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delphi-shield · 2 days ago

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— 「 FAKE IT TIL YOU MAKE IT 」

fake dating/christmas party/hurt/comfort ❄️ leon secret santa ❄️ gift for @mydarlingclaudia

MERRY CHRISTMAS MISS CLAUDIA i'm your secret santa! i've wanted to write og4 leon for this blog for a while and when i got you for secret santa i was like IT'S TIME lmao. i hope you enjoy and i hope you have the best christmas!

wc: 5k

summary: leon's in a bind. he thought he would have a love life by christmas, but the holidays have rolled around and he's still single. you'll pretend to be his date for just one night, right?

content: fake dating, real dating, coworkers, christmas parties, mistletoe, lots of late night conversations, lots of self-doubt, secret loser leon, technically post-re4. divider from @/strangergraphics

Over the past year, you've discovered that Leon's really good at pitching a fit when he doesn't want to do something - or, at least, when he thinks he doesn't want to do something. He'll bitch and moan about being tired, about how he just wants to stay in and have a 'chill date' with some old movie. No amount of assuring him that he would have fun once he got there would make him stop dragging his feet. That very night, you’d been waiting for him at the door with arms crossed, already decked out in your Christmas sweater, cheap reindeer antler headband affixed to your head.

Leon lets out a quiet puff of laughter when he slouches into the room, looking considerably less festive than you. He takes in your appearance - your tacky sweater, your headband, the way you pout and tap your foot impatiently. How, exactly, was he supposed to take this seriously?

“What, no one let you play any reindeer games?” Leon quips, taking his sweet time putting his shoes on.

You roll your eyes. When you finally manage to get him out the door, he has a blast. You know it, he knows it - this part is just mandatory torture, a bonding experience he loves to put you through.

"We go, we say hello, we leave." You assure him. “We don’t have to stay long.”

Leon might buy that at this moment, but you know the second you step through the door, you won't be leaving that Christmas party until the very end. Two hours in, you would be ready to go and Leon would be having the time of his life. You would be tugging at his sleeve, checking on him:

Ready to go? No, sorry, hun. Let me finish my beer and we can go.

Like clockwork. You weren't even sure he knew that he did that.

The Christmas music on the radio doesn’t do much to assuage his mood. He’s pouting the whole drive over. As soon as he pulls up to the house, he repeats the same mantra:

"We get in, we say hello, we leave." His hand smacks against the steering wheel to emphasize each point in the plan. You already have your door open, swinging out the side and marching up the freshly shoveled sidewalk.

"The decorations are so cute," you coo, crouching down to examine a particularly adorable light up gingerbread house - and to give him time to catch up.

Leon guides you up from the ground with a hand hovering behind your back. He herds you further down the sidewalk, still eager to get this over with. By the end of the night, you would be the one begging him to leave, but for now, you let him grouchily jam the doorbell.

Warmth floods out to greet you when Claire opens the door, the scent of cider and cinnamon rushing up to usher you in. Claire coos over your outfit, clicking her tongue and shaking her head.

"I should have put more effort in," she says, the pom of her Santa hat bouncing against her cheek. She's otherwise under dressed for the occasion, choosing comfort over festivity.

"What? No. Look at this place. You did all the decorations. That's way more effort," you counter, toeing off your shoes and stripping off your heavy coat.

Claire laughs. "I made my brother do most of it."

"Good to see you, too, Claire," Leon says, bristling over being ignored. She waves her hand, half hello, half dismissing him, and guides you further into the house, pointing you to the refreshments and giving a quick tour of the decorations.

Wherever Leon slinks off to, you're unconcerned. You have catching up to do just as much as he does.

Claire pops her hip up against the drink table. You twist the cap off your beer. Claire fishes one up for herself and pops the lid off against the table in one fluid motion. You huff a quick laugh - her party, her rules.

"So," Claire starts, leaning back against her elbows and surveying the crowd. She tracks your eyes for a moment, watches you watching Leon across the room. "I’ve been wondering. How did you guys actually meet?"

"What?" You laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. You take a drink, buy yourself some time to feel out Claire's intention.

"Well, obviously, the first story you told me was a crock of shit," she laughs.

You can't argue with that. The first time you had met Claire, you had been masquerading as Leon’s partner, sparing him the embarrassment of turning up to her Christmas party alone. You hadn’t exactly announced to his friends that your first time meeting them had been a lie.

"I didn't lie," you point out. "Not totally."

"A lie by omission is still a lie."

"We actually did meet at work."

Claire rolls her eyes. She won't put up with this for long. “I mean, I buy that. But he absolutely did not charm you over the comms on some classified mission.”

There’s no part of you that wants to argue in Leon’s defense. He was a nightmare to work with, knew just how to get under your skin, and you were more than happy to have Hunnigan continue to babysit him.

“If you really want to know…”

It was the Wednesday before Christmas Eve when Leon's coiffed head popped up above your cubicle. Never a good sign. Where he went, trouble (and acclaim) followed. You filled in for Hunnigan once when she was out with bronchitis, and now you can't get rid of her puppy. He keeps coming back, a particularly malignant tumor that metastasizes over the walls of your cubicle, spills onto your desk and messes with your letter trays.

“You busy?” His arm slings over the top, hand drumming against the wall of your cubicle.

Stay strong, you think. Try not to move. Play dead. Maybe he'll get bored and move on. You try to type faster and only wind up jamming the keys down harder. Leon drums his hand quicker, rhythm irregular.

“What does it look like?” You bite out.

Mission failed. You weren't trained to resist torture like he was. In fact, you specialized in answering stupid questions and pointing out the obvious. It was a key component of your job.

Leon’s job, apparently, entailed blatantly ignoring hints. He swings into your cubicle, brushes aside a stack of documents to sit on your desk. His forearms balance on his thighs, hands held together between his knees.

“I need a favor.”

It just gets worse. What kind of favor could Special Agent Kennedy possibly want from you, and why did you have a feeling that it was going to be off the books?

"If I'm doing favors, I'm staying clocked in," you drone.

"Not possible for this one," he shrugs. "Sorry. I'll make it up to you."

You roll your eyes. Silence stretches between the two of you, filled only with the intermittent clicks of your mouse as you try to track down the most up to date geospatial information for your assigned agent - you know, the one you're actually supposed to be dealing with.

Leon's both annoying and persistent. He shakes his fringe from his face, stretches out 'so...' into an elongated, cowish sound that sets your teeth on edge. You roll your hand, gesturing for him to continue.

"I need a date," he blurts out. He's smart enough to continue speaking quickly, hand already raised - palm outward, begging for peace. "Not a real date. Just for a couple of hours, for a party. We go, we say hello, we leave."

A beat. You give him time to throw in a ‘just kidding’. God knows you aren’t throwing him a life preserver. When he twiddles his thumbs, content to sink instead of bail himself out, you scoff. You don’t even look up from your computer.

"That is, by far, your worst line."

"I’m serious. Please. Just a couple of hours. That's all I'm asking. You don’t have to talk to me ever again."

Your eyes cut over to him. Not a single smug smirk in sight. You're almost surprised by the pleading hiding behind his eyes. You take it all in, try to assess him for any hint of deceit. You only find the bags under his eyes, darker than you'd seen before.

“Go alone,” you shrug.

“I can’t. I’ve been –” Leon stops. He sits up tall, peers over the top of your cubicle to see who’s around. Meerkat is a good look on him, his nose sharp in profile, brow furrowed and focused. You avert your eyes back to your computer. He lowers his voice, his eyes still flitting around for eavesdroppers. “I’ve… exaggerated the truth about my love life to a few friends. I promised I would introduce them to someone at this party.”

You note the desperation, try to stay impartial. You're good at that part, too. Trained for it. He’s in a bind of his own making. Some humility would do him good. You’d be doing him a favor by making him own up to his lie.

Your gut flips when you consider his proposal. What was this, high school? Why could he possibly need a fake date? It was so immature, you almost couldn't believe it.

Another thought burns at the back of your mind, keeps you wary. You can't help but feel used. What, he was fine pretending to take you out but couldn't conceive of actually asking you to go to his stupid party? It had to be fake, a preservation of his ego. You weren't even a part of this equation.

You should say no. You should leave him high and dry, make him look like an idiot in front of his friends - because that's what he is. An idiot. An idiot who can't get an actual date to save his life.

"Match my salary, then we'll talk."

Leon groans, head flopping back against your cabinets. He’s considering it, you can tell.

What’s the harm in it, you wonder, casting him a sidelong glance. It would be nice to have something to do on Christmas Eve.

"You owe me for this. You're gonna pick me up."

Leon's eyes light up. He hops off your desk, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. You hold up a finger to stop him before he can talk himself out of this.

"And you're gonna buy me dinner."

"There's food at the party."

"Good food?"

"If you don't like it, I'll get you something on the way home."

That's more like it. You spin back to face your computer, pulling your report back up.

"Deal. What's the dress code?"

Leon's silence speaks volumes. He's completely helpless when it comes to the details. You had figured someone with his looks had a social life that was bursting at the seams, that he was taking the fat field agent paycheck and he was hopping from party to party.

It's at his friend's house, he explains. You note the hesitation before he says 'friend'. Maybe it is all a front. Kennedy can't really go home to an empty apartment and a silent phone, can he? Everyone made him sound like such a big shot. You didn't expect the snapshots of your lives to be matching photographs, a wide shot when you held them next to each other. You try to picture his living room and all you can envision is a beige box.

You wring what little information he has out of him with a series of direct, probing questions. You're both comfortable in this routine. The quick, perfunct back and forth, an exchange not unlike one you might have over comms. He scribbles his number onto a sticky note and slides it over to you. You’ll work out the details of your story later, make it bulletproof.

The idea has been ghosting around the crevices of your mind for the entire day. You force yourself to wait a little longer before calling him, give him time to get home and get settled in. Trying to do the same is fruitless. Your appetite has mysteriously vanished, your Wednesday night show not catching your attention. You choke down half a bowl of cereal before you drum up the courage to call him.

"So, how did we meet?" You start, skipping past hello.

"Work."

"Going with the truth on that one?" You toss a piece of popcorn into your mouth, eyes fixed on your show.

"Helps to sprinkle the truth in with the lie, right?"

You can practically hear the grin on his face. You roll your eyes and bite back a sharp response. No need spoiling the mood immediately. You already agreed to do this. You won't make it harder than it needs to be.

"When did you ask me out?"

“Does that seriously matter?”

Of course it matters. Leon’s completely useless at this kind of thing, it turns out. You had expected more. He seemed the type to have experience. Maybe your own naivety had caught up to you. His confidence had you fully convinced that this would be a cake walk.

Was this seriously the guy who had single-handedly rescued the president’s daughter a few months back? Because he was floundering when you asked him if he had met your parents yet.

“Do you want me to meet them?”

“Oh my god,” you laugh, “No. They would eat you alive.”

That one stays in the story. It’s too believable not to. You bet Leon makes a real fool of himself in front of parents.

That’s where you went wrong. As soon as you started to rationalize what a relationship with him might look like, to add that touch of realism that would sell this story, you were fucked. He indulges all your questions and your musings.

Thursday night, you call him to ask what shows you watch together. He doesn’t see the point, doesn’t get that TV is such an important, ritualistic component of a relationship - or, at least, one that you want. He lets you pick, snorting in surprise when you name a dating show on VH1. You assign him homework. Watch the newest episode the Sunday before the party, and you’d fill him in on the details on the ride to the party.

Friday, you ask him what pet names he wants to use. He flounders again, acting dismissive in a way that you’ve now identified as embarrassment. You bite back the urge to tease him and offer up some suggestions instead.

“‘Babe’ is fine, I guess,” he says, “but I’m probably just going to call you by your name.”

When you hang up that night, you wonder if he meant it. Babe fits your perception of him from a week ago, but now you aren’t so sure. You turn the question over and over in your head for the next day, trying out different names in his voice. Something simple and classic, maybe. ‘Honey’, or ‘sweetie’.

The question is still turning in your mind when he calls you on Saturday. You don’t have a chance to get your question out. He blindsides you with his own.

“Have we said ‘I love you’ yet?”

Your mind races to catch up. Had he? No way. He mumbled when he got off the phone sometime, but there was no way that was an ‘I love you’. There was no way. It hadn’t even been a full week yet.

Then it clicks for you. Right. This is fake, all of it. Every phone call was for his benefit. You had initiated all of this. You should be happy that he’s finally contributing to the planning. You feel sick to your stomach instead.

“I don’t care,” you say, entirely nonchalant, none of it forced. The silence hangs over the line. You pray for Leon to let it go, to give you the grace that you haven’t given him.

He’s smooth with it - doesn’t point out the strain in your voice, blames it on a bad connection. For once, he takes the reins. No ‘I love you’ yet. He’s working up the courage, he says, and your heart clenches, breath catches, head spins.

You make an excuse to leave early. He reminds you to tune in for your show tomorrow. You hang up without saying goodbye.

He picks you up just like he promised. As much as you’d wanted to wear the silly, light-up Christmas sweater at the back of your closet, you couldn’t. You couldn’t show up as his date looking like that. No one would buy it. You already look out of place on his arm.

You’d expected the car ride to be awkward. The last time you’d seen him in person had been when you struck this whole deal. Instead of rehashing your story, though, Leon asks you question after question about the dating show you told him to watch.

To your surprise, he’d actually watched it. You go over the contestants, the washed up rock star they were all attempting to date, even recap the most notable drama. He’s hooked. The veneer of disinterest he tries to keep up is so thin it’s see through. You almost want to tell him to turn the car around so you can catch the reruns instead of suffering through this party.

You don't know what kind of party you were expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. Every corner of the place was saturated in Christmas, inside and out. Garlands of popcorn and dried orange slices, a tree decorated so heavily with strands of lights and garish ornaments that it's branches sagged. The warm lights bathed everything in a smooth glow. The chill that had stung your face on the walk in melted away, leaving only the pulsing afterburn across your cheeks.

Plenty of people had already arrived - thank god. If you'd had to make awkward small talk with the host until people arrived to take the heat off of you, you might have just said fuck it and marched back to the car. You keep a firm grip on Leon's arm, eyes flitting across each and every face. You didn't recognize a single one of these people.

That's precisely why Leon chose you. It makes your stomach lurch to think about. You're convenient. A face to put to a title, to apply to the vague stories that Leon has fabricated. Anyone could be on his arm right now, and it wouldn't make a difference. No one would know.

You stay glued to his side for the first hour. It works well enough, a handful of people overjoyed to meet you after all the stories that Leon’s told. You do your best to keep the sparkle in your eye, to look at him like he makes the sun shine. It’s hard when it feels like the floor could open up and swallow you at any given moment, when each affectionate touch is just a tool.

You excuse yourself for a drink. That will help your nerves. It can’t make them any worse, that’s for sure. You have a clear window, the drink table empty. In and out, then back to Leon’s side.

Fishing up a beer from the ice chest, you scavenge around for a bottle opener. Christ - all these preparations and no bottle opener? You’re tunnel-visioned into your search, don’t even notice the woman joining you at the table

“Want some help with that?” A redhead chirps, sidling up to you. She holds her hand out for your drink.

What’s the harm? You pass it over with a ‘thanks’ that quickly turns to a sharp inhale. She pops the lid off the beer with the edge of the table, tears a jagged crescent through the plastic tablecloth - cut one of Santa’s reindeer clean in two.

“My party, my rules,” she laughs. “I’m Claire. You’re with Leon, right?”

Your stomach drops. You can practically peer down at yourself, your soul leaving your body for a brief moment. Shit– Leon had warned you about her. Said she wasn't malicious, per se, but she could sniff out bullshit quicker than most. You run the facts back in your mind. If you could get past her, you'd be golden.

Claire's finger bounces between you and Leon. She leans her hip against the table, folds her arms across her chest.

“I don't get that at all,” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a flick of her head. “What's the story?”

Holy shit, that was quicker than you expected. Stay cool. Remember your lines.

“We actually met at work,” you start. Easy enough. It’s not even a lie. You unravel the rest of the details for her one by one, plodding through the steps of your imagined romance with deliberate care.

Claire’s eyes stayed fixed on you. She smiles and laughs where appropriate, but she tracks you with the cold eyes of a wolf on the hunt. A chill pulses down your spine. Is it really so hard to believe that you’re with Leon? Do you look so out of place?

“Good for him,” she finally says. She takes a long drink, still watching you.

“He’s great.”

“He’s okay.”

Maybe she meant it as a joke, but you have to force your laugh out from around the lump in your throat. Did she buy it? You can’t tell. She claps you on the shoulder, harder than you expected.

“It was really great to meet you,” Claire says. She slips back into the crowd with a smile, flowing naturally into a group of guests. Your eyes linger on her, but she doesn’t look back. She doesn’t slip into hushed whispers, no one turns to stare in your direction.

You wind back through the crowd, glue yourself back to Leon’s side. He lifts his arm instinctively, curls it around your hip like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He doesn’t even pause his conversation.

How is this the same clueless man that you had spent half a week planning out every minute detail of your imagined relationship? How can he be so relaxed and in control now?

That’s the difference between the two of you, you realize. There was planning, and there was doing. Clearly, Leon could see his commitments through. You were botching this. Everyone knew you were a fake. They had to.

“You okay?” Leon asks, head inclined closer to your ear. You swallow thickly, force a smile.

“Are you about ready to go?” You ask, keeping your voice low.

He’s not - you can tell - but he tosses his snack plate in the trash and says a round of goodbyes anyway, urging you out the door.

The car is silent. Leon flips through radio stations, never staying on one for long. Christmas music, rock ballad, regular ballad, Christmas music again - repeat. He fidgets with the vents, turns the heat up, then down, one degree at a time.

"Seriously, you good?" he asks.You keep your face turned to the window, watching the decorations roll by.

Leon glances at you - or that's what he thinks, at least. His eyes linger for too long. He corrects his course sharply, swerving away from the curb at the last possible moment.

"Yeah. Fine."

Neither of you believe that. You’ve spent the whole night lying - he knows what it looks like, and he lets you get away with it.

Leon turns the music up a tick. You spend the rest of the drive in silence. He pulls up in front of your place and cuts the engine, and that has to be the record for world’s most awkward drive.

Bundling your things in your arms, you hurry out of his car with a quick ‘thanks for inviting me’ that feels misplaced given the circumstances - but what the hell else were you going to say? You needed to sleep this whole thing off.

"Hey."

You stop in your tracks. You're almost positive you've left a drag tail in the snow, stopped so fast you nearly slipped on the sidewalk. Leon's window is rolled down, his body nearly halfway out of it.

"I appreciate what you did for me tonight," he says.

Your heart deflates, a balloon released in your chest, bouncing off your ribs and drumming against your lungs before it floats pitifully to a rest in the pit of your stomach.

"No problem," you say, shoulders back, head held high. "To be honest, I didn't think anyone would buy it."

His head tips to the side. His eyes narrow, studying you, trying to figure out your meaning.

"Why? You did great."

"I don't know. I didn't think we would look like a very believable couple."

He sticks his head back into his car, fumbles with his seatbelt overlong, and finally pops the door open. His feet find traction on the icy sidewalk much easier than yours. You chalk it up to his boots, his training, anything to keep your mind on the little details instead of the big picture.

“I thought it was pretty believable.”

Don’t read into it, you tell yourself again and again. It’s just going to hurt if you try to interpret greater meaning from that.

“Yeah? Glad I could help.” You hook your thumb over your shoulder, fishing clumsily for your keys. “Guess I’ll see you at work, then.”

Leon’s eyes cut back to your door. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, balanced perfectly on the ice. For a moment, you think you see his hand twitch towards yours. You linger, waiting for the touch of his hand around your wrist, willing the warmth that you imagine to be real.

He stuffs his hands into his pockets and nods.

“Yeah. See you.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Claire interjects. “He didn’t even ask you out that night? He walked you to the door and bailed?”

You shake your head. “I asked him out like a week later. We were working late on New Years. He said he knew a great spot for coffee if I wanted to go on break. I said we could only go on our day off.”

Her eyes sharpen, casting her hunt out into the crowd of party-goers. You find Leon first - hunched over a snack platter across the room, contributing minimally to conversation with some people from Claire’s work. Claire, experienced hunter that she is, tracks your sight to find her quarry.

“He is so stupid. So dumb. Look at you,” she declares, waving you up and down - presenting you. “He made you ask? Ooh, I’m gonna – Leon!”

Leon’s head pops up from the cheese tray - meerkat chic, swiveling in the direction of the woman on the hunt. Claire points to the ground in front of her sharply, doesn’t even have to bark out ‘c’mere’ before his training kicks in and he’s marching himself over.

“What’s up?” He pops a palmful of cashews into his mouth, then slides the same hand against the small of your back.

His casual attitude earns him no favors. Claire thwacks his shoulder, berates him for making you ask first. He shrinks away - play dead. You taught him that one.

“You ready to go?” You ask once Claire’s done ragdolling him and marches off to tell the others how spineless Leon is.

Leon surveys the party - that’s what you think he’s doing, at least. His gaze is focused higher, examining the doorways carefully. His eyes sharpen, lock on their target. He nods, his thumb rubbing gentle arcs against your back.

“Yeah. Let’s head out. Wait for me in the hall, okay? I’ll get our stuff.”

You follow his directions thoughtlessly, planting yourself in the hallway he had pointed to. Leon flits about, saying goodbyes as he weaves through the crowd. Your coat is slung over his arm when he winds his way back to you.

Before you can protest, tell him he forgot your bag and your scarf, he smacks a hand dramatically against his forehead. He holds up a finger - hang on, here, take this, I’ll be right back – kisses your forehead, and floats back into the crowd.

He comes out only holding your scarf. You huff. Leon’s not a forgetful man. This is clearly on purpose, for his own entertainment. He loops your scarf around your necks for you, settling it into place and tying a clumsy knot.

“Your bag. I forgot, I’m sorry.” He kisses your cheek as he turns.

There was a twinkle in his eye when he turned. You’d caught it. It wasn’t just the shine of the lights. He was up to something. You scan your surroundings, look for cameras hidden, for guests watching a little too intently. Nothing immediately jumps out at you. You glance up - and there’s the culprit. A little branch bound with twine, berries dotting the little branches, suspended over the doorway.

Schooling your face back into mild annoyance, you go so far as to tap your foot. If he wants to put on a show, so will you.

“Here you go,” he says, handing over your bag. You wait for his next move. No way this was the end of his plan - and you’re right. As soon as your bag is slung over your shoulder, he’s patting himself down. Front left, front right, back pockets at the same time, chest at the same time. “Shit. My keys. One second–”

You kiss his cheek before he can strike first.

“On the key rack,” you point out, hooking your thumb over your shoulder. “It’s bad karma to abuse the mistletoe, you know.”

Leon huffs. He spares the mistletoe above your heads a glance.

“You made that up.”

Absolutely, you did. He crosses through the doorway and snags his keys. Before you can head out the door, he dangles them over his head. You roll your eyes and kiss him square on the lips before he can justify his poor man’s mistletoe.

You’ll risk bad karma for a kiss.

#leonsecretsanta2024 #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fluff #leon s. kennedy x reader #resident evil fluff #x reader #merry christmas hehe #sorry i made the banner as a joke initially and then it didnt look right without it lmaooo

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mattslilies · 2 days ago

Text

✩ model!reader - models for fresh love ✩

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

you pulled up to the building, double checking the address before you got out of your car and walked in. you'd had a scheduling mishap and your manager had double booked you for the day, so you swore under your breath when you noticed that you were showing up late, and for a brand you'd never worked with.

you'd seen the founder, one Chris Sturniolo, follow you on Instagram about two weeks ago, and after scrolling through his account, you'd ended up following him back.

not long after you did, you noticed him liking quite a few of your posts, and then came a ping from your phone, signaling a new message.

2:16 pm: "love all the shoots you've done, they look amazing. i have a shoot for my own brand coming up, was wondering if you wanted to model?"

you read the direct message, the gears in your brain beginning to spin. you couldn't lie, you thought chris was incredibly attractive, and you almost never turned down a good modeling opportunity.

2:23 pm: "what's the brand? would love to look into and consider it."

2:24 pm: "@/freshlove"

a fast responder, then. you scrolled through the account that he had linked, and while it wasn't the type of thing you normally modeled, you were always up for a little bit of a change, a little step outside of your comfort zone.

just as you clicked out of the page, a new message notification crossed your screen.

2:27 pm: "hope you consider it well. would love to see your face there."

was he flirting with you?

you smiled to yourself, never turning down an opportunity for a little fun.

2:28 pm: "i will. would be a shame to miss out on such a nice looking offer. the clothes are cute too."

your only response was a heart reaction to your message, and just two weeks later, here you were.

slipping your phone into your pocket, you glanced around at all the people bustling through the building, unsure of where to go.

"you showed up."

you spun around, quickly realizing it was chris who had spoken, and who you were now standing face to face with.

"yes, i did. i'm so sorry i'm running late, my manager double booked me by mistake-"

chris just laughed, cutting you off.

"don't worry about it. double booked, huh? you must be popular."

you smiled back at him, a teasing glint in your eyes.

"yes, incredibly so. you should be grateful i chose this shoot over the other one i had scheduled today."

his grin only widened, enjoying the playful banter.

"well, consider me lucky i scored such a high demand model. i'll show you where you can grab clothes, if you'd like."

"after you."

it wasn't a far walk to where the rest of the models were setting up, most of them smiling and immediately welcoming you. you settled in easily, not noticing where chris disappeared to, but putting it mostly out of your mind as you let the makeup artist do her job.

the shoot went smoothly, you being the last one to go. chris coincidentally reappeared just in time to oversee all of your photos, smiling when the cameraman showed him each one.

"how's it look?" you called, that same confident smile on your face.

you'd learned early on that insecurity gets you nowhere, and while you weren't cocky, or egotistical, you were photogenic.

"perfect." he was incapable of hiding the smirk on his face.

the shoot wrapped up, and chris showed up once again as you were exiting the changing room, the outfits you'd just modeled draped over your arm.

"pictures looked fantastic."

"thank you. are they going on the instagram?"

chris nodded. "as soon as i get them, yes."

"tag me in them." you winked, starting to head out of the building after grabbing your things.

chris shook his head, smiling, privately loving your confident but playful demeanor.

"can i walk you to your car, or are you too booked and busy?"

you waved your hand in the air, dismissing the joke with a smile.

"never too busy to have a pretty boy walk me somewhere."

quickly finding your car, you and chris walked over there, generally chatting about both his brand and your job. he seemed genuinely interested, which was a nice change of pace.

"well, this is me."

you felt a slight twinge of disappointment as you held the handle of your car door, having thoroughly enjoyed the day.

chris still held eye contact with you for a few moments, not making any move to walk back inside, before gently pressing his lips against yours.

taken by surprise, but not uncomfortable, you kissed back, feeling his hand wrap around your waist. after a few seconds, he pulled back, that same smirk painting his lips.

"i hope to see you next time i have a photoshoot."

"i'll be expecting a message."

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

a/n: this was a little longer than i expected!!!

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #christopher owen sturniolo #christopher sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo fluff #christopher sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo angst #christopher sturniolo angst #the sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #mattslilies

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velvetvexations · 2 days ago

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I have the forcefem meme blog blocked but someone I follow put a post of her's on my dash and she's just straight up saying "this isn't a kink blog, the way I do forcefem isn't kinky" and I swear my brain stopped working entirely for a second. I don't think there's anything wrong with kinks changing with a subculture or community or becoming memes but like. Come on. Forcefem is a kink, that's what it is. I try not to get too worked up about this blog because it's not good for me and my judgement does get clouded by the dysphoria it triggers but like, it really does genuinely worry me the way the meme-ification of forcefem has completely divorced the kink element from what is still very fucking clearly a kink. This whole "I'm not doing it in a kink way" is not a get out of kink free card, and it's a piss poor excuse for going around and flooding this website with kink stuff that now essentially cannot be avoided in trans spaces. No other kink that has like, a potentially sfw angle has a community that acts like this about it, people who do like bootblacking performances where no explicitly sexual acts take place still make it clear this is a kink thing so people can avoid it if they want, and there are huge arguments in furry communities over if you can even do "sfw" vore because vore is a kink even when no traditional sex acts are being depicted. Every other kink community gets that even when no one is fucking, a kink is still a kink and should be treated as such for the safety of everyone, why should THIS be the exception??

Ugh anyway sorry didn't want this to turn into a rant, I really don't think there's anything wrong with doing a fun sfw kind of forcefem with people who consent but like, as a kinky person who cares a lot about kink and BDSM history and communities the blatant refusal to consider forcefem a kink AT ALL is concerning. You cannot un-kink-ify it, this is a kink goddamn it and when you stop treating it as such you open up a LOT of unsafe grey areas on top of making it borderline impossible for people who are squicked out by it to avoid it because no one is going to tag for something they think is a harmless, gender-affirming, tgirl approved meme.

Idk tho maybe I'm letting my own dysphoria get in the way, feel free to check me if that's the case I will take the L with grace, but I just feel like this "It's not a kink when I do it" thing is...in poor taste, at the very least. I don't think it's intentionally malicious either I just don't like it when we stop recognizing that a kink is a kink.

I advocate tirelessly for being able to live BDSM relationships in public to the extent that "normal" relationships are allowed, but what I do not do is say I should get to snap a collar around a random girl's neck and drag her off because it's just a lifestyle. Like fuck off with "it's not a kink," IT IS, and it is NON-CON.

My biggest fan can't shut up about me supposedly calling trans women groomers because I think it's bad for trans men to say they want to cure trans women's "comphet," but you know what's also sexually coercive? Shoving your non-con fetish at people, many of whom are going to have reasons to be outright triggered by it, and then call it fine because it's so totally non-sexual.

SATIRE BEGIN

Well, okay, fine, start making indiscriminate forcemasc jokes at women. It's not a kink! There's nothing wrong with being a trans man! How could they possibly complain?

SATIRE END

That's a rhetorical question too, the answer is that they'd be massive hypocrites about it and say some dumbass shit like "transmascs just invented forcemasc to gentrify our fet I MEAN NOT A FETISH" or "trans men shouldn't care about being forcefemmed because there's nothing wrong with it but being a man is Bad."

#vexatious #forcefem #transandro phobia #trans radical feminism #discourse

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hedwig221b · 3 hours ago

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Can we get a Twilight tease for Chrimus 👹🫶🏼🙏🏼🎄🎄

merry crisis! 🎄 here, have a whole chunk since I'm not posting fics anymore this year

“…and it’s not sunny, which is the perfect weather, you know, because it would blind anyone. And the ground is not slippery so everything would be fine and dandy. And you trained so hard, like, I don’t know how they listen to you—”

“Can you, please, breathe?” Derek smiled.

Stiles snapped his mouth shut and rubbed his forehead with shaking fingers. Absently, he kicked the small rock, and it ricocheted off the wall next to the team’s locker room. Behind Derek’s looming figure, the school stadium was bathed in projector lights and a booming buzz of excitement. The sea of red and white puttered on one side, mirrored by the black and blue on the other.

“Sorry,” Stiles muttered, schooling his expression into an encouraging smile. “I just came to wish you good luck.”

Derek inclined his head, studying him closely. “What happened?” he asked.

“Nothin’,” Stiles chirped, smacked a kiss on Derek’s cheek, and was about to sidestep him when Derek caught his hand. His fingers rubbed the inside of Stiles’ wrist, where the veins fluttered under the thin skin.

“What happened?” Derek repeated.

He spoke so quietly that Stiles struggled to hear him. Or was it the noise in Stiles’ ears?

Stiles breathed out harshly, rocking on his toes. “Dad knows.”

“About us?”

“Yes.”

“Great.” Not an ounce of sarcasm was in Derek’s voice. He sounded ridiculously calm as if he did not care about the upcoming game, or Stiles' dad, or the Saturday meeting— “I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

Stiles snorted. “Are you?”

“Yes,” Derek arched his eyebrows. “I’d like to know your family. And I want him to know who I am, to trust me with you.”

“God,” Stiles shook his head, swallowing harshly. Pins and needles poked his fingers until Derek caught them in his steady warm grip. For a minute, they stood in silence until the anxiety ebbed away to a manageable level. Stiles cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

“It’s going to be alright,” said Derek, sliding his hand into Stiles' one. “He’s going to like me. We’ll form a coalition and call it Stiles’ Worriers. Get it?” Derek poked him in the stomach.

“Stop.”

“It’s because we worry about you. And care about you.”

“I get it.”

Derek smiled lightly and opened his arms. “Come here.”

Stiles folded into his embrace like a wave into the sand, dissolving into his strong body, and letting Derek hold him. Just for a bit, Stiles thought. Just for a second…

Closing his eyes, Stiles buried his face in Derek’s neck and breathed. The wolf’s hands stroked his lower back, his chin rubbing against Stiles’ temple.

Slowly, Stiles’ heartbeat calmed. The lodge in his throat eased.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he said hoarsely.

Derek chuckled. He leaned away, cupped Stiles' face, and kissed him properly. Stiles could already taste the victory on his tongue.

“Go to your seat, okay?” said Derek. “Have fun watching me win the game for you.”

Stiles huffed as the grin took over his freshly kissed lips. “I will. Seriously, good luck, though.” He stepped around Derek, letting their hands fall apart.

“You’re all the luck I need,” said Derek, making Stiles laugh at the cheesiness.

When he climbed the bleachers, everyone stared at him. At least, that’s what it felt like. Hundreds of eyes followed him as he entered the ‘VIP’ section and sat between Allison and Lydia. Hundreds of mouths murmured about Stiles’ dating life, debating whether it was good or bad that he and Hale were together.

Allison handed him a red scarf, which she had knitted herself. It was a token of initiation, she said with a smile.

Stiles wrapped it around his neck, then let Lydia rewrap it so that he ‘wouldn’t bring shame to her name’. They rose when the team ran out on the field, grinning hard, and hollering.

And when Stiles caught Derek’s bright gaze, he found it hard to care about those hundreds.

#sterek #sterek fic #stiles x derek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #sterek fanfic #eternal sterek #derek x stiles #teen wolf sterek #teen wolf stiles #teenwolf derek #sterek twilight au #sterek wip #my fics #sterek au #sterek fanfiction #hedwig221b replies #anon asks

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taojjang · 14 hours ago

Text

𐙚 christmas morning with riize .ᐟ

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ advent calendar, day twenty-five: the finale! pairing: bf!riize x reader, genre: fluff! warnings: SO MUCH LOVE </33

synopsis: how riize would make your christmas feel extra special!

a/n: merry christmas my briize friends! i hope all of you guys had an amazing christmas! the advent calendar is coming to a close, so i wanted to show my appreciation for everyone who showed support! i had so much fun writing these holiday fics and i'm glad so many of you enjoyed them <3 i still have five (and maybe a bonus winkwink) fics that i'll be posting to make up for my mini hiatus, so this will not be the last. again. thank you so much ! 🧡

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　⋆ ˚ ۪ ⋆ ୨୧

✩ shotaro ⸝⸝

shotaro is the sweetest boy in the world, so of course christmas morning would be like a dream come true! the night prior, taro snuggled up with you and stroked your hair until you fell asleep. but the second he heard your light snores, he cautiously snuck off to the living room and began his christmas magic. he grabs a huge bag of gifts he's hidden in the basement and begins wrapping all of them by the christmas tree, ensuring not to exceed the squeak of a mouse.

the next morning, you shake taro awake and press frantic kisses on his face, desperate to open the gifts you've been waiting weeks for. but once the two of you reach the living room, your excitement melts into a puddle of pure astonishment and adoration for your sweet bf :(

"surprise! merry christmas, honey!"

✩ eunseok ⸝⸝

eunseok can't help but smile every time you go on and on about how excited you are for christmas. he loves seeing that silly little grin every time he brings up the holidays so much to the point where he mentions christmas almost every few hours. your jittery anticipation is just so cute <3

but that does not mean he's nice! even though you woke up so much earlier than usual and begged him to get up and open gifts, he would shake his head and say you're not allowed to open gifts until you eat :( so he cooks this luxurious and well-balanced breakfast so good you forget all about being upset! he buys you tons and tons of clothing and jewelry so you can always think of him when you wear the pretty clothes he picked out for you <3

"you would look so pretty in this dress, darling."

✩ sungchan ⸝⸝

no matter the time of year, sungchan is always spoiling the hell out of you. you tell him about a pretty necklace you want and its at your doorstep within days. he never lets his pretty princess miss out on all the fancy things she deserves. so of course he goes all out for christmas!

when you send him your christmas wishlist, he makes sure to buy every. single. item. there is nothing he wouldn't buy you. even if you wish for a unicorn and a gun he WILL get that horse armed with the meanest glock you've ever seen. the only issue is... he's a bit of a procrastinator. after you open all of your gifts on christmas, he'll keep his head low and giggle in shame, admitting he ordered your gifts a bit late and they won't be here until mid january. but you can't even be mad at him because that silly bf of yours is the best gift you could ever ask for :(

"i'm sorry princess... i swear i got everything on your list!"

✩ wonbin ⸝⸝

wonbin being the sweet little perfectionist he is, he'll be up all night worrying if you'll like your gifts or not :( he's lying beside you, biting his nails and fretting if he got everything on your wishlist while you're out cold. but the next morning, you couldn't understand what he was worried about.

everything was like a dream. all of your gifts were wrapped in the fanciest shiny wrapping paper and even decorated with pretty silk ribbons on each box. he even put together multiple gift baskets for you, filled with all of your favorite snacks and even cute photos of the both of you :( how could he ever doubt himself when he's the best boyfriend in the world?

"did i get everything you wanted, baby? if there's anything i missed, just let me know."

✩ seunghan ⸝⸝

seunghan just can't contain his excitement! he wakes you up a little earlier than planned with dozens of kisses peppered all over your face because he's just so eager to give you your gifts :( you're a bit cranky from being woken up an hour earlier than necessary but once you begin opening his gifts, you forget every complaint you've ever had.

all of his gifts would be packed with so much love and consideration. everything was wrapped in your favorite color and even had small cards inside every single box. every gift would have a little note attached to it, telling you the silly stories of the troubles he's endured to get you that gift. some gifts would even have cute blurbs about how cute you'd look using the gift :(

"i'm sorry for waking you up early, angel... i hope these make up for it!"

✩ sohee ⸝⸝

this little sohee guy is silly alright. no matter the occasion, sohee is always gonna find a way to make you either laugh until your stomach hurts or massage your temples in frustration. he loves messing with you, so of course he had to buy an elf on the shelf this christmas. every day since december first, that elf has been nothing but a menace. some mornings he'd kindly leave a bunch of hershey kisses on the kitchen counter for you, yet other mornings he'd trash your entire room with toilet paper and call it a snowstorm.

if you didn't have a headache already, there was no way the elf would leave you alone on christmas. on christmas morning, sohee would wake you up with this silly grin on his face telling you to get ready quickly so he can show you your "gifts." but of course the frickin elf made a huge igloo out of the gift boxes, leaving it in the center of the living room and sitting on top of it with that smug smirk on his face. you couldn't lie, it was quite impressive.

"WOAH!!! HE GIFTED YOU A NEW HOUSE!!!"

(ps. you saw him on the doggy monitor getting up at 4am to make the gift igloo, but you couldn't get enough of his proud little smile so you kept quiet!)

✩ anton ⸝⸝

your baby anton is so stupidly in love with you :( he'd spend months in advance searching for the perfect gifts for you, buying everything you mention wanting. you knew about this after seeing a note on his phone with all of the items you've spoken about, but you didn't expect this christmas to be even more exciting than you'd concluded.

he would be super duper excited to give you the gifts he prepared because they're just so heartwarming </3 anton would handcraft those mementos of his favorite photos of you and your favorite flowers. everything would even be wrapped in your favorite color with silly little stickers all over them :( anton never misses even the smallest details about you. he does all of this for you but even if you got him just a simple hoodie, he'd probably tear up (yes he's a loser for you).

"you deserve even more than this, my love."

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　⋆ ˚ ۪ ⋆ ୨୧

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ tag list! (ask or comment to be added!)

@endtostartbreathin @gacktsa @hanninova @ramyeonzprincess @taroddori

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rekino2114 · 3 days ago

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Hey, I love your work and was wondering if you could do a work similar to the Halloween fic with the sdra2 girls but with Christmas. Since Christmas is coming up, anyways happy holidays.

The sdra2 girls celebrating Christmas with you

A/n:Thanks for requesting, happy holidays to you too and I'm sorry if this feels too repetitive

Holiday post #9

Sora

Sora was already in the mood to celebrate when December started, she really likes Christmas and she wanted nothing more than to celebrate with you

She really likes decorating the house with you, putting up the Christmas tree and making all the decorations. She particularly likes making snowflakes out of paper and hanging then around

She loves playing in the snow too, she'll drag you outside even if it's cold to have snowball fights and make snow angels

Sora didn't exactly know what to get you, so she had to ask around to your friends, but in the end, she brought you a gift you liked

"It's really nice to be outside you kn-.....hey that was a low blow, I wasn't paying attention and you just aimed at my face, well it's on now, you think you're the only one who can throw snow balls?"

Kokoro mitsume

Kokoro has a very critical view of Christmas, she thinks it's a commercial holiday that has the only effect of increasing the earnings of companies and she has no problem telling you that to your face. But if it's for you then she'll try to celebrate

.....in her own way, the most she'll do to get into the Christmas spirit is put on a hat if you ask her, but at least it's something.....right?

If mikako is there, she'll be more open to actually celebrate because she can't resist her daughter being so happy about something, but she'll mostly stay inside whole watching you two play in the snow

She knew exactly what to get you and giving it to you in a wrapped present was probably the most Christmas themed thing she did all day, you still really appreciate it though

"Here this is for you......you like it? Yes obviously,I knew you would......merry Christmas I guess"

Emma magorobi

Emma really loves Christmas, the whole holiday vibe really makes her happy and the fact that she gets to spend it with you is the cherry on top

She just loves to randomly sing Christmas song, she mostly does it when no one's around so she's very embarrassed when you catch her doing it but she actually likes it when you compliment her singing

Watching Christmas movies is an obvious activity you'll do, she hasn't starred in many so she just likes to watch the classic ones while snuggled on the couch with you

Using her money to spoil you is one of her favorite things to do and that triples when it comes to gift. She'll just bring you to a shopping trip and buy everything you look at even for a second

"Come on babe, come on the couch it's so warm, but I think I need a bit more warmth, possibly the body temperature of a cutie~"

Setsuka chiebukuro

Setsuka also loves Christmas especially because it means that she gets to spend time with the people she loves, in particular you

She definitely throws a Christmas party with the entire class, she wants to make sure everyone has fun but especially you, so she mostly stays near you the entire time

She would enjoy doing karaoke with you and doesn't really care how embarrassing it is for the other people, but if you're uncomfortable she just do it with hibiki

She knew what to get you but when she went to the mall she just saw a lot of things she thought you'd like so she just ended up buying a lot more stuff than planned, but at least that way you have a lot more gifts

"So are you having fun baby? Oh big sis is glad, come on let's go sing a bit more ok?"

Hibiki otonokoji

Hibiki does like holidays in general and Christmas so she she'll definitely like to celebrate with you ans her sister

She obviously likes to sing Christmas song, be it just in private or with you at karaoke, you've heard "all I want for Christmas is you" more times than you'd like to admit

She planned a Christmas concert with her sister and invited you (as well as kanade's partner) to come and even gave a special seat and backstage pass like she does for everyone of her concerts

She doesn't like to admit it, but she didn't really know what to get you, so she got kanade to ask you, she really has to thank her sister for that later

"Hello everyone and thank you for coming to our Christmas concert, especially to the person in the first row my amazing partner y/n l/n!"

Kanade otonokoji

Kanade loves doing anything with you and showing her love to you. so it's pretty obvious that she'd love a holiday where she has an excuse to buy you anything you like and be with you for a long time.

Hibiki kinda forced her to do a Christmas concert which she didn't really want to do since it took time away from being with her darling. But she was happy that you came to see her and you two kissed in the dressing room later

After the concert she just likes to stay in and cuddle with you near the fireplace while watching a Christmas movie ans mumbling about how you're her Christmas miracle

She knew exactly what to get you. It was basically everything you wanted over the year. Even if you didn't tell her, she still somehow knew, and there were even some things you could have sworn were not on sale anymore. When you asked her about it she just told you she'd do anything for you no matter the cost

"What is it darling? Do you not like the gifts? oh I'm glad, what's the problem then? Oh don't worry your pretty little head about that OK? I'd do anything for you?"

Iroha nijiue

Christmas is probably one of iroha's favorite moments of all the year, not only because the aesthetic of it is amazing but she also gets to celebrate with you

She likes to paint the scenery she sees outside the window, she thinks the ground covered in snow is really pretty and her paintings always look great

She does like playing in the snow occasionally (she looks adorable all bundled up in scarves and wore a hat on top of her beret) but she enjoys staying inside and drawing while cuddling you

She didn't have enough money to buy you something, so she decided to make you something herself, as well as giving you a painting of you two while apologizing profusely. She was very happy when you just hugged her and told her you loved it though

"O-oh hey y/n, it's nothing I was just painting the scenery outside....oh you like it? T-thanks"

Yoruko kabuya

While yoruko doesn't particularly think of holidays as special days, and doesn't really celebrate that much, she'll still do it for you, even if she will let you do most of the decorating and other stuff

But she will definitely take care of the drinks and food for you two, she doesn't make anything too special but it's still her food so it tastes amazing and you love it

Her favorite thing to do is definitely watching Christmas movies together, while she may blush a lot at how close you are, she really loves cuddling with you while drinking the hot cocoa she made and watching the movie

She just straight up asked you what you wanted and brought it and gave it to you on Christmas day. To her credit, she tried her best to wrap it up, though

"O-oh thanks, but it's nothing, hot cocoa is literally the easiest drink to make ever, a kid could make it. H-huh? It's still special because I made it? *sighs* God, you're so cheesy"

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otherone12 · 23 hours ago

Text

Merry Christmas, Guys!

MCR x Reader

-> Masterlist

A/N: Hey! Merry christmas, everyone! I suppoused to post this december 24th... but there was a blackout in my neighborhood and I didn't have internet… so, here it is! Hope u like it!

Summary: Some of my head cannons of Christmas stuff...

- Warnings: Really cliché

- Ps: I'll not use y/n…

- Ps2: I'm brazilian, so english is not my first language... sorry if i wrote something wrong.

___________________________________________

-> Gerard

- You both decide to make gingerbread houses, but despite your best efforts to make them look Pinterest-perfect, they end up being a bit more "creative" than expected. There’s icing everywhere, and the candy decorations seem to defy any sense of order, but you both end up laughing at the masterpiece you’ve created;

- Of course you will cuddle and watch "Nightmare Before Christmas", You cozy up on the couch with a blanket and steal kisses in between your favorite songs, laughing when you both get the lyrics wrong;

- If you’re hosting the Christmas dinner at your house, he’ll help set the table, making sure everything’s in place, and then pitch in to cook something simple yet delicious—maybe even letting you take the lead, but staying close to help whenever you need it;

- You both sit together, painting Christmas balls before placing them on the tree. Each ornament is covered in little snowflakes, reindeer, gifts, and all sorts of whimsical designs. You have fun being creative, and it’s the perfect way to make the tree even more you.

- You will make garlands and have long debates about where to place each element of it;

- You both can’t wait until Christmas Eve to exchange gifts. The excitement is too much, so you agree to open your presents early. You both give each other thoughtful, sometimes funny gifts;

- On Christmas Eve, he’ll convince you to stay in bed until midday. Wrapped up in blankets and holding each other close, he’ll tell you you’re his “Christmas gift,” making you smile at how sweet and cheesy he’s being. But you don’t mind one bit, especially when you're together;

- He’ll look at you with a teasing grin, saying, “You look pretty even in this awful sweater,” as you both wear your ridiculous holiday-themed outfits;

- After the Christmas dinner, he sets up a cozy spot by the fireplace where you both just talk and enjoy the warmth;

- He’ll take you ice skating even though neither of you are great at it, and you end up holding hands to avoid falling over.

___________________________________________

-> Frank

-He'll casually walk around with mistletoe in his pocket, waiting for the perfect moment. When he holds it between you, he'll smirk and say, “Hey… I didn’t make the rules,” before stealing a kiss, acting like it’s the most natural thing in the world;

- He will probablly prank you with a fake terrible gift before give you the real one;

- You’ll settle in with hot chocolate, blankets, and maybe a couple of cookies as you watch "Home Alone". He’ll quote the lines with you, laughing at the same jokes every time, and getting cozy as you both enjoy the movie.

- He won’t be able to wait until Christmas Eve to open gifts. If you even try to hold out, he’ll beg and plead, giving you puppy-dog eyes until you finally cave and let him open them early. He’ll be so excited, it’s impossible to resist;

- You’ll decide to bake something together, but it’ll end up going hilariously wrong (maybe the cookies burn or the cake falls apart). Despite the mess, he’ll laugh it off, saying it’s part of the fun, and you’ll both end up eating your imperfect creations anyway.

- Get ready for some cheesy holiday humor! He’ll tell the corniest Christmas jokes like, “What do you call an obnoxious reindeer? Rude-olph,” and you’ll roll your eyes, but secretly, you’ll be laughing because his bad jokes are part of his charm;

- He’ll spend way too long messing with the Christmas lights—maybe they won’t work, or they’ll keep short-circuiting. But when they finally light up perfectly, he’ll stand back with a proud grin, like he just won an Olympic gold medal, and say, “Told you I could do it.”;

- He’ll surprise you with a last-minute Christmas date, where you both drive around to see Christmas lights, eating candy canes and hot chocolate, talking and laughing;

___________________________________________

-> Ray

- ou’ll spend the day watching a marathon of cheesy Christmas movies, laughing at all the overly dramatic scenes and predictable plot twists. You both make fun of the corny moments, quoting lines and sharing playful jabs, but secretly, you both enjoy every second of it;

- Ray takes charge of cooking the Christmas dinner, but you insist on helping. Despite your best intentions, he’s the one doing most of the work, guiding you through each step. He laughs and reassures you that you're the “taste tester” for his creations, giving you playful kisses whenever you offer a critique;

- You will dance together to old Christmas Songs, not like serious dance, but having fun while he spin you around the living room and stole kisses;

- He’s the type to get you a really thoughtful, sentimental gift that might be something that reminds you of a memory you shared together, like a framed photo of your first holiday together.

- Ray creates a personalized Advent calendar for you, giving you small, meaningful gifts every day throughout December. It could be a necklace, a book you’ve been eyeing, or even a tube of your favorite lipstick. Each gift is carefully chosen, with a note attached, making you feel loved every single day;

- Ray is the type of person who insists on giving you a “Christmas morning breakfast,” which usually consists of pancakes, waffles, bacon, and eggs—and he’ll serve it in bed while you both relax.

___________________________________________

-> Mikey

- : Mikey surprises you with a Christmas card, and as you read the message, you can’t help but laugh. It’s a perfect blend of humor and sentimentality, somehow making you feel incredibly loved while still getting a good chuckle;

- You and Mikey head to the ice rink for a fun day of skating. But what starts as a casual activity quickly turns into a competition to see who can fall the least. Mikey, with his trademark coolness, insists that slipping isn’t a big deal, even when he takes a small tumble, and you both end up laughing so hard you can hardly keep your balance;

- Mikey takes over the kitchen to bake you a batch of gingerbread cookies. They might not win any baking awards (some are a little too crispy or misshapen) but Mikey’s proud, and he looks at you with a grin, saying, “Hey, they’re homemade, that’s what counts.” The thought and effort make them taste all the sweeter;

- He’ll sneak up on you during Christmas morning, offering you a cup of hot cocoa and a sweet smile before you even open your presents.

- He will make you a personalized Christmas playlist filled with songs that remind him of you, including some rare tracks he thinks you’d love;

- He will probably get sentimental about Christmas, often recalling funny stories about past holidays, making you both laugh and get lost in the warm memories.

- You both will end up having snowball wars during de Christmas season. It starts out lighthearted, but soon, you’re both throwing snowballs with serious determination, laughing and dodging as the snow piles up around you;

___________________________________________

- So, that's it! Hope u liked! <3

- Tag List: @bossiestbitch @mimilovesnumetal

#my chemical romance #mcr #gerard way #gerard way x reader #frank iero x reader #ray toro x reader #mikey way x reader #ray toro #frank iero #mikey way

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simfluencer-network · 2 days ago

Text

Preview spoiler under read more!

You did it, you opened the last door for this year's calendar.

As I'm writing this, I'm also sighing with relief, because maintaining the calendar is the most involved thing I do every year and it costs me loads of time and energy. I have spent more than 100 hours making the calendar, updating and creating patterns, setting up queued posts, fixing issues, uploading files, taking screenshots, dealing with game crashes and having to redo stuff again, and dealing with my mental health issues that tend to sabotage my workflow at the most inconvenient times. I still enjoy doing it, mainly because of those who tell me how happy the calendar makes them every year. I also get to challenge myself, which is scary but also rewarding and I learn important things about myself, like how I cope under pressure, and it teaches me to improvise when my executive dysfunction does not allow me to do what I planned initially. I still work way too slowly and get lost in the details a lot, so that gets me into trouble easily when it comes to deadlines. But I worked out a system that got me a day off while working 2 doors in one day (this was possible because I had a lot of patterns beforehand), and that worked surprisingly well. This gives me confidence I may pull it off again next year! I could have 5 years of calendars in a row (if only I could schedule my dental appointments this regularly 😆) If you want to say thank you for my efforts in a big way, please consider a donation. My website fee is due in a few months (264€ to be exact) and receiving some donations would really help me out. I cannot work a regular job due to my mental health issues, and keeping my website is important to me. It's the place where you can get most of my CC and I have kept my site ad-free all these years. A comment will also mean a lot to me, so you can also support me in that way if money is not an option for you.

Thank you!

Okay, with that out of the way, here is the last pattern!

I have worked much longer than anticipated on this pattern, which combines the festive spirit with our favorite Sims franchise mascots (the freezer bunny and Llamas - no flamingos this time, sorry).

The pattern is a modification of a real Sims merch pullover. Don't have the bucks to buy that sweater? At least your sims can enjoy it without paying a fortune!

The pattern comes in two sizes, horizontal and vertical versions. Have fun recoloring it!

Download here

If you still have time, you could read my emergency story that I had by default behind every calendar door as a fallback in case I wasn't ready in time with the upload. It happened a few times, especially in the beginning, so some of you may already know this story!

The Pitiful Pattern Predicament

Why is there no download? Let me tell you a story...

In the digital design studio of Simlicious, the North Pole’s most sought-after creator of Sims 3 patterns, chaos was brewing. Today’s advent calendar gift—a set of stunning new fabric patterns—was supposed to be uploaded before midnight. The early birds were excitedly waiting for them after all! And rightfully so: these weren’t just any patterns. No, these were the finest that Simlicious could dream up to celebrate the season: a classic gingham, fun candy-cane stripes, and a softly glittering snowflake fabric. They were designed to make any Sim’s home look cozy, stylish, and festive all at the same time. But something had gone terribly, hilariously wrong.

The Bed vs. Sweater Fiasco

The trouble started when Simlicious applied the first pattern—a cozy red-and-green tartan—to a bedspread. It looked fantastic: warm, festive, and perfect for a Sim’s homey bedroom. But then, as a test, Simlicious decided to slap that same tartan pattern onto a sweater.“Oh no,” she muttered, her chai latte trembling in her hand. The tartan pattern, when stretched across the sweater’s oddly-shaped mesh, morphed into a warped, psychedelic nightmare. The lines twisted at impossible angles, and the festive plaid now looked less “holiday cheer” and more “abstract art gone horribly wrong.” Worse still, when Simlicious zoomed in, she realized the colors had somehow shifted, creating a disturbing optical illusion that made the sweater look slimy.“ Okay, maybe not that one,” she sighed, hastily deleting the sweater test and moving on to the next pattern.

The Great Pixel Rebellion

As if the sweater fiasco wasn’t bad enough, Simlicious noticed something strange happening on her screen. One by one, tiny bits of the snowflake pattern began wiggling. At first, she thought it was a glitch. But then, to her horror, the little white pixels began marching off the design. “Are those... pixels escaping?!” she gasped. Indeed, the snowflake pattern was falling apart before her eyes. The rogue pixels formed a tiny army and began spelling out messages on her screen: “WE REFUSE TO BE STRETCHED OVER CHAIRS!” Simlicious realized her mistake too late—she had accidentally used an experimental AI-driven pattern generator that gave her designs a tiny bit of sentience. Now, the pixels were staging a full-blown rebellion. “Get back here!” she yelled, trying to corral the pixels with her mouse. But they scattered, fleeing to the corners of her screen and hiding behind icons like tiny, mischievous elves.

The Color Scheme Crisis

Desperate to salvage the situation, Simlicious turned her attention to the final pattern: a cheerful candy-cane stripe. It looked perfect on walls, wonderful on throw pillows, and surprisingly chic on curtains. But when she tried applying it to a Sim’s dress, something inexplicable happened: the colors began shifting on their own. At first, the stripes were classic red and white. But then, without warning, the red morphed into neon green, the white became hot pink, and the whole dress started flashing like a broken Christmas light.“WHAT IS HAPPENING?!” Simlicious screamed. Apparently, the candy-cane pattern had inherited some of the rebellious pixels from the snowflake design, and they were having far too much fun messing with the color scheme.

A Suspenseful Cliffhanger

By now, it was late evening, and the elves were nervously pacing outside Simlicious’s studio. “The players are waiting!” Sparkle the IT elf called through the door. “It’s almost too late to upload!” Inside, Simlicious was furiously clicking, her hand cramping on her mouse. “Just a little more time!” she yelled back. She had deleted the rebellious snowflake pattern, but rogue pixels kept popping up in places they shouldn’t—on curtains, on furniture, even on the game’s loading screen. And the candy-cane stripes? They were now flashing a cryptic message: “YOU CAN’T RUSH PERFECTION.” “I don’t have time for this!” Simlicious groaned, trying to wrestle the patterns into submission. But the rebellious pixels weren’t done yet. Somewhere, deep within the game files, they were stirring up more trouble—corrupting meshes, twisting color palettes, and possibly even plotting their next move. The elves outside exchanged worried glances. “Should we tell the players what’s going on?” Sparkle whispered. “Not yet,” Jingle replied. “Let’s hope Simlicious can fix it. But if she can’t... well, we’ll have to come clean.” And so, the fate of today’s advent calendar gift hangs in the balance. Will Simlicious manage to upload the patterns before the pixels destroy everything? Or will the holiday chaos claim yet another victim? Stay tuned... Moral of the story: Sometimes, the perfect pattern takes a little longer than expected. AI can help you to develop a good story like this one, but do not expect it to create a perfect pattern.

It's the 24th, Christmas Eve. I hope you like the last treat I prepared for you. Happy Holidays!

🎄Visit the Advent Calendar 2024🎄

🕯️Alt Link (with animated door)🕯️

It was a lot of work, but a lot of joy as well to prepare all these gifts for you. Your lovely feedback and help to troubleshoot the squished links issue I had in the first week of the calendar kept me going!

I want to thank @gittessimsadventuresog, @simsmono, and @windermeresimblr again for submitting background images for the calendar. They were all so wonderful and I enjoyed them immensely! I hope you all did too.

I will release a full collection of the calendar, but I don't have an ETA yet since I'm spending time with my family now and need to recharge.

If you want, you can give me a present too!

Your contribution will help pay for my website and my Photoshop subscription. Thank you for your support!

Now enjoy this last treat!🎁

#pattern #themed pattern #holiday pattern #simlicious

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asmo-cosmetics · 8 months ago

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a lot of the characterization in the arcana is wildly wrong but perhaps the most glaringly obvious bit is that asra would be irreconcilably jealous and heartbroken that he's not the one you want to be with in every other route but especially lucio's (hates him) and julian's (still in love with both of you)

#some of the shipping is okay like i like portia and nadia in julians route #but asra should not even be capable of moving on like i'm not even saying i want him to be unhappy i'm saying that's the guy they wrote #obsessed with you to a genuinely stupid degree. wet cat etc #sorry i'm having fun this is how i post when i'm having fun #the arcana #asra alnazar

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wildechildwrites · 3 months ago

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Run, Rabbit

König/Reader

Wordcount: 3.8k

Warnings: 18+, Violence, Injury, Smut, lightly noncon but in the way that you're fighting it but are down, König being insane

No use of Y/N

Summary: You're on a solo mission in Romania, and König goes hunting

A/N: "Oh look another predator/prey coded Konig fic how original" SHUT UP I KNOW

AO3: Run, Rabbit

18+

You’re in the forests of Romania on a solo mission, snooping around an abandoned military base that’s been the location of some suspicious activity, according to your sources. You find the ghost of the for-hire group Kortac in rat-chewed maps and files, faint footprints in layers of dust, but the trail has long gone cold, the building slowly being reclaimed by nature. The trees show no sign of the changes of autumn, but it's in the air, the late summer whisper of a chill in the breeze. You take your time picking your way along the overgrown roads, enjoying the tranquility of the forest. The extraction point is ten clicks west of your position, but you’re content with your steady pace, the sun still high in the sky, shining brightly through the thick foliage, and the hike is an easy one. Your meager findings are carefully folded in your bag of gear, your gun snug on your hip. Ten meters to your right, a red deer raises its head up, watching you warily, before bolting away into the trees. You smile to yourself and raise your face to better feel the sun.

You hear the crack of the shot and drop, but not quickly enough. Your ears ring, your shoulder burning agonizingly, like someone’s pushing a hot poker against it. You fight against the nausea and pain, willing yourself to move, scrambling into the brush for cover. The shot came from your six, and you grapple for your binoculars, trying to locate the shooter on the hill above you. You recognize the mask first, the bleached tear tracks down an executioner's hood, the hulking form of the figure wearing it unfortunately familiar. König is standing casually, seemingly unafraid of any return of fire, staring down like he can see you through the trees. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle instinctually as he begins to move, a sauntering pace down the hill like the slow lope of a wolf. You drop down again, ignoring the pain in your shoulder as you crawl through the underbrush.

Nestled low on a hill, large body half buried in the underbrush, König watches you through the scope of his rifle, toying with the idea of killing you. He recognizes you from the files he’s seen on the 141, but there was nothing left at the base for you to find, no reason to draw suspicion and attention back here. You were harmless like this, and magnetic, head tilted towards the sun, your face lit up in a wash of gold light that plays up the color of your hair. His finger brushes lightly across the trigger as he contemplates his options. He rolls his neck loose before glancing through his scope again.

You stop behind a small boulder, pressing your back to it, breathing heavily, and pull your radio off of your hip. “Bravo Six, this is Bravo Seven Four, over.”

The crackle of the radio is a relief, Price’s voice faint but firm. “Go ahead Bravo Seven Four, over.”

“Enemies one; direction east of my grid two hundred meters, injury sustained, six clicks out of extraction point, over.” You peek out from behind the rock, but can't see anything, so you continue your crawl, waiting for a response. The birds have stopped singing, a deadly quiet that warns of danger.

“Stay calm Bravo Seven Four–” Price’s voice is cut off by the sound of another bullet whizzing near you. You can’t have your radio giving away your position, and the squad is too far away to reach you before König could. You grab your radio and quickly press the button.

“Bravo Six, silence, meet at extraction, over.” You turn it off, not waiting for a response, and tuck it back into your belt. Ignoring the growing burning in your shoulder, you move as quickly through the underbrush as you can. You need to cover more ground if you’re going to make it out of here, so you weigh your options, propping yourself into a low crouch, scanning the woods behind you. You can’t see or hear anything. You inhale deeply, then break into a sprint.

The cracking of branches is faint, but König is listening for it, his rifle slung over his shoulder as he searches for you. He immediately changes directions, moving towards the noise and quickening his pace. If you want to run, he’s more than happy to indulge you, relishing the adrenaline of the chase. Your trail is clear, broken branches like a beacon beckoning him closer. He spots blood on one of the low boulders, and swipes it up on his gloved hand, smiling under the mask.

You're hyper aware of your disadvantage, the sounds of snapping branches as your pursuer draws closer, the sluggish flow of blood down your shoulder from where the bullet grazed you. Your lungs burn, head woozy as you run hard, branches scraping at your form. You risk a look over your shoulder, searching for König behind you, and your heart drops when you miss a step.

All of a sudden, you're falling, hands stretched out in front of you as you tumble down a steep hill. You hear and feel the snap of your ankle in your boot, a whimpering sob yanked from your chest as you finally land heavily in some thorn covered bushes, branches scratching your body even through the thick fabric of your uniform. You pull yourself out, ignoring the pain as thorns drag against your face, drawing blood, then scan yourself quickly, the prognosis bleak. You can't run, not with what is definitely a broken ankle, and your shoulder is still oozing freely, but you won’t go down without a fight. You drag yourself through the dirt using your good arm, stopping periodically to listen to the sounds of König moving through the trees. Your entire body burns, and you fight against the growing fatigue that’s threatening to overwhelm you, trying to hold onto your quickly waning adrenaline.

The sound of breaking branches draws nearer. He’s moving faster, heavy footfalls that make your leg muscles twitch with the urge to run. König whistles, high and loud, and you reach for your gun, cocking it as quietly as you can, turning around to face the direction of the noise, crouching low. Your heart pounds in your chest, fear creeping in, the weight of your situation crashing down on you.

“I heard you cry out,” a voice rings through the trees. There's something light in König’s tone, like this has all been a game of tag. “You can't be too far.”

Then the only sound is the breeze, rustling in the leaves. Blood from a cut on your forehead drips into your eye, and you resist the urge to wipe it away, scanning your surroundings as best you can without moving.

The unwelcome feeling of the muzzle of a gun presses against the side of your head, and your body shudders involuntarily.

“Drop your weapon, Häschen,” König murmurs. You comply immediately, tossing it at his feet, unwilling to argue with a Beretta at your temple. The large man quickly kicks your gun into the bushes. “Sit up,” he commands, and you move slowly, trying not to aggravate your broken bone.

The small shack hasn’t been used in a while, the table in the center of the room is covered in dust, and spiders have made their home in the corners, spinning silvery streamers that hang down, brushing against his helmet. König places you lightly on the small bed in the corner, stooping over uncomfortably in the low room. Your hair is full of sticks and leaves, your face scraped and bleeding. He needs to look at your shoulder, and the ankle you’d been hovering over protectively, but work comes first. You’ve thrown him off, his fingers tingling where he held you to him, the phantom pressure of your head on his chest as he carried your unconscious body through the woods haunting him even now. He grabs your gear bag, dumping it unceremoniously onto the table, pulling your medkit to the side before rifling through the papers you’d found. The information was outdated, but he shoves the papers into one of the pockets of his pants for disposal later regardless.

You knew he was large, but kneeling at his feet he feels like a goliath, towering over you, the gun held in his grip looking comically small in his giant hands. He holsters it, and you get a stupid, moronic, brilliant idea. In a quick motion, you’ve ripped your radio off of your belt, pressing down on the button and bringing it to your lips. “MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY–” König slams the heel of his palm into the back of your head, and the world goes dark.

He doesn’t bother stripping you properly, just takes his knife and slices it up through the collar of your shirt, baring your shoulder to him. His eyes, unbidden, trace the line of the now exposed column of your throat, and he swallows loudly in the quiet of the room. König draws his attention back to your injury with some difficulty. He barely even grazed you, the puckered wound bleeding sluggishly, and he quietly gloats at his own aim. When he pours alcohol on it, you awaken with a hiss, throwing your arm out hard in his direction reflexively before your brain catches up with you. He deflects you easily, wrapping large fingers around your wrist, enjoying the feeling of the delicate bones, watching with silent smugness as your confusion reads clear on your face.

“Guten tag,” he says, pleasantly casual, as though you’ve run into him at the grocery store. Your head is pounding, and you’re thrown, trying to grasp your surroundings. Your shoulder is burning, and you’re suddenly aware of the air on your bare skin. You rip your hand out of his grasp, pulling yourself as far away from him on the small bed as you can manage. He tilts his head, studying you.

“What are you doing?” You ask, your voice hard.

König gestures with the alcohol he’s holding. “I’m patching up your injuries.” His voice is low, his accent curling around the syllables of his sentences like smoke.

You blink at him, utterly disarmed. “Why,” you pause, biting your cheek as a wave of pain radiates through your ankle, “Are you patching up my injuries?”

“Would you prefer it if I left them?” He volleys back lightly, tilting his head.

You don’t say anything, staring at him with suspicion. He’s got you cornered, quite literally, and there’s no way you can get away from him with your ankle like this unless you can get your hands on a weapon. There’s a knife tucked in your boot, but you can’t exactly pull it out subtly. His beretta is on his hip, his rifle is leaning against the table, but you’d be lying to yourself if you thought you had a chance in hell of reaching either before he could.

König takes your silence for compliance and goes back to dabbing your wound with alcohol. You flinch when he places his hand on you, and he makes a dissatisfied noise in the back of his throat. “Such a nervous little rabbit.” The mask conceals his expression from you, but you can hear the frown in his voice.

“You shot me,” you respond dryly. “Doesn’t exactly foster trust.”

“Just a scratch. I could’ve killed you, if I wanted to.” He shrugs, a casual movement that’s unintentionally intimidating, your eyes on the way his shoulder muscles move beneath the layers of clothing he wears.

You spend your time with large men, the boys of your team all averaging above six feet, but König is just startlingly gigantic. You scan his torso, eyes tracing across the wide planes of his chest, lingering too long to be decent. You catch yourself and drop your gaze down to your hands. “If you don’t want to kill me, what do you want?”

“I want to know what you are doing here.” His tone is still pleasant, but interrogative. His fingers are deliberate, surprisingly gentle as he bandages your shoulder, but there’s an unspoken thread of tension in the air.

You’re much more docile when he patches up your ankle, an uneasy truce between the two of you. You sit still as he splints it, legs draped almost intimately over his lap, his large fingers curled around your injured leg, gentle pressure holding you steady as he works. He adjusts his hold, squeezing lightly on the meat of your calf, and your breathing stutters. His eyes flick to yours, something dangerous in their expression, and you hold his gaze as you deliberately drag your uninjured leg closer to you, your boot trailing across König's upper thighs intentionally. His eyes slip close at the sensation, just for a moment, and that's when you act, yanking your knife out of your boot and sinking it into his thigh and launching yourself to the floor. He lets out a snarling cry, and you scramble up, your vision going white from the pain of your ankle, but you push through it, sprinting out of the shack.

“Chasing shadows.” You respond, your voice equally mild. You know he looked through your pack and probably found the papers. You wonder if he thought it was ironic that you came sniffing after KorTac, just to run right into him. You certainly did.

You can't run properly, reduced to a hobble that's made all the more difficult by the fact that you're on uneven terrain in the quickly growing dark. You need to figure out your location and find a way to contact your team, but you’re disoriented and disarmed. You haven’t made it more than a few meters when you hear the sound of the front door slam open. You pick up the pace, trying to put as much distance between you and the very angry Austrian hot on your trail.

“Häschen,” König’s voice rings through the trees, and a trickle of fear runs through you. You duck behind a tree, pressing yourself against it firmly, trying to blend in with the darkness.

“Always trying to run away,” he snarls, shoving his body against yours. He thrusts his uninjured thigh between your legs, pinning you further, and you let out an unintentional gasp at the sudden pressure of hard muscle against your core. König instantly pulls away, his eyes shooting down to your ankle with concern, before dragging slowly up your body, his gaze accusatory.

He can hear you breathing, light and quick, and he doesn’t even try to disguise the heavy sound of his footsteps as he closes in on you. He whips around the tree you’re cowering against, and you try to bolt, but he wraps his fingers around your bicep, yanking you back, slamming his hands above your head, trapping you against the tree.

“You like this,” he says, and you shake your head desperately.

“I don’t–” he interrupts any denials you might have, deliberately grinding his thigh in between your legs. You clench your teeth against the noise it draws from your throat.

He leans impossibly closer, your noses almost brushing through the hood he wears. “Did you like the chase as well?” His voice is a husky rumble, full of heat, and you have to bite back a whine. “I liked the chase.” You realize the hard length against your stomach isn't his Beretta, and an unwanted spike of arousal shoots through you in response.

“You’re insane,” you snap, grappling for some semblance of control over the building pleasure in your core. König pulls away from you abruptly, and you flush at how wet you are, soaking through your underwear.

“How about a game, Häschen?” his voice has lost its edge, back to the pleasant tone he used in the shack, and your head spins at the sudden change. “I'll give you five minutes to run or hide, and if you can make it ten minutes without me finding you, I’ll take you to your extraction point myself, safe and sound.”

Your heart races. You don’t trust him, but there's no way you'll get another chance to get away from him. “And if I can’t?” You ask.

You know you’re fucked, but you scramble through the darkness as quickly as you can, trying to find a good place to hide. If your ankle wasn’t broken, you’d climb a tree, but you’re stuck searching for ground cover, listening with mounting paranoia to the quiet noises of the forest. You’re a celestial body pulled unwillingly into König’s orbit; collision unavoidable.

He says nothing, just purposefully presses his hard cock against your center. Traitorous want flows through you.

You hear him coming, branches breaking as he stalks towards you. You stand as straight as you can, letting him approach you, his eyes bright in the dim of twilight. When he comes within range, you lunge for his gun, almost succeeding in yanking it out of the holster before he grabs you around the waist and pulls you to the ground, pinning you roughly beneath him.

Even as he manhandles you, you're hyper aware of the delicate way he avoids putting any weight near your injured shoulder. He's got your legs splayed around him, but he's careful, adjusting you just so, keeping your ankle tucked safely away, angled so he won't jostle it. His hips press obscenely against your ass, and you can't help arching your back into him, begging for his cock even as you swear at him.

“Get the fuck off of me,” you spit, and he just laughs, an off-putting, mean sound, before reaching around and ripping open your pants. The button pops off, and the zipper teeth split forcefully apart as he shoves a hand into your underwear.

“Complain all you want, Häschen, but you're soaked for me,” he coos into your ear, roughly rubbing your clit. You moan at the contact, and he moves his hand lower, pressing his palm against your clit before shoving a finger into your wet center, roughly splitting you open. You gasp at the sudden stretch, König giving you no time to adjust as he pulls his finger out for a moment and plunges it back in, moving in and out at a punishing pace.

“Tell the truth.” He orders, adding a second finger. He curls them, stroking your inner walls, bullying you open until he finds the spot that makes you see stars. “Say you want me to fuck you.”

You're beyond words, making a derisive noise that transforms into a whine as you move your hips back, driving König's fingers deeper, your ass rubbing against his clothed erection. All you can focus on is the press of his body against yours, his fingers unspooling you, pulling you apart as he pants along with you. The tension is building, the knot in your stomach tightening as König forces you closer to the edge.

He pulls his fingers out abruptly, leaving you devastatingly empty and unsatisfied, and you let out an anguished whimper despite yourself. He pushes your pants roughly down around your thighs, and the purr of his zipper opening makes you clench reflexively around nothing.

He presses right against your entrance, a breath away from splitting you open on his cock. You shove your hips back, trying to fuck yourself onto him, and he pulls back. “Say you want this,” he demands.

“Fuck. You.” You snarl, even as your thighs tremble. He drags the head of his cock up through your folds, coating himself in your wetness, and you gasp.

“Such spirit,” he murmurs. In a single motion, he sinks into you, splitting you in open, pulling the air from your lungs.

He thrusts into you fast and hard, like he wants to tear you open, and it hurts, even with how soaked you are. You cry out, trying to squirm away from the pain. His fingers find your clit again, his breath hot in your ear. He dwarfs you, your legs shaking from pleasure and the weight of him on top of you, pressing you into the dirt.

“You wanted this.” His voice is a panting snarl, his talented fingers stealing your senses as he forces you closer to your orgasm. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the forest air as he pounds into you without mercy. “Say it.”

“I want this,” you whimper. You feel the shocking whisper of his lips against the junction of your neck and shoulder and realize with a start that means he’s not wearing his hood. All thoughts are shoved out of your head as he sinks his teeth into your skin, and you wail as you snap, the sensation dragging you over the edge, your body trembling as you cum. His thrusts become sloppy, his cock twitching inside you as he shoves his hips against yours, filling you up. He stays like that, flush against you, as his dick softens, keeping you full and trapped under him.

You lay in the dirt panting, hollowed out and raw. There are pine needles prickling against your skin, soreness awakening in your limbs as you come back to yourself. König climbs off of you, still cognizant of your injuries, and pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you like a lover, the brutality melting into tenderness like watercolor. His hood is back in place, and the world comes crashing down around you as your senses return, the weight of your actions pulling you down as regret and shame bubble under your skin.

The walk to the extraction point is silent. König holds you cradled against his chest; your hand fisted in the front of the vest he wears. His thigh burns, his entire body consumed with exhaustion, but he clenches his jaw against the pain, focusing instead on your face, turnt up towards him, open and vulnerable, eyes rimmed with red. If he was a better man, he'd be sorry.

König notices your eyes glazing over, the warble of your chin, and reaches up a large hand to cradle your face, wiping away tears you didn't realize were threatening to fall. “Hush bunny, you did so well,” he croons down at you, his saccharine actions thrown in high relief against how violently he handled you before. “Such a good girl for me.”

He sets you down gently on a large rock, and pulls your knife out of a hidden pocket, his hand raised in a placating gesture as he slowly places it beside you. It’s still got his blood on it, dried to rust on the tip. You don’t reach for it, pulling your uninjured leg up and wrapping your arms around yourself. You look even smaller than you did before.

He straightens his spine against the odd sensation in his chest. “Tell your captain to keep a closer eye on his men,” He orders, then reaches out a hand, hovering just above your cheek bone. Neither of you bridge the gap.

You watch him disappear into the trees, the shadows swallowing him whole, the sound of a helicopter in the distance.

#konig: i showed minimal restraint when causing u bodily harm y wont u let me hit #part of me didnt want to post it because its simply so unoriginal but thats kind of how tropes work fun fact #I also just hate how it turned out eventually I'll rewrite everything but for now I'm just sorry #foreplay is actually shooting someone nonfatally btw #and reader has a pain tolerance like a mother fucker because this is poorly written fanfiction #I cannot write smut I literally wrote everything but the sex and then sat on it for weeks I have such a hard time with it #konig x reader #konig fanfiction #konig x reader smut #konig x you #cod konig #konig/reader #cod x reader #konig cod

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