#my little guy............................
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zacharie070 · 3 days ago
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*Alice voice* "Pick up, Sam. Pick up. It’s on Santa's Sleigh, It’s on Santa's Sleigh!"
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andromeddog · 3 days ago
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a well deserved rest
my secret santa gift for @onlyyouexisthere ✨ i hope you enjoy this drawing of winters having a little break, which we could all use
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koshercosplay · 2 days ago
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alrighty folks buckle up for the fifth year of menorabilia ratings! I've scoured the internet (and my eyeballs) so get ready for the best and worst chanukah merchandise of the year
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okay first I just need to get these fuckin gnomes out of the way. ideally permanently. this guy's hat has so much going on I don't know where to begin. the menorah? not kosher. also wrong. the dreidels? certainly have,,, something written on them. everyone knows reindeer love chanukah, the lighting fires holiday. 5/10 at least it's got SOMEWHAT of a cuteness factor
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turning old CDs into fake sufganiyot is certainly creative bc that's the only explanation for those monstrosities that I'll accept. please don't spin your spontaneous combustion menorahs on top of your dreidels. it won't bring the next season any faster. 4/10 I'll put up with a lot if you're offering to pay for my netflix account
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they are Setting That Torah On Fire. is that why there's an oil jug next to a candle menorah. 6/10 the פ instead of a ש‎ on the dreidel is because the miracle is just the torah not bursting into flames
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this really puts the messy in messianic. it's got the wrong amount of branches. why is the shamash just two stacked cups. the cross looks like an airplane. oh god it also has the jesus fish. -76162802492/10 never knew a single image could contain so much No.
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some of these menorahs are kosher and some are not which really spices things up. what a fun little game of I spy for me. I enjoy the addition of various happy animals celebrating chanukah but were the santa hats really necessary? 7/10 that bottom dreidel has two נ‎s. none dreidel with left coins.
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I can acknowledge that it's an attempt to jewish-ize a christmas thing but tinsel is, unfortunately, occasionally, pretty. weird choice to have all the menorahs have נ‎s but sure. what's that? those are dreidels? wrong. take a look at the helpful next image of this item.
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do you see it yet? here let me help.
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clearly those are menorahs. we light them on fire and spin them as fast as we can. first one to die loses. 5/10 google is your friend
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move over fiddler on the roof chassidim with bottle balancing skills, here come some cats with impressive candle dexterity. this may not be a kosher menorah but their TAILS are the BRANCHES. 7/10 I am easily won over by the presence of cats okay
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canon jewish representation, a spinning dreidel, a kosher menorah, some chocolate gelt, and they're eating fresh latkes. I needed these yesterday. 10/10 rugrats my beloved never lets me down
(previous years 1, 2, 3, 4)
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ghouljams · 2 days ago
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Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?
Rating: E (MDNI) Words: ~11k Tags: Ghost x f!Reader, Dirtbag!Ghost, strangers -> ???, groping, non-con kissing, coerced consent, oral (F!Receiving), fingering, squirting, piv sex, kidnapping? Summary: A stranger online promises he'll make your parents' Christmas hell, and you're eager to take him up on the offer. You may have bitten off more than you can chew.
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<Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?
[casual encounters]
“I am a 35 year old former SAS operator with no A levels, tattoos, and a motorcycle. I can play anywhere from 30 to 40 depending on if I shave. I’m a line cook and I work late nights at my mate’s bar. If you’d like to have me pretend to be in a long term serious relationship with you, to torment your family, I’m game.
I can do these things, at your request:
Openly hit on female guests while you act like you don’t notice
Start instigative discussions about religion and/or politics
Propose to you in front of everyone
Talk at length about my time in the army including what it felt like to kill a man(good or bad your choice)
Pretend to be really drunk as the evening goes on(don’t drink much these days, but I know the drill)
Start an actual, physical fight with a family member, either inside or on the front lawn for all the neighbors to see.
Only pay I want is the free meal and the entertainment.”
-do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers
*
RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?” 
Is this offer still open?
*
RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”
Depends how far you want me to travel.
-S
*
RE: RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”
Any chance you’re in the XXXXX area? I’ll buy you lunch and we can talk details.
*
RE: RE: RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”
Close enough for a free meal. I’m in XXXX
-S
*
RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”
Let’s meet at Gallery Eats. Also can you send me an ID or something so I know what you look like?
*
RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”
[attachment] [attachment]
Know you birds get jumpy, send it out to your little friends. 
Tuesday 15:30
See you there 
-S
*
He’s already at the shop when you get there, scrolling through his phone with his legs spread wide under the little wooden table, a full-face motorcycle helmet taking up more than half of the tiny tabletop.
You hadn’t realized how big the guy would be. Even sitting down he’s massive. You’d bet money he’s over six foot, and he easily eclipses the little cafe chair he’s settled in. His craigslist ad wasn’t lying when it said “tattoos.” The guy’s arms are covered in swirling black ink, and you follow the line of it up to the dark collar of his shirt where it peaks out to creep up his neck. He’s perfect. Your folks will hate him.
Dark eyes meet yours and a smirk creeps over his face, it tugs at a thin scar bisecting his lips.
He stands, and you bee-line for him.
“Thank god you look like your picture.” You huff, settling your bag on the chair across from him.
“That any way ta greet your man?” He grunts, holding a hand out. “Simon.”
You take his hand with a smile, and feel thick fingers wrap around your own. You glance down at the dark seal on the back of his hand, the carefully inked numbers already fading with age spelling out “141.” 
“So,” He smiles, leaning so far back in his seat that the chair tips, “How mad are we talkin’?”
*
It turns out Simon’s motorcycle isn’t his only mode of transportation. You roll up to your parents house in a half-wrapped muscle car that Simon claims he’s been “working on” and you can almost smell the distaste radiating off of your folks when they peak through the front window. Simon makes a big show of ignoring you while you try to get the oddly shaped Christmas gifts out of the trunk, lighting a cigarette and checking his phone while you struggle. Finally your parents decide to wander out onto their front step, and your father stalks over to take the bulkier gifts from you while Simon eyes him.
You grin at him, already pleased with his grumbling and glaring at Simon. Simon, for his part, offers a, “Sure it ain’t too heavy old man?” That makes a vein on your father’s temple throb angrily. He ambles after you and your father, and makes a show of giving your mom a once over.
“Sweetheart!” Your mother grimace-smiles at you, “Who is this?”
“This is Simon,” You sigh, leaning against Simon with a dopey smile, “My boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend.” Your mother grits her teeth, “You didn’t say you were bringing a guest.”
“Oh I know, but you can pull up a chair, right?” You gasp, “We’re not messing up your table are we?”
Your mother’s eye twitches. You know her well enough to know she’s already thinking about people bumping elbows at an overcrowded table. You can almost hear your little cousins complain about the lack of space. You also know she’ll never admit her annoyance in front of a guest.
“Of course not.” She smiles tightly, “The more the merrier.” She turns to Simon. “It’s nice to meet you Simon.”
Simon finally takes his cue, tossing his ashy cigarette onto the stone walkway with a flick of his fingers. He exhales nearly into your mother’s face before seemingly remembering last minute that, that’s rude.
“Nice to meet you,” His eyes flick down to your mother’s chest, “Can see where the bird gets ‘er tits from.”
You could scream with laughter the way your mother’s lips tighten into a thin line and her brows twitch down ever so slightly, the picture of barely contained shock and disgust. You can feel your father fuming on the other side of you.
“Why don’t we put presents down?” You chirp, trying to play at oblivious while Simon leers at your mother. She does her best to subtly cross her arms and tug the neck of her sweater closed. “Simon, do you have a hand to help dad?”
“Course, sweet’eart.” He hums, leaning to kiss your temple. A sweet gesture if he didn’t grab a handful of your ass at the same time, angled precisely so you’re sure your dad can see. “Christ you got a fat ass,” He mumbles, his voice low and graveled as he squeezes you again. You feel your cheeks heat in spite of yourself. It’s all pretend, all things you’ve talked about, but that doesn’t stop your body from reacting. His big hand lingers, fingers dragging over your ass as he pushes past your parents into the house. Uninvited.
You ignore your mother’s pointed look under the pretense of juggling presents, pushing into the house after your fake boyfriend.
Simon unceremoniously snatches the gifts from your father as soon as he’s in the house, haphazardly tossing the boxes under the tree while you carefully place your own presents, seemingly ignorant of your boyfriend’s lack of care.
“So how was the drive?” Your dad asks, trying to find something to talk about.
“Bloody awful,” Simon butts in before you can answer, he jerks his head in your direction, “‘ad to listen to the bird’s music the ‘ole time.”
“I thought you liked my music,” You pout.
“When tha fuck ‘ave I ever said that?” He snaps at you. You stifle the flinch and watch Simon’s brows draw down ever so slightly.
When you’d gone through all the details for this he’d told you to try and temper your flinching, assured you that you didn’t need to be scared of him, that if you were dating he’d never lay a hand on you. That didn’t stop his quick, harsh, response from startling you. At least the small crease in his brow made you think he didn’t enjoy the reaction.
“When we first met.” You smile, playing it off. 
“And you believed that?” Simon huffs, “Can’t believe I’m the first one to grab ya off the street with ‘ow gullible ya are.”
You blink at him, and turn to hastily cover for him to your dad.
“A consensual grabbing.” You assure him.
“Think I’m still deaf in my right ear from ‘ow loud ya screamed.” Simon grumbles, digging a finger into his ear as if to demonstrate his hearing loss. You feel your cheeks heat reflexively. Even fictional it’s embarrassing to imagine that you might have met a long term serious boyfriend in a kidnapping attempt.
Nevermind that the idea of someone like Simon grabbing you off the street is a major plot point in some of your favorite videos. You try to keep your mind out of the gutter, a difficult task with Simon’s fingers grazing your ass.
“It was a prank.” You continue covering.
“Bet actually.” Simon corrects in an attempt to make things worse. “Seein’ ‘oo could take the prettiest bird ‘ome.” He nudges your dad as if he’s bringing him in on the joke, “Should’ve seen ‘ow much this one struggled, should’ve known she’d be an ‘andful.”
“Your friends sound-” Your dad swallows whatever distaste boils behind his tongue in an effort to keep the peace, “interesting.”
“Served together.” Simon sniffs.
“Oh!” Your father seems to brighten at this new information.
“Lost a lot of good men, but kept all the worst, eh bird?” Simon tosses a smile your way. The playful grin lights up his face, tugs at his scars in a way that’s far too charming. 
“Where did you serve?” Your father asks, too eager for war talk.
“Went where I was needed.” Simon grunts. It’s an end to the conversation. You can see your father trying to think of where to go from there, if he should push for a different answer or ask about if Simon enjoyed his time in the service. He settles on exactly what you’re sure Simon was hoping for.
“So what do you do now?”
You almost brace yourself for his answer, and you’re glad for the added tension in your shoulders because it stops you from barking out a laugh.
“Beside fuckin’ the bird?” He doesn’t get another word out before your father growls out a loud.
“Alright-” that your mother cuts off with her well timed, if sudden entrance.
“Your aunt is on her way,” She informs you, “She’s excited to meet your boyfriend.”
“You got a lot of people comin’ ta this thing?” Simon asks, as if you hadn’t given him a full guest list.
“Just a few,” Your mother smiles, “my sister lives nearby so she’ll be bringing her boys.”
“Would’ve been nice ta know there were brats comin’ ta this thing,” Simon gives you a look and you pout.
“I told you this was a family thing.” You remind him.
“Didn’t know ya had so much family,” He sniffs, “Brother isn’t comin’ ta this too is ‘e?”
You have to stop yourself from grinning at the family landmine Simon so perfectly walked into.
“Henry doesn’t come to family functions anymore,” Your mother tells him curtly.
“Heard ‘e got tired of havin’ you scare off ‘is girls,” Simon grins, “thought you’d be a bigger bitch.” You choke. You mother’s gaze whips to you and you carefully go about adjusting the presents under the tree just so you don’t have to look at her. 
“Well I don’t know where you heard that,” The high note in your mother’s voice betrays her, the faux-calmness barely covering the boiling anger that’s starting to show, “but it’s not true.”
“Are you callin’ me a liar,” Simon’s voice takes an icy note in response and you glance over your shoulder to watch him roll his shoulders back. You can see the way his musculature moves even under his jumper. The threat is palpable, and also completely inappropriate for the situation.
He’s good at this.
It’s your father’s turn to diffuse the situation.
“You a footie fan?” He asks, because he’s ass at calming your mother (or anyone else) down. You can practically feel Simon’s attention shift, like the air in the room has to adjust to the pressure he exerts.
“City.” Simon huffs. You dad grins, and you know exactly what he’s going to say. Playful ribbing that somehow always ends in a screaming match.
“Manchester boy, eh? Ya find it hard losin’ to Liverpool all the time or do ya get used to it?” Your father jokes. The question hangs dead in the air. Simon hasn’t moved a muscle, so still it scares even you, and you know it’s just an act.
“You like chewin’ your food?” Simon asks, his voice so deathly calm that you grab his arm with  a laugh and pull at him.
“He’s just kidding Simon,” You placate, trying to pull your --wow this guy’s bicep is huge-- fake boyfriend away, “Right dad?”
“Oh come on,” You father tosses your way with a shake of his head, “I can handle a Manc-” He snorts and turns to Simon “-at least better than their players handle the ball.”
Simon flexes under your hands, and you physically can’t restrain him from shaking you off to stalk over to your dad. 
“Simon please,” You plead, you don’t even have to act, the way he grabs your father by the shirt collar you all but leap to wrap your arms around his waist and try to pull him back, “not again!”
“Again!” Your mother yelps as your father holds his hands up, eyes wide with fear.
“It was a joke,” Your father assures Simon.
“Fuckin’ better be.” Simon relents, releasing his hold on your father and turning those dark eyes to you.
“Look’t you grabbin’ me,” He grabs you before you can let him go, your muscles still vibrating with adrenaline. He holds your face with the same hand that had held your father, squeezes your cheeks with his fingers.“Real cute, thinkin’ you could ‘old me back.” Your stomach flips. “Taught you better’n that didn’ I? You want somethin’ you gotta ask, yeah?”
“I don’-” You try to shake yourself back to your senses and Simon squeezes you a little tighter, “Please let go.” Embarrassment settles hot in your stomach at the spark of… something in Simon’s eyes.
“There’s my girl,” He smiles, “Now give us a kiss love.”
You feel your stomach drop out, and you’re sure it shows on your face. Simon raises a brow. Your tongue feels too big in your dry mouth. You swallow and glance at your parents.
“I thought you said no PDA,” You try. This wasn’t in the brief.
“Just on the cheek then,” His smile is absolutely devilish, you wonder where he learned it, “Wouldn’t want ta embarrass you in front of your folks.” Your mother scoffs. Simon turns to glare at her and you rush a quick peck on his cheek just to get it over with.
His stubble is sharp where it pokes against your lips, but his skin is surprisingly soft. You almost hesitate pulling away. Your skin already feels hot with the humiliation of kissing a veritable stranger whose only goal is to antagonize your parents for the evening, so you don’t waste time with the action.
You’re saved by your aunt opening the front door with a loud, excited:
“Happy Christmas!”
Before she freezes in the doorway. Your cousins rush in, seemingly unaware of the tension and you take the opportunity to pull out of Simon’s grip.
“Is this a bad time?” Your aunt asks as tactfully as she can given the energy in the house.
“It’s a great time,” Simon answers for the crowd with a smile. Your mother throws an alarmed look your way and does her best to plaster on something less emotional for her sister.
“I thought you were gonna help with the presents,” Your uncle calls from behind your aunt, who immediately turns to help him get the boxes in. You see her vaguely gesture at the house through the crack between the door and the frame and wonder just what she’s trying to convey. 
This holiday is already off to a terrible start. Which is great. But you can’t shake the feeling that it’s going… worse than you’d initially thought it would.
“When are we eating?” One of your cousins asks, you turn to see the teen, Jack, staring at you. You suppose you’re the only adult that ever really gives any of them the time of day, makes sense he’d ask you.
“Uh,” you blink, trying to come up with a decent answer for him, “probably soon.”
“I wanna open presents,” One of the little ones whines.
“You gotta wait,” Jack tells him. 
“Ok!” Your aunt announces as she comes back inside, now holding gifts, “Looks like you’ve already started the party!”
“Haven’t even started drinking yet,” Simon assures her. Your uncle joins the fray, shuffling past you to set his gifts under the tree as well.
“You drink.” Your mother clarifies with a smile, she’s hiding the horror well.
“I’m the life of the party love,” He tosses your mom a wink and turns to look around. You assume for the liquor.
“What do you drink?” Your uncle asks, good natured as usual. That’ll change.
“Bourbon.” Simon hums, “But I’ll take a beer if that’s all ya got.”
“Sure there’s somethin’ around here somewhere.” Your uncle meanders over to your parent’s short liquor cabinet and starts rifling through the bottles. Your mother shoots you a look that practically begs you to stop him.
“Do you need something mom?” You ask, oblivious.
“It’s just a little early to start drinking, don't you think?” She asks, a leading question. You know what she’s trying to do.
“You sayin’ I can’t get a drink?” Simon asks.
“Let the man have a drink,” You uncle cajoles, “It’s a holiday!”
Your mother’s lips press into a thin line. She doesn’t comment on the glass your uncle pours for Simon, but she does retreat to the kitchen with your aunt in toe. You’re almost tempted to follow them and see what they’re saying. Maybe you could throw some fuel on the fire. Simon throws an arm around your shoulders before you can move, holding you against his side to keep you in place. You glance up at him, he doesn’t look at you. 
You tug your phone from your pocket for something to do, trying to look busy and uninterested in the chaos Simon is sowing, when it’s all you can think about. He manages a normal conversation with your little cousins, going through introductions like a regular person, even commenting on the shirt Jack is wearing. You glance at it and just know that was a fight with his mother. Looks like it’s based off some horror movie, blood dripping off a knife held aloft by a masked figure. Not very Christmas-y.
You can almost hear the argument that must have taken place when he’d put it on.
Simon must be smart enough to figure that out because he’s really hyping up the teen over the shirt. Talking about the movie and complaining about how his mom sounds like a bitch. Your cousin blinks at the swear before you see a grin split his face.
“Fuck yeah, is aunty letting us swear now?” Jack asks, too excited to contain it.
“The fuck is she the queen of England?” Simon laughs, turning to you, “Your mum’s not lettin’ ‘em swear?” You shrug.
“She says it isn’t ‘proper’.” Jack rolls his eyes.
“Fuck proper.” Simon snorts. He shoots you a look as he sips his drink. You’re sure Jack will be cussing the rest of the evening with Simon to back him up. Your mom’s gonna love that.
Your aunt comes out of the kitchen and grabs her husband to whisper in his ear. Your uncle glances at Simon and makes a confused face. One of the younger ones runs up to them and loudly asks:
“What’s fuck mean?” 
Simon averts his gaze and you feel his shoulders shake with restrained laughter. You have to hold it in yourself, the glare your aunt sends Simon’s way is too funny. The kid was bound to hear it from his brother eventually. Really, Simon is saving the teen from being grounded with that one.
Your mom comes sweeping into the living room just in time to save Simon from getting an earful. Your aunt’s glare transfers to her before she can fix her face. Your mother’s lips pucker, an unpleasant understanding that something is happening crossing her eyes. She ignores it, much like every other unpleasant thing you’ve witnessed with her, in favor of normalcy.
“Dinner is ready!” She announces.
“That was fast,” You blink, usually she spends more time milling about and waiting for people to finish a few cocktails.
“Well,” She smiles at Simon, “I thought I’d speed things up so nobody misses any other christmases.”
“Got nowhere to be.” He informs her.
“Oh I’m sure you’re mother would-”
“Mum’s dead.” Simon sniffs.
“Then your fath-”
“If the bastard was still alive I’d kill ‘im myself.” Simon smiles at her over the rim of his glass before knocking back the rest of the bourbon and pouring himself another two fingers, “You got me all night if I want.”
Your mothers lips pucker again, the slightest hint of distaste in her expression before she manages a smile.
“We’re glad to have you.” She offers. You expect she’ll still try to force you out early. “Dinner?”
“Bloody starvin’.” Simon grunts, pushing past her towards the kitchen.
Your uncle is already serving himself from the various pans laden with food. Your father isn’t far behind him, eyeing the roast like a man starved.
You grab one of the Christmas patterned plates and hold it out to Simon, letting him queue behind your father. He glances around and you watch his eyes land on your cousins hovering nearby.
“Adults serve first,” You whisper to Simon when he steps back from the line for food to let the kids cut in front. It’s a quiet motion that presses him into you, he glances back like he might give you an apology before he makes eye contact with your aunt and loops his arm around you instead. 
“What?” He asks loudly, “Your mum tryin’ ta starve the poor buggers or somethin’?” You blink at him. He raises a brow. “No heart under those tits, eh?”
Your aunt gasps and he gives her a once over. You keep your eyes on your little cousins as they happily load up their plates with turkey and mashed potatoes. One of the older boys smothers his whole plate in gravy and honestly, you can’t blame him.
“Can’t be jealous, ya clearly got the better ass.” Simon tells your aunt as you scooch around him to get your own plate. He catches you around the middle and pulls you back, curling over you. He tips your head back with a hand on your throat, thick fingers squeezing just enough to dimple the skin.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks. You barely hear him over the roll of butterflies in your stomach. Your cheeks blaze with heat, and you clench your thighs together tight at the way he glowers down at you.
“I’m gonna make you a plate,” You tell him, he pinches your cheek and lets you free.
“Good girl,” He tells you, “Got ‘er well trained don’t I?” He jokes to your aunt, who you can feel radiating anger behind you.
You don’t really know what he likes, but Simon is a big guy so you get him a bit of everything, loading up his plate like you do this every day. It’s probably too much food, but part of you sort of likes the idea that he’s eating what you “made” for him. You hand him the full plate and he smiles, you turn back to grab your own food --you must still be nervous from having his hand at your throat-- and he smacks your ass. You bite back the yelp that threatens to break free. The sharp sting of pain spreads through you like wildfire, blossoming over your skin even through your skirt.
You quickly pile food onto your plate, hoping your aunt takes your speedy exit as one of embarrassment and not one of- well a different sort of embarrassment.
You manage to squeeze into the seat next to Simon, feeling his thick thigh press against yours like a warm anchor. Your mother gives him a dirty look as he reaches to fool with one of the candles in the middle of the table. You’re sure she heard his loud announcement that she doesn’t care about her nephews. His other hand settles on your leg under the table and you stiffen. Thick callused fingers grip your thigh, squeezing the soft flesh with something you desperately want to call reassurance. He knows no one can see that, right?
You watch the rest of your family fill the table, your little cousins already picking at their food, stuffing salad leaves into their mouths and pretending not to lick the gravy off their fingers. You wait for everyone to take their seats before you pick up your fork and your aunt shoots you a look.
“I’d like to-” your aunt starts only to be cut off by your fake-boyfriend.
“I want ta make an announcement.” Simon tells the table loudly, the conversation goes dead, your mother’s eyes bore holes into you, begging for anything but an announcement. You think she might bend her fork with how tight she grips it watching Simon shove his chair back to drop to one knee. You clasp a hand over your mouth, doing your best to play the part of shocked girlfriend, despite having planned this. 
“Simon!” You squeal as he tugs a black ring box from his pocket.
“Lemme talk baby,” Simon hushes you and you shut your mouth quickly, “I know it’s only been a couple a months-” the look in your mother’s eyes could kill an elephant, “-but I’m mad fer ya, an’ I know birds like you get off market quick so if I wanna keep that ass to myself I bloody well better get ya tied down.” Your mother gasps.
“Shut ya gob, I’m tryin’ ta propose.” He snaps at her, and she leans back like she’s been struck. Simon turns back to you, and you feel a rush of heat drip between your legs at the look in his eyes. This guy should be on TV with how good an actor he is.
“Will you marry me?” He finally gets out and you nod.
“Of course I will!” You fling yourself against him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.
His big hands find your waist and squeeze. You pull away to take the ring box and he nearly pulls you out of your chair, only to push you back into it as he kisses you.
Your eyes go wide and you struggle to keep your hands on him when all you want to do is lurch away. Not a good look on an excited and newly ringed up girlfriend.
But the way he kisses you makes your stomach churn. His lips cover yours and almost as quickly as you get used to the feeling his tongue is trying to force its way into your mouth. You rush to close your eyes only to feel his tongue, thankfully, retreat. And be replaced by his teeth, biting your lip hard enough to bruise, prying your lips apart to slip his tongue in and lick your teeth. 
Your head swims, your eyes rolling at the way his hands grope and squeeze you, tagging every soft scrap they can find while he attempts to devour you. He does something with his tongue, twists it against yours to tickle the roof of your mouth, and you make a noise without meaning to. It’s all you can do to remember to clumsily slide your lips against his. You’re not sure you make a pretty picture when he pulls away, his spit trailing off your slick, swollen, lips. You suppose this evening isn’t really about painting a pretty picture.
It makes you squirm to feel his big thumb swipe over your lower lip, dragging the poor thing down to see your teeth. 
A chill racks your body as his eyes follow the motion of his thumb.
Your father loudly clears his throat. Your mother looks mortified. Your little cousins are covering their eyes while the teen pointedly looks at his phone.
Simon rubs the ring on your finger, pressing the metal back and forth against your skin. When the fuck did he put that on you?
“I’d like to say Grace,” Your aunt tries to wrestle the evening back into familiar territory as Simon sets you back in your chair. 
Your family bows their heads and you smack your knee on the underside of the table as you jump, unprepared for how high Simon’s hand settles on your thigh. You don’t even hear whatever prayer your aunt is saying with the way the blood rushes in your ears at the wide splay of Simon’s fingers. So. Close. 
You settle your hand on his and try to push him back to safe ground.
Jesus this guy is strong. Pain in your-
“Everything okay over there?” Your uncle asks. You must have looked like you were struggling more than you thought you were. 
“Fine,” You tell him, even though things are decidedly not fine and Simon won’t move his hand, “Just fussing with the ring.”
“Oh yes,” Your aunt holds her hand out across the table, “let’s see it.”
You hesitate before taking your hand off Simon’s. He doesn’t move, seemingly settled with where he’s settled. You hold your hand out for her to grab, let her turn your hand this way and that. Simon had told you he’d grab a ring, so you haven’t actually seen it yet. It’s pretty. A nice pear cut diamond with a trinity of what looks like pearls on either side. You wonder where he got it, you’re just glad it looks less fake than costume jewelry usually does.
“How nice,” Your mother coos, it sounds even less sincere than her compliments usually do.
You’re thankful you don’t need to do much talking at dinner. Simon more than makes up for you. He talks at length about how “mint” your friends are --he’s never met them-- and how his mates are begging for a go with you. He explains to your teen cousin, at length, how his violent video games could be worse, after your aunt bemoans the fact he’s been playing war sims. He makes no move to censor himself, actually from the few conversations you’ve had with him, you think he’s swearing more than he usually does. He even manages to start an argument with your father about “taking the gloves off” during combat.
“Different once you’re in active combat,” He explains like he’s talking to your father, “You do what you have to, keepin’ your ‘ands clean isn’t exactly front of your mind.”
You glace across the table at Jack, the teen looks completely invested in whatever Simon is saying. You can almost hear the look your aunt has fixed you with, you’re sure you’ll get a call later about your fiance “encouraging him to get himself killed.” 
“Oh please,” Your father blusters, “if that were the case the royal service would be under investigation. We’d see it on the BBC: Special Air Service members torture civilians. What a load of horse-” Your mother coughs and your father shuts his mouth.
“Got plenty of men like me givin’ orders,” Simon digs into his pocket to pull his cigarettes, stopping with his teeth around the filter of one when your mother coughs loudly. He shoves them back into his pocket with a grumbled swear. “Like I told ya earlier, ‘s not the good men that come back.”
“You’re so cool,” Jack tells Simon with wide eyes. Your aunt smacks his arm with the back of her hand, reprimanding. Simon’s eyes narrow.
He watches your aunt the rest of dinner. The conversation drifts as plates are emptied. You attempt to stand to help clear the table, and Simon holds you in your chair. Your mother putters around the table with your aunt, you smile and thank them. You’re almost done. Then you can go home and wait for the flood of texts/calls from your mom.
You can just imagine the way she’ll try to convince you to break off your (fake)engagement. You’ll wait a few weeks before spinning up some story about Simon cheating on you. Your family will be so grateful Simon’s gone they won’t ask any questions.
“Does anyone want pudding or are we going straight to-”
“Presents!” Your youngest cousin cuts your mom off, rushing  to the tree as soon as his plate is cleared. Your aunt grabs him and brings him back to the table only for him to run over again. She manages to pull a gift from his little hands, and bring him screaming back to the table. You wince at the sharp sound, the fat tears rolling down the kid’s chubby cheeks, crying about opening presents. Your aunt reminds him shortly that there’s still dessert to get through. It barely makes a dent in the tears. The kid pulls at his mom’s grip, screaming and kicking. 
Simon’s hand on your thigh tippens its grip. 
You know, you know. It’s never fun sitting around with a kid throwing a tantrum, but you’re sure your aunt will handle it-
There’s a sharp crack as your aunt spanks the kid. Hard.
Simon shoots up from his seat.
Your little cousin’s tears turn to sniffles and a wobbly lip as his mom gives him a hissed warning. 
Your hands shake as Simon stalks around the table to grab your aunt’s hand.
“The one thing you’re not gonna fuckin’ do,” He tells her in a low warning tone, “is hit your fuckin’ kid in front of me.”
It’s so different from the anger he’d had with your father over football. You know that, that was acting, but this… It radiates off of Simon like a miasma, dark seething hatred, anger like you’ve never seen. Your aunt looks at him like she’s seen a ghost. Her eyes are wide and scared, her hand still holding your cousin’s arm squeezes tighter, like the child is her only lifeline. 
“Ow!” The kid whines, the sniffles starting again in full, “Mum that hurts.” 
Simon cocks his head, his own grip tightening.
“Let ‘im go,” Simon presses, his anger as cold as death, “Or I’ll break your arm.”
“Simon,” You don’t know what you’re hoping your voice will add to this, not even sure what you should do, all you know is that you brought Simon into this house which makes him your responsibility.
“He’s alright,” Your aunt tries to assure Simon, “aren’t you sweetie?”
“Mum!” Your cousin whines again. Your aunt lets go of his arm like it’s burned her.
“Now apologize.” Simon demands. Your aunt nods sharply and swallows.
“Mum’s sorry baby,” She directs the comment at your cousin but her eyes are fixed on Simon, watching him like a rabbit watches a wolf. “It was just a little spank.” You think the pleading justification makes it worse with the way Simon’s eye twitches. 
“I ever catch you hittin’ ‘im again-” Your aunt’s eyes dart to you, to the fake rock on your finger, “-and it won’t just be your arm I break.”
Your glance to your mother for- God you don’t even know, help? Maybe? She glares at you like this is your fault. Fair enough. Your uncle seems quicker on the uptake.
“Maybe we take Christmas to go,” He chimes in, “Grab the kid’s gifts, since they seem tired.”
Your mother grabs hold of this lifeline as quickly as she can wrap her head around it.
“Absolutely!” She hurries to the tree to start sorting out gifts, “Oh I didn’t realize they’d be so exhausted, we all know fits are just fits, right Simon?”
“I look like I’m throwin’ a fuckin’ fit?” Simon asks her, his voice still cold.
“You know I’m pretty tired too,” Your aunt agrees.
“I’m not.” Jack chimes in.
“Yes, you are.” His mom hisses.
“And it looks like snow,” Your uncle adds, “so we should go.”
You hardly get a word in before your cousins are rushed out the door, no hug or forced familiarity from your aunt as she and your uncle juggle presents and strapping kids into car seats.
Simon takes one of the armchairs in the living room amidst the chaos, dangling his glass with his fingers on the rim as he glowers at your aunt. Your attempt to help them gather presents is stopped by Simon pulling you down into his lap. You stiffen reflexively to try and leverage some of your weight off of him, and he pulls you to lean against his chest. 
Maybe it’s good you don’t say good-bye. You’re not sure anything you could say would sound sincere with the way you’re perched on your fake fiance. You’ll definitely be hearing about this later.
You’ve never seen anyone in your family leave that fast. Your mother must blame you for this social faux pas with the way she glares at you. She’s not even trying to hide it, seemingly having deemed Simon as unworthy of her usual polite routine. She stops just short of yelling at you in front of him. Must be too afraid of what he’ll do to her if he’s willing to break your aunt’s arm over her kid.
You’re not sure when you lost control of the evening, but you’re ready to go. Your aunt’s exit should be your exit too. You even open your mouth to tell your mother it’s been a lovely evening.
Simon beat you to it.
“Let’s open presents.” You’d almost call it an order with how edged his voice is.
“We don’t have any for you,” Your mother attempts, “it wouldn’t be fair to open them now.”
“Don’t need a present,” Simon assures her, “Bird’ll gimme somethin’ later.” Your mother’s eye twitches. Simon’s hand slides over your thigh, his thumb rubbing gently at the sensitive, clothed, skin. Your nerves must be on high alert to feel his touch so acutely. He gestures with his glass at the tree. “Go’an,” He orders again.
The tension in Simon’s form slowly seeps out of him as your parents shuffle presents out from under the tree. His body, which had previously seemed poised to leap at the slightest provocation, relaxes back against the chair as your mother hands you a present. She smiles at you warmly, almost pitying, when you thank her. Simon’s hand doesn’t leave your thigh, possessive in a way that feels too close to reality. 
“Oh wait,” You tell your mother as she pulls one of the gifts you brought from the pile. You slip from Simon’s lap, and for some reason he lets you, bent at the waist to point to a different box. His hand slides over the swell of your ass with an appreciative hum and you have to stop the tremor in your voice as your blood rushes south. “That one first,” You smile, “otherwise this one won’t make sense.”
The normalcy of it is more welcome than you’d thought. Somehow your usual family Christmas doesn’t seem as tense or fraught with conversational landmines now that Simon’s intruded. If nothing else you suppose he’s given you that. It’s certainly easier talking to your parents when they keep casting nervous glances at Simon to make sure this is an appropriate line of conversation. 
Simon, for his part, does little except keep you in his lap as you tear into the paper wrapped boxes. Occasionally his hand moves from your thigh to squeeze your stomach, or your side, as if he’s checking that you’re still all there. It’s not exactly casual, and the heat that builds between your legs as he drags his callused fingers across your stomach makes you want to squirm back into his chest, just to try and escape the ticklish feeling.
You try to focus on the gifts, drumming up the appropriate amount of excitement to look grateful while all of your attention is on the spread of Simon’s fingers. His hand splays wide against you and you try to trace the outline of it, distract yourself from how big his hand is. 
But distracting yourself from the spread of his hand directs you towards the spread of his legs, to the firm muscle of his thick thighs, to the slight softness of his stomach when your back starts to hurt and you lean against him with less stiff of a spine. Your eyes drift to the window as your mother coos over the knitting supplies and class pass to her favorite craft store. It’s so dark out, the sun already disappeared behind the horizon and the streetlights are doing their best to shine even when the night dims them. You’re already tired.
Your phone buzzes and you check it with a glance.
It’s a weather alert.
You scramble off Simon’s lap only to be dragged back into it.
“Where d’you think you’re goin’?” He asks, his hands grip your sides, fingers just brushing the edge of your bra. You can’t deal with the way being pulled like this makes your head swim. Fuck, maybe he could just grab you off the street and- NO.
“Simon,” You push at his hands, “problem.” 
“No problem love,” He hums. Lips brush the shell of your ear and you stiffen as heat blooms over your cheeks, “‘Cept you gettin’ up oll the time.” “It’s snowing.” You insist, still pushing at his hands.
Your father looks at you with confusion and glances out the window. It’s hard to see when it’s so dark out. You’re suddenly hit with a grim understanding of why the street lamps seem so dim. Your dad walks to the front door and tugs it open only to be pushed by the gust of cold wind and snow that rushes into the house.
The wind is positively howling.
Your father muscles the door shut and your mother nervously clicks on the TV to check the weather. She doesn’t even help your dad brush all the snow off him, worrying her lip as her eyes fix to the screen. 
“Not gonna be able to drive home in that,” Your father grimaces. Your mother shoots him a look before skirting her eyes around you to watch Simon. You can almost feel his smile.
“You wouldn’t mind us stayin’ ‘ere would ya?”
You flip on the lights in your childhood bedroom. Simon looms behind you. Reasonably you understand why he insisted on staying, even why he insisted on sharing a room. As far as your parents know you’re happily engaged, and as far as you could tell there was a blizzard raging outside. Honestly you’ve never seen anything like it, and if you didn’t know any better you might have blamed Simon for it. 
You have never in your life been more aware of another person’s presence. 
“In you go love,” Simon tells you, pressing you forwards with a hand on the small of your back. You stumble into your room and turn in time to watch Simon close the door. He bends down to unlace his boots and you manage to kick off your shoes in the time it takes him to straighten again. Now that you’re alone you feel on edge. All the casual friendly airs that Simon had been putting on when you’d met him before have done nothing to prepare you for the weight of his full attention. You’re only too happy when he turns to survey the room.
“I can take the floor,” You inform him, already gathering the spare blankets and pillows your mom had set on your twin bed. 
“Sit down,” Simon orders, your ass hits the side of your mattress so fast you haven’t even registered the command before you’ve followed it, “You’re takin’ the bed.”
His tone leaves no room for argument. You suppose it could almost be called kind of him to give you the bed.
“Sorry,” You tell him quietly, mindful of your parents in the next room.
“What’re you actin’ sorry for,” He huffs, “Sweet bird like you doesn’t mind sharin’, does she? Besides,” He knocks your knees apart with a big booted foot, “I still gotta get paid.”
You stare up at him, confusion plain on your face. 
“I thought you just wanted the meal.”
“Meal’s not finished, is it?” He tells you, “Never got dessert.”
“Wha-”
“Take your fuckin’ pants off.” His tone is clipped, short, and deep. It sinks into your skin, prickling goosebumps everywhere he’d touched earlier. Which feels like it must have been, well, everywhere. 
You should say “no.” Literally nothing about this man has given you any indication that he’s someone you should want to get undressed for, and he’s spent the better part of the day tormenting your family. Granted you did ask him to do that, and honestly his efforts do land squarely in the “pros” category, but he’s a little too good at playing a dirt-bag. And this? This just seals the deal on that particular observation.
So you should say “no.”
But the way his big hands had grabbed you, the way his tongue had wound against yours, the way he looks down at you now, hungry, makes you desperately want to do whatever he asks you to. 
“My parents are in the next room,” You whisper, glancing back at the wall that separates the two rooms.
“Who gives a shit?” Simon snorts, “Don’t ‘appy couples celebrate their engagement?” Your eyes flick down to his trousers, the implications aren’t lost on you. He must catch you looking because his hand grabs your hair and tips your head back. “Trust me birdy, I’m tryin’ ta be nice, but if ya wanna choke on it…”
You race to get your trousers open, fingers shaking as you push them down. You don’t need to see his cock to make some leaps of logic that it’s just as big as the rest of him, and if he’s offering you the choice between his mouth on you, and your mouth on him-
Simon leans forward and unceremoniously shoves his hand into your panties, your trousers barely down your thighs. Your train of thought comes to a full halt as big fingers stroke through your folds.
“Atta girl,” He hums, “much ‘appier like this, aren’t ya?” He tugs his fingers free, spreads them in front of your face with a pitying pout at the way your slick glistens on his skin. “Least your cunt knows what’s good for it.”
He pushes your head back, tossing it towards the bed as he releases your hair. Your back hits the mattress and you have to work to keep from hitting your head on the wall. Simon’s fingers find the hem of your panties and drag them down your thighs, catching your trousers to discard the lot on the floor. 
You snap your legs shut against the chill of the room and he growls. 
“None of that now,” He advises, prying your legs apart. His fingers dig into the soft meat of your thighs, his gaze fixed on the wet mess between them. The way he stands over you makes him feel massive, makes the way he leans over you feel looming. 
His hands slide over your ticklish inner thighs and you have to stifle the giggle that threatens to spill from you. You doubt Simon would appreciate your laughter, might even think you’re laughing at him. Again your eyes dart to the hard length straining against his trousers as his thumbs spread your folds.
“Pretty,” He says it so plainly, casually, like he’s judging a toy. It blazes through you, lighting up your nerves and making you shiver. Any other protests you might have had die on your tongue as Simon drops to his knees. 
Seeing him between your legs makes your stomach clench, makes your cunt pulse with desire. One of his thumbs rubs up and down the seam of your cunt while the other keeps you half-spread. He presses his thumb firmly against your clit, the pressure makes your hips squirm, makes you ache for more stimulation. The pressure stops, and his thumb traces its way back to holding you open.
He spits.
You flinch when it hits your spread folds, body vibrating with embarrassed heat as it slides over you. Simon’s eyes follow it the whole way down, and his tongue drags it back up.
Simon’s tongue cards through your folds, warm and wet, and he groans low in his throat. It’s positively sinful the way he pulls his tongue slow and flat over you, like he’s trying to savor the taste. You snap your hand over your mouth, stifling the soft whimper that the attention brings to your lips. 
Simon’s eyes flick to your face and he makes a frustrated noise. You feel his teeth touch your skin just before he bites you. You yelp at the sharp pain, your hand shooting from your mouth to his head in an attempt to push him away. Simon tips his head back to bite at the meat of your palm, his teeth digging into the firm flesh before his tongue licks over it. There’s a sharpness to his teeth, chipped edges that scrape at your skin and ache before he soothes them. 
You don’t want him to bite you again.
You don’t think you do.
Do you?
His tongue rolls over your palm, wetting the dry skin with spit and slick. His mouth has a heady sheen to it that makes you want to drag your tongue over his lips, to clean up the light prickle of his beard with your own mouth.
“No sense lettin’ you breath if you’re not gonna scream for me,” Simon informs you. Your face has never felt hotter than when his teeth scrape down your palm to tease your pulse. You’re too enraptured by the way he moves to let spit drip off his tongue and onto your clit to really register what he said.
His tongue rubs against your clit, working the firm bud back and forth before letting his tongue roll over it. Each hot swipe sends a new shudder of heat and pleasure through your body. You whimper, your wet hand tangling its fingers in his short cropped hair just to feel him shake his head like a dog. 
It’s filthy the way he drags his lips over your folds, sucking and slurping at you like he’s trying to be loud. His stubble scratches at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, prickly and sharp next to the warm wet mouth that sucks at your clit. His tongue keeps twisting over it, keeping it sensitive and tingling before he’s ducking down to fuck the slick muscle into your hole. Simon moves his tongue against the entrance to your cunt like he’s hoping to stretch out the hole with it, circling around the delicate outer edge before pressing inside, over and over until your brain feels like it’ll melt out of your ears. 
Then that wet heat is dragged up to your clit, circled and sucked, licked in broad strokes that wiggle against you just so he can hear the way your voice pitches up in pleasure.
He turns his head to wipe his mouth against your thigh, lips parting to lick a long stripe before he sinks his teeth into the meat of it and sucks. Your own lips close tight around the whimper the dull pain of it pulls from you. 
He muscles your leg up against his shoulder, his arm moving to find a comfortable angle as he hooks his thumb in your fluttering cunt. You blink at the intrusion, the thick digit may as well be two of your own fingers the way he pulls at your entrance and stretches you open. That isn’t what steals your focus from his mouth though, what tugs at you is the way his other thick fingers rub over your ass, spreading your slick and attempting to soften the hole into something pliant.
He’s grabbed your hips to roll you onto your stomach before you can raise a protest to the searching fingers, big strong hands dragging your hips up so your knees settle on the edge of the bed as he stands. It forces your face into the quilts, muffling the noise of surprise that the motion shakes out of you. Again you find protests on your lips, you hadn’t even come, and again they’re snuffed by his fingers.
Two of them push into your cunt and you moan low in your throat at the burning stretch that they provide. Your hips rock back into them, your stomach fluttering with need as more heat courses through you. His fingers crook and he thrusts them down into your cunt, hitting some throbbing tightness that makes you cry out.
Simon makes a low cooing noise in the back of his throat and his fingers stroke against your walls. You turn your head to rest your cheek against the bed, your lips pouting and your lashes fluttering as he gives you just long enough to suck in a breath before his fingers are pressing against that soft aching spot again. Your eyes roll, your breath caught tight in your throat at the thrum of pleasure that tightens like burning heat in your aching cunt.
His fingers pump faster and faster into your cunt, and you cry out, your hips wiggling and your fingers gripping at the quilt. The wet squelching noise that comes from his fingers fucking into you makes an embarrassed heat rush over your skin, and you burry your face in the blankets just to gasp out your moans. Your mouth hangs open, drool dripping off your tongue as your breath stops in your throat. The tight heat between your legs feels like it’s winding its way all the way up through your diaphragm. Your muscles are tensed so tight you think you might snap, and you let out a low moan as your breath finally shakes free. You suck in air between sobs, each punch of his fingers into your cunt pushing a new noise free of your lips.
The wet noises just get wetter.
And then something inside you snaps. Your stomach clenches tight and your cunt follows, spasming around Simon’s fingers as they pump in and out of you. Stars dance across your vision and you bite the quilts to stop from screaming. Something trickles out of you and he rewards your orgasm with a throaty chuckle.
He pulls his fingers from you and rubs soaked fingers over your ass before he’s trying to push one inside.
“Been eyein’ this ass all night.” He hums.
The firm pressure hurts the harder he presses, and you whimper out a sniffled reproach to the feeling, a soft “hurts” that you’re sure will fall on deaf ears. Simon stops, pulls his finger back and slicks it in your cunt again, the feeling of his fingers twisting against your soft spot making your eyes roll. It hurts, an overworked burn that makes you whimper for an entirely different reason.
He pulls his thick fingers from your cunt and you feel the tip of one teasing your ass again. It’s barely a pressure when his finger tries your ass again, and he lets out a slow breath as you’re filled.
“Just sunk right in,” He tells you, pumping his finger in and out, the drag of heat has your lashes fluttering, your head spinning at the deep pressure that makes your cunt clench, “Isn’t that pretty.”
His thumb catches your cunt again, tugging at the slick hole. The click of his belt and rustle of fabric clues you in to what comes next.
That doesn’t mean you’re prepared for how big his cock feels nudging at your entrance. A chill runs over your skin, goosebumps raising to meet the air where your jumper has slid down your back. The blunt head of his cock presses against your hole, and you arch your back into the feeling, desperate to find the right angle for it to slip in. 
Simon doesn’t seem as eager. He pushes into you slowly, lets you feel the way you burn and stretch around him, lets you feel every centimeter of that big cock. You feel tight, even as wet as you are, you feel like you’re squeezing the life out of him. Your cunt is hot and tingling, and your clit throbs with the need to be touched. 
You feel his hips press against your ass, and he grinds into you. Another wave of goosebumps rushes over you at the deep ache he pushes into. You squeeze your eyes shut just to stop the way they keep trying to roll back in your head.
Simon pulls back, and you can almost feel the drag of his head against your walls. He grinds the tip against the soft spot near your entrance before punching his cock back into you. You make a choked noise before your throat seems to open and a flood of moans and pleas flows from you. Each push of his cock into you pitches your voice up and you moan in desperate panting sounds.
You ache. You’ve never felt so full. He hasn’t taken his finger from your ass, instead he presses it down to try and feel his own cock stretching out your walls. You shove a hand between your legs to try and stroke your clit only to feel the stretch of your skin around his fat cock. You’re so wet that your fingers slip over your folds, uncoordinated, and you can’t get a good angle. You open your mouth but can’t find the words to ask for what you need.
One of his thrusts pushes you up the bed and your hand moves immediately to push against the wall with a ‘thump.’ 
“Simon,” You whine, “Simon.”
His free hand pets up your spine, bunching your jumper up under your armpits to unhook your bra, before finding its way to your hair. He curls his fingers and finds a tight grip near your scalp. The bite of pain makes you want to push back into him. The deep pressure, the slight sting, from your ass makes your body stutter, your brain crashing into itself.
Oh God.
“Not a thought in that pretty little ‘ead is there?” He asks, the fingers gripping your hair tight pull your head back, you moan your pleasure for him as he gives a hard thrust into you, your bleary eyes opened just enough to focus on the white wall. “Course not,” Simon grunts, a huff of laughter edging his voice, “Wouldn't've responded to my ad if there was.” 
You reach back to claw at his thigh and find it still, painfully, clothed. A burst of humiliation shoots through you at the thought that Simon hasn’t even bothered to get undressed. 
“Stupid thing, really could’ve just grabbed ya off the street.” He mumbles, there’s a touch of fondness to his voice, a smile that doesn’t feel appropriate for the way he fucks into you. Like he’s trying to teach you a lesson.
The only thing you’re learning is that Simon’s cock hits something deep and needy inside of you. The finger in your ass starts to pull out and you scream. Simon groans as you tighten around him, your cunt desperate to keep his cock inside. You’re buzzing with your orgasm, settled right at the edge with nothing to push you over the edge. There’s too much stimulation. His cock pistoning into you and his finger starting to tug at your ass. You’re still sore from his fingers but you can’t stop yourself from clenching tight around him.
“Mad fer it,” Simon chuckles, “tell me what ya need bird.”
“Clit- clit,” You stutter out, still barely able to keep the words straight in your head. 
“Louder love,” He teases, “don’t think I heard ya.”
“Please,” You sob, your moans still tearing from your chest on each thrust, “touch my clit.”
He drops your head back down onto the bed, and you muffle your noise with the quilt clenched between your teeth. His finger pulls from your ass and you scream your pleasure into the bed. It’s so hot, your ass burning with something that isn’t entirely painful. It just makes your clit pulse harder. 
Simon’s fingers find their way between your legs and he pinches your clit between them. One roll of the tight bud between them has your legs shaking. The second has tears brimming at your lash line and your mouth hanging open as you flutter and drip on Simon’s cock. You tense and release around him, your orgasm crashing into you like a train. Waves of it rush through you, shaking your muscles loose until you’re laid like a doll against the bed. Your skin is burning and you ache,
And Simon keeps fucking you.
The smack of his hips against yours fills the room, his breath heavy and his fingers now tight on your waist. You push back into his thrusts and it makes stars dance across your vision. That deep aching part of you makes everything draw tight again. 
Simon’s thrusts grow quicker, rougher, his fingers grip you so tight it hurts. You scream for him again, his hard thrusts pushing you to the edge a third time. The blistering heat of his come hits your overworked cunt and you moan. 
“Too much,” You whine. Everything is sore when he pulls out. You don’t think you can move.
Your knees slip off the edge of the bed and you just lay there.
Simon rolls you back onto your back, and manhandles you into laying on the bed properly. 
You sit up just enough to tug your jumper off and toss your bra to the floor with the rest of your clothes. Simon ditches his shirt and you sleepily take in the cut musculature of his chest as he wanders to turn off the light.
You pass out before he ever gets his pants off.
*
Your parents have already gathered the presents from last night by the front door when you wander downstairs in the morning. Your father doesn’t look at you, but your mother positively glowers. You try not to think about how loud you’d been last night.
Simon’s had his hands on you since you woke up. His fingers splay wide on the small of your back, as your parents attempt to rush you out the door. 
You’re settled in Simon’s car, driving down the street when you finally let the laughter take over. You giggle and snort, pressing your fingers against your mouth to try and stem the flow of them. But really, what can you do? Despite being forced to spend the night putting a dent in your plans it’s worked out perfectly. Your parents won’t be asking about you getting a boyfriend any time soon.
If you’re lucky your mom will never ask you about your relationship status again, even when you “break up” with Simon.
You’re still giggling, glowing with happiness at a successfully executed plan, when you try to pull the ring off your finger.
Something sharp digs into your skin and you yelp in pain. 
“What the fuck?” You question, whimpering when you pull harder and it only sends the sharp bit further into your skin. You raise your hand to look at the ring, and find a sharp tooth just under the diamond, clearly a feature not a bug. Still you glance at Simon. “I think this ring is defective,” You tell him, “It keeps stabbing me.”
Simon hums, turning right down a street. 
“Then stop tryin’ ta take it off.” He advises. You twist the ring around your finger, trying to find  a way to work it off.
“I can’t get it off,” You grunt in annoyance.
“Not suppose ta,” Simon tells you plainly, taking another turn, “That’s how bein’ engaged works.”
Something squirms in your stomach.
“We’re not engaged.” You remind him.
“Wearing my ring,” He reminds you, like he’s explaining it to a child, “said ‘yes’ to my proposal-” A smile splits his face, predatory in a way that makes you press your legs together, “-probably still buzzin’ for my cock too. Sounds engaged to me.”
You balk, your mouth hung open as you gape at him. Is he insane?
Simon doesn’t even look at you, just reaches to the side and presses against the underside of your chin with gentle, firm fingers, closing your mouth. Then he leans past you to open the glove compartment and tug a crumple of papers out onto your lap.
“If ya get bored you can look over those.” He tells you, flicking on his signal to hop on the highway.
You glance down at the mess of papers settled on your thighs, a mass of text and fine print that your eyes can’t focus on because they’re so shaken by the two poised at the top:
“Marriage License.”
divider by @/saradika-graphics
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bunnybonesstudio · 1 day ago
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He’s far from a terrible person but this giving MAJOR Robby Keene vibes 🥲
“Fatherless behavior” stop giving my DAD credit for all the work my MOM put into making me a terrible person!! Stop erasing women in history!!
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mystellenia · 2 days ago
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christmas mirror sex with vi ୨ৎ
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summary: you look a little too good in your christmas pajamas, and vi simply can't control herself.
content: answer to this req!! dom!vi, sub!r, desperate!vi, strap (r!rec), makeout and through-the-chonies rubbing just for a little bit, dirty talk i guueeesssss, rough!vi, mean!vi, vi's thrusts are like a fucking JACKHAMMER like paralyzingly fast (is paralyzingly a word (did i just make that up (call me an entrepreneur))).
notes: this is pretty filthy guys. merry christmas my kittens eat well. OOH OOH ALSO GUYS. yk when cait and vi fucked and cait was like "while you were gone... i- i saw someone..." and vi is like "i dont fucking care."? yeah thats what the line thats in red is giving. muehehehehehhehe. and i double posted too i’m such an active queen. read soft christmas morning with vi thru the link ;)
(wc 1.2k)
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your head slammed against the plush of the mattress as vi roughly dropped you on the bed. 
just twenty minutes prior, you were just standing in the kitchen brewing two cups of tea, one for yourself and one for her. the two of you were in your own version of matching christmas pajamas: the pants of the set were sitting low on vi’s hips, her toned v-line visible with a taunting red happy trail peeking out from under a plain wifebeater, and the long-sleeved, buttoned shirt loosely draped on your body, the top few buttons undone and showing your upper chest, and the lower hem just barely covering the fat of your ass, clad in a pair of white, cheeky underwear covered in little red and pink hearts. 
vi was splayed across the couch with her phone dangling in her hand, her eyes unabashedly trained on your ass while you moved in the kitchen. just looking at your bare legs in the warm light of the kitchen was enough to get her going, and once you turned around with a mug of tea in each hand and approached her, nipples erect and poking through the fabric of your pajama shirt, she knew the two of you were going end up in the bedroom in the next twenty minutes. 
“here, baby,” you said, carefully setting her mug of jasmine tea on the side table next to the couch. “let it cool a bit—it's really hot.” 
“is it, now?” vi mockingly mumbled, not caring how obvious her intentions were, her gaze lowered to your thighs. 
“c’mere,” she says, hooking one hand around your waist and the other under your ass cheek to pull you onto her lap. 
“jesus, i have piping hot tea in my hand, violet.” you rush to carefully place your mug of tea next to where you set hers on the wood side table. your voice wavers a bit when vi’s lips suction to your neck, suckling on the skin and leaving wet patches as her mouth moves. 
her kisses trail up the side of your neck to your jaw, disconnecting right when she gets to the corner of your mouth. your breath has already begun shuddering from her sudden teasing, and you pant into her parted lips. 
“but, i just made... but the tea,” you squeak out, trying to stop her from devouring you, because you know once she starts, you won’t be able to say anything but yes and please. 
her head tilts to the side, lips brushing over yours. with a scoff, she says, “i could not care any fucking less about the tea,” and then pulls you by the back of your neck to close the small gap between you, immediately pulling moans from your chest.
a particularly sharp thrust from vi snaps you back to the present. you lay on your back on the edge of the bed, your head dangling off and facing a full-length mirror in front of you.  
through your upside-down view, you watch her lean figure snap forward at a diabolical pace through the mirror. her wifebeater was discarded, her bared chest making your clit throb as she pistoned into you with a long, red strap. with every jolt of her hips, her small breasts bounced and hypnotized you in the mirror’s reflection. 
if your vision wasn't getting blurry from the stimulation and the blood rushing to your head from your inverted position, you’d try telling her how salivating she looked. you give up the thought of even trying because the idea of forming words dissolves just as quickly as it came about, pleas and begs the only coherent words your brain can make. 
vi had the stamina of a seasoned race horse, so while you had already cum twice, she was steadily building up to her first orgasm and had barely broken a sweat. out on the couch, she had unbuttoned all of your shirt’s buttons except for two at the bottom to expose your boobs, her mouth latching onto them immediately while her fingers rubbed you through your panties. your shirt was still unbuttoned, and your free boobs bounced with every one of vi’s devilish thrusts. 
“jesus christ- can't believe i hadn’t fucked you like this yet,” she ekes out. “i love this pussy so damn.. so damn much...” her voice trails off with a long grunt. 
that familiar, hot swirling begins in your body, your legs softly twitching on either side of vi’s hips.  
“vi, please- please don’t stop,” you whisper, unable to remember how to speak at a louder volume. 
“oh, what was that?” she evilly taunts. “did you say something? i’m gonna need you to speak up, mama.” 
you whine in frustration. in between cries, you mumble, “please, don’t stop, please. keep going, keep going, don’t move.” tears fall from your eyes and up your face from gravity being flipped, salted drops disappearing into your hairline and down your hair that hung to the floor. 
your strained begging just eggs her on more, her thrusts somehow picking up speed even more and further bruising your already abused cervix.  
you wonder how at such a relentless pace, she has remained nearly silent, but before the thought can develop, you’re cumming hard around her cock, your mouth open in a silent scream. vi grins at your helplessness and continues fucking you through it, only slowing down once you begin nonsensically babbling. your dumbification pushes her to her climax, too, and she fucks the both of you through your orgasms. 
after a minute or so, once the two of you have come down from your highs, she grabs a fistful of your hair at the crown of your head to lift your ragdoll-like head up to face her. 
“you think you got another one for me in that hollow skull?” she teases, slightly shaking your head side-to-side by her grip on your hair. her smile is evident in her eyes, knowing you couldn’t give her another one even if you wanted to. 
all you can do is pant words out incoherently and shake your head, your eyes nearly crossed from the sheer strength of your orgasm.  
pulling your body fully onto the bed by your thighs, she sets your head onto a pillow, pulling out and removing the strap from her hips to get a warm washcloth to clean up the mess you’ve made in between your legs.  
she walks around the bed to where your head rests on a pillow and smooths the hair stuck to your forehead with sweat out of your face.  
“you did good for me, baby, i’m proud of you. i know i was rough.” leaning down, she drops a kiss on the tip of your nose, chuckling at how you still haven’t seemed to get a grasp on your surroundings. “merry christmas, mama.” 
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merry quismos chat. make sure to wish all your favorite skibids a merry gyattmas (i’m gonna throw up in my mouth i’m cringing)
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0vergrowngraveyard · 2 days ago
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gift for @myymi 🩵
(the fic: rainstorm)
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bluzebub19 · 2 days ago
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I have a request for how the Arcane characters (Viktor, Jayce, Jinx, Vi, Heimerdinger, Ekko) look so that the reader can access their cuteness. Maybe they are doing or saying something to the reader and the reader suddenly starts hugging and petting them, calling them cute. How would they react to this?
Note: So... I'm the only one who thinks Heimerdinger is really cute. Why aren't there fanfics with him? Mysteries of life..
Arcane characters being called cute by their s/o while they're working
Writer's note: Thanks for requesting! It took longer than I expected because I kept deleting some of the dialogue from how cheesy and cringe it sounded lmao. Heimerdinger is not on my list of characters I write for, but I figured I'll write him this one time. I hope you don't mind that I also added Mylo, cuz why not?
Request/s: Open!
Warning/s: Get a dentist. This is some tooth-rotting fluff. Not proofread and english isn't my native language.
Character/s: Viktor, Jayce, Jinx, Vi, Ekko, Heimerdinger and Mylo
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● Viktor tends to get lost in his work, mumbling equations or sketching out blueprints for his projects. You find this incredibly endearing, but not when he gets so absorbed that he forgets to eat or sleep.
● If you suddenly hug him or call him cute, he’ll freeze in shock at first. He blinks up at you as if you just said something in a language he doesn’t understand. Then, his cheeks will flush a light pink, and he’ll chuckles softly. “Cute is... not a term I hear often. But thank you."
● Over time, he grows more comfortable and secretly enjoys the affection. He may even lean into it, but he’ll never outright admit it. Instead, he might deflect with a shy smile and, “You should focus on more important matters."
● Yeah no, that's a sign for you to keep doing it.
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● Jayce is the golden boy—confident, charming, and ridiculously handsome. He likes to appear professional and put-together, but you know him well enough to see through that exterior to the dorky, hardworking man beneath.
● When you hug him out of nowhere while he cooks and call him cute, he blinks for a second but chuckles as he turns to look at you. “Cute? Babe, I’m going for ruggedly handsome and sweet here. But I'll take it."
● Still, he's flattered and loves the affection you give him. And unlike Viktor, he's not afraid or shy to show you he wants more of it. He might pull you closer and say, "You're one to talk." He's a romantic and albeit cheesy guy.
● Now, you probably might be thinking about why and how is he cooking, but that's for another headcanon! (I just realized how I'm not even sure whose side am I on. Can he cook?? Cuz I feel like he can. But I also see him burning food-)
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● Jinx, as we all know, is pure chaos, always working on something explosive or messing around. She has a habit of humming and singing off-key to herself while she works, which makes you think she’s oddly cute in her own... quirky way. To be honest, it’s hard not to find her enthusiasm contagious, even if it’s a little dangerous.
● One day, you catch her doing exactly that while painting her trademark designs on one of her grenades. The sight just makes you smile as you walk up and wrap your arms around her, telling her, “You’re so cute when you’re focused like this,” or something of the sort.
● She’ll throw her hands up and turn to look at you, trying to play off your compliment as a joke. “Woah, you might be crazier than me!" She grins and laughs softly, before making her voice sound more gruff, "Ya buttering up the author nightmares with your mooshy stuff!”
● But after her initial over-the-top reaction, she’ll soften. “Fine, soak it all in.” She shrugs and continues working. But deep down, she really loves the affection and she's getting more and more attached to you. You're giving her the kind of love that she thinks she never deserved in her life, so she really appreciates these little things you do. She might even snuggle up to you later, claiming it’s to “soak in all this ‘cute’ energy.”
● Oh, by the way, she'll make this happen a lot more often. By how, you ask? Well, by doing the same thing to you, of course! It becomes a little challenge betweem the two of you who calls the other one cute first and catching them off guard with it.
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● Vi is all tough love and sass, but there’s a soft side she shows only to the people she really cares about. You notice this when she’s being protective or just in those peaceful moments when you're both alone together.
● If you call her cute, she’ll raise an eyebrow and smirk. “Cute? Babe, I think you’ve got the wrong person.”
● Later, she’ll definitely tease you about it, saying something like, “So, how’s it feel dating the cutest person in Zaun?” or "Am I still cute?" with a playful grin. She'll be teasing you and making you smile with that while she's half naked and flexing her biceps (she knows you love them), or when she just got done with a fight and is still holding her gauntlets.
● She loves it, don't let that teasing fool you.
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● Heimerdinger is an adorable bundle of wisdom and fluff. You often catch him rambling about science with such enthusiasm that you can’t help but smile. Look at him! He's just adorable!
● One day, as he’s showing you a tiny contraption he just finished, you can’t help but reach out and pet his fluffy head, saying, “You’re the most cutest genius ever.”
● Heimerdinger chuckles, his mustache twitching with amusement. “Ah, well, I suppose I do have a certain charm about me, don’t I?”
● He pretends to be unaffected, but you notice the way his tail swishes slightly when you hug him. “I must say, your affection is quite... energizing! Perhaps I should study its effects further.”
● From then on, he might start subtly seeking out your affection—like casually leaning into your hand when you pet him or “accidentally” bumping into you while working.
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● Ekko is talking to you about his plans for the Firelights while sketching upgrades for their hoverboards.
● You were quietly admiring him, the way his eyes light up and the focused furrow of his brows, when you suddenly blurt out, “You’re so cute when you’re focused.”
● He freezes for a second, then looks at you with a mixture of surprise and amusement. “Cute? Me?” He grins, a soft laugh escaping. “You sure you’re not talking about yourself there?”
● He rubs the back of his neck, trying to act nonchalant, but the smile gives him away.
● “You’re not getting away with saying that,” he teases, leaning in to nudge you lightly with his shoulder. He goes back to doing his work before playfully adding, “But if you keep looking at me like that, I might just start believing it.”
● It's these little things that matters. These moments, even if simple, it gives him hope and motivation to make the world a better place. The way his eyes soften when you look at him in that moment, and how he lets his guard down just enough to show you he cares — it’s clear that, while he teases, he loves the attention, and he loves you even more for it.
● Dude's got lines fr fr
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● Mylo has always been the type of guy who had a sarcastic, sassy remark ready. We all know that from how he treated Powder.
● When you suddenly hug him and call him cute, he freezes for a second, unsure of how to react. “Cute? Me?” He scoffs, trying to play it cool, but it's very obvious he's a bit flustered by it. “Out of all the compliments you could’ve picked, you went with cute? I’m more like... cool, and handsome.” He throws a dramatic, exaggerated pose, trying to hide his nervousness.
● Despite his teasing, there's a small, pleased grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tries to act nonchalant, but the way he keeps glancing at you shows how much he’s secretly enjoying it.
● “Seriously, though. I’m cool, alright?” he continues, trying to regain his confidence. “I don’t do cute. But, uh... thanks. I guess.” He says softly as he shrugs, clearing his throat.
● Later on, when no one’s watching, you might catch him glancing at you from the corner of his eye, a small smile on his face, clearly still flattered.
Can you guys guess which is my favorite based on how long their headcanons are
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needyh0le · 11 hours ago
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Tell me how much of a dirty whore I am ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪
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This <3
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plutotheplum · 2 days ago
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Winter's Kiss
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sylus x fem!reader
summary: luke and kieran rope you into spending christmas at the n109 zone (and kissing their boss).
cw: fluff, soft!sylus, kissing under the mistletoe, luke and kieran being idiots, found family
wc: 2.7k
a/n: merry christmas eve/christmas my lovelies!! some fluff for the holiday season! here's to hoping sylus turns up under our christmas trees :)
also on ao3!
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Somehow, you’d ended up in the N109 Zone for Christmas.
It wasn’t like the barrage of texts from Luke and Kieran had weighed upon your decision, the rapid influx of messages from the twins demanding your presence for Christmas. That coupled with the image of Sylus alone on Christmas night hadn’t made your stomach churn and heart ache at all.
The year had been a tumultuous one. Wanderers, disturbing visions and wanted criminals had you on edge these past few months, so perhaps unwinding with said, now somewhat mellow, wanted criminals was warranted in some way. 
You heft the presents under your arms, moving your fingers to stabilize the wrapped goods when you feel one of them begin to slip. Shopping hadn’t been too difficult, although choosing a gift for Sylus had proved to be somewhat of a challenge. You weren’t sure whether to get him something heartfelt or to gift him a refurbished gun with new prototyped features that were advertised to the Hunter Association. 
The glittering streams of tinsel drags you out of your thoughts, a smile pulling at your lips as you imagine Luke, Kieran and Sylus decorating. You hear panicked, hushed whispers when you turn the corner, a laugh spilling out of you when you see the sight before you.
Luke perched atop Kieran’s shoulders, Kieran grumbling irritatedly when Luke flails and misses the tip of the Christmas tree, the golden star falling off only for Kieran to shift and have Luke catch it.
“It’s not that hard, you idiot,” Kieran grunts, his knees bending in an attempt to readjust to Luke’s weight.
“Then you try!” Luke protests.
“I thought you two were meant to be in tune,” you muse, stepping closer, over the strewn wrapping paper and bending down to add your presents to the growing collection under the Christmas tree. 
“We are,” they both say in unison, their eyes landing on you.
“You made it!” Luke says happily, squirming, “Boss will be glad.”
“ Really glad,” Keiran adds, his annoyance forgotten momentarily. “We’re glad too.”
You smile at them, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s nice to see you guys too. Maybe you should try holding the star at the tip, Luke?”
“That’s what I told him!” Kieran says, letting out an aggrieved sigh. 
Luke huffs indignantly, adjusting his position yet again as Keiran steps closer to the tree, giving Luke some more leverage. It’s another failed attempt and Kieran is rolling his eyes, dumping Luke onto his feet unceremoniously. 
“You do me now.”
“What about her?” Luke asks, pointing at you.
“You could ask Mephisto,” you offer, pointing at the mechanical crow that was currently preening his feathers. “What do you say, buddy?”
Mephisto gives an indignant squawk, his little head turning away arrogantly, tending to his feathers with care.
“Nevermind,” you sigh, before looking towards the twins. “Kieran is taller than me, though.”
“Just get on,” Luke whines as he bends his knees, waiting for you to climb up onto his shoulders.
You open your mouth to protest, but there’s a warm hand curling over your hip, pulling you back gently, flush against a firm chest. “Let’s not badger our guest, hm?”
Deep and velvety, you have no doubts as to who this voice belongs to. Your head tilts back to find Sylus smirking down at you, his expression amused.
“Glad you could join us, sweetie. The N109 Zone isn’t usually so… festive.”
“Yeah, well, apparently you were missing me, so I figured I’d drop in,” you tease, a sly smile spreading across your face.
Luke and Kieran snicker until Sylus’ stern expression silences them, his hand squeezing at your hip in warning.
“I never said that.”
“Must’ve been the wind,” you murmur.
“Right,” Sylus deadpans.
You squeak when the red mist wraps around you, lifting you off of the ground, the golden star being thrust into your hand by the same swirling mist. The trio of men beneath you seem amused as the tendrils sweep you higher, closer to the top of the tree, giving you enough height to place the star right where it needs to be.
Sylus’ Evol dissipates as it sets you down onto your feet, the mist sweeping across playfully and making your dress flutter. 
“That’s one way to do it,” Kieran remarks, slinging his arm over Luke’s shoulders before they shoot each other knowing glances and disappear from the living room.
“You came,” Sylus says once the twins have left, his arms crossing over his chest.
“I did,” you reply, peering up at him, your hands clasping behind your back, “too bad you never sent me a personal invitation.” Sylus smiles, and you can’t help but think he looks softer in this light, the ruthless leader of Onychinus replaced by a man who seems less intense and more accommodating than usual.
“I figured Luke and Kieran would’ve gotten through to you,” he muses, his head tilting as he lets his gaze dip over you.
You do the same, taking in his sweater and trousers, trying to quell the inconvenient yet undeniable pull of attraction you feel towards him. 
“Well, they did,” you sigh, managing to drag your gaze back up to meet his, ��although I can’t say I appreciated how many texts they sent.”
“The twins tend to get excited,” Sylus replies, reaching out towards you, his fingers tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
It’s hard to not notice how Sylus’ touch lingers for a moment, his expression looking a little absent-minded as though remembering something from the past. Your brows furrow, unable to decide between asking him or letting his touch linger further. His hand drops away after a few moments before he clears his throat. 
“I made dinner,” he announces.
You laugh, eyes lighting up at the thought of Sylus in the kitchen. You don’t quite believe him though, not when Sylus had enough money to hire at least a dozen personal chefs.
“You’re not serious,” you say, head tilting in amusement.
“I am,” Sylus smirks, his hand landing on your lower back as he guides you forward, towards the hallway, “Luke and Kieran pitched in.”
“Now I feel special,” you muse.
“I suppose you are,” Sylus replies, his expression sobering, “to all of us.”
You’re taken aback by the sincerity in his words, heart giving way to a flutter that you attempt to squash down by pinching yourself, not that it helps. This sense of belonging isn’t what you’d planned on, warmth blooming in your chest as you stare up at Sylus and remember the twins. It’s nice, really, to be valued like this. You can’t help but think you could get used to it. 
Laughter echoes through the hallway as you and Sylus move through it. You startle when Kieran shouts, his voice urgent. 
“Don’t move!”
“Oh, look at that ,” Luke sighs dramatically, feigning innocence as he peers upwards, directing his gaze above you and Sylus.
Bewilderment flashes across your face until you hear Sylus let out a low laugh. You tip your head back, eyes narrowing when you spy the sprig of mistletoe hanging right above where you’re standing. Mephisto adds in something that sounds like a suspiciously happy squawk, and you stare at the crow, realising you’ve been betrayed. 
“Funny,” you say drily, shaking your head. 
Kieran sighs just like Luke, as though he can’t quite believe the situation. The cunning expression in their eyes gives them away. 
Devious, little brats.
“Well, you can’t move now,” Luke says, sounding positively aggrieved. 
“I suppose you’ll just have to kiss, isn’t that right?” Kieran says, looking towards Luke. Luke nods, a self-satisfied smile settling on his face. “Those are the rules.”
“What rules?” you shoot back, glaring at the pair of twins, “there are no rules. I could quite literally just walk away.”
“Christmas tradition !” Luke and Kieran both argue, their faces looking a little crestfallen when they hear the tone of your voice, “you have to kiss!”
You can feel your heart twinge at the earnest tone present in their voices, your eyes flickering up to meet Sylus’. Strangely enough, he doesn’t seem to have any protests, his gaze boring down into yours expectantly. 
“You seriously have nothing to say?” you grouse, head tilting.
“It’s just a kiss, sweetie,” he replies, his arm wrapping around your waist to bring you closer to him. “What’s the matter, hm? Afraid you’ll fall for me?”
“The thought is laughable,” you retort, trying to ignore the soothing squeeze of his hand against your side; the unrelenting warmth that was currently seeping into you and melting your hardened resolve.
“I suppose we’ll find out,” Sylus murmurs, his fingers gripping your chin to tilt your head. “We have time.”
“Move a little to the right!” Kieran calls out, waving his hand.
“What for?” you ask exasperatedly, feeling Sylus step closer, moving you with him.
“For- for the aesthetic !” Luke huffs out.
The twins look a little impatient as you stare at them, your brows furrowing further when you see Kieran whisper something to Luke.
Sylus doesn’t let you dwell longer on the twins’ antics, his calloused hand cupping your cheek to turn you towards him. 
“Merry Christmas, sweetie.”
Your eyes flutter shut as his lips slot over yours, your hand curling around his wrist. Sylus kisses you like he means it, lips soft yet insistent, his thumb smoothing over your cheek. You forget where you are momentarily, knees feeling weak as you fist his sweater pulling him closer, rising up on the tips of your toes to meet his kiss better.
Sylus tilts his head, deepening the kiss. Your stubborn resolve weakens pitifully and you can only think about how perfect this moment is, how good Sylus’ lips feel, how warm his embrace is-
There’s a blinding array of flashes, white sparking out from under your closed eyelids until your eyes snap open, head turning to the side to find both Luke and Kieran with cameras in hand.
“Oh, shit,” Luke begins.
“I thought the flash was off,” Kieran mutters, frowning.
You grit your teeth, taking one step towards them, your eyes narrowing. “Give that to me.”
Luke and Kieran hug their cameras to their chest protectively.
“Christmas memories,” Luke laughs nervously when he sees the determination in your eyes. “Wouldn’t- wouldn’t want to lose those.”
Kieran nods in agreement.
“Boss!” They cry out when the cameras get swept out of their hands by Sylus’ Evol, one of them landing in your hands.
You click through the images, heat blossoming in your stomach when you see how intimate the kiss looks, Sylus’ body pressed firmly against yours, his hand on your cheek. It’s romantic, your somewhat eager response, Sylus’ tight hold, all captured closely through the lens.
“‘s nice,” Sylus murmurs, his chest pressing up against your back as he peers down at the little camera screen.
“ No ,” you shake your head vehemently, “it’s not nice.”
“We look good,” he whispers, his voice dropping lower, lips brushing over the shell of your ear.
You try to ignore the way his hands feel on your hips, his body pressing a little closer into yours. It’s hard not to agree with him the longer you stare at the images though, you do look good, and Luke’s interjection about Christmas memories has you feeling a little forgiving. 
“Fine, keep them,” you sigh, handing the camera back to Luke whilst Sylus does the same to Kieran, “but don’t share them, please.”
Luke and Kieran nod enthusiastically and you snag onto Kieran’s arm before he can leave, your voice dropping to a low whisper.
“Send them to me,” you whisper, “and not a word to anyone.”
Kieran smiles deviously and you roll your eyes, reaching up to ruffle his hair. 
“You’re such a jerk, Kieran.”
“C’mon,” he whines, “you love us.”
You smile up at him, your arm hooking with his. “Maybe just a little.”
He snorts and you let out a laugh, following after Luke and Sylus who had left earlier, talking about something else. Dinner goes smoothly enough and you refuse to tell Luke and Kieran what their presents are, despite their whining.
You feed Mephisto little bites of your food, your finger petting his little feathery head gently every now and then. He preens at the attention, letting out an odd sounding chirp every now and then when you tap his little beak and offer him some more food.
Sylus is seated beside you and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to stop stealing glances at the side of his face. The longer you stare, the more you can feel yourself falling deeper, a pressing crisis unfolding in your mind. 
Fuck . You think you might like him.
Deep rooted feelings of yearning never lead to any good, and yet, you were too impatient not to act on them.You wait patiently, fingers playing with themselves in your lap, for the perfect opportunity. 
It presents itself when Luke and Kieran break out into an insignificant quarrel, their eyes moving elsewhere. Sylus is already looking towards you and you’re leaning forward, cupping the back of his head to bring him closer, lips meeting his in a slow, sweet kiss. 
“What was that for?” Sylus murmurs when you break away, his eyes roving over the flush settling on your cheeks.
“No reason,” you reply nonchalantly, leaning back in your chair.
Sylus scoffs out a laugh, behaving seemingly unaffected. There’s a light flush dusted across his cheeks however, his tongue darting out to taste the remnants of you on his lips.
“This is for no reason too,” he says, grabbing your chin and pulling you closer.
You sigh contentedly when he kisses you, arms wrapping around his neck, your lips working against his a little feverishly as though you can’t get enough.
A cacophony of protests breaks out from the twins when they see you and Sylus kissing at the table.
“Gross! Get a room!”
You roll your eyes, breaking away from Sylus to peer over at them. 
“You were the ones that made us kiss,” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Yeah, we didn’t mean all the time,” Luke corrects.
“Deal with it,” Sylus interrupts, brushing a kiss to your cheek.
You hum happily, Sylus’ hand warm as it encases yours under the table. Luke pouts and Kieran mirrors him, both of them slumping back in their chairs.
You and Sylus get a little more privacy when you step outside, snow dusting across both of you, covering the shrubbery and trees. Mephisto swoops through the air, his mechanical wings flapping as he lands on a tree branch above. The icy chill of the wintery air isn’t so bad, not when Sylus is stepping up behind you, his chin resting on your shoulder as he holds you close to him.
“It was bound to happen,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek again as you stare up at the night sky, glittering with stars.
“You seem awfully sure of yourself,” you reply, squeezing his forearms.
“Let’s just say… I had an inkling. I know you, sweetie.”
“I don’t understand what you mean sometimes,” you sigh, peering up at him, head resting on his shoulder.
“You don’t have to,” he whispers, dropping a kiss to your temple.
You sway gently in his arms, pressing yourself closer, eyes slipping shut. You’d kill for more moments of peace like this.
It never seems to last for long.
The beginnings of torn wrapping paper begin to fill your ears and you peek through the glass window to find the twins tearing at their presents.
“Oh, these are sick !” Luke announces, beginning to twirl around the pair of knives you had gotten him.
“They have to wait!” you protest, reaching for the door, “Sylus, they have to wait!”
“Let them,” Sylus murmurs, dragging you back into his arms, his chest rumbling with laughter.
You can’t help but let out an exasperated noise, smiling up at him. Sylus lowers his head and you nudge your nose against his gently, pressing a tender kiss to his lips.
“What?” he asks quietly when you trace the curve of his cheek, your fingers splaying across his skin.
You kiss him again, revelling in the softness of his eyes when you pull apart. There's a strange warmth in your chest, an unknown pull in the back of your mind as though something familiar were evading you.
You feel like you know him too.
“Merry Christmas, Sylus.”
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peachsukii · 2 days ago
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— I’ll be home for Christmas
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it's the annual friend circle christmas party, hosted at kirishima and mina's apartment. the only downside? your boyfriend, bakugo, is stationed overseas for hero work, so this year, you'll be celebrating through a screen. at least, that's what you're expecting.
✮ content. pro hero!bakugo + pro hero!reader. christmas magic and fluff. :) a special present for my elf @lady-lauren as part of the @pixelcafe-network secret santa exchange. ♡ ♡ ♡
✮ word count: 1.1k.
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Christmas Eve, the night of a traditional Christmas dinner with all of your closest friends. A pot luck buffet, secret Santa exchange, and plenty of laughs through the night as you all reminisce over your lives. There’s just one thing that’s missing this year — Bakugo. Well, missing in person.
It was an opportunity of a lifetime, one he couldn’t turn down, no matter how much he argued against it. An esteemed agency in California was accepting applications for international transfers as part of the new “Heroes Around the World” program. It wasn’t that he wasn’t thankful, or even uninterested, but Bakugo’s biggest fear was being alone. Being away from you, especially in another country. After many nights spent hyping him up to take the chance, he accepted the offer. Before you two knew it, he was jetting off to the USA for three months.
And, unfortunately, three months turned to six.
Bakugo’s not coming home until March. The US commission was so impressed by his skillset (because why wouldn’t they be?) and wanted him to train an entire new wave of sidekicks by crafting a program to mimic Japan’s Hero protocols. You couldn’t bring yourself to be selfish and have him come home, no matter how much you missed him. So, you two made it work — 17 hour time difference be damned. Early morning voice notes, late night video calls, quick texts and even little homemade letters from time to time. Bakugo became fond of your hand written letters, especially when the paper would faintly smell of your perfume or have traces of lipstick kiss marks.
When you show up to Kirishima and Mina’s home, they welcome you with open arms, chirping how they’re happy you came and how much they’ve missed you.
Everyone starts arriving over the next hour, greeting you with warmth and love like always. It’s not long until their apartment is jam packed with all of your closest friends, shuffling around the kitchen with delicious food and drinks. Everyone shoves a present under the tree in the living room for later, truly adding a layer of joy to the atmosphere. Your heart aches softly as the night progresses, missing Bakugo’s hand on your thigh under the table or around your shoulders as you chat and laugh with everyone. The plan is to have Bakugo video call Kirishima’s phone during the secret Santa exchange, that way he’d still be included when everyone swapped presents. It’ll be 2AM for him, but he insisted it’s fine.
There’s a little pang in your chest when you look under the luminescent tree in the living room and see the one with his handwriting for Jiro. ‘To: Ears — Love: Kats’ with a skull drawn next to it. It’s endearing to see his love for your friends extend across the sea so effortlessly. Midoriya takes a seat next to you on the couch before everyone else meanders into the living room for the secret Santa exchange. His eyes gleam when they meet yours, a smile tugging on his lips and accentuating the freckles on his cheeks. “How are you doing?”
You nod and tilt your head with a soft smile of your own. “It’s nice to get out and be with friends. Being home for the holidays without Katsuki was starting to get to me.”
Midoriya’s eyes soften. “I know it’s hard. Only a few more months!” Before you get a chance to think too deeply about it, Kirishima claps his hands to get everyone to quiet down.
“Alright guys! Time to exchange presents.” He pulls out his phone and sets it on the dock by the TV, the little screen displaying a pending ‘Call’ screen. It’s not long before a familiar face appears, the room erupting in a hearty cheer.
“Bakugo!”
“Shut up, don’t all yap at once!” Bakugo grumbles with a grin on his handsome face. It seems his eyes find you in the room as you shoot him a little wave, his grin settling into a longing smile. “Kirishima, get things rollin’ before my ass falls asleep.”
The room chuckles as gifts are starting to be exchanged, anything from cute pairs of socks to video games to awkward stocking stuffers. No other presents are lining the tree skirt after a half hour of celebration, but you’re left empty handed. It’s awkward, to say the least.
“Are we missing one?” Kirishima questions with a frown. “There’s no way we left you out.”
Bakugo’s face sours on the phone screen, immediately upset that you’re excluded from the tradition. “What the hell? Someone better fess up. Don’t screw with my girl’s Christmas.” Suddenly, the video freezes and hangs up, leaving everyone silent as they turn towards you. How the hell could this happen?
“Why don’t you check the entryway?” Mina advises. “Maybe it was left there by mistake.”
You stand from the couch with defeat, sulking toward the door to double check. Who had you for secret Santa? Did they not know what to get for you, or were you truly forgotten? After a quick glance in the doorway, you come up short. Guess you won’t be getting a gift this year after all.
When you return to the living room, everyone seems to be staring at you with an apologetic look on their faces. Your head is hung low, aimlessly wandering back to the couch as you plop back down on to the plush fabric.
“No luck,” you whisper. “It’s okay, though. It’s not a big deal.”
The room is silent until someone speaks up.
“Look again.”
Wait. You know that voice.
It has you whipping your head up, looking around desperately to be sure you’re not hearing things. Like magic, Bakugo appears from behind the Christmas tree in the living room, his cheeky smirk illuminated by the bright string lights.
“Merry Christmas,” Midoriya whispers next to you, his eyes glossing over with emotion. “Sorry for tricking you!”
Before you know it, you’re launching off the couch and skipping over to Bakugo, throwing your arms around him excitedly. He picks you up, swinging around in soft circles, squeezing you tight enough to take your breath away. Once he sets you down, you pull back to look at him.
“Katsuki, how—”
Bakugo cuts you off with a kiss, cradling your face in his hands. After a moment, he releases you, all the love in your body flourishing at his touch.
“Commission gave me five days off. M’all yours,” he whispers, brushing a piece of hair out of your face. “Izuku pulled some strings to get those corporate assholes to approve it.”
You turn toward Izuku, mouthing a ‘thank you’ before burrowing your face into Bakugo’s chest. God, you’ve missed the way he smells, his warmth…everything about him.
“Okay you creeps, stop starin’ already,” Bakugo jests to the group. Everyone shouts with glee, the party continuing in full swing with the whole family together — at last.
This is a Christmas you’ll never forget.
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Merry Christmas, Lauren!! I hope you enjoyed it. With much love from your secret Santa, Rei <3
@slayfics @maddietries @liluvtojineteyam
@Yoyolovesdaiki @catsoupki @purplescorpi0
@jays-adventure3 @simp-plague @napbatata
@www-marianette-org @obsessedpersona @kirishimaeijiromyman
@strwbrrykthv @hayatoseyepatch @awkwardchick87
@unriding @sylushi @darhinadadragon
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beanbagstab · 2 days ago
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"Merry Christmas, Amy"
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mangocatastrophe · 1 day ago
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OP, pray tell, would you be ok with other peeps redrawing your design
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law the hedgehog ? trafalgar d. water shadow ? shadow the surgeon of deat h ?
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tfwbluu · 3 days ago
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CHRISTMAS PRESENTS . . .
pair: ni-ki & f!reader. warnings: pxrn with little plot, pet names (baby, my angel, good girl, etc), light choking, ki’s lowkey possessive, slight size kink, oral (f. rec), raw s*x (wrap it up), praise, fingering, squirting, creampie, overstimulation. wc: 2K
a/n note: this is purely self indulgent because i’m down bad TT i haven’t wrote smut in so long pls bare w me. also had more ideas but i got lazy at the end lol. lmk if i missed anything in the warnings!
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As the weather grew colder and Christmas approached, the festive spirit had already begun spreading. Homes were glowing with decorations, and you were no exception. You found yourself setting up some lights on the tiny Christmas tree Jungwon had insisted he’d get for you.
“It’s no fun if we don’t decorate a little bit!” he had complained. Unable to say no to him, you had simply agreed, though decorating wasn’t usually your thing.
Sitting on the couch, lost in thought, you didn’t hear the door open or the faint “I’m home” that followed.
Riki walked in, noticing you hadn’t heard him. With a mischievous smile, he decided to tackle you from behind, making you yelp in surprise.
“Caught you,” he teased, his voice playful.
You let out a small pout but slowly relaxed into his arms. “You scared me,” you murmured, resting your hands on his arms.
A stray thought flickered through your mind as you noticed his arms. ‘Have they gotten bigger since last time?’
“What’s my baby got running through her pretty little head?” Riki asked, moving you onto his lap, positioning you sideways so he could see your face.
“Nothing much,” you said, leaning your head on his shoulder. “I was just thinking about what to get you and the others for Christmas. Honestly, I have no idea.” Your fingers idly played with the rings on his fingers.
“You know you don’t have to get us anything, right?” Riki chuckled. “I’m sure the guys would be more than happy if you just made them that steak of yours again. Remember how they devoured it last time?”
You smiled softly but shook your head. “I’d feel bad not giving you guys something when you all keep showering me with gifts…”
Your hands finally settled on his, the size difference between your hands and his catching your attention.
Riki hummed thoughtfully, letting you sit in silence for a moment. Then, an idea seemed to light up his mind, making him sit up a little straighter.
“There is something I’d like to have for Christmas,” he said, pulling you closer.
“Hmm? What is it?” you asked, looking up at him with curious, doe-like eyes.
“You.”
Before you could process his words, Riki pushed you down onto the couch, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. His hands cradled your neck while yours pressed against his chest, feeling his heartbeat.
A small moan escaped your lips as his hand slipped under your shirt, caressing your waist. The chill of his rings against your skin sent goosebumps racing across your body.
His kisses grew more feverish, each one more desperate than the last, as if silently begging for more. His tongue flicked against your lips, before he pulled away slightly, leaving you breathless and yearning for more.
“Let’s move somewhere more comfortable, yeah?” he murmured, pulling away just enough to look into your dazed eyes.
You nodded, unable to form coherent words. Smiling at your silent agreement, Riki effortlessly scooped you up into his arms and carried you toward your bedroom.
Riki skillfully opened the door to your room, locking it behind him before settling you gently onto the bed. Hovering above you, he captured your lips in another kiss, this time deeper, more desperate. Your hands wrapped around his neck, fingers threading through his hair, tugging lightly, eliciting a low groan from him.
His lips trailed from your cheek down to your neck and collarbone, suckling softly on the sensitive skin, leaving faint marks that would remind you of this moment. You leaned back, granting him more access, and he took full advantage, his hands slipping to the hem of your (or rather, his) oversized shirt, silently asking for permission.
“Go ahead, Ki,” you breathed, your voice soft yet full of anticipation.
With your approval, he gently removed the shirt, revealing your bare chest. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight before him, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“Not wearing anything underneath, huh, baby?” he teased, pressing a kiss between your breasts.
“That wasn’t on purpose,” you mumbled, cheeks flushed crimson as his lips moved closer to your sensitive peaks.
“Hmm,” he hummed in amusement, his lips latching onto your right nipple while his hand cupped and teased the other. He alternated between soft kisses, flicks of his tongue, and gentle sucks, drawing whimpers from you as your body arched under his ministrations.
Your hands found the hem of his shirt, tugging at it with need, silently pleading for him to remove it. Riki obliged, swiftly discarding the fabric before resuming his trail of kisses along your body.
“My,” kiss. “Pretty,” kiss. “Girl,” kiss.
You sighed, hands pulling his face back up to meet yours. Your lips melded together in a fervent kiss, the heat between you both intensifying as your hands explored the expanse of his bare skin, savoring the warmth of his touch and the electricity sparking between you.
Riki broke the kiss, leaving you breathless and whining in protest as you instinctively chased his lips.
“Patience angel,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. His hands slid down to your pajama pants, tugging them off slowly along with your panties. You tried to lift your hips to help, your body trembling with anticipation.
When he finally had you bare, his eyes darkened at the sight of how wet you were. He groaned, settling between your legs and hooking them over his shoulders. His arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you firmly in place as he glanced up at you, silently asking for permission.
Growing impatient, you reached down and gently pushed his head closer. He smirked, taking it as a clear sign to continue. With a lingering kiss to your folds, he dragged his tongue slowly up your slick heat, making you shudder.
A moan escaped your lips, your fingers gripping the sheets as the tension inside you grew. Riki’s tongue worked skillfully, alternating between broad strokes along your folds and flicks against your clit. When he sucked on your swollen bud, your moans grew louder, hips arching off the bed in response.
“Fuck... Riki~!” you cried, your body quivering as his hand moved to join his mouth. Two fingers slid into you with ease, curling perfectly to hit the sensitive spot inside you. He continued his relentless assault, his lips and tongue never straying from your clit as his fingers worked you closer to the edge.
“I—I’m close! Riki!” you gasped, the pressure in your stomach snapping as your release gushed out. He groaned, eagerly lapping up your juices, his hand still coaxing more from you as your body spasmed beneath him.
You collapsed back against the bed, panting heavily, your head spinning from the intensity. But just as you thought he was done, his lips returned to your overstimulated core.
“Can’t—!” you tried to protest weakly, your body too sensitive.
“Yes, you can, angel. Take it like a good girl,” he growled, his voice laced with determination as he continued devouring you. Despite the overwhelming sensations, your hips bucked instinctively against his mouth, chasing a pleasure you could barely handle.
Before long, another wave of ecstasy crashed over you, and you cried out his name as your release coated his tongue. He drank it all, not wasting a drop, and when he finally pulled away, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning down at you.
“Sweet,” he remarked, his voice husky and satisfied as you lay there, your chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes fluttering shut as you tried to regain your breath.
Riki leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as you tried to steady your breathing.
“You okay, pretty?” he asked softly, tucking the stray strands of hair away from your face.
You gave him a small, tired smile and nodded.
“I need words, angel,” he murmured, his tone gentle but firm.
“I’m okay,” you assured him, your voice just above a breath.
A smirk tugged at his lips. “Good,” he replied, his voice dropping a pitch. “Because I’m not done yet.”
Before you could fully process his words, he slipped off his pants, his arousal springing free and standing proudly against his stomach. His body loomed over yours, exuding raw desire.
He carefully turned you over, guiding you onto your stomach, your front pressing against the soft sheets. A small groan escaped your lips at the soreness, but your curiosity got the better of you as you glanced back at him. His hands spread your legs apart, and you felt the tip of his cock teasing your folds.
“Riki...” you moaned softly, your body trembling in anticipation.
Without a word, he slowly pushed into you, both of you moaning as he stretched you out, filling you completely. He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust to his size before he started moving.
With each thrust, you felt your body arch against him, your hands clutching the sheets beneath you. The pleasure was overwhelming, and your moans threatened to spill over, but you instinctively buried your face in the mattress to muffle them.
Riki noticed immediately and leaned forward, his right hand wrapping around your neck as he pulled you upright.
“Don’t hide from me, angel,” he growled, his voice low and commanding. “I wanna hear how good I make you feel.”
A shaky cry left your lips as he thrust into you harder, the sound unrestrained this time.
“Fuck...” you whimpered, your mind a hazy mess. The coolness of his rings against your neck, the way he filled you perfectly—it was all too much.
He tugged you into a messy kiss, his lips capturing yours as both of you moaned against each other. When he released you, he gently pushed your back down, letting you brace yourself against the bed once more.
“Feels good, yeah?” he asked, his rhythm relentless now.
“Y-Yes!” you cried, your voice high-pitched and desperate.
“My good girl, taking me so well,” he praised, his lips trailing kisses along your back and shoulders.
“Hmm~! Your good girl!” you managed to reply through your moans.
“Yes, you are,” he affirmed, his voice filled with pride.
His thrusts grew faster and more erratic as he chased his release, one hand gripping your neck lightly while the other found your clit, rubbing in time with his movements.
“Rikiii!” you wailed, your body trembling as your orgasm hit, pulsing around him.
He groaned, burying himself deep inside you as he followed right after, his release spilling into you in hot spurts. He stilled, his breaths heavy as he let himself empty completely.
As he pulled out, he watched as his cum dripped from your swollen folds, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.
Riki turned you over, gently cradling your face as he captured your lips in a heated kiss. His fingers gathered some of his release, pushing it back into you, eliciting a muffled moan as you melted into the kiss.
Before you could recover, you felt the tip of his cock brushing against your entrance again. Your eyes widened, and you gasped softly.
“Just one more, baby,” he whispered against your lips, his voice deep and coaxing. Without hesitation, he pushed inside you again, filling you up.
Your body trembled, the overstimulation making you whine, but he only responded by moving your legs up over his shoulders, letting him reach even deeper. Each thrust had you crying out, his movements calculated and intense.
“Fuck, you feel so good, baby,” he groaned, his eyes locked on yours. “All mine to fuck, hmm?”
You couldn’t form a response, your mind blank from the pleasure. Instead, you moaned mindlessly, your back arching as he kept hitting spots that left you breathless.
Riki leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he pressed your hands beside your head, pinning you to the bed.
“Hope you’re ready for the rest of the night, angel,” he murmured, his tone filled with a teasing affection. “I want to make the most out of my Christmas present.”
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samaraxmorgan · 2 days ago
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Your Roommate Sukuna
“That Time The Heater Broke On Christmas”
Modern no curse AU, Sukuna X Reader
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Synopsis: This housing crisis sure is no joke huh? Rent is just too expensive to live alone, so you put out a listing for a roommate and ended up living with none other than the tattooed bad boy Ryomen Sukuna! This is part of a series of drabbles and oneshots showing glimpses into you and Sukuna’s living situation!!
Contains: frenemies to lovers, tooth rotting fluff, mutual pinning
Word Count: 2.44k
Series Masterlist - My Full Masterlist
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Christmas is always a hectic time of year, and after spending the last week in an utter state of chaos trying to get all of your friend’s and family’s gifts ordered and in the mail on time, cookies baked and hidden away from your ravenous roommate Sukuna who swears up and down that he doesn’t even like sweets but the ones you make just taste so much better, and staying up until midnight haphazardly taping in messily folded wrapping paper and scribbled “to and from” tags on countless presents, you were more than ready to flop onto your living room couch and pass out.
But you’re just not allowed to have nice things, it seems.
The apartment is freezing cold when you walk in the front door, cool air pinching your skin and the groan of annoyance escaping your throat leaving a puff of white air in its wake. Sukuna left shortly after you did this morning to spend the day with his brothers, and as you rush your way over to the thermostat to turn the heat back on you can’t even begin to fathom why he would bother turning the air off when you were both only gone for the day. Sure, the bills can get expensive, but he’s not seriously that broke… you hope.
But as you push the buttons on the thermostat and the little screen informs you that the air in fact is on, dread rushes through you. A quick call to the landlord ends exactly how you expected it to, sent to voicemail with a cheery little message mentioning that no one will be available until after the holidays.
You may as well just die in here, you think as you sit down on the couch. The cool leather is almost painfully cold, making you flinch when it hits your skin. Silently you contemplate going back to where you spent the whole day; even if there were tons of people and you ended up leaving early because you were dying for some peace, at least it was nice and warm there.
But you push that idea aside, getting back on the train would be a pain, you’d have to trek through the snow again on your way back to the station, you could come up with a million excuses but in the back of your mind there’s this little nagging feeling that you don’t want to admit is the real reason you would rather stay home. You haven’t seen Sukuna all day.
It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid, but you’ve been so busy and even though the two of you live together it feels like you haven’t been able to see him for almost the entire week. And even though you spent the whole day around people you love, you couldn’t wait to come back home to your dickhead roommate.
Obviously you’d rather die than admit that to him, already picturing that trademarked smirk plastered on his tattooed face, but you can’t deny that something about him is charming. He’s smug and sarcastic and cocky and annoying and- you could really go all day to be honest; but then he has those moments where he can take the air right out of your lungs. Sweet, kind little gestures where this big scary bad guy acts like a total gentleman and it makes your heart race.
You doubt you’ll ever understand how he has that hold over you.
The sound of the door creaking open is your only warning before Sukuna steps into the freezing apartment, pink bangs damp and disheveled falling over his forehead and snow clinging to his black leather boots. He shrugs off his coat with a fluid motion, tossing it onto the stair rail as he fixes you with a sharp grin, flashing his canines mischievously.
“Didn’t think you’d actually beat me back here,” he drawls, a sarcastic lilt in his tone, “Guess you couldn’t go a day without missing my charming personality.”
You roll your eyes, breath puffing out in a faint cloud as you speak, “Missed that loud mouth, you mean.”
“Cute.” Although the word is borderline dripping in sarcasm, you still manage to catch the way a smile subtly tugs at the corner of his lips.
“I don’t suppose you’re any good with fixing heaters?” You ask hopefully, Trying to suppress a shiver as you motion toward the uncooperative thermostat.
He raises a brow, kicking off his boots and stepping into the living room, “The fuck do I look like, an HVAC guy? Just call the landlord.”
“I did,” You flop back against the couch with a defeated thump, tossing an arm over your face, “No one can come out ’til tomorrow, holidays or whatever.”
Sukuna could literally hear the frustration in your voice as he plops down next to you on the cold leather couch, “Tragic.” His tone is teasing, but his crimson eyes linger on your shivering form; with an over dramatized huff puffing an icy cloud in the air he muses, “Guess you’ll freeze.”
You briskly rub your hands up and down your arms, a futile attempt to warm yourself up, “And you won't?”
He peers down at you, posture completely relaxed despite the icy air and an unimpressed frown on his face, “I don’t get cold.”
You can’t help but let out a snort at his audacity, “Yeah?” You prop yourself up on your elbows to grin up at him, “Same way you don’t get sick?”
He scoffs and rolls his eyes, letting his back sink into the cool leather cushions of the couch, “That was a fluke.”
“Such a big fat liar,” You tease, elbowing his arm. But the playful jab shifts into curiosity when you notice that his skin is actually warm against your frozen fingers. Without hesitation, you wrap your hand around his tattooed wrist, making him flinch and hiss dramatically
“Fucking christ-”
“You were actually serious?” You interrupt, scrambling upright to press your freezing hands into his arms.
“Yes, I was- fuck, stop touching me holy shit.” He swats your hands away, goosebumps forming on his skin, “How the hell have you not died of frostbite? You a fuckin’ reptile or some shit?”
“Are you a living space heater?” You scoot closer to him, grabbing at his forearms in a desperate attempt to warm yourself up.
“Quit grabbin’ me you fucking weirdo,” He stands abruptly, nearly having to yank his arm out of your desperate grip, rolling his eyes at the pitiful groan of disappointment that escapes your throat, “Just- give me a second, hold on.”
You watch pitifully as he jogs up the stairs, the already freezing cold room feeling so much colder without him sitting next to you, even in the mere seconds that he’s gone. It’s almost embarrassing how you came home early to see him, have missed him and his attitude so much, and then god forbid he walks away this cramped little apartment just feels empty. But within less than a minute you can hear his footsteps thumping down the wooden stairs, a large dark red comforter slung over his arm.
He can’t help but chuckle when he sees your eyes light up, gently shaking his head as he tosses the comforter over your head and watches you scramble to wrap yourself up in it, “How long were you home without considering a fuckin’ blanket?”
“Fuck off.” You mumble as you clutch the blanket in your shaking hands; it isn’t exactly warm, still cool to the touch from sitting on his cold bed, but it’s better than nothing. Shivers still run over your skin as you wrap your arms around yourself.
You can feel the cushions shift under Sukuna’s weight when he sits down on the couch. His eyes peer down to your shivering form laying up against his thigh, silently watching you for a moment as if he’s contemplating something. Without saying a word he squeezes up behind you, wedging himself behind you and pressing his chest against your back. His arm snakes over your torso, pulling you flush against him.
Your body grows stiff in surprise, a pink blush rushing to your cheeks, “What… are you doing?”
“What?” he mumbles, resting his chin on top of your head as if this was the most natural thing in the world, “Not allowed to do something nice? Quit complaining.”
You can hear that signature smirk in his voice even without seeing his face, but the warmth radiating from him is undeniable. His arm tightens around your waist to anchor you to him and you could swear that he had heat radiating off of his chest, flooding into your cold skin and seeping through the blanket to chase away the chill that so stubbornly clings to your skin.
Hopefully he can’t hear the way your heart is pounding.
And although you’re grateful for the comforter wrapped around you, you’re silently cursing it for putting a barrier between you and Sukuna. You need more, need him impossibly closer to you, to wrap yourself up in his embrace and tighten your arms around him. You squirm in his grasp to try and free your arms, and an empty cold immediately strikes you when he releases you within a millisecond, parting himself from you and shoving his back into the cushions of the couch.
“Shit, I’m-”
You unintentionally cut him off when you turn around to face him, slinging the deep red comforter over his tensed up body. From this angle you can see his face and he looks… surprised? For the briefest moment you could catch a look of panic in his eyes before he settled, eyes widened and his mouth dropped open into a small oh. As if he wasn’t the one who started this, but he’s silent as his apology is caught in his throat.
You tilt your head down and grip your fingers onto his waist, attempting to pull him back to you, “Why are you all the way over there? Come back.”
It takes him a moment, like he's trying to process what you'd said, before he shifts closer to press his body firmly against yours. You bury your head into the warmth of his chest where you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and your thigh finds a comfortable space to slot between his legs. His arms wrap around you again, but this time he holds you closer like he's trying to keep you locked against him, caging you against his strong torso in a way that feels almost possessive.
But it's so nice, the protective hold in his arms feels so warm and comfortable; and not just because of the temperature difference. You'd be lying if you said you'd never imagined yourself wrapped up with him, but never in any of your guilty daydreams did it ever feel so intimate. You and Sukuna have never been quite this close to each other, usually sharing nothing more than passive aggressive elbow jabs while trying to share the bathroom sink in the mornings, or maybe the occasional moment where he'll grab your hand in his when he sees you're about to trip and his touch lingers just a little too long.
But now you’re wrapped up in him, the smell of cologne on his neck embracing your senses with a warm woody scent, the heat of his body dripping onto your skin until your shivers finally come to a stop. Your racing heart slows to a steady pace and you let your eyes fall shut for a while, enjoying the peaceful quiet sounds of his breathing and his steady heartbeat.
The two of you stay like that for what feels like an eternity, the silence broken only by the occasional creak of the old apartment and the distant hum of wind outside. Sukuna’s warmth envelops you completely, seeping into your chilled bones in a way that no blanket ever could.
“Better now?” His voice is low, almost a rumble in his chest, and you feel the vibrations against your cheek where it rests against him.
“Much.” You admit quietly, your breath tickling his neck.
“Good. Maybe now you won’t freeze to death.” He mutters, but there’s no bite to his words. His tone is softer, almost fond, and his hand begins to draw lazy circles over your back.
You glance up at him, his face just inches from yours. His crimson eyes are half-lidded, his usual smirk softened into something gentler. You rarely see him like this, but lately you’ve been witnessing it more and more; he’s relaxed, unguarded. It’s a side of him that’s both unfamiliar and heart-achingly endearing.
“You’re awfully cozy for someone who didn’t want to be touched.” You tease, tilting your head slightly to study his reaction.
He scoffs, his cheeks darkening just enough to make you wonder if he’s blushing, “Yeah, well, I didn’t think you’d be this pathetic about it. Consider it a favor.”
“A favor?” You raise a brow, unable to hide your amused grin.
“Yeah. Don’t get used to it,” he grumbles, though his arm tightens around you ever so slightly.
Despite his words, you can feel the contradiction in the way he holds you, his grip firm and unyielding as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. And you can’t help but wrap your arms around him tighter, hoping this so called favor doesn’t have to end.
“You’re warm.” You mumble, almost to yourself.
“Don’t get all sentimental on me,” His voice is a low warning, but it lacks any real edge.
You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, and for a moment, neither of you says a word. The air feels heavy, charged with something unspoken yet undeniable. His eyes flicker down to your lips for the briefest second, and your breath catches in your throat.
“You’re staring.” He mumbles, but he doesn’t look away.
“So are you.” You whisper softly.
The tension between you grows, fragile yet electric, until finally, he huffs and shifts his gaze away, breaking the spell, “Go to sleep, idiot. You’ll need it for when the landlord shows up tomorrow.”
Despite the abrupt shift, his tone carries no real harshness, and the arm around your waist stays securely in place. You press your cheek against his chest once more, unable to resist a small smile.
“Fine.” You whisper, closing your eyes and letting yourself relax fully into his warmth.
He doesn’t say anything, but the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear is answer enough. Whatever this moment between the two of you is, you’ll take it for now, tucked in his arms as the cold world outside fades away.
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A/N: Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!! And thank you to everyone who has been so kind and supportive and patient with me during my writers block <3 I don’t think I’m fully back quite yet but I’ve made massive progress and I’m hopeful that I’ll be writing regularly again soon :) Dividers by @adornedwithlight
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