Imagine cooking a whole meal just for your boyfriend, proudly bringing the dish out to him with sparkling eyes and high hopes. There are only two possible outcomes: either it’s a heavenly delicacy, or it looks like it just came out of a charcoal pit.
Either way… how will your lovely boyfriend react?:)
The diverse cuisine of the human world has always been a source of fascinating discovery for Malleus. Dragons don’t really need to eat as regularly as humans to survive, yet he still finds himself genuinely delighted whenever his little lover steps into the kitchen to cook something just for him.
Looking at each dish—simple yet beautifully plated and carrying an inviting aroma—Malleus, the dignified crown prince of the Briar Valley who normally eats with utmost grace, can barely restrain himself from finishing his plate a little too quickly. His expression is nothing but pure satisfaction.
He praises you sincerely while you watching him eat with a bright smile.
Those emerald dragon eyes of his will gleam softly as he turns toward his beloved, a warm smile curving his lips.
“Just as I expected. Everything is seasoned perfectly and suits my taste very well. Would you consider becoming my personal chef?”
?If the food turns out… not so good?
-Appearance doesn’t always determine what hidden beauty lies within—Malleus tells himself this as he looks at the dish. With a slightly awkward, conflicted expression, he still brings himself to try a bite, because it’s something his lover made with effort.
He sometimes furrows his brows at the taste, but each time he meets your sparkling, hopeful eyes, he forces the tension away, clears his throat politely, and tries to maintain his usual calm composure. But the moment the bitterness begins to numb his taste buds, he resorts to distraction—complimenting the effort and love put into the dish instead of criticizing it directly.
“Hmm… the flavor is quite… unique. You must have taken some inspiration from Lilia, yes? …Child of human, would you like to learn a bit of magical cooking?”
Please have mercy on Malleus—he simply doesn’t want to hurt your feelings. And as the housewarden of Diasomnia, he must also ensure there won’t be a second Lilia threatening the stomachs of his dorm members.
Leona Kingscholar
?If the food turns out good?
As the second prince who’s tasted luxurious dishes since childhood, Leona’s standards are sky-high—in other words, he’s incredibly hard to please.
He’s genuinely surprised when his little lover offers to cook for him, though he makes sure not to show that he’s even slightly looking forward to it, covering it up with a smug scoff.
“Fine. Just know that if it doesn’t satisfy me, you’re replacing whatever’s on that plate.”
He raises an eyebrow at the simple but beautifully arranged dishes, a small smirk tugging at his lips—clearly pleased—as he starts eating.
You rests your chin on your hands, watching the huge lion savor every bite slowly and comfortably. Leona’s expression barely changes, but his tail behind him has already started swaying back and forth in a steady rhythm. Between bites, he casually slips in short compliments.
“Not bad. At least it isn’t cafeteria food.” or “Mhm, acceptable.”
They sound like lukewarm comments, but if Ruggie tries to sneak a bite, Leona immediately shoots him a warning glare.
He shows his appreciation in the very specific, very Leona way: pulling his little herbivore closer, ruffling your hair—then the two of you sit together and watch Ruggie do all the dishes :)
?If the food turns out… not good?
The moment he sees the dish—odd color, strange texture—Leona frowns and doesn’t even bother picking up his fork before criticizing it outright.
“Herbivore, are you trying to poison me?”
Watching Ruggie poke the food with a fork like it’s a wild animal while you looks lost and embarrassed, Leona sighs, scratches his head, then stands up and takes your hand.
“Don’t just stand there. Let’s go eat out. You wouldn’t want to watch a second prince starve to death, right?”
It’s the perfect compromise: he avoids wasting his lover’s effort while also ensuring he doesn’t have to eat… whatever that was supposed to be.
Jamil Viper
?If the food turns out good?
Jamil raises an eyebrow the moment his lover mentions wanting to cook. After all, he’s usually the one handling kitchen duties, and he’s pretty sure he’s never actually seen the prefect cook anything before.
“Alright.”
His agreement is short, almost too brief—but because he’s cautious by nature, he keeps casually walking past the kitchen every now and then to peek inside, which forces you to close the kitchen door on him. (So Jamil resigns himself to waiting.)
He’s genuinely surprised when he sees the meal laid out on the table—colorful, neatly arranged, and smelling promising.
Jamil tastes a bit of each dish first. He’s completely taken aback, pleasantly so, at how perfectly his picky, food-savvy standards have been met.
“You’ve got talent. Some of these dishes are new to me… Did you take inspiration from foods in your old world?”
He pulls you down into the seat next to him so they can share the meal together, turning what was supposed to be a cooking evaluation into a warm, homey meal.
?If the food turns out not good?
His sharp eyes—trained from years of sampling Kalim’s potentially dangerous meals before they reach the boy—can immediately tell whether something is edible.
And the answer this time is absolutely not.
The fish on the plate… seems to twitch. And why does every single dish emit an ominous dark aura?
Jamil keeps a professional, composed expression as he glances from the suspiciously alive-looking food to your bright, hopeful eyes. He swallows the urge to facepalm and simply sighs instead.
He stands up to check whether the kitchen itself survived. Thankfully, only one corner is charred instead of the catastrophic scene he had imagined.
“I can tell you tried really hard… but are you sure you read the recipe correctly?”
Jamil speaks as gently as possible to avoid hurting his lover’s feelings. Then he offers to be by your side next time to help improve your cooking skills more effectively—all while he cleans up the mess and prepares an emergency meal with practiced efficiency.
Kalim Al-Asim
?If the food turns out good?
From the very start, Kalim is bursting with excitement. He loves parties and food, so he absolutely cannot wait to taste something his beloved cooked for him. Like a miniature sun, he practically shines as he immediately pulls you into a joyful hug.
“You’re cooking?! I can’t wait!”
He’s so excited that he keeps peeking through the kitchen doorway, but he’ll obediently go sit back down whenever he’s told to :)
The moment he sees you walking out with the food, he lights up like fireworks—he even skips over to help carry the dishes, looking exactly like a kid waiting for their parents to bring home presents.
He takes the first bite with sparkling ruby eyes and a bright smile. Despite being a noble born into luxurious cuisine, Kalim genuinely appreciates simple dishes made with love. He showers you with compliments—so many that you has to keep reminding him to actually eat.
“Amazing! This is better than anything I’ve ever had! You should cook for me every day! Oh—how about a huge feast right now? I want everyone to see how incredible your cooking is!”
?If the food turns out… not good?
He’s still thrilled. Even though he grew up with life-saving food detection skills thanks to countless assassination attempts, he bravely faces the suspicious-looking dishes with a bright, unwavering smile. To him, appearance doesn’t matter—what matters is that someone he loves made it for him.
Confidently, he takes a big first bite. The smile remains, but his ruby eyes begin to water as he covers his mouth and forces himself to swallow.
“U-um… I think the flavor is… very unique, right? It reminds me of this super spicy specialty from my homeland that I had when I was a kid…”
He stubbornly tries to reach for a second bite—only for Jamil to appear out of nowhere and yank him away by the collar.
“Hold on, Jamil! I’m fine! I can eat it! Jamilllllllllllll—!”
After somehow escaping from Jamil long enough to find you again, Kalim practically apologizes non-stop, heart pounding with worry that he may have disappointed his beloved prefect.
“You really gave it your all! I’m so touched! Next time, let’s cook together, okay?”
Jamil, who arrives just in time to hear that line, nearly trips over his own feet. The poor guy absolutely does not want these two to destroy Scarabia’s kitchen again…
Jade Leech
?If the food turns out good?
Curiosity and delight are his first reactions. Jade is more than pleased when his little lover mentions wanting to cook for him.
“Of course. Just tell me if you need any ingredients.”
He doesn’t forget to casually remind you that any dish tastes better with mushrooms, wearing such a cheerful smile that it looks like he’d bring back an entire forest of fungi if you so much as nodded. (Sweetheart, haven’t we been eating mushrooms all week already?)
Seeing the neatly arranged, appetizing dishes in front of him, Jade smiles gently and compliments the presentation first.
“How promising. The colors and arrangement are beautifully balanced, my pearl.”
Elegant as always, Jade doesn’t show even a hint of surprise that you can cook well. To him, his beloved is full of mysterious, delightful potential. His composure while tasting the food feels like that of a professional judge.
But his eyes stay locked on you, as if he’s more interested in observing the prefect’s reactions than the food itself.
His compliments are detailed and precise.
“The subtle sweetness of this ingredient pairs perfectly with the acidity of the sauce… I suppose you added a touch of rosemary? What a wonderfully unexpected combination. As expected of my pearl.”
He tells you that he plans to suggest today’s dishes for the Mostro Lounge menu—and that Azul will surely agree.
?If the food turns out… not good?
His reaction is still polite—and just a bit unsettling. He keeps smiling, though his heterochromatic eyes remain sharply alert as they study something… moving inside the pitch-black dish.
He won’t say outright that it tastes bad. Instead, he’ll deflect with curiosity about the dish’s “origin.” Jade flips it delicately with his fork, examining the texture before placing it back down as though silently assessing whether his lover’s cooking has the potential to rival Pomefiore’s poison king, Vil Schoenheit. Honestly? Probably on par.
“Oh? This color is truly… vivid. I wonder, could its flavor compare to any of the peculiar mushrooms I’ve tried?”
It sounds like praise, yet absolutely does not feel like praise. You tilts your head, confused.
Facing his lover’s hopeful eyes, Jade takes only the tiniest bite he dares—and almost immediately has to grab the cup of tea he prepared in advance, taking a large sip as if his taste buds are under siege.
Jade meets your gaze and speaks softly, encouragingly… and suggestively.
“My pearl, don’t worry. Cooking is like camping in the wilderness—not every attempt goes as planned. But there is so much to learn from these… experiences. Next time, let’s cook together and share our culinary insights, shall we?”
Jade then gently suggests that they clean up together. And, for the sake of NRC’s culinary safety and peace, he ensures those “unique” dishes are disposed of thoroughly :)
synopsis: Santa hasn't been the only one keeping an eye on you tonight.
genre: crack-ish, fluff, holiday fic
word count: 5.6k
warnings: drugging, kidnapping
You’ve always thought workplace Christmas parties were a social experiment designed to punish people for having ACTUAL fun on Christmas Eve or just to establish to your boss and HR which ones would be available for overtime just because they showed up.
The music is always kept to “respectable volume” and for some odd fucking reason each song is copyright free versions of actual songs (which is just like, WHY?). It’s like being in a low-budget sitcom shot in Vancouver, Canada that can’t even afford one verse of Mariah Carey’s anthem. The games are painfully unfun—who ever decided “Guess the Christmas Movie by Emoji 🎅 🎄 🎁 ✨” as a game unironically played should be shot in the town’s square by a mall Santa that’s behind on his alimony. No, more importantly, who even decided on that game?! What is this, 8th grade? The food tastes like it was seasoned with office printer toner. Well, except for Jessica and her lemon squares. She’s actually really nice and considerate for bringing something edible for these parties every year. And the drinks—
You stare into your cup.
Cranberry juice.
Not even spiked.
“Wow,” you mutter to yourself. “They really said ‘sobriety or death’ this year. God forbid you put out a little vodka or tequila to make this shit more enjoyable…”
You’ve learned how to fake your way through these Christmas parties ages ago. You smile when someone glances your way, because that’s what “tEaM PlAyErS dO” according to your boss. You nod through shitty small talk. ‘Oh wow, you had another kid? What’s that, like you’re 6th one? Way to go, Nick Cannon.’ You laugh at jokes that died in 2012. If you had to stand there and watch another grown man pull out his phone and show you a Dat Boi meme, you were gonna go postal. You check the time on your phone for the seventeenth time and decide you can survive exactly one more hour of this before you fake an illness and vanish like a Christmas miracle.
You lift your cup and try not to gag when someone bumps into you from behind. You steady yourself quickly as the drink sloshes close to the rim. Damn. You were so close to getting out of here if you got some of the drink on you. Back to square one.
“Whoa—shit, I’m so sorry!” a deep voice apologized from behind you.
You turn, already prepared to smile and brush it off, when you see him. You’ve never seen him around the office. He’s way too cute to be an employee of this hellhole. Like he actually has his life together. Clear skin, no wrinkles, manners. Soft eyes that showed he was… what’s the word? Human? He definitely didn’t work in HR. Messy dark hair like he ran his hands through it one too many times. Which means he didn’t work in IT either. Those people down there were balding like they were 50 years olds in mid-20s bodies. A soft smile that looks both shy and thrilled to be talking to you. Okay, that clearly proves it. He definitely didn’t work here. Maybe a friend or boyfriend of one of your coworkers. He’s wearing a festive sweater that looks… handmade? There’s a crooked stitched heart with a santa hat on it.
His personality didn’t match the boring and sterile environment of your workplace. He kinda reminds you of how new hires act during their first week. Then, it’s all downhill. It’s kind of like when you spend hours upon hours building a Lego Deathstar only to have your 4 year old nephew throw it on the floor in front of you with a smile. And then he asks you to build it again.
You blink up at him, stunned for a moment. Uh, yeah. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” Your face relaxes back into stone since now you don’t have to worry about him working here.
He quickly glances you over, leaning over you from all angles like he was looking for something. You raise an eyebrow at him.
“I didn’t spill anything on you, did I?” he asks worriedly. He holds his hands out in front like he wants to touch you, but seems hesitant like he’s massaging the air.
You look down and see your office mandated business professional christmas outfit clean and pristine. Dammit. “Nope. Unfortunately.”
He tilts his head. “I’m sorry?”
You meant to say the second part in your head. “I just meant that if my clothes got ruined I could’ve used that as an excuse to leave. Curse my steady hand…” You glare down at your hand holding the cranberry juice. This hand has saved multiple drinks in your life: cocktails, daiquiris, wine, flaming shots. But now, it feels like all your training and hard work to keep a steady hand on your drunkest nights has betrayed you in the end.
You’re brought out of your thoughts when you hear a deep laugh beside you. You can’t help but stare at his laughing face. He’s covering his mouth to stifle himself, but it’s clearly not working as you see his broad shoulders shake and his melodic chuckles seem to dampen your surroundings.
“You don’t work here, do you?” you ask.
He stops laughing and stares down at you with a gentle smile. “What makes you say that?”
“You’re normal.”
“Huh?”
“You’re just like, annoyingly handsome. Like, unbearably attractive. Your smile is gorgeous, your hair is shiny, and your skin is immaculate.”
A bright red blush fleshed his cheeks making him even more adorable. “Thank you?”
“That was a compliment in case you were unaware.”
“I think I got that, but it didn’t really answer my question.”
“You’re wayyyy too attractive to be working here.”
The man raised his eyebrow in a cheeky manner like he didn’t believe you. “Well,… if that’s true…” he leaned in close to you, whispering, “Then why are you working here?”
Damn. He got you with that. Handsome and charismatic. How evil.
“The cost of living crisis has made me forgo my beauty so that I can eat and sleep under a roof.” you mutter, a bit embarrassed by the compliment.
“Hmm… I don’t think that’s true. Your beauty is the only thing that stands out in this room. And truthfully…” he glanced side-to-side and whispered closely causing you to blush even more. “I kinda bumped into you on purpose just to talk to you.”
You looked up at him in disbelief before laughing. He joined your laughter which caused a few curious glances from your co-workers.
“Well, if that’s the case, I’m glad you did. This interaction is the most fun I get out of these things.” you breathe out, leaning against the snack table.
“Glad to be of service. But, if you hate it here, why do you show up every year?”
You grimaced and shot a glare at your boss, boasting and laughing loudly with the rookies. “Because of that.”
He followed your eyeline and raised an eyebrow. “That? You mean that man?”
“Ugh, yes. He’s like… a Karen and a toxic girlfriend times a million. His father founded this company and when he retired he gave it to his son. Fuckin’ nepobaby. Anyone who doesn’t show up to these parties or “team activities” is labeled a “detrimental non-player” and is given overtime for like 6 weeks straight, even if in the lightest season.”
“Really?” he grumbled.
“Yeah, and then you’re forced to listen to this Gaslighting 101 TEDtalk from him and HR about what it means to “show up for your team” and “engage in company activities” for like 2 hours which doesn’t count as work so it’s taken out of your paycheck.”
“Then… why do you keep working here?”
You shot him a knowing look and after a while he finally understood. “Oh yeah. Cost of living.”
You sigh with a smile and bumped him gently with your arm. “So! You heard my trauma. Why’re you here? You come with somebody or just get a kick out of crashing boring parties?”
He chuckled and rubbed his neck. “I guess I came here with someone.”
“Oh, really? Like a friend or are you gonna break my heart and say you're married.”
He laughed again. “We’re definitely not friends, but we’re not exactly married either.” He looked over at you, staring into your eyes. “But, one day, I plan to make them mine. And never, ever let them leave me.”
You let out an overdramatic groan and feign heartbreak, placing your hand over your heart. “Ugh, you’re breaking my heart…! Handsome and taken? Is there no justice for poor little ol’ me?” You pretend to wipe a tear from your eye as the man laughs at your spectacular acting.
He glances at the drink station across the room. “Can I get you a drink?”
You hold back a gag and grimace your barely sipped drink. “Ugh, no thanks. I think I’ve got enough cranberry juice to last me until next Christmas.”
“Oh, trust me. This drink will taste better.” he grinned.
You gasp softly and whisper. “Do you sneak in some alcohol?”
“Something like that.”
“Sold.” you say too quickly, but you were desperate at this point. Anything was better than being sober for another 45 minutes. Before he could leave, you quickly grab his arm, missing the blush on his face. “Oh! But before you go, be careful. Alcohol and other stimulants are forbidden. If someone catches you, they’ll know you don’t work here and the boss isn’t shy about calling his cop friends to storm this building.” you whisper.
He chuckled and threw you a wink. “Don’t worry, babe. I’ll be extra careful.” Then he leaves in the direction of the drink station. You watch him mildly amused, mildly curious, but mostly just grateful something new is going to happen at these parties.
After a few minutes, he came back and handed the drink.
It looks the same. Cranberry juice.
Suspicious.
You sniff it. “What’s in it?”
He shrugged and grinned playfully. “It’s a surprise.” He looked like he was having fun.
You look at him. Then at the drink. You shrug and shoot it back like a shot. It tastes… weird? It definitely still tastes like cranberry juice, but there’s… something else. Not bad. Like your tongue and throat can’t quite keep up or decipher the taste. Kind of a bitter aftertaste.
“Huh.” you smack your lips. “It’s definitely not tequila or vodka.”
You look up at the man and see him gaping at you with a shocked look. You guess he didn’t expect you to down the entire 8 oz cup in 5 seconds. He’s definitely never seen you at Mary’s Bar on $1 shot night.
“But it doesn’t taste bad. And I can barely taste the cranberry. You got anymore?”
He stared at you in amazement before laughing. “Y/N L/N, you are seriously unbelievable.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” you shrug.
It takes you a minute before something hits you. You turn to face the laughing man.
“Did I tell you my name?” you ask, raising your eyebrow.
“Nope.” he answers quickly, putting his hand on his hip. “But, I knew it. It’s a cute name.”
“H-Huh?” You didn’t have time to brace yourself as you felt your shudder. The bad type of shudder. Like you were gonna pass out and throw up at the same time. You grabbed onto the table to stabilize yourself as your vision started to blur. You couldn’t feel your feet.
“Honestly, I didn’t expect you to down the entire cup like that. If I knew that, I would’ve put in less.”
“W-Wha…” you could barely speak. Your tongue felt like it was swelling up and you could feel drool dripping from the corner of your mouth. The nauseating feeling seemed to double as you felt your knees buckle. You felt like you were sinking into the floor. More like something was pulling you down.
“Didn’t your parents ever teach you to never take drinks from strangers?” His voice sounded muffled, like he was in another room.
The music that was obnoxiously loud before was also sounding muffled and like it was melting together, unable to discern words or melody. Every time you blinked, the fluorescent lights would blind you before going back to a hazy dark blur. Your limb felt heavy. Your body wasn’t listening to you. Every instinct to move was ignored. The only thing that didn’t feel heavy was your head. If you were to describe it in one word: floaty. Like a newborn, you didn’t have any strength to hold it up.
You blink again and find yourself in the arms of the man, his fingers tilting your chin to look up at him. Through the blur and haze, you see the look on his face–smiling softly, feigned worry, watching you very closely.
He drugged you.
“Don’t worry,” you hear him whisper. “I’ve got you.”
*****
You wake up with a pounding headache and ears ringing. You try to blink away the haze and assess your surroundings. The first thing you notice is that you can’t move your arms and legs. You look down and see that your hands and legs are bound together,… but not with tape or rope or even chains. They’re bound in red ribbons. You're bound from your ankles all the way up to your shoulders with a Christmas mega bow on your wrists. So… you can’t move. The second thing you notice is that your mouth is taped shut, but with yellow tape. From your angle it looks like a star. So… you can’t speak.
Your first thought: ‘I really need to stop taking drinks from cute guys.’
Your second thought: ‘Why does it smell like pine?’
You turn to your right and find the source.
You’re on the floor under a Christmas tree. A very nicely decorated Christmas tree. Like the kind that rich families post on their Instagram.
Whatever-his-name-is is definitely a… festive person.
As the ringing in your ears subsides, you hear music coming from behind you. You sluggishly crane your neck to look behind you and see a record player playing Christmas music.
An honest-to-god record player.
In 2025.
Not like the ones you get at Urban Outfitters either. Like an antique, passed down from generations, grandparents slow dancing in the living room record player.
And standing a few feet away from you, bathed in warm, flickering red-green-white Christmas lights, is the cute guy from the party. Singing along to the music.
“🎵 Santa Claus is comin’ to town… 🎵”
Oooh. The Jackson 5. Good taste.
He’s dancing like a child on Christmas day, excitable and light on his feet–
–aaaaand he’s covered in blood.
In this dimly lit room, your eyes track a smear across his cheek. Dark stains on his sweater. Red splashed along his hands.
You can’t help, but stare at the scene in front of you.
Just as the song ends he spins and locks eyes with you, his smile becoming bigger.
“Oh!” he breaths. He walked over to you. “You’re up!”
He kneels down next to you, his eyes shining from the glow of the Christmas lights on the tree.
“I was afraid that you wouldn’t wake up until New Years. That would be no good.” he said softly, booping your nose. “I wanted to play with my gift all day tomorrow, but you can’t exactly do that if the present doesn’t respond. That would be no fun.”
He smoothed your hair and cupped your cheek, leaving streaks of blood on you. Gross.
“Are you okay, sweetheart? Need anything? Water? A pillow? Cookies? It’s a little drafty down here so maybe some hot cocoa?”
Hold up.
Pause.
Rewind.
He’s got hot cocoa AND cookies?! You wonder if they have tiny marshmallows in them. Pfft! Of course he would put tiny marshmallows in it! What kind of self-respecting person with a soul wouldn’t put tiny marshmallows in hot cocoa?! He’s not a fucking animal.
“Phuu mfp mmpees?!”
The cute guy placed a finger over your taped mouth. “Shh shh shh… Quiet, darling. There’s no need to scream. You’re safe here.”
“Mmp mm mmsnt–” Your head is suddenly jostled as he grips your face roughly.
“I said quiet.” he growled, his face inches from yours.
You nod fervently, kind of liking this dommy attitude. Damn your personality. Finding weird shit hot.
He chuckled softly with a smile. “That’s my good baby. I always knew you were obedient.”
If he didn’t just tell you to be quiet, you’d be freaking out for a very different reason.
Cute guy buried his face into your neck, making you squirm as his breath and lips brushed against you. He held you tight as you squirmed against him.
“Be still.”
And still you were.
He sniffs you. Aggressively. Like he’s trying to bottle your scent into his nose.
“I’ve imagined this so many times. To think you’d willingly drink from that cup.” he laughs against your skin. “I didn’t think you’d be so naive. I’m glad you are. Because now… you’re here. I watched you every day—preparing for this very moment. The moment where you finally become mine.” He laughs breathlessly, raising his head to stare at you lovingly. “This was all I wanted for Christmas. Just you. Under my tree. Under me.”
You blink up at him. ‘What is bro yapping about?’
You lightly tap his arm to get his attention. He looks down at your hands and then at you. You point at your mouth.
“Ooh… you have something to say?” he grins slyly.
You nod, following his order of not speaking.
He hesitates, reading your face thinking it could be a trick. Then, he carefully presses a finger to the tape, smearing more blood on the tape. “If I take this off… you won’t scream or yell, right?”
You nod again, showing your pinky as some sort of promise which makes him smile.
He peels the tape off with painstaking care.
You breathe out a breath you didn’t notice you were holding, look him dead in the eyes, and say:
“What kind of cookies?”
Dead silence. Well, except for The Jackson 5 album playing in the background.
“Cookies…?”
“Yeah,” you say nonchalantly. “You mentioned cookies earlier. Is it chocolate chips or raisins? Or did you mean gingerbread man cookies? Because I’d eat either–well, except for raisin cookies. I don’t like those.”
A beat passes and then he laughs. That soft laugh from the party. You’re starting to click together why you took a drink from him.
“They are chocolate chip cookies, however, if you want some gingerbread men I’d gladly make them for you.”
“Sick!” you cheer, tapping your feet in excitement. “Can I have two?”
“For you?” he says, standing up. “You can have as many as you want.”
You rock back and forth on your bed. “Cool! Oh! And some of that hot cocoa you mentioned too!”
He smiled down at you, but you can see in his eyes that he was still wearily of you.
“Sure,” he replied to your orders. “But don’t move.”
You look down at your bound body. Then back at him. You threw him a look. “Where am I going?”
Soon, he returned with a plate of cookies and a steaming cup of hot cocoa making you tap your feet in excitement again. He kneels beside you again and tenderly raises a cookie to your lips. You take note of his clean hands, face, and changed sweater.
“Say ‘aaahhh’.” he grins.
As embarrassing as it was, you swallowed your pride and took a bite of the cookie. Your eyes widen at the taste and chocolatey goodness warming your tongue and greedily take another bite.
“Oh my god!” you shout, mouth full. “This is fucking bomb! It’s so soft and gooey!”
He laughs as you finish the cookie. “I’m glad you like it. It took me forever to get them exactly how you like them.” He then raises the hot cocoa to your lips.
You take a sip without hesitation and your whole body shudders. The good kind of shudder.
“Oh my god…” you gasp. “This is… I can’t… words…”
This wasn’t instant hot chocolate. That instant shit couldn’t hold a candle to the heaven you just drank. This was pure chocolate. Like ‘double boiling cooking bittersweet chocolate over a stove and mixed with cream’ type of hot chocolate. The type of hot chocolate that you always plan to make during winter, but never do because you’re lazy.
“I wanna fuck this hot cocoa–no! I wanna make love to this hot cocoa. Get married, have 3 babies, and retire in Fiji with this hot cocoa.”
Yami lets out a boisterous laugh and sets the cup down. “I see you still haven’t learned your lesson.”
You raise an eyebrow and he points at the cup. “Taking drinks from strangers. Naughty puppy~.”
“Well, I’m already here. Probability states that you most likely won’t drug me again.”
“That’s not how probability works.”
You reply with a half-hearted meh and turn your attention back to the room. It was pretty bare with stairs leading upstairs leading you to believe you were in a basement. Seems about right.
“So.” you began as the man was readying another cookie to your lips. “You own a record player.”
He smiles and continues to feed you the cookie. “I do. It belonged to my grandparents.”
“I knew it.” you muttered, chewing. “So. You know my name, can I ask for my kidnapper’s name or is that a secret like what was in that drink?”
He smiles, like he’s delighted that you finally asked. “I’m Yami Ai, but to you it’s only Ai. Got it?”
You swallow your cookie. “Yes sir. Whatever you say.” He definitely knows which buttons to push to get you to behave.
He watches you carefully as he feeds you another cookie. “You’re… not scared.”
“Well… considering the circumstances, you’d think so.” you shrug. “But honestly, it’s kind of my fault for trusting a sexy 6 foot man who snuck into an office Christmas party to not be insane. Plus, I really should stop taking drinks from people, not just good-looking guys.”
“You take drinks from people often?” he asked, concern laced in his voice.
“I’m literally like a dog. If you put something in front of me, I’m going to put it in my mouth.”
Yami snorts in disbelief. “Looks like I’ll have to keep a close eye on this greedy puppy.” He ruffles your hair, unknowingly unlocking another trait in you.
“So… I’m assuming that the person you were talking about at the party was me, right?”
“Correct.”
“But… why me? I mean, look at you and look at me. You could honestly do better.”
Yami stares at you tenderly. If this were an anime he’d have hearts in his eyes.
“I’ve been watching you,” he admits softly. “For months. Maybe even longer than that. I know everything about you. What you like, what you dislike. Your favorite streaming services. Where you live. Where your parents live. Your internet history–”
“Woah woah woah! Pump the brakes! Don’t out me like this!” you shout, extremely embarrassed and anxious about what he’s seen.
“You know a VPN doesn’t exactly keep you safe from everything–”
“I said OKAY! God! What are you, the feds?!” Your face is as bright red as the ornament on the tree. You want to die on the spot.
Yami laughs again and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.
“I fell in love with you at first sight when I saw you at that matchmaking party.”
“Matchmaking party? I don’t remember you at a matchmaking party. I definitely would’ve gone home with you if you were.”
“I wasn’t there.” he chuckled. “I was at the next table.”
“Oooh. Yeah, I remember. One of my friends called me saying they needed another person to make it even.”
“I remember when I first laid eyes on you. You were so perfect. You didn’t pay any of those people any mind. You sat there, bored, scrolling through TikTok on loud volume.”
“I refuse to lower my volume if nothing exciting is happening.”
Yami laughs again. “That's exactly what you said that time too. Your friends looked embarrassed and the others looked awkward as they tried to continue the conversation over the tiktoks you were laughing at. But, you didn’t look embarrassed. You looked so content. Full of pride.”
“That was false pride. I just don’t like talking to people.”
“After that moment, I started following you. Seeing how you are. Turns out, you’re just as grumpy and stubborn you were that day. Never talking to people unless you had to, putting on fake smiles to put up appearances, throwing away flowers that were left at your desk, flipping off your boss when he turned his back, putting sriracha in his coffee when he wasn’t looking…”
“Sooooo… you fell in love with me… because… I’m a bitchy introvert?”
“That’s one of the reasons. And with Christmas coming up, I thought it was no better time than to steal you away.”
You scoff. “Oh then dude! If that’s the case, you should’ve just said so! If you had just told me to come with you I would’ve done that in a heartbeat.”
He freezes., his face going stoic. “…I could have?”
“Hell yeah!” you confirm. “I fucking haaatee those parties! If you had just said, “Hey, I really like you. Wanna go back to my place. I made chocolate chip cookies and hot cocoa with real chocolate.” I would be in your car before you could even finish that sentence.”
Yami goes silent for a while before speaking again. “So, if any other guy said that to you you would’ve gone with them?”
You feel like you triggered a death flag.
“If any of those bastards in there said that to you you would’ve slept with them? Answer me.”
It takes you a beat to realize.
Ooooh.
He thinks you're desperate.
“Oh, Ai. I’m not desperate.” you reassure. “I’m just pathetic. Really pathetic. Like extremely. Like ‘put me in your car, take me home, and take care of me for the rest of my life’ pathetic.”
Yami’s silence speaks volumes.
“But if you’re asking if I would’ve gone home with those people, then no, like ew. Gross. You couldn’t pay me to sleep with those creatures.”
Yami looks deeply in your eyes like he’s trying to catch you in a lie. “Is that true?”
You Jim-face him. “Did you see those people I work with? Like, gun to my head, maybe Jessica? But that’s only because I’m really into the motherly type.”
Yami grins. “I know. Remember? I saw your internet his–”
Yami starts to laugh and soon you start to laugh with him too. Silence falls again as Yami holds you close. The both of you listening to The Jackson 5 Christmas album. Everything feels… content.
“Heyyy soo… I hate to break up this wonderful moment, but I need to pee.”
*****
“Do I really have to wear this?!” you call out from the bathroom.
“Yes darling! It’s Christmas tradition!” Yami called back.
You exit out of the bathroom in a handmade Christmas sweater that Yami made for you. It fit perfectly. You wonder if he took your measurements while you were asleep. As soon as the thought enters your mind you know that he did. The smell of gingerbread wafts your nose and the melody of a Nat King Cole record fills you with true Christmas spirit.
You enter the living room and hear sounds coming from the kitchen. The cookies must almost be ready. You take a seat on the couch and stare at the fireplace. This reminds you of Christmas with your family. Playing with your cousins outside in the snow. Your mom and aunts making Christmas dinner. Your dad and uncles watching the football game. Your older cousins taking a “walk” in 30° degree weather. You should give them a call sometime.
You look down at the coffee table and see a phone. You pick it up and on closer inspection it seems to be busted, not even turning on. It must be yours. Yami must’ve busted it so no one can track you. If Yami kept to his word at the party, you were never, ever leaving his side. Not like you’d complain. Someone wanting to take care of you and you never have to leave the house? Sounds like jackpot. You look around the room and see your bag. After being forced to give your phone number to your boss as a way of “keeping tabs on team players”, you bought a flip phone so that you can keep your real friends’ and family contacts in it and give you some peace on the weekends when you “accidentally” leave your phone at home. After scrummaging around in your bag for a while you finally find it, your faithful Motorola Razr. It’s still fine. Yami didn’t find it or probably didn’t even know it existed.
You flip it open.
“What are you doing?”
You look behind you to see a not-so-jolly Yami glaring down at you. Well, more likely your phone. You hop up and show him your phone.
“Ai, look!”
He glared at you for a while then at your phone.
12:01 a.m.
“It’s Christmas!” you cheer.
Yami’s face softens as he takes the phone out of your hands.
“Yeah, it is.” he smiles.
You don’t know what comes over you. Maybe it was the Christmas spirit. Maybe it was the cookies and hot cocoa. Maybe it was the adrenaline from all that’s happened.
You stand on your tip-toes and place a kiss on Yami’s cheek. He looked down at you, stunned.
“Merry Christmas, Ai!” you smile, blush on your cheeks.
Yami’s face explodes into red as he smiles happily. “You missed.” He pointed at his lips.
Blushing even harder and swallowing your embarrassment, you stand on your tip-toes again and kiss him gently on the lips. You feel him smile into the kiss and kisses you back passionately, putting his hands on your waist and pulling you closer.
He pulls back inches away from your lips, his face just as flushed as yours. “Merry Christmas, darling~♡”
You don’t have time to think as he lifts you off your feet and carries you to the couch. He sits down and places you on his lap, hands gripped on your hips like you’re not allowed to leave for anything. He looks down at your phone and grins cheekily.
“A flip phone?”
You feign a gasp and grab the flip phone with a playful pout. “You have an antique record player. I have a flip phone. So we both have unique tastes.”
He laughs and bumps your head gently. “I guess we do.” He’s silent for a while before speaking again. “You know… I’m gonna have to take it away.”
“Not my baby!” You hold your flip phone close to your chest.
“Darling… how do I know you won’t call someone to escape?”
“Escape from what? A life of doing nothing, but sitting and looking cute? I’d be an idiot to leave this place. You know where I live! Well, used to live. And where I used to work. And you’re promising a life where I don’t have to go back to that stuff? I can’t go back!”
You grab Yami’s face gently and look longingly into his eyes. “I won’t go back.” you state sternly, reassuring him.
Yami’s eyes soften and he stares at your flip phone. Then back at you. If you wanted to escape, you would’ve done it when he was untying you or when you were in the bathroom. He sighed softly.
“Fine… you can keep the flip phone.”
“Yes!” You pump your fist and kiss your Motorola Razr like it was seconds from being ripped from your grasp. Well, it was going to be, but details.
“But, I’m looking through it and anything I see that I don’t like, I’m deleting it. Worse, I’ll break it.”
“Yes sir!”
Yami chuckles at you calling him ‘sir’. He might keep that in his pocket for later.
As you both hold onto each other, you relax into the sounds of the crackling fireplace and warm scratches from the record player. You’ve had many shitty Christmases as an adult, but this one is one for the books. Santa must’ve been keeping a close eye on you.
He knew that you always wanted a yandere boyfriend for Christmas.
A loud pop from the fireplace brings you out of your thoughts. You look over and see one particular log throwing tiny sparks. An oddly shaped log. A log that looks… familiar.
“Ai… did you break into my house–”
“Yes, I did.” he answers, his lips brushing against your neck. He doesn’t even look up.
“Did you throw my vibra–”
“Yes, I did.” he cuts you off, kissing your neck. “I’m the only pleasure you need. You don’t need fakes.”
Throwing your horny thoughts aside—how did he know that your neck was sensitive?—You cup his face.
“Baby. Sweetie. Honey.”
“I like it when you call me that.”
“You do know that vibrators have batteries in them? Like, lithium batteries, right?”
He looks at you.
Then at the fireplace.
A loud pop shakes the fire, causing both of you to jump in surprise.
“Okay, okay! Let’s go get some water!” he shakes, rising up from the couch steadily with you in his arms.
A bang erupts from the fireplace.
“Hurry hurry! Before the house blows up!”
Yep. A Christmas for the books.
🔪🔪🔪
a/n: hey guys. merry extremely late christmas. kind of a vent (so ignore if you don't care): i haven't been updating and that was mostly due to me working long hours. well, about a month ago i lost my job. i didn't expect to feel depressed about it, but i am. and it got me thinking lately. am i really good at anything? i really like writing and i know you guys like it but this time of reprieve got me thinking. i'm not good at speaking up when things get tough. this time i've had to myself had me questioning if writing is the only thing i'm good at. but i'm not good with schedules. i make mistakes. sometimes i let myself speak instead of the reader. what if one day i make something and it sucks? would i try again or just fall back into depression? i want to make things that make people laugh, smile, and cry. but what if that's not good enough? what if i'm not good enough? kinda self-deprecating i know, but i've been thinking about this for a while and i can only express like true feelings in my writing. sorry for the long vent post. i'm trying my best to kick this feeling in the ass and post stuff i hope you guys enjoy. enjoy your holidays!
Ok, here’s another one that’s going to get a little wacky. As a reminder never look for canon here, for I do not know her.
We are going to start today's madness with some build up before the main event. It is important to me that you understand that in this one, Tim Drake does not take after Bruce Wayne. Tim Drake takes after Alfred (feral planners, whose truest love and calling is to care for their loved ones, coated in a veneer of respectability). In fact it is Alfred who teaches Bruce how to prepare for any eventuality.
And the Tim of this universe is prepared for any eventuality. Including having a plan for ‘Jason has come back from the dead, has been lied to, appears to hate the family, and is trying to attack me for taking Robin’. So Jason attacks Titan’s Tower and is very surprised to find that, instead of beating up Robin, he finds himself being dragged back to that Manor by an excited Tim Drake (No matter how long or short after the fact, Jason is still not sure how they got from Jason wanting to beat up a teen to being convinced to come home).
Jason, Dick, and Bruce all bond over the abrupt realization that Alfred and Tim are absolutely feral and that if either decided to go rogue the universe was screwed. They also realize that it is part of their Vigilante assigned duty to keep Both Tim and Alfred from needing to take over the world.
This helps stabilize the relationships among the Batfam, this common goal. So by the time Damian arrives, their relationships are much stronger. Bruce, Dick, Steph, Cass, and Jason each try to talk Damian out of his assassination attempts (more for Damian’s health than Tims). Tim, because Damian is now his brother and is 10 years old, allows Damian two assaination attempts without consequence. Damian’s third, and final, attempt ended with a finger broken on Damian’s non-dominant hand…and no proof that Tim caused it.
Because of this stronger, more stable relationship Tim was actually able to pass Robin on to Damian before the Darksied happened. Tim took up Red Robin with Jason’s approval.
Darksied sends Bruce on his bounce through time. There are still rumblings of what could become a war for the cowl (including Cass, this time because grief can do weird things to people and I think she should get to throw her hand into the ring), but instead Tim finds the clues Bruce had been leaving. And this is where the biggest departure comes.
Because all of the Bats are there, and they believe Tim. They have no reason not to (I will get to that in just a minute). In fact, they all treat this revelation as a relief and begin to work out a schedule for keeping up the Batman pretense until Bruce can be retrieved.
Dick as Batman goes to the Justice League (during a JL meeting) with the news that Bruce is lost in time, and they need substantial Justice League resources (and realistically it would need to be substantial and/or unique resources, or Tim would have used WE industries or his own resources) to retrieve him. And look, Dick looked at none of Tim’s evidence so when asked how the Bats know, Dick as Batman answers immediately with ‘Oh, Red Robin said’.
The other members of the Justice League glanced at each other. It is Diana that very gently brings up that Wonder Girl had told her that Red Robin had been very intent on cloning Superboy, trying to avoid outright saying that it seemed like Tim might have lost touch with reality in his grief. Everyone very kindly ignored Superman’s flinch at the mention of both his dead mentee and cloning.
The Justice League gets to watch as Dick misses the point so completely that they can practically see it over the pointy ears of his cowl. He actually perks up and goes ‘Oh yeah, he mentioned having Ivy check over his methodology for that. She said it looked good but her specialty is plant genetics’. Like that is not an objectively insane thing to say.
From Dicks, and in fact most if not all people who spend enough time in Gotham, perspective Tim was not insane for his attempts to clone Conner. He had a plan to mitigate harm for innocents (potentially viable clones who were not Conner), was not attacking/involving other people, had another affiliated expert look at his work before he pushed the big red button, and he even stopped when it was pointed out that it would have been against Conner wishes. To a Gothamite that means Tim is practically reasonable in his 99 attempts to clone Conner.
The Justice League can only conclude, after some carefully phrased questions, that the Batfam have unfortunately lost touch with reality due to grief, understandable grief but also very out of touch. Dick does not realize this is what is being thought, as he is just so relieved that they are on track to get Bruce back that he does not hear the incredulity in the questions, until a majority vote rejects the use of JL resources for the purpose of searching for the former Batman in time (it should be noted that The Flash-Barry- and Superman both voted to try. Diana abstained).
We are going with the idea that it is more than just massive resources or expertise that the JL would provide, but some resource, item, or device, that is unique to the Justice League that cannot be procured by any individual member.
So Dick has to go back to 3 family members (Jason, Cass, Damian) who have all had significant exposure to Lazarus water, which is known for emotional outburst overriding common sense, Steph the daughter of a supervillain (Arthur Brown may have been a d rate supervillain, he was still a supervillain), Barbara the all knowing Oracle (whose morals have adjusted to working with former Rogues) and her cadre of Birds of Prey, and possibly the 2 most frightening people on the planet (Tim and Alfred) with the news that the JL will not help them. This is also Dick, whose anger issues and need for revenge built Robin.
The only restriction that Dick manages to get them all to agree on is that they will not make trouble for Superman, Flash, or Wonder Woman (Jason throwing his own support in no trouble for Diana). Then, with full and loving knowledge of what he was doing, Dick set them all loose upon the world (making it clear to the JL that Bruce is the only one who could reign them in).
It takes six weeks before the decision to help find Bruce and retrieve him from the timestream is approved. In that time:
Cass and Steph become the rulers of a small country, ruling with an iron fist but enough morals that most of the populace loved them.
Jason, with the Outlaws, managed to take out the League of Assassins (and incidentally managed to humiliate not one but three different Green Lanterns, mostly by accident).
Damian met, became offended by, and dismantled a faux government organization in the midwest in possibly the most attention attacking way he could.
Oracle wrote and released a highly tailored virus that released random ‘scandalous but not overall dangerous’ secrets on a schedule for every politician in the world. Her Birds of Prey kept Gotham running, along with Batman!Dick. At some point during this time the Joker ended up dead, but no one is admitting to who did.
Tim and Alfred did indeed become a major world power within the first three weeks. It wasn’t until week four that they gained nuclear power status, but quickly had a seat offered to them at the UN. They had just started considering if they should be expanding into the reaches of space when the JL capitulated.
Bruce is brought back into a world where his kids are more feared than he is.
