#holiday (but not yet gift exchange)

[apparitionism]

Confection 4

Welcome back to Confection, which began its life as last year’s holiday story but went on hiatus due to this year’s gift exchange story, which in turn ran far longer than it ever should have. But the whole point of a hiatus is that it ends, so: this part continues an AU wherein Bering and Wells are chefs competing on a TV show titled “This Without That,” in which cheftestants are charged with making well-known dishes without their primary ingredient. The competition in which Chefs Myka and Helena find themselves is Christmas-themed, a fact that relates to their shared history... some of which was revealed in part 1, part 2, and part 3. I'd mumble something about the whole thing being undercooked, but that probably goes without saying at this point.

Confection 4

Decide, and do it fast, Myka told herself as she examined the produce and other ingredients available to the contestants. Cranberry sauce without cranberry—a tart fruit. Could she reasonably tweak a sharper version of her fruit pickle into a sauce, but maybe using raspberries, for the appearance? Yes, most likely, but only if she could find raspberries. She scanned the refrigerator... okay, raspberries found.

Move on, and do it fast.

Candied yams without yams? She saw golden beets and envisioned (entasted?) merging their earthiness with some similarly earthy sweetness (to be determined), plus a creamy element (also to be determined) that might evoke the traditional marshmallows.

For now, she was satisfied with her choice of major components.

These were decisions—fast ones, even! Now all she had to do was cook.

Okay, fine: and keep from distracting herself with glances at Helena, who was clearly also deciding fast, gathering ingredients, her overflowing-with-produce arms transforming her into some metaphorical—or maybe actual—goddess of the harvest.

Quit thinking like that! Myka admonished her overheated, now goddess-oriented, imagination.

No! that imagination shot back. She is a goddess!

Myka marshaled every bit of her superego to command, We. Are. Focusing. On. Beets.

And yet her id kept sneaking glances.

Her ego, meanwhile, noticed that Chef Artie wasn’t having to decide fast. He’d done nothing, even as Myka, Helena, and Chef Walter, his attitude notwithstanding, had filled their stations. His indecision prompted a producer huddle around him, and Myka heard snatches of phrases: “you could use,” “or maybe try,” “okay, we’ve got.”

****

Myka’s departure from Apples had happened quickly: two days after the Christmas party, she interviewed for the job at Secret Service, getting the offer on the spot, and that evening she gave her notice to her direct supervisor on the line. Not to Helena—Chef Wells—for the chef hadn’t been present in the kitchen.

That was unusual... did it have something to do with strings being pulled? Myka told herself she didn’t need to know. She told herself, equally untruthfully, that she didn’t need to care.

Not that Helena—Chef Wells—was even going to notice Myka’s absence. People came and went all the time in restaurants. What did one line cook matter?

After leaving, Myka tried not to ruminate on how much she had wanted to matter.

She tried also to evict Helena Wells from the top of her mind. She didn’t give in to the temptation to walk by Apples; that would have been another of those teenage-reminiscent impulses she needed to prevent her presumably adult self from indulging.

The setting of a Google alert, however, she justified as professional. Practical. Keeping track of a former employer.

Which was how she learned that Helena Wells would be appearing on This Without That.

Which she tried to convince herself she did not need (need...) to watch.

Which attempt was, she had even then acknowledged, doomed to failure, because watching the show meant she would at least be able to look at Helena, a thrill of which she’d been deprived for what felt like forever. Need... need. She could—and did—replay her memories, but she was starving for new images.

The show didn’t disappoint on that score. Myka was captivated anew from the first shot of Helena in talking-head closeup: her hair was down, lusciously so, and if Myka hadn’t been anxious to see how the competition would unfold, she might have stopped the show there, just to savor the sight.

When asked to describe her style in the kitchen in one word, talking-head Helena said, “Take no prisoners.”

“One word,” an off-camera voice said.

“It’s hyphenated,” Helena responded.

Myka added the hyphens in her head, retrospectively.

She paid little attention to the introductory attributes of the other contests—Chefs Marcus, Leena, and Hugo—because: not for one instant did it occur to her that Helena might not win.

She was well aware that she knew nothing about television production but clichés; nevertheless, she found herself stuck on one in particular as far as Helena was concerned: “The camera loves her.” And Myka found a similar lover’s elation, if tinged with a lurker’s shame, in her surreptitious alignment with that camera and its gaze.

The dish for the first round, the appetizer, was clams casino without the clams. “Mushrooms,” Myka said aloud the minute Steve Jinks announced the challenge. The rest of the dish was traditionally pretty simple—breadcrumbs, butter, bacon, bell pepper, lemon—with the only even vaguely difficult part getting the proportions right. But mushrooms stood out as the clearest substitute, texturally, as long as they were cooked with great precision so as to simulate the clams’ chewy-but-not-rubbery distinctiveness, and that would be, she thought, the real challenge. That and choosing an appropriate variety of mushroom, one that could be coaxed to a sufficiently correct mimic.

Myka was thus unsurprised, if gratified, when talking-head Helena said, “I thought immediately of oyster mushrooms. But then I discerned that Chef Marcus might be aiming for them... so I moved quickly.”

The next shot of the kitchen depicted Helena darting in front of Marcus, a tall and somewhat sinister figure, and appropriating all the oyster mushrooms. Then, as if just realizing the other chef’s presence, she said, “Oh, did you want these as well? Surely there are enough for two.”

That struck Myka as pretty magnanimous.

She revised that down a bit after the next talking-head Helena said, “Had I kept them all for myself, how could I have demonstrated my superiority?” Then she smiled: wolfish, with the edges of her teeth. “Not to mention, I had a trick up my sleeve.”

****

As Myka began her preparations for her cranberry sauce without cranberries and candied yams without yams, she felt herself moving with extraordinarily swift precision... had she been dosed with performance-enhancing lightning? Or some other quantity granting an efficient-motion superpower? Then she realized: she was showing off. For the camera? No. For Helena. Who was most likely focusing far too closely on her own cooking to look over and be impressed by Myka’s ability to prep beets for the oven at speed.

While the sauce-pickle simmered and the beets roasted—she would soon peel and purée those—she sought the finishing flourishes for the latter dish. In her search for sweet, she thought of molasses, but then she noticed Helena had that bottle at her station. Casting about, she found her eye caught by a jar, very small, of manuka honey, and its likely kiss of bitterness seemed instantly correct. To provide additional interest, she saturated figs in that honey in a sous-vide bath, with an aim of creating a soft-yet-chunky topping for the beets, texture balancing taste.

Cream, now: maybe yogurt? The tang of plain Greek yogurt rhyming with the pickle’s bite? But she needed depth... she toasted a vanilla bean, ground it, then mixed it into the yogurt; tasted; yes. A dab of honey, then, to match what it topped, and that element was complete.

She allowed herself a breather, while the pickle matured and beets reached peak melt-in-mouth texture, to assess the other competitors’ approaches.

(Not Helena’s, though. Helena’s presence was distracting enough; attending to her cooking was likely to render Myka entirely incapable.)

Chef Artie was doing something with red beets—she’d heard those mentioned by someone (not Chef Artie) in that prior huddle—and something else with butternut squash. Chef Walter, like Myka, was working with raspberries.

Myka felt a flicker of Helena’s “demonstrate my superiority” bravado. She hoped it would prove out.

****

The trick Helena had up her sleeve turned out to be an innovation to replace the clam shell in which the clams casino was traditionally served: she scraped the ribs from a portobello mushroom cap, then dropped it in the deep fryer. She pulled the fryer basket out as the round’s final milliseconds ticked away, then plated her entire oyster-mushroom casino with speed that Myka wouldn’t have imagined possible.

But: This is Helena Wells, Myka reminded herself.

Anything was possible.

Helena was, unsurprisingly, right about demonstrating her superiority. Myka watched her smile as the judge charged with delivering the first-round verdict sent Marcus to his doom, telling him, “We couldn’t overlook that fact that the texture of your mushrooms was no match for that of Chef Helena’s.”

“She tricked me,” Marcus said into the camera as he exited the kitchen.

“She outcooked you,” Myka corrected, a bare instant before talking-head Helena said, smugly but equally accurately, “I outcooked him.”

Myka would have reveled in their consonance but Steve Jinks then announced the entree challenge: beef Wellington without beef.

Now that was a challenge, and Myka was gifted a commercial break to ponder what she might produce. She came up with nothing more than “something else Wellington”—some other protein encased in pâté-slathered pastry. But what protein? And this is why you aren’t on the show, she told herself.

So she paid attention, if a bit begrudgingly, to the choices the other contestants made. Chef Hugo chose venison, which Myka had no trouble imagining would pair well with that expected pâté. Chef Leena chose chicken, but instead of pâté, she used a butter-herb mixture that Myka immediately recognized as intended to bring a cordon-bleu sense to the dish. It seemed nothing like beef Wellington, but it did seem special, invented just for this competition.

Helena was up to something special too, but Myka didn’t fully understand it. She was wielding a mallet on a flank steak, rendering it thin, thin, thinner, and bringing the same thin-thin-thinner energy with a rolling pin to pastry. Myka couldn’t see where the Wellington—its richness—resided... maybe in the duxelles she was making, the sauté of mushrooms that was sometimes paired with the Wellington’s pâté, sometimes substituted for it. Helena had pâté on her station, but she didn’t touch it.

Myka waited impatiently through Chef Hugo’s venison and Chef Leena’s chicken, until it was finally time for Helena to be judged. She cut into her Wellington.

Somehow she had managed to roll pastry, steak, and duxelles into... a pinwheel? Yes, a beautiful swirling pinwheel, with seemingly infinite layers.

Surely she’d been saved for last because her dish was astonishing.

However: “You seem to be attempting to subvert the rules,” a member of the panel, a Chef Kosan, told her. He looked down at his portion disapprovingly, then up at Helena the same way.

What was that about?

“Do I?” Helena was calm, the picture of confidence. Myka was reasonably sure she herself would have been dissolving in anticipatory terror...

“Chef Leena and Chef Hugo both managed to make beef Wellingtons without the beef. You, however—”

“Have as well,” Helena interrupted. “Without the beef tenderloin, ‘tenderloin’ being implied, even if not explicitly stated. Or has the constituent ‘beef’ element changed since I was in culinary school?”

She was obviously right. The “beef” in the name didn’t cover all beef. Myka would have made the same argument.

When the program returned from that commercial break, Steve Jinks rendered the verdict, drawing out the suspense, saying a long and lingering “Chef....”

Myka idly wondered whether venison or chicken would lose.

“Helena,” Steve finished. “Unfortunately, this competition will continue without you.”

Myka blinked. Surely she’d heard that wrong?

But Helena’s incredulous expression suggested she’d heard exactly the same thing.

Chef Kosan was charged with explaining the panel’s reasoning. He began, “In your Wellington, we did find the lean flank steak well-balanced by the richness of the duxelles, even more so than Chef Hugo’s venison was by his pâté—he needed more of that richness.” Myka saw that as a point given to Helena. How had she lost it? He went on, “But his failure in that arena was your fault. You appropriated all the pâté, then gave only a limited portion of it to Chef Hugo, despite the fact that you clearly had no intention of using it the remainder yourself.”

“He was entirely free to ask for more,” Helena said. She didn’t say anything about her intentions.

Chef Hugo, meanwhile, looked bereft. Myka felt something like sympathy for him, for certainly interrupting Helena at work was a frightening prospect. Then again, he was supposed to be competing.

Chef Kosan narrowed his eyes. “The ingredients are not yours to dispense. That struck us as inappropriate gamesmanship.”

“And yet this is a game, is it not?” Helena asked. Myka chalked up another point for her—not that this tally in her head would do anything other than torment her.

Chef Kosan continued, “Nevertheless, in the end the substitution of one type of beef for another struck us as insufficiently creative, if not actually against the rules. Of the game. As did your use of the rather obvious mushrooms in the clams casino.”

If she squinted, Myka could maybe see his point with regard to the mushrooms. But wasn’t changing the Wellington into a pinwheel a creative change? Why hadn’t that outweighed the beef issue?

Helena’s thought process seemed similar: “A puff-pastry pinwheel Wellington was insufficiently creative,” she said with heavy sarcasm. “And both were beautiful dishes, worthy of the Apples menu.” Did she now sound petulant? Myka couldn’t honestly blame her.

“Pursuant to that,” Chef Kosan said, “we’re genuinely curious: how did you manage to get the pastry entirely cooked?”

“Skill,” Helena said. That was a full sneer.

Myka had been curious about the same thing, but she was also imagining getting access to that skill, were she still at Apples and had the dishes made it to the menu... imagining what it would be like to cook those dishes on the line... imagining getting those mushrooms’ texture exactly right for the casino... imagining balancing the Wellington’s fat and lean, while seeing to it that the pastry was indeed entirely cooked. And all right, yes: she was imagining Helena leaning over her shoulder, breathing near her ear, insisting on all of that.

As Helena performed the apparently obligatory walkout of defeat, she pronounced, “I’m far more skilled than this result indicates.” Her tone situated scornful quotation marks around “result.”

That had sounded very Helena. And very true.

Helena then said, “This won’t be the last you see of me.”

Myka had at that point cut off the television and prayed—yes, prayed—for that also to be true.

****

She did not recall the memory of that prayer in its specificity until she was competing alongside Helena in a Christmas-decorated studio in August.

Mysterious ways.

TBC

[xxvalkyriesxx]

I'm already listening to Christmas music in order to hype me to work on my gift for the acotar gift exchange

[sauriansolutions]

My co-workers: hey boss, would we be allowed to do a gift exchange this year for the holidays?

Boss: well, we've tried to do one of those before, and it did not work

Co-workers: what do you mean it didn't work?

Boss: we set a $10 minimum... and in exchange for my gift, I received an envelope with a ten dollar bill inside

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 359

Adjective: Absurd

Noun: Invitation

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Absurd: wildly unreasonable, illogical, or inappropriate; arousing amusement or derision, or ridiculous

Invitation: a written or verbal request inviting someone to go somewhere or to do something; the action of inviting someone to go somewhere or to do something; a situation or action that tempts someone to do something or makes a particular outcome likely

[moonjxsung]

Kinktober Day 4: Needy Sex

[kinktober masterlist.]

🔞 warning: smut below! mdni.

pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x reader

•

Hyunjin’s hand remains on your lower back, his fingers sprawled out over the open cut at the back of your skin tight dress, as the other grasps the glass stem of his red wine.

Job titles, income levels, friends, lovers, travel stories- he’s pretty sure he’s engaged in just about every form of adult conversation amongst the partygoers here. And at half past midnight, he’s begun to get restless, wanting nothing more than to take you home and indulge himself in a good fuck.

“You have any plans for the holidays?” One guest whose name he’s already forgotten, asks the two of you “Seungmin’s taking some time off so we can travel out of the city for a weekend or two,” she continues. “I know it’s cold, but we love winter camping.”

Hyunjin smiles in an attempt to be polite, shrugging, as he meets your gaze. “Not really,” he says plainly. “We like staying in for the holidays.”

You nod in his direction, taking note of the way his eyes seem to flicker curiously, as though he’s signaling something to you.

“Yeah,” you chime in, downing the last of your red wine. “There’s nothing like Christmas inside by the fireplace.”

“Speaking of Christmas,” the guest says, turning to face a group of other guests, too. “We were thinking of doing a gift exchange this year-”

As she speaks excitedly of her plans, Hyunjin taps your lower back, leaning in to graze his lips over your ear.

“Wanna come get more wine?” He asks in a low voice, gesturing to your empty glass.

You’re really not so keen on having any more, yet you’re also well aware that this is typically Hyunjin’s way of signaling he needs a moment away from the crowd.

“Sure,” you reply, turning to follow him away from the crowd of people.

“We’ll be back!” You call out to the guest, who hardly acknowledges you as she continues to speak.

Hyunjin takes long strides into the kitchen, one hand shoved into the pocket of his black suit, as he leads the way. He shoves past the swinging door with the push of his shoulder, holding it for you as you follow him inside, and then he closes it with the heel of his glossy black dress shoe, glancing over his shoulder to ensure nobody’s followed either of you into the kitchen.

“They’re out of the red wine you like,” you begin, sorting through the array of beverages on the counter. “But they have white, or soda if you’re-”

“Let’s just leave,” Hyunjin interrupts, coming up behind you to rest his chin on your shoulder. His hands rest on the counter on either side of your figure, as his lips graze the shell of your ear in a swift motion.

“Already?” You question, a chuckle escaping your lips. “We only got here two hours ago.”

“Please,” Hyunjin urges, his lips nibbling on the lobe of your ear. “I want you so bad. I can’t be here anymore.”

He sounds completely serious by the way his breathing grows heavy, and then he presses against your lower back, making it more clear to you. He’s hard under his black slacks, his erect cock prodding into your dress as though he’s asking for permission to do it right here.

You don’t realize the soft gasp that emits from the back of your throat until Hyunjin lets out a wicked chuckle in response, his lips trailing along your shoulder, as his hands snake up your sides.

“Don’t you want to?” He inquires. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. Doesn’t having you bent over our own counter sound like a better evening than whatever all of this is?”

Your eyes scan the assortment of drinks on the counter in front of you, the untouched bottles of Chardonnay and Sprite only implying there’s still hours of this event left. His hard-on throbs against you, his hands tracing the cinched fabric of your waist. And he’s right- to let him pull your dress up and do it right here, would be precedence over the ordeals of adult small talk any day.

“Okay,” you say to him, turning around and reaching for your clutch purse on the counter. “You call a cab, I’ll go let them know we have to leave.”

Hyunjin chuckles again, a sense of satisfaction clear in his tone, as he leans in to press a chaste kiss to your lips and reaches for his phone.

“Be quick,” is all that he says, as he watches you disappear past the swinging doors again.

*

The taxi ride home is a painfully long ride, as Hyunjin keeps his large hand sprawled upon your upper thigh, squeezing it periodically to remind you of the evening ahead which awaits you both.

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat behind the driver, hoping the man can’t somehow read his thoughts and know that he’s letting his mind run rampant with filthy thoughts about you. He’d give anything to have the driver pull over and exit his own car, just so that Hyunjin could take you right here in the backseat.

And yet he’s patient, not a word spoken between the two of you in the duration of the car ride, until you’re finally back at your shared apartment.

Hyunjin tips the man a generous amount, shooting him a sheepish grin as he intertwines your hand with his and practically drags you in the direction of the front door. And just like the rest of the whole seems to move slower at the times he wants you most, the keys to your front door are uncooperative, your hands grasping them firmly as you fidget with the lock.

Hyunjin’s lips trail along your neck, his breathing growing heavy as he waits for you to grant entry, and you chuckle nervously when the lock remains stubborn, mumbling an apology to a now very needy Hyunjin.

“Let me,” Hyunjin says, his hands hovering over yours now to work the key. He makes purposeful motions to toy with the lock, shoving the door open with complete ease, his hand finding your waist when you stumble forward a little. Hyunjin guides you inside, lips reattaching to your neck, as he scrambles to shut the door behind you two, not even bothering to lock it again.

Your bag is tossed aside by Hyunjin, who now snakes the straps of your dress down to grant access to your chest, his face burying in the crook of your neck to press sloppy kisses along your exposed flesh.

“Let’s just do it here,” Hyunjin remarks, guiding you forward to the wooden stair banister.

His hands bunch up the fabric of your dress, already finding the waistband of your underwear, as he tugs it down and exposes more of you to him.

There’s a moment of silence as he unfastens his belt now, the gentle clink of his buckle making itself known as it comes undone, and then he positions himself behind you, his now-bare cock prodding against your upper thigh.

“God, you look so fucking sexy,” Hyunjin remarks, pulling the flesh of your shoulder between his teeth and leaving a generous trail of love bites. “This dress gets me so hard.”

His hand wraps around the base of his cock as he readies himself, but without any verbal form of warning, he’s already slipping inside of you with complete ease, gripping your waist with one hand, as the other positions your face to meet his gaze.

He indulges you in a sloppy kiss as he begins to move inside of you, and the friction of his cock caressing your walls is almost dizzying, little grunts escaping his lips back into your mouth.

“Does that feel good?” Hyunjin queries, knowing your answer is a resounding yes.

“Yes,” you attempt to reply in between your heavy panting, your hands holding onto the wooden stair banister to steady yourself.

“Talk to me,” Hyunjin commands, moving a little faster now. “Want to hear how it feels.”

“God, you fuck me so good,” you remark as he quickens his pace, one hand coming around to rub your clit in circular motions now. “Feels so good, baby. Don’t stop.”

Hyunjin chuckles- he’d never think of stopping when you’re begging him like this, his cock throbbing inside of you and hitting your cervix with every passionate thrust.

His thrusts are sloppy now, no real method to the way he pushes himself in and out of you, loud squelching sounds filling the sounds of your entryway as he fucks you. The desperation isn’t lost on you- the door is still unlocked behind you, not a single set of curtains drawn to shield the lewd act unfolding right here. Your heels are still on, planted firmly into the wooden floor where you know they’ll leave little dents like they have before. But it’s a miracle Hyunjin even made it to the entryway like this- if not here, he’s certain it’d have been the bathroom at the party, one hand sprawled over your mouth so the guests wouldn’t hear you screaming his name.

“Hyunjin,” you call out, gripping the banister a little harder now. “I’m gonna finish- fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

He takes your warning as a sign to quicken his movements even more now, the squelching sounds filling the space around you, as loud groans escape between his parted lips.

When he attempts to kiss you again, it’s a futile task, nothing but drool exchanged from his lips onto yours as your eyes roll back in blissful pleasure.

“Cum for me,” Hyunjin commands, and although he sounds desperate, he’s polite about it, one hand intertwining his fingers over yours on the stair banister. “Make a fucking mess for me, baby. This is all I’ve wanted tonight.”

Your moans serve as an attempt to respond, and then he squeezes his eyes shut as he staves off his own orgasm to wait for yours, first.

It doesn’t take more than a few thrusts before you’re obeying his commands, your pussy clenching rhythmically around his girth, as you dribble fluids around his flesh, gasping blissfully as you call out his name. Your walls caress his cock encouraging his own orgasm, which follows suit shortly after, as he shoots thick, white ropes of his cum inside of you, fucking it back into you before slowing his pace.

Hyunjin catches his breath without a word as he pulls out, observing the way his now-softening cock is completely coated in remnants of you, your juices even finding purchase on the wooden flooring beneath you.

He smooths your dress down again, contented to see his release hasn’t ruined the fabric even a little. Yet when he tucks his cock back into his own slacks, he chuckles at the sight of the stains that paint his expensive suit- for possibly the third time this month.

When you turn around to face him again, Hyunjin towers over you, hands shoved in his pockets once more, as he leans in to kiss you properly now.

“I love you,” he says sweetly, cocking his head toward the stairs. “Go put on something more comfortable.”

You meet his gaze with a smile, head still spinning at the events that unfolded this evening. And you don’t take his gaze off him as you watch him approach the door again, finally locking it for the evening.

*

[miniimight]

ur dad!sukuna has me on a chokehold and i don't even like that man

lol same, it really came outta nowhere. woke up one day and decided to make him a soft girl dad :(

loosely inspired by this

sukuna had never understood the need to celebrate holidays with family, much less getting together for no reason. and yet, here he was at your grandparents' house in the middle of the school year.

there were a bunch of kids, from toddlers like your daughter to the teenagers of family friends. sukuna made sure you handled all the pleasantries, save the occasional polite nod. he was convinced the only kid worth entertaining was his baby girl, who clung to him as she tried to adjust to the new environment.

she was quieter than usual, and he observed her as she pulled at her lip, turning her head into his neck when unknown relatives crowded you to congratulate you on your little family.

you and sukuna found a corner to hole up in, talking to each other while you sampled all the drinks and food at the party. soon, your daughter grew restless, wanting to go play with other kids.

sukuna watched her with deadly precision as she and the other kids brought out toy cars and dolls, driving them around on the city rug below their feet.

he had crossed his arms, only for you to wiggle your hand into the crease of his elbow seconds later. eyes still on his daughter, he leaned his head down a bit to show he was listening.

"i thought you'd enjoy the free drinks." you said.

he snorted. "i'd enjoy my bed right about now."

you swat his bicep with your free hand before hugging into his side. "at least baby's having fun."

he just hummed in response. "she's gonna want one of those stupid rugs."

you roll your eyes. "you know she'll forget about it by tomorrow morning."

his lips pulled up. she would. and he'd still get it for her.

soon, gifts for the kids were being exchanged. why? just for existing, apparently. you left sukuna's side to capture your daughter's reaction on camera.

your baby glanced at you as she was presented with the gift bag.

"go 'head, baby." you nod, and she ripped the tissue paper to shreds before reaching her whole arm into the bag. she pulled out a tiara, studded with gems and painted gold, along with a fluffy dress.

an immediate chorus of awwws echoed around the room as she held up her loot. she raised the tiara over her head, but didn't manage to get it to sit right.

"help." she chirped, waddling over and holding the tiara to you in her outstretched hand. "mama."

sukuna's heart squeezed at the sight, gaze following you as you retreated to the bathroom to help her change into her costume.

a few minutes later, you emerged, setting her next to your grandparents.

another wave of awws made sukuna's head lift from his phone. always watching, he noticed how his kid's wide eyes darted from unknown face to unfamiliar face. her chin tucked down, her chubby neck doubling up as her bottom lip pushed out into a pout.

he'd know that look from a mile away. he stood a little straighter, frowning.

at that point, your mommy senses tingled, pulling yourself from the conversation you were wrapped up in. "aw, honey, no..." you cooed, stooping to her level and trying to catch her eye.

she whined, pushing off the couch and shrinking under the crowd of people, wringing the hem of her dress as she walked through the crowd.

her eyes were scanning the room, looking up at every adult and getting closer to tears when she saw they weren't the one she was looking for.

eventually she broke into the kitchen area, locking eyes with her father and barreling towards him. sukuna crouched down, his arms spread to catch her.

as soon as she gripped him, he lifted off. "hey, kid. rough night, huh?"

she tucked her head into the crook of his neck, her arms hugging the expanse of his shoulders. he nodded and rubbed her back. "me too."

she raised her head abruptly and touched her tiara. her eyes so serious, as if she'd base her own feelings about her new stuff on how much her father liked it.

"yes, i see it. very pretty." he placed her onto the kitchen counter, smoothing the crinkled mess of her dress. his tone could be perceived as dry or near-monotonous, but his intention was the complete opposite. "my, my, were you ever going to tell us we were living with a princess?"

a toothy grin spread on her face, and sukuna was blown away yet again by the way he was able to make someone so genuinely happy.

"look." she started twirling around.

sukuna shook his head with a low chuckle. her spin was anything but graceful. he applauded her showcase, his back shielding them both from the noise surrounding them. a little bubble just for them <3

your hand rested on his back, signaling your approach. sukuna lifted his arm, resting it on your waist when you stood at his side.

you frowned as you studied your little girl. "you feeling okay, baby?"

she poked her tongue out.

"i'll take that as a yes." you kissed her cheek. "wanna get outta here?" you ask your husband.

"fuck yes." he grumbled, immediately slinging the baby bag over his shoulder and grabbing your daughter. you three were out the door in the next minute.

your toddler started screaming at the burger king y'all were passing on the way home. you gave sukuna a look, silently warning him not to do anything illegal in order to appease her request. as usual, he soothed you with a squeeze of the hand, pulling a jerky, very illegal u-turn across oncoming traffic into the burger king lot.

you sighed, your daughter giggling happily as the car came to a stop.

after you got your food, she placed the crown she got on her father's head. "princess." she said.

"oh?" you side glanced your husband, his glare unsuccessful in deterring you from snickering. you encourage your daughter, "yes, baby, isn't he the prettiest?"

"no." she looked at her father in disgust. "me."

"oh, my apologies. you are so right."

sukuna scoffed. "where'd you think you got your looks from, silly girl?" he crossed his arms, leaning back in the booth. he made no move to take off the cardboard crown, though.

you gave him a look. "i helped too??"

he grinned deviously and pulled you into his side, squeezing your hips. "don't kid yourself, doll. you didn't even try."

© miniimight ! thanks for reading <3

[swearphil]

hello hello hello!! this is your pocket firehouse holiday exchange buddy here with a few questions! 🎄🎄🎄

what colors do you lean toward/love most?

what quote do you love/really speaks to you? it can be a song or otherwise.

what’s your holiday drink of choice?

hello!!! I'm so happy to hear from you!

pinks and purples are typically my favorite! (also I wrote that and immediately thought of the Taylor Swift lyric "purple pink skies." I guess she's always there at a subconscious level)

the quotes one is tough! it's one of those questions that when someone asks, you've suddenly forgotten every possible answer. I'm in the midst of writing papers for classes so my first quote to offer you is the entire poem "Perhaps the World Ends Here" by Joy Harjo. I think it's beautiful, and I'm writing a paper about food and place for class and I'm tempted to work the poem in somehow.

thinking about song lyrics, some of my favorites that come to mind are

the entire bridge of "You're Own Your Own, Kid" by Taylor Swift

"Outside they're push and shoving/ You're in the kitchen humming" from Sweet Nothing by Taylor Swift

Honestly any Taylor Swift song is fair game

"Oh, it's like I'm looking down from the ceiling above/Never in the moment, never giving enough" from Why Am I Like This? by Orla Gartland

and finally, I love hot chocolate! I'm realizing I haven't had any yet and I need to remedy that immediately

[sun4r1nnity]

secret santa dilemma

second year!miya atsumu x fem!reader

oneshot, fluff

"That's a nice charm,"

"Huh?"

"That charm on yer phone, it's nice," Osamu says, nodding towards the little phone charm dangling from Atsumu's phone, which he's currently scrolling through. Atsumu's eyes shift to the charm, a tiny jellyfish with cute beads, triggering a pleasant memory in his mind.

-----

"Whatcha all think 'bout Secret Santa?" the class 2-2 vice representative asks, her voice loud and energetic, filled with excitement. A chorus of 'ooohs' echoes around the classroom, the students liking the idea presented by the girl standing in front, facing the class with a grin.

"But 's not even Christmas," a male student remarks, his eyebrows raised in curiosity.

"Who cares? 's just a fun idea before the mid-semester holidays start!"

"I agree with that idea!" "That's a very nice suggestion," the voices blend, filling the atmosphere.

Atsumu remains unbothered, his attention away from the class vice president as he gazes out the window, his head resting on his palm. He finds the idea ridiculous but doesn't bother to oppose it.

"It's decided then! Everyone write your names on little papers, and we'll draw from this jar!" the class vice announces, presenting a jar—wait, where did she get that from?

Atsumu sighs, feeling pressured to tear a piece of paper and write his name as his classmates do the same. The papers are collected in the jar, and one by one, his classmates draw from it.

A figure stands beside Atsumu's desk, offering him the jar filled with papers, smiling at him, signaling him to draw. He reaches in, pulls out a paper, and unfolds it as the girl moves to the desk behind him.

'Y/N'

Who the hell even is 'Y/N'?

Atsumu surveys the classroom, mentally ticking off the names of classmates he recognizes as he examines each face.

"Who did ya get, Atsumu?" his friend, seated behind him, inquires, craning his neck to glimpse the paper in Atsumu's hand. Turning around, Atsumu asks, "Who's Y/N?"

His friend's eyebrows shoot up, a silent accusation of 'how do you not know your own classmate?' etched on his face. "Oh, Y/N? That's her over there," his friend gestures towards a girl sitting alone, her gaze fixed on her paper until her eyes meet Atsumu's, only to quickly look away.

"Looks like she picked ya too, pretty lucky, huh?" his friend teases, nudging Atsumu's arm with a playful smirk. Atsumu exhales in mild frustration, then turns to face the front and rests his head on the desk.Atsumu plans to stop by a convenience store before returning to his dormitory after practice.

He'll just ask the cashier a gift for girls and settle it quick.

The bell rings loudly, signaling the end of the school day. Yet, none of the students in the class rushed to leave as they usually do; instead, each one appeared rather enthusiastic, holding a wrapped gift in their hands. The air is filled with excitement as everyone eagerly anticipates exchanging surprises with their secret Santas.

Atsumu doesn't share the same excitement as everyone else; a paper bag remains untouched on his desk. He doesn't bother to wrap gifts like others do, as he considers it an unnecessary hassle for the simple gifts he purchases. The assembly commenced, with the crowd's chatter growing louder.

"M'kay everyone, we can start exchanging our gifts now!" the class representative declares, the vice representative grinning on his side.

As everyone started moving towards their recipients, a medley of sounds and laughter permeated the air. Atsumu's gaze searched for you, and he quickly spotted you as you made your way towards him.

The surroundings seemed to fall silent as you faced Atsumu, clutching a cute pink box adorned with a pretty bow, while he held a plain paper bag. Atsumu thought you looked really cute with a flushed face and a hint of blush as you walked nervously, but he quickly dismisses the thoughts. Your eyes locked with his as you tentatively extended the box, stuttering as his assertive gaze bore into you.

"S-sorry, Miya-san, if the gift is not to your liking," you said, watching him take the box and extend his paper bag towards you. Teasing 'oohs' echoed, and you were certain Atsumu heard them as well. You accepted the paper bag, murmuring a small 'thank you.' "Thanks… And sorry too if you don't like my gift," Atsumu spoke, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, feeling the warmth spread to his ears. He felt somewhat embarrassed, aware of the simplicity of his gifts to you: a small strawberry keychain and some chocolates, as if to compensate for what he feared might seem like an unimaginative gesture.

Atsumu sees the small smile on your face, and he swore his heart just skipped a beat at the sight. You walked away from him, uttering another word of thanks before grabbing your bag to leave the classroom.

He gazes at the box he has received, and as his hands begin to open it, a small box of cookies encased in a clear plastic container is revealed, filling nearly the entire space of the box, with a tiny bag tucked into the small opening. The cookies are beautifully decorated, each one a small work of art, and the aroma wafts up, making his mouth water.

"Yeah, got it from my secret Santa," Atsumu said, responding to an unasked question, but one Osamu might want to know.

"Oh? The one who gave ya the cookies? Man, they were so good! Why doncha ask her to make some more? I'm willing to pay for it," Osamu suggested.

Atsumu wore a look of disgust, annoyed by his twin's excessive enthusiasm for food. Yet, deep down, he considered Osamu's suggestion a good one, as it would give him a reason to approach you again. Osamu continued to rave about the deliciousness of your baked goods, eating his food, while Atsumu's gaze shifted to a familiar figure he expected to see today. You were passing by on your way to recess, and his eyes lit up when he noticed the strawberry keychain on your purse's zipper.

He pondered whether you would mind if he asked you to bake some cookies again and, perhaps, for your number.

[lincolndjarin]

Not So Secret Santa

javier peña x fem!reader

this is a part of the @pedrostories gift exchange!!

summary : you get the only person you didn't want for your offices secret santa.

warnings/tags : 18+ mdni, enemies/friends to lovers, canon divergence, steve is your boss/close friend, reader and javier have a complicated relationship, reader is insecure, brief mentions of alcohol, porn with plot, smut, light angst, javier and reader fight physically but it's very light with no actual injury, masturbation, semi-public sex, p in v, idk how to properly tag this but javi likes boobs in this so he touches boobs, unprotected sex (don't do this, wrap it this holiday season), use of a makeshift gag, rough yet very loving sex because it's christmas and christmas magic means i can write what i want.

tldr : you and javi have sex in his office and you put his tie in his mouth to shut him up.

word count : 4.4k

✦ : merry christmas @taro-666 !!! i'm your secret santa !!! i hope you're well this holiday season and i hope you enjoy this fic !! i haven't written much peña, despite how much i love him so i hope i did him justice and i hope you have a wonderful holiday <3 <3 (also sorry this is a little late (20 minuetes left before midnight so we're good). i was out with family all day and was only just now able to get to my laptop, i promise i didn't forget about you lmao)

no use of y/n, reader has hair and painted nails & javier sort of half picks her up at one point, nothing else is described besides clothing.

lovely dividers by @saradika-graphics

“Please, Steve, I’ll give you a week's pay.” You lean across his desk, genuine desperation in your voice after an hour of begging. 

“Not gonna happen.” He doesn’t even bother looking up from his computer.

“A month.” Your voice is starting to pitch up, something similar to anguish in your tone. Your offer finally gets a reaction out of him as his eyes widen, head tilting up.  

“Jesus, you can’t be serious.” He’s examining your expression, trying to determine the sincerity of your claim. 

“My entire Christmas bonus.” 

“Okay, stop.” He sighs, giving you a sympathetic look. “We’re not allowed to switch.”

“When did you become such a stickler for the rules?” You cross your arms in front of your chest. 

“It’s just a secret Santa. He’s our friend, whether you like it or not, you two are close and this shouldn’t be this big of a deal, now go, please, I need to finish up here so I can leave at a reasonable hour.” He loosens his tie as you sigh. 

“It’s not just a secret Santa, Steve. It’s an opportunity for him to tell me that I once again didn’t do something right. No matter what I get him, it isn’t going to be good enough.” Even as you’re saying it you can see that he isn’t going to change his mind about this. 

“He’s a dick to everybody. That’s inevitable, it just means he’s comfortable with you.” He’s already turning back to his work. 

“Please, Steve.” 

“No.”

You glare down at him, giving him your angriest look as his gaze tilts back up to meet yours. 

When it’s clear that he isn’t going to switch you turn and leave, slamming his office door in the process. 

“Don’t forget, I need you here early to help set up for the party!” His muffled voice seeps out into the hall as you walk away. 

Once you’re out in your car and far away from prying eyes you unfold the damned slip of paper you’d drawn earlier today. 

Javier P. 

Of course, you got stuck with fucking Peña, a nickname you’d given him a few months ago. He absolutely hates it but the entire time you’ve worked for the DEA he’s gone out of his way to bother you. Sure, he’s your “friend”, in a strange, complicated way. But he still drives you up the wall with his constant need to one up you and the way he’s constantly making passes at women around the office. 

And it’s not like you have any problems with him sleeping around, lord knows you’ve had a fair amount of one night stands, but he just has to hit on every woman you work with. 

Every single woman, except you. 

You’d never admit it of course but a part of you will always be self conscious about that fact. It doesn’t help that Javier absolutely adores bothering you at every possible moment. He loves nothing more than to pester, annoy, and mock you, spending nearly half his day leaning over your desk despite the million complaints you’ve sent Steve about his persistent partner. 

He’ll sit on your desk, doing an endless amount of things to cause you distress. Like crowding you with his cigarette smell and vanilla cologne as he tells you you’re filling papers wrong, or telling you what colors to paint your nails, or solving your cases before you can even get to them, or teasing you about your shitty car. Today he wouldn’t stop bothering you about your weekend plans like he doesn’t already know exactly where you’ll be. 

“Are you doing anything this weekend?” He’d asked with that devastating smirk and eyebrow raise combo. 

“I have to go buy my secret Santa gift, just like everyone else.” You’d turned away, avoiding eye contact as he scoffed. 

“What about Saturday?” He continued to pry, you wanted nothing more than to shove his perfect ass off your desk. 

“The Christmas party, Javi. Just like everyone else.” You had sighed, squeezing the bridge of your nose as Emilia had walked past your desk. Javier immediately forgot your entire conversation as he turned to her. 

“I love your nails.” He’d pushed his hair out of his face, holding his hand out to take hers, getting a closer look at the well manicured designs. 

You had tuned out after that. Not wanting to be involved in the exchange as you went back to typing. Acutely aware of your own nails. 

Red chipped paint. 

You couldn’t help but wonder what it must be like to be the object of his affection.

It wouldn’t matter if he did hit on you, you would probably reject him anyway. 

Probably. 

It doesn’t matter, it’s never gonna happen so why let it bother you? 

With a sigh you toss the paper into your cup holder, reaching to turn on the radio, maybe some Christmas music will make you feel better. Of course nothing happens as you turn up the volume knob but it makes you want to scream regardless. 

Stupid fucking Peña. 

Stupid broken radio, stupid shitty car. 

“Fuck.” You mumble under your breath as you shift into drive.

Before you know it you’re back in your car in the DEA office parking lot, this time a few things are different though. 

You’re dressed nicer, trading your slacks in for a skirt and your dress shirt for a sweater. And of course you now have a small wrapped box in your lap. 

Since you had yesterday off for the holiday you spent your Friday at the mall, searching for a gift for Javier. Eventually you had settled on three little things; Nicotine gum, mostly because you’ll get more work done if he isn’t constantly dragging you outside for his smoke breaks. He complains too much about going alone and it’s always been easier not to argue, now he can stay at your desk with his gum. Beard oil, the fancy stuff he always insists on using in his mustache. You’d bought him the wrong kind last year for his birthday and you still haven’t heard the end of it. And a lighter, you had to beg the shop owner to make an exception and do a same day engraving of his birthday. 

Jesus. 

You know way too much about him. 

You arrived two hours early as requested by Steve to help him set up. With the wrapped box tucked under your arm you anxiously tap the patterned wrapping paper with your freshly manicured nails. 

“You should paint your nails green, I love green.” He had said through a drag of his cigarette. 

Why did you let that idiot's opinions influence this decision? You feel foolish. The green chrome polish shimmering in the street lights in the parking lot as you step into the building. You had extra time while you were waiting for the engraving and you just couldn’t help yourself when the salon was just a few stores away. The image of Javier holding your hand and examining your painted nails while telling you how nice they looked was just too tempting. Maybe he’d even ask if you did it just for him, and you could drag him into a closet at the party, the exact situation you watched unfold last year. Except in that scenario you weren’t the lucky lady he’d run off with that night. 

There’s no time to be thinking like that.

You shake off whatever filth you were imagining as you look around the hectic mess of garland and glitter.

Steve is already stressing, setting up tables as you set your gift under the tree before getting to work. The office is already mostly decorated but with his new position as supervisor Steve is insistent that everything be perfect his first Christmas in charge. So you plate food, and you mix drinks exactly as he wants them, and you hold the ladder steady when he insists on putting more lights up. When you’ve got about a half an hour before guests start arriving you’re finishing up and last minute touches, the two of you crowded around a drink tower. 

The tension from your conversation yesterday seems to have fizzled out as you become engrossed in your work, when you’ve both finished he gives you an appreciative look.

“Thank you, seriously, it means a lot.” You help him adjust his tie as he straightens out his shirt. 

“Anytime, although I’m surprised you didn’t just ask Javier.” You pat his shoulder as you finish, brushing a stray blonde hair out of his eyes. 

He laughs, a nervous chuckle that makes you raise an eyebrow but when you open your mouth to comment on it he lets out a relieved sigh as the first of your coworkers arrive.

More people show up than you could have expected. 

You stay near Steve for most of the beginning until he gets dragged away by one of the higher ups who had made an appearance, leaving you alone to sip your drink against the back wall. You hum along to a Christmas song that plays loud enough to drown out any conversation you might eavesdrop on to entertain yourself in his absence, your eyes scan the crowds as you try to match up the people you work with with their spouses. 

You’re getting ready to find another group to talk to when you catch a glimpse of him standing against the opposite wall, talking to Bonnie, the woman who works in the cubicle next to yours. 

Fucking Peña. Dressed in a stupidly tight green dress shirt. 

You should leave them alone, especially if he’s trying to make a move on her. But you can’t help it as you make your way around the room towards them, a vague sense of jealousy settling in your stomach. 

String lights twinkle across the ceiling of the office, creating a warm ambience throughout the space, just as you’re about to tap him on the shoulder you overhear their conversation. 

“I had to beg Steve to switch with me, took an hour of convincing and a week's paycheck but it’ll be worth it to see the look on her face.” His back is to you as he leans in closer to Bonnie. 

He’s probably talking about one of the other women from the office. Steve probably had someone Javier was trying to impress and that’s why Steve didn’t want to trade with you, he had already promised his pick to Javier. 

Whatever, you can’t be too bothered about that. It does make you want to return to your spot on the other side of the room but you don’t get the chance to as the music is turned down rather suddenly.

One of the secretaries, Benjamin, stands on a chair, making an announcement that it’s time to do the secret Santa. You manage to twist through the crowds so Javier never sees you, finding his gift and bringing it to where he now stands, simultaneously keeping an eye out for your own gift.  

You hand him the box, watching the way his face lights up. 

“You picked me?” He grins as you nod, carefully peeling back the wrapping paper as you feel a tap on your shoulder. Benjamin waits behind you, leaning in to whisper while you watch Javier open his gift. 

“It was short notice so we didn’t have time to get you a back up gift but your secret Santa told us at the last minute that he forgot to get you something, he promised to bring in something after New Years, I’m so sorry.” You feel a little disappointed as he murmurs but it isn’t that big of a deal, it’s a busy time of year and people can forget things. 

“No worries, do you know who it was? I’d like to at least tell them it’s fine.” You turn away from Javier as he smiles at the nicotine gum, Benjamin's eyes flicker from your face to Javier’s before he gives you a sympathetic look, walking away. 

Javier traded for your name? 

As your head tilts to look at him now you can see the smirk he’s now sporting. 

“ …but it’ll be worth it to see the look on her face.”

Javier had made a conscious effort to get your name just so he could not get you something.

Huh.

That doesn’t feel great. The look he gets to see on your face is betrayal and then just sadness. You don’t really care what the reason for his decision is, you turn and walk away from him regardless. If he tries to say something to you it’s drowned out by the music that starts once again. 

Why are you so upset over some stupid joke? If it had been anyone else you wouldn’t have cared, you’d have brushed it off as a harmless accident but this wasn’t an accident. 

Maybe he didn’t really think of you as a friend. 

Maybe all of the teasing and one-upmanship really was from a place of animosity and you were just too blind and too infatuated to see it. You want to cry but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction so you sift through the bowl of keys, searching for the Star Wars keychain attached to your lanyard but you can’t find it. The combination of the blaring Christmas songs with the frustration you’re currently feeling only makes you more emotional.  

You don’t want to go to the bathrooms where you might run into someone and you can’t go to Steve’s office because he might be talking to his supervisor, so you go to the only place you know there won’t be people. 

Javier’s office. 

You walk as quickly as you can, slipping inside as you slam the door shut behind you, clicking the lock in place before turning around, resting against the door as you feel tears spilling from your eyes. It isn’t until he clears his throat that your head snaps up.

Today is just not your day.

Did he know you’d come here? How the hell did he beat you here? He’s fidgeting with the lighter you bought him, watching it light and go out as he sits with your keys in his other hand. 

Your face feels hot as you take in the sight of him. 

“Give me my keys.” You hold your hand out, wiping your eyes with the other as you wait. Of course he doesn’t hand them over, that would be too easy and today is insisting on being difficult. 

“I really liked your gift. Seriously, this is… outrageously thoughtful.” He murmurs, seemingly unaware of your mood until he takes a closer look at you, his expression shifting as he realizes your eyes are rimmed with red. “Why are you so upset? What happened?” He slides open a drawer, tossing your keys into his desk while you consider calling a cab. 

What a foolish question. 

How could he possibly not know?

“I want to leave, I’m sick of this party.” You turn to leave, maybe Steve can drive you home. 

“Come on, the parties barely started.” He’s on his feet, he doesn’t try to corner you, if anything he sets himself against the wall. 

“And I want to leave.” When you reach for the doorknob he grabs your wrist, holding it as he stares at you, a look of impatience crosses his face. 

“Don’t tell me you’re mad about the secret Santa.” His brows furrow. 

“This isn’t about a stupid secret Santa.”

“It sure seems like it is.” He’s still holding your wrist, why is he still holding your wrist?  

This isn’t about the secret Santa. It’s a lot more than that, and after ages of keeping your thoughts to yourself in front of him you just let it out. 

“This is about the fact that you don’t even care about me enough to make any sort of effort. I know you deliberately chose me, you specifically chose to do this to me and I don’t care that it’s just a stupid prank. It still- It’s still a shitty thing to do.” Your voice starts cracking half way through and you can feel your eyes welling up again but it doesn’t matter anymore, you were wrong, the two of you aren’t friends. 

“So this is about the secret Santa.” 

Of course he wouldn’t get it. 

“You’re an idiot.” You finally pull your wrist from him. 

You aren’t sure what else to do so you shove him, his back hitting the wall with a soft thud as you push past him to get to his desk, hoping to grab your keys but he catches your waist first. 

“Can you stop being so stubborn for five seconds and just let me explain myself?” You can tell his patience is wearing thin, his voice is strained as he pulls you back against him, caging you against his chest with his arms. 

“Fuck Javi- let me go-” You try to kick his knees but he anticipates it, shifting his legs to avoid you.

“Just wait- listen to me.” He swings you around a bit as he tries to still you, you can feel his breath hitching, the buttons of his shirt digging into your back. The two of you thrash around for another moment until you freeze, feeling something poking your hip. When he realizes why you stopped putting up a fight he lets you go in an instant. “Shit- I-I’m sorry.” He stammers as you turn around towards him, eyes wide. 

You never thought you’d see Javier Peña flustered yet here he is. When you take a step back his cheeks are burning red, his fingers twitch nervously at his side, and as much as you try to ignore it, his pants are tighter than usual. (And considering how tight they usually are this is quite a feat.) He won’t look you in the eye. 

“It- It’s fine, Javi.” You adjust the hem of your skirt, trying to fix your hair. You just can’t catch a break today. “It was an accident, there was a lot of- of friction and it happens. I think I should just go.” You stutter a bit trying to find the right words. This entire evening has been catastrophic, and you’re more than ready to call it a night. 

“It’s not an accident.” He mumbles, finally looking at you, not bothering with subtlety as he adjusts himself. “You should probably go.” 

If it’s not an accident you don’t want to go. 

You want to stay and keep making accidents, starting with rushing forward into him, taking his face in your hands and kissing him. Which is exactly what you do. At first he doesn’t react and you worry you read the situation wrong but when you pull away, just an inch, his hands envelop you. 

Hips, waist, back, shoulders, hair. He’s everywhere, all consuming as his teeth graze your lips, in an instant your backside hits his desk.

When he finally does remove his lips from yours his are slick and a tiny bit swollen, his pupils swallow his irises whole. 

“I loved your gift, I wasn’t joking, it’s perfect and the last thing I want is for you to think that I don’t care about you. Of course we’re friends, you-” As he rambles on you ball up the end of his tie, unceremoniously shoving it between his teeth. 

“Talk later, this now.” You grab the bottom of your sweater, pulling it up over your head, watching his jaw tense at the sight of your chest, his hands playing with the strap of your bra as you hop up onto his desk. Hiking your skirt up, he slots himself between your legs, your own fingers push your panties to the side as he reaches behind you, easily twisting the clasp of your bra to release it, tossing it to the side as his enormous palms engulf your breasts. 

You dip your fingers into the wetness between your legs, briefly taking a moment to wonder how you found yourself here. Just moments ago you were ready to leave and consider your friendship with Javier over, yet now you’re spread out on his desk, on display for him as you sink your fingers into your eager cunt. 

You don’t get to linger on the thought for long because he groans into the fabric of his tie and you’re pulled back into the moment. 

Jesus you’re soaked. 

You have no trouble pushing two slick digits into yourself. You can feel the outline of him against your thigh and you know that you need to warm yourself up to take him. He’s too engrossed in your tits to do it right now and you’ve waited too long for this, you don’t want to wait, you just want to have him. 

He’s tender at first, squeezing and softly tracing the outline of your areola until he seemingly can’t control himself any longer and he pinches, rolling your nipples between his thumb and pointer finger as your whine. Back arching of the oak of his desk as you curl your own fingers. Even through the tie his moans are still somehow louder than yours, you’re briefly worried about someone hearing as you let out a whimper while he tweaks your nipple but the music’s so loud at the party you can hear Mariah Carey from here. 

You don’t stop for a second, putting your focus on reaching the peak that you find yourself already getting startlingly close to. You can feel yourself pulsing as you pick up the pace, reveling in the way his eyes devour the very sight of you. You’re agonizingly close when he grabs your wrist, removing your fingers carefully as you try and resist, wanting to finish what you started, you’re about to whine when he begins unzipping his pants. You can feel your pussy clenching at the very sight of him, of course he isn’t wearing any underwear under his dress pants so the second his zipper is fully down his cock springs free.

Javier fucking Peña has a gorgeous cock. 

Standing stiff and proud without either one of you even having to touch it. Pretty and pink on the tip, already leaking down the shaft. And heavy, as he takes it in his hand, his other hand gripping your waist as lines himself at your entrance. He takes a moment, eyes scanning your face, silently asking for permission. 

You can’t nod fast enough but the second that you do he slides into you. 

You could never conjure up something this good in your fantasies. The way he fills you, stretching you open as he whimpers into the fabric of his tie, you like that he listened, that he kept it in his mouth this long. His strokes are needy and fast, like he’s been waiting for this for so long and now he can’t help but be ravenous. You were already painfully close before he filled you with his perfect cock, it takes only a few minutes for you to be right back there. His fingers dig into your waist so hard that you’re certain he’ll leave marks as he slams in and out of you, pulling out almost entirely with every thrust. 

You’re vaguely aware of the sound of his trinkets rolling off his desk and onto the floor. 

“Javi, Javi, Javi.” Between gasps you chant his name, the sound encouraging him as he pushes in deep, his pelvis grinding against your clit until you see stars. Your cunt clenching around him as your orgasm is ripped out of you. Messy and loud and blurry, he fucks you through it. You’re so blissed out you can barely focus on the persistent pounding into you until you manage to come back to your senses and his hands leave your waist, instead intertwining with your fingers as his hips twitch forward and you feel him hastily pull out of you.

He spits his tie out, opting to instead bite your shoulder as he comes, the groan that leaves his throat is obscene. Raspy and filthy as he collapses down on top of you, the two of you sweating and gasping amongst the paperwork and pens now scattered across his desk. 

Did that really just happen?

He manages to collect himself first, leaning back and tucking himself into his pants before quickly tending to you. He grabs a few tissues, wiping your stomach where the product of your activities lay, before redressing you, slipping the flats that had slipped off, back onto your feet, pulling your skirt back down to cover you as he slides your panties back into place, and retrieving your bra and sweater, lifting you into a sitting position as he redresses you, kissing your cheeks, nose, and forehead the entire time. 

“All good?” He whispers, gentler than you’ve ever heard him as you nod, grinning. 

“Good enough to make me forgive you for not getting me a present.” You reach into his drawer, grabbing your keys before sliding off of his desk. 

“Maybe this was your present.” He tilts his head, kissing you again, smiling all the while. 

“That was the perfect gift then.” Probably the best you’ve ever gotten.

“Are you gonna stay for the rest of the party?” He takes your hands in his, his thumbs absentmindedly rubbing circles into your skin. 

“I think I need to go to bed after that.” You laugh as you jingle your keys, turning towards the door as he catches your lips in another kiss. 

It makes your heart flutter. The continued affection makes you think this isn’t a one time thing. You want more. You want conversations about feelings, and to talk about what just happened, you want to feel him inside you again, and the look in his eyes tells you that you’re going to get all of that. But right now you’re tired, so the rest can wait. 

“Can I walk you to your car?” You nod as he murmurs.

He doesn’t let go of your hand, walking you out of the building towards your car, opening the door for you and giving you one last kiss with a promise that he’d call you tomorrow, before you watched him walk back into the building.

Your phone buzzes as you turn your key in the ignition, the sound of Wham! fills the car, Last Christmas playing softly. You take your phone out of your pocket, checking the text notification from Javier. 

[ i forgot to tell you how pretty your nails are. merry christmas hermosa ]

Your head turns up in surprise as you realize your radio is working. A new radio system is installed in the center of your dashboard, with a little green bow taped to the top, and a paper tag with Javi’s familiar messy handwriting. 

from : your secret fucking santa

a/n : happy holidays everyone!!

[shadesoflsk]

LOVE YOU, SANTA!

pairing: re2 leon kennedy x fem reader.

summary: You were feeling a little bit depressed since this was your first Christmas away from your family. Thank God your best friend was there to comfort you.

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, smut, best friend Leon, p in v, soft sex, unprotected sex, (don't be like them) praise words, both Leon and reader are quite inexperienced, confessions, two dorks in love, Leon dresses up as santa, just Leon being silly.

word count: 6.2k

minors do not interact, please.

You weren’t feeling the Christmas season.

You’ve always been family orientated. Christmas for you was the perfect excuse to connect with long lost relatives and of course spend quality time with your loved ones. Video calls and interminably lengthy texts didn’t fulfill your desire to be surrounded with your family.

The Christmas lights illuminated your features as you stared at your own tree with teary eyes. Alone, in your living room, you thought about the amazing time you would be having if luck was on your side.

Weeks prior, you had bought a plane ticket ready to fly and visit your family. You had already prepared everything. Gifts? Checked. Souvenirs? Checked. Tons of stories about your university life? Double checked.

But you couldn’t have prevented the fact that your flight would get canceled at last minute. You were offered another one, airline policies or something among those lines. It was an understatement to say that you were mad, angry, and frustrated. It won’t be the same if you travel two days after Christmas. The holiday would be already over.

So, you did what anyone with rational thoughts would do. Drown yourself in sadness as you sank deeper into the couch. Your eyes traveled from your Christmas tree to your TV which was playing The Grinch, very fitting. 

You checked your cell phone, and you were welcomed with countless pictures. Most of them were very family appropriate. “Far apart during this Holiday, but totally together in our hearts and minds. Merry Christmas!” Ok, your grandma had no need to remind you you were miles away. But you replied with a short phrase as well.

A sigh left your lips as you set aside your phone, trying to focus on the movie. You watched as the Grinch ripped the tablecloth off the table and none of the items fell from it. You once heard that Jim Carrey defied the laws of physics as the dishes and plates were supposed to fly off. Funny, you thought.

Your phone suddenly buzzed. With an annoying grunt you expected another call from a relative saying how much they were missing you. Yes, it fulfilled your heart knowing that you were expected at home, a family to come back to whenever life gets too rough. But right now, as much as you needed a hug, you didn’t want a reminder of your own solitude.

You grabbed your phone and saw the caller id. “Leon?” you murmured as you picked up the call. 

Leon was your best friend, or at least you wanted to say that. You appreciate him as a friend since he is the sweetest guy ever. A gentleman through and through, holding the doors open for you, helping you with your housework whenever you needed and giving you a shoulder to cry on when life was too hard.

He was the epitome of being a best friend, right? However, the way your mind seems to wander to other places when he was close to you made you feel guilty. You thought he only saw you as a friend, nothing more yet you couldn't control your own mind and imagine him in more intimate settings.

Whenever he talks about his training at the Police Academy, how he tells you about every little thing that had happened to him back at the supermarket. Simple things like that make your heart do laps. The way his lips move and how his tongue would stick out from time to time led your brain to create the most romantic scenarios.

How would it be to kiss him? To feel his lips locked with yours in a heated but meaningful exchange of love? Dear God how you wanted that and at the same time you wanted to slap yourself. 

Guilt ran deep down in your system when you thought of him like that. Your friendship with him mattered more than anything but the heart wants what it wants, as dramatic as it sounded.

You responded, bringing your phone to your ear.

“Hey Leon.” Nonchalantly as always, you didn't expect Leon to call you, especially when you knew he didn't exactly celebrate this holiday. He has a family, he was just not as close as you're with yours. 

“Hi, how are you?” Now that's weird, the conversation seemed so uptight, too rigid. Not like every other call you have with him. His voice tone also changed, curiosity filled your mind as you tried to search the meaning behind his call.

“I'll be honest… not too well. You know I was supposed to fly a few days ago? Well, my flight was canceled so here I am.” You explained to Leon the time-line of disasters you have faced. 

“Yeah, Rebecca told me.” So that's why he called! Word has traveled until it reached Leon's ears and as attentive and sweet as he is, he couldn’t stay still and let his friend be alone on a day like this.

“So… are you at home right now?” Leon continued speaking, you could sense he was smiling at the moment, as he stretched that so. You know him too well to know that he's planning something.

“Yup… It's just me and The Grinch.” You laughed at your own statement and your eyes instinctively roamed over the TV that kept playing the movie.

“Am I allowed to be the third wheel?” He joked, you were used to his funny side or at least he tells you it's funny. You really did find him hilarious, but it was even funnier to pretend his jokes didn't phase you. 

“I don’t know… Don’t you have plans for tonight?” You asked, playing mindlessly with a strand of hair that has fallen to your shoulder. You have been friends with Leon for years, and you knew for a fact that he usually spends most of his christmases in solitude. Always telling you that everything is alright. Sometimes, you wanted to invite Leon over to your family dinner. But you always imagined the endless teasing your poor friend would be a victim of. “Is that your boyfriend?” “Oh what a handsome gentleman!” So, you never asked him out.

“Not really…” Leon admitted, his voice slightly lowered as if ashamed to accept that he had no plans nor family to visit on an important day like this. “But I could have a Christmas date if you accept. You wouldn’t like your best friend spending Christmas Eve alone, wouldn’t you?” You could almost hear him laughing after saying that. What a little bitch he could be sometimes. But you love him nonetheless.

“Ok ok. Don’t sound so coy. It doesn’t suit you.” Both of you laughed. It was indeed nice hearing his voice on this lonely night. But the fact that he was eager to make it better made your heart flutter. He told you he would be there in about twenty minutes. So you were left alone once again.

After hanging up, you stared blankly at the TV for about fifteen minutes. Your eyes were not really focused on the movie anymore. You allow your mind to give into its desires, you don’t know what this night has in store for you, but you expect something more than simple hugs and cuddles. You were dying to feel him way closer than that and stop debating if you should break those walls of simple friendship or not.

The loud banging on your door made you yelp. You drop your phone on the couch as you quickly approach the front door. 

“Ok I got it! You can stop knocking!” You shouted as your hand met with the cold sensation of the doorknob. You were expecting to see Leon in his usual type of clothing. A pair of jeans with a basic blue t-shirt. But your eyes weren’t prepared for what you were about to see.

“What the fuck…” You muttered as soon as you opened the door. Your arm fell to your side as you watched Leon with a dumbfounded look on your face. Your mouth hung wide open as a nervous but amused chuckle left your lips.

There was Leon, dressed from head to toe with a classical Santa costume. He was wearing black boots, red fluffy pants, a red plush coat and even a white beard. The only thing he was missing was a white haired wig yet his blonde hair made up for that. 

“Ho ho ho?” Leon sheepishly whispered, bringing a hand to his hair. You couldn’t see it but you knew he was turning bright red under that white beard of his. His baby blue eyes meet yours as you try your best to hold back your laugh. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he waits for you to say something.

“Look, can I come in? Someone else might see me. One of your neighbors already did and…” Leon stumbled on his words. He foolishly thought that the trip from his car to your front door would be uninterrupted yet luck wasn’t on his side when your neighbor — an old ‘sweet’ lady — thought he was breaking in. That led to an argument of five minutes where Leon had to explain that he wasn’t a robber… What kind of robber would dress up as santa? He had sarcastically said. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that since it made the granny way angrier. 

“Y–Yeah sure.” You shook your head as your words trailed off. You can't make up your mind on this ridiculous situation. The more you look at Leon the more… grateful you get. You can no longer laugh at his attempt to cheer you up since it was no longer an attempt — he succeeded. As you stepped aside and made some room for Leon to enter, your eyes traveled over his figure, it was a really silly outfit indeed.

You gave him no time to react as you threw your arms around his neck. Indulging in the warmth that his embrace –and fluffy outfit– provided. Even though your heart was beating so hard that it could basically break through your skin – you tried not to pay attention to that fact since you really needed that hug.

“Thank you…” You murmured against his neck, your nose ever so slightly tickling his skin. This was more than friends do. No friend would basically drown themselves in their friend's natural scent.

“It's okay. Just… let me take care of you.” And no friend would let his hands wander over his friend’s body. A pat on the back was everything he needed to do. There was no need for him to allow his curious hands to caress the sides of your waist and lower back. 

The hug lasts longer than a friendly hug should but neither of you seemed to care right now. You kicked the door and closed it with your foot as Leon moved the both of you to the couch. Not even attempting to untangle himself from your arms.

Eventually, he breaks the hug as he makes you sit down on the couch. His eyes linger on yours for a few seconds before pressing a quick but sweet kiss on your forehead. Yeah, totally what friends do, right?

“I'm gonna make us some hot chocolate and then watch some movies, ok?” He didn't even let you reply before he basically teleported to your kitchen as if it was his own. 

It's not difficult to let him do his thing. Ever since you met him, he's always been like this. Like a puppy who is eager to please its owner. But you weren't an owner. Hell, you sometimes thought that it was the other way around. The dynamics in your friendship were not clear, and both of you have gotten lost in those blurry lines of pleasing and being pleased. It was as if you two were trying your hardest to do your best in front of the other. Too scared to make a mistake, too scared to let their walls crumble and show their most inner desires and wishes.

After a few minutes, he comes back with a wide smile on his face and two mugs on his hands. If he had a tail, it would be wagging right now. Yours too. Puppy love at its finest.

He hands you your mug before placing his on the coffee table. You laugh as he takes off his white beard and instinctively scratches his jaw.

After a while of watching those poorly-made Christmas movies where the city girl spends her Christmas in her old hometown and meets the love of her life, both of you found comfort in cuddling each other. You place your head on his shoulder. That gave Leon the opportunity to lay his on top of yours.

“Where did you get that costume from?” you casually asked, your eyes not moving from the tv. You were comfortable enough to drift off to sleep but there was no way you were falling asleep right now.

“You know how I sometimes have to do the things most of my colleagues don't want to do? Yeah…” Leon chuckled shyly. You didn't know the extent of his words but you could imagine the situation. Him losing a bet, him having to go somewhere dressed up as Santa. Leon's luck can be the worst from time to time.

“So… you decided that it would be an amazing idea to show up at my house dressed up as fucking Santa Claus?” Your voice was filled with light teasing, but the way your eyes shone even if they weren't looking at Leon, told him everything he needed to know. You were thankful that Leon could be next to you right now. And deep down, Leon was feeling all sorts of emotions because at last, he could spend this holiday with you from all people. 

“Yeah. Liked the idea? I think these Santa pants fit me a little too well.” Leon laughed at his own joke. You laughed too, and the vibrations of your giggles brushed against Leon's neck, sending shivers down his spine.

As you laid your head on Leon's shoulder, his eyes meet with yours. If looks could speak, he would have already told you how much he desired to have you now. Even if it meant throwing away years of friendship and trust you have built. 

Maybe it wasn't wrong. Maybe both of you were meant to indulge in that desire and be blinded by it. No more secrets, no more shy glances and especially no more lies about your feelings. 

Your eyes were half lidded, your heart was beating so fast you thought you were dying and every good and bad outcome played on your mind as your lips slightly parted. Hoping that Leon would welcome you as you wanted him to.

And dear God he wanted to do just that. When his eyes locked with yours, he was sent to heaven and back. Yeah, you have laid your head on his shoulders countless times. But now, it seems different. As if he could tell that you had made up your mind about this and no one could stop you.

And he will definitely not stop you.

The sounds of the tv that were filling the living room now served as white noise. The beating of your own heart was the only thing you could truly focus on besides Leon's lips, which were getting dangerously close to yours.

“Can I?” A simple yet important question. It carried years of yearning and pining. Of course he can. What a stupid question to ask. But deep down, you're once again grateful that consent was the first thing that came to his mind even when it was just a kiss. You have won the lottery with this guy.

“Please…” Your voice came out a whimper rather than a simple whisper. But at this point you truly don't care. The world might end but right now you were at the top of it.

And he finally indulges.

His lips met yours in a slow and tender kiss. It hurt, but not in a bad way – your chest ached with longing. It felt so soothing and rewarding that both of you couldn't help but relax in it. As if a weight was removed from your backs, and now you were drowning in your most intimate thoughts.

Your muscles tensed as Leon pulled you even closer. His toned arm wrapping around your middle section. The need to feel you pressed against him was insatiable, especially when he was still so afraid of messing this up. You let him, you let his lips guide yours in a now messier kiss.

You felt his tongue poking against your bottom lip, as if asking permission to kiss you deeper, rawer. You once again allow him to. Whatever he wants right now, you want it too.

Now, the wet sounds from your sloppy kiss were like background music for both of you. Your hands found their home in Leon's hair as they tangled in his fluffy blonde locks. You hear him slightly moan in the middle of the kiss, too nervous to go further but too turned on to stop. 

His hand trembled as it traveled from your waist, to your hips and finally they have found their destination on the flesh of your rear. Unsure, he caressed the area before he squeezed it. Immediately regretting it once he heard you yelp.

“Sorry sorry sorry I don't know what came into me I jus–”

“Leon.”

“If you want me to leave I c–”

“Leon, I want it too.”

And that was a surprise for Leon. It didn't matter that he basically had his tongue down your throat a few seconds ago. The fact that you wanted to go further with him was something he couldn't have imagined. 

Your hand goes to his cheek, your thumb grazing over his skin as you noticed the rosy color forming in his face. The best sight you have ever seen. Especially how his eyes were glassy with pure love and raw desire.

“Are you sure?” Leon asked, a hint of shyness could be perceived in his eyes. 

You nodded, giving him a comforting smile. You hoped that it could convey how sure you were about this. If it wasn’t enough, you will surely know how to convince him that this was everything you have ever wished for.

You leaned closer once again and kissed him, this time it was even slower than the first kiss but not less intimate. You were careful not to startle him since it was obvious he was too sensitive and shy for his own good.

You delicately moved from his lips to his jaw, planting kisses along his jawline. You could hear how his breath was starting to get heavier and how his hands clenched the blankets instead of your body.

“You can touch me.” You assure Leon between kisses, your lips were now on his neck gently kissing each one of his moles. 

“I−Okay…” He decides that he should stop being so reserved. The person that he has been in love with is basically presenting herself on a platter, just for him. He will be damned if he doesn’t take this opportunity. “Tell me if it’s too much.” Ever so gentleman, he was still so cautious of not making you uncomfortable, it was too cute.

His hands go immediately to your breasts as if he had already thought where he wanted to touch. He cupped them gently. caressing them over your thin piece of clothing. It was now his turn of kissing you. As his hand played with your sensitive skin, his flushed lips returned to yours, his tongue welcoming itself in your mouth. 

“I have dreamed about this… you know.” Leon whispered before kissing you again. Neither of you were giving each other enough time to breathe. Too needy to be kissed, touched, and desired again. “Felt so… guilty each time I imagined myself touching you like this.” Leon’s hand snaked under your shirt and his calloused fingers found your nipples. 

Arousal started to pool underneath you as you let out a whimper. His cold fingertips brought you so much pleasure that most of your words died in your throat. Nothing else was needed to say, your body will speak for yourself.

His hand stopped playing with your breast as it moved down to your thighs. He muffled any other sound you could make as his lips shut you up once again. It was like he desperately longed for something to keep his mouth busy. You could feel that he was still unsure of how to approach this new experience with you, yet this didn’t stop him from trying to do his best.

The tip of his fingers grazed over your skin until they reached their destination.

Your sweatpants did a poor job at hiding your soaked mess. You instinctively lifted your hips as his hand teased over your clothed lower part. 

“Fuck− Can… Can I?” You already know what he’s asking for and you waste no time, you nodded eagerly. It was pathetic how some simple touches could bring you over the edge but years of pent up feelings were the culprit of this situation. 

As he saw you nodding, his hand traveled underneath your sweatpants and underwear before he decided that it would be better if he took them off. In the blink of an eye, your outfit was disregarded. Besides from your thin shirt that still covered your chest, you were fully exposed to Leon, who had a hungrily look on his face. His fingers once more traveled down and  were instantly covered in slick as you pressed your back against his chest, feeling the fluffy coat warming you.

He was still wearing that damn costume.

You made a mental note to tell him to take it off later, But for now, you were focused on how Leon’s finger brushed against your clit. His middle finger slowly followed circular motions as you moaned against his neck. It feels so much better than your own − not because he was the most expert in the area − but because it was him. Nobody else was in your mind at that moment.

His finger rubbed your throbbing bundle of nerves one last time before they moved to your entrance. You unconsciously parted your legs even wider, throwing your head back. The couch wasn’t the most comfortable place, but for now it will do.

He positioned his finger at your entrance. Over your shoulder, you glanced at Leon who was already looking at you. As if he could read your mind, he leaned closer and locked his lips with yours, intertwining in a tender kiss despite the lustful actions that were taking place. 

He slowly inserted one finger, feeling your walls clenching around it. You panted in the middle of the kiss, his deft finger curled inside you as he slowly moved it, in and out at a perfect pace. You grip on the couch, soft whimpers left your lips as Leon tries to find your most sensitive spot. 

“My beautiful pretty girl.” Leon whispered against your ear, the words of praise slipping so easily out of his lips. He was no stranger to complimenting you, as you already knew he was an old fashioned boy, always so respectful and so cautious. And tonight, he wouldn't falter on his behavior, even if his actions were not so gentlemanly.

Although he was playing the role of a gentle lover, he was freaking out inside. He didn't know what to do next. Should he go slower? Faster? Should he keep talking? For now, he decided to add another finger.

Squelching sounds filled your dark living room, making you aware of how wet you were. Leon was eager to please you, maybe that’s why he quickly realized how your eyes rolled to the back of your head when he moved his fingers in a certain way. He keeps up that pace, shamelessly plunging his fingers even deeper.

“Fuck, you’re gripping me.” Now that’s new. If you weren’t literally drunk in desire you would be taken aback by the sudden phrase Leon has just said. 

“Leon…” Your voice came out as a desperate plea, your hips bucking against his fingers who kept pumping into your hole. Leon was in heaven, he has seen many of your expressions. Joyful because you got the job you were looking for, gloomy because you couldn’t pass one of your exams or angry at yourself when you couldn’t complete something. He has seen them all, or so he thought. But he has unlocked one more, which was definitely his favorite now. 

Your dazzled expression made his cock twitch in his pants. He had forgotten about himself and his own pleasure as he was too focused on yours. Yet he couldn’t deny the ache he was feeling and how he had already made a mess in his underwear.

“What is it?” There was a certain tone in his voice that you were foreign to. It was as if he had found a glimpse of confidence in himself that allowed him to act a bit bolder. However, his soft and gentle nature still remained. He slowed down his movements, which was even worse because he was dragging your climax in that way. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want to feel you.” 

As soon as those words left your lips, Leon knew what he had to do. He removed his fingers from you, a loud whine escaped your lips yet he wasted no time to grab you and carry you bridal style.

He walked towards your room. With his hip, he opened up the door that led to your sacred place where Leon has been countless times but now his objective is different than simple cuddling or sleeping.

He gently placed you on the middle of the bed as you waited for him. You felt a little exposed now that you were fully aware of what was going to happen. You unconsciously closed your legs, your thighs pressed against each other trying to hide the leaking mess that Leon's fingers have left.

He crawls towards you, one hand moving between your thighs to open them once again. For now, he only remains on top of you, watching you attentively for any signs of doubts.

He sees none.

For a moment, you lock eyes. His dilated pupils watching yours in a welcoming silence. Eventually, both of you couldn't hold back your laughter and it came down as a waterfall. He nuzzles his face against your neck while he continues chuckling.

You stop for a moment, trying to catch your breath as your laugh slowly dies down. Leon lifts his head, your thumbs wipe away the tears that had formed in the corner of his eyes.

“What are we laughing at?” You chuckled once again seeing how red Leon was. It should be awkward, embarrassing even. But your fears were long forgotten the moment he first touched you. Taking this step with him wouldn't mean breaking your friendship with him but rather start something even more beautiful.

“I feel like we're laughing at different things.” You continued, your hand then went to his face, brushing away the curtain of hair that fell on top of his forehead.

“Well… I'm laughing out of nervousness. I didn't expect to be in this position with… you.” Leon sheepishly said as he leaned closer to your touch. His warm face seeking your hand. “I won't lie though. I like being on top.”

His confession makes you laugh, wondering if he knew how deep your feelings also go. 

“And… I'm laughing because you still haven't taken off your Santa costume.”

Leon's head lowered to see that he in fact hasn't thrown off that not so sexy santa costume. He shakes his head before pressing a kiss to your nose.

“Maybe you have been naughty this year and Santa had to come all the way from the North Pole to see it for himself.” He laughed at his own joke, before he sat on his thighs and took off the coat.

“Oh fuck you Leon. Can we at least have this moment for ourselves?” You chuckled nonetheless. Your eyes fixated on his broad chest. You have seen it before, but admiring it in the dim light while he was on top of you, ready to take you, surely changed everything.

“Yes ma'am.” He grinned at you, before lowering himself and kissing you. Your parted legs gave him enough space to settle between your thighs. His lips were as soft as ever and now you were worried you wouldn't like to kiss anyone else but him. 

Between the kiss, you reached for the buttons of your shirt. Undoing one by one before leaving you completely exposed to him. Before you could even start to feel self conscious, Leon's cold hand reached for one of your breasts, gently brushing against your nipple.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your chest, before lapping his tongue against your nipple. His lips circled around it as your back arched into his touch. 

“Leon –fuck– please…” You moaned, your body slightly shaking from the sensation Leon's tongue brought you. You couldn’t wait to have him inside of you.

“Mhm?” He murmured as he continued sucking your sensitive spot, the vibrations making you even more sensitive to the touch. His blue eyes meet yours as he looks up to see you. 

“Want you inside.” you whined, looking at him with half lidded eyes.

“Whatever my princess wants.” Leon replied, placing one last kiss on your nipple.

He sat on the bed and quickly took off his pants with his underwear, throwing them somewhere around your room. He quickly returned to his position.

You couldn’t help but let your eyes dart towards his already hard dick. The angry and reddish tip was the first thing you noticed, making your mouth water at the sight. 

Leon forgot for a moment that he was supposed to be dominant in this moment, his rosy cheeks being painfully obvious to you. He internally reassured himself and ignored his own shyness, connecting his lips with yours in a sweet manner. His breath slightly shaking.

He reached down and positions the tip of his dick near your clit, collecting the slippery slick that was flooding your folds.

“Tell me if it hurts or if you want me to stop.” He said with a warm smile, making sure to see you nodding. Once he had your approval, he pushed himself right into you. The room instantly filled with sinful heavy breaths as both of you got what you always wanted. He gasped against your mouth before he captures your lips in a messy kiss.

You hissed from the sensation of his dick stretching you out. Your arms wrapped around his neck to bring him even closer to you, the need to feel him near you was overwhelming, especially when he was literally deep into you.

He let his head fall against your forehead, following how your arms guided him closer. You can see a faint smile forming on his lips as he bottoms out. In that expression, you see years of yearning and well kept secrets. 

For a moment, he stays still. Letting you adjust to his size with his left hand tracing patterns on your hips. 

“Are you okay?” Leon asked breathlessly, his eyes were glassy with undivided desire as they bore into yours.  He’s patient, caring and loving, he has wished to feel you like for so long, he wouldn’t mess up this moment. 

“You're not going to break me.” You laugh, but the way you scrunch your nose told him otherwise. 

Leon chuckled and started thrusting, trying to be as deep and slow as he could. Your gummy walls gripped his cock just right and he may as well cum on the spot if you continue doing so. He wouldn’t dare to do that, he wanted this to last. Just so you could remember how he fits you perfectly, like the missing piece to a puzzle.

“I– Am I doing okay?” Leon whimpered against your lips, his sticky forehead still connected with yours. His eyes flutter shut, the sensation being too much for him. He can’t help but ask, no matter the situation he’s always a bit bashful. 

You nodded, already wanting more.

His other arm decided to snake around your waist, lifting your hips up and bucking even deeper into you. The new angle allowed him to slide in and out with a faster pace now. The wet sounds were music to your ears, which you'd never grow tired of hearing.

You feel him everywhere. Inside you, in your stomach as butterflies. In your mind as his pornographic moans imprint on your thoughts. You wrap your legs around his waist, providing him even more space to deeply sink inside of you. The curve of his length hitting your g-spot just right. As if he was made for this, as if you were especially crafted for him.

With every thrust, sweet words leave his lips. “You're so beautiful.” “Prettiest girl in the entire world.” Words of praise being sung like a chant, like a mantra he wanted to scream until it engraved in your mind as tattoos that would never fade.

You could feel your climax coming. The heat pooling in your abdomen was proof that you won't last longer.

And you knew Leon wouldn't either.

His hips were starting to miss their already set rhythm. His breath got heavier, and his eyes rolled back. His toned arms held you even closer if that was humanly possible.

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes as you feel Leon's cock twitching inside of you. 

“Fuck–I.” His voice was dripping with desire as he felt your velvety walls squeezing him once again. The grip on your waist got tighter as his grunts grew higher. He watches your body writhing underneath him, how you shut your eyes down when you cum all over his cock. And he could die as a happy man knowing that he made you feel like this.

Eventually, the sway of his hips came to a stop as he also felt himself reaching the so awaited high he was looking for. He’s too gone to even care about anything else when he spurts deep inside of you, white and thick load filling your aching cunt.

Both of you are breathless and sticky, Leon nuzzled his face against your neck and left a trail of pecks on your skin. His arms didn’t leave your body. His weight on top of you coated you with a comfortable and soothing warmth. He pressed his lips against your cheek as he pulled out of you with a faint grunt. And for a few minutes, nothing is said. Neither of you wanted to break the silence that was embracing your souls. 

“You ok?” He finally asked in a hushed voice, his lips never leaving your skin as he pampered you with soft caresses around your face. 

“Mhm…” You nodded, your eyes slightly closed as you took in what had happened. 

“I swear I didn’t expect this to happen. I mean, I wanted to take you on a date first, but –” Leon let out a short laugh, stopping himself from rambling. “But maybe we can have a little date tomorrow? You know… Our first Christmas together.”

His words lingered in the air, he waited for you to reply to his obvious confession. He didn’t want this to end as a mistake or a one night thing. He wanted to court you properly and show you that he could also be the best boyfriend ever. 

“Sure. That sounds amazing.” 

The voices of your relatives fill your old home as everyone kept unwrapping their Christmas gifts. Leon was at your side, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. He admired the sight, one he wasn't used to. 

Familial love.

He’s powerless at the teasing words of your family, he takes pride in being independent, but right he can’t help but cling to your arm when your grandmother pulls his cheek as if he was a toddler.

“What a sweet boy you are, Leon. See, I have some gifts for you!” Your grandmother gently but determined grabs your boyfriend’s arm, forcing him to follow her where a vast choice of boxes were displayed. He gives you a look that could be translated into Help me, please. I won’t be able to carry so many gifts.

You shook your head with a chuckle. When your grandma had an idea, nobody could stop her.

You sat on the couch, witnessing how your grandmother pulled out a scarf from one box. She wasted no time wrapping it around Leon's neck. You knew that he was feeling awkward and timid, true to his nature. But there was a glint in his eyes that told you he was really thankful, especially with the way his eyes seemed to soften once your grandma gave him a joyful smile.

“How long have you been together?” A cousin of yours, a few years younger, asked you. Her eyes darted from Leon and then back to you.

“A year.” You smiled softly, your eyes reflecting how proud you were as you said those words. “Exactly one year.”

author's note: please this took me SO LONG I'll never write smut ever again TT anyway re2 leon makes me go all soft please give this man an award for being the best guy.

[zhongrin]

𒆙 deus auri

part 4/8 of ⎡∞ / 𝟔 𝟎 𝟎 𝟎 ⁺⎦, a zhongli 2023 birthday event

© zhongrin | 2023  ✼  no repost・translations・plagiarism of any kind・ai data mining. rebloggers get a free cup of tea ♡

𖧷 tags ┈ gn!reader, teeth-rotting fluff

𖧷 a/n ┈ merry christmas yall! i hope you're being surrounded by your loved ones today (be it physically or online). consider this a christmas gift from me to you <3

𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒻𝓊𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓊 ❬ masterlist ❭ 𐫱 𝓂𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅 ❬ taglist ❭

𝓃early everyone in your neighborhood knew of your secret admirer, yet no one knew of their actual identity.

they had their speculations, of course. the elders just love to tell you all about their theories whenever they spot you with yet another fresh yellow hibiscus on your person. perhaps it was the young man three houses away, since mrs. feng saw him stealing glances at you? oh, or maybe it was the lady who moved into the neighborhood a few months ago, since the timing matched with when you started receiving the flowers? no, no, it must have been the blacksmith’s child who was just the perfect age for marriage, or the widowed greengrocer who kept giving you discounts, or—

entertaining the musings of the older folks who had nothing better to do than gossip was not your specialty, so a forced laugh and an excuse later, you continued on your merry way, shaking your head with a breath escaping your lips as your fingers brushed the soft petal.

you used to keep the flowers in a vase or press them between book pages to dry them out, hoping to prolong their life, but these days you prefer to have it on you as you go about your day. sometimes you’d wear it on your hair, tucked behind your ear, or weaved around your wrist, and other times you’d slip it on your clothes, going as far as planning your attire around the bright yellow petals. and when the day ended, the bloom would have wilted, but you already knew that the next day, another fresh flower would appear right in front of your doorstep.

truly, a mystery.

as many moons passed, you became curiouser and curiouser. such dedication, such resourcefulness. just who was this silhouette in the dark you could not seem to shine a light upon? as silly as it sounded, you were slowly toeing the lines of curiosity and perhaps even affection, as stupid as that sounded.

there was a florist you would always pass by whenever you returned home from a day of toiling at work. a selection of flowers, though none matched the flower you tucked onto your belt loop for the day, lined the forefront of the little stall, its owner giving you a friendly smile as you approached.

you started placing marigolds on your doorstep before going to bed.

what made you choose the specific flower? you weren’t too sure yourself. perhaps the colors and rounded shape of its floral head that day reminded you of mora, and it was an attempt at darkly humoring the stranger who had been spending their mora to buy all those hibiscus blooms. perhaps you just found them pretty and silently hoped your secret admirer would, too.

the marigold always disappeared the next morning, replaced with your faithful, bright yellow-petaled friend.

the ritual continued on, and just as tireless as your admirer was, you made sure to be just as persevering. not a day passed without the exchange of blossoms - not when it rained, nor when the holidays rolled by.

“mama, look! it’s the adepti!!” a little girl raced past you, dragging her laughing mother by the hand, jumping and trying to seek past the crowd of people flooding the main street at the end of your little neighborhood. the ginkgo leaves were falling, maidenhair petals matching the bright color of the hibiscus pinned onto your hair billowing past as you too, stepped towards the crowd.

they did this parade every single year, both to celebrate the end of a prosperous twelve-month period and to honor the very birthday of the geo archon, and every single time you thought you would ever get bored of it. a magnificent procession along the main streets, a week-long festival before and after, the various stalls opening along the streets, the hustle and bustle of the harbor amplified, joyfulness and the trees seemingly painting the air gold.

“ah, the demon conqueror isn’t joining us this year?”

“he’s the elusive sort, after all.”

”but the great illuminated beasts are almost all here!”

it was hard to make out the words of the people around you as the crowd bustled in excitement and the processional march reverberated so loudly in your ears, so you decided to step and slip around the gaps of enamored people when you spotted your chance.

eventually, your eyes finally fell upon the group as they made their way through the stone paved path. the proud magnificent beasts were always a sight to behold; otherworldly and also imposing. golden and red, intricately sewn flags bearing the symbol of geo along with the harbor itself waved in the air as the sounds of the drums seemed to make the ground shake. the smell of incense filled your lungs, your eyes squinting as the sunlight caught the cor lapis ornaments affixed onto nearly every object and clothing of the congregation. and yet it was said that the celebration march used to be much grander, with dancers and flower petals and scriptures detailing the founding of liyue and the tales of the archon war being read out loud - but your lord himself insisted for it to be downplayed after several hundred years.

and speaking of the devil…

“may rex lapis live and reign for ten thousand years!”

“ten thousand years, ten thousand of ten thousand years!”

this year too, the deity sat upon the resplendent sedan chair carried by four mortals. this year too, he looked as regal in his dark garment patterned with glowing golden threads and - in your opinion - as bored out of his mind. this year too, a stem of-

-wait.

he didn’t have those last year.

marigold eyes glanced toward your direction, and you thought you had induced yourself into having a fever dream when your gazes met. but no, the way his amber eyes slightly widened and the way he suddenly shifted, back straightening from its former slouch and the colors dusting his cheek were very much real. while your lips parted as you tried to process the information, his own lips stretched into a gentle smile; gloved fingers plucking the flower from its pinned place on his outer robe, before placing a fleeting kiss on the one-stemmed tagetes’ amber corolla.

and as the crowds moved, eager to follow your lord, you let yourself be carried away by the sea of eager citizens, your heart doing double flips inside your chest as you tried to fit the puzzle pieces together.

…….. you think your ‘secret admirer’ might be the very god of your nation.

𖧷 𝓂𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅 ❬ taglist ❭ ┈ @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sunnshineflxwer | @yuutasbabe | @queen-belial | @stygianoir | @silentmoths | @niktwazny303 | @dustofthedailylife | @marina-and-the-memes | @mixed-kester | @lordbugs | @anonymousficreader | @shizunxie | @ansy-tea | @irethepotato | @sassy-cat-in-town | @syrenkitsune | @smokipoki | @cakeboxie | @crystalflygeo | @ciexuvia | @illaasya | @celestewritestoomuch | @pams-comfortzone | @spidermanluvr444 | @ourstrawberryclouds | @ryuryuryuyurboat

[apparitionism]

Confection

For the holiday this year I offer you a culinary AU I’ve been thinking about for basically forever but only now started to write down. It’ll be in parts, as I chip away in the spare minutes, with littler bits of story at a time, as when I first ventured contributions to this surpassingly wonderful fandom, years ago. I miss those long-gone Bering-and-Wells days: the speed, the inventiveness that so many brought to bear... anyway, however many parts this ends up being, it’s all just for fun. (And maybe a little ontological inquiry. Also just for fun.)

In any case, on this random Sunday, I wish everyone their preferred form(s) of activity and/or rest, as appropriate. Good feelings. Whatever it is we’re here for.

Confection

“Cutthroat.”

So says the talking head on screen in response to the offscreen question, “Describe your style in the kitchen in one word, Chef Helena Wells.”

****

“Chef Myka Bering, describe your style in the kitchen in one word.”

“One word? That’s a challenge. Diligent? I’m really diligent. Or, no: focused. I definitely think ‘focused’ is more descriptive.”

Senior Producer Claudia Donovan, upon viewing this footage, had said to the editor sitting next to her, “Can you cut that to ‘focused’ and make it sound decisive?” But then she let herself have a second thought. “You know what? Leave it all in. Compare and contrast.”

Cutthroat Wells first, indecisively diligent and/or focused Bering second... the third competitor’s response had been, in retrospect, hilarious. Claudia did appreciate how radically his pronouncement had failed to match his performance: “Awesome,” Walter Sykes had described himself, with no sense of irony whatsoever. He’d been cast as a sacrificial lamb in the first place, but Claudia still snorted at the completely useless dudebro swagger.

The fourth chef, Artie Nielsen, had been brusque rather than bro, but with no less swagger. “Classic,” he’d said, like the idea of anybody even asking the question was a “don’t you know who I am” insult. The editor angled a glance at Claudia and said, “You were real with him about what show he was on, right?”

“The old-school thing sets up the B plot,” Claudia told her. “He’s known all three judges for decades.”

“Don’t you think the A’s a lot more fun?” the editor said. She clicked quick on the Wells “cutthroat” clip—and Claudia had never in her life heard such an all-facts no-swagger saying of a word—followed by a bit of the Bering: “I definitely think,” Chef Myka said, as if in answer to the editor’s question.

“I definitely think,” Claudia echoed decisively.

****

“The name of our show,” Steve Jinks explains, as he does every week at the start of the program proper, after the contestants have described their styles, “is ‘This Without That.’ What this means, contestants, is that in each of three rounds, you will be asked to prepare a classic dish... but without its defining ingredient.”

****

“You gotta do it,” Pete Lattimer had said. “Because it’d be so cool. Gottagottagotta.”

Myka was leaning against the at-last-closed-for-the-night door of the restaurant where they both worked—Myka as sous chef, Pete grilling and frying—and she wanted to ignore him, for her fatigue weighted her such that she could barely convince her spine to support her head. Forcing that head to lift, accompanied by actually working her jaw, felt well beyond possible.

And she would have ignored him, but she was the idiot who’d made the mistake of telling him about “it”: a producer from “This Without That,” the wildly popular cooking competition show, had called to express interest in having her compete next month (next month being August) for their Christmas championship, to air in December.

Having been that idiot, she couldn’t ignore him, but she was regretting the telling, so now she said, “No I don’t. I don’t ‘gotta’ do anything.”

“But you wanna.”

“I don’t ‘wanna’ do anything either. And as for this, I don’t want to do it.”

First, television. Second, a competition. Third, a Christmas competition. In August. She didn’t want to. In fact she’d rather have gnawed off her knife hand than do it. But then Pete moved from “gotta” and “wanna” (Myka hated those pseudo-word elisions) to “hafta,” adding “for the restaurant”—the one they planned to partner to open someday, when they had saved enough money and/or could talk investors into believing in them—and Myka gave in. “I’ll try,” she told him, and she meant she’d try not to tank her upcoming interview with the producer, Claudia Donovan. She told him that too... but for integrity’s sake, she added, “I hate the whole idea of that show. ‘This Without That.’ It seems so dumb.”

He waved a hand at her, but slowly, showing that he was tired too. “Little piece of non-tanking advice: don’t say that to this producer. Besides, a hugeity-huge-huge audience loves it, which means it’s smart. Say that instead.”

That, she did ignore. “Smart? It’s insipid.” Mimicking Steve Jinks, the show’s host, she quoted his dismissal of each round’s losing contestant: “Unfortunately, this competition will continue without you.”

“I knew you watched it,” Pete crowed.

Ugh. “Once.” She didn’t tell him why. “But it bothered me.”

“Bothered you because you knew you could do better at making a thing without its major thing, right? Say that’s why.” He added, “And by the way, I know you could too. So you should say it twice.”

His faith was sweet, but she told him the truth: “No. It bothered me ontologically.” She didn’t expect him to understand, but she tried to explain anyway. “Beef Wellington without the beef, for example, like they did in the one I saw. That’s just... Something Else Wellington. And then at the end, the judges pick whose Something Else Wellington they like best. The beef part—the constitutive element!—falls by the wayside. The thing itself doesn’t even matter anymore.”

Pete shook his head. “It’s like you don’t understand games. Something Else Wellington is the whole idea. If it isn’t Something Else Wellington, then it isn’t Beef Wellington without the beef. You’re just ticked that the judges don’t spend all their tasting time splitting ontological hairs about how close to beef that Something Else really is. Or isn’t. Whichever way makes you happier, but it doesn’t matter, because that isn’t what they’re there to do.”

Myka hadn’t known he would—could—come up with “splitting ontological hairs.” That was another point in favor of her trying not to tank.

Also (and she’d been thinking about this since the call from Claudia Donovan): her parents. They were reasons that were maybe (okay, probably) on par with “for the restaurant,” because if she could she impress them by being on television... she really did hate the clichéd nature both of their objections to her career—their dismay that she wasn’t “using that brain”—and of her response, a heels-dug-in “I’ll show you.” These several years on, they hadn’t yet acknowledged being shown. Maybe television would be the charm. Maybe if they could switch a channel and discover Myka there, doing what she did... maybe that would finally do that work of showing.

Pete said, “They judge based on creativity, too—how out-there a Something Else idea you come up with. Imagination what? Plus you gotta do it fast. Thinking on your feet, right? Don’t you love all that?”

As adept as Pete could be at saying the wrong thing, he was also, sometimes, exceptional at saying the right thing. “Using my brain?” she queried, just to make sure.

He nodded, and Myka was pretty sure it was because he knew the history: the family, the pain points. She’d inflicted versions of it on him so many times. “Think it’s a smart idea now?” he asked, at his most canny.

Show them not only by being on television, doing what she did, but also by “using that brain” on television. To do what she did. To do it better than other people. To at last, in the end, show them. “Maybe,” she hedged, but her overriding thought was Yes, yes, at long last yes.

Not for one instant did it occur to her that she might not win.

****

Claudia had started on TWT in the casting department, over two years ago. Even though evaluating potential talent wasn’t technically her job anymore, she did like to tinker. Particularly if she sensed a good story brewing.

When Myka Bering walked in—no, she loped in, her legs looking about as long as Claudia was tall—Claudia really hoped the good-story pings she’d been sensing were real radar.

There was truly no time like the right-now to see what was what, so Claudia said, first thing after introductions: “Just FYI, Helena Wells is already locked as a cheftestant on this one. I hear you know each other.”

Myka, who’d been settling into the chair across from Claudia’s desk, froze.

So far so good, Claudia thought. But then she thought again, as she observed Myka’s dart of eyes, followed by a small-but-visible twist of neck, both signaling obvious discomfort: No... so far so spectacular.

TBC

[drabblesandimagines]

Imperfections

Leon Kennedy x female reader Fluffy festive nonsense

Leon squints at the small piece of paper, trying to decipher the name upon it. It’s not the handwriting he’s struggling with, more the fact he probably does need reading glasses and he hates to admit it. He looks around, making sure no-one is looking in his direction and holds it aloft, trying to find the perfect spot where the blurry squiggles will finally transform into a name.

A name he knows all too well, it turns out.

Yours.

You’ve been working for the department just shy of a year – a new recruit in February – and had been partnered with him on a fair few missions. He’d underestimated you at first, mistakeably deemed you too sweet a thing to be wrapped up in this sort of business, but you’d shown him your mettle from the off and especially when things had got dicey – held your own, got the job done, saved his ass a couple of times and all usually with that beautiful smile on your face.

God, Kennedy, he chides himself, smitten or what?

He folds up the slip of paper, sticks it in his wallet for safe-keeping and his mind begins to whirl - what in the hell is he going to get you?

Secret Santa at the DSO – a bit of holiday nonsense put forward as a suggestion to ‘boost morale’ and apparently the President had loved it, has thrown together a whole Holiday Mixer around having the exchange. Everyone working here isn’t depressed due to a lack of Christmas spirit, more the state of the world itself and the dark depths they’re forced to confront…

But, hey, Leon S Kennedy will do as he’s told as far as the President’s concerned, and so he’d stuck his hand in the Santa hat when it had been thrust in his direction, full of his colleagues’ names.

There’s rules – has to be in government-officiated fun – gifts to be exchanged at the Holiday Mixer in a week’s time and, to try and avoid an influx of gift cards and novelty socks, it must include a handmade element, with a $25 limit.

“So,” you plonk yourself down on his desk - right on a pile of manilla folders that were left there earlier for his upcoming briefing and he’d yet to tackle - and lean in, “who’d you get?”

He sweeps his hair out of his eyes and sits back a little in his chair to take you all in. “Uh-uh, that’s against the rules.” You roll your eyes at that. “And since when has Leon Kennedy been a stickler for the rules?”

“I just don’t wanna be on Santa’s naughty list.”

“Fine.” You pout, crossing your arms in fake annoyance. “I won’t tell you who I got either.”

“Good, cos I don’t remember asking... And don't make an old man joke."

“Wasn't gonna." He gives you a look and you can't help but smile. "Okay, but seriously - I get the handmade rule, I do,” you shuffle back a little more on his desk, making yourself comfortable as you get to your point, “but what I don’t get is why it’s mandatory to participate in the whole thing.”

“It’s not really mandatory. We’re a small operation – you don’t participate, you’ll show up on the President’s radar for not being a team player. You know he’s all about that.”

“Well, make us do a team building exercise - build a bridge out of newspaper, do trust falls or something besides try and be crafty.”

Leon scoffs. “I’m not doing a trust fall with you – not after last time.”

You open your mouth to reply – that was most definitely not meant to be a trust fall, Leon had just straight up fell - when Hunnigan pops her head around the cubicle, not even surprised to see you sitting on his desk, and gives the two of you a polite smile.

“Kennedy – intel briefing set for 1200. You prepped?”

“Sure am.”

Hunnigan eyes the pile of folders she clearly remembered placing on his desk first thing this morning, the exact ones which are nestled underneath your thighs.

“Uh-huh… Conference room seven. See you there.” She turns on her heels and departs, and you feel Leon’s hand ghost your thigh.

You look down, a little startled – sure there’s been flirtatious touches here and there, a time where you would’ve bet that month’s pay check that he was gonna kiss you after a particularly close call but swerved for your cheek at the last moment – and realise he’s tugging at the corner of a folder.

“Whilst I won’t deny that you’re an awful pretty paperweight, mind if I get back to work now?”

 You slide off – managing not to take the folders down with you - and mock a salute. “Yes, sir.”

--

The briefing is dull, which should be a good thing, really. No current BOW threats on the radar, though the threat level remains at orange. Leon can’t remember the last time they lowered it to yellow, so it seems a pointless system to him but he still throws in his two cents when called upon. He’s got another few weeks of desk duty to get through after Alcatraz after his medical - knows he’s not getting any younger and that’s why it’s taking him a little longer to recover after quite the beating.

Dismissed from the briefing, Leon swings by your desk on the way back to his, only to feel a little silly when he’s disappointed at the lack of you at it. There’s a shoebox sat on your desk though, lid taped on with a few rounds of parcel tape, but overall it looks a more than just a little worse for wear - crumpled corners and scuff marks all over the cardboard.

“Snooping, Kennedy?”

He can’t help the smile when you come to his side, your laptop tucked under your arm – must’ve had a meeting of your own. He holds up his mug, waving it from side to side in demonstration. “Was gonna see if you wanted a coffee, actually. That package looks a little suspect to get through the security check, right?”

You place your laptop down beside it and frown, before reading the return address. “Oh, no. It’s just some things that I asked my ex to send on. I forgot them in the move, only realized when I went to put my tree up last week…”

You trail off as you move the box towards you ever so slightly and there’s a horrible clinking sound that makes your stomach sink.

You grab a biro, jamming it through the tape lined around the edge as a make-shift knife and tentatively pull off the lid, bracing yourself for what you might discover within. Whilst you had safely stored them away in layers of bubble wrap, each in its own bo, he seems to have dumped them all out into the shoe box, one layer of bubble wrap on the bottom, another on top and they’ve obviously cracked together in transit, resulting in the shattered mess before you.

“Shit.” He comments, softly, watching as you pick up shards. “What are they?”

“My grandmother’s baubles.” Your voice goes flat as you pick up pieces of what once were precious memories and his heart aches. “She was a really talented artist before the arthritis got bad… Used to paint these and sell them at Christmas fairs.”

He’s silent as you continue picking through the pieces. There’s one that seems mostly intact, a smaller one but after further investigation there’s a big chunk missing from the side and you drop it back down in the box in defeat. Leon lays his hand on your shoulder then, seeing how you almost deflate in front of his very eyes, and he hopes to give you a reassuring squeeze – to let you know he’s here, he's always here for you, even if he’s not going to say it aloud. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” But he knows it’s not by how tight your voice is. You’ve never got emotional in front of him before, not even when you’d been injured had you let that stupid, gorgeous smile falter. “I… I have to head out. I’ll see you later.”

You place the lid back on the shoebox and shove it off the desk. It lands in the waste basket with another awful sound of broken ceramic.

“Whoa, wait, don’t you wan-?” He begins to protest but you shrug his hand off your shoulder, shaking your head and now keeping your eyes downcast.

“Sorry, I really have to go.” He swears you just about jog out of his sight, no real destination in mind.

Leon doesn’t see you the rest of the day, though he swings by your desk a few more times when he gets up to stretch his legs. The maintenance team will be in later – dispose of the shredded paperwork, wipe down surfaces empty the waste baskets… so he doesn’t think twice when he picks up the shoebox as he leaves, holding it tightly in the crook of his arm as if it were the broken pieces of your heart.

--

Later that evening after dinner, he sits on his sofa, changed into his sweats rather than stuffy shirt and suit trousers, a soda on the table in a heavy-bottomed glass – doesn’t drink anymore, isn’t worth it, but he still likes the weight of a good glass in his hand – with his laptop perched on his knees.

The cursor blinks in place before he slowly types in the search bar.

How to fix a broken ceramic bauble.

He’s good with his hands from weapons maintenance, can handle delicate stuff, so why couldn’t he glue some bits of ceramic back together into a sphere?

He scrolls down the search results – various how-to articles and videos. He reads through a few, learns that it can depend on such factors of where the break occurred, if it’s clean break or not, how thick the ceramic is and, after all that, there’s the danger it could look like a kid put it together for their mom at kindergarten with a pot of PVA glue and got bored halfway through.

He’s not put off, though, as he continues his scroll until something bright and gold catches his eye…

Kintsugi?

Huh. Sounds… promising.

--

He does a test first. Practice makes perfect, and he’s determined he will make them as close to perfect again as he can… once he’s sure he’s got the hang of it. He buys a box of six ceramic baubles from a nearby department store, whacks one off the table edge gently until it shatters into reasonable-sized pieces, then sets about setting it back together with the kit he’d bought online – paid for express next-day delivery as well, no time to sit and wait around for 3-5 working days, longer in the Christmas build-up.

You’d not mentioned the baubles the next day in the office or how you’d rushed off, just came and sat on his desk with a coffee, had the usual back and forth banter but he can tell you’re a little flat, the light isn’t quite reaching your eyes as it once was and he hates it. You’d been excited for Christmas – even brought in a Christmas mug on the 1st of December – but it’s all been extinguished, now a DSO-logo stamped black mug in your hands.

It takes him the entire box over the next few evenings until he’s confident enough to tackle one of your prized possessions. Each bauble is unique – swirling patterns of pastel colours on all-white ceramic, but he treats the pieces like a puzzle as he slowly divides the piles into category of each bauble – four in total – and gently works out which piece belongs to which. There are bits that aren’t going to be a clean seam but he’s prepared for this in his practice rounds, still a little shake in his hand as he finally puts two and two together.

He likes the meaning behind the practice - embracing imperfections, not trying to hide the cracks or broken bits, but instead highlighting it, making it a feature with bright and beautiful gold. Lord knows he isn’t perfect, far from it, and he will never be the man he was before Raccoon City. A few years ago, when he was at his darkest, he would’ve described himself as beyond repair – too smashed up to ever be whole again.

Slowly but surely, he’s began to piece himself back together, embracing the fact that whilst he’s not quite whole and might never be, held together by his friends, his will and some glue and now your presence in his life giving him a little bit of sparkle.

He shakes his head, leans forward and switches off the made-for-TV Christmas movie.

--

Friday evening is here before he knows it and, frustratingly, an intel mission he’s on runs a little long – gets caught up in traffic. He needs to swing by his apartment to pick up your gift and needs to get changed while he’s at it – the dress code quite clear. He enters the hotel ball room in a shirt, suit jacket and trousers, sans tie, an over an hour and a bit late, carrying the gift bag as carefully as he would a baby or a bomb. The mixer already seems to be in full swing - there’s half a dozen round tables, discarded wrapping paper scattered across the tops of them as well as empty champagne glasses and he realizes he must’ve missed the gift exchange.

“There you are! I thought you were a no-show.” You tease, appearing at his side a little too quick to not have been waiting for him. You’re looking beautiful in your black cocktail dress, the one that hugs all the right places and your hair half up and half down, held in place with a red bow.

“Duty called. Did I miss the exchange?”

“Eh, kinda. It wasn’t a whole big thing. The President’s not coming – double booked himself, so everyone’s just been awkwardly exchanging gifts and downing more and more free drink.”

He tugs at the ribbon hanging down off your shoulder ever so gently.

“Well, you certainly look as pretty as a present. Please tell me you didn’t panic and gift yourself…”

You ignore him, loop your arm through his instead and guide him over to an empty table – there’s a large queue at the open bar and hopefully a few more minutes of privacy before making endless small talk – and encourage him to take a seat. As he does, you crouch besides another chair and fish for something underneath, pulling out a red and gold gift bag, an embarrassed smile as you hold it out to him.

“Merry Christmas, from your Secret Santa.”

He raises an eyebrow but still accepts the bag, placing it on the table. “You’re kidding.”

“No. Why?”

“You’re my Secret Santa?”

“Can you at least hold in the disappointment until after you open it?” You pout.

“No, I mean… I got you. We got each other.”

“What? That’s… weird.” You sit down heavily in the chair, looking a bit bemused. “What’s the statistics on that even happening?”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to demand a re-count.” He rolls his eyes and holds out his own gift bag. “Ladies first.”

You smile, brushing your fingers with his as you take it, before placing the gift bag down on the table and see four small cardboard boxes nestled within. You take out the first one and unfold the tabs, carefully, before removing the piece of red tissue paper he’d nestled on top.

What lies below it makes your heart stop.

It’s your grandmother’s baubles, or one of them, now held back in one piece and held together with threads of beautiful gold.

You look at him and then back down at the bauble.

“Is this…?”

“Yeah.”

“Leon, I…”

He sees the tears in your eyes as you take out the remaining boxes with a shaking hand, lining them up on the table and revealing each one in turn.

“I hope they aren’t an insult to your grandmother’s memory.” He blurts out after sitting in silence, unsure of what to make of yours. “They were just about to be tossed and so I took them, did some research on repair techniques and, well…”

“Did you do this?” There it is – the smile, the real smile that lights up your eyes.

“What, you think this old dog can’t learn new tricks? Everything’s on the internet these days.” He shrugs off – he won’t tell you the hours he spent, the headaches he got from squinting as he pieced parts together. Hell, he’d do it all again if he had to.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful. I… I can’t believe you did this for me. I… I just, I mean…”

He places a hand on your knee, gives you a soft smile.

“There’s a lot I’d do for you, you know, if you’d let me.”

There’s a moment as your eyes meet that you feel perhaps your cheeks have gone as red as the bow on top of your head and quickly try to deflect, nodding your head at his unopened gift bag.

“You should’ve let me go first - this is going to be such a disappointment in comparison.”

Leon gives your knee a squeeze before he peers into this gift bag, digging out a small gift box. He places it down on the table and tugs off the lid to find there’s a beautiful ridged glass nestled in red tissue paper, heavy-bottomed – you know his preference all right - but there’s something within the glass too. A mass of what appears to be red and green yarn, a little loop of black string at the top… He picks it up between two fingers.

“It’s…” He trails off, looking at the colours. “It’s certainly festive.”

“Okay, I can’t knit but I tried and that’s the important thing here, right?”

“No, no, it’s… cute.” He smiles. “And the glass – I love it. Just my style.”

You bite your lip, looking a little flustered and unsure, but he assumes you’re still feeling a little emotional over his present… until you try and yank the yarn from his hands.

“Hey!” He gets to his feet out of instinct of being attacked and clutches whatever it is closely to his chest.

“Look, if you just give me it, I can try some other craft thing. Just I was in a pity party all week and I stayed up all night doing that and it shows.” You get to your feet then, trying to weasel through fingers into his to retrieve it. “I can’t leave you with that, it’s not fair.”

“No, it’s mine.”

You don’t give up your attempt to wrestle it back, though Leon’s grip never falters. “You don’t even know what it’s meant to be!”

“Sure I do. It’s…” He retaliates, whipping it quickly above his head and yours – too high for you to snatch out of his hands despite your heels – and squints once more, comparing it against some of the festive décor in the hall.

“Oh.”

“It’s so dumb.” You begin your protest again, now trying to grab it from above your heads. “I just tho-” Leon wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you forward firmly against his chest, before he finally drops his other arm and cups your cheek, knitted mistletoe still in his fingers and kisses you firmly on the lips, swallowing down the rest of your sentence. He can’t help but grin as he feels you relax into his embrace, pressing your palm now flat against his chest. He runs his tongue along your bottom lip, poking ever so gently to seek permission and-

“About goddamn time, Kennedy!” The shout of an inebriated agent causes the two of you to pull apart and you feel flustered by both the overdue kiss and what feels like the eyes of the entire DSO on the two of you.

Leon takes it all in his stride though, keeps a warm palm right on your lower back as he smiles and nods at whoever the hell it was that had interrupted, before pressing a sweet, solitary kiss to your cheek.

“Now, seeing as I’ve got this mistletoe, how about we go back to my place and try it out a little more, beautiful?”

---

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

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[ceilidho]

wait but also, this being your first "proper adult job" so you're even less sure whether this is a normal thing to be upset about, or if you're just overreacting.

like, soap gets your phone number and address from the employee database thanks to one of his bros in HR, and shows up at your place one morning, saying something about, "starting a carpool program" even though it's only ever you two in the car???

or one day you're helping a customer and maybe standing a lil too close, so soap comes up behind you, grabs your loose hair and yanks just a bit too hard--your head tilts back until you're making uncomfortable eye contact with him. "Just putting your hair up for ye, luvie," he winks, while the customer suddenly feels like they're intruding on a weirdly intimate moment.

then for the holiday season, your team does a white elephant gift exchange and when it's your turn, you're unwrapping some very expensive perfume bottles--there's no way this didn't go over the $15 suggested limit. soap's sliding up next to you, saying something about he's dreamt of this fragrance on you and oh he sprays his bedsheets with this one so he can jerk off imagining you.

im shaking like a wet dog this is doing unspeakable things to me.

you don't even know this but he paid someone off to get your name in the secret santa gift exchange. like actually paid them fifty dollars just to have the opportunity to get you a gift. and you know the second you unwrap it that it must've been in the three figures. you just got someone a fancy mug. and he stares at you when you unwrap it, beaming when you give him a very controlled "thank you" because the alternative is screaming that this is way too expensive for you to keep.

"ye should put it on," he tells you, breathing just a little heavier. "really want ta smell it on ye."

he heaves you up by the hips whenever you have a hard time reaching something on a shelf instead of just reaching up and grabbing it for you. really digs his fingers into your sides. doesn't let you go right away when he puts you down. and if you make a comment about it being uncomfortable or it hurting you (you're an adult, you're not used to someone just lifting you up), he just coos at you instead, pouts and simpers like he's so sorry that you're not used to it yet.

maybe when you're assigned to the jewellery section, Johnny pops out of nowhere when you're helping a customer that's looking at some rings and he uses your hand to model some of the rings. and it gets. weirdly intense when he slides the ring onto your finger, like he's holding his breath. he even shudders a bit, presses himself right up against you behind the display counter until the customer leaves because it's genuinely off-putting lmao.

and if he comes in as a customer, jesus christ. be prepared for him to pester you the entire time, insisting on you helping him with his purchases. he'll brush off any other employees looking for you under the guise of you helping him shop, but then once they're gone, he'll go back to interrogating you about your childhood and your friends and whether you have a partner or any previous partners you might've had. makes you follow him to the bed section where he tries out all the mattresses and then asks you increasingly inappropriate questions like what mattress you have, what it feels like, how you sleep at night, what you wear to bed :\\\

[koolades-world]

happy april fools day!

what would april fools day be like with the them?

Lucifer

he doesn't look like he enjoys it, but he's behind several pranks that nobody else has laid claim to. when you get pranked when you least expect it, that sly smile on his face says it all. when you confront him and ask, he simply replies, "oh? is that today?" cheeky bastard lol

Mammon

he tries really hard, but somehow it never works out. they always backfire on him no matter what he does, especially if they're directed at one of his brothers. but he tries every year. can't help by admire that determination.

Levi

he's not leaving his room for sure today. he's seen the way it goes in his household and he wasn't about to get caught in the crossfire. not again. he might not even let you in if he thinks you don't have a good enough reason

Satan

he takes it seriously, but only when it comes to pranking lucifer. yeah, that's literally it for him. he just wants to be an ass to lucifer and he's happy. he would much prefer to spend his time doing something he deems worth it, but if belphie wants help pranking lucifer and others, he will contribute. do not prank him though. that's a time bomb waiting to go off

Asmo

he thinks it's fun as long as nobody takes it too seriously on him. yeah it's funny when it happens to someone else, but the minute someone messes with his things is the minute it's over. like satan, don't make him mad. that won't be pretty

Beel

he only knows about this holiday thanks to belphie and his love for it. otherwise, he could care less. to him, it's just another day. as long as the prank isn't having to eat solomon's cooking, he's fine. prank his food? he's good he'll eat it anyways lol

Belphie

watch your back today, he’s a menace. if you just plead, he might spare you at the cost of a cuddling session. however, if he forgets to disarm one of his pranks, or forgets to let you know not to touch a certain thing, you can request something in exchange as well

Diavolo

pulls all the cheesy pranks and is overjoyed when they work out it's always so obvious that they're about to happen and where they are based on his reaction, and how he's always conveniently nearby. don't burst his bubble please haha

Barbatos

Not amused with a capital N. it's not an issue until it interferes with his work. he works hard to keep everything tidy and in place, and it really messes with him when someone decides to swap to the salt and sugar (diavolo), but won't say anything since he knows exactly who did it

Simeon

he will join in if someone asks, but he's more than happy to just sit back and watch. he'll get popcorn and relax as mammon yet again fails to prank lucifer. he's another one nobody expects, so if you can't figure out who played that prank on you, look to him, since he's even more unassuming than lucifer

Luke

let's be real, he's probably on the receiving end of most pranks just because everyone loves to poke fun at him thanks to the reaction he gives. however, when he tries to give pranks back, it's almost endearing and most people just let it happen to them even if they see it coming to make him happy

Solomon

he understands this human custom/holiday the best, so his pranks, if they can even be called that, are minor at best. expect something simple and cute, like gifting you chocolates he claims is dark chocolate but it’s actually milk! haha how evilly cute

Mephisto

he doesn’t get it at first, but once he does and sees that dia is invested, he’s too into it. he’s the type to cut all the bristles off your toothbrush and then not understand why you’re mad. do something just as devious back to make him see why what he did was just infuriating

Thirteen

she’s probably the most invested out of everyone! her biggest competition is belphie, so he gets the most pranks his way. however, there’s something hidden around every corner for everyone. not even you’re safe, so say your prayers, or just ask lucifer haha

[togrowoldinv]

Matching PJs

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

You and Natasha go to the Avengers Christmas party together

Note: Merry Christmas and happy holidays everyone! This is a quick little something. I hope you’ve all had a blessed holiday!

Natasha Masterlist 1, Natasha Masterlist 2, Natasha Masterlist 3, Main Masterlist

“Come on babe, it’ll be fun,” Natasha says, nudging your shoulder with hers. “Everyone will love it.”

“Don’t you think it’s kind of cheesy?” You reply.

Natasha never thought that you’d be the one to not want to wear matching Christmas pajamas.

When Laura had sent her the link, she immediately bought them for the two of you. Now that it’s Christmas Eve she’s trying to convince you to wear them to the Avengers holiday get together.

“Please, baby. For me?” Nat asks sweetly.

“Ugh,” you sigh. “You had to say that?”

“I did,” she replies, a smirk on her perfect lips. “But really, I love you and I want to do this with you.”

“Okay,” you finally relent.

Nat drops a victory kiss to your lips before running off to get dressed. You join her and get ready for the party. Yo have to admit the pajamas do look cute on.

You drive to the compound and the place is already booming. Of course Tony invited more than just the immediate team. But the more the merrier.

Natasha carries in way too many presents that you two got for everyone. You always go overboard for the holidays, but no one ever seems to mind.

“Merry Christmas!” You greet everyone.

Steve is quick to help Nat unload the presents from her arms.

“Thanks, Cap,” she says.

“I’m obsessed with these pajamas!” Wanda says. She hugs you and Nat.

“See,” Nat says with a grin.

“Okay fine. Maybe they’re cute,” you admit.

“They’re super cute!” Laura adds in. “I’m so glad you bought them, Nat.”

“Me too.”

Soon, Tony comes in and makes a speech before everyone exchanges gifts. You and Nat have way too much eggnog by the time you open all of the gifts, but you still take plenty of photos.

She holds you close to her the entire night and whispers soft things into your ears. You have the perfect night. It’s your favorite holiday together yet.