#think of something else and then this came out

[softbabybelle]

𝜗𝜚 c!w. sibling issues, reader has a mean!older sister, self-doubt, crying, soft!rafe, one thousand percent self indulgent.

mia - (sister's name)

"what's wrong with you, huh?" rafe cameron's voice came out smooth as butter. you felt him nudge your arm with his elbow.

you only shrugged in response, not feeling all that well enough to use your voice.

you were sitting on the couch of tannyhill, snuggled close to rafe. he picked you up every friday night from your house, then sat you snug on the couch, filled you up with all the wrong kinds of foods and put on whatever movie your heart would desire.

tonight, it was the princess diaries. you'd been excited all week to show rafe the movie you'd adored so dearly. you told him before that you were educating him on all the things he missed out on.

as excited as you'd been all week, rafe noticed that tonight you couldn't seem to so much as train your eyes on the tv.

"you're in a mood." it wasn't a question, more of a statement as he studied your face. you were close to him by all means, hands wrapping around his arm and head leaning against his bicep.

but you were quiet, you had been since he picked you up over an hour ago. you were staring at this one spot on the ground, rafe swore that by the time you looked away, you'd burn a hole in the carpet. "'m not." you answered sheepishly, turning your nose up at him.

he could tell you were trying to put on this brave face, the one you often tried to put on around him, and failed effortlessly.

he frowned at you.

at the beginning of the relationship, you'd been so closed off, not wanting to bother him with all the the things 'wrong' with you. but he thought you'd grown out of that by now.

"c'mere." he didn't give you much adjustment, already pulling you to seat yourself on his lap, where he liked you. this way, you had no way of sneaking away from his confrontation. "what's wrong, huh? what happened to m'girl?"

rafe was so soft, adoring as he traced his fingers up and down your arms, soothing you so gently.

it was the kind of calmness you'd been searching for all day.

he knew how your home life could be, especially with your older sister. you used to be close with her, she used to be your favourite person in the world. and then she got a boyfriend, and well, you don't really seem to know what to think anymore.

he felt your hands paw at his shoulders, almost pushing him away. "rafe, i-i don't―" your eyes began to gloss over, rimming red around the edges.

"hey, hey." he didn't allow you to push him, grabbing your elbows to hold you in place. "what's going on, huh? why you pushing me away?" you huffed out a breath and avoided his eyes, but nonetheless, stopped trying to fight back.

rafe felt his frown deepen.

it broke his heart a little to watch you revert into your old bad habits. but he swore sometimes, you were taking two steps forward with him and then suddenly your sister's shooting you back another five steps. "hey, c'mon, we talked about this." his fingers tapped at your chin. "y'gotta let me in."

you let out this shaky breath that he swore would have been accompanied with a whimper if you didn't have such self-restraint. "'s mia."

and rafe didn't need to hear anything else to know what was wrong.

to be blunt, rafe didn't know what to make of your sister. he knew you cared for her, he knew she would never not be your sister in any twisted universal dimension. but she wasn't exactly nice to you. to be honest, rafe wasn't so sure why you even liked her to begin with. she called you names, she teased you, she yelled at you, made you feel like a big pile of nothing.

then she'd walk into your life again as if nothing had happened.

there was always something going on with her, if it wasn't an argument with her boyfriend then it was something with work and if not that, something silly like not being able to get lunch at the country club.

and somehow, all of her problems seemed to backtrack and land on you.

your parents would often take their anger out on you too, too stressed with everything going on with mia to comprehend what they were doing to you. and you, well, you were too nice to bite back. still offering your sister money when she complained about having none after not showing up to work.

if rafe had known what you'd been spending all your allowance on, he wouldn't have let you take it in cash, he would have given you his credit card and told you very sternly to spend as much as you wanted, as long as it was on yourself.

"sweetheart."

all he had to do was say that name in that soft, gentle tone he used and you were already unravelling.

you were staring at your hands, as if looking for an answer while trying to keep your tears at bay. "she's jus' so mean."

"i know, honey." his hands were grasping at yours, trying to redirect your attention to his face.

and you did look at him, finally you looked up but you had this broken look on your face as you swallowed the lump in your throat. "i ha-have to ask you something." you were speaking all strained, trying not to cry.

rafe, suddenly nervous, soothed out the nerves in your hands and up your arms, across your shoulders to behind your neck. "you can ask me anything, baby. what's goin' on?"

"do you think..?" rafe was patient with you, listening to you choke and struggle on your words but he never once rushed you. "do you think 'm selfish?"

rafe's face contorted, as if he were actually offended that you'd even ask such a question. "what?"

you hiccuped. "'cause i t-try really hard to be nice to everyone, b-but mia said―" you cut yourself off, trying to control your breathing. you were all worked up, the day being too much, everything too overwhelming. "s-she always says that 'm selfish 'n that 'm mean. i don't... i don't wanna be a bad p-person, rafe."

for a moment, rafe was rendered speechless.

it wasn't often that rafe wasn't quite sure what to say, but this was indefinitely one of those unfortunate times.

but he could see that teary look in your eyes, staring into his own. you were searching his face, trying to gauge whether or not he believed you were good. you needed him to tell you. you needed him to believe you were good.

so he took a breath and shook his head.

"you are... by far, the most selfless person i've ever met." his fingers trailed across your cheek, down your chin, anywhere they could touch and skim your skin. "c'mon, baby, mean? you get a little hangry come seven o clock with no dinner in you but even then you wouldn't so much as raise your voice."

you huffed out a giggle, pushing his face with your sleeve-covered hands.

"'m serious." he maneuvered you so you were laying with your back against the couch and he was hovering over you. "you're m'sweet girl. the sweetest girl in the world, yeah?"

"but―"

a kiss planted against your lips shut you up. "no buts." he announced, moving a kiss to your cheek. "you are." then a kiss to the other. "the sweetest." against your forehead. "girl." a pepper to your nose. "in the entire world." and finally a kiss right back on your lips.

you stared up at him like he was worth a million diamonds and he swore he couldn't find anyone in the world that was better for him. it was you, through every universe, every dimension and every lifetime.

"now you say it." at his words, you tilted your head slightly confused. "say you're the sweetest girl in the world so i know you believe it."

another small giggle passed your lips. "rafe, n-no." feeling heat pile on your cheeks with embarrassment.

"say it." you felt his fingers pinch your sides sending a tickle up your body.

instantly, you tried to shove him away. "rafe!"

but the boy simply couldn't resist. he'd been challenged and he wasn't going to give up. "say it!" and he didn't stop pinching you, even when you were a screaming mess of giggles, begging him to stop but the laughter bubbling in your chest suggested he keep going. "all you gotta do is say it, baby."

"'m so sweet." giggling through your faux self-assurance.

however, rafe didn't stop his abuse to your sides. "'s not the full sentence!"

"fine! fine!" you felt him pause and raise an eyebrow at you, waiting. your giggles faded into a lopsided grin. "'m the sweetest girl in the world."

"yeah you are. there's m'good girl." he sat back up into a seating position, bringing your body with him so you could sit against his lap. "feelin' better, princess?"

you nodded against his chest, arms loosely falling around his body. "mm, thank you rafey." he glanced down, watching you yawn against him, perhaps today had been just a little bit too much on you.

he glanced back to the tv which was long forgotten. "what do you say, we go to bed together now 'n finish this tomorrow?"

but he was already picking up the remote to switch it off and your eyes were already fluttering closed with a whine. "no, rafey. wanted you to watch it tonight."

"oh, i know." while picking you up to bring you to your shared bedroom, switching off the lights in the process. "'m just the worst."

"no." you mumbled tiredly. "y'the sweetest boy in the world."

and rafe couldn't help but grin.

yeah, you were definitely the perfect fit for him.

[goose-books]

The Ghost of Christmas Past shows up and you’re like, “Ohhhhh for fuck’s sake,” but you’re in your childhood bedroom so it’s kind of on you. The ghost seems offended. She crosses her arms. She looks like you used to, with the pigtails.

“No way,” you say. “Don’t start.”

“I am the—”

“The Ghost of Christmas Past, I know, I know.” Because she looks like you, and it’s Christmas Eve, so what else. Your parents used to read you the story every year. Even when you were old enough to read on your own, it was better in your dad’s voice.

“You came home for your parents,” the ghost says, solemn. “It’s time to tell them.”

“No, like, ‘when you’re ready’?”

“You are ready,” she says, “or you wouldn’t have come back.”

Which is so stupid, because you weren’t on the moon, you were at college, and it’s only been two months of shots, you don’t even have a mustache. “Fucking leave me alone,” you say, so she does the ghost thing and takes you to a ten-years-ago Christmas. The living room. Your parents. Your fledgling self on the carpet with your stocking, the one you can’t look at anymore because when you were a baby your parents patiently hand-stitched the fucking name.

“Maybe they’ll make you a new one,” says the ghost.

“You don’t know that.” Bullshit ghost powers.

“You were happier back then. When they knew you.”

“Everyone was happier back then. It was, like, 2008.”

“There was a recession,” says the ghost.

“Shut up! Shut up!” You turn over in bed. For a second you expect to roll onto child-self-you curled up next to you. Probably crush the life out of her. You got good at that. It’s her bed, her room, pink covers, cat posters.

“This is so stupid, this Dickens thing,” you say. “I’m not even Christian anymore.”

“Tell your parents that second,” the ghost suggests.

“Oh my fucking God I’m not telling them anything can’t you go bother Jeff Bezos.”

“I’m just doing my job,” says the ghost, and vanishes.

#

The Ghost of Christmas Present has an acne problem. As soon as you open your eyes you say, “Oh my God,” and they say, “Hi,” and you say, “You better not be the fucking Ghost of Christmas Present,” and the Ghost of Christmas Present says, “I am.”

Which you knew.

“Why me?” you say, pink comforter bunched around your waist. “I didn’t do anything. Scrooge was mean to orphans.”

The Ghost of Christmas Present shrugs. “It’s the job.”

“Are you gonna show me my parents now?”

That makes them look kind of embarrassed.

“Well, don’t,” you say. If your parents are talking in the other room, huddled up conferencing with the lights off, you can’t hear it over the heater buzz. But you can guess what they’re saying: you went to school with a shitty pixie cut and worse eyeliner, and you came back with a real haircut and a permanent frown and a bunch of new friends you play sentence Twister to avoid pronouning. “I know they’re nice people, I got it. I’m just not ready.”

“It’s just—you’re kind of waiting for them to ask?” says the Ghost of Christmas Present. They scratch their face, where they have spectral sideburns coming in. “Your dad thinks you have a head cold. ‘Cause of your voice. But your mom’s starting to get it.”

You pull the covers over your head. “Cool, awesome, didn’t ask.”

“She isn’t going to ask,” the ghost says. “She wants you to tell her.”

You stick your middle finger out from underneath the covers. When you check, the room is empty again.

#

The Ghost of Christmas Future doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you. You look back. You probably have bedhead. You fixed your daytime wardrobe but your pajamas are still lacy and purple.

“How come you’re a man?” you say.

He says, “I think you know.”

“Fucking—go away.”

“I have something to show you first.”

“Are we going to the goddamn graveyard?”

He doesn’t say anything but then you’re in the goddamn graveyard. Together. Looking at your headstone. The dates are close enough together to make you kind of sick.

“They went with the full name,” you say.

The ghost nods.

“Not even the nickname. My nice gender neutral nickname.”

The ghost shrugs. You kind of want to throw something at him but you’re just looking at it now. Chiseled in marble. Immovable. What’s that thing bigots on the internet say, about someone digging up your jawbone two hundred years from now? You always wanted to think you wouldn���t care.

The Ghost of Christmas Future’s pretty quiet. This is the part where Scrooge goes full breakdown. Tears, begging, promises.

“I’m not gonna cry on you,” you say.

“Okay.”

So neutral. “Man, what do you want me to say?”

“Nothing,” says the ghost. “I think you’re there.”

You can’t stop looking at the headstone. “God fucking damnit shit. You promise they’ll be cool?”

“Nothing’s promised,” the ghost says. He gestures at the graveyard. “Except for this.”

“Awesome.” Cryptic cliche philosophical ghost bullshit. Yada yada. Death and taxes. Not with that name on your headstone, though. Not with that name on your tax forms, either.

You turn to tell him that and then you’re blinking in bed. There’s still one glow-in-the-dark star stuck to your ceiling where the glue never wore out. You put those up like ten years ago. Maybe longer. The light in the room says it’s morning. You swing your lacy-pajama legs over the side of the bed and go to ruin Christmas.

[kumkaniudaku]

Caught

Summary: When their guest is away, Terry and Patrice will play.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 3,067

Warnings: Smut (18+ content)

Recommended Reading: Spoiled

Author's Note: Spoiled, Back Up, and Caught all happen on the same linear timeline. Consider them present day events. Hopefully that helps pull things together because you'll need the context later. Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays!

"Mommy, the recipe for the hand pies is so good. Thank you for finding it for me." 

"Oh, of course, baby. One day, I gotta get you to help me put all your Nana's recipes in a book or something. I'm tired of digging through all these scraps of paper." 

"I didn't wanna say anything, but that's insane. I can barely read her handwriting." 

Rosalyn scoffed on the other end of the phone line. "You and me both. I have to call Sybil every time or end up making up what I think goes there. I cook. I don't decipher chicken scratch."

Patrice laughed along with her mother as she passed a piping hot meatball over her shoulder to satisfy her taste tester for the night. He hummed his approval of her gift, providing a thumbs up as his rating before returning his hand to her waist and swaying them in time with the slow rhythm of Christmas music playing in the background. 

Christmas Eve brought preparation for the big day on the other side of a wake-up and a smaller get-together to celebrate Imani's and Jesus's birthdays in one evening. Patrice had offered to continue the tradition at her house to accommodate her cousin's request for loud music, liquor, and good, grown folks' fun. In a few short minutes, she and Terry would have a house full of adults gorging themselves on party food and fighting fits of giggles during a drunk game of Taboo. For now, she'd enjoy the calm before the storm with her shadow attached at the hip.

"The cinnamon smell for the apple version was way too strong, though. I almost skipped those altogether." 

Rosalyn responded with a sound of cautious curiosity. "Really? You usually love the smell of cinnamon." 

"Right," Patrice exclaimed. "Maybe I had a bad batch or something. It doesn't taste bad, but it smelled awful."

"Hm." Rosalyn filed the information in her head for a later moment of privacy, preferring not to stress her daughter with the questions buzzing around in the mind of a mother who knew her child better than anyone in the world. Instead, she continued. "Terry, did you like the hand pies?"

"You don't know if Terry is even in here, mama. He could be anywhere in the house," Patrice answered, her face screwed in confusion.

"Child, don't insult me. If you're in the kitchen, Terry is in the kitchen."

She wasn't wrong. A few too many glasses of Patrice's special holiday cocktail mixed with his ever-present desire to feel his wife at all times had Terry sticking to her like glue. Even after she'd given in to each of his kisses and allowed him to taste her the moment Imani stepped out to run a few errands, she still couldn't shake him. Whiskey was in control. Terry was only along for the ride.

He chuckled into the crook of Patrice's neck before confirming his presence. "Yes, ma'am, I loved the pies. Treece made a few on the side for me so I wouldn't have to share." 

"She still got you spoiled, I see."

"Nah, not too bad. You know she gets sweet once a week. I caught her on a good day." 

"Oh, hush."

Patrice's attempt to get out of Terry's grasp came up empty, prompting him to hold her tighter and press wet kisses onto the back of her neck. She was sadly mistaken if she thought she could get away from him that easy while Uncle Nearest was pumping through his veins. 

"Well, let me let you two go," Rosalyn started with a small laugh. "Tell me how the chicken salad turns out. I might throw some together as a little snack for your daddy tomorrow. You know how he gets when he's ready to eat." 

"Mhmm. Just like somebody else I know."

Terry patiently waited for Patrice to wrap up her conversation and safely end the call before resuming his handsy approach to PDA. His hands slid up and down the fabric of her cotton pajama pants, the pair matching his at her request. Full lips attached to her neck, creating a light suction with every open-mouthed kiss. 

His wife rolled her eyes as she loaded a pita chip with dip for his culinary opinion. "You are insatiable, TJ. Taste this." 

He obliged, opening wide as she slid food into his mouth and waited for a response. Instead of a verbal assessment of her work, he kissed her cheek twice to signal his approval, then returned to his shameless groping.

"How long before Imani gets back?" 

"I don't know. Fifteen minutes or so. She only went to grab some more cups and water." 

Terry's eyes flickered to the digital clock on the stove before sliding his hands up Patrice's torso and leaving a trail of kisses on her shoulder. "Think you got a few minutes to get back to what we started?" 

"Haven't you had enough of me yet? We've been going at it every day since New Orleans."

"What you think?"

Having enough of her touch, the feeling of her body against his, or her attention was a foreign concept for Terry. If he could quit his job and be totally devoted to her pleasure, he would do so without a second thought. Fortunately for him, though, extended absences from the slough of office life due to the holidays provided the closest opportunity to spend the whole day in it. 

Patrice smiled to herself as Terry slowly removed the serving spoon from her hand, bringing her delicate palm up to the back of his head. Coarse hair grown into a short tuft of curls and shaped by his barber tickled her fingertips as she closed her eyes, officially caught up in how Terry caressed her with the care afforded to precious works of art. 

A low purr slipped past his lips as his hands slid beneath the hem of her camisole to rub her stomach, filling her ears and mind with filthy sounds and images from earlier in the hour. Had he had enough of her? She wasn't sure she'd had enough of him. 

His fingertips inched higher, further intoxicating Patrice until a full squeeze on both breasts at the same time made her hiss and wince in pain. 

"Easy, baby," she complained as she gently pressed down on his arms to direct him away from the sensitive area. "They're super tender right now. I'm not sure why." 

Lust was quickly replaced by concern as Terry dropped his hands and turned Patrice to face him. "You okay?" 

"I'm fine, Pooh. It's probably the tattoo healing. 

"Yeah, but it shouldn't be making the entire area hurt. Especially not on both sides. Let me look."

"Terry, you never just look."

His attempt to slide the thin straps of her tank top down her arms was quickly cut short as Patrice brushed off his contact to save herself from what she assumed would come next. Her aching was a serious matter. Terry getting a look at her bare tits was not nearly as high on the list. 

Terry softened his eyes in unmistakable sincerity. "I'm serious, Treece. I know what it should look like. Come here."

Patrice didn't protest as Terry led her to the kitchen table. She stood perfectly still until Terry was comfortable in one of the chairs and then placed her between his legs. 

He gingerly pushed her tanktop straps down her arms before bunching the thin fabric at her waist to free her breasts, watching for any sign of discomfort.

"You don't think you're like…sick, do you?" 

"I think it's just tenderness," she quickly retorted, wanting to push the thought of more grave explanations for her discomfort far from her mind.

"Okay, okay. I'm only asking." 

Her brows furrowed as he lifted the right side to get a look at the moment from a charged few days in his family's old stomping grounds. 

A day alone and nothing to do but explore had them wandering into the same shady tattoo parlor where Terry got his first piece for matching ink. Terry opted to tat their wedding date on his ribs after having to be talked down from plastering her name on his neck. Patrice, however, was set on making her first experience one to remember. 

Slanted script crafted from his handwriting spelled Terry's full first name, curving just under the crease of her boob and the spot that he liked to grip in the depths of passion or simply at his leisure. Terry ran his thumb along each letter to check for abrasions or abnormalities. 

He looked up at Patrice to gauge her reaction. "That hurt?" 

"Not really. It's more here," she added, gesturing toward her areola. "Anything rubbing against it is so uncomfortable. I can barely wear a bra." 

"I noticed. They've honestly been looking a little bigger. Do they feel heavy to you?" 

"Not heavy. Mostly…full? They look great, though. I'm not complaining about that part." 

She joked, the attempt sounding silly once it received no reaction past Terry blinking as he used the pad of his thumb to ghost contact over her pebbled nipple to test her pain level. It was challenging to stay present, with a third of her upper half unnecessarily exposed in their kitchen for no real reason. The entire ordeal felt like a farce. Terrence wasn't a doctor, and him holding her titties in his hands like fleshy snowglobes was as much an actual check-up as WWE was real wrestling. 

When she giggled like a teenager learning about sex for the first time, Terry looked up at her with a quizzical expression, and his left eyebrow lifted high. "What's so funny?" 

"You, Doctor Richmond," she laughed. "How can you tell they're bigger? I couldn't even tell until the other day." 

"I spend a lot of time with my girls. I better notice when they change. Been looking at them since I was sixteen." Terry answered, a boyish grin making his cheekbones nearly touch the corner of his eyes. 

"I knew you used to look!" She exclaimed, finally feeling vindicated in her suspicions from childhood. 

"Looking was the least of what I was doing." He shrugged as he gently pushed both breasts together for his own viewing pleasure. He kissed the small crease they made two times over, then looked up at Patrice through long lashes. "Unfortunately, ma'am, I couldn't diagnose you, but I think I have some treatment available if you're interested." 

Patrice bit back a smile to play along. "Oh yeah? How much is this gonna cost? It's the holidays, and I ain't got it." 

"I offer payment plans that we can discuss in that room back there later tonight." 

"I like the sound of that," she answered, previous problems vanishing into thin air as he roped her back into his web of liquor-charged desire. 

"I knew you would," he winked. "Don't move."

Tingles rippled across Patrice's skin while she listened for any indication of Terry's secretive treatment plan. The soft crack and subsequent rush of cool from the freezer created goosebumps on her bare chest, making her nipples jut out proud from the sensation. Next came the cupboard opening and shutting in two seconds time. From the direction, she could tell he was grabbing a glass from over the sink. 

Ice cubes clinked against the cup like little masters of whispers attempting to give Patrice the scoop on what to expect. Terry quietly shut the freezer and took heavy steps back to his seat, smiling at how Patrice truly hadn't moved a muscle in his few minutes away. 

He placed the glass on the table behind him before tugging her hand to guide her closer. "Cold hot therapy. I sprained my knee once, and this got me back up and running in no time. Ice for the cold…" Terry's voice trailed as he plucked a piece of ice from his glass and pressed it to her nipple. He watched her jaw drop with a sharp inhale, intently focused on the way her eyelids fluttered closed at the sudden shock of frozen water. When a single drop began to make a trail down the swell of her breast, he pulled the ice away and brought his mouth closer. "And I'll take care of the hot."

"Oh…my God." 

Whispers of unexpected pleasure sent Terry into a far-off place where he was only concerned with running a flat tongue across supple skin. Patrice rushed to steady herself by bringing her hands to the back of his head, cradling him while he went to work. 

Ice cold. Soothing warmth. Ice cold. Soothing warmth and a light suckle. Again. And again. 

He eyed her like a lion watches prey, taking notes of every little sound and twitch to know that he was fulfilling his job. 

"Good job, baby," Patrice whispered, her head tossed back and praises spoken to the ceiling. "Good fuckin' job."

Terry ran his hands up the back of her thighs to roughly grip her ass. He groaned at the affirmation before pulling away to retrieve more ice. He held a small cube between his teeth to multitask, running it across her left nipple and areola until it had melted enough to fit both in his mouth. 

Was it fixing her tenderness issue? Not really. But Patrice would be damned if his subtle slurping and moaning with her backside firmly in his clutches wasn't sufficiently taking her mind off things. So far off, she'd lost all concept of time and space. 

While Terry pulled Patrice into his lap for a more intensive inspection, Imani entered the house high off the exhilarating freedom that can only come for night drives with a carefully curated playlist blasting from the speakers. Being stateside for the first time in a year was the perfect opportunity to experience one of life's simple pleasures. 

Grocery bags rustled and knocked against the wall as she hummed along to the fragmented lyrics from a song on her Spotify playlist still coursing through her brain. A short pause in her personal concert to lock the door left space to hear a string of curious noises. Muffled half-sentences and a sort of trembling sigh made her quirk an eyebrow. She thought to herself that Terry and Patrice left the television on far too often for a pair of people who claimed to not spend much time in front of the tube, but quickly found that they'd taken to making a scene the old-fashioned way. 

She stood in the open space, a perfectly shaped eyebrow pushed high on her face and an impressed smirk tugging at the right corner of her lip while she watched her baby cousin makeout with Imani's newest family member with a ferocity she didn't know Patrice had in her. 

Patrice held Terry steady by his jaw, slightly hovering over him while she had her way leading a sloppy kiss. When she moved to push his head back toward her chest with a string of words filthy enough to make a pornstar blush, Imani cleared her throat to finally announce her presence.

"Oh shit," Patrice yelped, rushing to tap Terry's back and end his check-up. 

His head popped up to survey the room, then slowly found a home on top of Patrice's once she pressed close enough against his chest to cover her naked breasts. The vibrations from his concealed chortling made Patrice pinch him in frustration. Nothing was funny, at least not to her. 

Imani held her hands up in faux surrender. "No, please. Don't stop on account of me," she laughed. "Y'all were just getting started." 

"We are so sorry, Moanie. This isn't what it looks like. Well, this part is exactly what it looks like, but I promise it didn't start like this. Terry was looking at my boobs to check on my tattoo and -" 

"Girl, you do not have to explain anything to me. This is your house! Honestly, if I had those big ol' mommy titties, I'd want them in somebody's face too. And you got them for free! The girls gotta go under the knife or get pregnant for those. How does it feel to be God's favorite? Terry, can you help me get the water out of the car when you finish?"

Terry looked down at his visibly distressed wife and then back at Imani to save face for the both of them. "Yeah, I got you. Gimme a minute." 

Moanie didn't notice how she'd launched her cousin into an internal spiral as she pranced off to busy herself with getting ready in her room for the week, but Terry did. He carefully sat Patrice up and helped redress her, careful to ease into conversation. 

"You alright?" 

"I had my cycle this month," Patrice rushed out, her gaze far off as Terry lifted her arm to put it back in her camisole strap. "It can't be that. I had my cycle." When her focus returned, her eyes snapped to Terry's for confirmation. "Right? I did, right?"

He nodded, unsure of how to proceed to quell her fear. "You did, baby. But, maybe…"

Sure, it was lighter than usual, but she'd had a cycle. Her body functioned like it did every month, on time and without pomp and circumstance. There was no cause for concern. 

But…maybe. 

Patrice looked down at her belly then back up at Terry, searching for answers in his sympathetic expression. He leaned forward and held her head with both hands to give her a kiss she couldn't return before he spoke. 

"Don't drink tonight. Just in case. We'll figure it out in the morning. Okay?"

"Okay." She whispered back without truly processing the gravity of his instruction. 

Terry slowly lifted Patrice from his lap to fulfill Imani's request for assistance, leaving her to stand perfectly still in the kitchen. She counted backward in her head, retracing her steps and important dates until a headache sent her to take a seat. 

It was just tenderness. It'd go away by morning, and all of this would be a silly story to tell whenever they got together in the spring for their European honeymoon. She'd drink an entire bottle of wine over heaps of pasta, turning the whole situation into a fond memory before raising her hand to call the server for another round. All water under the bridge, right?

But…maybe.

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[1d1195]

The Lottery III

Read The Lottery here | ~4k words

From me: takes place during her second year in town. It's Christmas time 🎄

Warnings: fluffy

Summary: It's truly embarrassing how smitten Harry is with her.

“Please, please, please!”

“No,” his voice was solid, flat, devoid of emotion. Impervious to her pleading it seemed.

She frowned and looked at him with a look that Harry assumed was supposed to be menacing. But it looked about as menacing as a baby bunny could be. “Harry Styles, people will think you’re The Grinch.”

“They already think that, Peach,” he rolled his eyes and moved to the next table check that the ketchup wasn’t completely depleted.

“Then I’ll think you’re The Grinch.”

That seemed to do something to his brain because he paused running around the diner. He looked at her with the same irritation that he always directed at her. The kind that made him annoyed because she wanted two different pancakes. Or that she didn’t wear the proper coat in the snow. Or that her tires needed to be replaced on her car, but she didn’t mind (refused to replace them) because she wasn’t driving very far these days and really, it wasn’t that big of a deal because it probably wasn’t going to snow in the remainder of that March.

Harry shook his head, remembering he was supposed to answer her. “Peach,” he sighed and rubbed his face. “I’ll look ridiculous.” There was no one else in the diner. It was nearly five in the morning. Much too early to have this conversation and even earlier to be having an argument.

But Harry thought she looked so cute. Cold but bright-eyed. “Well, that’s why I came now to ask. No one will know it’s you. We’ll park your car at my house, and you’ll tell everyone you have an appointment in the city. You’ll look unrecognizable.”

He stared at her for another moment before he turned to the coffee pot that he was brewing to make it cold for her. She was hours too early so it wouldn’t be cold. Her last pitcher was used up yesterday. Which only made him grumpier that he didn’t have what she liked. On top of being asked to do her ridiculous task. The silence was deafening. She smiled sweetly at him. “I’ll order regular pancakes for a week,” she offered.

He rolled his eyes. Maybe because he knew that he would still make her stupid pancakes and two omelets if she asked. “If anyone finds out s’me, I’ll tell them y’drugged me, Peach.”

“That’s very reasonable. While I’m asking for things, is it possible, I could borrow your oven for cookies and your coffee burners for hot chocolate?” She batted those pretty eyelashes at him, and he wondered just how obvious it was to her that he would do anything she asked of him.

“Y’know... I don’t do the whole town celebration thing,” he reminded her turning back to the coffee pot because if he looked at her any longer, he was going to tell her everything and this was not the time nor the place. She also wasn’t someone he wanted to know all his dark secrets. She was the one person that didn’t look at him with pity and he wanted that to remain true for as long as he could manage.

She frowned. “Well, I do,” which made next to no sense because at the time of asking she had only lived through one town Christmas—kind of. She wasn’t part of the traditions at all but somehow inserted herself into helping as much as she could. “No one will know it’s you,” she reminded him. “And I know you want to help,” she shrugged casually. “Can our pancake deal start tomorrow I’m desperate for peaches and white chocolate chips,” she dropped into her seat.

He didn’t answer, but he assumed she knew he was putty in her hands. “Coffee’s not cold yet,” he grumbled pouring her a hot cup.

“That’s okay, you don’t have to make me cold coffee anyway,” she shrugged and reached over the counter for the sugar and cream only for Harry to smack it away as was their own little tradition. “Oh!” She squealed and hopped out of her seat rushing out the front door as if she saw a ghost.

Harry blinked and hurried after her in case there was some kind of issue or if she saw something troublesome that would get her killed or kidnapped. Not that anything of the sort ever happened in their little town. But leave it to her to find something dangerous. “What—”

Her head was tilted nearly at a sharp forty-five-degree angle looking at the moon, dipping lower in the sky. Some of the stars were still out, and the sky was just starting to turn the slightest light blue. “Isn’t she pretty?” She sighed dreamily. Harry felt a warmth spread through his chest. The same kind that did any time she had him look at the moon. The awe, the fascination, the unadulterated innocence on her face made his heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, Peach, s’lovely,” he agreed and waited twenty seconds to let her stare. “S’cold out,” he reminded her because she of course didn’t put her coat back on for this expedition. Gently, he placed his hand on her lower back. “C’mon,” he encouraged. “I gotta make y’some pancakes.”

Harry swore she continued looking over her shoulder as he ushered her inside which just made him fall a little harder for her.

*

The day of the town’s Christmas festival Harry did what she said. He talked about his appointment in the city (that he didn’t have) all morning. When nearly everyone he ever knew was in town, he drove his car to her house where no one would notice it was there. He dressed in a red suit, and she drove him over in her own car dressed in an elf ensemble. Had Harry known she had a part to play he may have agreed a little faster. She was adorable, the shoes curled into a swirl at the toes, she was decked in red and green from head to toe and sure Santa was a symbol of Christmas but she was the near embodiment of it as well.

The second she stepped out of the car after all the little ones shouted excitedly for Santa, she pulled up the rear carrying a bag of candy canes over her shoulder.

“Miss Peach! You’re an elf too!?” Someone called when they realized the bookstore owner was in tow with Santa himself.

“You know Santa?!”

She giggled as Harry threw his voice and laughed at the little ones in awe over the pretty girl. They were right to be in awe. She was lovely. Making this happen. Picking someone certifiably Grinch-like. Yet he did it anyway.

“Santa’s sleigh is being fixed a couple towns over, so I picked him up and he was so grateful he agreed to come say hi to everyone! One of the elves gave me a costume to borrow for the day,” she explained. “Santa is going to see if he can get everything you all want, if you’ve been good.”

So, Harry took his seat on a chair that was much too poofy and frilly. It was set among a huge sack of mini presents, a mailbox for letters, and she dumped her bag of candy canes into a bucket. There were cookies and hot chocolate at the table beside the setup, run by her employees, curtesy of Harry’s oven and coffee maker. She stood beside Harry the whole afternoon as so many little ones came to tell Santa what they wanted.

What was worse was it was fun. Harry actually enjoyed being Santa. The little ones were so funny, and she was adorable dressed in her little get up. “Miss Peach,” one little boy whispered toward the end of their little event. He waved her over several yards away from Santa’s chair.

Naturally, she hurried over, leaving Harry with a pair of nine-year-old girls who wanted a lot of makeup and dolls. She greeted his parents who smiled knowingly at the cute bookstore owner with a little baby in a stroller beside the boy who waved her over.

“Is that the real Santa?” He asked gulping.

She smiled. “I got him off the sleigh and everything.”

He looked down nervously. She knew him from her story hours and going to the bookstore to do crafts related to the book of the week. “I’m kind of scared of Santa, Miss Peach,” he whispered.

“Oh,” she pouted. “There’s nothing to be scared of,” she whispered. “He’s very nice and just wants to know what you want for Christmas.”

“Will you go with me?” He asked.

She nodded and held his hand. “Hey Santa, Caden here is a little nervous,” she told Harry. Behind the hat, wig, glasses, a white beard and a firm pillow tucked into his shirt, it was next to impossible to know it was Harry.

How anyone couldn’t tell those pretty green eyes belonged to someone other than Harry was ridiculous to her, but whatever. She was eternally grateful he was doing this for her. Honestly, she couldn’t fathom why he would do it for her, but she wasn’t going to question it long enough for him to back out.

There was a kind smile beneath the white beard and mustache. One that she had only seen a handful of times. When it appeared on his face in the diner it was nearly always hidden from view—but every once in a while, she would see his pink lips turn up in a genuine smile. Happy over a joke someone made. Or how a little one told Miss Peach they had a crush on her.

She wondered if Caden knew how lucky they were to witness such a soft, beautiful sight. “S’that so?” He chuckled.

Caden tucked himself behind her leg and she bent to scoop the six-year-old into her arms. “Santa is a good friend of mine, he just wants to make sure you get what you want,” she assured him. “Do you want me to tell him?” She asked stepping closer toward Harry. He hid his face against her shoulder. Gently, she stroked the back of his head. “I used to be scared of Santa too,” she whispered. “But we’re friends now, right Santa?” She asked glancing over. Harry nodded, waiting patiently. Letting her do her thing. “Here,” she walked to Harry, wedged herself between Harry’s legs and perched on his thigh, stretching her own legs out so she wasn’t putting her full weight on his body. She sat Caden on her lap facing her and Harry.

Poor Caden looked like he was about to have a breakdown.

Harry knew what Caden was feeling almost at the exact same time. Other than a touch on her back or smacking her hand away, Harry hardly ever touched her. Now, her whole pretty butt was on his thigh. Had he known this would have happened, he wouldn’t have argued with her at all. She was so casual about it, as if she sat herself in his lap all the time. How was this not a moment in time that caused for absolute shock for her? Was he breathing? It felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Hey,” she smiled sweetly, encouragingly. “I’m right here, tell us about what you want Santa to bring,” she ran a hand across his cheek. “Do you want... a Lego set?” She asked. He glanced up shyly at Santa and nodded. Harry smiled behind his beard reassuringly. “And a skateboard?” She continued guessing what a little boy his age would want. He nodded again. “And... a unicorn stuffie?” She smirked.

He frowned and shook his head. Which made the two of them laugh. “My sister likes unicorns, not me,” he told them. Harry nodded.

“So, a skateboard for you and a unicorn for—” Without missing a beat, Harry watched her mouth the name of the younger sibling. “Lily.”

“You know Lily?” He asked, pure wonder in his eyes. Staring up at Harry like he was the most amazing person in the world. Harry did think he was the Grinch because his heart truly melted and it was all thanks to the pretty, peachie girl.

“Santa knows everything,” she whispered. “Can you say thank you?”

“Thank you... Santa?” Caden asked, hopping down from her lap and turning bravely toward him. She stepped away from his legs which made him feel cold and grumpy again. But he remembered to stay focused on Caden.

“Yes, lad?” Caden ushered him closer waving his hand toward him. Harry leaned down further so Caden could whisper in his ear.

“Can you help me get a present for Miss Peach?”

Harry looked at her as she gathered a candy cane, a cookie, a present, and a cup of hot chocolate for Caden to take. “Absolutely.”

*

When Santa left, Harry magically returned with his car and headed to the diner to check on things. “You missed all the fun Harry,” she sighed stepping behind the counter and heading for the coffee pots filled with hot water for her hot chocolate stand. “I brought Santa in and everything.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and stuck his arm out to stop her. “Did he tell you he was bring y’coal?” he rolled his eyes and turned her physically by her shoulders before she reached the coffee pots. “Get out,” he said.

“Miss Peach getting coal?” Edith laughed. “Harry, don’t be ridiculous.”

She smiled, a knowing smirk on her lips. “Can I please have more hot water for hot chocolate?” She asked.

He sighed, like it was a big to do. But he did it anyway. She was getting really good at reading his eyes. She could see the slight amusement. Or what she hoped was amusement. Maybe it was just more annoyance, but the light shining a little differently in his irises. “I’ll keep it coming,” he shrugged and handed her two of the coffee pots.

“You are like Santa himself,” she grinned and carefully walked out with the hot liquid. Someone held the door for her and Harry headed to the kitchen, smirking once he was behind the cover of the wall away from the rest of the diner.

*

Christmas morning in a small town was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was literally a Hallmark movie. There was a thin layer of snow on the ground. Against the lights it was the stuff of dreams. She walked through the quiet town, her second one in town but the first one she had ever spent away from her family.

“Peach?” Harry called. He was taking a bag out behind the diner to the trash. The door to the back was open to what she imagined was his apartment. She heard it was attached to the diner, but she had never seen beyond it.

She gave a wave and walked toward him. “Merry Christmas, Harry!” She chirped and dove in for a hug. Harry awkwardly wrapped his arms around her and despite his awkwardness, it felt like the best Christmas present he had ever received.

“Merry Christmas,” he hummed. “I thought y’were heading t’your family’s place for the holiday?”

“I did last year, but I thought I would try and start my own traditions. They’re going to be down this weekend actually.”

“Make sure y’bring them by,” he reminded her.

She smiled. “How about you? Any traditions?”

Traditions hadn’t been part of Harry’s vocabulary in ages. But Gemma was coming and that made him immensely happy. Well, as happy as someone as grumpy as he could be. “M’sister is coming around lunch time. I do a Christmas brunch, and a lot of people stop by.”

“Oh, that’s really lovely,” she grinned. “I’m sure you’re busy then and I don’t want to keep you. Have a happy—”

“You’re invited,” he practically blurted. She blinked, surprise coloring her pretty face.

But she recovered quickly and the smile on her mouth returned and made Harry think that even if he never touched her again, he could settle for a smile directed at her. “Really?” She asked. “I don’t want to mess with tradition.”

But that was far from the truth because she had already inserted herself into so many town projects and made the town so much better just by existing. Not to mention she got him to dress as Santa. Tradition flew out the window the moment she stepped foot in the diner.

“S’a whole town thing.”

“Well then, I really have to run because I cannot show up empty handed. Muffins or cupcakes?”

“Y’don’t have to—”

“I’ll make both unless you tell me.”

Harry rolled his eyes and her stubbornness. “Muffins, Peach. Thank you.”

“Christmas looks good on you, Santa,” she nodded. “You’ve got the best smile, Harry,” she waved and headed back the way she came.

*

Her mom always hosted parties and if she didn’t then it was a neighbor, Grandma, or aunt. She became a makeshift hostess and always tried to make herself useful. The second she walked into the diner she was greeted with cheers and Merry Christmases. Honestly, other than it being a holiday and the garland draped around the place, it was no different than walking into the diner any other day. She scurried to the counter where all the food was lining it, the warmers keeping the food hot, just waiting to be devoured. She could hear noise from the kitchen. Without thinking much longer, she stepped behind the counter, set her muffins toward the end of the line of food, and began gathering the plates and silverware to put at the beginning of the line.

The moment he heard clinking, he stepped from the kitchen. “What the he—”

“Oh hi,” she chirped over her shoulder. “Just making myself useful.”

“You’re not supposed to be behind the counter.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s Christmas and I’m helping.”

“I like her,” a woman stepped from behind the kitchen wall as well and smiled with a wave. “I’m Gemma,” she said. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas. Harry’s sister?”

“The one and only,” she had the same pretty smile that Harry did. She wondered who they inherited from. But the smile seemed much more natural on Gemma’s face than Harry’s.

“Peach,” he rubbed a hand over his face. “If y’get hurt, m’insurance doesn’t cover annoying pains in the butt.”

“What a nice thing to say on Christmas,” Gemma rolled her eyes. “How many times did you come back here when Mum told us not to?” Harry turned to the kitchen before he could answer.

She frowned. “I just wanted to help.”

“Don’t worry about it, Harry is just a grump,” she shrugged. “Thank you for the help,” she grinned sweetly. “I’m going to bring Mr. Sour out again but please make yourself at home,” she assured.

People chatted with Gemma for most of the time they ate. She helped Harry carry food out from the kitchen even though he grunted at her in annoyance each time she picked something up. She ignored him making a plate for both herself, and Harry. “Harry come eat,” she held the plates of food in her hands. “Everyone is good for the moment, and you deserve it,” she told him.

He sighed as he always did. Like talking to her was getting a splinter taken out of his hand. He grabbed the plates from her and walked toward the side of the diner where there were two seats open. “Miss Peach, these muffins are delicious!”

She grinned. “Thank you, an old family recipe,” she said sweetly and plucked a piece of bacon from her plate. Harry headed back to the kitchen and she pouted but he returned quickly holding a cup of coffee for her, cooled and iced as always. “Thank you.” Harry sat across from her eating silently, but it was comfortable. Peaceful even. The chatter around them was comforting. “You do this every year?” She asked. He nodded. “It’s nice, Harry, thank you for inviting me,” she grinned. He didn’t look up from his food, but he nodded again, and she was certain the corners of his mouth twitched in an upwards direction.

Harry was dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans and a dark green button down. It brought out the gold specks in his eyes and enhanced how green they were in general. It was her favorite look on him. Given he only seemed to have about six or so shirts in total. His hair was styled just so, so it wouldn’t fall in his face. “Let me get a picture of you and Gemma.”

“No,” he shook his head sipping his orange juice.

“Oh, come on, Harry. She’s your sister.”

He shook his head. “I don’t do pictures.”

She rolled her eyes. “Gemma, would you like a picture with Harry?” She called across the room.

“God, would I!” She hurried over and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind. She kissed the side of his face and he rolled his eyes but the smile was a little harder to hide that time around. She pulled her phone from her pocket and held it out to get a picture of the siblings.

“Say Merry Christmas!”

Harry smiled, genuinely. Which made her utterly happy. Gemma kissed his cheek again. “I love you, little brother.”

He shook his head as she hurried back to her conversation across the room. Harry cleared his throat and reached into his pocket pulling out a small box, wrapped perfectly, and slid it across the table toward her.

Of course, her gifts for everyone in town that had made her feel so welcomed were at her house. She planned on giving them out at the diner the following morning. Let the day be about family. So she was unprepared and felt terrible that she had nothing for Harry.

But she was also so shocked she simply gaped. “Harry,” she managed. “I don’t—”

“S’not a big deal,” he shrugged. “Caden... he wanted t’make sure y’got a gift. I asked him t’help me pick it out. Told him Santa left a note here since he knows y’here a lot,” he explained. “S’really from Caden.” But it wasn’t. Not really. It was from Harry. The grumpy diner owner who made her pancakes, gave her a hard time because she was a nuisance. “Go on,” he encouraged. She pulled the paper off, revealing a small brown box.

“Your gift is at home,” she told him.

“Y’didn’t need t’get me anything,” he rolled his eyes.

“Of course I did, Harry—”

“Will y’jus’ open it, Peach? Y’making it a huge deal and honestly, s’hardly anything.”

She opened the lid and inside was a square piece of cardboard. A delicate chain draped along the middle of it, holding the small crescent moon charm at the center of a pair of matching earrings. “Harry,” she brushed her finger on the charm. “This is too much,” she frowned knowing that he probably spent way too much on someone who was a pain in his ass.

“Y’do a lot for this town,” he shrugged. “S’the least Caden could do.”

She tilted her head at him. “Thank you,” she plucked the necklace off the cardboard and quickly secured it around her neck. Her ears already had Christmas presents jingling and dangling from the lobes, but the necklace looked delicate and pretty against the top of her shirt. “I’ll bring your gift tomorrow.”

“Whatever helps y’sleep at night, Peach. Y’want more food?” He asked standing and grabbing her plate at the same time.

She played with the charm at the base of her throat and nodded. “Please," she wondered if Harry was aware of how much she truly liked him. How sweet he really was despite the front he put up in front of everyone else. But she supposed for today, since it was Christmas, she would let him play his grumpy self and enjoy the thoughtful gift he bought for her and the yummy food he made.

She hoped this tradition would stick around every year.

--

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[nonbinary-vents]

Rant incoming, this got out of hand sorry.

Also, a lot of these foods do actually have distinct ‘styles’ that are really only Israeli. Take shakshuka for example— it’s a North African dish, created around Morocco and Tunisia, but it’s eaten as far as Turkiye and Greece (side note: went to Greece recently, they have amazing green shakshuka, but I guess we aren’t allowed to eat it cause it’s eeeevil appropriation). Speaking of Turkiye, they’re a great example of a specific regional style. Their shakshuka tends to be spicier and have yoghurt or cheese on top if it. It’s pretty easy to tell that it’s shakshuka, but it’s also very clear that this isn’t your standard North African one, and if you know how they do it in Turkiye then it’s easily recognisable.

Israeli shakshuka is the same. It’s made with a lot of cooked onions and herbs, definitely more than the any other of the styles I’ve encountered. Because anybody with a tiny bit of Israeli heritage is addicted to tchina, basically every pan of shakshuka (it’s served in the pan in Israel) comes with a side of it, and also with basic salad and toasted challah. There’s a thing called shakshuka sandwich, which is shakshuka as a sandwich where the bread is challah. Sometimes it’s also served with chips (which also have a cup of tchina, chips in Israel will always have tchina no we don’t have a problem)

side note again: this is actually a really common thing with Israeli food— everything is a sandwich. Traditional Persian and Nash Didan herb omelet is served plain, but Israelis looove to put it in bagels. I’ve eaten at a cafe this amazing aubergine ‘schnitzel’ and matbucha sandwich, where yes the bread was challah, and yes they also offered you a mountain of tchina, and yes I drenched that mofo lol. It’s all sandwiches here. Israel turned chamin and leftover aubergines and cabbage into a pitta. Nothing can stop the bread obsession.

Actually, that ‘schnitzel’ sandwich is a good example of a big aspect of Israeli food— the cultural mixing. Matbucha is a Moroccan sauce, schnitzel comes from Austria I’m pretty sure (although Israeli style is already different because it’s exclusively made with chicken), and aubergines are well known for being west Asian, especially Iraqi I think? This weird great fusion dish probably came about from a mixture of Jews whose families lived in these three areas, as a natural way of sharing and integrating subcultures when together. It’s not some evil plot to try to steal as many people’s cultures in one food item as possible, its just people close to each other eating food and something new coming out of that. One of my mum’s best friends is a Moroccan Jew and she regularly gives us matbucha, so I decided to make a monstrosity of Iranian dolma pielpelim with matbucha and guess what that’s how I earned my Israeli citizenship.

Fun fact— this woman also makes the best kneidelach I’ve ever tasted and she doesn’t have a drop of Ashkenazi blood in her. Does that make her evil, and am I evil for eating it when not Ashkenazi, or is it only applicable when deemed ‘ethnique’ enough?

There’s also just completely unique Israeli dishes like sabich, that was created in Israel by Iraqi Jews and wasn’t eaten anywhere else before, or ptitim which came out of 50’s rationing/the country being too broke to afford couscous. Also, Jewish specific foods like jachnun, kneidelach soup, challah, chamin, etc. are a thousand times more Israeli than they are of those host countries, by virtue of the fact that they were not a normal dish in said host countries. Yemenite goyim didn’t eat jachnun, so how is it stealing from them when the descendants of the ones who did continue to do so?

This is kind of a weird pivot, but I think that people are treating ‘Israeli’ like it’s it’s own ethnic group now as a desperate attempt to slice it away from Jews (and Israeli Arabs sometimes, depending on the situation) and have their own special root of all evil. So they expect us to have all of these special unique foods that no other Jewish community in the world has or else we’re just like… stealing??? I guess??? By eating food from our Jewish communities??? But the thing about nationalities is that the culture is created by the ethnicities of the people who live there. And the thing about Jewish sub-ethnicities is that because we were torn apart from each other and forced to live under much more powerful rulers, we tend to have very different cuisines from each other that seem similar to those of the countries we were living in— but even then, our food tends to have similarities to each other and differences to goyim’s just because kasher restrictions and pre-diaspora foods are still adhered to and made in almost every community.

So of course Israeli food is going to have Moroccan elements to it, seeing as if you meet five Israelis three of them are going to have some sort of Moroccan heritage, and one other is going to have someone close to them that’s Moroccan, that’s not even an exaggeration help they’re everywhere. And of course it’s going to be mixed in and muddled up with a bunch of Iranian, Romanian, Egyptian, Iraqi, Russian, and however more elements. Because once again, a nationality’s culture and cuisine is not independent from the people of that nationality. And Jews spent a long time in all of these countries, long enough to pick up some food habits in between all of the pogroms. If you wanted Israeli food to be completely independent to anything you’ve ever seen before, then just fucking time travel and give Bar Kochba a gun already.

Rant over. Ugh.

To the large chunk of non-Jewish bloggers on this website who before Oct 7 would every now then reblog something along the lines of "don't be antisemitic" and around winter time "happy hannukah to all my Jewish followers" and then a out a character who maybe be headcannoned as Jewish and nothing more

but after Oct 7 has become riddled with the most disgustingly antisemitic posts, posts full of misinformation, posts calling for the death of Israelis, denying Jewish Indigeneity, and of course posts using "shitrael" or "isntreal" or "isrhell".

Do you think we are stupid. Do you think we can't see this.

Or is it rather that you never cared about us and now that you have permission to revel in the hate you are.

I would like to share something that I saw on of these such types of blogs. It was one who is exactly has I described. Did the barest and of bare not even bare minimums, but after Oct 7 has become a hate infested cesspool.

They reblogged a post where someone had shared an article from the Middle East Eye, a Qatari run propaganda machine.

Now how did Hebrew steal from Arabic when Hebrew predates Arabic I guess we are not supposed to think about that. That Jews have been living in the region for several millennia don't think about it. That there have Mizrahi communities in these places since the Babylonians don't think about it.

The notes of course was filled with the tags "cultural appropriation"

but then I saw these tags

You mean the Shekel which is mentioned in the Tanach. The parliamentary system of government. Which craftworks, please be specific?

So again do you think we don't see these things. Do you think we are stupid.

Or what we see not the point and not what matters, but rather what matters is the lies and misinformation and making sure that is what is seen and spread so that you can ensure we have no friends and no allies. So that no when will stand up or make a fuss when you come to hurt us, to kill us, and destroy us.

And to that I will say look to those who came before and see where they are now. Do you see them? No, because they are not here, but we are.

So if you are going to come for us, if you are going to come to destroy us you better give it all you have because when you fail and you will fail it will not end well for you.

It never does. But we survive, we always do.

Am Yisrael Chai עם ישראל חי

[pomefioredove]

Can I have number 20 sugar cookie with marshmallows and chocolate chips?

malmal... I've missed him

order #20, sugar with marshmallow and chocolate chips

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ something untrue

tropes: roommate AU, fake dating characters: malleus additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is yuu

In your defense, it was only one lie.

Just one, insignificant, little white lie!

And you thought Malleus would understand. That one boy from potionology just wouldn't give it up, following you around, grabbing at you, asking you out no matter how many times you said no.

He had cornered you, demanded a reason you wouldn't go out with him, and you had panicked.

Just one lie.

It wasn't so unbelievable- you and Malleus already spent so much time together- and even if it was, the boy was too shaken to say it.

He hasn't bothered you since.

You had washed your hands of the whole affair, and then patted yourself on the back for your thinking.

Guilty as you felt for using your closest friend as jerk-repellent, it was only one lie, and Malleus wouldn't even know!

...But... apparently...

Everyone else would.

That little jerk told his little jerk friends about it, and they told theirs, and one of them told his lab partner, who told Cater, and now...

...Well, now, you're "dating" Malleus.

He just doesn't know it yet.

And it's made your temporary living situation in Diasomnia a little awkward. For you, anyway.

"Pleasant evening," Malleus says, looking at the foggy sky. Not a single star, and yet he's just as enchanted.

You nod, tongue-tied and quiet.

You had invited your friend on this walk to talk to him about the lie, and now you can't even talk at all.

"You're quiet. Is something bothering you? Are you cold?"

Malleus is looking at you now. Your eyes avoid his, and you pretend to admire the crumbling, mossy stone wall you're walking along.

"...No,"

"Are you feeling unwell?"

"No,"

"We can turn back, if you would like,"

You bite your tongue. You're grateful he doesn't bother with technology or gossip. The rumors haven't yet reached him. Malleus is, somehow, the very last person to know that you are "dating".

"I'm alright. Just... uh, thinking about potionology class,"

Which is sort of true, in a confusing way.

"I see. Are you struggling?"

You sigh. "Yes," with more than just that.

"Hm. Perhaps we can study together," you meet his eyes again. He's smiling. It's sweet. "It would be my honor to assist you in whichever way I can."

He's sweet.

You can't keep lying to him.

You swallow your fear, and look at him, refusing to let yourself shy away now.

"Malleus," you say, firmly. "A few weeks ago I... said something untrue about... you. I shouldn't have. And I'm very sorry. I know it's wrong to lie, and I shouldn't have done it, but- well, I told someone that you and I are-"

You hesitate.

"-romantically... involved. Dating. It came out before I could stop it, it just feels- felt right- I-I'm sorry."

He stops. And for a long moment, he says nothing.

You can only imagine what's going on behind those piercing green eyes. Is he mad? Is he offended? Is he hurt? Have you just completely ruined your bond with the only friend here that loves you unconditionally-

"Child of man," Malleus says, his tone soft but serious. You feel a chill go up your spine.

"...Yes, Malleus?"

Again, he says nothing. Though, this time, he only seems to be looking for the right words. He cradles his chin in his palm, looking at you with softened eyes but a raised brow, both gentle and confused.

And then, he speaks.

"Are we... not already dating?"

[elikajinnie]

Just A Nasty Dog - S.J

P: Boyfriend!Jake X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Suggestive Content, Needy Behaviour, Begging, oooh he down bad.

Synopsis: Jake was supposed to follow the schedule, to go live and interact with fans like always. But the second you walked into the hotel room, nothing else mattered. All he wanted—needed—was you. He tries to focus, but you are impossible to ignore. With every passing second, the live feels like an obstacle, and all Jake can think about is shutting it off to give you all of his attention, just like you deserve.

now playing: nasty dog by sir mix-a-lot ;)

--

Jake had just clicked on the start live button, watching with a soft grin as the viewer count steadily climbed. He watched the live chat starting, a mix of eager comments and hearts flooding the screen. He waited for a brief moment, letting the numbers and chats build before his voice came through, warm and casual as he greeted the Engenes, giving them an update on his day. His hand absentmindedly played with the pillow on his lap, his fingers shifting it between his hands as he settled into the comfortable routine of the stream. His eyes flickered to the candy in his other hand, popping a piece into his mouth as he read through the comments with a smile.

Everything seemed like it was unfolding as usual, the familiar routine as he talked about his day, until you sneaked in the hotel room. You’d expected to sneak in, quiet as always, but the moment you saw him talking into the camera, you hesitated. He looked so focused, so at ease as he interacted with his fans. You didn’t want to interrupt, not with the staff member sitting off to the side, quietly keeping an eye on things. So, you decided to sneak over to the other bed, flopping down onto it with a soft sigh.

Your phone buzzed to life in your hands, the distraction enough to keep your focus elsewhere as you scrolled aimlessly. But Jake? His attention was no longer solely on the screen. No, it was on you. His gaze flicked over to where you lay, sprawled across the bed, looking too effortless, too tempting, and yet he kept it hidden.

He didn’t say anything. No shift in his expression—just the subtle movement of his fingers tightening around the pillow in his lap, his eyes lingered for just a second too long before he quickly glanced back at the camera, continuing his stream.

You lay there, half aware of him, half lost in your own little world, but something in the way he adjusted himself told you everything you needed to know. Even when he tried to hide it, you always had his attention.

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a mischievous thrill crawl up your spine. Jake’s attention was now fully on you, though he was doing his best to keep it hidden behind the mask of normalcy. But you knew him better than that. You knew the subtle tells, the little shifts that betrayed him, even when he tried to act casual.

You decided to have a little fun with it.

As he continued to talk to the camera, engaging with the comments and sharing more about his day, you shifted slightly on the bed, letting the weight of your movements press into the mattress. You stretched your legs out lazily, the bed creaking under your motions. Your shirt, just slightly too loose, inched up as you stretched your arms above your head, exposing more of your skin.

You could feel his eyes on you almost immediately. His gaze lingered for a fraction too long, his focus breaking as he quickly darted his eyes back to the camera. But it was too late. You saw him tightening his grip on the pillow, the slight shift in his posture as he adjusted himself again, trying to act natural.

His words faltered for a moment. His voice wavered slightly as he stuttered through his sentence, almost as if he couldn’t quite focus. You caught the subtle gulp he made, his throat moving in a way that told you he was struggling to keep his composure.

"Yeah, uh… so, yeah, the shoot went well," Jake continued, his voice a little shakier than usual, and you couldn’t help but smirk. "I mean, it was… uh… it was a great, y'know?" He cleared his throat, attempting to regain his smoothness, but the flicker of unease in his eyes said it all.

It was too easy, watching him wrestle with himself, his focus shifting back and forth between you and the camera. You could tell he was trying to maintain that casual, charming demeanor he always had on his streams, but his body language betrayed him. The way his shoulders tensed, the subtle way he clenched the pillow like he wanted to hold onto something, anything to steady himself.

You leaned back into the bed, letting your movements slow down, but the smile you wore—one that he couldn’t see but knew you had—was enough to let him know exactly what you were doing.

Jake’s grip tightened around the pillow in his lap, his knuckles going white as he tried to keep his hands steady. His breath hitched just a little, a barely noticeable shift that betrayed the thoughts he was trying so hard to suppress. You could see it—the way his jaw tightened, the way his lips parted as if he was fighting to say something, anything, to keep the conversation going.

Suddenly, he cleared his throat, a nervous laugh escaping his lips as he quickly tried to regain some control. “Uh, sorry, my eyes are… they’re a little blurry. I think it’s the light. I’ll just, uh, turn on the AC for a second. Hold on.”

Without waiting for a response, Jake stood up abruptly, the action quick. For a moment, you thought he might actually head toward the AC unit, but instead, he moved closer to you, his eyes met yours, and there was a desperation in his gaze. He leaned over you, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered in your ear, his voice low and shaky.

“You’re killing me,” he muttered, the words barely above a whisper, laced with an intensity that surprised you. “I can’t focus. I—” He cut himself off, his voice breaking for just a moment.

You couldn’t help but smile, an innocent expression painted on your face as you pushed him gently away, your fingers grazing his chest in the slightest, a playful shove that still managed to push him back. His breath hitched again, but this time, there was nothing he could do to hide it.

Without another word, he straightened up and turned back toward the camera, returning to the live stream.

As he settled back into his chair, you noticed the shift: Jake had grabbed a bigger pillow this time, one that looked almost out of place against the backdrop of the stream. It was the pillow you’d been using the night before, the one that still carried the faint scent of you. He didn’t waste any time—taking a deep breath, he pulled the pillow into his lap and held it just under his nose. The action was almost instinctual, his body reacting before his mind could catch up.

His eyes closed for just a moment as he breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent that was still faintly embedded in the fabric. The pillow, now an almost absurdly intimate object, seemed to ground him in a way nothing else could. He clutched it tightly, holding it with both hands as though it could somehow offer him the focus he so desperately needed. But the small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him. It was clear that he wasn’t just using the pillow for comfort.

His voice wavered slightly as he tried to continue with the stream, but you could see the struggle, the way his attention was split between the comments and well — you. Even with the camera on, you knew his mind was elsewhere.

Jake did try his best to keep his focus on the stream, his voice steady as he answered comments and chatted with the viewers, but his hands betrayed him. He kept fidgeting, twisting the pillow in his lap, his fingers twitching nervously at the fabric. His movements were erratic, a subtle sign of the tension building inside him, but he kept up the facade— just barely. Every now and then, his gaze flicked over to you, catching you glancing at him, only to quickly turn away when you noticed him.

The staff, however, was so absorbed in their task that they didn't notice the tension thickening between you two. Their attention was solely on the screen, their focus unwavering. That gave Jake some comfort, allowing him to relax a little, but it didn’t ease the storm swirling inside him. You were so close, so tempting, and yet, he had to keep pretending, to maintain his cool for the audience.

Even as the energy in the room felt like it was about to break.

Jake’s voice began to waver just slightly as he continued to read the comments, his words growing less and less fluid. Every so often, he would pause for a few seconds too long, as though he’d lost his place or his train of thought. He yawned once, then twice, trying to stretch it out like a natural, innocent gesture, but there was something forced about it. You saw it—the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way he was desperately trying to keep his movements calm while his mind was racing, trying to fight off the distractions you caused.

Another yawn slipped from him, longer this time, and he cleared his throat, almost too loudly. "Uh, yeah, so, um... it's been a long day, you know?"

His eyes flicked over to the staff, who looked up for a brief moment, glancing at him curiously, but didn’t say anything, likely thinking it was just a tired yawn. They quickly turned their attention back to the computer, absorbed in whatever task they were focused on.

Jake, however, wasn’t paying much attention to them anymore. His eyes kept flickering to you—he couldn’t stop. His fingers twitched restlessly, as if they were searching for something to hold onto, something to distract him from the temptation that was so close to him. His hand absentmindedly scratched at his chin, a nervous tick that only seemed to draw his attention back to you. He fiddled with his hair next, fingers running through it as if he needed to do something, anything, to ground himself.

But no matter what he did, his eyes kept drifting back to you.

Every so often, his gaze would linger, and he would stare at you with an intensity that couldn’t be mistaken. He wasn’t just looking at you—he was thinking, and you could see it in the way he would act like he was spacing out, staring at you like he was lost in some internal battle. He was acting like he wasn’t even aware of what he was doing, his focus shifting in and out, trying to pretend he wasn’t completely consumed by what you were doing.

You, on the other hand, played it so innocently. You acted like you didn’t even notice the way his attention kept returning to you, eyes flickering over and over. You stayed focused on your phone, scrolling through it with a calm, casual air, completely "oblivious" to the effect you were having on him. Every now and then, you’d let out a small sigh, but you didn’t acknowledge him. You didn’t even glance up to meet his gaze.

And that was killing him.

Jake clenched his jaw, trying to keep his composure, but the more you ignored him, the more he wanted to stop everything and walk over to you. But he couldn’t. Not yet. The stream, the viewers, and the staff were all still there, still watching, and he had to fight the overwhelming urge to just be with you.

But as he kept glancing over, trying so hard not to stare, it became almost impossible. His mind raced with thoughts of you—the way you seemed so unaware, so tempting. He could almost feel the warmth of your presence, even from across the room, and the desire to go to you, to pull you close and finally have a moment just for the two of you, was unbearable.

He couldn’t stop staring at you, no matter how hard he tried. And it was driving him mad.

The minutes seemed to drag on, each one stretching slower than the last. Jake’s mind was no longer on the stream, well not fully. He had declared that he would keep the live open until 12, but now, with every passing second, it felt like an eternity. The clock ticked in the corner of his mind, a reminder that he had a set time, but each minute that passed only seemed to make the tension worse.

His attention was split in ways it never had been before. His words to the viewers became more mechanical, less fluid, his focus faltering every time he glanced at the time and then at you. The seconds felt longer with every attempt to keep up appearances, and the more time he spent fighting the urge to look at you, the more distracted he became.

Jake could feel the tension building inside him, his eyes darting between the camera, the comments, and you. Every time he looked over at you, so completely absorbed in your phone, looking so carefree, it was like a weight on his chest. He wanted to reach out, to pull you in, to let go of the act, but he couldn’t.

His hand twitched again, and he reached for the pillow again, adjusting it in his lap, clutching it tighter, as if it could offer him any comfort. But the soft fabric did little to ease the tightness building in his chest. He ran a hand through his hair again, fingers shaking slightly, as if trying to distract himself, but nothing worked. Cause each time, his gaze would inevitably return to you.

The stream was supposed to go until midnight, but Jake couldn’t stop watching the countdown in his mind. The closer it got to that hour, the more he felt the pressure mounting. Every second stretched out, becoming an agonizing test of his self-control.

It was like a game of patience—one that he felt he was pretty much losing.

He glanced at the staff again, their attention still on the computer, oblivious to the way his eyes kept flickering to you. He sighed quietly, hoping that the small sound wouldn’t be caught on stream. His fingers fidgeted again, tapping lightly on the pillow, as if doing something, anything, could distract him. But it wasn’t enough.

Your phone was still in your hands, your attention completely elsewhere, and he couldn’t help but wonder if you knew just how much it was killing him. Every little movement you made, every subtle shift of your body, only made him want to break free of this suffocating act. His gaze locked onto you once more, and despite himself, he found it harder to look away.

“Uh… yeah, so,” Jake stammered, trying to force his attention back to the viewers, but his voice was distant, lacking its usual smoothness. “I think, um… the weather’s been pretty nice. Uh, yeah…” His words trailed off, and he couldn’t help but glance at the time again, counting down the minutes in his head.

It felt like torture.

He wanted to end the live right then, throw the camera away, and rush over to you. He could already imagine the taste of your lips, the warmth of your body, how it would feel to finally let go of the tension that had been building.

--

The clock finally hit exactly 12, and Jake felt a sense of relief wash over him. He forced a smile, pushing through the exhaustion that had built up from trying to keep his composure. He turned to the camera one last time, addressing the viewers.

“Well, Engenes,” he said, his voice still a little strained but softer now, “it’s time to wrap up. Thanks for hanging out with me tonight.” His words felt mechanical, but he made sure to give a genuine wave to the camera, watching as the chat flooded with farewells and goodnights. He smiled as best as he could, giving his usual parting words. "Take care, and I’ll see you soon."

As the last message scrolled past and the live stream officially ended, Jake let out a sigh, his shoulders finally relaxing. The pressure was off, but only for a moment. He watched the staff begin to pack away the camera and equipment, their attention focused on their tasks.

Without thinking, he immediately stood up and walked toward you, his eyes locked onto you. He couldn’t help it—his gaze raked over you, taking in every little detail. Your hair, your posture, the way your shirt settled against your body, the way you lay there so effortlessly... every part of you felt like it was drawing him in. He didn’t even know where to look first, every inch of you was beautiful, perfect, intoxicating. His heart skipped a beat, a rush of heat flooding his chest, and for a moment, he was paralyzed by it.

Then, you shifted slightly, turning from your stomach to your side, facing him now with that innocent, welcoming smile. The sight of it sent a jolt through him. His breath caught in his throat, and he swallowed hard, the urge to step closer overwhelming.

But he hesitated. For a moment, he just stood there, frozen, unsure of how to even approach you. His mind was racing—everything about this felt too intense, too charged. He wanted to run to you, to close the distance and pull you into his arms, but instead, he stood there, his eyes still fixed on you.

He gulped, unsure of where to even begin. Everything felt so simple and complicated at the same time. You were right there, and yet, he felt a sense of awe at just how perfect everything about you seemed in that moment. Every part of you, from your smile to the way you looked at him, made it hard for him to remember what he was supposed to be doing.

You rolled back onto your stomach with a giggle, your attention returning to your phone, the soft tap of your fingers on the screen the only sound in the room. Jake’s eyes lingered on you for a few moments, his chest tightening again at the sight of you so close. The staff finished packing up, the door clicking shut behind them with a soft sound that echoed in the otherwise quiet room. That little noise seemed to snap Jake out of his trance, shaking him out of the daze he’d just been in.

Without wasting another second, he crawled onto the bed, the mattress creaking softly beneath him. His heart was racing, but now, it felt like the walls between you two had finally crumbled. He leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, and let out a soft whine in your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

“You were making it so hard to focus,” he murmured, his voice thick with frustration. He let out another sigh, this one more drawn-out, as if he couldn’t quite find the words to explain just how much you were driving him crazy.

He nuzzled his face against the back of your neck, his hands barely brushing over your sides, as if trying to hold himself back from giving in completely. Your warmth, the softness of your skin beneath his chest—it was all too much.

“I tried to be good,” he complained, his voice light despite the way his body betrayed him, leaning into you. “I really did… but you’re making it so hard, baby.” His fingers gently traced patterns on your back, his touch lingering for a moment before pulling away, only to return again, unable to stay still.

His heart pounded in his chest, the temptation to pull you closer, to wrap his arms around you, nearly overwhelming him. He couldn’t stop himself from kissing the side of your neck softly, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulled back, trying, and failing, to hide the hunger in his eyes. “You were driving me crazy…”

Everything inside him wanted you, and he was done fighting it. The slow burn had been building up over the past hour, and now, with no one around to stop him, he couldn’t hold back anymore.

Jake’s body pressed closer to yours, needy and desperate, like he couldn’t get close enough. He groaned softly, burying his face against your neck as his hands ran up your back, fingers lightly digging into your skin. His voice was low and filled with a mixture of frustration and longing, like he was struggling to keep his composure.

“You don’t know how hard it’s been,” he muttered, his breath hot against your ear. “I’ve been tryin’ to keep it together, but damn…” His lips grazed your skin in a slow, teasing kiss, as if he couldn't help himself anymore. He was like a puppy in heat, desperate for attention, for affection—needy in a way that felt both playful and intense.

You turned your head slightly, eyes glancing up at him, playing it cool despite the way his touch was igniting something deep inside you. “You think I don’t know? I’ve been watching you try so hard not to give in all night.” Your voice was soft, a gentle tease as you pushed back slightly, feeling his chest against your back. “But now you're finally letting go, huh?”

His hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer as his chest rubbed against your back, his movements slow and deliberate, but filled with hunger. "Been all good on the outside," he murmured, almost like he was trying to convince himself, "but inside... oh baby, you drove me crazy."

You smirked at his words, the playful glint in your eyes giving you away. “I’m not the one who’s been holding back,” you replied innocently, turning to face him. “You’ve been giving me all the signals, but you still haven’t made a move.” Your fingers brushed the side of his arm, feeling his pulse race under your touch.

He couldn’t stay still, not when you were this close. His lips brushed against your ear, his voice thick with want, “You’ve got me all messed up, babe. Can’t keep it cool, can’t keep it chill… you just gotta… gotta know what you do to me."

You let out a soft, almost teasing laugh, your hands trailing down his chest. “Is that so? And here I thought you were the one who was so patient." You raised an eyebrow, your voice dripping, all sweet like honey. "You really think I’m the one making it hard for you?”

He slid his hands down to your hips, fingers digging into the soft fabric of your shirt, pulling at it gently, like he couldn’t bear the distance between you two anymore. “I swear,” he whined, dragging his fingers up your sides, “you’re makin' it impossible to think straight.” His voice was almost a growl now, raw and needy. “Can’t focus when you look like that, when you’re so pretty…” His lips found your neck again, planting soft, almost frantic kisses. “I felt like a damn dog with a bone… can’t help myself.”

You let out a soft sigh at the feeling of his lips on your neck, your fingers threading through his hair. “You can’t even control yourself for a second, huh?” You said, your voice breathy now. “Guess you really are as bad as you say.”

His breathing quickened as his hands roamed at your sides, he was like a magnet, drawn to you, unwilling to let go, his body craving more of you with every passing second. "Don't play innocent with me," he muttered, his voice dripping playfully. "You know exactly what you're doin' to me."

You smiled, pulling back slightly to look at him, your eyes meeting his with a mischievous glint. “Maybe I do,” you said softly, your lips curling into a smirk. “But you're the one who’s been teasing me all night.” You leaned in closer, your lips brushing his in a whisper of a kiss. “What’s stopping you now, huh?”

He pulled away just enough to look down at you, eyes dark with need. He was all clingy and persistent now, like he couldn’t get enough of you. The control he’d managed to hold onto during the stream had evaporated the second he’d crawled into bed next to you, and he was all yours for the taking. “I’m yours tonight, baby,” he rasped, his voice husky. “You better not forget that.”

You met his gaze, your heart racing. “I won’t,” you whispered, your voice soft but confident. “I won’t forget a thing.”

Jake couldn’t hold back anymore. His body pressed harder against yours, and his hands moved restlessly across your back, pulling you closer, like he needed to feel every inch of you. His lips trailed from your neck back to your ear, brushing lightly at first, before growing more desperate as he nuzzled his face against your skin, leaving soft, heated trails down to your collarbone.

“Damn, you don’t even know what you do to me,” he murmured against your neck, his voice thick with need. His lips found your skin again, this time a little more fervent, his kisses growing deeper as he became completely consumed by the feeling of you beneath him.

It was like a fire had ignited inside him, buring brightly and strong.

Without another word, he kissed his way up to your lips, this time not holding back. His lips crashed against yours, all the restraint he’d been clinging to now completely gone. He kissed you hard, almost desperately, as if trying to make up for all the time he spent holding himself back. His hands cupped your face, his fingers threading into your hair as he tilted your head back, deepening the kiss even further.

You didn’t pull away, instead meeting him halfway, the kiss turning more heated, more frantic. His lips devoured yours as if they hadn’t been able to touch you in years, full of urgency. He wanted all of you. He needed you—now.

He pulled away just for a second, breathless, his forehead resting against yours as he tried to catch his breath. His eyes were wild, clouded with want. “I can’t… I can’t stop, baby,” he panted, voice hoarse. His hands slid down your sides, feeling every curve, every inch of you, before pulling you closer to him again. His lips crashed back onto yours, harder this time, as if he wanted to drown in you.

The desperation in his touch, in every kiss, in every movement, was undeniable. He was touch-starved, and all he could think about was you, the feel of your skin under his fingertips, the taste of your lips, the way you made him lose control. He groaned into the kiss, his hands tugging at the hem of your shirt, as if he couldn’t get enough of you, couldn’t be close enough. His body ached for you, his mind clouded with nothing but desire.

“I need you,” he whispered breathlessly between kisses, his lips trailing down to your neck again. “I need you like this—so close. I can’t… I can’t think without you, baby. I can’t breathe without you.” His voice was raw, full of need, as he kissed you deeply once again, devouring your lips like he was a starving man. Every touch, every kiss, was a desperate plea for more, for everything he had been holding back, for everything he wanted from you.

His hands roamed further down, his touch frantic, as he tried to pull you even closer. The only thing that mattered to him now was you, and he couldn’t hold back anymore.

Jake’s kisses grew more urgent, his hands now roaming freely, desperate to touch you, to feel you against him. He pulled away just enough to whisper, voice shaky with need, “Please, baby, I— I can’t take it anymore. I need you… I need you like this.”

His words, full of desperation made you watch him, amusement swirling in your eyes as he panted softly, trying to catch his breath. He was like a wild animal, completely unrestrained, yearning for more than just the kisses he’d been showering you with. He wanted all of you, and it was clear in every word, every glance, every shaky breath.

He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes wide with longing, his hands trembling as they caressed your sides. “I need you so badly, baby. Will you have me?” he whispered, the pleading tone of his voice making something inside you tighten. “I can’t wait anymore… Please, just… don’t tease me.”

You tutted softly at him, the playful edge to your voice almost mocking as you let him squirm under your touch. “Jake,” you whispered, your voice gentle. “You’re being so needy. Can’t handle it, huh?” Your lips curled into a small smile, your hand resting lightly on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart.

He groaned at your words, unable to stop himself from pulling you closer, his hands gripping your waist as if he was afraid you’d slip away. “You have no idea, babe,” he murmured, his lips trailing across your jaw, kissing you softly. “All I can think about is you, about being with you. You’ve got me losing my mind.”

He gently cupped your face, bringing you in for another kiss, his lips desperate as they devoured yours once again. You could feel how badly he wanted you, how he needed you—he was begging for you in every possible way, without using words. His hands roamed freely now, no longer hesitating, caressing your body as if he couldn’t stop himself.

Finally, you let out a soft sigh, the teasing smile on your face fading just a little as you gave in to him. “Okay, Jake,” you whispered softly, your voice barely audible over the sound of your racing heart. “You’ve begged enough.” You didn’t wait for him to respond before your lips captured his once again, but this time, you let him have what he wanted.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as you let your lips mesh together, the kiss deepening as you finally surrendered to him. His hands moved with a newfound urgency, tugging at your shirt and pulling you closer, as though he couldn't be near enough.

Jake groaned into your mouth as his hands slid under your shirt, touching your skin like it was the only thing that mattered. "Was so good, so good for you..." he repeated, voice hoarse, the words almost a prayer. His fingers traced the outline of your body, his grip tightening as he finally got what he wanted, holding you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

You didn’t stop him now, letting him show you just how much he’d been yearning for you all night. And as you let yourself get lost, the only thing left was the overwhelming feeling of how much he wanted you. And for the first time that night, you gave him everything he needed.

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[elliee3e]

‘primal needs’

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ logan howlett x f! reader

thinking about logan in heat/with ruts x reader who’s ovulating … ohhh my god !!

content warnings ;

piv, size difference, heat/ruts, dubious consent but it’s very slight okay mentions of breeding kink but not really ?? it’s just cumming inside but it’s implied guys

author’s note ;

guys, i’m going through a slight writer’s block urgh . but it’s christmas & so i came up with this little idea !! merry christmas to everyone & hopefully i can also get something out before or shortly after new years <33 MWAH!

the air between you two is thick and heavy as logan’s cock stretches you to the hilt like nothing else.

the sloppy mess and smell of pure, primal driven need also clings to the air — as well as the lewd, squelching sounds of him pounding into you: pulling delicious moans from both your bodies.

even after going like this for more times than you can count, both you and logan are anything but tired. and the reason for that?

logan’s in heat. all you could feel all week was him pressing up against you, whether from behind or in front, anywhere, anytime — just trying to get some friction. and as much as it pained you to shove him away each and every time, you didn’t want to risk anything in public.

however when he gets you to himself in his room, you two are all over eachother like rabid animals. he’s biting at your neck, big hands pulling at your clothes and nearly tearing them apart; not that you cared — all you wanted was to get dicked down, as your sex drive had spiked all week too.

and logan could tell. his already heightened senses only peaked when he was in heat: causing him to sniff you out from far away even, the sweet scent of your pussy dripping for him was enough to drive him to find you no matter where you were. and when he did, best believe he’ll drag you somewhere just to toy with your pussy.

“ah, look at her. always a sloppy mess for me, ain’ she?” he’d tease, lips hovering right over your neck as his hand had started to make it’s descent to slip into your panties, fingers already dragging lazy circles over your clit.

it was always a messy combination.

even in the mornings, when logan would wake up first, he’d notice you still asleep and slot his knee between your thighs and up your little short nightdress — nudging you awake by rubbing his knee against your clit through your already damp panties. by the time you’d wake up, you’d feel his warm cock already pressing against your folds, wake up to the sight of him on top of you, his arms pressed on either side of your pillow. “this okay, doll? m’ sorry, i couldn’t wait..” he’d grunt, voice still rough and tired, but you nodded in silent agreement — needing this just as much as him and feeling as he then sunk his cock into your wet, eager walls no problem — a groan leaving both him and you.

when you would wake up first, it was a little different, as you’d find yourself spreading your thighs to get onto his with a little whine. you rocked your hips against his thigh needily, awaking the man easily. he’d wake up to feel your heat rubbing up against his thigh.

“mm.. well look at my pretty princess, grindin’ like a lil puppy all over me—..” his tired voice would finally speak up as he registered the situation in his mind, his cock already starting to strain against his boxers. it made you whine for more, as his big hand shamelessly pulled your hand onto him to palm his cock — the beginning of a morning you two knew would last all afternoon.

and when i mean anytime, anywhere, i mean it. the man’s practically a dog, a dog in heat if you may. he’s absolutely rabid when in heat and will look for any excuse to get you someplace private just to get some release.

sometimes, you feel like you can barely keep up, with the way he’s manhandling you and shifting your position so he can get the best friction on his cock — for example, you could be on your back and this man, with his godforsaken huge hands, will shamelessly turn you onto your stomach and hold your head down against the pillow, slipping into your sweet pussy from behind to slam his cock against that spot he knows has you seeing stars, from the way your words turn into jumbled whines and moans.

and from that, he could also easily turn you back over into a mating press. his favorite. he’d most likely be like that for a while, until he empties his cum into you and has you doing the same all over his cock, before sitting back and starting to pull you onto his lap to ride him for another orgasm, a repeat of all week all over again.

[hurtblossom]

On thin ice ln4

Pairing : Lando Norris x Female Iceskater!Reader

Summary : Lando is jealous of his girlfriend's iceskating partner.

Warnings : Angst, established relationship

The sharp scrape of skates against ice filled the cavernous rink, the sound bouncing off the empty seats and high ceilings. (Y/N) exhaled deeply, her breath clouding the chilly air as she steadied herself. Ethan skated toward her, his movements effortless, his presence as comforting as ever.

“You’re thinking too hard again,” Ethan teased lightly, stopping in front of her.

She gave him a weak smile. “I can’t help it.”

“You don’t need to. You’ve got this.”

He held out his hand, and she took it, their fingers locking with the ease of years spent practicing together. They moved into the opening position of their routine, the soft strains of music echoing through the rink as they began.

Every spin, every lift, every glide was a testament to their hard work, their connection honed over countless hours of practice. Ethan’s hand on her back, his voice low and steady as he guided her through a lift, was nothing new to her. It was simply a part of the dance.

But to Lando, it was something else entirely.

Lando had been her biggest supporter in the beginning. When they first started dating, he’d been captivated by her passion for skating. He admired her dedication, often comparing it to his own drive for Formula 1. They bonded over their shared understanding of sacrifice and ambition, and for a while, it felt like they were unstoppable.

But as their lives grew busier, the cracks began to form.

(Y/N) had always made time for Lando, traveling to his races whenever her schedule allowed. She’d spent hours in the paddock, enduring the chaos and noise just to be there for him. She cheered the loudest when he stood on the podium, comforted him when he didn’t, and never once complained about the toll it took on her own life.

Lando, however, struggled to do the same.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care. He did—deeply. But his jealousy over her partnership with Ethan was a wound that festered, growing more painful with each passing day. He hated the way Ethan’s name was always on her lips, the way she spent more time on the ice with him than she did at home with Lando.

He hated that Ethan got to see her in her element—the part of her life Lando could never truly understand.

The tension between them came to a head one evening when (Y/N) returned from practice later than usual. Lando was waiting for her, his arms crossed as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

“You’re late,” he said, his voice devoid of warmth.

“Practice ran over,” she replied, setting her bag down.

“With Ethan, I assume,” he added, his tone sharp.

(Y/N) sighed, already bracing herself for the argument she knew was coming. “Yes, Lando. With Ethan. Who else would it be?”

“That’s exactly the problem,” he snapped, pushing off the counter. “It’s always Ethan. You spend more time with him than you do with me.”

Her jaw tightened. “Lando, we’ve been over this. He’s my skating partner. That’s all.”

“And I’m supposed to just be okay with that?” he demanded. “You don’t see how weird this is? How it looks?”

She crossed her arms, frustration bubbling to the surface. “How it looks? Lando, this is my career. I’ve been skating with Ethan for years—long before I met you. Why is this suddenly a problem?”

“Because I see the way he looks at you,” Lando shot back. “Like you’re more than just his partner.”

(Y/N)’s heart sank at the accusation, her chest tightening. “That’s not fair. Ethan and I are teammates, nothing more. You’re my boyfriend. Why can’t you trust me?”

“It’s not you I don’t trust,” he admitted, his voice quieter but no less pained.

She stared at him, her tears threatening to spill. “Do you even realize how much I’ve sacrificed for you? How many races I’ve been to, how many times I’ve put you first? And now, when I need your support, all you can do is accuse me of things that aren’t even true?”

His expression faltered, guilt flickering in his eyes, but he didn’t apologize. Instead, he said, “Maybe I’m just tired of feeling like I’m coming second.”

The words hit her like a slap, leaving her speechless. She turned away, unable to look at him. “If you can’t handle my life, then maybe you shouldn’t be in it.”

For a moment, the room was silent. Then Lando grabbed his jacket, his movements abrupt.

“Fine,” he said coldly. “Maybe I shouldn’t.”

The sound of the door slamming behind him echoed in the empty apartment, leaving her standing alone, her chest heaving as silent tears streamed down her face.

—

The day of the competition arrived, but (Y/N) felt hollow. The weight of Lando’s absence pressed heavily on her chest as she laced up her skates backstage. Ethan sat beside her, his presence steady and comforting.

“You ready?” he asked, his voice calm.

She nodded, though her hands trembled as she tied the final knot. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

The arena was packed, the cheers of the crowd echoing off the high ceilings as they stepped onto the ice. She scanned the stands instinctively, half-hoping to see Lando’s familiar face. But he wasn’t there.

The music began, and she forced herself to focus, moving through the opening steps with precision. But her mind betrayed her, Lando’s words echoing in her head. “Maybe I’m just tired of feeling like I’m coming second.”

Her foot slipped slightly during a turn, the mistake small but glaring to her trained eye. Ethan caught her immediately, his grip firm as he whispered, “I’ve got you.”

They continued, but the mistakes kept coming—hesitant steps, uneven spins, moments of faltering confidence. Each one felt like another crack in her resolve, the tears she’d been holding back threatening to spill.

By the time the routine ended, her face was damp with tears. Ethan kept her close as they bowed, his hand squeezing hers in silent reassurance.

Backstage, (Y/N) sank onto a bench, her head in her hands as the adrenaline faded. Ethan sat beside her, his voice soft as he said, “You did great.”

She shook her head, her voice breaking. “I messed up.”

“No one noticed,” he said firmly. “You were incredible.”

But his words did little to soothe the ache in her chest.

When she returned home that night, she found Lando sitting on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees. He looked up as she walked in, his eyes heavy with guilt.

“I saw your routine,” he said quietly. “You looked beautiful out there.”

Her chest tightened as she dropped her bag by the door. “But you weren’t there.”

“I didn’t think you’d want me there after the fight,” he admitted, his voice breaking.

Her tears spilled over as she stepped closer. “I always want you there, Lando. Even when we fight, even when I’m angry, I need you to be there. But tonight, you weren’t. And it broke me.”

He stood, reaching for her hands. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I let my jealousy get in the way, and I should have been there. You deserved better.”

She shook her head, her voice trembling. “Do you even realize how much I’ve given for you? And the one time I needed you, you weren’t there.”

His voice was thick with emotion as he said, “I know. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.”

She stepped back, the pain in her chest unbearable. “I don’t know if you can, Lando.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and final, as she turned away, leaving him standing alone in the quiet apartment.

⁴

an : leave comments please 😞😞 i love to read them, i feel important

[littleslaywrites]

joy to the world | spencer reid x bau!reader

summary: you surprise spencer with big news on christmas morning

word count: 1.1k

cw: fluff, pregnancy, mentions of birth control, JJ heavily featured (no jeid mentions)

The presents had all been opened, and you were sitting on the couch with Spencer in front of the fireplace. Crackles from the fire mixed with the sound of the radio playing Christmas music. You were dipping cookies you’d made the night before in a shared glass of milk. His arm is wrapped around your waist and your head is on his shoulder. 

You'd been anxious all day, waiting for the right time to give him his last gift. You knew he’d be excited, but you also knew it’d change your whole lives. 

It had been just over a week since you’d found out you were pregnant. JJ was the first to know, being the one who suggested it as a possibility. You’d been nauseous for a week, hardly having the appetite for anything. Any strong smell made it worse. JJ has suspected something was up, but what made her voice it to you was when you mentioned your period was late. It was a passing comment, but she pulled you aside, mid-case, insisting that you take a test. 

“Could you be pregnant?” she asked, whispering as to not alert the others in the local police office you were set up in. 

“I mean, I guess,” you said, trying to remember if you had missed a pill recently. You realized that, with your frequent time zone changes, you had probably mixed up times at some point. “Oh god, yeah, I could be.”

“What are you thinking?” JJ asked, sensing your nervousness. 

You had talked about having kids with Spencer, so you were sure he’d be excited, but you didn’t expect it to happen so soon. 

“I’m thinking a lot of things,” you respond. She grabs one of your hands, subtle enough to not draw attention. 

“We can find a drugstore tonight and get a test for you,” she says as the two of you are called back into the conference room. 

That night, you two gathered in your hotel room. The test sits face down on the bathroom counter, phone timer counting down. When the alarm goes off, you don’t move from where you’re sitting side-by-side on the floor. 

“Turn it over,” you tell JJ.

“Me?” she says. The two of you go back and forth on who has to turn it over, giggling like school girls. Your play argument ends with the decision that you’ll flip it together. 

“What do you want it to say?” she asks when both of you are standing in front of the test. 

“I think…” you hesitate for a second, considering the two possibilities. “I think I want it to be positive.”

You imagine your life with Spencer as a family, creating a new human that’s half him, half you. 

The two of you count down from 3, flipping it over, revealing the tiny words. 

Pregnant

“Oh my god,” you say, glancing over at JJ.

“Oh my god!” she says, grabbing you by the arms. “You’re going to be a mom!” She’s jumping up and down, almost more excited than you are. You’re standing there in shock as she pulls you into a bear hug.

Pulling back, she asks “How are you going to tell Spencer?”

That’s how you two came up with the idea to tell him on Christmas. JJ knew just as well as you did that Spencer would be overjoyed. You could hardly keep the secret from him, wanting to tell everyone you knew. Penelope knew something was up, catching onto the looks JJ gave you. It was torture not being able to tell her, wanting Spencer to find out before the rest of your team. It was almost impossible to have any secrets in an office full of profilers. 

“I’ve got something else for you,” you say as Spencer is cuddling you with the cookie tin on top of his legs. 

“What is it?” he says. 

You stand up, getting the small gift bag you had hidden inside your closet. “So, you know how you like to journal?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I got you one that you’ll be needing soon.”

You hand him the gift, sitting back down as your heart pounds inside your chest. 

He opens it, revealing a small book that says “First Time Dad’s Journal” on the front. 

You try to read Spencer’s eyes, shuffling through a range of emotions. “Are you…” he trails off, meeting your eyes. 

“Yeah,” you say smiling. He grabs your hands in disbelief. 

“Are you serious?” he says, borderline giddy.

“Completely serious.”

He pulls you close, holding you tight. When he pulls away, you see light tears brimming in his eyes. “This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.” He lightly kisses you, smiles breaking across both your faces. 

“Who knows?” he asks, keeping your hands locked inside his. 

“Just JJ. She was there when I found out, but I wanted you to know before everyone else.”

Spencer can’t stop smiling. His eyes are studying you, seeing you in a whole new way. “When will we tell them?”

“I guess we have to tell Hotch pretty soon. Once we tell Penelope, I’m sure everyone else will find out.” You both giggle, imagining how she’ll react. 

The moment settles, both of you slipping into the quiet of the evening. You find a place again at his side, him holding you even closer than before. 

“I want to be a good dad for you,” he says quietly, “for you both.”

“I know you will.” There’s no doubt in your mind. You’ve seen him with kids before. “You being worried shows that you care.”

He hums, hand finding your stomach. “I just don’t want to be like my father,” he says, almost whispering. 

“You won’t. You’re already nothing like him.” One of your hands goes to his hair, playing with it. You wish there was a way to make him know how perfect he’ll be as a father. He’ll know when the baby gets here, you think. 

Silence overtakes you, the both of you imagining your new future. You’d always planned on having children, but it felt more real than ever before. You can almost picture another set of legs running around the apartment. 

Your phone rings, breaking through the quiet. You answer it, Hotch on the other end apologizing for interrupting your holiday to inform you that you have a case. 

Getting ready to go, Spencer stops you in front of the bathroom mirror by hugging you from behind. 

“Please don’t get all overprotective,” you say.

“You know I can’t promise that.”

Spencer pulls you into one last kiss before you head to the office.

author's note: merry christmas to all of you that celebrate!

[avianyuh]

Introvert | Jeon Jungkook

Summary: Jungkook is an introvert. He enjoys seeing his friends, but he hates having to leave the house. When Jimin throws a birthday bash, Jungkook being one of his closest friends feels obligated to go. He has his whole night mapped out. He'll greet Jimin, eat some food and then leave once he's made small talk with the other guests. But when the party makes a detour and hits the club, Jungkook is plotting his escape route. Or at least he was until he met you.

word count: 2.8k

He didn’t like to go out much. Normally his friends had to drag him out of the house. He liked to do what any other person in their mid to late twenties enjoyed. He drank, he did karaoke, he enjoyed seeing his friends. But, he didn’t feel the need to do all of that outside of his house. Jungkook had quite the talent for making drinks, he had a karaoke system in his apartment. His place was the ultimate hangout. Normally his friends would agree and would end the night crashing on his couch after drinking, playing video games and just enjoying each other’s company. 

But tonight was different. It was his friend Jimin’s birthday and his friend had been arranging for everyone to be able to make it to his party the past few weeks. It would start at a restaurant and end in a club. Jungkook had initially tried to get out of it. He didn’t like parties that would have a lot of people he wasn't familiar with. He didn’t like how loud the music was to the point that he couldn’t hear himself think. He was drained after a half hour under the club lights, yelling in his friends ears because there was no other way to communicate with the blaring sound of 2000s Timbaland beats or Drake songs. 

To tell the truth, Jungkook was a bit introverted. He had his friends, and he did like hanging out with them. However, there were days where he was completely content with spending his time alone. Going to the gym, making himself something to eat, watching TV by himself. He never minded the silence. He knew he couldn’t be alone all of the time, which was exactly why he loved having his friends come over. He overall appreciated being able to be at his own apartment, in his own space and on his own terms. Out at a crowded restaurant or club, with not just his friends, but acquaintances of everyone else in his inner circle made him dread this upcoming Saturday night in particular. 

So when he arrived at the restaurant, he took a deep breath in and out before he approached the front door. He scanned the restaurant looking for his friend’s table. All Jungkook had been told was that it would be a mix of people tonight. Obviously the core friend group, but also some of Jimin’s coworkers, other people he knew and of course his brother. Jungkook had met Jimin’s brothers a few times, but other than him and his three other friends, he didn’t know anyone else he’d be spending the rest of the night with. Jungkook was content with his small friend group, he didn’t want to talk to anyone else or make new connections. He wasn’t anti-social, just not interested in the aimless chit chat that came along with these social gatherings.

He greeted Jimin, doing a quick “bro hug” and handing him over the birthday gift he had wrapped for him. He sat next to Jimin's brother and by the time the food had been ordered and eaten and small talk was made, Jungkook started to feel a little restless.  He wanted to go home but he knew it’d be rude to bail on his friend. So he sucked it up. 

Everyone piled into various taxis as they all became pumped to head to the club. Jungkook groaned as he got up from his chair and followed everyone outside. One of his other friends Namjoon came up behind him and put his arm around Jungkook’s shoulder. “Cheer up man, just a few more hours and you can go back to your cave.” He chuckled as he nudged Jungkook playfully. 

Jungkook rolled his eyes at Namjoon, allowing a small smile to overtake his features, knowing that Namjoon was just teasing him. But he was right, it would only be at worse, two more hours, then Jungkook was home free. 

By the time all of the taxi’s arrived at the club, it was around 10pm. Jungkook was starting to feel a little tired, but was trying to stay alert. It was a small, dark, dingey club on the corner of the street, with the only benefit being the low admission fee for the 30 people coming from the birthday dinner for Jimin. Everyone lined up, all excited and talking amongst themselves as everyone started to slowly make their way past the bouncer and into the club. The music was loud and could probably be heard from down the street. And just as Jungkook had anticipated, the club was completely dark and was blasting a Drake song as everyone danced or piled into various corners of the club. Groups of girls trying to yell whatever they had to say to each other as they huddled in the corner near the doors. Guys sitting in booths, laughing as they downed their drinks. Then couples dancing, and of course, men trying to become couples by shooting their shots at the women standing alone. 

Jungkook darted his eyes around the room, realizing that in the midst of him taking in his surroundings, he got separated from the rest of the group. He tried to look for a table or booth to retreat to. He would’ve stayed at the bar, but he wasn;t in the mood to be drinking so late considering that he had work in the morning. He moved quickly through the crowded club, looking for a place to sit and observe the crowd so he could look for his friends. And that’s where he saw a little stool near the far back. He made his way over and sat down, taking his phone out of his pocket so he could shoot his friends a text, asking where they were. 

He scrolled on his phone for a few minutes before he noticed a pair of black heels were now standing to the side of him. He looked up and noticed a girl, looking a bit out of place. She seemed nervous, and had her arms folded over her chest defensively. She was biting her bottom lip, which made her look not just nervous, but tense too. Her eyes were scanning the room, seemingly looking for something or someone. He debated if he should say anything to her. For all Jungkook knew, maybe she wanted to be alone? Or maybe she needed help…

Jungkook cleared his throat, trying to catch her attention. The music was loud where they were situated, but at least it wasn’t blaring thanks to the fact that they were at the back of the club. The girl looked down at him, surprised to see him. She must’ve not noticed his presence when she came over here. “I don’t mean to bother you, but you look a little nervous? Is everything okay?” Jungkook questioned. She stared at him for a few seconds before responding. 

“Um, yeah I’m good…” She looked down at her shoes and Jungkook nodded before going back on his phone. He didn’t believe her, but he didn’t want to pry considering the fact that they were strangers. He also didn’t want her to think he was another creep in a club who would hit on her when she looked vulnerable. But she caught his attention again when she started to speak, “You know what? Actually no, I’m not good at all.” Jungkook looked up in surprise at the sudden outburst coming from the stranger. 

“Oh…Uh, do you want to talk about it?” He asked, patting on the stool next to him so she could sit down. She murmured a quick thank you as she settled into the seat and turned to face him. 

“My friend had been begging me to go out with her to a club for weeks. I personally don’t necessarily like things like this. You know, clubs, parties, anything claustrophobic and overly social. I get so nervous and then because I’m nervous I get exhausted and by the time I get home from a party I feel like I ran a marathon. It’s just too much socializing.” She rambled on and Jungkook took notice of her eyes. How they went back and forth between looking at him, giving him her full attention, to then darting up at the ceiling. This would repeat over and over and he found it quite cute. 

“I get what you mean, I like staying home.” Jungkook interjected, which in turn made her feel validated. 

“Oh my god, someone gets it! I knew you looked trustworthy.” She cheered before going back to her story. “Anyways, my friend finally got me to agree to come here with her tonight. We got here a half hour ago. She spent a total of five minutes by my side before she took off with some random guy she met while at the bar. She won’t pick up her phone and she was my ride home. I’m just so angry, I would never have left her for a guy…I know I have to call a cab. The thing is, I just hate taking cabs alone, especially at night. This whole night was a mistake.” By now, the girl seemed to have tears in her eyes and Jungkook felt his heart start to ache at the site.  Jungkook shook his head in disappointment over what he was hearing. He felt bad for this girl. She went out of her comfort zone for her friend, who in turn abandoned her. 

“Do you want me to wait outside with you if you call a cab? Or maybe I can take the same one as you and you can get dropped off first?” Jungkook proposed which in turn allowed her to lift her head up from her hands and produce a small smile that painted her lips quite nicely.  

“Would you do that? Thank you so much!" She sniffled as she gave him a tight squeeze which caught Jungkook off guard. He didn’t meet a lot of affectionate strangers. She seemed to notice how he became tense and pulled away quickly while giggling. “Sorry, I had a drink and I’m an emotional drunk.” Jungkook smiled at her as he stood up, holding out his hand for her. 

“So what’s your name?” Jungkook said as he pulled out his phone again to call for a cab. 

“Y/N, and what about you?” She responded back, tilting her head slightly as she waited for his answer. 

“Jungkook.” He answered shortly. They made their way out of the club, with Jungkook completely forgetting about his friends by now. However, in Jungkook's defense, he wasn’t ditching them considering he was in a party of about 30 people. He was sure Jimin wouldn’t take it too personally that he’d left a little early, that is if he would notice Jungkook’s absence at all. 

“Did you come here with anyone?” Y/N questioned as they leaned against the wall outside. Jungkook nodded. 

“Yeah, I came here for a birthday party for a friend, but these big crowds aren’t really my thing. But I guess I’m glad I showed up because I was able to meet you and help you out.” Y/N smiled up at him, and she squeezed up against him as they maneuvered their way through the crowd. They were silent until they finally made it outside.

“Stop, you’re making me blush, I think it’s because I’m tipsy. Most guys I talk to are such assholes, I can't believe you're being so nice", she explained with a grin on her face as Jungkook laughed at her. 

“How much did you drink?” He raised an eyebrow as he looked down at her. She looked upwards as she seemed to be thinking about it. 

“I don’t know, a few sips of a vodka soda I think…” Upon hearing that, Jungkook was in hysterics as he kneeled over. “What!” She exclaimed, slapping his arm playfully. 

“You don’t get drunk off of a few sips. Maybe tipsy. You’re just saying you're drunk as an excuse to hide your blushing and all your touchy feely hugs.” Y/N gasped at the accusation which in turn made Jungkook laugh again. 

“Shut up! We just met and you’re trying to read me for filth. For shame Jungkook.” She teased and folded her arms over her chest again, this time putting on a fake angry face. Jungkook wiped the tears from his eyes before shaking his head in disbelief. 

“Well all jokes aside, you need to ditch that sad excuse of a friend. That was a shitty thing she did to you.” Y/N tsked and nodded in agreement. 

“I know, it just sucks because we’ve been friends for three years, I thought we were best friends. But you’re right, it was a shitty thing to do. Look-” She pulled out her phone and showed him her text exchange with her friend. “By now it’s been an hour and I’ve gotten no response. I called her, texted her and left three voicemails. And when we walked out, I was looking around for her and I couldn’t see her anywhere. I was hoping she might’ve still been in there, that maybe it was a misunderstanding but not that we’re standing out here…I don’t see her car. She definitely left without me.” She started to get teary eyed again and Jungkook sprang into action immediately. The last thing he wanted to see was her crying. 

“You lost a deadbeat friend, but you gained a new one” He joked as he lifted her chin since her head was lowered, looking at her shoes again, letting tears fall. She chuckled at his joke as she wiped her eyes. 

“Thank you Jungkook, you were really kind. I’m glad I met you tonight.” She praised as she looked up at him. 

“Yeah…me too.” Jungkook said genuinely, still holding her chin up. There was something about Y/N. He found it fascinating how someone who from all accounts sounded like an introvert, could be so open with a complete stranger. But what was even more baffling was the fact that Jungkook found himself joking around with her like they were old friends or something. He just felt comfortable around her. The moment was interrupted as the cab pulled up. Jungkook snapped out of it by clearing his throat and opened the car door for her. They both slid into the cab and Jungkook asked for her address. 

“Uh, there’ll be two stops tonight.” He gave Y/N’s address, then his own. He noticed how she seemed to tense up in the cab again. But they continued to talk to each other and joke around. Jungkook told Y/N all about his friend’s birthday party. About how he also wasn’t too keen on big gatherings and outings. Then they asked each other some questions about their backgrounds. That’s how they came to the revelation that they were from the same city. 

By the time the cab stopped in front of Y/N’s apartment, Jungkook felt a little disappointed at how short the ride felt. Y/N shyly asked the driver how much her total was, but Jungkook shooed her money away and told the driver that he’d be paying for both rides. Y/N protested. 

“No, no Jungkook, let me pay for this. You’ve done more than enough.” She pleaded as she put her hand on his. He swallowed hard as he looked down at the hands. Jungkook had to think of something fast. He knew that he wanted to see her again, but wondered how to ask for her number without sounding desperate. Who wasn’t sure if she was interested at all, maybe she was truly just a warm person who enjoyed to hug strangers? Maybe she was already in a relationship and just hadn’t mentioned it? Jungkook couldn’t help but think of all of the reasons he shouldn’t ask for her number. Rationalizing that maybe this girl was too good to be true. But before he could even make up his mind, it seemed like Y/N had done it for him. 

“Ugh, fine, If you insist. But at least let me get your number so I can track you down and pay you back.” Jungkook grinned, his eyes wide and eager as he immediately started reciting his phone number. “Slow down, slow down!”, she giggled as she typed it into her phone. She sent a Hi over text and finally got out of the car. She gave her thanks to the driver again before leaning back into the car, which had the window rolled down and planted a kiss on Jungkook’s cheek. “Thank you so much for everything.” She whispered. 

“No, thank you.” Jungkook responded back. She stepped aside as the cab pulled away. Jungkook watched her figure start to grow smaller as the distance between them became bigger. He leaned back in the seat once he couldn’t see her anymore. A permanent smirk on his face as he looked down at the text message on his phone. 

Just then he received an influx of messages from his friends, to which Jungkook quickly responded back to. He explained how he decided to leave early and that he had met someone. His friends teased him and some of the messages made him laugh. They texted back how they needed details later, to which he didn't respond back to.

By the time he got home, he spent the rest of the night texting Y/N. And by the next weekend, they had spent all of Saturday together, in his apartment of course. 

For Jungkook, the dreaded birthday party was one rare instance where he actually had fun going out and met someone special.

{A/N: Heyyyyy. Merry Christmas 🎄(if you celebrate it) since I'm posting this on Christmas Eve. I thought I'd write a fanfic to finish off 2024. I hope we all have a great 2025 and I look forward to writing even more stories! Thank you to everyone who's made my tumblr account grow this year, I loved all of the requests and sweet messages. As always, mwahhhhh💋}

[yoru-no-seiiki]

“Lie to me, cheat on me, I don’t care. Just do your job and all’s fair.”

— yandere! rent-a-boyfriend x apathetic! reader

tw/cw: no smut, but this account needs a revive so… reader is gender neutral but i hc them as a dommy mommy. more headcannony than a proper story.

You met him after he managed to con one of your friends at work. Posing as this suave, nice guy, who happened to lack the money to support himself. The one time your friend finally put trust in someone else, that was the time it was completely broken. Turned to ash and bones.

You remember the night your friend came to you, eyes red-rimmed and voice trembling as they recounted the whole ordeal. How he’d slipped into their life so seamlessly, with that charming smile and easy laugh, only to hollow them out from the inside. Every word he’d said was carefully crafted, every gesture perfectly calculated to lure them into a false sense of security. And when they finally realized the truth—when the money was gone and so was he—it wasn’t just their savings he’d taken. It was their ability to trust, to hope, to believe in people again.

And so you decided to take him for yourself.

You remember the look of relief, and then recognition before it settled into confusion with the slight hint of derision.

He was perfect.

“If you managed to fool them, then you’ll do a good job fooling my own parents.”

You needed him. He needed you. It was the perfect agreement. His confidence was alluring as it was powerful. The way he turned heads just by being in the room. And the sex? Simply amazing. I mean, if he managed to make your prude of a friend to buckle then it must’ve counted for something.

Sure, the look in their eyes when you brought him to work one day was horrific. But they’ll get over it you think.

After all, you’d made your choice, and you weren’t about to apologize for it. Maybe it was reckless, maybe even cruel, but there was something about him that kept you hooked. The way he carried himself, all charm and sharp edges, like he knew exactly how far he could push before breaking someone. It wasn’t love, not really, but it was magnetic, intoxicating. Besides, your friend would move on eventually—people always did— it was the natural course of things. You told yourself it wasn’t your responsibility to mend what he’d shattered, even if the shame clawed at you every time their gaze lingered, silent and accusing. You shrugged it off.

But then suddenly he began to act nice? You could feel the gradual loss of his impassivity. How he suddenly became interested in what you were doing, saying and most importantly disinterested in the money you gave him.

“Don’t you get it—? I - I can’t believe I’m even saying this myself - but I love you. I fell for you. And I don’t even know why—“

“Stop.” You pinched the bridge of your nose. A puff of moisture blows through the air as seasons passed and winter has arrived. Frustrated that the one thing you had over him was now seen as no longer valuable. But then realized . . . , “You know what? S’long as it makes the job easier for you.”

With the last smoke from your cigar, you press the tip of it to his nose. Ash, skin and snow collide.

You thought it was better for the both of you. He could have the so called love of his life, and you could spend a bit less trying to keep him tied to you as long as he was useful. However, what you needed from him wasn’t just love, it was strength, not this blubbering piece of mess that kept stuttering the moment you two were left alone.

He was turning weak. Pathetic. Something you didn’t need nor want in a partner.

Too bad he knew you too well. He knew that you were going to leave him behind. He knew that he only had moments to waste before all of this would be over.

So on Christmas Eve, he plans it all out. The meal, the lighting, the music.

He did what he always did best—he made those moments count. His words were sharp, like knives carefully aimed to slice through your resolve, each one designed to remind you why you’d stayed this long. He painted pictures of what you’d lose, of how lonely it would be without him, and how no one else could ever understand you the way he did. His smile was bittersweet, a mask for the desperation lurking underneath.

And it ends with a cheer,

all of this so that he could drug you.

And at last, with a kiss to your lips he mouthed, “Happy Holidays.”

[Author’s Note] Reader definitely comes from a Mafia family of sorts.

[tillsfan]

Why Till HAS to be alive.

hello everyone!! warning this is REALLY long (specifically as you get to the end). i hope you enjoy my in depth theorizing.

The flickering of his picture.

At the end of round 7, his picture lingers and flickers after Luka moves up the ranks. In all the previous rounds, the loser’s picture faded out before the winner moved up. People are saying this is a reach but I believe this is the most obvious hint. Vivinos’ details are always intentional and significant.

His earpiece falling out.

His earpiece falls out after he gets shot. We are shown that these earpieces detect the wearer’s heartbeat. They couldn’t detect his heartbeat disappearing because it fell out. Due to his picture lingering and then flickering, I assume the flickering was as his earpiece fell out.

When you think about it, why else would they show us this teaser image? This teaser pushed it into our faces that the earpieces are heart monitors. I think it’d be a little too coincidental that till’s earpiece fell out after this.

How he was shot.

The gunshots came from the audience. Meaning that where Till got shot, it didn’t go through his neck, and only grazed it.

This injury isn’t as fatal as Ivan’s and Sua’s. He also didn’t bleed out as he got shot, while Ivan and Sua bled out all over the floor.

This shows that his injury wasn’t bad enough to be fatal. He’s definitely severely hurt, as he coughed up blood, but he’s salvageable.

The way his body is lying.

Till’s arm went limp, yet his leg was still staying up. If you’re dead, you physically cannot support any part of your body. His leg would’ve fallen. I believe he DID pass out, though. I see people saying he’s pretending, and honestly I don’t believe he’s in the right headspace to think of faking he’s death. He’s tired, exhausted, he was clearly stressed throughout the round.

The fact that he’s still able to support his leg up shows that blood is still actively flowing through him. If he were dead, it’d be pretty much physically impossible for his leg to stay propped up, as blood would’ve stopped flowing.

Also the way he’s positioned to the audience, his leg is covering up where aliens would be able to see the injury, same with Mizi’s arm. This is definitely more of a stretch, just a detail I noticed

His All-In cover art.

In his cover, he has red tape over his neck. I think this is too significant and OUT as a detail to not mean anything. Although it’s on the opposite side of where he actually got shot, bandaging his neck in general seems too big of a detail. None of the other characters had a detail like this in their cover arts.

It could be said that he has the tape due to being a rebel, which made sense before Round 7. But if we used this logic, wouldn’t Hyuna have some significant detail in her cover art?

We also know that red equals rebellion in Alien Stage. It signifies fighting back. As I said before, this COULD be said because he’s a rebel, but I think he’d be fighting back despite his injury. It wasn’t a fatal wound.

His character is unfinished.

His death doesn’t make sense compared to the other characters that died. Ivan’s death was easier to accept because we knew his motives, his story. For the entirety of Alien Stage, he was the narrator in his and Till’s story. There wasn’t any mystery surrounding his character, so it made sense to kill him. Sua’s death was easier to accept because her death did something for the narrative, as her death started this chain of events and continued to haunt the narrative. We also eventually learned her true motives.

But Till’s death? It does nothing. You could say his death is to build Mizi’s character, but I think it’d make more sense if he LIVED for Mizi’s character. Her motivations would change, it’d be easier to move on from events if she had someone with shared trauma with her. In general, Till’s death makes no sense compared to the other deaths. He didn’t have any motivations at this point besides living. Sua and Ivan’s goals were fulfilled, which was protecting their loved ones. But Till’s wasn’t. His death is significantly different from the other dead contestants.

His story is also just.. not done at all. He was just beginning to develop as a character. Mizi grew after Sua’s death, her character developed significantly. Till didn’t develop as a character after Mizi’s disappearance, and he didn’t have the chance to develop after Ivan’s death, even though it was significant to him. We also got literally NOTHING from his POV besides around 2, which was just him adoring Mizi and a little peek at the abuse he’s endured. Also his death is just a waste in general—I don’t believe they’d tell his story AFTER he died. It just makes no sense to kill off his character after questions were just being raised.

How the creators are treating his ‘death’.

The way that Vivimeng are treating his ‘death’ feels so especially different to me. Ivan’s art after his death was a bittersweet art, and he was resting. he was okay with his death, and we were forced to accept that reality. Plus the "thank you for being the victim of my shallow emotions" comic. That concluded his story, we learned his motives and it was easier to accept he died after. But Till? We never got his POV on anything. We never got his final thoughts like we did Ivan and Sua. Till’s story was never told through his OWN eyes. Vivimeng are GATEKEEPING till's perspective like their life depends on it. My theory as to why? His character isn't over. His life isn't over, there's so much missing about him and the dots aren't connecting in the same way they have for the previous deaths

Till’s comic and art were happy. Bittersweet pieces. You knew there was a tinge of sadness, yet I can't help but feel these last till arts are pushing hope onto us. Ivan and Sua’s comics ended with their deaths, Till’s ended with 4nakt all together. it brings the theme of hope. Of love prevailing. I feel we can't look over the fact that Till’s comic is so vastly different than the others.

I should also note that they are going out of their way to hide details of his neck in all official arts after Round 7. He’ll have his branding hidden, or just straight up gone. Also in the recent official art of him, Ivan and Sua, his art is significantly different. He’s the only one facing away from us, the blood on him not visible, and his injury is also facing away from us. There’s a lack of branding on him as well. I feel this is the most obvious piece we’ve gotten signifying that he’s going to be alive, they’re deliberately hiding any way for us to see the aftermath of his injury. Unlike with Ivan and Sua, where they made their aftermath very obvious. (I would add images but I reached the image limit. Crying.)

TLDR, there’s too many details.

Vivinos excels too much at writing to fail his character like this. To kill him off as his story just started. I believe him finally being able to tell his own story instead of having others tell it for him will symbolize him breaking free. Breaking free from the restraints. From his status as a prisoner. I think this experience will further him as a character, and not truly end him.

[mistressmxggot]

Chapter 5- ✰ When I Picture You ✰

"𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝗯𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝘄𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴. 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻'𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝗽𝘂𝗿𝗴𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆, 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗛𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶𝘁 𝗱𝗲𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝘀𝗲."

Tags: Physical assault, imprisonment, manipulation

~The next day started that same as yesterday, you were scared, angry, and frustrated. Staying in bed for a while seemed like a good idea. You didn't want to get up, and you didnt want to face her.

The sound of knocking felt like a boulder hitting you in the head.

"What."

Quiet followed. The door peeked open, a woman's head poking in. She opened the door wider, slowly creeping into the room.

"Ms Medarda has sent me to assist you."

If you never had to hear that goddamn name again, you'd be beyond happy and content. The woman's steps grew closer,  her face coming into view. She was cute, a pair of square glasses sat on her button nose with a head of short, brown curls surrounding her round face. She smiled, placing a glass of water on the drawer to the right of you. You reluctantly sat up.

"When you have finished your breakfast, I will show you around."

You eyed her. What was Ambessa's angle with this girl? There was always something with her. She seemed nice enough.

"What's your name?"

She smiled. "My name is Vivian, but you may call me Viv."

You returned the smile and got out of bed.

"I will leave you to any private buisness. Please find me outside when you are finished."

With that she left the room, gently closing the door. Leaving this room felt like walking into another dimension. Out there, you were always on edge, waiting for Ambessa's next move. You were hungry, and you couldn't hide in here forever.

After finishing your hygiene and getting dressed, you met Vivian outside your door. On the walk to the dining room, you were constantly searching for Ambessa. Thank goodness she was elsewhere.

Vivian happily ate breakfast with you. She was good company, and she wasn't terrifying like Ambessa and Rictus were. When you both finished breakfast, she dragged you through the entire place. You saw Ambessa once, speaking to some person of importance. She gave you one glance, and nothing else.

The place was beautiful, but huge. You had to have seen ever item in existence in this place. You saw the throne room, the training area, multiple living areas and a dancing area with multiple poles. Had she made that for you? You wondered. There were only a couple rooms you couldn't go in. Her offices and two locked rooms. You didn't want to know what was behind those doors. It was none of your buisness, and you wanted to keep it that way. The library was by far your favorite. There were more books than any person needed, rows and rows of multiple genres. Lounge areas sat in different parts of the room. It seemed bigger than the entire Last Drop, maybe two of it combined. It was a brown room, sunken in and cozy. Reading every book possible in this room was the goal. The library was definitely the best room in the house.

A pause for lunch and more discovery before dinner. You saw her gardens, a large backyard that seemed to go for miles. Plants and flowers of every kind and of course multiple servants tending to them. The entire structure reflected Ms Medarda.

She was there at dinner with you. It passed by silent, and then she was gone again. You had fallen asleep that night thinking about her. You were always thinking about her.

This place wasn't too bad. You came to the library often, always getting caught in books. You read books about dragons and ways of war. You read classics and dramas. Viv was fun to be around. She was nice and a person of comfort. There was still a disconnect. There seemed to be alot of things she couldn't tell you. You understood, she was still Ambessa's servant.

You only saw Ambessa during dinner, which was usually silent. You had spoken a couple times. She would ask you if you were alright and if you were going to paint anytime soon. She actually genuinely seemed interested. Days passed, but night was always spent thinking. When night time came around, you had time to think about alot, unfortunately. She didn't force you to do anything you didn't want to do. She just...kept you. It confused you. What did she want?

You had heard noises coming from her room tonight. Surprisingly, these were the first noises you heard this past week and a half. You'd thought that she would be fucking like a rabbit. Covering your head with the pillow, you tried not to make out any words or sounds coming from the other room. She was so nasty. The warmth around around your head soon soothed you to sleep.

You woke up the next day, once again a glass of water left for you. You were annoyed today, not exactly sure why. Everything tipped off your attitude and you especially didn't want to see Ambessa. Viv was the only thing that calmed you down. She told you that Ambessa wanted you to buy something for yourself. You initially scoffed, but you wanted to get supplies for painting. She gave you some money and the two of you went to the town.

The town was nice. People were friendly, but your mind was elsewhere. All you seemed to think about was Ambessa. It didn't matter how many times Viv pulled you out of your thoughts to focus on something else. Your mind always drifted back to her.

The two of you returned a little before dinner. You passed Ambessa on the way to your room.

"What did you purchase?"

You looked up at her. "Just some art supplies."

"Is that all? No clothing or a personal item for you?"

"I didnt want to spend it all. I mean it was alot of money."

She let out a laugh.

"I suppose."

With a smile and a hm, she left you. That annoyed you. She was annoying. What did she mean I suppose? Was that not alot of money? You were just relieved she had gone. Her presence took so much energy from you.

You knew you had to talk to her and figure something out. Maybe you could offer her something. You needed to find a way home.

With a frustrated sigh, you returned to your room. Curled into the fetal position, you lay in your bed. Thoughts wandered to places you didn't want them too. You couldn't exactly figure out if you missed the brothel. You should miss it. You should miss Malik. You shouldn't be enjoying the things she gave to you. She was infuriating and so intelligent and intoxicating.

Stop it.

She was terrible and you hated her. You didn't.

This was purgatory. You wanted to hate her. You should. You should hate her and everything here. To be fair, life at the brothel wasn't great. Malik was...Malik. Zaun was your home. You assumed that's were you belonged. It didn't matter you had to sell your body and deal with Malik's abuse. Zaun was your home. Zaun was your-

"Supper is ready."

You heard Vivian's voice. A grimace crossed your face.

"Not hungry."

Vivian uncomfortably shifted on her feet. "Please. Ms Medarda awaits you."

You growled at her. "Viv.. Seriously please go away."

The door softly shut, leaving you alone again. You forced your mind to drift elsewhere. Maybe you should just leave, Malik would have to understand. Your eyes began to get heavy. They shot back open when you heard those heavy footsteps approaching your room. There was no knocking, you heard her just bust through the door. Anxiety covered your body.

"Why are you refusing to eat?"

You stayed under the covers.

"Not hungry."

She sighed loudly. "Come eat supper."

"I said I'm not hungry. Get out."

Her footsteps approached the bed. You quickly pulled the blanket off, shooting out of bed.

"Get away from me!"

She gave you a confused but stern look.

"You will eat. Address your feelings later."

Your eyebrows knotted in anger. She was beyond infuriating.

"I don't want to eat. I want to go home. Ask Malik to come get me or take me back. Something. Anything!"

She kept watching you. With wide strides, she approached. You backed up, hitting the drawer behind you. She grabbed you arm, pulling you aggressively towards her.

"What are you doing?!"

The pad of her thumb ran over the faded bruises on your arm. She sighed.

"Everything I have given you.." Her eyes met yours. "Everything I could give you, yet you still want to return to him."

Shame sat deep in you. "You don't know anything about me!" You yelled back at her, snatching your arm out of her grip. She let you.

Before you could think, your stomach and face were pressed into the bed. Ambessa bend her hard body over yours, forcing you further into the soft blankets. Her left hand pushed on your nape, her right binding yours behind your back. She leaned her head down to yours, lips brushing against your ear. Your face stuck to the furs, sweat clinging to your skin. Her hand started at the base of your scalp, working it's way down your spine. You shivered, cowering further into the bed. Ambessa tutted, letting out an exaggerated sigh.

"I think I know what your feeling. I am feeling it too. I know what you want, as do you."

You struggled under her hold, face red. "What are you talking about?! Get off of me!"

Your entire body was on edge, breath picking up. This was awful, your body responding in ways you didn't want it to.

"Get off! Get off!"

She pulled back. You layed there, your wet face still buried in the blankets.

"Come eat. I won't tell you again."

She began to make her way towards the door. You stood up. You were so angry, your entire body hot. You couldn't think. You weren't thinking. There was a half full glass of water still on the dresser.

Don't do this.

You grabbed the glass of water, launching it at her back. You had only realized what you had done when you heard the sharp shatter of the glass hitting the floor.

This was it. You were done. You thought about Malik and the brothel. About Viv and that amazing salad you had the first week. You thought about your father, God rest him. You thought about your apartment and that stray cat you saved from starving.

She would surely kill you for this. Would she give you a proper burial? Or would she throw your cold body into a ditch for wolves to eat at you? Your mouth became dry as you watched her slowly turn. First she had a blank face. Shock? Disbelief? You couldn't tell. Anger lit up in her eyes and you think you peed a little bit.

"I'm so sorry I didn't- I wasn't-"

She made her way towards you, faster than you wanted her to.

"Please I-"

Her hand grabbed your neck, the other pulling at you hair. You screamed, trying to kick and push away from her. She dragged you through the hallway.

"Rictus open the door!"

You panted, watching as she dragged you towards one of the forbidden doors. Oh god.  Rictus followed, holding a pair of keys. He opened the door, a long dark staircase waiting for you. You didn't want to know what was down there. She pulled you down the stairs. The blood drained out of your face. There, in a long hallway, were multiple cells. Rictus unlocked one, opening the door for Ambessa. She threw you in, your body sliding across the floor. She entered and grabbed your hair again, bringing her face close you yours.

"Perhaps I've been to lenient with you girl. So ungrateful. Should I just take what I want?"

You cried out. "Please no I'm sorry!"

She pushed your haed into the ground, standing up and swiftly leaving the cell. You heard the door slam shut and the sound of it locking you in. Her heavy footsteps dissapearing.

You lie there, tears burning your vision. Sobs echoed threw the cell. All the things she said ran through your head. She was wrong. She was just trying to manipulate you. She was wrong. Your sobs began to quiet, your eyes getting heavy. You were exhausted. Mentally and emotionally. Of course the cold, hard floor wasn't comfortable, but you were so tired. You didn't want to think about her anymore, you couldn't. You just wanted to sleep.

You were at the brothel. Her muscular body approached you, hips swaying seductively. Her lips were parted. Her heavy, lustful eyes never left yours.

"Show me."

Her thick voice rung in your ears. You obeyed, slowly slipping off your bra. She smiled, her eyes dropping to your breasts.

"So beautiful. Proceed."

You let out a weak whimper, slowly spreading your knees apart. Her eyes trailed down to your soaked cunt. Your white underwear now all see-through. She leaned down, running her large hands over your knees, then down your thighs. She gently pushed them together. You looked at her with pleading eyes. Ambessa slowly pulled down your underwear, tossing them to the side. Her breathing stopped as she spread your knees apart. Your entire face was red and hot, the warmth of her hands sending tingles to your groin. Your breath hitched in your throat. She leaned her head down, her eyes never leaving yours. You could feel wetness on your cheeks. This was more than you ever thought it would be. Her energy was too much, your body responding to ever part of her. You gasped as her gorgeous mouth met your cunt. She watched your head fall back. Her thick tongue petting your slit before sucking your clit into her mouth. You groaned loudly, thighs closing around her head. She didn't seem to mind. You could feel your orgasm climbing quickly, breath becoming sporadic. She sucked harder, moaning into your cunt. You moaned loudly, your climax taking over your entire body. She lifted her head, staring into your eyes. You two just looked at eachother for a while. Your face was wet and flush. "Come to me little lamb." You blinked at her.

Your eyes opened, back sore from the hard floor.

"Oh my god."

Your dream came back to you. Shame and regret bit at you. Looking down, you spread your thighs. Stickiness clung to your skin. You just had a wet fucking dream about Ambessa fucking Medarda after being thrown into a cold fucking jail cell. You had been wrong. You weren't in purgatory, you were in Hell and it definitely could get worse.~

You. Always. Masterlist

This chapter whooped my ass but it was fun to write 😭 Merry Christmas.

Lmk to be added.

Taglist: @maaaaaaaaaaari , @ivorydevil , @trizxyp , @ambessaswifey , @randomstuffthatdontmakesense , @simplyxwwww , @last-dropsevi

[harmonyrae]

A Not So Silent Night...

Merry Christmas, again! This is the NSFW continuation of A Christmas Kiss - things do be getting spicy on this Christmas night...

Synopsis: You surprised him with a Christmas office makeover. But the best decoration? The mistletoe. The angel is on the tree, the halls are decked, it's time for presents. And one present is... it won't be a silent night, that's for sure.

The crackles and pops of the fire and the sultry notes of Santa Baby drift through the air as Sylus kisses you once more. After placing the angel on the tree, he resumed kissing your neck. Gently at first, but an occasional bite nearly caused your knees to give out. Sylus, of course, noticed, but he didn’t tease or slow down. He spun you around and lifted you up, his arms tucked under your ass. He smiled up at you as he made his way to the couch.

“Do you want to continue?”

His question surprised you. He lowered you both on the couch, moving your legs to straddle him comfortably. You lock your fingers behind his neck, playing with the ends of his hair with your thumbs. You swear you had so many plans for today, but they all flew out the window when you hung that damn mistletoe. 

“I do have other presents for you. And I know you got me presents, the twins already tattled.” 

“I hope they don’t know about their presents then.”

“You got Luke and Kieran presents? That’s so sweet!”

“I got them muzzles cause they can’t keep their mouths closed.”

You clasp a hand over your mouth to stifle your giggles. The thought of the twins in muzzles to punish them for yapping too much is just too good. Come to think of it…

“Did you really get muzzles for them? Or are you joking?”

“Why? Did you want one for yourself?”

“Might be useful… for things…”

Sylus’s eyes darkened, the hint of a smirk on his lips. His gaze dropped to your lips and you couldn’t help but lick them. The idea of Sylus in a muzzle so he can’t sass you while you explore his body has made your mouth very dry all of a sudden. 

“Is that so?”

You smile, shifting your hips slightly. The subtle grind forces a groan out of Sylus, it takes you by surprise and you let out a breathy laugh. You trail your hands down his chest as his circle around and under your ass. He leans forward to capture your lips once more, but you lean back  suddenly. He glares at you.

“Something wrong?”

“No, nothing. I just…” You hesitate, you can feel the warmth in your cheeks.

“You just what, sweetie?”

“I’ve thought about this moment and I guess I had… thoughts? Plans?”

“Oh, you’ve thought about this, have you?”

“And that is why I want you in a muzzle.” 

Sylus lets out a laugh and tucks his arms under your ass once more, lifting you off the couch with ease. You wrap your arms around him, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

“Sylus…”

“Let’s get in those matching PJ sets and I’ll have the chef bring our dinner in here. We can open the presents after. How does that sound?”

“Damn, Luke and Kieran do need those muzzles. Those PJs were supposed to be a surprise!”

Sylus chuckles as he carries you out of his office to change. 

An hour later, you’re in your festive sleep set and sitting on the floor next to the coffee table. Sylus’s chef had prepared roast pork and your favorite potato dumplings. Sylus brought out one of the rarest wines in his collection and instructed the chef to bring the dessert and leave it on a cart outside the door. With that, Sylus sent him, and the everyone else on base, home early and you both settled in for the night.

“Do you like the pajamas I picked?”

Sylus glanced down at his pajama pants covered in candy canes. It came with a matching shirt, but Sylus opted to go shirtless for the evening. Damn him. You were already regretting the pajamas you had chosen - long pants and long sleeves? You were burning up from the inside out at this point next to the fire and Sylus sitting there looking, well, perfect.

“They’re very comfortable. I’m just glad you didn’t make me wear those reindeer antlers.”

“Luke and Kieran put those on voluntarily! They’re really embracing the holiday spirit. It’s cute.”

Sylus nods before sipping his wine.

“They’ve never celebrated the holiday. Even before finding me.”

“Then I’m glad they’re having fun. You should take a page from their book. You’d look adorable in antlers!”

“Do I not look adorable already?”

Your cheeks flush and you sit up on your knees to stand before Sylus can make another joke. You gather the presents from under the tree. Sylus had brought in a few boxes while you were taking off your makeup. You were shocked at how many boxes there were now.

“Sylus.”

“Hmm?”

“Please tell me these aren’t all for me.”

“And if they are?”

“Sylus!”

“I won’t apologize for spoiling you. Especially during a holiday you love so much.”

You can’t argue with him there. You finish hauling the boxes over to the coffee table as Sylus clears the dishes and takes the cart back into the hallway. There’s one gift you are terrified to give him and no matter how perfect this day has been, you can’t convince yourself to give it yet. You quickly stuff it under the couch next to you before Sylus comes back in the room. Maybe later? 

“Okay, who goes first? Or should we go back and forth?”

“This is your holiday, sweetie. It’s your call.”

You pick up a small box from his pile and hand it to him before picking up one from your own. You’re careful not to shake it, no matter how tempting. 

“We open at the same time, okay?”

He nods. He starts peeling the sparkly green paper off the box. The golden wrapping paper on all of your gifts feels fancy and it’s wrapped so perfectly. It almost feels like a crime to tear it off, but it doesn’t stop you from shredding it like you are a kid again.

Your stomach flips when you see the tiny box, it’s a ring box. You had wanted to take the next step, but this is several steps… You slowly open the box, holding your breath. The ring inside isn’t an engagement ring, and you almost laugh at the fact you thought Sylus would propose like this. Or that he’d propose at all after a few months of dating. 

The ring is a tiny ruby on a silver band, but there are cat ears attached and accent stones making them shine in the firelight. A tiny cat ring with a bright ruby gem. It had to be custom made and it fit perfectly on your middle finger. 

“Is it a little too on the nose?”

You’re about to make a joke, but when you see his brows pinched and his ears nearly glowing red, you hold your tongue. You realize he’s nervous.

“It’s adorable. I mean it.” You slip the ring on and hold your hand out to examine it. You look over to see Sylus smiling while he fiddles with the unwrapped box in his hands. “Your turn, open it!”

Sylus returns his focus to the box in his hands. He opens the box and pulls out a book. He takes a moment to read the cover, but a smile crosses his face before he can say a word. 

“A book about history's most notorious criminal masterminds?”

“From Al Capone to Jack the Ripper and it even covers the legend of that guy from Philos who started the illegal protocore trade.”

“I look forward to reading it, thank you.” 

Your cheeks hurt from smiling, his approval of his gifts mean more to you than you realized. You turn to pick up the next two gifts. Neither of you hesitate to start opening the boxes now. Yours is a bit larger and you gasp when you see the brand on the heavy wooden case. 

“Hero Leather Works? Sylus!”

You open the box to reveal a brand new custom holster. The deep chocolate leather and shining golden buckles take your breath away.

“You mentioned your holster was getting old.”

“You remembered? I said that nearly 3 months ago!”

“And you still haven’t replaced it. So I called in a favor.”

“With the most famous leather artisan in Linkon? They’ve been booked for months!”

“Like I said, Hero owed me a favor. And you needed a holster.”

You drop your gaze and hold the holster in your hands, stroking the leather slowly. Tears build up in your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. Without looking up you urge Sylus to open his present.

“Okay, okay, your turn.”

He opens the bag and tosses the tissue paper over his shoulder onto the sofa. He stares into the bag, he chuckles under his breath. He finally pulls out two plushies. A dove and a crow, connected at the wings, their heads turned toward each other so their beaks touched. 

“I got it custom made from the same company that made the big crow plushie you got for me. This one is a bit smaller, since I know you’re not a huge fan of plushies. I just thought –”

Sylus leans over and kisses you, effectively shutting you up. He pulls back and rests his forehead against yours. 

“I take it the crow is me and the dove is you?”

You smile and he pulls back to kiss your forehead. 

“I love it. It’ll have a permanent spot on my desk.” 

The tears you fought off a few minutes ago threaten to fall once more. You clear your throat.

“How about you pick the present we open next?”

“Now that is a good idea. I was wondering when I’d have a chance to ask about the box you stuffed under the couch, guess I won’t have to.”

You stop breathing. Your heart pounds in your ears. How had he seen you do that?

“Oh I just…”

He reaches past you and pulls the box from under the couch, setting it on the table in front of him. You’re tempted to grab it and chuck it in the fire, but you can’t seem to move. Is this what they mean by “frozen in fear”? Sylus lifts a small slender box from your pile and sets it before you before leaning back on the couch and holding his present up to examine. 

“Why would you hide this one in particular? How curious.” 

You shake your head trying to pull yourself out of this paralysis. 

“I wasn’t hiding it, it must have just slipped under there by accident.”

“Kitten, I always know when you’re lying.”

You glare at him.

“How?”

“Oh no no no. I’m not revealing that. It’s too much fun watching you try to wiggle your way out.”

You sigh and cross your arms in defeat. Your heart is racing so fast your chest hurts. How could you have been so confident and sure when you bought it, but now you are convinced you are going to ruin everything? Sylus pushes your present closer to you.

“Open.”

You take in a ragged breath. You tear off the red satin ribbon and tear off the gold paper to reveal a long slender velvet box, much like the ring box. You tentatively open it and gasp when you see its contents.

A silver chain necklace holds a delicate silver charm in the shape of an elegant dragon. Its tail wraps around the ruby heart shaped stone while its wings curve inwards to secure the sides. The head rests on the gem, its eyes two smaller rubies. You find yourself captivated by the charm, your hands tremble slightly and a tear spills over.

Sylus reaches out and wipes away the tear with his thumb. He shifts closer to you, placing an arm around your shoulder. He doesn’t speak, he just holds you and lets you take in the gift. A gift you didn’t understand, but loved instantly. You finally turn to face him.

“It’s beautiful.” 

“Would you like to put it on?”

You almost blurt out yes, but your eye catches on Sylus’s gift, still sitting on the table. Your stomach flips and you feel heat spread from your chest to your center. The only thing you can think of is that gift and this one. 

“I would, but only after you open your gift.”

Sylus squints at you, but doesn’t argue. He pulls the gift over and starts to peel the paper away. He is purposefully going as slow as possible, he can feel how nervous you are. He is enjoying this way too much. You lean over and press your mouth to his ear.

“If you keep teasing me, you won’t get to see me wear it.”

You feel his body tense, his jaw clenches. You place a soft kiss on his cheek and lean back. The nerves you were feeling earlier vanish. If he could tease you, you could tease him. He picks up the pace and finally reaches the thin box. As he opens the lid, you watch his face. His eyes widen, his breathing quickens, a blush spreads across his cheeks and down to his chest. He sets the box on his lap and pulls out the contents.

His fingers trace the thin red lace of the bralette. Tiny red hearts adorn the sheer fabric, but not nearly enough to hide anything. The matching red lace thong follows, the ribbons at the hips tie together to secure it to the body. A matching garter and red lace robe lay at the back of the box. You can help but smile as you look down at the necklace you still hold in your hand. The red matches the ruby perfectly.

“So you hid this present because you changed your mind?”

His voice is gruff and breathy. You almost jump up to straddle him at that very moment. His words are full of doubt, but his voice is full of desire. You dare to shift closer to him, lifting your hand to pull his chin in your direction.

“I was worried you wouldn’t want to go there yet. But I never changed my mind.”

His eyes drop down to your lips, then down to your neck and chest. You drop your hand to his chest and feel his heart racing. He lets out a shaky breath before returning his gaze to the box on his lap. He returns the contents and closes the lid. He turns to you, the box directly between you both. That familiar smirk returns.

“Change. Now.”

You place the necklace back in its box and close it. You hold it out next to the box he holds.

“But first, put this on me.”

He doesn’t hesitate. He takes the box, removes the necklace and unclasps the hook. You reach to pull your hair up and he wraps his arms around your neck to secure the necklace. The cold metal almost stings against your hot skin. Sylus reaches down to straighten the charm, allowing his fingers to linger on the exposed skin of your chest.

“Hurry.”

You stand and calmly walk out of the room, but as soon as you reach the hall you are a fumbling mess. You damn near skip down the hall to the nearest room. You slip into the bathroom and stare at yourself in the mirror. Is this really happening? Are you about to put on sexy lingerie and parade around his office like you’re a present to be unwrapped? Oh god you hope so.

You strip out of your festive pajamas and freshen yourself up a bit before slipping on the silky two piece. You’ve never been one to love or hate your body, but as you look in the mirror now, you can’t help but feel unbelievably sexy. The red is bright, the ribbons delicate, your skin soft, your nipples hard and the butterflies in your stomach are making it hard to breathe. You slide the garter up your thigh and drape the robe over your shoulders, not bothering to tie it. You gently open the bathroom door and look both ways up and down the hallway. You know Sylus sent everyone home early for the holiday, including Luke & Kieran, but you were not used to walking around wearing so little, especially here.

You speed walk to the office and pause before placing a hand on the handle. Would he like what he sees? Would you be enough for him? Would you satisfy him? Would he still want you to take the lead or would he take control? What if you couldn’t get there? Would that make him feel bad? What if you can’t get him there?

You take a deep breath, you knew you were being ridiculous. The way he kissed you earlier? He wants this. God, he wants this. Memories of your kiss flood your mind and you press a hand to your chest trying to slow your breathing. Open the door. You just need to open the door. Everything else will come naturally. So you do it. You open the door.

Most of the lights have been turned off, the glow of the fireplace and the candles around the room cast dancing shadows against the walls. Sylus leans against his desk with a glass of whiskey, facing the door. He glances up at you as you slowly make your way towards him. He drinks you in, his eyes barely knowing where to look first. They linger on your chest before lowering to your nearly completely revealed cunt. He nearly breaks the glass when he sets it on his desk with a clink. 

You stand in front of him, his eyes now locked on yours. He slowly lifts his hands to your shoulders, stroking the sheer fabric. He tugs at the fabric and pulls it over your shoulders, you let it fall away and onto the floor. His hands return and finally glide over your skin. Chills spread over your arms at his touch. His fingers glide down your arms to your hands, he pulls you closer to him placing your hands on his hips. 

“If you had taken any longer, I would have come looking for you.”

You laugh and gently squeeze his hips, his fingers trailing up and down your arms.

“Maybe we’ll play hide and seek later?”

Sylus laughs, it’s not his usual laugh - it is darker, you feel electricity flicker across your skin. He moves his hands down to your bare waist and you nearly moan. His hands on your skin feels even better than you imagined. 

“I doubt I’ll be letting you out of my sight the rest of the night, sweetie.”

And before you could say another word, he leans down and presses his lips to your neck. His hands circle around your waist and pull you to him, your hardened nipples press against his chest. You let out a breathy moan, your hands grasping onto his shoulders. He reaches down and tucks his hands under your ass, pulling your lower half directly to him, his thigh settling between your legs. He slowly shifts his leg, the friction just enough to make you painfully aware of how wet you are.

“Sy…”

He grunts against your neck before straightening and swiftly turning you both around. He lifts you and places you on his desk before spreading your legs and slotting himself between them. You feel his erection now, pressing against your stomach. God, he’s big. Your mind goes blank as his lips meet yours again and his hands move your arms up and around his shoulders.

He grinds against you, letting you feel him. You are thanking every deity that Sylus is the one taking control because your brain is short circuiting. Your skin feels like it’s on fire, your core is so tight like you did countless sit ups, what is this man doing to you? 

His mouth has moved from yours to your neck and down your chest. You tilt your head back and close your eyes, trying to make breathing your only priority. His fingers trace the lace of your bra from the back to the front. The throbbing between your legs is getting so intense you barely register that he has pulled one of the straps of your bra down exposing your breast. His lips close around your nipple and you gasp. He keeps a hand on your back, giving you the resistance you need to arch and press your chest into his mouth. His other hand squeezes your breast, peaking your nipple and making it easier for him to suckle. He gently bites down and you moan loudly. No one has made you moan just from nipple play, but you realize now, it doesn’t matter what Sylus does, you’d be moaning for him.

He unclasps the bra with his hand at your back and pulls the straps down your arms. He tosses it to his desk chair before diving down to give your other breast the same treatment. Your hands thread through his hair and down his back. You’ve started grinding against him now, desperate for more. He finally reaches a hand down to run a finger along the fabric over your entrance. As soon as he feels the wetness he releases your breast with a loud pop and meets your eyes.

“Already soaking through your present?”

You glare at him, but he presses his fingers firmly against the fabric leaving you gasping. You nod frantically trying to get him to stop teasing.

“We should get those off before you ruin them.”

As he says this, he tugs at the ribbons on the sides. The fabric falls away and settles onto the desk. He wraps an arm around you, lifting you off the desk leaving your panties behind. He bends to pick you up properly and you wrap your legs around him. He lets out a soft whimper when he feels your bare cunt against his stomach. That sound alone nearly made you come. 

He lowers you down onto a soft blanket in front of the fireplace. He places kisses all over your face, your neck, your chest. He starts lowering himself to your stomach and when he places a kiss to your hip you finally register his intentions. 

“Sy, wait –”

“Shh…”

You look down at him and see his eyes sparkle in the firelight before he lowers his mouth onto your throbbing clit. The sight was intoxicating enough, but the feeling of his tongue lapping at your swollen clit over and over before sucking it into his mouth was euphoric. He pressed his tongue against your entrance, his nose pressing perfectly against your clit. You arch your back and feel your hips twitch with need. 

“Sy… Sylus… I need… I need more– oh god…”

The rumble of his response against you sent your hips thrusting upwards. He tucked his hands under your ass, giving you the leverage to continue the movement. He finally pressed his tongue into you, swirling against your walls, his nose massaging your clit. And every time you grind yourself against his face, his grunt of approval sent vibrations up your spine making your legs shake. 

You had no time to warn him, the pressure built and spilled over so rapidly you would feel embarrassed if you weren’t so deliriously happy. You hear him groan and his hands knead your ass as he takes everything you gave him. When he lifts his head, his face is coated in your arousal, a love drunk expression painted on his face. You smile and giggle at the sight.

“Sorry I couldn’t warn you…”

He gets onto his hands and knees crawling back on top of you. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Always keeping me on my toes.”

He nuzzles his face into your neck. You let your hands drift down his chest. You wanted to feel him, to see him, to not be the only one exposed. Your fingers trace the hem of his pajama pants. He lifts his head to stare down at you.

“Already wanting more?”

“From you? Always?”

Your quick reply surprised even you. But you weren’t lying, “always” was the right word. Being with him made you happy and horny and peaceful and daring. His eyes dropped to the necklace, the charm still cool against your skin. Sylus runs a finger over the charm, a small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. You wanted to ask why a dragon, but you also didn’t feel like you needed to - it just felt right. You pressed your fingers against the hem harder, pushing the fabric down to his hips. 

He looks into your eyes as he pushes himself up to his knees. He tucks his thumbs into the hem of his pants and boxers and pulls them down letting his cock spring forward. He tosses the clothes onto the couch before returning his gaze to yours. You felt your chest tighten, he was big, but not scary big. You’d always wondered what you’d do if he was too big - like in those trashy romance novels. 

He lowered himself over you once more. His tip grazes your inner thigh making you spread your legs wider on instinct. He looks down to see you spread yourself for him and he lets out a soft moan. 

“Stop that.” You breathe.

He looks at you, his brow raised in surprise. You reach up and pull him down on top of you. You nearly swallow his tongue once he parts his lips. All the fear and nerves from earlier are long done, you needed him inside you. Now.

You reach a hand down and wrap it around the base of his cock. His breath catches and he pulls back to look down at you holding him. You stroke him gently, building intensity based on his breathing. He sinks his head into your neck as you continue to pump him. When he starts placing messy kisses to your collarbone and those soft moans start slipping out one after the other, you line him up with your entrance.

When he feels his tip press against your folds, he pulls back and looks down at you.

“Are you… on the… pill? Do I –”

“I’m on the pill, I want you – god, I want you inside me Sy. Right fucking now. Please…”

Hearing the urgency in your tone, he reaches down and moves your hand away. He presses his tip further into your entrance, your arousal making it easy to initially slide through. You feel his breath against your ear.

“I won’t take it easy on y– you kitten. Remember you asked – fuck… you asked for this.” 

You dig your nails into his back as your chest heaves, your chest brushing against his with every breath.

“Fuck yes…”

At your response, he sinks himself into you. Not too fast, but he doesn’t slow down, he doesn’t take breaks to let you adjust. You feel the delicious stretch and cry out, letting your nails drag across his back. You feel his muscles ripple in response. His pelvis now pressed against yours, his cock twitching as your walls squeeze him. 

He lets out a deep groan before he pulls back and starts thrusting into you, slow and deep. You lock your ankles around his waist. His movements pick up pace, you hear the slapping of skin against skin. Your chest burns, tears spill from the corners of your eyes, pressure builds once again, but you’re determined to ride this high as long as he lets you.

The way Sylus moans is unexpected. It’s needy, but he meets those needs himself. It’s like he knows how badly he needs you and he has no doubt he’ll get what he desires. You know if you were in control he would be desperate, but how your body is responding to his has proven to him that you will never deny him. Even if you tried, you would give in eventually. 

You curl your fingers into his hair and hold him against you as his thrusts turn savage. He’s hitting that spot that makes you see stars with every brutal thrust. Your moans turned to grunts and then screams of ecstasy. His moans have been replaced by soft whimpers of your name in your ear. Your heart flutters, his desire has taken over and the only thing he can say is just your name. 

His whimpers stop suddenly, his breathing shakes, you know he’s close. You start thrusting your hips upward and before long he is coming, hot and fast. Your second release of the night is almost immediate once you feel his body shake and his lips find yours again. You whimper and moan into each other's mouths as you ride out your high together. 

The crackle of the fire and the soft Christmas music slowly comes back into focus. He rests his forehead against yours, keeping himself tucked inside your warmth. You unhook your ankles and let your legs fall open. He sinks down to his elbows, your chests pressed against each other.

“I think I might like Christmas.” He sighs contentedly. 

You giggle and press a kiss to his cheek. 

“Merry Christmas, my love.” 

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @cordidy

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

a/n: this is honestly a hot ass mess, and more like an info dump with some loose plot on the side. it's also ridiculously long because i have been wanting to write about this for so long, but i was lowkey too scared too. i also want to say that i don't condone the reader's actions, mean girls aren't cute nor are they funny, it's just for the morally gray plot 😭

i literally cannot stop thinking about what if Spencer Reid had a childhood best friend that was a mean girl.

realistically, i'm aware that spencer looks down on people like that, but for the sake of this au, imagine if the both of you grew up together, and you protected him from bullies and whatnot.

of course you're not a moral person, you're mean and you have a wicked tongue, and you're all around not nice, but spencer loves you.

i'm imagining a typical LA valley girl; that once you both get older, your clothing gets sluttier and you get meaner, while he gets nerdier.

your dynamic i imagine would be a really loose adaptation of the 'mean to everyone else but you' trope.

it's kind of funny to an outsider looking in, because you feel the need to protect your boy genius from people like you.

spencer helps to reel in the bitchy tendencies in you, because you typically lose your cool fast and say whatever's on your mind, which usually comes at a cost of the other person's feelings.

when you guys were younger, he was definitely scared of you.

though you were this chunky girl that should have been bullied right along with him, you were downright worse than what he had to deal with.

the poor boy nearly shit himself when you sat with him at lunch the day after you had saved him from getting his ass kicked.

he was too nervous to say anything, and you've never left him alone since.

now that spencer's older, he figures that your friendship kind of tracks; he always did attract trouble.

the strange part about it was that, yes, you were snappy, but you had never purposely tried to hurt his feelings.

he knows how you get, especially when you go on your tangents or if your buttons had been repeatedly pushed.

you lash out and say things you don't mean, then slink back into his arms with that charming pout on your face, and an apology thick on the tip of your tongue.

spencer sometimes forgets that people kind of fear you because you're sweet on him.

like let's be honest, you're a judgy bitch. no one likes those.

so when he's exposed to that side of you, he gets whiplash.

you took well to the team though, and i only think that's because you can tell how much they mattered to him.

your main thing had always been to try and defend him against people that have ill intentions.

so when see the sheer amount of camaraderie and familial energy that surrounds all of them, you ease up.

but not when they cut him off. that's when you get ugly.

you guys were in separate grades due to spencer jumping ahead, but you still hung out on a daily basis, you had heard his statistical chattering for the majority of your life.

so, you knew it was something he found pleasure in doing, and you'd be damned if someone upset him.

you really did try and bite your tongue! but sometimes morgan's ego was too big for his body, or maybe jj gave him one too many looks for your liking.

luckily spencer can catch the cat-fight bubbling in you from a mile away; he can see the way your eyes narrow first, a disbelieving smile on your face while your exceptionally done nails tap on the nearest surface in irritation.

have you ever seen a cat when its hair stands up on the back of its neck? yeah, that's you.

all it takes is a warm hand on your naked thigh and a small shake of his head to make you huff and cross your arms, the clinking of your bangle bracelets moving along with you.

of course he'll hear all about it on the ride home.

spencer's feelings for you had always been there, but there was a difference between you being his best friend and his lover.

and honestly? that grade school intimidation that he had felt would came back.

because at the end of the day you were you, and he was him.

it was a ridiculous thought, one that you had dismissed when you had confessed to him yourself.

"do you like me back or not, spence?" you had asked out of the blue one day. "because you keep looking at me and not doing anything about it. It's kind of pissing me off."

his wide, shocked eyes met yours, practically tearing his gaze away from the book he had been engrossed in.

"i... do."

"do what?"

"yes, i do like you back."

"good."

dating wasn't all that different than being your friend, he had come to realize.

the only thing that was different was that you were sweeter than ever.

always complimenting him and buying him shit, posting him all over your social media, and even making him your lock screen.

you were so proud to be his partner, that he had forgotten what being loved out loud had felt like.

your relationship came as a shock to no one, of course.

y'all are the epitome opposites attract.

your skimp wear compared to his cardigans, your bite to his soft ask, your scoff to his chuckle.

that's what spencer's come to love. the fact that you guys are so different.

yes, you're a handful, yes you're mean to him sometimes, but like i said before:

he loves you. and that's all that matters.