#once again I’m up against krampus

[jerichomere]

I’ve been playing BATTD too much, I’m starting to recognize and grow frond of other usernames in the martian games

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Hi, if you're still doing cuddle prompts, could I request Mayday with hugging from behind?

If you want to, and have time, no pressure.

Life Day Comes but Once Each Year... but Mayday Doesn't

A/N: Happy Krampusnacht, Nika! My deepest apologies for the long delay on this fic, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. You can blame @cloned-eyes for my clone!Krampus obsession. Their Krampus Bad Batch art has been living rent-free in my head for a year, and I am definitely on the naughty list. Thanks for that.

Pairing: Krampus!Mayday x Reader (fem; has hair)

Rating: M (mature content intended for readers 18+; minors DNI)

Wordcount: 2.7k

Warnings and tags: established relationship but it’s complicated; fluff; domesticity; SMUT with the tiniest scrap of plot to explain how TF Mayday ended up as Krampus; allusions to spanking/flogging; monsterfucking but make it tender because it’s Mayday; oral sex; fingering; PIV; creampie; body worship; more fluff; crack treated seriously; Mayday wants to wife you up because it is literally impossible for me not to see this man as husband material; mention of wanting children; if horns not for grabbing, why handle-shaped? 

Summary: He’s a monstrous immortal who has carried out the duties of Krampus across the galaxy for a millennium. But for one night each year, just before Life Day, he’s yours.

Suggested Listening:

This fic smells like: Apres by Ellis Brooklyn (evergreen trees, snow-capped mountains, bourbon on a cold night)

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The cabin was dark, save for the soft, warm glow cast by the lights of the Life Day tree and the flickering illumination of the fire that blazed in the wood stove. Outside, the wind howled with menace as the snow whirled in a blinding flurry, but the cabin was sturdy, and the winter storm battered fruitlessly against the walls. 

On the caf table sat two empty schnapps glasses and a half-finished puzzle, abandoned with its incomplete pieces scattered across the tabletop and the floor around it. The Life Day album you’d been playing had long since ended, and now the only sounds in your living room were the faint crackle of the fire, the muffled roar of the wind, and the quiet ticking of your cuckoo chronometer.

The scene was disgustingly wholesome, considering the decidedly unwholesome activities that had occurred on top of that very caf table not much earlier, but you were too drowsy and comfortable to care. You were curled up across Mayday’s lap, with your head tucked into the crook of his neck and your hand resting flat against his chest, just over his heart. You could feel the beat of it, steady and warm beneath your palm, and for a moment, you closed your eyes, just to listen to the sound of his breathing.

“Tired, love?” he asked, pressing his lips to the top of your head. His fingers trailed over your shoulder, down your bare arm to your elbow, and back up, again and again, in a hypnotic rhythm.

“Hm-mmm,” you lied. “Wide awake.”

His quiet chuckle ruffled the fine hairs at your hairline. “You know liars go on the naughty list.” 

You smiled and tilted your face up to kiss his cheek, brushing your fingertips along the curling length of one of his horns. “I’m pretty sure at least half of the things we did earlier were enough to land me on the naughty list in perpetuity.”

“A permanent fixture,” he agreed. His solemn tone was belied by the smile that faintly creased the corners of his dark eyes that glimmered red in the dim light. “I have a special place on it, just for you.”

“I hope it’s at the top.”

“Is that where you want to be?” He grazed the tip of his nose down your cheek and then bit your lip softly.

“On top, underneath, on the floor, on my knees—anywhere you want.”

“Careful, darlin’. That kind of talk will get you in trouble.”

“Oh, no, I would absolutely hate it if you felt the need to punish me with those birch rods of yours,” you murmured.

He chuckled quietly as his hand stole up your thigh to massage over the fading red marks and gently squeeze your ass. “Did you not get enough earlier?”

His hands slid languidly up your body, gathering up your oversized knit sweater and pushing it up and over your head, leaving you completely nude.

“You know, there’s a snowstorm out there,” you teased. “I’m going to get hypothermia.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you warm.” His lips trailed down your throat as he leaned you back against the small mountain of throw pillows and began to kiss his way down your body. “Your sofa is much more comfortable than your caf table. We should have done this earlier. Take pity on an old man’s knees.”

“I wasn’t aware that immortal, mythical beings had joint problems—Oh, that’s nice, keep doing that.”

“With pleasure.”

He draped one of your legs over your shoulder, and the other he pinned between his body and the back of the sofa. He gripped your hips, holding you in place while he took you apart with meticulous thoroughness. Your fingers tunneled through his shaggy hair and then wrapped around his curling horns, shamelessly using them for leverage as you guided his head exactly where you needed him. 

“Just like that,” he murmured, his voice vibrating over your flesh, driving every thought from your mind as his lips moved softly against your cunt and his forked tongue swirled over and wrapped around your clit. “Do that again. Show me how you want me.”

His long tongue slid deeper, caressing insistently inside your body, focusing on the places he knew so well and working you with agonizing precision. Your hips twitched up off the couch, moving without your permission as you let out a sudden gasp. His strong hands tightened around you and pressed you back down.

“Liked that, did you?” 

His tongue slid back inside, repeating the exact motion until you were shaking and whimpering beneath him, desperate and balancing on the knife edge of pleasure.

And then he withdrew, the monster.

You swallowed a choked sound of protest and suppressed the urge to grab his horns and press him back down. He smiled wickedly up at you and licked his lips.

“I could feast on you all night, love,” he said.

Then why the kriff did you stop?! You wanted to scream, but you knew it would just make him more determined to draw out your torment.

“I’d let you,” you replied breathlessly, hoping that he’d take the karking hint and put that lovely tongue back to work.

No such luck. He dropped his head back down, but instead of going where you wanted him, he pressed a kiss just above your pussy, then another, a little higher, and another, higher still, until he had kissed a trail halfway up your abdomen. He buried his face against your belly, using you as a pillow, and you were just beginning to wonder exactly what the punishment would be for murdering your teasing godsdammned Krampus lover, when he spoke.

“I missed you this year.” His quiet, surprisingly vulnerable words melted away your irritation like snow in spring.

“I missed you, too.”

He tilted his head to look up at you with soft eyes. “What did you miss?”

“Your extremely long tongue,” you quipped, determined to keep things casual despite brushing painfully close to confessing the decidedly uncasual nature of your feelings for him. 

He laughed. “Anything else?”

“Your extremely thick—Oh!” Your words were cut off by your own gasp as he slid one of his big fingers into your cunt.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let me hear you.”

You would have levitated off the couch if he hadn’t been holding you down. As it was, you let out a sound that would have been embarrassing if you’d been cogent enough for it to register. Instead, you writhed and whimpered, and when he slid a second finger in next to the first, it was all over for you. The orgasm he’d teased you with crashed into you, and your body thrashed beneath him as you cried out hoarsely. 

“There it is,” he growled. “There’s that beautiful sound I’ve been dreaming about all year.”

He watched you with voracious eyes, a subtle glimmer of red flashing in their depths as his clever fingers wrang every last drop of pleasure from your body, drawing out your climax until you felt as though your entire body was unraveling. Knelt between your thighs, with a sinful grin that flashed his sharp canines, he looked like the devil himself, come to steal your soul away.

Except he wasn’t satisfied with only your soul. He wanted all of you: heart, body, and mind, and damn him to the seven hells, because you’d given them all to him.

The sofa creaked under his shifting weight as he began to crawl up your body, still working his fingers inside you, his lips and tongue grazing softly over every curve, every freckle, every centimeter of your smooth, warm skin. 

“My sweet, perfect little one,” he murmured, withdrawing his fingers at last as he settled between your thighs.

It had been strange at first, all those years ago, to feel the thick, warm fur of his thighs when he moved inside you. You had long since grown accustomed to it, and you sighed luxuriously as he pressed into you. His hand glided down your thigh to wrap it around his hip, and suddenly, he paused.

“What’s this?”

He pulled his hand away and held up a puzzle piece he’d found stuck to your leg.

“That was definitely your fault,” you laughed.

“Guilty as charged.” He tossed the puzzle piece over his shoulder and captured your hand instead, drawing it up over your head and interlacing your fingers with his own as he held it in place. 

“Kriff, you’re so fucking tight,” he panted, his breath hot against your throat as he tucked his face against your shoulder, kissing and softly biting, careful not to break the skin but letting you feel the sharp points of his teeth nonetheless. “Your pussy is magic. You feel incredible. I missed you so much—I missed this.”

Your legs twined around his waist; your free hand tangled in his hair and then glided down the back of his neck to hold him close.

“Kiss me,” you said, and he did, without hesitation. 

His tongue swept between your lips, and you could taste the wild, heady flavor of your own body in his kiss. He began to move, setting a languid pace but thrusting hard. 

“Gonna fuck you so deep you’ll never forget me,” he whispered.

As if you could ever forget him when you felt him in every beat of your heart, every breath of your lungs, every pulse of blood in your veins. He owned you without ever staking a claim. He owned you, and he didn’t even know it.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Make me feel you for days.”

He took his time, savoring you as if every tick of the chronometer didn’t steal away another second of your dwindling moments with him. But he knew what he wanted, and he pursued it relentlessly, refusing to take his own pleasure until he’d built you inexorably to another climax. Only when he felt you clench around him and cry out his name did he finally let go. He pounded into you hard and fast, gripping your hip in one massive hand to hold you in place until at last he came with a silent snarl, flooding you with molten heat.

He collapsed onto you. You reveled in his weight and warmth, burying your face against him and inhaling his scent as if you could brand it on your memory. After a moment, he shifted off of you. He tucked you against the back of the sofa and stretched alongside you, resting his forehead against yours as he wrapped you in his arms.

“Magic, huh?” you murmured with a tiny smile.

“Magic,” he repeated. 

He tugged the throw blanket from its crumpled heap on the floor and settled it over the pair of you, and within seconds, you were asleep.

The cabin was cold when you woke, and Mayday built the fire back up while you brewed a pot of caf. It had been little more than a power nap, but still, you felt a pang of regret that you’d wasted even that much of your limited time with him in sleep. You could sleep after he left, after all. You would have a whole year to sleep.

You stood by the window, hands wrapped around your mug of hot, fragrant caf, silently observing the scene outside. The storm had exhausted itself overnight, and the resulting thick blanket of fresh snow was perfectly, eerily peaceful. It was dark yet, but the pale light of dawn had begun to outline the mountains in a narrow strip of gold.

“Sun is coming up,” you murmured. “You’ll need to leave soon.”

He came to stand behind you, slipping his hands around your waist and wrapping you in his arms as he pulled you back against his chest and rested his chin on your shoulder. “I don’t want to go.”

“I don’t want you to, either,” you confessed.

“Maybe I should stick around.”

Your heart panged, and it actually stung that he would even joke about something like that, but you refused to taint the last few moments you had with him this Life Day by getting weepy, or gods forbid, begging him to stay.

“How would that work? Considering you’re, you know…”

“An ageless, unkillable monster tasked with punishing evildoers each year before Life Day,” he supplied helpfully. “Or as I prefer to think of it, enforcing the naughty list.”

“Yeah, that.”

Your wry tone pulled a reluctant laugh from him, and he tightened his arms more securely around your body, pulling you close. “Because it’s the final year of my contract.” 

“Contract?”

“I died,” he explained quietly. “A long time ago, on a planet far, far away. In the bitter winter, under the pitiless gaze of a man who saw me as less than nothing.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, tamping down your rage at this unknown man, knowing that right now, he needed your understanding, not your righteous indignation. “What happened?”

“The Force saw it differently. I was offered a chance. An opportunity for another life.”

“And the catch was…” You reached up behind you to trace your fingertips along the curve of one of his horns. “... this?”

He nodded. “One thousand years of service.”

One thousand years. Gods.

“Was it worth it?”

He huffed softly, and his hand flattened against your belly and slid up your rib cage until it rested just below your breast. “Ten years ago, I would have said no. Ten years ago, I would have said it was a cosmic kriffin’ joke.”

“Ten years?” you whispered. “That was—”

“When I met you,” he finished. “Ten years is nothing to me. I was so close to the end of my contract that I could taste my freedom. But ten years is a hell of a long time for a mortal. I knew there was no way I could ask you to wait for a creature like me—someone you only saw once a year.”

You rested your palm over his hand and then lifted it to your lips to press a kiss against his wrist. “Good thing you didn’t have to ask.”

His hand curled around the side of your head, and he turned his head to kiss your temple. “I want to marry you.”

Your heart stuttered to a halt before giving a violent thump. “... What?”

 “I knew from the first time I saw you.”

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” you demanded.

“I never propose before the tenth date.”

“That’s not funny!” you exclaimed.

“They can’t all be zingers.”

“Be serious, Mayday.”

“I am serious,” he said softly. “I want you to be my wife. I want to wake up next to you every morning, instead of alone in an empty bed. I want you to be the mother of my little hellspawn babies.”

You snorted, and he smiled, pressing one last kiss to the side of your head. For a moment, you allowed yourself the indulgence of imagining a future of this: waking up with him, having these moments of quiet intimacy every day, instead of squeezing as many as possible into a single day each year. It was a lovely fantasy, but your pragmatic mind refused to let you dwell on it for long before logic started poking holes in the idea.

“But you’re immortal,” you protested, “and I’ll be gone in a blink of your eyes.”

“Not after this Life Day,” he replied. “Once my service is done, I’ll age like any other human.”

“But you’ll keep the horns, right?” you blurted out before you could stop the words.

He smirked. “I think that could be arranged.”

“And really, we’ve only known each other for ten days.”

“I’ve thought about you every single moment in between. I’ve crossed the galaxy more times than I care to count, and I have seen more things than you can possibly imagine. And in all my long life, I have never seen anyone more perfect for me. I was never meant to find anyone, but I found you, and I can’t imagine letting you go.”

Oh, that’s just… That’s just playing dirty. Damn him and his silver tongue. His lovely, long, forked—FOCUS! This isn’t the time to be making decisions with your ovaries!

“You’re just bewitched by my magic pussy.”

That startled a laugh out of him, and he tilted your jaw up for a kiss. “Stop talking like a degenerate and say you’ll marry me.”

“Fine. But if baby Krampuses come out with horns, we’re getting a divorce.”

If you haven’t seen @/cloned-eyes Krampus Bad Batch art, you need to. Wrecker, Hunter, Crosshair, Tech, Echo, Wolffe.

More Mayday: Fluff and spice.

Taglist:

@523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @merkitty49 @arcsimper5 @clio3kantarella

@cloneloverrrrr @goblininawig @ladytano420 @arctrooper69 @sunshinesdaydream

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@dangraccoon @transactivecybermemory @etod @ivyyyyy @somewhere-on-kamino

@burningnerdchild @saneabandoned @heidnspeak @maniacalbooper @rebell-ious

[heyiwrotesomethings]

How about a one-shot about shinobu and her partner spending Christmas together?

Snowed In

Shinobu Kochou x They/ Them Reader Modern AU

A/N: Wanted to make sure I got this done before Christmas. Also made it a modern AU because it spoke to me more. Hope you like it, thanks for reading! Word Count: 995

“Snowed in on Christmas,” (Y/n) groaned, looking out at the hazy grey skies and fresh snow still being piled up outside, “couldn’t it have at least waited until after we made it to Kanae’s?”

“The roads should be safe by tomorrow. We can celebrate together then.” Shinobu rationally supplied. She was a little disappointed, but not as much as (Y/n) seemed to be.

“Yeah…” (Y/n) laid flat across the couch, looking devoid of all holiday cheer.

Shinobu smiled sympathetically and came to sit on the edge of the couch, resting a hand on their back.

“We have each other. We can still have a good Christmas, (Y/n). We can do most of the things we usually do and then run it back tomorrow with everyone else.”

(Y/n) perked up a bit. That did make them feel a little better. They rolled over to look up at Shinobu.

“Really?”

“No, I lied. No happiness for my partner. We will sit in silence and not even look at each other.” Shinobu spoke sarcastically.

(Y/n) took the end pillow their head had been resting on and slapped Shinobu with it.

A struggle for power over the pillow ensued which ended with (Y/n) on the floor, muffled voice begging for mercy as Shinobu pressed the pillow against their face.

“Let’s make something special for lunch. We can put something on for background noise while we work.” Shinobu sweetly suggested once she had been persuaded into sparing (Y/n)’s life.

“Can it be a Christmas movie?”

“As long as it’s not one of those dime a dozen romances, I don’t mind.”

“Aww why not? I thought you liked making fun of them at the very least.”

“I do, but it’s more fun when Kanae’s there to try to defend them.”

“She is oddly protective over them, isn’t she? Hmm, how about this one?” They pointed to the synopsis of one of the movies that had caught their eye. “It sounds like it would be right up your alley.”

“A movie about Krampus? Yeah sure, put it on. Unless you think you’ll be too scared.”

(Y/n) stuck their tongue out at her before pressing play and rejoining Shinobu in the kitchen.

***

“I don’t know… someone seems a little jumpy since the movie finished.” Shinobu teased.

“I only jumped because you tried to scare me when I came out of the bathroom!” (Y/n) refuted. “That would startle most people even without watching a movie like that.”

“Do you think you’ve been good this year, (Y/n)? I’d hate for Krampus to come take you away in the dead of night.”

“Well he missed his chance by almost three weeks. Bedsides, if he was going to take someone away, it would have been you.”

“I’m nothing if not a perfect, upstanding citizen.” Shinobu grinned.

“Hey,” (Y/n) happened to look out at the steadily darkening sky, “the snow stopped.”

“So it has. We should be good to go tomorrow.”

“Yes!” (Y/n) pumped their fist then jogged to the front door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Shinobu asked, watching them put on their boots.

“Let’s go out in the snow for a bit. It’s been a while since we’ve seen this much.”

“Mmm, I think I’ll pass. While you’re out there though, you should shovel the walkway.” Shinobu suggested.

Shinobu was not a fan of the cold, snow especially she did not care for. It was pretty to look at, but not fun to be in, especially when manual labor was involved. Being cold, completely soaked in slush and sweat, and the way her hat completely messed up her hair, a hard pass.

“What? Shinobu, you have to help me. There is more than two feet out there.” (Y/n) sniffed, “What if I break my back and by the time you came to look for me, it started snowing again and then you didn’t find my body until spring?”

“At least you would be fairly well preserved.”

“Shinobu!”

“Alright, fine.” Shinobu groaned, sitting beside (Y/n) to put on her boots as well.

Once they were all bundled up, (Y/n) struggled to open the door, wiggling it back and forth until the gap was wide enough for the couple to slip through. They took their shovels in hand and cleared the walkway down to the sidewalk.

Shinobu’s arms burned a little and she couldn’t feel her toes, but at least now they could go back inside and—

Fwpssh!

“Hey!” Shinobu spun around to glare at (Y/n), who had another snowball waiting for her and hit her in the chest.

Shinobu knew a declaration of war when she saw it and she would not surrender. She knelt down and began scooping snow into tight balls and (Y/n) frantically began to do the same. When Shinobu was pleased with the amount she had made, she began to mercilessly pelt them at (Y/n) who could hardly return fire during the onslaught. They wondered if Shinobu was using ice or rocks instead of snow because of how devastating each blow felt.

When Shinobu ran out of snow balls, she dove for (Y/n)’s pile, but (Y/n) tackled her into the deep snow, pulling her hat down over her eyes. Blindly, Shinobu reached up and managed to find the ends of (Y/n)’s scarf. She wrapped her fists in it and began to tug the ends in different directions.

It was unclear who truly won the battle, because they both looked like they had seen better days. They were completely disheveled, soaked and shivering as they shuffled back into their home.

But after a relaxing, hot bath and a change into some warm and comfy clothes, they felt much better. They picked something else to watch and shared a steaming beverage while they exchanged gifts and kisses, cuddled up under a thick, soft blanket.

It wasn’t the Christmas they had expected to have, but being able to spend it together was good enough for them.

[zerolostwalks]

“They’ve been showing Christmas movies since November. I vote to watch one Halloween movie.” for Writer's Choice!

Movie nights at the Molina’s had gotten weird. 

They were still better than the possibility of getting pulled to work a shift at the club for Caleb simply because he’d been home that night.

But still the atmosphere was not as relaxed as it once was. Willie really missed the laid back relaxed atmosphere. They just weren’t sure how to fix it.

The trouble began when, with the cooler winter air, Ray had insisted the group move movie night inside the main house. And for some reason it was like everyone forgot how to be comfortable with each other. 

Alex stiffly sat in a separate chair from everyone else, a wary eye almost constantly on Ray if he showed up. While Reggie and Luke for some reason had opted to sit on opposite ends of the couch rather than piling in the center with Julie like they usually did. Granted it was normally one massive cuddle pile but there was no denying the three of them gravitated towards each other more than the others.

Then Julie ended up missing whatever movie they opted to watch. Her attention was usually torn between the guy’s weirdness, her dad’s random check-in’s, and Carlos trying to be part of the group.

Honestly, the only normal ones seemed to be Flynn and themself. The both of them quickly broke down any awkward ‘we’ve never actually been this close in the cuddle pile’ energy that first ‘inside the house’ movie night. It helped that Flynn loved messing with hair and knew an encyclopedia’s worth of hairstyles. 

“All right,” Reggie declared, waving the remote around as they all settled into their corners for what Willie was sure to be another awkward movie night. “Who’s up for some classic Christmas claymation today?”

“Please no. At work they’ve been showing Christmas movies since November.” Flynn groaned, her fingers already dancing through Willie’s hair. “I vote to watch one Halloween movie, at least.”

The others perked up as they all threw out overlapping suggestions. Among the many suggestions Willie heard a handful of Burton film’s, a few Disney options, Casper and the Addams family.

Then there was a bit of debate if Ghostbusters qualified as a Halloween movie. At least they all still talked with each other like nothing was different. Even though the physical distances between them were almost painful to look at.

“No like,” Flynn loudly exhaled, “Like maybe Halloween or Nightmare on Elm Street, or The Conjuring. Just a really good horror movie.”

Willie wasn’t sure if he imagined how everyone in the room either stiffened up or gone paler. He was really only half paying attention to them, Flynn has sparked a whole new idea. “What about a Christmas horror film?”

“You mean like Gremlins?” Flynn’s nose scrunched up uncertainly. There was some audible shuffling as someone, or maybe more than one someone, shifted in their seat.

Willie’s smile grew as he twisted to better face them, “Gremlins, Krampus, Black Christmas. It’s like a whole horror subgenre.”

“Yeah ok, I’m willing to give one of those a shot.” Flynn beamed. When they both looked around the room for any objections they were met by stiff pale smiles, an awkward thumbs up and a couple of high pitched ‘sure’s.

Willie briefly wondered if maybe they should keep discussing but Flynn was already setting up Krampus. As soon as they had the movie playing they grabbed Willie and announced they’d get snacks, no need to help.

As the two of them waited for the popcorn to pop Willie leaned against the counter. “Where do you work again?”

“O’Brady’s,” Flynn stated as she collected an assortment of drinks and candy. 

Willie was only vaguely aware of the restaurant. Though it was their understanding it was a sort of sports bar. “Oh, so what? Because it’s the holidays they eased up on the sports channels or something?”

“No.” Flynn snorted as they shot Willie a mischievous smirk. 

Willie was sure their jaw was on the floor, but quickly recovered with a loud laugh that Flynn shushed and they tried to muffle. “Wait, then why?”

Flynn’s smirk grew as Willie transferred the popcorn into bowls.

“That bunch of scaredy cats hate horror films, almost as much as they hate admitting they hate horror films. Not once have they ever vetoed me on a horror film even though they could all totally outvote me. I think they just like to use it as an excuse to get cuddlier than usual.”

Willie stifled another laugh as they worked together to grab all the snacks and drinks. Sure enough when they walked back into the living room it was an entirely different set up than they had left. Alex had moved to the end of the couch where Reggie had been. Reggie and Julie had both slid to the other end with Luke, the three of them leaning heavily into each other.

Flynn exchanged a knowing smirk with Willie as they were pulled into Alex’s side and she returned to braiding his hair.

[estrel]

Saving Grace (And Staying Put)

destiel december 2020 prompt: presents | wc: ~1.3k

russian translation available thanks to @hereigoagain !!

[READ ON AO3] [RUSSIAN]

"What'd you think?"

Dean's staring at Cas, a glass full of eggnog resting against his lips. Behind the rim of it he’s hiding a smile at Cas' thoughtful squint, as Cas watches the end credits roll on the television.

"I think...I still don't understand. Are you meant to be my George Bailey?"

Dean splutters into his drink at that, sitting up to wipe eggnog from his mouth and set the cup on the coffee table. He shoots Cas a look, but Cas is still frowning, head tilted in question and maybe a little bit of concern at Dean's reaction.

After watching a myriad of Christmas movies that included Gremlins (a classic), Home Alone (another classic) and Krampus (Jack was not a fan), Sam and Jack had disappeared off to bed and Dean had stuck It's A Wonderful Life into the DVD player. His hope had been that Cas would get his Clarence references after watching it, but instead Cas was comparing Dean to the suicidal businessman that the angel saves in the movie.

What had made Dean choke was that he wasn't exactly wrong.

"I—I guess I am, man, yeah. I mean, I'd like to think I'm a little less pathetic, and I'm probably not as nice as he is, but it's...you're not too far off."

Their eyes meet, and Dean reaches between them for the remote.

"But I'm," Cas says, in a tone that makes Dean pause. "I'm not an angel anymore."

Dean sits back on the couch again, shifting once to get comfortable. "So?"

"So..."

He waits for Cas to continue, rubbing a thumb over the buttons on the remote as the silence stretches. The credits on the TV come to a stop. 

"So, I'm not...’Clarence’ anymore."

"And...what? Is that supposed to faze me, or something?" Dean looks at him again, and Cas' face expresses his apparent uncertainty. 

Dean smooths out his frown, opting instead to get across some of his own sincerity by dropping the deflections for a second.

"Cursed or not, Cas," he says gently, "Angel or not. Doesn't matter, we're...I—I'm better with you. So none of that leeriness, okay? Because you're more than just a set of fluffy wings and a halo."

He thinks Cas might take a crack at him again, indulge him that angels don’t have halos or harps or whatever Dean had said, but he doesn’t. He watches Dean for a long moment, all the while Dean pointedly tries not to notice, flipping channels for something else to watch. The Grinch might be good. 

“I have something for you.”

Cas reaches into a pocket, keeping his hand there while he thinks of how to proceed.

“I know it’s Christmas Eve, and that’s not typically when gifts are given... I also know that there’s probably a whole ritual that has rules and I’m sure you’re very picky about them, but I still...I don’t know if this will count as a present. But I still want to give it to you, if you’ll accept it,” Cas says. 

Dean feels his heart racing, thrumming against his chest so fast it makes him lightheaded. He simply nods, not trusting himself to speak, and watches as Cas pulls out the chain of a necklace until it reveals a small glowing vial that hangs off of it. 

On instinct, Dean reaches out to touch it, hovering his fingers just over the glass. He lifts his gaze to look at Cas. 

“Cas...what is this?”

The essence inside the vial swirls, a bright blue almost the shade of Cas’ eyes. Dean’s entranced, watching as it rhythmically shifts and moves against the glass. 

“It’s me,” Cas replies. “Well, more accurately...it’s my Grace.” 

Dean freezes. 

“Come again?”

Cas sighs softly. “My Grace.”

“You—you saved it?” Dean means to ask ‘How?’ next, but his mouth says, “And you’re giving it to me?”

Cas nods. 

“Why?”

Cas lets his arm relax, lowering it so that the necklace rests between them on the seat cushion of the couch. “You...gave me my humanity, Dean. You showed me how to care about...about everyone. I know I can never repay you for that, but I thought...I thought the least I could do was give a part of myself in return. I—” he hesitates, biting his bottom lip in thought.

“What?”

“No, nothing. I just...hope that you’ll accept it.”

Cas lifts it again in offering, and Dean moves his hand to fit the vial against his palm. It's warm to the touch. Dean wraps his fingers around it, and Cas lets go of the chain. It falls limply against Dean's knuckles.

"Thank you, Cas," He says, bringing it close to his heart. Cas smiles.

"Actually, I uh...I have something for you, too," Dean adds. With his free hand, he digs into his jean pocket and pulls it out, suddenly feeling that it’s a little dumb in comparison to the gift Cas just gave him.

"It's, ah, not exactly angel Grace, but," he holds out the flat of his palm, showing Cas.

Cas takes it from Dean's hand, holding it as if it’s as precious as the necklace Dean is clutching onto for dear life. He levels Dean with a serious stare.

"Are these...?"

"Keys," Dean says, "One's for Baby, and the other's for the Bunker."

Cas is quiet, so Dean keeps going. "I figured, y'know, without your Grace, you'll be needing to get places and, well, keys...open doors." He mentally curses himself. Keys open doors? He squeezes his eyes shut, shakes his head a little to reset himself. 

"What I mean to say is, now it'll be easier to get home. You can come and go when you'd like, and you don't have to wait for one of us to let you in."

Cas' eyebrows twitch at that. "Home," he repeats, but it’s said like a question.

Dean nods, smiling softly. “Yeah, Cas. Home.” He looks away, startled a little by Cas’ sincere eyes that search his face. “If—If you’ll accept it.”

“Yes,” Cas says quickly. “I accept.”

“Good,” Dean responds. He tries to ignore how the racing of his heart makes his hands shake. He looks down at the necklace. It swings a little, gently touching his chest.

“Um,” Dean holds it out to Cas. He waits a moment too long, though, because he can see Cas’ smile beginning to falter. “Do you think you could help me with this?”

Stunned, Cas takes the necklace and Dean bows his head, feeling his ears go red. It’s a sign of trust, Dean knows, to let your guard down like this in their line of work. It’s like baring your neck to a vampire, or falling asleep next to a djinn.

Cas moves closer on the couch, and their knees touch just barely. Dean watches Cas’ Grace dip underneath his chin as Cas pulls the chain around his neck. He can feel Cas’ arms raised on either side of him as he fastens it, can smell Cas’ scent from how close they are. 

Then Cas is done, fingertips brushing the back of Dean’s neck as he rests the cold chain there. His touch lingers, and Dean’s breath catches, and then Dean is lifting his head up. 

They’re closer than he thought. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. Cas gives a small nod, eyes a little wide. His hands are still at the back of Dean’s neck, fingers brushing gently at the hair on Dean’s nape. Dean shivers, unable to contain it. He brings a hand up to Cas’ tie, holding it a moment, before deciding it could use some adjustment. 

Then both hands are fixing the knot, and when Dean is done, he uses the tie as leverage to pull Cas closer. There’s a pause, when both of their noses bump against each other, where Dean gives Cas an out. 

He doesn’t take it.

Dean presses forward, fitting their lips together. It’s the satisfaction of two missing puzzle pieces finally sliding into place, after years of being lost and collecting dirt under a couch. It’s clean, and it’s warm, and it feels like Purgatory all over again—like purity.

When they pull away, Dean’s a little out of breath. He places a hand on Cas’ face, running a thumb over his cheek.

“Stay,” Dean says. “Don’t leave my side again. I want—I want you to stay.”

Cas’ eyes glisten. “I will,” he says. “I will.”

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[sheep33hallow]

Tis the Season(MikeyxTakmichi)

Tags: Krampus!MIkey, Holiday Lore, Takemichi lives in the North Pole, Hades and Persephone inspired, fluff

Rating M

AO3

7K+ words

Takemichi sat on his bedroom floor packing up his clothing. His body still shivered from the wetness of his long gray hair air drying along his back. 

A clear sign that his time was up. 

He huffs a breath. The longing ache had already settled in before he had to depart that evening. He already ruined their last night together from crying in his beloved's arm. Mikey chose to be silent, but his body gave him the needed comfort he craved. 

He doesn't know if Mikey slept. Yet, he had woken up alone. He ate alone. Showered alone. 

They've been doing this for hundreds of years now and each time he has to leave, Mikey deals with it differently. They both do. 

Standing up, he walks into his closet, looking for his blanket that was made of Mikey's fur. It was made up of Mikey’s shed hairs that he releases after each season. It's been with him since their first year together. A well preserved token of love, to remind him when he is in the other realm of what is waiting for him in his true home. 

He finds it under a pile of dirty clothes, remembering he put it there to be washed. He looks at his wrist watch and knows he has plenty of time to get this done. He grabs the basket in the corner and throws everything that needs to be washed into it. 

He walks out of the closet and is surprised Mikey is by their bed. Takemichi doesn't speak first. Mad about waking up alone, he bits his lip to not cry again. So he tightens his grip on the basket. 

"You're awake." The first words he says. 

Takemichi doesn't respond. 

Mikey coughs. "Sorry, Draken needed me." 

"He needed you?" Takemichi whispers. 

Mikey nods, but looks guilty. Knowing he made the wrong move. 

Takemichi shakes his head. He decides to finish his task and starts to walk to the exit. A fuzzy hand grabs his elbow, stopping him. It'll be some more time before his body is fully engulfed in hair. His horns have only begun to peek out from his skull. His normally blonde hair is black. It's not as long as Baji's yet, but it'll surpass that in a few months. 

"Mitchy." He says softly. 

"W-what, Mikey?" His voice wavers. 

Mikey pulls himself closer to Takemichi. "I'm sorry." He pressed his noses against the side of Takemichi's temple. "I guess I needed to cry myself. You know I don't let you see me do that." 

He knows. 

They've spent similar departing days like this before. Emotions were high. Takemichi shakes off Mikey's hand. 

"Mit-" Mikey starts before a basket of clothing is shoved into his arms. He sees the fur blanket with other various items of his beloved. 

Takemichi pulls his long hair into a high ponytail. "Go wash that for me." He says with a smile. Then promptly walks out of their room. 

Mikey doesn't argue. Knowing he deserves this and probably more for leaving him to wake up alone. He spent the whole night holding Takemichi as he cried. Choosing to stay silent to keep his own tears at bay; only leaving the bed once Takemichi was asleep. 

He adjusts his grip, then looks at the clock. It's noon. 

12 hours to go. 

++++++

Mikey meets Takemichi for the first time 200 years ago on January 1st.

The previous Santa, Shinichiro, had died and they were all at his funeral. Takemichi was sitting on the side next to a grieving Wakasa. 

Wakasa and Shinichiro had been Mr and Mrs Claus for 1000 years. Wakasa knew he'd be a widow at some point. Most people who take on the mantle of Santa create and release a lot of joy into the world and it causes their magic to eventually take a toll on the body. 

Three days after Christmas, Shin's body refused to change back. His body didn't have the energy and instead internally attacked his organs. He didn't want anyone to see him in that state. He didn't want any last goodbyes with anyone, but Wakasa. 

In his will, he had given Mikey a vintage sleigh which was owned by Shinichiro’s father. The previous Santa. 

Shinichiro was very loved as a Santa. He brought in a new era. He never publicly demeaned Mikey's domain and even invited him and his generals over to the North Pole various times, but with that they learned that they only can visit each other for a week at most before their bodies start to reject the environment. Something about the sun in each domain can cause an allergic reaction in non-natives. 

Mikey later learned that Takemichi was Wakasa's nephew. 

He thought the young man was handsome, and he got a chance to see him later at the meal after the funeral. Various holiday Gods, workers or townspeople around the room, but Takemichi stood out. He was in an all red suit, a black undershirt with some glitter under his eye. His black curly hair framed his face perfectly with a patch of gray in the front. 

When Mikey went outside to get a smoke, he was able to see everything upfront. Takemichi was on the ground under a tree with a baby reindeer's head in his lap. He was about to light up a cigarette, but he heard sniffling. 

He's been hearing tears all day and this boy probably came outside to cry some more in solitude. So Mikey tried to ignore him, but after trying to light his cigarette five times, he took it as a sign that maybe, just maybe he should go talk to the boy. If Takemichi denies talking to him, he'll go steal a smoke from Mitsuya. 

As Mikey moved away from the wall, he was grateful he was back in his normal body. He didn't like people's first time meeting him to be his horned feral version.

Unless it was the kid he was intended for. 

He hasn't cut his hair yet, so his blonde hair was still down to his knees. He also, hilariously pissed Emma off this morning waiting until the last minute to ask her to braid it. His nails were still sharp and black, but he didn't mind that. 

Standing in front of the crying boy. "Hey." 

Takemichi turns his head up toward him. "Was I too loud?" He sniffles. Wiping his eyes. 

"What? No. This is a funeral. Crying is the point." 

"Have you cried?" He asked. 

Mikey makes a gesture toward the grass. Takemichi nods his head and he sits down in front of him. "Not, yeah, my uh." He waves his hand around, not sure how to explain. "Like my saliva can be like acid at times and my body isn't fully out of Christmas mode yet. So I would uh rather not chance it." He shrugs. "Even with Shin, some people still fear me." 

Which is true. Hinata, who is Mother Nature, has been having a hard time finding someone who would marry him. 

Takemichi chuckles. "I don't fear you." He says while scratching the chin of the animal. 

"Oh, you don't?" He says with a raise of his brow. 

Takemichi shakes his head. "I don't. Shin always said good things about your domain and he used to tell me stories about you as well when I was little." 

"How old are you exactly?" Mikey says. His curiosity peaked. 

"150." 

Mikey fought to school his face. Wow

"And you?" 

Mikey looked like he was thinking. Then tapped his chin. "If we meet again, I might tell you." He said with a smirk. 

Takemichi looked at the ground bashfully. "Then I hope we meet again soon." 

Mikey felt his eyes widen. He wondered if it would be too forward to invite him to his domain. Takemichi was beautiful and the young man didn't fear him. Mikey saw this as an opportunity, which for once actually looked promising. 

"Well then, how a-" 

"Takemichi! Oh! There you are." A new voice said, loudly alerting her presence. 

They both turn to the side and see a pink haired girl. 

"Senju?" Takemichi says. "Oh, do we need to return her?" 

"Yes." She nods. "It's her feeding time. You can come help of course." Senju bends down to hook a leash to the reindeer and guide it to stand up. 

"I'd love to." Takemichi stood up gleefully, then turned to Mikey and paused. He looked a bit reluctant to leave, which made Mikey happy as long as it wasn't his own delusions. 

"Umm." He turned to Senju. "I'll meet you there." He said. 

Senju raised an eyebrow, but chose to stay silent. She nodded a head at Mikey in acknowledgement before walking away with the reindeer. 

"I just wanted to say thank you for talking with me. It-it was a nice distraction from the day." He said. Scratching his cheek nervously. 

Mikey stood up as well. Brushing the grass off his pants. "Likewise. I like your aura, young one." Mikey says with a smile. 

"Will you come back to visit soon?" 

"When the next Santa is chosen." 

Takemichi deflates a bit. "Oh. I thought you'd be more free since the season was over." 

Mikey inches a bit closer. "Should I have another reason to come back sooner?" 

Takemichi looks into his eyes. "Y-you tell me." His attempt was weak, but it still landed. 

Mikey placed his hands in his pockets. Needing a spot to contain his need to touch. Mikey looked back. "May I have your number Takemichi?" He tilts his head. 

"Hanagaki and yes, please." He said pulling out his phone. Mikey tells him his number and he sends a text. 

"Looks like I got it." Mikey said after checking his phone. 

Takemichi smiles before putting his phone away. "Well, I have to go or else Senju will send Donner Jr after me." He waves shyly as he walks away. 

Mikey returns the wave. "I'll arrange something soon." He says to himself once Takemichi is out of ear shot. 

_________

Something soon is a week later. Mikey's hair is now in a bob which he spent the whole time talking about Takemichi while Draken cut his hair. Draken encouraged the relationship, but told Mikey to not get his hopes up too much. 

Takemichi was a North Pole native. A friendship was fine, but he shouldn't go too far which could end up with them both hurt. Mikey really didn't want to hear that, but he knew Draken was speaking the truth. 

Most wouldn't do what Sanzu did. Give up his North Pole life for his domain. Sanzu never felt connected to his life there and after meeting and falling in love with Kazutora, he never regretted it. They even adopted two kids of the groups of kids they kidnap and torture to be good on Christmas. 

Miki and Anne were kids of the system in their home countries. Orphans. They acted out to get any type of attention and when they refused to cry while getting beat, Kazutora stopped and asked them to speak their truth to him. 

Now after every Christmas season they go on family vacations. 

Takemichi is different. He is clearly loved. Through their various texts and phone calls, he learned about Takemichi's friends, his family and his studies. 

Takemichi's aura is love and it glows. Capturing any wandering sucker in its path. 

Mikey is currently caught and he'll ride the wave until it crashes. 

He sent Takemichi an access pass. Takemichi said he had never been to his domain before and Mikey felt it would be a good opportunity to share a bit of him. Also, when they facetime for the first time, his crazy dogs wouldn't leave him alone. Whining and pressing their noses against the screen. It made Takemichi amused and now each time they talk, his dogs come running when they hear Takemichi's voice. 

Spoiled animals. 

Mikey looks in the mirror, his outfit is all black. Black high waisted slacks, black loafers with a black v-necked, short sleeve top. His transformation is fully gone now because he poked his eye when he was putting kohl on which made him tear up. He would have hated to have a burn mark on his face. Looking like Freddy Krueger, and Mikey doesn't enter dreams until a little after July. 

A knock on his front door has him running down stairs. He pauses before opening to take a deep breath. He is a holiday God. He can do this. 

He opens the door and before he can say hello and flock of dogs brush past him and knocks over Takemichi. 

He kneels down, preparing to help, but it's cute to see a bunch of Pomeranians bounce with glee. Takemichi seems to take it in stride and pets the four dogs. 

"The small one is Bruno, the black one is Ace, the one with the yellow collar is Banana and the one licking your foot is Toto." 

Mikey reaches out a hand and pulls them up together. "I like them." Takemichi says. He is holding onto Mikey's shoulders for balance. Mikey has his hands on his waist. "They are stronger than they look though." 

Mikey whistles and they come back inside. Dispersing back to their original locations. Mikey wraps an arm around his visitor's waist and pulls Takemichi inside. The door shuts behind them and Takemichi pulls away to look around. 

"Most animals in my domain are." He responds. Crossing his arms to get a good look at Takemichi. Takemichi's hair is slicked back today. His top is a white long sleeved blouse with a cropped plaid sweater vest on top. His bottom is black skinny jeans with red knee high boots. 

"You look nice." Mikey says. 

Takemichi flinches. Too engrossed in his new location. "Oh thanks." He chuckles. "I cheated and looked on Pinterest for help." 

Mikey looks him up and down. "You choose well." 

Takemichi blushes and it intensifies when Mikey walks closer to put his hand on his back guiding him further into the house. "Let me show you around. Was getting here okay?" 

Takemichi looks at the murals on the walls. "Yeah. The portal guards gave me no trouble after I showed my pass." He sees a picture of Mikey with a group of people. He pointed to the picture. "Do they live here?" 

Mikey follows his finger to the picture on the wall along the hallway. "No, but they do have access to here. Our workshop is close by and they sleep here from time to time." 

He's heard about Mikey's workshop before. People in the North Pole have different views about it, but Takemichi would rather see it for himself before judging. 

They go outside, and into a garden. Takemichi sees a maze off to the side and different kinds of plants litter the yard. "Woah." He says in amazement. 

Mikey pulls back. Takemichi already misses the touch on his back. "The maze is usually for kids when they come with my friends and family or if I babysit." He turns to face some flowers. It looks like a rose, but it's beating and has veins protruding from it. "This is a cross bread." He runs his finger down the stem. "It tells me when there are children whose hearts are becoming too consumed with darkness. I'll send one of my men to plant a seed in their ear and send whispers to do good deeds." 

Takemichi is shocked. "Does it hurt them?" 

Mikey removes his hand. "No. This is usually the first step. Kidnap and torture into kindness is the last step. We have a system here." He turns to Takemichi. "Thought we beat every child who has a bad thought?" He says with a smirk. 

Takemichi goes red. He did. 

Mikey chuckles. "It's alright. We are private about what we do here, but we care very much about the tortured souls of the children of the world. They are ignored the most." He whispered the last part. 

Takemichi stares at the plant again. "How many steps are there?" 

"Visit again and I might tell you." He says playfully. 

Takemichi pushes at his shoulder. "You still haven't told me your age yet either." 

Mikey grabs his shoulder in a false hurt. "You wound me. You must know I am old and hurt easily." 

Takemichi stomps his foot as Mikey laughs. Mikey gives chase and Takemichi follows behind trying to land a hit that may actually hurt. 

He never catches him after 30minutes as they end up in the maze. 

Takemichi is walking around. The tall grass is his only companion as he continues to turn corner after corner. He thinks about the time he has been here so far. Chasing Mikey like he was a child again on the playground. When he is back home, he has been helping Wakasa around a lot. He never knew how much work went into being Mrs. Clause and wondered who his uncle was going to choose next. 

Whoever that was had work cut out for them. The next Santa as well. 

He is pulled from his thoughts when he screams after a hand pulls him through the grass and into the sun. He is full body shaking against the body holding him close. 

"You took too long to escape." Said a familiar voice. Mikey rested his head on his shoulder. 

"Fuck." He gasps out. Trying to will his heart to stop. 

He laughs. "I usually don't feel a body shaking with fear against me unless they're on my sack being kidnapped." He tightened his arms around Takemichi's waist. 

Takemichi unintentionally chuckles. He feels wrong but he'd like to see that one day. His body relaxes against Mikey's, and they sway their bodies together for a bit. 

Mikey feels the warmth of Takemichi's and hopes he isn't being too forward with holding him. He wants to take things slow. He's never had a long distance relationship before, but after some time and if Takemichi is willing. It could be an option. 

"Are you hungry?" Said Takemichi. 

"Want me to cook?" 

Takemichi rested his hand on top of Mikey's. "Take me to your favorite spot." He turned his head. "Today has been inspiring." He bops their noses together. 

Mikey's eyes widened. 

Flustering, Takemichi turns away. "S-sorry." He says. 

Mikey is intrigued. "What made you do that?" Mikey says against his neck. Takemichi shivers. 

"It….it felt natural." He gets out. 

That kills some doubt he might have had of Takemichi's feelings. 

"I would like more natural things from you." Feeling bold himself. 

Takemichi turns back. His mouth is right in front of Mikey's. Inches apart he says. "You sure?" 

Restraining himself from closing the distance. "Please." He said. 

The following months are filled with weekly meetings and Takemichi learning more about Mikey's domain. The longest they had stayed was four days in each other's home, not wanting to push for more than that. 

Takemichi is introduced to his generals and their families. He learns the ins and outs of how valuable Mikey being Krampus is to the world. He would love to see Mikey in his full form, but the spouses of the generals say that isn't a good idea. Well the spouses except Sanzu, he likes a good monster fucking, he says cheekily during a lunch meetup. He stole Takemichi away from Mikey one day, feeling that they should become friends. 

Takemichi greatly appreciates it. He helped Sanzu dye his hair a darker shade of pink one day while his children made cookies in the kitchen. He was surprised that Kazutora didn't get mad at the sight of his kitchen. Hair dye, sprinkles and dough cover the room, but he had a genuine smile as he greeted his family with hugs and kisses and ate a cookie that fell on the floor that his child made him. 

Kazutora and Sanzu were very fun to observe. 

He gave Takemichi sex tips when he told him they finally had sex. Takemichi didn't have much experience, but Mikey seemed to enjoy how innocent Takemichi was. 

He finally learned Mikey's age too. 

Wow.

Currently, he is in Wakasa's office. It was mid July and Mikey was beginning to prepare for his season. 

It was amazing to see the first stages of his transformation. His hair turned black, little horns were poking through and some fuzz was on his hand. Honestly it was sexy. The last time he stayed the night, they made out on the couch and Takemichi couldn't keep his hands off of the growing hair on his lover's body. 

He asked Mikey to growl in his ear when he started to fuck him from the back. 

He texted Sanzu that he might be a monster fucker too. 

In his uncle's office, they've been preparing for the announcement of the new Santa, Inupi was chosen. He had a feeling that Koko would be chosen as Mrs. Koko was very decisive and that was something a partner to Santa needed to be. Koko didn't come out much, preferring to work behind the scenes, but Takemichi thinks if he shadows Wakasa enough, he'll be ready by Christmas. 

Something funny Takemichi has noticed is that his hair has been growing faster than normal. He thinks maybe it has always grown this fast, but since he's been busier than normal helping Wakasa, and hasn't been to the salon to visit Akkun, it's just new to see.

"What are you so deep in thought about?" His uncle's ask. His bored eyes look at Takemichi from his spot at his desk. Takemichi is at a nearby table checking over reports. Papers are spread about everywhere. 

He didn't even notice that he had stopped writing. "Oh, just thinking about the announcement." He says.

His uncle chuckles. His purple highlights look good on him. "That's all, don't trip. The announcements are set." He says. 

"You're ready to train the new Misses?" He asked curiously. 

Wakasa nods. "Yep, though there isn't much more to teach." 

He perks up. "So it is Koko? Oh my goodness, he and Inupi will look so cute in their outfits." He drops his pen. Giving his uncle his full attention. 

His uncle dips his quill into ink before writing again. "No it's not Koko. Koko hates kids. He's a great engineer though." He said nonchalantly. 

He's right, but he thought training would help. "Then who?" 

Wakasa puts his papers down with one more stroke of his quill. He stands up and goes around the table to sit next to Takemichi. "Your hair has been getting longer." He points at Takemichi's hair. 

Takemichi instinctually touched his hair. So it wasn't just him. "Yeah." He says softly. 

"Your gray patch has extended as well." His uncle continues. 

He tried to dye it last week, but the dye wouldn't take. "Stress I think." 

"Takemichi." His uncle groans. 

"What?" He whines. Not wanting to hear his uncle confirm his growing suspicion. 

"Remember when you were born with all gray hair? Your parents have enough photos of you around their home to not notice." 

He covers his face and nods. 

"So did I." 

He sniffs. "I know." He says. "I know." 

Wakasa moves closer to console his nephew. Wrapping his arm around the younger man's shoulder. "I'm here Mitchy." 

Takemichi takes the moment to cry. Feeling lost about what will happen next. He'll have to marry Inupi for the magic to settle and he doesn't want to marry him. He doesn't love Inupi. 

"I love Mikey." He croaks out. His uncle presses their head together, trying to comfort him as much as he can in this moment as his nephew breaks down. 

+++++

Takemichi is back home in his apartment right now. He doesn't think he can cry anymore. He is laying stomach down on his bed, with his pillow being hugged between his arms. 

The ritual will happen the night of the announcement. 

He's tired.

After leaving his uncle's office, he ran into Koko, who was smirking and made a come here motion with his finger. Takemichi walked over in a daze, not sure if life was real at the moment. 

"Well, well if it isn't the misses." Koko said. His all white outfit glowed under the candles at his desk. 

"You heard?" Takemichi asked. 

"Oh I knew, well guessed, but you just confirmed it." Lacing his fingers together on his lap as he leaned back in his chair. 

"I'm sorry." 

Koko throws a paper ball at him. "Shut up, Mitchy. This is magic not logic and I know you're with Krampus. Everyone knows." 

Mikey and him weren't trying to be subtle. 

"Also, you don't need love for Christmas to give joy to the world. You need comparability. I don't know how you're so clueless to the aura you radiate to people. Santa is the face, but the Missus is the neck." 

He remembers Shin saying something similar to him growing up. He always thought it was love, especially with how infatuated he was with his uncle. 

Takemichi nods. Trying to figure out how to explain this to Mikey. Could he publicly be Mrs. Claus and partner to Krampus? That sentence alone sounds idiotic to his own ears. 

He just needed the children of the world to not ever know. 

Getting up to leave, Koko stops him. 

"Oh, and even though I love you Mitchy. If I ever see you kissing Inupi outside of publicity stunts or the ritual on Friday. Your body will end up with Jack Frost." Koko says with a smile, but venom in his stare. 

Koko has never directed his hostility toward him before. "I-I don't want him." 

Koko claps his hands together, cheerfully. "Then what I said isn't a threat. Just words among friends." Then makes a shoo motion. "Now go get some rest. We have plans to go over tomorrow." 

Takemichi knows what he's talking about and bids his er-friend, goodbye. 

He takes a deep breath against his bed sheets, and releases it slowly. Before getting into bed, he saw that the gray had fully covered his roots. It's a cute look on him in a way, but it's a lot to take in. Yes, he has seen the signs, but again, he thought love was an integral part to this whole shebang. 

He has turned his phone off. Hopefully Mikey won't notice, he'll promise to turn it back on before falling asleep. It was only 7pm now, and 11pm should be a good time to call Mikey. Yeah, a good time. 

He yawns. 

Yeah, 11pm. 

__________

A knock jerks him from his sleep. 

"Senju, I'm awake." He yawns with a smack of his lips. His eyes flutter for a moment before setting shut again. 

"It's Mikey." 

His whole body jerked upright and his neck hurt at the sudden moment. Shit

"H-hold on." He almost falls out of his bed when he places his foot down wrong. Where the fuck is his roommate? Did Mikey call him?

He walks over to his phone on the floor and sees that it is still off, then he looks at the clock. 

1am. 

His eyes widened. 

How could six hours feel like five seconds?

He drops his phone back down and goes to his bedroom door. He creeks it open. "Hi." He tried to say it sweetly. 

Mikey tilts his head. "Glad to know you're alive." 

Takemichi looks away shamefully. 

"Long day?" Mikey says. Trying a different approach. 

Takemichi drops his shoulders and opens the door wider. Moving closer he wraps his arms around Mikey's neck. "So bad." He groans.

Mikey lifts him into his arms and walks into the bedroom. He kicks the door close and goes to sit on Takemichi's bed. Takemichi chooses to keep his head hidden in Mikey's neck.  

"Want to talk about it?" 

Takemichi bites Mikey's neck which makes Mikey laugh. "You want to be the animal tonight?" 

Takemichi can't help chuckling as well. "Maybe." 

Mikey rocks them back and forth. "You're a bad liar." 

"Not trying to lie. I can be an animal." He growls playfully. 

"So scared, baby. So scared." Mikey rubs his hand up and down his back. "No, you're not the animal type. You're more like…." Stopping mid way. 

Takemichi pulls back. Stretching his arms against Mikey's shoulders to look at him. He adjusted his balance a bit in his lover's lap. "Like?" He asked. 

"Like whip cream? Or sprinkles." 

"I'm food?" 

Mikey shakes his head. "No, no. Like the missing piece. Like that extra umph to make life worth living. You know?" 

Thinking of earlier today. "I do." He says with a frown. "Mikey?" 

Mikey moved closer to kiss his cheek. "Yes?" 

"I have something to tell you?" 

He continues to kiss Takemichi's face. "I succeeded in knocking you up?" 

Takemichi hit his lover's shoulder with a smile. "No!" 

He bites Takemichi's ear playfully. "I swear I have a permanent bruise there, thanks to you." He laughs. 

"I'm trying to be serious." He bites the inside of his lip to stop his smile.

"Sure, sure." He moves away to look into Takemichi's eyes. 

"I have to get married. I- I'm, I'm going to be the next Mrs. Claus." 

Mikey blinks. His eyes flicker between different emotions that Takemichi can't quite place. 

"Oh." He says softly. Looking away from Takemichi. "Wh-who do you have to marry?" 

"Inupi." He says quickly. "But he already has a partner named Koko. He- uh" Not sure if he should explain the threat.

"He?" Mikey repeats. 

He tried to think of his words carefully. "He is very possessive of Inupi. Please know this will only be a magical marriage. Inupi will always go home to Koko." He said. He wants to get his point across as strongly as possible. 

Mikey looks up at him. "I know Santa and Mrs. Claus is a magical marriage. Love is always optional, but when he dies you'll still mourn him." 

"Inupi is my friend. Of course I'll mourn." He states honesty. 

Mikey gently takes Takemichi off his lap to stand up. Takemichi watches him pace the room and open and close his fist. "And I'll see you even less than I do, from now until Christmas." He says. Takemichi doesn't even know if Mikey is talking to him. 

Mikey stops and looks at Takemichi. He seems to be in a battle with himself. He looks away and then lets out a long exhale.

He walked closer to Takemichi and kneeled down in front of him before taking Takemichi's hand into both of his. He cups the hand like a careful gem and kisses his fingers. "Takemichi, I love you. I love you so much." He says sincerely as if they are shipwrecked on the titanic. 

Takemichi uses his free hand to glide his fingers through Mikey's hair. "I love you too."

"I have a way for us to spend more time together. My domain's sun wouldn't hurt you anymore." 

Takemichi paused his strokes. "There is." 

"Yes, but I never wanted to tell you. I-I thought a long distance relationship would be enough, weekly visits were enough, but with your new role. It--- it just won't be anymore."

Takemichi feels his heart drop. 

"I need compensation for this domain taking you from me." He said desperately.  He kisses the fingers again. 

"Only." He says. "Only." He whispers. "With your permission. If you want to keep our relationship as is, I will respect it. I will always respect you." He shakily says. 

Takemichi is at a loss for words. He can feel Mikey's energy within himself. His chaotic love. His desperate love for him. 

The possession he keeps contained.

He doesn't even know if Mikey is doing this consciously. 

It's scary.

But….

"I want it." Feeling the honesty of his words as he speaks it. He feels desperate love for Mikey as well. He knows he is honored bound to his duty to the North Pole and he is proud to be their next Mrs.Claus, yet, as he looks into Mikey eyes. 

He wants to be Mrs. Krampus as well. 

"Really?" Mikey says. His body jerks as of Takemichi's words were unexpected. 

Takemichi smiles wide and nods rapidly. "When can we start?" 

Mikey stands and pulls Takemichi into his arms. One of his hands goes behind his lover's head, the other one on his waist. "I crave that moment, but we have to wait until Christmas is done. You'll need to be in my domain for a continuous week to soak up the energy and there is another part I have to prepare." 

He tilts his head to line up their lips into a kiss. Mikey kisses him like a sailor that has been abroad for years and is tasting his love for the first time. Takemichi clutches his hands against his lover's shirt. Trying to pour his own love into Mikey as well. 

He wants their love to always be this hungry. 

+++++

The last time he saw Mikey, they made love and Mikey explained the final part that he had to prepare. Takemichi promises to visit on January 1st after the dust has settled and they kiss once more the following morning before he departs. 

Friday comes around and Inupi and him finish the ritual. They place their hands in a magical book, and it glows and accepts them. The crowd cheers, even Koko as Inupi moves closer and kisses Takemichi. 

Takemichi's hair instantly grays and drops knee length. His eyes change to the color brown, and his memory somehow knows spells he was never taught. 

He remembers when his uncle used to transform, but his eyes were purple. Wakasa said each Mrs.Claus is infused with elemental gifts. Brown means Nature. Purple means premonitions and favor in fairy court. 

The party goes smoothly. His domain is happy. 

Then preparation begins. 

So many things break, so many documents to sign. Wakasa and Koko are there to help along the way, especially when his confidence falls short. 

What helps most is the kids. Inupi and he go to various kingdoms and countries and meet all different kinds of children. Takemichi adds a few Juvenile Detention centers to their tour. Those kids gave him expected and unexpected reception, but he told them he'd be back and hoped some of them would be gone by then. The level of joy increased, and the publicity had lawyers offering free time to help the kids out. 

They are interviewed and have endless photoshoots. Now he is an ambassador for a brand called Gucci. 

Wakasa had an interview with Oprah about life after Mrs.Claus. 

But after all that. Christmas goes smoothly. Inupi comes home safely. Takemichi worked with the elves in the navigation tower, and listened to everything Inupi heard. 

On accident, Inupi went to a Krampus house and everyone heard a child scream as he was put into a sack. 

When Inupi came home, Takemichi couldn't help but kiss his partner on the cheek and squeeze him tightly. He was so excited and proud of what they accomplished together, then he begged Inupi not to tell Koko he kissed him and Inupi confusedly agreed. 

He went home and celebrated with Senju before going to bed. 

He woke up two days later with his hair still long, but no longer gray besides the patch in the front. He thinks about calling Mikey, they've been doing weekly video chats and they talked on the 23rd, so he rolls back over. 

Maybe he can sleep for a week straight. 

+++

Sitting on Mikey's living room floor. It's the only spot besides the kitchen without carpet, for the mess they are about to create. 

Takemichi has been in Mikey's domain for four days, and he has a blade in his hand. Mikey freshly sharpened it this morning while Takemichi cooked breakfast, along with the four dogs. 

Mikey is sitting shirtless in front of him, crossed legged with a beaker in his lap. Waiting. 

Takemichi feels the blade shake in his hand. The ritual has been explained to him repeatedly with Mikey constantly asking if he can do this. Takemichi doesn't say anything else besides 'yes', which doesn't make Mikey feel reassured. 

The lights are off, the room only being lit by candle light. "Takemichi?" 

Takemichi raises the blade, shakily. "I...I can do this." 

"I won't feel the pain." 

Takemichi bites his lip. "Still…." 

Mikey scoots closer, pressing his chest to the blade's tip. 

"Be careful, Mikey." He warns. 

Mikey looks bored. The beaker is still cold in his lap waiting to collect his warm blood. Mikey needs this to move faster. He looks behind Takemichi and sees Bruno. 

He taps the floor in a lazy motion, but Bruno knows that trick and walks silently over. 

"Hey, baby?" Mikey says sweetly. 

Takemichi is looking at him, waiting for him to continue, but his whole body jerks when Bruno barks loudly. 

He turns to yell at the dog, but notices the blade is stuck when he tries to move his wrist. Looking closely he sees the trickling of blood slowly going into the beaker. 

"See, not so hard." 

"Should I remove the blade?" He asks, concerned in his voice. 

"Can you make it wider? It's going on so slow and we need seven milliliters." He says like a true holiday God. 

He takes the knife out and licks the blade. "No." 

"Fuck, you're beautiful." Mikey says with a dopey smile on his face. 

 "I'll be even more beautiful when I'm here for longer than a week." He says hautly. 

Mikey snorts. "It took a dog to scare you to stab me. Don't get all high and mighty now." 

"Shush." Then he stood up. He walks to the book shelf and grabs a deck of cards. "Want to play go-fish?" He asks. 

"Don't I have Uno?" 

"If we play uno, none of those extra rules. We play strictly by the book." He puts the cards back and grabs Uno instead before walking back to his previous spot. 

Takemichi takes the cards out, but stops mid-way. "Look, you're at one milliliters now." 

"Enough for one month, woo." Mikey makes a hand motion for his cards. He'll shuffle since his beloved is so distracted. 

Takemichi doesn't hand them over, he instead moves closer to kiss Mikey on the lips. "And six more to go." He whispers with a wiggle of his hips against Krampus's lips. 

When he pulls back, they smile at each other and Takemichi finally deals out the cards. 

40 minutes later and the beaker is at the desired measurement. Mikey taps his chest and it closes instantly. 

"Huh." Takemichi said. Taking the beaker from Mikey and watching the wound close up. 

"See. No pain." He said cheekly, leaning back with his arms stretched out behind him. Waiting for this night to be finished. 

Takemichi looks at the glass in his hands. The final step which will make him bound to a world unlike his home. It makes him content, ready and excited. He looks at Mikey and gives him a soft smile, which is returned to him. 

Mikey mouths 'I love you', Takemichi let's go of his thoughts and drinks. 

He drinks. 

And drinks. 

And drinks. 

Seven milliliters of his beloved's blood down his throat. No drop is wasted and he uses his fingers to scoop out the excess that his tongue cannot reach. Once satisfied he stands up and walks into the kitchen, putting the cup in the sink. 

Mikey calls out from his spot on the floor. "How are you feeling?" 

A moment. 

Then a burp is his reply. 

Mikey chuckles as he listens to Takemichi's footsteps across the floor get closer to him. He 'oofs' when his love unceremoniously drops in his lap. 

Takemichi stretched horizontally across his lap. Stretching like one of his dogs in the morning sun. "You taste like Doriyaki." 

"A Japanese cuisine?" 

Takemichi nods. 

Mikeh decides to poke his lover's belly which makes him giggle. "As long as it makes it go down easily." He likes him again. 

Takemichi tried to protect his stomach from the incoming assault, but he's too slow. He laughs and laughs, their laughter mixing together that it causes the other dogs to enter the room and crowd around them. 

"I hope it works." Takemichi says when his breath returns to him. 

Mikey pulls him upright, pressing his lover's back against his front on his lap. "It will." 

He snorts. "So sure?"

"Aren't you as well?" He counters. 

Takemichi closes his eyes on thought. "I have all the faith in us." 

++++

It's back in the present and Mikey is watching the loaded clothes twist and turn on the wash. Bruno Jr. is sitting next to him on the laundry room floor. He had to lure the dog in with treats, but he would rather not be alone right now. 

Takemichi is somewhere in their home. Packing. Cooking, maybe even gardening. He doesn't know. They've had past last days together where they didn't speak until the last moment. He hopes tonight isn't one of them. 

"You look like a lost dog without its owner?" A voice says to the side of him. The more magical Takemichi has become over the last few years, the more he's been able to sneak up on him.  

Mikey reaches out quickly and pulls Takemichi into his arms, so he can't run away. "Don't go." He whispers. A repeated plea. 

Takemichi chuckles and kisses his forehead. "I'll be back before you know it. We'll be so busy for the next five months and then we'll be lounging around." He kisses his nose. "And making that sweet sweet love." 

Mikey tightens his hold. "You just want to be monster fucked." 

Takemichi can't hold the smile. "I do not deny nor agree." 

A few times, Takemichi has been able to sneak away a couple of days before Christmas for a quick romp with Mikey's feral form. Hoofprints are always discovered later along his backside or lower region. 

Sanzu and him will sometimes share each other's marks as if they war vets. Yet, he thinks he loves when Mikey gets his tail the most. 

Takemichi yelps when he is pinched. "Back with me now?" 

Takemichi wraps his arms around his true love. "Always." 

"Always he says." Mikey nods with a mock. "Then what did I say?" 

"Are you the best thing that has ever happened to me? And I answer proudly, that the answer is yes." Takemichi rubs their noses together. 

Mikey snuggles back. "Not even close, but I'll let it slide since you're so cute." Mikey moves his hand under Takemichi's knees and behind his back; he holds on to a laugh when Takemichi jerks at the sudden movement when Mikey begins to stand while holding him. 

He walks them out of the room together and goes downstairs. Bruno is not far behind. "I asked if when you get back, do you want to celebrate 200 years together?" 

"Wow, 200." His body bounces with every step his lover makes. "What were you thinking?" 

"Father Time said he could get us a deal in the 1500's." 

"You know Kakucho hates being called that." Takemichi says even though he lets out a soft laugh. 

Mikey rolls his eyes. Not feeling an ounce of guilt. "Well, too bad. I pay his crazy prices, so I'll call him whatever I want to."

On the last step he puts Takemichi down onto his feet. "But not to his face?" Takemichi says. Lacing his fingers with Mikey as he is directed into the living room. 

"Exactly. So you down?" Mikey says. Going toward the couch and pulling Takemichi on his lap. 

Takemichi goes willingly. "I am." He grabs a blanket and pulls over both of them, but Mikey stops him. 

"Nope." He states firmly. "This is not cuddle time. This is we're going to fuck everywhere to distract us from tears time." He said, pulling off his shirt. 

Takemichi blinks. Somehow still amazed at how his lover can still surprise him with words, but find no reason to disagree. He mimics his lover's movements, his pants quickly follow. 

With a sultry look over his shoulder, Takemichi pulls his hair free, letting the gray hair cascade down his back. He maintains eye contact and says, "I want to feel it in the morning, Manjirou" 

[bubonickitten]

Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Chapter summary: Jon and Basira make their way to Ny-Ålesund; Daisy and Martin have a long-overdue conversation.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

Content warnings for Chapter 26: panic/anxiety symptoms; brief descriptions of Flesh-domain-typical imagery; discussion of police violence, intimidation tactics, & abuse of authority (re: Daisy’s past actions); mentions of canonical character deaths & murder; reference to a canonical instance of a character being outed (re: Jon’s coworkers gossiping about him being ace); allusions to childhood emotional neglect; a bit of internalized ableism re: ADHD symptoms; discussions of strict religious indoctrination; a physical altercation, including being restrained with a hold; swears. SPOILERS through Season 5.

Chapter 26: Remains To Be Seen

The journey to Tromsø is… uneventful, comparatively speaking.

Almost worryingly so, Jon observes at one point.

You’re fretting because something hasn’t gone horribly wrong? Basira asks.

Aren’t you?

The tension in Basira’s shoulders is answer enough. They’re both on tenterhooks, all too aware of the dreadful species of things that lurk in the margins of the world, any number of which could be waiting in the wings for them.

That’s not to say there are no complications at all. There’s a learning curve to navigating the world blindfolded, but the two of them settle into something of a routine: Basira guiding Jon with a hand on his arm, talking him around obstacles, across gaps, and up and down stairs. An improvised system of nudges and taps develops organically over the course of their travels, starting when Basira realizes that Jon has trouble parsing her words over the noise of a crowd. It becomes their go-to mode of communication with surprising ease.

It’s an exercise in trust oddly refreshing in its mundanity.

Jon finds the blindfold comforting, in its own way: surreal, but somehow not as surreal as the evidence of normalcy all around him. Consistent, straightforward geography is disorientating enough after so long traversing a world knitted together by nightmare logic and allegory. Even more bewildering are the people. Throngs of them go about their day-to-day routines, each preoccupied with their own affairs, taking for granted their relative anonymity against the vast backdrop of the bustling world around them, secure in the privacy of their own thoughts – and blissfully unaware of the alternative.

This is how it should be, he admonishes himself in a weary refrain. People deserve ownership over their own minds, their stories, their secrets. The Archivist in him vehemently disagrees, of course. It’s exhausting, how relentlessly Jon has to challenge that instinctual voyeurism.

Prone to sensory overload, he’s always hated crowds: the noise, the flurry of movement, the press of bodies, the constant threat of unwanted touches, the lack of freedom to move at his own pace. Becoming the Archivist made the experience infinitely worse. The combination of the blindfold and Daisy’s noise-cancelling headphones does little to stem the tide of intrusive knowledge: random scraps of disconcerting trivia, a steady stream of morbid statistics, insights into the deep-seated anxieties of passersby – and, on a few occasions, the whisper of a story to be chronicled. At least the blindfold prevents him from inadvertently locking eyes with anyone.

They try to avoid traveling during peak commuting hours, but not every crowd can be evaded. The first time he wanders into the path of a potential statement giver, Jon nearly causes a pile-up in a congested station, stopping so abruptly in his tracks that the person in the queue behind him crashes headlong into him. Basira manages to catch him before he’s knocked off his feet, keeping a firm grasp on his arm when the panicked urge to flee overtakes him and nearly sends him careening blindly in the opposite direction. When a nearby stranger snipes at him for the nuisance, Jon is surprised at how immediately Basira leaps to his defense.

Back off, she says, the hint of a threat in her tone, before steering Jon out of the crowd and off to the side, where he can lean against the wall and catch his breath. She stands firm between him and the masses, diverting traffic and warding off anyone else who might seek a confrontation, giving him the sorely-needed time to compose himself. He’s certain that she’ll be cross with him after, but… she isn’t.

Tense, certainly. Concerned even. But criticism is bafflingly, mercifully absent.

There are a few more incidents after that, but none quite so dramatic. The instant he senses the Archivist in him stirring, he chokes out a warning to Basira, who turns out to be preternaturally adept at finding (or creating) spaces for him to recoup. With both of them on guard and communicating freely, they manage to avoid being in close quarters with anyone who might have a story to tell.

Tromsø offers a temporary reprieve from all of that. There are people, of course – it’s the busiest fishing port in Norway, the Eye interposes for the fourth time this hour. Jon takes an aggravated swipe at the empty air beside him, once again momentarily forgetting that there’s no pesky swarm of Watchers tagging along for this particular journey. Not visibly, at least.

Still, the open-air piers of a busy fishing port are a far cry from a densely-packed train. There’s a cargo ship scheduled to leave for Ny-Ålesund within the next hour, and Basira is further down the docks meeting with its captain to (hopefully) arrange for passage. Apparently Jon has earned some trust over the course of their travels, because she didn’t object when he requested to stay back and take a breather.

Although the docks of Tromsø bear little resemblance to the beaches of Bournemouth, the calls of seabirds are familiar enough to be meditative. Nostalgic, albeit in an uneasy, bittersweet way. His childhood was riddled enough with nightmares and alienation that thoughts of the place where he grew up are always laced with remembered horror and punctuated by a nebulous sense of grief for what could have been. If he never caught the Spider’s eye; if he never opened the book; if he wasn’t quite so demanding and easily bored and difficult to manage; if his eccentric reading habits were just a bit less finicky, even…

Left to his own devices, Jon could drown himself in what ifs.

A frigid gust of wind whips his hair about. When he reaches up to smooth it down, he finds it coarse from the brine-saturated breeze. Rubbing his fingertips together and grimacing at the faint gritty residue, Jon pulls Georgie’s scarf up over his nose to fend against the nip in the air and he turns his sight to the sky. It’s a stark, pallid grey, the kind of overcast that manages to be blinding-bright despite the sun’s concealment. The sight stings his eyes, but still he does not blink.

It should be exhilarating to look up and see nothing staring back. Instead, the sight fills him with… well, it’s difficult for him to define succinctly. Some peculiar species of dread, mingled with a disquieting, ill-defined sense of longing. Perhaps he’s simply becoming adrift in time again: remembering how it felt to look up at a Watching sky and hopelessly wish for a return to the world as it was, to clouds and stars and void. But he can’t shake the suspicion that it’s at least partly a monstrous yearning for the ruined future from which he came.

He doesn’t know what that says about him. Nothing good, probably.

You miss it, a gloating, sinister little voice concurs from one of the murky, thorny corners of Jon’s mind. You don’t belong here. You Know where you–

Jon’s phone dings several times, yanking him away from that ill-fated train of thought. Grateful for the interruption, he digs it out of his pocket, instantly brightening when Naomi’s name greets him and eagerly opening their text thread.

Jon is too busy smiling to himself to notice Basira’s approach.

“What’s – oh, sorry,” she says when he starts. “Keep expecting you to just sort of… Know I’m here.”

“The Eye doesn’t seem inclined to help me out on that front, unfortunately,” Jon says with an embarrassed chuckle. “If anything, my being jumpy probably feeds it.”

Basira glances down at his phone, then back up at him. “Everything alright?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Naomi.” Jon’s grin returns. “All her texts from the last couple days just came through at once. She wants to know whether Krampus is real.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“Haven’t replied just yet.”

“Oh.” Basira opens her mouth to say more, then promptly closes it.

A delighted smirk twitches into being at the corner of Jon’s mouth. “Now you want to know as well, don’t you?”

Basira rolls her eyes, but doesn’t deny it. “Later. We have a boat to catch.”

When Jon reaches into his pocket to retrieve his blindfold, Basira shakes her head.

“Best not,” she says. “The captain agreed to take us, but she was leery about the whole thing. I don’t want to give her a reason to reconsider. The less suspicious we seem, the better.”

“Still getting odd stares, then?”

“Getting used to people looking at me like I’m transporting a hostage,” she replies with a tired, beleaguered smile. It fades into a frown as she looks him up and down, taking stock of his shaking hands and the way he leans heavily on his cane. “Alright?”

“A bit sore,” Jon admits, glancing down at his leg. “Probably just been putting weight on it for too long a stretch.”

“We should be able to sit soon. Until then, try not to fall.”

“Or freeze,” Jon says distractedly, glancing warily upwards again.

“Daisy says the cold always gets to her,” Basira says, quietly enough that Jon suspects it wasn’t meant for him. “Seriously, though – you alright? You keep staring at the sky like it’s going to crack open.”

“I’m fine.” Jon shuts his eyes and takes a slow, deep breath. “Just… apprehensive.”

“Sense anything?” Despite her carefully bland tone, the crux of the question is clear.

“Nothing concrete.” No statement givers, he does not say – but Basira nods, understanding his meaning. “I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“Come on, then.” She starts off down the dock – at a brisk pace at first, but slowing when she looks back to ensure that Jon is following and observes his stiffer, more deliberate gait.

He grimaces apologetically. Up until Jane Prentiss and her worms, he was inclined towards speed walking as much as Basira is. Always in a hurry to get nowhere at all, Georgie used to say, simultaneously lamenting and teasing. Not everyone is a power walker, Jon, Martin would gripe from time to time during the apocalypse.

Maybe some of us want to slow down and take in the scenery, he grumbled on one occasion, as they traipsed through a predictably grisly Flesh domain.

The forest of pulsating meat sculptures, you mean? Jon replied primly.

Oh, you’re telling me you don’t feel the overwhelming urge to stop and take notes on the ecology of flesh spiders?

Not as much as I want to get to a place where the ground isn’t a spongy skin trampoline.

Flesh domains always had a tendency to bring out the worst (best?) of their morbid humor, Jon notes upon reflection.

In any case, Jon has always had a tendency to hurry, too impatient to reach his destination to appreciate the journey. Internally, that impulse is still there. On good days, he can almost satisfy that restlessness. Today is not a good day.

Basira stops and waits. It’s a practice that has become second nature to her ever since Daisy emerged from the Buried: learning all the unspoken signals and warning signs of a bad pain day, from barely-suppressed winces and cold sweat to waspishness and stifled, winded breaths; gauging all the fickle fluctuations in mobility in real time through careful, constant observation; and discreetly adjusting her own walking pace to accommodate without question or complaint.

“You know, I haven’t spent much time on boats,” Basira says, apropos of nothing – probably to break the silence as she waits for Jon to catch up. “I’m hoping motion sickness during long car rides isn’t correlated with seasickness. Does the Eye have any statistics handy? Seems like it would qualify as terrible knowledge.”

“Let’s just say you should keep the Dramamine at the ready,” Jon says wryly as he reaches her position.

“Wonderful,” Basira sighs, and she resumes walking, this time matching Jon’s stride.

Martin will be the first to admit that, between the two of them, Jon doesn’t have a monopoly on obsessiveness.

Case in point: Jon and Basira have been gone for five days now, and – in between bouts of worrying over their safety and mounting apprehension about Peter’s inexplicable, persistent hiatus – Martin is still replaying everything he said and did in the moments leading up to Jon’s departure.

Or, more precisely, what he didn’t say.

Nearly two months have passed since Jon returned from the Buried. It’s been nice, it really has, spending time with him. He’s changed – How could he not have? – but he’s still Jon. Even more wounded and jaded than he was before – How much abuse can one person take? – but it hasn’t made him cruel or cold. Harder in some respects, to be sure – namely on himself.

Which is saying something, Martin thinks with a pang. In all the time that Martin has known him, Jon has never been kind to himself. It’s always been a struggle to convince him to take care of himself in the most basic of ways, let alone spare a thought for comfort.

But in other respects, Jon has grown softer. More open, more communicative – more trusting, somehow, despite this world and the next piling on reason after reason for him to detach and withdraw. Martin thinks about that every time the Lonely starts to whisper in his ear. The fog is still there, firmly planted in his mind, choking out his thoughts from time to time like an invasive weed. It won’t be easily uprooted. Seeing Jon alive and trying, reaching out, grasping at warmth, clinging to humanity with all his trademark stubbornness… it makes Martin want to try, too. It makes him want to hope, to look forward and see – to fight for – a future where things are better.

So, yes, Jon has changed. They both have.

I’m not the person you remember, Martin said the first time they spoke after Jon came back. I’m not the person you fell in love with.

Jon had locked eyes with him then, and Martin found that he could not look away.

Martin has spent the majority of his life walking a tightrope, striking an uneasy balance between competing instincts. The part of him that excels in flying under the radar takes comfort in being inconspicuous. There are people out there who see kindness as naivety and trust as a weakness to be exploited. The best way to avoid their notice is to avoid being seen at all, and Martin learned early on that to be unremarkable has its own advantages. All too often, to go unnoticed is to survive.

It isn’t enough to just survive, though, is it? Barely hidden underneath all the abysmal self-esteem and the carefully constructed mask of agreeability, there is a spark of indignation and outrage and want. To be seen is fundamentally terrifying; to demand acknowledgment is to welcome exposure. But Martin has always had a rebellious streak, carving out a space for itself amongst all the loneliness and fear and self-deprecation.

Look at me, it seethes. See me.

And when Jon did look at him – Saw him – an unmistakably pleased little voice jostled its way to the forefront to triumphantly declare, Finally.

Martin, I fell in love with this version of you, Jon said. With every version of you.

It was difficult to believe. Martin didn’t want to believe it. He was afraid to believe it. But he did, and he does, and he feels the same way, and he has for so, so long, and that defiant chip on his shoulder never truly let him forget it, even when isolation had him by the throat–

So why can’t you say it?

Since that day, it hasn’t come up again. Jon is affectionate, far more than Martin would have expected. Sure, Jon has always seemed more natural at expressing his feelings through actions rather than words, but Martin never imagined he would be so… well, cuddly. Jon always struck Martin as averse to touch, keeping people at arm’s length both figuratively and literally. He still is, sometimes. But more often than not, Martin gets the impression that Jon would cling like a limpet if given explicit permission. Martin doesn’t know whether that’s a new development, or whether it’s just that he now numbers among Jon’s rare exceptions.

Maybe I should ask Georgie, Martin thinks, only partly in jest.

There’s still a lingering hesitancy there, though. Yes, when Martin invites contact, Jon jumps at the opportunity to be close. Initiating, though… Jon doesn’t quite walk on eggshells per se, but he moves with a gentleness perhaps too gentle at times. Excessively tentative – but not subtle.

Martin long ago perfected the art of stealing furtive glances at Jon. It’s not difficult. Jon is prone to tunnel vision, predisposed to lose himself in his work or a book or his own mind until the rest of the world outside his narrow focus dissolves around him. If he ever noticed Martin’s eyes on him, Jon never called attention to it.

Jon’s staring doesn’t have the same finesse. His gaze is heavy. Concentrated, unwavering, penetrating – and Jon is painfully self-conscious about that. Prompt to stammer apologies whenever he’s caught watching, quick to avert his eyes. According to him, most people find the Archivist’s attention unnerving. Martin supposes it can be at times, but he’s long since become acclimated to it. Endeared to it, even. It’s grounding, despite how ruthlessly being Seen clashes with the Lonely aspects of Martin’s existence.

Maybe that disharmony is precisely why it’s grounding.

So Jon’s eyes flit to Martin whenever he thinks Martin isn’t looking, and cautious glimpses stretch into riveted, unconscious watching, and Martin graciously pretends not to notice. This has been the status quo for weeks now: faltering not-quite-touches and longing, not-so-surreptitious gazes, interspersed with understated handholding and a few sporadic sessions of what Martin can only call cuddling. All of it has been underscored by three simple words dangling in the scant expanse of empty space between them, waiting for acknowledgment.

Jon is waiting – waiting for Martin – and Jon… Jon has never been good at waiting, has he? Not like Martin. Jon’s directionless fidgeting and bitten-short declarations and absentminded stares betray his buzzing impatience despite his best efforts, but still he’s waiting, with as much valiant restraint as he can muster.

I love you. It’s a truth so obvious that speaking it aloud would hardly qualify as a confession. I love you, Martin thinks, and he feels it down to his bones, woven into the very atoms of him.

It’s difficult to pinpoint when it began. Early on, Martin only wanted to appear qualified to his new supervisor, then to impress him, then to prove him wrong – and then, eventually, to genuinely take care of him. Jon was in need of care, and resistant to receiving it, and that was familiar, wasn’t it? Maybe some desperate, stubborn part of Martin just wanted to be useful for once. To be seen. To succeed with Jon where he had failed with his mother.

Then Prentiss happened. Martin had been certain that Jon would dismiss Martin’s story, reprimand him for his prolonged absence, and snap at him to get back to work. And then… he didn’t.

Your safety is my responsibility, Jon said curtly, showing Martin to his new, hopefully temporary lodgings. I failed you, Jon’s contrite grimace read. I won’t fail you again. Then he immediately strode off to meet with Elias, leaving Martin loitering idly in Document Storage, speechless and bemused.

Maybe that’s where it started: Jon barging unannounced and uninvited into Elias’ office with brazen, unapologetic demands for safe haven and fire extinguishers and heightened security. He even went so far as to persistently badger Elias for customizations to the building’s sprinkler system. That tenacity may have been partly driven by guilt and obligation, but Martin swore he caught glimpses of something more from time to time. Something deeper and more personal, sympathetic and kind.

It started, as so many significant shifts do, with the small things.

Martin retired to Document Storage one night that first week to find extra blankets folded neatly at the end of his cot. I thought you might be cold, Jon admitted upon questioning. It can get chilly in here at night. The pressing question of exactly how many times Jon must have slept here overnight in order to know that was promptly crowded out by a vivid mental image of Jon wrestling a heavy quilt onto the Tube during the morning commuter rush. The thought brought a smile to Martin’s face. He said as much, and Jon immediately fabricated a clumsy excuse to exit the conversation.

On another occasion, Martin opened the break room cabinet to find his favorite tea restocked. He’d been putting off shopping, too anxious to leave the relative safety of the Institute’s walls. I noticed you were running low, Jon mumbled. And I was already at the store anyway, he added almost defensively, eyes narrowing in a stern glare to discourage comment – as if drawing attention to Jon’s random acts of kindness would destroy his curmudgeonly reputation.

Those circumspect displays of consideration were touching in their awkwardness. Jon was gruff and reticent, to be sure, but he cared, in his own unpracticed, idiosyncratic way. And one day, when Martin looked at him, he thought, I’d like to kiss him, and then: Oh no. Oh, fuck.

Jon never seemed to pick up on Martin’s feelings back then. But he knows now – not Knows, just knows – and, impossible as still seems, he returns those feelings. Jon said the words in no uncertain terms, left them in Martin’s care – and now he’s waiting for Martin to make the next move.

So why haven’t you? What are you waiting for?

“Want some tea?”

Martin jumps at the sound of Daisy’s voice.

“Sorry,” she snorts. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I –” Martin clears his throat, recovering. “Tea. Right. Uh, I can get it–”

“Let me. I need to stretch my legs anyway. And I wouldn’t want to interrupt your pining.”

“Wh-what?” Martin sputters.

“You haven’t turned the page in at least twenty minutes,” Daisy informs him, nodding at the statement resting on the table in front of him. “Liable to burn yourself on the kettle while you’re spacing out, fantasizing about snogging Jon or whatever.”

“Wh– I – you – I’m – why would–”

“Don’t know why you’re being so coy about it.” Her blasé shrug is offset by the devious grin on her face. “Not like it’s a secret you’re on kissing terms.”

“We… we haven’t,” Martin blurts out, heat rising in his cheeks. Immediately, he kicks himself. Given what he knows of Daisy, there’s no avoiding an interrogation now.

“You – wait, really?” Daisy raises her eyebrows. “Why not?”

“It just hasn’t – I – it’s really none of your–” Martin huffs, flustered. “I don’t even know if he does that.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“B-because, he…”

Because Martin has a tendency to fade into the background, and people will say a lot of things when they assume no one else is in earshot.

Do you know if he and Jon ever…

No clue, and not interested! Although… according to Georgie, Jon doesn’t.

Like, at all?

Yeah.

Martin cringes at the memory. He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. He still wishes he hadn’t overheard. Jon was always so tight-lipped about his personal life back then. It felt like a violation of his privacy, knowing something that he would in all likelihood have preferred to keep to himself and share only at his own discretion. Martin tried to put it out of his head, to avoid thinking too hard on the specifics of what Jon “doesn’t” – and, conversely, what he maybe, possibly does – but, well…

Martin shakes his head to clear his thoughts before they can meander any further into the realm of imagination. In any case, he certainly isn’t about to repeat that piece of gossip to Daisy now.

“I – I just don’t want to assume,” he says instead.

Daisy tilts her head, considering. “Well, have you asked him?”

“W-well, no.”

“Why not? Sure, some people aren’t into kissing, I guess, but I doubt he’d mind you asking. Even if the answer is ‘no,’ I guarantee he wants to be close in other ways.” At Martin’s lack of response, Daisy heaves an exaggerated sigh. “He reaches for you every time you’re not looking, you know. Always fidgeting with his hands, like he wants to touch but he doesn’t know how to ask. He’s as bad as you are, pining face and all.”

“I do not have a ‘pining face,’” Martin says. “If you must know, I was worrying just now.”

“You definitely have a pining face, and it’s different from your worried face. When you’re worried, you get all scowly and you chew your lip bloody. You’re focused, intense. When you’re pining, you get this faraway look to you, like you’re not taking anything in. And you touch your fingers to your lips a lot – yeah, like that.”

Martin yanks his fingers away from his mouth as if scalded, glowering indignantly at an increasingly smug Daisy. “What are you, a mentalist?”

“I’ve gotten used to reading people – picking up on openings, weak spots, stress signals, you know. Don’t know whether that’s a Hunt thing or a me thing. Both, maybe.” She shakes her head. “Anyway, you went from worried to pining about ten minutes ago now. And Jon, he’s even easier to read than you are. He’s so far gone for you, I can tease him mercilessly about it and never get a rise out of him. Even when I can get him to bat an eye, he never does that… that flustered denial thing he usually does when you hit a nerve. He just goes all… soft and wistful. Retreats into his own head, gets that smitten little smile – you know the one?”

“Yes.” Martin is blushing furiously now, he’s certain. Daisy flashes him another knowing, unabashedly victorious smirk.

“Point is, our lives are messed up, water is wet, and Jon Sims loves cats and Martin Blackwood, but he’s terrified of crossing some invisible line, so instead he’s just openly pining and it isn’t even fun to tease him about it because he’s too lovestruck to be properly embarrassed about it.” Daisy pauses for a breath. “So, if you want to kiss Jon, you should ask him, because I doubt he’s going to make the first move anytime soon, and it’s getting ridiculous watching the two of you tiptoe around the elephant in the room. So what are you waiting for?”

“How is any of this your business, anyway?” Martin snaps.

“Well, seeing as Jon’s my friend–”

That strikes a nerve, and Martin is reacting before he can properly evaluate the feeling.

“Okay, yeah, about that,” he says sharply. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Well, all you wanted to do before was hunt him down and hurt him.” Instantaneously, Daisy’s playful demeanor evaporates. “Even after Elias blackmailed you into working for him, you still looked at Jon like he wasn’t human. Not even a monster, either, just – just something you wanted to tear apart, just because you wanted to see him afraid. And now all of a sudden you’re friends? I mean, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Jon’s willing to overlook a murder attempt. He… he has so little respect for himself, his standards are so…” Martin captures his lower lip between his teeth and bites down until it aches. “He’s so used to being treated badly, the bar is six feet below ground.”

“Yeah,” Daisy whispers.

“But – but what I can’t figure out is what your angle is. You wanted to hurt him, you did hurt him – he still has a scar from where you held a knife to his throat. You would’ve killed him if Basira didn’t stop you.”

“I–”

“He was so afraid of disappearing without a trace, did you know that?” Martin interjects, his face growing hotter as over a year’s worth of pent-up fury boils to the surface.

Martin has read enough statements to know that even one of the encounters representative of the Institute’s collection is one traumatic experience too many. Even so, it’s only a small fraction of the horror stories that have plagued humanity throughout history – that continue to unfold in the present day. How many people suffer something horrible and don’t live long enough to tell the story? The Archive, chock-full of terror though it may be, is an ongoing study in survivorship bias.

“When Prentiss attacked the Institute,” Martin fumes, “Jon was more afraid of that – of leaving nothing behind – than he was of dying. You were going to bury him where no one would ever find him, and no one would ever know what happened to him, and now… now you say you want to be his friend, like nothing ever happened? And I’m supposed to just trust you?”

For a long minute, the only sound is Martin’s rapid, heavy breathing. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting. Combativeness, maybe. For Daisy to get her hackles up, to defend herself against Martin’s implications, to take offense to his accusatory tone. Instead, her entire posture wilts and her shoulders curl inward. It’s as if an invisible weight is pressing against her on all sides, crushing her into something small and taut.

“I guess we’re doing this now, then,” she mumbles.

“Guess we are,” Martin says stiffly, one foot tapping frenetically against the floor as his agitation continues creeping ever upward.

Daisy nods and releases a heavy exhale. “This isn’t just about Jon, is it?”

“I…” Martin trails off as he considers the question. “No. I guess it’s not.”

“Well.” Daisy rubs at her upper arms, eyes fixed on the floor. “Go on.”

“When you questioned all of us – when you interrogated me, you didn’t – you didn’t actually want to find out the truth. You just wanted to get to Jon, because you assumed he was guilty, and…” Martin huffs. “No, it wasn’t even about guilt, was it? You didn’t care about solving Leitner’s murder, you didn’t care about finding Sasha – she could’ve still been alive for all we knew at the time, but you didn’t care whether she was in danger, whether she could be saved. And – and even if we did have proof that she was dead, we deserved to know what happened to her. She deserved better than to be a mystery.”

“You’re right.” Daisy’s soft agreement does nothing to temper Martin’s burgeoning wrath.

“She was my friend, you know that? She was my friend, and you just – dismissed her, like she wasn’t worth remembering, like her life was some – some trivial detail. I didn’t know whether to be afraid for her or – or – or to mourn for her, and all you had to offer was, ‘Jon probably killed her, tell me where he is or else.’ You were a detective, you were supposed to help, but all you cared about was getting to Jon, and you – you – you threatened me because you thought I could tell you where to find him. That you could use me to hurt him.” Martin breathes a bitter chuckle. “I guess Jon was right not to trust the police to figure out what happened to Gertrude.”

Daisy doesn’t deny it.

“So… yeah.” Martin shrugs as his rant tapers off. “That’s where I am, I guess. I know you’ve changed – haven’t we all – but… every time I see you near Jon, there’s a part of me that panics. Maybe I’m not being fair, but I – I can’t forget. I don’t know how to feel.”

Daisy is quiet for a long minute, fingers digging into her arms now, a pained expression lingering on her face.

“I’ve done… a lot of things I’m not proud of,” she says slowly. “Hurt a lot of people. Most more than they deserved. Many who didn’t deserve it at all. Can’t even make apologies to most of them, let alone make amends. I don’t even know if I could make amends. Some things are unforgivable.”

It doesn’t undo what I did, Jon’s voice plays in Martin’s mind. I can’t erase it.

“You should know,” Daisy says, “complete lack of self-respect aside, Jon doesn’t… he doesn’t overlook what I did.”

“What?”

“He knows what I am. What I’ve done. He doesn’t pretend I’m something I’m not, he doesn’t lie to me about what I could become, he doesn’t offer me forgiveness that I don’t deserve, but he still… he still doesn’t expect the worst from me, either. He expects me to make the right choice, even though I gave him every reason not to trust me.”

“He’s still too forgiving,” Martin mutters.

“That’s another thing. I… I don’t think he does. Forgive me, that is.”

“Have you asked him?”

“No.”

“Because you’re afraid to know the answer?” Maybe that’s uncharitable, but Martin never claimed to be an easily forgiving soul. Most people wouldn’t assume it at first glance, but he’s always had a tendency to nurse a grudge.

Daisy hunches even further, her shoulders drawing in tighter.

“Because if he did forgive me, he would tell me,” she says, her throat bobbing as she struggles to swallow. “But he doesn’t. I know he doesn’t, and he shouldn’t, and I’m not going to put him in a position where he has to justify himself, or sugarcoat it, or comfort me for what I did to him.”

Martin doesn’t know what to say to that.

“And the same goes for you.” Daisy steals a quick glimpse at Martin before lowering her head again. “I won’t ask you to forgive me. Ever. But I am sorry – for how I treated you, for what I did to Jon. I’ll never stop being sorry. That doesn’t make it better, I know. But I want to do better. I’m trying to be better. Too little too late, maybe, but I won’t go back to how I was before. I can’t take it all back, but I can at least make sure I don’t hurt anyone else.”

“You sound like Jon.”

“First and second place for guiltiest conscience, us,” Daisy says with a tired chuckle. “And I don’t know which of us is in first.” She sighs. “Look, I know you have no reason to trust me, but I do see Jon as a friend. Not just because I’m sorry, or because he saved me, or because I owe him, but because he… well, he sees me as I am, and he sees me for who I want to be, and he doesn’t see those as mutually exclusive, but he also doesn’t deny the contradiction.”

“Wish he could apply the same logic to himself.”

“Yeah. He’s an absolute mess of double standards. Best we can do is call him on it at every opportunity. Maybe eventually he’ll get it through his head.”

“Yeah,” Martin scoffs. “Maybe.”

“Anyway,” she says, “I care about him, and he cares about you, so…”

“So you thought you’d appoint yourself his wingman?”

“Maybe a little.” Daisy gives him a hesitant, sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Martin sighs. The resentment is still there, but he does feel a bit lighter after getting it all out in the open. Besides, he's so emotionally drained from his outburst, he can’t quite work up the energy for mild annoyance right this moment.

“Well, in that case – if you want to kiss him, you should ask. That’s all I’m saying,” Daisy says hurriedly, holding up her palms in a placating gesture when Martin gives her a tired glare. “I’ll drop it now. I meant it when I said I wanted tea.”

Daisy winces as she rises to her feet.

“And I meant it when I said I can get it,” Martin says.

“I’ve got it.”

“Then at least let me come along and–”

“Uh, no.” Daisy gives him a quelling look. “Jon warned me about how you are with tea.”

“What?”

“Says you’re a micromanager.”

“He what?” Martin demands.

“Okay, he didn’t say it like that. Actually, I think the word he used was persnickety.”

“Oh, as if he has room to talk,” Martin mutters. “He’s just miffed that I caught him microwaving tea once and I refuse to let him live it down.”

“What’s wrong with microwaving tea?” Martin recoils, affronted – and then Daisy snorts. “Settle down. I’m just messing with you.” She starts to leave, pausing only briefly to glance over her shoulder. “I won’t be long. Yell if Peter decides to finally show his face.”

“Will do,” Martin groans, reluctantly returning to the statement in front of him. Yet another alleged Extinction sighting, courtesy of Peter, for Martin to dutifully pretend to research.

Stringing Peter along is the best way Martin knows to keep in check. In that sense, it’s an important job – one only Martin can do. Nonetheless, it’s reminiscent of how it felt to be left behind when the others went to stop the Unknowing. Distracting Elias was important, sure, and dangerous in its own way, but it wasn’t exactly on the same level as storming the Circus to stop the apocalypse. Comparatively, Martin felt useless.

Now, with Basira and Jon off on their mission, Martin is beset by a similar sense of futility. There’s certainly enough work to keep him busy, given that Peter delegates most of his job responsibilities to Martin. (Martin is fairly certain that, fraudulent CV or not, he’s more qualified to run the Institute at this point than Peter is.) Performing routine administrative duties can be a boring and demoralizing enough endeavor in the context of a mundane underpaid office job; doing so in service to an unfathomable cosmic evil is, to put it mildly, soul-destroying. Perhaps in a literal sense, as far as Martin knows.

That’s not to mention the customary gloom that comes with reading account after dreadful account of senseless, indiscriminate suffering.

Martin wishes there was something practical he could do, is his point. Patient though he may be, indefinite waiting is less tolerable when what he’s waiting for is the other shoe to drop, so to speak. He has no desire to interact with Peter in any capacity, but the longer he remains scarce, the more Martin’s trepidation soars.

There’s no way Peter has conceded his bet with Jonah, but there’s no telling whether he’s simply biding his time and observing how events unfold, actively plotting his next moves, or already enacting an revised scheme from the shadows. Regardless, he’s a clear and present danger for as long as he’s around. He may not be hasty, but he’s still a wildcard. Jon told Martin about the last time: how Peter released the NotThem to rampage through the Institute, solely for the sake of causing a distraction. As long as he has The Seven Lamps of Architecture in his possession, he–

Oh.

Martin smiles to himself. Maybe there is something more he can do.

The warehouse is, unsurprisingly, dark. Even with the door propped open, the daylight filtering through illuminates a radius of only a few yards before it’s swallowed by unnatural gloom. As Jon and Basira move further into the cavernous space, the beams of their torches barely penetrate the velvety murk.

“Any idea where she is?” Basira whispers from Jon’s left.

“Waiting in ambush, I assume. I can’t See much of anything.”

“See or See?”

“Either. Both.”

“And you’re certain that applies to Elias as well? He won’t be able to See us here?”

“Positive,” Jon says. “The Dark has–”

An enraged bellow sounds out from behind them. Basira’s torch clatters to the concrete floor, its light promptly extinguished as the casing cracks and the batteries come loose. In a flash, Basira is on the ground, locked in a furious scuffle with–

“Manuela Dominguez!” Jon says. Manuela looks up reflexively, surprised to hear her name. It’s all the opening Basira needs to gain the upper hand, grappling Manuela into a prone position on the floor and pinning her in place with a wristlock. Manuela cries out in pain, but her wild thrashing continues unabated.

“Jon,” Basira grunts, increasingly winded as Manuela attempts to break the hold. “A little help?”

“Manuela, listen, we – we’re just here to talk–”

Manuela briefly pauses in her struggling to spit at Jon’s feet. Funny, how some details remain the same. A second later, she’s resisting again, now attempting to twist around and bite at whatever exposed skin she can find.

“Stop.”

The command crackles up Jon’s throat and sparks off the tip of his tongue like a static shock, hundreds of iterations of the word coinciding. The air itself seems to quake with the force of it, and Jon is left shivering in its wake.

So, it seems, is Manuela: her voice shudders out of her when she speaks.

“Who are you?” she hisses. “What do you want?”

“To make a deal,” Jon says, the words slightly slurred.

“Why would I deal with you?” In the flickering glow of his torchlight, Jon can see the baleful glint in Manuela’s eyes. “You’re of the Eye, aren’t you? What could you even possibly want? You’ve already taken everything – you lot and your Archivist. Where is she, anyway?” Manuela makes a show of scanning the room as best she can, pinioned as she is. “Too much of a coward to witness the wreckage she’s wrought?”

“Gertrude is dead,” Basira says.

“Stopping us took everything she had, then.” Manuela smirks. “Serves her right.”

“You wish,” Basira scoffs. “She was murdered. Completely unrelated.”

“That’s –” Manuela’s smug expression vanishes. “Who–?”

“Elias,” Jon says. “She was too much of a thorn in his side. Too much of a force to be reckoned with.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I told you,” Jon says. “We want to make a deal. A temporary alliance.”

“An alliance?” Manuela repeats. What starts as a weak, dismissive laugh dissolves into a wheeze.

“We have a mutual enemy.” Manuela’s eyes narrow in something more like curiosity now. “I take it I’ve piqued your interest. Will you hear us out?”

Manuela deliberates for a protracted moment, torn between rebellion and intrigue. “Let me up.”

“What, so you can throw more punches?” Basira says.

“It’s fine, Basira,” Jon says. Manuela is still seething with defiance. The more powerless she feels, the less open she’ll be to negotiation. Better to make a few concessions and let her feel some control over the situation.

Judging from her furrowed brow, Basira is running through the same calculations. She hesitates a moment longer before sighing, releasing her hold, and standing. Manuela staggers to her feet and backs away several steps, brushing herself off and panting shallowly as she catches her breath.

“Did you come here alone?” she asks, massaging her abused wrist as her suspicious gaze flits back and forth between Basira and Jon. “Just the two of you?”

“Yes,” Jon answers. Basira shakes her head with an impatient tsk – which Jon interprets as something like stop volunteering free information to every Avatar you parley with, Jon. “Like I said, we’re just here to talk. And to offer you the opportunity for revenge.”

“What revenge? Gertrude is dead,” Manuela spits out. “Who else is there? Her replacement?”

“I’m her replacement.”

With that, Manuela lunges in Jon’s direction. Basira swiftly moves to intercept her, but Manuela stops in her tracks before Basira can grab her. A tension-filled standoff ensues, the two of them eyeing each other warily. After nearly a full minute, Basira seems satisfied enough that the situation has been defused to take her eyes off Manuela and treat Jon to an exasperated glare.

“Do you have to antagonize every single person who wants to kill you?” she scolds.

Jon ignores her grievance in favor of addressing Manuela directly: “You wouldn’t have any luck killing me.”

Basira dips her head down and plants the heel of her hand on her forehead, grumbling under her breath. It’s mostly unintelligible, but Jon thinks he can make out the words fuck’s sake somewhere in there.

“I could try,” Manuela snarls. Her hands ball into tighter fists, trembling with rage at her sides, but she continues to stand her ground.

“You could,” Jon says mildly. “And you would fail.”

“You’ll just compel me, you mean.”

“I could.” He would rather avoid it if possible, but Manuela doesn’t need to know that. He can only hope she can’t tell just how much he’s only pretending at nerve. “Or, you can listen to what we have to say. Gertrude is dead, and lashing out at me isn’t going to satisfy your thirst for revenge. We can offer up a more satisfying target.”

“Unless you have a way for me to unmake the Power your Archivist served.” When Jon doesn’t deny it, Manuela lets out another harsh, scornful laugh. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“Well – arguably, Gertrude didn’t serve the Eye. She followed her own path.” Manuela breathes a derisive huff. “Like her or not, she did. Formidable as she was, none of that was due to the Beholding’s favor. That was all her. She never embraced the power it promised – not like most Archivists do. Striking a blow against the Eye wouldn’t be an insult to Gertrude’s memory. If anything, it would do her proud.”

“Killing it with the sales pitch,” Basira carps.

“But the head of the Institute does serve the Eye,” Jon presses on, “and he’s the one responsible for appointing Gertrude the Archivist in the first place. Hurt the Eye, and you hurt him.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Manuela says, bristling. “Your patron may pale in comparison to my god, but I’m not arrogant enough to believe that I would stand a chance of vanquishing it.”

“We can’t vanquish it, no. But we could destroy the Institute that serves it. Same as happened to the Dark’s faithful.”

“An eye for an eye,” Basira adds.

“Well, you’ve wasted your time coming all this way.” Manuela’s disparaging chuckle gets caught in her throat. “I’m the only one here. An abandoned disciple, guarding a lost cause. There’s nothing left of our former power.”

“The Dark Sun,” Basira says.

Manuela tenses. Then her shoulders slump, weighed down by dawning, solemn resignation.

“Of course,” she says bitterly. “It isn’t enough to decimate our numbers. You need to steal the only remnant of our crusade.”

“We’re giving you the opportunity to reclaim its purpose,” Jon says. “Or would you rather it rot away here, diminishing until it collapses in on itself?”

Manuela is silent for a long minute, a shrewd look in her eye. “Why would you want to betray your god?”

“The Beholding isn’t my god,” Jon says. “I’m not a willing convert. I was drafted into someone else’s crusade without my consent – and you know what that’s like, don’t you?”

Manuela just scowls.

“I Know your story.” Jon’s voice turns sibilant with power as the Archive rears its head. “Indoctrinated into a faith that never spoke to you –”

“– brought up to believe in the light of God, his radiant, illuminating presence –”

“Shut up,” Manuela says in a low growl.

“– deep down they were vicious, spiteful people who used their faith to hurt others, and I fondly imagined them discovering themselves in an afterlife other than the one they had assumed was their destination – I broke with them as soon as I could –”

“Jon,” Basira interrupts. The firm squeeze of her hand on his shoulder is enough to snap him out of his shallow trance. She jerks her head at Manuela, who looks about ready to charge him again. “Maybe not the time?”

“S-sorry,” he gasps. He shakes his head to clear the residual static clouding his thoughts before looking back to Manuela with genuine contrition. “Didn’t mean to do that, I swear. I only meant to say that I – I read the statement you gave to Gertrude. I know that your parents were zealots. They envisioned a perfect world that seemed to you like hell on earth, and you did everything you could to rebel against their arrogance. To spite the god they worshiped. We have some common ground there, you and I.”

Granted, Jon didn’t grow up in a religious household. His grandmother was content to let him explore – and he did.

Even as a child, he had an inclination for research. A topic would catch his attention and he would voraciously seek out as much information as he could. His grandmother didn’t take much interest in the content of those fixations, but she did encourage them as a general principle. Not with overt praise, necessarily, but by facilitating his endeavors: procuring reading material on the obsession of the month, escorting him to the library every so often and allowing him to max out his card. He suspects now that she was simply grateful for some way to occupy his attention. If his nose was in a book, he was keeping out of trouble.

He never told her how wrong she turned out to be.

In any case, one of his many early “phases,” as she liked to call them, was comparative religion. Part of it was simple curiosity. Part of it was a genuine desire to find something to believe: some conception of the afterlife that would resonate with him, some straightforward framework for understanding the world, some sort of certainty to assuage his fear of the unknown. His grandmother never seemed to care whether he found what he was looking for. She never really asked.

It was for the best. He never liked admitting defeat. Not back then.

They returned all the books to the library on the day they were due, and Jon brought home a new haul, this one centered around the field of oceanography. The seas were brimming with mystery, but at least there was a very real possibility of turning those unknowns into knowns. New discoveries were being made every day, newer and newer technology being developed to push the boundaries of that knowledge. There were sure answers, and they could be grasped, so long as humanity could invent the right tools for the job.

Still, Jon found himself envying people of faith from time to time. Sometimes he wished he had someone to point him in some sort of direction, like many other children seemed to have. But hearing of Manuela’s upbringing… well, if Jon was forced to choose between extremes, he has to admit that he prefers the complete lack of guidance he received as opposed to strict proselytization. His grandmother may not have shown interest in his opinions, but at least she gave him the freedom to come to his own conclusions. She may not have had reassurances to offer, but at least she didn’t foist upon him a worldview that made no place for him in it.

“It’s not the same thing as childhood indoctrination,” he tells Manuela, “but… becoming the Archivist – it was like being drafted into the service of a god that I never would have chosen for myself. Had Elias told me the terms, I never would have signed the contract.”

“I take it he didn’t tell you beforehand that he murdered your predecessor?”

“That I had to find out the hard way, unfortunately.”

“So you’re saying you’re not so much a traitor to your faith as you are a disgruntled employee.”

“Elias is my boss. Is that a trick question?” Jon is surprised to hear Manuela give an amused snort. “But yes. I’d like to… tender my resignation, so to speak.”

Manuela scrutinizes him intently, as if trying to solve a riddle. “You would give up your power?”

“I don’t want it,” Jon says truthfully.

If he’s perfectly honest with himself, there was a time that at least some aspects of that power were alluring. There was something intoxicating and liberating about being able to ask a question and not only receive a guaranteed answer, but be certain he wasn’t being presented with an outright lie – especially after spending so many months beholden to unchecked paranoia, distrust, and frantic, futile investigation.

But there was never anything benign or inconsequential about invading a victim’s privacy or compelling someone to surrender a secret, no matter how he tried to justify it to himself. Even if there was, even if it wasn’t both reprehensible in principle and harmful in practice, it still wouldn’t be worth the irrevocable costs.

“I want out,” he says, “and if getting out isn’t an option, then I at least want Elias to know what it is to be offered up to a god inimical to every atom of his existence. I thought you might be able to assist with that.”

“How?”

“The Institute is a seat of power for the Beholding,” Basira says. “If we introduce it to your Dark Sun…”

“A mote in the Eye,” Manuela says, intrigued. Her attention swivels back to Jon. “Do you Know what would happen?”

“No,” he says. “But I imagine it will hurt.”

“And then what? What happens after? You let me pack up my relic and walk away?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“I don’t believe you,” Manuela says.

“You don’t pose an existential threat,” Jon says with a shrug. “I have no doubt that the Dark will attempt another Ritual someday, but it won’t happen in our lifetimes. We have no qualms letting you walk away after our alliance is finished.”

“And the Dark Sun?” Manuela presses.

“I don’t know what condition it will be in after exposure to the Eye,” Jon admits. “But you’re free to do as you wish with it after. We won’t stop you.”

So she can hurt more people, Jon’s battered conscience chimes in.

“And if I say no?”

“Then I walk in there right now, Behold it, and destroy it entirely.” It comes out sounding more menacing than Jon had initially intended, but maybe that’s not a bad thing, given the way Manuela freezes up.

“You wouldn’t survive.” Manuela sounds far from certain.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But your Sun certainly wouldn’t.” Jon pauses for a moment to let that sink in. “Do you want to see its potential wasted here and now, or do you want to make all that sacrifice worth something?”

“If you’re so certain you have the upper hand, what’s stopping you from just taking it, then?”

“I’m not its engineer or its keeper. I wouldn’t even Know how to safely transport it. Too many unknown variables.”

“So you need me.”

“Yes. Beneath the Institute, there’s a… a sanctum of the Eye. A place of power, like Ny-Ålesund is for your patron. If you can bring the Dark Sun there, I… well, I’m hoping it will sever the Eye’s connection to that place. Destroy the Institute.”

“How would that work?”

“I’m… not certain,” Jon confesses. “Call it a… a hunch.”

“There’s precedent,” Basira says. “We found a statement that hinted at worshipers of the Dark destroying a temple to the Eye in 4th century Alexandria.”

Manuela’s eyes light up with interest. “How?”

“We don’t know,” Jon says.

“Oh, right. Foolish of me to ask,” Manuela says pertly. “Why would I expect you to know things? It’s only the entire point of you.”

“I never claimed to be good at my job,” Jon retorts. “Look, maybe I don’t Know exactly what will happen, but a focus of the Dark should hurt the Eye in some capacity, I think.”

“You think,” Manuela mutters under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear the derision in her tone.

“Whatever happens, it’ll be more satisfying than anything you’ve got going on here,” Basira points out.

Manuela barks out a contemptuous laugh. “You don’t even have the shadow of a plan!”

“We… haven’t ironed out the details, no.” Jon rubs the back of his neck, chagrinned. “We figured that if you did agree to an alliance, you would want to be part of the actual planning process.”

“And if you don’t cooperate, it’s a moot point,” Basira says.

“Also, I was… I suppose I was hoping you could offer insight,” Jon says. “The Dark is something of a blind spot for me, shockingly.” Manuela shoots him a withering look. “So even if I had any clue how to wield the Dark Sun, I wouldn’t be able to channel its full potential. Not like you could.”

“That much is obvious,” Manuela sneers, teeth gleaming in the torchlight as her lips stretch in a taut, wolfish grin. “You Beholding types always assume that knowledge is synonymous with control. Putting yourselves on the level of Powers greater than any mortal, assuming insight into things you could not possibly understand… you fly too close to the sun and then have the gall to indulge in outrage when you burn.”

We didn’t come here for a sermon, Jon almost says, but he bites his tongue.

“But I accept that I am a supplicant, not a god,” Manuela says, reverence seeping into her tone to supplant the reproach. “It’s pure hubris to assume that you could wield the Black Sun like a tool. It’s a communion, and only those with true and dutiful faith could ever hope to win its favor. Approach it with anything less than respect and devotion, and it will devour you.”

“If you’re done pontificating?” Basira says. She doesn’t give Manuela an opening to respond. “We’re well aware that we stand no chance of wielding–” Manuela looks up sharply, and Basira hastily corrects herself. “Fine – communing with the Dark Sun ourselves. That’s why we’re looking for an alliance rather than just taking it.”

“Do you think you could–” Jon pauses as he searches for a way to phrase his question that won’t unleash another tirade. “Would you be able to arrange for the Dark Sun to be brought into the Eye’s stronghold? Expose them to one another, let them… I don’t know – have it out with each other?”

“I’m capable of bringing it to London, if that’s what you’re asking,” Manuela says primly. “But it would be at a disadvantage on the Beholding’s home turf. If – if – I were willing to test this hypothesis, I would only do so on the condition that I could level the playing field as much as possible. Wait for ideal circumstances, as it were.”

“Which would be…?” Basira asks.

“The winter solstice. The Dark Sun will be the strongest on the night of the winter solstice.”

“That’s months from now,” Basira protests. “Can’t you just –”

“Ideally, I would insist on a total solar eclipse,” Manuela snaps, “but it will be quite some time before London witnesses another. Not until 2090.”

“Looking ahead, are you?” Basira asks.

“It is likely the soonest opportunity for another attempt at a Ritual.” Manuela pretends at nonchalance with a shrug, but she can’t quite conceal her profound disappointment as her voice grows measurably more subdued. “It gives me ample time to study our failure. To discover what went wrong.”

“To refine your Ritual, you mean.”

“There will always be faithful to take up the mantle,” Manuela says, her chin lifting marginally in defiance as she stares Basira down.

“But you won’t be around to see it.” Basira meets Manuela’s eyes with equal nerve. Jon remains silent, looking from one to the other as they face off against one another.

“No,” Manuela replies evenly. “I’ll have to settle for passing on my findings to those who come after. Leave behind a legacy to guide their steps.”

“In the meantime, the Dark Sun will stagnate,” Jon chimes in. It’s a bluff, of course: he has no idea whether or not it’s true. Judging from the unsettled look on Manuela’s face, neither does she. Jon latches onto that uncertainty, carefully twisting the knife just a little further: “Or, you could let it serve a purpose.”

“Its purpose was to usher in a world of true and holy Darkness,” Manuela says acidly. “You’re proposing I give it scraps.”

“Like it or not, you can’t give it the apocalypse it was promised,” Jon says.

Manuela’s fingers flex and clench back into fists. Jon suspects she would love nothing more than to wring his neck. She’s a truth seeker at heart, though. Ambitious, rebellious – idealistic even, albeit in a twisted sort of way, harboring an aspiration that most would rightfully find horrific. Adept at detecting and exploiting the more malleable aspects of material reality where possible, infusing the scientific method with just enough magical thinking to bend natural laws.

However, there are some truths that even she cannot deny, and she isn’t the type to ignore a certainty when it’s right in front of her face. And so, despite the unconcealed vitriol in her eyes and the contrariness sitting at the tip of her tongue, she does not deny his assertion.

“But it can still pay tribute to your god,” Jon coaxes, striving to stop short of needling. It’s a razor’s edge he’s always struggled to walk, but Manuela is still right there with him, toeing the line. “It’s better than nothing at all.”

Manuela directs a venomous glower towards the floor as she vacillates between summary dismissal and the temptation of vengeance. Basira side-eyes Jon as the standstill stretches from seconds into minutes, but all Jon can offer her is an awkward shrug. The ball is in Manuela’s court, and it seems she has no qualms leaving them in indefinite suspense as she painstakingly examines all the variables and weighs her options. The best they can do is wait and hope that tangible revenge will prove more enticing than spiteful noncooperation.

Eventually, she lets out a sharp exhale, raises her head, and breaks her silence.

“The winter solstice,” she repeats, her voice teeming with tension and lingering aversion. “Barring an eclipse, I would have to settle for the winter solstice. The longest, darkest night of the year… it’s second best, but it should suffice. Shame about the light pollution, of course,” she adds, wrinkling her nose with disdain, “but the power is in the symbolism.”

“Jon?” Basira prompts.

“Dream logic,” he says, massaging his forehead wearily. “It tracks.”

“Fine,” Basira sighs. She looks back to Manuela. “So does this mean you’ll do it?”

“I’m tired of haunting this place like a ghost.” There’s a sharp, predatory look in Manuela’s eyes now. “The Dark has lost its crusaders. The Watcher should have a taste of loss.”

Just then, a loud, metallic thunk interrupts the negotiations, reverberating through the space and drawing everyone’s attention to warehouse entrance. The light that had been percolating through from outside had been preternaturally dimmed before, but now it’s been snuffed out entirely.

Jon glances anxiously at Basira. “The wind, maybe?”

“There was no wind.” Basira is already drawing her gun. Like a switch has been flipped at the prospect of danger, her voice goes steely with manufactured composure. “Not strong enough to blow the door shut. I propped it open very securely.”

“We’re near the water, though,” Jon murmurs. “Strong gusts sometimes blow in off the sea–”

Jon’s mouth snaps shut at Basira’s quelling look. Manuela’s posture is defensive again, eyes darting suspiciously between Jon and Basira in the muted torchlight.

“I thought you said you came here alone,” she says accusingly.

“We – we did,” Jon says. “We–”

“Oh, Archivist,” a new voice sings out, oozing with an exultant malice. “Long time no see!”

It’s been ages since Jon last heard that cadence, but it’s horrifyingly, heart-stoppingly familiar even after all this time. It pierces Jon like a knife in the dark. He takes a frantic step back, nearly tripping over his own feet as his panic skyrockets and a tidal wave of adrenaline crashes over him.

“We just want to talk,” croons a different voice, rougher and more ragged-sounding. It’s difficult to gauge the newcomers’ positions through the impermeable gloom, but judging from the sounds of their voices, they’re drawing ever nearer. “Won’t you come out?”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Jon breathes an incredulous laugh, distraught enough to border on a whimper. “Now?”

“Who are they?” Basira asks urgently. Jon is still frozen in place, eyes straining against the darkness. Any answer he could make is bogged down with terror, snagging in his throat and forestalling coherence. “Jon!”

Jon swallows hard and finally looks at Basira, his eyes wide with dread.

“Hunters.”

End Notes:

naomi: hey jon. jon. consider: surveillance state kink jon: shut the hell your mouth

____

Both instances of Archive-speak are from MAG 135. A few pieces of dialogue from the beginning of the conversation with Manuela are taken/reworked from MAG 143. The Melanie and Basira gossip is from MAG 106.

Once again, had way too much fun with the text convo btwn Naomi and Jon. Cannot resist those chatfic shenanigans vibes.

In other news, Daisy WILL point at Jon and loudly exclaim, “Is anyone gonna volunteer as wingman for this lovesick disaster or do I have to do everything myself?” and not even wait for an answer. (Jon made the mistake of confirming that he doesn’t mind her lovingly dunking on him about this sort of thing and now she’s a menace. Listen, playful ribbing is basically her platonic love language.)  

Sorry for the cliffhanger!! But hey, I think we all knew that there’s no way things would go entirely smoothly for Jon and Basira. And now I finally get to add some new character tags.

I’m very behind on replying to comments. (Tbh, spent most of the last month grappling with this chapter. I was stuck on a scene that REALLY didn’t want to cooperate.) I’m gonna try to catch up this weekend, though. <3 As always, thank you for reading!

[itwillbeall-dwight]

tis the season

Meg Thomas & Quentin Smith; christmas fun! no tws; 1118 words

a/n: This is a gift for @little-prince-quentin for the dbd secret santa!! Sorry I waited until the end of the deadline to do this, this month has not been kind to me mentally, but I really hope this suits you just fine!!! this was super fun to write. happy holidays!

likes < reblogs, any comments in the tags are appreciated

ao3 mirror/kofi in the reblogs!

Preview: Time was a tricky thing in the fog. With no daytime, and trials taking place in places frozen in time, all the survivors had to go off of was a gut feeling, and maybe wishful thinking, to know when to celebrate a holiday from home. And so, after a handful of bad trails that sent group morale into a freefall, a genius idea from Kate to just… decide that it was Christmas was (mostly) accepted nu the rest of the campfire. Altruism was heavily practiced, old ugly sweater had been dug out of chests, and a secret santa had been organized thanks to Steve and Laurie, not to mention Meg’s current effort - decorating the realms as best she could, starting with the old Macmillan estate.

“Hey, steady, Quentin!”

“I’m trying!” came a strained and annoyed bark in response. “But you keep moving, a-and I don’t know where you’re going!”

“Sorry, sorry! Just a couple more- go right, please!”

Quentin grumbled, stepping to the right slightly as instructed, tightening his grip around Meg’s ankles as she pushed a hand onto his head, keeping herself steady on his shoulders, her other hand wrapped around a long string of Christmas lights.

 Time was a tricky thing in the fog. With no daytime, and trials taking place in places frozen in time, all the survivors had to go off of was a gut feeling, and maybe wishful thinking, to know when to celebrate a holiday from home. And so, after a handful of bad trails that sent group morale into a freefall, a genius idea from Kate to just… decide that it was Christmas was (mostly) accepted nu the rest of the campfire. Altruism was heavily practiced, old ugly sweater had been dug out of chests, and a secret santa had been organized thanks to Steve and Laurie, not to mention Meg’s current effort - decorating the realms as best she could, starting with the old Macmillan estate.

 It had been a long and arduous process - the Legion had handed over most of the old and broken decorations the resort had with much bribery from Jeff and Felix, and the Doctor had no choice but to offer the wired and electrical equipment the institute had once Nea and Jake had made their way inside. And now, with David in a trial, the athlete had turned to her next best option to make the fog more festive-

Quentin let out a quiet yell as she grabbed at his head again, this time curling his hair into her fist to maintain balance. “D-Do you mind not doing that?!”

“Well sorry I don’t wanna eat dirt, dude! Almost done, promise.” Meg moved her hand, letting it hover for a moment to check her balance before she began to file the string of lights into it, reaching above her head to hang them along the roof of the killer shack. She strained to reach the hooks to hang the final line, sticking her tongue out to concentrate as she finally hooked them on, letting the rest of the string go to fall and sway in the cold and silent wind. “OK, there we go. Done!”

The other survivor let out a quiet sigh of relief, shaking a little as he lowered himself enough for Meg to safely jump off his shoulders, grass crunching under her feet with an expert landing.

“Now onto the next one.”

“...There’s more?”

“Well, duh! There’s the old ironworks, the coal tower, the oil drill, the mines,” The athlete counted on her fingers as she spoke, not noticing the way Quentin’s already tired expression continued to fall. “-And that’s just here on the estate.”

He blinked, sighing and pinching his nose, voice lowering to a mutter as he closed his eyes. “Why me?”

And when he opened his eyes again, he was met by Meg, who had moved to meet his gaze with a well-intentioned smirk. “Because you have my back Quentin. Your heart’s in the right place, and you need some Christmas cheer, you… humbug.”

He recoiled as she reached out to touch his nose, sniffling and rubbing it with the back of his sleeve, trying to hide his already flush face that was going even redder. “I-I was talking to myself, but… thanks, I-”

 He was cut off by a noise that made them both stand to attention - the noise of a heavy, rumbling footstep, and one that was uncomfortably close. Meg spoke up first. “What was that?”

“I-I don’t know- ah!’ He jumped at another noise, his eyes darting around before he looked back at her. “I think it’s time we- ...why are you looking at me like that?”

She slowly moved her hand to grab his wrist, her grip firm but not painful, her face pale as she looked up just behind him, at the figure casting a moonlit shadow on his back, one that had ascended the stairs of the killer shack’s basement to check on the noise outside, it seemed. Meg swallowed, lowering her voice as she replied. “It’s Krampus.”

 Quentin barely had a chance to register what was happening, tripping over his own feet as Meg began running, dragging him behind her, feeling the wind of a machete swing against his back as he tried to keep up with her sprint. Daring to steal a glance behind him, he caught sight of the Trapper, purveyor of the Macmillan estate, intently in pursuit of the trespassers on his property. He swallowed, turning back to Meg again. “Uhhhh-”

“I know, I know, I’m working on it!” She barked back, clearly feeling the glare on her back as the killer got closer, panic rising in her voice. “Can you run faster?!”

“I’m trying! I was a swimmer, not a sprinter!”

They dodged through walls and what little covered the estate had, trying to lose the killer who, reasonably so, didn’t care too much for the unwarranted company. And though it seemed he was simply slashing at them to get them to leave faster, like a dog nipping at their heels, the fear of death was still very much real, all the way to the exit, where Meg and Quentin stumbled back into the fog, finally able to catch their breath as the adrenaline died down. 

 It was Quentin that said something first, letting out a breathless laugh as he crouched down, trying to stop the feeling of his chest caving in on itself, and the heartbeat in his ears. “Holy shit, we’re alive. We’re alive!”

“Yeah… yeah, we are.” Meg exhaled a sigh of relief, holding the back of her hips as she stretched her back, looking down on him. “...Maybe that was a little stupid, so I’m sorry-”

“No, I… think it was me. I was really loud.”

“Still, I- I should have known not to go there, just the two of us, so… agree to disagree?”

He looked up to meet her eyes, and her sheepish expression, tiredly smiling. “...Yeah, sure.”

The athlete laughed, offering him a hand and pulling him to his feet when he accepted, keeping her grip on it for a moment as her lips pulled into a small smirk. “So… when’s the next time I can get you to do this?”

There was a pause, before they both started laughing, walking back into the fog. Quentin took his hand back as they did, shoving it back into his pocket. “Bring an army, then I’ll consider it.”

“Ha! Humbug.”

[alovesthis]

All Things Must Pass - Dean Winchester CHAPTER SEVEN

Dean Winchester x (female) Reader Fic

Fic Summary: Reader and Dean Winchester reunite after not seeing each other in a few years, ever since he told her to leave him and his issues behind. Reuniting wasn’t what you expected it would be like because of past feelings, memories and a life threatening situation that was placed upon Dean Winchester.

Warnings: none?!

Word Count: 3.9

sorry for the delay - hope you enjoy! 

CHAPTER SEVEN

The four of you were standing in a motel parking lot in Ypsilanti, Michigan and it wasn’t as snowy as you expected it to be. The ground is wet and dark, might’ve been snowing or raining here for the past few days, you aren’t so sure. But the more you look around you noticed a few snow piles every other block, and over sized holiday decorations literally everywhere. Despite the cheery looks on the civilians you passed by, you four had definitely stood out with your tough demeanor. 

Against the impala, Stevie sat on top of the hood as Deans scolded her for doing so but let her be as he could never say no to her. She maybe a few years younger, reckless and tough, but Dean has a soft spot for her just like she has for him. Sam held a cream colored manila folder, talking about this new case. 

“Santa?” You keep laughing uncontrollably as you reach into your truck and lift your bag out of the back seat. Once you have the bag over your shoulder, you turn around and start walking with the boys and Stevie to the motel rooms. 

“It’s weird, I know. Could be a possibility, maybe the folklore of Krampus?” Sam says. “We gotta go talk to this Mrs. Walsh. Her husband disappeared according to the reports.” 

You hum, “Alright. Let’s get going.”

Stevie opens up your motel room that you’re sharing with her and waits for you. You reach the door and lean against the wall that’s covered with big red bows and gold glitter. You were beginning to hope the holidays will fly fast and that this case won’t take forever, not wanting to continuously be reminded of the past. 

“I’ll throw on my suit,” You say eagerly. “Whoever wants to join me and investigate, meet me out here in ten!” 

When you walk into the motel room, you throw your bag on the bed and rummage through to get out your long black slacks, a white button up and your black blazer that was folded neatly inside each other. As you unpack it, you notice a few wrinkles and sigh in annoyance. You’ve been forgetting to buy yourself one of those zip up clothing bags to store and protect the only two suits you had. Thinking quickly, you run to the bathroom and turn the heat up on the shower and let it steam, letting your suit hang out in there to lessen some of the wrinkles. 

“Y/N!” Stevie calls out. 

You walk out of the bathroom, shutting the door on your way out to keep the steam in, and look at your sister. “What’s up?”

“I figured Sam and I will stay behind, continue to look through the books maybe walk around town. Look for anything suspicious or interesting.” 

“I take it Dean and I will be meeting Mrs. Walsh then?” 

“Yup.” Stevie smiles and you exhale a laugh. You go back to your bag, looking for your fake badge and your gun. Your shoulders are slouched in exhaustion, perhaps it’s sadness for yet another year added to many, without your parents. “Hey, you alright?” 

“I just want to this done, you know?” You stop doing what you’re doing and your knees lean into the bed. “I just...I miss them and I know it’s been such a long time but it hurts..” 

“I know, I miss them too.” Stevie shrugs. “Listen, I know it does. It’s always going to hurt. But then I realize that as long as I have you by my side, I’ll be alright.” 

“You know, I feel like I should be the one saying these things to you. Since I’m older.” You lighten up the conversation as a tear falls down your cheek. 

“We both know I’ve always been a bit more wiser than you.” Stevie laughs as she stands up to hug you. “Every year, I always think about them and then I think about how you saved me.”

“I didn’t save you, that was John.” You reply. 

Stevie scoffs and rolls her eyes, “Yeah okay, he saved us that night. But after that? He just threw us in the back of his car with Sam and Dean. He treated us like we barely existed, he treated us and them like shit. So yeah, maybe he did save me and you that night. But it was you, my sister who raised me and made sure that I was okay with what happened to mom and dad. Hell, even Dean was there for me like he was for Sam. You were there, and you helped me heal. And now that I’m older, I can be here for you in the ways that you have.” 

“Stevie…” 

“Look, what I’m trying to say is that you are always there for everyone.” She sighs. “With the holidays and getting back in touch with Dean...there’s a lot going on, so it’s okay to let me be there for you.” 

The conversation is cut short by a few knocks on the motel door, signaling you that Dean’s ready to get going. You knock your shoulder into Stevie’s arm and smile in appreciation for her kind words for you. “Be right out!” You call out and walk back to the bathroom to shut the water off from the shower and change into your FBI pantsuit. 

“Thank you for that,” you say as you walk out the door, buttoning up the black jacket that went over your white button up. The knocking starts up again and you shake your head in annoyance, picturing Dean standing behind the door waiting impatiently. 

“Alright, Dean! My god, would you stop-” You open the door and look out to see Sam standing against the motel wall. “Oh,” You grin up at Sam who towers over you, but you weren’t short like your sister who looked like could be a kid whenever she stood next to the Winchesters. 

“Sorry. Where’s Dean?” 

“Went to grab us all coffee around the corner for us.” Sam nods. “How are you doing, you know with...everything?” 

“I’m okay, Sam. I think.” You shrug as you walk out the door, Sam following you towards the car. “Just gotta push through this and soon the holidays will be over with.” 

“You know you can talk to us, right? Dean and I...Stevie too.” 

“Of course I know that, thanks Sam.” You bump into his arm, giving a friendly smile. 

“Dean says he wants to celebrate Christmas.” He says after a few seconds. 

“He does?” 

“Yeah, I guess he didn’t tell you because you know…”

“My parents.” You confirm, leaning on the wet Impala door. “How do you feel about it?” 

“He’s treating everything like a last hurrah. And I get it, because he’s gonna die soon, but I don’t like it.” 

“I don’t like either Sam.” You extend your arm up and place your hand on his shoulder. “I want to believe there’s something we can do.” 

“But?” 

“No buts…” You shrug, squeezing his shoulder before removing it and placing your hand in your pants pocket. “I just want to believe we can save him, or maybe just be there for him. We have each other.” 

“Yeah, we do.” Sam nods, trying to hide his sadness with a forceful smile.

“Not too get all mushy here,” You scoff. “But uh...If we can’t prevent it from happening, you do know you have Stevie and I. We’re a family and I don’t want you to go through shit alone.” 

Silence stays between you two, as Sam is afraid to even utter a word without any tears threatening to spill. These conversations were going to happen, no matter how much Dean or anyone else wanted to have them. Suddenly, Dean is walking back to you two, catching the last few words of your sentence. 

“Don’t go through what shit alone?” He raises his brows as he stands in front of the Impala facing you and Sam. 

“Ah nothing, just the research.” You smile. “So, Sam and Stevie will be hanging back while we go see Mrs. Marsh.” 

“Okay.” Dean nods. “Here ya go...two large black coffee for you nerds.” Dean hands Sam the coffee as he roll his eyes at him. 

“Thanks, jerk.” Sam says, before he tells you two he’ll see you later as he disappears into the motel room to hit the books with Stevie. The four of you were the brains and the muscles, but it’s overly obvious that Sam and Stevie absolutely love the research aspect of it all more than you two. It had its moments, but it frustrated you and Dean a lot more. 

“Look at you, blue steel.” You squint at him up and down, staring at his all black FBI suit. “It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you like this.” 

“Yeah, I do pull it off don’t I?” Dean says, handing out a coffee cup to you. His green eyes are almost staring at you lovingly as a tiny smile plays on his lips as he looks you up and down. 

“Been awhile since I’ve seen you in that.” He coughs, making his way to the drivers side of the Impala. You’re oblivious to the way he starts to get nervous as you just stare at him, distracted by how good he really looks. “You uh, you look good.” 

“I’ve grown up some more, Dean.” You laugh as you stare over at him with a smirk as you begin to tease him. “I can tell you have too. A lot actually.” 

You finally see it. He’s taken back, but in a good way he thinks. You see him fidget as he stands there trying to process whether or not you’re flirting with him, or trying to make him flustered and break down his ‘cool guy’ exterior. 

“So, you ever gonna let me drive this?” You change the subject to ease not only his nerves, but yours as well. You tap on the top of Baby and flash him a smile.

“This?” He scoffs. “Not gonna let you drive my baby. Not until I’m dead.” Dean raises his brows, a tiny smirk forms on his face as he smoothly gets inside the impala, leaving you still leaning against the closed car door as you listen to the impala get started up. 

You laugh in bewilderment and step aside to open and get inside the passenger seat. Once you’re settled, you look over to him watching his hand is turning the dial to pick the right music station as his eyes focus ahead. He starts driving slowly down the road, away from the motel and to Mrs. Marshs’ home.

“So, who are we today?” Dean asks, as he peers over at you. 

“You are Agent Mick.” You grin to yourself in amusement. “And I’m Agent Nicks.” 

“Mick...Nicks.” He murmurs to himself. “Fleetwood Mac, really?” 

“Says you.” You scoff. “Do I need to count all the names of rockstar and couples you’ve chosen for us?”

He chuckles after taking a moment to recall all the names he’s picked out for you two in the past. All the purposely chosen couples from bands, or names of groupies and all things 1970’s and occasionally some people from the 90’s which you chose, made him smile. Although he hadn’t had a simple life, and you not being able to remember much about that slight part of yours, he wishes (and as did you) he could go back in time where you two were just kids, teens trying to get by and enjoy life. 

“Yeah...those were the days.” 

“Dean…”

“If you’re about to ask me if I’m okay, the answer is yeah I am. Now, are you?” He glances over with his eyebrows raising in question. 

You roll your eyes and avert them to the window. “Let’s just get to Mrs. Marsh and get this case over and done with.” 

“Alright.” Dean sighs, focusing back to the road, leaving you to settle with your thoughts as he was left with questions and thoughts of his own as he reminisces past holidays spent with you. Days where things were slightly different and better between the both of you. After the discussion with Mrs. Marsh, you called Stevie when you were finished as you and Dean made your way back to the motel room to meet them. 

Inside the motel, the atmosphere between the two brothers felt off, just like it is between you and Dean. After explaining the story that Mrs. Marsh told and the facts Dean and you figured out, the four of you slumped around you and Stevie’s motel room. The air inside was hot, filled with the smell of coffee and the old lore books.

“So, you found a tooth?” Stevie questions. “Wasn’t there a clean house? Thought they checked everything.”

“When does the police really ever do their job thoroughly?” Dean asks. 

“True.” Stevie chuckles as she leans back in her chair. “The tooth, where was it?” 

“In the chimney.” You stand up and walk to her, placing the tooth on the table then crossing your arms together against your chest. “My guess is maybe this evil Santa did it. Obviously, but the point is, her husband disappeared.” 

“The chimney..I don’t know,” dean raises his hands up, “there’s just no way a man fits up a chimney, it’s too narrow.”

“There’s just no way he fits up in one piece.” Sam adds.

“What are we thinking, evil Santa sliced and dice the man?” Stevie suggests. 

“Maybe, or possibly just dragged upwards. That can explain the tooth. We just need to figure out why him.” You say. “Look through the books, figure it all out and fast.” 

“Alright! You guys hit the books, I’m starving.” Dean stands up and throws his leather jacket on. There was something about the rugged, beat up jacket on him that always made you feel both uneasy and sympathetic. Possibly because he looked so good in it, while on the other hand you knew it was John’s and you never like the man. 

“We just ate breakfast.” Stevie digs at him. “How are you so hungry all the time.”

“Yeah, we had breakfast like hours ago!” Dean says. “Oh come on, you’re telling me our life doesn’t make you hungry all the time?”

“You know what Dean, go get food.” You gesture to the door, shaking your head. “But please, just bring me back-”

“More coffee, I know.” He winks your way as he opens the door. “See ya.” 

“Your brother is something else.” Stevie stands up to walk to the bathroom, looking at Sam and you. “I don’t know how you two are related and Y/N, I don’t see how you love him.” 

“Stevie!” You gasp, letting out a confused laugh at why she stared at you while walking backwards into the bathroom with a huge smirk on your face. You were so thankful Dean left for food and not witnessing an attack on your feelings for him (you pushed it down and away though, pretending like they didn’t exist).

You hear Sam chuckle from behind you until you whip your head around and stare at him flustered. “I don’t love him.” 

“Yeah, sure.” Sam shakes his head, while opening his laptop and typing away. You scoff and grab the pile of books on the table and throw yourself on the bed, brooding within the books trying to stop thinking about things and focus back to the case. 

After a while, Dean comes back and Sam and Stevie are stuck on the evil Santa idea. All of you kept thinking it’s crazy, but everything you’ve encountered was crazy. So things aren’t far fetched in this life anymore, not even an evil Santa in all the lore you’ve read and researched. Sam was beginning to give up on the idea until Dean had sat down with you, going over each others notes and stories. Sam’s eager and you both realize that the two victims went to the same place before they disappeared, or were dragged up the chimney. Santa’s freaking Village. 

“Alright boys, you head to Santa’s Village while we hang back. Maybe look over the town again.” You say, standing up to put on your coat. “We meet back at a diner, or here in a couple hours.” 

“Give us a ring if you find anything.” Stevie says, following you out the door with your jacket. 

“Why did we get stuck with Santa’s Village?” Dean says to his brother once you two are out of the room. 

“Don’t be baby.” Sam rolls his eyes and laughs, before leaving Dean in the motel room alone. 

As the boys went to visit the village and informed you that they’d be investigating through the night over at some cosplaying Father Christmas’ trailer. Sam said he fits the description, so you and Stevie decide to look back at the victims homes in hopes to find something you and Dean had missed. Sneaking into the homes were easy for Stevie and you, more so for Stevie since she was short and was extremely quiet on her feet. But everyone that knew you and Stevie knew that she was strong as hell and that no one should judge her the way she looked or stood short. 

When Stevie and you make it, nothing is found but a wreath that doesn’t look quite traditional, and not in a good way. Very silent, Stevie suggests that maybe you should snap some pictures and take a sample back to the motel for Sam and Dean -- maybe it’s something. The rest of the night is spent in the motel room together, half asleep and waiting for the brothers to return. 

The two of you were jolted awake as Sam and Dean burst through the door with urgency. 

“Seriously, why can’t you guys ever stay calm?” Stevie groans. “Barging in my motel room. What, did you two break the door?” 

You groggily laugh and stretch before standing up. “You know, she’s not wrong. You almost took down that door. Did you forget you guys were six feet tough guys?” 

“Alright, enough of this banter.” Dean scoffs. “Evil Santa has struck again.” 

“How? Weren’t we all just out and about?” You say. “How did we not know?”

“Just happened.” He answers. 

“Hey,” Sam says, walking to the table and picking up a part of the wreath you took. “We found this too.” 

“Oh, so it’s important?” You ask. “Stevie said it might be something but she can’t remember what it was. Mentioned something about pagon rites.

“We gotta call from Bobby.” 

“Bobby…” You smile. “I haven’t seen him in awhile. What did he say?” 

“I told him you two were here with us, sends his love.” Sam smiles.

“Called Sam and I  morons too.” Dean raises his coffee cup at you and smiles before chugging his drink.

“I miss him.” You say. 

“Me too. We’ll have to take a trip to him soon.” Stevie mentions. “Did you mention the wreath?” 

“Meadowsweet.” 

“Meadowsweet!” Stevie exclaims. “Fuck, I knew what it was.” 

“How do you know?” Same asks..

“I don’t really, but I remember reading some lore once, mentioned the herb and paganism. I don’t think it’s good...you know, considering what’s going on now.”

“Yeah, yeah. Pagon lore.” 

“Wow, amazing.” Dean says flatly as he stares between Sam and your sister. You smile in amusement before sitting next to Dean at the table, drinking some coffee he had brought for you and Stevie. 

“They used meadowsweet for human sacrifices.” Sam explains. 

“So, it’s not evil Santa then?” You ask.

“It’s not Father Christmas from the village..so probably not.” Dean says. “What exactly is it?”

“Kind of like a chum for their Gods.” 

“What’s the point in using that in Christamas wreaths?” Stevie asks, joining you three at the table. 

“It’s tradition I guess. Every christmas tradition is pagan.” Sam explains. 

“Christmas is Jesus’ birthday.” Dean purses his lips as he walks over to Sam. 

“Ah, see Jesus’s birthday is in the Fall.” Stevie says, as you three turn to look at her. “What, I know everything okay?” 

“Yeah, besides it was actually the winter solstice festival-”

“Alright, can we get back on track?” You ask, smiling at the brothers. “The pagans, the meadowsweet?”

“Right.” Sam says. 

“So, a Pagon God maybe?” Stevie asks. 

“A God? Well that’s a first.” You furrow your brows. 

“Don’t believe in a God?” Dean asks. 

“I live life like this,” you turn to Dean and explain. “I kinda won’t believe it till I see with my own eyes, some proof. Like the spirits and monsters and demons.” 

“Oh I know…” he nods. “Not judging.”

“So, I’m thinking Pagon God.” Sam confirms. 

“If you’re saying Pagon God and mentioning the winter solstice, my guess is god of the winter solstice.” Stevie says. 

“Yeah...name is Hold Nickar.” 

As the conversation goes on, you reach back for the lore book re-reading some sections about the winter solstice and the human sacrifices. Your eye catches that the God is supposed to give something in return for the sacrifice yo make for the person - weather change. Then it clicks. Arriving in Ypsilanti days ago and noticing no heavy snow or harsh weather anywhere. Just when you stand up and walk to the motel door and open it, Dean looks out the window just as Sam mentions mild weather. 

“No storms, no heavy snow…” You inch back and shut the door.  

“No snow in the middle of December.” Dean points. “In the middle of Michigan.”

“It’s definitely the Pagon God then.” Stevie jumps to her feet. “How the hell are we gonna kill a God?” 

“Sam?”

“Bobby’s actually working on that for us.”

“I love that old man.” Stevie smiles. “So I guess our next move, we figure out where and who is selling those wreaths.” 

“You think they’re selling them on purpose?” Dean asks her. 

“Probably? I don’t know. We just gonna find out and find out fast.”

“Yeah, figure it out before there’s a fourth victim.” You say. “We’ll split up again, yeah?” 

Dean stares at you, “You wanna-” 

“Sam and I will go into town, find a card store or some christmas shops. You and Stevie can wait for a call from Bobby, do some more digging.”

Dean coughs as you ignored him. You knew he would want to split up with you again, but after Stevie had brought up your repressed feelings for Dean, and it being christmas season, you didn’t really want to wallow in any of that. It’s ironic, you heading into town where everything you’re surrounded by is decorations. But you’re not sure how long you can sit in a motel with hot air from the rusty heat filling the room. 

You make your way to the door, waiting for Sam to grab his jacket. 

“You better hand the phone over to Stevie when Bobby calls.” You look at Dean with a soft smile. 

“Of course.” 

And with that out of the way, Sam and you had left the motel room and made your way into town with him driving your truck as your wrist was still healing from the last case. It was silent in the truck. Both of you reeling on the inside about Dean and this Pagon God christmas case, filled with anxiety and exhaustion. You were thinking this better be over with, smoothly and fast. All you want and need...is sleep.

---

AO3 LINK: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27785824/chapters/68283436

TAGLIST (if you want to be added, or removed let me know in my DM): 

@akshi8278 @deanswaywardgirl @canonboobs @vikkiwalker 

[felsdumpsterfire]

Can you draw/do a headcannon about protag 2 sandwiched by the best bois(Takemaru😳, Daisuke😍,Krampus😻,Jacob😘) please?

Ok, ok, I'll probs come back to this a draw it later, but like, I could not figure out a good angle for all of them to fit in the picture, so for now, draling anon, you get 👏 H E A D C A N O N S 👏

You know what fuck it, you get a scenario because this is good as fuck (andIfeelbadfornotdrawinganything)

Also, fair warning, it gets a little spicey towards the end, so... Yeah! Enjoy!

How they got into this situation alluded all five of them; all they knew was that it was cramped, sweaty, they couldn't move, and there was no way to get out.

Protag 2 let out a frustrated huff, her face pressed into the valley of Krampus' pecs. She felt a twinge of pity for him: even through his fur and thick skin of scars, she could feel heat radiating from him. She could only assume it was from embarrassment and she hoped that he wouldn't faint on them.

She could feel Jacob shift against the side of her. She tried to glance at him but all she saw was the tease of the light skin of his neck that peaked past the deep of his hood. “You see anything?” She said, sounding muffled against Krampus’ chest. She could feel his skin crawl. 

She heard Jacob sigh. “Nothing.”

A huff. She felt trembling from behind her and, though she knew it most likely wouldn’t work, tried to look back at Daisuke. “You ok, Suke?”

It took him a minute to form anything coherent, scrambling with words spilling from his tongue in a jumbled mess until he finally strung together a simple answer: “Yes.” There was a lack of confidence to it and she could feel the heat radiating from him too, even hotter then Krampus if possible. 

“We’ll figure it out ok?”

“...Yeah.”

What to do, what to do. “Hey, Take, I’m going to try and move my arm, ok?”

She heard a grunt in return. Takemaru had been very quite and she couldn’t figure out if it was because his shyness was getting to him or if he was trying to figure out how to get out. Most likely a mix of both. 

She started to wiggle her arm, seeing how much room she had. She grimaced as she brushed against Takemaru’s stomach, feeling the hard abs against the skin of her arms. Apparently she couldn’t move very much. 

Maybe there was a hole or something at the top... She wriggled her face against Krampus’ chest, feeling the sweat of her cheek smear against his chest, she heard a sharp inhale. “Sorry,” she mumbled, by the time she rested her chin against his chest so she could look up, she thought steam was going to come out of his ears. She couldn’t see anything that indicated that it had an opening; no thin filters of light, no thin cracks in the edges of the, what she could presume, box. She was about to lean back some, see just how much wiggle room she had to move, when she felt Daisuke shift against her back. 

Good lord, he was pressed flush against her. She could feel everything. 

Hyper awareness began to settle in and she realized that she was pressed flush against them all. Her hands twitched to hold onto something to ground herself, but she was caged in. 

Daisuke shifted again, this time, pressing her harder into Krampus. His hands ended up resting on her thighs, she felt electrified where his calloused hands touched the skin of her thighs (that weren’t covered by the stockings she wore. She was getting ready for school when suddenly she was poofed in here with the four boys- really, how did she get in this mess-?), she gasped when he moved under her skirt. 

“Quit moving, kid!” Takemaru finally snapped, which made Daisuke jump and grind against her backside. She bit her lip, her fists wringing into the hem of her skirt. 

She was beet red, she could feel his chest shudder and the baritone of his voice and the tremble of the panic in it. “I-I’m sorry! I just- my back is starting to hurt!”

A low chuckle came from Jacob. “Of course, it is a tad cramped in here, isn’t it?” Her skin prickled when she felt Jacob press his hips against the side of her waist. “We all need to move once in a while, don’t we Takemaru?”

She heard Takemaru growl, his fingers thumbing the edge of her skirt. “Sure.”

Her thighs trembled as she felt a low purr come from Krampus, a half hard length pressed against her stomach. Another move from the back and she wasn’t sure anymore if Daisuke was as shy as she initially though he was. Her thighs began to tremble even more, an uncomfortable warmth flared in her belly and a dampness rested in between the space of her thighs. She felt like there was cotton in her mouth and her fingers trembled as they held onto the sides of Krampus’ pants. 

This is too much. This is too much-

 And then all at once the cramped space was gone, all of the boys’ hands scrambling to get a hold of Portag 2, and they landed on the ground with a chorus of grunts.

“Sorry about that!” A voice piped up. Protag 2 looked up to see a girl in a school uniform and purple hair waving her arms around panicking. “I didn’t mean that at all! I’m still getting used to my rule so I accidentally locked you all in there!” 

She let her head fall onto Krampus’ chest an exasperated sigh leaving her. Just another day, she supposed.

[stripper-patrick]

Girlfriend✂️ Charles Melton

Warnings: smut, language, blurb, face sitting/riding, riding actual dick, choking, dom! Reader, boss bitch energy

So I’m on my period and I shattered my phone which completely wrecked me I cried and everything but here this for y’all I’m sorry it sucks and ima try to get my phone fixed tmrw

Relationship: Charles Melton x black plus sized reader

I’m up watching You on Netflix on my computer when my phone chimes.

I pick it up reading the message.

Charles🐢- hey are you busy?

Me: at midnight? Yea I’m walking my goldfish 🙃

Charles🐢: 🖕🏻

Me: when where and how hard 😂

Charles🐢: now and sit on my face while you’re at it👅

My eyes grow wide and I reread the sentence a few times before actually giving a response.

Me: are you high? Or drunk

Charles🐢: no ma’am

Me: what about Cara?

Cara is his girlfriend and my sworn enemy since high school. She always thought I wanted her man and she was wrong. But since I do have my chance at revenge and trying some new dick why not?

Charles🐢: she’s out right now but she’ll be there for the party tomorrow night speaking of are you coming?

Me: yea

Charles🐢: ok cool so what do ya say? Wanna come over and ride my face?🏇🏽

Me: I’ll be over shortly 🥵

I get up and close my laptop grabbing my shoes. I pause in my tracks and take off my underwear and bra leaving me in a tank top and sweats. I go downstairs grabbing my keys and head to the car.

...

I knock on the door and wait patiently. My joggers hang low on my waist and my tank top is slightly cropped exposing my lower stomach.

Charles opens the door with bed head and no shirt and a smirk played on his face.

“Hi” i smile

“Hey come in” he steps to the side letting me walk in. I go past him and turn around putting my hands across my chest.

“So you’re positive you’re not under the influence?”

“Positive” he closes the door then looks at me

“And your positive you wanna do this”

“Absolutely” he nods

“Ok. Lead the way” he takes my hand leading the way to the room.

Charles opens the door and turns on his lamp before sitting on the bed. I lean on the door frame just admiring his body.

“Come here” he rasps I walk over to him kissing his pink plump lips. In this moment time stopped. I’m really kissing my best friend.

He pulls me on top of him laying back so I’m straddling his waist. I can feel his dick rubbing against my thigh getting harder by the second. I grind down on him and his hand moves down my stomach to caress my bare pussy. He smiles into the kiss. I’d be lying if I said my head wasn’t racing.

His middle finger strokes my clit making me moan into the kiss.

“Clothes off now” he whispers in my ear.

I take off my shirt throwing it on the floor next are my pants and Charles is still laid back waiting for me to take his face into my control.

“Now come ride my face” I bite my lip and move up to straddle his face. His tongue moves from my clit to my entrance slurping my walls.

My eyes close just getting a better feel for the pleasure. My body twitches every once in a while. His hands move up to the cup my breasts rolling my nipples between his index finger and thumb.

“Charles” I moan. My hips rotate around and he moves back up to my clit. I wrap my fingers in his hair pulling him forward making him chuckle “don’t stop please”

I’ve never had my pussy ate this good. My breathing picks up. His hands move from my breasts to my ass gripping it. He slaps it and I moan. My legs shake at the pain.

“Fuck again please” he hums and slaps it again. I lean back putting my hands on his hips and dropping my head back.

He makes filthy slurping sounds on my pussy only making me moan louder. My nails dig into his hips and I sit back up feeling my legs shake. I lean forward moaning his name as I cum in his mouth.

“Right there” he keeps the same pace somehow making me cum harder. My stomach caves and I scream. He chuckles slurping me dry until I tap out.

I straddle his waist again and his hard on is fully erect. I can almost feel it throbbing through his shorts.

“Delicious”

“I wanna ride you”

“Take control baby” I pull down his shorts watching his cock bounce to his stomach. I jerk him a few times then grab a condom from his drawer rolling it out.

I slide it on and grab the dick rubbing it against my pussy. Charles sits up on his elbows biting his lip. I sit on it allowing him to open me up. His eyes close and he chews on his bottom lip harder gripping the sheets. I start bouncing up and down on going fast.

“Just like that” he moans holding my hips. I rock on him moaning. I smile and swirl my hips.

“Look at you riding my dick”

“Yes I love it” I moan grinding harder. I lean forward and put my hand around his neck. His mouth parts and he lets out a beautiful moan.

“Fuck” I spell coconut and then feel him grip my hips and pound me out.

“Oh god keep going” he grabs my hand and tightens the grip around his neck.

I roll my hips meeting his thrusts and my legs shake again. I scream out watching my juices gush down his pelvis. He grips the sheets eliciting the prominent veins in his arms.

Charles bites his lip and I feel his legs shake under me. “Fuck” he moans

“what’s my name” I keep riding watching him grip the sheets harder

“Y/N” his chest is rising and falling as he closes his eyes looking worn out.

“Fuck I can’t anymore” he moans. I stop riding him and smile. He pulls me down kissing me.

“Stay the night”

“Ain’t your girl coming?”

“I’m willing to take that chance”

“Nah ima head home plus I got stuff to do tomorrow”

“But you won’t be able to walk” I get up and roll my eyes

“At least I did it myself” I wink I put on my clothes and kiss his cheek “I’ll see you tomorrow”

“Ard text me when you get home” I nod and leave out.

....

“Girl he what?” My best friend Shawnee asks

“Yes he told me to come over and ride my face” I adjust my bag on my shoulder

“And what you do?”

“I rode that bitch like a nascar driver ahh” I stick my tongue out with a smile “nah he got some good dick game and his tongue is nice”

“Girl let’s wow him with these outfits tonight” she looks in a store and pulls me towards it.

...

I’m finally getting home and I get a text from Charles.

Charles🐢: hey I miss you

Me: I know I leave that affect on people😘 I’ll see you tonight

Charles🐢: yes ma’am

I shake my head and take a shower beginning my process to get ready. I shave and exfoliate lathering my body with sweet scented soap.

I come out and oil down my body sealing it in with lotion afterwards. I grab a thong and my lace bra sliding into that before I grab my outfit.

Look in the mirror smoothing out the wrinkles and go to my closet grabbing my black fuzzy heels to complete the look. I grab my red purse and top it off with some dark red lipstick to pop the outfit.

Shawnee texts me and says she’s on her way there. We made plans to meet there.

I get in the car and drive off going to get gas first before I head to the party.

....

I open the door walking through to see bodies dancing on bodies and people at the pool and drinking.

Shawnee spots me and smiles “Damn Mami you really tryna get pregnant tonight”

“I mean I can do a lil something something”

“I seen your man and Krampus- I mean Cara outside by the pool Wanna go make a debut”

“Yea why not” we get through the large crowd and go outside to see Charles and his girl krypt keeper sitting on the sofa next to the pool. She’s all up on him as he looks at me.

His jaw drops and I wink at him. I walk over and sit on the other side of Charles. Shawnee gets a drink watching me on the side.

“Can I help you?” Cara says

“Nah. How you doin baby” I look to Charles smile

“I’m good how are you” he hugs me and I kiss his neck privately.

“I’m good did you want a drink?”

“Yea sure bourbon” he says

“Gotchu” I get up and make sure to wiggle my hips a bit more because I feel him watching. “Bourbon and wine please”

“How’s it going” Shawnee asks

“She’s being a bitch per usual”

“Do I need to get my sneakers?” I shake my head and the bartender passes me my drinks

“Nah just be ready just in case” she nods and I walk back over to see the pair standing. She kisses him harshly and I hand over his drink. I’m tired of this bitch playin with me.

“How does my pussy taste?” Charles chokes on his liquor and her eyes go wide

“What did you just say to me”

“How does my pussy taste I rode his face like a nascar driver last night then I rode that dick like a rollercoaster since you wanna keep playin”

“Yea you wish bitch” me and her both look at Charles and he looks down “it’s true?”

“I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t” I shrug “be ready tonight and bring my dick”

“Underwear?” He asks

“Nope” I walk away flipping my hair eluding the ultimate bad bitch energy.

[emgkheadcannons]

Their First Christmas

Colson has no idea what to get Marshall for Christmas. The man has everything he could want, and if he didn’t then he could go out and buy it. Yeah, all the help Marshall has done to make a better living with his art, has helped him financially, and he can comfortably afford a gift for the man, but what! He has been racking his brain, to no avail. He knew he could draw something for Marshall but whatever he tried to draw didn’t feel right, or didn’t look right to him. Christmas was four and a half weeks away, he needed to pick a project or find something else for him.

He could do a mural on one of the walls of Marshall's house, like a superhero one in his comic book room, but he hasn’t been to Marshall’s house, or even seen the room.

He could buy him some clothes, but Colson wants the gift to be more personal than just some shirts or sweats.

It finally hits him, the day before Thanksgiving. He could do a custom paint job on a pair of shoes. Marshall loves Nike, especially Air Maxes. He has some friends who customize clothes and shoes, who have a lot of the supplies and could help him. He would have to also buy any specific dye, thread, paint, and fabric he might need, but the basics would be there.

Colson sends a few quick texts, and a phone call before looking up who had the best sales on Air Maxes for Black Friday. With a plan in place Colson feels better, and starts to think of a mock up for the shoes.

A week later Colson has the shoes, Nike Air Max 90, a few different designs, and his friends are game to help him with his project. First he has to decide on a design. Did he want to do an artsy design and have them be more of a display shoe, or did he want to do something more practical that Marshal could wear all the time. Some of the designs he liked more than the others. One incorporates all of Marshall’s albums. There was a Detroit themed design, but being from Cleveland, Colson just couldn't bring himself to make that one. He also had one that was based off of his comic, since that is what brought them together, but Colson wants to save that. If these shoes turn out well he will make those as a thank you present for the older man.

Colson decided on a blue ombre design that was very wearable. The main body of the shoe would fade from white to dark blue, with black, white, and gray accents.

It took Colson about a week and a half to finish the shoes, but the end result was perfect. He even made a custom box for them. Now he just has to wait to exchange presents.

******

Marshall couldn’t decide what to get Colson for Christmas. Should he get him art supplies, if so which ones? Should he get him a couple of oversized sweaters that he loves to wear? Was it okay for him to buy Colson jewelry? How much can he buy for Colson before he makes the younger man uncomfortable? He has no idea, or too many ideas.

Hailey and Whitteny drag him out shopping with them for some last minute gifts. Marshall sees a display for wool socks. They are really soft to the touch. Marshall’s first thought was that Colson would love these. He grabs a couple of pairs, before he heads over to the sweaters. Marshall has noticed Colson has been wearing more sweaters as it gets colder. He finds a nice soft, thick sweater.

As he goes to find his daughters, something catches his eye.

It’s a black leather jacket with a pink panel on one sleeve and a red one on the other, and a big yellow poster looking panel, for the diesel theater on the back. It screamed Colson. Marshall grabs it, along with a sweater, and some warm socks he had already picked out.

His daughters notice the clothes but don’t say anything. Once home he sits down to wrap the gifts, excited to see Colson’s face when he opens them.

******

A few days before Christmas, Marshall is over at Colson’s apartment, trading off on which movie is next. Colson sings along to all the songs in White Christmas, which Marshall finds adorable. They are snacking on some homemade sugar cookies, and hot cocoa Colson made. As Marshal looks around the apartment, he notices all the cute decorations. The apartment is small but homey. Colson has a small Christmas tree overflowing with a miss mass of ornaments, there is garland hanging under his tv, and he even has a sprig of mistletoe hanging near the doorway. He can’t help but think what it would be like to catch Colson under the mistletoe.

“Hey, want to exchange gifts?” the blond asks.

Marshall notices that the movie is over and the credits are now rolling. He had zoned out thinking out kissing the pretty artist, on the couch next to him.

“Sure, that sounds great.”

Colson gets up, and goes over to his tree, and picks up a box with blue paper, and snowflakes all over it. Marshall does the same but grabs two boxes with red and white stripes on them.

Once back on the couch, Marshall hands over his boxes. “You go first.”

Colson shrugs, lifting the first box, rips the paper off, and lifts the lid. Inside are some warm looking socks and a very nice sweater. “Oh, man thanks. This is so perfect.” Colson takes off the sweater he was wearing and slides the new one on, giving Marshall a bit of a show. “It’s so warm, and soft, and so are these socks” he says as he wraps his arms around himself.

“I’m glad you like it, but don’t forget you have another box.”

Colson goes for the second box, much like the first, rips the paper off, lifts the lid, but then freezes. He slowly lifts the jackets out of the box, looking between it and Marshall.

“How did you Know?”

Marshall rubs the back of his head. “I didn’t. I just saw it and thought of you.”

Colson gets up to try the jacket on, and it fits perfectly. He pins around and shows it off to Marshall, happy that his gift is such a success. Colson then goes in for a hug, wrapping his arms around the older man. “Thank you. I love my gifts.” Marshall returns the hug and they stay there for a moment before breaking apart. Colson slides the jacket off, folding it neatly, and placing it back in the box and setting both of his boxes on the coffee table.

“Your turn.” Colson says as he hands him a box.

Marshall removes the paper to see a box with the MGK on it. He looked questioningly over at the artist.

“My friends helped me make the box.”

Marshall opens the box and is greeted with some custom Nike Air Max 90’s. He picks one up to get a better look.

“Damn, these are nice. Where did you get these?”

“I… uh… customized them myself.”

“These are dope. Thank you Colson.”

Marshall snaps a few pictures, then tries them on. They fit perfectly. He models them for Colson, like the younger man did with his sweater and jacket.

“I’m glad you like them.”

They clean up the wrapping, and settle back down for another move. The next movie they watch is Marshall’s choice and he chooses Krampus. Colson has told him about the German folklore, and he thinks the movie is fun, he didn’t realize that the blond can’t handle horror movies. The more they watch, the closer Colson scoots to him. About 30 minutes in he is flush against Marshall’s side, with his feet tuct to the side. Marshall puts his arm around him. They sit like this for most of the movie, with Colson sometimes hiding his face in Marshall’s shoulder.

The credits begin to roll, Marshall looks at Colson, who has his face buried in his shoulder. He takes a moment to appreciate having the comic artist so close.

“Hey, the movies over. You can look.”

Colson raises his head, looking the older man in the eye, their lips only a few inches apart. Marshall’s breath hitches, Colson looks like a dream. His face is flush from hiding it, his eyes have a watery sheen to them, and his lips are red and slightly swollen, probably from him biting them. Marshall can’t help himself. He leans forward, sealing their lips together. Colson returns the kiss immediately. They move and shift, continuing their kiss.

Marshall’s is now leaning against the armrest, one hand tangling in the blond’s hair, the other resting on his waist. Colson’s hands are grabbing the rapper's shirt tightly, as he practically lays on Marshall’s chest.

When they finally break apart, both are gasping for breath. Marshall looks down, cracks a smile, and chuckles. Colson looks at him quizzically.

“If I had known that would have been your response, I would have kissed you the day we met.”

“You ignored me the day we met. Remember?” Colson snickers. “But yeah. I wish we had done that sooner.”

They share another kiss. This one is sweeter, and shorter than the previous one. Once they have pulled back Colson asks, “So where do we go from here?”

“Depends. What do you want?”

“I don’t want this to be a one night stand, or a friends’ with benefits, or anything like that.”

“Same here. I would really like to try dating you Colson. Would you be okay with that?”

“Are you asking me out?” Colson asks with a grin.

Marshall sighs deeply, knowing what he is getting into, but still replies. “Yes, I am asking you out.”

“Good. The answer is yes by the way. I would love to go on another date with you.”

“Another?”

“Yeah, I’m counting this one as our first.”

“Good idea.”

Marshall grabs the controller and selects Klaus as their next movie. They share a few more kisses, then Colson lays his head back down on Marshall’s chest, and the older man starts to run his fingers through his hair.

The two sit there for a while, before Colson speaks again.

“Hey, Marshall?”

“Hmm.”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, to you too, Colson.”

The shoes

[therainroguefanfiction]

⁂ Winter Romance (Mukuro Rokudo)

Genre: Fluff, Romance ☁

Word Count: 2,371 ☁

Pairing: Reader x Mukuro ☁

World: Katekyo Hitman Reborn! ☁

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

“Did you hear?”

“That’s twice! Isn’t Vindicare supposed to be a heavily guarded prison?”

“Apparently not.”

“What should we do?”

“What if he comes for us?”

Every mafia family in Italy was in a state of panic, knowing full well the power of the young illusionist. Whispers and rumors ripped through Italy like a raging fire, stirring up feelings of worry and fear in those that knew about the damage, the destruction, he had caused. Of course, being in Italy at the time, Dino caught wind of the rumors fairly easily. Being worried himself, he hopped onto a plane with Romario and headed to Japan to warn his little brother.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

Dino sat at the kitchen table across from a bleary-eyed, half-asleep Tsunayoshi Sawada, who was barely able to catch what the blonde was saying. It was about ten minutes after one in the morning and Tsuna had been sound asleep in his bed. That was until a loud and urgent banging on the front door woke him up. Ignoring the pain in his face from connecting with the floor, Tsuna had jumped up and rushed – nearly tripping – down the stairs, trying to stop the noise before it woke up the whole house.

“Tsuna? Did you hear me?”

“Huh?” Tsuna blinked, rubbing the sleep from his half-lidded orbs.

“Dame-Tsuna, wake up!” Reborn kicked the back of Tsuna’s head, causing his face to slam into the kitchen table. He moved to sit on the back of his head, a serious expression on his face, “Is it true, Dino?”

“I’m not a hundred percent sure, but with the way the other families are acting… I’d say the chance is pretty high. Mukuro Rokudo already escaped Vindicare once, but was caught. Maybe he used that time to work out the details that would set him free for good. Either way, he’s perfectly capable.” Dino paused, chewing on his bottom lip, “Do you think he’ll come after Tsuna again?”

“…” Reborn was silent. No one knew what went through Mukuro’s mind, not even the all-knowing Reborn. “We’ll stay on guard, just in case.”

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

You walked down the street towards your apartment. In one hand was a steaming sticky bun that helped shield you from the cold. In your other hand was a white plastic bag holding drinks, snacks, and a pack of cigarettes. Your eyes were closed as you hummed happily without a care in the world. The night was quiet and peaceful, maybe a little too quiet.

The sound of a trash can being knocked over and hitting the pavement made your happy expression drop, causing you to whip around in surprise. All you saw, however, was a stray cat running away from the fallen can.

‘A mafioso being scared by a stray cat. I think I’m losing my touch!’ you let out a puff of air, shaking your head before continuing down the deserted street toward your apartment.

“Kufufu~”

The strange sound was faint, like it was far off, but echoed throughout the empty neighborhood. You froze mid-step, eyes wide and alert, searching the area for the source of the sound. After a few minutes passed without locating the source, you shook your head again and continued on. Was it just your imagination?

‘Maybe I shouldn’t have let Gokudera talk me into watching Krampus last night,’

Little did you know, a certain pineapple-haired male was watching you intently from the shadows, an amused smirk upon his lips and his red orb glowing under the pale moonlight. Mukuro was the snowy owl in the middle of the night, stalking his prey while waiting for the perfect chance to strike. You were the silvery mouse, scurrying along down the street with no knowledge of the predator that loomed over you.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

You made it to your apartment without any further distractions. Flicking the light on and throwing the bag onto the couch, you let out an involuntary shiver at the temperature of the room; it felt like you had just entered Antarctica! The air in the room was not only freezing but heavy too, making it hard for you to breathe. Your limbs were heavy, weighed down, your head filled with fog.

Shaking your head, you managed to reach the thermostat, jacking it up as high as it would go. It clicked and knocked a few times from not being used for a while before finally kicking on, filling the room with warm air.

You rubbed your covered arms, glancing around the room with uneasy eyes. A strange feeling of being watched washed over you, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. That feeling was horrible when you were out in the open, but it was ten times worse being in an enclosed area.

‘You’re letting your mind run wild,’ you told yourself, shaking your head before heading into the bathroom. Turning on the water so it could get hot, you began to strip the clothes off your body, letting them fall into a neat pile near the sink. Just as you stepped into the shower, the room grew cold again and the feeling of being watched returned, much stronger than before. You felt very uneasy, goosebumps erupting across your flesh.

Even with the thick shower curtain closed from end to end, the uneasiness lingered, but you tried to push that away and continue the shower. After rinsing the shampoo from your hair, you stepped out with a towel over your dripping locks. You stood in front of the sink, wiping the fog from the mirror before reaching for the toothbrush. When you looked back up, you saw Mukuro Rokudo in the mirror, his eyes shining while he licked his lips as if he were starving.

You gulped, whipping around with wide eyes, only to find no one there. Putting a shaky hand over your racing heart, you closed your eyes and took a few shaky breaths to try and calm your nerves. What was wrong with you tonight? You didn’t understand it.

“It must be bakadera,” you muttered to yourself, glaring at the toothbrush in your hand, “He’s driven me crazy!”

After finishing up in the bathroom without any more crazy feelings or interruptions, you returned to the bedroom, slipping into a pair of silk pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt before sliding under the covers. A good night’s sleep should put your mind at ease and, hopefully, bury the strange events that had occurred that night.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

Your mind was hazy, clouded. You didn’t know where you were. Everything was black. There was no light, no sound, no anything. You turned in circles, trying to find a way out of the darkness, but it was as if you were walking in place. You attempted to call out, but your voice failed you. You couldn’t even hear your own thoughts.

Everything had been muted as if your life had been turned into a silent film.

Something caught your eye and you glanced over to the left, noticing a small speck of white light. Slowly, it grew and grew until it finally covered the darkness. It was so bright you had to shield your eyes. When the light faded and you cracked open your eyes, you found yourself in an unfamiliar place, vastly different from the darkness you had just left.

You stood at the base of a tall mountain. Trees towered toward the sky, their dark leaves covered in freshly fallen snow which glowed under the full moon. The ground beneath your feet was covered in snow up to the knee, making it hard to move. To your left, a few feet away, was a small wooden cabin. Red velvet curtains covered the windows, but you could see the flame of a candle flickering across them.

The wind blew, rustling the weighed down tree leaves. As your body registered the cold, it started to shiver. You hugged yourself in a futile attempt to keep warm, but you were only in a pair of thin pajamas, and it had to be at least minus thirty degrees. How had you fallen asleep in a nice warm bed, only to wake up standing at the base of a snowy mountain? Had you sleepwalked there? You had no history of doing so and the thought just seemed so crazy!

You slowly moved through the snow towards the cabin, feet feeling like blocks of ice through the thin, low cut socks. Just as you reached for the door handle, you froze.

Hoot, hoot.

Glancing to your right, you noticed a large owl perched on a nearby tree, white in color, staring down at you. What stood out against the pure white coat was its oddly colored orbs; one a dark blue, while the other was a blood red. When the creature’s eyes met yours, it fluffed out its wings and hooted again.

The creature seemed familiar, but with your mind in such a haze, you couldn’t quite place it. A chill crept down your back.

Feeling a sense of urgency, you pushed the door open and bolted inside, shutting it quickly behind you. Warmth settled over your body almost instantly and a small sigh of content passed your lips.

‘My emotions feel like a rollercoaster right now, flip-flopping all over the place,’ you frowned, letting your eyes scan the room.

The cabin had a welcoming, almost calming feel to it. On the right side of the cabin, against the wall, was a large fireplace that had been lit and was cackling happily. Velvety blood-red curtains covered each window and below them sat small tables. A red cloth had been set on each of them, and there were about three white roman candles flickering on each one. The same setup was on the table beside the bed that sat in the corner of the room, on the left side. The bedsheets were also blood-red in color.

There didn’t seem to be anyone around and, with your bones still frozen, you decided it wouldn’t hurt to take residence in the warm sheets. You approached the bed, the wooden floorboards creaking under your weight. You reached for the sheets when the door swung open. You heard the footsteps enter the cabin before the door was shut again, but your body was frozen in place, eyes wide in surprise.

The footsteps grew closer until you could feel a person behind you, could feel their breath on the back of your neck. It created goosebumps on your arms and you swallowed hard to try and stave off the fear. A familiar chuckle reached your ears but before you could react, the person’s arms were tight around your stomach, a chin resting on your shoulder.

“Welcome to my world, my little snowflake~” Mukuro spoke into your ear, his voice husky and low.

“M-Mukuro!” you tried to break free but the male’s grasp was far too strong, “Let go of me, you damned pineapple!”

“Kufufu~ That’s not a very nice thing to say.” He chuckled, his tone mocking. His grip tightened and he moved to place a butterfly kiss on the back of your neck. He trailed a line of kisses up the side of your neck and jaw, but that wasn’t enough to satisfy the male’s hunger. Not even close.

One arm tightened its grip while his other reached up to grip your chin. Forcing you to look at Mukuro, he leaned in and claimed your lips as his own. You froze, eyes wide and face exploding with color. As Mukuro pulled away, you caught him off guard by smacking the back of your hand against his crotch, taking this as a chance to free yourself, but Mukuro wasn’t going to let his prey get away from him. He had been waiting far too long and had gone through hell and back to get to you. There was no way you were going to get away.

You tried to bolt toward the door but Mukuro was faster, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back to throw you onto the bed. Your face was bright red, glowing brighter when Mukuro crawled on top of you, straddling your waist. His hips pressed down roughly against yours, earning an involuntary groan, which you tried your best to bite back. The illusionist chuckled, leaning down and nipping at your neck. He bit softly at first before biting a bit rougher, not enough to draw blood, but more than enough to earn pleasureful groans from his new lover.

“Oh? Do you like that, my little snowflake?” Mukuro questioned, biting your ear as his hand slowly slid down your stomach, stopping at the hem of your pajama bottoms.

“O-Of course not! G-Get off of me, damn it!” You attempted to growl as you pushed at the male’s chest, but it came out as more of a whimper than anything.

“Hmm? Are you sure about that?” Mukuro purred, sliding his hand up and down your stomach, drawing patterns across your skin.

Your lips parted to say that you were sure, but the words didn’t come. You’d be lying to yourself if you said that you didn’t find the man attractive, that you hadn’t fantasized about him the last time he was around.

“Y/N,” hearing him say your name sent shivers down your spine. You loved the way he said your name. “You now belong to me, kufufu~”

“Wait, what – ” your words slurred as everything around you began to fade and the last thing you heard was Mukuro’s strange laughter.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

Your eyes snapped open, staring at the ceiling of your bedroom. You remembered everything clearly, from the scents to the feeling of his hands on your body. Had it really only just been a dream?

Your heart skipped a beat as you remembered how warm his hands had been, the butterflies that had erupted inside your stomach. You rolled over to face the wall your bed sat against, pulling the covers up to your nose.

After you finally fell back asleep, Mukuro stepped out from the shadows, standing over your sleeping form. He watched you for a few moments before smirking, his lips brushing your ear.

“Sweet dreams, my little snowflake. Kufufu~”

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

📜 Read more by checking out my masterlist 📜

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[softyoongiionly]

Tinsel and Tourniquets ✨

Yoongi has lived for 727 years and, he has yet to understand why anyone would willingly ruin a perfectly good tree by ordaining it with stupid little trinkets. Hopefully, your holiday cheer is enough for the both of you...

Pairing:Reaper! Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Fluff, supernatural au

Word Count: 3.1k

Universe: Tea and Tourniquets 

Warnings: supernatural themes, language, suggestive content.

Based on: these asks x x

A/N: Hello and welcome to another installment of Merry Crizzmizz 2019 ! I’m so excited for the rest of the fics and, I wanna thank all of you for sending in your requests, I hope you enjoy what I’ve come up with. This can be read as a stand alone but, I highly recommend reading Tea and Tourniquets  as it’s based in that universe. Happy Holidays ladz!!!

Back to the masterlist! (click here)

deep  dark, sweet sweet slumber…

God, if he could just marry sleep, Yoongi swears he would.

It’s so peaceful, so dreamy, so relaxing...

He never wants it to end.

He thinks he should get with a few sorcerers and, create some sort of sleep dimension where weary souls, like him, could sleep the years away.

He really doesn’t want to move, he’s never felt more relaxed in his-

What the hell was that?

Yoongi’s brow furrows against his pillow as the sound of laughter echoes up the spiral staircase into his bedroom.

Jimin knows better than to laugh before noon, it’s far too disruptive.  

He decides to ignore it, burying his face further and further into his pillow before the twinkling sound asserts itself through his walls once again. 

Jimin may know better but, you certainly do not.

Yoongi groans, wracking his brain for what could possibly be amusing you at this hour.

Its then, he hears something peculiar, something that makes him sit up straight in his bed,

Is that…the sound of a raven?

What the hell is a raven doing in his house?

He’s quick to get down stairs, not bothering to change from his sleep clothes or tend to the critical case of bedhead he’s dealing with.  

 Yoongi’s confusion only increases when he notices the state of his living room.  

 Why on earth is everything covered in heaps of silver garland and, why are there Poinsettias EVERYWHERE????

 He’s quite sure he didn’t plant any and, they definitely don’t grow naturally out of his walls.

 “Y/N???” He calls urgently, swallowing the bit of nervousness at the back of his throat..

 He would have sensed an intruder wouldn’t he?

 “Y/N?” Yoongi’s voice is loud when he needs it to be so, he’s sure that if you’re in his home, you’d be able to hear him.

 “In here!”  

 He feels a little silly at the amount of relief that washes over him as soon as he hears your voice.  

The sound is coming from his kitchen which isn’t out of the ordinary for you, considering that he’s caught you rummaging through his refrigerator before. 

However, the sight he’s met with upon opening the kitchen door is EXTREMELY out of the ordinary.

You’re standing behind the island on his kitchen, covered in a powdery white substance that Yoongi doesn’t recognize, his usually IMMACULATE countertops are littered with ridiculous items and, worst of all...there are ravens...

Everywhere.

“Y/N! What on Earth are you doing?” He’s flustered, trying to get your attention away from the ravens, which are currently having their fill of a strange electric blue substance.  

They are RUINING his perfectly good crystal kitchenware.

“Yoongi! You’re awake!” You smile, making his heart wobble uncomfortably in his chest, “Merry Christmas!”

Oh...

Not this...

Anything but this...

Yoongi finds holiday’s to be a ridiculous concept.

A day dedicated to giving things away??? For free???

What is that teaching anyone???

“We don’t celebrate Christmas in Beneath...it’s a stupid holiday...” He grumbles, flinching when a raven squawks in Yoongi’s direction, it’s black beak covered with blue frosting, “Why are there so many ravens in my kitchen, I specifically asked Jimin to...”

Jimin’s maniacal laughter is heard then, interrupting Yoongi’s sentence and, although he’s been with Jimin for many years, the sound still makes his skin crawl.

“Merry Christmas my lord, I hope you enjoy your present, I know how much you love the macabre...”

Jimin is suddenly perched on Yoongi’s shoulder, disguised as a raven, winking at him as they make eye contact.

“You did this?!?!” Yoongi roars, shrugging him off, his face turned up in intense frustration, “You know how difficult is it so get rid of the ravens once they’re let in??? I hope you enjoy my company siren because, you’ll be spending another ten years with me unless you get them out.”

Jimin flies off of Yoongi’s shoulder, still giggling as he morphs back into his human form in mid-air.

“No! Yoongi don’t make them go yet, they’re very helpful...look they made this for you.” Your lips are pouted in protest, your hands holding out a silver plate containing a large cookie in the shape of a ‘Y’, “See? Y for Yoongi???”

Yoongi feels his lips twitch because, you kind of have that effect on him but, he withholds a smile and, settles for a smirk as he eyes the plate, “You’re telling me the ravens made this? What did they use, their beaks?”

Chewing on your bottom lip, you search your brain for a convincing response, “Well...they didn’t make it all on their own, I helped too but, they were very encouraging...”

He snorts, knowing you’re lying through your teeth but, he can’t find it within himself to argue, “Regardless of their baking skills, they still need to go, there may be only be a few of them now but, I promise you they will attract more of their friends...I don’t want my house infested again.”

Yoongi shoots a pointed look towards Jimin who just smirks defiantly, slinking over to you, “See? I told you he wouldn’t like your cookie Y/N...the lord of darkness has no time for fun.”

When Jimin places his hands on your shoulders, Yoongi feels his blood boil but, right as he’s about to curse Jimin in every language he knows, you pipe up, “Yoongi...I know you probably don’t like Christmas much but...its my favorite time of year and, I...” You twiddle your thumbs, glancing down towards the floor, “I usually celebrate it back home...”

Yoongi feels like the worst being in the observable universe for having called your favorite time of year stupid and, despite the overwhelming urge to kiss that little pout off of your lips, he controls himself and, lets out a deep sigh.

“Fine. You’re permitted to use my home for your cultural traditions but when you are done, everything must be put back the way you found it, especially this kitchen...” He asserts with a stern gaze, his arms crossing over his chest, “Jimin since you were kind of enough to give me a present this Christmas, I’d like to return the favor. You will clean this entire cottage from top to bottom when Y/N is through with her...Christmas..ing or whatever it is that humans do. Understood?”

You swear if Jimin was able to, he’d have smoke coming out of his ears, “I don’t think that’s  fair my lord...” He spits the word, annoyance wrinkling his usually ethereal features, “I’m only trying to keep your human happy considering you’ve done a poor job so far.”

Yoongi wants to rip Jimin’s stupid smirk off of his stupid face, “You’re in soul-correction siren,” He tilts his head arrogantly, “I don’t particularly care if you think something is fair. You can have your Christmas but, keep the noise at a minimum...I have work to do.”

Your heart sinks a little and, you aren’t really thinking as you rush over to Yoongi, placing a flour-covered hand on his arm, “Wait you’re not going to celebrate with us? I thought maybe you’d want to help decorate the tree or...something.”

Yoongi stops in his tracks, his skin tingling where you’ve touched him, his heart doing annoying things in his chest.

“He can’t join us Y/N, on Christmas he moonlights as Krampus...” Jimin pipes up, smirking proudly at his insult.

Before Yoongi can throw another threat Jimin’s way, you speak again, turning him towards you.

“No one should be alone on Christmas Yoongi...please?” Your fingers sort of curve around his forearm and, Yoongi honestly considers the fact that YOu might be a siren yourself because, he swears his never felt so weak around another being.

Rolling his eyes, he huffs out an exasperated sigh, one of his hands ruffling his hair, “Fine, but the ravens can’t stay, they are defecating all over my kitchen...”

At his response, you perk up and throw your arms around his small frame, “We’re gonna have so much fun!”

Yoongi feels an annoying amount of warmth in his chest but, he stays stiff through your display of affection, grumbling when it goes on a little too long.

“What exactly does Christmas include? Other than unnecessary gift giving, which I will not be taking part in…” He insists, brushing off the flour you left on his shirt.

You purse your lips in thought, tilting your head to the side, “Wellll, I guess we can start by getting a tree…do you have an axe anywhere?”

Yoongi’s eyes widen, “What on earth do you need an axe for? Is there some barbaric human ritual I don’t know about?”

At this, you laugh, shaking your head as you shuffle past Yoongi to gaze out the window, “No silly, we need an axe to get one of the trees down.”

He waves you off, grimacing as one of the ravens squawks expectantly at him, “Shut up…” Yoongi grumbles before shaking his head, “We can’t use the trees from the forest, they are infected with dark magic. But, I suppose…I can conjure one for you…”

Your face turns up in wonder as you glance down towards his hands, “You can do that?”

He feels a sense of pride wash over him, enjoying the look on your face more than he cares to admit, “I literally have the capability to open the doors to different dimensions and, you’re surprised I can conjure a tree?”

Jimin snorts, perching on the countertop, his now violet colored eyes rolling in annoyance, “And yet you can’t get rid of a conspiracy of ravens without my help...”

Yoongi shoots a glare Jimin’s way, “You know exactly why I can’t get rid of the ravens and, besides,” He smirks darkly, “Why have a cat…” With a flutter of Yoongi’s fingers Jimin morphs back into a fluffy black cat, “…if it can’t tend to the vermin?”

Jimin yowls, as he attempts to morph back into his human form but, Yoongi’s magic is too powerful to break through.

“Get to work...”                                                                        

Despite Jimin being a cat, you can still sense the annoyance on his face as he begins chasing the ravens one by one out of the window.

Yoongi turns back to you, satisfaction evident on his features, “Now…where should the tree go?”

With narrowed eyes, you smirk curiously at him, “Why can’t you get rid of the ravens?”

He sighs, gesturing for you to follow him out of the kitchen, his peasant blouse billowing behind him as he walks.

“Ravens signify mystery and divination,” He explains, holding the door open, allowing you to pass in front of him, “They, like many other animals have been persecuted in the name of superstition so, when they find someone like me, they feel safe. As the Reaper, it’s my job to protect them which is why I cannot conjure them away from me.”

You’re intrigued at this bit of information, wishing you could spend hours learning the quirks of the universe.

“I’m guessing Jimin knew about this…” You giggle, eyeing a good spot to place the tree.

He rolls his eyes, “I swear it’s like he wants to stay in soul correction forever…” Yoongi glances around the room before turning his attention to you, “Where do you want this tree?”

With a point of your finger, you gesture to spot behind Yoongi’s loveseat, “Right here will be good, that way you can see it through the window…”

Yoongi doesn’t understand why that matters as the only beings that pass by his cottage are inhuman vessels of evil buuuuut, the small smile on your face is endearing and he doesn’t really want to spoil your time with his pessimism.

“Which kind of tree do you want?” He murmurs, focusing his attention on the spot you indicated.

“Uh…a Christmas one?” You venture, feeling slightly embarrassed that you don’t remember the exact name, “You can pick…”

Yoongi smirks fondly at you, “Fine. Step back a bit, these spells can have a bit of fallout…”

He expects you to move back behind the other sofa but, what he doesn’t expect is for you to hide behind him.

He can feel your small hands bracing on his shoulders and, he desperately wishes your touch didn’t affect him so much, “Watch your face…”

You giggle, your face wrinkling a bit as you brace for some sort of Christmas tree explosion but, instead you hear Yoongi mumble something to himself before, looking up to find a medium sized spruce tree standing proudly at the head of the living room.

“Do you like-“

“ITS BEAUTIFUL!” You beam, rushing over to it to run your fingers along it’s branches, the scent flooding your nose with memories from your childhood, “Can you conjure ornaments too?”

Yoongi’s brows furrow in confusion, “Ornaments?”

“Yeah like little things to hang on the tree…oh and a star, we need a star too!” You remember, glancing around the room, trying to figure out if there is anything of Yoongi’s you can hang on the tree.

He sighs dramatically, “Can’t we just observe it in it’s natural state? Why does it have to be covered in stuff?”

“It’s a Christmas tradition Yoongi c’moooon…” You insist, tugging playfully on his arm causing him to roll his eyes.

“Humans are so ridiculous…” He grumbles for the 100th time, waving his right hand over the coffee table before a wooden box of ornaments appears.

You get to work immediately, popping around the tree, finding the perfect placement for each of the little baubles, smiling to yourself as the tree begins to fill up with decorations.

Yoongi steps back, watching you from afar, smirking with a bit of admiration as you get lost in your own little world.

After awhile, when most of the ornaments are on the tree, Yoongi comes up to you and shoves a star made out of shiny silver wire in your direction, “Here.”

Warmth floods your chest as you take the object in your hands, glancing up towards Yoongi’s face, “Thank you…do you want to put it up maybe? I can’t reach the top…”

Yoongi eyes you hesitantly before giving in and, taking the star back with a huff. Rather than grab a ladder Yoongi merely wiggles his fingers and, sends the star floating up to the top of the tree.

As it perches proudly on top, you feel a sense of happiness rush through you. Although, you wish you were able to make it back in time for Christmas, you’re thankful to share this time with Yoongi.

Even though he doesn’t seem as thrilled…

“There. Christmas is done now yes?” He tilts his head expectantly at you; his tone slightly softer than it was before.

“Almost…” You smile before rushing out of the room and, into Yoongi’s apothecary. He’s extremely wary of you entering that room without his assistance but, something about your smile keeps him frozen in place.

As you return, your arms are behind your back, which only furthers his suspicion.

“Ok I know you said no gifts but, I saw this in one of your craft books and I wanted to make one for you…”

Yoongi wants to deny owning any crafting books but, since he’s already been caught he settles for a snarky response instead, “I’m scared…”

A giggle leaves your lips before you nod to him, “Close your eyes and, hold out your hands…”

He feels his heartbeat pick up as he tries to imagine what you’ve done, “I don’t like surprises…” The complaint comes out of his mouth but, he obliges, his large hands coming out in front of him.

“Ta daaaa…” You cheer lightly, placing the object in his hands.

Yoongi opens his eyes to find a small dream catcher, adorned with a few black feathers and, silver beads. He wants to say something mean, he really does but, all he can think of is the throbbing in his chest, the fondness in his heart…

You really are something.

“This should help get rid of those pesky nightmares you have…” You smile, feeling a little nervous at his reaction.

However, you’re surprised when he nods in consideration, flashing a small gummy smile your way, “Thank you Y/N, this is very thoughtful.”

Relief washes over you, as your smile grows, your heartbeat skipping at his expression.

“I’m glad you like it…”

Yoongi returns to himself a few moments later, making sarcastic remarks at your belief in Santa Claus and, judging the tone of your voice as you sing Christmas songs off key.

The rest of the day, you and Yoongi spend time by the fire and, you learn the origin story of Krampus, the mythical being Jimin referred to earlier.

At the end of your third yawn however, Yoongi finally stands, gesturing to the sofa, “You should get some rest. We’ll make the journey back to your family once the snow passes and, I need you to be strong enough.”

You’re feeling giddy at successfully getting Yoongi to spend Christmas with you so, you don’t fight his suggestion, making your way over to the larger sofa.

He blows out the candles and, cleans up a few miscellaneous items around the room but as he turns around, he feels your arms wrap around his middle.

“Merry Christmas Yoongi…” You smile, placing a soft kiss on his cheek before trotting happily back to the sofa.

Yoongi’s hand comes up to touch his cheek, the skin your lips touched tingling underneath his fingertips.

He wants to say something mean….really he does…

“Merry Christmas…human.”

He smirks as you giggle from underneath your blankets before, blowing out the last of the candles and, heading up to his bedroom.

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

The next morning you wake up to find something on the coffee table beside you.

Squinting through the sleepiness in your eyes, you reach for the rectangular piece of canvas to find the most immaculate painting of a Christmas tree you’ve ever seen.

But, it’s not just any Christmas tree, its your Christmas tree…

At the bottom right corner, you see Yoongi’s initials and, the most ridiculous smile appears on your face.

Maybe Yoongi doesn’t hate Christmas after all…

[dearyams]

december 19, 1985

"I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future." - A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens, 1843

day 1

day 2

day 3

[ day 4: upsidedown christmas. santa, who? we’re talking krampus. ]

“It’s too cold outside for this.”

Will turns at Lucas’ voice, grinning widely when Max nudges him unhappily in an attempt to shut him up. Lucas is doused in scarves, only his narrowed eyes seen between the scarves and the blue knit hat pulled over his head. Max’s arm is twined with his, her fiery red hair a contrast to the white dusting the town. Dustin and Mike are on Max’s other side, chatting between themselves about something Will isn’t particularly concerned about knowing. They’re all waiting for El as they planned to scrounge some pocket change to buy a few gifts for their parents—Joyce especially—as thanks for reuniting this Christmas.

“We’ll be inside in no time,” Will replies as he steps closer to his friend. “El will be out in a moment; I’m sure you can handle the wait.”

Lucas tugs on his scarf with a hefty puff. “Can we at least wait inside before the snow starts coming down harder?”

Before anyone can reply, the door opens and El bounces out into the snow, a grin on her lips as her cheeks flush from the cold. She saddles up next to Max, taking her other arm, before twisting them toward the bike pile the boys littered across the lawn. Mike pulls away from Dustin and sends Will a smile, following the trio up ahead to the bikes to fish out his own. Will watches for a moment, staring at a snowflake that settles in Mike’s dark locks, and then retrieves his bike, dusting the snow from the seat and handlebars. They all originally wanted a drive downtown but Nancy took Jonathan into the city and Steve is busy doing something with his parents all day so they all have to ride out in the cold to get their gifts.

Mike pulls his bike up next to Will, stomping a foot in the snow as he slides to a stop. “You ready?”

Will nods and adjusts his lightly damp gloves on his fingers then grips his handles as he turns the wheels toward the street. “I’m ready to roll when you are.”

The bike ride starts off without a hitch, laughter and happy shouts following the troop down the streets as they traverse the town toward their collective destination. Will, who raced against Dustin and Max to make his way up front, looks back with laughter on his tongue, eyes tight with joy but when his eyes lighten up, he skids to a stop when he doesn’t spot his friends behind him as he expected.

Rolling the bike onto the roadside, Will leans his weight onto the leg planted in the ground and looks back once more. “Mike?” he shouts, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as frightened as he’s starting to feel inside. “Mike, where’d you guys go?”

Only the wind replies, a soft howl that would make the wolves in the forests reply with joyful abandon. A shiver rolls up and down Will’s spine and his hands unconsciously pull up his jacket collar to block the wind and whatever else might be creeping across his skin. He strains his ears to listen for the telltale sound of bike wheels crunching in snow and his friend’s excited giggles, attempting to convince himself that his friends haven’t suddenly disappeared. For a moment, he regrets spending the past few months adamantly denying having vision problems even though said problems are very slight and certainly wouldn’t explain the sudden silence surrounding him.

Another chill passes and Will tightens his grip on the handlebars. A shadow passes over the sun, billowing clouds darkening the path ahead. Snowflakes start to melt into spores and flakes, settling on Will’s clothes in a far too familiar and very uncomfortable manner. He drops his bike, practically jumps off it, and starts sprinting back the way he came. He must have taken a wrong turn somewhere—he hasn’t been gone from town for that long to have forgotten the shortcuts to get downtown, but maybe his memory was failing him.

“El!” he shouts, turning down a street and skidding on black ice that nearly knocks him to his knees. “El! Mike!”

Nothing replies. The darkness loops closer, the spores congeal as they touch the cold ground, the air thickens with a combination of unnatural heat and stifling cold. Will doesn’t want to believe it—the gate is closed, he can’t be in the Upside Down, he can’t—but everything feels ominous and imposing. There’s a tick in the back of his head; it’s the sound of the second hand on a clock counting the seconds as they pass one by one. Every breath sits heavy in his chest, even heavier in his throat as he attempts calling out once more for his friends, for his sister, for his...

Will pauses as his thoughts sidetrack him. He can’t label Mike properly in his head; this is his dream come true and he can’t mentally adjust to it. Time will help of course, and the little steps matter—today he didn’t shy away from Mike’s lingering gazes or smiles—but right now as he stumbles his way through spore-invested snow, he rather wishes his anxiety-ridden thoughts stopped blocking from fully accepting Mike’s relation to him.

Heavy footsteps sound behind Will and he quickly turns, stumbling on his feet in a rush to situate himself. His heart leaps at the thought of his friends rushing after him, but he doesn’t recognized the pattern of the steps and soon his heart is dropping to his feet once the figure presents itself. The gate is closed, he whispers in his head, the monsters are gone, the Mind Flayer can’t reach me here.

Yet what stands before him can’t be anything but a monster, a hideous disfigured thing with horns protruding out the forehead, tangled hair dripping from its skull. The eyes are yellow and glowing against pale white-washed skin that’s stretched thinly against a bony frame. Will takes a step back and wonders once again why Hawkins always haunts his life in the form of various monsters both inside and out.

“Who are you?” he asks even though he knows he probably won’t get an answer. “Why are you here?”

As expected, he doesn’t get a reply. The beast only blinks before curling it’s lips into a grotesque smile. Will takes another step back and braces his arms against his chest in a protective gesture. He thinks back to D&D, knowing how the Party often ties that fictional game to the happenings in the Upside Down, and he wracks his brain for an enemy that best describes this Satanic looking creature.

The beast cocks its head with a widening grin. It opens its mouth and Will looks away from the rotten yellowing and blackened teeth that fills its mouth. “You’ve been misbehaving, Byers.”

So it speaks. Will clenches his jaw and definitely raises his head. “What do you want with me?”

“You’ve been misbehaving,” it repeats with a cackle, voice rattling like sharp stones against bumpy metal. “Indulging in what you know you should not.”

Will’s throat tightens until he feels he can barely breathe. He wonders if this is a mental trick, if his mind is playing games on him because he’s still filled with vitriol about how he feels for Mike and fright about anyone outside his family and close friends finding out the truth. A thought pops into his head—that word, misbehaving, it’s tied to some creature Mike had suddenly brought into a game a few years ago because he had been reading some banned mythology books and got overly excited about it. The creature had killed them all so Mike didn’t bring it back and by the time their D&D characters were powered enough to take it on, well...there were more important things to worry about while Will was being possessed by a demonic shadow monster.

“Krampus,” spits Will, shivering when the beast before him laughs with distorted delight. The antithesis of Saint Nicholas himself and of course, it would come to haunt him during the holiday season.  “You’re here to punish me for biking with my friends to get gifts for our parents?”

The creature laughs even harder. “What’s the saying? Naughty or nice?” Will doesn’t offer a response; he knows the half-demon knows he’s right. “You know what you’ve been.”

“I don’t.” Will simmers lightly, unwilling to let this game further mess with his insecurities. Whether this monster comes from the Upside Down or not, he won’t let it ruin his holidays. “And even if I wasn’t nice, it only means I’m getting coal in my stocking next Wednesday. That’s no reason for you being here.”

“You know what you’ve been. You know what you are. You will be punished for it.”

The wind blows stronger, the howl growing louder until it’s a piercing drone in the back of Will’s head that he knows he shouldn’t be able to hear but his sense are distorted and the spores are melting back into snowflakes. The drone slows form it’s high pitched wail into sudden shouting. Familiar voices ring in the air and Will stumbles on nothing, reaching his hands out for impact against the ground only for his fingers to fist around someone’s woolen sweater.

“Will!” someone cries out. It sounds like Dustin, but some part of him still isn’t settled back into reality.

The person holding him up right pulls him in close and there’s really only two people in the Party who would do that and he knows for sure El is most definitely not holding him at the moment. “Will, are you okay?”

Will nods. “Yeah. I just...did you see it?” He peels away from Mike for just a moment, turning back where that taunting monster had been. Nothing stands there, not even footprints.

“Are you having flashbacks again?” Mike cradles Will’s face in his hands and Will’s cheeks blossom bright red from the amorous touch. He’s tempted to push Mike away and bolt, go running from this intimacy he’s so craved but fears now that he has it. You know what you are.

Will leans into Mike’s touch instead.

“I’ll be okay,” he replies, closing his eyes as he brings his hands up to cover Mike’s own. “It was just...,” and he doesn’t know how to explain it, doesn’t know if it was real or his imagination running away from him. El can’t even tell for him since she doesn’t have her powers but maybe it’s best they don’t know. Hawkins has all sorts of secrets and diving into them even incidentally brings nothing but more trouble and Will wants little to no trouble while he’s back. He wants to make happy memories here instead of being trailed by the despair that cradles every snow-covered inch of the town.

“Just what?” asks Mike, pulling Will from his trailing thoughts.

“Just thought I saw something,” he smiles and squeezes Mike’s hand before pulling away, still keeping Mike’s hands in his own. “It’s not a big deal and if it is, then I’ll let you know.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“You two done yet over there?” Lucas shouts, voice dripping with humorous impatience. Mike flips him the bird but laughs as he and Will make their way back to the others. Lucas’ smile falters when he turns to Will. “Are you good? No Mind Flayer shit going on inside you?”

“Not that I can tell.” Will shrugs and tightens his collar. “I thought I saw something, like a half-demon thing from our D&D game nights, but it wasn’t connected to the Mind Flayer. It can’t be; not with the gate closed anyway.”

The kids all look worrisome but Will reassures them and soon they’re back on their way. It takes a little while for the homely mood to return but eventually, when they park their bikes and happily chatter between themselves, the joyous mood returns. Will lets his hand slip into Mike’s for a second, sure that their hands are hidden from public view, and cherishes the shock on the other boy’s face that melts into content before they both follow their friends inside the store. Maybe the creature, that Krampus thing, is real and maybe it isn’t, but for now, Will isn’t going to let the Upside Down or anything else ruin his holiday spirit for the third year in a row.

He knows what, no who, he is—a young gay boy who grew up in the heartland of America, a boy who is Mike Wheeler’s boyfriend—and he knows what he’s done, but no one and nothing is gonna make him feel wrong about it anymore.

[salvatoreschool]

‘Legacies’ season 2 won’t be complete until we deal with this prophecy

We’ve seen Santa do battle with the Krampus, and met Alyssa Chang since then, but there’s still the matter of this Legacies prophecy to deal with. Here’s what we think lies ahead for everyone.

Okay, so, we know Legacies season 2 still has some major developments coming down the pike. Kai’s return in episode 12 looms pretty forebodingly, as he will undoubtedly bring Merge talk back to the forefront as well as his usual brand of chaotic energy. We also know that Josie will have to deal with the dark magic rumbling around inside the mora miserium. It doesn’t look like that’s going to end well, but there’s always a chance that those visions were warnings rather than foretellings of what will happen.

But, despite those items looming large on the horizon, we also have a prophecy that must be kept in mind. One or two of these will probably be seen and felt soon-ish, but I think other lines will continue to hang over the heads of everyone at the Salvatore School like the ring of a funeral bell.

Here are a few of our thoughts on that prophecy, line by line:

‘There are two prisoners’

This is pretty damn generic, but since we know that the Necromancer and Kai are both still alive, and that both have served as prisoners, either of Malivore or a prison world designed especially for them, they are more than likely our two prisoners.

However, if this, like so many prophecies before it, is leaving the word prisoner open to interpretation, this could also mean someone trapped in their circumstances or body instead of a literal prison.

If this is meant to be more of a symbolic prison, there is a possibility that either Raf or M.G. could be described as prisoners. Raf is technically a prisoner in his wolf body, forced to turn at every full moon, and since he’s still feeling some of the effects of having spent so much time in his wolf form, he’s feeling more trapped than ever. And M.G.’s discovery of his ripper nature is definitely a possible prison for him, too. Stefan definitely thought of his vampire nature as a bit prison-esque, so it wouldn’t be that far off.

‘One is the master of his cage.’

If we consider Kai to be one of the prisoners, then this could be describing him in his prison world. He’s been there a long time, so he could possibly found ways to make it work for him. Or, since he’s the only one there, he could be deemed the master of his prison by default.

However, if we consider the other options, maybe this is referring to M.G., instead. Trapped in his vampire body with no way out, he has had time to master his vampire powers, but, since he doesn’t have perfect control over his ripper side, it’s still his prison.

‘The other returns home without power.’

The Necromancer was returned to the world without any of his original powers, so this could definitely be referring to him.

But, again, if we look deeper, this could also be referring to Raf. Raf was returned to the land of the living, to the human world, and felt powerless to help himself. He has also recently returned home to his father, but is powerless to solve the issue of his mother running away all those years ago.

Legacies season 2 has a lot of variables up in the air right now regarding this prophecy. It could definitely refer to the obvious, almost generic possibilities, but it could also cause some serious problems if the sphinx was talking about our faves.

‘The sins of the fathers are visited upon the daughters here and not here.’

The obvious daughters to consider for this part of the Legacies prophecy are Josie, Lizzie, and Hope. I’m leaning toward this being a little more related to Lizzie and Josie rather than Hope, simply because daughters is plural, and there have been a few more egregious sins from Alaric that could come back to bite him.

First there’s the confrontations he had with Vardemus. I definitely don’t think Clark is dead, so when Malivore’s first born returns, he could bring with him something to punish Alaric by hurting Josie and/or Lizzie. Also, we just watched Alaric silence Sebastian in Legacies season 2, episode 9. That could definitely also play a role here. As far as the “here and not here” business goes, I’ll start to truly worry if one of the twins leaves to visit Caroline or something. Unless this could be regarding Elena Gilbert, who Alaric once saw as a daughter…

‘New hero rises, but can be felled by the golden arrow.’

I’m SUPER curious about this line. I would like to think this is referring to Landon, especially since we heard a whole lot of “I’m a sidekick, not a hero.” coming from him in the last episode. I would like to think that one or more of his phoenix abilities kicks in and he morphs into a hero before our very eyes. And since he’s a phoenix, AKA a bird, it wouldn’t surprise me if the golden arrow could be used against him.

The golden arrow part could also refer to someone using his love for Hope against him. If someone threatens her or uses her to threaten him, that would also be a way to fell Landon by the golden arrow.

‘The wolf among you has many faces.’

We have a lot of wolves floating around, so this is the most unclear line for me. Between Raf, Jed, the pack, and Hope, this could be referring to any of them.

However, wolves are often referred to as predators that hide in plain sight, a la the figure of speech, “a wolf in sheep’s clothing.” In that case, Clark literally wearing other faces could come into play here, especially if we see him resurrected in the next couple of episodes.

‘When time fractures, darkness overwhelms.’

When the mora miserium, AKA the sand clock, breaks, the dark magic will spill and overwhelm both Josie, and, according to those flash forwards in the last episode, the school by means of flame. This is probably the most straight forward of all the points of this Legacies prophecy. I can’t think of many more interpretations that would make as much sense as this one.

‘But the greatest destroyer of all is love.’

This could definitely be referencing the earlier line about the new hero being able to be felled by the golden arrow, but, ultimately, I think this just means that someone is going to be left without someone they love. And that absence is going to destroy some part of them irrevocably.

Do you have a different interpretation of this ‘Legacies’ season 2 prophecy?