#follower ficmas

[goldeneyedgirl]

TwiFicMas23 Day 1: lead & follow (Jessamine/Mary-Alice)

Another year, another round of Ficmas!

We'll open this year with a fic that I started for Pride and just couldn't get right - I think the end section will be reworked before it's archived on AO3.

So this was kind of a thought experiment about how STL would have gone for Jessamine and Alice; how things went differently, how different choices were made, and what that looked like.

I hope you enjoy it!

lead & follow.

Open my chest and colour my spine I'm giving you all Swallow my breath And take what is mine

(Of Monsters & Men)

---

Like everything that has ever happened to one Miss Jessamine Whitlock, formerly of San Antonio, everything changes because of one small detail. One details that is so easily dismissed and forgotten, never something that seems like it’s meant to become something bigger or even slightly important in the long run.

And that's how it begins.

Jessamine finds her in a swampy clearing somewhere in Mississippi - it’s not important where, and Jessamine doesn’t care. She’s just standing there, staring off into space; with bright red eyes, and the kind of glow to her that only newborns have, half-covered in mud. 

Experience has told her that no good comes from a solitary newborn - and there are no others around them, not that Jessamine can sense. 

So she goes to take the newborn’s head off. 

At least, that’s the plan. 

Instead, the first blow has the newborn cowering, not even trying to fight back; her terrified face bisected by a crack, her thin hands holding it together as it heals. When Jessamine gets closer, the newborn lets out a whine and shuffles backward to nestle at the foot of a tree, surrounded by bushes and undergrowth. 

(Her eyes are so big, it almost looks like they take up her entire face. The kind of eyes someone could drown in. Her black hair, uneven and wild, is pasted down to her face with a mixture of dried blood - her own - and mud. She is astoundingly pretty - if uncomfortably thin - which is probably the reason she was turned… if her change was intentional.)

She doesn’t look like much more than a child. But Jessamine’s known Immortal Children, and their aggression, their lure, is something that this girl doesn’t have. She’s small, but she’s above the legal age. 

So she decides to take one Mary-Alice (the name scrawled on the back of her garment, the surname blurred out and indecipherable) back to Maria. 

If she’s a spy, she’ll be tortured for information and destroyed. If she’s a foundling, she’s another body on the battlefield. Either way, Maria gets something out of Jessamine bringing her back to Monterrey. 

So she does. 

—

Forks is turning out to be memorable. 

That sounds stupid. Vampire memories are good enough that, by definition, all places are memorable. Except after decades of moving every five years from one large, remote house in a small town to another large, remote house in a small town, it all blurs together. Carlisle works in a hospital, Esme does charity work, and the rest of them go to school - dented lockers, the old-soup smell of the cafeteria, and computers that only work fifty percent of the time. 

The more things change, the more they stay the same. It was like statis, in some ways, because it was always the same. Hell, in some of those underfunded shithole public schools, they were even the same textbooks a decade apart. 

That’s why they were allowed to stay in Alaska for the full decade - after a round in Juneau playing the part. They had to earn their retreat into the lodge outside of the Denali National Park. 

(Well, the screaming argument that she had with Rosalie might have indicated to Carlisle and Esme that they were all burnt out with keeping up the act. It hadn’t been one of her finest moments, but Rosalie had insisted on using her actual full name at their last three schools and Jess had put her foot down in Juneau. They were inviting trouble with the internet becoming more and more accessible. She’d won that argument, which was rare enough that it was notable, and they’d attended school as Rose and Jess Platt. It was more than fifteen years ago, and she wasn’t entirely certain Rosalie had forgiven her yet.)

It had been nice. Nice to exist as who she was, and not have to remember all the details that went along with their cover story; not to have to second guess everything she said or did or wore because she was supposed to be an ordinary teenage girl. Nice to be able to venture into the woods for days on end and not have to be anywhere. Nice to run bare foot through the snow, because that was a feeling she still savoured as a novelty more than sixty years later. 

And then Carlisle had taken them to Forks, and pushed them back onto centre stage; the maladjusted Cullens (and Hales, again. She is fighting a losing battle over that.)  

(She’s getting too old for this.)

She wasn’t expecting Forks to be anything. Just another black pin on the map in her study of all the places they’ve found themselves in - there’s a red pin in Monterrey for obvious reasons. There’s a silver one in Nebraska, the place where the Cullens found her (not her most dignified moment, honestly.) 

There’s a silver one in Mississippi too. One that she worries at, takes out and puts back in, because she hates that she’s so damn obvious. That she’s giving away her secrets - especially the secrets that she refuses to confess to herself half of the time. But she’s on a new kick, a new lifestyle of being honest with herself and with others. That rewriting history does no one any favours, so it’s better just to be straight forward and tell the truth. 

(Eventually she’ll feel at home as this new person, this honest girl who owns her failures and her weaknesses. It’s been sixty years, it’ll stick soon.)

She digresses.

Forks… well, Edward and Bella certainly made it distinctive.

She wasn’t going to lie and say that it didn’t feel good to fight again, to destroy. That James went down realising he made a terrible mistake and picked the wrong fight on the wrong day, and that she was very thorough, and took great pride in her work. That Jessamine Whitlock had a reputation to uphold. She likens it to stretching out muscles that have been in recline too long - a runner getting back into training after sitting out of the race. 

(She might have been too enthusiastic, because Emmett was kind of slack jawed when James was finally ash. But it’s good to know that she’s still got it - that sixty years of domesticity hasn’t dulled her too much.)

Jess has zero idea of where Edward and Bella are going to end up - probably with Bella dead, if she’s honest. (If Esme hadn’t intervened, she and Rose would have already dealt with Bella and probably Chief Swan at the same time. But she just cannot go against Esme’s politely-worded requests. No one is murdering the Chief of Police and his daughter. She just made it sound so reasonable.) With all the moving parts, with Edward and his hang-ups, and Bella’s impressive ability to attract trouble, she cannot see this having a happy ending. And really, however this pans out, Bella is going to lose her life. 

But she keeps her thoughts to herself.

Victoria is still in the wind and, despite Carlisle’s faith in the goodness of people, Jess knows that without sufficient motivation - like having a debilitating gift that cripples you emotionally to the point of physical pain if you hunt humans - there is no meaningful chance that Laurent will remain a vegetarian with the Denali clan. They’re living on borrowed time. 

But for all her bitching, at least Bella and Edward had made this more interesting than another mediocre high school eduction. 

Speaking of which, her current class is coming to an end, and she has the overwhelming urge to stretch. The others don’t get that urge like she does, and Carlisle blames it on their human lifestyle. That Jess had the opportunity to run and fight and move on a scale none of the Cullens have really ever had. The others find it odd that she paces, stretches, twists and turns when they are content simply sitting or standing. 

Some days she just runs loops up to Canada and back down to Forks, to burn the energy and the itch. Edward might join her for a couple, Emmett too, but no one likes to run as much as she does. No one else feels like instinct to move like Jess. 

The bell rings, and she’s quick to sweep her books into her bag. Maybe she’ll ask Rose to do her homework for her, and go running tonight. Go running and hunting, and tell Carlisle she’s keeping an eye for Victoria so no one looks at her like she’s going feral again. Maybe even wear shoes and one of those fancy outdoor jackets that Esme buys her, to help her look the part even when she’s running faster than the human eye in the depths of the wilderness, with blood on her face. 

“Jess?”

She jerks to the side - not surprised, really, but having anyone address her is unexpected. She and Rose are not known for their warm personalities.

But Angela Weber is one of the few classmates that she tolerates. Mostly because Angela is polite, respects boundaries, and doesn’t ask stupid questions. Jessica Stanley, who is hovering nearby, is lower on Jess’s list of ‘people she should tolerate’, mostly because of the sheer amount of questions Jessica likes to ask.

Which is possibly why she’s keeping her distance. 

(She blames Rose, honestly, that they’re approaching her at all - she’d been practicing braids in Jess’s hair that morning and she’d left them in for school. Apparently it made her look friendly enough to talk to.)

“Hmm?”

“It’s about Rosalie’s car…”

Angela has her full attention immediately; nothing causes a Rosalie Hale meltdown quite like the great-unwashed interfering with one of her cars. There had been an incident about a month after they started at Forks High, and whilst Rosalie had been contained quickly, it wasn’t forgotten by the student body. 

“There's some junkie girl sitting on it,” Jessica announces and Angela winces at her friend’s bluntness.  

Jess groans, and shoulders her bag, pushing past both girls without acknowledging them. This was going to be bad, and she was sure Angela would overlook her rudeness if it meant beating Rosalie out to the parking lot and removing whatever poor soul had a death wish by touching the BMW. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

—

Mary-Alice is an enigma. 

Maria is equal parts exasperated and fascinated by her.

She claims to have no memories before waking up in the woods. 

She doesn’t know her maker. She doesn’t remember being human or how old she is or where she is from. The only reason she knows her name is because it was written on her garment and Jessamine gave it back to her. She tells them all of that the second they get back to camp. 

Maria doesn’t believe her. Not that it matters, because whatever her answer was, Maria has a very specific process for foundlings brought to her in Monterrey. 

Maybe Jessamine should have warned the poor girl. 

She’s mostly confused by the torture; it’s light, for Maria - the cracking and removal of a limb or two has the girl telling them everything. She sobs enough that venom gathers under her eyes and clings to her eyelashes. When Maria finally decides to release her, Mary-Alice doesn’t lash out like others before her have; instead, she goes over to the corner of the room to reattach her arm, to realign the joints in her legs, and shakes like a leaf when Jessamine approaches her, flinching away. 

But Jessamine has to put her away, and nothing stops her from hauling Mary-Alice to her feet, her hand clamped around her good arm so she doesn’t try to run. She wouldn’t be the first.  

The rolling horror of her emotions twists Jessamine’s stomach and makes her tighten her grip out of resentment as she escorts her to the barn with the rest of the newborns. She almost pities the little creature, still healing - her ankle is still knitting back to her leg, her limp like a little skip - and being thrown into the barn. But what goes on in there after dawn is a law unto itself, and something that Maria has never gotten involved in. 

(Mary-Alice isn’t the first to be fed into the maw of the south, and she won’t be the last.)

Which is why it’s so fucking annoying that Jessamine can’t get the memory of her wide, venom-streaked eyes out of her head, even once she and Maria have retired to the house. 

The next evening, Mary-Alice is quiet. She feels distant - that will become her trademark. That her emotions are as slight and ephemeral as her build. That for a long time, Jessamine will have to touch her to get a decent read on what she feels. 

And after a while, even that yields nothing. 

It doesn’t matter, though, because she settles well into training. Maria had named her as canon fodder - someone they’d lose early on, since she was evidently prone to hysterics and seemed too confused and innocent to really grasp what she was now a part of. 

But… she’s fast and she’s a quick learner; a talented fighter. She catches on faster than Jessamine’s seen before; absolutely ruthless and precise. Her size is an asset, and does not reflect her strength. It’s been a while since Jessamine has been surprised by a newborn in training; she and Maria can measure up a soldier well enough by now. Mary-Alice, however, surprises both of them. 

She’ll do nicely. 

And she lives. One battle, two, six, twelve. She comes back from them all with insignificant injuries and nothing to report. Another success story for the Lady of Monterrey, and her unbeatable army. 

Jessamine just tries to not to notice how haunted those big eyes have become, so quickly. How quiet and small she makes herself. 

It's just how things are in the south. 

She’d best get used to it. 

—

With the imminent arrival of another patented Rosalie meltdown, Jess is cursing a lot of things - of course her class today is in H block at the back of the school. Of course today is the day the goddamn middle schoolers are using the library, and one of the sports teams is packing for a game. There are too many people crammed into the hallway, and Rosalie’s temper is the only thing distracting Jess from how good everyone smells. 

She manages to intercept Edward, helping Bella navigate the corridors in that unwieldy cast, to warn him of their predicament and to hopefully distract Rose long enough for Jess to intervene and banish whomever thought it was a good idea to touch Rosalie Hale’s car. Edward looks irritated - mostly at Rose, but that’s just an ordinary Wednesday - and agrees that this needs to be handled fast and efficiently. Leave Emmett to be the one to manage Rose. 

But of course, as they push through the crowds, her bag - the beat-up army-surplus messenger bag that Emmett gave her back in the 90s as a punchline to a joke, dotted with anti-war patches Emmett hunts for on eBay - decides to break, the buckle snapping up to hit her in the head and sending her shit tumbling to the floor. 

She’s going to murder someone, but at least Carlisle will be pleased it wasn’t because she was thirsty, but because she was continually inconvenienced. Waving Edward and Bella on, she stops to scoop up her detritus - pens and pencils, her notes, her phone, all scattered along the floor - as other students ignore her and keep moving forward. 

“You think they’ll call the cops?”

“She’s definitely a junkie. Mom says there’s a real problem out at the Res, and that Swan won’t do anything about it because he’s all buddy-buddy with a bunch of them.”

“She’s pretty obviously white, Ashley.”

“They’re probably selling shit to her.”

“Don’t be such a fucking racist."

“Banner went out to talk to her, and she says she’s waiting for someone. Said she knows the Cullens.”

“She looks like a middle-schooler.”

The gossip around her, as she shovels papers and books and pens back into her bag - fixable, but irritating - seems to prick at her, and she sets it aside long enough to tie the broken strap together. She’s probably lost her chance at beating Ro…

Said she knows the Cullens.

She looks like a middle-schooler.

That makes her pause. It shouldn’t, but it does. 

Immortal Children don’t live very long, with the Laws. And most people won’t change anyone who isn’t definitively and absolutely old enough. No one wants to be the one that creates an ambiguously young newborn in case it all goes to shit. 

Maybe there’s always been a little shard of hope tucked behind her heart.

There’s only been one girl she’s known, of all the newborns and nomads and friends of Carlisle’s over the years, that could pass for being a ‘junkie middle-schooler.’ 

One girl who made her a promise a long time ago. 

(It might have been sixty years, but she never stopped having faith in those parting words.)

—

Time passes, newborns fall in battle, or they live to see the year pass by until summer comes and the pyres are built. And slowly but steadily, Jessamine feeds each piece and part of those newborns into the fire whether they are body parts left behind on the battlefield, or Jessamine takes off their heads herself. 

Mary-Alice isn’t amongst that number. No, she survives each battle, and is lucky and fast enough that Maria shrugs and leaves it up to Jessamine whether Mary-Alice gets to live or die. 

So, she lives. 

Jessamine tells herself that it’s because no one expects much from her on the battlefield, so she’s the perfect cuckoo in the nest. The skinny kid with the big eyes that can take down men three times her size before they even realise they’ve lost. 

She convinces herself of that for a long time. That her interest in Mary-Alice is merely academic, strategic, and nothing more. Even when she’s unceremoniously ejected from Maria’s bed - a long time coming, and not something she’s that unhappy about - she’s still convinced Mary-Alice is just another warm body for the army. One of the few that gets to live past their newborn year - like Dante and Lily and Javier. She has a purpose. Jessamine Whitlock is not one for sentiment, and not one for indulgences. If Mary-Alice wasn’t useful, she wouldn’t have been given a stay of execution. 

And for a while, that’s how they stay. A soldier and a major. Training and hunting and recruiting. Mary-Alice proves useful at map-drawing and recruiting, even if she is entirely illiterate and far too sympathetic to potential recruits. Her answers to Jessamine are always short, deeply respectful, and unemotional - she’s never told a lie, even fumbled the details, in the entire time that Jessamine’s known her. 

Maria likes that Mary-Alice has no human memories; thinks it makes her more efficient and effective. She wonders about ways to wipe memories of the newborns as a blanket policy; sever them from their humanity entirely. Peter and Jessamine manage to talk her out of that; there’s already a roughly thirty percent chance of a newborn changing wrong and having to be destroyed on the spot. It’s just making their jobs harder, to try and find that sweet spot between utility and amnesia every single time. It leaves them weak, without a full army, if it all goes wrong at the same time. 

(And maybe Jessamine sees the confused, sad look on Mary-Alice's face when she’s listening to a conversation the most recent batch of newborns have - about weddings and families and birthdays and all those little things that make up humans and newborns often want to hold tight to, at least for a little while. But all it tells her is that Mary-Alice might be useful the way she is, but she’s hardly content with her lot in life.) 

It takes over a decade for Jessamine to admit to herself that Mary-Alice isn’t there just for utility - that she wants more. Those big red eyes that feel like they see too much; the odd little spells she has where she stares off into space. The very few but almost charmingly unexpected questions. The shape and movement of her thin body underneath oversized clothes…

She wants more. She wants Mary-Alice. 

(It’s been a while. There were a couple of newborns after Maria, easily caught and easily forgotten - Peter’s fine with being the one that ends Jessamine’s lovers during the summer, because it’s too much for her to deal with and they learned that the hard way. She kept to herself after that, bored and irritable with the last few batches.) 

The realisation is one that feels like she’s always known it but also like she’s been struck by lightning. It’s no easier to admit to herself in the privacy of her own mind than it is to put the words into the world, but it’s always been there, simmering: that Mary-Alice was something, a moment of potential that she just had to be ready to take. 

Jessamine has never been patient when she makes a decision; and it’s not like Mary-Alice is going anywhere. 

It’s as simple as cornering her in the house before dawn; of a hand on Mary-Alice’s cheek and a kiss that is taken more than offered. An understanding that is exchanged in a glance. 

The room Maria gave Jessamine is narrow, with an ancient, rotting day bed and a hay mattress. The mattress is sunken in the middle, and she snapped the legs off the bed years ago, to make it more useable. There’s a desk that barely stands, piled with her books and ragged maps and a few bits of discarded clothing. 

It’s not a room she’s spent a lot of time in - a space used for killing time more than as a sanctuary. 

Mary-Alice pauses to consider the room for a second; that’s all Jessamine gives her before there is another kiss, deep and lingering, and she can taste Mary-Alice’s venom - a lemon-sugar tang that makes her groan. 

(Jessamine makes it clear what she wants from Mary-Alice that first night. Both of them stripped and on that daybed; Mary-Alice has less scars, just a dusting.  She’s still young. She’s just as tiny as Jessamine envisaged, her ribs leaving shadows on her skin, the soft swell of her breasts, the jutting bones of her hips… Jessamine doesn’t want to admit that she’s a daydream, a doll wrought just for her, because that makes this a complete disaster. She’s already ragged with emotion in this place, the last thing she needs to do is add in her own goddamn feelings.)

Mary-Alice has always been a good learner, a quick one, and Jessamine would be pleased with how willing she is if life didn’t feel like she was being hollowed out and left to rot most days. But there is some satisfaction in what they have, in being able to sink into each other. She knows every scar and freckle on Mary-Alice’s body, knows exactly how she moves, how she’s put together. It’s a feast and some days she wonders if those days lying sprawled naked on the hay mattress  are what truly sustains her. 

(Maria catches them together one afternoon and lets out a bark of laughter. “You really are trying to destroy that girl,” she informs Jessamine, clearly entertained by what she’s found. That comment, what Maria saw in them that day, eats away at Jessamine slowly but surely. She does nothing with it, but it just sits in her mind to rot and it makes her worse. It makes everything worse.)

But somehow, she keeps her. Mary-Alice doesn’t leave, Jessamine doesn’t send her away, and they both ignore the rot. 

And maybe Jessamine feels safe enough to talk to Mary-Alice - to Alice. Really talk, like she hasn’t been able to in… a very long time. She whispers little things in her ear, asks her what she thinks, tells her things she’d rather never speak aloud. 

Alice is a good listener, but not much of a talker. She makes reassuring sounds, plays with Jessamine’s hair, and never really has a definitive opinion about complicated things. She doesn’t confide in Jessamine the same; there are no whispered confessions, no hushed fears or worries. It hurts because Jessamine is cracking herself wide open for Alice, and getting nothing in return. 

(It hurts because Jessamine knows she doesn’t deserve any part of what she expects, and Alice is right not to tell her a damn thing.)

“It must be nice not to have secrets,” Jessamine says pointedly to her one day, lying together; fucking came before dealing with the bites and wounds from the last battle and Alice’s mouth is on the bite around her bony arm, licking away foreign venom so it will knit again. She lets out a garbled noise when Jessamine says that. 

“What makes you think that?” Alice asks, looking curious. Blank, curious, pissed off - those were the sole emotions Alice was capable of demonstrating. Her physical emotions were no more telling, and sometimes Jessamine wondered if that’s just who Miss Mary-Alice was, or if that’s what the South had done to her. 

“You never have anything to tell me,” Jessamine replied, almost sulkily. Alice shrugs and lies straight, looking at her frankly. 

“I’ve never known anything but you and life here,” Alice says in that even, flat voice she always uses. “That’s all I have; any hopes or dreams or beliefs or regrets I ever had, I left behind when I was changed. I think you really need those things to have secrets, Jessamine.”

She’s not wrong, but Jessamine is admittedly jealous that Alice won’t entrust some kind of something to her; to tuck a secret into Jessamine’s greedy palms. But it also must be nice not to feel like you’re on the edge of a knife, about to fall into the abyss. Most of the time, Jessamine feels like she’s about to implode from everything. That she’s stretched taunt, and something has to give. 

And Alice is just there, steady as she goes. 

It must be nice. 

(It’ll be much, much later - too late - when Jessamine finally realises how grotesque and nightmarish Alice’s life was. Is. How she had handed Jessamine what she truly wanted, that intimacy of her truth - completely hopeless, with no expectation or knowledge of anything better than what she had. And Jessamine had missed it entirely.) 

—

“I don’t care who the fuck she is, I’m going to kill her,” Rosalie announces through clenched teeth, sending a few horrified freshman skittering out of her way like rabbits as Jess finally finds her family. She’d given up beating Rosalie to the car park thanks to the fucking ridiculous layout of this stupid school and opted to just try and diffuse the situation at the source. 

“How did she find us here?” Emmett wonders, looking downright confused. “Why not go straight to the house? Esme would love having someone show up to visit.”

“Scent, probably. No other way to track us down if they were coming from the South-East,” Edward says under his breath, so no passersby can hear anything odd. “Do we have any idea of who it is?”

“Jessica was saying she had dark hair,” Bella says meekly, withering under Rose’s scornful glance. 

“That doesn’t narrow it much,” Emmett has his arm over Rosalie’s shoulders, probably holding her in place. Even with Jess’s gift, Rose’s rage is hot and wild, and Emmett is probably the only thing keeping her in check. “Mary, maybe?”

“Mary hasn’t left California in forty years; and she’s taller than Jess,” Edward corrects. “Everyone’s focusing on how small this girl is.”

“At least it isn’t Jane,” Emmett shrugs. “We’d have known about that pretty fast.”

It’s been decades since they met with the Volturi as ‘honored guests’ of Aro, and none of them held that visit fondly. Esme had quietly admitted later that the visit to Volterra had taken the shine off Italy entirely. 

Jess nods along, trying to focus on muting Rosalie’s anger, and not to think too much. She feels oddly sick at the possibilities in front of them. She feels stupid for putting the pieces together in her mind in a very-certain way. (She promised.) She’s… hopeful, but sick with the possibility she’s wrong and she’s got her hopes up for nothing. 

“It’s not Maria, Jess.” Edward sounds like he’s trying very hard to be reassuring. “You know Maria, and she wouldn’t be this brazen.”

It’s both reassuring and embarrassing that Edward would jump to that conclusion: that Maria’s sudden appearance would be at the front of Jess’s mind when it didn’t even occur to her that Maria might be the sitting pretty on Rose’s BMW (fuck, she really does have a type). 

(Also, Maria would not be sitting on the BMW looking homeless. The last time Charlotte and Peter ran into Maria, she was apparently wearing Versace and driving a Lexus - a stolen Lexus, without any kind of license, but the woman had very particular taste.)

Jess can’t think of other possibilities at that moment. She doesn’t want Edward to know because… whatever the outcome is, she doesn’t want Edward to look at her in sympathy. She might be trying out this whole ‘honest and transparent’ lifestyle but there are some things that are too raw, too much of a condemnation of her, to think about. 

So she just nods, hands tight on the strap of her bag and wondering what she’s really hoping for. 

(It’s been more than sixty fucking years. Hope is a dead thing that’s rotted back into the ground, brittle bones ground to dust. Some promises are made to be broken, and it’s about time that she made peace with that.)

—

In the end, she goes with Peter.

Or rather, Peter shows up and grabs her arm and tells her to fucking run. 

(The long story is that for a very long time, she hates Peter. More than she hates Charlotte, even. She hates him for leaving her to the never-ending abyss of the wars, for taking away the steadiest and kindest thing she ever had. She doesn’t want to kill him so much as she wants to beat the shit out of him and scream at him for letting her down. She tells Alice that once, her voice shaking, and Alice had stroked her cheek. “I think Peter will surprise you. And I think when he does, you should take what he offers.” Jessamine scoffed because she doesn’t expect to see him again - he’s already probably dead, Charlotte too.)

So she turns and runs. She doesn’t even look behind her, doesn’t think about the stuff she’s leaving behind, doesn’t think about how he’s still alive, where Charlotte is, or even where they are going. 

They just run. It’s a blur of dust and haze and terror trapped inside her that they will be caught and she’ll get the one person she’s always trusted, always relied upon to fix things, killed. 

At the Arizona border, they slow down and maybe Jess grabs Peter and hugs him so tight she probably cracks something and she sobs so hard she’s wheezing. Her great escape from the Southern Wars and from Maria of Monterrey ends not with a celebration, of laughter and joy, but with both of them sitting in the dirt, Jess shaking and crying, with Peter trying to soothe her, his arms tight around her. 

That’s how Charlotte finds them, and later Jess is embarrassed and humbled by Charlotte’s compassion, her acceptance, and her keen relief that they both made it out in one piece. Charlotte’s a better person than Jessamine, but they already knew that. 

For a while, she feels like spun glass - impossibly fragile and distant from all that goes on around her. Time lacks meaning, and she’s not sure how many days pass after Arizona. Peter and Charlotte are gentle with her, and Charlotte is quick to remind her that it takes all of them a while to realize that there is something outside of that ugly bubble of the Wars; that what they lived through is just the smallest view of the world. 

Jess just needs to take a breathe and let time work its magic, Charlotte promises. It will be okay.

Except, it’s six states and two months later that she feels enough like herself again that her brain starts working, that she starts having thoughts beyond the moment, and she immediately thinks of Alice. 

Alice. Alice whom she left behind and never thought of. Alice who probably waited for Jess in her room - their room - in the mansion, and Jess never showed up.  

Alice, who is still in Monterrey with Maria alone to pay the price of Jess’s abandonment. That’s the realization that makes her vomit up the meal she ate only a few hours earlier. Alice alone, paying for Jessamine’s sins and selfishness. 

(Maria was right. She really did want to destroy Alice.)

Peter is kind but unflinching when he deciphers her distress. If Jessamine was that close to Alice, Maria probably tortured the shit out of her for answers, and then destroyed her. If going back was a possibility - and it really, really isn’t - she wouldn’t be alive to save. 

It says a lot about the place they’ve all come from that the idea Alice is dead and gone is immensely reassuring, that Alice is somewhere soft and quiet now, where nothing can get her. 

Except… 

The last night, the last battle, lingers in her head and she remembers giving Alice and the others their orders and Alice meeting her gaze and replying, “I’ll follow where you lead.” 

Those words are probably meaningless; Alice always followed orders and acknowledged them to set a standard for the newborns. Her confidence and certainty in Jessamine and Maria’s leadership set a tone that made the newborns fall into line with relative ease. 

Except they aren’t; they’re ominous and heavy and loaded… maybe even something to hold tight to, something to tuck away and hope for. 

Alice is fast and she’s a quick learner; a talented fighter. She catches on faster than Jessamine’s seen before; absolutely ruthless and precise. Her size is an asset and does not reflect her strength. She’s been a reliable fighter for Maria for decades, and she’s never told a lie. Without Jessamine, Maria’s ability to wield a newborn army is crippled; it would be foolish to destroy one of her longest-serving soldiers when she’s already lost Jessamine. And Maria is no fool… 

…Maybe.

(A little bit of hope is a powerful thing.)

—

The journey to the parking lot feels like the path to execution, and Jess is intimately aware of the fact that either way, her family is probably going to know more than she wants them to. 

There are students clustered around the parking lot, talking and whispering, and enjoying the Cullens being a spectacle again. Perhaps even hoping for a Rosalie smack-down because in small towns, the good gossip is treasured. 

(Emmett might look like he’s casually walking with Rosalie, but she’s clamped at his side, and he’s whispering sweet nothings in her ear to diffuse the situation. Cars can be fixed and some people are stupid, babe. Don’t let anyone know they got to you.) 

And then they are there, staring at Rose’s pristine car, and it takes Jess a moment to realise what she’s seeing.  

She sits on the top of the SUV cross-legged, and she probably looks bored to everyone else. Just waiting for the Cullens to show up. 

(Hope is a wild thing in her chest, somehow a million times more alive and wild now that Jess is faced with what she was secretly holding on for, that tiny flickering flame that she’s protected but never acknowledged since the day Peter declared her most likely dead finally burning free.)  

To Jess, she looks exhausted. Wrung out and brittle, like she’s waiting for her execution. 

But she’s here. And she’s alive.

Her hair is pulled into two very small pigtails on the top of her head with plastic clips, and somewhere she’s gotten ahold of glitter eyeshadow that is smeared liberally over both her eyelids. She’s wearing a frankly rancid cat-ear hoodie that looks like it was once a child’s, and some ragged capris, with a beat-up messenger bag beside her. Both of her skinny wrists are layered with beaded bracelets that definitely once belonged to a child. 

The effect is jarring - childish and garish - but it is also somehow the most Alice. That this is exactly who she is - worn out, beaten-up, but still very  much herself. It feels like the first time Jess has actually seen her for herself and it’s exactly how Jess always assumed Alice looked. 

“Jess?” Edward’s looking at her with a confused expression, but she’s not listening anymore. It’s like sixty years of trauma all knotted and tangled up inside of her has come loose and she can finally relax. That she’s finally putting everything together and maybe it will be okay now. 

She strides over to the car, past the whispering students wondering how the Cullens know this weird barefoot girl and what Jess Hale is going to do, and right up to the SUV. For a second, they stare at each other before Jess drops her bag to the ground and climbs up onto the roof, their gazes never breaking. 

Alice stares back at her, her expression not changing at all; her eyes just tracking her movement. There’s nothing there, no emotion or reaction. Just the flat gaze of someone used to being hunted. 

And Jess kisses her. 

She clasps Alice’s face in her hands and kisses her for the first time in more than sixty years, an apology and a celebration that Alice is here and she’s alive and they found each other.  

Jess knows that behind her, the population of Forks High is gaping and whispering and judging - she can hear a few wolf-whistles, she’s sure that admin is already calling Carlisle and Esme to come in for a meeting with the guidance counselor, and that there will be a slur written on the front of her locker in the morning.

Small towns are all the same. 

She knows that the penny finally dropped for Emmett and Rose (though she suspects that Emmett already guessed, after that weird speech he gave her back in ’79 about how it’s cool that he likes bears and she likes bears too and that everyone can like what they like, and it doesn’t have to be a big deal. She originally assumed it was because Carlisle and Esme were paying closer attention to the local wildlife and sustainability, but apparently it was really about her being gay. Metaphor was never his strong suit.)

Rosalie will be rolling her eyes that Jess had to be so dramatic and couldn’t do this privately. 

She knows that Edward is going to have another spiritual crisis that involves too many dirges on the piano, a lot of whining at Carlisle, and somehow making the fact that Jess is gay all about his perpetual teenage-boy pain and hypocritical beliefs.

She doesn’t care that everyone is going to talk about her right up until the Cullens move away; that she’s going to be the ‘gay Cullen girl’ now, and made a whole lot of trouble for the family. She doesn’t care that Esme’s probably going to give her a sweet but awkward speech about how loved and accepted she is, and how she could have told them at any time. 

It’s honestly going to suck for a few weeks, after this stunt. 

But she doesn’t regret it. She doesn’t regret it because Alice is there and the familiar lemon-sugar tang of her venom hasn’t changed, and Alice doesn’t shove her away. And that’s halfway to everything being perfect. 

When Jess pulls back, Alice squeezes her eyes shut. “I-I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” are the first words Alice speaks to her, quiet and nervous, and Jess hates so much that Alice seems so resigned, so small and tired.  

Their good times might have been brief, a little flash in their fucked up, messy history, but that’s how Jess remembers her the clearest. That’s when Alice was the brightest. 

Not this girl who seemed as substantial as mist, halfway dead and mostly lost; this girl that Jess feels is slipping away from her faster than she can save her. This is the version of Alice that terrifies the fuck out of Jess, frankly. A blank slate of emotion, no way to determine what she’s thinking or feeling, but she can see that all joy and hope has drained from her. The walking dead, in every way that matters. 

And the idea that Alice would go anywhere else before coming to Jess, that Alice assumes Jess would not want her here makes Jess feel vaguely sick. That Alice is waiting for a reprimand, retribution, and punishment for coming to find her. 

(What happened to her? This isn’t the steady girl that she left behind. This version of her is so very shattered. Of all the ways Jess had imagined Alice after she left, this one was never even a shadow of a possibility.) 

“This is the only place you need to be,” Jess says in a low voice, reaching out to cradle Alice’s cheek. “I am so … fucking happy to see you. I missed you so much.” There are a million other questions she has - Are you okay? How did you get away? What do you need? - but she saves them, tucks them away for later when they are cloistered in a corner of the Cullens’ enormous house, and there is time for mess and raw pain and the opportunity to breathe. 

Alice bites her lip and nods, and that’s when Jess’s siblings gather around the car, obviously having walked slowly to give Jess and Alice a moment alone. Or as alone as they could be with several hundred high school students watching and commentating.  

“We need to take this back to the house,” Rose says stiffly; she’s not happy at the spectacle in front of the school, but she’s not particularly upset with Jess or Alice; Jess wonders how long Rose’s tolerance will last. “Edward’s taking Bella home.”

Somehow, reality is separate from whatever is happening right now, like she and Alice are in some kind of bubble, away from Forks and humans and all the day to day monotony. Right now, she’s just intensely aware of Alice’s body so close to hers; to that sweet lemon-sunshine scent that Alice has always had. Of the new scars on Alice’s hands and face that Jess doesn’t know; and the way she holds her right arm closer to her body. She is so intensely aware of the way Alice’s eyelashes brush her cheeks as she blinks, perfectly still and perfectly unhappy. 

None of it feels real, not even with Alice’s hand in hers. 

“Let’s go,” she manages to tell Alice, who nods. She always follows orders.  

Jess slides off the roof of the car to land next to it, reaching out a hand to help Alice down. 

“I’ve got you,” she says, brushing some of Alice’s hair off of her face. 

Alice stares at her for a moment, those big dark eyes that Jess has been in love with for longer than she can remember. 

“You always have,” Is all she says, as they climb into the car, but she doesn’t take her hand out of Jess’s. 

I’ve got you. 

—

alice.

The Cullen house smells clean and like the woods at the back of the garden. It’s full of light, it’s dry, it’s a hundred different things that Monterrey never was and could never aspire to be. Like so many things she’s known lately, it feels like something she’s allowed to see, but it’s not for her to keep. A stolen glimpse before she keeps moving. 

Her feet stick to the wooden floors, and she’s intensely aware that the lake bath she had before she got to Forks is not enough for these people. They wear shoes and jewelry, and they’ve got their clothing in the right order. They aren’t like her. 

Right now, everything feels very far away, like she’s watching herself from a great distance. 

She knows that Jessamine is waiting for her to speak, to say something small. To offer her a truth, a reason, for why she came to her. To finally share that cursed secret Jessamine demanded all those years ago, when keeping it was the only thing that kept them both alive. 

Maybe the thing she wants more than anything is to scream and scream until it all spills out of her. That she’s all knotted up inside, that aren’t so much secrets as the whole, messy truth. 

The truth is that she was raised back up with no memory of love or affection or family, just a vague promise of it that was ruined before she even began, and she’s not really sure how love is supposed to feel anymore. 

So she’s spent eighty years clinging to a half-glimpsed possibility of her and Jessamine meeting in a human establishment, of that soft and perfect promise because she had nothing else, and now she’s not who she was when Jessamine left her, and she’s never going to be who she was supposed to be, not for herself or for Jessamine or for both of them.  

She knows if she could sleep, there would be nothing but nightmares and horrors. Of all the things she’s seen and done, all the things that have been done to her. That just to survive, to save them both, she had to let herself be swallowed up, bite by bite, by the wars and the propaganda and so many lies. 

And now she doesn’t know if there’s anything left of her to salvage, let alone piece back together. 

Jessamine’s hand is in hers, and it isn’t letting go.

That’s something. 

All the words that are being spoken, they sound like they are muffled, underwater somehow. They look at her, waiting, and the words still don’t come. 

The urge to scream is fading. Jessamine’s hand is still in hers; maybe she’s holding on too tight. She feels like if she lets go, everything will disappear. 

So she holds on tighter and steadies herself and even manages to walk further into the house. Maybe she finds just enough words to explain that it’s all new and fresh and when she ran, it was like the flat of a knife against a human throat - a flash of a chance, more likely death than freedom, but somehow she made it work. 

That the idea of hunting turns her stomach, and the whole world seemed so big and bright that the only place to go was to Jessamine.

“I’ve never known anything but you and life here.”

(Later, cloistered in Jessamine’s study wearing borrowed clothing, she’ll start to weep and she won’t be able to stop. Jessamine will hold her and stroke her hair and try to reassure her of things that Alice has never confided in her. They won’t be the last tearless tears she will cry, but they will be the rawest and the truest. She still doesn’t know what love or hope or dreams feel like, but whatever this is, it’s more than she’s ever had before.) 

--

AN:

Yeah, this version of Mary-Alice somehow got the worst welcome to Monterrey; a vision of her True Love interrupted by said True Love deciding to attack her; taken back to Maria to be tortured for information for a couple of nights before being tossed into the barn with a bunch of fresh and vicious newborns who don’t recognise her as One of Them. She really opted to get all flavors of trauma packed into that very first week of life. 

Mary-Alice never told Jessamine or Maria about her gift at all. According to them, she was giftless, just skilled. That first week really fucked with her head. 

This version has Mary-Alice leave the South and head straight to Forks. There’s about a week between Mary-Alice fleeing Maria and turning up on the Cullens’ car, so there’s a lot of fresh hurt and a lot of terror at being in a brave new world where she doesn’t know the rules. So, she’s been with Maria from 1919 right up until the 2000s. 

Jess, to me, has always had a more hair-trigger temper and spontaneous personality compared to Jasper. This is because of the period-typical emotional repression that men aspired to during the Civil War; Jessamine is a little freer with expressing herself because, frankly, it would take balls to run away and pose as a boy to join the army, and even more to achieve the rank of Major. Jessamine is definitely a wildcard. 

I spit on Life and Death’s version of Jessamine being kidnapped into the wars.  

It was intentional that Jess only shortened her name after she met the Cullens, and that whilst she calls Mary-Alice ‘Alice’, Mary-Alice never calls her ‘Jess’. How this is significant is up to you. 

Yes, the relationship between Jess and Alice feels darker than in OG STL, but this is Jessamine's side of the story. She's always painted all of her choices and actions before the Cullens with the same brush - that she was toxic and monstrous.

[andreafmn]

Hey, y’all hope you had an amazing Christmas Day! 🎄🎄🎄

I know I haven’t posted the last two days of ficmas but I’ve been very tired these two days due to high social interaction and haven’t been able to finish them (as well as some other bonuses I’ve started). Hopefully in the next two days I will be able to post.

And if you’ve felt overwhelmed, tired and/or in sensory overload, I hope you can find time to decompress and ground yourself 🤍🤍

Sending love to all of you this holiday season, and many thanks for sticking with me and my stories — that I hope some day turn into real books. 💖💖

[retrosabers]

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬.

FICMAS DAY ONE- MISTLETOE

logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: marie is determined to get logan to kiss you under the mistletoe

contains: cute holiday fluff, marie and bobby being little shits, established relationship, swearing, teasing

word count: 1.8k

a/n: this was not supposed to be almost 2k words but i have a very bad habit of getting carried away when it comes to logan so…let’s hope i can actually commit to writing all these holiday blurbs! in the meantime, enjoy some wolvie sweetness <3

!! divider by @strangergraphics !!

FICMAS MASTERLIST

holidays at the x-mansion meant a few things.

helping put up the largest christmas tree you’ve ever seen, and decorating it from head to toe. each student and professor responsible for placing their favorite ornament on a branch.

spending your weekends cozying up by the fireplace with hot cocoa and your colleagues. basking in the warmth that had nothing to do with the glowing embers, but the company seated around you.

and last, but most importantly, less kids. since a fair amount of them returned home to spend time with their families, that meant fewer heads to keep track off, and less stress on your plate.

but of course, things could never be that easy.

the ones who remained, usually the older students, always tried their luck to see just how much they could get away with, under the guise of “being in the christmas spirit.”

last year it was the snowball fight that somehow made its way into the foyer. the year before that there was a wrapping paper prank that covered all four walls of the professor’s office with obnoxiously printed gift wrap.

both of which were unnecessary messes that irked logan big time. and yet, this year’s ordeal got under his skin in a way that was unparalleled to those prior.

and it’s all your fault, really. well, sort of.

somehow an innocent comment made in passing about always wanting to be kissed under mistletoe turned into a personal mission for marie. she was determined to help make your dream come true, and while the kindness of it all is incredibly sweet and heartwarming, she’s starting to get a little carried away.

logan liked the young girl. he really, truly did.

but if her and bobby didn’t stop this little charade, he was going to lose his mind.

all damn day the pair of teens were following him around every corner. whispering and giggling under their breath, forgetting that he could hear them from a distance away. he knows exactly what they’re up to, judging by the faux leaf decoration marie is doing a very poor job of hiding behind her back.

they’re trying to play matchmaker.

it’s something that would be the slightest bit endearing if he wasn’t already involved.

that’s what made the situation ironic. funny even. watching them scramble around to place the mistletoe whenever you and logan were in the same room. thinking they were single handedly going to be responsible for a love match that was already underway and had been for months.

you weren’t purposely keeping your relationship a secret. you just didn’t feel like it needed to be divulged to the team just yet. anyone with eyes however, could clearly see there was something going on between you and the wolverine.

hence the two young mutants trying their hand at playing cupid.

“you can’t keep barking at them all day,” you scold logan, who was shooting the iceman a warning glare over his shoulder. the blonde looks like a deer caught in headlights as he darts down the hall. “they’re just being kids.”

“gettin’ on my goddamn nerves is what they’re doing,” your boyfriend grumbles. his hard expression melts a bit when you affectionately card your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“i think it’s sweet.”

logan scoffs with a roll of his eyes, but it's clear he’s mostly messing around. he’s got a soft spot for the kids whether he wants to admit it or not, and he most definitely has a soft spot for you, which he’ll scream loud and proud. his eyelids flutter shut at the soothing scrape of your nails against his scalp.

“i’m waiting for you to starting purring one of these days,” you tease him in a low whisper. logan opens one eye, unimpressed. still, there’s a faint tug on the corner of his lips.

“whatever,” he retorts weakly, relishing in the peaceful moment. knowing you don’t get many of those around here, his hand stays snug against the small of your back, hoping he can keep you anchored for just a little while longer.

as much as you want to stay like this all day, both of you have things that need to be taken care of. logan deflates slightly when you pull away, hands ghosting around your torso before limply falling at his sides.

“duty calls,” you groan, as you look down at your watch to check the time. your next class started in five minutes, and you’d be setting a bad example as the teacher if you were late. “i’ll find you after?”

logan nods, debating on whether or not he should do what he’s thinking. you’ve shown affection around the mansion before, but with bobby and marie sneaking around, he didn’t want to give them a front row seat, especially considering no one really knew you were together yet. the last thing he needs is those two running amuck telling everyone his business.

although logan would be a liar if he said he could go without your kisses. because he couldn’t. not by a long shot, regardless of the circumstance.

just as he’s about to lean in, a loud noise sounds from the hallway. you exchange glances for a split second, protective instincts kicking in before you rush out of the room in a panic.

in a flash, you’re standing in the mansion’s entryway, logan with his claws out and you with your fists up ready to face danger. except there wasn’t anything alarming to be found. not a knocked over vase. not so much as a fly in the wall.

“what the hell was that?” you breathe, surveying the hall for any sign of what could’ve caused a ruckus.

“probably those damn kids again,” logan huffs exasperated, giving the room another once over before his claws retract.

you can’t stop the bark of laughter that makes its way out of you. logan looks back at you confused, but with a hint of a smile on his face.

“i’m sorry,” you snort, covering your mouth at the sound. “it’s just, you sound like such an old man right now.”

unamused, logan offers a blank stare, though you know there’s no real irritation behind it.

“i’m not sure who’s worse,” your boyfriend groans as he makes his way back toward the living room. “you, or the kids.”

“you know you love me,” you joke, following close behind. logan hums sarcastically, but deep down he knows it’s the complete and utter truth. he doesn’t have to say it out loud for you to know, and somehow his coyness about the subject manages to make you even more smitten.

your heart flutters from that notion, in addition to catching a glimpse of the mistletoe that’s now mysteriously pinned above the corridor.

it definitely wasn’t there two seconds ago.

a quick flick of your head back and forth to double check and make sure there wasn’t any prying eyes. bobby and marie weren’t very good at hiding, so when you’re not met with a chorus of stifled giggles, you know you’re in the clear.

a smug grin accompanies the airy call of logan’s name.

the man gives a sideways peek over his shoulder before spinning around completely, eyeing you with tender curiosity.

you stand in the doorway, teetering back and forth on your heels, and nod your head up in the direction of the ever dreaded mistletoe. an innocent flush on your cheeks that signals to him just how giddy you are over something so small.

and as much as logan can’t stand the cliche-ness of it all, he has no choice but to oblige.

because who would he be, if he didn’t do everything in his power to keep you this happy?

with faux annoyance, he stomps over to you, dragging his feet across the floor for dramatic effect. it only adds to your amusement, the sound of your laughter the most delightful noise he wishes he could bottle up and keep forever. when his large hands find their familiar place wrapped around you, any facade of indifference crumbles.

“m’gonna get those little shits if they’re lurking,” logan mutters playfully, your lips mere inches apart with how closely he leans in.

“just shut up and kiss me already howlett,” you whisper in protest, and that little hint of bossiness is all logan needs to surge forward and close the gap.

it felt exactly like something out of those cheesy christmas romance movies, but in the best way possible. the scent of vanilla and pine occupies your senses as logan’s lips move in tandem against yours. delicate and slowly, an always dizzying contrast to the brooding and rugged exterior of the wolverine. you melt like putty into his touch, arms encircling the back of his neck naturally.

there’s something sweet and syrupy that logan feels between his ribs when you shuffle around onto the tips of your toes to deepen the kiss even more. to find a way to get even closer, an impossible feat that physics won’t ever allow but you try anyway.

the only thing that could ever pull you away from this bliss, was the need to come back for air.

the sight of you, blushed and breathless, was always sure to make him swell with pride. in true hallmark fashion, a piece of hair falls in front of your face, and logan tucks it behind your ear without second thought.

“that live up to the hype?” logan teases, raising a brow up towards the ceiling, that sly smirk of his making you flush even more.

“maybe,” you quip back, pretending to mull things over in your mind before ultimately nodding your head enthusiastically.

and even when logan can sense the presence of bobby and marie looming nearby, he doesn’t fly off the handle with a string of swear words like he wants to. he can’t bring himself to rain on your parade just yet. though he should’ve known you’d beat him to the punch.

“they’re standing in the hall aren’t they?” you grumble against his lips, a hint of annoyance lacing your otherwise cheery tone.

“yup,” logan pops the last letter, shifting to give the pair a look that screams “i’m giving you a five minute head start before you get an earful.” they cartoonishly scamper off, the sound of bounding footsteps up the staircase filling the room.

you pinch the bridge of your nose, the bubble of this perfect moment popping at the thought of what the rest of your day was going to entail now that the mansion’s biggest blabbermouths caught you kissing.

“we’ve got about 10 minutes before the entire state of new york knows our business.”

logan’s laugh rumbles against you, sending delightful vibrations throughout your body. even with the irritation that pricks at the both of you, there’s an underlying sense of content that can’t be ignored.

“i say it was worth it.”

“yeah?” you whisper, eyes searching logan’s for some sign of jest or sarcasm. surprisingly, they’re full of sincerity, and it only adds to the warm and fuzzy feeling spreading across your skin.

“yeah,” he hums, gingerly cradling your face as he presses your lips together once more.

later, after you scold marie for being a meddler, you’ll be sure to thank her for helping give you one of the most memorable kisses in your entire life.

thanks for reading! <3

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

[leona-hawthorne]

FICMAS #5— SALTY / theodore nott

theodore nott x reader

summary: theodore is so down bad that he is physically unable to tell you when your cooking is bad…

warnings: fluff, established relationship

words: 1.1k

a/n: getting back on schedule!

navigation ficmas masterlist

Theodore Nott had always carried himself like a shadow. Quiet, deliberate, and never fully there, no matter how much space he occupied. That’s what made it so surprising when he fit into your home so effortlessly. Your family loved him—even your dad, who usually approached your boyfriends with the kind of silent scrutiny that could crumble a lesser man. Theo just smiled that soft, unassuming smile of his and charmed them all without even trying.

He’d been staying with you for a week now, his presence so natural that it felt like he’d always been there. You’d find him in the kitchen in the mornings, sipping tea and chatting with your mum. At night, he’d settle into the living room with a book or play chess with your dad, his brow furrowed in concentration. And then there were the quieter moments, the ones you liked best: him leaning against your bedroom doorframe, his eyes on you as you talked about nothing and everything, the easy silence that followed when words ran out.

It had been your idea to invite him for the holidays. He’d mentioned in passing that his dad’s estate felt empty this time of year, and the thought of him alone in that cold, sprawling manor made your chest ache. So you’d asked, your voice hesitant and hopeful, and when he said yes, the relief had been immediate and overwhelming.

Now, you were determined to make this week—this moment in your lives—as perfect as it could be. That’s why you were standing in the kitchen on a Tuesday afternoon, your sleeves rolled up and flour smeared on your cheek, determined to bake him cookies. You weren’t much of a baker, but Theo loved sweets, and the thought of him lighting up at something you made just for him was enough to keep you going.

“What are you doing in here?” his voice startled you, low and amused from the doorway.

You turned to see him leaning against the frame, his hair slightly mussed and his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweater. He looked so at home, so utterly comfortable, that your heart gave a little squeeze.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, moving to block his view of the counter. “Don’t look.”

His eyebrows lifted, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You realize that makes me want to look even more, right?”

“Theo,” you warned, pointing a flour-covered finger at him. “If you ruin the surprise, I swear—”

“Alright, alright,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’ll stay out of your way. For now.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as he backed away, but you couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face. Once he was gone, you turned back to the mixing bowl, your focus sharpening. The recipe was simple enough—butter, sugar, flour, and a handful of chocolate chips. What could go wrong?

When the cookies were finally in the oven, the kitchen smelled warm and inviting, the kind of smell that wrapped around you like a hug. You cleaned up the counter while they baked, feeling a little thrill of accomplishment. Maybe you weren’t hopeless in the kitchen after all.

When the timer went off, you carefully pulled the tray from the oven, the golden-brown cookies practically glowing in the light. They looked perfect. You couldn’t wait to see Theo’s face when he tried them.

You found him in the living room, sprawled on the couch with a book open on his lap. He looked up as you entered, his eyes softening when they landed on you.

“What’s this?” he asked, sitting up as you held out the plate of cookies.

“I made these for you,” you said, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze. “Happy holidays.”

His expression shifted, surprise melting into something warmer, something that made your stomach flutter. “You baked for me?”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Don’t make it a big deal, okay? I just thought you’d like them.”

“You’re amazing,” he said simply, taking the plate from your hands. “No one’s ever baked for me before.”

“Really? Nobody?”

“Not unless you count house-elves,” he said with a wry smile.

You watched as he picked up a cookie, turning it over in his hand like it was something precious. He took a bite, and for a second, his face didn’t move. Then his jaw worked slowly, his expression carefully neutral. His smile froze in place, but his eyes—his eyes gave him away. They widened, just a fraction, a flicker of something like panic crossing his features before he masked it.

“It’s… really good,” he said, his voice a touch higher than usual.

“Really?” You leaned closer, searching his face. “You’re not just saying that?”

His lips curled into a grin, even as he chewed with obvious effort. “Would I lie to you?”

“Yes,” you said flatly, narrowing your eyes. “Theo, are you—”

“Babe, I swear,” he interrupted, setting the plate on the coffee table. Before you could press him further, he leaned in, cupping your cheek with one hand and brushing his lips against yours.

The kiss was soft, quick, and completely disarming. For a moment, you forgot everything except the feel of him, the way his thumb stroked your cheek, the warmth of his lips against yours. But then a strange taste hit your tongue—not sweet, like you’d expected, but salty.

You pulled back, your eyes widening in realization. “Theo,” you said slowly, horror dawning on you. “Was there… was there salt in the cookies?”

He blinked at you, too calm for someone who’d just been caught. “Maybe.”

“Oh my god.” Your face burned as you clapped a hand over your mouth. “I can’t believe I…”

“They’re not that bad,” he said quickly, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not!” he insisted, grabbing another cookie. “Look, I’ll eat another one. See?” 

“Don’t you dare eat that.” You lunged for the plate, but he held it out of reach, grinning like a fool. 

“Too late,” he said, biting into it with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Delicious.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands, and he laughed—a low, warm sound that sent your heart spiraling. “You’re the worst,” you muttered.

“And yet,” he said, leaning closer, “you love me anyway.”

You peeked at him from between your fingers, your cheeks still flushed, and he smirked. Damn him for being right.

ficmas taglist: @winnie1emon @ur-local-wizard @satosugu4-ever @ankoluvs @superstargirll @slytherin-princess-x @abeoavita @mattheoriddle101 @georgiastars13 @smoooore @mattheoriddles-sluttt @2dloveshp @mattysprincess @catching-fire-in-the-wind @revesephemeres @esmerai-artemis @clar2aa @iamaconfusedpan

(comment or dm to be added to the taglist)

[nastybuckybarnes]

The Aftermath

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

Summary: How can what's done be undone? Let's watch.

Warnings: Language, PTSD, Angst, Fluff, Injuries, Angst,

Word Count: 2.3K

A/n: I made y'all wait for this one lol. I hope you enjoy. Yes, there will be more so dont you worry. i really wanna try hammering out more of this and tbp cause i may or may not do another 12 days of ficmas or somethin but we'll see!

~*~

When Task Force 141 finally heads into the basement to free you, the scene before them has more than one of them sick to their stomach.

You're curled up in a ball, whispering to yourself in a language they're not familiar with, and when you finally catch a glimpse of them, it's like gas to a flame.

You're pleading, begging in that same language as you slowly back up, shaking your head at them as tears fall down your cheeks.

The words are desperate, spat with haste and fear, and it hurts Ghost's heart to know that the first time he's hearing your mother tongue is when you're trying to escape him.

"Mouse, it's me. You're safe, please. Please, s'just me," he tries, getting on his knees to seem less imposing.

You only scramble back further, holding your hands out in front of you in a pathetic attempt at protecting yourself from danger that doesn't exist.

The blood on your hand catches his attention and he's immediately looking for the source.

"You're hurt. Let me help, please."

You're hiccuping and sobbing, beyond consolation at this point and he's at a loss.

Slowly, he glances over his shoulder to his teammates, the ones who were so quick to follow the traitorous finger that was pointed in your direction.

Soap's eyes are on you, full of sadness and guilt, while Price has his eyes cast down to the floor.

They were just trying to protect their team. Their family.

An idea pops into Simon's head, and he slowly brings his hands to the chain around his neck.

He pulls off the necklace and holds it out in front of you, watching closely as your gaze slowly focuses on the silver pendant.

Your fighting lessens, breathing evens, and then you're reaching out with trembling fingers, gingerly brushing against the warm metal.

A soft word falls from your lips in the same language you were speaking before, and new tears well up in your eyes as you grab the necklace from him and hold it close to your chest.

Slowly, he backs up, motioning for the other men to get out of the way, and then he's swinging the cell door open as wide as it can go and carefully peeling his mask back.

Your wild eyes are focused on his face as he slowly reveals himself to you, and you feel your stomach flip.

"Simon?" You croak, voice scratchy and hoarse.

"S'right, little one. S'me. C'mon out now, you're safe."

You glance over at the other men in the room, your lip wobbling slightly.

"Don't look at them, look at me. Eyes on me, m'right here 'n m'not goin' anywhere."

Reluctantly, your eyes meet his again and he nods encouragingly at you.

Soap can feel his stomach tying in knots with every moment that passes, every word spoken between the two of you.

He never expected this to be the result of his accusations. Of his efforts to be a good soldier.

Slowly, you crawl toward the door, pausing every few seconds as if bracing yourself for an attack.

When you get to the doorway you take a deep breath, holding it as you cross the threshold.

And then a sob bubbles out of your chest and the dam breaks.

You're hiccuping and crying, reaching for Simon desperately, and he all but yanks you into his arms, shushing you quietly.

"I-I didn't do it!" You gasp, bloody hands grabbing handfuls of his sweater.

Simon only nods, rocking you gently in his arms.

"I know, lovie. I know."

"I-I'll be good! J-just don't... don't bring me ba-ack here, please!"

Price's jaw clenches hard, hard enough to almost crack a tooth. His hands are in tight fists by his sides and the lump in his throat is getting harder and harder to swallow.

Simon hadn't exactly been the most forthcoming with your personal information, your history, but in their search for you, they found your sketchbooks. It wasn't hard to piece together your past after that.

"Shh, it's okay. You're safe. You're never going to come back down here, I swear it. Let me take you upstairs."

Your entire frame is trembling in his arms, your bloodshot eyes focused on the men over his shoulder.

Your pupils are wide and your gaze is piercing, sharper than a blade and harder than the walls that seem to be closing in around you.

"Not safe," you whisper, tugging at his sweater then pushing out of his grip and crawling away.

"You're safe, Mouse."

"No, no not safe! Not here! Not with them!" You hiss, glaring at the men behind him.

"I try so hard! But everywhere I go you-you people... you try to hurt me! You lock me in cage! I do nothing wrong!" You're shouting now, voice hoarse and broken, but it makes Soap wince nonetheless.

You look between the men, the soldiers, and push yourself back until you hit the bars of the cell.

"I know your time here hasn't exactly been the easiest, but I swear I won't let anyone else hurt you," Simon tries, holding his hands up in surrender as he scoots closer.

"This... all of this... is because I met you," you finally whisper, the words slicing Simon to his core.

Because you're right.

From the kidnapping to the Corporal in the shower to the accusations. None of it would've happened if you'd never met the man.

"Her thigh" Gaz says softly, eyes focused on the blood darkening the fabric of your pants.

That snaps Ghost out of his feelings and his focus is on you once more. Your safety, your wellbeing.

"Mouse, you're hurt. Let me help you, please."

You glance down at your leg, the still-bleeding wound from yesterday, then cover it with your hand.

"Don't need help."

"You need medical help. Food, water. Please, Mouse." He glances over his shoulder at his teammates. "Leave."

With that one word, the three of them are gone, leaving you alone with your Ghost.

"S'just you n me now, little one. You know I'd never hurt you. Let me help you. Please."

You swallow hard, looking at him for a long silent moment before dropping your gaze back down to your thigh.

"I'll take you upstairs, we can go straight to medical and then-"

"No."

He frowns.

"No?"

"I-I don't want to see... anyone else. Only you."

He nods immediately, inching toward you carefully, as if you're a wild animal that could lash out at any moment.

It's not like he couldn't handle it, couldn't overpower you. But he wouldn't. Even if you did decide to lash out, he'd take it. S'what he deserves, after all. He should've been faster. Should've convinced Price sooner, killed both Jacobs and Matthews in that alley the first night he met you.

But he didn't.

"Can I touch you? I just want to see how bad it is." He motions to your leg.

Slowly, you give him a nod, watching through puffy eyes as he gets close enough to inspect your wound.

His hands are gentle when he touches you, tilting your leg to the side then looking back up at you.

"Let me take you out of here. Please."

"Where?"

"With me. Our quarters."

Ours. Not his. Ours.

Yours.

That's where you belong.

Up in your quarters with your Ghost and far far away from here.

Far from the holding cells that remind you too much of the cages you used to call home.

Far from people who would hurt you, lie to you, betray you.

Ghost's words from what feels like only days ago ring out in your ears, taunting you, humiliating you.

Johnny's not gonna let anything happen to you.

The man's own words when he'd cleaned that Corporal off of the bathroom floor.

You've saved my arse.....I owe you.

This is how they repay people?

Simon, upon seeing the distant starry look in your eyes, smooths his bare fingers over your wrist, tugging you gently toward him.

You follow wordlessly, lost in thought, in your mind, and he seems to recognize this.

"M'gonna bring you upstairs. Straight to our quarters, yeah? Nobody's gonna be around, I'll be quick."

He takes your silence as understanding and tugs his balaclava back on, then pulls you up into his arms and heads out of the basement and up the stairs.

A shiver rolls down his spine when he emerges in the hallway.

All of this bears an eery closeness to when he first brought you to base.

Your limp body in his arms, the looks from the poor few stragglers around base, the determination in his eyes and the pit in his stomach.

He hates it.

He hates that his team, the men he's supposed to be closest with, are the ones who've brought him back here.

The ones who've pushed you to this.

But he's not absolved of wrongdoing in this.

No, he's the one who closed the cell door behind you. He's the one who locked you in your deepest traumas.

He turned the key and tucked it in his pocket.

He's just as much to blame as they are.

His self-loathing comes to a momentary pause when he finally pushes open the door to your shared quarters.

He sets you down on the desk, much like he did the day he came back to find Corporal Jacobs dead on the bathroom floor, and grabs his first aid kit.

Expert fingers slip the blade of a knife into the tear in your pants, and then he's cutting the fabric away from your leg and spraying the wound with antiseptic.

His eyes dart up to your face, searching for any sign of pain or discomfort as he begins bandaging your wound.

He finds none.

Your eyes are still distant, as if you're not really here with him, and he feels his heart drop into his stomach.

"Mouse?"

Nothing.

Swallowing hard, he reaches for your face, smoothing his fingers over your cheek and jaw. To anyone looking, he's composed, but you feel his fingers tremble the tiniest bit as they meet your skin.

Your eyes flutter to his, pupils dilating slightly as you focus on him.

"You with me?"

You blink a few times then slowly nod, eyes staying focused on his.

"Yes... here... with Ghost."

His eyes get sad for a moment before he nods, tugging off his balaclava and dropping it onto the ground.

"Simon. You're here with Simon."

You let out a quivering sigh and nod, reaching forward to touch his face.

Red stains his pale cheek and you look to the source, brows pulling together when you see the blood on your fingers.

"What...?" You inspect your hands, the blood covering them, then drop your gaze to the half-covered wound on your thigh.

"Oh."

"Looks worse than it is. Just gotta stay off it a bit," he says softly, getting back to work until your wound is wrapped.

You say nothing, your gaze shooting back to your hands. Specifically, the necklace in your left hand.

"Want me to help put that back on?" He asks after a moment, watching the way tears fill your eyes as you nod.

He takes the necklace from you and carefully reaches around your neck, leaning in close to watch himself clasp it.

You're engulfed in his scent as he invades your personal space, and you can't stop your hands from darting out and grabbing onto his sweater to hold him there, to pull him close.

When the necklace is secure, he pulls back just enough to fix his footing, and then he's yanking you to the edge of the desk and wrapping you in his strong arms.

He hunches over the desk, dropping his head to yours and pressing kiss after kiss to the top of your head.

You wrap yourself around him, in him, as much as you can, pressing your face to his chest and burrowing into him deep enough to taste his soul.

He pulls you closer still, eyes squeezed shut tightly as he lets himself feel you. Really feel you.

Feel you in your pain, in your trauma, your helplessness. Feel you in your trust, your fear, your love. For him.

He feels you as much as he feels himself now, and all he wants is to take your pain away. Strip you of it even if it kills him.

But he can't.

So instead, he holds you close until you begin to tug away. And then he's taking your hands in his once more.

"I'll run you a shower, yeah?"

You nod wordlessly, eyes cast down as silent tears trek down your cheeks.

He moves swiftly, turning the water on and testing the temperature.

When it's finally warm enough, he returns to you, reaching for you only to freeze when you flinch back.

Refusing to meet his gaze, you slide off of the desk and step around him, cringing away when dusts his fingers over your arm.

The rejection stings, but he knows he has no right to feel hurt.

"I'll stay right here 'till you're done."

You say nothing, only close the bathroom door and turn the lock.

Simon ends up staying there for hours, long enough to realize that you're not coming out of there anytime soon.

With the lights off, he leans his head against the door separating you.

"I'll be right out here, if you wanna come out. Make sure I save a spot on the bed for ya, yeah?"

You say nothing.

He can hear the steady sound of your breath so he knows that -physically, at least- you're okay.

Sighing softly, he slides his hand down the door then turns away and takes a seat on the bed.

He sits there for a few minutes, hoping he'll hear the lock click, that you'll come to bed and the two of you will be able to put everything behind you.

But he's never been a big dreamer.

Instead, he settles down in bed, his eyes locked on the bathroom door, the faint light shining through the cracks.

Simon goes to bed that night with a full bladder and an empty bed.

[hischierswhore]

oh, christmas tree (j. hughes)

a note from nat: im gonna be living thru these fics vicariously bc my love life is actually nonexistent.

content warnings: none! its just some cute christmas themed fluff :)

The plan was simple: decorate the tree, sip some hot cocoa, and enjoy a cozy evening. That was the plan.

But plans change, especially when Christmas is involved.

"Okay wait, I thought this was just a tree thing," Jack said, standing in the middle of the living room that was now filled with at least 3 bins of glittering Christmas decor. His arms were crossed, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. "When did it turn into a whole-apartment thing?"

You paused mid-step, holding a wreath in one hand and a string of tiny jingle bells in the other. "It was just the tree, but then I remembered that I had all this stuff in storage. I found this wreath, and I bought us some stockings because the fireplace looked empty… but look how festive it is now!"

Jack sighed, though the corners of his lips quirked up. "Festive is one word for it. Overboard might be another."

"Overboard?" You gasped, placing a hand over your chest in mock offense. "There’s no such thing as overboard when it comes to Christmas!"

"Right," he said, watching as you enthusiastically tacked the wreath onto the front door of your shared apartment. "And what’s the deal with the tiny Christmas village on the coffee table? Are we supposed to live around it now?"

"It’s charming, Jack," You said, stepping back to admire your handiwork. "And you can’t tell me it doesn’t look adorable."

He walked over, crouching to inspect the little ceramic houses. "Adorable, yes. Practical? No. Where am I supposed to put my coffee?"

You waved a hand dismissively. "Who needs coffee when you have holiday spirit? Plus coffee’s out; hot cocoa & eggnog are sooooo in."

Jack burst out laughing and straightened, shaking his head. "You’re unbelievable."

"And you love me for it," You shot back, grabbing a roll of ribbon and heading toward the kitchen.

"Wait—what are you doing now?" He called after you, following close behind.

You spun around, brandishing the ribbon like a knight unsheathing a sword. "Adding bows to the cabinet handles, obviously."

"You’re unstoppable," He said, a mix of exasperation and admiration in his tone.

You grinned up at him. "It’s Christmas magic, Jack. Just let it happen."

For the next hour, Jack watched in amusement (and occasionally helped, when you gave him the puppy-dog eyes) as you transformed the apartment into a winter wonderland. The windows were framed with twinkling lights, the dining table centerpiece was swapped for a cluster of glittery pinecones, and even the bathroom didn’t escape unscathed—a tiny Santa figurine now perched on the counter.

By the time you hung the final sprig of mistletoe in the hallway, you turned to find Jack leaning against the wall, arms folded, a soft smile on his face.

"What?" You asked, placing my hands on my hips.

"Nothing," He said, pushing off the wall and walking over. "Just... you’re kind of ridiculous, you know that?"

"Ridiculously festive," You corrected.

"Yeah, that too," He said, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close. "But I like it."

You tilted your head, grinning up at him. "Just like?"

"Okay, fine," He said with a chuckle, leaning down so your foreheads touched. "I love it. And I love you, even if you’ve turned this place into the North Pole."

You laughed, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him. "Merry Christmas, Jack."

"Merry Christmas," He said, glancing up at the mistletoe above you. "Now, I’m pretty sure there are rules about what we’re supposed to do under this thing."

And as he kissed you, with the apartment glowing like a Christmas card come to life, you couldn’t help but think that maybe going a little Christmas crazy wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

if you want to be added to the ficmas taglist, please let me know!

[uluvjay]

Spiked hot coco- L. Hamilton

Lewis Hamilton x fem! Teammate reader

In which someone spikes the hot coco at the Mercedes Christmas party and it leads you and Lewis to a supply closet

Warnings? SMUT, penetrative sex(p in v), unprotected sex(a big no no), fingering, sex in a closet, pet names, dirty talk, slight intoxication, consumed alcohol, I know Lewis doesn’t drink but for the sake of the fic plz act like he does, sorry for any errors

Day 9 of my ficmas celebration!

“Whew!” You coughed as the alcohol taste met the back of your throat.

“What?” Lewis questioned as he poured his own cup of hot chocolate.

“Someone had some fun with the hot coco.” You laughed as his face twisted up at the taste.

“Damn” he coughed attempting to clear the burn from his throat.

“What’s happening over here.” You heard a thick Austrian accent question before arms were placed over both your and Lewis’s shoulders.

“Someone spiked the coco.” You laughed looking up at your team principal.

“Oh yes! It’s good isn’t it.” He smiled

“it was you?” Lewis laughed pointing at the tall man.

“Yes, it’s a tradition we do back home. Figured it would help loosen some people up after this season.” He shrugged before walking off to see his wife.

“I can’t with him.” You laughed with a shake of your head.

Lewis nodded in agreement as he looked down at you, you wore a small red dress that hugged you in all the right places, truly leaving nothing to the imagination.

You looked up feeling his dark eyes on you, a blush coating your cheeks when you realized he had been checking you out.

You coughed lightly breaking his trance and he offered you an awkward smile before he took off across the room to go bother one of the engineers.

The two of you didn’t come into contact for the rest of the evening but that didn’t mean you couldn’t feel his stare on you from across the room, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t watching him as well.

Finishing your third spiked hot chocolate you excused yourself from your conversation with Susie and Toto before heading down a hall towards the bathroom.

You could hear a pair of feet following you and while you knew you should be worried something inside you was telling to not be. And just as you were about to pass one of the supply closets you felt a hand wrap around your upper arm and pull you into it.

“What the fuck.” You grumbled turning around to find Lewis once the door had shut. “Lewis! What the hell are we doing in here!?” You scolded once his large body was facing you.

“I needed to get you alone” he whispered, body stepping closer to yours, pushing you closer and closer to the concrete wall.

“Lewis we can’t do this, not again.” You reminded him as his arms caged you in, his expensive cologne mixed with the light sent of alcohol filling your senses.

“Why not baby?” He spoke lowly, one of his tatted fingers reaching up to brush a piece of hair behind your ear.

You blamed the butterflies that filled your stomach at the sound of the pet name on the alcohol, but deep down you knew it took a lot more then three drinks to get you drunk.

“B-because, we’re teammates Lewis-it could mess the dynamic up.”

“The last time didn’t mess anything up though.” He pouted, hands moving down to hold your waist.

You cursed in your head as goosebumps appeared due to his touch, “But a second time could, plus you know what Toto said.” You spoke, looking into his deep eyes.

“What Toto doesn’t know won’t hurt him” he smirked, head dipping down to place kisses along your neck.

A gasp came from your throat at the feeling of his lips on you, your body immediately melting under the feeling of his lips on your sensitive skin.

His teeth lightly nipped at the skin, his tongue running over the spot before a kiss was placed there.

“Lewis.” You whimpered, a hand tangling into his freshly done braids.

“Hmm?” He spoke, lips still working all around your neck.

You pulled him from his spot to look at you, “if we’re going to do this we have to be quick.” You whimpered.

A smile covered his face at your words and soon his hands were on the backs of your thighs as he hoisted you up and wrapped your long legs around his waist.

“You sure this is okay?” He asked quickly before you two went any further.

“Completely sure.” You mumbled, allowing all your self control to slip out the window as you slammed your lips against his.

They were just as soft and luscious as last time, fitting perfectly against yours as you two moved in sync. One of his hands slipping below the skirt of your dress to play with your panties while your hands held tightly onto the back of his neck.

“So wet for me.” He groaned, his thick fingers running through your folds.

“All for you.” You cried as one of his fingers pushed inside you.

He pumped his finger for a moment before allowing another to join, scissoring them at a fast pace pulling whine after while from your throat.

“Gotta get you ready for me baby, it’s been awhile” he whispered into your ear, teeth lightly nipping the skin before he pulled away.

His movements started to get messier and faster, the sounds of your whimpers filling the tiny closet and right as he felt your cunt hugging his fingers he pulled them away, a whine of disappointment falling from you at the feeling of emptiness and denied orgasm.

“Shh, baby.” He cooed, using his hand that wasn’t holding your tiny waist to undo his pants and push his hovers down just enough for his thick cock to spring out.

Your body shuddered at the feeling of his tip running up and down your folds, a deep whine echoing in the room as he pushed in side.

He groaned into your neck as he bottomed out, his large hands digging into your hips as the your warm walls welcomed him in.

“Fuck Lewis.” You cried as you felt his tip press right against the sensitive spot inside you.

“So tight honey.” He groaned.

He leaned back to watch your face as his hips pulled back slowly before thrusting hard into you, his hips meeting the skin of your thighs as your soft cries begin to fill the tiny closet.

Lewis rolled up the skirt of your dress allowing him to watch where you two connected, a growl escaping from his throat at the sight of his cock coming out shiner and shiner after each thrust.

“Such a pretty pussy.” He praised, smirking at the whine that came from you at his words.

“Lewis.” You cried the man’s name pathetically as you began to feel the knot in your stomach tightening.

“Getting close honey? I can feel you hugging me so tight.” He spoke.

“Mhm, fuck! So good Lew.” You cried as his thumb came to rub slow teasing circles around your clit.

“Yeah? Who fucks you this good darling? Whose pussy is this?”

“Yours! All yours Lewis-belongs to you.” You sobbed as your legs began to shake and the heat of your climax spread through your body.

Lewis pressed his lips to yours in a nasty kiss to silence your scream, your nails digging crescent moons into his neck from how hard you gripped the skin.

“Fuck honey, gonna cum.” He groaned, hands tightening even tighter around your waist.

“Come on Lewis, come for me baby.” You whispered in his ear, tongue running along his lobe.

Your name escaped his throat in a deep moan as he spilled inside you, his thrusts stilling as he filled you to the absolute brim.

You two stayed like that for a moment, your nails tracing the back of his neck while his lips left light kisses to your neck.

Finally when he could feel your releases running down his semi-hard cock did he pull out, setting you on shaky legs as he tucked himself away.

He did his best to help you look presentable, brushing his fingers through your hair and wiping away the few tears that had fallen from your eyes.

The closet was quiet but not awkward, you both knew you shouldn’t have done it again but you couldn’t help it.

“Uh-we should probably go back out, Toto is probably looking for us.” You spoke first and the way his face fell had your heart breaking into a thousand pieces.

“Yeah, you’re right.” He coughed as he hastily turned to open to door but your hand on his wrist stopped him.

Turning to face you he was met with a shy smile, despite having just fucked you for the second time. “Dinner at my place tomorrow? Be there at five and bring Roscoe.” You smiled, leaning up to place at sweet kiss to his cheek and leaving the room before him.

Butterflies filled the man’s stomach as he watched you walk away, he wasn’t sure how this would work out between the two of you but he was glad you were trying to make it work.

-



[fandomfablesunleashed]

Mistletoe

Zoro x reader

English is not my first language

Ficmas masterlist

Main masterlist

You were thrilled when the Thousand Sunny docked at a winter island, perfectly timed for the local holiday. As soon as Luffy heard that the main celebration included a grand feast, he promptly declared that the crew would be staying to enjoy it.

You quickly got swept up in the festivities, delighting in the decorations, the music, and the vibrant atmosphere that filled the town. As you wandered through the bustling streets, you found yourself stopping to admire the displays in shop windows.

The crew, of course, scattered almost immediately. Luffy darted off searching for food stalls, followed by an enthusiastic Chopper with Sanji reluctantly trailing behind them to make sure your captain didn’t eat the island out of its entire holiday supply. Nami and Robin disappeared into a clothing store, while Usopp and Franky marveled at some intricate mechanical decorations. Brook and Jinbe, meanwhile, found themselves captivated by the melodies of the local choir.

You scanned the crowd, hoping to spot Zoro before he had the chance to get himself lost again.

“Looking for something?”

You spun around at the sound of his voice, surprised to find him standing right behind you. You blinked, a small laugh escaping as you met his stare. “I was just trying to make sure you didn’t wander off again.” He scowled, clearly irritated by the comment, but you could see the faintest trace of amusement in his expression.

You just grinned at him. “Come on, let's stick together. I haven't seen everything yet,” you said and started walking off, knowing he would follow you.

Your eyes lit up at every turn, darting from the intricately painted holiday signs to the cute decorations that adorned lampposts and doorways. You occasionally tugged at Zoro’s sleeve, pointing out a particularly charming window display. Zoro followed your gaze each time. Even though he wasn't as expressive as he used to be, he still had a certain way of humoring you, as he had from the beginning of your friendship.

Your wandering brought you to a charming little stand offering various hot beverages. You tilted your head as you scanned the offerings, your mittened hand brushing snow off your coat. “What do you want, Zoro?”

Zoro shrugged. “Whatever, as long as it’s got alcohol.”

You rolled your eyes at his obvious answer. “Hot wine it is, then.” You ordered two steaming cups, the vendor pouring the crimson liquid into mugs before handing them over.

The two of you moved to stand beneath a towering oak tree that served as the centerpiece of the square. The warm wine warmed you from the inside out, and you smiled, satisfied, as you took another sip. You glanced at Zoro, who stood beside you with his cup in hand, his shoulders relaxed but his expression inscrutable as he gazed out at the festive bustle.

Zoro, however, wasn’t as distant as he appeared. His eye drifted toward you, observing you quietly as you admired the square. He glanced up briefly, then returned his gaze to you. For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, as if weighing something. Then, as though steeling himself, he leaned in and pressed his lips firmly to yours.

The kiss was brief but undeniable. You froze, your eyes widening in surprise at the sudden, but not unwelcome, gesture. Instinctively, you kissed him back.

Before you could fully process what had just happened, Zoro withdrew, his face as stoic as ever. He pointed upward. There it was: a sprig of mistletoe, tied with a crimson ribbon, swaying gently above you.

“Tradition,” he mumbled, his ears turning a light shade of pink.

[fa1rydr3ams]

“Mistltoe Mishap”

Shota Aizawa x Coworker Gn! Reader

| cw: innocent kiss, sfw, awkwardness, romantic tension, gn! reader

| a/n: day 2 of ficmas 24’ !! check the ficmas tab on the pixie works for the next update!

| wc: n/a

The festive hum of conversation filled the UA faculty lounge, strung with holiday lights and the faint scent of pine. You stood near the punch bowl, chatting with Nemuri, her sparkling laughter blending seamlessly with the party’s cheerful ambiance.

Nemuri leaned in slightly, her smile turning mischievous as her gaze flicked across the room. “So… you and Shouta?”

You followed her line of sight, spotting Aizawa standing near the fireplace. He was deep in conversation with Yamada and a few other teachers, his signature scarf pulled up despite the warm room. You shrugged, taking a sip of your drink.

“It’s nothing serious,” you said, though the flutter in your chest betrayed you. “I mean, we get along really well, but… I’m not totally sure how he feels.”

Nemuri tilted her head, clearly unimpressed by your answer. “You should ask him. Or, better yet, make a move yourself.”

You laughed, waving her off. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll think about it. Anyway, I’m going to freshen up real quick. I’ll be right back.”

Nemuri smirked knowingly as you set your cup down and slipped out of the lounge.

On your way back from the restroom, you rounded a corner and nearly walked straight into Aizawa.

“Ah, sorry—” you started, but he shook his head, stepping aside to give you space.

“It’s fine,” he said simply, his voice calm and low as always. “Enjoying the party?”

“Yeah, it’s nice,” you replied, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m surprised you came, though. Not really your thing, is it?”

He huffed softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yamada didn’t give me much of a choice. He said I needed ‘holiday cheer.’”

You both chuckled at that, the air between you warming slightly.

Before you could say more, a familiar voice broke through the moment.

“Oi! Lovebirds!”

You both turned to see Yamada walking by, whistling a jaunty tune. He gave you a cheeky grin and pointed upward before disappearing into the crowd.

Confused, you glanced up—and froze. Hanging just above your heads was a sprig of mistletoe, its green leaves and red berries swaying innocently.

“Oh,” you said, biting back a laugh.

Aizawa stiffened, his gaze flicking from the mistletoe to you before quickly turning away. His scarf shifted slightly, but not enough to hide the flush creeping up his cheeks.

“You’re blushing,” you teased, leaning in just a little closer.

“No, I’m not,” he replied, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

You tilted your head, an amused smile playing on your lips. “It’s a rule, you know.”

Aizawa cleared his throat, his eyes darting back to yours. “A rule?”

“Mm-hm,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re supposed to kiss under the mistletoe.”

For a moment, he seemed to weigh his options, his hands fidgeting slightly in his pockets. The blush on his face deepened, but he didn’t step back.

You took a small step closer, the faint scent of pine and cinnamon from the room wrapping around you both. “What’s the matter, Shouta? Scared of a little tradition?” you asked, your tone light but playful.

His dark eyes narrowed slightly, though the blush on his face betrayed him. “I’m not scared,” he said firmly, though the slight crack in his voice made you smile wider.

“Really?” you said, tilting your head just a little more. “Then what’s stopping you?”

Aizawa shifted, his scarf moving as though he was debating whether to pull it higher or just bury his face in it completely. “It’s not exactly… appropriate,” he mumbled, his gaze darting toward the bustling party in the lounge.

You leaned in a fraction closer, your voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “No one’s looking. Besides, it’s just a kiss—hardly scandalous.”

His eyes flicked back to yours, and for a moment, the tension in the air felt almost electric. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he said, his tone flat but not unkind.

You grinned. “Maybe a little. But I think you are too.”

Aizawa sighed, clearly resigned to his fate. His hands, which had been stuffed in his pockets, twitched slightly as though he was debating what to do with them.

“Fine,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of holiday music. “Just… don’t make a big deal out of it.”

You nodded, your smile softening. “Of course. No big deal.”

Taking the lead, you closed the remaining distance between you, tilting your head up. For a split second, Aizawa froze, his breath hitching. Then, ever so carefully, he leaned down, his lips brushing yours in a feather-light kiss.

It was over in an instant, but the warmth lingered, and when you pulled back, you couldn’t help but notice how flustered he looked.

“There,” he said, clearing his throat and adjusting his scarf. “Happy now?”

You laughed softly, your cheeks warm. “Very. See? That wasn’t so bad.”

He gave you a long, measured look before the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “You’re trouble,” he said, though there was no real bite to his words.

“Maybe,” you replied, your grin teasing. “But you like me anyway.”

Aizawa shook his head, but the way his gaze lingered on you told you everything you needed to know.

From across the room, Yamada let out a loud, exaggerated cheer, and Nemuri raised her glass in your direction, her expression gleefully smug.

Aizawa groaned. “I’m never going to hear the end of this.”

“Probably not,” you admitted, your tone light and playful. “But hey, at least now you’ve got some holiday cheer.”

He sighed again, but the slight curve of his lips didn’t go unnoticed.

dividers by @anitalenia love!!

[starry-hughes]

holiday disaster (luke hughes)

day 22 of star’s ficmas

luke hughes x reader

Jack walked onto the plane first, getting his ticket scanned and walking through. Before Luke could even have his ticket scanned he was stopped. The two brothers had arrived late to the airport and were last to board the flight. “I’m so sorry sir but this flight was overbooked and there are no more seats.”

“Jacky?” Luke called. The two were supposed to be traveling home for Christmas. “Is there another flight he can take? We are going home for Christmas.”

The attendant searched for a second and Luke was panicking. “There’s a midnight flight, last flight out.” It was noon. “Lukey, you can take my seat and I can wait.”

“No it’s okay, I’ll call mom and tell her.”

Luke made himself comfortable in a corner of the airport as Jack left on the flight. He had to break the news to his mom and call her. “I won’t be making dinner mom, I’m sorry, I’ll be home for Christmas Eve morning.”

You had been staring at the screen when the flight came up as canceled. You almost burst into tears when the flight attendant told you the only flight out was a midnight flight. You were convinced you might miss Christmas. All you wanted was to go spend the holiday with your family and now you were being delayed. Neither Luke and you wanted to leave the airport, the long security lines made you just want to stay, and Luke thought the same.

“Are you using the outlet?” you asked him. Luke looked up. “No, you can use it.” Luke watched as you hurriedly took out your phone charger. “Hi mom,” you called, “I’m sorry I’ll be late, yeah… eleven pm. I hope that flight isn’t canceled.”

Luke’s ears perked up as you said that. He listened to you end the phone call. The two of you sat in silence, doing your own things before Luke cleared his throat. “Can you watch my bag? I don’t really want to take it in the bathroom with me.”

You nodded and smiled as he got up. No one bothered you while he was gone. There were so many people in the airport but it was like the two of you had your own corner of life. When Luke returned, he had two bags of food in his hands. “Thought you deserved some food.”

Luke handed you a bag from one of the fast food places along with a water bottle. “I heard your flight was canceled,” Luke said. “Yeah, flying out to my parents and the one time I want to visit, it’s canceled,” you sighed, “thank you for the food by the way. Let me pay you back.”

He shook his head, “Don’t worry about it. My flight got overbooked. And my brother is currently on the way to our parents without me.” You frowned, “I’m sorry.”

The two of you ate quietly, hoping the hours would go by faster. “I have a laptop, do you want to watch a movie?” you questioned Luke. Shoulder to shoulder, the two of you watched a movie. Luke dozed off on your shoulder. As the day went on, there were less and less people in the airport. As the afternoon passed, both of you would get calls from family members asking how it was going. Luke told you about hockey and his job and his brothers. You told him about your own work and family.

“Hey,” you shook him gently awake, it was six pm. “There’s a restaurant down the terminal, do you want to go get dinner?”

In the airport restaurant, the least likely place to fall in love, you started enjoying time with Luke. You both tried random foods and shared plates. Laughing over dumb stories and joking about being stuck together. At the end of the night, Luke paid the bill and you tipped the waiter well.

You two still had time before your flights. Spending time sitting together and watching another movie or snacking on chips Luke bought. You checked your phone and realized you had to start getting to your gate. “I should get to my gate,” you frowned. “Oh,” Luke said, “I’ll walk you down.”

Luke dragged his suitcase behind him as he followed you. “You should get to your gate too Luke.”

He sighed and nodded. “Can I get your phone number?” You nodded and took his phone which he unlocked for you. You added yourself as a contact and took a picture of yourself for his contact phone. “Have a safe flight (Y/N), Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas Luke.” He turned and walked back to the opposite end of the terminal to his own gate smiling.

[saberlibrary]

Seeing snow for the first time ft. Ryomen Sukuna

Day 07 of 31 Days of Ficmas!

summary — your long-lived boyfriend doesn’t see the big deal about snow.

word count — 465

content — sukuna’s down bad, fluff, you call sukuna ryo, he calls you “woman” once and “love”

notes — i swear i didn’t plan this to come out on gojo’s bday??? i swear im a satoru girlie! happy bday my love :( also i never thought id write a fluff sukuna fic. let alone a down bad sukuna one lol

Ryomen Sukuna usually wakes up before you do.

It is actually rare for him to sleep, since he doesn’t need to, but having you snuggled up against him all night makes him indulge in such trivial things.

When he wakes, he stays in bed.

He doesn’t know why, he just stays. His crimson eyes flickering from the ceiling to your face, wondering how he ended up being a hostage of such a foolish emotion; love.

He never thought he would care so much for another being, let alone a weak human.

Your eyes flutter open and he’s still shamelessly staring at you. By now, you’ve got used to waking up like this – wake being watched, analyzed.

���Morning,” he says calmly, even though he’s not.

It infuriates him how you make him feel, even though you’re already his. He wants to drown in you.

You’re about to answer when something else catches your attention; you quickly look at the window, excitement boiling in your stomach when you see snowflakes falling from the sky, “Oh, my God!”

Sukuna frowns.

He follows your gaze, but still doesn’t understand what is happening, “What?”

“Ryo!” you squeak, jumping from the bed, “It’s snowing!”

You’re out of the room before he can process what you were saying.

Sukuna takes a few seconds before going after you, grabbing one coat from the closet on his way to find you in the backyard, looking up with a dreamy smile on your face.

“What’s with you, woman?” he asks gruffly, putting the coat on your shoulders. “Don’t forget your body limitations, you can catch a cold. Die from it.”

You chuckle as he complains like an old man, treating you like a porcelain doll he is too scared of breaking.

He is.

But you…

“I just want to see the snow, Ryo. Feel it,” you close your eyes, feeling the snowflakes falling upon your face. Happiness fills you – it is like living a dream.

“What is so special about snow?” he sounds softer now. Seeing how peaceful you look, the lazy smile on your face. He wants it there forever, he wants to watch it forever.

You are so intriguing.

Everyday. More and more.

“It’s my first time seeing it, I always wanted to…”

He lifts an eyebrow, surprised with that information.

Snow, something so trivial like frozen water falling from the sky, was enough to put a smile on your face. It was something you dreamed of.

“I’m glad I’m seeing it for the first time with you, Ryo.”

Sukuna wraps his arms around you, his warmth engulfing and comforting you, and places a kiss on your exposed neck. He’s drowning, but he wants to dive deeper.

“This is nothing compared to everything I’ll show you as long as you live, my love.”

[ikkyfics]

Letter to Santa Claus

Remus Lupin x fem!reader

Summary: you convince Remus to write a letter to Santa Claus

Warnings: fluffy, a Remus capable of doing the silliest things for you, takes place after graduation from Hogwarts

Masterlist - Ficmas 2024

Christmas had always been a time of difficult memories for Remus. Not that he didn’t like the magic of the season, but the combination of life’s uncertainties and the loneliness that had followed him for so long made any celebration feel melancholic. You knew this, of course. Remus was an open book to you — a book you loved rereading and understanding more deeply with every page.

That December night, you were in the small cabin you shared, lit by the lights of the Christmas tree. The sweet smell of freshly baked cookies mixed with the scent of pine from the tree. Remus was on the couch, a book in his hands and a blanket casually draped over his shoulders. His brown hair was disheveled, and you could swear he looked even more handsome this way, with the marks of time and the struggles he had faced visible in his scars. To you, every detail about him — the deep eyes that reflected wisdom and sadness, the gentle gestures, even the way his rough fingers touched the pages of his book — was part of the man you loved so deeply.

You appeared in the room with a conspiratorial smile, carrying paper and pens. “Remus, I have an idea.”

He looked up from his book, the corners of his lips curling into a smile. “This is dangerous.”

“Let’s write letters to Santa Claus,” you announced, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Letters to Santa? We’re adults.”

“Adults who need to remember how to dream,” you replied, sitting next to him and handing him a sheet of paper. “Come on, just this once.”

He hesitated, but the gleam in his eyes as he looked at you gave him away: he’d do anything you asked. Even if it was ridiculous. He sighed theatrically but took the pen.

“Fine. What are you going to ask for, then?”

“Secret!” you replied with a mischievous smile, already writing your letter.

You both stayed silent for a few minutes, the sound of pens gliding over paper filling the air. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye as Remus wrote, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration. It was impossible not to get lost in the sight of him. Every time you saw those large hands holding something so delicately — a paper, a book, or your face — you felt a wave of uncontrollable love.

When you were done, you were the first to fold your letter and set it aside, smiling. Remus took a little longer, as if the words were hard to confess, even to the paper.

“Done,” he finally murmured, folding the sheet and placing it next to yours.

“Did you write a lot?” you asked, leaning over to peek.

“Curious, aren’t you?” He laughed, pulling you closer. “But if we’re doing this right, I’ll ask: what did you ask for?”

“I can’t tell you. Otherwise, it won’t come true,” you replied, laughing, but your eyes sparkled with happiness. “But I’ll tell you one thing: I think I already have everything I wanted.”

Remus looked at you, his smile softening. “Me too.”

You noticed the sincerity in his voice, and your heart tightened with love. Holding his face in your hands, you brushed your thumb over one of the scars that crossed his cheek. “Do you have any idea how much I love you, Remus?”

His brown eyes seemed to melt under the intensity of your gaze. “No matter how much you think you love me, I love you more.”

You laughed softly, lowering your face to kiss the tip of his nose, which was slightly cold from the night’s temperature. “I think we’re tied, Lupin,” you teased, sliding your fingers through his hair, messing up the already disheveled strands.

Remus closed his eyes at your touch, leaning into your hand as if that simple gesture could dissolve any tension he carried. “If that’s the case, I’ll accept the tie,” he murmured, gently pulling you closer.

You both settled into the couch naturally, as if each movement had been rehearsed for years. He wrapped his arms around you, the warmth of his body pushing away the cold of the night. You snuggled against his chest, feeling the calm rhythm of the heart you loved so much.

“I’m starting to think you made up this whole letter-to-Santa story just so I’d stay glued to you like this,” he joked, softly kissing the top of your head.

“Maybe,” you replied, laughing softly and drawing lazy circles with your finger on his chest, over the blanket you both shared. “But you’re not complaining.”

“Not for a second,” he admitted, squeezing you lightly against him.

You stayed like that for a while, exchanging sweet words and small kisses. The world seemed quiet and distant, reduced to the soft light of the Christmas tree blinking in the room. You sighed contentedly, thinking how perfect that moment was — even with all the challenges life brought, being with Remus made it all worthwhile.

Eventually, you both got up and decided to head to bed. The cabin was small, and your room felt even cozier on that chilly night. Before falling asleep, Remus remembered the gifts you’d prepared for your friends. “Do you think Sirius will like the wine we picked? Or will he say it’s ‘too sophisticated’ for his taste?”

You laughed, lying down next to him and pulling the covers over both of you. “He’ll pretend he doesn’t like it just to tease us, but he’ll keep it safe. Now, James’… I hope the ‘Dad of the Year’ t-shirt isn’t too much.”

Remus laughed with you, a soft, comforting sound. “Too much? He’ll wear it until Lily begs him to retire it.”

You laughed a little more before he pulled you closer, kissing your forehead. His hands found yours, fingers intertwining naturally. He kissed the corner of your lips, and you sighed against him.

When sleep finally came, you were completely tangled up, as if even the harshest winter couldn’t separate the two of you.

The next morning, the pale rays of the sun slipping through the cracks in the curtains were the first to wake you. Remus was still sleeping deeply beside you, his arms firmly around you, his face relaxed. For a moment, you lay there, taking in every detail of him — the gentle curve of his lips, the almost imperceptible trace of a smile, and the scars that, far from diminishing his beauty, only told stories that made him even more special to you.

With great care, you began to untangle yourself from his arms. Remus mumbled something inaudible and shifted slightly, but you managed to slip away without waking him. He nestled back into the pillow, his face partially hidden by the covers, and your heart tightened with love at the sight of him.

Moving silently, you made your way to the living room, where the letters still lay on the table. Taking Remus’ letter, you opened it carefully, a rush of anxiety running through your veins. The idea of writing letters to “Santa” had been yours from the start, and you knew exactly why: to discover what Remus truly wanted. Not a material gift, but something that came from the depths of his heart — something you could make happen.

As your eyes glided over the words in the letter, your heart raced, and a sweet emotion washed over you:

Dear Santa,

I don’t want anything for myself, just for her to never leave me.

— Remus

Holding the paper between your hands, you bit your lip to hold back the smile. He always had that simple, straightforward way, but the weight of the meaning behind his words was immense. Taking a deep breath, you pressed the letter to your chest, already determined. “Oh, Remus,” you whispered softly. “You have no idea.”

You folded the letter carefully and put it back in place. Then, you returned to the bedroom, where he remained in the same position you had left him. You climbed into bed slowly, settling next to him and pulling the covers over both of you. Resting your head on his chest, you left a soft kiss there and whispered, “I love you so much. I hope you know that.”

“I know,” came his response, unexpected but full of affection, his voice hoarse from sleep. “What intrigues me is your inability to keep your curiosity in check.”

You froze for a moment before lifting your face to look at him. His eyes were half open, a mischievous smile on his lips. “You were awake?”

“Did you really think you could escape from me that easily?” he teased, running his fingers through your hair. “So, tell me, what did you think of my request?”

You sighed, feeling the heat rise to your face. “I think… you already have the answer, Remus. I’m not going anywhere. Never. You’re stuck with me forever.”

He chuckled softly, and the sound echoed in his chest, warming your heart even more. “I already knew that. I just needed to get it on record with Santa, in case you changed your mind.”

“Idiot,” you replied, laughing along with him. After a moment, you turned to look him in the eyes. “But since we’re talking about this, maybe you should know what I asked for.”

“I’m listening,” he said, his tone more serious now, his brown eyes fixed on yours.

“I asked for you to be happy. Even on the hard days, even when you think you don’t deserve it. Because you do, Remus. More than anyone I know.”

For a moment, he fell silent, his gaze soft and filled with emotion. Then, he pulled you even closer, placing a lingering kiss on your forehead before murmuring against your skin: “I am happy, you know? With you. Only with you.”

“Looks like Santa’s early this year,” you replied, laughing softly as you snuggled back against him.

“And efficient,” he added, wrapping you in his arms.

While the world outside remained cold and silent, you stayed there, tangled together, talking about everything and nothing, sharing gentle touches and loving whispers. Because, in the end, the greatest gift you could wish for was already right there, in his arms.

[rebelliousstories]

Spices

25 Days of Ficmas

Relationship: Marko x Reader

Fandom: The Lost Boys

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 1,381

Main Masterlist: Here

Lost Boys Masterlist: Here

Summary: Christmas time brings out a variety of smells that Marko’s human girl is more than happy to introduce him too, and even have him introduce her to some.

Consider Donating: Here

Christmas was about being together and sharing. Nothing was easier to share than delicious food and drinks. And when two people come from two different cultures? Oh, now that is a match made in Christmas heaven.

Marko was happily being dragged through the night market the next town over from Santa Carla by his girlfriend one winter’s night. It was a brisk sixty-eight degrees, meaning that she was bundled up ever so cutely. Her customer jacket made by the vampire next to her was holding a hoodie together underneath, and a long sleeve under that. It was not at all difficult for them to find one another considering how eccentric their jackets were, but that was just how they liked it.

“Come on, Marko! The stall is this way.” Her cheerful scream broke free from the ambient noise around them. He continued to follow after her, laughing occasionally as she got more and more excited the closer they got.

The stall she had mentioned was gorgeous. Spices from all over the world sat in large quantities across multiple tables. There were whole spices and herbs, dried and fresh, ground in various grades; it was perfect. It was something that Marko had not seen since being turned. Human food had little effect over him now. His body processed it too quickly to be full from it. And he was pretty sure that, even as weird as the vampire world was, spicing blood was considered odd.

His little human began to peruse the piles for everything that she needed for her own Christmas treats. She was placing normal things into pouches for purchase; cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, rosemary, thyme, oregano, peppercorns, and more. Marko was just enjoying watching her shop, but came to rest along her back with his hands on her waist.

“Hmm… Marko,” he hummed in acknowledgement, “do you think I should get anything else? I have the usuals that I’m low on, but it would be a shame to come here and not try a new spice or two.”

“What are you making this season?”

Her list was rattled off almost too fast for him to keep up with, but he got it eventually. It sounded like the usual menu for this time of year. Roasts, pies, spiced cider, and cookies of different kinds.

“Try that.” He pointed to a pile of what appeared to be dried flowers.

“That’s called Blade Mace. It’s like nutmeg but not as strong. It’s good in savory and sweet dishes when you don’t wanna go too heavy in nutmeg flavoring. Also, get some of that black garlic over there. That’ll change up your roasts in a good way.”

With his suggestions, she made quick work of collecting the items. She made sure to take the time to smell each ingredient and gave her approval with each sniff. Once everything was bagged and ready to go, the couple joined the queue for the checkout. However as they rounded the corner, a specific scent caught Marko’s nose. This was a smell he had not smelled in decades, and was afraid that he would never smell again.

Sitting in a shallow barrel like container, were porcini mushrooms. His eyes grew wide, and his mouth hung open in wonder. The vampire barely registered that his feet were moving him away from his girlfriend, and towards the item that had snatched his attention away. As he allowed his eyes to rake over the mushrooms, and his nostrils to fill with their intoxicating scent, Marko felt a hand through the thick material of his jacket pull his attention back.

“You alright there, ‘Ko,” she softly asked him.

“Yeah,” he breathed a shaky breath, “it’s just… I remember these from when I was a kid. My Nona would use these in our Christmas meals to add this wonderful flavor. Specifically, she used it in a risotto that was served every Christmas feast. It was always my favorite thing on the table and she would make extra so that I could have my own dish of it.” The joy and childlike sparkle in his eyes moved her heart as she listened to her lover.

There was a beat of silence between the two of them. Quiet breathing filled the space, and the line moved again. But she did not care. Reaching for another bag, she grabbed a handful or two of dried mushrooms to take home. The action made the vampire jump out of his skin before looking towards his girlfriend with a confused expression. Tying off the bag, she sent him a wink and a smile as she moved to the end of the line once again.

“Let’s see if I can’t find a recipe for these involving some risotto.” Her teasing smile stunned Marko who just wrapped his arms around her. She giggled as he buried his head into her neck, pressing light kisses to her throat.

“I love you so much, bella.”

The next night, when Marko was able to get away from his brothers, he had made his way up to the steps of her house. His bike was resting outside on the curb. Three knocks was all it took to call her to the door, and the image that greeted him was amazing. She was in an apron that had just a couple of stains from the years. Her hair was up with some strands out, giving her a comfortable appearance. And that smile that stretched across her face? That was the killer for him.

“Marko! Welcome in, sweetheart.” They shared a kiss as he stepped inside, and placed his coat on the back of the couch.

“Smells good, bella.” A symphony of smells greeted him from the kitchen. Marko went to try and help her, but she quickly shooed him towards the dinning room without an explanation.

Sitting at the beautiful wooden table, Marko twiddled his thumbs, and messed with his fingers. Never once had she not let him help her plate or bring food to the table. He did not know whether or not that was a good thing. But the second she started bringing food out, he relaxed a bit.

His favorite roast chicken that she loved to make was joined by various vegetables and mashed potatoes. For all intents and purposes, this was a proper Christmas dinner. Before he could dig in though, Marko’s girlfriend hit him with, “wait one second,” and she disappeared into the kitchen again. When she came backs with a bowl, he did not know what she had. But once she set it down, he was able to see inside.

A simple bowl of risotto. Taking a smell, he could smell those delicious mushrooms that they had gotten the previous night. Before she could properly brace herself, Marko had tackled her to the ground. He had begun pressing lots of kisses to every inch of her skin he could reach.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” Marko kept muttering in between each kiss he laid over her face and neck. Eventually he had to lead up as her hands had moved him to allow her to breathe. Her face was flushed and glowing, and her smile was beaming.

“You’re welcome, ‘Ko. Now, do you wanna eat the food that I made before it gets cold?”

The vampire rushed to stand up and helped his girlfriend as well. He took his place once more while she went to make sure everything was off. Marko began to divvy up the food once she got back, and they both settled in to their festive meal. As soon as Marko took a bite of the risotto though? It was all over for him. He legitimately thought he was going to cry over how good it tasted.

“Sweetie, you okay?” Her hand swiped against the droplet that had fallen down the swell of his cheek.

“Yeah, I’m just so- so happy. Bella, this tastes exactly like how I remember,” came his reply. She felt a surge of pride as she rested her hand atop his.

“Well, I can make you this every Christmas from now on.”

“Oh no. Now that I know you can make this, you’re gonna make this way more often. This is gonna be on the table every time now.”

[leona-hawthorne]

FICMAS #6— TIME OUT / lorenzo berkshire

december 18th

lorenzo berkshire x fem reader

summary: sometimes, it’s just obvious how badly your boy needs a small punishment.

warnings: smut, face sitting/riding, oral f!recieving, handjob, edging, nudity

words: 2.3k

navigation ficmas masterlist

He could be insufferable. A tease. Neglectful. An absolute bastard when he wanted to be. It was his greatest talent—knowing exactly how to worm his way under your skin, leaving you simmering in irritation one moment and utterly weak for him the next.  

Today, however, he’d crossed a line.  

A brush of his hand over your waist in the morning, a kiss to your temple, murmured promises of later, love whispered against your neck. He'd teased you endlessly, winding you up until you felt like you were bursting at the seams, only to abandon you entirely.  

For his friends. His boys.  

You’d walked into the living room, hoping for his attention, only to find him sprawled across the couch with Theo and Blaise, laughing like nothing else in the world mattered. You’d even lingered, leaning against the doorframe, waiting for him to notice. He hadn’t.  

And now, here you were—stripped completely bare, walking through the house like you didn’t have a care in the world. Now he was trailing behind you, as if the guilt had finally caught up to him. You could feel his eyes on you—burning, desperate, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking back. He was on time out.

“Come on, babe,” he said, his voice a mixture of exasperation and apology. “How long are you going to ignore me?”  

You didn’t answer. Instead, you kept walking, bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor as you made your way into the kitchen. His footsteps followed close behind, his breaths quickening every time you passed through a beam of sunlight, your bare skin glowing in the afternoon light.  

He groaned audibly, and you caught a muttered, “Bloody hell,” under his breath.  

You opened a cabinet, pulling down a glass like he wasn’t even there. The cool air from the fridge kissed your skin as you grabbed a pitcher of water, still refusing to acknowledge him.  

“Okay, you’ve made your point,” he tried again, his tone shifting to something softer, almost pleading. “I messed up. I’m sorry, alright?”  

Nothing. You poured the water slowly, taking your time, knowing full well he was watching every movement.  

“Don’t do this to me,” he continued, stepping closer. “You know I can’t stand it when you’re mad at me.”  

You took a sip, savoring the coolness of the water before setting the glass down.  

He sighed heavily, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “You’re killing me here.”  

Finally, you turned to face him, leaning back against the counter with your arms crossed. His gaze was instantly on your chest, his lips parting slightly as his eyes drank you in.  

“What do you want, Lorenzo?” you asked, your tone sharp but calm.  

His eyes snapped back to yours, wide and almost innocent, like he hadn’t been caught ogling. “I want to fix this,” he said quickly, stepping closer.  

“Fix what?” You tilted your head, pretending to consider. “You didn’t do anything wrong, remember? Just spent the whole day ignoring me like I wasn’t even here.”  

“That’s not true—”  

“Isn’t it?” you interrupted, raising a brow. “Go on, tell me what I wore this morning.”  

He hesitated, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled for an answer.  

“Exactly.”  

“Okay, okay,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “You’re right. I was a shit boyfriend today. But I swear, I didn’t mean to—”  

“Didn’t mean to what?” you asked, taking a step closer. His breath hitched, and you could feel the heat radiating off him as you closed the gap. “Didn’t mean to leave me here all day while you laughed with your friends? Didn’t mean to tease me and then walk away like I didn’t matter?”  

He shook his head, his curls falling into his eyes. “No, I—”  

“Save it.” You stepped back, and he immediately reached for you, his hand brushing your wrist.  

“Please,” he murmured, his voice rough. “I’ll do anything. Just tell me how to fix it.”  

The corner of your mouth twitched, but you forced yourself to stay composed. “Anything?”  

“Anything,” he repeated, the word carrying a weight that made your pulse quicken.  

You studied him for a moment, taking in the way his chest rose and fell, the tension in his jaw, the unmistakable desire burning in his eyes.  

“Alright,” you said finally, your voice soft but firm. “Then you can start by keeping your mouth shut.”  

His brows furrowed slightly in confusion, but he didn’t argue.  

“And,” you continued, leaning in close enough that your breath ghosted over his lips, “if you’re good, maybe I’ll forgive you.”  

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his body practically trembling with anticipation. “I’ll be good,” he said quickly. “I promise.”  

“Good,” you murmured, brushing past him. “Then go sit down. I’ll tell you what to do next.”  

He didn’t hesitate. At your command, he sank to the floor, sitting back on his heels with a soft groan, eyes locked on you in a mixture of longing and obedience. His hands rested loosely at his sides, but the tension in his fingers was palpable.  

“Good,” you said, your voice dripping with authority as you surveyed him. “Now, on your back.”  

He swallowed, a slight shiver running through him at the coldness in your tone, but he obeyed. Lying flat on the floor, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyes never leaving you.  

You smirked as you walked toward him, every step deliberate, making sure he could see the sway of your hips, the slow roll of your muscles as you moved.  

“Hands where I can see them,” you ordered, your voice firm as you knelt down beside him.  

His hands shot up instinctively, palms open, placed carefully on the floor by his sides, where you could keep an eye on them.  

“Good boy,” you purred, but the praise was laced with a teasing edge. “You’re learning.”  

You straddled him then, positioning yourself slowly on top of him, your body hovering just above his. His breath hitched at the proximity, but you didn’t let him move a muscle.  

“Don’t even think about it,” you warned, eyes narrowing as you met his gaze. “I’m in charge here. You don’t touch me. You don’t touch yourself.”  

His lips parted, but no words came out—just a needy sound that made you smile darkly.  

“Do you understand?” you asked, your tone a sharp contrast to the sweetness of your words.  

“Yes,” he breathed out, his voice barely audible but filled with an unmistakable edge of desperation.  

“Good.” You leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “Then stay still. If you can be good for me, maybe I’ll reward you later.”  

His body stiffened under you, a silent promise hanging in the air, but you didn’t let him say another word. This time, you were in control—and you had every intention of keeping it that way.

Your words seemed to paralyze him. As if suddenly realizing his position, his eyes widened, and he gave a subtle nod of understanding. He remained perfectly still, hands at his sides, body tensed in anticipation beneath you.

You shifted your weight, moving upwards until you hovered directly over his face. The heat of your core radiated onto his skin, eliciting a muffled gasp from below. His lips parted slightly, but he didn't dare move a muscle, obeying your strict command.

"Remember," you murmured, your voice stern yet laced with a seductive undertone. "Not a single touch. Not unless I give you permission." You emphasized the last word firmly, ensuring he understood who held power in this moment.

With deliberate slowness, you lowered yourself onto his waiting mouth.

The moment you made contact, a low moan escaped him, vibrating against your sensitive flesh. His tongue flicked out tentatively, seeking permission, but he held himself back from fully tasting you.  

"That's it," you cooed, grinding down ever so slightly. "Just like that."

His breath grew ragged as he fought to maintain control, his restraint evident in the way his hands clenched at his sides. But despite his efforts, small whimpers of need slipped free with each pass of his tongue along your slit.

"You're doing so well," you praised, your voice thick with approval. "Such a good boy for me."

His response was muffled but enthusiastic—a desperate sound that sent shivers racing up your spine.

Your words seemed to embolden him further. Despite his earlier hesitation, now there was a newfound determination in the way he explored you with his mouth. His tongue swirled around your clit before delving deeper, stroking your inner walls with fervent precision.

Your moans echoed throughout the room, spurring him on as he devoured you hungrily. His nose brushed against your sensitive nub each time you ground down onto him, adding an extra layer of stimulation that left you gasping for air.

As much as you wanted to succumb to the pleasure coursing through you, you maintained control—your grip tightening on his hair as you guided him exactly where you needed him most.

"Yes," you hissed between clenched teeth, feeling the pressure building within you. "Right there...don't stop."

His movements became more frantic, driven by a primal urge to please you. Each stroke of his tongue was punctuated by a low growl of satisfaction from deep within his throat, as if he couldn't get enough of your taste.

Your thighs trembled around his head, your grip on his hair loosening slightly as you teetered on the brink of ecstasy. Every nerve ending felt electrified, every inch of skin hypersensitive to even the slightest brush against it.

"Fuck..." The curse fell from your lips like a prayer, your body arching into his touch as you chased after that elusive peak. And when it finally crashed over you—an intense wave of pure bliss that left you breathless and spent—you cried out his name like a mantra.

Your breathing was uneven as you finally lifted yourself off his face, his cheeks slick and his lips parted as he gasped for air, his pupils blown wide with a mix of arousal and desperation. You could see the faintest glimmer of relief in his expression, as if he thought the punishment might finally be over.  

Poor thing.  

Without a word, you turned around, shifting your legs to straddle his head again—but this time facing his body. His gasp was muffled as your thighs enveloped him once more, his tongue automatically seeking you out like the obedient little toy he was.  

“Don’t stop,” you ordered, planting your hands on his firm chest for balance.  

He groaned in response, the vibrations sending a pleasant jolt through your core. The angle allowed you to see every twitch of his body, every small shift in his hips as he sought any kind of friction against the unrelenting tightness of his jeans.  

Your gaze drifted lower, to the tent in his pants that looked almost painful. His cock strained against the fabric, the tip undoubtedly sticky with pre-cum by now. A wicked smile played on your lips as you leaned forward, fingers deftly working to unbutton his jeans.  

His hips bucked slightly, and you tightened your thighs around his head in warning. “Ah, ah. Stay still,” you chided, glancing over your shoulder.  

A muffled whimper escaped him, and you couldn’t help but grin as you slid his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his cock.  

“Look at you,” you purred, your fingers wrapping around his length. He twitched in your hand, the needy sound he made muffled beneath you. “So hard, so desperate. Is this what happens when you spend the whole day teasing me? Neglecting me?”  

You swiped your thumb over the tip, spreading the slickness there as he groaned against you. His tongue faltered for a moment, but you gave a sharp roll of your hips, reminding him of his place.  

“Focus,” you demanded, tightening your grip slightly on his cock. “I didn’t tell you to stop.”  

He doubled his efforts, his tongue working frantically as you began to stroke him with slow, deliberate movements. His hips bucked again, and you clicked your tongue in disapproval.  

“What did I say about staying still?” you asked, your tone low and threatening.  

He whimpered, his hands fisting against the rug as he fought to keep himself in check.  

“Good boy,” you murmured, speeding up your strokes just enough to make his hips jerk involuntarily. You could feel the tension building in his body, the way his thighs trembled and his breath hitched as you worked him closer and closer to the edge.  

And then, just as his body went taut and his cock twitched in your hand, you stopped.  

The strangled sound he made was almost pitiful, his hips bucking uselessly as he tried to chase his release.  

“Did you really think I was going to let you cum?” you asked, your tone dripping with mockery. “Not after the day you’ve put me through.”  

He whimpered again, his hands flying to his sides as if begging for permission to touch you, to do something, anything.  

“Ah, ah,” you chided, swatting his hands away. “This is a punishment, Lorenzo. You’re not supposed to enjoy it.”  

You could feel him trembling beneath you, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. And yet, despite his desperation, his tongue never stopped.  

“Maybe next time, you’ll think twice before teasing me,” you said, your voice sharp and commanding. “And maybe, just maybe, you’ll remember who’s really in charge here.”  

You began to rock your hips again, grinding against his face with renewed fervor. He moaned against you, the sound sending a delicious shiver through your body as you chased your own release.  

His cock throbbed in your hand, still achingly hard and dripping with neglect, but you didn’t so much as glance at it.  

“Stay still,” you reminded him, your voice breathless as you felt yourself hurtling toward the edge.  

And when you finally came, your thighs clenching around his head and your moans echoing through the room, you knew he was entirely and completely yours. 

ficmas taglist: @winnie1emon @ur-local-wizard @satosugu4-ever @ankoluvs @superstargirll @slytherin-princess-x @abeoavita @mattheoriddle101 @georgiastars13 @smoooore @mattheoriddles-sluttt @2dloveshp @mattysprincess @catching-fire-in-the-wind @revesephemeres @esmerai-artemis @clar2aa @iamaconfusedpan

(comment or dm to be added to the taglist)

[perseephoneee]

frostbite [ficmas 2024] [steve rogers]

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ ficmas 2024

@allthegoodbobdylanlyricsaretaken : Merry (early) Christmas! Can I get a Steve Rogers x Female!Reader for frostbite? :D ❄️❄️

warnings: body insecurities, perky nipples, mission debauchery

author's note: ho ho ho it is ficmas day 1 and folks am i excited. i actually did a lot of editing with this one bc you guys deserve quality and i love youuu

playlist:

white winter hymnal -- fleet foxes

winter wonderland -- laufey

that moon song -- gregory alan isakov

“This mission fucking sucks.”

“Language,” Cap chastised over the com, earning a grumble from you as you adjusted your crouch behind one of the many trees in the forests of Sokovia. This was supposed to be a simple mission for S.H.I.E.L.D. In many ways, it was still simple, but it was also cold. It was so cold that you were losing feeling in your fingers and toes despite the gear you had on you. Stark had ensured that “his” employees were well-outfitted for whatever climate. It didn’t help you from feeling like a popsicle. 

“Hey, you were a human popsicle. How did you survive? Asking for a friend,” you said over the com, rolling even more into a ball as you attempted to find warmth. 

“You’re hilarious,” Steve drawled, no hint of humor in his voice. Sometimes, you felt like he could lighten up, actually have a laugh instead of playing adult all the time. This was one of those moments you wished he would play along with you. Plus, you enjoyed the sound of his laugh. 

“Any movement?” you sighed, still peering around your perch. It was an overseas operation using Sokovia as a meeting ground to smuggle illicit goods to other fascist organizations, which would be considered a big deal operation if your days weren’t often full of handling aliens. Oh, the joys of joining S.H.I.E.L.D. and not the FBI or CIA. 

Steve said something over the com, but you didn’t hear it as you heard voices coming from down below. You had found purchase on a ledge that overlooked a snowy courtyard, one of the many places you and Steve thought might hold the promise of a meeting. You were right, as two of the guilty individuals came out of the woodwork without noticing your presence. As you crept down, you pulled your hood farther up your head, trying to stay low to the ground. You were excited to wear the white get-up, especially with the furry hood. Steve was in his Captain America gear. It struck more fear than if he had looked like an Arctic fox. 

You forced your breathing to become shallow as you slowly slid down the ledge, ending up about thirty feet away from them. Still hidden by the snow, still not alerting them of your presence. Before getting up, you searched the ground for any potential debris that would snap and let them know you were there. Initially, you planned to attack first and ask questions later. Until you saw the contents of what they were lugging, which was much different from what the initial mission specs reported. You let them walk farther away and let the wind carry your voice in the opposite direction before speaking to Cap. 

“Something’s off. I’m going to follow them.”

“Wait for me,” Steve spoke, rustling sounds signaling he was already moving. 

“No time, I’m going in.”

“Y/N–” you cut Steve off, turning off your com in case they heard as you trailed after them. You didn’t have to focus on the cold as much as you tried to slow your breaths and quiet your movements. About a hundred feet later, they met up with the rest of their party and a large, conspicuous truck. They had more bags of whatever they were smuggling, and you waited until only two men were outside before moving. 

You were trained well, dispatching them without much of a problem. You left them unconscious outside as you crawled inside the truck, looking through the bags in the dim light. The material wasn’t what you initially thought…it appeared to be of alien origin. Considering the organization you were chasing, you assumed they could be used in weapon production. Can’t these guys ever think of more creative ways to dominate the world? You thought as you closed up one bag to check all the others. What about targeting the market on Magic the Gathering cards?

A thud alerted you that you weren’t alone, and you immediately ducked as a shot was fired from your assailant. You pushed his arm to the side, holding his gun hand against the wall as you swept his foot out from under him. Twisting his arm back at an unnatural angle, he cried out as he dropped the weapon, and you grabbed it from him. You didn’t have a chance to use it as a second man jumped in and knocked you cold. 

Chaos greeted you as you woke up. 

Your hands and feet were numb as you regained consciousness; looking around to see, you noticed you were still in the back of the truck. Fighting was happening outside, and considering the men's yells, you knew it was Steve doing the fighting. He was the only soldier you had seen strike that much fear. Panic overtook you as you struggled to move your limbs. It reminded you of every time you had sleep paralysis and you wanted to scream. You sucked in your core and forced yourself to sit up, forcing your fingers to flex in the process. You stifled a yelp at the pain as you used your forearms on a crate box to drag yourself up. Blood started rushing through your body again as you shuffled towards the entrance, watching in a trance as Steve dispatched man after man. They just kept coming, though, and you knew Steve, despite his talents, wouldn’t be able to hold them off forever. You turned to look around the back of the truck, locating the gun that you grabbed earlier. The idiot who knocked you out didn’t even bother to grab it for himself. 

You clenched your teeth and shuffled towards the gun, minimal feeling returning to your limbs as you slid to the ground, grabbing it between your numb fingers. You knew that you were in deep shit if you didn’t get warm soon, but you didn’t have time to worry about that. Instead, you took a deep breath and took your shot. Director Fury had once compared your shooting skills to that of Clint “Hawkeye” Barton, and it showed. Even in your frozen state, you knocked out bad guy after bad guy until Steve had the upper hand. The fight was over in less than five minutes, with both of you combined. The second the last guy dropped, the gun slipped from your fingers, and you slunk against the wall. Steve ran over to you immediately. 

“What happened?” Steve asked, kneeling before you and looking for any visible injuries. 

“F-Frostbite,” you bit out, head already feeling hazy. Steve, Mr. “Language,” swore under his breath and picked you up under your knees and shoulders. You cried out from the pain, everything in you frozen from the climate and being knocked unconscious. Your camp wasn’t too far away, and with Steve running at full-super-soldier speed, it didn’t take too long to get there. Your plane was parked next to the fully insulated tent you both had pitched up for the night-long mission. Instead of taking you to the tent and your bed, though, Steve rushed you into the plane. He put you on the floor and ran to the cockpit to turn on the aircraft. All the controls turned on, and heat started to pump through the airways. The plane had the only working bathroom (Tony was still working on transporting an entire modern plumbing system on the go), and Steve took you there, turning on the water. He looked at you and started blushing.

“I-I need to take off your clothes,” Steve mumbled. 

“Then fucki-ing do it,” you stuttered. Steve, fortunately, didn’t hesitate. He undid your boots, removing your jacket, pants, and shirt, leaving you in a tank top and underwear. Your skin was red and purple, and you hissed as he put you into the water. Steve closed the door to the bathroom, shoving towels under the crack and doing his best to create a sauna. The steam started fogging up the mirror as you felt the ice in your bones begin to crack. Steve looked around the bathroom and, not finding what he was hoping for, elected to start taking off his uniform. You were too cold to say anything, and even if you did enjoy Captain America shirtless in a steamy room, the only thing you felt was confusion. He took off his undershirt (still in a tank top and pants) and wet it in the hot water, bringing it to your head as he attempted to get the parts of you not covered in the tub. 

You both sat there for a while, your breaths coming out slower and slower as you felt yourself warm up and your muscles relax. Steve was sweating from all the heat in the room, but he didn’t complain. He was too focused on making sure you were okay. 

“You must be dying,” you breathed, tilting your head to look up at him. He was pretty, something you knew but never processed. His eyes had a hint of green, and he had light freckles dusting his cheekbones. Even as a scrawny kid, he must’ve still been cute. You would’ve thought he was cute if you were a 1940s girl. The muscles that came with the title were just a bonus.

“I’ll manage. I’m more worried about you,” Steve smiled, getting his makeshift towel wet again and laying it over your head. 

“I still have my limbs; that’s pretty good,” you chuckled. “I’m sorry I rushed in.”

“You followed a hunch, even if you were reckless.” You rolled your eyes, very used to the classic Steve Rogers lecture. “Still, you saved my ass at the end there.”

“Language, Cap,” you chuckled. You wiggled a bit in the tub, thankful to feel your limbs working. No longer paralyzed like they were on the truck. Steve looked away, throat bobbing. Looking down, you realized that being left in the water with nothing but your tank top and underwear had made your nipples more visible. You covered your chest, sinking lower into the water to hide yourself. God knows you didn’t want to see the disappointment on his face at your body. “Would you mind grabbing me some of my clothes? I’d prefer to be in something dry.”

Steve nodded, leaving you in the steamy bathtub by yourself. You looked at your fingers, grimacing at the blisters forming on the skin. You knew they’d scab over as merely superficial wounds, but you might’ve lost a finger or two if Steve hadn't gotten to you. You spent some time sitting in the tub, flexing your fingers as a reminder to yourself. Steve returned a moment later, helping you out of the tub and immediately wrapping you in a warm towel. You had to bat him away with your hand because of how much he was fluttering around, but you secretly didn’t mind it. You got dressed as quickly as possible, getting a glance of yourself in the mirror and wincing. 

The steam was dissipating, and the reflection in the mirror was one of a tired, frostbitten agent. Your nose was slightly purple and red, with a bruise forming over your left temple. Your body had seen better days. You can’t even imagine what Captain America was thinking while looking at you. You just looked away and finished getting dressed, trying to ignore all the thoughts swarming in your head. 

Steve was waiting outside the bathroom when you exited, having changed into something not covered in snow, mud, and blood. He frowned when he saw your face, and you felt your stomach sink. After the day you’d been having, you didn’t need to be reminded of your inadequacy. 

“Did you call in the bust to leadership?” you asked, wanting to ensure you didn’t fail your job or your expectations. Steve nodded. 

“All taken care of; we’ll be out first thing tomorrow.”

You probably shouldn’t be surprised that he was on top of it. He was still frowning at your face, his brows furrowed in concern. His hand reached up, his thumb brushing over your nose. You tried to hide the pain from flitting across your face, but he noticed how you tensed up anyway. 

“There’s some ointment in the tent that can help with that.”

“I got it covered,” you grimaced. “No need to worry about me.”

“Let me help you,” Steve furrowed his brows. “Please?”

It was hard to say no to those puppy dog eyes. 

You followed Steve back to the tent, sighing in relief when you escaped the ten feet of cold and found solace in the heated room. The tent had a table in the middle, a cooler for food rations, a heater, and two cots where you both slept. It was definitely fancier than most camping trips but not cozy enough to make you want to take a vacation there. Steve made you sit down at the table and grabbed you a hot cup of tea, which he must’ve started brewing when he went to grab your clothes. You wrapped your fingers around the warm mug, letting it seep into your bones as you watched him fuss around with the first aid kit and return with an ointment. He took the chair across from you, spinning it around so he could straddle it as he leaned forward to apply the ointment on your nose. It was honestly one of the hottest things you’d ever seen, a tidbit you kept to yourself. He also took your hands, putting the same ointment on your fingertips and knuckles. You liked the feeling of his hands in yours, the firmness and surety. You took your hands back when he was done, insecurities swirling in your stomach. Steve was observant, much more observant than any man should be, and narrowed his eyes at you. 

“What’s wrong?” he sighed. “And don’t say nothing because you’ve been distant since we returned.” You glared at him, knowing you wouldn’t be able to get out of answering. 

“I’m just sorry you had to care for someone like me.”

“Someone like you?”

“Someone stupid who got herself frostbite a-and is scarred and r-rough around the edges,” you stammered, crossing your arms and curling into yourself. “I’m not as pretty as Romanoff or elegant like Maria.” The last part you mumbled to yourself, but Steve still heard, and suddenly his expression softened. He got out of his seat, kneeling in front of you. You would’ve crawled away to safety if you thought you could make it. 

“Coming from a guy who spent most of his life not thinking he was good enough, I’ll tell you right now I understand where you’re coming from,” Steve sighed. “But you aren’t stupid, Y/N. You want to do the right thing, and you react in the moment. It’s what makes you a good agent. And scars? We all have them. Especially Romanoff.” He smiled at the last bit, scratching his neck awkwardly. 

“The only pretty girl I care about is you,” he murmured, a flush coating his cheeks. “You’re quite the knockout.”

“Knockout? Get some updated verbiage, Rogers,” you teased, even though your heart was racing and you couldn’t stop thinking of him saying, ‘the only pretty girl I care about is you.’ His hand came up to your knee, his thumb brushing back and forth over it as he searched your face. 

“I’m old school, okay? Just…believe me. I’m still getting the hang of talking to women.”

You were hyper-focused on the way his hand rested on your leg, on the thought that it could climb up, up, up. You shifted focus to Steve, on how he looked at you. Looking back, he was always respectful and kind. But he was panicked when he saw you were in danger; he cared enough about whether you lived or died. Your hand instinctively came up to his face, brushing over those freckles you couldn’t stop thinking about. He closed his eyes at your touch, and you smiled. 

“I think you’re a knockout too, Steve,” you whispered, wanting him to look into your eyes and see your sincerity. He opened his eyes and looked at you, his hand still on your knee, still having contact as you both met in the middle. His lips were soft but unsure, your hand on the nape of his neck being the thing that encouraged him to deepen the kiss. Both his hands rested on your thighs as if he was rising to meet you. When you both parted, he kept those hands there just as you rested your forehead against his. 

“What’s your policy on dating co-workers?” you chuckled.

“I can make a moral allowance for it. Might want to let HR know.”

“Jesus Christ, you know how to ruin a moment,” you laughed, as Steve sat up and pulled you with him. You fell against him as he held you there, just the two of you in a tent in the middle of Sokovia. You forgot about the moment before as he kissed you again, tethering you there to that single moment until you weren’t icy anymore.

[meelusinee]

CHRISTMAS MARKETS | R.L X READER

in which you and remus go christmas gift shopping for everyone else!

FOR THE FICMAS MASTERLIST

pairing: remus lupin x reader tags: christmas fluff! word count: 1k warnings: none!

author's note: my first ficmas post!! i hope yawl enjoy this ficmas, aka my first ever ficmas, like, ever in the history of ever. AND FINALLY, PRESENTING THE ONLY AND ONLY REMUS LUPIN (christmas has to be his holiday okay we can spoil him AND he can reasonably wear his sweaters. bro is happy)

CHRISTMAS SHOPPING | REMUS LUPIN X READER

It was snowing outside, your body bundled up in layer after layer of jacket. 

Remus found it rather cute, if he was being honest. You had a sweater over a collared shirt, with a turtleneck underneath both of those. Leggings under your tights, your ankle-length skirt bundled with a petticoat underneath. You layered a red  button-up cardigan above all of that, which Remus was pretty sure was his.

On top of all of that, you had a huge scarf covering both your ears and nose. 

“Are you toasty in there?” Remus asked, his hands wrapping around the bundle of fabric separating his hand from your waist. 

“Yup.” you nodded, voice muffled from the scarf. Your body made a loud shuffling noise as you turned around, waddling through his dormitory to grab your shopping bag. 

Remus smiled softly at the sight of it.

“Alright.” he said, grabbing his tote bag and holding your hand. “Shall we go, then?”

You nodded again. “Yup.”

Remus chuckled softly, walking slow to match the pace of your waddling fabric.

“These apples look nice.” you said, eyes crinkling at the side as you held them up. “A nice, shiny red color I tell you. They’d be perfect for pie.”

Remus smiled softly, kissing the inch of your forehead that wasn’t covered by your beanie. You had bought it at the beginning of the flea market extravaganza, along with a pair of mittens that matched your fuzzy socks.

“We could make pie together.” he said, noticing how his breath fogged through the air. Snow was falling down gently from the sky, mainly covering him in small specks that melted in a couple of seconds. Your arms stayed wrapped firm around one of his almost all of the time, making sure that you kept warm throughout the trip.

“Do you have Christmas gifts for everyone?” you asked him curiously, continuing to walk with him.

“Just you.” he hummed softly, looking around the flea market. There were at least ten or twenty more shops that you two would be going through, the tote bag he brought levitating behind him full of small gifts and trinkets you collected

“I think we should get you some gifts.” you said.

Remus followed you around, smiling as you dragged him from shop to shop.

“Look at this little rabbit!” you said, holding up a ceramic rabbit pen holder. “It’s adorable, isn’t it?”

“You could decorate it by stamping flower designs onto it.” Remus suggested to you, holding your pinky as you examined the pen holder.

“You’re right.” you said in awe, your gloved hand tracing where you imagined the shapes to go.

“I’m always right, love.” he whispered, chuckling softly as your gloved hand whacked his arm playfully. “That’s harassment!”

“Ka-show!” you said back, before breaking out into a fit of giggles. Remus loved when you made random sounds up on the spot like that, especially when he could reference it with nobody else understanding. It made him feel special.

“Who’s that pen going to be for?” he asked.

“Lily, probably.” you said. “She writes the most. Or maybe Regulus, I heard Sirius and him were making amends again.”

“Did James tell Sirius about them?” Remus asked you, smiling softly at your confused expression. At least, what he could see of it. "You know, how him and Lily are dating Regulus?"

“Uh,” you mumbled, looking up at him with an innocent expression. “They’re planning on doing it at the Christmas dinner party?”

“Remind me not to go.” he said, chuckling softly as you nodded in firm agreement.

“Okay, so what do we have?”

Remus watched as you splayed the gifts that you bought across the floor, wrapping paper and boxes left to the side. You had quite a bit of presents, each marked with an index card for their use.

“I want to write letters along with them, you know?” you explained to Remus. “So I made a list of bullet points to cover so I didn’t get off track too much when writing them.”

“You’re absolutely adorable.” he said, smiling lovingly at the sight of your blush.

You had definitely dressed down quite a bit, the fireplace beside you two warming you up more than outside did. You had his collared shirt on still, though the shirt was very unbuttoned. Along with that, you had a pair of tights that clung to your legs firmly, showing off every curve and contour.

“This one is for Lily,” you pointed at the rabbit that you found, along with a small children’s book, a murder mystery book, and herbal teas. “I know that she’s been writing to de-stress with Harry and everything, so I think the herbal teas will help.”

“Is that book for our book club?” Remus asked curiously, pointing to the two copies of the same book stacked on top of one another.

You nodded, placing the other one in a pile you made for Regulus’ presents. It was a club that you had wanted to make for a while, in order to escape the stress that came with war and extremely extra friend groups. So, you resorted to book readings between you, Remus, Regulus, and Lily.

“This one is for James.” you said, holding up the spoon holder you found. It was a crab-shaped spoon holder with a Gryffindor scarf on it, the claws acting to hold the spoon over the pot when cooking. “I think he’d like it.”

“What about Sirius?” Remus asked curiously.

“Well, I wasn’t sure what to get him at first.” you said, before pulling out a large bag that held a black dog stuffed animal in it. “But then I saw this big dog, well, it’s a stuffed animal dog. But still a dog! And I know dogs like being in their packs.” 

“So you bought him a pack mate?” Remus said, bursting out in laughter at the sight of it. “Oh, love that is too perfect.”

“Maybe we can steal one of his Gryffindor scarves to wrap around it!” you said, putting it inside the biggest of the boxes.

“Don’t worry, I’ll definitely work on that.” Remus said, grabbing the wrapping paper for you.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

REMUSSSSSS he is finally HERE everybody clap for the man, myth, and legend that is remus john lupin. i decided that he would be the best guy to waddle around with at flea markets, mainly because he would have the coziest sweaters. but also just because he seems the most christmasy of the maraduers??? like when you think pop christmas and excited, child-like kinda christmas, then you probably think sirius or james. but see, me? i love me a cozy cup of hot cocoa and writing to candle light kinda christmas. AND THAT CHRISTMAS IS A REMUS KINDA CHRISTMAS.

anyways, enough about remus christmas. AS ALWAYS, please like, reblog, and commment! it means so much to me yawl and i really appreciate everyone who does TRUST ME LOVELIES I SEE U!!! thank u guys sm and have an awesome day and month and year and all of that jazzy tazzy taz