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missaengg · 1 month ago

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A Magical First Christmas

Pairing: Zayne x f!reader Tags: mdni, fluffy smut, very little plot, established relationship, kissing, cunnilingus, dirty talk, praise Word Count: 2.1k Part of the Secret Santa Fic Exchange event hosted by @nanamiscocksleeve and written for the host, @nanamiscocksleeve!! I hope I did you proud, enjoy~ Merry Christmas! 🥰

You’re not trying to fall asleep. In fact, it’s the opposite, you want nothing more than to stay awake, not quite ready to put an end to the most magical Christmas of your life.

In the back of your mind, you can still see the gorgeous lodge coming into view. Puffs of white smoke floating out of the chimney. A fresh blanket of snow covering the roof and the ground. The image of icicles hanging off the roof’s edge sparkling like crystals in the morning sun and the Christmas tree glittering in the window with white lights twinkling between the dark green branches still vivid in your memory.

It was the most perfect day — a surprise gift from Zayne to celebrate your first Christmas together — complete with a full day of skiing and a lovely dinner at the lodge restaurant.

You don’t want this day to end just yet. You want to enjoy this moment, savor it — not quite ready to say good night to the golden glow of the fire, the soft bed and the luxurious, silky sheets, and Zayne’s arms wrapped around you while your head rests on his chest. But you can’t fight it, the crackle of the wood fireplace too soothing, the warmth of his embrace too relaxing, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat in your ear too comforting. Especially with your belly full of a delicious meal and mulled wine and the fatigue of today’s skiing session settling in your aching limbs.

“Are you falling asleep?” The deep rumble of his voice cuts through the cozy silence.

“No,” you utter, forcing your fluttering eyes open, desperately trying to fight the lull of sleep. You feel his fingers comb through your hair, the caress of his fingertips only making it harder to keep your drowsiness at bay.

“Liar,” he chuckles, the sound deep in his throat.

“I’m not lying,” you weakly protest, but your closed eyes say otherwise. You hear Zayne hum, an affectionate note of disbelief. “Really, I’m not.”

“It’s been a long day. You should sleep if you’re tired,” Zayne says softly, adding a teasing, “Doctor’s orders.”

“I don’t wanna.”

“Do you want me to keep you awake?”

“Yes, please,” you mumble, half-asleep.

You don’t hear Zayne reply, though you’re unsure you would have even if he did as your mind drifts off to a place somewhere between here and the land of dreams. The next thing you know, you’re jolted awake. You’re flat on your back, blinking up at the ceiling and wondering what the hell just happened while Zayne looms over you, caging you between his arms. His face is inches away from your own, so close his nose just barely grazes yours and you can feel his breath warm your cheek.

“Zayne?!” you yelp, staring at him wide-eyed, all traces of sleep banished from your startled mind.

“You asked me to keep you awake, didn’t you?” he remarks with an amused chuckle.

“Wha—” Before you can finish, his lips are on yours, stealing the words right out of your mouth.

Zayne’s tongue traces the crevice between your lips, and out of habit, you part them ever so slightly allowing him to slip inside. With your eyes closed, your hands find their way to his shoulders and then around his neck. He takes your lips slowly… sensually… The musk of his cologne and the hint of mulled wine still lingering on his tongue cloys your senses, and your heart flutters in your chest, thrumming with pleasure. Your lips come together and pull apart in passionate increments, deepening every time they reunite. By the time he pulls away, you’re panting, trying to catch your breath.

“Are you awake now?” Zayne asks, his eyes twinkling down at you.

Your lips purse together into a pout. “I wasn’t falling asleep to begin with.”

Zayne brings his head to your neck, grazing the flesh with his teeth, his breath hot on your skin. “What did I say about lying to me, darling?”

“I’m not!” you exclaim, shivering only to squeak when he bites down on that ticklish spot beneath your ear. “Zayne!”

“You know I don’t like it when you lie to me,” he purrs, gently sucking where it stings. “Now be a good girl and answer me. Are you awake now?”

A spark of electricity prickles down your body, and you shudder. You briefly contemplate whether you should dig in your heels, be stubborn, but his soft lips on your neck feel so good, you don’t want him to stop. “Yes,” you breathlessly accede. “I’m… mmm… I’m awake.”

“Good…” His mouth moves lower, leaving a trail of feather-light kisses in its wake. “...because I’ve wanted to do this…” He nips yet another ticklish point, swirling his tongue over the forming bruise. “...all day.”

You cling to him, involuntarily arching your back, one hand sliding up the back of his head where your fingers tangle through his hair. You can’t help the sultry moans that escape you or how you squirm as he continues to tease all the sensitive points of your neck. By now, any remaining tendrils of slumber have vanished, replaced by a wanton desire. You crave his touch, his caress, him.

“And because it’s Christmas…” he murmurs, his voice deep and throaty. “...I plan on taking my time unwrapping my Christmas present.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, a thrilling anticipation building in your core. His knee comes between your legs, brushing against the apex, and a jolt careens through your body. You can feel your desire pooling, growing… A voracious hunger that can only be satisfied by him.

Zayne’s mouth continues its descent, ending only when it reaches your collarbone peeking out of your silk pajama top. His fingers slip through the opening, stroking the skin underneath and deftly undoing each button one by one. It feels hot every time they graze your skin, each graze sending yet another shiver through your flushed body. Each touch eliciting yet another charged gasp from your kiss-swollen lips.

“I haven’t even started yet, and you’re already moaning so sweetly for me.” Zayne takes his time parting your open shirt, slipping it off one shoulder, then the next, down one arm, then the other. “I wonder what you’ll do when I do this…”

Your body spasms, a startled squeal flying out your mouth when Zayne’s teeth catch your nipple. You arch into him. Your fingernails dig into his back. Your fingers pull his hair. A hot wave of pleasure crashes over you, and a restless ache stirs deep in your abdomen.

“Zayne…” you hoarsely whisper, trembling and shaking as Zayne tastes your breasts, swirling his tongue over the peaks and massaging them with his large hand.

“I love how you say my name,” Zayne groans.

Pulling back onto his knees, he hooks his fingers under the waistbands of both your pajama pants and your underwear, sliding them down slowly. He takes his time, savoring the sight of you coming into view bit by bit. With every inch exposed, the heat in his eyes grows darker. More urgent. A dark heat that stokes a fire deep in your belly.

He places a hand on each of your thighs, parting them enough for his wide shoulders to fit in between, and he kisses your inner thigh, starting from the midpoint and working his way up dangerously close to where your arousal glistens. He slides a finger through your slick folds, grinning as he rubs his pointer and his thumb together.

“Someone’s eager for me,” he smirks.

You feel your cheeks color because you know just how much of a mess you make merely being in his presence, let alone when he touches you like this, and from how much throb down there… you know just how much of a mess you’ve already made. His rapt attention makes you feel self-conscious, the way he takes note of every little detail while you’re so exposed.

Zayne returns his attention to between your legs, resuming his grip on your upper thighs. Lowering himself, he deeply inhales your scent, groaning as he does. “God, I love the way you smell.” His mouth encircles your clit, the tip of his tongue darting out and prodding the sensitive nub, massaging it in circles. “I love the way you taste.”

Each stroke of his tongue sends you reeling, a jolt of electricity sizzling up your spine as your muscles tense and you arch your back, your hips bucking against him. Breathless gasps leave your mouth in erratic spurts, and your fingers curl into the sheets, clenching the fabric as if your life depended on it. With just his mouth, Zayne has you seeing stars and crying out his name in strained mewls.

“Zayne, please…” you beg him, the stimulation too much, the desire to feel him inside you too big. You squirm, trying to find some relief from how he tantalizes you, but his grip holds you in place no matter how much you struggle. “Please…”

“No,” Zayne rasps, the timbre of his voice low and husky. “I’m taking my time today, sweetheart. I want to taste you, savor you, devour you. I’m going to worship you like the gift you are.”

He slips a finger in, and then another, curling them against the sweet, gummy spot that makes you squeal. He pumps them in and out while his mouth continues to ravish you, coaxing you into crying his name, moaning breathlessly for him. If you thought his mouth was enough to have you seeing stars, the addition of his fingers sends you into a feverish frenzy, all your senses overloaded.

“It’s t—too… much, Zayne,” you plead, “...ngh… to—too much.”

“You can handle it, love.”

But even as tears prick the corners of your eyes and your legs tremble, Zayne doesn’t stop, alternating between relentlessly bullying or worshipping you — sweet and rough, soft and hard — leaving you feeling dizzy and disoriented and close… so close.

“Zayne…” you choke out, trailing off.

Zayne understands what you’re trying to say and before sucking down hard on your clit, he commands, “Come for me.”

Something about the commanding authority in his tone throws gasoline on the fire burning in your center. It blazes into an inferno, and as the heat overtakes you, you wretchedly call out his name, a guttural scream rising from deep within and exploding out your throat. You’re so consumed, you can barely feel his fingers dig into your flesh or his tongue find its way to your entrance and lap up every drop of your arrival. All you can do is shudder and quake, riding out each wave of ecstasy.

When the waves finally stop, you can barely breathe. Your chest heaves up and down, desperate for oxygen to fill its lungs, and you can’t stop quivering as if phantom waves still pulsate through your body. You watch through hooded eyes as Zayne sits back on his knees and wipes the remnants of your ecstasy off of his face. He leans forward, propping himself on his elbows and hovering over you, just enough that his body is flush against yours without crushing you with his weight.

He looks deep into your eyes, a primal yet tender gleam in their depths, and gently, ever so gently, he brushes away a sweaty lock of hair, tucking it behind your ear. “You did good,” he coos, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

You wrap your arms around him, returning his little kiss with a little one of your own on the tip of his nose. “Merry Christmas,” you murmur, nuzzling your nose against him. “Thank you so much for making our first Christmas so special. I love it. I love you.”

“I’m glad you like it. I love you too.” Zayne brings his lips by your ear, and then whispers, “But, I’m not quite done with you yet.”

It’s at that moment, you realize how painfully hard his erection is digging into your pelvis and how the dark gleam in his eye has only grown darker instead of abating. You tremble once more, but this time, it’s from the butterflies fluttering in your stomach, the thrill of anticipation buzzing through your veins.

“Help me take off my shirt,” Zayne murmurs silkily in your ear.

You’re only happy to oblige, and as your fingers make their way to the line of buttons on his top, you can’t help, but think it’s going to be a long night though you have no complaints. In fact, it’s the opposite, you hope this night never ends.

#missaengg writes #ncs secret santa #merry ficmas #zayne smut #zayne x reader #zayne #lnds zayne #love and deepspace zayne #zayne love and deepspace #lads zayne #lads smut #lads fanfic #love and deepspace fanfic #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace #lads #lnds

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mysteria157 · 1 month ago

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Pairing: Higuruma Hiromi x Reader (Vicky)

Rating/CW: fluff, smut, explicit sexual content, vaginal sex, oral sex, holiday romance, MDNI!

WC: ~5.2K

Summary: A holiday tale of three Christmases with your neighbor Higuruma.

a/n: As part of the Secret Santa Fic Exchange hosted by @nanamiscocksleeve, I wrote this for my secret santa @sassypossum. This is my first Hiromi fic, so I hope you enjoy!

Divider: @arminsumi @mikeykuns | Masterlist

The first time wasn’t planned.

Most people fill their December evenings with bright parties that have too much alcohol and shopping bags, with wrapped presents and spiked eggnog. But not for you. This Christmas night, you find yourself climbing to the roof of your apartment building, a thermos of hot chocolate warming your hands.

The day hadn’t started great—an alarm that never went off, a train ride that was twenty minutes late, and your favorite tea that you’d spent money you would rather not think about had arrived in a package soaked to the bone, destroying the precious herbs inside. Just being in the walls of your own home wasn’t enough.

So now here you are. The city sprawls before you, and blocks of flickering concrete, reminiscent of your Christmas lights before they blew out from a fuse you still can’t find.

You don’t expect to find him there.

Not too tall, standing at the edge of the roof with his back turned. A suit as black as night and wrinkled along the hem, swept back hair fluttering faintly in the chilly breeze. His shoulders rise just slightly and then relax, a plume of smoke curling into the air. You’d seen him around the building enough to know his name—his habits.

Higuruma Hiromi, a man who consists of late hours fighting endless battles most would consider already lost, exhaustion always clinging to him like a second skin but always sharing a gentle smile when you both brushed past each other in the hallway.

You’d seen him around but barely had the confidence to actually have a conversation. There was something about him that always made you stop short, to open your mouth and then close it again in fear of humiliating yourself just by asking him out for coffee.

“Mind sharing that rail?” you called out, watching him startle slightly before craning his head over his shoulder to look at your approaching form. His small pupils, a deep chocolate brown, focused on you with an intensity you couldn’t quite place, then flickering to the thermos.

“It’s public space,” he resigned but shifted slightly to make room for you. The metal railing was cold against your thin pajama pants as you settled beside him, close enough to smell the tobacco and what might have been a hint of coffee on his breath.

“Rough case?” you asked softly after a few quiet moments, your eyes on the Tokyo skyline as you offered him your thermos.

Higuruma’s tired eyes look from you and down to the thermos in your hands, hesitation flashing over his features before he pops the cigarette in his mouth and uncaps the lid. “Hot chocolate?” The surprise in his voice is enough to make you smile despite his evasiveness.

“With candy canes,” you add. “Christmas tradition.”

His quiet laugh catches you off guard—a warm and low hitching in the back of his throat that sounds misplaced, as if rusty and remembering how to work. “God, I don’t think I’ve had hot chocolate since…“ he trails off, eyes jumping from building to building in order to remember before giving up.

He pulls a heavy drag instead, turning his head away to exhale the thick gray smoke and take a sip of your drink. The city hums with holiday energy, lights brighter than usual, cars honking louder and longer than necessary.

“I usually work through the holidays,” he says finally, cigarette already half gone. The confession hangs in the air between you, heavy with years of solitary Christmases. Of declining parties and get-togethers and finding company in himself and the bed he collapses into after a long day.

You don’t know what makes you say it. The serenity in the air. The subtle jumping of your heart when you watch his lips purse and the embers of the butt illuminate the curve of his nose.

“Well, now you have company this year,” you reply gently, trying to ignore the feel of his fingertips brushing yours when it’s your turn to collect the hot chocolate.

He hums noncommittally; gaze turned back to the city long enough for you to study him. He’s a handsome man with lean features and a strong sense of justice that makes your heart flutter in ways you don’t understand.

You drink the last of the hot chocolate—the peppermint of the candy cane forming a syrupy concoction at the very bottom that slides along your tongue—but you don’t leave. You stay with him until his cigarette is ash, until the bottom of your thermos is dry, until the December air has painted both your cheeks pink.

The next day, you don’t speak when you pass in the elevator, but something’s changed—like the first note of a song neither of you knows you are waiting to hear.

Time flies when you become aware of things, and a year passes like seasons through a window. There are glimpses of each other in the elevator, shared cigarette breaks that become a habit, the way you learn to read his different types of tired. Just like that, winter finds you again, this time in the lobby of your apartment building. A convenience store bag is clutched in your hands, fingers shaking with the prospect of what you want to do, your eyes watching the numbers above the elevator tick down.

Maybe he’ll be there again. Resting on the railing, smoking a cigarette with his gaze on the city skyline. Maybe he’ll smile when he sees you, just like he did a week before when you both checked your mail at the same time—brushing shoulders, a joke passed back and forth, his lips breaking into a smile that lingered long after he was gone.

When the doors open, he’s there—suit jacket missing and sleeves rolled to show sinewy forearms. Those small pupils widen slightly at the sight of you, a year’s worth of rooftop conversations living in the space between you, unspoken but undeniably present.

“There you are,” he says casually, stuffing his hands in his pockets as you cross the threshold of the elevator and slink beside him. The words are simple, but they hang in the air, heavy with an implication that’s enough to still your heart.

The elevator doors slide closed slowly, casting you both in silence, and the subtle ‘ding’ of levels climbed. He turns, leaning one side of his body against the elevator wall, his full attention on you in that intense way you have learned by now is not apathy.

It didn’t take very long to read him, to pick past the perpetual weary expression on his face to take in the ticks in his jaw, the furrow of his brow, the blinding smile he gives when he gets past that initial few minutes of shyness. That sense of conviction he has for his cases translates to everything else in different ways. And now, it’s on you, a look so intense with something warmer. Something sharper.

“Late night?” you ask, trying your best to cast the room into something else other than your nerves that seem to ooze out of your skin like tendrils. You squeeze the handle of your bag, the plastic rustling faintly in the quiet. His gaze flickers down to your hands, taking in the brand stamped on the bag.

“Always.” That weariness is softer now, worn smooth like a river on jagged stones from all the nights you’ve shared his silence. “I take it you have plans this year?” He nods to the bag in your hand.

You try not to think about the resignation in his voice. You clear your throat, opening the bag for him to peek inside. “If by plans you mean a Christmas cake? Then yes, I have plans.”

The elevator dings again, five stops away from your shared floor. He whistles long and low, pulling a snicker from your chest as he pulls out the cake and turns it in his hands to examine. “You sure you can finish this on your own?”

You scoff, feigning offense and snatching the cake away to shove back in your bag. “I’ll have you know that I have a very insatiable appetite.”

“Is that so?” he asks, dripping with so much suggestiveness that you’re convinced you’re just hearing things. The elevator doors slide open, but neither of you moves. His gaze catches yours, steady and unyielding, and suddenly, the air feels heavier, your chest tighter.

“I have coffee,” he offers finally, his voice low, deliberate. The words carry so much more—an invitation, a continuation, a year of understanding distilled into a simple gesture. “If you would like company…for your plans.”

He smells like a hint of cigarettes and cologne that makes you lightheaded, but you pull in a deep breath to let the smell fill your lungs, willingly disorienting yourself.

“Sure,” you say gingerly, your voice catching slightly in your throat. He steps aside, holding the elevator door open for you, and you follow him down the hall.

His apartment is exactly as you imagined—case files neat on every surface, the quilted throw blanket on his couch that he had wrapped around you two days ago on the roof, that cheap coffee maker you’ve heard him defend countless times humming in the corner. But there are new details too—a mug you recognize from the combini downstairs, the one you mentioned liking a month ago. Artwork that looks like it came directly from a museum on every wall, adding a quiet sophistication to the otherwise practical space.

You can only take in so many details before he’s moving, kicking off his shoes and taking the bag from you as he walks to his open kitchen. “How about tea instead?”

He opens one of the kitchen cabinets to display a plethora of neatly arranged glass jars filled with tea bags and loose-leaf blends. The sight surprises you, your breath hitching slightly as he quirks a smile. “You like tea.” And it leaves his mouth as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You do. And the fact that he’s remembered this small detail leaves an electric warmth in your chest that you try not to let show. Instead of responding, you focus on unloading the cake from your bag, carefully peeling back the wrapper without smudging the icing.

Behind you, the quiet clink of jars being opened and spoons measuring tea and coffee into a pot fills the space. There’s a domesticity to it—the ease with which he moves around his kitchen, hovering and reaching around you without invading your space—feels almost surreal. It’s the kind of quiet moment you’ve imagined in fragments, alone in your apartment, in the early mornings when you’re mind is more imaginative than usual, during work meetings that you should be paying attention to. It’s something you’ve thought of, but never quite dared to believe could be real.

When he sets two mismatched mugs on the counter, a tea bag hanging from the one you mentioned, the steam curls between you both like an offering. You look up at him, your heart stumbling over itself at the softness in his gaze. The darkness beneath his eyes is still as intense as ever, but there’s an undercurrent of care painted over his skin that eases your worry.

For a moment, neither of you speaks, the quiet filled with the whir of the coffee maker as it cools down and the warmth of the tea between your palms. He cuts the cake evenly, sliding the entire treat between you both and presenting two forks of equal size.

The first bite of the cake is far too sweet, the tea doesn’t have the amount of honey that you prefer, but neither of you seems to mind. The world feels impossibly small—just this kitchen, just this quiet, just you and Higuruma.

He presses his forearms on the counter, leaning on his elbows and tilting his head to regard you. His dark hair flops over one side, wild and ruffling and itching for you to touch. His curved nose only enhances his features to create a devastating concoction of tired beauty.

“You really brought all this just for yourself?” he presses, voice soft but laced with that quiet amusement you’ve come to expect. There’s no judgment in it, just a curiosity—an invitation for honesty that he already knows if you’re brave enough to give it.

You shrug. “I imagined you had the expertise to solve this kind of question on your own.”

Higuruma snorts, stabbing a corner of his side of the cake. “Uh-huh.”

“Don’t ‘uh-huh’ me,” you playfully hiss, pointing your icing-covered fork in his direction like an accusation.

He takes a slow sip of his coffee, unflinching despite the heat, his eyes locked on yours in a silent battle that you’re definitely losing. The cup clinks onto the counter, cutting through the silence.

“You like me.”

Several things happen at once.

Internally, you’re panicking, heart picking up in speed, stomach coiling with nervous heat, mind screaming at you to abandon ship like a giggling school girl.

Externally, you narrow your eyes, feigning indifference with all the composure you can muster. “Or, I just thought someone could use a little Christmas.”

If he believes you, you can’t tell. That level of apathy you can read has only taken you so far, and without the experience of working with him, there’s no way you can pick apart the mask of a lawyer who has the answer but doesn’t want to give it away.

But slowly, his brow lifts, something in his expression shifting—warmer, softer. “Someone?”

Your fingers tighten around your mug, the ceramic almost too hot to hold. You bring it to your mouth, stalling with a long sip as your chest tightens, and somehow manage a small shrug. “Yeah. Someone.”

He hums, contemplative, accepting even as he forks a piece of cake and presents it to you like a silent toast. “Well, if I were this someone—which clearly I’m not,” he drones, smirking at your rolling eyes, “then I would say thank you for bringing it to me. And Merry Christmas.”

The silence that follows isn’t empty. It’s full of something unspoken, something that hums in the space between you like an unsung melody. You hold your fork aloft, mirroring his gesture, and lightly tap the prongs against his.

“Merry Christmas, Hiromi.”

Outside, the city glows with the soft pulse of winter as Christmas draws to a close, but here, in the warmth of his kitchen, the world feels impossibly still. Just this quiet, just this moment, just you and him.

Time moves differently again.

Too fast, yes, but now when you’re falling for someone in fragments—in elevator rides with your shoulders pressed together, in text conversations that stretch into dawn, in the way Higuruma’s tired eyes seem to hold more light when they find yours. Another year passes like this, in moments you collect like precious things.

Your apartment feels unusually warm, the faint scent of pine mingling with cinnamon from the candle flickering on the coffee table. Your Christmas tree stands in the corner, a decent height with artificial branches fluffed to their best shape, the entire ensemble still missing the final touch—the ornaments scattered on the table beside two mugs of tea.

You glance at the clock nervously, dusting imaginary lint off your sweater. He’s late, not by much, but enough for you to wonder if he’s had second thoughts. You know you shouldn’t entertain it. Higuruma is more than able to text you should anything come up. But still—

There’s a knock—firm and stead, unmistakably him and your heart drops to your stomach. He’s there, of course, when you open the door—suit jacket gone, dark hair messy from running his fingers through it, tie crooked and loose. His dark eyes meet yours, and the weight of them is both comforting and disarming.

“Please tell me you didn’t put it all together without me?”

You roll your eyes, letting him inside and silently swallowing the hint of tobacco that wafts from him. “Saved the best for last.”

It doesn’t take long for you both to fall into a rhythm. The ornaments vary—some old and sentimental, others newer and playful. He’s careful with each one, furrowing with that harsh concentration as he places each bauble on a branch that seems to hold significance. You both work efficiently, a hum of Christmas music filtering through the air, the warmth from the fireplace warming your toes. When you catch a glimpse of him on the other side of the tree, your mind wanders.

You know him better now. Know that he likes his coffee with two scoops of sugar (and a dash of cream when he thinks no one’s watching), how his voice sounds rough with exhaustion after long cases, how he hates when his hair touches the tips of his ears, how his usual detachment melts into something softer when it’s just you two.

“Before you…I hadn’t had a Christmas tree since law school,” Higuruma muses wistfully.

You glance at him, admiring how the firelight softens the perpetual exhaustion in his features—the glow illuminates his face so you can trace his aquiline nose, the slight darkness beneath his eyes, the length of his dark eyelashes that blink slowly.

“Not even those years you won bigger cases? Feels like that’s worthy of time off to enjoy the holidays.”

“Especially not then.” He picks up a small ornament, rolling the metal hook between his fingers. “Never seemed important enough to take the time.”

You busy yourself with pinching the flimsy metal hook of a larger ornament, trying to ignore the resignation you saw in his eyes often during those late nights when he opened up to you. Another victory only meant more time to take on another case, another person with the system automatically turned against them in need of his help. Even with the knowledge, there’s something that still twists in your stomach. Spending every Christmas like this—hunched over a desk, buried in work, alone.

You hold an ornament for him—a tiny racing car from your third year of life— wiggling it like a wad of cash before he rolls his eyes and snatches it playfully from your hands. The tree slowly begins to take shape, lopsided and shedding plastic pine needs, but still beautiful in its imperfection. As you both begin to hang the smaller ornaments one by one, you ask,

“So…before you decided to take on the world, what kind of trees did you have growing up?”

Higuruma pauses, a faded blue bulb hanging from lightly tanned fingertips. For a moment, his gaze drifts, his already solemn expression dipping fractionally, and you wonder if you’ve pushed too far. But then he speaks, his voice softer than before.

“Real ones,” he mutters. “Tall ones that shed pine needles all over the floor and made the house smell like a forest.” He places the ornament on a branch near the top, bending the thin metal hook to secure it. “My mother used to insist on decorating it all herself, though. She had this thing about symmetry.” A small, nostalgic smile tugs at his lips. “I think I preferred watching her more than actually helping.”

You smile softly, picturing a younger Higuruma sitting cross-legged on the floor, hair probably shorter, eyes smooth around the edges and free of sleep deprivation, observing with quiet curiosity. “What about you?”

“Depends on the year,” you shrug, holding up a Spongebob ornament and inspecting its slightly chipped edge. “Some years, we had fake ones like this. Other years, my family would drag a real one home and spend the next six months vacuuming pine needles.”

His chuckle is low and warm, seeming to drift across the room, wrapping around the tree to warm your skin. For a moment, the air between you feels lighter, more familiar.

The tree glimmers by the time you’re done, a haphazard mix of ornaments and lights that somehow works. As he helps you pack up the empty boxes, Higuruma pulls something from the depths of one—a sprig of artificial mistletoe.

You freeze, hair standing on end as he holds it aloft, an eyebrow quirking in amusement. “Were you planning on using this?”

“Not intentionally,” you murmur, rushing to him and reaching to snatch it from his hands before he tilts it away and dangles it above your heads. The sight of where it is, the implication of what it means, makes your throat dry up quickly.

“Isn’t it a tradition?

“It’s cheesy,” you try to reach for it again and sigh when he raises it higher. “And for someone who hardly pays attention to the holidays, why do you suddenly want to follow tradition now?”

Higuruma grins, and the look of it, the way it makes him seem so much younger and filled with mischief, only makes heat spring to life in your belly. Unwarranted and quickly flaming out of control.

“Because for the past three years, you’ve made sure I follow at least some kind of tradition. You want to try this one too?”

You open your mouth to retort, to tell him that you don’t want to kiss him, and spend the next few nights crying because he doesn’t feel the same way. You don’t want to finally put yourself out there and then be so miserably crushed that you’ll probably find a way to break your lease.

But the words dissolve on your tongue when his free hand cups your jaw, his touch warm and grounding with the faint littering of callus. The space between you shortens, the air thin so quickly you can barely breathe, his lips brushing yours so lightly it’s almost asking the question again.

And because you don’t know if you can wait another year to be in this position again, you close the gap. Your hands twist into the front of his shirt as you pull him closer, deepening the kiss, the weight of three years fizzling into nothing as he wraps his arms around your lower back, the mistletoe dropping to the floor.

It’s not enough for your brain to process before you break apart, both of you breathing heavily, his forehead resting against yours.

“Good?” you exhale, the word trembling on your lips.

Those down-turned eyes study you, taking in the curve of your eyebrows, the length of your lashes, and the humps of your lips. He responds by pulling you back into him, his kiss feverish now, mouth pitching against yours until you open with a soft gasp and welcome his tongue.

For as much as he smokes, he barely tastes like tobacco. Your tongue picks up on coffee and spearmint, licking against him and resisting the urge to bite down when the hands on your hips dip past the hem of your shirt, brushing the bare skin of your sides.

When he pulls back again, the sound he makes in his throat feels as if it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done. He presses a kiss to your forehead, your nose, and one cheek. “Is this okay?”

For a moment, you want to be offended by the question. This man, who you’ve wanted for years, is stopping the very thing you want to ask questions. But when your brain puts two and two together, when you realize that, of course, he’s asking for permission, it only makes that heat in your belly curdle.

“Yes,” you breathe against his lips, pulling him into you again. His touch is deliberate yet tender, palms exploring more of your skin and pulling you into him like he can’t get enough. The intensity of the kiss leaves you dizzy, and you barely hold on to his neck long enough for him to hike up your legs and wrap them around your waist.

The journey to your bedroom is hazy. You register when your back brushes against a wall when he stumbles, a sting in your lip when he bites down. By the time you both fall into bed together, the sheets are cold, your skin naked and flush with his and you blink away the arousal enough to take him in. Despite his outward appearance, Hiromi is beautiful. The sinewy muscle that curves a faint impression of abs, firm pectorals, and lean thighs with a thick line of dark hair that collects where he hangs heavy.

He leans down, trailing soft kisses from your lips down the column of your throat, licking the curve of each nipple before taking them in his mouth one by one. You arch into the wet feel of his tongue sliding down your stomach, nipping down your pelvis as he slides large hands under your thighs and throws them over his shoulders. The sight of him there, between your legs, hair mussed and falling in front of his eyes, sends a rush of heat through your body so quickly that you almost choke on a breath.

“You like me,” you can’t help but tease, exhaling in a fluttering laugh when he snorts and presses a kiss to your inner thigh. It feels as gentle as a promise, flaring in importance as he works his way up, the stubble of his jaw grazing your sensitive skin, leaving a blistering trail of fire in its wake.

“I definitely do.”

Your back, which is already unconsciously arching slowly from the feel of his breath at the apex of your thighs, practically snaps when you finally feel him on you, a cry leaving your throat inhibited. The world seems to narrow on the feel of him, the way his thick tongue moves with unrelenting accuracy, the way his lips press and suck, groaning into your folds when you unleash sounds you didn’t know you were capable of making.

“Hiromi,” you gasp brokenly, your hands tangling in his hair and tugging closer as the tension builds in your core. He hums against you, sucking your clit into his mouth, a vibrating jolt of pleasure shooting through your body. It’s too much and not enough, your breath coming in ragged gasps and pleas as he takes you apart.

When you finally shatter, it’s with his name on your lips, your body shaking wildly as waves of pleasure consume you. Through it all, he doesn’t waver, licking you slowly through the aftershocks, his hands stroking your thighs to work you down.

When he finally pulls away, his lips glistening with your essence and dark eyes fixed on you, there’s an intensity in his expression that steals the breath from your already struggling lungs. He trails wet kisses back up your body, hands picking up what’s missed until his tongue slides back in your mouth again. The taste of you is enough to lick that flame back to life again.

“Still okay?” he asks gently, roughened by desire but laced with unmistakable care that makes your eyes sting.

You nod, your chest still heaving from your orgasm, but the weight of your emotions and the look in his eyes demand words. “Yes. Always, Hiromi.”

Something passes over his features at the sound of his name on your lips, soft and unguarded. He kisses you once more, slow and deliberate, as if he’s savoring you. It’s not just want—it’s need, tethered to something deeper that’s been growing between you for years, but you were always afraid you wouldn’t be as strong on his side.

“I need you to know…this isn’t just tonight for me. It’s not just because that mistletoe was in that box.” He swallows, resting his forehead against yours. “I want you…this.”

The words settle between you like the freshly fallen snow that started a few hours ago, soft and weightless but undeniable. For a moment, your chest tightens, a fragile knot of hope loosening into something sure as his gaze searches yours. You cup his jaw, tilting his face so you can look into his eyes through your blurry vision.

“It’s not just tonight for me either.”

The tenderness in his expression melts into something more charged, more finite—lips claiming yours and tip pressing to your entrance before he carefully slides in inch by inch, his eyes never leaving yours until he’s fully seated inside. It’s overwhelming—pleasure and emotion weaving together to make your body tremble beneath him.

It feels like it takes so much time and none at all for momentum to build between you. The heat of his breath, still tinged with your scent, fans across your cheeks as if he’s memorizing the shape of them. His hands dig into your hips and pull your closer to him, curving his cock with a blissful thrust that makes you see stars.

“Perfect,” he whispers, reverent as he kisses up your neck. “So perfect, angel.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, nails digging into the meat, yanking him impossibly closer as your throat pitches moan after moan into the hot air of your apartment. Each thrust is slow, deep, and intentional as if he’s trying to show you everything he can’t yet put into words. But you can feel the promise in the way his hips smack against yours. In the way he groans against your lips and swallows your pleas for more.

“I’ll do it right next time,” he whispers. “I’ll take a few days off work. Take you to dinner at the izakaya up the block you’ve been talking about.”

“Hiromi—”

“Three years of wanting you, of pretending—” You can’t answer him, can’t really soothe him when his movements are growing desperate when he kisses you in a way that makes you lose yourself even further.

You’ll muster up the energy later for another round, but right now, you’re rushing to the finish line, whimpering against his lips that turns into a debauched moan when his fingers find your clit, rubbing slowly despite the frantic clap of his hips.

You fall over first, you can’t help it. The whisper of your name from his lips is enough to yank you over with an embarrassed keen. He follows not long after. It’s not just pleasure—it’s the unraveling of three holidays spent balancing on the edge of this moment. Every rooftop conversation under snow cloud-covered skies, every flicker of shared warmth over tea, every stolen glance and whispered joke—all of it spills out now. It’s every lonely Christmas rewritten in the language of him, of this, of now.

He’s holding you through it as your orgasm pulses through you like its own heartbeat but doesn’t let go. In the quiet that follows, you think of that first night—how you brought him hot chocolate and warmth when he thought he needed neither. His lips press soft kisses to your temple, your shoulder, your fingers. His eyes so heavy with the need to sleep but his actions saying everything but.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmurs, his voice filled with something you hope to have a name for in the near future.

You smile, dragging your fingers up and down his back. That unspoken thing finally becomes tangible, a soft tune creating harmony with the Christmas music still playing in your living room.

“Merry Christmas, Hiromi.”

Merry Christmas, @sassypossum!!!

#ncs secret santa #merry ficmas #jjk higuruma #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #higuruma hiromi x reader #jjk hiromi #higuruma #jjk fluff #jjk smut

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jyunpandorana · 1 month ago

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My art submission for KaiShin Secret Santa 2024 hosted by @dcmkkaishinevents for @tsuuguwu / @pinkspider-lily~

D'you ever write 37k cause you just really, really like a musical notation code in your head?

Link to said accompanying fic

(Don't) Write A Love Song Rating: G Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Summary: “I detect magic in these hands,” the bard noted, turning over Shinichi’s hands in his grasp. “Strong magic too. You don’t carry a wand case, and your books are elsewhere so you don’t use incantations. But look what I found~”

The bard pulled out a familiar black violin case from the seemingly impossibly small confines of his jacket pocket. Shinichi’s hands automatically dropped to his belt, finding the case missing from where he had fastened it.

“Mage,” the bard accused, with a triumphant, manic sort of purr.

#ksss24 #dcmk #shinichi kudo #kaito kuroba #kaishin #my art #mine #manga #anime #shinichi kudou #kaitou kid #kaito kid

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guiltyasdave · 1 year ago

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it’s nice to have a friend

this is a secret santa gift for @wethairjoel - merry christmas my love 🫶🏻

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

word count: ~2.6k

summary: Joel and you have been best friends for years, but maybe this Christmas it’s time for the both of you to admit that that’s not all you want. (Goddamn I should write Hallmark movies)

tags: no outbreak!AU, friends to lovers, idiots in love, Sarah is alive, Ellie is reader’s sister, able-bodied reader, bits of angst/jealousy, Joel being emotionally constipated, mentions of alcohol consumption, FLUFF <3

dividers by @/saradika-graphics who is amazing!

full masterlist here / follow @guiltyasdavenotifs and turn on notifications for fic updates!

much love to @reddedmiller for assuring me that this is cute and not terrible, i love you 🫶🏻

“Ellie, come on! They’re here!”

Your back is turned to the door as you’re yelling up the staircase, waiting for your younger sister to finally come down. You turn around, fixing the open door and your waiting friend Joel with a tired smile.

“Hi,” you sigh, waving at Sarah, who’s waiting in the backseat of Joel’s truck.

“Rough morning?” Joel chuckles and lets you pull him into a quick hug.

As you’re nodding, Ellie finally comes trudging down the stairs, her backpack haphazardly thrown over one shoulder and her hair in a loose ponytail. She wordlessly flips you the bird as she walks past you and you roll your eyes, used to her grumpy mood in the morning.

“Sorry,” you mutter in Joel’s direction, ushering her out of the door, “didn’t mean to make you guys late.”

Joel laughs and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, darlin’, it’s no big deal.”

He casually throws an arm over your shoulder as he leads you to his car and opens the passenger side’s door for you while Ellie is already climbing in beside Sarah.

Joel starts the car and makes his way to the girls’ school, the radio playing soft rock music in the background and the girls chattering away behind you.

“Thanks again for doing this,” you smile at Joel.

“‘Course. You’re the one doin’ me a favor here, really.”

Joel and you had both agreed to take the day off and go shopping for Christmas presents for your girls while they were at school.

You had moved to Austin two years ago, a few months after becoming Ellie’s legal guardian. Ellie and Sarah had classes together and had quickly become best friends, easing your worries about Ellie being an outsider at her new school, and they asked to spend more time together outside of classes almost constantly.

That’s how you met Joel, the both of you bonding over being the sole caregiver for your girls and being younger than most other parents at the school. It’s an easy friendship and one that you cherish greatly. Joel is a good friend, making you laugh when you’re with him, always willing to help if anything at your house needs fixing, hosting barbecues for the four almost every weekend in the summer, and someone you can always turn to for parenting advice.

So what if he’s also so handsome that it almost hurts to look at him sometimes and your heart rate still picks up when he’s close to you? When you had first started hanging out more, you had thought that there might be more between you, with the way he kept calling you “darlin’” and the flirty remarks he threw at you, but nothing more ever happened and he never gave you any indication that he wanted anything more, so you figured that it was just his southern charm and that he treated everybody like this. Not wanting to screw up the one real friendship that you had managed to build in your new hometown, you continued to swallow down any deeper feelings, any attraction that you might feel towards him.

You drop the girls off at school and continue the drive downtown, stopping on the way for a coffee. Joel, who you have never seen drinking anything else than plain black coffee, teases you relentlessly over the Christmas themed drink with syrup and an obnoxious amount of whipped cream that you have picked for yourself. It’s a never ending discussion that comes up every time you have coffee together and one that you've gotten used to, with Joel not understanding why you would taint the coffee’s taste and you not understanding how he’s able to drink the bitter beverage without smoothing it out with milk at least.

When you finally reach the mall, already packed with bustling crowds of Christmas shoppers, you sigh. At least you’re not alone, and you have a plan of what you want to get. You pull out the list of potential gifts and stores where you might get them that you had written the night before, making Joel chuckle.

“Always prepared for anythin’, huh?”

You grin back and nudge him with your elbow. “You’re gonna thank me later, trust me.”

“Don’t doubt it,” he mutters and follows you through the crowd of people, a calming presence by your side.

You make a good team, somehow both more equipped to pick out presents for the other’s young girl. Sarah had wished for new CDs, movies and posters of her favorite bands to redecorate her room, an endeavor that you’re more than happy to help with. Ellie wants new strings and picks for her guitar, one that you had bought second hand and that Joel is teaching her to play almost every weekend, and new drawing utensils.

Due to your thorough planning, you manage to secure all the goods before noon, a fact that you don’t hesitate to rub into Joel’s face and he reluctantly agrees that this shopping trip had been done much faster than if he had gone alone, playing up his grumpy demeanor but you know him well enough to see the warm and playful glint in his eyes.

Since you still have a few hours to yourselves until the girls will return from school, you decide to get another coffee and maybe a snack together, this time actually sitting down in a café rather than picking it up. You’re treating yourself to another fancy drink, Joel is sipping on another black coffee and you’re sharing a blueberry muffin while you’re talking about your plans for the holidays.

Ellie and you will be over at the Millers for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, a tradition that you had established last year and that you’re more than grateful for. You love Ellie and she’s the only family that you care about, but you want her to have the best time possible, especially at Christmas.

Joel excuses himself to use the bathroom and leaves you alone at the table. You’re aimlessly scrolling through your phone when another person sits down in Joel’s seat. You look up slowly, taking in the guy in front of you. Slim, blonde, about your age, kind of handsome, you presume, if that part of your mind wasn’t taken up by another man. But that’s not a thought that you’re supposed to have, you try reminding yourself.

“Hey,” the man says, smiling at you. He has a handsome smile, too. “I’m Dan.” He extends a hand to you and you shake it, too perplexed to do much else.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, I just came in and saw you sitting here all alone and I just thought I’d take the chance and ask if you wanted to go out with me sometime?”

You stare at him for a second, the question barely registering in your brain, before you snap out of it. Why not, you tell yourself, this might be good for you. Good to get the idea of Joel and you out of your head once and for all.

“I- um, yeah. Sure!”

You plaster a smile on your face and exchange phone numbers with Dan who promises to text you and gets up just as Joel comes back, scowling at Dan’s retreating back.

“Who was that?” he asks, and you wonder if you’re imagining his tone being colder than it was before he left.

“Just a guy,” you murmur, feeling embarrassed and weirdly guilty, “wanted to go out with me, I guess.”

“And, will you?” You’re not imagining it, Joel definitely sounds colder.

“Maybe. I don’t know. Who knows if he’ll even text me,” you shrug and stand up abruptly, suddenly desperate to get out of the situation, “let’s go.”

Joel’s answering huff doesn’t do much to calm you down and the walk back to the car is more silent than you’re used to with him, none of the usual bantering between you two.

He drops you off at your house and while you had planned to invite him in to maybe start wrapping your gifts together, you’re now kind of desperate to get out of this weird tension between you, so you just grab your bags and hop out of the truck. Joel mumbles his goodbye and you watch him drive off while you’re standing in your doorway, your eyebrows furrowed. You think that maybe something just soured his mood, even if you can’t fathom what it might have been, and calm yourself with the thought that you’ll just text him later.

You do just that, sending him a photo of your wrapped gifts a few hours after you got home, but he doesn’t respond. You don’t hear from him for several days, your calls remaining unanswered and there are no replies to your texts. You actually resort to asking Ellie if Sarah has said anything, but she’s just as clueless as you are.

The weekend rolls around and you go on your date with Dan, who, unlike someone else, has texted you. He takes you out for lunch and while the date is nice and he’s being polite, easy to have a conversation with and you’re fighting with yourself trying to like him, you’re bored.

You don’t feel any spark between the two of you, a spark that you, as you begrudgingly have to admit to yourself, always feel when you’re with Joel. You decidedly swallow that thought back down as soon as it occurs to you, but it stays in the back of your mind, like a kind of craving that you just can’t turn off.

You tell Dan that you’re sorry but that you don’t see the two of you turn into anything more, which he accepts graciously and wishes you all the best and you once again want to kick yourself for not feeling anything at all for this kind and blissfully uncomplicated man.

Grinding your teeth, you call Joel the next evening and to your surprise, he finally picks up.

“Where the hell have you been?” you demand without as much as a greeting.

“Just busy with work,” his voice huffs through the speaker and you can’t help but start feeling slightly more at ease at the sound of it, even if you don’t believe that he was too busy to contact you for days, but at least he picked up your call now.

“How’d your date go?”

He sounds… careful, like he’s not sure if he wants to know the answer. You’re confused for a second; you didn’t even have the chance to tell him about those plans; until your gaze falls on your sister who’s sitting on the couch opposite from you with headphones over her ears and frantically scribbling in her notebook.

“Between Sarah and Ellie, no secret is safe, huh?” you grin.

“So it’s a secret?” His voice is tense.

“I guess not, I just didn’t- I don’t know.” You huff a frustrated sigh. “But it doesn’t matter, I’m not gonna see him again, so…”

“Did he do something?” Joel demands immediately and you feel your cheeks warming at the way he switches into protective mode.

“No no, don’t get all riled up. He was nice, just… not it. I wasn’t really interested in him anyway, so.”

“Huh,” Joel mumbles and though you can’t see him, you can tell that some of the tension is dissolving.

You chat a little more, working out the finer parts of the plans for your shared Christmas celebration in a few days, and by the end of the phone call, you feel like things between you are back to normal.

It’s the second Christmas Eve that you’ve spent at the Miller household and it’s just as chaotic as the first one. Joel’s brother Tommy comes to visit, bringing with him a bottle of whiskey and an air of mischief that immediately infects the two girls who are already giddy with the energy of Christmas, the prospect of getting presents tomorrow morning and the inevitable sugar high that comes with consuming mountains of Christmas cookies.

Ellie and you are meant to sleep over, Ellie in Sarah’s room and you in the guest room, so you indulge in a few glasses of whiskey, feeling pleasantly tipsy and like a warm, hazy glow is surrounding you. You sing Christmas songs along to the radio with the girls, laugh loudly at Tommy’s crude jokes and even get Joel, who is slightly drunk himself, to dance with you for a few minutes.

When you finally retreat to the kitchen to get yourself a glass of water, you somehow already sense Joel’s presence behind you before he speaks up.

“Hey,” he murmurs as you turn around, his gaze trained on the floor at your feet.

“Hey,” you echo, searching his face, “what’s up?”

He rubs his neck, a mannerism that you’ve come to connect with him feeling uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, “I know I’ve been acting weird around you the past week, and…” he trails off again, still not meeting your gaze. Joel has never been good at expressing his feelings, and you can’t deny that you’re curious about what he’s going to say. You knew that it hadn’t been just about work stuff. Joel takes a deep breath, seemingly steeling himself for what he’s about to tell you.

“I didn’t- shit, I’m not good at this.” He rubs his neck again. “I didn’t want you to go out with that guy. And I know that that’s no excuse, but I wanted… I wanted you to go out with me. I’ve wanted that for quite some time, honestly. And I never knew how to tell you, I didn’t want to ruin the friendship that we have, but then that- that fuckin’ guy came along and I just thought, what if I had my chance and I missed it? But still, I shouldn’t have put that on you, I-”

You interrupt his rambling when you step into his space and place your hand on his upper arm, his gaze finally flying up to meet yours.

“You wanted… to go out with me?” you whisper, almost not able to believe what you’ve just heard.

“I- yes. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I’ll never mention it again, I just wanted you to know.” He shrugs helplessly and you can’t help the smile that’s slowly growing on your face.

“Joel,” you murmur, taking another step closer to him. “I’d love to go out with you. I never thought- you never said anything, and I didn’t want to make things awkward between us, but…”

This might be it, the moment that you’ve always hoped for but never thought would happen.

“I like you. More than as a friend. I mean, I really like you.”

Now you’re avoiding his gaze, feeling heat flush your cheeks at your admission. You feel his fingers on your chin, tilting your face up to meet his warm brown eyes, so close to you.

“Guess we’ve both been kinda idiots,” he smirks.

A grin is slowly spreading on your face. “Guess so.”

He leans towards you and your eyes slowly close, just before his lips touch yours.

None of you are aware of the audience that’s observing the both of you from the living room.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Tommy mutters as he leans back into the couch and takes another sip of whiskey. Sarah and Ellie both sigh in agreement.

thank you so much for reading! if you liked it, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment - nothing would make me happier 🫶🏻

#secret santa 2023 #val <3 #janas fics #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedrostories

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ryescapades · 1 month ago

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₊˚⊹☁ 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭 : 𝟏𝐤𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 ☁₊˚⊹

to celebrate having 1000+ of you here, and my birthday which is also around the end of december (1k + cakes = 1kakes haha get it). thank you so much !! this is my little attempt at repaying you guys.

much love, rye.

𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 : 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

╰┈➤ [ 🍰 SLICE ONE ; speak up ! ] ༊*·˚

send me a character + sfw/nsfw (choose either!) + one dialogue from the list here OR one of your own! i will write you a drabble/short fic based on your dialogue, and 1k is the word limit.

╰┈➤ [ 🍰 SLICE TWO ; scarf down ! ] ༊*·˚

send a character + theme / colour OR one of your selfships + some trivia (don't have to be lots. just one or two are good enough!) i’ll make a moodboard based on the vibes of your request.

e.g. “bf!isagi” , "y/n x f/o + golden retriever bf x cat gf" or in any form that could help me with what you want. samples: x – x

╰┈➤ [ 🍰 SPECIAL SLICE ! ] ༊*·˚

in honor of joining the secret santa events hosted for the members of @/pixelcafe-network, and another one for HoW!

[ rules ]

you can order for slice one, slice two, or both !

mutuals, followers, non followers, all are welcomed!

exception for slice two: any character is acceptable!

some may contain nsfw so please mdni with those.

no angst because this is a happy occasion (hurt/comfort is okay).

fandoms i’m accepting: kn8, bllk, wbk, tougen anki, haikyuu, genshin impact, jjk, mha (see here for specific characters i write for & more general rules!)

[ notes ]

this was supposed to be held in november but life got in the way of things (and i still have some old requests marinating in my inbox lol i'll try to work on those in between i prommy TT) so i had to postpone it.

i'm hosting this event while still in the middle of my midterm season btw so it'll be a gradual process. plus finals are less than 2 months away so highly likely it will be a long term project. no rushing me please !! if you are fine with that, feel free to request away.

tag! @17020

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

#was so excited to plan this #but i was sooooo busy at that time ;-; sadge #posts and hides myself bcs im still nervous abt it jdhshfhf #1kakes event 🎂#🥣 rye works #milestone event #kn8 x reader #kaiju no 8 x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #windbreaker x reader #wind breaker x reader #hq x reader #tougen anki x reader #genshin impact x reader #jjk x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader

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imagining-in-the-margins · 1 year ago

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CM Office Party Fics 🎉

Hey everyone! Thank you so much to everyone who participated. I am so happy to share everyone’s hard work. If you have a oneshot or masterlist you’d like me to add, please send me a message - new additions are always welcome.

SFW Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Inexperienced by me: Virgin!Reader has a secret no one expected, least of all Spencer. She’s a virgin… in every way.

Dancing with the Doctor by @smalltownbeautyqueen: After hearing the BAU's prom stories, Garcia decides to throw her own BAU prom.

Gift Exchange by @ssahopelessly: It’s time for the Secret Santa gift exchange at the BAU.

Secret Santa by @c-m-stuff: Reader and Spencer are together for Secret Santa.

Better for You by @incognit0slut: Spencer spends the change of year with a new resolution as he starts looking at his rival differently.

Clue by @pathologicalreid: A fic in which Penelope hosts a NYE party with a murder mystery theme.

Mistletoe's for Two by @andiebeaword: At the annual Christmas party, Spencer gets caught under the mistletoe by the woman he didn’t want to kiss.

More ratings and pairings below!

NSFW (18+) Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Prom Night by @foxy-eva: After everyone shared their sad (or non-existent) prom stories, Penelope decided to host a BAU Prom, giving Spencer the perfect excuse to finally ask out Reader.

Funhouse Mirror by me: SSA Reader promised Spencer he’d be surprised by her costume of the Doctor for the Halloween Party. He definitely was.

Kiss ’n Tell by me: Reader gets drunk on a night out with the girls and accidentally mimics her boyfriend’s habit of oversharing.

Unhappy Holidays by @reiderwriter: Reader runs into Spencer at holiday celebrations four years in a row, including this NYE.

Always Bet on Black by @reidmotif: Reader realizes she has an advantage at the Bureau's Casino Night, when Spencer can't seem to take his eyes off her and her dress.

Never Have I Ever by me: After a case involving kink culture, Spencer is assigned to judge the girls’ game of Never Have I Ever. Later, him and Reader compare scores.

Other/Fem!Reader (SFW)

Somewhere I Belong by @0and0its0doctor0: (Hotch) Hotch has a little liquid courage and breaks the rules.

When Snorter Does the Unexpected by @alluring-andrayav: (Derek) It's Derek's birthday, and he receives an unexpected gift.

Other Pairings & Gen Fic (SFW)

All is Bright by @masterwords: (Hotchgan) After a long series of failed dates, Hotch and Morgan finally come to their senses thanks to some well-placed mistletoe.

Talk of the Town by @/masterwords: (Hotchgan) Hotch has an invite to a Christmas party at the White House and he's asking Derek to be his plus one.

October by @gaelic-symphony: (Temily) The couple spends Halloween together.

November by @/gaelic-symphony: (Temily) The couple spends Thanksgiving together.

So Just Keep Kissing Me Under the Mistletoe [AO3] by @starzzyeyed : (Hotchreid) Spencer's dreading the BAU's christmas party for many reasons; not least because it means spending time off duty with his boss.

Happy Hotch Day by @codename-mom: (Platonic) Penelope wants to cheer her boss up as he still suffers from what Foyet did to him. The team prepares a surprise for him.

It's a Piece of Cake by @/codename-mom: (Platonic) Jack is turning six and Penelope wants to do something for the occasion.

The Sweater Case by @/codename-mom: (Platonic) The FBI organizes a gala with all the agency directors in the country. Hotch doesn't want to go.

Happy Reading!

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut #criminal minds challenge #criminal minds women #criminal minds fanfic #temily #hotchgan #hotchreid #heid #criminal minds gen fic #gen fic #cm writing challenge #fanfic rec #fic recs

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bunnyreaper · 1 year ago

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bunnyreaper's secret santa masterlist

as you may have seen, i recently hosted a secret santa fanfic exchange—largely with members of my server! it was a lovely little event and every piece is so wonderful. presented below are the finished fics that are publicly available! (for the purposes of this list, oc implies the reader is given defined characteristics, as it was written specifically for the giftee!) soap tradition with a twist (soap x reader) by bunnyreaper it's cold, isn't it? (soap x reader) by shotmrmiller loved (soap x reader) by a-very-bored-blogger not so bad (soap x reader) by juvenilla the perfect christmas setting (soap x reader) by ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff ghost mine all mine (ghost x reader) by soapsgf all i want for christmas (ghost x reader) by kitskatscabinet things to change (ghost x reader) by alwaysshallow make my wish come true (ghost x oc) by perfinn

price john price as a neighbour (price x gn!reader + implied ghost x reader) by crash-and-live just like old times (price x reader + poly!141) by piratesfromspace bar owner!john price kisses you under the mistletoe (price x reader) by inkbybambi poly secret santa (price x oc x ghost) by ohworm-writes play chase (ghoap x reader) by literatecowboy under the christmas tree (poly 141 x reader) by gremlingottoosilly secret santa exchange (ghoap x reader) by ramadiiiisme others shedding some light (nikolai x oc) by cooliofango habits (konig x reader) by juvenilla

#secret santa #soap mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #ghoap x reader #tf141 x reader #konig x reader #nikolai x reader

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beefrobeefcal · 1 month ago

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Alone Together feat. Dieter Bravo

Summary: Dieter is alone by his own doing for Christmas, and so are you.

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader | Rating: Teen but still MDNII | Word Count: 2,293

Content Warnings: the holiday morbs, Dieter being a jerk, wine consumption but no is drunk, brief mention of politics, referenced dislike of sappy holiday movies, black cats, kissing, mentions of sex but no smut (who am I?),

Author's Notes: hello beloved @rulexofxnines - it is I, your DB Brainrot Secret Santa! I do hope I met your request for holiday feels and our darling Dieter. Thanks to @sp00kymulderr for organizing!

Thanks to @strang3lov3 for her eyes, minds, thots and love - I wouldn't have had the gumption during this stressful holiday season to get this done without you. 🥩💜🐛 Thanks also to @saradika-graphics for the dividers.

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Your neighbour was an asshole, that much was true. Belligerent to delivery workers, rude to his house staff… You even stood in your kitchen and watched him throw a boot at his most recent stylist as he chased them out of his front door.

In the year and a half that you’d been Dieter Bravo’s neighbour, he had done nothing to show you he was anything less than a douchecanoe. You’d made up your mind about him after your one and only one interaction; he was dragging his garbage can back from the curb and he gave you a once over and said, “Nice.” with a nod and gross smile. Your less-than-charitable facial expression in response was met with a scowled huff from him before he disappeared back into his house.

Sure, he was an actor who did walk on parts on primetime tv dramas now, but back in the day, he was more than a bit part. You wouldn’t have called yourself a fan, but you didn’t deny that he was attractive and a good actor… and even now, he was still attractive, even if the acting part wasn’t as true anymore.

The week earlier, you’d received a very fancy note telling you that while you weren’t invited, Dieter would be hosting a large, extravagant party on this day and he was only giving the neighbourhood a head’s up because his lawyer had told him to. Even if outwardly you were coldly ambivalent towards the note, you couldn’t deny the initial thrill you had when you thought it may actually be an invite followed by the immediate disappointment and deflation of your ego.

Even though he was an asshole, you still felt an inexplicable pull towards him. Little did you know that Dieter felt that same pull towards you.

He was painfully aware of the horrible first impression he’d left on you, and he knew you weren't immune to the stories that were told about him and his arrogance. A small part of him had wanted to reach out to you, but it was squashed each time you’d break eye contact with an eye roll or a slight grimace. As much as he felt that pull, he also felt irritated at your assumed uninterest in him, the Dieter Bravo.

You had both made assumptions about one another - some well informed while others were a bit more misguided - yet neither of you had the ability to not have your attention drawn to one another the moment you were in each other’s peripherals.

This was going to be your first christmas alone in your home. Last year, you’d opted to spend the holidays at your parents house with all of your family, but given the results of the recent election, you didn’t feel like hearing extended family’s opinions, and thusly, you were staying put. You’d decorated a small, counter top tree and splurged on a few gifts for you and your cats, VOID and Nugget, and you’d gotten a small chicken to roast like a turkey; you were set.

You began to settle in for a quiet Christmas Eve, even if you didn’t want to admit that you really weren’t digging the ‘alone for the holidays’ plans you’d made now nearly as much. Knowing that Dieter was hosting what you assumed would be a very large and noisy party, you had your wireless headphones charged, a ridiculous stockpile of Christmas cookies, and your appetizers in the air fryer; you were as ready as you could be for whatever your neighbour had in store for you.

A few hours and two really terrible Christmas movies later, you noted that there were no cars outside Dieter’s home, nor was there any noise. You’d not even bothered with your headphones - waiting until you actually needed them - and you hadn’t even needed to shut the blinds on the windows that faced his house.

It was weird. Quiet and weird.

You got up and looked out your kitchen window and what you saw almost broke your heart. There was Dieter, sitting with his head in his hands on his front steps alone. From your vantage point, you watched as he lifted his head and looked out into the dark street in front of him and sigh.

Your mind was suddenly at odds with itself. You could turn and go back to another crappy Christmas movie with your cats on the couch, or you could take the chance to fill the need for human connection on Christmas Eve with someone who could either accept or rudely deny you.

You chose the former, feeling that pull towards him again, and grabbed the big container of Christmas cookies, then headed out your front door.

Dieter’s head shot up as you approached him and the certainty you felt began to wither as his eyes locked on yours and all those memories of how terrible he could be started to force their way to the front of your mind, and your steps slowed.

“Hey… I-”

The loud, groaned sigh he let out interrupted you and you felt yourself shrink a bit. You couldn’t quite tell if the sound was born of irritation at your unsolicited arrival or embarrassment at being seen so dejected.

When he rolled his eyes and motioned towards the container in your hands, you had your answer.

“Oh, so you just thought you’d drop by even though you weren’t invited, huh?”, he scoffed sarcastically, but there was a sadness and a vulnerability lingering in the cold glare he gave you.

Your defences came up against your better judgement, and your eyes narrowed. All the holly jollies in your body evaporated, and you spat out, “The party, you mean? You mean the one that looks like no one showed up for?”

He frowned angrily and stood up, stepping towards you. This action alone made you feel a warmth bloom in your chest, but the moment his finger pointed at you sternly, that warmth at his proximity soured. Just as he was about to open his mouth, you shoved the container of cookies into his chest.

“Merry fuckin’ Christmas, asshole.”

You didn’t bother to wait for his response, instead opting to turn and storm back into your house and slam the door. You kicked off your boots, cursing him under your breath, at both him and his attitude and you and your conflicting feelings. You spooked your cats as you stomped into your kitchen and ripped open the fridge to grab your bottle of wine. Still muttering to yourself, you poured a glass and downed the whole thing in one go. As you were about to pour your second glass, there was a knock at the door.

You froze, mid-pour, almost overfilling your glass, feeling that warth fight to come to the surface and bleed all over you. Putting the bottle down and picking up your glass, you listened, then another knock happened. You knew it was him and, if you were honest, you were both elated at the idea he was seeking you out and terrified because you had shoved a plastic rubbermaid container into his chest and he could say it was assault and he could afford a better lawyer than you, and -

Another knock followed by, “Hello? I know you’re home.”

It was stupid but it was true. He knew you were home because he watched you go in, and you knew he knew that because you knew he watched you go in.

You sighed and put the glass down and went down to your door and opened it a crack.

“Yes, I am home.” Stupid. He knows you’re home, dumbass.

He moves closer to the door and leans his face closer to the opening. “Yeah. I know.” Jesus, his eyes are brown. And pretty. Shit.

You suck in a breath and snip back, “Yeah, I know you know.” He smells nice, too. Stop it.

You both stared at each other for a beat before he let out a breath and his shoulders dropped. His face looked as sad as his voice sounded. “I’m not an asshole.”

The look on your own face betrayed you with a perfect mix of confusion and sympathy and Dieter must have taken that as his in; he put his hand on your door and gently pushed it open, softly forcing you back. He stepped into your entryway enough to close the door behind him and he stood in front of you, container of cookies still in his grasp… in his large hands with thick fingers… shit shit shit! Stop it! It was then you noted how dressed up he was: a nice deep green velvet suit with matching tie and dress shirt. His hair was done and his patchy beard was cleaned up, and you noted the telltale marks on his lovely nose that said he’d been wearing glasses.

You suddenly realized how dry your mouth was, making your saliva thick. What was in this man’s cologne?

As you allowed your eyes to trial over him, he was doing the same, taking in your Christmas sweater with little skeletons in Santa hats on it. You had no makeup on and your hair was kind of a mess. You caught him looking you over and felt a wave of self-consciousness wash over you and looked away from him, clearing your throat.

“I’m not always an asshole.”, he said softly.

Your gaze snapped up to him once again, and you found your confidence in the vulnerability he was giving you in his own eyes. “Not always?”

A small smile tugged at one side of his mouth and he looked down at the container in his hands. “Yeah… just was a huge asshole without reprieve this year.”

You felt his words tug at your heart strings and you saw Dieter as he truly was - alone by his own doing.

“Want to come in for a drink? I have wine…”, you motioned your hand towards the few stairs up into the living room. He nodded and followed you.

It was now well past midnight, officially December 25th, and you and Dieter had been talking for hours. You had told him how lonely you were, living by yourself with your cats in a new city and far away from the comforts of familiarity.

He admitted he knew he was driving everyone out of his life, but he didn’t know how to stop it. Between the party being a failure and you calling him an asshole but still giving - albeit harshly - the cookies to him, he finally admitted to himself that he truly was alone, just like you.

“Why?”, you asked softly, placing your hand on his, and his other hand in turn covered yours.

“I don’t know… maybe I’m a narcissist or a sociopath… or had a bad childhood or too much money, I don’t know, but I do know that I don’t like where it got me.”

You nodded and he looked at you, a small smile on his lips. “You know, I always wanted to get to know you.”

“Yeah?” You couldn’t help but return the same smile.

“Yeah. I guess I was just used to people coming to me and when you didn’t, I-”, he shrugged. “I guess I figured you’d rather be alone than get to know me.”

You looked at him, feeling a pang of guilt at his softness in the moment. You opened your mouth to speak but whatever you were going to say was caught in your throat when his hand came up to your cheek. His big brown eyes bored into yours and his face came closer.

His voice was soft and his eyes flicked down to your lips before coming back. “I think you and I, we could maybe make being alone together a thing.”

You nodded and Dieter leaned in and kissed you. Softly, almost tentatively, as if he was waiting for your cue to delve deeper. As soon as you opened your lips slightly in the kiss, Dieter took his chance.

“Hon - you ready? Guests are showing up in ten minutes!”, you called up the stairs.

Dieter appeared at the top, his shirt unbuttoned and his hair in clips as the style set. “I’m - ten minutes? Really?”

You nodded with a smile and he ran back into the bedroom to finish getting ready.

The past year had been nothing short of an R-rated Hallmark Holiday movie. Dieter and you had moved fast in your relationship, sex that very first night had entwined you two together, and neither of you were willing to try anything less than full throttle and you’d moved in with him after less than three months of dating. You had both felt like this was meant to be and his ego and your first impressions of him had delayed the inevitable, and now you were making up for lost time.

Dieter had started to try and mend the broken relationships - some successful, others not - and you felt he had taken every rejection as gracefully as he received forgiveness. It had taken some convincing on your part to get him to agree to try hosting another Christmas Eve party, but here you were, readying the house and hoping for a good turnout.

A few hours into the party, You watched as Dieter moved through the room, smile on his face as he greeted each guest, noting his hand in his pocket, but not giving it another thought.

Dieter caught glimpses of you as he chatted and talked with the people in the room, his fingers deftly playing with the ring he was going to give you at midnight in his pocket. He wanted to officially make sure you knew you would never be alone again.

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#secret santa #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #dieter bravo #dieter bravo brainrot #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfiction #🥩

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at-wicks-end · 1 month ago

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in another life (you still would've turned my head) ; jw

vampire!john wick x reader fluff !! (lowkey a reincarnation au) ~2.5k words

notes: this fic is written for @treedaddymcpuffpuff for the keanuverse secret santa event hosted by @97keanu <333 i hope you like this!!! this is probably the longest thing i've written on this blog 😵‍💫 happy holidays🩷

John cares little for the snow. It’s not that he found it cumbersome or annoying; it’s just that when one has lived for as long as he has, shoveling the snow from the driveway becomes a little too tedious, even for one well-versed in tedious matters. Such was the nature of immortality—given enough time, even the most unique, spectacular experience becomes boring after a century.

This task becomes herculean (or Sisyphean, John corrects himself) when said driveway was practically a third of the length of his entire estate, which was also in the middle of the woods. His eye twitches at the thought of the snow that would inevitably impede the driving of his beloved Mustang to the nearest town. With a heavy sigh, John casts one longing look at his car, as spotless and as pristine as the day he got it decades ago. He’ll wait for the winter to pass before he brings out his car for a drive. For now, he thinks reluctantly, he’ll walk. He has more than enough time anyway.

It doesn’t take long for him to get ready. All he does is put on his long coat and wrap a scarf around his neck before heading out. He has no need for it, but it’s easier to pretend to need it than to deal with the constant concerned looks from the townspeople as he walks around. It also helped him blend in with the rest of the people walking around, doing some last-minute gift shopping for loved ones at those ridiculously overpriced boutiques. John blows out the candles in the hallways as he walks to the foyer, running a mental checklist of the things he had to put out or turn off before leaving.

Dog—yes, Dog. Comments about his creativity are not welcome—approaches him with a wagging tail, the soft clicks of his claws on the hardwood floors reminding John that he had to trim them again soon.

“Hello,” John says warmly, squatting down to pet Dog. “You can’t come with me tonight. I’ll be walking, and it’s too cold.”

Dog woofs once, as if to complain. John chuckles to himself, ruffling his soft fur before straightening himself. “You’ll be fine. I’ve already fed you dinner, haven’t I? I’ll be back later.”

After one last brief round through the manor, John mildly regrets killing the last butler, if only so he had someone else to do the tedious tasks instead. But then again, the last butler turned out to be some vampire hunter wannabe who slipped silver oxide in his tea one night. That gave him quite the sore throat, John thinks bitterly, locking the doors behind him. The poor man was stupid enough to think that a little silver oxide would be able to take him down completely, and didn’t even bother to bring a weapon. Truthfully, it was a bit insulting.

John trudges through the snow, out of his estate and into the woods. It would take him half an hour to get to town, and by then it’ll be almost ten in the evening. The town and its warm lights strung through trees and lampposts will be winding down by then, shop lights shutting off one by one. All the better for him; the fewer humans around him, the safer it was. At almost three centuries of existence, John was already well-versed in resisting temptation, but it didn’t mean he was fond of placing himself in situations where he could potentially snap.

Behind him, his manor fades into the darkness, looking abandoned and more dilapidated than it truly is. For a moment, John squints at one of the towers. Hm. he’ll have to take a look at the top window sometime soon; it looked to be on the verge of falling apart.

He walks through the forest in silence, with no other sound to accompany him other than the sound of crunching snow beneath his boots and the occasional birdsong. John allows his thoughts to wander, his mind flitting from events that had happened over a decade ago and wondering what he would do a week from now. The year was coming to an end, and Winston no doubt is itching to drag him to the Continental for the Winter Ball.

Yeah, right. John snorts. Invite a bunch of vampires to one place. Never ends well.

The previous year, the D’Antonio siblings caused quite a scene by bringing untrained, unmarked humans into the venue. The younger vamps could barely resist tearing the poor things apart. At the very least, it had provided enough entertainment for the rest of the evening, according to Koji, an old friend of his.

He should probably give him a call this Christmas if only to check in, John muses. And send over a gift for Akira. What does one give to a young vampling these days anyway?

He’s snapped from his reverie at the sound of grumbling. He freezes, straining his ears to understand what the voice is saying.

“...this is so stupid. Why the fuck did I think this was a good idea? God. I’m gonna get eaten by wolves…”

There are no wolves in the area, John can attest to that, but this human seemed lost. And most certainly not a local, if they were out in the woods at night. He purses his lips, turning his head from the direction of the voice to the general direction of the town. He should be close by now, and the blood dealer was likely there already. John could just leave the unknown voice there to fend for themselves and potentially freeze in the dark.

But what the hell, he thinks. It’s Christmas. This can be his good deed of the year.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he takes a sharp turn to the right and makes his way to the voice. His eyesight meant that the dark of night wasn’t truly dark to him, but he supposes that to a human, this was close to pitch black. It doesn’t take long for him to spot a figure huddled by the root of a tree in the dark, angrily poking at what looked to be their phone. Humans and their smartphones, John sighs internally.

“Hello,” he says slowly, not wanting to scare them. “Are you lost?”

The human flinches, looking up at him with wide eyes. Moonlight shines on their face just so, and John swears his undead heart would be pounding if it still could.

Oh, he thinks, breathless. It’s you.

You really shouldn’t have come here, you think mournfully. Your roommate brought you along with her for the holidays, feeling bad that you were going to be left in the apartment by yourself. It seemed like a good idea at the time, until you got to her hometown and she promptly dropped you off at the local inn and said goodbye for the week. After asking around for fun activities to do (that had nothing to do with the holidays, thank you very much), one of the younger locals suggested geocaching, now that quite a handful of people were developing an interest in it too. He told you to download an app that should explain things better, and you spent the better part of the afternoon looking things up.

This is supposed to be your third spot to check out, but the signal got worse somewhere along the way, and now your phone is dead too. Just your fucking luck. Somewhere, someone must be actively praying for your downfall because what do you mean you’re now stuck in the middle of the woods at night? You groan, angrily poking at the black screen of your phone when a voice calls out to you.

“Hello. Are you lost?”

It’s a true testament to your strength, your bravery, your iron will, that you did not shit yourself at the sound of the voice. You look up at the tall stranger with wide eyes, noting that holy shit this man is gorgeous and you probably look like you’ve been crawling through all sorts of nooks and crannies all afternoon. Which you have been. So.

“Hi,” you squeak. Okay. He doesn’t seem like an ax murderer, judging by his nice clothing…? Every bit of information you learned in those true crime podcasts you listen to has flown out of your brain, leaving you looking up at the stranger with your mouth parted.

The tall, dark, and handsome stranger looks at you for a moment before offering you a hand. “The town is that way,” he gestures somewhere to the left. “I’m… John.”

You mumble your name, taking his hand in a daze. Of course, you would meet an absolute Adonis on the worst day of your life (an exaggeration). You try not to swoon at his firm grip, or how he easily pulls you upright without so much as a sharp exhale. Whew. This is a man, you think dreamily, nothing like those slimy finance bros back in the city. Perhaps it’s your turn for a Hallmark movie romance. You, the city slicker with a hatred for the holidays, and this man, the local who’ll teach you the true meaning of Christmas.

He repeats your name quietly, nodding. “I’m headed to town. We can walk together, if you want.”

“I’d like that,” you respond, feeling breathless all of a sudden. Get ahold of yourself, you think desperately. You can’t fold for the first hot man that you see in the woods!

Your dreams of a budding romance, are crushed, however, when no further words are exchanged. Stealing glances at John’s (very handsome) side profile does nothing for your flushed cheeks, and his shy smile whenever he catches you staring makes you melt internally. The distant lights of the town coming into view make your heart sink.

He appears to take pity for your plight and breaks the silence first. “Are you only visiting here?”

“Yeah,” you reply quickly. Too quickly. You swallow thickly, trying to play off your embarrassment. “I mean, yeah, My roommate just brought me along, so…”

“I see.” He nods. “How are you liking this place so far?”

“It’s like a Christmas village,” you say with disdain. The corners of John’s lips quirk up.

“I’m hearing some distaste in your tone.” He notes, amusement in his voice.

You scrunch your nose. “I don’t like Christmas.”

“Oh?”

“I just don’t like it,” you shrug. “You?”

John pauses, thinking for a moment. “I don’t mind it. I don’t think too much of it.”

“Pretty hard to do when it’s so… in your face,” you quip.

“I’m good at focusing on what truly matters,” he says coolly, his gaze suddenly serious. Your cheeks feel hot again.

“Oh. That’s nice.” You mumble, looking away, feeling strangely flustered. Are all handsome men just way too intense for their own good? “Are you a, uh, local?”

“Yeah,” he confirms, tilting his head towards you with a small smirk. “A local of the Christmas village.”

“It’s not a bad thing!” You laugh, caught off guard by his sudden teasing. “It’s just not for me, I’m sorry!”

He laughs with you, his deep voice almost melting into the cold winter breeze. Something inside you feels warm at the sight of his smile, and it’s not just because you think this man is hot. He doesn’t feel like a stranger, you think curiously. He feels strangely familiar, as if you’ve known the sound of his laughter for years. There’s a voice in the back of your mind that’s begging you to take his hand, to savor the warmth of his skin against yours and⁠—

“We’re almost there,” he states, looking straight ahead.

Oh. Right.

“Thanks,” you say softly, looking at him. “For helping me back there.”

John only shrugs, his features warmed by the light from the lamppost just straight ahead. “I have a knack for helping strays.” He smiles as if joking. “And I think you’ll find that you have a knack for being in the right place at the right time.”

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow. “‘Cause I met you, is that it?”

He gives you that smile again, as if he knows something you don’t. As if you should know what he’s talking about too. It should unnerve you, but it doesn’t. “Something like that.”

The two of you eventually stop walking just in front of the stall selling mulled wine. “Well, this is me,” you say reluctantly. As charmed as you are by this man, you’ve retained enough of your common sense to not reveal just where exactly you’re staying for now. (If he wants to come up to your room for a late night something, well… maybe you’re not totally against the idea.) “I’m gonna go walk around before I turn in for the night. You?”

“I’m meeting an acquaintance,” he replies, putting his hands in his pockets. Strange. He isn’t wearing gloves.

“Good night, John.” You smile, reluctant to leave his side for some godforsaken reason. “I’ll see you around?”

“You will see me around the Christmas village, yes,” he replies, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Good night, solnishko.”

Little sun.

How do you know that?

You wave goodbye, dazed, watching as he disappears into the crowd. Your chest aches at the sight of him leaving, but you ignore it, deciding it’s time to turn in for the night after all. It’s been a long day of gallivanting, and getting lost in the woods did no favors for your poor feet. Sighing softly, you imagine the relief of finally taking off these godforsaken boots and warming up by the fire. You’re gonna sleep so good tonight.

Giving one last longing look in the direction John went, you can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever see him again. It’s just because he’s hot, you tell yourself. Yes, that’s just it. Nothing to do with how his voice makes your stomach do somersaults.

(You will see him again, one way or another. Like John said, you have a knack for being in the right place at the right time, even when you don’t remember him. John only allowed the night to slip from his grasp knowing that the universe will inevitably bring you back to him, as it has many times before.)

(As it will continue to do so, for as long as your soul remembers him even when your mind does not. For now, John is determined to make you fall in love with him all over again until you have to leave.)

John watches you walk to the local inn from afar, hidden in the shadows. So you hate Christmas this time, he chuckles to himself. That’s alright. So long as you still like him, he can make it work.

He’ll make it work.

post-fic yap: there we go!! i have never actually experienced snow in my life so i'm sorry if it's not super accurate :')) i really wanted to add some more stuff but my health has been in the dumps so i just did my best🥲 again, happy holidays! i hope i did your prompt justice🥹

#keanuverse secret santa #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #john wick x you #john wick #keanu reeves #vampire john wick

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3lectricinsomnia · 15 days ago

Note

Now that 2024 has come to a close:

1) Of everything you've made this past year, which ones are you the most proud of?

2) What are a few of your favorite things (art, comics, fics, etc) that someone else has made this past year?

1) I’m most proud of these pieces. I had low expectations but they turned out really well and are a couple of my favorites

I’m also really proud of the art trade I did with @2aceofspades . It was super fun and we knocked out 3 drawing which was awesome. These were mine <3

You can check out the full post here

I also really loved doing the DTIYS I hosted in summer

Everyone’s submissions were amazing and they made me really happy. If anybody wants to check out the other submissions, they’re under the somniDTIYS tag!

I'm also really proud of how the EMD finale chapters turned out and the progress I'm making on the Devil's Eye au. You can read the EMD chapters here and the introductory post for the Devil's Eye here

The darkside au is another project I really enjoyed creating with Teaa and Ace. The blog is @risedarksideau if anybody wants to learn what it's about

2) the obvious answer is all the fanart we’ve gotten for EMD this year. Teaa and I both really appreciate and adore receiving art for the au and even just seeing your guys’ reactions in the tags and comments. ALSO @teaableu’s animatic for the EMD finale!! It was insane and everyone should check it out if you havent. Link

The separated council's mass collab was also a super fun post to see. Everyone did an amazing job! unrelated to EMD, I really enjoyed reading @cokoweee's kendratello comic. @chessman-protocol's covert au was another fun 2024 discovery. I also enjoyed seeing @pasteilian, @djpachipikachu, @quartergremlin, @xinrouska, @choiyw051108, and @andysuriano's art pop on my dashboard and learning more about @reagi-df's different aus @klunkcat's The Other Side of Paradise amv is worth mentioning bc it made me sad/pos I'm a sucker for angsty amvs so this is automatically one of my favorite things

I discovered @office-anomaly's blog. Tuheir scooby-doo fanart is so good! Kudos, I love ur art

I also discovered some fun communities closer to the end of the year, mainly Frogblr, where people just post pictures of frogs and it makes me so smiley

Lastly @intotheelliwoods's secret santa gift basically wrapped up the whole year for me in a nice little bow. THANK YOU ELL I HAVE THIS AS MY WALLPAPER SO I CAN LOOK AT IT EVERY DAY <3 <3 <3

#this is long oops #but everyone is so talented #i had to #somni’s shenanigans #somni’s art #somniDTIYS #rottmnt #rottmnt au #the separated council #ducktales #ducktales au

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szyvrue · 25 days ago

Text

GREEN EGGS AND HAM, miya osamu.

( 10.6k ) tropes ── meet messy(ish?) to lovers speedrun, baker x chef, mistletoe kisses, scheming friends.

wdym this is over twelve hours late ... happy holidays, @tulip-room! i hope the inflated word count makes up for the late submission. getting to know you through the server has been a gift and i really hope you enjoy the fic <3 this was written for @lale-txt's secret santa, thank you sm for organising this lale x

credits to @/nectardaddy for the divider.

The holidays is, par the course, a time of great stress for you: as the designated Christmas host, December finds itself packed full of activities, lists, organisation, recipe testing—this year is no different. When you really think about it, organising Christmas with friends is no different from organising one with a family that halfway hates each other. Two of your friends are unreliable and RSVP two days after the last possible date; one will have his answer in by the day and have weekly check-ins to see how things are going and readily offer you a list of allergies or foods to avoid; one almost accidentally invites half of his contact list, which stretches longer than it has any right to; two (not naming names) decide to ruin all your plans two weeks before Christmas.

Oh, whatever. You’re naming them. Hinata Shouyou and Miya Atsumu. See, you’ve spent the first two weeks of December planning. You have had everyone RSVP, you underwent the arduous task of finding out dietary requirements (have you ever had to figure out a Christmas meal plan when the invitees have the diets of professional athletes and you consider dessert the core of a Christmas meal?), you’ve already mostly decorated your apartment, you’ve made a comprehensive meal plan. You’ve practically organised everything down to the minute. And what do those two do, in the face of your extensive planning?

They spit in your face, that’s what.

“We’re really sorry,” Hinata says, at least having the sense to look sheepish. “We didn’t mean to double book.”

“It just kinda happened,” Atsumu agrees, looking far less repentant. He just has a criminally guilty face like that. “We know it’s a lot to spring on you so close to the date, but seriously, Samu’s a great chef. He won’t make it hard on you.”

“How do you accidentally overbook on Christmas?” You hiss, half offended and half baffled. “Seriously? You couldn’t have told me this earlier? Why not just invite him along? I can accommodate an extra guest, but a co-host?”

The boys exchange a glance. Atsumu is the one to speak. “Well, we didn’t want ta make one of you feel bad but asking you to, uh, give up your hard work. And you guys’ll get along great! He’s really…”

“Friendly!” Hinata pipes up, nodding aggressively. “He’s a chef, too—did we say that yet?—so he can help you with the food. And he probably won’t mind. And he’s conscientious. And—”

“Stop trying to pitch this guy to me,” you groan. You bury your head in your hands, taking a moment to breathe. Okay, okay. You’re flexible. You’re accommodating. You can handle this. Why can’t you just host Christmas, though? Miya Osamu may be a chef, but as a baker you’re far from a hazard in the kitchen. Anyone that’s had your Christmas pudding practically fights to get you back in there. And what about his Christmas guest list? How much more food do you have to make? How many guests do you have to host? Will he want to take over dinner now? What about—

“We’re really sorry.” Hinata leans over the counter, gripping your hand between his own. “We know this is short notice. I really think you’ll get along with Osamu though, and there shouldn’t be too many adjustments. There’s, like, a two person invite difference. You have really overlapping guest lists.”

Your lips purse. Hate to admit it, you already know what your response is going to be.

II.

you: hey, is this miya osamu? you: hinata & atsumu gave me your number for christmas you: are you free anytime so we can discuss plans? sent 11:16am

miya osamu (christmas): yeah this is osamu miya osamu (christmas): sorry for the late response i was at work miya osamu (christmas): i can meet during my lunch break tomorrow miya osamu (christmas): or the weekend if you’re unavailable then sent 7:33pm

you: your lunch break sounds good! you: when around would that be? sent 7:45pm

miya osamu (christmas): about 1:30 miya osamu (christmas): onigiri miya miya osamu (christmas): just come up to the register and ask for me sent 7:47pm

you: alright, i’ll see you then sent 7:58pm

miya osamu (christmas): 👍 sent 7:59pm

III.

So. You meet Miya Osamu.

It’s 1:27pm when you venture into Onigiri Miya, which you Google Reviews prior to get a gauge for the place. A 4.9 star aggregate rating (impressive numbers) with what is alleged to be an affordable menu. If you’re taking it at face value, which you are, it looks like the kind of place you’d visit on your own.

You’re fiddling awkwardly with your bag—which contains a written version of all your plans alongside your usual essentials—when you enter the store, eyes scanning over the crowd as if Miya Osamu himself will pop up with a sign around his neck. He doesn’t, because you’re at his place of work and not an airport.

Settling into line, you peer at the menu and debate whether you should buy something during your meal or just sit there and talk things through with Atsumu’s wayward twin. Or would Atsumu be the wayward twin, given his proclivity to ill-thought ideas? He was the one to suggest you merge Christmas with his unknown brother, and even if you’re the soulmates Atsumu alleges (or the perfect personality match Hinata declared) you doubt you’re both going to magically have the exact same plans. God, what if he’s allergic to, like, flour? That’d wipe out half your menu.

It doesn’t take long to reach the front of the line. “Hello,” you say to the worker behind the counter, lips curving into an awkward smile. “I’m, uh, here for Miya Osamu?” You offer them your name afterwards, just in case they were told to recognise you by it. There’s a moment's pause as the worker disappears towards the kitchen, followed shortly by the appearance of, you guessed it, Miya Osamu.

You’re not sure why you’re surprised to see Atsumu’s face copy-pasted on his identical twin brother, but it still shocks you for a second. Maybe it’s the difference in expression, relaxed and vaguely tired to his eccentric brother’s more proud visage; maybe the silver in place of gold, or the opposite parting, or the fact he’s wearing an apron while working in hospitality. You wouldn’t catch Atsumu dead in customer service.

He says your name, as if confirming that you are who you say you are. When you dip your head in a nod, he offers you a hand. “Nice to meet you. Tsumu doesn’t shut up about you.”

You try to think up a smart response. Something like ha, as if he’s much better when it comes to you or I’ve heard plenty about the enigmatic twin brother myself, but both feel flat. And false. You take his hand, shake it briefly, and quickly return your hand to the strap of your bag.

A pause. “Well, d’ya wanna sit inside?”

“Ah, sure.” You offer him a smile. “I’ll follow your lead?”

“Yeah.” He ignores your awkwardness, rolling his shoulders as if he’s physically letting your cumbrous attempts at responding to him slide off his back like water to a babbling brook. “You getting yourself anything? On the house, for the inconvenience.”

“If you don’t mind.” You rattle off a request for a snack, before being quietly led to one of the booths near the back of the shop. Miya Osamu (is just Osamu okay?) sits first and you follow, the chair scraping as you sit. You wince. “So, uh.”

“I’m really sorry for Atsumu,” he starts out of the gate, which is better than you were expecting—he does share a bloodline with Atsumu, after all. “I wasn’t exactly ecstatic hearing the news either, even if we’ve got a few weeks to sort things out.”

‘A few weeks’, you mouth. You’ve got two. Less than that, really. Twelve days. Your Christmas cake has been in the cupboard since August, feeding off of your fortnightly soaking in brandy. You’ve probably been planning for Christmas since the moment the day ticked over to November 1st. “Right. I was wondering—since we’re merging Christmas, how many more guests do we need to accommodate…?”

“Well, uh, I’m not sure who you have coming ‘round—”

“Oh, I wrote out a list.” You shuffle around in your bag for a second, pulling out the stapled collection of paper. “Sorry, I printed out a copy of everything so you’d be able to read through it. Or bring it home, if you needed to. I don’t know how long your break runs.”

“I can take a minute.” He says off-handedly, taking the paper from you with wide eyes. As he reads it over, you take an opportunity to bite into your food. “Huh. Sakusa must love you.” He glimpses over it. “You’ve even got dietary restrictions? You're an angel.”

You swallow your mouthful. It really is delicious. Atsumu wasn’t underselling his prowess. “I’m a baker,” you offer, “and also preparing the meals. Or, well, was? I figured it was important.”

He hums. “Looks like we’ve got kinda similar lists. You’re just missing Suna, Aran—friends from high school—and Ma.”

“Ma,” you say surreptitiously, “your Mom? Oh my.”

Osamu glances at you before snorting. “I don’t know what horror stories Tsumu’s been telling you, but she’s great. He’s just dramatic, he practically worships the ground she walks on on. Not that she doesn’t deserve it.”

“That’s part of what’s intimidating about it,” you groan. “Still, three more people isn’t bad. I was expecting a lot more.”

“You’ve got more people than I do to begin with. Yer inviting Tsumu’s whole team? Rowdy bunch, aren’t they?”

You shrug. “I only moved here a few months ago, so when Hinata took me in I wasn’t exactly resistant. I figured it was only polite, and half of them declined to visit family instead.”

He nods. “The shop should be able to hold eleven. Should I clear a section of the fridge for your stuff or do you want to bring it in on the day?”

“I was hoping we could still do it at my place,” you say tentatively, “I’ve got the apartment set up for Christmas, and you know the atmosphere half makes the holiday.”

“Onigiri Miya has an industrial kitchen,” he replies, “and a proper oven for cooking the ham—”

“The ham?” You stare. “I mean, if we want something, we could just grab some from the deli—”

“The deli? What deli serves Christmas ham?”

“Well, it’s not like it’s gonna be a roast?

“Not gonna be a roast?” Osamu stares at you, slack-jawed. “Whatdya just say to me?”

“Do you usually have roasts for Christmas?” You ask.

He blinks at you. Blinks again. His lips twitch downwards, and oh God, this stranger with Atsumu’s face genuinely looks troubled. It barely takes him a second to flip through your paper, eyes landing on the menu with the dawning horror of a man being served his third divorce. “You’re kidding me. This is a snack platter.”

“Not really,” you defend, “I mean, we’ll be opening gifts, and socialising is important—dinner usually lasts a few hours on Christmas, we can’t have everyone filling up within twenty minutes. Besides, what about dessert? Everyone knows dessert is the main meal—”

“The main meal?” He squawks. “What rock have you been living under? Filled up in twenty minutes? Opening gifts with the food? You have to be joking. You’ll be sending guests home with an empty stomach!”

“It’s not like I’m going to put out a charcuterie board and call it a day! It’s just about smaller portions so people can sample more food and snack for longer.” You take another bite of your onigiri. It’s so good, which just makes it worse when Miya Osamu is so wrong.

“Christmas is the one time of year you’re able to gorge yourself sick during dinner and you’re subjecting your guests to deli ham and pastries?”

“Are you even reading the menu?” You ask, exasperated. “What would you do then? A roast ham, where everyone will be stuffed three slices in? A rotisserie chicken on the side? Because that doesn’t offer many choices. Forget an unfulfilled meal, that’d be boring.”

He gapes at you. “Look, a couple snacks as a pre-dinner meal while the ham is cooking is all fine and dandy, but as the whole meal? ‘Sides, presents are during snack time. You’ve got everything backwards.”

“What about dessert then? I mean, what’s the point of a Christmas cake—which I started in August, mind you—when no one’s got room for it? What about the custard? The pudding? The treats?”

“The dessert is complementary to a good dinner. Of course the desserts gonna feel like a showstopper if all people have had up till that point is crackers and dip—”

“Crackers and dip? Seriously?”

“Look, I said I’m all for snacks while dinner is still cooking, but this is just—”

Things don’t go well.

IV.

“Hey,” Atsumu says the next time you see each other, “how’d you and ‘Samu get on? Do I need to start planning a wedding?”

“A wedding?” You scoff. “Please. You could pair that man with a soggy napkin and the napkin wouldn’t last 30 minutes before considering complete dissolution.”

“Oh.” He looks at you for a second. “You know, most people think I’m the annoying twin.”

“They’ve clearly never met the idiot that calls itself your brother.”

“...Right.” Atsumu doesn’t look as happy as he normally would be when someone calls him the favourite twin—which really is a monumental occurrence—but rather like he’d just tripped on his laces and face planted into the sidewalk. “So, you’re not friends yet?”

“Oh, no, we’re perfectly friendly.” You say bitterly. “Absolutely wonderful. You know, he doesn’t think dessert makes a Christmas dinner? He has the idiotic idea in his head that the ham makes the meal! Can you believe that? Everyone knows the Christmas pudding makes or breaks the holiday, you’d think a chef would have more respect for—”

“Oh,” Atsumu says weakly, “right.”

You take some time to cool off. This is indubitably a good idea. Within an hour, you come to a relatively simple resolution: it’s not that big of a deal. Well, it is, but even then you were overreacting. A bit exaggerative, maybe. You’re not really that angry, even if the both of you were bitchier than you had any right to be.

Maybe he’s right about the roast? Just because it’s not normal for you, doesn’t mean it’s not normal for anyone else. He is a chef. He could’ve been nicer on the desserts, though—what did your apple pie do to deserve that kind of vitriol?

You text Atsumu an apology for the rant. You were in the wrong for that, even if you’re not quite ready to apologise to his brother for acting out. You’ll sleep on it. Maybe the morning will come with the proper words and fully extinguished anger.

As you find out the next morning, you don’t have to send the first message.

miya osamu (christmas): hey miya osamu (christmas): i’m sorry abt how our talk went miya osamu (christmas): we clearly have different ideas of a christmas meal & i shouldntve blown up at you like that sent 6:13am

you: hi sorry, i just woke up you: honestly, you weren’t the only person overreacting. i’m really sorry about how poorly i acted you: i honestly don’t mind your roast idea you: i’m really sorry you: i’m honestly really embarrassed about how i acted sent 8:39am

miya osamu (christmas): dw miya osamu (christmas): i wasn’t exactly an angel miya osamu (christmas): ill be honest i still don’t get the want for smaller servings over a hearty meal miya osamu (christmas): but its not gonna kill me to try something new sent 1:31pm

you: actually i was thinking you: since you’re a chef, you probably have a better idea of what’d make a good christmas dinner you: so if you really want to go the roast route, i’m not going to complain you: i will admit that i really would prefer to have christmas at my place though! sent 1:35pm

miya osamu (christmas): i can work around that miya osamu (christmas): only issue is i’d have to transfer meal prep/food throughout the week sent 1:37pm

you: i’m okay with that you: should i send you my address? i was thinking maybe we could meet in person and work out a menu that works for both of us you: and you can take a look at my kitchen to see if it’ll be an okay substitute to your industrial kitchen sent 1:42pm

miya osamu (christmas): sounds good miya osamu (christmas): when are you free? sent 1:43pm

VI.

The second Osamu sees Atsumu coming, he struggles to suppress a groan. He loves Atsumu, he does, but there’s only one thing the guy will want to talk about right now: Christmas. Osamu’s more than happy to be hosting it—their Ma’s been in charge since they were born all the way up to Osamu opening Onigiri Miya, and he’s happy to take over the holiday and let her just enjoy the holiday. That being said, a last minute co-host wasn’t in the cards. At all.

He’s heard your name enough to feel like you should be best buds, given how much Atsumu refuses to shut up about you. He’s never been subtle in his foray into matchmaking, but this? This takes the cake. It doesn’t matter how much c’mon Samu, you’ll love them! or ya know, this friend of mine loves this too or I should invite them ‘round sometime, dontcha think? Atsumu tries to ply him with, there’s no world in which this would happen and you’d both be fine with it. If you’ve heard half as much about him as he has you (which he’s pretty sure you haven’t, given the dumpster fire that was your first meeting) then you’d be just as aware that Christmas planning would probably get a bit messy at first.

Barring the major issue of you valuing dessert over dinner (which, whatever, but who doesn’t have Christmas ham? He’d been half convinced you were joking at first) while he’s always put weight on the dinner—what can he say? With Christmas came free hams from his Ma’s work, and that was a once a year experience. It’s just how things are. However, Atsumu apparently expects the both of you to magically gain the ability to read minds and communicate perfectly and innately understand each other upon your first meeting. Idiot.

You were gorgeous, though. That was almost the worst part; he'd seen you, and he'd gone oh, that's why Tsumu's so desperate to set us up. You smiled, a shy, cracked smile, and for a second it was all he could think about. Then, of course, he started arguing like an idiot and things blew up out of control.

“‘Samu!” Atsumu cheers, rounding the table he’s scrubbing down to slap him on the shoulder, arm snaking across them. “Whatcha up to? Free for a chat?”

He snorts, eyes lingering on the door. “Where’s your henchman?”

“Shouyou’s busy,” Atsumu declares shamelessly. “I was just wondering… everything alright with Christmas?”

“Things are fine,” he says blandly, “don’t worry, yer getting a gift.”

He squeezes Osamu’s shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I meant planning Christmas. You’re getting on with—?”

“Yeah. Just had a couple misunderstandings. We’re ironing them out.”

“No fights? You’re all good?”

So he’s already interrogated you. Colour Osamu unsurprised. “Yep. Things are fine.”

“You sure?”

“Did they tell you otherwise?”

“Nah,” Atsumu says too quickly to actually be honest, “just worried for the less charismatic twin. I get why you might be having trouble.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.” Osamu replies. “Now stop nagging. Your food will be fine, your Christmas will be fine, your friend isn’t going to maul me to death. Everything's sorted.”

VII.

Okay, you were overdramatic. You’re not that angry that he doesn’t understand the sanctity of a proper Christmas cake, because, funny enough, different people celebrate Christmas differently. It’s Christmas, he was a little frustrated, you’re a little frustrated; you can offer the both of you the benefit of the doubt.

So when Miya Osamu shows up at your apartment three minutes into your allotted meeting time, lunchbox in one hand and a crumpled pile of paper in the other, you merely offer him an ever so slightly tense smile and let him in.

“It’s nice seeing you again,” you offer, “how have you been?”

“Pretty good. Work’s been busy—always is, ‘round the holidays—and Tsumu’s been annoying as usual.”

“He’s been pestering you too?” You pause, glancing around the apartment. “Sorry, do you want to sit or do you want to look at the kitchen first?”

“We can sit.” He offers you a smile, eyes crinkling at the edges; you can’t help but notice it’s a trait unique to him. You can’t even begin to imagine his brother with crows feet. “I, uh, made some lunch. As an apology.”

“You didn’t have to,” you start, eyes flickering towards the lunchbox tucked underneath his arm. “But, um, thanks. That’s sweet of you.”

“Least I could do.” Osamu looks around for a second, as if waiting for your lead. You both hover there, unsure how to act following the dumpster fire that was your first conversation. “Your apartment looks nice. I like the tree.”

“Thanks.” You take a seat, motioning him over towards your couch. “Well, how are you?” You wince. “Sorry. I already asked that.”

He huffs a laugh. “It’s fine. I’ve been good. You?”

“As good as I can be.” You take a deep breath. “So. Christmas dinner.”

“Right. I took a page out of your book.” He gestures with the paper in his hand, pages denting from his tight grasp. “They all come with recipes so we can figure out what we’ll need to get. Just thought I’d run a possible menu by you? I know you said you wanted snacks.”

“It’s fine,” you say quietly. “We can just serve my idea as snacks, I hadn’t bought everything yet. Besides, it’s being held at my place, isn’t it? I can’t complain. Considering everything that happened last time we talked, I kind of assumed you’d want to take over dinner.”

“If that’s fine by you.” He offers you the paper, then the lunchbox. “I just made some onigiri. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, no, onigiri is good.” You place the paper in your lap, reaching over to unlatch the lunchbox and peer inside. “Oh, it’s the one I had last time! It was really good. I didn’t get to say.”

“Can’t blame ya. Tensions were a little high.”

You slide a glance his way. “You’re only half to blame for that.”

“Still half, ain’t I?”

“I suppose.” Your lips twitch as you reach over to grab one. “This looks delicious, thank you.”

He shrugs like it’s no big deal. At the same time, his lips curl up proudly like an aloof cat begging for attention; too proud to admit he’s pleased, not proud enough to not show it. Wildly endearing. “I make it every day.”

You hum around your first bite of onigiri and Osamu follows suit, grabbing one for himself. “I, uh, don’t have most of the stuff for this. And I don’t know if I have room in my fridge for a five kilo ham on top of everything else.”

“The ham needs to go out a couple days early to start defrosting too,” he warns. “How big is your fridge? I’ll need to see what I’m working with.”

“You’re going to be playing a bit of tetris with it,” you reply. “I’m making a lot of dessert that you’ll be contending with. Since you’re now on dinner duty, I was thinking of expanding the dessert menu a bit and just sending people home with leftovers.”

“I’m fine with that.” He takes a bite, chews, swallows. “We might need to shorten our snack list since it’s no longer meant to be a full meal. I was thinking we keep the mix of savoury and sweet, just lessen portions and maybe cut out the cheeseboard.”

“Thank god,” you mutter, “I felt like I had to put it out since it’s such a staple, but I’m lactose intolerant and a cheeseboard never gets finished. What was I supposed to do with all that leftover cheese? It’s so expensive nowadays too. Yeesh.”

Osamu snorts. “And around the holidays too? Things have doubled in cost.”

“It’s ridiculous. You’ll never believe how much I saw the local grocery store selling butter for the other day. It’s daylight robbery.” You flip past the menu to individual recipes, quickly skimming the ingredients list. “I have a pretty stacked spice cabinet, so you won’t need to buy much. Ms. Sato—my next door neighbour—has a herb garden too, and she’s always happy to spare fresh herbs. You can get the rosemary from there.”

“Nice. How far is your local fresh veggie store?”

“About an 18 minute drive,” you admit, “and it’ll be swamped as Christmas gets closer.”

“Still better than some withering supermarket produce three days away from moulding.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“You’re clearly going to a better supermarket then.”

You shake your head slightly. You’re really not.

To say things go better this time around is a vast understatement; with your individual printed menus (it turns out Osamu never got an opportunity to read your original dessert menu, given his outrage at dinner—all for the better in the end, considering you’d since expanded it) you compare what you’ll need, discuss who’s paying (Osamu insists he pays for ingredients if he’s using your kitchen, even if upon inspection he admits it's a little less well-equipped than he’d like), the dietary requirements of his additional guests, Sakusa’s preferred hygiene practices (fine—honestly just industry-standard requirements, you’ve never understood why people act like he’s the world's greatest germaphobe when he simply strictly adheres to proper hygiene practices and the healthy and safety standard), and an appropriate time to hold the meal (given the guests are coming over at 4 and snacks will be out, you settle for 7 so there’s still enough time for pre-meal socialisation).

When he finally surveys your kitchen, there’s a few issues. It’s smaller than he’d like, given you’ll be simultaneously working on a meal to feed eight voracious athletes (turns out his two friends from high school also went into professional volleyball), a chef, you, his mother, and Bokuto’s “best bud” Akaashi. Your dutch oven is a bit too small, which you deal with by him simply asking if he can bring his own over to keep in your house during the holidays, and your oven is going to be cramped, which is a side effect of working in a regular kitchen as opposed to Onigiri Miya. There’s a couple other issues—he does take one look at the inside of your fridge and freezer and grimace at the limited space—but it turns out that when you can properly sit down and talk, things don’t feel that dire. Who’d have thought?

By the time your kitchen investigation is winding down, the hours have trickled over and your shared meal settles warmly in your stomach. There’s a lingering smile on your face, and the ever-present knot in your chest has loosened into something closer to relief. Now that you’ve got all the major details sorted out and you actually know how things are going to work, the idea of co-hosting Christmas doesn’t feel as stressful.

You follow him to the door, leaning against the doorframe as you bid your farewells.

“Do you know when you’ll want to start dropping things off?” You ask. You’ve both well-established the meal prep that goes into your specific meal. Osamu, given the nature of his ingredients, is going to be cooking a lot more day-of; you’re lucky enough to get away with a lot more meal prep.

“I was thinking I’d start dropping things off maybe nine days before Christmas?” Osamu grimaces. “If I start early, I won’t have to juggle everything while catering to the full Christmas crowd at work.”

You hum in sympathy. You’d mentioned your own work as a baker at a crêperie and to say you hadn’t been experiencing the Christmas activity would be a big, plain, fat lie. It’s been hell on your back. “Alright. Just text me before you want to visit so I have some warning, M- Os- sorry, what should I call you?”

Osamu huffs, amused. “Just call me Osamu. Ya gotta deal with my oaf of a brother too, no need to get all formal. It’ll only get confusing. I’ll come around seven thirty on the 16th?”

“Perfect.” You smile up at him. “I’m really sorry again about how our first meeting went. I’m glad we sorted it out so quickly.”

“Didn’t I say it’s fine?” He asks blandly. “Water under the boat. We were both dicks.”

“Still.”

“Still,” he repeats, lips twitching upwards. “I’ll see ya around. It was nice talking to you.”

“You too, Osamu. Drive home safe!”

VIII.

you: would you mind taste testing something for me when you drop by to stack the fridge? you: i’m working on some christmas cookies and i need a second opinion on taste and how the icings looking sent 6:57pm

miya osamu (christmas): sure thing miya osamu (christmas): want me to bring leftovers from the shop? sent 7:01pm

you: a man after my heart you: yes please!! sent 7:03pm

miya osamu (christmas): be there in 15 sent 7:03pm

IX.

“Osamu!” You offer the man at your door a smile. “Come on in. The kitchens a mess right now and I still need to do the dishes, but I’ve been working on some desserts—”

“You told me,” he replies, “smells delicious. Sugar cookies?”

“Yeah, but I’ve also got some mini pumpkin pies cooking. I was thinking of serving it as a snack, but I don’t know if it’ll work well with everything else we’re serving.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” He follows you to the kitchen, quickly unloading his two full tubs of stuff onto the kitchen counter. “Hope you don’t mind, but I brought my own mixer. Yer KitchenAid looks a little outdated, and I figured a newer model might be nicer until Christmas is over.”

“You’re an angel,” you reply brightly. “Do you need help stacking the fridge, or are you happy doing it yourself?”

“I’ll try a hand at it myself.”

“Holler if you need a hand.” You’re quick to return to your own preparations, practicing for Christmas. With the sugar cookies done (if Osamu approves of them, that is) you’ve also pre-made a few batches to keep chilled until Christmas comes. One thing done, only a hundred others to go. “Try a few cookies while you’re working.”

“Will do. Hey, was your work okay?”

“Same as always,” you say, “we can’t all own our own place. Boss is a jerk, the menu’s alright. What else is new?”

“Sounds boring.” A grunt, likely Osamu trying to fit a 5kg ham in a fridge that can barely hold five kilos of food to begin with. “And I’m making onigiri all day.”

“Maybe, but it’s all pain au chocolat and fruit tarts and those awful cinnamon swirls. Not to mention, the crepes suck.”

“Your fault for working at a crêperie. I didn’t even know those were real.”

“It’s all pseudo-French. I don’t think a real French person has ever stepped foot inside the establishment.”

Osamu whistles. “Sucks to be you.”

“Oh, Shut up,” you say waspishly. Your pie weights are collected back in the bag you store them in, the filling is done, and you’re just waiting for the crust to fully cool before filling them. Stuck with nothing immediate to do, you return to cleaning up. Osamu is busy maneuvering his huge dutch oven into your cabinet as you admire the stand mixer that will be yours for the next nine days, all attachments beside it. It possesses way more than your measly dough hook, beater, and a whisk that’s definitely seen better days. “Get to it, taste tester. Stop messing around.”

“Messing around? Do you have any idea how much this oven weighs?”

“That brother of yours wouldn’t have any issue,” you say teasingly.

“That brother of mine is a professional athlete. ‘Sides, he’d spend the entire time whining about having to do it.” Not something you’ve ever personally experienced, but you’ll take his word for it. Osamu, having finally placed his dutch oven, reaches over to your plate of cookies. You’ve done your best to make them Christmas themed when you don’t own proper Christmas cookie cutters—this really is the season of over consumerism—which largely means using circular cookie cutters and decorating them like baubles, but you think they’ve turned out pretty nice anyway. He picks one up, examines it, and grins. “Not sure why you were worried about the icing, it looks good. I like this one.” He turns it your way, jingling it a bit like a bell will start ringing. You bite back a smile.

“The lines aren’t too shaky?”

“Nah. Looks perfect.” Your mouth pulls into something pleased. You turn your head away to hide it, knowing even as you do it that you’re largely unsuccessful. In the interim of your bashfulness, Osamu takes a bite. “Mm, it tastes good too. Not too sweet.”

“Yeah?”

He grins, blinking slowly at you. “Yeah. Got no reason to lie, do I?”

“Alright, alright, don’t flatter me too much.” You laugh, flattered anyway. Geez.

Osamu merely hums, turning back to stacking the fridge. “Not like it’s hard. You’re a good baker.”

“Can tell from a couple of sugar cookies, can you?”

“Yeah, I can. I’m looking forward to the pumpkin pies.” He grabs a couple trays, slotting them where he can. Your fridge is already looking pretty full with everything in it, but he finds a way to make room.

“So,” Hinata starts hesitantly between mouthfuls of food. You’re at the local park, perched together on a bench as you eat your individual lunches. “How are you and Osamu getting along? Atsumu said you were,” he pauses, “having difficulties.”

“I may have overexaggerated,” you admit, “he’s actually really lovely to work with. He’s a really good chef and, after the initial bump, we don’t really have any issues. I think we were both just stressed about Christmas going perfectly that first time.”

Hinata brightens, his face flowering like the sun. “I knew you two would work it out! Atsumu was scared it was doomed.”

“Well, I did tell him Osamu couldn’t charm a wet paper towel or something. I was a bit aggressive.”

“He said,” Hinata replies gravely, “but I thought you’d talk it out. Kageyama—my setter from high school—and I had a really crappy first meeting too, and we were able to talk it out then. I don’t see why you wouldn’t have been able to now. You’re way more mature now than I was at fifteen.”

You cover your snort with a cough. You have heard stories about Hinata’s exuberance as a teenager, occasionally to his own detriment. It’s not as much of a comfort as he’s probably thinking, considering he might just be the world’s most charismatic individual. “Yeah, we apologised and everythings sorted out. Neither of us hold it against each other, I think. Osamu’s honestly really charming.”

He looks at you warmly. “You’ve both got a lot in common. It’s why Atsumu’s been so adamant about setting you up.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to learn some subtlety,” you grumble, “and don’t think I don’t know your hand in this, Mr. Co-conspirator.”

“I can see his vision.”

“Oh, yeah? And what’s on this vision board he’s cultivating? You know, he asked me if he needs to start planning the wedding last time we talked.”

“He’s not that excited! I think. He really wants you to marry into the family though, and obviously their mum’s off limits.”

“You don’t know that. I love women.”

“She’s 53.”

“I like older women too.” You pause. “You know how old their mum is?”

“Yeah, she’s been inviting me to her birthday for the past couple of years.” Hinata takes a long, loud sip of his drink. “And you get along way better with Osamu.”

“You just know everyone on god’s green earth, don’t you.” You look over at the park, watching two kids kick a ball between the pair of them. “By the way, I wanted to ask. Do you know what Osamu would like for Christmas?”

XI.

That Saturday, Osamu arrives in the morning. He tells you it’s because he asked someone else to open the shop for him, leaving him free for the morning; either way, you make the both of you breakfast. He eats your homemade bread like it’s michelin star cuisine, and you swear you’ve never taken so many compliments in your life. You receive more in that hour than you have in the entirety of your existence, you’re pretty sure—a lifetime of deprivation being filled in fifty-seven measly minutes. It means a lot, even if you’re too proud to admit it.

You both end up in the same place you have every day he’s come over that week: the kitchen, Osamu mixing together ingredients for the roast glaze while you make a lemon meringue pie. You lend him an apron, which means that on top of his—admittedly very attractive, despite its simplicity—usual outfit is a pink apron with a classic ‘Kiss the Chef’ embroidered on the front. A gift from Atsumu for your birthday, which Osamu is quick to inform you was exactly what he got from Atsumu for Christmas last year. Hearts and all.

You knock against his hip as you walk past, peering into the fridge (already looking pretty full, which does not bode well for the remaining build up to Christmas) in search of some more pastry you’d pre-prepared for recipe testing. “I’ve been meaning to ask, what kind of thing would your mum like for Christmas?”

“You’re getting her a gift?” Osamu raises his head, turning a near 180-degrees to look at you.

“I’m getting everyone a gift, Osamu.” You busy your hands with scrubbing your kitchen counter free of stray flour. “Now, what does she want? And while we’re at it, what about your other two guests?”

“Get them something cheap.” He says simply. “You don’t know them, they don’t know you. No one needs to shell out for a stranger. I’m pretty sure Suna’s buying you wine and Aran’s got chocolate.”

Okay, simple gifts. That’ll be easy. Simple. Convenient. It won’t hurt your pockets much more than this holiday already is. “And your mum? Hinata recommended a massage wand, but I wanted a second opinion.”

Osamu snorts. “That scrub has no concept of a price range when it comes to gifts.”

“Tell me about it,” you lament. Hinata’s really good at budgeting, up until birthday gifts get involved. You’re not surprised Christmas is much the same. “I’m just worried a massage wand is too much since they run pretty expensive, but I don’t want to just get her wine and chocolate and call it a day. It’s what half the party will be doing.”

He hums. “Ma’s not that materialistic. She likes stuff she can use.”

“Well I’m not going to get her a set of pans, am I?”

He huffs, a soft sound that drags out into the air and lingers in the kitchen. “Not like that. I mean craft items, or something like honey from a farmers market or an artisan soap or some bath bombs. Shouyou’s on the right wavelength with the massage wand.”

“Okay, okay,” you leave the kitchen briefly to grab a notebook so you can scribble that down. “Chocolate, wine, artisanal goods. I’ll go out and grab them tomorrow. Then it’s just waiting on your gift.”

“Waiting on mine?” He asks, immediately curious. “You’re getting it shipped?”

“Nope.”

“Then how’re ya waiting on it? Still coming up with ideas?”

You roll your eyes. “None of your business, is it?”

“C’mon, sweetheart.” Your heart skips a beat at the endearment. Sweetheart. You. Sweetheart. “Give me a hint about mine, and I’ll tell you something about yours?”

“You’re so conniving,” you say fondly. “Fine. I’m waiting on it because—and you can’t get mad at me for this—I’m trying to thrift it.”

“Thrift it?” His brows furrow. “What is it, a sweater?”

“No,” you huff. “Look, I know it’s got a bad rap, but I like thrifting gifts. There’s always some hidden gems, and you can find some really good high-quality or vintage stuff at affordable prices. It forces me to think out of the box sometimes too. They can make for really good gifts.”

He raises his hands in a sign of surrender. “Hey, I’m not judging you. My Ma did the same thing growing up.”

“Then you’d know it’s not just sweaters.”

“Maybe I just like giving you a hard time.”

“Oh my god.” You take a moment, fight back a smile, and continue. This man—you wish you’d met him sooner. “Anyway, I have an idea, but it’s a bit on the pricey side. I was hoping I could get something good quality thrifted, but if I don’t see anything over the next couple of days I’m falling back onto plan B.”

“Which is?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“C’mon now! Yer just stringing me along.”

You turn to him, peering at him through your lashes. “Maybe I just like giving you a hard time.”

His expression cracks. “Yer such a brat,” he tells you, even as his mouth splits into a grin. “You think you’re so smart, dontcha?”

“Well, since you said so,” you say brightly, “it’d be rude of me to refute a compliment, yeah?”

“Whatever,” he says warmly, “you’re a big fan of thrifting?”

“Yeah,” you reply. “As I said, you can find some nice vintage pieces. It’s where I got my favourite jacket, and I’ve been hoping to find a good sweater there for forever. I know cashmere is a far away dream, I just want something that’ll last, y’know? Clothes fray so fast nowadays.”

“Hm.” It’s all he says. A low hum of acknowledgement, a soft curl of huh, a- you don’t even know how to explain it. He opens his mouth to speak, and the pair of you are interrupted by the blaring of your timer.

“Oh, shit!” You squeeze his arm, shuffling past his figure as you hurry over to the oven. “God, I shouldn’t have gotten distracted. Lemon meringue is so finicky—”

“Don’t sweat it, I’m sure it’ll taste great.” Osamu peers over your shoulder as you lay it on the counter, pressed close to your back. “How long until I can try it?”

“You’ve got a black hole for a stomach there,” you tell him, “five hours minimum.” You pause. “Hey, wait, what about my gift? We had a deal.”

His expression twists into a grin. “None of your business, is it?”

XII.

miya osamu (christmas): its really hurting my heart to have to make greek salad for christmas dinner sent 1:32pm

you: your fault for catering for a bunch of athletes! you: here’s to hoping they don’t turn their nose up at dessert sent 1:35pm

miya osamu (christmas): theyd be idiots to miya osamu (christmas): besides whatever they don’t eat ma and i are taking home lmao sent 1:36pm

you: a little presumptuous of you to assume you’ll be taking all the dessert you: maybe i want to distribute it among my coworkers sent 1:37pm

miya osamu (christmas): you dont miya osamu (christmas): you hate all of them miya osamu (christmas): minus the one girl sent 1:38pm

you: stop listening to me when i talk sent 1:38pm

miya osamu (christmas): hard ask sent 1:39pm you reacted to this message with ‘👎’

XIII.

“Ya know,” Atsumu starts, which never bodes well for the collective intelligence of anyone in the room. “Considering the two of you are hosting and all, do you think you should have matching Christmas sweaters? As a show of unity.”

“Whaddya take me for? A muppet?” Osamu snorts. “Didja even try with that one? That’s your flimsiest excuse yet.”

“Hey! It’s a genuine question.” Atsumu nods to himself. “You should get them a gift. They’d love a matching Christmas sweater.”

“Sure,” he says blandly. “You done now?”

“Wait, really? You’ll do it?”

“No.” Osamu turns back to what he was doing, which is making dinner for the both of you to eat when he comes over in an hour with more food to put away. “I’m getting ‘em something else.”

“Wait, really?” Atsumu repeats, even more shocked, which he has no right to be when he was just suggesting matching Christmas sweaters. “You’re actually getting them something?”

“Close yer mouth, you’ll catch flies.”

“I didn’t realise you were actually getting along! Shouyou made it seem like you’re best buds, but you know how he is!”

“Shouyou’s clearly got his head screwed on a bit tighter then.”

“Oi, fuck off.” Atsumu groans. “They talked about you like you were, I don’t know, the devil or something. They said you couldn’t convince a soggy napkin to marry you without it wanting to off itself in thirty.”

Osamu snorts. He can’t find it in himself to be offended; that’s pretty funny. “Nothing I didn’t deserve.”

“And now you’ve learnt humility?” Atsumu’s head jerks, horrified. “What have they done to you?”

Osamu ignores him. Atsumu isn’t wrong, even if he’d rather drop dead than admit it. He does like you, a lot more than he probably should given you’ve barely known each other for two weeks. You’re cute (really, crazily cute), funny, conscientious; he’s had more fun sorting out Christmas with you than he’d ever imagined, even with Atsumu hyping you up to be the second coming of Christ himself. You’ve grown closer than he’d thought possible. If he’s being honest with himself (which he is), he’s kind of dreading the end of your plans come Christmas.

“You’re so full of shit,” he says instead, “I’ve always been like this.”

XIV.

It’s finally Christmas. This, of course, comes with a whirlwind of activity; you spend Christmas eve deep cleaning your house with Osamu as a willing assistant, spend Christmas day rearranging decorations and doing the last of your baking and trying really, really hard not to panic.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Osamu assures you, elbow deep into his dinner prep while you buzz around the apartment, looking for the slightest imperfection in need of fixing. “Your baking tastes great, the apartment looks nice, everyone’s coming to have a good time, and you’ve still got half an hour to get ready in case something does go wrong.”

You nod in agreement even as you rearrange the bouquet on the dining table. “The ham’s already in the oven, right?”

“You helped me put it in half an hour ago,” he replies, “stop worrying. C’mere, don’tcha have a custard to make for the eggnog?”

“Right!” You zip into the kitchen, readjusting your apron as you approach your now stuffed fridge. Getting anything new in it has been a challenge, what with the way you’ve both had to rearrange it three times to make everything fit. You grab the milk carton, dropping it at the nearest counter and reaching over to squeeze Osamu’s shoulder in thanks as you walk past. Everything else is all but ready; the house is arranged, gifts are stacked under the tree, the ham’s already cooking and every single one of your desserts (minus the custard) is tucked carefully in the fridge. Snacks are already laid out on the dining table, the bathroom has been scrubbed until it was sparkling, everyone knows your address, you’re almost completely dressed; there’s little to do but fiddle. And make custard. Osamu passes you the egg carton, and you smile at him in thanks.

You guys work in silence before your own nerves get the better of you. “I’m really sorry about all this. I don’t know why I’m so nervous about everything right now. It’s planned down to the minute, I really shouldn’t be so stressed about this.”

“I don’t mind. Happens to the best of us.” Osamu pauses, taking a break to wipe olive oil off his hands before leaning his hip against the counter. “I’m pretty nervous too.”

“You’re good at looking otherwise.”

He shrugs. “There’s a lot to be nervous about. Ma’s joining us, and I always want to make it a good holiday for her. Work’s been busy, holiday planning’s been busy. I’m doing a more western-style Christmas dinner. I’m worried about where you and I will stand when Christmas is over and I’m worried Ma’s gonna feel awkward being over 20 years older than everyone else. I know she’s struck up that weird friendship with Shouyou, but still.”

“Well, Sakusa does have a weird affinity with middle aged women,” you offer, “and if anything, he’ll be desperate for embarrassing stories about Atsumu. You know how those boys like tormenting each other. I’ve tasted your cooking too, and it’s never been anything less than spectacular—you should know, given how much I enjoy it. And, uh, I hope we can continue meeting up regularly afterwards. At the very least, you’ll need to visit to transport half of your cooking utensils home.”

“Doesn’t stop me from worrying though, does it?” He cracks a smile. “I dunno. I’ve grown attached to this kitchen. Might take a page out of Tsumu’s book and start haunting your apartment.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” you say softly. “I mean, the circumstances weren’t amazing, but I’ve liked getting to know you. I hope we can stay close.” You hover on that for a moment, unsure how to continue. You don’t want to just gush, but I hope we can stay close isn’t all you want to say, either. The words linger there, sweet on the tip of your tongue, lost only to your inability to verbalise the feeling coalescing in your chest. “You’re, uh, a dear.”

Osamu reaches over, grasping your hand in his own; his palm is warm, soft from the oil he was just handling, a bit bigger than your own. “I’m a dear? What are you, my grandma?” He asks teasingly.

“You know what I mean.”

His lips twitch upwards. “Yeah. I do.” He squeezes your hand, thumb rubbing soft circles into your knuckles. His mouth opens, like he too has something he wants to say but doesn’t know how to say it. Like you, he too cops out. “Keep texting, ‘kay? This has been fun.”

“Of course.” You grin, lips peeled over your teeth, your joy on full display. “What else are we supposed to do with our lunch breaks?”

His gaze flickers. “I have some ideas.”

It sinks into you then; oh. He’s flirting. Probably. Most likely? That’s, like, the most overused phrase in the book. I have some ideas. He doesn’t just want to talk. He has some ideas. You turn your hand in his grasp until your palms face each other, carefully lacing your fingers together. You keep eye contact. He follows your lead dutifully, shuffling ever so slightly closer, and you gather that soft hope in your chest as you respond. “Some ideas, huh? Wanna share with the class?”

It hovers in the air between you. Your eyes flicker down to his mouth, soft and slightly parted; his flickers to yours. The anticipation, that moment before an inevitability, yawns. You both know what’s going to happen, your free hand moving to his bicep as his rests on your waist. You bite your lip to contain a smile.

“You just gonna stare at me all day?” He asks, voice ushered into a low murmur.

“Well, you were the one that had some ideas,” you reply, voice just as low. “I don’t want to get the wrong idea, do I?”

“I have a feeling you know what it is.” His hand, a brand on your waist, slides until it rests on the small of your back; he pulls you in until you’re pressed together, a scant thread of air the only thing separating you. You tilt your head up, still making eye contact, and he hums slowly. “You’ve got such a beautiful smile. It was the first thing I noticed about you.”

Your features bloom, a happiness inexperienced unfurling in your chest; you’re sure now, absolutely certain, that there’s not a single person in human history to have experienced the same joy that you do in this moment. It’s not possible, that there’s this kind of giddiness in you that billions before you have been able to experience. Or maybe it is, and it’s your turn to experience it. Either way, you open your mouth to reply.

This, of course, means it’s the perfect time for the doorbell to ring.

Osamu’s head swings forward until your foreheads are touching, a deep groan escaping his lips. A similar sound of disappointment escapes you. “Whoever that is, I’m gonna kill them.”

“Don’t be too hasty,” you say, even as a part of you wants to ignore them. “Those are our guests we’re talking about. Who’s gonna eat all that ham if you kill them at the door?”

“It’s your Christmas cake I’m worried about.” And he steps away, rolling his shoulders in noticeable disappointment. “You started it in August, can’t let all that hard work go to waste.”

The doorbell rings again. Your eye twitches, even as you heft a full-body sigh. “I’ll get it.”

When you open the door, Atsumu’s cruel, malignant face is the one to greet you, a huge bag hefted under his arm. “Took you long enough! Did I interrupt something?”

“You’re obnoxious,” you tell him, stepping out of the way. Hinata follows behind him, arms stacked with about six bags full to the brim. “Gifts under the tree.”

“What’ve you got there, Shouyou?” Osamu asks, moving to grab some of the bags. Atsumu bats his hands away.

“Nah, uh, uh, Samu.” He grins. “Nice apron. Got it for you last Christmas, didn’t I?”

“No, that was my birthday gift.”

He grimaces. Osamu, in contrast, grins. “Nice of you to get us matching aprons. Let’s hope we don’t have a repeat performance.”

“You’re such a dick.” Atsumu claps him on the back. “Geez, get freshened up. You’re gonna welcome your guests looking like that?”

“Yeah, I was.”

“Good thing you’ve got me to set you right.” Atsumu nods to himself, rummaging through his huge bag before tossing Osamu a headband with foamed, sequined deer horns on top. “There you go. Get changed and put this on—the wardrobe is half the holiday!”

“Now you’re just making shit up.” Still, remarkably good at annoying each other, Atsumu manages to usher Osamu into the bathroom. The second Osamu’s gone, he turns to you with a wide grin.

“We bought alcohol.”

Instinctively, your eyes snap to the weight Hinata is carrying in horror. Hinata, either not noticing or not caring for the way you recoil, smiles. “The place looks good! Sorry for coming so early.”

“It’s alright,” you say, even though it really, really isn’t. “Did you seriously bring six bags of alcohol? How much did that even cost?”

“Don’t worry about that.” Atsumu pats your shoulder consoling. “We’re gonna need it. You might want some liquid courage for this.”

“For what?” You ask, eyes darting over to Hinata, who’s suddenly very dutifully unpacking the contents of an entire liquor store onto your counter. “Okay, wait, don’t do that. Put it in the pantry.”

Atsumu sighs out your name. “You don’t need to play coy with us. We know the truth.”

“...Right.” You turn away, retreating back to the kitchen and your unfinished custard. “Well, you have fun with that. You’re not getting drunk until after dessert.”

“Now that’s just not fa—” the doorbell cuts Atsumu off this time. Serves him right.

XV.

The party is in full swing by the time gifts are being opened. Your snacks are well received, given they’re all but devoured by the time dinner comes around. Dinner is a smash hit, and dessert is demolished even with 80% of the guest list comprising of professional athletes. Osamu’s ham is a particular favourite (you have to admit, there really is merit to a Christmas roast) and your Christmas cake another, four months of cultivating gone in fifteen minutes. By the time everyone is winding down, Atsumu’s excessive load of alcohol has been brought out even though most of the party is sipping on the homemade eggnog—Atsumu’s brandy an additional ingredient—and gifts, which at that point had spilled out from under the tree to halfway across the lounge, are finally brought out.

“You were right,” you mutter to Osamu, who’s sat so close beside you that your shoulders brush with every movement, which is something Atsumu had been gleeful to point out. Constantly. “The roast was the better idea. I can’t believe I was so anti-ham.”

“Looking a little cosy there,” Atsumu says knowingly for the third time this evening, before Osamu gets the chance to respond. Aran, one of Osamu’s guests and sitting criss-cross-applesauce beside Atsumu, groans loudly. “Got something to share?”

“They were complimenting my ham,” Osamu replies blandly. “Why? You wanna take turns, maybe compliment the salad?”

Hinata perks up from where he was opening a volleyball shaped soap. You’re not sure who bought him it. “It was really good, Osamu. Are you sure I’m allowed to take some home?”

“Go ahead, Shouyou. You think I can eat that and everything else in the next few days?”

Tuning out the conversation, you pull out your next gift. It’s from Osamu, funny enough; you bite your lip, ready to make a comment, only to find him already looking at you. “Go on, open it. Don’t keep me in suspense.”

Rolling your eyes, you begin meticulously unwrapping it. It’s square, which you find out is because he put it in a nondescript cardboard box before wrapping it. A gasp escapes you as you peer inside and Atsumu (ever the mood killer) squawks when you pull it out to properly look at it. “You called me a muppet for suggesting a sweater!”

“You’re a fucking liar, Tsumu.” Osamu immediately shoots back.

You grin, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as you run a hand along the inside. It’s soft, with a slightly well-worn look to it; you almost feel like kicking your feet, recalling your conversation from several days ago. No wonder he refused to give you a hint—he’d only just decided what to get you, that sneak. You don’t even know how he found this.

Well, you kind of do. You nudge his shoulder, grinning giddily. “Open your gift from me. Right now.”

“Impatient, arentcha?”

“I’m serious.” You beam up at him. “Open it, Osamu.”

He rolls his eyes fondly, pulling it towards you and quickly tearing through the paper. There’s a moment's pause as he stares at his gift. Osamu’s lips twitch upwards, peeling back over his teeth. He glances at his gift, back up to you, back down to his gift again. “You told me you weren’t getting me a sweater.”

“I lied.”

“You’re kidding,” Atsumu groans, “Osamu rags on me about suggesting matching sweaters, and the two of ya do it anyway?”

“They’re not matching,” you argue. “And it’s cute. You were just meddling.”

“It’d’ve had the same result if you’d followed my lead anyway!”

“Yeah, except if we had it your way they’d be ugly, scratchy, and unwearable.” Osamu argues. “This is classy.”

“When have you ever cared about class—?”

XVI.

You knew Atsumu and Hinata were up to something. It was pretty obvious—everyone and their mother could tell. Unfortunately for you, knowing they’re going to do something doesn’t mean you knew what it was. You find out because the co-conspirators divide and conquer and Hinata, for all his fumbling, remains incomprehensibly charismatic.

It only really clicks when you almost slam into Osamu as Atsumu nearly shoves him into a wall before sprinting off like his life depends on it. It probably does. Giggling like a schoolgirl, all he says as he zips off is, “Thank me later!’

You yelp as Osamu nearly sends the both of you tumbling to the floor. “What the hell? Why did he do that?”

Osamu groans. “Something about ‘helping out the less fortunate.’ He thinks I’m too scared to make a move on you.”

That shocks a laugh out of you. “He has such little faith.”

It’s proven doubly true when something hits your shoulder. Osamu swipes it before it hits the ground, displaying it to you with an open palm. Plastic mistletoe, with a piece of tape dangling sadly off the edges. “You’re kidding.”

“That scheming pig,” Osamu says with something akin to wonder, “I’m gonna kill him.”

“He couldn’t even splurge? This looks like a stick with leaves.” You pick it up, feeling along the synthetic edge of one leaf. It really is a sad thing. You show it off to Osamu, a snicker accompanying your next words, “Looks like he really thought you needed the help.”

“Well,” Osamu muses, “since he’s so kindly went through the effort, it wouldn’t hurt to finish what we started earlier, would it?”

“Oh? You’re giving him the satisfaction?”

“Between you and me, I think I’ll be the one better off for this.” Both hands move to cup your cheeks, and you let the mistletoe fall to the ground as your own hands move to his hips. “Can I kiss you, sweetheart?”

You bite at the inside of your cheek, desperately fighting a smile. “No complaints here.”

He hums softly, one hand dropping to the curve of your neck. He leans in then, breath ghosting over your mouth, and kisses you. It’s a delicate thing, barely a brush of your lips before you press into it. His lips taste vaguely of cinnamon, pressing into a smile as your noses nearly collide. You grin hopelessly as well, and it’s not much of a kiss at all; you’re two idiots grinning into each other’s mouths, breathing the same air and clinging to each other and hovering awkward in the doorway to the bathroom. It’s kind of perfect.

Osamu pulls away first. “I’m going to do that again,” he tells you, matter of fact. “And if you let me, I’m gonna take you out for dinner this weekend.”

“Yeah?” You ask, features giddy with a full-body happiness; your heart beats like a drum, your fingers twitch with a physical manifestation of your affection, and you rock on your feet, leaning into him once again. “I can make myself available.”

His face softens. “Yeah.” Then he’s leaning in again, hands warm against your skin, thumb rubbing circles into your cheekbones. He presses a soft, chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You’re stuck with me now. Hope ya don’t mind.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” you say, leaning up and into him.

#hq x reader secret santa 24 #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #osamu x reader #miya osamu x reader #osamu miya x reader #↘ writing #↘ writing: hq!

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firstkanaphans · 29 days ago

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Khun Dome's Peaceful Property fic, CH. 2

The director of Peaceful Property wrote a fic as a Christmas present for the fandom. You can read my translation of the first chapter here. And you can find the original Thai version of this chapter here.

2 days ago The night Peach called Home but he didn’t pick up Sat, 21/12 peach93 & Dome Online Psychic

peach93: [phone call to Dome lasting 01:13:06] peach93: Thank you na krap, Uncle Dome Online Psychic: Not a problem ja Dome Online Psychic: I’m always here if you need advice Dome Online Psychic: 💯💯💯 peach93: But Uncle krap peach93: I still have doubts peach93: Why does it have to be on the night of the 24th? Dome Online Psychic: It’s in accordance with Western astrology Dome Online Psychic: It’s just a coincidence that it also happens to be Christmas Eve peach93: But aren’t you a Thai psychic krap? Dome Online Psychic: Do you believe me or not? peach93: Fine fine. I believe you krap. Dome Online Psychic: Just do exactly as your uncle tells you Dome Online Psychic: And it’ll fix your bad luck Dome Online Psychic: Your life will be free from aging, illness, and disease Dome Online Psychic: So you can love each other for a very long time peach93: We’re just friends krap Dome Online Psychic: [picture of a very surprised Peach] [Translator’s note: It’s Tay Tawan] peach93: Wait a minute na krap. How did you get my picture? Dome Online Psychic: I am a psychic Dome Online Psychic: Seeing the future ❌ Seeing two male friends act suspiciously ✅ Dome Online Psychic: May it be so. Like TayNew 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 peach93: Uncle!

Today Tue, 21/12 14:14 Vimarnsukman Ghost-Hunting Co.

pangx2🍞: [Screenshot of the thumbnail for an episode of “Ghost Talk Radio: The Haunting Wave of the New Generation.” The episode is titled “The Demon of Wat Pho Kla has been defeated” and the host’s name is Khun Polka.] [Translator's note: Wat Pho Kla is the temple Peach was visiting in the previous chapter. And also Khun Polka appears to be GMMTV manager P’Jack.] pangx2🍞: Isn’t this the ghost the villagers asked for your help with, Hia? peach93: Yes pangx2🍞: Oh! You did the job by yourself without saying anything? pangx2🍞: I missed out on filming the ghost-busting content peach93: Ha ha go HOME!: [gif of Michael Scott from “The Office” saying “OH, WOW!”] Lawyer Kan: May I say something na ka Lawyer Kan: I have told the customers at the restaurant that we will be closing early tonight ka Lawyer Kan: For your Secret Santa activity, Khun Home peach93: Thank you so much, Kan! go HOME!: [gif of an animated penguin coming out of its shell saying “I LOVE YOU! ❤️”] Lawyer Kan: I will pretend not to see your message, Khun Home na ka go HOME!: 💔💔💔

pangx2🍞, Lawyer Kan, & Suradech Ketmuangrong

pangx2🍞: Did you see, Mae!!! Lawyer Kan: See what ka? pangx2🍞: [screenshot of the above text conversation where Peach admits to ghost-busting solo] Lawyer Kan: I can read it in the group just fine by myself na ka pangx2🍞: In my whole life, I’ve never caught Hia in a lie. Not even once pangx2🍞: This is the very first time! Lawyer Kan: What are you talking about na ka? pangx2🍞: I’ve already looked into everything pangx2🍞: Hia was the one who went to exorcise the ghost for the villagers that night pangx2🍞: But it seems Hia pangx2🍞: Oops. Sent it too soon ha ha pangx2🍞: It seems P’Home was there too pangx2🍞: They’re such good actors pangx2🍞: Secretly going to exorcise ghosts together just the two of them! pangx2🍞: It’s very suspisious ka pangx2🍞: Isn’t that right, P’Suradech? Suradech Ketmuangrong: Krap Lawyer Kan: You spelled “suspicious” wrong ka Lawyer Kan: Why don’t you just ask them directly ka? Lawyer Kan: Since you’ve already figured everything out Lawyer Kan: As it is now, you’re hiding the truth just like them ka pangx2🍞: Whose side are you on, Maeeeee!!!! Lawyer Kan: I’m just saying that everything you’ve accused them of Lawyer Kan: Cannot be used as evidence in court ka Lawyer Kan: Legally… pangx2🍞: 😪😪😪 pangx2🍞: Wake me up when you’re done typing Lawyer Kan: You have to find more concrete evidence ka pangx2🍞: [picture of Peach and Home asleep in bed together] pangx2🍞: This isn’t evidence enough ka?! Lawyer Kan: Stop using the same old evidence ka pangx2🍞: Then what do you want me to do, Mae? pangx2🍞: In just a few hours, it will be time for Secret Santa pangx2🍞: I will expose them during the game! pangx2🍞: I will expose them during the gameee!!! pangx2🍞: I will expose them during the gameeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!! Lawyer Kan: Then you will need a witness ka

Lawyer Kan invites Dome Online Psychic to chat

Dome Online Psychic: Hello, Khun Lawyer Kan. This is the new Line account of Uncle Dome Online Psychic since the old Line account I used for a very long time has disappeared. You can contact the team here na krap. Thank you krap 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 Lawyer Kan: @ Dome Online Psychic I would like to speak directly with Uncle Dome ka. I do not want to speak with the automated message response system ka.

Dome Online Psychic joined to chat

Dome Online Psychic: What’s up ja, Nong Noo Kan? Lawyer Kan: Allow me to get right to the point na ka, Khun Uncle Dome Dome Online Psychic: Do you want a group reading? Dome Online Psychic: That will be more expensive na

Suradech Ketmuangrong left chat

pangx2🍞: Oh! P’Suradech!!! pangx2🍞: Wait! I will pay for you!!! Dome Online Psychic: What do you want to know, Nong Noo Kan? Dome Online Psychic: I see your soulmate is in this group too na Lawyer Kan: I don’t want to talk about that ka! pangx2🍞: [gif of a cartoon rabbit saying “EH, I’M CONFUZZLED…”]

pangx2🍞invites Suradech Ketmuangrong to chat

Dome Online Psychic: Oh! Then what do you want to talk about ja? Lawyer Kan: [picture of Peach and Home asleep in bed together] Dome Online Psychic: Didn’t you say not to use the same old evidence ja? Lawyer Kan: My friend is curious ka Lawyer Kan: Whether these two are dating ka Pangx2🍞: Not just me ka Suradech Ketmuangrong: Krap Dome Online Psychic: Hmm Dome Online Psychic: Where should I start? Lawyer Kan: You can just jump straight to the answer ka Dome Online Psychic: Well it’s like this…

15:13 peach93 & go HOME!

go HOME!: [picture of Home posing for the camera wearing a designer backpack] peach93: What do you want? go HOME!: I just thought you might like to see it peach93: You did not peach93: Are you going to ask if you should post it? go HOME!: Should I post it? peach93: Learn to think for yourself sometimes go HOME!: [gif of Adam Sandler giving the camera a thumbs down, captioned “LAME”] go HOME!: [screenshot of the above picture now posted to Instagram with the caption “Once upon a time.” The picture has 1.3K likes and was posted 1 minute ago.] peach93: I bet if you post it, you will get a thousand likes immediately na go HOME!: I already posted it peach93: I was being sarcastic go HOME!: oh go HOME!: what’s your problem? go HOME!: if you didn’t want me to post it you could have just said so peach93: Would it have stopped you? go HOME!: fine go HOME!: i’ll delete it peach93: Why? peach93: It’s already out there peach93: People are reposting it on Twitter go HOME!: dude go HOME!: it’s called X now you know? peach93: Not funny go HOME!: so what do you want me to do? peach93: Forget it go HOME!: [gif of blinking man] go HOME!: i’m sorry na go HOME!: but when you post a picture go HOME!: you tag everyone go HOME!: except me peach93: I tag you go HOME!: hidden tags are not tags peach93: You’re talking nonsense peach93: You need to learn to think peach93: Why might I hide the tag? go HOME!: i don’t like to think! go HOME!: if there’s something you want to say just say it peach93: 😩 go HOME!: fine go HOME!: i’m dumb go HOME!: i have no idea what you’re talking about go HOME!: i never do go HOME!: that’s why i always have to ask you directly peach93: For me, you are more special than anyone else peach93: Do you understand now? go HOME!: more special than anyone else go HOME!: are you making fun of me? peach93: Ughhhhhhhhhhhh go HOME!: then what do you want? peach93: 😩😩😩 go HOME!: tell me!!!! peach93: Go tag me in that picture go HOME!: tag you? go HOME!: what for??? peach93: Are you going to tag me or not? go HOME!: fine fine fine go HOME!: [Screenshot of the same Instagram post with “peach93” now tagged right in the middle. The picture was posted 4 minutes ago and now has 2.7K likes.] go HOME!: happy now? peach93: I’m going to call you. Answer the phone peach93: [phone call with Home lasting 00:04:13] peach93: 🙂 go HOME!: [gif of a confused man captioned “THAT’S IT?”] go HOME!: next time you have something to say, just say it directly peach93: You still don’t understand go HOME!: 😿😿😿 go HOME!: be patient with me go HOME!: okay? peach93: Fine go HOME!: [Screenshot from Home’s Instagram of a picture of him shirtless sitting on the side of the pool. It has 13K likes and was posted 3 months ago.] peach93: Don’t post that one! go HOME!: It was posted a long time ago!!!

16:17 pangx2🍞, Lawyer Kan, Suradech Ketmuangrong, & Dome Online Psychic

Dome Online Psychic: [phone call lasting 01:04:13] pangx2🍞: Oh my godddddddddd Lawyer Kan: Thank you for the information na ka, Uncle Dome Dome Online Psychic: Keep an open mind, kids! pangx2🍞: So do we have to pretend like we don’t know ka? Dome Online Psychic: I can’t give you much advice Dome Online Psychic: action = reaction Dome Online Psychic: Bad luck can only be stopped by not dwelling on it Lawyer Kan: But you’re sure your predictions are correct ka? Dome Online Psychic: My predictions are only estimates Lawyer Kan: I’m starting to doubt everything you’ve told us ka Dome Online Psychic: If there’s nothing else, I will be leaving now na ja

Dome Online Psychic left chat

pangx2🍞: Mae pangx2🍞: i think he overcharged you Lawyer Kan: Yes ka Lawyer Kan: This is clearly a scam. He is a fraud. Lawyer Kan: Where did he go? pangx2🍞: We should take everything he said with a grain of salt, Mae pangx2🍞: But at least we have more evidence now pangx2🍞: [gif of mischievous racoon rubbing his hands together captioned “Hehehehe….”] Suradech Ketmuangrong: Krup

7 hours later 23:57 Vimarnsukman Ghost-Hunting Co.

pangx2🍞: [A collection of 4 pictures from the Secret Santa event.] [Translator’s note: They’re BTS pictures from the filming of Peaceful Property. Dome’s in one of them.] go HOME!: [gif of a tired baby raising his arms captioned “YAY”] pangx2🍞: So funnnnnnn pangx2🍞: except no one had time to dress according to the theme pangx2🍞: let’s do it again next year p’homeeeee 💖💖💖 go HOME!: sure thing girl! Lawyer Kan: I just got home na ka Lawyer Kan: Today was fun ka. Thank you na ka peach93: Are you sure it was fun? peach93: Ai’Home ate the cake all by himself and didn’t share with anyone pangx2🍞: 555555555555 go HOME!: [gif of man looking around as if to say “Me?”] go HOME!: who ate the cake and didn’t share it with anyone? pangx2🍞: 👀👀👀 Lawyer Kan: You’re a growing boy ka. I understand ka. Lawyer Kan: Merry Christmas, everyone ka pangx2🍞: merry christmas jaaaaaa peach93: 🥳 🥳 🥳 go HOME!: [gif of dancing Santa Claus captioned “MERRY CHRISTMAS”]

pangx2🍞, Lawyer Kan, & Suradech Ketmuangrong pangx2🍞: Mae!!! Lawyer Kan: What is it now ka? pangx2🍞: Did you see the way they were looking at each other? pangx2🍞: I only have one word: loveeeeeeeeeee Lawyer Kan: Khun Pang ka Lawyer Kan: Stop rambling ka Lawyer Kan: I think they were acting normal Lawyer Kan: It’s normal for boys to flirt with each other Lawyer Kan: And argue like a married couple Lawyer Kan: And stare into each other’s eyes Lawyer Kan: It’s normal ka pangx2🍞: Normal pangx2🍞: When is that normal? pangx2🍞: since p’home came into my brother’s life pangx2🍞: he smiles more often pangx2🍞: #crying 😭😭😭 Lawyer Kan: Just let them be themselves ka pangx2🍞: but i think they really like each other pangx2🍞: it’s just that neither of them will make the first move pangx2🍞: right, p’suradech? Suradech Ketmuangrong: Krup pangx2🍞: you’re no fun pangx2🍞: i’m going to chat with my other friends Lawyer Kan: Congratulations on having more than four friends na ka

3 hours later Wed, 25/12 03:13 Vimarnsukman Ghost-Hunting Co.

Suradech Ketmuangrong: Everyone krap Suradech Ketmuangrong: Khun Noo has something he would like to tell everyone krap Suradech Ketmuangrong: Only he doesn’t want to disturb everyone’s sleep Suradech Ketmuangrong: So I am typing this message for you to read later per his orders krap Suradech Ketmuangrong: [picture of Home in a hospital bed] Suradech Ketmuangrong: Khun Noo is very sick Suradech Ketmuangrong: He had been admitted to the hospital krap

To be continued

Chapter 3

#it's getting gayer 👀#peaceful property #peaceful property fic #written by the director #translated by me #peachhome

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