#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]

12 Days of Ficmas - Day 2

Prompt (by @12-days-of-ficmas): i broke my ankle slipping on ice but hey at least the ER nurse/doctor is cute

Word Count: 1.5K

Story Description: (Y/N) truly believes working the night shift is a cursed practice. Every time she's scheduled during that time she has some sort of accident. This one just so happened to land her in the hospital.

Fandom: Chicago Med

Pairing: Will Halstead x Fem!Reader

A/N: sorry, I posted so late. Was busy taking care of my grandma. But enjoy this short, cute story 💖

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No More Night Shifts

Working retail during the Christmas time was one of the most stressful things anyone can do. From the hustle and bustle of living in the city, to getting to work early and leaving late at night, to the freezing weather of the Chicago winter. It took a lunatic to agree to pull double shifts.

That crazy person just so happened to be (Y/N).

Her boss had asked her to fill in for a colleague that had come down with a very bad cold and could not make it in for her night shift. In the spur of the moment, she had said yes. But as she walked, the cold wind nipping at her skin, her feet sliding on the icy pavement, she contemplated returning home.

(Y/N) hated working the night shift at the store she worked in. Customers were rude, management always expected her to stay overtime without pay, and for some reason, she always got into some sort of accident when she was going back home.

And just as she had thought, the shift was a nightmare. She filled up her bad customer bingo. Which went something like this:

Mister ‘It doesn’t scan so I guess it’s free.”

Miss ‘My coupon is expired, but I’m gonna try to use it.”

The ‘You don’t mind using your employee for me, right?’ person.

The family excursion troop.

The no receipts returners.

And the people that think you’re a personal shopper.

By the time three in the morning rolled around, (Y/N) wanted nothing more than to collapse on the floor. Her whole body was sore and her eyes were tired from sleep. She cursed past her for agreeing to pick up that night shift.  She thought of being on her couch, a hot mug of tea in her hands, and bundled up with her thickest blanket with her boyfriend. She would be warm and comfortable, instead of absolutely miserable and cold.

But her daydreaming took a turn for the worst.

As she neared the bus stop, she didn’t notice the big puddle of sludge that had formed on the sidewalk. She slid on the pavement and her body collided with the frozen ground. One second she was walking and the other she was in the hospital.

***

In the Emergency Department of Gaffney Chicago Medical Center, doctors and nurses were up to their necks with patients. With the weather going down, many people succumbed to the illnesses the cold temperatures brought. Cases of colds, flu, and pneumonia trickled in and out of the hospital at a fast pace. The ED was never empty.

“How’re we doing, Maggie?” Will Halstead asked the charge nurse of the department.

“Well, we keep filling beds as soon as one empties,” she sighed. “It looks like it’s gonna be a very long winter season. Although it looks like tonight might be slowing down. You going home yet?”

 “I was just getting ready to do so,” he smiled tiredly. But the two were interrupted when the brick chirped. The doctor let out an exasperated sigh, knowing that his plans to finally lay down were just trampled. “Let me have it.”

“Incoming,” Maggie announced. “Trauma 1.”

“Talk to me,” Will told the paramedic as they walked in. That was before he took a good look at the patient.  “What happened?”

“Unconscious female, visible ankle fracture. Witness said she slid on ice and fell to the ground. She’s been in an out of consciousness. We have stabilized the right ankle with a splint and there is no sign of a spinal injury. The ID in her bag says her name is (Y/N) (Y/LN).”

“I know,” he breathed. “She’s my girlfriend.”

They all entered the room, other staff following suit. Tension built into the space as everyone noticed who it was. If they didn’t know (Y/N) personally, they knew of her and her involvement with the ED’s attending physician.

“Alright everyone, on my count,” he told the paramedics and nurses that would help transfer the woman from the gurney onto the hospital bed. “One, two, three.”

They all took hold of (Y/N)’s body, careful not to disrupt her ankle or any other injury she might’ve had. Behind them, Nurse Doris rolled in the X-Ray machine, handing Will and April a lead apron before she instructed the rest of the staff to exit the room, as well as the paramedics.

“So, it looks like it’s a bimalleolar fracture,” the doctor announced as the image came up on the screen. “Thankfully, the ankle is not dislocated so immobilizing it with a cast should do the trick.”

“Alright, I’ll get the kit.”

“Okay, let’s also get a full blood workup, and a head CT,” Will told April. “Now, pupillary response is good. Heartbeat is steady. She’s breathing on her own which is a good sign. Let’s start an IV drip with 2.5 mg of morphine��”  

 “Wait, Will, look,” she said. “She’s waking up.”

(Y/N)’s eyes started fluttering open, the bright lights worsening the headache she already had. Her whole body felt mangled and sore, and she was sure it was not from the long day at work.

“Hey, welcome back,” a voice said. “Can you tell us your name and where you are?”

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N) and I’m in a hospital because god doesn’t exist.”

When she finally opened her eyes, she suddenly did not mind that she was in the hospital. Before her, she was met with a handsome red-haired doctor. He smiled at her and she could feel butterflies forming in her stomach.

But her pleasantly surprised feelings quickly shifted to ones of embarrassment, when she noticed who it was.

“He-ey, doctor,” she stammered. “Funny running into you here.”

“Good to see your sense of humor wasn’t impaired,” he chuckled brightly. “Now, do you remember what happened?”

“I was walking to the bus stop to go back home when I slipped on a puddle of sludgy ice and now I’m here.”

“Okay. And other than your ankle and your head, does anything else hurt?” 

“My pride,” she grumbled. “I told you, the night shift is cursed.”

“It sounds to me that you were distracted and you fell,” he laughed. “I don’t think there is any curse.”

“Yet you all believe people turn crazy because of the full moon.”

“Well, your memory seems to be okay. So, I’m gonna leave you with April so she can get your bloodwork to the lab,” Will told (Y/N), a kind smile on his face. His initial panic subsided when she woke up and recognized who they both were.

“Can you stay?” (Y/N) pleaded softly.

“I promise to be gentle,” April chuckled. If there was one thing she knew about her friend it was how desperately afraid of needles she was. “I’ll draw your blood really quickly and then I’ll sneak in the IV. How does that sound?”

“Like you’re gonna still gonna stick me with needles.”

“At least the pain in your ankle is gonna stop,” Will offered. But (Y/N)’s fear was still evident on her face. “Alright, just focus on me, babe. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“Just don’t let go of my hand.”

April quickly got to work as Will distracted (Y/N) with mindless chatter of what they would do during Christmas – spend the day in pjs, drink hot chocolate in front of the fire, and exchange gifts even though they told each other not to get presents. And before she knew it, the IV dripping pain medication into her system has started doing its job.

“There,” April announced, calling the couple’s attention. “We’re all done. I’ll be back soon to take you to the CT scan – for precaution -- and to bring your results. I’ll bring by the kit in a bit.”

“Thanks, April.”

The nurse smiled back at the couple in response, closing the curtains on them as she exited.

“So, what’s the verdict, doc? Am I gonna lose my leg?”

“Nah, just 9 to 12 weeks with a cast. You’ll have to come in a coupled of times to do x-rays, just to make sure the bone’s healing as it should,” Will explained. “But don’t worry, we don’t have to amputate.”

“Well, no late-night shifts for me in a while,” she joked. “Maybe that’s what I needed to break the curse, huh?”   

“What?” he laughed. “Slipping on ice and spending your morning in the ED?” 

“Hey, at least the doctor is cute,” she said before she placed a kiss on his lips.

“I’m just glad you’re okay, baby. It was pretty scary to see you unconscious on a stretcher like that.” 

“Oh, don’t you worry, Halstead. It would take a lot more to bring me down.” 

“Alright, (Y/L/N). Settle down,” he smiled at her. Will had been terrified that something worse would have happened, but if a little slip is the worst that could happen, he could live with that. “Take this as a little Christmas gift – you won’t have to work for some time.” 

“NO NIGHT SHIFTS!” (Y/N) exclaimed excitedly. “It’s a Christmas miracle!” 

Taglist: @beckiej0073-blog @thatgirljayy

[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.

-



[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.

[bysaber]

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.”

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠.

main masterlist

pairing(s) — TREVOR ZEGRAS x f!reader (established); JAMIE DRYSDALE x reader; MASON MCTAVISH x reader; trevor x jamie x mason wc — 2.2k synopsis — what better gift on your friends to bestow than the gift that keeps on giving?

note — happy valentine's day, my lovelies!! as my gift to you, i've decided to release whatever the hell this is from the archive <3 i randomly dropped this on patreon post-ficmas '24 because, per usual, i was possessed by the ghost of perpetual horniness! we know it'll happen again, so just know i am totally down to write a follow-up if there's any interest teehee! oh, and to the anons who requested some jd + tz content after the trade (rip), i hope this satisfies the craving!! (and you don't mind masey being thrown in the mix)

and with that... i’ll see myself out 🚶‍♀️

specific content warnings under the cut.

cw — everyone’s a lil bi because why not, trevor is boyfriend of the year, mason and jamie bickering over whose turn it is to munch, tz + reader are switchy and mason + jamie are bratty and subby, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), accidental edging, trevor being a cocky menace and stirring the pot, and a wee bit of a cliff-hanger bc i'm incapable of controlling myself :-) oh, and the current pet name fixation of the week! + trevor calling himself daddy (once) while being condescending to all parties lolz

“—stop getting in my way.”

"or what?"

silence.

then, an exasperated groan.

“i wouldn’t need to be in the way if you were doing it right.”

the long, drawn-out sigh you hear sounds far away, like an echo from somewhere out in the distance, but you know it's coming from behind you—directly behind you.

your boyfriend abandons the soft curves of your chest, which you vehemently protest with a petulant mewl, to massage the tension building between his eyes; if he’d known this would turn into such a headache, he never would’ve suggested this.

“clock’s running, boys. if you wanna waste your very limited time between my girl’s pretty legs bickering with each other, be my guest.”

jamie and mason exchange a glare, united in their distaste for their friend’s tone and attitude in spite of their sudden animosity toward one another.

a pretty girl could do that to a friend group.

only, you haven’t come between the trio in the way one might assume. you might’ve been the catalyst in jamie and mason’s current strife, sure, but that's where your meddling begins and ends. no, you’ve come between them in more of a physical sense, at the behest of your boyfriend and their best friend.

trevor zegras veered toward possessive—territorial, even—most days, but, tonight, he’s feeling strangely generous. it is the season of giving, after all. however, his kindness hardly felt like a gift anymore. the gesture lost its luster soon after the silky ribbon was untied and discarded... and the bitching began. charity work would be a more apt descriptor, in his humble opinion.

he’s expecting an edible arrangement from the ladies of orange county in the near future.

but if anyone deserves some compensation, it's most definitely you, and trevor has just the shiny something in mind. what was originally intended to be the crown jewel of your holiday gifts will now function as a “thank you letting my friends use you as a practice dummy” token of appreciation.

“guess we also need to teach you to share,” you huff, exhausted from the accidental edging and frustrated by trevor's shifted attention.

the worst part is that you don’t think they’re perceptive enough (or have enough experience with a woman’s body, even) to see the agony, the by-product of their inadvertent torture, smeared plainly across your dazed and dewy face. your boyfriend's best friends have unintentionally dragged you to the brink of insanity, and you're reluctantly hanging on by a fragile thread.

said boyfriend's lips caress your temple. “can’t say i blame them. with you freshly unwrapped—just out of the box—and all... i wouldn't know how to share you, either.”

eager is a nice way of putting the boys' behavior thus far, but selfish is a more befitting adjective for their uncoordinated fervor.

two interesting things to note since you were spread wide—presented—to your boyfriend’s closest friends and collegues. the first being that while jamie is enthralled by the way you clench around his lithe fingers, mason favors his mouth; and second, trevor’s harder than a rock from showering his friends with the same domineering aura usually reserved for you in the privacy of your shared bedroom.

(or, the backseat of his car. the abandoned lifeguard tower beside the pier and, on occasion, the recently refurbished dressing room.)

mason also enjoys spitting on your sensitive bits more than he’s comfortable with, the apprehension bright in his eyes. but, watching the run-off of his saliva and your syrupy arousal drip onto jamie’s fingers before both are shoved into your heat is too distracting to pay any mind to the internal chaos of unearthing a new and unforeseen kink.

what jamie lacks in skill and experience, he makes up for in enthusiasm. for all his bashfulness, jamie drysdale is not shy about finger-fucking.

momentarily sat on his haunches, mason watches with feverish intent as his friend curls your toes with the simple curl of his marriage and middle, his pinky and pointer fingers splayed wide to keep his eye on the prize, sight unimpeded by plush, silky distractions.

no bells and whistles, just diligence.

soon, watching ceases to satiate the burly man and mason slips his own thumb into the mix. with his lips or his tongue—or his fingers, it now seems—mason mctavish is obsessed with your clit.

trevor shoots him a knowing wink; that's his favorite part, too. never do you make prettier sounds than when you’re having that special, highly-responsive bundle tended to. fingers, tongue, trevor's thigh... it doesn't matter, you fall apart all the same.

mason nudges jamie to one side and, much to your surprise, he goes without a fight this time, still stroking you closer and closer to the summit.

with his greater access, mason leans down. his nose splits duties with his thumb as he places wet, open-mouth kisses on your inner thighs, mons pubis, and, finally, the coveted pearl throbbing for affection. his mouth wraps around the little bud before pausing. he looks up for approval.

from trevor.

with the dip of his chin and a peck to your balmy cheek, your boyfriend encourages his best friend to suck on his girlfriend's clit.

mason needs no further coaxing. he alternates between suction and kitten-licks; his tongue was beginning to feel left out. all the while, jamie’s devoted fingers keep you pleasantly teetering on the end.

it's amazing the difference time and a little scolding can make.

“i think you’re enjoying this a little too much, bunny.”

“—m’sorry,” you whimper.

his warm, familiar chuckle fills your ear as he strokes your cheek. “i’m only teasing. you know how much i love watching you get all worked up. and, this way, i get to sit back and enjoy the view while they do all the dirty work.”

your eyes roll back, and his amusement grows louder.

“maybe, we’ll do this again? i wonder how fast they could get you off when they already know how the tricks.”

a raw, guttural sound claws past your lips.

trevor growls into your neck between love-bites. “you’d like that, wouldn’t you, greedy girl? is my mouth not enough for you—y’need my friends’ too? such a slutty little bunny i have..."

"no—only want y-you."

it comes out in a few, demure hiccups, the clarity of your protest impeded by those and the frantic shaking of your head.

your boyfriend can't help but twist your mind when you're like this, too weak and preoccupied by pleasure to give him any lip. his brat's gone sweet, fully subdued. and now he can have a little fun.

“—i know, i know. no need to get all worked up over nothing, silly girl. but it wouldn't matter much if you did, though, right?" the hand cradling your chin moves your head in agreement; he knows you're too far gone—too fucked out, to function. "no, it wouldn't because daddy doesn't share his toys. he needs you all to himself."

in this moment, you aren't sure if trevor loves or loathes you.

“lost your voice, bunny? you’re strangely quiet for a slut i know is close. i can hear it, and i know you can too. we all know you're fucking soaked. go on, don't be shy. i think their good behavior has earned them some praise, hm? doin' so good at following my directions—almost as obedient as you are, pretty thing. be sweet, then you can cum all you want."

his words, coupled with the overstimulation between your bent and parted knees, send your brain down a cloudy, all-consuming spiral. too overwhelmed by the boys kneeling at your altar, you can hardly string together cohesive thoughts, let alone speak adequate praise for their efforts.

...as if trevor expected anything out of your mouth other than garbled, pathetic mumbling anyway.

not to mention, jamie found the spot that makes you see stars on the ceiling as his best friend was busy whispering filth into your ear, and he's been bullying it with his deft fingers—three of them now, buried down to the knuckle. he gives it a short, purposeful rub just to show off his treasure.

you shriek and buck your hips into mason's waiting mouth. as his head dips back down to nestle against you, the angle of jamie's fingers changes and your vision blurs just a tad.

trevor's amusement thunders in your ears as he keeps you from shying away from the new sensation, an arm looped around your waist keeping you tight to his bare chest. and good thing, too, seeing as mason's tongue slips in between jamie's fingers not a second later.

they're right and truly pleasuring you now, and you can't wait a second more.

you surrender.

and, as promised, you show them what real moans sound like from a woman—not that fake shit they subject you and trevor to through the walls on a semi-regular basis.

the sounds of you ripping at the seams spur them on, and it's starting to get difficult to discern who's to blame for the puddle beneath you. this are sloppier and more obscene than ever, and you're loving every single second of it, you almost feel like this is your gift and not theirs.

—which is why you nearly write it off as a trick of a pleasure-drunk mind.

you feel it against your sopping, swollen folds before they notice it themselves; in electing to run their tongues up and down the same path at the same time, their mouths mingled along the way—and continue to do so. the delicious, foreign sensation of their mouths tangled in a clandestine dance buys your silence. and easily.

sooner or later, they’d realize and your fun would mostly likely cease—they've never given any indication of feeling either way—and you weren’t about to speed the process along, especially not when you have the pearly gates in sight.

trevor's won't call attention to it either because he's enjoying it as much as you are. maybe more. he's twitching like crazy against the small of your back, and each time jamie and mason convene between your knees, his hips shamelessly rut into you softness like a feral dog.

he nudges you, warm lips against your cheek. "look."

giving your head a downward tilt, his firm hand directs your attention to the object of his—your boyfriend isn't the only one seeking respite by way of aimless grinding.

mason and jamie have their hips flush to your bed, their burning, sweat-stained cheeks glued to your inner thighs, one slightly scratchier than the other—the best of both worlds. their eyes are nearly black with lust. their frantic movements are more pleasure-seeking than precise, driving into the wrinkled sheets with just one thing in mind.

you've never seen anything quite like it before, and your body reacts in kind.

naturally, trevor sees the signs before anyone. he knows your body best, something he takes great pride in. you'd wager he knows more about what makes you tick than even you do. he's put in enough hours, that's for sure.

trevor doesn't bother disgusting the desire weighing on his voice, "beg."

your lips part as if on cue. your boyfriend (selfishly) indulges your pitiful little whines and repetitive pleas—he'll never pass up an opportunity to rub his handiwork in envious faces—but, eventually, he cuts you off before you get too far into the bit.

"—not you, silly bunny. them."

aghast, mason rips his mouth away and you whine at the sudden loss. jamie strokes your walls sympathetically.

"you're joking."

"does it sound like i'm joking, mctavish? you're lucky i'm even letting you see her like this, let alone touch what's mine, and it's a fucking privilege to watch her cum. convince me that you've earned it."

you weren't expecting to find it so erotic, the power trevor wields over them. you're no stranger to his persuasive prowess; his commands alone were enough to get you off some nights. but this is different, and markedly so.

watching him command his best friends—his friends, reducing them to docile creatures eager to eat from the palm of his hand with words alone, is what tips you over the edge.

their persistent chorus of compliance is swallowed entirely by your wanton cunt, but that was by design.

trevor always knows what you need.

when the dam in your abdomen fractures alongside your voice, he holds your wrists tight to his bare thighs, preventing you from grounding yourself in either of his friends' messy mops or finding purchase anywhere on his body. he can't have you distracted. he needs you to enjoy every second of it. your full, undivided attention must be on the pampering you're receiving, and the tender care with which his friends provide it.

it's okay if you're too weak—of mind, body or both—to make that happen for yourself. your boyfriend is more than willing to pin you down as you ride out your first high of the night. happy to, really.

on the come down, jamie rubs light, lazy circles over your sore, swollen clit almost apologetically. mason laps up your release because it'd be a crime to waste a drop—trevor made that abundantly clear earlier in the night. once he's drunk you dry, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"i think i could, um, use a bit more practice?" he announces bashfully—as if he didn't just make you squirt into his mouth.

jamie perks up at his side, fingers and lips still shiny. he's savoring the fruit of their labors like a precious delicacy, knowing it could be the last time he gets a taste. dark lashes shy and fluttering, his puppy-dog eyes blink up at you. "me too."

a wicked smirk forms on trevor's face; they see it, you hear it.

"gentlemen, how's your stroke game?"

💌 if you liked it, pls lmk! 💌

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patrons gained access to this piece on december 29th, 2023 as part of their early bird perks. learn more HERE!

[willowser-but-nsfw]

[ nsfw ] — smut (18+) ; soft fantasy bakugou ; implied arranged marriage ; a lil' bit breeding kink-y ; some perceptions surrounding virginity that i only added because of the genre/setting (medieval fantasy-ish) and not because it aligns with my personal views ; reader and bkg do not speak the same language — but they are learning ; reader and bkg are both a little bit drunk, but very much consenting ; i invented a language for katsuki's people because i am hopeless.

[ wc ] — 4k+

[ ficmas ] — this is my silly little fic for the lovely, lovely @odieoats !! i hope that you enjoy it !! — but, most importantly, i hope that your holidays are treating you well and with love and that your new year be warm and welcoming 🧚‍♂️✨️🎁

It's Midwinter.

Shortest day and longest night of the year, Yagi tells you, and therefore cause for a feast. Never in all your life have you consumed as much mead as you have within the short three months since you've been married, and yet still you have not grown accustomed to it; the honeyed taste, yes, but not to the warm, woozy feeling that takes root between your ears.

One moment you are admiring the many gifts that adorn the great evergreen in the middle of camp, and the next you are cross-eyed, struggling to find the top of the tree and the carefully carved sun that reigns in favor of the Allfather. It's just so tall, you muse, stretching so far into the heavens that one could worry its beauty and grandeur might cause offense to their Gods. 

A hand is at your shoulder, then, to steady you. “Are you well, Chieftess?” 

Chieftess: another novelty with which to grow accustomed.

In the firelight, Yagi’s features are sharpened, shadows long and dark with worry. Frightening is the down-curve of his brow as he stares carefully into your eyes—so tall, you muse—but he must only find your drunkenness, as a smile softens his thin face.

“Oh, yes, thank you,” you return it with ease, cheeks warm, and bring up the small, well-bundled plant in your hands. “It looks as if there’s no place for what my husband has given me.”

“Ah,” carefully, he takes it by the stem and holds it up high to better see, the contrast of its white berries crisp against the night sky. “And do you know where our Chieftain has gone?”

Like slow-falling snow, his words settle in your mind, the flurry of them gathering until the meaning is new and clear. You spin a slippery heel over the snow, looking across the encampment to where you'd last seen your husband: before, he was locked into a fierce embrace with Midoriya, too proud to turn down the invitation to wrestle, but now only his shield-brothers remain, arranged in a circle as they dance and chant and pound their heavy fists against their bare chests. Among the lot of them, you watch on for the ashen mess of his hair, the familiarity of the scars he bears, the drunken, crooked grin that comes so rarely—but Katsuki is not among them.

"I—" you breathe, dizzy, suddenly, as your eyes jump from warm-body to warm-body in search of him. With the fires roaring, the camp is aglow and clouding your vision in an amber haze, and you don't realize you've begun to spin until a firm hand steadies you again.

“Mistletoe,” your Elder murmurs in translation, drawing you from the honeyed-hold. Giant that he is, finding an open branch on the tree poses no issue, and he hangs your gift with a care that melts a nameless tension; still, their traditions are foreign, another language you struggle to interpret. “It says that Young Bakugou is…giving you great love and…asking for your fertility.”

"Fertility?" Such heat flushes your face that you wonder if it could be steaming, and the waver in your voice makes him laugh.

"A common thing wanted of a claimed man," Yagi chimes, voice like mischief as he bows his head to take his leave. Off somewhere behind you is where his gaze falls and freezes, where it thaws and warms with admiration. Your Elder nods, and when you turn to follow his lead, you see why such seasons could come and go in his eyes. "The night will be long, Chieftess, and one should not spend Midwinter alone."

Katsuki stands at the worn-end of the trodden camp trail with shoulders back and squared, covered by the grand furs of his cloak; a God already watching on. It must be the mead that has made him so crystalline and easy to see through, as there's not a hint of hesitation in his gaze as it darkens and lids, as he slowly pulls the material from his broad back in a gesture that seems all too inviting.

And then he is turning, leaving the young night and its celebration for the sanctity of your shared tent.

You are left within the heat of the fire, all too aware, then, of how it has slipped beneath your furs with such a smoldering intensity; the Elder's revelation has a fever starting in your belly and sweat breaking across your skin.

It has been six days since you've last laid with your husband.

A full fortnight had passed before your marriage was consummated, for no other reason than that you were untouched and afraid. Before knowing him as you do now, Bakugou Katsuki came across as little more than a brute, one that seemed likely to hold you down and ravage you as he so pleased, as your mother had tried to warn you, and yet the night of your wedding, he sat across the pillows and told you that he, too, was just as untouched.

Standoffish and a bit shy, more drawn to actions than words as there were not many the two of you shared. Midoriya has been a constant presence, always dragged one way or another so that he may translate the more difficult words Katsuki is most unfamiliar with. Some nights you can hear them near the hearth, the voice of your husband low as he tries in earnest to learn all that he wishes to say to you. 

To enter his manhood with one he so loved is considered a great honor, as Yagi had told you, and to hear him sounding at words in the dark that are so foreign to him, to know that he was just as pure as you, to learn that you were not a thing to be ravaged, but to be cared for; love-making after that seemed only natural.

You watch the firelight dance against the canvas of the tent, wild and without caution, hindered only by your shadow as you approach. Katsuki's boots lay at the entrance—one on its side and the other upright—and despite the snow and ice covering the ground, you shed your own right beside his.

If he hears you enter—and you're sure he must, the savage beat of your heart at the very least, something attuned to his ear only—he offers nothing; instead, his head is back, leaned over the edge of the round, steel tub that sits across from the hearth. Even from where you stand, the steam wisping above the water is visible, causing you to shiver as you begin to undress; if there is one thing you will always have with a Chieftain of Dragons, it’s a boiling bath.

The rustle of your furs finally captures him and Katsuki raises his head just to turn it, to peer over his shoulder at you with one bright red eye. Slow, he blinks, the heat of his gaze searing over your body as it becomes bare to him, lingering on the few, faded burns that sit at your hips from when last you were together. 

Virginal and green as he once was, your husband did not—and still does not—lack enthusiasm whenever he is tangled up within you; the ache you’ve been nursing in your lower belly in the recent days seems to have subsided, though you wonder if it is only your rapidly building arousal that has dissolved pain to pleasure. One broad hand breaks the surface of the water to rise and trace over your forearm, and Katsuki looks at you as if you are a deity to worship—and you find you couldn’t care less about any lingering soreness.

"May I join you?" 

Already he’s begun to make room for you, but he hums in assent, nodding. "Yes." 

At your hiss of surprise from the temperature of the water, a crooked grin breaks across his face and he leans forward, wrapping his arms around your thighs as he presses his mouth into the soft skin below your belly button. Not to kiss but just to soothe, laving you with a drunken affection. 

When you can finally stand it, Katsuki pulls you into his lap, slotting your legs around his hips with such ease that you need not ask the Gods if he was made for you or you for him; one and the same, you are, neither existing without your shared heart. Its beat flourishes, spreading to the points of your fingers and the pit of your stomach and the thick of your neck. Only now do your bones thaw, made warm from the water and the lingering dregs of mead and his love, from the home he has made your own.

You kiss away the natural crease of his brow, following down the marks of war that scar his cheeks, his neck. It earns you a small grunt and he eventually turns, overwhelmed, then, by your attention to his intimate details.

“Thank you,” you tell him softly, “for the gift. I didn’t—” guilt rushes through you like a winter wind, returning with a bite for all that you still have to learn of his people. Your people. “I didn’t think to find one for you.”

“No need for gift.” He murmurs, into your skin like a secret.

A frown he doesn’t see deepens your lips, and you run your now wet hands through the strands of hair at the base of his spine, dampening them. “I would have liked to give you one.”

“No need for gift.” Katsuki repeats, pinching you beneath the water until you are squirming against him, until you can argue no longer. His hands grow bold, mapping you carefully, adding every crease and curve to what he already knows of your body. 

You speak up when he cups your bottom, before either of you can get too lost. “Yagi tells me it’s a symbol of love, your mistletoe.”

It does little to distract him; the fine point of his nose drags up the column of your throat, breath tickling just under your ear. “...yes.”

“And…fertility.”

Katsuki’s head pops up then, eyebrow raised. “Hah?”

“For—” you pause, thinking, “—having children.”

A common thing wanted of a claimed man, Yagi told you, but in the slow burning light of the hearth, your husband’s face pinkens and he glances away, instead watching his hands below the water. It’s something you know is expected, though it remains a conversation yet to be had, perhaps when you know the words, the both of you; in the meantime, you’ll continue to learn his sensitivities and delights, to teach him yours—all that there is left to know, at least.

“Yes,” he murmurs, fitting his thumbs back into the grooves he’s left on your hips, what of his hands he’s engraved in your skin. Despiste the claim it marks on you, Katsuki frowns, watching you carefully as his fingers move in slow, firm circles. “Pain here?”

“No,” you smile, to this man that you thought would ruin you. “No pain.”

Warmed, he spreads beneath you easily, shifting you along with him as he presses where you are soft to where he is hard. The pressure surprises you both despite the heady weight circulating throughout the tent, and Katsuki exhales like he wants his breath to move through you. 

"For love," he speaks to your heart, the devotion molded in his image. "And…what is it?"

You snort, pressing your lips into his hairline. "And fertility."

He is silent for a long moment, thinking in your tongue, before planting kiss after kiss along your chest, your collarbones, the hollow of your throat. "'n givin' babies."

A true laugh startles out of you, shaking you both with its sincerity, but Katsuki only continues to sigh into your skin, his hands moving to the dip of your waist, up the stretch of your spine and back, walking every last mile of your distance. 

There's a soft tickle from where his mouth trails and you think he means to make you squirm again, but you soon realize he is murmuring —"...engitt vakvaniki?"—though you think the words are more for him than yourself; a reiteration, some kind of assurance that you've outgrown the intimate soreness he once gave you.

"No," you breathe again, quietly. "No pain."

It's all the promise he needs: Katsuki's grip tightens, meaningful, and then he is pushing and pulling you over him until the stars are shooting through your every nerve. A haze develops in the soft bicolor of both his eyes, and you can see him fighting to find you through the clouds as you follow the silent commands of his hunger.

Desire leads you; top to bottom, back and forth, head to base. Against your chest, you can feel the slight part of his mouth, the flare of his nostrils as the lap of the water grows. One of his arms slowly winds behind your waist as you gasp, the swollen tip of him catching your most sensitive spot, tenderness making you both groan.

You lose yourself to the movement, dragging just behind Katsuki's stifled, narrow upward thrusts. Wide as the tub may be, it's nothing to having him underneath you amidst his thick, woolen blankets, but the seedlings of lust are growing, blooming, into something with roots you don't want to unearth just yet.

Fingers tangle in your hair, angling your head down towards him so that he can press wet, open-mouthed kisses against your lips; full of bite and teeth, revealing what little control he has over the animal of his body, just as wild and without caution as the fires that blaze in a dragon's honor.

But—his attention to the water is lost and its heat is steadily fading, smothered out by the winter winds slipping between the flaps of your tent. A shudder wracks your spine, but despite the rough hand that trails up to cup your breast, their stiff peak isn't from Katsuki's touch.

Voice low, you pull back just enough to fit the gruff of his name, stopping him mere seconds from sucking your soft, pebbled skin into his mouth.

His eyes dart up to your face, half-lidded. "Hah?"

If he wasn't so cute, you might prove a stronger willed woman; a light kiss to his nose has him scrunching it, and a light kiss to his lips has him surging, welcoming the wet dip of your tongue into his mouth.

Only when the frost creeps further in are you able to steady yourself, now swollen and bitten. "I'm cold."

As if finding himself after ages lost, Katsuki leans back, seemingly surprised, to peer down into the water, glaring at it like it's betrayed him in some way. With a lip between his teeth, his attention shifts from you to the nest of furs you've been bedding in this season, and it's not long before his arms are tightening around your body.

"No, wait—!"

He rises at once, laughing meanly in your ear as you struggle to cling to him; in return, you bite his lobe and snort into his cheeks as he hurries across the tent. Cradling the back of your head as if you were a child, as if you were something more special than you are, Katsuki lays you down amongst the wool and feathers, eager to slot himself behind you.

A shiver tears through even him, has him burying his face into your neck as he pulls the blanket up around your heads. It only takes a moment for his hands to heat, for his heat to spread, to have you loose and wide open once again; hips against your backside, your husband hikes your leg up, tucking your foot behind his thigh so that you are bared for the fever of his touch.

"Need no gift," the words are lost to your gasp, when the too-light pad of his fingers swirl where you are tender and slick. "No-thing but you."

And then the thick weight of him is gliding over your core, teasing, before he can no longer stand to be without you; a plead falls from his mouth as he guides himself into you, needy and wanton against your temple. Surrounded by his love and touch and sounds and entwined in such a way has your stomach tight with want, and with every inch Katsuki pulls out and pushes back in, you angle your hips so that he is seated as deep as your body will allow. 

"Katsuki," you gasp at how he carves himself into your nave, arching your back and groping blindly at his body.

One of his hands finds your cheeks and he seizes them, turning your face so that he may press his lips into yours. "Fuck," he hisses, capturing a rhythm that rattles you both. "Var in svo—good. Fuck, s'good."

You can only wordlessly agree, settling for a noise he eagerly drinks down. Only once he's certain your head will not fall away from him does his hand return to the seam of your body, pads of his fingers stroking you and the mess already leaking down your thighs. When your lips part, he hums in appreciation and presses down further, as if your pleasure is feeding his own.

The wet sound of skin against skin grows, a drumbeat to the song you both sing as your fires rage; sweat builds in all your creases and curves, dampens your hairline and his as you fall prey to a savagery you once feared—and now have come to crave.

Katsuki groans into your mouth, worship in a language you do know. The rough drag of him in and out of your heat never ceases and beneath your touch, he starts to tremble, too deep into something neither of you can stand.

"Ah," he props himself up on an elbow, fingers digging into the fat of your hips so that he may pull you to meet his every thrust. You look back over your shoulder at him, core pulsing at how his head has fallen slack, with mouth open and eyes shut as he fucks himself into a euphoria he only finds with you.

You make a weak attempt at his name, lost in the throes of your own pleasure, and wait for the hot spill of him inside of you, but—you are all at once empty.

"I—shit," a hand is fisted into his own hair like he's trying to hold back his tide, to keep it low for now. His skin gleams in the firelight, a God wrapped in gold.

Chest heaving, he shuffles around your leg, finding the home between your thighs as he presses a weak trail of kisses down your chest, down your sternum and to your stomach. You know where he's going; at the mere thought of how he drank from you the last time you were together, your core clenches, something that doesn't go unnoticed by him as his crooked smile is pressed into your skin.

It's an act that still has you a bit shy, and as the furs shift and the cold clings to the droplets lingering on your skin, you shiver. Katsuki struggles a bit to bunch himself up beneath the blanket, so that he and you may stay covered, and the stars are still burning in your veins, in your nerves, and so you pull at his shoulders.

"Later," you can't help but to laugh when he frowns. "When it's not so cold."

Words you know to be little, childish insults tumble from his lips, foreign, as he crawls back up the expanse of your body. You tug a bit harshly on his hair and his lips curl, the brat, mischievous and taunting with a bite to your cheek.

"Baby," he grumbles, although smiling.

You mean to nip back at him, but Katsuki pulls one of your legs over his shoulders and your attention is drawn to his body now that it sits in plain view. Scars that color him, that bear proof to the strength he's grown; such a body like his seems carved from marble, and your heart softens at every memory of his unfouded shyness.

A God at your center, heart shared. Katsuki looks upon you just as you look upon him and the honey-mead warms in your belly, drips down your spine with the weight of all the love you hold for him—and he for you.

You tell him quietly, as he bows his head to spit where he means to join you. "Ig siggna vik."

Though the words fit odd inside your mouth, their shape is known to him; he glances up as if in awe, and his answer is a breathless exhale of your name as he slips inside you once again. His face goes directly to your neck, already trembling hands slipping up to hold your face so that you are always close, so that his breath is yours and your moans are his.

"Var in svo hott," he tells you again; it's so good, a common phrase that has your threads wearing thin.

It's take little time before he is falling back into the same bruising pace, chasing the high you're eager to grant him. You fist a hand in his hair as his teeth sink into your skin, as he bullies into the sweet spot that has your stars aligning, has them shining behind the lids you can't help but to close.

"Fuck," you breathe, arching into him. "Katsuki—Gods—"

Your vulgarity has his breath pitching and exhaling sharply and he stops, only for one long, horrible moment, before he can't bear it.

"Fu—sorry," he breaks, the sound so fragile on his tongue. It's not a word you've ever heard from him and your chest tightens at the thought of him asking Midoriya for it. "Sorry, sorry."

With a desperate moan, he's sitting back on his knees, brow crumpling as his eyes are forced shut. "Oh, I—" and his hold finds the dip of your waist, grip tight enough to steal your breath so that he can pull you up into him as he cums. Deep and hard, shoulders shaking as he tenses over you, groaning on such a low sound that your own tide nearly crests.

The sight of your husband—Chieftain of Dragon's, the warlord that won you from the hands of your father, that loves you as winter loves the wind—reduced to ashes at your heat, trembling on the breeze as he twitches and spills inside of you; wild is your desire, without caution.

Katsuki only takes the time to press a sloppy kiss into your cheeks, to push back the damp hair that has fallen into your face before his hands are re-molding to your hips. Though you are more than slick enough, still he leans back to spit into the space between you, spreading the wetness as he circles you again with the pad of his thumb.

And then you are following not far behind him: it's the pressure around your tenderness and the deep sink of him inside you and the eyes rolling back into his head as he fucks through his own sensitivity. Your cries mingle, him at the sudden flutter of your walls, and you at the honeyed-bliss that he gives you.

"I—fuck," he pants, running a hand up your stomach as your trembling slows into delayed, sporadic aftershock. You feel him kick inside of you at the sight and you laugh despite your sudden weariness. "I love you."

Though he is flushed in you and the firelight, his cheeks brighten, if possible, like such an admission is yet another display of his idle bashfulness. You smile and his own grows in return, crooked and dazzling, and you open your arms for him to slump down onto you.

Katsuki does, but it's not long before he is reaching to toss the wool off his back, murmuring, "hot," into your ear—and then because he is a terror, he hisses, "baby," too, like an overgrown child. 

There are other words he whispers into your skin, some you know and some you don't. Some you'll come to learn, some he'll share with you, this language that will tell him all you cannot. You're not worried, however, at either his understanding or yours, with a love as true as stars in the sky, like white berries—crisp—against even the longest and darkest nights.

[gunnerfc]

❄️ WOSO FICMAS: Dec. 21 - Lucy Bronze ❄️

Lucy Bronze x Reader (USWNT & Barça) | WC: 1304

Dec. 21 prompt - spending christmas together with your crush because you couldn't go home for the holidays

-> woso ficmas masterlist can be found here!

With the last game of the year being four days before Christmas, it was hard to get a flight back to the States. You wanted to be able to spend the holidays with your family but it was looking like you were going to be spending it alone in Barcelona.

Lucy had an extra ticket back to England that she was debating on offering you so you wouldn’t have to spend Christmas alone. The two of you were close, having been teammates briefly at Manchester City in 2017 before Lucy moved to Lyon. Your closeness was often the topic of teasing from some of your teammates, thinking the two of you were dating.

You always rolled your eyes and ignored their teasing but a part of you wished they were right. You had a crush on Lucy but were always too nervous to tell her for fear of messing up the friendship you’ve built over the years. Little did you know that Lucy felt the same way about you but didn’t think you felt the same.

The Englishwoman had bit the bullet after the game, offering you the ticket to England and a chance to spend Christmas with her family as opposed to spending it alone. You were hesitant to say yes, not wanting to feel like you were intruding on their family gatherings but Lucy was quick to tell you that her family didn’t mind.

So here you were, sitting next to Lucy on a short flight to England, ready to spend the next few days with her and her family. The flight went by quickly, arriving at the airport a couple of hours later. Lucy had ordered a rental car for the two of you to use during your stay, even though you told her you could take care of it.

The drive to Lucy’s parents' place was filled with back-and-forth banter and loud singing of Christmas music mainly from you. The defender’s mother was the first to greet the two of you when you arrived. It was when her mother gave you a small tour of the house that you realized you’d be sharing a bed with Lucy while you were here. The thought alone caused your face to flush.

You were left to get your things situated in the room when Lucy joined you after staying to speak with her dad.

“Sorry ‘bout the one bed, I can take the couch if you want?” the defender spoke, leaning against the door frame and catching you off guard.

You jumped slightly at her voice before turning to her with a confused look. “Don’t worry about it, it's your house anyways I couldn't make you sleep on the couch,” you replied, with a bit of nervousness coating your words.

“Just don't want you to be uncomfortable y’know,” Lucy shrugged as she walked into the room to set her things down.

“You could never make me uncomfortable,” you said as you sat on the end of the bed.

Lucy didn’t say anything back but sent you a small smile as her response. The room was silent as Lucy moved around the room, putting things in her dresser while you watched. When she was done, she turned to face you, finding you already looking at her.

“You hungry?” the defender asked, nodding her head towards the door. You nodded and stood up to follow her to the kitchen to get something to eat.

The rest of the night was spent getting to know Lucy’s parents and hearing numerous stories of Lucy from her childhood as well. You’d be meeting her siblings and their families tomorrow when they arrived.

As you lay in bed beside Lucy, you couldn’t sleep. Your mind was racing with multiple thoughts, most having to deal with the defender lying next to you in the dark room. You laid on your back staring up at the ceiling while Lucy was lying on her side with her back to you.

You had to resist looking at her, feeling like you would blurt out your feelings for her if you did. You were deep in thought when Lucy rolled over and propped her head up on her hand. You turned your head slightly to look at her when you felt her movement.

“You okay,” the defender whispered, not wanting to speak too loudly.

“Yeah, just missin' home,” you whispered back moving to lay on your side as well so you were face to face.

You sat in silence once again, your eyes darting over Lucy’s face taking in her features. You wanted to tell her your feelings so badly but didn’t want to ruin anything, especially during the holidays.

“y/n.. Can I tell you something? I've been meaning to tell you for a while now but now seems like my best chance,” Lucy spoke, her voice still whispering.

You nodded your head, not trusting your voice to not break if you spoke. Lucy had a small smile on her face before speaking.

“I like you, y/n/n. Like way, more than a friend should and I think I've felt this way since you joined the team. I wasn't sure how to tell you because I didnt want to risk anything and I valued our friendship too much to just let it go if you didnt feel the same. When I found out you weren't goin’ home for the break I was glad I had an extra ticket and I was so nervous to ask you to come with me. But now that you're here, I wanted to tell you exactly how I felt.” the defender spoke softly but meant every word that left her mouth.

You sat up in the bed, and the small amount of light from the moon peeking in through the window hit your face. Lucy could see the determined expression on your face and stayed silent as she also sat up.

“I feel the same way, Luce. I think I felt something when we ran into each other on my first day when I was on the tour. I was scared to tell you because I didn’t think you felt the same way and I didn’t want to make things tense between us. I'm glad you had that extra ticket and offered it to me, if I couldn’t go home for break I'm glad I was able to spend it with you.” you rushed out before you could change your mind.

The room was silent again, the two of you locking eyes. Lucy moved closer to you from her side of the bed and her hands moved to cup your face.

“Can I kiss you?” Lucy asked, wanting to give you time to say no if you wanted.

You nodded your head and her lips met yours in a deep kiss. Your mouth moved against hers passionately, moving your body to straddle her hips. Lucy’s hands dropped to your waist and yours moved to wrap around her neck. You both pulled away panting when you needed air, eyes never leaving the other.

“If I knew that was gonna happen I would have told you sooner,” the defender joked, a smirk gracing her face.

You shook your head at her comment before moving off her lap. You both laid back down, this time with your back pressed against Lucy’s front and her arm thrown over your waist. She placed a quick kiss on your cheek before settling back down behind you.

You couldn't be more happy about not being home for the holidays, happy to spend them with Lucy. the two of you could figure out the next step in your relationship in the morning, right now you were content to have her arm around you as you drifted off to sleep with a smile on your face.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Haley's Holiday

Day 6 of 12 Days of Ficmas

Pairing: Dick Grayson x fem!reader

Summary: You plan to spend the holidays with Dick and Haley in Blüdhaven, but his brothers have the same idea.

Word Count: 1.1k+ words

Warnings: fluff, more fluff, Haley, Dick's brothers get a warning.

A/N: Not necessarily Titans!Dick, I just think Brenton Thwaites is adorable. Sorry this is so short, but I wanted to write some fluff for Dick and give Haley some well-deserved lovin'. ALSO, I have an idea for a New Year's fic (part 2) that I kinda set up in this, so please let me know if you're interested!

You’ve been counting down the days, hours, minutes, seconds, and even your heartbeat until you get off work for the Christmas break. With each tick of the clock, you get a little more joyful and eager for Christmas. Since your fiance, the one and only Dick Grayson invited you to spend Christmas with him and, of course, Haley in Blüdhaven, you agreed immediately. Now, with two minutes to go, you’re waiting to lock your computer and run into his arms.

You rap your knuckles on the door twice, and before you even notice the door has opened, you’re wrapped in Dick’s arms as Haley circles your feet, ready for your attention. 

“Merry Christmas,” you say, tilting your chin up to kiss Dick.

He happily returns your affection, chuckling as Haley begins barking. You pull out of Dick’s arms and bend down, petting Haley with both hands as you compliment her on her good looks, excellent behavior, and adorable Nightwing-themed Christmas sweater. You glance up at Dick with the last comment, but he shrugs, smiling as he turns to put your coat and bag away. 

Once Haley has received her fair share of attention and curled up on her bed for a winter’s nap, you follow Dick into the kitchen and see your favorite hot chocolate mix and all of the ingredients needed for any and all cookies you may want to make. Looking through the cookie ingredients, you hear Christmas music fill the room before Dick spins you into his arms, swaying to the music as your hands rest on his chest.

“Want to start with chocolate chip or gingerbread?” Dick asks, spinning you quickly.

You choose your favorite, smiling as Dick joins you at the counter, staying right by your side as you prepare the dough. He makes shapes with the dough, even if he knows it won’t hold its shape because you laugh, and it’s his favorite sound in the world. After the cookies are in the oven and the timer has been set, you’re back in Dick’s arms as Haley stumbles tiredly into the kitchen and sits by your feet.

“Can I be right here every Christmas?” you ask.

“Oh, you have to. There’s no choice anymore, right, Haley?”

Haley barks once, her tail thumping against the floor as she looks up at you. A single knock sounds on the door, and Haley’s ears perk while Dick walks to the door, gesturing for you to stay in the kitchen.

“Jason,” Dick says, more as a question than a greeting.

Jason, the bloodhound of Dick’s brothers, smells the cookies and lets himself in wordlessly. He stops when he sees you standing in the kitchen, though.

“I was going to ask if I could stay for Christmas,” he says, “but I don’t want to intrude.”

“Not an intrusion,” you assure him, smiling as you silence the timer. “The more the merrier, right?”

Dick shakes his head fervently behind Jason, but Jason smiles his gratitude before plopping down in Dick’s chair, pulling out a book as Haley climbs in his lap. Dick then joins you in the kitchen as you take the cookies out.

“You can tell my brothers no. It can just be us, as planned,” he whispers, rubbing you back.

“They’re your family, Dickie. Jason might not have anywhere to go,” you argue.

“Bruce invited all of us!”

“You said no.” You lean against the counter, crossing your arms as Dick stands in front of you.

“Because I have you!”

“And Jason doesn’t.”

Dick sighs, reaching over your shoulder to eat a stray chocolate chip before he tangles his fingers in your hair and kisses you. Until someone else knocks on the door.

Dick opens the door, and you can hear him groan. “Tim, come on in.”

“Thanks! I brought some- oh, hey,” Tim interrupts himself when he sees you and walks to the kitchen. “I didn’t know everyone was coming over here.”

“They’re not supposed to be,” Dick mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. You pat his shoulder and lead Tim to the kitchen to put his goodies beside the cookies.

“So much for Haley’s holiday, huh?” Dick asks Haley.

“Say the word and we’re gone,” Jason offers, not looking up from his book.

“You’re family man, you’re always welcome. I was looking forward to a quiet Christmas with my girls, but this’ll be great too.”

Jason snorts before a fourth guest knocks on the door; Haley barks once before silencing when Jason’s large hand covers her back.

“Grayson,” Damian begins as soon as Dick opens the door. “I know you are alone, so I brought Alfred’s soufflé that you like.”

“I’m not alone, but come in, join the party. Thanks for the souffle, baby bird, it’s my favorite.”

Damian slows as he sees the number of people in Dick’s apartment. When he sees you and Tim in the kitchen, the crease between his brow disappears, and he joins you in the kitchen, discussing the cookies you are making and his recent school trip.

“Still think ‘it’ll be great’?” Jason teases.

“Is Duke coming?” Dick asks, ignoring his prodding.

“Nah, Bruce took him to some family member’s house. Wanted him to be with them.”

“Should we have gone to the manor?” Dick asks, a hint of regret in his voice.

“Deep down, Bruce wants us to be happy and understands that we need a break from the manor. I think.”

When the fifth round of knocking begins, everyone silences and turns to look at the door. You wave a hand at Dick and walk to the door, listening to all of Dick’s brothers stand, ready to fight if necessary.

“Mr. Wayne,” you greet, surprised to see the billionaire father figure of your fiance at the door. “Come on in.”

Bruce looks around as he enters, shaking his head gently before holding up several large gift bags. “I brought presents if you don’t mind one more.”

“Of course not,” you and Dick say together.

The oven timer dings again, and you return to the kitchen alone, setting the cookies on a cooling rack before Dick joins you, turning off the oven for you.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this? A quiet week with just me, you, and Haley is still an option. Haley’s holiday.”

“Dick, they are your family and they’re going to be mine. It’s Christmas. This is what Christmas is all about,” you insist, gently gripping his bicep.

Dick nods and leans down to kiss you, laughing against you as Haley squeezes between your legs and sits on your feet. 

“Everyday is Haley’s holiday,” you point out.

“Spend New Year’s alone?” Dick suggests, his forehead leaned against yours.

“Not likely,” Tim calls.

“Tt. You have the best view of the fireworks from here, Grayson,” Damian adds. 

“We could take Haley to Metropolis for the week,” Dick whispers to you.

“We’ll decide after Christmas,” you tell him, pecking his cheek quickly. “For now, Haley’s holiday, complete with family, is just beginning.”

[perseephoneee]

New years party with kate bishop!

new years (kate bishop x f!reader) {ficmas 2023}

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ happy day 8 of ficmas!

a/n: I genuinely like this one, and if ANYONE knows me, then they know that kate bishop has been my hero since I read the comics in 2015. i hope this is okay for my wifey @mayfieldss

↳ masterlist  ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ ficmas 2023

Since your first year of high school, you have been attending New Year's parties with Kate Bishop. They were always hosted by your classmate, Agatha Maloney, a bubbly girl with a penchant for party planning. The parties involved games, champagne stolen from her parents, and enough fairy lights to brighten a small city. You and Katie would show up, eat all the hors d’oeuvres (you hated the spicy chips that Kate would always consume), and perform a Bon Jovi duet. And every year, you would wait outside watching the snow fall in clumps across the city while Kate was inside kissing someone else at midnight. You used to think you were just jealous that she could find someone when you couldn’t, but now, you recognize it for what it was. You’re in love with your best friend and can never tell her. 

It was the last New Year's before you split for university. You weren’t sure if you’d have another New Year again; if you did, it wouldn’t be the same. Your classmates would have new friends and new stories. New inside jokes that you wouldn’t understand. You and Kate were attending different colleges. It's the same city, but different. Kate had a lot more money to afford a fancy university, and you were scraping by with tuition (that you were thankful for, don’t get it twisted). But even next year, what would you do when you didn’t share the same wavelength?

It didn’t stop the two of you from laughing as you bound up the doorsteps to Agatha’s. Kate wore a simple, long-sleeve black dress that ended at her knees and matching ankle boots that still made her look beautiful but rugged. You opted for a strapless jumpsuit. You and Kate had a weird apparel rule: if one person wore a dress, the other wore a jumpsuit. So that you always compliment the other person. 

“OMG, you guys came!” Agatha squealed as you approached the front door. Her blond hair was curled like a ‘20s flapper girl, her lips the color of bubblegum. She hugged both of you, almost suffocating you with her grip. “I’m so excited you came here for our last official hurrah. It’s not a party unless the dynamic duo is here.”

“You always know how to make us feel welcome,” you mumble, trying to dislodge yourself from her arms. Agatha was a sweet girl but very intense. And pushy. 

“You can let go now,” Kate choked, sending you a look of distress as Agatha officially detached herself. Kate sent you a look as you both followed Agatha into the house. Most of your classmates were experiencing the wonders of intoxication, and you appeared not to have missed a single critical moment. “Is it just me, or does she get crazier yearly?”

“She’s certifiable,” you chuckle, nudging Kate as you make a bee-line to the snacks. You shove your mouth full of pretzels and tomato cheese covered in balsamic vinegar. There’s a name for the snack, but you can’t remember and don’t care as you let the tastes overwhelm your tongue. As usual, Kate eats the hot Cheetos until her fingers are dyed red. She smiles at you over red Cheeto dust, and you think that even though she is messy, she looks beautiful. Instead of saying so, you just make fun of her. 

“Do you think that a cheetah has seen a Cheeto and thought, that’s cannibalism?” Kate asks you, eating more Cheetos. 

“I think you’re crazy,” you laugh, grabbing a plastic flute for the champagne and pouring you and Katie a glass. “A cheetah is more likely to wonder how it became a mascot wearing sunglasses.”

“Because it’s the cool thing to do, obviously,” Kate took the glass you handed her, taking a sip before excitedly motioning to the set-up karaoke machine. “Showtime!”

Every year, you debated what to perform. And you still ended up doing “Wanted Dead or Alive” by Bon Jovi every year. You needed to spice up your choices, but you two were old souls who got too impassioned with Bon Jovi. During the instrumental breaks, you guys would yell out how many measures were left and march across the stage. You even had experimental pop star names (“If Beyonce goes by Sasha Fierce on stage, why shouldn’t we?” said Kate). 

You finished your duet to a round of applause like always. And just as you finished, one of the attendees turned on the New York countdown so everyone could wait till the ball dropped and the new year was ushered in. You averted your eyes when you saw Stephanie from your chemistry class taking second glances at Kate. You ignored the feeling that gripped your heart when you saw Kate looking back. You thought this would be a good cue to step outside, like every year, and watch the snow fall as you ignored your heart breaking into pieces inside the house. 

The balcony was covered in a light layer of frost. Agatha’s home always had boughs of greenery wrapped around the terrace, with beautiful sparkling lights that reflected the city spread out before you. You wrapped your coat tighter around yourself, letting your breath fog in front of you. You huffed like a dragon and giggled to yourself. You liked seeing the tall buildings sprawled out in front of you, the little houses in front like a treeline to the secrets further back. The sounds of the ten-minute countdown could be heard from inside, but you let it become a dull sound in your ears. You were in blissful silence until you heard the balcony door close behind you. 

“Aren’t you freezing?” Katie asked, coming up right next to you. You look over, noticing she put on her coat and a beanie to fight the freeze. 

“It gets stuffy in there,” you turned back to the city, feeling the heat of Kate’s arm next to yours.

“I hear that; it’s like a sauna,” she chuckles. You sit in silence for a while. “Can I ask a question?” You gesture for Kate to continue. 

“Why do you come out here every year?”

You let the question hang in the air, unsure how to answer. How do you tell someone that you leave because you’re in love with them? Because watching them kiss someone else kills you? Because you want to grab and kiss them as firecrackers erupt in the air, just like they would in your heart? You opt to lie instead. 

“I don’t like watching people make out,” you awkwardly chuckle. “PDA is weird.” Kate gives you a look that tells you she doesn’t believe you. Your breath is shaky as you exhale. “Maybe there’s no one available worth kissing.”

You freeze up as Kate grabs your hand with her own, intertwining your fingers. Her hands are rough and calloused from all her physical activities, compared to your soft ones untouched by nature. 

“The person I would want to share my kiss with is never here,” Kate whispers. “She always goes outside and hides.”

Your heartbeat is heard in your ears to the point where you almost miss the countdown starting from inside. You make eye contact with Kate, her blue eyes wide as she looks at you. She seems as nervous as you are, making you feel better. The party attendees start to count down from ten. 

“Y/N,” Kate says, snow coating her hair in beautiful crystals. 

There are only five seconds left on the clock. When it hits one, you lean forward and kiss Kate, enjoying the gasp she lets out from surprise. Cheers are heard not just from inside but from the city, neighbors, and everywhere as people welcome the new year. Your hand cups her face, twisting in her black hair as she wraps her arms around your middle, pulling you close. You feel freezing and yet on fire as you kiss the love of your life on New Year’s Eve. A bad taste makes you pull away. 

“Did you eat hot Cheetos right before this?” you mumble, grimacing at the spiciness on your tongue. Kate laughs, a full-bodied laugh that is your favorite sound in the world. 

“I stress eat when I’m nervous.”

“It tastes disgusting.”

“Oh shut up,” Kate chuckles, kissing you again. And again. And again.

[rebelliousstories]

Candles

25 Days of Ficmas

Relationship: Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x Reader

Fandom: Top Gun

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 1,286

Masterlist: Here

Summary: Tom doesn’t allow a lot of personal items in his office on base, much preferring to keep his loved ones close to his heart. But he had to have a little something.

As he rose in the ranks, Tom kept switching offices every few years. Never staying in one spot for too long. He supposed it was a good problem to have, but it also meant that he never cared too much about what was put up in his office during his inevitable short years there. There were his certificates that were displayed with pride, and the few personal effects he had with him. Models of the planes he flew, a single picture of his family’s annual Christmas photo they take every year, and a candle.

It seemed a weird item to have with him, but every office he had ever been in, that candle had followed him there. Tom had never lit the candle, but having it near him was enough. It was going on a decade old now, but it still was in perfect condition. The aroma, while not lit, still gently seeped into the air, providing Tom with a beautiful memory every time he let his mind drift further and further into the scent.

//

“Babe? Darling?” A young, ambitious pilot called out into the Navy housing he found himself in. The blonde set down his sea bag, and started the tiring process of taking his boots off. They were left by the door, and he made his way deeper into the house. He smelled food cooking on the stove, queuing him in as to where his girlfriend was. Tomatoes, meat, and pasta wafted into his nose as he took a deep breath in. But upon his second intentional smell, he noticed something else. Citrus, ginger, and a hint of vanilla that made you feel all warm and cozy, like making cookies on a frigid evening with your grandmother.

It was her favorite candle to burn, having bought almost fifty this year alone. Her one little guilty pleasure to have that Tom did not have the heart to take away from her. Walking into the kitchen, he was met with a precious sight. Tom’s loving girlfriend, dressed in his old navy shirt and sweatpants, hair pulled back messily, cooking over the hot stove. How did he get so lucky? Iceman made his way over to the woman and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into his chest. She was startled at first, but relaxed smelling her lover’s familiar aftershave surround her.

“Hey! I didn’t hear you come in. How was work?” She asked, genuinely wanting to hear about his day. Tom rested his head down on her shoulder when she went back to stirring in the pots on the stove.

“It was alright. Just happy to be home with you.” He whispered, pressing a few kisses to her neck and shoulder. She hummed, and set down her utensils to turn in his arms finally. They shared a loving kiss once she did, and they both felt Tom’s body fully relax underneath the hands of his lover. Unfortunately, they needed air, so they pulled away and rested their foreheads against each other.

“Go take a shower, and I’ll have dinner ready for you when you get out, okay?” She whispered. Tom nodded his head as best he could and kissed her again before untangling himself from the warm body of his lover. He went to leave the kitchen and noticed the burning candle on the counter.

“How many of these have you gone through this year, darling?” He teased as she focused on the sauce in front of her.

“Oh, hush. You know you love the smell too.” She sent right back to him. Tom chuckled and left for his shower.

It was truly amazing what a shower at the end of a long and tiring day will do to revive someone. Just the act of scrubbing away all the exhaustion from the day, mentally and physically, did wonders for Tom as he emerged from their bedroom. Now, fresh and clean, he walked back to their dining room just in time to see his girlfriend plating the spaghetti bolognese she had made. He leaned against the doorway and just watched her for a moment. She was dressed in his clothing, which was adorably larger than she actually wore, setting their dinner table with the dinner that she made. It made him feel… domestic. Suddenly, he could see every night ending like this. Except now, he had a toddler to run after and a baby in her arms. The thought alone made his heart swell.

“Tom? Tommy?” She called, noticing her boyfriend standing there, staring off into nothing. He shook his head and smiled at the woman.

“Yeah? Sorry. Lost in my thoughts, darling.” Tom made his way over to her chair and pulled it out as he waited for her to finish up. She held a light smile on her face as she noticed that her boyfriend could not stop staring at her.

“Oh yeah? What were you thinking about?” She lightly teased as Tom sat down across from her, and begun to dig into the food on the table.

“Nothing. Don’t worry.” He dismissed, but she was still skeptical.

“Alright then. Tell me about your day then.” Tom launched into telling her all the things that he could tell her legally, knowing that she enjoyed hearing about his work whenever she could. Conversation quickly passed through different topics as the couple enjoyed their dinner, and through the ice cream dessert she had acquired at the store earlier in the day. As they lay together on the couch, watching old reruns of their favorite tv show, Tom took in another deep breath where the aroma of the candle flooded it.

“Why do you like this candle so much?” He inquired, turning to face his girlfriend who was snuggled into his side, with her head on his chest. She shrugged, yet still responded.

“This was the candle that was burning on the table when we went on our first date. I wrote it down when you had left so that you wouldn’t see or think I was weird for liking it so much. I just wanted to have a reminder of that first date. Plus I love candles, and now I think of you anytime it burns. When you’re deployed, it makes me remember you easier cause I associate you two together.” She explained, never lifting her head from his chest lest she would see a look of judgment across her boyfriend’s face. But she felt him press a kiss to her head, and he stayed buried there for a moment.

“I love that you have something like that. I wish I had known sooner.” Tom whispered into her hair. He felt her smile against him, and nuzzle further into his chest.

“Next time I go get another one, I’ll get you one too.” She promised, enjoying the warmth and love from her boyfriend.

“I would love that.” He agreed. In the back of his mind, the box in his duffle bag burned a whole through his conscious. Tom knew he wanted to give it to her, but this just solidified where he wanted to.

//

Now, all these years later, the candle sat in his office as a reminder. It was that candle that gave him all he has today. It gave him his wife, his children, and his happiness. That candle from all those years ago, from his first date with his love, gave him what he has today. And now, that candle sat on his desk no matter where he ended up to remind him of his joy throughout the years. It sat right next to the portrait of his family, one that they were due to update any day now, as a reminder.

[intimacyequalsdeath]

Bubz's 12 Days of Ficmas: Day 5 Hot Chocolate (Brahms Heelshire)

Day five is here! I hope you all enjoy this and stay tuned for special things closer to Christmas.

Notes: Minors DNI, SFW, Fluff, No specific descriptions or pronouns are used for reader.

"Hey! I made Hot Chocolate Brahms!"

You called out into the house. Hearing nothing but silence reverb back to you.

"If you're done acting like a child"

You grumble the last part under your breath before heading back into the kitchen. Never the less you poured two cups of the hot liquid anyway, knowing eventually that Brahms would come out of hiding.

Earlier the two of you had gotten into a disagreement when you decided to go outside for a quick moment to take in the snow on the ground. You forgot to wipe your feet and accidentally tracked mud and slush into the house.

Despite you having cleaned it up, Brahms was still confused on why you felt the need to go outside at all. Especially when you had him to keep you entertained.

He had retreated into the walls shortly after the argument began. That was nearly an hour ago now and you hadn't heard so much as a peep since.

You knew this was a volatile time of year for Brahms. As every year part of him still expected his parents to make an appearance for the holidays but always deep down knowing they wouldn't. You tried to be as gentle as possible with him but sometimes you couldn't help but get angry at some of his actions.

A few beats of silence sounded through the house as you silently stood in the kitchen and sipped your drink. You then heard the slightest tell tale creek that if you hadn't known what to listen for you would've missed it.

"Hi Brahms. Are you still mad at me?"

You asked him without even turning around. You heard a huff from behind you followed by a almost silent,

"No"

"Here, I made you hot chocolate"

You said softly, sliding the cup over to him.

"There marshmallows and marshmallow fluff if you want either of those, I didn't know what to put in it so I didn't yet"

You heard another huff from him before he wrapped one arm around your shoulders, bringing you in to an almost half hug. You set your cup on the counter to wrap your arms around him fully, sqeaze him slightly.

"It's ok honey. I'm not mad at you"

You told him, still wrapped around him.

"Are you sure?"

He said in another almost whisper. You nodded.

"Yes Brahms. I could never be mad at you"

You gave him a soft smile before picking your cup back up and motioning for him to follow you.

"C'mon let's go drink this in the living room and watch a movie"

With that you turned to head into the living room. After a few seconds you heard the second cup be picked up and soft footsteps follow you.

Nothing brings people together like hot chocolate, you laughed to yourself.

[andreafmn]

12 Days of Ficmas - Day 3

Prompt (by @12-days-of-ficmas): it’s cliche it’s trash i don’t care oh no the heating in our apartment is broken guess we’d better cuddle

Word Count: 2.8K

Story Description: It's cold and the radiator in the cabin doesn't work. Will (Y/N)'s plans for the night be ruined?

Fandom: Stranger Things

Pairing: Jim Hopper x Fem!Reader

Warnings: a whiff of smut, bad language

A/N: i'm gonna be honest, i have not watched the last season of stranger things, so I'm still in the season 3 mentality. this fic will be set in December after everything that went down on that season (obvs Jim isn't a prisoner and the Byers and El don't move to California)💖 and whoops, I'm late, but there's a bonus coming in a bit 😉

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That's One Way to Get Warm

Hawkins, Indiana got cold. Far too cold for comfort and your heating system not working would be a devastation like no other. The very dilemma (Y/N) was facing at that very moment.

But her day didn’t start that way.

It had actually started quite normal – as normal as it could be with a kid that has biokinetic powers.

They had all had a hell of a year. The Russian infiltration in Hawkins; fighting the Mindslayer; closing the door to the Upside Down; almost losing Jim; Mike and El becoming an item, then not, then yes once more.  

The last two had been the hardest for (Y/N). She had been taking care of Eleven alongside Hopper since he’d taken her in during winter the year before. By that time Hopper and she had just been friends – close friends, but nothing more. He had trusted her with the secret that the girl was out of the upside down and she offered to help him take care of El.

During that time they grew closer than they thought they could. (Y/N) was younger than Hopper and they knew the town would talk – small towns always talk. But they couldn’t help what they felt. And when El went missing they only had each other to lean on. So, that’s what they did.

It didn’t take long for them to finally admit their feelings for one another. Soon thereafter El reappeared in Hawkins. And after defeating more otherworldly creatures, the three of them became a family. And, at least on paper, Jane Hopper was theirs.

The three of them learned something new day by day. (Y/N) learned how to be a mother, El learned how to live and function in society, and Jim Hopper learned patience. So. Much. Patience. In the blink of an eye, he had gone from a lone wolf bachelor to living with his girlfriend and his adopted child. And even though he would not have traded his present life for anything, it took him some time to get used to it – old habits die hard.

Yet they all found their rhythm as a family. It wasn’t long until they felt like a unit. And when their summer from hell came to an end, they were grateful they had each other to fall back onto. It brought them closer than they ever thought possible.

As the months passed, they started having ‘normal’ family problems. Who left an almost empty jug of milk in the fridge; Hopper forgetting special dates; Eggo waffles being finished far too fast; El going out with friends on a school night; El going out with Mike.

The latter was the hardest for Jim and (Y/N). El was growing quickly before their eyes. Although they were not her birth parents, they had been by her side through milestones no other parent would understand. And she was their daughter.

“Okay, honey. You’ve got your gift?” (Y/N) asked El as she was preparing to leave her in Mike’s house for the party’s little Christmas party.

“Yes,” El smiled.

“And Mrs. Wheeler is gonna take you home at nine o’clock, correct?” 

“Yes, (Y/N/N),” she chuckled at her surrogate mother’s persistence. “Can I go now?” 

“Yes, honey,” (Y/N) smiled and hugged her from the driver’s side of the car. “Have fun. I love you!”

“Love you too! Bye!” El called out as she ran from the car to the front door, trying her best to avoid the snowy weather.

As soon as the girl was inside the house, (Y/N) felt confident enough to drive back home. When she got to the cabin, the sun had completely gone. The trail to the cabin had started to get filled with snow and the windows had started to get frosted.

The thing (Y/N) loved the most about the cold was being able to warm up comfortably. Sometimes it was with a warm and thick blanket, other times with a nice fire, and there were other times when she warmed up by partaking in… physical activities. But the radiator was always on.

It was a small cabin, so it didn’t take much to warm up the space. Still, there was nothing better than the radiator. The little machine was a godsend during Indiana winters. Those were simply unforgivable.

(Y/N) wrapped her jacket close to her body as she walked from the warm car to the porch. Snowflakes landed on her hair, melting quickly after contact, dampening her hair a little. As her hands shook, she dug through her bag for the house keys. She could already hear Hop telling her to keep the car keys and the house keys together so she didn’t have to fumble for them.

“But if I lost my car keys, I would lose the home keys as well,” (Y/N) repeats the story herself the same answer she always gave him. This time she was regretting it. “Screw you, Hop.”

Seconds after, she finally fished out the silver keys.

She entered the cabin promptly after, hanging her coat onto the hook and shaking off the snow that had dropped on her. Without thinking much of it, (Y/N) made a beeline for the radiator. The house had become freezing inside in the few minutes she had gone to leave El at the Wheeler’s house. And she wanted Hopper and El to come home to a warm and cozy house.

(Y/N) was a woman with a plan. She would turn on the radiator, put some cookies in to bake, set the fireplace, and wait for her family to come home. It was a nice and perfect plan. Until the radiator didn’t switch on. She turned the valve to the utter end and nothing happened.

“You’ve got to be kidding me?!” (Y/N) yelled out. She had no idea how to fix anything, it was too late to call someone to repair it, and she wanted — needed — heat. So, she called the next best thing. “Hey, Flo. Is Hopper by chance still there?”

“Oh, hello, (Y/N/N),” she chirped. “I’m afraid he already left.”

“Shoot. How long ago?”

“About fifteen minutes already, I think. Is everything okay?”

“Is there a chance you know how to fix a radiator, Flo? Ours is shot.”

“Oh, honey, I can barely work a phone as it is,” she joked. “But I’m sure Hop will be there soon enough.”

“I just hope he doesn’t break it further,” (Y/N) laughed. “You know how he gets.”

“Well, then, start a fire by now cause God knows that man knows how to break things more than he knows how to fix them.” Flo’s laughter rang through the phone, and she couldn’t help but join in. “I’ll tell Randy to go check up on it tomorrow.”

“Alright, Flo, thanks. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you as well, honey.”

As she hung up the receiver, all (Y/N) could do was let out a yell of frustration. Hopper would be home in the next ten to fifteen minutes, which meant ten to fifteen of freezing temperatures. So, she took Flo’s advice and started building a fire in the fireplace. Everything she touched was cold, frozen by the weather outside.

Putting on a jacket and finally getting the fire lit, she tried to do what she had planned. But she could feel the cold seeping into her bones, begging her to sit on the couch in front of the fire. Still, she fought through it and was able to put the cookies in the oven, to at least do one of the things she had planned for.

As she was closing the oven, the front door swung open, and Jim stepped through with a smile on his face. Until he noticed it was as cold inside as it was outside.

“Uh, baby, why isn’t the radiator on?” Hopper asked. “It’s freezing in here.”

“Well, your trusty radiator is broken so we’re stuck with just the fireplace,” she responded. “I was thinking we could put some comforters on the floor, some pillows, and we could all hang out in front of the fireplace tonight. Until we can call someone to repair it tomorrow.”

“Why would we call anyone? I can fix it.”

(Y/N) bit her tongue, not wanting to say anything that could offend him. She knew it would end badly, but she would thoroughly enjoy the journey. She knew her boyfriend would become frustrated with the radiator and eventually break some part of it, which would they then end up replacing the whole thing. She just liked to see him fight with inanimate objects.

He fetched the tool bag from outside, plopping himself in front of the machine. Hopper started by twisting the valve, testing in fact that it wouldn’t turn on. Then, he started twisting bolts that did not need to be tightened. After, he resorted to hitting the pipe that connected the radiator to the valve.

“Um, Hop, I don’t think that’s gonna do anything,” (Y/N) finally chimed in. “We can just call someone tomorrow.”

“You don’t think I can do it?” Hopper grumbled. “We don’t have to spend money paying someone else when I know I can fix it. Just give me a sec.”

(Y/N) could see his eyebrows furrowing, annoyance growing inside him. Nothing he did seemed to work, not even shaking the old machine. Out of frustration, he kept hitting the pipes harder and harder until one of them broke.

“FU-UCK!” Hopper yelled out as he slammed the tools to the floor.

“Hop,” (Y/N) called out lovingly from the couch. “Come here.”

“I can’t fucking believe this. This old piece of sh…”

“Baby, come here.”

Finally, the man looked up, any anger he had quickly dissipated when he gazed at her. Hopper got up from the floor, defeatedly walking toward her. He sat next to her, his head in his hands.

“I’ll call up Randy tomorrow morning to see if there’s any point to repair it,” he sighed. “I should’ve just listened to you and left it alone.”

“It’s fine, Flo already called him,” she chuckled. “I love you, Hop, but you’re not good at fixing stuff like this.”

“So, you had no faith in me?”

“Not precisely,” she grinned. “You’re good at so many things, but not this.”

Hopper faked being angry — he did feel a bit offended that his girlfriend didn’t believe in him. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, a scowl plastered on his face. He avoided her gaze, knowing he would break the moment he looked into her eyes.

“Oh, come on, Hop. You don’t need to act offended.” (Y/N) bit back her laughter, not wanting to anger him further. She knew exactly how to change his mood quickly. She moved until she was sat next to him, running her fingers across his arms.  “Look on the bright side. We can cuddle on the couch until El gets home.”

It didn’t take much for a mischievous grin to appear on Hopper’s face. Especially when (Y/N) planted a kiss on his lips. He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her over him until she was straddling his lap. She let out a gleeful shriek and circled her arms around his neck, lowering her head to meet his lips once again.

“I have an idea on how we can heat up without the radiator,” he grinned. “Might make up for the fact that I broke it.”

“Very funny, baby,” she purred as his beard tickled her neck. He left a trail of kisses from her jaw down to her neck, biting slightly. Just enough to not leave a mark. “But El’s gonna be home soon, and I don’t wanna traumatize her just yet with that kind of thing.”

“But she won’t be here for another…” he looked at his watch. “Another twenty minutes. We can definitely have some fun until then."

“Don’t start something we can’t finish, baby,” she whined against him. (Y/N) was getting warmer. Partly because of the fireplace, but mostly from Hopper. She could feel her want growing – she could also feel him growing, – but she knew they couldn’t go on. Thankfully, the oven beeped. “We should seriously stop, Hop. Either way, I need to get the cookies out of the oven.”

“Oh you’re such a tease,” he groaned as she got off him. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“I don’t know. Think of something else,” she laughed. “Now, help me get the comforters and the pillows out to the living room.”

As (Y/N) placed the cookies on a rack to cool, Hopper started moving the furniture to make space for the bed cover and pillows. He brought out as many blankets as he could and placed them all on the floor, creating two makeshift beds on the floor.

“You know, I was thinking,” Hopper called out.

“That’s never good,” she chuckled.

“Normally, no,” he joined in the laughter. “But I’ve been thinking it’s time we start upsizing.”

“Upsizing? What are you talking about, baby?”

“You know, expanding.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Hop?”

He joined her in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her toward him. He looked down intently into her eyes. “What do you think I’m saying?”

“Bigger house.” He nodded and kissed her temple. “Bigger… family?” He nodded again, kissing her cheek. “Finally a ring on my finger?” 

And he smiled brightly as he nodded, kissing her lips passionately. “I’d say it’s about time.” 

“That is the greatest gift ever, Hop.”

“I wanna talk it over with El first, though. Make sure she’s part of this transition.”

Before she could answer, a honk beeped from outside.

“We can ask her now,” (Y/N) smiled. “She’s here.”

She kissed his cheek and exited the cabin. Outside, Mrs. Wheeler smiled at the woman, waving her hand from the car as Eleven exited the car. The girl said goodbye to the woman and skipped over to (Y/N)’s side where they watched as Mike’s mother drove away.

“Did you have fun, honey?” (Y/N) asked her as they walked inside.

“Yes. Max gave me an Eggo ornament,” she smiled. “Can it go on the tree?”

“Absolutely!”

“Hey, kiddo!” Hopper called out. “How was it today?”

“Fun,” she responded. “I have a waffle ornament. Goes on the tree.”

“Well that’s fun,” he replied, unsure of what to say.

As she placed the lacquered ornament onto the tree, she commented, “It’s cold.”

“Yeah, well, the radiator is kind of broken,” (Y/N) replied. “But I was thinking since the heat is out, we could sleep in front of the fireplace tonight. Before we can eat cookies, snuggle up on the sofa, and watch a Christmas movie. Make a whole thing out of it.”

“Sounds fun,” she responded. “Where do I put ornament?”

“Anywhere you want, honey.”

El levitated the ornament, placing it on the highest point, making sure no one would miss it. A smile spread onto her face, proud of her gift and her work. After, she went into her room to change into her pajamas and later helped (Y/N) plate the cookies while Hopper changed out of his uniform.

A couple of minutes later, the three of them were under thick blankets watching Miracle on 34th Street. Half of the cookies were done and three glasses of milk at different fill heights. And as the movie finished, and they were all slightly crying, Hopper spoke up.

“Hey, kiddo, there’s something we wanted to talk to you about something,” he started and only continued when she gave him all her attention. "(Y/N) and I were thinking that it was time for us to start expanding. Buy a bigger house, get married, maybe have a baby. What do you think about that?”

“With me?” El asked worriedly.

“Absolutely, honey,” (Y/N) answered quickly. “We would never think of a future without you. El, you are our daughter now and forever. Don’t ever doubt that.”

(Y/N) took the girl into her arms and gave her a tight hug, one Hopper joined after, his big arms surrounding them both. Tears were streaming from (Y/N)’s eyes and she wasn’t sure if it was from the movie or what El had asked.

“I would like it,” she said after. “Big house, a brother or sister. Big, happy family.”

Once they were all settled on their respective makeshift beds on the floor and El was deeply asleep, Hopper placed a soft kiss on (Y/N)’s lips. On his face, a huge smile danced, his eyes full of love.

“What was that for?” (Y/N) chuckled tiredly.

“For everything,” he sighed contentedly. “For our future, for helping me with El even if you didn’t have to, for putting up with me, for giving me a chance, for…”

(Y/N) gave him another kiss to stop his rambling. “I wouldn’t change this for the world, Hop. You, El, and whatever comes next, that’s my forever,” she smiled. “And take tomorrow off. El is gonna be gone for the whole day.”

With a grin on his face, he responded, “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Taglist: @honeylovemoon @supernaturalwriter @beckiej0073-blog @skyesthebomb @krazyk99 @klf1999 @ilikepunsbeth @magimtz23 @sl-ut @adaydreamaway08 @hufflepuffobsessedwithmarvel @toomanythoughts33

[uluvjay]

Our first Christmas-O. Piastri

Oscar Piastri x fem! Reader

In which you and Oscar celebrate your first Christmas together

Warnings?; kisses, pure fluff, rushed so I apologize for any errors

Day 7 of my ficmas celebration!

You could feel the warmth of his lips trail along your shoulder, his soft hair tickling the back of your neck causing a soft giggle to escape.

“I knew you were awake.” He spoke, his voice deep and full of sleep.

“Don’t wanna get up yet.” You groaned, turning your body so your head could tuck its self into his neck.

“But it’s Christmas.” He pouted.

You sprung up, causing your head to connect with his chin and pained groans to escape both of you.

“Ow.”

“Shit, sorry.” You laughed stroking his chip and applying a small kiss in apology.

“It’s okay, but does this mean we can go open presents now?.” He smiled at you.

“Coffee, then presents?”

“Deal.” He laughed and pulled you out of the warmth of your large bed, following behind him you admired his large frame that was enhanced due to the white shirt he wore.

Making your way into the kitchen Oscar grabbed two mugs from the cabinets while you powered on the coffee pot.

“Do you want regular or the gingerbread coffee?” You questioned, looking through the different coffee pods.

“Regular please.” He smiled politely.

After two fresh cups of coffee the couple found their way into the living room, a soft meow followed by a thump caught their attention just as a furry little body rubbed itself against Oscar’s leg.

“Morning izzy.” Oscar greeted their orange tabby, reaching down to pick the small cat up.

The cat purred at Oscar’s touch, immediately nudging her head against his hand for more attention.

“Hi pretty.” You spoke in your baby voice, placing a kiss to her head before Oscar sat her down and made his way over to the tree.

“Open this one first.” He blushed handing you a small box that took him much longer then he’d like to admit to wrap.

You smiled at him before ripping into the paper, underneath was a square velvet box that held a new set of beautiful diamond earrings.

“Oh Oscar they’re gorgeous.” You cried, jumping to your feet to pull him into a hug.

“You like em?”

“I love them baby, thank you.” You kissed him sweetly before running to get him one of his gifts.

Many presents and a mountain of wrapping paper later Oscar handed you your last gift.

“Saved the best for last.” He smiled handing you a medium sized box.

You shook it jokingly trying to hear what was inside due to how light the box was but there wasn’t any shuffling from the inside.

Looking up at Oscar questionably you raised an eyebrow that he laughed at, “just open it”

You laughed along with him before removing the paper and opening the cardboard box revealing a glass ornament.

However it wasn’t just any normal ornament, on the front there were two human bodies and an orange cat in the middle, all three wearing red Santa hats.

Below each figure held names, Y/n, Izzy, and Oscar and right below that ‘CHRISTMAS 2023’ was written in bright red.

“Turn it around.”

Listening to Oscar you turned the ornament around in your hands and on the back there was a small message inscribed.

Happy first Christmas my love, here’s to many more

- Oscar

You didn’t realize you were crying until you saw the tear land on the ornament, wiping it away as well as the ones streaming down your cheeks you stood to pull Oscar into your arms.

“I love it.” You sobbed, tucking your head into his neck.

“I’m glad baby, took me and izzy a while to pick it.” He laughed softly as he remembered the cat sitting beside him the whole time he scrolled on the website.

He held you in his arms for a while longer until the sound of his phone ringing from the couch pulled you two out of your little bubble.

“It’s mum.” He spoke as he picked up the device.

You two spoke to his family for a while before it was time to clean up the living room, Oscar tackled the trash while you began breakfast.

Coming into the kitchen he wrapped his arms around you from behind and placed a sweet kiss to the side of your head.

“I love you so much.” He whispered

“I love you too, thank you for an amazing Christmas.” You smiled as you leaned into him.

“You are very welcome.” He giggled tucking himself into your neck.

-

[winter-dayz]

Think of me?

Pairing: Jackson Wang x Reader Brother's Best Friend Genre: Fluff; Smut (if you squint) Words: 1673 Warnings: strong language; sexual content (male masturbation)

Masterlist | 12 Days of Ficmas Masterpost

Taglist:  @soobin-chois

‘It’s gonna be fine. The worst that could happen is that he won’t notice me. Again. And I’ll just remain his best friend’s little sister forever.’

Totally fine.

You shook your head—putting any other self-deprecating thoughts away in a tiny, sealed box in your brain to be dealt with at your next therapy session—and entered.

Each year, your family hosted a Christmas party. It used to be small, contained to the immediate family. But then your brother and you got a little older, begged your parents to let you invite your friends. They allowed it, and invited some of their own friends too. Then other guests wanted to bring their families—parents of your friends and children of your parents’ friends started showing. Soon enough, it became a proper holiday celebration and couldn’t be held at your family home anymore. All of the adults started chipping in to rent space and have it catered. It became a celebration and reunion of sorts from then on.

You made your way through the decent-sized crowd, greeting friends and family as you went, until you found your own parents and brother standing around chatting.

“Hi honey!” Your mom cheered, greeting you with a kiss to your cheek.

“Hi mom,” you smiled and glanced around, “The decorations look really nice this year. I like the red and gold theme.”

She beamed at the praise, motioning to your father, “Your dad picked out the main tree, and some of the others donated the smaller ones. We were going for something homier and warmer this year. People felt that the ‘White Christmas’ last year with all the white and silver was a little too sterile.”

You hummed, “Maybe if you do that theme again throw in gold? Like the song Silver and Gold… Or a nice royal blue if you want it to lean more–”

“Jackson!” Your brother shouted, interrupting your train of thought. Your head whipped around, following his line of sight.

Jackson, your brother’s lifelong best friend, was strolling over to your group. Soft, close-lipped smile on, eyes shining with happiness. He was dressed well, as usual, and had a Santa hat perched on bleach-blonde hair.

It was a different look than you had seen on him last, but you couldn’t deny you were really enjoying it.

‘You’ve got to get yourself together.’ You admonished yourself, tearing your eyes away and trying not to drool over your childhood crush.

Just the thought of him so close once again, though, had your eyes being pulled to him. As you caught another glance of him, you managed to catch his own eyes traveling the length of you.

‘I’m imagining things, right? Surely he didn’t just check me out? Right!?’

“Honey,” Your mom pulled you out of your thoughts, “can you bring yours?”

You hummed, wide-eyed as you refocused on the conversation around you. “What was that?”

“Your air mattress. Can you bring it for Jackson?”

“Why would I do that?”

Your brother looked at you with furrowed brows and said like it was obvious, “So he doesn’t have to sleep on the couch in the basement.”

“I didn’t realize you were coming to the cabin with us for Christmas?” You finally let your eyes flit back to Jackson. He was holding back a smirk in your direction already.

“Yeah, my parents are spending the holidays on a cruise. Didn’t really want to spend Christmas alone so your family is letting me stay with you.”

You felt your entire being tense. You weren’t trying to be defensive, even though you’re sure that’s how it comes off, but all that was running through your brain was getting through the holiday with the big fat crush you still had on your brother’s best friend.

“If you don’t want me to borrow your air mattress, it’s fine. The couch in the basement isn’t that bad.”

“No, no… It’s fine. I have to go back to my apartment and grab my bags after this anyway. I can bring it.”

Jackson’s subtle smirk split into a gentle smile, “I appreciate it.” He lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned a bit closer to you, “Between us, that couch is actually really awful. We should use it as kindling.” A bubble burst out of you, and Jackson’s small grin grew, brightening his face and causing his eyes to squint. “There’s that gorgeous smile.” You swore you heard him add on under his breath while you laughed.

🎄

“Hey loser,” your brother tossed a set of sheets onto you as you lounged on the sofa, watching a Christmas movie in the den. “Mom said to take those to Jackson downstairs.”

“And why can’t you do it?”

“I’m going to bed. You’re still up.”

You rolled your eyes as your brother headed towards where the upstairs loft was. You gathered up the sheets and made sure to grab an extra fleece throw, knowing how chilly the cabin basement could get in winter—regardless of how much work your dad put in to finish it and make it a nice guest suite.

Before you bounded down the creaky, wooden stairs, you called down softly, “Jacks?” You waited a moment, cold seeping in through your fuzzy socks, before heading down when you thought you heard him call your name back. “Hey, I brought you some sheets and a blanket since it can get… cold down… here…” You trailed off at the sight before you.

Jackson hadn’t been calling your name as an okay to come downstairs. No, instead, he was too busy moaning your name. His hand was wrapped around his cock, angry red and desperately weeping. Head thrown against the back of the couch, back arched as he bucked into his hand, and legs spread wide with his jeans unbuttoned and just barely pulled down to free himself.

‘He’s jerking himself off. To me? To me!? I shouldn’t be watching this. I shouldn’t be here.’ Your brain was malfunctioning. You knew you should just turn around, march back up those stairs, and come back down in a while with the blankets and sheets. But instead, your gaze darkened on the way he bit his lip to try to smother the louder groans, yet your name and swears still slipped through. Your eyes fluttered as you tracked a bead of sweat streak down his face. Your own mouth fell open, and you groaned at the way his hand flexed and gripped the couch, as if he could barely hold himself back.

Jackson froze, whipping around to find you standing there watching. He let out a sound, somewhere between a yelp and a whine. Embarrassment at having been caught colored his cheeks, neck, and ears.

You could feel that your grip on the sheets was white-knuckled and knew that your thighs were pressed together to release some of the pressure, but you simply cleared your throat and finally averted your eyes.

“I… Um, I br– brought the sheets for the air mattress.” You managed.

Jackson stared wide-eyed and panicked. He rushed to tuck himself away, fixing his hair and standing to take the sheets from you.

As he turned away to toss them onto the couch, he whispered into the awkward air, “I’m so sorry… You weren’t supposed to know… I’m just really sorry.”

“Know?” You flinched in confusion. ‘I’m not supposed to know what? That you masturbate to the thought of me?’ For once, you voiced your thoughts smoothly.

“Um, yeah…” Jackson looked ashamed.

“How… How long?”

His eyes darted to yours and quickly looked away, “Remember the Christmas party after you turned twenty-one?”

It was your turn to feel embarrassment wash over you. Of course you remembered that party. You had enjoyed one too many of your aunt’s famous Ho Ho Hot Cocoa… It was hot chocolate with more chocolate liqueur and peppermint schnapps than actual chocolate and milk.

You ended up nearly black out drunk, with only fuzzy memories of dancing with cousins and flirting with some friends of friends of friends. In fact, you were pretty sure you kissed someone…

“Oh my god!” Jackson rubbed a hand over his face, as you came to the same conclusion. “I kissed you!”

“Yeah… I’m sorry…”

That felt like a slap in the face. “What why? I’m the one who kissed you and then watched you… you know… without your permission. If anything, I’m sorry.”

“Because I enjoyed it…” Jackson hesitated, “I enjoyed both things if I’m honest.”

“Oh…” You breathed, mind blanking. “If… you liked me, why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Your brother told me you’d never like me like that. ‘I’m like a big brother to you,’ were his exact words I think.”

“That fucking idiot!” You screeched, “I’m gonna kill him! I’ve had a crush on you since we were fucking kids, Jacks!”

“You– You… Really?”

“Yeah!”

Jackson burst into laughter, pulling you into his arms. He was a bit clammy, his cologne a bit tainted with the smell of his sweat, and yet, you really didn’t mind.

“Y/N…” He eventually whispered into the crown of your head, “I want you.”

“Oh?” You whispered back into his chest, desire coursing through you.

He pulled back quickly, “Not like that! I mean… Yes, like that too… But– Fuck, I’m fucking this up… I want to be with you. I want to take you on dates and kiss you and cuddle the shit out of you all the time. I want to show you off and come home to the same apartment—at least someday—and then pamper you and fall asleep in each other’s arms.”

You breathed out slowly, “I didn’t know you thought about stuff like that.”

“I never did before you.”

“Well damn, Jackson… What am I supposed to say to all that?” you giggled, wrapping your arms tighter around his waist.

“Say you’ll go out with me.”

“Okay,” you smiled, “on one little condition…” He hummed, and you pressed a kiss to his jawline. “Keep thinking of me like that.”

“I can do that forever, baby.”

[starry-hughes]

playing santa (jack hughes)

day 10 of star’s ficmas event

single dad!jack au (jack hughes x reader)

Paisley was probably too young for Santa. The eight month old probably had no idea what was going on, just excited at the multi-colored lights on the tree. Ellen did almost have a heart attack when Paisley started yanking on the ornaments on the tree. As Paisley’s part-nanny and her dad’s girlfriend, you were determined to make Christmas special for her. For a baby, she had a hard life from the beginning, a struggling single father and a mother who walked out on her before she could even leave the hospital. 

Jack was treating it like a super secret spy mission, dragging in the box with the ball pit into the house. You followed behind him, carrying the activity table. “Jack, she’s not waking up, nor is she crawling down the flight of stairs, we don’t need to sneak around like we are actually Santa.” 

Jack groaned, “Babe. This is the fun part about playing Santa!” He shoved a cookie into his mouth, “But you have to drink the milk, I don’t want it.” He began unpacking the ball pit, searching around for the air pump that his mom had left out. You scowled at your boyfriend as you began unpacking the activity table to assemble. Paisley was just now learning how to pull herself up and this was a good toy for her to use to pull herself up on. 

Jack had only left behind cookie crumbs and forced Luke to drink the glass of milk, but quickly telling him to leave just a little in the glass. You watched Quinn bite into some of the carrots that were left out for the reindeer. 

You poured the balls into the ball pit and watched Jack put the letters in the name puzzle. “Do you think she’ll like her gifts?” Jack asked softly, “I just want to make sure she will enjoy her first Christmas?” 

You weren’t sure why Jack was suddenly self conscious about everything. He had struggled as a dad in the first couple of weeks, before hiring you. Paisley was born weeks before the playoffs had started and he was alone. In the first couple of months, you knew Jack was worried about his ability to be a parent but you thought that his worries had disappeared. But here you were, staring at a worried Jack, a worried dad. 

He got up and sat next to you on the couch, staring blankly at the Christmas tree with the Santa gifts sitting there. “Jack, honey, look at me,” you cupped his face. His eyes slightly glassy as he choked back tears. “You are an amazing dad. You would do anything for our girl. Don’t ever doubt that you are a good dad again, okay?” 

Jack nodded, his hand brought your hands down from his face and he placed a soft kiss on the back of your hands. “Merry Christmas,” he said softly to you before kissing your lips. “Merry Christmas, J. I think we did a good job playing Santa. Now, lets go to sleep so we can be up for presents early.” 

Your boyfriend nodded, standing and pulling you up with him. The house was silent and the Christmas tree glimmered as Jack and you went upstairs. His brothers in bed and his parents already asleep. Paisley was fast asleep in the pack-and-play, Ellen and Jim had begged Jack to allow them to get her a crib but the pack-and-play was good enough. 

Jack smiled down at his sleeping daughter, in her Christmas onesie, happily asleep with her pacifier in her mouth. You joined Jack, smiling down at the girl you had helped raise. Even if she wasn’t your actual daughter, you knew you were her mom.