#you’d had to be a part of it to understand

[pathologicalreid]

christmas (baby please come home) | s.r.

in which Spencer isn't home to put his kids to bed on Christmas Eve, but they wake up to a surprise on Christmas morning

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: spencer's first post prison christmas, frankensteined the plot of "surface tension", the same family as "here with me", crying, christmas word count: 3.19k a/n: merry christmas!! this is kinda like my gift to you, mostly since it's been sitting in my brain for forever!!!!!!! i love u all! also happy first day of hanukkah if you celebrate <33

“But Daddy’s not home,” your daughter whimpered as she shuffled under her covers, she looked up at you with wide, curious eyes.

You carefully smoothed out the top of her floral comforter, “I know, baby,” you whispered, reaching up to pinch her cheek affectionately. You’d let them stay up late to watch the Santa tracker, but eventually, Finn fell asleep on you, and Livvy’s yawns were enough to convince you that it was bedtime. “You still have to go to sleep. Santa will come whether Daddy’s home or not, and we’ll just do the gifts from Mommy and Daddy when he gets back.”

At three years old, Olivia was beginning to understand Spencer being gone the same way Eleanor did; she knew his absence was entirely out of her control, and that didn’t sit well with your middle child. You knew you had gotten incredibly lucky when Spencer had been home for Finn’s birthday and Livvy’s had fallen during his sabbatical, but you also knew that you were due for a missed holiday, you just wished it could’ve been Thanksgiving or New Year’s.

You kissed her forehead before leaving, making sure to leave the door open a crack so the monsters wouldn’t get her before you went to Nell’s room. “Hey, honey,” you whispered, closing your eldest’s door behind you before going to sit on the edge of her bed. She had her own Christmas tree set up in the corner of the room, the artificial purple tree providing the glow that her nightlight normally would. “Are you ready for bed?”

Nell was lying on top of her covers, staring at her still ceiling fan as she ignored your question. While Livvy was just starting to understand what it meant when Spencer was gone, Nell understood it best, and she had for years now. She’d understood when Spencer was in prison, and she understood that he was missing Christmas now.

Slowly, you laid down next to your daughter, propping your head up on the bed and smoothing her hair back. “It’s still Christmas,” you tried to reassure her, but part of you knew that it was a thankless effort, there was nothing you could tell her that would fix her father’s absence. “We can call Dad in the morning while we open presents,” you offered, hoping she’d appreciate you coming halfway. “If he’s not busy, maybe we can video chat, and you can show him everything Santa brought you.”

“It’s not the same,” she told you, furrowing her brows and turning away from you on the bed.

Sighing, you pressed a kiss to the back of her head, “I know, Nellie. I know it’s not fair that he doesn’t get to be here for Christmas, but Daddy will come back.” There was a sense of urgency in your voice; you were afraid that if your five-year-old lost the joy in Christmas, you’d somehow failed her as a mother. “He’ll be home for your birthday, I promise,” you whispered.

“You can’t promise,” she reminded you, knowing that you and Spencer were generally very specific about your promises, leaning toward the ‘I promise I’ll try’ variety.

You hummed in response, “I’d pinky promise you that. Dad will be home for your birthday.” You held up your pinky finger, waiting for her to roll over and reciprocate.

Eleanor rolled over, holding up her pinky finger while brown eyes watched you apprehensively, “Okay,” she breathed, hooking your fingers together and kissing them.

As soon as Spencer told you about the bureau’s contingency to him returning to the BAU, you’d done the math. Eleanor’s sixth birthday would fall near the beginning of his next sabbatical, so you didn’t hesitate to make this promise. “It’s time for bed, my girl,” you whispered, smiling at her softly as she pulled the sleeves of her Christmas pajamas over her hands. “Santa can’t come if you’re not asleep,” you reminded her, sitting up on the bed and getting up, tucking her purple comforter under her chin before you made your final stop of the night.

You’d brought Finn to his room before getting the girls settled, but now that you knew they were alright, you came back to his room. The white noise machine was going, and he was fast asleep in his crib. His pacifier, which you were trying to wean him off of, had fallen from his mouth and onto the sheets, so you set it to the side. To you, the second Christmas was always more exciting than the first, now that he was fourteen months old, he had the dexterity to help open presents.

Ruffling his hair, you kissed him goodnight, just like you’d done with the girls, and you left his room, closing the door so that no one would disturb the light-sleeping baby.

There was a late night ahead of you, but first, you settled yourself onto the couch in the living room and pulled out your phone. Upon opening your messages with Spencer, you couldn’t help but be disappointed to find that there was nothing unread. You thought about sending him a text telling him that you all miss him but eventually decided against it. You didn’t want to make him feel guilty. At least, no more guilty than he likely already did.

You turned on the TV, quietly playing a Christmas movie as you began the festivities. All of the gifts had been expertly hidden in the master bedroom, split between being shoved under your bed and in your closet, but a new playhouse for the girls had been dropped off earlier. It was too big for your room, so your parents had stored it in their basement in the interim.

That would be a struggle to bring in from the garage, so you decided to start small, pulling all of the kids’ stockings from their hooks and laying them out on the floor before going upstairs to get the stuffers.

With the movie playing, you filled the stockings with treats and little toys. A few times you imagined your phone buzzing, but each time there was nothing on the screen. The loneliness started to set in as you rehung the stockings, making sure the kids’ names faced forward above the fireplace.

This wasn’t your first Christmas alone, Spencer had been in Idaho for Olivia’s first Christmas, but neither of the girls remembered it.

They’d remember this one, you thought to yourself, walking back up the stairs to grab a load of boxes. Thankfully, they were already wrapped, but you did have to avoid getting ribbon in your mouth as you carried the armful of gifts down the stairs.

Masterfully, you adjusted them beneath the tree, trying to visualize where they’d all end up in the end as you heard something distantly, but you brushed it off as someone leaving your neighbor’s holiday party. You stood up, wiping your hands on your pajamas as you evaluated your handiwork, shrugging before you turned around for the next load, “Oh,” you breathed, watching the handle on the door from the garage turn.

The door opened slowly, revealing your husband on the other side, his black peacoat draped over his arm and purple scarf looped around his neck. He hooked his car keys on the key hook before he noticed you, brown eyes finding your pajama-clad figure. His lopsided smile was all-knowing as always, he knew he had surprised you. In fact, it had been his goal.

You remained exactly where you were, watching him from the den as he put his shoes away and hung up his outerwear. It was almost as if you’d convinced yourself he was a mirage, and any sudden movements would cause his visage to dissipate. “Hey,” Spencer said, cocking his head at you as if he were confused why you hadn’t come any closer to him. He peeked around you to look at the tree, “Did the kids get to bed okay?”

Instead of answering him, your body naturally responded to what seemed like the miraculous appearance of your husband by producing tears. At first, they just welled along your lash line, but as they started to fall, you buried your face in your hands.

Spencer was there, not only in the house but also taking the initiative to approach you, he wrapped his arms around your torso, taking your tearful form under his care, “Is everything alright?” He asked, slowly dragging his hand up and down your spine, humming as you reciprocated his embrace and pressed your face into his shirt, drying your eyes and taking in the moment.

“Everything is wonderful,” you responded, your voice muffled by his shirt. He smelled like stale dark roast and the jet, but you were too relieved by his arrival to truly mind.

Tightening his grip briefly, he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, “Right, well. You’re crying, so I had to make sure,” he murmured, swaying gently to the music coming from the film.

You loosed a breath of relief, “I can’t believe you’re here. The kids were miserable at bedtime, Nell wouldn’t even talk to me until I told her you’ll be home for her birthday,” you informed him, keeping your arms wrapped firmly around him while you tipped your head back to see him.

Spencer nodded in understanding, reaching up a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, “We made the arrest at eight and wrapped up around nine. Somehow, Emily convinced the pilot to leave in the middle of the night, and we were on the jet by ten. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve spent holidays in worse places, but I’d rather be here with you than in Milwaukee.”

“I will kiss Emily Prentiss on the mouth,” you told him candidly.

He raised his brows curiously, “Mhm, and what about me?”

Grinning, you pushed up on your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his, an amalgamation of a welcome home and a Merry Christmas kiss, but you pulled away before you could get carried away. “Merry Christmas, Spencer Reid, we have work to do,” you told him, taking on a mock seriousness as you nodded your head toward the Christmas tree, which only had a fraction of your kids’ gifts beneath it.

“Merry Christmas, darling,” Spencer reciprocated, pressing one more kiss to your lips, “Let’s get started.”

Spinning out of his grip, you found you had much more pep in your step with his arrival, beaming as the two of you went through the house as quietly as possible, gathering the gifts for the kids without rousing any suspicion. Even grabbing the playhouse from the garage didn’t seem like as much of a task with him around.

You adjusted the stockings as it neared two in the morning, Spencer returned from upstairs with the last few gifts, having changed his clothes into pajamas that neatly matched yours—a family set that was a gift from your Penelope. “They look great,” Spencer assured you, pushing his glasses up on his nose as he stood back, admiring your handiwork.

Walking backward until your back was against your chest, you tilted your head to the side, appraising the mountain of gifts beneath the tree, “Do you think we went overboard this year?” Between the gifts from Santa and the gifts from the two of you, the heap was rather intimidating.

“No,” Spencer answered, “bigger kids, bigger gifts.” He put his arms around your waist, resting his chin on top of your head, “besides, they’re good kids.”

You hummed in response, leaning into him ever so slightly. Part of you felt like Spencer was still experiencing guilt surrounding the three months he spent away from you and the kids while he was in prison. No amount of time at home or therapy would ever absolve him of that guilt, but it never hurt to try, “Hey,” you whispered up to him, “I got you something.”

He frowned down at you, “I thought we said no gifts this year?”

Scoffing, you walked over to the home office, “We say that every year and neither of us ever stick to it, so go get whatever it is you got for me.”

Spencer rolled his eyes, but even so, he made his way upstairs to where you knew a gift was hiding in his bedside table. Upon his return, he faltered at the large box you’d placed on the coffee table and held up the small box in his hands; you beamed at him as he eyed the behemoth of a present.

He handed you the smaller box, instinctively, you admired the wrapping before starting to open it, recognizing the jewelry box before you had even discarded your wrapping paper. “Oh, Spence,” you said, looking at the necklace in the box, a dainty chain with five small gemstones on it. His birthstone and yours, followed by Nell’s amethyst, Livvy’s sapphire, and Finn’s tourmaline all strung next to each other, “it’s perfect,” you told him, lightly touching the gems with your fingertips. You’d mentioned wishing you had an everyday necklace a few weeks ago while getting ready, and he must’ve been listening more attentively than you’d thought.

Finally, you had him open his gift, and he was entirely speechless as he opened the cardboard flaps. His mouth gaped as he lifted one of the books in his hand, the title and edition identical to one that had been previously ruined in your house. “Fuck,” he cursed, looking from you to the books and back again.

You shrugged, “It’s not all of them, but a pretty good amount of them. Some of those editions are proving difficult to recover, but I’ve—” You’re cut off, startled by Spencer pressing his lips to yours. “I’m still looking for some,” you said breathlessly once he pulled away.

Spencer seemed unsure of what to do with himself; you’d managed to find replacements for three-fourths of the books that had previously been burned by an accidental fire set earlier this year. The only time your marriage had ever been on the rocks was when Diana lived with you, but even then, you’d been planning this surprise. “You are…” Spencer started, uncharacteristically at a loss for words, “This is incredible,” he told you, shaking his head in disbelief, setting the book down in the box and nearly tackling you in a hug.

Laughing, you buried your face in his shoulder to muffle the sound, “I love you,” you murmured to him, his body now next to yours on the couch.

“I love you too,” he said, looking at you with glassy eyes. “Wow,” he said, sniffling, “I need to get you something else. A necklace isn’t enough,” he told you, likely already thinking of options for addendums.

You shook your head, “Trust me when I tell you that your being here is worth all of the rare books in the world to me,” you reassured him, running your fingers through his hair. Humming, you adjusted your head on the pillow, “Are you gonna fall asleep like this?”

He nodded, “If you keep playing with my hair like that. How long do you think we have until they wake up?” He asked, keeping his eyes closed while you peeked over him to check the time.

Last year, Finn had woken up the whole house on Christmas Day at four in the morning, and seeing as it was nearing three, you wondered if it was worth sleeping at all. You continued combing through Spencer’s hair, “Do you want to go upstairs?”

“This is a really great couch,” he mumbled, already falling asleep on the couch, leading you to grab the blanket that was thrown over the back and haphazardly drape it over the two of you.

Unfortunately, it felt like you’d gotten no sleep at all when you heard the first stirring upstairs, “Mommy,” Olivia called out, which would likely wake up Finn and Nell.

You got up from the couch, waking up Spencer in the process. Your poor husband, who was probably already running on little sleep, got up and folded the blanket you had been using, returning it to its home while you went upstairs to get the kids.

Livvy’s eyes went wide when she saw you come from downstairs, “Did Santa come?” She asked you, nearly bouncing with excitement.

As you expected, the door to Eleanor’s room swung open, revealing your sleep-deprived five-year-old in her rumpled pajamas, “Yes, Santa brought gifts for everyone,” you answered, ruffling her hair before going into Finn’s room, hoping to wake him gently before the voices did a less delicate job. “Hi buddy,” you whispered, looking back to see the girls gathered at the door, completely unaware that their dad was waiting for them downstairs. “Merry Christmas,” you said softly, his scrunched face not processing what you were saying, but happy to see you, nonetheless.

You picked him up from the crib and herded the girls to the stairs, letting them lead the way down while you carried the baby. Right behind them, you watched the realization dawn on their faces as soon as they caught sight of Spencer, “Daddy!” Nell shouted, leading her little sister as they ran to him.

Laughing lightly, you let a squirming Finn down, running to Spencer in the same way the girls just had. From a distance, you watched as all three of your kids entirely bypassed the gifts under the tree and on the mantle and went straight to what was more important—their father was home for Christmas.

Spencer crouched down to get Finn, and at the same time, Livvy jumped in excitement, leaving Spencer falling backward and sitting on the ground while the kids formed a less-than-graceful dog pile on the floor. You took that as your cue to join in on the festivities, kneeling on the floor next to the familial pile, uncontrollable giggles emanated from everyone involved.

You wrangled the two littles in your arms, giving each of them dozens of kisses and receiving more laughter in return as Eleanor settled down. Your eldest took her moment of alone time and laid her head on Spencer’s chest, the grin on her face overtook the rest of her face, “Best Christmas ever,” she whispered before rolling off of him, Spencer instinctively lifting his hand so she doesn’t hit her head on the leg of the coffee table.

Nellie sat up giving you a toothy grin, sticking her tongue through where she was missing a front tooth. Everyone took notice of Olivia pointing at the tree, her mouth shaped like an “o” in awe, “Can we open that one?” She asked, pointing to the largest present in the stack—which, of course, had her name on it.

“Stockings first,” Spencer said, leading to a pout from your middle child, but it was quickly wiped away when he kissed the crown of her head. Your husband got up first, taking Finn from where he was tucked into your side, and set him on his hip, “Okay, who wants their stocking?”

Everyone’s hand went up—including yours.

[serene555]

Quit tending to your little flowers and pay attention to him, will you?

Many believed Sukuna was incapable of love—and honestly, so did he. He was a sadistic monster, a hedonist who thrived on chaos and slaughter. The King of Curses needed no one but himself, and as for romance? He scoffed at the mere idea. Love was an illusion for the weak, a pathetic attempt to make their meaningless lives feel significant. Or so he thought.

Then, you came along.

At first, he was sure he’d end up killing you. Maybe after a day. A week, tops. But for some reason, he didn’t. You didn’t cower or crumble like everyone else. You didn’t bore him, either. That was the most irritating part. Instead of dying, you lingered around like some annoying pest, and for reasons he couldn’t understand, he didn’t get rid of you. Weeks turned to months, and instead of plotting your demise, Sukuna found himself… invested. He didn’t want to consume or torment you—no, you were something else entirely. Before he knew it, you’d flipped his entire world on its head. You made him happy. And worst of all, it wasn’t the kind of happiness he had to take by force—it just was.

The realization disgusted him. He hated it. He hated you. But not enough to leave. And so, he decided: if he was going to be this pathetically human, it would be a secret he took to his grave.

“Weakling,” he barked, appearing in front of you like the menace he was. His scowl was practically carved into his face, though the impatient tapping of his fingers betrayed him. “How much longer are you going to mess with those damn flowers? They’re weeds with delusions of grandeur.”

Of course, he’d never actually drag you away. Instead, he stood there, arms crossed, glaring at your garden as though it had personally insulted him. He muttered curses under his breath, but his eyes kept drifting back to you, softer than he’d ever admit.

“Don’t call me thaaat!” came your sweet, drawn-out whine, a playful protest aimed at his deep, rumbling voice. The sound was lighthearted, almost innocent, yet it hit him in ways you couldn’t possibly comprehend.

Oh, how blissfully unaware you were of the effect you had on him. Your voice, your expressions, even the way you turned to glare at him—it all stirred something in him he refused to name. You were so small, so utterly unassuming, yet somehow, you managed to occupy more space in his mind than anything else.

He grumbled in irritation as your whiny response met his ears. You were far too comfortable with him—a fact that both annoyed and amused him to no end. He had never imagined another being would dare speak to him with such familiarity, such blatant disregard for his status, such insolence. Yet, try as he might to be annoyed, he couldn’t ignore the strange warmth it brought him. The fact that you showed no fear around him was utterly baffling—and, somehow, endearing.

His crimson eyes lingered on you, sharp and calculating, though his gaze softened just slightly as it roamed over your figure. You were, undeniably, a beautiful woman pest. How irritatingly distracting you were.

Sukuna’s patience snapped as he watched you continue to fiddle with the weeds in your garden, completely ignoring him. His scowl deepened, as his large frame tense with irritation. This was getting out of hand.

He took a step toward you, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “I said, stop.” His tone was low, a warning wrapped in cold menace. “Those weeds of yours have had enough.”

You glanced up at him briefly, your expression unbothered, before turning back to your task, muttering something about the flowers.

A flicker of frustration crossed his face, but he was done with words.

Before you could register what was happening, Sukuna reached down, his massive hand sweeping under your waist. With a single, effortless motion, he lifted you up and tossed you over his shoulder like you were nothing but a sack of some useless patatos.

“Sukuna!” you yelped, suddenly upside down and dangling over his shoulder, your world spinning as you tried to steady yourself. Your protests were drowned out by his steady, unyielding stride.

“Stop whinning, woman,” Sukuna said, his voice calm but thick with irritation. “Learn to obey at once.”

And just like that he was carrying the little insect who had managed to wrap her tiny legs around his being to his chambers, your soft little hands already clawing at his back but he barely two shits about your little protests. You were his and now you would pay attention.

———————————————————

an: a man in love, a sinner he maybe is forgiven, right?

lol

The lengths I would go to to justify my love for Sukuna are absurd.

[taintandviolent]

sin creeps in ; Nosferatu x Reader

summary: You're plagued by heinous nightmares of a mysterious monster, but you can't help but feel drawn to he who plagues you.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 1.5K | female reader, monster fucking, vampires, vampire sex, bloodplay, biting, drinking blood / blood loss, mentions of death, making out, smut, unprotected sex, mentions of accents, shadow play (fingering)????.

a/n: MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR NOSFERATU 2024! this is just.... listen, I'm not even going to try to justisfy myself. rack up yet another hear me out moment for me. you either understand or you don't. shorter than I wanted it to be, but I needed to get this out and sate my hunger. banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / playlist here / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

You awake with a strangled gasp, your hands flying to your throat as your breath gradually returns. The nightmares had roused you, as they had every night, but this time, something lingered. Your room was frigid; the gauzy curtains fluttered in front of the open window like misplaced ghosts, allowing the chill of the night to penetrate your quarters. Everything looks terrifying at night; familiar shapes are transformed into horrible spectres, and your very room feels unknown. Unsafe. 

He is here. For the first time in several nights, you weren’t dreaming – he has come for you.

“I know that you are here with me,” you bravely whisper into the emptiness of your own bedroom. The wind whistled, a familiar sound, but something growled – growled in a language you didn’t speak, but understood. The voice was low, gravelly, and heavily accented. 

Hurriedly, you kick the sheets from your legs. The moonlight pales your skin, washing you in its blanch, bluish tone. Gripping your gown with both hands, you gather it up your thighs, exposing them to the cold. The chill of the wind hits your center, and you hiss through your teeth. Your head drops to your chest, and so does your gaze, watching patiently. At the edge of your bed, a large, slender shadow manifests. Him. 

You dare not look up. The feeling of his presence petrifies you, but also arouses you – letting a slick warmth pool deeply between your legs. 

The shadows continue to creep further up your bed, until they reach your feet, which twitch in response. Up, up, up… along your shins. Your skin prickles, and you shiver, doing your best to remain calm. Though he doesn’t touch you, you feel him. You feel every pass of his large hand as it makes its way up your body. His shadow glides over your hip, to your stomach and finally between your plump breasts, coming to a stop over your beating heart. It thumps away like a rabbit’s heart underneath the blackness of his form, and you hear a ragged, strained groan.

Then, with no warning, it moves down, leaving a cold, lifeless chill in its path like a gust of winter wind. You pant, desperately clinging to what breath you have. All at once, the shadow envelopes the soft, warm mound between your legs and your hands fall to the bed, bracing yourself. You have felt his ghostly touches for countless nights, tasting your body as a lover would, but each time your body climbed the peak, the sensations disappeared.  He comes to you in dreams, always leaving you unsatisfied. Your chest heaves in the night, cold droplets of sweat peppering your decollete and breasts. Your hands claw the sheets while you dream, but never reach euphoria.

Tonight, there are new sensations. The phantom wisp of his middle finger runs along the length of your slit. Grazing it. Somehow, you feel his finger part your wet folds, toying with your most sensitive areas. The nonexistent pads of his fingers sweep back and forth over your swelling clit, bringing a spasmodic twitch from each of your muscles. Wanting. Craving. While the sensation lacks the familiar warmth of a living man, it is bountiful with pleasurable feelings – your body responds embarrassingly; your shoulders shudder violently. 

He inhales, a deeply hollow sound. “You desire this… thine own body craves it….” 

The accent seems to fill his entire mouth, rumbling in his throat as he speaks slowly, drawing out each word like an incantation. You let out a plaintive moan, throwing your head back against the pillows, the down feathers crackling underneath you. As though he’s still pleasuring you, your hips writhe back and forth, practically convulsing with need. The shadow of his hand is gone from your body, replaced by the looming darkness of his physical form. After a moment of trepidation, you finally lift your head, and stare into the dark, terrifying eyes that watch you. 

You swallow hard. “I do.” 

A moment passes before you continue. “Take me as you will, for I am yours.” You consent again, desperate to convey your own insatiable hunger, your unimaginable need. 

Another intake of breath from him – it almost sounds labored, painful. His footsteps are dreadful as he moves around to the side of your bed. He’s tall, his form stretching towards the ceilings and towering over you, consuming your atmosphere as he had in your nightmares. His silhouette is large; enhanced by the countless furs he has on.

Weightlessly, his lithe, ghastly fingers reach for you and make contact with your form. They are cold, and the icy feeling of them penetrate the thin fabric of your nightgown. He moves gradually, but hungrily, feeling the curves of your body beneath the cotton. As he moves southward, his fingers skim over the peak of your breast, a nail catching on the swollen nipple. It hurts, but your chest jerks forward still, craving more of his touch. 

Pulling a breathy moan from deep within your throat, his long, sharp nails rake across the tender flesh of your thigh. It’s bathed in the silvery moonlight, which casts horrible, elongated shadows of his fingers down towards your center. He scrapes downward, his middle finger digging into the flesh enough to leave a reddened streak behind, but not so much to break the skin.

“P-please…” you mewl, looking up into his horrifying visage. The sight of him fills you with dread and disgust, but like a single drop of blood in water, it’s tainted with something else, something else that has been lingering in your system for days. 

He’s above you now, though you don’t remember seeing him move atop of you. Still, he’s there. The bed creaks as you push yourself into the mattress, whimpering underneath him. He lowers himself down onto you, the brush of his mustache tickles your face as he lingers above you. A second passes and his waiting mouth envelops yours. He tastes damp and cold, faintly of ash and earth. His tongue slips out and it too is cold, slipping wetly along your own and along your bottom lip. His kiss is dreadful, but possessive, and he inhales each time you exhale, as though he’s trying to suck the very warmth out of you. No man has kissed you the way Count Orlok kisses you, and the chill of the room disappears, snuffed out by the fire that rages in your lower abdomen. 

Your tongues collide with each other; you tasting his lifelessness, and him tasting your utterly intoxicating, vibrant liveliness. For a moment, the two of you stay intertwined at the mouth until he separates himself, smearing his mouth over the warmth of your neck. He hovers, pausing over your pulse. It thrums under his lips, and his hips urge into yours, indicating his hunger.

There is a shuffle, a rustling of clothing. You try to lift your head up to gaze between your bodies, but his hand holds you fast, pressing you against the pillow. The size of his hand is staggering; his palm underneath your chin, while the fingertips extend past your hairline, into the strands. You shudder again and whisper his name. He inhales as though he plans to speak, but doesn’t. 

The front of your nightgown falls apart, revealing your chest to him. With one hand covetously clutching your breast, his mouth opens between your breasts, the slithery coolness of his tongue gliding down along the length of your sternum. As the teeth puncture your flesh, your hands make fists on either side of your body, pulling the sheets into the confines of your palms. He enters you, in more ways than one, and you feel the steady tug of his mouth as he sucks the blood from your veins. Warmth pools in the cave of your stomach.

The fingers of his other hand crawl up your shoulder, and like a quill in ink, he dips the pads of his fingers into the hollow of your chest, coating them in your crimson essence. He smears the blood along your decollete, along the hem of your nightgown, tugging it harshly over your shoulder. The blood coats you in a flash of warmth, and then chill as it meets the cold air. 

His hips rut against yours as he drinks, the pulse of your blood matching the thrust of his hips. An ache starts in your neck, a slow pulling sensation that has your eyelids fluttering. He moves within you, his length penetrating as deeply as his sharpened teeth have. Your release is found amongst blood and groans and that same language which you understand, but do not speak. His tongue scrubs at your soft skin, lapping up the blood as it comes… as you do. 

The darkness is ever-looming, and as your aching cunt ebbs its throbbing, it settles down upon you. You let yourself fall backwards into the abyss, freely. It takes you, wrapping its arms around your tiny frame which is dwarfed by his stature. His mouth breaks free of your bloodied skin with a slick pop.  Into the softness of your skin, you hear him growl, ‘Mine.’ The feeling vibrates against your neck, and your lids flutter shut.

[cameronsprincess]

ᰔᩚ Day Four of Slutmas// Home for Christmas — J.M

Coming home for the holidays means finally seeing your best friend, JJ.

CW: smut! 18+ only! bsf!jj, mention of male masturbation, throat fucking, praise.

note: y’all do not understand how badly i struggled with this day and this day alone. so i know this is probably a lil shitty and i apologize 😭 hope y’all still love it, and merry christmas eve!❤️🤍

slutmas masterlist

🎄❤️

“Jayj? You here?”

You step further into the chateau and the house is quiet, nothing but the light patter of rain hitting against the tin roof filling the small living room.

Shaking water droplets from your hair, you shrug off your coat, placing it on the back of a chair and setting your suitcase off to the side of the room. You were home.

After months away from home, you had come back for the holidays, and of course the first stop you had to make was to see JJ. You’d missed him so much, and you couldn’t wait to be in his arms. He was your best friend, but the two of you always teetered on the edge of more than friends.

“J?” You shout again, making your way down the hall and toward his bedroom door.

As you approach the old-wooden door, the sounds of JJ’s groans and your name slipping past his lips has you stopping in your tracks. You lightly press your ear against the door, biting at your bottom lip as JJ’s pleasured moans fill your ears.

“Fuuuck… Feels s’good, princess… Yeah… Just like that…”

Your pussy throbs at the sound of your best friend pleasing himself, his mind on you as he did. You softly grip the cool knob, twisting it and pushing the door open, standing still as you watch JJ’s large hand grip his cock, jerking himself in slow up-down movements. His eyes are squeezed shut, his thumb running over his weeping slit, coating his tip with the precum that had seeped out. You take advantage of the fact he still hasn’t noticed you, slipping your sweater over your head and tossing it to the floor. You slip out of your leggings next, tossing them to the side before slowly making your way to the bed.

You climb onto the mattress, the old springs creaking under your weight and causing JJ’s eyes to pop open. His beautiful blue eyes land on your face, and he quickly sits up on the mattress, hands gripping your cheeks as he scans your face.

“Holy fuck! What’re— You’re home!”

You giggle, biting at your bottom lip. “I’m home. And we can catch up later, you turned me on with that little show of masturbating while moaning my name.. Missed you, J. Wanna taste and feel you, please?”

JJ’s eyes darken, a small smirk playing on his lips. You press your palms against his chest, pushing him back until he’s laying flat on his back. He lifts his head slightly, eyes half-lidded and lips slightly parted as he watches you place your legs on either side of his. You softly grip his thick cock in your hands, pulling a low “fuck” from your best friends lips as you begin stroking him.

“Fuck I missed you, J.” You say lowly, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to his swollen head. You run your hand up the length of his shaft, reaching the tip of his cock and gently squeezing it in your hand as your tongue darts out, licking at the vein that runs up the underside of his shaft. You remove your hand from him, finally wrapping your lips around his cock and pushing him to the back of your throat, slowly pulling back up and swirling your tongue around the tip.

His taste invades your taste buds and you moan around him. JJ’s hands fly to the back of your head, fingers digging into your hair and tugging, holding your head in place. He begins thrusting his hips up, harshly fucking your throat, reveling in the sounds of your gags and whimpers as he repeatedly hits the back of your throat.

JJ pulls you back, his cock slipping from your mouth with a loud pop. He quickly repositions the two of you, throwing you onto your back before he straddles your chest. You stick your tongue out, tear-filled eyes finding his as he slaps the head of his cock on your tongue a few times before slowly pushing himself back into your mouth, filling you to the hilt before he slowly pulls back out.

Tears slip past your lower lashes and JJ quickly wipes them away, “Shhh, doin’ so good for me baby. Takin’ my cock so good, you gonna let me cum down your throat, princess?”

You sniffle, nodding your head as you keep your eyes on his. A small smile spreads across his face, and he leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

JJ fucks your throat rough and hard, the room filled with the sounds of your gags and slurps, JJ’s occasional grunts and sweet praises filling the air. You suck in a breath through your nose, big, hot tears spilling down your cheeks as JJ’s hips pick up in pace.

“‘M so close, princess. So fuckin’— Shit!”

JJ’s hips begin stuttering, his cock swelling in your mouth before he lets out a low growl, calling your name as his dick twitches, hot ropes of cum spilling into your mouth in long, slow spurts. He slowly rolls his hips into your face, making sure you get every last drop before he’s pulling himself from your mouth.

He collapses in the bed beside you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him. JJ grips your chin, lifting your head and placing a soft kiss to your lips, “I missed you, ‘m so glad you’re home for Christmas.”

🎄❤️

tagging some moots: @starkeysbabygirl @starkeysprincess @bloodibambiidoll @cameronwillow @rafesthroatbaby @rafeyscurtainbangs @oceandriveab @sarahsangelicdoll @cherrygirlfriend @nemesyaaa @redhead1180 @maybankslover @maybanksangel @princessmaybank @agnxstic

[vieoeil-riae]

yourself and I

steb/gn!reader

warnings: masturbation, caught masturbating (steb), hand jobs, eye contact, praise kink, submissive!steb, aspects of nonhuman genitalia (a lot more precome), porn with plot, mutual pining, childhood friends to lovers, selectively mute!steb, sign language (BSL), steb the bf hater as a treat, 18+ MDNI, 4.4k words

synopsis: You find familiar help when spiraling rent prices bite you, it sends Steb spiraling into guilty realisations of his own.

read on ao3 | ao3 profile | ao3 collection

Rent in Piltover was always extortionate. An arm and a leg, as well as your firstborn child would just about get you a dingy flat in the worst spot imaginable. You’d grumbled over it relentlessly, slowly being driven mad by flat after flat that you considered as being ‘alright’ ending up well out of your price range.

You’d confided in your childhood friend of course, silent, seemingly unbothered by everything, but an amazing listener once you looked just an inch past his quietness. God was it a relief, relationship drama; philosophical tangents; ranting about rent prices; even the most vulnerable secrets were safe in Steb’s capable hands.

It was only natural that years of sticking together and staying by his side — especially when people tried to oust him for his appearance and apparent dislike for talking — would foster the safe feelings between you. He was a haven of understanding.

“I’ve lost my flat, I’m losing my boyfriend, I’m so cold,” You grumbled, nearly yelling as your hands moved in time with your words — years of watching Steb sign to you baked into your habits, “and I have no fucking money!”

The two of you had been walking back from a hole-in-the-wall pub, somewhere where the food was cheap and the atmosphere was cozy. You’d fought to pay your share of the bill, insisting on not troubling Steb, and were promptly reminded that neither of you would ever be in debt with each other with several firm hand gestures. In short, he paid.

His ears had swivelled down at your words, not from the volume, but because he was concerned. He’d taken you out mostly as a way to console you when you’d shown up at his door with a tight lid on your emotions, but a sheen of tears clinging to your lash line.

Two weeks to find another place, was what you told him, and his frills had flared — a sharp twinge of his eyebrow evidence of the way he felt deeply irritated on your behalf.

Your boyfriend was another topic he knew intimately well. Too well. He didn’t like him, to say the least. Self-centred, lazy, stupid. A myriad of insults towards that man could be dredged from his mind, but not shared; not out of respect for him but for the sake of not upsetting you too much. You could do better, without question, he wasn’t against you losing him if he was being honest.

Steb had draped his coat over you despite the chill that brushed over his skin and walked you all the way back home, quietly and logically rolling around ideas on how to help.

The next day, you were surprised by the sight of your best friend standing in your doorway well past dark when you finally came home from work, ears pricking at the sound of your footsteps. 

You could always stay with him, if you wanted?

And who were you to say no, you’d agreed quickly to sharing his space — a look of relief washing over your face. He really would’ve asked sooner if he knew that was the expression you would’ve made.

At the same time, maybe he shouldn’t have asked at all. 

It was only natural that years of being so close had led him to be… partial to you. It made sense because to him, you’d always been ‘good’ in every way in his eyes; even the ugly parts, because they were yours, and you were beautiful, full stop. No, he’s not being biased, you just were — it was objective.

It had been a lingering thought in the back of his mind for years, coated in the plausible deniability of simple familiarity and friendship until the feeling’s cloak was lifted by the new, constant proximity to you. 

You were everywhere all of a sudden. Your clothes were in his laundry hamper; your favourite foods were littered about the kitchen cupboards; he could smell you on the couch cushions — his frills fluttered as they nearly tasted the scent of your damp skin after you showered.

When exactly his feelings had become more than friendly, he wasn’t sure, maybe they’d always been that way, but it was starting to drive him mad.

You’d tell him about arguments you and your boyfriend had more and more frequently, his heart clenching at the thought of you being shouted at, cock woefully jumping at the thought of you shouting back. It was a guilty feeling, mind split between feeling the lewd ache of it and watching the curl of your lips, not paying the attention he ought to.

You’d wear pyjamas around the house, his heart growing warm and fuzzy at your comfort, biting the inside of his cheek when he eyed the sliver of skin revealed when you reached for anything on a high shelf. He blinked and caught the thoughts by the neck, you weren’t a piece of meat. But god, the stretch of your skin looked heavenly.

You’d touch him even more — from little brushes of your hands on his hips to gently shuffle him out the way to melting into his arms on the couch after a long day — his heart throbbed at the closeness, so did the rest of him. He prayed you never noticed the way his breathing picked up.

Steb tended to do the washing, a task off your back, a good distraction from your wonderfully consuming presence until he found himself blushing around your underwear and feeling like a pervert just for touching them, more so when he caught himself thinking much too hard about where the fabric had been pressed all day. He groaned quietly.

Fresh out of the shower, you looked like temptation; water still dripping down your collar bones and beyond until it finally met your towel. His eyes traced the droplets when he was sure you weren’t paying attention. You brushed your teeth together, he’d watch the way you’d gag brushing your tongue. Every action, completely innocuous until his mind decided it wasn’t.

It was wrong, so very wrong, to… sexualise you. You were his friend, not an object — you were spoken for as well. A confusing mix of possessiveness and a deep desire to hole up in a cave for several months swirled in his chest every time he thought about that. He couldn’t have you and his mind refused to help him stick to that, so he lived with a clenched jaw.

Guilt followed the way he enjoyed domestic moments with you, and it was getting ridiculous. It felt like he was barely treading water when all he was doing was washing the dishes while you dried them, two trains of thought blaring as he stared at stray water trickling down your bare forearms. Your hands carefully wiped the water off of a knife, your hand pulling the dishcloth up and down so smoothly, Steb blinked hard and tried to swallow the feeling in his throat.

It was like his birthday came early the day you’d finally had it with your boyfriend.

You’d stormed in, cursing up a maelstrom of swears and insults under your breath, collecting up trinkets and books and several hoodies before dumping them into a ratty bag. He watched you carefully, frozen in his place, leaning against the kitchen counter with a lukewarm cup of tea in his hands.

Admittedly you were, crudely put, hot when you were pissed, but admiringly eyeing the sharp way you moved around his flat came second to his concern for you. Steb rounded the counter, crouching a few feet in front of you so you could see his hands ask what had happened.

You’d seethed, the angry scrunch of your brow just a little less appealing when directed at him.

“You, with me. Now.” You’d gestured to the door with a harsh jab of your thumb, leaving no room for argument, though there wouldn’t have been a need for one anyway — he very much didn’t mind doing what you told him to.

He’d trailed you all the way to your boyfriend’s house and waited just at the gate while you pounded on the door. His ears pricked towards the conversation, admittedly (and guiltily) quite nosy about the ensuing spat. The door creaked open and god, how did a guy like that ever catch the eye of someone like you? Maybe he was being too judgemental…

“Your fish doesn’t like me.” Your boyfriend muttered, throwing an irritated glance over your shoulder at Steb.

“No, he doesn’t, and I don’t either.” You dropped the bag on the threshold, not flinching at the sound of something inside snapping. “Take your shit and don’t talk to me again, prick.”

You turned on your heel without another word. It was petty, maybe, but Steb used the last few moments he had before being dragged off to send a thinly veiled, judging glance at your now-ex-boyfriend — the almost stoic, but not quite, look sending your ex into a fit.

More softly, you’d confided in him later that night the words that brought everything to a close:

“‘Too much.’” You’d paraphrased to him, sat with your knees tucked to your chest on the window sill next to him. You looked so ethereal in the moonlight, his heart broke at the thought of you — someone he thought so dearly of — being treated with such dismissal.

He held you tightly, tracing kinder words into your back as he let your tears silently wet the scruffy collar of his well-worn jumper. You breathed in the smell of him, fresh but kind of salty like the sea breeze, until you relaxed entirely — enjoying the feel of his chest against yours, not knowing he was doing the same.

It became harder to distract himself from you after that, there was one less layer standing between him and giving in, one less layer of guilt when images of your nude body flashed through his mind, or how you’d feel; your hands, your lips, your mouth. It was like the blush on his cheeks never went away when you were around.

Though fantasising about you would be perverse, he got off, his palms and sheets a slick mess with the exertion, just trying to get rid of the aching before you got home. His wandering thoughts kept taking him back to you.

What would you sound like? Feel like? He knew from your rants how you liked to lavish your partner with affection, would you do that for him? He fought the image of your hands on him, giving himself to you, losing when he could almost feel your hands replacing his, saturating his senses with a burning pleasure.

His ears burned, hearing echoes of your words spin around his head. You called him beautiful and meant it, you called him a good man too — maybe you’d rescind that if you knew what his palms were doing, but the memory of your half-lidded, content eyes searching his gazing fondly into his made him sigh and arch into the feeling of his hands.

When you looked at him it was like the veil of his isolated existence dropped, like you were in his head and knew every thought like it was your own. You understood him, cut him slack he’d never give himself, but would you still offer him that if you knew? His heart clenched at the possibility you would, heady and electric bolts of want panging through his core.

He sucked a sharp breath through his teeth, thumb stroking over the wet tip of his cock, trying to drown himself in the sensation — brows pinched in focus. If he just got off then maybe he could look you in the eye without the risk of you seeing how badly he wanted you.

He didn’t notice you’d come home, though.

You’d been excited about leaving work early, finally knowing what it was like to feel excited about the person waiting for you when you got back. Maybe it was rude to have a thing for your best friend who kindly let you stay with him, rude to play with how you remembered small moments and reimagine them so intimately.

But it was Steb of all people, kind, sweet Steb. Resisting the pull felt more impossible than ever. Maybe it was rude to be looking for him in the guys you dated, it was definitely why the last try failed — stoicism wasn’t dickheadedness when it was Steb, Steb was just calm to the untrained eye. 

You’d finally admitted to yourself that the man you wanted was the one sharing a flat with you. You just didn’t want to ruin what you already had, you doubted he’d leave you forever but the thought of a new gap between you made your heart ache. 

So you flustered awfully when you’d quietly walked past Steb’s bedroom. The slick sounds escaping through the crack in the door were obvious, especially with the lewd sliver of him you could see through it. You ached, you probably weren’t the cause of that and by all means ought to stop looking.

But you, basally, were greedy. Nature halted you in place, staring at Steb desperately stroking his cock.

It was pretty, he was pretty, you wanted to touch him, find all the little faces he could make. Maybe noises too, wouldn’t that be delicious? You were caught up, breathing heavy, unable to look away — tunnel vision set on the way his pre-come glistened in the low light because god, there was so much of it.

He yelped, snapping you out of the spiral you found yourself in, eyes locking with his through the crack. Getting him to make a noise that loud was a feat in and of its own, you couldn’t help but wonder if you could get him to make a similar one another way.

Maybe it was bad that he throbbed at the thought of you coming in, but the thought of you touching him was the only thing that sent a pang of heat through his gut for months, sent his frills fluttering. Shame, mild fear, and unrelenting desire coalesced in a fizzing way that made his cock jump between his slick palms.

You spoke before you thought, interrupting the way his still sticky hands came up to frantically sign apologies at you. “Can I help?”

Far less suave than you wanted, it came out desperate. You had the decency to look mildly surprised at your own words, especially when Steb’s jaw dropped; an intense blush coating him all the way to his shoulders, a shiver running down his back.

You had to control yourself when he cautiously nodded, shedding your jacket in the hall outside, gripping the door far too tight as you stalked towards him. Guilt weighed heavily in his eyes, you were familiar with the look, he blamed himself for a lot of things, but you wanted it gone.

“What’s with the face?” You questioned lowly, leaning over his bare body. It felt unfair, but the down-turn of his ears and now flattened frills sent a wave of satisfaction through you. “Imagining something bad?”

You watched his eyes widen, a caught look that bordered on panic splaying across his features as he turned to look away, but you weren’t having it. You pinched his chin between your fingers, turning his burning face back to you.

His index finger pointed towards you, your breath caught in your throat. He saw your surprise and started to fumble apologies, shaking fingers just barely cooperative enough to twist into the right words. You snorted lightly, the situation hitting you. 

You leaned in.

“I imagine you, too.” You whispered against the shell of his ear, breath ghosting the sensitive tips through a smile and you felt his own breathing hitch against your neck. Your breath nearly burned, the world seemed to stop entirely at your words. The image of you touching yourself, his name falling from your lips, burrowed its way into his mind. Did you feel like he did, carnal, utterly perverse but as sharp as a live wire ready to snap?

He shivered against you, the thin, sensitive skin of his collar bones brushing against the material of your shirt.

You pulled back with a smirk, “why’d you stop?”

He blushed impossibly hotter as you knelt on the bed in front of him, eyeing him hungrily. You knew why, there was no way you didn’t, but you loved to tease him, prod him, make his hands spill his thoughts. You did it for conversation, to get in his head, you were doing it to force his hand and make him say what he wanted. A lewd twist, a new face of your affection.

‘You.’ His index finger pointed at your chest again.

“You can keep going, I’m not stopping you.” You shrugged off your shirt, the planes of your body revealed softer than your words. Steb was transfixed, finally seeing your skin a new light after all the years between you, not simply imagining it. You hummed. “But you’re considerate, aren’t you?”

He swallowed, pride blooming in his chest despite not knowing where you were going. 

“You always think about what other people are thinking, what they could think. You don’t want to scare me off, is that it?” You probed, drawing in closer, never looking away from his eyes even when your hand found purchase on his thigh. Warmth flooded his chest, his ears twitched, and almost guiltily, he looked away from you as if he were afraid of how well you could read him.

“You can’t scare me off,” you whispered into his ear, hand trailing up the inside of his thigh — the delicate kisses of your fingertips making his cock twitch, “you don’t know how long I’ve wanted you.”

Your hand missed his cock, caressing his pelvis and drifting up as you continued to talk. “Wanna know something, Steb?”

He nodded shakily, shivering as your hands skimmed his sensitive sides.

“I think I’ve been looking for you for a long time. I look for your eyes when I’m interested in other people, do you know what I’m saying?” Your fingers brushed his nipple, pinching enough to make him draw a sharp breath before dancing up his chest. He shook his head and you cupped the back of his neck. “I’ve been looking for you this whole time.”

You cupped his jaw, “I wanted you the whole time, because of course I did, how could I not?”

He could feel the weight of your stare, the honesty of your want, as well as the way his frills pulsed along his cheekbones. You wanting him seemed almost incomprehensible, but he wouldn’t deny you; the pooling of anxiety in his gut turned warm, nearly salivating at the thought of finally getting what he had always wanted.

He watched you carefully as you leaned in again, knee wedged between his thighs, barely brushing his throbbing cock. 

“May I?” You asked sweetly, eyes darting to his lips and back up again. You, so willing to act, waited for him — you always cared. When his lips met yours it was like a jigsaw had fallen into place, the warmth of your lips against his, sweet and real, made everything make more sense.

You pulled away, murmuring adoringly. “You’re so soft, I like that, I like you.”

Kiss-drunk, you dove in for more, pressing Steb towards his pillows. Your hand brushed the seam where his fins met his scalp and he shivered into the hot press of your bodies, hips bucking his cock into your thigh. You spoke against his lips, calling him all sorts of pretty words, your other hand trying to memorise the feel of every inch of skin it could find.

You hand found the base of his cock, hard and slick, and you hummed happily into his mouth. You withdrew far enough to get a good look at his eyes, admiring the misty, deep blue of his blown-out pupils. “Can I touch you?”

“Please.” Steb whispered, quiet and sort of raspy with disuse, but the keening pitch, the almost-broken quiver made his desire so evident. His hand moved with his word out of habit, the back of his fingers brushing the underside of your jaw as his flat hand moved down from his chin, and changed direction to cup your jaw.

“God, you’re so good to me, you’re so good.” You breathed, hand wrapping around his shaft, squeezing lightly and reveling in the way it made his shoulders jump. He was right to have imagined your hands feeling better, the lack of his control made the sensation taste sweeter, the feel of your hand giving his cock and experimental pump — careful of the frills — burn hotter.

“Fuck, you’re wet as hell, how long were you at it before I got home?” He let out the quietest whine at the strain in your authoritative voice, rutting into the twist of your hands over his cock frills. “You know, it’s kinda hot to think about you getting off on me. How long have you been pent up?”

Steb’s eyes rolled back, third eyelids stuttering over his foggy pupils as a needy thrum passed through his body. You watched his muscles twitch, his head roll to the side slightly, before you took his chin between your fingers and forced his eyes back to yours. “Don’t look away from me now, sweetheart, isn’t this what you wanted? What you’ve been wanting for a long while?”

A strangled noise caught in the back of his throat at the hungry way you looked at him, eyes dark and lidded and there was a pull to arch into you, showing you everything he could. He could goad you just as well, there was a sharp, intoxicating kick to watching you react to him; no wide, greedy pupils or heaving shoulders at the sight of his writhing were lost on him.

There was a swell of lewd pride in his chest and groin knowing he could make you like this, a thought just as enjoyable as the feeling of being under your hands. And it was nice to give you what you wanted, to scratch an itch deep in you with his body — there was an element of you using him like that that made the frills on his cock flutter.

He hissed at the feeling of you changing pace, watched your eyes trail down to his flushed cock and the sensitive frills decorating it, your fingers ghosting the very edges of them — sparks dancing along the trail your fingertips made. 

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” You asked, more of a statement than anything, but your voice sounded so clear. Steb’s stomach tensed at your words, a wave of excitement cresting over his shoulders — it was like he could feel your words. 

Your hands flattened his frills on the next downstroke, putting garbled words and heavy breathing in his throat, humping into your hand as his hands — frantic — grasped your bare shoulders. The heat of your skin below his palms added to the tense burning climbing its way up his spine.

“Mm, yeah, hold on like that. You don’t know how much I like it when you touch me.” You softly spoke over the vulgar sound of your hand pumping his cock. He was swimming in feeling, every honeyed word you uttered stuffed cotton on his head. Sweetly, in loving contrast to the lecherous rub of your hand, you pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You don’t know how much I’ve started to enjoy coming home.”

Steb shivered, eyes fluttering shut at your words and squeezing harder at the wave of sensitivity they brought. 

“It’s because you’re here.” You whispered into his skin, worshipful and adoring in each syllable. You smiled, pleased, at the feeling of his hips bucking with more instinct — chasing his peak in your hands. 

You stole the sense from his mind, kissing away his doubts as cascading reassurances of how much you wanted him, wanted this, and loved seeing him come apart fell from your lips. You brushed your lips over the frills of his cheekbones, bursts of you dancing on the edge of his mind in a way he could never describe, but couldn’t get enough of.

Your eyes looked endless when you pulled away, a shudder passing through his taught body at the way you regarded him so deeply. You didn’t go far, never stopping your hands, only enough to see his eyes. His leaking tip throbbed.

“I love you.” You told him quietly, almost bashful despite your sensuous touch. Tender, so tender and intentional, you meant what you said. The debauched, glazed look in your eyes sending a shiver through his spine — turning the pooling heat in his gut fizzing with the approaching peak of ecstasy.

“Don’t hold back, Steb.” You ordered softly, aware of the violent jerk of his hips, the choked whine he made when you matched his bucking; the hand stroking his cock hitting every sensitive ridge, the other lost to the bare stretches of skin it could reach.

He jolted, hissing as he came, curling towards you; unintentionally rough, your teeth clacking as he kissed you, frenzied, urging, trying to feel more of you. Your hand worked until he twinged away from your touch, you let him, still caught up in the thrill of watching him writhe because of you.

He panted, eyes refocusing on yours, a gently searching expression crossing his brows. You licked off some of the slick, white come from your hand, snorting at the surprised, then flustered, face he pulled.

“What?” You giggled, fondly eyeing your work. Steb really did look pretty splayed out like that, frills still fluttering with the aftershock, cheeks hued with effort.

He pointed to himself, then pulled a face that seemed to be part of an internal debate you weren’t privy to; like he was looking for permission somewhere. His ears flushed and flicked down.

Steb’s hands crossed flat across the skin just below his collar bones, then pointed a slightly shaky finger towards you. 

‘I love you.’

Your eyes widened in shock of the obvious, and any impulsive words were smothered on your lips by a heartfelt kiss as his pointed finger turned into a hand reaching to cup the back of your neck. Uncontrollably, insuppressible, you smiled into it, heart jumping at the feeling.

“Took us long enough, huh?” You teased, making Steb chuckle quietly. You were pulled in, bare torso to bare torso, and kept close to his skin — feeling the beat of his heart against yours.

A/N: lol died for a bit sorry about that, anyways merry christmas! (half of you have probably read this already 💀)

banner cr: @/anitalenia

[circeyoru]

The Only Reason _ Part 4 *END*

[Yandere!Sung Jinwoo x Worker!Reader - Mana Chaos AU]

Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4 (here)

You sat behind Kaisel while Jinwoo willed it to obey him without trouble. A sudden shift was all it takes for your arms around Jinwoo’s waist to tighten like your life depended on it. Well, it does since you were a few thousand feet above land and sea. You could hear Jinwoo’s rich chuckle at your hold and enjoyed your dependency on him for safety, even when you didn’t have a choice in the matter.

After Jinwoo completed that high-ranking dungeon with ease, he was initially supposed to be sent back to his cell and put in a straitjacket. Though, you managed to convince your other Personnel colleagues to let Jinwoo roam around a bit, with your supervision, of course. While you did say ‘roam around’ it was actually a family visit for him, it has been a while since he last saw them face to face. You had no family to speak of, but you understand the family bond and love.

Jinwoo was no monster or beast overtaken by power and strength.

You guided him to Jeju Island, the island you brought under his name but with your wealth. A gift of sorts, since you thought Jinwoo would prefer if he could use his powers and train in a more secluded spot. Plus, you had been planning this move with his mother and younger sister for a while too. 

Not long after Jinwoo was admitted, you did a background scan of him while Personnel 001 was busy testing Jinwoo and subjecting him to their games under the excuse of writing up Jinwoo’s qualities and potential harm. You have never liked 001, but you can’t deny they were talented in some sense, so you never fought against it.

While you went over Jinwoo’s background, you found the records of his earlier days as an E-Rank Hunter, the lowest of the low. Not a pretty past story, he was in constant warzones over his caliber, facing difficulties that you saw as hard to deal with. Then you saw his protectiveness and care over his mother and younger sister. That was what got your attention. He voluntarily placed himself in the facility to protect his family.

Naturally, you had to see for yourself the two people he cared for. You dressed comfortably and went to them outside of work when they both would be at home. While you made your way there, you noticed some Guards stationed from post to post to monitor Jinwoo’s residence. Some had moved away when they recognized your status, none questioned why you were there, for no one is allowed to question a Personnel.

You brushed your clothes before you knocked and waited for an answer. There was obvious sounds coming from inside, but it was long until a response came.

“Go away.” The voice of a young girl shouted through the door. You deduced it to be Jinwoo’s younger sister, Jinah.

“Hello, I would like to have a chat with Hunter Sung’s family members, I mean no harm.” You announced your purpose.

There was another long silence before the door creaked open and half the face of an older woman was seen. “Please leave us alone. You already took my son away from us. What more do you want?”

You forced yourself to stay as professional as you could, stopping yourself from sighing. Not because things weren’t going smoothly, but because things progressed in such a way. Not only is a member of their family gone and treated like a tool, but they were also observed like some suspect. “Mrs. Park, I truly mean no harm or ill intent. If you wish, I will call off the guards stationed near you as proof of my sincerity. I’ll visit another time.”

And you did as you promised. While you were dealing with your work, you’d have glimpses of Jinwoo in the testing area with Personnel 001. It was nothing short of experimentation and everyone was all for it, thinking and taking another S-Rank Hunter as the perfect test subject to toy with without regards for the consequences.

Briefly, you’d see Jinwoo’s eyes lock on yours and you’d see the sharpen in them, though also a softness. You’d turn away or would have your attention cut off abruptly due to something and the thought was gone like the wind.

It took some time, yet worth it when you earned trust from Mrs. Park Kyung-Hye and Jinah. They had a lot to share about Jinwoo and gave you a picture of Jinwoo before he became an S-Rank Hunter, even before he worked as an E-Rank Hunter. The things you never found in the background check was all there to give you a clear perspective of who Jinwoo was as a person.

That’s why. When Personnel 001’s death was announced during work, you were neither sad nor grieving. You quickly saw through the cause labelled as ‘accidental’ and saw the culprit. Hunter Sung Jinwoo snapped. After what happened with Personnel 001, no one wanted to work close with Jinwoo if they could help it, so you took up the slack.

As expected, Jinwoo had intentionally done it for a reaction and change of some kind. You’re thankful to him for pulling out a thorn at your side, so you wanted to repay him in some way. You’re reminded that the two females truly loved and cared for Jinwoo as much as he does for them. It was heartbreaking to see them separated once more after reuniting for a moment.

So why not earn an opportunity where they could meet?

It started small. A disposable device so that they could text each other. A phone call with a burner phone provided by you. Then, a video call. Last was sneaking Jinwoo out of the building through the shadows. He called it <Shadow Exchange> with a cooldown of a few hours; in those few hours, he spent it to the fullest with his family while you would stay in the cell to keep watch and ensure no one knew Jinwoo was gone.

It was something that heavily relied on trust. For if Jinwoo were to decide he’d rather stay with his family than return to the cell, that would be it. You nor anyone else could restrain him or bring him back, and your place within the facility would plummet (but that was none of your concerns). With what you know of his abilities, he could have left the country and sought somewhere safe to live with his family without issue. 

Still, he returned every time.

The perfect opportunity came when the Jeju raid was prioritized. You were in the meeting on how to deal with it. An alliance with Japanese Hunters. It was risky to have the S-Ranks in public, even riskier with S-Ranks from another country. Some wanted Jinwoo to be on the assault team, but you disagreed, saying it was not good to use a trump card when the Japanese Hunters seemed to be playing something. 

The team was decided between you and the other Personnel with the advice of Go Gunhee, a head figure of the Hunter Association before the EMI took over. That old Hunter still had a good say over what happened with Hunters, especially the high-ranking ones in the country. He was the only S-Rank allowed to remain among the public due to his fragile and slowly routine health; the only precaution against him was the <Outrage>. So, the association building became the headquarters for the EMI Korea branch.

You were going to go with the selected Hunters to Jeju Island, along with a few Personnel from the Japan branch. However, when Jinwoo or his Shadows overheard you’d be going to a dangerous raid to supervise with another Personnel, he was quick to demand your presence in his cell and threaten to <Outrage> if you had gone to said raid.

So you stayed in the facility building while watching the raid broadcast live through body cameras on the Hunters. You and everyone else’s eyes were glued to the scenes. The others were focused on wishing for the raid’s clearance. You were focused because you hoped—prayed—for the Hunters’ safe return. They were still Hunters.

Why can’t anyone see that? Understand that?

You recall the moment Cha Hae-In was knocked out on the verge of death, Min Byung-Gyu was killed with his head devoured, Choi Jong-In’s mana had long since ran out, Lim Tae-Gyu was outmatched and rendered useless, and Baek Yoonho and Ma Dongwook’s defence and strength were depleted due to lack of energy. The talented S-Rank Hunters of Korea were about to be wiped out since the Japanese said they were falling just as quickly.

There was no time to lose. There was only one answer. One hope for this nightmare.

“Open the door.” You coldly instructed the guards. 

You didn’t care that they flinched and fumbled out of their seats to do as you ordered, unable to hide their phones that played the live stream of the raid. You also didn’t miss the gossip from the other guards silently cheering that their job might be lighter with empty cells, meaning they hoped for the S-Rank Hunters’ fall.

The doors slowly opened for you, and you made your way through them, approaching the darkness. You took exactly five strides, and you knew you’d be standing in front of what would be the side of Jinwoo’s bed. He’d be sitting by the bedside, waiting for you with a smirk. His glowing eyes betray his location and his anticipation of your sudden but expected visit.

“Clear the Jeju Island Raid.” You spoke firmly.

“I’m not interested in doing charity.” Jinwoo’s eyes closed. You heard ruffling and then faint footsteps that were made on purpose since his movements could be compared to that of an assassin or even a ghost. You felt his presence before you saw his glowing purple eyes closer in front of you. “So I’ll have to decline.”

“For me. Do it for me.” You knew. You knew well that the only way to get through to him now was to you. From his interest, it turned to obsession and then to possessiveness. You knew you were the only reason Jinwoo hadn’t broken out of you once he knew you were shielding and treating his family with care, not out of manipulation but out of the rare kindness of your heart. In his eyes, you were a gem among trash.

Jinwoo hummed and chuckled. You felt his forehead against yours and his hands cupping your face with gentleness anyone else would shake and think it’s impossible for a Hunter of his status. “Of course. How could I refuse? It’s great that you know how much power you also hold over me and not just the other way around.”

Your hands reached up to pat his cheek, though you ended up with his neck due to the darkness and height difference. Jinwoo giggled as if he was ticklish. You pouted with a blush and uncharacteristically reached higher on your tiptoes to pat his cheeks. “Time is of the essence.”

“At your command. You just lead the way.”

Your memories brought you back when you noticed the familiar island. You pointed down for Jinwoo, and he guided Kaisel to fly down. From the air, one could see the built mansion and the playground and fields around. Surrounded by forests and a few pathways that connected the mansion to other areas of the island. There were some of Jinwoo’s Shadows out and around on the island like guardians. 

“This place is counted as private property; no one can step foot here without permission. If they do, they could be punished. This is my gift to you and your family, also an apology for what you all have endured.” You spoke as the ground came nearer and nearer. You saw the mansion doors open, and his mother and little sister came out to greet him, all smiles and tears. “I’ve removed you from the facility records and became your official Guardian. So you don’t have to return there any more.”

Kaisel landed and Jinwoo looked back at you. “Won’t you be reprimanded for what you’ve done?”

You shook your head with a smile. “It’s about time I did this for the Hunters. I’ll do the same for the others back at the facility as well. There are plenty of small islands they can use and inhabit too, so—”

“No.” Jinwoo gripped your hands tightly. He suddenly carried you in his arms and jumped down from Kaisel’s back. Out of reflexes, you wrapped your arms around his neck and buried your face in his collar. His words made you look back at him. “You can’t do that for the others. Don’t just free me and forget about me.”

“But I…” You were at a loss for words. You thought Jinwoo would be more content with this since he would logically care for his family more than you and let you do your work.

“Big brother!”

“Jinwoo.”

The calls of Jinah and Kyung-Hye interrupted your sentence, and you didn’t want to dampen the otherwise tearful reunion. Jinwoo placed you on your feet. “We’ll talk later.”

You watched the two hug Jinwoo and he smiled in their presence, so innocent and childish, a stark contrast to the attitude he’d give to any other soul on the planet, apart from you in some cases. Now that you think about it, you look back to see Kaisel had long melted into Jinwoo’s shadow, and showed you the scenery of the sea. Did you even prepare for a way back to the facility or off this island?

As your head turned back to Jinwoo, he flashed you a carefree smile.

Oh. You missed that detail.

Note: Last one for this month, I think. And this marks the end of the series! Thanks for coming along for this ride! There's not much to continue from this point on cause Jinwoo basically got his freedom back, but who knows. Maybe I'll get some ideas and continue, or this would stay as the end~

𝕮𝖎𝖗𝖈𝖊 𝖄.

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[iamgonnagetyouback]

tinsels, taunts, and tom

tom riddle x reader where you decorate the common room and tom.... defends you?

↬ word count : 1,614 words ˎˊ˗

↬ warnings : reader may exhibit dangerous levels of stubbornness, some rude slytherins but tom defends you (✿ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)⁾⁾

↬ author's note : merry christmas, everyone! may your holiday be as magical as tom riddle pretending to enjoy decorations. 💙

navigation┆tom riddle masterlist┆request here 𝜗𝜚

Snow blanketed the grounds of Hogwarts, but within the Slytherin common room, warmth flickered from the green-tinged flames in the fireplace. The space had a quiet charm to it—too quiet, in your opinion.

Most students had left for the holidays, save for a few Slytherins who preferred the quiet, or in Tom Riddle’s case, who preferred to brood in solitude. That left you with plenty of opportunity to act on a whim: transforming the stark, monochromatic room into something a bit more festive.

You looped garlands of silver and green around the ornate mantelpiece and placed charmed candles on every surface. Even the windowsills bore sprigs of enchanted holly that glimmered faintly under the dim light.

“I fail to understand why you’re bothering with this,” Tom said, perched in an armchair with a book in hand. His voice carried the kind of disinterest he reserved for things beneath his notice.

You flashed him a grin, not pausing as you draped mistletoe above the archway. “Because, Tom, not everyone enjoys lurking in a dark cave all winter. Some of us find joy in life.”

“Joy,” he echoed, as if testing a word in a foreign language. “A fleeting and frivolous emotion. But please, continue. Your nonsense is vaguely entertaining.”

“Your approval means everything to me,” you deadpanned, stringing silver tinsel across the doorway. “Truly, I don’t know how I’d carry on without it.”

His lips quirked, almost imperceptibly. “You’d manage, I’m sure.”

“Riddle, say, do you ever smile? Like, ever?”

Tom glanced up from his book, a slim brow arching with the kind of disdain that could shrivel a mandrake. “You do enough smiling for the both of us. Why should I bother?”

“Because,” you huffed, perched on a stool as you tried to untangle a particularly rebellious string of fairy lights, “it’s Christmas. Smiling is part of the package deal. Like eggnog or cozy sweaters or—”

“Or, apparently, turning the common room into some kind of… garish shrine to consumerism,” he cut in, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You gave him a look, shaking the lights pointedly at him like a disappointed parent wielding a wooden spoon. “Garish shrine? These lights are enchanted to sparkle with the precise hue of Slytherin green. If anything, I’m showing house pride.”

“House pride,” he repeated dryly, his dark eyes trailing over the half-decorated room. Silver garlands draped the walls, enchanted snowflakes floated lazily in the air, and a miniature tree twinkled merrily on the table. “I’m sure Salazar Slytherin himself would be positively weeping with joy at the sight of… this.”

“Salazar could use some joy,” you shot back. “That man’s portrait looks like he’s smelled burnt toast for five centuries straight.”

Tom’s lips twitched—just for a moment—but he quickly hid it behind a derisive scoff. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” you said sweetly, finally hopping off the stool. You turned to him, hands on your hips. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Riddle. For someone who claims to hate Christmas decorations, you haven’t moved from that chair since I started.”

Despite his clipped tone, he hadn’t moved from his spot. He even turned a page in his book at a leisurely pace, as if to say he wasn’t paying attention—but you knew better.

“I’m merely here to witness the inevitable disaster,” he replied smoothly. “Someone needs to be on hand when you inevitably fall off that stool or set something on fire.”

“Oh, how thoughtful,” you said with mock sincerity, clasping your hands dramatically to your chest. “My hero.”

He rolled his eyes, returning to his book, but not before you caught the faintest hint of amusement lingering on his face.

It wasn’t long before you had the entire common room glowing with soft, enchanted lights and sparkling decor. You were putting the finishing touches on the small Christmas tree when the door opened, and a group of boys from your house sauntered in.

“Well, well,” one of them drawled, his smirk as sharp as a serpent’s fang. “What do we have here? The little elf hard at work.”

You turned, unfazed. “If I’m an elf, what does that make you? Grinch incarnate?”

Another boy snickered, but the first one stepped closer, a sneer twisting his features. “Decorating the common room like a silly Hufflepuff. Who even cares for this drivel other than you?”

Before you could retort, a voice cut through the air like a blade.

“I do.”

The temperature seemed to drop, though the fire continued to crackle. Tom stood in the corner, his book closed, his eyes dark and calculating as they swept over the group.

The boy faltered. “Oh, come on, Riddle, you can’t actually—”

Tom took a step forward, slow and deliberate. “Do you believe I’m in the habit of tolerating insolence?” His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of an unspoken threat. “I suggest you leave before I find a reason to make your lives… unpleasant.”

The boys exchanged nervous glances, muttering under their breaths as they slunk out of the room.

Once they were gone, you exhaled and turned back to the tree, pretending the moment hadn’t affected you. “I had it under control, you know.”

“Clearly,” Tom said, crossing the room to stand beside you. “It was almost impressive how your wit compensated for your vulnerability.”

You glanced at him with a raised brow. “Vulnerability? Is that what you think? Don’t mistake me for someone who needs saving, Riddle.”

His lips twitched again, a ghost of amusement. “I wouldn’t dare. You’d likely bludgeon me with that wreath before I had the chance.”

“Exactly,” you replied, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Glad we understand each other.”

For a moment, silence settled between you, interrupted only by the crackling fire. Tom’s gaze drifted to the tree, his expression softening almost imperceptibly.

“You did well,” he admitted, his voice quieter. “It looks… decent.”

“Decent?” you teased, nudging his shoulder with yours. “High praise coming from the great Tom Riddle. I might faint from the shock.”

“You’re intolerable.”

“And yet, here you are,” you pointed out, stepping back to admire the room. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you actually like this.”

He didn’t respond, but his gaze lingered on you for a beat longer than necessary. There was something unspoken in his eyes—something that almost felt like warmth, despite his many layers of cold detachment.

“Merry Christmas, Tom,” you said softly, breaking the spell.

He inclined his head, his expression unreadable. “Merry Christmas… though I still fail to see the point.”

You laughed, the sound echoing in the festive room. “Oh, Tom. You’re hopeless.”

And maybe he was, but for a fleeting moment, as the glow of the Christmas lights reflected in his dark eyes, you thought he seemed just a little less so.

The two of you stood in the common room, the glow of the tree casting soft light on Tom's sharp features. You were tidying up the stray decorations while he lingered, his book long forgotten on the armchair.

“You know,” Tom began, his voice softer than usual, “you never told me why you didn’t go home for the holidays.”

You paused mid-step, your fingers brushing against a strand of tinsel. His tone lacked its usual edge—it wasn’t a demand but a genuine question.

Tilting your head, you offered a teasing smile. “What’s this, Riddle? Taking an interest in my personal life? Should I be flattered or concerned?”

He rolled his eyes, though the slight tension in his jaw betrayed something deeper. “I’m merely observing. Most students jump at the chance to leave, yet here you are, inflicting this… merriment upon us.”

“Well,” you said, turning back to the decorations, “I could ask the same of you. Why stay here when you could haunt your local library or terrorize your neighbors?”

His lips twitched, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t deflect, love.”

You sighed, leaning against the arm of the sofa. “I suppose I could’ve gone home. But it didn’t seem worth it this year.”

“Why not?” he pressed, his voice quieter now.

You hesitated, considering brushing him off with another joke, but there was something about the way he was looking at you—unreadable, yet oddly expectant.

“I guess…” you started, your voice softening. “I didn’t want to leave you alone on Christmas.”

Tom blinked, visibly thrown. “You… what?”

You smirked, trying to lighten the moment despite the faint blush creeping up your neck. “Oh, come on, Tom. Imagine how utterly miserable you’d be without someone here to annoy you. I’m practically doing a public service.”

His expression remained stoic, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of something—uncertainty, maybe even vulnerability. “That’s absurd. I don’t require company.”

You stepped closer, your smirk softening into something gentler. “You might not require it, but everyone deserves it. Even you.”

He looked away, the faintest pink dusting his pale cheeks. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re welcome,” you replied, grinning.

For a long moment, he didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the tree. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “You should’ve gone home.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “If I had, who would’ve kept you from turning this place into an even bigger dungeon?”

His lips twitched again, but this time, the amusement reached his eyes. “You overestimate your influence.”

“Do I?” you challenged, nudging him lightly.

He looked at you then, truly looked at you, his guarded mask slipping just enough to reveal something softer beneath. “Perhaps not.”

The warmth between you lingered, unspoken but undeniable, as the Christmas lights twinkled around you. For the first time, the cold, unyielding walls of the Slytherin common room felt like home.

[suhnandmoon]

beat it!

chapter seven: written part below (750 words)

notes: its 1am the day this chapter comes out. i forgot that this was one of the written parts i had not prepared in advanced. tired…. not gonna bother to proof read

you couldn’t count the amount of stairs riki had just guided you up to get the both of you to the top of the astronomy tower. you were too caught up over how high up you were to notice riki’s stiff posture as you clung to his arm. 

when you reached the top of the tower, you were met with the open sight of the castle grounds below you. the walls were open archways with moonlight illuminating the space. the amount of astronomy equipment was beyond you as you ran to one of the guardrails to admire the landscape from above.

having broken away from riki’s arm, your absence was quickly noticed by him, apparent in the way he swiftly caught up and placed a cautious arm around you.

“god, please be careful. don’t you see how high up we are?” he muttered to the side, before looking down at you.

any fear you previously held about the elevation vanished once you saw the expanse of land that stretched out beyond the castle. 

in your brief rundown and sloppy history lesson of the school given to you by jongseob and soul, they had in fact mentioned your campus was a castle, but to see it from up above was it’s own feat.

“what, worried i’m gonna fall again?” you teased riki, noticing his worries. 

he had to blink away his surprise. that small comment was the most authentic he had seen you since the incident, albeit he had only spent a total of 15 minutes with you so far. understandably, you had only been closed off and apologetic around him and presumably everyone else, so seeing you back in that moment caught him off guard. of course, teasing him probably ran in your blood at that point. it was like second nature for you.

“i- uh.” he mentally slapped himself for stumbling over his words, quickly removing his arm around you once he noticed. “just be careful up here, alright?”

you laughed. a sound he was certainly not used to on the receiving end of at all. he had to push down whatever thought was threatening to bubble up that suggested he liked the sound of it. 

damn it. why were his hands sweating.

thankfully, you didn’t pay him much attention, as you were focused on taking in everything you could see hundreds of feet below you: the lake illuminated by the moon, the empty quidditch pitch not too far from castle grounds, the brooding forest that was densely populated with trees. you vaguely recall jongseob telling you some horror story about how he got sent to wander that ‘forbidden’ forest in… was it your 4th year? most of the details went over your head.

“thank you for taking me up here, riki.” you broke the comfortable silence after who knows how much time you just spent just taking everything in, “you don’t have to stay up here with me, i can find my way back down when i’m done up here.”

you were aware that your previous relationship with riki probably wasn’t a close one, so stringing him along with you and pulling him into these conversations had to get bothersome at a certain point. his flighty and inconsistent attitude wasn’t suspicious to you, but you’d like to think that hit to your skill didn’t take away your ability to read social cues. his texts to you didn’t sound as comfortable as your other friends. 

yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out. there was something about him that set him apart from hikaru, eunchae, soul, and jongseob– a familiarity only he brought. you found yourself clinging onto that at times.

“don’t worry about me, stay here as long as you want. i don’t mind waiting.” the words leave riki’s lips before he could even process what he was saying. he hated how you kept apologizing, though he could admit that his aloof behavior was why you felt so guilty for taking up his time. “plus, i wouldn't make you walk back to the infirmary yourself.”

it ate at him that he was the one that should be saying sorry every other sentence, not you.

riki took a step back from the railing you were looking over to go sit at one of the benches on the tower, allowing you to have space to yourself.

“i’ll be here. just let me know when you want to head back.” he reassured you, letting you gaze at the stars for however long you needed to.

prev / masterlist / next

notes: we've entered riki's constant cycle of 'i have a clear solution to my problem but im gonna ignore it. and everytime i ignore it, i yearn a little more for what i cant have.....' god i am annoying with this shit!

permanent taglist: @sweetiejaeyun @17ericas @jiiyen

taglist: @lo-la17 @tkooooop @hoteldelyoona @who-tf-soddhi @feet4enha

@celli-ohs @kiss4noo @wildtigerlili @bee-the-loser @tasnemluvs

@rikidaze @lunaritex @kkamismom12 @nishiriks @moonshoon

@blvengene @sleepyyujie @yjwxfxr @notab1tchwho @sol3chu

@getoxo @meowmeowjang @dksfml 

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part two

I'm bored so [smashes plate] ANOTHER! I've been writing this faster than I thought I would 🤭 Hope everyone is having lovely and relaxing holidays xx

Warnings: just angst and the case progressing! Hotch is kinda an asshole but it's just how they show their love to each other xoxo

“You and Hotch still got it, huh?” Morgan teases, leaning his head over to grin at you. Part of you missed car rides with Derek, and the other part of you remembers just how much of a little shit he can be.

“Shut up and look at the road,” you mutter, pushing his face away from you.

“I’m looking, I’m looking,” Derek taps the wheel, shaking his head to get your hand off him. “What is it with you two, anyway?”

You shrug nonchalantly. “We’ve never gotten along, you know that. You were there when we met.”

“Uh, yeah, I remember being glad Hotch got all the heat instead of me,” Derek chuckles. “You’re intimidating when you’re pissed off.”

“Good,” you say, smirking. “That’s the point.”

“Alright,” Derek says, letting the topic go. For now. “We’ve got five minutes ‘til we reach her house. What are we telling her?”

“Well, I want to take a look around, if you’d like to talk.”

“I can stall,” Derek nods.

“Five bucks says there will be no pictures of the father in the house, at least not in the living area or hallway, where family photos most commonly are.”

“You sound like Reid,” Morgan quips.

“Our IQ’s are really close,” you remind him. “I just don’t have a damn eidetic memory. That shit is insane. I don’t envy him there.”

“Me either,” Derek shakes his head. “I remember things plenty without a magic memory.”

“I hear that.”

Derek turns into the driveway of Lila’s home. One car is in the driveway, a silver Ford. Her mom’s car.

“Ready?” Derek asks.

“Never,” you reply, opening your door. “But it’s our job.”

Derek knocks on the front door, but stands back so you’re the first face the mom will see. Given who her ex-husband is, you suspect she might be distrustful of all men, regardless of whether or not they’re here to help.

As expected, the mom eyes Morgan’s badge more closely than yours.

“May we come inside?” you ask.

“Yes,” she says, pulling the door open to let you both inside. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Morgan says politely.

After shutting the door, the mom begins talking — rambling incoherently, more like.

“I don’t know what I was thinking, dropping her off at school this morning. I knew something felt off when I woke up, it just— I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Ma’am,” Derek says. “Please, sit down.”

“I can’t,” she says, waving both of her hands like windshield wipers in front of her body. “I need to pace. Helps me think better.”

Derek looks at you, and you shrug. She’s obviously too wound up to sit down. Which is a good sign. If she was indifferent or resigned, there would be a bigger issue at hand. Clearly, she had no idea this would happen, so she definitely wasn’t in on it.

You take a look around the living room while Derek calms the mother down, mostly just letting her ramble, and take mental notes of what to ask her about later.

As you predicted, there are no photos with the father in the picture. All of them are the mother and Lila, mostly baby photos. Lila is a pre-teen, she clearly doesn’t want her photo taken. There is one where Lila looks older, but she’s not happy.

You take a closer look. She’s really unhappy.

“Mrs. Monroe?” You turn toward her, a sympathetic smile on your lips. “Has Lila been depressed lately?”

Her mom nods. “She’s been struggling ever since uhm— Ever since her father left. I’ve had her in therapy every week, but her therapist says she’s not really opening up. She might later, but right now she just doesn’t talk at all. She doesn’t want to.”

“I understand,” you murmur. “You’ve done the right thing by getting her help. Even if it doesn’t seem like it right now.”

“She still ran away!” Mrs. Monroe cries.

“Please,” you move toward her, resting your hand on her arm. “Let’s sit. Can Agent Morgan get you a glass of water?”

She nods, looking up at Morgan. “Thank you.”

Derek disappears into the kitchen.

“What makes you think Lila ran away? Other than her mood, were there any other signs?”

Mrs. Monroe shakes her head. “She’s talked about it before, told me she wanted to run away and that she hated me. I thought therapy would help with that, but it hasn’t.”

“Would her father help her at all? Run away, I mean.”

“Richard?” Mrs. Monroe asks. Derek reappears with a glass of water, handing it to her. “Thank you. No, he wouldn’t, he— She doesn’t even know what he’s done. I’ve never told her.”

“Would she be capable of finding out?” Derek asks. He takes a seat in the chair adjacent to you, resting his elbows on his knees.

“No,” Mrs. Monroe shakes her head. “I monitor all of her Internet searches, who she texts, who she emails, everything. She thinks I drove him away. That I didn’t love him anymore and told him to get out. She doesn’t know that it was because I caught him burying a body.” She sobs into her hand, her words barely decipherable now. “And now she’s gone and she hates me and I don’t even know where she’d go— it’s like I don’t even know my own daughter.”

You take the glass from her hand and allow her to sob into your shoulder. You know what this is like. Because you were once Lila, a runaway who left her mother in pieces until she returned home. Your circumstances were different, but not by much at all.

“We will bring her home, I promise,” you say, despite yourself. Despite not knowing what the rest of this case will entail, what else you’ll uncover. “Did Lila have any friends that you didn’t approve of?”

Mrs. Monroe shakes her head again. “She doesn’t have many friends, but she talks to one girl, Marie, almost every day.”

“Where is Marie right now?”

“At school,” Mrs. Monroe says, sniffling. “I called her mom right away. My mind went to the worst case scenario, you know, I thought Lila would grab Marie and convince her to go with her—”

“Convince?” you question. 

Derek hears you and asks the next question you have on your mind. “Does Lila ‘convince’ Marie to do things she doesn’t want to do often?”

“Sometimes,” Mrs. Monroe admits, beginning to sob again. “Oh, God.”

You share a look with Derek, not liking where this is going, but you don’t know if you’ll get much else out of her right now.

“What things would Lila convince Marie to do?” you ask.

“Just small things, I don’t know,” Mrs. Monroe replies. She’s shutting down. “I don’t know why I said that, I—”

“Okay, okay, it’s okay,” you try to calm her down. “Do you mind if Agent Morgan and I take a look in Lila’s room?”

“How will that help?”

“We might be able to find something that could tell us where Lila might have gone,” Morgan explains. “Sometimes kids leave clues. We might be able to find them.”

Mrs. Monroe nods. “Okay. Can I— Is it alright if I lay down while you do that?”

“Of course,” you smile. “Come on, let’s get you to your room.”

You help her stand and walk back toward her bedroom, getting her inside. She lays down on top of the covers and shuts her eyes.

You close her door and meet Morgan back in the living room, his phone pressed to his ear.

“Y/N’s back, you’re on speaker, Hotch.”

You roll your eyes involuntarily. Hotch couldn’t leave the two of you — mainly you — alone, could he? 

“Alright, I want the two of you to stay there and go through Lila’s room. Tell us anything you find. The school has given Garcia their security camera footage; she’s going through it now. It’s like she’s disappeared into thin air and that is not good.”

“We’ll find her, Hotch,” Morgan says.

Hotch is quiet.

“Mrs. Monroe doesn’t think Richard had anything to do with this. She says Lila doesn’t even know—”

“Morgan told me,” Hotch says. “Call me back when you have something new.” He hangs up and you roll your eyes again.

“I’m gonna keep a tally of how many times you do that,” Morgan teases.

“Be my guest,” you reply. “And keep me updated. I bet it’ll be in the hundreds by the time this case is over.”

Lila’s room is everything you’d expect from a regular pre-teen girl. And reminds you too much of your room when you were her age.

It’s almost like she’s too open. Posters are everywhere. Her favorite movies, actors, and bands. Her bed is made. Her closet is neat. The desk is covered in schoolbooks, yet also clean. 

“Morgan, I know this room.”

He turns around. “What?”

“We can know everything about her from one glance. She’s organized. She loves English, hates science, but is very good at math. She likes alternative music, not boybands,” you point to the posters. “Fantasy movies only. Her closet is too neat. It’s like she’s not even living here.”

“I’m not following.”

“I think she’s been planning her escape for a long time,” you say. “Which makes me think she had help.”

“Okay,” Morgan goes with it. “From who? You heard her mom, she watches everything Lila does.”

My mom did too, you think to yourself as you pull out your phone. You already have Garcia on speed dial, something she suggested for you.

“What can I do for you, my new angel?” 

Morgan chuckles while you answer Garcia. “Can you possibly see the search history after it’s been deleted?”

“Duh,” Garcia says. “Give me the IP address and I can show you all the dirty, dirty secrets on there.”

“Perfect, I’m going now,” you leave Lila’s room, peeking in Mrs. Monroe’s room to be sure she’s still resting. She is. 

You head to the living room where you saw Mrs. Monroe’s computer. Thankfully, after wiggling the mouse, it comes right up. No password or anything.

“Okay, she must really watch what Lila does,” you mumble. As in, Mrs. Monroe must stand over her daughter’s shoulder before even letting her turn the computer on. “How do I…?”

Garcia laughs and tells you what to click to pull up the information she needs. You recite it to her and she quickly works her magic.

“Oh, no.”

“Garcia,” you reply warily. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Morgan hears you and comes into the living room. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” you glance at him. “Garcia, what is it?”

“I’m going to need a minute to go through everything but…”

“Garcia, spit it out,” you put her on speaker, lowering the volume so only you and Morgan can hear her. “Garcia?”

“I don’t know for sure, but at first glance, this looks…it looks like she wanted to go with this person.”

“Shit,” you mutter. “Okay. We’ll call Hotch, you keep digging.”

“Aye, aye.”

You turn the computer off and pocket your phone. “We need to go back to the precinct. I don’t want to risk her overhearing.”

“Okay. Good call.”

“I’m gonna let her know we’re leaving,” you say. “I’ll meet you in the car.”

You wake Mrs. Monroe briefly to let her know you and Agent Morgan are leaving. You assure her that you’re going to bring Lila home, but that you’re needed at the precinct right now, and don’t want to disturb her rest. You hand her your card, telling her the number is the same, even though it doesn’t have BAU yet on it. 

Morgan is leaning against the car when you emerge outside, sick to your stomach.

“You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “Just hate lying to mothers.”

+++

You and Morgan decide to wait until you’re at the precinct to tell everyone what Garcia found. Better to break this news quietly in person than on the phone.

Hotch is speaking to a deputy when you walk in, but you flag him down with a nod, hoping he won’t take it personally. You’re too on edge right now to bother being irritated with him.

Once everyone is in the conference room, you shut the door.

“Garcia should be calling any minute,” you begin. “She’s going through Mrs. Monroe’s computer. Mrs. Monroe said she watches everything Lila does, but clearly not close enough, because Lila was on a popular chatting site talking with someone regularly.”

“Right she was,” Garcia joins in, having been listening on the nearby computer. Her smile is sad. “And it does not look good. I’m still digging, but a Rich34 was in constant contact with her. I’m talking every single night for hours. Mostly from 1am to 4am, while I’m assuming her mother was sleeping.”

“What do the chats say, Garcia?” Emily asks.

“Nothing more than small talk right now, but I’m digging. It’ll take a while though, sir, I’m afraid they’ve been talking for months. Almost a year, I think.”

“Dammit,” you mutter. “I was afraid of that.”

Morgan sends you a sympathetic look.

“Garcia, see if you can track Rich’s identity in any way possible. It could be her father,” Hotch says.

“Or someone posing as her father,” you suggest, earning a glare from Hotch.

“Hey Garcia, send over all the chats, I can help you look through them,” Spencer offers.

“Alright kiddo, PG out.” The line clicks.

“Reid, look for anything relating to Richard Monroe’s history, or maybe Lila’s mother. Lila and her mother haven’t been getting along, and Rich might’ve used that to get Lila away,” Hotch instructs. 

Reid nods, already leaning over to grab the chat messages off the fax machine. Garcia knows him so well; she sent over hardcopies instead of electronic.

“Do we think it’s Richard Monroe in the chat room?” Emily asks.

“I’m not convinced,” Rossi says with a small shake of his head.

“I don’t,” you answer, shaking your head. “The username is too obvious.”

“He could be taunting us by using an obvious screen name,” Hotch counters. “He’s evaded us for this long. Why would he bother hiding now?”

“Yes, but I don’t think Richard Monroe is behind this,” you argue. “Murder in cold blood is his thing. So why wouldn’t he just go grab her from the house? Why is he playing the long game like this? Why form this emotional connection if he’s just going to kill her?”

“Because he’s a murderer with no regard for anyone’s emotions other than his own,” Hotch fires back. “And because he likely holds a grudge against his ex-wife for divorcing him and taking Lila away.”

Now all eyes of the team are on the two of you, going back and forth like a tennis match.

“He murders women his own age. Lila is barely thirteen. If he wanted her so badly, he could have easily grabbed her by now and killed her. Why wait almost a year?”

“Her mother is watching her closely, and he—”

“Oh now you agree that her mother is overbearing.”

“Yes, because you met with her and confirmed it with actual evidence,” Hotch snaps. He pauses, staring at you. “We cannot rule out Richard Monroe.”

“We’ll be wasting our time if we don’t.”

“Why are you so insistent?”

“Call it a gut feeling.”

“You haven’t been doing this job long enough to have a trustworthy gut feeling,” Hotch says coldly. “Now, if you want to continue arguing, I suggest you do so with the wall. Otherwise, we have a young girl to find and her father is a priority suspect. Am I clear?”

“As river water,” you mutter. “Excuse me.” You push past your new boss, hating that he’s already gotten so deep under your skin. Again.

[aventurineswife]

Heyyy! I would like to request something for Christmas!

baking christmas cookies together and then eating them all at once (this happened to me😔 I couldn't even give a few of them to my dad) you can choose whoever you want for this rq but pls include my glorious king Dr ratio 😋

I hope this rq is good enough for you 🥲 I feel like it's kinda blant

english is not my first language sry if I used the wrong grammar

stay safe and I hope aventurine shows up on your doorstep 🤭

Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice

Summary: When the holidays roll around, you and Ratio find yourselves in the kitchen, baking Christmas cookies together. What starts as a simple festive activity quickly turns into a blend of precision, intellect, and unexpected warmth. Amid the laughter, perfect frosting designs, and plenty of taste-testing, the two of you share a cozy winter evening, discovering that even the greatest minds can appreciate life’s sweetest moments.

Tags: Ratio x Reader, Fluff, Winter Special, Baking Together, Established Relationship, Cozy Winter Vibes, Intellectual Banter, Christmas Cookies.

A/N: nooo ☹️, maybe this year you could give your dad some cookies! Don't worry, you wrote it perfectly and thank you 🤭🫂🫶💖 i hope he does too🙈(love your Simeon pfp🤭)

The scent of cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla filled the air as snowflakes gently drifted down from the sky, coating the ground in a soft, silvery layer. The world outside the windows was quiet, a peaceful hush broken only by the occasional soft thud of a snowflake landing. Inside, the warmth of a cozy kitchen surrounded you and Ratio.

You looked over at him, standing at the kitchen counter with his usual assured expression, his wavy hair falling messily around his face as he concentrated on the task at hand. The kitchen was bustling with ingredients—flour, butter, sugar, and a few mismatched cookie cutters scattered across the counter. The smell of Christmas had already begun to permeate the space, though it wasn’t quite the holiday yet. Still, there was something about Ratio’s presence, even in a moment like this, that made everything feel just a bit more special.

“You know,” you said as you carefully sifted the flour into the mixing bowl, “I wasn’t sure how you would feel about baking cookies. I thought you’d be more inclined to read or teach me a new theory on knowledge.”

Ratio’s eyes, glowing with a tinge of yellow in the low light of the kitchen, shifted to you, and the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “A fair assumption. However, knowledge comes in many forms. Understanding the delicate balance of flour, sugar, and butter—there’s something to be said for that too.” He paused, glancing at the rolling pin in your hands. “Besides, you’ve proven yourself to be quite the worthy student when it comes to recipes. I shall not let you dominate this culinary field without my… intellectual guidance.”

His tone was as confident as ever, but there was a slight playful edge to it, something you didn’t see often in the rigid, self-assured intellect he normally wore like armor. You chuckled, nodding as you grabbed the eggs.

“Alright, Dr. Ratio. What’s the next step, then?”

He examined the mixture carefully, and with a swipe of his hand, reached for the butter. "The butter must be at the perfect temperature," he began, his voice rich with the authority of someone who knew every microscopic detail. "If it’s too cold, the dough will be too stiff. Too warm, and the cookies won’t rise properly. I’ll handle the butter, as my delicate touch will ensure the right consistency."

You couldn’t help but grin, knowing that his precision was about to take over. But that was part of his charm—his pursuit of perfection, even in something as seemingly simple as baking cookies. As you worked together, the two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm, the warmth of the oven mingling with the warmth between you, a quiet moment of happiness amid the hustle of your usual lives.

An hour later, the cookies were ready to be decorated. You’d created a wide assortment—stars, bells, snowflakes—and now the most difficult part was upon you: the frosting. You’d hoped for a simple, orderly approach, but Ratio’s enthusiasm for intricate details soon led to a cascade of brilliantly intricate designs. Swirling, layered, and meticulously placed, every cookie was an academic masterpiece. They were works of art, the frosting patterns forming symbols and equations that only Ratio could translate.

“Well, this is certainly… thorough.” you said, admiring the beautiful cookies before glancing at him.

He met your gaze, eyes alight with pride. “Only the best for this holiday season.” His voice was smug, but there was a soft warmth in his expression that betrayed his usual aloofness. “Shall we taste our creations now?”

Before you could answer, he took one of the cookies and, with a flourish, handed it to you. “After all, one must taste what they create. It’s a vital part of the learning process.”

You took the cookie, biting into it. The frosting was rich, the cookie perfectly baked—soft with just the right amount of crispness. Your eyes widened in surprise.

“This is incredible. I might’ve underestimated you, Dr. Ratio.”

His grin widened, the usual intensity in his eyes flickering with something more genuine—a flicker of amusement.

“You underestimate me far too often,” he said, before he too grabbed a cookie and took a bite. “I must say, my intellect, as always, has produced a perfect result.”

You both laughed, and then, without warning, you found yourselves nibbling on one cookie after another, laughing and sharing the warm, comforting moment together. The kitchen, now filled with an assortment of delightful cookie designs, began to empty as the two of you devoured them all, not a single one left behind.

After a while, the once neatly arranged cookies were gone, and the two of you sat contentedly on the couch, a blanket over your legs, sipping hot cocoa.

“Next year,” you said, resting your head on his shoulder, “maybe we should try making gingerbread houses.”

Ratio looked at you, his thoughtful expression returning. “We could. But only if we can ensure that the structural integrity of the gingerbread walls is upheld by an intellectual design that matches my standards.”

You smiled, already knowing what you were in for next Christmas.

“Well, we’ve got a year to figure it out.” you said, taking another sip of your cocoa.

And as the snow continued to fall outside, you couldn’t help but feel that, in this quiet, simple moment, you’d found something far more valuable than the cookies themselves.

[sinnabarmoth]

Tribute for the Dragon (8/18)

Pairing: Dragon|Sylus x Fem|Reader

Summary: Sylus takes you to witness a dragon celebration and things take a rather fiery turn.

Content Warnings: Adult language. Thigh riding.

Length: 3k

Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (9)

Read on AO3

Life in the mountain was different.

You hadn’t noticed it at first but things were different. Ever since you and Sylus actively started getting to know one another the mountain felt more homey. You weren’t just a servant wandering these halls, both mystified and turned on by the dragon you served. He had become a friend.

Things had never gotten as personal as they did the day he told you about what life was like for him growing up. It had been a lot for him to admit, even under the initial guise of a draconic folktale. He never mentioned it again and you didn’t pry. But you were glad.

Your dragon was someone you knew. Questions you had no longer had to be filled with your imaginings. When wanted to know something about him, he just told you.

You were happy and you felt trusted.

You had noticed a shift in Sylus too. It was more subtle but he was around more. He went out of his way to seek you out and talk to you throughout the day. He was gentler, not as aloof. He still teased you but it felt more like a joke between the two of you instead of him trying to antagonize you.

You also just had fun together now. When you were bored you’d go to the hoard room and make towers out of the gold coins and jewels for fun. You taught him human card games and even tried to teach him human dances too. You quickly realized that dragons were not the most graceful of creatures when not flying.

“It’s really not that hard. Try again.” you held him at arm’s length as you tried to get him to copy your moves. “Out and in and your arm goes up and I duck under. One and two and three and four.”

You tried to do the move but again Sylus twisted the wrong way when you ducked under. “Are you purposefully getting this wrong to spite me?”

“I would never.” he settled his hands on his hips. “I just don’t understand how I am supposed to angle my body so that it doesn’t end up twisted.”

“I keep telling you, just arc backwards, follow the movement the way it flows. You’re the one that’s supposed to be leading, I follow you, you don’t follow me.”

“Why are we learning this again?” he asked.

“For something to do.” you shrugged. “I grew up doing this dance every year at the village festivals. My father would always take me out onto the dance floor when I was little and then when I got older and I could have other partners, I always made sure to save a dance with him. Dancing was always my favorite part of the festivals.”

“Your festivals sound like they are more fun than dragon celebrations.”

“Really? I would have guessed that a dragon party would be far more interesting than a human festival. I mean, what do a bunch of dragons do at a dragon celebration? Food? Games? Dancing?”

“Food definitely. Games, maybe. Dancing, never.”

“So what do you do?”

“Depends on what the celebration is about.” Sylus thought for a moment. “Actually, there is one that should be starting soon.”

“Really?”

“Yes. We cannot exactly attend but we may still watch the events from a distance.”

“That doesn’t sound like so much fun.”

“It might not be. But I thought perhaps you’d like to witness a little about dragon culture.”

“I would. You’ve piqued my curiosity. When is this celebration?”

“Three days I believe, during the half moon. Shouldn’t take more than a couple hours by flight.”

“What do you mean flight?”

~~~

“This is the best thing ever!” you shrieked with glee as Sylus and you soared through the warm summer air. Sylus had you wrapped tight in his arms as he flew. The wind stung your face but you couldn’t stop beaming.

“That was right in my ear, little bird.” Sylus said. “I know you’re excited but I’d still like to be able to hear.”

“Sorry.” you knew that it was easiest for him to fly when you were still but you were just so excited all you wanted to do was bounce around. “I cannot believe that I’m really flying!”

“It’s very freeing, isn’t it?”

“It’s amazing!” you clung tighter onto his neck. “I wish I could fly myself. It must be annoying that you have to carry me.”

“I don’t mind. Just try to keep still, we have a long flight ahead of us until we get to the shore.” He reminded you. It took a couple of hours of straight flying but eventually you saw the blue of the ocean in the distance. The only time you had been to the ocean before was when you were very small and you didn’t remember much of anything. It was still impossibly big, even from a distance.

Sylus touched down on a high cliff about a mile from the beach. “Why don’t we go down?” you asked. “I’d love to get my feet in the sand.”

“Not today. This is dragon land and this is a very important tradition that is happening today and I’m afraid if they smell a human has been tromping around down there, we may get in some trouble.”

“And being on the cliff is better?”

“We’re downwind, also, what is most important is the sand. They should not care that we’re up here so long as we don’t touch the sand.”

“The sand? What’s so special about the sand?”

“You’ll see. Now, how about we have some of the food you packed.”

You slung the pack off your shoulder and opened it up. Inside was a blanket, a large skin of water, and a lot of food you had wrapped tightly in paper to avoid leaking all over the pack. You knew Sylus needed a lot of food and after such a long flight he was bound to be ravenous. You laid out the blanket over the grass and sat down to eat.

Even if you couldn’t go on the beach it was nice to be by the ocean. The salty sea air blew across your skin and the sun warmed your face. You watched as the waves rolled and crashed down below. It was so peaceful.

The peace was abruptly broken when a deafening roar echoed across the air. You had immediately scrambled next to Sylus, searching the sky for what had made such a noise. Sylus chuckled and pointed out in the distance where a swarm of dots in the distance were growing larger and larger. “Are those all dragons?”

“Yes. Now is when we have to be quiet and keep our heads low. They shouldn’t know that we are up here but I’d rather not risk it.” he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, “Stay close to me, it’ll help mask your scent.”

You huddled close and watched as dragons landed on the beach. They were beautiful and frightening. They came in many shapes and sizes and colors. Some as green as glittering emeralds, others had opalescent scales that reflected the sun like a mirror, and then there was the largest of them all, a hulking red and black dragon, with eyes of molten fire and two long silver whiskers.

Sylus pointed to the largest dragon, “That’s the elder of this tribe, Tengya. It’s said that he’s lived for over five thousand years.”

“Is that why he’s so big?” you whispered, afraid to talk any louder.

“Yes. Unlike humans who stop growing at a certain point, dragons only get larger the longer they are alive. His size is testament to how long he has been on the planet. Many battles he has faced and he remains.”

“Do dragons die naturally or are they immortal?”

“They can die of old age, most don’t make it to that point. Most dragons end up dead battling other dragons or being felled by humans. Not Tengya though, no one that has challenged him has survived.”

“I can see why. He’s terrifying.”

“Yes he is. Imagine living with him.”

“Live with him? Did you live in his tribe?”

“I did, for a bit.” he gruffed. “He’s about as approachable as he looks.”

You didn’t ask any further questions and instead watched the dragons on the beach. The sound of their roars only got louder now that they were all gathered together. As the sun began to set the elder, Tengya, stepped forward and the beach fell silent. He sat back and nodded to one of the smaller dragons to step forward. It was a sky blue dragon that stepped forward and bowed their head.

There was an expectant silence as the blue dragon dug its claws into the sand, arched its back, and then blew a hot wave of fire out of its mouth into the sand. It was then you realized what it was doing. It was the same as what your father did in his shop but on a much larger and less precise scale. The dragon had turned the sand into twisting tower of glass.

The dragons on the beach thumped their tails against the ground, almost like applause.

“What is this?” you whispered to Sylus.

“It’s a rite of adulthood.” he explained just as quietly, “Adolescent dragons have to demonstrate their power by blowing a fire into the sand to create large craters and statues. The bigger the formation, the more powerful they are seen.”

“Amazing.” you watched as the next dragon stepped forward to a new patch of glass. This one used its wings to pick up more sand as they blew their fire and made an even taller sculpture than the last. “What do they do with the glass afterwards?”

“It is considered treasure and taken back as the first piece of their proper hoard and usually given a place of honor.”

You thought back to the hoard room back at your mountain. You had explored it quite a few times now and you could not recall seeing a giant glass sculpture anywhere in there.

One by one you watched as the young dragons stepped forward and made their creations. It was amazing to witness but the sun had long since set and you were starting to get cold up on the cliff. A shiver ran through your body and Sylus pulled you onto his lap, his wings extended from his back and folded in around you to shield you from the wind. You leaned against him, sapping whatever warmth you could get from his body.

“You know,” you said, “I’m glad you were the dragon that moved into the mountain. Before meeting you I would not have thought I’d feel so safe in a dragon’s arms. ”

“Nor did I think I’d embrace a human like this.” he said, nuzzling his nose against your hair. “I’m glad it was you that hiked up the mountain. Anyone else would not have been nearly as interesting.”

Your heart was beating terribly loud again. You picked your head off his shoulder and looked him in the eye. “Sylus,” your cold hands rested on his broad warm chest. “I’m scared I’m going to do something foolish.”

“And what foolish thing is that, little bird?” he asked. He stared back at you through half lidded eyes, once again letting nothing show on his face.

“This.” you leaned closer, your eyes falling shut as you pressed your lips to his.

He had gone rigid in your arms, his lips unmoving against yours. Immediately you worried that you had done something wrong. You pulled back slightly, embarrassed beyond words. “I’m sorry. I told you it was foolish--”

Sylus grabbed the back of your neck and pushed your mouth back against his. You gasped and his tongue swept into your mouth. You wound your hands into his silvery hair, trying to pull him even more into you. He tasted like heat and spice, as if you had taken a drop of the summer sun and let it coat your tongue.

“You continue to surprise me.” he murmured against your lips.

“And you worried me. I thought I had ruined everything for a moment there.” you chuckled.

“Took me a moment to realize you had actually done that.” his hands landed on your hips, adjusting you so sat more comfortably on his lap. “You taste even sweeter than I thought you would.”

He pulled you back in, pushing your entire body flush to him so not a part of you wasn’t on him. His teeth gently worried your lower lip and you could feel the sharp point of his canines graze your skin. You felt something slide across your ankle and squeaked, worried for a moment it was a snake before realizing it was Sylus’s tail.

“Don’t mind it.” he said, “I feel it sometimes has a mind of its own. But this, is all me.”

His tail had slithered under the fabric of your skirt and wrapped around your thigh, pulling your leg over him so you were straddled on one of his legs. “What are you--ah!” you got your answer when he jostled the leg you were straddled across.

“Ride it.” his voice had dropped to that low growl you had heard him use when you were both in the hot spring.

Oh gods, were you really doing this? You lowered yourself so your cunt was pressed right to his thigh and ground your hips down. The bit of friction sent pleasurable ripples through your body and you could feel heat pooling between your legs. His hands roamed up and down your body, touching you in a way you had only allowed in your fantasies.

“You’re still so cold,” he said, the pad of his thumb teasing your nipple through the material of your dress. “Just look at how you shiver.”

“Sylus,” you ground against his leg a little harder. “Please Sylus.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep you warm.” his mouth latched to your neck, biting and bruising the sensitive skin.

You moaned aloud, pressing yourself more into his touch. You knew that you had to have soaked through the material of your undergarments. You normally went without since it meant more laundry to do but considering that you had to fly here you wanted the extra cover. Right now it was very inconvenient. You wanted to feel the leather of his pants rubbing against your clit. Wanted to stain his leg with your arousal.

“Sylus,” you panted, “I want to feel you more.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, I can do that.” he said. You thought he was going to let you shuffle about so you could get the undergarments off but instead his hand slid under your dress. “Lift your hips up.”

You weren’t sure what he was doing but you lifted yourself off his leg. You felt the pressure of his claws, cold and hard press against the soaked material and a grin spread on his face. Then the sound of cloth ripping as he cut a slit at the crotch. “There, keep going.”

You lowered yourself again, this time feeling the leather of his pants directly against your soaked and sensitive cunt. You moaned again and he plastered his mouth to yours, swallowing the sound.

“Keep going. Don’t stop until you come.” he commanded. “I want you looking in my eyes as you come undone.”

You threw your arms around his neck, your forehead pressed to his as you rode his thigh. Your cunt spasmed and clenched around nothing longing to be filled. It was all getting to be too much. You were dizzy from pleasure, so close to an orgasm but it was right out fo reach.

Sylus kept his hands on your breasts, rubbing and pinching your nipples through the cotton. His tail was still wrapped around your one thigh, squeezing it tighter and pulling your leg back down when you tried to wiggle off his leg. He switched from biting and bruising your neck to kissing you fiercely. Every little sound you made he wanted it poured down his throat instead. And at this point there were many sounds for him to feast upon.

You were panting and moaning his name against his lips. “Come for me.” he said. “I need you to come for me, my wildfire.”

“Sylus!” your voice cracked as you came.

“That’s it, that’s my girl.” he grabbed your chin and forced you to look in his eyes. Your cunt twitched again, flooding with arousal but nothing to cling onto. All of your juices spilled out onto his thigh, making the leather supple and soft underneath you.

You collapsed forward, your face buried in his neck. His hands gentled up and down your back, easing you back from the high. “Breathe, you did so good. You were so good, little bird.”

“I…I’m feeling much warmer now.” you muttered into his neck.

He chuckled. “Yes. Me too.” For a minute yout sat there catching your breath before Sylus moved you off of his lap.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s probably best we head back now while you’re still warm.” he said.

“But--”

“Trust me, I want nothing more than to tear this dress to pieces and fuck you till you’re screaming. But we also don’t want to garner too much attention up here.”

“Attention?”

“Remember what I said about dragons having an excellent sense of smell?” he nodded towards the beach. “I would really rather not have everyone down on the beach realize that there is a very horny human and dragon nearby.”

“Oh right…” you had forgotten where you were for a moment.

“Come along. Quickly.” he stuffed everything back in the pack and handed it to you.

You gave one final look to the dragons down on the beach surrounded by their giant glass sculptures that glittered in the half-moon light. Sylus scooped you into his arms and you were back to the skies. You held tight to him, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck as you began the long flight back home.

[hsnlv]

morning chaos | s.jy

pairing: jake x reader

synopsis: a sleepy morning in the kitchen turns sweet as jake teases you about your wild curls. when you mention straightening them permanently, he launches into a mix of playful banter and heartfelt reassurance, insisting your hair is part of what makes you, you.

others: reader has curly hair in this story (if that isn’t obvious🤭)

wc: 946

a/n: honestly, idk if this is a weird concept to write abt since i rarely see people write stories like this! but i love this (and i love how this hits so close to home) and i hope you’ll love it too!

the kitchen smelled like freshly brewed coffee and a hint of maple syrup. you shuffled in, bleary-eyed and wrapped in an oversized hoodie that hung past your hands. your curls were in their full, chaotic glory—sticking out in random directions, defying gravity like they had a personal vendetta against you.

jake was already at the counter, humming some unrecognizable tune as he flipped pancakes. his hair was still messy from sleep, sticking up in tufts, but somehow he managed to look like he belonged in a morning coffee commercial. it wasn’t fair.

he turned when he heard your footsteps, his face lighting up in that way that made your heart do a little flip. “good morning, sunshine.”

you mumbled something unintelligible and plopped down at the kitchen table, burying your face in your arms.

“wow,” jake teased, setting the spatula down and walking over to you. “you’re absolutely radiant this morning.”

“shut up,” you grumbled, your voice muffled by your sleeves.

he laughed, grabbing a mug and filling it with coffee. “here, this should help,” he said, sliding the mug in front of you.

you lifted your head just enough to take a sip, groaning in satisfaction as the warmth seeped into your soul. “you’re lucky i love you, or i’d throw this coffee at you for being so chipper.”

“noted,” he said, grinning as he leaned on the counter, watching you with that soft, amused expression he always seemed to have around you. his eyes flicked to your hair, and he tilted his head. “your curls are extra fluffy today.”

you groaned, tugging at one of the unruly strands. “don’t remind me.”

“what? they’re cute,” he said, reaching over to twirl a curl around his finger.

“cute?” you echoed, giving him a deadpan look. “jake, i look like i stuck my head in a blender.”

“a very stylish blender,” he quipped, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

you rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself.

“i’ve been thinking about getting a rebonding treatment,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence.

jake froze mid-reach for the syrup. “a what?”

“a rebonding treatment,” you repeated, playing with the edge of your sleeve. “it straightens your hair permanently. no more frizz, no more wild curls…”

he blinked at you like you’d just suggested shaving your head. “wait, wait, wait. you mean… you’d straighten your hair forever?”

you nodded, taking another sip of coffee. “yeah. i mean, it’d be easier, right? less maintenance, less… chaos.”

jake set the syrup down and walked over to you, crouching so he was at eye level. “but why would you want to do that? your curls are you.”

“because they’re a pain to deal with,” you said, gesturing at your head. “you don’t understand, jake. every morning is a battle. half the time, i lose.”

he gave you a look so serious, it was almost comical. “but you win the other half. and that’s what makes you a champion.”

you snorted, trying to fight the smile creeping onto your face. “jake—”

“no, hear me out,” he interrupted, holding up a finger like he was about to deliver the world’s most profound speech. “your hair is like… a majestic lion’s mane. wild, beautiful, and full of personality. do you think lions wake up and think, ‘ugh, my mane is so annoying today’? no. they wear it with pride.”

“jake, i’m not a lion,” you said, biting back a laugh.

“but you could be,” he said with a grin. “and honestly, your hair matches your personality—fun, unique, and kind of unpredictable. and i love all of that.”

you felt your cheeks heat, but you tried to play it cool. “you’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“ridiculously in love with your curls,” he shot back without missing a beat.

you groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “oh my god, you’re so cheesy.”

“cheesy, but correct,” he said, gently pulling your hands away from your face. “look, i get it. if it’s really what you want to do, i’ll support you. but i just think your curls are perfect the way they are. they’re part of what makes you… you.”

you looked at him, your heart squeezing at the sincerity in his eyes. “you really think they’re that great?”

“i know they’re that great,” he said confidently. “besides, where else would i get this much entertainment?”

“entertainment?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“yeah,” he said, his grin widening. “like when you get mad, and that one curl right here—” he reached out and gently tugged on a strand near your forehead—“sticks straight up like an antenna. it’s adorable.”

you swatted his hand away, laughing. “you’re the worst.”

“but you love me,” he said smugly, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek.

“unfortunately,” you teased, though the warmth in your chest betrayed your words.

“seriously, though,” he said, his voice softer now. “i love your hair. i love you. and if you want to change it, that’s okay. but i think you’re perfect just the way you are.”

you looked at him, his messy bedhead and his hopeful, lopsided smile, and you felt a surge of affection so strong, it almost overwhelmed you.

“thanks, jake,” you said quietly.

“for what?”

“for being the weirdest, sweetest boyfriend ever,” you said, leaning forward to kiss him.

he smiled against your lips, pulling back just enough to say, “you know what they say—find someone who loves you and your crazy curls, and you’ve hit the jackpot.”

“nobody says that,” you deadpanned.

“well, they should,” he said, reaching for your hair again.

you laughed, swatting his hand away. maybe your curls weren’t so bad after all.

[thebigbadbatswife]

Revelations

Pairing - Batman x F!Hero!Reader Series - Under Your Skin

Summary - While dealing with the revelation of who Batman really is, under the mask, you cross paths with him for the second time in one night. While you help him navigate your city to find the current source of his ire, the two of you end up uncovering something that shatters your world.

Warnings - Canon Typical Violence, Explict Language. (If I missed something, lmk!)

A/N - Merry Christmas, to those that celebrate! Here's a present, the next part of Under Your Skin! Enjoy!

Taglist - At the end of the fic. As always, if you would like to be added/removed, please feel free to message me!

Word Count - 6k

This was exactly what you needed.

The freezing winter air rushed past you. The wind howled in your ears. The side of your apartment building raced past you as you allowed gravity to take hold of you.

You were experienced at this. You knew exactly how long you could fall like this before you reached the point of no return. The point where any attempt to stop yourself that wasn’t with a parachute would fail miserable. 

From the second that you jumped up to that no return point was a short window. Blink and you would miss it, type of short.

There was something so freeing about free falling like this. The way that it forced all thoughts from your mind while your stomach dropped and your heart pounded. Adrenaline flowed through your veins as you counted by the seconds.

Your eyes snapped open and you pulled out your grapnel gun and fired. Falling turned into, well, swinging, but this high up it felt like flying. 

You flipped through the air and fell again. Then you caught yourself, again. 

You repeated your actions a couple more times until you’re rolling onto a roof of another building and straight back up onto your feet. You’re breathless as you looked up from where you had just jumped. 

You were almost tempted to do it again.

Anything that would stop you from thinking about the revelation that Batman was Bruce Wayne. And the fact that you had been feeling him up moments before your discovery.

You didn’t even know how you were supposed to refer to him anymore. Batman? Bruce Wayne? Batwayne? Bruceman? 

God, you were going to drive yourself crazy with this.

Realistically you knew that all of this would be solved if you just approached him and told him that you knew. At the same time you were still hung up on the fact that he would never do the same.

Maybe you needed to call Dinah. See what her opinion was. You knew you could trust her and her advice had never steered you wrong before. You huffed as you pulled your earpiece out of a pocket along your belt and pushed it into place, in your ear. 

As you resumed you patrol, jumping from roof to roof and surveying the streets below, you tapped a couple of buttons on your gauntlet and the line began to ring. You counted the seconds that passed as it rang, lowkey hoping that she wouldn’t pick up. It had occurred to you that, depending on how the conversation went, you were going to be potentially revealing a lot about the past year.

“Everything okay?” 

Dinah’s voice was, understandably, laced with worry. The number you were using to call her was associated with your League number, which was to be used in emergency. Honestly, you felt that this counted.

“Yes and no. Mostly yes, but also a lot of no,” you replied. “Are you alone?”

The last thing you wanted was for Oliver to overhear. If this was going to be a reveal all, the less people who knew the better. Even though, based on a previous conversation you’d had with Dinah, you got a feeling a lot more Leaguers knew what had transpired between you and Batman than you would have wanted. Even so, on the off chance that you were wrong about that, you wanted as much kept private as possible. 

“Yeah, hang on.”

You heard Oliver in the background asking if everything was okay to which she told him that everything was fine and she would be back. That was shortly followed by a door shutting.

“What’s going on?” 

You took a deep breath, like you were getting ready to rip off a bandaid. By now, you had stopped traversing the rooftops, settling on a water tank. 

“Hypothetically, what would you do if you found out Batman’s identity while also knowing that he has no idea who you are?” 

It came out in a rush and with the silence that followed you started to wonder if she hadn’t heard you. You were about to ask if she had heard or understood you at all, when she spoke. 

“You’re positive you know?”

“I’ve never been more positive about something in my life.”

“And you’re sure he has no idea about yours?”

“Again, never been more positive. Keep in mind this is all hypothetical.”

Dinah laughed softly and you were sure that she was shaking her head.

“Okay, hypothetically, I think, as both your teammate and friend, you should just tell him that you know.”

“Or?” you ventured. You already knew that there wasn’t a way to get around the conversation that you knew had to happen, but you continued to hope.

“You know this is going to agitate you until you do. And that…”

“Could lead to me getting myself or someone else seriously injured because I’m not completely focused.” You finished her sentence for her. She was right. You had to talk to him. “Okay. I’ll talk to him. Thank you, Dinah. What should I do about my own identity?”

“Any time and you don’t have to tell him if you don’t want to. You could use it to drive him mad, if you really wanted to. Hypothetically, of course.”

You laughed this time. As fun as it sounded you got the feeling that as soon as he knew that you knew who he was, he would easily put two and two together. You thanked her again and said goodbye. 

Long after the call ended, you remained on that water tank. Batman was only a call away, but you had yet to actually make the call. You were sure that he would meet you and that it wouldn’t take very long either. Because he was here, in your city, and you had no idea why.

You would find out once you met with him. 

As you were about to call him, a gun shot sounded. Instincts kicked in and you were up on your feet, looking in the direction that it had come from. What the hell? 

The streets had been relatively empty. With Christmas right around the corner most were at home with their families doing various festive things together. The thought of which left a deep longing inside of you.

Two more shots were fired. 

The water tank you were on and calling Batman quickly became things of the past as you jumped into action. You took off across the rooftops, leaping and grappling your way to where you heard the gun fire coming from.

Several more shots were fired as you traversed the roofs. You could only hope that whoever was firing that gun had the aim of a stormtrooper.

It didn’t take you long to reach the scene. What you found was not exactly what you had been expecting. You had expected some gang shooting or something. Instead, what you got, was Batman in a brawl with a large group of men. 

As expected of a seasoned crimefighter like him, he was holding his own. Several men in the group already laid unconscious on the ground, limbs here and there twisted in positions they really shouldn’t be.

He was a blur of black and grey as fought. Well timed punches and kicks and even the clever use of his cape as he stunned men and knocked them off of their feet. You would never say it to his face, but he was rather impressive to watch. A lifetime of training and experience on display. 

But it wasn’t everything. He messed his timing up or he got too cocky, but he got clocked square in the face. It knocked him off balance and he barely caught himself before his head hit the concrete. That one hit was enough to change the tide of the fight, giving the thugs the upper hand. 

“Hold on,” you muttered. It looked like you needed to save his ass again. At least, this time around, it wasn’t your fault. 

You swung into the fight, your boot coming into contact with the face of a man who was about to bring a crowbar down onto Batman’s head. Your sudden appearance had a large portion of them jumping backwards, shouting and swearing. 

As soon as your feet touched the ground, you dropped a smoke pellet. It covered the area in a large cloud, hiding you both from view. You turned to him, offering him your hand. To your surprised, he accepted it. Blood dripped from his nose, even after he tried wiping it away.

“The way I see it, we either finish this or get away. What do you think?” your voice is hushed, though you didn’t think the thugs could hear you over all of their coughing and shouting.

“I’m not running,” he told you. Which you definitely saw coming. When did Batman run from anything? 

You nodded. “Okay.”

“To our left and right, several men are armed with semi-automatics. I’ll go left, you go right. With the smoke they won’t know what’s hit them until it’s too late.” 

You followed his lead, bursting from the smoke and giving the men the fright of their lives. Your boots slammed into the chest of the first one. You used the momentum to flip through the air. Your fist came down onto the second man. The force knocked him to the ground. His gun clattered as it hit the concrete. 

The third man’s gun was aimed directly at you. His finger on the trigger. Your heart thumped hard against your chest. You were literally looking down the barrel of a gun. For the second time in a few months. Though this wasn’t a hand gun. It was a damn semi automatic. Even if you were able to time this perfectly, at least a couple of bullets from the gun would still hit you.

Fuck. 

It wasn’t like Batman’s help was possible. There was still so much smoke and he was focused on his own fight.

He pulled the trigger. 

There was no spray of bullets. No pain from said bullets riddling your body. Instead the gun made a clicking noise. He tried it again, but got the same result. The gun was jammed. You got the feeling it wasn’t just luck that had done that either. 

His eyes widened as it quickly set in how fucked he was now. You darted forward. One hand closed around the gun. You tugged him forward and punched him. Hard. 

There was no time to bask in your victory. There was movement behind you. Keeping your grip on the barrel of the gun, you spun around, swinging the weapon like it was a bat. It turned out to be rather effective. It slammed into the thug’s ribcage, knocking the air from his lungs as he crumbled to the floor.

You used it as a bat a couple more times before discarding it. As effective as it was, it was slowing you down. You moved faster without it. 

The smoke cleared as you fought against the remaining thugs. Before you knew it, you found yourself back to back with Batman. 

Both of you were panting hard. It had been a tough fight, but the end was in sight. You glanced over your shoulder at him, catching his eye or rather his white lenses. It was time to end this.

You worked seamlessly with each other. Downing the remaining thugs while keeping your backs to each other. Kicks, punches, cape stuns, the use of various equipment from both of your belts. You were a whirlwind together. A force to be feared. Unbeatable.

If only the two of you got on this well all of the time.

The last man hit the floor and you and Batman distanced yourselves while you came down from the adrenaline high, that flowed through your veins. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. Even with those lenses, you felt the intensity of his gaze. Much like it had done earlier tonight when you had been face to face with the man beneath the mask. 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re the one with the broken nose.” 

Blood was drying around his nostrils and the blood flow had appeared to have stopped. He brought a hand up to his nose, grimacing a little as he checked himself.

“It’s not broken,” he replied. He was still looking you over, like he was looking for something. Had he figured out who you were? “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem… on edge.”

Were you really that easy to read? Well, there was no time like the present.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to my city?” 

Were you chickening out? Yes. You absolutely were. Dinah would be disappointed in you, you were sure of it. 

“Considering the time of year, I thought you would be busy.” 

You shrugged. “This time of year is like any other for me. Well, aside from all the parties I keep getting invited to.”

He actually chuckled, which had you giving him a double take. First he was cracking jokes on the Watchtower, now he was chuckling. What had happened to the grumpy, brooding Bat that made you want to send him out the airlock? 

“I know what you mean. It’s never ending.”

You were sure he knew exactly what you meant considering that you knew his secret.

“Why are you here?” 

“A case led me here.” 

“Is it related to the last one we investigated together?”

You remembered the amusement park and Harley Quinn, her damn pets and the gunshot that could had killed you. It was hard not to remember. You saw and felt the scar left behind regularly and there was the nightmares that plagued you more often than not. But you were coping just fine.

“Perhaps. I don’t have enough evidence to confirm it yet, but I was hoping tonight would confirm it.”

You nodded. It made sense. “Like you said on the Watchtower, I’m already involved, and this is my city, so you’re stuck with me while you’re here.”

“Fair enough.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Really? No arguments?”

“It’s your city. You know it better than I do, but first…”

He walked away from you and toward a couple of vans that were parked at the far end of the parking lot. There was nothing particularly eye catching about the vehicles. They were a bit dirty, but they were still the classic white van you had grown up hearing about and told to be wary of.

Batman approached the first one. He pulled open the doors and stepped inside. The inside of the van was lined with crates. Not any old crates though. Gun crates. Your city’s port meant that the illegal gun trade came through more often than not. You liked to think that you were on top of things, but you hadn’t heard of this deal happening. And what was Batman’s interest in it? You swore that Gotham had enough gun crime of its own to keep him busy.

“Not enough gun deals to bust in Gotham?” you asked. You were leaning against the doorway.

“If I’m right, which I’m sure I am, these aren’t the guns you’re thinking of.” 

“Cocky much?”

He ignored you as he grabbed ahold of one of the crate’s handles. He pulled it out of the van. You jumped backwards as the damn thing almost landed on your feet as it hit the ground.

“Hey!” 

“Sorry, but you were in the way.” 

Batman grabbed a crowbar and used it to open the crate. You were expecting the same type of guns that you had already dealt with. Instead there was something frightfully familiar. 

It was about the same size as the semi automatics, but it wasn’t anywhere close to be like one. It was an exact replica of the same gun Lex Luthor had on his mech. Kryptonite included. 

Batman’s frown had grown immensely. He crouched and looked the guns over, before he looked back toward the vans. You didn’t need to be inside of his head to know what he was thinking.

There was enough guns here to outfit a small militia.

Even behind bars, Lex continued to plot different ways to kill Superman. But this wasn’t Metropolis.

“Why would they be here?” 

“I believe they’re being manufactured here.”

You scoffed. There was no way. Surely you would have known that weapons that could kill one of your teammates being manufactured in your own city.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it. I wouldn’t even know if it hadn’t been for what we found with Quinn,” he told you.

Admittedly, that did make you feel better.

“What are we supposed to do with them?”

He hummed. “Batcave’s too far and the zeta tubes are down for maintenance.”

“My place isn’t too far. You could store them there until you can ship them back to the Watchtower,” you suggested.

He looked up at you, the lenses of his cowl widening slightly. He hadn’t been expecting that. That much was clear. A hero’s place of operation was, more often than not, also a private sanctum. A place to wind down from a stressful night or week of never ending problems. You had never been to the Batcave and you were sure you never would set foot inside. After all the relationship you shared with the man in front of you hadn’t exactly been a great one. Yet here you were. Offering up your own sanctum.

“You’re sure?” he asked. 

“Since your cave and the Watchtower are currently out of the question, and I wouldn’t trust the cops as far as I could throw them, it just leaves us with my place. Besides, anything to make sure that these guns don’t end up on the streets.”

Batman nodded, accepting your explanation. He took his time with the vans though. Looking over each and every crate for any potential tracking element. He had no worries about the radiation from the Kryptonite, as the crates were lead lined, therefore making it impossible for them to be tracked that way.

Whilst he did that, you checked the men over for the keys for both vans. As you fished out a set of keys, the man you were hovering over began to groan. You backed up from him and looked around. He was the only one waking up and since he had the keys, indicating he had been in charge of driving one of the vans, there was a could chance that he would know where the guns were being manufactured. After all he had to pick them up from somewhere.

Batman clearly had the same thought process as he breezed past you. He grabbed the man by his shirt and effortlessly lifted him up. 

“Wake up!” he commanded. It was surprisingly effective as the man’s eyes flew open and he immediately began to struggle and claw against the grip Batman had on him.

“Please! Don’t hurt me!” 

“I won’t as long as you tell me where you got the guns,” he growled.

“The gun factory! Just outside the city! But there ain’t no one there now!”

“Then. Where. Are. They?” His voice was dangerously low. You had no idea a person’s voice could get so low. If you had no idea who he was, you might think he would kill the man. 

“We were supposed to go to the airport! That’s all I know! I swear!”

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

Batman swiftly knocked him out and left him in a heap in the floor. Harsh.

“Come on. We’re running out of time,” he said.

You chucked him a set of keys and led him back to your base.

The vehicle entrance to your base was a couple of blocks away from your actually apartment building. It was connected by a concrete tunnel. You weren’t sure of the original purpose, but it was off the books and served your purpose well enough for the time being.

Now it was no Fortress of Solitude or Batcave, but you liked it. It was made up of several rooms. The garage, an armory, your main area and even a bedroom. The main area housed your computer, gym, lab and med-bay. 

With the vans secured in the garage, you set about getting your one motorcycle out and checking it over. It wasn’t the biggest one in the world, but it would still seat two. At least, you hoped it would. Batman was far larger than the average man.

Once it was fueled and ready to go, you entered the main area. Batman was looking the med-bay over. Specifically, the medicine cabinet. He was frowning.

“You need to stock stronger painkillers and some of these antibiotics are out of date,” he told you, like it was totally normal to be going through someone else’s medicines.

“Thanks? I’ll try to keep that in mind. The motorcycle is all ready to go.”

“Then let’s go.”

You expected him to take control of the motorcycle, leaving you to awkwardly sit behind him and hold on to him. Instead he insisted that you take control of it. Was this the result of the conversation you’d had with him? He was now biting his tongue and giving up control? 

Had he, in the few hours since you last saw him, been body snatched? You weren’t able to ask since you still hadn’t brought up that you knew who he was and right now seemed like a bad idea. 

The motorcycle rumbled to life beneath you. Your body tensed as soon as his hands came into contact with your waist, as he settled onto it behind you. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything about it.

You really shouldn’t be this stiff. You wouldn’t be if it was Hal or Oliver. Of course, they were both in committed relationships and you hadn’t slept with either of them.

The city blurred past you both as the motorcycle raced through the streets. You really hoped that you would reach the airport sooner rather than later so that he could take his hands off of you.

The airport was bustling with activity. Which was to be expected during the holidays. Where did you even begin to look?

Fortunately you had Batman perched behind you, who already knew. He directed you away from the main airport and toward the private hangers.

He was right.

On the runway was a cargo plane. There were a couple more white vans, which were in the process of being unloaded onto said plane, and a black SUV. The crew of men unloading the vans was a skeleton crew versus the one you and Batman had dealt with earlier. They would be easily dealt with. 

The SUV certainly stood out. Was the person that Lex had put in charge of this operation within? There was only one way to find out.

You and Batman flew into action immediately. Taking full advantage of the element of surprise that you currently had. 

You sped the motorcycle up, headed straight for the men who were carrying crates between the vans and the cargo plane. Behind you felt Batman shift his position. A hand came to rest on your shoulder and the back of the motorcycle grew heavier. 

“Go for the plane, we can’t risk it taking off. I’ll deal with the men out here.”

It was a sound plan. One that you had no disagreements with. You adjusted the direction so that you would pass by the men carrying crates and head up into the plane.

As you passed them, the weight on the back disappeared. Batman launched himself at one of them, tackling him to the ground as the man yelled in surprise. 

That was all that you saw of that fight as you entered the plane.

You slammed on the breaks and, as the motorcycle slid into some crates, you leapt from it yourself. You landing was better than you thought it was going to be. There was no time for you to be impressed with yourself though as a thug rushed you.

You dodged the punch he threw at you and followed up with your own. It connected with his jaw. A tooth clattered to the floor. Blood spilled from his mouth.

“You fuckin’ bitch!” he shouted.

He pulled out a knife and slashed at you. At least it wasn’t a gun. He was faster with the knife than he was with his fists. It kept you on your toes. You dodged each slash. Narrowly avoiding several of them that came way too close for your liking. You needed to wait for an opening. 

It came sooner than you thought it would. As fast as he was with the knife, he wasn’t exactly in his prime anymore. He got winded quickly. Which gave you the perfect opportunity. Your foot came into contact wit his hand, sending the knife flying. You followed up with your other foot, kicking him right in the face.

The thug hit the ground. Knocked out cold.

You weren’t given a moment of respite. Two more men came rushing into the cargo hold. Lady luck seemed to be on your side right now as neither of them had a gun in hand. The only weapons they carried was a pipe and a crowbar.

They charged at you. You dodged the first couple of swings and counted with your own. They were far more coordinated than you had been expecting. They dodged each of your punches and kicks. The pipe came in contact with your ribs. Pain exploded across them, making you grunt. Fuck, that didn’t feel good.

Breathing was now painful, but you had to push through it. You dodged and counted them. You felt them doing their best to wear you down and it was starting to work. You needed to finish this quickly.

After dodging another slew of attacks, you dropped a smoke pellet. The men coughed violently as smoke filled the cargo hold. Using it to your advantage, you disarmed both men and, using the pipe against them, knocked them unconscious.

With the plane secured, you began to make your way out of the plane. You would come back for your bike once you were sure everything had been secured.

As you stepped back onto the tarmac, you were just in time to see the door to the SUV slammed shut and the engine roared to life. You were too far to do anything. 

“Batman! The SUV!”

His head snapped up from where he stood over the unconscious bodies of the men that he had taken out. He gritted his teeth as he sprinted for it. The wheels of the SUV screeched as it took off. Batman slid to a stop, pulled a batarang out of his utility belt and threw it. 

The batarang burst the wheel it came into contact with. The driver lost complete control over the vehicle and it flipped several times before coming to stop.

You rushed over with Batman. He got there first and already had the unconscious driver pulled out. It was a woman in a suit. A purple velvet suit. 

No…

There was no way…

But it wasn’t like you could exactly deny what you were seeing. No matter how much that you desperately wanted to. You felt your heart breaking.

Erica. The woman who had been your best friend for essential your entire life. The woman that you trusted with your identity and to make your gear was working with Lex Luthor?

You had stopped in your tracks. Even going as far as to take a couple of steps backwards. Putting distance between you and her.

Your throat felt tight and you felt pressure building up behind your eyes. It already hurt to breathe and this made it worse.

Batman noticed immediately. 

“Are you okay?” he asked.

You shook your head. “I know her… and she knows me.”

The revelation had certainly shaken you down to your very core. While Batman was making sure that everyone was tied up and not going anywhere, you were doing your best not to have a panic attack while you second guessed every last little thing. 

From the moment you had decided to trust her with your identity to the newest suit that she had made you. Had she known it wouldn’t stop that bullet? Had getting you killed been her plan? You didn’t know anymore. The girl you had grown up with was now a complete stranger to you.

You were currently sat on a stack of crates as you internally melted down.

A hand came to rest on your shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. It halted your thoughts for a moment. You looked up at Batman. Even with the cowl and lenses, you knew he was giving you a sympathetic look. Maybe he wasn’t so different with the mask on.

He surprised you further as he pulled you up off of the crates and pulled you in for a hug. His grip on you was loose and he gave you plenty of opportunity to pull away, but you decided to accept it. 

Batman’s arms wrapped around you and he held you close. You didn’t cry. You were still far too shocked to cry right now. You certainly appreciated the hug. It felt good. Even if it was from Batman.

You pulled away from him after a couple of minutes, wrapping your arms around your body. 

“Thank you,” you murmured.

“Of course. I have to ask, did you tell her anything else?”

You shook your head again. “Of course not. She only knows about my identity. But I guess it’s easy to figure out who the rest are because of that. Which means everyone else is probably in danger now.” 

You waited for him to agree. Maybe even raise his voice and have a go at you for your mess up. He didn’t though.

“We can fix it,” he said.

You looked at him like he had grown another head. “What? How?”

Your question was quickly answered when Martian Manhunter showed up.

“Using his abilities, Martian Manhunter can wipe you from all of her memories, and adjust others, so that there’s absolutely no trace of you,” Batman explained.

“Wipe and edit her memories? Isn’t that unethical?” you asked. 

“Perhaps, but considering the entire League is currently in danger of potentially having our identities outed, it’s a measure we’re going to have to take.”

You nodded. It made sense. Even if you didn’t feel exactly good about it.

“I understand.” You turned to J’onn. “Can you wake her first? I need to… confront her first.”

“Of course,” he replied.

You and J’onn split from Batman, who wanted to go through each crate to check for more guns and any other weapon that could potentially be a danger to the League. 

Batman had tied her to a metal chair that he had found sitting just outside of the hangar the plane had been in. Considering the crash, he had already looked her over for any serious injuries. She had none. Only a few scratches here and there.

Your gut twisted with anger as you looked her over. Was she even the person you had once known anymore? 

As she began to wake up, J’onn moved away and returned to Batman to help him out.

You watched Erica closely. She groaned as she blinked her eyes, clearly confused. She looked around, her brow furrowed. As soon as her eyes landed on you, they widened and she looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“No. No! You’re not supposed to be here, you’re supposed to be–”

“Sleeping with someone?” you cut her off. “Is that why you pushed me towards him? So that I maybe wouldn’t find out about this?” You gestured toward the plane and the crates. “I… I trusted you and this is how you repay that? By working with Lex Luthor?”

“It’s more complicated than that,” she said.

You shook your head. “What about my suit then? You know the one that nearly got me killed because it failed to stop a bullet? Or was that on purpose?”

She spoke your name, her voice cracking. “I promise you that wasn’t on purpose! There must be a defect in the weave that I didn’t see. Please, you need to believe me!”

“How can I? For all I know you’ve told Lex everything and you’ve put my teammates in danger! What do you think those guns are for? To tickle Superman? Those end up on the street, he gets killed!” 

Erica wasn’t looking at you anymore. Her gaze focused on her feet as tears streamed down her face. Your own tears were threatening to fall, but you were forcing them back. You weren’t going to let her see you cry.

A silence stretched out between you before you decided to break it.

“Why?” 

She looked up at you again. Erica looked remorseful, but was that because she had been caught? Would she have felt the same way if she hadn’t been caught and Superman had been killed?

“I’m going to lose the company. We’re running out of money faster than we can make it and I’m going to have to file for bankruptcy. Lex promised me he could save it…”

“If you made weapons to kill Kryptonians? You could have called me, Erica. I might have been able to help! There’s so many more ways you could have handled this instead of getting into bed with Lex Luthor!”

You turned away from her as you felt the first tear force its way from your eye. She begged you to turn back around and talk to her, but you ignored her.

“Goodbye, Erica.”

As you walked away from her, a strange sensation of a presence invading your mind washed over you. You relaxed as you knew exactly who it was.

“You’re good to go.” 

You reentered the cargo plane to retrieve your motorcycle. The paint on it was now scratched up, but that was the only damage you saw on it. As you wheeled it out, Batman was waiting for you at the bottom of the ramp.

“FInd any more guns?” you asked.

“No. These were decoy crates, likely going to be used to fool the authorities on the off chance the plane was searched.”

“That makes sense. Do you need anymore help tonight?”

“I shouldn’t do. Once he’s done, I’ll be contacting the police and then calling it a night.”

“Yeah, I think I need to call it a night myself. I’ve got an appointment with a wine bottle.”

Batman was frowning as he looked at you. You didn’t really care if he didn’t like the sound of it. You decided that you needed it and, honestly, you were probably going to fall asleep after the first glass anyway.

You settled back onto your motorcycle and its engine roared to life. You didn’t take off immediately. Instead you sat there for a moment. You still felt his eyes on you, watching you closely. 

“Batman?”

“Yes?”

You took a deep breathe. It was time to rip the band-aid off.

“What would you do if someone found out your identity by accident?”

His frown deepened as he thought your question over. 

“I… It’s never happened. I don’t think…”

“Nevermind then. Just.. hope that your Christmas is better than mine.” 

You didn’t wait for a reply before taking off. If was a official. You were a coward.

Batman watched as you sped off. He replayed your question in his head. Turning it over and over again. In relation to tonight’s events, he really wasn’t seeing the connection. 

What did his identity have to do… His eyes widened. Realisation hit him like a gut punch. Moments from earlier tonight, before he put his mask on, replayed in his head. Seeing you in the ballroom, the internal fight he’d had about whether he knew you or not. The kiss. The resulting freak out and running away. And all because you had figured out who he was.

You knew!?

You knew… 

Fuck.

*

Taglist - @the-last-twin-of-krypton @bakugous-bakahoe @fromfoolishpeopletodeadpeople @little-rivers @callalily2000

@geminicinderella @theclassicvinyldragon @aniya7 @bluebear19 @jdream55 @x-ratedhimbo @sketchiethebear @wandalfnation @batmanwife1 @mari-malgamore @angie2274

[godmadeaterribleerror]

More Than You Could Ever Know - Part 3

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Falling into my well-tread pattern of everything I write getting steadily longer chapter by chapter. Enjoy!

Title from All I Want For Christmas is You by Mariah Carey

Word Count: 12.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You and Ben have a Christmas Eve date. Many gifts are opened. Usual Warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, tooth rotting fluff, established relationship, Christmas Special

Part 2

Read on A03!

When he wants to be, Ben is shockingly romantic. It doesn’t surprise you—you can feel the power and fervor of his love every second, its pious and wrathful devotion all focused on you—but he always manages to outdo himself. To be more romantic than any epic poem or tragedy, to know you better than you might know yourself, to be the best fuck you’ve ever had every single time. 

What does surprise you is how he still sometimes aches with mold in your chest. How you’ve shown him time and time again that, if he asked, you’d learn to raise the dead and travel through time and move planets with only your hands for him. You’d burn out the sun and create worlds fueled only by your love for Ben, and he’s always surprised that’s the truth. 

It’s always been the truth. It feels like more than the truth. A little more than a fact or law. It just fucking is. You’re Ben’s. He’s yours. That’s the end of it.

And you couldn’t do better than him. Nobody could do better than Ben, and it’s why you might feel really fucking possessive of him. The gossip magazines and Fake Face—you’re pretty sure her name is Deandra or something, but you don’t really fucking care—don’t look at Ben and see an angel. They don’t fucking get that he’s everything, and safe, and strong and warm and handsome. They don’t understand that he knows how to say every right thing, that he treats you like you’re holy, and cares more than anyone you’ve ever met.

They just want his body, and he’s not a fucking whore.

He’s a little bit of a fucking whore.

He’s your fucking whore. He’s your slab of meat to objectify and drool over, to tease and touch and pout at. Ben is fucking yours. And you’re his, and you trust him with more than your life, and you love him more than the whole universe.

And he’s such a fucking asshole. And you’re going to kill him.

Can I come inside now?

No, he grunts in your head, and you can feel him. Feel that instinct of Ben moving around inside the house, doing something that he refuses to tell you about. 

I never tell you no about coming inside-

Ben snorts. Smartass.

Is that a yes-

No. He says your name in the low hum of the stereo, and you feel rough affection start to cover your skin. Don’t lose your fucking mind, I’m almost done.

Done with what?

Nice try.

You sigh, leaning your head back on the seat. Are you ever going to tell me what you’re doing?

Are you ever going to tell me what that fucking secret shit was.

No, it’s still a surprise-

So is this. Fucking wait. You can almost see the cocky smirk on his face as hunger flashes through his blood. Patience is a virtue, darling-

Shut the fuck up, old man.

He chuckles in your head, and it still, somehow, rolls through your body. Brat.

Cunt. How about now-

Christ, woman. Ben in your head, and you know he’s about to open the door before he does, because your whole body starts to sing Ben. Ben, Ben, Ben, bigger than the universe and yours and Ben.

You smile at him when he appears, marching over to the car and opening the door with a glare you know is fake.

“You’re a goddamn menace,” he mutters, helping you out of the car. “Lucky I fucking love you.“

“I am, aren’t I.” You grab his face between your hands, your smile probably a little idiotic. “You’re so good to me, my love.”

He grunts, all his annoyance a good performance, but pointless when he’s still looking at you with an unyielding reverence and you can feel his love begin to pound out of his chest.

“Come on, Sunshine.” Ben offers you his hand, something alert and tight over his throat relaxing slightly when you tangle your fingers in his. “Let’s go.”

He’d insisted you dress up before you dropped Ryan off at Butcher’s for Christmas Eve. So you’d done full makeup and hair, put on your fanciest dress that was still slutty enough to make Ben’s nostrils flare and that part of him in you feel starved, and returned to the house with a strict order from Ben to stay inside until he was ready.

You’d been under the impression you were going out.

You’d been wrong.

But this is so much better.

Just to start, Ben cooked. And he’s turned out be an amazing cook. You think he doesn’t grumble and scowl about it because—in his mind—it’s another thing for him to do for you. Something he can make you, something he can care for you with. Something he can offer you, just like this. A stupidly romantic and dizzying gesture of dinner. Steak—eating birds is for fucking pussies, Sunshine—and potatoes and bread, laid out on a blanket in the living room, right next to the tree.

He knows you love the tree. Ben’s obviously figured out that you’ve been sitting in the living room so much—when you read or work or watch TV on your laptop—because of the Christmas tree. Because it makes the whole house smell even more like pine—even more like Ben—and is so colorful and warm it eases your whole body into simple happiness.

And this is making you feel high. Mindlessly happy and easy, Ben wrapped around your body—his chin resting on the top of your head as he waits for you to speak—and the whole world around you evidence of his love, and this is so good, and you love him so much, and-

“Thank you.” You turn in his arms, the smile on your face so real and made of purely love. “It’s perfect.” 

Ben grunts, and the glow becomes bloody and ardorous in his chest. “You like it.”

You give him an amused look, rising up to kiss him soft and long and slow. Allowing a little bit of your blood—of your love—to move from your body to his, allowing him to tangle a hand in your hair and pull you a little off the ground as he presses his tongue on your lower lip. As you part them for him, and he groans down your throat.

I love it. You whisper in his head, making a small, content sound of bliss as his tongue sweeps over your teeth. I love you, Benjamin. Thank you.

Neither of you rush to pull apart, and when  you to do there’s a long moment where Ben drops his brow to your, you curl your fingers in his chest, and you exist only in the feeling of each other. Heavy, traded breaths, bodies fit perfectly together, everything so easy.

This is so fucking easy.

It’s easy to let Ben guide you to the floor, and to watch him drop across from you with a wide, cocky grin. Easy to take whatever he offers you—food and affection and love—and smile the whole time. Easy to tug him to your side, because he’s barely a foot away, and that’s too far.

“The whole point is that it’s a date,” He grumbles your name, even as he shuffles to sit with your leg hooked over his, your body tucked into his side. “We should be fucking looking at each other-“

“I’m looking at you,” you shrug, smiling up at him. “It’s not that hard, Benjamin, you just sort of move your eyes-“

Ben leans down, kissing you until you make an undignified whimper and his chuckle sends a wave of thirst through your body.

“Fucking brat,” He mutters against your lips, pulling away with a slight shake of his head. “You’re happy like this.”

He’s talking about how you’re sitting. And you’re more than happy with that—Ben’s big and warm, still around you, still everything—but you make your words a little clearer, and little gentler. Filled with how fucking good this, he is, you feel. 

“I’m happy.” You whisper, pressing a soft kiss over his beard. “Really happy.”

Ben nods slowly and grabs his plate from across the blanket, pulling you fully into his lap and folding his body over yours as you eat.

“Butcher said we could go over early tomorrow,” you lean back to watch Ben as he eats, tapping your fork against your plate. “For Ryan.”

“We were doing that shit no matter what,” A little bit of potato falls into Ben’s beard as he grumbles, and he doesn’t stop speaking as you reach up to wipe it away. “He’s our kid, Butcher’s damn lucky he gets Ryan tonight.”

You hum. “He’s our kid?”

“Of course he’s our fucking kid, I don’t see anyone else-“

“I know.” You pull a piece of steak between your teeth, smiling backwards at him. “I just like hearing you say it.”

He rolls his eyes. “Brat.”

“Cunt. Do you,” you swallow, chewing on your lower lip. “Do you think we’re doing a good job? With Ryan?”

Ben shrugs. “Doing the best damn job we can, but the kid’s already seen some shit.”

“I know, but-“

“It’s a fucking miracle he can go to school and laugh, Sunshine,” he grunts, moving one hand to cup your chin, keeping your gaze on his. “That’s a good job.” Ben presses a soft kiss to your lips, speaking against them. “You’re doing a good fucking job.”

You let out a soft, happy sigh, and the constant tension over your lungs—that, just maybe, you were fucking up Ryan more—eases a little bit as you curl further into Ben’s arms. “Thank you.”

Ben scowls, but the glow blooms over his whole body. “Don’t. Tell me about work.”

“There’s not much to tell,” you mumble, setting your plate back on the ground. “It’s going well? Everything’s going smoothly, nobody is trying to kill anyone else, we- oh,” You grin at him. “Can you keep a secret?”

He nods, watching you carefully, and your smile grows.

“Hughie’s going to propose,” you whisper. “He showed MM and I the ring.”

Ben grunts, his fingers moving to touch your engagement ring, resting easier and natural next to your wedding band. “Good for them.”

“That it?” You tilt your head at him. “Just good for them?”

He rolls his eyes at your deep voiced impression of him, raising your hand to kiss your palm. “What the fuck am I supposed to say-“

“Congratulations?” You suggest. “Maybe call Hughie and offer him some advice?”

“Advice-“

“On marriage.” You smile at him, and the love in his body grow fervorish. “You’re doing a good job. Share your wisdom, old man.”

He scowls, but falls silents for a long moment. Rubbing circles on your skin as he scans over your face, pulling you carefully and reverently apart as he actually thinks about it.

“Keep your wife happy.” He mutters, and you think you might have melted from how firm and certain he sounds, how he’s looking at you like you’re the sun, how his love is alive and furious in your body. “And fuck her like she deserves.”

You giggle, the noise a little high and needy. “Romantic.”

“Shut the fuck up, brat, you love it.”

“I do,” you sigh, pulling his arms a little tighter around him. “How’s work for you-“

“Fine.”

“Just fine-“

“It’s easy shit, but I don’t fucking love it, darling. Christ, Butcher is my goddamn boss.”

“Well, at least he’s giving you the holidays off-“

“He fucking better be.” Ben glares into the air. “Pussy picks up another case, he’ll have to give me the best damn blowjob in history to get me to work it.”

You snort, giving him a fake pout. “I thought your dick was mine, Pretty Boy-“

“It is.” He grunts, kissing the top of your head. “So he’s never fucking getting me to go.”

“What if he asked really nicely?”

Ben raises his brows at you. “To blow me.”

“Yeah.” You hum, nodding, unable to contain the wide, bright smile on your face. “What if he begged?”

“Nobody,” Ben drawls, his deep voice moving through your whole body and settling, hot and coiled, in your gut. “Fucking begs me like you do, Sunshine. And Butcher would have to do it half as pretty as that.”

You flush, even as you whack his arm around you. “Fuck you-“

“I will,” he mutters in your ear, trailing one hand up your thigh and under your dress, his hunger starting to bloom and spread over your whole body. “We’ve got the whole house to ourselves, and you,” he kisses that spot on your neck, smirking at your breathy sigh. “Look fucking beautiful. I’d have to have lost my goddamn mind not to fuck you.”

You might have whimpered, but Ben swallows your every breath and noise with a deep, long kiss and everything turns into a warm haze of Ben.

I’m here. Ben traces his tongue over your lower lip, his hand resting at the very apex of your thigh, but not just touching you. What do you want, beautiful?

Right as he praises you, Ben presses his thumb over your clit, still covered by your panties, and your moan is loud and shameless as he starts to rub small circles.

Fuck, you throw your head back, reaching up to grab at Ben’s face, your fingers curling in his beard. Shit, Ben, please-

Please, what? He flicks you once, dragging two fingers over your clothed slit. Words, darling, need to hear that pretty fucking begging-

Ben, please, please more, need more-

He hums, latching his mouth to your neck and sucking, right as he presses his thumb firmly down on your clit, pulling a high whine from your throat. More what.

You, need you, need more of you-

I know, darling. He chuckles, resuming those slow, torturous circles. Bet you’re already fucking soaked for me, so fucking desperate, Sunshine, so fucking beautiful-

Benjamin, please- You cut your silent words off with a squeal as Ben pushes those two, broad fingers into your aching pussy through your underwear, his free hand palming at your breasts. Fuck-

You want to fucking cum, darling? That what you really need?

Yes, yes, please, Ben- You gasp as he slaps your dripping, still clothed pussy once, hunger and smug pride flaring in his chest at your whine. 

“Hold it.” He mutters, and before you know what’s happening he’s hooking an arm under your legs, standing up with you held carefully in his arms. “I’ve got something for you.”

You blink at him, still a little lost in his big, strong arms around you as he carries you upstairs, the power and zeal of his love inside you, the ache between your legs that’s only growing as you drown in warm and handsome and pine and Ben-

He grunts your name, and you swallow. “Are you-

“I’m good,” you whisper, offering him a small smile as he kicks the door to your bedroom open. “You have something?”

“For you.” Ben doesn’t set you down on the bed, but in front of the bookshelf, right next to your dresser. “Early gift.”

You tilt your head up to scan over his set, firm features, all watching you with an unraveling attention. He’s tensed in your body, sore in a way that doesn’t hurt, something electric in his hands and on his tongue. Ben grabs your chin and carefully guides your gaze back to the books, his chest pressed to your back and his words low.

“Try to burn them.”

You swat his hand away, your gaze shooting up to him with a glare. “Benjamin, there is no fucking way-“

“Trust me, Sunshine.” He wraps his arms around your waist, rubbing soft circles as he holds your glower. “Just do it.”

“But they’re books-“

“I fucking know that. Trust me.” He smirks, kissing your brow as your glare deepens. “Do I ever damn lie to you, darling?”

You scowl. “No.”

“Would I ever try to pull some sort of fucking trick?”

“Shut up.” You mutter, looking back to the books with a frown. “Burn them.”

“That’s what I said.” Ben rests his chin on your brow, his body still filled with that odd electrically. “Do it.”

You sigh. “If I burn down the house, we’re getting a divorce-“

“You’re not going to burn down the damn house.” 

“But if I do-“

“You’d remarry me a week later.” Ben says, his voice dry and bored. “Stop fucking stalling.”

You chew on your tongue as you raise hand, digging your nails into Ben’s arm and squeezing your eyes shut as you let a small amount of fire out from under your skin. Barely a spark, but enough to reduce paper to ash. 

Ben’s whole body starts to glow with pride, nothing smells like lingering smoke, and—when you wearily drag your eyes open—the room looks the exact same.

The books look the exact same.

“What the-“

“Got Frenchie to fireproof them,” Ben spins you in his arms, and the grin on his face is almost boyish. “He used some sort of fucking coating or some shit. And it took all goddamn month, he had to do one at a time so you wouldn’t notice.”

You gape at him. At his bright smile, and chiseled, rough features, and the pure love and adoration in his eyes. Your whole brain is just a hum of Ben. All yours. He’s all yours, and he’s everything, and you might start crying because, fuck, you really couldn’t ask for anything more than him-

“Ben,” your voice is a little hoarse, your body slumped fully into his. “I, I don’t-“

There’s a flash of soreness over his skin, his arms tightening around you, and you’re moving before it can settle into his bones. Throwing yourself into him with everything you have, before he can even properly doubt the gift, can start to think that you’re not happy. That this—that he—isn’t so fucking amazing it’s making you stupid.

It’s perfect. Your hands tangle in his hair, smiling against his lips as you melt fully into his body. You’re perfect, Ben. Thank you.

Don’t. He grunts, but it turns into a long groan that sparks in your gut and presses your thighs together. You’re-

I know I am. You press your brow to his as you separate. But you are as well. And I love you.

“I love you too,” Ben’s voice is low, his hands drawing rough patterns on your hips. “And you’re still the perfect one, darling. You’re a fucking miracle.”

You swallow, leaning back to watch him carefully. “I got something for you as well,” you whisper. “But it feels kind of, um, bad now.”

He scowls. “It’s not fucking bad.”

“You don’t even know what it is, Benjamin-“

“You got it for me.” He mutters. “Can’t be fucking bad.”

“Oh. Okay.” Your smile is a little idiotic, and you press a soft kiss to his cheek before taking a long step back. “Let’s find out, then.”

Ben looks like he’s going to say something—his brows knit and a small frown on his handsome face—but it’s gone the moment you pull off your dress.

It’s a little cocky to make yourself his gift. But Ben’s nostrils are flaring, his jaw clenched so hard you’re worrying he might break it, and everything in his body is hunger. Raw, feral hunger that’s making his eyes dark with lust and his muscles flex under his shirt as he takes you in. Scans over the lingerie set you’d bought specifically for him, dark green and lace and very easily rippable. Leaving more of you exposed than covered, possibly the sluttiest thing you’ve ever owned, and all for Ben. All for how he’s watching you like he wants to ruin you, and you’re more than happy to let him. 

“Christ on a fucking cross,” he mutters your name, shaking his head slightly. “You’re, fuck, Sunshine, you’re perfect. So fucking perfect.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, lowering yourself to your knees with your best innocent expression. “You’re not so bad yourself, Benjamin, my love.”

“Fucking-“ He groans as you crawl forward, stopping right in front of him before smiling up at his lust-blown expression. “Are you trying to damn kill me-”

You shake your head, your smile growing. “No. But,” you run a hand up his thigh, squeezing your legs together as you see his bulge, proud and straining at his pants. “I might be trying to do something else.” You rest light fingers over him, swallowing at his low growl. “If you want.”

Ben’s chuckle is animalistic, a big, warm hand tangling in your hair and pulling your face fully back. “Fucking hell,” he says your name with an awe that’s so out of place in the hot, undying desire etched over his every feature and organ, but still so painfully natural. “You want to suck my cock, beautiful?”

“Yes, please,” you grip his wrist as he traces his thumb over your cheekbones, not trying to hide the need and borderline desperation in your voice. “Ben, please-“

“So fucking good,” he mutters, and you moan when his thumb presses on your lower lip, his throat bobbing as you open for him without thought. “Christ, Sunshine, you’re a goddamn marvel. So fucking pretty on your knees, when you fucking beg and say my name. So fucking beautiful and perfect, fucking, shit-“

You’d been fiddling with his belt as he drawled, and the moment you get it off you’re moving. Freeing his huge, already throbbing cock from his pants, swiping your thumb over the head of him before licking a long, slow stripe on the underside. 

“Fuck,” Ben’s words are pushed through his teeth, his hand now braced on the dresser as you smile up at him, slowly pumping your hand over his shaft. “You’re, fuck-“

You take him fully in your mouth, bobbing your head slowly up and down as you swirl your tongue around him, moaning when he bumps the back of your throat and squirming as he groans above you. 

“Jesus, fuck, you’re a goddamn miracle, darling, such a good girl, look so fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth-“ He’s groan rolls through your whole body, and you start to grind onto the air. “Fuck, Sunshine, you’re so fucking beautiful, feel like a fucking sin, so- Fuck, you were goddamn made for me, fucking mine-“

Ben’s praise starts to slur as you move one hand up to play with his balls, your eyes never leaving his as you pick up your pace. 

Ben, you whine around him when his hips jerk. Please, just-

You reach back to grab his hand in your hair, squeezing his balls once and sucking on the very head of him as you pull almost fully off, and he understands without question. His grip tightens, his hunger and pleasure so close to bursting in his gut, and begins to fuck your face. It’s unrelenting and brutal, your teeth grazing his cock as the wood creaks under his free hand, and it’s all you can do not to climb up his body and beg him to fuck you. To just rolls your hips and rub your thighs together as Ben watches you under lidded eyes, his words barely a growl and his cock twitching as drool falls out of your mouth.

“Fucking Christ,” he groans, slamming you down on him until your nose hit his abdomen, your nails curling in his skin. “So fucking good, darling, fucking beautiful, goddamn perfect, smart fucking mouth stuffed full of me, going to make you taste me for a hundred fucking years, fuck-“

Ben’s orgasm crashes through you like a storm, washing all of you away and turning everything into Ben. His cum hot and sticky on your tongue and down your throat, his eyes flashing as he loosens his grip and pulls you off of him with a pop. Big, careful hands wiping a stray drop of his release from lip before smearing it over your cheek, and a deep voice like a song chuckling when you moan stupidly at the gesture.

“Like that, Sunshine?” He mutters, his face drawn in amusement but his touch and tone reverent. “Like me fucking marking you?”

You whimper of his name, and Ben shakes his head in slight disbelief, his hunger already ravenous in his body. 

“Already so fucked out you can’t damn speak?” Ben’s hand in your hair drifts down as he lowers down to his knees, pulling you into his arms and scanning over your face with a narrowed gaze. “Need to hear you, darling. Fucking words-“

“Fuck me.“ You whimper, because your body has decided to listen to Ben over anything else. “Please.”

Ben’s face is predatory. It’s made of the hunger in his body and this raw adoration that’s roaring in your chest. There are promises in his eyes, darkened and starving and primal, and his attention and touch seem to be searing into your skin. All of him is focused on you—Ben’s always just focused on you—and he’s massive and safe and warm, so you might have a small, mind-numbing orgasm just from his hands rubbing firm patterns on your skin and the growling promise of his voice.

“I need a minute,” he grunts, keeping you steady in his arms as he moves you onto the bed, laying you flat on the mattress. “But darling,” his mouth curving into a smirk as he takes you in, already writhing under him, your underwear soaked and expression slack with need. “I’m not fucking stupid enough to tell you no.”

“Ben,” you reach up, trying fruitlessly to grab his shirt and pull him down to you. “Please-“

“Fucking patience, beautiful.” Ben rises fully up, his eyes never leaving yours as he pulls off his shirt, his grin only growing as your hips jump off the bed from the sight of him. “Fuck, you want me that damn bad-“

“Yes, Ben, need you, I-” You cut yourself off with a gasp as Ben drops to his knees on the mattress, shoving your knees apart with a low grunt and ripping of your panties without effort. “Fuck-“

“Christ,” he mutters your name, running a finger over the lips of your pussy, his hand on your inner thigh tightening as you moan. “You’re fucking soaked. So fucking wet, Sunshine, fucking wrecked and I’ve barely touched you-“

“Ben,” you grab his hand, trying to hold it against you as you grind onto his fingers. “God, please-“

He yanks his hand away, and you make a long sound of desperation at the loss, but you’ve barely started squirming when you feel his mouth latch onto your clit, one hand planted on your stomach to keep you pinned down as he begins to suck. 

Your whole body lights up. Ben’s tongue keeps drawing circles around and over you, his teeth bumping whenever his lips pull you far enough in, and you’re not even sure you remember how to moan. All you know how to do is pull at Ben’s hair and try to fly off the mattress, to hump his face as his beard brushed your thighs and the pressure on your clit becomes painfully blissful, perfect torture, and to moan words that are supposed to be pleas and screams of Ben, Ben, Ben, fuck, please, Ben, fuck, Ben, I love you-

Love you too, Sunshine. Ben growls against you, and it vibrates over your pussy and makes your eyes roll back in your head. Taste so fucking good, need you to squirt on my goddamn face- Your body obeys, something snapping and rushing through your body as Ben groans around your clit and pushes a finger into your cunt, crooking it and playing that one spot inside you until you’re a moaning, dripping mess under his touch.

And he doesn’t stop. Your eyes blur with dizzying relief and you’re wet over his beard and skin, but Ben just keeps going. He starts to flick and nip, to pump that finger inside of you, and your mouth falls open with a strangled noise as you cum again. Your thighs start to crush his face, your hips bucking and rolling in the bed, and fuck it feels so good, you can’t really think but you know this is good, and Ben doesn’t stop. He goes and goes and goes, growing sloppier and rough on your pussy as you come apart over and over and over. You’re flying and falling and singing and drowning in Ben, touching you so right your brain is fuzzy and your whole body is just for Ben. For his hands and tongue and teeth and lips to devour, to try and pull inside you as you scream and unravel for him, as he ruins you- 

When he pulls away, your jaw is slack and your face might just be an open, drunken expression of Ben.

“You’re good.” Ben reappears in your vision, his handsome face coated in your release and his attention so devout—eyes searching over your face, voice low and firm, hands drifting over you like you were made for him to touch—that all you can do is whimper.

Ben, please. Just, you thrust your hips up, the movement uncoordinated and jerked. Fuck me, please-

His nostrils flare, his hands stilling on your body. “You want fucking more?”

You nod, flushing slightly, and Ben groans.

“Christ, you’re fucking perfect.” He presses a slow, long, kiss to your lips, chuckling when your lips fall open without thought. “You’ll never fucking understand, Sunshine, you’re-“ He cuts himself off, rising up to grin at you. “Fuck, you’re so good. Fucking love you.” He dives down to your neck, sucking and biting at that spot until you’re wiggling under him. “Love you so much it’s going to fucking kill me-“

Love you too, Ben, I- You almost scream as he moves to your breasts, ripping off the bra to pinch at once nipple as his mouth latches onto the other. God, Ben, please just fuck me, you fucking asshole-

He rises back up with mocking, raised brows. “Words. Tell me what you want.”

“You.” Your voice is hoarse, barely even a breath. “Please, Ben, I want you-“

He hums, and you gasp as the head of his cock nudges at your entrance. “You want my cock? Want me to fuck that perfect pussy until you’re screaming?”

“Yes,” you whisper. “Yes please.”

“Say it.”

You swallow, your nails digging into the bare skin of his back. “I want your cock. I want you to fuck me until I scream. Please-“

Ben’s mouth slams down into yours right as he thrusts fully into your already raw, aching pussy without warning, and you’re already on the brink of another orgasm. You’re so full, and Ben’s right up against that deepest spot, and his kisses are bruising but his hands on your skin are so careful, and he tastes like salt and vanilla and Ben-

Then he starts to move, and it’s a miracle you can still breathe. His hips snap, skin slapping against yours and cock hammering into your abused and weeping cunt, and you’re scratching at his skin and grinding into his movements but it’s still not enough. It might never be enough. You might be able to die here, with Ben deep inside you, with his own hunger and need so powerful he’s only groaning into your ear, any praise low and slurred.

“Feel so fucking good,” Ben rolls his hips as he hits that spongey spot inside you, and you whine. “So tight, Sunshine, so tight and warm and good, fucking perfect, so fucking pretty and good and perfect-“

You squeeze around him, and his head falls to your brow, his movements becoming rough and uneven.

“Best fucking pussy in the goddamn world, you’re, fuck, fucking love you, want to fucking live here, want to fucking worship this perfect fucking pussy until you’re fucking ruined-“

You’re already ruined. Ben’s stretching you out and fucking you so good you can only stare at him and take it with the hope that he can feel all of your thirst and need for him. You think he can, because you whimper a sound that’s meant to be his name, and Ben’s mouth returns to yours. This kiss is almost gentle. Passionate and deep with Ben’s tongue down your throat and your mouth hanging open for him to take whatever he wants, but laced with pure love and edged with how he’s rutting into you like a dog.

Then one of his hands glides between your bodies, over your stomach, and between your legs. Two strong fingers pinch at your clit, and you might have died and been reborn in the same moment as you cum, dragging Ben with you. You’re high on him, on his growls and groans down your throat as his stuttered movements as he fucks you through your orgasms. Everything is warm and hazy and Ben, and all you can remember how to do is lay there, breathe, and smile.

Ben brushes hair from your face, his ring cool on your skin, and his eyes are carving right into the deep, most delicate part of you. A part of him you always offer him, and a part he always keeps safe and tended to.

You’re-

I’m good. Your smile widens, and you manage to raise your hands up to cup Ben’s face. Really, really good.  

He nods, wrapping an arm around your waist and rolling you both over. “Fuck,” Ben presses a kiss to the side of your head, rubbing patterns on your skin as you shift above him. “I love you, Sunshine. More than goddamn anything.”

“I know.” And you do. If you’re sure of anything, you’re sure Ben loves you. That he’s yours just as much as you’re his. That you could give him everything, and he’d still find a way to give you more. “I love you too.”

You lay there for a moment, just inhaling Ben and letting him settle into a strong, pious hum in your chest. You drift off into an easy sleep that hardly feels like a blink, and when you wake up there’s light leaking through the windows and a massive weight over your body.

It’s always a little amusing when he does this. When, somehow, without fail, Ben manages to roll on top of you almost every night. Wrapping his arms around your waist, burying his face between your breasts, and snoring so loud it rolls through your bones. It would be a miracle you ever got any sleep, but he’s also warm and safe and touching you so carefully you’d never choose to be anywhere else.

You’re careful not to wake him as you twist to check the time, and any sleep vanishes from your body as you read the little number on the clock.

“Ben.” You hiss, shaking him slightly above you. “Benjamin.”

He makes a low grumbling sound, tightening his grip around you and tugging himself impossibly closer to your body. 

“Benjamin, wake up, we’re, shit-” You give up on trying to wake him gently, grabbing his face between your hands and raising it level with yours. “Ben!”

Ben grunts, and it’s the grunt that means you’ve got him. His hands start to knead slow patterns on your hips, his eyes still drooping as he yawns, and it would be the most adorable thing you’d ever seen if he wasn’t being so slow.

“What the fuck is going on.” He grumbles, slowly scanning over you with a small frown that turns urgent when he sees the wide-eyed expression on your face. “Are you-“

“I’m fine.” You pull him up to kiss his nose, and that seems to ease the hot, vigilant fury in his body back to concrete protection wrapped easily around your skin. “I’m good, my love. But we’re late.”

Ben scowls. “Late to-“

“Butcher’s.” You give him a pointed look. “Ryan.”

“Fuck, what time-“ Ben pushes himself up on his arms to read the clock, and drops himself back down with a scowl. “We’re not fucking late, Sunshine, we’ve got an hour-“

“Which for us is basically ten minutes-“

“It’s a fucking hour-“

“Benjamin.” You grab his face back between your hands, raising your brows slightly. “Can you honestly look me in the eyes and tell me you think we’ll be able to wake up, get dressed, grab gifts, and drive to Butcher’s all in an hour? And-“ You roll your hips slightly, Ben’s proud morning wood poking into your thigh. “Keep in mind I might be willing to help you with your problem if you’re honest.”

Ben rolls his eyes, but there’s a glow over his ribs and rough affection rooted deep in his muscles when he sits up, hauling you to flop onto his chest. “Brat,” he mutters pulling you into a long, slow kiss that makes your brain happy and fuzzy, and doesn’t help the situation at all. “Butcher knows we’ll be late. Told him to tell Ryan whatever time you told him, plus an extra hour.”

You blink at him for a second, then shove his chest. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that-“

“Because,” he catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “You thought we had an hour, got us up early as shit, and now we have all the goddamn time in the world for you to help me with my problem.”

You wish he wasn’t right. That he wasn’t such a stupidly good husband, that you could at least pretend to maintain the illusion of being shrouded in mystery, having some sort of intriguing allure to him. But he also doesn’t seem to really fucking care about that. Ben seems to be more than happy knowing all of you, because there’s a wide, smug grin on his face and a radiance pounding in his chest that’s golden and molten and folds you into him without resistance. Ben doesn’t want allure, and you can’t really find it in yourself to really want it either. Not when he starts to squeeze your ass and suck on your neck until you’re moaning and squirming in his arms. Not when he does know you, so painfully fucking well, that he gets you to cum three times before you’re out of bed. Once his fingers and twice on his cock, throwing in a fourth when you’re half-dressed and he backs you up against the wall, pressing his knee between your thighs and watching you chase relief with an ardor and devotion in his blood and a look of awe in his eyes.

After that you have to make a no sex for the rest of the day rule, giving him a stern glare he shrugs off as you shuffle off to take your second shower and Ben sets out all the gifts for inventory. 

He’s standing at the edge of the bed when you get back, frowning at the bags before him. 

“We’re missing three,” he grunts as you join him, hanging slightly off his arm as you scan over the bed. “Should be seven.”

You shake your head. “No, this is right. You said one of Ryan’s was too big to transport, and I dropped the Secret Santa gifts off with Ryan last night.”

Ben pauses, still glowering at the bed, then nods and starts to grab as much as he can hold—which is all of it—to move to the car, pressing a kiss to your brow before vanishing through the door.

You don’t get to drive. Ben grabs the keys while you’re in Ryan’s room, feeding Bowser, and the asshole is standing at the car with a smirk when you stomp outside. You’d push him on it more, but you’ve never been more okay with not driving in your life. Everything is a blur of cold white, the pavement coated in black ice, and you hate the winter. No amount of stupid holidays are ever going to be able to fix how much you hate the winter. It’s too sterile, too blinding, too cold. So fucking cold.

And Ben knows that. It’s why his grip on your thigh is firmer than usual, his speed a little reckless to get you out of the car that’s heated, but still too cold. Metal that bites your skin and glass that still radiates a chill when your skin gets too close to it. Which that means you can just talk to Ben, and pretend there’s not cracks on your skull that open up a little more when you’re frozen. 

“MM said he’ll be there early as well,” you hum, playing with Ben’s hand between your own. “He’s heading up to New York to see his daughter tonight, but he wants to make sure his gift gets given.”

Ben grunts. “You know who his is?”

“No, Ben, because it’s a secret-“

“Stupid fucking secret.” He grumbles, glowering at the road. “You’re never going to tell me what your damn surprise was-“

“Not if you keep bringing it up.” You smile at him, dropping your head on his shoulder. “Then it won’t really be a surprise. You’ll be ready for it.”

Ben frowns. “So it’s for me.”

“Obviously.”

“But not your Santa shit.”

You shake your head, biting your lip to stop a wide, stupid grin from overtaking your face. “Not my Santa shit. And don’t ask me who my person is-“

“Don’t have to.” Ben shrugs, parking on the curb outside Butcher’s apartment. “It’s fucking Hughie.”

You only hum. “Well, I guess you’ll have to find out with everyone else in two hours.”

Ben rolls his eyes, climbing out the car and carefully guiding you upstairs with an arm around your shoulders. Ryan’s waiting for you when you knock on the door, dragging you into a hug before you can even really see him. 

“Merry Christmas!” Ryan moves to Ben, and you giggle at the low grunt that escapes Ben’s mouth from the force of the hug. “Do you-“

“Brought all the gifts.” Ben says, giving Butcher a curt nod over Ryan’s head. “In the car. I’ll go back down-“

“Nah, Gov. I’ve got it.” Butcher moves to the door, giving you an awkward pat on the shoulder as he passes by. It shoots something sore, but not rotten or painful, through your body, and there’s an edge of something still and quiet over it. It’s like rest, where Butcher had previously be hateful and bloodied, and it’s better than most anything you’ve felt from him before.

Ben and Butcher exchange low words about getting the gifts as Ryan shuffles over to your side, and when Ben starts to feel hot and loud in your chest you clear your throat, raising your brows at them.

“What if you both get them?” You try to hide the slightly amusement in your voice, and you don’t really succeed. “That couldn’t hurt.”

There’s a moment where they both look like they’re going to protest, but MM’s voice calls from somewhere deeper in the apartment, cutting them off. “Both you alpha male motherfuckers better go get the gifts, or you’re not eating my goddamn delicious gingerbread!”

It works. Ben and Butcher shuffle out the door with low grumbles like they’re teenage boys being sent to their room for bad behavior, and you smile down at Ryan, letting him guide you into the kitchen.

MM gives you a mumbled greeting—mostly focused on the food and not letting anyone interrupt his process—as Ryan tugs you over to Butcher’s table, where a large gingerbread house is on display in the center.

“Look!” He gestures proudly, and your smile might consume your face. “Isn’t it cool! Butcher did all the crackers, but I did everything else. And you can eat it. All of it.”

You nod, and pretend to inspect the house like it’s the most important thing you’ve ever seen. It might be. “Did you use-“

“Licorice!” Ryan points to the roof, lined with black licorice. “They’re gutters. It was MM’s idea, he said houses need drainage.”

You shoot MM an amused look over your shoulder. “Drainage?”

“You ever dealt with water damage?”

“No,” you shrug. “But this is the first time I’ve ever owned a house.”

“Fuck, that’s right.” MM frowns. “Ben teaching you all the shit about upkeep-“

You nod, even if it’s not the full truth. Ben will guide you outside to point at the roof and ask you why should we be worried about that, Sunshine, and you’ll offer an answer that’s usually correct, and he’ll tell you how to fix it. But then he fixes it, because you’re not really good at it and he always grumbles that your hands shouldn’t be dirty. If you really want to know he’ll just break whatever was wrong again and let you fix it yourself, but he tends to hover—big and warm around you, muscles flexing and face so ruggedly handsome covered in grease and dirt—and you just end up almost fucking in broad daylight. And it doesn’t really matter, because you love watching Ben do stupid, domestic shit like that. Fixing your house, that you live in and own with him, that he wants to take care of because that’s taking care of you and Ryan.

When Ben and Butcher return, you think that might be why you love the sight of him with three boxes in his arms—Butcher scowling behind him with only one—and a little snow still melting in his hair. It’s so easy and normal and boring, but still Ben. Still full of the wrathful, focused love he’s always had when he dumps the gifts on Butcher’s couch and pulls you into his arms for a deep, heavy kiss that makes your head spin and your knees shake, but now lined with something easier. Something that’s set so deeply in it’s barely noticeable, but that you can feel in yourself as well. Comfort. Real comfort seeped into your heart because there’s no fear it’s going to be taken away. Nothing could ever take this—take Ben—away from you. Nothing could ever even dare to try.

Ryan bounces over to the gifts, sorting through them with a bright-eyed focus and pulling out one that you know is for Ben, and another that you assume is for Butcher. He shuffles up to you wide a wide, nervous expression, his voice soft when he says your name. 

“I, um, I did get you something. But it’s at home. I can wait, or tell you now-“

“Do you want to wait or tell me now?” You ask, giving Ryan a soft smile that seems to ease some of his anxiety, because his voice becomes a little more confident.

“Tell you now.”

You nod in encouragement, and Ryan swallows.

“It’s a bush. A butterfly bush. They, um, attract butterflies? And Ben helped me pick it out, and he said we should get the pink one. They’re kind of easy to take care of, I think, but-“

You pull Ryan into a long, firm hug, cutting off his spiraling. “Thank you,” you whisper, and you’ve never really meant it more. “I love it, Ry. Really.”

Ryan seems to believe you, because he squeezes you tighter and grins before moving to Ben, standing tall and silent at your side. 

“This is for you,” he passes Ben the larger of the two boxes, and turns to Butcher. “And you.”

They both grunt thanks, and you don’t both to hide your smile as you watch Ben open his. Ryan had come to you with the idea a few weeks ago, and you’d bought it the next day because it was an amazing idea. You’d known that because you know Ben, but if there was any phantom doubt inside you it’s erased when he flares in your body, and you know he’s seen the gift.

“Fucking Christ,” he mutters, and that’s a positive fucking Christ. That’s the one where he thinks what he’s seeing is a little too good, and can’t really believe his eyes. “Ryan, you got this for me?”

Ryan says your name, rolling on his feet as he watches Ben with wide eyes. “Um, she bought it. But it was my idea. Do you like it-“

“I fucking love it.” Ben mutters, and Ryan looks like he might burst with pride. You might burst with pride, because Ben whole existence in your body is just unrestrained, furious joy. His hands are so careful as he pulls out the refurbished Gramophone, glossy and bronze, complete with the stupid horn. You don’t own any vinyl’s right now, but you’ll find some. For the look of child-like joy on Ben’s face, you’ll buy a whole record store. He’s not crying, but there’s a look of softness that’s glazing over his eyes, his voice is a little hoarse, and you know it’s the closest you’ll get right now. “Good work, kid,” he mutters, running a hand over the polished wood. “Really fucking good.”

Ryan nods, shifting slightly on his feet, and you’re about to kick Ben’s shin in a silent reminder when he sets the gift down and opens his arms, pulling Ryan into a hug you’re sure would kill anyone else, but just makes Ryan’s smile wider and whole body relax. 

Butcher clears his throat, holding about five Hawaiian shirts in his hands. “I like mine too,” he mutters. “Nice fuckin shirts. Good material-“

Ryan grabs Butcher in an equally rib-breaking hug, and there’s only a brief moment of shock on the man’s face before he returns it. Ben takes the moment to grab his and your gift for Ryan, waiting until Butcher’s released to all but shove them into Ryan’s hands. 

“From me,” Ben point to one box, then the other. “From her.”

Ryan nods, dropping onto the couch as he opens Ben’s first. He’s barely halfway through carefully peeling the paper when a third one gets added to the pile, dropped by Butcher.

“Got a few more,” Butcher mutters. “Mostly just some of your mums old shit. Neuman got it with the Vought raids, should be fuckin yours anyway.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Ryan swallows, and when you pull away from Ben to sit at his side, he’s filled with an aching, heavy grief in his lungs, but a little lighter in his heart. And it’ll be like that for a while. But it’s better than even a month ago, and that’s more than enough for you.

Butcher grunts, making a loose nod for Ryan to continue on Ben’s gift, and you don’t have to look up to know Ben’s moved behind the couch. Only a second later his hand on your shoulder as he leans down to kiss the top of your head, and you hold him there as Ryan finally discards all the wrapping paper. 

“It’s built for people like us,” Ben explains as Ryan pulls out a brand-new, firm baseball glove. “Had Frenchie make it, so it shouldn’t fucking break or tear like that pussy shit at the school. Got it a few sizes too large, so you can grow into it.”

“Thank, Ben.” Ryan whispers, giving Ben a wide, toothy grin that you feel spark and glow in Ben’s chest. “I love it.”

Ben grunts as Ryan turns to Butcher’s gift, and you lean backwards to give him an amused smile.

Are you abusing Frenchie’s services? First my books, now Ryan’s glove-

I just fucking asked, Ben glares at you, his mouth tugging slightly upwards. Not my fault the pussy said yes.

Okay. You give him a look of fake, overly sweet innocence. Whatever you say, Benjamin, my love.

He rolls his eyes, running his thumb over your knuckles. Brat.

Cunt. You return your attention to Ryan, watching Butcher with wide eyes as he explains how the book in Ryan’s hands was one of Becca’s favorites, and that there hadn’t been a copy in the boxes Neuman turned over. Ryan’s nodding, looking happier and happier by the second, and when he finally turns to the last gift—your gift—you think your nail might be trying to break into your skin. He’ll love the gift. You’re pretty sure he’ll love the gift. You’re usually pretty good at gifts, but you kind of have a cheat-code with Ben, and there’s a slim chance you might have gotten Ryan’s wrong-

Ryan lets out a small gasp when he opens the box, and it sounds good. His excitement looks real. But it might not be. What if it’s not-

Breathe, Sunshine. Ben mutters in your head, squeezing his hand against you. Look at him, he fucking loves it.

He does look like he loves it. Ryan’s holding the Kindle in light hands, his mouth slightly open and his eyes shining as he turns to you. 

“I put some books on it already,” you say, leaning around him to turn the device on, trying not to be knocked out by the sheer fucking happiness in Ryan’s body. “And we can buy more. You’re allowed to take it to school, and keep it in your room, but you do still need sleep-”

Ryan sets the kindle carefully on his lap, and pulls you into a long, tight hug. His head buried in your chest, his arms around your waist, his strength obviously controlled enough not to snap you in half.

“Thank you,” he mumbles against your shirt. “And I promise I’ll still sleep.”

You huff a small laugh, squeezing him back. “Thank you. Merry Christmas, Ry.”

Everyone else arrives not long after that. You’re not entirely sure why you’d all agreed to do this at Butcher’s, because no one seems to really be benefiting—It’s loud enough that Ryan shuffles off to his room to read, busy enough that Butcher’s always shouting at someone not to touch something, and crowded enough that you’re all a little on top of each other—but you’re all here, and that’s what matters. You’re curled into Ben’s lap on one side of the couch, Hughie and Annie on the other sie, Butcher glaring at you all from his chair as Frenchie and Kimiko sit cross legged on the floor. There’s no talk of death or pain or blood, only sharing old stories about previous Christmases—Butcher once had to play baby Jesus in the naivety, and he doesn’t seem to find that half as funny as you do—and talking about the easier parts of work. Frenchie’s missing an eyebrow because of a flamethrower incident. Annie got to yell at someone in Singer’s cabinet last week. Ben broke the printer again.

Again? You grin at him, and he scowls.

It’s a stupid fucking machine, why design something with so many goddamn buttons that doesn’t even work half the time-

Benjamin, how many times have you broken the printer? 

There’s a pause, and then, Twelve.

You gape at him slightly, Holy shit, Ben, just let Kimiko print things-

I fucking do, but she can be busy, and I’m not just going to sit on my goddamn ass like a fucking pussy-

You pull him down into a long, soft kiss, opening for him when he presses his tongue on your lower lip, humming when his hands resume their slow patterns on your thighs.

Grumpy. You whisper between your head, and Ben snorts.

Shut the fuck up, Sunshine, you-

“We’re eating in 20,” MM’s voice cuts through the air, and when you pull away from Ben he’s standing in the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed. “Let’s do the gift shit now, so I can get on the road right after.”

Everyone nods, and slowly makes their way back to Butcher’s table, cluttered with the Secret Santa gifts. You all sort through them, passing each other the bags and boxes tagged with your names and holding onto them until you’ve all sat, gifts in your laps.

“I guess, uh,” Hughie looks around the group, scratching the back of his neck. “We can just go in a circle? MM, do you want to-“

MM grunts an agreement, not waiting any further before he carefully removes the paper from his bag, sets it off the side, and pulls out two paper tickets. 

“Children’s science museum.” He reads off of them aloud, looking around the group with a frown before settling on you, and grunting your name.

You shake your head. “No, but that does sound like something I’d do. Are they-“

“For the Boston one,” MM mutters, scanning over the rest of the group. “Annie?”

She nods, a wide smile breaking over her face. “That’s supposed to be the best one on this coast, I thought you could take Janine while you’ve got her for the new year.”

“She’d like that,” MM mutters, giving Annie a grateful nod. “Thanks.”

Butcher clears his throat, making it clear that he’s next, and you realize that—if you keep going in a circle—you’ll be penultimate, and Ben will be going last. Good. It’ll help.

Butcher’s not nearly as careful with his packaging as MM was, tossing the bag’s paper aside without thought and freezing slightly when he sees what’s inside. His glare shoots to Hughie, who’s watching with a slightly red face.

“This you, lad?”

“Uh, no-“

“MM?”

MM shakes his head, and Butcher glowers around the rest of the table. Frenchie and Kimiko seem to take pity on him, shaking their heads and leaving Butcher’s scowl on you and Ben. You give a half-hearted shrug and jerk of your head to Ben, and Butcher scoffs.

“Ain’t no bleedin way it’s the old cunt.” Butcher glares at Ben, who tilts his chin up and tenses at your side. “I don’t believe it-“

“Start believing it, you fucking pussy.” Ben snaps. “Tell her you’re welcome.”

Ben nods to you, and you sigh. If you’re being honest, you’d seen this coming. But you still have to pretend to be annoyed with Ben and act like you’re not completely turned on by the way he’s rubbing your thigh, filled with love and pride, and holding you against him like you’re the most important thing in the world. You have to glare at him, and sell the act that you don’t want to grab his stupid handsome face—glowering at Butcher like he can’t believe the man’s nerve—and kiss him until he groans, pins you to the table, and fucks you stupid.

“What do you mean thank her,” MM looks between you and Ben with a narrowed gaze. “Which one of you got Butcher the gift-“

“I did.” You mumble, giving MM an apologetic grimace. “But it was Ben’s name. He told me though, I didn’t ask, and he doesn’t know mine-“

“What is it?” Hughie leans over Butcher, frowning at the bag. “A dog collar?”

“I found Terror.” You explain, chewing the inside of your cheek until it might bleed. “There should be a card in there as well, with a number. You can call it and get him back, if you want. If not it’s just kind of, uh, a dog collar.”

“Ah.” Butcher looks between the collar, now in his hand, and the bag, his words a little lower than before as he turns back to you, something flashing in his eyes that might be a real, good emotion. “Thanks.”

Everyone seems to forgive Ben for breaking the rules immediately—you don’t think they had a lot of faith in him to begin with, which you’d be angrier about if they hadn’t been so entirely correct—and move on to Hughie, but you whack Ben’s chest, glaring up at him.

What the fuck, Benjamin.

It was a good fucking gift, Sunshine, you deserve the credit-

I didn’t care about the credit, dummy.

Well, I fucking do. Ben presses a kiss on the space between your eyes, right where it’s wrinkled from your glower. They should be thanking you all the damn time. 

You wrinkle your nose at him, but smile when his lips move down to your own, the kiss sweet and gentle, letting you sit in the taste of coffee and strawberries in his mouth, drown in the best possible way in Ben, warm and strong and all around you.

When you look back to the group, Hughie’s holding a small, strange device in his hands, having already made his guess and frowning at Frenchie’s explanation.

“Petite Hughie, you are not understanding. You can listen to Billy Joel entire catalogue of music, all on this!”

“So it’s, uh,” Hughie glances down at the device, shoved into his hands. “An iPod?”

“Non, it is a Billy Joel Musical Player.”

“Oh.” Hughie nods slowly, and you and Annie exchange a wide-eyed expression of we can’t laugh. You don’t succeed—breaking out into muffled giggles, Hughie shooting you both glares as he pats Frenchie nervously on the shoulder—but it’s the effort that counts.

After that, with slightly more limited options, it goes a little faster. Butcher got Annie tickets to a pop concert, insisting that she takes photos of Hughie looking awkward and nervous. Frenchie opens his bag to find only a key, and—after guessing Kimiko twice—learns that MM got him a large amount of completely illegal chemicals from questionable sources, only asking that Frenchie try not to murder anyone. Frenchie just shrugs, but before MM can demand a more solid no murder promise, Kimiko is ripping into her own bag, pulling out two Broadway tickets, and pointing to you with a wide smile. When you shake your head her attention moves to Hughie, who nods and tentatively signs that he tried to have them for Decembruary, but they don’t do singing until Walk, and he’ll pay for their sleeping.

That leaves you and Ben. You raise your brows at Kimiko, having done the math, and she gives you a bright smile, gesturing to the bag in your hand as he signs. Open it!

You nod, and find a disgusting wad of cash and sheet of paper with I promise I can cover written out in slightly uneven letters, signatures from Kimiko, Frenchie, Annie, and Hughie at the bottom. Ben frowns as he reads it over your shoulder, and when you look up to Kimiko with raised brows, her smile grows. 

You and Ben never got a real honeymoon. She gestures, and you feel Ben tense slightly at your side. You think he recognized his name. I didn’t know where you’d want to go, so I just gave you money for it. We’re going to cover you at work, and you can finally do that.

You don’t bother to put the card down when you pull Kimiko into a long, tight hug, basking in the genuine, bright sensation that’s in her hands and teeth when you touch. Affection for just you, and something that’s a little more wired, but still warm, for Ben. 

“Thank you,” you whisper in her ear, squeezing her once. “That’s amazing, Kimiko. Thank you so much.”

Kimiko just hugs you back—hard enough to bruise if you could be bruised—and Ben’s hand snakes onto your back, rubbing up your spine with warm, careful hands.

What the fuck is it.

I’ll tell you later. You pull back from Kimiko with one last smile, returning your gaze to Ben with a joy you know he must feel, because it’s too big to be kept in your blood. Open your gift, Ben.

He grunts, glaring around the table, and you know the exact moment it hit him. He sits a little taller, his hand stilling on your body, and something golden bursts and sings in his chest. 

You had fucking Hughie. 

Did I? You make a dramatic look of fake thought, unable to contain the grin on your face. I thought Frenchie did?

Ben’s eyes narrow on yours. Did you fucking rig it-

Me?! You gape at him, your smile full on idiotic now. Rig something? Benjamin, how dare you even imply-

He snorts, leaning down to pull you into a teasing, too-chaste kiss. Brat. 

Cunt. Your reply is a little weak in your head, most of your mind focused on Ben’s hands, opening the box with your gift inside. Ben, wait, I’m going have to explain it-

Ben pulls out the shirt, frowning at the bright words over the graphic of genetic, vanilla ice cream in a cone. “Bassets Ice- Fuck, this place is still open?”

MM frowns. “What place.”

Ben turns the shirt for MM to read, his eyes still on you. “Why the fuck did you get me an ice cream shirt.”

“All dad’s should have weird brand-shirts, Benjamin.” You mumble, leaning a little into his side. “It’s a hallmark. My father had a sriracha shirt.”

MM nods off to the side. “Hasbro.” 

“Ford.” Hughie adds, frowning into the air. “My dad didn’t even like cars.”

“See?” You gesture around the table, suddenly slightly nervous he won’t like it. He has to like it. If Ben doesn’t like it, you watched five hours of old Solider Boy interviews—watched Ben not be Ben, wearing that stupid helmet and grinning at the camera in a way you know is fake—for nothing. “And it’s, um, it’s not just the shirt-“

Ben grunts your name in your head, drawing a firm pattern on your thigh. Calm the fuck down. If it’s just a shirt, it’s a damn good shirt-

It’s date! You blurt, grabbing his hand and keeping it pressed on your skin. You said in the 50s that Bassets was your favorite ice cream shop growing up, and you didn’t say it like you said all the other lies, so I thought maybe that it was true and we could go get some ice cream there or something. And then, um, just kind of fuck around? Whatever you want, it’s your date, and it doesn’t have to be ice cream-

Ben, in an act of mercy, wraps an arm fully around your waist and pulls you onto his lap, kissing you long and heavy and deep until you’re slack against him, your arms around his neck and your whole body filled with only Ben’s thunderous love. 

It’ll be ice cream, he mutters in your head, squeezing the skin of your hips. And we can always fuck around, Sunshine. 

Horny- You swallow down a moan when his hand moves to your ass, only vaguely aware of your friends, now faded into the background. Horny old cunt-

I fucking hope so, darling, I’ve got a perfect wife who needs to be fucked stupid later-

MM clears his throat, and you pull away from Ben with a high, slightly whining gasp. “You two either get a room,” he mutters. “Or stop fucking Frenching each other at the goddamn table. Where we’re about to eat.”

You flush, mumbling an apology as you push off of Ben to go get Ryan, pretending you can’t feel the hot, cocky pride and hunger in Ben’s body that feels like another promise. 

Dinner is quick and easy. The rest of the night is quick and easy. MM put together a feast that could probably feed twenty people, but over half the table is made up of supes, so there are only clean plates with no leftovers. MM rolls his eyes, grumbles about being surrounded by a bunch of animals, and leaves for New York with tight hugs and firm nods. From there, it’s all drinks that only send a slight buzz of warmth through your body—Frenchie tells you he spiked yours and Ben’s, the fact that you can feel anything at all likely a sign that he may have just used straight crack—and a game of poker that devolves into threats, cursing and near-injury remarkably fast. You fold quickly, joining Ryan in the corner as he reads, and as the day creeps on into night you’re mostly just happy. Ryan’s slumping slightly at your side, your hand in his hair as you watch Ben call a pale-faced Hughie a pussy-assed lying motherfucker for the fifth time that game, and lose the game for the seventh time tonight.

And it’s easy. Hughie doesn’t flinch at Ben’s words, and Ryan doesn’t cower at the raised voice. He just yawns, eyes drooping slightly, and keeps trying to read when you can feel the daze of sleep creeping over his brain. 

You look up at Ben—glowering at Butcher as he deals the next hand—and he must feel your eyes because he turns in barely a moment.

What- Ben’s eyes land on Ryan, his frown deepening slightly, and looks back to you in a silent question you’ll always understand.

I’m okay, but I think I’d like to go home. You mumble between your heads, fighting a yawn of your own. You can finish the game though-

Ben shoots to his feet, and before you even know what’s happening he’s at your side, scooping a completely asleep Ryan up in his arms. 

“We’re leaving,” he says to no one in particular, glaring around the room at the scattered gifts and down to Ryan in his arms. “One of you pussies-“

“I’ll get the gifts,” you stand up, blinking away sleepiness from your eyes. “Annie, could you please start the car for us? It’s cold and I don’t want Ryan to wake up-“

Annie nods, grabbing Ben’s keys from the table and pulling Hughie with her out the door. Ben doesn’t fight you as you gather the gifts into one bag, but you can feel him tracking your every move, waiting for you to so much as stumble so he can insist you let him carry everything. But when Hughie returns—saying Annie’s waiting by the car—you’re on steady feet, and every good night is a warm hug, soft joke, and smile. Even Butcher lets you give him a strange, uncoordinated side-hug and nods at Ben with a respect that doesn’t seem forced. 

Downstairs, Annie gives you one last hug as Ben loads Ryan into the car, and the night is done. The drive home is short, Ben not helping your bid to remain awake by rubbing your thigh and humming something that you think is supposed to be a lullaby, low and off-key. He’s a little faster than you are, somehow getting Ryan and the gifts, opening the door, and refusing to walk upstairs until you’re clinging to his arm.

Get in bed, Sunshine, he mutters, kissing the top of your head outside your room. I��ll be there soon. 

You nod, shuffling through the door and not bothering with the dresser. You shed your clothing like they’re poison on your skin, pull on one of Ben’s shirts—cast thoughtlessly onto the bed—and crawl between the sheets to wait for him to return, wallowing in the smell of pine until he does.

He frowns when he sees you, his words low and stern. “You need to fucking sleep, darling-“

“No.” You shake your head, reaching for him a little pathetically. “Need you. More gifts.”

Ben shakes his head, pulling off his shirt as he joins you, a slight smirk on his stupid, handsome, amazing face. “You need me,” he drawls your name, and your thighs squeeze together slightly. “You have more perfect shit to give me-“

“Shut up,” you wrap your arms around his torso, burying your face in his chest. Maybe I do have more shit to give you-

“Good. I have more shit to give you,” Ben mutters, tugging lightly on your hair until you meet his gaze. “And I’m first.” 

You’re too tired to argue, so you let Ben shift you fully over his body, twisting your head to watch him reach into his bedside drawer and pull out two tickets.

“Everyone’s getting tickets,” you mumble, letting Ben pass them into your hands. “Are we going to see Frozen off Broadway?”

He frowns. “I don’t know what the fuck a Frozen is. These are for the opera.”

You blink at him, unsure if you heard correctly, and when you speak your voice is small. “The opera?”

Ben grunts an affirmation. “The internet said this one has cannons. And after they’re going to let us have the whole place, and you can sing, or we can dance or just fuck, but we’re not allowed to break shit or they’ll sue us.”

You want to kiss him. You want to pull his tongue into your mouth until he can’t ever stop tasting you, and let him push himself inside you until you’re melded together for the rest of time. But if you start that now you’ll never give him your gift, and it suddenly feels incredibly critical Ben sees your gift now.

“Do you want to know what my secret was?” You whisper, and something sparks in Ben’s chest.

“So it was a fucking secret-“

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Do you want to know or not, Benjamin-“

“Know.” He grumbles. “What the fuck was it-“

“Open my drawer.” You nod lazily to your bedside table, a little too drunk on Ben to move. “Please.”

He snorts, shaking his head, and any grumble of never having to fucking ask him please dies when he opens the drawer and sees what’s inside. 

“How the fuck…” Ben trails off, and you’ve never been more grateful for being able to sense his emotions than you are now. He’s reduced to silence because his love has turned to a roar in his body, and his head seems a little light from the raw joy and confusion clouding his skull.

“I got some old government files,” your voice is soft, scanning over Ben’s slack expression carefully. “Found your childhood home. Then I, um, I visited it and asked what they did with the old owners possessions. They said the government took a lot of it, so I made Neuman tell me where they were stored. I was, I was going through all the boxes, and I found that. And I’m just, I think I’m ready. Soon. When you are.”

Ben’s love becomes almost primal in your chest, but he still doesn’t look away from the baby blanket. His old baby blanket. Pastel green and soft, somehow not moth-ridden and unraveling, so small in Ben’s massive hand.

When he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “You’re sure.”

You nod, swallowing slightly. “I’m sure. I’ve been sure.” You trail your fingers over Ben’s beard, offering him a small smile when his attention returns. “I’m always sure of you, my love.”

That seems to be enough for Ben. He sets the blanket down with heartbreaking gentleness, and brings his lips to yours in a painfully loving and devout kiss. He doesn’t deepen it—even as his hunger becomes primal—only rubbing patterns on the back of your thighs and grinning against your mouth.

“If Ryan wasn’t asleep down the hall,” he growls into your mouth, igniting a heat in your lower gut. “We’d get started right fucking now. But,” he pulls your upper lip between his teeth, smirking at your soft moan. “I waited a hundred goddamn years for this, for you.” Ben says your name like it’s holy, and you can only grind weakly against him. “I can wait a few more nights.”

You nod, pulling away to give him a nervous smile. “So yes?”

“Fucking yes.” He grins, pulling you back into him. This kiss quicker, but filled with more undying heat and need, and it leaves you a little dizzy when he pulls away. “For you, darling, it’s always fucking yes.”

“Oh.” Sleep starts to catch you again, and you begin to sink fully into Ben. Warm and big and strong and Ben. “Good.”

“Damn right,” Ben grumbles, helping you squirm back down his chest. “I fucking love you. I’d have to have lost my goddamn mind to tell you no.”

“I love you too,” you hum, a little too lost in Ben to say much else. “Merry Christmas-“

“I think Christmas is fucking over, beautiful-“

“It’s not midnight,” you mumble, burying your face in his neck. “Take my Merry Christmas, Benjamin.”

Ben chuckles, running a hand through your hair and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Merry Christmas, Sunshine.”'

End Note: Happy Holidays Squad!!! Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the pure fluff and smut of this miniseries!! See you soon!

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

If you want to be tagged, just ask! (Separate from main taglist)

Taglist

@manicjk @lordofthunderthr @artemys-ackles @brtodd @ej13928

@deansbbyx @generalmoonpolice

[hotchnerwrites]

Wrapped In You

Pairing: Spencer Reid x f!reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Request: Hii I was wondering if you could do Spencer Reid x fem reader and it’s his first Christmas with you and your family thanks😁

Warnings: SFW, established!relationship, domestic fluff, no use of (y/n), mentions of social anxiety and related feelings, nervous Spencer, soft Spencer, found family trope if u squint, f!reader but can also be read as gn!reader

A/N: Merry Christmas @celineloves2dmen !!!! Here's my gift to you this season of joy :)))) I hope the wait wasn't too bad haha, I had a Situation at home ;-; Anyways, I was so happy to write for you, and I'm absolutely melting at the thought of Spencer having a family Christmas. Lord knows that boy has been through enough. I hope you like it!! Enjoy reading <3

PS. Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and consider this my gift to you <3 Sending all of you all my love.

Requests are open :) Send me stuff!

Dividers by @/prettygirl-gabi

Spencer had spent the better half of the last hour struggling to wrap presents. It was the first Christmas he would spend with your family, and the mix of excitement and nervousness in his chest felt like a strange but pleasant ball of tension. Spencer was used to spending Christmas alone, trudging through paperwork, or playing board games with his mother, who was never too big on festivals. But now, surrounded by twinkling lights and the scent of cinnamon, Spencer felt like he was in the right place. Which is why he desperately needed all of them to be pristine. All these gifts were meant for you and your family.

You had reassured him countless times that everything would go well. 

“You’re part of the family now, Spence,” you’d said with a soft smile, planting a soft kiss on his cheek and shoving a cup of eggnog in his hands. But Spencer couldn’t shake the feeling of being an outsider, unsure how to blend in with your traditions. As he struggled with the wrapping paper, you appeared in the room, wearing a sweater decorated with obnoxiously coloured baubles. 

“Spence, you ok over there? Need any help?” You called out. He looked up from the stack of gifts, eyes softening as they landed on you. The sight of you—so effortlessly beautiful and warm—settled his nerves like nothing else could. “I’m doing alright, I think,” he said with a small smile. “But I could use some guidance on this... wrapping paper. It’s... a little... rebellious.”

You cracked a smile and took the paper from him, fingers brushing over his in a way that made his heart skip a beat. As you slid the scissors through it, you tried to explain it in terms that your book-smart but not street-smart boyfriend could understand. 

“You just have to think of it like an equation. Each present is a different variable, and you just have to figure out how to get them to fit.” You winked playfully, and Spencer couldn’t help but laugh. If it was anyone else, he would’ve corrected them. But the way you tried to speak his language warmed his soul and for you, he would overlook everything. 

“That’s one way to put it. I was thinking of a more radical approach, like shoving it all in a bag,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. You gave him a Look as you finished wrapping the gifts with precision, tying a bow more elegant than anything he could have managed. 

“Alright, alright, you’re the wrapping expert. I’ll leave the tough stuff to you,” Spencer grumbled. As you stepped back, admiring your work, Spencer felt a wave of appreciation wash over him. There were moments like this, small but significant, when the reality of being with you truly sank in—when he could just be himself without any masks, without any need for the careful control he usually kept over his emotions.

“Can you bring these over to the car? I think it’s time we leave or we won’t make it to my parents’ in time. I’m going to put my shoes on meanwhile,” you reminded him, moving towards the shoe rack. With a quick nod, Spencer loaded everything into the boot of the car, and within fifteen minutes, you both had set off. 

When you pulled into your parents’ driveway, the warm glow of Christmas lights greeted you both. The house looked alive with festive energy. Music played softly and the sound of your cousins squabbling over dessert could be heard from outside. 

Spencer swallowed nervously as you parked. “Do you think they’ll... I mean, I’m not great with small talk and I don’t really know how to…” he began nervously. 

“Spencer, stop overthinking it. They’re excited to meet you. Besides, it’s Christmas. They’re probably too drunk on toddies to worry about your social skills,” you laughed, resting a palm on his chest. He exhaled, but his hands still gripped the door handle as if it were a lifeline.

“I’ll be right by your side, I promise. Just... be yourself. That's all they really want."

He glanced at you. Be yourself. Simple advice, but he was never used to things being simple.

The moment you both stepped into the house, you were overrun by hugs from your parents and younger cousins begging for presents. Your mother hugged you tightly as your father shook hands with a very awkward Spencer. 

“Sweetheart! I’m so glad you’re here. You’re just in time; we were going to begin dinner in ten minutes. And this must be Dr. Reid!” Your mother beamed at him. She pulled him into a hug before he could react, and he stiffened slightly at the sudden contact. But then, he felt your gentle hand on his back, and he relaxed, hugging her back.

His voice sounded almost too formal in his ears. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Your mom pulled back and gave him a smile that radiated kindness. “We’re so happy you could join us, Spencer. Come on in, make yourself comfortable. Dinner is almost ready!”

“We’re happy you’re here, Dr. Reid. Welcome to our home,” your dad added. You could feel Spencer’s nervousness slowly easing.

“Thank you, sir,” Spencer replied, his voice soft but sincere.

“Spencer, please,” you whispered as you set down your coat, “They’re not big on formalities. They’ll appreciate you just being you.”

He nodded, feeling a little more grounded. You were right. It was still overwhelming, but the warmth of the home, the smell of Christmas dinner in the air, and the sound of laughter from your family filled him with a sense of belonging.

The evening unfolded slowly. Spencer, at first a little stiff, soon found himself laughing at your dad’s corny jokes, though he did try to hide his amusement behind his hand a few times. Your mom showed him pictures of your childhood, telling him embarrassing stories about you, while you hid your face in your hands. He had never realised how funny and alive a family could be during the holidays. It was chaotic in a way that felt so full of love.

During dinner, your aunt handed Spencer a plate piled high with food. “Try the mashed potatoes! My secret ingredient is a little bit of lemon zest!”

“This is incredible,” he said, genuinely impressed. “I’ve never had anything quite like this before.” Your aunt glowed with pride as she skipped off to hand out more potatoes.

At one point, one of your uncles snuck up on the both of you with a mistletoe sprig in hand. He had dangled it over your heads and your whole family cheered him on. Spencer, overcome with a sudden burst of bravery, pulled you into his arms and planted a kiss square on your mouth. You were giggling too hard to say anything, and Spencer took the opportunity to dip you for another kiss. Your whole family hooted in delight. A warm feeling spread through your bodies and you realised that you never wanted to let this moment go. It was perfect. Spencer was perfect. Your heart was fit to burst with love and contentment.

After dinner, your family settled into the living room to exchange gifts. Spencer felt his stomach twist with nerves again. What if he picked the wrong gift? What if it wasn’t good enough? He knew he was overthinking it—he often did—but it didn’t stop the anxiety.

Finally, it was your turn to open the gift Spencer gave you. He had spent hours figuring out what to get you, and then he had braved the crowds to fight off several older women for it. He watched with bated breath as you opened the lid of the box, your eyes widening as you realised what it was.

“Spencer…” you whispered, your voice shaky. Your fingers trace the delicate details. It was an exact replica of a vintage music box, one that your grandmother had given you many years ago before she had passed. You had broken it accidentally when you were ten and it was something you had always regretted. You remembered telling Spencer about it briefly, but of course, he’d remember. That memory of his. 

“Spencer, this is... this is amazing,” you exclaimed as you threw your arms around his neck. Spencer felt a blush crawl up his neck, as he whispered in your ear, “I thought you’d like it. I know how much you loved the music box.”

“Oh, darling, thank you,” you whisper in his ear, “It’s perfect!”

As the night drew to a close and everyone retired to their respective rooms, Spencer lingered by the tree with you, the soft hum of the fridge filling the background.

“I’ve never really experienced Christmas like this before,” he admitted quietly, almost shyly. “It’s... it’s nice.”

You smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m glad you’re here,” you said, your voice low and intimate, just for him. "It wouldn’t be the same without you."

Spencer's eyes softened. “I think I’ll remember this Christmas for a long time.”

And you knew, in that moment, that this Christmas—the one where Spencer found his place in your world, among your family—was just the beginning of so many more to come. It was perfect in its imperfection, and in its quiet, tender moments, it felt like the start of something beautiful.

Thank you for reading. Likes, reblogs, comments and follows are appreciated! Constructive criticism is welcome :) Do not plagiarise my content and/or post it anywhere without crediting me.

[tinietaehyun]

INVITE: Always & Forever

[Vampire!Beomgyu x Herbalist!Reader] [Part II - Sequel] [One-shot]

Pairing: Vampire!Beomgyu x Herbalist!Reader

Genre(s): Supernatural, romance, angst, action, forbidden!love, fantasy, thriller.

Contains: Profanity, mentions of biting, blood, injury, death, suggestive/mature themes, established relationship, graphic depictions of injury, violence.

Links: Invite (Part I) || Masterlist

Summary: His fangs graze your neck causing you to shiver, each night in his embrace and each day, walking hand in hand. A secret romance, a dark secret only you two knew, and if it came out to the rest of the villagers that the very vampire they were on the hunt for was the one you were courting? Then well… it’d certainly make things unfortunate wouldn’t it.

Just how long could you two slip away under the dark, keep your rendezvous a secret? Slip your love under the rug before it could end disastrously?

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you, sweet healer,” he breathes. You cup his cheek shakily, “You need not be sorry, Beomgyu. It’s them.”

Utter bliss, the warmth of your bare body against his felt heavenly against his own cold skin. How pliant, how soft, tender, the curves that he couldn’t get out of his mind— sweet moans, and gasps. It was indeed a night he’d not forget for a long time, if not ever.

You lay wrapped in his embrace, face nuzzled into his chest, hair dishevelled, the bite marks on your neck and shoulders now fading leaving a shadow of a memory. The only marks that remain are dozens of love bites littered across the canvas of your skin.

You both cherished moment like this. After a passionate encounter, the simple morning with the sun gleaming through the tattered curtains. You knew the moment you saw Beomgyu perched devilishly on your balcony yesterday night, it was bound to occur. A nuzzle here, a peck there. A small nibble of blood, he said, one more bite, he said. One thing led to the next, and in moment you two were in bed together.

It had been just over six months since you and Beomgyu had officially began courting each other (albeit secretly of course), the villagers had noticed that the number of attacks had declined massively. Of course they would, after all, you’d provide Beomgyu with just enough sustenance. He relished your blood like no other, loved the flavour and essence of it, he’d never get enough. He had always insisted that he wouldn’t feed off you daily, he wanted you to have strength, and not just use you as food, no matter how much you insisted it was fine.

From the loving look in his gaze, the way he cupped your cheek, ran his fingers through your hair, tightly wrapped his arms around you, you could tell this vampire, was utterly and astoundingly in love with you. And you? You were just as infatuated and deeply in love with him as he was. He took over your thoughts and despite your bickering (which you oh, so loved) — you couldn’t get enough of him!

His groan makes your eyes flutter open and you shift yourself to crane your head up to meet his gaze. Oh how beautiful he was, although not surprising for a vampire. His dark locks dishevelled, his gaze drops to meet yours, a spark of mischief lighting up in them, lips quirking into a smirk.

Before you know it, Beomgyu dips his head down nuzzling into your neck and inhaling deeply sending a shiver down your spine, followed by a quick nip to your earlobe. “Morning, little healer. How are you feeling? Do need to be patched up yourself?” He litters kisses up your neck making you giggle, his hair being ticklish, “I was rather rough, hm? I couldn’t help myself, just seeing you after you went on that two day herb expedition, it drove me crazy, you understand, right?”

You coo, running your fingers through his hair, “Mm, I’m not complaining.” He muses, “Yesterday, you definitely weren’t… in that case,” his hand trails down your waist and your eyes widen as you realise what he intends to do, “No, no! Up, up, up, you mischievous vamp, I have to open up the shop.”

He pouts, “Come now, sweet healer, surely your customers can wait for an hour…” he pauses, “Or two?” You playfully smack his shoulder as you wrestle your way out of his grasp, “Nope, no bargaining, no bartering, no concessions. I’m serious. Behave.”

He huffs, “My, my dear healer, so cruel to your lover. I just wished to show you how much I missed you.”

“You act as though I were gone for a week or two, it was only two days,” you hum amused getting ready to bathe. His eyes flit over your form as you rush around, “Those two days felt like two centuries, my sweet healer, you simply don’t understand.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab a towel, “Well, I can’t help you there, your perception of time seems to be rather warped, Beomgyu.” You pause, “Ah wait, you were careful right? I mean for food. I wasn’t there to feed you and-“

He sits up tousling his hair and he peers at your seriously, “I know, I know. You told me an uncountable amount of times before you left, to not be reckless or lose control. Do not worry, I stuck to cattle and a rabbit…mostly,” he grimaces, “Awful, by the way.”

You scoff, “Just animal blood right?” He sheepishly grins, “Uhm, maybe one human.��� You glare, “I’m going to kill you, the villagers will have our heads on stakes. Both of us. They’ll think I’m a heretic. Or that I’ve been enthralled and kill you first and then me.”

As much as your relationship blossomed over these months, you both knew there one major issue that held you two back. His identity as a vampire — enemy of the village, a sadistic monster feared by all. And your identity as a mere human, siding with said monster, and heinously giving him your blood. That’d make you the child of the devil himself in the village leader’s eyes! They’d drive the both of you out; pitchforks and flaming torches and ruckus roars.

You shake your head removing that scary image. You didn’t want that, neither did he. So you both were cautious, incredibly so, or well, tried to be. It was hard, the village was a small place, there was always someone everywhere, eyes everywhere. You’d mostly meet up at night, where everyone mostly stayed indoors due to fear of…well your lover.

His arrogance and over-confidence in his ability to not get caught always set you on edge, made you paranoid. You chided him many times of course. Beomgyu sighs, “I’m sorry, I know, but… he was injured and well…it just, after that disgusting animal blood, I couldn’t help myself, you know?” You deadpan, “Just…you know we can’t afford to be careless. No one saw you right?”

“Yes, yes, I made sure no one was nearby and as usual erased his memory.” Your shoulders relax and you huff, “Two days and you can’t even wait for me.” He gets up stretching, your eyes flitting to the way his muscles flex, he catches your gaze with a smirk, “My offer for some morning fun still stands?”

You glare softly, “Very amusing, Beomgyu.” He shrugs, running his fingers through his dark brown locks, “A valiant effort from my end.” Shaking your head, you smile exasperated, “Anyway, we have to be careful, the villagers you know…”

Beomgyu walks up to you, wrapping his strong arms around you from behind as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck and murmurs, “I know, I know, sweet healer. You mean the world to me, the last thing I’d want is for you to be taken away from me.” His gaze noticeably darks and his grasp around you tightens, “I’d never let that fucking happen. I don’t care who I have to hurt.”

You twist around his arms with a smile cupping his cheek and then pinching it as he glares waving away your hand, “Are you cooing at me?” You pout, “So protective aren’t we? But I’d rather not have such bloodshed, no? We have to avoid such an outcome.” He presses his lips against your forehead tenderly before leaning his own against yours, “Mm, I suppose so, dear healer. Makes sense considering your occupation that you’d not want any casualties.”

You scoff and he murmurs, “I just think it’s a shame I cannot show you off, arm in arm, proclaim to the world that you are mine and mine alone. That we must hide.” You frown momentarily and sigh, “I…I know, Beomgyu. I’ve thought about it a lot too. But with the way society is and all..I’d not want to take the chance to lose you—even if it means utter secrecy.” He nods, eyes closing in bitter understanding.

Your days are spent in your shop preparing remedies with the much loved company of your salacious yet romantic lover. He made your dreary days and monotonous routines not so boring. He even accompanied you to collect herbs, worrying about you going into the woods by yourself.

You found solace in his arms and so did he in yours. His cold lifeless body felt lit with renewed life, as though he were truly living again. Everything about you, your endearing mannerisms, the way you spoke to him, that adorable look of concentration whenever you were using the mortar pestle on some particularly pesky herbs or how you’d gaze up at him with the most heart-stopping stare. All of it, everything about you just seemed to make life all the more worthwhile— something he could come back to each day, not just focusing on his pursuit of sustenance.

Meanwhile, your days were filled with a tender warmth and beautiful joy. Some days where he wouldn’t visit your shop, pester you like he always did, you felt empty. You relished the way his large hands fit with yours, the way his fingers intertwine with yours and squeeze reassuringly, his hushed whispers, his ticklish pecks along your neck. You adored it, and he adored doing such things to see your flustered and endearing reaction.

Although he was a pest whilst working, although you bickered back and forth, you knew he had your heart in his hands, without a doubt. From the way he gazed at you with such love, it was indeed the same for him.

Sighing, you grind the herbs in the mortar and yelp as you feel cold hands on your shoulders. His husky voice caressing your left ear, “Miss me, sweet healer?”

You peer over your shoulder with a snarky smile, “What makes you think that? Of course not.” You see the tip of his tongue flick over the point of one of his fangs in delight, a habit you noticed when he was in a playful or flirtatious mood.

“Oh really, hm? I find that rather hard to believe.” His hands trail down your arms leaving goosebumps before settling on your hips giving them a firm squeeze as he rests his chin down onto your shoulder. “Mm… so warm.”

You muse, “I’m beginning to think you’re a reptile with how much you adore my body heat.” He scoffs nuzzling into your neck, “Don’t be rude, I am not some pathetic snake or lizard.”

“You’re practically cold-blooded, in a sense, no? An overgrown reptile, but I suppose bat would be more accurate. Mosquito also works-“ You murmur amused as you continue adding more variety of herbs and plants to the grinded mixture. Beomgyu deadpans at you and you snicker.

Beomgyu huffs, “That’s a very ignorant assumption, healer. I’m wounded.” A chuckle leaves your lips, “Oh my poor Beomgyu, are your feelings hurt?” He rolls his eyes, “How, you torment your lover so, dearest healer, how cruel can you be? I flourish you with countless compliments, and this is how I get repaid?”

You feel him deeply inhale— he always did love your neck. Your scent, oh, and of course your blood. As twisted as it sounded, you couldn’t help but feel utter pleasure when he sinks his teeth into the crook of your neck, the scandalous gulps and slurps, the feel of his wet tongue lapping against your skin. It was all so much- even the mere thought of it had you writhing. However, he never took too much. Just enough, you always knew he was paranoid, claimed he had good control— which he did. There was no lapses or moments where you ever felt unsafe or in danger with him.

“Mm…” he inhales again, “….fuck, you smell exquisite.” You wince with a smile feeling his fangs graze your skin and you whine, “Beomgyu, I swear- I’m in the middle of-“

A brief peck lands on your skin as his hands caress your sides, “I know, I know, sweet healer, you’re in the middle of work. Don’t worry, I’ll behave myself, like a good vampire. Okay? No need to get yourself into a fluster.”

With an exasperated sigh, you resume your work. Your own desires and hungers making the simple task that you do for a living much more difficult to focus on— all the while, your lover clings onto your from behind content to bask in your radiating warmth.

As you pour the grinded mixture into a quaint glass bottle and plug it with a cork, he eases up from you with a stretch, “It’s your birthday soon, right?” Beomgyu asks with a playful gleam in his gaze.

You wrap some twine around the neck of the glass bottle, threading the label through it and you raise a brow, “…yes, why do you ask?” Beomgyu smirks with a shrug resting his hands into his pockets, “Mm, just wanted to spoil my lovely little healer that day. I had a few things in mind.”

“Such as?” You inquire curiously. He walks up to you placing his index finger atop your lips and whispers, “That’s a surprise.”

You scoff, “If it involves carrying me over your shoulder upstairs, and spending the night-“ His eyes twinkle, “Well, I won’t deny that outcome, but aside from that finale, I had a few other things in mind that day. As I said, sweet healer, a surprise.”

You mirror his smirk, “Alright then, Beomgyu. I look forward to it.” You’d be spending your birthday with him, for the first time. No, in fact it would be the first time you’d be spending your birthday, not working alone for once. The notion of this, makes your heart swell.

Beomgyu leans down cupping the back of your head placing a tender kiss on the tip of your nose and then on your lips, “You can wait a few days right?” You hum, “I can be the very picture of patience.” He muses, “Good.”

So, as you said, you waited, went about your days with him in bliss and most importantly anticipation. Indeed, it had been a long time since you were truly excited for your birthday— something you had always considered rather lacklustre, as ordinary as a normal day. But this time, things were different!

And so with great anticipation, you await the day of your birthday.

On that day, you wake up to find your vampiric lover perched on your window sill with a bouquet of fresh roses as the sunlight glimmers across his skin. With a flourish in his steps, he kicks off his boots, falling into your blanket as you wrap your arms around him in an embrace filled with laughter and affection. You take the blood-red roses admiring their beauty.

“Stunning flowers, for my stunning healer, happy birthday, my love,” he murmurs, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. The two of you make breakfast, nothing too special, but he was adamant that you closed shop today— claiming today was about you. That you would be fine not working for one day; that you deserve a break.

Reluctantly, you admit, Beomgyu was right. It felt good to not wake up so early, bustle downstairs, shovel your breakfast down and begin working, grinding powders, sifting, boiling and bubbling herbal potions and elixirs.

Putting on your nicest dress, you laugh as he tugs your hand, tugging you along the cobblestone streets pushing past other villagers— some looking at the two of you with disdain, others in envy and some in awe. Two young (well, one young) lovers hand in hand laughing— a perfect sight.

“I have quite the things planned for you,” he muses, squeezing your hand. You beam up at him, “Is that so? The anticipation is killing me!” He leans down, moving a stray strand of hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear with a tender smile (almost tender enough to make you forget what he truly is).

The day starts off with visiting the village bakery, where he buys you the treats that you mentioned you like. The delicious sweet bursts of flavour, butter, sugar and honey with a tinge of vanilla. Perfectly warm and crispy layers which breaks into a satisfying crunch as you bite down.

Followed by him dragging you along to the village market on the outskirts. Beomgyu always knew you enjoyed the various little trinkets and things they brought from other regions, whether it be useful for your occupation or something you personally enjoyed.

Both of you walk hand in hand admiring the various stalls. Pieces of rare jewels, rings and earrings, little bottles, utensils, charms, bowls, lamps, writing quills, cloaks— everything.

You gasp feeling the fabric of one dark blue cloak, “It’s so soft.” The merchant grins, “Fresh off the looks of the south, young lady. Wish to try it on?”

Beomgyu muses, answering before you could, “She would love to, isn’t that right? It’s your birthday, after all?” He glances at you taking the cloak. Beomgyu leans down, swooping the cloak around you, bringing it over your shoulders and hooking the clasp together, face inches from yours. Your heart races as you gaze at him; a dumb grin on your face.

“Birthday, eh? In that case I suppose I can shimmy the price down a little,” the merchant clasps his hands. Beomgyu gazes down at you with an expression of endearment, “You look truly lovely in this.”

“The young man‘s as right as rain, you look lovely,” the merchant gleams, “Now about payment…” Beomgyu and you deadpan as you mutter, “Oh of course. Should have known that compliment wasn’t genuine.” Beomgyu snorts.

You fumble with the clasp to take the cloak off and Beomgyu raises a hand signalling you to halt, as he places a small pouch on the wooden table. “I’ll give you half of what’s in here,” he bargains. The merchant takes a quick peek inside and grimaces, “I don’t know about that young man, this cloak is quite the-“

Beomgyu leans forward cupping his hand over the man’s ear as he whispers something and you see the man pale instantly. Your brows furrow as he abruptly takes the pouch pouring out half, counting the coins and the merchant beams waveringly, “Pleasure doing business with ya!”

Blinking confused, you question Beomgyu who seems to hum pleasantly leading you off. “Did you just pay for this cloak- you didn’t have to-“ He murmurs, “I wanted to.”

Your mind recollects the events and you muse dryly, “He changed his mind quick, what did you tell him?” Beomgyu leans down whispering into your ear, “I told him, I’d rip him limb from limb as soon as the sun sets and he closes up his stall.”

You stiffen peering up at him with a glare, “Beomgyu! I swear-!” The passersby look on at your scolding tone and he throws his head back laughing, “Oh, your expression- priceless!” He chuckles, “I was joking, sweet healer, no need to get in such a panic.”

Rolling your eyes, you scoff, “That’s what I thought. So what did, get him scared then?” Beomgyu muses, “You know the tavern I work at right? He’s a regular there. Drinks himself into a babbling fool every night after he closes up his stall here. Told him I’d make sure he’d never get a drink again.”

You sigh; of course that’s all it took for a drunkard to crumble. Shaking your head, you laugh breathlessly, “Seriously…you are something else.” Beomgyu smiles, “Yes, yes, I know little healer, I am a genius,” his expression becomes serious, “But really, I wanted to get you the cloak, you always mentioned how during your little expeditions to the forest, you would feel a little cold, so here. Secondly, I saw the adorable little sparkle in your eyes that you get when you really want something.”

You flush, were you that obvious? He took notice of all your little quirks and mannerisms with such ease? A touching warmth spreads throughout your chest, “Thank you, Beomgyu.” He grins, “You’ll have more to thank me for later, so hold off for now, okay?”

You both spend the day walking around the village enjoying each other’s company. It had been such a long time since you had felt such contentment, such…comfort.

As the sun melts into the horizon, he seems to joy dragging you with him as you pant. “Goodness, Beomgyu… I’m dying for breath here.”

He shushes you, “Oh come now, we’re almost there. You can hike all you want for your herbs but not for me, or for your birthday! This spot is one I’ve just recently discovered whilst hunting for deer.”

You grumble making your way up the faded path, pushing past the brambles and foliage, the steepness increasing gradually. After awhile, he finally pushes through some overhanging branches and vines like curtains and lets you go first.

Your jaw drops ajar as you see the sky, painted dark with sparkles of glitter— the stars. Twinkling and glimmering above. The last vestiges of subtle orange fading away into the horizon and the moon slowly shows itself behind the tuft of grey clouds.

You tilt your head down seeing the village from a slight distance away and you finally figure out where you both were. It was that small little set of cliffs nearby the village overlooking it. You’d never gone there before, fearing it was too much of a climb for you—especially alone. It wasn’t the highest cliff but just enough to see the village with its small hints of light from the houses.

“…so beautiful,” you whisper in awe as you sit down on the grass. Beomgyu sits behind you, you scoot yourself back— your back resting against his chest, elbows resting on his thighs. His head on your right shoulder and his strong arms around you.

The subtle sound of your breathing merges with the sounds of the breeze, rustling trees, the hooting owls, chirping crickets and low gargles of toads. It was simply amazing, so serene, so peaceful.

“I love this,” you softly say. Beomgyu mumbles, “I love this too. I figured you would like this spot. I only discovered it a few days ago, I never expected to bring you here— but it just struck me when I sat here two days ago. It would be the perfect way to end off the day.”

“It is,” you breathe, closing your eyes, “It really is.” A pause of comforting silence ensues and you smile, “Thank you for everything, Beomgyu.”

You crane your head to gaze up at him, seeing the gentle moonlight caress his visage in a hauntingly beautiful manner. “Thank you…for doing all this. I never thought any of this was possible for me.”

“Why?” He questions, “You are deserving of love, is everyone not?” Your eyes glisten, “Yes. Yes they are, but it’s unfortunate, this world. Not everyone gets the privilege of it. Of such tender love like this.” You both go silent. Beomgyu cups your cheek, thumb caressing your cheekbone, “Indeed. Sweet healer, it is as you said. Nevertheless, I am glad I have you.”

He litters kisses down your neck, “All mine.” Beomgyu nuzzles the curve of your neck, “I’m all yours, yes?” A breathy giggle leaves your lips as your hand reaches back up into his luscious brown locks, “Yes, Beomgyu. All mine.”

As you lay your head against his firm chest, you feel his arms leave your sides and your brows furrow going to turn around and he chides playfully, “Stay still, sweet healer. Always in such a flurry.”

“What are you-“ you ask only to see a glistening pendant dangle down in front of your vision before gliding down onto your neck as he fastens the clasp on the back of your neck. The cool metal makes the hairs on your skin rise; your skin prickles with shock and cold.

Your lips quiver as you fiddle with the small pendant. A simple black metal heart. You gaze back at him, eyes watering and spluttering emotionally, “Beomgyu, you already bought me that cloak- the baked good- you spent so much-“

Amused by your babbling, he shushes you softly, “Relax, relax…sweetheart. No need to fret, I had bought this necklace a month back. I had seen another man make a necklace for his wife. I had thought it was a good idea, seeing that you liked jewellery, but often wear the same few.” He touches the heart nestled just above your chest, “This way, you may be reminded of me, even when you go out on those trips of yours. Or when I am not around.”

You glance at his neck, empty. You pout, “I wish we could match.” Beomgyu sighs smiling, “Ah well, one necklace was quite the pretty penny, my lovely healer, so your dear lover must be without a matching necklace,” he muses leaning down, “For now that is.”

You coo, “Then it’s settled, on your birthday then.” Beomgyu smirks, the one you love very much. “Don’t even think about it.” You twist back around, “Too late, we’ll be matching soon enough, or at least before the end of next year.”

Beomgyu snickers, “Far be it from me, to dissuade you.” His hands rest back on your waist and you both continue in tranquil conversation. The air is hazy, flirty and warm; gentle touches and caresses become more daring, his hands sliding and groping gently making you writhe at a loss for breath.

His fingers glide along your bodice, his other trailing down your skirt, gathering up the fabric. Tensions rise, the pent up desire which lingered throughout the day, all bubbling up at once with the moon as your witness.

Beomgyu whispers, “I think one more gift should make things just about perfect, should it not?” You whisper back playfully, “Is that so? What were you thinking?”

He hums, fangs grazing your neck, hands becoming increasingly bold, “Something I know you like very, very much. So do I, in fact.” You reply breathily, “I see, then by all means…” you trail off.

As much as the two of you wished to embrace each other under the stars, secluded in this little haven, it seems nature had different plans. Your quaint little fear of random beetles alongside the mosquitos nipping at you were quite frankly spoiling the heated mood.

You huff as you both walk back grumpily down the path and he snorts, “Easy now, sweet healer, we can have so much more fun back at your place, no? No need to look so down.” You glance at him, sneakily murmuring, “You also looked rather disappointed, you know.”

Beomgyu shrugs, lips cracking into a stupidly wide grin as laughter tumbles out of him, “Well, it is a shame when we were just getting to the good part that a large beetle decides to fly in the midst of our passionate lip lock. That scream,” he cackles almost stumbling over a rock, “Oh- that was hilarious.”

Deadpanning, you rip away your hand with a huff, “Of course it was funny to you, it wasn’t attempting to land on you. Stupid thing. Couldn’t it see we were busy?”

He snickers, “Well, perhaps none of the creatures wanted a show.” You scoff, rolling your eyes as he grabs your hand again, “Tsk, don’t pout, sweet healer. I’ll make up for lost time,” his tone darkens deliciously as he nears your ear.

You both reach the village streets, most had retreated into their homes, of course due to the curfew and fear of the oh so terrifying vampire. The very vampire you were walking hand in hand with. The streets were most empty, a few stray cats and dogs running here and there, one or two people closing their windows.

A few eyes linger your way but nothing is said— they had most likely suspected that you were both returning home. You murmur, “Huh… it really is so quiet out here. Scary actually without a lot of the lights. Once everyone’s shutters are shut, it looks completely different.”

Beomgyu remains unfazed, “It’s alright.” You scoff, “You say that because you hunt at this time. Be it human or animal.” He smirks, “Well, what can I say? My vision is simply superior in the dark. It only makes sense.”

You snicker, “They’ve all gone to bed and shut their windows, because of you. This entire curfew is because of you. To think they’re all scared of you.” His brows furrow, “What’s that supposed to mean? You make it sound as though I am not a predator.”

You pause regarding him from head to toe and he huffs. “Maybe not to you per se, but I am a predator nonetheless.” You shrug walking ahead, intentionally provoking him, “I don’t see it. To be fair, when we first met you actually were a little bit scary, but now, you just seem so soft and-“

Before you could get the words out, you find yourself being tugged into the nearest alley between two houses, wrists pinned beside your head. Beomgyu’s eyes take on a dangerous otherworldly glow, he leans down, “Is that so? We can’t have you forgetting what I am, can we? I seem to recall you relishing when I sink my fangs into your neck and drink that sweet, sweet sanguine nectar, hm?”

You shiver, “So?” You challenge and he smirks devilishly, “Oh no, I meant nothing by it. You’ve always been a little different than your cowardly villagers. Twisted little thing, aren’t you? Not that I mind, of course.”

You tilt your head to the side, your hair falling away from your neck salaciously, you smirk to yourself seeing his gaze flit down to your neck. Beomgyu’s voice huskily hums, “Oh, I see what you’re doing.”

You feign innocence, “Hm?” Beomgyu hums alluringly, “Ah, wanting to get bitten? On your birthday too? My, my, sweet healer, you’re more depraved than I thought.”

Well, you couldn’t help it when it always felt so good— and it almost always led to a rather pleasurable outcome. You shrug, “I don’t know what you mean.” He parts his lips showing his fangs about to sink down before a loud clattering sound shatters the intense moment.

Beomgyu pulls away and you shakily place a hand over your palpitating heart. Wait. You shake your head clearing your mind. What the hell were you two thinking? You were both in public— the streets, whilst rather empty, were not completely free of people. Anyone could have passed by!

You clutch your head panic filling your system, “Beomgyu, we shouldn’t have been so reckless- we got so carried away and if it weren’t for that we’d have foolishly continued-“ you begin rambling. He holds your arms calming you down, “Hey, hey, sweet healer, easy now. Easy. No one saw us. Look?”

He pulls your reluctantly form out of the alley and points toward the crate of bottles that had been tipped over, “Just crate tipped over, probably some stray dog or cat. You know how it is. Look around, not a single person in sight.” Beomgyu squeezes your hands, “But you’re right, we were reckless. Let gets home, don’t worry, okay? We’re okay. We’re okay.”

You nod calming yourself. Thank goodness you didn’t let it continue into him biting down into you. You couldn’t take that chance of any passerby just randomly taking a glimpse in.

As you both arrive at your place, the door slams shut, impassioned kisses, giggles and embraces fill your room as you both wish to carry on where you left off.

As his fangs sink into your soft flesh eliciting a gasp from your lips, you feel the sensation of doubt creep in the back of your consciousness. A crate like that… could it really have been knocked over by a mere cat or dog? It seemed so heavy.

No…it was fine. Beomgyu showed you the empty street— you saw with your own eyes, not a single soul out there. So why were you anxious?

And so, you forcibly shove that thought back into the recesses of your mind, as your hands tangle into his hair as Beomgyu gulps down the heavenly sanguine.

It would be fine.

It would be fine.

That’s what you wish you could say. How wrong you were. The thought, that very thought about the crate being heavy— heavier than a small cat or dog could knock over.

You wished it had been a large dog or something of the sort. Not a person. You both had thought you had been sly, caught yourselves in the alley before you got too reckless.

But no, it was too late. It was too late when you heard the ruckus in the early hours of the morning. A grumbling roar of distress and anger outside your window. You sit up abruptly as you focus on the chants.

“Traitor! Scum! Come out! Come out! Vampire! Vampire!” Your heart drops. This had to be a nightmare!

Various other insults are thrown at your house by what you assume is a large gathering in front of your house ready to barge in at any second. You hear the clatter of metal and wood.

Beomgyu seems to be up already and you see him hastily getting dressed, lacing up his boots. You see the tension in his brow, the shaking of his hands, his shaky breaths. He glances up and he murmurs, “You’re awake. Oh, Y/n…” his voice cracks.

Instantly you find your eyes watering. Indeed, it seemed yesterday really was too good to be true. He rushes over cupping your cheeks, “Get dressed, my love. Look at me. Look at me,” Beomgyu grasps your chin, “I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you okay?”

Tears stream down your face as you cover his hands with yours, sobs wracking your body, “Oh Beomgyu, I..” you can barely get the words out as you hyperventilate, “I’m… I can’t believe this— why- we were doing so well-“ He cups the back of your head pulling you in for a tight embrace. You hear the pain in his voice as he soothes you, “I know, I know. I thought…I thought we could keep it a secret too.”

As always, the universe had its cruel way of exposing any and all secrets one way or another. Two foolish lovers who had the gall to be happy with each other.

Beomgyu tilts your head up to meet his gaze and he firmly utters, “Stay focused. We…we need to get out of here.”

The roar of the crowd outside and clattering makes it difficult for him to focus. Your heart pounds as you get up hastily putting on your dress. He paces around, “I… I had thought it was a stray or something, I didn’t expect… someone to have watched us.” Beomgyu threads his fingers stressfully through his locks.

Clumsily, you lace up your boots and gaze at him. Cautiously you make your way to the shutters and ever so slightly peek down. A gasp escapes your lips and your knees buckle at the sight— nearly half the village there in front of your house chanting and roaring, pitchforks and torches in hand as the dangerous hue of dawn paints their faces.

They had one intention. To get rid of the vampire that lurked in the village, your lover.

And then get rid of you. A traitor.

Fraternising with…a demon, a bloodsucker.

“Open the door, herbalist and surrender willingly or we will break in!” A man’s voice bellows— presumably the village head. Quivering, you gaze at Beomgyu, who’s gaze has hardened. Even he looks unsure as to what to do.

He helps you stand with a hand and he finally speaks tensely, “Do you trust me?” You’re caught off guard by the question. Beomgyu repeats, this time more firmly, “Do you trust me, Y/n?”

You nod, the words, “Yes, of course,” leaving your lips breathlessly. He takes your wrist guiding you downstairs and you follow clumsily. You see your back door in the kitchen. Beomgyu snarls seeing them banging on it too— that route wasn’t an option.

Your entire house groans and creaks— any second they were about to barge in, rip him to shreds and do god knows what, to you!

Once again he leads you upstairs; grip borderline painful on your wrist and he opens the shutters wide making your eyes widen and the crowd’s chants fall silent. You stammer, “Beomgyu- what are you-“

Beomgyu’s gaze blazes fiercely into yours, “Take my hand.” You peer at his hand before taking it and he hoists himself onto your rooftop. He pulls you up effortlessly onto the rooftop and you scream as a roof tile falls below but he has you securely in his arms.

The crowds goes into uproar calling you terrible names, calling him a monster, you as his thrall. Panting, he commands, “We are going by rooftop, you hear me? Get on my back.”

He hoists you onto his back and you cling on dearly as he runs with superhuman speed, jumping across the rooftops on your street. The crowd’s roar increases as they follow along in pursuit. You close your eyes wishing to block all this out— you wish the entire earth would swallow you whole.

Why did this entire thing have to happen? Tears wet your cheeks again.

Rooftop to rooftop, he stumbles, patchwork nearly collapsing at one point, roof tiles going flying into the crowd below before he makes a risky jump onto the ground, you both fall to the floor rolling and you hiss in pain, the ground grazing your limbs painfully.

You barely have time to register your injuries as he roughly tugs you up, “Up, up, up!” You cry out as you push yourself to stand and you both run.

You hear the village head again, “Over there, by the arch! They’re headin’ out of the village! Men! Go, go, go!”

You weep and he snarls breathing heavily, “I’ve got you, healer, please, focus, focus for me. Just a little more, just a little- ah, more!” Your legs burn immensely, lungs searing for breath, wind flaps through your hair.

Over-exertion hits you, knees buckling and you sob, “Beomgyu, go- I’m only holding you back,” you cry out, “Just go-“

Anger is visible on his visage and enraged he snaps, “I’m not leaving you for them to punish you, you’re mine. You’re who I love, what lover would I be to sacrifice you for my own escape? Don’t be fucking stupid.”

You sob, shaking your head, “Beomgyu-“ In agitation, he hoists you onto his back and you yelp, clinging onto his neck, “Keep that mouth shut, got that? I’m not leaving you behind.”

With inhumane speed and agility, he winds his way through the trees. You realise where he’s taking the both of you, winding up the familiar harsh terrain. That spot on the cliff, notoriously hard to reach. The people would struggle and it would give you enough time to at least gather yourselves, see where you should head next.

You gaze behind, the crowd no longer in view, their sound growing fainter and fainter and soon you both stand in the same spot. The morning sun in full shine. You hug him tightly, “Beomgyu…” He hugs you back littering your forehead with kisses of desperation, “I know.” You whimper, “They’ll kill you. They’ll kill you, Beomgyu. I can’t…”

Beomgyu caresses the back of your head murmuring, “You don’t think it’s that easy, do you? I don’t die easy. Unless they have got silver or a huge stake, neither of which I saw in that crowd.” He peers down at you cupping your cheek, “Maybe garlic perhaps, the real weapon.”

Harshly, you smack his arm, sniffling, “Now’s not the time for joking.” He smiles painfully, “Alright, alright, but they’re definitely struggling up the incline that’s for sure. I don’t think they saw where we went, it’s hard to see in that dense foliage anyway. We have a little breathing room.”

You murmur, “I don’t want to risk it. We’ve got to get moving. Not everyone is going to give up so quickly, Beomgyu. There’ll definitely be a few who attempt to come up here. We’ve got to move.”

Beomgyu nods, gaze hardening, “Yes, if I remember, there’s another town just to the East,” he points out over a rocky outcrop, a faint path leading into some woods, he continues speaking, “We can’t stay there for long, they’re awfully weary of vampires in that town, but it’s ideal for a night’s stay. Then, in the morning, we can journey up further East. There’s a few more villages and towns that way—following the river. The further we get, the better. North is out of the question-“

As he speaks your gaze flits to behind him and you feel your entire soul leaving your body as you see a small glimmer in the foliage and before the scream leaves your mouth, the arrow coated in a metallic substance flies and swivels elegantly in the air.

You instinctively shove Beomgyu out of the way, almost off the cliff— the arrow missing him just enough to lodge itself into your neck. A choked gargle escapes your throat and you feel a metallic iron taste fill your mouth.

The village head scraped up and bruised tumbles out of the foliage with his bow in hand, a few more arrows ready.

Beomgyu freezes for a moment— gaze flitting between the village head and you. His lips part, but no breath escapes him. The village head bellows, “You foolish woman— that was meant for the vampire! No matter—“ He sheathes another arrow positioning it— but before he could even aim it, you see red.

Red, a lot of red. Your knees buckle. You gaze at the liquid dripping down your chest, a bloody mixture of silver and blood. Blood drips down your chin—- vision blurring.

Truly, you were a fool. Most of those in love were fools. He could have handled that himself, why did you play the hero? You didn’t know.

Your body just instinctively moved by itself. How stupid, to protect him. Protect what? A vampire? You knew silver was a poison— leading to deaths for vampires if not treated.

So? Did you really have to push him aside and get it shot in you instead?

You see more red, this time not your own. Your vision goes in and out of focus as you witness Beomgyu like you’ve never seen before.

Blood spraying, agonising screams, flesh tearing, bone snapping, disgusting squelches. You gather from the image in front of you, just how vicious your lover could be when he wanted to.

From the disheveled locks partially covering his gleaming dark red irises like some sort of veil of death to his hands covered and dripping in blood and god knows what else of what was left of the village head.

Beomgyu saw red and so did you. He killed right in front of you. Tore a man limb from limb. For you.

Tears drip down your face from the searing pain; you collapse onto your side making his head snap toward you, breaking him out of his bloodthirsty rampage.

Within seconds, he’s by your side cradling your weakened form, curses falling from his lips, enraged words aimed at the humans from the village. His voice cracks, “Oh my sweet, sweet healer, why? You are so…” he closes his eyes bellying his anger, “I told you, I could handle it. Handle everything. Why couldn’t you just sit back? Did you not think I…” he chokes up.

Beomgyu sniffles as tears run down his icy blood splattered cheeks, “You fool. You fucking fool, I can’t believe…” he clutches you, “Those fucking bastards, arrows coated with silver.”

You weakly gaze up at him, unable to move, unable to speak, not even a pitiful rasp. All you could do was stare up at his pretty face.

Perhaps, this was fate, you think. How it was meant to be, your consequences of mingling with the supernatural, not staying within your confines. He gazes at your neck and you see his red eyes darken, fangs glistening. You wonder, what was he thinking?

Finally, your vision goes dark— you don’t seem to be hurting anymore, rather you feel as though you’re wrapped in a cold embrace, on a winter’s night. Frigid, alone but painless.

As you go limp in his arms, panic surges in Beomgyu’s system, as he shakes you. He splutters, voice shattering, “No, no, no,” he pants out, “Wake up, fucking wake up.”

Beomgyu gazes down at your neck. He couldn’t let you go. He didn’t know… would you be content to die, or would you be happy to join him in his eternal prison of immortality?

He couldn’t ask you—- what would you want? Did you love him so dearly you’d be willing to spend an eternity with him? Was he delusional to think that way?

Was he selfish for what he was about to do? Would you hate him for turning you into what he was? He didn’t care. He wanted to see you alive, or alive in at least some sense of the word.

Was it a punishment or renewal? So, so many questions. But with each second, his chances of saving you were slim.

Thus, Beomgyu leans down, with a grimace he pulls the arrow out, blood spurting onto the grass. He whispers, placing a kiss atop your head, “I’m sorry, my dearest healer, for what I am about to do. Forgive me.”

With that, his fangs sink into the other side of your neck, as his hand cradles the back of your head. He gulps, downing every drop of your life source, the rich flavour he once craved now seeming horridly bitter. Tears roll down his face as he continues drinking and draining you of your blood.

Tormented apologies mentally scream in his mind as he resumes his onslaught. Would you hate him for this? Would you have preferred death?

Rustling occurs behind him but he doesn’t care. He had to drain you before the warmth left your body, before your systems shut off completely.

A few men poke their heads out of the foliage and stumble back mortified at the bloody scene, what was left of their leader, the sight of Beomgyu feeding mercilessly on what seemed to them as your corpse.

It was enough to have them running off, wretching and almost fainting. Let them run for now. He’d hunt down each one of them if this did not work out. Make everyone of these foolish villagers pay.

With a final grunt, he pulls away, gazing down at your lifeless body; stiff and pale. Only the tiniest hint of blood left in you.

Beomgyu grunts, taking your body into his arms and he begins walking, he needs to get you somewhere to rest, to be without stress or threat. Would you even wake up? He didn’t know, did he take too much? There had to be just enough left— he had never drained someone before, never turned someone.

If you did never wake up— he’d never forgive himself. Taking your blood on top of that for no real outcome. He shudders at the thought. No. You had to.

Hours pass, darkness, utter silence. Nothingness. The crackling of fire in the distance soon arises, a faint breeze brushing against your skin makes you writhe. One by one, you could feel your face, your limbs.

One by one, more and more noises around you pile up, layering atop one another, your senses fall back into place and you feel your chest grow not warm, but deathly cold.

Finally, as your lungs will with air, you inhale as deeply as you possibly could.

“Y/n! Y/n- oh my god, Y/n- you’re breathing,” a muffled voice resounds and instantly your eyes snap open. You sit up abruptly clutching your chest.

Your heart- wait, your heart.

You feel your chest as you pant raggedly for breath. No heartbeat. Your skin…no longer that comforting warmth. Your ears ring painfully and memories flood your consciousness as you groan clutching your head.

“Gently now, oh fuck, fuck, fuck, oh goodness, Y/n. My sweet healer, my love,” you hear the presence beside you call out cradling you in his icy arms. You glance up wearily and see him.

Choi Beomgyu.

His eyes glistening, a single tear drips down. He was crying. The orange hues of the crackling fire paint his face as he cups your cold cheek, “You’re alive. I… I didn’t think you’d make it. I-I thought I took too much.”

Took too much? You glance at your hands. You gasp— your neck! The arrow. You feel your neck feeling no scab, no injury. “My injury… Beomgyu-“ you stammer. He glances at you in silence as he takes your hands, “Y/n…I..”

Your body lacks warmth, your heart no longer beats, there’s a scratchy dryness in the back of your throat. Your horrendous injury, now, miraculously healed without so much as a scar or scab.

The pieces click into place forming an astounding conclusion. You whisper, afraid, “You…you, turned me?”

His silence has all the answers you need. You glance down at your hands, you were…alive. That meant you had experienced death.

He had brought you back…this time to the land of the undead. Of the immortal.

You were one of the same.

Beomgyu’s voice cracks, “You must despise me for making that choice for you. I… I couldn’t-“ he struggles to get the words out, “I couldn’t let you die. I couldn’t stand the thought of your life being taken.” He gazes at you with such a pained gaze, “I love you, I love you far too much to let you go, is that too selfish of me? Did I bring you back against your wishes?”

Your lips part, words not coming out, as you tremble, tears dripping down your cheeks at the impassioned words. He murmurs weakly, “Forgive me, my sweet healer, for being so selfish. You have all the reasons to despise me. But…I just couldn’t…couldn’t let you die.”

You sadly smile wiping away his tears with your thumbs, “I don’t hate you, you fool. You saved me.” His eyes widen, going speechless; lower lip quivering at your words. You sniffle with a wavering laugh, “I…I’m surprised, I… I would have never thought you’d turn me. I thought you’d never cross that boundary just because,” your voice cracks, “just because it’s me.”

He presses his forehead to yours chidingly, “I’d have no need to do such a thing if you did not play hero, you idiot,” he sighs pained, “Do you understand how horrible it was to see you bleeding out, life draining from your eyes? With an arrow meant for me? Not you?”

You cup his cheek nuzzling his nose with yours, “I know…I should have stayed down. I’m sorry for scaring you, Beomgyu.” He trembles, “I…having to drain you, I..” he murmurs shakily, “Never again. Never again.”

All of a sudden, Beomgyu embraces you tightly, his head in the crook of your neck, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you, sweet healer,” he breathes. You cup his cheek shakily, “You need not be sorry, Beomgyu. It was them.”

For a few minutes you stay like this, in each other’s arms, sat atop a log beside a fire. You gaze up at the forest foliage above, you had many questions as to how you got here, how long had you been out. But for now, you were simply content to be in his arms, with him.

Beomgyu whispers, “Your life…that you left behind, your precious little shop, my sweet healer. You left that behind because of me, I’m so sorry. We’ll… we’ll set up a new one elsewhere, far away. I’ll make sure of it.”

Your cold lips press a kiss onto his own before you wearily gaze into his eyes, “I know you will. But for now, Beomgyu. One step at a time.” You shift yourself to lean against his chest, “I feel tired.”

He hums softly, “Then sleep. I’ll be there for you when the dawn next comes. And the next, and for many more.”

You muse half deliriously from drowsiness, “Until the end of time?” A scoff leaves his lips at your audacity, not even having fed, a newborn vampire at best and yet…

Beomgyu smiles tenderly as he repeats in assertion, “Until the end of time, sweet healer. Until the end of time. Always and forever.”

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