#every sentence worse than the last

[collapsedsquid]

“What I’m really calling for is something like tech Zionism,” he said, after comparing his movement to those started by the biblical Abraham, Jesus Christ, Joseph Smith (founder of Mormonism), Theodor Herzl (“spiritual father” of the state of Israel), and Lee Kuan Yew (former authoritarian ruler of Singapore). Balaji then revealed his shocking ideas for a tech-governed city where citizens loyal to tech companies would form a new political tribe clad in gray t-shirts. “And if you see another Gray on the street … you do the nod,” he said, during a four-hour talk on the Moment of Zen podcast. “You’re a fellow Gray.” The Grays’ shirts would feature “Bitcoin or Elon or other kinds of logos … Y Combinator is a good one for the city of San Francisco in particular.” Grays would also receive special ID cards providing access to exclusive, Gray-controlled sectors of the city. In addition, the Grays would make an alliance with the police department, funding weekly “policeman’s banquets” to win them over. “Grays should embrace the police, okay? All-in on the police,” said Srinivasan. “What does that mean? That’s, as I said, banquets. That means every policeman’s son, daughter, wife, cousin, you know, sibling, whatever, should get a job at a tech company in security.” In exchange for extra food and jobs, cops would pledge loyalty to the Grays. Srinivasan recommends asking officers a series of questions to ascertain their political leanings. For example: “Did you want to take the sign off of Elon’s building?”

[kavehater]

Chappel Roan saying she’s sad she’s demisexual and then there’s me being aroace as a whole like don’t you think I’m even more sad 😭

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

I don’t get why people feel like the Duolingo owl is threatening, if I ever feel like he is I just get mad at him. I could fight an owl. I don’t know if I’d win, but I don’t think I’d lose (two things that can apparently coexist). I think I’d survive at least and that’s not really winning but also not losing.

You wanna be so threatening? Da bør du drepe meg!

[perenial]

finished private rites. haven't reached the final page of a book and said "wait thats it????" aloud in a while

[fruit-colored-ninja]

God when I rewatched season five last summer and got to the scene in the final episode with Lloyd and garmadon I was literally like. I had to stop and rewind the entire scene like ten times because I couldn’t stop crying long enough to pay attention it was mortifying. Top five ninjago moments that Fuck Me Up

[fawnnpaws]

thinking of art being so turned on by the thought of breeding you that he’s not thinking straight… he really should pull out but your moans are so pretty and your tits are bouncing as he fucks you on his cock and he just halts when he’s about to cum and holds your hips there. is so turned on that he spurts inside you, staying completely still. doesn’t let a drop go to waste <3

EM………. yeewww get it <333

he knows he should pull out, he knows. it’s just that the idea of breeding you full, pumping his cum inside of you, seeing you pregnant, has his head going fuzzy and every rational thought leaving his brain. you’re not making it any easier on him. your pussy is sucking him in like she wants to be bred, so wet and inviting, practically begging him to paint your insides white. he shakes his head, he can’t. he shouldn’t… but your tits are bouncing so pretty as his hips drive into yours and they’d get so full if he bred you successfully. if he made it stick, if he really filled you, if he did it more than once. if, if, if— fuck he’s so close. his hands are on your hips, pulling you back hard to meet his thrusts.

“m’gonna— m’close— gotta pull out—“ he whines the last part like he’s been shot, but you’re too fucked out to even notice. all you do is moan, ah, ah, ah!s in time with his thrusts, and that makes things worse because he wants to hear more. there’s more he wants to give you. he’s close, he’s so fucking close, all he can feel is primal need to cum inside you, to breed you so full he knows it’ll take, to watch his cum spill out of your pussy just so he can fuck it back inside you— he needs to pull out. but he can’t.

“i can’t, i can’t, i can’t— just need to— just need—“ he can’t form complete sentences, he’s thrusting recklessly until he reaches his peak. he gives one hard thrust, the hardest he’s given you so far, then stills completely. his entire body shakes with the intensity, but his hips don’t move and he grips yours so tight he’s sure you’ll have bruises in the shape of his hands in an hour. he holds you still, pins you down, and lets his cum pulse inside of you. he wants it as deep as possible. he can’t risk you shifting even a little because he needs it all to spill inside.

he moves one hand to press on your lower tummy, right where he knows his cum is spreading. he can almost feel his dick through your skin, pulsing and kicking inside you. “take it, baby, just take it, god— good fucking girl, you feel that?” he babbles, unable to stop himself. he gives another couple shaky thrusts for good measure, to push it further inside you before he pulls out and marvels at the milky white pouring out of your sweet little pussy.

he hoped he’d have some sort of clarity after, feel enough guilt to go buy you a plan b, but he doesn’t. he just feels that need gnawing at him. the need to breed you again and again until it works.

[pucksandpower]

Free Fucking Country

Max Verstappen x First Daughter of the US!Reader

Summary: the FIA needs a reality check — you’ve known this since they decided to punish your grown ass boyfriend for daring to say “fucked” in a press conference — and what better way to do this than by taking full advantage of your First Amendment rights … live on camera?

The Texas sun beats down on the circuit. You’re standing off to the side, watching the race from a monitor, arms crossed. There’s an edge to your stance, a tightness in your jaw that no one’s missed, least of all Nico Rosberg.

“You look like you’re going to murder someone,” Nico says, chuckling under his breath. “Who’s the unlucky victim?”

You shoot him a sideways glance, not quite smiling. “Not someone. More like the entire FIA.”

Jenson Button raises a brow from his spot beside Nico. He’s been fiddling with a microphone, but now his full attention is on you. “Ah. Still upset about Singapore, then?”

You roll your eyes. “Still upset? I’m livid, Jenson. They punished Max for swearing. Swearing. Like, are we adults or are we running a kindergarten here?”

Nico and Jenson exchange a look, trying and failing to suppress a laugh.

“They’ve done worse to other drivers, to be fair,” Nico says, playing the diplomat despite the thirst for drama you know is itching to escape.

“I don’t care!” Your voice rises a little, and you realize you’re pacing now, hands flying around in frustration. “They target Max like he’s public enemy number one, and I swear it’s just because he’s honest. They can’t handle it when someone actually tells the truth!”

Nico nods, clearly amused by your rant but trying to stay neutral. “True. Max does have a ... blunt way of putting things.”

“He shouldn’t have to censor himself. It’s not like he was even that bad. They act like he threatened to burn down the paddock.” You huff, coming to a stop in front of Nico. “It’s just so stupid.”

Nico leans back, crossing his arms. “So, what are you going to do? You’re not exactly on the FIA’s Christmas card list either.”

A slow grin spreads across your face, and Nico’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh no. I don’t like that look. That’s trouble.”

Jenson smirks. “What’s she planning?”

“I need a favor,” you say, eyes glinting with mischief. You glance over at the camera setup behind them. “Can I borrow your camera for a minute?”

Both men stare at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“You want to go live? On Sky Sports?” Jenson asks, blinking in disbelief.

You shrug. “Why not?”

Nico shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “You’re something else.”

But he steps aside, making way for you to take his place. “Alright, have at it. Just … maybe don’t get us all banned from the paddock, yeah?”

You wink. “No promises.”

Without missing a beat, you step in front of the camera, and within seconds, you’re live. Your pulse quickens, adrenaline buzzing in your veins. The weight of the moment hits you, but it only fuels your determination.

You clear your throat. “Hi, everyone! It’s me, your friendly neighborhood First Daughter, coming to you live from the US Grand Prix. Now, before we get back to the race, I have something I need to get off my chest.”

Nico and Jenson are barely holding back their laughter behind you, but you ignore them, fixing your gaze on the lens.

“Max Verstappen got punished for swearing during a press conference last week. Punished. For swearing. And you know what? That’s bullshit.”

The words fly out of your mouth, sharp and unfiltered. There’s a moment of stunned silence around you as people start to realize what’s happening.

You keep going, voice rising with every sentence. “The FIA is out of control. They’re so focused on micromanaging everything that they’ve forgotten what this sport is supposed to be about. Racing. Competition. Passion.”

Nico’s eyes widen as he leans toward Jenson. “Oh my God, she’s really doing it.”

Jenson just grins, watching in awe. “This is the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

You don’t let up. “You want to punish someone for being honest? For being real? Then punish me too, because I’m about to say a hell of a lot more.”

You can see people gathering around, eyes glued to the monitors. You’ve got their attention now, and you’re not backing down.

“The FIA is so far up their own asses, they can’t see what’s really going on. Drivers are out there risking their lives, pushing the limits, and all they care about is how polite they are in a press conference? Are you fucking kidding me?”

You wave your hands around, the frustration boiling over. “I’m sick of this shitty double standard. Max gets penalized for cursing, but the countless times that the FIA has done something much worse? Silence. It’s ridiculous.”

By now, there’s a crowd forming around you. You see a few FIA officials watching from the corner, looking like they’re trying to figure out what to do. You don’t stop.

“If the FIA wants to keep policing language, they should start by looking at themselves. They’re a bunch of fucking hypocrites who don’t know the first thing about what it takes to be a real racer. They’re killing the spirit of the sport.”

Just then, you spot one of the stewards marching toward you, followed by two security guards. You flash a grin at the camera. “Oh look, here they come. The fun police.”

The steward, a stern-looking man with a clipboard, stops right in front of you. “Ma’am, you need to leave immediately.”

You laugh, leaning into the camera, making sure everyone’s still watching. “Really? You’re gonna kick me out for talking? Last time I checked, this is a free fucking country. First Amendment, bitches! Try to shut me up, I dare you.”

The steward’s face reddens. “You need to leave, now.

But before the security guards can even move, your Secret Service detail materializes out of nowhere, surrounding you. They stand tall, arms crossed, ready to intervene.

You laugh again, this time louder. “Oh, you didn’t think about that, did you? You can’t kick me out. What are you gonna do, arrest the President’s daughter on live TV?”

The steward looks like he’s about to explode, but there’s nothing he can do. He steps back, clearly out of his depth, while the camera continues rolling.

You take a deep breath, calming down just enough to finish your rant with a flourish. “So, FIA, if you’re watching — and I know you are — get your act together. Start treating the drivers like adults, and stop with the petty bullshit. Or I swear, I’ll make it my mission to drag you on the broadcast every single fucking race.”

Before you can say anything else, you feel a presence beside you. You turn just in time to see Max walking up, eyes wide, clearly catching on to what’s happening. He looks from you to the cameras, then back to you, a slow smile spreading across his face.

Without a word, he steps forward, wraps an arm around your waist, and pulls you in for a kiss. It’s sudden, unexpected, but it’s the kind of kiss that makes time stop, the kind that speaks louder than words.

When he pulls away, there’s a smirk playing on his lips. “You always know how to make a scene.”

You shrug, a mischievous grin on your face. “Someone’s gotta stand up for you.”

Max laughs, shaking his head. “Well, you sure did.”

Nico and Jenson are clapping from behind, both of them thoroughly entertained. Jenson leans into the camera, grinning from ear to ear. “Ladies and gentlemen, Y/N Y/L/N, everybody.”

You step back, still grinning, feeling the adrenaline pumping through your veins. The steward looks like he’s given up entirely, and the crowd is buzzing with energy.

Max leans in close, his voice low. “You know you’re going to get a lot of hate for this, right?”

You shrug, glancing up at him. “Let them try. I’m not scared of a little backlash.”

He shakes his head, eyes shining with admiration. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “I’m just getting started.”

[ssahotchnerr]

yes! i do!! you have jj’s role and an unsub is shot dead infront of you and his blood literally soaks you and you’re shaking and speechless and aaron’s focus is to get to you and keep you safe and bring you back to earth 🥲🥲

stay with me

cw; fem liasion!reader, protective!aaron, multiple blood descriptions, panic attack descriptions, no established relationship but aaron and reader are close, there's also one small mention of aaron's shirt being big on reader, fluff <3 wc; 1k

your ears are ringing. whether it's from the gunshot or the blatant shock, you have no idea.

you're frozen in place; everything's fuzzy, your body is buzzing and your lips, hands, everything is numb.

you're not used to this. this isn't what your job usually entails. you look at pictures like this, you don't live or experience it.

in the haze, someone's approached you. someone's talking to you. someone's embraced you. there's a hand on your back, an arm attempting to shield you away. but your feet don't move. internally, you're screaming at them to move.

why won't they move?

"hey," it's aaron. you don't hear him, or process that it's him, until he shakes you ever so gently and again, he says, "hey."

you don't want to be used to this.

"i..." you rigidly stand there, staring at the unsub laid in front of you, the pool of blood around him growing as the seconds pass. you think you're articulating words, but you're not sure.

aaron follows your eyes - he opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. a swirl of emotions fill him - first and foremost, relief you're safe and unscathed, but also horror at what you just encountered - what you shouldn't have encountered.

"it's on me." you manage to choke out, feeling rather lightheaded as you view your shaky hands, and then your blouse, both spattered with red. it's on your neck, your face, and it's like you can feel every singular dot, singeing into your skin like it's bound to be permanent. a new fear fills you - will you ever be able to not feel it?

"don't look, just look at me." your head whips towards aaron, finding his gentle and concerned brown eyes. the sight allows your chest to loosen, finding the smallest bit of normalcy when it comes to breathing. you're remembering how to breathe.

aaron wants to bring the cuff of his sleeve to your skin, to wipe away the residue but he can't. he fears it would make it worse, and remind you again that it's littered on you - the last thing you needed. he wanted to calm you, not further panic you. "or better yet, just close them, sweetheart."

the term of endearment goes right past you, as you grip onto his vest, the sleeves of his shirt, anything your fingers can hold onto as he's guiding you out of the house. he's talking to the rest of the team, relaying instructions, but you only focus on keeping your eyes shut.

"it's okay, you're going to be just fine." aaron assures you, his voice low and even, soothing. "hear the leaves crunching under your feet? there's a cool breeze tonight, too. can you feel it?"

you nod gingerly. the sound is distant, but it's there. and just as he stated, you feel the cool air hit your cheeks, the wind also tousling your hair. it feels colder than cool, though, due to the stream of tears trailing downwards - have you been crying too? "i can hear it in the trees."

"that's good. how about smell, can you smell anything?"

copper.

aaron realizes his mistake the second the sentence leaves his mouth, your face paling as well as his.

"your aftershave." you blurt out, surprising yourself. despite the sheer panic, it was fairly easy to redirect your mind to him. your fingers clutched onto the fabric of his shirt more forcefully. "it smells spicy, sweet too. it smells like you. familiar. safe."

you resist the urge to tuck your face into him, but after a moment's thought, you do. you need it. you need him.

and to further secure you, aaron holds you to him, his large hand spanning the side of your head and keeping your face buried close to his chest.

your eyes open when you reach the suv; when the two of you come to a stop, when aaron's hold is suddenly absent, the sound of the door opening deeming it safe - far away from the scene.

but at the loss of his contact, involuntarily your eyes fall back to your blouse. it's stuck to your skin, soaked by the... blood.

"stay with me." aaron manages to grab your attention before you begin spiraling again, his hands lifting and hesitating. "may i?"

you nod, frantically and this time, you can feel the tears resurfacing. "please get it off me."

first, aaron unvelcros his vest, and then removes his tie, his dress shirt, leaving him in just his white tee. he drapes it over the passenger seat - at the ready.

aaron ushers you closer to the interior of the car so the open door fully covers you, blocking any view that isn't his. he unbuttons your blouse with gentle fingers, acting rather quickly as well. and respectfully, he averts his eyes - either looking strictly at his hands, the buttons on each shirt, or your face, checking in on you.

he helps you into his shirt, holding it open so you can slide your arms in. it envelopes you, and just as fast as he unbuttoned, he fastens it shut.

it feels as if a small weight is lifted off your shoulders, and aaron tosses your soiled shirt onto the ground in the backseat. he leads you to sit sideways in the passenger seat, facing him.

"i don't want to be alone." you don't know why that's the first thing to exit your mouth, but it is. your eyes lift to his, frightened and pleading.

aaron nods as he gets down on a knee, cupping your cheek with his hand. "you're sleeping in my room tonight."

"with you?"

with a stroke of his thumb, overtop those bloodstains he's desperate to wash and rid you from, he nods again. "with me."

[youryanderedaddy]

tw: female reader, obsessive behavior, captivity, fantasy lore, abuse, murder mention, suggestive (?)

"You seem to be upset."

He's leaning against the window not too far away from you. Not too close as well - just far enough for you to feel at ease.

"Aren't you a mind - reader." You respond under your breath, trying to focus on the book you're currently reading - but the letters are escaping you, and you find yourself re-reading the same paragraph for the third time. He sighs, much like a disappointed father, before stepping towards you. And if you flinch just slightly, he doesn't pretend to notice or care.

"What is wrong, my flower?" The man gestures theatrically, soft velvet voice unbecoming of the monster he is flowing easily into the open air. You don't know what to say, really. It's been two years - or so you think, there is no way to keep track of time in this kingdom, not that time goes the same way in the elfen world as it does in the human, yet the part of you still capable of logical thought seems to think so. Two years, and there is very little you haven't already said. Very little left to be said, so your conversations are mostly rehearsed repetitions of what you already know. What you already fear - that you're going to die here. Or even worse. That you've become incapable of aging, so very consumed by this foreign land you detest that you've given up death for a life of boring, purposeless immortality.

"Don't I shower you with lavish gifts?" The noble moves closer, stalking towards you - observing you as if you're a butterfly pinned to a wooden frame under a microscope. "Don't I buy you the shiniest jewels? Not even the queen herself owns such sparkling emeralds." He scoffs, painfully used to your lack of response. You clear your throat, turning a new page - having little to recall about the last. It's completely meaningless just like all the other pages in all the other books you read. How funny, you think. In that distant, dreamy past of yours you were too busy to read - busy with work, busy with family, busy with friends. Busy with life. Now nothing gets in the way of your reading, you have all the time in the world - but there's no one to share the knowledge with. No one to spoil the ending. No time limits. No goal to it all, no final destination. So you read, and you soak the pages with salty tears not remembering a word.

"I am grateful for all the treasures you give me, my Lord." You answer nonchalantly, keeping your pointer at the end of the paper in a desperate attempt to find the sentence exactly where you left it off. You can feel him move closer to you - and the only indication of your growing fear are the shivers that travel down your spine with the beat of your violently full, thumping heart.

"Don't I provide you with all the entertainment your little human heart could possibly bear?" The duke clicks his long sharp nails together once against the other - an ugly metallic sound echoes deep into the ceiling reminiscent of a dying forest clow. "There has never been a lack of wine or music or dance in my court. I've gifted you more golden dresses than you can wear in this life. I've written you more poems than you can read." He keeps going, describing every little thing he's done for you, despite the fact that you've never asked for any of it.

"I admire your taste for indulgence, my Lord." You repeat almost automatically, the praises sitting on your tongue just waiting to be spilt from parted honey lips. Your eyes are glued to the book, but you've given up on reading long ago. Now you're simply trying not to cry - focusing your eyes at one word at a time and blinking repeatedly, manically, feeling as if the world with end the moment you let him see your weakness. You can't believe you still have so much pain in you - enough to feel loss and anger and, what's even worse, hope. Hope that one day you'll be free again.

"And tell me, flower—" His fist wraps around your low ponytail, forcing you to look up at him and meet his eyes for the first time tonight. What's staring back at you might as well be the bottom of the ocean itself, misty and dark, cold and unknown. Human eyes convey so much affection - so much care that you can never mistake it for anything else. With elves it's different - you can spend centuries looking for a hint of kindness, and you'll only get lost in those beatiful bottomless pits. Shiny and sparkling and completely empty. "Don't I give you love? Don't I embrace you tightly every night?" His voice lowers dangerously, barely above a whisper.

"I don't understand what more you could possibly want. Should I prove myself to you? Should I slay a dragon for you? Perhaps I could tie the heads of your enemies with a pretty bow and give them to you as a wedding gift, hmm?" He's babbling incoherently, nails digging into your scalp with unyealding grip. "Would that finally, finally make you happy, beloved?"

"No, no, please let go." You cry out in agony, wriggling out of his hold - but he's too strong, too massive to move. "I'm happy, I'm—" You sob pitifully, weakly pushing at his chest. "I'm happy with you. Please, you make me so happy, just please let go. And please don't hurt anyone."

He slowly pulls away, chest heaving in and out wildly. The scariest part is always his face. It remains unbothered - cold and defined like a statue of a god, his true feelings hidden by a mask of barely contained rage.

"You're happy with me?" He raises an eyebrow, foot stomping on the ground impatiently. You nod hesitantly, too shaken up to comprehend what you're even agreeing to. "Then prove it. Show me just how happy I make you." He grabs your wrist, pulling you face-first into his hard chest. "Do it, and I might reconsider my other more... inhumane methods of courtship." His lips twist into a cruel smirk. "And may the Gods help you."

As you sink to your knees you try to think of what book to read next - but no title comes to mind.

[killerpancakeburger]

KNIGHT IN SHINING KHAKI

Gif by @bastardcompany

SUMMARY: You've angered the wrong officer. You think you're a goner when Johnny sweeps in to save the day.

PAIRING: Soap x f!Reader ("her" is used to refer to reader once, that's it) (+ Reader's hair is long enough to grab)

TAGS: Civilian!Reader, Depressed!Reader, Insecure!Reader, Angry!Soap, Protective!Soap, GuardDog!Soap, canon violence, hurt/comfort, swearing, blood mention. Ghost makes an appearance as a matchmaker lol. The love is requited they're just insecure idiots. Making Shit Up for the Plot/military inaccuracies.

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

A/N: My original prompt for this was: civilian!reader sees Soap in action and gets Horny. No Scared Just Horny.

Then I found out that Soap canonically beat up an officer. I am also obsessed with this video.

Part 1. Part 3.

This is it, you thought to yourself. 

This is how I die.

The day had unfolded like any other. Your shift was over and you were locking up your office, as usual. Your attention was focused on your hands’ motion, your guard dropped, your back exposed.

This explained why, when the stranger grabbed your hair and bashed your head against the door mercilessly, you didn’t see it coming in the slightest. The fact that you had zero combat experience while the person manhandling you was a decorated military officer obviously made matters worse, but at the moment of the assault, you didn’t know that.

The thud of the collision was eclipsed almost immediately by the pain exploding in your face. Half-stunned, all you could comprehend at the moment, every single signal sent by your brain was compacted in one word: suffering. Sharp, all-encompassing. You yelped, your hands vainly pushing against the cold, hard surface to get away.

“I've finally found you, you little snitch. Didn’t think you'd get away with it, now did you?”

Despite the blood thumping in your ears, and how groggy the hit on your head made you, his words reached you perfectly. They were seeping with fury and disdain. His voice didn’t ring a bell, so you tried to turn your head to glimpse him, if only at the corner of your eye, and he granted you some leeway to do so.

Perplexity filled you as you finally caught sight of your aggressor: you've never seen that man before.

“I don't even know who you are,” you winced.

Talking back in your situation would be judged stupid and reckless by a majority of people. Laying low assured more chances to avoid harm.

However most people hadn't been mugged at knifepoint like you had been, and most people valued their lives way more than you did.

Once the confusion and incredulity subsided, the pain still vivid but manageable, you were left with frustration and anger towards your interminable bad luck and the man behind you. His aversion was harder to take seriously when it seemed to have no foundation.

The grip on your hair tightened, making you grit your teeth.

“I'll refresh your memory, then.”

One part of you managed to be pleased to know that this mystery would be solved; the rest was ringing alarm bells when hearing the underlying threats in his tone.

“Weeks ago, you filed a report for embezzlement.”

You frowned, having no recollection of his claims, before a memory emerged. You saw them in flashes: the sudden, abnormally high spendings, the certificates full of anomalies, the incoherent dates; all this lead you to complete a reporting form, just as your job required you to. It was just a formality. You hadn't even even paid attention to the name attached to the expenses, therefore the officer was still anonymous.

Your aggressor scoffs menacingly, easily reading on your face that you remembered.

“They're gonna strip me of my rank and throw me in jail because of you. I'll make you pay even if it’s the last thing I do.”

That last sentence was finished in an almost shout, making you flinch, wishing you could pass through the door.

You quietly resigned yourself to your fate. No one was coming for you. You were no stranger to the inner workings of the military - no one would dare cross an officer that high-ranked for your sake. 

I've lived a good li- well, no. A pretty shitty life, actually. But at least I can say I did the right thing.

Just as you closed your eyes and braced yourself, hoping this wouldn’t drag on, a Scottish-accentuated roar resonated in the empty hall.

“Get yer hands off her-”

You had never heard Soap sound so enraged, nor his pitch so gravelly. Relief flooded through you at the sound of his voice, blended with gratitude. Tears stinged the corners of your eyes.

All of a sudden the unyielding grip on your hair was gone, the sound of something violently hitting the wall punctuating your newfound freedom. 

“-ye fucking bastard!”

You immediately turned around to see what was happening, leaning against the door behind you. Your legs were too shaky to be reliable. The harmed side of your face was throbbing in pain as you took in the scene with wide eyes.

Johnny had pinned the officer against the wall with one forearm across his chest. He dealt him a punch to the face powerful enough that the resulting thud made you grimace, despite not feeling any sympathy for his target.

He managed to administer a second blow before his adversary snapped out of his stupor, and the advantage he gained from taking him by surprise ran its course.

As your assailant defended himself with the strength of someone backed into a corner, you couldn't help but fear for Soap's safety for a moment. Despite knowing that one's rank didn’t reflect their fighting prowess, a rush of anxiety passed through you at the idea that he could lose that confrontation.

Nonetheless, he quickly put your mind at ease as his skills proved to be largely superior. The gap between the two was deep enough that it was obvious even to a neophyte like you.

Paralyzed, you couldn’t do anything but stare at the display of violence with a mix of morbid fascination and sadistic satisfaction. Honestly, if you could borrow Soap's body, you would without a doubt inflict the same treatment on that man. Maybe worse. Fair payback for the threats, the smashing of your face, the probable trauma you'd get from this. Maybe not that fair. But maybe for once you'd stop trying to act like a paragon of virtue.

You should have been scared, you realized. You had never been involved in a fight before. You had never witnessed firsthand the brutality Johnny was capable of, despite being aware of it, between his status as a soldier and the reports you read. The dog tags jingling from his neck and the khaki of his uniform were like so many visual reminders that he was a killing machine. His ferocious wrath, his yelling and his punches should have made you cower in fright.

However the only feeling inhabiting you was safety, as paradoxical as it sounded. Soap was safe, you were convinced of it, consciously or not.

This whole ordeal felt like it lasted an eternity and a minute at the same time. You blinked and out of nowhere, Johnny was straddling the officer on the floor. Blows kept pouring in but they were one-sided - the sergeant had gained the upper hand. The rhythm of his strikes seemed attuned to the beatings of your heart. Each resonated inside of your ears with your skull as their echo chamber. The noise was loud enough to cover your own thoughts.

As you focused on your breathing, you managed to slow down your heartbeats, and the blood-fueled pump between your ribs no longer felt like it could burst out of your chest at any moment. You failed however to contain the tremor in your hands.

You chose to focus on Soap's hands instead. They were soaked red from blood spilled, but not his. Specks of crimson sprinkled his hair, his face, his neck, his t-shirt.

There was a certain sort of lethal beauty to this brutal display that you couldn't help but contemplate in reverent silence: the way his bicep swole when he threw his arm back before hitting his target. The tightening of the muscles beneath the tanned skin of his arms. His icy stare. The harsh line of his jaw. His stern, inflexible expression, one he usually wore in meetings or after Price gave the order to leave.

The expression of someone who would stop at nothing, provided a bleak little voice in the back of your mind. The idea didn’t bother you nearly as much as it should have.

“Not gonna make him stop?”

The familiar grunt of Ghost's voice almost made you jump out of your skin. You pivoted and the behemoth of a lieutenant was there, in casual clothes, right by your side. You had no idea when he arrived or how long he's been standing there, quiet like a shadow.

Something dark flashed in his brown eyes as his gaze lingered on the hurt side of your face.

“Why would I show mercy to someone who would have granted me none?” you scoffed bitterly.

“Someone's bloodthirsty.”

“You're one to talk.”

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

You turned your attention back to Soap and Ghost did the same.

“I doubt he would listen to me.”

“He would,” stated the masked man, with the assertiveness of someone announcing a conviction. 

“But if ya don't believe me…”

A beat, then.

“Oï, Johnny!”

The shout was nonchalant, like it was something he did often, calling off his sergeant from some prey like the Scotsman was his personal attack dog.

The effect was immediate.

Soap abruptly froze, blinking a couple times as if awakening from a trance. Then he perked up, and turned around, eyes searching. The first sound that left his lips was a call of your name. His gaze latched onto you and didn’t let go as he stood up and rushed towards you. The naked vulnerability, the raw openness in his voice and on his face were so earnest that they felt like a Cupid's arrow shot straight between your lungs. It left you devoid of speech and motion, so as Johnny reached for you, all you could do was try to convey your reassurances through your eyes; that you were mostly fine, and so grateful, but worried for him, that he made everything better-

His arms closing around you made the outside disappear, and suddenly the whole world came down to Johnny, and only him. His embrace was enjoyable for a second before the pressure of his body against your face woke up your contusions. You let out a muffled cry of pain and he released you immediately, swearing and apologizing. However his hands didn’t leave you, grasping your shoulders.

“C'mere hen, lemme have a look at ye.”

“Oh, I'm fine, you should worry about-”

Your voice pathetically died in your throat as he cupped your face, leaning over, way too close for your heart to not start stammering uncontrollably.

The combined attention of his fingertips on your skin and the turquoise of his eyes roaming your visage turned your cheeks into a blazing inferno.

Unable to maintain eye contact, your gaze wandered over his own injuries, a split lip and a couple of bruises.

Suddenly he grabbed your chin between his thumb and index, tilting your face one way and the other. Your skin flared up at the contact, pleasant yet nervous tingles scattering all over your body.

“Ye sure he didn’t hit ye on that side? Yer a wee bit red.”

You bit back a whine of complaint at that comment. He couldn’t be that oblivious.

“Yer makin’ it worse, Johnny.” sneaked Ghost, the amusement manifest in his voice - at least to you.

Soap looked up to him, frowning in incomprehension, indignant. 

“The hell ya on aboot L.T.? How am ah makin’ it worse?”

You panicked.

“Shut up Riley!” you hissed, in a desperate attempt to put a stop to his shenanigans, forgetting that you were supposed to be severely intimidated by the masked man.

That drew a gruff chuckle out of him. Your sudden outburst caused Johnny to release you.

“Not that I'm not glad to see you, but why are you two even here, anyway?”

You were kind of proud of your ability to change the subject.

“Was comin’ tae get ye fer a game,” smiled Soap, and it reminded you of a pet proudly presenting its owners with its findings.

“This one wasn’t coming back, and neither of you were answering your phones, so we figured somethin’ went wrong. And we were right. This poor fucker is wanted. Called in reinforcements to deal with him.”

Footsteps’ noises caught your attention. A group of soldiers in uniform seized your aggressor and brought him to his feet, before unceremoniously shoving him in the direction opposite of you.

“Gotta tell Gaz the game ain't happening tonight.”

By the time you took in what Ghost had said, and turned away from the procession, he had already disappeared.

“This isn’t over,” menaced the officer, passing by your spot as he was hauled away. “When I get out-”

“Shut the fuck up,” snarled Soap instantly, protectively positionning himself in front of you.

“Found yourself a faithful guard dog, uh?” the other man taunted.

One one hand, that last remark wasn’t so far from the truth - he had been acting a lot like that: barking threats, baring his teeths, standing between you and the menace, reducing a man to a bloody pulp for hitting you…

But on the other hand, letting that piece of shit talk to Johnny this way was simply out of the question.

Before thinking, you found yourself walking in front of the sergeant and retorting.

“What, jealous he's ten times the man you'll never be?”

Fortunately for you, he was dragged away before he could snap anything back. That didn’t prevent you from regretting your snarky comment immediately. It had been a purely impulsive urge, the kind that could make you feel heavy remorse for days, if not years. As if this seasoned combat expert needed your aid to defend himself. The idea was ludicrous.

You didn’t get a moment to mope around however, as Johnny proceeded to grab you by the hips and press you flush against him with a jubilant smirk. You couldn’t do much except prop yourself with both hands on his pectorals to avoid stumbling.

“My hero.” he praised like a smitten damsel in distress.

“Look who's talking.”

You lowered your gaze despite yourself, mumbling your reply, a half smile on your lips, embarrassed but amused.

“Going after bastards is mah job, not yours. You gutsy little thing.”

You refrained a sarcastic laughter at the nickname - gutsy and little were two things you have never been called, as far as you can remember. But you weren't about to argue with the man who just saved your sorry ass.

His fingers pressed into your flesh, sending tickles at the bottom of your spine.You were about to ask him to let you go, the position too incriminating for this public setting, when you noticed how dilated his pupils were. He had to be high on adrenaline from the fight.

You may have let yourself get lost in the blue pools of his eyes, until his expression turned grave.

“Ye sure yer good? Yer too calm about this. No need tae put oan a brave face fer me, aye?”

The genuine, serious concern in his eyes made the inside of your stomach twist.

“I'm good. You arrived just in time,” you assured.

How peculiar it felt to be the one to comfort Johnny, rather than the opposite; that the lionhearted, superhuman sergeant Mactavish might even need such a thing; that he might require it from you, of all people.

“He didn’t get to do much.”

His pretty features contorted into a scowl at the reminder of your attacker.

“That sonuvabitch… raising a hand on ye in broad fuckin’ daylight… if he ever touches ye again, I swear I’ll…”

As he kept fulminating against your assailant, you couldn’t stop an endeared smile from spreading on your lips. Listening to one of Soap's rants brightened your mood; it was familiar. The sincerity in his words and his tone was welcome. He wasn’t able to fake those emotions even if he wanted to; they spilled out of him like a waterfall. His honest worry and righteous ire towards someone who hurt you was… flattering, in a sense. It made you feel cared for, like you mattered.

Then red started dripping.

“Johnny… your nose is bleeding.”

He wiped it negligently with the back of his hand, only succeeding in smearing it over his face. You couldn’t hold back a snort.

“Bend over. It will stop faster.”

“Buy me dinner first.”

He punctuated his quip with a suggestive wriggle of his eyebrows. You rolled your eyes.

“Let's just go to medical already.” you grumbled, starting to walk decisively, albeit stiffly, in the right direction.

“Aye, aye,” acquiesced your savior, jogging a bit to catch up to you.

[bangaveragewhitewine]

⋆⁺₊❅ meet the parents

single dad Eddie Munson x single mom Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: For my fourth and final fic of @littlexdeaths The Twelve Days of Promptmas, I bring you a romcom-worthy meet cute! A one-night stand in a small town is always a dangerous game.

Content: Eddie and Reader are both single parents. Modern AU. P in V and oral sex. Too many feelings for a one-night stand. Reader’s shitty ex mention. Small town dynamics. Light on Christmas, heavy on Eddie being a sexy menace. If you see any typos/messy sentences lmk!!

Just an extra little note to say the biggest THANK YOU to @littlexdeaths for putting together these wonderful Promptmas ideas, and for just being completely lovely and amazing too. I have had such a fun few weeks working on writing again, it’s been a crazy few months for me personally so this has been the best way to get back into writing and feeling creative again!! I’ve loved every minute ❤️

✨bang average festive fics✨ Eddie Munson fics ✨Dividers by @strangergraphics✨

It has been quite a few years since you woke up in a stranger’s bed. 

More used to the morning time routine of trying to get a sleepy six-year-old up and ready for the day, or the heartwarming feeling of said six-year-old making her way into your bed to cuddle on sleepy Sundays, you feel a little out of your depth this morning.

And some degree of hungover. 

But it could be worse, you supposed. The stranger’s bed was comfy and he had plenty of pillows for you to sleep on. His sheets were clean and he had not totally smothered you like a limpet all night, nor had he expected you to get up and leave while you were still catching your breath. He was a fairer bedmate than your daughter, and it was pleasant to wake up with the warm weight of his inked arm around you rather than a kid’s-size-twelve foot digging into your ribs, or her hair in your mouth. 

You sink into the comfort of it all, relishing that long-forgotten post-great-sex ache all over and the feeling of waking after a deep and dreamless sleep. You had not been this well-rested in almost seven years.

Next to you, he is asleep on his stomach with his arm across your middle. The room is dusky dark, but you can still make out the tattoos along his pale bare body and the glint of his nose ring, the spill of long dark hair piled up on his head. He is much softer now than when you met in the bar last night, no coy smirk or wolfish grin, no deep dimples on his cheeks. His whiskey eyes are still shut, and you feel warm all over when you remember how he had looked at you like you were the only woman in the bar, in the world, last night. How he had taken you home and taken you apart right here in his navy sheets. 

Carefully, trying not to wake the man next to you, you ease yourself up to check your phone.  It’s far too early to worry about picking Hazel up yet.

Not for the first time, you say a silent thanks to the universe for your neighbour for agreeing to babysit Hazel so that you could have a well-deserved Christmas night out with the friends you had made at work. You will bring her a nice hand-tied bouquet from the shop next week, just because. Without Claudia and her kindness to lean on, you know that going it alone in this small new town would so be much harder. It had been serendipitous really, moving in next door to an older and wiser woman who had been in the very same position as you when her son was not much older than Hazel. You begin piecing together the perfect bouquet for her, eucalyptus and rose and red ribbon, distracting yourself briefly from the dull ache in your head and the dry feeling on your tongue.

He brought you a glass of water before you fell asleep together. It’s cool in your throat, though it barely touches the sides of the discomfort pressing behind your brows. When the glass is mostly empty, you settle back next to him and let yourself doze for a little longer.

Eddie instinctively pulls you closer in his sleep, his warm morning breath tickling your shoulder and neck. You know it is just temporary, he is still a stranger, but let yourself enjoy the fleeting comfort while it lasts.

“Morning.”

His voice is rough and smoky, and there’s a tired smile waiting for you when you open your eyes a while later. You are struck by how pretty he is, handsome and hot but pretty with it; long dark lashes and doe-eyes, cheekbones to die for.

“Hi,” you whisper back. You feel yourself smiling back at him, feeling dreamy and oh-so-comfortable. You stretch your body out, relishing the rush of blood and oxygen to your muscles and your eyes drop closed again at that so-good feeling.

“Sleeping Beauty.” 

When Eddie kisses your hair, you miss how he closes his eyes and savours the moment; you are too busy basking in the unexpected tenderness of this one-night stand, the easiness of waking up slow with a man you met less than twelve hours ago. Even if it is just for this morning, you soak it up. 

“Mhmm. You have a comfy bed,” you whisper, looking up at him again. 

You brush your fingertips along his silver chain before tracing up to his jaw, past the tendrils of hair escaping his scrunchie. You know the feeling of that dark grown-out and nicely-maintained stubble, how it brushed and burned so good on the inside of your thighs, how it feels against your lips. 

Tentatively, bravely, you press your mouth against his and feel his smile. It’s sweet, slow. Intimate and lovely.

“Yeah? M’glad you think so,” he murmurs and steals one more kiss before pulling you against his body. 

Last night as you basked in the afterglow, Eddie asked so quietly if he could hold you and you almost teared up about it. It had been a long time since anyone had held you like that, like he is holding you again this morning.  It has been a long time since anyone has been sweet to you, shared closeness and intimacy like this. Not since the man you loved upped and left, leaving you and one-year-old Hazel with only each other to love. 

You feel the strength of his arms and the softness of his belly. There’s a stirring, hardening interest against your thigh and yet he’s not being too forward or pushy. He’s just holding you, just ‘coz. 

“I don’t… S’a while since I had a sleepover,” he admits, running his blunt nails over the small of your back. “You didn’t hog the covers, and you didn’t sneak off without saying bye…”

Eddie pulls back a little, wearing that small flirty smile that made you swoon last night. His voice is so playful, even though it is deep with morning huskiness. 

“Still here,” you whisper back, “I… It’s been a while for me too. I don’t usually… Yeah.” You shrug, you know he gets it. 

There is a glint of something in his eyes before he looks up at the ceiling. “I’m glad we did. I had fun.” 

The dimple in his cheek is beautiful and bashful, and when he looks at you again his eyes go right to your lips.

“Me too.” You touch his chain again and tug gently to bring your lips together again, putting you both out of your misery.

No one has ever kissed you like Eddie did last night, with all-consuming lust that made you feel electric. He is a blend of rough and smooth, a firm guiding hand followed by a gentle caress. You have never felt so wanted, so craved.

The way he kisses you this morning pushes aside the thoughts of all you need to do today. All you know is want, the cloying feeling of wanting to touch and be touched, craving pleasure. With his hands to guide, you straddle his lap and lean into the feeling of his fingertips wandering past the hem of the t-shirt he loaned you last night. 

Eddie looks up at you like you’re some sort of deity, his eyes and lips shining as you peel off the t-shirt and throw it behind you, leaving yourself bare in his lap. He was not put off by the stretch marks, or the Mom Body you felt so self-conscious about sometimes. Nor was he put off by the fact that you are a Mom. Eddie had simply smiled when you briefly mentioned your daughter, told you he had his own little girl without giving too much away. With that fresh layer of yourselves on show, you could understand each other just a little bit more without going full gushing-parent mode, sharing pictures of your little angels or ranting about who loved Bluey and loathed Peppa more. 

His fingers run over the stretch marks on your hips, starting up a slow grind as he kisses your neck (remembering your ‘no marks’ rule). There is a slight chill in the air to remind you that beyond this liminal bliss, it is a frosty December morning, but Eddie warms you up and distracts you without second thought. 

In the gauzy light, you see touches of fatherhood around his room, easily missed in the passion of last night - a framed drawing on his bedside table, a kiddie hair clip in his ring dish. You smile to yourself and shiver when his warm breath skates over the damp trail of kisses.

“Pretty smile,” he murmurs, needing to taste and feel it again. 

Hands wander and squeeze and you get drunk on each other all over again in the cocoon of Eddie’s bed. You blindly follow his dark treasure trail before taking him in hand, hot and diamond-hard, and savour the taste and sound of his moan. Your aching need for him is tempered and satiated by his fingers and you flush hot all over when he encourages you to scoot up and let him taste you, almost begging for it. Dazed with want, you find yourself clinging to the headboard with white knuckles and his name spilling from your lips. 

Eddie could die a happy man with your thighs bracketing his head. The taste of you makes him feel drunk as you take your pleasure from him; the needy roll of your hips is encouraged by his greedy hands in contrast to how cautious and careful you had been not to trap and tug his hair beneath your knees. 

When you are sufficiently dumb with pleasure, he lays you back against the pillows and lays out his desire for you in between messy kisses, losing his train of thought when you get your hand back on him and whisper back your need for him to fuck you now. Eddie reaches blindly for the (blessedly still-in-date) box of foil-wrapped packets in his drawer, not wanting to look away from you for even a moment.

He holds your hand as he makes love to you and you have to remind yourself not to get too caught up in how sweet Eddie is, even when he his making you feel like you have never been so full; sweetness and filthy words wound together so sweetly. It’s overwhelming and he catches you fighting tears when you feel too good. 

“Hey,” he whispers, wearing too much worry between his brows. “Do you want to stop, sweetheart? Am I hurting you?”

A guy being decent should not make your heart swell like this, and yet it does. You shake your head, tears spill over and he brushes them away with care.

“No, no. You’re not hurting me,” you promise. “I feel really good. S’just a lot.” 

Your voice wobbles and he smiles fondly against your mouth, relieved and happy to be wanted in return. 

Eddie has this magnetism, warm and cloying and a little mysterious; it makes you feel comfortable even when he’s teasing you and making you flush hot all over. 

“Yeah, baby? That’s what I’m here for,” he whispers, and kisses you slowly, sweetly. “Let me make you feel good.” You feel like your heart could beat out of your chest. He can feel it hammering against him as he starts up a slow roll of his hips that fills you completely. 

Your fingers clutch at the sheets as Eddie fucks you into his mattress. Nothing else matters in those moments, only pleasure. You fight the urge to sink your teeth into the meat and muscle of his arm, lick the drip of sweat from his neck. Instead, you taste the way he moans your name and cling to him when you come just moments apart - you first, then him.

He shares his water with you afterwards when he sees your empty glass; you are both damp with sweat and lying side by side with your heartbeats pounding in your ears, the lingering taste of each other on your tongues.

When he kisses you again, his lips are water-cooled and tender.

“Can I make you some coffee? I have to pick up my little terror in a bit…” he says, already cringing at himself. “She’s great, I swear. I promised her diner pancakes for brunch.”

Reality trickles back in, a not-unpleasant cooling off of your morning together.

“Yeah, I should probably not show up in last night’s clothes to pick my kid up. Coffee sounds good.” 

There was always an expiry date on this; the boundaries of a one-night stand were set and familiar, despite how long it has been and despite how easy and intimate this morning has been. You’re both adults, both okay with it. 

“Cool.” He smiles and hauls himself out of bed, stepping into his lost and found again boxers before he doubles back to kiss your cheek. 

When your legs are steady enough he shows you how the shower works, leaving you to it with a new toothbrush, fresh towels and a familiar squeeze to your bare hip. There’s a little part of you that wants him to join you, waste hot water and let him press you against the cold tiles. Eddie wants that too, to delay your inevitable parting of ways and return to reality.

When you look in the mirror, you see a well-fucked woman; kiss-bitten lips and that long-lost post-sex glow. 

“What the fuck,” you murmur to yourself, giggling a little when you think over the last twelve hours. 

You had not gone out looking for a hookup last night, but you made the most of the festive excuse to go for drinks with the few friends you had made since moving to Hawkins six months ago. Catching Eddie’s eye at the bar had been a happy accident. A happy accident that lead to letting him buy you a drink, and then buying him one back. Your friends had wholeheartedly encouraged it, knew him to see around town and vouched for him as a mechanic. Good with his hands, they had teased. Oh, how right they had been.

The water is hot and Eddie’s shower gel is the typical ‘for men’ scented sort of thing. You feel fresh and clean when you step back into the bedroom, finding sweats and an Iron Maiden hoodie on the bed for you, alongside your clothes from last night (which Eddie has attempted to fold neatly, instead of leaving you to pick them up from the floor).

It should not make you smile so much, but your cheeks ache pleasantly as you dress yourself, opting for last night’s jeans with Eddie’s sweater. It’s washed-soft and smells like the detergent you have at home with a hint of his cologne.

You follow the scent of coffee and the sound of music downstairs, finding more traces of parenthood on your way - a purple fairy door on the baseboard,  a washing basket full of clean kids' clothes outside a closed bedroom door, light-up Skechers and silver glitter rain boots in the hall. There is something familiar about them, but brush it aside as something Hazel probably asked for in Target.

Eddie’s unbuttoned jeans hang low on his hips as he makes coffee in mismatched mugs, his hair is down tickling against his bare shoulders and back. There are drawings on the fridge and a Christmas tree peeking out from the living room. It feels like a happy home.

His eyes light up when he sees you, looking as hungry and enamoured by you in his hoodie as he had been when you were wearing nothing at all. 

“Do you take sugar, or are you sweet enough?” he asks, wearing a softer version of that panty-dropper smile from last night. He smells clean, minty and masculine, after a quick whore’s bath in the other bathroom.

“Just one,” you say, resting your hip against the kitchen island while you watch him fix up your coffee. “You’re smooth, huh?”

“You tell me.” He slides the mug across to you before blowing on his coffee, taking a still-too-hot sip that he tries and fails to cover. For a moment, you think he might be doing a bit, alas he is simply endearingly clumsy.

You feel bad laughing, but Eddie only pouts a little bit before grinning at you. There’s a faint blush on his cheeks and he ducks his head to hide behind his hair. 

“Real smooth.” 

Exercising patience, you decide to let your coffee cool a little.

“I’ll give you a ride home if you like?” he says, hoping it’s not too forward. 

He wants to be more forward, ask for your number and ask you out. He likes how his clothes fit your body, and how you looked blissed-out in his bed. While Eddie’s trying not to come off too strong, you appreciate his sweetness and fight your own internal battle of trying not to fall for your one-night stand.

“Yeah, that would be great. Thanks, Eddie. I’m over on Cornwallis, is that out of your way?”

He smiles a little, “I don’t mind a little detour, sweetheart.”

You pointedly blow on your coffee, learning from his mistake, and savour the made-just-right coffee in a Snoopy & Woodstock mug.

Over his shoulder, you spot a photo of a familiar man on the fridge, bookended by two heads of dark curly hair. There’s a handpainted fridge magnet with ‘Fae’ written in childishly charming pink writing, and you feel your cheeks flame.

He watches your face change, looks over his shoulder to see what you’re looking at. 

“Ah. That’s my Uncle Wayne, and Fae. My daughter. she’s six.” He unpins the picture and thumbs over it gently before turning it around to you.

You know exactly who they are, but take it anyway.

When you moved your life to Hawkins, Indiana six months ago, you would never have believed that you would make friends with a grandfather in his sixties outside of Curtain Call Dance Studio while you waited for Hazel. Making friends as a single Mom in a new town was not easy, you had little time outside of work and parenting for yourself, let alone socialising (and god forbid, dating). And then you parked next to Wayne one Thursday. He was a little quiet but had warmed up more each week; now he smiled when he saw you, asked how your job at the florists was and how Hazel was doing in school.

Even though they were in different First Grade class groups at Hawkins Elementary, Hazel and Fae had become almost inseparable in their dance classes and on the playground. 

You knew Fae’s dad worked late some evenings, so Wayne helped him out. Hazel had told you that she had seen Fae’s dad once when he picked her up early to go to the dentist, and that he had hair just like her friend.

“She looks just like me, it’s crazy - poor kid. I can’t believe she’s six. She’s supposed to be three, max. Y’know what I mean?” He says, showing you more of his proud Dad side before realising that your confusion is not because you’re looking at a picture of two clones. “You okay?”

“You’re Fae’s Dad? Fae Munson?” you ask, watching his shoulders tense a little as he nods. “Eddie. Our kids know each other. I’ve met Wayne.” 

He scowls slightly beneath his bangs, confused and a little worried that he hooked up with the mother of one of the kids who was mean to Fae in school, who told the teacher when she was ‘too chatty’ or when she stood up for herself.

The words spill from you untempered, unrestrained to clear it all up. “They’re at dance class together. They’re in the same grade. Hazel and Fae are friends, Eddie…”

He visibly softens, drops his shoulders, and even though he still looks confused he melts even more when an involuntary nervous laugh bubbles from your chest. 

“Seriously? No… You’re Hazel’s mom?” His eyes blow wide. “Fuck.” 

Eddie puts his head on the counter with a thunk, and you’re left with the photo of three smiling Munsons. Fae has her Dad’s eyes and hair, his impish mischief that had endeared you to the little girl. They really are alike.

“Wayne was right,” he says, muffled beneath his hair before peeking at you, “You are cute.” 

It makes you laugh more, though your cheeks feel like the surface of the sun.

“Wayne thinks I’m cute? Huh…”

“No. Nope,” he yelps, head flying up like a wild thing. “Oh my goddd.”

You feel a little spacey as the pieces fall into place. Wayne’s nephew Ed worked at Thatcher Tyre as a mechanic, and Fae had told Hazel her Dad looked like a rockstar. She wasn’t wrong…

“He was totally going to try and set us up or somethin’.”

“He did say I’d finally get to meet you at the Winter Performance…” you say, feeling fizzy-all-over as you come to terms with the shock of it all. “Guess we bet him to it.”

“Told me you were real sweet too.” Eddie smiles, his cheeks are pinker than ever.

Part of your brain berates you for hooking up with a stranger in a small town - a small town where everyone knows everyone else. But when Eddie reaches his hand out across the island and says, “Good to finally meet you, Hazel’s Mom,” with that flirty smile and his whiskey eyes, it melts away and you’re not really that sorry at all.

You take his hand, mug-warmed and adorned with silver rings. 

“Nice to meet you at last, Fae’s Dad.”

Neither of you is too embarrassed by the revelation, though you both circle back to how fucking crazy it is at least twice. Even though you still feel gooey-warm under his attention, you don’t want anything to get in the way of your daughter’s friendship, of your new start in Hawkins, and feel selfish for wanting more than the taste you have already had of Eddie Munson. You both know your time together is drawing to an end, the bubble is about to burst, and a little part of you wishes that the illusion of being strangers could have lasted a little longer. 

With your coffee consumed and your coats and boots on, Eddie takes your hand and pulls you against his body before you step outside of the door together. 

“Hey, gorgeous. One more kiss?” he asks, head tilted to the side. 

You don’t need to think about it, and take his stubbled jaw with both hands as he holds your hips. Kissing him makes all the tension roll away once more, and you hope it is enough to help him remember you as more than just some other Mom in the First Grade Parents Group Chat (which you both have muted). You have to savour it, remember his taste and touch.

Eddie is not shy about kissing you, he slides his tongue against yours and moans ever so quietly when you push your chest against his. He is also the one to slow it down, makes it sweet and tender and you would dare say romantic, even with his hands on your ass. 

“Can I ask for one more thing?” he whispers, nudging his nose against yours. 

Right now, you would consider giving him a kidney or a blow job if he asked nicely. 

“Mhm,” you whisper, giving nothing away just yet. 

“Can I get your number? I wanna take you out properly,” he says, his thumbs play with the belt loop at the back of your jeans. “Like a date.”

Feeling hot all over, you try to play it cool and not nod so eagerly lest you headbutt him and leave him bloody-nosed. 

“Yeah. That would be nice, Eddie.” 

He watches how your teeth sink into your lip and has to kiss you once more, just because. You take his phone and add your number and name, adding a little sparkle emoji before deleting it. Then you add it again and hand it back before you can change your mind.

“Cool. And, um maybe the girls could have a play date sometime? I was gonna ask for your number anyway, so y’know. Two birds, one stone and all that. Silver linings?” Eddie does a jazz-hand-flourish thing before he shakes his head at himself and tucks his phone away. “I had a good time with you. A great time. And I know what you might be thinking, I don’t want this to get between the girls either. But I’d love to see you again.”

You are even more endeared by these glimpses of how sensible he is as well as his goofy awkwardness beneath the leather jacket and bad boy stare.

He is as gentlemanly as he had been last night, opening doors for you, though he is less handsy in the bright morning light (he does give your knee a squeeze at the stoplight). You feel safe with him as he navigates the frosty roads of Hawkins, talking about music, what concerts you had been to before becoming parents, and where to get the sparkly tutus for the Winter Performance. 

All too soon he pulls up outside your house, spotting the red door with the handmade wreath that you had described.

“Next to Henderson’s?” he asks, brow raised.

“Yep. Do you know Claudia, or is this town just too small?”

He laughs, tilts his head against the headrest. “It’s way too small. Her son, Dustin? One of my best friends.” 

You tip your head forward, smiling even as your head shakes. “I’ve heard so much about Dustin. We’re having Christmas dinner with them.”

Eddie's dimpled cheeks crease even more. “Damn. Well, I can’t wait to hear why you picked Hawkins of all places to move to. You can tell me on our date.”

Proud of how that flusters you, he presses a kiss to your hand and winks, “I’ll text you later, sweetheart.”

You want to kiss him again, but you manage to restrain yourself, remembering the nosy neighbours on Cornwallis. Instead, you let the flickering fire inside you flirt back, hoping to fluster him too.

You place your hand high on his thigh and squeeze. “You better, Eddie. Drive safe.”

You can feel him checking you out all over again, the weight and warmth of his gaze, as you make your way up the path to your door. Once your key is in the lock, you part ways with a wave and a wink, lingering just a moment more to watch his car peel away from the curb. 

Left with a fluttering feeling in your tummy and warm cheeks that ache from smiling, you take a moment for yourself in your hallway. 

It is time to go back to being Hazel’s mom. You can’t wait to hear about her sleepover with Ms. Claudia and the cats, bask in her brilliance and take every hug and smooch she will offer you (or let you take for yourself). Inspired by Eddie and Fae’s breakfast date, you think of taking your girl to the diner for dinner later on, maybe watching a Christmas movie before bed. 

In the mirror above your sideboard, hanging above the key dish and the thrifted lamp and a photo of you and Hazel in matching sunglasses, you catch sight of your smiling reflection once more, enveloped in a dreamy daze and borrowed hoodie. Your phone buzzes in your pocket and your smile becomes bigger, brighter, brimming with hope. 

What did you think? Do we want more of these two? 👀 Thank you so very very much for reading! Your comments, reblogs and likes are incredibly appreciated and adored!

Whether you're celebrating or not, I am wishing you the cosiest and most wonderful holiday season filled with peace and love and every good thing you deserve ✨

[greg-montgomery]

the latest hotch x sunshine reader fic?

u think u ate with that?

no.

U DEVOUREDDDDDD. GRRRRRRRRRRR

part 2 now mama i love u so much

bestieee thank you omg!!!! <3 i hope you like part 2!!

part 1

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Spencer took a deep breath staring at his desk. On any other day it would be due to the amount of paperwork waiting for him, but this time it was a cup of his favorite coffee order, a muffin, and a chocolate croissant, all sitting right on top of the report he was working on.

He wasn’t ungrateful for the treats, but he would rather enjoy them if they weren’t accompanied by three pairs of wide eyes looking at him, while searching for answers in return.

Emily threw her head back dramatically. “Come on, give us something.”

“They’re on a date right now, aren’t they? That’s why he left early. I know you know,” Penelope said. “I know you do. Rossi knows too, but he won’t say anything.”

“Yeah,” JJ agreed, “Every time we ask he says nothing and just…smirks at us.”

“Please, you’re our last hope.”

Spencer took a bite of his muffin and smirked.

“You’re even worse than him,” Emily said and pointed at him.

“Come on, girls. Let’s go hack Hotch’s phone.”

“No, wait!”

--

Was it silly to start planning your wedding on a first date?

Maybe it was; you didn’t care. Because there was no way Aaron was not your future husband.

He did everything perfectly: he picked you up from your house, got you flowers, did not let you touch a door handle, paid for your dinner date, and let you play your music during the car ride.

Aaron also smiled a lot and the sight of it made you melt into your seat. It wasn’t often that a man gave you butterflies by just one look or with the sound of his laughter.

“What are you in the mood for now?”

The last thing you wanted was for the date to end, so instead of suggesting you walk back to his car you made a different offer.

“Let’s get ice cream!”

He chuckled, but you could already tell he would not say no to you. “Okay.”

You were walking side by side and even though you were already falling in love with his warm voice it was hard to pay attention to his words. Your mind was too occupied thinking about his arm swinging next to yours and how bad you wanted to hold hands with him.

Did he want it too? Would he think it’s childish to hold hands?

What if you just…did it?

Life’s too short, you thought and grabbed his hand.

Yes, you had not been paying attention to what he'd been saying but you did notice how he stopped mid-sentence when your hands touched. Was he mad?

Your heart was jumping against your chest, afraid you did something stupid. Aaron was quick to ease your anxiety, intertwining your fingers and squeezing gently your hand.

He wanted this too.

He cleared his throat. “So it’s um…a good chance to…”

With the side of your eye, you caught him turning his head to stare at you. You hadn’t wiped the grin off your face from the sudden hand holding yet, and he saw it.

His dimples made an appearance, and as your grin got bigger you noticed he blushed.

“Oh, shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!” you giggled.

The sound of Aaron’s phone ringing interrupted your moment.

“Sorry, I have to get this,” he said.

You, of course, didn’t mind. Even though he hadn’t said so himself, you knew he had left right on time – early in Hotch’s terms - from work just for your date. Perks of being best friends with your date’s subordinate was getting to have this kind of inside information.

“Hotchner,” he said sternly.

You stayed quiet.

“What? I didn’t authorize this.”

Oh.

“No. And I trust this won’t happen again.”

Oh…Maybe you liked this side of him a little bit more than you should.

“Thanks,” he said, and hung up. “I’m sorry about that.”

I’m not.

“No, it’s okay! It’s fascinating observing you being a boss.”

“You like observing people?”

“Why, are you interested in hiring me?” you teased.

“Oh, I would never.”

“Why not?” you asked, acting offended.

“I would not be able to focus on a case with you around.”

You took advantage of the fact you were on a sidewalk and stopped walking, turning your body to face him. “And why is that?”

Aaron moved closer and dropped your hand only to cup the side of your head. His thumb moved back and forth on your cheek and his eyes on yours made you feel dizzy.

“Because you take my breath away.”

And with his next move he took yours. Maybe you’d actually faint if he didn’t pull you in and place his lips on yours.

Your hands moved to his tie with the intention of pulling him even closer to your body. His kiss was heavenly and you really wouldn’t mind if you were to stay like that forever.

Yeah…there was no way Aaron Hotchner was not your future husband.

[themuseofaphrodite]

know that you and i shouldn’t feel like a crime ✧ OP81

summary: after viewing a series of viral tiktoks, you decide to partake in the “hear me out” cake trend with your very wary boyfriend.

trigger warnings: suggestive & mature content, swearing

word count: 1k

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

One of your most surprising qualities was that you were a TikTok fiend, especially since you were usually down to earth and didn’t use your phone much in public — but for good reason. Your “For You” page was filled with some of the weirdest, wackiest things: dangerous extreme sport challenges, odd filters used on pets for a quick laugh… the list could go on. Each video was a perfect way to destroy your reputation as the effortlessly suave McLaren princess.

You slouched on the creaky recliner next to Oscar Piastri, your boyfriend of almost three years, and sighed loudly, garnering his attention immediately. He was perfectly attuned to your every movement and breath, which was why you liked him so much. Nothing was worse than a nonchalant man, and Oscar was anything but that.

“Hm, darling? Everything OK?” Oscar looked up at you from where he was sitting, pausing the television with a careless flick of his hand. “It’s getting late, maybe you’re tired? You did have a long day.”

You shrugged one shoulder, feigning coolness. “No, I’m fine, I’m not tired. I just have an idea.”

Oscar raised one eyebrow, already on alert. That last sentence always warned him that something was afoot, and nine times out of ten, it was never anything good. “Oh, no. What now?”

“There’s a trend going around” — this made Oscar visibly tense, a vein in his neck going taut as he waited for you to continue. He disliked the viral pranks and never laughed at any of them, to your dismay — “and I was hoping you’d be willing to participate in one of them with me?” You batted your eyelashes, giving him puppy dog eyes, a trick you knew he couldn’t resist.

“If my mates find out about this,” he warned you, waving a finger menacingly at you like a stereotypical villain. “No posting this like you did last time.” You stifled a laugh at the thought of the last prank you engaged in, and the way it had broken the Internet when you posted it on social media. Oscar had not forgiven you, and it had been almost a year.

You shook your head solemnly, extending your pinky finger out to him so he would interlock his own in an unspoken vow. “I promise you I won’t post it.”

“Good.” He pursed his lips, obviously remembering the media disaster that had unfolded last time. McLaren had not been happy with him in the slightest, to say the least. He was still making it up to them even now. “What’s the trend?”

You edged yourself closer to him, tilting your chin conspiratorially and speaking in a low whisper. “Hear me out.”

Oscar’s eyebrows furrowed, clueless. He scrolled through TikTok very rarely, mainly preferring to stick to television, and sometimes Instagram reels, so he had no idea what you were talking about. “Pardon?”

“So, basically,” you explained, your voice bright with mischief, “you have to think of a few characters, or people, that you think are attractive, although others might disagree with you. For example, hear me out,” you started, a moment’s pause between your response. “Bumblebee from Transformers.”

Oscar’s jaw dropped as the name clicked. “The robot? You want to tell me that you find a machine attractive?”

“He’s protective and sweet, and has really good music taste,” you defended, pouting.

“Goddamn, Y/N, starting off strong.” Oscar hummed under his breath, thinking. “Hear me out, Megan Fox but in Jennifer’s Body.”

You groaned loudly, annoyed. “That’s not a ‘hear me out’. Everyone agrees that Megan Fox in that film was beautiful. It has to be something unhinged, like, hear me out” — you clucked your tongue, pondering over the various choices floating around in your mind — “the Goldfish cracker on the front of the bag.”

Oscar made a distinct choking noise, his face flushing red. “An animal? God, Y/N. I should report you to the police so they can put you behind bars.”

You swatted him on the shoulder, barely missing him since his reflexes were superhuman. “Try again, Osc. Really shock me with this next one, please.”

“Hear me out…Belle from Beauty and the Beast.” Oscar waited for your approval, and you sighed, throwing your hands up in the air in surrender. “What? How was that not good? She’s a cartoon!”

“Everyone loves Belle! She’s fierce, intelligent, and stunning. All qualities that are conventionally attractive!” You shook your head. “Come on. Hear me out, a string bass.”

Oscar’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “What the — Please tell me you’re joking, love. There’s no way you could find an instrument attractive.”

“A bass is tall, deep-pitched, and mysterious. Just what I like in a man.” You beamed up at him. “OK, Oscar. Don’t disappoint me.”

He side-eyed you, tapping his fingers on his lap as he thought. “I have one.” You watched him with bated breath, hoping that he would finally catch on. “Hear me out, Sydney Sweeney, in general.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “I give up, Oscar. I should’ve known that this wouldn’t have worked. Lando would be so much better to do this with… Let me ask him if he’s free.”

Oscar rolled his eyes, pulling you onto his lap before you could escape, and giving you a quick peck to your lips. “Sorry, darling. Better luck next time?”

You huffed. “Whatever, Oscar. I forgot you were an inadequate, basic white boy.”

Oscar nudged his nose against your jaw, whispering in a husky, deep voice. “Hear me out, my girlfriend, Y/N L/N. She might be batshit crazy sometimes, but she’s absolutely breathtaking. When she’s underneath me, begging for my cock like a good girl? It’s a fucking work of art.”

You suppressed a shiver, looping your arm and burying yourself against him, arousal dancing under your skin. “Fuck, OK. You win.”

He kissed you again, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Oh, I know. I always do. Future world champion, remember?”

“Arrogant prick,” you muttered, but your curses were swallowed up by a new wave of kisses Oscar pressed against your lips.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

[blasphemousclaw]

Ranni has every reason to hate Marika. She is the figurehead of an order that has caused her and her family so much misery… and yet, in the Age of the Stars ending cutscene, Ranni holds Marika’s head with such gentleness. It feels less like Ranni is putting down a tyrant, and more like she’s laying her to rest, after many long years of torment. 

Ranni could have been Marika’s successor, but she rejected the guidance of the Two Fingers, slaying her own flesh in order to be rid of their influence: 

“But I would not acquiesce to the Two Fingers. I stole the Rune of Death, slew mine own Empyrean flesh, casting it away. I would not be controlled by that thing.”

Ranni goes to such drastic lengths because the most intolerable thing possible to her is to be a pawn; her will not being her own, but being at the mercy of a higher power. Ranni’s quest is above all about free will – it culminates with Ranni using the Fingerslayer Blade to tear her Two Fingers into bloody ribbons, at long last giving her full control over her own destiny.

Marika in the present day is a prisoner held in perpetual torment. According to Enia and the Two Fingers,

"Queen Marika is the vessel of the Elden Ring, carrier of its vision. A god, in truth. But after the Elden Ring's shattering, she was imprisoned in the Erdtree. A grim punishment for shattering the Order, despite her godhood. The Fingers speak... "Marika's trespass demanded a heavy sentence. But even in shackles, she remains a god, and the vision's vessel.”

Marika shattered the Order, going against the will of the Two Fingers, and was punished for it gravely. In many ways, Marika’s fate is Ranni’s absolute worst nightmare. This is exactly the fate she took such drastic lengths to escape… serving a higher power with her entire being, her will not her own, but the will of the Fingers, with any attempt at change met with violent suppression, her body essentially being used as a puppet to defend the last vestiges of the Order.

“I would not be controlled by that thing.”

I think that Ranni, seeing Marika’s broken body at the end of it all, felt nothing but pity for her in that moment, despite everything she’d done. To me, the act of Ranni holding Marika’s head in her hands feels like she’s saying, “you were my enemy. But there is no worse fate in this world than what you suffered. Now, you can be truly free."

[moonlitwitchdaisy]

No One Should Be Alone On Christmas

❅ summary: Ever since moving to Tokyo for work a month ago, you’d been drowning in loneliness. You hadn’t fully adjusted to the people or the city yet, and worse, you were about to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas morning all alone. At least, that’s what you thought. In an attempt to forget your loneliness, you went to a bar, where you met the most handsome man you’d ever laid eyes on. Other than the fact that he, too, was spending Christmas alone and that he was devastatingly attractive, you knew absolutely nothing about him. If Christmas miracles were real, maybe you could spend this night—and the morning—in Nanami Kento’s arms.

❅ pairing: nanami kento x fem!reader

❅ word count: 6.1k

❅ warnings: +18 Minors Do Not Interact +18 modern au!, reader and nanami are strangers, one-night stand (?), nanami in a turtleneck sweater because why not??, use of alcohol, christmas market date, big mac and cinnamon rolls (yeah i was hungry while writing), use of pet names, mentioning of loneliness, kissing, neck kissing, nipple play, fingering, slow sex that turns rough, mating press, protected sex, mentioning unprotected sex, dominant nanami, also thoughtful nanami (yey)

❅ a little note: hello everyone with my new christmas-themed story! i was supposed to post it last sunday, but since i just got back from a trip and was very tired, i could only post it today. i think it’s a sweet yet spicy one-shot. enjoy!

“And that was the ridiculous mugging incident I experienced during my first week in Tokyo,” you chuckled to yourself, the effects of alcohol making everything seem funnier. You finished the last sip of beer left in your glass in one go.

You were drunk. Seriously drunk.

Maybe getting some McDonald’s would help. At least it might clear your head, because right now, loneliness and unhappiness were clouding your ability to make rational decisions.

Spending Christmas Eve alone at a bar, drinking beer, and recounting your Tokyo adventures to a bartender who clearly didn’t care wasn’t part of your plans. Christmas had always been a warm and happy time you spent with your loved ones. But now, all you could feel was dizziness and a coldness you couldn’t explain.

You glanced at the time on your phone lying next to the empty beer glass. It was 8 PM. If you were lucky, maybe you’d find an open McDonald’s.

That is, if you could even manage to get up in your current state.

“Hey, uhmm… is there a McDonald’s nearby?” you slurred, somehow managing to form a coherent sentence as you directed your question to the bartender, who had been your reluctant companion for the past hour.

The bartender handed the cocktail glass he’d prepared to a server before turning to you with little enthusiasm. “I doubt it.”

“That’s ridiculous! McDonald’s is everywhere,” you retorted, anger bubbling up from your hunger.

The bartender seemed amused by your drunken indignation, letting out a low chuckle. “Maybe Tokyo, the city of your dreams, doesn’t have one after all.”

“Wait did you actually listen to me?” you asked, frowning at him because every sentence you told him was about how much you love and wanted to come to Tokyo.

“I got bored while making drinks and found listening to the silly stories of someone spending Christmas Eve alone kind of entertaining, I guess.”

“You’re rude,” you muttered, resting your head in your hands.

“And you’re lonely.”

“Alright, enough humiliation! Sure, I’m spending Christmas Eve alone, but you’re here making drinks and listening to a drunk woman ramble on. Ha! Got you! You’re just as lonely as I am.” Triumphant, you raised your head, only to lose your balance and tip backward. You were absolutely sure you were about to hit the floor, but instead, your back collided with something hard.

Maybe it was the backrest of the barstool?

Relieved, you exhaled deeply and turned around with a grin. “Well, if it weren’t for this backr—” Your words cut off mid-sentence because the thing that stopped your fall wasn’t the nonexistent backrest of the stool but a tall, broad figure dressed in black.

And it had blond hair. A truly stunning shade of blond.

The man in black was staring at you with a completely blank expression. It was almost as if he pitied you, but his face gave nothing away.

He shifted his gaze from your face and handed a card to the bartender. “I drank my usual,” he said.

The bartender took the card with a serious nod. “Yes, sir.” He clearly knew who this man was.

By now, you’d stopped leaning against the solid figure that had kept you from falling. Sitting upright on the stool, you realized you desperately needed to eat something and sober up. You reached into your bag to grab your card to pay.

But just as you were about to hand it to the bartender, the velvety voice of the man who had caught you made you turn your head.

“Please add the lady’s drinks to my tab,” he said.

The bartender glanced at the man and then at you, surprised, but didn’t protest as he added your drinks to the total. You stared at the man, trying to process what had just happened.

The blond-haired man was still watching you, his expression unchanging. You couldn’t shake the feeling that he pitied you again. After all, you were a woman spending Christmas Eve alone in a bar, drunk, and nearly cracking your head open on the marble floor. With all that combined, it was probably easy to see you as a pathetic, lonely soul in need of help.

The slight burning sensation in your eyes made it clear that tears were threatening to spill. And they did, quietly running down your cheeks. You didn’t even know why you felt so terrible. Spending Christmas Eve alone wasn’t that bad. You weren’t the only one doing it. Even the bartender, who you thought hadn’t been listening to you, probably was. And the other people quietly nursing their drinks in the bar were in the same boat.

And maybe even the blond-haired man who had stopped you from falling.

But right now, all you wanted was to build snowmen with your family, a tradition you’d done every Christmas Eve.

Screw it. Who wanted to be alone on Christmas?

Grabbing your coat and bag from the stool beside you, you muttered, “I’m sorry,” to the man before stumbling toward the door. The cold air hit your face as you stepped outside, making you scrunch your nose. It helped clear your head a little. You were about to pull out your phone to find the nearest McDonald’s when you realized it wasn’t in your bag.

Perfect. Your dramatic exit was now a complete failure.

Quickly wiping the tears from your face, you were about to turn back toward the bar when the door opened, and the blond-haired man emerged, looking concerned. His expression softened when he saw you. You, on the other hand, were standing there with mascara likely smeared all over your face.

He approached you quickly. “Excuse me, you forgot your phone,” he said, handing it to you.

You sniffled, your cold nose stinging, and looked at him gratefully through tear-filled eyes. “Thank you so much. I—I… Oh, God…” And just like that, you broke down again, sobbing uncontrollably.

The scene was so humiliating you wanted to dig a hole and bury yourself in it. A stranger had saved you from falling, paid your tab, brought you your phone, and now had to watch you cry like a child because of your stupid Christmas loneliness.

And here you were, crying again.

Covering your face with your hands, you tried to hide from him. All you wanted was to find that damn McDonald’s, eat until you were stuffed, and go back to your tiny but beloved one-bedroom apartment to bake cinnamon rolls.

“Forgive me for asking, but are you okay, miss? If you’re feeling unwell, I could take you home. Or, if you prefer, I can call a cab,” his soft voice said, breaking through your sobs.

You lowered your hands to look at him, sniffling a few more times. The blond man had a slight accent. His Japanese was fluent, but the words carried a subtle difference in tone. It was strangely captivating. And it wasn’t just his voice that was impressive—his face and build made him almost ridiculously perfect. You’d noticed his face briefly in the bar, but now you could fully appreciate it.

And yet, how could anyone be this nice? Of course you shouldn’t trust him immediately. For all you knew, he could be one of Tokyo’s most wanted criminals. With his black turtleneck, matching coat, and slacks, he had a slight “mob boss” vibe. The glasses softened his sharp features a bit, but actually, no—they made him look even more severe. Still, his previously stoic expression had faded. Now, there was a mix of concern and pity on his face.

You didn’t want his pity. No one wanted to be pitied. But maybe, just maybe, you could use it to feel a little better.

After taking a moment to compose yourself, you sniffled again and said, “I’m just… really hungry.”

The blond man responded to your honest statement with a smile, which only made things worse. How could he be even more handsome now?

“Alright, I know a good place. Would you like me to take you there? Don’t worry, I'll just take you there,” he said, his voice as gentle as ever.

Accepting his offer didn’t seem like a bad idea. If you ate something, you’d sober up and fill your empty stomach. The only problem was that you didn’t want to do it alone. Sure, this guy might be Tokyo’s top serial killer, but even killers didn’t commit crimes on Christmas Eve, right?

“Do you like McDonald’s?” you asked, though you doubted it. Looking at his impeccable physique, he probably only ate the healthiest foods imaginable. But you’d already made your offer.

The blond man’s smile widened, and his answer made your heart skip a beat. “I’m sure there’s one nearby.”

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

“You’re really hungry.”

Your eyes drifted to the blond-haired man as you bit into your second Big Mac. You were absolutely delighted. You’d managed to find a McDonald’s just a ten-minute walk away (take that, bartender!) and had ordered two Big Macs, two large fries, and an iced tea. The man across from you hadn’t ordered anything. No matter how much you insisted, he said he wasn’t hungry. When he tried to pay for your meal, you’d grabbed yhis wrist and said, “Unless you want me to throw up on you, put your card away.”

He was bigger than you and would probably win if it came to a fight, but you could handle paying for your own food. Sure, it was nice of him to be so polite, but this was a bit much.

“Yooh. I loveee Bog Moc,” you mumbled, mouth full of food, trying to speak as best as you could. It was definitely not respectful, but you’d already cried enough and embarrassed yourself in front of this guy.

The blond-haired man laughed at your attempt to speak. “I’m glad. I hope I’m not bothering you?” he asked casually, folding his arms across his chest.

You swallowed your bite and wiped your mouth with a napkin. “Not at all! If I felt uncomfortable, I wouldn’t have invited you.” You took a sip of your iced tea. “Though, I did wonder if you were a serial killer on the most-wanted list.”

You must’ve genuinely amused him because he threw his head back and laughed. That deep, masculine sound was more beautiful than any song you’d ever heard. This man did everything with elegance.

Unlike you.

He unfolded his arms and rested them on the table. The sleeves of his sweater pushed up slightly, giving you a brief but glorious view of his veiny forearms.

Now you were even hungrier. And this wasn’t a hunger another Big Mac could satisfy. You needed those arms. You needed to taste how strong they were. If you were lucky, maybe you’d get to feel the pleasure of his fingers inside your vagina.

In your wet and swollen vagina.

“Who knows, maybe I am. But if I were, why would you invite me to come along?”

“I thought about it and decided no killer would be boring enough to commit murder on Christmas Eve.”

The corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk. “You’re right. At this moment, I’d rather watch a crying woman devour hamburgers than deal with bloody, tedious business.”

You paused mid-sip of your drink, your face falling at his words.

He must’ve noticed because he immediately looked concerned. “Shit. I’m sorry. I was just trying to make you laugh… As you can see, I’m not great at that.”

But he had made you laugh. The fact that he thought he’d upset you was actually funny. “Do you want to know why I was crying?”

“If it won’t upset you, then yes.” As he spoke, he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. That small gesture was enough to make your heart race at 500 beats per second. It was a suspiciously intimate act for someone you’d only known for an hour, but you didn’t think he was trying to seduce you.

“I moved to Tokyo a month ago for a job offer. While moving to the city of your dreams is exciting, there are so many things I miss. I might have a great job, and small apartment which I love but being away from my family and friends is so hard. I know it might sound silly, but I miss them. And this is the time of year I want to be with them the most. Instead, I’m sitting here with a sexy man who still hasn’t told me whether or not he’s a serial killer.” You realized you’d said the word “sexy” only after finishing your sentence, and to cover up the embarrassment of your slip-up, you quickly stuffed a fry in your mouth.

“While I appreciate you saying I’m not bothering you, the fact that you said I’m a sexy stranger who could be a serial killer is truly…” He paused, searching for the right word. “…honorable.”

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re not bad company. I just miss them. Right now, I’d probably be having a snowman-making contest with them and baking cinnamon rolls afterward. My dad is the best at that. He owns a little bakery in my hometown. I try to beat him every year, but I think some things just come down to talent.” As the memories flooded your mind, you shook your head and took a big sip of your drink.

“That sounds wonderful,” he said, looking like he wanted to say more. After a moment, he added, “I’m Japanese, but my maternal grandfather is Danish. I grew up and studied there. Like you, I moved to Japan last month for work.”

“Wow, we really have the same story. What company do you work for?”

“Nanami Structures.”

Your eyes widened at the name. “Holy shit! Are you serious?”

“Yes… Why?”

“The advertising agency I work for is doing their new campaign! We even have a meeting with the owner after New Year’s. Of course, I’ll just be there to take notes. Everything was already planned before I joined them.”

“Then this must be a nice coincidence.”

“Definitely! So, what do you do there?”

The blond man hesitated for a few seconds before answering. “I’m an architect.”

“Cool.”

“Thank you. Anyway, the point I wanted to make is that I go through the same struggles as you. I’ve always worked away from my family and only get to see them once a year at best. Still, I make sure to call them every Christmas morning, and they always show me our dog Takuma in his latest Christmas costume.”

“That’s adorable. There’s nothing cuter than dogs in costumes! Especially if they’re dressed as elves.”

“That was last year. My guess for this year is a reindeer costume.”

“If you keep talking, my heart is going to burst from how cute this is.” The two of you laughed, and you realized how much better you felt talking to this stranger. As you finished your fries, it hit you that while you now knew the name of his dog, he still hadn’t told you his own name.

Excitedly, you asked, “Okay, you might be on a most-wanted list, but can you at least tell me your name? Don't worry! I won't tell anyone. I’m just tired of calling you the man with the nice arms and the limp.”

“You think my arms and limp are nice?” He raised a brow, giving you a questioning look.

Apparently, the alcohol was still in your system because you couldn’t stop the words from spilling out of your mouth.

“Doesn’t everyone?”

He responded with that deep, masculine laughter again. “You can call me Ken.”

“Ken… Honestly, that suits you. You look like a Ken doll.” You extended your hand to him, telling your name. He shook your hand with his large, soft one.

“For someone who draws all day, your hands and fingers are surprisingly soft.”

He glanced at his fingers. “I take good care of them. After all, I need them to keep people satisfied.”

That statement could be interpreted in three ways:

1. He’s an architect who creates designs to impress people.

2. He uses those hands to satisfy partners in bed until they’re utterly spent.

3. Both of the above.

It was probably the first, but your slightly aroused brain was leaning toward the second… or maybe the third.

“I’d be very happy if you told me the cream you use,” you stammered, barely managing to speak through your embarrassment.

“Gladly. If you’re done eating, how about we get some cinnamon rolls?”

Surprised by his suggestion, you asked, “Do you think we can find some? Most places are closed on Christmas Eve. Even this place will close in an hour.” Your original plan had been to bake them at home, but inviting him over seemed too forward. He might have a girlfriend or even a wife. Heck, maybe he even had kids. Okay, probably not a wife or girlfriend—he wouldn’t be spending time with another woman alone if he did. But the kids were still a question mark.

While he offered to find cinnamon rolls, you were mentally drafting his backstory like a TV drama. How ethical was that?

“There’s a Christmas market near where I live, and I saw some on sale earlier,” he said.

You immediately stood up, grabbing your coat and bag. “How far is it?”

Ken laughed, standing and guiding you toward the McDonald’s exit with a hand lightly resting on your back. “Not far, don’t worry.”

It seemed this Christmas Eve wasn’t turning out so bad after all.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

The cinnamon rolls were absolutely delicious. Maybe they weren’t as good as your dad’s, but they were definitely better than the ones you made.

“I don’t know why we didn’t meet earlier,” you said, taking another bite of your cinnamon roll. “If we had, I’m sure we’d be great friends. I’d probably come to this market every day, too!”

Ken laughed as he watched you. “I think we would’ve been great friends, too. And since you eat so much, I’d have made a workout program just for you.”

By the time you’d left McDonald’s and arrived here, you’d talked about so many things. The conversation continued while you searched for a place to sit and as you devoured the cinnamon rolls. Ken might have appeared to be a stern person, but after spending this time with him, you were certain he wasn’t a serial killer. Also, as you had guessed (unlike you), he was one of the healthiest eaters you’d ever met. And after your mini TED Talk on your love for food, he seemed determined to convert you to the joys of a healthy lifestyle.

“Hold it right there, big guy. I’m perfectly happy with my body.”

Ken’s eyes instinctively roamed over your body. You weren’t wearing anything particularly eye-catching—just a white sweater and jeans. But even so, his gaze lingered on you with undeniable appreciation.

You wondered if he wanted to do more than just look, and then he spoke his thoughts aloud. “You should be proud—you have a really great body.” After saying this, he seemed to lower his head, almost embarrassed.

You didn’t want him to be embarrassed. If anything, you wanted him to say more. Much more…

You placed your plastic fork back into the container of cinnamon rolls. “Even though we’re spending Christmas Eve together, I still haven’t thanked you for saving me. If you hadn’t stood behind me when you were about to pay, who knows how much I would’ve embarrassed myself.” You let out a playful groan.

“You’re welcome. But I’d also like to thank you.”

“For what? If it’s for the cinnamon rolls, you’ve already had enough—”

“Oh no, but thanks again for those. If I hadn’t stopped you, I’m pretty sure you would’ve broken my arm.”

That was true. You’d insisted on paying for the rolls yourself as a kind gesture. After all, he’d paid for your drinks. Also, when you handed over your card, seeing his veiny hands and the Rolex on his wrist had almost made you bite those hands right then and there.

“But what I want to thank you for is making me laugh while you were drunk. Also, we’re definitely going to report that mugging incident to the police.”

“Wait, you were actually listening to me?”

“I wasn’t sitting very far from the bar, and after I noticed you, I don’t think I could’ve focused on anything else.”

You stared at Ken with a hungry look in your eyes. The fact that he wanted you made you want to scream with joy. This man had truly saved you from a lonely Christmas. Tonight would end soon, but maybe—just maybe—you wouldn’t wake up alone on Christmas morning either.

“You said you live nearby, right?”

“Yes, why? Are you not feeling well?”

“No instead I’m really good. I just want to feel better.”

Ken didn’t say anything for a moment, but the look in his eyes told you he understood exactly what you meant—and that he wanted the same thing.

“Are you sure? If you’re still drunk and don’t want to—”

“I really want you, Ken.”

He still didn’t respond with words; he just kept looking at you with that same hungry gaze.

“Five minutes. It’s just a five-minute walk.”

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

“Mffmmp Ken, please…”

As soon as the elevator reached the floor of the luxurious apartment and he opened the door, your lips collided with Ken’s, and you practically jumped into his arms.

He kissed and sucked your lips with such hunger that it felt like he was already inside you. One hand caressed the right side of your face while the other firmly gripped your waist.

He pulled his lips away from yours. “What is it, baby? You want more?” He brushed his lips against yours again but didn’t kiss you. You could feel his hot breath on your lips. “Say it. Say it again.”

“Fuck… Yes, Ken. I want you to pin me to your bed and fuck me until I can’t feel my legs.” You managed to get the words out, panting.

“I knew the moment I saw you that you’d drive me insane.” He pulled you away from the wall where he had you pressed and kissed you again, carrying you toward his bedroom.

You closed your eyes along the way, but you knew you were going upstairs somehow. Was this apartment his? And damn, why was it so big? You were too aroused to focus on anything else. All that mattered to you was the fullness of his luscious lips.

When your back met the soft satin sheets, you opened your eyes. Ken was watching you with a deep hunger in his gaze. Slowly, he leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on your lips before trailing softer kisses downward.

He licked and sucked at your neck, his hands sliding under your white sweater until they reached your breasts. Without rushing, he kneaded them with a deep hunger.

He spoke against your neck, his warm breath making you shiver. “May I take this off?”

The only response you could muster was a loud moan. Ken took it as a yes, planting a final kiss on the sensitive spot of your neck before sitting up and carefully removing your sweater. All that was left was your white lace bra, but instead of taking it off immediately, he let his fingers wander over the lace, particularly around the area of your nipples.

“They’re so soft and beautiful. I could play with them all night.” He leaned down and pressed wet kisses against your bra-covered breasts.

“Oh my god, Ken! Shit—are you going to take it off or not?”

His gaze shifted from your breasts to your face, darkened with desire. He took your right nipple between his teeth over the fabric, making you moan loudly. When he released it, your eyes were still closed, and you were gripping the satin sheets so hard it was a miracle they didn’t tear.

“I like it,” he said, his gaze returning to your breasts. “Besides, the night is long. I’ll take it off when I feel like it.” Without hesitation, he moved to your left breast and gave it the same pleasure as the right.

“Sh-shit, I’ve never—never felt this way before…” Your hands left the sheets and gripped his hair, pulling him closer as if begging for more.

“If I wanted to, I could make you come just by sucking on this perfect nipple, sweetheart.” You were sure he could. If he kept torturing your nipples like this, your panties would be completely soaked.

As if he’d read your mind, his lips left your breast and returned to your neck. He immediately found your favorite spot and began sucking, while one hand moved downward to your soaked, desperate core. You hadn’t even realized when he’d removed your jeans and panties; the pleasure in your breasts had blinded you to everything else.

“So wet and…” His fingers explored your walls, gently rubbing them. “…so warm.”

“KEN… PLEASE.”

“Shhh, be a patient baby. I promise you won’t spend a single second of this Christmas Eve alone or without pleasure,” he said, his lips biting down on your neck as his fingers found your clit. He rubbed it slowly but firmly. “No one will stop my new friend from having a beautiful Christmas.” His fingers moved faster, pressing hard against your most sensitive spot.

“Ughh… Ken, fuck—fuck, I don’t want to—don’t want to be alone.”

His hot breath and quiet curses landed on your neck. “You’re not, sweetheart. I won’t let you be. You’re with me, here, in my bed.”

He drew circles over your clit with his fingers before suddenly plunging them inside you, making you cry out. You didn’t know how he sped up, but as his thick fingers pumped in and out of you, he never slowed down.

“Y-you’re so fast, Ken!” you stammered, barely able to speak from the pleasure. He pressed against your G-spot with such precision that it felt like he’d tear through it.

“Fuck… Right here, isn’t it? That sweet spot. I bet it’s been swollen like this even before we got here,” he said, slowing his pace but pressing harder and deeper against your G-spot. With each deliberate thrust of his fingers, their full length filled you completely.

“YES—YES, THAT’S EXACTLY IT… OH KEN… DON’T—UGH—DON’T STOP!” Both hands moved from the sheets to his head, pulling at his perfectly blond hair as if encouraging him to go deeper.

“Don’t you dare come yet. You’re only coming when I’m inside you for the first time,” he warned as he felt your walls begin to clench around his fingers.

Amid the wet, obscene sounds of your core, you tried to protest. “But I want to… I-I’m so close, Ken.” You pulled his hair harder.

Ken suddenly stopped moving his fingers and pulled them out of you. He sat up, licking his fingers clean. His deep, masculine groans as he savored every inch of your taste sent shivers down your spine.

“Screw the cinnamon rolls. This is my dessert.”

He climbed off the bed and removed his pants and the black turtleneck that fit him so perfectly. His boxers strained against his erection. He opened a drawer from the nightstand, pulling out a condom packet. Lowering his boxers, his cock sprang free, leaving you staring in awe.

Calling it a “cock” felt insufficient—it was massive. A rare sight that anyone would only encounter a few times in their life. And lucky you, on a Christmas night you thought you’d spend alone, you’d encountered it. In that moment, you mentally thanked Jesus. Because without him, there would be no Christmas.

Ken tore the condom packet open with his teeth and carefully rolled it onto his length. He must have noticed your wide-eyed stare because he leaned down to place a soft kiss on your lips for you to focus on him.

“I never have sex without protection, but if you’re uncomfortable—”

“No—no. I don’t take pills, so we can’t take any risks.”

His gorgeous smile returned to his sweaty face. Aligning himself with your entrance, he pushed just the tip inside, making you close your eyes and let out a deep moan.

“Ken…”

“Fuck, baby. You’re so tight. Too tight…” He gripped his length and pushed more inside. You wrapped your arms around him, clinging to his body as you adjusted to his size. He hadn’t even fully entered you yet.

Ken began thrusting slowly, letting you get used to his girth. When your back hit the satin sheets again, he hooked your legs around his waist. His face found your neck, his favorite spot, as he groaned softly.

“This—this is exactly what I needed.” His cock slid in and out with increasing depth. “This isn’t just—fuck… Christmas fun, sweetheart. You’re mine now.”

Pulling away from your neck, he straightened up and started moving faster. Your legs stayed wrapped around his waist, his cock hitting the perfect spot inside you with every thrust.

“Hnngh Ken… F-faster… Please, faster…” You needed more. You wanted all of him.

Ken gripped your legs tighter. “Yeah? Is that what you want?” He suddenly pushed your legs up to your chest and leaned over, slamming his entire length into you.

“KEN—KEN… FUCK… YOU’RE GOING TO BREAK ME!”

“That’s the plan.”

This was more than just sex—it was pure obliteration. His cock was wrecking you, pounding against your G-spot with relentless force. Your legs, trembling from pleasure and strain, would have fallen limp if Ken weren’t holding them.

“Ken… I think I’m—I’m going to come…” you moaned, the waves of pleasure building in your body signaling your release.

“Yeah?” His hands tightened around your thighs. “Then take it. Take every—every inch of me. Come for me, sweetheart…”

“DAMN—I LOVE CHRISTMAS SO MUCH!” you cried out, the explosion of your orgasm rocking through you.

Ken thrust into you a few more times, then slowed his movements. The grip on your legs loosened as he let out a deep, guttural growl and came, filling the condom.

As he released your legs, they dropped to the bed, completely limp. You didn’t have the strength to lift them. Ken braced himself above you, breathing heavily. His eyes were closed, and in that moment, you decided this was the most handsome he’d ever looked.

He pulled out of you and disappeared into the bathroom. You assumed he was disposing of the condom. When he returned, his cock was still hard, and he was stroking it lightly as he walked toward you.

You stared at him in shock. Again? Hadn’t he just come?

The sweet man you’d met that evening now looked serious as he ordered, “Turn around and get on all fours. No condom this time.”

Your eyes widened at his words. You were done. You had no energy left, but you still obeyed, getting into position despite your trembling legs.

As you closed your eyes and prepared to feel his massive size inside you again, one thought crossed your mind: Jesus was probably watching.

Maybe he shouldn’t have been. Did you really want him witnessing these nasty moments?

Happy birthday, Jesus.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

You woke up the next morning with a sharp ache in your hips. You’d known this would happen. After going six rounds in five different positions with that massive cock, it was inevitable.

You tried to lift yourself up but flopped back down. Turning to the other side of the bed, you found no trace of the stranger you’d met the previous night. Pushing the hair out of your face, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, feeling the coolness of the floor beneath your feet.

As you wondered how you were going to walk, you noticed a glass of water and a few pills on the nightstand. Beside them, a note written in neat, elegant handwriting caught your eye.

“I thought you might need these :)”

“That bastard…” you muttered under your breath. He really knew what he was doing. Sure, he was sweet, but what he’d done to you in bed last night… You’d cried during sex for the first time in your life.

Quickly downing the pills, you got to your feet and started searching for something to wear. Picking your clothes up off the floor was out of the question—you didn’t have the strength. While exploring the room, you found a massive walk-in closet and rejoiced when you spotted an oversized T-shirt.

Everything was neatly folded and smelled just like him. If they sold his cologne, you’d have bought ten bottles without hesitation. Slipping into the plain white T-shirt you found, which reached past your thighs, you decided underwear wasn’t even necessary.

Leaving the bedroom to find Ken, you finally noticed the sheer size of the apartment. How much did architects make? Maybe he was world-renowned. You made a mental note to look him up as soon as you got home.

Descending the stairs, the smell of freshly brewed coffee hit your nose. You saw him standing in front of the coffee machine, wearing nothing but gray sweatpants. His back was to you, his hand holding his phone as he scrolled through something.

He looked like a Christmas morning gift you couldn’t wait to unwrap.

“Good morning…” you said shyly, standing near the entrance of the kitchen.

Ken looked up from his phone, and his eyes hungrily roamed over you. You recognized that look all too well, and God, no, not right now. You were starving, and your legs had barely carried you this far.

“Hey, good morning.” He walked over and kissed you softly before returning to the coffee machine as it finished brewing. “Coffee?” he asked, to which you eagerly replied, “Please.”

The word please had become your most-used word in the past 10 hours, and if you stayed around this man any longer, it would probably dominate the rest of your vocabulary.

Ken handed you a cup of coffee, then started making one for himself. Taking a sip, the warmth of the coffee helped you feel a bit more alive.

“Shit… I forgot to text my parents.” You set your cup down on the counter and went to find your bag. It didn’t take long; it was sitting near the entrance. Grabbing your phone from your bag, you opened your messages to reply to the “Merry Christmas” text your parents had sent you at 7 a.m., which you were now seeing three hours late.

When you returned to the kitchen, Ken was speaking on the phone in what sounded like Danish. You couldn’t understand a word, but no language had ever sounded this sexy before.

You placed your bag on the counter and waited for him to finish while you opened a text from a coworker.

Yuma [20:30]: Hey, I didn’t want to bother you on Christmas Eve, but do you remember that architecture company we’re making the ad for?

Yuma [20:30]: Of course you do. Well, the owner hasn’t been in Japan for a long time, but now he’s here.

Yuma [20:30]: *photo*

Yuma [20:31]: YUMMYYY!!!

Yuma [9:23]: Merry Christmas!! I know you spent the evening alone, but if you want company this morning, teleport to my place!

Yuma [9:50]: Since you haven’t replied, I’m assuming you drank and cried yourself to sleep last night.

You started reading the messages from the bottom up. Just as you were about to reply that your Christmas Eve hadn’t been lonely at all, the attached photo caught your attention—and you froze.

This couldn’t be real.

The man in the photo, looking dashing in a gray suit, was the same man currently standing in the kitchen wearing nothing but sweatpants, speaking on the phone.

You quickly opened Google and typed Nanami Structures. The CEO’s name caught your eye.

Kento Nanami.

Clicking on the name brought up countless photos, articles, and interviews about the man you’d spent the night with.

This was your fault. Why hadn’t you researched the company before the meeting? Then again, this deal had been arranged before you’d joined, so no one had given you the details.

Closing your phone, you set it down next to your bag and took a large sip of the coffee Kento Nanami himself had made for you. The heat burned your tongue, and you winced as your eyes drifted back to his bare back.

The handsome stranger who’d kept you company on Christmas Eve and Christmas morning was the owner of the architecture firm you’d be making an ad for—and probably the reason you wouldn’t be able to walk properly by the time of the meeting.

That day, you truly believed in the Christmas miracles.

all rights belong to the @moonlitwitchdaisy do not copy, reproduce, or translate my work.

nanami art by @matchapichai on X.

dividers by @mikeykuns @cafekitsune

[bluejutdae]

• best friend Stray Kids saving you (or being saved by you) from a bad date | Seungmin x you

Chan, Minho, Changbin, Hyunjin, Jisung, Felix, Jeongin

genre: friend to (implied) lovers

warnings: non graphic shitty date, nothing too specific

These have been the worst two weeks of your life. And it’s not just to say it. Sure, maybe other people had it worse, but yours was bad!

First: your boss blamed you for his mistakes in front of all your colleagues.

Second: you were so mad at him, you drank a bit too much (but apparently not enough to forget it) and decided it was the perfect moment to finally confess your love to your friend Seungmin.

He rejected you.

Something about being friends and not being the right moment and honestly? You stopped listening after having grasped the direction of his answer. Being rejected is the worst, and also the reason why you waited almost ten months to confess.

Third: you decided to go out with the first guy you met on a dating app just to try and forget about Seungmin and the awkward tension following your confession. And this is just the cherry on top: the guy was such an asshole you literally had to ran away from him and, in doing so, you:

1. Lost your purse

2. Fell down the stairs, slippery from the rain, spraining your ankle

3. Had to contact the last person you wanted to talk to, asking for his help.

So you’re now waiting for Seungmin, sitting at a small coffee shop, your penchant for keeping spare change on all your coats’ pockets is finally paying you back and you have just enough to order a scorching hot coffee to warm yourself.

Your ankle hurts and you hit your elbow on the stairs but you’re too scared to check it out. All this is less worse than the fact that you had to call him. Calling Seungmin is humiliating, but all your other friends are either out of town or too far to help you.

As you go to check the time on your phone, only a black display stares back at you. Because of course you forgot to charge your phone, why would something be in your favor? Luckily, it’s only a few minutes later when you see Seungmin enter the coffee shop.

“Sorry I had to call you”, you say as a greeting.

“You keep apologizing, it’s dumb.” Of course it is. Taking a deep breath you stand up trying not to put too much weight on your bad ankle and start walking towards the door. After just a couple of steps, Seungmin’s hand is on your arm, stopping you. “If you hurt your ankle, we should go to the hospital.”

“No, no thanks. A trip to the hospital is the last thing I need, right now. I just need my bed and to forget the last two weeks.” You try to walk but he’s holding you again, preventing you from going far.

“At least don’t walk on it.”

“Am I supposed to jump on my good foot? I’m wearing high heels.” You show him your heeled boots but it’s not enough to deter him.

“Just-“ he doesn’t finish his sentence but bends a little and in a second he scoops you up, one arm behind your knees and one behind your back. Your crush, to whom you confessed just a few days ago, just picked you up bridal style.

Nor your complaints or your attempts of being put down are effective, and Seungmin carries you to his car, setting you with your feet back on the ground just outside the car door. God, this is so awkward.

Once in the car, he’s quiet but you’re so tense you just open your mouth and start speaking.

“I’m sorry I texted you,” you apologize again, “I just-“

“How did you hurt your ankle?”

“I fell from the stairs, they were slippery from the rain.”

“Were you rushing somewhere?”

This is weird. You haven’t talked to him since the whole fiasco. You used to talk to him daily, silly conversations and serious talks; and now you haven’t talked for almost 10 days and you miss him so much, but how are you supposed to act after he rejected you?

“I was running away, actually.”

“From?” He’s driving, but every now and then he turns his eyes on you.

“From a guy I was on a date with.”

He wants to press down on the brakes right there and then, wants to scream at you and pinch whoever this guy is. But he knows it’s his fault. At least partially. He did reject you. True, he did it because you confessed and all he could think about was all the time he spent crushing on you (maybe even loving you?) and how it would inevitably end up with him hurting you, because you deserve better and he’s not boyfriend material. How can he give you what you deserve? He’s busy, dating openly would be dangerous for you, and you’re so pretty it hurts.

“Did he- what did he do?”

“Nothing that requires calling the police. But he was not a nice guy and to get out I left my bag there.”

“Are you okay? Ankle excluded.”

“Yes. Thanks for picking me up.” Why is it so hard? “I-“ You what? You miss him? You want him? You wanna go back to when you hadn’t confessed?

With a dry exhale, he puts his blinkers on and tersely pulls over. He turns off the car and turns to face you properly, a serious expression on his pretty face.

“You went on a date and the guy was so terrible you had to run away. And got hurt in the process. How is this okay?”

“Min, it’s not a big deal.”

“Yes, it is!” He sounds frustrated, and maybe it's because he had to come pick you up.

“Sorry you had to come pic-“

“STOP FUCKING SAY SORRY!” He never screams at you, not when you’re serious. He rubs his eyes and exhales loudly. “Where did you even meet this guy?”

“On a dating app.”

“Why the fuck are you on a dating app?”

“Because that’s how normal people meet someone who they might like.”

“But you already like someone.” Your blood turns cold, you weren’t expecting Seungmin to mention it. Is he mocking you? Wasn't it enough to be rejected?

“Seungmin.”

“You already like someone so why are you on a dating app?”

“To forget that someone I like, since it’s unreciprocated.” You mutter, annoyed by this conversation but not knowing how to stop it either.

“Why are you being so stubborn now?”

“I’m the one being stubborn? What do you want from me Seungmin!”

“Not to give up so fucking easily, maybe!”

“Why? So I have to suffer even more?” You shake your head and, in another situation, you’d leave this car. “You don’t like me like that, you made that clear.”

“I just said it because I didn’t know what to say!” He’s loud, like he never is. “I can’t give you what you deserve, but I don’t want you to want other men.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Very mature, Min.”

“Just don’t date.” He says it like it explains everything.

“Why?”

“Because!”

“Fuck, I can’t do this now. Can you just take me home please?”

“How are you gonna go in with no keys?”

“Fuck! Fuck fuck.” How did you not think about that? You have to go back and hope your bag hasn't been stolen. Your money’s probably gone, but maybe they left the keys. You rest your forehead against the cold window and take a deep breath.

“You can stay with me.” Seungmin offers, and his voice is so careful and you’re so tired, you nod and answer with a small yes.

The ride to Seungmin’s is quiet, and so is the time spent doing your night time routine. Brushing your teeth side by side, washing your face, trying to be quiet while letting him help you move from one room to another. You did it together lots of times, but now everything is so awkward. You’re about to ask him for some clothes to sleep in when he speaks.

“When I said I couldn’t be with you was because I am not fit to be a boyfriend and you deserve someone who gives all he has to make you happy and I don’t know if I can be that person. Not because I don’t like you, I really like you. I have feelings for you. Not the friend kinda feelings. The wanting-to-kiss-you feelings. And I don’t want you to have feelings for someone else. Can you- Can you wait and give me some time?”

You weren’t expecting his confession, this is a surprise for you. And it’s stupid that he thinks he doesn’t deserve you, cause he’s perfect in your eyes, but you’re not gonna belittle his worries.

“This is the most I’ve ever heard you talk uninterrupted.”

“This is all you have to say??”

“You can have all the time you want, Seungminnie. Just promise to talk to me when you reach a decision.” He nods solemnly, and then he gives you a small smile.

Neither of you knows what will happen, but for now you’ll cuddle together under the duvet and leave for tomorrow your worries.

(In a week, he tells you he’ll do anything necessary to prevent you from liking other guys. Which includes being your boyfriend and work hard to deserve your feeling. You tell him it’s stupid, because he already deserves them. He doesn’t believe you, but he kisses you anyway. It’s the best kiss of your life and when you call him your boyfriend for the first time, his smile is so bright you might have to invest on some good sunglasses.)