#growing up at least that was the tradition
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Following up from the post when the characters were sick, what if the reader got sick as well and now they're both sick?
When Weakness Brings Us Closer
Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Sampo x Reader, Sick Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Caring for Each Other, Mutual Vulnerability, Slight Whump, Domestic Moments.
Warnings: Depictions of Illness, Mentions of Overworking or Stress as a Trigger for Illness, Emotional Vulnerability, Possible Light Angst (emotional moments, feelings of guilt, or unspoken tension).
The opulent room, filled with Aventurineâs usual flair for the dramaticâvelvet curtains, golden ornaments, and dimmed lightsâfelt oddly claustrophobic. Both of you were confined to the lavish couch, a pile of tissues growing steadily on the ornate coffee table.
âYouâre an amateur at this, you know,â Aventurine teased, his voice hoarse but laced with his usual wit. Despite his own flushed cheeks and drooping posture, he gestured grandly, a half-empty cup of tea in one hand. âThis is why I warned you about staying too close to me when I was under the weather.â
âYou were the one who wouldnât stop bragging about your âimpenetrable immunity,ââ you shot back, sniffling.
He laughed, though it turned into a hacking cough. Aventurineâs usual flamboyance was muted by the cold, but his sharp eyes still held a spark of mischief.
âWell,â he rasped, leaning back dramatically, âif weâre both doomed to misery, we may as well make the most of it. Cards, perhaps? Or do you prefer a rousing debate about my unparalleled brilliance?â
You rolled your eyes but found yourself smiling despite your exhaustion. In this vulnerable moment, Aventurineâs charm wasnât just an actâit was his way of making you forget the heaviness of your shared misery.
The room was unnaturally quiet, save for the occasional sound of Sunday stirring a cup of herbal tea. Both of you sat in the dimly lit chamber, his halo casting a soft glow.
âRest,â Sunday murmured, his voice gentle but insistent as he handed you the tea. His usually immaculate appearance was slightly disheveledâhis scarf hung loose, and his golden eyes seemed dimmer. Yet, even in sickness, he radiated calm.
You sipped the tea, grateful for its warmth, though your own fever made it hard to feel much else. âYouâre one to talk,â you replied weakly, gesturing at his pale complexion. âYou should be resting too.â
âI will,â he assured, though his actions betrayed him as he began fluffing your pillows. âYour health is more important.â
The care in his actions made your heart ache in a way no illness could. Despite his own state, Sunday couldnât seem to stop prioritizing you.
âYouâre stubborn,â you said, lying back against the pillows with a small smile.
âAnd youâre in no position to argue,â he countered, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles before he settled into the chair beside you. âLetâs both rest now.â
The room was a messâhalf-empty cups, discarded tissues, and an overturned bottle of cough syrup bore witness to Sampoâs less-than-stellar sickbed manner.
âSee? Told you weâd be in this together,â Sampo said with a grin, his voice raspy but still filled with his signature charm. He leaned against the headboard of the bed you now shared, a blanket draped haphazardly over his lap.
âYeah, thanks for that,â you muttered, glaring at him from your cocoon of blankets.
âOh, come on,â he said, reaching over to nudge you lightly. âItâs not so bad. At least now you have me to keep you entertained.â
âEntertained? Youâve done nothing but complain about the soup I made!â
He chuckled, though it quickly turned into a coughing fit. âHey, Iâm just saying, next time weâre sick, Iâll make the soup. Iâve got this great recipeâsecret family tradition, you know.â
You groaned, but a reluctant smile tugged at your lips. Sampo, even at his most annoying, had a way of making the worst situations bearable.
The Astral Express was unusually still, the usual hum of activity replaced by the sound of sneezes and groans. Dan Heng sat cross-legged on the floor beside the bed, his spear leaning against the wall for easy access even in his weakened state.
âYou should be lying down,â you said, your voice scratchy as you shifted under the covers.
Dan Heng shook his head, his quiet determination as unyielding as ever. âYou need the bed more than I do,â he replied, though his pale complexion and tired eyes betrayed his stubbornness.
âDan Heng,â you said softly, âyouâre not going to be much help to anyone if you donât rest.â
He hesitated, his gaze flickering to yours. With a reluctant sigh, he leaned back against the wall, finally allowing himself a moment of reprieve.
âI just donât like being⊠useless,â he admitted quietly, his stoicism cracking just enough to reveal a flicker of vulnerability.
âYouâre not useless,â you assured him, reaching out to brush his hand lightly. âYouâre here. Thatâs enough.â
Dan Hengâs lips curved into a faint smile, and for the first time since the sickness had struck, the weight between you both felt a little lighter.
#x reader#honkai star rail#hsr#honkai star rail x reader#hsr x reader#hsr aventurine#aventurine x reader#hsr aventurine x reader#aventurine x you#hsr sunday#sunday x reader#sunday hsr#sunday#sampo x you#sampo hsr#sampo x reader#sampo koski#hsr sampo#dan heng honkai star rail#dan heng x reader#dan heng#hsr dan heng x reader#dan heng x y/n#dan heng x you#hsr dan heng#sick fic#hurt/comfort#fluff and angst#caring for each other#mutual vulnerability
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why do the children seem to often ask for fruit and/or nuts from santa?
Fruit and nuts are by far the most commonly requested stocking stuffers I see in Dear Santa letters in the late 19th/early 20th century - even more so than candy. Apples and oranges are the fruits you see asked for most often, but in the Southern part of the US you also see bananas and coconuts requested.
As for why (at least where fruit's concerned) - consider the difference in how easy it is for us to get fresh fruit in December vs what it was like 120 years ago. Today we can put fresh produce on a plane, overnight it and have a semi drive it to a store within 24 hours. When many of these letters were written fruit had to be loaded it on a steam ship, sail across the ocean for a week, put on a coal-burning train and then delivered by horse-drawn wagon - often without the benefit of modern refrigeration.
Oranges in the middle of the winter were a treat.
When I was growing up I still usually got an orange in the toe of my stocking, because thatâs what my mom got when she was little, and Iâm assuming the tradition had been passed down from previous generations.
I think another factor as to why you see fruit and nuts mentioned so often is that back when kids only got two or three Christmas presents - stocking stuffers warranted a mention in a Dear Santa letter. Now that kids lists are considerably longer - I think candy and treats for your stocking are just kind of implied in most modern Xmas lists and not specifically spelled out.
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Plus One
Title: Plus One (Prompt- who invited them to the holiday party?) Pairing: Loki x SHEILD Agent!Female Reader
Summary: Â Thor brings Loki along to the Avengers Christmas party, and no one-not even you-was prepared for it. A night of tension and unexpected moments leads to revelations that are far from festive.
Word Count: 4.5k (woah this got away from meâŠ)
Warnings: Â /Warnings // Explicit Content //18+, Minors DNI, smut, DARK-ish (just Loki being Loki really) fingering, Unprotected sex Not Beta read.
A/N: Another entry for @the-slumberparty December daze challenge âŠ. Day 21
The annual Avengers Christmas party was the kind of event that had its own gravitational pull. No one dared to skip it-Tony Starkâs reputation for âover-the-topâ festivities guaranteed a night to remember (and sometimes regret). The compound sparkled with festive charm, every inch of it covered in twinkling lights, tinsel, garlands, and a seemingly endless supply of mistletoe that Tony had strategically placed to stir up drama.
Youâd been looking forward to the party for weeks. It wasnât often the team had an excuse to let their guard down and embrace something as simple as holiday cheer. If you were honest with yourself, it was also a chance to see Thor. The Asgardian always brought a sense of camaraderie to these events with his booming laughter and stories of Yuletide traditions from another realm, plus who didnât like a chance to swoon a little over an âGodâ.
The night began as you expected-Natasha at the bar, teasing Clint about his questionable sweater; Sam and Bucky in a competitive battle of holiday trivia that was growing increasingly loud and animated; and Steve doing his best to avoid being cornered by overly curious SHIELD interns. It was chaotic, warm, and exactly what you needed.
At least, until you saw him.
Youâd been mid-conversation with Wanda when the room seemed to shift. A ripple of unease spread through the crowd, subtle but undeniable. Curious, you turned your head and there he was. Loki.
Standing by the bar, drink in hand, the God of Mischief looked entirely too at ease in a room full of people whoâd rather not be in his company. He was dressed impeccably in a dark suit that somehow managed to feel more threatening than festive. His jet-black hair was swept back, and his piercing blue eyes scanned the room with a lazy confidence that set your teeth on edge.
âWhat the hell?â you muttered under your breath, your drink momentarily forgotten.
Wanda followed your gaze, her brow furrowing. âThor brought him,â she explained quietly. âApparently, he didnât want his brother to spend the holidays alone.â
âThatâs⊠considerate,â you replied, though your tone dripped with scepticism. âBut Loki? At a Christmas party? This has disaster written all over it.â
Wanda shrugged looking back at you. âHeâs been calm so far, charming even. Maybe heâll surprise us.â
You snorted. Loki wasnât the kind of person who âsurprisedâ people in a good way.
As if sensing your thoughts, Lokiâs gaze locked onto yours from across the room. His lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk that made your stomach twist. He raised his glass slightly in a mock toast, his expression equal parts amusement and challenge.
You turned back to Wanda, doing your best to ignore the flush creeping up your neck. âThis is going to be a long night.â
Moments later, you found yourself seeking out Thor, hoping for some kind of explanation. You spotted him near the buffet table, a plate stacked high with what looked like an alarming combination of turkey and dessert pastries. He was laughing boisterously at something Steve had said, completely at ease despite the tension his brotherâs presence was causing.
âThor,â you said, cutting into the conversation. He turned to you with his usual wide grin.
âAh! Seasonal Salutation! Mâladyâ he greeted warmly. âHave you tried the pudding? A most peculiar flavour but quite delightful.â
You waved off the question, getting straight to the point. âWhat is he doing here?â
Thorâs grin faltered slightly, and he glanced over his shoulder as if to confirm who you meant. âLoki? Well I- He had nowhere else to go for the holidays. It seemed cruel to leave him to his own devices.â
âCruel to him or to us?â you shot back, crossing your arms. âYou seriously thought this was a good idea?â
Thor sighed, his expression softening. âI understand your concerns, but he is my brother. I could not bear the thought of him alone on such a joyous occasion. Besides,â he added with a wink, âhe promised to behave.â
You raised a sceptical eyebrow. âAnd you believed him?â
Before Thor could answer, a shadow fell over the two of you. You didnât have to turn around to know who it was. The air seemed to grow colder, and a familiar voice, smooth and laced with amusement, cut through the festive noise.
âTalking about me already? How flattering.â
Loki stepped into view, his smirk firmly in place as his sharp gaze flicked between you and Thor. âI wasnât aware I warranted such attention.â
Your jaw tightened, but before you could fire back, Thor clapped Loki on the shoulder, his usual jovial demeanour returning. âWe were just discussing how youâve managed to behave yourself so far. A true Christmas miracle!â
Lokiâs smile didnât waver, but there was a glint of something darker in his eyes as he turned his attention to you. âI aim to please.â
Your stomach flipped, though whether it was from irritation or something else, you werenât sure. âLetâs hope it stays that way,â you said coolly, brushing past him before he could see just how much his presence was affecting you.
As you walked away, you could feel his gaze following you, burning into your back. This was definitely going to be a long night.
You drifted toward the far corner of the room, seeking refuge from Loki's piercing gaze that still lingered in your thoughts. The dessert table became your sanctuary, a whimsical display of Tonyâs flair for the extravagant. Gingerbread skyscrapers stood proudly next to meticulously crafted snowman macarons, their glossy surfaces glinting in the ambient light. A fountain of eggnog, complete with a miniature motorized sleigh circling its base, gurgled in the background, adding a surreal charm to the festive scene.
You allowed yourself a brief moment to breathe, reaching for a chocolate-dipped strawberry and savoring the rich aroma of cocoa and ripe fruit. It was grounding, a small indulgence that pulled you back from the tension threatening to coil too tightly in your chest.
But the respite didnât last long.
âAvoiding me already, darling?â
The familiar voice sent a jolt through you, smooth as velvet yet edged with a playful sharpness. Your hand jerked slightly, the strawberry wobbling precariously between your fingers. You turned your head sharply, meeting Lokiâs unyielding gaze. He was closer than youâd expected, his tall frame looming with an ease that spoke of his predatory confidence.
His presence was suffocating in the most maddening way, and yet you couldnât tear your eyes from him. Dressed to perfection, the crisp lines of his suit contrasted against the effortless way he commanded attention, even in silence. The faint scent of something rich and foreign clung to him-spices, leather, and an undertone of frost that teased at your senses.
âI wasnât avoiding you,â you replied coolly, forcing your voice to remain steady despite the quickened thrum of your pulse. You deliberately brought the strawberry to your lips and took a bite, savoring the sweetness as a distraction. âI was enjoying the party. Something you seem to be incapable of doing without making it about you.â
Lokiâs laughter rumbled low and deep, like distant thunder, curling around you in a way that made it hard to breathe. âOh, Iâm quite capable of enjoying myself, believe me,â he said, his voice layered with dark amusement. âI just find these⊠mortal festivities rather quaint.â
âQuaint?â You raised an eyebrow, the word dripping with disbelief as you gestured toward the decadent dessert spread. âSays the man who just interrupted my quiet moment at the dessert table.â
His smirk widened, the kind of expression that could unravel nerves and stir intrigue all at once. âPerhaps I wanted a taste of something sweeter,â he murmured, his tone infused with a deliberate intimacy that sent a rush of heat to your cheeks.
The strawberry caught in your throat for a moment, and you forced yourself to swallow, cursing the way your skin betrayed you. Loki noticed, of course he did. His keen gaze flickered over your face, amusement lighting up his sharp features. He tilted his head, the picture of faux innocence.
âDid I say something amiss?â he asked smoothly, the corners of his mouth twitching in barely concealed delight.
âYouâre impossible,â you muttered under your breath, the words escaping as you stepped away from the table, hoping to put some distance between yourself and the maddening force of his presence.
Yet Loki followed, his movements unhurried, as though he had all the time in the world to unravel you.
âIâve been called worse,â he quipped lightly, his voice as smooth as silk. His hands were tucked casually behind his back, yet his proximity felt charged, as if the space between you crackled with unspoken intent. âBut tell me, darling, why are you so eager to escape me? Surely you donât find my company that intolerable.â
âItâs not intolerance,â you shot back, turning on your heel to glare at him. âItâs self-preservation.â
He stepped closer, and the air seemed to grow heavier, the warmth of the room fading beneath the cool intensity of his gaze. His voice dropped, low and husky, the kind of sound that made your pulse stutter.
âAnd what, pray tell, are you preserving yourself from?â
The question hung between you, tangible and electric. His words werenât a challenge, nor a taunt-they were a doorway, left slightly ajar, daring you to step through.
You opened your mouth to respond, but the words dissolved before they could form, leaving only the sound of your breath quickening in the charged silence. Lokiâs gaze lingered on you, his smirk softening into something deeper, something that threatened to pull you under if you stared too long.
âDo let me know when you figure it out,â he said, his tone almost gentle now, as though the shift had caught even him by surprise. Then, without waiting for a reply, he turned and brushed past you, leaving the faintest brush of his coat against your arm.
You exhaled sharply, suddenly aware of how tightly youâd been holding your breath. Your heart thundered in your chest, every nerve still attuned to where he had stood just moments before. The room felt smaller now, as though his presence lingered, an echo of something dangerous and enticing.
You spent the next hour doing everything in your power to avoid Loki, though it felt like he was everywhere at once. His presence seemed to saturate the room, no matter how crowded it was. Whenever you turned, there he was: leaning casually against the bar, exchanging sly remarks with Natasha, or simply watching you with that insufferable smirk that sent heat creeping up your neck. It felt deliberate, a calculated game where the rules were known only to him, and you were the unwilling prize.
Finally, the weight of his gaze became too much. You slipped out of the main hall and into one of the quieter hallways, the muffled hum of the party fading behind you. The air here was cooler, the festive decorations sparser, and you exhaled a shaky breath, leaning against the wall to collect yourself.
âRunning away again?â
The low, teasing voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you spun around, heart leaping to your throat. Loki stood at the end of the hallway, his silhouette sharp and imposing against the soft glow of a nearby string of fairy lights. The warm glimmer of the lights only seemed to enhance his cool, detached elegance, making him look every bit the dark prince he often pretended not to be.
âThis isnât running,â you said, forcing a steadiness into your voice that you didnât feel. âItâs called taking a break.â
His lips curved into that familiar, maddening smile as he began to close the distance between you, each step slow and deliberate. âAnd yet, here I am. Drawn to you like a moth to a flame.â
You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms in an attempt to appear unruffled, though your pulse quickened the closer he came. âDo you practice being this insufferable, or does it come naturally?â
âItâs a gift,â he replied smoothly, the amusement in his tone only growing. âThough I must confess, your reactions make it all the more enjoyable.â
You took a step forward, unable to help yourself, despite the quiet voice in the back of your mind warning you to tread carefully. âIs that what this is? A game to you? Annoying me for your own amusement?â
Lokiâs smirk faded, his expression shifting into something darker, more intense. His piercing gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, it felt like he was looking straight into your soul. âOh, darling,â he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr. âIf I wanted to truly amuse myself, Iâd do far more than simply annoy you.â
Your breath hitched, the implication hanging heavy between you, but you refused to let him see the effect he had on you. âThen what do you want, Loki?â
He stopped inches from you, the air between you charged and electric. His gaze was relentless, pulling you under like a riptide. âPerhaps,â he murmured, his voice low and hypnotic, âI simply want to see how far youâll let me go.â
Your body betrayed you, heat rising as his hand brushed lightly against your arm. The touch was featherlight, yet it sent a jolt of energy coursing through you, igniting every nerve.
âYou should be careful,â you said, your voice barely above a whisper. Even as you spoke, there was no conviction behind the words, only a trembling uncertainty that made your heart pound. âYouâre playing a dangerous game.â
Lokiâs lips curved into a wicked smile, his confidence unwavering. âDanger is where I thrive, darling. Tell me⊠do you?â
Before you could respond, his hand rose to cup your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the chaos he stirred within you. His thumb brushed softly against your skin, a maddening contrast to the storm raging in your chest.
âStop me,â he murmured, his voice intoxicatingly low, his breath warm against your lips. âIf thatâs what you truly want.â
But you didnât.
You surged forward, closing the gap between you as your lips met his in a kiss that was equal parts fury and inevitability. It was raw, consuming, and all the more maddening because of how long you had fought it.
Lokiâs arms snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His lips claimed yours with an intensity that stole the breath from your lungs, leaving you reeling. His kiss wasnât gentle-it was a battle for control, each movement demanding submission even as it ignited a fire within you.
One of his hands gripped your hip possessively while the other tangled in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. The cold wall at your back and the solid heat of his body against yours were the only things grounding you as you surrendered to the moment.
When he finally pulled back, his lips brushed against your ear, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. âIndulgence has never been this exquisite.â
Your protests dissolved into a shaky exhale as his hand slid beneath the hem of your dress. His fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns along the sensitive skin of your thigh, moving closer to where you ached for him most.
A sharp intake of breath betrayed you, and Loki chuckled softly, clearly revelling in your unravelling. âSay the word, darling,â he purred, his voice like silk and sin. âTell me to stop, and I will.â
But you didnât.
Instead, your hands fisted in the front of his jacket, pulling him impossibly closer. Your voice was barely audible as you breathed, âDonât stop.â
His eyes darkened, the icy blue of his gaze now molten with raw hunger. That insufferable smirk transformed into something primal, almost feral, as his fingers ventured higher beneath the hem of your dress. He moved with agonizing precision, teasing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh until you shivered against the wall.
âSuch a delicate thing,â he murmured, his voice a low growl that vibrated against your skin. âAnd yet, so very responsive.â
Before you could form a retort, his fingers slid higher, grazing over the damp fabric of the lace underwear. The sharp intake of breath you couldnât suppress only seemed to fuel him, his lips curving in wicked satisfaction.
âAlready wet for me,â he observed feeling the damp fabric, his tone laced with sinful amusement. âI knew youâd be eager, but this, darling, this is delightful.â
Your cheeks burned with equal parts embarrassment and desire, but your body betrayed you, arching toward his touch. Lokiâs fingers pressed against your clothed heat, his thumb finding your swollen clit with unerring accuracy. He applied the barest amount of pressure, circling slowly, and a broken moan escaped your lips.
âDo you like that?â he asked, his voice dripping with mock sweetness. âI do so enjoy hearing you mortals unravel for me.â
You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. But Loki wasnât one to tolerate defiance. With a low chuckle, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of the lace and tugged them down with deliberate slowness, letting them pool at your ankles. The cool air against your bare skin sent another shiver racing through you.
âYouâre even lovelier like this,â he purred, his fingers sliding between your folds, collecting the slick evidence of your arousal. âSo wet.â He breathed the words out âSo ready.â
His hand moved with a skill that left you gasping, two fingers plunging inside you with a smooth, practiced motion. Your walls clenched around him instinctively, drawing a pleased hum from his lips. His thumb resumed its torment on your clit, alternating between slow circles and deliciously firm pressure.
âLook at you,â he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he pumped his fingers deeper. âSo perfect, so pliant and all for me, no more running now pet.â
The sound of your laboured breathing mingled with the faint buzz of the party in the distance, though the world beyond this moment felt impossibly far away. Your hands clutched at the lapels of his jacket, desperate for something to anchor yourself as pleasure coiled tighter in your stomach.
Loki pressed his body against yours, his hard length evident even through the layers of his tailored trousers. He tilted his head, capturing your lips in a kiss that was every bit as consuming as his touch. His tongue slid against yours, matching the rhythm of his fingers as they drove you closer and closer to the edge.
âCum.â The snarled whispered against your lips, his voice rough with need. âI command it.â
You cried out softly as the tension within you snapped, your orgasm crashing over you in a wave of blinding heat. Lokiâs name tumbled from your lips in a breathless plea, and he drank in the sound like the most decadent wine.
He didnât stop. His fingers slowed, drawing out your pleasure until your legs trembled, barely able to hold your weight. Only then did he withdraw, his hand glistening with your release. He brought his fingers to his lips, licking them clean with an exaggerated slowness that made your cheeks burn.
âExquisite,â he said, his voice low and smug. âEvery bit as divine as I imagined.â
You could barely catch your breath, still leaning against the wall for support as he adjusted the hem of your dress with almost mocking care. He straightened, brushing his fingers over your flushed cheek, and leaned in close once more.
âDonât think this is the end, darling,â he murmured, his lips ghosting over your ear. âIâve only just begun.â
Lokiâs fingers lingered on your cheek, his touch deceptively tender given the heat still radiating from his gaze. Before you could recover, his hands slid down to your waist, firm and commanding as he turned you effortlessly to face the wall. The cold surface pressed against your palms, grounding you for a fleeting moment before his body closed in behind yours.
âYou didnât think Iâd be satisfied with just that, did you?â he murmured, his breath warm against the back of your neck. One of his hands smoothed over the curve of your hip while the other brushed your hair aside, exposing the sensitive skin of your neck. His lips followed, planting open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat, nipping and sucking just enough to leave faint marks.
âLoki,â you breathed, your voice barely audible, but whether it was a plea or a protest, you werenât sure.
âSay my name again,â he commanded, his tone dark and heady, as his hands slid down to the hem of your dress, gathering the fabric in a deliberate, tantalizing motion. He bunched it around your waist, baring you to him completely. His hands roamed over your exposed skin, squeezing, caressing, and claiming every inch as his own.
You felt him then, hard and insistent against your lower back. The realization sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, and a soft whimper escaped before you could stop it. Loki chuckled, low and predatory, clearly pleased with your response.
âYouâve no idea how exquisite you are,â he said, his voice a velvet caress as he undid his trousers with an unhurried ease. The sound of fabric shifting and the faint metallic click of his belt made your heart race, anticipation knotting in your stomach.
His hands found your hips again, gripping them with enough force to leave an impression as he positioned himself behind you. The blunt head of his cock pressed against your slick entrance, and he paused, leaning in to whisper in your ear.
âThis is your last chance, darling,â he purred, his voice rich with dark amusement. âTell me to stop, and I will.â
You bit your lip, trembling with need and the intoxicating tension he created. âDonât stop,â you whispered, the words barely audible but filled with certainty.
Loki growled low in his throat, the sound primal and triumphant, before he pushed into you in one smooth thrust. The stretch was delicious, a mix of pain and pleasure that made your knees buckle, though his hands kept you firmly in place. He filled you completely, holding still for a moment as though savoring the way your body molded around him.
âPerfect,â he murmured, his voice rough with restraint. âYou were made for this.â
He began to move, slow and deliberate at first, each thrust calculated to make you feel every inch of him. His grip on your hips tightened as he picked up the pace, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing faintly in the hallway. The distant hum of the party felt like it was in another world entirely-this moment belonged only to the two of you.
âDo you feel that?â he growled, his voice thick with desire. âDo you feel how perfectly you take me?â
You couldnât speak, your words dissolving into broken moans as he drove into you harder, deeper, each thrust hitting a spot that made your vision blur. One of his hands slid around your waist, finding your clit with unerring precision. His fingers circled the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts, drawing you closer to the edge once again.
âThatâs it,â he urged, his tone softening into a dangerous kind of sweetness. âGive yourself to me. Surrender, darling.â
Your body obeyed, the coil of pleasure snapping as your second orgasm tore through you. You cried out his name, your walls clenching around him as he groaned in response, his pace growing erratic. With a few more punishing thrusts, Loki followed you over the edge, spilling himself inside you with a shuddering growl.
He stayed there for a moment, his chest pressed against your back, his breath warm against your ear as you both struggled to catch your breath. Slowly, he pulled out, his hands steadying you as your legs threatened to give way.
âOh pet, you're magnificent.,â he murmured, his lips grazing the nape of your neck in a way that sent one final shiver coursing through you. His tone was softer now, but the unmistakable smugness lingered, igniting both irritation and something darker within you. âYou've surpassed even my wildest expectations.â
You turned your head just enough to meet his gaze, catching the glint of satisfaction in his piercing blue eyes. He didnât bother to hide it-he looked like a man who had just won a prize heâd been chasing for ages. Loki smirked, his movements unhurried as he adjusted his trousers and smoothed the wrinkled fabric of your dress with surprising care, the gesture more mocking than tender.
âWe should return to the party,â he said, his voice light and teasing, as though nothing significant had just transpired between the two of you. Before you could respond, he reached into his jacket and withdrew a handkerchief, pressing it into your hand with a devilish grin. âYouâll be needing that. Canât have you making a mess all over the floor can we?â
You stared at the crisp square of fabric, your cheeks flushing anew as the implication settled over you. Lokiâs gaze lingered, heavy with amusement, as you adjusted your dress and tried in vain to steady your breathing. He leaned casually against the wall, utterly composed, as if he hadnât just unravelled you completely in the quiet shadows of the hallway.
âThis stays between us,â you said, your voice sharp as you jabbed a finger in his direction. Despite your stern tone, the slight tremble in your hand betrayed the lingering effect he had on you.
His grin only widened, maddening in its audacity. âNaturally, darling. Consider it our little Yuletide secret.â
You glared at him, determined to hold your ground, but the warmth of his gaze, still smouldering with an intensity that made your knees weak, threatened to undo you all over again. With a frustrated huff, you pushed past him, your steps hurried as you made your way back to the party.
The hum of festive music and the cheerful chatter of your teammates enveloped you like a shield, but it did little to banish the lingering heat in your body. You tried to lose yourself in the crowd, smoothing your hair and grabbing a drink to distract yourself. Yet, despite your best efforts, you couldnât resist a glance over your shoulder.
Loki was still there, leaning casually in the hallway entrance like a predator surveying its territory. His eyes found yours instantly, and the unreadable expression on his face sent a jolt of something you refused to name straight to your core. He raised his glass in a mock toast, his smirk returning, and then disappeared into the shadows, leaving you with a pounding heart and a sinking suspicion.
This wasnât over- not by a long shot.
#loki x reader#loki x female reader#loki smut#loki laufeyson#loki fanfiction#loki fanfic#loki oneshot#loki imagine#loki x reader smut#loki x you#loki x you smut#loki x yn#loki odinson#loki marvel#writing challenge#loki fluff and smut#loki fluff#navy and roo's sleepover#december daze#marvel smut#avengers smut
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"Gingerbread Houses" -HCs
Finals did not, in fact, kill me. Anyways, depending on how things go this may be my last real post of this year, so happy holidays and happy New Years if I don't see y'all til January ^^ --------------------------------------------------------
Heartslaybul
Riddle
He's never made a gingerbread house before OTL and his perfectionism will be his biggest pitfall. At least he's using Trey's cookies and icing so that it's not a matter of the quality of materials, but it's still something he's going to spend HOURS on, making sure every line is perfect and sharp. He's seen the sets before in stores, so he will pull up a reference photo on his phone to try and match the box as closely as possible. By the time he's finished, he's a mess. There is icing everywhere. He is ready to pass out. His hands hurt from piping. And he realizes too late he could have decorated the inside just for fun. He still enjoyed it, but he's going to aim for an easier design in coming years. He also only takes a few pieces of candy and a gingerbread man, before letting the first years eat it. (He got a picture before it was devoured though).
Trey
Oh he's so tired of baking. Are you kidding me. This time of year COULD be fun but he has finals on top of being resident big brother AND BAKER to a dorm just to go home and be Big Brother with his siblings. He's so tired. He will bake everything off for people after they submit what shapes they want/need for their creations and then while everyone is making their gingerbread creations he's going to his room and taking a fucking nap. Good for him. He'll munch on left overs if he feels like it, but he knows there's going to be mom and dad's baking at home so he'll just wait. Once he does go home though, it's a competition, half the family against the other half to make the largest, most impressive gingerbread creation. They may involve the community to vote on which one is better, and then they just let the elementary school kids in the area eat them both.
Cater
He buys one of the boxed ones just to put it together for the sake of social media. Makes it all cute and near perfect, it takes significantly less effort for him to do so than Riddle, mostly because he has some artistic background. He knows between that and Trey's baking, nobody is really going to want to eat it so he brings it to PMC for Lilia lmao. He already knows he's going to do the same thing again when he goes home, so his mom has something to post on social media.
Deuce
He's also never made a gingerbread house! His mom didn't have the means to buy all those ingredients or to buy a set she knew he wouldn't eat, so they always made stuff out of rice krispy treats. They're easier to mold into the shape you want anyways, especially when they're warm, so it prevented tantrums when he was younger too. He still does it, not just for traditions sake but because gingerbread just...isn't his favourite flavour.
Ace
Growing up, his mom was the only one really capable of cooking or baking, so when she passed (HC), his brother would just take him out to the dollarstore to buy a SHIT TON of different wafers and candies. They would make a candy wonderland of sorts before gorging themselves on their creations. Ace doesn't mind gingerbread all that much, but he likes how stable the wafers are in comparison when it comes to attaching them with icing. Sometimes he'll build a foundation with wafers and then attach the gingerbread to the wafers so it has something stable to lean against. It's really just an excuse to eat more candy. He also decorates the inside of his builds, usually using gummy bears as people. When he was a kid he used to bite off their heads and then scatter them around the build đ
The rest are under the cut!!
Savannaclaw Leona
Could not give a flying rat's ass about gingerbread creations. The closest he gets is Cheka spamming his texts with pictures of his creation. Leona ends up paying Ruggie to make one so that he can send one pic back and the rugrat will stop bothering him đ
Ruggie
They never really made anything like sculptures. Latino Ruggie is real in my heart, so Christmas time is when they would have saved up as much as they could to have a massive feast with the community. That being said, he can't exactly build with them but empanadas, you know the plantain ones with custard filling and a sugar coated outside??? Those ones? FUCK ton of those. Sometimes though, when Sam has leftovers in January of the kits, he'll take the kits back to the kiddos to enjoy.
Jack
Oh his family loooooves making gingerbread houses, the only rule is, no rectangles are allowed >:) (squares are technically a form of rectangle too) so every year his mom heads up the competition. Jack tries to help his younger siblings but he tends to break things by accident and they get mad at him lmao. He never makes a house himself, he just grazes on the candy, and eats his siblings houses after they've picked them clean of candy, leaving him with plenty of cookies to eat. His siblings also use a lot of coloured icing to decorate the "lawns" outside of their houses. (His mom always includes "ducks" on hers)
Octavinelle
Azul
Having been from under the sea, he hasn't made them before either, nor does he really want to. To me, he does not like the texture of icing. I think that would be gross to him. And why would he want to eat all that candy? He would rather go home and eat a dessert Nonna's whipped up, or even attempt to make cannoli's on his own. He may host a competition at the mostro lounge with a bring your own supplies event and whoever wins a competition gets free meal vouchers for a week.
Jade + Floyd
They also have not made gingerbread anything before, but wHEN they do. Jade meticulously puts his together, every detail, every drop of icing, everything is planned. He has a sketch he did in a planner next to him and he's GOING to replicate it. He's grumpy at Floyd because he's eating gingerbread over his shoulder and it's crumbling and falling onto his work space and into his shirt but if he acknowledges it he knows it's going to get worse. Floyd does not have the patience to put his together. He essentially makes it one giant cookie/poptart thing and layers candy on top. He does ask if he's allowed to break Jade's when he's done (they will brawl after when Jade says no and Azul has to rescue Jade's creation for the sake of keeping what little semblance of peace he has.)
Scarabia
Kalim
The concept is new to him but once he's introduced to it - he loves it. And not a surface is safe from flying icing. He wants icing in every single colour and all the candies from all over the world. He'll try dipping gingerbread in eggnog. These traditions aren't widely celebrated back home, so he's going to make the most of it while he's with friends! He ends up eating so much candy he throws up rainbows. Sorry.
Jamil
He has no interest. You thought Leona was disinterested? No, Jamil is. He'd rather be doing nearly anything else.
Pomefiore
Vil
When he was a kid, it was tradition for him and his dad to decorate lebkuchen together. He looks forward to it more than he'd care to admit, because it's the one constant date he knows both he and his dad work to ensure they have free. Neither of them are very GOOD at decorating, but it's more of an excuse to catch up with each other. The nostalgia also just generally helps Vil show a little more holiday spirit and loosen up a little bit.
Rook
:) He and his sister never really got those kinds of things, but they loved making paper snowflakes together.
Epel
He never had the patience for gingerbread houses when he was a kid, so his meemaw would only make gingerbread men for him while his parents built a house. He would squeeze icing bags so hard they popped, and layer on the subsequent icing in a thick, uneven swab to the point when he went to go eat it it made him sick. He loved it though. Nowadays he tries a lot harder to make them pretty just because he thinks it's a fun activity, like apple carving, where every little detail can make a huge difference on the overall composition. Meemaw's baking is peak, and not even Trey can beat it.
Ignihyde
Idia + Ortho
When they were kids, they loved the pomegranate smashing tradition their dad used to do. Their dad would also make kourabiedes - while not exactly ideal for building with, they were delicious. Instead of building things out of food, they would build a "karavaki" (wooden boat) out of scrap metal as a family instead and decorate it instead of a tree. It's been a long time since Mama and Papa Shroud have managed to convince Idia to celebrate...anything with them, but this year they started a new tradition with Ortho, with high hopes for years to come. This year, they designed and built a cat cafe gingerbread house, just for the fun of it, but there were still plenty of kourabiedes to go around. (Mama Shroud is NOT allowed in the kitchen but she would make little reindeer button cookies if she could. However, that is one field of chemistry she just can't seem to handle OTL)
Diasomnia
...uh
Diasomily
Because of Lilia's many travels, he picked up on different traditions and cultures over the years. As a result, every year (that they've all been together), they celebrate a different tradition from around the world. Yes they've made gingerbread houses before. Malleus has gargoyles on his. Lilia's is completely inedible. Silver has icing on half his face bc he passed out. Sebek essentially made a giant cookie-face of Malleus and got pissy when he ran out of black licorice to make his horns. They're so sillayyyy
------------- LMAO I lost the plot about half way through but we bring it back
anyways
@nemisisnemi @fluffle-writes @my-cursed-brain @distant-velleity @elenauaurs @lumdays @starry-night-rose @theleechyskrunkly
lmk if you want to be added/removed
happy holidays and please take a fat nap on my behalf at some point lmao
#v talks#twst#twisted wonderland#twst hcs#twst headcanons#riddle rosehearts#trey clover#cater diamond#deuce spade#ace trappola#leona kingscholar#ruggie bucchi#jack howl#azul ashengrotto#jade leech#floyd leech#kalim al asim#jamil viper#vil schoenheit#rook hunt#epel felmier#idia shroud#ortho shroud#malleus draconia#lilia vanrouge#twst silver#sebek zigvolt#the heartslaybul bias is kind of clear in this one boys sorry
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Not a bad Christmas (set in the "Not a bad day" universe)
Summary: Wednesday ended up as your "Secret Santa".
Theme: FLUFF!
Parings: Wednesday Addams & Female Reader Wordcount: 5.8k. Set in the "before dating" period
Warnings: JealousWednesday!!! Cringe Fluff?
(A/n: I know the next chapter was supposed to be in "after dating" period but I felt like it would be better in "before dating" period.)
âI am SO excited!â Enid declared, her voice loud enough to draw glances from neighboring tables. She didnât care. "You guys, you have no idea how long Iâve been waiting for this moment."
"For breakfast?" Yoko asked dryly, sipping her coffee.
"No, for this!"Enid gestured dramatically, nearly knocking over her juice. "The Christmas party! You all know Principal Weems put me in charge this year, right?"
"Youâve mentioned it," Bianca said with sarcasm. "Maybe only a hundred times."
Eugene adjusted his glasses, looking genuinely intrigued. "Whatâs the big deal about this year's Christmas party?"
"Eugene, itâs not just a big deal. Itâs the biggest deal!" Enid leaned in, her voice dropping as she whispered "I pitched an idea to Principal Weems that is going to make this the most amazing, unforgettable Christmas party ever!"
"Whatâs the idea?" Eugene asked,
"Iâm not telling!" Enid sing-songed. "Itâs a surprise! Weems might even announce it today."
âIf itâs not as groundbreaking as youâre hyping it up to be, weâre going to riot.â Bianca said dryly.
âI can handle the pressure!â Enid declared, âI was born for this. And besides, Christmas is my favorite holiday. Itâs sparkly and cheerful, and everyone gets to come together! Itâs the one time of year people have no excuse to be grumpy.â
Wednesdayâs dark gaze flicked to Enid, a sarcastic remark brewing on her tongue. However, she bit it back, opting instead for a slow sip of coffee. Grumpy? She could name a dozen reasons why grumpiness was not only justified but necessaryâespecially during a holiday that encouraged excessive sentimentality. She glanced sideways at you, seated just beside Enid, you looked intrigued. Great.
She didnât need her visions to predict that whatever Enid had in store would be an exercise in torture for her, and likely for everyone else. She hoped she would be able to ignore it, maybe stay locked in her room during Christmas but then, there was you... who just glanced back at her, giving a warm smile.
Wednesday quickly looked away, back at her food... oh wait she was done eating.
Why did you smile at her like that? Why did her heart just skip a beat? Why did her stomach twist into knots at your smile?
âWednesday!â Enidâs voice cutting through her reverie.
âWhat?â
âI said, arenât you so excited for the announcement?â Enid beamed at her, completely oblivious to Wednesdayâs growing annoyance.
âThrilled,â Wednesday deadpanned, âNothing brings me more joy than waiting for yet another banal attempt at forced merriment.â
Enid pouted. âCome on, donât be such a Grinch. This is going to be so fun! Right?â She nudged you with her elbow, seeking validation.
You chuckled softly, nodding. âItâll be fun, Enid. Iâm sure whatever youâve planned is going to blow everyone away.â
âSee? At least someone believes in- Oh, Weems is here!"
The din of student conversation gradually quieted as Weems stepped into the center of the quad, her presence commanding attention.
"Good morning, everyone," Weems began, her voice clear and authoritative. "As you all know, the holiday season is upon us. This year, we aim to celebrate with a bit more⊠normalcy, after last yearâs unfortunate events." Her eyes flicked briefly toward Wednesday, who met her gaze with a defiant smirk. Unfortunate? Maybe. Enjoyable? Yes.
Weems cleared her throat. "To that end, Iâm pleased to announce a new tradition for our Nevermore Christmas celebration: a Secret Santa gift exchange!"
The announcement was met with a collective groan from the students.
"Youâve got to be kidding me," Yoko muttered. "Ugh, I hate shopping for other people," Bianca complained
"What if we just⊠donât do it?" someone called out from another table.
Weemsâ smile tightened, her patience visibly waning. "Participation is mandatory. Each student will draw a name at random later today and will be expected to provide a thoughtful, appropriate gift."
"This is absurd," Wednesday declared, her tone icy. "Forcing us to partake in such a vacuous activity only reinforces the notion that conformity is more valued than individuality."
"Oh, come on, Wednesday," Enid said, her excitement undiminished. "Itâll be fun! You might get something you like."
"Doubtful," Wednesday retorted. "Unless my Secret Santa has access to poison or medieval torture devices or a collection of preserved organs or..."
Your giggle interrupted her, earning a sharp glance from Wednesday. "You know, itâs not that bad," you said, leaning slightly toward her. "Maybe youâll get something one of those things."
Wednesdayâs eyes narrowed. "Hightly unlikely"
Enid, meanwhile, was practically bouncing in her seat. "I canât wait to see who I get! This is going to be amazing!"
"Amazing for you," Bianca said dryly. "For the rest of us? Not so much."
Weems raised her hand for silence. "That will be all for now. The details of the exchange will be posted later today. I trust you all will approach this with the spirit of the season in mind." Wednesday wants to summon a sprit to haunt that excuse of a principal.
With that, Weems turned and strode away, leaving the quad to devolve once more into hushed complaints and reluctant acceptance. Enid turned to you, her eyes sparkling.
"This is going to be SO GREAT!" she said, grabbing your arm. "I already have, like, a million gift ideas. What about you? Are you excited?"
You smiled, glancing briefly at Wednesday, whose scowl had deepened even more as if that was even possible. "I think itâll be⊠interesting."
"Interesting?" Enid repeated. "Itâll be fantastic! Secret Santa could be a good bonding activity.â Enid said, her chipper tone grating against Wednesdayâs mood.
âIâd rather bond with a guillotine,â Wednesday muttered as the group started gathering their things for class. Enid, still beaming with unrelenting excitement about the Secret Santa announcement, latched onto Wednesdayâs arm, chattering nonstop about potential gift ideas and how this yearâs Christmas party would outshine any before it. Wednesday, for her part, thought about finding whoever this Santa Claus is and putting an end to him.
Entering the classroom, Wednesday took her usual seat and Enid plopped into the chair beside her. You were just a few seats ahead, settling into your spot. The seat next to you, tantalizingly emptyâŠ
Nate? Nick? or whatever his forgettable name was appeared in the doorway. His eyes scanned the room, landing on the empty seat beside you. He brightened instantly, taking a step forward as though he were about to claim it.
Then his gaze shifted to Wednesday.
Wednesdayâs expression remained perfectly neutral, except for the sharp, unmistakable intensity in her dark eyes. She didnât flinch, didnât speak. She simply stared at him.
The boy froze mid-step, his face paling. His eyes flicked to the faint burns on his hand, still healing from the âaccidentalâ cocoa incident at the ugly sweater party.
âOh, hell no,â he muttered under his breath, spinning on his heel and fast-walking to a corner seat as far away from Wednesday as possible.
The scene wouldâve pleased Wednesday had it not been for the way you glanced back at her, curious and faintly confused. She quickly diverted her gaze, feigning interest in the carved graffiti on her desk.
Moments later, Bianca came in. Her eyes immediately landed on the empty seat beside you. She started walking toward it, only to pause midway. Instead of sitting there, she veered toward Enid and tapped her on the shoulder.
âEnid,â Bianca said smoothly âmind switching seats with me?â
Enidâs face lit up. âOf course! You can sit here! I can sit next to Y/N!â She began gathering her things without hesitation, practically skipping to the seat beside you.
Bianca slid into Enidâs vacated spot,
âYou are not wanted here,â Wednesday said icily, her tone as sharp as a blade.
Bianca rolled her eyes. âRelax, Addams. Iâm not here for your sparkling personality. I just figured sitting here was safer.â
âSafer? Why would sitting beside "me" would be safer?â Wednesdayâs tone turned even colder.
Bianca smirked. âPlease, as if we havenât noticed how you practically plot murders in your head for anyone who gets too close to Y/N.â
Wednesdayâs spine straightened, her glare intensifying. âI have no idea what youâre talking about.â
âOh, spare me the denial,â Bianca said dismissively. âEnid is safe from your wrath because, well⊠sheâs Enid. But me? Letâs just say I care too much about my life to be a victim of your jealousy.â
âI am not jealous,â Wednesday hissed, her voice low but venomous.
âUh-huh.â Bianca gave her a knowing look before turning her attention to the front of the room, clearly enjoying herself.
Wednesdayâs hands clenched into fists beneath the desk, her dark eyes flitting back to you. You were laughing softly at something Enid had said, your smile so warm it could melt snow. Wednesday felt a strange mix of frustration and longing twist in her chest. How could someone like you affect her so profoundly without even trying?
âAlright, class,â the teacher finally announced, setting down her book with a flourish, âweâre ending a little early today because itâs time to find out who your Secret Santa recipient will be!â
âYes! Finally!â Enid exclaimed, bouncing in her seat like a hyperactive puppy.
Wednesdayâs gaze shifted to the front of the room, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. A new wave of dread crept into her mind. This was it, the moment sheâd been dreading since Weemsâs announcement.
âEach of you will receive a small box. Inside that box is the name of the person youâll be playing Secret Santa for." The teacher said, "Miss Sinclair, I believe you have the materials?â
âOh! Yes, one sec!â Enid practically bolted from her chair, nearly toppling it in her haste. She sped out of the room in a blur of rainbowsđđđ, leaving everyone staring after her.
Wednesday felt like it hadn't even been 5 secs before Enid burst back into the classroom with a large, overly festive box clutched in her arms.
âTa-da!â she declared, dropping the box onto the teacherâs desk with an audible thud.
Several students groaned at the display.
âWhy is it so⊠glittery?â The teacher asked.
âItâs Christmas!â Enid replied, as if that explained everything. She opened the larger box to reveal an assortment of tiny boxes, each neatly wrapped and tied with red ribbons. âPretty, right?â
Wednesday arched an eyebrow. âIf you mean âpretty excessive,â then yes.â
Enid ignored her, already grabbing a smaller box. âOkay, so Iâll start handing these out! Bianca, wanna help?â
Bianca sighed but stood anyway, muttering, âMight as well get this over with.â
The two of them began pulling out the tiny boxes, reading the names written on them, and distributing them around the room. Students grumbled their thanks, some reluctantly and others with mild curiosity as they turned the boxes over in their hands.
When Enid finally reached Wednesday, her excitement was still at an all-time high. âHere you go, Wends!â She thrust the small box toward her.
Though Enid had wrapped the box with black paper, Wednesday stared at the box as though it might explode. She took it with her usual reluctance, her fingers brushing against the ribbonâs texture.
With deliberate slowness, Wednesday pulled the ribbon loose, lifted the lid, and peered inside.
Hopefully, it would be someone she loathed. The possibilities were endless: a smug siren, an irritating vampire, or perhaps even that one werewolf who insisted on howling every full moon at midnight since she wolfed out. Yes, she could relish the challenge of giving them the worst, most spiteful gift imaginable.
But luck had a way of avoiding her at the worst times.
The name on the slip of paper felt like a slap in the face.
Curse you, Enid Sinclair.
Y/N L/N.
Her stomach dropped. Of all the names. Of all the cursed possibilities.
Wednesdayâs chest tightened. This was a disaster.
Being your Secret Santa meant sheâd have to think about you even more than she already did. Sheâd have to choose a gift, something meaningful, something that wouldnât betray the tangled mess of emotions she felt whenever you were near. She couldnât risk exposing herself, couldnât let you know how much you affected her.
And yet, a small, treacherous part of her was⊠excited. The thought of giving you something, of seeing your reaction, was almost enough to outweigh her dread. Almost.
Her jaw clenched. No. She couldnât let this ridiculous tradition get to her. Sheâd find the most generic, impersonal gift possible and be done with it. That was the only way to survive this.
But as she watched you lean back in your chair, your gaze flickering toward her with a curious smile, Wednesday felt her resolve waver.
This was going to be the longest Christmas of her life.
Enid practically hop-skipped down the hall as she clutched a small notebook filled with ideas for Eugeneâs Secret Santa gift to her chest. She was going to be the best Secret Santa ever. Â
"Maybe I can knit him a bee-themed scarf! Or get him a limited edition honey collectionâdo they even make those? Iâll make it happen!"
She pushed the door open to their shared dorm room, fully expecting to see Wednesday brooding on her typewriter or reading some obscure book about medieval torture methods. Instead, she froze mid-step.
"Wednesday⊠what the hell is this?"
Wednesday had her cursed investigation board back out, its surface covered in a chaotic mess of photos, red strings, and notes. At first glance, it looked like Wednesday was solving another gruesome murder in the woods.
Enidâs pulse quickened. "Oh no, no, no. What happened now? Did some monster claw its way out of the woods again?"
Wednesday didnât immediately respond. She was too engrossed in pinning another photo to the board, her expression dark with concentration. Enidâs eyes scanned the board, her heart pounding as she prepared for the worst. But then her gaze landed on the pictures.
Your pictures...
Not once, not twice, but in multiple photos. Some candid shots of you laughing in the quad, others from a class project presentation, even one blurry photo of you reading in the library. There were sticky notes around them, though the handwriting was too small for Enid to make out. She blinked, her mouth falling open.
âWednesday,â she began cautiously âwhat is this? What did Y/N do?â
Finally, Wednesday turned her head to look at Enid, her expression unreadable, clearly annoyed at the interruption. âY/N did nothing.â
âThen why... why is she all over your investigation board?! Are you trying to prove sheâs some kind of secret villain or something? Because Iâm telling you, Wednesday, Y/N is, like, the nicest person I know.â
Without a word, Wednesday plucked a folded slip of paper from her desk and shoved it into Enidâs hands. Enid unfolded it and read the name written in sharp, neat letters.
Y/N L/N.
The realization dawned on Enid almost instantly. Her lips parted, forming an "O" of understanding. "Ohhhhh," she said, drawing the sound out like a squeaky balloon. "Youâre her Secret Santa!"
"Astute observation," Wednesday deadpanned, crossing her arms.
Enidâs eyes darted back to the board, her previous panic replaced with intrigue. "So, is thisâ?"
"Yes," Wednesday interrupted with a sigh, "This is⊠research."
"Research?" Enid echoed, "Wednesday, this is borderline stalking. You donât need an entire murder board to pick out a gift!"
Wednesdayâs jaw tightened, but she didnât respond. Her gaze flicked back to the board.
Enidâs eyes scanned the chaotic collage again, only to land on a picture of another student, a girl... Darcy? Enid remembers. Unlike the others, this photo had a bright red circle drawn around it.
"Uh, Wednesday?" Enid said cautiously, pointing at the circled picture. "Why is Darcy on here?"
Wednesdayâs response was immediate and emotionless. "That girl is Y/Nâs nemesis. I thought perhaps eliminating her would be an appropriate gift."
Enid gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "Nemesis? What the hell are you talking about?!"
"Darcy spilled coffee on Y/n." Wednesday said flatly.
âSpilled Coffee??!!â Enid repeated, her voice rising in disbelief. âDarcy spilled coffee on Y/N six months ago. By accident! And she apologized, like, a hundred times.â
âSame thing,â Wednesday said, her tone indifferent.
"Alright alright. Lets take it down a bit. Have you tried thinking about something normal? Maybe a book." Enid asked shrugging.
Wednesday glared at Enid. âA book? How unimaginative. I refuse to insult her intelligence with something so pedestrian.â
âWell, excuse me for trying to help,â Enid shot back. "How about you tell me the list of what you have considered."
âA taxidermy specimen,â Wednesday offered.
âDial it back.â
âAn antique dagger that captures the souls of its victim.â
âNo, that's... wait... does that actually exist?â
âA preserved tarantula.â
âWednesday!â Enid groaned, throwing her head back. âYou canât give her something creepy! Youâll scare her off!â
Wednesdayâs expression darkened, and she muttered under her breath, âItâs better than being dull.â
âLook,â Enid said, stepping closer and placing a hand on Wednesdayâs shoulder. âI get it, okay? You like her. Like, really like her. And thatâs scary and new to you, I get it. But youâre making this way harder than it needs to be. Just think about what would make her smile. Thatâs all that matters.â
Wednesdayâs gaze softened, her usual sharp retort dying on her lips. She glanced at the board one more time, her mind swirling with uncertainty. âWhat if⊠I choose wrong?â
Enid smiled gently. âYou wonât. You know her better than you think.â
Wednesday didnât argue. But as she looked back at the pictures of you... and that smile. Maybe the answer really was simple.
And so, she found herself standing at the edge of the quad.  her dark eyes surveying the chaos.
She held the small box in her hand, its contents weighing far more heavily on her mind than its actual physical mass. The box was simple plain black, tied with a thin crimson ribbon.
This was idiotic. Completely, utterly idiotic.
Ridiculous, she thought, glancing down at the gift. Why should this be any different from any other calculated gesture?
But it was different. You made it different.
She inhaled deeply, the cold air filling her lungs before she began her measured descent into the quad. Her steps were deliberate, slow.
Around her, students chatted and mingled and she felt their eyes occasionally drift toward her, as they always did, but tonight, she barely noticed. Her focus was elsewhere.
You.
Wednesday spotted you almost instantly. You were seated at one of the circular tables near the center of the quad, surrounded by her circle of idiots. Each of them had their gifts piled near their chairs, wrapped in colorful paper that made Wednesday inwardly puke. There was something almost unsettling about seeing you like this.
Enid whispered something to you and you smiled but, that smile didn't quite reach your eyes. Your usual brightness was dimmed tonight, replaced with an air of... nervousness? Contemplation? Whatever it was, it made her chest tighten in a way she didnât entirely understand.
As she neared the table, Enid was the first to notice her. The werewolfâs face lit up like a Christmas tree. âWednesday! You made it!â Enidâs voice rang out, drawing the attention of the entire table.
Your eyes met hers, and for a fleeting moment, the noise around her faded. The nervousness in your expression softened slightly, replaced by something gentler. You offered a small, shy smile that sent an unfamiliar warmth spreading through Wednesdayâs chest. She quickly averted her gaze, clearing her throat as she reached the table.
"Of course, she made it," Bianca drawled, leaning back in her chair with a smirk. "Our personal Christmas Grinch wouldnât miss the chance to haunt us while we are trying to have some fun."
Wednesdayâs gaze snapped to Bianca, her dark eyes narrowing. "If I wanted to haunt you, Bianca, Iâd do it with far more creativity than attending this⊠overdecorated spectacle."
"Overdecorated spectacle? Some of us put effort into this, you know." Enid pouted "Well at least you came, so come on, have a seat!" Enid said brightening up again as she patted the empty seat beside her.
Reluctantly, Wednesday slid into the offered seat, her posture as stiff as ever. She placed the box on her lap, keeping it hidden from view, her fingers resting on the ribbon as if to reassure herself it was still there.
"Hot cocoa?" Eugene offered, holding out a steaming mug.
"No," Wednesday replied flatly, her eyes darting briefly to you. She doesn't need to burn anyone. For now.
You glanced up then, your gaze meeting hers for a fleeting moment before you quickly looked away, a faint blush dusting your cheeks. Wednesdayâs stomach twisted at the sight, though she couldnât pinpoint why.
You reached for your drink and for a moment, you seemed lost in thought again. Your brow furrowed ever so slightly, and your gaze drifted to the flickering lights above. Wednesday's eyes narrowed as she observed you, her mind racing to decode the emotions playing across your face.
Were you nervous? Sad? Or perhaps simply tired of the holiday cheer? Was it the Secret Santa event? Did you draw someone you werenât fond of?
Who had you drawn? And what had you chosen for them? The thought unsettled her more than it should have. A fleeting image of you selecting a thoughtful gift for someone else sent a sharp pang of irritation through her. You, holding a gift, your face bright with anticipation as you presented it to some undeserving fool.
Perhaps that girl youâd partnered with in herbology last week or the one who lingered too long near your station, or the one who asked you on a dance in the ugly sweater party... maybe she would need to burn someone after all.
Before she could spiral further into her thoughts she felt the chatter quiet almost instantly and Wednesday didn't bother looking at the stage.
âGood evening, everyone,â Weems began, her voice carrying effortlessly over the crowd. âIâm delighted to see so many of you here tonight, embracing the spirit of the seasonâ
Wednesday suppressed a groan, straightening in her chair but not bothering to feign interest.
Weems continued, her smile widening as she surveyed the gathering. âThis year has been relatively⊠uneventful.â She hesitated just a fraction of a second, her gaze lingering momentarily on Wednesday before moving on. âFor which I am profoundly grateful.â
That earned a few chuckles from the crowd, and Wednesdayâs lips twitched in faint irritation. Uneventful? That was certainly one way to describe it. From monsters lurking in the woods and unraveling a centuries-old conspiracy to.... brooding. Yeah.. that's what Wednesday found herself doing last year... Was Bianca right about her brooding all the time? Â
She shouldâve hated this year, every day of it. It was, by all accounts, actually uneventful. The monotony alone shouldâve driven her mad.
But it hadnât.
And she knew exactly why.
Her gaze flicked back to you, almost involuntarily. You were still seated, your hands now wrapped around your cup as you leaned closer to Enid, nodding along to whatever trivial nonsense she was whispering in your ear. You didnât look extraordinary, not in the conventional sense. Your sweater was unassuming. And yet, to Wednesday, you radiated something inexplicably magnetic.
It was because of you.
Wednesdayâs fingers tightened around the ribbon of the box in her lap, her thoughts momentarily scattered. She should have hated this year, loathed it for its lack of intellectual stimulation and excitement. But no matter how much she tried, that hatred never came.
Because of you.
She sighed, a sound barely audible even to herself, and returned her attention to Weems, who was still mid-speech. âThis year has proved what Nevermore can be,â Weems declared, her tone resolute. âA place of growth and of potential. As we stand on the brink of a new year, let us carry forward the bonds weâve strengthened here tonight.â Weemsâ gaze swept over the gathered students, lingering briefly on Wednesday, as if daring her to contradict the sentiment. Wednesday met her gaze with a neutral expression, unwilling to give the principal the satisfaction of any visible reaction.
âAnd so,â Weems concluded, her voice warm yet authoritative, âlet us feast, celebrate, and look forward to the possibilities that lie ahead. Happy holidays, my dear students.â A polite smattering of applause followed, and Weems stepped back, gesturing toward the long tables laden with food at the edge of the quad. The students began to stir, rising from their seats and drifting toward the table.
From her seat, Wednesday found herself observing Enid tearing into her food, a sight both grotesque and vaguely amusing.
âEnid, youâre one drumstick away from wolfing out right here.â Bianca quipped from across the table.
Enid shot Bianca a pointed look, her cheeks already puffed out like a chipmunkâs from the food she was furiously chewing. Swallowing with a dramatic gulp, she said, âHey! Itâs not my fault everything tastes so good! And for your information, I was busy all day! You think this whole event planned itself?â
Wednesday barely registered the conversation, her dark eyes fixed on her untouched plate. The food, no matter how well-prepared or fragrant, was irrelevant to her. Her mind churned with far more pressing matters.
The gift.
The prospect of giving you the gift in front of everyone at the table was a particular source of dread. She was not one for public displays, especially when it came to something as vulnerable as this. What if they mocked her choice? Worse, what if you did?
Wednesdayâs fingers tightened around the box, her knuckles whitening. She refused to entertain that thought any longer. No. You wouldnât mock her. You werenât like the others.
You were kind... loving and you weren't... at the table?
Her heart skipped a beat as she scanned the immediate area. You were nowhere in sight. The seat you had occupied moments ago was empty, your plate still half-full. Wednesdayâs brow furrowed, a sliver of unease creeping in.
Where had you gone? She hadnât seen you leave. Had she been so lost in her own head that she missed it?
And then she saw itâa small piece of paper resting just beside her plate. Her brows furrowed as she reached for it, unfolding it with deliberate care. The handwriting was unmistakable.
Meet me near the fountain.
A smirk tugged at the corner of Wednesdayâs lips, unbidden but not unwelcome. Of course, it was you. Who else would have the audacity to summon her like this?
She folded the note carefully and tucked it into her pocket before rising to her feet.
Enid paused mid-bite âWhere are you going? You barely touched your food!â
Wednesday didn't bother answering as she made her way through the crowd. Each step felt deliberate, measured. Her grip tightened around the small box in her hand as she approached the pathway leading to the fountain, her mind already racing.
What would she say when she saw you? Would she hand over the gift without a word, letting the gesture speak for itself? Or would she attempt something more... personal? Words werenât her forte, especially not when it came to feelings. And yet, with you, words seemed both inadequate and entirely necessary.
And there you were.
Sitting on the bench, your back straight but your posture relaxed, you stared ahead at the frozen fountain.
For the briefest moment, Wednesday froze. Her mind, usually a whirl of calculated plans and sharp observations, was disturbingly blank. You looked so...you.
Finally, she took a breath, steady and controlled, and stepped forward.
You must have heard her approach because you turned your head just as she reached the bench.
Your eyes found hers.
That smile, the same smile. that had marked its place in... her unnecessary blood-pumping machine they called "heart". There was something different about it this time, though. It wasnât the shy or nervous smile from earlier. It was warm, inviting, and... knowing. As if you had been waiting for her all along.
You patted the empty space beside you. âSit.â
Wednesday hesitated for only a second before lowering herself onto the bench. She glanced at you from the corner of her eye, noting the way you rested your hands in your lap, your fingers brushing against one another absentmindedly. You were close, closer than she realized, and the proximity was enough to make her hyperaware of her every movement.
How does one start something like this? She had rehearsed no fewer than twenty scenarios in her mind, yet now, sitting here beside you, they all felt insufficient.
âDo you believe in fate, Wednesday?â
The question caught her off guard. She turned her head to look at you fully, her brow furrowing as she considered your words.
âFate?â she repeated, her tone skeptical. âThe idea that our lives are predetermined by some cosmic force?â
You nodded, your gaze unwavering.
âFate,â she repeated, her tone contemplative. âA concept often romanticized but rarely substantiated. It implies predestination, a lack of autonomy, which I find⊠unsatisfactory.â
You chuckled softly, the sound light and modest, yet it sent a ripple through her. âThatâs a very Wednesday answer,â.
âAnd what would your answer be?â she countered, her gaze steady on you.
âI think,â you began, your eyes returning to the fountain, âthat fate isnât about things being preordained. Itâs about moments, little choices that lead us to places we never expected to be. Like⊠sitting here, tonight, with you.â
Her chest tightened, the weight of your words pressing against her usual walls of detachment. You had a way of saying things that left no room for deflection, no safe harbor for her to retreat to.
âPerhaps,â she said after a pause, her voice quieter, âfate is less about inevitability and more about⊠alignment. An intersection of paths.â
You tilted your head, considering her words, and then smiled. âI like that.â
The silence returned, but this time, it felt warmer, less daunting. You shifted slightly, your shoulder brushing against hers, a small, fleeting touch that sent a spark of something unfamiliar coursing through her.
âThereâs something I need to give you,â she said finally, her voice steady but softer than usual.
You turned to her, curiosity flickering in your eyes. âOh?â
She held the box out toward you, her movements precise but tinged with an underlying hesitation.
"You are my secret santa?" Your lips quirked into a teasing smile as you accepted the box. âI hope itâs not a tarantula,â you joked.
âItâs not,â she replied flatly.
You untied the ribbon carefully, your fingers deliberate as you removed the lid. Inside was a glass globe, delicate and intricately crafted. In the center stood two shadowy figures, featureless yet unmistakably human, lost in their own world, but at peace.
Your fingers hovered over the small button at the base of the globe. With a curious glance at Wednesday, you pressed it.
The soft melody of the piano that played was instantly recognizable. Your eyes widened, and you turned to her.
Your breath hitched as you glanced at her. âWednesday, is this...?â
âThe ugly sweater party night,â she finished for you, her eyes flicked back to the globe, unable to meet yours. âA memory. One I thought you should have, too.â
Your smile was radiant, and for the first time, she felt as though she had done something right, truly right.
And then you snapped your fingers.
A small, glowing purple portal materialized in the air, swirling and pulsating with quiet energy. You reached into it, your movements unhurried, and pulled out a rectangular box wrapped in deep blood-red paper. The portal vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, leaving no trace behind.
So, you could conjure portals. That explained how youâd managed to place the note near her earlier without her noticing, a feat she had, until this moment, deemed improbable. You possessed a skill that defied logic and simplicity, and though she hated to admit it, she was impressed.
You held the box out toward her, âI am your Secret Santa too, Wednesday,â you said, your voice light, a trace of mischief dancing on your lips. âTalk about fate, huh?â
Wednesday tilted her head ever so slightly, her dark eyes flicking between you and the box now resting in your lap. "I am skeptical of calling it fate. A calculated scheme seems more acceptable.â  ENID.
Slowly, she reached out and took the box, its weight heavier than she anticipated. You watched her with quiet anticipation, she tore away the paper, revealing a wooden case beneath. Her brow furrowed slightly as she opened the case, her breath catching the moment her eyes fell upon the contents.
Inside was a dagger, encased in glass, its blade gleaming even in the dim light of the fountain. But this wasnât just any dagger.
The hilt was ornate, at its base, a ruby-red gemstone sat nestled within the design, pulsing faintly as though alive. The blade itself was thin, wickedly sharp, and etched with complicated patterns A faint inscription ran along its length in a language she recognized as Hungarian.
Her eyes widened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, a genuine, real smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. She recognized this blade instantly.
âElizabeth BĂĄthoryâs dagger,â she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. The infamous serial killer of the 1600s, known for her brutal methods and rumored vampiric tendencies, had wielded this blade. Legends spoke of its dark history, of how it was used to drain the blood of her victims.
âHow did you get this?â she asked, her voice low, almost adoring.
You shrugged lightly. âI have my ways.â
Wednesdayâs gaze returned to the dagger, her fingers brushing against the glass casing as if to confirm its reality. Her mind raced with the implications of the gift, not just its historical significance, but what it meant coming from you.
You had given her something she cherished, not for its material value, but for what it represented.
You saw her. Not the façade she presented to the world, but the depths of her being, the parts most people recoiled from or misunderstood.
You didnât shy away from the darkness that fascinated her; instead, you embraced it, honored it even, cared for it... cared for her...
The weight of that realization settled over her, mingling with an unfamiliar warmth that she didnât know how to name.
She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didnât notice you leaning closer until your head rested gently on her shoulder.
She froze.
Her gaze flicked to you briefly. You were gazing down at the globe in your lap, the soft melody still playing. Her eyes returned to the dagger. She allowed herself a small, almost imperceptible sigh, her gaze fixed on the ruby gemstone embedded in the daggerâs hilt.
Not a bad Christmas. Not bad at all.
Wanted to post this in Christmas night... but finished early. Comment how you guys liked it!
Also comment what you would've given Wednesday as her secret santa.
->WORKLIST<-
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SPLASH â JAKE
SUMMARY â° You donât know how you ended up at this frat party, let alone in the final round of a beer pong tournament against Jake, the chapter president. But here you are, victorious and way too drunk. When Jake takes you back to his room, expecting a typical frat boy, you find someone unexpectedly sweetâand heâs just as surprised by how much he enjoys your company. A night of surprising connections unfolds, and youâre both left wonderingâŠhave you met the love of your life?
GENRE â° Fratboy!Jake x Reader, FLUFF.
WARNINGS â° Mild Langauge, Mentions of alcohol and drugs.
College is a fascinating place. One moment, you're crying hysterically over your seemingly inhumane professors, the suspect cafeteria food, and whatever situationship you find yourself in this month. But then the weekend arrives, wrapping you in its warm embraceâoften with a comforting bottle of vodka in hand to help you forget your troubles.
Suddenly, all is well in your world again. The air is fresher, and life is worth living again. Tonight is no different, except you're not in your bed shamelessly downing Titoâs with your girls; instead, you're at a fucking frat party of all places, and to put the icing on the cake, you're their newly crowned beer pong champion.
You're currently perched high on two boys shoulders. You're way too intoxicated to correctly guess their names, but you're pretty sure one is named Heeseung, and the other is named Niki.
The chants of your name echoed through the crowded frat house, the cheers growing louder as you revel in your unexpected beer pong victory. The night had taken a surprising turn, shifting you from a stressed-out college student to the reigning beer pong queen.
How did you, of all people, end up here, Y/N? Your friends would ask if they werenât currently drunkenly making out with random people at this party. Itâs really all their fault. Youâve always been comfortable with your tradition of hitting the liquor store every Friday after class, finding something good to eat, taking shots all night, and waking up to do it all over again on Saturday.
You flash back to earlier that evening, your friends practically begging you to come to this party. "Come on, Y/N! It'll be fun!" they had pleaded. "So many hot guys will be there. You can't miss it!" You had rolled your eyes, but their excitement was infectious. They had promised it would be the best night of the semester, and you finally caved, agreeing to go despite your reservations. Little did you know just how unexpected this night would become.
The frat house is a hazy blur, filled with smoke from blunts being passed around. The bass from the loud music vibrates through the floor, and the smell of spilled beer mixes with the scent of sweat and cheap cologne. Bodies are packed together, dancing and shouting, with red solo cups in hand. The dim lighting casts a soft glow over the chaos, and the atmosphere is a mix of wild energy and drunken laughter.
Amidst the sea of faces, the chanting intensified as you locked eyes with Jake, the chapter president, making his way through the crowd. He wore a sly grin, seemingly intrigued by the unexpected turn of events. You couldn't help but feel a surge of adrenaline as the crowd's energy shifted to this final showdown.
Jakeâs reputation preceded him â the charismatic chapter president with a magnetic aura. But, truth be told, you didn't know much about him beyond that. The college grapevine buzzed with tales of his leadership, the fraternity's wild parties, and his supposed unbeatable streak in beer pong.
Yet, as he approached, you couldn't help but notice more than just his frat boy charm. The room seemed to slow down around him, the haze of smoke and loud music fading into the background. His easy smile drew you in, and the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed was disarming, to say the least. His confident stride and relaxed demeanor made him stand out, and you feel an unexpected flutter in your chest. As he gets closer, you can see the warmth in his gaze, a hint of curiosity and amusement sparkling in his eyes.
âI would say hi to you properly, but Iâm still up here,â you say shyly, feeling a flush of embarrassment and amusement.
Jake grins and turns to the guys. âBoys, let her down.â
Niki and Heeseung pretend to drop you, catching you just in time before you hit the ground. The room erupts in laughter, and you canât help but join in, realizing with a sudden jolt that youâre thoroughly, drunkenly enjoying the moment.
Jake steps closer, his eyes twinkling with mischief. âSo, Y/N, you dodging the smoke or just trying to stay on your feet?â
You blink, trying to focus on him as you laugh again, the room spinning just slightly. âI think it might be a bit of both,â you admit, your voice a bit wobbly. âBut mama didnât raise a punk. Letâs goâ
âTurnt up, huh?â He chuckles.
âWell I came this far, didnât I?â You slur. You donât notice, but Jake silently eyes the boys behind you, warning them to look for signs of you tapping out and they nod in agreement.
âItâs a shame really,â he paces back and forth, ball in hand. âIâm typically a gentleman, but when it comes to my champion title, I wonât play nice.â He teases cunningly.
The match begins, and a spark ignites between you and Jake. The banter between shots are filled with laughter, teasing, and unexpected chemistry. The crowd, initially cheering for the underdog, are now witnessing a battle of wit and skill. It isnât just about the game anymore; it is about the connection forged over a ping pong ball and a red Solo cup.
The final ball hovers over the table, and time seems to slow. With a triumphant toss, you sink the shot, sealing your victory. The cheers erupt once again, and you are engulfed in a sea of jubilant partygoers. Jake, a good sport, grins proudly.
Once again, youâre on someoneâs shoulders. Youâre trying so hard to keep your composure and sober up, and you think youâre doing a great job masking, but Jakeâs eyes havenât left you and he knows youâve had way too much to drink.
âDude, youâre definitely taking shots for that.â His brother, Jay, taunts grabbing a nearby bottle of Hennessy from the table coated with all types of liquor. âHello? Earth to Jake?â He begins snapping in his friends face, but Jake is seemingly enchanted by you. Not seemingly, really. For certain.
âI will.â Jake utters to his friend, patting him on the shoulder before being pushed towards you like a tide. âSheâs just really drunk. I can tell. Let me make sure sheâs okay first.â
âWhen have you ever cared aboutââ Jay attempts to argue, but Jake is gone. âTalk laterâŠI guess.â He laughs.
You look up at him, a mix of curiosity and relief in your eyes to see him approaching you.
Jake reaches his hands out to help you off his younger members shoulder. His hands feelâŠnice intertwined with your own, but you donât get to enjoy the moment long because he lets go as soon as your feet touch the floor.
âI realized I never asked your name.â He says with sympathy.
You drunkenly lean into his ear, barely being able to stand on your two feet standing still. âY/N.â You giggle.
Your laugh is infectious, or maybe heâs drunk as well. All he knows is that he wants to keep saying things to make you laugh if it was going to sound as cute as that.
âWell, Y/N, Iâm Jake. You donât have to, but I was going to offer you my room because I think youâre a little drunker than you anticipated.
The room is still spinning slightly, but his offer feels like a welcome escape from the chaos. You nod, and he helps guide you through the crowd, leading you to a quieter corner where you can both catch your breath and enjoy a more intimate moment away from the partyâs frenzy.
You know if your friends could see you right now theyâd yank you away, condemning you for running off with a strangerâa frat boy at that who were notorious for being completely weirdos. But they werenât here right now and the thought of being away from all the haze and loud music was something youâd do anything for right now.
âIs this a bad idea?â You question aloud, slapping your hand over your mouth as soon as you say it. In the midst, you also trip and fall.
Jake drops to his knees beside you, his hands trying to pick you up the best he can in his equally drunken state. âOh shit, are you okay Y/N?â
Your low eyes lift to meet his own, a child-like grin resting on your features. âYou remembered my name.â You utter in adoration, like it was special that a man who found out your name only five minutes ago remembered it. âYou have such a greattttt memory. You probably have great grades.â
Jakeâs cheeks resemble tomatoes at this point, and he doesnât know if itâs the liquor, how hot he is, or some weird spell youâve put on him. âYou have a pretty name. I probably wonât ever forget it.â A soft giggle erupts out of him. When had he ever been this cheesy?
From your drunken point of view, it feels like the journey to his room was of normal stature. In reality, the both of you slugged up the stairsâJake leaning against the wall in a sad attempt to be the responsible one in this moment, and you crawling up the steps like a newborn.
Jake finally nudges the door to his room open, his shoulder braced against the frame as you stumble in behind him. The moment you step inside, the chaos of the frat party fades away, replaced by an unexpected coziness.
You glance around, blinking slowly as your eyes adjust to the softer lighting. His room is nothing like you imagined for a frat boy. A neatly made bed with a dark blue comforter rests against one wall, flanked by two mismatched nightstands. A few scattered books sit on one, and a lamp with a warm glow illuminates the other. Posters of indie bands and vintage movie covers are pinned to the walls, and there's even a small shelf with neatly organized vinyl records.
âWowâŠâ you mumble, swaying slightly as you take it all in. âYouâre not like other frat boys, are you?â
Jake lets out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. âI mean, I donât know what you were expecting. A pile of dirty laundry and some gym equipment?â
You nod seriously, pointing at him as if to say exactly that.
âWell, sorry to disappoint,â he says, moving quickly to steady you as you trip over the edge of his rug. His hands are warm on your arms, and for a second, the air between you feels heavier. But then he gently leads you toward the bed.
âHere, you can have this,â he offers, gesturing to his bed. âIâll sleep on the couch.â
You shake your head, though your movements are sluggish. âNo way. Itâs your bed. Youâre being too nice already.â
Jake smiles at you, his expression softening. âY/N, youâre too drunk to argue with me right now. Just sit down before you fall again, okay?â
Reluctantly, you plop onto the edge of the bed, your hands smoothing over the comforter. âFine. But Iâm still going to feel bad about it.â
He grabs a spare blanket from the small closet and tosses it onto the couch across the room. âDonât. I promise Iâve crashed on worse.â
Jake pulls up the chair from his desk and sits on it backward, his arms draped over the top of the backrest as he looks at you. His gaze is steady, almost too steady, like heâs trying to figure out whatâs going on inside your head.
âYouâre really trying, huh?â he says, tilting his head as you focus hardâway too hardâon unscrewing the cap of the water bottle he handed you earlier.
âTrying what?â you ask, but your voice is sluggish, your words drawn out like taffy.
âTo sober up,â he replies, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. âBut itâs not working, is it?â
You huff, finally managing to twist the cap off and taking a big gulp. The cool water is refreshing, but it does nothing to stop the dizziness swirling in your head. âI donât think it is,â you admit, your shoulders slumping. âAnd I hate it. Iâm not usually thisâŠmessy.â
Jake leans forward, his forearms resting on the chairâs back. His dark eyes soften as he watches you, and thereâs no judgment there, only something you canât quite name. âYouâre not messy,â he says simply. âYouâre just human.â
The way he says it, like itâs the most obvious thing in the world, makes your chest feel warm. You shift on the bed, sitting cross-legged now, and point a finger at him. âOkay, Mr. Human Expert. What about you? You seem way too composed for someone who just had to drag me up a staircase.â
Jake chuckles, running a hand through his hair. âIâm just good at keeping it together. Doesnât mean I always feel that way.â
You squint at him, curiosity getting the better of you. âYouâre mysterious, you know that? Like, in the brooding, leading-man kind of way.â
He snorts, clearly amused. âBrooding, huh? Thatâs a first.â
âI mean it,â you say, leaning forward a little too eagerly and almost toppling over. Jake reaches out instinctively to steady you, his hand brushing your arm, and it sends a small jolt through you. âSee? Even the way you look at people. Itâs likeâŠyou see right through them.â
For a moment, Jake doesnât say anything. His hand lingers before he pulls back, retreating to his spot on the chair. Then he reaches over to his desk and grabs a small, red box.
âWhatâs that?â you ask, your eyes narrowing as he holds it up.
âWeâre Not Really Strangers,â he says, flipping the box open and pulling out a stack of cards. âItâs a game. Kind of. You ask each other questions. Get to know someone.â
âDeep questions?â you ask, suddenly intrigued despite the haze in your brain.
âVery deep,â Jake says with a smirk, shuffling the cards like heâs done this before.
You shift on the bed, hugging your knees to your chest. âIâm in. But no crying questions, okay? Iâm already emotionally unstable.â
Jake laughs quietly. âNo promises. But Iâll go first.â He pulls a card from the deck and reads it out loud. âWhatâs the first thing you noticed about me?â
You blink at him, the question catching you off guard. âThatâs easy. Your eyes,â you say without hesitation. âTheyâre so intense. Like youâre always thinking about something serious.â
Jake tilts his head, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. âHuh. Most people say the height or the hair. Your turn.â
You take the deck from him, fumbling slightly, and draw a card. âIf you could have one superpower, what would it be?â
He leans back, his expression contemplative. âProbably the ability to read minds,â he says after a moment.
You gasp, pointing at him again. âThatâs so Scorpio of you!â
Jake looks genuinely confused, his eyebrows furrowing. âWhat does that even mean?â
âIt means,â you say, drawing the word out dramatically, âyouâre the kind of person who needs to know whatâs going on under the surface. You hate not understanding people.â
Jake shakes his head, but heâs smiling. âAlright, astrologer. What about you? What superpower would you want?â
âTeleportation,â you say instantly. âImagine how easy life would be. No traffic, no waiting in lines, no awkward goodbyes.â
Jake chuckles. âThat tracks. You seem like the type who doesnât like sitting still.â
You grin, feeling oddly proud of the observation. âYour turn.â
He draws another card, his expression turning slightly more serious. âWhatâs something youâve never told anyone?â
The room feels quieter suddenly, the question hanging in the air between you. You bite your lip, glancing at him. âThatâs heavy.â
Jake shrugs, but his gaze never wavers. âIt doesnât have to be. Just something.â
You think for a moment, your head resting on your knees. âIâve never told anyone thatâŠsometimes I feel like I have to be the fun one. Like, if Iâm not, people wonât want me around.â
Jakeâs face softens, and he leans forward, his voice low and steady. âThatâs not true, Y/N. People want you around because youâre you.â
Your cheeks flush, and for once, you donât argue. âYour turn,â you say quickly, handing him the deck before you can get too caught up in the way heâs looking at you.
Jake takes a card, glancing at it before meeting your eyes. âWhatâs something youâre afraid of?â
His tone is light, but his gaze holds you in place, and for a moment, you think he might already know your answer.
Jake studies you with quiet intensity, the kind that makes your heart beat faster despite the fact that youâre sitting still. Itâs unnerving, the way heâs so present, like thereâs nowhere else heâd rather be.
You laugh nervously, breaking the silence. âYouâre really good at this whole âdeep questionsâ thing, huh?â
He shrugs, his lips curving into a small smile. âI just think itâs better than small talk. You can learn a lot about someone in five minutes if you ask the right questions.â
âAnd what have you learned about me so far?â you challenge, your voice teasing, though your hands fidget with the hem of your shirt.
Jake leans back slightly, resting his chin on his hand as if heâs giving your question serious thought. âYouâre honest, even when it makes you vulnerable. You notice the little thingsâlike someoneâs eyesâand that says a lot about how you see the world.â
Your breath catches in your throat. For a guy you just met, Jakeâs words feel heavy, like theyâre meant to be remembered.
âAnd youâre really bad at accepting compliments,â he adds, smirking when you roll your eyes.
âOkay, Mr. Mind Reader,â you say, grabbing the deck of cards. âMy turn.â
You draw a card and squint at the text, the letters swimming slightly in your still-tipsy vision. âWhatâs the last thing you lied about?â
Jake doesnât answer right away. Instead, he looks down at the floor, running a hand through his hair. âThat I didnât mind helping my roommates clean up after their last party,â he says finally, his tone light.
You narrow your eyes at him, sensing thereâs more he isnât saying. âLame answer. I bet youâve got something better.â
Jake laughs softly, shaking his head. âAlright, alright. You want the truth?â
You nod, leaning forward slightly, your curiosity piqued.
âI lied when I said I wasnât nervous about meeting new people tonight,â he admits, his voice quieter now. âI usually stick to my circle. But then I saw you, andâŠit didnât feel as hard.â
Your heart stumbles over itself. âMe?â
âYeah, you.â His eyes meet yours, and the air between you shifts, charged with something you canât quite name. âYou walked into that party like you belonged there, like you werenât afraid of anything. It made me want to stick around.â
You stare at him, the warmth in his gaze so sincere it feels like it might burn you if you look too long. âWell,â you say, your voice unsteady, âyou made it look easy.â
He smiles, but thereâs a hint of something deeper behind it, something you want to unravel. âYour turn,â he says, nodding at the cards still clutched in your hands.
You draw another one, your fingers trembling slightly. âWhatâs something you want people to know about you, but youâre afraid to tell them?â
Jake leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and the movement pulls you closer, like gravity. âThat I donât have it all figured out,â he says after a moment. âPeople assume I do, because I stay calm or donât say much. But most of the time, Iâm just as unsure as everyone else.â
The honesty in his words settles over you, heavy but comforting. You wonder how someone can feel like a stranger and a friend all at once.
âYou seem pretty sure of yourself to me,â you say softly, watching the way his lips twitch into a faint smile.
âMaybe Iâm just good at pretending,â he murmurs.
âOr maybe,â you counter, your voice just above a whisper, âyouâre exactly who youâre supposed to be, and you donât need to pretend.â
For a moment, neither of you says anything. The silence feels full, not awkward, like the two of you are sharing something that doesnât need words.
âYour turn,â he says finally, his voice barely breaking the quiet.
But you donât pick up another card. Instead, you meet his gaze, your chest tight with a mix of nerves and something elseâadmiration, maybe. âWhat are you thinking right now?â you ask, your voice trembling just slightly.
Jake doesnât look away. âThat Iâm glad you ended up here.â
You swallow hard, your pulse racing as his words sink in. The way he says it, low and steady, makes it sound like a confession.
âI guess I am too,â you admit, your voice softer now.
Jake watches you with a mix of amusement and something he canât quite put a name to. Your head tilts to one side, your eyes half-lidded as you fight the inevitable pull of sleep. Youâre a little drunk, sure, but thereâs something so endearing about the way youâre trying so hard to keep up with him.
âYouâre losing the battle,â he teases gently, the corner of his mouth lifting.
You groan softly, a sound more pout than protest. âIâm not losing. Just⊠taking a break.â
Your words tumble out in a sleepy slur, and Jake canât help but smile. He shifts on the edge of the bed, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. âYou donât have to try so hard, you know.â
Your eyes flutter open, catching him mid-stare. âWhyâre you looking at me like that?â you mumble, your voice thick with sleep.
Jake straightens a little, caught off guard. âLike what?â
âLikeâŠâ You blink, struggling to focus on him. âLike youâre trying to figure me out.â
He laughs softly, his voice low. âMaybe I am.â
The room feels quieter somehow, like the world outside his door has disappeared entirely. You shift against the pillows, blinking slowly at him. âDo you watch Netflix?â
Jake raises a brow, thrown by the sudden question. âYeah, I watch Netflix.â
You nod as if that settles everything and slide back against the wall, pulling the comforter with you. With a small, shy smile, you lift up the corner, inviting him in.
Jake hesitates, his breath catching for just a second. But then he grabs his laptop from the desk and places it carefully at the foot of the bed before climbing in beside you. The mattress dips slightly under his weight, and your shoulder brushes against his as you lean into him, your head finding its place against his shoulder like itâs where you were always meant to be.
âWhat do you wanna watch?â he asks softly, opening Netflix and scrolling through the options.
âSomething funny,â you murmur, your words fading as you tuck yourself closer to him.
Jake picks a random sitcom and presses play, but it doesnât take long for him to realize youâve already drifted off. Your breathing is slow and steady, your lashes casting soft shadows on your cheeks.
For a moment, he just sits there, the glow of the screen washing over both of you. Your head is heavy against his shoulder, and your hand, half-curled, rests near his arm. You look peaceful, like youâve never known a bad dream.
Jake adjusts the blanket over you, careful not to wake you, and leans his head back against the wall. He tries to close his eyes, but every time sleep creeps in, he snaps awake, his gaze darting to you as if to make sure youâre still okay.
You mumble something in your sleep, a sound so soft he can barely catch it, but it makes his heart ache in the strangest way.
âYouâre kind of amazing,â he whispers, so quietly itâs almost a thought instead of words.
Jake hasnât stopped watching you, not really. Itâs been about thirty minutes, but every time his eyelids start to droop, he snaps them open again. His mind wonât quiet. Thereâs so much he doesnât know about you, and thatâs whatâs driving him crazy.
Do you have a boyfriend? He swallows at the thought, glancing down at you. Wouldnât someone have come looking for you by now? Did you come here with someone? Are they pacing around that crowded house, freaking out about where you went?
But you smell⊠amazing. Itâs subtle, like citrus and something warm he canât quite place, and itâs messing with him. How does someone he met barely an hour ago feel like someone heâs already known forever? Like the weight of your head on his shoulder belongs there, like this moment is supposed to be happening. It freaks him out.
Then your phone buzzes, the shrill ringtone cutting through the quiet. You stir, your brows furrowing, and Jake is immediately on alert.
You fumble for the phone, your movements uncoordinated as you squint at the screen. âHello?â you croak, putting it on speaker before your voice can betray you further.
âY/N! Oh my God, where are you? Are you okay?â your friendâs voice crackles through the speaker, sharp with concern but also tinged with curiosity.
Your head lolls to the side, and Jake feels your shoulder bump against his arm. âIâm okay,â you say, your voice raspy and soft. âI promise.â
âWell, Iâm more than okay,â your friend continues, her voice dropping into a dreamy tone. âI just met this guy, Jay. Y/N, Iâm pretty sure Iâve found the love of my life.â
Jake snorts before he can stop himself, and you do the same, a tired, knowing laugh bubbling up as you cover your mouth. You both know your friends well enough to see where this is going.
Your friend, oblivious, keeps going. âWhere are you, though? Did you go back to your dorm, orâwaitâdid you hook up with some frat guy? Tell me everything.â
You glance at Jake, and his face is caught between a grin and a grimace, his hand already rubbing the back of his neck like heâs embarrassed for being part of this conversation.
âIâm safe,â you say simply, and Jakeâs chest tightens at your words. Safe. Itâs a small thing, but it feels big coming from you.
The call ends shortly after, and the room settles back into its quiet rhythm. You let out a breath, turning onto your back to stare up at the ceiling. âYou can kick me out if you want,â you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. âIâm just grateful you were kind enough to make sure I was okay.â
Jake looks over at you, his head tilting. He doesnât know how to respond right away, his thoughts getting tangled. Are you used to thisâpeople not showing up for you? Are you used to not being made to feel safe? The questions build in his chest, but he pushes them aside, telling himself itâs not the time.
Instead, what he says is something that surprises even himself.
âI donât want to sleep alone tonight,â he admits, his voice low, his words slurred just slightly from the alcohol.
You turn your head, your gaze meeting his in the dim light. Thereâs something vulnerable in his expression, something that makes your heart skip despite the haze in your mind.
You donât say anything, but you donât have to. The silence between you feels warmer now, softer. And when Jake shifts closer, pulling the blanket up over both of you, it feels natural, like the easiest thing in the world.
The two of you settle in, the sound of your breathing filling the room. Jake stays awake a little longer, his eyes on you, his heart pounding softly in his chest. Thereâs still so much he doesnât know about you, but somehow, he knows this moment is something heâll carry with him.
For now, though, he lets himself rest, even if itâs just for a little while.
The morning light filters through the blinds, soft and golden, but it feels like needles against your closed eyelids. You groan, rolling onto your back, and thatâs when you rememberâJake.
Heâs still next to you, sitting upright against the headboard, his arms crossed over his chest. His head dips forward slightly like he tried to stay awake but lost the battle somewhere in the early hours of the morning.
You stir, and his eyes flutter open. For a moment, he looks disoriented, and then he sees you. And just like that, heâs wide awake.
âMorning,â he says, his voice rough but kind.
âMorning,â you croak back, your voice embarrassingly raspy. You clear your throat and sit up slowly, pressing your fingertips to your temples. âDid I⊠snore?â
Jake grins, leaning forward slightly. âYou did. Just a little.â
Your face heats up, and you try to play it off with a laugh. âGreat. Thatâs just perfect. Did I do anything else? Like, anything crazy?â
Jake shakes his head, his expression soft and a little sleepy. âNo. You were fine. Just⊠really cute. Like, in the way you couldnât keep your eyes open but kept trying to ask me questions anyway.â
You fidget with the edge of the blanket, glancing at him through your lashes. âAnd⊠we didnâtâŠ?â
He sits up straighter, his tone steady. âNo. Nothing happened. I wouldnâtââ He pauses, his gaze locking on yours. âI would never. We just talked, and then you fell asleep. Thatâs it.â
Something about the certainty in his voice makes your chest ache. You donât know why you believe him, but you do.
Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, and you grab it, wincing when you see your friendâs name lighting up the screen. âIâm downstairs when youâre ready,â she says, her voice far too chipper for this time of morning.
You hang up and glance at Jake, a soft smile tugging at your lips. âGuess thatâs my ride.â
For a second, neither of you moves. Itâs like the moment is hanging there, suspended between you, and you donât want to let it go.
Before you lose your nerve, you reach for a pen on his desk and scrawl your number on a scrap of paper. Folding it neatly, you hand it to him.
âThanks for everything,â you say, leaning down to kiss his cheek. His skin is warm, and when you pull back, you swear you see the faintest hint of pink on his face.
Jake watches as you grab your things, his heart pounding like itâs trying to tell him something important. He wants to say something, anything, to make you stay just a little longer, but the words wonât come.
And then youâre gone.
Hours later, youâre still thinking about him. About his room that smelled faintly of cedar and soap. About the way he stayed awake for you, even when he didnât have to. About the way he smiled at you like he already knew all your best parts.
You keep trying to brush it off. It was one night. You were both drunk. It doesnât mean anything.
But then your phone vibrates, and your heart stumbles when you see his name.
Hey, it's Jake. I hope you made it home safe. I just wanted to say thank you for everything last night. I really hope I get to see you again soon.
You read it once. Then again. And before you know it, youâre smiling, your face warm, your heart lighter than itâs felt in a long time.
Maybe nothing will come of it. Maybe this is all it is. But still, you canât help but wonderâwhat if it isnât?
#jake enhypen#enhypen#Jake imagines#enhypen imagines#enhypen x black reader#kpop black reader#enhypen black reader#kpop imagines#Jake fluff#Jake enhypen fluff#enhypen fluff#enhypen imagine#enhypen scenarios#kpop ambw#kpop poc#kpop x black reader
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Do you have any tattoo headcanons about characters? (Except solomons pact marks we all agree on that đđœđ)
Solomon and his stupid pact marks make me insane đ©
Er uh anyway. The first thing that comes to mind is Barbatos because of course. I mean our guy barely shows any skin. Unless he takes off his gloves or rolls up his sleeves, heâs pretty much completely covered. Which means he could have any amount of tattoos. I think it would be really cool if he had hand & arm tats. I donât really see him getting too crazy with it though so I think heâd just have black ink and itâd all be meaningful symbols of some kind. Maybe even magic like protection sigils for when he travels through time. Heâs had them for ages, from way before he ever met Diavolo. Theyâre kind of a relic of his past now, but they remind him of when he was reckless.
I think Mammon would get something dedicated to MC. Like their name over his heart or something. I could also see him getting something gambling related, like playing cards or lucky numbers.
Beel kinda has one in his human outfit. I donât know if thatâs just supposed to be part of his disguise or if itâs real. But I think it represents the kind of tats I think Beel would get. Those sorta tribal style abstract situations.
Belphie would get some kinda constellation tattoo. Something small and in an unexpected place like his hip maybe.
Asmo of course the first thing that comes to mind is a tramp stamp. Sorry Asmo lol. But I actually think he would like something really beautiful and elaborate. Like a whole arm sleeve of cherry blossoms or something. But I also think heâd want to change it up a lot so I donât think heâd actually get something permanent. I think I had an anon mention this before that he wouldnât want to mess up his perfect skin lol.
I donât really see Lucifer as the tattoo type. But if he was gonna get something, I think it would have to have a lot of meaning. And heâd want it somewhere easy to hide. But man I just canât really imagine it with him for some reason?
Levi is too chicken but if he was gonna get something heâd either get some kinda fan situation, like his favorite character or a symbol from his favorite video game, or something like Lotan or a kraken or some such. Though it would be cool if he got one when he was more active as an admiral. Then itâd probably be something real traditional like an anchor lol.
Satan would get poetry. Or like his favorite line from his favorite novel. Words. I could see them like on the inside of his arm or maybe on his ribcage.
For some reason I love the idea of Diavolo with a huge back tattoo. Maybe of a dragon. Or at least something red lol.
Simeon would have something small and simple. Like a feather on the inside of his finger or something like that.
Raphael I could see getting a spear on his arm. He has an obsession lol.
Mephisto seems like he wouldnât get one, but I do think itâd be cool if he had one that was in a hidden spot. Like itâs something few people know he has. I donât know what it would be⊠I donât think heâd get a horse tattooed on him lol. More likely some kind of meaningful symbol, perhaps for protection. Or like if his noble family has a coat of arms, heâd get that just below the nape of his neck.
Thirteen has a tattoo but if she was gonna have others⊠I really love the idea that she has something on her hip thatâs really soft like a flower or a butterfly and it matches her hair. Or maybe on her ankle.
When Luke grows up, he gets Simeonâs tattoo.
Anyway I think thatâs everybody. I love tattoos I think theyâre so cool even if I have never gotten one myself. I just havenât had the chance but one day!! I swear it will happen. In the meantime Iâm giving tattoos to all my OCs lol.
#Arrie has a full back tattoo#but anyway these are just some ideas#I canât believe I wrote so much#even when just on my phone lol#obey me#I am not tagging everybody Iâm way too lazy#obey me nightbringer#obey me!#anon asks#misc answers
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@littedidyouknow, surprise! I was your Secret Santa for @acotargiftexchange. I had so much fun writing this fic for you. We talked about how you liked hurt comfort and would change how some of feysand's trauma was handled, so I combined that with some holiday fluff. This is chapter 1/3. I hope you enjoy - happy holidays!
With every solstice, it seems the Inner Circle grows. As Nyx's first solstice approaches, Feyre and Rhysand celebrate holiday traditions, both new and old, while grappling with unhealed wounds.
After a night of fitful tossing and turning, it was safe to say that when light streamed through the bedroom window, Feyre wasnât ready to face the day.
Between Nyxâs fussing, Rhysâs restlessness, and her bad dreams, she would have been just as well off not going to bed at all. All week, she had felt drained, and last night had been no different.
At least, Nyx was often good about sleeping soundly in the morning. A true Night Court child, it was the late hours that kept him awake. Judging by the slant of the sun â or what she could glimpse of it, through her barely-open eyes â she and Rhys should have another hour of peace.
Rhys, it seemed, had also managed to fall into a fitful sleep at last. Despite his tossing and turning, he had still ended up nestled in her arms.
Right where she liked him. Surrounded by his warmth. Close enough to feel his heartbeat.
She had tried to keep her unrest concealed from Rhys. She wasnât sure why â they didnât keep things from one another. She knew he would listen in quiet understanding to whatever she was feeling. But she got the sense he had been feeling the same way â even if he didnât show it in his waking hours, his fitful sleep was enough of an indication.
Even so, knowing she wasnât alone in her unrest didnât stop her from feeling completely ungrateful and selfish.
This time of year was supposed to be for celebration and thankfulness. And yet, here she was, with everything she could want in the world â a family, a home, peace, a loving mate, and a healthy child â and she still feltâŠdiscontented. Heavy.
A little haunted.
Gods, she was ungrateful.
More long minutes passed until she felt Rhys stir beside her.
âGood morning, loveâ he murmured, though he sounded as exhausted as she felt, even as he pressed a kiss into her hair.
She mumbled something barely coherent back, leaning into his touch.
âSleep well?â
âNot really,â she admitted.
âIs something wrong?â he asked, sounding a little more awake. Of course, they were both used to getting up during the night to calm down Nyx when he woke. This was different.
âIâm just so tired,â she mumbled into his shoulder.
âDid I keep you awake?â he asked with equal softness, pressing her closer.
âNo, I donât think I would have slept either way.â She rubbed her eyes, trying to clear the drowsiness away while cringing against the sunlight streaming in.
Noticing her squint, Rhys flicked his fingers, and the heavy navy curtains immediately snapped shut.
âWhatâs bothering you?â
âI think I could ask you the same thing.â He had dodged bringing the unrest up as much as she had in past conversations, which was unlike both of them.
âAvoiding the question, are we?â He kept his tone light, but Feyre felt the undercurrent of concern. On a different morning, she might have tried to continue to tease and play, butâŠshe didnât realize how much of her fear and exhaustion she had been keeping from him. How long until fate tried to tear them apart again?
It haunted her, to think of how they had cheated death thrice. They couldnât be so lucky again.
âThis probably sounds silly, and maybe itâs selfish of me. For the first time in years, it feels like thereâs no major disaster looming. Everyone is healthy, and our relationships with the other courts and the continents are going well. I know I shouldnât be anxious. But itâs as ifâŠfor the first time in years â I really have time to think about everything thatâs happened. During the War, and after.â
Wordless for once, Rhys just held her, rubbing soothing circles up and down her back.
âI think Iâm feeling the same way you are,â he finally said. âOur first few solstices together, the relief was outweighing everything. Surviving the war and everything that came beforeâŠâ
And Nyxâs birth, too. He didnât need to say it.
âI just felt so much disbelief that we had made it through, that we had each other. But nowâŠI just keep thinking about all the ways things have gone wrong, all the ways things could go wrong. I know it doesnât do any good. I donât want to ruin the present, by dwelling on what-ifs. Perhaps it makes me ungrateful, to still feel grief now. But my mindâŠit keeps trying to drag me back to times Iâd rather not remember.â
âNo, Rhys,â Feyre interjected sharply â and she couldnât deny how cathartic it felt, to hear her own doubts in him. And if she could reassure him â she could reassure herself.
This is what they did. Blamed themselves for things they shouldnât, patched up each otherâs wounds. Held each other through the dark.
It was comforting, to know that she wasnât alone in her exhaustion. That Rhys was beside her, as he was in so many things.
âI understand,â she continued. âNow that things have settled down. Itâs like I actually have time to process some of the things that happened. In a way thatâŠI suppose I didnât before. I suppose I didnât want to tell you, to make you feel bad.â
That first solstice, after the war, everything had been so fresh, so new. There had been sorrow, yes, and a sense of loss, but the warmth of love surrounding her for the first time in so long had kept the cold at bay.
Her mate didnât say anything, resting his head on her shoulder.
âDo you want to talk about it?â she asked. Rhys didnât say anything for a long while, but she could guess that his mind was half Under the Mountain.
âItâs nothing worth remembering,â he insisted, but she caught the way he stiffened.
Gently, she turned his head to face hers, their eyes meeting. âThat doesnât mean it wonât need a way to come out, one way or another.â If she could save him some nightmares tonight by having this conversation nowâŠ
âYouâre the one who said you were tired, darling. I shouldnât be putting on this you.â
She frowned. âWhere is this coming from, Rhys? Let me share your burdens, as you share mine.â
Together, as they were in all things.
Still, he frowned. âIâŠI donât know if I can right now. Maybe later?â
Rubbing a soothing hand up and down his back, she sent a pulse of understanding down the bond. He hadnât wanted to talk last night, either, when she had asked him why he was restless.
He would be ready at some point, she trusted, but that conversation wasnât what he needed right now.
âWe can talk about something else. What about other Solstices - when you were younger? How did you celebrate â where did the snowball fight come from?â She asked to get his mind on more pleasant things, but also of her own curiosity. No matter how much she learned of her mateâs 500 years of life, it seemed there was always more to hear.
He considered the question, idly playing with a strand of her golden-brown hair. She snuggled up closer to his comforting warmth.
âWhen I was very young, my least favorite part was always the court parties I would have to attend. Long, drawn-out events, mostly in Hewn City. Mor and I would always try to sneak off, only for one of our parents or nannies to drag us back by our ears.â
âYour parents let a child attend revels in the Court of Nightmares?â she asked incredulously. She had seen parties there that bordered on orgies.
âOh, we were sent to bed long before things were that wild. The night felt like it dragged on long enough as it was â once, Mor almost fell asleep, falling face first into her roasted duck.â
âAs Iâm sure is no surprise, my father wasnât much of a family man. Certainly not by the time I was born. If it wasnât for my mother, Iâm sure we barely would have celebrated outside the Court of Nightmares. And my mother, for as much as her chosen family meant to her, quickly realized that the strife of getting my father to stop thinking about politics for one day was more trouble than it was worth. When I was training in Illyria, it often got a little quieter around Solstice. For most, it was their only leave for the year. I was one of the lucky ones, with my mother living in camp, and my father occasionally dragging me away for one of his own lessonsâŠâ
âWhat a lucky little High Lord, getting special privileges,â Feyre teased, flicking his nose.
Rhys scoffed. âIf you can call sitting through endless meetings in the Court of Nightmares, or being chased through the woods by whatever my father decided to send after me âspecial privileges.â
âBut what I meant was that Cassian didnât have any family they cared to visit outside of the camps. So there were years when it was just my mother and the two of us â later the three of us, once Azriel showed up. She would make special treats, and always sewed new clothes for the three of us. I wish I could say our gifts were always as thoughtful.â He chuckled. âAt the very least, she always made a show of being pleased with whatever we had come up with. Those are some of my favorite Solstice memories.â
She felt his mental presence gently slipping through the walls of her mind, sharing a memory through his eyes, of his mother and his brothers, eating cookies and sharing presents by the crackling fire.
âI swear, I never would have thought such a thing was possible, but after my sister was born, she softened my father. When Celeste was young, there were a few years when the four of us would get together in Velaris. My sister would throw a fit if my father didnât make some kind of effort to be with us through the holidays â and with anyone else, I would have sworn the holiday would have been better without the prick. ButâŠhe was kinder to her. Like he wanted to give her the childhood the rest of us hadnât been afforded.â
Feyre listened attentively; hand braced gently on his arm as Rhys immersed himself in the years long past.Â
âCeleste loved the holidays. Loved any reason to celebrate. Her favorite tradition was always baking, and sheâd stay in the kitchen for hours and help my mother and the servants prepare dessert. When she got a little older, she would always try and join my brothers and I during our snowball fights. I would usually tell her to stop being a pest. But AzâŠhe was the good one. He would let her join his team, pummel Cass and I. Of course, weâd always tell him that his win that year didnât count, since he had extra help.â Her mate smiled at the memory.
âWhat else?â Feyre asked softly, eager to learn more pieces about the girl she had never met.
âShe loved to ice skate. That was usually what the two of us did together.â
âYou? On ice skates?â Feyre couldnât help but interject in disbelief, incredulous at the idea of Rhys gliding across the ice. Not that he wasnât graceful, but it didnât exactly fit in with the idea of Illyrian brute strength.
âYou doubt my abilities? I was an excellent skater. Iâm the one who taught Celeste.â
She pictured Rhys, the dutiful big brother, spinning around on the ice with his sister, faster and faster, both of them laughing and carefree.
âYou said you were an excellent skater. Are you still?â
âI havenât done it in years, but you should know Iâm a quick study,â he said slyly.
âWould you want to pick it up again?â
âWhat do you mean?â
âWell, why donât we do all of those things. The skating, the baking,â Feyre suggested.
He didn't answer for a moment, turning over her words, and Feyre was struck by the thought that he might not want part in these traditions with anyone other than his sister, that she was invading on a treasured memory.
Before she could brush her words away, change the subject, a smile played at Rhys's lips.
âYou wouldnât be bored? Doing all of these old traditions with me?â
She shook her head. âOf course not! AndâŠI think it would help me, too, to spend time with you. To just be. Iâve been trying to stay so busy and focused on the future, our future, butâŠI canât outrun everything. Maybe, if we can find some time, it could be good. To just be together, in the moment.â
And maybe if they were lucky, the magic of Solstice could bring a little healing to them both. Â
"I'd like that a lot. We could bring Nyx along, too.â
âThere are three days until Solstice. How many activities do you think we can fit in?â
âYouâre in luck, my darling wife. As an early birthday present, Iâve cleared both of our calendars. Now, Iâll admit the activities I had in mind originally were a little moreâŠphysical,â he said, and she was very aware of his hand creeping up the side of her shirt, âbutâŠfew things would make me happier.â
âWell then, it sounds like a plan,â Feyre said, pressing a long, slow kiss to his mouth.
And for the first time in days, she felt lighter.
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ok long ramble ahead abt trans!riz and goblin society surrounding the concept of gender :))
i was thinking abt the bad kids and transgenderism (none of them are cis to me) and specifically riz. to me he's transmasc and primarily uses he/him, but also collects a bunch of neopronouns (e/it/xe mainly, and many others) the bad kids and other close friends use
i think he transitioned pretty young, and got access to medical care young too. then i got thinking about how goblins view gender
basically, it isnt correct to say that goblin is a non gendered language, but its gramatical genders and pronouns are not based on identity/sex. it has 3 genders: mortal, celestial, and inanimate (referring to people/animals, angels/fae/etc, and objects/the dead) (i did not do much research on how grammatical gender works... apologies lol)
but in modern day solace, many goblins, such as riz, also speak common, which doesnt have grammatical genders but Does have gendered pronouns. so goblins in largely common-speaking communities have taken to using the pronouns associated with their gender, how it works in common (and many other language around spyre aswell)
by solesian standards, riz is afab. traditional goblin societies view gender identity as highly fluid; they dont do assigned gender at birth or anything, rather let the kids figure it out as the grow. it doesnt change anything about how theyre raised/viewed. but not so in modern day solace. sklonda and pok raised riz for the first few years using she/her to refer to him in common, but also made sure he knew that gender identity is oftentimes not the same as agab
(also - im perisex, so i dont really feel like i can speak on this lol, but i think goblin anatomy is different than that of the more ""human"" races like humans, elves, etc. i think riz would identify with the intersex label in relation to much of solace, but maybe not in relation to other goblins ? idk. once again im perisex lol)
riz was pretty young when he realized he was transmasc, maybe like 7. before his dad died at least. pok and sklonda immediately helped him transition socially, and they set aside money so he could go on hormone blockers + hrt when he needs it. after pok died, sklonda still wouldnt touch that money bc she new it needed to go to riz's medical care. riz is so grateful for this, but also very guilty that they didnt use it on other things
most people assume he's a cis guy, he doesnt often bring up that hes trans. not that he's ashamed abt it or anything, he just doesnt find the need to talk about it. an exception is the other bad kids. he really surprised them when he first mentioned he was trans lol
ok idk if Any of this made sense but ! yay yippee
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Today I present you some Jesus fanart? From class (we weren't studying anything similar but we had a presentation day and I got bored)
#turned out kinda nice#jesus#jesus of nazareth#jesus christ#bible fanart#is that a tag?#art#fanart#traditional art#religion#christianity#I guess#getting to grow up in an orthodox country when you're an atheist#at least the imagery is fire#tis butba mere sketch unfortunately
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i know thereâs lots of different takes out there about mixed race jason todd, and by extension willis (and i love them all), but let me float this thought: half-lebanese willis todd. son of an australian immigrant mother (faye gunn) and a lebanese, specifically maronite catholic, immigrant father
#willis todd#jason todd#willis actually had sharminâs info bc there was someone warning ppl about a mossad agent poking around gothamâs syrian/lebanese communities#not because they were romantically involved. it was a warning to stay away#youngest of fayeâs kids and the only one not born in australia. she did not want that boy#raised by his father; âgrows up speaking arabic; grows up attending a maronite church#rejects a lot of what his dad - an immigrant during the civil war - tries to pass down. tradition language food#and then regrets it when he wants to pass *something anything* down to jason and canât. muddled and misremembered#tries anyway. raises jason maronite; goes to church when they can. teaches him arabic#(good enough that jason is okay alone in beirut when he runs away to find his mom)#definitely passes down the catholicism. catholic jason todd rights#(my own personal headcanon with this is that they lived - at least for a bit - in gothamâs version of little syria)#dc
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Finally going to go out and grab an AI Persona Core to get my starship one step closer to launch. I asked our allies at The Android Alliance for the location because I reasoned that if anybody could find an Artificial Intelligence, it would be the faction of Artificially Intelligent Androids.
Then Wookshys and Albina got married. Hooray for them, congrats, all that jazz. I suppose this means they're finally comfortable letting their followers know that the two leaders of different ideologies are ~fraternizing~.
And finally, Andy is seven now! He's got the Fast Learner trait because I thought it must be true- he's already on level three intellectual skill. He's such a clever cookie, and I'm very proud of him.
Happy Birthday, Andy!
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#rimworld#gracie plays#The Animist Alliance#art#my art#traditional art#rimworld art#unpolished art#slightly more polished art than usual#Candlelight does most of the comms console stuff#Because she's Water Caste and I think she'd enjoy it#I am a little disappointed that Wookshys and Albina didn't break up but at least Albina is happy I suppose#They're very happy to be married#Which is obvious from the fact that they've barely left their new double bed since the wedding#Can't believe Emerald wore a white dress to the event though#tsk tsk tsk#Also happy birthday Andy#They grow up so fast...#It feels like only yesterday he was born#Have a lovely day everyone!
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a comic about growing up.
#art#ink#comic#rat sketchbook#traditional art#brought to you by my cloudy memories of growing up#whats the point of being an artist if you dont make weird vent art at least once a month#sona art#growing up#bpd#recovery isnt linear#or something#just feels like ive grown up in a constant power struggle/push pull between intense highs and lows#manic highs and depressive lows
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I love how my local superstitions involving rainbows always revolved around hope, even before it became associated with the LGBTQIAP+ movement.
- Hope for better material conditions: "there's a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow" (imported from USA cartoons)
- Hope for love: "if a rainbow appears, a widow is marrying"
- Hope for being able to express your true self: "if you pass below a rainbow, you become the opposite sex"
#rainbow#superstition#not a joke#I did grow up with adults saying that going under a rainbow genderbends you#pretty sure I've read at least one local children's book with that premise#bring back traditional superstitions you conservative cowards
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every day is just waiting for the next time I get chicken nuggets
#digi rants#woke up this morning with the realisation I probably will never âgrow upâ#at least in the traditional sense#I donât know man. I just want fumken chigkn NUGGEST
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[Arcane preference]reacting to their s/o calling them husband/wife for the first time
Iâve finished the first chapter of the long fic about Universe 7 (Anytime it rains). As soon as my second beta reader gives me the okay, Iâll post it. While I wait, Iâve written the first headcanon (out of three Iâm definitely planning to write and post in the next few days) and picked up the drawing of Steb Iâd left unfinished. Iâm slow, as usual, but English isnât my first language, and Iâm juggling a lot of things at once. Enjoy!
socials: | INPRNT | | Tip Jar | | X | | BlueSky | | Ao3 | poster: | Jayce poster | | Silco poster | |Silco +self insert poster 1| | Steb poster | if you want to read the fluff longfic with vander and his happy family + Silco x reader you can find it here! â Masterlist
Jayce:
-This man is planning to put a ring on your finger as soon as possible, okay? -Between the academy, public appearances, and both theoretical and practical studies, there isnât a single moment when heâs really in the right mindset to bring up the topic -The worst part is that, deep down, heâs terrified of putting pressure on you -Thatâs why, the first time he hears you refer to him as âmy husbandâ during a gala with noble families, he almost chokes -He has to gather all his strength not to grab the interlocutor by the shoulders and ask if they also heard you say that word -Heâll try to keep his composure, maybe responding to your remark with, âYes, exactly. Her husband really did say/do/design that.â
Viktor:
-Itâs not a thought heâs ever really entertained; it never crossed his mind -Part of it is that science is his priority, and part of it is that marriage doesnât seem like something meant for people like him, -The first time you call him âyour husbandâ, that thought suddenly becomes real in his head, and he canât help but lean against a wall and wait for the other person to leave -âSo, Iâm your husband now, huh? Mmm⊠I donât mind, a bit pretentious, thoughâŠâ he jokes, making you roll your eyes -Now, more than ever, he has no idea what to do. Heâll give you a bronze ring from a machine heâs building -âUntil I can get one worthy of you.â
Ekko:
-Yes -Thatâs it -The end -Okay, seriously. The idea of being certain that something will last forever is probably his greatest wish -The first time you call him your husband, he doesnât see it coming -âWait, youâre married?â -âI was talking about you, Ekko.â -The moment you say it, he points to his chest, you see his lip tremble slightly, and his eyes grow shinier -He wonât stop talking about it for a week, and at least once a day, heâll ask if you still want to marry him, if youâre sure, if you love him -No rings before S2; the promise is made by drawing something for each other on your masks and clothes -After S2, he still canât afford a ring, but now that life is more stable, he can start thinking about a more traditional gift, like a piece of jewelry
Vander:
-This man is ravenous for any family role you might offer himâfiancĂ©, father, husband. Anything goes -The first time you call him âhusbandâ, he plays it cool but will seize the first opportunity to return the favor by telling a customer youâre married -As soon as he can, heâll squeeze your hand, even under the counter -The idea of being married and having a complete family is everything heâs ever wanted -He wonât stop calling you âmy beautiful wife/husbandâ from that moment on.
-You said it first; you canât take it back. Now you have to get married
Silco (old man):
-This manâs only sin is loving too much, but Iâll save that reflection for another post -Having no ties other than his illegitimate daughter doesnât make him someone whoâs particularly keen on formalities -The first time you call him âyour husbandâ is in front of Sevika, and he slowly turns to look at you, while she slowly turns to look at him -âDid I... miss something?â Sevika asks, but he doesnât reply, still perplexed, before glancing at her and saying, âI donât know what youâre talking about.â -Heâs relieved but doesnât show it. He canât afford to just yet -As soon as he confirms you were serious, your name will be flamboyantly forgottenâheâll constantly refer to you as âmy wife/husbandâ
Silco (young):
-The man who survives on love -The first time you call him your husband is in front of Vander, and while Vander bursts out laughing, Silco chokes on his drink -âAre you serious?â Heâs so happy that his pale iris are completely swallowed by his dilated pupils -He grabs a pen and draws a ring around your finger -To his credit, he works in a mine, so itâs hard to do better than that, but it becomes the goal that keeps him going -Completely focused on family, the future, and anything that sees the two of you together and happy
Steb:
-The first time you call him your husband is at a dinner among enforcer families, and being mute doesnât stop him from stealing the spotlight -He whips around, blinking slowly with only his third eyelid in a gesture of confusion -When heâs 100% sure he understood what you said, his eyes widen, the small membranes under his eyes flutter madly, and even the barely visible gills near his jaw gasp for a moment -Someone says, âI didnât know you were married,â and he immediately nods enthusiastically, not giving you time to take it back -Within 48 hours, heâll have the ring ready
Jinx:
-The first time you call her âyour wifeâ, she freezes -âWhat did you just call me?â -Sheâs used to being a little sister, a big sister, a daughterâsheâd never thought she could be a wife. Family ties arenât chosen, but the idea that someone would want her in their life so much theyâd marry her feels incredible -âYou want to marry me? Really? Why?â -She bursts into tears, and itâll take at least 24 hours of cuddling in bed to calm her down -After that, sheâll run to her father to announce that sheâs now a married woman
Vi:
-She might not be Silco and/or Vanderâs blood daughter, but sheâs inherited their deep desire for family -From her familyâs tragic fate to Vanderâs, sheâs always seen family as the ultimate aspiration -When you call her âyour wifeâ for the first time, she doesnât notice right away, but a full minute later, she whirls around to look at you, as if to ask for confirmation -âSay it again.â -â...You need to buy bread?â -âNo, all of it.â -âMy wife needs to go buy bread.â -âAgain.â
-"My... wife?"
-"Again"
Caitlyn:
-Has she thought about it? Yes -Was she planning to act on it? Not exactly -Caitlyn struggles with emotions and feelings, which is why she hesitates and takes her time -But when you first call her âyour wifeâ, her brain completely shuts offâshe just stares at you, unable to hear a single word being said -If you or someone else asks her a question, sheâll snap out of it and respond, -âMy wife/husband said everything.â Even if it makes no sense as an answer, making you laugh and leaving the other person baffled
Mel:
-Not a single flicker of surpriseâthe first time you call her âyour wifeâ, she remains completely composed -âSo, Iâm your wife?â she asks as soon as youâre in private, approaching you like a feline. You can almost hear the purr in her voice -Sheâs amused but also intrigued by whatever game youâre playing -The idea of marriage is complicated for herâon one hand, it feels like it would limit her freedom to act, while on the other, unresolved family issues seem to devour her at the mere thought of starting a new cycle -Sheâll tell you to go ahead, to get married, but sheâll also ask for time -In the meantime, though, sheâll start using the term âhusband/wifeâ with youâshe likes the way it rolls off her tongue
Sevika:
-Between the work she does, the environment she lives in, and all the interesting circumstances of her life, marriage has never been on her radar -Not to mention that in Zaun, itâs not exactly a common practiceâpeople just move in together and build families when they can, without much fuss over formalities or bureaucracy -The first time it happens, sheâs playing cards with the other goons, and you casually ask if âyour wife is winningâ -Her first reaction isnât even hersâitâs the othersâ. Dustin, the blond goon with the lazy eye, almost starts crying, embarrassing her -Donât worry, sheâll make you pay for it at home -She wonât ask to formalize anything, but in true Zaunite fashion, sheâll consider you married, plain and simple
#jayce x reader#viktor x reader#ekko x reader#silco x reader#vander x reader#jinx x reader#vi x reader#caitlyn x reader#sevika x reader#mel x reader#jayce talis#viktor arcane#ekko arcane#silco arcane#arcane vander#jinx#vi arcane#caitlyn kiramman#mel medarda#sevika#arcane x reader#arcane headcanon#arcane 2#arcane writing#arcane caitlyn#caitlyn arcane#mel arcane#jinx arcane#arcane jinx#arcane silco
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