#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.

[leona-hawthorne]

LEONA-HAWTHORNE’S FICMAS

december 22nd. theodore nott — what’s your type?

theodore nott x fem reader

summary ; theo is smart, but he’s an idiot when it comes to taking hints. sometimes, you have to just give it to him. words ; 2.7k warnings ; smut, unprotected piv, oral m!receiving, google translated italian (sorry in advance)

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Theo had this way of existing—effortless, detached, like gravity bent to his whims. He lounged against the headboard, a cigarette between his fingers, the smoke curling upward in lazy spirals. You were convinced he didn’t even like smoking; he just enjoyed the ritual, the way it made his hands look purposeful.

The dorm was dim, the only light spilling from the bedside lamps. Everyone else was sprawled across the furniture, engaged in half-hearted conversations about Quidditch or the latest rumors circulating the castle. But your focus was locked on Theo. Always Theo.

“What’s that look for?” he asked, his lips curving into a smirk as he caught your gaze. His voice was low, teasing, pulling at some invisible thread in your chest.

“What look?” you shot back, tilting your head and feigning innocence.

He chuckled, a sound that sent warmth pooling in your stomach. He took a drag of his cigarette and passed it to you without a word. You accepted it, your fingers brushing his. The fleeting contact sent a shiver down your spine, but you masked it with a casual exhale of smoke.

“So, what’s the topic tonight?” you asked, your tone light.

Theo raised an eyebrow. “Define ‘topic.’”

“I mean, what bullshit are we debating? Everyone’s always got something to say about something.”

He glanced around the room, noting the fragmented conversations, before turning back to you. “I think we’re safe to create our own.”

“Fine,” you said, handing the cigarette back to him. “What’s your type?”

Theo blinked, caught off guard. “My type?”

“Yeah. You know, what you look for in someone. Or are you too much of a brooding intellectual to care about such trivial matters?”

His smirk returned, sharper this time. “I’ll have you know I’m very discerning.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you said, rolling your eyes. “But seriously, I want to know.”

He hesitated, the cigarette poised between his lips. “I don’t know. I guess someone who can hold their own. Smart, independent. Doesn’t take my shit.”

You snorted. “So, basically, someone who’s not a doormat.”

“Pretty much,” he admitted, shrugging. “What about you? What’s your type?”

You took a moment, pretending to ponder, even though the answer was sitting right next to you. “I’ve always thought intelligence is sexy. Like, really sexy. Bonus points if they speak another language.”

Theo glanced at you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Oh, yeah? What’s so great about that?”

“It’s just impressive,” you said, leaning forward slightly. “Shows effort, you know? And…” You trailed off, letting the tension hang for a beat. “I’ve always been a sucker for blue eyes.”

His expression didn’t shift, but you could see the gears turning in his head. “Interesting.”

“Isn’t it?” you replied, your tone light but your gaze steady. He didn’t look away, and for a moment, you thought he might finally connect the dots. Instead, he leaned back, as if dismissing the comment entirely.

“What about personality?” he asked, like you hadn’t just described him to a T.

You sighed, exasperated. “Theo.”

“What?” he said, his voice full of feigned innocence.

“For fuck’s sake,” you muttered, grabbing his wrist and yanking him to his feet. The room barely registered the two of you leaving; everyone else was too absorbed in their own conversations.

Theo followed you into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind you. “Care to explain what’s going on?”

You turned to face him, your back against the door. “You’re supposed to be smart.”

“I am smart,” he said, crossing his arms.

“Then why are you so bloody dense?” you asked, stepping closer. He didn’t move, his eyes fixed on yours, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Am I?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave.

“Oh, you absolutely are,” you said, your hands finding the front of his shirt. “But I think I can help with that.”

The realization finally dawned on him, and his smirk widened. “Well, by all means, love. Enlighten me.”

You didn’t bother with a reply. Instead, you tugged him down by his collar and crashed your lips against his. Theo responded immediately, his hands bracing on your hips as he pressed you back against the door. The kiss was heated, messy, all teeth and desperation. You’d been waiting for this, and judging by the way his grip tightened, so had he.

“You’re insufferable,” you murmured against his lips, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“And yet you’re all over me,” he shot back, his tone smug. Before you could retort, his mouth was on yours again, silencing any comeback you might have had.

Your hands moved to the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and over his head. Theo barely gave you a moment to breathe before he was on you again, his lips trailing down your jaw to the sensitive spot just below your ear. You gasped, your head tipping back against the door.

“I think I like it when you’re annoyed,” he murmured, his voice rough.

“Shut up,” you managed, but the words lacked any real venom. Your hands roamed over his chest, mapping out the planes of muscle and the scatter of freckles across his skin. He was impossibly warm, and you couldn’t get enough.

Theo’s hands slipped beneath your shirt, his fingers skimming over your bare skin. You shivered at the contact, your breath hitching as he pulled the fabric up and off. His gaze darkened as he took you in, his lips parting slightly.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his hands settling on your waist. “Così dannatamente carino.” (So fucking pretty.)

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, but you didn’t have time to feel self-conscious. Theo’s mouth was on you again, his kisses trailing down your neck and across your collarbone. Every touch, every movement felt like fire, and you couldn’t get enough of him.

“Theo,” you breathed, your fingers clutching at his shoulders. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes burning with intent.

Theo didn’t hesitate this time. His lips found yours again, hot and desperate, his hands roaming up your sides and pulling you against him like he needed you closer just to breathe. The counter dug into your back, but you didn’t care, not when his kisses were this consuming, his tongue brushing yours and leaving your head spinning.

But you’d waited long enough for him to figure this out, and patience wasn’t exactly your strong suit. You broke the kiss, your lips brushing his as you whispered, “Why’d it take so long for you to figure this one out, hm?”

His smirk reappeared, lazy and infuriating as his hands settled on your hips. “Maybe I just like taking my time.”

You huffed, turning him around so his back was now pressed against the counter. “Then let me spell it out for you,” you said, your fingers already moving to the buckle of his belt.

Theo’s breath hitched, his smirk faltering as you pulled the leather strap free and let it fall to the floor with a soft clink. Your fingers worked quickly, unfastening the button and zipper of his trousers, and when you pushed them down his hips, the tent in his boxers told you everything you needed to know.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his hands gripping the edge of the counter behind him as he stared down at you. “You’re not messing around, are you?”

“Not in the slightest,” you said, dropping to your knees in front of him.

You tugged his boxers down, and his cock sprang free, hard and flushed and already leaking at the tip. Theo let out a sharp exhale, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the counter harder. You glanced up at him, meeting his eyes as you wrapped a hand around him, giving a slow, deliberate stroke.

“Still confused?” you asked, smirking when his hips twitched at your touch.

“Not even a little,” he said, his voice rough and tight.

You didn’t give him time to say more. Leaning in, you flicked your tongue over the tip, tasting the salty bead of precum there before taking him into your mouth. The groan that tore from his throat was low and guttural, his head tipping back to rest against the mirror.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his fingers tangling in your hair as you took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You hummed around him in response, the vibrations drawing another string of curses from his lips. Your hand worked the base of his cock in tandem with your mouth, your pace slow at first, teasing, before you gradually increased the intensity. His breathing grew heavier, his hips jerking slightly as you set a rhythm that had him unraveling beneath your touch.

“Shit,” he groaned, his voice breaking on the word. “You—God, you’re so fucking good at this.”

His praise spurred you on, your free hand sliding up his thigh to steady him as you took him deeper. He was losing control, his grip in your hair tightening, his moans turning into something desperate and raw.

“Fuck—” His hips bucked as his head fell forward, and he looked down at you with wide, blown pupils. “I’m—shit, I’m close.”

You didn’t stop. If anything, you doubled down, your tongue tracing the underside of his cock as you took him all the way to the back of your throat. That was all it took. With a sharp cry, his body tensed, and he spilled into your mouth, a broken groan tearing from his lips as he came undone.

You swallowed, pulling back slowly and wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand. Theo’s chest was heaving, his hair a tousled mess as he leaned heavily against the counter, staring down at you like you’d just knocked the wind out of him.

“Holy fuck,” he muttered, running a hand through his damp hair. “You’re insane.”

You stood, smirking as you leaned in close, your lips brushing his ear. “Took you long enough to figure it out.”

He grabbed your hips in one quick motion, lifting you onto the counter like you weighed nothing. “Oh, I’ve figured it out now,” he murmured, his voice still rough, but his smirk returning full force. “But I’m not nearly done with you yet.”

Theo’s hands gripped your waist as he pulled you flush against him, his mouth crashing into yours. The kiss was frantic, his tongue brushing against yours as he poured every ounce of leftover tension into it. His hands wandered, sliding up your bare back, fingers tracing the curve of your spine before tangling in your hair to tilt your head back.  

“You’re too fucking good at this,” he muttered against your lips, his voice low and thick. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”  

“Maybe,” you teased, your voice breathless as his teeth grazed your bottom lip.  

He chuckled darkly, nipping at the corner of your jaw before trailing kisses down the column of your neck. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”  

“Pretty sure I am,” you quipped, your hands threading through his hair.  

Theo groaned, his lips dragging over your collarbone. His hands skimmed your sides, his thumbs brushing under the waistband of your jeans. “We’ll see how clever you are when you’re begging me to let you cum.”  

Before you could retort, he lifted and spun you around in one swift motion, your palms landing on the counter as he pressed your hips into the sink. You gasped, his chest flush against your back as he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear.  

“Guarda te stessa,” he murmured, his tone dripping with sin. (Look at yourself.)  

Your gaze lifted to the mirror, meeting your reflection. Your hair was disheveled, lips swollen from his kisses, chest rising and falling rapidly. Behind you, Theo was watching you with hooded eyes, his hair mussed and his pupils blown with lust.  

“Sei bellissima così,” he said, his hands sliding down to unbutton your jeans. (You’re so beautiful like this.)  

He pushed the denim down your legs, letting it pool at your ankles, and you kicked them off the rest of the way. His hands found your hips again, sliding over the curve of your ass as his lips pressed to your neck.  

“You’re already so worked up,” he murmured, his fingers slipping between your thighs to brush over the damp fabric of your panties. “Fuck, you’re soaking.”  

“Do something about it, then,” you shot back, your voice shaking slightly.  

Theo grinned, his fingers curling into the waistband of your underwear. “Impatient, aren’t we?” He dragged them down slowly, letting them join your jeans on the floor.  

His hand slid between your legs again, this time bare against your skin, and you gasped as he slipped a finger inside you, his touch teasing and deliberate.  

“Così stretto,” he muttered, his breath hot against your ear. (So tight.)  

You whimpered, pressing your hips back against him as he added a second finger, curling them just right. His other hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as he worked you open with slow, calculated strokes.  

“Merda, sei perfetta,” he said, his voice rough. (Fuck, you’re perfect.)  

You moaned, your head tipping forward, but he clicked his tongue, his hand moving to your chin to tilt your face back up.  

“Guarda il specchio,” he ordered. “Voglio vederti quando vengo dentro di te.” (Look in the mirror. I want to see you when I come inside you.)  

Sure, you didn’t understand a word of what he was saying, but fuck, you couldn’t get enough of him talking to you like that. You didn’t fight against his hand, meeting his intense gaze in the mirror.  

Theo pulled his fingers away, and you heard the rustle of fabric as he kicked his trousers the rest of the way off. A moment later, his hands were on your hips again, guiding you back against him. You felt the head of his cock brush against your entrance, and he groaned, low and guttural, as he pushed inside.  

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, his grip tightening as he bottomed out. “You feel incredible.”  

Your hands braced against the counter as he began to move, slow and deliberate at first, his hips rolling against yours in a rhythm that made your knees weak. He muttered something in Italian, his voice low and breathless, but you couldn’t make it out over the sound of your own moans.  

“Che puttana carina,” he said, his teeth grazing your shoulder as he snapped his hips harder. (What a pretty little slut.)  

You gasped, the words only spurring you on as you pushed back against him, meeting each thrust.  

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, his voice rough and teasing. “To be fucked like this?”  

“Yes,” you managed to say, your voice breaking as he hit a spot that had you seeing stars.  

“Good girl,” he murmured, his hand sliding up to grip the back of your neck, holding you in place. “Take it all, bella. Sei mia.” (You’re mine.)  

His thrusts grew faster, harder, and the bathroom filled with the sound of skin against skin, mingled with your moans and his curses in both English and Italian. You caught snippets of his words—“così stretta”, “troppo perfetta”, “dammi tutto”—and each one sent a new wave of heat coursing through you.  (so tight, too perfect, give me everything)

Your legs trembled as the pressure built, your release teetering just out of reach. Theo seemed to sense it, one hand slipping between your thighs to circle your clit as he drove into you.  

“Come for me,” he murmured, his voice raw. “Let me feel you.”  

His words sent you over the edge, your body shattering around him as a cry tore from your throat. Theo groaned, his hips stuttering as he followed you moments later, spilling into you with a shuddering moan.  

For a moment, the only sound was your heavy breathing, the two of you leaning against the counter, spent and satisfied. Theo pressed a lazy kiss to your shoulder, his tongue swirling over the skin and his hands roaming over your waist as he caught his breath.  

“You’re my type,” he muttered, his voice still rough but laced with affection.  

You smirked, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “Yeah, I fuckin’ better be.”

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

© leona-hawthorne 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.

[retrosabers]

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬.

FICMAS DAY ONE- MISTLETOE

logan howlett x fem!reader

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

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

word count: 1.8k

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

!! divider by @strangergraphics !!

FICMAS MASTERLIST

holidays at the x-mansion meant a few things.

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

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

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

but of course, things could never be that easy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

they’re trying to play matchmaker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i think it’s sweet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it definitely wasn’t there two seconds ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i say it was worth it.”

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

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

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

thanks for reading! <3

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

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Champagne Problems

♥ masterlist | request rules | 12 days of ficmas

♥ pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

♥ synopsis: the two of you end up at a party with different intentions

♥ wc: 2k - as always none of the pictures are mine

♥ warnings: swearing, angst, and alcohol (drink responsibly please lol) !!!

♥ a/n: TONS of angst in this fic so get ready lol <3 i've been wanting to put out this fic for SO long you don't understand. tagging bestie @theonottsbxtch

Charles was head over heels in love with you—it was a shame, really.

You sat on your shared king sized bed in a sparkly dress, observing your boyfriend as he slipped on a gold watch. 

“We need to leave soon mon amour,” he said, wandering over to you and kissing your cheek. “We don’t want to be late, do we?”

You nodded and adjusted the jewelry on your hand.

Charles folded the cuffs on his sleeve, “You alright?”

“Mhm,” you nodded with a fake smile.

You hadn’t seen Charles in months because of his work. Ironically the first place he wanted to take you was a gala... For his work.

The two of you met because of your love for F1. The narrative of Ferrari brought you together and despite his promises to be there for you, he always left them unfulfilled.

You were alone. Way too often. Left by yourself to take care of Leo and be his wag.

You and Charles wandered outside the apartment to his car. He opened the door for you—like a gentleman. But you couldn’t shake this melancholic feeling whenever you’re around him.

-

”Hey, where’s Charles?” Arthur, your boyfriend’s younger brother asked with a smile.

You shrugged, taking a sip of your drink, and gazing at the room full of talkative people. The second you got there he wandered off to find Pierre. You couldn’t even blame him. This was for business after all.

”Hm, that’s odd. I’d expect him to be with you.” he scrunched his nose. “I remember one time last year—he was so excited to come home for winter break and see you. He would talk about you all day to me on the phone,” Arthur chuckled.

You gave him a faint smile. That was the Charles you fell in love with. Alas, he was across the room talking to someone else’s girlfriend.

“Well, let me know if you see him. I’ll see you in a few weeks for Christmas, yeah?”

You swallowed hard, pausing before a response.

“Yeah, yeah of course,” you smiled with a nod.

“Great, Maman said she already got you gifts,” he laughed. “I’ll see you around Y/n.”

He nudged your shoulder with an infectious smile, wandering off with a drink in hand.

God, why did this have to hurt so fucking much.

-

“Thank you all for being here,” a man said into a microphone, commanding the room to silence. “It has been an incredible season, but now we must start planning for the next one. Thank you to all our sponsors who are able to make this happen and congratulations to all that we have done this year.”

He raised his glass of champagne, leading everyone to follow and clink theirs together. You sat at a round table with your closest friends from the industry, Pierre and Kika as Charles got up to ask the man at the front of the room something. He came back with the microphone in hand and turned it on.

He stared down at you, eyes peering lovingly into your soul.

“Y/n… you are the most beautiful, kind, intelligent woman I have ever met,” he spoke into the mic, elicting a few ‘awh’s’ from the crowd and drawing at least a hundred eyes to you.

Charles slowly bent down, grabbing something out of his suit pocket.

Your eyes widened and you tried to say something but you couldn’t. Every word was trapped in your mouth, despite your jaw being on the floor. Plenty of gasps and whispers came from the room. You could see Kika’s eyes light up, clearly ecstatic for you.

“I don’t really have a whole speech planned,” he laughed softly. “All I can really say is how much I love you… Will you marry me?”

He flicked the ring box open, revealing a gold ring with a huge diamond.

You paused, trying your best to take in everything that has happened before shaking your head.

“Charles… can we talk about this somewhere else?” you whispered.

Charles' expression dropped instantly. He knows what that really means.

More gasps. More gossip.

Clearly the whole room knew what it meant too.

“Is she fucked in the head?” you heard someone from the crowd whisper.

Followed by, “If she won’t marry him I will,” and “What a shame.”

”I’m sorry Charles, I’m gonna get a Lyft.” you whispered, squeezing his hand.

Kika looked at Pierre completely stunned. This was certainly not how the two of them thought the night was going to go. This was certainly not how you thought the night was going to go.

Kika’s heels clicked on the tile floor as she ran after you, pushing the two glass doors open to find you sprinting down the long set of stairs.

“Y/n, wait!” she shouted after you.

You sat at the bottom step, waiting for your ride to arrive.

She stopped beside you, “I can drive you home,” she mumbled.

“That’s alright, I already paid for it.”

She sat down beside you and put a warm hand on your shoulder.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

You grabbed her hand gently, feeling the coldness of her gold rings. You shook your head no.

She wrapped an arm around your shoulder, forcing your head to rest on her shoulder.

She kissed your head sweetly, “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered in your hair.

-

You tossed your things on a table right next to the front door and kicked off your heels. You strut over to your kitchen and opened the fridge in hopes to find more alcohol. You were already probably drunk on Dom Perignon and your own tears, but with everything going on you might as well try to forget the horrendous night.

You grabbed a small glass from a cabinet and closed the fridge door, flinching when you saw Charles standing in the dark.

“Jesus Christ, Charles…” you whispered, pouring yourself some straight Vodka.

You braced your hands on the side of the marble counter, closing your eyes. Maybe if you close them tight enough he’ll disappear.

You sighed, “I don’t know how to start this conversa-“

“You said no?” he whispered. You could hear the heartbreak in his words.

You swallowed hard, looked around the room—anywhere but his eyes.

“I never said no…” you trailed off.

“But you meant no, right?”

You thought about marrying him before. A lot, actually. Racing, Traveling, Family. But there was always one thing missing from every daydream. And that thing was Charles.

You can’t follow him around the country for his job and even if you did—is that who you wanted to be? Just the wife of Charles Leclerc? 

“I don’t think you can truly be committed to this relationship. This isn’t what I need, and that’s okay.”

“I can't truly be committed?” he scoffed. “I'm not truly committed enough to get down on one knee?” 

Your relationship this past year wasn’t what you wanted. But one day it will be what someone else wants, and that’s what he deserves.

“C’mon Y/n, I love you-“ he muttered.

“Love isn't always enough,” you whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear.

Ah, the painful truth.

You watched as his face dropped, fully taking in the cruelness of your words. 

“Charles, I’m sorry…” you whispered, tears forming in your eyes. 

“Just go. Dégage de chez moi, I don’t want to see you right now.” (translation: get the fuck out of my house) he muttered harshly. 

-

It’d been a year since you last saw him. That night you packed up all your things as he slept at Arthur’s. You were gone by the time he got home.

You still spent time in the F1 scene. You had friends there too, but it still felt a little cruel. You didn’t fall out of love, at least not with someone like Charles—that doesn’t happen. 

If the circumstances were different you might have been married. You would’ve had a beautiful ring, a beautiful family, and a beautiful man. 

“Y/n,” Kika shouted through a laugh, half sprinting in her heels. Her right hand settled on your bicep and her left took your forearm, yanking you towards a group of women. 

“C’mon, I haven't seen you in months,” she said, causing you to crack a smile. You rolled your eyes and slipped off your bar stool, ready to get a little tipsy with your friends. She was right. It had been way too long since you had a girls night. The last one was before you lost your status as a wag. 

Today it was you, Kika, and Rebecca—all in elegant outfits that perfectly fit your vibes. Kika in a black long sleeve, off the shoulder neckline number, Becs in a sparkly red one that she luckily got to keep after modeling, and you in a short white satin dress with spaghetti straps and some matching white heels. 

“You look like you need a drink,” Rebecca said, looking you up and down. 

You sighed, “I haven’t been to an F1 event since you know…” 

She rolled her eyes, “That's exactly why you need a drink. Forget about him and have fun with us. Your favorite sport should not be attached to the memory of a man.” 

Great point. 

“Come here,” she dragged you back to the bar Kika pulled you from. 

She ordered three martini’s on the rocks, extra olives.

She handed you one of the glasses, “We’re going to meet up with Lily M and Carmen in about an hour alright? We’ll be out of this place in no time and you won’t even think about you know who.” 

“Where are we going?” you asked, sipping the drink with your eyebrows raised. 

“It's a surprise,” Kika said with an eye roll as if to say “duh”. 

You spent the next hour drowning in new conversations and shots. Sure you were at someone’s work party, but it’s not like you had to be professional. No one seemed to give a shit what Charles’ “Ex Wag” was doing.

“Carmen and Lily are outside, are we ready to go?” Rebecca asked, peering up from her phone. 

“Yeah, I just need to find the bathroom and then we can go,” you lied, grabbing your clutch off the circular table. 

You wanted to step outside and get a quick bit of fresh air before you returned to the group. They were doing something amazing in order for you to move on from your past relationship, but all you could think about was something you shouldn’t be. 

It's been a year, you should be over him, right? Too bad the pain didn’t stop at Charles. It was his whole family. God, you missed Arthur so much. You missed fighting with him about what Christmas movies to watch and hanging out in the Ferrari garage together. You missed Lorenzo and his older brother-like wisdom. You missed Pascale and how she welcomed you with open arms into the family. Fuck, you felt like a traitor. 

You sighed and wandered off onto the balcony, picking at the rhinestones on your purse. You leaned over the railing, letting the cool wind kiss your skin. 

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” an accented voice said from behind you. You would recognize it anywhere. 

Charles took his place beside you, avoiding eye contact. It took a good minute before you were able to respond. 

“I- uhm… I heard you and your new girlfriend broke up. I'm sorry,” you muttered. What an odd way to start this conversation. You weren’t even sure if it was true, you heard it in a tabloid. 

He hummed, “I suppose love wasn’t enough to save us.” 

Ouch. 

You scoffed, “Yeah I guess not.” 

The silence was loud. 

“Sorry,” he whispered in a change of tone. Maybe even a change of heart. “It’s good to see you again.” 

“Yeah,” you whispered back, unenthusiastic. 

“The family misses you.” 

You smiled slightly. That was good to hear. “You can tell them I miss them too.” 

“...I miss you.” 

He placed his hand on top of yours slowly, gently rubbing his thumb across yours. His cold silver rings brought flashbacks to your mind.

You looked up at him, tears begging to fall from your lashes but you kept it together; at least until he was gone. 

You squeezed his hand like you used to, “‘l’ll see you around, Charles.” 

You had to remind yourself why you said no everyday. It didn’t matter if you loved him and it didn’t matter if he loved you. You won’t settle for second in his life.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

taglist; @sainzzreputaticn @theseerbetweenus @yawn-zi

[lizzie-boo]

Christmas Party

Steve Harrington x Reader

Ficmas Day 9

Summary: When your best friend Steve overhears you joking with Nancy it changes the course of your friendship forever.

Words: 1.2k

A/N: Happy last day of ficmas. I wanted to write 12 stories but that never happened. Honestly, though, I'm really happy with writing 9 becuase I never intended to do ficmas at all this year. Divider by @saradika-graphics

“Are we sure this is a good idea, what if someone calls the cops?” You ask, still not fully onboard with the idea of throwing a Christmas party. 

“Don’t worry it’s just for our group of friends plus if the cops get called we’re fine. Remember Chief Hopper is Jonathan and Will’s stepdad and he’d never bust them for having a party,” Steve reassures you as he hands you another box of decorations. 

Removing the lid from the box you grab out a couple strands of garland and begin to place them around the living room. Steve follows behind you stringing up lights as he goes. 

“You’re sure we won’t get in trouble?” 

“It’s just a casual Christmas party, not a rager I promise. Plus half the people coming are practically children. It’s just gonna be us hanging out and eating snacks for a few hours.” 

You knew Steve put his old habits behind him years ago but you were always nervous he would revert to his old ways. That this party would snap him back to who he used to be and what would start as an innocent group hang out would spiral into the party of the century. The fears that if he went back to his old ways he would drop you and you would be without a best friend once more rattled around your brain. As his words finally sink in you let your shoulders relax.

“Plus, Dustin is bringing Suzie and I don’t want to scare her off. He seems to really like her so as surrogate mom I need to make a good impression,” Steve jokes and the last of your reservations disappear. 

You continue to joke and talk as you finish putting up the last of the decorations. Every so often stopping to sneak a glance at your best friend wondering if there would ever be a chance for the two of you to be more. 

The doorbell rings right at seven and you make your way to the entryway. You open the door for Nancy, Jonathan, and Robin ushering them in from the cold. Nancy pulls you into a quick hug as Jonathan offers a quiet hello. 

“So where is the dingus?” Robin asks as she wiggles her eyebrows at you. 

Pushing her shoulder lightly you respond, “He’s in the kitchen finishing up getting snacks ready.” 

“I’ll go help him,” Robin announces before rushing off to the kitchen. 

“I’m guessing this means you haven’t talked to him about how you feel yet,” Nancy says as she loops her arm with yours and pulls you into the living room leaving Jonathan to get the door for the kids. 

You take a seat next to her on the couch. “I don’t wanna screw up what we have. He’s my best friend. Why risk losing him when I can just stay his friend forever and at least have him in my life.” 

Nancy pats your arm giving you the same sad look her and Robin use everytime they bring up the topic and you and Steve being something more. You reach out and tap her nose breaking the awkward tension forming. Just then the kids, Jonathan, and Eddie file into the living room taking up all the available seats. 

Glancing over your shoulder you look for any sign of Steve or Robin, wondering what is taking them so long. Turning your attention back to the room you smile at Eddie as he tries to mediate a fight between Lucas and Dustin about what Christmas movie everyone should watch. 

Steve and Robin make their way toward the living room right as Nancy leans over, “Maybe some alone time with Eddie could help you forget about your feelings for Steve,” she jokes. 

“I don’t doubt that, he could probably make me forget my own name,” you joke back, bumping your shoulder into hers and you both laugh. 

Behind you Steve shoves the tray of snacks he’s holding into Robin’s hands and rushes back into the kitchen needing some time to think. Robin takes it in stride and sets it on the coffee table with a loud thud. 

“I think I hurt my wrist carrying the tray. Do you think you can go help Steve with the rest?” Robin asks as she plops down on the couch between you and Nancy. Before you can even answer her and Nancy are already chatting away about something one of the kids said. 

Pushing off the couch you make your way into the kitchen to find Steve with his palms pushed against the countertop. His head hangs and his eyes are screwed shut. The sight of him sends a pang of panic to your chest. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask as you place a hand on his back. 

“Do you actually wanna fuck Munson?” he bites out as he curls a hand into a fist. 

Your hand drops to your side as quickly as your mouth falls open. You hadn’t realized that he heard your joke. If you knew he was standing there you never would have said anything. 

You take a moment to assess the situation before settling on your response, “It was just a dumb joke between me and Nancy. Plus I never said that I wanted to fuck him, just that he would probably be good at it.” 

“So you don’t wanna get under him?” His tone is gentler this time as he turns to look at you. 

“No, never. It was just a joke.” You run a hand along his arm hoping to calm him down so you can head back to the party in the other room. 

His hand reaches out and grabs your free hand holding you in place. “So do you still want to forget about your feelings for me?” His eyes search yours as if he’s trying to figure out what you are going to say. 

“Only if you want me to,” you whisper, now realizing the space between you had lessened. 

He drops your hand, stepping in to cup your cheek. “That’s the last thing I want baby” he mumbles before crashing his lips to yours. Your hands tangle in his hair as your lips move in sync. Taking a step back he presses you into the counter. The cool press against your back sends a shiver down your spine and you tug at his hair in an attempt to deepen the kiss. 

He pulls back and you drop your hands to his shoulders. You both take a moment to catch your breaths. He shoots you a smile before hoisting you onto the counter. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist and he wastes no time diving back in for another kiss. 

This time when he pulls away it’s to trail a line of kisses down your neck. He works his way back up and gently nips at your earlobe causing you to let out a moan that you try to muffle with your hand. His lips press against your ear and he whispers, “The only one who is allowed to make you forget your name from now on is me.” You pull him back into another searing kiss completely forgetting about the party in the other room. 

[nastybuckybarnes]

The Aftermath

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

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

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

Word Count: 2.3K

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Simon only nods, rocking you gently in his arms.

"I know, lovie. I know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're safe, Mouse."

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

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

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

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

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

Because you're right.

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't need help."

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

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

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

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

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

"No."

He frowns.

"No?"

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

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

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

But he didn't.

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

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

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

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

"Where?"

"With me. Our quarters."

Ours. Not his. Ours.

Yours.

That's where you belong.

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

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

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

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

Johnny's not gonna let anything happen to you.

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

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

This is how they repay people?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hates it.

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

The ones who've pushed you to this.

But he's not absolved of wrongdoing in this.

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

He turned the key and tucked it in his pocket.

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

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

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

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

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

He finds none.

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

"Mouse?"

Nothing.

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

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

"You with me?"

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

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

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

"Simon. You're here with Simon."

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

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

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

"Oh."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he can't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You say nothing.

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

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

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

But he's never been a big dreamer.

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

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

[cinnaleaf]

「 Holidate | A Very Merry Footballer Ficmas 」

summary: you agree to fake date trent to save his image during the holiday season, but the lines on the contract start to blur | MDNI 18+

warnings: fake dating trope, teasing, fingering, unprotected sex, praise kink, dirty talk, alcohol consumption, language, smau, lighthearted angst, banter, kinda chaotic, **extended fam briefly mentioned are fictional 🎅🏾: sleigh got stuck in traffic so i’m late, forgive me | finale of my ficmas series wc: ~13.8k

You were halfway through your second cup of coffee, scrolling through emails like you usually did in the morning, when a peculiar email popped up.

From: Tyler Alexander-Arnold

Subject: Collaboration Proposal

You squinted at the name, thinking it sounded vaguely familiar but you weren’t sure why until it clicked. Trent Alexander-Arnold’s older brother. The footballer. You groaned, already feeling like there was going to be utter nonsense attached to the message. Athletes in your DMs and emails were nothing new, but they usually wanted shoutouts or some ‘collab’ that was a thinly veiled way of sliding into your messages for a hookup. You weren’t about to entertain a guy who thought sending his club’s match tickets was romantic.

But curiosity got the best of you:

Hi Y/N, I hope this email finds you well. My name is Tyler and I manage my brother, Trent Alexander-Arnold. PLG has followed your work for a while and we’re impressed by your authentic and engaging brand. I wanted to reach out with a unique proposal that I believe could be mutually beneficial. Trent is looking to shift his public image after recent media challenges, and we believe a collaborative effort with someone like you could help him accomplish this. The idea involves a short term arrangement posing as Trent’s girlfriend during the holidays with the possibility of extending the partnership into next year. We understand your time and reputation are valuable and will ensure all aspects of this arrangement align with your standards. Compensation and details are attached for your review. I look forward to hearing from you. Best regards, Tyler Alexander-Arnold

You stared at the screen, mouth slightly open. You had your fair share of wild pitch ideas before, but this was...new. A footballer fake boyfriend? For what? And why you?? You weren’t even the type – at least not for the girlfriend aesthetic they usually went for.

You scrolled down to the attached terms and your jaw dropped at the six figure amount of total compensation, and that wasn’t even including the performance bonus. The number was so pretty you wanted to print it out just to stare at it physically. A six month contract to ‘date’ Trent with a minimum of public appearances and the ability to control your own content. They were basically handing you all the creative freedom you demanded so often in every partnership you were ever a part of. But your pride was screaming at you. You built your brand on being authentic. Your followers trusted you because you weren’t fake. They would be able to sniff out any bullshit from you in milliseconds. You didn’t know if you could play it off that well.

Just as you were in your thoughts, doom scrolling through Instagram, you landed on a post about Trent. 

SpillTheBeansUK: Trent Alexander-Arnold spotted partying at 4 am while Liverpool struggles on the pitch. Distraction much? 

mintleaf: WHERE the FUCK is TYLER

realmrsTAA: he’s just having fun you miserable lot. leave my man alone 😤

YNWA_forever: he’s out clubbing while salah’s carrying the club? embarrassing look as vice cap

oh_shes_nosy: 4 am? with who though?? 👀 don’t let it be another ig baddie omg

ShutUpAndDefend: can’t defend on pitch but can defend a bottle of liquor fuck this guy

Footiebro: bruh just stay home and train. nobody asked for this shit wtf is his problem

DramaLlama12: this man said ‘defense’? never heard of her. shots at 4am? say lesssss

tumblrinagurl: need him to be so serious he’s messing up my fanfic posting schedule, follow the fucking script what the fuck

FPLQueen: this is exactly why i took him out of my fantasy team weeks ago. this is a big L

girl_shutup: not my man getting roasted while he’s just living his life 😭 y’all are haters fr

Shady_LFC: pov: you’re just a local lad from liverpool who wants to vibe

The entirety of the comments section was a battlefield. You sighed and toggled back to the email. It wasn’t your business what kind of PR storm he landed himself in, but if his camp was offering this type of money, he must’ve really fucked up.

Two days later, you found yourself in Manchester, sitting across from Tyler in a pristine meeting room at PLG. The room was sleek with chairs that looked expensive but were so uncomfortable. Tyler was polite but he didn’t look all that professional for someone who was supposed to be managing a high profile footballer.

“Uh, thanks for coming” he started, handing you a glossy folder. “I know it’s unconventional but I really think you’re the right person for this kind of arrangement.”

“Unconventional?” you raised an eyebrow, flipping through the paperwork. “Mate, this is unhinged. I’ve never had a request like this before.”

Tyler smiled sheepishly but just as he was about to respond, the door opened and Trent sauntered in. God forbid he enter the room like a normal person, he just had to be loud and obnoxious about it. He looked taller than you expected him to look, and he wore a tracksuit, totally unfashionable but it worked for him somehow. He nodded at Tyler before looking at you with an expression that was somewhere between bored and mildly annoyed.

“So this is her then, yeah?” Trent asked, as if you weren’t literally in the same room as him.

You leaned back in your chair, unimpressed. “And this is the guy who can’t keep his head on straight?”

Trent’s lips twitched as if he wanted to smile but refused to give you the satisfaction of it. Tyler exhaled, sensing there was likely more chaos to come from this little arrangement.

“Let’s stay focused” Tyler said firmly, pulling up the digital presentation he prepared. “The plan is to recalibrate Trent’s image and make him appear more serious and stable. Y/N’s audience aligns well with that narrative and her credibility can strengthen the likelihood of people believing this.”

“Sounds great” you said while closing the folder. “What’s in it for me though? Besides the headache.”

Trent snorted at your statement which earned him a glare from Tyler. “You’re getting paid aren’t you??”

“Trent.” Tyler replied sharply, then turned back to you. “There’s significant compensation and full creative control over your content. You also have the chance to build a connection with a large audience outside of your typical demographic. PLG will manage all the logistics and you don’t have to lift a finger unless you really want to.”

It was a good pitch, a lot better than you expected, but Trent’s attitude was already grating you. “I have one condition.” You snapped the folder shut dramatically and Tyler gestured for you to continue.

“I need your brother to at least pretend he’s interested in this. If he looks like he hates me in every picture my followers will clock it easily.”

Trent leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Relax. I’ll play nice.”

“You better” you shot back, grabbing your purse. “I’m not here to save your ass mate. I’m only doing it because the money is too good to pass up. And I actually know how to curate an image unlike you.”

Trent scoffed, rolling his eyes at your jab. “Curate an image? By doing what? Posting oat milk lattes and sunsets?”

“Try millions of people who actually care about what I say and what I buy” you fired back, standing up to adjust your bag strap. “But you? You’re lucky if anyone even reads your dry ass captions.”

Tyler pinched the bridge of his nose like he was deeply regretting his life choices. “Okay..enough. Both of you.” He turned to Trent with a warning expression. “Y/N is here to help you and we’re paying her a lot of money to make sure you don’t turn into a liability.”

Trent rubbed his hand over his forehead and crossed his arms, his smirk still in place. “Got it. I’ll be the perfect fake boyfriend.”

“You’re already bad at it” you muttered under your breath.

“Okay stop.” Tyler interrupted before Trent could come back with anything else. He stood up, motioning for you to sit back down. “We’ll need to go over specifics so you don’t mess up anything when this starts.”

“Right. Because I’m the one that’s gonna be a problem.” you answered back dryly, making Trent chuckle quietly. Tyler pulled up another presentation on screen with multiple bullet points and mocked up photos. “This is how this is gonna work. We’re going to start small with discreet hints like stories and maybe some pictures while you’re in Liverpool for the holidays. Make sure it’s subtle. Y/N, if your followers are eagle eyed we need to make sure it’s not too obvious at first.”

You nodded, already mentally calculating how to stage something that was lowkey but believable. “Got it. But what about him?” You jerked your thumb toward Trent, who looked like he would rather be anywhere but in the meeting room.

“He’ll match your posts,” Tyler said. “Simple stuff only though, like sharing ambiguous shots. Nothing too heavy.”

Trent scoffed and cocked his brow. “So what? Like a blurry picture of my trainers and call it a day?”

“Oh my god” you muttered, shaking your head. “You literally have no sauce. None. You’re so boring.”

“Moving on…” Tyler cut in before another argument could break out. “You’ll spend Christmas and Boxing Day with us at our family’s house in Liverpool. So you have to play the part for social media and for our parents, Marcel, and family friends. I’ll be the only one in on this.”

Trent frowned, not liking that idea at all. “Do they really need to be involved?”

“Yes.” Tyler answered matter of factly. “Because if we can’t convince them, then there’s no chance anyone else will believe it either.”

You raised your hand like you were in a classroom. “Mmk, quick question. What’s the backstory? How did we meet...how long have we been fake dating?”

Tyler pulled up a slide titled ‘Backstory’ and you glanced over it quickly, wanting to complain because it literally looked like he stole the idea from a girl blogger on the internet.

“You met at a private influencer event in London–”

Trent interrupted, “What’s an influencer event?”

You blinked at him. “Are you that fucking dumb?? There’s no way…”

“It’s like the stuff you post” Tyler deadpanned. “Clothes, photographers, influencers, models. Anyway...you hit it off, exchanged numbers and started seeing each other about four months ago and kept it lowkey because you wanted privacy.”

“Four months?” Trent questioned while frowning. “Isn’t that a little short?”

“Not when you’re a serial dating Libra…” you shot back. “And honestly the less time we pretend to have been together, the less likely we are to mess up the details.”

Tyler nodded. “Exactly that. But you still need to act like you’ve been dating for months. Know each other’s habits, inside jokes, favorite things.”

You tilted your head at Trent, narrowing your eyes. “Right. What’s your favorite food Trent?”

He looked like you asked him for the code to his house. “Um..protein I guess?”

“What? That’s not—I know you’re fucking lying” You slumped back in your chair, rubbing your temples from the regret. “This is going to be a disaster.”

Tyler ignored the tension and instead moved on. “After the holidays you’ll need to continue with the occasional post for the next month..just enough to keep the story alive online, but you don’t have to be seen with him publicly at all until February. We’ll do a hard launch in February with photos together and maybe a public appearance. After that, just a few photos online here and there.”

“And then we break up just in time for hot girl summer” you added, pretending it was a joke but it really wasn’t. You weren’t trying to let this affect your time on a yacht under the sun in Capri.

Trent smirked. “Hot girl summer??”

You gawked at him. “Meg the– wait are you serious? Are you on the internet at all??”

Tyler cut in with a firm voice. “Can you both shut up for two seconds? This will only work if it’s convincing. That means no fighting in front of people. Especially in public.” You rolled your eyes but stayed quiet, glancing over at Trent who was scrolling through his phone under the table. Probably googling himself knowing him.

After the meeting was over, you left the building with a heavy sigh that felt like it came straight from the soul. You couldn’t believe you accepted the proposal and were now under the contractual obligation to deal with Trent and his extensive attitude for the next six months. The cold air hit your face as you stepped into the car park and you pulled your purse closer as if to shield yourself from whatever chaos Trent was bound to bring in these next couple of months.

The sound of footsteps behind you made you groan internally. Speak of the devil.

“You always this fun or is it all for me?” His voice was smug, his accent rolled the words off in a way that made you have to pause just to think about what he said and that grated your nerves already. When you turned around, his hands were shoved into the pockets of his joggers, leaning against a black car. Of course he followed you out.

“Only for you mate. Consider it your welcome package..or an early Christmas gift” you deadpanned while still fumbling with your purse.

“Lucky me.” Somehow he made it sound like he meant it. Maybe he wasn’t all that clueless..or maybe he was just fucking with you.

“Don’t push it.” You yanked open the door of the hired car waiting for you, already done with his small talk.

“It won’t be so bad” he smirked, like it was some kind of joke to him. Like he wasn’t the one who needed this arrangement to clean up his trainwreck of an image.

“Just act like you’ve been somewhere before” You paused before you slid into the car. “Show up, smile, and don’t say anything stupid. That’s all I need from you. No more, no less.” You swung your legs in and reached for the door, about to close it, but his voice stopped you.

“Wait! What’s your favorite food?”

Your hand froze mid reach and you looked up to give him an unimpressed look. “Why?”

He shrugged, far too pleased with himself for someone whose job it was to not piss you off. “I think I should know. Seeing as I’m pretending to be the love of your life and all.”

The sheer audacity of this man was maddening. “Love of my life?? Please” you snorted. “I’m only mildly okay with you right now. I tolerate you. That’s it.”

“Ok. Fine. So what is it then?” he pressed, enjoying the way you rolled your eyes at nearly everything coming out of his mouth.

“Shrimp fried rice” you snapped, yanking the door shut. Through the tinted window you saw him grin and you shook your head, slumping into your seat as the car pulled off. You weren’t sure if it was the money, the challenge, or the audacity of Trent that made you agree to any of this.

Whatever it was, you knew it was going to be the longest six months of your life.

You made it to Manchester two days early to ‘acclimate’ as Tyler called it, but in all actuality you needed time to figure out how to make this situation feel less like reality TV. Posting subtle hints on Instagram was your first step. Just enough to start the speculation without turning everything into a circus. Your first story was a panoramic view of Manchester from your hotel room, where you left a cute caption about not being in London or Los Angeles for once. The comments rolled in nearly immediately. People wanted to know why you were in Manchester for the holidays, and whether it was for a brand deal, or a new beau. Your next story was a picture of your luggage, strategically unzipped to show a small piece of a Liverpool scarf tucked inside. You didn’t even caption it, you just let everyone draw their own conclusions.

Later that week, you were in the passenger seat of Trent’s car as he drove the both of you to Liverpool. It was silent, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, the silence was just there. You had your airpods in, half tuned into a podcast, while he had one hand on the wheel and the other scrolling through a Spotify playlist, probably looking for some stupid Drake song to play.

“This is your plan then?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

You pulled out one airpod and glanced at him. “What?”

“This instagram stuff.” He gestured toward your phone. “I saw your story. Not bad. Kind of dramatic though..don’t you think?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Says the one having a PR disaster so terrible he had get his brother to hire a fake girlfriend for him.”

Trent smirked, turning his eyes back to the road. “Ah, fair. But a Liverpool scarf is a lot. That’s gonna cause some shit.”

“That’s the entire point. My followers will be on it in minutes and by the time we show up at your parents’, half the internet will have think pieces about how we’re madly in love.”

“Madly in love?” He shook his head, laughing. “That’s overkill.”

You shrugged, looking through your camera roll for your next post. “I know what I’m doing. Trust me.”

The Alexander-Arnold house was exactly what you imagined. It wasn’t obnoxiously huge but it was comfortable and cozy. The home’s exterior was decorated with Christmas lights and a wreath hung on the front door that looked handmade. 

You stood on the doorstep with bated breath. Trent was next to you with his hands shoved in his pockets, as unbothered as ever. If he was nervous about selling this relationship to his family, it didn’t really show.

“Ready?” he asked with a faint smirk.

“Are you?” you cocked your brow. “I’m not the one who waited until two days ago to mention I existed.” Trent winced but didn’t respond and instead pressed the doorbell. You didn’t know why he did that considering he could’ve just walked in. Maybe he was nervous. Either way, him not taking the responsibility over the fact that his mum would probably clock both of you had you annoyed. The door opened shortly after and his mum stood there, all smiles and festive. There was a look in her eye that told you she wasn’t buying any of this nonsense from the start. “Oh! You must be Y/N!” she greeted warmly, stepping forward and pulling you into a hug before you could even say hello. The hug felt genuine enough, but it also had that undertone of ‘lets see whats really going on here’.

You blinked, trying not to overthink things. “Hiii, so nice to meet you Mrs. Alex–”

“Dianne. Just call me Dianne” she interrupted, pulling back but keeping her hands on your arms while looking at you. “No need to be formal. You’re family for the holidays.”

Family. Right. That’s what this was. You were Trent’s ‘girlfriend’. You forced a smile, ignoring the way your stomach was turning as a result of her response. Trent’s dad appeared behind his mum and he gave you a firm handshake, but his expression was less warm and more reserved.

“Welcome. Glad you’re here to join us” he said simply.

“Thanks for having me” you replied, trying to keep your tone polite but still warm.

Marcel was leaning against the staircase in the hall with his arms crossed, displaying a shit eating grin plastered across his face. “So” he began, dragging the word out as he straightened up and walked over with a stroll. “You’re the random girlfriend that’s popped up out of nowhere.”

You felt your pulse spike but you forced yourself to laugh. “Yeah..I guess that’s me.”

“Hmm” he hummed, tilting his head. “Funny you’ve never been mentioned before until two days ago. Not even once.”

Your smile tightened and you glanced at Trent, hoping he would swoop in and save the day with something clever but he just stood there looking like he was vaguely amused by the whole thing.

“Marcel, don’t be rude,” Dianne warned lightly.

“I’m not!” Marcel kissed his teeth. “I’m just saying it’s mad he’s never mentioned her and now she’s here for Christmas. I don’t know this girl..never seen her a day in my life.” He turned back to you with a cheeky grin. “How’d you meet? Paris? Milan? Ibiza??”

You really wanted to knock Trent upside his head at this point but instead you gave a sweet smile. “At a private influencer event actually.”

Dianne laughed, knowing her son wasn’t serious enough to attend a private event like that. She looked at him, trying to figure out if all of this was bullshit. Marcel didn’t even try to hide his disbelief. “Yeah, sure. What was the event called?”

Your stomach dropped and you went wide eyed. You could’ve googled literally anything about Trent’s past couple of months to make this more believable, but you didn’t and clearly neither had he. You paused to think for a little bit, which was just long enough for Marcel to attack.

“Yeah that’s what I thought” he smirked.

“Alright that’s enough” Dianne interrupted, but it was clear she was waiting for that answer as well. “Marcel leave the poor girl alone.”

Michael cleared his throat and stepped in. “Dinner’s in an hour.”

By the time Christmas dinner rolled around, you sat down next to Trent, almost too distracted by the food to notice the tension brewing at the table, but then his mum’s voice cut through your distraction like a blade wrapped in sugar. 

“So Y/N..” She handed you a gravy boat with a fake smile. “How long have you two been together?”

“Four months” you answered with ease, remembering the backstory presentation. You looked at Trent for a brief moment to make sure he was following along.

“Three” Trent said through a mouthful of roasted potatoes while not even looking up.

You scrunched your face, blinking back disbelief. “Four.”

“No it’s three” he insisted, frowning as he reached for some rice. “September, right?”

“August” you corrected him through clenched teeth and kicked him under the table. His fork froze mid air and he finally looked at you. 

“August?”

“Yes” you hissed, trying to keep the forced smile on your face while glancing back at his mum, who was watching like a hawk. “The end of August.”

Trent shrugged, and went back to eating the food from his plate. “That’s basically September.”

“It’s really not.”

Dianne’s eyes darted between both of you with a smile still there, but curiosity very obviously piqued. “Strange..” she started lightly. “I don’t remember hearing about you in August or September. He didn’t mention you until just a few days ago.” Marcel almost choked on his drink from laughing, and even their dad chuckled to himself before taking a sip of his drink.

“I didn’t want to jinx it that’s all” Trent said casually while leaning back in his chair, still popping food into his mouth.

You glared at him. “Jinx it?”

“Yeah” he smirked, looking at you. “Didn’t wanna rush things y’know?”

You bit down on the side of your cheek to keep from snapping at him. He wasn’t following the script at all. He was barely trying, mostly hoping to coast on charm like it would cover all the gaping holes in your ‘love’ story.

“Right…” Dianne slowly spoke while arching her brow just enough to make you feel nervous. “So where did this event happen again?”

“London” you answered fast before Trent found a way to ruin that too, but he answered at the same time as you, with a completely different answer.

“Paris.” 

Marcel snorted into his drink, laughing so hard he started bumping the table and made the cutlery rattle. Across from you, their mum had a smile still on her face but the look on her face drilled right into your badly built backstory. She didn’t say anything, but you knew she had more questions when she eyed Michael with a knowing glance. You turned to Trent, narrowing your eyes at him and gave him another kick under the table that landed on his shin. He jumped forward and dropped his fork on his plate.

“London” you repeated in a tight voice with a smile that was more of a grimace. “We met in London at the influencer event.”

Trent nodded, rubbing his shin but still smirking, not taking any of this seriously. “Yeah London. The city with all the..... influencer stuff.”

Marcel nearly slid out of his chair from failing to keep his laughs at an appropriate volume at the table. Dianne looked at him with a warning but it didn’t bother him in the slightest. He leaned forward and rested his chin on his hand with an entertained look on his face. “Oh yeah?” he said grinning. “Since you’re so in love, what’s her favorite food then?”

You could see the gears in Trent’s head trying their very best to come up with an answer while he chewed his food. “Uhhh....” He drew the word out for so long you wanted to answer for him. “Shrimp fried rice?” You let out a soft exhale, surprised he actually listened in the car park. Marcel wasn’t impressed and tipped his head back to cackle.

“Took you long enough to answer.”

By this point, the entire family was trying to hide their laughs from the absurdity of the situation. Their dad even cracked a smile and shook his head as he passed a plate of roasted veggies to Marcel.

“Trent” Dianne dabbed her mouth with a napkin, still smiling. “You’re absolutely hopeless when it comes to relationships.”

“I’m not hopeless” he contested, glaring at Marcel who was still in stitches over the whole ordeal.

“Oh, love” you said sweetly, leaning in close enough to lower your voice. “You really are.”

He tilted his head, cutting his eyes at you but he had a playful look in his eye at the same time. “Careful. You’re supposed to be in love with me, remember?”

You smirked, raising your glass like you were doing a toast. “I must be a really great actress then.”

The sound of the door opening saved you from whatever dumb thing Trent was about to say. Tyler walked in a casual rush, juggling a reusable tote bag and his phone. “Sorry I’m late.” He slid in the chair next to Michael. His wife wasn’t far behind and had a baby on her hip, smiling to make up for Tyler’s disheveled state.

“Tyler!” Dianne exclaimed, momentarily distracted by her eldest child. “We were just about to have dessert. There’s plenty of food left, let me fix you a plate.”

“No need” Tyler replied while waving her off with a smile. His gaze shifted to you first, and then Trent. “You two alright?”

“Great.” Trent answered, dragging the word out in a very unbothered tone.

“Fantastic” you added, side eyeing Trent.

“Good..” Tyler clapped his hands together. “Because I brought something to make this whole thing even better.” From the tote bag, Tyler pulled out two neatly wrapped presents and handed one to both of you under the table with a wink.

“What’s this?” you asked in a whisper, frowning while trying to discreetly look at the tag.

“Just go with it,” Tyler whispered back. “It strengthens the story. Just act surprised.”

Trent shook the box in his hands like it came from the North Pole, fresh off the sleigh. “What is it?” he asked, too loud for the covert operation Tyler planned.

Marcel’s eyes lit up immediately. “Hey, what’s all that?”

“It’s nothing” you glared at Trent and then Marcel. “Just something we brought for each other.”

Dianne’s attention turned back to you and you felt her sizing up the gifts that had randomly appeared all of a sudden. “How thoughtful…”

You reluctantly tore into the wrapping paper. Inside, there was a Diptyque gift set and a pair of designer sunglasses from Jacques Marie Mage that were so exclusive they had yet to hit most influencer’s feeds. It was perfectly on brand and very believable. Trent unwrapped his gift with the same flair of a child. Inside was a custom bag from Goyard with his initials engraved, and a high tech Hypervolt massage gun that hadn’t been released yet.

“Nice” Trent exclaimed while holding both up like it was a trophy. “You have good taste baby.”

Baby?

The table paused collectively. Dianne’s eyes froze on both of you, Marcel peered at you over the rim of his glass, Michael leaned back with a curious look on his face. Tyler gave you a subtle thumbs up from across the table and you wanted to strangle him.

“Baby?” you repeated in a confused tone. “Where did that come from?”

“Just felt right. Don’t you think?” Trent shrugged with a smirk.

You clenched your teeth, glancing over at the baby that was now side eyeing you too. You gave her a sweet smile and she frowned at you more. “Oh it’s perfect.”

Michael broke the silence with a hearty laugh. “Well..it’s nice to see you two so close.”

“Oh, we’re close” you said quickly, giving Trent a look that could kill.

“Basically inseparable” he added, winking as he set the gifts on the table. Tyler cleared his throat to try and get the conversation back on track. “So, Mum..what’s for dessert?”

Thank god Dianne didn’t press any further after Tyler’s distraction, but you knew this was far from over. When no one was watching, Trent leaned toward you in a low and smug voice. “Relax. You’re doing great.”

You didn’t even bother looking at him because you were so annoyed.

“Stick to the script or I swear I’ll throw one of these Diptyque candles at your head.”

Trent chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Looking forward to it…..baby.”

By the time dinner was over, you walked upstairs to kick off your heels and Trent had already claimed the bathroom. You could hear the sound of running water and his terrible singing drifting through the door as you sat on the bed, laying out your carefully curated skincare routine: cleansing oil for your makeup removal, glycerin cleanser for moisture, red light therapy, centella toner, hyaluronic acid serum, eye serum, ceramidin moisturizer, a spritzer of atobarrier cream mist, and a sleeping lip mask. You lined them up on the table like little soldiers. When Trent finally came out of the shower, his towel was wrapped around his hips and he paused mid step, staring at your collection of bottles and jars.

“What the hell is all of that?” he asked, pointing with his toothbrush still in hand.

“It’s called flawless, glass skin” you shot back, reaching for the oil cleanser and heading to the bathroom. He leaned against the wall with a smirk. “You look like a chemist.”

“Don’t knock it til you try it” you ignored him as you massaged the oil cleanser into your skin. “This is why I look like this” you gestured to your face, “and you’re just...you know.”

Cute? He was cute. But there was no need to gas him up.

“Just what?”

“Nevermind.” you muttered, grabbing your face towel.

“Nah. Finish it. Go on” he teased, stepping gloser. “Already halfway there anyway.”

You glared at him. “If you don’t get out of my face…” Trent turned to adjust the towel around his hip and it slipped. The towel fell on the floor and his dick was in full display. Not bad honestly – thick with a slight curve that was...kind of aesthetically pleasing. Your mouth dropped before you could realize and you turned around so fast you almost knocked over a serum bottle.

“Oh my god! Trent!”

“What?” he asked, way too casual for someone who just flashed you. “It’s just skin. You’re acting like you’ve never seen one before.”

“Not the point!” you yelled, keeping your eyes firmly on the wall while he laughed. Eventually, he bent down to grab the towel and you could hear the smirk in his voice when he spoke again.

“Chill. Don’t act like you weren’t curious about it anyway. Gonna post my dick report anonymously online now?”

You turned back to glare at him now that he was safely wrapped back in the towel. “Please. I’m sure the girls you were with at 4am have already done that for you. Just..don’t let it happen again or I’m actually going to gouge my eyes out.”

He grinned at you, strolling over to the bed like he didn’t just traumatize you. “You’re dramatic. It’s cute.”

After the dick debacle, you climbed into bed, muttering under your breath about boundaries and respect. Trent flopped down next to you while scrolling through his phone without a care in the world.

“You’re actually so annoying” you said while setting up the perfect soft launch shot.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one a few times,” he replied without looking up.

You ignored him to focus on the picture. It was supposed to be subtle, yet strategic: your skincare bottles glowed under the warm light from the lamp on the bedside table. In the background, Trent was slightly blurred from the setting, yet identifiable as he laid on the bed, legs crossed with his phone in one hand. The caption you added: ‘never let santa stop this slay, skincare always 🎄✨’. By the time you posted the story, your phone was already pinging because SpillTheBeansUK had posted it with a quickness.

SpillTheBeansUK: Who’s the mystery man in Y/N’s background? The skincare? Impeccable. The vibes? Cozy. But that ARM…who’s claiming it? 🕵️‍♀️

ynstan99: WAIT. WHO IS THAT IN THE BACKGROUND?

liverpoolbabe01: that’s defo liverpool and that’s trent’s fam’s house i recognize it bc my mum’s cousin’s best friend’s sister’s brother in law lives just across the road omg she bagged a footballer???

nosygirlfc: GIRL WE KNOW THAT’S TRENT WE’RE NOT DUMB

“What are you posting?” Trent asked, glancing over at your screen.

“Work” you replied simply, turning your phone toward him. “You see that? That’s how you soft launch.”

He studied the story for a bit and nodded while smirking. “Not bad. My turn.”

“You’re posting something?”

“Yup” he replied plainly, scrolling through his camera roll. Minutes later he posted a random photo of his feet propped on a coffee table next to the Christmas tree downstairs, with your phone case barely visible at the edge of the frame that he took earlier. His caption was lame and boring: Holiday vibes.

“That’s so pathetic” you shook your head.

“It’s subtle,” he argued, leaning back against the pillows.

“It’s lazy” you argued back, setting your phone off to the side.

“Lazy works.” He turned off the light, smirking. You rolled your eyes but didn’t respond and pulled the blanket up while turning away from him. The room went quiet before he broke the silence with his sarcasm just as you were starting to drift off to sleep. “Night, my love.”

--

You should’ve known Boxing Day wasn’t going to be about lounging around in pajamas and eating leftovers while scrolling through Instagram in peace. Not when Tyler was involved.

The man had sent a fully detailed itinerary to both of you at an ungodly hour that morning, outlining what he dramatically called ‘The Boxing Day Stroll’. The plan was to head to Manchester, walk around casually, and let the pre-arranged paparazzi do their thing. Of course it wouldn’t be all that easy because the man had already messed up damn near everything else in this facade.

“Just act natural” Tyler said while driving you over to the staged area. “And look like you can’t get enough of each other.” As the car pulled to a stop, you glanced over at Trent who was slouched in his seat, lazily scrolling through a dating app on his phone when he was supposed to be fake dating you.

“You do remember what we’re doing, right?” you asked.

“Walking” he said without looking up.

“Walking and looking like we’re deeply, madly, dangerously in love” you corrected him. “So don’t glare, or pout, and don’t say anything idiotic when someone asks what my name is.”

Trent finally looked up and his lips curved into that same infuriating smirk that pissed you off. “You’re very bossy, you know that?”

“And you’re very bad at following directions.” you argued back.

“Relax baby. I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

“Don’t call me baby” you muttered while pulling the car door open before he could irritate you anymore than he already had.

The city was packed with people entering storefronts, couples and families carrying bags from Boxing Day sales, and kids running around screaming from sugar rush. The holiday vibes were still in full force and picturesque enough for you to almost forget the cameras until you heard the sound of a shutter. You tensed and looked over to the source of the sound but Trent was still unbothered by it, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. He must’ve done these before. He annoyingly looked good even though all he did was throw on whatever was closest. Meanwhile, your fit was carefully curated and you wore a cute co-ord jumper over a wool coat, jeans, chocolate brown booties with a ribbed fold over knit fabric, a crossbody bag, and assorted jewelry from PR packages you received.

“Hold my hand” you whispered through clenched teeth with a frozen smile while passing a group of shoppers.

“What?”

“Hold. My. Hand.” you repeated with a forced expression while waving at an eager little boy who looked more interested in Trent than you. He rolled his eyes but reached for your hand. His palms were warm and comforting, annoyingly enough.

“Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” you replied through your fake smile, tilting your head to pretend you were saying something cute instead of wanting to knock him upside his head. As you walked down the street, you could see the paps positioning themselves and whispering about different angles. You stopped in front of a shop window that had the most gorgeous jewellery and pretended to admire a necklace while pulling Trent closer.

“That one’s nice” you pointed to a random piece on display.

“Eh. Too shiny.” he glanced at it for all of two seconds.

You side eyed him. “Too shiny?? It’s a necklace.”

“Yeah. It looks tacky as fuck” he smirked.

“You think that’s tacky?” you cracked back. “You don’t even know how to dress. You have multiple pairs of the same trainers and tracksuits. That’s tacky.”

“Nah. They’re not all the same. Some of them are for athletic wear and the others are for leisure. There’s a difference.”

You almost laughed but quickly covered it with a cough instead. This man was ridiculous in his own way, and it was kind of endearing. When you turned the corner to a quieter street, the paps pretended to be hidden behind strategically placed stalls, waiting for the perfect shot. “Okay..” you muttered, leaning into Trent just enough to be believable. “Let’s just make this quick. Look at me like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“Not too hard to do. You’re easy on the eyes.”

You lost your steps for a little and muttered, “Don’t overdo it,” brushing a nonexistent strand of hair from your face to behind your ear. “Just be calm.”

“I’m calm” he countered, lightly grazing his thumb over your knuckles. “You’re really committed to this shit, huh?”

“Well..your management team is paying me for this so yeah..I am” you tightly smiled. The cameras kept taking photos but you didn’t look toward them this time so that they could get exactly what was needed. The pictures hit the interwebs almost instantly and they were good. There was a candid of you mid laugh as Trent looked at you with a soft expression and melting grin. The second one was a close up of your hands intertwined while you leaned into him. The angle it was taken in made it look like you were sharing a private moment in the middle of a crowded street. The final picture was of Trent breaking off a piece of chocolate and feeding it to you while smiling in a cozy corner of a small shop. That wasn’t planned though, the joy from that was the real deal.

Before you made it back to the car, Tyler was already in the group chat, hyping both of you up. The pictures were reposted by SpillTheBeans too:

SpillTheBeansUK: Trent Alexander-Arnold spotted out with influencer Y/N L/N looking very cozy in Manchester on Boxing Day. Rumour has it, this love story started a few months ago...Any thoughts, Beans? 👀

ynstan99: sobbing, crying, throwing up. LOOK AT THEM

whatRUonabt: PR but i can’t even hate she’s gorg and they look good

reds4vr_: not convinced after that stunt he pulled last week during match. this is obviously fake news to get us off his back

chirpchirp: she’s just like me fr but i can hold his hand better footiebro: she’s leng but i hope bro isn’t serious he’s got too many distractions

giseleeee_: i give it 3 months before they announce a break up this is fake as fuck

plsbereal: imagine him holding her camera silently while she films vlogs and ootd’s i’m screaming 🥺

YNsquad: i can’t wait until she posts her next chaotic story and he’s in the background. confirm it queen!!

You scrolled through all the chaotic comments, shaking your head as Trent leaned in to peek at your screen. “What are they saying?” he asked, more invested than he wanted to let on.

“My fans think you’re obsessed with me” you held back your grin while showing him the comments.

“Nah. Other way around I think” he smirked, cocking his brow.

“Whatever” you rolled your eyes, still scrolling through your phone as the car pulled away. 

By the time midweek rolled around, you were wondering why you agreed to any of this. Sitting in the box at Anfield felt like you were walking into enemy territory. This was...cute, but not really your vibe. The launch strategy was working so Tyler insisted you show up to keep up this festive fairytale. The box was filled with WAGS and family members dressed up. You weren’t entirely out of place, your fit was eating theirs up rightfully so, but you still felt like a fish out of water every time someone looked at you for too long. You tried to make the most out of it and half an hour into the match, you posted a curated story of a video on the field, zoomed in just enough to show everyone on the field in clear view with the caption: not usually my vibe but i’ll allow it ⚽

The second slide was a chaotic close up of your freshly done nails in an almond shape holding a drink. The third was a shaky clip of the crowd cheering just as Trent assisted with a goal. It didn’t take long for you know who to start some mess.

SpillTheBeansUK: Y/N posts from the box after her Boxing Day photoshoot with TAA! Official or not? Let the investigations begin 🕵️‍♀️

loverpoolluvr: she’s just posting random stories. y’all are reading too much into it

overlibramen: how are you lot defending this? man has a new personality every week. let’s bffr

ynbabesfc: nails immaculate and she’s living rent free in your head and trent’s. COPE

sleuthysleuth: the timeline makes sense i’ve got the receipts and it tracks

trentsgfwannabe: i bet she doesn’t even like football and he deserves someone who can actually appreciate the sport

By the time you and Trent made it back to the house that night, you were drained to hell. The day was filled with forced smiles, cameras, and a lot of online chaos that you tried not to look at but ended up scrolling through anyway.

“You okay?” Trent asked in a softer voice than you expected for someone who supposedly didn’t care.

“I’m fine..” you mumbled while grabbing an oversized hoodie you borrowed from him earlier in the week and some pajama shorts. “I just feel like I’m so out of my element right now.” 

Trent had already claimed his spot on the bed and was scrolling through his phone with one hand and eating crisps out of the other. “You’re not that bad at it” he replied, looking up at you as you climbed on your side of the bed.

“Wow thanks” you responded dryly and grabbed one of the snacks he was holding out for you. You were both on your phones, scrolling through various apps while crisp bags crinkled noisily through the silence.

“…Do you ever get nervous or scared?” you asked to break through the silence.

“Nervous or scared about what?” He set his phone down, looking at you with a confused look.

“Of losing yourself with all the fame. It’s like.. I’ve built this whole brand online on my own and I have an audience that trusts me a lot because my whole thing is based on being real with them. But this is....not real. And it feels wrong.” You gestured at him and then you. “I’m scared it’s going to ruin things for me.”

Trent nodded at you and took a deep breath. “Yeah, I get it. Everything I do on or off the pitch always feels like it’s for someone else. I don’t always know what I want. And I change my mind a lot.”

You looked at him in surprise, taken aback by what you assumed was honesty. “Really?”

“Yeah..” he leaned back against the headboard. “Feels like I’m a product and not a person sometimes. Sometimes I rebel every once in a while but I guess I took it too far this time.”

For the first time, you saw him as Trent and not some footballer with a PR disaster on his hands. “Well...at least we have this to bond over. Being fake together.”

He laughed then grinned at you with a wide smile. “Yeah...something like that.”

“It’s kind of weird though. Because for something so fake...it’s starting to feel like it’s...not. Since we’re together all the time and whatnot.”

Trent cocked a brow at your last statement. You opened your mouth to backtrack and say something snarky or petty, but your phone rang against the bedside table. The screen lit up with a facetime call and your stomach dropped when you saw the name.

Romeo Cruz.

Romeo was a rising singer in LA that had all the charm, charisma, and a voice that made every girl want to melt. He slid into your DMs months ago, and while it wasn’t anything super serious, there was definitely flirting going on, and it was FUN. You glanced at Trent who was also looking at your screen.

“Who’s that?”

You reached for your phone with hesitation. “Uhh..just someone I know. No biggie.”

Trent leaned back on the headboard with a clenched jaw. “Yeah? Someone important enough to facetime you at nearly midnight?”

You rolled your eyes and ignored him, answering the call anyway. “Romeo! Hey.” On the screen, Romeo appeared with tousled curly hair, a signature smile with dimples, a sharp jawline, and beautifully glowing, sun kissed skin. “Hey beautiful” he dripped in his velvety, deep and smooth voice. “Just checking in. Haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“Yeah, sorry” your tone was a bit light, a little flirty, but you were nervous because Trent was right there, burning his eyes into the side of your face. “Life has been....busy. A little chaotic but you know me, I love that.”

Romeo noticed the tension inflicted in your voice and cocked his head back from the screen a bit in concern. “You good? Where are you? LA or London?”

You didn’t get a chance to answer because Trent reached over and took the phone from your hands like it was his own phone. “She’s busy right now.” He answered for you in a flat tone, holding up the phone so Romeo could see him and his annoying smirk.

“Uh.. and who are you?”

“Her boyfriend,” Trent replied smoothly. “Thanks for the check in mate but she’s good. We’re in the middle of something.” He paused for the drama of it all and then looked at you.

Romeo had a look of disbelief and irritation showing on his face. “Well tell her to call when she’s–”

Trent didn’t let him finish and took the opportunity to cup your chin with one hand, pulling you into a kiss. For something that was fake it felt way too convincing. You felt butterflies in your stomach as his lips met yours. He didn’t pull away immediately, but when he did you were dazed and out of breath. Too stunned to speak. Romeo saw it all and Trent’s face lit up with the cockiest grin ever.

“Yeah I doubt that mate. She’ll be too tired.” He hit the button to end the call.

“What the fuck was that?” you stared at him, your mouth agape in shock.

“What?”

“What????” you repeated, the volume in your voice increasing. “You just kissed me and basically told him I’m taken..like I’m your actual girlfriend! What the fuck??”

Trent popped a crisp into his mouth, chewing obnoxiously and meeting your death glare with a calm look, then he shrugged. “Just following the script, remember?”

--

By New Years Eve, your public side of the bargain was winding down, but Trent was still annoying you more than ever, even after the kiss. The sound of him chewing in your ear was still echoing days later as you stood in front of the mirror of the hotel, adjusting your ponytail again. Your hair was slicked back with the ends flipped up in soft curls that bounced whenever you moved. You had two loose strands in the front. Your followers knew those strands as your ‘slut strands’ – a term you coined because whenever you had those two strands framing your face, things always ended up a little wild. Between the alcohol flowing at the NYE party, the DJ, and Trent by your side, you knew something was bound to happen. You were always a Chatty Cathy on the juice, and the strands were an unofficial warning label that signified you were about to be everyone’s best friend, or a major problem. You adjusted your dress and gave yourself a final look in the mirror. You were trying to give unbothered girlie with a hint of ruining someone’s life one drink at a time. You grinned at yourself, knowing you looked like you were that girl™.

Just as you were about to spritz your perfume, Tyler texted the group chat:

Start heading to the club. The event is popping off atm. Pap friendly corner is just outside near the bar’s exit so make it count.

You rolled your eyes in annoyance. Of course Tyler felt the need to micromanage the party from a distance while acting like he wasn’t the most hands off manager in the industry. He could barely schedule Trent’s interviews on time but was now suddenly invested in making this fake relationship seem so solid. You just wanted to have a good time and be free of this nonsense publically like your contract originally stated.

“I can’t believe all three of the Alexander-Arnold boys are this annoying” you muttered under your breath while putting your heels on. 

Your contract made it clear that New Year’s Eve was the grand finale for the public part of the facade. After tonight, you wouldn’t have to parade around looking like you were madly in love anymore. The plan was to silently pull back and make the relationship seem more private with the occasional story, casual mentions, and reposts every once in a while until June, where you would announce a breakup and be free of him for good. You grabbed your purse and headed for the door to meet Trent downstairs. If this was going to be the last time you had to fake it, you were going out with a bang..and you were going to have some fun with it too just to celebrate the end of this mess.

When you reached the lobby of the hotel, Trent was waiting for you and scrolling through his phone. He looked good, his trim was crisp, his fit wasn’t terrible, and he smelled amazingly good. He lowered his phone, eyeing you from head to toe with a clenched jaw.

“Damn” he voiced involuntarily.

You tried to avoid smirking and adjusted the strap of your dress but a smirk still appeared anyway. “That’s it? Just damn? I put a lot of effort in for this look…”

He licked over his lips and finally looked you in the eye. “Then you already know how you look.”

“You’re lucky I’m feeling great or else I’d make you say it with more enthusiasm.”

“Trust me” he started, running a hand over his head. “I’m enthusiastic but you don’t need a bigger head than you already have.”

You rolled your eyes and brushed past him to head to the car waiting outside, your heels tapping against the marbled lobby floor. “Shut up and come on. I can’t deal with you while sober tonight. I need a drink.”

By the time you made it to the club, it was already pure chaos. The bass was so heavy you could feel it in your chest as you walked through the VIP area. There were strobe lights flashing around, illuminating random moments of chaos. A group of footballers were trying to outdrink each other in a booth stacked with empty Clase Azul bottles, an influencer in a bright dress was dancing on a table with a sparkler in one hand, and a model was yelling at a bartender because she couldn’t find a tiny baggie of white substance she drunkenly left at the bar who knows how long ago.

When you and Trent walked in, heads turned and whispers cut through the air. His hand brushed against your back to keep up with the facade. The scent in the air was...interesting. It was a blend of liquor, sweat, perfume and the faint tang of weed smoke. You knew tonight was going to leave a mark whether it be on your reputation, your conscience, or both.

“Where’s Tyler’s pap friendly corner again?” you asked, leaning into Trent so you wouldn’t have to yell over the blaring music.

“Near the bar. But let’s grab a drink first.”

You followed him as the hem of your dress brushed against your thigh. The bar was wild. People were pushing against each other like they would run out of alcohol, or maybe they just really wanted the Getty Images watermark with a top face card photo to memorialize the end of the year. The bartender was busy juggling a bottle of Hennessy with one hand, and pouring multiple shots with the other hand, all while someone was yelling for espresso martinis from the corner.

“Champagne? Martini?” Trent asked, turning to you as you perched against the counter with your hips leaning into the wood.

You shook your head. “A round of shots from top shelf and a coconut water.”

“Uh...that’s specific.” He turned to the bartender, ordering for you and himself.

“It’s so I can get fucked up but still stay hydrated from the electrolytes.” Your hands grazed over the two strands of your hair, very diva like. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s my whole thing..it even went viral on tiktok. Don’t knock it til you try it.”

The drinks arrived quicker than you expected and you downed a couple shots immediately in between sipping the coconut water. Trent nursed his vodka soda with lime, scanning the room with his eyes.

“Don’t be boring” you said, gently shoving two shots closer to him.

“I’m not boring” he replied, eyeing the shots and the way your nails grazed against the top surface of the bar.

“Then prove it. Drink the shots and come dance with me.”

He shook his head before reaching for the shots and downing them both. “I don’t dance.”

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up and live a little” you quickly finished the last of your shots and coconut water and then grabbed his hand, leading him to the dancefloor as the curls in your ponytail bounced between the bass reverberating through the club.

The crowd on the dance floor was just as chaotic in a sea of gyrating bodies and heat. You were too tipsy to be sure of what the DJ switched the song to, but it felt seductive and made you sway your hips automatically. The music took control before your brain could even think about it. You turned toward Trent, moving your body to the beat with ease while he watched. He was locked in, staring at you so hard it almost looked like he didn’t realize he was eyeing you like that.

“You’re really not gonna dance?” you teased, tilted your head as you stepped closer with a flirty smirk.

“I told you I don’t–”

“Shut up Trent” you playfully grabbed his hand and pulled him further into the crowd. “Just dance with me.”

As the alcohol coursed through you, you let your hips find the beat, rolling against him with just enough pressure to test him. You felt him tense up behind you, holding his hands just above your waist like he didn’t know whether to grab you or run away.

“Aren’t you Jamaican?” you yelled over your shoulder with a smirk. “Just relax and let the beat find you.”

He let out an exhale and finally rested his hand on your hip. You arched back a little, grinding into him more and his other hand landed on your ass. His body was betraying him and his breath quickened, trying to think of anything else but your ass grinding against his dick so he wouldn’t get hard. His jaw was tight but then his lips parted when his eyes dropped to the way you were rolling your hips against him. He was barely blinking as he stared. Trent’s grip tightened just enough for you to become aware of it.

“You like dancing, don’t you?” you teased again.

“This isn’t dancing.”

“No?” you dared, grinding against him harder. “Then what is it?”

Trent’s fingers dug into your waist and pulled you up against him. His head dipped closer to your neck and he bit his lip like he was fighting the urge to kiss you there. The lines were quickly blurring in the fog of alcohol and you weren’t sure who was pushing harder to cross them. His breath was hot against your neck as you danced up against him. You felt something stiffen against his lower half but you were so tipsy you thought it was his phone. Trent abruptly pulled back, letting go of you as you stood there confused.

“I need a drink.” He turned back toward the crowd, leaving you standing there trying to catch your breath. Your heart was pounding and your body was bouncing with energy that had nowhere to go thanks to the shots and coconut water you had. Before you knew it, a voice yelled your name, but it wasn’t Trent.

It was Levi Colwill.

“Ahh, Y/N! Trent’s better half” Levi slid into Trent’s place, handing you a shot. “Got your favorite.”

You handed it back to him, forcing a smile. “Levi…”

“You look like you could use some better company” he eyed the outline of your body. “Not that Trent’s bad but..you know I’ll dance with you. Just saying.”

You rolled your eyes but still laughed at him...because you were drunk. “Still stirring the pot like always.”

“You know that’s what I do” He downed the shot you refused. “What you been up to? I know you’re exhausted pretending to be with Trent.”

The alcohol made you bolder. “You get me! He’s so annoying sometimes.”

Levi stepped closer, yelling into your ear over the music. “You know where to find me. Send me a DM when it’s all–”

“Levi” Trent slurred in an irritated tone. “Get the fuck out of here.”

Levi shook his head, sipping the drink in hand and then smirked at Trent. “I was just saying hello.”

Trent gripped your wrist firmly but not painful as he pulled you away from Levi and into a quieter corner of the club, which just so happened to be near the bar’s exit where the paps were waiting for the perfect moment to take pictures.

“What the hell was that?” you hissed, yanking your arm free.

“What was what?” Trent snapped back.

“Dragging me away like some jealous boyfriend. That’s not part of the script Trent.”

Trent’s jaw clenched and he stepped closer, leaning into your ear. “You were enjoying that too much. We’re supposed to be together..you can’t flirt with other guys here.”

You laughed, not believing your ears. “Are you dumb?! You walked away like you couldn’t handle it! I’m just trying to have fun tonight.”

“I walked away because you were making me hard.” he shot back in a drunken state, not realizing what he just admitted to.

Your brain short circuited under the fog of alcohol as the music thumped around you. All you could focus on was the thought of Trent standing in front of you, hard, because you danced on him. Then your brain took it a step further and you remembered the night his towel slipped. You had a split glimpse of him on soft and now your tipsy mind was wondering what it looked like on hard. You felt the heat from your cheeks trail down slowly, making your mouth feel dry and knees weak. You were trying to think of literally anything else but the alcohol coursing through your veins wasn't doing you any favors and neither was the way he was looking at you. Trent’s teeth pulled at his bottom lip like he was fighting his thoughts too. You shifted closer to him, playing with a strand of hair framing your face.

“Trent..” you began in a whisper. You didn’t know if you wanted to apologize, flirt, or tell him to just kiss you. His head dipped toward yours as his lips inched toward yours slowly. You were leaning in without even realizing it and his hands hovered over your waist hesitantly. Your eyes dropped to his lips and you saw him lick his lips like he was priming them.

“Y/N!”

A shrill voice broke through whatever was about to happen and you blinked back as someone grabbed your arm. It was another influencer you knew from a brand event but you couldn’t remember her name in your drunken state. She grinned and hugged you like she didn’t just ruin the most dramatic non-kiss of your life.

“Oh my days, girl I haven’t seen you in forever!” she yelled, dragging you toward a VIP booth that was probably just as chaotic as the rest of the club. Trent stood there with an unreadable expression watching as you were pulled away. He turned his gaze to the paparazzi outside who were very pissed they didn’t get their perfect shot.

Just as the countdown to midnight was about to begin, you found your way back to Trent. The club was louder than ever as the final minutes of the year ticked away. Trent was still in the same spot, nursing a fresh drink while the other hand was shoved in his pocket. He noticed you before you could say anything and you saw his eyes lock onto you with a certain look in his eye.

“Perfect timing” you giggled when you reached him, pulling him closer toward the exit where the paps were standing guard. “This is where Tyler wants us so let’s just get it over with.” You positioned yourselves near the glass doors so they would have a better view. The cold air from outside cooled you down a little, but it did nothing to knock any sort of clarity into you. As soon as the crowd started counting down, the air became tented with anticipation.

10...

9...

Your heart was beating fast against your chest and the alcohol made every sensation feel way stronger. You tilted your face up a little to meet his eyes, but he was already staring at you. Trent’s hand reached to cup your chin and tilt your face further upward.

8...

7...

His thumb brushed over the corner of your lip and the sensation made you exhale softly. He looked you in the eyes first, then at your lips, then back up at your eyes again, making you feel dizzy yet excited at the same time.

6...

5...

You parted your lips slightly with heavily lidded eyes. Both of you were supposed to be ‘acting’ but whatever was going on right now was not staged. His other hand found the dip in your waist, pulling you close enough to feel the fire in his eyes.

4...

3...

You leaned in at the same time, moving on instinct from the magnetism as the cameras outside began to flash. The paps were losing their minds and the shutters went off wildly, but all you could think about was how badly you wanted this kiss.

2...

1...

The room erupted into loud yelling, cheers, and champagne bottles popping as fireworks lit up the London sky outside. The second the cloud struck midnight, Trent’s lips lit a flame in you that made your whole body have goosebumps. His hand found your ass, gripping it firm enough to make you gasp and the tiny noise coming out of you motivated him even more. Your body arched into his as you continued kissing him in a way too entirely real make out session. You palmed the fabric over his dick and he groaned into your mouth, making you moan into his mouth in response. The crowd around you celebrated to a very random club remix of Auld Lang Syne but you were too wrapped up in him to care about celebrating the new year.

You finally pulled back breathless while staring at him. His lips were a little swollen but the fire was still in his eyes.

“We need to leave before they get the wrong pics” you blurted out, slurring your words from being tipsy but also flustered.

“Yeah” he said with his hand still on the curve of your back. “Hotel?”

“Hotel.”

When you made it back to the hotel and the lift doors closed, your back hit the mirrored wall as Trent pinned you into the corner. His hand slid over your thighs and the fabric of your dress bunched up.

“Thought I annoyed you” he muttered against your ear as his fingers slipped between your thighs.

“You still do” you replied back sassily, but then you gasped when he found the thin strap of your thong and tugged it against the folds of your pussy. The friction made you whimper and you dug your nails into his arm for stability. “But I can multitalk.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, gripping your thigh to open you up more. His other hand kept working the fabric of the thong, sliding it up and down until you were grinding against his knuckles. “Fuck you're soaked. This for me?”

“Shut up” you hissed while tugging at the button of his jeans with shaky fingers. When the lift dinged on your floor, you barely made it to the room before his hands were pulling, grabbing, and claiming you. He pressed you against a huge window of the hotel room while the fireworks were still popping off in the night sky.

“Take it off” you demanded, yanking at Trent’s shirt.

He pulled it over his head to show off his toned, muscled body that had been haunting you since the towel accident. You didn’t have much time to admire any of it because his hands were already undoing your dress, dropping it to your feet. The cool glass of the window pressed up against your bare skin and you shook a little when his lips latched on your neck, sucking and biting while his hands roamed over you. You moaned his name in a whimpered beg and arched into him when his mouth moved down to your boobs. His tongue ran over your nipple and he wrapped his lips around it, suckling gently and massaging the other with his hand. You gasped, clutching his shoulders and melting your body into his.

“You beg so pretty” he murmured against your skin. “What do you want, pretty girl? Tell me.”

“You” you panted in a trembling voice. “I need you inside me now.”

Trent groaned and ran his fingers between your folds to find your clit. The circles he rubbed against the sensitive nub made you moan loudly. “Not yet,” he rasped. “Need to feel how ready you are.” A broken sob escaped you when his fingers slid inside your pussy. His fingers were long enough to reach a spot that made your knees weak as he worked you open. Your head fell against the window as the squelch of your wetness filled the hotel room.

“Good girl” he coaxed, and your walls clenched around his fingers in response. He laughed and you could feel his smirk against your skin. “You like that, huh? You like being told how good you are?”

“Yesss” you gasped, grinding against his hand. “Fuck yes.”

He pulled his fingers out and you whined but the sound quickly turned into a needy moan when he ran the tip of his dick over your slit. He lined himself up, gripping your thighs to lift you up and push into you.

“DAMN” he groaned loudly, leaning his head back in both pleasure and disbelief from how you were gripping him. “You feel so fucking good gripping me.” You felt the curve when he stroked deeper, each thrust pressing you against the glass while the fireworks mirrored whatever was going on in this hotel room. “You’re so noisy” he teased when he heard you moan his name. He reached between your thighs to play with your clit again. “You want everyone to hear me fucking you, don’t you? You like that shit.”

You nodded, too far gone to care about anything but the feeling. “Oh my god, yes! Please don’t stop. You’re fucking me so good.”

Trent’s mouth latched to your neck again, leaving a mark you were going to have to cover up later. His hands gripped your ass, pulling you closer as he thrust harder..deeper. Your moans were nonstop, echoing against the window while he pounded into you.

“You’re creaming all over me” he groaned, dropping his eyes to his dick thrusting in and out of you with the perfect rhythm. “Look at that. Such a good girl for me.”

His praise and coaxing made you shatter. Your walls clenched around him while your orgasm rained over your thighs and onto him. Moaning cries mixed with his curses and filled the room until he took one last deep stroke into you and pulled out of you. You lowered yourself to take him in your mouth, sucking gently on his tip as ropes of cum filled your mouth. You got back up, very shaky and wobbly, but he wasn’t done yet. Trent carried you to the bed, lifting you up on top of him. Both of you were too far gone to care about the contract by that point and spent the rest of the night partaking in some ultra festive activities to bring in the new year as fireworks continued to pop off in the distance. 

The morning after, the sunlight was streaming through the large window you had just been fucked against the night before. It way too bright for how you were feeling now, even after the coconut water. Your head was pounding and you still felt groggy. Your lashes were barely clinging on and you forgot to do your skincare routine before falling asleep thanks to your activities. You groaned and reached for your phone, fumbling with it in your hands while Trent moved from somewhere else in the room to hand you a cup of coffee. 

“Good morning” he smirked at you, knowing exactly why you were in the state you were in. 

“Morning...and thank you” you muttered in a scratchy voice from a mix of sleep and..other activities. You took a look at yourself with your front camera and you snorted. Your hair was all over the place, your makeup was smudged and one of your lashes was hanging off. You took a glance back over at Trent, who had faint scratches on his back, making you laugh harder. The chaos was oddly on brand for the authentic, slightly unhinged content you were known for, so you decided to capture the moment to post online. 

You opened the camera app and switched to the wide angle just to make it that more authentic. You held your coffee cup in your hand with your messy hair and hanging lash on full display. In the background, Trent was off to the edge of the frame where only part of him could be seen digging through his distinctive Goyard wash bag, oblivious to his surprise cameo. You typed out the caption ‘Happy New Year 🥴✨’ and added it to the photo in white text before posting it on your story. You didn’t have to check the notifications...you knew what you did.

By the time you showered and made yourself look put together, your post had been picked up by SpillTheBeansUK where they did a full deep dive. Their post was a carousel of screenshots. The first was your original story in its chaotic glory, the second was a cropped version zoomed in on Trent’s hand digging into his bag and the faint lining of the side of his head, the third was a side by side of all the previous photos to confirm it was him.

SpillTheBeansUK: Happy New Year from Y/N and Trent Alexander-Arnold! 👀

realmrsTAA: sobbing into my pillow rn I KNOW THAT BAG

ynfansince2019: not her lashes hanging like that. IKTR QUEEN

yn_onlyyn: she’s so me coded i love her

leafygreens05: TRENT BABE TELL ME THIS ISN’T U?!? ARE THOSE SCRATCHES?

ballerbabyy: this feels like i’m on facetime with a friend i love her sm and they’re so cute

notyourfootiebae: Y/N and Trent 🏆 romeocruz: 😒

You laughed as you scrolled through the comments. Trent walked in, ready to head out for breakfast. Although, he was entirely too calm for someone who had just been moaning your name while you were bouncing on him just a few hours ago.

When you sat across from him during breakfast at the hotel restaurant, the realization of everything hit you all at once. You didn’t want this to end. Not the public antics, banter, or things with Trent. He was looking at his phone, scrolling through his apps. Unbeknownst to you, he was deleting his dating apps. All of them.

Meanwhile you were spiralling. Quietly, but definitely still spiralling. 

“What happens when this is over?” you asked quietly, cutting through your eggs benedict. 

He looked up, pausing his thumb over the delete button of the last app. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged, stabbing at the food with a vanished appetite. “The contract. When June comes and we’re supposed to ‘break up’... What happens then?”

Trent deleted the final app and set his phone down to look at you. “I don’t know,” he admitted in a quiet voice.

You laughed, trying to mask your nerves. “Well that’s not reassuring.”

“Why?” He asked, tilting his head. “You worried about something?”

Your fork tapped against the hollandaise sauce on your food while you gathered what you wanted to say. “Um..well..this whole thing started off as a job for your image. But now....” you trailed off and looked at him.

“Now?” he prompted, locked on your eyes.

“Now it feels...different.” you admitted. “It doesn’t feel fake anymore. At least not for me.”

You thought he would smirk and have some comeback ready but he didn’t this time. Instead, he leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed loosely. “Doesn’t feel fake to me either.”

“Really?”

“Yeah” Trent leaned forward to rest his arms on the table. “It started off as a contract but I think that changed a little...we both know that.”

You stared at him. “So..what are you saying?”

“I’m saying we don’t have to stop,” he replied, never taking his eyes off you. “We don’t have to make a huge deal about it or anything but I don’t want to stop seeing you. It feels…” He trailed off to search for the right words.

“Like something worth exploring?” you offered, finishing his sentence.

He nodded, giving you his signature smirk, but this time it made you melt a little. “Yeah. Like that.”

--

The day the public stint of the contract was supposed to end came and went like any other day. You and Trent kept seeing each other instead of posting fake launch photos like the contract originally suggested after NYE. Tyler was smug about it the minute he found out, thinking he was the best Cupid ever. The last time you saw him, he handed you a Valentine’s Day PR brief with a grin.

“Guess we’re not cancelling the hard launch then?” he asked in a satisfied tone. You wanted to throw the folder at him, but he was right. You weren’t going anywhere and neither was Trent. Your fans adored the idea of you with him. There were multiple theories flooding your comment section daily, micro analyzing every interaction. Meanwhile, Trent’s fans reluctantly admitted he looked happy in a relationship for once. 

The hard launch came in the form of a Youtube video thanks to the fans: Boyfriend Rates My Outfits

Your followers were begging for this video for weeks. You never announced having a boyfriend but they knew you better than that. You didn’t plan on giving in but Trent was all for it. Your chaos had rubbed off on him, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

“Do it” he said one night while laying in bed with you at your place after a date night. “It’ll be funny.”

“Funny for who?” you replied, rolling your eyes.

“For me.”

Eventually you agreed, and the video started with you sitting in front of your neatly organized wardrobe, clasping your hands together. “Okay..you’ve all been asking for it so we’re doing a ‘boyfriend rates my outfits’ video today. My man isn’t really a fashion connoisseur so don’t expect much.”

Trent’s voice came in from behind the camera, already flirty. “Nah, I have taste, don’t set me up like that.”

“Do you?” you countered, laughing as you disappeared to change into the first outfit.

You strutted back in the room wearing high waisted jeans, a blazer and a cropped top paired with trainers. It was chic and cute enough for a brunch or something similar. Trent zoomed the camera in dramatically on your feet. “Shoes are nice. I’ll give it...an 8.”

“An 8?!” you scoffed, doing a little spin for him. “You’re mad. This is a 10.”

“Ah..okay. 9.5 but only because you look good walking away.”

The next look was a silky midi dress with a thigh high slit, paired with strappy heels. You stepped in the room and did a twirl for the cam.

Trent let out a whistle. “11. Easily.”

“You can’t give it an 11!” you protested, hands on your hip.

“Why not?” he grinned. “I’d take you out in that.. maybe in Greece or Spain.”

For the third look, you went full streetwear and wore cargos, a fitted crop top, a leather jacket, and chunky boots. Trent panned the camera up and down with a lot of dramatics. “You look like you’re about to rob somebody.”

“Trent!”

“Hey, I’m into it though! Come rob me baby” he added quickly, smirking. “9 out of 10.”

The final outfit was a red mini dress with an open back that hugged you in all the right places, paired with heels and a statement purse. Trent was quiet as he looked at you, shaking the camera while he adjusted the focus. “Goddamn. That’s a 12.”

“A 12?” you laughed, walking up to the camera and playfully covering the lens while giving him a kiss. “You’re not supposed to go over 10, T.”

“I don’t care. You’re breaking the scale.”

Trent turned the camera to face the both of you as both of you smiled into the lens. “Alright. Like, comment, subscribe, and…” He trailed off, lowering the camera a little and looked at your lips. He whispered, thinking the mic wouldn’t catch anything but it did. “...and turn this off so I can take this dress off you.”

Your jaw dropped and you swatted at his chest playfully, giggling. “You’re going to get me demonetized if you keep talking like that.”

As you edited the video, you decided to leave that part in there because it was funny and also cute. The comments rolled in quickly when word spread around online about it:

ynbabydoll: THE WHISPER AT THE END??? HELLO? I’M FERAL

ynstanclub: trent stuns in Y/N’s youtube video!!

ynplustrent: the way the cam shook when she came out in that dress....i know they get real nasty

spicynsaucy: UNCOVER THE LENS I WANNA SEE IT

footieNfashion: why is this more compelling than any press interview he’s ever done?

LFCStan44: this feels like i shouldn’t be in the room watching them rn but i’m here for it idk. love to see him back to his happy old self

FreeKickFiend: ugh..the way he sounds when he called her baby. that should be me

YNWADefenseNeeded: bro’s focus on this video is what we need on the pitch ALL the time RedKisses98: this man has forgotten we exist. thanks a lot Y/N

You shut your laptop after the premiere of the video and sunk into the couch next to Trent. He was scrolling through the comments on his phone, with that same infuriating, yet extremely attractive smirk on his face.

“You’re really enjoying this huh?” you nudged him with your elbow in a teasing tone.

“Of course,” he replied without looking up. “I’m the star of your channel now.”

You shook your head, laughing. “Very bold of you to assume they’re watching for you.”

Finally, he looked from his phone, cupping your chin and pulling you into a kiss. “Nah...but I’m here for you though. Fully off script. No contract needed.”

[hischierswhore]

oh, christmas tree (j. hughes)

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

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

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

But plans change, especially when Christmas is involved.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ridiculously festive," You corrected.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[uluvjay]

Spiked hot coco- L. Hamilton

Lewis Hamilton x fem! Teammate reader

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

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

Day 9 of my ficmas celebration!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So tight honey.” He groaned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-



[fandomfablesunleashed]

Mistletoe

Zoro x reader

English is not my first language

Ficmas masterlist

Main masterlist

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

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

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

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

“Looking for something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[leona-hawthorne]

LEONA-HAWTHORNE’S FICMAS

december 28th. mattheo riddle — grandpa glasses.

mattheo riddle x fem reader

summary ; how could you possibly resist teasing your boyfriend when he looks like he stole dumbledore’s glasses? you can’t! words ; 866 warnings ; fluff, established relationship, one sexual joke/innuendo

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You hadn’t noticed it at first. Mattheo was sitting on the worn leather armchair in the corner of the common room, the dim light from the nearby lamp pooling over his shoulders, with a book propped open in his hand. That wasn’t unusual—he read more often than most people gave him credit for. But your attention wasn’t on the way he looked so deeply engrossed, nor on the slight furrow of his brow as he followed the words on the page. No, your focus was entirely on the glasses perched on his nose.

He glanced up at the sound of your footsteps coming closer, dark curls falling into his eyes as he tipped his head toward you. “What?” he asked, frowning slightly.

You blinked, a slow grin spreading across your face as you perched yourself on the cushioned armrest. “You’re wearing glasses.”

He sighed, closing the book with one hand and setting it on the side table. “I was reading. They help.”

You blinked at him, trying and failing to suppress the amusement in your eyes. “I—sorry, I just—since when do you wear glasses?”

He rolled his eyes, his expression settling into something between amusement and exasperation. “Since always. I just don’t wear them around you because you’re distracting enough without me being able to actually see. What, you don’t like them?”

“No, it’s just—” You moved closer, eyes narrowing as you got a better look. “Why do they look like you stole them off of Dumbledore?”

That did it. His expression cracked, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips. He tilted his head, as if inviting you to keep going. “Dumbledore? That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Not really,” you said, your grin widening. You reached out, tapping the rim of the glasses lightly with your finger. “These look ancient. Did you find them buried in the Chamber of Secrets or something? Be honest.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes in the most exaggerated way possible, but there was a lightness in his expression that made it clear he didn’t mind your teasing. “They’re just glasses, love. Not enchanted relics.”

You tilted your head, studying him. They kind of suit him. 

“They’re cute,” you admitted, watching the faintest flicker of surprise cross his face before he masked it. “Really. You look good in them.”

Mattheo scoffed. “You’re making fun of me.”

“I’m not!” You slid down from the armest and onto his lap, peering at him with mock seriousness. “It’s just… they’re giving Dumbledore. Like, if Dumbledore went through a hot, brooding bad-boy phase.”

His eyes snapped back to you, a glint of amusement flickering in the brown. “Did you just compare me to Dumbledore?”

“I mean, I’m not wrong,” you teased, gesturing vaguely in his direction. “It’s the glasses. Very grandpa chic.”

“Grandpa chic?” He crossed his arms with an exaggerated sigh, the corner of his mouth twitching upward despite himself. “You’ve got a real gift for compliments, you know that?”

“Oh, come on. You look adorable.” You shifted closer, poking lightly at his arm. “Adorably blind.”

“Adorably blind,” he repeated, his voice flat, though the playful gleam in his eyes betrayed him. “You’re hilarious. And for the record, I’m not blind. I just need them for reading.”

“Reading glasses?” you repeated, biting back a laugh. “Wow, Mattheo. You’re really leaning into the ‘dad’ aesthetic, huh?”

At that, his eyes darkened in that way they always did when he was about to say something completely inappropriate. The smirk grew into a full-blown grin. “Dad aesthetic, you say? Would you like to help me complete the look? You know, make me an actual dad?”

Your laughter died abruptly, replaced by a scandalized gasp. “Mattheo!”

“What?” He shrugged, feigning innocence. “It was just a question.”

“It was not ‘just a question,’” you said, swatting his arm lightly. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“I always know what I’m doing,” he quipped, leaning back against the chair with a satisfied grin, his hands caressing your thigh. “The question is whether you’d be down for it.”

“Mattheo Riddle,” you said, your voice stern despite the warmth creeping up your cheeks. “You are impossible.”

“And yet, you love me.” He reached up, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. The teasing edge in his voice softened, replaced by something quieter, more intimate. “Even when I wear grandpa glasses.”

You rolled your eyes, though your heart betrayed you with its rapid fluttering. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Cute?” He raised an eyebrow, his hand coming up to your waist to pull you closer. “I don’t do ‘cute.’”

“Okay, fine,” you said, your tone light and teasing as you leaned down to press a kiss to his cheek. “You’re very… ruggedly handsome.”

“Better,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth. “Though I still think you’re avoiding the question.”

“What question?”

“About making me a dad,” he said, his smirk returning in full force.

You groaned, pushing yourself off of his lap. “And you’ve ruined it. Again.”

“I ruin nothing,” he called after you as you walked toward the dorms, your laughter echoing in the small space. “You love every second of it.”

And annoyingly, he wasn’t wrong.

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

© leona-hawthorne 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.

[fa1rydr3ams]

“Mistltoe Mishap”

Shota Aizawa x Coworker Gn! Reader

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

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

| wc: n/a

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oi! Lovebirds!”

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

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

“Oh,” you said, biting back a laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

dividers by @anitalenia love!!

[fuqnia]

Golden Glow and Quiet Truths

kyle broflovski x reader insert

(❁´◡`❁) | [A/N] hii, this is my second oneshot that's apart of my ficmas! this is also on ao3. ❤️❄️🎄

(❁´◡`❁) | Warning(s) : none

(❁´◡`❁) | Synopsis : At Kyle’s Hanukkah celebration, [y/n] learns about his traditions and shares a quiet, heartfelt moment under the warm glow of the menorah.

The Broflovski house was buzzing with warmth and life, a stark contrast to the frigid snowdrifts piling up outside. Inside, the menorah’s golden light flickered on the table, casting soft, wavering patterns on the walls. Laughter and conversation filled the air, Sheila’s booming voice rising over the din as she directed traffic between the kitchen and living room. The scent of frying latkes mixed with the tangy sweetness of applesauce and the faint aroma of pine from the small Christmas tree Sheila insisted on keeping for “their Christian friends.”

You hovered near the doorway, a drink in your hand, unsure where to plant yourself in the chaos. Kyle had been insistent about inviting you to his family’s Hanukkah party. His words—half invitation, half plea—still echoed in your mind: “It’s no big deal, really. My family would love to have you there. I’d love to have you there.” You couldn’t say no. Not to that earnest look in his green eyes, not to the nervous way he fidgeted with his sleeves when he asked.

Now you were here, a little overwhelmed but oddly at peace, watching the scene unfold. Ike was at the table, enthusiastically explaining dreidel rules to a group of adults who didn’t stand a chance against his enthusiasm. Kyle’s dad, Gerald, was cracking a joke in the corner, earning polite chuckles. And there was Kyle himself, standing by the menorah, his green ushanka askew as he helped his mom arrange candles for the blessing. He caught your eye for a moment, offering a small smile that made your stomach flip, before turning back to his task.

“You okay?” came a voice beside you.

Kyle had appeared at your side, so close you could feel the warmth radiating off him. His hair was slightly mussed from the hat, and the glow of the menorah danced in his eyes.

“Yeah,” you said with a faint smile. “It’s really nice. Your family knows how to throw a party.”

Kyle chuckled, glancing at the crowded room. “My mom loves an excuse to go all out. Hanukkah, Thanksgiving, Arbor Day—you name it.”

You laughed softly, and his expression softened as he watched you. “I’m glad you came,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

“I’m glad you invited me,” you replied. “It’s… warm. Feels like a real home.”

Kyle looked like he wanted to say something more, but instead, he gestured toward the table where Ike was still commanding his dreidel game. “Want to play? I could teach you. Ike’s ruthless, though, so fair warning.”

“Sure,” you said, following him to the table.

The Broflovski dining table was a whirlwind of festive energy—plates of latkes and brisket, half-empty glasses of sparkling cider, and a small pile of chocolate gelt coins stacked neatly in the center. But as the party hummed around you, you found yourself seated across from Kyle, the rest of the room fading into background noise.

“Alright,” Kyle said, setting a small wooden dreidel in the middle of the table with a faint clink. “You said you’ve never played before?”

“Never,” you admitted with a sheepish grin, leaning forward to inspect the dreidel. The menorah candles flickered nearby, casting a warm glow over the two of you. “So, be gentle. I don’t want to embarrass myself.”

Kyle chuckled, the sound warm and soft. “Don’t worry. I’ll walk you through it. It’s pretty simple, I promise.”

He picked up the dreidel and turned it slowly between his fingers, the Hebrew letters catching the light. “This is the dreidel,” he explained. “Each side has a letter: Nun, Gimel, Hei, and Shin. They stand for ‘A great miracle happened there.’ It’s kind of a reminder of the Hanukkah story.”

You nodded, your gaze flickering between the dreidel and his face. He looked so at ease, his green eyes bright as he spoke, and you couldn’t help but feel a warmth that had nothing to do with the candles.

“So,” he continued, placing the dreidel back on the table. “The goal is to spin it, and whichever side it lands on determines what you do. Nun means nothing happens. Gimel means you take the whole pot. Hei means you take half, and Shin means you add a coin to the pot.”

“Got it,” you said, picking up one of the shiny chocolate coins from the pile. “And we’re playing with these?”

“Yep.” He pushed a small handful of gelt toward you, his fingers brushing yours briefly. The touch sent a jolt up your arm, and you glanced at him, catching the faintest hint of a blush creeping up his cheeks. “Alright, you go first.”

You picked up the dreidel, gripping it awkwardly. Kyle watched with an amused smile as you gave it a spin. It wobbled uncertainly before clattering to a stop on Shin.

Kyle winced dramatically, his hand flying to his chest. “Oof. Tough start. Add one to the pot.”

You rolled your eyes playfully as you tossed a coin into the center. “Great. Off to a stellar beginning.”

“Hey, it’s all about the technique,” Kyle teased, picking up the dreidel with practiced ease. His fingers moved deftly, giving it a smooth spin that sent it twirling across the table. It landed on Gimel, and he smirked as he scooped up the entire pot.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you groaned, throwing your hands up. “You’re a professional. I didn’t stand a chance.”

“Not my fault I’m naturally gifted,” he said, tossing a coin in the air and catching it with a grin. “Alright, your turn. Let’s see if you’ve learned anything.”

You narrowed your eyes, picking up the dreidel again. “Oh, I’ll show you.”

As you leaned forward to spin it, Kyle reached out to adjust your grip. “Wait, like this,” he said, his hand brushing over yours to position the dreidel. His touch was warm, steady, and lingered just a second longer than necessary. Your eyes met, and the noise of the room seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you in the soft glow of the menorah candles.

“Got it?” Kyle asked, his voice quieter now.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your heart beating faster as you gave the dreidel a spin. It twirled across the table, wobbling slightly before landing on Hei.

Kyle grinned. “Half the pot. Not bad.”

“Finally,” you said, scooping up your share with a triumphant smile. “I’m catching up.”

Kyle chuckled, his gaze lingering on you as you added the coins to your pile. “Told you it wasn’t so hard.”

The game continued, the pile of gelt shifting back and forth between you as you took turns. But as the rounds went on, you found yourself less focused on the dreidel and more on Kyle—the way his lips twitched into a smile whenever you teased him, the way his hands moved so sure and steady, the way his green eyes sparkled under the golden light.

At one point, your hands brushed again as you reached for the dreidel at the same time. Neither of you moved immediately, your fingers overlapping for a moment that felt far too long yet far too short. Kyle cleared his throat, pulling his hand back quickly, his cheeks turning pink.

“Your turn,” he said, looking down at the table with a sheepish grin.

You spun the dreidel, your chest tight with something you couldn’t quite name. As it twirled and clattered to a stop, Kyle leaned closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. The touch sent warmth blooming through you, and when you glanced at him, his face was so close you could see the faint freckles scattered across his cheeks.

The dreidel had landed on Gimel, but the game didn’t matter anymore. Not really. Kyle’s gaze met yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The room around you seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of you bathed in the soft glow of the candles.

“Looks like you win this round,” Kyle said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” you replied, your heart pounding. “I guess I do.”

The party was finally starting to wind down, the once-bustling Broflovski living room now quieter as a few remaining guests mingled and chatted in the background. The menorah candles had burned lower, their flickering light casting soft shadows across the room. You and Kyle sat at the dining table, the remnants of your dreidel game scattered between you. Chocolate gelt wrappers glimmered like forgotten treasure, and the faint hum of conversation filled the air.

Kyle leaned back in his chair, tapping a wrapper idly against the table as he gave you a look. “Okay, but seriously, how did you manage to land on Shin six times in a row? Statistically, that should be impossible.”

“I’m just that unlucky,” you replied with a grin, stacking your small pile of remaining gelt. “Or maybe you rigged the dreidel.”

Kyle snorted. “Yeah, because I clearly have nothing better to do than rig a children’s game for a party my mom guilted everyone into attending.”

“It’s not a children’s game,” you shot back, laughing. “It’s cultural. And I’m learning. Be nice.”

He rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Fine, fine. I’ll give you that. But you’ve got a long way to go before you’re dreidel champion material.”

“Oh, is that a title now? Dreidel champion?” you teased, leaning forward. “Do you get a medal for that, or just a lifetime supply of gelt?”

Kyle chuckled, shaking his head. “Okay, point taken. I’m dropping it.”

But as the laughter between you faded, a new kind of silence settled in. Kyle fiddled with the foil wrapper in his hand, twisting it into a small, misshapen ball. His gaze darted to the menorah, then back to you, his usual confidence giving way to something more uncertain.

“So,” he began, his voice quieter now. “How are you liking the party? Not too overwhelming?”

“It’s been great,” you said honestly, leaning your elbows on the table. “Your family’s amazing, Kyle. Your mom’s a little... intense, but in a good way.”

Kyle groaned, covering his face with his hand. “That’s the understatement of the century. Intense is her default setting.”

You laughed, but his comment made you notice the faint tension in his shoulders, the way he seemed to retreat into himself for a moment. “It’s nice, though,” you said softly. “To see how much she cares. And honestly? I’ve had a really great time.”

Kyle’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and he offered a small smile. “Good. I was kind of worried you’d hate it.”

“Why would I hate it?” you asked, tilting your head.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, glancing down at the table. “It’s not exactly the most exciting party ever. And it’s Hanukkah, so it’s not like it’s... I don’t know, cool.”

“Cool?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Kyle, it’s been amazing. I don’t need it to be ‘cool.’ It’s meaningful. That’s what matters.”

His green eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for a moment, he looked almost stunned by your words. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, like he was searching for the right thing to say.

“Are you okay?” you asked gently.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, straightening in his chair. “I just... I don’t know. I guess I’m glad you came.”

“I’m glad I came too,” you said with a smile. “This has been one of the best nights I’ve had in a while.”

Kyle’s cheeks reddened slightly, and he looked away, muttering, “You’re way too nice to me, you know that?”

“I’m just being honest,” you said lightly, leaning closer. “What’s with you tonight, though? You’ve been acting a little... off.”

“Off?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly. “I’m not off. This is just my normal, neurotic self.”

You grinned. “You’re always neurotic, but this feels like another level.”

Kyle groaned, burying his face in his hands. “God, you’re relentless.”

“Maybe,” you teased, nudging his foot under the table. “But you love it.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, and you wondered if you’d pushed too far. But then he sighed, dropping his hands and looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“Fine,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You want the truth?”

You nodded, your chest tightening as he hesitated.

Kyle took a deep breath, his fingers twisting the foil ball again. “I’ve been thinking about this all night. Hell, I’ve been thinking about it for weeks, and I wasn’t going to say anything because I thought it would ruin everything, but... I can’t not say it anymore.”

Your heart raced, the weight of his words sinking in. “Kyle... what are you trying to say?”

He looked up at you then, his green eyes bright with a mix of nervousness and determination. “I like you. A lot. Like, way more than I probably should. And I’ve been trying to act normal, but it’s been driving me insane because every time I see you, I just...”

He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “God, this is so stupid. I sound like a total idiot, don’t I?”

“No,” you said quickly, your voice trembling slightly. “You don’t. Not at all.”

Kyle’s gaze softened, and he let out a shaky laugh. “I just—being around you makes everything better. Even when I’m stressed, or my mom’s driving me crazy, or Cartman’s being a jackass... you make it all easier.”

Your chest ached at the sincerity in his voice, and you reached out, covering his hand with yours. “Kyle, you’re amazing. I don’t know how you don’t see that.”

He blinked, his cheeks flushing. “You really mean that?”

“I do,” you said softly, your thumb brushing against his knuckles. “And for the record? I like you too. A lot.”

A wide, relieved grin broke across his face, and for a moment, he looked like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “You do?”

You laughed, nodding. “Yeah, Kyle. I do.”

Kyle hesitated, his green eyes searching yours again, his nervous energy palpable. “Can I... would it be okay if I kissed you?” he asked softly, his voice trembling just slightly, a mix of hesitation and hope laced in his words.

Your heart swelled at the question, your chest tightening with the weight of the moment. His vulnerability was so raw, so earnest, that it made your breath hitch. Slowly, you nodded, your voice barely a whisper. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

Kyle exhaled shakily, relief flickering in his eyes as he leaned in, moving cautiously like he was afraid to break the fragile space between you. The air felt thick with anticipation, every second stretching as you watched him close the gap. When his lips finally brushed against yours, the kiss was soft, tentative, like he was testing the waters, unsure of where this might lead.

His hand came up to cup your cheek, his touch warm and careful, and the gentleness of it made your heart ache. The first press of his lips was light, a whisper of a connection, but it lingered, drawing you in deeper. There was a sweetness to it, a quiet kind of awe, like he couldn’t quite believe this was happening. But beneath that sweetness was something else—something more urgent, a need that simmered just beneath the surface.

As the kiss deepened, Kyle’s fingers threaded into your hair, anchoring you closer. His other hand settled hesitantly on your waist, his grip firm but uncertain, as though he were afraid to overstep. You could feel his breath, warm and uneven, mingling with yours, and it sent a shiver through you that made you lean into him instinctively.

He kissed you like he was trying to pour everything he couldn’t say into this one moment—his longing, his uncertainty, his quiet devotion. There was an innocence to it, a hesitance that spoke to how deeply he cared, but there was also a quiet hunger, a sense of want that made your heart race.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping the soft fabric of his sweater as though grounding yourself against the overwhelming rush of emotion. His lips moved against yours with a careful intensity, each touch more deliberate than the last. It wasn’t rushed; it wasn’t chaotic. It was deliberate and full of feeling, a perfect balance of sweetness and need.

When Kyle finally pulled back, his breathing was ragged, his cheeks flushed a deep red. His gaze darted away for a moment, as though he were processing everything that had just happened. Then his eyes found yours again, wide and filled with an almost childlike wonder.

“I... I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he admitted, his voice shaky but soft, a quiet confession that made your chest ache.

You couldn’t help but smile, your own heart pounding in your ears. “Me too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you reached up to brush a stray strand of his hair out of his face.

“Whoa! Ew! Gross!”

The spell shattered abruptly as Ike burst into the room, standing in the doorway with an exaggerated look of disgust.

“Seriously?” Ike said, throwing his hands up in mock horror. “This is so cringy. Do you guys practice this stuff or what?”

Kyle jerked away from you like he’d been electrocuted, his face burning a shade of red you didn’t think was possible. “Ike! Go away!”

“No way,” Ike said, smirking like the devil himself. “This is pure comedy gold. Mom’s gonna love this.”

Before Kyle could lunge for something to throw at him, Ike darted out of the room, his laughter echoing down the hall.

Kyle groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh my God. I’m going to kill him.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound soft and warm as you leaned into him. “Good luck with that. But for the record? Totally worth it.”

Kyle let out a long-suffering sigh, but his arm slipped around you anyway, pulling you closer to his side. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips. “It was.”

[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.

[lizzie-boo]

Baby's First Christmas

Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Ficmas Day 5

Summary: You and Steve take the time to prepare for your daughter's first Christmas. Along the way, you take the time to talk about what the future might look like.

Words: 1.3k

A/N: Amazing borders from @saradika-graphics

The days until Christmas were counting down at a rapid rate. It was getting closer to your daughter’s first Christmas and you wanted to make sure it was special. You and Steve had decided that you would go shopping together so you could make sure you both agreed on everything you got for her. 

Strapping Josie into her car seat you slip into the seat next to her as Steve climbs into the driver’s seat. Looking in the rearview mirror at you Steve asks, “And we’re sure that Jonathan and Nancy can watch her the whole time?” 

“Yeah I called Nance earlier to double check, she said they are free all day and would love to spend time with her.” Steve shoots you a smile before pulling out of your driveway and making his way towards your friend’s house. 

By the time you pull into their driveway Josie’s eyes are heavy with sleep. Grabbing her diaper bag you step out of the car and head around to grab her out of her car seat. Steve meets you by the car door and takes the bag from your shoulder as you reach in to pick up your almost one year old. 

She clings to you as you wrap her blanket around her tiny body. You carry her up the front stairs with Steve at your side. The door swings open before you even get the chance to knock. Nancy’s beaming face greets you as you step into the warm house. Josie wiggles in your arms and you set her on the ground. As you do Nancy takes her bag and blanket from you and places them in the living room for her and Jonathan to use later. 

Josie crawls after her and you and Steve follow. You watch as Jonathan's eyes light up when they land on your daughter and he scoops her up in his arms. 

“Hi, little miss JoJo,” he coos and she waves at him. 

Steve wraps his arm around your shoulder as you watch Nancy and Jonathan fuss over your daughter. The overwhelming love for your friends washes over you. Breaking free from Steve you rush over to Nancy, pulling her into a crushing hug. “Thank you for being the best,” you whisper into her hair. 

“I’d do anything for you,” she whispers back. 

Finally letting go you curl back into Steve’s side. Sharing a look you decide it’s probably time to head out or you will never get all your shopping done in time. You and Steve both give Josie a kiss before heading toward the door. Glancing over your shoulder you look at your daughter and remind her, “Be good for Aunt Nancy and Uncle Jonathan.” 

“Bye bye,” she calls after you as you open the door. 

Once in the car you slump into the passenger seat. Steve slips into the driver seat and rests his hand on your leg. Rubbing soothing circles with his thumb as he starts the car. 

“Do you think it ever gets easier leaving her?” you ask once you’ve made it on the main road. 

“Probably not, but at least we know we have the best babysitters in the world.” 

Smiling at him you add, “Yeah, they’ve had a lot of practice.” This pulls a snort from him as he makes a turn. 

You pull into the mall parking lot with a vague idea of what you want to buy and a lot of faith that someone will have what you need. The next few hours are spent meticulously looking over all the toy and clothes options the stores have to offer. By the time the two of you make it home the car is filled with gifts for an undoubtedly spoiled little girl. 

As Steve brings the last of the bags in from the car you settle in front of the Christmas tree with wrapping paper and scissors in hand. He takes a seat next to you and begins to pull items out of various bags. 

As you wrap another toy in the bright red paper Steve asks, “What do you think this will be like when she’s older?” 

“Well, there will probably be more presents to wrap,” you joke. His eyes light up at your words. 

“Like more presents because we will have more kids?” His tone is hopeful and you begin to realize that you never really discussed having more kids. Josie had been such a surprise that you had jumped into parenting and never looked back. Never taking the time to talk about if you would have more kids since you were so focused on the present. 

You chew on your bottom lip thinking about the possibility. When you think about the last year with your baby girl you can’t help but smile. Sure there were rough days, weeks, and even months but you wouldn’t trade it for the world. 

Finally after mulling it over you tell him, “I think I’d love to have more kids with you.” 

“You know I’ve always imagined having four kids, but even if you told me right now you didn’t want any more I would still be the happiest man alive because I have you and Josie in my life.” 

You smile at him as his overwhelming love for you washes over the room. Reaching over you squeeze his hand in a subtle show of affection. 

“I don’t know about four, how about we see how two goes first.” 

The wrapping paper drops from his hands and he crawls across the carpet to close the distance. His lips land on yours in a deep kiss and your arms snake around his neck. When he finally pulls back you can’t help but to laugh. 

“I didn’t mean right now,” you joke. 

He pouts at you before pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Well you know practice makes perfect.” 

This time it's your turn to drop what you're holding and climb into his lap. You pepper kisses over his face as his hands come to rest on your hips. His hands slip into the back pockets of your jeans as he pulls you in for another kiss. 

It doesn’t take long before you find yourself calling Nancy and Jonathan asking if they can watch Josie for another hour. It takes even less time for Steve to drag you into your bedroom after they agree. The presents left half wrapped in the living room as you spend the rest of your time alone together in bed. 

Two years later: 

Christmas time was coming up quickly once again. This time you sat on the couch with your new baby in your arms as Steve held the other. When you had told Steve you wanted to see how two kids went first the universe had taken it literally and blessed you with twins.  

Josie sat on the floor by the Christmas tree playing with various toys that Dustin had gotten for her. As the sound of the doorbell rings she pushes up and chases after Steve as he goes to open the door. Baby in arm and toddler at his feet he opens the door to greet Jonathan and Nancy. 

“Are you sure you guys are up for this? It seems like a lot to deal with,” Nancy asks as she sets her son on the floor to play with Josie. 

“Don’t worry Robin is coming over later to help out, besides Joshua keeps Josie busy and he’s an angel so if anything it makes our life easier,” you reassure your friend. 

“We won’t be out long, we are just grabbing a couple presents and then we will be right back to pick him up,” Jonathan adds. 

Steve smiles at you before turning back to his friend, “That’s what we said before too, it’s okay if you need some extra time.” He emphasises his words with a quick wink that causes you to shake your head. 

“Go have fun,” you shout as you push them towards the door. 

“Not too much fun though,” Steve adds. 

“Or do, we could use some buddies for the twins,” you tease, causing Jonahtan to turn bright red. 

[saberlibrary]

Seeing snow for the first time ft. Ryomen Sukuna

Day 07 of 31 Days of Ficmas!

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

word count — 465

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

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

Ryomen Sukuna usually wakes up before you do.

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

When he wakes, he stays in bed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sukuna frowns.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is.

But you…

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

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

You are so intriguing.

Everyday. More and more.

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

He lifts an eyebrow, surprised with that information.

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

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

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

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