willa

23 years ┈ ⟡ i am the son and the heir 🥂 of nothing in particular requests are closed

[perseephoneee]

𓂃 ࣪ ˖ 𐦍 willa. 23years. she/her. pisces sun cancer moon libra rising. secular witch. subpar writer. massive napper. @snowberriies second acc.

✮ current fixations : 90s music, the pitt, john carter(!!!), frank langdon

✮ mobile masterlist ✮ let me ship you with your fav characters ✮ events ✮ join my taglist

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ tagging system

#꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑nav ⟶ main posts #a ⟶ things pertaining to me personally #willa talks ⟶ me saying absolutely bullshit #match ups ⟶ examples of ship exchanges

[perseephoneee]

it’s not that I am not on here it’s that I’m trying to rediscover my love of writing 🥺

[francislangdon]

PATRICK BALL + lying about having one imdb credit

[perseephoneee]

┈ ⟡ crash out [a frank langdon fic]

˖ 𐦍 CHAPTER 1: SOMEONE SAYS 'I DO'

↳ fic masterlist  ↳ ship exchange information ↳ taglist

After returning from rehab and looking to earn forgiveness for his mistakes, Frank makes his way back to the Pitt Trauma Medical Center, where he discovers he's been given a supervisor to oversee his progress.

a/n: finally returning to this after crashing out for the past three weeks. can you even crash out for three weeks? it doesn't matter...i did it anyway

beta'd by the beautiful @eurydiceauxenfers <3

“I’ll bet you $10 this isn’t going to work,” you said, watching as Langdon operated. The patient had been injured on a construction site, and you both were arguing over the best way to treat them. While part of you was well aware that he usually had smart ideas for how to handle these situations, you also knew he responded best to competition.

“Then you are going to be $10 short and feeling very stupid,” Langdon laughed, eyes focused on his work. He seemed a lot more joyful than he was a few weeks ago when you first met him. 

“Don’t be a douche.”

“Can’t,” he shrugged. “Because I just succeeded.”

You bit back a smile as he finished off his work, standing back and gesturing to the nurses to bandage the patient up. You left the room, knowing he’d meet you later, as he finished cleaning up. 

You’d had no idea what to expect when Robby asked you to be Frank’s supervisor. You had heard from the rumor mill that he tended to be arrogant, had a hard time not being in control, and was close with Robby. Oh, and the whole stealing drugs thing. But the man you saw on the first day seemed more desperate and sad than anything. Challenging him in his work was the closest you got to seeing that version you were told of before. 

You had also heard him referred to as ER Ken, which gave you a certain idea of what he was supposed to look like. You were not disappointed. 

He’s married, you thought to yourself, looking at the board in central. You heard his footsteps a second later. You could always tell it was him because the steps always seemed hurried, much like a puppy. He wore a grin.

“You owe me $10.”

You raised a brow at him. “How about I just get you a drink from the vending machine and we call it even.”

Langdon pretended to think about it, even though you knew he had already decided. “Deal.”

“Good. We have a sick child in six.”

Langdon pouted. “There’s an amputation in three.”

“I don’t care,” you snorted, watching as his expression fell. You enjoyed that aspect of being his supervisor, getting to make him do whatever case you wanted. He didn’t complain…much. 

He made sure to stay a few paces behind you as you approached the curtain, announcing yourself as you opened it. A little girl, seven years of age, sat on the bed with her knees to her chest and a rabbit in her arms. She was frowning as her parents sat in the chairs next to her. 

“Hi Chloe, I’m Dr. L/N and this is my colleague Dr. Langdon,” you smiled, closing the curtain behind you. “What seems to be the problem?”

“She says her ears won’t stop hurting, and we gave her Tylenol, but it isn’t doing anything.” Her mom twisted her hands, looking anxiously between you and her daughter. You grabbed your otoscope and got closer to Chloe. You hummed as you looked inside both ears. 

“Any other symptoms?” Langdon asked as you examined her ears. 

“She said her head hurt a little bit, but we thought it was just from the strep,” her dad replied. 

“Strep?”

“She just got over strep throat,” the mom replied. You put away the otoscope.

“Her ears are very swollen, but it doesn’t look like the eardrums are affected. Her strep likely didn’t go away and moved to the sinuses, which gave her an infection,” you explained. You felt bad for the little girl. Her ears were so inflamed that you were shocked she wasn’t crying. “Dr. Langdon, what would you prescribe as treatment?”

“Another round of antibiotics, as well as oxycodone as needed for the pain,” Frank smiled, hands in his pockets. You nodded in agreement. 

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he replied. 

“Her ears right now are full of pockets of excess liquid. Her hearing might be slightly affected, but it’d only be temporary. At some point, the pockets will burst and drain out naturally. If they don’t go away and she’s still in pain after finishing the antibiotics, you should come back in.”

“Thank you so much,” the mom smiled gleefully, giving her daughter a kiss on the head. You noticed Frank tense up out of the corner of your eye. 

“We’ll write you a prescription now for everything,” you nodded, opening the curtain and stepping out with Frank behind you. He seemed quieter than before. 

“What’s wrong, Langdon?” you asked, bumping his shoulder. He looked down at you, plastering on a smile. 

“Nothing.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You never do, cupcake,” he grinned, walking backwards towards the ER entrance. You frowned at the nickname. You don’t remember when he started calling you cupcake, but you didn’t always appreciate it. 

“Where are you going?” you called out, arms crossed.

“STEMI incoming, and I’m going to beat the record.”

“Like hell you are,” you grumbled, following after him. He was like a dog with a bone when he wanted to do something. The STEMI rolled in a moment later. You both ran alongside the gurney as you wheeled it into the emergency OR… 

Langdon did not beat the record (neither did you). But the guy survived, so all in a day’s work. Things managed to calm down a little bit, and you found yourself taking a breather in the break room. You slumped against the wall with a Rice Krispies treat, staring a hole into the opposite wall. The door creaked open, and Frank slumped down next to you.

You sat in companionable silence.

“Wanna see me shotgun this Red Bull?” He asked, holding up the can.

“That sounds like a terrible idea,” you responded. “But yes.”

It went about as poorly as expected. Frank’s scrubs were now covered in the energy drink. But it made you laugh, actually snorting laughing. He was an idiot, one whom you were in charge of.

“Glad my failures entertain you.”

“Always,” 

Frank smiled. You were waiting to see the smile reach his eyes, but you knew progress was slow. You cleared your throat. 

“What happened earlier?”

“Earlier?”

“With the kid. You got kinda…distant.”

Frank looked down at his hands. He played with the wedding band on his finger, twisting it around. You observed the action.

“I just haven’t seen Tanner in a while,” Frank admits. “And it’s hard.”

“You haven’t?” He wore his friendship bracelet everywhere. Frank wore Tanner’s friendship bracelet everywhere, you’d noticed. You knew he had to be the light of his life. “How—?”

“Abby left me,” Frank shrugged. You felt your heart drop. “After the…she was mad at me. For lying. For everything.” Langdon ran a hand through his hair. “I haven’t seen him since. Courts are still figuring out custody.” He takes his ring off, holding it up in front of you both. “And I didn’t want people to know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, I’m fine,” Frank forced a smile, in a way a totally not fine person would. 

What do you do in this situation? Sit and empathize, you guess. You’ve prided yourself on being good at comforting, but you didn’t always know what to say. 

“Do you mind not telling anyone?” Frank murmured. God, he looked like a wounded puppy with those eyes. 

“Of course I won’t.” You paused for a second. “Would working on the amputee make you feel better?”

“Yes.”

~ * ~

You’re not sure why you did it. Following your co-worker home was never a good idea. Following the mystery that was Frank Langdon was a worse idea. But you couldn’t get that look of his out of your mind, nor the way he held his ring like he wasn’t sure if he should toss it or cherish it. And frankly, you were nosy. 

You follow a little bit behind him as he walks. Luck had it that he didn’t drive to work (your snooping would’ve ended then), but that didn’t leave many options in the closest area. He didn’t ride the bus either. He walked for several blocks, and there were a few close calls where you would roll into the bushes very sleek and cool like a movie spy. You were kidding yourself; you fell into the bushes like a flying squirrel. 

Thoughts of squirrel-like tendencies left your mind as you watched him enter the three-star hotel near the hospital. 

Well, shit.

[perseephoneee]

do people want me to continue writing this bc I lowkey forgot I started lol

[popcornpoppypop]

Just a reminder before tonight’s episode, that you can be pro-Palestine and against antisemitism! Antisemitism is also very bad and there has been a rise across the world in antisemitism that is incredibly dangerous. Let’s not be gross about this. Remember to be kind to each other.

[divorcedfranklangdon]

#icon

THE PITT - 9:00 AM

[perseephoneee]

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ midnight kiss | isaac lahey [ficmas day 3]

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ ficmas masterlist

anonymous: Midnight kiss w/ Isaac Lahey for your Ficmas 2025

a/n: THIS IS ONE OF MY FAV THINGS I'VE WRITTEN HEHE. I wrote it in 20 minutes I locked in

Freshman Year

The party was held at Margaret Griswald’s house. It was a pretty big deal because she was the coolest sophomore at the school and was guaranteed to go to the winter formal with the senior lacrosse captain, who had just received a scholarship to Stanford. Her parents were conveniently gone for the night, and for a bunch of freshmen, this was a pretty big deal.

You showed up because your friend Katy wanted to go, and if Katy wanted to go, then you must be there. You put on sparkly tights, a skirt, and a sweater that made you feel presentable. Maybe even more adult. Definitely more adult than where you were in eighth grade. Except that Katy left immediately to potentially secure a New Year’s kiss with Ethan Seymour, the sophomore on the basketball team, who left you by the snack table munching on Chex Mix.

That’s where you first met Isaac Lahey.

He was getting tall, his golden hair curly and hanging in front of his eyes. He had a yellowing bruise on his cheek that made the green of his eyes stand out more than usual. You thought he had a nice jaw. Not many guys in your grade had nice jaws yet.

“Chex mix?” you ask, holding out the bowl you were munching from. His eyes flit to yours in question.

“Does it have pine nuts?” he murmurs. Your brows furrow, and you look at the bowl.

“I…honestly don’t know.”

“I’ll pass,” he shrugs. He puts his hand in his hoodie pockets. Like most of the boys here, he didn’t dress very crazy. Just jeans and a sweatshirt.

“How’d you get the bruise?” you question, pointing to your cheek. He stiffens slightly. “Oh, sorry, I shouldn’t be–”

“Lacrosse practice with my Dad,” he coughs, giving a small but completely fake smile. “I’m hoping to try out next year.”

You nod.

“Well, good luck with, um, tryouts,” you murmur. And then you hold out your hand. “I’m Y/N.”

“Isaac,” he answers. Both of you turn to face the main living room as Margaret starts a countdown for midnight. The sound of a bunch of teenagers chanting 10, 9, 8, 7…resounds in your ears. When it hits midnight, many people pair off and share midnight kisses that last a lot longer than a second. You glance at Isaac and smile.

“Happy New Year,” you shout, having to raise your voice to be heard over the chaos.

“Yeah, you too,” he exclaims, smiling slightly.

​

Sophomore Year

“Start bringing your own snacks if you’re going to whine,” you comment to Isaac, watching as he frowns at the snack table.

After the New Year's party, you got seated next to him in Biology. You’ve become friends since then, which works out since you and Katy have officially grown apart since she started dating Ethan Seymour, who, in your opinion, is an ass.

“Aren’t parties supposed to have good snacks?” Isaac sighs, finally sliding down the wall next to the refreshment table to sit on the floor. You sit down next to him.

“They do. You can’t eat them,” you remark. He grins a toothy grin at that.

That doesn’t stop you from eating. You munch on potato chips and watch teenagers try to socialize around you. You’re a teenager, you have to remind yourself.

“Do you think next year will be okay?” you ask Isaac, your brows furrowed in question. He turns to look at you, and looks down at you more like it. Over the summer, he sprouted up like a beanstalk.

“You know,” Isaac chuckles. “I have a feeling that next year is going to be life-changing.”

You snort, thwacking him lightly in the shoulder. “That was cheesy, and you know it.”

Isaac laughs, because yes, it absolutely was, but he’ll continue being cheesy if it means he gets to see your nose crinkle in laughter.

Just like the year before, Margaret starts counting down again, standing up on the coffee table in heels she has no business wearing, as everyone joins in. Even you and Isaac count down, letting out a ‘hooray!’ when the clock reaches zero. You don’t kiss (not that you’ve thought about it), but you share the same smile that you did the year before. Like the two of you were a part of some secret no one else was.

​

Junior Year

You didn’t expect to see Isaac at the party. You hadn’t really seen Isaac in a while.

And when you did see him, he was with Scott McCall and Allison Argent, two people you didn’t remember him being friends with. He also just seemed…different. His muscles were more defined, his eyes a little colder, and there was a preternatural stillness to him that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

You hadn’t talked to him in months. The last time was his admitting that things at home weren’t good, and then…silence. You thought he might’ve died if you hadn’t seen him at school the next day, hanging around Erica and Boyd. He treated you like he’d never seen you before. You took that heartbreak and buried it deep.

You were by your usual perch at the punch table, sipping some blasphemous mix of fruit juices as he approached, not even looking at you as he took a handful of Chex Mix and threw it in his mouth. You immediately started forward.

“Isaac, the pine nuts–”

He ate it anyway, wiping his hands on a napkin and tossing the napkin into a trash can. No reaction. No life or death, oh-my-god-he’s-going-to-die moment. Your mouth parts in shock.

“Guess I’m not allergic anymore,” he shrugs, already walking away.

Yeah, your friend has changed. And you really don’t know why.

When the countdown starts again, you’re completely alone, your eyes tracking him as he finds Erica. He shares the look, the one all guys get right before they’re about to kiss you. And when the clock hits zero, his lips are on hers, and you can’t remember what made him befriend you at all.

​

Senior Year

You scratch absentmindedly at your collarbone, a jagged scar there constantly giving you grief as it finishes healing. You got it from a werewolf in the past year, a major mistake on your part, getting involved. But it didn’t sit right with you to ignore Isaac, not after the friendship you had.

You didn’t expect him to become a werewolf. Hell, you didn’t expect werewolves even to exist.

You suppose that it’s nice to have a group of friends, if that’s what the pack is. You talk to them around the school, sometimes you even go to Allison or Scott’s house to hang out. But besides Stiles, you’re the token human. You’re not entirely sure where you belong.

Margaret came back from college to host a New Year's party. Considering you’ve been out for the last three years, you decided to go. You didn’t ask if Isaac was going; you thought it might be weird.

It’s not that you and Isaac weren’t speaking; it’s that it was different. He was changed. You were changed. He had claws and strength and a confidence you didn’t remember. You learned not to let yourself be a human doormat. You were still friends, but the parameters of your friendship had changed. There was something unspoken beneath it all, and you weren’t privy to figuring it out.

You lingered by your usual spot near the snack table, your hand rubbing the back of your neck as your eyes caught on movement by the doorway. Isaac was here. He actually showed up, dressed in a dark blue button-up and jeans. He looked handsome. He always looked handsome. It just didn’t stand out to you until this moment.

“Thought you’d be here,” he comments, coming to stand by your side. He bumps his shoulder with yours in greeting. It sends shivers down your spine.

“Tradition.”

“Just as it’s tradition for you to hide by the snacks?” he snorts, giving you a crooked grin—your heart flutters.

“How else will you be able to find me?” you retort, smiling slightly.

“I’ll always find you,” he comments flippantly. The words make your brain short-circuit. His eyes glance at a clock on the wall, not looking at you as he asks his next question. “Why haven’t you ever kissed anybody?”

“Excuse me?” you stammer, looking at him.

“You always come to this, and you’ve never kissed anyone at midnight. Why?”

You blink, your gaze growing hazy as you realistically try to think of an answer. Only one comes to mind.

“Because there’s never been anyone worth kissing,” you reply softly. His brows furrow as he turns to look at you seriously.

“Is that true this year?” he inquires. Margaret chooses that moment to start the countdown. You can hear it as background noise as you meet Isaac’s eyes—the same green as they were in their first year. And in front of you is not necessarily the wolf you know now, because underneath, you can see hints of the boy you initially fell in love with.

Because that’s what this is. Love.

“No, it’s not true this year,” you answer, your breath catching. His gaze flits to your lips, your answer unlocking something in him.

The crowd chants happy new year, and his lips are on yours, his hand cupping your cheek and brushing across your skin as he opens his mouth to you. You sigh into the kiss, standing up on your tiptoes to reach him as you hold onto his elbow. When he parts, all you can think of is doing the same thing again.

“Happy New Year,” you whisper. He grins, pressing another quick kiss to your lips.

“Happy New Year,” he murmurs, and then his lips are back on yours again, and you start to believe that New Year's Eve might be the best day of the year.

[sin-recs]

AHH I LOVED THIS!! there's literally nothing for isaac anymore and this was so cute!! i love how you kept it in its own vacuum of events but also added canon to it as well!! was so cute and i wished i had an isaac to kiss at midnight LOL

[perseephoneee]

i’m so happy you enjoyed it hehe I really had fun writing it. I love writing little vignettes like this.

[sugutoad]

Get to know your moots

Thank you for the tag @mermaidslabyrinth and @sikudastoner

1) The origin of your username

It was an inside joke about JJK that my sister and I had a while ago. I was in the midst of creating a new username and decided to use that.

2) I will always order this food

I will ALWAYS order shawarma. Often times i switch around, but shwarma tends to be in the tier list of my favourite foods.

3) Overused emoji

😔🤭😭✌🏻🥹 ... yeah

4) Current favourite show/movie/book?

Planning on rereading Six of Crows, which, alongside Secret Hisotry is my favourite book. With the new ASOIF show coming out, my love for Game of Thrones is coming back.

5) Song on repeat

I had to go to Spotify to check because the song on repeat changes a lot, but I've been loving "Sports Car" by Tate McRae recently.

6) Last thing you hyper-fixated on?

In a really big Formula 1 phase, so I've been really focused on that - watching precious races, interviews, and edits, etc.

7) Oddly specific thing that brings you joy?

Hearing people talk about their interests. I'm a very passionate person, and i love when people are equally passionate about their own lives.

8) iPhone wallpaper

So.. I recently reset my phone, so it's the default wallpaper atm.

9) What smell makes you happy?

Actually not sure... maybe food? It's a very comforting smell to me.

10) Morning, night, or other type of person?

Night person. I can not wake up on time at (woke up at 12 pm today), BUT I will be awake until 2-3 am because that's when I feel the most hyper.

11) What's your work/profession?

First year uni 😔 BUT I do weekly tutoring for children

tagging: @izzystarz @coffeebooksrain18 @eurydiceauxenfers

[eurydiceauxenfers]

Thanks for the tag @sugutoad!

Get to know your moots

1) The origin of your username

Back when I still had the time to do theatre, I often found myself cast either as Eurydice or in plays about Orpheus and Eurydice a lot, so I combined that with the title of Offenbach's comedy magnum opus Orphée Aux Enfers (this is the opera the CanCan song comes from)!

2) I will always order this food

Greek/New England style pizza. Its the best kind of pizza and I'll fight you all on that.

3) Overused emoji

😭

🥺

4) Current favourite show/movie/book?

The Knives Out series always has a special place in my heart (although I haven't seen Wake Up Dead Man yet so, no spoilers!)

5) Song on repeat

Everywhere- Fleetwood Mac

6) Last thing you hyper-fixated on?

ASOIAF/GOT. Although I am also currently addicted to Baldur's Gate 3!

7) Oddly specific thing that brings you joy?

Tiny little miniature things, like book nooks or dioramas.

8) iPhone wallpaper

My cats!

9) What smell makes you happy?

Bergamot 🍋! I fill my house with earl grey tea and bergamot room spray spray and I have bergamot-tea-white floral perfume too!

10) Morning, night, or other type of person?

Morning person, but a specific kind. I can't stand getting up before sunrise, but I can't sleep through it. I hate winter and despise spring forward.

11) What's your work/profession?

First year medical student (MS1)! Haha. I brought this on myself. 🫠

No pressure tags @perseephoneee @varenychenko @marsprincess889 @timidusnix @honest-moth-of-silver-grove @merbear25 and anyone else who wants to join!

[perseephoneee]

thanks for the tag bestie, I love getting to know you hehe. also happy new year!

1) origin of username

I just really love the goddess Persephone? And I took a lot of Greek myth courses in college

2) I will always order this food

Ramen. I fucking love ramen

3) overused emoji

😭👀

4) current favorite show/movie/book?

Show: Dance Moms (it’s so bad lol)

Movie: idk I love Practical Magic to this day

Book: currently reading Fourth Wing and I love it

5) song on repeat

The pilot — Liang Lawrence

6) last thing you hyperfixated on?

the Pitt and ER. I’m still hyperfixated.

7) oddly specific thing that brings you joy

When I see a cute dog and I get to pet it

8) iPhone wallpaper

Carousel of my friends and also that time I met pball lol

9) what smell makes you happy?

I love the smell of fire? idk. OH and old books. But not like books on fire

10) morning, night, or other type of person

I don’t like waking up early but I prefer daylight

11) what’s your work/profession?

nursing student, musician, freelance book designer!

Tagging @babyseraphim @mayfieldss @wholoveseggs

[perseephoneee]

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ secret santa pt. 2 | jack abbot x f!reader

↳ part 1 ↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ ficmas masterlist

warnings: smut, oral (f!receiving), reader has hair (long hair, i should specify but i also like the threat of 'reader has hair), author is sleep deprived and therefore giggles at stupid things like 'reader has hair.'

a/n: idk, have fun with this? you guys seemed to like the last one? also happy birthday to shawn hato-ussy. i think you're cool i don't care what shabana says

You made it only a few feet into Jack’s apartment before he was pushing you against the door. The two of you had gone out for dinner together after the Secret Santa exchange, but you knew in your heart that it was leading to right here, right now. 

“Fuck, you’re pretty,” Jack murmurs, his lips trailing from your jaw to your pulse point. His stubble scratches your skin, making your breath hitch as he nips at the sensitive spot behind your ear. Your hands grip his arms as he holds you against the door, the wood cold as his hands grip your waist. He pulls back with blown pupils. “Bedroom?”

You nod, swallowing thickly. “Y-Yeah.”

He grins wickedly, his hand intertwining with yours as he drags you behind him to his bedroom. He shoved the door open with his shoulder, dragging you closer before pushing you onto the bed. You bounce slightly on the mattress, your dress’s skirt bunching around your thighs as Jack kneels on the ground in front of you. 

“Your leg–”

“What about it?” Jack snorts, pushing your dress up more as his calloused hands drag over your thighs. “Can’t hurt something that’s gone.”

You roll your eyes, the light from the windows catching in the soft irises. He kisses the inside of your knee across a freckle you didn’t even know you had, his lips trailing up to your inner thigh. You squirm, your hands fisting in the sheets as he kisses the apex of your thighs. His fingers brush the waistband of your panties, his eyes flicking up to yours to ask for permission. You nod, biting your lip as he pulls them down your legs, putting them to the side. 

Your breath hitches as his breath fans your core, kissing right over your sensitive bud before tentatively dragging his tongue through your folds. A whimper escapes you as his tongue becomes bolder in his exploration, his hands pushing your thighs open wider as he groans against you. You were merely the altar he was worshipping, his acts a holy sacrament between your thighs. 

“Fuck–” you moan, your head falling back as you arch off the mattress. Jack chuckles against you, sucking on your clit until you feel that ocean tide rising, and rising, and– 

Jack pulls back, grinning wickedly as he wipes off his mouth. You groan in frustration, but move up the bed, your head falling on the pillow as he crawls up over you. He sits back on his heels to pull his shirt over his head, your breath hitching as you take in the planes of his chest and the soft scars from years past. Your hand tentatively comes up, brushing over one of them until he shudders. He grabs your wrist, holding you still. 

“Keep doing that, and I’m not going to be gentle,” Jack huffs. You shiver, biting your lip. Jack reaches down, pulling the clip from your hair so the tendrils run wild. His fingers trail to your shoulder, where the strap of your dress lies, pushing it down. Your head falls back as he kisses your cheek, down to your neck as he pulls the dress off. Your body heats under his gaze, his eyes tracing every curve like you're the sunrise and he’s an innocent bystander. 

“What are you thinking?” You murmur, glazing up at him. He smiles slightly. 

“That you’re beautiful,” he replies, brushing his nose with yours. His hand goes to his belt, the buckle making a defining clink in the silence. “That I don’t deserve you.” He pushes your thighs apart a little more, settling between them as you feel the head of his cock drag through your folds. “And that I’m really going to enjoy doing this.”

You gasp as he pushes in, inch by inch, until all you can feel is him. He surrounds you and makes you feel infinite in a way you had forgotten. Your arms wrap around his neck, holding him close as he pulls out slowly and pushes back in. Your breath catches in your throat as he hikes your thigh up around his hip, moving faster and faster. 

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, nuzzling into your neck as he fucks you. You whimper, your nails scratching his shoulders, leaving satisfying red marks until you fall. 

Your orgasm drags out his own, a cry leaving your throat as he comes. He lingers for a moment, just letting your breathing steady before finally pulling out and tugging you into his side. You exhale, letting yourself relax. 

“That was nice,” you murmur. Jack chuckles, rubbing his hand up your arm. 

“Nice? I gotta work on my performance,” Jack mumbles, pressing a kiss to your temple. He brushes back a strand of hair. “Stay the night, would you? It’s nice having you here.”

You nod, letting out a soft yawn as you settle into his side. “I’m staying.”

[perseephoneee]

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ first snow | anthony bridgerton x f!reader [ficmas day 13]

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ ficmas masterlist

you and anthony always dance around eachother, until a surprise snowstorm forces you together

a/n: merry christmas to those who celebrate! this year has been a difficult one for me, and I appreciate everyone's patience with me through it all. i hope to continue writing for you, and i hope that you end the year with a smile. love you all, my inbox is always open

There had been no snow in December, which made it an unusually warm month. Christmas came and passed, leaving the members of the ton looking forward instead to the upcoming courting season. 

The first several weeks passed without much fanfare until the night of the Bridgerton’s country retreat out at Aubrey Hall. Guests would be expected to stay the night, which had gone from a polite thing to do to a necessity as the first snow of the season finally fell. 

You had been forced to come out this season by your parents, who were growing tired of your utter reluctance to engage in societal expectations. The turning point was when you joked about running away to the circus. 

As a Baron’s daughter, you had been invited alongside your family to Aubrey Hall for one of the most anticipated events of the season. You had arrived earlier that morning, the carriage bumping over the gravel paths as you looked out the windows at the imposing building. It had cream yellow walls and turrets that made it feel like a castle rather than someone’s country estate. Flowers surrounded the property, spreading into the sprawling gardens. You should’ve been greeted by the Viscount and Dowager Viscountess when you arrived. Instead, it was only the latter. 

It wasn’t that you and Anthony Bridgerton disliked each other; it’s more that you aggravated each other. You knew his intentions for finding a wife were practical, which you couldn’t fault him for. You could fault him for his general attitudes on how he treated the women he was vetting as a potential wife. You thought he could at least treat them with at least a semblance of respect. Meanwhile, you might not have chosen to enter the marriage market of your own accord, but you were not going to be caught in some loveless marriage just to get the job done. You’d rather be with someone who wouldn’t make you loathe the rest of your days. 

So, after your first meeting that involved a lot of name-calling (you might’ve referred to the Viscount as a prime example of the type of son a mother wouldn’t want) and otherwise immature behavior, you actively attempted to avoid one another. It wasn’t always easy, and there were more nights than not that you’d return to your home and your mother would chastise you for demonizing one of the more powerful men in the ton, but you couldn’t care—least of all about him. 

Which is why it was rather unfortunate when snow covered Aubrey Hall, leaving you and everyone else in it stuck until it finally melted. 

Violet Bridgerton made the most of the circumstances, hosting an impromptu dance in the ballroom. You dressed in the maroon dress your mother picked out, and lingered at the edges of the ballroom as people mingled and swirled around the floor. You brought the rim of your lemonade glass to your lips and sipped, counting the minutes until you could be done. 

“You must enjoy the snowfall,” a voice to your left says. You turn to find Anthony lingering next to you. He looked annoyingly handsome as usual, his hands clasped behind his back and his gaze sweeping the floor. Every bit the Viscount. 

“And why is that?” you ask, arching a brow as you look at him. He gives you a slight smirk. 

“Matches your disposition.”

You roll your eyes. “I believe you can do better than that, my lord.”

“I’m still warming up,” he protests, huffing a laugh. If you didn’t know better, you would say he was enjoying this. 

“Not under these temperatures you’re not,” you snort, a rather unladylike sound that you hide in your glass. He looks at you, his brown eyes missing nothing, even as you miss every little tell from him. You swallow your lemonade, gesturing to the rest of the floor with your gloved hand. “Which unfortunate lady do you have your eyes on tonight?”

Anthony sighs, his expression tightening. “None of them. I’m merely checking in and then returning to my ledgers.”

“Your life is incredibly exciting,” you respond, your tone bored. Anthony bites back another grin. He thought you were witty. He tried his best to ignore how much he liked it. To him, there was no point in love in a relationship when he would die exactly as his father did. 

“Do you have a gentleman you’re hoping will ask you for a dance?” Anthony asks. You don’t look at him as you look out at the floor. 

“No,” you answer plainly. “I will make my rounds and then turn in for the night.”

“So soon? The gathering will miss your optimistic demeanor,” Anthony says sarcastically. You turn and give him a saccharine smile.

“Goodbye, Viscount,” you murmur, turning and leaving. 

“I pity the soul that talks to you!” he calls out. A few heads turn his way, but they’re all used to your behaviors at this point. 

“Then you should pity yourself,” you retort, giving him a small wave as you leave. 

Witty, indeed, he thinks to himself. 

There is something about snow that makes it impossible for you to sleep. Maybe it’s the quiet it sets over the world, or perhaps it’s how it feels like it’s peering into your mind and forcing you to feel. Whatever the reason, you find yourself sneaking out of your room anyway. 

You wrap a silken robe around yourself, grabbing a lantern as you pad down the hallways. You look at oil paintings of the Bridgertons and peer into open rooms that lead to servants' halls and offices, until eventually, you stumble upon the library. 

The Bridgerton library has an entire wall of windows that overlooks the gardens. There’s a table in the middle for people to coalesce, and a chaise for more comfortable seating. There isn’t much by way of fiction on the shelves, but maybe a book on Botany will bore you enough to sleep to be worthwhile. You lean up on your toes to reach the book on the top shelf, pull it down, and move to the chaise, letting it fall open to the first page. 

“Plants were of paramount importance to early civilization, having dependence on them by way of food, shelter, clothing…” You read, slightly interested, but also knowing that hundreds of pages of this will most definitely put you to sleep. You stay there on the chaise, your legs curled under for a while, somehow still not sleeping even as you learn the history and science of plants. You barely hear the door finally creaking open, and a figure stops. 

“You’re awake,” Anthony Bridgerton murmurs, pausing in the threshold. You look up, brows furrowed as you take him in. He’s just wearing his white undershirt and breeches, having evidently been working. 

“You’re in the library,” you answer lamely. He arches a brow. 

“I saw the light. Wanted to check in,” he responds. You suppose that’s fair. He moves deeper into the space, looking around before landing back on you again. You’re acutely aware that you’re in your sleeping gown and unchaperoned with the biggest rake in the ton. “Can you not sleep?”

You shrug, running a hand over your face. “Snow keeps me awake– don’t ask me how.” You look out the wall of windows, taking note of the white flakes descending from the sky and settling on the bushes and grass, painting everything in shades of white amongst the darkness. “It is beautiful, though.”

“It is,” he murmurs. He’s not looking at the snow. 

You close the book, setting it down neatly before standing and straightening your robe. “I should return to bed. I do not mean to disturb you.”

“That has not stopped you before,” Anthony retorts. You scrunch your nose at him, a habit that he adored. 

“Goodnight, Viscount,” you murmur, making your way around him. His hand shoots out and grabs your elbow, haunting you. 

“Dance with me,” Anthony blurts out. You look at him, confused. 

“Why?”

“Because I want to, and you didn’t dance at the party,” he responds, like it should be obvious—your brows furrow.

“...why?”

“Dear god, woman, I just want to dance with you,” Anthony huffs. You give him a deadpan expression even as you consider his question. 

“...fine,” you murmur. His hand drops from your elbow to your hand, pulling you into a waltz position. You put your hand on his shoulder, and you’re unsure what music he could be leading you in. Perhaps he has officially lost his mind? You can imagine the Whistledown headlines: Viscount Bridgerton Suffers a Mental Break and Hears Imaginary Music!

He twirls you and pulls you back in, slightly closer than before. Definitely closer than what’s proper. 

“You’re being uncharacteristically nice to me,” you murmur.

“I’m always nice to you,” Anthony scoffs. 

“You’re not mean to me, but you’re not particularly nice either,” you comment. He doesn’t have a good retort for that. “I am worried you might be ill if you continue this behavior.”

Anthony bites back another laugh, a smile on his face that crinkles his eyes and makes your heart flutter. His brown eyes meet you in the dim light of the library. “You’re an aggravating woman.”

“Thank you.”

“Completely aggravating, and taking my comment as a compliment further proves my point,” Anthony sighs. He swallows thickly. “And yet, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your brows raise. 

“I always look for you first in any room we’re in, and I look forward to how you will find the way to abuse me that day verbally, and–” Anthony breathes. “–you make it hard to pretend otherwise.”

You pause your dancing, your hands falling from him as you look up at him with a wide, vulnerable expression. Anthony looks at you like he’s waiting for you to say something (anything) that will make his confession better. You lick your lips from nerves. He tracks the movement. 

“I enjoy arguing with you,” you say quietly—your form of a confession. 

It’s the only confirmation he needs. 

Anthony surges forward, his lips finding yours in what will be your first kiss. Your hands tentatively go to his arms as he wraps his around your waist, hauling you closer as he coaxes your lips open with his tongue. You gasp against him, heating coiling in your body as he nips at your lip, making your heart beat faster. He pulls away with a groan, his jaw clicking as if physically holding himself back. 

“We must stop,” he breathes, as if he weren’t the one who started it. “I-I am a gentleman, and I cannot defile a lady in the library–”

“You are barely a gentleman,” you retort, your breathing still a little labored. “And I am barely a lady.”

Anthony groans, his forehead falling to yours as he kisses you again. He laughs against your lips. 

“God, woman– you’re going to kill me.”

You continue kissing him (and more) under the blanket of snow, the house fast asleep, as the two of you discover what it means to find your other half finally. 

[perseephoneee]

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ don't be a scrooge | frank langdon [ficmas day 12]

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ ficmas masterlist

“Do you have plans for Christmas?” you ask, munching on some Chex Mix as you glance at Frank. He had been living with you ever since the divorce and rehab, since you were kind of his only friend who didn’t treat him like a pariah (you also had a crush on him, but he didn’t need to know that). Besides Mel, but Mel didn’t have room for him. Currently, the two of you are sitting on the living room couch while reruns of Dance Moms (both of your guilty pleasures) play in the background.

“No plans,” Langdon sighs, stealing some of your Chex Mix. You give him a look. “What? I have no plans.”

“Nothing with Tanner?” you ask. You knew Frank missed his son a lot, but the custody battle was even worse than the divorce. Whenever you tried to get him to open up about it, he would close up, so you decided to stop. Mostly. 

“Abby has him,” Frank murmured, clearing his throat as he refused to make eye contact. You suck on your teeth, thinking as you bounce your leg. 

“I don’t have plans either,” you shrug, turning to face him a little. He raises a brow, looking at you in suspicion. “...If you wanna do something.”

“Like what?” Frank snorts, leaning back against the couch. He arches a brow, his blue eyes flashing with something akin to amusement. 

“I don’t know,” you exclaim, laughter bubbling out of you. “I thought we would figure it out.”

Frank chews on the inside of his cheek, his arms crossed as he stares straight ahead at the TV. The sound of Abby Lee Miller yelling acts as background noise to whatever decision he’s making. 

“Alright,” he mumbles. “Just…nothing too festive. And I’m not getting you a gift.”

“Don’t be such a Scrooge,” you snort, thwacking his arm. “It’ll be fine.”

––––

Frank wakes up Christmas morning to the scent of sizzling bacon and coffee from the kitchen. The sun hits his eyes as he groans, stretching his sore muscles as he checks his phone. He leaves Tanner a voice message wishing him a Merry Christmas, knowing Tanner has already sent his gift. He wishes Abby would just pick up the damn phone so he could talk to his son, but he also knows why she won’t. He might be trying to practice forgiving himself, but he can’t blame her for not forgiving him. 

He shuffles out of bed a moment later, rubbing at his eyes as he blinks to take in the apartment. Overnight, you must have put up the tree and the decorations. The apartment was bright with colorful lights, glittering with tinsel and ornaments, and small felt trees adorned the various surfaces. You stood in the kitchen in ridiculous candy cane pajama shorts, stirring some eggs and humming to yourself. Frank had always thought you were pretty, but right now, you were so adorably domestic that it was making his heart hurt. 

He clears his throat, capturing your attention. 

“Oh, hey!” you exclaim, putting down the whisk. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Frank mumbles. He glances down at the cup that you pass into his hand, the coffee black with a dash of cream, just how he likes it. “You, uh, went all out.”

“Duh, it’s Christmas,” you smile, like it’s obvious. He still looks at you like you’ve grown a third head. “Oh! Before I forget.”

He watches you exit the kitchen and dash over to the tree. You grab a box under the tree and come back over to Frank, who still looks a little bewildered at the winter wonderland he walked into. 

“I got you a gift,” you murmur, passing him the box. It makes a crackling noise, which only serves to make his brows furrow. He tears off the wrapping paper unceremoniously, balling it up and tossing it aside. His eyes widen as he takes in the LEGO flower set. 

“...You got me LEGOs?” he huffs, his lips quirking up in a smile. You shrug, crossing your arms. 

“Boys like LEGOs,” you answer, your cheeks heating up. “Plus, your room is so drab– I thought this might add some color to it.” You shift your weight on your feet, your fuzzy socks slippery on the wood floor. “And maybe we can build it together?”

Frank melts (not that you’d notice), but he does. “Alright…let’s build it together.”

The two of you eat a quick breakfast– just some bacon and eggs with a fresh pot of coffee. Then, chaos commences as you take over the living room floor with the LEGO set. Frank, like everything else in his life, takes command immediately, telling you what to do as he jumps into the instruction manual. You put some Christmas music on the TV that acts as background noise, the apartment’s heaters working overtime against the Pittsburgh cold as you guys build the bouquet. Once it’s done, it’s a beautiful mix of colors and strategy that sits on your coffee table. 

“LEGOs are fun,” you sigh, resting your elbows on the coffee table. “Why did we convince adults that it was only a children’s toy?”

“A loss of whimsy,” Frank answers solemnly. You bite back a smile, elbowing him slightly. His expression sobers as he looks at you. “...Thank you. For this.”

“It’s just a LEGO set–”

“Not that,” Frank scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Giving me a Christmas when I don’t deserve it.”

Your brows furrow as you look at him, letting out a disbelieving laugh. “You think you don’t deserve Christmas?” Your lips pull in a frown. “You made a mistake, but…you learned. You grew. You’re trying. And Frank–” you huff. “–I haven’t met a single person who doesn’t deserve a Christmas.”

Langdon clenches his jaw, feeling tears prick his eyes that he very stubbornly holds back. He doesn’t deserve your kindness, but god, he wants it so badly. “I-I didn’t get you a gift.”

Your frown softens, and you shrug with light eyes. “I think hanging out is kinda a gift, y’know?”

The cute and innocent expression on your face, mixed with your kindness and the way that you always seem just to get him, makes Frank realize one thing– he really, really wants to kiss you. 

Frank moves closer, his hand hesitantly coming up to your cheek. Your brows furrow as your expression switches to one of recognition. You don’t move to stop him, your breath just hitches as his blue eyes meet yours, before leaning in and closing the distance. 

You make a soft noise against his lips that will be imprinted in his mind. His hand slides from your cheek to your hair, coiling in locks there as he coaxes your lips open and deepens the kiss. You taste like the coffee from earlier, and something like peppermint, and he wants to drink it forever. When he finally parts, it’s only to catch his breath. 

“I’m going to keep kissing you,” Frank murmurs, licking his lips. 

“Okay,” you breathe, your voice a little shaky with unrestrained want. 

“And then I’m going to do more than kiss you,” Frank remarks. You shudder. “Sound good?”

“Real good.”

“Good,” Frank breaths, pressing another quick kiss to your lips. “Merry Christmas.”

[perseephoneee]

𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫 @brandiheylek

↳ masterlist  ↳ ship exchange information ↳ taglist

-͟͟͞☆ I ship you with Jack Abbot! He's cynical, actively working on himself, and has been at this job long enough to know what he wants. He'll find your passion inspiring, along with your perseverance and loyalty. You'll get someone who doesn't beat around the bush, and can be forthright with you when you need it.

-͟͟͞☆ Headcanons:

You're a CNA, you absolutely met while working at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. You were actually helping with a pediatric case that day, and decided to do some crafting with the kids to keep them occupied. Abbot walked by and saw, having seen you but not really talk to you before then. He pauses and tells you he's impressed, never forgetting that moment.

When the two of you start dating, you become Robby's nightmare. Only because Jack will use every opportunity to tell Robby, "you know, ever since I started dating, I've become more self actualized–" and Robby will actively try to ignore him.

Abbot becomes best friends with your cat. Your phone will become full of pictures of the two of them together, sleeping in bed or cuddled up on the couch. It makes you warm everytime you see it.

-͟͟͞☆ Tropes

love at first sight partners in crime

-͟͟͞☆ Playlist

in between gracie abrams

i wanna be sedated ramones

crush ethel cain

-͟͟͞☆ I ship you with Luka! He's such a family man, and really dedicated to doing whatever it takes to be pragmatic but also supportive of those who need it. He'd be so impressed that you're a cancer survivor, and probably constantly cite that it 'shows your character' that you pulled through. He'd find ways to drag you out of your comfort zone while also indulging in your interests, and I think you would feel supported by him.

-͟͟͞☆ Headcanons:

Luka met you during a particularly bad panic attack. You were hiding in the supply closet, trying to catch your breath as your head pounded and he came in looking for a suture kit. Instead of leaving you, or saying 'not my problem', he kneeled in front of you and forced you to breathe with him. He didn't ask questions, just sat with you until you were better.

Luka doesn't really have family anymore, so he's excited to spend time with yours. He agonizes over making a good first impression, which you think is adorable. But there's something heartwarming about being with a guy who seems geniunely excited about becoming a part of your life.

When you're sick, he makes you stay home. He'll attempt to make your favorite soup, and pile you with blankets, and meticulously monitor your symptoms while watching your every need. You'll feel like a princess.

-͟͟͞☆ Tropes:

knight in shining armor mornings (you) x nights (him)

-͟͟͞☆ Playlist:

vienna billy joel

feels like gracie abrams

ever seen beabadoobee

-͟͟͞☆ I ship you with Fred Weasley! Fred is the more dominant of the two, and definitely the instigator, but oh boy he'd be head over heels for you! He'd always be doing things to get your attention, only in hopes that you might laugh. Because your laughter? His favorite thing in the world.

-͟͟͞☆ Headcanons:

You guys meet in Herbology, one of the core classes shared by Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. He thinks you're pretty and immediately goes out of his way to get your attention. You think he's funny, but mostly you laugh whenever he gets yelled at by Professor Sprout.

You're really into Herbology because it's a core class to pursue being a healer later, which Fred really softens at learning. He loves how much you care. Sometimes, his pranks backfire and he gets hurt. You've started shadowing Madame Pomfrey at that point, and will help mend him a littel until the healer shows up. Fred always calls you 'his little savior.'

Molly Weasley loves you! She is a little concerned as to how Fred managed to ensnare you, but mostly, she's just thankful that her children are finding respectably partners at all.

-͟͟͞☆ Tropes:

sun (him) x moon (you) most likely to get arrested (him) x one bailing him out (you)

-͟͟͞☆ Playlist:

fell in love with a girl the white stripes

line without a hook ricky montgomery

fine line harry styles

[perseephoneee]

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ blizzard | john carter [ficmas day 11]

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ ficmas masterlist

a/n: i'm so in love with john carter it's insane. although i had to dnf e.r. by like the last few episodes of season 8 because i just got so bored lol

“This is getting close to breaking a record in Chicago, with 20 inches of snow…people are advised to stay in their homes until the roads can become clearer…”

The news channel acted as background noise for the otherwise shittastic day you’ve been having. Being forced to go to work amongst the storm was one thing. Everything else was the cherry on top. First, your apartment lost its heat, so you’ve been surviving with blankets, layers, and taking showers at work. Once you got to work, a med student bumped into you, causing you to spill scalding hot coffee over your favorite pair of scrubs, and now–

“I don’t wanna!” the child, Peter, screams, wriggling in his mother’s grasp as you try your best to administer a local anesthetic. The kid was out sledding when he crashed, badly injuring his leg. You needed to debride and stitch the wound, but the kid wouldn’t let you apply any lidocaine before doing so. You kept trying to explain that it would only help with the pain. 

“I’ll give you a lollipop if you let me do this?” you try bargaining, plastering on a smile. Peter just screeches in your face like a temperamental pterodactyl. Growing agitated, you just grab his ankle and jab the needle in, applying the lidocaine quickly. He starts to cry, and the mother gives you an offended look. You just shrug as if to say Oops. 

You find yourself staring at the vending machine afterwards, like it might give you answers to your questions. You sort of zone out as you listen to the hum of the machine, your brows furrowed. Footsteps come up on your right. 

“You look contemplative,” Carter comments, his hands in his pockets. He tilts his head at you in concern, his brown eyes soft. “Long day?”

“Can I get away with murdering a patient?” you ask, turning to look at him. He gives you a crooked smile. 

“Not likely,” he grins. You let out a sigh, rubbing a hand over your face. “C’mon, what’s wrong?”

“Just…everything,” you let out a long-suffering sound. “I feel like a melting snowman, just awaiting my inevitable doom.”

“Wow, you are really not doing well,” Carter whistles. He reaches out, grabbing your elbow and tugging you towards the lounge. “C’mon, let's go out.”

“Go out where?” you huff, stumbling after him. His touch was warm on your elbow, which was unsurprising. You’d be a liar if you said you didn’t harbor a little crush on the doctor. 

“To the snow.”

“Oh god, why?” you groan. Carter pushes through the lounge doors, letting go of your elbow to go to his locker. He unlocks it in three clicks, grabbing a beanie, scarf, and gloves. 

“It’s fun, playing in the snow,” Carter says, like it makes perfect sense. You reluctantly grab your own winter gear. 

“Maybe if you’re five,” you mumble. Carter laughs. 

“You’ve lost your childhood innocence this early?”

“The E.R. has made me cynical,” you grumble. You wrap your scarf around yourself, tug your hat over your head, then put on your gloves. You think you look a little like puffer jacket Snoopy, like this, but you prioritize warmth over looking cute. 

“Yeah, it does that,” Carter sighs. He holds the door open for you as you exit the lounge, until you’re finally in the cold of Chicago's winter. You wrap your arms around yourself and shiver as Carter moves to stand next to you. Your nose scrunches against the cold. 

“Now what?” you huff, turning to look at him. He leans down, packing up a snowball, and then proceeds to drop it on your head. Your jaw drops as the cold runs down your neck and under your scarf. “You little–”

You start packing your own snowball, and the fight is on. Carter runs off, stumbling and laughing as you throw a haphazard snowball at him. He shoots several back, both of you clumsy messes as you frolick around the ambulance bay. It’s utterly quiet outside of Cook County General; most people are at home, and the emergencies are low for now, which means that you and Carter can act like actual children with your snowball fight. 

You launch a snowball at Carter right as he runs from the left and tackles you down, avoiding your snowball. You bark a laugh as you fall into the snow, the fluffy white acting as a cushion for your fall. Carter falls on top of you, his cheeks dusted pink with cold and laughter. Your laughter dies slightly as you realize that he’s lying on top of you, his breath cold on your cheeks, his mouth centimeters from yours. 

“I guess this means you won,” you murmur, swallowing thickly. Carter’s eyes drop to your lips before flitting back up to your eyes. You pretend not to notice. His gloved hand reaches up to your cheek, brushing it softly before he closes the distance. 

Your breath hitches, and your eyes flutter close as his cold lips meet yours, molding with your mouth like he was made to kiss you. You make a soft sound in response, which is enough to make him press in a little closer, coaxing you open as he presses against you. He tastes like stale coffee from the lounge and one of the peppermints from the front, and you’re already intoxicated on it. You could stay there forever, kissing him and–

“L/N! Carter! Traumas coming in five!” Weaver calls out, stomping over without a coat and rolling her eyes at the two of us. Carter immediately rolls off with an oomph, and you have the decency to blush. 

“Got it!” Carter gives a thumbs-up. Weaver just shakes her head, muttering something about young love as she goes back inside. You glance at Carter after she leaves. He offers you his hand, pulling you to your feet before tugging you close and stealing one more kiss. “Now, I’ve won.” 

You roll your eyes at him, earning a laugh. He tugs you towards the front doors, but pauses before entering. “We’ll continue this later.”

Yeah, you bet you will. 

[perseephoneee]

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ christmas morning headcanons | mikaelson siblings [ficmas day 10]

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ ficmas masterlist

a/n: decided to do headcanons instead of full fics bc i think these are cuter this way lol. i'm grinding trying to actually catch up

Klaus Mikaelson

Klaus won’t be in the bed when you wake up Christmas morning. He’ll be too busy agonizing over your gift. 

He often pretends not to care, or that he’s better than such trivialized agendas like Christmas, but he cares, especially after Hope’s birth. 

You wake up Christmas morning to the smell of fresh coffee and a cooked breakfast, stretching and rubbing your eyes as you take in the tray on your bed and the rose petals strewn across it. 

He’ll have compelled some poor soul into making you your favorite breakfast, but he’ll have done the rose petals himself. Probably muttering the whole time while you slept. 

He’ll come into the room a moment later, and you’ll have about 0.05 seconds of a quiet moment before Hope barrels in, wanting to open presents. You’ll let her steal some food from you even as Klaus rolls his eyes at the whole ordeal (he secretly adores it). 

While opening presents, Klaus hovers around you the whole time. If something looks slightly off with something you opened, he’ll insist on replacing it. It gets to the point where the entire family is booing him.

You don’t mind, though, because by the end of the morning? He’ll have you under the mistletoe.

Elijah Mikaelson

Christmas with Elijah is a little like Klaus's in that it begins with a quiet morning. The difference is that he actually lingers. 

He wakes you with kisses on your cheek and neck, then grabs your present, artfully wrapped, as everything he does in life is. It’ll be something meaningful, like a piece of jewelry or a trip to Paris. 

You’ll kiss him as a thank you, letting yourself melt into it until both of you remember that you have actual responsibilities. If you don’t part quickly enough, Kol will knock on the door and make one too many suggestive jokes until Elijah debates fratricide. 

Even when you do eventually join the family downstairs, Elijah doesn’t venture too far. He’ll always keep a hand on your thigh, or clasp your hands together, or brush his lips against your temple. 

(Kol will encourage Hope to gag as a joke. Elijah tries to put vervain in Kol’s blood later)

No worries though— because by the end of the night— you’re all his >:)

Rebekah Mikaelson

You’ll wake up with Rebekah in your arms, because she’s secretly a cuddler even if it doesn’t seem like it. 

She won’t say it, but she’ll expect some sort of gift from you. Fortunately, you know her well enough to give her something worthwhile— a pair of earrings you noticed walking to work, a photo album of every photo strip you guys have taken together, or something cheesy like a tiara for the ‘princess in your life.’ Either way, she’ll tear up and pretend she didn’t.

Rebekah will get you something like matching silver bracelets, so that even while away, everyone will know they're hers.

(She’s possessive like that).

She’ll also insist you’re in the holiday bonfire photo. You’ll ask to photocopy the photo for yourself later, because you’ll adore how cute and soft the two of you are with her chin on your shoulder and her arm around you. 

The highlight of your morning has nothing to do with Rebekah— but Elijah.

Because he’s the one who tells you that he’s glad his sister has someone like you, who makes her warm and soft and a person again. And it’ll be enough to make you melt into a million pieces. 

Kol Mikaelson

Best for the last! (For me)

If the rest of the siblings are lovey-dovey and docile, Kol is like a firecracker.

Christmas can be bittersweet, but with you? He feels human again. Which means he’s making sure you’re awake by 8 am and he’s dragging you out of bed by 8:15 am. 

Despite being with his family, he’ll drag you onto his lap and keep his hands on you while everyone watches Hope open gifts or exchange small ones with each other. If he gets a little handsy—

“Kol, there are young children present,” Elijah sighs. Kol just feigns innocence as you hide your laughter.

He’ll still find ways to touch you anyway, his hand creeping under your shirt or rubbing circles on your ankle. Simple reminders that tell him that you’re alive and you’re there with him

(He’s too used to everything being taken away to take you for granted)

Your gift from him will be something deeply personal. An annotated edition of your favorite book. Some trinket from a country you love. A poorly made piece of pottery from Kol that’ll make you wonder how much he loathed making something like it. 

Christmas with him will be chaotic, but you won’t regret it, never with him. 

[perseephoneee]

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ let's kill santa | dean winchester [ficmas day 9]

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ ficmas masterlist

a/n: sorry for the delay lol. i've been so busy and i'm geniunely so tired. i might fall off into the ocean soon.

When Krampus sightings were reported, the Winchesters thought it was a hoax. There was no way that Krampus actually existed, right? But then they remembered that time they essentially killed Mr. and Mrs. Klaus, and decided to check it out. 

Except that Sam got called away on another hunting job at the last minute. And instead of leaving Krampus up to others, Sam recommended that Dean call you. 

As another competent hunter in the scene, you’d worked with the Winchesters before. Dean was a flirt– that you were used to– but nothing ever went anywhere, even if you wanted it to. 

“Sightings of ‘evil Santa Claus’ have been ticking up in Cumberland Gap,” you comment, munching on a chip. You and Dean were hunkered down in some dingy Mexican restaurant while you created a plan to deal with Krampus. There are lots of neon lights inside, a bulletin board with a wanted poster on it, and ‘Feliz Navidad’ playing on loop. So far, both of you have scarfed down an indeterminate amount of tortilla chips and salsa. “We should set up camp there, figure out what time it’s attacking, and then take it out. Lore says fire should work– like a wendigo.”

“Why don’t we ever get wendigos anymore?” Dean sighs, stealing one of your chips. You glare at him. 

“They’re just not very common,” you shrug. 

“I want to fight more wendigos,” he pouts, essentially mumbling under his breath. You look at him, exasperated. 

“Stop being a child, we have a job to do,” you huff, taking a sip of your water. Dean chews on another chip. 

“I’m a man,” Dean retorts, gesturing down at himself. He sits back against the booth before winking. “Evidently.”

“I’m going to bed,” you sigh, already growing tired, and knowing the morning will be long. Dean’s expression falters slightly as you get up, but he masks it before you see it. 

In the morning, you both take Baby up to the Appalachian mountains and over to Cumberland Gap. Led Zeppelin plays through the car speakers, acting as background music to your thoughts. Dean taps his fingers on his thighs, the other gripping the wheel, that familiar leather jacket filling most of the space. He smells like motel soap, and somehow you can’t get enough of it. 

The first night in Cumberland Gap, nothing happens. You survive the cold in the small cabin you’ve scoped out, you eat canned beans, drink beer, and otherwise act cordial. Krampus doesn’t show up until the next day. 

You and Dean are out in the mountain pass, your feet crunching in the snow as you navigate through the trees. You pause as you hear something, grabbing Dean’s sleeve to get him to stop. You both grow silent, listening intently to the atmosphere around you. A howling sound can be heard, first mistaken as the wind, but now evidently something else. 

You both creep forward, peering around the trees. 

There’s a campground set up in front of you, two people in front of a fire chatting. The source of the howling is nowhere near. Your eyes narrow with recognition as one of the figures pulls their hood off to adjust their hat. 

“Oh my god,” you murmur. “I saw them on the wanted poster in the Mexican restaurant.”

Dean’s eyes widen as he fishes his gun out of his pocket. You both freeze as the howling increases, rustling occurring in the undergrowth. 

And then Krampus appears. 

Dark and imposing, with twisting horns and glowing eyes, Krampus emerges from the undergrowth in a huff, its gaze flickering to the men at the campfire. The one facing the brush immediately screams, scrambling to a standing position as the other one (the one on the wanted poster) turns around and stumbles as well. 

You stand up to grab your weapon and jump down there. Dean grabs your arm, yanking you back down. 

“What are you doing?” you hiss, glaring at him. 

“This guy is a criminal, right?” Dean murmurs. “Didn’t the poster say something about robbery?”

“Doesn’t mean he deserves to die,” you retort, brows furrowed as you glare at Dean. 

“The two other victims had criminal records as well,” Dean says. “Maybe Krampus only punishes the guilty.”

“That is the folklore,” you acquiesce. Krampus is known for punishing misbehaving children. “But that doesn’t mean these people deserve to die, Dean.”

Dean’s jaw clenches, like he wants to argue. You grip his arm tighter. “Dean. Our job is to save people. Do not let them be hunted.”

Dean lets out a frustrated huff, finally loading his gun and standing up while cursing under his breath. You scramble after him, your boots slipping in the snow as you slide down the bank to Krampus. 

Dean fires out a shot that ricochets off of Krampus’s horn into the trees. You aim for its legs, hitting it in the kneecaps as you push the guys out of the way, yelling at them to get out of there. You notice they were drinking and grab the whiskey bottle. Shrugging off your jacket, you grab one of your knives and tear off a piece of your sweater (leaving it a little cropped) before shoving it into the bottle. 

“Dean! Watch out!” You shout. His eyes widen as he notices what you’re doing. You quickly put the fabric end of the bottle into the fire, and when it lights up, you throw it smack dab towards the gigantic form of Krampus. Dean runs in your direction, pushing you out of the way and tackling you down as the molotov cocktail takes off, exploding Krampus into ash. He holds you down, his arms covering your head. When the sound of Krampus’ screams dies out, Dean finally sits up, glancing over. 

His body is warm over you, but he makes no effort to get up, not that you mind. He finally looks down at you, his green eyes glimmering gold in the firelight. You swallow thickly. 

“You see the world as gray, don’t you?” he hums—your brows furrow. 

“I guess so.”

Your breath hitches as Dean leans in, kissing your forehead, and then your nose, until he finally gets to your lips. It’s impossibly soft, too soft for someone like him. He doesn’t know emotional vulnerability if it slaps him in the face. You look at him with wide eyes. 

“C’mon,” Dean murmurs, sitting up and offering you his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

[perseephoneee]

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ secret santa | jack abbot [ficmas day 8]

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ ficmas masterlist

a/n: does anyone else read shawn hatosy's tweets or just me?

When you were younger, you used to dream of falling in love. Until you met men and said to yourself, “Wow, that was disappointing.”

And then you met Jack Abbot. 

He’s older than you, widowed, a war veteran, and a fully competent doctor. It also helped that he was handsome and had a certain aura that gave you the impression that he knew exactly what to do with those hands of his. 

It drove you insane. 

Every year, the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center holds a Secret Santa. It was a way to ease the question: ‘Ah, I have to get gifts for all 2405859383 of my co-workers!’ There were myriad reactions to the Secret Santa. There were people like Robby who loathed it because he always procrastinated on gifts and pretty much gave alcohol or a gift card, like he was your 80-year-old grandpa. Others, like Ellis, absolutely adored it. She would get so invested it was wild, to the point where you wondered if there was a competition she was competing in that you hadn’t heard of. 

This year, you pulled Abbot’s name. 

You had no idea what to get him; in fact, you agonized over it. Enough that Mohan noticed. 

“What’s wrong?” Mohan asked, sighing deeply. You were hiding by the vending machines, crouched against the wall, and staring at nothing. Mohan slid down the gray fence next to you. She was fully aware of your crush on Abbot. 

“I got Abbot’s name.” Mohan’s mouth changed into a huge ‘o’, nodding slightly. “Samira, I don’t know what to give him.”

“A leg?” Mohan offered, biting back a smile. You elbowed her. “You’ve spent enough time observing him, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“But what if I don’t and he hates me?” you groan. 

“Yes, because that makes sense,” Samira chuckles. You run a hand over your face, right as your pager buzzes about an incoming STEMI. “Alright, I gotta go.”

You spent the rest of the week feeling frustrated, not knowing what to get him. You didn’t just want to get him alcohol, which was a go-to for many of the gifts, and you didn’t want to be that person who looked up some Buzzfeed gift guide and chose the first Amazon product available. 

You got switched to night shift on Thursday, a few days before the Secret Santa exchange, and you still didn’t have a gift. You thought maybe you could try to interrogate him this shift. After dealing with several patients, you had to close out their charts quickly, and managed to locate Abbot at the nurse’s desk. 

“Dr. Abbot,” you murmured, your heart beating rapidly in your chest as you scooted his chair a little closer. His eyes flitted to yours, and it was enough to make you feel tachycardic. “What do you hate receiving for Christmas?”

Abbot chuckled, turning to look at you. He crossed his arms, the scrub top stretching across his biceps. You swallow thickly. “Yankee candles.”

You blink, suppressing a smile. “Yankee candles?”

“They’re cheap and ugly, and I already have a million of them,” Abbot sighs. You end up smiling slightly, because you really weren’t expecting that response, and it made you chuckle. Abbot’s lips quirked at your reaction. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What do you hate to receive?”

You let out a breath, shifting in your chair slightly as your brows furrowed. “Face masks.”

“Are those the white things?” Abbot asks, gesturing to his face. You look at him incredulously. “Makes you look like Mike Meyers?”

“Yeah, those,” you laugh. “I just end up not feeling anything other than slimy afterwards.”

“Very fair,” Abbot chuckles. “I also hate feeling slimy.”

You liked it when he joked with you like this, as if he were listening and understanding you. It gave you butterflies. But this conversation gave you an idea of what to give him. 

The Secret Santa exchange happened that weekend, and your gift was wrapped in a lovely gift bag with his name on it. Your fingers fidgeted with the ribbons of the bag’s ties as you watched people start to receive their things. A few gifts made you grin. For example, Mohan got Robby a whistle. He used it to shut Langdon up at multiple points. At some point, Langdon looked so much like a disgruntled puppy in the corner that it made you giggle. 

You waited until it was quiet to bring your gift over to Abbot. 

“Merry Christmas,” you murmur. His gaze softens as he looks at you, and it makes your throat clench as he pulls the tissue paper out. He starts chuckling immediately as he pulls out a Yankee Candle that has NOT A sharpie over the ‘Yankee’ part. 

“You are a brilliant woman,” he laughs. “Utterly brilliant.”

Your cheeks feel warm as he looks at you, that crooked grin on his face. He pulls a box out behind him. “Merry Christmas, to you too.”

Your eyes widen in surprise as you see the small box, not even wrapped, just tied with silver ribbon. You take it hesitantly, your fingers deftly untying it until you reveal a simple bracelet with your initials. Your mouth dries. 

“Jack…,” you murmur. 

“You’re always fidgeting with your hair tie,” Abbot shrugs, his hands in his scrub pants like it’s not a big deal. “I thought you deserved something nicer to fidget with.”

“You’ve paid attention to that?” you say softly. Abbot rolls his eyes, like you’re ridiculous. You don’t understand why. 

“You really don’t get it, do you?” Jack chuckles. He holds up the gift you gave him. “This? It's funny. You listened and did something funny. But–” he laughs. “– the only thing I really want is you.”

Your heart stops in your chest at his words, feeling like you must’ve died at some point and this was a dream. But it wasn’t. He was standing in front of you, looking at you like it should’ve been obvious his affections. 

“I’m too old to pretend I don’t care otherwise,” Jack breathes, stepping closer to you. You can almost pretend you aren’t in the middle of the hospital at this point. 

“I…want you too,” you murmur, your brows furrowed as you look up at him. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering by your cheek. 

“Thought so,” he grins. He takes the bracelet from the box he gave you, lifts your wrist, and puts it on. His fingers brush your pulse point, feeling the slight flutter that he causes. He doesn’t just drop your hand, he keeps it in his as he nods to the front door. “Want to get out of here?”

You nod eagerly, almost too eagerly, because you’d be a fool to say otherwise. 

[perseephoneee]

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ sick day | frank langdon x f!reader [ficmas day 7]

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ ficmas masterlist

a/n: about once a day i think about meeting patrick ball and then i giggle hehehehe. also, frank has never been married in this

Langdon hadn’t seen you for days, and it was really starting to worry him.

You were a constant for him, always there when he needed, or even when he didn’t. It didn’t really occur to him that one day, you could just not be there. And he didn’t know why.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where Y/N is, do you?” Langdon asked Dana, who was minding her own business at the admissions desk when he walked up.

“She’s out sick,” Dana answered, giving him a curious glance. He frowned, not knowing what to do with that.

“Did she say how long?”

“No, I assume she’ll be back when she’s better,” Dana smiled thinly, moving back to her work as Langdon continued to frown. And ponder. And use every last brain cell of his to wonder why it bothered him so much. 

He barely survived the day with Robby constantly telling him to focus, several close calls in trauma, and this nagging feeling in his chest that he was missing something. He just didn’t know what. 

He cornered Mohan at the end of his shift.

“How’s Y/N?” He asked, hands in his pockets as he tried his best to sound nonchalant. He knew the two of them lived together. She looked unamused.

“Just go and see her.”

“Excuse me?”

“Go and see her, here’s our address.” Mohan scribbled on a loose pamphlet in her pocket, handing it to him. “Just stop moping around. You’re driving everyone nuts.”

That settled that, he guessed.

Meanwhile, you were at home nursing the worst mono of your life. You had a fever, your throat was scratchy, and your whole body felt like it was shutting down if you tried to stand. You’d had the Twilight movies on rerun since you’d finished Harry Potter. You were going to run out of things to watch if you didn’t get better soon.

You had welcomed the reprieve from the hospital, even if it came under less-than-stellar circumstances. It was a break from constant traumas and your constant stream of feelings about Langdon. It was getting worse. Every time you saw a woman even glance at him, you felt like strangling her with the stethoscope. The pedes surgeon blatantly flirted with him, and you debated stabbing yourself with a scalpel.

On top of that were the constant feelings of inadequacy, and why not me? that chorused your head till you felt like you were in a vacuum chamber of negativity. You were tired of going home crying because you couldn’t get a grip on your feelings. It wasn’t healthy for anyone.

Your buzzer went off, indicating that someone was trying to get into your building, and you chose to ignore it. But it kept going off. Nonstop. For over ten minutes. Eventually, you pulled yourself off the couch and stomped over to the buzzer, answering it.

“What?” You bit out, not caring for manners.

“Uh, it’s Frank. Can I come up?”

You froze, not expecting to hear his voice. Or for him to know where you lived. You buzzed him up immediately, and while he made his way up the stairs, you gargled mouthwash, threw your hair in a bun, and attempted to make yourself look less like Typhoid Larry. A knock on the door sounded a moment later.

You opened the door, and your eyes widened when you saw a bag in his hands and a sheepish look on his face. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” you exclaimed. “I’m really contagious—“

“I got mono when I was a kid, I’m immune,” Langdon answered. “I brought you some things. Can I come in?”

You didn’t know what to do with that and just decided to let him in. He glanced around the place as he stepped over the threshold. You couldn’t tell if your stomach hurt from the lingering nausea or from having him here.

“Sorry, I haven’t cleaned up,” you murmured, feeling embarrassed. 

“You’ve been sick, and this is fairly clean already,” Langdon noted, glancing around the space. He handed her the bag in his hands. “This is for you.”

You opened the bag to find soup from your favorite restaurant, a variety of meds, some nice-smelling soaps, and a stuffed dragon. You pulled the floppy thing out and grinned.

“You like dragons, right? I didn’t misremember that?” Frank asked, a slight blush on his cheeks. Your heart exploded into a million pieces at the gesture.

“I love dragons,” you grinned. “Thank you. For all of this, you…really didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” Langdon replied, rocking back on his feet. “It’s…weird without seeing you every day. I missed you.”

The confession shocked both of them, but you (surprisingly) were the first to recover.

“I missed you, too,” you admitted, your voice small. The smile that Langdon gave her was beaming. “Do— did you want to stay? I’m not very good company, but I have a ton of food.”

“I— sure,” Frank grinned, taking off his coat and leaving it by the front door. “What are we watching?”

“Twilight,” you admitted sheepishly. 

“Haven’t seen it.”

“Then I can’t wait to torture you from the beginning,” you smiled. Langdon helped get a bowl and spoons for the soup, and you almost melted when he offered her his arm to walk to the couch. You always forgot how exhausted you felt whenever you had to stand up with mono. 

They settled into the couch, and you ignored how comfortable Langdon got.

“This has vampires in it, right?” Frank asked, one hand slung behind the back of the cushion. You slurped some soup, glancing at him.

“No, it has chupacabras.”

“Glad to see your wit hasn’t gone away.” He shook his head, smiling. He ended up putting a blanket over both of them, your new dragon sitting in your lap as you restarted Twilight. The first scene turned on, and Bella’s voice filled the room along with the deer in the forest. 

“Oh wow, this is worse than I thought,” Langdon exclaimed, and you laughed. The action hurt your throat, but you didn’t care.

“Just wait till they play baseball.”

“What? Why?”

“Just shut up and watch,” you giggled, settling into the couch. Langdon stayed and watched the whole thing, taking care of you when you needed it, and for the first time in a while, your heart didn’t hurt as much.