#but snow mean Christmas is coming so how the fuck are we already there didn’t 2023 just started 😭

[yoohyeon]

I wasn’t expecting snow this morning

[agirlsguidetolove]

OBSESSED

pairings: draco malfoy x fem!gryffindor!reader, platonic!golden trio x reader.

word count: .9k

summary: Draco Malfoy was your least favorite person in the world, and you thought the feeling was mutual. What happens when you realize he’s actually obsessed with you?

part 1

Hogsmeade was your all time favorite place, especially in winter. Dressed in your favorite patterned scarf, big black jacket, long tights, and black boots, you felt warm and cozy. You and Hermione have your arms draped around each other’s shoulders as the two of you exit the Three Broomsticks, the taste of Butterbeer still on your tongue.

The two of you giggle at who knows what, stumbling from how hard you’re laughing. The slight falling of snowflakes doesn’t effect your mood, you watch as one lands on your nose as you and Hermione come down from your fit of giggles, choosing to focus on what you guys came here for; Christmas shopping for the boys.

Harry and Ron were a pain in your arse, but that didn’t mean they two weren’t simple. They wanted quidditch gear for when the season starts up again in spring. Easy as pie for you and your seemingly infinite money.

You and Hermione’s feet leave footprints in the snow, it crunching beneath your boots as you walk to Spintwitches Quidditch Supplies. Your smile seems untouchable as you walk with a pep in your step, staring down at your shoes. When you look up your smile falters, a frown threatening your lips at the sight of him.

White blond hair, a tight hoodie and a jacket thrown over that. Malfoy stands with Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott on either of his sides. He leans against the wall of Honeydukes that leads you down into an alley. He nods along to whatever Nott was saying, clearly not paying attention. His eyes drift from his friends to yours.

Draco Malfoy is, simply put, your least favorite person in the entire world. There are no words to describe the absolutely anger the boy causes you. His arrogance and disrespect towards you and your friends is a mood sourer, and he was ruining your amazing day with just one look at you. His effect on you was irritating, and you could feel your own heart race and hear your breathe hitch when his blue eyes met yours. Fuck.

Your warm eyes turn cold in an instant as you watch Malfoy smirk. He reaches a hand up to ruffle his already messy hair as he starts to walk over to you and Hermione.

Too busy glaring at Malfoy as he saunters over, you miss the knowing look Nott and Zabini share with Hermione.

“Just ignore him,” Hermione urges. You give her a look, a pout plastered on your lips. She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest.

Easier said then done.

“Well, well,” Malfoy taunts. He’s grinning over at you, hands tucked into his pockets as he tilts his head at you, not even bothering to glance at Hermione. “Look who escaped the clutches of her boyfriend,” he spit, the words directed toward Harry, even though he wasn’t your boyfriend. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

Your eye roll is immediate. “Why don’t you mind your own business, Malfoy?” you sneer, before sarcastically saying, “Surely a man like yourself has much better matters to attend to then bothering some Gryffindors.”

Malfoy’s smirk deepens as his eyes flicker down your body for a moment. “Don’t cut yourself short. I prefer it here.”

“Can’t we go, Y/N. Please.” Hermione tugs on your arm, already dragging you up the hill, away from the boy who seemed to never be capable of staying away from you.

“Yes, please,” you groaned, throwing your head back and rolling your eyes as you linked yours and Hermione’s arm together.

You can hear Malfoy’s footsteps behind you as he hurries to catch up to you, desperate for whatever he gains from annoying you. “Running away so soon? I knew you were a coward,” he exclaims.

That makes you pause, turning around, eyebrows scrunched in aggravation. “Excuse me?” you scoff, releasing Hermione’s hand and rushing to where the boy stood. “I’ll punch you in the face just like I did third year, don’t doubt that.”

His eyes sparkle as he looks down at you, your threat bouncing off of him. “Believe me, I don’t doubt you. Never have.”

What in the bloody hell was he on about?

”Mate,” Nott called from behind him, deep voiced annoyed with his friend. He raises his brows at Malfoy. “Let’s go.”

He shrugs at his friends, sticking his hands into his pocket. He smirks at you, tongue coming to press into his cheeks. His cheeks are red from the cold (or, maybe, from his raging crush on you).

“I’ll see you around, L/N.”

“Screw you, Malfoy,” you sneer, hair whipping as you trudge up the hill to meet Hermione where she stands, looking at the pair of you with an unimpressed expression.

When you make it to her, you link your arms together again. You smile at her. “Shall we?”

Hermione rolls her eyes, but nods.

When the two of you begin to walking, you stick your tongue out over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of Malfoy still standing where he last stood, watching you.

Draco doesn’t bother trying to hide his smile.

not proofread 🥰

xx, lovey🫀

[babydollmarauders]

Airport blurb! For any of the Hughes brothers or Trevor them accidentally hitting their girlfriend with a puck

you would think that after spending the past few months playing hockey, the Hughes brothers would spend their few day christmas break relaxing. but no.

instead i currently watch on the side of the outdoor rink as my boyfriend and his brothers play a game of 3 person hockey. no goalie, just them trying to get the puck away from each other and into the net.

Quinn tried to get me to play goalie, but Luke assured him that that’s a bad idea, and i have to agree.

i keep my eyes on my boyfriend as he gracefully skates across the ice, handling the puck. but it’s not long before i’m broken out of my trance by a yell of my name. i whip my head towards Quinn but his face is morphed in horror. it doesn’t take more than a second to realize why, as something smacks straight into my nose.

i hear a crunch and searing pain spreads throughout my face, starting at my nose and working its way throughout the surrounding area. i drop back, falling on my ass on the snow behind me, and i can hear the sound of skates scraping against the ice as the boys rush over to me. tears fall from my eyes, dripping onto my cheeks as Luke drops down beside me. my hands grip my nose and i can feel the blood quickly coating them.

“baby, i am so sorry. are you okay?” Luke’s hands come up to cover my own, pulling them away so he can assess the damage. “shit.”

“ahh fuck, that’s definitely broken.” Quinn hisses. i glance over to find him wincing.

“oh, that doesn’t look good.” Jack cringes. “i’ll go get mom.”

“i’m so sorry, babe. i didn’t mean to, i swear! it was an accident! i- i-”

“it’s okay, Lukey. it happens. i probably shouldn’t have been standing so close to the ice.” i tell him through tears.

“no! don’t try and blame yourself in order to let me off the hook. not this time. it was all on me.” Luke assures me, holding my face in his hands. “fuck, i feel so bad.”

“being a hockey girlfriend has its risks. i didn’t necessarily think this would be one, but it’s okay. i promise.”

“here comes mom and Jack.” Quinn exclaims, and Luke drops his hand from my face as i look over to find Ellen.

“oh, honey.” she coos, holding out a hand to help me off the ground, which has now effectively soaked my jeans with melted snow. “let’s get you to the hospital.”

Luke groans at the word ‘hospital’, obvious guilt eating away at him.

“she’ll be fine, Luke. maybe just a couple stitches.” Ellen tells him. “it’ll all be okay. why don’t you boys go inside and do something more calm while us girls take a trip to get her fixed up?”

“no, i wanna go with.” Luke tells his mother, and Ellen looks towards me, an eyebrow raised in questioning, silently asking if that’s okay.

my hand reaches out to clutch Luke’s, pulling him towards me.

“i want him to come.” i say.

“hey, wait! i wanna come too! i’ve broken my nose several times, maybe i can be some help.” Quinn chimes in.

“well if you’re all going then i wanna go to!” Jack pipes up, obviously not wanting to be left out. Ellen sighs at her sons, shaking her head a little before speaking up.

“fine. Jack go run and grab my keys and everyone’s wallets. Quinn, Luke, take your skates off and we’ll all go get in the car.” Jack takes off running towards the house, being the only brother with his skates already shed.

i stand by Ellen, waiting for the boys to unlace their skates, slipping into their shoes that were waiting for them by the ice. we meet Jack by the car, who holds six wallets. handing them to each of us as we get in the car.

“why do you have your fathers wallet?” Ellen questions as she starts the car.

“you said to grab everyone’s.” Jack shrugs, sticking Jim’s wallet in his own pocket.

“why would that mean- nevermind.” Ellen shakes her head, pulling out of the driveway and starting the route to the hospital.

“how did you even get that from him?” i wonder, turning in the passenger seat to look at my boyfriend’s brother.

“took it from his pocket while he slept on the couch.”

[gay4abby]

Scents Shared !!

or in which you and jordan walk around the candle store smelling candles.

warnings, nooone, just holiday fluff. pairings, jordan li x reader. something very short n sweet while i try to finish my other requests lol i hope u like it :)

The holiday season was something every obtuse bastard was anticipating as soon as a new year starts. Decorations littered from doorstep to doorstep, street after street (causing even more pollution than it already fucking is, like am I right?) that would have undoubtedly fed an entire town. However, the holidays aren’t the same for Supes. Many of them are either estranged from their families, killed them, or are in constant arguments so celebrating it wouldn’t even make sense. There’s many more things at play, but you get the gist.

Regardless of how it goes for other Supes, Jordan’s family never fails to make it a big ass deal. You have already met Jordan’s parents and although you were very skeptical, they warmed up to you rather quickly. Jordan themself was even surprised at how much they liked, no loved you. Always asking about your wellbeing whenever they call Jordan. “You might as well replace me for their eldest child, honestly.” They once told you when you both were visiting their parents for spring break. You told them to shut up.

With Christmas being around the corner, you both found yourselves roped into a family holiday. You didn’t mind tagging along as you didn’t really celebrate Christmas with your own folks and Jordan’s family always made it feel like a fucking Hallmark movie. I mean, come on who wouldn’t want to experience a Christmas like that? What made spending Christmas with their family better than their siblings. You knew Jordan was the oldest and you always watched him interact with his siblings in the most loving way. It always made your heart warm.

You both were walking around aimlessly hand in hand and in one of the shops at the resort Jordan’s family and you are staying at. After being with them for a total of 48 hours, you both needed some reprieve and alone time. As nice as it was a break was desperately needed. “Look at this. Snow scented candle?” You reached your hand out to waft the smell up Jordan’s nose, expression neutral. “It actually smells like snow, holy shit. How the fuck?”

“I know!” You were in disbelief at the way they managed to capture the smell into a candle. A fucking candle. You shook your head setting it down with a wide grin. It was exciting for the both of you to have this time together, it was so simple yet the intensity of the intimacy was incredible. You felt them swing your intertwined hands as they stood off to the other side picking up another candle for you to smell. “This is snickerdoodle scented,” they raised the candle to your nose after smelling it. Your eyes grew wide as you looked at them, biting your bottom lip to contain your excitement. “We have to get that. Do you know how good it’ll smell in your dorm? Jordy, I’d never leave. Do you understand me?”

Jordan looked at you with love filling their eyes, their free hand reaching out to pinch your cheek. They chuckled slightly placing the candle in the basket that was settled on the ground between the two of you. “Like I’d ever want you to leave. Is it okay if I keep you hostage when we get back to campus?”

“Oh, absolutely. I am as willing as Homelander was when he dated that nazi,” you paused looking at Jordan for a second before you both busted out laughing. “Was he willing, though?” They asked you as they pulled your arm through theirs to continue walking after picking up the basket. “I mean, they kinda had the same idealism? Right?”

“He’s a prick, I wouldn’t be surprised.” You laughed, shaking your head slightly. “Prick is nicely putting it for him.”

“Why are we talking about Homeasshole, we have to focus on the candles!”

“You’re the one that fucking brought him up!”

“As a simile! Granted a terrible one, but similar.” Jordan, completely disregarding what you say, pulls you over to the fruity scented candles, “You know how much I love mango.”

“I don’t think that’s a very Christmas-y scent,” you were sent a deadly glare, “but what do I know, right?” You said with a nervous laughter as you grabbed it from their hand to smell it. It was pleasant on your nose, rendering you to take another sniff. Without saying anything, you take the candle and place it into the basket. Jordan only eyed you with those big brown chocolate drops before pulling you along again. “What about plug ins? We can get the same scents and it’ll be like an inception.”

“I like the way you think. We’ll get those after the candles.”

“Can we get peppermint? I think I’d really like some peppermint candles.” You inquired as Jordan pulled three candles from the shelf, one being peppermint, another being sandalwood and the last being nutmeg with apple. “Hm, this one smells good.” They hold out for you to smell the nutmeg with apple, you immediately nodding. “We should get all of those and let’s add vanilla for the cliché.”

Jordan picked up a vanilla scented candle quickly depositing it into the basket before linking arms with you again. They felt their pocket vibrate, a loud groan emitting from their mouth. Pulling it out, they checked to see who it was that was cutting into their alone time, annoying them even more when they saw it was their mom. “My mom’s calling.”

“Tell her I said hello!”

“Babe, you saw her not five fucking hours ago?”

“So what! Just tell her I said fucking hi, jeez!” You both huffed, you immediately walking away to find other candles while Jordan spoke with their mom. Your heart filled with such joy at the moment. It was like having an out of body experience where you’re watching a very nostalgic moment happen before you, it feels right to be there and there’s been a longing for it to happen. You didn’t know what to name it, but you don’t think you have to.

The moment continued even when Jordan came up to you and said you guys have to hurry up since the annual hockey game was beginning and even if you’re sitting out, Jordan wanted you to be there to be their little cheerleader. “What other scents did you get?”

“Oh! This one’s called moonstruck, which is like a combo of like burning wood and cranberry. Then I found coconut and orange. I’m pretty excited about this one. Next is sugar cookies! I know you’ll love this one.”

“Oh my fucking god, give me!”

“It’s yours, baby. Don’t worry I picked up two for you.”

“Did I ever mention how much I love you today?”

“No, but make it more poetic.”

“You are the blood that runs through my veins, the compound v that keeps me going and my safe haven when all is lost in the world.”

“I love you.”

You both giggled like school girls before walking off to the plug in’s section to get matching scents for your candles before paying then heading on home.

[skvatnavle]

Matt Murdock x reader

Warnings: None, really. Some swear words, fluff, a little dash of pining and some kissing.

Notes: On my discord server, Thirsty for Cox, we were a few people who thought it would be fun with a monthly challenge. This is the result of that. This month's prompt was Snowed in.

Words: 1.4K

”Fuck! Matt, we were supposed to take that exit! Why didn’t you say anything?” you groan out in frustration, already so late and fearing for the weather. The sky had gotten darker by each passing minute, the forecast saying a snowstorm was coming.

“Well, next time you shouldn’t choose the blind guy as your navigator.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the signature Murdock head tilt followed by a small frustrated smile.

“Shit, Matt. I’m sorry.” You try, reaching out to give his arms a soft squeeze. He’s so capable that you often forget he’s blind. But luckily you’ve known each other for years, so he knows you mean no offense. It had been several years since you met Matt, one weekend when Foggy had invited you to visit him at college. 

“It’s okay, Nugget.” He grins, knowing you still hate that nickname. Him and Foggy had teased you relentlessly when you were younger. Sometimes, they still made you feel like you were just a kid, but you loved them both nonetheless. You’re just about to shoot something back at Matt, when he leans forward, putting a hand over yours. “Is the winds picking up?”

Almost panicked, you look to the horizon. The dark skies are close and the trees are swaying more by the minute. And then it hits. The first snowflake soon turns into a blizzard, making it hard for you to see anything. You’re still an hour and a half away from home, but you fear you’re not gonna make it.

“Fuck. I’m not a good enough driver to go through this shit.” You pout, causing Matt to chuckle beside you. He gives a comforting pat on your leg, trying to calm your nerves.  “I’m sorry if I get us killed.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll make it. Where are we?” He says softly, really doing his best to remain calm and focused, while you’re slowly panicking beside him. You read some of the signs out loud for him and he just smiles. “There’s a little bed and breakfast a few miles from here.”

“And how do you know that?” You ask, surprised that Matt has been here before. He usually never leaves Hell’s Kitchen and when he does, it’s with Foggy.

“I plead the fifth.”

“Oh, fuck off Murdock. I refuse to stay at one of your sex cabins.” You tease, but deep down you feel a pang of jealousy. You’ve always liked Matt, maybe more than you should, so the thought of possibly staying in a room where he’s been with a girlfriend pains you. 

“I never had sex there. Not yet, anyway.” He smirks, clearly trying to rouse you and you hate that it’s working. You punch his shoulder, trying to ignore the feeling deep in your stomach. You know Matt will never see you as anything other than Foggy’s little sister. 

At the next exit, you turn and after a short while arrive at a beautiful little Bed and Breakfast. It’s looks magical in the snow, almost like taken out of a fairytale. Quickly you gather your things and run inside, the few seconds outside enough to freeze you to the core. Luckily, there’s one room left and you take it, happy to be out of the storm.

Once in the room, you quickly call Foggy and explain the entire situation to him. The entire family had been worried about you, fearing the worst since you should have arrived hours ago. The whole family is gathered for Christmas already, it’s only you and Matt missing. He had some business he needed to take care of, so while Foggy took off, you volunteered to stay back. But now you wish you had left yesterday.

“I’m sorry about this, Nugget.” Matt tries softly, when he hears the frustrated sigh you let out. He pulls you into a hug, kissing the top of your head softly. “I know you just want to be home already.”

“It’s fine, Matt.” You mutter, already forgetting that you’re not home now that you’re in Matt’s arms. He holds you for a while and you melt into his touch, wondering if you’ll ever get enough of him. You know you can’t have him, Foggy would kill you, but you sometimes wonder how it would be. Coming home to him after a long day at work. Making him dinner as you talk about your days. Having his soft, perfect lips on yours. His strong body on top of yours as he-

“You okay, Nugget? your heart’s racing.” Matt asks softly, caressing your arm. And no, you’re not okay. You’re hopelessly in love with Matt Murdock, but you can never tell him. Could you?

Breaking away from him, you look to the ground, always finding it hard to meet his gaze even though you know he can’t see you. You always feel like he can though, like he’s the only one that ever sees you truly. Shaking your head, you try to forget that thought. You can’t think like that, especially not now when you’re trapped with him in this room until tomorrow. So you settle for a ‘I’m okay’, knowing you can’t fool him. But you try. For your own sake.

He doesn’t press you further, just settles on the bed, getting comfortable. The silence between you is deafening all of a sudden, which is rare, cause you always have something to talk about. You wish one of you could say something, that anything would break the silence. As if he read your mind, he finds the remote and turns on the tv. More for your sake than his, but you are thankful, nonetheless. 

An hour later you order room service. The meal is actually quite good, and the wine Matt ordered is even better, so you feel yourself letting loose. After the second glass, you’re both more relaxed and by the time Matt pours from the second bottle, you feel better than you have in a long time. Sitting against the headboard of the bed, you lean against Matt, laughing hard at one of his stories. He always had this ability to make you laugh harder than anyone else could.

“You should have seen Foggy. He was fuming! Still to this day, I don’t think he’s forgiven me for that.” He laughs, falling into you. Your sides are hurting from laughing. If Matt really is that funny or if the wine’s just getting to you, you don’t know. But you feel good again, already forgotten about the horrible car ride.

“Thank you, Matty.” You giggle, kissing his cheek briefly. Right now, your family was probably playing some game or watching a christmas movie, but honestly you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

“I’m glad I got you smiling again.” He says softly, his hand cupping your cheek. You look into his beautiful hazel eyes, your heart beating a mile a minute. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe you’re just drunk on Matt, but you feel your resolve getting weaker for every second.

“You always make me smile, Matty.” You say, hating how your voice breaks. “I… I’m always happiest when I’m with you.” You know you shouldn’t say anything, that you should keep pretending, but how could you when he’s right here, still holding you close.

“Foggy’s gonna kill me.” He breathes out, before his lips land on yours. Your body ignites, the small flame burning for him turning into an inferno as he deepens the kiss, pulling you closer. You should stop him, he never should have kissed you. You don’t care, fingers running through his hair as the kiss turns hungry, years of want pouring into it. 

“Just to be clear. This is not because of that ‘not sex yet’ comment. I’ve wanted to do this for years.” Matt says between kisses, his hand gripping your waist as he pulls you under him.

“Wait, for years?” You stop him with a hand to his chest, shocked by his confession. “Then why didn’t you do something sooner?” 

“Foggy… I can’t lose him.” You hear the fear in his voice, knowing how much he means to Matt. With all his family gone, all he had for years was Foggy. 

“I know you won’t. You mean too much to him.” You reassure him, kissing him gently. “But he’ll probably get mad, so let’s not say anything until after Christmas?” You suggest, causing Matt to chuckle.

“Sounds like a good idea.”

His hazel eyes look to you, his eyes almost finding yours. For a while you just lay there, taking each other in, before Matt breaks the silence. “God, sweetheart. I’m so in love with you.”

“I’m in love with you too, Matt. More than you know.” You whisper back before you kiss him again. The snow is still falling outside, almost covering the Bed and Breakfast. It looks like you might not be able to leave tomorrow, but that’s okay. You’re no longer in a rush to get home.

Thank you so much for reading <3

TFC girls: @e-dubbc11 @mindidjarin @phoebe-danvers @itwasthereaminuteago @idrinkcoffeeandobsess @saintmurd0ck @pedrito-friskito @a-bang-for-your-bucky @lunaserenade @mattmurdocksscars

Tagging: @lucy-sky @fictionaljunkie @chasingdreamer @freshabogados @murdocks-devil

[sillyfanatic]

Snowstorms and card games

Merry christmas and happy holidays! Here's my little festive present to all of you! (Because what's more festive than gay hedgehogs and snow <333) Click here to read it on ao3 :D

CW for detailed mentions of food!

p.s: Thank you to everyone who responded to my post about Shadow's teleportation, it helped a lot with this fic!!

(wc; 4142)

-

The whistle of the wind and the rattling of the window had pulled them out of their conversation. Sonic stood then, walking to tug the curtains to the side, wanting to discover what lay on the other side. It was late now, and yet there was a brightness to the evening, heavy snowfall batting against the window with force.

Shadow didn’t mean to be here this long, there was barely a snowflake in the air when he’d first come here, and now… well, now, it looked like a blizzard was brewing on the other side of the wall.

“Oh, shit, how long have we been talking?” Sonic shook his head and pushed the curtain back, as if hiding the outdoors would change the weather. A quick glance at his watch indicated 10:43PM. “Hm.” A quiet disappointed huff, perhaps the start of a realization.

They both knew Shadow lived far. While Sonic had opted for a home in the countryside, the agent’s career required him to live in the heart of the city. They also knew that his bike, which had been conveniently parked by the front steps, was now stuck underneath a thick blanket of snow.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stay this long.” It’s all Shadow could muster as the situation fell upon them: an apology for something that was outside of his control.

“It’s fine.” Sonic reassured, as he always did, but his eyes betrayed him. There was a glimmer of unease in them, a worry in the way his brows furrowed pointedly. Was his presence really that bothersome? Did the thought of them being stuck together annoy him?

He was already worrying, reading into things.

The agent felt a familiar heaviness in the air, the awkward silence he and Sonic often struggled to fill. Except when they were talking about work, which they had been, for… three hours, it seemed.

Why had he let himself get carried away?

“I should go.” He stood then, but moved no further, standing still as he eyed the other.

“Are you insane?” Was the immediate reply on Sonic’s behalf. The blue hedgehog drew the curtain back again, a dramatic show of their current situation. “Shadow, your bike’s at least six feet under by now.”

The thought of his beloved motorcycle being left to rust out there was almost enough to make him wince.

But it’s not what he’d meant. There was a better, easier, way to get out of here.

“No, idiot, I’m just going to-“ he started, feeling himself becoming more and more irritable. The situation wasn’t great, he wasn’t happy to know he’d wasted three hours here, that his bike would need some repair after this, and Sonic’s oddly placed nerves didn’t help either.

Frustrated, he reached into his quills seeking out…

It wasn’t there.

“Were you about to say that you’re gonna chaos control?” Sonic’s arms were crossed now, and there was a smug smile on his face. It wasn’t helping Shadow’s souring mood, not by a landslide.

“Fuck you.” He spat out, surely an aggressive reflex born from his past, not by the person he was trying to be.

“Fuck me? You’re the one who came here asking about a chaos emerald in the first place!” He pointed out, very annoyingly.

“Let me think.” Shadow mumbled, pacing around the room as a heavy silence settled between them once more.

There had to be something he could do, some way he could get out of this house. He’d just come here about the emeralds, and yes, although the three hours they’d spent discussing them wasn’t entirely unpleasant, it did not mean he wished to elongate his stay.

But every answer seemed to fall short. His bike was not usable, and even if it was, the roads were probably undistinguishable. So, vehicles were a no, and sonic didn’t own a plane (tails did, but he stored his plane in his garage, which seemed inconvenient now.)

And he couldn’t teleport out of here because he lacked a chaos emerald.

“Your pacing is stressing me out.” Sonic was still standing by the window, leaning against it now. He looked so nonchalant, how the fuck did he seem so calm now? Had he accepted the situation that easily? Was change, unexpectedness, not frightening? It certainly froze up Shadow.

“Helps me think.” He slowed down, still, feeling himself get a bit too worked up.

“Think about what? There’s no way out of here dude, you’re stuck with me for the foreseeable future.”

“I could walk?” He knew it wasn’t an option, he’d even spoken it as though it was a question, not a suggestion.

“Sure, that would be a super cool way to die.” His voice was thick with sarcasm. “‘Tried to take a walk in a blizzard’ is what I’ll have them write on your gravestone.” Sonic chuckled at his own joke, making the other stop his pacing entirely just to glare at him.

“Aren’t you trying to think of anything? You certainly don’t want me here all night, do you?”

“Mm, wouldn’t be the worse company I’ve ever had.” The hero shrugged his shoulders, ignoring half of the questions asked to him.

Fuck. This was going to be a long night.

-

The way the windows rattled against the storm was concerning to say the least. A couple of hours later and the house had not yet fallen, despite the cracks and the creaks occasionally heard throughout the home.

It wasn’t the worst place he could be stuck in. This wasn’t G.U.N headquarters, or knuckle’s house (that, he’d risk a walk in the snow to escape.)

In fact, it was kind of cozy. He’d only ever seen the kitchen / dining / living room area, but Shadow felt fond of the decor here, the messy mish mash of vintage 80s furniture and sentimental items that did little to match the ongoing “theme”.

It was comfortable, not too gaudy, and it didn’t appear to follow any set rule or rhythm. Kind of like Sonic.

Sonic, who had been noisily rummaging in the kitchen for the past few minutes as Shadow lay on his back on the couch, begging the minutes to go by faster. The agent had run through every possible escape plan, most of which landed him in the hospital. He was resilient, sure, but he wasn’t stupid; no mobian could face such low temperatures and harsh weather conditions with barely any protection. So, he’d reluctantly concluded that he’d have to stay here for a while, until a solution came up, or until the storm vanished. Both of which felt like they were years away.

The noise Sonic made was bothersome, yes, but not nearly interesting enough to warrant his attention. And so, Shadow ignored it.

That was, until a smell started to tickle his nose: something warm and spiced, a savoury aroma filling the air around them.

It managed to make him move. Propping his elbow underneath him, Shadow threw a peek into the kitchen. As expected, there Sonic was, fussing over a large pot, the metallic edges surrounded by vapor. There were cutting boards and utensils strewn across the area, ingredients and their unusable portions littering the counters.

It was intriguing, he supposed. Or at least, it was something to do, something to watch.

And so, Shadow pushed himself up, heading towards the small kitchen to bother the other hedgehog.

Sonic barely glanced at him as he made a trip to the fridge, taking out some carrots to cut and peel.

“It’s stew, nothing fancy.” He spoke as he chopped, the crisp sound of cutting carrots repeating itself gently.

“Mm.” Shadow huffed, but his curiosity was peeked. Looking into the pot he could observe a rich broth, laden with vegetables and some sort of meat, a labour of care. And although he couldn’t see them, there were spices, a nice mix of seasonings that almost made his mouth water.

Sonic slid the carrots into the mix, snapping the agent out of his daze. “It’ll be ready when the carrots get softer, maybe fifteen minutes, I’d say?” He stirred the mixture slowly, the broth changing colours and shimmering as he did so.

“Where did you learn to cook like that?” It was the closest thing to a compliment.

Sonic put the ladle aside, shaking his shoulders.

“Don’t know. I’ve always loved cooking. I think I wanted to be a chef when I was young.” There was a small huff, something akin to laughter on his lips. There was some humour in a retrospective like that, to think of what you dreamt, knowing what had become of you after all those years. “I guess I also learnt for survival, yaknow? Cooking basic things with what I had, making sure tails and I were always fed.”

It was hard to imagine Sonic as anything else than what he was now. A chef? The idea seemed ridiculous. Perhaps in another lifetime, in a different universe somewhere, Sonic the hedgehog was known as a chef.

It made Shadow wonder; did he have dreams and aspirations too, an ideal career he never fulfilled? If there was, he struggled to remember it now.

“Plus, I just wanted to cook the last of what was in the fridge, in case we lose power.” He noted, moving to stir the mixture once again.

It made sense, it was smart. Shadow kept these remarks to himself, opting to stay quiet instead.

-

When the food was eaten and stored away, they faced boredom once more.

Shadow found himself on the couch again, laying on his stomach this time, hoping to fall asleep out of annoyance.

Sonic was somewhere around him, fidgeting or fussing with a Rubik’s cube from a nearby shelf.

As bored as he may be, the agent would not fall asleep. He barely slept in his own bed, for Chaos’ sake, it would be impossible to pass out here, on a coworker’s couch.

Lifting his head, he turned his gaze to the other. Sonic had given up the Rubik’s cube and was now fighting with a rather pilled cushion, attempting to remove lint off its surface. If only his admirers were here to see him lose a battle with lint. The thought made Shadow huff.

“Rouge used to force me to play board games when we were snowed in.” He spoke, sharing a memory – there were few he cherished, and this one was a part of those few.

“Oh yeah?” It brought a slight smile to the hero’s face, distracting him from his never-ending battle with the old pillow. “Seems on-brand for you two.”

“Mm. It was nice.” He cracked a small smile too, feeling the other’s joy affect him. He added; “if you tell her I said that, I’ll kill you.” His tone wasn’t serious enough, the premise of the threat too ridiculous to be taken seriously.

Sonic burst into laughter then, eyes crinkling with joy as he tilted his head backwards. It was contagious, endearing in a way the dark hedgehog could not describe. When his laughter faded, he replied; “I think I’ll have to risk it, it would be fucking hilarious to let her know you actually enjoy her company.”

“It would be cruel.” Shadow couldn’t wipe the smile off his face if he tried.

“’The perfect prank’, is what I think we should call it.” Shadow rolled his eyes at this, but he could not feel any annoyance at the words. “Alas, I’m not as smart as Rouge, I don’t have any board games.” Sonic sighed dramatically, swinging his feet in boredom.

“It’s fine.” Shadow replied nonchalantly, though he’d hoped there was something for them to do.

Sonic didn’t reply, gaze fading somewhere out into the distance. He bit his lip as if in thought, and Shadow could not find it in himself to look away. It was more entertaining than keeping his eyes closed, that’s for sure. Sonic’s legs went still then, his eyebrows furrowing. “Wait, hold on.” He snapped out of his thoughts, standing rapidly. “I think I have something.”

“A secret copy of monopoly? We both know you’d go bankrupt immediately.”

Shaking his head, Sonic extended a hand forward, urging the other to stand with him. The agent found himself just interested enough to take the offer, placing his hand in the other’s, letting himself be guided to another part of the small home.

-

Sonic’s room was surprisingly nice.

Shadow was sat on a fluffy white rug as Sonic shuffled through some drawers for something.

The bed was not made, the green sheets tossed about in an endearing way. The furniture was of a nice white oak, a matching set that felt unlike Sonic – it was a touch too coordinated to feel quite like his doing.

The walls were covered in pictures, cards, tickets, memories of all kinds taped to the white surface. There were bookshelves laden with books and trinkets, an old television with even older video game consoles surrounding it, their yellowed controllers strewn about.

Like the rest of the home, it was disorganized yet personalized, an insight into Sonic, one Shadow could not dislike.

“There it is!” He beamed triumphantly, hurrying to sit down in front of the black hedgehog. In his hands was a relatively small cardboard box, a rectangular one.

“It’s the only board game I have.” He explained as he took off the top, revealing a set of nicely stacked cards. There must’ve been about 50, all a nice red colour with white text peeking out. “Amy gave it to me a few years ago, never had the chance to use it.”

Shadow picked a card from the pack, reading the text printed on its surface “Your favourite vacation spot.” he mumbled under his breath, brows furrowing in confusion.

“Yeah, it’s like a ‘get to know the other person’ kind of game, I think.” The hero spoke as he handled a small instructions packet, flipping through its glossy pages at a worrying speed.

“I see.” He turned the card around in his hand – the other side was simply decorated by a white heart in its center. He felt himself grow warm, his cheeks surely becoming pink - it was hopefully concealed within the low light of the room.

“We don’t have to play if you don’t want to, I just thought it would be nice.” The black hedgehog lifted his gaze to look at the other; Sonic had a warm smile lining his lips, his features speaking of ease and nonchalance, a casualness Shadow envied in this moment.

“Don’t be ridiculous, we’ll play.” He wasn’t afraid of a few plastic cards, surely. Fidgeting with the one in his hand, he eyed the other. “But it’d help if we had… incentive.”

“Hm?” The blue hedgehog began, lifting his gaze from the booklet he seemingly barely read. It soon dawned on him what his friend had meant, and by the way this evening was headed, he was sure it wouldn’t hurt to indulge, just for once. It wasn’t like they could leave the house anyways, so being in a proper state of being was really unnecessary, if you thought about it. “Mmm, gotcha.” He nodded. “I don’t have much, I don’t know what you like, but I hope some cheap wine from a few years ago will do.” He smiled in a way that he hoped was apologetic. Here he was, offering low-end alcohol to Shadow, who probably owned some of the finest bottles in town (though that would be more because of Rouge than because of him).

“It will do.” He replied, that familiar passiveness returning on his features.

“Good, because I think Amy gave it to me as well, and I need to drink it soon before she realizes I haven’t touched it.”

Without another word (he spoke too much, always) he left the room, fetching the bottle from the back of some cupboard, as well as the only two wine glasses he owned.

Returning, he settled the glasses on the wood floor, besides the carpet. The bottle was quickly opened, its contents carefully tossed into the two glasses.

Shadow took a sip, and to the other’s relief, he did not recoil. (The thought of it mortified Sonic). His lips curved into a slight smile as he remarked; “I think the most surprising thing about tonight is that you own proper wine glasses.”

“I’m full of surprises.” Sonic spoke as he sipped his drink, the odd bitter taste coating his throat. It wasn’t entirely repulsive; he’ll give it that much. And it was all they had, so it would do well.

-

The wine flowed more easily after a few sips. An unfamiliar warmth held him loosely, a fuzziness in his limbs that made the hero smile brighter, laugh easier.

He could see the wine starting to loosen the other, though Shadow’s tolerance surely outshined his own. Still, the agent seemed calmer than he had all night, his usually unpleasant demeanor switching towards something more easy, friendly.

Sonic would be lying if he said he didn’t want to see more of that person, a peek behind the curtain of a closed off hedgehog.

“Right, I have ‘favourite colour’.” Shadow huffed at the card, rolling his eyes.

“What’s so bad about that?” Sonic pouted, eager to know the other’s favourite colour. Small as it may be, it intrigued him to peer into his friend’s mind.

“Please, I’m sure you know my favourite colour.” He shook his head as if this was an obvious thing – nothing about him had ever been ‘obvious’, not even his favourite colour.

“Couldn’t tell you if it would save my life.”

“Really?” The agent tilted his head to the side as his gaze poured into Sonic’s, making the hero take a larger sip of his wine than intended.

“Mhm.” He nodded as he tried not to choke on the wine. “You’re pretty secretive.” His fingers fidget with his glass, unable to stay still. “But you seem interesting. It’s why I thought this game would be nice.” He shrugged his shoulders at the confession, hoping the nonchalant motion undercut the hidden message and the oddly heavy emotion behind it.

I want to know you. I want to be your friend, and I want to spend time with you. I don’t know why.

“It’s green, I like green.” Shadow’s smile was soft, inviting.

“I like red.” Sonic blurted after, feeling the alcohol’s effect on his tongue, loosening his thoughts and easily spilling his words.

“Good choice.” The dark hedgehog practically purred, finishing the last swig of his glass. It was hastily topped off.

Sonic ran his fingers over the deck, choosing a card from the middle, or where he thought the middle was.

Pulling out a card, he read its prompt out loud; “Name the most attractive feature about your partner”. As soon as the words were spoken, Sonic felt himself flush red, embarrassment mixing with the alcohol to form a soft panic in his head. “Chaos, sorry, I didn’t know this kind of question would be in there”.

“I mean, a red deck of cards, decorated with white hearts?” Shadow remarked, seemingly unbothered. Pointing out the obvious only deepened Sonic’s embarrassment, the hedgehog finding solace in sipping wine – it was the only thing hiding his face. “Most importantly, I think the fact that Amy got this for you is enough to categorize it as something rather ‘romantic’.”

Shadow’s voice was like velvet in his ears.

The hero had defeated gods, and yet this felt like his death, more than any other wound he’d received.

The tips of his ears burnt, stomach twisting in his flustered state. “Ha, yeah, she’s got a bit of a thing for me, doesn’t she?” he hoped it deflected from their current situation.

“You’d be a fool not to notice it.” He spoke, swirling around the red liquid in his now half-empty glass. “I can’t blame her, you know, you have a really charming smile.”

The compliment was like a brick to the face, it was sudden, unexpected – if Sonic had been drinking, he would’ve surely spat it all out.

A compliment was one thing, yes, but a compliment from Shadow, of all people? He didn’t think it possible.

“Thank you.” He mumbled as he downed the rest of his bitter drink, hoping the last few swigs would offer him the courage to flirt back, to say something. “For what it’s worth, you have a really nice smile too. I don’t think I’ve had the chance to see it, like, properly.” He was speaking a bit too fast, words slurring ever-so-slightly. “Yaknow, till today.” He placed his glass down. “So, yeah… thanks for that.”

It was messy, embarrassing, unlike him, and yet, Shadow did not flea (it wasn’t as though he could). Instead, he started laughing. A warm and rich sound, a pure one – if Sonic wasn’t there to witness it, he’d deny its existence. But, no, it was really happening. Shadow was throwing his head back in laughter, mirth tickling the air around him.

And the hero forgot what they’d just been discussing, unable to do anything but watch the scene unfolding before him.

It felt forbidden, private.

“So, I take it that’s my best feature then?” He spoke when his laughter died down, an uncharacteristic grin plastered on his face. His teeth were sharper than Sonic’s, and he had fangs, sticking out ever-so-slightly. It was almost as intoxicating as the wine.

“One hundred percent.” Sonic affirmed, feeling a mix of giddiness and carelessness brought by the blending of wine and pleasantries (some could say he was even developing a crush here; if asked, he’d deny it).

“Thank you.” It was sincere.

“And you’d say my best feature iiiissss?” He held his hand out to Shadow, silently urging him to finish the sentence.

“Well, you’ve already given me smile, I suppose it’d be cheap for me to say the same.” He took a big sip – there wasn’t much wine left. “I guess I’d have to say… your eyes.”

“My eyes?” He tilted his head in question.

“They are my favourite colour after all.” He noted, calling back to their earlier conversation.

And if Sonic hadn’t been blushing before, he certainly was now. With no wine glass to hide his embarrassment, he pretended to look elsewhere, feeling that newly familiar burn tickle every inch of his body.

There was silence for a few moments, but for the first time, it did not feel awkward. It was still heavy, yes, but it was somehow comfortable, and perhaps it could even be described as pleasant?

The next thing Sonic felt was a hand upon his chin, pulling him back towards the other. He felt his ears pinning back, unable to hide his flushed state any longer.

Shadow held his chin firmly in between his gloved fingers, gently coercing him to gaze at him, and only him.

The air was hot, their heavy breaths stained with the cheap alcohol they’d hastily consumed.

Before they knew it, they’d leaned into each other – stained lips pressed gently to one another, in a softness that spoke of firsts.

Sonic had felt fear, excitement, elation, and yet, none of those emotions had elevated his heartbeat this much. He’d run faster than the wind, and still, his heart did not pump so fast.

In this moment, however, the hero could feel it thrum inside its cage harder than ever before, his blood rushing everywhere, to anywhere except is head.

Shadow’s grip was unwavering as he led them down a path of no return, deepening their kiss into something more sinful.

Sonic had barely known the existence of Shadow’s fangs, and yet here they were, nipping at his skin, gently scratching him in a way that made his head spin.

It was sloppy, unpracticed, yet so so delightful – they felt no remorse indulging each other in something so sweet, something seemingly forbidden.

It was only when the air wore thin that they split apart, foreheads connected as they caught their fleeting breaths. Hearts beating out of their cages, they kept at it, losing themselves in their new-found passion, drinking the other in, sharing the same air again and again until they were too tired to do so.

-

Laying on the carpet, their head spun with the low-quality wine and their sudden thirst for each other. As their eyelids began to feel heavier, they drifted towards a dreamless sleep, their hands interlaced, their shoulders touching.

The bottle of wine now sat empty; their dirtied glasses discarded along with the card game. It was a miracle they hadn’t stained the carpet.

And when morning came, when a white sun and a snow covered land greeted them, and a small headache clawed at the back of their heads, they could not find it in themselves to regret their actions.

-

A/N

>so happy i could get this fic out on time omg. as always, any interaction is appreciated, and i'd love to hear yer thoughts!! (think of it as a present for me <3)

>have a lovely end of your year, and an even better start of a new one!

[0-r-a-y-0]

hey pooks 😛 fic idea 😍 jasper and nick go get a christmas tree and drive around looking at lights 😋 is this a short request? yes. do i think you’ll make a fic that makes me wanna read it to my grandchildren when i’m 90? yes.

Christmas Tree— Romantic #13

In which: Matt and Chris leave it up to Nick to get a new Christmas tree. But he can’t do that alone, can he?

I actually fucking love this idea omgggg even though I didn’t make it that short 😛

“Do you guys want to help decorate?!” Nick asked excitedly, barging into the room.

“You’re just now decorating? Thought you would’ve done that before Thanksgiving.” Matt commented.

“Low on motivation, high on Christmas spirit.” He shrugged. “Now you want to help or not?”

“Yeah, I got nothing better to do anyways.” Chris replied, getting off the couch and putting his phone in his back pocket. Matt only nodded, getting up as well.

“Also, I don’t know where the tree went. I looked everywhere and I found all the other decorations.” Nick claimed, opening a bin and taking out some of the decorations.

“We were putting it away last year and the stand broke, remember?” Matt explained.

“No? Why didn’t you guys tell me? We could’ve gotten a new one when they were on sale!” He says.

“It’s fine, how about you go get a new one.” Chris suggested. “Have Jasper take you, he’s coming over in a little bit anyways.”

Nick just stared at him for a moment before rolling his eyes. “Yeah, whatever, I’ll call him.”

Another twenty minutes of the triplets putting up random snowmen and fake snow all over the house, Jasper walks in. Nick walks up to him giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“You ready to go?” He asked.

“Please! Take me away from my idiotic brothers.” Nick joked, waving to his brothers before walking out the door.

“What kind of tree should we get? One from a store or like a real tree?” The redhead wondered, scrolling through his Spotify to pick a song.

“I don’t really think it matters, either way it’s going to be at a store and it’s just a tree that’s going to be up for a month maybe. But you better hurry and pick a song, I can’t stand listening to Taylor Swift any longer.” Jasper answered, staring ahead of him.

“Okay, okay!” Nick exclaimed, picking the first song he saw. “Ooo I love this song!”

“How do you have so much Christmas spirit?” He asked.

“Huh? Oh, I don’t know. Just do, I guess.” The other shrugged.

“Why didn’t you guys get a new tree when they were on sale? Christmas shit is always on sale after Christmas.” Jasper confirmed.

“That’s what I told them! I didn’t even know we needed a new tree until today!” Nick stated. “Straight people are so dumb.”

Jasper pulls into a parking lot and parks the car. “Agreed. Don’t understand how you put up with them.” He claimed sarcastically, unlocking and getting out his car.

“I don’t understand either.” Nick said, getting out of the vehicle and looking at the sky. “Damn, it’s only six and the sun is already setting.”

“Yeah, it’s like winter, dude. That’s what happens.” Jasper replies.

“Ew, don’t call me “dude”. You make it seem like we’re like bros or something.” The redhead grimaced.

“I mean, we’re going into a Home Depot, that’s like the straightest store ever, dude.” The tan skinned boy confirmed.

They both walk into the Home Depot, looking around and trying to find the Christmas trees. When they do, Nick takes the time to look at and inspecting all of them thoroughly before narrowing it down to the ones he liked best.

“I think I’m going to get this one.” He finally decided. “Looks like one we used to have when we were kids.”

Nick pauses for a second, thinking. “We just need one of those pushy things.”

“Pushy things? Carts you mean?” Jasper questioned.

“Well. We’re gonna need a cart too because we need to get more ornaments. But that other thing.”

“A platform truck?” The curly haired boy wondered.

“Yeah, that thing.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

They walk all the way back to the front of the store to get the carts and walking back to get the Christmas tree. Nick grabs the tree and sets it on the truck.

“Do you want to get the ornaments real quick? It’s just the next isle over.” Jasper asks.

“Yeah, we got to be quick though. I don’t want anyone trying to take my tree. It’s the last one.” Nick says.

The redhead follows the other down the isle and they grab a pack of ornaments, Nick taking the time to look at individual ones for him and his brothers. He grabs a shark for Matt, headphones for Chris, and an Edward Scissorhands one for himself. They walk back and quickly get the tree and walking to the check out.

“Don’t tell Matt and Chris, but I’m going to use our shared money.” Nick laughs, sliding the card and paying.

They load everything into the back of Jasper’s vehicle before getting in. “It’s so dark now. How long were we in there?”

“Uhhh, almost an hour.” The curly haired boy answered, looking at the time.

“I spent that much time looking at trees?” Nick inquired.

“No, mostly you walking around and looking at other decorations and me telling you that you don’t need it. I saved you like a thousand bucks.”

“Oh…” Nick trailed off, looking out the window. “Look at all the lights. More people need to go all out when decorating. I want to drive around and have all my senses stimulated with colors and bright lights and Christmas.”

“There’s this light show place not far from here. They go all out every year and do something different.” Jasper claimed.

“Oh my god. Can we go?” Nick lit up, immediately turning to look at him.

“Yeah, sure. We should get food first though.”

“Oh hell yeah! Taco Bell?”

“Yeah, okay. I’m good with that.”

They go through the drive through and get their food, now driving to the light show. From a distance, they were still able to see all the lights. It illuminated the sky and everything around it.

“So it’s a neighborhood that goes all out on decorating the outside of their house with lights? And we vote on which house looks the best and whoever wins gets like money?” Nick clarified, almost shocked with the concept.

“Yeah, I go like every year. Each house always does something different.” Jasper repeats.

“That actually makes me so happy.” The redhead smiles.

“I know it does, babe.” Jasper responded, laying his hand on Nick’s thigh as he continued to drive.

When they first get there, they notice cars driving slowly in front of them, taking the time to look at every house. Nick pulls up the website to vote for the houses, marking what would be his first three places.

The bright colored lights shine in their faces, Nick getting multiple pictures of Jasper for his photography account on Instagram, which seemed to only be filled with him lately.

They enjoyed looking at every house, Nick getting excited at the different themes. Some were the Grinch, Home Alone, and countless of other popular Christmas movies. But then, Jasper said.

“Hey, isn’t that that one guy? I don’t know his name but he’s from that Arthur movie or something, isn’t he?”

“WHAT?!” Nick yelled, sitting up to look where his boyfriend was pointing at. “OH MY GOD. It is! No way someone did an Arthur Christmas theme!” He exclaimed with joy.

He takes out his phone and takes a video of the whole drive past it, sending it to his brothers and just then seeing the multiple missed messages from them. Mostly asking where he was since he had been gone for so long. He simply just tells them about the light show and going to Home Depot then turning his phone off, enjoying the rest of the time with his boyfriend and the lights.

[billy-hardgrove]

“Merry Christmas.”

Steve has a big, dumb grin on his face, and a poorly wrapped gift in his hand, outstretched towards Billy who was staring at it suspiciously.

“It’s New Years Eve…” He doesn’t accept it, not does Steve pull his arm back just yet.

“Yeah, well, we haven’t spoken since before Christmas.” He’s still smiling, not allowing the sour mood Billy is in to ruin his own. He’s bundled up in a coat, hands gloved, thick scarf wrapped around his neck; all to ward off the deathly chill of a Hawkins winter. Billy, on the other hand, is in a denim jacket, and shivering like an idiot; his cheeks and nose gone a bright cherry red.

“We haven’t spoken since—“

“Just after Halloween. Right. Yeah.” The interruption earns Steve a snort, that’s not what Billy was going to say. Since their fight at the Byers’ house, he meant. Months of radio silence. He was just doing as he was told, staying away from Max and her dumb friends. Like he cared, they were all more trouble than they were worth.

“So why the sudden interest, Harrington? Don’t tell me you want me to be your New Year’s kiss.” He flicks his tongue over his lips, grinning proudly at himself for that quip. Though Steve just offers him a small laugh and looks away.

“I mean, it’s not like I have anyone in mind. Not why I’m here though.” The paper crinkles in his hands, and Billy looks down at the rejected gift again; reaching for it and snatching it up. Steve is practically beaming that it’s finally been accepted.

“If this is some sort of joke I’m gonna beat your ass. Again.” His cigarette dangles between his lips as he tears at the brightly coloured wrapping paper, revealing the deep red fabric within; pulled out and unravelled into a scarf not dissimilar to Steve’s. “The hell is this?”

“We call it a scarf, Hargrove. I know you probably don’t have those back in California.” Another small laugh, this time from the dark look Billy shoots him, Steve instinctively raising his hands in a mock surrender. “Noticed you haven’t exactly been wrapping up-” “’M’fine.” Which was, of course, a lie; his body immediately betraying him by shivering violently. Billy tucks his hands under his arms and tries to warm himself up sans Steve’s gift. Stupid Hawkins and it’s stupid winter. It was so fucking cold. And there was so much snow. Driving was a bitch.

“Come on, man, you don’t even have a proper coat. Max is all bundled up, walking around looking like a giant puff ball-” The look Billy gives him this time is enough to make Steve shut up, and finally wipe the smile from his face. There’s a flash of anger in his eyes, sure, but there was something else too that gave him pause. He looked hurt.

“Yeah, well, first flake fell and she was rushed off to the mall.” He sniffs loudly and wipes his nose on the back of his sleeve, staring for a moment at the scarf in his hands, rubbing at it with his fingers. It does feel soft. Warm. He could tell this was a good quality. Not cheap.

“Why didn’t you go with her and get something for yourself?” God, Steve Harrington was an idiot. And it was painfully obvious he was an only child. He looked utterly clueless. That wasn’t how it worked. Money was tight and Max was the youngest.

And Billy wouldn’t be caught dead in some off-brand crap. Even if that was all he could afford with his own allowance.

He could have got angry. Told Steve to fuck off, or butt out, or… something. Instead he remembers that look on Max’s face when she stood over him with that damn baseball bat. And then he looks at Steve and sees that goofy smile return to his face. He wasn’t mad. Just cold. And tired.

“Thanks Harrington.” He holds the scarf up and wraps it around his neck. He could already feel a warmth returning to his throat; tucking his head down into the comfortable fabric and bunching his shoulders up.

“Of course.” A silence fell between them. An increasingly awkward one. Billy staring off into the distance, smoking; and Steve just staring down at their feet. Neither knew what was meant to come next. It wasn’t like Billy had anything to offer in return, nor did the pair exactly have much to talk about. Yet Steve seemed reluctant to leave him. “You, uh, going to Becky’s party tonight?”

Billy nodded. Then shrugged.

“Maybe.” It was hit and miss in the Hargrove-Mayfield household which holidays his father wanted to observe ‘as a family’.

“Cool!” He takes a step closer to Billy, who tenses a little instinctively. But all Steve does is knock his elbow teasingly into Billy’s and give him a wink that brings an extra layer of heat to the blonde’s cheeks for some reason. “Maybe I’ll ask you for that first kiss after all.” The laugh that followed made it obvious he was joking, but the look in Steve’s eyes said otherwise. And without thinking Billy… nodded.

Only time would tell if he was being serious or not. And Billy was suddenly looking forwards to the clock striking midnight later.

[deabruarenjarraitzaileaya-ha]

Eyeshield 21: 2022 Winter Gift Exchange

For @eyeshields

Hope you like it!

❄️🏈❄️🏈❄️🏈❄️🏈❄️🏈❄️🏈❄️🏈❄️🏈❄️🏈❄️🏈❄️🏈

It was January 2nd. The air was cold and crisp, with the sun barely daring to peek through the clouds covering the sky. Tokyo was a dark, snow-covered landscape fit to be captured in painting, but her citizens were otherwise occupied. 

The last few days had been full of activity in the temple, as was customary. Ryoukan had helped his father ring the temple bells for joya no kane the 31st of December, and now, during the first days of the new year, he was selling amulets and managing the visitor queue during hatsumode. 

“So, how long until you can ditch this fucking place?”

The familiar voice made him perk up. He turned around, and sure enough, there was Hiruma, all bundled up in dark clothes and checkered scarf, looking completely out of place in the middle of the Buddhist temple with his bleached, spiky hair and shiny earrings. A bright pink bubble of gum popped between his lips, and the sight of it made joy bubble in Ryoukan’s chest. 

“Hiruma! You came!” He bounded over, smile wide and arms tense to control the impulse to just wrap his friend in his arms and squeeze. Hiruma didn’t much care for physical contact, affectionate or otherwise, and a good friend always took others’ needs and wants into consideration.

Rather than reply to his rather obvious remark, Hiruma swept his gaze through the crowd and looked back at Ryoukan again, sharp eyes focusing on the box of Omamori he was carrying.

“Oh, you want one?”

“Of course not, fucking fatty. Praying to gods has never made any wish come true,” Hiruma said, voice carefully flat.

“Ah, well, I’ve already burned last year’s and got new ones, just in case.” Ryoukan didn’t know if he particularly believed in it, either, but by now it had become a habit to get new amulets each year. There were a lot of Buddhist practices he carried out automatically, as per his father’s teachings, without much thought for their deeper meaning. If doing so meant even the slightest chance that his dream for the Christmas Bowl was closer, he didn’t mind doing them twice, thrice, as many times as it took. If the gods wanted to send a few blessings his way… Well, it definitely couldn’t hurt their chances.

“Kekeke, as long as you don’t rely on them to carry you to the Christmas Bowl.”

“O-of course not! 

“Good.” Hiruma gave him a toothy grin of approval. “We are the Devil Bats, and devils don’t ask gods for favours.”

Ryoukan nodded seriously. Of course they would reach the Christmas Bowl through their own work and effort, it was the only way. 

Their talk was interrupted by people looking to purchase a few amulets. While Ryoukan worked, Hiruma stood by his side, entertaining himself by pulling terrifying grimaces to unsettle the guests. At least he wasn’t carrying any weapon where someone could see it, a concession to the terrible fit his father threw the last time he caught him. As they waited for more guests to arrive, they talked about the players and techniques featured in the last Football Monthly magazine. 

At some point, Dad came out to check on him and glowered when he saw Hiruma there, but the blond just regaled him with his best grin and a little wave. To Ryoukan’s amazement, his father just huffed, gave him a nod and left after reminding him not to leave until his task was finished.

“I think this is the first time he hasn’t complained about you being here,” he mumbled, blinking at his father’s back.

“I’m winning him over,” Hiruma said with a sharp, devilish grin, sounding ridiculously proud. He looked up at him and wiggled his eyebrows. “Soon he’ll be inviting me over for dinner, you’ll see.”

Ryoukan laughed. He didn’t think they were ready for that just yet, but it’d be nice if his Dad gave Hiruma a chance. He had openly shown his disapproval of their friendship during middle school and had just stopped openly criticising it. 

Really, Hiruma looked and sounded frighteningly evil, but he really was not that bad once you got to know him: he was the smartest person he knew, a good player and a better friend. Ryoukan wouldn’t have made it this far without him, and he was immensely grateful that the wind blew that little doodle into his hands on that fateful day.

Hiruma’s patience ran out soon, and he started encouraging people into getting more Omamori than they probably wanted with outrageous stories, questionable advice and, when all else failed, intimidation. Ryoukan should feel bad about it, but after a few years he had become desensitized to Hiruma’s efficiently frightening methods, and he really, really wanted to get out and enjoy the evening with his friend. Of course, the box emptied in record time.

“Fucking finally. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

The sky was darkening already, and he thought he saw a shiver crawl down Hiruma’s spine more than once while they walked through the dim streets. They were headed to the little coffee shop next to the station, hoping hot drinks would keep the chill away.

That month’s Football Monthly heavily featured the Christmas Bowl match Teikoku and Shinryuuji had played, of course, but also ran an analysis and ranking of the best players of the year.

“So who’s your favourite player?”

“Probably Shin. That guy is a fucking monster of specialized, defensive techniques.”

“Mine is Onihiei! Definitely the best lineman ever!”

“Kekeke, you’ll have to surpass him soon if we are to get to the finals.”

“Yes, I’ll train extra hard to become stronger than he is!”

“I think you have him beat in raw strength, the problem are his technique and speed.”

Hiruma got himself an extra hot chai, and through intimidation and generous tipping, convinced the worker to use their kitchen’s mixing bowl to put Ryoukan’s hot chocolate in, since the cups were too small for his hands —and his stomach. 

Checking that nobody was watching, they climbed to the roof of the building, which had an easy access through the fire escape staircases. Hiruma had to help him carry the bowl while he climbed, but they made it to the secluded rooftop without a hitch. They came here from time to time, when they wanted to hang out somewhere other than the clubroom. 

Sitting side by side on the edge, they watched the sprawling city below them, content to sip their drinks in silence. Ryoukan found himself stealing glances at his friend, at the looseness of his shoulders, the lack of frown and slightly quirked lips.

It was such a relief to see Hiruma relaxed and almost content again; since Musashi left he had been all explosive anger and cold silences, and Ryoukan hurt for both his friends.

Ryoukan had been inviting him over as much as he dared, even if it earned him a few kicks in the butt or a torrent of rubber bullets. He knew Hiruma was the happiest when he was working on furthering their goal of creating a proper team and reaching the Christmas Bowl, but imagining Hiruma all alone in that tiny and empty hotel room made him sad.

Ryoukan might not be the brightest, but even he saw that Hiruma thought of plans going awry as a personal failure: the whole thing with Shinryuuji and Agon-kun, even Musashi’s departure, had taken a toll. He seemed as determined and energetic as always, and enjoyed playing amefuto as much as he ever did, but he held a tension he never had during middle school and his temper was blacker than ever. Ryoukan wanted to help, but he didn’t know how. He himself had to remind himself every day to be patient, to stay positive. Some days it was harder than others.

“Your brain will fry and explode if you keep thinking so hard, fucking fatty.”

Startled, he jumped, and Hiruma sent a teasing grin his way. “What’s got you frowning like you’re in science class, hm?”

He shook his head. “No–nothing! I just…”

“Don’t tell me you’re thinking about the Christmas Bowl?”

“Well… yes, kind of.” Fiddling with the hem of his coat, he continued carefully. “It’s our dream, the three of us will definitely do it. But some days it’s just hard, isn’t it? Right now it’s just the two of us, not really a team. What if this year we don’t find anyone to play with us, either? Mu-Musashi will definitely come back, but we still need more teammates…”

Hiruma twisted his body to give him his full attention, sharp green eyes boring into his own brown ones. After a few seconds of studying him, Hiruma spoke. “You’ve said it yourself, fatty,  we will definitely go to the Christmas Bowl, no problem. We only need to find a running back, and once Musashi comes back, even the likes of Shin and fucking dreads will be a piece of cake.” 

Ryoukan felt a wide smile tugging at his lips. “You really think so, don’t you?”

“Of course I fucking do!” His grin widened, all of his pointy teeth in display. “And when we win, they’ll build a fucking statue of us in the school yard.”

“R-really?” It really wouldn’t surprise him if they did, since Hiruma, as he so succinctly put it, had ‘the Principal by the balls’.

“Sure! They’ll also give us a hundred awards for outstanding performance, since it’ll be the first win for Kantou. And afterwards, we will take the whole fucking team to an onsen to celebrate.”

“An onsen?”

“Yeah, it’s too fucking cold this time of the year,” he said, rubbing his hands against each other.

Ryoukan chuckled, hesitantly reaching out before clamping Hiruma’s hands between his big, meaty ones. “That’s a great idea! We’ll celebrate the victory by going to an onsen, they are great for the cold and for sore muscles!”

“But before all that, we’ll need to train till we bleed, fucking fatty. We created the Devil Bats to reach the Christmas Bowl; we’ll make no excuses, take no shortcuts. This year is our last chance, and we’ll definitely make it happen!”

“Yeah!”

They ignored the snow falling slowly all around them, grinning madly at each other.

“We are going to the Christmas Bowl! YA-HA!”

“YA-HA!”

❄️❄️A YEAR LATER…❄️❄️

After the Christmas Bowl they were given plenty of awards, as expected, both by the American Football League and the Deimon administration. For the Devil Bats’ private celebration, however, they had travelled back to Teikoku’s territory: Kansai. 

Youichi had chosen an onsen in Nachikatsuura, in the Wakayama prefecture. Nothing too fancy; a nice little ryokan with decent food and huge rotenburo that had enough room for a group of 18 this late in the year. He had actually made the reservation at the beginning of December, because deep down he was apparently an emotional fool. 

The bus ride had been noisy. For a group of guys that had almost died on the field hardly a week before, these brats sure had a lot of fucking energy. They laughed and shouted and sang for hours, even fell asleep for a while, though their snores were almost worse.

Musashi had sat himself next to Youichi, and while he was a good conversational partner most of the time, he had oh so subtly tried to interrogate him on where the funding for the trip had come from. Fucking old man was worse than Anezaki.

The ryokan had a few guests already, but the onsen were currently empty, so they wasted no time in leaving their bags in their rooms and changing out of their clothes. They had chatted excitedly as they showered and dipped into the baths to prepare their bodies. When it was time, they ran to the rotenburo outside, howling at the glacial wind nipping their noses and roughhousing like the feral teenage idiots that they were.

He smirked; he really was unbearably fond of his little band of dumbasses. However, he knew better than anyone that a bit of direct action was needed to calm them down. Before the fucking manager or anyone else could object, he casually took out a few grenades and threw them into the thick of it. The resulting boom sent the brats flying into the pools and added smoke to the already thick steam coating the air. 

During the confusion, he soundlessly slipped away to a secluded corner of the springs. It wasn’t like he didn’t enjoy spending time with the brats; on the contrary, it was lots of fun being around these idiots. But Youichi was, at his core, a private and introverted person and social interaction had a way of tiring him eventually. Which is why he’d relax for a while on his own away from everyone, recharge his batteries and go back to the group before they got too rowdy again.

He folded his robe and dipped a foot in the spring. The freezing air and hot water made an interesting contrast, and goosebumps erupted all over his skin. Stepping in, he slowly sat down against the edge, overlooking the gray, choppy sea. 

Youichi allowed himself a deep sigh and went boneless, sliding down until only his head rested above the water, against the edge of the pool. The frantic work for the Christmas Bowl and the painful rehabilitation and treatment of the last three weeks affected even him. He knew he couldn’t afford to slack off training even a single day, not if he wanted to be prepared for the world tournament and college league, but just for today… His lips twitched. Perhaps…

The hot water relaxed muscles he felt hadn’t been loose since middle school. The air was foggy with steam, his hair was so damp even the gel couldn’t keep it up and the whole experience was making him drowsy. His blinks grew longer, and he did nothing to remedy it, content. Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink…

“Hiruma?”

His eyes snapped open and he locked his muscles up to keep from flinching. Pointy ears twitched at the sound of a large mass waddling through the water. The fucking fatty, of course. 

Kurita’s huge body soon came into view from behind a rock, covered in a towel as long as Youichi was tall that still looked tiny on him. The thoughtful frown on his face soon transformed into a large, guileless grin that, if he had to be honest, still amazed him. 

“Hiruma! I thought you may have left when I didn’t see you with the others.” He paused, taking him in. “Do you… want me to leave?”

Ah, the kind-hearted fool was too considerate. 

“Sit the fuck down. Since you’ve gone through the trouble of finding my hiding spot, you may as well stay, fucking fatty.” Despite his harsh words, his tone was light and teasing, grin tugging at his lips.

Positively beaming, Kurita took his robe off and carefully lowered himself right next to Youichi. The water barely reached his pectorals. 

“I’m so happy we could do this, enjoy our time together as a team while we can. And the onsen are so nice! After the whole tournament and with this cold weather, a hot bath is the best.”

“Kekeke, that it is! And they are great for sore muscles. It also gives you perfect skin!” he said with a mocking grin. “Softer than a baby’s ass. Isn’t that why we decided to drag the team down here?”

Kurita nodded enthusiastically, chuckling. They grinned at each other, eyes alight with the satisfaction of successfully completing a three year journey full of obstacles and hardships. They already had their sights on their next goals, the World Cup and the Rice Bowl, but it wouldn’t hurt to bask in the feeling for a while. They had done it, just as they always knew they would, even back when the Devil Bats were just the two of them, the shadow their kicker left behind and a dream held together by duct tape and determination.

They turned to watch the horizon. The sky and sea were a different shade of gray separated by a thin line of white. Youichi wasn’t particularly interested in the painted arts, but it looked magnificent: dark, dangerous and beautiful, with the stubborn sunbeams that managed to cross the stormy clouds painting golden streaks in the sky and the softly falling snow giving it a picturesque feel. He might even take a photo before leaving, a striking picture to go along with the stunning feeling that winning had given them.

“So…”

He lazily tilted his head to the side, regarding his friend with a raised eyebrow. Kurita was wearing his usual big smile, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes that Hiruma rarely got to see. 

“When are we getting that statue?”

Youichi blinked, then threw his head back with a wild laugh. He heard Kurita laughing along with him. 

“Fucking fatty,” he wheezed, “if you want a statue of yourself that badly, I’ll get you one.”

“Ah, thanks, but it was just a joke. You know, because you–”

“No, no, think about it. A big statue in the middle of the yard, perhaps made out of clay? Nah, we can do better: a golden one! With a straw hat on its head and a bottle of sake in its hand. And lastly, these huge, gigantic pair of ba–”

“Isn’t that just a tanuki statue!?” Kurita looked a bit distressed by the comparison, but mostly exasperated. He knew Youichi well enough —ah, the mortifying ordeal of it all–– to know that he just said the most outrageous and insulting thing possible to get a reaction, and had stopped taking anything to heart since the fifth story about his parents Youichi had come up with. “I don’t think I’d like that…”

“Ah, but think of our poor kouhai next year. They’ll need all the luck they can get, so if they just rub the statue all over, including those massive nu–”

“NO! No statue!”

Kurita’s face was even more hilarious than the mental image of the statue was, so he just cackled and cackled. His friend bravely tried to keep a frown on his round face, but was failing miserably.

When Youichi finally ran out of breath, he elbowed him good naturedly and turned the conversation to other topics his friend would enjoy more. Sure enough, after discussing the latest American college league match they had watched and mentioning their plans for the weekend, Kurita was now delighting him with a list of local delicacies he was hoping to try on this trip. 

“You know, Hiruma, you’re one of the most important people in my life,” Kurita said once he finished his description of fermented fish dishes, a bit out of nowhere. “I’m so happy we met; without you I wouldn’t have made it this far.”

‘Without me, you might have entered Shinryuuji without a problem,’ he thought to himself, but stayed silent. It was old news, hardly relevant any longer now that they had achieved their dream; he really should let that frustrating guilt go. Besides, even if Shinryuuji had Kurita on their team, they would have been hard pressed to win the Kantou tournament, let alone the Christmas Bowl. 

Instead, he lazily kicked Kurita’s ankle underwater. “Stop being gross, fucking fatty, you know sugar makes me sick.”

“But it’s true!” he said earnestly. “I’m so glad we got to play together all these years, even if we only had a proper team for one of them. It’s a pity we can't play next year. But perhaps, in university…”

He carded a hand through the damp bangs sticking to his forehead and swiped them back. Kurita’s hesitation didn’t surprise him; the three of them wanted to keep playing together, of course, but Musashi’s situation was uncertain. With his father’s declining health, he might not be able to afford wasting time in university, and he hadn’t wanted to make any promises. 

Youichi wasn’t too worried; there were ways around it, plans they could make. The Rice Bowl was played between the best university team and the best semi-pro team: if Musashi wasn’t in university, he could join the semi-pro league.

But he didn’t want to discuss it here, without the kicker being present, so he just grinned. “Well, don’t start weeping just yet, there’s a World Cup to win before the end of the semester.”

“Yes, the World Cup! I can’t wait! Oh, do you think they’ll pick me for the team?”

“Of course they will, dimwit, you’re the best fucking lineman in Japan! They’d be morons not to pick you; the team wouldn’t stand a chance against America.”

“Aaaaah, Hiruma! I’m so excited! To face strong opponents, of course, but also to play with you and the others for a bit longer.”

Youichi knew his grin had grown unacceptably fond, but he was helpless to change that when Kurita’s answering smile was so bright and affectionate. 

Bam!

There was a sudden crash. Multiple shouts were heard, ranging from startled to panicked. Youichi felt a vein pop in irritation. 

It hadn’t even been a fucking half hour.

He jumped out of the water and, pulling his robe on and an AK-47 out despite Kurita’s protests, jogged towards the rest of the group.

“Fucking brats! If you’ve broken anything I’m chopping you to bits and feeding you to Cerberos!”

Not a fucking day of rest with these idiots.

THE END

[anthonysstupiddailyblog]

Anthony’s Stupid Daily Blog (300): Tue 10th Jan 2023

Up early despite it being my day off as I wanted to take the motorbike to get the left footrest fixed. The guy at the garage said that he should have it fixed by the end of the day and to call him up at. teatime to ask about the progress. It did mean that I had to walk all the way back up the hill in my full motorbike gear and carrying the helmet which wasn’t ideal but made more tolerable by listening to Margaret Miller’s Beast in View which I listened to on audiobook. Every time I read a book that I like I buy an audiobook of it and Beast In View was the first book in the Edgar Award winners challenge I read that I fucking adored. I phoned the guy at half 1 and he said that it was already fixed and I could come and get it. I asked how much it would be and he replied £40 which almost made my eyeballs pop out of my arse out of shock as I was expecting him to charge me hundreds. Before going to collect the bike I got the bus to the town so that I could deposit my cheque into the bank. The bank has gone through massive renovations with the row of cubicles with the bullet proof glass being replaced by…a single desk with a bloke behind it. It’s crazy because every time unused to go nun there is see a queue and one bank teller at one cubicle. So their way of dealing with this problem is to completely eliminate the other cubicles so that disgruntled customers can’t say “Why can’t you open another counter?” anymore since there are no other counters. I went to Yo Sushi and had some vegan chicken sushi which was lovely and I also popped into the market to buy some gloves since I left mine in the house and I didn’t want to ride my bike home with no gloves on as they would probably drop off from the cold by the time I got home. I got the bus back to Southwick and walked back down the hill to the bike place to pick up the old girl and the shop had done a great job as the footrest was firmly fixed back in and you couldn’t tell there was ever any damage to it. I also asked the guy if I needed to go to BDS to get it serviced every time or if I could just bring it to him and he said he’d be happy to service it when the time comes. Glad that’s sorted and next time it snows I’ll leave it until a good week after the last of it has gone just in case there’s a little shithead patch of ice that decides to stick around and make me slip off the bike again like last time.

Tuned into tonight’s Hollyoaks.

I was hoping that this year they'd start introducing interesting new characters but even I wasn't expecting a long lost McQueen who's a living Christmas tree!

There was some come comedy early on in the episode as Oscar gave Darren a cape with a big D on it and Darren spent the episode pretending to be a superhero. Oh I hope they do a storyline where Darren gets a head injury while wearing the cape and when he wakes up he believes he actually is a superhero. Later on Darren and Nancy had a bit of a talk outside the school gates and while they did an extra walked past carrying a chair into the school. Why? What was the point of that?

It always makes me laugh to see the unnecessary things they have extras do in TV shows. This extra must've turned up thinking they were going to be playing a pivotal role but they showed up and were told "We need you to carry this chair and don't show your face"

The bulk of the episode featured the culmination of the Eric the incel storyline. At the start of the episode Eric kidnapped Maxine, locked her in his caravan then headed to The Dog with his crossbow to carry out his manifesto. At the start of the show when Eric took Maxine to his family’s farmhouse which has been left abandoned for years what would Eric have done if he took Maxine to the cottage and there was a gang of smackheads with guns in there? The hostage crisis at The Dog where Eric took everyone inside prisoner was a little bit intense but not as intense as it should have been because Eric’s weapon of choice was a crossbow. Why would you choose something that takes 20 seconds to reload with you when taking a group of people hostage. Hell there was one moment where he was sat crouched down with the crossbow pointed at the floor. Why didn’t they all just rugby tackle him to the ground? The episode ended with Maxine arriving and calling Eric out for being a pathetic loser and Eric shot an arrow at her as a police swat team broke in and arrested the creepy bastard. As the episode ended I thought to myself  Maxine better not be dead or else I was done with Hollyoaks for good and my Twitter page was going to change to “Silly Home and Away Tweets” but in the tease for tomorrows episode we see that she is still alive so we’re good. This was a great episode and amazing culmination of this incel storyline but shame on the show for not actually giving Verity a funeral. Two years on the show (plus being unnecessarily killed off) and we don't even get a proper goodbye for her, they just go straight to the wake? Bullshit

[nctsworld]

two nights, one you

✩‌ jaemin ‌x‌ ‌reader‌ ‌|‌ fuckboy!jaemin | strangers (who f*ck) to (brief) enemies to lovers | ‌10.9k 

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ a last-minute one night stand gone awry is extended into two nights when you’re snowed in at the cute (but rude) stranger’s apartment on christmas eve. [loosely based on the movie, two night stand] // part of the x-mas in ncity collection  GENRES ⇾ crack | smut | fluff  WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ ‌lots of bickering and dialogue, smut, oral s*x (f and m receiving), fingering, mentions of alcohol/drinking, swearing, bit of angst before the end, jaemin’s an asshole... or is he? RATING‌ ‌⇾‌ explicit TAGLIST ⇾‌ @infnteen​ 

AUTHOR’S NOTE ⇾ it’s late (and long fsldkm), srysry but here it is! i hope the humour comes out in this and look away if falls flat zzz fingers crossed that i can finish the last two installments for this collection asap! 

⇾ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

Maybe it’s because it’s the evening of Christmas Eve Eve and you’re feeling more lonely than usual.

Maybe it’s due to the two glasses of wine you guzzled down in the span of fifteen minutes that get you buzzed.

Maybe it’s your prominent six-month dry spell and you’re in desperate need for some much needed rain in your drought.    

Or maybe it’s just pure impulsiveness.

Regardless of the reasons, you’re aiming to get laid tonight.  

It’s 9:45pm as you make the rounds on Tinder. You’ve used it in the past, searching for a relationship in vain, but haven’t used it much since you broke up with your last partner. Bringing the app alive again, you’re already bombarded by distasteful messages, off-putting one-liners and jokes, and swiping left more than you’d like.

You haven’t had a one-night stand before, but isn’t there anyone on here that is just a little bit attractive, nearby where you are, around your age, and is somewhat chivalrous about the topic besides saying DTF? Maybe you need to lower your standards if you want to get dicked down tonight.

But then, you land on him.

One Na Jaemin, 20 years old, and only four miles away from you.

Scrolling through his profile pictures and Instagram feed, you assume that he’s into photography, is on the athletic side from the various hobbies he partakes in, and he must be at least half-aware of his beauty because there’s the occasional pic that shows off his lean, toned arms, which, if you can be frank, is more flattering than the shirtless ones you constantly see. Oh, and he attends the same university as you.

The cherry on top? His bio is simple and upfront:

“Not up for anything serious, but always down for a good time ;)”

You swipe right without hesitation.

“It’s a Match!” flashes instantly at you. Your mouth swings open in disbelief.  

Usually, you’d wait for your matches to message you and play hard-to-get, but not tonight. Tonight, you’re initiating and leading all the conversations, completely driven by your thirst.  

Messaging Jaemin is a breeze. He types with more than half a brain, and he flirts, but it isn’t overwhelming or repulsive. Segueing the current topic, you drag your bottom lip upward as you send the following message:  

so, hypothetically... if one were to have good time with you would tonight work?

Not even twenty seconds later and he replies with:

-wow, dont you go straight to the point -im impressed -but yeah -tonight works ;)

He’s quick to send his address.

-let me know when ur here and ill come get you out front!

Smacking your lips together, you squeal to yourself in the comfort of your home, excited to meet with him, but then a thought hangs over you—this feels a little too good to be true. Horrible scenarios run through your head, so your fingers dash across your phone’s keyboard:

tbh i haven’t really done this b4 so im kinda new to this is it ok if we video call or smth? gotta make sure you’re real and not a serial killer i’m sure you understand 😛

-for sure for sure -totally get it -ive had my fair share of fake girls and serial killers so i feel u 😛

Grateful for his consideration, you rush to rearrange your hair after you send him a Zoom link, hoping you look decent enough to not have him back off from his initial offer. He appears in the video call on his phone with the front-facing camera on a few seconds after you connect.

“Hi,” you chirp.

A corner of his mouth lifts. “Hey.”  

Okay, he’s definitely cuter in real-time than in his pictures.  

“You know, I’m not gonna lie, but I lowkey expected to see a dick or something,” you joke in an attempt to dispel your nervousness.  

“Same,” he chuckles, running a hand through his black hair.

Oh God, he’s not just cute—he’s devastatingly gorgeous.

“So, this is my place...”

Jaemin moves around with his apartment in the background, revealing his living room first. Envy prods you as you note the brick walls, high ceiling windows, and well-appointed furnishings.

Recalling his address, you ask, “How’d you get a place in the heart of the city?”

“Lucked out,” he shrugs. His phone shakes a bit as he’s still moving. “My friend slash roommate—who is at his girlfriend’s place tonight, so we have the place all to ourselves—his parents own the condo and they gave me a friend discount on the rent.”

He finally stands in one place and turns the light on to reveal a room. “And this is my bedroom.”

Nothing out of the ordinary. A desk table with a gaming set-up, in tow with a gamer chair, and a decently-sized bed beside a nightstand.

“Oh, and here’s my closet.” Jaemin’s on the move again as he opens his closet doors. “Just to make sure you don’t think I hide the skins of my past one-nighters in here.”

A bubbly laugh rises from you. “Okay, I didn’t think of that before, but now you’ve planted the seed in my head. Maybe you hide them in the other rooms.”

“Nah, my roommate would kill me if I did.”

Both of you laugh in unison, and you bob your head with puffed cheeks.  

“Okay, it all seems very promising. I’m going to get ready and I’ll guess I’ll see you in a bit, Jaemin.”

“Sounds good,” Jaemin nods, then winks. Although you’re sitting down, he’s still able to get you weak in the knees. “See you soon.”

You end the call and rush to bundle up for the snow starting to come down outside. A twenty-minute train ride later, you’re at the front door of a rustic, industrial apartment complex. After informing Jaemin you’re outside, you glance up at the snowflakes falling from the dark pink-grey sky, anticipating for what comes next.

Sex with a hot guy, what can go wrong?  

So, you must’ve jinxed it because the sex is...  

Unsatisfying. Finished faster than you’d like it to be. Sadly, overall disappointing. If you had to rate it, three out of five stars, at best.

But hey, he came, and you sort of did, and it wasn’t the worst sex you’ve ever had. It half-quenched your dry spell.

And enough happened that it tired you out, leaving you passed out in the handsome stranger’s bed until morning.

In the morning, your eyes slowly flicker, unused to the foreign, sweet scent engulfing you in your bed. Correction: Jaemin’s bed.

Your eyes flicker faster as you glance through the almost wall-sized window. The snow hasn’t let up from last night. On the contrary, it seems like it’s snowing non-stop. You groan at the thought of going home in this weather.

The bed is without Jaemin’s presence as you reach for your phone on the nightstand. 10:36AM and a few notifications greet you. You rub your eyes and start combing through them, rising upward to sit up on the bed.

“Morning. You’re finally up.”

Peering up from your device, Jaemin’s standing by the door with folded arms. His plain sweater and sweatpants match the colour of his hair. The dazzling smile he gives is so contagious, you’re not even conscious of catching one too.  

“Out you go.”

You blink.

Once, twice, and then you tilt your head as you stare blankly at him, uncertain if you heard him correctly.

After a few moments, because you’re not moving an inch, his smile dissipates and he cocks an eyebrow in expectancy. A serious expression rolls over his face.  

Suddenly, Jaemin strolls to the side of the bed and hitches his thumb towards the door.

You definitely heard him right.

And he’s dead-serious.

You replay the video call from last night, dissecting how you thought he was nice and funny and—

Realization dawns on you.

Why would you expect anything more from a two-faced fuck boy?

Still awestruck by the situation, you’re still solid as a statue, so Jaemin takes matters into his own hands and grasps you by your elbow, casually dragging you from his bed like he’s taking out the trash.  

“What the fuck?!” you screech.

“C’mon, let’s go. Out out.”

“My clothes, though!” you protest in the middle of the hallway. He sighs in frustration, scurries to the bedroom, and returns with a small pile in his arms, then continues to drag you to the front door.  

“Are you always this pleasant with your guests the morning after?” you rage, putting on the rest of your clothes by the door. “You don’t even have the decency to offer me tea or coffee?”

“This was a one-night stand, not a bed and breakfast, sunshine,” he says as he watches you put your shoes on. He’s folding his arms again and leaning against the wall, his attitude dripping with smug. If he wasn’t a stranger, you’d punch it off his face. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were new to this, huh?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

“It means you’re a borderline virgin who needs to toodle-loo, get going and gone because you’re overstaying your welcome as we speak.”

Finishing putting on your coat, you’re fuming as your jaw hangs at the personal jab over your skills in bed. Jaemin swings the door open and shoves you through it.

“But I’ll admit, it was still nice having sex with you!” he chimes with a sickening grin and a hand on the door.  

“Aw, thanks asshole, wish I could say the same,” you sarcastically reply, resting a palm upon your chest.  

He scoffs. “From what I heard last night, I think I can confidently say that you had a great time.”

Flashbacks replay in your mind of your screaming fest from underneath him. Little did Jaemin actually know—

“You know, for someone who I assume has many one-night stands,” you spit with squinted eyes. “I’m surprised you can’t tell when girls fake it.”

You must’ve hit a sore spot because he grinds his teeth and you could almost see the steam coming out of his ears.

Oh yeah, you’re definitely the winner in this fight.

“Okay, you know what, Merry Christmas and fuck you. Have a great life!”

“Fuck you, dickface. Wishing you a miserable Christmas!”

With a bitter smile, you flip him off as he slams the door in your face.

Carrying a basket filled with dirty clothes, Jaemin’s on the way down to the laundry room in the basement of his apartment with his shoulder scrunched up, squeezing his phone to his ear.

“Bro, she had the audacity to say that I didn’t make her come when she was screaming my God damn ear off—”

As he steps down the short flight of stairs and passes by the foyer area by the main entrance to the building, he notices you’re still here.

“Shit, uh, Jeno,” he mumbles. “I’m gonna have to call you back.”

He stuffs his phone into the pocket of his sweats and calls out to you as he strides closer. “Are you resorting to stalking me by my front door now?”

With crossed arms, you peer over your shoulder, eyes full of bitterness.

“Like I wanna be anywhere near you right now,” you grumble. You jerk your head towards the thick, wooden door. “It’s jammed from the snow.”

The laundry carrier shakes his head and places the basket onto the floor. “A little snow never hurt anyone. You’re probably just too weak.”

Stepping aside and holding out an arm, you signal for him to give it a try.

Jaemin twists the handle and, lo and behold, it doesn’t open. His forehead crinkles as he tries again and again, using more force each time.

Glancing through one of the partially frosted windows adjacent to the sides of the door, he notices the snow has piled enormously high, almost to the height of his chest.

“Well, shit.”  

Reluctantly, Jaemin brings you back to his apartment. You’re technically his guest and if he left you in the foyer to freeze, trouble would surely come his way, whether it be in the form of his landlords (also known as his roommate’s parents) or the police.

Without a word, he settles a spoon in a bowl, a carton of milk, and a box of cereal onto the small kitchen table.

At first, you stare at it venomously in rejection, thinking you can easily last a day without any hand-outs from this son of a bitch, but your stomach roars ferociously three seconds later.

As you chew across from him, you enjoy the company of your phone over him, while he does the same but with a cup of coffee in hand.

After finishing your food, you adamantly place your phone down and lean back into the chair, boring holes into his head.

“Why are you such an asshole?” you seethe observantly.

“Why are you such a bitch?” he retorts, not pulling his gaze away from his phone.

“Because you started it,” you say slowly, stating the obvious.

“No, you.”

You sigh defeatedly at his childish behaviour. The weather apps predict the snow will (hopefully) die down by tomorrow morning, thus you’re officially stuck with him for the next twenty-four hours or so. Your hands rake through your hair.

“Whether we like it or not, the snow isn’t going away until tomorrow. Merry Christmas Eve to us, I guess.”

He’s still glued to his phone. You exhale another sigh.

“Since we’re not getting out of this until then, can we just...” You soften your voice. “Start over?”

His eyes are still on the screen, but from the way his shoulders tense and how he stops scrolling, you know he’s considering your proposition.

“At least call a stalemate over this.” You drift your hand in the air, gesturing between you and him.

Blowing out air and shaking his head, he rests his phone onto the table.

“Fine.”

He crosses his arms, imitating you, and the two of you sit there, staring at each other in a long silence.  

One minute, to be exact.

You’re the one to break the silence game by running your hands over your face, letting out a hybrid of a groan and laugh.

“God, the fact that we had sex makes this kinda awkward, huh?”

Jaemin’s exterior melts slightly, letting out a snicker. He shrugs, “Then let’s just pretend that we didn’t have sex.”

“We can’t just pretend that we didn’t have sex,” you say, holding two upturned palms near your face.

“We did it, it’s done. I’ve seen your penis, you kicked me out, and you labelled me a prude—” You dart a finger towards him. “—which I am far from, by the way. All of those are pretty huge things.”

One of the corners of his mouth raises high. “Are you saying my penis is huge?”

“No, the implication of said penis is huge. Wipe that smirk off your face.”

He stretches an arm, holding an imaginary microphone to your face. “Do you deny that my penis is huge?”

Rolling your eyes, you swat his fist away. “What am I, on trial here?”

“Do you plead the fifth then?”

Annoyed, you roll your eyes again. Why do you get the feeling that you’re probably going to be doing this a lot more today? Another feeling tells you that if you don’t answer his question, he’ll probably pester you until you do.

You tilt your head side to side. “It’s... decently sized.”

“Bigger or smaller than average?”

“Perfect...” His eyes light up. “...ly average.” And a frown rolls over.

He squints his eyes accusingly at your sneer. “Are you lying like you did before about faking it?”

You scoff. “I wasn’t lying about faking it, and I’m not lying now about your average sized dick.”

Jaemin releases a disgruntled grumble and lifts his cup to his face. You notice he likes to take his coffee black and bitter, presumably like his heart.

“So, Miss I’m-Not-A-Prude-and-I’ve-Definitely-Had-Sex-Before.” His eyebrows perk up on the word definitely. “What’s your story? Why the last minute one-night stand?”

Shrugging your shoulders to your ears, you reply, “Haven’t had sex in a while.”

“When’s the last time you had sex?” he asks mid-sip.

“Half a year ago,” you respond nonchalantly, perching your chin into your palms.

Jaemin immediately chokes, almost spraying the coffee through his nose.

“Half a year?!” he gasps. It takes him a few hits to his chest to dispel the coughing. “Six months?!”

“Wow, you can count!” you exclaim in a condescending tone. You change the position of your hands so that your chin is now atop of the back of your curled fingers and tilt your head. “Can you also spell?”

“As a premed student, I can assure you that I am capable of doing both,” he says with a slight strain due to the coughing fit. The humble brag brings on another eye roll. Of course he’s a premed student with the attitude he wears.

“It’s just—” He clears his throat and swallows the last bit of coffee stuck in his windpipe. “—The last time I had a dry spell was for like, a month, tops.”

So the fuckboy gets laid way more on the daily than you expect. You’re torn between being envious over how much action he gets in comparison to you, or remorseful, since you’re now just one of the many notches on his bedpost.

No matter, sarcasm is always the best defence mechanism.

“Good for you, Jaemin. I’m sure you’re very proud of that.”

There’s an awkward beat. His head hangs for a moment while his thumbs stroke the sides of his cup. A strange pinch of guilt occurs. Did you overstep an unspoken line? But then he drags himself back to reality in a heartbeat.

Jaemin brings the cup to his mouth again, mumbling, “At least the sex on your part makes more sense now; you’re rusty as fuck.”

Completely aware of what he said, you trash your guilt entirely and narrow your eyes. “What did you just say?”

Following a long sip, he hums, “Mmm, nothing.” Soon after, he stands up with his cup.

“I’m gonna go game now. Feel free to watch Netflix on the TV and stay in the living room.”

As if you had anywhere else to go...  

He begins to walk towards his room as you mutter under your breath, “I’m not a dog.”

“Says the bitch,” he pipes up, taking you by surprise.  

“Thought we had a stalemate?!” you shout, leaning your head forward as you watch him entering his room.  

“Doesn’t mean we’re on peaceful terms!” he sing-shouts.

The flinging of the closed door echoes throughout the apartment.

Regret surges through you. You just had to choose a fuckboy fluent in assholery and end up incidentally being isolated with him during a snow storm on Christmas Eve.

You wonder if you can handle being around him for the next twenty-four hours without killing him first.

During the afternoon, you’re on the living room couch, playing a show as mostly background noise while you’re on your phone. At one point, your phone unsurprisingly begins to die and you tread over to Jaemin’s door to ask for a charger and if you can also take a shower. He’s still annoyed by your existence, but at least he hands you a charger and lets you know where the extra towels are.

Stepping into the living room with the towel in your hand as you dry your hair off, you peer out the large living room window and see nothing but white engulfing the streets and buildings as far as the eye can see.

You pray the snow will eventually stop as soon as possible so you can head back home.

By the middle of the afternoon, Jaemin emerges from his bedroom and shocks you by plopping down on the opposite end of the living room couch from where you’re sitting.

“Bored?” you ask, eyes fixated on the TV screen.

“Nope,” he replies, popping the p as he says it. His slings his arm around the top of the couch.

“Gotta keep an eye on you in case you do something.” Turning away from the screen, he faces you and motions circles with his hand. “You’ve got a little crazy in you, I can feel it.”

You quickly glance over at him, but try to refocus on the TV. “Need I remind you that you’re the crazy one, dragging me out of the apartment right as I woke up.”

That compels him to turn his whole body towards you. “Well, you’re the one who wanted a last-minute one-night stand.”

You match his stance. “As if I’m the first girl in your bed to stay in the morning?”

“Actually, yeah.” He aggressively tilts his head to one side. “Most girls leave before I even get up. The other percentage don’t fight me when I ask for them to go, so it looks like you’re the odd one out.”  

You press your lips together, refusing to admit that maybe he has a point, under the assumption that he’s telling the truth.

Jaemin twists his body back to the screen and adds, “I make it very clear on my profile that I don’t do morning afters, sweetheart.”

And you agree that his profile is clear about his intentions, but that doesn’t mean you can condone his shitty behaviour.

“Well, sorry that I expected just an ounce of respect instead of getting kicked to the curb after you stuck your dick in me,” you grumble, shifting back to the show and crossing your arms.

“Morning afters lead to attachments, and attachments lead to feelings, and feelings lead to relationships,” he says the string of words clinically, as if it’s a mantra that he lives by.

Your eyebrows knit together as you whip your head towards him once more, studying him.

“And what’s so wrong with that?”

Deliberately averting your gaze, Jaemin grates his tongue between his teeth, a slight tsk audibly heard, and his chin juts out. There’s definitely a story behind his ways. He huffs and changes the subject.  

“Seriously?” He holds a hand out. “You’re watching this trashy show?”

Squinting your eyes at him, you could probably interrogate him further, but you decide otherwise.  

“It may be trashy,” you concur, looking at the TV. “But it’s my trashy comfort show.”

Following an over-the-top acted out scene between the show’s main love interests, Jaemin shoots up from the couch.

“Yeah, no, I can’t handle this. Can we either put on something else or game or something?”

“Why don’t you go back to your room to game, Mr. I’m-Not-Bored?”

“Like I said, I gotta keep an eye on you,” he says while bending over in front of the TV, already setting up the Playstation. He tosses you a controller as he strides to his side of the couch again.

He mumbles to himself, “Need to make sure you don’t go crazy from the lack of human interaction.”

Either Jaemin is selfish and only looking out for himself, or he wants to make sure you’re not feeling lonely in a stranger’s home.

Likely the first reason, you deduce—because why would a guy like Jaemin care about a mere one-night stand?

Admittedly, you’re not the best at games, especially at fighting ones. You can comprehend the move lists, but you like to live by button smashing the controller and repeating moves over and over.  

So it’s hilarious when you beat Jaemin every round with your surprisingly fruitful technique.

“Okay, this is bullshit,” Jaemin complains, sticking his tongue out in irritation. His ass is currently being handed to him on a plate again since you’re almost done killing his character off. “You must be lying to me; you have to be a pro player or some shit.”

Jaemin’s health bar is dangerously low as your character jabs his with a sword. He winces out loud and you snicker.

“Why do you think I always lie about everything?! Dude, you have serious trust issues,” you joke before you steal the opportunity to slice his character. One more hit and he’s done for.

“I do not! I just—nooo!”

You rise to your feet and pump your arms in the air, turning in circles in joy over yet another win.

Sulking, Jaemin eyes your little dance from his end on the couch, but as he watches you more, a feeling balloons in his chest. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Finally coming down from your post-win high, you spot an emerging grin from the corner of your eye, making you pause.    

“What?” you eye him suspiciously.

Your suspicion pops the sensation in his chest and, like a fish out of water, his eyes widen and his grin melts away.

“Nothing, uhm.” He ruffles his eyebrows and palms the back of his neck, quickly facing the TV. “Let’s go one more round and then we can switch to another game—”

Suddenly, the TV and surrounding lights switch off. Both of you waver your eyes, anticipating for them to come back on, but they unfortunately don’t.  

Jaemin rushes over to the window. When he swivels his head towards you, his face darkens.

“Looks like it’s at least the whole block. The streetlights are out too.”

Without another word, he dashes to the linen closet and brings back several blankets. He calmly explains that there won’t be heat since it’s connected to the electricity, so it’d be best to keep warm with the extra layers.

Not wanting to scare you, he doesn’t add the fact that due to the huge windows in the apartment, more unnecessary cold air will come in, but you’re already cognizant of it from your own logic and since the remaining heat dissolves rapidly.

You groan and retreat into the massive blanket over your shoulders, turtling your head.

You can’t believe you’re going to fucking die in this asshole’s apartment on Christmas Eve.

On the ends of the couch in your makeshift blanket jackets, both of you attend to your phones for a while.

From what people and the news outlets are saying, it’s not just the block, but the whole city grid is out. You frantically text your friends, giving updates on how you are and half-jokingly telling them that you’re going to die with your dreadful one-night stand. Some time passes and Jaemin tosses his phone  off to one side.  

“Well, since there’s nothing else to do and we should probably conserve our phone batteries—” You glance up at him from your phone and pout. Slowly nodding in agreement, you toss it aside too. “—why don’t we play a game of ‘I’ll-Give-You-Pointers-on-How-to-be-Better-in-Bed’?”

A smile burgeons on his irritatingly handsome face and your eyes roll. At this point, you wonder if the reaction is conditioned into you. “It’ll be my early Christmas gift to you.”

“Wow, so thoughtful, how could I ever thank you?” You drag the blanket closer to your chest in false gratitude.

You think for a serious moment if you really want to go through with this. Hearing Jaemin run his mouth on you unwarranted is already painful, but to give him the go-ahead to do so? Especially criticizing your skills in bed?  

You blow out a sigh, noting the slightly visible cloud. You’re grateful Jaemin has thick, downy blankets.  

Well, if you’re going to die, may as well know what went wrong, right?

“Fine, but if we’re playing this game, we have to say everything honestly and take the criticism we get.” You point a stern finger. “No rebuttals, just acceptance.”

“Wait.” Jaemin crinkles his face in genuine confusion as his hand peeks out from his blanket.

“You have things to criticize about me in bed?”

Your lips tremble before you burst into laughter. Displeasure is on Jaemin’s tight-lipped face as you laugh for a while, almost keeling over in your blanket ball onto the hardwood floor. “How conceited are you, oh, my fucking God?”

He slices his hand through the air. “I’ve never had any complaints—”

“Because you’re too busy focusing on your own orgasm, you selfish dickwad,” you say as your laughter dies down.  

He sits in his snit for a few more moments until he gets over it.

“Fine, fine,” he huffs. Jaemin knows he’s not going to enjoy this, but he’s the one who suggested it. He can’t back out now. “Let’s just get this over with, you go first.”

With your blanket held by your chest, you hop off your end of the couch and shuffle over in front of him where he’s seated. Beaming, you begin.

“Let’s start with foreplay.” Jaemin’s eyes light up with confidence, thinking he’s at least decent with that. You crush his expression as your lips purse and you shake your head.

“Non-existent.”

“What do you mean?! I kissed you as you took off your clothes.”

You stick your free hand out from your blanket, extending your index finger.

“One: you only kissed my lips. You know, there are other parts of me to kiss, like, I don’t know, my neck, my arms, my shoulders.”

You extend another finger. “And, two: it’s weird to not help someone take off their clothes. Like you’re in a super rush to get somewhere or something—”

“We’re fucking!” he cuts in sharply. “This is a one-night stand, not a relationship.”

Closing your eyes and dropping your head, you pinch the bridge of your nose. You sigh in exaggeration.

“Thought we agreed no rebuttals...” you softly sing-say.  

Jaemin’s head sinks a little into his blanket. “Sorry.”

Removing your hand, you shrug. “Maybe there’s some rule that I don’t know about one-night stands, so this could be on me.”

You start to aimlessly tread back and forth in front of him, dragging the blanket along too. “But fuck, foreplay is foreplay for a reason. You work your way up to the heat of the moment and it makes sex much better, regardless if you’re in a relationship with the person or not.”

“Next point.” You stop walking and direct your focus on him. Pointing your finger and looking him dead in the eye, you ask, “Do you know what a vagina is?”

He snorts with a simper. “Uhhh, is this a rhetorical question?”

“No, I’m legit asking,” you say with a raised eyebrow and snarky smile. “Because when you went down on me, all you flicked your tongue at was the outside of it, also called the labia if you didn’t know.”

“I’m premed, of course I—”

“Which is great! But you didn’t go any deeper nor did you go near my clit.”

You thrust your finger again. “Do you also know what that is?”

“Yes...” he groans with the flickering eyelids.

You swipe your arm through the air. “Maybe make use of it, and not only when you go down on girls. Even during sex, touching it is great.”

“And lastly,” you continue. “I’ll be honest here, you have a decent dick.”

Jaemin waggles his finger. “So you were lying before—”

“I wasn’t lying,” you retort firmly. “But anyways, you’ve got the stuff, but why don’t you put it to better use?”

With the following words, you attempt to gesture with your body and execute moves as graphic visuals. Jaemin giggles at the sight.

“Vary the speeds and the angle, don’t just slam it in me and go crazy fast from the get-go. Build up to the climax. Jesus, I couldn’t even get close to coming because you’re like a jackhammer from start to finish.”

When you finally finish, Jaemin’s giggles morph into hollow laughs. Frustration is blatant on your face, pondering if he even absorbed a single word you said.  

After he calms down, he asks, “Are you done?”

You mumble, “Yeah, I think so.”

The two of you switch places. He shuffles onto his feet with his blanket while you sit back on the couch.

Jaemin pulls the blanket across the floor as he ambles. “Okay, your head game is decent—”

“Excuse you, my head game is strong.”

“Uh-uh, rebuttal,” he points out.  

You sigh. Pinching your fingers together, you drag the invisible zipper across your mouth, then wave your hand, allowing him to resume.

“Your head game is decent. You definitely can deepthroat, but—” He mirrors you from before and extends his index finger.

“One: this happened only a few times, but your teeth scraped against my dick, which is why I assumed you were a borderline virgin.”

You fume silently at the accusation, attempting to not speak up with a heap of rebuttals. But he wasn’t wrong—if you teethed on his dick, that’s a classic virgin move.

“But that’s okay, because we already established that you’re just rusty.” Jaemin flashes you a fake comforting smile as he continues to pace. You flash him one back.

“And two—” He holds another finger out. “Don’t be scared to use your hands and stroke me. Give my dick some love. If it’s too wet, just wipe your hands on the bed or something.”

“Okay, duly noted,” you hum. “Next.”

“Don’t be scared to touch me.”

“I touched you so much during—”

He shoots you a glare. You roll your mouth inward, your lips disappearing instantly.

“Your hands were mostly on the sheets, which is hot, but guys like to be felt up too.”

The attractive individual peers up for a second, thinking to himself. “Even hotter when a girl feels herself up during the fucking, but that’s beside the point. Baby steps, just remember to touch the other person.”

Jaemin does a full-stop and faces you.

“And just... don’t fake it.” Distress is evident in his pout. You hate to admit it, but it’s a little cute. He raises an arm and jerks it in the air. “Why do girls fake it?”

“Because guys with egos like you can’t handle criticism,” you reply bluntly.  

“What are we doing, having this conversation, hm?”

“We wouldn’t be having this conversation if it didn’t snow in and keep us here together.” You peel a hand away and gesture to the window. “If I walked out of here this morning, you would’ve just fucked the next girl the same.”

He defends himself, “Faking it just feeds our egos.”

“Yeah, well, if I told you afterwards that I didn’t come, what would you do?”

“Try to make you come in other ways?”

Shaking your head, you scoff. “Guys like you aren’t that considerate.”

“You’re right.” He assents, holding his pointer finger against his chest. “Because guys like me aim to please.”

A brilliant thought leaps in his mind and Jaemin gasps. You can only assume bad things from the wicked smile he sends your way.  

“Why don’t we try it again?”

Perplexed, you squint at him.

“Try what again...?”

“Sex,” he says enthusiastically.

You blankly stare at him.

“You’ve gotta be joking,” you deadpan.

“I mean, there’s nothing else to do and it’ll keep us warm.” 

You continue to stare at him until you groan.

“Oh, my God...” Your blanket droops a bit off your shoulders as you drag your palms across your face. “I cannot believe I’m stuck in this snowstorm with you out of all people...”

Sitting next to you, Jaemin persistently reasons with you. “Think of it also as another learning experience for the future partners we’ll have.”

“Yeah, if we don’t die first!” you shriek.

“We’re not going to die,” Jaemin replies in a mocking tone and a dart of his tongue.  

Outside the window, the snow seems to have slowed down, but not by much.  

God, Jaemin better be fucking right because you want to live to see another day.  

“Fine,” you mutter and match his gaze. “But we have to be vocal throughout the whole thing. Say whatever’s on our mind.”

“Fine,” he agrees to your terms. He produces the same wicked smile again. “But can we film it then? So we can study it after?”

You fire him a death glare that melts his face off, even in the frigid atmosphere.

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” he says, waving his hand.

They say that jokes are half-meant true, but you think Jaemin fully meant it. Still in your blanket jackets, Jaemin snags your free hand and leads you to his room.

“You gotta give me credit for trying, though.”

“No.” You shake your head with an unwilling smile creeping on the edge of your lips. On second thought, maybe the joke was a little funny, but you still stand by your opinion that he’s the most annoying person in the world. “I don’t think I will.”

“Thank God Chenle has so many scented candles...”

On the edge of Jaemin’s bed, huddled by the blanket, you watch him light up several large jars, placing them on his nightstand and desk in hopes to brighten the room. It’s already late afternoon, but one could mistaken it for nighttime with the muddy sky due to the snow.

“Is Chenle your roommate?”

“Yeah,” Jaemin answers with a slight shiver, igniting the last candle near the bedside. He removed his blanket when he went to nab the matches and candles. “His girlfriend gets free ones from work, so she always gives him a shit ton, even though he never uses them.”

With a glowing hue against his face, he blows out the match. He makes his way to you, a cocky grin plastered on him, as he says, “Guess we’re making use of them now, though.”

Before you can even respond, Jaemin gets right down to business—sitting beside you on the mattress, he palms your face and drags you in for a kiss. You softly yelp, but immediately reciprocate.

The cover falls off your body as you reach to touch him, fingers drifting over his solid arms.

You don’t want to stroke his large ego, and maybe it’s because you haven’t had anyone else on you in a while, but Jaemin’s kisses are something else.

The cushiony pair of lips always executes enough pressure against your mouth, increasing and decreasing on command in perfect tandem and timing. His hands hover over your waist and the nape of your neck, fingers sinking into your hot skin.  

His mouth trails downward the side of your neck. You crane your head back, indulging in his caresses as soft moans trickle out.

He gently signals for you to recline back and lay onto the mattress, moving the sea of blankets aside. Inclined on his elbow, almost atop of you, his cool fingers glide under your top layers, his thumb stroking against your stomach.

Pulling away from your body, he tugs on the ends of your clothes. You rise from the bed to better the angle for him to discard of them.

The hairs on your skin are standing on end from the frigid air, but you’re too focused on Jaemin’s mouth migrating over your upper arm and your bra-covered chest to care. Without notice, he stuffs a cup of the bra to one side and takes your bosom into his mouth.

Air’s seized from your lungs and your core contracts from the pleasure. Your fingers tug on Jaemin’s luscious locks and his free hand squeezes your unoccupied breast.    

After a few twirls of his tongue and a gentle drawing of his teeth on the pointed tip, he mumbles hotly into your chest while he thumbs your other nipple, “Foreplay still non-existent?”

“It’s better, I guess,” you sigh with fluttering eyes. His chuckling reverberates against your cleavage, a sign of amusement from your obstinacy. A gasp pierces the room as Jaemin repeats his actions onto the other breast.

He aids you in taking off the rest of your clothes and, obviously aware of your goosebumps and shuddering, tells you to get underneath the blankets while he strips himself.

Under the toasty ocean of layers, despite how both of you are bare-boned and how easy it is to jump into the main act, Jaemin purposefully continues to prolong the foreplay. Side by side, your lips meld endlessly; your legs and hands are intertwined in an amorous pretzel.

Jaemin ensures he doesn’t leave any part of you untouched—the pads of fingers virtually graze over every inch of your body. Each grip and drag of his digits sends you in a frenzy. Your chest is pressed into him and your eyes are blinded with desire.

In the back of your mind, you think about how you were right about foreplay working up to the heat of the moment—literally, because you’re dripping, he’s hard, and you two have embraced so much that you don’t need the blankets anymore.  

On the other hand, you wonder if Jaemin was right about skipping foreplay, because with every whisper of each other’s name, the intimacy rises immensely. You don’t know him, and neither him with you, but you’re both freely drowning in one another in a plane beyond the lust.

Although the room’s beginning to smell of a mix of all the scented candles, Jaemin hones in and drinks in your sweet aroma and your entirety behind his hazy eyes and already tousled hair. All of a sudden, one drag of his fingers over a particular sensitive spot on your body makes you giggle.

“I’m ticklish over there.”

“You mean right—” He drums his fingers over the area again. “—here?”

With a toothy grin, he generates more suffering from you and you begin to lively howl. Soon enough, you beg him to stop.

“You’re such an asshat, c’mon, let me live!”

When he ceases, his head hangs over yours and your gazes connect.

The same feeling blooms in his chest from before in the living room.

He gulps as his eyes waver over your face, unknowingly tracing your beautiful features and etching them into his memory.

Your starry eyes. Your glowing aura. Your everything.

You barely register the change in his expression because he quickly tramples on his moment of weakness by kissing you passionately.

Jaemin whips the blankets aside as he lowers himself between your legs. Your eyes are fixated on him, matching his stare, until he starts to devour you by swiping against your lustrous folds. Your back bows, and, following a few more licks, Jaemin makes a point of his knowledge of the vagina by spreading your lips and ravishing your pussy, tongue penetrating deeply.

Rippled moans release in harmony with your undulating chest. You swear you’re getting more wet, too wet, likely making it overwhelming for Jaemin, but he’s eagerly lapping every drop up.  

“How’s that?” he inquires with a grin, hovering over your trembling nether lips. His mouth is evidently glossy, even under the dim lighting.

“Good,” you pant in the most nonchalant tone you can muster up. “Very good-ahhh—”

Jaemin kindly interrupts you by tonguing your clit as he fingers your sex deeply, shattering your fake indifference.

“Move your tongue up more,” you direct, creasing your eyebrows in despair. He follows your direction, and droning moans ensue.

Jaemin’s immersed in your pleasure, but also adding to his own. The more he laps up your wetness, the more he grinds his length against the bed, aching to be inside of you.

Your desire pulses faster, contracting tighter against his fingers, body winding tensely by the second.

“Fuck, Jaemin,” you whine, leaning your head to one side with a parted mouth. “I’m close.”

He draws back and temporarily replaces his tongue with his thumb.

“Good,” he pants, cocking his head to one side. His eyes are filled with determination. “Because I’m not stopping until you come at least two more times tonight.”

You exhale a light laugh. “That’s ambiti-ohgodohgod—”

His tongue works wonders on your clit once more, so much that he has to brace your bucking hips.

Okay, maybe Jaemin did learn a thing or two and actually listened to what you said during your critique.

But now it’s time to demonstrate to him what you’ve learned.

You don’t need much of a break to catch your breath, nor do you want to immediately freeze due to inactivity, so you pull Jaemin in for an intense kiss, tongue dipping into the remnants of your own nectar, then beckon for him to take your former place on the bed.

Perched on the bottom of your feet, you’re on one side of Jaemin, lackadaisically fisting his prominence. After a few strokes, you gradually swallow his inches, keeping in mind to relax your jaw and to not rush in order to avoid any potential teething. You do this to prove yourself worthy of giving head, but also in spite, because you absolutely do not need Jaemin to brand you a virgin again.  

You read his quiet groans and his long fingers running lazily through your hair as a positive sign and advance further.

Carefully, you rest your tongue beneath the underside of his cock and bob your head, licking him until he’s sopping with your saliva. His grip in your hair grows in strength as his length reaches the end of your throat, his groans becoming more and more drawn-out.

A needy whimper leaves him as you suddenly withdraw. Dribbles of your spit follow, and you wipe it off with the back of your hand.  

“How am I doing?” you glow in a pant, lazily stroking the doused shaft.

He simply nods with half-lidded eyes, barely able to look at you. “Yeah.”

You snicker at him in his breathless position, a prickle of pride running through your spine over the fact that you blew his mind as much as you blew his dick.

“Use your words, Jaemin.”

Teasingly, your fingers curl around his blunt head, soothing the sensitive tip and sending jolts throughout him.

“Fuck—” he pulls his bottom lip upward. “Awesome. You’re doing awesome.”

“Anything to critique?”

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head restlessly. You revel a bit more in having the upper hand on him a little while longer. You grip him tighter and hasten your speed, leaving him gasping for air.

“Am I still rusty?”

“Nope, nope,” he croaks, voice rising to a whine. “Definitely not rusty.”

“You sure?” His cockiness has transferred over to you.

“Yes, yes—fuck, slow down, please,” Jaemin begs.    

Granting his wish, you abate your rhythm and free his inches from your touch.

You wipe your hands on the sides of the bed while Jaemin rummages through the drawer of his nightstand and hastily rolls over the rubber over himself before he prepares to enter the body beneath his.  

Recalling your advice, Jaemin mindfully starts off slow. You sigh blissfully in sync to his thrusts. He adjust himself, attempting another angle, and you draw in air between your teeth.

“There, there—“

Jaemin’s quick-witted and keeps at it, plunging a bit more vigorously. Out of habit, your hands grasp onto the bedsheets, but you wittingly attach them to his frame. Hands grazing his neck, his firm pecs, and his taut muscles.  

“Touch-touch my stomach,” he orders in a hush.

You hands follow through and feel up the flexed valley of his abs. Feeling up evolves into desperate gripping and even the slight dragging of your nails.

“Your abs are so fucking hot,” you state thoughtlessly, eyes eating up the view alongside his cock disappearing in and out of you. “Jesus, fuck.”

“Yeah?” he rasps with that devilish smirk of his. God, you want to smack it off him, but not right now—not when you’re reaching euphoria. “You’re not just saying that?”

Oh, you’ve definitely stroked his ego now, but there’s no turning back. Truth spills from you on a whim.

“You’re a fucking masterpiece,” you gasp acutely.

You’re starting to wither away, yet, as if they have a life of their own, your hands drift away from him and find a new home atop your breasts.

“You make me feel so good, Jaemin...”

Jaemin’s eyes go wide. His mouth hangs at the lewdness of you touching yourself.

“Fuck, holy shit.”

His gaze doesn’t leave your ecstatic face or humming body for a second as you knead your breasts and tweak your nipples between your fingers. Your back arches further when Jaemin deepens his sweet, fulfilling thrusts. He’s holding himself back, not wanting to end this beautiful deed just yet.

The stimulation bursts over your body, both from your own doing and Jaemin’s.  

You plead, “Faster, please, faster.”

And he complies, but he also rubs your bundle of nerves, causing a tight knot in you to build up and your shallow moans transform into heavy screams. You clasp onto his back and claw at the protruding shoulder blades.  

“I’m-I’m—”

You clench, both with your core and your nails digging into him, but Jaemin’s unrelenting, capturing your second peak for the evening.

Instead of coming after you, he shockingly veers lower and closer to you and curbs his pace.

“Was that real?”

You respond with an exhausted nod. Oddly, the smile he shows this time isn’t arrogant, but warm and teetering the line of tenderness. His lips fuse with yours before they stray towards your neck. The passion stews as he sucks your tits, all the while lunging laxly into you.  

With an obscene pop!, Jaemin removes himself from your nubs.

“Ready for the last round?”

His fast thrusts, hitting you precisely in the best spot, cloud your already weakened logic, deterring you from making any response.    

Perspiration is blatant on both individuals. For him, his forehead glistens gorgeously with his damp hair. For you, the back of your bent knees are gluing together. Your bodies are about to pass out, but you both persevere until the end.

As you convulse and perish together in beautiful agony, coincidentally enough, the bulbs in the room and in the streets leap to radiance.

Together, you collapse onto the bed side by side, panting heavily and laughing.

“Told you we weren’t going to die.”

You turn your head to see Jaemin looking at you with a cheeky grin. In retaliation, you stick your tongue out.

By nighttime, it’s finally stopped snowing outside. However, the streets won’t be cleared until morning, at the very least.

But... you’re surprisingly okay with that.

In a turn of events, the sex inexplicably makes the two of you warm up to each other. There still is targeted banter and tension between you, lingering from before, but it’s less hostile and more playful.

During a fancy Christmas Eve dinner of microwavable pizzas, you poke fun at each other’s majors and discuss your respective hobbies in depth, especially his love for photography. Jaemin even asks if he can take a picture of you, claiming that the kitchen lighting actually looks nice on someone for once.  

“Is that how you collect the memory of your one-night stands? Instead of hanging their skins in your closet, you sweet-talk your way and keep all the photos of them?” you joke, referring to the video call from yesterday night. It feels like an eternity ago, but snowstorms tend to do that.

He chuckles behind the camera as he snaps a photo of you scrunching your face cutely.

“Yeah, but you’re the first one who has clothes on,” he says, glancing down at the photo on the camera roll.  

“Ugh, gross,” you cringe and take a sip of tea.

Jaemin doesn’t add anything further. He leaves out the fact that he never keeps any traces of his one-night stands, that you’re the first girl he’s taken a picture of in a while.  

After a few hours of more talking and even some gaming with one another, sleep is much needed. Jaemin offers an extra toothbrush and a sweater and pair of sweats to sleep in. You’re facing each other on his bed, noses almost touching.  

“It’s been a while since I haven’t had sex with a girl before I slept next to them,” he whispers, adjusting himself comfortably. The side of his face rests on his piled hands. “It’s kinda nice.”

You cover your mouth as you yawn, then lay your hand back under your head, reflecting the same position as Jaemin.

“You know, it might be my sleepiness talking, but maybe you’re not the worst person in the world to be stuck with during a snowstorm.”

A lovely chuckle echoes in your ear. “I’m glad you’ve had a change of heart.”

After a few moments, your eyes are fluttering to a close until he softly calls out your name.

“Hm?” you stir awake, but not by much.

“Do you...?”

Jaemin doesn’t know what’s gotten to him, doesn’t quite understand why the defences he built for so long are crumbling down in only a day of knowing you.  

And yet, something urges him to give it a chance.

Blowing out a shaky sigh, he anxiously intertwines his fingers with yours. You hum softly at the action and a small smile blooms on your face.

“Do you want to go on a date with me sometime?”

“Hm?” His question doesn’t take you aback as much as you would be if you were fully awake. But even in your drowsy state, you have quips in hand. “Jaemin, the notorious fuckboy and serial one-night stander, wants to go on a date?”

“Yeah,” he replies gently, brushing your loose hair out of your face.

Another yawn. “I thought you said you don’t want feelings and relationships and all that shit.”

His fingers trace your pretty jawline and shrugs. “One date doesn’t mean we’re going to be in a relationship, I’m sure you know that.”

You pause for a good two seconds, but the two seconds feel like forever for Jaemin.

“Mmm, fine. One date, just one.” You barely hold up your pointer finger. “And only because it’s Christmas tomorrow. ‘Tis the season to be giving...”

Relief washes over Jaemin in the form of a smile. Embracing the blatant feeling in his chest this time, he plants a light kiss on your nose and wishes you sweet dreams, even though you’ve already fallen soundly asleep.  

Sunlight pours over your eyes on Christmas morning.

Déjà vu peculiarly creeps up on you, but the only thing that’s the same as yesterday is waking up in Jaemin’s bed.

He’s next to you this time, deep in his peaceful slumber, instead of waiting for you to leave by his doorframe. The snow has finally stopped, and you think you hear the faint noises of snow plows outside. You inhale deeply and also notice the faded aroma from all the scented candles from last night.

The scenes of yesterday flicker across your mind. The incredible sex. The talking. The dinner. The interlocking of his fingers with yours.

The date he asked you out on.

You stare at him, watching him sleep with a sense of content.

Turning your body, you routinely check your phone, which is charging beside his. You have a slew of Merry Christmas texts from several chats and a few private messages from your friends.

Your attention falls on Jaemin’s phone when it lights up with a notification, likely texts from his friends and family too.

But that’s not what you’re focusing on.

Your heart sinks at the sight of his lockscreen.

It’s a picture of him and a girl kissing.

A twinge emerges in your chest and twists harder and harder.

Jaemin being a fuckboy, you can respect. People can do whatever they want with their lives.

But to cheat?

That’s unforgivable, and a true sin if there ever was one.

You scramble to dash out of there, careful not to make any noises in fear of waking Jaemin up. However, Jaemin’s sensitive to the sounds of the front door, so he rouses awake. His eyes flit open, noticing how you’re gone. He then sees his phone blowing up and adds two and two together.

With his phone in hand, Jaemin rushes to get on a coat and stuffs his feet into his boots, not giving a shit that he’s wearing his thin pajamas in the coldness. He’s bounding down the flight of stairs and onto the bright, white wonderland of the streets.

He swivels his head and catches sight of you almost past down the block, slowly trekking through the thick snow. Jaemin sprints, as much as he can, and hops towards you.  

He yells your name, making others on the street turn, but you don’t. You continue forward without looking back.

“Wait! I can explain!”

You’re trying to gain speed, but cardio isn’t your friend. Thankfully for Jaemin, it’s a close friend for him.

“I don’t wanna fucking hear it, Jaemin,” you grunt, hearing the rapid crunching of his shoes coming closer. “Get lost.”

“No, listen to me for a second.”

The boyish man grasps you by the arm and turns you around. You throw his arm away from you and he holds his hands in the air, letting you know that he respects your space. He drops his hands and sees that you’re seething, even worse than you were when he kicked you out yesterday.

“How are you going to explain your lockscreen with you kissing your fucking girlfriend?! Hm?”

“Ex,” he pants in clarification. “Ex-girlfriend.”

Your eyebrows mesh together in utter confusion.

“Okay? That doesn’t make me feel any better, knowing that you’re still hung up on your ex.”

Jaemin shakes his head and rakes a hand through his hair. You note the large clouds he exhales and how he’s barely wearing any clothes. A tinge of sympathy passes through you, wanting to give him some of your clothes for extra layers, but you smother that quickly in your state of rage.  

“I’m not hung up on her. Remember you asked me yesterday why I don’t want girls to stay the next morning?”

You cock your head impatiently, as if saying, “Yeah.”

“Well, I don’t want to attach myself to girls. I can’t. I...”

He lowers his head to one side. Shutting his eyes, a long puff emits from his mouth.

“She cheated on me.”

The snow plows in the distance can’t compare to the pumping of your heart in your ears. All the feelings you felt in the last day, but especially in the last fifteen minutes, jumble together in your head, making you feel uneasy and unsure of what to exactly feel or comprehend of the situation.  

But you do know one thing, despite the fact that you two barely know each other, the pained look on his face is real—that this is the untold story behind his ways.  

Jaemin lifts his head and holds out his phone for emphasis. “The lockscreen serves as a constant reminder that dating and feelings will and can fuck me up.”

Carefully, he steps a little closer to you and slowly cups your face in his shaking hands. You don’t pull away nor is there the same anger from moments before, so he daintily runs his thumbs over your cheeks.

“Until you showed me yesterday that maybe I’m willing to give it all another shot. Risk it all for fuck knows what, but you make it look like it’s worth it.”

He continues his ramble after adjusting some of your hair from the ongoing breeze.

“Sure, it’s Christmas today, but I don’t want you to say yes to going on a date with me just because it is. I want you to say yes because maybe you like spending time with me just as much as I like to spend it with you.”

You’re completely disoriented—your eyes are shifting everywhere but his eyes and your lips are quivering with no words coming out. He sighs understandingly. 

“Look, I know you’re probably having second thoughts and you don’t have to give me an answer right now. Think on it for as much time as you need, but I want you to know that I genuinely like you and I want to go on an actual date with you.”

He peels his hand away from your face and raises it into the air as if taking an oath.

“I, Na Jaemin, the notorious fuckboy and serial one-night stander, will devote to monogamy once again if it means I can date you.”

His hands grab yours, kisses the back of them, and then he presses one kiss onto your icy cheek prior to walking away.

“Merry Christmas,” he says with a sad smile. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

Later that evening at your large family’s Christmas party, you take another dreadful gulp of your wine.

It’s the happy holiday season, but why does everyone feel the need to stick their nose in your dating life? Well, really, a lack there of.

“Why are you still single?” Layers of their voices resound the same question in your head. You take another swig.

Potential unsaid answers that you kept to yourself fly around as you swish the drink in your glass.  

Because you choose to be.

Okay, not really, but it’s the easiest answer.  

Because you haven’t found the right guy to get you back in the game.

What does that even mean? What makes the right guy even right?

The right guy? It’s someone who makes you laugh, someone who gives as good as they can take it, someone who wants you just as much as you do.

The cogs move in your head as you take one more sip before you finally come to the conclusion—  

Because you didn’t find the right guy until last night.

Despite the mess of today and yesterday morning, you realize that Jaemin is... actually sort of sweet. Annoying, yes, but he keeps you on your toes. It’s a plus that he’s easy on the eyes, but it’s a bigger plus that he’s even easier to talk to.

And if he can find it in his scorched heart to trust you, you can find it in your heart to trust him too.  

You quickly say your good-byes to your family and let them know you have other plans with friends tonight.

As the Uber rolls up to his apartment building, you realize you probably should’ve messaged him on Tinder, but it’s worth a shot to see if he’s home. Anyways, impulsiveness is a controlling entity, as evident from your Christmas Eve Eve’s adventure.

And in retrospect, perhaps Jaemin was the perfect pick of the crop after all.  

Someone’s entering the building and lets you in behind them. You take the stairs two at a time and hear booming music coming from his floor. At first, you assume it’s from other apartments, but it’s all coming from one—his.

Without a thought, your knuckle taps the door.  

A handsome figure that’s definitely not Jaemin opens the door. Behind him, you see a group of young men scattered around the living room, and some have a few girls tucked under their arms.

The man eyes you up and down with a spark in his eye. He’s not Jaemin, but he surely reminds you of him.

“And who might you be?” he asks.

“Who’s at the door, Jeno?” An unknown male voice hollers in a high pitch from the couch. He’s one of the guys with a girl attached to him.

You blink. “Uhm, I’m—”

“She’s with me!” Jaemin shoves the flirty stranger aside and tugs you by your wrist, making headway to his bedroom. He flips the light switch on and the door clicks shut.

“What are you doing h—”

You cut him off with a kiss.

An innocent one, at first, with hints of alcohol on each other’s lips. Your arms wrap around the other and the passion increases with the mingling of your tongues, each party tasting and confirming the specific drinks you both consumed tonight.  

Jaemin forces himself to pull away and presses his forehead against yours. “Did you just come all the way here to kiss me, or...?”

“Maybe I came over to ask... if I can stay with you for another night?” you playfully ask, fingers intertwining behind the nape of his neck.  

He chuckles heartily. His fingers sink into the sides of your waist. “Is my dick that great? The sex with me that amazing?”

“Mmm, that’s definitely a benefit,” you agree, fluttering your nose against his. “But I want more than that—“ You poke a finger to his chest. “—I want the man behind the dick.”

Your gazes converge, bringing you together as one.

“I want to go on that date with you. I want you, Jaemin.”

He flashes a megawatt smile that could compete with a million Christmas lights, but it fades suddenly and you’re unsure why he seems like he’s about to bawl his eyes out.

“That’s so beautiful, I might cry.” He brings a finger to his eye, pretending to shed a tear.

Oh, yeah—you’re definitely going to need to hire someone to constantly shove your eyeballs back into your sockets if you’re going to date Jaemin.

“Oh, shut up,” you whisper, yanking him in for another kiss.

Three dates later, including a memorable New Year’s Eve, you finally decide to rid of the Tinder app for good.

With his arm around you on his living room couch, Jaemin glances over your shoulder.

“Really? You’re finally deleting your Tinder?”

You snort in disbelief. “That’s gold, coming from the King of Tinder himself. When did you delete?”

He turns to face the television and shrugs coolly.

“Maybe I didn’t.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you,” you nod, eyes still on your phone.

“Nah, I’m kidding, I did.”    

You sharply turn your head.

“No way. When?” you press with narrow eyes.  

A shy smile emerges on Jaemin’s face as he picks his pants over his thighs.

“On the night of Christmas Eve, after you agreed to go on a date with me.”

[bizarredalek]

Break

Thirteen x reader

Word count: 8381

Warning: hurt/comfort, reader gets hypothermia, Doctor feels really fucking guilty about it

Summary: The Doctor planned a surprise trip for the both of you, but it didn't turn out as either of you hoped

A/N: A belated Christmas gift for my friend @iced-tea-possibly <3 and thank you to Jenny (@myghostmonument) for looking it over ilyyyyy

You had thought that traveling with the Doctor that nothing would surprise you anymore. You had seen Daleks, Cybermen, and so much more. But you were a little curious and slightly suspicious when she would not tell you what adventure you two would take today.

“So, where are we going?” You tried asking the Doctor again and following her around the console hoping she would crack and give in and tell you what she had planned.

She refused to give you the slightest hint of where she was taking you, she was determined to keep this a secret and a surprise for you. You were not going to lie; you were extremely excited. Usually, when the Doctor had a surprise trip planned, they would go very smoothly with nothing trying to kill the both of you, just a relaxing time with your favourite time-traveling alien.

The Doctor in reply to your question just threw you a very warm-looking winter jacket. “You’ll see.”

She had a large grin on her face, and she pulled the lever down on the Tardis to land her and she grabbed your hand in hers pulling you along to the time machine's front doors. The Doctor gestured for you to open the doors, her eyes shining as bright as the stars she showed you in space, and how could you say no. You pushed the doors open and gasped at the chilly air that snuck through and brushed against your cheek, and then came the blinding white light. You closed your eyes to avoid the burn, and you brought your hand up to try to block the brightness out as you blinked your eyes open again to adjust to the brightness, and then you gasped at what you saw outside the Tardis.

Everything was white! It looked like Narnia outside the box; trees reaching as high as can be and covered in snow, the sky a beautiful blue with the occasional flurry cloud, and the ground was instead a thick layer of ice so clear you could see your reflection in it.

“Where are we?” You asked the Doctor, your voice full of wonder.

The Doctor took your hand again and led you outside. You gasped when your feet started slipping underneath you almost sending you falling onto your back. The Doctor made sure to catch you before you could accidentally hit your head and held on to you until you were both confident that you would not slip and fall.

“This,” she gestured to the snowy area around you. “This is Yukhon, the planet not like the Yukon Territory in Canada. Although maybe we should visit one day, I hear it's lovely this time of year. Yukhon is 100% covered in ice all year round, everywhere. People who come to visit this place have said it is the perfect planet to come skating on. I’ve been meaning to check it out and I thought who better to come with me, so, I thought you would like to have a relaxing skating day!”

“It’s safe?” you asked. You trusted the Doctor when she brought you places, you just hoped that nothing bad happened while you two were here.

She nodded. “The ice itself is super thick, and the water underneath is below freezing so any break or crack gets frozen over immediately, and a few different aliens have made their home here and aren’t threatening or dangerous. So?”

She looked at you with hopeful hazel eyes, and you couldn’t help the smile on your face. “Well, I guess we should go get some skates.”

You didn’t think the Doctors eyes could brighten anymore than they already do, but at this moment they were almost brighter than any star you had seen. She pulled you back onto the solid, non-slippery, ground of the Tardis and you had laughed as you were sliding the entire time back, and she rushed down one of the hallways while you hung back in the console room brushing off the snow at the bottom of your shoes. It would not help your relationship with the time machine if you tracked snow and water everywhere. The Tardis herself made some beeps and blips at you as if wishing you a fun time outside and to be careful. You smiled at the ship's concern and gently reassured her you would be okay. The Doctor came bounding back into the console room holding two pairs of skates in her arms.

“Just had those on hand, did you?” you teased her as she handed you the skates. The Doctor grinned and you took the offered footwear. You noticed that they had guards on the blades, so you just sat on the steps and switched out your shoes, the Tardis made concerning beeps at you and you smiled as you tied the laces.

“I won’t scratch up the floor, don’t worry!” you told her.

The Doctor held out her hand after she had put her own skates on, and you took it gratefully. She led you out the doors and you shivered in excitement You couldn’t begin to explain how excited were; skating in a rink or on a frozen lake is one thing, but this was on an alien planet! You made sure to take the guards off before you and the Doctor went outside. You gasped when she suddenly pulled you back out the Tardis and onto the icy surface. You slipped a little at first, but as always, the Doctor was there to catch and steady you.

You laughed. The ice under your feet felt unbelievably smooth like a Zamboni had run over it. There were no cracks, holes, or bumps, even as you looked behind at the trail you left behind as you moved it was clear. You were brought out of your head by the Doctor sliding up beside you, her grin never faltering, and you smiled to match it.

“So?” she started to say. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed watching your breath as you spoke. You didn’t think the Doctor’s smile could get any bigger. “There’s a little marketplace down the way, we should take a look.”

You nodded. “Lead the way!”

The Doctor looped her arm through yours and you both glided towards the market, your feet moving in unison, so you didn’t tumble into one another and crash. You watched the trees and surroundings pass in a blur and then you moved your attention to the woman next to you. Her gaze was focused in front of the two of you, the wind blowing her golden hair over her shoulder, and her arm felt pleasantly warm through yours, you only wished you could hold her hand in yours. Shaking the thought from your mind you noticed that the market the Doctor had mentioned was coming into view. The market was placed in a large opening away from all the trees and snow piles, the area looking as if it would have been placed in the middle of a lake, there were stalls lined up and people slid to and from all over the place.

“Wow,” you commented.

The Doctor led you down the makeshift aisle and you eagerly looked at all the items that were on display, ranging from foods to clothing items and various kinds of gadgets. You let the Doctor go to take a closer look at some of the gloves and scarves that were being sold, the Doctor going to another stall not too far away. You weren’t worried about getting separated from the Doctor, she said it was safe here, so what did you really have to worry about besides maybe falling and bruising your arm or leg.

“It’s beautiful, the stitching is amazing,” you said to the seller about the gloves.

The woman behind the stall motioned for you to pick them up and your eyes widened at how soft they were. “All are handmade and designed to always keep your hands warm at all times, interested?” She asked you.

You politely refused and placed the item back where they were. “No thank you, I didn’t bring any money and I have these,” you lifted your hands to show off the gloves you had found in your jacket's pocket. “But thank you anyway!”

The lady nodded her head and you bid her farewell before going back to find the Doctor. You found it much more difficult to avoid bumping into people with skates on, some of them wore spikes on their shoes, and others wore blades as you did, and you had to repeatedly apologize to anyone you bumped or crashed into. A sigh of frustration passed your lips into the crisp air, your breath coming out as a slight fog in front of you. How could one person whose one major rule be: don’t wander off, but most of the time it’s the Doctor who disappears in a wander and breaks her own rule? Unbelievable. You sighed again and continued gliding down the market in search of familiar golden hair and a long blue coat. A harsh shove against your shoulder sent you flying across the ice and away from the mass of people, you groaned when you finally managed to get yourself from sliding any farther away.

A loud noise stopped you from trying to stand back up to continue your search for the Doctor, it almost sounded like a high-pitched laser; a sound that gave away how thin the ice was under your hands. You gasped in shock when a crack formed under your palms, the laser noise following its path, scarring the ice, and you slowly stood on shaky legs. You had to get out of here. Finally getting back on your feet you moved to get away from the crack, but a piece broke off when you put your weight on one foot and you almost crumpled back to the ground. A bit of the ice had broken off and it had caught the blade of your skate in its grasp as if it were trying to keep you there.

“Oh, no, no, no,” you mumbled to yourself.

Every shift in your weight cause chunks of ice to crumble and break and fall into the dark abyss below you. You didn’t want to fall in, you wanted the Doctor to come and help you and hold you in her embrace as she reassured you that you were safe and okay. You glanced back up to the mass of people that would occasionally look in your direction but would turn their heads the other way and continue with their day.

“Doctor?!” you shouted for her; your voice trembled in fear.

The Doctor was still in the market when she heard your cry. She had been looking all over for you. Her number one rule was “don’t wander off,” so where had you gone? When she heard you, she paused; you sounded panicked, scared. Frantically looking around trying to find you, she could spot glances of you through the locals, and she could see you far out onto the ice. She pushed her way through the crowd, and the closer she got the more she could see the ever-growing cracks around you.

“Don’t move!!” the Doctor shouted when she got close.

She stopped a few feet away. Close, but not close enough. Her eyes were wide in terror which surprised you a little. The Doctor was always so good at hiding her fears from you, sometimes you’d really have to pry at how she was feeling. But this? This was out in the open, unconcealed fear that she felt, and you could see it. You watched as she took a step towards you and the ice cracked underneath her foot, almost looking like a spiderweb.

You held out your hands to stop her. “Wait, wait, wait! S-stop! It won’t hold the both of us.” you yelled. The Doctor stopped before she could take another step to you. She knew you were right; the ice was too thin to support both of you on it.

“I’m not just going to leave you there!” she protested.

"Well,” you started to say but gasped when more cracks formed and broke around you. “T-think of something else that won’t cause us both to fall.”

Okay, okay,” she said, her face twisting in thought. “Okay!” She snapped her fingers. “I’m going to go back to the Tardis to throw you a line and pull you back to me. Don’t go anywhere!”

Determination took over the look of fear in the Doctors eyes, but you could still see it just hiding under the surface. She was scared for you. You were scared too, but you would try to be brave until she came back. “Not like I can anyway,” you mumbled to yourself as you watched her grow smaller in the distance. The minutes that the Doctor was gone felt like hours, your only company being the laser-like sounds of the ice breaking under pressure. You really hoped she came back soon; you didn’t want to think of how much longer you had left stood in one place until the ice completely opened under you to swallow you whole. After a few more seconds of waiting, you gasped when your leg suddenly broke through the ice.

Spoke too soon

You dropped to your knee, and the impact caused huge angry breaks and you could hear it hitting water under the surface. The ice then shattered completely, and you started to fall in, you managed to catch your arms on the edge that still held strong, and you struggled to stay holding on to it.

“Doctor!!” you shrieked.

The drop below was quite deep, deep enough where if you fell in, climbing out would be impossible and who knew how deep that water was. It was getting increasingly difficult to stay hanging on the edge, there was really nothing for you to grab on to, so you had to rely on using your upper body strength to keep you up enough for the Doctor to hurry back. You were shocked that while this was all happening the locals still didn’t even acknowledge that you were in trouble and that you needed help, they just kept their heads turned the other way like they didn’t care.

You were pulled from your thoughts by more cracking, and you watched in horror as the ice slowly continued to break along the edges, around where you were holding on, and then you felt yourself fall. You screamed. There was nothing else to grab on to, it was hopeless. You just prayed that the drop isn’t as deep as you thought. A gasp of shock and surprise left your lips when you felt the freezing waters touch your skin, and then you were fully submerged. Thankfully, the water wasn’t as deep as it seemed. You only fell a few feet before having your head dunked underwater, stealing the air from your lung at how cold it really was. Standing up you coughed and choked, the water coming up to just below your chest, and you shivered. The water was so cold, colder than any pool, lake, or ocean you’ve been in, and you remember the Doctor saying it was below freezing down here.

You jumped when you heard loud sounds above you, and your heart dropped when you saw that the ice was already reforming itself above you. A pillar of water rose beside you to mend the cracks, and then you were left with a dim blue light to see, and you were alone. You were separated from the Doctor with no idea on how to get back to her.

“Doctor!” you shouted as loud as you could.

It was no use though, the ice had stolen your cry and made sure no one would hear it. You felt your heart skip a few beats in dread when you came to the realization that you were absolutely trapped. You reached an arm up over your head and your fingers could barely touch the frozen barrier above you, it felt solid and no matter how hard you tried to push against it or hit it, it refused to even dent.

“No, no, no,” you whispered.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, it was supposed to be safe, the Doctor said it was safe! No, you shook yourself from that thought, there was no way she was supposed to know that it would break like that, she couldn’t. You looked around your surroundings and saw only the still water that rippled with your movements and the black void that hung around in the distance, threatening to move closer and closer as the sun started to set.

Your breath caught in your throat. How were you supposed to get back up top, there was nothing around to climb and nothing to use to chip the ice away so the Doctor could find you. You debated the options of taking your skates off to do so, but you didn’t want to leave your feet fully exposed to the water, and you thought about swimming the water pillars when they came but who knew when another hole would be made. There was nothing. You thought about moving, but the idea of leaving your last known location that the Doctor saw you in… you couldn’t. If you did move, she might be able to find you again, but you were getting so cold. You could feel the freezing waters soak your socks and feet leaving them to numb, and that numbness feeling inched its way up to your leg, but it didn’t stop there. It continued up and up until your arms started to tingle and made its home under your skin and into your bones.

“Please,” you said to no one in particular. “Please, Doctor, find me.”

~~~

The Doctor stood in when she got back to where you were supposed to be but found only the icy smooth surface instead as if you were never there in the first place. Her hearts ached in fear knowing that you had fallen, and there was no way for her to get to you. She thought back to when the Earth took Amy back in her 11th body. She had to find you; she wouldn’t lose you… she couldn’t. She dropped the rope and ran back to the market, she was glad she put her shoes back on with some spikes so she could move easier. She desperately hoped that someone could help her, someone that knew how to break the barrier between you and her.

“You alright there, love?” one woman asked her after noticing her frantic state.

“My-my friend,” the Doctor stuttered. “They fell through the ice.”

The woman’s face turned sympathetic. “That is truly upsetting to hear, dear, I’m sorry for your loss.”

The Doctor was taken aback by how easy the woman reacted as if this had happened many times. “Well, do you have anything to breakthrough? I need to get to them!”

She shook her head. “Anything we had in the beginning when we all came here was taken by the ice, and anyone taken by it has never been recovered.”

The Doctor refused to accept that. “There has to be a way!”

She wouldn’t just let you freeze to death alone down there, not while she was still breathing.

The woman shrugged. “Anything you can think of has most likely been attempted already, sorry, dear.”

~~~

You were getting so cold. You didn’t know how long you were trapped; the sun had started to set, and you were slowly getting left alone in the dark. It was getting harder to see in front of you, and your wet clothes clung uncomfortably to your body and started to freeze to your skin. Frost crawled up your body causing your trembles and shakes to worsen. You started to move your legs and walk around in circles, trying to create enough friction in your legs to keep yourself warm, and your hands were rubbing up and down your icy arms. Your breath still forms that visible cloud with every shivering gasp and pant.

You were startled when the ice wall above you suddenly shattered and crumbled around you. Sharp edges cut into the bare skin of your arms; your coat having been long discarded. You don’t even remember where or how long ago you took it off. Blood trickled down your arm and you hissed at the freezing air hitting the open wound.

The sky above you was bright, was it daylight? No, you could see the vast darkness that crept the edges of the light. Familiar golden hair peeked over the edge. Familiar where though, you thought. You watched the golden-haired woman’s mouth form your name, was it your name, but no sound reached your ears. You felt relieved, your body lost all tension in your limbs, and your legs buckled under your weight sending you falling back into the water for a second time. It was as if your body was telling you that it was okay, that you didn’t need to keep fighting, you were safe now.

You felt arms wrap around you and a voice you could slightly recognize. “I got you. You’re going to be okay.”

You felt safe in this person’s arms. You couldn’t exactly remember who it is that pulled you from below the ice, it hurt too much to think, but you knew that you trusted them. Your eyes closed and you let yourself fall back into the black void that crept the corners of your vision and you fell limp in your saviour’s arms. When the Doctor pulled you out of the large hole she managed to create with the Tardis, she noticed you weren’t wearing the winter coat she had given you to wear and the skin on your arms were turning wax like, one of the signs of frostbite. She needed to get you inside as soon as possible. So, she shrugged off her light blue coat and carefully put it on you and making sure all the exposed skin was at least covered until she could get you back to the Tardis. She even unwrapped the scarf she had around her neck and shoulders and wrapped it around your own to cover your face. It would have to do for now, she thought. She gently lifted you up into her arms, trying to make her touch as light as possible as to not accidentally send you into shock, and moved as fast as she could back to the Tardis. When she got the both of you back in, she could hear the Tardis make some hums and beeps in concern when the Doctor rushed her through the console room and down the hall to get you to the med bay.

You weren’t sure how long you were unconscious for, but you were suddenly woken by something touching you around your legs. The touch hurt, it burned, and you squirmed and arched to try to get away from the fire that burned your skin.

“Hey, hey, hey!” the fire was back on you. “It’s okay, it’s me! It’s the Doctor.”

You stopped struggling and your vision cleared to show the Doctor was beside you, and her hands were holding your shoulders down, not enough to cause you harm, but her touch burned, and you couldn’t help the whimper of pain that passed your lips.

“Okay, okay,” the Doctor whispered. “We have to take these off you.”

You noticed she had been working on the laces to your skates while you were unconscious, you were glad you didn’t manage to kick her. She tugged at the top of the shoe, and you flinched your leg away in pain, it felt like she was trying to pull your skin off.

“N-no, don’t” you tried to tell her.

“I’m sorry,” you could see the sincerity in her eyes from her words.

You screamed and flailed when she pulled the skates off your feet. It hurt so much. Please stop, please stop, please stop!

The blackness danced in the corners of your vision as the white-hot burn spread though your nerves. You felt like every part of you was on fire.

You whined and hissed in pain when you felt her hands moved you to sit up on the bed you were laying on, and to the jacket you had on. That’s funny, you don’t remember wearing the Doctors coat. Her touch pulled you out of your thoughts and you hissed again. Her hands felt like someone was pressing a burning hot pan to your skin, and she hadn’t even taken off your clothes yet.

“I know, shh,” she told you. She removed moved as slow as she could and slipped her coat off your shoulders and down your arms, apologizing with every cry that she heard from you.

Luckily, the Doctors coat wasn’t soaked too terribly from being on you, so it was the easiest piece of clothing to remove from your freezing body, but it felt like sharp knives being dragged down your arms and back.

“H-hurts,” you slurred, your entire body convulsing in shivers and shakes. “S-s-stop, please.”

The Doctor felt her hearts break at your words, the last thing she wanted to do was to hurt you, but she needed to get you out of your frozen clothes and get you warm as fast and carefully as she could without putting you into shock and killing you. She stared at the rest of your clothes in thought on how to remove them without dragging it across your skin.

“I’m going to have to cut these off of you,” she said.

You could barely hear what the Doctor had said, it hurt too much to think, it sounded like she was talking to you through water and your head was the one being under, her voice sounded so far away but she was standing right in front of you.

“W-what?” you asked her

She didn’t reply to you and started digging through her bigger on the inside pockets, muttering to herself. “Oh, where are they?”

“Found them!” she exclaimed, pulling out a pair of scissors.

She quickly went to cut away your shirt, and your pants thankfully not pulling them off yet. You shivered more when you felt the air on your exposed skin.

“’S cold,” you complained.

“I know,” the Doctor told you, cupping your face in her hands and running her thumb gently over your crystalized cheeks. “I’m going to get you warm, okay? I promise you’ll feel better soon.” You hummed under her hands; eyes fluttering shut at the contact and the warmth that radiated from her hold, nothing like the fire that it was moments ago. It was nice, comforting even, you were just so tired.

“No, no,” she suddenly said, tapping her fingers gently on your cheeks making you jump in surprise and blink at her. “You can’t fall asleep just yet. Your body temperature is still dangerously low. Stay awake for me, yeah?”

You whined in protest at first, you were so tired, and the Doctor was so warm. It would be so easy to just sink into her embrace and just let the black in your vision take you away again, take you somewhere it would stop hurting and you wouldn’t be cold anymore

“Hey, hey!”

Your eyes snapped open again, when did you close them? Where were you? Your vision cleared of the blurriness that covered your sight and you saw the Doctor again; she was still holding your face in her hands. Her eyes were narrowed in concern

“I need you to stay awake just a little bit longer, okay? Focus on me,” she told you and you nodded. She let go of your face and grabbed where she had made a cut into your shirt and made sure to keep eye contact with you. “Are you ready?”

“F-f-f-for?” you asked nervously.

She gave you a reassuring look. “The fabric is hurting your skin, right?” you nodded. “So, I have to get this off quicky so we can get you in warmer dry clothes.”

“N-no,” you whined, trying to pull away from her hands. You wanted to feel her warm hands, her comforting hands. Not the hands that you knew was going to cause you pain again.

“Hey,” she whispered, getting you to stop struggling from her. “I’ll make it fast; do you trust me?” You thought for a minute. Did you trust her? Of course, you trusted her! She’s saved your life countless times; you’d always trust her. So, you nodded your head.

She smiled. “Good, now deep breath and I’ll be quick.” You did as you were told, shakily taking in a deep breath into your lungs. “Okay, on the count of 3, ready?” a nod. “Alright, 1!” and she threw off the rest of your clothes.

A scream ripped itself from your throat. Your clothes were frozen all the way through, so when the Doctor took them off it felt like she was ripping it off your skin. Where the hell was 3?!

“Sorry,” the Doctor apologized. “I’m so sorry. Almost done.” She placed a kiss on your forehead and then quickly grabbed some clothes that you didn’t notice were in the room with the both of you.

“Okay, last thing I promise.”

The clothes she had were pajamas it looked like. The shirt was a nice button up, so she didn’t have to have your arms above your head and the pants were loose and warm looking. She helped you put the warm clothes on, and you couldn’t help the few tears that trailed down your cheeks. You just wanted the pain to stop. The Doctor finished the last button and wiped away your tears with a gentle caress, whispering comforting things that you couldn’t quite hear as she threw a fluffy blanket over your shoulders. When did she get that?

“I’m going to pick you up now, okay?” the Doctor told you. “We’ll get you in a bed and you can get all roasty toasty like a human should be, and after you can sleep, yeah?”

“S-s-s-sounds g-good,” you replied, clutching the blanket tight to your body and trying to absorb all the warmth you needed to survive.

The Doctor placed her arms under your knees and your shoulders and stood up with you safely in her arms. You felt a sense of déjà vu in this position, but instead of dwelling on it you gave a sigh. Your breath still came out in breathless gasps, but it wasn’t as bad as when you first regained consciousness, and you tucked your head into the Doctors neck and giving another sigh at the warmth that surrounded you.

“S-so warm,” you slurred tiredly, eyes threatening to shut again.

You felt her tap you on your leg and you looked up at her. “No sleeping on me, remember? Just stay awake a little longer.”

You groaned at her words, but obeyed, and blinked your eyes open again.

“W-where are we g-going?” you asked, teeth still chattering together.

“We are going to your room where you’ll be in your bed so your body temperature can get back up to normal, and then rest for you,” she answered.

You nodded and settled yourself back into her embrace. You watched the hallways and many room pass by before you got bored, instead deciding to look at the Doctor. She didn’t have her coat on, you were surprised she didn’t wear it after she took it off you, you guess that your life in this moment was more important than her wearing her signature outfit. Her hair bounced and would move over her shoulder with every step she took.

You didn’t even notice you were in your room until the Doctor had put you down and covered you with the blankets. You whined when you felt the Doctors warmth leave you, and the cold started to crawl its way back into your body. The Doctor shushed and started to pile many blankets on top of you. “Okay,” she smoothed out the last blanket she put on top of you. “How are you feeling?” You could only shiver and groan in response. The cold simply refused to let you go, it had you in its icy grasp and would not release you without a fight. It settled itself into the very fiber of your existence and made its home there. You whined when you heard the familiar high-pitched whirring of the Doctors sonic as she moved it over you and reading the results it gave.

“Alright,” she sighed in relief. “Your vitals are returning to normal, a little bit more and you’ll be okay to sleep, so you rest and get your strength back and I’ll be right back.”

“S-s-stay,” you said before the Doctor had the chance to leave you alone, you didn’t want to be alone. You uncovered your arm from under the blanket and reached for her. “P-please.”

The Doctor paused, looking as if she was thinking it over. She would be able to help you more if she stayed, body heat was highly important with those dealing with hypothermia, you would get better faster if she shared her body heat with you and it would be better than to give you something warm to drink right now. No, no, no, that’d kill you. You obviously needed her close because she was warm. Yes, that was it, nothing more nothing less, and she was close enough in temperature for humans so it wouldn’t harm you. So, she kicked off her boots and shrugging off her suspenders and climbed under the covers with you, pulling you in to her embrace. She could feel how bad you were shivering in her arms and tightened her hold around, so you could start taking her warmth and as a reassurance for the Doctor that you were okay, she wasn’t too late. She heard you sigh, your breath coming out in shaking pants against her neck. The Doctor adjusted you so were pulled flush against her, your head tucked under her chin.

“I’m so sorry,” she suddenly whispered.

“F-for what-t?” you asked, voice muffled by her shirt.

“Nothing, never mind, it’s not important right now. Go to sleep now,” the Doctor told you, her fingers leaving tails of different patterns on your back.

You tried to stay awake, you wanted to keep talking to the Doctor, but your exhaustion caught up with you. The Doctors hand ran up and down your back, continuously drawing those wonderful patterns that you couldn’t quite guess as to what they were, and she was just so warm. The Doctor kept the motions up until she could hear your breath deepen and lose its shivering exhales.

She stayed with you through most of the night. She couldn’t bring herself to leave you alone, she had to make sure you were okay. She could see your skin gain back it’s normal colour and you started to feel much warmer than you had when she first brought you here, and she let out a sigh in relief. She let herself fully relax, sinking into the pillows under her head and loosened her arms around you to give you some wiggle room, but you whined at the loss of heat and nuzzled closer into the Doctor. She couldn’t help the smile that lifted on her lips, and she held you tight against her again hearing your soft sigh before settling. The two of you stayed like this, and the Doctor stayed awake the entire time as you slept peacefully in her arms, until she noticed that your bedroom had started to get lighter; Tardis making it seem like a rising sun, a warm glow over your body as if helping get rid of any of the left over cold that stayed with you.

The Doctor hadn’t even realized that she had stayed up all night watching over you. It was a good thing that she didn’t need very much sleep like humans do. You still slept soundly next to the Doctor looking much better already. Your skin had an angry red tint to it, but she could see no more signs of frostbite or hypothermia left thanks to the equipment in the med-bay. The Doctor slid out of your bed and quietly left your room to let you sleep more and to clean up the ruined clothes that you had been wearing before, and maybe make you a warm cup of tea. Her hearts broke when she saw the clothes she had to cut off you still discarded on the floor, memories of your screams and crying ran through her mind over and over again threatening to haunt her for the rest of her days. She shook her to get rid of the thought and picked up the ruined clothing to throw them away making a mental note to replace them soon. When the Doctor was finished, she wandered into the kitchen to see that the Tardis had made her a cup of her favourite tea that was waiting for her on the counter. With a grateful thank you, the Doctor sat holding the drink in her hand, and your cries came back to mind. The Tardis hummed in concern down at her Pilot.

“I’m fine,” the Doctor told the time machine.

The Tardis didn’t believe her, of course. She travelled with the Doctor for far too long to not be aware of when the Doctor wasn’t okay. She hummed again, urging the Doctor to return to you so you could help her ease her mind.

“They’re fine,” she said. “They should get their sleep.”

You should be with them anyway

“Okay!” the Doctor exclaimed, pushing off the counter to go back to your room ignoring the Tardis mental laughter in her head.

She marched her way back to your room and slowly opened your door with a quiet call of your name in case you were still asleep. Not getting an answer, the Doctor walked into your room and up to your bed only to see that your blankets were tossed to the side and there wasn’t any sign of you in your room. Her hearts stopped beating as her mind worked to think of every possible situation in the universe. No, you were fine. She must’ve just missed you. She left your room to wander the Tardis in hopes of finding you, hoping that you were okay.

The Doctor found you in the library after searching for what seemed like hours, she forgot how infinite this ship could be. She had given up and asked the Tardis where you were, and the time machine lead her down the hall to a familiar door and the Doctor had to restrain from facepalming. Of course, you would have gone to the library. When she walked in she saw you were curled up on the couch wrapped snugly in your favourite quilt from home and an open book in your hands. She heard the pitter patter of rain echoing through the library and the faint sounds of music playing underneath the rain, and a scented candle sat lit on the side table beside you. You weren’t in your bed when she went to go check on you in the morning and she worried about your healing injuries and if you had gotten lost in the Tardis, not that the time machine would let that happen, but it was always a possibility. When she found you, she noticed you looked a little tired, but it was to be expected. A hypothermia exhausted sleep was never a restful one.

You were deep into the story of your book you didn’t hear the Doctor’s boots over the soothing rainfalls and music you had asked the Tardis to play for you. You jumped when the couch suddenly dipped beside you and almost fell into the weight had you not managed to free your arms from its quilt confinement. Hands grabbed onto your shoulders and back to steady and bring you back to your sitting position and you looked up to see it was the Doctor who had sat beside you.

“Oh, Doctor!” you greeted. “Good morning!”

“Good morning,” she said back. “Looked all over for you.”

You could hear the worry she was trying to hide in her voice. “I’m sorry. I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep, so I thought I’d come here. I didn’t mean to worry.”

She smiled reassuringly at you, telling you she was glad to see you up and moving. “How are you feeling?”

You shrugged, leaning over to pick up the discarded book off the floor and wrapping your quilt around your shoulders again. “Tired mostly. My arms and legs feel…tingly?”

The Doctor hummed. “That’s normal, just your blood circulating back through your body. Going back to doing its job.”

Your eyes narrowed at how the Doctor was speaking. Her tone was very guarded, and her eyes refused to meet yours. It reminded you of all her interactions with the Master where she would start to shut people out and hide things from her friends. It felt like she wasn’t here in the library with you. Physically she was, you could feel her leg brush up against your own, but she felt like she was a hundred thousand galaxies away. Completely unreachable by you.

“Doctor?” You started, hoping to bring her back to you. “Are you okay?”

She blinked in surprise not expecting your question. “’Course I’m okay, I’m the King of okay! Er, no. Queen? Hmm, I’ll figure it out later.”

“You’re not though,” you told her, putting the book on the table and turning to face her and give her your full attention. “I know this look, Doctor. What is that big brain of yours thinking?”

The Doctor was silent. Her eyes flickering between yours while you could only watch as she was having an internal conversation with herself. You stayed quiet, wanting her to come to the decision to tell you what was bothering her.

“You don’t have to tell me.” You said, reaching out to grab her hand.

The Doctor shook her head. “No, it’s…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You blinked, not expecting that but gave a reassuring smile. “What ever are you sorry for?”

“I shouldn’t have left you alone,” her eyes were drawn down as she spoke. “I should have stayed with you.”

You shook your head. “You couldn’t have known what was going to happen, Doctor.”

“I should have known!” she argued. “I told you it was safe! You almost… you almost died,” her voice cracking at the end.

You didn’t really remember what had happened after the Doctor took you to that planet. Every time you tried you couldn’t stop the violent shiver that crawled up your spine. Flashes of cold and ice crossed your mind, and it wasn’t hard for you to piece it together that you had been under ice for who knows how long and caught hypothermia while you were trapped, and your voice was still sore from all your screaming.

“But I’m not,” you told her. “You saved me, like you always do.”

“I was so close to not making it,” she whispered.

You felt your heart break at her confession, you couldn’t imagine how it was for the Doctor trying to break through the ice. You reached to grab the Doctors hand to hold it pressed against your cheek.

“I’m here,” you said. “I’m right here.”

The Doctors hand felt warm against your cheek giving you flashbacks of familiar warm hands one ice-cold skin, your ice-cold skin. You couldn’t help but lean into that familiar warmth, that safety that was the Doctor.

“I was so scared,” she said.

You grasped the Doctors wrist in a gentle hold. “I was too,” you admitted.

“I was afraid that I wasn’t going to see you again,” you continued before the Doctor could open her mouth. The Doctor didn’t say anything after, her gaze focused on you and you couldn’t help thinking how pretty her eyes were, and the air between you didn’t feel so heavy in guilt. Slowly she started to lean forward until her forehead met yours and you could feel her breath against your face. Her hand fell from your cheek to hold your hand and you felt your face start to heat up with the blush that decorated the spot that the Doctors hand once was.

“I know you worry about what will happen, if I die while I’m here travelling with you. I can’t begin to imagine how many people you’ve lost in your lifetimes, and I know my name will make that list one day. Until then you’re stuck with me a little bit longer.”

The Doctor was still silent, and instead of saying anything she wrapped her arms around you in a tight hug. Her head moved to rest on your shoulder, and you did the same. You knew the Doctor needed this reassurance, and you were sure that while you were unconscious her mind had been eating at her with the guilt on how you nearly died.

“You silly, wonderous, beautiful human,” you heard her say.

You smiled and your hold on the Doctor tightened. You suddenly felt a shiver tremble its way through your body and you knew the Doctor had felt it because she started to run her hand up and down your back leaving a pleasant warm trail behind.

“Are you cold?” She asked.

You hummed, pulling away from the Doctor to wrap your quilt tighter around your body. “A little.”

The Doctor shuffled back till her back touched the arm of the couch, one of her legs fell over the edge and she had her arms outstretched. “Come here.”

You hesitated for a second. It was one thing to hug the Doctor, but it’s another to be basically cuddling her on the couch. You moved closer to her and leaned against her chest, your quilt still wrapped around you, and her arms wrapping around your middle, and you were surrounded by everything that is the Doctor. You could hear her two heartbeats while your head rested on her shoulder. You started to feel really warm, and you noticed that a fireplace replaced one of the bookshelves in the library. You sighed, and completely relaxed into the Doctor. You couldn’t stop the closing of your eyes with the combination of the hypnotic dance of the fire, the warmth and scent that surrounded you that was the Doctor, the rhythmic beating of her hearts and her hand that drew intricate patterns on your quilt.

You were glad your shivering stopped, you decided you hated the cold. You hated that it almost took you away from the Doctor, and you hated that it made the Doctor feel like it was all her fault. You moved your hand out from under your quilt and grabbed the Doctors hand that still drew those patterns, and you realized she was tracing the stitching on it, and you intertwined your fingers together.

“I love you, Doctor,” you said, angling your head so you could look up at her.

The Doctor paused and looked down at you, and she didn’t say anything back. How could she? She did love you; she planned this surprise trip for you, but she was reminded at how fragile you were. She never wanted to lose you. She couldn’t. She kept her gaze on you, and your eyes flickered between hers, and you smiled. You could see that she felt the same. Her eyes sparkled with a fondness that she only held when she looked at you, even if she knew it or not.

“it’s okay, Doctor,” you told her, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to say anything, I know.”

You settled back into the Doctors embrace and her arms returned to hold you close. You both watched the fires dance over the logs, the Doctors head rested on top of yours and you tucked yourself into her neck. You were almost asleep when you felt the Doctor press a kiss into your hair and you hummed and nuzzled yourself closer.

“Read to me?” you mumbled.

You heard the Doctor laugh under your ear, her chest moving with her laughs, but she complied and leaned carefully over, and to not send you rolling to the floor, and picked up the book that she had caught you reading when she came in and she shifted around to be able to lay and read comfortably while you still rested on her.

“What page were you on?” she asked.

“Don’ remember. Start from the beginning, please?” you gave her pleading eyes.

The Doctor smiled, a beautiful thing you think, she should smile more often. You listened to the Doctors voice as she read the book, not really paying attention to the words she was reading. You wouldn’t admit it out loud to her, but you really enjoyed hearing the Doctor talk, you found her voice to be very soothing it very quickly helped you fall asleep. The Doctor knew you were asleep shortly after she started reading, she noticed how your breathing deepened and soft snores left your mouth, but she continued to read aloud anyway. She closed the book after she finished the first chapter and placed it back onto the table, thankful that you hadn’t even shifted when she moved.

She thought about taking you back to your room, but she found she was also tried. She hadn’t slept much, or at all, since she got you back in the Tardis. So, she slowly and carefully shuffled down so she could lay on her back with you still sleeping on top of her. You groaned with the movement but settled again when the Doctor whispered to you that you were okay. She managed to get some of your quilt unwrapped, so you didn’t accidentally choke in your sleep, and she let out a soft sigh, feeling her exhaustion catch up with her.

“Sleep well,” she whispered, placing another kiss on your head. “I love you too.”

And it was the best sleep the both of you ever had.

[pleasantanathema]

Santa Daddy | Jean Kirstein x Reader

Pairing: Jean Kirstein x Reader

Rating: Explicit 

Warnings: Daddy kink, dirty talk, thigh riding, mutual pining, friends to lovers (or, rather, idiots to lovers), lots of holiday fluff

Word Count: 6k

A/N: This is my Secret Santa gift to @whats-her-quirk​ 🎄💕 June, thank you so much for being a wonderful friend; I was truly lucky and privileged to get you as my Elf for Secret Santa! I hope this fluffy (and dirty) little fic with our best boi Jean brings you some holiday cheer! 

           There were only a few things in the world that made you happier than watching Jean Kirstein smile. Like most of your friends, you’d met him through work, but there was always something so special, almost magical, about seeing his darling smile and hearing his boisterous laugh. And you rarely passed up on a chance to see delight spread across his handsome face, which is why you couldn’t say no when he asked you to join him on a get-a-away with your friends for the holidays.

           The inquiry came after you mentioned how you wouldn’t be able to make it home for the holidays due to a winter storm blowing in. It would be the second season in a row that the weather kept you from visiting home.

           You could still hear his voice in your head, “alone? For Christmas?”

           He’d then insisted you join him and his friends at Sasha’s family cabin. It was tradition for them, a gathering of misfits finding communion together out in the wilderness for a few days before the new year. You had taken trips with your friends before to amusement parks, festivals, even to the beach at Armin’s request, but something about being invited to an intimate setting to celebrate holiday traditions had you anxious.

           So, there you were, swaddled in blankets, listening to Eren bicker with Mikasa while Sasha and Connie bustled in the kitchen to make eggnog and treats. Armin had declined to join, citing that he’d seen too many horror movies about young adults alone in cabins to feel comfortable making the trip.

           And, true to form, Jean was running late. He was always late, his mind constantly moving a mile a minute unless he consigned himself to much needed rest and relaxation. Though, this time, you felt a little lonely while waiting for him on the couch, like there was a small part of you missing as you watched the snow fall outside.

           “So, none of you guys go home for the holidays?” You looked over toward the modest, plastic tree that Sasha had thrown down from her attic to bring a little holiday cheer to the living room, a few poorly wrapped presents and bags nestled under the branches.

           “Well,” Eren cleared his throat, “we are orphans.” He pulled at Mikasa’s scarf for emphasis.

           “Oh fuck, yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

           “Don’t worry about, he just always brings it up to get sympathy gifts.” Mikasa sighed, jerking the red cloth from his hands and scowling. Eren only laughed, brushing a stray hair from his face that had come loose from the bun at his nape.

           You sunk a little deeper into the cushions, eyes glancing out the window in hopes you’d see headlights flash in the driveway.

           “Do you think Jean’s okay? He should’ve been here a while ago and the storm is getting closer.”

           “Jean, Jean, Jean,” Sasha trotted into the room, balancing a mountain of sweet-smelling cookies on a plate, “you’re always worried about him.”

           “Someone should be, guy’s an idiot.” Eren chimed in, green eyes shining from the low flames rolling in the fireplace. He and Mikasa were sitting in the floor, a game of checkers spread out before them, with more stolen pieces resting near the cunning Ackerman’s side of the board.

           Eren wasn’t wrong, but over the years you’d known your group of friends, you’d noticed just how much the man in question had grown. In his early twenties, Jean had been quite the bumbling fool, having literally met you by bumping into your shoulder while leaving work, only to look at you and mumble “god you’re beautiful,” before issuing a quick apology as he rubbed at his neck sheepishly. You’d never mentioned the moment again, though your stomach still churned with a slight thrill every time you thought about it.

           But over the years he’d managed to turn that puerility into something much more charming. He was more refined, almost infuriatingly suave, easily gaining attention from anyone and everyone. And though you sometimes hated to admit it, he’d captured your thoughts as well.

           You kept your budding crush on Jean Kirstein close to your chest, not admitting it to any of your close friends. You always figured he was out of your league, seeing that he had a new, more beautiful girlfriend just about every other month. But, despite your simmering feelings, you still allowed yourself to get closer and closer to him over the years—some might say he’s your best friend, but you might call him your most treasured vexation.

           Another hour or so went by, your time spent nibbling at cookies and reminiscing with everyone about another year passed.

           Then the door finally opened, cold air gusting into the small living room as Jean stomped his damp boots on the entry mat.

           “Have you guys opened presents yet?”

           You glanced over the back of the couch, heart tugging in your chest as you noticed snow dusted in his long hair and a sizeable red and white polka dot package in his hands.

           “No because Christmas is tomorrow, or did you forget that too?” Connie said it with crumbs in his mouth, feet kicked up on the coffee table.

           Jean laughed, running a hand through his hair before wrapping the gift in his arms like it was something valuable.

           “I know, I know, and sorry I’m late, had something important to go get.” He smiled, bright and cheery, hazel eyes bouncing between his friends and the carefully guarded box, “I ask because…uh, this needs to be opened kind of soon.”

           “Is it perishable?” Sasha perked up, already ready to go make room in the fridge if something delectable was waiting as a gift.

           “I mean…you could say that? It may or may not be alive.” He was laughing, that kind of infectious laughter that had everyone in the room grinning whether they wanted to or not.

           Jean didn’t set the present down to even take off his shoes, instead tracking snow in with him and plopping onto the couch with flurries still on shoulders. He nudged your knee with his, pushing the present toward you. You pressed your lips together, hands getting sweaty as you pieced the puzzle together.

           “Is that…?”

           “Yeah,” his grin was pulling at his cheeks, eyes so sincere and happy and it almost startled you, “it’s for you.”

           The top of the box moved, the green bow popping on top of the polka dots.

           You moved the gift into your lap, pulling off the top to find perky ears and green eyes peering up at you—a kitten, grey and striped, with long, white whiskers and a pink bow around its neck greeted you with muted curiosity. You just stared at it for a moment, and it stared back, like you were both wondering just how it got into your lap.

           “I just,” Jean was getting nervous, carding his fingers through his hair again as he waited for your reaction, “I wanted to make sure you’d never spend another holiday alone, you know?”

           You carefully picked up the little cat, watching how it stretched and yawned as you pulled it from the carefully lain blanket inside its temporary home.

           You smiled, pulling the warm little bundle to your chest.

           “Um, Jean, this cat has six toes on her paws,” you said, pressing your thumb gently against one of the extra appendages in question.

           “Six toes?!” Sasha was jumping up from her seat, bounding over to kneel in front of you and pluck one of the kitten’s paws into her fingers. The cat quickly pulled its paw back, little black toe beans curling to its chest.

           “Yeah, it’s what drew me to her. She’s extra special…” you could’ve sworn you heard him mutter something under his breath, a little musing of “just like you,” but any hushed murmur was overshadowed by the ohs and ahs of your friends gathering around to look at the adorable little creature.

           The kitten had been lulled to sleep by the car ride from the shelter to the cabin, content to just curl up in your arms as inquisitive fingers prodded at her little kitten mittens and the silky, white tufts in her ears. Even Mikasa was enraptured by the tiny animal, taking the time to retie the little pink ribbon around her neck to make a bigger, prettier bow.

           You noticed how your friends were whispering, cheeky grins pressed against eager ears as they looked between you, the precious kitten, and Jean on the couch. You were starting to feel like you were missing something, or maybe that you were at the end of a joke you hadn’t caught on to yet.

           “Thank you,” you whispered to Jean after the fuss died down, everyone returning to their seats and back to their previous fixations.

          You’d mentioned perhaps wanting a cat a few weeks ago; it was just a silly, off-hand comment you made over coffee about how you’d once read that people with cats live longer because they pick up on the nine-lives of their feline partner. You didn’t believe it to be true, but you’d mused about the idea of having a cute kitten of your own to snuggle up with on lonely nights.

           “I know it’s sudden and a lot of responsibility, so if you don’t want her—”

           “No,” you cut Jean off, bundling the kitten a little closer in your arms, your heart singing as you felt her start to purr, “no, I want her, she’s perfect.”

           Jean finally started to get settled himself, standing up and shrugging off his jacket. He was in a tight turtleneck, coal black threads stretched to their limit across his broad chest and shoulders, hugging his trim waist. You were careful not to stare for too long as he stretched his arms above his head to shake off the weariness of his drive through the snow.

           He always looked like he stepped out of a fashion catalogue, fresh and so put together that sometimes you were tempted to snap his photo when he wasn’t looking; he just looked that good all the time. He loved to wear designer clothes and keep up with the latest menswear trends, and tonight was no different, that beautiful black turtleneck (that was covered in grey fur) undoubtedly belonging to a designer whose name you probably couldn’t pronounce.

           “What are you gonna name her?”

           He sat a little closer this time on the couch, a brawny arm outstretched behind you as he leaned over to scratch at the kitten’s chin.

           “I don’t know,” you admitted, gazing down at the serene, sleepy face in your arms, “I’ll have to get to know her first.”

           “Well, I’ve been calling her Frankie.”

           “Frankie?” You smiled through your confusion, the name sounding oddly right.

           “She was pretty wild in the car and kept meowing when Frank Sinatra was on the radio.”

           “I see,” you laid the kitten down into your lap, sweeping your fingers through her fur and watching as she curled up into a tighter little circle, “well, I’ll consider it.”

           You felt warm, heavy fingers brush against the back of your neck, Jean absentmindedly painting figure eights into your prickling skin. Heat flushed to your face as you realized just how close your bodies had become—his thigh was pressed against your own, dark jeans tight and hot, the scruff of his cheeks brushing against your own as he toyed with the sleeping cat’s tail.

           There were voices all around you, the muffled sounds of your friends relaxing together falling almost on deaf ears. Your whole world felt like it just revolved around this couch, like nothing else mattered beyond the simple touches to your skin and the drowsy kitten beneath your hands. He never wanted you to spend another holiday alone, you replayed his words, the sweet sentiment finally settling into your spirit.

_______________

           You could tell everyone was starting to get a bit sleepy, a few hours spent drinking spiked eggnog and chasing the new kitten around with a feather toy having left you especially exhausted. Your head was a little swimmy as you bid everyone goodnight, the grey tabby cat following closely on your heels to your bedroom where Jean had already brought in a litter box and a bed for her to sleep in. Jean, underneath all the designer bravado and smiles, was perhaps the most thoughtful person you knew.

           But despite the heaviness in your head, you couldn’t seem to sleep. You tossed and turned in the bed, occasionally picking up your phone to scroll through it or just watch the time tick by. You had a lot of thoughts mulling around in your mind, most of them revolving around the man sleeping just right across the hall.

           Never in a million years did you expect Jean to walk in with a beautiful, perfect kitten as a gift. The little thing was back to sleeping again, this time curled around one of your feet, each exhale a little purr against your toes.

           You’d carried the weight of this crush around for too many years. You rubbed your palms against your eyes, sighing as you came to terms with your feelings for Jean for what felt like the thousandth time. Your pining was starting to take its toll, too, what with the sleeping giant so close yet so far away.

           And you still felt like you were missing something.

           Throughout the night, your friends had seemingly been playing coy, teasing Jean about getting you such a big, sentimental gift. Maybe they had all caught wind of your suppressed feelings and were poking at Jean for even daring to indulge you. Now you were just getting frustrated with your thoughts, sighing as you tried to squeeze your eyes shut and force yourself to sleep.

           But then you heard a little sound, the soft buzz of your phone against the wood of the night stand.

           Jean: You awake?

           Your heart skipped a little in your chest as you saw his name flash upon your screen. You texted him nearly every day, yet he never failed to send a little jolt of adrenaline down your spine.

           You: Yeah. Can’t sleep.

           Jean: Me either. Cabin is too fucking cold.

           You: I have a kitty asleep on my feet, definitely helps beat the chill.

           Jean: A warm kitty sounds nice right now.

           Only a few seconds passed before the next message appeared.

           Jean: Wanna come keep me company?

           Your thumb hovered over the keyboard for a moment, your mind not even thinking about the words in front of you. Instead, you were picturing Jean in his bed, hair tussled with his own phone in his hand as he texted you, light spilling over his bare chest in the dark. You wondered what he was thinking—maybe he just wanted you to bring the cat over to see him for a bit, or maybe his mind was wandering in the same place yours was, which was picturing him naked beneath his sheets.

           You set the phone down, momentarily starting to panic.

           You hadn’t prepared for this, hadn’t prepared for the possibility that Jean might be asking you to come get in his fucking bed with him. Thank god you took a leisurely shower earlier—and you still smelled good, you checked.

           You stood up from the bed, watching the kitten stretch and quickly fall back asleep on top of the blankets. You bent down to slip on your pajama pants, but then found yourself debating if you should just leave the flimsy material behind.

           If this was what you were hoping it was, walking in without pants would send the “I got the hint, I’m here to fuck,” message loud and clear.

           But if this was just “hey pal come keep me company, I’m bored,” walking into his room in nothing but a shirt and panties could be quite awkward.

           You decided to hedge your bets, stuffing your pajama bottoms back into your bag as that lingering liquid courage from the eggnog set in. If worse came to worse, you could always say you forgot to pack them.

           You carefully closed the door behind you, making sure the cat didn’t follow.

           Then, it was literally just a few steps to Jean’s room. Conveniently, his door was cracked. Did he get up and leave it open for you? Did he always sleep with his door cracked? Or had he planned all along to ask you to come over?

           You shook your head, taking a deep breath. Those inessential thoughts needed to be quieted.

           The door creaked as you slid past it, the old hinges signaling your arrival and making Jean’s attention whip towards you. His phone was still in his hand, like was watching your messages and too-eagerly anticipating your reply.

           “Hey,” you whispered into the darkness, wincing as the door kept groaning as you pushed it shut behind you. You leaned against it for a moment, too nervous to just waltz up to his bed and fall in. You chewed at the inside of your cheek as you waited for him to break the silence.

           “Aren’t you cold?” He whispered back, shifting in the bed.

           His figure was illuminated by the pale, grey light from window, the snow clouds still keeping the moon suppressed in the sky. Like you’d imagined, he was shirtless, all those hard-earned muscles on display from where he was propped up on his elbows, sheets low against his waist.

           “I thought you were cold, Mr. No Shirt.”

           “You’re not wearing pants.”

           “I’m not wearing pants,” you parroted back.

           You watched the smile spread across his face, that darling, infuriatingly pretty smile that made you a little too happy in this moment.

           He pulled his sheets back in invitation, revealing that he, too, was not wearing pants, only clad in blue boxer briefs that were sinfully tight around his upper thighs, etchings of Calvin Klein pressed against his lower stomach.

           His hands were on you before you even settled onto the mattress, warm and greedy and pulling you flush against his body. All those worried thoughts you had before vanished under his touch, the message you had been missing suddenly loud and clear: you weren’t the only one hiding your feelings. All those veiled emotions came alive beneath wandering hands, your fingers digging into the meat of his shoulders as his found the flesh of your thighs.

           “Was this what you were thinking about when you invited me here?”

           You breathed in the smell of his warm skin as you settled against him, notes of his cologne still lingering against his body.

           “This is what I think about all the time,” he confessed, nudging his thigh between your legs.

           You couldn’t stop the moan that fell from your mouth as the muscles of his thigh pressed against your aching core.

           “Me too,” you were pulling his face down to yours, thumbs against his cheeks as you pressed your lips to his.

           A satisfied sound rang from both of your throats, lips melding and slanting against one another hungrily.

           “Why didn’t you say anything?” His words were lost within the kiss, being swallowed down as you kept drinking him in.

           “Why didn’t you say anything?” You echoed back, gasping as his hands slid underneath your shirt and began to wander across your belly, reaching up toward your ribcage.

           You both knew the answer to that: you were idiots, too scared to admit feelings even though they were clearly on display for everyone around you. But now the question didn’t matter, all the answers you wanted about to be shared between your anxious bodies with starved kisses and touches.

           You shamelessly pressed yourself a little harder against his thigh, sighing as your pussy found relief against his leg. He groaned at your action, moving his thigh back and forth a little bit to see how you would react. When you whimpered, your own thighs squeezing around his, he smirked, repeating the motion of sweeping his thick, sturdy thigh back and forth between your legs.

           “You like that?” His head was tilting down, teeth nipping at your jaw and down your neck as your head fell back against the pillow.

           “Y-yes, feels so good.”

           His hands were still traveling, wandering across your heated skin like he wanted to map your curves into his memory. He groaned against your throat when he discovered you’d also forgotten to wear anything under your t-shirt, his thumbs lazily brushing the undersides of your breasts.

           You felt like you were burning beneath his sheets, like he was painting fire against your skin with every touch. His large hands engulfed your breasts, carefully kneading and rolling your soft flesh in his palms. He was eager to kiss you again, to slip his tongue past your parted lips and get addicted to your taste.

           Jean pinched and pulled at your hardening nipples, greedily taking your little mewls into his mouth. He touched you like he already knew you, pulling at your body like you were the perfect little sex doll on strings for him to play with; rocking you on his thigh, tugging at your nipples, tongue dancing in your mouth, his hair tickling your cheeks, his cock hard and hot against his stomach.

           Your panties were getting more and more wet by the second, the soaked material sinking into your folds as you rubbed yourself against the downy hairs and rounded, solid muscle of his upper thigh. His boxer briefs were bunching closer to his hips, pre-cum already staining against the fabric where his cock was imprinted into the threads. You slipped your hand down his impressive chest, fingers dipping into the elastic of his briefs.

           “Oh fuck,” he groaned against your lips, pulling back to suck in a breath as your fingertips brushed against the head of his cock, “fuck you’re so hot riding my thigh like that, so fucking wet.”

           “You did say you wanted a warm kitty.”

           Your words had him pinching harder at your nipples, making you gasp as he chuckled.

           “Mhm I can’t wait to play with your kitty, make you mine,” he punctuated his sentence by bouncing his leg up, sending electric pulses of pleasure racing over your nerves.

           You responded by pulling his cock from its confines, wrapping your fingers around it and tugging at the silken skin. God he was thick, barely fitting in your palm as you moved your wrist up and down. You suddenly felt so small against him, realizing that he was dwarfing you just by lying next to you in the bed. His long, thick fingers could spread across the entirety of your chest, the thigh sliding against your pussy was enormous, but it felt like it belonged there; you could get used to riding him like this.

          You both fell into a frenzied, delirious rhythm, your bodies bucking and panting as you found bliss against each other.

          His hands slid down your body, leaving your tender breasts and searching for a new home. He found your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he rocked you back and forth against his thigh himself, using the strength in his forearms to have your pussy pressed down against him in the most perfect way to have you seeing stars and whining his name.

          “Gonna cum, baby? Gonna cum just from riding me?”

          “Fuck, yeah, yes, please, make me cum like this.”

          Your hand had gone slack against his cock, your mind almost unable to concentrate under the waves of pleasure building and coiling inside you.

          It felt too good to have his rapacious hands on your hips, grip mean and tight as he basically fucked you against his thigh. You wanted to scream, your other hand clawing at the back of his neck for stability.

          “Baby,” he breathed, peppering a few kisses along your cheek, “could…could you call me daddy when you cum?”

          There was a hesitancy in his voice, like he was ashamed to ask such a thing.

          Your lower belly clenched, heat racing across all your nerve endings like he’d just poured sin straight out of his mouth.

          You nodded your head for him, uncontrollable moans and gasps getting in the way of your own words. The thought of calling him daddy, that sent something wicked down to your pussy, had your fingers squeezing and tugging at his cock again and your eyes falling shut.

          It felt like your sanity was breaking, like reality was splintering and this wasn’t real—you were dreaming again, weren’t you? But then you felt his cock twitch in your hand, felt your swollen clit brush against your panties and his thigh, and you were thrusted back into the actuality of your situation. You were with Jean, he was groaning in your ear, and you were about to cum all over him.

          “D—da…,” you were choking, so overwhelmed with a final cresting of bliss that you almost felt like sobbing.

          But he just clutched you more tightly, pressed you harder against him, whispering your name in encouragement to let yourself go for him.

          Then, you lost all of your sensibilities, euphoria washing over your body as you snapped and came undone with a little whine of, “daddy,” against his lips. You slowed the rocking of your hips, your heart beating out of your chest, your pussy pulsing and clenching as you rode out the last remnants of your orgasm.

          “Holy fucking shit that’s so hot, you’re so hot,” he mumbled, one of his hands smoothing against your cheek.

          “Wha—,” you smiled, shaking your head as you caught your breath, “what are you doing with a daddy kink, Jean?”

          He mimicked your smile, hands moving to slide your ruined panties down your legs and removed the rest of your clothing as he repositioned your bodies. You let him move you around like a ragdoll, so delirious in your afterglow that you barely even registered how he was hooking your legs onto his shoulders.

          “Do you not like calling me daddy?” There was a seriousness laced into his tone that told you he’d drop it if it made you uncomfortable.

          “I like it,” you fisted one of your hands in his hair, bringing his lips to yours for a slow, messy kiss, “just didn’t expect it.”

          “I’m full of surprises, baby.”

          You felt the head of his cock nudge between your wet folds, his hands back on your hips where they belonged. Your head fell back against the pillow as he started to push inside of you, stretching your walls and making your toes go almost numb from the pleasure. You felt like you were splitting apart, like a fissure was forming down the middle of your body, stemming from where he was spearing into you.

          With your legs on his broad shoulders, he was pushing you into the mattress, his hands urging your hips to relax and let him sink into your warm heat.

          “Ohhhh fuckkkk daddy,” you couldn’t help but to whine, all your senses suddenly overwhelmed again. You were drowning in him, falling deeper and deeper into the throes of heaven with every inch of his fat cock slipping inside of you.

          “God you’re so tight,” he presses his forehead to yours, keen eyes watching how your lips were falling apart and your eyebrows scrunching together in pleasure, “that’s right, daddy’s going to take such good care of you.”

          It felt like all your history with him was being wiped away, like this moment wasn’t about two friends fulfilling all their years of mutual pining, but instead about a new relationship blooming between two bodies full of lust and desire. This was about Jean fucking you senseless, about him taking control and finally having what’s belonged to him for longer than he probably even realized. You wanted to lose yourself to him, lose yourself to his appetite and just let him devour you.

          All the air left your lungs when bottomed out inside of you, your walls clenching and sucking him in. He stayed still for a moment, nearly lost himself at the feeling of your cunt wrapped so tightly around his cock.

          “So fucking perfect,” he groaned, dragging his cock out of you slowly before pressing in again, your cunt greedily sucking him back in.

          “I always have been,” you teased, one hand lost in his hair while the other slid down the expanse of his back. You bucked your hips in his hands, coaxing him to keep moving.

          “Oh fuck. Good girl.”

          His praise made you feel drunk, liquid heat rushing to your ears and between your legs.

          He began to snap his hips, repeatedly burying his cock into your depths, the angle of your body making him hit that fleshy patch inside of you. You cried out at the feeling of being so stuffed, your walls burning from the intrusion but that coil inside your belly tightening again, hotter and more intense than before.

          “Mhmmm, such a good girl, I promise,” you pressed your lips to his in reassurance, letting your breathy moans fall into his mouth as he started to get a little rougher. His pace was steady, solid, a hard motion of his cock thrusting in and out of you, each push and pull full of purpose and passion. Every plunge was making your lower stomach spasm, making pleasure burst across your body so forcefully that you felt that urge to cry again.

          “Wanted to fuck you for so long,” his face was tucked underneath your chin, mouth trailing across your throat between his words. A particularly hard suck against your neck had your back arching, breasts flattening against his chest and your nails clinging to him.

          Jean sat back on his knees, big hands smoothing down your thighs as he looked to where your bodies were conjoined, watching how your pussy enveloped his cock with every thrust of his hips, sweet skin encasing all of his length. He looked enraptured by the sight, groaning and hissing every time he pressed inside of you.

          Then his eyes were flashing up to your face, softening as he took note of your blissed-out state, your face flushed and your lip between your teeth.

          “So pretty,” he mused, a palm ghosting up to your chest to toy with one of your tits as he found a new rhythm.

          You were ensnared by the scene before you as well, eyes wide with delight as you admired the man before you. Jean felt unhinged, electric between your legs, like he’d finally let go and was pouring all his clandestine secrets into your willing body. His chestnut hair was swept over his shoulders, the muscles in his arms and across his body rolling, rounded and thick like he was marble come to life. And his face was smooth, pretty, concentrated, cheeks dusky with a dark blush as he found euphoria from within your body.

          Your hips began to match his thrusts, bucking up into him in order to feel his thick cock fall deeper into you. His strong hands encouraged you, gripping into the supple flesh of your thighs as he pressed himself into your wetness, faster and faster with every thrust.

          “Daddy,” you called out to him, having to bite back a grin as you observed how quickly you earned his attention, “you feel s-so good,” your hand was traveling down your chest, trailing over his fingers on your breast before snaking down to your clit, “p-please let me cum again.”

          You had an inkling that he would take over for you.

          His thick, long fingers hovered over your own, carefully aiding in swirling over your aching clit. You hissed, recognizing the buildup to orgasm pooling within your belly.

          Jean’s other hand slid higher upon your body, fingers lacing around your ribcage, framing the underside of your breast. He began to forcefully pull your body into his, sliding you upon and down the sheets and upon his cock. You cried out, legs tightening at his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, begging him to devour you and take what he wanted. His thumb was almost impatient on your clit, now circling so quickly that your body was shaking, lower stomach clenching and unclenching repeatedly like you were lost in a reckless tide.

          “Shit, I’m not gonna last with you squeezing me like that, baby.”

          Your mouth watered at the thought of him finding that ultimate pleasure inside of you. Your ears became tuned to the chorus of resonances between your legs, the sweet, wet sounds of skin against skin, of slick at the base of a fat cock, of Jean grunting your name like a lost prayer.

          The final chord of your sanity was threatening to snap, you could feel it again, like he was pulling the strings of your body too tightly and you were going to splinter and break with just the right swipe of his thumb.

          “I-inside,” you mewled, unable to keep your eyes open any longer as your thighs began to quake, “daddy—oh fuck, fuck—cum inside me, please,”

          God you were so fucking close to falling off the edge, and he could feel it, using his grip to bring you even harder and faster down onto your cock to get you careening and falling again.

          Your push into oblivion came when you heard him pleading, almost whining, above you, sweat dripping down his skin as his syllables flowed together, “please, please, please, fuck, cum for daddy, cum for me, please.”

          You could both feel it, how you creamed around his cock, pussy sucking him in so deliciously tight that it caused him to lose all control. His fingers dug a little too deep, his cock throbbing and pumping deep inside of you with his release. It was like the world went quiet, like a blanket of snow fell onto your bodies and hushed your sounds and cooled your skin. You could feel the heavy weight of him inside of you, like he was meant to be there. Your body relaxed, feeling like you were sinking into the mattress and he was the only thing keeping you from being lost.

          When he finally pulled his spent cock from inside you, he wasn’t gone long. His hands were back on you again, pulling you in for simple, affectionate kisses and rubbing tenderly at the places he’d perhaps explored too roughly.

          “Jean…” you cut yourself off with a yawn, fatigued limbs winding into his own.

          His thigh found its home between your legs again, both of you groaning with a mixture of lust and disgust as you felt his cum drip into a mess between your thighs.

          “Whatever it is can wait until morning, we need to sleep.”

          “Oh fuck, it’s Christmas.”

          He nuzzled your cheek, lips searching for yours.

          “Mhmm, Merry Christmas, baby.”

          You laughed, laying your head against his chest.

_______________

          You weren’t sure how long you slept, but it felt like you spent a small eternity in Jean’s bed before your eyes opened again. When you awoke, he was already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed with the kitten in his arms. She was ready to play, striped tail swishing as he dangled a toy mouse just out of her reach.

          “What time is it?” You stretched, suddenly all too aware that you were still very naked beneath the sheets.

          “It’s only eight, everyone else is still asleep aside from Mikasa who actually went for a run in the fucking snow.”

          Jean smiled, hair tucked behind his ears, and you felt your heart skip a beat as you realized just how madly in love with him you were. You always aimed to make him smile, to hear him laugh, but to see him gazing at you in the morning sun with pure adoration shining in his hazel eyes had you practically melting into the bed.

          “I meant what I said last night, you know,” he said, turning the kitten loose to run across the bed.

          “You said a lot of things last night, daddy,” you teased, watching his cheeks turn a pretty pink at the mention of that name.

          “I meant about you never spending another holiday alone. Because, you know, I’d like to…” he trailed off, rubbing at the back of his neck like he was genuinely nervous.

          You sat up, running a hand down his arm before kissing at his shoulder, momentarily getting lost in the smell and feel of him.

          “Yeah, I’d like that.”

          No one was surprised that the two of you, and the kitten, spent every single holiday together thereafter, mostly naked, and always smiling.

[chokemeanakin]

Cruel Intentions - Anakin Skywalker x fem Reader (smut)

Masterlist

WC: 6.8k

Summary: It’s Life Day but Anakin is mad and he’s got a dirty fucking mouth

WARNINGS: 18+, some mean talk but it’s not really degrading, oral (m) receiving, p in v, holiday fun?

(a.n. plz, plz, pretty plz get Anakins voice in your head when you read this. watch a video of hayden stuttering his way through an interview or something, whatever, it just wont be the same unless you get his voice saying all this. anyway, continue. and merry christmas/happy holidays).

(Gif from @madeleineengland )

You had always loved Life Day, but this one in particular was going to be something special. Anakin scored time off from the war, and through the help of Padme, you got one of her lakeside Naboo houses all to yourselves for the holiday. 

You arrived before Anakin, as he was finishing up a meeting with the Jedi Council, and passed the time by making cookies. You were having a pretty good time at it too— your hair was up, music blasting, candles lit, and half a glass of wine was slowly disappearing as you danced around the kitchen. Then you heard the door jiggle and open, and a gust of cold air from around the corner signaled that Anakin was here. 

Right away, you could tell he was mad. He walked through the door with a scowl, face drawn in irritation, yanking his robe off and shaking the snow out of his hair. He threw his robe up on the hanger and nudged the door shut with his elbow. He didn’t even take his boots off as he came into the kitchen, still in full uniform.

You considered asking him what the mood was for, but in all honesty, you were afraid of his reaction. Usually he either deflects or gets mad back, and you really don’t want to fight. 

But he was silent as he prowled around the kitchen, taking in your activities, and you wanted to know what was bothering him on Life Day’s Eve of all days. If you could make it better, you’d try. So you softened your voice, and in your warmest, most innocent tone, you tried, “Hi, Anakin, I miss you! I’m making cookies if you want to stay here and help. Or just sit and watch. I don’t mind.”

You thought you’d start off simple. Get him to relax a bit, and then dig into what the issue was. He stood by the doorway, arms crossed, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re not mad that I’m late?” 

He thought you were mad? You were too tipsy to be mad. Honestly, you hadn’t even been keeping track of the time.

“Of course not! You had a council meeting, that’s important. I’m just glad to have you now,” you shot him your brightest grin. “Besides, we have all week to ourselves.”

At that, his shoulders loosened and he smiled a little back at you. It disappeared quickly, but his affections were replaced with two strong arms winding around your waist, one warm and one metal. He huffed lightly and rested his chin on your shoulder, watching you mix the icing in your bowl.

His demeanor was slightly better than you had previously perceived, so you decided to risk it.

“...Did something happen?”

“Just the same old,” he mumbled, nuzzling his face into your neck. It’s cold from the snowflakes still wetting his hair, and you shivered. “The council doesn’t trust me, they still won’t consider making me a master. Windu thinks I shouldn’t even be on the council.” 

You struggled to find words to this. You wanted to take his side, and tell him he deserved to have it all. At the same time, the council was full of old and wise members, and they knew what they’re doing. But you hated how much it was bothering Anakin, hated how under all that anger there was hurt, and a fear that he wasn’t good enough. The council was making him doubt himself, and it you wouldn’t have that.

“It’ll all come in due time, I’m sure of it,” you tell him. “Whether they like it or not, you’re on the council for a reason. You belong there, and I’m sure if you give it a littlest more time they’ll come around to seeing how you deserve the title of master. Besides,” you twist around in his arms enough to skim your lips across his jawbone, pressing a lingering kiss into his neck. “I can call you Master whenever you’d like.”  

This made Anakin freeze, and then begin to laugh. His low chuckles vibrated your body, and you couldn’t help but join in with him.

“I might have to take you up on that offer sometime.”

Your stomach clenched at the insinuation, heat pulsing through your veins. That was one of your goals for the night, admittedly— to be with Anakin. You had a little surprise for him as well, and you were just hoping he wouldn’t be too disgruntled or worked up to appreciate it. That being said... sometimes it was a good thing when he was frustrated.

Anakin sacrificed a hand to reach forward and dip into the bowl, scooping a dollop of blue icing out and placing it in his mouth. You heard him suck it off his finger, beating the dirty thoughts back with a stick. 

“Is it good?” You ask to distract yourself.

“Here, try.” 

You turn, expecting him to offer you a finger with some icing on it but instead he kisses you. Immediately your mouth is flooded with the sugary blue that stains his lips. You open your mouth, tongue tasting his, and he’s sweet. Your cheeks are burning bright as he kisses you, slow and deep and dirty, and it’s such a 360 from the lighthearted atmosphere you’ve created.

When you pulled back, you’re breathing hard, mouth tingling, licking your lips for the remnants of sweet icing. Anakin smiled down at you, eyes dark, and went back to resting his head on your neck, whispering in your ear in a low, rumbling voice. “Finish up. There’s other plans I want to get to.” 

•••

Anakin ended up having to leave again as you were icing the cookies to take one last impromptu call from Obi-Wan, just some last minute tying-loose-ends before his short break. He also took the chance to get out of his Jedi clothes, trading the leather armor and robes for more comfortable sleep clothes— which included loose fitting pants that hung low on his hips, and that damned sleep robe he wears without a shirt.

He came back into the kitchen just as you were finishing up, and you almost choked when you saw him.

“Aren’t you cold? It’s snowing pretty heavily out there and you’re not even wearing a shirt.” 

“I’ve got a fire going in the master bedroom, it should warm the place up soon,” he took some of your dirty dishes to the sink. “Why, do you not like it?”

“No, I—“ you stutter. It’s just the opposite. He’s beautiful beyond words. “I just didn’t want you to be cold.”

“I’m alright,” he smiled at you teasingly, reaching around you to grab the last of the dishes. 

Once they’re in the sink, he found you climbing up onto the counter, putting the spices away that were, of course, in the highest cabinet out of reach. You stretched up to reach it, unashamedly putting on a little show for Anakin as you exaggerate the curve of your backside. 

The action caused the holiday shorts you’re wearing to ride up, exposing the fleshy underside of your behind. You turned around to find him watching you, not even trying to hide it. He leaned back on the counter, arms crossed over his bare chest, eyes thoughtful as he took in the sight.

“Help me down?” You asked him, and he immediately pushes himself off the counter to fit his hands around your waist, lowering you safely to the ground. He held onto you a little too tight for it to be innocent, and you could feel him gravitating toward you, leaning in to start something you wouldn’t be able to stop. You pull away— you're not done with him, in fact your teasing has just begun.

Anakin huffed quietly to himself as you moved around him to start the warm water, soaking the dishes in it so the batter won’t stick overnight. You purposefully shot some water onto your shirt so that you had to gather a wad of paper towels in your hand and dab at your chest, pulling your shirt down so you could get at the wet spots. Anakin rolled his eyes as you grumbled about how clumsy you were, but you could see he was discreetly trying to look.

His resolve was already thin when he walked through the door. He hadn’t been able to have you in far too long, and he was planning on doing something about that tonight. He wasn’t sure what page you were on, though…. You seemed pretty content with baking cookies and then watching movies all night like you had mentioned in the days leading up, so your little teasing games were doing nothing to quell his curious anticipation.

You didn’t even have to try to get him all worked up. The spice cabinet, the wet shirt, those weren’t needed. It was like you didn’t even realize the effect you had on him— every little move you made around the kitchen, every little sigh or gasp or giggle, even the way you bent down to take the damn cookies out of the oven had him yearning for you. 

The last straw was when you needed a rag to clean the countertop, so you reached across his lap where he was sitting to grab it. You placed a not-so-innocent hand on his thigh to steady yourself, brushing against his chest as you did so. He was immediately enveloped in your smell, and the feel of your soft hair against his chest, your hand on his thigh— he needed to have you, now. 

“Y/n, forget the cookies,” he demanded.

“Oh?”

“Let’s go upstairs.”

•••

Your tongues clashed, teeth nipping, breaths gasping for air as you struggled to get closer to one another. All of Anakin’s anger and frustration was pouring out him in bruising kisses, fast and wet and greedy. You were combatting it with your own dirty, lustful responses. It was one of your favorite things to feel so needed by him, even if he was projecting his emotions from the day onto you. You were his outlet, the only thing that could help him, and you would gladly take these punishing kisses for as long as he needed.

The hand that wasn’t threaded through your hair exploded the rest of your body, fitting into each and every curve, squeezing at certain places and pulling you closer, adjusting you on his lap. He slipped his fingers beneath the neckline of your shirt, pulling it to the side so he could suck at the pulse in your neck, when he caught a flash of red.

His eyes darkened, lips twisting into a smirk as he traced the lacey garment. Suddenly his hands were gone, and he was leaning back away from you. “Show it to me.”

 So you stood before him and undressed, feeling small under his steady gaze. It was loaded with heat, and you could practically read his mind as each new strip of skin and the lacy red underwear you had worn specially for this occasion was revealed. He was planning everything he wanted to do to you, drinking you in, and storing away the sight into his memory for later times, when he’s on the battlefield and it’s been months and he misses you. But for now though, his present was waiting for him.

The look of him illuminated by the firelight, eyes scorching as he studied every inch of you had you squirming under his gaze. He leaned back in the loveseat, arrogant posture annoyingly sexy with the way his broad shoulders filled out the chair, long legs spreading before him. 

You needed to touch him. He wasn’t saying anything, or doing anything, so you approached him and settled yourself back on his lap, meaning to restart where you had left off. You trailed your hand down the smooth, hard planes of his body, feeling the ridges of his abs, the soft skin smooth and warm. He kept his arms slung lazily over the armrests, refraining from touching you, but you could feel the steady pulse of his eyes as he watched your every move. 

Those deep, calculating eyes. They made you nervous, but you’d be lying if you said the intimidation didn’t turn you on. 

He let you tangle one of your hands in his hair, feeling the soft curls glide between your fingers as you looked over him. But just as your palm slid near the band of his pants, he caught your wrist in his metal hand and stopped you.

“Get on the bed,” he flicked his eyes behind you, a cocky, mischievous glint in them. He knew you’ll do anything he said, with that voice. 

Hesitantly, you stood from his lap and made your way over to the bed. Your skin was raised with goosebumps, as you knew he was studying your every move. You sat on the plush mattress of the bed, crossing your legs over the knee, and looked at him. He was blanketed in shadows, but stared right back. 

“Spread your legs.” 

Your face immediately heated up in flames. He had always been the one to do that to you, with his hands, and pressed right up close to you. Somehow, having him sit across from you on the armchair and watching you from a distance was even more intimate.

He was waiting, though, so you did as he said. You already felt exposed under his greedy gaze, mesmerized by his beauty and the way the flames flickered off the sharp line of his jaw, the peak of his cheekbone. This dark angel was toying with you, teasing you, and you just wanted him to come over here and touch you. But he remained in that seat, head cocked as he looked you up and down.

“Eyes on me,” he demanded softly, cruelly. You had downcast your eyes, afraid to look at him without losing your confidence. The low tone of his voice left no room for debate, so you did as he said. 

Your stomach churned, heart fluttering as he leveled his gaze at you. He was studying every inch of your lewd pose, smug with himself. He wasn’t even even near you, but he had all the control, and he knew it. 

“Now let me see that pretty pussy.” 

Your breathing stopped. His voice is quiet, yet commanding all the same, and you forgot how dirty his mouth could be. It shocked you more than anything, which is why you hesitated.

“What, are you getting shy on me? That’s not what it seemed like in the kitchen,” he mused. “You wanted me to see you. Now, let me see you.” 

The words rang out in the air, causing heat to build up in your core and leak out onto your underwear. Swallowing your slight embarrassment, you hooked your finger around the front of your panties and pulled them to the side, exposing yourself to him. 

Anakin’s gaze darkened, and he sat up. He rested his elbows on his knees, covering his mouth in his hands as he appreciated the view. You squirmed under his gaze, waiting for him to tell you what to do next as you felt cold air hit your glistening folds.

“Look at you,” he purred. “Already soaking wet, and I haven’t even touched you.” 

You shrank away from his eyes, not having anything to say to defend yourself. The fire crackled but you shivered, his shadow looming over you, and you just wanted his warmth pressed against you, his hands on you, pulling that pleasure from the depths of your body. He knew how to do it just right, and you’d never been able to make yourself feel as good as he does. And now he’s right here, but he’s holding himself away from you. Shifting your hips in desperation, you whined and pulled at your panties, rubbing some friction against your throbbing clit.

“Stop. Don’t touch yourself,” Anakin ordered. His eyes were still lidded, voice sharp. You let go of your panties and dropped your hands to the side, holding yourself up on your elbows. Your legs were still splayed open, the sight of your panties soaking through put on display before Anakin.

“Please, Anakin,” you shifted your hips again, hoping it would provide some relief but finding none. “I need you.”

Anakin tsked at this but stood to his full, domineering height. You craned your neck to watch him as he stood over you, capturing your chin between his metal fingers and forcing you to look him in the eye, the other fitting itself on the soft flesh of your thigh. You keened into the soft touch, nerves lighting off like fireworks. 

“You need me?” He taunted, blue eyes digging into yours. “Or does your greedy little cunt need me?” 

You gasped at his words. Never had he called you something degrading before, like greedy. You’re pretty sure you’ve never heard the word “cunt” leave his mouth before either, but it spilled from his lips like red wine, smooth and dark. Anakin had always been so soft with you, so loving, and his statement shocked you. 

“Hm?” He goaded. “Answer me, sweetheart.”

He shifted his hands up your thigh, sneaking over your pelvis and landing on your mound. He let his thumb graze over your clit, unmoving.

Sparks erupted behind your eyes, and you leaned into his touch. An invisible force held your hips to the bed, stopping you from chasing your own pleasure as he continued with his words.

“Do you want me to fuck you open slowly on my cock? You want me to fill your tight little pussy until you can’t take anymore?” 

The weight of his thumb on your clit was distracting. It throbbed under his touch with every measured, vulgar word, and his mouth twitched as he felt it. “I think I just got my answer.” 

At this, he got on his knees before you. He lowered his mouth to trace his lips against the inside of your thighs, and you squirmed between the tickling sensation and the need to have his mouth on you. He gripped your hips in his strong hold, hard, mumbling into the soft flesh of your inner thighs. “You can’t seem to sit still today....” he sucked a bruising kiss into your thigh, and when you roll your hips into the feeling, he looked at you sharply.

“Behave.”

You flinched at his tone. It was deep, threatening, and pulsing with irritation. Was he angry at you? Your eyes stung, shrinking away from his narrowed gaze again, wandering if you did something to make him unhappy with you.

He lowered his head back to your thighs, purposefully skipping over the part that was throbbing for him, dripping for him. You held your breath, desperately trying to hold yourself back from moving or even making a sound, too afraid that you would anger him further. But his thumb pressed a little harder into your clit, and you fell back against the mattress, whimpering frustratedly. 

To your relief, he didn’t get mad at you. Instead he hooked his finger around your underwear, similar to how you did earlier so he could gage your response to his actions. The low hum he let out was pleased. “Such a pretty little pussy... dripping wet... is that all for me?” 

He was still toying with you, still teasing, and at this point it was getting painful. You would do anything to have his fingers on you, mouth on you, anything in you. So you nodded, and you told him it was all for him, everything was for him. He licked a single line up your slit, the tip of his tongue just barely grazing you. The sensation sent fully body shivers across your skin, and you melted into the bed, ready to lose yourself in the pleasure. He covered you again with the now drenched material.

Did you say something wrong?

“Show me how much you want me then.” 

You were shaking as he released his hold on you, head fuzzy with arousal, cheeks flushed with confusion. What game was he playing?

You swallow your nerves and stand from the bed, feeling so small even as you stood over him. He was kneeling, looking up at you under dark lids, daring you to do something. He was giving you some control, so you decided you’d try to get your sweet Ani back, to soften the energy in the room so he could be happy and playful like he usually was.

He sized you up quizzically as you wrapped your arms around his neck, one hand curling into his hair like before. You tilted his head up so you could lean down and plant a gentle kiss to his forehead, hugging his face into your chest. 

Your body shook as he laughed, dark and mocking underneath you. You pulled back to look at him. “Anakin?”

“If you want me to fuck you, sweetheart, you’re going to have to try harder than that.” 

That’s it. 

You just wanted to get fucked, and he just wanted to tease you. If he wanted you to come to him, then fine. So be it. 

Anger bloomed from the pit of your stomach and you pushed at his chest to get him onto the bed. He did so, at his own leisurely pace, pissing you off further with the smug smirk still on his face. You kissed it off of him, biting his lip in punishment and yanking his hair a little too hard in your fist. He groaned like he liked it, so release him and trail you kisses downward, biting and marking up his body until you get to his pants. You pulled back the waistband and revealed him to you, taking him in your grasp. Any normal man would be frightened of an angry girl with his dick in her hands, so you looked up at him, trying to see if he had been humbled by your anger yet. He was staring back at you, unimpressed.

You waste no time taking him into your mouth, sucking hard, maybe a little too hard. He sighed and leaned back, enjoying it far too much. You tried to convey your annoyance with the punishing pace you set on his cock, sliding up and down with your  mouth and hand. You grasped onto his thigh for stability, feeling the remnants of your saliva drip onto it as you gave him the sloppiest, dirtiest blowjob you’ve ever done. Halfway through, when you realize you’ve gotten little to no reaction, you peer up and see that he’s on his datapad. 

You pumped him up and down in your fist, gathering your breath as you studied him. Does it not feel good? Are you not doing a good enough job? He’s hard, so you must be doing something right. But it was like he didn’t even notice what you were doing anymore, or if he did, he didn’t care. You paused with your hand on the base of his cock, squeezing.

“Why’d you stop?” Anakin didnt’t even look up from his datapad. 

“Am… am I doing good?”

“Of course you are,” Anakin finally shifted his eyes to you, bringing a hand down to wipe some saliva off your bottom lip with his thumb. “Now finish the job.”

With this, he removed his hand and his gaze, going back to the data pad. Fueled by anger again, and a determination to make him react, you took him into your mouth harder, faster, sloppier, wetter. He didn’t even twitch, didn’t even moan or bury his hands in your hair or tell you how good it felt like he normally does.

You wrapped your lips around his tip and sucked extra hard, tongue probing into the skin there and swirling in a circle, over and over. There. He gave an appreciative hum. You thought you’ve finally got him where you wanted when he says, 

“That the best you can do?”

You whined around him frustratedly, just wanting him to feel something, wanting him to feel good, wanting him to feel that way because of you. But he was bored, you could tell by the way he didn’t even spare you a second glance as you took him all the way into the back of your throat, holding him there for longer than you ever have. You were trying your best for him, and usually he’d be writhing and moaning beneath you, but now...

He laughed, pulling you off of him with both hands to halt your frenzied movements. 

“Anakin,” your eyes shone with confused tears. 

“Shhh, baby, none of that,” his voice was sweet again, and he stroked the skin of your cheek as he brought your face to his for a gentle kiss. “Come, sit on my lap.”

You were giving up on trying to figure him out. One minute he was so sweet, the next he was uncharacteristically callous. Your eyes burned in embarrassment, feeling like you’ve failed him as you crawled onto his lap. He positioned you on his thighs, keeping yours spread with his. An arm wrapped around your shoulders, locking you to his hard chest as the other snuck down your body, touching you over your panties.

“Is this what you wanted?” goosebumps erupted all over your body as you felt his lips ghost over your ear. “You wanted me to make you feel good?”

He rubbed gentle circles into your clit with his fingers, allowing you to shift your hips in time with it. For a moment, you forgot about your problems and lost yourself in the way he was rubbing you. You moaned as he played with your clit, more slick gushing out and further drenching your panties. 

“Even though you couldn’t make me feel good?”

Your breath caught in your throat, embarrassment bubbling up in your chest. You were ashamed, accepting this pleasure from him when you gave him nothing in return.

“I can try again,” you offered, hips halting. You didn’t want anything else from him until you could give it back, but he slipped his hands beneath your underwear and touched you directly, rubbing you at a fast pace. Your head fell back against his shoulders, legs opening wider on their own accord as your orgasm built up in time with his hand. You couldn’t help but accept the pleasure, forced to feel it as he held you in his iron grasp.

“Anakin.. Anakin please,” you begged. “Let me make you feel good, too.”

“Baby, you already tried,” he nippd at your ear, voice cruel. 

“I can try harder, Ani— please!” Your voice came out in a shout as your orgasm approached. Before you could finish, he stopped rubbing and kept his fingers on your clit, pressing down, feeling you throb beneath him. 

You could feel your slick dripping down your thighs. Your panties were uncomfortably wet, but your arms were trapped under his and you couldn’t reach down to remove them. He seemed to read your mind.

“Let’s get these off you now, hm? You’re soaking through them, I can feel it on my leg.” 

Of course, he ignores your pleas and shifted the focus to drag your panties down your leg. He was right— you’ve made a mess of his leg, but now that you’re sitting directly on him, it’s even worse. He parted your folds with his hand, middle finger dragging up and down your slit, collecting the glistening fluid. A little hint of satisfaction soothed your worries as you felt his cock twitch beneath you at the sight. 

“You always knew how to take my fingers so well,” he whispered in your ear, pushing his finger into you as he does so. You accepted him readily, walls fluttering around his finger as it relieved some of the ache. You wanted to come, but you couldn’t— not without feeling guilty, for neglecting his needs. How could you be so selfish and take all the pleasure for yourself?

“Anakin,” you whined again, trying to get his attention. You purposefully shifted your hips in a way that would rub against him, but only succeeded in pushing his finger deeper into you. “Anakin please, let me… speak… hmng… I can’t focus…”

“Speak,” he kissed your neck, pushing another finger into you despite your warnings. “I’m listening.”

“I want to make you feel good,” you moaned. His fingers stroked into you slow, deep, and perfect. You gushed around his digits, the sound of it absolutely sinful. He kissed the back of your neck as his thumb began to rub your clit again, gently because he knew how close you were to cumming. “Anakin, please.”

“I know, baby.”

No, he didn’t. He wasn’t getting it. Your hands dug into his thighs, wanting him to stop, wanting him to continue—

“I love you. Please, let me—“

“Enough.”

You gasped, bones turning to putty in his hands. He kept sliding his fingers into you, thumb grazing your clit, but you were so ashamed. He just yelled at you, he’s never done that before. And now you didn’t know how to act, how to feel. 

“Aw, baby, did I scare you?” He taunted, curling his fingers into you. “Did I hurt your feelings?”

The sting of his words brought tears to your eyes, but it was battled by your pleasured haze, vision spotting and feeling honing down to the push and pull of his fingers. There were too many emotions swirling inside you that you didn’t know what to say anymore. All you knew was that you were close to cumming again, you have been for a while, but you weren’t sure if you should accept it.

Your walls pulsed around him and he pulled his touch away, denying you of the orgasm as he spread the slick down your thigh. He reached for his dick, gliding it up and down your folds, covering it in your arousal. He was hot and wet and stiff against you, and you bore down, wanting him inside you. For once, he gave you what you wanted, and you both moaned as he began to sink into you.

The stretch was immediate, and you cried out as you took him inch by inch. He was so thick and the angle was so deep that he had to lift you up and bring you back down multiple times, opening you up gradually until he was fully buried inside you.

“Look at you, taking my cock so well,” he praised, kissing up your neck, along your cheek. He twisted a hand into your hair, tugging it back so he could suck at the sensitive skin of your neck. Your walls clenched around him at the pleasurable sensation, punching an unexpected moan from him.

“Fuck me,” he hissed, sounding like your Ani again for just a moment. 

Your chest swelled with pride. Finally, you were making him feel good. You clenched around him again, shifting your hips, searching for another reaction.

“Y/n, shit—“

“I know what your problem is,” you chanced, realizing you had the upper hand for now. “You’re still— fuck— you’re still mad about the Council.”

Anakin glared, thrusting into you harder. 

“That’s why you’re— hnng— that’s why you’re hate-fucking me.”

“I’m not hate-fucking you.”

“This certainly isn’t love-fucking.”

“Would you just shut up and take my cock already?”

He plunged into you hard and deep, stretching you open so good that you momentarily lost your train of thought. Did he just yell at you again?

“This isn’t— this isn’t fair,” you moaned, loving the feel of his length scraping against your walls . “You don’t get to boss me around like this.”

“Oh yeah?” He raised his eyebrows at you, fist tightening into your hair so that you couldn’t look away. “That’s not what it seemed like a few moments ago.”

“I just wanted to make you feel good,” you slammed down onto his cock, anger winning out against everything else. You had one goal in mind now— if you could make him cum before you, it would even out the playing field.

He caught on to what you were planning immediately, flipping you over so he was fully in control. He grasped your hips, lifting them off the bed so he could drill into you at an angle, hitting the spot that had you arching off the bed and calling his name in a moment of weakness. Your pleasure heightened as he rolled his pelvis against yours, your clit rubbing against him. 

“Fuck you,” you moaned, clawing at the bedsheets.

“Currently doing that,” he gasped.

Oh, he was so going to get it.

You reached up, grabbing at his shoulders to pull him down to your level. He was stronger than you and could have resisted, but he gave in, thinking you were about to cum and just needed him close. He wasn’t entirely wrong— with each roll of his hips, his length probed deep inside you, causing your vision to white out. You could barely keep track of your thoughts as you squirmed beneath him. He held you down, completely negating your ability to try and flip him over. 

What had you been thinking? You had just been trying to get the high ground, but now you were so close— so close— to cumming. Think of something gross. Wet socks? Burnt cookies? Jar-Jar? 

Nothing seemed to be working. Soon, you didn’t want it to work. You cried out with each thrust of his hips, eyes rolling back into your head from the pleasure. Your pussy drooled around his cock, slick making a mess of both of your thighs. The slide of him was so hot, so wet, so good— 

“Stop!” 

You couldn’t think of any other way. Anakin immediately stopped his thrusts, pulling back to study your face in a panic.

“What? What happened? Are you okay?”

You bit your lip hard, heart pounding and walls pulsing around his cock from your denied orgasm. You squeezed your eyes closed, waiting for the heat to dissipate from your stomach before you pushed yourself to a sitting position. 

He gave you room to do so, the worry still clear in his eyes. 

“I’m completely fine,” you kissed his cheek, laughing deviously. “I just wanted to be on top.”

Anakin frowned at you, but switched positions anyway. “That’s not funny. I thought I hurt you.” 

“So you do care.”

“Of course I care,” he grabbed the finger that you had been jabbing into his chest, kissing your palm before wrapping it around his neck. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

“You yelled at me,” you lifted yourself off his lap slowly, relishing in the drag of his of cock inside you. You sunk down again, shivering at the sensation.

“I didn’t know you were that sensitive.” 

“Well… when it’s you…” you moaned suddenly, his dick pulsing into you at a delicious angle. “I just don’t like when you’re mad at me.”

“Then you should behave better next time,” he nipped the words into your collarbone, almost purring again.

“See, that’s not fair—“

“Do you need me to fuck some sense into you?” His gaze was firm, completely serious. Your knees weakened around his waist at the tone, wandering why you found that so damn attractive. He tilted his head at you when you didn’t answer. “Is that a yes?” 

“Anakin—“ your cries took you by surprise as he slid his hands down to your ass, clutching your flesh in each hand and spreading you open so he could fuck up into you, hard. Your nails dug into his shoulders, body bouncing as he bore into your aching hole. 

There was no way you were going to last now, not with the way he was making you feel. You had held your orgasm back for so long, and while it would have been nice to make Anakin cum before you, to give him a taste of his own medicine, you were completely at his mercy. 

“Cum for me, and then we’ll talk,” he appeased, voice dark. Why was that hot? Warmth blossomed in your stomach and you listened to his ragged breathing in your ear, body tingling, pussy tightening around him. He turned your face to him with a hand in your hair, holding you close as filthy words spilled from his mouth.

“Take my cock, baby. That’s it, fuck me, come on,” he chanted against your lips. Always so demanding. You couldn’t hold back your moans as he plunged into you over and over, right into that one spot, the heat in your belly expanding until it took over each of your senses. He fucked you at a rapid pace, hips slamming into yours, fingers bruising your ass. Your walls quivered around him, the ball in your stomach snapping. Suddenly, you were coming all over him, pussy throbbing as he massaged his dick into you in wave-like motions, working you through it. 

“Does that feel good?” He teased, lips tracing softly over your cheek, soothing hands rubbing your shaking thighs. He was being sweet again— another 360 change in demeanor. 

You responded with broken whimpers, muscles twitching as you rode out your high. When he finally stopped, you sucked in a deep breath, shivering from the aftershocks.

“Mmm, I fucked you good, didn’t I?” He planted soft kisses under your ear, down your neck, and over your shoulder. Now he was back to taunting you, his words cruel, but voice so sweet. “Your sweet little pussy just came all over my cock. So pretty. You wanted it so bad, didn’t you? Even though you don’t want to admit it?”

He was like a snake-charmer, hypnotizing you with every slow, filthy word. You knew what he was doing, but at the same time, you couldn’t stop your body’s reaction to it. Every syllable had you melting into his lap, his hands rubbing the flesh of your hips softly. 

“Are you blushing again?” He dragged his cock out of you, and you whimpered at the sensation of it against your overstimulated walls. “Don’t tell me you’re shy, now. Not after what we just did.” 

“I’m not shy—“ Force, you couldn’t focus when he looked at you like that, when he purred in your ear like that. 

“No?” He pushed back into you. “Then look at me when I’m speaking to you.”

You lifted your head to meet his gaze, eyelashes sticking together with moisture. His full lips pulled into a smirk, dewy skin glowing in the firelight. 

“Does this pretty little pussy want to cum on my cock again?” He pulled your hips flush against his, so deep, so thick inside of you. You mewled, blood heating up in your veins.

“Please,” you gave in, allowing him to massage his cock into your walls. 

“Please, what?”

You would get him back for this later. For now, the hot slide of his cock inside of you was too good, too overwhelming. 

“Please, make me cum,” you didn’t think your cheeks could get any redder, his eyes probing into yours as you said this. Never in a million years did he ever expect his shy little baby to say something so filthy. He immediately smirked, pressing a pleased kiss to your lips.

“Good girl.”

Your skin broke out into a hot sweat, hole pulsing around him as he began to rock back into you. His strokes were slower, deeper, pulling ecstasy from the depth of your bones. He kneaded your flesh between his fingers as he rolled his hips into you. You fell forward, moans being dragged out of your sore throat, watching his cock dissapear inside of you.

His thighs glistened with your juices, the sound of him sinking into your leaking hole humiliatingly sinful. He noticed you watching and brought a hand down, toying with your clit. He moaned into your ear as he did so, the drag of his cock becoming difficult as you squeezed around him. 

This time, your orgasm washed over you like a warm blanket, causing you to arch your body into his. You trembled as the waves of pleasure sapped you of energy, rocking your hips in time with Anakin as he spilled his warmth inside of you. The sounds of him cumming sparked a flame in your heart— you wished he had indulged you in his pleasure earlier. Now, all it left you with was a desire to hear him lose it over and over again, and you realized you had your plans all set for the rest of the night.

Anakin stroked his hand up and down your back, lips attaching to your neck as you came down from your highs. He positioned the two of you so that you were laying down, you on his chest, completely limp apart from the occasional post-orgasm shivers. He gave you time to recover before pulling out of you, kissing your quiet whimpers away as he tugged his length out of your aching hole. 

“I win,” he mumbled against your lips.

[spacedikut]

the blessing of a blizzard ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

summary: a blizzard leaves the team holed up in the bau office. spencer can’t stop thinking about your elusive boyfriend, mike, who might not be your boyfriend after all. 4.3k

a/n: festive fic! kind of! im too scared to do a final check so if there’s errors or i misuse pronouns just lemme know ily happy holidays ! thank you to the incredible @homoose for helping with dialogue :D

Mike. His name is Mike, and Spencer hates him.

Full name Michael, Spencer presumes, which comes from Hebrew meaning “who is like God?” A rhetorical question, implying there is no person like God, Michael was one of the archangels in Hebrew tradition and the only one identified as an archangel in the Bible.

What Michael should mean, however, is the guy that stole your heart and left Spencer thinking things very unlike him – that Mike, a man Spencer has never met and that clearly makes you very happy, has a really stupid name, for example.

There are three things Spencer knows about him:

1. Ever since you started deciding on his wardrobe, ladies love him. It makes you a little jealous, apparently.

2. You love baking him homemade treats whenever you can. Like a movie playing in his head, Spencer can perfectly remember you excitedly chatting with Garcia and Emily, animatedly explaining how excited Mike gets when he sees you’ve made something just for him.

3. Mike can be a bit of a dick, actually. There have been several mornings you’ve come in with a long face, leaning back in your desk chair far enough to view the world upside down and whining about how grumpy Mike was that morning, how you had to tip-toe around your apartment lest he get mad.

You’d called him your soulmate, added that he’s a light in your life you didn’t know you needed until you had him. You’re a person who chooses their words carefully, so when you’re walking around putting Mike and soulmate in the same sentence, you mean business.

That business is ripping Spencer’s heart out of his chest, apparently. Because you’re busy showing JJ pictures of him on your phone right now, blissfully unaware of the subconscious glare Spencer is lasering into your phone as he leans against the jet counter.

Spencer’s never had the honour of seeing Mike (a genuine word you used – honour) and you know what? Spencer doesn’t want to know what Mike looks like. Spencer doesn’t care. Mike’s probably ugly, anyway, and Spencer��s confidence within himself grows day by day and if there’s one thing he’s learnt recently it’s that comparison is the thief of joy and-

“Oh!” JJ exclaims, “He’s gorgeous!”

Fuck Mike. Really, fuck him.

+++

The floor is slippery beneath everyone’s feet, the surrounding area slowly losing its mixture of colours to blend into one coat of white.

It’s snowing.

Garcia greets the team, a steaming cup of tea in her bejewelled hands, and everyone gets to work right away. There’s whispers of the snow getting heavier and sticking and covering more and more ground with more and more depth; people are rushing against the proverbial clock to get done and get home before they’re all stuck.

But that won’t happen, right? If people were genuinely concerned about getting snowed in, surely everyone would’ve been sent home early as a precaution. Right? Right?

Wrong.

Rossi’s the one to notice it, calling out, “Check it out. Snow’s pretty bad.”

He says it like it’s nothing, like they’ll race to the windows then deflate with disappointment because you couldn’t even create a single snowball with that light coat, but holy hell people are walking around with snow up to their ankles and it’s still coming down thick. And then the lights are flickering and JJ is making frantic calls home to Will and Hotch is exiting his office, phone pressed to his ear, calling everyone to attention:

“There’s a blizzard incoming. It’s too dangerous for anyone to be on the roads, so we’re being told to sit tight. You should all try to call home, just in case; we don’t know how long we’ll be here.”

Some people still brave it, still try to head on home, and whether they make it or not is up to the Gods. The team glance around, varying expressions – Emily and Derek look pissed, JJ is worried, and you and Rossi are straight-faced. Penelope is bouncing in excitement.

“It’s like a sleepover!”

All Spencer can think about is how Mike will have to suffer another day without you. He bites back a smile.

+++

Spencer’s straining his neck, butt barely on his desk chair, in attempt to see around all the bustling people that stand between you and him. Through the glass BAU doors, on the phone, your shoulders are slumped and you kick your boot against the floor a few times to channel your multitude of emotions into something. He hopes Mike isn’t giving you a hard time for something that isn’t within your control.

Emily looks up from her monitor, where she’s doing Christmas shopping even though it’s Christmas Eve, and looks thoroughly amused by Spencer’s internal battle of wanting to watch you but not wanting it to be obvious.

“You good, Reid?”

Spencer flinches like Emily pinched him. “Yeah, good. Fine. Are you good?”

Emily makes a show of slowly turning to look at you, still on the phone, then slowly turning back to Spencer’s wide-eyed gaze. She smirks. “You think they’re talking to Mike?”

Yes, Spencer does think that, but he’d made a point to not fully acknowledge it. And there’s something about Emily’s smugness that tells Spencer she’s teasing him – she knows something he doesn’t and it makes his eyes narrow. “Probably. Why?”

Whatever the response is, Emily’s barely opened her mouth before she’s interrupted by Penelope Garcia gracefully clapping her hands, getting the attention of every BAU member. The team quiets and all eyes are on Penelope. Except Spencer, who watches with concern as you sneak back to your desk, a furrow to your brow and downward dips either side of your mouth.

“I know these are less-than-great circumstances, and we’re stuck in work of all places, but that shouldn’t mean we can’t have a little fun! So…”

She wildly gestures for Hotch to step forward, a cheesy grin on her face and a gleam in Hotch’s eye that tells everyone he’s also smiling but internally, and she takes the three large boxes he was carrying like the good sidekick he is.

“We’re building gingerbread houses!”

There’s exclamations of surprise and joy; Emily lights up at the idea of doing anything other than work or sitting at her desk, and JJ takes a box to look it over before asking, “Where did you get these?”

Hotch answers. “They were supposed to be for the kids,” He shrugs, holding back a smile, “However, I guess we can use them now.”

“Yes,” Penelope nods, “Yes, we can use them now. Get your game faces on, because this is a competition. Hotch and Rossi are the judges, because they’re grumpy old men, and the rest of us will be in teams of two fighting to build the best gingerbread house the BAU has ever seen.”

Derek speaks up for the first time, just to insult Spencer. “I refuse to be on a team with Reid. He has no creative skills.”

Members of the team laugh and Spencer reacts indignantly. He wants to reply, but you’re already speaking.

“Hey! I’ll take him! Spencer’s great.”

Many heads snap to you when you speak, Spencer’s surely got whiplash, but you’re looking at him and smiling at him and him alone. He’s breathless at the sight, how you chose him and have literal stars in your eyes, yet all he can think is how undeserving he is of such a beauty. How undeserving anyone is, mostly Mike, to exist in the same reality as someone who puts the definition of beautiful to shame.

Spencer’s about to make the best damn gingerbread house the world has ever seen.

+++

So, building a gingerbread house? A little more difficult than originally thought.

Maybe it’s the sticky icing, or the temptation to simply eat all the sweet decorative candy rather than use it for its intended purpose, or…

Maybe it’s the pretty teammate Spencer has that keeps brushing against him, keeps brushing against his hands, and like a virus to a computer you completely wipe Spencer of all thoughts other than: Y/N.

Spencer caught you watching him while he was rolling up his shirt sleeves, caught you staring at his hands and trailing your eyes up his forearms, following the sleeves as they moved inch by inch up to his elbows.

Then, when Spencer was holding two pieces of gingerbread together, you were too lost in thought to put the icing between the cracks and cement them together. Your eyes were trained on the fingers pressing the pieces together. Spencer had to call your name three times to wake you up.

Then, something weird happened (if the previous instances weren’t weird enough). You two had been in your own bubble of hushed tones and accidental touching, surrounded by bickering and collapsing houses and at one point Emily offered Rossi twenty bucks if he just votes for her and JJ without them making a house, and suddenly it’s silent. All he can hear is his heartbeat, his blood pumping in his ears, and all he can feel is the warmth of your breath on his ear because you’re right there, over his shoulder, joining him in hunching over your creation to decorate it with all kinds of shapes and colours.

The close proximity is too much. It’s too much.

You lean even closer, shoulder and arm pressed directly against Spencer’s, and lift another hand to place a miniature candy cane next to the gingerbread door. The action causes your hand to brush Spencer’s, and for the first time ever he’s not jolting away like he’s been electrocuted, no, his hand stays there, hovering, waiting and hoping for more.

Hoping for more of you.

And you seem to realise, too, that Spencer’s reaction is abnormal. He can’t decide if you’re testing the waters, or if it was a mere accident. But what are you testing the waters for? Why are you trying to touch him? Why do you want to touch him?

He takes a sharp intake of breath. From the corner of his eye, he sees you turn to look at him, and he almost doesn’t reciprocate. Almost.

You’re so close, face so close to his own. You take the softest breaths, in and out, sending the gentlest puffs of air onto Spencer’s lips.

He has no idea what the fuck is happening. He doesn’t want it to stop.

Your eyes, always shining and full of an emotion Spencer can’t decipher, dance around his face – his eyes, to his nose, stopping on each cheek, back and forth and up and down. Spencer’s captured by them, unable to tear himself away, which has become quite the habit since he’s known you.

Then you’re looking at his lips.

Spencer blinks, hoping to clear away the obvious hallucination he’s having, but no. Nothing changes. Your gaze remains, unwavered, making Spencer subconsciously open his mouth. The softest gasp leaves it when your pupils dilate.

This is the perfect moment to kiss, right? Right here, in front of the gingerbread house you made together, decorated together, and now begin the start of something else together. It makes sense, it’s almost poetic, and Spencer’s thought about you and him in a relationship enough times to consider this opportunity good and sweet enough to regale everyone with in the future.

Can you imagine it? “We had our first kiss in front of the gingerbread house we slaved over together. We won the competition, too.”

There’s a loud clang – Penelope found an actual gong from somewhere – and Rossi announces that the timer has gone off and it’s time for the judges to vote for the winner.

When you gently pick up yours and Spencer’s creation and take it to a cloth-covered table, where Rossi and Hotch ominously stand with their arms crossed, Spencer is frozen in place.

Oh my god. Oh my god.

There’s no way you wanted to kiss him. It isn’t possible. You’ve never looked at him like that before. It must’ve been a mistake.

But you were so close…

No. If Spencer made that move, it would’ve ruined everything – your friendship, the festive fun, the atmosphere of the entire evening. Everyone’s expected to be stuck here for at least another six hours, and making it tense and awkward was not something Spencer is willing to do.

But your eyes…

Spencer can’t think about that fact too much. That could mean anything – dilated pupils don’t necessarily mean you’re in love. You could’ve gotten a good whiff of the gingerbread and felt hungry, or a song you really liked started playing from the playlist Penelope created. Or, most likely, Spencer thinks, you were thinking about someone else.

Your boyfriend, for example.

You have a boyfriend. Mike.

Of course, you were probably thinking of Mike. Your boyfriend.

Spencer almost kissed someone in a relationship, and he’s pretty sure you almost kissed him too.

+++

Much to Derek’s chagrin, you and Spencer win the gingerbread house contest.

Penelope was baffled, frantically gesturing to the Jacuzzi she made with icing and- Derek made miniature weights? Somehow? It looked chaotic.

“Practicality, my dear,” Rossi told her. “Who, living in a gingerbread house, is worried about working out?”

Even though you and Spencer were the winners, Derek and Penelope and their pouting (and calls for a rematch) took the attention away from the obvious awkward tension between the winners. Spencer stayed at the desk you worked at while you took your house to the judges, stayed at the desk when you were crowned and stayed at the desk when you cheered.

You looked at him, wide grin and happy eyes, and all he could do was tightly smile back. Give a thumbs up.

He gave you a thumbs up. You nearly kissed less than ten minutes prior. And all he could do was give you a thumbs up.

The light in your eyes dimmed, but you seemed to understand.

Understand what, exactly? Spencer’s not so sure either. But something clicked in your head – you nodded to yourself as if confirming whatever you’ve concluded, and turned your back to him.

That was an hour ago. Now, the team has spread across everyone’s desks. Turns out, Hotch is a big fan of gingerbread - he’s consumed most of Derek and Penelope’s creation, icing and all, while Rossi has decided now is a good time to open one of the many bottles of whiskey he has in his office.

Spencer believes having that much alcohol in your work environment is breaking some kind of rule, but the snow isn’t letting up and it looks like a sleepover in the BAU office is likely. He deserves a little whiskey.

And where are you in all of this?

Spencer won’t lie and pretend he hasn’t had you in his line of sight the entire time, so he’ll recap what you’ve been doing: laughing at Derek’s jokes, plaiting Penelope’s hair, eating the candy Emily and JJ didn’t use on their house.

You’d left the room to call home and check up on things (check up on Mike, Spencer thinks bitterly) and now you stand in front of the large window by the BAU elevators, watching the snow fall.

Spencer has the perfect view of you through the glass doors. When the call ends and you stay there, he grabs a paper plate, grabs one of the walls from yours and his masterpiece and makes his way towards you.

He doesn’t know what he’ll say, or how he’ll even act, but he wants to talk to you. Things feel weird after the almost-kiss, and Spencer never wants things to be weird with you. He can’t have things weird with you. You hadn’t talked to him once since the competition, and he has a feeling you’re waiting for him to make the first move.

So he does. If that’s what you need, he’ll do it.

(He’s making this more dramatic than it needs to be, really, but he feels everything so deeply when it comes to you)

“Hey.”

Spencer’s voice perfectly matches the snowy atmosphere. It makes you feel warm inside, like you’ve just taken a sip of hot cocoa, and so often he’s left goosebumps on your skin just from speaking.

Seeing the outstretched paper plate in his hand, you take it gratefully. “Hi there. Thanks.” You nod to the gingerbread that you begin breaking up.

You hand him the first piece even though he brought it for you, and it’s silent while you both chew thoughtfully and watch the pure white outside. It doesn’t feel weird, necessarily, standing here, shoulder-to-shoulder with you, but you’re certainly more in your head than usual. You’re thinking a lot and, as much as it hurts him, Spencer knows you’re likely preoccupied by your boyfriend and not what transpired between you earlier.

It’s that thought, that disappointment settling into his chest, that opens his mouth unconsciously: “How’s Mike? Does he know you’re not making it home tonight?”

He regrets it immediately, worsened by the way you stop mid-chew, eyes dimming like Spencer’s taken a baseball bat and shattered the lights inside.

This is unchartered territory – talking about Mike with you – and you know it. Who, in their right mind, willingly asks the person they have feelings for how their relationship with someone that isn’t you is going? Does Spencer enjoy pain?

Although this is the first time Spencer’s mentioned Mike to your face (he’s mentioned Mike plenty to a laughing Derek), he’s been so close to presenting the topic many times. He wants to know so badly – wants to know how well Mike treats you, really treats you (he will profile you), if you see a long-term future with him and if not, on average how long does it take you to get over your exes? Just an estimate?

You swallow the gingerbread you’re eating. “He’s okay. My roommate has to take care of him, but at least he’s got someone.”

Huh?

Since when do you have a roommate?

And why is your roommate taking care of your boyfriend?

Oh. Guilt blooms in Spencer when it registers that he’s been thinking ill of a person that might be sick. No wonder you dote on him so much and seemed devastated to make that phone call home earlier - Mike needs you, you can’t be there for him, and you feel horrible for it.

Spencer feels horrible for having the subject of his anger be someone you so clearly cherish, so deeply love. He’s embarrassed that if he was asked to explain why he hates Mike so much, he’d have to tell them it’s because Mike has you, and you’re what Spencer wants. What about what you want?

“Take care of him?” Spencer asks. The concern is genuine, which is an emotion he never thought he’d have in regards to Mike. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh,” You shrug. “He needs someone watching over him at all times, that’s all.”

That’s all?

You continue. “Make sure he eats – and only eats what he’s supposed to. Give him his meds. Make sure he poops. Those kinda things.”

What?

“Your… roommate makes sure your boyfriend poops?”

Now, Spencer knows what you look like when you’re confused. Honestly, he has every facial expression you’ve graced him with tucked away in a proverbial box he spends too much time thinking about. He knows that when you’re trying not to laugh, you bite the inside of your left cheek. When you’re frustrated but need to present a professional front, you bite the inside of your right cheek. Happiness fills your entire face, like every inch is consumed by it, and you’ve trained yourself to transport anger to your hands, where they twist into tight fists and leave fingernail marks in your palms.

Confusion is one of his favourites (second only to joy – for obvious reasons. Have you seen your smile?) because it takes many forms. You’ve pursed your lips, narrowed your eyes, tapped your foot on the floor. When you do them all, Spencer considers it a jackpot. There’s something about the way you look when you’re presented with something you can’t quite figure out yet, when you’re perplexed, that just-

You make it hard for him to concentrate. He can’t be a genius when you’re around because you’re so pretty. You’re a vision and he can never rattle off information to you specifically because he will trip up and divert to talking about the beauty that is you and that would be embarrassing for many reasons.

But this type of confusion? The way you’re looking at him right now? He’s never seen this before. Your jaw has dropped, your brows are furrowed so deeply they might fall off, and you look… horrified.

“My… my boyfriend?”

Spencer mirrors your expression. “Yeah, your boyfriend. Mike?” He looks around, waiting for cameramen to jump out and tell him he’s being pranked, because why don’t you know who your own boyfriend is?

You move slowly, placing the half-eaten plate on the windowsill before turning to face Spencer fully. You take a second to compose yourself.

“Mike is my cat.”

Mike is…

“And he’s having digestive issues, so he needs to be watched pretty much full-time.”

Silence. Tense, weird silence.

“…You thought Mike was my boyfriend?”

Spencer sputters, then, because of course he did! “Yes! The way you talk about him was… it was… it seemed…”

He flustered, oh so flustered, hands flailing and face enflamed and burning from the inside out. How had he not known?! How had… how had your wires gotten so convoluted, so mixed?

Does everyone know that Mike is a cat? Is Spencer the only one out of the loop? The look Emily gave him earlier, that knowing too-smug look, was that…

She was making fun of him. She knew he thought Mike was a person, not a pet, and was teasing him because of it.

All at once, the world seems lighter and dimmer – a contradiction that leaves Spencer’s chest heaving – because the past year feels like a lie. He’s spent so long seeing the way you come to life when talking about Mike, sitting opposite you on the jet as you awaken like a dying flower watered when home got closer and closer, and it was all for… a cat?

There’s a mist over Spencer’s eyes as he recalls every overheard declaration of love and coos of how handsome Mike is, and you’re laughing. Spencer’s having a crisis in front of your very eyes and you’re laughing. Hunched over, a single tear falling from your eye, clutching your stomach because it hurts from the ferocity of your giggles.

By the time you quieten, your hand is over your mouth to cover the big grin that grounds him, gives him something other than this revelation to focus on. Spencer’s still baffled, frazzled, but there’s the tiniest of smiles on his face because of how overjoyed you look. And he did that. Albeit his stupidity did it, but Spencer’s stupidity nonetheless.

You’re out of breath. “God I… I don’t even know what to say. You really thought my cat was my boyfriend?”

Spencer’s fighting a smile, lips wiggling. The way you’re looking at him now, all blinding smile and crinkled eyes, alleviates him of any anxiety he earlier had. Like you’ve wiped away his plate-full of worries, all the times it felt like he took an arrow to the heart, all the times he caught you smiling at your phone because you were looking at pictures of Mike, it’s all worth it. Because you’ve never looked like this while talking about Mike, and Mike is a cat. He isn’t a person, isn’t your boyfriend. Mike is a cat and Spencer has a chance.

Spencer has a chance.

“Does this… this means you’re single, right?”

A somewhat terrified look overtakes his face.

“Oh, shoot, you are single, right?”

You bite your lower lip and nod. “Yes, Spencer. I’m single.”

He lets out a breath. “Good. That’s good. I’m glad.” He repeats your nod, realises what he said could imply, and starts shaking his head. “Not-not good good. You’re incredible and need to be appreciated, but… good, because that means we could, you know…” He gestures vaguely. God, why can’t he get coherent words out? “If you wanted to, we could-“

“Are you trying to ask me out, Spencer?”

“Yes.”

Just to cause immense emotional distress, you raise an eyebrow, mischief clear on your face, and wait for him to continue.

“You want me to actually ask?” He winces.

“I’ve spent the last year convinced you didn’t like me, so, yes, I want you to actually ask.”

The new information sends ice down Spencer’s back because what? Since when? “You- what?“

“I’ve liked you for a while, Spencer,” You cross your arms over your body, slightly embarrassed. “But you always kept your distance so I did too, I guess.”

“I thought you were taken!” Spencer exclaims. “If I’d known I would’ve-we could’ve- I would-“

“You’d what, Reid?” There’s a teasing lilt to your tone, but there’s no denying you’re incandescently happy.

He takes a deep breath and asks what he’s wanted to for far too long. “When this is all over, would you like to go on a date with me, Y/N?”

Relief flashes in your eyes, like you didn’t fully believe what was happening until he finally asked, and words have never sounded as pretty as when you say: “Yes. Yes I would.”

Like lovesick idiots, you stand in front of the window with the snowfall as a backdrop, grinning at each other. You can’t help it – you lean up, press a kiss to his cheek that immediately sets his skin ablaze, and fall back onto your feet with a smile sweeter than all the sugar you’d consumed today.

“Merry Christmas, Spencer.”

Somehow, despite the nerves and the way his heart is trying to leap into your hands, he manages to tell you, “Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

+++

(Three weeks later, Spencer meets the Mike. Turns out he’s a nice guy. Spencer takes the first opportunity he can to apologise for all the bad things he said about him behind his back. The purring tells Spencer he’s forgiven)

+++

tags: @pinkdiamond1016 @bluerose512 @andreasworlsboring101 @bitchyreids @roses-and-grasses @ta-ka-shi-ma @rexorangecouny @unmistakablyunknown @goofygubler14 @gublertoon @averyhotchner @prettyboy-reid @shadyladyperfection

[fandom-monium]

For the Holidays

Summary: In which Spencer does not want to go to his high school reunion, but you tagging along changes things. “You doubting my skills, Dr. Reid?”

WC: 2.1k

Tags/Warnings: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader, fake-dating trope, pining (so much pining), Morgan trying to be a good big bro (and wingman)

Spencer Reid does not hate Christmas.

“Reid, come on⎼”

“No.”

“Just listen to me.”

“I did, and it’s a stupid idea.”

No, really. Because hating Christmas would imply he didn’t care. Which he does.

Like when Garcia never fails to drag him into decorating the bullpen every year. Obnoxious Christmas music plays in the background as they bomb Hotch’s office, and it’s worth the smile on his face when he walks in the next morning.

It would mean hating Rossi and his extravagant dinner parties. And yeah, he always hosts but these are just as special if not more so. His mansion is decked in fairy lights and streamers, the food are traditional holiday recipes, and the whole place seems a little less massive.

And he doesn’t hate his breaks. He nearly spits out his coffee when Morgan grumbles about how he almost tripped and fell over from the ice. He has to scramble away as the older man bats at him.

Or when Prentiss drops off holiday-themed pastries? Mhm, just thinking of the ribbon-tied box makes him salivate.

Hating the Christmas card is completely out of the question. Henry and Michael make them every year for the entire team, and JJ makes an effort to shake them out carefully for. It has a boyish charm Spencer never had at their age, a mess of glitter and construction paper. He displays it on his desk anyway.

And you. It would mean hating all the various hot chocolate beverages you’ve made since December started.

Apparently, it’s serious business⎼the art of hot chocolate making. You’ve leaned against his desk, hands waving about as you try to articulate to him the relevance, going over anything and everything you can remember of its history and significance. Of course, he knows all of this already, but he likes you too much to stop you. He almost releases a loving sigh. Instead, he settles for nodding and grinning at you, and he doesn’t really get it but he loves it: the hot chocolate, your pensive expression as you await his critique, even though by now he’s sure you know he has no other comments except ‘delicious’.

He loves it all. He loves you⎼all of you guys. Obviously.

So, no. He does not hate Christmas.

But that doesn’t mean he loves it either.

Which is why, when Morgan leans against his desk, he greets him as normal, a smile forming on his lips as he sets his book down. There is no danger here, except Morgan’s guns. And the heinous green and red envelope between his fingers⎼

Where the hell did he get that.

Spencer’s blood froze. His collection of trauma was nothing compared to this.

Now here he is, packing away his things so he can go home to his warm, cozy apartment and order takeout like he does every year. He's not one for change. No need to break tradition.

But Morgan is acting like a child. Wait, no, even children are better behaved than this. Children at least give up faster.

“I’m telling you, it’s a good idea.”

“As a certified genius, I can say with all honesty, it is not.”

“I promise you it’ll be fine,” Morgan reassures him, voice soothing. The letter, colorful and bright and an eye sore, mocks Spencer. He wishes his reflexes were faster, so he can snatch the abhorrent cluster of sparkles and poorly printed holiday cartoons. And shred it.

Maybe if he glares hard enough, it’ll burst into flames.

“Morgan, my class hated me. The whole school hated me,” Spencer shoves another book into his satchel. It's harder than he means to, and he sends a silent apology to Stephen King; he usually handles his books with care. But not right now. Now, he's tired and exasperated and he just wants to curl up on his couch with The Doctor. "I'm sure I won't be missed."

"But you’re the life of the party!"

Spencer looks up.

Morgan winces, "Yeah, even I wouldn't believe me.” Spencer snorts, continuing to stuff his belongings into his satchel. Morgan’s relentless however. “But you deserve to show them up. You’ve got degrees⎼plural⎼and you're a hotshot FBI agent.”

“Are you not aware of the tragedy that is my high school social experience?”

“Oh, I'm very aware, and thank you for being vulnerable with me. But it's because I care that I’m telling you.”

Morgan’s hand falls heavy on his shoulder, making Spencer pause. He meets his gaze, the man’s expression solemn.

“You deserve to rub it in their faces until the only thing they can smell is your success.”

Morgan grins when that draws out a laugh from him.

Spencer huffs, “Shouldn't we be the bigger person here by not going?”

The older man grimaces, retracting his hand as if the idea offends him. “Fuck that. Be a show off! They deserve to be knocked down a peg after what they did to you in high school.”

Spencer bites his lip. Yes, he’s accomplished, and yeah, as Morgan said, he’s a ‘hot shot FBI agent’. But the memories surge in like a broken dam, cruel laughter and harsh words crashing into him as if he’s twelve years old again. He’s an adult now, so he doesn’t topple over from the impact like before, but the pain is a phantom limb, old and familiar, and leaves a pit in his stomach.

He was a child prodigy then. How would going back as he is now be any different?

Morgan's heart clenches when an unspoken pain flits across Spencer’s face, glossing over his eyes. He can't imagine how deep the emotional scars go, but he knows Spencer needs some form of closure from his past. So when he found the invite, he knew they had to seize the chance. If he wants to continue to move forward, Spencer has to learn to let go. And right now, this is his first class ticket. It’s why he’s pushing this so hard.

This is for Spencer.

But the doctor shakes his head, a strained smile tugging his lips. “Morgan, I had no friends. Even if I go, what am I supposed to do once I arrive? It'd be awkward enough as is.”

“True,” The older man contemplates, a light bulb going off as he snaps his fingers. “You know what you should do? Ask (Your Name) to go with you.”

“(Your Name)?” Spencer jolts, fumbling to catch his phone. Despite being a man of science, his eyes dart around, like you’re a demon summoned at the mention of your name. “Wha-what? Why?”

“They could act as your buffer. And you did say you wanted to be closer with them. This is the perfect opportunity,” Morgan shrugs. Like his suggestion is common sense, logical. Maybe it is.

But this is you they’re talking about. You would never. You’re too cool for a silly high school reunion.

At least, that’s what he’s convinced himself as Spencer’s face pinches. He catches his lip with his teeth. “Morgan, I appreciate the… thought, but I could never ask (Your Name).”

“Ask me what?”

… Oh no. You are a demon.

Spencer whirls around in time to see the glass door shut behind you. You stand there in all your poise and beauty, the fluorescent lights softening your expression. You're bundled up in a matching coat and scarf, the knitted beanie snug on your crown and clashing with your outfit (Garcia told you it’s not your Christmas present, but you’ve worn it everyday since). There’s sprinkles of snow all over you.

You’re not a demon, Spencer decides, even as you brush a clump off your shoulder, nose scrunched in annoyance. More like a snow angel.

You tilt your head curiously when Spencer doesn’t answer immediately. There’s a knowing look on his face as Morgan, realizing the poor guy probably won’t respond any time soon, steps up.

“(Your Name), I thought you went home already.”

You cross the bullpen. “I was. Garcia walked me down and I got to the courtyard. Then I realized she had me so distracted that I left my phone charger,” You rummage around your desk and without looking up, you reiterate, “So ask me what?”

Spencer blinks. “What?”

“You had something to ask me, right?”

Right. That. He runs his fingers through his hair awkwardly. “Actually, I don’t⎼oof.”

Morgan jabs his side, “Yes, there is something Reid needs to ask you.” He sends him a meaningful look.

“Shoot.” You nod to them before rifling through your desk drawers. Nope, not there. You card through files and office supplies, oblivious to the conversation Spencer and Morgan have with their eyes, shooting looks and mouthing at each other.

You bend over your desk as Morgan gestures, Ask them!

Spencer shakes his head vigorously, No!

Do it, or I'll do it for you, he mouths.

Spencer squints at him. You wouldn't.

Morgan smirks and Spencer's heart drops to his stomach. Before he can run, shout for help, literally anything, the man slings a buff arm around his shoulders, forcing Spencer to slightly bend down to his level, hugging him to his side.

He's trapped. Stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Fuck.

“Reid is going to his high school reunion,” Morgan starts, biting back a grin when the nerd squirms against him. Both men boys watch, one excited and the other petrified as you disappear behind your desk.

“That’s nice.”

"Yeah. But all his classmates are older than him and married…“

“Uh-huh…” You scan the dark floors, half-listening as Spencer frowns at the unnecessary detail. He never told Morgan such a thing. He didn’t even know, so how would Morgan-?

“So, can you guys pretend to be a couple or something?”

Thud.

“What!?”

Luckily, neither of you notice the other’s surprise as Spencer chokes on air at the same time you let out a pained hiss.

Morgan lets him pull away, withholding a snicker. “You good, (Your Name)?”

“I’m okay!” Your head pops up from under your desk as you rub the top of your head. You blink owlishly. “I’m sorry, did you just ask me to pretend to be your partner?”

“Yes! But Reid’s partner,” Morgan emphasizes, slapping the doctor’s back hard enough he nudges forward.

You stand and Spencer straightens up, trying not to fidget as your gaze burns into his. You’ve known each other for quite some time now, and while Spencer likes to think he knows you pretty well, it bothers him when your expression becomes unreadable. He knows it shouldn't but it does. He’s a profiler, yet your thoughts are completely obscured by a mask. It only makes him more nervous than he already is.

His skin feels hot when your eyes trail over him, and he prays his scarf is enough to cover the flush spreading from his neck.

He's about to disintegrate when you finally answer.

"Okay."

His brow shoots up and his heart flips. You move away from your desk as he sputters, "Really? Are⎼are you sure? I don’t want to put you out of your way.”

“I wouldn’t have agreed otherwise. Why?” You step closer, and he can’t breathe, not without it hitting your face. You stare him down the bridge of your nose, eyes narrowed. “You doubting my skills, Dr. Reid?”

“What? No, of course not!”

You raise an eyebrow expectantly. “Then it’s settled? We’ll pretend to be a couple for your reunion thing?"

A beat of silence. Spencer realizes you're waiting for his confirmation. But panic rises like bile in his throat and he hesitates.

Maybe he should back out now, retract the entire conversation and take the embarrassment like a man. Tell you he was never planning to attend the stupid reunion because his classmates were (and probably still are) assholes. Honesty is key to any relationship after all.

Especially between coworkers. Ahem.

A flicker of movement and Spencer glances over your shoulder. Morgan nods frantically at him, teeth flashing as he grins wider than before. He gives him two thumbs up.

Maybe, for once, he should pull a Morgan and just vibe it.

Yeah. Yeah!

Swallowing, he nods to you, giving you his signature white-person smile because he's sure if he speaks he might blurt out something completely inappropriate. Like statistics on workplace relationships (they’re great reading material, okay).

Your lips quirk up. "Cool. Text me the details when you get the chance.”

You brush past him before he manages a reply, your footsteps fading. Morgan waggles his eyebrows at Spencer. Spencer blankly stares after you.

“What just happened?”

“You just got a date to your reunion. A fake date, mind you, but you’re welcome nonetheless,” Morgan smirks at him. “So, you got a plan, Pretty Boy?”

His face falls, and the hearts in his eyes⎼shit, had they always been there?⎼chip slightly.

He does not have a plan.

Deleted scene:

“Did you do it?”

“It went all according to plan, Mama.”

AN: I fucked myself over and wrote 7k+ and still counting. Now it’s an unplanned holiday mini series. This kind of stems from Bonding as this uses Mysterious!Reader. Also, I seem to be into pining (fuck established relationships, suffer in silenceee). Whatever holiday you celebrate, I hope you still enjoy this one shot!! 

One of the biggest disappointments of CM: Spencer doesn’t confront his high school bullies. I read several fics of him doing so, but a lot of them have the bullies be just as much of an asshole as they were to him in the past, but he deserves more closure. 

This will be my take on it. It’ll be a lot of pining but I hope to focus on the his hardships in a less angsty, dramatic way.

Hope you enjoy it!! There will be at least 3 parts?

Also, spread the usage of the term ‘partner’, which can be used for same-sex and opposite-sex relationships.