yami ai [yandere] - my christmas present♡
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–”
“LALALALALALAICAN’THEARYOUICAN’THEARYOULALALALALALALA!!”
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!
