#the christmas jumble
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
yellis - The Christmas Jumble
youtube
#Christmas#xmas#xmas song#christmas song#medley#merry christmad#Merry christmas#the christmas jumble#guitar chords#guitar#chords#piano#keyboard#piano chords#Xmas music#christmas music#Youtube
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
A LOOK AT STYLE'S JOURNEY | Ep 4
(Overview | Ep1+2 | Ep3 | Ep5 | Ep6)
Hiii, I'm back at it again <3
I'm not gonna write a proper introduction this time around. You know the drill. Enjoy!
(And if you're new here, feel free to check out my posts on the other episodes linked above first.)
To recap: Last time we saw Style, he had just been left lying on the cold hard ground with a punch to the gut after having hooked up with Fadel in a random storage room. Just like at the end of ep2, at the end of ep3 they did not part on the best of terms either.
Pronoun situation: In my first meta post I kept up with their pronoun use on a scene by scene basis. Just like in ep3, I won't do that in ep4 either because they consistently use the rude guu/mueng pronouns for each other throughout the entire episode without any significant pronoun changes.
No. 1: Blissful Dreams
Even though the hook-up ended rather painfully for Style, and even though the hook-up itself may not have been quite what Style dreamed of, it's still left quite a mark on him. So much so, that he even dreams about it that night. So much so, that this dream even affects him in real life the next morning.
"Crap," Style swears. This wasn't the plan. Style may have a bit of a problem now. And over the course of this episode we'll find out just how much of a problem Style actually has now, because the dream hasn't only affected him physically, but the reality that inspired the dream has also affected him emotionally.
No. 2: Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder
The majority of the interactions Style has had with Fadel so far have ended with Fadel either forcing Style to leave (even to the point of physically dragging him away) or with Fadel abandoning Style. Even if from Style's perspective it may not seem like his actions have much of a positive effect on Fadel, I think deep down he does sense that he's managing to worm his way into Fadel's life after all. In any case, Style is not giving up no matter how many times Fadel will ditch him. However, since none of the strategies he's tried so far have seemed to really bear fruit, he now changes course again: disappear for a bit, so that he'll miss you. This strategy works exceptionally well, but Style won't know about it until about two thirds into the episode.
No. 3: Blue-Balled
Despite his resolution to stay away from Fadel to make him miss him, Style fails to hold out for long and is back rather sooner than later. As @secriden points out, Style "comes running to Fadel the second he hears about Fadel asking about him" (quoted from @secriden). Style even explicitly says that he hadn't planned on stopping by, but then "some auntie told me someone asked about me". Style has tried out a new strategy that he hasn't gone with before, learned that it actually did have some sort of affect on Fadel, and immediately rushes to confirm this for himself. Within the first 30 seconds (20 seconds, to be exact!) of Style entering the kitchen he asks Fadel twice if Fadel has missed him. It's literally the second and the fifth sentence out of his mouth when he shows up. This is important info to Style, he needs to know if Fadel has missed him and he needs to know immediately. Style has already started to develop positive feelings towards Fadel over the course of episode 3 and their little storage room fling has influenced that development even more. Style needs to know if Fadel feels the same way. In fact, he downright assumes that Fadel feels the same way: it's in the way he is so satisfied and smug when he walks through the door. Style is very happy about this.
Fadel, however, shoots him down. Style's smile fades, but I don't think it's necessarily because he's hurt or disappointed or wasn't expecting this reaction. No, Fadel has reacted like this to about 90% of the things Style has said to him the entire time they've known each other. Style backs up a bit, but the way he looks at Fadel seems curious, like he's searching for something, like there is a question on his mind. Why does he STILL keep insisting like this, why does he STILL go for rejection when evidence points to the opposite?
Reminder: Last time the two of them saw each other, Style was way out of line and Fadel ended up punching him. Style was also quite upset that Fadel would sleep with him and immediately ditch him. In their last meeting, they didn't part on the best of terms.
So Fadel claims he didn't miss Style (despite evidence saying otherwise) and that Style annoys him because he messes up Fadel's routine and Style thinks about it for a moment, contemplates what Fadel's problem could be with him this time that could make him act like that and then comes to a conclusion as to what it might be:
He lets Fadel know that he's not angry at him for what happened the night before. When Style says "I was asking for it", I'm not entirely convinced he's referring to his unserious behavior at the group meeting. I'm not sure he's actually realized that his behavior was disrespectful. After all, he was "rewarded" with sex for it. Plus, the next thing he says is: "[I]t doesn’t matter how scary you are". I think this refers to their confrontation and verbal exchange right around Fadel punching Style. I already touched on Style not being scared of Fadel in my ep 3 meta:
Fadel threatens to punch Style if he doesn't move but Style refuses to stand down even though he knows very well from personally witnessing it that Fadel is perfectly capable of punching him if he wished to. Despite that, Style is not scared of Fadel. [...] When Style says "You like me" I don't think he necessarily means it in the sense of you're in love with me or you're crushing on me. I think he [...] is making it very clear just how confident he is about Fadel not hurting him. [...] It's a counterattack to Fadel's threat.
(Bolded for emphasis)
Style was very fearless the night before, which is why I think when Style says "I was asking for it" he's referring specifically to how Fadel was threatening him and how Style put up a fight in response. He "was asking for it", because he didn't move out of Fadel's way despite Fadel making it very clear what the consequences of Style's stubbornness would be. Fadel got scary in their last meeting, and now Style tells him "[I]t doesn’t matter how scary you are, I’m hooked". While in episode 3 the "I'm not scared of you" was implicit in his actions, Style now tells him explicitly in words.
If you've read my episode 3 meta, you'll know that a running theme throughout the entire post ended up being the question of whether Style really meant all the things he said (esp the flirty things) or if it was all just empty words. Here in the kitchen? Style means every single word, every flirty sentence that he utters. In episode 3, when he bugs Fadel at the running track or when he tells Fadel that he likes and wants him right before they hook up at the end of the episode, there is such an air of loudness to his demeanor. In contrast, when Style tells Fadel "I'm hooked" and asks him what he has to do to win him over, there is much more tranquility to it. Even his voice is calmer, there is no trace of his usual dramatic flair. Style is much more grounded here compared to some of his flirting (attempts) in previous episodes.
Style is being serious when he says "[I]t doesn’t matter how scary you are, I’m hooked", he really means it. But Fadel only looks at him for a moment, squints his eyes briefly, and wordlessly directs his focus back on his herbs, signaling to Style Yeah sure whatever, I don't care, you're a burden and an inconvenience to me. This is yet another very predictable reaction and Style isn't surprised by it, but he's definitely a little annoyed now that he's still not getting through to Fadel, that Fadel still won't admit that he does want Style around and has started taking a liking to him. So Style leans closer to Fadel again and asks what it will take for Style to win him over. Again, Style is being serious about it, his usual over the top flair is missing. He isn't doing this for show, he's not playing anything up because someone else asked him to or because he'll gain something out of it. Style is asking because he genuinely wants to know for no one but himself. Style genuinely cares now.
But Fadel tells Style to fuck off. Not literally, of course (his actual words are "Get out of my face"), but "fuck off" is certainly the subtext of it. And that subtext reaches Style clear as day. Instead of following Fadel's order, he's gonna be a little shit about it now.
"Fuck", you say? Gladly. Malicious compliance with the subtext. Style walks around the table. "I know a guy like you just needs a little nudge."
Again, this time around I do think Style means all the flirty shit that he says. It's in the way his tone is much more calm and quiet and how everything he says is much more deliberate, much more calculated. It's a similar vibe to that time in the gym when he told Fadel to call him any time if he needed a spotter, which, if you've read my first meta post of this series, is a scene you'll know I've determined to be the first time Style genuinely flirts with Fadel for the purpose of flirting and not for any other motivations such as revenge. And now here in the kitchen he's also flirting for the purpose of flirting again. His words aren't just empty words.
Another way we can tell that Style genuinely wants to get into Fadel's pants right there and then is by the way he gets handsy. In episode 3 he doesn't really touch Fadel when he spouts all the sexual innuendos at him at the running track. The only time Style touches him in that scene is when he squeezes Fadel's man boob in order to emphasize the word "heart". Or in the storage room, even though he claims to want Fadel, Style doesn't touch Fadel either during that entire conversation before they get it going. In fact, the only time he touches Fadel before Fadel starts kissing him is to remove Fadel's hand from him. In contrast, the sauna scene in episode 2 showed us that when Style actually, genuinely wants to sleep with Fadel, he'll start touching Fadel in suggestive places, will even go as far as shamelessly stick his hands down Fadel's pants (or, uh, towel in that case). And even though he didn't exactly get handsy with Fadel at the work-out bench, despite my claims of this interaction being the very first time he genuinely flirts with Fadel, well... Style may have not been handsy, but he sure got kneely:
In the kitchen in episode 4 every flirty thing Style says is an attempt at getting into Fadel's pants again (Oh, how very much the storage room fling has left its mark on Style!). Style genuinely wants this, genuinely wants him. Every single one of Style's actions underlines that as well. And then Fadel actually maneuvers him onto the kitchen table. Style is elated.
At this point I want to once again take a little detour to @clemelntine's meta on each of the boys' sexual fantasies of one other and what that means for the storage room hook-up. If you remember, she writes:
No matter how much he annoys Fadel in the day to day and how much he seems to take the upperhand in those interactions, when it comes to sex he likes in the idea of letting Fadel do what he does/wants.
Not only do we see this play out in the storage room in the way Style gladly gives Fadel full control over his body, but we see this pattern continue in the kitchen. Style is very proactive in showing just how much he wants to get into Fadel's pants but the moment Fadel seemingly folds and goes along with it, Style lets Fadel put him on the kitchen table with no resistance whatsoever and eagerly awaits whatever Fadel has in store for him this time, letting Fadel have full control over the situation and his body again.
Whenever Fadel has blocked or rejected or ignored Style in this scene so far, it has not come as a surprise to Style a single time. This is what Fadel does. Style is used to it. It might annoy or disgruntle him at times, but overall he is used to it. But when Fadel drops "You won’t ever get what you want" and leaves him hanging? This time around it hits Style completely out of left field. Style was so caught up in his euphoria, that he didn't see this coming at all (unlike me, the audience, who was just sitting there going "ohh shit oh damn this is gonna be another fake-out" the moment Fadel grabbed Style's waist and turned him towards the table dfjkdf). After all, Fadel did sleep with him the night before, and so Style probably completely forgot that Fadel could dump him at any moment. In fact, he was probably confident that Fadel sleeping with him the night before and now asking about him at the market when Style failed to show up were signs that Fadel had started to develop feelings for him as well. And if Fadel has feelings for him now, then he would likely also want this, so why would Fadel ditch him? But Fadel does. Style is angry and he's hurt and he's disappointed, but Fadel's rejection hits him so much out of nowhere that I think he actually takes a while to process what has just happened and how to feel about it and how to react. Usually in situations like this, Style will put up a fight with Fadel until one of them wins, but this time around he is so stupefied that he immediately moves towards the door when Fadel shoves him towards it without firmly standing his ground and fighting Fadel about it first. Style does yell at Fadel that he won't let Fadel ditch him and when Fadel comes at him again, just for a short moment Style is about to stand his ground, but then Style shoves him away and leaves the kitchen angrily, instead of fighting him.
While I do think Style is hurt by Fadel's actions, I think anger and shock are his leading emotions here as he storms off. I think the hurt only really properly starts coming out and taking over once Style's shock has worn off and he's processed the situation.
No. 4: OnlyFans
The immediate shock of the situation has now worn off, Style has had a little time to process and now he's ready to fight again. There is still so much anger in Style, but now we can also see just how hurt he actually is. This is even more evident when we go back to episodes 1 and 2 where we've seen this whole thing play out before: Fadel humiliates Style in private and Style retaliates by humiliating Fadel in public. Fadel drags Style out of the diner by his feet in the privacy of the closed restaurant. Style yells at him in front of everyone at a busy market place in return. Fadel leaves Style hanging in the privacy of the diner kitchen whose only staff is Fadel himself. Style yells at him in front of every customer at the restaurant in return.
When Fadel drags Style out of the restaurant in episode 1, Style is of course angry and humiliated. And sure, it did hurt his pride, but it's mostly just that. Fadel, at this point, is mostly just some weird, grumpy dude to him that he has now been hired to hit on. Back then Style wasn't expecting that fake-out either, but it doesn't leave him as stunned as it did this time in the kitchen. In episode 1, he even tries to fight Fadel. He can't do much while he's being pulled along the floor, but as soon as Style is back on his feet he immediately starts raging at the door, pulling at the handles and banging at it. In the kitchen, Style is too stunned to put up a fight and actively runs away instead of fighting Fadel.
When Style yells at Fadel in the market place, while it comes from a place of revenge it's still something he does for show. His words are loud and dramatic and they're for everyone around them to hear more than they are for Fadel himself. It's all a public performance to Style. And the audience is everyone at the market. It's about making everyone see how "bad" of a guy Fadel is and it doesn't really matter whether Fadel is listening to his words or not as long as his words reach his true audience and they believe him. Style is clearly having fun yelling at Fadel while also using the chance to blow off some steam from his previous annoyances with Fadel. When Fadel yields, Style immediately lets it go and chills again.
When Style yells at Fadel at the diner, he's once again causing a scene in public, but this time his words are for Fadel to hear, not for the strangers around them. The fact that there's strangers around them is just a welcome bonus and I think in that moment Style doesn't even really care if any of them are actually listening in or not, as long as his words reach Fadel. Style's voice is sharp as a knife, sharper than we've ever heard it before, and every sentence he utters is a stab at Fadel. When Fadel hands him the apron and tells him to leave, Style agrees, but he speaks out a warning first ("But just keep in mind: Nobody gets to nail and bail me."). His fighting spirit has come back, and when Fadel launches a counterattack ("I’ll be the first"), Style does not back down this time around like he did earlier in the kitchen. It's Fadel who walks away this time and Style reminds him that he'll continue to fight him ("A guy like Style won’t back down"). It's only when he walks out of the restaurant that he turns his argument with Fadel into an actual public performance. It's only when he invites everyone at the restaurant to take pictures of him that his words are for show and for his audience to hear.
We've just watched a situation that we've seen before play out but this time around it's very different. Because this time around Fadel actually means something to Style. And this time around Style has already slept with Fadel, which also meant something to him. I'm not entirely sure Style has quite figured out what exactly it all means to him and I also don't think he's head over heels in love with Fadel yet, but he sure is starting to have many emotions. While Style was also enraged back in episode 1 after Fadel dragged him out of the diner, his anger has leveled up now because this time around, underneath all of that anger, Style is also very hurt. They were starting to make progress and Style even got to celebrate small victories along the way (Fadel making him a burger, Fadel actually sleeping with him, Fadel asking about his whereabouts). Style was starting to get somewhere with Fadel, was slowly starting to develop some feelings of his own for Fadel, and Fadel just goes and kicks down Style's sandcastle. What's more, Style has made it very clear to Fadel how he feels about getting nailed and bailed, and then Fadel just goes and does it on purpose.
Style is so angry and hurt that this time around just one public yelling isn't enough. This time he goes for a round 2.
No. 5: A Ruined Man
Style is back at the support group. This time it's not to find out more about Fadel's backstory, this time he is here because he has a message for Fadel. And this time Style's distress isn't cringe, because this time the situation is serious to him. He is seriously angry, and he is seriously hurt, and it's important to him that Fadel is fully aware of it, aware of what he's done to Style.
"When you like someone, and they only think of you as a toy, something they can break, they don’t even know how deep they have cut you."
Oh, Style. I hope you don't end up eating your own words later when Fadel finds out why exactly you were hitting on him and trying to get him to fall for you in the first place.
No. 6: Are These Systoms of Being Pregarnt?
This time Fadel is so done with Style that he drags him away in front of everyone else instead of waiting until no one is around. And Style is finally able to have somewhat of a civil conversation with Fadel again. While he is still angry at Fadel since they still haven't cleared up their quarrel, he is no longer outright yelling at him or attacking Fadel with his words like he was at the diner or in the group meeting just now. The tone of his voice is softer and also his dramatic flair is back when he goes on and on about how he might as well be pregnant. And we also learn what exactly it is that Style wants from Fadel: "You slept with me, so take responsibility for it."
I've already talked at length about why I think Style isn't one for casual, no strings attached one-night stands in my ep3 meta, and Style's words here highlight this once again. The storage room sex mattered to Style. And I don't think it mattered to him because it was a step closer to fulfilling the mission he's been sent on and a step closer to getting the car of his dreams.
If you read my ep3 meta, you'll know that I mention a couple of times that Style is developing "positive feelings" for Fadel. Phrasing it like this rather than phrasing it as "romantic feelings" or "starting to like" was a very deliberate decision. Because I don't think Style was quite there yet in episode 3. He still had many other ulterior motivations and intentions going on, be it Kant's "hit on Fadel so I can get to Bison" mission that Style gets a car out of or Style being nosy about Fadel's lore. If you remember, at the beginning of this meta when Style woke up with a boner I said Style may have a bit of a problem now. The problem is his own feelings – this whole episode hasn't been about Kant's mission or the car anymore (or about Style finding out Fadel's backstory). Instead, this whole episode we've been exploring Style's real feelings, his own desires. Style has started to care when it comes to Fadel, has started to genuinely want him. Style is starting to genuinely like Fadel now. He even lets it slip during the support group meeting:
"When you like someone, and they only think of you as a toy, something they can break, they don’t even know how deep they have cut you."
And yes, one could argue that he's been saying he likes Fadel ever since Kant set him on Fadel and that Style, in fact, has said he likes Fadel many, many times before, so this is nothing out of the ordinary. But I think this time it is in fact different. I think this time he means it. Because if it was just a lie, if those were just empty words, then Fadel dumping him in the kitchen wouldn't have hurt so much. And at this point, I think Style's hurt isn't only about being dumped in the kitchen but also about being ditched in the storage room. Style may have said he won't hold what happened back then against Fadel, but maybe deep down he does. Because the storage room sex mattered to him and at this point of the episode maybe it matters to him even more so than at the beginning of the episode or at the end of episode 3. Not to mentioned, he really doesn't like getting nailed and bailed. You slept with me, so take responsibility for it.
No. 7: I Hate the Way I Don't Hate You. Not Even a Little Bit. Not Even at All.
"You're not killing me or anything like that, right?" Style says as they're walking out of their last scene and Fadel promptly takes him out to the woods into an abandoned greenhouse. They still haven't cleared anything up between the two of them and Style is still kinda angry, which is why I think that when he says "Are we doing it outdoors? Your taste sure surprises me" he says it mostly to piss Fadel off, not because he wants to flirt or actually do it with him in that moment (oh but just you wait another few minutes 🤭🤭🤭).
Fadel once again just wordlessly walks away from Style. Instead of following him, Style stays back at the car, kinda annoyed. We don't know how long exactly Style was waiting, but either way, I think he does lowkey start to get freaked out a little. He wants to go home and starts looking for Fadel.
"I know you’re gonna kill me and hide my body in the woods." Oh Style, sweetie, no. Careful with your words. Apollo's ball of prophecy and all that. Right after that, we get yet another reference to Style not being scared of Fadel. When he enters the greenhouse, searching for Fadel while monologuing, he shouts:
But I ain't scared of you!
Fun fact, in Thai he actually phrases it as "You think I'm scared of you?":
มึงคิดว่ากูกลัวมึงหรอ [mueng - kít wâa - guu - gluua - mueng - rŏr] you - think that - I - scared (of) - you - [question word]
It is night-time, Style walks along dark aisles in search of Fadel who ran away from him and is currently nowhere to be seen, when suddenly, out of nowhere Fadel appears, shoves him into some furniture (ish) and angrily yells into his face: "Who sent you?" Oh, wait, wrong episode.
User @secriden wrote an excellent post detailing the parallels between the ep3 storage room scene and the ep4 forest scene, but I actually think that the beginning of the scene is much closer to a different scene that we saw in episode 2: the locker room scene. It's interesting because this is the third time this episode calls back to the first two episodes. It starts with the parallel of Fadel's fake-out, then we had the parallel of Style publicly humiliating Fadel, and now we have a call-back to the locker room scene, which will soon turn into a parallel of the storage room hook-up. The parallels do be paralleling this episode.
In the locker room, it was Style who dropped a "love confession": "I like you. I liked you the moment I crashed into you that night. It was love at first sight. So damn romantic. Straight out of a movie." But now in the greenhouse it's Fadel's turn. Fadel ambushes Style, shoves him against the bars and starts raging. Fadel has yelled at Style a lot over the past few episodes. He yells at Style to reprimand him, to shoot down his advances, or to tell him to piss off. When Fadel yells at Style, it's all about his feelings of disdain he has for Style. So when Fadel says "I don’t like you messing up my life. My life has been planned out. You’re disrupting it," Style sighs a little and braces himself for yet another fight against Fadel:
But then Fadel goes off-script. "I don’t like myself when I look for you on the morning jog or at the market. I don’t like waiting to see if you’d show up at my restaurant or my go-to club. You— I don’t like you being in my life and changing it."
This is a new one. Style listens intently.
Fadel continues. "I don’t like feeling like this." Style has all his focus entirely on Fadel and his words now. He squeezes his eyes just the tiniest bit. And I think this is where Style starts to figure out the core of Fadel's problem.
"I don’t like it!", Fadel yells and Style looks at him with so much resolution and with so much understanding.
And then Fadel drops: "I don’t like that I miss you."
Fun fact about the word คิดถึง [kít-tĕung]: apart from "to miss", it can also have the meaning of "to think of, to think about". So another possible interpretation and underlying meaning of this line is "I don't like that I think about you."
Something vital that I want to bring up at this point now is something that @secriden has pointed out in her meta:
It's incredibly important that Style waited at this point. Style, who talks endlessly and without thought. Style, who demands that his story and his thoughts are aired first. Style, who has been telling Fadel this lie time and time again before Fadel’s feelings made it true... Stops. Waits. Stays silent. Because Fadel had to get there himself or not at all.
And get there, Fadel did. Fadel has just spilled that he thinks about Style, that he misses him. That Style's efforts have been worth it. That Fadel has started caring the way Style has started to care. Style looks at Fadel, takes it all in.
Style finally understands Fadel's problem, finally understands why Fadel has been acting the way he's been acting.
When Style kisses Fadel, there is so much purpose, so much intent to it. Style has something to say, something important, and every single thing on his mind, every single emotion, he puts it all into that kiss. And what he has to say is:
Yes. The caption in the gif is different from the official English subtitles. Because Style literally says:
มันโอเคนะเว้ย ที่จะมีความรักอ่ะ [man - oh-keh - ná wóiie • thêe - jà - mee kwaam rák - àh] it - okay - [particle] • that - will - be in love - [particle]
And this is a distinction that is important to me personally. Phrasing it as "It's okay to be in love" is by far more specific than "It's okay to love" and I think this particular word choice hits Fadel harder as well. Fadel likes control, he likes knowing exactly what's going on at any given moment. But then Style shows up as a whirlwind in his life, bringing disorder to everything. Fadel is starting to develop feelings that he can't control and it freaks him out.
When Style kissed Fadel in the locker room it was an attack in the battle he was fighting against him. When Style kisses Fadel in the greenhouse, it's for reassurance. Style puts everything he wants to say with "It's okay to be in love" into that line. It's okay to let go. It's okay to let things take their natural course. It's okay to be in love. You're allowed to have feelings. It's not a bad thing. It's okay. It's gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay.
And with this we go into the parallels to the storage room scene. If you remember my ep3 meta, then you'll remember how I said that Style didn't really mean it at the time when he said he wanted Fadel right before they hook up. This time he didn't say a single word about it, but his actions show that he does want Fadel this time. Once again I'm gonna steal a thought from @clemelntine's meta:
[Style] isn't entirely giving in/passive in the situation, though. He still has a hands on Fadel holding him close/in place, and does seem to want to touch him. No matter how much he wants Fadel to service him, he isn't gonna let him do it all on his own. He too wants to explore Fadel as well.
We can really see that this time around. Unlike in the storage room, Style has his hands all over the place: on Fadel's throat, underneath Fadel's shirt, in Fadel's pants, pulling Fadel closer with his arm around Fadel's neck. What's more, there's significantly more eye contact. Fadel actually looks Style in the eye now. It's still not as much and as intense as in Style's fantasy, because they're still not quite there yet emotionally, but it's a start. They've both started to develop some actual feelings, and this time around they're also both aware of it. Of their own feelings as well as the other's feelings. Where last time they were acting purely on physical attraction, they're much more emotionally involved this time around. Emotionally they're much more on the same page this time around. And it's beautiful.
Also, I haven't seen anyone talk about this yet, but we are all aware that they show us pretty much the entire act from start to, uhhh well, finish, right? Right?? 🫣
No. 8: Be My Boyfriend
Not for the first time Style says he wants Fadel as a boyfriend. Unlike the other times though, Style actually means it this time around. His words are no longer for show, no longer a performance that will be rewarded with Kant's gratitude and his car. Style is being 100% serious about being Fadel's boyfriend. The car is more of an afterthought (and one that he will get to, because a deal is a deal, and he's been in love with the car much longer than he's had any positive feelings for Fadel for, but still. Right there in the woods, I think the car isn't really on his mind at the time).
Style means every flirty thing he says. He means it when he says "You’re mysterious and alluring. You’re quiet, but sexy as hell". If you remember, during the kitchen scene I mentioned that Style wasn't as loud in the flirty things he said, and we can really see that in the aforementioned line and also when he says "[Having a boyfriend is] great. You have someone to embrace, to love, and to…" These lines are much less loud and less performative than compared to everything that came out of his mouth in ep3 on the sports field.
By the way, I need you all to know that this exchange:
F: I’ll stick with jerking off. S: I’m sure.
Actually goes:
F: I can jerk off by myself. กูชักว่าวอยู่เองได้ [guu - chák wâao - yùu - eng - dâai] I - masturbate - be - (by) oneself/myself - be able to S: I know you can do it yourself. รู้ว่ามึงทำเองได้ [rúu wâa - mueng - tam - eng - dâai] know that - you - do - (by) oneself/yourself - be able to
And where did we get a similar exchange before? That's right. In that very scene at the sports field that I just mentioned:
F: If you want it that much, then go jerk off. ถ้าอยากมากเนี่ยก็ไปชักว่าวไป [tâa - yàak - mâak - nîia - gôr - bpai - chák wâao - bpai] if - want - much - [particle] - then - go - masturbate - go S: I know it can be done alone. รู้มันทำคนเดียวได้ [rúu - man - tam - kon diiao - dâai] know - it - do - alone - be able to
The words they say are similar, and yet these two exchanges are very different from one another. Just like in the kitchen, Style's flirting in the woods is much more grounded. It's not the same performance as it was in episode 3. And just as I said in my ep3 meta, it's when Style is being genuine that he actually reaches Fadel, not when he's putting up a show:
The inauthenticity in [Style's] insistent approach is what makes him annoying in those scenes [the running track and the market]. And it's also not what works on Fadel – it's when Style is being genuine that he actually reaches Fadel, like when he was helping him wait tables (which Fadel recognizes by rewarding him with a burger) or when Style was being playfully flirty in the sauna (which results in Fadel fantasizing about him at night).
What's interesting, though, that even though this is the very first time Fadel actually engages in Style's friendly banter and amiable conversation instead of ignoring him or yelling at him or telling him to piss off, at the beginning of the conversation Style doesn't have Fadel quite just yet. Actually, no. That's not accurate. Style is being genuine, has been genuine all episode already and so he does reach Fadel in the beginning of their conversation. Fadel is finally engaging, is finally getting involved. But then Style loses him again at a certain point. And it's specifically when he says:
But isn't it better to have someone like me with you?
Up until this very point, Fadel was mostly turned towards Style. He's smiled, he's laughed, he's rolled his eyes in amusement and he's actively taken part in Style's conversation. He's been more open with Style than he's ever been before. But now? He stares at Style for a moment, then turns away from him, closing himself off from Style again.
And it's interesting that this is happening at this specific point, because their entire conversation has mostly surrounded sex (adjacent) things and physical attraction. They literally start this conversation referencing their hook-up from right before, Style calls Fadel sexy, and then alludes that he wants to sleep with him again. And I think by the time Style says "I know you can [jerk off] by yourself. But isn’t it better to have someone like me with you?" Fadel is at a point where he's like Oh, so you only want to be my boyfriend just so you can do me again, huh? So this is all I am to you, huh?
Fadel isn't cool with that and so he starts to shut himself off from Style again. Style is rejected again. Style turns his head away from Fadel, sighs, raises his eyebrows, and I think he realizes (at least subconsciously) what Fadel is unhappy about, because the next thing he says the moment he's turned back to Fadel is:
What you said to me just now... I feel the same way.
And again, he's being sincere. His voice is calm and grounded, there's not a single trace of his dramatic antics. And that line and coupled with that sincerity has Fadel listening up again:
"Be my boyfriend," Style says and Fadel listens even more closely. "Give me a chance," Style says and Fadel looks away, laughs, and replies "You don’t even know me". Fadel's words are a challenge, but this time there is no malice, no anger, no annoyance in his voice. His voice is soft. Fadel poses a challenge, but it's not an invitation to fight. Or rather, it is an invitation to fight, but it's a very different fight from before. And Style is only happy to take up said challenge: "And what about it? I’ll learn more about you when you’re my boyfriend."
And for what he says next, I'd love to share a more literal translation with you again. In the English subs Style talks about being 100% in and it being Fadel's turn to let him in, which, yeah, it's the gist of it. However, in Thai he uses the word เปิดใจ [bpèrt jai] again, which I've already talked about in my ep3 meta because Style has used that word before during that scene where Fadel hands him the burger. The day after posting that meta, I actually asked my Thai teacher about this word in class (and nearly died in the process) because I hadn't discussed this word with a native speaker for my meta and while I had discussed this word with my Thai language learning buddy after he brought it up when I was trying to explain the German phrase "sich einlassen auf" (@ German speakers: เปิดใจ is very similar to that!), I just couldn't remember it well and wanted to double check just in case. According to my teacher, it's a word that is used to talk about opening up to something or about giving things a chance, but the literal translation is "to open one's heart" (เปิด [bpèrt] = to open / ใจ [jai] = heart, mind) and I think the series makes use of that literal meaning for a nice metaphor/image here. I think Style's choice of words is very deliberate:
I've opened my heart to you 100% already. กูเปิดใจให้มึงร้อยเปอร์เซนต์แล้วนะ [guu - bpèrt-jai - hâi - mueng - rói - bper-sen - láew - ná] I - open up (one's heart) - for, to - you - 100 - percent - already - [particle]
Only you remain. เหลือแค่มึงอ่ะ [lĕuua - kâe - mueng - àh] remain, left - only - you - [particle]
How much will you open your heart to me? จะเปิดใจให้กูมากแค่ไหน [jà - bpèrt-jai - hâi - guu - mâak kâe năi] will - open up (one's heart) - to, for - I/me - how much
Fadel, who has enclosed his heart in thick, high walls, is being asked how many doors leading up to it he is willing to open. Style subtly reminds Fadel that a relationship consists of two people, but leaves the decision of just how close Fadel will let Style get to his heart entirely up to Fadel. Because that's Fadel's choice to make.
While Style is talking, Fadel is listening intently, really taking in Style's words and contemplating them:
He's quiet for a moment after Style is done telling him You have full access to my heart now. I'm willing to give you a chance. I've done my part. The choice is on you now. Will you grant me access to your heart, too? Will you give me a chance as well?
Fadel thinks about it for a bit more, then laughs a small laugh, throws his head back, and goes "Yeah. Fine." Style is confused. Fadel then explicitly agrees to be his boyfriend. Style's eyes widen. He can't believe his ears. He has to ask for confirmation, has to make sure he really heard it right:
We're boyfriends, right? เป็นแฟนกันใช่มั้ย [bpen - faen - gan - châi mái] be - boyfriend, girlfriend - each other, together - right?
Fadel confirms. Style is absolutely over the moon and showers Fadel in kisses.
Do I think they're already in love? Not exactly. Unfortunately, I just don't have the time to look at Fadel as closely as I have been looking at Style (I need 48h days fr 😭😭) but when it comes to Style, I think even if he's not in love just yet, this is the start of something real. We saw in episode 3 that he was starting to develop positive feelings towards Fadel, was starting to genuinely have a good time hanging around Fadel, but he still had ulterior motives in the foreground of his mind. I think when he hooked up with Fadel in the storage room that kicked off something within him because, as I've made very clear in my ep3 meta, to Style sex isn't just sex. Because if it was, his journey this episode would have been going very differently. But throughout this entire episode Style has cared, he has cared so much to the point he's gotten really hurt. And his joy when Fadel agrees to be his boyfriend? That's real. And I don't think it's because he's about to receive the car of his dreams as a reward. If it was, I think Style would have been much more smug about Fadel agreeing to be his boyfriend, would have been much more self-satisfied underneath all that happiness. But Style's joy here is pure. And he doesn't brag about finally "winning" Fadel over, doesn't hold it over his head in a smug HAH, you gave in to me, I'm the one who won our battle of wills, look how cool I am sort of way. Style's joy is real, but what he's feeling is not quite love at this point. But so what if they're not in love just yet? Like Style said: They can get to know each other fall in love when they're boyfriends.
No. 8: Apollo's Ball Of Prophecy Is Real
Remember how a couple of paragraphs ago I said the car was just an afterthought, that Style would still get to? Well, he's getting to it now. He shows up at Kant's place and "When should I come and get your car?" is the first thing out of his mouth right after his hellos. Kant reminds Style of their deal and asks if Fadel has agreed to be Style's boyfriend. Style says "yes", shining brightly as the sun as he says this. And the way he shines while dropping this info to Kant makes me once again think that his happiness here is more focused on Fadel rather than the car. Style is a little smug now, but it's mostly before Kant mentions the words "Fadel" and "faen" together in one single sentence (yes, I had to go with the Thai word for boyfriend just for the alliteration lol). When Style says yes, Fadel is in fact his boyfriend now, the subtext I'm hearing is not something along the lines of Yeah, I finally got him, so where's my beloved car at, bro, we had a deal???? but what I'm hearing is more like Yes!! He is!! Can you believe!! Fadel is my BOYFRIEND!! Omg!! I did it!! Just like we'll see in the flashback to the "be my boyfriend" scene right after, there is something rather pure about Style's complete and utter joy at the thought of Fadel being his boyfriend.
Style relays the "be my boyfriend" conversation to Kant and it's only after that that Style really starts bragging: "Your best friend is a genius, isn’t he? I told you I can get anyone." And yeah, undeniably this is about the fact that he's getting a car out of it, but I also think that he would have bragged about it even if the deal with the car didn't exist. Kant and Style seem to have the sort of friendship where they always brag to each other about their love lives. We were shown this in episode 1 when Kant goes to see Style at the garage and Style immediately asks for the tea on his night with Bison, pretty much begging Kant to brag about it when Kant tries to change the topic to something else. Style would have bragged about Fadel to Kant no matter what. Besides, why wouldn't he go get the car, despite actual feelings being involved now? A deal is a deal, and if he can get the car of his dreams and the boyfriend of his dreams out of it, that's even better. Best of both worlds. Who wouldn't say no to that?
But Style's happiness gets smacked right out of him via Apollo's ball of prophecy as he learns that he should really be very careful what he jokes about. He almost spoke Fadel taking him out to the woods to kill him into existence. Fadel is a hitman. Style's panic gets the better of him. He has seen, felt on his own body even what Fadel is capable of. He doesn't like Fadel that much yet, so he's outta there before he gets to experience first hand the real depths of what Fadel can be capable of if Style gets too annoying. Car be damned. Style may be unhinged but he isn't suicidal.
Kant, however, manages to talk Style into helping him and staying with Fadel anyway. Now, you could say Style is unhinged for agreeing to help Kant instead of firmly refusing his request and getting out of this mess before it gets worse, but I think in that moment Style is genuinely afraid that Fadel WILL kill him if Style breaks up with him, breaks his heart right after Fadel has finally, finally given him closer access to it. And Style has had to work very hard for said access, so he knows very well how big that decision was for Fadel to entrust Style with just a little bit of his heart. And if Style then goes and breaks that little bit of Fadel's heart that he was given in the very next moment? That's a death sentence on Style's head right there.
And another reason why I think Style agrees to continue working for Kant's mission is that Style likes to help. I've already touched on this in my ep3 meta:
Style likes to help. We see this in the way he agrees to help his best friend by hitting on some weirdo guy (yes, of course he's also getting a car out of this deal, but I think part of the reason why he agrees to the deal is also because he genuinely wants to help Kant find love), we see this in the way he immediately takes orders from customers no questions asked in episode 2 right before he meets Bison, and we'll see this even later this episode [ep3] when he throws himself into the fight despite having no fighting skills whatsoever, just because he thinks three against one is unfair and wants to help.
Helping people is something that comes easy to Style, something he doesn't really have to think about, and so when Kant practically begs him to help Style can't do anything but agree to help Kant because not helping would go entirely against the nature of his character. Also, who could resist First's puppy eyes? Valid, absolutely valid. I, too, would fold like thin paper if First looked at me like That.
No. 9: Over Your Limit
Style is at the gym, probably in an attempt to work off some of the overwhelming emotions that Kant's reveal has left him with. What's interesting is, as @secriden noted, that Style decided to go there during daytime. From episode 2, both we, the audience, as well as Style know that Fadel likes to go to the gym at night specifically to avoid crowds. It's probably safe to assume that Style went there during the day specifically in order to avoid Fadel.
So Style sits there, lost in his memories, recontextualizing everything that happened at the greenhouse, processing Kant's news, rethinking his decision. Unfortunately for him, he's already made his choice the moment he agreed to help Kant, and so in the end Style goes Fuck it, I'm doing this.
Unexpectedly, Fadel shows up. Style hadn't been mentally prepared for that and despite his fuck it attitude just mere seconds ago (17, to be exact), his instincts kick in and he panics. Everything within him is screaming at him get away from this man, your life is in danger and so Style immediately rejects Fadel's offer for help: "I can’t do it anyway. I was pushing my limits."
Style is pushing his limits. Hitting on a guy? Sure, that's fine. Making him his boyfriend, despite said guy having walls as thick as the Great Wall of China? A little challenge, but nothing Style can't handle. But dating someone who is a professional killer, someone who is capable of taking lives and might very well be capable of taking his own boyfriend's life if need may be? That really is pushing any limit Style could ever have even as much as dreamed of. He can't do it.
But despite every instinct within Style telling him to run away, Style doesn't, because that would be suspicious and Style can't risk Fadel getting suspicious because that would seal his deathly fate even quicker. So Style hesitantly leans back and lets Fadel help him. And here at this point, I just wanna give a little shout out to Style raising his eyebrows and sighing a little after they're done, like whew, I survived that, I'm still alive, because it makes me giggle:
When Fadel alludes to wanting to have sex, Style plays dumb. Style has used this strategy before when he wanted to find out the connection between Fadel and the host club, but where in ep3 Style was playing dumb in order to gain Fadel's trust, here at the gym Style is playing dumb in order to delay having to get close to Fadel again (much less sleeping with him) while he figures out a way to get out of it. When Fadel cuddles up to him, it's the last straw. Style's panic takes over for good and he makes an escape. But then Fadel calls out to him, asking him to wait. Shit. Style's fight for his life is not yet over. Style stops, trying not to be suspicious or to do anything else that would give Fadel a motive to kill him.
Fadel walks up to him and wipes the sweat of his face. Where before Fadel's touch has recently been making Style feel good, it now feels very threatening instead. Yet, at the same time it's also a kind and caring gesture, which is something that isn't lost on Style.
Style very much notices the care in Fadel's action, but his new perspective on Fadel makes it hard for him to embrace and appreciate the kindness of it. And the kindness and care also contradicts the image of the ruthless killer Style now has in his mind of Fadel. These two contrasting aspects simply do not go together. Unable to cope, Style runs off.
The Attempt of a Conclusion
Where Style had just a little bit of a problem at the beginning of the episode, by the end of it that problem has grown much larger than he could have ever anticipated. Over the course of episode 3 we saw that Style was slowly starting to develop some positive feelings for Fadel, was slowly starting to actively enjoy hanging out around him, was starting to get curious about Fadel of his own accord and not for motives connected to the deal. Yet, the deal was still very much always there. In episode 4, however? Style might not have entirely realized it yet, but that deal is no longer relevant to him. Not showing up to the morning jogging or at the market might still have been a planned strategy in the mission Kant gave him, but that mission goes right out the window the moment he hears that Fadel had asked about him. When Style goes running to Fadel the second he is told that Fadel had asked about him when actually Style could and probably should have played his game a little longer, really letting Fadel stew, from that moment onward it's all about Style's own feelings rather than the car. And everything he does this episode is led by those feelings. Over the course of this episode we see that Style has genuinely started to like Fadel. And he had to. He had to start liking Fadel before learning about Fadel's real job. Because the higher you are, the further you fall and Style accidentally having caught feelings makes the drop down worse, for both Style, the character as well as us, the audience. Style genuinely likes Fadel now, and if that wasn't enough of a problem already, the man he likes turns out to be a professional killer.
Crap, indeed.
#the heart killers#fadelstyle#stylefadel#thk meta#adrm#thk#thk ep4#thk style#my meta#thkmetamine#i really tried to get this out BEFORE ep5 dropped but then i ended up having many thoughts again dfkjd#actually the most time-consuming part was figuring out how to PHRASE these thoughts in a way that it makes sense#rather than just vomiting a jumble of words into the post#that's why it took me so long#ALSO I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT I HAD ALL OF IT UP UNTIL AND INCLUDING THE ''BE MY BF'' SCENE WRITTEN OUT *BEFORE* I SAW EP5#LET ME TELL YOU THE WAY I SCREAMED WHEN EP5 PRETTY MUCH VALIDATED MY READING ON STYLE IN EP4💃🏻💃🏻💃🏻#the theme of ep3 is style starting to feel positively about fadel#the theme of ep4 is style genuinely starting to LIKE like fadel#the theme of ep5 is style falling in love#and i can't WAIT to start writing about that one hehehe#can i make it in the span of 4 days is the question rip#less actually since tuesday is christmas and i have a visitor
71 notes
·
View notes
Text
Merry Christmas Crashbox fandom!
I apologize for not being active, I had to take a break bc something horrible happened, I am okay tho dw! (I returned earlier for the holidays since I wanted to share this)
I also have a gift for the Cbox fandom too!
Here's my document containing facts about Jumpin' Johnnie Jumble and his other personas!
As always, thank you for everything, hope 2025 will be atleast nicer to us <333
-Claude
#artworks??#crashbox#jumpin johnny jumble#radio scramble#mariah carey#christmas#mery christmas#happy holidays#jolly#all i want for christmas is you#jumpin jhonny jumble#jumpin' johnny jumble#jumping johnny jumble#jumpin johnnie jumble#jumpin johnny#I hope everything is resolved now
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
hmmmm. you agree right? [<- just walked into the room]
#just me hi#i'll take that as a yes :3#//anyway. guts#just that. guts#guts#guts..#//got my clip studio workspace back in order!! the world is back in balance :DD#i just have to figure out my palette problem lol#which isn't so hard - it just takes a little while and i don't like that hfvsh#//guts.................#//mmmmgh my memory is all jumbled lol#were these things that i remember or are they things i heard about ? or did i dream them or imagine them on a sleepy day ?#it feels familiar but is that because i've seen it before or because it didn't register as foreign ? time and space really is an illusion#bhscbsh#eh bleh! anyway#//i've been learning have yourself a merry little christmas for 3 days now#i could not even comprehend the sheet like 5 years ago lol#i'm smoothing it out :D my tempo is all wrong but who care :33#//i'm gonna write n draw now#my everything feels so bare without all my art n files n things ykno? yeaa#but fresh start :> yehaw !!
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
obsessed with how much fun my jumble had on christmas. he got to be surrounded by family for a few hours, got to hear so much crinkle noises, got to play with so many things, catnip toys, soooooooo many pets, and also so many new things to smell. he had such a great day omg
0 notes
Text
—Santas little mess
Summary: You seem to get your present a bit early this year.
Tags: Established Relationship, slight fluff, smut, cunninglingus, 'shibari'/bondage, p in v, teasing
Words: 2,8k
— MINORS DO NOT INTERACT —
⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹
Your thoughts were a jumbled mess as you took in the sight before you. Mr Crawling sat in front of you in the living room, looking like a hot mess. His long black hair, usually untamed, had been neatly tied into a sleek ponytail that cascaded down his back, stray strands framing his sharp jawline. The gentle glow from the nearby Christmas lights danced over his exposed shoulder, the pale grey skin gleaming faintly under the warm hues.
But what truly stole your focus was the mischievous red ribbon that wound around him like a rope— giving you the display of a sinful allure. The ribbon clung to him like it had its own will, curling and tightening in ways that left little to the imagination. It coiled around his torso, pushing his shirt dangerously high, teasing glimpses of his toned abdomen. It slipped down his legs, the fabric of his clothes hitched up just enough to leave you wondering, craving to see more.
The way the ribbon wrapped around his chest was almost too much, emphasizing the way his muscles shifted with each subtle movement. The soft, glittering texture seemed to mold itself against him, drawing attention to every detail of his figure. And his arms, the ones you always glanced at, are tied on his back somehow, leaving him with no way to move.
A shiver ran down your spine as you took a shaky breath, your cheeks flushing hotter by the second. It felt like the universe had decided to reward you for all the stress this holiday season had thrown your way. Seeing Mr. Crawling tangled up like this, helplessly at the mercy of festive chaos, was a personal gift—one far better than anything that could be wrapped under a tree.
He didn’t make things any easier with the soft whining and restless squirming, his subtle cries for help sounding far too much like something more suggestive. The way his body arched slightly against the ribbon's grip only added to the sinful image before you, making it impossible to ignore the heat crawling up your neck.
“Hold still.” You said with a breathless laugh, your voice trembling despite your attempt to sound composed. You could feel the burn of a deep blush spreading across your cheeks as you reached for the ribbon, your fingers brushing against its glittering surface.
The moment you tugged gently on the red plastic, it obeyed your touch temporarily, sliding and curling around him as if it were alive. But just as you began to untangle him, the ribbon seemed to retaliate, tightening in another area of his body with wicked precision. A low, unrestrained moan escaped his lips, louder this time, and the sound sent a jolt of warmth straight through you. Your hands faltered for a moment as your gaze flicked to his flushed face, his expression glinting with a mixture of frustration and something far different that you couldn't name.
You knelt down, bringing yourself face-to-face with him, your hands fumbling with the tangled ribbon as you tried to free him once more. But every pull and adjustment seemed to elicit another soft gasp or moan, the ribbon tightening in ways that had an unintentional intimacy you couldn’t ignore.
A heat began to pool in your core, your breaths growing shallow as your gaze flickered over his trembling form. You could feel your panties dampening at the sight—his flushed face, the way his body shifted under the glittering red ribbon, and the soft, pleading sounds escaping his lips.
But it wasn’t just you. Crawling was visibly affected, too. Your eyes darted downward, catching sight of his bulge pressing insistently against the fabric of his clothes. The ribbon had framed it perfectly, curling around him as if it were teasing you both, like a gift begging to be unwrapped.
And how could you deny him? The need in his eyes, the way his body strained against the ribbon—it was impossible to resist. Your hands stilled for a moment as you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear. “Maybe I should take my time unwrapping you.” You whispered, your voice laced with playful mischief.
His breath hitched at your words, his expression shifting to some flustered confusion as he didn't understand their meaning. The faint tremble in his body only spurred you on, your fingers ghosting over the taut ribbon that wrapped around his chest and thighs.
"You're awfully quiet now." You teased softly, your voice dripping with amusement. "Where's all that whining from earlier?"
Crawling turned his head slightly, his raven hair spilling over his flushed cheeks, but he couldn't hide the way his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. He bit his lip, trying to stifle another sound as you gave a deliberate tug on the ribbon.
It shifted again, this time tightening against his hips, pressing against his growing arousal with maddening precision. A low, broken moan escaped him, his hands, still behind his back, clenched into fists as if he was trying to keep himself under control.
Your eyes lingered on the way the ribbon framed his body, accentuating every curve and edge. The thought of unwrapping him slowly, savoring every reaction, sent a shiver through you. You leaned in, your lips brushing against his jawline as your fingers played with the ribbon at his waist.
“You want stop?” You finally used your shared language, the foreign words rolled off your tongue easily this time.
The way his body tensed, the soft growl in his throat—it was all the answer you needed. You smiled, your fingers slipping under the edge of the ribbon as you began to peel it away, inch by tantalizing inch. The anticipation hung thick in the air, each moment stretching into eternity as you unraveled the beautiful chaos before you.
His breathing grew heavier with each deliberate pull of the ribbon, the tension between you almost suffocating. You relished the way his body reacted to your touch—subtle shivers, soft gasps, and the faintest twitch of his fingers as if he was fighting the urge to reach for you.
You tugged again, this time more firmly, and the ribbon slid free from his chest, revealing more of his pale, flushed skin. It pooled around his waist like a tempting frame, leaving just enough to stir your imagination further. Your hands moved with purpose, slowly unraveling the ribbon around his thighs, each shift making the fabric of his clothes ride higher, exposing more of the firm, defined muscles underneath.
Crawling’s voice broke the silence—a low, desperate call that sent heat coursing through you. “Do not stop...”
You met his face, his expression smoldering with frustration and need, and you couldn’t help the sly smile that curled on your lips. “But you look so good like this.” You teased, your voice barely above a whisper, while knowing he didn't understand. “All wrapped up, just for me.”
The ribbon tightened again, pressing firmly against the growing bulge between his legs, and a guttural moan escaped him, louder this time. You leaned closer, your fingers brushing against the fabric as you tugged the last loop of ribbon free, watching it fall to the floor in a shimmering heap.
His clothed cock was fully exposed now without the influence of the ribbons, straining against the thin material of his clothes, leaving little to the imagination. You hesitated for just a moment, savoring the sight before you, before reaching up to cup his cheek gently and without hesitation, you closed the distance between you, your lips crashing into his as your hands roamed freely, exploring every inch of his trembling body.
His lips were a bit dry yet desperate against yours, moving with an urgency that made your head spin. The heat of his breath mingled with your own as his hands finally found the courage to move, fingers curling around your waist and pulling you closer. His grip was firm, almost possessive, and it only spurred you on further. He wasn't holding back at all but claimed you in a primal way.
You broke the kiss just enough to breathe, your foreheads pressed together as you caught your breath. Your hands wandered, slipping beneath the fabric of his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin. The way his muscles tensed under your touch sent a thrill coursing through you. "You pretty," you murmured, your voice trembling slightly but laced with sincerity.
Crawling let out a shaky breath, his cheeks flushed a deep crimson as he giggled happily. You chuckled softly, leaning in to press another kiss against his lips, this one slower, more deliberate. "
His hands slid lower, gripping your hips as his body pressed against yours, leaving no space between you. The friction sent a shiver down your spine, and a soft moan escaped your lips before you could stop it.
“Want you,” he growled softly, his voice thick with need. Before you could respond, he flipped your positions, pinning you gently beneath him. His movements were rushed, almost primal, as if he was thirsting for you.
“Need you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a wave of heat through your body. “Can I?”
The words sent your heart racing, anticipation bubbling within you as his hands roamed your body, his touch firm yet tender. He leaned down, his lips finding yours again as the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you tangled together in a haze of passion and desire.
His lips descended on yours with a fervent intensity, every kiss deeper, hungrier, as if he was trying to consume the very air you breathed. His hands explored your body without hesitation now, sliding up your thighs, over your waist, and under your shirt, his touch igniting sparks that left your skin tingling.
Your hands slid up his chest, fingers tracing the sharp lines of his muscles as you tugged at his shirt. “Want you too.” you whispered, your voice breathless, daring him to take control.
He smiled, full of excitement, before leaning in to kiss your neck, his lips trailing fire down your skin. He nipped at the sensitive spot just below your ear, earning a soft gasp from you that made his grip on your hips tighten. The way his body pressed against yours left you painfully aware of his arousal, hard and insistent against your thigh. He copied your past intimate encounters quite well at that moment and you blessed his ability to learn so fast.
Crawlings large hands slipping under your shirt to push it higher, exposing your bare skin to the cool air. He paused for a moment, his expression now a mixture of lust and admiration. “You pretty.”
Before you could respond, his lips descended again, this time on your chest, his kisses hot and lingering as he worked his way lower. His fingers tugged at the waistband of your skirt and panties, his gaze flicking up to meet yours, silently asking for permission.
“Please,” you breathed, your voice trembling with need.
That was all he needed. In one swift motion, he rid you of the offending fabric, leaving you exposed and vulnerable beneath him. His eyes darkened further as he took in the sight of you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.
His hands slid up your thighs, spreading them eagerly as his lips followed, his kisses trailing dangerously close to where you ached for him most. The anticipation was unbearable, every touch and movement sending waves of heat coursing through you until you were trembling beneath him.
His lips hovered over your most sensitive spot for just a moment, his warm breath teasing you before he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss there. Your body jolted at the sensation, a desperate moan slipping past your lips as your fingers instinctively tangled in his dark hair, pulling him closer.
Crawling let out a low, satisfied whine, the vibration sending shivers through your entire body. His tongue followed, tracing languid, maddeningly slow patterns that left you trembling beneath him. He worked with precision, alternating between soft kisses and bold strokes, as if he wanted to unravel you completely. And he didn't waste a single drop of your precious juices.
Your breaths came in ragged gasps, each wave of pleasure crashing over you more intensely than the last. You tugged at his hair, a silent plea for more, and he obliged, his movements growing bolder, more deliberate.
The heat coiling in your core grew unbearable, your body arching off the surface as you felt yourself teetering on the edge. “Crawling… please,” you whimpered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own heartbeat.
He pulled back just enough to look up at you, his face filled with pride and desire. His lips curving into a wicked smirk. “Cute. You Cute. I like you cute.”
Before you could reply, his hands slid higher, his fingers finding their way to your clit that made you cry out his name. His lips returned to your skin, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses as he worked you over with an intensity that left you breathless. Your hands gripped at him desperately, your nails digging into his shoulders as you finally shattered, your release washing over you in waves. He didn’t let up, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you were left trembling and utterly spent beneath him.
Crawling kissed his way back up your body, his lips brushing against your jaw before capturing yours in a deep, searing kiss. “Mine,” he whispered, his voice soft and full of affection as he cradled your face in his hands.
But the heat in his gaze hadn’t faded, and you could feel his arousal pressing insistently against you, a silent promise that this was far from over.
He hovered over you, his body pressing firmly against yours. The unspoken need lingered in his expression, a moment of tenderness breaking through the heat of the moment. You nodded, your hands sliding up to cup his face, pulling him down into a slow, passionate kiss, a contrast to his endless energy.
His lips moved against yours with a softness that belied the intensity of his need. Slowly, he reached between you, guiding himself to your entrance, his movements deliberate and careful. The first push was gentle, almost hesitant, as he entered you, stretching you in a way that left you gasping for air.
“You hurt?” he murmured worriedly against your lips, his voice laced with concern even as his breath came in ragged gasps. He stopped for a second, making sure you were okay, after he learned not to rush it from the first time you slept with him.
You nodded again, your nails digging into his back as you adjusted to the sensation, the overwhelming fullness that sent a shiver down your spine. “Perfect,” you whispered, your voice trembling but full of reassurance. “Do not stop.”
His body relaxed slightly at your words, and he began to move, slow and measured at first, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through you. His hands gripped your hips, anchoring you beneath him as he buried himself deeper with each movement.
The room filled with the sound of your mingled breaths and soft moans, the tension building between you like a fire that threatened to consume you both. His pace quickened, his control slipping as his own need took over. He kissed you fiercely, his lips trailing from your mouth to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made your head spin.
“You feel good,” he groaned, his voice thick with pleasure as he drove into you with increasing urgency. Each thrust sent you closer to the edge, your body arching beneath him as the heat coiling in your core became unbearable.
Your name spilled from his lips like a prayer as his movements became erratic, his grip on you tightening as he chased his release. The feeling of him inside you, the way his body pressed against yours, was enough to send you spiraling over the edge again, your cries of pleasure echoing through the room.
Moments later, he followed, his body tensing as he buried himself deep within you, his release leaving him trembling as he coated your walls with his cum. He collapsed against you, his chest heaving as he held you close, his lips brushing against your temple in a tender gesture.
The intensity of the moment faded into a quiet intimacy, your bodies tangled together as you both caught your breath. Crawling pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his voice barely above a whisper as he said with a giggle. “I like you. You mine.”
You smiled, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back as you whispered back, “Me yours.”
#⊹₊⟡⋆satori.speaks#⊹₊⟡⋆writings#homicipher#homicipher x reader#mr crawling x reader#mr. crawling#mr.crawling#mr crawling fluff#mr crawling smut#homicipher mr crawling#mr crawling#homicipher smut#homicipher fanfiction#homicipher x you
499 notes
·
View notes
Text
CHRISTMAS SURPRISE | s.reid x reader
summary: in which spencer asks you an important question on christmas morning. pairing: spencer reid x reader content warnings: none, just pure fluff! word count: 849 a/n: night, night! posting this tonight because tomorrow i will be busy with work and christmas eve preparations! i had fun writing this one and i really hope you guys like it! feedback is always appreciated! also, my inbox is always open to chat (i love to talk and meet new people)! till the next one!
The pale light of Christmas morning flooded into the room through the slightly closed curtain gaps. The Christmas tree in the corner of the room blinked softly, each colorful twinkle reflecting off the delicate ornaments you had hung together weeks ago. The comforting scent of hot chocolate filled the air, mingling with the faint hint of cinnamon from the candles burning on the mantelpiece.
You were curled up on the sofa, a soft blanket wrapped around your shoulders, while Spencer was sitting next to you, legs crossed and a steaming mug between his hands. His glasses were a little crooked, and a messy lock of hair fell over his forehead, but he seemed oblivious, concentrating on something he was trying to hide behind his body.
“Is everything all right, Honey?” you asked, with a slight smile.
“It's just that you always look so beautiful in the morning,” he murmured with a shy smile, his eyes sparkling with something other than Christmas lights. Before you could reply, he bent down slightly to pick something up from the floor. “I have one last present for you.”
The way he held the small package wrapped in red and gold paper made your heart soar, but you tried to disguise your excitement, accepting the gift with slightly trembling hands.
“You'll like it, I think.” he said, looking away for a moment, but not before you noticed the blush that took over his cheeks.
You smiled suspiciously and began to undo the wrapping, just to tease him slowly. “Spencer Reid, what are you up to?”
He moved closer to you, trying to look relaxed. “Just… open it.” he mumbled, looking away again, but not without biting the corner of the underside.
When you removed the paper and opened the lid of the box, you found a small book, with a handmade cover and his unmistakable handwriting written in gold: Our Story. Your fingers gently brushed across the cover before opening the first page. A brief description accompanied by a photo of the first coffee you shared.
Each page was a journey through time — the first meeting, a lazy afternoon in the park, the trip that seemed to end in a huge disaster, but which turned out to be unforgettable. Some pages had little pressed flowers or funny notes next to the photos.
Your fingers slid along the edge of the last page of the book, curious to see how it would conclude the collection of memories that seemed so carefully crafted. When the page turned, the emptiness almost disconcerted you. There were no photos, just a single sentence written in his precise handwriting:
“Will you marry me?”
For a moment, the world seemed to stop. Your heart raced, and the words on the page began to jumble together, clouded by tears that you didn't even realize were there. When you finally managed to raise your eyes, Spencer was kneeling in front of you. The book still trembled slightly in his hands, but he looked like a statue of serenity. His eyes, however, betrayed his anxiety, shining with a mixture of nervousness and hope.
“I… didn't know how to say it perfectly.” he began, his voice low and charged with emotion. “So I thought the best way was to show you how much you mean to me, how every moment with you is a story I want to keep forever.”
He opened the small box he was holding, revealing a ring that glowed softly under the colored lights. “So, here I am. Do you want to be my next story? Will you marry me?”
You couldn't contain your emotional laughter, a sob escaping at the same time as a huge smile formed on your face. The book slipped from your hands onto the sofa as you leaned over to hug it, the words finally finding their way out.
“Yes.” you said, your voice laced with emotion. “Yes, Spencer, I want to marry you.”
His heart seemed to beat so loudly that you were sure he could hear it. Spencer was still kneeling in front of you, the ring gleaming on his trembling hand, and your eyes met his - hopeful, nervous, full of love. His fingers on yours were gentle, but you could feel the slight tremor as he made sure the ring fitted perfectly.
When your eyes returned to him, Spencer was already getting up, pulling you close to him. “I still can't believe you said yes,” he murmured, a nervous smile forming on his lips.
“How could I say no?” you replied, before leaning in to kiss him.
The kiss was soft, sweet, and full of unspoken promises. The lights on the Christmas tree in front of you flashed, reflecting off the tears you hadn't yet wiped away and Spencer's eyes, which now shone as brightly as the ring on your hand.
When you separated, he leaned his forehead against yours, still holding your hands. “Merry Christmas, Sweetheart.” he whispered, his voice as soft as a secret.
“Merry Christmas,” you replied, smiling, knowing that this was the beginning of the best present of all.
#criminal minds x reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fic#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x you#criminal minds fic#criminal minds imagine
517 notes
·
View notes
Note
Conrad deserves better than Belly. After he sees Jere and her kiss, he get his ass to Stanford and meet this cute and smart maybe tutor girl (Haley James style) and falls in love with her and then they show up at Jere's wedding years later and Belly is jelly
I've spent the last five days working on this one.
p.s. it's 2k words...
my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time
—
When Conrad finished his exam, he went back to Jeremiah and Belly. He was going to tell and confess his love to her before she had to get home, but when he got to his car, the scene Conrad walked on made him sick to his stomach: Belly and Jeremiah were full on making out against his car. He stopped short of the car and cleared his throat, causing the two to spring apart from their heated kiss and see Conrad looking right at them.
Conrad’s face was white. He would rather have had someone shoot him in the head with a nail gun, repeatedly, than have to watch the two of them kissing.
He didn't know who he was more angry at. Belly, who, not even a day ago, had told him she would have fought harder for him if she knew he loved her that much. Or Jeremiah, who, although he knew how much Belly meant to his brother and how fucking in love he was with her, seized the opportunity to kiss Belly the moment he was alone with her.
‘’Conrad—’’ Belly started, guilt settling in her guts.
He cut her off, his voice cold and cutting. ‘’I don’t want to hear it.’’
His gaze shifted from Belly to Jeremiah. There was so much hate in his eyes. How could Jere do that to him? They agreed to stop hiding things from each other and talk, but Jeremiah must have forgotten already.
‘’You broke up with her, Con, remember? We did nothing wrong,’’ Jeremiah said, pulling facts in his favor to make himself feel better — less guilty — for kissing his brother’s ex.
When Conrad kissed Belly on the beach last summer, he didn’t know she and Jeremiah were a thing — if he could call it that — or that he liked her. If he had, he wouldn’t have kissed Belly or confessed his feelings to her. Had the situation had been in reverse, Conrad wasn’t sure Jeremiah would have backed off.
‘’I’m done.’’ Conrad's voice was resolute, his heart heavy as he turned away, unable to bear the sight of them any longer.
Jeremiah moved to follow, calling out Conrad's name. He didn’t stop, needing to be as far as possible from the painful scene. His mind was racing with a jumble of emotions. Anger, betrayal, and a profound hurt gnawed at him. He had trusted both Belly and Jeremiah, yet they pulled this shit behind his back.
‘’Why do you always have to act like that?’’ Jeremiah said as he quickened his pace to catch up.
Finally, Conrad turned to face Jeremiah, his expression a mix of sorrow and resentment. ‘’You don’t get to tell me how to react, Jere. You kiss the girl I love outside my school, against my car while she’s wearing my sweatshirt. If you don’t see how disgusting and messed up it all sounds—’’
‘’She kissed me,’’ the younger one quickly defended.
Hearing this made him want to pack his bags, get his ass to stanford and focus on school. He needed to turn the Belly page, and in order to do that, he needed to be away from both she and Jeremiah. California seemed far enough, right?
*
The first days and weeks were tough for Conrad, struggling to accept the definite end of the relationship. She was still all over him like a wine-stained shirt he couldn’t wear anymore.
He blocked both Belly and Jeremiah’ numbers. If he wanted to move on, he had to keep his distance from them. For a while, at least. Then, he deleted all the old pictures he kept of Belly on his phone. There was no going back for them anymore.
He was done.
*
You met Conrad a little before Christmas break. Just like those cliché rom-coms, you walked right into him and spilled your chai latte all over his sweater. You wanted to break the cliché and not fall for the victim of your clumsiness, but after one look into those beautiful blue eyes, you knew it would be impossible.
After that day, you kept crossing paths around campus and, one afternoon, you asked him out. He was so surprised, but he said ‘yes’.
Although you had sealed the end of the night with a few kisses, you decided to take things slow. You had a very busy schedule with the tutoring lessons on top of your regular program, and Conrad was unsure if it was too soon to get in another relationship, if he was ready for it. The scar Belly had left on his heart was healing, but was he ready to open his heart to someone again?
‘’Have you ever been in love?’’ you asked one night in his dorm while studying.
Your question had caught Conrad off guard. It was visible on his face.
‘’Have you?’’ he returned, not taking his eyes off his textbook.
He was trying to dodge the question.
‘’I asked you first,’’ you said, seeing through his plan.
‘’Then yes.’’
‘’How many times?’’
‘’Once.’’
His answers were flat, annoyed he was by all your questions. He wished you would stop and get back to studying in silence, but you kept going.
‘’On a scale of one to ten, how in love were you?’’
‘’You can’t put being in love on a scale,’’ he said, lifting his head with furrowed eyebrows. ‘’Either you are or you aren’t.’’
‘’But if you had to say.’’
Conrad started flipping through his notes. He hadn’t thought of Belly in months. He missed her — in a different way he used to. She was his friend before they got tangled into this mess.
He didn’t look at you when he finally said it. ‘’Ten.’’
*
The more time he spent in your presence, the more Conrad was — unknowingly — letting go of his past.
The pictures he deleted months ago became pictures of you, filling his phone until there was no space left. The smell of your perfume lingered on some of his clothes and in his car. He had your coffee order memorized, along with your favorite study-break snack, which he made sure to have in stock in his dorm.
You became part of his routine — part of his life —, brightening his days even on his darkest, saddest nights.
He didn’t want to bother you, but nothing was calming the ache in his chest. He tried getting some air and smoking weed, he even thought of calling Laurel, but it was almost 2am in Pennsylvania. Conrad didn’t want to scare her.
So he pulled up your contact and called, the weight of his grief still heavy in his heart, wishing Susannah was still there. He couldn't believe a full year had gone by since she took her last breath.
You were about to slip into bed when you saw his name flashing on your phone. You almost didn’t pick up, but you got a gut feeling that he needed you.
When you opened your door, a saddened look was etched onto Conrad's face, his beautiful eyes glistening with unshed tears. The sight pulled at your heart and you wrapped your arms around him, holding him for the whole night.
Supported each other through finals and all-nighters.
‘’Getting tired?’’ you said, catching him actively fighting against his own eyelids.
Conrad shook his head, taking a long gulp of his coffee. ‘’No time for sleep. I have this huge exam first thing tomorrow and I still have a lot of chapters to cover.’’
‘’You can take a short nap if you want. I’ll wake you in thirty minutes,’’ you kindly offered, flipping through your notes for a specific annotation.
‘’Nah, I’m good.’’ He flashed you a soft smile, then returned to his studying.
A few minutes later, and you couldn't help but notice that Conrad's eyes had begun to droop. They would halfway close and then he would either blink a bunch of times, or widen his eyes until they were bug eyed. It was cute.
‘’Con? Conrad?’’ you called out gently.
‘’I'm not sleeping. I'm resting my eyes,’’ he mumbled defensively, fighting fatigue.
There was no way he was getting through the night, so you put your notes down and slipped on Conrad’s flannel shirt that was on the back of your chair to shield you from the night air. ‘’We’re gonna need more coffee.’’
As you came back with two fresh cups of coffee, you found Conrad fast asleep on your pillow, still clutching his pen.
And held his hand through the rainiest times — literally.
‘’Isn't California supposed to be the sunniest state?’’ Conrad asked, watching the downpour through the windshield, drenched from head to toe. ‘’The seats are all wet...’’
‘’You gotta learn to live with the consequences of your own actions, Connie baby.’’
It was his idea to get waffles when the sky was looking very gray and angry. He insisted that it would clear out, but a loud clap of thunder echoed on your way back to the car and rain started pouring. You took the road back to campus, but it got too dangerous, forcing Conrad to stop the car on the shoulder of the road and wait for the rain to calm.
You wiped your face with the sleeve of your hoodie and a smile curled on Conrad’s lips, still the most beautiful to his eyes despite your wet hair and the slight smear of mascara under your eyes.
‘’Rain happens everywhere. Even in the dryest desert,’’ you reminded him, pulling out your phone to check the weather app.‘’Unfortunately, this one isn't gonna stop anytime soon.’’
You toed off your sneakers, making Conrad draw his eyebrows.
‘’What are you doing?’’
‘’We’re gonna be here for a while.’’ You peeled off your hoodie — also wet from the rain —, leaving you in your skirt and dainty bralette. ‘’Might as well occupy ourselves,’’ you explained before leaning over the middle console and kissing him, fastening yourself to him with a stitch.
The kiss took him by surprise, but he wasn’t complaining. He could spend hours kissing you and never get bored.
You crawled over the console and on Conrad’s lap without breaking contact, your hands easily finding grip on his hair as you felt his hands all over your body, caressing and pulling. The windows were fogging quickly around you, creating a veil of privacy as more layers were peeled off.
Conrad once believed he had found love, that Belly was it for him, but the feelings he felt back then were nothing compared to how he felt right now.
‘’You’re the best thing that happened to me,’’ he confessed, his forehead pressed against yours.
*
The invitation came in a few weeks before the wedding. Conrad couldn’t believe his brother was going through with this. Everything was happening so fast and seemed rushed. Him and Belly weren’t even twenty. Who gets married so young anymore?
He arrived in Cousins a few days prior to the wedding, surprising everyone — and stealing the attention from the soon-to-be-weds — when they saw a girl with him.
The only person who knew exactly who you were was Steven. A few months ago, you had posted a picture with Conrad at the beach and tagged him, leading to Steven finding out about his friend’s new girlfriend. He was surprised when he saw it, but very happy for Conrad. He deserved better than someone who plays between two hearts.
Laurel put down the table-center she was holding and went over to pull Conrad in a hug. She turned to you, making quick introductions, and Conrad held his breath. He’s always been close to Laurel and her approval meant more to him than his father’s or Jeremiah’s.
While the two of you engaged into a conversation, he saw her. Belly. Dressed in a white sundress and talking to Taylor, she looked just the same. The only difference was, Conrad felt nothing. No pain, no old feelings rising back.
For the first time, what’s past was past.
‘’Belly, come greet Connie and his girlfriend,’’ Laurel called out to her daughter.
Although you had never met her, you could tell exactly who she was in the room — and not only because her dress was white. The jealousy filling her eyes when they fell on you gave her away.
—
All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @marzipaanz @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @Heartsforneteyamsully @aerangi @hallecarey1 @bxbyyyjocelyn @mikeyspinkcup
TSITP taglist: @msmarvelknight @maritaleane @dingus0401 @idontknowwhatimdoing777 @nomorespahgetti @lomlolivia @5sosbands @bloodyhw @depthsofdespairr @a-band-aid-for-your-heart @gilbertscurls @brandirouse86 @leilani-nichole @Veescorneroftheworld @papayaboyluvr @bchindureyes @bellysbeach @slytherinambitious @darylscvmdumpster @johannelis2302nely @aqshua @foockingasshole @straberryshortcake143 @luiise
#conrad fisher#conrad fisher imagine#conrad fisher x reader#the summer i turned pretty#the summer i turned pretty imagine#tsitp#conrad fisher fanfic#conrad fisher x you
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
Teach Me
Summary: MV1 + “I never had any special tradition for the holidays while growing up,"
Song: It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas by Michael Bublé
Author’s note: Sorry it took so long to release a Christmas fics. Exam mocks are really kicking my ass right now! Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶
Word count: 10.8k
MASTERLIST - F1
Christmas had always been a grand affair in your family, an extravaganza of twinkling lights, laughter, and the warm, cinnamon embrace of freshly baked cookies.
From the moment you could remember, your mother would orchestrate a symphony of holiday cheer—everyone involved, from the youngest child to the oldest grandparent, had a part to play.
The joyous chaos of your family’s Christmas Eve traditions was something you cherished, an unshakable foundation of love that enveloped you every year.
But as you sat on the couch, a steaming cup of peppermint hot chocolate cradled in your hands, you watched Max, your best friend, from across the room, use his computer to read his email.
He was staying over at yours for the week since he thought it would be better to stay with someone over the holidays than stay by himself with his cats in Monaco.
His brow was furrowed, tongue poking out slightly as he concentrated; a sight that made you smile. But then he said something that spun your world off its axis.
“I don’t really do much for Christmas,” he remarked, his voice disconnected, as if he were commenting on the weather rather than divulging a piece of his soul.
You looked up, your heart tightening in disbelief. “What do you mean, you don’t do much?” Your voice came out sharper than intended, the surprise and concern mixing into a jumble of emotions that suddenly felt too big for your small living room. “Like… at all?”
Max shrugged, a hint of embarrassment tracing the lines of his face. “I don’t know. My family doesn’t celebrate like that. We might exchange a few gifts, but it’s not a big deal, you know? Just a regular day for us.”
A regular day. The words clanged against your heart like a fallen ornament, shattering the idyllic image you had created of sharing the holidays together.
How could someone not revel in the joy of Christmas?
The traditions, the twinkle of lights, the warmth of family—these were the things that made the season magical.
“Oh,” you whispered, suddenly feeling a chasm form between you. You took a sip of your hot chocolate, not sure how to navigate this unfamiliar terrain.
Your childhood memories flooded your mind—caroling with your neighbors, the ritual of finding the perfect Christmas tree, and the way your father would always bungle his lines while reading ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas.
Max must have felt the shift in the air; he looked up, catching the troubled expression on your face. “Is it weird that I don’t celebrate?” He gave you a small, tentative smile, as if he were trying to gauge your reaction.
Your heart thudded, and the truth hung dangerously on the tip of your tongue. Could you accept this about him? “Um, no… it’s just… It’s really important to me.”
You weren’t sure how to articulate the depth of your feelings, the nostalgia that struck you like a cold wind at the thought of a muted Christmas devoid of celebration.
“I didn’t mean to—”
“No, Max, I’m sorry,” you interjected. “It’s not your fault. I guess I just expected… well, more.”
Turning away to hide your emotions, you felt a tightening in your chest. You wondered if it was possible to bridge the gap between two worlds so different.
To you, Christmas was warm hugs and laughter, while to him, it was merely an ordinary day.
As you both continued to watch the show on the TV in silence, a plan began to form in your mind.
What if you could share your Christmas with him? What if you could envelop him in the warmth of your family’s traditions, guide him through the whirlwind of what the holiday truly meant to you?
That night, you stayed up late, tossing and turning, rehearsing the idea in your mind like an actor preparing for a role.
The next day, you broached the topic over breakfast.
“Max,” you started, tentative but hopeful, “what if you joined my family this Christmas? We have so many traditions, and it would be amazing to share them with you.”
You watched closely as he took a bite of his toast, the surprise etched on his face like the designs on your family’s old holiday plates.
“Are you sure?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “I don’t want to crash your family’s holiday. It sounds like it means a lot to you.”
“It does,” you replied, leaning forward, excitement building. “But I want to share it with you. I want you to experience Christmas through my eyes.”
After a moment, his expression softened, and a smile appeared. “Okay, if you really want me there, I’d love to join,” he said, his initial hesitancy fading away beneath the glow of your enthusiasm.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a rosy glow across the sky, your phone buzzed with a call from your parents. You picked it up, expecting a routine check-in, but it was a little different this time.
“Hey, honey!” your mom chirped on the other end. “We were hoping you could come over and help us decorate the Christmas tree.”
“Sure! But is everything okay?” you asked, noting a tinge of urgency in her voice.
“It’s your dad,” she said, lowering her voice. “His back has been acting up again, and he insists he can’t be on his feet too long. I’d hate to do it all by myself.”
You chuckled, picturing your dad stubbornly trying to avoid any heavy lifting, even if it meant sitting on the couch, grumbling about the decorations.
“Alright, I’ll be there soon. Do you mind if I bring Max along? He’s been staying with me for the holidays, and quite frankly, he’s getting a bit bored.”
“Of course! The more, the merrier! I’m sure he’ll love it!” she replied, her voice brightening. “See you in a bit!”
The pungent aroma of gingerbread wafted through the air as you stirred a pot of simmering cocoa on the stove. Christmas music played softly in the background, intermingling with the sounds of Max fumbling around in the kitchen.
“Max! Do you want to go help decorate my parents’ tree?” you called out, trying to be heard over the clinking of dishes and the low hum of the music.
He appeared at the kitchen doorway, a puzzled expression on his face. “Are you sure I won’t ruin it for you? I hardly know anything about Christmas,” he replied, wringing his hands, suddenly self-conscious.
“Max, relax! It’s about having fun, not just making it look perfect,” you assured him, a grin spreading across your face. “Besides, my dad’s back is acting up, and they could use an extra pair of hands. It’ll be good for us both to get out of the house and do something festive.”
He seemed to mull it over, a slight furrow forming on his brow. “Alright then, let’s go,” he said with a sigh, walking back to finish putting the remaining cookies on sheets for baking.
Once you two arrived at your parents' cozy two-story house, the inviting glow of warm lights twinkled through the windows, making it feel even more like a holiday wonderland.
The scent of pine filled the air as you stepped inside. Your mom greeted you with a wide smile and a warm embrace.
“Thank you for coming, you two! I’m so glad you could help,” she said before turning to her husband, who was gingerly stretching his back on the sofa.
You pulled back slightly to face her, noticing her festive sweater with reindeer prancing across the front. “Of course! We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you replied, a smile creeping onto your face.
As you glanced toward your dad, you caught him gingerly stretching his back on the sofa. He grunted softly, rubbing at a spot just above his hips. “I’m fine! Just did a little too much holiday decorating, that’s all,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.
"Hello, Y/N's mom and dad," Max said shyly, standing a bit awkwardly with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He had only seen your parents twice before, and each time was a whirlwind of excitement and nerves for him.
“Max! It’s so wonderful to see you again,” your mom chirped, immediately stepping over to him, arms open. He hesitated for just a moment, but then accepted her hug, easing slightly as she welcomed him with warmth.
“What happened, Dad? Did you lift something heavy?” you asked as Max and you set your jackets down on the coat rack.
“Just a little heavy lifting here and there,” your dad said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You know, moving boxes up to the attic and making sure the Christmas lights are all working. I might have overdone it, though.”
“Remember last year?” you teased. “When you insisted you could get that giant inflatable snowman by yourself?”
“Hey! That snowman was a real battle. But look how magnificent he was once I got him set up!” he countered, puffing his chest out with pride.
You chuckled, knowing that the holiday spirit always brought out the competitive side of your father. “This year, let’s take it easy.” you suggested.
“Me and Max will put on the rest of the tree decorations, so you two go and rest,” you playfully ordered, a grin spreading across your face.
You gestured towards the mound of glittering ornaments and fairy lights that lay waiting to be hung, an assortment of memories collected over the years.
Your mom chuckled softly as she helped your dad, who was trying to rise from the couch. “Thanks, you two,” she said, glancing back at the tree adorned with half-placed baubles.
She spared a loving look at your dad, her eyes shimmering with tenderness, before leading him to their bedroom. “We’ll just take a quick nap, and then we’ll join you for hot cocoa.”
“I’ll hold you to that!” you called after her, the aroma of chocolate baking wafting through your kitchen.
Just as the door clicked shut behind you, Max stepped into view, his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his green hoodie.
“Alright, Max,” you said, taking a step back to admire the bare pine tree. “What do you think? Are you ready to decorate?”
Max looked up at the tree, its branches heavy with potential. “It’s, um, a lot taller than I expected,” he said, scratching his head. His light brown hair flopped over his forehead as he shifted on his feet. “How do you even start?”
You chuckled, feeling a sense of amusement and excitement bubbling up inside of you. “Well, for me, it starts with the lights. You can’t have a Christmas tree without lights!”
“Lights? Like, the kind that twinkle?” His wide-eyed expression radiated a mixture of intrigue and skepticism.
“Exactly! And they’re the best part.” You walked over to the box where the twinkling fairy lights lay coiled. “Here, hold this end,” you said, handing him one end of the string of lights. “Watch closely, and you might just learn a thing or two.”
Together, you two draped the lights around the branches, winding them carefully to imitate a gentle cascade. Despite his initial uncertainty, Max followed your lead, and you were surprised at how quickly he picked up the rhythm.
As you worked, you thought about how different this was for him. “So, Max, what do you usually do at this time of year?”
He paused, biting his lip as if recalling a distant memory. “Um, not much, really. My family just… doesn’t celebrate anything during the winter. My parents went away on a business trip last Christmas, and it was just me and my video games.”
You frowned. “That sounds kind of lonely.”
“Yeah, it was,” he admitted with a small shrug. “I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to do something festive, though. Like… this.”
He gestured at the lights you were hanging, and a little smile broke through. “It’s different. Good different.”
“Good!” you smiled back, feeling your heart warm. “I love that you’re getting to experience it with me.”
You finished hanging the lights, and you stepped back to admire your work. “Alright, next we get to hang the ornaments! These are my favorite part.”
You pulled out the box filled with ornaments, some homemade, some collected over the years. Each ornament held its own story.
“Whoa, look at this one,” Max said, holding up a glass snowman that sparkled as he tilted it in the light. “What’s the story behind it?”
With a nostalgic sigh, you took a seat on the floor surrounded by ornaments. “Oh, that one! My grandmother made it when I was little. She used to tell me that if we hang it on the tree, it would keep us safe from snowstorms.”
Max looked at you, his brows furrowed. “Safe from snowstorms? Does it… work?”
You laughed, feeling the warmth of memory wash over you. “To be honest, I’m not sure, but it makes me feel good to have it there. It reminds me of her, and Christmas is about holding onto those memories, right?”
Max nodded thoughtfully, placing the ornament on a branch. “I think I understand. It’s more than just decorations; it’s about the people and the moments.”
“Yes! You’re getting it!” you cheered, feeling the joy of sharing this tradition take root in your hearts. As you continued to hang the ornaments, you noticed how Max’s fingers brushed over each one, examining them as if they were precious relics.
“What’s this one?” he asked, lifting a shiny red ball with a silver ribbon tied around it.
“That’s one I made in art class when I was in fifth grade. I was so proud of it! Can you imagine?” you grinned, remembering the day you came home with it in hand.
“It looks nice,” Max said, his admiration genuine. “You were pretty crafty back then,”
“Still am!” you shot back, playfully nudging him with your elbow. “Just wait until you see the tree when it’s all done.”
As you continued to hang each ornament, you began to chat more about your families, your interests, and the things you two loved. With each conversation, the air filled with laughter and anticipation.
“Are we really putting up the angel this year?” he asked, glancing over at you with a teasing smirk.
“Of course! It’s tradition,” you insisted, a firm look on your face. After all, it was important to maintain the little things that connected your world, your friendship. “You know we can’t let it down.”
Max chuckled, and the sound was like a breath of fresh air. “All right then, but I’m the one who usually puts it on top. It’s kind of my thing.”
You shook your head, a smile creeping onto your lips. “Not this year. I’m doing it. You can help me, but I’m the one putting it on top.”
“Okay, Miss Determination,” he replied, his tone mildly sarcastic, but he stepped aside as you grabbed a wooden stool from the corner of the room.
Your heart raced slightly—not just from the excitement but from a deeper, indescribable atmosphere crackling between you two.
You steadied the stool, glancing back at Max, who was still watching, arms crossed, his expression playful yet somehow, deeply attentive. His gaze held a weight that made your stomach flip, and you could swear there was a beat where the air thickened around you.
You climbed onto the stool, your heart thrumming in your chest like a tiny drum, as you reached for the starry-eyed angel that gleamed at the top of the Christmas tree.
It felt higher than you remembered, and a sense of confidence mingled with a rush of fear surged within you—like standing on the edge of an uncertain cliff.
“Easy there!” Max cautioned, his voice a mixture of concern and amusement. “Maybe I should be doing this.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the tiny thrill that his closeness brought—only a foot separating you now, his breath mingling in the air as he leaned closer.
“Don’t you dare come over here. I’ve got this,” you insisted, waving him off with a playful faux annoyance.
But before you could even register what happened next, the stool wobbled. Your heart jumped as you lost your balance, and instinct kicked in.
You flailed, arms going wide, but before you could topple down completely, a strong hand shot out, grabbing you and pulling you back against him.
“Whoa! I got you!” Max said, surprise mingled with exhilaration in his voice.
You found yourself hanging in the air for a moment, all thoughts of the angel forgotten as Max held you firmly, your feet dangling inches above the ground.
Your heart raced not just from the fall but from the electric intimacy of the moment, your bodies pressed together, the warmth of his body wrapping around you like a blanket.
“Maybe I should have done this part,” he murmured, his face inches from yours.
His gaze held yours, a mixture of playfulness and something deeper, something you both had danced around for so long, unspoken and heavy in the air.
“Okay, okay,” you breathed, a slight embarrassment creeping into you. “Just let me get back up. I can do it.”
Yet, as his arms remained around your waist, you felt an intense flutter in your chest, the world around you fading into a gentle hush.
Everything seemed to slow—a heartbeat, a moment of depth, the shared breath between friends that felt like it could be something more.
“Are you sure?” he asked, brows knitting slightly as he studied your expression, his grip firm yet gentle.
“Just a little higher,” you whispered, and he complied, lifting you just a bit higher up, careful and steady. For a moment, you felt balanced, your body suspended, held securely by him.
With a slight adjustment, you reached for the angel perched above, heart racing.
When you finally grasped the angel in your hands, you could hardly contain your joy. “I got it! Look!” you exclaimed, beaming down at him.
Your smile matched the twinkling lights strung across the room, the room alive with holiday spirit.
“You did it!” He grinned, his eyes sparkling as he gazed up at you. “But let’s see if you can put it on the tree without falling again.”
You took a breath, carefully repositioning to reach the top of the tree without losing your balance, and to your surprise, you did it. You placed the angel right on top, the final touch to an enchanting creation.
As you settled back on the stool, Max’s hands lingered a moment longer on your waist, his eyes locked onto yours in a way that stirred something deep inside you.
“You really are something else,” he said softly, admiration flooding his tone.
You met his gaze, a million words left unspoken, a shared understanding hanging in the air between you. In that moment, amidst the tree, the decorations, and the warmth of the season, you both realized that everything could change—if only you'd take the step to speak what lingered in the silent spaces.
“Max, I—”
His breath hitched, anticipation crackling like the electricity between you.
“You really are something else,” he said softly, admiration flooding his tone.
You met his gaze, a million words left unspoken, a shared understanding hanging in the air between you.
In that moment, amidst the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree, the festive decorations draped lazily across the walls, and the warmth of the season, you both realized that everything could change—if only you’d take the step to speak what lingered in the silent spaces.
“Okay guys, are you almost done? We need to get this Christmas party started!” your mom’s voice rang into the room, cutting through the moment like a loud alarm.
You both jumped, the spell shattered in an instant.
“Yeah, um, right!” you stammered, pulling back slightly from his touch and forcing a smile.
The twinkling lights that had felt so inviting moments earlier now seemed to cast shadows, distorting the possibilities just spoken.
Max raked a hand through his tousled hair, irritation flickering in his eyes. “It’s fine,” he murmured, but it felt anything but fine.
The silence between you swelled with tension, unspoken words echoing in the air.
“Do you think we have enough decorations up? Or should we add more garlands?” you asked, attempting to redirect your racing thoughts.
It was a weak attempt, a desperate grasp for normalcy. But you could feel the distance widening, the moment fading like the last glow of an ember.
Max turned to help you adjust another string of lights, his fingers brushing yours as you worked side by side. “I think it looks great,” he said, though his tone lacked its usual enthusiasm.
His eyes darted around the room instead of settling on you.
“Thanks,” you replied softly, your heart heavy with the words that had been interrupted.
“What’s taking so long?” Your mom poked her head through the doorway, hands on her hips. “You two better hurry up or your father is going to eat all the cookies. And trust me, you know how fast he eats when his back hurts.”
You both chuckled uncomfortably. “We’re almost done!” you called out, exchanging a glance laden with mixed emotions.
As you both trudged into the kitchen, the comforting yet chaotic scent of melted chocolate, vanilla, and a hint of cinnamon greeted you.
Your father sat at the counter, a plate of cookies in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. Crumbs dusted his sweater, remnants of his early encounter with the treats.
“Save some for us, Dad!” you exclaimed, snatching a cookie just out of reach.
You made a mock of your father’s crunching sound like a movie monster, mimicking the terrifying yet silly creatures from the last film you hadn’t quite finished watching.
“‘Save some’ was my plan until your mother left,” he chuckled, taking another bite. Somehow, amidst the crumbs and laughter, he looked both amused and guilty. “Didn’t realize how fast they’d vanish. These cookies? They’re a blessing.”
You rolled your eyes. “I can’t believe you,” you teased, trying to lighten the previously heavy mood, but the weight clung to the air like an unwanted guest. You grabbed a cookie as well, feeling the soft warmth radiating from it.
“Are they good?” Max asked, eyeing the colorful array of cookies, his curiosity mingled with hunger. He reached for one, nosily nibbling on the edge of the plate.
“Epic,” your dad said with a nod, his mouth full. “Even if I say so myself.” He looked down, catching crumbs on his lap.
“Good enough to distract you from your back pain?” you pressed gently, trying to lighten the mood, even if just a little.
Your dad’s laughter faltered for a moment, replaced by a visible glimmer of sorrow, a fleeting reminder of years that brought more than just joyful memories.
“Ah, well, that along with every other distraction I can find,” he replied, his voice tinged with a sadness you could hear but not see, as if every word was a careful piece painted in gray shades.
Just as the silence began to stretch uncomfortably, your mother entered the kitchen, a warm smile brightening her face, although tired lines around her eyes told a different story.
“Everyone’s been out of sorts today. Should we all sit down together?” she suggested, motioning gently toward the living room.
“Sounds good,” you said, stepping back from the cookie plate. “Just let me snag a few more first.” You plucked three more cookies and stuffed them into your pockets, ensuring you were ready for later consumption.
Max smirked at your cookie-stashing antics. “You really think you will need that many for a five-minute stroll to the living room?”
“Hey,” you replied, holding a cookie aloft like a trophy, “you never know when the cookie monster strikes!”
Your dad chuckled again, and the tension broke slightly. “Well, if it gets too frightening, I suppose I can lend you my sweater for protection.” He gestured grandly to the crumbs adorning it.
“However, I warn you, the last person who tried to wear it claimed to have lost a battle with sugar and chocolate.”
You giggled, imagining someone in an epic showdown against a plate of cookies while wearing that sweater. “I’ll take my chances!” you said, confidently slinging a couple of cookies into your pockets before you finally sashayed toward the living room.
As you entered, the glittering Christmas tree sparkled in the dim light, each ornament reflecting both the colorful bulbs and the excitement that filled the air.
The sounds of bells jingled softly, punctuated by the occasional laughter from your mom as she rearranged a hodgepodge of decorations.
You plopped down on the couch, managing to get crumbs on the cushion as you settled in. Max followed, a teasing look still plastered on his face.
“So, what’s the plan now? A cookie feasting or a Christmas carol performance?”
“Why not both?” Max suggested, taking a bite of one of the prized cookies. The sweet explosion of chocolate instantly heightened your holiday spirit. “We could start a new Christmas tradition!”
“Yeah! Cookie caroling!” you exclaimed.
Just then, your mom turned to you with a thoughtful expression. “So, we were thinking maybe you wanted to stay over for Christmas?”
She moved a few ornaments on the tree, her hands deftly arranging them with the care of someone who wanted everything just perfect.
You glanced at Max, who had already raised his eyebrows in surprise. Staying over for Christmas would mean a whole day of festivities, treats, and memories.
But it also meant leaving Max behind if he couldn’t join. A pang of longing shot through you at the thought of him being alone.
“Can Max stay too?” you surprised yourself by asking, your voice light but earnest.
“Of course he can!” your dad chimed in, giving Max a reassuring smile. “We always have room for friends, especially at Christmas.”
Max’s face lit up, a mix of relief and joy spreading across his features. “Really? Thank you for letting me stay,” He leaned back into the couch with a grin, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.
Your mom smiled warmly, returning to straighten the tree decorations. “I’ll make sure to set up a cozy spot for you, Max. We’ll even have a hot chocolate station!”
“Whoa, a hot chocolate station?” Max echoed, his eyes widening. “My festive drink dreams are coming true!”
Laughing, you leaned towards him. “Just prepare for my intense marshmallow-to-chocolate ratio. I'm known for going overboard.”
Max chuckled. “I’ll risk it for a cup with you!”
“I just might put extra whipped cream on yours,” you teased.
“Bring it on,” he shot back confidently, but there was a spark of determination in his eyes that made you look forward to a friendly competition. . . .
You were nestled in the guest room at your parents' house, a cozy haven with a view of the holiday lights twinkling just outside the window.
Christmas Eve had always been a special time filled with warmth and nostalgia, but this year, all you could focus on was Max, who was sprawled out on the couch in the living room.
You had invited him over for the festivities, and while it felt good to have him around, a worry gnawed at you—was he cold out there?
As you snuggled beneath the blankets, the fluorescent glow of string lights outside painted the walls in a soft, warm hue.
‘He’ll be fine,’ you reassured yourself. ‘It’s just one night.’ Yet the thought of him alone, wrapped in a blanket that could barely keep him comfortable, stirred restlessness within you.
You wanted to go out and offer him a cozy spot next to you, but you didn’t want to disturb him, especially if he managed to finally drift off.
After an hour of tossing and turning amidst visions of reindeer and jingling bells, you heard a soft knock at the door.
Your heart raced, mingling excitement with a touch of anxiety. Slowly, you swung the door open and there he was, Max, standing there with his fluffy pillow tucked under one arm.
The sight of him was undeniably endearing, and you fought the urge to smile like a fool.
“Hey, what’s up?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even. You stepped aside to let him in, noticing how the warm glow of the room contrasted with the chilly air he had brought in with him.
“I… just couldn’t fall asleep,” he admitted, looking down at his feet. “I didn’t know if you’d be awake, so I thought I’d check.”
“Oh, well, I’m definitely still awake,” you said, the playful tilt of your lips escaping before you could stop it. “I was trying to catch Santa.”
“Really?” Max’s eyes widened, filled with mock disbelief. “You think Santa’s actually going to show up here?”
“Well, it’s Christmas Eve! Why wouldn’t he?” You plopped down on the edge of your bed, inviting him to sit. “Just because we’re older doesn’t mean we can’t believe. It’s part of the fun!”
Max chuckled, settling onto the floor cross-legged, his pillow still clutched to his chest. “Okay, okay, I get it. But still, how do you plan to catch him? With a camera or something?”
“Maybe,” you said, half-seriously. “I might have some tricks up my sleeve. What about you? What did you think—would you prefer to catch Santa or find out if reindeer actually fly?”
He pondered that for a moment, his brows furrowing in concentration. “Hmmm, that’s a tough choice. I think I’d prefer to see the reindeer fly, actually. I mean, how do they even do it? I’d love to see those little hooves take off!”
“You know, if you stand up and pretend to be one, maybe that’s the secret,” you teased, your heart lifting at the sound of laughter that poured from him. It felt good, this mini-adventure in imagination.
Max shook his head, his smile infectious. “Absolutely not! I’ll leave the magical reindeer business to you, thank you very much.”
“Fair enough,” you said, grinning back at him. The air was lighter now, filled with a playful spirit that made the room feel even cozier. “But I’ve got to ask—are you cold out there on the couch?”
Max’s smile faltered for just a moment. “A little. I wasn’t thinking about that when I decided to crash on the couch, I swear! Just didn’t want to kick you out of your own room.”
“That’s sweet of you, but you can just come here next time if you want,” you offered, feeling a warmth spreading inside you. “There’s plenty of room.”
He glanced at your bed, then back to you. “Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother.”
Taking in his slightly sheepish expression, you sat up straighter. “You’re not! We can keep each other company while we wait for Santa… or at least talk about whatever silly thing pops into our heads.”
Max’s eyes glimmered with delight. “You know what? That sounds perfect.” He picked up his pillow and moved it to your bed, settling down beside you. “Okay, so how do we catch Santa then?”
“First, we need snacks! Santa loves cookies. We can’t let him go hungry,” you declared, leaping up and heading for the kitchen.
When you returned, you carried a plate stacked high with the best cookies your mom had made—snowflakes, gingerbread men, and festive sprinkle biscuits.
“Wow, you’re serious about this,” Max teased, grabbing a cookie. “Okay, then let’s make a plan. If we take shifts—”
“Shifts?” you interrupted with a gasp, the laughter bubbling over. “We’re not soldiers guarding the North Pole, Max!”
He couldn’t hold back his own laughter. “Okay, fine. No shifts. But how about we set up where we can see the tree and the cookies, and then when someone looks away, the other has to keep a lookout?”
“Deal. And when we catch Santa, you have to promise not to scream,” you added, snickering.
“Like I’d do that,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Okay, I’m going to be the lookout then.”
Minutes turned into hours as the night unfolded beneath the glow of your soft fairy lights, laughter blending with stories and silly reindeer poses.
For the first time that night, the ticking down to Christmas felt less like a wait and more like a cherished moment shared.
You positioned yourself comfortably, but couldn’t help sneaking glances at him. One moment, he caught your gaze, and an unusual silence settled between you. The playful banter slipped away and instead, the warmth in his eyes drew you in.
He leaned a little closer, his voice softening. “You okay?”
“I am,” you said, but your heart raced more from the shift in ambiance than the excitement of catching Santa. The air was somehow charged with a tension that felt both thrilling and terrifying.
Max's gaze lingered on you, and for just a heartbeat, you both held still. You couldn’t ignore the heat rising in your cheeks. Your eyes flickered down to his lips, and you felt a magnetic pull towards him.
For a moment, you thought he might lean in. Then, as if struck by an invisible force, you turned away. “I—sorry, I just…” You stammered, struggling to find your words.
But Max’s eyes, filled with curiosity and a hint of longing, didn’t let you off the hook so easily. “What is it?” he asked gently, his voice low and soothing.
“Nothing!” you rushed out, a laugh escaping that sounded a bit too high-pitched. “I think maybe I just stared at the lights too long.”
“Sure,” he replied, but the playful tone was gone, replaced by something softer, more sincere. “You can tell me, you know. I won’t bite.”
You took a deep breath, trying to steady the rapid beating of your heart. “It’s just… really nice, being here with you. I mean, it’s Christmas Eve and we’re supposed to be having fun, but… it feels different this time.”
His expression softened even further, as though he understood completely. “Yeah, I feel it too.”
With a small smile, he shifted closer, letting the comfort of the moment wash over you. “Maybe it’s the cookies or the tree. Or maybe it’s because we’re just getting older.”
Under the thick blanket, you shifted again, settling into the warmth he radiated. “Now come closer; you’re taking all of the blanket,” you teased, nudging him lightly with your shoulder.
Max slowly moved to close the gap, his body edging over but hesitating just a tad as if he feared touching you too much would shatter the serene moment.
“I’m scared,” he blurted, glancing sideways, his cheeks tinged a light shade of pink.
“Scared?” you repeated, surprised. “Of what?”
“Of ruining this, I guess,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “Everything feels so perfect, and I don’t want to mess it up by making a wrong move.”
You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Like what?”
“Making you uncomfortable,” he said. He drummed his fingers nervously on the blanket. “What if I lean too far, or what if I say something silly and it turns this into one of those moments where you laugh uncomfortably because you’re not sure how to react?”
“I wouldn’t laugh at you,” you replied earnestly, shifting so you could look at him properly. “And even if you said something silly, we’d just laugh it off, right?”
He looked at you with soft brown eyes, gauging the sincerity in your expression. “You promise?”
“Absolutely,” you said, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest. “Why would I want to ruin this either? I like where we are, Max. It feels… right.”
“I just…” he paused, the weight of his thoughts hanging in the air, “I like being around you. You make everything lighter. But I don’t want to push you away.”
You leaned closer, feeling the thud of your heart echo in the space between you. The bottle of uncertainty that had been keeping both of you at bay began to crack. “It’s okay; you’re not pushing me away. I want you here.”
The tilt of your head must have been inviting enough, because he shifted in closer, the gap between you dissolving like morning mist. He was tentative, still afraid of breaking the moment, but the warmth you felt was from more than just the blanket.
“See?” you said softly as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “Not so scary, right?”
“I guess not,” he chuckled, relief flooding his features. “But I just can’t help it; I keep thinking about how everything could change. What if it goes wrong?”
“Max,” you said, resting your head against his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne, “worrying about what might happen keeps you from enjoying what’s happening now. Isn’t that what people do? They get so lost in what’s next that they forget to appreciate what they have?”
His silence was contemplative as he pulled you a fraction closer, the warmth of him wrapping around you like the blanket. “You’re right. I guess I just really want this to last… us.”
Your heart fluttered at his words. The vulnerability in his tone was striking, and it planted a seed of hope within you. “So, let’s just be in this moment,” you suggested, draping the blanket more tightly around your bodies.
“Here and now. No expectations. Just us.”
He nodded slowly, and for a moment, the sound of snow became the soundtrack of your cocoon. Slowly, his fingers brushed against yours, a gentleness that sent a ripple of warmth through you.
A smile broke across his face, one that sent warmth through you like the first rays of sun after a long, cold night. “Sounds perfect,” he said, his voice deepening in that way you had come to adore.
You settled back against him, draping the soft blanket more tightly around your bodies. The fabric felt like a cloud, cocooning you in a protective bubble.
Outside, the snow continued its gentle descent, each drop creating a soft symphony that seemed to echo the beats of your hearts.
He fell silent for a moment, and you watched as he closed his eyes, letting the rhythm of the snow wash over him. “I wonder how many people wish for this,” he mused, his voice barely more than a whisper.
“I think a lot,” you replied softly, feeling the weight of his words linger in the air. “But it’s ours. We shouldn’t take it for granted.”
The two of you settled into a comfortable silence, as peaceful and inviting as the sound of the snow against the window. You felt yourself beginning to relax, lulled by the warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat echoing against your cheek where it rested.
Your eyes fluttered closed, and you let out a long, slow breath, feeling the world around you begin to fade away.
“Stay with me,” he murmured, sensing your drift towards slumber.
“Always,” you replied, feeling your eyelids grow heavier. In the sanctuary you had created, enveloped in warmth and affection, you allowed the quiet to take over as your thoughts turned hazy.
And with that, you drifted into a peaceful sleep, the comfort of his presence, the shelter of the blanket, and the soft patter of the snow wrapping you both in a cocoon of tranquility.
Here, in this moment, everything was right, and your hearts whispered promises that could span across a lifetime. . . . .
You woke up to the gentle thrum of a heartbeat against your ear, warmth enveloping you fully. The sound brought you back slowly to the present, and you smiled as you remembered where you were.
The faint smell of pine and cinnamon wafted through the air, intermingling with the warmth of the blankets draped over you.
You were home, nestled in bed beside him, accompanied by the soft glow of fairy lights strung around the room.
Turning slightly, you found him still beside you, his arms wrapped around you in a secure embrace. His chest rose and fell rhythmically beneath your head, and his breath sounded deep and peaceful.
You cherished this moment like the most precious gift, knowing that today was Christmas Day.
You smiled at the thought and snuggled a little closer, feeling the sleep still clinging to your eyelids. "Merry Christmas," you whispered, not wanting to disturb the beautiful serenity of the morning.
He stirred a little, pulling you even closer. "Mmm, Merry Christmas," he murmured, his voice husky from sleep.
He tilted his head to meet your gaze, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “What time do you think it is? Do you think your parents are up yet?”
You chuckled softly, nudging him playfully. “Probably not. They’d sleep in on Christmas morning if they could."
Max’s smile widened. “Well let’s not disturb them then and do our own breakfast,” he suggested with a conspiratorial glance. “And maybe make some breakfast for them so they like me more.”
“Max, they love you, you know that,” you said, feeling your cheeks heat slightly.
Calling Max your friend felt wrong, like a poorly matched puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. In your heart, he was so much more, but the boundaries were intricate and tangled, built over years of friendship, laughter, and unspoken affection.
“My parents don’t usually agree to let a friend stay over at Christmas. You’re special.”
He tilted his head, his playful demeanor shifting to something more serious. “Really? That’s sweet of them. But honestly, I want to make a good impression. Christmas breakfast is a big deal, right? In a ‘you have to impress your parents’ kind of way?” He rolled his eyes in mock exaggeration.
You laughed, pushing your hair back from your face. “Okay, fine. What do you have in mind?”
Max hopped up from the edge of your bed, a spark of enthusiasm in his steps. “I can handle the pancakes if you get the eggs and bacon. And maybe we can sneak in some hot chocolate?”
“Sounds like a plan,” you agreed, reluctantly swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “But we have to be quiet. They’re definitely still asleep.”
“Shh, we have to be silent,” he declared dramatically, mimicking a ninja as he tiptoed toward the kitchen.
You followed him, amusement bubbling up inside you at his antics. Entering the kitchen, you were greeted by the familiar scent of pine from the Christmas tree, twinkling lights reflecting off the walls.
Max opened the fridge with exaggerated care, peering inside as if it were a treasure chest.
“Eggs and whatever this is,” he said, pulling out a carton that looked slightly dubious, but then again, you didn't remember buying much food lately.
You rolled your eyes. “That was from Thanksgiving. Let’s stick to the basics.”
Max pretended to ponder for a moment. “And let’s not poison your parents on Christmas morning.”
With a soft laugh, you got to work, gathering the ingredients for the breakfast spread. The soft sound of sizzling bacon filled the kitchen as you heated the skillet, and Max enthusiastically began mixing pancake batter in a bowl.
After some time, your kitchen transformed into a makeshift restaurant, with pancakes stacked high, bacon sizzling, and eggs brightening the countertop.
You’d managed to quiet the noise, but you couldn’t hold back your laughter at the two of you trying to balance plates on the way to the table.
“Okay, moment of truth,” Max said, placing plates down at two seats, making sure they were perfectly aligned. “How do we make this secretly magical?”
You raised your eyebrows, then added, “Hot chocolate on the side?”
“Genius!” he proclaimed, quickly pouring hot chocolate into two mugs adorned with marshmallows. “You’re not just a pretty face, you know.”
You rolled your eyes, but your heart fluttered at the compliment. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Max,” you replied playfully, unable to hide your smile.
Just as you both sat down to toast the moment, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway. You shot Max a frantic look, and he quickly grabbed a pancake, stuffing it in his mouth as if caught in the act.
“Surprise!” your mother exclaimed, walking into the kitchen, her eyes wide with delight. “What’s all this?”
You exchanged guilty glances, but Max, ever the charmer, grinned with a mouth full of pancake. “Just trying to make Christmas breakfast a real deal. Hope you’re hungry!”
“And great pancakes, if I may add,” you chimed in, feeling your heart race. “And bacon! Can’t forget about baked bacon.”
Your dad appeared beside your mother, his scruffy morning hair adding to his amusement. “Wow, you two really outdid yourselves!” He looked between you and Max, clearly impressed.
Feeling the heat rise in your cheeks, you glanced at Max, who was now smirking, clearly enjoying the attention.
“Well, maybe, by making breakfast, they’ll include me in the family from this point onward,” he said, his eyes dancing with mischief.
You chuckled, nudging him again. “You already are family, you know that right?”
Max locked eyes with you, and for a brief moment, the teasing banter faded into something more sincere. “Yeah, I guess,” he said softly, his smile less about jesting and more about truth.
Your parents settled at the table, and soon enough, the jovial atmosphere filled the room as laughter and shared stories surrounded you.
Even amidst the festive spirits, you and Max shared fleeting glances and quiet smiles, both unsure whether to acknowledge what lingered just beneath the surface.
As bacon sizzled and your parents marveled at the pancakes, you felt a warmth in your heart.
"So, as you know, we're hosting the Christmas party this year," she said, her voice bright and cheery despite the busy atmosphere. "It's going to be crowded before it’s 4 PM."
You looked across the table at Max, who was focused on his plate but seemed to be listening intently. "You don’t mind that, right?" you asked him, your heart racing slightly.
It wasn’t just your parents who would be attending; they had invited family friends, neighbors, and even some of your old schoolmates.
Max looked up, a friendly smile breaking across his face. "No, it’s fine! More the merrier," he replied, taking a big bite of pancake as if to emphasize his nonchalance.
After breakfast, your mother handed you and Max a box of decorations that had been stored away for the season. "Here! You two handle the living room. Make it festive!" she called, already disappearing into the next room.
You and Max exchanged glances, and you both laughed at the same time. "Looks like it’s just us," you said, a hint of excitement in your voice.
"Let’s make this place sparkle!" Max exclaimed, grinning as he opened the box to reveal an array of ornaments, garlands, and twinkling fairy lights.
As you began to decorate the room, you found yourself instinctively reaching for a shimmering silver garland. You draped it across the mantelpiece, wishing to give it a touch of elegance.
Meanwhile, Max was busy attempting to untangle a giant string of lights, a comical frown on his face.
"I'm telling you, these lights have a grudge against us," he said, huffing slightly as he pulled on the cords.
You laughed, shaking your head. "Need a hand, or are you determined to battle the lights alone?"
He raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his eyes. "I can handle this. Just you wait!"
He managed to get one long string untangled and triumphantly held it up. "See? Success!"
"You are the hero of light untangling!" you declared, clapping your hands dramatically.
As the afternoon wore on, you took a break to change into your dress. You’d chosen a deep green one that flowed elegantly around your knees. Standing in front of the mirror, you adjusted the neckline and twirled once to see the fabric swirl around you.
When you stepped out of your room, you spotted Max walking past with a box filled with more decorations. He froze, his gaze sweeping over you as if trying to gauge your outfit.
"Is it too much?" you asked shyly, suddenly feeling vulnerable under his watchful eye.
"No, it’s fine! You look beautiful, I promise," he assured you, his voice steady and sincere. That made your heart flutter a little.
“Thank you,” you said softly, a smile creeping onto your face.
Max cleared his throat, a slight blush creeping up his cheeks. "I mean it. You always look great."
As the clock approached 4 PM, guests began to arrive. The house filled with laughter and the sounds of holiday greetings. Your parents mingled with guests, ensuring everyone felt at home.
“Wow, look at this place,” Max said, his voice barely audible over the joyous chatter. He stood close beside you, his eyes wide as he took in the familiar surroundings that were brimming with memories.
“Yeah, it’s a little chaotic,” you admitted, your gaze drifting toward the swarm of guests. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Today, especially, you were thankful for Max's presence as anxiety began to creep in with each arrival. He didn’t know anyone else here, and his nervous energy mirrored yours, though he was determined to keep you company.
“Maybe we should find somewhere quieter?” he suggested, but just as you were about to agree, a voice rang out from the doorway.
“Hey, Y/N! Haven’t seen you in forever!” It was Blake—standing with a group of his friends, their smug expressions painted in the crackling light of holiday cheer.
Your heart sank. What was he doing here? Memories of the past flooded back—the bullying, the harsh teasing. You instinctively took a step back, bumping into Max, who looked worried.
“Should I get them out?” he whispered, concern creasing his brow.
“No... it’s okay,” you muttered, though your heart raced. There was a part of you that hoped this time would be different. Maybe Blake had changed.
“Blake!” you said, forcing a smile. “How has it been?”
“Good! Real good! Just finished finals, and I think I aced them all.” He leaned against the doorframe, an uninvited confidence radiating from him. “It’s kind of nice to see you. We should catch up sometime.”
His gaze roamed over you like an echo of the past, pulling at invisible threads that bound you to days long gone.
You could feel Max shift beside you. He subtly positioned his body protectively between you and Blake, his hand casually resting on your waist—something that felt both natural and reassuring.
The gesture worked to ground you, despite the tension that crackled in the air.
“Oh, um, thanks!” you replied, your voice shaky but steadying as you felt Max’s warmth. “I’ve been busy with college. Working a lot too. It’s—really challenging.”
Blake chuckled, his friends joining in the laughter. “You always did know how to balance things,” he said with a wink, his tone flirty. “I bet that’s why everyone is still buzzing about you. You’re always the one who had their life together.”
You forced another smile, but inside you felt uncomfortable under the weight of his gaze.
“I wouldn’t say that,” you replied, trying to redirect the conversation. “What about you? Are you still into basketball?”
“Of course! Can’t get enough of it.” He was enjoying the attention of your classmates who were gathered around—nothing but echoes of their bygone camaraderie. “I could show you some moves later if you want. I mean, I’m pretty good.”
“Maybe I’ll just stick to watching,” you said, with a weak laugh. Your gaze flickered to Max, who still remained a quiet presence at your side, his hand never faltering on your waist.
“Come on, it wouldn’t be the same without you,” Blake persisted, moving closer, his friends egging him on. “We can rekindle old times.”
Just then, Max tightened his grip around you as if to shield you from that unwanted history. “I think Y/N has plans,” he stated clearly. “Right?”
Your heart swelled at his assertion. “Yeah! Plans!” you echoed, grateful for his quick thinking. “We were actually just about to grab some food. Isn’t that right, Max?”
“Absolutely,” he nodded, his eyes locking onto yours with an earnestness that sent warmth through you. It was something you’d been craving since that encounter with Blake began to take an unsettling turn.
“Should I join?” Blake smirked, but your laughter came out more forced than you intended.
“No! I mean, we’re kind of... in a rush,” you insisted, pointing toward the dining room where the food was being served. “Right, Max?”
“Right,” he affirmed, his eyes that twinkled with an inner strength. “Let’s go grab some snacks, Y/N.”
With a half-hearted wave to Blake and his friends, you took Max’s hand, the warmth of his palm igniting an unexpected comfort. You navigated through the crowd, the noise fading into a dull roar behind you.
“Thank you,” you exhaled once you stepped into the quieter dining room, where twinkling fairy lights adorned the table and the table was laden with a spread of delicious food.
“I was worried I’d have to drown in that conversation.”
Max chuckled, his relief evident. “I’ve got your back. Always.”
The atmosphere in the dining room was lighter, filled with the cheerful sounds of your family laughing and sharing stories.
Under a garland of fresh greens and bright red ribbons, you felt enveloped by warmth and safety, especially with Max at your side.
“So tell me more traditions that you guys do on Christmas Day,” Max asked curiously, his bright blue eyes sparkling with excitement as he perched on the edge of the couch.
You could see the warmth of the festive spirit in him, a perfect addition to your family gathering.
You smiled, wiping away a few crumbs from your cookie-laden fingers. “Well, for us, we do Secret Santa where we pick someone’s name and get them something secretly before hiding it under the tree. Oh! And we especially do Christmas karaoke!"
You laughed, pointing at your dad and uncle belting out “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” in exaggerated voices. They were utterly off-key, but it only added to the hilarity.
Max chuckled, the sound making your heart flutter. “I would pay to see that!” he exclaimed.
“Then there’s the mistletoe!” you said, gesturing towards the couple by the entrance who were caught under the hanging sprig of green. “If there are two people under it, they have to kiss.”
You opened your mouth to continue, but before the words could form, Max leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours.
Time stood still. You were caught in that perfect moment until he pulled away, his cheeks turning a shade of pink that nearly matched the holiday décor.
“Uh, what just happened?” you stammered, glancing up only to find a bunch of mistletoe hanging right above you.
Max pointed up with a shy grin. “I figured I’d follow the traditions, you know?”
You couldn’t help the playful smirk that crept onto your lips. “Is that the only reason you kissed me?” You leaned slightly closer, your heart pounding in excitement.
Max's eyes widened as he shook his head. “No, um, not exactly,” he said, his voice a mix of confidence and vulnerability. “I really like you, Y/N.”
A giggle bubbled up from your throat before you could suppress it. “You’re so cute, Max,” you said, your voice light and teasing.
His face turned even redder, and your playful tone hung in the air between you like a promise. “Did I just get friendzoned?” he asked, half-joking but his eyes flickering with uncertainty.
You rolled your eyes with exaggerated dramatic flair. “Nope, I like you too, cutie.” The words flowed out more easily than you had anticipated, but they felt right, resonating with the whirlwind of emotion that had caught you both off guard.
Max's expression shifted, the nervousness giving way to relief and undeniable joy. “Really? You like me?”
“Of course! I mean, we get along so well, and you’re literally the sweetest person I know.”
He smiled wider, the hint of anxiety disappearing from his features, replaced by a twinkling delight. “Wow. Okay, good! So, uh, should we… I don’t know… try that kiss again? Just to really make sure it wasn’t a fluke?”
You laughed, the sound rich and warm like the cocoa in your cup. “Bad idea, Max. What if people see?” But even as you said the words, you felt a spark ignite, compelling you to step closer again.
“Who cares?” he said, his voice bold now. “It’s just mistletoe. And I think it’d be a better story if we kissed again than if we stood here talking about it.” His eyes danced with energy, a hint of mischief.
You couldn’t resist that challenge, not with the way he was looking at you—the spark in his eyes making it impossible to think clearly. “Okay, but if we do,” you said, taking a breath to calm your fluttering heart, “we have to do it right. No awkward pecks.”
“Deal,” he replied, the seriousness of the moment settling between you like a secret shared.
Max grabbed you by your waist and pulled you closer, his sudden boldness catching you off guard.
Surprised, a little noise escaped your lips — a mix of laughter and shock — and you could see the amusement dance across his face. “See? Not so bad, is it?”
You felt warmth flood your cheeks, a blend of excitement and anticipation, as well as the faintest hint of embarrassment. “You’re impossible,” you said, trying to regain your composure, though your heart raced wildly in your chest.
“You have no idea what you’re getting into,” he replied, a playful smirk forming on his lips. “But I’m more than willing to show you.”
“Bring it on,” you challenged, your heart racing with both fear and excitement.
And then, before you could second-guess yourself or back out, you tilted your head back slightly, and your lips met his.
The kiss was an explosion of warmth, as sweet and indulgent as the cocoa you had been sipping. It flickered to life like the crackling fire in the corner, igniting a warmth in your heart that surged straight through to your fingertips.
You melted into him, feeling the world around you fade—the hum of conversation, the clang of glasses, the scent of pine in the air, all of it dimming in the wake of this moment.
Max’s grip on your waist tightened, pulling you even closer. The kiss deepened, and you could feel the steadiness of him against the thrumming chaos of your own pulse. His lips moved against yours with a mix of softness and urgency that sent shivers down your spine.
After what felt like both a blink and a lifetime, you pulled back, breathless. “Wow,” you managed to say, your cheeks flushed as you looked into his eyes, which sparkled with a hint of triumph.
“Wow, indeed,” he echoed, his smile broad and boyish. “You see? Better than just talking about it.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “You have no shame.”
“And you’re blushing again,” he pointed out, leaning against the back of the sofa, clearly relishing the moment. “What’s wrong with a little mistletoe magic?”
“Seems like a pretty convenient setup,” you teased, trying to regain your composure. “What if someone walks in?”
“Let them!” Max shrugged, his playful energy infectious. “I’m not ashamed of how I feel about you.” His gaze softened, and for a moment, the noise of the party faded into the background.
“Guess it’s too late to act cool now,” you said, glancing around the crowded room, where your parents were happily mingling with friends and relatives.
“Merry Christmas to me, looks like I got my present,” you added, winking at him.
“Think your parents will approve?” Max's eyes danced with mischief as he leaned closer again, just inches from your face.
“They’re going to be thrilled,” you replied, sarcasm lacing your voice. “My mom has been trying to play matchmaker for months. She’s probably already trying to convince my dad to change the seating arrangement for the rest of the night.”
Max chuckled, and suddenly, the surrounding noise blurred into a vague hum as you found yourself lost in his gaze.
“You know,” he said, “I never had any special tradition for the holidays while growing up. But after today, I think I’m ready to spend the rest of my days trying to learn your family’s traditions.”
You chuckled, nudging him playfully with your elbow. “Aww man, are you really trying to win my heart?”
“Is it working?” Max asked, his smile widening.
“Maybe,” you teased, brushing a stray hair behind your ear as you tried to suppress a grin.
“Good,” he said, leaning a little closer, the playful glint in his eyes replaced with something more genuine.
“Because I’ve decided I want to experience all the things that make your family special. Like this—” He gestured to your father, who was attempting to sing a holiday tune, completely off-key.
“Yeah, that’s a real highlight,” you replied, laughing.
“I’m serious,” Max said, the warmth of sincerity filling the space between you. “I want to be a part of it all—the cooking, the awkward games, the stories that are told every year. I want to learn why your mom insists on making seven different types of cookies, or why your uncle insists he can beat anyone at charades.”
Your heart swelled at his words. “You really mean that?”
“Absolutely,” he affirmed, taking a step closer, so your shoulders brushed against each other. “You’ve made this horrible week of relentless deadlines bearable just by being you. I can only imagine how wonderfully chaotic it must be at these parties. I want to be part of it.”
Surprised, you looked down at your feet, your cheeks burning. The twinkling lights around the room seemed to echo your racing heart.
“Well, you definitely picked the right night to make such a grand declaration. Keep your expectations realistic, though. My family is… a lot.”
“Bring it on,” he said, his enthusiasm contagious. “I’m ready. Besides, you’re worth it.”
As you sat there in the warmth of your parents’ home, wrapped in laughter, full of acceptance, you realized that this could be the start of something wonderful.
The sparkling lights twinkled with promise, and perhaps, just perhaps, this Christmas would be the first of many with Max by your side. . . . .
#f1 fic#f1 imagine#formula 1#f1 x reader#formula one#f1 fanfic#max verstappen#mv33 x reader#mv33#mv1#mv#mv33 fic#mv33 rb#mv1 x reader#mv1 fic#mv1 x you#mv1 imagine#mv33 imagine#mv33 x you#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen fluff#max verstappen x you#mrsfancyferrari
290 notes
·
View notes
Text
Deck the Halls Part 1
Pairing: Krampus x fem!human reader
Summary: you secretly start to decorate the house only for your grumpy husband Krampus to find you out.
Warnings: established relationship, grumpy x sunshine trope, decorating, caring and possessive hubby, fluff, cuteness.
I just had to include Krampus in my Christmas stories! This version of him is unbelievably sweet, with only a small bite (for the time being). Happy reading! Find part two on Patreοn. ✨Happy Holidays!
The attic was a maze and a death trap, but you made it through. It was where you kept all your seasonal decorations and other unnecessary items. You moved through the jumbled mess until you dragged down the four large boxes containing Christmas decorations. Sure, it was still early November 28th—a point that Krampus, your husband, would never let you forget—but he wasn't home, and you weren't going to let his grumpy, anti-Christmas attitude deter you.
You only struggled with the last box as it refused to move. "You're just a box," you growled, tugging on it fiercely. "I'm not letting you win.”
The box eventually collapsed with a shriek, and you lurched back, almost landing on your bum. Well… you’d done it at last. With a huge grin, you dragged each box downstairs and got to work. You had all the time in the world because Krampus was currently caught up in the company he worked for. He worked as a specialist for a corporate organization, investigating unethical activities such as embezzlement, fraud, or employees "breaking the rules." He was incredibly good at his job, and his frightening appearance made others think twice before doing anything dirty.
Without realizing it, time passed, and the living room gradually began to transform into a gorgeous, chaotic mass of garlands, lights, and glitter. You'd managed to wrestle a seven-foot pine tree into the corner, which had been funny given that it was higher than you and weighed around a thousand pounds. You were climbing the ladder with a garland of lights in your hands, humming "All I Want for Christmas Is You" at full gusto when a familiar growl caused you to freeze mid-note.
“What the fuck is going on here?”
You froze. Fuck indeed.
Krampus was back.
You turned slowly, your hand still holding the lights, to see Krampus, your monstrously handsome but now angry husband standing in the doorway. He looked massive in the wide living room, standing nearly seven and a half feet tall, wearing a dark suit that screamed danger and dark beauty.
Twisted horns twisted from his temples, and dark lustrous fur protruded from his wrists and neck. His penetrating red eyes swept across your form. His jawline was sharp enough to cut, framed by a shadow of a beard. Sharp claws tipped his fingers and a long, serpentine tail flowed behind him, which was currently swinging back and forth. He didn’t wear shoes, he had hooved feet and walked to you with a predator's grace.
“Surprise! It’s decorating day,” you said, forcing a small smile.
“Get down.”
Krampus snarled, his gaze fixed on your body perched dangerously on top of a ladder. He hadn’t planned on coming home early, but something in his gut told him you were up to no good. And of course, he had been right. The sight of you balancing on that wobbly-ass ladder, stringing lights made his heart lurch. Only you did that to him. Made him so fucking worried and out of his mind.
Plus, you had no business looking so damn cute, wearing a short-ass red dress, glitter dusting your cheeks and hair.
But cute or not, you were a menace.
You've always acted like this around Christmas, but this year you started decorating so early that he didn't have time to prepare himself.
“Relax, big hubs,” you called out, a little sassy despite his furrowed brows. “I’ve got this.”
Krampus grunted. Nope. Absolutely not.
“Get down. Now.”
“Silly, I can’t do that. I haven’t finished decorating.”
"It's still November," he muttered, creeping closer. His hooves clicked on the ground, his tail swinging behind him like an angry cat. "You couldn't wait another week?"
"You wouldn't let me decorate even if I waited!" you shot back, wagging your lights at him. "So I have to do it when you're out, obviously."
"So you thought this was a good idea? Climbing on that death trap without me?"
You rolled your eyes. He was so overprotective. "I am fine. You're being dramatic."
“Come down or I'll get your sweet ass down and you don't want that."
Releasing a huff of a breath, you carefully stepped down. Krampus waited patiently at the ladder, gripping it for balance. He only let go when your feet were safely on the ground, tossing away the lights and tugging you to him as if you weighed nothing. He pulled you off the ground to make up for your height difference and you smiled, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders.
“You’re not climbing that damn thing again unless I’m standing right here,” he growled, his claws gently digging into your hips as he held you close.
“You’re such a worrywart,” you muttered, your fingers trailing the sharp lines of his jaw.
“That’s because you’re careless, wife.”
You pouted and made puppy eyes at him. “Oh, come on, hubby. I want to decorate. It makes me so happy! Help me out? Please? Please?”
Krampus grumbled something about you having him wrapped around your little finger and eventually agreed. He’d rather take you to bed and fuck your brains out but that would have to wait. Sadly. But he had plans to ask for a big reward for helping you, so his dick stayed good in his pants while he helped you out.
In the end, he ended up doing the majority of the decorating. He hung string after string of garlands and lights across the living room. Before he knew it, he had decorated the massive Christmas tree, the steps leading upstairs, and your bedroom. You had joyful music playing continually and were dancing and smiling sweetly at him.
Well, that made all his efforts worthwhile.
Everything sparkled with soft, golden lights, garlands hung neatly from the fireplace, and the aroma of pine and cinnamon filled the air. You stood back, hugged your husband, proud of the seasonal metamorphosis, despite his occasional growls and eye-rolls.
“You’re always so grumpy about the holidays, but here you are, helping me decorate. Thanks to you we’re almost finished! Only the driveway’s left and the garden.”
Krampus narrowed his eyes, his tail flicking. “Don’t push your luck, wife.”
"Everything looks so good," you murmured, secretly planning to decorate the yard tomorrow.
“Just good?" he rumbled, his voice low. "I just spent three hours untangling lights and garlands and all you've got to say is 'good'?“
You smirked. “Fine, it looks amazing. Totally amazing. Thanks for helping out, hubby.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something, wife?” His gaze flicked to the room briefly before lingering on you.
“Forgetting what?”
“My reward,” he murmured in your ear.
“Oh, your reward,” you said, playing cool even if your belly clenched with desire. “You mean for today? For being such a good hubby and helping me out?”
“Yes, damn it,” he said, his voice a deep, velvet growl. You were infuriating—deliberately driving him to the brink of madness even if he could smell your arousal in the air. He wanted to pin you down, kiss you and fuck your cunt until you stopped sassing him.
“You’re impossible,” you whispered, shivering as his tail curled around your legs, pinning you to him. His hands dragged up your mini red dress, you knew it had driven him mad. Just as you’d planned. Your breath hitched when he let his claws brush against your upper thighs.
“And I think you’re in need of a good fucking, little wife,” he rasped, his lips hovering over yours. “But for starters, I think I’ll have a kiss.”
Head tilting, he claimed your lips, his horns creating shadows on the walls. Your breathing caught, mouth opening and accepting his hungry tongue. Krampus was rough and demanding, thrusting his tongue with yours as if he wanted to devour you, pin you to the wall and make you forget all about the decorations.
And you wanted the same. Were just as needy for him as he was for you.
Part 2 is already up on the app plus much much more to enjoy! Things will get hot. Let me know what you think of my take on Krampus!
#krampus x reader#monster smut#monster x reader#monster boyfriend#monster fucker#monster x you#monster lover#monster x human#monster queue#monster fudger#monster romance#monsterfucker#monster fuckers#monster fuqqer#terato#terat0philliac#teratophillia#exophelia#exophilia#christmas monster smut#christmas monster stories#christmas smut#dark moonlust#monster x female reader#monster x female
341 notes
·
View notes
Text
pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader
summary: your starbucks order is a little too complicated for aaron to understand.
Aaron, in many ways, acts like a father. He's stern when he notices one of his agents on their phones during a case, he scolds Reid for not getting enough sleep, and he's infinitely grumpy when traffic is poor. It means that when he swings the van into a starbucks drive-thru on your way back to the precinct, you feel like a kid on Christmas.
"Hotch!" You squeal, mouth already watering in anticipation of your favorite drink, "I knew you were my favorite."
He lets a small, amused smile grace his typically stoic features, hands relaxed at the wheel as he maneuvers the van beside the window.
"Hi, what can I get for you today?" The speakers emit a crackly voice, and you're sure the person on the other end can't be over 20.
"One tall dark roast, and-" Aaron recites, then turns to you, "What do you want?"
Aaron's never heard so many words jumbled together before. You spit the name of your drink like it's lyrics to a song, an unintelligible rhythm to them that Aaron is helplessly lost amidst. You must have told him twenty separate terms, stringing them together in a way he could never hope to reproduce. He blinks once, his jaw shifted so that his lips part slightly.
"What?"
You huff out a laugh, "A-"
"Will that be all for you today, sir?"
Tense, realizing you have no time to coach Aaron on your hyperspecific drink, you surge forwards, nimble hands undoing your seatbelt as you lean across Aaron to speak into the receiver.
Out of reflex, your hand falls to his thigh to brace yourself, and the muscles are strong beneath your fingers. You nearly jumble up your own drink order, especially at the way his breath hitches when you practically crawl over his lap in the seat to stick your head towards the window.
Aaron's never been this close to you before. Not like this, not with your hand on his thigh and your ass not far behind. If he were to glance down, which he won't, he could see straight down your top. He won't, though. He wouldn't have a clear enough head for driving if he did.
Aaron didn't catch your drink order before, and he's certainly not able to now, too overwhelmed by the scent of your perfume and the feeling of your palm braced steadily against his thigh. You dig your fingers into the fabric of his dress pants for stability and he hopes you can't feel the way his slacks tighten ever-so-slightly, cursing himself for chubbing up like a horny teen.
"Okay," The employee hums, furiously pressing buttons on the computer to complete your order, "Is that all for you folks?"
"That's it," You hum cheerily, "Thank you!"
"$11.87,", the voice comes back, not nearly as jovial as you.
You unstick yourself from Aaron's thigh, knee aching from where it had been balanced on the center console. You send him a sheepish smile when your faces are only inches away, lips plumping as they curl.
"Sorry," You breathe, settling back in your seat so that Aaron can pull up to the next window, "I know it's complicated. I didn't think to prep you. I panicked."
"It's alright," He manages to find his voice, using every ounce of strength in his body to fight against the speechlessness that threatens to overtake him. He hands his card to the woman at the window, and sees you already reaching for your wallet to pay him back. He won't let you.
He pulls up to the next window and clears the cupholder of someone's old plastic water bottle, "I don't even think Garcia has that long of an order. And she's notorious for trying pinterest brews."
"It's complicated, but it's good," You gush, happily taking the drink from him when he's handed it by the man in the window. Aaron's surprised they managed to concoct yours in under twenty minutes. Your lipstick leaves a prim stain on the white lid, and you hum in pleasure, "Ooh, they made it just right."
Aaron sips at his own bitter roast, using one hand to steer as he fumbles to fit his drink in the small cupholder. He's got his eyes on the road, and his hands occupied, so he's a little frazzled when the rim of your drink pops into sight beside his face.
"Wanna try some?"
"That's okay, my hands are full." He hums, seriously considering just crashing the car to have a hand to take your drink with. He can't believe he's missing the opportunity to fit his lips over residue of your own, press his mouth to that pretty pink kiss mark you'd left in your wake.
"It's alright, here." You hold the drink to his lips, "I got it."
Aaron steals a glance at the cup as he fits his mouth around the spout, spending as much time as he can staring at your lipstick on the rim before looking back up at the road. You tilt the cup towards him, and the drink floods his mouth, excessively sweet and creamy.
He nods and you lower the cup again, careful not to spill any on his neat, white dress shirt. He hums at the taste, hoping you share a similar one, "That's good. Very sweet."
"Mhm." You agree, raising the drink to your own lips again. Aaron feels a sheen of grainy residue on his lips, and he's hoping it's not the stain of your lipstick, just the feeling of it.
He's unlucky.
"Oh, Hotch," You laugh, "There's lipstick on your face. Hang on," You lean over, smearing your thumb against the very corner of his mouth, "There. Sorry," You're sheepish as you settle back into your seat, "The perks of sharing drinks, I guess."
Aaron thinks he'll remember the feeling of your hand pressed against his face for eternity, and he'd be willing to suck down a thousand cups of liquid sugar just to feel it again.
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner scenario#aaron hotchner oneshot#aaron hotchner one-shot#aaron hotchner one shot#aaron hotchner headcanon#aaron hotchner headcanons#aaron hotchner hc#aaron hotchner hcs#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner blurb#aaron hotchner drabble#aaron hotchner dialogue#aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
// Knight Shift
This is my submission for @nanamiscocksleeve Christmas Secret Santa Fic Exchange! I was tasked with writing for the wonderful @reilemon ! "Please don't squirm...you're making it very hard for me to be a gentleman..."
// summary: you get a little too drunk and make a fool of yourself at the bar, requiring Zayne to haul you out of there.
// content warnings: 18+ (mdni), fluff, second-hand embarrassment, pet names, early-mid relationship, THE IMPLICATION, toothache cuteness, husband as HECK
// a/n: when I saw this prompt go on the list I was so hopeful I'd get it and I'm so glad I did! I hope I did your idea justice <3 Happy Holidays
likes, reblogs, comments are always appreciated!
1:04 AM Zayne's phone screen beamed a soft blue glow back at him as he sat in his car in the darkened hospital carpark, brow furrowed as he skimmed through his notifications at the end of his shift.
A veritable forensic timeline of your night, his nimble finger scrolled through Moment post after Moment post documenting your Christmas party, smiling and shaking his head as he watched each captured tease of your night progressing. The Moment posts were very innocent at the beginning of the night and they made him smile to himself, you looking cute and bright-eyed in your new dress, twirling in your bedroom mirror to show him what you planned to wear. He felt a blush creep into his cheeks as he watched you, beaming happily and giggling with your colleagues at the bar.
Gradually however, the blush and the smile were replaced by a tight, protective, possessive feeling in his chest and a pit in his stomach as your drinks began to flow freely. The little brightly colored umbrellas from your cocktails were now starting to get stacked up in your messy updo like a crown of flowers, each video adding to your pile of paper adornments as the footage got blurrier and more concerning to him. Zayne had never been much of a drinker himself and you had pinched his cheeks as you rolled your eyes at him, insisting you could handle it when he asked you to be careful and pace yourself tonight, but the most recent Moment posts told a different story to your dismissals.
An hour ago, blurry new male faces appearing beside you and your friend that he didn't recognize as being colleagues of yours and they definitely weren't as drunk as you; twenty minutes ago a shaky POV of you cheer-screaming at the top of your lungs as your friend downed a double shot of something as they spurred her on. Thirty seconds ago a jumbled black screen mess of your phone clattering to the floor as you howled with laughter and someone tried to help you up, shoving another drink into your hand.
"This has gone on long enough; she's too drunk to be among strangers", Zayne thought to himself with a scowl as he started the car and began to navigate his way towards the location you'd tagged in your Moment posts. He dialed your number as he drove and after what felt like half a lifetime, you picked up the phone.
"ZAAAAAAAAAAAYNIE! ZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYNIE!" you slurred at him excitedly as your glassy and unfocused eyes finally came into view on the facetime call. You were so much drunker than he expected you to be, so much so that he was half-questioning if something had been slipped into your drinks. "Zaynie I've been having SO. MUSH. FUN. with my new frenzzz here...what uhh...what were your namsh again?" you asked with a giggle as one of the unrecognized men muttered in the background and swiped at your phone when you turned it towards him.
Zayne forced a slight smile for you and spoke in a slow, even tone that hid his true feelings about the situation "I just finished my shift, I thought you might like me to come pick you up and we can finish the night with some dessert, hmmm?". With how happy you'd been to answer his call, he expected an enthusiastic yes, so when you pouted and whined that you were still having fun with your new friends, you weren't ready to leave yet, Zayne couldn't hide his icy scowl. "I'll be there in five minutes, Y/N, I'll carry you out of the bar if I have to." Zayne stated in a firm, no-nonsense tone.
Whether you hung up accidentally or deliberately didn't matter to Zayne, what mattered was you were alone and very drunk with strangers. His knuckles gripped the leather steering wheel tightly and he sped up a little, pushing the boundaries of how comfortable he felt speeding at this late hour. All he cared about was getting to you and getting you home safely.
Leaving his car a block away from the bar, Zayne jogged up to the doors, only to be stopped by the two large men guarding the entrance with a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Too late for new entries, Sir" one of them said with a note of apology to his tone as he blocked Zayne from going further. Standing up on his tiptoes to peek over their shoulders, Zayne shook his head and began to make his case to them. "Sorry gents, I'm trying to collect someone. You might've seen her? Blue and white dress, about this tall, very drunk?". With timing so perfect only the cosmos could've coordinated it, you let out a loud squeal of laughter that carried through the open doorway, followed by a crash of what sounded like breaking glass. "Speak of the devil...May I?" Zayne winced in apology as the two bouncers looked at each other then back to him with a nod and stepped aside.
"Better you get her out quietly than we have to turf her out, Sir."
Nodding back with an apologetic tight smile, Zayne pat the shoulder of the bouncer in thanks as he passed, making a beeline for where your noise came from. When you had slipped and fallen off the barstool, your heel had snapped off your left shoe and you were drunkenly wobbling, trying and failing to understand why you had no balance.
Placing a hand gently on your shoulder so that you knew he was there, Zayne made his presence known. "Looks like I got here right on time, Y/n" he raised his voice above the cacophony of noise around you in the bar. On seeing your eyes light up in recognition, he dropped to one knee in front of you, beckoning for you to stick your foot out to him. Rewarding you with a slight smile as you complied, Zayne slid his hand delicately around your heel and began to unbuckle the strap on your shoe, slipping it off your foot. Repeating the process with your other foot, your bare feet now flat to the floor, you looked even smaller compared to his tall broad frame as he hooked his index finger into the straps of your shoes to hold onto them as he stood up, picking paper umbrellas out of your hair and letting them fall to the floor.
"Lets get you home," Zayne said to you softly, eyes scanning between the floor and your short dress, frowning at the broken glass you would risk navigating to the exit. "Hold these for me please," he instructed you, handing your heels back to you, before slipping his suit jacket off and wrapping it around your hips so that it draped down over the back of your legs to protect your modesty. You blinked at him in confusion before letting out a little squeal of surprise as he wrapped his strong arm around your thigh and picked you up over his shoulder, holding you tightly and securely in his arms. "Don't worry Y/n, I've got you, I won't drop you" he said confidently as he headed back past the bouncers at the front door.
"Zaaaaaaynie," you giggled tipsily. "You're carrying me like a princess, am I your princess?" You teased him as you clung to his neck tightly, your heels and your purse tapping into his strong shoulder blades rhythmically as he walked you back to his car. He paused mid-stride and pulled his head back to look you in the eyes, noting they weren't as glassy as they had been, but you were still far from sober. "My knight in shining armor," you giggled and buried your head in his shoulder. Zayne answered you with a low rumbling hum, your words stirring something in him that makes the tips of his ears flush red. He hoped you were still too drunk to notice and you seemed to be.
He delicately cradled your head to avoid you hitting it as he bundled you into his car passenger seat and he paused, stunned for a second when you suddenly reached up and stroked his hair gently, like you were petting a cat. "So soft..." you murmured sleepily. Zayne cleared his throat and pulled his head away hoping you wouldn't notice the flush deepening. "Feel free to sleep in the car on the way home, I'll wake you when we get there," he whispered to you as he leaned across you to lock in your seatbelt, but by the time he looked up to your face you were already out like a light, your breathing steady and peaceful, cuddling your shoes and your purse to your chest.
Zayne smiled down at you gently, brushing his thumb against your cheek tenderly and closed the car door as quietly as he could, trying not to disturb your slumber. Zayne drove carefully the whole way to your apartment, taking care not to accelerate or brake too suddenly and risk jarring you out of your sleep.
He needn't have worried, because you didn't stir when he opened the passenger side door or when he reached across you to unbuckle your seatbelt. "Princess Y/n," he whispered to you, a playful tone sneaking into his voice. "Wakey wakey your knight is trying to carry you in." Zayne smiled at you as your half-lidded eyes fluttered open sleepily and you struggled to focus. He chuckled and shook his head with an exasperated sigh as you held your hands out to him expectantly, but he still bundled you into his arms to carry you bridal-style up into your apartment complex without a word of complaint.
Zayne shifted you in his arms, putting you down for a second so that he could punch in your front door code. Missing the warmth of his strong arms and the steady beating of his heart lulling you, you snuggled in tightly against his chest, slipping your arms around his hips and pressing yourself flat up against him.
"Please don't squirm...you're making it very hard for me to be a gentleman..." Zayne blushed, reaching to stroke your hair. "Are you steady enough to stand on your own now?" He asked gently. You nodded up at him with a smile, before blushing with an embarrassed giggle as you almost tripped on your own feet trying to walk to your couch. "Wait there, I'll be back in a moment," Zayne instructed you as he shut the door behind you both and made his way to your bedroom and bathroom, moving through your apartment confidently like his own.
From your bedroom he collected a set of pyjama shorts and a shirt of his you had promised to wash but had instead kept to sleep in; he never asked you about it after the fact, liking the idea of it being wrapped around you at night when he couldn't be much more than it gathering dust in his closet. Detouring to your bathroom, he took your toothbrush, loading it up with toothpaste for you, your retainer, your pack of makeup remover wipes and a jar of eye mask patches.
"Your dress, while beautiful, smells like a brewery I'm afraid," Zayne chuckled, sitting down beside you on the couch with the pile of supplies he'd collected for you. He held his hands out to you and made a "come hither" motion with his fingers, encouraging you to scoot closer to him until your knees touched. "Give me your face, Princess Y/n," he said gently, holding your chin delicately with his right hand as he pulled makeup wipes out of the pack with his left and began to carefully wipe the grime of the night from your face.
You sat barefaced in front of him, eyes closed and sighing contentedly at his delicate attentions, your skin tingling from the makeup wipes. "Nope, I'm just resting my eyes," you murmured with a smile when he gently tapped the tip of your nose asking if you had fallen asleep on him. You stiffened for a second as the cool shock of aloe hit your undereye and you opened your eyes lazily to see Zayne placing the little masks carefully and brushing them smooth with his thumbs. Zayne took hold of your chin again, pressing your mouth open with his thumb and index finger, before holding out the toothbrush and popping it into your mouth.
As you brushed your teeth sleepily, enjoying the calm domesticity between you both, Zayne picked up the clothes and put them in your lap with your retainer on top. "Go rinse and change into those while I throw away these wipes and put your phone on charge," he instructed you, brushing your hair back away behind your ears before taking the rubbish into your kitchen to dispose of. You made your way to the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub. Slipping the clean shirt on over your head, you noticed it smelled like him again and you knew you'd worn it to bed often enough that it had lost his smell...you half-wondered if he hadn't rubbed it on himself a little to transfer some fresh cologne to it for you and the thought made you flush with giddy happiness.
Looking at yourself in the bathroom mirror as you spat and rinsed your toothpaste, you couldn't help but grin to yourself, feeling so spoiled by him. After you disposed of the eye masks and fitted your retainer, you stepped out of the bathroom to find Zayne was nowhere to be found. Wandering through the apartment, you softly called out for him and felt a wave of relief wash over you as you heard him respond from your bedroom. Wandering in, the sight that welcomed you made your heart beat faster; true to his word, Zayne had plugged your phone in on your bedside to charge and was now fluffing your pillows and quilt for you. "There you are," he said with a teasing tone. "I was starting to think you might've passed out on your Knight again."
Zayne held his hand out to you and helped guide you into the bed, bundling you in under the covers, tucking you in. You grabbed his hand, catching his eyes as you felt his breath catch at your unexpected touch. "Stay with me? Please?" you asked and he nodded, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. "As my Princess wishes," he responded, swallowing thickly. "Let me just get out of my suit and I'll stay the night with you". You watched Zayne's movements around the room with half-lidded eyes as he slipped his tie and belt off and draped his suit slacks over the back of your arm chair. His nimble fingers worked to undo his cufflinks and free himself from his button up shirt, which promptly followed his slacks onto the chair, the clink of his silver snowflake cufflinks hitting your jewelry dish on your chest of drawers ringing through the silence.
"That gaze of yours is going to bore a hole in me if you keep it up, Your Highness," Zayne teased, a tone of a smirk to his accusation and you blushed, pulling the quilt up over your head. You felt the quilt pulled back from you and internally pouted that Zayne had already slipped on some pjyama bottoms you had bought and left for him to use at your place. He slid himself into the bed beside you and pulled your back up tight against his broad warm chest, wrapping his arms around you in a firm hug and planting one last kiss on your hair.
"Thank you for everything tonight Zaynie," you whispered. "Sometimes I feel like I don't des-"
"Shhh...." Zayne cut you off, his arms squeezing you tighter as he pressed his chin down on the top of your head. "I'm exactly where I want to be," he hummed to you. "If you really want to thank me for being your knight in shining armor, in the morning you can help me make us blueberry pancakes. For now though," Zayne punctuated his final thought by inhaling a deep breath of your hair. "Sleep, my Princess."
#love and deepspace headcanons#love and deepspace imagine#love and deepspace imagines#lnds zayne#love and deepspace zayne#zayne love and deepspace#zayne x reader#18+ mdni#zayne x mc#zayne fluff#lnds fluff#lads fluff#ncssecretsanta#ncs secret santa
312 notes
·
View notes
Text
Synopsis: [Nanami x Reader] Kento returns to you on Christmas Eve after a long mission. Your evening is a little ... derailed by his desire for you. Written for the lovely @sandsorghum as part of a Secret Santa exchange. Contents: Fluff, romance, slight angst, smut CW: Explicit sexual content (MDNI) Banner art: 'Woodfall' by Liam Devereux Dividers by: @aquazero
“The sun goes down and the sky reddens,
pain grows sharp,
light dwindles. Then is evening
when jasmine flowers open, the deluded say.
But evening is the great brightening dawn
when crested cocks crow all through the
tall city
and evening is the whole day
for those without their lovers.”
~ Kurontonkai 234
Love carries a scent, a subtle one.
You’ve tried, repeatedly, to pin down the elusive troubadour that holds court in your lungs, robbing them of breath when Kento enters a room. Words, words, more words, all a meaningless jumble that never emerges quite in the way you desire.
Kento smells of crisp, clean linen, sunshine on dew-laden grass, the headiness of rosemary studded like jewels in a freshly baked loaf, the metallic earthiness of rocks fished from a clear riverbed.
Even now, after your long years of association, after the (admittedly awkward) dance of courtship, after you’d both confessed your feelings and revelled in the intimacy gifted by the bower of your blossoming relationship, you still struggled to convey how his presence affected you.
As tender, passionate and considerate as the man was, there was always a certain reserve to his manner that you respected through your actions. You knew that he didn’t like to be overwhelmed by sound and sensation after a long day with Gojo hanging mercilessly off his shoulders, like a mink coat that decided when it would wear you.
He liked to greet you at the door with a steady, warm kiss, head inclined sweetly towards yours as he banished the cold he’d brought in with the groceries. He appreciated the way you’d tenderly capture his face in your grasp, holding him there, drinking in the lacquered honey of his eyes, the slight quirk at the corner of his shapely mouth, the wash of heat as his breath ghosted across the bridge of your nose and slightly parted lips.
He liked that you’d warmed the apartment to just the right degree, that you’d removed the decorative cushion from his favourite armchair, that you’d always trace over his knuckles before slipping your hands into his, the callouses on his palms scraping pleasantly as you’d raise them and press feather-light kisses where your fingers had pioneered.
Today, however, was different. Today, you paced fitfully.
It was Christmas Eve, and you were missing him dreadfully. The soft lighting, the rich aroma of sugar and cinnamon-clad nuts, the smooth countertop transitioning to the rough stone of the feature wall over the hearth, all passing under your restless fingertips. Nothing soothed you. None of it mattered.
He wasn’t here.
He hadn’t been present for the last three days. Something had occurred in Okinawa, and he’d been posted there for surveillance.
You could imagine how he’d have looked, receiving the assignment at this time of year, how his jaw would have tightened briefly, how he would have subconsciously reached for his tie, loosening it, how his stride would have taken on a more rapid, irregular rhythm on the way to the subway.
A few days ago, when he’d walked through the door to give you the news, there was little sign of that brisk, impatient man. For you, there was only melancholic tenderness, the drape of his arms almost helplessly around your form, the way his head sought the support of your shoulder, the soft fall of his hair against your neck. This was the side of him that nobody else encountered.
Your Kento, an unadorned, sturdy torch held aloft in the hand of some fickle God, the flame of his spirit stubbornly flickering.
You needed him. You wanted him here. You worried for him, especially when he left to undertake missions like this one, where communication was all but impossible. You wanted to tear him from the grasp of his never-ending duty for one day, just one, and –
The turn of a key in the latch startles you from your reverie.
It has to be –
You reach the door before the thought completes itself. There he is, tall, broad-shouldered, framed against the swirl of snow that blows across the darkened apartment hallway, against a world that no longer matters.
And then he is inside, in the foyer, pulling off his shoes, stepping into his house slippers. You give him room, standing at the edge of the wooden step, body coiled in readiness.
He joins you, standing toe to toe, and you still don’t rush him. You savour the moment, exerting a self-control you had no idea you were capable of.
It only takes a minute to unravel.
Your exhale mirrors his, arms coming up around him with almost convulsive strength. His breathing hitches slightly and you take your cue to bury your nose in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply.
This time is different. This time, you don’t hold back. His skin is gloriously cool from the frigid wind outside, his hair and lashes darkened by melted snow. Your hands map out the breadth of his back, the fabric of his shirt (soft, so soft), and the hard planes of him beneath. Such was your Kento.
A low rumble begins somewhere in the region of his abdomen, rising through the column of his throat, which your face is still pressed against. His chest vibrates beneath yours, a huff of laughter escaping, blowing the hair away from the base of your neck.
“I won’t disappear, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Of course you won’t. Not when I’ve baked a pie.”
His hand comes up, fingers carding through your hair, cupping the back of your head. His touch is familiar, yet fills you with fresh, agonised delight each time, a spear slid between the ribs. Low and filtered through with that ache of longing, echoing your own, he speaks against the shell of your ear.
“May I have my kiss now?”
“As many as you want.”
Something is different today. You lean back, the heft of his arms easily taking your weight, and glance playfully up into his face. You’ve satiated (temporarily) your need to be ensconced in his scent. Kento, however, doesn’t look quite as satisfied.
There is a kindling in that honeyed gaze, the eternal fire that flickers just beneath his cool exterior, that licks closer to the surface of his skin when he is with you. It’s even more noticeable on the nights when you’re both in the sanctity of your bedroom, the sheets rippling like water over a restless lake as his hips surge between the spread of your thighs.
Your response to him now, seeing him look at you like that, is sudden, primal, crushing the air from your lungs with need.
What are you doing? What time do you have to waste when he’s here, in this place, where you can finally treasure him the way he deserves?
The pie is forgotten, for now. His appetite, along with yours, has clearly shifted to more immediate functions.
You barely have time to process the thought before he stoops a little, arms hooking around the backs of your knees. The quickly stifled laugh that escapes you is drowned in the ecstasy of his lips on yours, crashing, melding, sliding away, returning, always returning.
Kento is seldom this carried away, his feelings and urges always so tightly bound to order and logic. There is certainly nothing orderly, however, about the way he hauls you into the bedroom and deposits you with a small toss onto the bed, his natural strength on rare display.
Rushed, clumsy, the war of tongue and teeth steals away your breath with its urgency. In between the slide of zippers, the slip of fingertips on errant buttons, you whisper to him, hushed and reverent.
“Missed you – hmm – wait, I need – “
“I missed you – “
“Needed you here – “
“I know, darling, I – “
“Don’t – ah – don’t let them – “
“Won’t pry me off you with a hollow purple – “
You tip your head back and laugh again, tension suddenly leaving the line of your shoulders and he pauses, looking down at you. Hair tangled by the passage of your fingers, burnished to bronze in the dim light of the bedroom, eyes alight with that searing softness meant only for you, Kento pushes you back against the pillows.
He is looking at you as if you’ve cast a diamond net around his unresisting form, reeling him into the undersea palace of your embrace, body moulding against yours in a dance as ancient as the slide of tectonic plates.
Pleasure erupts from your groin upward as he grinds down on your core, letting you feel how hard you’ve made him. Bold, sensuous, so unlike his strait-laced demeanour outside these walls.
Kento, your beautiful Kento, leans in to capture your lips once again, harshly. You claw at his shoulders, pulling him closer, pushing him away, neck extending and body arching as he rocks his hips in steady devastation against you.
He pulls away, one excruciatingly cold minute when his skin isn’t flush against yours, and he tugs your underwear down your thighs, the final barrier between you both. He never means to be explicitly rough with you, but his strength is now being led by the immediacy of his desire, and you reciprocate in kind.
The light cotton tangles around your ankle and you don’t bother kicking it away. Instead, you lock your legs around his waist, surging up from the bed beneath you, eyes hooded, lips parting, nipples stiffening under his fiery scrutiny.
You’ve never been this wanton for him before, and the groan that punches from his chest leaves you scraping across his back, eager, desperate. Your mouth falls open as the slickness of his erect tip dives between your labia, pushing upward, forcing out a breathless gasp as he catches your small, aching bud.
No, Kento has never been intentionally rough with you, but tonight everything feels different. He stills, breathing laboured, before lifting off you once again. Ignoring your indignant protest, his hand grazes along your hip before, to your astonishment, he flips you over onto your stomach.
He’s certainly never done … this before.
You only need a moment to regain your bearings. Instinct, long buried, wets your lips in anticipation, raises your hips slightly, spreads your thighs apart. At this angle he can see you in all your wet, satiny glory, the way your hair caresses one shoulder while you watch him over the other, warm, open, always inviting, only for him.
Kento’s eyes never leave you, body covering yours, his weight delicious and substantial over your slightly unsteady form. He doesn’t need to instruct you or hold your chin in position. You know not to break eye contact, even as his flesh parts yours and he enters you with a soft, slick noise, audible in the charged, erotic hush of the room.
You are now panting, swift and irregular, as he presses down on you further, filling you, stretching you, the sheets beneath cocooning the push of your body into the mattress. You gasp and whimper slightly, teeth coming down hard on your bottom lip as you watch the veil of lustful adoration descend over his gaze, misted, taking in your shuddering delight.
You quiver around his intrusion and one large palm trails softly down your back, briefly grounding you before he lifts and eases back into you, tearing a ragged cry from your throat.
He is merciless tonight, holding you so tenderly while he plunges and strokes, taking as much as he gives, hands planted firmly on either side of your breasts as he rocks into you, the full impact of his weight behind every thrust.
Kento isn’t taking his time with you, not just yet. Your need is as great as his, painting your inner thighs with damp heat, and you’re crying, begging. His own hoarse pleas and praises are roughened by the immensity of the pleasure you’re both building lavishly between your bodies, brick by golden brick.
Your fingers dig into the mattress as he rides you to a reckless, breathtaking climax, never pausing in spite of your hand pressing helplessly back against his abdomen. He knows what you want, even as you claw and slap at him, as you beg him to fuck you, yes, Kento, just like that, please, no more, so good, can’t take it -
He knows, somehow, even if this position is new to you both, how to slow his frantic pace as you convulse around him, mouth opening wide in soundless abandon, the skin of your back glistening with sweat, taut as a bowstring.
He stays still, the rigid discipline of hardened muscle keeping him poised against the plushness of your buttocks, kisses airy as seafoam trailing across the nape of your neck. Slumped boneless beneath him, mind still grappling with what you’ve just done, you lazily move, thrusting back against him.
He hisses, grip tightening on your hip.
When Kento is close to orgasm, you’ve learned how to identify the signs; the puckering of his brow, the intensity and focus that burns like ultraviolet across the length of your form, the sudden jerk and release of the supreme tension that cords the sinew of neck and arms, the small grunt followed by the intimate press of his forehead to yours.
Yet again, he surprises you. Raising yourself on your forearms, you turn your upper body to regard him, and oh –
Oh.
As soon as you face him, his lips find yours, barely forming a kiss, messy and wild, a man starved. And the sounds he was making –
You’ve never heard the like from him before, but today you’re quite fortunate. Heavy pants, grunts, moans that reverberate within his chest, surging along your spine, hot puffs of air sensitising your skin as he buries his face between your shoulder blades.
His teeth sink lightly into the flesh there, igniting embers that kindle a simmering furnace. Breathing now matching the pace of his, you start to measure your movements, each timed push backward on his length tightening the drawstring around the bottomless pool of honey you’ve laved him with.
Kento stiffens, hands dropping abruptly from your sides to the bed beneath. A sensation of wet, pulsing heat within you, once, twice. You reach for him, whispering heady praise into your kiss, tongue tracing delicately across his, a contrast to the animalistic fervour you’d both displayed earlier.
He eases his body from yours, fingers drawing familiar shapes along arms, neck, lower back. You turn your head to the side, taking him in where he now lies beside you, unable to help the smile that breaks across your face. He returns it, the firm lines of his mouth shaping themselves into that most secret flame that burns so bright, casting the shadows away from your life and his, even if only for this stolen moment.
Ah, here he is, your tired sorcerer, brimming with unspoken devotion and the dogged faith that brings him back to you, again and again.
Here he is, your Kento, to pare away the rough edges of pain and the bleak unsheathing of sorrow’s knife, to hold you so close while snow blankets the world outside.
Here he is, your lover, his scent as elusive as night-blooming jasmine, banishing the evening from your heart.
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fanfic#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#nanami kento#jjk nanami#kento nanami#nanami x reader#nanami x you#nanami x y/n#nanami smut#kento nanami x reader#kento nanami x you#kento nanami x y/n#nanami x reader smut#nanami kento smut#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento x you#christmas eve#jjk fluff#jjk smut#jjk x reader#jjk x reader smut#secret santa
383 notes
·
View notes
Text
christmas gift 🎁
obsessed!geto x reader
cw and notes: lowk doesn't make sense, best friends to kidnapped reader to whatever you two have going on, slight angst, this will not be everyone’s cup of tea, complicated toxic relationship, stalking, toxic behavior, piv sex, YOURE the gift, geto has u locked up lol, hair pulling, spit, asphyxiation, creampie, mentions of past drugging, implied kidnapping, reader is awkward and is still adapting, I'm trying my best to put real emotions and responses into words, not the perfect smut to flick da bean to lol, self indulgent and not proofread
┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈
all roads were iced over, going from tokyo to the edge of the city, more rural, secluded places. suguru drove his dark suv down winding roads until he came to the gate of his home. dark, metal bars open with a passcode onto the land that was his. his property. and he came home to you. his property.
he rushed out the car, boots crunching in the fresh snow. his hands jumbled with the keys, trying to find the matching silver one to the door—fuck. he didn’t lock it.
‘shit, shit, shit’
he slammed the door open, kicking off his boots to an eerily quiet home. he felt stupid. fuck. what was he thinking? he should’ve put deadbolts on the front door as well. you were probably long gone. your relationship—if you could call it that—had gotten to the point where he let you freely roam around inside the house with his supervision.
no sound of your voice, your feet steps, just the echos of his. he rushed to your room, all the way in the back of his house where he kept you, safe and sound from the outside world. he felt an iron grip on his heart, his stomach falling to his feet as he ran. you probably went down to his neighbor’s, called 911, maybe a young man helped you, you were definitely gone, you—
you?
there you were, in the same pajamas suguru had gently slid you in last night, wearing a little red bow in your hair. his chest heaved, a drop of swear dripping down his forehead, his eyes narrowing on you. you, on the floor, sitting criss-cross with a book in your hands as you leaned against the bed.
deep purple, with a red undertone, some would say it was evil. they bore into you and from where you were sitting on the floor, he looked like a statue. the shadows that were cast from the lamp in the hallway and the window in your shared bedroom made him look ethereal. maybe it was all the weeks that you were kept in captivity. maybe it was all the sleeping drugs he fed you finally catching up to you.
he looked so other-worldly.
suguru held your gaze for a few seconds, his chest heaving from the adrenaline. you were still here? you could've run away, yet you stayed so pliant and good. you wanted to stay, didn't you?
"welcome home, suguru," you blinked up at him, your eyelashes batting so deer-like. you were like a little animal, held in captivity by a scary man, but it was almost ironic how he felt like a deer in headlights.
he broke out of his trance, reaching you in two long strides before dropping to his knees, enveloping you in his slender, lean arms. being embraced by suguru was not like a hug. if anything, it was most similar to being embraced by a thick wall of cold, misty fog. you slowly wrap your hands around his bicep as he takes deep, heavy breaths into the crook of your neck.
"you're here," he huffs out, "my angel"
"uh.. yeah," your eyes wandered the room awkwardly as his giant frame hung over yours, "as always,"
"don't leave."
"i think you established that, suguru"
"don't."
he pulled away from the embrace, still leaving little room between the two of you. his nose was inches away from yours, his skin sickly pale. dark purple eyes, more alluring than ever boring into your face, scanning your features as if he was still trying to process that you were real.
"you miss me or something?" geto huffed out, one hand travelling up to the back of your head, your hair threading through hs fingers. you respond with a curt nod, trying to avoid eye contact. you felt as though you were.. blushing? yet the temperature in the room only continued to drop.
"i did miss you," you murmur, dodging geto's eyes even though his head only followed yours.
"look at me, angel. stop trying to avoid me. there's no escaping me, I told you, didn't i?" geto's grip tightened on your head before releasing again, "I'm sorry. didn't mean to scare you,"
he pulled his hand from the back of your head down to the nape of your neck, rubbing it gently with his thumb.
"s'okay," you bit your lip before looking up at him, "did you eat today?"
he nodded before lowering his gaze to your lips. the air felt cold and heavy. you couldn't even count the days your best friend had locked you in his home. your dynamic had definitely changed, so have the complicated feelings you two had harboured for each other. his head dipped with a deep sigh before he looked back up at you.
"i brought you dinner. it's in the car," suguru got up before pausing, looking back at you and motioning for you to follow.
and with a smile, you followed.
┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈
the fireplace crackled as he flipped through the channels on the tv. he sat on the couch, his legs pointing in different directions as he manspread. it gave you a bit of the ick..
but there you were, cuddled up on suguru's lap, full of the dinner that suguru had brought home, in suguru's house. why were you comfortable on his lap? the same man that had locked you away from society. yet, it was the same man that comforted you on the darkest nights, walked you home from work, bought you snacks when you were sad.
you shook your thoughts away, the conflicting emotions messing with your head. at first, you screamed at him, thrashed against his hold, yet here you were, with your best friend, your captor, your.. what what he to you?
his arm was wrapped around you, the tv droning away in the background as you seemed to disassociate, swaying in his lap as his hand came to rest on your full belly, stroking it gently with his thumb.
"you good?" he hummed, "or are you just tired, hm? your belly must be full, ain't it, angel,"
you swallowed, your eyes roaming back onto his face as you processed what he was saying. from directly below, his face looked gentler, his eyes less daunting, and his thick eyebrows furrowed in worry. he leaned in, planting a kiss on the tip of your nose.
it was weird. his kisses felt weird now. there was a lack of something. you two had kissed before when you were younger. stupid kids, 'practicing' kissing, two drunk adults barely hitting the legal drinking age, kissing while drunk together at a bar.
his hand was cupping your clothed crotch. it wasn't anything sexual, he claimed he just liked the intimacy, the closeness, and the trust you had in him.
he fixed the bow in your hair, his eyes roaming your face slowly. if someone pointed a gun at your head right now, you wouldn't be able to tell them what the hell was playing on tv because all you could focus on was how handsome he looked from this angle. the feeling was potent, poisonous, nauseous, toxic.
his free arm cupped your cheek as he chuckled, "you didn't answer me, angel,"
"oh.. sorry. i'm okay," you breathed out
he hummed in response as you leaned in, capturing his lips. the feeling was indescribable like something had changed in the wiring of your brain, like someone had injected a foreign substance into your blood. your lips moved naturally with his like you were meant for him, made for him.
"wrapped like a nice little present for me, aren't you?" suguru lifted a hand, pulling your hair back to open your lips, glossed and colored for him. it was nasty, how he spit in your mouth, how you knew what every tug, every pull from him meant. you had lost your virginity to him long before he locked you in here. complicated didn't even begin to describe your relationship with him.
you swallowed it, his toxic essence, the warmth sliding down your throat as he nearly grinned. his hand on your crotch traveled lower, his pointer and middle finger poking into the concave where he knew your pussy was. he knew every inch of you, every curve and crevice, and you knew all of him. knew he loved it when you reached up to his adam's apple and brushed it with your thumb, he'd let out a quiet whine, or if you bit down anywhere on his torso, he'd get embarrassingly hard.
"i can feel you getting wet, angel," he murmured, "you want this?"
he waited until you nodded before moving his hand to the waistband of your pajamas, sliding down under your white cotton panties and rubbing at your clit gently. you whined before he leaned in, his cold, chapped lips on yours.
"shh, shh.. be a good girl, c'mere," he carried you, placing you gently down on the couch so your head was resting on the armrest. he caged you under his arms, one hand coming up to stroke your cheek before placing his fingers before your face, lanky pale fingers coated in your slick. he took a long, hard inhale of your scent on his fingers before putting them in his mouth, sucking hard before popping them out.
"stop, suguru, that's so embarrassing," you huffed out, looking away.
"yeah? i bet you're getting wetter, aren't you?" he grinned before pulling your pajamas down, leaving you in your top, your panties, and a bow, "dirty fuckin' girl, aren't you?"
you reached down, palming his crotch as you mewled in want. he sucked his teeth before reaching down, pulling your panties slowly down, watching your slick stick your panties as he peeled them off your pussy,
"shit, merry christmas to us, huh?"
his dick was lanky and pale like him. veiny, with a sensitive head. you felt it prodding against your pussy as he slowly pushed in, hissing as your pussy clenched around his long dick. your hand came up to his throat as he began moving in you with slow, long thrusts. you rubbed his adam's apple gently as he began thrusting harder, his tip reaching your cervix and brushing your cervix. he whined, his hips stuttering.
"do that again, angel, fuck yeah, squeeze it a little,"
the sight was filthy. being split open on your best friend's couch, the same best friend who kidnapped you however long ago, the one you knew inside and out. your pussy dripping all over the couch cushions as his big dick always made you a sloppy mess.
"suguu, i'm close!" you mewl, squeezing his throat a little tighter as he continues pounding your pussy, one of his hands coming down to rub at your clit.
"cum for me, be a good girl, my good girl-fuck, my only good girl,"
he thrust ropes of white, thick cum deep into your pussy, coating your insides with the translucent liquid as it spilled out of your pussy as he pulled out. leaning down, he ignored your yelp as he pushed his cum into you with his tongue, not forgetting to swirl it a bit around your clit before traveling back up to your lips.
he paused, contemplating what to do. you two constantly danced around the gray area of what you considered intimacy. your relationship with him, what were you to him? what was he to you? he gave you a short peck before cleaning you up.
he pulled you back into his lap as he tucked himself away, "i've been meaning to give you this," he mumbled, pulling something out of his pocket. you turned your head to the sound of metal clinking.
a set of keys to his house.
"you want freedom, don't you?" he chuckled, grabbing your hand and placing it in your palm, "it's all yours,"
you were still dizzy from the waves of your orgasm. freedom. how empty it sounded from the mouth of the devil.
#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jjk x reader smut#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru#geto suguru smut#geto suguru x reader smut#geto smut#geto x reader#jjk geto#jujutsu kaisen#obessed!geto x reader#obsessed!geto#rina journal 📝#MERRY CHRISTMAS DEEP DICKERS
365 notes
·
View notes
Text
Pietro Maximoff x fem!reader
Summary: ask: Maybe Pietro and reader are the only ones in the avengers facility (the other were with their families, on vacation, etc), and he's really excited to spend Christmas with her because he has a crush on her but never really told her (or even done something about it because when he's around her he doesn't know what to do), and he's really excited because it's gonna be just the two of them there and he wants it to be special and surprise her.
Genre: Fluff
Warnings: AU where Pietro isn't dead, this is only a few months after Avengers: Age Of Ultron but in my head Pietro, Wanda, and reader are early 20s!
~ i hope you like this @thewinterv 🤍~
Normally, around the 20th of December, the Avengers Tower would be buzzing with the sounds of voices, the hum of machinery, and Tony's unrelenting playlist of 80s Christmas hits. But this year, it was dead silent.
Most of the team had scattered for the holidays; each of them returning home to their families. Tony was spending Christmas away with Pepper at some romantic destination no one knew about, Thor had returned home to Asgard, and Cap was spending his holidays with his friend, Bucky. Natasha, like almost every year, was spending Christmas at Clint's family house and this year Clint had opened the invitation—
Because Pietro disliked spending holidays away from his sister, and Wanda had told him her and Vision were spending he holidays with Clint, he'd been considering the offer.
However, when you'd told him in passing that you'd politely declined the invitation, Pietro's heart sank. You didn't want to impose, was your excuse, and it didn't sit well with him.
He didn't want you alone on Christmas.
So, he found himself lingering in the common area of the tower, his foot tapping anxiously against the wooden floor. He felt the anticipation bubbling up inside him as he shakes his hands, a mixture of excitement and nervous energy bouncing inside him. He glanced at the clock hanging over the door for the tenth time in the past twenty minutes.
You were here, probably in your room. The thought alone made his heart speed up. The two of you were the only ones left now and all that was left was his excitement. For months now, Pietro had been harboring these feelings for you—feelings he never quite knew how to express. Around you, his usually confident self, became a jumble of awkward smiles and half-finished sentences.
But this Christmas, he was determined for that to change.
You wander into the kitchen, yawning. It's Christmas morning and Pietro is standing by the stove, stirring a pot with uncharacteristic focus. His usual blur of motion is replaced by small, deliberate movements, and you can't help but smile.
"Merry Christmas," you say, leaning your hip against the counter.
Pietro's head shoots up, his icy blue eyes widen in surprise as he spins around. "Y/n," he exclaims, his Sokovian accent more evident in the early morning. "Happy Christmas," he smiles and continues to stir, "Ah, I made horká čokoláda, ah what is the word… hot chocolate? It's… traditional, yes?"
You smile, pushing some hair away from your tired eyes. "Very traditional, Piet," you say, leaning over some more and smelling the air. It smells sweet. "Smells yummy. Can I get some, or is this all for you?" you ask with no hint of annoyance in case he had made it for himself.
His cheeks turn pink, quickly ladling the hot chocolate into two mugs. "Of course, for you too. I made it special."
"Special?" you echo, taking the offered mug. You taste the hot chocolate and it tastes quite normal, but still delicious.
"Yes," Pietro whispers, finding his words again. He feels nervous again but he swallows down the nerves. "For you. I made it special for you."
Your smile widens and you take another sip, hot chocolate coating your upper lip. Pietro leans in and wipes it with his thumb. He's pauses, hesitating, but when you don't pull away he relaxes. "Thank you," you say honestly, feeling an unfamiliar warmth in your stomach. Pietro just grins, feeling his nerves disappear.
Later that day, Pietro leads you to the training hangar, though he continuously refuses to explain why. Once you arrive, however, your jaw drops. The massive space has been transformed. Twinkling string lights crisscross the rafters, and a makeshift skating rink gleams at the center, its surface a mirror of ice. Soft holiday music plays from a speaker in the corner.
"Pietro," you breath, turning to him. "Did you do all this?'
He looks a little sheepishly. "Friday helped and I had some time. Plus, speed also helps," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "Do you like it?"
"Like it? Piet, it’s amazing," you exclaim, stepping onto the edge of the rink, feeling the ice. It's cool and smooth beneath your fingers. "But I don't have any skates."
"Pshh, already handled." Pietro speeds away and returns in a blur of blue lightening that dances around you. he steadies himself and holds two pairs of skates in his arms. He holds one out for you in your size. "For you, Princezna (Princess)."
You laugh lowly, seeing how his hair sticks up a little. "Do you ever slow down?"
Pietro thinks for a moment, rubbing his nape. "Only for you," he says softly, the words escaping before he could really stop them. Your cheeks warm, but you don't look away. Instead, you smile and walk to a bench in the corner, lacing up your skates. Pietro does the same, basking in the comfortable silence.
One on the ice, you struggle while he moves with surprising grace. He skates circles around you, teasingly close but careful not to knock you off balance.
"Show-off," you say, flapping your arms desperately. Pietro skates up to you and holds out his arms, not touching you but keeping an eye on you in case you fall.
"I have to impress you somehow," he quips, but his tone sounds lighter than usual, less guarded, and you like the change. He's acting like how he does with everyone else, not as stiff as he is when he's around you usually, and you like it.
The two of you continue to skate for what feels like hours, laughing and sharing stories. At one point, you almost slip, and Pietro reaches out and catches you, his arms wrapping around your waist.
"Are you ok?" He asks, his breath warm on your cheek. You nod and for a moment, you both don't move.
"You're really good at this," you whisper, trying to steady your heartbeat as your nose almost touches his. You pull away a little.
"I had a good reason to learn," he replies, his voice barely above a whisper. "Wanda and I used to skate a lot at home, with Mama and Papa."
"Must have been nice."
"It was," he reminisces, smiling at you and then he pulls away.
After you're both finished and your feet start to hurt, the two of you return to the lounge, where the electric fireplace is crackling softly. Pietro had prepared another surprise: a small, slightly lopsided Christmas tree, decorated with whatever he could find around the facility. Paperclips served as makeshift hooks, holding up ornaments fashioned from lab equipment and some minimal leftover holiday decorations Tony had lying around.
"Oh," you say, wrapping your arms around yourself as you smile. "You really went all out, hm?" you tease, sitting beside him on the couch.
"I didn't want you to spend Christmas alone," he says simply, as if it's nothing. When you look at him, he hesitates, then adds, "You deserve it all."
"Pietro," you whisper, placing your hand on his arm. You don't even know what to say.
He takes a deep breath, his usual bravado faltering as it always does when you're around but he swallow it down. “I like you. A lot," he admits, the words stuck in his throat as he confesses;
"But when I'm around you, I never know how to act. I'm nervous. Very nervous. Which is ridiculous, because I'm never nerves around girls. But with you, I want to be careful. Because you're important to me. I want to impress you. I want you to like me."
You stare at him, your heart pounding. "Pietro, I like you too. I've always liked you, I've just been waiting for you to say something."
"You have?"
You nod, a smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah, you aren't the only one who is nervous, you know? You're quite intimidating."
Pietro laughs, taking your hand in his. "Me? Nesmysl (Nonsense)," he chuckles and strokes his thumb over yours. He smiles, his blue eyes locked onto yours. He leans in, his lips suddenly brushing against yours as he closes his eyes.
The kiss is hesitant at first, then it becomes more certain when you kiss him back, your hand finding themselves in his hair. The world seems to stand still, a rare moment of stillness that Pietro actually enjoys.
For once, he wishes he could stop time forever.
When you finally pulls away, Pietro is grinning like a love-sick school boy, his cheeks flushed pink. "Best Christmas ever?" he asks, his tone teasing but very honestly hopeful.
You return his grin and squeeze his hand, resting your head on his shoulder.
"Best Christmas ever."
#pietro maximoff#pietro maximoff x y/n#pietro maximoff x you#pietro maximoff fluff#pietro maximoff marvel#pietro maximoff fanfiction#pietro maximoff x reader#pietro maximoff fanfic#quicksilver pietro maximoff#pietro maximoff x fem!reader#quicksilver x fem!reader#quicksilver x reader#quicksilver#aaron taylor johnson#avengers age of ultron
245 notes
·
View notes
Text
Weekly Recap | December 9th-15th 2024
I cannot wait for the Christmas holidays!! Only one week of work left!!
Complete
All The Lights Are Coming On by Sharpbutsoft (BuckysButt)/ @sharpbutsoft (Post-S8A, Christmas | 1K | General): What good is having a key to your best friend’s house if you can’t use it to spread a little holiday magic?
from here on out by Wildehack (tyleet)/ @wildehacked (Eddie comes back from Texas | 1,5K | General): Eddie’s been back from Texas for three days, and Buck’s not done being giddy about it.
the sweetest possible lie by Wildehack (tyleet)/ @wildehacked (Future Fic, Pre-Buddie | 2K | General): Chris’s fifteenth birthday falls on a Tuesday, and it couldn’t be more different from last year.
i’ll be home for christmas (if only in my dreams) by wafflesofdoom/ @capseycartwright (Christmas, Eddie goes to Texas | 2K | General): It was a silly thing, Buck had started, right when Eddie first got to El Paso – we’re looking at the same sky, he’d quipped, on one of their nightly Facetime calls. Even when they were far apart from each other, they were still able to look up at the same stars, and if they just remembered that, maybe the distance between El Paso, and Los Angeles, wouldn’t feel so cavernous. That’s what Buck had promised him.
You don’t have to outrun the bear (I’ll fall over for you) by paleredheadinascifi (Getting Together | 3K | Teen): “What the hell was that?” Eddie demands, standing up from where Buck just pushed him onto his ass. “It was gonna hit your head!” “So, what? You thought you’d just volunteer yours instead?” Eddie scoffs. “Yeah,” Buck shrugs. “I have a hard head.” Or, 5 + 1 times Buck stood between Eddie and danger, much to Eddie’s befuddlement.
& such by colonoscopys/ @colonoscopys (85K | Teen): prompts and spec fics and codas and all the works jumbled mumbled into one place.
Chapter 21. eddie on plane (Post-S8A, 3K)
Mr. Movember by 42hrb/ @exhuastedpigeon (Hockey AU, Established Buddie | 4K | Explicit): “Why are you staring at me,” Eddie asked with a laugh as they got ready for their game on November 5th. His mustache was already looking thick and sexy, unlike Buck’s which was still a little patchy and definitely too blond to look good right now. “I like the mustache,” Buck said with a shrug, trying (and failing) to sound casual about it. “Oh, you do?” Eddie stopped buttoning his shirt so he could turn around and look at Buck directly instead of in the mirror. “Y-yeah,” Buck couldn’t take his eyes off of it and here in the safety of their bedroom he was allowed to look, so why should he stop. “If you manage to keep out of the box tonight, I���ll let you do whatever you want to me and my mustache.”
slide it in, right to the top by oklahoma/ @queerdiazs (PWP, S8A | 4K | Explicit): “What’s it like?” he asks softly. Buck tips his head to the side and meets Eddie’s eyes, lazy and buzzed and pretty. “What’s what like?” Eddie swallows, face prickling red with heat, and says, “Fucking a man.” The worse taste weird on his tongue, foreign but good. Welcome, like it’s time or something. “What’s it feel like?” - After Buck shows up at Eddie's door with a six pack, Eddie's mind begins to wonder. A bottle of tequila gives him the courage to ask for something he wasn't aware he's been wanting.
‘Cause I Need Touchin’ So Primal by fruitsdoesnotknow/ @tayf-ghost (Post-S8E6: Confessions | 9K | Explicit): “Hey,” Buck says warmly into the phone, tucking it between his shoulder and ear with a smile at his lips. “Fuck,” Eddie muttered harshly into the phone, his voice rough through the receiver. “Eddie?” Buck called out, frowning. He lowered his phone from his ear to check the call, and yeah, still connected, full reception. He raises it back to his ear and catches the tail end of a noise, a choked-out groan. “Are you okay?” “Buck,” Eddie panted, his breath coming out in heavy exhales. “Buck –” Grabbing his keys, Buck makes it to the loft door, jacket half on when he stops dead in his tracks, phone still pressed to the side of his head as he hears Eddie in his ear. “Yes, Buck, yes, yes, please, yes –” *** Or, Eddie accidentally, sort of, maybe has phone sex with Buck for roughly five seconds, and Buck spirals about it until Eddie finally ends up in his lap.
now i don't hate california after all by jaekyu (PWP, Getting Together, Eddie comes back from Texas | 10K | Explicit): Eddie’s been waiting for months. He can wait a little bit longer.
🔥 Somethings Said (to turn you inside out) by taegyungie (Post-S8A, PWP | 12K | Explicit): Eddie tilts his head. “Why are you being so weird, Buck?” It’s funny to Buck that Eddie has to ask; one finds out his ridiculously hot best friend is now also sleeping with men, one begins thinking about sleeping with said ridiculously hot best friend. It just makes sense, right? So it almost offends him, a little bit, that Eddie is the picture of cool right now. Has seeing Buck in such a deliberately sexual context not altered Eddie’s brain chemistry, too? Does Buck need to update his Grindr profile? or, Buck catches Eddie on Grindr and now he can't stop thinking about it.
🔥 bad luck to talk by jaekyu (FWB, Misunderstandings | 14K | Explicit): Just before Eddie tells Buck he loves him, he’s pretty sure they’ve been building up to this for months. Just after Eddie tells Buck he loves him, he realises he’s deeply misunderstood this entire situation. And Buck? Well, Buck didn’t even think they were dating. (Aftermath, and then: the road less travelled, with the benefit of hindsight.)
at this fork in the road (I want the path that leads me to you) by kabnd/ @polkadotk804 (Post-S8A, Eddie goes to Texas | 24K | Teen): It is at that moment that Eddie realizes that he has a choice. There are two roads ahead of him. Two paths. Two potential futures. One with Buck at his back, and one with Buck eight hundred miles away. Eddie knows which one he wants, but he just needs to be brave enough to ask for it. OR: In one series of events, Eddie asks Buck to come with him to Texas, in another he doesn’t…but whatever steps they take, Buck and Eddie always find their way to each other and bring Christopher home.
WIP
Finding Mr Christmas by JJK/@trenchcoatsandtimetravel (Canon Divergent, Reality TV, Christmas | 4/? | 24K | Teen): "Welcome to Finding Mr Christmas! You’re all here chasing the same dream, to star in a Hallmark Christmas movie, and over the next few weeks we’re going to be putting you through your paces to see which of you has the most star quality and that ‘it’ factor that makes you shine above the rest." 🎄🎄🎄 An AU where Buck and Eddie meet as contestants on Hallmark's Finding Mr Christmas competition (and fall for each other).
can’t fight the moonlight by coldbam/ @coldbam (Werewolf Buck, Canon Divergent | 1/2 | 10K | Explicit): “Apparently I stole his very special mug,” Eddie says, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. “I know you guys keep saying he’s all bark, Buck’s a real sweetheart, but I'm starting to worry you all just have terrible judge of character,” Eddie half-jokes. He sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “What the hell is his problem?” “Full moon tonight,” Chimney says with a smirk, chewing his gum like he’s proud of himself for that joke. * Or, everyone works at a wolf sanctuary and Buck is a werewolf.
Snickerdoodles of Longing by ElvenSorceress/ @elvensorceress (Post-S8A, Demi Eddie | 1/2 | 14K | Mature): Eddie piles up all his baking supplies and tells him, “All yours. Whatever you want to make. I’ll get more of anything if you need it. We should have plenty of flour though. I got you five bags.” Buck’s head snaps toward him. “Five bags? You got me five bags of flour? The little two pound ones, right? Or the five pounders?” “No, the tens. Like that one.” “You bought me fifty pounds of flour?” “You’re the one who decided his coping mechanism for loneliness was snickerdoodles and sourdough. I’m just being supportive. Since you’re my wingman and I’m yours or whatever you said when you stole my tablet and my realtor call.” Buck smirks. “More like saved your call.” More like saved Eddie’s everything but who’s counting? ~ Eddie decides he needs to move to Texas and slowly unravels as he comes to terms with how he really feels and what he's losing.
there is no road by littleghost/ @ghostlandtoo (Post-S8A, Eddie moves to Texas | 2/6 | 24K | Explicit): Years ago, almost a full decade, Shannon had asked him to move and Eddie refused because he was trying to build a life for himself again. Eddie knows if he asks Buck, he’ll get that same refusal. Worse, Buck could say yes and Eddie would be uprooting Buck from the very life he built for himself. He doesn’t ask, and Buck doesn’t offer, and they pack up Eddie Diaz’s life in Los Angeles into cardboard boxes. Or: Eddie moves to Texas. Buck buys his house. There’s a love story somewhere in here.
Gentle On My Mind by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, Shannon Lives, Buck/Eddie/Shannon | 9/? | 55K | Explicit): In which Shannon lives, tells a lie, and sends hers, Eddie's, and Buck's lives down a very different path.
159 notes
·
View notes