#it begins here and crystalizes in the kitchen at christmas

[roominthecastle]

ACGaS 303, “Surviving Siegfried” + 3 times he slips into a dark place & 3 times she pulls him back

That’s a letter from an old AVC friend, Maurice Oliver. I got it about a month ago. He was the chap in the photo you found. He had a practice up in Brawton. He and I went through some things together -- terrible things. He killed himself last week. Barbiturates. I’ve been reading it over and over and over, trying to see if there was anything I might’ve missed. If I could’ve found something, done something to help him. But he seems happy. [voice cracks] He talks about his plans for the summer. | Maurice needed help. No one was there to give it to him... but we are here now.

[magalidragon]

❄️❄️dashing through the snow ❄️❄️| Jonerys Winter Wonderland | teaser

For prompt Sexy Sleigh Ride 🛷 | also I get my runaway bride fix too 🤭

Tulle flew over her face again; her legs went out from under her, and she was sure now she was showing off her undergarments to the world if anyone decided to take a peek. She cursed in Valyrian, struggling to upright herself, gathering skirts and tearing what she could, and now she was barefoot.

In the snow.

In the winter.

At Winterfell.

And she had no true escape plan.

"At least I'm out," she mumbled, looking up at the open window where she'd fallen from. She took a deep breath and turned, scanning around where she'd ended up.

She was on the north side of the castle, near the stables. The godswood was over to the west, a bit too close for comfort. The kitchens were on the far south side which was good because it was less likely for her to be caught by some cater waiter. All the guests should be seated, but she couldn't risk it.

"Daenerys Targaryen!"

Oh shit.

Dany whipped her head up, in time to see a flame red flash in the window she'd pushed herself out of. "Fuck," she mumbled. It was either Cat or Sansa, both of whom were the worst people in the world and now the hunt was on. She really had to get the fuck out of here.

Keep calm, keep calm.

The cold was starting to get to her, her arms bare in the floaty dress which looked like she'd been painted in feathers. It was beautiful. It was expensive. It was designed by her future sister-in-law.

And she hated it..

It was also not conducive to a winter outdoor wedding or escaping from the roof of a castle. The neck tied around her in a halter style, with rows and rows of floating feathery tulle and lace, fanning out into a train that was longer in the back than the front and was designed to show off the crystal studded heels she’d be wearing and also the matching coat. The coat, of course, she’s left upstairs. Damnit.

The ground was frozen solid, what little not covered in fluffy white snow feeling like cement beneath her bare feet. She gathered her skirts, her skin still flushed and warm from the adrenaline of the escape, and she ignored the beginnings of numbness in her toes, hurrying towards the stables.

There had been a plan, since they'd be going to the other side of the castle for the reception in the great hall, to have the "newlywed car" be a gilded sleigh pulled by reindeer. Yes, fucking reindeer. No horses for the Starks, no, they had to go find bloody reindeer. Like she was Mrs. Claus running off for a getaway weekend with Santa. She would have preferred a dragon.

Unfortunately there were no dragons to be had, so Dany had to settle for a reindeer.

Along the stables the reindeer were already hooked up to the newlywed sleigh, along with several others that would shepherd guests back and forth. Like Christmas Ubers or something. She could not believe the shit that Robb's family wanted to pull for this wedding. It was seriously the event of the decade, but she was going to throw a massive wrench into that plan.

Dany was surprised she wasn't hearing whistles and dogs barking-- wolves in the case of the Starks-- being set off to hunt her down and drag her bodily back to the godswood to continue the wedding. "What are you doing?" she hissed to herself, her head buzzing.

Running away from a miserable future.

Gods, she had to get out of here. She was freezing, she had no shoes, and honestly she just had to ride this psychosis to the end and figure it out later.

Missandei, her maid of honor, would undoubtedly know what happened when no wedding occurred and she’d hightail it to her hotel at the B&B in Wintertown, so Dany might as well head there. She glanced sideways.

At the reindeer.

“Bingpot,” she muttered, sprinting to the sleigh. She clambered up and into the monstrosity, silver and bedecked with bells and ribbon. The reindeer hitched up to it turned its head to curiously peer in her direction. She lifted reins and called out. “Mush!”

Nothing happened.

Hmm. “Go!” she shouted. She tugged on the reins. She knew how to ride horses and grew up with them. Reindeer were just fluffy horses with antlers right? Nothing again. The reindeer turned its head back around and carried on eating from the container attached to the hitching post. Dany closed her eyes, dripping her head. “What are you doing?” she repeated, rhis time a whisper.

“Yes, what are you doing?”

The voice, raspy and deep behind her, came from beneath the flannel blankets piled in the seat behind her. Dany screamed, throwing the reins in the air, startled and that did it. The reindeer pulled his head from the food and immediately began to run, making for the open gate.

Damn a sleigh moved fast.

Wind caught at her skirts, pulling them back around her and she flailed, caught off guard and not secure in her seat.

Owner of the voice cursed, tossed a cigarette she hadn’t even smelled or noticed over the side into the snow and jumped over from the back into the seat beside her, a blur of black leather and denim. He snatched the reins and pulled on them, bringing the reindeer to a manageable trot, and brought the sleigh over to the side of the main drive out of the castle grounds.

And the man she was in love with— who was definitely not her finance— whipped his head around, dark curls flying about his pale face and his gray eyes flashing.

“Daenerys Targaryen what the fuck are you doing?”

Dany didn’t even think— she hadn’t so far— blurting out: “I’m running away.”

There was a quiet beat, and then he smiled, long and slow, white teeth flashing canine like against his dark beard. “Well. We best get going then.”

And Jon snow turned away from her and snapped the reins, the reindeer running off and speeding the sleigh away from Winterfell.

[minthesin]

↠ Summary: It was supposed to be a lazy Saturday morning, but things turned the other way when you came up with the cutest idea.

↠ Pairing: Yoongi x fem!Reader

↠ Genre: established relationship!AU, smut, huge amount of fluff

↠ Warnings: sub!Yoongi, dom!Reader, pegging, rimjob, handjob, anal fingering, breast kissing and sucking, discussion of safe word, Yoongi in a sweater (beware of cuteness overload), lots of kisses, reader is such a tease, just Yoongi being unbearably cute🥰🫠

↠ Word count: 4.4k

author’s note: This is my first “decent” one shot, so… yeah. English isn’t my first language, so I’m sorry if you find any mistakes, I tried my best to avoid them. I think this turned out pretty well. I hope you’ll enjoy reading this :) Here’s the sweater I’m talking about.

Masterlist

“It’s Saturday morning. You wake up early to Yoongi still sleeping on his side, knees bent close to his chest and both hands resting under his squishy cheek, his lips formed into a pout, and his eyebrow slightly furrowed. He looks like a kitten curled up in a ball.

God, he looks so adorable, you want to squeeze those cheeks, but you don’t want to wake him up.

You step out of bed and look through the window.

It’s snowy outside. Streets and roofs are covered in crystal snow.

You instantly feel cold and are only in your pajama shorts and top.

You kick into the slippers and make your way to the wardrobe. You open the closet, and your eyes land on a blue knitted sweater.

It’s been a while since the last time you wore that sweater. It is oversized and thick, perfect for cold weather. Yoongi gave it to you last Christmas. It was your favorite thing to wear last winter. It made you warm even when it was freezing outside.

Without much thinking, you put on the sweater and head out to the bathroom.

After doing your morning skincare routine and brushing your teeth, you step into your bedroom again. Yoongi’s still fast asleep in his kitten-like position, and you can’t help yourself from muttering a silent “aww” under your nose.

It’s been a tough week for him since he had to finish the project he’s been working on for weeks. You decided not to wake him up because he deserves to rest after a tiring week.

Maybe you should do something nice for him? Maybe surprise him with breakfast in bed?

Of course, everything for your man. Even when he’d come home late, he’d still make time for you and ask about your day even when he was tired. So why don’t you make something nice for him as well?

You go to the kitchen and begin cooking breakfast. Scrambled eggs and butter toast. You also make breakfast for yourself because your stomach has been making the weirdest sound. You make a cup of cappuccino for Yoongi and a cup of tea for you. Everything’s almost done, but then you hear footsteps from the bedroom.

“Morning, honey. Are you making breakfast?”

And there’s Yoongi, standing in the doorway with nothing but a sweater and boxers on. His hair is still a little messy from sleeping, but you can’t stop yourself from thinking how cute he looks in that sweater. Brown oversized sweater with red lines around the neck. You got it for him last Christmas, and it was his favorite sweater that winter. You love it as well because he looks so lovable in it.

“Hey, umm.. good morning Yoongs, yeah, I’m making breakfast. I was about to surprise you with breakfast in bed, but since you woke up….”

He makes his way to you, hugs you around your waist and gives you a morning kiss on your cheek.

“Why did you wake up so early? I thought you were sleeping longer today. It's Saturday.”

“I know, but I smelled something nice coming from the kitchen, and there you are, making breakfast,” he murmurs in his raspy morning voice.

“Well, then, why don’t you sit down? Breakfast is ready.”

You both sit down at the table and begin eating breakfast.

“Hmm, this is so delicious,” Yoongi comments with a mouthful of eggs and toast.

“Thanks, I made this with love,” you smile at him. Gosh, you love your husband.

“I really like your sweater,” you comment.

“Thank you. It’s super comfy and warm. I put it on because it’s so cold today, you gave it to me last Christmas, and I really love it.

After a minute of comfortable silence, you speak.

“I wonder what you would look like in this sweater while I fuck you.”

Yoongi chokes on his food and lifts his head, confusion written all over his face and a tiny piece of egg clinging to the corner of his mouth.

“What?”

“I bet you’d look very cute.”

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say, so you take the chance to speak.

“When I was buying you this sweater, I fantasized how you’d look like underneath me while I fuck your cute little bum.”

“Is this one of your sexual fantasies?” he asks.

“Well, I think you can say so. So what do you say?”

“You want to fuck me in this sweater?”

“Yeah,” you answer him feeling a little embarrassed because you really don’t know what he thinks about the idea. If he doesn’t like it, then it’s okay. Maybe he doesn’t want to be your little baby and prefers to be your dom. You and Yoongi talked about this before, that you’re going to share your sexual fantasies. Then why does he look so caught off guard? Of course, you’re peacefully eating breakfast and then, out of nowhere you tell him that he’d look cute in this sweater while you fuck his ass.

“Yoongs?”, he looks zoned out, he definitely doesn't like the idea, you think.

“If you don’t like the idea than it’s-”

“No, umm… I like it, actually”, you don’t get a chance to finish your statement when Yoongi comes back to Earth and dispels your doubts.

“I really like the idea of you dominating me. I just imagined how it would look, and I think it’d be hot, actually,” he confesses and scratches his ear in shyness, the habit Yoongi does when he feels embarrassed or shy.

“It’s been a while since the last time I pegged you. You looked so fucked up then and-”

“Okay, stop. You’re embarrassing me”, he interrupts you. You see just how much he blushes and looks down in shyness.

The last time you pegged him, he looked like a complete mess, begging you and almost crying because of how good you were fucking him. He felt so vulnerable being your little sex slave, but he’d lie if he said he didn’t like it because he enjoyed it so much he was a moaning mess. Yoongi was fast asleep that night till the afternoon.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I know, you’ve told me that,” he says, fidgeting with his earring.

“I know you were craving for this, didn’t you? So what do you say? Wanna do it again?”

“Yeah, I do, but don’t expect me to be a mess again. Okay? I'll be dead serious. I’ll do it just because you want this”, he declares.

“Aww, Yoongs, you try to be cool, but I know that the minute I start fingering you, you’ll be melting and begging for more.”

“Not this time.”

“Sure you will. Within minutes, you’ll be moaning my name and begging for more,” you don’t believe him. You intend to ruin him and make him beg for your touch, just like he did the last time. And you’ll get what you want. You’ve known Yoongi for years, and you know that he acts like he doesn’t like or want something, he tries to act serious and isn't interested, but in reality, he likes it so much he can’t stop thinking about it.

“I’m serious,” he whines.

“But that’s the fun part. I want to ruin you. You know when something’s so cute you wanna ruin it because it’s unbearably cute.”

“I’ll do it for you. I’ll let you ruin me in this sweater just because you want this”, he says.

“Yoongs, you’re no fun. You could have said at first that you don’t want this,” you say. You want to tease him because you know how badly he wants you to fuck him, yet he acts like he doesn’t care anymore because you made fun of him.

“I do want this,” he utters and tilts his head, so now he’s looking at you.

“Hah! See, you want this so bad, don’t you.”

“Yeah, okay, I do,” he acknowledges.

“Okay, then go, clean yourself up,” you tell him.

“Wait, you wanna do it now?!" he asks you, surprised.

“Only if you want to,” you answer him on your way to wash the dishes.

“Okay, I’ll go then,” he says as he stands up and makes his way to the bathroom.

Ah, you love to mess with his head. You know that he wants to be fucked just as much as you want to fuck him.

While Yoongi’s in the bathroom, you’re preparing the bed. You put on black lace underwear, the one Yoongi got you on your birthday. You take a bottle of lube from the nightstand and place it on it. Then you lay on the bed and wait for Yoongi.

“Okay, I’m rea-... oh”, he steps out of the bathroom only to see you lying on your side wearing nothing but underwear. Gosh, you look so hot like this.

“Come here, honey,” you instruct him and pat the bed a few times.

He does as told and makes his way to bed.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asks.

“A little, but that’s nothing.”

“You should put something on.”

“I’ll get warm when I’ll fuck you, don’t worry, baby,” you answer him. It is cold, actually, but you don’t mind it. All you want to do right now is to ruin your cute little Yoongi. He looks unbearably cute in that sweater.

“Okay, Yoongs, before I do anything, say. Do you want this?” you ask.

“Yes.”

“If it hurts or something, please tell me. Maybe we need a safe word?” you ask again.

“I don’t know. If you want to.”

“It’s up to you.”

“Okay, umm… Orange.”

“Orange? Why?” you ask him.

“Because tangerines are orange,” he answers you and looks down shyly.

“Aww, Yoongs, you're so sweet,” you can’t help yourself from smiling.

“Like a tangerine?” he asks.

You push him on his back and crawl on top of him. You cup his cheeks and press them together. Now he looks way too cute.

“Yes, my baby boy, you’re my little tangerine,” you kiss him a few times, then kiss his forehead.

“I feel so embarrassed right now,” he utters.

“You don’t have to, baby. I’m doing this because you look so cute, and I love you. You said you’ll let me do whatever I want with you.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Aww, Yoongie Boongie, you're so cute.”

You begin a kissing journey, starting from his forehead to his collarbone. You don’t leave a single area of his flesh unkissed.

Yoongi tugs his hands into his sweater and places them on your waist, stroking them up and down your curves. You instantly feel warmer.

“Hmh?” you feel something poking your thigh. You look down and notice a bulge in his boxers.

“Guess who’s seeking for attention,” your voice sounds excited.

“I know, baby, I know,” he answers while looking down.

You make your way to his side.

“I’ll take your underwear, okay,” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“Mhm.”

You pull down his boxers and free his hardened cock. He must be really excited about what will happen soon. He is, and you know it. You know he secretly adores being subby, but doesn’t want to acknowledge that out loud. He thinks it’s unmanly, but you know better.

“Spread your legs, baby,” you instruct him, and he does as told.

“Now, give me a small pillow.”

He takes one of your decorative pillows and hands it to you.

“Lift your bum,” you command.

He lifts his ass so you can place a pillow under it.

You kneel between his legs and lean forwards to kiss him. Yoongi cups your ass and squeezes it. His action sends chills down to your core.

“I love you so much, Yoongi, can’t wait to ruin you.”

“I love you too, darling,” you murmur to each other between kisses.

You then kiss him all the way down his tummy, kissing him through his sweater. You inhale his scent. He smells so good. There’s a hint of your favorite cologne of his.

“Look at you, you’re so hard, you’re so excited to be fucked aren’t you?” you tease him, admiring his fully erect cock.

“Can you touch me?” he murmurs quietly.

“What did you say?” you lift your head to look at him.

“Touch me, please,” he says. There he is, your needy Yoongi.

“Say that again.”

He sighs, remembering that he promised himself to be serious. You totally messed up with his mind. He still doesn’t know why he chose to be so severe. He regrets it, but there’s nothing he can do about it.

Yoongi knows that you want to make a mess of him on purpose, to prove him wrong, to prove that he, in fact, is your subby baby boy, and he knows that you’ll tease him about that afterward. But now, when you cought him asking for your touch, he can’t do anything but repeat himself.

“Can you touch me? Please.”

“Guess who’s needy, okay? I’ll touch you, baby boy, but just because you’re being needy, and I feel sorry for you.”

You reach out to the nightstand and grab a bottle of lube. You put some lube on your fingers and smear it on his rim.

Yoongi squirms.

“Something’s wrong?” you ask. You know that the lube is cold, and that’s why he squirmed.

“Nothing, it’s just...it feels weird.”

“You want me to stop?”

“No,” he insists.

“Of course you don’t, I know,” you murmur. You can tell that he’d do anything to have your fingers in his ass, judging from the way his dick twitched.

He’d be begging you to finger his rim if not for his attitude.

You purposely caress your fingers around his hole and don’t push them in yet. You want to tease him. You want him to beg for your touch, just like he did the last time.

“C-can you push your finger in already?” he murmurs.

“Say that again,” you’re being cruel. God, how badly he craves your touch. You’ll touch him in the best ways possible, but just not yet. You want to tease him first.

“___, just do it already,” he whines.

“Do what?”

In this case, he’d get upset and not want to do it anymore, but not this time, not when he’s so turned on. Yoongi loves the way you tease him, but he can’t tell you that, not when he promised to be dead serious. He regrets saying that, but he knows if he begins to beg you, you’ll tease him about that every time you’d get a chance to. So he tries to maintain his cool attitude.

“Push your finger inside.”

Yoongi hates himself so much right now.

“Say please.”

He inhales deeply and sighs. “Please.”

“Okaaay, now the whole sentence.”

“Push your finger inside me… please.”

“See, that’s simple. All you have to do is ask.”

You’d tease him more for a while, but you kinda feel sorry for him. You slowly push your index finger into his hole to stretch him a little; you don’t want to hurt him.

Yoongi scrunches his nose.

“How’s that?” you ask, lifting your head to look at his expression.

“Good.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

You push your whole finger to your knuckles, then pull it out, not entirely, leaving the tip of your digit inside. You repeat this action a few times to prepare him for more of your fingers.

But again, you purposely don’t add another finger, even though he seems ready to take in more of your digits. You wait for him to ask you.

You don’t wait too long, and Yoongi’s already asking for more.

“Please, more”

“Say that again.’

“___, please, don’t be so cruel to me. Why are you like this?” he whines.

You pull out your finger.

“Okay then, guess you don’t want this anymore,” you say as you act like you’re making your way out of bed.

“No, ___, please,” he sits up and grabs your wrist. You’ve never seen him so desperate.

You turn to look at him. He looks at you with puppy eyes and pouts.

“Please, ___.”

You sit there for a moment. You can’t just leave him like that. It would be too cruel. And you won't. Of course, you won't. That was your idea, after all.

“I won’t.” You make your way back between his legs again. Yoongi lays back down and looks at you.

You crawl on top of him, so you are now facing him. You caress his face and tug a stray strand of hair hanging from his forehead to his ear.

“I know you’re craving my touch like a starving man. I know you try to act cool.”

He just looks at you and says nothing.

“If you want me so bad, then use your words, baby. Okay?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.” You caress his blonde locks.

You make your way back between his legs.

You caress your finger around his hole, waiting for him to speak.

“P-push your finger inside me, please.”

“Good boy, see, all you have to do is ask.”

Then again, you thrust your finger in and out a few times.

You add another digit.

“How’s that?”

“Good.”

You curl your fingers.

“Mhm, do that again.”

“Words.”

“Curl your fingers again, please.”

You curl your digits again, hearing another whimper from Yoongi.

You continue fingering him for a while, thrusting your fingers in till knuckles, then curling them and pushing out, leaving your fingertips inside.

“Ah, fuck,” whispers audibly. No way you found the spot.

“What is it?” you ask.

“Please do that again, please,” he begs.

You do it again, curling your fingers on that exact spot you just did.

You’d mock him again about the fact that he’s begging you, but you decide to save that for later.

“Mhm, right there, fuck.” Yoongi has his eyes closed and mouth slightly parted.

“You think you can take in one more?” you ask.

“Yeah.”

“Okay then,” you push a third finger into his hole.

“How’s that?”

“Mhm, it feels good,” he murmurs.

You continue to fuck your fingers into his ass to prepare him.

“Do you think you’re ready to take in my dick?” you ask.

“I think yeah.”

“Okay then,” you make your way to the closet to take your strap on.

“Don’t look,” you tell him.

“I won’t,” he says and closes his eyes.

You come back with your dildo on and crawl back on the bed.

“You can look now.”

Yoongi opens his eyes, and there you are, kneeling between his thighs with a strap on.

You undo your bra and throw it somewhere in the corner. Now you feel even colder.

“Can I…”

“Words, baby.”

“Can I kiss your boobs, please?” Ah, he’s always been a sucker for your breasts.

You lean closer. Yoongi cups one of your boobs and sucks on the nipple.

Then he cups another one and sucks it as well.

He’s about to kiss the first one again, but you lean back.

“Okay, that’s it for now.”

He groans in annoyance.

You position yourself back between his legs.

His cock. So painfully hard. You should give him some friction.

You take his cock and stroke its head rapidly with your thumb a few times.

“Fuck, Aah!” he suddenly sits up and tries to take your hand away.

“It’s too sensitive, please,” he begs.

You can’t help your smile.

“Ah, Yoongs, you’re so dramatic.”

He lays back down.

You stop the torture and finger him a few times to prepare him for your dick.

You apply more lube on your dildo and position yourself in front of his rim.

“Are you ready?” you have to ask him; otherwise, you’ll feel bad.

“Mhm.”

“Tell me how bad you want this.” Again, you’re being cruel. Just fuck him already. You know he’s craving to be stuffed.

“Please, ___, fuck my ass.”

“Good boy,” you praise him.

You look down at his ass and realize that it will be difficult to fuck him like that. His butt is lying too close to the mattress, so he has to lift his legs.

“Bend your knees to your chest,” you instruct him, and he obeys.

“Good, now spread them so I can see you,” Yoongi does that as well.

You have the best view now. His dick is now on full display, leaking with precum.

“Here I go. Please tell me if it hurts, okay?” you ask him before sliding in.

“Mhm,” he instantly lets you know he understood.

You position yourself to his hole and slide in about two inches, then keep it for a moment and slip in more. You have your hands pressing his legs close to his chest. You lift your head to look at Yoongi, who has his nose scrunched and eyebrows furrowed.

“Does it hurt?” you ask.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, just need to adjust to your size,” he lets you know that he’s okay.

You slowly move back and then thrust in, this time adding a few more inches.

You move your hips back and forward at a slow pace, sincerely studying his expression for any signs of discomfort or pain. He stays silent, having his eyes closed and breathing faster.

“Can you go faster, please?” he asks you. You get instantly relieved. You don’t want to hurt him because once you accidentally did and felt really bad about him.

Now you do as he said, moving faster and deeper, but not too deep.

“Mhm, it feels so nice,” he rasps silently.

You need to bring him to the edge. You need him to scream your name and beg for you to don’t stop. You need to ruin this adorable little baby boy in the best way possible, but first, you have to find the spot that will send him to heaven.

You watch him the whole time you fuck his ass, admiring his blissed features.

“It does?” you ask.

“Mhm, fuck, yes.” He decided to end this stupid act. He knows you'll still tease him at the end of the day. He broke his promise because fuck it, you feel too good for him.

You increase your speed and thrust almost all your length into him.

Yoongi opens his mouth and sighs loudly. He looks so relaxed and floating in pure bliss.

With each thrust, you go faster, trying to find his sweet spot. You are looking at him. The way he looks so adorable in his knitted sweater, the way his mouth hangs open, the way his eyes are closed, and the way his hair sticks to his forehead. Everything about Yoongi makes your heart flutter.

“O-oh fuck,” he moans. “Mhm, right there, it feels so good.”

No way. You found it. You found the sweetest spot of his.

This is it. Now all you have to do is fuck that spot rapidly and send Yoongi to kitten heaven. Now you’ll ruin your cute little kitten in the way you had fantasized.

“___, mhm, please, don’t stop, please, never,” he begs.

“Guess who’s begging to be fucked, Mr. Serious,” you mock him. You’ll tease him even more afterward.

“A-aah, shut up,” he moans. He looks totally blissed out.

You look at him the entire time. This looks even better than you had imagined. Your little kitten in his sweater begging you not to stop. He’s so vulnerable right now.

You do the most unexpected thing. You drop the hold of his knee and grab his dick. It’s leaking so much with precum. You start jerking him off rapidly.

“Ahh, shit, ___,” Yoongi arches his back and throws his head back as much as possible. He got the sheets gripping, and his mouth parted wide open.

This is it. This is exactly what you wanted. The view does things to your core. You feel yourself dripping from this view. Definitely one of the best things you’ve ever seen.

Your hand hurts, but you don’t think about it that much. Yoongi is the one who’s got all your attention.

“Look at me, kitten,” you command.

He lowers his head, and your eyes meet. You’ve never seen Yoongi in the state like this. Words aren’t enough to describe how fucked he looks. He doesn’t think about anything but the upcoming sensation in his core.

“Mhm, ___, I’m,” he stutters. “I think I‘m close.”

“Look what you have become, moaning my name like it’s the only word you know. Who said it would be dead serious? Wasn’t it Yoongi? Where’s that Mr. Serious now? Oh, he’s under me, groaning and moaning like-”

“AHH FUCK!” Yoongi screams, and his voice cracks as his orgasm hits him like a train. He cums all over his sweater, and some of the cum even lands over his face.

“Yes, cum for me, kitten, good boy,” you praise him.

You drop the hold of his cock. Your hand aches like crazy, but it was worth it. You slip out of him, and he drops his legs on the mattress.

“Was it good,” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“Mhm, ___, that was amazing,” he answers. “I feel dead now.”

You lean to his face.

“You got cum on your nose, baby,” you wipe his cum from his nose with your thumb and lick it.

“Mhm, that tastes just like you,” you tell him.

“I feel so embarrassed now,” he murmurs.

“Don’t be. That was so fucking hot. You looked so hot. You know what? I won’t tease you about this, okay?”

“Mhm,” he hums.

“You want to sleep, kitten?”

“Mhm.”

“Okay, but let me take your sweater off, or your cum will harden, and it will be hard to wash,” you say.

You take off his sweater. He’s now lying naked on the bed, so you pull a duvet over his body and tug him up.

“Sleep tight, kitten.” You kiss his cheek, and he smiles. He rolls up to his side and falls asleep in a moment.

You fix yourself and go to the bathroom to put Yoongi’s sweater in the washing machine.

You feel horny right now, but you know that Yoongi will please you in return tonight.

You change your soaked underwear and put on a plain gray t-shirt. You are also tired, so you go back to the bed beside Yoongi and spoon him. You fall asleep in a few minutes.

You know what will happen when you wake up. You will eat dinner, watch a movie perhaps, and Yoongi will return his favor and send you to Hong Kong.

[chibi-tsukiko]

Takashi’s Holiday Party 🎄

part 3 of 3

Party time has arrived! 🎉 let’s see how it went!

The holiday party is a huge success. The doorways are lined with festive evergreen garlands, decorated with multicolored ornaments. White and blue holographic snowflakes hang from the ceiling, and the few tables lining the room are marked with beautiful crystal and poinsettia centerpieces. It’s the perfect winter wonderland. After dinner, the DJ begins playing holiday tunes and taking requests as the guests congregate and enjoy the dessert hors d’oeuvres.

“What can I get you darlin’?” Uma asks while she finishes off a holiday beer.

“The Sugar Cookie Martini sounds good!” Myya says.

“You got it.”

“Do you want anything?” Myya asks, turning to Kai-Aris whose mouth is full of sugar cookies.

“Take a breath, Rudolph.” Uma comments, nodding to the antler headman he’s wearing.

“Apologies,” Kai-Aris says, wiping his hands.

“Kai’s addicted to Hein’s cookies,” Myya tells her.

“They are perfect!” The man exclaims. “Soft, warm, and sweet. It is like a holiday party for my taste buds!”

“That good huh?” Uma asks, handing Myya her drink and setting another one next to it.

“Oh, I did not order something,” Kai- Aris says.

“It’s not for you, it’s for me,” Uma tells him.

“Ah, well here, you should try one!” Kai encourages, handing her a tree shaped cookie.

“Mm,” Uma hums, biting into it. “not bad.”

Myya and Kai smile at one another.

“What do you think of the decor?” Myya asks, taking a sip of her drink. “Astraea really outdid herself, huh?”

“It’s a bit overkill if you ask me.” Uma disagrees.

“Aw come on, it’s pretty!”

“It’s like Christmas threw up in here.”

“Well, tis the season.”

Uma snorts and takes a swig of her drink.

“Does this mean she is a Scrooge or a Grinch?” Kai-Aris asks.

“Neither,” Myya tells him.

“Of the two I’d rather be Scrooge,” Uma tells them. “But like the beginning of the movie Scrooge. Not the nice charity driven old man at the end. What a sell out.”

“Uma!” Myya gasps.

“Honey listen, ain’t nobody coming between me and my bag. I don’t care how many ghosts come knocking.”

Myya shakes her head, looking back out at the guests enjoying themselves. She watches Astraea flit from server to server making sure they are taking breaks and their trays are full of food. Takashi’s standing near the doorway, saying goodbye to a few guests who are turning in early. Across from him, in the corner, Ryuji stands, watching Ishida dance with a few of the children that came with their parents. Over by the dessert tables, Hein, wearing a Santa hat, places a fresh plate of cookies on the tray.

“Hein!” Myya calls out to him.

Hein smiles and makes his way over to the bar. “Are you guys having a good time?” He asks.

“Oh yes!” Myya says with Kai-Aris nodding along with her.

“You and Astraea really made this party perfect!” She praises.

Uma clears her throat loudly.

“And of course we’d be lost without your incredible bartending skills, Uma,” Myya adds.

“That’s what I thought. Now,” Uma smiles, leaning onto the bar, her red sequined shirt reflecting off the lights. “What can I get you Sugar cube?” She asks pointing to Hein, “Christmosa? Peppermintini?”

“Oh no,” Hein shakes his head, “I’m good. Thank you though. And thank you for agreeing to help Mr. Takashi tonight.”

“Softies,” Uma mutters. “All of you.”

“Hein, by the way,” Kai-Aris interjects, “your cookies, they are magnificent!”

“Yeah even Uma liked them!” Myya adds.

“Oh well, actually, I didn’t make the cookies, Mr. Takashi did.”

“Huh?!” The three others exclaim.

“You’re kidding,” Myya gasps.

“Mr. Takashi is actually very good in the kitchen,” Hein tells them.

“Well, it helps when you have a good teacher,” Takashi adds, coming up behind Hein.

His red suit jacket hangs open showcasing his festive Gingerbread man tie and velvet corset. He presses a kiss to Hein’s temple and puts an arm around him.

“Color me impressed,” Myya toasts, taking another sip of her drink.

“Thanks, and I didn’t even set fire to anything,” Takashi says proudly.

“One time!” Myya shouts. “It was one time!”

Takashi throws his head back laughing, “no, but in all seriousness Hein’s a great teacher, hopefully I can teach him something one day.”

“Oh I’m sure there’s plenty you can teach him outside the kitchen,” Uma smirks.

“What do you mean?” Hein asks, clueless. “Mr. Takashi is always teaching me things.”

“I’ll bet he is,” Uma snickers. “He’s got a lot of experience, don’t you Romeo?”

Takashi blushes, while Myya and Uma giggle.

“What’s so funny?” Hein asks, sharing a confused look with Kai-Aris.

“I’ll tell you when you’re older, Moon pie,” Uma winks.

“Mr. Takashi?”

“Uh, we’ll…I’ll tell you later,” Takashi stutters, “so Uma, which one of your festive drinks haven’t I tried yet?”

“No, no,” she waves, pulling out a stack of tiny glasses, “round up the rest of the crew. We’re doing mistletoe shots!”

* * *

The night air is cold, as thick white flakes slowly fall from the dark sky above. There’s a quietness that snow brings that’s comforting watching as the city below seems to slow. It’s peaceful, even if it’s short-lived. A short gust of wind makes Ishida shiver, and he wraps his arms around himself to try and block out the chill. He feels something warm draped over his shoulders and looks up at the large shadow blocking the balcony doors.

“Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi,” Ryuji answers, moving towards the railing, rolling up the sleeves of his black button down shirt since he’s given Ishida his jacket. “I figured you’d be out here.”

"Oh?"

"You always like to watch the snow.”

Ishida smiles at being known so well, and looks back out at the snow covered city.

“Myya’s looking for you,” Ryuji tells him.

“She is?”

“Apparently Uma wants everyone to do Mistletoe shots.”

"That sounds dangerous," Ishida chuckles.

Ryuji grunts in agreement, leaning against the railing.

Ishida turns to glance in at the party, “so where’s Myya?”

"I told her to look for you out in the hallway,”

"Trying to keep me all to yourself, eh?" Ishida teases.

"Maybe," Ryuji shrugs.

"You could have joined us, you know earlier, instead of standing in the corner."

"I like watching you have a good time."

Ishida nods and walks over to him. "You deserve to have a good time too, you know," he says, putting his arms around the taller man's waist to hold him.

"I always have a good time when I'm with you," Ryuji says, pulling Ishida closer. He brushes some of the freshly fallen snow from Ishida's head and leans down to press a quick kiss to his forehead.

Ishida leans into it, snuggling closer to Ryuji, enjoying the heat they share. He slips his hands underneath his boyfriend's shirt and chuckles when he feels his muscles tense.

"Jesus," Ryuji shivers.

"Sorry," Ishida laughs, "I can't help it, I'm cold, and you're like a furnace."

"Well no one told you to stand out here without a jacket," the taller man scolds, tucking Ishida into his arms.

"We should probably go in," Ishida suggests, but Ryuji doesn't move. "You don't want to?"

"In a minute."

"So possessive," Ishida chuckles, "they're going to find us eventually." He steps away, readjusting Ryuji's jacket.

"I know, but there's something I want to do first."

"Oh?" he asks, watching curiously as Ryuji pulls a small plant from his pocket.

He loops his fingers through the red ribbon that ties the branches together and stretches his arm up so that the bouquet dangles above their heads.

Ishida can't hold back the smile spreading across his face. "Mistletoe?" he asks.

Ryuji nods.

"I had no idea you'd take interest in such traditions.'

"I'm a simple man," Ryuji says, the tips of his ears turning a light pink. "Takashi was going on and on about free kisses, and how romantic it is, I just thought," he shrugs, "you know."

"Ah yes, but Mistletoe isn't just about free kisses," Ishida tells him, a playful tone to his voice. "They say that if you refuse, it means you're doomed to be single forever."

Ryuji chews the inside of his cheek.

"Do you know what happens if the kiss is accepted?" Ishida asks, placing his hands on Ryuji's chest.

"Hm?"

"It's a promise that we'll be together next Christmas."

"Well that," Ryuji starts, leaning down, "is a guarantee."

They smile into the kiss, melting like the snowflakes on their shoulders.

Tag list : @littleturtle95 @phoenix-and-dragon @khaleesiofalicante @my-archerboy @clumsyowl-in-a-fandom @radisv @raziyekroos @magnus-the-maqnificent @spotsandclawsthings @sassybookworm2020 @shadowhuntingdemigod-blog @elettralightwood @high-warlock-of-brooklyn

[whispermask]

gasoline in your heart ch.9/10 | soap/ghost/könig

read on ao3 | first ~ next | ch wc: 4.5k, total 34k | completed

tags: smut, eventual ot3, fwbs to lovers, porn with feelings, jealous!ghost

dead dove time*: this fic as a whole features a brief mention of a past suicide attempt, briefly graphic past child abuse (not CSA), past abuse of alcohol and present alcohol use, and at times dubious consent (consuming alcohol and engaging in sexual activities; dubcon voyeurism; dubcon sexting)

*this chapter features a detailed description of a panic attack and dubcon for drunk sex, proceed with care

summary: soap and ghost start hooking up; soap and könig have apparently been hooking up; ghost doesn't know how to deal with it (eventual polycule)

preview: He’s unsure if König would want to be touched during something like this, but the panic attack shows no signs of abating, König’s breaths coming harsher as he begins to choke and sputter. In a desperate attempt to de-escalate the situation, Simon places a hand flat on König’s chest under the flap of the vest and over his heart, which he can feel racing under his palm through the thin fabric of his shirt.

-

Simon smokes his second cigarette of the night alone on the terrace, off to the side and obscured from view of the flat where the party rages inside and has started to spill out onto the patio. 

He’s not as pissed as he had been with Bam on Christmas, but he’s getting there. He’d downed two bourbons before Soap had even introduced them to Leo, the host of the party, a friend Soap had met in Basic. 

The flat is more of a penthouse really, taking up the entirety of the topmost floor, easily the size of an aircraft hangar. It’s a traditional open concept layout decked out in shimmering gold tinsel and bursting with hanging wisteria. Leo’s even placed a stage and hired a DJ, the vastness of the space making for a perfect venue, especially with all the furniture cleared from the living area. A catering staff work frantically in the large kitchen with smartly dressed servers carrying trays of hors d'oeuvres and crystal flutes of champagne to glitzy and increasingly sloppy partygoers. 

Soap’s generous estimate of at most twenty guests had been laughably wrong. At least seventy people are in attendance, with more still filing in through the ornate french doors that lead into Leo’s penthouse. The flat is full to bursting as guests are forced onto the terrace to accommodate the press of bodies, all of whom are dressed to the nines in floor length gowns and designer suits. It’s more sequins, rhinestones, and feathers than Simon has ever seen in one place in his life. As the evening’s progressed, he’s come to realize the whole affair is less of a party, more like an exclusive event, the scope of which was severely albeit unintentionally downplayed when Soap had presented the plans that morning. 

Soap had apologized profusely when they’d driven past the building of flats in search of parking, where flapper girls and their sheiks lined the pavement waiting to be admitted by the doorman who was checking names from a clipboard. König’s demeanor had shuttered upon the realization that this was far from an intimate gathering, but he’d insisted on toughing it out. They were already dressed and here after all, and said as long as Soap didn’t leave his side he’d be fine. Simon had felt a pang of sympathy for König, a tenuous thread of solidarity. König probably longed for the veil in the same way Simon longed for his mask, for different reasons perhaps but each finding the same solace in facelessness. 

They–Soap and König–are somewhere inside, Simon having ditched them when he’d reached his limit of making nice. Soap had acquainted both König and Simon to Leo and his various other friends, artsy types from Edinburgh Soap knows through some of the local galleries he’d done art shows at. Simon had wanted to run for the terrace at the first introduction of König as Soap’s boyfriend and Simon as Soap’s friend-slash-coworker. Simon knows it’s a foolish thing to be upset over, knows that Soap knows they’re so much more than that, but they haven’t really talked about labels. In that moment, it’s like he backslid from all the progress he’d made earlier in the day, feeling out of place all over again. 

Two hours had dragged painfully, Simon attempting to socialize, answering questions about their line of work as vaguely as possible as he downed drink after drink, hoping to quell the nervous buzz under his skin. It had come to a head when Leo had commented privately to Simon on Soap and König’s relationship, how Leo had been hearing about this boyfriend for some time but had yet to meet him, how delighted he is to see Soap finally settling down with someone. Simon had excused himself from the conversation and made a hasty escape, as stealthy as could be despite his drunken state and figuring no one would notice his absence anyway. In all honesty, he’s rather content to sit this one out. 

The city lights twinkle before him like ships breaking apart in a dark sea. He’s long since ditched his suit jacket and removed his tie to unbutton his collar, doesn’t recall where he left them, and he’s sipping his seventh bourbon between puffs of his cigarette. From inside, he can hear the speedy bass-thump of some electroswing song. They’ve got a little under an hour until midnight, and Simon has no intention of seeking out Soap and König before they do what they’ve come here to accomplish, which is ring in the New Year together. 

As he mopes and drinks away his solitude, he hears the approaching sound of footsteps, dress shoes tapping out a rapid beat as they grow louder on the approach. Suddenly, König rounds the corner where Simon’s been hiding. Simon can hear his ragged breaths, his chest stuttering as he fights to inhale, loud even over the music from inside. König’s lost his suit jacket and his glasses, and he’s got both hands pressed over his face, covering his eyes. He doesn’t notice Simon as he comes into view. 

“Oi,” Simon says, abandoning his glass and cig on the ledge to brace his feet and square his shoulders in time to catch König before he barrels into him. 

“Öha,” König gasps, grabbing Simon’s forearms to steady himself. He can barely force the word out, throat constricted. Without his hands covering his face, his eyes are huge and wet, and he can’t quite meet Simon’s gaze. 

“You alright?”

König barks out a deranged laugh, answer clear as he moves out of Simon’s grip to slam his back against the brick façade and sink to the ground, knees pulled up tight to his chest, looking impossibly small as he brings his hands up to cover his face again. Simon crouches in front of him, concern creasing his brow as König hyperventilates. 

“Here,” Simon says, already reaching for König’s tie. “Can I loosen this?” König nods and Simon grips the knot, slips it lower and pulls the ring of it out from under König’s collar, which he undoes the first two buttons on as well. The vest he unbuttons entirely, pushing the flaps of it open to give König more room to breathe. 

He’s unsure if König would want to be touched during something like this, but the panic attack shows no signs of abating, König’s breaths coming harsher as he begins to choke and sputter. In a desperate attempt to de-escalate the situation, Simon places a hand flat on König’s chest under the flap of the vest and over his heart, which he can feel racing under his palm through the thin fabric of his shirt.

König grabs onto his wrist, squeezing hard enough that the bones in his wrist crunch. Simon thinks he’s about to be shoved away, but König instead holds him more firmly in place, clinging onto him like a lifeline. 

They sit like that while König tries to even out his breathing. He eventually pulls his other hand away from his face, eyes scrunched, and reaches for Simon’s free hand where it’s braced on the ground. When he finds it, Simon brings their joined hands up to his own chest, laying König’s palm flat over his heart, a perfect mirror of one another. König catches on as Simon slows his own breathing, inhaling deeply through his nose and out through his mouth, exhales ruffling the loose strands of hair that frame König’s face. König tries to match the rhythm of his breaths, fighting himself at first as his eyes finally meet Simon’s. They pull him back from the edge together one breath at a time. 

“Give me a sit-rep when you’re ready, soldier,” Simon whispers. 

König’s breathing evens out enough for him to say, “Too many people.” 

“That bad, eh?” Simon asks. König drops his hand from Simon’s chest first, Simon following suit so they’re no longer touching. 

“I was managing,” König replies. “Then some of Johnny’s friends pulled him away to dance and some of his other friends made me do Jager shots with them and then I got very intoxicated very quickly and I couldn’t find Johnny and there were just so many people.”

“So you got the hell out of dodge?”

König nods. “That’s when you found me.” 

“You found me, actually,” Simon quips. 

“Oida , always with the semantics,” König says and rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile in his voice. Simon doesn’t need a translation, König’s been calling him Oida for what feels like ages despite it only being a handful of times when their paths happened to cross.

“I’ve been hiding out here,” Simon admits. “Not really my thing.” He gestures in the direction of the party. 

“How long do you think before Johnny notices we’re both missing?” König asks.

“I give him ten minutes at most,” Simon says. He moves from where he’s crouching to retrieve his camels and bourbon, coming to sit beside König with his back against the brick which is frigid even through his clothes. He lights a cigarette and offers the carton to König who takes it without a word. They smoke side by side while he finishes his drink, sharing body heat where their shoulders are pressed together. 

König breaks the silence when he asks, “You and Johnny… when did you know?” 

The bourbon’s loosened his tongue, and he’s answering before he’s even really thought about it. “I wasn’t keen on him at first, but he’s got this way of getting under your skin, doesn’t he? Like, I couldn’t stop thinking about him once I started. Maybe from the first day we met.”  

König flicks his cigarette before saying, “It doesn’t take much, does it?”

“And what we do, all of us. We cheat death, and have to make do with living in between the moments we’re not cheating death,” he continues, surprising even himself with his conviction. “Fuck, even the synergy when we’re out in the field together, like we’re of one mind. The line starts to blur between admiration and desire. After Graves, I wanted to protect him, but it wasn’t long before I just wanted him, pure and simple.”

“Johnny and I, we were friends first, just kids when we met. The wanting came later, once we knew how to name it,” König says. 

“How did you do it, and for ten years no less?” Simon asks.

König shrugs. “It’s not that hard when you love someone.”

“You never stopped wanting him,” Simon states as he finishes his cigarette and drops the butt in his empty glass where it sizzles against the melting ice. 

“Nein .” 

“Johnny says you were seeing other people, but tell me honestly. Have you been with anyone else? This whole time?”

“Not once,” König answers, a decade of longing causing his normally clear voice to shake. “But I know what you mean about blurred lines, because I felt that way about you once.” The admission renders Simon speechless. “I never would have acted on it, you have this sort of intangibility about you, like you really were untouchable. I was surprised when Johnny told me you two had fooled around. But you really care about him, ja ?”

“Yeah,” Simon agrees.

“To be honest with you, I’m not sure where I fit,” König confesses as he stubs out the remainder of his cigarette on the wall behind him. 

“You’re taking the piss,” Simon says, scoffing with incredulity after the day he’s had. 

“Not at all,” König says. “Seeing you two together, it made me realize how much I want you both, and how much I want you to want me. It feels like Johnny was never mine but he could be ours.”

“Earlier tonight, in the loo–” Simon starts, but doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. He tries again, “This is all new to me, but I liked it. A lot.” 

König doesn’t respond, and to Simon it feels like there’s not much left to say. Their mutual confessions hang heavy in the air between them. 

“You know,” König says, breaking the silence yet again, something Simon is learning he tends to do when it becomes too awkward, like a nervous habit. “It’s traditional in Vienna to dance the waltz at the very start of the New Year,” he continues. He rises and offers his hand to Simon. “You enjoy dancing?”

“I’m absolutely mad for it,” Simon deadpans, but he takes König’s offered hand anyway and lets himself be pulled to his feet, the bourbon making his limbs feel loose and heavy. Blissed out and head fuzzy, he’s not overthinking like he normally would, pleased to go with the spirit of the newness of it all as König directs his arms and legs with his own. 

“The music is all wrong, but here,” König says, and takes Simon’s hand and places it on his narrow waist, places his own hand on Simon’s shoulder, takes Simon’s other hand in his, lifting it so that Simon’s holding König’s arm up. König’s palm is warm where it rests on his. 

“You lead, but I’ll instruct you,” König says. “Let’s try a basic forward-backward half box step.”

Simon says, “The way you say basic makes it seem like I should know what any of that means.”

“Hüft’s nix schodt’s nix. I think you’ll be surprised at how well combat training translates.”

“We’re both pissed, so keep your expectations low.”

König taps Simon’s left foot with his to start, indicating for him to step forward as König steps back. Then he repeats the same action but with a side-step, leading in reverse. After the first box, Simon begins to understand, and as König whispers “Eins, drei, zwei. Eins, drei, zwei,” under his breath, Simon counts along in his head, watching where his feet land. He glances up at König, chuffed that he’s managed to retain some level of coordination in this state, but as soon as he looks away from his feet, he steps on König’s toe, who yelps in response.

“Sorry,” Simon says, already pulling away. 

“Na, na, it was bound to happen,” König responds, not letting Simon get far. König initiates the waltz again, but Simon takes the lead from the first step, starts to rotate them in a half circle as they dance in the narrow space, out of view from the main party, to music that makes no sense for a waltz. 

Simon inevitably steps on König’s foot again, and then somehow manages to step on his other toe too, which sends König toppling back into the brick wall, pulling Simon down with him. Their dancing devolves into drunken laughter and a struggle to keep themselves upright. Simon glances up at König’s smiling face, sees his blue, blue eyes which glint in the moonlight. Without meaning to, he looks down at the pout of König’s lips, glances back up to find König looking at his lips too. 

The fire that had been burning low in his gut after their encounter back at Soap’s studio blazes to life, supernova hot and spurred by the alcohol which turns his blood molten in his veins. He uses his body weight to pin König to the wall, who allows it without protest, even slides down a bit to bring them eye to eye. Simon takes both of König’s shoulders in each of his hands, keeping him in place as he brings his lips just an inch away from König’s, so that he can feel the puff of König’s breaths. Weeks of frustrated jealousy bloom into maddening lust, a desire deep in his bones to claim ownership over this man who has challenged him beyond all measure of his own humanity. 

A low groan starts in the back of König’s throat as he tries to shove their mouths together in a kiss, but Simon shakes him once, hard, knocking him back against the brick wall and he goes lax under Simon’s touch, letting Simon support his weight. Simon gets a hand around his jaw first, then moves it to cover his neck and pins him against the wall so that König’s held in place by the threat of it. He feels immensely powerful, having finally tamed this challenger that had previously been undefeated, and the primal surge at the conquest has his prick hard and aching in his slacks in seconds. Something akin to victory unfurls in his chest as he moves to close the remaining space between their lips. 

At the barest press of König’s lips, he hears a sharp gasp to his left. He turns his head towards the sound and sees Soap watching them, mouth agape and eyes wide. He doesn’t look angry, but aroused, curious, Simon realizes. Jealous, even. Without a word Soap turns on his heel and saunters back in the direction of the penthouse, swaying on his feet, seemingly just as intoxicated as Simon feels. When Simon backs away from König, they lock eyes, an understanding passing between them as they move to follow Soap inside. 

Guests have overtaken the terrace, and Simon has to press his way through, trying to clear space for König to pass behind him. Glitzy partygoers grind on the dancefloor inside where the music plays at full volume, and Simon feels the vibrations of the bass through the soles of his shoes. He can barely hear the shouted conversations of the people around him, their chatter no more than an ambient hum. He scans the sea of bodies, searching for Soap’s tweed cap, which he spots as Soap disappears down a dark hallway adjacent to the entryway. 

As he and König pass a server carrying a tray of champagne flutes, he grabs two and downs them consecutively, craving more liquid courage. He abandons the empty glasses on a nearby table and catches König sideeyes him, but he withholds his judgment as they follow Soap down the hall. Drinking like this is an old vice, not one he partakes in to excess as often as he did when he was a younger man, but these last few weeks–this whole day really–have activated that raw, vulnerable part of him that hides in his chest, that he carries with him everywhere he goes, that thing with a voice like his father’s and all the anxieties of a scared little boy. He refuses to let it control him tonight. 

Soap disappears through an open door at the end of the hall into a dark room, Simon and König only a few steps behind. As Simon closes and locks the door behind them, Soap flicks on an antique glass lamp. They’re in what Simon can only assume is Leo’s bedroom, with its huge plush bed and ornate furniture. 

Soap stands across from Simon and König next to the bed. He pulls his cap off and tosses it away, crosses his arms over his chest. “You can kiss him now,” he instructs, a tremble in his voice. 

Simon’s not sure if it’s an order for him or König, but König makes the decision for him when he presses Simon into the bedroom door and lowers his mouth to Simon’s, the first soft press of him growing firmer as spit slicks the way and their lips slide together. Simon braces his palms against König’s chest as König grabs Simon’s waist, a reversal of their earlier positions when König had tried to teach him the waltz. 

He doesn’t hear Soap approaching but is startled when he feels hands fumbling with the clasp and zipper of his slacks. He opens his eyes just enough to look down to see Soap on his knees between his and König’s legs, already grabbing at Simon’s prick through his briefs, mouthing along the shaft of it and turning the fabric dark with saliva. His erection had flagged between the terrace and the bedroom, but it’s back with a vengeance when Soap pulls his cock through the hole in his briefs and suckles at the sensitive head. 

Simon moans into König’s mouth as Soap licks his way down to suck on his balls, licks back up the underside to take him into his mouth fully. He grips the base, clever boy, and sucks him so slowly, bobbing his head as drool drips down the shaft. Simon reaches for Soap’s hair, intending to fuck into his mouth and make Soap take him harder, faster, something, but König stops him with a hand around his wrist. 

In the next moment, König’s got both of his wrists gripped tight, and he’s raising Simon’s arms to pin them against the bedroom door above his head. The dominance in the display König makes of him has his knees buckling, but he’s being held up by König’s sheer strength and Soap’s fingernails digging into the meat of his hips as he sucks Simon deeper, deeper. 

König breaks the kiss to mouth at Simon’s cheek, chin, jaw, gets down to his neck and bites hard, sucking a bruise into the skin there, in the same place Soap loves to leave his mark. Simon’s held in place by König’s teeth, by his large, strong hands, while Soap works his cock at a torturous pace, drawing it out to the point of ecstasy, painful and pleasurable in equal measure. 

“Fucking hell, Johnny,” Simon growls as he tries to thrust his hips up, to force himself deeper down Soap’s throat. Soap grips Simon’s hips and pushes him back into the door with all his strength, and Simon can feel the fine shiver in his biceps as he fights to push against Soap’s hold. König grips both of Simon’s wrists above his head in one hand and uses his other hand to wrap around the base of Simon’s cock, jerking what Soap can’t swallow down, a sensation that never fails to get him off. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he chants, and his orgasm crests without preamble, squeezed out of him by König’s fist onto Soap’s tongue as he swallows around Simon’s prick. Some of it dribbles out the corner of his mouth as he lets Simon’s wet cock slip from between his lips to dribble the last spurt of spunk onto the wood floors. 

König releases him at once and he crumbles to the floor without the support, boneless, blood roaring in his ears. Distantly, he hears a loud knock on the door behind him. Leo shouts through the door, “Midnight’s in five!” Simon couldn’t care less. 

On the floor in front of him, Soap’s got his trousers undone and a hand fisting his cock furiously inside of them. Simon reaches for him, gets on his hands and knees to crawl forward enough to kiss Soap. He can taste the salt of his come on Soap’s tongue, smell himself on Soap’s lips and chin. He brings a hand up to pinch Soap’s nipple through his shirt, feeling the hard barbell and tugging it gently as Soap groans into his mouth. He knocks the suspenders from Soap’s shoulders and works the buttons of his shirt open, exposing his lightly furred chest and his hardening nipples, the glint of the piercings catching in the lamplight. 

Above them, König looks down on the scene the two of them make, lazily palming the massive bulge of his prick through his pants. Simon breaks the kiss and reaches for König’s belt loop and hooks his forefinger in it, using it to tug König closer as he fumbles the button and zipper open. König pulls himself out for Simon to see, jerks himself in earnest. He’s fucking huge because of course he is, but Simon doesn’t feel emasculated, if anything the swollen heft of him makes his mouth water, remembering how Soap had moaned while König fucked him. 

Simon turns back to Soap, gets a hand around the nape of his neck and brings their mouths together again in an open, sloppy kiss that’s all tongue. He bites and licks his way down Soap’s throat and chest, sucking on his pretty nipples, getting them wet and pink and putting on a good show for König. 

Soap’s moans grow louder and Simon can tell he’s close. He kisses his way back up Soap’s body to catch his mouth in another sloppy kiss, cups each of Soap’s pecs in his hands, thumbs his nipples, drives Soap crazy with gentle touches and flicks, making him shout when he gives them both a sharp tug. He’s shooting off in his pants within seconds, catching his come in his other palm so as to not ruin his slacks. He brings his soiled hand up to grip König’s cock which is inches from his face, slicks König’s skin as they jack him together, Simon watching their fists move together, transfixed. 

“On his tits,” Simon says, moving behind Soap to give König better access, all the while pinching Soap’s nipples.  He basks in the dirtiness of it, a voyeuristic delight that has his prick twitching, a desperate attempt to get hard again. 

“That’s it big guy, come on me, fuck yes,” Soap babbles, staring up at König who grunts his pleasure, hips thrusting into his and Soap’s combined grip. König’s back bows when he comes, jizz splattering across Soap’s chest in long, wet stripes. He drops to his knees, cock still dribbling out the last few pulses into his hand. Soap looks down at the mess, brings a hand up to swipe through the spunk on his pecs and brings it to his mouth as he looks back up at König, glancing between him and Simon, an unspoken offering behind his eyes. 

Without a second thought, Simon leans forward to lick up the mess from his right tit, sucking Soap’s pierced nipple into his mouth on each pass. König follows suit, cleaning the other side, and Soap moans, covers his face with one hand and eventually pushes them both away with the other, overstimulated and skin as sensitive as a live wire. They lie on the hard floor together, catching their breath. Simon stares dazedly at the ceiling, piss drunk and high on endorphins, residual waves of pleasure still pulsing in his gut and groin. 

From outside the bedroom, the music has stopped and they hear the chant of the guests as they begin to count down from ten, nine, eight, so on. A thunderous cheer erupts to the tune of “Happy New Year!” as the music starts up again. 

Over the din, König whispers, “Happy birthday.” 

Simon rolls onto his side and props himself up on his elbow to look down at Soap and König, who stare back at him, a feeling of wonderment passing between the three of them. He leans down to kiss Johnny first, and feels König move in closer on Soap’s other side to kiss along Simon’s cheek and eventually capture his lips from Soap. Simon breaks the kiss to catch his breath, and König bends his neck down to kiss Soap as well. 

Simon holds them both while König presses sweet pecks to Soap’s lips with loud, obnoxious smacks, making Soap laugh. The tenderness of the moment coupled with his drunkenness makes his eyes water. König and Soap break apart when they hear him sniffle, to see the wetness on his face. When they lean in together to kiss the tears away, the soft press of their lips against his scarred skin is like something akin to sacrament, holy in the way they drink this exquisite pain wrought by their touch. In that moment he feels protected, invincible. He cries harder, overcome.  

Soap whispers against his cheek, “Let’s go home.”

*******

Öha: sorry Oida: literally old man, but the connotation is more like mate/dude as I've come to understand it Hüft’s nix schodt’s nix: doesn't help, doesn't hurt, used when someone is hesitant to try something new

[princessmisery666]

Broken Promises - Part 4 - All Or Nothing Mini Series

Summary: The broken promises have a devastating effect, causing painful decisions.

Warnings: angst, not everyone gets a happy ending, end of a friendship, self loathing. 

W/C: 2.8k

Rating: E (explicit - 18+)

Characters: Jake “Hangman” Seresin, Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw. 

Pairing: Rooster x fem!reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

A/N: I’m sorry. That’s all I have, an apology. That being said, I love this chapter.

Graphics: dividers @writercole // title card made by me.

Catch Up Here: All Or Nothing

Master Lists: Top Gun Maverick // All The Fandoms

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch // all mistakes are my own.

Broken Promises

It feels like emotional suicide. Jake knows no good will come of him scrolling your Instagram feed. Seeing your content smile next to Bradley’s beaming love-filled grin makes his heart sick. Yet his thumb continues, the pictures get older, and he replaces Bradley at your side.

Photos of your life together assault the tenuous state of his sanity — a holiday to Mexico, crystal clear water up to your knees, fruity, bright cocktails in hand, Jake’s arm around your waist. The Christmas you went with his family to Lapland, you sitting on Santa’s lap while Jake pointed an accusing finger as if Santa had been naughty. A picture of Jake sleeping, head in your lap with the caption - “He’s cute when he’s sleeping.” Another on his graduation day, your beyond proud smile grinning back at him. It seems like a lifetime ago, a time when the world made sense. 

It’s been four days… four days of radio silence.

Jake’s sent you messages and left voicemails, but it’s like screaming into the void. Or maybe it’s because he only ever finds the words at the bottom of a hundred proof at stupid o’clock when he’s missing you and grieving. 

I’m sorry. Please can we talk about this? I didn’t mean to hurt you. I love you, and I’m sorry for not figuring it out sooner.

Bradley has been absent from Top Gun. Phoenix reluctantly told Jake that Rooster was taking some personal time. No one asked about his busted-up face, so he assumes they’ve all been given a rundown of the events.

He steers clear of the Hard Deck, does his work, eats his meals alone, and returns to his apartment as soon as the work day ends. 

He resents the apartment. He only bought it because you convinced him to. You moved to San Diego when he knew he was to be stationed there. There were two apartments available, one across the hall from the other. — “Come on, Jake, it’ll be like our very own version of Friends.” He's never been able to resist your elated smile, and even though he didn’t particularly like the studio layout, he brought it to be close to you. 

But now, knowing you're not across the hall, his apartment feels cold and too big. 

The soft knock on the door makes him nauseous. He knows it's you. He contemplates not answering. You don’t know that he’s home. There’s no tv or radio playing, so there’s no sound to give him up.

He quietly walks to the door and rests his hand against the wood. You're on the other side; he can feel you. If he closes his eyes, he knows he’ll be able to feel the embrace you won’t give him.

He hasn’t let himself contemplate that the outcome could be positive. He expects the worst; it’s a fantasy to believe anything else.

You knock again, softer than the first. He imagines you are struggling with what's to come, should he let you in, as much as he is. He holds his breath, lungs beginning to burn by the time you knock a third time, gingerly calling out his name.

He unlatches the lock and walks further into the apartment. You take the unlocked door as an invitation to let yourself in.

He crosses the open plan space to the kitchen. Grabbing a cold beer from the fridge, he pops the cap off as he spins to face you. You stand so far back you may as well be on another planet.

He hates himself so much he can barely stomach the feel of his tongue as he licks away the drop of froth from his lips.

There’s no greeting or other pleasantries as you face each other. Your eyes scan the bruises that stain his face before finally dropping your gaze and shuffling your feet as if you feel guilty for the blemishes on his skin. 

“How’s your face?”

“Fine,” he says, shrugging, “Bradshaw hits like a girl.”

You shake your head, and he can see how done you are with his shit in the way you don’t even crack a hint of a smile. He strides to the other side of the breakfast bar, closer to you but still an ocean of distance. “Shall we get this over with?” he asks. 

You nod and use the motion to find the courage to look at him. “I need you to stay away from me.”

“You came over here to tell me to stay away from you?” 

“Jake, please,” your voice quivers, but you contain the emotion. “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

“So it is hard for you too?”

“Yes!” you snap. “This is hard for me, Jake. It’s fucking devastating. It’s crushing me to do this, and there’s no way to make it easier on either of us. I want to hug you and tell you it’s all going to be okay, but I don’t know that it is. And that physically hurts,” you cry, balled fists digging into your breast bone as if to try dislodging the pain you claim.

“I’m sorry,” he says, walking around the island between you. He’s approaching but nowhere close when you back up a step, anticipating his actions. “Are you afraid of me?” 

“No, I’m not afraid of you, Jake,” you sigh. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, and I never thought for a second that you did. I just…If you touch me, it means something more to you than it does to me.”

“I’m sorry that I did hurt you,” he explains, and his stomach knots with nausea at the reminder he marred your skin.

There’s a heavy silence, weighted with anxiety and unease as you stifle your tears as best you can. Jake hates that he’s the cause of the wet tracks on your cheeks, and he’s dangerously close to shedding some tears of his own.

“I'm gonna need to hear you say it.”

“Say what?”

He cautiously moves closer to you as if you're a skittish animal that he’s afraid of scaring away. You don’t bolt, but he respects your need for space by stopping a few feet away. 

He holds your eyes with a firm plea. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.” Your chest inflates to reply, but Jake quickly corrects himself to ensure there are no misunderstandings. “Tell me you’re not in love with me.”

You swipe at the tears on your cheeks and snatch the beer from his hand, downing half the contents, gasping for breath when you hand it back. 

The smile tugs on his lips; he can’t fight the glimmer of hope at your lack of denial. “You can’t, can you? I know you feel the same. You’ve just been ignoring it like I was. I was afraid to love you and leave you behind. You deserved better than that. You deserve better than that. You should be kissed and held and cherished every goddamn day, not every couple of months or when deployments allow it. But seeing you with Bradshaw made me see that it would have made it all the sweeter when we were together.”

His name comes out as a choked whisper, and he doesn’t know how to interrupt it. A warning to stop, an affirmation that he’s right? Regardless, he’s not done. 

“You said it, you said it to my parents, you said you thought about being Y/N Seresin, and I know that hasn’t just disappeared. You moved to San Diego for me; you came here for me. You still feel it.”

You shake your head, and he’s not sure if you’re trying to convince yourself or him. You speak to your feet when you beg, “Please just leave me alone.”

“Is that Bradshaw talking or you?”

“It’s me.” 

“I don’t believe you. You promised me,” he says, tone rife with injustice. “You promised me you and Bradshaw wouldn’t come between us.” 

“Don’t put this on Bradley!” you yell, and the fire behind your eyes burns bright. “You promised me, at your sister’s wedding, hell, way back in high school, that you’d never let me drown. Well, here I am, Jake. I’m drowning in the broken promises we both made to each other, and I don’t know which way is up anymore.”

“So we’ll figure it out,” Jake beseeches, reaching for your hands. 

“No,” you say firmly, snatching your hands out of his reach. “I'm asking you to leave me alone, stop calling, don’t text, and if you see me in the street, act like you don’t know me.”

“For how long?”

“Jake!” you yell frustratingly. He can see the agony it’s causing you, but he needs to know.

“We live in the same building. How am I supposed to stay away from you?”

Finally, you meet his eyes again, and he wonders if it’s to drive the point home or hurt him the same way he’s hurt you because it feels like a gut punch when you tell him. “I’m moving in with Bradley.”

He tips the bottle to his lips, gulping the remaining liquid to stop himself from breaking down. He did this. He pushed you into Bradley’s arms. He introduced you, gave you his blessing, and his latest actions have sent you scurrying deeper into Bradley’s safety net.

“We’ll stay away from the Hard Deck,” you explain while he’s unable to talk. “Let you have your hunting grounds.”

“So this is it?” he asks, breath catching in his throat. “We’re done? We can’t even be friends. The last twenty years have just been forgotten, gone, just like that?” he snaps his fingers.

“Yes,” you say with a tune of finality, squaring your shoulders. 

“Y/N, please,” he begs. “I’m so fucking sorry. I fucked up. I know how bad I screwed up. I should have told you everything when I was close to you. I shouldn’t have been so pacified being your friend. I should have said it all when I had the chance. I shouldn’t have waited.”

“It doesn’t matter!” you yell, silencing him. “You said it yourself, Jake. It’s all or nothing with me. We had it all. We were friends, and it worked. We can’t go back to that. So please, I’m asking you to stay away from me and out of Bradley’s face. If you care about me the way you say, you’ll do that for me. It’s the least you owe me.”

“If?” he questions, raising his voice as you head toward the door. “If I care about you? Are you questioning that? Is that the problem? You don’t believe me?”

You stop, half out of the door, looking at him over your shoulder. “I believe you. It just doesn’t change anything,” you admit. 

It breaks him. He drops to his knees, chin resting on his chest, heaving deep breaths to stop from roaring like a feral animal.

You let yourself into Bradley’s apartment with the key he gave you. Standing in the hallway, you feel the metal grow warm in your palm, and it’s symbolic poetry that the key represents everything Bradley makes you feel; strong, warm, safe, loved, home.

You just hope your absence and lack of communication haven’t caused a rift between you. 

You stroll to the kitchen, and Bradley’s sitting at the breakfast bar, hugging a mug of coffee that looks as if it went cold a while ago. “Hey,” he whispers, a catch of emotion in his voice. 

“Hey,” you reply, pressing your shoulder into the door frame, uncertainty causing you to hesitate in approaching him.

“You’ve been gone a while,” he notes.

“Needed to clear my head,” you explain, “I’ve been staying with Natasha.”

“She said,” he nods, shrugging lightly. “I wanted to come see you, but I wasn’t sure you wanted me to.” 

You can’t bear the desolation in his eyes, so you look down at the floor. He sounds a little heartbroken, and you know it’s all for you. He was most likely confused, worried, and hurt by your temporary abandonment, but he looks crushed, and you know him well enough to know it’s because he couldn’t comfort you when you needed it most.

“I wouldn't have turned you away if you had.”

“Does that mean I can come over there?” he asks with such hopeful despair it makes you want to cry.

The toe of your sneakers squeaks on the linoleum floor with the speed at which you stand straighter and rush toward him. He twists on the barstool, and you plant yourself between his legs, crushing yourself against his chest hard enough that a whoosh of air escapes him. But he wraps his arms around your waist and holds you tightly, arms encasing your hips. 

“I missed you,” he says, and you can feel how much he means it when his fingers squeeze your frame.

“I missed you too,” you confess, breathing him in, placing a featherlight kiss against his skin. 

He hums low in his chest, and it vibrates through you, spreading warm gratification. This is where you belong. You’re sure of it, but it doesn’t lessen the pain of losing Jake. It somehow makes it worse. When you know your best friend is hurting, the conflict of being happy and content with Rooster makes you nauseous with guilt. 

You sigh heavily, and it’s as if you pressed a button inside Bradley. He tightens his grip and whispers, “I love you.” 

The pain ebbs, if only momentarily, and you know in time, he will banish it to the deep depths of your mind, and you’ll rarely think of it, maybe someday, even forget.

“I love you too, and I’m sorry for disappearing.” 

“Don’t be,” Bradley begins, leaning back to look you in the eyes. “I know this can’t be easy for you. Hell, I’d be concerned if it was. Hey, no,” he coaxes your head back up to meet his eyes with a gentle hold of your chin when you try to shy away. “Don’t do that,” he admonishes with a slight aching frown. “You never have to hide with me.”

You still feel guilty, as if Jake’s actions resulted from yours. Had you led him on somehow, making him think you were more than friends? The thoughts swirl around your mind, a tornado ripping up the foundations of your beliefs, and you worry Bradley thinks the same.

“I’m sorry.” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, not for what Jake did and not for taking some time to figure stuff out. I’m just glad you’re home.” A flare of doubt widens his eyes. “You are home, right?”

“Yes, I’m home,” you say and peck his lips quickly. Your kiss seems to have stolen his doubts, and you take on the anxiety as your own, worrying, “if that’s what you want still?”

“Yes, oh god, yes!” he assures. You feel the tension leave his body as he kisses you breathless, excitement replacing the moment’s anxiety. Bradley breaks the kiss but reestablishes the connection, resting his forehead against yours, and you both linger in the moment. “I want you to know I’d understand if you chose to forgive him. I can’t. But I won’t stop you if that’s what you want.” He shrugs and dazzles you with a slight jesting smile. “I mean, I'd like you to make him suffer a little before you forgive him.”

“It’s not what I want,” you say and feel the tears prick your eyes. “I can’t forgive him. I went to see him, to clarify that, and asked him to stay away from us.”

His eyes dart back and forth between yours, and apprehension shimmers in his. Your tears fall, and he interrupts their path with the pad of his thumb swiping over your cheeks. “If that’s what you want, then I respect it, but please,” he implores, “please, don’t do it on my behalf. You’ve been friends forever, and I’d never want to come between you. Even if you change your mind, in a week, a month, a year, whatever, I won’t stand between you two. This isn’t ‘a him or me’ type situation.”

“I know. Kinda wish it was,” you admit, “it might have made it easier.”

“Okay,” Bradley says and looks dead serious as he stares into your eyes, “It’s him or me.” He can't hold the sedate expression for long, and his kind smile breaks the mask. “But only if you choose me.”

“Always,” you confess. 

“I can’t tell you how much I needed to hear that. I was damn near terrified this conversation wouldn’t end well for me.” He smiles, so endearing it makes your heart skip a beat, and again you know you’ve made the right choice. “When I’m with you, it feels like the future, and I’m not ready to give that up.”

“You never have to.”

You seal the promise with a kiss. It’s firm but sweet and tender, and it feels as if he’s breathing in your troubles, taking them away with every sweep of his tongue. It lasts so long you feel a little lightheaded, but you don’t want to come up for air. He makes you feel like you're flying, and you’ll continue to soar as long as you have him.

End.

Master Lists: Top Gun Maverick // All The Fandoms

[junghelioseok]

makin’ merry. | jjk

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ fluff | smut | established relationship ◇ 1.6k [1/1]

notes: i am a christmas bitch okay!!! a christmas bitch who loves christmas things and looking at all the pretty sparkly lights in the city!!! so here are some holiday vibes in fic form and happiest of holidays to all!!! ✨💕

“Oh, wow.”

Jungkook is standing in the doorway of your shared bedroom, his usually shaggy hair slicked back and away from his forehead. Your boyfriend, despite his unshakeable affinity for oversized black sweatshirts and pants that you can only describe as cargo joggers, cleans up well. His shirt is maroon, the topmost buttons undone, and the excess is tucked into his black slacks and belted at his impressively tiny waist. Currently, he’s midway through fiddling with one of the undone cuffs, the material flopping loosely around his wrist as he fumbles clumsily with the buttons.

And yet, he can’t take his eyes off of you.

“Wow,” he repeats dumbly. “You look incredible.”

“Yeah?” You reach up, touching the crystal-studded clips that sparkle like freshly fallen snow in your hair. “It’s not too much?”

Jungkook chuckles. “It looks like Santa Claus threw up on you, but I like it. I love it. And I love you.”

“Love you too,” you murmur, beginning to feel rather bashful under his stare. He’s looking at you like he hasn’t seen you in ages—like he’s recommitting every detail of your face to memory—though in reality, it’s been less than thirty minutes since you found him in the kitchen stuffing Hot Cheetos into his mouth and gently prodded him to go get changed. You’re going on a date tonight, after all. And as much as you love Jungkook, you aren’t about to make a public appearance with him when he’s wearing in gray sweatpants stained red with spicy Cheeto dust. 

“I’m ready to go if you are.” Jungkook has finally torn his gaze from you, his attention refocusing on his sleeve as he successfully manages to button his cuff. “Do you have your purse?”

You hold up your clutch—one that’s just small enough to tuck inside the pocket of your favorite wool overcoat. “Right here.”

Your boyfriend grins and beckons you over, meandering over to the hall where all the jackets hang on a few hooks by the front door. “Let’s go, then,” he declares as he holds up your coat so you can slip your arms into the sleeves. You smile at him as you do, and giggle when he takes the opportunity to press a fond kiss to your temple, his lips soft and warm. 

From there, it’s just a matter of leaving your apartment and locking up behind you. Jungkook pats down his pockets for his wallet and phone, and you happily accept the hand he offers you once he’s ensured he has all his belongings. Together, the two of you head down the sidewalk toward the downtown area of your city, your breath misting in the air and dissipating up into the velvety night sky. “Do you think it’ll snow tonight?” you murmur, casting a glance over at your dark-haired boyfriend, who shrugs and gives your hand a gentle squeeze. 

“Dunno, but I sure hope so. I fucking love snow.”

“I know you do,” you reply with a laugh. You’ve been on the receiving end of many of a snowball courtesy of your boyfriend, and vice versa. Some days, it’s hard to tell who has the bigger competitive streak—although you, of course, would argue that you win on that front. “Jimin’s already talking about the annual snowball tournament, you know. I’m pretty sure he’s trying to rope off a section of the park so we don’t end up hitting any middle schoolers by accident again.”

But Jungkook is no longer listening. He’s staring ahead, wide-eyed, and you follow the trajectory of his gaze to where a cluster of tents is situated in the middle of the city center. A heavily decorated pine tree stands proudly in the distance, surrounded by flocks of people and glittering with ornaments in shades of gold and red and green. Golden lights are strung up among the other trees and streetlamps, casting the entire area in a warm glow. On the corner, a small group of carolers are singing holiday tunes. 

“So? Where to?” you ask, tugging softly on Jungkook’s hand and pulling him from his reverie. “Gifts first, or food?”

“How about drinks first?” Jungkook answers, grinning down at you. “I can already smell the mulled wine from here, and it smells heavenly.”

“Truly a man after my heart,” you declare with a laugh, pressing your free hand to your chest dramatically before pulling him in the direction of the drink stall. A few minutes later, with warm drinks in hand, you begin browsing through the various tents, admiring the local wares and chatting with the artisans who crafted them. Jungkook makes sure to stop by the food tents as well, returning to your side with an assorted armful of fried doughs and chocolates and candied things. 

“Ooooh,” you remark, eyeing the jelly-filled doughnut peeking out from a paper bag. “Gimme.”

“Good thing I got two,” Jungkook replies, flashing you a grin and handing one over. You grin back and take a hearty bite, the strawberry jam within spilling out the sides. Jungkook runs the pad of his thumb along your bottom lip to collect the excess, and the tenderness of the motion somehow still has your heart skipping a beat, despite the three years you’ve been together. “C’mon,” he says once he’s pulled back, seemingly unaware of the butterflies that have taken up residence in your belly. “I think they’re selling hot cocoa over there.”

“We literally just finished our mulled wine,” you laugh disbelievingly. Nonetheless, you follow him to the other side of the square, shaking your head fondly as he purchases two piping hot mugs of cocoa.

You could easily have spent the rest of the night at the market, admiring the festive decorations and imbibing on all the snacks and drinks. But before you know it, the tents begin to close and people begin to disperse. Jungkook turns to you with flushed cheeks and tousled hair, the tip of his nose red from the wintry chill, and you tilt your head curiously as he opens his mouth to speak.

“Looks like things are wrapping up here. Wanna head home?”

“Sure.” And with that, he takes your hand in his once more, twining your fingers together and tucking them safely away into the pocket of his wool coat. 

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to make the trek home. You’re pleasantly warm upon entering the threshold—the combination of hot beverages and Jungkook’s body heat keeping you toasty—and your boyfriend has yet another way of keeping warm on the brain if the way he’s looking at you is any indication. He slips out of his coat and helps you out of yours, and then before you can even inhale, he spins you around and presses his mouth to yours.

“Jungkook,” you breathe when he pulls back, fisting your hands in maroon of his shirt. “Kiss me again.”

And he does. He starts at your mouth and makes his way down the column of your throat, and you squeak when he drops to his knees and hitches up the material of your skirt, cursing under his breath about how tights are a goddamn nightmare to get off.

He manages, after a minute of fumbling and a bit of assistance. The wooly material is chucked away without another thought, and you gasp when Jungkook grabs one of your now-bare legs and tosses it over his shoulder. Like this, you’re fully exposed and spread open for him, and your boyfriend doesn’t waste another second as he licks a long stripe along the length of your cunt. His nose nudges against your clit, and you gasp when his hands settle along your hips and he begins to eat you out in earnest.

Jungkook knows what you like, after three years of dating and two years of cohabitating. He knows the right spots to touch and the correct amount of pressure to apply, and it isn’t long before he has you quaking in his grasp. Your orgasm washes over you with all the ferocity of a winter storm, and your boyfriend is kind enough to let you grind against the flat of his tongue to draw out every last bit of pleasure. By the time you return to earth, he’s grinning and wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, and you quickly pull him up to his feet so you can reward him with a long, ardent kiss.

“Hey, look,” he murmurs when you pull back for air. “It’s snowing.”

He points, and you follow the direction of his finger to the window where there are, indeed, fat snowflakes drifting down in lazy spirals. It’s already beginning to accumulate along the sill, and Jungkook follows after you as you approach the window and press your nose against the glass, admiring the quiet that’s descended over the city as the snow continues to fall. 

“We’ll have to build a snowman tomorrow,” you decide, turning away from the window to glance at your boyfriend. “I bet Jimin’ll want to start the first round of the snowball tournament, too.”

“Probably,” Jungkook hums, still facing the window. Concentration etches across his forehead as he deliberately fogs up the glass pane with his breath. Then he raises a finger and begins to write—inscribing several words before seemingly thinking better of it and wiping it away with an open palm. Frowning, he breathes against the glass once more, and this time he simply draws a heart surrounding your initials and his. “Love you,” he says once he’s finished, turning toward you, and you beam. 

“Love you more.” Then you nod toward your shared bedroom, waggling a suggestive eyebrow. “Wanna head to bed?”

Jungkook’s face crinkles into an irrepressible grin. “Definitely.”

[wowbright]

Fic: To Tell the Truth

Klaine Advent 2021: ordinary

Words: ~2700 words

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary: Blaine tells Kurt the whole truth.

Another vignette from my Mormon!Klaine universe for Klaine Advent 2021! This vignette takes place after Doubt Your Doubts. (If you haven’t read it, you should.)

My Mormon!Klaine Masterpost.

Notes: Merry Christmas, beaches! The moment you’ve been waiting for is here. (Well, one or two of the moments, at least.) I know you're looking at the beginning of the chapter and thinking, “What? I wasn't looking for more angst.” Well, honey, you’ve got to get through the angst to get to the goods. So get going! P.S. Quad=Scriptures (Bible, Book of Mormon, Doctrine and Covenants, and Pearl of Great Price bound into one book)

--------

Blaine had messed up again. It seemed like a constant theme with him. He messed up when he was spontaneous and did things without thinking, and he messed up when he was deliberate and careful and trying so hard to unfold everything at a pace so slow it pained him.

He could hear Kurt crying in the bedroom, even though Kurt was obviously trying not to be heard. His sobs were stifled and choked. They were sharp knives to Blaine’s heart, stabbing him over and over again.

And it was all Blaine’s fault. The morning had been going fine. Kurt had been cheerful and happy. Blaine was the one who had made it all go to pot.

Blaine had done this to Kurt.

Blaine wiped his eyes. He gazed back down at his quad. Stupid Jonathan and David. Why had Blaine thought theirs was an inspiring story? It didn't matter how much they loved each other. The world tore them apart in the end. Jonathan died and David went whoring himself from woman to woman, never finding real love again.

“I'm sorry, God.” Blaine sunk down against the table, his forehead resting against his scriptures. “You love him so much and I love him so much and I just can't do anything right.”

Tell him the truth, a voice said. It was inaudible, but clear as crystal. Blaine felt it vibrate through his body, like when Moses stood next to the burning bush and felt the Lord’s voice through his bare feet.

“I did. I tried.” Blaine shifted miserably in his seat. He ran his fingers over his perfectly coiffed hair, searching for an errant curl he could tug on, but finding none.

Have you, really?

“Of course I have. I’m more open with Kurt than anyone I've been with in my life. I—”

Another sob broke from the bedroom like an accusation.

Blaine froze. Had he told Kurt the truth? Or had he been obscuring it, using sleight of hand to keep Kurt from seeing it because Blaine was too afraid of the repercussions?

Tell him.

“I can't. He doesn't want to hear it. Don't you understand what a betrayal it is? He doesn't want what I want. He wants to follow you.”

Me or the church?

Ugh. If this was God, he was certainly being difficult. “The church is the only way he knows how to get to you,” Blaine sniffled.

He was probably ruining his quad by crying into it. Blaine lifted his head and wiped his eyes. The cool metal of his CTR ring was a shock against his hot skin. And just as if Blaine had pressed play on Kurt’s MP3 player, the old hymn unfolded in his head.

Do what is right; let the consequence follow.

“Fine, Heavenly Father. Fine.”

Blaine closed his quad and fell to his knees. He prayed for strength courage and that Heavenly Father would grant him the small miracle of not letting him say anything stupid this time. Just the truth, plain and unadorned. He prayed for the Spirit to stay with him and give him words when he couldn't think of the right ones.

Warmth spread in Blaine’s chest. It was the burning of the bosom that confirmed he was asking for the right things, and God would give them to him.

“In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

Blaine stood up. He splashed his face in the kitchen sink and refilled Kurt’s glass with water. He patted his front pocket to make sure a clean handkerchief was there.

He knocked on the bedroom door.

“Go away,” Kurt said. “I can't stand talking to you.”

“I know,” Blaine said. “I made a mistake. I'm sorry.”

Kurt didn't answer. He just resumed his crying.

Blaine cracked open the door. “You don't have to go through this alone, Kurt. I know you think you do, but you don't.”

Kurt was sitting on the floor, his back against the frame of his bed, his open scriptures on one side of him and a box of Kleenex on the other. He looked up at Blaine through swollen eyes. “You really believe that, don't you?”

Blaine nodded. “Here,” he said, holding out the glass of water through the crack in the door. “I don't want you to get dehydrated.”

Kurt made no move to stand up and get it. “If you insist.”

“So … can I come in?”

Kurt looked at the floor and gave a single nod.

Blaine stepped into the bedroom and sank down next to his companion, handing him the glass of water. Kurt took a tepid sip, and then another, and then tipped the glass back and gulped the whole thing down.

“Thank you,” Kurt said, handing the glass back to Blaine.

“Should I get you more?”  Blaine asked.

“Not yet.”

“Should I leave?”

“I don't know.”

They were quiet for a long time. Kurt stared across the room at a spot on the wall. Blaine looked at Kurt and the spot and the empty glass. He wouldn't push it. He would wait for his prompting.

“Do you understand how hard it is to have you as my best friend?” Kurt said after several minutes. He said it quietly, and to the wall.

The words should have smarted, but all Blaine felt was compassion. “I know it's not easy.”

“You're so … loving, Blaine. It hurts.”

“I don't want it to.”

“I know. But … No one has ever loved me the way you do. It's like ... You see me. You see all my flaws and all my weaknesses and you just don't care. And …” Kurt let out a shuddering sob. Blaine handed him his handkerchief. “I'm supposed to get that from the church. I'm supposed to get that from our leaders. I'm supposed to feel it in the celestial room of the temple. And I don't. There have been moments when I felt it in prayer, when I understood that God knows me inside and out and loves me just the way I am. But you, Blaine, you make me feel it all the time. And it hurts. Because I want to give myself over to it and it's not an option.”

“Why isn't it an option?”

“Blaine. You’re smart enough to figure it out.”

“But …” I want to hear you say it, Blaine thought. Though as soon as he did, he understood he wasn't listening to the Spirit. He was listening to his own fear. He hadn’t come into this room so that Kurt could do the work for him. He had come here to tell the truth.

Oh, God, no. Please don’t make me. Please let's rewind all this and I can choose a different companion study topic and I can stop dropping hints and—“Kurt,” Blaine said, before he could become anymore obstinate. “I didn't come up with that companion study lesson for your sake. I did it for me.”

Kurt’s breathing shifted. The jagged edges on his stuttering exhalations started to smooth out. He turned toward Blaine. His eyes were the softest blue. “I don't understand.”

“I’m …” Blaine looked at the floor. No. He had to look at Kurt. He had to be brave. “I'm gay, Kurt.”

Kurt’s mouth fell open, but no sound came out. His face was already pink, but now it became pinker, so dark in some places it seemed almost purple. He turned his head to one side, and then the other, so slowly that it took a moment for Blaine to realize he was shaking it. No, Kurt mouthed, and then, in a hoarse croak, “No. That’s impossible.”

“I'm so sorry I lied to you, Kurt. I mean, I was lying to myself first, or I don't know, is it even a lie if you're so overwhelmed by what other people want that you wouldn't recognize the truth if it slapped you in the face?”

“You’re confused, Blaine. You're just … you're too sympathetic. You're trying to put yourself in my shoes, and it's all getting blurry in your mind, and … you're straight, Blaine. You have to be. You’ve told me so from the beginning. That kind of thing doesn’t change overnight.” The words poured out of Kurt’s mouth fast but not quite furious. There was a sort of clinging desperation about them, like Kurt had spent his life hanging on the edge of a cliff, and Blaine had just kicked one of his hands loose from the edge.

Blaine wanted so badly to pull Kurt back up. To tell Kurt he was right, Blaine was confused, and everything could go back to its normal, lonely state.

But he couldn't. He couldn't offer Kurt that safety and comfort. If there was any other way that he could, he would. But he couldn't pretend. Not anymore.

Listen to the Holy Ghost and the words will come.

“Kurt, I’ve been gay my whole life. The evidence was all around me, but I never let myself see it because I didn't want to disappoint other people. And I know it must sound crazy to you, because you've known about yourself for as long as you can remember. But Kurt, I'm not like you. I’ve never known myself. Not really. I've spent my life letting other people tell me who I’m supposed to be, and I didn't even notice I was doing it. All I knew was that I had to be a good Mormon boy. Someone who's reverent and quiet and controls his emotions and doesn't step outside the bounds of what's expected of him. The obedient, straight son of a general authority. A boy destined for an ordinary Mormon life—baptism at eight, priesthood milestones at the expected ages, a mission, temple marriage to an obedient wife and more kids than either of us can handle, a comfortable six-figure job in finance or business or law to support all of them, and callings with so much responsibility that I barely get to spend any time with them. I listened to other people telling me who I was and what I wanted, and I let myself believe that it was true. Because it had to be true. Because if it wasn't true, if I wasn't created in that image … do you understand what that would have done to my family, Kurt? To my dad? The only thing he cares about is serving in the church, and what leader was going to call him to a position of authority if he couldn’t keep order in his own house?”

Blaine only realized he was trembling when Kurt touched him, resting his fingers on the back of Blaine’s hand. Whether it was nerves or the Spirit or the sheer overwhelming experience of speaking things you didn't even know were true until you said them, Blaine wasn’t sure. But Kurt’s touch was reassuring. It always was. Blaine prayed he wouldn't lose it.

“I'm so sorry, Blaine,” Kurt said gently.

“I guess I thought, if I could just be the perfect Mormon boy, if I just tried hard enough, then I would get all the blessings they promised us in Sunday school—a perfect family, a happy life, a future that was certain.” Blaine paused. “And that's how I came to you, Kurt. I came to you broken and scared and not knowing who I was. I mean, my patriarchal blessing says I’m supposed to get married in the temple and my bishop back home said …” Oh, Lord, there’s too much to explain.

“I'm listening,” said Kurt.

Blaine took a deep breath. “Somewhere inside, I always knew. But I guess I was waiting for a crystal-clear sign. And I wasn't getting one, and kissing girls didn't gross me out, and I suspected I spent more time looking at boys than other guys did, but I told myself it was because I was vain or confused or … I went to my bishop about it. He told me I was straight. And I was so confused and torn up, and he seemed so confident. And I thought, why would a bishop lie? He’s got a more direct connection to God than I do. So I put my faith in him. I put my faith in him and the church and in everyone who said I was going to make a worthy sister in Zion so happy one day. And then ….” Blaine swallowed heavily. He turned his hand over in Kurt’s, palm to palm. He looked into Kurt’s eyes. “And then I met you. And I couldn’t pretend anymore. Because … you’re the world to me, Kurt. I love you. I’m in love with you.”

Kurt’s eyes went wide. He inhaled sharply. He squeezed Blaine’s hand. He didn't look pleased and he didn't look upset. He just looked … stunned.

“And I’ve been so scared to tell you, because I don't know if you feel the same way, and even if you do … there's nothing I can ask of you. I love you, Kurt. And you love the church. And I want things that—”

“You can ask anything of me, Blaine.” Kurt’s voice was breathless and raspy, like he'd just run a marathon and could barely summon the air to speak. He turned his body toward Blaine’s and reached across for his other hand. “You must know I wouldn’t refuse you.”

Blaine’s heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest. Was this happening? Was this really happening? Or had he fallen asleep on top of his quad in the kitchen and created this elaborate dream where he was brave and Kurt was braver and they could have anything they wanted?

“Blaine, I love the church. But I love God more. And I love you more. And—” His eyes flickered down Blaine’s face and back up again. Kurt sucked his bottom lip in. “I'm scared, too. But I want everything with you. I want you to love me.”

Blaine could not stop staring at Kurt’s mouth, all pink and lush and indescribably beautiful. “Can I—”

Kurt nodded.

Blaine had kissed lots of people before. He knew the texture of lips against lips, the soft and satisfying slide of flesh against flesh.

But when he kissed Kurt, it was as if he was kissing someone for the first time. Because he didn't only feel it on his mouth—though, wow, he certainly felt it there. He felt the kiss spread through his body, into his fingertips and toes. It tingled across his scalp and made his heart do a somersault and his hands move of their own accord. He curled his fingers under Kurt’s ear, pulling him closer—their faces were mashed together but it wasn’t enough, Blaine needed more of Kurt, wanted to crawl inside him, wanted Kurt inside of him, and oh boy, Blaine felt a little dizzy with that thought but it was a glorious kind of dizziness, the kind people seek out on roller coasters and merry-go-rounds, and Blaine wanted more of it.

Kurt dropped his mouth open and pushed his tongue tentatively against Blaine’s lips.

Blaine's brain melted. He heard himself make a desperate moaning sound that would have been embarrassing in any other context, but not here. He felt Kurt smile against his mouth, and yes yes yes, Kurt was smiling, Kurt liked this, Kurt liked kissing Blaine and listening to his stupid sounds and Kurt loved him and—oh. So that’s what French kissing was supposed to feel like.

And now Kurt was making sounds: gasps and sighs and half-laughs that could never be completed because they couldn't keep their lips unattached long enough for the sound to get out. He was stroking little circles on the back of Blaine’s neck with his fingertips, and a delicious current was flowing down Blaine’s spine, and Blaine was hard—and that was a first, to get hard while kissing someone, and wow it felt glorious. He wondered if Kurt was hard, too, and then he wondered how Kurt liked to be touched, and if someday Kurt would want Blaine to touch it like that, and—okay, buddy, getting a little ahead of yourself there.

Blaine pulled back for air.

“Wow,” Kurt said.

“Wow,” Blaine echoed.

They dove back in for more.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Helsinki’s oldest wooden house still stands in the middle of all the apt. buildings and it’s such a cute little museum. Inside, it’s like going back in time to the 19th century. The house was built by sailor's widow Christina Wörtin, but its story begins in 1859, when the plot & buildings were bought by Alexander Wickholm, the sprayer in charge of the city’s fire equipment .

The largest room in the house is the hall. The sofa and chairs are made of mahogany veneered wood, and the furniture has been preserved and upholstered. The table is made of mahogany.

One sofa pillow is decorated with cross-stitch embroidery and glass beads, the other with Petit point embroidery. The surface of the small stool on the floor is skillful bead embroidery.

The mirror is from the early 19th century. Its frame is stained birch and the glass is in two parts, b/c in 1734 a mirror tax was enacted- a tax was paid on the mirror according to the size of the mirror glass. Two small ones were cheaper than one large one.

The light wooden floor and white-painted ceiling reflect light well and increase the feeling of space. The walls have wallpaper or decorative paintings.

The brass chandelier dates from the 1860s. The rod-like crystals are skillfully cut.

A domino game and playing cards are in place on the game table. The silver candlestick is 1831.

There is a barrel shelf in the corner of the hall. The pipes are from the 1850s. The sides of a tobacco jar are decorated with embroidery.

The kitchen stove is original. However, it was renovated in 1897 and 2016. The oven is still in working order, and bakes gingerbread at Christmas.

The dining table is in the late 18th century rustic style. The table features a Russian samovar and a porcelain teapot.

The walls of the kitchen are splash painted. Colors have been sprayed on top of the primer for effect, using a whisk.

The chamber was used as a children’s room. The sofa dates from 1800. The decorative wallpaper is new, but very similar to the original.

The tile oven is from the beginning of the 20th century. The chest of drawers is made of mahogany polished pine.

The family of Alexander Wickholm who owned the house.

The ceiling beams of the chamber still have original decorative paintings.

The writing chest is from the early 19th century.

The chamber next to the kitchen was the parents' bedroom. The oven is original.

The Empire-style canopy bed was probably made in the Netherlands.

The courtyard building has two rooms. At one time tenants lived here. The second room is now a museum shop.

The kitchen as it was, looks the same, today.

Street view of the house.

https://www.meillakotona.fi/artikkelit/helsingin-vanhin-puutalo-kerrostalojen-keskella-koristemaalauksia-katosvuoteita-ja-kummituksia

[princessgemma12]

Best: the ninja turtles characters with really Odd For Them interests. Also known as “Gemma Projecting Again” and “Things Gemma Wants In Canon But Can’t Have So She Writes Them Instead.”

Like, Writer!Raph that gathers random bits of knowledge about fucking everything--ancient sex practices, like the legend about Cleopatra and the Bees, and strange phases of scientific theory like Schrodinger’s Cat, and obscure plant symbolism like basil representing hatred. But, him being 1/4 himbo, he also couldn’t tell you shit about algebra or “normal” history like WWII dates (or sometimes even the years). Also witch!Raph? Like crystals and candle magic and legends and shit. Greco-Egyptian Paganism mixed with traditional Japanese myths and practices, with sprinkles of Norse thrown in. He collects things that represent his familiar to use in his craft, and also because he’s terribly sentimental. He has playlists for everybody with all their favorites.

Donnie with a soft spot for old rap--Sir Mixalot and Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg and Missy Elliot and Lil’ Kim. Also modern girl power rap like Megan Thee Stallion and Doja Cat. Donnie that enjoys vampire romances and has a weird obsession with trying to figure out how vampires drink blood (fang straws or simple sharp tools?) and how the modern vampire image came to be (which in turn leads to familiarity with the origins of Fifty Shades and the history of MCR).

Leo, who is a connoisseur of different music genres--boy listens to everything from 2000s era Flo Rida to TikTok-spawned singles like History Hates Lovers by Oublaire; old Japanese lullibies and folk songs to 1970s era Aerosmith; 2010s Disney animated musicals to post-Kinky Boots Todrick Hall music (and pre-Kinky Boots Todrick, but it’s the Hot Boy Summer trend that started about that time that I’m referring to here). Also a fan of YouTube commentary channels like iNabber and the Illuminaughtii, and also Sims players like the wholesome lilsimsie but at the same time the vulgar Whiny Brit.

Mikey who likes crime shows and unsolved mysteries; Mikey as a NCIS fan and someone who binges podcasts on Spotify. He’s got, like, a million random facts about the history of NYC tucked away in his brain, all having to do with things or people that shaped the eclectic culture of the different boroughs but especially Manhattan because he loves humans and thinks they’re Neat. He keeps up-to-date with politics and has tried on multiple occasions to sneak out for marches and protests, but Splinter and Leo always have to coax him into less risky forms of helping. Idolizes Marilyn Monroe because she was a fucking Queen and she deserved better than the hand she was dealt.

Karai that likes cutesy little cafes and flower shops, and whose favorite place to be is perched on the kitchen counter in the lair, just listening to the sounds of her family without being within the wonderful chaos. She makes an origami animal every night, each one representing a family member--wolf for Raph, lion for Leo, Phoenix for April, cat for Shini, octopods for Donnie, dogs for Mikey, a rat for Splinter, and a tiger for Casey--and she slips them under doors and into pockets and onto tables for them to find and be reminded of their loved ones. (Raph asks specifically for a white snake one Christmas and stares her in the face when he puts it on his alter, right next to all the other animals he’s collected from her.) Karai that can sew because it’s a practical skill but dives into fanciful dresses and kimonos and sequins because Leo and Mikey begged her help with a project one time and she couldn’t bring herself to stop.

Casey that falls asleep listening to nature sleep sounds and makes mix-tapes for all of his friends and family, catering specifically to how he sees them (things like When Will My Life Begin from Tangled and Diagnosis (I Cannot Give Anymore) by Milo McAllister for Mikey, for example). Casey that can’t cook or bake for shit but is actually really good at practical math like measurements and ratios which makes him an absolute blessing in the kitchen anyway (just don’t leave him in charge of anything that’s being cooked/baked) and leads to a fun rivalry with Donnie about estimating the height of buildings they want to scale and lengths of gaps that they want to jump across. Casey that binges Theorizer videos and can never view his childhood movies or Tv shows in the same light because of this, and shares his discoveries with anyone unlucky enough to be nearby after a binge session.

April that takes up photography after she notices the severe lack of family photos and permanent memorabilia around the lair. She loves reading but is So Bad at finding the symbolism on her own, and prefers fanfiction romances over published romances because there’s a general lack of blatant sexism within healthy fandom spheres. She likes fucked up music like Hollywood Undead and Eminem, which are her Get Shit Done music. She ironically reads Twilight on a fairly regular basis because her dad bought her the series when she was in high school and she finds an odd comfort in it, despite its issues. She’s a Selena Gomez fan and tried popcorn dipped in pickle juice for the hell of it and... just never stopped. Got Mike hooked on it, though.

Shini that does watercolor painting with Splinter and meditates to Casey’s Sleepy Nature Noises. She loves silly children’s media and her 2000s McDonald’s Shrek and Fiona glasses have a reverential place on her mantel. April and Raph introduce her to American rap and rap rock and she Loves It; memorizes Boss Bitch by Doja Cat within a week of hearing it. Collects queer comics from all over the world, even if she doesn’t speak or read the language, just for the sake of supporting the artists and bringing awareness to the media. Is a truly eldritch being and knows about ten different dances but Doesn’t Dance, Mikey, Please Stop Asking. Her household skills are virtually nonexistent but she’s really good at embroidery so she makes everybody protection charms. She used to be a tattoo artist in Japan in the ‘90s so Raph and Casey ask her to do their ink, but she specialized in flowery designs and inspirational kanji--they have her do the Hamato clan emblem on their shoulders and gush about it for weeks afterward.

Splinter that jams to Disney musicals with his kids and can’t help but snort at the creative use of language in some of the more vulgar music they enjoy--he has a stubborn soft spot for Ashnikko, courtesy of Karai, because she reminds him of her (K). Still not his favorite but he doesn’t say anything if someone puts her music on. His favorite non-cheese food is cheesecake (doesn’t count as cheese, don’t be smart!) and he has about seven different recipes memorized, and has dabbled in cake decorating. He started studying carpentry after his and Shen’s wedding because he wanted to build their future child(ren) their own cradle and he used this knowledge to help construct the lair into a proper home (and later help Donnie with his earlier inventions). Splinter that starts using different colored candles during meditation and different incense and tea blends depending on what he’s figuring out/trying to bring himself/his family because Raph came out of the broom closet and he wants to be Encouraging and show his understanding (and he likes the change without giving up the old comforts of his childhood). Splinter that likes pop art and gifts his kids large buckets and long mops after he finds out they’ve been doing graffiti, enforcing the “clean up after yourselves” rule but not discouraging them from the outlet (Leo is under Strict Orders to photograph everything). Splinter that’s really good at making Mexican food as long as Mr. Jones walks him through it. He discovers he absolutely loves Anglo-Saxon and Norse stories, and begs literature from Shinigami until they have to scrounge up a dozen different translations just to keep him satisfied. He’s terrible at taking pictures but draws everything April shoots for her part-time gig with Channel 6. If caught in the right mood, particularly if he’s just a little bit tipsy, he will Lose His Goddamn Mind at well-executed sex jokes (a fact they find out because Mona Lisa excels at those).

[bxtchforstyles]

You Better

Harry Styles x CEO!Y/N

Harry's girlfriend is the CEO of Gucci, and it is no easy job, but getting to design her boyfriends suits makes it all worth it.

Warning: minor swearing

Word Count: ~1.5k

gif not mine

"Hi baby," Harry was quick to greet her at the door, planting a small kiss to her cheek. "How was work?"

"Long." Y/n sighed as she took her coat off, hanging it on the hook near the door. "Very, very long. never thought I could go to that many meeting in one day."

Harry loved when Y/N came home, and she loved coming home to him. He was an absolute angel to her, especially when she was stressed and annoyed. Always greeting her at the door with kisses, making her dinner, running her a bath. Harry was everything that Y/N dreamed of in a relationship.

"I have a question for you, love."

Y/N nodded as she followed him into the kitchen, seeing there was a large pot on the stove, most like some type of pasta that Harry loved making for her.

She sat down at the island of the kitchen as he went over to the stove to tend to the dinner, looking back at her occasionally. "Ya know how I have the tour for the second album coming up, right?"

She smiled, "Yes I am well aware that Love On Tour will be stealing my boyfriend."

"Well, that leads me to my first question." He takes a step towards the countertop she was sat at, looking across at her. "I was wondering if, maybe, you wanted to go on tour with me, or at least the American leg of it.

Y/N smiled even brighter this time, "I would love to go with you! I'm sure I can work something out to where I can work virtually for a couple of months."

He was gleaming with excitement, never being able to experience tour with her the last time around because she didn't have much seniority at her job and didn't want to abuse her power of having a flexible schedule.

"Now, what was your other question?"

Y/N noticed how he almost immediately got nervous when she said that, making her stomach start to sink.

"I don't want you to see me asking you this as rude, or as if i'm using you, because that is definitely not the case whatsoever,"

"Babe, I know that you're not using me." She almost laughed, "what is it that you want to ask me?"

"The last tour, the suits I wore were a large part of my performance, since the fans loved them so much," He was completely rambling now, "and I loved them too, they were amazing. I just wanted to know there was any way-"

She cut him off, already know what he was going to ask. "You want me to design your suits for tour again."

He let out a sigh of relief before nodding.

"Of course I will bub!" She was now the excited one, "I've been waiting for you to ask me, I just didn't want to overstep if you already had picked out a designer."

"Oh thank god." He let out a sigh of relief.

"I've had so many designed that i've put aside for you. Home many shows are there going to be?"

Y/N was a very smart woman, and Harry knew that from the start.

When the two of them first met, it was when Harry had done the Gucci campaign in 2018. Y/N was just an employee at that time, working in the design as well as the management department.

She had been the one to style him for all of his photo shoots for that day, and at the end of, Harry knew he had to see her again.

That's when Gucci offered to design a suit for each one of his tour stops, which he was ecstatic about.

Y/N had been apart of the main design team working on all sixty of the suits, top to bottom. She had always secretly been a little star struck by Harry, always wanting to impress him.

Now though, four years later, they had been dating for almost three years and Y/N was now one of the CEO's at Gucci.

Her dream.

Some people thought that the only reason Harry got special promos, suits and other things of the sort was because his girlfriend had such an important role in the business. But what they didn't know, was that everyone in the entire Gucci enterprise work team loved Harry.

"Can i see some of them?" He asked, speaking of the designs she had mentioned.

She immediately got up out of her seat at the barstool she was sat in, trekking quickly towards the foyer to retrieve her work bag. She pulled out her design binder, where all of the pictures of the modeled suits were.

She set the large binder in front of him on the counter, "Now, I know that most of these drawers are on female models, but please, keep an open mine."

"When do I not?" He sent a smirk at her before opening the binder.

The couple spent the next couple of hours looking at all of the suits that Y/N had sketched, deciding what on the designs to keep, and what parts needed to be reconfigured.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Baby, I love how you look in pearls. They make your eyes shine." She gleamed as she walked into Harry's fitting room in her designing room.

"I really like this, actually." He told her, before attempting to adjust the suit jacket.

She took over, "Here, let me." He fixed the Jacket and the collar before directing him back towards the large mirror.

"Perfect." She stated.

"I really love it."

Y/N was over the moon looking at her boyfriend, seeing the many visions she had of the suits she designed for him come to life. The black suit jacket was lined with pearls, along with some pretty gold buttons that laid against Harry's torso.

She was smiling from cheek to cheek. "I'm really glad, hopefully you like all the suits I've designed for you."

That's when Harry turned around to walk into her office, immediately stopping in his tracks as soon as he entered. Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, wondering what he was looking at.

Until she herself walked in her office behind him, then she knew exactly what he was looking at.

"Please tell me that one is for me." His pleasing eyes were already begging her.

In the center of her room, was a standing mannequin, covered in a dark purple suit, covered in pink and silver rhinestones.

"Um-"

He widened his eyes, grabbing his girlfriend by the shoulders dramatically. "Y/N, angel, I will literally pay you however much you want if i can have this suit."

It was in fact not meant to be for Harry, but looking at his face, Y/N didn't think she could ever say no to him.

"You don't have to fucking pay me for it, Harry." She laughed at her boyfriend's offer, but he only narrowed his eyes at her playfully.

"But I will."

"I don't want you to." She protests back before beginning to take the suit jacket off of the standing mannequin. "Let's see if this even fits."

As soon as she put the jacket on him, his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Fits like a glove." Y/N smiled, adjusting the buttons on the suit.

"Okay, you have to give this to me now." Harry looked at himself in the mirror hung on the wall of her office.

"I'll see what I can do."

He sat down on the couch that was sat against the wall, opposite of Y/N's office. "Who was it originally for anyway?"

She sat on her desk, facing her boyfriend. "Well, it was supposed to be for Justin Bieber, he wanted a suit for the Met Gala that matched Hailey's, but i'll figure something out."

"Oh my-" He gasped in shock at the fact he was wearing a suit that was intended to be warm by Justin Bieber. "Wait," He then started.

"What now, Harry?" Y/N rolled her eyes playfully.

"You're telling me my girlfriend is the CEO of Gucci, and i've never got to wear a cool matching suit with her? What the fuck is that about?"

"Ya know, I usually don't have the time to make myself a fancy dress to match Mr. I want a bright red suit that is entirely covered in hand sewn crystals."

"Oi! You have to admit that suit was one of the best I've ever worn!" Her boyfriend protests.

"One of them? It was the best!" She shoots back with a hint of shock in her tone. "Anyways, maybe I'll design us some fancy matching suits for when my insanely talented boyfriend sweeps the Grammys."

"Holy shit, I love you." He gasps as he plants his lips against here.

Y/N smiles into the kiss, "You better."

AUTHORS NOTE:

i hope you enjoyed, please send any requests that you have and I will try to respond to them asap!! thank you for reading! TPWK<3 xoxo- hails

[minor-solemnity]

Hi, you’re writing is so beautiful, thank you for sharing it :)

Can I request a Tom x Reader where they take a mini vacation somewhere really secluded and they’re so happy to be finally spending time with eachother and they’re both just being super domestic and sweet.

Thank you! 🤍

Thank you my love! This prompt is giving me life istg, sweet and domestic Tom is my jam <3 I hope you like it (also am I basically writing what my dream holiday is? it's definitely possible)

Tag List : @mainlynonsense @cakesarecute @jinxqsu​  @naps-and-lemons​  @riddles-wifey​ (send me a message if you'd want to be added to the tag list!)

We are Mosaics

Tom turns to look at you and you recognise the determined glint in his eye and the set line of his lips which lets you know that a plan is forming and he won’t be dissuaded easily. “The Malfoy’s have a cottage in the Dolomites. I’ll talk to Abraxas.” He says it with such finality that you’re almost surprised before you remember that this is Tom. Tom who’s had his Slytherin cohort eating out of the palm of his hand for years, Tom who had marriage offers from a few of the lesser-known pureblood families, Tom who puts the fear of God into the hearts of most men. Of course, Abraxas would give him his family cottage.

You’re sitting on your sofa in the small flat you’ve rented above Flourish and Blotts glaring at the letter that sits innocently on the coffee table in front of you when Tom apparates through your wards. Your mood, which has been growing increasingly dark with the setting sun lifts somewhat when you see him. His jacket folded neatly over his arm and his white shirt slightly rumpled from the day, his hair, which he styles with care every morning is falling in soft waves across his forehead. In short, he looks like every one of your daydreams and you’re filled with a contented sort of triumph that it’s you who he comes home to most evenings. Your flat is small and certainly not big enough for you both to live comfortably, but he spends more time here than he does at his own, equally poky, abode.

His gaze flickers over the letter on the coffee table and you can see him putting the pieces together. “Bad news, I take it?” He asks in a slightly cautious tone that tells you he’s waiting for your imminent breakdown. You nod and sigh as you push yourself up from where you’ve been sulking for most of the afternoon. You gravitate towards him like a moth to a flame, the same way you always do, the same way you always have, and nestle yourself against him, allowing yourself to feel comforted and protected by the feeling of his arms around you.

“I just don’t understand why no one will give me a chance. I had the best marks in Arithmancy in the year,” You grumble into his chest. “Did you hear that Pearson got that Potions Mastery? He got an A in his NEWTS, Tom. Why does he get to do a Mastery and all I get is rejection letters?” You sigh because you know the answer. It’s the same reason that Tom wasn’t offered any of the prodigious jobs at the Ministry despite being the most talented wizard you’ve ever met with a resume that proves it. Wizarding society might be more progressive than the muggle world in some ways, but in the ways that matter to you and Tom, it was still stuck in the Middle Ages.

Eventually, you disentangle yourself from him and you spend the rest of the evening curled up on the sofa with him, reading and chatting idly about the stranger aspects of your respective magical theory texts. “Did you know about the coven in the Dolomites from the 1450s?” He asks, eyes trained on the page in front of him.

“Mmm, they’re the first known herders of thestrals, weren’t they?” He nods and you smile softly, “I’ve always wanted to visit there, you know? Ever since we learnt about thestrals in fourth year.”

You don’t think anything of it but Tom turns to look at you and you recognise the determined glint in his eye and the set line of his lips which lets you know that a plan is forming and he won’t be dissuaded easily. “The Malfoy’s have a cottage in the Dolomites. I’ll talk to Abraxas.” He says it with such finality that you’re almost surprised before you remember that this is Tom. Tom who’s had his Slytherin cohort eating out of the palm of his hand for years, Tom who had marriage offers from a few of the lesser-known pureblood families, Tom who puts the fear of God into the hearts of most men. Of course, Abraxas would give him his family cottage.

“The perks of having rich friends, I suppose,” You say with a small laugh and the smile he gives you in return is indulgent.

***

When Tom had first told you about Abraxas’ family cottage, you had imagined that your definition of a cottage and the Malfoy’s would be vastly different. You’d gone with Tom to one of the Malfoy Christmas parties once and had almost cried at the luxury and decadence. You’re pleasantly surprised though to find that the cottage is exactly as you’d hoped it would be: sturdy white stone, lattice windows, and a multitude of wild mountain flowers that make the place look like a fae dwelling. “This is gorgeous,” You murmur as you wander through the garden, letting the warm summer mountain air fill your lungs. “I never would have thought that the Malfoy’s would own somewhere quite so homely.” Behind you, Tom laughs softly.

“I think there’s a distant cousin who fancied herself a Marie Antoinette figure,” He says, stepping closer to you and resting his chin on the top of your head. “Are you happy?” He asks and you hum in response, bringing your arms up behind you to card through his hair. You twist around pull him closer and his hands drop to your waist as he kisses you.

You spend most of the rest of the day exploring the paths and trails close to the cottage whilst Tom sets up the wards. The worries and stresses of London seem so far away and you relish in the slight breeze against your bare arms and the feeling of long grass and wildflowers against your legs.

You think back to your childhood, to the holidays spent in English seaside resorts with your parents; when the war broke out, the holidays stopped. Your father disappeared into a trench somewhere and your mother had taken you back to her parents home and left the muggle world for good but she was never quite the same after. Hogwarts and the wizarding world, in general, offered you an escape. A home away from the sorrow of watching your family drift and sink into unspoken grief and sadness. You’d found Tom somewhere along the way, both of you finding some kind of solace and familiarity in each other. A tentative friendship had formed that had turned to a tentative romance.

You wonder sometimes, why he sticks around. Unlike the boys he surrounded himself at school with, you can’t offer him money or power or glory. You’ve had to fight for every opportunity given to you, just the same as him, and it’s still not enough. In your more anxious moments, you think about his future and your uncertainty over where you fit into it. Now, under the clear Italian skies, you think that maybe the answer is obvious: you fit together like pieces of a mosaic. Each of your broken and jagged edges finding a home next to his.

***

“You’re aware that you’re a witch, aren’t you?” Tom’s voice floats through the open doorway and you chuckle from where you’re standing on one of the kitchen workbenches. You glance over your shoulder and find him watching you with a mix of exasperation, confusion, and mild amusement. He walks over to you and stares at the pile of dough you’re kneading, his eyebrows knitting together. “I’ll get Abraxas to send one of his house-elves.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head fondly. Tom’s disdain for all things muggle has diminished since you’ve known him, or at least, he’s less likely to voice his opinions to you. “That’s not the point, making bread is meditative. Come on, here,” You gesture for him to take over and watch with poorly hidden amusement as he frowns and takes a step back. “You once made Peeves cry out of fear, Tom, you can’t honestly be intimidated by some flour and water.” You raise an eyebrow and try to smother your grin with an unimpressed expression. You’ve found that the easiest way of getting Tom to do anything is to suggest that he can’t.

As expected, he glowers and rolls his sleeves up. “I’m not intimidated, darling, I just don’t see the point in slaving away over something that could easily be accomplished with magic,” He says smoothly even as he approaches the dough and gingerly pokes it. This time, you don’t manage to hide your laughter and you cover his hands with yours and begin to guide him through the motions. A companionable silence falls upon the two of you and you relish the feeling of his chest against your back, his soft breathing in your ear, his hands moving under yours. Sunshine filters through the open window and you listen to the distant birdsong in quiet contentment.

Once the bread has baked, the two of you wander along the mountain trail that leads to a secluded lake. The water is crystal clear and the kind of icy blue that you’ve only seen in paintings. Tom leads you to a small jetty and conjures a pile of blankets and pillows that you quickly set about making a nest out of. You sit cross-legged, Tom’s head resting in your lap as he reads passages from the book he’s brought with him out loud to you. “According to legend, the Monti Pallidi used to be formed of dark looming rock face and the lakes were murky and black, but there was a princess from the moon who took refuge in the Dolomites and to ease her homesickness, the mountains remade themselves with pale stone and clear waters.”

“She must have been lonely, being so far away from home,” You murmur, carding a hand through his hair as you tilt your head to stare at the pale mountains that surround you. “You know, I sometimes think of you a bit like that, like you’re a moon and I’m a satellite in your orbit.” He hums softly, and you’re not sure if it's in agreement or contemplation. You shift slightly and reach for the food that you’ve packed: fresh fruit, cured meats, hard Italian cheese, a bottle of wine that you’d found in the cellars (no doubt worth more than Tom makes in a year), and of course, the bread you’d made earlier.

You tear off a couple of chunks of bread and pass one to Tom, who takes it and sniffs it delicately before he takes a small bit. You breathe a huff of laughter at his behaviour and he lazily reaches up to cuff the side of your head. “See, it’s good, isn’t it? This kind of thing is always better when you make it yourself,” He rolls his eyes but tears off another chunk, which you take to mean he is, in fact, enjoying it.

The afternoon fades into evening, and twilight descends upon the mountains. You rearrange yourselves so that your sat side by side, gazing up at the moon that is just becoming visible. “You know, I would do more than remake a mountain range if you asked.” Warmth settles deep in your bones despite the chill in the night air. Tom turns to watch you and you don’t bother hiding your smile. “I would remake the entire world for you.” You don’t doubt him either, Tom is a force of nature, always has been. He’s a visionary and you’re not always sure if that’s a good thing, but, years ago, he saw something in you and now he looks at you as though you are everything that he wants in the world.

You reach over and hold his hand, letting his touch ground you, “For now, this is enough.” You mean this moment, sitting here with him. You also mean the life you are slowly patching together, one mosaic tile at a time.

[peachpitfics]

Mistletoe

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Request: No

Summary: Every year Rossi holds a Christmas Eve dinner, the Team and their little families attend. This is your first one, and coincidentally, you get caught under the mistletoe.

Length: 2.6k

Pairing: SpencerReid x Female!Reader

Content Warnings: ~none~ 

A/N: Hiiii, this is super fluffy and sweet. Hopefully the first of a few Christmas themed fics. I hope you like it!!

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You never had anywhere to go for the holidays. You had no real family, moved to a new state, and joined a new force only a few weeks ago. The new team you worked with was a tight knit family. They had been together for years and while they were welcoming and did their best not to exclude you, it was hard to bear the inside jokes and recalling of memories you were not a part of. What shocked and surprised you most about their bond, was the family Christmas held at Rossi’s huge house. Everyone, and their families would come, eat a glorious Christmas dinner, and spend it together.

You rang the doorbell and stood, rugged up on the doorstep, huge wooden and glass double doors in front of you. Dave answered the door, arms wide open as he took you in a loving embrace. “Thanks for inviting me” You shuffled into the house awkwardly, passing Rossi two bottles of wine as he showed you where you could shed your winter coverings. Rossi’s house was beautifully decorated from top to bottom. You were sure it had to have been professionally done. “Thank you y/n, this is great. I’m so glad you could make it out here tonight” Dave beamed at you, “And you look beautiful”. You hadn’t put too much effort in tonight but dressed nicely for dinner at least. What he said made you blush; you hid your face as he led you into the dining room. “Hey! Looks who’s here” Morgan smiled across the table. Garcia, sitting next to him, waving overly excitedly. You waved back, clearly not having had any eggnog. As you sat down, in between Hotch and JJ, Hotch poured eggnog into your glass and clinked glasses with you. “We’re just waiting on the kid, he said he was on the phone with his Mom. But he should be almost here” Rossi shared with them.

They all sat around the table, laughing at Garcia who was intoxicated, conversing over Christmas memories from their childhood. Not all of them were overly happy memories, just thoughts of a simpler time. “What about you, y/n? Favourite Christmas memory from when you were a child?” Hotch asked. Emily looked worriedly at you, she had been the one you spoke to and got to know out of everybody. “Well... um” Clearing your throat, you paused as Spencer walked in and slipped into his seat beside Garcia and across from you. “Yeah, okay. I think I was about 8... I was in my second group home and there were about 15 kids of all different ages. The church choir stopped by to sing carols to us in the evening; and, uh, we had a roast chicken, a lot of us had never experienced Christmas before so it was pretty wonderful. The church also brought us a box of second-hand toys, which was lovely. I think that’s probably the best one” Everyone stared at you in awe. The type of awe you were dreading. You shuffled uncomfortably in your seat as they started to notice that the staring was out of control. “I didn’t know you were a foster kid” Morgan said somberly, having grown up in an area with a lot of foster kids himself. “Yeah, I was. It wasn’t so bad” You smiled softly, begging someone to take the attention off of you. “Sorry I’m late, you guys, my Mother was reminiscing about Christmas in 1969” Spencer chuckled awkwardly. And that was the end of it, their focus was changed, and Spencer was explaining his Mother’s story, which in turn was quite boring.

Within 30 minutes, Rossi and several servers emerged from the kitchen, bringing platters and large bowls and more wine. It was the most extravagant thing you’d seen in your whole life. I’ve never even been a restaurant this nice, you thought to yourself, watching as they served. Rossi held in his hands an exceptionally large knife, whilst standing over the bird, gathering everyone’s attention. “For me, Christmas means being with family. Sharing it with you, makes it the most precious and special time of the year” Rossi paused, “To family”. Everyone raised their glasses and repeated the toast back to him. He carved the meat, and you all passed the fixings round the table. It was the most delicious food you’d ever had. You began to wonder if everyone with a family had a lovely Christmas like this every year.

Before long, the kids were playing hide and seek throughout the house as all the adults made their way into the awesomely large sitting room. Everyone gathered around, sitting in the settee’s or on the rug by the fireplace. “Anyone care for brandy and a cigar?” Rossi asked. “Am I in a game of Clue?” Garcia looked around the room, “Where the hell is Miss Scarlet, I want to ask her some questions”. People snickered at her comments, she got more sarcastically funny as she got further intoxicated. “No seriously, would anyone like a drink?” Rossi stood by his sideboard bar, crystal decanters lined up with matching glasses. “Scotch, for me Dave, thank you” Hotch nodded. “I’ll take one of those as well” Emily smiled. “Not for me, I’m driving” Will grinned at JJ, hoping she would have another drink and let her hair down a little. You noticed this and nudged JJ in the side, “I brought more wine” You raised your eyebrows cheekily at her.

She looked long and hard into your eyes, really thinking over how hectic the headache was going to be in the morning. “Screw it” She mumbled, caving in to your devilish look, “Go get the wine” She lightly tapped your arm. “Oh no, come on y/n, I’ll go” Rossi offered. “Seriously, it’s fine, I’m sure I won’t get lost on the way back or anything” You giggled, jumping up from the floor and heading towards the big arch way through to the foyer. “Hey, y/n!” Spencer stopped you in the doorway, “Would you mind getting me a glass of water?” He asked in a soft tone. You nodded happily; it was an easy request.

“Hold on...” Hotch said quickly. They all stared at you again. “You can’t move” Hotch smiled gently, “You’re under the mistletoe”. Everyone laughed and gaped as Hotch caught you out under the mistletoe. “What do you mean I can’t move?” You laughed, as if this were a silly game. “In the Rossi house, if you pause under mistletoe and get caught out, you have to wait there until someone kisses you” Dave explained. Obviously Hotch had been caught before and was now pointing out Rossi’s next victim. “Who’s gonna do it?” Garcia looked intrigued, waiting for the war between them to begin while you stood there, knees shaking at the thought of having to kiss someone on the team. “Well, I’m out” Rossi said, having reconnected with an old lover recently. Will and JJ snuggled closer together, that was an obvious no. Hotch uncomfortably sat back into the settee, smiling cheekily into his glass.

A few faces turned to Morgan. “Hey now, that’s usually my style, but I’m seein’ somebody at the moment” Morgan shrugged, hoping Penelope wouldn’t pull him apart over the comment he made. Which inevitably, she did. “Can’t I just go to the kitchen, come on, this is silly” You spoke over them, they were discussing among them who should be the one to kiss you and set you free from the nasty grip of the mistletoe. “It’s gotta be Reid” Emily’s voice rang out over all of the incoherent babbling.

Spencer had been laughing and watching this unfold around him, blending into the leather settee like a chameleon. Now that the faces turned to him, he flushed red and he eyes grew wider. “Ha ha, you guys” Spencer tried to redirect, blushing madly “Emily, it’s you! You know it’s you” He laughed awkwardly. “It could be me; I just don’t really think that’s y/n’s speed... whereas you...” She let the rest of the team join in on the end. “Yeah I don’t think she swings that way” JJ looked back at Emily, shaking their heads together negatively. “Which leaves you Spencer, everyone else is attached at the moment” Hotch's voice seemed confident and firm, but had a hint of a giggle in it.

This started to seem like a set up to you, everyone was grimacing, smirking up at you. No one else tonight had been caught under mistletoe and there was no shortage of it in this house. You crossed your arms in front of you and lovingly glared back at each of them. “Come on Spence” JJ grabbed his knee and shook it, as if this provided some sort of moral support. “Spencer! Spencer! Spencer!” Penelope started a chant and within seconds, they had all joined in. “Okay! Okay, okay, you can stop doing that now. The peer pressure has worked” Spencer’s face couldn’t not smile. His cheeks tugged tightly at his lips, and though his face was red, he looked pleasantly excited. Reid stepped over JJ and slowly approached the door frame. He got closer to you, looked into your eyes, and pursed his lips, eyes widening as if to say, “This is weird”. He rocked back on his heels for a moment, hands awkwardly in his pockets. You remained still, one eyebrow raised in shock, arms still folded in front of you. “Come on pretty boy, we haven’t got all night” Morgan teased, Garcia gripping onto him, her eyes as wide as possible so she didn’t miss anything.

In an instant, he lunged forward, a hand landing on your cheek and one at the small of your back. Spencer planted his lips onto yours, you could almost feel him smiling into it. Your arms softened and untangled as they found their way onto his chest in front of you. As you parted, the embarrassing hail of whoops and clapping arose. Spencer stepped back giggling, hiding his face from his colleagues. You pursed your lips together and held your fingers to your lips briefly, surprised at how good that felt. “I’m gonna go grab that wine now” You blushed, laughing along with the hyenas in the sitting room. Pausing slowly at the fridge, your head hitting the metal, you exhaled from deep in your lungs. Never in your life did you think you would be in such a position. But you were happy and almost grateful for your embarrassing workmates.

You returned with the wine, rose coloring still in your cheeks. Spencer was now playing with the kids under one of the many Christmas trees and you retook your position on the rug with JJ and Will, pouring them both a glass of white wine. No one teased anymore, no one laughed. There were just separate pods of conversation. Eventually, after picking up sleepy children off the couches in the lounge room, JJ and Will were thanking Rossi for such a lovely evening. Hotch not far behind with Jack. Those that were left were Morgan and Penelope, desperately arguing over whether or not ‘Die Hard’ was a Christmas film. Rossi and Emily, who were debating finer Scotches and Whiskeys. You watched on, amused by their friendships, and longing to be one of them. Until you noticed that Spencer had gone. You got up from the rug and wondered through the house, finding him on the balcony off the dining room.

You unlatched the door, alerting him to your presence. “Hey” He smiled softly at you. “Hey” You sounded unsure, “I’m sorry if that was super weird for you in there”. He chuckled under his breath slightly as you approached and stood next to him in the cold night air. “You know, I thought it would be... But it was... nice” He nodded, tucking his smile into his scarf. You tried to look away, hiding the permanent smile plastered on your face. “It was nice” You said gently. Spencer turned towards you, and unintentionally looked you up and down, “You must be so cold” He said, shedding his coat and draping it across your shoulders. You looked at the soft brown tweed and curled your nose, “But now, you’ll be cold”. “Doesn’t matter” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Spencer I-” He interrupted quickly, “Can I have a do over?”. “Sorry, what?” You shook off whatever you were going to say and clarified you heard him correctly. “I just- I would have kissed you differently, had they not set me up and cheered like an audience” He closed his eyes, “ I would have kissed you differently”.

Without saying anything, you slid your icy cold hand into his. Warmth radiated from his large hands as his fingers slid between yours. You pulled his hand and turned him to face you. “You can kiss me again” You mumbled. His eyes were so dark and deep, he held eye contact with you, bringing his face slightly down to meet you in the middle. His soft lips, tripping over yours hungrily. His breath warm on your face. His tender hands, not so gingerly on respectful places on your body like before. One hand slid up to your neck, lightly holding on, but eventually wrapping around to grasp the back of your neck. His other hand placed further south of the small of your back, pulling your whole body into him as his tongue delved into your mouth. You tried to move your hands, you tried to do anything, but your brain was completely overwhelmed and stunned by the warmth and pleasure washing over you.

He pulled away, kissing your cold nose, along your jawline. Pressing on last kiss to your lips, and then to your forehead as he wrapped his arms around you. Your body sunk into him. Even without his jacket, he was still so warm, and it was so inviting. You wrapped your arms around his back and held onto him as tightly as he held onto you. “This is a better Christmas story than the one I told before” You muttered at a giggle into his woolen jumper. Spencer smiled into the nape of your neck. “God, I hope so” He laughed, and you felt his whole body move against yours. After a while, you parted and just stood snuggled together on the balcony. “They really set us up, big time” You pondered. “I can’t believe Emily blabbed” Spencer shook his head. You looked sharply up at him. “Blabbed?” You asked confusedly. “Yeah... I kind of told her I had a crush on you” He tried to hide his face but you wouldn’t let him, you grabbed his hand and held it in your own. “Oh my god” That same old shocked expression was strewn back across your face. “I know, it’s super embarrassing and I’m sorry I didn’t -“ You interrupted him this time, “No, Spencer, I told Emily I had a crush on you” You said quickly, without thinking.

Both of you, stunned, really thought about how devious Emily was. Why did we do that? You asked yourself; the answer quite simply was, she was a very open person and people often told her their secrets. “I guess, I’m glad I told her” Spencer smiled, “Because otherwise I never would have got to kiss you”. You leaned up to his lips and kissed him again. “Now, you can kiss me anytime you want” You whispered to him, that gorgeous smile still fighting its way onto his face.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Inside, Emily and Rossi stood in the doorway of the dining room, peering out onto the Balcony like a pair of sneaky teenagers. They had been watching for several minutes, and though they couldn’t hear the conversation, they knew they were busted for setting the whole thing up. “Thanks again, Dave” Em raised his glass of scotch to Dave’s brandy, both of them grinning like school girls. “Absolutely anytime, my dear” They clinked glasses and walked steadily back into the sitting room, arms around each other.

[wannabe-fic-writer]

All Over Again - Chapter 7

Summary: What was lost can be found.

Warning: 18+ Smut, Language, Violence.

Ch. 6

Here’s to hoping everyone has a wonderful Christmas. I know this one’ll be different for most of us if not all, I’m here to chat for any reason, and enjoy the chapter 🎄✨💚❤

Fluffy white falls just outside the window. The wide surrounding field covered in the crystalized ice. Not a single bird is in sight, but just at the forest edge, is a deer. 

Going from pushing its nose through the snow, it suddenly looks up. If the compound weren’t so far away, you’d guess it was looking at you. 

“Hey, staring out the window isn’t going to get that garland up so chop chop.”

Frown in place, you shove your hand into the box at your feet,“ can’t you like, hire people for this.”

“That’d just make me look like some rich asshole.” Silence passes and Tony’s jaw drops at the look on your face.“ I’m not an asshole Y/Ln.”

“Not as much as before anyway.” Both yours and Tony’s eyes pan to the new presence. Pepper slides a hand across her husband’s back,“ I still love you though.” She kisses his cheek and goes over to help Maria hang mistletoe. 

You stick your tongue out at Tony playfully, then turn back to hanging the garland.

With Mister Stark’s annual Christmas party now being on the 23rd(there’s no way he’s not spending Christmas Eve and Christmas with his daughter), the team is decorating the compound. There are already a bunch of inflatable decorations outside along with lights, according to Tony, things aren’t done until the inside is just as festive as the out. 

Stepping off the ladder, you pick it and the box up, moving over to the next window so Sam and Bucky can place stickers on the one you just left. 

Just before you can get back up your phone buzzes a few times and you pull it out. A smile splitting across your face at the message from Lena, and then dropping at it’s contents. 

Obviously you’d invited her to the party, it’s the best excuse you had to see her so soon after having just left. Except now she’s telling you she won’t be able to make it, something came up at work. You sigh and tell her it’s perfectly fine and to have a happy holiday. 

The second message has a curiouser frown on your face and you spin around.

Eyes landing at the kitchen doorway where Natasha quirks a brow with a little smirk and nods backwards. 

Scanning the common room, as if looking for who she’s actually talking to, you find no one else around you. The playful roll of her eyes and nod tells you she’s talking about you.

You set the garland and tape down and head over. Natasha back steps into the kitchen once you reach her. 

“What’s with the clandestine meeting Miss Romanoff?” 

The redhead chuckles, back facing you while her hands move in front of her,“ I just wanted you to try this. If it sucks then I probably shouldn’t serve it at the party tonight.”

Before you can ask what she’s talking about, she’s already holding a glass towards you. It’s chilly to the touch and the second you raise it to your face you can smell the mixture of cream and bourbon. 

Natasha watches you as you take the first sip, your tongue running along your lips to rid them of the excess cream. Golden green eyes trail the lines of your eyes, cheek, jaw, and back up the other side. 

“Maybe a little lighter on the bourbon,” you chuckle, finishing the drink,“ and that’s coming from me.”

Finally focusing on your eyes, Natasha smiles a little,“ where’s the fun in that.”

You raised your eyebrows,“ don’t tell me you’re trying to get everyone drunk Tash, that’s not gonna end well for us you know.” 

When you see Natasha’s eyes widen you get a little worried. Her smile drops and her jaw slacks. She’s about to say something but shakes her head instead,“ yeah you’re right. I’ll fix it.” She turns back to the bowl of eggnog in silence. 

You don’t get the chance to ask what she means as Wanda calls your name, sliding to a stop at the door and leaning in to look at you,“ mind helping me decorate the tree?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah.” You pull a smile as you turn to face her,“ come on.” 

As you walk out, Wanda throws herself on to your back, arms circling your shoulders.

“Your girlfriend coming to the party?” She asks.

Once again you sigh,“ no. She has some business at work she can’t hold off.”

With her being behind you, you can’t see the giddy look on her face,“ is she seriously your girlfriend?”

Honestly you hadn’t even noticed that you didn’t deny it,“ what, no I- Wanda you know she’s not.”

Your best friend jumps from your back with an agreeing statement and the two of you start hanging ornaments on the tree. As you work you talk about the same stuff you usually do: everything and nothing. She’s really excited about Christmas, after spending the last two with Clint’s family you figure the excitement of seeing the kids has rubbed off on her. It always did you. 

Whenever you and Natasha went to the farm for the holiday their childlike innocence and excitement brought an insane amount of joy to your hearts. You can’t count the number of times you and Natasha had daydreamt about your own children bringing you that joy. 

That’s not exactly how things have gone now though. And you’re starting to feel a lot less upset over it. 

By the time all the decorations are up and the place is Stark approved, it’s late enough to get changed. You keep your outfit simple, burgundy sweater and black pants fitting to you exactly how you like. Last thing you want is to be uncomfortable for the hours that this party will last. 

“Is-is that my sweater?” 

Your gaze snaps up from your shoes to Wanda at your door, you chuckle,“ one: you look great,” her velvet green of the shoulder dress compliments the woman’s eyes and fair skin tone beautifully,“ two: this is my sweater that you stole. I simply stole it back.” 

Wanda’s eyes roll, knowing you’re right, as you leave out.

From the sounds of things, a number of people have shown up already, all of them made known as you step into the common room once again. 

Familiar faces scatter the room: Happy, Rhodey, Carol, the Guardians, the King and Princess of Wakanda, and a SHIELD recruit team lead by Coulson. Alongside the people who were here before.

“Does Stark ever not invite investors?” The younger woman leans over to ask.

Chuckling, you lead her towards the bar,“ they aren’t investors. They’re a team, like us.”

She nods, leaning against the bar,“ are we the only teams?” 

“I have no idea. SHIELD made a lot of quiet moves back in the day. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were some other teams.”

Wanda can’t help but agree. She was never under SHIELD but she figures things are a lot alike under the Avengers themselves, or Cap at least. 

Frowning, you finally focus on the bar, that's unattended. Natasha’s usually back there, messing around and avoiding having to socialize for the most part. 

“Alright, what’re you having Miss Maximoff?” You ask, rounding the bar and leaning on the top, eyes set on Wanda.

She looks at the wall of liquor with a raised brow, that is until you start to notice the overwhelmed look. 

You wave your hand,“ don’t worry I’ll fix you up somethin nice.”

With new intrigue, Wanda watches you fix her a drink. As you’re distracted someone eases into the stool beside Wanda and the younger woman’s eyes widen.

“One vodka and cranb-” The drink in your hand jostles as you stop abruptly.

You can’t begin to describe the pure joy that spreads through you at the sight of her. So much joy in fact that you don’t even stop yourself from setting the drink down and rounding the bar to her. Lena quickly accepts the hug you offer, a bright smile of her own spreading. 

It’s not missed on anyone how equally happy she is to see you or the way she buries her face in your neck or how your hold on her tightens.

As Wanda watches with a broad smile, across the room Natasha frowns. 

Despite what she’d told you in the gym weeks ago, something stirs inside her.

She finds herself thinking. Alongside a sudden rush of memories: your arms around her almost exactly like that, your lips secretly pressing to her neck before you pull away. Just as your hug with Lena breaks, Natasha finds herself wondering if you’d secretly kissed the CEO’s neck. 

You have to bite your lip to stop the smitten smile from growing. Once your thoughts calm, you go back around the bar,“ anything I can get you?”

A thought flicker’s through her mind that has her face turning bright red,“ my usual if you have it.”

With a nod and mock salute, you get to work making her a glass of red wine. 

“Miss Luthor,” Tony approaches the bar, champagne in hand as he leans on her other side,“ you  come all the way out here for our sweet little Y/n?”

The drink you’d just made damn near drops from your hand and you snort, holding back a laugh. Sweet little Y/n? You wouldn’t exactly describe yourself as that. 

Silver green eyes look at you, a smile on her lips,“ she’s worth the slight jet lag.”

Her comment makes you smile and you lean forward just a little, your fingers brushing. 

“Y/Ln workin the bar!” The groups eyes fall on the two men walking up, Sam leaning at the very end of the bar and Bucky stopping beside him.“ This either really good or really bad.”

Smirking at the man, you pick up the drink mixer and set to making something he couldn’t possibly deny. Pouring a combination of juices and liquor together, you cap it and shake, then pouring the mix over ice and sliding it to Sam. 

His eyes narrow at you as he lifts the glass. Those brown eyes quickly widening,“ oh I’m going to need another one.”

That’s how you find yourself tending the bar for majority of the night, Lena and Wanda maintaining their positions there with you. While your team does hang around the area a lot, they make sure to step away every so often. 

Still though you end up being teased not long after. Having known you for years, the team. . . your family can tell how you feel about Lena with ease. The amount of attention you pay to her, the smile on your lips, the questions you answer, and your reactions to everything she says. 

“I- no, that never happened. I think I’d remember if I fell off a stage!” You tell everyone as they laugh at the story Lena’s telling. 

Maybe you’d gotten a little too drunk at karaoke night with the superfriends, maybe not. According to Lena, you and Winn serenaded the friends and you tripped off stage. Either way you can’t remember.  

“With the number of shots Winn and Mon-El gave you I don’t you remember anything at all.” She laughs. 

You open your mouth to argue but truthfully, she’s most likely right. Sighing in defeat, you lean on crossed arms on the bar,“ at least tell me the serenade was good.”

“It was perfect.” 

A long gaze holds between you two, small smiles on your lips. 

The thought hits you suddenly: you haven’t had a moment alone with Lena yet. As much as you love seeing her get along with your family, you’d really like a minute with her. So you nod to Wanda who’s quick to mouth ‘tell her’ to you.

You sigh and shake your head, a quiet part of you contemplating it, then turning to Lena,“ hey, you mind stepping away with me for a moment?”

The CEO is quick to nod, her hand slipping into the one you offer her. And you definitely feel eyes on you as you walk off with her. 

Your heart speeds up in your chest as her hand remains in hers. 

“Where, pray tell, are you taking me?” She asks, keeping her voice quiet even though no one is around. 

Pursing your lips, a sheepish smile forms,“ honestly I’m not sure I just wanted to talk.”

Her eyebrows raise a little,“ what about?” She asks with a slightly tilted head.

“Oh, uh I-” Mentally you curse yourself. 

How is it that you can take down HYDRA goons, Cartel bosses, and enhanced persons with natural ease? Yet talking to Lena makes you feel like some lovestruck child. You’ve interrogated men the size of trucks but can’t seem to ask this beauty a simple set of questions.

Stopping, she rests a hand on your forearm,“ Y/n, you can tell me anything, really.”

You can’t help but free fall into the comfort and reassurance of those green eyes. Mouth dry all of a sudden, you clear your throat and swallow,“ I guess, you know, I was wondering a-about you and James.” When her hand slips from you, you hasten to clear it up,“ I’m sorry, you don’t have to reply to that, I-”

“We used to date.” Lena speaks, gaze trained on her shoes,“ though, that ended a while ago.” 

Hearing that makes that thought in your head a little louder. Out of all the things stopping you from telling Lena how you feel, her possibly being with James is no longer one of them. 

You nod. After a bit of hesitance, you grab her hand, the warmth spreading up your arm, across your chest, and straight to your heart. Looking at your smile, makes Lena smile as well. You desperately want to keep that expression on her face so you opt to change the subject. 

“I’m really glad you made it.”

The two of you turn to keep walking, Lena good naturedly bumping her shoulder against yours,“ I would’ve regretted not coming. And your company is much better than the work I left behind.”

You grimace,“ I can’t say I hope it wasn’t important cause I know it was but-”

“You’re more important.” 

Just like before you halt, right foot skidding to a stop beside your left, as your hand tightens around Lena’s. Honesty swirls in green orbs and you can’t pretend you haven’t already fallen in love with her. 

Merely a few months and she’s captured your heart. Is that not something a person has the right to know? You’ve entrusted her with such a precious part of you and the chances of her breaking it are high. What you don’t know is how much higher the chances of her cherishing are. But you resolve that you’re willing to risk almost anything to find out.

“Lena, there’s-” god why are you tearing up, why is it suddenly a little harder to breathe. If there’s any chance of you telling her it can’t be here. 

So you take her to the one safe space you’ve always had at the compound. Lena follows, curiously silent as you tow her to the elevator and ride it up to the second highest floor. A set of stairs take you to your final destination.

The second the brisk New York air hits you inhale, it’s thin sure but it does wonders to calming you. After two, deep, steadying breaths, you fully face the brunette woman. E/c bores into green as you say a silent prayer that this doesn’t implode around you.

“You are in no way obligated to reply to this nor reciprocate, unless of course you feel so inclined.” She frowns at your words and you continue,“ I like you. I mean I love you. And not in the way that I love Winn or Kara or Wanda, I- I want to be with you Lena. You are so goddamn brilliant and caring. Your will to give and help without receiving so much as a nod of recognition is so inspiring.”

When tears shine in Lena’s eyes you understand why you’d teared up moments ago. Emotions like these can be so beautifully overwhelming. Something felt so strongly can only be expressed in a number of ways and tears just so happens to be one of those ways. 

Reaching up, you brush the stray tear from her rosy cheek, feeling the cold skin under the pad of your thumb,“ I don’t know much about how the universe works but falling for you feels inevitable.”

“Y/n,” Lena’s hand cups yours over her cheek, both your hearts are pounding, beating the same rhythm for the same reasons,“ I-” you inhale,“ I love you too.” Your exhale fans across the CEO’s red lips right before they crash onto yours.

A tidal wave of happiness washes over you. The warmth of her hand, of her body against yours, it pales in comparison to the heat that her lips bring. Heads tilt in the slightest to allow for a deeper kiss, a longer exchange of emotions and passion. 

God if you didn’t have to breathe you’d hold her there forever. 

Funnily enough, just as quickly as you pull away, you’re falling back in. Lena’s fingers now gliding gently into the hairs at your nape as yours grip her waist. 

Whatever reasons you’d come up with opposing this have long since vanished, seemingly taken away with the rush of wind past you. The fact that you denied yourself the pleasure of this for so long in baffling. 

Faces flushed from the cold and this very moment, you and Lena pull apart. Winter’s air makes it just a little harder to catch your breaths. Cold and warm air mixes in the space between you as your foreheads rest against each other. 

Both of you need a minute. Not necessarily to process, no this moment is very much real and you both know it. The silence, this pause, it’s needed so as to prolong it. Despite the flurry of snow and wind, you both have to stay in this moment for as long as possible. 

If this were a movie, this scene is exactly what every watcher would be waiting for. The crescendo that draws the two lovers together. The rising of their friendship and the climax of what’s to come. 

“I love you,” you whisper into the silence.

Lena smiles, a full, euphoric grin splits across her face.“ I love you too.” 

How could she not? The way you came into her life, well, the way she stepped into yours honestly, was entirely unexpected. Clicking with you in the way she had was equally as special as it was common. 

Lena’s had a number of partners, multiple people who she could formulate and execute an idea with. Something about you though, working with you, brainstorming and creating, it felt like so much more than just the project. Her zeal for her career was never lost. You coming along though, it was as if a power core had been struck by lightning. All that was, now amplified in the best way possible. 

Out of everyone in the banquet hall that night she found you. Whatever it was(definitely your reply to Mister Richards routine flirting) drew her in and everything you are, who you are, kept her there. And she’s so incredibly glad she stayed. 

The woman curses herself when a shiver wracks her body. 

Your soft hands run up and down her arms, warming them and raising goosebumps all at the same time,“ come on, let’s not freeze to death.” You tease.

“I’d hate for that to happen before we’ve even been on date.” She teases back.

Both of you shudder when the warmth inside the building engulfs you, but you’d been outside a little longer than you should’ve. The heating works but you need a faster relief. 

So you guide her through the halls to your room. You walk in, the door closing slowly as Lena follows, her eyes taking in the space. 

Truthfully it’s not exactly what she expected. While it’s not like the room is a mess or anything, Lena can tell that this is definitely where you spend majority of your time.

Not only is it obvious that you’ve brought your work in here a number of times(little gadgets and small tools splayed across the surface of your desk and dresser), there’s a trash can full of snack wrappers and water bottles, and an article or two of clothing on the floor.

“Sorry about the mess,” you say, quick to tidy everything up,“ me and Wanda had a sleepover last night and I hadn’t had the chance to clean up yet.”

With a nod she walks over to the desk, fingers running over the weapon parts there, some glowing and some not,“ for a moment there I thought you were a mess.” She says.

Laughing, you look back at her,“ I’m the most orderly mess you’ll ever find.” 

“I’m sure of it.” 

You make quick work of fishing another sweater from your closet. The soft knitted material equally as cute as it is comfortable. With a smile you hand it to Lena and a blush resurfaces as she thanks you. 

A part of you, a very very big part, wants to stay in here with Lena for the rest of the night. But your team is still here and there is still a party going on. 

“Guess we should head back, last thing we want is a bunch of Avengers and government agents thinking something happened to us.” You say, holding a hand out.

Lena slips hers into yours, fingers lacing together with ease as she stands. 

In a moment you can’t resist, you face her, and lean down to plant yet another kiss on her lips. The feeling is quickly becoming intoxicating, a drug you’ll gladly give yourself to, no questions.

With that kiss, you leave out, her hand still in yours. A fact Wanda notices almost instantly. 

Your best friend smiles at you brightly as you approach and you shake your head,“ don’t say it.”

She lays a hand on your shoulder, lips pursed in a ‘sorry not sorry’ kind of way,“ I told you so.”

“I know I know.” You roll your eyes good naturedly,“ I should’ve listened to the all knowing Wanda Maximoff.”

The younger woman chuckles, smile turning genuine and serious,“ you deserve this.”

You nod and shortly hug her, a little kiss pressed to her hair. 

“And now I have to tell Kara.” She slides from her seat, phone suddenly in her hand, and fingers flying across the screen.

“Wait-” Lena frowns.

“Since when do you and Kara t-”

Wanda throws a dismissive hand up as she steps away,“ I need someone to talk to about this. Obviously.” 

Your mouth opens, unspoken words falling short as you sigh. You shouldn’t have expected anything less from the two women.“ I have a feeling those two aren’t going to let either of us hear the end of this.” 

Kara and Wanda had to watch from the sidelines as you and Lena pined after each other and now that you’re taking steps towards something more serious they can finally speak to both yours and Lena’s obliviousness. 

“I agree.” Her hand squeezes yours,“ it’ll be worth it though.” 

Just as you had Wanda, with a different love behind it, you kiss Lena’s head. Only for the CEO to quickly kiss your cheek. 

She’s not usually one for PDA but this, with you, it’s new and she’s loving it. A few out of character kisses is the least she could do. And they certainly happen a few more times through the night, a little more frequently as the crowd dwindles down.

Eventually it’s down to your team, Pepper, Rhodey, Maria, and Lena. All of you take up a spot on the common room couches. Most of the guys are nursing beers, Lena, Pepper, and Natasha sipping from wine glasses, and the rest of you drinking water. 

As tradition had been set, each of you have one singular present in your laps. Since it’s likely you all won’t be together Christmas Eve or day, you decided years ago to do Secret Santa and open the presents together the night before. 

Sam is currently gushing over the gun you’d made him. After he saw you using the first model during a mission he begged for one, with your added power effects of course. At the time you told him no but decided it’d make a good gift.

“Don’t say I never gave you nothin.” You tease him. 

He presses a hand to his heart, wide brown eyes staring at you gratefully,“ you’re the best.” 

You shrug, leaning back into the couch, arm brushing Lena’s,“ I know.”

Next up was Natasha. The small box in her lap had more than a few of you curious. 

She shifts in her seat, not a fan of all the attention on her. The quicker she opens it, the quicker you all look away. Her fingers tear the wrapping paper away and she freezes at whatever’s underneath. 

Literally everyone else freezes the second Bruce stands from his spot beside her and kneels. He grabs the gift from her lap, a small velvet box sitting in his hand, as the other grabs Natasha. 

“Nat.” The name leaves his lips nervously, his smile matching,“ I know things between us seemed, unrealistic, in the beginning. It seemed everything was against us all at once. But we were given another chance two years ago and I’ve fallen more in love with you every second that’s passed since.” 

Quiet sniffles come from a number of people in the room but you can’t bring yourself to look away from Natasha. A blank expression sits on your face and not a soul can tell what you’re thinking. And honestly it’s far too much in your head to even begin to answer that if asked. 

“Will you, Natasha Romanoff, do me the honor of becoming my wife?” 

Bruce’s question seems to pull the ex-assassin from whatever reverie she’s in. Green, teary eyes, rise from her lap. Moving right past Banner and landing on you.

A gentle squeeze to your hand grabs your attention and your gaze shifts, flicking from Natasha to Lena. Lighter green eyes stare back, full of concern and wonder, a soft unspoken question of ‘are you okay’ in them. 

The corner of your lips tug up in the slightest and you nod, then looking back to Natasha and Bruce. Oddly enough, the redhead is still looking at you. A small, genuine, smile on your lips makes her eyes widen unnoticeably to anyone else.

Just as you, a whirlwind of thoughts are in Natasha’s head, all focusing on you and the brunette man in front of her. She finally looks down to him. 

Bruce’s nervous smile and loving brown eyes sends her heart fluttering in a familiar way. Despite the confusion in her head, Natasha nods,“ yes.” 

Gleefully, the ring is taken out and slid onto her finger. Once again her gaze flicks to you but back just as quickly. Bruce kisses her and you look away from the passionate moment, even as everyone else cheers. 

A round of congratulations circles the group. While you contribute to it, your thoughts still run wild. 

It seems you and Lena aren’t the only ones stepping into a more serious relationship. Natasha and Bruce are now engaged.

Merry Fucking Christmas!

* * * * * *

Taglist: @username23345 @depressed-bi-bitch @fayhar @trikruismybitch @marvel-wlw @aznblossom​ @chicken-wang09​ @bitchtits15 @coxmicbabygirl​ @blackluthxr​ @aaron-despair​ @cpt-bolter​ @vxidnik​

[lifeofkaze]

October Writing Challenge 2021 - Day 2

The most adorable Saffron Summers belongs to my favourite person @the-al-chemist 💛💛💛

“Are you coming or not?” Danielle Parkin asked for what felt like the hundredth time.

She and her friend Saffron Summers were on their way down to the hut belonging to Rubeus Hagrid, Care of Magical Creatures professor and resident gamekeeper of Hogwarts. The big pumpkin patch next to his hut was full to the brim with pumpkins of all forms and sizes, and Dana had been excited for days to go and collect some for various, very autumnal purposes; she had even painted her nails a bright red orange to mark the beginning of her favourite season of all times.

But at the rate they were going, they would be lucky to reach Hagrid’s hut by Christmas.

Like so many times already, Saffron, who was walking her bunny Gavin on a plaited hemp leash, had stopped and fallen behind. She had kneeled down and was inspecting a pile of leaves, discussing something with her furry friend Dana couldn’t hear.

Usually, she patiently let Saffron be her unique self, but today, Dana was impatient to get down to the pumpkin patch.

“Come on, Saff, we don’t have all day,” she sighed as Saff skipped down the path toward her.

“Oh yes, we do,” Saffron answered dreamily. “The moon phase is perfect for picking pumpkins the whole day. You want to go to Hagrid’s because Dylan will be there. Gavin agrees with me,” she added matter-of-factly.

Dana felt the heat rise to her cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I can go and see Dylan any time I want, why would I be excited about him… this. Excited about this, I mean,” she corrected herself hastily.

“I don’t know,” Saffron shrugged and seemed to look right through Dana for a moment. “Your aura is such a beautiful pink, do you know that? Like a summer sunset.”

Humming to herself, Saffron strolled past a confused Dana, who followed her with a shake of her head.

They reached Hagrid’s hut without any more unplanned stops a short while later. Dana couldn’t help the elated smile spreading on her face as her eyes scanned the pumpkin patch. Hagrid had outdone himself this year, and some of the pumpkins stood even taller than Dana herself. The thought about sitting in a giant jack-o-lantern made her chuckle.

Dana clapped her hands enthusiastically. “Alright, let’s get to work.”

They ventured out into the pumpkin patch on the lookout for the perfect specimen. When they reached the other side of the vegetable garden, Dana could see two figures sitting on the low wall separating Hagrid’s garden from the Forbidden Forest. It was Dylan Amari, who Dana had known all her life, and his Muggle friend, who often helped Hagrid with his classes. They were bent over some sort of leather harness they were in the process of mending.

Before Dana could stop her, Saffron had already called out to her two friends. Dylan looked up from his work upon hearing his name, and smiled broadly when he saw Dana and Saffron. He said something to his friend and hopped down from the wall. The cold October breeze stirred his dark, messy hair as he walked towards them, and Dana suddenly found her heavy knit cardigan a tad too warm.

Saffron looked at her curiously. “So much pink,” she sighed and danced off to continue her search; Dana didn’t join her, instead waiting for Dylan to reach her.

“You could have told me you’re coming down,” he said with a warm smile. His voice was low and had a warm timbre to it that reminded Dana of a warm hearthfire. “What are you doing here?”

“Hagrid said we could have some pumpkins. You know, for decorating and baking.”

Dylan hummed in response. “Any luck so far?”

Dana showed him her empty hands and laughed. “Apparently not. I want them to be just right.”

Dylan looked at her sceptically. “Isn’t one pumpkin like the other?”

“Absolutely not,” Dana said vehemently. “There’s size to consider, and colour, and form and so many other things.”

“Uh-huh,” Dylan said, looking unconvinced. “So you’re looking for the perfect pumpkin, I get that. But what in Godric’s name is Saffron doing?”

Dana turned around to see Saffron repeatedly circling a particularly large pumpkin. Gavin the rabbit was sitting on top of it and looked just as bewildered as Dylan.

“Don’t you think that one’s a little big, Saff?” Dana called out to her; she didn’t fancy carrying that one back to the school at all.

Saffron shook her head, her blonde hair flying around her like a halo. “I think this one has completed its last growth cycle,” Saffron called back, “let me just check.” She reached into one of the many pockets of her colourful jacket and produced a gleaming crystal on a delicate chain. She held it close to the pumpkin and studied the tiny movements of the pendulum in her hand with a concentrated look.

“She’s trying to determine if that is the correct pumpkin to pick,” Dana explained to Dylan before he could ask, “she takes this very seriously.”

“I can see that,” Dylan said wryly. “But what is she doing now?”

Dana turned around again and had to stifle a sigh; Saffron had put her crystal away and was now sitting on the ground hugging the giant pumpkin as far as her arms would reach. They didn’t even go halfway round; considering its impressive size, Dana contemplated if levitating the gigantic pumpkin all the way back would work.

“She is apologising to the pumpkin that we are about to pick it,” she said. She had to bite her lip to keep herself from laughing at Dylan’s incredulous expression.

“She does realise that it’s a pumpkin, does she?”

“Tell that to her.”

“It’s a pumpkin, Saff. It doesn’t mind getting picked, you know? That’s kind of the whole point of growing them,” Dylan said to the sad looking girl on the ground with a louder voice.

“How would you like getting ripped out of the home you’ve known your entire life and carted off to some unknown destination?” Saffron said and wrinkled her nose. “Don’t worry, dear Pumpkin,” she said more softly and laid her cheek against the orange surface, “I am very sorry we are about to pick you, but I’ll promise we’ll make a delicious pie out of you.”

They gave Saffron and her pumpkin another moment before Dylan sliced its stem and helped Dana levitate it back to the school. It was really heavy so Dana was glad for the assistance, as a sniffing Saffron was too sad about the pumpkin’s demise to concentrate properly; she covered her mouth when Dana had to magically slice it in two to make it fit through the door that would lead them to the dungeons.

When they had reached the kitchens, Saffron had regained most of her composure again.

“Do you want to help us bake?” she asked Dylan when he was about to return to Hagrid’s hut again. “I think Dana would like some help.”

“I’m no use in the kitchen, but you can call me any time to judge the results,” Dylan laughed and turned to go.

Dana watched after him as he quickly walked up the stairs and vanished around the corner. She hastily raised her wand again when the pumpkin halves floating next to her almost came crashing to the ground.

“What did you ask him for?” she asked Saffron, who leaned her head against Dana’s shoulder with an other-worldly smile. “We do this every year. I don’t need his help.”

“Just a feeling,” Saffron said dreamily, “very pink.”

[starksvixen]

Best Shot - Part 3

Warnings: severe injury to reader, lots of angst, mentions of sexuality (no smut), swearing, violence

Word Count: 2456

Prologue - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 4 - Part 5 (finale)

2 weeks. It had been 2 weeks since you had left Jay’s apartment and crashed at Connor’s. Things at the station hadn’t been the same with you and Jay at odds. You still kept things civil, but every time you both left from work, Halstead would give you a piece of his mind. Why you shouldn’t be staying with Connor. Why you should just come back home. He would almost have you convinced, but you knew him too well. Jay would always hold something back and you could tell. What you mistook as his arrogance against apologizing was him holding back from saying those three little words. Nevertheless, you still would part ways with him and spend most of your nights with Conner.  

You rummaged through your small duffel bag you had packed from your and Jay’s apartment, trying to find anything that didn’t have bullet holes or were permanently stained. After these past weeks, you were left with only one outfit left.

“(Y/N), I know this is tough, but you gotta make a decision.” you hear Connor say as he leans against the doorway to the living room. 

Looking over to him, you see one of his minimalistic mugs in hand, filled with a steaming liquid. In only sweatpants from your last...session, he looked like a perfectly handsome mess. Connor Rhodes was the perfect guy. Good job, smart, sarcastic, sweet, caring, unbelievably good looking. But deep down you knew he was too perfect. You wanted your fucked up boy from the army who would lay his life on the line for you in a heartbeat. The guy who made mistakes with you but would always return to make things right. You wanted Jay Halstead. 

“Think you can spare some room for me here?” you ask with a half hearted smile.

“I always will. But both you and I know this won’t last because you took the easy way out. You’re always going to want-”

“Him...” you whisper as your hand graces over one of Jay’s shirts that had found its way into your bag. 

Gently, you pick up the worn out garment and run your fingers along the collar. Even without pressing your face to it, you knew it would smell like him. Smell like home. 

“Need a ride?” Connor asks softly. 

Shaking your head, you quickly pack up and grab your keys. Before leaving Connor’s apartment, you turn to him with a sad smile. 

“I’m sorry, I know this probably didn’t turn out like you wanted it too.”

“No hard feelings, this was temporary. And it was lots of fun. But you both deserve to be happy.” he replies with a smile.

You smile too and nod before leaving and going to your car. After throwing your duffel in the back and yourself into the driver’s seat, you were on your way home. 

Parking in the same spot as you always did, you turn and pull the keys from the ignition as your eyes scan over the building. The living room light was still on, a small flickering every now and then telling you that Jay was probably watching the Hawks game. 

You step out with a deep breath, bag in hand, your exhale crystallizing into fog from Chicago’s chilly winter weather. Walking towards the door, you unlock it with the keys you have and walk in, dropping your duffel by the door. 

“Will, I’m not in the mood.” you hear Jay say from your living room. 

Softly walking in, you see the small collection of beers that hadn’t taken Jay’s edge off strewn around him. The dark circles you had seen develop over the past weeks looked so much darker now. Tears filled your eyes at the realization that he was right, you were letting your extra feelings get in the way of what matters. Your friendship.

“It’s not Will, Jay,” you say. 

Jay quickly twists from his lounging position to see you. It’s like he couldn’t stand up fast enough as he rushes towards you, pulling you into a tight hug. Gently, you wrap your arms around him in a friendly way, holding him close to you. 

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N).” you hear him mumble.

“Enough of that, I’m home now.” 

He pulls away just a touch, your faces proximity making your cheeks light up like red bulbs from Christmas lights. For a moment, you wish that he take that one step forwards. That his lips dance with yours when danger isn’t looming. But your wishes are futile as he takes more steps away from you.

“I’ll get you a beer,” he says as he backs away more, clearing up all the empty beer bottles before disappearing into the kitchen. 

You only nod before plopping yourself on the end of the couch you claimed as yours. Soon enough, Jay returned with two beer bottles, sitting on his end of the couch while tossing a blanket over to you. You take both gratefully, sipping your beer while curling up into the soft material.

Two beers turned into twenty, giving both of you a slight buzz. The Hawks game had changed to Brooklyn Nine Nine. The space between you and Jay had shrunk as you cuddled together on the couch peacefully. Your tipsy laughter fills the apartment, contrasting the blue light from the TV with warmth. 

Your soft whine when the show switches from the cop comedy to Seinfeld only makes Jay laugh more. You smack his chest playfully, quickly sitting up to meet his face. 

“How dare you giggle at my misery. Halstead,” 

“Oh whatever, stupid, it was cute and I’m allowed,” he replies with a smirk.

“Oh, so I’m stupid then cute?”

“Will you shut up so we can watch the show?” 

“Make me.”

You will never regret saying those two words.

In a blur, Jay snatches your hips and pulls you onto his lap. The distance between you two closed as he leans up and captures your lips with his. Shocked, you gasp but quickly return the kiss, your hand working their way from his chest to his face. 

His hands somehow find their way under your shirt, on your lower back, pulling you closer into his chest. Working your hands away from his head, you tug at the collar of his shirt from behind his neck. 

Another blur and Jay is standing with you in his arms before disappearing into his room with you.

-~- 

The bright light streaming in from Jay’s windows pierces your brain, making you groan slightly from the mild hangover you had...again.

But my were you glad you were. 

As soon as you tried to slip out of bed to get some aspirin, two strong arms pulled you closer into a chest. Turning around, you see Jay half asleep with a goofy smile on his face. A sense of relief flooded over you, he remembered the night before. And he didn’t seem to regret it either.

“You gotta let me go, lover boy,” you mumble as you run a hand through his messy hair. 

“Nooo,” he whines, puling you even tighter to him causing you to giggle.

“We are gonna be late and Voight will be pissed,” 

“God, fine, but you owe me when we get home,”

He reluctantly releases you into the cold air of the apartment. With ease, you steal his shirt laid on the floor and slip it over your naked self. Looking behind you, you catch a glimpse of him getting out of bed. Memories of the night before flooded your mind, making you bite your lip and a blush to spread across your face. 

“Can I help you?” he asks while slipping on a pair of sweatpants, a tired smirk on on his face.

“Hmm, maybe when we get home.” you say with a wink before walking out of the room.

-~-

A couple of months later and both of you still have a jump in your step walking into work. The squad originally thought it was because you had finally gone home to Jay. But when your giddiness hadn’t died down over the weeks, bets were quickly placed. 

Sitting at your desk, you take a sip of coffee and begin to fill out paperwork on your laptop. From across the room, you could feel Halstead’s eyes on you. Subtly looking over at him, you see his eyes on the hickey forming on your neck just below your jaw. With a smirk, you tuck your hair out of the way, putting the bruise on full display. You watch as Jay’s bottom lip gets tucked beneath his teeth and you send a soft wink his way. 

Just in time, you look away to see Voight rushing downstairs, armed in tactical gear.

“We’ve got a hostage situation at Bleeker Street Bank. All of Intelligence needs to be there, this seems to link back to our case against Diaz,” Voight quickly says to the squad.

Jumping out of your seat, you rush to the locker room and quickly suit up. Walking out with your gun case, you hear Voight assign you and Halstead on the opposing roof as snipers. With a nod, you both rush out to his beast of a truck.

The entire ride there, he kept a gentle hand on your thigh but you could tell he was on edge. You both hated when the other had to go into a highly dangerous situation, but it was part of your job. As he parks, you quickly lay your hand on his cheek and turn his face towards you. Gently, you lay a quick but deep kiss on his lips. Once he pulls away, his eyebrow shoots up and smirk appears on his face. 

“What was that for?”

“To get you to calm down,”

You smirk and get out, grabbing your gun case from the back and making your way up to the roof of the opposing building. Once you’re stationed, you quickly set up the gun and aim the scope at the open window. You have a clear view of the hostages in the room but no sign of the offender.

“You got eyes on the offender?” you ask Jay, not moving from your spot.

No response.

“Jay?” 

Suddenly, you feel a blade against your throat, making you tense up but your hands refuse to move from your gun.

“Come on, pretty girl. You and your friend are gonna pay for what you did to Diaz.” 

Gripping tightly onto your gun, you snap your head back, hitting your captor in the crotch with your head. He stumbles back, but not without his blade cutting your neck a bit. Gritting your teeth through the pain, you use both hands to hit your offender in the face with your heavy rifle. Quickly, he flies to the ground, unconscious from the hit. 

That’s when you hear the click of another gun, most likely aimed at you.

Slowly, you turn your head to see another guy with a gun in hand. This time, it wasn’t aimed at you. It was aimed towards Jay’s head as he held him a death grip.

“Let him go...” you growl.

“Nuh - uh, sweet heart. You and your friend are coming with us. Drop the rifle.”

Quickly, you let go, the clatter of the powerful gun making the man in front of you relax a bit.

“He had nothing to do with this,” you reply, raising one hand and slowly moving your other that was concealed from him towards your back where your pistol lay. 

“He was an accomplice, got Quentin into the spot where you needed to shoot. So nah, he’s coming with us.”

Jay’s eyes widen at the sight of your hand gripping tightly onto your gun before you whip it out, aiming it at the additional captor. At the same time, the gruff looking man moves his aim away from Jay and towards you. Jay desperately tries to break the man’s hold on him before it’s too late.

“I said let him go!” you yell, your anger increasing at the situation.

“Move one more step and I’ll shoot!” he replies.

“Go ahead, because you can bet your ass I won’t miss!” 

The tip of your gun is aimed directly at his head and you take a sharp inhale as your finger moves to the trigger. 

“Drop him!” you yell again.

“Put the gun down!” 

Exhale and shoot. 

But more then one gun goes off at the same time. Adrenaline runs through your veins like a mustang as you watch the guy drop dead beside an unharmed Jay.

“Told you I don’t miss,” you say as you shakily lower your pistol. Wait, why were you shaking?

Looking down, you see blood pooling on the white shirt underneath your bullet proof vest. He’d gotten you right below the ribs, right where your body was exposed from the vest when you had your arms up.

“(Y/N)!” Jay yells as he rushes over to you. 

Blood pours through the shirt as you drop your gun, applying pressure to the wound as the metallic liquid pours through your fingers like water. The amount of blood you were losing and how fast it was pouring out makes your legs weak. Too weak, as they collapse under you, your body hitting the gravel roof as everything blurs. 

“This is Jay Halstead, officer down! We need paramedics on the roof of the north building immediately!” 

“C’mon, baby, you can’t leave me now.” Jay’s voice echoes in your head.

His hands are over yours as he helps keep pressure on the wound. You simply smile through the pain, moving one bloodied hand from underneath his and laying it on top of the pile. 

“I love you,” you say, giving his hand a gentle squeeze as your eyelids get too heavy to hold open.

- Jay’s POV - 

“(Y/N)?” I ask shakily, tears flooding my eyes in a faster pace then before. When she doesn’t answer, it’s like a punch to the gut over and over.

“(Y/N), stay with me! Wake up, baby, please!”

I push harder on her wound as her body begins to go limp. Paramedics arrive, bracing her and carrying her into the ambulance as I follow close behind. Both of us ride in the back of the ambo as it races to Med. Paramedics work around me as I hold onto her hand with both of my mine, tears breaking up the blood stained on my face. 

As they race her into the ED, I see Rhodes eyes widen at who his next trauma patient was before quickly getting to work. She disappears into the ED as Will races out and towards me. All I can seem to do is sit against the tail end of the ambo, staring off into space. 

“Jay, man, what happened? Are you hurt?” Will asks.

“I never got to tell her I love her back.” 

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