoved under your tree. sevika giggles.

"it's their first christmas with us. half of this shit is just stuff for their room." sevika reminds you.

"it's gonna take them all day to get through this stuff."

sevika laughs. "just means we get a day free from having to entertain them."

you laugh and lean against your wife, both of you smiling at the christmas tree. the girls spent the entire evening dressing it up. you're going to be vacuuming glitter out of the carpet for years to come, but it's all worth it for the happy laughs that came from isha and jinx as they covered the tree in tassels and handmade ornaments and garlands.

you and sevika shuffle to bed a few minutes later, exchanging sleepy, happy kisses in each other's arms before falling asleep.

you wake up to squealing.

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!"

"wha? wha's happening?" sevika asks as she shoots up in bed beside you.

your bedroom door slams open and isha and jinx both come tumbling in, sprinting up on your bed.

"YOU GOT US SO MANY FUCKING PRESENTS!!" jinx screams as she jumps on your bed. you giggle.

"AAAAAAAAHHH!!" isha squeals, tackling you and sevika back down onto the mattress to wrap you up in a big hug. your heart bursts.

"the sun's not even up yet." sevika whines. you can hear the smile in her voice yet.

"too bad, old lady! get up! it's christmas time!"

you spend the morning making pancakes and watching isha and jinx tear into their presents. sevika hangs off your hips, her chin hooked over your shoulder, a kiss pressed to your throat intermittently.

jinx cries when she opens her customized tool kit-- the handles hand made by a local artisan-- purple and blue swirled together with her name carved in all the tools' handles.

isha stands in pure shock for a full minute when she unwraps her own bike-- all decked out with a basket and pink and blue tassels in the handles. then, she hops on, and rides the bike directly into the christmas tree.

by mid-afternoon, the girls have passed out in a pile of pajama-clad limbs in front of the fire place, exhausted after all the excitement from the morning.

"i'd call that a success." sevika mutters, cheersing her spiked hot coco against yours.

you giggle. "merry christmas, love. you'll be getting your present from me a little later tonight." you tease. sevika laughs.

"what a coincidence. that's when i was gonna give you your present too."

"ugh, you guys are disgusting." jinx mumbles from the floor. you snort and throw a crumbled up ball of wrapping paper at her head. she flips you off, then sighs. "here." she says, reaching out for something under a pile of wrapping paper.

sevika takes it from her hands, a small box wrapped in construction paper; doodles from both isha and jinx decorating it.

sevika carefully unwraps it, refusing to tear the special paper.

tears well up in your eyes the moment sevika pulls out the bedazzled picture frame-- the photo inside taken a few months ago-- all four of you dressed up and smiling bright at the camera.

the treasures and sparkles decorating the frame are clearly all collected by isha-- bottle caps and marbles and anything else shiny she's been able to find.

sevika turns the frame over, and she lets out a choked sob as you both read the note on the back.

none of us expected that this is what our family would be, but now that it's here i wouldn't trade it for the world. thank you. jinx. and isha

isha wakes up with a groan when you and sevika dive off the couch and on top of your girls on the carpet, cuddling them all into your arms as you cry.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @sevikasfan @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel

[alwaysbethewest]

TLOU fic: See Me After

Merry Christmas @auteurdelabre! I'm your Secret Santa for this year's @pedrostories exchange and I have a little gift for you 🥰 Most of my writing is light and fluffy so it was a fun challenge to get a prompt like forbidden relationships and figure out how to spin it, haha. I had already been thinking about sex pollen and then you told me you love that trope, so here we are. I hope you enjoy this, and that you have a very happy holiday!

Title: See Me After Pairing: Joel/f!Reader Rating: Explicit Word count: 2.4k Content/warnings: Pre-series, reader is Sarah's teacher and around Joel's age. Sex pollen, masturbation, sex, breaking of school district policy on multiple levels lol. Unbetaed but thanks as always to @fleetwoodmactshirt and @mourningbirds1 for their invaluable advice and cheerleading.

Mrs. Taylor, the third grade math teacher, had told you about the fraternization policy your first week at the school—and the incident back in ’97 that necessitated it in the first place.

“I’ll tell you what,” she’d said conspiratorially, “I’m not so sure it would’ve made it into the handbook if the dad Miss Kayla was stepping out with didn’t happen to be married to the PTA president’s sister.”

But he had been, and it’s there now in black and white on page 16 of the packet you’d received from HR: District Policy 3A(1) On fraternization with students’ family members. In short, dating parents is not allowed.

Amid lesson plans and curriculum revision, dating is the last thing on your mind anyway and you don’t think much about it beyond the opportunity for break room gossip. You’re too busy learning the ropes at a new school, and when the weekends come you’re focused on getting your laundry done and seeing your friends. Romance falls by the wayside and you barely miss it.

Then the fall term starts, and Sarah Miller joins your class.

Mr. Miller is one of the most attractive men you’ve ever laid eyes on. He’s all broad shoulders and deep brown eyes, thick hair falling in soft curls over his forehead and a comfortable Texan accent from his mouth. He repeats your name as you shake hands and between his deep voice and the large, calloused hand firmly gripping yours, you feel your knees start to buckle and you know you’re fucked.

A little fantasy never hurt anybody. There’s no District Policy 3A(2) On fantasizing about that one hot dad. This is what you tell yourself at the end of Curriculum Night, after you’ve gone home and showered and climbed into bed, ready to decompress from meeting every new student and their parents in one whirlwind evening.

What were those hands so big for if not to imagine how they’d cup your hips, how firmly they’d grip your thighs and part them to discover you? Why have a voice that deep, that little bit rough around the edges, if not to hear it moan in your ear and tell you, come on, baby, just like that?

You don’t mean for it to turn into a fixation. It’s just an easy, unattainable fantasy. Cooking him dinner and him thanking you by fucking you on the kitchen table, coaxing a new orgasm from you until you’re so wrung out he needs to help you to bed. Him picking you up in his truck and driving you somewhere quiet, like two teenagers sneaking off, straddling him in the cramped space to ride his hand, and the beard burn you get on your neck doesn’t even sting. It’s a dopamine boost.

Sarah’s dad is kind of a dick.

You catch him outside on a Friday, waiting to pick up his daughter after school. He’s leaning against the door of his truck, arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses hiding his eyes. You try not to let your gaze linger too long on his biceps and how his t-shirt sleeves strain to contain them.

“Mr. Miller.”

He starts when you greet him and you wonder if he’d been dozing behind the shades, despite the cacophony of schoolchildren spilling out onto the sidewalk around you. But he gives you a polite nod in return.

“I just wanted to remind you of the parent volunteer opportunities for this year,” you say, holding out a printed flyer.

He accepts the paper, glances down at it, and grimaces like you’ve asked him to sign up for a root canal.

“Thanks.” He doesn’t crumple the paper but he drops it through the open window of his truck onto the passenger seat, where you imagine it getting lost amid the standard car detritus of fast food napkins and gas station receipts.

You wait a beat, but he doesn’t say anything more.

“Okay, well. Have a good weekend,” you tell him. He nods again, silently, and you think his eyes have probably already shut again as you turn to go. But then you hear a quiet, “you too,” like an afterthought, and for some reason—insanity, perhaps—you feel a blush rising to your cheeks as you walk away.

That night, he turns a little mean. Selfish. He puts you on your knees at his feet, offers you his dick to suck, teases his foot between your legs so you can grind against his shoe for relief. You press hard against your clit and focus on his cock, imagining how he’d fill your mouth, salt-skin-heat on your tongue, and it’s mortifying how quickly it makes you come, alone and muffled against your pillow.

There’s a rumor going around school that the fifth grade chemistry teacher, Mrs. Fontaine, is a witch. If it’s true, she must be one of the good ones, because she’s only ever been nice to you.

It’s a Tuesday and you come across her in the break room, perusing a newspaper and drinking coffee out of a mug decorated with a black cat. She’s never seemed too concerned with dispelling the rumors.

“Ah, here,” she says, nodding hello as you head to the fridge. “Your horoscope. What you are dreaming of will find you, whether or not you think you’re ready for it. Embrace your destiny, even if it means breaking a few rules.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Breaking rules? Are you sure you’ve got the right sign?” you joke.

She laughs knowingly. “The stars are telling you to let loose; maybe you should listen.”

“Maybe these celestial bodies don’t really know my business,” you counter. Mrs. F just shakes her head, like you’re the one being silly here.

Sarah’s dad blows off your scheduled parent-teacher meeting and sends her uncle in his place.

It makes you prickle with irritation.

Tommy Miller is nice enough. He’s younger than you, and a natural flirt, quick with a smile and a polite yes or no, ma’am when you ask him a question. He also has no idea what subject you teach or which grade Sarah is in, but he seems sincerely pleased to hear she’s doing well in your class, and he promises to share your report with her father, who will definitely, definitely follow up.

You’re not holding your breath.

In the final week of the semester, Sarah hands you an envelope on her way to her seat. Your name is scratched on the front in boxy letters. Inside, the note reads:

I’m sorry I missed our one-on-one. I had a work project go overtime and couldn’t get away. Thanks for meeting with Tommy instead. He told me Sarah is keeping up and about your reccomendation for the competition. That’s very cool.

I know you all want parents to volunteer. Ain’t nobody wants to eat my bake sale cupcakes but if you have anything that needs fixed around the classroom I can do that for you. Tommy mentioned there was some loose tile by the door.

Call me to schedule it and I’ll show up this time, promise.

-Joel

The promise gets you. You sigh, thinking you might forgive him after all, and get started jotting down a list of the loose tiles and crooked cabinet doors your maintenance guy has been ignoring for the past year.

He shows up in a tool belt and work boots, on Saturday morning as you’d arranged. The building is deserted and it’s almost serene walking through the empty hallways, silent but for the click of your shoes and the heavy tread of his.

You feel slightly self-conscious, being alone with him in person after all the time you’ve spent with the thought of him in private, but you try your best to push that down so you can appear professional.

Mr. Miller—Joel—seems at ease, rambling about the history of the district school buildings’ retrofits and how many decades it’s been since they’ve been properly updated. It’s endearingly uninteresting, reminding you of countless students who have subjected you to impromptu lectures on their own special interests over the years, and you’re biting back a smile by the time you reach your own classroom.

He takes in the room with an expert’s eye, systematically going through the list you’d made him and making notes to himself, finally tucking his pencil behind his ear for safekeeping when he’s done.

You’ve got your own list to get through, to close out the term and ready for the upcoming one—lesson plans to print and organize, task cards to laminate, books to sort in the classroom library as you swap out this year’s unit for the next. You busy yourself while he gets to work and there’s a companionable silence in the room, broken by the shuffle of papers and books on your end, hammering and the occasional muttered curse word from his.

You allow yourself to watch him when his back is turned. You watch his back, in fact—the sturdy slope of it down to the little patch of bare skin that reveals itself when he reaches forward and his shirt rides up. His skin looks soft. Lush, you think, and you luxuriate in the vision of him until you realize you’re biting your lip and force yourself to snap out of it and get back to alphabetizing.

Coming to a break, you stand up and stretch, then slip off your shoes and wiggle your toes. Yesterday, Mrs. Fontaine had dropped off a tin of cookies and in the rush of wishing your students a happy break, you’d forgotten to grab them on your way out. They’re still sitting on the corner of your desk, and you perch next to them and open the box.

“Cookie?” you offer. “My co-worker made them.”

Joel has been re-hanging cupboard doors to make them sit straight, and he looks up from his screwdriver. “Thanks.”

He washes his hands with care at the corner sink and comes to settle by your side, a respectful distance away. You munch on the cookies, looking around the room to admire his work. The changes are subtle, but for as many hours as you’ve spent in this room, they stand out to you. Little things like the cupboard doors closing properly, and the wooden border around your white board looking good as new instead of cracked along the edge.

“It looks great,” you tell him. “I appreciate your work.”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing, but you see the smile on his face and can tell he’s happy you’re pleased.

It hits you first, you think. The strangest sensation, like a ripple through your body awakening every nerve.

“I feel…” you start, unsure.

What is it you feel?

You look at him and you watch as it strikes him too, as his jaw drops and his breathing goes shallow.

Your body feels drawn to his like there’s a magnet pulling you in. The air is suddenly thick, sticky with arousal brewing between you. Your eyes are locked with his and you see his pupils dilate, his gaze turning heavy with intent.

“Maybe we just… need some fresh air,” you suggest. It’s a struggle to turn from him to walk to the door and when you reach it your body aches. You look back at him, seeing the pained expression on his face and how tightly his fingers are gripping the edge of the desk. Your eyes drop—you can’t help it—to see the bulge in his jeans, and as if your body has taken over all decision-making, your fingers reach past the knob to engage the lock instead.

He kisses how you thought he would. Intense and focused. But his hands are nicer, gentler, than in your imagination. They smooth over your curves, settle on your back and your ass to pull you closer, into the space between his legs. His arms are a solid grip around you and your body melts against his until he’s the only thing holding you up.

He turns the two of you around so you can sit on the desk while he stands over you, panting when your lips break apart.

“I’ve never felt like this,” he whispers. “I feel—I need—”

He kisses you desperately and slides his hands under your shirt. The touch of his fingers on your body is like a dam breaking; now that you’ve felt it you need every inch of his skin against yours. Your hands knock as you rush to remove each others’ clothes, and it would be almost comical if you didn’t feel like you might die without him inside you soon.

He’s nudging his cock at your entrance, a spellbound, breath-held silence between you and a wanting ache in your gut.

“Please,” you whisper. It was chilly this morning but now you’re flushed with heat. His skin is glowing with sweat—it almost distracts you, noticing how the hard angle of his collarbone is softened by the sheen of it. You lean forward, set your mouth to his skin to taste him, and he groans.

He grinds against you, the thick length of him riding over your cunt. It feels like a tease, but it’s not; he’s holding himself back.

“Tell me you want it,” he breathes.

“Joel,” you moan. “Please. I want you.”

Your body arches as his cock drives you open, pleasure buzzing through your veins. He bows his head, mouth at your neck, the soft scratch of his beard pressing into your skin. With a gasping breath, he murmurs, “I wanted you—all this time,” and you think you might see stars.

You ignore the phone ringing, but when the answering machine switches on and you hear the urgency in your friend’s voice, you reluctantly drag yourself to the kitchen to pick up.

“Tell me you didn’t eat those cookies,” Mrs. Fontaine says.

You open your mouth, wondering what you should say, but she barrels on without you, explaining the mix-up with the special batch she’d made for date night with her husband and how she’s only just realized the mistake, and maybe she’s making a big deal out of nothing but you didn’t eat the cookies yet, did you?

You look up and see Joel leaning in the doorway to your bedroom, naked but for a pair of shorts, and abruptly you decide you don’t have time for this conversation.

“You know what? I’m gonna have to call you back,” you tell her, and with that, you hang up the phone.

[pandapetals]

Merry Christmas

It's Christmas Day! You and Logan exchange gifts.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, cute, fluff, banter, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor, holiday vibes, logan being a softie

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

a/n: It’s the last one shot and i am sad. It’s been so much fun writing for christmas. I hope everyone gets logan under their tree this year.

divider credit: @saradika

The mansion was silent, wrapped in a thick blanket of snow from the night’s storm, the world outside hushed and peaceful. You woke to the sound of Logan’s soft snoring beside you, his hand resting protectively on your hip, even in sleep. Smiling to yourself, you carefully slipped out of bed, pulling on your robe as you padded downstairs to put the finishing touches on his gifts.

You’d thought long and hard about what to get him, wanting each gift to be something meaningful. A leather tool roll, perfectly sized for his motorbike tools, so he’d always have something useful on hand. A bottle of his favorite whiskey, because you knew he’d never buy the fancy stuff for himself. And your personal favorite—a beautifully framed vintage map of the Canadian wilderness, detailing the rugged terrain of the land he loved so much. But the most important gift, the one that had taken you months to finish, was a small wooden box filled with letters, each one tied neatly with twine.

Each letter was for a different moment, a different feeling. One for when he felt alone, one for when he felt angry, one for when he doubted himself. Every letter was written to remind him how deeply he was loved, how much he mattered. You’d poured your heart into every word, hoping that he’d feel the weight of your love whenever he needed it most.

By the time you’d finished arranging everything under the tree, you heard the soft creak of the stairs and turned to see Logan coming down, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, hair even more wild than usual. He was wearing his old flannel shirt over sweatpants, looking gruff but endearingly soft, as if he hadn’t quite woken up.

"Mornin', darlin’," he mumbled, his voice rough, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips as he saw you waiting by the tree.

"Merry Christmas, Logan," you whispered, stepping forward to press a soft kiss to his cheek. His arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer, and for a moment, the two of you just stood there, wrapped in each other’s warmth as snowflakes drifted softly outside the window.

Reluctantly, you pulled back and gestured to the pile of gifts. "C’mon, let’s open these."

Logan chuckled, eyeing the gifts with a raised brow. "You went all out, huh? I didn’t know we were doin’ this whole… gift thing."

You laughed, nudging him down onto the couch and settling beside him. "Just open yours. I think you’ll like them."

He started with the tool roll, his rough hands carefully unwrapping the leather. He ran his fingers over it, a faint smile playing on his lips. "This… this is real nice," he muttered, a little shy. "I’ll definitely use it."

Next, he picked up the whiskey, letting out a low whistle as he looked at the label. "You got me the good stuff, huh? You spoil me," he said with a smirk, though there was a flicker of genuine appreciation in his eyes. But when he unwrapped the framed vintage map, he went completely silent, his fingers brushing over the contours of the familiar landscape.

"I figured… you could hang it in your office, or keep it somewhere special," you murmured, watching his face closely.

Logan swallowed, his gaze lingering on the map as if he were lost in the memories of those wild places. "This is… perfect," he whispered, his voice rough. "Thank you."

There was one gift left, and you hesitated for a moment before handing him the small wooden box. His brows knit together as he looked down at it, curiosity and something else—a softer emotion—flickering across his face. He lifted the lid and saw the bundle of letters, each one tied with care, each one addressed to a moment he might need a reminder of your love.

"For when you’re feeling… well, you know," you said softly, your fingers nervously fidgeting as you watched his reaction. "Each one is for a different time. I just… wanted you to know that I’m always here, even if I’m not right next to you."

Logan took a shaky breath, his gaze fixed on the box of letters. His jaw clenched as he fought to keep his expression steady, but you saw the glint of tears in his eyes. He lifted one of the letters, his fingers trembling slightly as he ran his thumb over your handwriting, the careful loops and lines you’d written with so much love.

"No one’s… no one’s ever done somethin’ like this for me," he said, his voice cracking. "I don’t… I don’t deserve this, or you." His voice was barely more than a whisper now, vulnerability laid bare in a way he rarely allowed.

You reached up, cradling his face with your hands, gently brushing a thumb over his cheek. "Logan… you’re wrong. You deserve so much more than you think." You smiled, the love in your eyes soft and steady. "You’re the best gift I could ever ask for. Just you… exactly as you are."

A tear slipped down his cheek, and he closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as if grounding himself in the warmth of your hands. Without another word, he pulled you into his arms, his embrace tight, almost desperate, like he was afraid to let go.

When he finally pulled back, his hand slid behind your neck, pulling you in for a kiss filled with every unspoken word he couldn’t quite say. His forehead rested against yours as he whispered, "I love you, sweetheart."

You smiled against his lips, pressing one last kiss to his mouth. "I love you, more. Merry Christmas, Logan."

After a long moment, Logan reluctantly pulled back, his gaze soft but intent as he reached for a small, neatly wrapped package on the coffee table. He handed it to you, looking almost… shy.

“Go on,” he murmured, clearing his throat and looking away, trying to cover up the faint blush creeping up his neck. “It’s… not much, but I thought you might like it.”

Curious, you tore off the wrapping paper, revealing a leather-bound book with intricate gold detailing on the cover. You sucked in a breath, your eyes widening as you ran your fingers over the title embossed in gold.

Pride and Prejudice. Not just any copy—this was a rare first edition.

“Logan…” you breathed, your voice a mixture of awe and disbelief. “How… how did you even find this?”

He shrugged, trying to play it off, but you could see the glint of pride in his eyes. “Got my ways,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “Figured it’d mean somethin’ to you.”

Carefully, almost reverently, you opened the book, feeling the delicate weight of the pages between your fingers. But as you turned to the first few pages, something fluttered out—a piece of paper, folded neatly and tucked between them.

You glanced up at him, eyebrow raised. He shifted uncomfortably, looking down at his hands. “I, uh… slipped a little somethin’ in there,” he admitted, his voice barely above a grumble. “Wrote it myself. Might be rough around the edges, but… well, it’s for you.”

With trembling hands, you unfolded the paper, your heart racing as you read the words written in his unmistakable handwriting. It was a short poem, raw and unpolished, each line laced with sincerity.

Didn’t think I’d find somethin' that felt like home,

in the rasp of your laughter, in all the things left unsaid,

in the quiet that ain’t lonely ‘cause you’re in it.

Darlin’—you’re the reason I keep holdin’ on,

the reason a scarred heart like me starts thinkin'

he might be worth somethin' after all.

The words weren’t flowery or grand, but they were him—every line filled with honesty, with a depth he rarely shared. Your vision blurred as you read it again, the weight of his words sinking in.

“Logan…” you whispered, looking up at him, eyes glistening with tears. “This is… it’s beautiful.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking both relieved and embarrassed. “Didn’t think I’d hear that word used on anythin’ I wrote,” he muttered, the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Figured you’d laugh it off.”

“Are you kidding?” you said, reaching over to take his hand, squeezing it tight. “It’s perfect. It’s you, and that means more to me than anything else in the world.”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, his gaze holding yours. After a long, lingering silence, Logan reached behind the couch and pulled out one last gift, this one wrapped in old newspaper and tied with a bit of string. He handed it to you, his eyes a bit softer. 

“This one’s… well, it’s somethin’ I worked on myself,” he said, almost bashful. “Thought it might help you with… y’know, all that writin’ you do.”

Intrigued, you carefully unwrapped it, and as soon as you saw the vintage typewriter nestled inside, your breath hitched. The old keys gleamed, meticulously polished, and there was a faint scent of oil and leather from where he’d restored it with his own hands. Every piece, every detail, looked lovingly cared for.

“Oh my god, Logan…” you whispered, running your fingers over the smooth metal, feeling the weight of each key under your touch. “You… you did this yourself?”

He nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Yeah. It was in pretty rough shape when I found it, but I thought… well, I thought you might like workin’ on somethin’ like this. Somethin’ that’d make all those stories you’re dreamin’ up feel a little more real.”

You stared at him, overwhelmed. He wasn’t just giving you a typewriter—he was giving you the chance to chase your dreams, to bring your words to life in a way that was uniquely yours.

Without another word, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close. “You… you have no idea how much this means to me,” you whispered, your voice choked with emotion.

His arms tightened around you, and for a long, tender moment, he just held you, his cheek resting against your hair. When he finally pulled back, there was a glisten in his eyes he didn’t even try to hide.

“Guess I did somethin’ right, huh?” he murmured, a hint of vulnerability in his voice as his thumb brushed across your cheek.

“You did everything right,” you replied, your smile soft and unwavering. Leaning in, you kissed him—slow, deep, pouring every ounce of love and gratitude you had into it.

When you pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart. Couldn’t ask for a better one.”

You smiled, your hands still laced with his. "Here’s to all the Christmases to come," you whispered back.

[kamospeach]

said you wanna hurt me now, you can't hurt me now .ᐟ

plot: trueform!sukuna wouldn't dare touch her, one of his most prized posession, his first ever concubine

content warning: plussize!reader, death (ofc), reader is obsessed, yandere thoughts, blood, size kink, virgin, oral f! + m!receiving, tummy fucking, 69?, monster fucking, cock warming

peachy's yap: wc 2.6k.ᐟ im a sucker for soft sukuna. trueform sukuna is 9ft but i did 8ft for this. reader is a tad bit crazy too ngl. sukuna is not telling you he loves you unless he's about to die, sorry♡. this might need a pt.2🌚

"sit and stay quiet this time, please." sukuna pleaded with you, but the sparkle in your eye told him everything he needed to know. you didn't get called into the throne room often for the hearings, and today was your lucky day.

he killed two concubines last night for trying to escape. no one else was able to take his brutal killings like you meaning he had no choice but to have you accompany him. he would rather not have to kill another concubine for throwing up on his robe.

"ryooo." you whined as he gave you a pointed glare, not wanting the other concubine on the other side of the throne to hear the nickname you have for him. "kunaaa." you giggle as he huffs at your unseriousness.

"act like you've got some type of sense, brat," he says, pleading with you for the second time today. he sat on his throne, waiting for the first person to come in. the day had only just started and sukuna had just about enough of this.

being one of sukuna's concubines was fun when it wasn't your job. you had always loved sukuna even when your father gifted you to him 10 years ago. all the women had come and gone yet you still stayed by his side.

despite being there all those years sukuna still refused to have sex with you. at first, you thought it was your body but he was never afraid to be touchy. then you thought it was your face but he always told you how beautiful you were.

you thought it was his anger, that you reminded him too much of his father. since he’s the one who made the deal of you becoming his concubine. yet the words he whispers to you are sweet and his caresses are gentle.

you frowned thinking of it all over again, your mind ran in circles like this at least 4 times a day. he was the only thing that inhabited your mind, to be honest. even under these unbearable circumstances, you refused to leave sukuna. you loved him and that much was obvious.

“g…good morning my king! i was wondering in exchange for my daughter as your concubine will you bless me with enough money to replant my fields.” the older man squeaked, bringing out his daughter. she looked about  21 or 22 she was pretty, ‘i’d kill her’ you thought to yourself

“yes, i require new concubines anyway. get out,” he says as the man nods rapidly walking to Uraume who gives the man a wad of cash. the new concubine smiled wide looking around the throne room.

“may i sit at your feet my king,” she asked looking up at sukuna with her big doe eyes. you wonder how she’d sound screaming for her life. you zoned out not even hearing sukuna's response to the girl. you shake that thought from your head as sukuna taps your shoulder. you turned to look at him and he looked almost bored.

“sit on my lap so she can sit there,” he instructed you and you eagerly nodded. standing up you sat on sukuna’s lap, his robes doing nothing to hide the growing erection. acting oblivious you reached down to ‘see what that feeling was’. only to be met with a sharp glare from sukuna.

“what?” you smiled innocently feeling not one but two cocks? your eyes widened and sukuna’s glare and frown turned into a menacing smirk.

“look here woman if you turn around and be nice, i’ll reward you,” he whispered in your ear, placing a soft kiss on the bend of your neck. you figured like always the reward would be him inviting you to spend the night in his chambers. or a new robe or allowing you to match with him for once.

although you knew the reward wasn't exactly what you wanted you still obliged. facing forward and trying your best to not roll your eyes or laugh at the people sukuna killed. sukuna huffed and puffed louder as more and more people came in.

"kuna?" you whispered, turning around while uraume cleaned up the blood. you knew you had at least ten minutes before the next person came in.

"what?" he said, throwing his head back in exhaustion. it was going on for the third hour and he was beat. the other concubine you didn't care to remember her name didn't dare look his way while the newest one stared at him.

"can i help you?" you asked and he looked down at you with furrowed brows not sure what you meant. noticing his confused look you nodding down between the two of you. where sukuna's twin cocks were now pressed against his stomach. "i won't be obvious or loud i promise." you pleaded.

"aren't you a virgin?" he whispered back and you nodded looking away.

"y...you've never touched me." you look into his eyes and he was floored really. not once in the 10 years had you ever stuttered before sukuna. nor whispered out of fear or even flinched when he yelled at you.

"it's a lot to explain." he said shaking his head, noticing they were getting closer and closer to being done. "you sure you want to do this?"

"yes i want to please you," you say and he nods slowly as you open the lower part of his robe to pull out both of his cocks. it was like nothing you'd seen before, it wasn't like you'd seen many anyways. his top dick is smaller than the bottom but just as girthy.

"just take the bottom one," he tells you and you oblige pulling up your robe. you smirked glancing at the newest concubine who still stared at the both of you.

you had used your fingers plenty of times but this stretch was different. you slid down inch by inch slowly adjusting to sukuna. you bit back your moans being quiet just like you promised. sukuna's breathing was ragged and his hands gripped your hips.

once you were fully flushed on his cock you covered everything just in time for the next person to come in. you stayed steady as more and more people came in begging for things. sukuna noticed how your soppy cunt clenched around him in arousal when he killed someone. or how when he sometimes spoke your hips made the littlest of movement.

he was saving you for the right moment when he was ready to settle down. he knew once he had you that every other concubine would be sent off to his best friend Toji. he wasn't ready to focus on just you, mentally he was still young. he wanted to be mature when he finally decided to take your virginity.

but how could he turn down his most prized possession of what she wanted? he wouldn't dare tell you no or put tears in your eyes if it wasn't from pleasure. so he did what he had always wanted to do.

it was now going on the fifth hour and you had already came twice around sukuna. he had filled you up once just from your clenching and unclenching.

"that was the last of them my king." uraume informed sukuna who wasted no time pulling you off him. making sure you both were fixed to not draw attention to the slick sliding down your leg.

"you're all dismissed." he rushed out grabbing you like you weighed nothing like always. he threw you over his shoulder and it looked as if you were far off the ground. remembering sukuna was 8 feet tall and realizing he had never picked you up before.

you looked up at uraume who laughed at you being carried away. the other concubines frowning since he never did anything with you. you smiled to yourself not only did he want you, but you made him cum once already.

once you were at his chamber door your feet kicked in excitement. he opened the door and walked to the bed he placed you down on your feet and you frowned. he laughed at your face, his bed itself was almost as tall as you.

you looked up at sukuna, your head only going a little past his hip. you weren't super tall but you weren't short either yet his brooding height never intimidated you until today.

"this doesn't get funnier," you said frowning at sukuna who just continued to laugh at you. every time you spend the night here he places you down in front of the bed knowing you couldn't get on yourself.

"it does..." he smiled brightly and butterflies erupted in your stomach. whenever sukuna did smile, which was rare, it made your heart warm. you hadn't seen a smile that bright since his 17th birthday hours before his father was murdered.

he didn't say anything else and lifted you with one hand. he got on the bed and placed you in his lap. he looked at you before his hands trailed up your thigh. he removed the robe from your body staring at you.

"is something wrong?" you asked and he swallowed deeply. he leaned up kissing you feverishly, roughly squeezing your thighs. his sharp nails lightly piercing your skin the pain didn't even bother you.

all you could think about was sukuna's lips as your hands wrapped around his neck. although most people see his four arms as scary, you loved the way all four wrapped around you. two hands resting on your thighs and the other two gripping your waist. your fingers ran across his undercut massaging his neck.

you follow suit helping him take off his robe next. you both look at each other in silence, not much needing to be said. he lifted you and turned you around your legs barely being able to straddle his wide body. you were confused until you felt a wet lick on your dripping cunt.

"kuna..." you moaned out falling forward and resting your hand on your thigh. "y...you could've warned me," you whined as his tongue played at your entrance and lapped at your juices. your body trembled from the pleasure, this was new for you and it wasn't what you expected. did you know about his second and third mouth? of course you did, you knew everything about sukuna. but did you expect him to use them during sex? hell no.

"you taste so good... do y'like how that feels?" he asked helping you grind your hips on his abs. you let out a long whine while vigorously nodding your head not able to speak. "come on tell your kuna how good he makes you feel." he cooed and you threw your head back as his tongue pushed in your cunt.

"fuck... kuna you make me feel sooo good...hah so, so..." you trail off as one of sukuna’s hands grab yours placing it around his top cock.

"think you can make my other cock cum just as much as earlier?" he asked referring to his bottom cock cumming in your womb in the throne room. you nod wanting to please him and didn't want to disappoint.

"i've never done this before," you admitted and he nodded already knowing that.

"spit on it." he instructed as you let spit dribble out of your mouth onto his tip. "now stroke it a few times... juuuust like that yeahhh." he moaned out thrusting into your hand. "now put that big mouth on it." he joked and you scoffed still following instructions. weirdly enough you felt like you knew what to do. so you did what you thought was right and that was put his dick all the way down your throat.

sukuna moaned out two hands still on you guiding your hips over his tongue. you came up again not really sure what to do anymore. then your mind went back to what the other concubine, another one you couldn't remember, told you.

'sukuna likes when you move your head fast and play with his balls'

'hollow your cheeks'

'use your tongue here and there. absolutely NO teeth.'

you mustered up all the courage you had and did as instructed. hollowing your cheeks you quickly bobbed your head up and down on his cock. you hummed around him as his tongue still penetrated your insides. you felt it explore you and lick all around your walls while occasionally pushing on that spongy spot.

"hah... i thought you said this was your first time brat," he grumbled as you made sure your teeth didn't touch him. you pulled off abruptly swirling your tongue around his tip before taking him all the way down your throat again. you reached out for his balls massaging them as sukuna grunted bucking his hips into your mouth. "you didn't lie to me did you?"he leaned forward grabbing you by your curls pulling your mouth from around him. he used your hair to turn your head to look at him.

"i'd never lie to you, one of the concubines told me what you liked," you admitted and he hummed in satisfaction letting your hair go. he leaned back and smacked your ass cheek signaling you to get back to work. and you did just that sucking him off while you played with his balls rolling them in your hand. you came up for air letting out a loud moan. "kuna i'm c...close." you stuttered still pumping his cock and he moaned.

"me too keep going," he said as you obeyed still vigorously bobbing your head. you couldn't take it anymore and had to come up for air. his tongue was continuously bullying that spongey spot making it too hard to even continue with your task of pleasuring him. the most you could do for him was continue to stroke him while your breath was rigid.

"i'm cumming." you squealed as your body shook in pleasure and sukuna hummed.

"a little faster n 'm right behind you," he tells you and you milk him faster like he asked. his cock twitched in your hand and you licked from his base to his tip just as his hot white cum shot on his thighs and mostly on your face.

"mmm." you hummed at his taste shivering as his tongue removed itself from your tight hole. his large arms grabbed you pulling you to sit next to him. he reached to his bedside table grabbed a handkerchief and wiped your face and his thigh. "can i sleep here for now?" you asked and he nodded as you laid on his chest.

"you could just move in here with me," he says in an almost shy(?) tone.

"like live in your chambers?" you asked in shock as he nodded his head slowly. his eyes darted around your face as if he was looking for some type of expression showing you were into that idea.

"yes is that not something you want? i'll send all the concubines to toji's! he'll be glad to have them, he's been begging for riko." he exclaimed and you laughed at his frantic state. 'who's riko?' you thought to yourself but ended up just shrugging it off. "i'll even marry you. do you want to get married?"

"wait kuna calm down." you laugh as his chest rises and falls rapidly. "let this sink in okay? i'll move into your chambers and you can keep the concubines here for now. once we both decide on the right time to get married then you can send them away." you smiled trying to be reasonable and he nodded agreeing with your plan.

"yeah okay, that'll work." he nods trying to act nonchalant as if he didn't try to marry you after the first time.

"i love you kuna," you say looking up at him through your lashes and he grunts.

"yeah."

[fluentmoviequoter]

The Best Present

hot cocoa bar celebration🧤❄️🎄

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!(implied cop)!reader

Summary: You want to ask Tim to be your date to a Christmas party, but he's going with another woman. When you're caught under the mistletoe together, you give Tim more than a present.

Warnings/Word Count: fluff, brief angst. 1.2k+ words

“Tim!” you call as you exit the locker room. When he stops and turns toward you, you smile and ask, “Can we talk?”

Tim begins to nod but is interrupted by Angela reminding everyone of the Evers-Lopez Christmas party tonight. As she tells the surrounding officers about the gift exchange, food, and fun she and Wesley have planned, your eyes stray to Tim. It has taken over a week to convince yourself it isn’t a terrible idea, and now you’re ready to ask Tim to go with you to the party. Your fingers tap nervously against your hip, though you’re oblivious to Tim’s repeated glances at you.

“Who’s bringing a date?” Angela inquires. “I need to make sure we have enough food.”

“And mistletoe?” Nyla guesses.

“I don’t even know what that is,” Angela deflects. “Dates? Timothy?”

“Yeah, I’m bringing someone,” Tim answers.

Angela’s jaw drops as you and everyone else swing your head to look wide-eyed at him. She had been kidding when she called him out specifically and certainly didn’t expect him to say he had a date. Tim says her name and where they met, but you can’t hear anything over your heart pounding and a week’s worth of doubts swirling.

“You said you wanted to talk?” Tim remembers as the surprise diminishes and people begin leaving the station.

“Yeah…” you answer. “It can wait, though. Enjoy your date.”

You could’ve still asked him or told him the truth of what you wanted to talk about, but it’s easier this way. You’ll be at the same party. Tim with his date and you with what’s left of your Christmas cheer and a heart crushed like peppermint.

Tucked into a corner with one of Lucy’s Christmas cookies, you watch the party from a safe distance. Tim’s date is gorgeous, as you expected, and you fight to keep your attention away from them.

“Hey,” Lucy greets as she approaches your safe haven. You send her a close-lipped smile, and she lays her hand on your shoulder. “What’s up?”

“Nothing worth talking about,” you say. “These cookies are amazing by the way. Peppery ginger snaps, who knew?”

“My aunt. But, seriously, if you decide you want to talk, you know where to find me.”

“I do. Go enjoy the party.”

“As long as you do, too. I’m getting your gift during Dirty Santa and if Tim even thinks about stealing it, I’ll tell Angela about his bad attitude last week.”

“I think I’d like to see that.”

Lucy sends you a heart with her hands, and you finish the last bite of your cookie. Walking through Angela’s house to either get another or throw away your plate (you’ll decide when you get there), you keep your eyes down until your shoulder bumps into someone.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, looking up.

“You’re on a mission,” Tim muses. “There’s no more cookies, but if you’re nice to Nyla, she might tell you where she’s hiding them.”

“I could just get something else,” you murmur, thinking it would be easier to get someone else, but you want Tim.

“Uh, guys?” Nolan interrupts. “You’re under the mistletoe.”

Tim tips his head back and spots the green leaves hanging sneakily above a doorframe. You shake your head at Nolan, but he waves Angela over despite your protests.

“It’s tradition!” she argues. “You have to!”

“Yes!” Lucy agrees when she realizes where you are. “Kiss!”

Several of your friends cheer, and you shake your head again.

“Don’t be such a Scrooge!” Lucy tells Tim.

“I knew you were going to say that,” Tim complains.

“Tim, you’re here with a date,” you remind him softly.

Tim clicks his tongue, then raises his hands to the sides of your neck and jaw. “We have no choice,” he points out.

You let your eyes flutter shut as you lean in and kiss Tim. The noise of the party fades as you grip Tim’s waist and move with him. When Tim pulls back, you notice that the crowd beside you has dissipated.

“Where’s, uh…” you begin.

“My date?” Tim guesses with a barely contained smile.

“Yeah.”

“She left ten minutes in, decided this wasn’t her scene – her words.”

“How is a Christmas party not someone’s scene?”

Tim shrugs, and you apologize for his bad date.

“It worked out,” Tim replies.

“Gift time!” Angela yells from the living room.

You find a place on a small loveseat by Tim and watch as the white elephant gift exchange begins. After the moment beneath the mistletoe, a feeling of magic lingers within you. You must tell Tim about your feelings for this to go beyond Christmas.

“Don’t get attached to that,” Nolan says as Wesley opens an expensive tool set.

Laying your head on Tim’s shoulder, you don’t feel him freeze beneath you. He watches you laugh with his friends, content in an environment – his environment – when his date couldn’t even tolerate walking past the cookie table. As Tim relaxes, welcoming you into his space, and feels the same warmness he had while kissing you, he unknowingly gives you his heart. You give him yours in return, and it’s the best gift exchange you’ve ever participated in.

Lucy opens your gift and squeals before tucking it under her sweater.

“I’m stealing that, so make it a little easier to get to,” Tim warns her.

“No!” Lucy exclaims. “Angela, Tim yelled at me last week.”

“She can’t save you now,” Tim tells Lucy. “I need that one.”

“Why?” Angela asks, raising her eyebrows as she glances toward you.

“You’re a detective, Lopez, figure it out.”

“Let me give you a ride home?” Tim asks in your ear.

You nod and accept his hand as you stand. After receiving hugs and gifts from a few friends, you follow Tim outside, and a soft white powder falls from above to greet you.

“Is that what I think it is?” Tim whispers.

Extending your hand, you catch some on your fingers and raise it to your nose. “Only if you think it’s powdered sugar.”

“Chen!” Tim barks. “What are you doing?”

“What?” Lucy asks from behind him. “Is that snow?”

“It’s close enough!” Nyla answers.

“Nyla?” you ask, stepping out into the powdered sugar snow. “Wade?!”

Tim follows you onto the walkway. His eyes widen when he sees his watch commander perched on the roof and spreading fake snow through a sieve.

“Act like I’m not here,” James adds, pouring more sugar into his shaker.

Nyla rolls her eyes and looks at Tim to demand, “Just kiss her again and put us out of our misery before New Year’s.”

You don’t have time to question her command before Tim pulls you in. The door clicks closed as you taste the powdered sugar on Tim’s lips, and you smile against him as the fine confectioner’s treat covers your clothing.

“I was going to ask you to come with me,” you admit, leaning your forehead against Tim’s as his arms wrap around your waist. “Like a date.”

“Raincheck for New Year’s Eve?” Tim suggests.

“Will it be like this?”

“I hope not.”

Nyla scoffs, but you kiss Tim in the makeshift winter wonderland rather than replying. You have been in love with Tim Bradford for longer than the duration of this party, but learning that he loves you too is a Christmas present that will never be topped.