#macks fics

[drewsephrry]

Drew Starkey via his sister's Mackayla instagram

[wormdebut]

JULY MICRO FIC - YOU JUST MIGHT GET IT

@steddiemicrofic | PROMPT: one | WORD COUNT: 111 | Rated: M | CW: horny fucks

——

Steve never expected things to turn out like this. Headed back to Eddie Munsons place.

Jesus Christ.

If the closeted fuck he was in high school could see him now.

Eddie looks ethereal in the street lights. Steve always knew he would, he just—hadn’t gotten the chance to act on it, until tonight.

Eddie turns around, grinning from ear to ear, “You sure about this, big boy?”

Steve blushes, can’t help it. “A good fucking orgasm? Hell yeah.”

Eddie laughs pulling him forward, “One? Oh, sugar, you don’t know what you’ve signed up for.”

Steve can’t help the nervous giggle that escapes his lips as Eddie pulls him, meeting his lips.

[bisexualmcqueen]

here's one of my cars!ocs: roger tappet

he's been around since 2020 when i started digging in and plotting out my project i call the "sequel fic". i have returned to rework this story in 2024.

roger is the team 95's new crew chief, handpicked by tex dinoco's staff. all he has to do is mesh superstar lightning mcqueen with his new crew and win the piston cup... easier said than done! good luck, and dont get fired, idiot!

he is a 2012 ford f250 LWB supercab. lifted, custom black rims+tires, clearance lights, toolbox, wears bed cap in the cold. 35ish, father of four, married, previous crew chief experience in smaller leagues.

human design for accessibility + fun purposes. not pictured: he is tall.

[drawing on the orange background is by @/youhavehitawall]

[formulaforza]

diamond ring-- c.leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x reader word count: 990 a/n: i melt i melt i melttttt

He told Lorenzo he was going to marry you on the plane from France to Austria. He’d kissed you goodbye at four in the morning in your shared hotel room because you had a flight to catch back to Monaco for work that morning. You were supposed to leave the night before, right after the race on Sunday, but, you didn’t want to leave him to his thoughts, so you changed your flight. 

You’ve known her for eight months, his brother told him, eight months and you want to marry her? 

Charles had laughed, shrugged, nodded. “I just. I know.”

It wasn’t until after the season ended that he finally got to the jewelers. One in Paris, because he thought a million people would notice him ring shopping in Monaco. He’d made Pierre come along, for moral support, and FaceTimed his mother for a woman’s perspective. 

They were at the jewler’s for three hours, and looked at just about every ring there was in the whole place before Charles finally decided that he needed to create something custom for you. Sounds like your girl is one of a kind, the associate helping them said, maybe she needs a ring to match. It’s another hour and a half before he’d made his decisions. He calls them once he’s home and three days later and is still making changes. 

Once it’s actually in his hands, little velvet box and all, his worry shifts to how to ask you. It has to be perfect, he thinks. Something you’ll beam about in twenty years when you tell your kids all about Mom and Dad’s love story. He could do it on a Monday morning over coffee, him on his way to the gym and you barely up, pajama clad and hugging a coffee mug like your life depends on it. He could do it after a long day at the track, where he’s exhausted and looking for a fight and you let him be, let him feel what he needs to feel. He could do it whenever, wherever, and as long as it was with you, it would be perfect for him. 

It needed to be perfect for you. He thought about filling the apartment with a million roses and balloons and champagne. It was private but grand. He thought about the cinema classics–a restaurant full of people, a ring in the desert. You would probably swallow it, he figured. Maybe he could do it in an airport–no. That idea didn’t even last long enough to become complete in his mind. You would kill him, everyone else in the airport would kill him. Just, no. Scratch the aiprort. 

Maybe out on the water, in the middle of a day of fun. He could do it then, in the heat of the sun and in the salty air just off the coast. What if you said no? Then he’s stuck with you, on a boat, in the middle of the ocean. That’s like…nightmare fuel, the stuff that haunts his dreams for six straight nights. 

He decides he’s going to do it at the beach. One of the private ones that nobody is really supposed to know about but everyone does, the one he’d referred to as his secret spot when he’d first met you. The one you’d named with a deadpan expression on your face right after he said that stupid, cheesy line. 

He forced Joris and Antoine to hide in the bushes far out of your sight on the evening he finally did it. The sun was setting on the French Riviera and every color in the sky seemed to highlight something stunning about you, complimenting your eyes, your dress, your hair, your smile. The wind ran its fingers through your hair and danced in the flowing fabric of your dress and he thought he could never be deserving of you, all good and right and ethereal like this. He couldn’t wait to spend his entire life trying to live up to the standard that was you.

There was a picnic spot set up in the sand at the end of the beach. “I love that,” you’d commented when you saw it, clueless that it was there for you. “It's so sweet.”

"It's for you," he hums, voice shaky and nervous.

"What?"

He says your name, all sweet and soft and you know. You don’t know, because you never really know until it’s happening, but, you know. “Charles,” You beam back at him with giddy, hopeful eyes. You are just as enamored as he is. He repeats your name again, draws out the sounds of the last syllable and you both laugh, fight back tears because this is really happening and you don’t want a single memory to be clouded and fuzzy with love in its purest, saltiest form. 

“I love you in ways words will never be able to explain,” He starts. “In the early mornings and the late nights and the average afternoons, I am completely in love with you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, trying to find the words,” he continues. You laugh, choked and teary, soft fingers on your smile in disbelief. He pulls a tiny velvet box from the inside pocket of his jacket and drops to one knee in the sand. “So,” he laughs, pops open the box and you’re eyes are too fixed on the man you love to even look at the ring. “Will you marry me?”

You smile, try so hard not to cry only for them to fall down your cheeks anyway. You nod, hold your left hand out for him. “Yeah?” He says, pulls the ring from the box and slides it on your finger. Perfect fit. 

“Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot.” You grin, both laugh, curl over to kiss him while he’s still on his knees in the sand. “I love you so much,” you tell him, hands on either side of his face, kiss him again.

“I love you, too.”

[sleepymccoy]

If it's none, pick closest and write the details in your tags! Also, feel free to add a gif of your fave type of kiss

[tough-n-dumb]

lullabies

this ficlet is shamelessly inspired by the ending of No Reason to Be Afraid by @insignificant457 because i couldn't get inej wishing kaz a goodnight out of my head. thank you for writing this beautiful pre-canon fic—all credit goes to you!

“Goodnight,” she calls after him, then winces. Goodnight? You’ve just joined a gang, Inej, have a little dignity. He pauses, already halfway out of view, then leans back to look around the doorframe, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “Goodnight,” he says stiffly. She gives him a weak smile, which he registers before leaving without further comment.

Read below or read on AO3

It becomes a habit; a nightly routine. A goodnight, Kaz her closing remarks of most evenings—or sometimes in the dark and early hours of the morning, depending on the day. More often than not, he’ll murmur it back. If he doesn’t, she’ll give him a little tsk and a hushed, chiding manners before slipping out the window. 

They spend more time together than she thought they would—probably more than he thought as well. But after jobs, she begins to linger, the windowsill in his attic rooms now her designated perch. From it, she can watch both him and the city like the spy he’s crafting her into. She likes to dangle her feet into the cool air and observe the stars that burst through Ketterdam’s cloudy sky. They’re in different places in the night sky here than in the Ravkan plains and mountains, but the constellations are familiar. She is so far from home, but the longer she spends in the Slat, in her perch in this dangerous boy’s room, the more the definition of home starts to change (though for her, home has always been other people). 

She sometimes uses variations like sleep well or sweet dreams though she knows he’ll most likely have neither. She tries not to worry about that; tries not to listen to his pacing above her, the way his bed will creak in the middle of the night from him tossing and turning. She can only imagine what he sees when he closes his eyes in the dark. She understands what it’s like to face your demons even in sleep. 

When she uses these softer variations, he’ll often smirk and offer a wry remark in return. Something along the lines of, “What’s next Wraith, you’ll sing me lullabies?”

“Maybe if you ask nicely,” she shoots back. She gets comfortable, teasing him like this, and it pleases her that he doesn’t seem to let anyone else get away with it. 

But what neither of them know—and how could they?—is that years down the line when those same nightmares come knocking she will do just that, lending him the lilting words her parents sang to lull her to sleep whispered into his hair, the rich Suli consonants curling around them in the darkness. Their voices, they find, are one of the best ways to bring each other back from the crumbling ledge of their memories—though they’ve always known to some degree that that was the case. 

One night, she’s reclined on the sill, legs stretched out and head tilted back, the warmth of summer bathing over her even after the sun has set. She yawns and rubs her eyes, and when she opens them, Kaz is staring at her. He clears his throat and looks away, shuffling some papers on his desk in a manner she knows is just for show. 

“Go rest, Inej.” It’s a dismissal, but not an unkind one. Simply a directive. She nods, rubs her eyes once more and sits up all the way, about to wish him a goodnight when—

“Goodnight. Sleep well.” He mumbles it while still staring down at his mess of papers. 

She freezes and lowers her hands, a big smile spreading on her face. 

“What was that?”

“Go to bed, Inej.”

“Oh, no, that’s not what you said.” She is absolutely grinning now, much too pleased that she’s taught her Barrel boy niceties. She thinks his face is slowly turning pink, the tips of his ears bright with color. 

When he finally looks up at her, she feels her chest tighten at the sight. His eyes are so dark they’re nearly black in the room’s low light. The shadows crease his face into hard lines, but yes, there it is—a high blush spreading across his sharp cheeks. 

“Goodnight,” he finally repeats. “And have the sweetest of dreams, darling.” He’s injected a gratuitous amount of sarcasm into the words, but the way his eyes dart over her face—and, she thinks, settle on her lips before he looks back down at his desk—gives him away. 

“Goodnight, Kaz,” she says before slipping into the night. Tonight, she isn’t plagued with her usual nightmares. Tonight, she dreams of a leather-clad hand in hers, warmed by the sun, and sea breeze in her hair.

[stevethehairington]

trippin stumbling flippin fumbling

MacksDramaticShenanigans

“Don’t be such a coward,” Eddie tells himself. “Fucking— go.”

His body doesn’t move. Not even an inch. His ass stays glued to his seat, his feet firmly planted on the floor. His hands don’t leave ten and two.

“God dammit,” Eddie groans, dropping his forehead down to the wheel.

Except — he underestimates the distance, and rather than pressing into the top of the wheel between his hands, his forehead smacks squarely into the center of the horn.

He jerks back so fast he gives himself whiplash, but the damage is done. There is no taking back the short, sharp, loud honk that emits from the bowels of his traitorous van.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, fuck, shit,” Eddie hisses, eyes going wider than the moon hanging in the sky tonight.

He immediately slouches in his seat, sinking down as low as he can go. But it’s too late. He’s caught Steve and Robin’s attention now, and despite parking off to the side and a little further back, his set of wheels is unmistakable.

They’ve seen him. He can’t leave now. He has no choice but to go inside.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

alternatively known as, head over heels down bad absolute clutz in love no game whatsoever flustered to hell eddie munson

inspired by this tweet by @/oventrout 💕

[honeybcj]

fic author self rec !

when you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written. then, pass on to at least five other writers. spread the self love.

thank u sm @velanavis @star4daisy @futurequibblerjournalist @messymoony <3

show me those pretty white jaws (rosekiller, E, 140k, wip)

barty falls from the hands of god, and finds eternal glory in the arms of another boy.

 like smoke behind glass (rosekiller, E, 4.6k)

something about cigarettes and fucking on the windowsill finally gets evan in barty's bed.

 cold as ice (hands so warm) (bartylus, T, 4.8k, for MWPP)

regulus black has devoted his entire life to being on the ice. it just so happens that a particular someone gets a kick out of lingering in the stands during his rehearsals. one thing is for sure, don't mess with regulus on the ice. and if he shows up at barty crouch jr's hockey game and proceeds to corner him outside the locker rooms? it's nobody's business but theirs.

 cherry bomb! (bartylily, E, 5.7k)

the summer of 1980 is when barty meets lily for the first time. nothing more than a quiet girl with fiery hair. but as the months fly by, forcing the two of them into the same spaces more than once, all barty can think about is this elusive woman. little does he know, he's on lily's mind just as frequently as she is on his mind. a story of getting high, chasing your passions, and doing everything your father told you not to.

 dripping satin, slow dance with me (wolfstar, E, 5.5k)

it started with an offhand comment. one that sirius couldn't seem to forget, no matter how hard he tried.

doing yet another open tag because i have no idea who has already been tagged in this, but if you want to join, tag me in all your favs, so i can make sure i've read them all !

[trans-jon-rights]

Wake up babe, new design for The Blorbo by your favourite artist just dropped

Mechanism!Jon belongs to @therealandian from his fic Search Through The Stars, and the design has been taken from this post by @dcartcorner !

[ID in alt text]

Close ups :

[arlerts-angel]

—shower thoughts 𓂃༞

! WARNING: 18+ NSFW + MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

about: armin thinks of you in the shower ♡

cw: a drabble containing descriptions of male masturbation, reader's gender is unspecified!

NSFW UNDER THE CUT 🔞

whines and whimpers shake the shower walls as armin fists his cock; the hot water hitting his skin only encourages him to whine a little more. steam fogs up the glass door, leaving only a silhouette of the poor boy stroking his dick mercilessly for what felt like hours on end, imagining that the hand around his cock is yours.

"fuck, y/n–"

his eyes flutter shut and a string of swear words and moans spill from his lips as he reaches his climax. thick, white ropes of cum spill from the beaten, red head of his cock.

"i need you..."

[malk1ns]

"Sidgeno taking in a rookie" prompter here - that was delightful, thank you soooooo much!!!!! :D :D if you would like to write anything more in that mini-verse, may I request a) how does Mack handle it when Sid goes into heat? does they politely kick him out of the house for a few days? or does he have to listen to them bone all day? or b) Sid teasing Geno about how the baby obviously has a massive crush on him or c) maybe Mack does walk in on them at some point? all I'm saying is it baffles me how little fandom makes of the potential hilarity/awkwardness of "oh no we can't move till the knot goes down". But no pressure as you've already given us such a gift!!!

thank YOU for an incredible prompt!!! i feel like maybe we could put these in some form of chronological order....

c) mack walks in on them

Sid and Geno are usually pretty discreet. It's not their fault that Mack's going through dynamics puberty, after all—the dynamics counselor with the team said he'd have elevated sensitivity to scents and pheromones for at least a year, but it will eventually settle. Mack can't blame Sid and Geno for not realizing just how sensitive he is—they keep it to their bedroom, and Sid's got pheromone neutralizers plugged into an outlet in every room. Mack's learning to deal with it, doing his best to get to his room and shut the door when Sid starts looking at Geno like that.

Sometimes, though, they're not careful.

As soon as Mack walks into the house, he groans—it reeks, Sid's little air fresheners doing absolutely nothing to dispel the cloud of horny alpha and seductive omega permeating the entire entryway. He'd been at the mall with Brayden, poking around for Christmas presents for his parents—he was gone for ages, haven't they done anything else this whole afternoon?

Sighing, he hangs his coat on the rack and takes off his shoes, remembering just in time to not just kick them off into the wall—one time catching Sid cleaning off the scuff marks was more than enough guilt for a lifetime. He thinks vaguely about getting a snack, but figures that distracting himself with some television until they're done is the better choice. He's felt even more attuned to Sid and Geno's scents recently, and there's an itch under his skin that he's trying not to worry about too much.

The living room isn't empty.

"Oh god," Mack yelps, freezing in the doorway. "Oh no."

"Fuck," Sid gasps, grabbing at Geno's shoulders to stop himself from tipping back onto the floor.

One of the couches in the living room, the one Geno always claims during movie night and coaxes Sid into cuddling with him on, is angled so that it's half-facing the door into the room. Mack has an unimpeded, perfect view of the way Geno's slouched against the back cushions, arms akimbo, staring up at Sid with heavy-lidded eyes as Sid rides him.

"Oh my god," Sid says frantically, leaning forward and grabbing for a blanket. He and Geno both hiss in discomfort, and Mack cant help it, he looks down at where Geno's dick is—fuck, he's knotted Sid already, and Mack can see where it's stretching Sid wide.

He snaps his eyes away, but Geno catches him looking, and Mack just knows what he must smell like right now, knows there's no way Geno misses his reaction.

Sid's muttering frantically to himself as he drapes the blanket around his naked body, as if that's going to help at all. "Mack, I'm so sorry, just—" he starts.

Mack flees. It's the only sane decision.

Maybe if he opens every window in his bedroom and sticks his head under ice-cold water in the shower, he can shock this boner away and hopefully purge the entire incident from his mind.

b) sid teases geno about mack's crush

"Oh god," Sid groans, tucking his face into Geno's neck. They'd been so careful until today.

It's been an adjustment, having Mack in the house. Of course it was the best choice—the only choice, really—to have their draft prize who also happened to be an omega live somewhere he'd be taken care of properly, with someone who understood—that didn't make it any easier to get used to.

There had been a lot of close calls at first, when Sid was halfway to sliding to his knees in the kitchen when Geno looked at him a certain way before realizing that Mack was just one room away setting the table, or Geno was about to push Sid's thighs apart on the couch when Mack shuffled in with a bowl of popcorn. They'd gotten used to it, though, making sure to get up to their bedroom before starting anything—Sid even set up a bunch of scent-neutralizers, he remembers what it was like at that age.

All that hard work, totally undone because Sid's a week and a half out from his heat and starting to get horny at the drop of a hat, and Geno got too worked up to remember to chivvy them up the stairs.

Mack looked mortified. Poor kid. And of course Sid's been knotted in Geno's lap for the last half-hour, with no signs of it going down any time soon.

Sid can feel Geno chuckle under him, and he can't help but relax, letting his body go heavy against Geno's. Geno slips his hands under the blanket and rubs them soothingly over Sid's back. "He ok," Geno rumbles, pressing a kiss to Sid's forehead. "He's adult, not like he doesn't know. He's have a computer, internet." One hand slides down Sid's back to tease at his hole, where Geno's knot is stretching him, and Sid shivers.

"He's barely an adult, he's practically a baby," he mumbles into Geno's skin, trying to keep focused on the conversation instead of melting at Geno's touch like his instincts want him to. "And even if he's watching porn, that's not the same as walking in on us. I'd be traumatized if I ever saw Mario like this."

Geno laughs outright at that. "No, you see Mario do this, you run up to room and get off," he teases.

He's not wrong. Sid bites down on his neck a little anyway. "Who's to say Mack's not doing the same?" he asks, arching his back a little and pressing against Geno's finger. He should probably go get his levels checked tomorrow, his heat might be early this month. "He's got the world's biggest crush on you, and now he's seen you in action. Probably made his day."

"Sid!" Geno sounds shocked, and Sid grins. Geno talks a big game, but he's a prude at heart, and Sid loves scandalizing him a little bit. "You don't say this, he's kid, like, he's not think—"

"Oh, he absolutely does," Sid says. "I'm surprised you haven't noticed. He's no good at suppressing how he's feeling, and he's got it bad for you. Not that I can blame him."

"Oh, you like too?" Geno says, sounding smug. Sid wants to keep talking, try to figure out with Geno how they should address this with Mack, but Geno's sliding his finger into him, and the pressure is sparking stars in his vision, and they can talk about it later.

a) how does mack handle sid going into heat?

Mack avoids Sid and Geno as much as he can for the next few days.

'As much as he can' isn't all that much, considering they live together and carpool to work most days, and Mack's mom would yell at him if he took the meals Sid made and ate in his bedroom. So he's still around them a ton, but he keeps quiet when possible, and after Sid tries to coax him into conversation the first day, they let him be.

The problem is, the itchiness under Mack's skin hasn't gone away. If anything, it's gotten worse, and Owen's been acting weird around him too, lurking near him in the locker room and looming behind him on the ice when the guys start roughhousing with him.

Mack's heat isn't due until the All-Star break. Rookies always have their heats suppressed until they have a decent amount of time off, they can do it safely now, and it's easier—he has a few months to get used to playing in the show full-time without having to add in a heat on top of it, and he's got ten full days to take advantage of the facilities and recover when he's done before he's back to game play.

But Mack had two heats before the Penguins medical team got him on his shots. He knows what it feels like when he's getting close. It feels like this.

Watching Geno fuck Sid on the couch only made it worse.

Geno's been watching him too. Mack can feel the weight of his attention, the way he's keeping watch in the room. It keeps Mack up at night, intrusive thoughts about what he'd do if he were a little less nervous and Geno was a little more single.

He's moping in his bedroom after dinner five days after The Incident when someone knocks on his door.

Mack considers ignoring it, pretending he had his headphones in, but the manners his mom drilled into his skull won't let him, so he reluctantly gets off his bed and slumps to the door, cracking it open and hoping Sid will accept a brush-off if he smiles big enough.

It's not Sid. Geno pushes his way into Mack's room, barely glancing around before sitting at Mack's desk and staring at him pointedly until Mack sits back down on his bed.

"Um," Mack says, darting a glance at his nightstand and breathing a quiet sigh of relief when the drawer is shut. "What's up?"

Geno purses his lips. "I'm not talk about...before," he says, grimacing a little. Mack watches in surprise as his face turns a dull red. "It's fine, we don't talk about. But, I need to come say to you, it's heat soon for Sid, and I think maybe for you too, after."

Mack swallows. Shit. "I'm not due until break," he says weakly. "They're giving me the—"

"Shots, yes, I know this," Geno says impatiently, waving a hand in dismissal. "Shots not perfect, like, for Sid they not work at all my rookie year. And for you, I think because you're with Sid so much, it's making like...link, maybe. I don't know, it's for doctors, but I can smell. You talk to Dharmesh?"

Mack cannot imagine addressing the stern team physician by his first name. "Not...yet," he says haltingly. "I was hoping maybe it would go away."

Geno sighs. "Podrostki," he mutters. "No, it's not work that way. Look, I think for Sid's heat you're go stay with Jake, maybe, if it's okay. Not good for you, to be here when he's...I think maybe it's worse for you."

Mack thinks back to how being in heat felt, the way he needed so much, and flushes, imagining that same want creeping up on him when he's locked away in his room, listening to Geno give Sid everything he wants down the hall. No, he can't be here for that. "Is Jake okay with that?" is what he says, ducking his head so he doesn't have to meet Geno's too-knowing gaze. What they're dancing around is that Geno knows how Mack feels, maybe has known the whole time, and that it's not just Sid's heat that's accelerating Mack's own.

Mack wonders if it's too late to ask to be sent back to juniors.

"Jake offers," Geno says. "He say, maybe it's good for you to be with betas for a while, especially then—it's hard for the guys, even the ones who know Sid for years, and you're new."

Mack takes a breath. Being around someone who isn't involved in the drama surrounding dynamics sounds like a breath of fresh air, even if Mack's going to be going through all this for himself soon. Maybe a break is exactly what he needs.

"Yeah, okay," he says. "If they're alright with it, that's probably a good idea. I'll go whenever you guys think I need to."

Geno nods and gets to his feet. "It's maybe another few days," he says, pausing before he leaves and clapping a hand on Mack's shoulder. "You good kid. It gets easier, Sid says."

The next morning, Sid's practically in Geno's lap at breakfast, and when Mack walks into the kitchen Sid growls at him, territory-marking in a way that Mack's only read about. Geno looks half-drunk on the flood of pheromones, pulling Sid in close and licking over his bond bite.

Mack runs up to his room and shoves as many clothes as he can manage into his travel bag, hoping that the Guentzels are ready for company sooner than anticipated.

[drewsephrry]

Drew Starkey and his mom via his sister's Mackayla instagram

[thewatcher98]

this was so beautiful but like sad beautiful but still very beautiful 😭😭😭

Counting Crows (Poe Dameron x Reader)

I was trying to do some writing exercises and this is what happened. I am crying. I’m sorry. 

This is using one version of the counting crows rhyme that I have found. There are many, but this just happened to be the one I was working with. 

__

Requested: nope

Pairing(s): Poe Dameron x Reader

Words: 853

Warnings: major character death

__

One for sorrow

You had always had a strange relationship with birds. They were much easier to understand than people, much easier to read. The birds didn’t lie. They didn’t cheat. 

The day your home was attacked, the day you joined the resistance, you were 15 years old. Your parents were gone. By the time the resistance forces arrived, responding to your father’s call, everyone you knew and loved was dead. A small, black bird followed you until you boarded the troop carrier to D’Qar. 

Two for mirth

Keep reading

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐑𝐒. 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐄

˗ˏˋ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˎˊ˗

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — nathan mackinnon x claus!reader 𝐰𝐜 — 2k 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 — when she took the reins as the world's chief claus, her father forgot to disclose one very pressing hidden clause in the job contract... 

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — my mom and i watched this trilogy on a loop when i was growing up, so it only felt right to take some inspo!! <3

Most children would give anything to have Santa Claus as their father.

They wouldn’t if they knew what you did now.

Your father withheld a crucial detail throughout your many years of training. Perhaps the most important stipulation of them all—you cannot be Santa alone.

“Whoever wears the coat takes on the duties and responsibilities of Santa Claus. In accepting the contract, the cardholder acknowledges that they must marry the partner of their choosing before their first Christmas in service to retain the titles, privileges, and residence of Santa Claus. Failure to do so will result in immediate de-Santification.”

You needed a partner. Someone to act as caretaker to the elves and the reindeer, and to watch over the Workshop and general operations on Christmas night while you fly all around the globe, the embodiment of the season's spirit.

Santa Claus wouldn’t—and couldn't—be Santa Claus, if not for their other half.

You suppose you should’ve known, should’ve worked it out sooner. So much of what made Christmas special was because of your mother, the previous Mrs. Claus. In his many years as Santa, your father made a point to remind everyone of that. She is the steward of the season.

While Santa Claus tinkers with toys and checks the lists, charts travel routes and weather patterns, and develops contingency plans to accommodate the ever-evolving technology, their spouse keeps spirits bright. Without help, the effort was pointless. 

So, you should have realized. But you hadn’t, and now it might be too late.

“I have to find a husband in 28 days. If I don’t get married before Christmas Eve, I don’t get to wear the coat. I’ll lose the title, and the reins my family has held for thousands of years will pass to someone else,” you rant, tone carefully hushed to not rouse the temperamental husky one backyard over.

Your breath plumes away from you, rising before dissolving into the chilly Denver air. It reminds you of a snow globe, a bittersweet one.

“Who?” asks Nate.

Nate, like most of the world, is a Mundane, a non-magical person. He isn’t the descendant of Cupid or Mother Nature. Or a Santa Claus like yourself. He’s just Nate. Nathan MacKinnon from Halifax. Nathan MacKinnon, who now resides in Denver, Colorado, for work. 

It's well past midnight, and you’re sitting on his back porch with your head hung low and one of your reindeer, Comet, is nibbling on his icy grass.

“I don’t know,” you answer with a glum shrug. “Normally, it would go to the next child in line. Since I don't have any siblings, I guess the Council of Legendary Figures will convene and select my replacement.”

Nate nods.

In his eyes, you can see him listing off the members in his head. Mother Nature, Father Time, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, Sandman, Cupid, Jack Frost. To him, they’re mythical beings. Bedtime stories and folktales he was told as a child by the adults in his life. For you, they’re the closest thing you have to extended relatives.

And they butt heads like ones too.

“What will happen then? I mean, where will you go? Could you stay where you are now, just not as a Claus?” he asks.

“The North Pole is the only home I’ve ever known. All my family’s ever known. When the duty passes from one generation to the next, the predecessors remain in the village, but who knows if they’d get to stay if I fail to comply? It’s all in jeopardy now because of me.”

Nate lowers himself down onto the step beside you. He does his best to disregard the unpleasant feeling of his pajamas soaking in the snow, but you hear the wince.

With the snap of your fingers, the snow is gone, and his pants are completely dry. You’ve even warmed the concrete beneath him.

“Thanks,” he murmurs softly.

He doesn’t have to thank you; you’ve told him a million times. But he wants to. He can’t let you give without acknowledgment. Nate refuses to appear ungrateful, even for the little things that seem insignificant to you. Like vanishing snow or drying his pajama pants. 

Funnily, “Santa Claus” can feel like a thankless job. No one ever thanks you. They thank the persona, the relic. Nate wants you to know he’s grateful for your care and friendship, regardless of your occupation or magic.

Gently, he bumps his shoulder against yours. “You know there’s more than one person in a marriage, right?”

“Yes, but I haven’t exactly made an effort to find the other half of the equation,” you reply, deflecting. 

You always overtake blame. Nate thinks it might be your singular flaw. 

“I mean, it's hard because it's not like I can date like a normal person; my pool is small. And shallow. They either want me to give up the power entirely or give it to them instead. You remember what happened with Jackson Frost. All he wanted was the power his father failed to usurp. That should have been clear from the start. I guess I could see if Orpheus is still seeing the nymph Mother Nature fixed him up with. The whole narcolepsy thing, though not his fault, isn’t ideal, but the only other option is Val. And I’d rather not spend the rest of my life worried about flying arrows and jilted lovers.”

As the daughter of a Legendary Figure and soon-to-be one yourself, you haven’t had much time to date. Or even think about it, for that matter.

There was always a new wrapping paper to test for durability and shine or a machine on the assembly line that needed to be fixed before it broke any more dolls. Or a reindeer with a stomach ache refusing to fly. Or a fire in the kitchen that sets back cookie production by three weeks. Or a maniacal being with frigokinesis (the ability to manipulate snow) attempting to overthrow Santa Claus and assume control over the North Pole.

Crisis after crisis, all with very little personal time. That's why you opted for people who understood: the children of other Legendary Figures with dominion over their own holidays and cultural traditions. However, fraternizing with other magical beings comes with its own set of problems. For example, an ex-boyfriend and his father plotting to ruin your home, ancestral legacy, and a beloved holiday out of pure spite. 

“You’re forgetting someone.” Nate’s quiet voice yanks you out of the downward spiral.

“Who? Easter Bunny is our eternal bachelor who would sooner give up candy than have kids of his own, and Tooth Fairy’s kids are still, well, kids. Jack Smith recently took over as Pumpkin King after his father retired, but he’s not the nicest company. Especially when he’s drunk, which is, truthfully, most days. I guess I could look outside the Council, but —”

“Me. I’m talking about me. You forgot me,” Nate interjects with an impatient huff.

“What?” you blink in disbelief, assuming you misheard him.

There was no way he was throwing his hat into the ring. 

“I could be Mr. Claus. If you’d have me.”

Your face melts. If you'd have him? It wasn't even a question. 

“Nate, I could never ask that of you. You would have to leave everything—everyone, behind. You would have to give up a career you love and have worked so hard for. Not to mention abandoning all the friends you’ve made along the way. You would have to lie about where you live and who you married to—and what she does for a living for the rest of your life. Nothing would ever be normal again. I’m tethered to the North Pole, but I won’t lock you up there with me.”

“I’ve been dreaming about the North Pole since I was a kid. Long before you nearly knocked over my family’s Christmas tree and had to make it up to me with a ride around the block on Comet,” he says with a chuckle.

You snort, recalling the fire you almost started the first time your father ever brought you along for deliveries. You weren’t allowed down a chimney for a few years after that, but the friend you gained was worth the punishment. 

You take Comet to visit as often as you can and have been for years. He leaves out your favorite cookies on Christmas Eve, and you always save his house for last so you can spend the last hour of the season with your favorite person. 

But you always imagined a day would come when he finally grew up and stopped needing Santa Claus. For as long as you’ve known him, you’ve been planning for a broken heart.

You sniffle. Nate takes your hand in his.

“Knowing you—loving you has put that dream within grasp. You wouldn’t be locking me away because I’d go willingly. Happily. All I’ve ever wanted for Christmas is to go to the North Pole with you. To see where you grew up and meet all the people who made you as wonderful as you are.”

“Why have you never said anything?”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t be able to. “Only elves, reindeer, and Clauses,” remember?” Nate smiles, mimicking your father’s response to a ten-year-old Nate’s innocent request. He even does the jolly belly laugh, which warms your heart. “Bernard wouldn’t even let me past the hanger if the sleigh didn’t toss me into the Atlantic first.

But in all seriousness, I didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position with your father again. Or with yourself. I know how much the sanctity of Christmas means to you. I didn’t want you to feel obligated to show me something that would feel like intruding on the magic to you.”

All Nate has ever wanted for Christmas is for you to show him your home. All you’ve ever wanted is Nate. The only gift your father couldn’t make and the elves couldn’t build. In all her festive glory, even your mother couldn’t put what you truly wanted under the tree, though not for lack of trying.

Nate was the only person who could give the present of his presence, but you’d always been too fearful to ask, too worried he didn’t feel the same.

But here he is, crouched on a step in the middle of the night watching a reindeer chase a moth like a cat, telling you he’d give up everything to stand by your side. 

For you to be Santa Claus.

“Are you sure?” you ask apprehensively as if he were an animal you didn’t want to spook. “Sometimes we say things in the moment that we don’t really mean. Especially when someone flew 3,000 miles on a reindeer to throw a pity party in your backyard. You can take it back, and I promise nothing will change. No hard feelings whatsoever. I’ll still come and bring Comet to visit as often as possible. And you’ll stay on the Nice List, don’t worry. I wouldn’t even dream of —”

Nate cuts you off with a kiss. Sweet and perfect, and full of promise. The kind of kiss you dream about as a little girl, wondering what your Prince Charming might be like when he finally arrives. And tonight, yours did.

Albeit, the cape was missing (you preferred flannel pajamas anyway), and he hadn’t ridden in on the back of a mighty steed (you crash-landed on a reindeer-back, if that counts), but it was magical all the same.

“Wait!” you burst, abruptly pulling away. “What are you going to tell your parents? ‘Hey, Mom and Dad. Yeah, no, everything’s great. I just quit my job, sold my house, and moved to an undisclosed location—all without warning. No reason to worry!’ Somehow, I don’t see that going over all that well.”

“We can tell them we’re in Alaska and that you’re a toy maker," Nate casually supplies. He sounds like he's talking about the weather or what he had for lunch, not a life-altering cover story. "You couldn’t leave because your workshop is there, so I decided to move to be with you. People move all the time, especially to be with their fiancés.”

Though your heart flutters at the title, worry still hangs low over your head. You know how much he loves his family; you can’t bear to be the reason they’re separated indefinitely. 

“But when I find a way for them to visit, how would we swing that? The sleigh is big, but it's not airplane-big. Curtis is a master of disguise, but even he couldn’t make the sleigh look less like a sleigh.”

“Doesn’t Sandman owe your dad a favor?” Nate winks.

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[formulaforza]

furniture-- c.leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x reader word count: 750 a/n: thank u dani for snapping my writers block. art imitates life fr fr here

Are you busy? You texted him, tossed your phone onto the ground next to you and assessed the situation in front of you for the hundredth time. Pieces of wood everywhere, harware everywhere, a cordless drill your dad had given you when you moved out years ago–one he didn’t show you how to use. 

What had started as a simple Friday evening project, rearranging your apartment living room, had transformed into an all-consuming weekend of furniture and clutter shopping. The Ikea box–boxes–sit torn apart on the floor and the instruction pamphlet is disheveled amongst the mess somewhere. 

Never for you, he replies, you roll your eyes. 

You reach for your phone, quickly type out your response. Come over? You text, and immediately follow it up. Not for the reason you think.

He’s knocking on your door twenty-five minutes later, three knocks, pause, and then another. Just like always. You try to manuver your way out of the maze of wooden boards and dowels and hardware and the dreadful drill to get to the door. He’s on his phone when you open it, quickly shuts it off and shoves it in his pocket and smiles at you like an idiot. “Hi.”

“Help.” You say, straight-faced and serious because you’re in so over your head it’s not even funny. He laughs, you swing open the door nad mumble out a preemptive apology. 

He chokes your name out through a laugh as soon as he sees the mess. “What have you done?” 

“Can you help me?” You say over his shoulder, over his shaking head. Disbelief, amazement, fear, probably all of the above because you’ve truly created a monster.

“Cherie, what am I looking at, even?” He scratches the back of his head, his neck, just inside the collar of his t-shirt. 

“Entertainment center.”

He tries not to laugh. Fails miserably. “Are you sure?”

“I think.”

“Oh, mamma mia.” He shakes his head, looks at you and reflects your pout. “You’re so cute.”

You roll your eyes. “Are you going to help me, or not?” You are so far beyond help, mon amour, he sighed, told you to get something to drink and that he would figure out how to undo whatever you’d done and build the furniture the way it was originally intended to be built. “You don’t want my help?”

“I am scared of your help.” You would be offended if everything you’d managed to put together looked even a little bit like what the end goal was, but, he was probably right to be scared by what you could do. You were a little scared by how badly you’d managed to screw it up. It felt like maybe someone should take away your rights to adult if you couldn’t built a simple peice of furniture. “If I teach you, you won’t have to ask for my help next time.”

“This is truly an enlightening experience,” you say, pop another piece of fruit into your mouth. “Dinner and a show.” Who knew watching your guy-who-isn’t-your-guy play with high stakes Swedish legos could be so attractive. It’s just furniture, you’d try to remind yourself, and then he'd use your drill like his dad taught him how to use one instead of just giving him one as a gift. 

“Who gave this to you?” He asked about the drill the first time he picked it up. “I don’t think they liked you much.”

You laughed. He laughed at your laugh. “My dad,” you answered, and he shrugged his shoulders, didn’t confirm or deny his previous claim. You don’t know if he plays it safe because you’ve told him too much–or too little–information.

Despite a few of the screws angled just a bit awkwardly, the only real victim of the entertainment center debacle of 2023 is a single wooden dowel that snapped clean in half. “Do you have super glue?” He asked when the two of you finally stopped laughing about it. I have nail glue, you told him, and only time will tell if the cosmetic solution actually worked. 

“My hero!” You joked, stood up on your tip-toes to throw an arm around him, admired your–his–work now that the console had been set in it’s forever home. “I could not have done it without you.”

“You would’ve figured it out.” He says, smiles down at you like he isn’t a liar. “It just would have been…”

“A disaster?”

He chuckles. “Abstract.”

“Oh.” You laugh, kiss him because how can you not? “You’re sweet.”

[praetoravila]

can i have this dance?

a/n: this drabble takes place during big time dance! for context, instead of logan trying to ask camille out the entire episode, he tries to ask olive out but she's too busy with the planning of her quinceañera which is the same night as the dance. she's a lil disappointed that the boys can't come bc of them being on the dance committee but the biggest disappointment comes from her parents. @ceruleanmusings is to blame for this drabble somehow growing legs and turning into a proper ficlet. oh! and olive’s dress is the one that sarah cushing wears in the quinceañera episode of superman and lois. hope you all enjoy!

taglist: @raging-violets @myloveforhergoeson @ceruleanmusings @nolanhollogay @bibaybe @daughter-of-melpomene @selangkir @happinessismagicc @joshdiaz

the dance was in full swing when olive showed up. it was a little bit after 9:30pm, and she waved wren's concerned looks off as she made her way into rocque records, her extravagant ball gown dragging on the floor.

so what her quinceañera had sucked? so what her parents hadn't show up?

again.

it was totally, completely fine. she didn't need them or some stupid party to signify her turning 15. she could focus on prom instead and find her friends and have fun for the first time this night.

she stumbled through the hallway, passing by james and kendall who were bickering about something while jo watched on, a soft smile on the blonde's face. carlos was dancing with the jennifers and olive bit back a laugh at how ridiculous he looked.

finally she entered the big ballroom, where most of their classmates were. she scanned her eyes over the crowd of excited students before she found the one she was looking for.

logan was standing by the punch bowl, dressed in a simple black suit. his hair was spiked up with more product than usual. he looked cute. hell. he looked hot, leaning against the wall like that.

"hey." olive said as she walked up to him. logan's eyes bugged out of his head as he took her look in. "whoa."

"yeah. wren insisted that i get all dressed up for my quinceañera. it was stupid. i didn't even end up staying." she shook her head, the loose strands of hair falling in her face.

logan tucked one strand behind her ear. "i'm sorry we couldn't be there." he said quietly, and olive shrugged. "wasn't worth it anyways. rafael and mara didn't show up."

logan frowned at olive's causal use of her parents first names. "really?"

"yeah. i'm used to the disappointment though. it sucked that i didn't get the chance to dance at all." she said, looking down at her feet.

she was still wearing the heels that wren had practically forced her into. logan's body shifted closer to her, and she looked up at him, the sudden realization that with her heels on, she fit perfectly under his chin.

"well since you didn't get to dance at your quinceañera, can i have this dance olive pasqualina?" as if on cue, the music changed from an upbeat pop song to a soft ballad that olive remembered from the third high school musical movie that she had watched a few years ago.

"take my hand, take a breath pull me close and take one step..."

olive bit down on her lip as she nodded, letting logan grab one hand and place it on his shoulder, the other grabbing his fingers and intertwining them with hers. his left hand ended up on her hip.

slowly, they began spinning around towards the centre of the dance floor, ignoring everyone else around them, unsure but steady. she stumbled for a second and logan caught her, their chests flushed against each other. she looked up, her heart pounding.

"it's one in a million the chances of feeling the way we do and with every step together we just keep on getting better so can i have this dance?"

zac efron and vanessa hudgens crooned in the background as olive felt time slow down as logan leaned down to kiss her.

it wasn't the kind of kiss you saw in movies. it was slightly awkward from the angle that she had to crane her neck, and logan's lips were chapped and rough and jesus did he smell like 'cuda cologne - winter's edge her brain supplied, remembering it from one of james' many useless rants, but it was a first kiss.

it was a pretty damn good one if olive thought so herself.

they pulled apart, and olive's stomach flipped with butterflies inside. it was ridiculous she thought to herself. logan looked equally as shocked.

"we just kissed." he said matter of factly, like he couldn't quite believe it.

“was that your first kiss?” olive asked, and the blush on logan’s face told her everything she needed to know. the brunette boy nodded slowly, and olive could feel those stupid butterflies rising again.

“it was a good one.” logan said with a soft smile. “i’d be willing to have you be my second. if you are?”

she could feel her face becoming equally as red as she shifted closer again.

“yeah. i am.”

logan’s fingers gently grasped her jaw as he leaned in, and olive breathed in his cologne as she lost herself to the feeling of his lips against hers again.

maybe her quinceañera hadn’t been a total bust.