#we’ll see how peaceful my christmas can be

[ruumiinlaulaja]

I’m not going to make my usual christmas post this year. Because it’s not my usual christmas. I’m awake before 8 am, but there was no traditional christmas morning walk with Monty. So weird. But I did go outside alone and walked to the edge of the forest to wish Monty a happy christmas, wherever he is.

So, no joyful jumping. But maybe a little bit of excitement? Anyway, internally I’m more like

Happy and peaceful christmas to everyone regardless. 🎅🏻

[multimilfs]

Agnes O'Connor x Fem!Reader: Poking The Bear

Summary: Agnes has the misfortune of being called in to work a murder case on Christmas Eve. When she leaves you frustrated, you decide to do what you do best; poke the bear.

AO3

A/N: I said "is anyone going to humiliate this woman in this ultra-specific way?" and didn't wait for an answer. Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals <3

Words: 8k

Included: Established relationship, Christmas, Porn with plot; g!p, teasing, somnophilia (implied), dacryphilia, phone sex, accidental orgasm, semi-public sex, humiliation, jealousy, blowjobs, dom/sub, sub space, throatfucking, unprotected sex, masturbation, light breeding kink, light degradation, praise, orgasm denial.

Tag List: @vii-v @absolute-memegarbage @crazycatladycaceta @hannah-0730 @shinysuitcloud @bubbly-moonwarrior @emilynissangtr @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @thelesbianapollokid4 @dmtrxie @notice-shy @vintagegoddess12 @rosie6reyes @softfruity @tragicsapphic34 @msharkness @setsuna1415 @kermidd5 @snickerdoodles-stuff @women-are-so-ethereal @imlike-so-gaydude @lotus-ignis @n0body-is-perfect @goblinscum420 @d-z20 @borntodieedition28 @autbot @ee-bah-sims @kathrynscontroversiallyyounggf @renravens @theothersideofthescreen @sp3c-tr0 @sapphicharknesss @coffeelover245 @madamslaytan @heady-pomegranate @ragnarockz @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @imtrashinflames @goforgreat @welmelsblog @igoturmoney @mol2311 @obnoxiouslycontemplating @bellatrix-black8 @deathly777 @emmasaviorqueen-blog @greatygreatgreat @chlizets @latedawnearlysunsets92

Through the peaceful, warm silence of the morning, an alarm clock blares.

Agnes growls under her breath as she does every morning, lumbering from the comfort of the bed and over to the windowsill where the alarm clock sits. A particularly rough blow shuts it up.

God, why did she let Vidal insist on this shift?

Her routine is simple enough she could do it with her eyes closed; and does, for most of it. It isn’t until she turns the shower to a cooler temperature that she feels anywhere close to awake. She needs coffee—bad.

Halfway through said cup of coffee and one of the donuts you picked up, she realizes she hasn’t kissed you good morning yet.

You grumble a bit when she turns you over, untucking your head from the blankets, but you don’t wake. You look heavenly, painted in the warm glow of the Christmas tree you insist on keeping plugged in all night. Agnes smiles.

Pressing her lips to your forehead, she murmurs, barely a whisper, “Be good, baby.”

A hand wraps around her wrist and she startles. Pulling back, your eyes haven’t opened.

“Agnes, come back to bed.” You say, voice gravely from sleep.

“Vidal will be on my case if I don’t show.”

“I can make your morning better than Vidal can.”

You stretch, curling back into the blankets, but hold her wrist just tight enough to indicate you’re still half awake. It’s good your eyes are closed; she doesn’t need you seeing all the kinds of fond you’re making her.

Agnes really shouldn’t get you started, but curiosity kills cats, not bears, “Oh yeah? How would you do that, baby?”

“You’d come back to bed and sleep until I say.”

“And then what?” She prods, trying not to laugh.

“Then we’ll have a really nice breakfast. Donuts for you.”

“What would you have?”

“You.” You answer, casual and so matter-of-fact, “I’ll even swallow, out of Christmas spirit or something.”

Agnes jolts at the change. Though true to form, she can feel the familiar coil of arousal between her legs. She really shouldn’t have gotten you started.

She’s half awake, she won’t remember this, Agnes tells herself as she tries to move from her kneeling position on the bed. Your grip on her wrist remains.

“Sleep. We’ll have fun when I get home.”

“It’s Christmas Eve.” You whine.

“I’ll be home before you know it, I swear.”

“Fine. ‘Love you.” You murmur.

You rescind your hand and turn over, pacified as you burrow back under the covers. Agnes shakes her head.

“Love you too.” She whispers.

With one last parting kiss to your forehead, she’s gone, with you none-the-wiser.

—

You wake up a mess.

There’s a half-remembered conversation with Agnes lingering in your mind, but it’s hazy enough to feel like a dream; an unsatisfying one, the persistent throbbing between your legs says. You offered to blow her, you remember that much—it’s all pretty blank after that.

No, there was something about having fun when she got home, too.

You can’t wait that long.

It isn’t until two of your fingers are knuckle-deep and you’re missing the fullness Agnes offers that the idea strikes you. You scramble blindly for the phone on your night-stand. The movements change the angle of your fingers and you whine, rolling your hips, even as the blind grabs for your phone grow more frustrated.

Once found, it is ripped viciously off the charger, and you open it, going through your messages for the quickest access to her number. You grin at the contrast between your long-winded messages and Agnes’ one word responses.

An infinitesimal movement of your hips reminds you of your intention.

The phone is brought to your ear and it rings�� and rings… and rings…

…and rings…

“O’Connor.” Her gruff voice comes down the line.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You squeeze around your own fingers at the sound.

“Yes, Detective, I’d like to report a crime.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end.

“Go on.”

“Well, my wife woke me up this morning and got me turned on, and she didn’t even have the decency to fuck me before she left. What kind of woman does that, Detective?”

You can hear the curve of her grin, “A lousy one. That’s a pretty serious crime.”

Maybe it’s the low, lilting drawl of her voice down the line. Maybe it’s the way you can see how she’s sitting in your mind; shoulders back against the seat but hips forward, legs splayed with careless confidence, one hand toying with her belt. Maybe it’s the easy humor she slips into with you that she’s never had with anyone else.

Whatever it is, two sentences from her brings you closer to finishing than thirty minutes with your hand has.

You whimper, “Keep talking.”

Another pause. Then the faint rustle of fabric.

“What are you doing?”

Her tone is utterly serious. Unforgiving. And god if it isn’t the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard.

“What do you think I’m doing?”

Finally showing your clit some attention, you moan shamelessly. It’s nice to feel full, but your fingers never quite reach the right spots, and you can’t get off on penetration alone—with Agnes or otherwise. It’s fun to work yourself up though; pushing to the heights you can reach there before really giving yourself the stimulation you want.

If she keeps talking, that—combined with the circling motions on your clit—will send you straight over the edge.

The anticipation builds over the line. For a moment, you pull the phone away to make sure she hasn’t hung up. She’s likely weighing the best thing to say to both turn you on and strike the fear of punishment into you.

Instead, her tone is almost pleading, “Don’t do this now.”

An image strikes you of making Agnes beg, of driving her to a point where the easy dominance falls away, and she’s reduced to chasing whatever kindness you give. It brings you so much pleasure it hurts. You need it. But how to get it?

“Is Agent Vidal in the room with you?” You ask.

The idea of Vidal witnessing what you’re doing to Agnes makes your toes curl.

“No.”

“I thought you were stuck with her today.”

“Leave Vidal out of this.” She demands, but it’s strangled.

She’s clawing for control over the situation, scrambling for a foothold. Normally, you’d give it to her. Normally.

“I don’t think I ask for much…” A lie. You make many requests in the sanctity of your bedroom, “all I wanted was for you to fix what you started.”

“Baby.”

You have to pull your fingers away from your clit, desperate to come but not ready yet.

“There are so many ways you could have done it, too. You could have woken me up with your head between my legs… or with you inside me. It could have been nice, right?”

Only the sound of her breathing comes down the line. Heavy, uneven, like when she’s holding herself over you, hips driving her deeper—

God, you’re so close.

You whisper, needing to know that she’s as affected as you, needing to hear her say it, “Are you hard, Agnes?”

“Yes.”

Even though you haven’t moved any part of your hand, the mental image nearly sends you tumbling over the edge.

“Will you come with me?”

“I…I can’t.”

You know. With the shades open, her office is basically an observation room; meaning if she were to do what you ask, there’s almost a guarantee she’d be caught. A sick part of you wants it. Wants to know that you have enough power over her to make her take the risk.

Gently, you begin to toy with your clit again. You can make her do what you ask. All you need is for her to say it—the confirmation that you’ve undone her so thoroughly that she can’t help but fist her cock under the desk where anyone could see.

“Please.” You beg.

You hear her inhale, the sound sharp in your ear. The words are on the tip of her tongue. Her eyes are no doubt shifting around the office, searching for the perfect way to hide what she’s about to do.

You’re standing on the precipice.

The harsh beeping of a disconnected call blares in your ear. Yanking it away, orgasm thoroughly ruined, you yell in frustration.

—

An officer pulls open the door before you can reach for it, nodding, “Ma’am.”

The precinct is busy for it being a holiday. Uniformed officers sit around desks, either on the phone or talking with others. You spy the Chief talking animatedly to a few toward the back.

They’ve really done up the place this year. Last year it’d been sad, grey. Now there are a few little trees spread around, some personal decorations here and there, a menorah on the front desk with candles waiting to be lit. It livens up the place.

In the back sits the partial vision of Agnes’ office. The blinds are somewhat closed, but she’s left the door open, allowing you enough of a glimpse to know she’s in there. You can imagine her without having to see; her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, hunched over the desk, hand toying with strands of her hair as she frowns over evidence.

Gazes follow as you cut through the center of it all. You do your best to ignore the heat working its way up your neck. Once upon a time, a few of the other officers had tried to catch your attention. You’d entertained a few of them. But they were minnows, and you wanted the shark.

You wanted the unapproachable, stone-faced Detective O’Connor.

And you had been the one to catch Agnes, but her fellow officers couldn’t imagine their illustrious Detective not being the one to do the catching. If only they knew how you could have her eating from the palm of your hand.

A swift knock on the open door and you lean against it. She’s exactly as you imagined. Though there’s a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead and her fingers tap on the desk like she can’t sit still.

She doesn’t look up, barking, “I’m busy.”

“I’ll pass this off to one of the other officers then.”

Her head snaps up and you grin. Hanging from one of your fingers is a white takeout bag. The scent of orange chicken and rice permeates the air, but it isn’t what you’re hungry for.

Work forgotten, she looks you up and down, licking her lips. Her fingers twitch on the desk. You clear your throat and she snaps out of whatever daze she’s in. Clearing her own throat, she sits up, tugging on the bottom of her flannel shirt. Your smile widens.

“Close the door behind you.”

Stepping in, you kick it closed with a low, “Yes, Detective.”

“What are you doing here?”

“My job.” You cross to her desk, dropping the takeout bag on top. You’re perched on the edge closest to her. She looks up at you from her chair, lips pursed, tugging on her shirt again, “What kind of wife would I be if I let you go hungry?”

“None of the other guys get lunch delivered personally.”

“None of the other guys are married to me. Do I get a kiss for my troubles?”

Briefly, she looks out into the precinct—not that she can see much with the shades drawn—then back to your lips. Agnes shifts, licking her own, before nodding.

You lean forward and hold onto the chair by one arm, capturing her lips in a rough kiss. Your other hand palms the length you know pulsates between her legs. Upon contact she grunts into your mouth, hips bucking.

Her hand fumbles blindly for your wrist. Catching it in a firm grip, you can feel the tension in her frame as she decides whether to press you closer or shove you away.

Pulling back just enough to smile, “Poor baby. Have you been like this all day?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what, Detective?” You murmur.

Her breath hitches. Blue eyes so blown out they’re nearly black regard you, her chest rising and falling as she struggles for an even rhythm of breath. You test her grip and find its slackened. The palm of your hand caresses the entire outline of her through her jeans.

Agnes doesn’t push you away, but she doesn’t pull you closer, either. The hand on your wrist allows you enough movement to stroke slowly from base to tip. Every inch of her seems to jump at the whisper of your touch.

Looking into her eyes, you can see how she’s fighting for control. She just can’t find the path to it. Good. You want her like this—panting and desperate. It makes you clench around nothing.

“What have you been imagining all this time?”

She swallows. Clears her throat, “Vidal will be back soon.”

“I can be quick.”

“Anyone… could see.”

“We have a few options. Your favorite is off the table, though.”

The favorite in question being Agnes bending you over the desk and fucking you hard and fast. It’s efficient, allowing her drive in deep while having the benefit of spanking you as she chases her reward. Her cock twitches at the reminder.

She’s tense, taut with energy like she’s only a few strokes from finishing right here. The thought is hot and you want it, bad—but not all dreams can be reality.

“What do we have?” Agnes asks, finally.

“If I crawl under the desk no one would see what I’m doing.” You offer.

Your hand keeps moving. It’s more for yourself than anything; you like feeling her, hard and wanting, yet so restricted, jumping at the slightest bit of attention. A thumb swipes over where you know the head is and she chokes, hips stuttering from what had been a slow roll into your hand.

“Do it.” She demands.

The subtle authority returning to her voice sends a shiver down your spine. One more swipe of your thumb and she keens, before clamping her mouth shut.

You laugh. Waking up this morning, this is the last thing you expected for yourself from the day; but you can’t deny you’re enjoying every second.

“That’s my girl.” You praise.

Bracing to slide off the desk, there’s a knock on Agnes’ closed office door, and disaster strikes.

The knock startles you. You try to turn and look toward the door, but forget just how precarious your seating situation is on the edge of the desk. You lose your balance. You’re able to get your foot under you just enough to fall into Agnes’ lap, rather than onto the cold tile of the office.

Agnes lets out a cross between a harsh breath and a moan as you fall into her. Your back presses firmly to her front.

“Don’t—god, I’m gonna—”

Strong hands settle on your hips to shove you off, but it’s too late. Agnes grunts. Nails dig into your sides as she ruts helplessly against your backside, unloading spurts of cum with every press of her hips.

You freeze in shock.

Then out of habit your hands find hers. With one, you lace your fingers together. With the other you caress her wrist, brushing gently as you turn your head to meet her eyes, careful to keep every inch of your body where she needs you. Her hips tense, stuttering, whimpering as she fights the orgasm that’s ravaging her.

“It’s okay. Let it happen.” You encourage, brushing a finger against her inner wrist. A war is waging over her face as she’s caught between desire and shame. Desire must win out. Agnes movements pick up speed as she furiously grinds up against you, and you can’t help the praise that falls from your lips, “That’s it.”

Now that she’s given in, she can’t stop, the hands on your hips clenching as she presses closer, harder with every thrust, powerless to the desire she can’t stop shooting. A wounded noise leaves her throat. You empathize; you know well how getting what you want can quickly move into pained-pleasure, when your body just keeps giving and giving.

Agnes’ expression is pained, laced with helplessness to her pleasure. Her eyes don’t leave your own as she rides out the waves. You try to sit still, letting her take what she needs. She allows you to watch every twitch of her expression, hear every noise she lets slip—it’s an act of trust that overwhelms. Lifting a hand to her cheek, you wipe at the perspiration there.

Eventually, she relaxes into the seat, her hips stopping in their frantic search for friction. Her eyes slip closed and you watch her breathe.

You’re eternally grateful that whoever knocked didn’t barge in right after; there is no way you’d have been able to talk your way around what was happening. It’s a mercy that Agnes rarely shuts her office door—now that she has, everyone understands something important is going on.

Running a finger along her cheekbone, you whisper, “Are you okay?”

“What do you think?” She growls.

“Given the mess you just made, I’d say you’re on cloud nine.” You tease.

With a sudden show of strength, you’re shoved into a standing position. You turn to take in the weight of Agnes’ glare.

Agnes snarls, “Fuck you.”

“You could have… if you had a little self control.”

Your eyes fall to her lap for emphasis, the evidence of her desire stark against the front of her jeans. Her hands clench on the arm-rests. Blood has rushed to her face, painting her features in red hues that betray her forced calm.

The sight of her so humiliated is doing it for you; and you can see that she sees, regarding you with a loaded, wary look. It will take no shortage of negotiation, but you will be revisiting this again.

You open the take out bag and pluck out the napkins near the bottom. Carefully, you wipe them over the planes of her face, soaking up the sweat that had been clinging to her skin. Agnes doesn’t meet your eye.

“Agnes.” Waiting until she locks eyes with you, “It’s okay.”

She scoffs, “I came in my pants like a fucking teenager.”

“And it was hot.”

“You’re really something else, you know that?”

“Oh, I’m well aware. I also know that you love me for it.”

Agnes rolls her eyes.

“Unfortunately.”

“Careful, O’Connor, I can still give this lunch away to one of your coworkers.”

The bag is promptly snatched from your reach. You laugh.

Now that she’s standing, you breathe a sigh of relief; her flannel is long, perfectly hiding the evidence of your activities from the world. You just hope no one outside was looking in too closely.

Desire rears its head at the thought. You need to get out of here before you do something that’ll get you both caught.

You lean up and steal a kiss, “Enjoy your lunch, baby.”

When you open the door to leave, you come face-to-face with Agent Rio Vidal holding two cups of coffee in her hands. You startle and she raises her brows at seeing you.

“Agent Vidal.”

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here, sweetheart, or I would’ve bought an extra coffee.”

“That’s okay, I was just bringing Agnes something to eat.”

“Take mine.” The coffee cup is held between the two of you. You can see the faint mark of her lipstick on the lid as she leans in, “I don’t need the extra caffeine anyway.”

“Keep it, Vidal. She can have mine.”

You turn so you can take in both of them. Vidal is relaxed, posture brimming with a quiet confidence while Agnes is tense, staring at the two of you like she could throw something—and she would, if she didn’t think it’d encourage the former somehow.

Agnes has always been… odd around Vidal; moreso than the normal awkwardness between two exes. And Vidal has never been subtle with her interest in poking Agnes’ nerves.

Whatever it is, you’re going to use it and see where it takes you.

You accept the offered cup of coffee, making deliberate eye contact with Agnes as you take a long sip. A latte—thank god, Agnes’ black drip would’ve made you gag.

“Thanks for the coffee.” You murmur low. Then you throw your wife a smile, ignoring the promise of pain in her eyes, “See you at home, Agnes.”

—

Coming home you’re delighted to find a few last-minute packages on the porch. Carrying them in, one shifts heavily in your arms, and you know immediately what it is; one of the speakers in Agnes’ car crapped out on her a few months back, so the passenger-side only spits out static where there should be music—or the sports broadcasts, in your wife’s case; you bought her a new stereo system so she wouldn’t have to ‘make do’ anymore.

There’s also a few new shirts, a nice leather belt, and a watch she’d been eyeing but wasn’t willing to buy for herself. You wrap all of them with a smile on your face and slide them under the tree.

The busy work of it all eases the tension in your shoulders and some of the arousal between your legs. There’s a lingering peace in every corner of your home. It’s quiet, barring the music playing from the kitchen, casting a nostalgic glow over you where the lights seem just a little warmer.

You sit down on the couch and take it all in. Ornaments wobble on branches, glittering and winking at you as they twist. There’s a garland draped over the fireplace with dancing lights; you feel warmer inside when you remember how Agnes helped you set it up, shaking her head at your excitement.

With the bustle of the season, you’ve forgotten to take time like this to stop and let it sink in. So many spend Christmas alone, hungry, without a place to go. You don’t have to. You have a wife who will spend every second with you in the warmth of your home. Tears prick your eyes.

You fall asleep on the couch with that warm feeling in your chest.

—

The scent of garlic and butter tickles your nose. You snap awake.

Did you leave the stove on?

You shoot up from the couch and throw off the blanket you don’t remember grabbing. It falls to your feet, twisting in your ankles, and you do all you can not to fall face-first onto the floor. How long have you been asleep?

Wait. Did you even put anything on to cook?

Agnes’ flannel-clad back greets you when you round the corner. A sigh leaves you. One hand settles over your chest, willing your heartbeat to slow to a normal pattern. It all comes back to you; wrapping gifts, sitting down to enjoy the quiet, intending to get up and start dinner afterward.

You step into the kitchen and wrap your arms around her waist from behind, forehead resting between her shoulder blades. A hand lifts your own so she can press a kiss on the back.

“How was work?” You ask, voice muffled by her shirt.

“A waste of time.” She answers. Her form shifts, one shoulder tensing as she stirs what sits on the stove, “It could’ve waited until after Christmas.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. Vidal’s a workaholic and fails to realize the rest of us aren’t.”

“You are most of the year.”

Agnes grunts noncommittally, “What trouble did you get into?”

“Wrapped a few gifts, took a nap. I’m surprised some of your guys weren’t beating down my door with how rowdy I was being.”

“Chief would’ve just sent me to handle you.”

“I’d like that… you, handling me…” You murmur, hand moving down her front with intent.

A strong, veined hand grabs your own. She forces it back to its former resting place. You keep your hand where it is directed. The haven you’ve found nuzzled against her back—surrounded by the scent of her cologne and the heat of her—is just as inviting as anything more salacious could be.

Something bubbles and pops on the stove. Agnes jolts, before relaxing. You drag yourself from your haven to look over her shoulder; a pan of sauce is stirred on one burner, boiling pasta churning away on another. Simple, but hearty.

You press a kiss to the skin you can reach, just behind her ear, “You’re getting better.”

Before, her dinner of choice would’ve been a canister of peanuts, maybe a microwave dinner.

“Don’t say anything until you’ve tasted it.”

“I’ll do what I want.” You answer.

“Don’t I know it.”

Jabbing her side with a finger until she cracks a grin, “Let me taste, so I can tell you how amazing it is.”

The wooden spoon is lifted from the sauce and over her shoulder to your mouth. You wrap your lips around it, immediately lulled further into bliss by the combination of onion, garlic, and tomato.

“Agnes, that is delicious.”

Her brows raise. With a flourish, she allows herself a taste.

“You love to stroke my ego.” She says in that self-deprecating tone you know well.

Your hand and mouth move before you think, “That’s not the only part of you I like to stroke.”

Whether by a lapse in understanding or simply because she lets you, your hand finds its mark before Agnes can stop it. The full width of your hand presses at the apex of her thighs. Your mouth drops open.

Agnes is painfully erect for the second time today with little work on your part.

She drops the spoon against the pan and removes your hand again, blunt nails biting into your skin in the way you like. You don’t react, still reeling from the information you’ve gleaned. Agnes libido isn’t what it once was—a reality of age—even if she’s like a well kept oldsmobile; capable of going the distance and then some once you get her properly started. But you’ve done very little in the way of actually getting her started since visiting the office.

“What on earth have you been up to today?” You ask, breathless.

“Don’t start.”

“I’d say you’re well past the starting point, given what I just felt.” A laugh escapes, then you pause, “You didn’t…”

Agnes curious gaze meets yours over her shoulder. Understanding dawns, along with indignation, “Of course not.”

“Needing a little extra help is normal.”

“This is all your doing.” She snaps, “Go sit down.”

“If it’s all my doing, you should let me fix it.” You coo.

In a sudden burst of movement, Agnes is out of your arms, sauce and pasta left behind on the stove. You blink. Did something happen at work? Have you hit a nerve?

She crosses the space to the kitchen table. The chair at the head of the table, facing the stove, is yanked from its resting place. You wince as it shrieks against the floor. But she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, turning the chair and meeting your eyes with a hard look, pointing.

“Sit.”

You move without thinking. There’s a subtle note of steel beneath the command that sends you into submission on instinct, like a pet might jump to obey their owner. The thought doesn’t chafe today; you want to be good, you want to obey.

Plopping down into the seat, hands settle on your shoulders. Agnes growls in your ear, “Stay.”

And you do.

As she finishes dinner, moving the pasta into the sauce with an unsure—but successful—flourish. As she nearly burns herself cutting the garlic bread fresh out of the oven. As she casts quick, dark glances your way every few minutes, as if having to make sure you’re where she left you.

You are the picture of poise and obedience, fighting every desperate urge for nearness to follow her command. But the longer she takes the harder it becomes. Hands settled on your thighs, your fingers scratch anxiously at the fabric of your pants, helpless and without any other way to expel this building energy.

“Agnes.” You whine.

“Quiet.”

It takes ages before she approaches you. She takes her sweet time putting dinner on plates, making it pretty in a way you know is just to drive you crazy; she doesn’t give two fucks about whether or not something looks nice as long as it tastes good.

Dinner is brought over to the table, but you tilt your head. Agnes only brought one plate.

“Up.” She commands, “You’re in my seat.”

You stand. Reaching for the chair next to hers, a hand on the back stops you from pulling it out. There’s the deep sound of porcelain meeting the wood of the table. As she leans around you, the scent of her cologne makes you dizzy.

Agnes snaps her fingers. You jolt, snapping back into your own mind. She points to the floor and your brows furrow. Then, it clicks, and your face grows warm.

You sink to your knees in front of Agnes’ chair as she sits in it.

“I can guess what a perp is going to do just by the way they sit in interrogation.” Agnes drawls, idly tapping her knee as her mind works, “But you… I can never guess how you’re going to act. Look at you now, all good and obedient for me, when you were acting like a whore in my office today.”

So caught up in the dizzying feeling of submission, you’ve been oblivious to the weight of your own desire. Agnes’ words change that in an instant. There’s a needy, pulsing beat between your legs, and you clench your thighs together in an attempt to help yourself. It doesn’t work.

“You started it.” You say, breathless.

You can’t breathe around your desire for her. Oxygen is a secondary need to the feel of her, whether she’s buried deep inside or grazing her fingers over your flesh; you want her and it hurts. But you keep your hands on the tops of your thighs.

Agnes chuckles. It’s a low, rolling thing. Agnes’ usual response to amusement is to grin, maybe even shake her head and scoff—laughter is a rare thing, aged and cultivated until it’s amber laced with smoke over your senses. You feel the heat of it. The intoxication it brings is warm, a weight settling comfortingly over the shoulders.

“I’m collecting on your offer from earlier.”

And with that, her thighs part, and you surge forward without being told. Her belt is unbuckled in one fell swoop. You moan, unable to help yourself, needy for the feel of her skin, to taste.

A testament to the overwhelm of your desire that the concept of toying with her again does not cross your mind. Your hand finds the desperate length of her cock, exposing it to the cool air.

It stands proud, tip flushed and leaking, veins stark against the fair skin. You pant. With single-focus, you lean forward.

An equally fair hand grips your jaw, forcing your eyes to Agnes’, “How many taps?”

You blink. You’re buried beneath desire, mind clawing its way to the surface.

“T-Three.”

Agnes nods and you’re free.

The first thing you do with your newfound freedom is flatten your tongue and lick a broad stripe up the length of her. The hand on your jaw goes slack in surprise, Agnes’ hips jumping. A groan echoes through the room.

You circle your tongue over the tip, drinking in her taste and the sounds falling from her lips. It’s heady, making the room fuzzy around the edges.

Submission brings with it a strange feeling of power. You’re doing as she bids, being good, but every sound and reaction coming from her is real; the truest manifestation of how well you’re doing to please her.

The world falls away. Your head feels floaty, strangely empty despite the manuevers you’re employing with your mouth. You don’t need words, you don’t need thoughts, you just need to offer Agnes whatever she wants.

Which you do by taking her cock in your mouth until she hits the back of your throat.

A thud sounds from her hand slamming on the tabletop, scrambling for something to grip as she chokes out, “Fuck!”

You do all you can to repress your gag reflex, forcing yourself to just relax everytime she hits the back of your throat. Agnes has her head thrown back, eyes closed, chest rising and falling as she pants, whimpering with every movement of your tongue and mouth.

Through it all, her hand remains on the side of your face, a careful guide. You can’t help the hand that sneaks under your skirt; Agnes is shaking with tension, begging to let go and chase her pleasure at your expense, but she’s holding herself back and guiding you through taking her in the way that would do the least harm.

You moan. Agnes’ cock twitches in your mouth and she matches your moan, a semblance of that control slipping with a particularly rough thrust. You gag, tears forming in your eyes.

The hand between your thighs shakes, fumbling for your clit while focusing on what really matters. You’re so wet there’s barely any friction.

You want Agnes to make you gag again. You want her to push into you and take what she wants until you’re crying.

Looking up, you try to will all of that thought and intent into your eyes, but Agnes’ are closed.

You whine.

Blue eyes regard you from beneath drooping lids. You will one thought into your mind and one thought only; use me.

Agnes swallows. The pad of a thumb runs under your eye, collecting some of the wetness there as if to say are you sure? In answer, you take as much of her as you can physically manage, eyes meeting her own the whole time.

Her restraint snaps.

Agnes’ hand travels to the back of your head, her hips moving faster and firmer than you can comprehend. She takes over completely; driving into you for what she needs, making you gag obscenely, without a thought in the world for if it is too much.

Not having to make choices allows you to focus on obtaining your own pleasure. With every tear she forces from your eyes, you swipe over the pulsating bud of your clit. You can feel your own orgasm building low in your gut.

“I’m going to cum.” Agnes groans.

Delight shoots through you. She’s going to cum and it’s because of you; because you were good and gave her everything she needs. It feels amazing.

Why, then, do you pull off and out of reach?

Agnes growls. You blink.

Words. There are words to go with the desire you feel. You close your eyes, searching for them, mentally scrambling at the edges until you can wrap your hands around them and their meaning.

“Can I…” You start, voice rough from the beating your throat has taken, “Can I ride you?”

Agnes makes quite the scene; splayed open on the dining room chair, hair a mess and eyes blown out, cock twitching and needy through the fly of the jeans she ruined only a few hours ago. You clench.

Agnes licks her lips, “Yeah, alright.”

You stand on shaking legs and Agnes holds up a hand, stopping you as she lifts her hips and fumbles in her back pocket. She obtains her wallet and rifles through until she locates a small foil wrapper.

It’s safer, you know. You’ve used one almost every other time for the duration of your marriage.

“Agnes.”

The woman in question pauses before opening the condom. Her brow pops up in an unspoken question.

The words are instinct, comprehensive thought still far away, “I want you to cum inside me.”

Outside, the world rages on. Westview residents race down the street, returning home from last minute errands, gifts in tow that they’ll have to sneak inside. The wind is kicking up and through the trees as snow grows closer with every second.

And then there is you and Agnes, tucked in the warmth of your home, caught in the weight of your words. Stopped in the face of the potential consequences.

Agnes throws the unopened condom on the kitchen table.

“Then come here.”

You stand with your legs on either side of her own, steadying yourself on her shoulders. One steady hand settles on your hip. The other pushes your panties aside and aligns her to your entrance as you lower into her lap.

You could take her in one motion with how wet you are. Yet, Agnes keeps your descent slow, careful. She watches your face with every inch you take—same as you watch hers.

Agnes’ chest is heaving, eyes dark and stormy, face pinched in concentration. She’s the most handsome person you’ve ever seen. You clench around her and her hands tighten on your waist.

“Sorry.” You murmur, out of habit.

Agnes raises a brow, but doesn’t respond, helping you down the last few inches. When you settle fully in her lap you let out the breath you’d been holding.

One hand sneaks under your skirt to trace shapes on the bare flesh of your hip.

“You pulled an interesting stunt with Vidal today.” Agnes says. The hand on your hip tightens, “I’m not so sure I should reward your behavior.”

“Then why let me…”

“Why deny myself just because you’re acting like a brat?”

There’s a small testing thrust of her hips. You clench. She groans, head falling back against the chair. You whimper. Trying to move your own hips, eager for what you’ve been denied, you find yourself held in place.

That’s not fair. All day she’s been teasing you, driving you to the edge of what you want—what you need, just to deny you.

“You started it.” You whine, trying to move your hips again, still finding yourself held stationary as she leisurely thrusts up, “You woke me up and got me all bothered, it’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, baby.”

“Please.” You whine, “It’s not my fault, please.”

Muscles in her arms tremble as she lifts you slightly before sinking you back down onto her. The fullness makes your toes curl but it isn’t enough.

“Calling me at work and getting me worked up wasn’t your fault?”

“…No.”

Agnes laughs, “If you’re going to lie, you could at least be convincing.”

You won’t win this fight by playing fair, not when Agnes is clearly uninterested in fairness.

“You… You feel so good. Can’t think properly.” You breathe, moaning a bit more than comes naturally, “I’m so full of you.”

The thrust of her is uneven. She stops moving you completely and you fight down a grin.

You press a hand between your bodies, applying pressure to your lower stomach as she continues to thrust, subtly picking up speed. Her pants are growing louder, a wheeze leaving her mouth when you press.

“That’s you.” You murmur, leaning forward and ghosting over her lips, tracing the bridge of her nose with the tip of your own. You press harder and enjoy the way she groans, “Nobody has ever been as deep inside me as you.”

“Fuck.” She snarls.

You’re pushed up again, suddenly empty, and whine, blinking at the change. But then her strong hands are on your hips and spinning you around.

Your front is pressed against the table, bent so your cheek rests on the top of it. The texture of her jeans is rough against the back of your thighs as she lines herself and fills you in one thrust.

“Oh, fuck!” You cry.

Agnes sets a brutal pace, chasing that which only you can offer. Every thrust has her cock brushing that perfect spot inside you and you lose control of whatever sounds you’re making.

“Is this what you wanted?” Agnes snarls in your ear, “For me to leave work and fuck you like some bitch in heat?”

“Yes!”

“You haven’t earned it.”

“No, Agnes, please!”

“Hold it.” She orders.

With every move she makes, you do all you can to ignore the pleasure, to pretend it doesn’t exist. It’s somewhat possible when it’s only her cock. But then she leans down and starts toying with your clit and you cry out, fighting not to roll your hips against them.

You want what you’ve been chasing all day, but you still want to be good. You’re her good girl, aren’t you? You have to keep being good even if it hurts.

So, you hold your orgasm at bay, while Agnes chases her own. Judging by the uneven rhythm of her hips it won’t take long.

“Please let me come, Agnes. Please.” You beg.

“Why should I?”

“I’ll give you anything—anything! Please, my love!”

“Anything, huh?”

The tone of her voice is low, dangerous. Layered with a rasp that nearly undoes you.

If she doesn’t let up, it doesn’t matter how good you are; you’re going to cum.

“Anything!”

Agnes phone is slammed down on the table right beside your head. It isn’t on, but you have the sinking feeling that you’ve just landed yourself into something far worse than expected.

Her thrusts stop, but she keeps a light, teasing pressure that grazes your clit just enough to keep you engaged without getting you off.

It is torture. And the silence building as you stare down the upturned cell phone is only making it worse.

“I’m going to make a call and turn on the speaker. Then, I’m going to fuck you. And you’re going to let whoever is on the phone hear you as I make you cum.”

The weight of it is like a lead weight of nerves in your stomach, “But—“

“If you want to act like a whore you’re going to be treated like one.” She snarls, then her tone grows softer, “Yes or no, angel?”

Whoever she calls and puts on the line, you’ll never be able to look in the eye again. But you’re so full and eager that you don’t truly care at this point.

Besides, it’s Christmas Eve, maybe everyone will be too busy to pick up.

“Yes.”

A harsh thrust that forces the air from your lungs, then her lips are next to your ear, breath hot, “That’s my girl.”

The echo of your own words from earlier make your toes curl. Her phone is snatched from the table and she continues to toy with your clit as she makes the call.

It rings… and rings… and rings…

Faintly, you hear the line connect, and you gasp.

You can’t make out who the voice belongs to, but you hear a faint, “Yeah?”

Agnes barks down the line, “Don’t say a word.”

The bang! as her phone hits the table again makes you jump, a small shriek leaving your lips. It wobbles. Faintly, you’re impressed she hasn’t broken the thing with how she abuses it.

A long finger slams down on the speaker button and as the phone tilts slightly, you read the name on the screen, and your eyes widen.

Vidal.

Before you can say a word, though, Agnes is back to work. Something in the action of being heard has made her more aggressive. You swear you can feel the bruises forming on your hips where she grabs, leveraging you for every single thrust.

You try to choke down your moans and whimpers, not wanting Agent Vidal to hear you like this, but Agnes won’t stand for it; one hand grabs your jaw and pries your mouth open.

She pushes in to the hilt and you let out a shrieking moan.

“You were so talkative before. Have you lost your nerve?”

“I—please—“

“Calling me this morning and getting me worked up, teasing me in the office, in the kitchen… and incapable of handling your punishment.”

“I’m sorry, Agnes. Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Use me. I want—I need you to fuck me until I can’t remember being without you—I need you to fuck me until you cum inside and make me yours forever—please!”

The knowledge that every word from your mouth is being heard by someone else is not forgotten, but you’ve been pushed beyond caring. Agnes is intent on making you beg for what you want and you want it bad.

Agnes’ fingers and cock alternate stimulating you. If her fingers are working, her hips aren’t—and vice versa. You’re frankly astonished she’s been able to last so long because you’re teetering on the edge of pleasure at the barest contact.

But her will has always been steel. And she wants to see you humiliated.

The hand on your clit slides to your lower stomach and presses, mimicking your own actions only minutes before, “When I knock you up, you’re going to feel it right here.”

Something inside you snaps. You wail.

Agnes’ hips are moving at a clip, every inch of her rubbing where you need, setting you alight from within. Her hand doesn’t move. The faster she goes, the deeper she drives, her hips begin to lose their rhythm.

Any words devolve into animalistic grunts as she ruts into you, mouth alternating between kissing and biting at your neck from behind.

You’re so fucking close. If she denies you now, you think you might die.

“Let me cum, Agnes, please—pretty please—I’ll be your good girl, please, I’ll be so good. Let me cum and fill me up, it’s all I want—“

Through gritted teeth, “Go on then.”

Something inside you snaps.

The command is exactly what you need. Your entire body clenches so tight you fear you may never relax again. You lose track of what noises leave your mouth, you think you may even lose consciousness for a few moments.

All you know when you come to is that your throat is raw and Agnes is driving into you, choking out in your ear, “Gonna cum—“

Her hips meet your own at full force and don’t pull back, remaining, pulsing forward as if she can’t get close enough. Every spasm of her cock paints your insides with her desire, marking you as hers. Agnes holds your hips as she presses in with every twitch, struggling to breathe.

Weakly, you reach a hand back to tangle in her hair. Your throat aches, “That’s it, baby. Fill me.”

A groan. Another rough twitch.

It reaches a point where the pressure ebbs. She remains, but she’s not twitching anymore, nor is she fighting to become one with you. There’s only the sound of your breathing in the room.

Agnes moves to straighten and pull out, but you whine, reaching back to grab whatever part of her you can reach.

“Stay.” You whisper.

She pauses.

A hand gently caresses along your spine, “You can’t stay like this, angel.”

“Just let me feel you a little longer.”

There’s a comfort in the fullness; in the knowledge that Agnes is the only woman who can provide this for you. That she even wants to.

It’s all a blur beyond that.

Eventually, you can’t stand being bent over on the table anymore, even if you never want to be without the feeling of Agnes inside you. The call with Vidal is disconnected at some point. You and your wife move slowly, hand in hand, up to your bedroom.

You gently shove her onto the bed while grabbing damp washcloths. Neither of you can stand a shower at this point.

The two of you take your time, being careful to mind the sore spots. You lean slightly into Agnes as you wipe some of the sweat from her flesh.

“You’re so good to me.” You murmur, kissing the underside of her jaw, “Thank you, my love.”

“Consider it an early Christmas gift, angel.”

You tamp down on the urge to say something sappy for her to scoff at. Instead, you guide her down and kiss her, soft and slow.

[ssprayberrythings]

snow angels & ski trips | CL16

charles leclerc x female!girlfriend reader 

pov: a glimpse on how you and charles spend your holidays

warnings: none, just tooth rotting fluff cause im a hopeless romantic that got carried away while writing this

this is my first f1 related piece of work on here and also my first time writing in the social media format so i hope its okay and you like it <3

-

@yourusername posted on their story  

caption: where could we be going 😉

╰  @yoursister reply: cant wait to see you 

╰ @yourmom reply: so excited to see you and charles 🙂

@charles_leclerc posted on their story  

caption: she looks so peaceful 

*replies disabled* 

-

@f1_updates posted on their insta   

user1, user12, user2 and others liked 

charles and his girlfriend @yourusername met fans at the airport in y/n’s hometown, guess we know where they’re spending the holidays 

view all comments 

user1: awe he looks so cute 

user2: on twitter fans are saying y/n was offering to take everyones photos #couplegoals 

user12: i was there and omg they are the sweetest, y/n really compliments charles well 

╰ user4: really? i love that 

╰ user15: STOP I CANT 

user7: THE OUTFIT IM DYING 

-

@yourmom posted on their insta

yourusername , charles_leclerc & others liked 

waited for the last of my children to arrive home to finish decorating the tree 

tagged @yourusername @charles_leclerc

view all comments 

user1: IM SOBBING, Y/N’S MOM CONSIDERS CHARLES ONE OF HER CHILDREN 

user2: LET ME JUST TAKE A MOMENT TO APPRECIATE THIS CAPTION 

yourusername: love you mama <3 

charles_leclerc: thank you for letting me be part of this family tradition <3 

╰ liked by yourusername & yourmom 

user15: i’ll be crying for 5-10 business days, no one talk to me 

╰ user3: you and me both 

╰ user7: same here 

-

@yourusername posted on their insta   

charles_leclerc , landonorris & others liked 

home sweet home with my love 🥰

tagged @charles_leclerc 

view all comments 

user1: my parents 

user3: y/n is so wholesome, i love her with charles 

charles_leclerc: no where else id rather be ❤️ 

╰ liked by yourusername 

landonorris: i need to know, who won the gingerbread house contest ? 

╰ yourusername: hehe me and my sister 😹

╰ liked by landonorris & yoursister

user4: charles looks so happy 

user10: is no one gonna talk about the cute reindeers 

╰ liked by yourusername 

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@yoursister posted on their story  

caption: thanks auntie y/n and uncle charlie for bringing my sweet pea to see the lights, she absolutely loved it <3 

╰ yourusername replied: anything for my niece, even if she did kick me out of the passenger seat to sit next to charles 

You and Charles carefully walked back into your childhood home, your niece fast asleep in Charles’ arms, her little head on his shoulder. 

“How was it?” your sister asked as she took the sleeping child from Charles “Great, she was in complete awe the whole time” you told your sister smiling “She even got to sit in the passenger seat” you added looking at Charles with an amusing look 

“How was I supposed to say no when she gave me the cutest dimpled smile” He exclaimed chuckling causing you and your sister to join in 

“Well I just appreciate you taking her, we should get going, but we’ll see you at Christmas?” your sister asked as she repositioned the child in her arms so she could slip her boots on 

“For sure” You replied, leaning in to give your sister a side hug and leaving a kiss on the sleeping girls forehead 

“Thanks auntie Y/N for taking me to the lights” your niece mumbled half awake, half asleep 

“Anything for you sweet girl” you told the girl back before showing your sister out, making sure her and your niece were safely in the car before shutting the door and turning to your boyfriend who let out a yawn causing you to chuckle

“Is someone tired?” you asked playfully, walking into his arms looking up at him  “Maybe a little bit” he said in response to your question looking down at you

 “Why don’t I make us some hot cocoa and then we can go cuddle?” You offered “Sounds good to me” he smiled and leant down to give you a quick kiss, knowing you were both enjoying this peaceful moment

-

@yourusername posted on their insta   

charles_leclerc , yoursister & others liked 

its a winter wonderland ❄️

tagged @charles_leclerc

view all comments 

user1: they’re so cute it hurts 

user2: this called me single in so many way 

user6: i just want this 

╰ user5: same 

╰ user10: same 

╰ user8: same 

user11: so we’re all just single this winter season? 

╰ user1: looks that way 

charles_leclerc: never met anyone who loves snow as much as you do 

charles_leclerc: my little snow angel 👼 

╰ yourusername: that is so cheesy but i love it 

╰ charles_leclerc: i love you 

╰ yourusername: i love you 😘 

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@charles_leclerc posted on their story  

caption: cuddle pile 

*replies have been disabled* 

@yourusername posted on their story  

caption: my own prince charming 🤍

*replies have been disabled* 

-

@charles_leclerc posted on their insta   

yourusername, pierregasly, landonorris & others liked 

never been happier then when im with you. 

je t’aime, mon amour 🤍 

tagged: @yourusername

view all comments 

user1: OKAY I CANT 

user2: anyone else just want to climb under a rock for the rest of their existence 

╰ user3: yes 

user4: if anyone needs me i’ll be taking a bath with my toaster 

yourusername: charles, im blushing 

yourusername: i love you..almost as much as i love snow 

╰ charles_leclerc: ALMOST AS MUCH? that hurts 

╰ user9: y/n and her snow..the real iconic pairing here 

╰ user15: agreed @user9

pierregasly: seriously though @yourusername how many times did he fall on the ice ? 

╰ landonorris: we need to know @yourusername

╰ user7: y/n please give us the information we all need 

╰ yourusername: only a few times .maybe a bit more..

╰ liked by pierregasly & landonorris 

╰ charles_leclerc: babeeeee dont expose me and my terrible skating skills 

╰ yourusername: my deepest apologies..but seriously i’m afraid to take you skating again.. 

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@charles_leclerc posted on their story  

caption: happy holidays everyone. hope everyone is spending time with the people they love the most ❤️

*replies disabled* 

@yourusername posted on their story

captions: christmas dessert prep 🥧 & happy holidays everyone ❤️

*replies disabled* 

-

@yourusername posted on their story  

caption: weekend getaway ⛷️❄️

╰ yourbestfriend: have so much fun ;) 

╰ landonorris: cant wait to hear all about it..;) 

╰ yourusername: why are you being weird? do you know something? 

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@yourusername posted on their insta   

yourbestfriend, charles_leclerc, pierregasly & others liked 

he hasn’t stopped looking at me like this…what is he planning 🤭

tagged @charles_leclerc

view all comments 

user1: get yourself someone that looks at you the way charles looks at y/n 

user2: where can i find one of these ? asking for a friend 😩

user3: god has favourites 

charles_leclerc: why do i have to be planning something? can’t i just admire my beautiful girlfriend

user5: charles anytime y/n is around: 🥰🥰🥰

@charles_leclerc posted on his story  

caption: i love you 

╰ yourusername: i love you more 

╰ pierregasly: have you done it yet? 

╰ charles_leclerc: no..soon though..! 

-

@yourusername posted on their insta   

charles_leclerc, yourbestfriend, pierregasly & others liked 

not captured in these photos, the tears rolling down my face 

my forever 🥹💍 ✨

tagged: charles_leclerc 

view all comments 

yourbestfriend: YAYYYYY HE DID IT !!!! 

╰ yourusername: YOU KNEW?

╰ yourbestfriend: OF COURSE, WHY ELSE DID I MAKE SURE YOU HAD YOUR NAILS DONE 

user1: OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG 

user2: THEYRE GETTING MARRIED 

user3: I’M CRYING user4: THEY FOUND THEIR FOREVER, NO ONE TALK TO ME 

landonorris: congratulations ! it was hard keeping this a secret  

╰ yourusername: YOU KNEW TOO? 

╰ landonorris: yes, i was with him when he bought it 😎

charles_leclerc: cant wait for a forever of snow ball fights, ski trips, holidays with our families, laughs, cuddles, i could keep going but you get the point. 

╰ yourusername: 🥹🥹🥹

charles_leclerc: i love you, mon amour ❤️

╰ liked by yourusername 

@charles_leclerc posted on their insta  

yourusername, landonorris, pierregasly & others liked 

here’s to forever mon amour ❤️💍

tagged: yourusername 

view all comments 

yourusername: no one else i’d rather spend the rest of my life with ❤️

╰ liked by charles_leclerc 

╰ user2: im never moving on from this 

user3: they are my roman empire 

user5: im😭 so 😭happy 😭for 😭them 😭

pierregasly: congrats man! 😁

╰ liked by charles_leclerc

landonorris: congrats mate !! 

╰ liked by charles_leclerc

You and Charles were back at the cabin you were staying at for the weekend. Charles was talking on the phone with his brothers and his mom getting their congratulations even though you made sure your immediate family members knew before you both decided to post on social media. 

You were sitting by the fireplace, curled up with a hot cocoa wearing one of Charles’ sweatshirts, admiring the ring on your finger, you still couldn’t believe you were marrying the love of your life. It felt like a dream, one you never wanted to wake up from. 

“What are you thinking about mon amour?” Charles asked coming into the living area off of the phone. He sat beside you, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you closer to him 

“Just this” you told him referring to the ring he gave you a few hours prior “Cant believe I’m going to be your wife” you smiled, looking at him 

“I’d marry you right now if it was an option” He told you returning the same, lovesick smile you were giving him.

“I think our mothers would have heart attacks if we eloped” You joked, knowing your mother was already in wedding mode even if it had only been a few hours “I know” he chuckled, agreeing with you 

“Seriously though I’m so lucky” You said giving him a kiss on the cheek 

“I’m the lucky one” Charles told you, kissing your head as you laid it on his shoulder “You’re my everything”.

You couldn’t see him but you could hear his smile and you wore a very similar one on your own face.

This was your forever and you couldn’t be happier. 

-

ahhh i hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it! i already have so many other ideas in the works so if this does well i'll definitely start working on them. anyways feel free to comment your thoughts and happy holidays !

[luckypunklemonade]

| Between The Lines

[NSFW MDNI 18+; established relationship; masturbation; 1k words] college boyfriend!Stiles Stilinkski coming home for the holidays to family and his long-distance girlfriend.

This work belongs to me, luckypunklemonade (Minte_Condition on AO3). I do not give anyone permission to distribute or share my work without consent.

The night you both arrived back in Beacon Hills for the break, you agreed to take it easy. Long distance couples are almost stereotyped for unabashed horniness when finally seeing each other. A tense make out session almost killed Stiles. Truly, your relationship wasn’t all wholesome and responsible, but it was a mutual decision that you had time on this break to savor each other. Plus, as busy as you’d both been, with family visiting, you didn’t have a lot of your days for each other. After Christmas came and went, you’d settled in to back and forth sleepovers, spending all the downtime leftover from the holiday chaos next to each other.

Stiles was wrecked. One night alone earlier, messing around and doing the bare minimum to get each other off wasn’t enough. Especially after more time spent apart even though you were only a block away.

You hopped past his threshold and took off your shoes, pulling off your hoodie, riding your shirt up a little, messing your hair up and making him want to recreate that disheveled hair and grin on you in less innocent ways. His bubble was burst when you waved enthusiastically at his dad in his recliner and sparked up a conversation about his holiday. After a simple conversation, you turned back to see him standing stiffly in the kitchen.

Rubbing his back gently, he sighed, hugging you just to get his words in the earshot of only you. “Need you.”

It was surreal, how domestic and gentle he got in his childhood kitchen, stripped of his flannel, holding you just to lean your weight against him. “Honey.”

“I know.” He understood it was hard to get that time together right now. Your house was still winding down from visits, his dad hadn’t gone back to work yet. The awkward span between Christmas and New Year’s was starting off badly. The hugs you have been giving each other, in passing, at each others’ houses, in cars have all been your chances to tell each other something. This one didn’t have a time limit or cold ending, it was one where Stiles could keep talking in your ear, something longer than the ten-second timer most hugs allowed. He took the small knots out of your hair while he spoke, his voice dipping into the rasp it would on those calls before bed when he lost the sense to fully use his vocal cords.

Stiles was the strongest man you knew. In all senses, but especially when you were leaning against the bathroom doorframe frowning. “I don’t think I can sleep in your bed without starting something tonight.”

His smile was knowing, extending one of his arms out for you. “We’ll be good.”

You slowly walked toward his outstretched hand, holding it between your palms as you pondered. The veins on his arm weren’t helping. Or how he flexed his fingers over yours.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he coaxed. “We’ll be good tonight.”

And you were. Even with his arm looped around your lower stomach, you kept yourself still. Regardless of how peaceful you remained in the breaking morning, Stiles still woke up aching. He looked over at you out of instinct, but you were peacefully asleep, buried in the blankets. Sure, nothing had acted as a catalyst for this ordeal, but he wanted so badly to wake you up. He wanted to pull you into his chest until you couldn’t ignore how hard he was so he didn’t have to go through the humiliation of asking you for help.

However selfish the thought was, he remembered his dad had likely gone back to work this morning. Squeezing his eyes shut, palming himself, he wondered if he should get up, take a cold shower, and continue the streak of getting your love elsewhere. Stiles glanced over at you in the dim light, more so to check you were still asleep while he pulled himself out of his sweatpants. He just needed to get this release to hold himself over until you had both talked, until you were up. He knew you were the kind of girl who deserved much more than quick morning sex after so long. He already had a plan but waiting until then proved to be much more difficult.

Small grunts compressed and muffled in the back of his throat was just about as much as he could do to hold back while his hand worked himself. To the point of low self-awareness. The glances he took at you for both safety and encouragement were now few and far between. As he pumped his cock in his hand a little quicker, letting out a discretion-less squeak almost, his head lolled back, hitting the headboard. While not enough to get him to stop immediately, the sound made him turn to glance at you for the first time in a few minutes. Head turning lazily, eyes half-closed under deeply furrowed brows, a result of a fast-approaching release, he met your open eyes. Wide and curious, though knowing. Even as he panicked, the blur of him yanking the blankets up, you looked expectant.

You smiled and put a reassuring hand over the blanket, “No, Stiles, I wanna-“

“I was just- Look, I know we agreed-“

The blankets being slowly tugged down, him stopping you. You tilted your head, an understanding smile to tell him you were more than okay with this, “We can talk about it now, okay? How do you feel about now?”

“I have something planned, sweetheart.”

You raised your eyebrows. After how needy you both had become, you didn’t think he’d plan sex with you. More so just taking it by each conversation was had and when the time was right.

“Tonight, while we still have the house, I’ll make you dinner, we can play cards or something.” His eye line tracked yours for a reaction, “Something that’ll make us feel more together?”

Your heart melted and the lust simmered down into love, back to where it came from. “Honey, that sounds like you’re the best boyfriend in the world.”

His proud smile was enough to make you walk the line between kissing his cheek and pulling the blanket down. “You should really finish what you started now, though. You earned it.”

The same smile now steeping in the embarrassment of your curious eyes, that you caught him. “Just let me watch?”

[amethystarachnid]

CHRISTMAS KITTY

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Request: 26. Decorating the Tree Together  – You and your character decorate a Christmas tree together, each putting your personal touch on it. A quiet moment full of holiday spirit, plus maybe a surprise gift hidden in the branches! This prompt with Tony please? 😁 and the surprise gift is a kitten? I love kittens and cats 😻😻😻😻😻 (@ts-rdj-reader )

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.3k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

It's December in New York, and the first snow of the season has just begun to fall in delicate, fluttering flakes. The city, as always, feels like it's bustling with energy, but there's a softness to the air today, a quiet sort of peace that only the holiday season can bring. The kind of peace you can’t help but be caught up in.

You're bundled up in a cozy sweater and thick scarf, watching Tony fumble with his jacket. He looks up at you with a slight smirk as he zips it up, his chest puffed out as if the jacket somehow makes him look even more impressive.

“Think you’re ready for this?” you tease, adjusting your hat as you stand by the door. “I mean, buying a Christmas tree is serious business.”

He rolls his eyes dramatically, but there’s a twinkle in his expression that betrays his excitement. “Of course I’m ready. What could possibly go wrong? It’s just a tree.”

You raise an eyebrow, watching him try to act nonchalant. Tony Stark might be a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, but there’s one thing he’s never had to deal with—decorating for the holidays. This is your first Christmas living together in his sleek, glass-and-steel penthouse, and you’ve both agreed that it’s time to make it feel like home. A tree is step one.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out, glancing at the screen.

“Pepper says she hopes we don’t burn down the building,” Tony mutters, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “I’m thinking a big, grand tree this year, something that’s going to put Rockefeller Center’s to shame. Don’t you think?”

You laugh at his over-the-top enthusiasm. “We’ll see about that, Mr. Stark. Let’s just get the tree first. We’ll save the grandiosity for the decorations.”

It’s only when you step out into the chilly evening air that the weight of the moment settles in—your first holiday together in the place you’ve both made your own. The city feels a little more magical now. Maybe it’s because of the snow, or maybe it’s just the way Tony makes everything feel like an adventure, no matter how mundane the task. You wrap your arm around his, feeling the heat from his body through the layers of clothing. He pulls you in closer with a quick kiss on the top of your head, and the world feels a little warmer.

“So, what’s your ideal tree?” Tony asks as you start down the street toward the small, family-run tree lot he’s insisted on going to. The man is always about supporting local businesses, even if that business happens to be a Christmas tree seller in the middle of a snowy December night.

“Hmm,” you hum thoughtfully. “Something tall, but not too overwhelming. You know, elegant. And definitely one with a strong scent. The kind you can smell as soon as you walk into the room.”

Tony grins. “I knew it. You’ve got that Pinterest board thing going on.”

You shove him lightly, your cheeks flushing at how easily he can read you. He’s right, though. You’ve spent hours scrolling through Christmas inspiration—dreaming up a perfect holiday, and a perfect tree to match it.

As you approach the lot, you can already hear the festive music playing in the background and smell the faint scent of pine and fresh-cut trees. Tony pulls open the gate for you, letting you inside first. The lot is smaller than you imagined, but it’s full of trees of all shapes and sizes, stacked haphazardly but with care.

“I think I see it,” Tony says as he scans the trees, his eyes narrowing. “The perfect one.”

You follow his gaze, and your breath catches in your throat. There, nestled between two slightly crooked firs, is a tree. It’s taller than the others, its branches a deep green, with just enough space between them to be filled with twinkling lights and ornaments. Its shape is symmetrical but not overly perfect—just like the way Tony always manages to balance chaos and precision in everything he does.

“That’s the one,” you agree, giving him a playful shove as you walk toward it. “Well done, Mr. Stark.”

Tony shoots you a wink and saunters over to the tree, inspecting it like it’s a high-tech gadget instead of a holiday decoration. He kneels beside it, reaching out to touch a few of the branches. “I don’t know, I think it’s a little too… nice. We need something that says ‘Tony Stark lives here.’”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the smile that tugs at your lips. You love that about him—that he can make everything feel bigger than life. Even something as simple as choosing a Christmas tree becomes a mini-event in his world.

“You’re not putting any of your weird tech inside the tree, are you?” you tease, hands on your hips. “No lasers, no rockets, no holographic star, okay?”

Tony raises an eyebrow, looking far too interested in the idea. “You’re asking the wrong person. But, no promises,” he says, already pulling out his phone to check something on his holographic display.

You give him a playful shove, and this time he stumbles a little, catching himself against the tree. He lets out a dramatic gasp, looking down at it like he’s about to fall in love with the idea of the tree himself. “It’s perfect. We can definitely make this work.”

The seller walks over to you both, an older man with a thick beard and weathered hands. “I see you’ve got a good eye. She’s a beauty, alright. We just brought her in this morning. I’ll have my son help get it to your car.”

You nod, smiling warmly at the man. “Thanks so much. We’ll take it.”

As the seller arranges for the delivery, Tony reaches for your hand, his fingers interlocking with yours. The moment feels calm and easy, just the two of you standing in the middle of a Christmas tree lot in the heart of a bustling city.

“I can’t wait to see it in the apartment,” you say softly, glancing up at Tony.

He smirks, squeezing your hand. “It’ll be legendary.”

You can’t help but laugh, feeling the joy of the moment settle into your chest. Tony, in his own quirky way, always knows how to make everything seem like an adventure. It’s like he lives for these moments of pure, unfiltered happiness. And you’re lucky enough to experience them with him.

As the tree is loaded onto a delivery truck, you make your way back to the penthouse, arms around each other, sharing quiet smiles. The city is alive with lights and the glow of Christmas spirit, but with Tony beside you, it all feels a little brighter.

You both arrive back at the penthouse just as the first snow of the evening begins to pick up again, turning the streets into a winter wonderland. Tony pulls out his phone, checking the progress on the tree’s delivery. You walk over to the window, gazing out at the twinkling lights of the city below, your thoughts drifting to the holiday ahead.

Tony joins you a few moments later, wrapping his arms around you from behind. You tilt your head back, finding comfort in the solid presence of his chest against your back.

“I’m really glad we’re doing this,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hand.

“Doing what?” Tony asks, his voice low and amused.

“This,” you gesture to the apartment, “making our first Christmas together. It feels… right.”

Tony presses a kiss to the side of your head, his breath warm against your skin. “Yeah. Me too.”

The sound of a truck pulling up outside catches your attention. You glance out the window, smiling when you see the delivery man bringing the tree up to the door. Tony squeezes your shoulder gently.

“Ready for this?” he asks, his voice filled with mock seriousness. “The holiday season is about to be officially underway.”

You nod, a grin spreading across your face. “Let’s do it.”

The tree is brought in, standing tall and proud in the center of your living room. It’s a perfect fit for the space, and as the lights shine through the branches, you feel the warmth of the holiday spirit filling every corner of the penthouse.

Tony looks at you, eyes shining with excitement. “What’s first?”

You take a deep breath, glancing around the room. It’s all yours. The tree is just the beginning.

“I think,” you say, your voice full of excitement, “we start with the lights.”

Tony nods, his grin widening. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

You kneel down in front of the tree, placing the first strand of lights in your hands. The room feels even warmer now, the dim lights from the penthouse windows softly illuminating everything with their golden glow, but it’s the tree that stands proudly at the center of it all. You reach for the plug to connect the lights, only to hear a faint grunt behind you.

Tony, in his usual enthusiastic style, has already jumped headfirst into the next task: stringing the lights up the tree. Or, more accurately, tangling himself in them.

You glance over your shoulder to find him hunched down, one arm flailing in the air as he tries to reach the highest branch. Unfortunately, the string of lights is now wrapped around his torso, like a garland that has a personal vendetta against him. His expression is one of deep concentration, but also complete and utter confusion.

"Uh, Tony, are you sure you know what you're doing?" you ask, trying to suppress your laughter.

"I’m just… uh, testing the lights,” he mutters, looking incredibly focused on not falling face-first into the tree. "Gotta make sure they work before we get them all in place."

"Uh-huh." You narrow your eyes. "Sure you are. That’s why you're wrapped up like a Christmas present."

Tony looks down at himself, his eyes going wide in genuine surprise. "Well, I didn’t plan for this," he admits. “But… hey, at least now I’m ready for any unexpected electrical malfunctions. Safety first, right?”

You can’t help but burst out laughing, watching him try to extricate himself from the mess of lights. He tugs at the string, but it only tightens more around his chest like a boa constrictor.

"Tony," you say, holding your hand up to try to stifle your giggles. "Maybe you should stop for a second, and we’ll start from the beginning, yeah? You can’t exactly decorate a tree while stuck in a knot."

He pauses, staring at the lights for a long moment before sighing dramatically, like he's performing some sort of grand monologue. "I never imagined my life would come to this," he says with a theatrical sigh, “trapped by holiday lights. Who knew the holiday season could be so treacherous?”

"Maybe if you actually followed the instructions," you tease, walking over to help him. "You know, instead of winging it like everything else you do."

He gives you an exaggerated pout. "I don’t need instructions. I’m Tony Stark. Instructions are for mere mortals."

"Oh, I’m sure the lights will be impressed with your genius," you reply, tugging at the string around his arm. "Alright, hold still. I’m going to help you out of this before you make it worse."

You gently start untangling him, but the more you try to help, the more absurd the situation becomes. At one point, his arm gets stuck in the lights so badly that it seems like they’ve fused into his jacket sleeve. He attempts to free himself by flapping his arm around in exaggerated circles, causing the lights to wrap even tighter.

"I think it's just easier if we burn the whole thing and start fresh," he mutters. "It would save a lot of time and frustration.”

You shake your head, chuckling. "How would you even burn it? You’d probably end up blowing up the building."

“I’m not that bad,” Tony protests, though he still looks tangled beyond belief. “I’ve got it under control… mostly.”

With a final tug, you manage to unravel him from the lights, leaving him looking defeated, his hair a bit more disheveled than usual. He looks at the string of lights in his hands with a defeated sigh.

“Alright, that’s it. You finish this part, I’ll handle something else,” he declares, tossing the lights toward you. “But only because I love you, and I’m clearly not cut out for this domestic stuff.”

You roll your eyes but give him a playful kiss on the cheek. “I love you too, even if you’re a disaster when it comes to holiday decorating.”

He grins at you, his usual cocky confidence returning. “Hey, someone has to make the season interesting.”

You take over, carefully stringing the lights around the tree. Tony stands off to the side, looking around at the ornaments you’ve laid out on the coffee table. His eyes immediately light up with mischievousness.

“Now this,” he says, picking up a glass ornament shaped like a small rocket, “this is the kind of decoration we need. A bit of me in this whole thing.”

You glance over, raising an eyebrow at the tiny rocket in his hand. “A rocket? Really?”

“Well, what better way to spice things up than a tiny Tony Stark rocket? I mean, the thing is pretty cool.” He grins, holding it up like a prize. “I could program it to do something flashy. A little jet-powered display, maybe?”

You hold up your hand to stop him. “Tony, no. Please don’t turn the Christmas tree into a mini Iron Man flight simulation.”

He chuckles, finally relenting and placing the ornament back with the others. “Alright, alright, no mini explosions. But can we at least agree on this—when we get the star on top, it’s going to be the most badass one ever?”

You smirk. “If you’re thinking about making the star fly, I swear to God…”

Tony throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine! No flying stars. I promise. But it’s going to be shiny. You’ll see.”

With the lights finally in place, you stand back to admire your work. The tree is looking better by the second. The warm glow from the lights fills the room, and you can already imagine how cozy everything will feel once you start adding the ornaments and tinsel.

“Okay,” you say, moving to the table where the rest of the ornaments are waiting. “Now we get to the fun part. You ready?”

Tony stretches, shaking out his arms like he's preparing for a big game. “Born ready,” he declares, grabbing a handful of ornaments without looking. “Alright, I’m going to start with these. The important ones.”

You raise an eyebrow, but before you can stop him, Tony hangs the first ornament—a bright red one—with no regard for symmetry. In fact, it’s completely off-center, hanging at an odd angle that’s almost comical.

“Tony,” you say, biting back a laugh. “What are you doing? You can’t just randomly throw ornaments on the tree.”

He shrugs. “Why not? It’s Christmas. The tree can be a little… spontaneous.”

You can’t hold it in anymore and burst out laughing. “It looks like the tree’s been attacked by a very enthusiastic toddler.”

“Hey, don’t knock the randomness,” Tony defends, sticking his tongue out at you. “It’s… avant-garde.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not sure ‘avant-garde’ is the word you’re looking for.”

“Fine,” he sighs dramatically. “I’ll do it your way. But only because you look so cute when you’re being all decorator-y about it.” He gives you a teasing wink before picking up another ornament.

You can barely keep your smile in check as you show him how to hang the ornaments more evenly. But as you demonstrate, Tony inevitably sneaks in a few of his chaotic touches—an ornament hung upside down here, another off to one side. At one point, he hands you a glittery snowman ornament that is somehow tangled in a length of tinsel.

“Here, put this one up,” he says, looking far too pleased with himself. “It’s got character.”

You burst out laughing as you try to untangle the snowman, holding it up in front of your face. "Character? It looks like it got stuck in a snowdrift.”

Tony laughs with you, the sound of it easy and warm. “I think it adds some charm to the tree.”

As the two of you finish decorating, you step back to admire your work. The tree, though slightly lopsided in places, has a certain charm to it. It’s uniquely yours—full of mismatched ornaments, half-wrapped ribbons, and just the right amount of chaos.

Tony steps back, admiring it with a proud grin. “You know what? It might not be perfect, but it’s got style.”

You glance over at him, shaking your head but smiling. “It’s a little more than that. It’s ours.”

His eyes soften, and for a moment, there’s a silence between you. You both stand in front of the tree, feeling a sense of contentment that only comes with creating something together.

“You know,” Tony says, his voice quieter now, “this is nice. I like this. Decorating the tree with you… it’s something I could get used to.”

You turn to him, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Me too, Tony. Me too.”

And as you stand there, side by side, with the tree twinkling in front of you and the warmth of the holiday season filling the air, you realize that no matter how messy or chaotic things get, this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

The tree stands tall and glowing, a patchwork of holiday spirit reflecting the personalities of its decorators—quirky, vibrant, and just a little chaotic. The warm light dances across the room, and the faint scent of pine lingers in the air. You and Tony sit curled up together on the couch, a soft blanket draped over your legs, your head resting on his shoulder as you both admire your handiwork.

“This turned out better than I expected,” you admit, your voice soft as the quiet holiday music plays in the background.

“Better than expected?” Tony feigns offense, turning to look at you. “Did you doubt me? I’m hurt. Wounded, even.”

You snicker, nudging him lightly. “I just wasn’t sure if the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist thing translated to decorating Christmas trees.”

He smirks, his arm tightening around you. “Well, clearly, I’m a man of many talents.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth of the moment keeps you from retorting. Instead, you snuggle closer, your hand resting lightly on his chest as the two of you enjoy the rare quiet of the evening.

For a while, it’s perfect—just you, Tony, and the soft glow of the tree. But after a few minutes, you notice Tony glancing toward the clock on the wall. At first, you think nothing of it. Tony’s always been fidgety, always a million thoughts ahead of himself. But then he does it again, his gaze flickering toward the clock almost absentmindedly, like he’s trying not to make it obvious.

“Something on your mind?” you ask, lifting your head slightly to look at him.

Tony shakes his head quickly, a little too quickly. “Nope. Just thinking about… stuff. Business stuff.” He waves his hand dismissively, but you can feel the slight tension in his posture.

You narrow your eyes, not buying it. “Business stuff? Tony, it’s almost time for dinner. You’re not supposed to be thinking about business stuff.”

He looks down at you, flashing one of his charming smiles, the kind that usually works on just about everyone. “You’re right. No business stuff. Just tree stuff. And couch stuff. And you stuff.” He leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, clearly hoping to derail your train of thought.

And for a moment, it works. You let yourself relax back into him, letting the sound of his heartbeat and the warm weight of his arm around you pull you into the comfort of the evening. But then his phone buzzes on the coffee table.

Your gaze flicks to the screen, but before you can read the notification, Tony shifts forward, reaching for the phone with a quickness that feels just a little… off. He doesn’t open the message right away. Instead, he stands up, the blanket sliding off his lap, and steps toward the window. The soft glow of the city lights frames him as he unlocks the phone and reads the message in silence.

You sit up straighter, watching him carefully. “What’s that about?” you ask, keeping your tone light but curious.

He doesn’t look at you right away. Instead, he stares at the screen for a moment longer before locking the phone and slipping it into his pocket. “Nothing important,” he says casually, turning back to face you. But there’s something in his voice—something slightly distracted—that makes your stomach twist.

“Tony,” you say, tilting your head as you study him. “What’s going on?”

He hesitates, and for the briefest moment, you think he might tell you. But then he clears his throat and puts on that easy, carefree grin again. “It’s nothing, really. Just something I need to take care of real quick. Won’t take long.”

You frown, standing up and crossing your arms as you watch him grab his jacket from the back of the chair. “Take care of what? It’s late, Tony. Where are you going?”

He looks at you, his expression softening just enough to make you second-guess your suspicion. “It’s a surprise,” he says, stepping closer to cup your face in his hands. “I promise it’s nothing bad. You’ll like it.”

“A surprise?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“It could,” he admits, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. “But trust me, it’s better if I handle it tonight.”

You search his face, trying to read the truth behind his words. Tony’s always been good at keeping secrets, but this feels… different. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—nervousness? Guilt? You can’t quite pin it down.

“I don’t like it when you’re vague,” you say quietly, your arms dropping to your sides. “If it’s really a surprise, you can just tell me.”

He shakes his head, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “I know. But you’ll just have to trust me on this one, okay? I’ll be back before you know it.”

You don’t answer right away, your heart tugging in two directions. On one hand, you trust Tony—you love him, and you know he wouldn’t leave like this without a good reason. But on the other hand, something about the way he’s acting feels… off. And the fact that he’s leaving this late, when you were supposed to spend the night together, doesn’t sit right with you.

“Alright,” you say finally, your voice tinged with reluctance. “But if you’re not back in an hour, I’m calling Pepper to tattle on you.”

Tony grins, clearly relieved that you’re letting it go, at least for now. “Fair deal,” he says, pulling you into a quick hug before heading for the door. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this covered. Just enjoy the tree and keep the couch warm for me.”

And with that, he’s gone, leaving you standing in the middle of the room, the glow of the Christmas lights suddenly feeling a little less warm. You glance toward the clock, then toward the door, a knot forming in your chest as the silence settles over the room.

You sit back down on the couch, pulling the blanket over your lap, but you can’t relax. Your eyes keep drifting toward the door, your mind racing with possibilities. What kind of surprise could he be planning? And why did he seem so anxious about it?

The minutes tick by, and though you try to focus on the tree or the soft music playing in the background, your thoughts keep circling back to Tony. Something about this doesn’t feel right, and the longer he’s gone, the harder it becomes to shake the uneasy feeling in your gut.

The ticking of the clock grows louder with each passing minute, the sound cutting through the quiet hum of the room. You glance at your phone for the hundredth time, debating whether you should call Tony. It’s been an hour and a half since he left, and your mind has wandered to every possible worst-case scenario.

Maybe he’s stuck in traffic. Maybe he got sidetracked by some last-minute business emergency. Maybe he’s planning some kind of over-the-top stunt, and it’s taking longer than expected. You try to reassure yourself, but the knot in your stomach refuses to loosen.

Then, just as you’re about to give in and dial his number, the sound of the elevator whirring to life snaps your attention to the front door. You sit up straighter, your heart thudding in your chest as the door slides open to reveal Tony stepping inside.

He’s carrying two things: a large cardboard box with small holes punched into the sides and a massive shopping bag that looks ready to burst at the seams. His hair is slightly tousled, and there’s a sheepish grin on his face as he meets your gaze.

“Miss me?” he asks, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Tony!” You rush to your feet, half-relieved and half-annoyed. “Where have you been? You said you’d be quick!”

“I know, I know,” he says, setting the box down carefully on the coffee table. The shopping bag follows with a dull thud. “And I’m sorry, sweetheart. But, uh, this couldn’t wait.”

Your eyes flick to the box, then back to Tony, your suspicion immediately kicking back into gear. “What do you mean, ‘couldn’t wait’? What’s in the box? And why does it have… holes?”

Tony scratches the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “Okay, so, remember how I said I had a surprise? Well, this is it. Or, uh, part of it.”

“Part of it?” you repeat, crossing your arms. “Tony, if there’s a bomb in there, I swear—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he interrupts, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “No bombs. I promise. Just… open it, alright? Trust me.”

You eye him warily, but curiosity gets the better of you. Stepping closer, you reach for the box, lifting the lid slowly. At first, all you see is a bundle of soft, orange fur curled up in a cozy blanket. Then, as the light filters in, two tiny green eyes blink up at you, followed by a delicate little meow.

Your breath catches in your throat. “Tony… is this—?”

“A kitten,” he says, grinning from ear to ear. “Your kitten. Merry… well, pre-Christmas.”

You stare down at the little creature in disbelief as it stretches and lets out another soft meow. Its fur is a vibrant orange, its tiny paws tipped with white like it’s wearing little socks. Its tail flicks lazily, and it looks up at you with the kind of wide-eyed innocence that melts your heart instantly.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, gently lifting the kitten from the box. It’s warm and impossibly small, its tiny body fitting perfectly into your hands. “Tony, I—where did you even—?”

“It’s been in the works for a while,” he explains, watching you with a fond smile as you cradle the kitten against your chest. “You’ve mentioned wanting a pet a few times, and I figured, hey, why not make it happen? But the shelter called me tonight and said they couldn’t hold him any longer. Apparently, he’s a popular little guy.”

“You… went to a shelter?” You glance up at him, your voice soft with surprise.

“Of course,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I might be a genius, but even I know you’d never forgive me if I bought one from some fancy breeder.”

Your heart swells, and you feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “Tony, this is… this is amazing. He’s perfect.”

The kitten nuzzles into your chest, purring softly, and you can’t help but smile. You’ve always wanted a pet, but between your busy life and Tony’s hectic schedule, it never seemed like the right time. But now, holding this tiny bundle of fur, everything feels just right.

“I’m glad you like him,” Tony says, his voice unusually soft. “Because, uh, that’s not all.”

He gestures toward the shopping bag, which you now realize is overflowing with supplies: a litter box, bags of kitten food, a variety of toys, a cozy little bed, and even a scratching post. There’s enough in there to keep the kitten happy and spoiled for months.

“You really went all out,” you say, laughing through your tears.

“Hey, if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right,” he says with a shrug. “Besides, you deserve it. Both of you.”

You place the kitten carefully back in the box so you can throw your arms around Tony, hugging him tightly. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “This is the best surprise ever.”

He holds you close, his hand running gently up and down your back. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. I just want you to be happy.”

You pull back just enough to look up at him, your hands resting on his chest. “I’m more than happy,” you say, your smile widening. “I’m completely in love. With both of you.”

Tony chuckles, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “Well, I can’t compete with a face like that,” he says, nodding toward the kitten, who’s now batting at a loose ribbon in the box. “But I’ll take what I can get.”

The two of you spend the rest of the evening introducing the kitten to his new home. You let him explore the penthouse at his own pace, watching as he pounces on the smallest shadows and skids across the hardwood floors in an adorable flurry of fur and energy. Tony, for all his swagger and bravado, is just as smitten as you are, crouching down to dangle toys and laughing when the kitten leaps after them with wobbly precision.

“What should we name him?” you ask at one point, sitting cross-legged on the floor as the kitten curls up in your lap.

Tony tilts his head, considering. “Well, he’s orange. How about something like… Rusty? Or Cheeto?”

You give him a look. “Cheeto? Really?”

“What? It’s cute!” he defends, grinning. “Alright, fine. Your call. I’ll just veto anything boring.”

You laugh, looking down at the kitten as he blinks up at you sleepily. “How about… Pumpkin?”

Tony pretends to mull it over, then nods. “Pumpkin. I like it. Festive, cute, and just a little bit cheesy. Perfect.”

“Pumpkin it is,” you say, gently stroking the kitten’s soft fur.

As the night goes on, the three of you settle back onto the couch, the kitten curled up between you and Tony. The Christmas tree glows softly in the corner, casting the room in a warm, golden light. And for the first time in a long time, everything feels exactly as it should be—cozy, peaceful, and filled with love.

Tony wraps an arm around you, pulling you close as you both watch Pumpkin doze off. “You know,” he says softly, “this might be the best Christmas ever.”

You smile, leaning your head against his shoulder. “It definitely is,” you agree. “And it’s not even Christmas yet.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Well, consider this a warm-up. The real show’s just getting started.”

And as you sit there, wrapped in Tony’s arms with Pumpkin purring softly beside you, you can’t imagine anything better.

Tony Stark doesn’t consider himself the jealous type. Not when it comes to humans, at least. He’s Tony Stark, after all—billionaire, genius, and your boyfriend. Why would he ever need to compete for your attention?

And yet, as he stands in the living room of his penthouse, watching you coo at Pumpkin for what feels like the hundredth time that day, Tony feels an unfamiliar twinge in his chest. The kitten, curled up in your lap and purring loud enough to drown out the faint hum of the city below, soaks up every ounce of your affection like he’s been in your life for years instead of just a couple of days.

“Pumpkin, you’re such a good boy,” you murmur, stroking the kitten’s soft orange fur. He stretches lazily, his tiny paws reaching out to bat at your hand, and you giggle in response, your face lighting up with pure adoration.

Tony clears his throat, hoping to grab your attention. When that doesn’t work, he tries again, louder this time. “You know, I’m still here,” he says, crossing his arms as he leans against the wall. “Your human boyfriend. The one who, might I remind you, actually got you the furball in the first place.”

You glance up at him with a grin, clearly amused. “I know, Tony. And you did a great job. I love him.”

“Uh-huh,” Tony replies, raising an eyebrow. “You love him. And what about me?”

“Oh, I love you too,” you say, laughing lightly. “But Pumpkin’s just… so cute. Look at him!”

Tony sighs dramatically, throwing his hands in the air. “Yeah, he’s cute. But I’m cute too! I’m fun. I’m Tony Stark.”

Pumpkin chooses that moment to yawn, his tiny mouth stretching wide before he curls back into a contented ball on your lap. You immediately let out an “aww” and start petting him again, completely ignoring Tony’s faux outrage.

“Unbelievable,” Tony mutters, shaking his head as he flops onto the couch beside you. “I bring you a kitten, and suddenly I’m chopped liver.”

You nudge him playfully with your elbow. “You’re not chopped liver. You’re just… second place right now.”

“Second place?!” Tony stares at you, his jaw dropping in mock offense. “I didn’t spend a fortune on that scratching post in the corner so I could be demoted to second place.”

“Tony,” you say, trying to keep a straight face as you turn to him. “Pumpkin is a baby. He needs attention.”

“I need attention!” Tony counters, pointing to himself. “What about me? Who’s gonna scratch my ears and tell me I’m a good boy?”

You burst out laughing, and Tony can’t help but grin despite himself. There’s something about your laugh that always makes him forget whatever point he was trying to make, even when he’s “arguing” with a kitten.

“Alright, alright,” you say, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “You’re a good boy, Tony.”

“Too late,” he replies, huffing as he leans back against the couch. “I see how it is. I’ve been replaced. I might as well start growing whiskers and eating kibble at this point.”

Pumpkin stirs in your lap, his green eyes blinking open as he lets out a soft, high-pitched meow. You immediately coo again, leaning down to nuzzle the kitten. “Aww, did you wake up, little guy? You’re such a sweetheart, aren’t you?”

Tony watches this exchange with growing exasperation. “Oh, come on. He meowed. That’s it. Do you want me to meow? Because I will. I’ll meow right now.”

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh, but it’s a losing battle. “Tony, please don’t.”

“No, no,” Tony says, sitting up straight. “I’m serious. If that’s all it takes to get your attention, I’ll start practicing my feline repertoire. Meow. There, how was that?”

You’re laughing so hard now that Pumpkin looks up at you with what can only be described as mild concern. “Tony, stop,” you manage between giggles. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?!” Tony gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “This is my penthouse. My tree. My girlfriend. And now, my replacement.” He gestures at Pumpkin, who has climbed onto your shoulder and is pawing at your hair like it’s his new favorite toy.

You reach up to steady the kitten, still smiling. “Tony, you’re being jealous of a kitten. A kitten.”

“Not jealous,” he says quickly. “Just… concerned. For my well-being. Do you know how much of my lap space he’s taking up? And what about my snuggle quota? I’m going to be malnourished from lack of affection at this rate.”

You shake your head, still laughing as you set Pumpkin down on the couch between you. The kitten promptly curls up into a ball again, seemingly unbothered by the ongoing drama. “Tony, you’re ridiculous,” you say, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “But you’re my ridiculous.”

“Damn right, I am,” he mutters, though he can’t hide the pleased grin that tugs at his lips. “Just remember that next time you’re fawning over the furball.”

You roll your eyes but settle against him, resting your head on his shoulder as you both look down at Pumpkin. “You know, you’re the one who brought him into the house. You did this to yourself.”

Tony groans, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t realize I was signing up to be the third wheel in my own relationship.”

You glance up at him with a smirk. “If it makes you feel better, you’re still my favorite billionaire genius.”

“Favorite billionaire genius? That’s a low bar,” he grumbles. “How about favorite everything?”

“Fine,” you say, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Favorite everything.”

He grins, finally looking smug again. “That’s more like it.”

Pumpkin chooses that moment to let out a soft snore, and you both look down at him. Despite all of Tony’s grumbling, you can see the fondness in his eyes as he watches the tiny ball of orange fur sleep peacefully.

“He’s pretty great, isn’t he?” you ask softly.

Tony sighs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Yeah, he’s alright. But if he starts hogging the bed, we’re gonna have words.”

You laugh, snuggling closer to him. “Deal.”

For the rest of the night, Tony continues to play up his faux-jealousy, sneaking exaggerated glares at Pumpkin whenever you’re not looking. But deep down, you know he’s already completely smitten with the kitten—even if he won’t admit it. And as the three of you settle into the glow of the Christmas tree, it’s clear that Pumpkin has brought even more joy into your already chaotic, love-filled life.

[thegayloragenda]

Okay I want to put all of my current predictions out here (these are subject to change, of course):

• I think this show is going to get a little more colorful or a little bit more gay with each show because I think she’s running out the clock.

• I am CLOWNING for an eventual pronoun change during surprise songs.

• I think Karlie will probably show up again. And if she shows up for the rep announcement I will die dead.

• I’m also clowning for a rainbow variation of every outfit or perhaps a debutation variation if she plans to drop them together. Maybe a karma outfit. Idk. I don’t really know what is coming next in regard to music or if there will be anything (what if she just went black out for a year and then dropped rep next December 😂).

• I’m split because I think she’s either going to continue this Travis stunt until the Super Bowl or she’ll break up with him while on tour (if it’s real that’s totally fine but the way this relationship has been crammed down our throats gives me the ick so bad). I have no idea how that breakup will go down especially since they’ve made an entire Christmas movie about this relationship.

• I’m still assuming we’ll get a proposal / breakup.

Overall, I don’t think Taylor Swift would pander to this side of the fandom the way she has if she didn’t have a plan to blow everything up. I assume she’s a good person. I assume she’s supportive of the fans who see her. I’ve been in this fandom long enough to know what it looks like when she’s in the closet and when she isn’t. The closet isn’t even glass anymore. The closet is just invisible at this point so if she’s just a straight girl who loves rainbows, she’s absolutely diabolical in the very worst ways.

And before anyone comes for me, yes she can be bi or pan or whatever she wants to be. I don’t care about muses or labels. I notice patterns and I can’t help but connect the dots. I see bi and lesbian dresses and her calling attention to them so that’s where my focus is. I care about freedom for her (whatever that looks like) and I also think some clarity about who she actually is will help a lot of us decide if we want to keep supporting her and giving her our money. I’m placing my bet on her being who I think she is so I’m here to support her until the end of this roller coaster ride.

I will make a post on the final day of this tour but I just want to say this: I have had the TIME OF MY LIFE in this labyrinth. I have made lifelong friends because of this side of the fandom. Thank you to ALL of my friends on here who have followed me and commented on my posts and said such kind things. Thank you to everyone who has messaged me their insights and theories. And finally, thank you to my fans who have messaged me your homophobic, brain-rotted hate comments. Good luck in the aftermath!

And to Taylor (if you ever see this), thank you for keeping my mind so stimulated. I will probably never get dementia because of you. You have been so good for my brain health. Thank you for teaching me about my own history as a queer girlie. Thank you for helping me heal my relationship with my neurodivergent self. Thank you for being the “mother” who saw me when my own mother just talks about how gross and wrong gay people are. Thank you for being kind and strong and brave in the face of shame and fear and danger. Thank you for leading a revolution of New Romantics! No one does it like you, girl. I love you so much. I hope you got a giggle over the chaos and the wrong predictions. I hope this tour brought you joy and hope and peace and healing. I know I haven’t always seen eye to eye with some of your choices, but I do respect you and I do hope the rest of your life is sunshine and rainbows and you get to hug your mom forever and take really long naps with your person after all of this is over. Long live 💜

Update: I do think the election plays a big role in how loud she can be. @casuallycruel131313 pointed this out, too. We’ll get way more once Kamala has been elected! I think Canada shows will be wildddd.

[meetmypointlessaddiction]

December Fics Day 7 ~ Holiday Cheer

Thanks or all the comments and support on the other parts of this Daily Fic challenge, it means a lot and I'm so glad people are enjoying what I'm writing 💛

Just a reminder that my requests are also open for any Logan ideas that you have or even if it's just to share any thoughts. 🫶

Summary: Logan's refusal to get in the Christmas spirit ruins your mood. How will he make up for it?

Warnings: like the teeniest bit of angst, but like it's not even really that angsty

Pairings: pretty sure this is suitable for everyone (fem!reader/male!reader/gn!reader) however towards the end in a conversation with Storm I feel like I may have slipped a little and it leans more towards a female reader

Enjoy and please like and comment if you do. Something as simple as an emoji literally makes my day better so please don't hesitate to comment and obviously reblog to share my work.

December Masterlist

Getting Logan into the festive spirit was difficult. And  that was putting it nicely. Just as you’d expect, the man was a huge grinch and no matter how much you begged and pleaded, Logan refused to participate in any of the festivities that were going on around the school. 

For example, you were currently chasing him around your bedroom, trying to force a Christmas jumper on his. Around Christmas time, the dress code for teachers changed from formal to Christmas jumpers and so it was tradition for you all to wear ugly jumpers or fancy ones or one with flashing Christmas tree lights on the. “I am not wearing that. It’s awful.” Logan said, shut away in the bathroom, the door locked and his body against it to prevent you from opening it. 

“Logan, come on. Seriously, it’s not that bad. Besides, all the teachers are wearing one, it’s tradition.” You pleaded through the door, your head rested against it as you tried to bargain with him. “We can go out to that nice steakhouse you like if you wear it?” You tried but he was having none of it. “Fine, you big baby. Don’t wear one.” 

Logan thought that was the end of it but, like usual with you, there was always something else. He got two days of peace, living his life as the grinch of the mansion before you were yet again chasing him, trying to force him into some festive item.

~~~~~~~~~~

He was at the other side of the kitchen counter, glaring at you as you held up a pair of pyjama pants, decorated with red candy canes and gingerbread men. “Oh Logan please! We’ll be matching and it’ll be cute. Nobody even has to see you in them, I’m not asking you to walk around the school in them.” 

“Bub I don’t wear shit like that, you know this.” He argued, unwilling to crumble to your wishes. You glared at him and threw the pyjama bottoms onto the kitchen counter. He noticed how every time he turned you down, the sadness on your face seemed to multiply. Was he being harsh?

~~~~~~~~~~

Three days before Christmas and you were in a mood with Logan. You had asked him to wear a Christmas hat to the dinner that evening and he had refused, straight up refused. Not even the usual bickering that you had before you finally left him alone, the man said no and went and locked himself in his office. Maybe he was being a grump but he didn’t want to wear the damn hat and your puppy dog eyes could not convince him otherwise.

It wasn’t until Storm knocked on his office door, asking to come in to talk about something that he realised how much he had messed up. “You’ve really upset them, you know, Logan?” Storm pointed out and Logan looked up from the work he was marking. 

“Huh? How have I? I don’t wanna wear the damn Christmas stuff, it ain’t that big a deal.” He grunted and Storm whacked the back of his head. 

“Jesus Christ Logan how dense can you be? This is your first Christmas officially together. The first Christmas where the pair of you aren’t just having some kind of fling. The matching pyjamas, the Christmas jumper, the Santa hat. They want to make memories with you, they want to be able to look back on your first Christmas together and recall all the cute shit you guys did. Instead, you’ve spent the majority of the month being a grumpy grinch and turning them down with every request they had.” Storm explained and Logan’s face softened. 

“Oh…” He muttered. “I didn’t realise it meant that much. I just-.” 

“This proves how dense men are. You’ve had almost 200 years on this earth to figure out people’s emotions and you’re still clueless. Look, I don’t know how you can fix it but you better find a way to before Christmas Day otherwise Christmas dinner is going to be awkward for everyone.” With that she left and Logan immediately knew how to fix it. 

~~~~~~~~~~

On Christmas Eve, while you were in your office grading papers, he slipped into your shared bedroom, finding the Christmas jumper, the pyjama pants and the santa hat, putting them all on. He had been a bought a big bouquet of roses and some sweet Christmas themed treat that you had raved about all month, putting them on your bedside table before lounging on the bed, waiting for you to return. 

When you trudged back into your shared room a little before 10PM, you weren’t expecting Logan to be awake, nevermind sat on the end of the bed, dressed in festive attire holding a bouquet of red roses and a box and treats. “What-?” 

“I’ve been a dick and I’m tryna make it up to you. Storm kinda pointed out to me that this Christmas is more that just a holiday. It’s out first one officially as… well as a couple and I should have been more considerate of how you wanted to celebrate it and I’m sorry I’ve been turning you down.” He finished with a deep breath, standing from the bed and holding out the flowers and chocolate. You took them from him and noticed the note sticking out of the flowers. 

Sorry for being a dick, I’ll do better. Yours always, L.

“Logan…” You could feel the tears brewing as he held you against his chest, one hand on the back of your head and the other on the small of your back. “I’m sorry too… I shouldn’t have been so pushy. You didn’t wanna wear them and I got way too upset about it.” 

“Nah I was being a baby. The jumper isn’t even that bad and the hat is kind of cool, well the kids seemed to like it anyway.” He admitted and you noticed how he had pulled the return tag out of the pyjama bottoms. 

“You know that you can’t return those pants now that you’ve pulled the tag out?” You pointed out and the tips of his ears flushed pink. 

“Well they umm… I like em. They’re comfy and well… I wanna match with you.” He mumbled and you couldn’t help but kiss the adorable, shy smile from his face. “Merry Christmas, bub.”

This might be my favourite one I've written so far so let me know what you think!

Dividers: @coolcatsgraphics

I'm also on A03 :)

[rinhaler]

PRELUDE

CHAPTER SUMMARY : Your best friend Chigiri is hanging out at your place helping you wrap gifts for the holidays. Weird coincidence that your ex-boyfriend's brother texts you while you're talking about him with an invitation to visit the Itoshi family cabin!

ex-fiancé!rin x f!reader

WARNINGS : 18+, alchol consumption, mentions of a breakup.

WORDS : 1k

notes: SOOOOO nervous to share this but I hope u all enjoy :3

               MASTERLIST ┊ NEXT CHAPTER

“Do you miss him, still?” Hyoma asks, helping you wrap gifts to deliver to your family throughout the week. His question halts you, momentarily, before you shrug the thought away. “I get it, this time of year makes you think about things like that too much.”

You sigh, finishing one present and placing it in a tall gift bag before starting another.

“I don’t have any right to miss him, right? I ended things…” you try to laugh at yourself so you don’t cry, but Hyoma knows you too well, he knows how sensitive you are. He knows how you try and downplay your feelings so that you don’t make others feel uncomfortable.

But he knows you.

“It’s a big change, though.” he reminds you, “Cut yourself some slack.”

“Anyway!” you giggle, still trying to hide your true feelings before you burst into tears. “I’m dreading Christmas. I’m meant to be seeing my parents on different days, my dad has a new girlfriend who is younger than me. It’s so weird.”

“I told everyone I’m working so I don’t have to see anyone all week.” he smirks, laughing a little when he sees you staring at him with a look of horror. It’s kind of genius, really, you’re a little jealous you didn’t think of it. “It’s my birthday week, I choose peace.” he tells you, defending his choice.

“I love your birthday.” you tell him, finishing up another present. You stand up so you can stretch your body, sitting on the ground is definitely taking its toll. You end up yawning loudly as your body relaxes, but you feel a surge of energy as you look down and see a notification on your phone.

SAE: hey, are u doing anything next week?

“Um…” you say, pacing around a little as you read the text over and over. You catch Chigiri’s attention, he finishes wrapping the last item and puts it in the bag for your dad. “Sae just texted me.”

“Sae? What did he say?” he wonders, pulling his body up so he’s sitting on the couch behind him rather than the cream, fur rug in the middle of the hardwood floor. “You’re still in touch with him?!”

“Well, y-yeah! I figured I broke up with Rin, not his family, so…” you explain, sitting next to him on the couch and showing him the text. His eyes widen, surprised at what he’s asking. “Once we started getting along we were close! I didn’t feel right about cutting him off too… should I reply?”

“I don’t know. This is weird.”

You roll your eyes and look at the text thread again.

YOU: it’s chig’s bday and I’m seeing family! wbu? SAE: my parents are in Europe for the holidays so I’m heading up to the cabin with some friends. Interested?

“Oh my God.” you speak, showing Chigiri your phone.

“Stop calling me Chigs.” he scolds you, focusing again to read the most recent text. “Shit. What’re you gonna say?”

YOU: can’t! hyoma will be alone for his bday if I come 💔

“Don’t use me as an excuse!” he chastises you. “If you wanna go, go.”

“I don’t want to… what if Rin is there?”

SAE: bring him. SAE: there’s more than enough room.

Your heart is racing. You only realise how much when Hyoma reminds you to breathe. Even your hands are trembling as you hold your phone. He doesn’t say anything in way of an answer if he’d like to come or not, he’s leaving it in your hands.

“I- it’s your birthday, Hyoma!”

“I don’t have plans! We’ll either spend it together at home or spend it together in a rich boy’s cabin.” he assures you. You smile, weakly, appreciative of the support. But there’s no way you can go. You can’t face Rin after everything, not yet, maybe not ever. “Whatever you wanna do, I’ll support you!”

You look down at your phone again, still having no idea what to say.

SAE: Rin won’t be there, that’s why I’m inviting you. YOU: … YOU: why? Let me guess, training? SAE: yeah. SAE: so… YOU: ugh… fine! If ur sure he won’t be there SAE: I’ll send the address 😊

“What am I doing?” you ask Chigiri, tossing your phone down onto the coffee table before turning to face him. He laughs, leaving you alone to open a bottle of Disaronno. “Hyoma… it’s 11am.”

He shrugs, “It’s Christmas.”

You laugh, watching him pour two small glasses for you both. The two of you get comfortable on the couch, facing each other, as you begin to dissect what just happened. He pulls the blanket down from the back of the sofa and you both struggle to adjust it with one hand each, neither of you willing to put down your drink.

Disaronno is dangerous, because it tastes so good. You drink it, lots of it, forgetting it isn’t in fact Dr Pepper in a glass. You both end up wasted, forgetting everything that just happened.

You look at your sparse Christmas tree, feeling a wave of sadness as you remember this time last year you and Rin had decorated it together.

“I do miss him…” you tell Chigiri after a lull of silence, lip wobbling as you think fondly of your ex. Chigiri shakes his head, though, taking another big gulp of a much larger drink.

“Don’t start.” he insists.

You sigh, putting your drink down and taking a few deep breaths. He tries to distract you with nonsensical chit chat, though it doesn’t really help. Rin is still at the forefront of your mind, no matter how hard you try and push him away. Who’s stupid idea was it to drink at 11am? Hyoma’s! It’s all his fault you’re in your fucking feelings.

“Hey, I’ve been wondering something…” he tells you, tilting his head as he thinks. “How are you gonna get out of seeing your parents for Christmas?”

You look at him, dumbfounded. You lean back over to the coffee table to grab your drink without taking your eyes off him. It’s gone in one swig, so he tops it up again. And you devour that, too.

“… Fuck.”

© 2023 rinhaler

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman-Part 23

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe : Military School

Words : 5k

Masterlist

———————————————————————

Saturday, December 5th; 11:00 AM - Ona and Alexia’s Room

I gradually begin to emerge from my sleep. I’m lying on my stomach and stretch without any restraint. I take the opportunity to grab my phone from my nightstand. I'm surprised when I see the time. It’s the first time I’ve slept until 11:00 AM at school.

“The groundhog is finally up.”

I groan in frustration at the sound of that voice. She’ll never leave me alone, will she? I thought I’d at least have some peace on my Saturday morning. I don’t even want to know how long she’s been here waiting for me. Bronze hasn’t left me alone since our visit to the doctor. I was so fed up that I insisted on returning to classes on Wednesday morning instead of Thursday just to get away from her. I was still slightly sick, and of course, my return didn’t go unnoticed in class. But at least Bronze allowed me to stay with them and start revising for my upcoming exams that day. It didn’t stop her from continuing to hover over me, though. I almost regret deciding to stay here this weekend. Especially since Joan would kill me if he knew I could go home. Two months ago, I would have been the first to run away from school. But this weekend is different. Bronze promised we’d go out to do our Christmas shopping. She seemed to like the idea when I suggested it, saying she’d use the opportunity to buy her gifts too. I take the time to stretch again before rolling onto my back. I’m surprised not to see her by my side as usual. I prop myself up on my elbows to look for her. I quickly spot her sitting on my desk, her feet swinging in the air.

“Can’t you give me a break?” I chuckle, letting myself fall back onto my pillow.

“You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not,” she teases.

“Especially this week,” I sigh, closing my eyes again. “How long have you been here?”

“I just got back about fifteen minutes ago.”

I place my hand over my eyes to shield myself from the light, taking a deep breath. Since yesterday, I can finally breathe through my nose again. It’s pure bliss! Especially for Alexia, who wouldn’t stop complaining about my snoring. I’m relieved that the medication is finally working. The doctor wasn’t so clueless after all. At least he knows how to do his job. I’ve got a few days left on the antibiotics. If it were up to me, I would have stopped taking them yesterday, but Bronze insists that I finish them all to ensure I’m fully recovered. I still cough a bit and occasionally have a hoarse voice, but otherwise, it’s all gone. In fact, I’m coughing right now, like my life depends on it. It’s a phlegmy cough, which according to Bronze, is a good sign.

“If you don’t hurry up and get ready, we’ll have to eat here.”

That sentence had the desired effect. In less than ten seconds, I’m on my feet, not caring that I’m only wearing an old T-shirt of my dad’s. If we stay here, she’ll make me eat soup again. If not, I noticed there’s cabbage on the menu for lunch, and I hate that. Better to eat out so I can finally have a proper meal. I grab some fresh clothes and then have to pass by Bronze to get to the bathroom. Unexpectedly, she blocks my way by putting her foot on the bar of my bed. I almost fell backward from the unexpected impact.

“What now?” I grumble.

“Open your mouth.”

I roll my eyes as I accept the spoonful of syrup. I’ve stopped arguing with her since she’s taken my medical care so seriously. I feel like a child, but it seems to make her happy. The upside is that I’m healing quickly by letting her take care of me. I’d never have taken this much syrup and nasal spray without her. She finally lets me pass, a silly smile on her lips. I don’t bother closing the bathroom door behind me since she can’t see me from where she is and I just need a quick freshening up since I showered last night. I get dressed, finish up with my hair, and check myself in the mirror one last time to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything. I return to the room, where Bronze still hasn’t moved. I must not have taken long thanks to my morning routine. She doesn’t notice me as she’s absorbed in her phone.

“I’m ready,” I inform her.

“You get motivated so easily,” she smiles, looking up.

“I wasn’t going to say no when you’re finally letting me have a proper meal! I swear, if you offer me soup one more time, I don’t know what I’ll do to you.”

She chuckles, jumping off my desk. We put on our jackets, and I grab my bag before following her outside. I understand why she wanted me to hurry when I see Engen at the front desk. She wanted to make sure we could leave without being noticed by anyone else. Bronze drives more carefully than usual due to the snow that hasn’t stopped falling for days. It’s still snowing today, in fact. It’s surprising to see the roads so clear with all this snowfall.

“Does it always snow this much here?”

“I’d say so. Why?”

“It doesn’t snow at Barcelona.”

“That, I believe. It came late this year, but now I think it’s here to stay for a while.”

Everything is white, except for the road. I could get used to this scenery. There must be a good ten centimeters of snow. I’m glad I brought my boots. I’ll try to take the opportunity to look for a new jacket. At least I won’t have to keep borrowing Bronze’s, even though I really like it.

“You’re not used to this weather, are you?”

“No, not at all,” I chuckle. “I’m just not used to the cold.”

“You said you were from Portugal, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Where exactly?”

“Lisbon.”

“Porto, for me.”

“So it’s true. You’re from Portugal too?”

“Yes, of course,” she smiles. “When did you move to Barcelona?”

I tense up immediately. Bronze quickly apologizes, realizing she’s crossed a line. I tell her it’s fine, even though it does affect me. This is where everything sort of started. I turn my head towards the window before beginning my explanation.

“My parents separated when I was ten. My mom received an offer from a Barcelona hospital that she couldn’t refuse. It was the perfect chance for a fresh start, especially since she’s originally from there.”

“I see. Didn’t you want to stay with your dad? You seem close to him.”

“Believe me, if it had been up to me, I would have stayed in Lisbon, but my dad was in the military. He couldn’t keep me with him.”

I freeze, realizing too late that I spoke in the past tense. I glance at Bronze, who either hasn’t noticed or is hiding it well. She just nods. I relax a little, sinking back into my seat.

“I’d love to go back one day,” I confide. “Not necessarily to Lisbon, but I’d like to live in Portugal again.”

“Really? Do you miss it?”

“Let’s just say I have all my memories there. I used to go back during the holidays when my dad wasn’t on a mission… It was my refuge.”

“Stay here in Manchester if you want a change of scenery.”

We’ve had this conversation before not too long ago. She knows I’m thinking about it. I didn’t expect her to encourage me to do it.

“You said you were starting to like it here, so why not?”

“It’s a possibility. I’ve thought about it, but it’s more complicated than that. How am I supposed to live here? I’d be unemployed, and on top of that, I’d be coming from a damn camp… I’m not sure that makes a good impression on a resume.”

“Would you like to live here?”

I don’t answer right away. I weigh the pros and cons of her question. In reality, I have no idea. I don’t know anything except the camp. I’ve had a taste of the city, but not in depth.

“No idea,” I shrug. “I don’t know much, really. I’d like to visit the city sometime.”

She seems to be thinking. I had asked her before to give me a tour, but we never revisited the topic. I didn’t want to seem pushy by insisting. If it happens, I want the offer to come from her. She was about to say something but then stops herself and completely changes the subject, telling me she knows some nice places near the mall for lunch. As long as there’s no soup involved, I don’t care where she takes me. A few minutes later, we arrive at our destination. It’s a small, cozy restaurant. We’re warmly welcomed and quickly seated. It’s not too crowded. It seems like the kind of place with lots of regulars. We ordered our drinks first, then our meals. I got a chicken cordon bleu. It’s my first real meal of the week, and I plan to enjoy it now that I can finally eat something solid again. Bronze smiled amusedly at my order. I wasn’t joking when I said I’d strangle her if she offered me soup one more time.

“I have a proposal for you,” she says seriously.

“What kind of proposal?”

“I’ll give you a tour of the city one weekend when you get a pass.”

“Really? Like, a whole weekend?”

“Yes, a whole weekend,” she laughs. “I’ll host you so we can have more freedom. That way, you can get a feel for the city. But I’d prefer if we do it after the Christmas holidays.”

I can’t believe it. She finally offered! A whole weekend at her place and a tour of the city. What more could I ask for? She really got me earlier when she changed the subject! I can barely resist jumping for joy. She’s doing everything she can to make me happy. I should pay for the meal, actually. Not only because she paid last time, but also to thank her for everything she’s done for me. I’m probably the only student she treats like this, after all.

“I’ll take that as a yes?”

I nod enthusiastically, my wide smile never leaving my face. She laughs softly. To think that back in early October, I couldn’t stand her. Now, I’m not sure I could do without her. We’ve reached a point where we’re eating out together at a restaurant. Our food arrives shortly after. That was incredibly fast. My stomach growls at the sight of my dish. I barely manage a quick “Bon appétit” before diving into the food. I close my eyes, savoring the meat. I even let out a little moan, which makes Bronze laugh.

“Don’t make fun of me! You’re the one who deprived me of decent food for a week.”

“You’re the one who was sick and didn’t have an appetite until today.”

I stick out my tongue at her, and her smile widens. We eat leisurely, chatting about my classes and revisions, which are already getting on my nerves. However, I have to admit that her lessons are paying off. Her supervision motivates me to keep going and make my goal possible. My math teacher, who’s also my homeroom teacher, gave me a schedule for the tests I agreed to retake. I’ll be taking one or two after my classes under Bronze’s supervision in a classroom. Without these new tests, I would have had an extra week to prepare for the final exams of the semester, which are scheduled for the last week before the holidays. I would have preferred to take everything in the last week, but Bronze thought that was too much and suggested I take the others the week before. So, I’ll have two very busy weeks in a row. I feel like I won’t be getting much sleep in the coming nights, even if Bronze manages to help me revise effectively.

“By the way, do you have any plans for New Year’s?”

“Oh, so I’m allowed to celebrate that one?”

Has she already forgotten that she banned me from parties? I’d regret reminding her if that’s the case. January 1st falls on a Friday, and we start right back up on Monday from what I’ve seen. I can’t afford to mess up anyway. I had some major bouts of depression after my detox. Bronze had to reassure me several times to keep me from spiraling into guilt over my actions. To her, I’m not to blame. Just for her support, I can’t let her down. Seeing her disappointed because of me would hurt. Moreover, the decision about the electives will be made during the class council at the beginning of the year. You can’t say that the decision is in my favor at the moment. So, I need to be present in class and make a good impression if I want it to be favorable. I’m both excited and nervous about that moment arriving. There will be a change in class and schedule starting in the third week. The only thing that scares me is ending up alone. None of my friends seem to have the same options as me, especially not Alexia. It’s annoying because she’s the person I appreciate the most here.

“As long as you’re reasonable,” she shrugs. “So, any plans?”

“To be honest, no. I haven’t planned anything yet. I’m thinking about spending it with Mapi in Barcelona, but we haven’t seriously discussed it.”

“You don’t talk to her?”

“Yes, we write to each other every day… well, we just catch up briefly,” I say, lowering my head. “Between our classes, my cold, and her girlfriend… it’s limited.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Well, a little, yeah,” I admit. “I know she won’t replace me, but it bothers me to be far from her. She was my confidante before—”

“Before…?” she furrows her brows. “Isn’t that the case anymore?”

I run my hand over my face. Damn… I made the mistake of looking into her eyes. She doesn’t even realize the effect she has on me, or maybe she knows how to use it. I look away before murmuring a weak, “Before you…”

“What do you mean, ‘before me’?”

“Well… since I’ve been here, I find it easier to confide in you. I told her about it, and since then, she’s been encouraging me to do it…”

“I see. And what’s the problem?”

“Well, let’s just say she doesn’t know everything about my past. She must think that over time, I’ll be able to confide in you completely, and that’s why she encourages me. She thinks it’ll be a relief to finally tell someone.”

“And what do you think?”

“Well… she might not be wrong,” she shrugs. “But I’m afraid she’ll resent me for doing it later. I don’t want her to think she’s less important or that she’ll blame herself for not getting me to open up… I don’t really know, but all I know is that I care too much about her to risk losing her.”

I’ve already abandoned her once, and I don’t want her to think it’ll happen again. I don’t want to push her away or exclude her from my life. She’s the only one who came back and who I really care about. It would be the ultimate irony if she thought she’d failed as my best friend.

“Have you talked to her about it?”

“No, she’d think I’m crazy,” I chuckle.

“You should. Am I allowed to give my opinion?”

“Of course.”

“I think she just wants what’s best for you, which is why she’s encouraging you to open up to me. For her, it doesn’t matter who the person is as long as you feel better. I imagine she just wants to see you like you were before.”

“You think so?”

“She cares a lot about you, Ona. You’re just worried because you’re afraid of being a bad friend by abandoning her again. Am I wrong?”

I sigh and shake my head. She really can read me like an open book.

“You should talk to her.”

I sigh deeply, resting my head on my hand. I bring a fry to my mouth as I think. She’s probably right. I’m worrying over nothing. I hope that’s really the case. I thank her for her advice. Now I’ll have to wait a bit to talk to Mapi. She’s very busy with her studies and her girlfriend. She has as many assignments as I do that are coming up. I’ll talk to her during the holidays.

“So, New Year’s?” she asks me.

“I’m not sure,” I shrug. “Probably at Ana’s place, like last time… We’ll see. I’m not too thrilled about the idea, but I don’t have much of a choice.”

“Who’s that?”

“Mapi’s girlfriend. I’m not jealous, really,” I quickly add. “It’s just that I don’t really like the kind of parties she throws anymore. What about you, your New Year’s?”

“With my friends, probably.”

“Still no girlfriend?”

She chuckles, shaking her head without giving me a clear answer. Bronze never talks about herself to me because of the restrictions placed on her. I had a hard time accepting it at first, especially since I tell her a lot. It was strange to think I know her habits and manners, but not her. Now, I accept what she gives me, telling myself she’ll confide in me one day if she feels like it.

“Still none,” she finally replies. “Even if I did have one, I wouldn’t bring her with me.”

“You’re that type, huh?” I laugh.

“What type?” she furrows her brows.

“The type to hide your girlfriends from your friends.”

“I don’t hide them. It’s just that… I don’t know, actually. I guess I’m waiting for the right one before the introductions.”

“I see. What are you like in a relationship?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, are you more the dominant type, or do you let the other person have their way?”

“Neither, I suppose.”

“Oh… You give off the impression of being dominant,” I giggle.

“Maybe, but I’m not. I believe that in a relationship, both people should be equal. It doesn’t matter if it’s a gay, lesbian, or straight couple.”

“You’re probably right… but there’s always one person who stands out a bit more.”

“Well, I guess it depends on the person you’re in a relationship with.”

Those words are so philosophical. I don’t completely agree with what she says. It’s true that we can be different with each person we’re with, but I think everyone is born with a dominant nature. Bronze seems dominant to me, even if she denies it. Maybe I’m wrong. In any case, she’s dominant compared to me since she surpasses me in any field and orders me around all the time. The meal finally ends. We decide not to linger and head to pay the bill. I had to fight for it, but I eventually managed to pay the whole check. She frowned and scolded me until we reached the mall.

“Shall we stick together, or do you want to go our separate ways?” she asks, surprised.

“I don’t know the stores here, so I’d rather we stay together if you don’t mind.”

“Okay,” she smiles. “Where should we start?”

“Well, I already have ideas for certain people.”

“Then let’s start with them.”

We start with Sam and Sophia since I know what I want to get them. We continue into a toy store since Bronze still hasn’t said anything. For Joan, it’s more complicated. I thought about getting him some board games since he loves playing together, but I changed my mind when Bronze showed me a remote controlled car. I completely fell for it, imagining Joan’s face when he sees his gift. I don’t buy it but decide not to take it with me. I explained to the vendor that I’d need it in Barcelona. To make things easier, he suggested I reserve it and pick it up at a store in Barcelona, which I immediately accepted. He gave me a reservation voucher. I didn’t know that was possible, but it’s very convenient. The next shop we go to is a sports store. As you might guess, it’s not for me. It was next to where we were, so we went there. She said she knew exactly what she wanted, so it would be quick. I wandered around while she waited for a salesperson. I ended up in the football section. My dad was a big fan, and he introduced me to it. I loved watching matches with him, and sometimes, I’d watch them with Mapi afterward. We’d have movie nights in front of the TV with popcorn when a match was on. I linger over the jerseys. My wardrobe must still have some old ones from the teams my dad supported. I took a large part of his clothes when we did the big sort through his things.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” I hear Lucy say behind me. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah…” I say, dragging my hand over one of the jerseys. “Are you done?”

“Uh-huh. Did you find something you like?” she asks, looking at the section.

“No, no. I was just looking.”

“Do you like football?” she asks, surprised.

“Yeah,” I say, smiling shyly. “And you like boxing?” I ask, furrowing my brows at the boxing gloves she’s holding.

“They’re for my best friend. Her are broken.”

She was holding other items, but they must have been related to the gloves. I nodded, and then we headed to the checkout to pay for her items. We walked out into the middle of the shopping mall with an extra bag in hand.

"Do you have anything in mind?"

"I'm torn between getting a bracelet or perfume for Mapi," I shrugged. "What's the best choice for an ex? And on top of that, her girlfriend doesn't know about us."

"How come?"

"She’s afraid her girlfriend will have a jealous meltdown. She pretends I'm just her best friend so she can stay over at my place without any issues."

"That’s risky," she said, raising an eyebrow.

"I already warned her, but she doesn’t want to hear it," I shrugged again.

"Okay. Well, let's start with the perfume shop then. I noticed my parents' bottles are almost empty, so I’d like to get them that. You can think it over in the meantime."

I agreed, and we headed to the next store, which was on the second floor this time. Bronze quickly decided on her purchases, picking up their usual bottles. As for me, a saleswoman made me smell several perfumes after she saw me wandering through the aisles. I narrowed it down to three based on what Mapi likes. Bronze went to pay for her items while I was left to choose between the last three testers I held in my hand. It was a tough decision.

"Bronze?" I called out to her.

"I’ve already told you not to call me that," she reprimanded me.

I’d forgotten that she now allows me to use her first name when we’re outside of work. It feels strange now that I’ve gotten used to calling her by her last name. She put her wallet back in her bag before coming over to my side.

"What’s up?"

"Which one do you prefer?" I asked, holding out the testers one by one.

"I’m not sure. What does she usually like?"

"She loves fruity scents, but nothing too strong. We have pretty similar tastes, but this is hard."

"I personally prefer the last one."

"I’m torn between that one and the first."

"Maybe you want to check out the jewelry store first?"

"No, I think I’ll stick with the perfume. I’ve already given her plenty of jewelry," I chuckled.

"Well, then you just have to choose between these two."

She took away the strip of paper with the scent I liked the least. I sighed as I looked at the remaining two. Bronze went off to browse while I made my decision. I sniffed them alternately for at least a quarter of an hour. Thankfully, she’s patient. I’m not sure I’d have been so tolerant in her place. I jumped slightly when I felt a weight on my back, relaxing when I realized it was Bronze who had come back. She crossed her arms over my shoulders and rested her head on them. Her position was a bit awkward. She asked me to let her smell the two perfumes again, which I did.

"I still prefer the one I mentioned earlier."

"I think I’ll go with that one then."

"Why hesitate? Plus, there’s a set that includes shower gel and lotion," she pointed with her chin.

"Alright, fine. I was leaning more towards that one anyway. It suits her better. Worst case, if she complains, I’ll just say you recommended it."

"Of course, it's too easy to blame others," she laughed.

She moved away from me, so I took the opportunity to grab the set she had pointed out. We went to the checkout, where someone was already paying for their purchases. The wait would be short.

"Besides, you shouldn’t complain about a gift you receive," she added.

"She’s never complained, but I can tell when she doesn’t like something."

"Why wouldn’t she like it?"

"I have no idea," I shrugged.

I paid for the perfume and accepted the saleswoman's offer to wrap it as a gift. I’m terrible at wrapping, so at least that was one thing taken care of.

"You really want to do things right with her," she chuckled.

"I owe her that much after all the time she’s put up with me."

"You’re very easy to put up with."

"Glad to hear that from you, Lucy."

I accidentally emphasized her first name. I still find it hard to use it. Bronze must have understood because she laughed. The saleswoman finally returned with my gift, ready to give. I thanked her for her service. Our shopping continued at the jewelry store where Lucy wanted to take another look. She was interested in bracelets while I browsed on my own. I lingered over the rings. One caught my eye. It looked a lot like the one my supervisor wears on her finger. She joined me when she noticed I had stopped.

"See something you like?"

"No."

"Well, yes. I can tell you’re stuck here," she commented.

She looked at the display case, trying to figure out which one might have caught my interest. I gave in and pointed it out to her. She must have noticed it looked like hers... A flicker of surprise crossed her face, but she quickly hid it without saying anything.

"I’m going to call a saleswoman. I spotted a bracelet I’m interested in."

I sighed softly and nodded. At least she didn’t make it awkward. It was half past four by the time we were done, and she suggested we stop at the cafeteria.

"You didn’t get anything for your parents," she remarked once we were seated at a table.

"My relationship with my mother isn’t the best..." I reminded her, playing with my cup.

"It bothers you, doesn’t it?"

"A little, but I’ve gotten used to it," I shrugged. "I don’t really want to talk about it."

"I understand."

She changed the subject without prying further. I appreciate Bronze for that. She never insists. We sipped our drinks, enjoying this rare moment. When we were done, I expected us to head home, but she suggested we take another walk, just for ourselves. I immediately agreed, especially since I wanted to look for a new jacket, so this was the perfect opportunity. This day was really nice. At least it helped me think about something other than my upcoming exams. I just hope I’ll be able to live up to everyone’s expectations. It’s a lot of pressure, but for now, I prefer to enjoy the present moment with my supervisor by my side.

[nausicaamusiclover20]

Merry Christmas everyone my sweeties❤

Christmas Paws

The house was warm and cozy, the smell of pine and cinnamon filling the air. The Christmas tree twinkled with lights in the corner, casting a soft glow across the room. Metallica’s house was quiet for once, a rare moment of peace amidst the chaos of their touring schedule. The living room was packed with Christmas cheer: snacks on the table, a few scattered presents, and, of course, the band lounging around, ready for the holiday gift exchange.

James was sitting on the couch, trying his best to look casual, but I could see the glimmer of excitement in his eyes as he eyed the pile of presents. I knew he was curious about the gift I had gotten him. I had kept it a secret for weeks, and I was almost bursting with anticipation.

The guys were all in their usual joking, playful mood. Kirk was first up, tearing into a gift from Cliff.

“Alright, let’s see what we got!” he said with his usual enthusiasm. Inside was a vinyl record of a classic rock album. Kirk grinned, holding it up. “Cliff, you know me too well. Classic rock never gets old.”

Cliff rolled his eyes. “I swear, you get the same gift every year,” he teased, leaning back on the couch. “You’re impossible to shop for.”

Kirk laughed. “You can’t go wrong with the classics,” he shot back.

Lars chimed in with a grin. “Next year, I’ll just get you a guitar pick. It’s the only thing you ever need.”

They all laughed as James, sitting next to me, leaned forward, clearly eager for his turn. His excitement was contagious, and I had to bite my lip to stop from laughing.

Cliff tossed him a gift, smirking. “Alright, Hetfield, it’s your turn. Let’s see what you got.”

James ripped into it, revealing a custom guitar pick holder, engraved with his initials. “Nice!” James said, holding it up. “Just what I needed. Thanks, man.”

The teasing continued with everyone cracking jokes, but I could feel the moment coming closer. I stood up, holding the gift I had for James. It was time. I smiled at him, my heart racing.

“I’ll be right back with yours,” I said softly.

James raised an eyebrow, curious. “Okay, babe. I’m looking forward to it.”

I made my way to the other room, where the dog was waiting. It was the moment I had been waiting for, and I felt a mixture of nerves and excitement. The dog was medium-sized, scruffy and cute, with a thick coat of fur in shades of brown and white. He looked up at me with his big, trusting eyes, wagging his tail.

“You’re gonna make his Christmas,” I whispered to the dog, gently petting his head. “You ready?”

The dog wagged his tail again, as if he understood. I walked back into the living room, the dog following behind me. The guys were talking and laughing, but when they saw me walk in with the dog, everything stopped. They froze, all eyes on the little creature at my side.

James’s jaw dropped. “Wait… is that…?”

I could barely contain my grin. “I got you a dog, James. I remember how much you’ve wanted one.”

His face lit up instantly, and I could see the surprise and joy spreading across his features. “Are you serious?!” he asked, his voice full of disbelief. He dropped to his knees immediately, extending a hand toward the dog.

The dog ran right over to him, tail wagging excitedly, and James laughed as he rubbed its head. “Oh my God, Y/N, this is perfect,” he said, his eyes wide with happiness. “This is the best surprise ever.”

The guys were still recovering from the shock. Cliff, being Cliff, broke the silence first. “Guess we’re not the only ones stealing James’s attention now, huh?”

Lars smirked, “Yeah, just don’t let the dog start playing bass, or we���ll have to put him in the band.”

Kirk laughed, “We’ve got another member now, huh? Hope he can keep up with the riffs.”

James didn’t even respond, too busy giving the dog all the attention. “This is seriously the best thing ever,” he muttered, still petting the dog. “I don’t care what any of you say. This is my new best friend.”

I watched him with a smile, my heart full. The happiness on his face was everything I had hoped for. The guys continued to tease him, but I could tell they were just as happy as I was. This Christmas was shaping up to be one of the best.

I couldn’t resist walking over to him, sitting beside him on the couch. The dog, of course, hopped up with us, making himself comfortable on the floor. James looked at me, still grinning from ear to ear.

“Thank you, babe,” he said, his voice soft with affection. “This is honestly the best gift anyone could’ve given me.”

I smiled, my heart fluttering as I leaned down to kiss him. Just as our lips met, the dog—sensing the moment, or maybe just wanting attention—jumped up, his tail wagging furiously, and promptly started licking James’s face.

James pulled away, laughing, wiping the slobber off his cheek. “I guess he wants in on the action!” he said, his voice full of amusement.

I burst out laughing. “Guess it’s a good thing we’re not the only ones who love you, huh?”

The dog, tail wagging faster than ever, turned to me and gave me a big wet kiss on the cheek, too. I laughed even harder, wiping my face. “Well, now we’ve got the whole family in love,” I said.

James just grinned, reaching down to pet the dog, who was now rolling around happily on the floor. “I’m keeping him,” he said, still laughing. “No one’s taking him away from me.”

The rest of the evening was filled with laughter, teasing, and dog play. The guys kept poking fun at James, and he kept trying to get the dog to stop licking him. It was the kind of holiday I had always dreamed of—a perfect mix of love, humor, and friendship.

The dog, of course, was the star of the show, but I couldn’t have been happier to see James so genuinely happy. It was the best Christmas ever, surrounded by my favorite people and a dog who, I had a feeling, would be just as much of a character in our lives as any of us.

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER THREE: Broken Glass

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: You have a really shitty night, and it only gets worse until a man in a black mask saves your life.

Warnings for this chapter: ANGST, graphic description of domestic violence (flashback), panic attack, mention of blood & injury, alcohol abuse, sexual assault, Reader tries to play the hero and it backfires (might piss you off)

Word Count: 7.6k

A/n: I worked very long and hard on this one, that's why I didn't post it last week. This is very heavy, so heed the warnings. I hope you all had a lovely Christmas! I’m spending New Year’s in London, and I won’t have my Laptop, so I’m already wishing you guys a happy new year! Spend the day with people you love. Do something that you love. Just enjoy yourselves and we’ll see each other again in 2024!

Read Chapter 3: Broken Glass here on AO3

The loneliness eats you alive like a parasite. As soon as the door of your apartment shuts behind you, the noise coming from the city disappears into the distance, and you are faced with the silent reality of being utterly alone. 

It feels like you are living in a haunted house in the middle of nowhere, not a small apartment in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen.

There are no picture frames on the dresser in the hallway. The two plants you bought for yourself are slowly dying of thirst. The fridge is empty. You don’t own any decorations—you don’t even have a shelf for all of your books, and more than half of them are medical research material, anyway. 

You may be living in this place, but it isn’t yours. After two years, you are no closer to settling down than you were when you first came to New York.

Every day, you ask yourself how long this peace is going to last, and every day ends the same—you’re still safe, but you are deeply unsettled. Your thoughts keep turning against you like demons that you can’t exorcize. Every day, you wonder when you will have to run away again because your past has a way of catching up to you when you least expect it, so you remain on edge. That’s how you live your life. 

If you knew how to accept peace, maybe you would have settled down and personalized your apartment by now, but then again, do you even know who you are? Do you remember the girl you once were? Your memories of the past are scrambled.

You can only remember what it was like to live in a bubble, to be forced into a cage like a bird and turned into someone you never thought you would become. You remember running. You haven’t been yourself in years. Even if you wanted to, there is nothing left for you to put up that would feel like it belongs to you without feeling like pretentious bullshit at the same time. So, you don’t even bother. 

It’s lonely though, having nothing and no one. Claire is your friend, sure, but you had nothing and no one back then, and you still barely have anyone now. She’s your friend, but that’s all she is.

You can’t admit it out loud, of course. You can’t admit that you feel lonely, and you can’t pick up your phone and call the one friend you do have to take up on her offer because of reasons not even the rational part of your brain wants to understand. 

The lamp in the living room casts a dim light over the main area of the apartment and the open kitchen. You place Matt’s business card on the kitchen counter.

Should you call him? A million questions go through your mind, firing rapidly like bullets from an automatic gun. You’re not even sure if you want to call him. You felt comfortable around him, but enough to abandon all your principles? If you call him, he might ask you out, and what do you do then? You don’t date, not anymore, and you definitely won’t let a stranger into the mess that is your life. You can’t do that to a kind soul like him. Matthew is special in a way that you can’t put into words, and that makes the decision so much harder. 

You know exactly what’s holding you back. It’s the same invisible string of feelings that is keeping you from personalizing your living space. You don’t know when you might need to run, and then what? 

Your lungs contract. Air is a lot harder to come by when you’re all wound up. You hope that a nice glass of white wine will help put some things into perspective. Fooling around with someone can’t hurt, but anything more than that could lead to a catastrophe. You have had enough of those for a lifetime. 

You like keeping to yourself. It keeps your heart safe. What happened today, meeting Matthew after you so miserably sought a place to be alone, it was a coincidence—a welcome distraction. And you seemed so like-minded at first glance. He was intriguing and you’re still wondering about his injuries and how he got them, but that’s not the point. None of this is. 

The point is that you are not the kind of person he thinks you are. That’s why you can’t call him. And strangely, that hurts a lot more than simple heartbreak, knowing that you have been ruined for all relationships to come because you made one wrong choice and fell down the rabbit hole—unfortunately not into Wonderland. 

“Shit!” you curse when a drop of wine lands beside the glass.

You lick your finger, trying to wipe the liquid on the counter with a paper towel. In the process, your hand accidentally brushes against the glass, and the sole touch sends it hurdling to the floor. You try to catch it, but the fragile glass has already hit the tiles of your kitchen floor. It shatters into a million pieces. 

The sound reverberates in your ears. Like a shot in the dark, your body is jolted awake into a state of panic. The crash reminds you of hell, and the all-too-familiar flames start touching your skin again, set out to burn you alive. It’s a feeling you know by heart—a feeling you wish you weren’t so painfully aware of. 

Glass breaks before your inner eye. 

You were trying to make him a drink, you remember. He wanted Whiskey, no ice, and at perfect room temperature—it was always the same. After the first black eye that you had to hide under mountains of concealer, you taught yourself to perfect it. You didn’t want to disappoint him. You didn’t want to get into trouble. 

You spent more money than you could afford on the one brand of Whiskey he always told you to get, even if that meant traveling to a store miles away from home. He always wanted that Whiskey, and who were you to deny him?

You didn’t pay attention for one second, and the glass shattered on the kitchen floor. Your heart stopped. The last drops of the brown liquid spilled everywhere, including your clothes. The glass was his favorite. Expensive, too. It broke because you weren’t looking. You were so stupid. 

Fear froze the blood in your veins. Your heart stopped beating. You couldn’t breathe. You reached for a cloth with shaky hands, trying to pick up the pieces in time, but the sound of the glass breaking—that godforsaken loud sound that reminded you of obnoxious screaming—was instantly followed by an even louder echo of angry footsteps. 

Over time, you became painfully aware of those footsteps. You knew how they sounded on wooden floorboards, carpet, and the stairs in the hallway of the apartment building. You still remember how they sounded when he was wearing those squeaky sneakers on the linoleum floors of the hospital.

It’s a sound that always sends shivers down your spine; everyone has those sneakers, but his footsteps were much heavier, much more demanding even when he wasn’t demanding anything. 

And back then, you knew what would follow as soon as you heard them.

“What is this?” his voice reached your ears. 

Your throat tightened. You didn’t even dare to look up. If you had met his eyes, you would have seen your fate in them, and the empty black hole that was his soul. “I’m sorry, I– I lost my grip and–and I dropped it,” you said. You thought that would fix it. How foolish of you, to have faith in someone who never had faith in you. “I’m so sorry,” you couldn’t stop repeating it. 

You thought this time, he would listen to your apology. He would let you fix what you broke. You would have done anything for his approval, for his praise, and for him not to be mad at you. You didn’t want to fight. The evening had started so well. He even kissed you when he came home because you finished dinner in time. He smiled because you managed to clean even the last crevices of his apartment after your shift. He promised he would reward you. 

You fucked up. You knew you fucked up, but you prayed to God that his good mood would keep you safe this time. That he would give you a pass because you have been so incredibly good. You’ve been the best girlfriend he could have asked for, so obedient, never questioning, and always on his side—you were wrong. So, so wrong. 

He saw the empty bottle of Whiskey. He picked it up. “That was the last sip of my good Whiskey,” he remarked. 

You stopped moving. 

“I’ll pick up a new one,” your voice was barely above a whisper. “Stores are still open. This is my fault. Let me clean this up and I will–”

“You had one job.”

The sound of his voice turned cold, colder than usual. You exhaled a shaky breath. 

“You had one job,” he said. “I go to work, I save lives, and I teach young, useless doctors like you how to do the same. All I asked of you was to cook dinner, clean the apartment and make me a fucking drink.” 

With each word, his volume ascended. Your shoulder started vibrating, but you forced yourself to hold your breath. You couldn’t let the fear show. Being afraid, in his eyes, equaled weakness, and he would prove to you time and time again what weakness truly meant to him. He would turn you into a weak mess and laugh about it. You were trying your hardest to avoid any more unnecessary punishment. You had to tread lightly. He was in charge, not you. 

And you breaking the glass was so stupid, all you wanted was to surrender. In your twisted mind, he was right. It was just a glass, but he told you how useless you were many times before, and you were slowly starting to believe it. 

Without him, you were nothing. No one else could have possibly put up with you.

“What do you do?” He reached out and slammed the empty bottle on the ground. 

You barely had time to react before some of the bigger shards hit your cheek, slicing the skin. It took you a second to process, the pain not even kicking in because you expected his hand to come down on you, not an entire glass bottle. The trajectory almost hit your eye. Almost. 

“You spill my fucking drink!” this time, he yelled. 

A sob escaped your lips. There it was, the smallest sign of fear and pain. 

He rolled his eyes. You shouldn’t have sobbed, you knew that. “Get up,” he said. 

You winced when he grabbed you and yanked you off the floor. The trail of blood ran hot on your cold cheek. It stung. Your heart was pounding in your chest, hammering against your ribcage and the fresh bruise that still hadn’t healed. 

You were scared, and the tighter he grabbed you, forcing your chin upward to look him dead in the eyes, the harder it got to hide what you were truly feeling. In his eyes, you were nothing. And you were so weak, all you could do was to submit. 

“Look at me,” he said. His eyes roamed your face. 

You couldn’t not look at him. It was impossible. What you saw made you sick to your very stomach. It tied a noose around your neck, threatening to kick you off the high chair. Your feet were dangling dangerously close to the cliff. 

“You’re pathetic, you hear me? Useless. You had one job. One. And you couldn’t even do that right.”

You opened your mouth, but instead of letting you speak, his hand tangled in your hair and he pulled, hard. “No!” he bellowed. “You have lost the right to speak to me.” 

He said your name. He always said it in a way that made you want to vomit. Your first and last names were tainted because of him. He used them in vain. He used you. He used everything as he saw fit and believed he was entitled to it. 

You hated him, but you also loved him.

“You’re going to clean up the mess you made, and then you’re going to go to the store, buy me another bottle of Whiskey, and you’re going to make me another drink. I don’t want to hear a single word out of you,” he said. “Are we clear?”

You nodded. He pulled a little harder. 

“What was that?”

“Yes, sir,” you choked out. 

When he finally let you go, you fell to the floor, your chest heaving with dry sobs. Perhaps he was too annoyed or maybe leaving you alone, finally, was a display of humanity. 

The man you once believed to have loved you turned out to be a monster that would not have wept, not possibly, if you had died. He only wanted to control you, and whenever he felt like he couldn’t, he punished you. You stayed way too long because you believed in someone who was never there in the first place. The real him you believed to know once had never been real. He had been a fraud. He did anything he possibly could to lure you in, and then you were stuck. 

But even knowing this, you wanted to please him, and you took what he gave you. You ate it up like a starved cavewoman. You had no one else but him, and that alone is a sad thought that you keep entertaining now. 

The sound of broken glass has haunted you since that day. Whenever it happens, either to you or someone else, you find yourself in a state of shock. It’s never the same memory, but always alike. And it hurts. It hurts so much, you can’t breathe. 

You touch your left cheek. The scar is barely visible anymore, but whenever you touch it, it feels like a mountain of regret. You can still feel the blood pooling under your fingertips, the liquid as sticky as it was hot. 

You stumble over to the sink, circling the broken glass. Cold water; your senses need a sudden slap across the face or you will cower in a corner and surely die. Your heartbeat is racing in your ears, and your fingers shake as you form a bowl with your hands to catch the water from the tap. 

Air returns to your lungs. Burying your face in the cold water, you focus on the way it seeps into your hot skin.

Broken glass triggers you. Squeaky footsteps in the hospital hallways trigger you. You zone out so easily. You can’t talk to strangers without suspecting the worst. Every time you pass the hospital administrator’s office, you’re scared you will get fired—that you will lose your job and your entire career. 

He took everything from you. He broke you and the optimistic young woman you used to be. You were so bright, so ready to change your life for the better. You worked hard to escape the toxicity of your childhood, and you still managed to run into the arms of an abusive narcissist who saw you as nothing but his property. 

It’s sad, and it’s utterly ironic; you told yourself you would never make the same mistake your mom made before she died, and you still did. You were foolish, and you’re still foolish now. 

You can’t call Matthew. You can’t trust anyone, not even yourself, and even if he is trustworthy, he doesn’t deserve someone as damaged as you. 

The business card lands in the trash can under the sink. You give it one last teary-eyed look before slamming it shut. It’s better this way. The excitement you felt when you first held it in your hands was bound to only be temporary. You knew reality would screw it up, maybe it truly is for the best. Or maybe this is the trauma talking and you’re sabotaging yourself, but even then it’s better this way. 

It’s early in the morning, and you leave the broken glass on the sticky kitchen floor. You can’t touch it, not even with gloves. Every time you do, the scar on your cheek stings, and you lose your breath. Every bone, muscle, and nerve is hurting in your body, and every breath tears right through your soul. 

You don’t want to live like this anymore.

The warm water of your small shower rains down on your clothes frame. The bottle of wine in your hand is no longer cold and mixed with water, but you don’t care. Your mind is fuzzy, intoxicated, and in agony. It’s a raging wave of anger with no possible point of release. You’re drowning in despair, buried in a grave of your own making. Alcohol knowingly doesn’t mix well with heartache, but it’s the only thing that will make the voices go away. It silences your thoughts just long enough for you to find a sliver of rest in this stormy ocean, something to hold onto so you won’t drown completely. 

Your heartbeat aligns with the rhythmic pattering of the water. It serenades you. The fog engulfs your brain, weakening your already strained muscles. The cocktail in your veins is poisonous. You should know better than to do this to yourself. You’re a doctor, after all. You are well aware that liquor is not medicine, but it’s the closest you can get. You don’t care as much about your own well-being as you should. 

Getting drunk all by yourself under the hot shower stream fits right into your miserable state.

The sun rises and falls over the next couple of hours. Your alarm goes as night befalls Hell’s Kitchen, but you don’t hear it. Only after it has gotten dark and your phone has started ringing with calls from the hospital does your mind registers that something isn’t quite right. 

You wake up in a cold sweat. Your head is pounding. The wine bottle lies empty on the nightstand next to you, together with a bottle of tequila that you decided to open. Glasses are strewn around with empty takeout containers that are more than a few days old. At first, you’re disoriented, reaching beside you for your phone, which is still in the living room next door. 

You forgot to close the blinds, but you were so out of it that you didn’t notice the hours pass by. The analog clock on the bedside table tells you that it’s a few hours before eleven. At night. 

Your shift was supposed to start at ten. 

The information takes a moment to connect and process, but as soon as it does, you snap out of whatever hungover state you are in and force yourself out of bed. You stumble over empty bottles and dirty laundry on your way to your phone.

“Shit, shit, shit!” you curse. You almost step into the pile of broken glass in the kitchen. “Fuck me! Shit!”

You are screwed, you know that. You’re not even sure if all the alcohol has left your system. You might as well lose your job tonight. 

With one hand, you dial the hospital administrator’s number, who called you over thirty times over the past hour, while you try to find something to wear with your other hand. 

The line finally clicks after what feels like an eternity. “You better have a damn good reason why you aren’t here, Olivia, or I swear to God–”

You cut her off. “I’m so sorry, Shelly,” you say. Your voice is slightly shaky, but you keep it together. “I didn’t hear my alarm a-and I slept in. This has never happened before. I’m usually a very light sleeper. I… I’m already halfway out the door, I promise. I’m sorry.”

“You slept in?!” Shelly answers, her voice resembling a screech. “What— Liv, seriously, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I just… I slept in, that’s all. I’m so, so sorry. I know I screwed up.”

“Unbelievable. First Claire calls out with a mystery illness that apparently still hasn’t gone away, and then my best trauma surgeon sleeps in.” You can hear her shake her head over the noise of the hospital in the background. She sighs. “You’re lucky that this is your first tardy,” she says. “I’ll let it slide just this once. Just… hurry, okay?”

A weight falls off your shoulders. You let out an audible sigh of relief. “Thank you,” you tell her. “You have no idea how much this means to me. I–”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just make sure you get here before midnight. And you will have to work the time that you’ve missed, even if that puts you at risk of having to pull a double shift. This is not up for debate. I feel like I’m working at a children’s daycare.”

You’re not sure if that was meant for you or if she simply forgot to hang up.

You grab your bag and your keys in one swift motion. “I’m leaving now. See ya!”

The bus you usually take to work at this time of night is long gone. There is one more that could take you to your destination, but you arrive at the bus stop just a millisecond too late. It takes off right in front of you, refusing to turn back even when you start sprinting after it, flailing your arms around wildly. 

It’s late, it’s dark, and you’re all alone. The walk to the hospital is over half an hour long, and you promised Shelly you would make it in time before midnight. The next cab is miles away; you’ve checked the app twice, and anything beyond that would be too expensive. 

Hell’s Kitchen is dangerous at this time of night, but you don’t have much of a choice. If you don’t try, there is a high chance Shelly will fire you. If she fires you, you would have to find another country to start over in—you burned bridges in all possible States, and anything closer to where you came from would be too dangerous for you. 

Darkness doesn’t scare you; broken glass and loud footsteps scare you, but the dark of the night has always been somewhat of a soothing companion to you. What scares you is what could be lurking in that very darkness, and the thought makes you walk a little faster. 

Your head is still pounding. Every step you take delivers a punch to your temples. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat. The streetlights are suddenly too bright for your sensitive eyes, but you push through. You have to. 

“So stupid,” you mutter under your breath. “Universe, if you can hear me, just kill me now.”

Passing a particularly dark part of town with the mace on your keychain clutched tightly in your hand, a loud scream pierces the air. Your feet glue themselves to the ground. 

Some things you can only understand if you have experienced the paralyzing feeling of dread that would cause a human being to scream bloody murder. 

You would be lying if you said that the scream you heard coming from that alley wasn’t in any way familiar to you. Perhaps that’s why you choose to abandon all rational thought and run toward danger rather than away from it. Adrenaline is a funny thing, and when it interacts with trauma and anger that has been building for years, there is no knowing what the human body might be capable of doing. 

With the mace in your hand, you walk toward the alley. The closer you get, the louder the desperate pleas grow. The helplessness in the woman’s voice paints a clear picture of what is happening. 

“Hey!” your voice resembles a shout in the poorly lit alley. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” you ask. Your voice becomes a foreign language. 

The man, dressed in a pair of ripped jeans and a hoodie, is towering over a terrified woman. The bottom of her dress is slightly ripped, and it keeps riding up as she struggles against his grip. 

From the corner of your eye, you can see the shiny handle of a knife sticking out of his boot; there is no telling when or if he will pull it. And when you look into his empty eyes, you realize you overestimated yourself. 

“Get lost!” the man tells you. He must be around your age, judging from his features. 

You shake your head. “I have no intention of letting you live out your disgusting rape fantasies on a real-life human being,” you retort. “Let her go, or I will call the cops.”

He takes a step toward you, his hand reaching for the knife. Instinctively, you extend your keychain and spray the pepper directly into his eyes. You empty the entire bottle on him, the adrenaline in your veins locking your thumb to the fragile button.

The woman slides out of her attacker’s grasp when he topples over in agony. He cries out. The spray is quickly causing the skin around his eyes to redden and swell. For a moment, he’s completely incapacitated. 

You can tell that he didn’t calculate for this to happen. He also doesn’t seem to know the woman he decided to attack personally. He just saw a woman walking alone at night and thought he could take what he wanted like the animal he is. 

Your eyes flick toward the woman. Sweat is starting to pool from your pores, mixing with the adrenaline. 

She adjusts her dress, her sobs turning into heavy panting. You know that look on her face all too well. She has scratches on her thighs and arms. It’s hard to tell just how badly he already hurt her before you came along, at least in this lighting and from where you’re standing. 

You reach out to support her. “Are you alright?” you ask her. 

She looks down at her shaky hands, then back at you. She reminds you of a deer in headlights. With a gentle tug, you pull her further out of the alley. The man who attacked her is still blinded, clutching his skull and scratching at his eyes, making the effects of the pepper spray worse. In your mind, he can’t hurt you anymore, but you still need to get her away from him—as far as possible, too. 

“A few cuts and bruises,” you observe, trying not to touch her as you assess her injuries. “Listen, I’m going to call the cops and we’re gonna get you to a hospital, alright?” You search her eyes until she finally looks back at you. “This is nothing I can’t stitch up in a few minutes,” you say, “and then I’ll get you someone who can help you process what happened. Just know that he can’t hurt you anymore. I promise. I’m a witness, and I will make sure he gets what he deserves.”

You should know better than to make promises, especially in the heat of the moment. This is not something you can confidently promise because things might not turn out in your favor. 

The woman pulls her arms away suddenly. “No! No cops, no hospitals,” she pleads. 

“I know you’re scared, believe me, I do, but–”

“No!” She shakes her head again, her voice becoming more determined as the seconds tick by. 

You wish the world wasn’t as cruel as it is. You can’t force her. If it were easy, you probably would have turned to law enforcement too, but it’s not easy. What hurts the most is that you understand why she is so adamant about not calling the police and not going to a hospital, even with so many variables still unknown; you understand too well what it is like. 

Shame and fear are powerful emotions—when all else fails, they take over. 

“I’m sorry,” the woman’s voice quivers. She looks between you and her attacker once more. “Thank you, really, but I can’t—I have to go. I’m so sorry.”

“Wait!” You try to stop her, but she slips through your fingers before you can convince her otherwise. 

She disappears down the street. Calling the police seems almost futile now. You look down at your phone. You’re still a witness to a crime. You should speak up about what you saw. You should try to get justice, even if it will be your word against his. 

Your finger hovers above the call button, but a dark voice from the alley stops you in your tracks. “You bitch!” the man shouts. His voice carries, making you shiver. Now that you’re alone with him, you realize how helpless the situation really is. 

You can’t move. You can’t run. You can’t hide. Your eyes widen. Even half-blind, he has managed to pull the dirty knife from his boot, and he is charging right at you. As if you are the substitute for the woman you just saved. You should have run with her. This was a bad idea. 

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath. You press down on your keychain, but it’s empty now. You’re weaponless with a lot of fake confidence that is slowly swindling, and somehow, you still can’t move. 

You’re frozen in place. Your own recklessness will get you killed. No one will miss you. Your corpse will be buried in a strange cemetery in a strange city that has only been your home for two years, and no one will ever know who you truly were because you told Claire to take your secrets to the grave with her. You will die alone with the familiar feeling of fear and despair spreading through your veins like wildfire. 

Something inside of you cracks, and it melts your frozen muscles. You snap out of your haze when he is only a few inches away from you. In an instant, you have started backing out of the alley almost entirely. You’re running, and you’re running fast. 

You believe that karma comes back around, but sometimes, it takes the wrong direction. You lose your footing suddenly, stumbling over your own shoes, and your ass hits the pavement with a force that knocks the breath out of your lungs. Your wrists bend at a painful angle as you catch yourself, and you look up into the red eyes of what you expect to be your certain demise. 

The impact from the knife never comes. You know what it feels like to be impaled by a sharp object. You know what pain feels like—but it never comes. 

You open your eyes when your ears pick up on the sound of bone breaking—the sight you’re met with startles you, and for a second, you wonder if you’re still alive. You touch your wrist to check for a pulse; it’s still there. You’re not dead, and you’re not hallucinating, either. This is real. 

You’ve seen the news reporting on a man in a black mask scouring the streets of Hell’s Kitchen at night. For weeks now, gang bangers, suspected rapists, and drug dealers have been piling up in the emergency room with several fractures, some of them severe enough to require extensive surgery, but none of them were ever hurt enough to die from their injuries. 

A Russian was dropped from a building a while back. He fell into a coma and then died suddenly a few nights ago, but that was the only patient who got beat up by the infamous Devil of Hell’s Kitchen who lost all quality of life. 

You don’t like to judge, but there is something about him that makes you feel safe rather than afraid. He only beats up those who are in the business of committing injustice and pose a danger to innocent lives. He’s there when the law fails. And so far, he has never killed anyone. The injuries on the patients you treated were quite severe and suggested that whoever did it has a great collection of anger issues, but he has enough self-control not to kill. 

He’s not a threat to people like you. He is, however, a threat to the kind of man who tried to rape an innocent woman and then threatened you with a knife. 

Your attacker drops to the ground with a pained grunt. The man in the mask is towering over him, his chest heaving. You admire his physique for a moment too long. Your eyes trail from his toned chest in that tight black shirt to his backside in those tight-fitting black pants. 

He seems oddly familiar yet, at the same time, he is a total stranger. A stranger in a mask. A stranger who throws fists like a professional boxer. A stranger who could crush your head within seconds. And still, there is something about him that reminds you of someone else, someone you just recently met, but you can’t put your finger on it. It wouldn’t even make sense if you tried. 

You’re still sitting on the cold asphalt, staring up at the man who saved you. He turns his head toward you, slowly. His plump lips glisten in the moonlight. 

“You hurt?” he asks. 

Your throat is all dried up. One glance down at your palms tells you that you only scraped the skin, but you’re not injured. So, you shake your head. Maybe there is a little fear mixed into your stunned eyes, but only because this is a very strange situation to find yourself in, and you have been in a lot of very strange situations in the past. 

He tilts his head ever so slightly. His nostrils flare. “You’re bleeding.”

You don’t even want to know how he knows that.

“Just a scratch,” you finally manage to speak up, although your voice sounds embarrassingly small.

You wipe your palms on your pants and slowly rise to your feet. Every bone in your body hurts. Standing across from him, you realize how much taller he is in person. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says. 

“I know.”

He stops. You can’t see his eyes, but the lower part of his face reveals the confusion that has taken him over. 

“I’ve dealt with men worse than you,” you state. “I’m not scared.”

He chuckles darkly. “You’re welcome.”

People usually don’t talk back at him, it seems. At least those he saves usually don’t. 

“I could’ve defended myself. In fact, I already did.” You lift your keychain. “I don’t know if playing the hero is your thing, but I’m not a victim.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Excuse me?”

“I wasn’t trying to play hero,” he clarifies, a humorless smirk resting on his lips, “I was saving your life ‘cause you were trying to play the hero. Next time, I suggest you don’t bring mace to a knife fight.”

“And I suggest you don’t put your nose where it doesn’t belong,” you retort. 

You were grateful for no longer than a second. Now, you’re just annoyed. 

The alley is still. The atmosphere is heavy with the aftermath of the danger you only narrowly escaped—thanks to him, and you hate admitting that even to yourself. He seems unfazed, almost amused, by your attempts at asserting your independence, and the arrogance radiating off him is hitting the wrong nerve.

“This guy was gonna kill you because you decided to do the right thing,” he says, adjusting his leather gloves. “I decided to save your life. We both made decisions tonight, and it doesn’t matter whether we are happy with them or not. What matters is that no one got hurt.”

“Tell that to the woman he traumatized for life.”

He sighs at your words. “You still did the right thing.”

“I know,” you say.

“Are you always this feisty?”

“Only to masked vigilantes who think I’m some damsel in distress that needs saving and that everything can be solved with their pretty little fists.”

“Well, my pretty little fists are the reason you didn’t end up stabbed, so,” he answers, and his lips curl into a smug smirk. He shrugs, his black shirt riding up only slightly, revealing a sliver of marble skin. You can’t help but let your eyes wander.

“I don’t need a thank you,” he says, “but you need to be more careful next time. Don’t go into dark alleys alone, especially at night. It’s not safe.”

You want to give a snarky remark, but the sound of church bells in the background signal to you that it’s midnight, and you are supposed to be at work. Checking your phone would be a death sentence. Sirens can be heard in the background, but they are not headed for you. 

Maybe Shelly won’t fire you if you’re honest with her about what conspired tonight—if you bare you allow her a glimpse into your soul—but you will suffer the consequences of your own stupidity gravely in the days to come, that much you do know. 

You exhale an exasperated sigh. “I don’t have time for this,” you mutter. 

“Got somewhere to be?” the masked man asks you. 

“As a matter of fact, I do. But that’s none of your business.”

You wonder if he’s frowning under that thin cloth that is hiding his real identity. He still seems so familiar to you. How can he fight if he’s keeping his eyes covered? It’s not the first question you have asked yourself about him, but it surely is the most prominent one because no explanation for it makes sense to you; at least not one you can think of. You want to ask, but you also don’t want to keep encouraging him. You shouldn’t care.

You look back down at the man he knocked out. He’s still unconscious, and he’s bleeding profusely. The angry woman in you wants to let him rot here and let the masked man have his fun, but the doctor in you can’t just leave him there. 

“What about him?” you hear yourself asking, but your mind is far away. 

He tilts his head toward where you’re pointing, not actively looking. How could he? His eyes are covered. His eyes… You can’t make sense of this, and it is affecting your judgment. It’s making you frustrated. 

“He can’t touch you anymore,” his dark voice suddenly sounds so soft. 

A sliver of humanity shines through his facade. Your angry demeanor cracks. “You beat him up pretty good. He could have lasting brain damage,” you remark. 

He pauses, tilting his head further toward the man on the ground. “No,” he says, pouting a little. “He’s still breathing.”

“He could still have brain damage.”

“He has a few broken bones, cuts, bruises, but he’s alive.”

“Those things are totally unrelated. You’re not a doctor, you wouldn’t understand. I’ve already treated more bad guys in the past month than I could possibly count on my fingers, and all of them seemed to fear the same man. Now, not many things can scare a gangbanger to death. Not many people can deliver blows so deliberately without actually fatally wounding anyone. I know it was you,” you say. “Everyone knows it was you, and they’re afraid of you. I’m not, but I am a doctor, and I took an oath to do no harm. I vowed to help those in need, including those I believe may not be worthy of my help. This has nothing to do with judgment. I know you don’t kill; I see it with my own eyes every damn night, but the Russian you beat up a couple days ago?”

That catches his attention. His head whips back around to you, his upper lip twitching slightly as if he is tasting the air. His attention is entirely on you. The question, “What?” gets lost as nothing but a breathless whisper in the cold night air. 

“He was in a coma,” you continue, “and then he died. It’s probably unrelated to what you did, but there was only a small chance he would have ever woken up again anyway. Just because someone is still breathing doesn’t mean their brain is alive. What makes us human, who we are, that is all anchored in our brains. We can’t survive without it. You may not have killed him, but that guy barely had any brain activity left, and that is not something you can consider life.”

You didn’t expect him to sneer. You must have hit a nerve with your words, but it must have hurt him deeply. 

“My point is, I am not letting you do the same to this guy. I’m calling an ambulance and the police, and I will let them figure this out.”

“He’ll walk,” he says, and his voice is dark again. It sends shivers down your spine. 

You look at him, your confidence not wavering this time. “Then so be it, but I am not letting him die,” you say. 

“How is having a rapist walk the streets of this city not doing harm?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Beg your pardon?”

“He will do this again, and maybe next time there will be no one to step in and he will hurt another woman.”

“So what, you want to kill him instead of surrendering him to the authorities?”

“That’s not what I do.”

“Then what do you do?”

“I’m trying to make this city a better place!”

His voice bounces off the walls building a cage around the alley. “And I’m just trying to save a human life, even if it’s a shitty one!” you shoot back. “It’s not our choice who gets to play God, okay? Death would be too kind for a man like him, and leaving him here won’t solve anything either. Like it or not, but I’m not breaking my oath.”

You made a promise when you became a doctor, and you are not going to risk letting someone die on your watch. That could get you into a lot of trouble. 

You approach your attacker’s limp body. When you kneel next to him, a gush of wind blows through your hair. You assess his skull, his abdomen, and his limbs. So far, all you can see are superficial wounds, and the same fractures you have seen pass through the emergency room more than once in the past couple of weeks. He did a number on him, but his pulse feels normal and he is breathing. 

You lift your head, but when you do, you find the spot before you empty. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen has disappeared into the darkness, leaving you to fend for yourself. You should have seen this coming. 

The ambulance takes a while to arrive after you’ve dialed 911. You try your best to keep the man stabilized, but he remains unresponsive. When help finally arrives, the emergency responders are followed by police, and you don’t hesitate to give your statement. You leave the masked vigilante that saved your life out of it—you may not have seen eye to eye just now, but you don’t want to rat him out either. You owe him as much. 

Just as you’re picking your purse off the dirty ground to follow the EMTs to the hospital in the ambulance, giving you the perfect excuse to give to Shelly on why you are even later than you already were, a glimpse of silver in the shadows catches your attention. 

“You did the right thing,” the Devil speaks only loud enough for you to hear, hiding in the darkness protecting the fire escape of the nearest building. 

You swallow your pride. “Thank you,” you finally tell him. 

He chuckles. “For telling you that or saving your life?”

“Both,” and you even offer him a small smile with your gratitude. That is all you’re capable of giving him, for now. 

“Take care,” he says. 

The glimpse of silver disappears, causing the metal of the fire escape to shake under his weight, and he is long gone before you even whisper, “You too.”

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

one week into my 15-week busy period, 14 to go! i say 15 because that gets me to christmas - i always take christmas to new year’s off, not that people usually want tutoring that week anyway - but in reality some of my current 11 students will drop as early as late october (the SHSAT only kid) or early november (the younger kid whose parents are hoping to get it over with), and once december hits the load will lighten week by week. i am very busy due to my unfortunate sudden pressing need to start digitizing my materials, which tragically really does make everything so much better although also has made me realize i probably should invest in an ipad without a cracked screen sooner rather than later, and also because my other freelance gig is in the last legs of its current project and i’m not quite sure when it will start up again, so i’m trying to get a few more hours on that while i can in the remaining time available. including time spent highlighting pdfs on my ipad while catching up on industry, i worked a little over 42 hours this week, which i recognize is normal as a workload but is a lot for me at this stage of my life, lmao (and also, in fairness to me, does not include things like time spent commuting from session to session excluding any time spent working on the train, even though if i had a workday for a Job that started in one place and ended somewhere else i would consider that all part of how much i worked).

i’m a lot less stressed than i was this time last year, partly because i’ve figured out my workflow better, partly because last year i was really trying to second-gig myself out of a tight financial spot which is not the case this year (unless i have really miscalculated things tax-wise… but like i’m pretty sure. lol). in theory i really want to get to being like a week ahead in terms of prep work (the dream is to prep for the next session with a kid the day after i meet them), but in practice it is sunday night and i am going to bed not prepped for monday’s sessions, so… we’ll see. i am sort of cheerfully ignoring most things that are not work but i did have a nice lunch with a friend this week & a nice afternoon at home yesterday & i did work out 5x this week. (i decided to try out a schedule where my fitfluencer of choice’s programmed rest days fall on fridays and sundays and so far it works psychologically very well for me…) a while ago i cleaned my room when it seemed very messy and it only took me about a half hour and i was heartened by that since it seemed like i have enough of a System for stuff now that even the messiest option is really not so bad and thought i might use that as motivation to clean my room more often since it probably won’t really take that long but instead i have mostly used it to feel more peaceful with how messy my room is lol.

[ellieclaireblack]

sanctuaire | sanctuary

sanctuary | noun your safe and peaceful haven a comforting place of refuge and rest in a noisy, chaotic world

{brother's best friend | fem!reader x james potter} ⪼ word count: 2k ⪼ warnings: mentions of abuse 

part one: back home

story: sanctuaire | sanctuary

playlist

Kreacher was calling for me. Again.

“I'm coming. I’m coming” I made my way down the stairs into the dining room of 12 Grimmauld Place. 

Today was January 4th 1976. Christmas Break was over and we would head back to Hogwarts. We consisted of Regulus and me. Since Sirius ran away during the holiday. An act I still didn’t forgive him for even though I understood why he did it. From the day he’d been sorted into Gryffindor my twin had a hard life. 

Walburga, Orion and Reggie were seated at the table when I joined them. 

“Good morning, father, mother, brother.” I greeted them politely and sat next to Reg. 

“Bonjour mon cher [Good morning my dear]” Papa greeted me in French. Walburga just looked up and nodded at me. Regulus opted for a small smile.

Out of my parents I loved my father, but Walburga was directly spit out from hell. Papa just never said anything against my mother. However she was rarely present anyway. The days she was home were horrendous.

Everyone tended to their meals and silence filled the room. That’s how it was: no talking at the table. I was glad to get back to school today. 

I missed my friends and I missed Sirius - even though I was still mad at him I longed to talk to my twin. He’s always been the person who understood me best. There was a lot unresolved between us. His unannounced departure during a stormy winter night made life at home a lot harder.

Walburga blamed me that the heir of ‘The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black’ vanished and let her anger out on me. A few spells turned into dark curses and several bruises covered my skin. Papa didn’t do anything against her but I know that he sent several house elves to patch me up when she left me in my room in agony.

“Children get ready. We’ll aparate to the station in 15 minutes. Your mother won’t be joining us, so make sure to say your goodbyes.” Papa said, ripping me out of my thoughts.

In my room I stuffed the last few things in a bag. Kreacher would aparate my belongings to 9 ¾. I grabbed my Slytherin robe, the Prefect Badge glinting in the light. My parents had been pleased when I got it, except when Sirius didn’t get one the mood in our house shifted quickly. I can still hear his screams of that day faintly in my head. I shake my head, trying to rid my mind from this particular memory. One last look in the mirror and I headed downstairs again.

Papa and Reggie wait for me already and we smile at each other. The first real smile all day. We each grab an arm that Papa offers us. Everything turns black, my body tightens up and just before I think my airway caught up we are standing on Platform 9 ¾.

“I wish you a good second term, my loves. Make sure to write. I’ll miss you. Bon voyage. [safe journey]” Papa pressed a kiss to both our heads and I couldn’t resist hugging him. Though half of Hogwarts was aware of our presence he hugged me back.

“I’m so sorry for what she did to you and that I couldn’t help you more y/n. Je t’aime. [I love you]” 

“Je t'aime aussi papa. Ne t'inquiète pas, ça va aller. [I love too, Papa. Don’t you worry I’ll be fine.]” All the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes were forced down. As a child I was always expected to keep my feelings inside, so that’s what my siblings and I were exceptional at.

“Watch over one another and make sure Maman doesn’t find out you’re talking to Sirius. Also tell him I’m sorry for how things went down, that I miss and love him. Go now, I’ll see you soon.” 

He disapparated and Reg squeezed my hand. We made our way to the Hogwarts Express and parted ways, both of us in search of our friends.

“y/n/n!” I hear a shout. Turning around I spot my best friend. Florence Clarisse Rosier - older sister of Evan Rosier and my roommate. She’s running towards me and tackles me into a hug. I suppress a wince, when she squeezes against my bruises. “We’ve already secured a compartment, come on.”

With ‘we’ she was talking about Adam Cygnus Travers and Theodore Lewis Nott. The two boys completed our friend group and we were known as the ‘Slytherin Royals’. All four of us descended from families of the Sacred 28 and had quite the reputation.

I greeted the boys with a hug and we talked about our holiday. I swiftly left out the subject of Sirius, but they knew. Walburga officially declared Regulus as the new heir of the House of Black, every Sacred 28 family knew what happened with Sirius. I saw their worried faces and uncertain looks, the eye-contact between them. No one dared to touch the subject.

I was relieved to to go to the Prefect meeting, so I could escape the unease. On my way there I passed a compartment Remus Lupin was currently exiting. Quickly glancing inside I spotted my twin, James and Peter. Sirius and I held eye contact for a split second before I turned my head away. I could see the disappointment in his eyes. My heart clenched. I really missed Sirius, he was my other half. We've never gone so long without talking.

“Oh hey y/n.” Remus greeted me only noticing now that I stood next to him.

“Hey Rem. How was your holiday?” We continued to talk while heading to the front of the train. Remus avoided the subject Sirius and I was thankful for it.

At the meeting we got handed our new patrol rounds. I was paired up with Remus or Lucinda - Lucy - Greengrass, which I was quite content with. Lucy was pretty nice. I wouldn’t call us friends, but conversation between us flew easily.

Later back in our compartment I put my feet in Theo’s lap and he absentmindedly began to massage them, while I read a book. My grades were extremely important to me, even more to my mother. So I wanted to get a head start on this semester's material.

────────────────  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ──────────────────

When we arrived at the Great Hall - everyone was exhausted from the long journey. We were happy when Dumbledore held his speech and the food finally appeared. 

During Dinner I felt several pairs of eyes on me. I knew it was the Marauders. I didn’t meet their eyes. The Great Hall was definitely the wrong place for the conversation me and Sirius had to hold. For now I was still too angry at him to have a level headed talk with him.

────────────────  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ──────────────────

After dinner my friends and I spent the evening on our couch in the common room. We’ve claimed that couch as ours and no one dares to sit on it, except when they’re invited to do so. Our evening was spent talking some more and when all of us got tired we made our way upstairs, wishing the boys a good night.

Unlike the Gryffindors, Slytherins had to share their space only with one other person. The shared space is only a bathroom and a small lounge room. Everyone has their own bedroom. In my case my dorm mate is Flo. She’s been my best friend since day one. With her lively nature, she draws the attention of an entire room to her. She’s the kind of girl who’s friends with everybody. 

In first year she would drag me into her world. I always loved the attention, just like Sirius. It was something we rarely experienced as something positive and at Hogwarts everyone seemed to like us. Naturally. We were somewhat celebrities in the Wizarding world.

Before going to sleep I put a silencing charm around my room. I had always had quite the share of nightmares, Sirius used to call them night terrors, that’s how bad they were. Since he was gone there wasn’t a single night where I wasn’t plagued by a nightmare.

────────────────  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ──────────────────

A scream tore through the dark. My own. My skin was covered in sweat and I suppressed a shiver. 

Only one thing helped me get back to sleep after a nightmare. My brothers. I couldn’t go to Reggie though, he had been through enough during the holiday and it hurt me to see him suffer because of me. So Sirius it was, I knew he wouldn’t question it even though we weren’t talking currently.

As quiet as possible I made my way to the common room. Empty.

I wasn’t really scared that a teacher would catch me in the corridor. Us Slytherins - especially the children of the Sacred 28 - had Professor Slughorn wrapped around our finger, so I wouldn’t even face consequences.

As a Prefect I knew all the Passwords of the different houses so getting inside the Gryffindor common room was dead easy. The common room was empty as well and I tiptoed up the stairs.

The door to the boys’ dorm slightly creaked slightly when I opened it. "Sirius, Sirius!" I whisper yelled into the dark and quiet room. But no response from my twin-brother. A sigh escaped me and I was just about to go back to my dorm when I heard a whisper.

"y/n, is that you? Are you alright?" It was James. "Yeah, no I-I'm fine." Obviously my best friend sensed the lie and ushered me to come over to him. I sat down on his bed and before I could protest he pulled me next to him.

The moonlight that shone in the room made it possible for me to see his features. That meant he could also see my face and the shed tears on my cheeks. 

"What's wrong y/n/n?" "I’m fine. It was nothing, just a nightmare, it's fine. I’m fine. I just wanted to talk to Sirius."

"Sounds like you’re fine. Hey, you don't have to lie to me. I know how bad your night terrors are and it's rare you seek Pads' help in the middle of the night. So it must've been really bad."

I mumbled "okay you're right" in response. James put his arms around me and pulled me into his chest. Feeling his body heat seep into me I felt like I could finally breathe again and let out a shaky breath. James put a silencing spell around the bed so we wouldn't wake the others.

"What's going on? Why are you avoiding us? Did something happen?"

Tears were threatening to spill again. "It's my mother. J she's never been this bad or this angry. They told us it would have consequences if I spent time with you guys."

"Oh y/n, you should've gone with Sirius when he came to me, I was really worried about you the whole holiday. I didn't hear a word from you."

“I just couldn’t leave Reggie alone. Also I don't want to leave Papa, would be so lonely without us. Besides, Sirius didn’t even tell me he was leaving. One morning he was gone and I had to face Walburgas anger. I get why he left. Still we’re his siblings for Merlin's sake. He could've at least said something.”

Now I was really crying. James wrapped his arms even tighter around me. "I’m so sorry. I didn't know it was that bad or I would've gotten you out of there myself. You and Pads definitely need to talk tomorrow."

We talked for a little while, when I noticed James started to get really tired. His eyes fell shut every other second and he was trying hard to keep awake.

"Mind if I stay the night Jamie?" "Of course not, sleep tight, love." "Good night James." I whispered but didn’t get an answer. James had already fallen asleep and in the comfort of his arms I was finally able to go to sleep too.

author's note: so first chapter of my new story. thanks for reading this far! i'm not 100% sure how to feel about this for now. there's definitely going to be more james later, but i needed this as an entry point for the story so you have some background information. also i just wanted to put out there that english isn't my first language. i proof read the chapter, but if you spot any mistake don't fret to tell me i love you guys and wish you a gread day/afternoon/night where ever you are ♡︎

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 21: The Shadow of the Abattoir

Summary: Tragedy arrives even faster than they'd anticipated. 

Word Count: 4,416

Warnings: Smut, minor/canonical character death, injuries, and references to violence.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 4: No Peace For You Ever

Right. So.

They may or may not have failed to properly think over the sleeping arrangements before they decided to return back to the Shelby’s home in Small Heath. 

In all fairness, they’d been a little preoccupied.

Lucy watched Charlie cuddle up into the narrow bed shoved in the corner of the all too familiar room. It felt strange to be back in here. She could recall so many nights spent, sneaking up into this very room after dark, her and Tommy plastered up against one another in the tiny bed.

No matter how small both she and Charlie were, though, she doubted all three of them were going to be able to fit. Not without risk of someone getting squished or elbowed in the middle of the night.  

She probably shouldn’t have sold the flat she’d once had in Small Heath. But after they bought Arrow House, she almost never used it, and if she ever needed to spend the night in Birmingham, she could stay here at the Shelby’s house or book a room at the Midland Hotel.  

It didn’t really matter one way or another tonight. Neither of her or Tommy were likely to get much sleep. But they were going to need to figure something out for the future. 

Who knows how long they would be here for. 

“Goodnight, Charlie,” she said to the sleepy boy, pressing a kiss to his brow. “Sweet dreams. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Lucy,” he chirped sweetly. She smiled at her boy, giving him a fond ruffle of his hair before stepping away so that Tommy could perch on the edge of the bed and say goodnight. “I’m going to run to the loo,” she mumbled into his ear. He nodded, and with one last kiss blown to Charlie, she slipped out the door and down the hall to the tiny washroom. 

Hands bracing on the edge of the sink’s basin, she stared for a long time at herself in the mirror. She looked horrid: a couple faint blood stains still present along her jaw and one of her cheekbones. Dark circles under her eyes. Curly red hair even more unruly than usual, makeup smudged and making her look a little like a raccoon. 

With a sigh, she turned on the water, splashing it on her face, scrubbing away the remnants of her eyeliner and any more lingering blood on her skin. There was a bathtub in the room, but she was frankly too tired to put in the work to get it filled and bathe properly at the moment. 

Maybe later. 

A soft knock at the door roused her, and she realized that she’d just been standing there for who knows how long, staring numbly at her own reflection. 

She opened the door to find Tommy there, coat off and rubbing at the back of his neck.  

“Hey. You need to come in?”

He shook his head, even as he stepped into the tiny space with her and closed the door. “Just wanted to splash some water on my face.”

Lucy nodded, stepping back to give him room in front of the sink, watching him rub cold handfuls of water onto his face and neck. 

“You missed a spot there,” she said, indicating a strike of blood near his left ear. He turned his head to the side, examining the spot in the mirror before washing the crimson away.

“Thanks.”

“We’re going to have to sort out sleeping arrangements. Especially if we end up being here for a long time. No way all three of us can fit in that tiny bed. And no,” she poked him in the chest when he turned around, “you will not be sleeping on the floor.”

His lips quirked up, hands landing on her waist. “I don’t think everyone will stay here. We’ll have to see. You and I might be able to take one of the other bedrooms if they don’t.”

“I suppose we just have to wait now, don’t we?” she rested both hands on his chest. “Hope everyone gets here on time.”

“Yeah,” his thumbs rubbed circles into her hips. When she looked up, he was staring at her with a funny expression on his face. 

“What?”

His hands tightened against her waist. “C’mere.”

She couldn’t fully contain the giggle that left her when Tommy pulled her flush against him and kissed her. Arms winding around his neck, she pulled him tighter to her, mouth parting against his. With a groan, Tommy suddenly picked her up, spinning them around and propping her up against the small counter top. Lucy gasped, kisses growing deeper as her legs dropped apart so he could slot himself between them. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, suddenly pulling back. “Fuck, do you want to…?”

“Yes,” she replied immediately, as if her hands currently sliding up under his shirt weren’t answer enough. He moaned lowly, kissing her again, fingers fumbling at the fastenings of her trousers. He stepped back just enough to pull them down along with her knickers, and then he was between them again, huge hand sliding up her thigh. 

Lucy sighed, eyes closing blissfully as his fingers teased her entrance while his mouth moved to brush and suck against the most sensitive part of her neck.  

“Tommy,” she said, and he chuckled softly when she reached down and grabbed a handful of his ass, squeezing him through the layers of his trousers, urging him closer until she could feel his growing bulge rub against her. 

In retaliation, he slipped two fingers inside her, crooking them and beginning to work her over with quick pumps while his thumb circled her clit.

With a small whimper, she undid his belt and slipped her hand into his trousers, Tommy’s mouth pressed to hers again, and they both moaned when she wrapped her fingers around his hardening length, stroking him with movements that matched the pace of his fingers inside her.

“Please,” she half begged. She was plenty wet, and they both knew that they couldn’t take too long. Other members of the family might arrive soon. Or Charlie could wake up and go looking for them.   

Tommy cupped the side of her head, fingers dipping gently into her hair while he kissed her. She whined softly when he drew his fingers out of her, but then he was hooking both her thighs over his hips, his cock nudging at her entrance.

“Mm…” she looped both arms around his neck, burying her face in his neck while he eased himself slowly inside of her, large cock stretching her wide as it pushed deeper into her. Tommy growled, hand that had guided himself in resting on her hip, helping to keep her in place as he pushed forward until he bottomed out.  

His lips pressed to the side of her head, nuzzling in silent request until she lifted her face so he could kiss her again, both of them breathing deep and heavy as he slowly started to move in and out of her. 

“Tommy,” she grabbed at his shoulders, pushing her hips forward to meet each of his thrusts. He groaned in reaction to his name on her lips, kissing her harder, pressing himself near flush against her as he did. 

By this time tomorrow, she had no doubt that it would be a madhouse. There would likely be shouting and screaming. Someone might even try to pull a gun or a razor. The house would be filled with people who despised them, united again only because of their shared desire not to be slaughtered. 

But for now, it was just them.

Tommy’s thrusts picked up in pace, his head dropping down into her shoulder, pushing aside the fabric of her shirt to kiss the skin there. One of his hands cupped her breast, squeezing and running a thumb across her clothed nipple. She grabbed at his hair, head falling back as she moaned, teeth clenching to try to keep it somewhat contained. He felt so good, hitting all the spots inside of her that made her see stars with every stroke, knowing exactly where to touch her to have her crying out his name in seconds. 

She clenched tight around him, feeling herself starting to get close. Tommy made a pained sound, cock twitching.

“Fuck, sweetheart, too good…” he was kissing her neck again, tongue sliding across the spot just under her ear that made her shiver and squeeze unintentionally even tighter around him.

He was plowing into her so fast that if the counter hadn’t been bolted down, it likely would have been rattling against the wall. His cock throbbed inside her, sliding right up against her g-spot with each stroke, her walls pulsing around him desperately. Lucy ran her fingertips tenderly through his dark hair, down his strong back until she was gripping one of his biceps, the muscle flexing under her palm.  

“Shit, shit, shit, can’t hold it–” he grunted, and a moment later he was coming hard inside her. His hips continued to thrust, prolonging it until he started to soften and he pulled out. Before she could even begin to lament the loss of him inside her, he was on his knees, face burying in her cunt and eating hungrily. 

She cried out, half in surprise and half in pleasure at the first swipe of his tongue across her folds, hand flying into his hair, steering him by it. Tommy purred in approval, burying his face even deeper into her as he let her guide him, tongue teasing her clit and fingers gathering up his seed where it was starting to seep out of her, fucking it back into her. He moaned at the combined taste of them on his tongue. 

“Fuckkkk…” she’d already been on the edge when he came, and it took but a few pumps of his fingers and well-timed swipes of his tongue to have her tumbling into bliss, coming hard on his mouth. But Tommy didn’t stop, instead lapping up everything she had to offer, fingers still moving inside her, and her eyes widened at the realization that, even with the aftershocks of her orgasm still running through her, he was going to make her come again.

A strangled sound uttered from her lips, head tipping back and muscles tensing with another climax that made her head spin, latching tightly onto both Tommy’s head and the counter for stability as it shot through her. 

Tommy continued to lap lazily at her, cleaning her with long strokes of his tongue, but when his movements started to pick back up again, she winced and pushed gently at his head. 

“No more,” she gasped out, inner thighs still twitching with sensitivity from the two previous climaxes. “Too sensitive.”

He leaned back, wiping his mouth and looking quite pleased with himself as he stood, hands skimming up and down her sides and forehead dropping against hers. Lucy hummed, hugging his shoulders and nuzzling closer. Tommy touched her cheek, then kissed her. 

“Merry Christmas,” he said, in a soft, quiet voice. She let out a breathless laugh.

“Merry Christmas to you too.”

∗ ∗ ∗

The call came in the morning. 

The sun was already rising slowly from behind the horizon. Tommy had gotten a fire going in the hearth in the kitchen downstairs, and was just setting about making some tea for him and Lucy while she ransacked the pantry to see if there was anything good to eat. And then the insistent first shrieks of a phone in the betting shop started up. 

“I’ll get it,” Lucy said, straightening up and heading into the darkened shop before he could argue. 

“Thanks,” he told her, reaching around to pluck up two teacups, setting them down on the table behind him along with some cream and sugar. He could hear Lucy fumbling about, the betting shop still quite dark with all the curtains drawn, and he raised an eyebrow at the sound of a light thunk and Lucy cursing quietly under her breath when she tripped on something. “Alright?” he called to her. 

“Yeah, I’m fine!”

He snorted a little to himself, shaking his head fondly while removing the kettle from the stove to pour the steaming water into the teacups. Asher’s nails clicked against the floor, coming to stand expectantly beside Tommy with his tail wagging. 

“What, boy?” Tommy asked, reaching around to scratch him behind the ear. “You need to go out?”

Asher’s tail thumped against the floor, ears pricking with interest. 

“Alright.”

In the shop, Lucy finally found the phone that was making all the racket and picked it up. 

“Hello?”

“Luce, I’m taking Asher out,” he called to her. She was a little hard to make out in the dark shop, but he was able to see her head bob in an acknowledging nod. “Come on, boy,” he urged, opening the back door and watching the dog bound out and about, sniffing around. 

Outside, Small Heath was still asleep. It would only remain like that for maybe a few minutes more. Once the sun cast a few more bright rays onto the cobblestones, the city would rise. Men and women going to work. Children playing and begging in the street. Horses and dogs roaming both the alleyways and roads.  

Pinching at his brow, Tommy closed his eyes against the city he’d once dreamed of leaving, first as a child, then as a young man. He’d long ago accepted that he probably would never be able to escape Small Heath. But this past year, he’d been able to distance himself from it. At least slightly. 

And yet here he was, back home. Called back to the bowels of hell with nowhere else to turn. 

Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest against the chill in the morning air, he watched Asher raise his leg and piss on a corner of a wall. Once the dog was done, Tommy whistled, once, and he came immediately trotting over, tongue falling from his mouth and tail wagging. Tommy stroked his head absentmindedly, ushering him back in and shutting the door. 

Sniffing, knuckles brushing along his nose, he returned to the kitchen to find Lucy standing there, face pale and hands fiddling with the simple golden rings she was wearing.

“Luce?”

“Tommy, love…” she took a tentative step forward, reaching out to him and grasping both of his arms. Her grip was tight. As if she were afraid that he would disappear if she didn’t cling to him hard enough. Immediately, his heart dropped, dread filling his chest, like a sinking ship steadily filling with water.

“What’s happened?”

Her wide green eyes looked at him sadly, wetting her lips once. “Tommy, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She took a deep breath, and Tommy braced himself, for a moment worried he might bend over and vomit all over both of their shoes with the way his stomach had tied itself into knots. As if sensing this, her hands squeezed him even tighter. A reminder that he clung to that she was there. 

If the news that she was about to deliver caused him to break, she’d hold him together. 

Her green eyes were sad, but steady. Prepared for exactly that, if need be. 

His hands folded around her forearms, holding onto her in preparation. 

“Tell me.”

Lucy took a deep breath, and began. “Changretta’s men attacked John and Esme’s house this morning. Michael was there. He’s wounded. Esme’s already called an ambulance that is going to take him to the hospital,” she hesitated, stuttering a little around the last part before actually being able to bring herself to say it. Though Tommy already knew what was coming the second after the first sentence of her report had left her lips.

“John is dead.”

∗ ∗ ∗

Pale blue light illuminated the double doors that led into the mortuary. There was something ominous about those doors. As if passing through them would lead you to the place between life and death. The acrid smell of chemicals permeated through the hall, growing stronger with each step they took. The chemicals they used to preserve bodies for burial. 

There would be no need for that for John. He would not be buried, and they would not wait long enough so that his body would have time to sour before they lit his pyre. 

The glass on the doors was frosted, making it hard to see what was going on inside save for a few darkened shapes moving about. It was cold. Like being stuck in a freezer. 

They came there straight from the hospital. They’d beaten the ambulance, and when it arrived they escorted Michael on his stretcher through the halls to a room. Blood was gushing from bullet wounds in his torso, and his teeth had been gritted, trying not to make too much noise or writhe in pain. It was a battle he ultimately lost, back arching and hands balling up into fists while strangled sounds burbled from his throat. 

Polly had been there, remaining at her son’s side save for one moment when she screamed at Tommy that she wanted men who were former soldiers guarding Michael while he recovered. 

If he recovered. 

But Lucy had felt bad for her. Differences between them aside, no mother should have to go through what Polly was experiencing. Especially not when they had already lost one child. 

She looked so unlike how Lucy was used to seeing her; half mad in the eyes and with tears streaming down her face while it crumpled. Terror set in the shape of her mouth. 

Ada had come to look after her, and it was her who told them that Arthur was already at the mortuary, with John. 

What was left of John, anyway. From what Michael had told them through gritted, bloody teeth, it sounded as though he was more bullet holes than person, now. 

“I’ll stay out here,” Lucy said, once they got to the door and Tommy wrapped his hand around the doorknob. He shot a look that almost seemed a little panicked.  

“You’re not coming in?”

With a sad half smile, she touched his shoulder. “You and Arthur should have a moment alone with him.” 

It was no secret she and John hadn’t exactly gotten along. Especially after the whole mess with Angel Changretta had gotten Grace killed. But still, he was Tommy’s brother. And it hurt her to see Tommy look so lost and torn up over his death. 

She squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll be right out here.”

Tommy wiped at his mouth, looking to the doors that led into the gloomy, dimly lit room. “Right.”

She sent him on his way with a quick kiss to the cheek, sighing and leaning against the wall by the doors, lighting a cigarette while she waited. Two men came out, one a policeman and the other a mortician of some kind, neither making direct eye contact as they walked passed. 

She heard the sounds of something being thrown or knocked over inside the mortuary, but other than that, it was quiet. Tilting her head back against the cool tile wall, she looked up at the ceiling. 

Already, one of them was gone. How many more would die before this vendetta was done?

The door at the end of the hall, leading to the outside, blew open, and a small figure with tangled hair and wild eyes charged at her. 

“Where is he!?” Esme demanded. 

“Esme–” Lucy started, moving to block the door, catching her by the shoulders.

“Is he in there!?” she demanded, wrestling against Lucy’s grip. Her dark makeup around her eyes was smeared, face contracting with a look of grief even as she tried to fight against her. 

“Esme, stop, wait–” Lucy didn’t want to hurt her, and that was ultimately what allowed Esme to wrench herself out of her grasp and blow through the doors before Lucy could stop her. 

Lucy hurried after her, into a room containing a row of slabs, a little medical table containing autopsy tools at the end of each one. John was not the only body being housed there; other corpses lay out on the slabs, waiting to be cut open by the coroner or identified by family members.  

John was lying on the second slab from the right side of the room. Still. A cloth, half red with blood soaked up from the wounds in his stomach, was laid out across the bottom half of his body starting from his waist. His shirt was open, revealing his bloody abdomen riddled with holes. His eyes were closed.  

“You cunt!” Esme started to scream, raging and sobbing in equal measure. Tommy turned at the sound of her voice and caught her when she charged at him, pulling her to his chest in a hug. Esme collapsed against him almost instantly with a sob. She remained there for only a moment before she pushed away from him, staring at John’s body with nothing but agony written across her face.

“Leave me with him,” she requested, in a quiet voice. Tommy nodded, gesturing for Arthur to follow him out. As he passed her, he took Lucy’s hand, walking with her to the doors.   

∗ ∗ ∗

The fire crackled and popped in the hearth, steam rising from the bathtub in the center of the room. Charlie was still asleep, snuggled in warmly under the quilt, passed out cold after being up for a good part of the night.  

Lucy toweled off her wet hair. She’d taken a bath first, scrubbing off the dirt, sweat, and any lingering blood from her skin quickly, giving a hasty wash to her hair before jumping out and getting dressed in fresh trousers and a button down shirt, replacing the dirtied, lukewarm bathwater with hot, clean water for Tommy.

He’d come up just as she was finished filling the bath for him, having been busy downstairs coordinating with Charlie Strong, Johnny Dogs, and Finn, who were all already arrived at the house, helping to prepare things for the family meeting that would take place as soon as everyone had gathered.

He had undressed in silence, and she watched him nervously where he was standing naked in front of the window, broad, strong back to her. Good thing that the drapes were still closed. Otherwise the people on the street below would be getting treated to quite the view.  

He had said barely a single word since they’d gotten back from the mortuary.   

She wished that they could take a moment to rest. That she could pull him into bed or some quiet little place and just hold him. Comfort him. Misery seemed to practically radiate off of him, and she found herself feeling helpless as to how to make it better.

“Tommy?” she asked, timidly. He didn’t seem to have heard her, so she approached him slowly, like she would a skittish animal. “Tom?” she touched his shoulder gently, and he finally turned to her, expression vacant.

“Hm?”

“Bath, love?” she asked, angling her head towards the steaming tub. He glanced over like he’d only just remembered it was there, and nodded. 

“Right.” 

She backed off a little, going to pull on her waistcoat while she watched him sink into the warm water. He lit a cigarette for himself, water sloshing as he leaned back in the tub.  

Finished buttoning herself up, she went to kneel behind him by his head, arms wrapping around his bare, damp shoulders, face tucking into his neck, kissing him just beneath the ear. Tommy sighed, hand not occupied with his cigarette settling on her forearms, rubbing absentmindedly. His head tipped back, until it was practically resting on her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” though her voice was quiet, it felt loud as a thunderclap in the otherwise quiet of the room. Tommy shook his head, turning to press a small kiss to her arm.   

Soon–too soon–for her liking, a knock sounded at the door, Finn announcing from the other side that everyone was gathered downstairs. 

“Right, just…give us a few minutes, Finn,” she called over her shoulder. Tommy leaned forward, rubbing at his eyes, finishing his cigarette and tossing it into the bathwater before rising. He took the towel that Lucy offered him, drying himself off and moving to the chest of drawers to pull out some clean clothes. She finished dressing, keeping an anxious eye on him as she did. 

“Tommy,” she said softly, stopping him before he could go to the door after he’d pulled on his coat. Cupping both sides of his face, she angled his head to look at her. His eyes were so sad and miserable, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed in the way she recognized was in an attempt not to cry. “Come here,” she ordered, pulling him close, arms wrapping around him, hand on the back of his head guiding his face to rest in the crook of her neck. 

Hesitantly, his arms wrapped around her. And then a little more of his weight rested upon her. Not even to tip her over, but enough for her to worry that if she weren’t holding onto him, he might’ve crumpled to the floor. The shaved sides of his head prickled her palm as she stroked the back of his head. 

“It’s okay,” she murmured, and it was as if he were waiting for her permission before the floodgates opened completely, and a strangled sound left his throat. “It’s okay,” she repeated, holding him tighter.         

It reminded her of when Grace had died, the sudden deja vu so strong it nearly knocked her over. Except that time she had not been able to hold Tommy together. They had been equally a mess, sobbing into one another’s arms in the dark of night. Barely able to keep themselves pulled back from the precipice of going mad with grief. 

At least this time, she could do more for him. 

She let him collapse into her, hands holding onto her so tight, it was a wonder it didn’t hurt. But still she held him, his face pressed into her neck, body shuddering. 

Lucy did not let go. She held him together, keeping the broken pieces cinched tight, not allowing them to unravel. Doing all she could to take away the agony threatening to rip him apart. 

And in her arms, Tommy finally allowed himself to weep. 

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[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 45: Peace And Goodwill

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

Thomas’ gifted money to John did not go wasted. The view of the approaching country house brings a smile to my face, however the sight of someone hunched behind a boulder pointing a gun does not. The car halts next to the mailbox and I check the name. Shelby. I’m in the right place.

“Oi! Steenstra!” John shouts from across the lawn. “‘S that you?”

“Hello, John!” I wave back, clutching the bag of cookies I brought with me. “I come with neutral intentions and glad tidings!”

He relaxes and starts jogging over, followed by two small dogs. “You just missed Ada!”

“Thanks again for the party invitation. You didn’t really-”

“Oh yes, we did!” John cuts me off with a hug and eyes the bag. “It’s been a whole year since you’ve made us biscuits!”

I smile and quirk a brow. “So you’re excited I’m here just for my culinary skills, eh?”

“No, I did miss you,” he says sincerely. “‘S good to hear you and Ada have enjoyed America but it’s good to have you back.” He tugs at his coat. “It’s been bloody freezing! How are you not cold?”

I shrug. “I love the cold. It brings me back to my Scandinavian roots. The cold feels natural to me.”

John rolls his eyes and starts walking towards the house. “Oh, big deal. Brag about ancestors living in an ice cube. Let’s go inside for some tea, eh?”

He leads me to the front door and I walk inside to a cozy-looking parlor. I can’t help but notice the beautiful greenery draped over the fireplace. 

John catches me looking. “First time seeing a British Christmas, eh? We’ve got our traditions.” 

He points to something above my head. I look up to see a sprig of green plants with white berries tied together with a red bow.

“Mistletoe?”

I’m not unfamiliar with the custom. In my culture it’s a druid tradition that’s supposed to be a symbol of male fertility.

John grins deviously. “Want me to call Tommy over?”

I hold up a warning finger. “No. I mean it, John. No talk of that. I’m here to-”

“What? To make everything better again?” he mocks sarcastically with narrowed eyes. “Nice try.”

As if on cue, Esme appears in the doorway. Here we go.

Her vicious eyes cause me to freeze. “Verena.”

“Hello, Esme,” I greet gently. “How are the kids?”

“What money do you use?” 

Her question throws me off. “Pardon?”

Behind me John groans. “Again, Esme?”

“What. Money. Do. You. Use?” She demands.

“M-My earnings. And some funds from my vader.” I hold up my bag. “I brought biscuits. Some chocolate ones, but also some almond cookies. They’re shaped like Dutch Christmas characters.”

“You have no idea what we’ve gone through,” Esme snarls. “And you show up like nothing’s changed?”

My own face twists into a scowl. “You think I don’t know things have changed? I am truly sorry for what Thomas did to John and the others but it was not my fault.”

“She’s right,” John agrees. “But that doesn’t mean we’ll all come to terms because you’re playing peacemaker, Verena. I did invite him-”

“No, John!” Esme hisses. “No more of him!”

I hold up my hands and look between the couple. Tea will have to be postponed. “It’s been lovely to see you all but it’s getting late.”

“Good to see you, Verena,” John waves from the couch.

I can’t help but smile and set the bag of biscuits down next to him. “Merry Christmas to you both, and the children.”

I retreat back to the door before Esme can skin me alive. She follows me the same as a fox stalks its prey. 

“Are you staying with that bastard?”

I reach for the doorknob. “Yes.”

“Tell him to go to Hell.”

I think part of him believes he’s already there.

I’m so tired of being stuck in the car. Throughout the drive to Arrow House I watch the sun sink behind heavy gray clouds. I might not be as cold as others but I do still catch on to the dropping temperature. As the giant mansion approaches, a few random snowflakes scatter across the car window. I haul my trunk up the stone steps and am greeted by a stern-faced lady with her hair in a tight bun.

“Ms. Steenstra?” I nod and she continues. “I’m Frances, the head housekeeper. May I call a footman to take your bags?”

“No, no. That’s quite alright. I can manage.” I walk past her into the hallway and nearly bump into another maid. “Oh! Hello-”

Her eyes widen with panic. “I apologize, Ms. Steenstra!”

I frown. “What for?”

She looks down and wrings her hands together. “We’re not supposed to be seen. I- I took a wrong turn. This is the wrong staircase.”

There’s more than one? “You have your own staircase?”

She nods, still looking at the floor. “A hidden one.”

My curiosity sparks. “Can I see?”

Her head flies up. “Oh, miss, you don’t want to. It’s dark and full of spiders.”

I know Thomas treats his employees well but her skittery behavior makes me suspicious. “How exactly does the staff work here?”

Behind me I hear Francis let out a disapproving sniff. “A routine of tradition. You Americans obviously don’t follow it.”

The girl in front of me gulps. “Frances has the highest position of housekeeper. I’m only a scullery maid.”

My jaw drops and I wait for Francis to exit before speaking. “This traditional system is one-sided. How is being forced into always being in a poor society fair?”

Her eyes light up. “Actually Mr. Shelby is most generous with his terms of employment. Frankly, Francis is the one holding onto tradition.”

“Ah! You’ve met Lydia.”

We both turn to where Thomas has just walked in from his study. The maid immediately starts apologizing.

“Sorry Mr. Shelby. I was just leaving-”

“You can stay,” I assure Lydia and give Thomas a look. “She can stay, right Thomas?”

He looks as if this sounds like a simple request. “Yes.”

Another pair of eyes peeks out from behind Thomas’ legs. “Daddy, who’s this?”

Oh my. Charlie’s grown so much! He’s already talking. He’s grown into a sturdy, adorable child with curious eyes. Seeing him gives half the reason I wanted to return so badly.

Thomas kneels down next to him and points to me. “Charlie, this is my good friend Verena. Do you remember her?”

He scrunches his face at me. “V-Veena?”

“Vah-ree-nuh,” Thomas annunciates.

“Veena?" Charlie tries again. How cute!

“I like it,” I chuckle and also kneel down to his level, extending a hand for him to shake. “Merry Christmas Eve, Charles. It’s good to see you again. Have you been keeping your daddy in line?”

Charlie recognizes I’m no longer a complete stranger and grins at his father. “Uh-huh!”

Thomas puts a hand on his shoulder. “Charlie, Verena and I are going out for a talk. We’ll be back for supper, alright?”

Charlie nods eagerly. “Okay.”

Thomas calls for Francis to take him away and we both walk back to the front door. I look out the window and gasp in delight to see even more snowflakes flurrying through the darkening sky. It’s nearly dusk. The magical sight of the pure-white flakes almost looks imaginary.

“It’s finally snowing!” I can’t contain myself.

“Would you still be up for talking outside?” Thomas asks mysteriously. “I’ve got an idea.”

Now fate is just being cruel. A horseback ride through the snow? How more romantic is that? I guess as a city girl this is something very special. But Thomas doesn’t see this as anything intimate. To him a horseback ride is just another pastime. He preps a beautiful dark gray horse for me and his black horse for himself. 

“Do you know how to ride?” Thomas asks as I mount the large beast.

“I’ll figure it out as I go. I’m really excited!” I gush as the horse begins to trot through the billowing snow.

Thomas brings his horse ahead of me and starts leading us through the fields. I’ll admit the feeling of sitting on the horse's back is unfamiliarly awkward but the horse itself is being very gentle with me. It has a patience of its own and doesn’t go too fast.

“How’s she working?” Thomas calls from ahead.

“Very cooperative!” I respond. “What’s her name?”

“Scarlet.” He pauses a second. “I’ve got a question about your father.”

“Shoot.”

“How does your father handle differences in his employees? By sex, I mean.”

Interesting. There’s little chance that Thomas will change his own mind about how he runs things; but it’s refreshing to hear he wants to know how other families deal with problems. He’s showing an interest in my family the same way I have taken an interest in his.

“Simple. They’re all paid fair,” I say as Scarlet steps over a small brook. “What you work for is what you get. If you put in the time and effort then you reap the rewards. Man or woman, he doesn’t discriminate. Unlike some other shops near us. But he does set certain boundaries so women are not put in harm’s way.”

I’m starting to lose Thomas through the thick snow. He notices and halts his horse so we can stop to chat. 

 “Does he ever have strikers?”

“No need for any. Half of his employees are our family and he’s too gentle to let a disagreement go unsettled. Firm but kind, as moeder says. But our business is much less than yours. Yours is… an empire.”

Thomas nods, regarding me with a look that shows deep thought. “Your father runs things through strong capitalism.”

I smirk and wipe away some snowflakes from my hair. “That’s the American dream for you. We’ve had countless immigrants who were looking to build a life for themselves and their families. They start as bartenders, busboys, and janitors. Now they’re paid by salary. Some of the best rumrunners I’ve ever seen. Quite similar to how you run things.”

A spell of silence falls over us and we take a moment to enjoy the peaceful serenity. The only sound is the whistling of the wind through the tall grass. In the distance I see the warm glow of the Arrow House windows flickering through the snow. Not quite like Christmastime in Brooklyn but it looks like what all the greeting cards advertise. Abel’s right. It’s going to be a challenge to be away during the holidays.

Thomas breaks the silence. “‘S this your first Christmas away from home?” 

His soft voice and the bittersweet homesickness tug at me. “Yes.”

“Will you miss your family?”

A sad smile crosses my face. “That obvious, hm? I’ve only been away for a week but it’s different without being there for the holidays.”

Thomas reaches across for my hand but I still grip the reins. “Why didn’t you tell me? We could have waited until after the holidays for you to come back.”

“Because I knew I was needed here,” I answer wisely. “It’s been a hard year on everyone and… I felt God telling me to come back.”

“Is that the real reason you came?” 

He asks as if I’m not telling him everything. Why does this have to be so hard?!

“I still love your family after all these years, Thomas. You all need as much help as you can get.”

Thomas considers my answer and hums. “Charlie was certainly happy to see you. I’m sure they all were.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate. Ada and I have been the peacekeepers between the two opposing sides. Thomas vs. the line of everyone who hates him. And that line’s starting to become noticeably long.

“Thomas, please,” I plead as he starts leading his horse back towards the house. “You need to talk to your brothers. Mend this family.”

@meadows5

[ctrldoll]

Holiday Trinkets.

Jayce, Viktor & GN! Reader!

It’s Christmas. Time for the holiday fun and silly moments to carry into the next year. 

It’s even better when Jayce and Viktor take a needed break…which they desperately need.

You love to see your men work hard to achieve their goals, but they need to rest and enjoy the holiday!

(Inspired by my bestie, @marsonthemoon000! <333)

Platonic, but I'm not stopping your interpretations.

It's a bit OCC to me, but I think this is how they would have casual conversations. Not everything's serious.

It's short, but I love Christmas specials too much not to cook one! <3

Merry Christmas, Lovelies! <3

PEACE AND BLESSINGS TO YOU, MY LOVE! <3

Viktor loudly sighed, exasperated, and rolled his chair back to the chalkboard with a furrow of his brown brows. A line of exhaustion made its path on his forehead, adding onto his annoyed expression. Yet again, his attempted solution did not work. 

The blue glow of the hex ball on top of a paper whose companions were scattered across the table seemed to mock his efforts, flickering on the white canvas it resided in.

“Maybe if I were to convert—” “Oh, I didn't think you'd manage to convince him. Jayce, the constant charmer.” Jayce’s deep chuckle brought Viktor out of his swarming thoughts. His face softened at the sight of the both of you, who shared a laugh as you neared him. “Hi Viktor.” You giggled and dug your fingertips into the cushion of the top rail of his chair.

“How are you?” Jayce continued and placed his hand on his shoulder. His eyes moved to the calculation in front, and he sighed in understanding. “We’ll solve it. Together.” Jayce spoke, his tone a near whisper. He hated the exhaustion visible on his companion, sadness floating above when Viktor rubbed his eyes.

“You’ll both figure it out. You're the smartest people I know.” You joined in reassuring Viktor, moving from your position to kneel in front of him. “How about we take a break? The last time I saw you out of this lab was three days ago.” You smiled sadly at the gaze he drew upon his work for a moment in contemplation. “I shouldn't. I’m close to a breakthrough.” Viktor responded, propped his walking stick to stand, and turned to the board. 

“You should rest. I can take over some of the calculation if that's your concern.” Jayce offered, slightly smiling with raised brows. “If he needs any tools, I'll be there to provide them. I've learnt a name or two while watching the both of you.” You joined in and stood next to Jayce. His eyes looked to your own in appreciation for a moment before turning back to Viktor. 

“Please? We'll be good.” Jayce teased, brushing elbows with you. A soft smile appeared on Viktor's face, and he shook his head. “I may be exhausted. I'll take you both up on the offer. If anything is needed, inform me.” “We’re hoping not to.” You teased, chuckling at Viktor’s amusement. 

“I’ll see the both of you soon.” Viktor left the lab, a slight smile on his face. 

“Should I arrange some of the tools? I don't want to mess anything up.” You asked, walking over to the messy desk. “Hmm…we should leave those things there. Viktor might have had an idea for them.” Jayce responded, picking up Viktor’s notebook to look through his research so far. 

“What about this cup?” You picked it up, fingertips instantly becoming chilly under the ceramic due to the cold season. “Yeah, that needs to go. Thank you.” 

Jayce picked up the hex ball, analysing it for a moment. The magic pulsed inside its glass prison, pulling him into the unknowns of it. His curiosity was ever piqued whenever he saw it. He has to know more; he just has to.

“Let’s start.”

“People are excited now that they've hit the 20s. They're leaving the city by the masses to visit their relatives.” You said, lifting your cup of hot chocolate to your lips. The creamy blend filled you with joy as a stray marshmallow piece swam to your tongue.

“[Name], are you visiting your family soon?” Viktor asked, his own cup in his hands as he sat on the couch next to Jayce. 

You were both occupied in Jayce’s room, a break finally seeming appropriate as the men discovered more about Hextech. The holiday energy may have captured them a bit…

“No, actually. There's a lot I have to plan for the city’s next year. I've informed my family about it.” You responded and twiddled your hands as the deadline you set for the paperwork blared like an alarm in your brain for a moment. “Guess we're in the same position, [Name].” Jayce licked his lips as he set his cup down and smiled slightly. 

“I hope we can do something together on the 25th. I saw a poster of a band’s show in town, and Mel Medarda’s hosting a dinner party.” “Nice,” You emphasised the ‘e.’ “I knew you knew how to find the tiny spots in the city.” You teased and watched as he sputtered out a response about the poster, to which you rolled your eyes. 

“I bet he could tell us about an underrated restaurant right this minute, right, Viktor?” You turned to him, smiling. He understood the comedic scene you took upon yourself to bring to simmer the effects his lack of a response brought to him. Your knowing glance brought a slight shiver to his bones. Damn your observation skill, but he couldn't help but love it.

“You should have been there to hear him randomly talk about the restaurant where he swears had the best beer in town. I don't often find him drunk, but he knows much about the differences.” Viktor joined in, chuckling when Jayce motioned between the both of you in protest. 

“At least you both know I'm the best person to ask for recommendations.” Jayce joined in on the laughs, his ‘fangs’ being exposed. You looked at them for a moment, something stirring in you, and Viktor gave you a knowing glance under hooded eyes. The feeling increased. You grinned; it was enough of a response. 

“Okay, okay. Make sure to spoil us with your recommendations on the 25th. Let’s check out the Christmas tree in the middle of town too. I'm sure it's better than last year.”