#Challenges of Growing Christmas Trees

[plutotheplum]

Winter's Kiss

sylus x fem!reader

summary: luke and kieran rope you into spending christmas at the n109 zone (and kissing their boss).

cw: fluff, soft!sylus, kissing under the mistletoe, luke and kieran being idiots, found family

wc: 2.7k

a/n: merry christmas eve/christmas my lovelies!! some fluff for the holiday season! here's to hoping sylus turns up under our christmas trees :)

also on ao3!

Somehow, you’d ended up in the N109 Zone for Christmas.

It wasn’t like the barrage of texts from Luke and Kieran had weighed upon your decision, the rapid influx of messages from the twins demanding your presence for Christmas. That coupled with the image of Sylus alone on Christmas night hadn’t made your stomach churn and heart ache at all.

The year had been a tumultuous one. Wanderers, disturbing visions and wanted criminals had you on edge these past few months, so perhaps unwinding with said, now somewhat mellow, wanted criminals was warranted in some way. 

You heft the presents under your arms, moving your fingers to stabilize the wrapped goods when you feel one of them begin to slip. Shopping hadn’t been too difficult, although choosing a gift for Sylus had proved to be somewhat of a challenge. You weren’t sure whether to get him something heartfelt or to gift him a refurbished gun with new prototyped features that were advertised to the Hunter Association. 

The glittering streams of tinsel drags you out of your thoughts, a smile pulling at your lips as you imagine Luke, Kieran and Sylus decorating. You hear panicked, hushed whispers when you turn the corner, a laugh spilling out of you when you see the sight before you.

Luke perched atop Kieran’s shoulders, Kieran grumbling irritatedly when Luke flails and misses the tip of the Christmas tree, the golden star falling off only for Kieran to shift and have Luke catch it.

“It’s not that hard, you idiot,” Kieran grunts, his knees bending in an attempt to readjust to Luke’s weight.

“Then you try!” Luke protests.

“I thought you two were meant to be in tune,” you muse, stepping closer, over the strewn wrapping paper and bending down to add your presents to the growing collection under the Christmas tree. 

“We are,” they both say in unison, their eyes landing on you.

“You made it!” Luke says happily, squirming, “Boss will be glad.”

“ Really glad,” Keiran adds, his annoyance forgotten momentarily. “We’re glad too.”

You smile at them, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s nice to see you guys too. Maybe you should try holding the star at the tip, Luke?”

“That’s what I told him!” Kieran says, letting out an aggrieved sigh. 

Luke huffs indignantly, adjusting his position yet again as Keiran steps closer to the tree, giving Luke some more leverage. It’s another failed attempt and Kieran is rolling his eyes, dumping Luke onto his feet unceremoniously. 

“You do me now.”

“What about her?” Luke asks, pointing at you.

“You could ask Mephisto,” you offer, pointing at the mechanical crow that was currently preening his feathers. “What do you say, buddy?”

Mephisto gives an indignant squawk, his little head turning away arrogantly, tending to his feathers with care.

“Nevermind,” you sigh, before looking towards the twins. “Kieran is taller than me, though.”

“Just get on,” Luke whines as he bends his knees, waiting for you to climb up onto his shoulders.

You open your mouth to protest, but there’s a warm hand curling over your hip, pulling you back gently, flush against a firm chest. “Let’s not badger our guest, hm?”

Deep and velvety, you have no doubts as to who this voice belongs to. Your head tilts back to find Sylus smirking down at you, his expression amused.

“Glad you could join us, sweetie. The N109 Zone isn’t usually so… festive.”

“Yeah, well, apparently you were missing me, so I figured I’d drop in,” you tease, a sly smile spreading across your face.

Luke and Kieran snicker until Sylus’ stern expression silences them, his hand squeezing at your hip in warning.

“I never said that.”

“Must’ve been the wind,” you murmur.

“Right,” Sylus deadpans.

You squeak when the red mist wraps around you, lifting you off of the ground, the golden star being thrust into your hand by the same swirling mist. The trio of men beneath you seem amused as the tendrils sweep you higher, closer to the top of the tree, giving you enough height to place the star right where it needs to be.

Sylus’ Evol dissipates as it sets you down onto your feet, the mist sweeping across playfully and making your dress flutter. 

“That’s one way to do it,” Kieran remarks, slinging his arm over Luke’s shoulders before they shoot each other knowing glances and disappear from the living room.

“You came,” Sylus says once the twins have left, his arms crossing over his chest.

“I did,” you reply, peering up at him, your hands clasping behind your back, “too bad you never sent me a personal invitation.” Sylus smiles, and you can’t help but think he looks softer in this light, the ruthless leader of Onychinus replaced by a man who seems less intense and more accommodating than usual.

“I figured Luke and Kieran would’ve gotten through to you,” he muses, his head tilting as he lets his gaze dip over you.

You do the same, taking in his sweater and trousers, trying to quell the inconvenient yet undeniable pull of attraction you feel towards him. 

“Well, they did,” you sigh, managing to drag your gaze back up to meet his, “although I can’t say I appreciated how many texts they sent.”

“The twins tend to get excited,” Sylus replies, reaching out towards you, his fingers tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

It’s hard to not notice how Sylus’ touch lingers for a moment, his expression looking a little absent-minded as though remembering something from the past. Your brows furrow, unable to decide between asking him or letting his touch linger further. His hand drops away after a few moments before he clears his throat. 

“I made dinner,” he announces.

You laugh, eyes lighting up at the thought of Sylus in the kitchen. You don’t quite believe him though, not when Sylus had enough money to hire at least a dozen personal chefs.

“You’re not serious,” you say, head tilting in amusement.

“I am,” Sylus smirks, his hand landing on your lower back as he guides you forward, towards the hallway, “Luke and Kieran pitched in.”

“Now I feel special,” you muse.

“I suppose you are,” Sylus replies, his expression sobering, “to all of us.”

You’re taken aback by the sincerity in his words, heart giving way to a flutter that you attempt to squash down by pinching yourself, not that it helps. This sense of belonging isn’t what you’d planned on, warmth blooming in your chest as you stare up at Sylus and remember the twins. It’s nice, really, to be valued like this. You can’t help but think you could get used to it. 

Laughter echoes through the hallway as you and Sylus move through it. You startle when Kieran shouts, his voice urgent. 

“Don’t move!”

“Oh, look at that ,” Luke sighs dramatically, feigning innocence as he peers upwards, directing his gaze above you and Sylus.

Bewilderment flashes across your face until you hear Sylus let out a low laugh. You tip your head back, eyes narrowing when you spy the sprig of mistletoe hanging right above where you’re standing. Mephisto adds in something that sounds like a suspiciously happy squawk, and you stare at the crow, realising you’ve been betrayed. 

“Funny,” you say drily, shaking your head. 

Kieran sighs just like Luke, as though he can’t quite believe the situation. The cunning expression in their eyes gives them away. 

Devious, little brats.

“Well, you can’t move now,” Luke says, sounding positively aggrieved. 

“I suppose you’ll just have to kiss, isn’t that right?” Kieran says, looking towards Luke. Luke nods, a self-satisfied smile settling on his face. “Those are the rules.”

“What rules?” you shoot back, glaring at the pair of twins, “there are no rules. I could quite literally just walk away.”

“Christmas tradition !” Luke and Kieran both argue, their faces looking a little crestfallen when they hear the tone of your voice, “you have to kiss!”

You can feel your heart twinge at the earnest tone present in their voices, your eyes flickering up to meet Sylus’. Strangely enough, he doesn’t seem to have any protests, his gaze boring down into yours expectantly. 

“You seriously have nothing to say?” you grouse, head tilting.

“It’s just a kiss, sweetie,” he replies, his arm wrapping around your waist to bring you closer to him. “What’s the matter, hm? Afraid you’ll fall for me?”

“The thought is laughable,” you retort, trying to ignore the soothing squeeze of his hand against your side; the unrelenting warmth that was currently seeping into you and melting your hardened resolve.

“I suppose we’ll find out,” Sylus murmurs, his fingers gripping your chin to tilt your head. “We have time.”

“Move a little to the right!” Kieran calls out, waving his hand.

“What for?” you ask exasperatedly, feeling Sylus step closer, moving you with him.

“For- for the aesthetic !” Luke huffs out.

The twins look a little impatient as you stare at them, your brows furrowing further when you see Kieran whisper something to Luke.

Sylus doesn’t let you dwell longer on the twins’ antics, his calloused hand cupping your cheek to turn you towards him. 

“Merry Christmas, sweetie.”

Your eyes flutter shut as his lips slot over yours, your hand curling around his wrist. Sylus kisses you like he means it, lips soft yet insistent, his thumb smoothing over your cheek. You forget where you are momentarily, knees feeling weak as you fist his sweater pulling him closer, rising up on the tips of your toes to meet his kiss better.

Sylus tilts his head, deepening the kiss. Your stubborn resolve weakens pitifully and you can only think about how perfect this moment is, how good Sylus’ lips feel, how warm his embrace is-

There’s a blinding array of flashes, white sparking out from under your closed eyelids until your eyes snap open, head turning to the side to find both Luke and Kieran with cameras in hand.

“Oh, shit,” Luke begins.

“I thought the flash was off,” Kieran mutters, frowning.

You grit your teeth, taking one step towards them, your eyes narrowing. “Give that to me.”

Luke and Kieran hug their cameras to their chest protectively.

“Christmas memories,” Luke laughs nervously when he sees the determination in your eyes. “Wouldn’t- wouldn’t want to lose those.”

Kieran nods in agreement.

“Boss!” They cry out when the cameras get swept out of their hands by Sylus’ Evol, one of them landing in your hands.

You click through the images, heat blossoming in your stomach when you see how intimate the kiss looks, Sylus’ body pressed firmly against yours, his hand on your cheek. It’s romantic, your somewhat eager response, Sylus’ tight hold, all captured closely through the lens.

“‘s nice,” Sylus murmurs, his chest pressing up against your back as he peers down at the little camera screen.

“ No ,” you shake your head vehemently, “it’s not nice.”

“We look good,” he whispers, his voice dropping lower, lips brushing over the shell of your ear.

You try to ignore the way his hands feel on your hips, his body pressing a little closer into yours. It’s hard not to agree with him the longer you stare at the images though, you do look good, and Luke’s interjection about Christmas memories has you feeling a little forgiving. 

“Fine, keep them,” you sigh, handing the camera back to Luke whilst Sylus does the same to Kieran, “but don’t share them, please.”

Luke and Kieran nod enthusiastically and you snag onto Kieran’s arm before he can leave, your voice dropping to a low whisper.

“Send them to me,” you whisper, “and not a word to anyone.”

Kieran smiles deviously and you roll your eyes, reaching up to ruffle his hair. 

“You’re such a jerk, Kieran.”

“C’mon,” he whines, “you love us.”

You smile up at him, your arm hooking with his. “Maybe just a little.”

He snorts and you let out a laugh, following after Luke and Sylus who had left earlier, talking about something else. Dinner goes smoothly enough and you refuse to tell Luke and Kieran what their presents are, despite their whining.

You feed Mephisto little bites of your food, your finger petting his little feathery head gently every now and then. He preens at the attention, letting out an odd sounding chirp every now and then when you tap his little beak and offer him some more food.

Sylus is seated beside you and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to stop stealing glances at the side of his face. The longer you stare, the more you can feel yourself falling deeper, a pressing crisis unfolding in your mind. 

Fuck . You think you might like him.

Deep rooted feelings of yearning never lead to any good, and yet, you were too impatient not to act on them.You wait patiently, fingers playing with themselves in your lap, for the perfect opportunity. 

It presents itself when Luke and Kieran break out into an insignificant quarrel, their eyes moving elsewhere. Sylus is already looking towards you and you’re leaning forward, cupping the back of his head to bring him closer, lips meeting his in a slow, sweet kiss. 

“What was that for?” Sylus murmurs when you break away, his eyes roving over the flush settling on your cheeks.

“No reason,” you reply nonchalantly, leaning back in your chair.

Sylus scoffs out a laugh, behaving seemingly unaffected. There’s a light flush dusted across his cheeks however, his tongue darting out to taste the remnants of you on his lips.

“This is for no reason too,” he says, grabbing your chin and pulling you closer.

You sigh contentedly when he kisses you, arms wrapping around his neck, your lips working against his a little feverishly as though you can’t get enough.

A cacophony of protests breaks out from the twins when they see you and Sylus kissing at the table.

“Gross! Get a room!”

You roll your eyes, breaking away from Sylus to peer over at them. 

“You were the ones that made us kiss,” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Yeah, we didn’t mean all the time,” Luke corrects.

“Deal with it,” Sylus interrupts, brushing a kiss to your cheek.

You hum happily, Sylus’ hand warm as it encases yours under the table. Luke pouts and Kieran mirrors him, both of them slumping back in their chairs.

You and Sylus get a little more privacy when you step outside, snow dusting across both of you, covering the shrubbery and trees. Mephisto swoops through the air, his mechanical wings flapping as he lands on a tree branch above. The icy chill of the wintery air isn’t so bad, not when Sylus is stepping up behind you, his chin resting on your shoulder as he holds you close to him.

“It was bound to happen,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek again as you stare up at the night sky, glittering with stars.

“You seem awfully sure of yourself,” you reply, squeezing his forearms.

“Let’s just say… I had an inkling. I know you, sweetie.”

“I don’t understand what you mean sometimes,” you sigh, peering up at him, head resting on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to,” he whispers, dropping a kiss to your temple.

You sway gently in his arms, pressing yourself closer, eyes slipping shut. You’d kill for more moments of peace like this.

It never seems to last for long.

The beginnings of torn wrapping paper begin to fill your ears and you peek through the glass window to find the twins tearing at their presents.

“Oh, these are sick !” Luke announces, beginning to twirl around the pair of knives you had gotten him.

“They have to wait!” you protest, reaching for the door, “Sylus, they have to wait!”

“Let them,” Sylus murmurs, dragging you back into his arms, his chest rumbling with laughter.

You can’t help but let out an exasperated noise, smiling up at him. Sylus lowers his head and you nudge your nose against his gently, pressing a tender kiss to his lips.

“What?” he asks quietly when you trace the curve of his cheek, your fingers splaying across his skin.

You kiss him again, revelling in the softness of his eyes when you pull apart. There's a strange warmth in your chest, an unknown pull in the back of your mind as though something familiar were evading you.

You feel like you know him too.

“Merry Christmas, Sylus.”

[ceilidho]

prompt: IKEA soap/reader fic. PART 3. (read 1, 2) tags: dubcon

-

The Christmas party presents a whole new challenge in trying to ward Johnny off.

It’s hard because at first you almost gravitate towards him, weirdly enchanted by his ugly sweater with red reindeer on the sleeves. It’s only when he finally spots you—and you shudder when you notice the way his eyes scan across the crowd of other employees, seeking you out—and he practically lights up that you snap back to reality.

He blazes a path towards you like a heat seeking missile, dodging around your other coworkers. You stand there awkwardly as he cuts across the room, wondering if maybe you should’ve just texted your manager some excuse about feeling sick and stayed home. Too late now though. 

Fortunately for you, the assistant manager intercepts before Johnny’s able to make it halfway across the room, stepping between the two of you like they don’t even realize they’ve interrupted anything. There’s a split second where you can see Johnny wrestle with the urge to push them aside, fury clear in his eyes. Maybe only to you. The assistant manager opens their mouth and talks like nothing’s amiss, like it isn’t clear that Johnny is only a handful of seconds away from causing serious harm.

Then it passes; recedes into the dark. Johnny’s blue eyes go pellucid again, unbothered by the real world. The smile that spreads across his face seems sincere; if you hadn’t been watching him that entire time, you might not have even thought that he’d harboured any violence inside of him. 

You saw it though. You saw it.

It makes sense in the context of his background. You’d never given the ex-military thing much thought, but every so often you can almost feel the ghost of its presence in the back of your mind. When his reflexes kick in or the gleam in his eyes grows dark. He doesn’t ever talk about his past life in specifics, only grand overtures meant to distract anyone listening, but what he does reveal sometimes makes your stomach clench. 

You swallow and turn back to the conversation with your other coworkers, steadfastly avoiding Johnny’s eyes peeking over the assistant manager’s head. 

The breakroom is decked out in cheap Christmas decorations, a fiber-optic tree set up in the corner, iridescent bristles shifting colours with every blink. Someone passes you a vaguely alcoholic drink and you sip at it nervously, reaching the bottom of your first cup faster than you anticipated. 

Your secret Santa gift is on a table just outside the breakroom in the hall, along with all the other gifts. Something about it draws your eyes several times throughout the evening. Maybe something you saw but didn’t register. It’s hard to keep focused on the conversation happening around you when your attention oscillates between Johnny and the gift table, but you respond hastily when someone prompts you to answer. 

It comes to light when someone clinks a spoon against their glass and directs everyone to gather in the middle of the room. Two of the warehouse guys awkwardly try to bring the table into the room without knocking any of the gifts onto the floor. There are a few casualties, but when they manage to twist it enough to get it through the door, someone pulls up a chair to stand on and read off all of the names to hand out the gifts. 

Several people coo when you’re revealed as the recipient of Johnny’s gift. There’s no reason for it to come as a shock, but your stomach clenches anyway.

He stands practically right up against you when you open it. You know the second you unwrap it that the delicate bottle of perfume in your hands must have been in the three figures. All you did was get someone a handmade mug from a local craft fair. He stares at you when you unwrap it, beaming when you give him a very controlled thank you because the alternative is screaming that this is way too expensive for you to keep. 

“Ye should put it on,” he tells you, breathing just a little heavier. “Really want ta smell it on ye.”

You don’t know what possesses you to give it a spritz on your wrist, letting him guide your hand to dab it against the base of your throat. It’s intimate enough that his eyes follow the movement of your throat when you swallow, mouth going dry. They drag up to your lips when they part, a hesitant thanks hanging off your tongue.

“Jesus Christ, get a room already,” someone near you murmurs, but it doesn’t take long for their attention to slip off you as the next gift recipient is announced. Not Johnny though. 

Your mouth snaps shut.

He hovers at your back for the rest of the gift handouts, so close that you can feel the heat radiating off him. You flinch at his bitten off groans whenever you so much as fidget, rubbing against him. Shaking him off seems like a hopeless task until someone asks if you have a lozenge, giving you an excuse to take them to your locker. 

You can feel him stalking you like a shark around the breakroom when you chat with some of your other coworkers, the smile on your face becoming forced. 

“Did’ya know Johnny actually—oh, sorry, burped—he actually paid me…to get your name?” your coworker giggles, absolutely sloshed. You’re tipsy too, but her words make you go a bit cold.

“Pardon?” you ask. The red cup crackles when your fingers tighten around it.

“He paid me. Fifty dollars. Jus’ to get your name for the…for the stupid Santa thing. The secret Santa.”

You can feel the way your mouth hangs open, just a bit. Her words echo in your head, the conversation long over. You let her prattle on, still stuck on the thought of Johnny paying someone off just for the opportunity to give you a gift. The longer you stand there and chat with your coworkers, the more difficult it gets to look normal. 

“Isn’t that something?” she prompts, nudging you with an elbow. Even the slightest touch hits you like a battering ram. 

“Yeah,” you parrot back, “it’s something.”

Perhaps you’re overdue for a conversation with Johnny about boundaries. More than overdue. The package has been signed, sealed, and delivered. It was overdue months ago, the day you started working at the same store as him. By now, you should’ve quit or transferred, hell you should’ve yelled at him that one time he stopped you in the garden section to apply his own personal Chapstick to your lips (you don’t think about how you’d bitten them raw from staring across the row of potted flowers as he stacked bag after bag of fertilizer onto a customer’s pallet before pushing it to their car, his sleeves rolled up and thick biceps on display the whole time). 

Can anyone blame you for being confused? It’s obvious what he’s offering. He does nothing to hide it. It’s also obvious that it would be, unequivocally, a terrible idea to take him up on it. 

Maybe you just need some fresh air. You make an excuse and peel off from the rest of the group, heading for the door. Someone lurches out of the shadows in the corner before you can make it out. 

“Look, bonnie—mistletoe,” Johnny teases, not letting you so much as glance up before snatching you by the hips and reeling you into him. 

The kiss he plants on you is filthy and wet. Open-mouthed too so he can slip you his tongue, licking over the roof of your mouth. Sucking your bottom lip when you can’t help the whimper that slips out and he breaks away for only a split second to whisper oh fuck under his breath. Your mind reels when he dives back in for another kiss. He’s as good of a kisser as you might have expected, messy but forceful, threading a hand into your hair to hold you in place. The way he roots you in place licks at something delicious inside of you, a secret, buried urge.

Johnny finally pulls away when he can no longer convincingly ignore the way you push on his shoulders and squirm in his arms. His lips are wet when he pulls back, a thin strand of saliva clinging between your lips. It breaks when he runs his tongue across the wetness. 

Someone whistles and Johnny grins from ear to ear, bashful under the joy brimming out of him. You stumble away the second his hands loosen on your hips, wiping a hand across your mouth.

“Good for you, John!” someone shouts through cupped hands and several of your coworkers cackle. 

This time you actually manage to make it out the door and down the hall to the employee restroom. You spend the next few minutes washing your hands until your fingertips go pruney under the warm water and you try to think of anything except the texture of Johnny’s lips. 

You touch your lips no less than three times. Each time, your fingers come back trembling. It’s what you’d long expected from Johnny, from someone that looks like him, like the physical embodiment of ‘for a good time, call…’ written in lipstick on the back of a gas station bathroom door. 

The last thing you want to do is give him an inch, throw him a bone—actually lead him on, as your coworker might say. Still, your finger trembles on your lip. You know he’d make it good. Even if he didn’t, looking like that, who could blame you? The thought makes you wince, conscience of objectifying him, but haven’t you been subject to worse by now? You’re due far more than some measly peck for how many times he’s slapped your ass, stolen your scrunchie (two so far), or said something nasty to you.

It’s not hard to track him down when he’s always hovering nearby, this time just off by the watercooler with your manager and a few other coworkers. The hand not holding a drink is buried deep in his pocket, the smile on his face strained by a mask of politeness; you can tell at a glance that he’s only playing at civility, that he’d rather be anywhere else but chatting with his boss and colleagues at the office party.

When he spots you approaching the group of them, his eyes widen, excitement bleeding back into them. It takes your breath away.

“Ah, there’s your other half, Johnny,” your manager says and you freeze. 

“Aye, so she is. She’s a good little kisser, did’ye see?” Johnny gushes, pulling you in by the waistband of your pants. You’re a bit too tipsy to protest when he slips his hand around your waist. 

It clicks into place. When he pulls you into his side, it feels like slotting into a space made just for you, unwelcome or not. You don’t even notice if your other coworkers laugh or not, fixated on his eyes. He can hardly pull them away from you. Every long shift waking up on the sofa in the breakroom with Johnny standing over you, eyes glinting like a predator’s in the woods, and every coworker’s joke about being Johnny’s girl feels like it’s been leading to this. You have to know what it’d be like. 

“Um…Johnny?” you start, tugging on his shirt gently.

“Yeah, hen? What’s it?”

“Can we…um…do you wanna go somewhere more private?”

His breathing stops, body frozen against yours. “Ye serious, kitty? You’re not joking?”

You shake your head. “Just…just one time? Maybe?”

The first sign of movement from him is a full body shudder that nearly makes you step back. The frazzled look in his eyes borders on manic, flitting around the room looking for the nearest exit. Johnny tosses the group some hasty, poorly worded goodbye (you think he even flubs your manager’s name) and tears away from them, you still glued to his side. Someone giggles as you leave. You can’t pay them any mind though, not with how frantically Johnny pulls you out of the breakroom and down the hall, his long strides nearly making you trip over your feet.

“Johnny—slow down—”

“Hen, I’ll carry ye over my shoulder to the closet, I swear.”

He nearly barrels you over with how forcefully he pushes you into the closet, hot mouth latched onto the side of your throat. You hear the sound of the lock clicking behind him. The closet is swathed in darkness, only the barest hint of light bleeding through from underneath the doorway. It’s hardly enough for you to see anything in front of you, but that almost doesn’t matter with how Johnny curls around you, his body caging you in against the shelving behind you. 

“Please, please, fuck, I cannae believe it, fuck—” Johnny groans into your neck, a pathetic desperate sound that you’ve never heard from him before. He even keens a bit. “Oh Jesus, baby, I’ve been—dinnae if ye knew or not, but I’ve been fuckin’ obsessed with ye for ages, Christ.”

You let out a laugh in disbelief, embarrassed by how breathless it sounds. “I—oh—I f-figured.”

His hands drag up and down your back, tugging at the fabric of your shirt and practically ripping it out of where it’s been tucked into your pants. If you had buttons, you think you’d burst straight off, zip off the walls and roll under one of the shelves. Johnny’s eagerness bleeds through—months of barely concealed lust unravelling right in front of you, his hands practically shaking when they grope along your sides and under your breasts. His fingers dig almost painfully into your flesh until you whimper and he murmurs a broken apology into your neck.

“Wha’d’ye want, baby? I can—fuck, anything ye want, I promise—” Johnny begs, the sound almost pitiful. It makes your pussy ache.

“Your—your mouth—” 

The speed with which he drops to his knees almost makes you flinch. His kneecaps are only saved by the carpeted floor, present nowhere else in the employee section apart from the supply closets. His hands go to the zipper and button on your jeans, yanking viciously, almost snarling when they don’t immediately come undone. When you try to help him, he bares his teeth, more animalistic than you’ve ever seen him before.

“Do these fuckin’ pants even come off?” Johnny growls, giving another yank. You hear something rip and wince.

He manages to wrench your pants down until they pool around your ankles, only enough concentration left in him to pull one leg out and drape it over his shoulder. 

“Johnny—my underwear—holy shit—” you gasp when he mashes his face into the crotch of your panties, laving his tongue over the fabric. You can feel the heat of it through the gusset of your underwear, each desperate lick trying unsuccessfully to pull them to the side. 

“Fuck, s’ry, baby, I’ll take ‘em off,” he apologizes, voice muffled where his mouth is still pressed to your pussy. Reluctant to move even an inch away from you. 

It takes him a couple more seconds before he’s able to move away just long enough to pull your underwear down as well, struggling with getting it over the leg still draped over his shoulder and nearly losing his patience twice over. 

He takes to eating you out like something he’s done for years—naturally. Crudely. Eyes fluttering shut when he drags his tongue from your slit to your clit, unabashedly enjoying himself. His moans drag through you, making you nearly shake right out of your skin. His chin is already wet when you glance down. He spreads your inner lips with two fingers to open you fully to his gaze, lapping at your clit until he can hardly pull his mouth away from your cunt. 

Johnny drags one of your hands from his hair to cradle the side of his face, turning into your palm to take a deep inhale. His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, eyes several degrees hotter when they meet yours through the curtain of his lashes.

“Fuckin’ smell like mine too,” he growls. You jolt at his words. He draws a finger into his mouth and gives it a suck, making you trill. 

“D-don’t get any ideas,” you gasp, other hand threading through his hair now, turnabout fair play. “S’just a—ah, ah—a one-time t-thing.”

“Aye, one time, one time,” he repeats. “Gonna make it so good f’r ye, baby.”

The two fingers spreading you open push against your entrance insistently. The initial stretch makes you tug at his hair, flushing when all that does is make him moan, mouth hung open sluttily. He looks even more strung out than you, eyes dark and heady. He’s also never looked more attractive.

Shelves jab into the small of your back, the ache growing the longer he keeps you like that with one leg slung over his shoulder, your knees almost buckling. Impossible to concentrate on the voice in your head screaming that this is a bad idea, not when he runs his tongue over your clit and sucks. Not when you’re forced to clamp a palm over your mouth to drown out your sounds. 

The press of a third finger into you makes you flinch and yank at his hair, harder this time. Hard enough for Johnny to back off, an apology muttered into your wetness. The two splitting you are more than enough, you think, a bit wildly. He shouldn’t be prepping you for anything more. There’s a furrow to his brows though, a bit of frustration wedged in there. Like putting up with your complaints annoys him just a bit.

“John—c’mon, please, not so loud,” you beg.

He pumps his fingers into you, eyes trained on the spot where they disappear. The look in his eyes borders on reverent. “Always mouthin’ off, huh? Even when I’m getting ye off? On my knees ‘n everything?”

“There are p-people outside,” you hiss, clamping your hand back down over your mouth when he curls his fingers and presses up into you. 

“Yeah?” The question sounds rhetorically, almost a challenge. The smile on his lips goes wicked sharp. “God, we wouldnae want ‘em ta hear, huh? What ye pulled me away from the party for?”

You don’t know why that’s what sets you off, but it does, eyes watering with the force of your orgasm. Back arched. Your head aches from where you knocked it back into the shelf behind you. Johnny groans when you clench around his fingers.

It’s a few seconds before you feel like you can speak again. The first thing you can utter is a hiss when Johnny laps at your slit again, far too sensitive for him to still be touching you.

“You can, ah…you can let me go now,” you pant. Coming back to your body takes an age, legs still trembling, held up by Johnny’s hands alone.

His fingers grip harder into your flesh. You stare down at him. 

“Oh, pretty baby,” Johnny coos, eyes black with desire, “we’re jus’ gettin’ started.”

[heavilycaffeinatedsblog]

I was so happy to be part of @klance-daydreams's Klance Secret Santa! I was given @linipik and wrote a lil ficlet about Christmas Eve with klance and the gang :)

Merry Christmas!

Under the swell of Christmas music, Lance heard the clear sound of a puppy going somewhere they shouldn’t.  He snickered at the sound of Keith’s frustrated groan from the living room.  “Again?” He called. “Again,” Keith grunted along with the sound of jingling ornaments. “Kosmo, down.” Lance smiled as he listened to Kosmo’s soft whine and the scratch of his paws as he was tugged back from shoving his face into the Christmas tree. “God, he’s obsessed,” Keith sighed.  “He learned it from me,” Lance said proudly. When he told Keith, and by proxy Kosmo, to arrange the presents around the Christmas tree, he figured something like this would happen.   Eager paws slapped against the linoleum and Lance’s smile widened as he felt a small, wet nose brush against his ankle.  Lance looked down and smiled. “Hello, angel.” The Husky panted happily, tongue sticking out as he blinked at Lance.  “Don’t encourage him,” Keith grumbled, voice coming closer. Lance smiled when he felt arms wrap around his waist. “Smells good,” Keith murmured.  “I would hope so, considering that’s all it’s supposed to do,” Lance gave the cranberries, oranges, and cinnamon another stir. “It’s a simmer pot.” Keith’s chin dug into Lance’s shoulder as he peered over. “Hm.” “Now, what is that?” Lance said, turning in Keith’s arms to arch an eyebrow. “What?” Keith laughed, tugging lightly at the belt loops in Lance’s jeans.  “That felt like a judgy hm.” “I would never judge you and your simmer pot,” Keith said teasingly.  “Good, because your best boy is obsessed with it,” Lance said, waving the ladle to where Kosmo was sniffing eagerly next to the stove. Keith shook his head in disbelief, clicking his tongue and guiding Kosmo back into the living room. It was Christmas Eve. They were hosting a Christmas party for their friends and Lance was pretty determined to make it perfect. Keith was being his standard, endearing self and had Lance take the helm. Lance smiled a little to himself, already envisioning how Keith would happily hover in the corners of the party, taking people’s plates and refreshing drinks while Lance entertained front and center.  That was why they worked so well.  The Christmas tree rattled again.  “Kosmo, we are going to fight.” *** Christmas music rolled into the living room. There was a steady hum of people laughing  and chatting, the clink of wine glasses and beer bottles. The simmer pot was doing its God given duty and making the place smell like a winter wonderland.  Lance noticed Keith paused to study the pot with interest on several occasions and made a mental note to tease him about his intrigue later. Pidge and Hunk were leading a competitive game of Christmas charades, Hunk miming what looked like a sleigh ride.  Shiro, Adam, Allura, and Romelle were shouting out random guesses, ranging from chopping down a Christmas tree to driving in the snow. Keith was leaning against the wall behind them, watching with a small, content smile. But Lance could see the beginning of a competitive flicker in his eye.  Lance paused, let his heart clench as he watched his boyfriend, and then put Hunk out of his misery. “Sleigh ride.”  Hunk dropped, exhausted. Keith shot his boyfriend a challenging look, a smile growing. Hunk mimed lifting something light and hanging it.  “Decorating a Christmas tree!” Keith fired out. “Oh Jesus,” Shiro groaned. “You’ve set them off now.” Keith was leaning forward, watching Hunk like a hawk as he read the next piece of paper.  After a moment of thinking it over, Hunk acted as if he ate something and grimaced. Lance stared at him cluelessly. “Fruitcake!” Keith shouted suddenly.  Hunk looked impressed, nodding as he grabbed another piece of paper. He dramatically shivered. “Cold!” Lance shouted. “Snowing!” Keith followed.  Hunk tapped his nose and mimed smoking a pipe. “Scrooge!” “Snowman?” Allura asked.  Hunk tapped his nose. “Frosty the Snowman!” Keith and Lance bellowed. 

*** “I will sever your head and put it on a post if you don’t move.”  As their friends gasped and laughed, Keith threw on a cheeky grin from where he sat on the last chair. They were both crammed on the seat, their hips shoved against each other’s as they attempted to push the other off the chair. Keith had the advantage, smart enough to grab the other side of the chair so he was actively pulling himself to the other side. Lance was hanging off the edge, losing ground quickly.  Lance tried stopping on Keith’s feet, but the idiot was clever enough to keep his boots on, so Lance’s glittery Christmas socks did little damage. Keith’s cheeks were flushed from eggnog and his smile was wide and loose and he looked a little too gorgeous.   Lance eyed him, wondering how dirty he could play this without scandalizing their friends. They were all laughing, crammed together on the couch and methodically placing bets on who woud lose.  They were playing a type of musical chairs. The last person on a chair would get the $50 VISA gift card hanging on the Christmas tree. Shiro and Hunk were the first ones out, not nearly as savage as the others. Allura nearly tripped Romelle trying to get her out of a chair, Pidge looked close to biting Lance at one point, and now Lance was debating using his body to get what he wanted.  “Don’t,” Keith was grinning darkly now, as if reading Lance’s mind. “It’s Christmas.”  Lance weighed his options. “I’ll do the dishes.” Keith huffed dismissively at that, pushing himself further.  “And I’ll take Kosmo out to poop tonight!” Lance said, desperation sneaking through.  It was supposed to be hideously cold that night and Keith had already been bemoaning having to scoop up Kosmo’s poop out of the snow. “Not worth it,” Keith was smirking now. Lance could have surrendered. But his competitive streak was called a streak for a reason.  “Fine, how about this?” Lance leaned forward and whispered something in Keith’s ear.  Keith’s smug smile dropped as his neck flushed pink. He instantly stood, letting Lance triumphantly slide onto the chair fully.  Their audience on the couch erupted.  *** With only a few curses and confused barks, Keith successfully got the Christmas sweater over Kosmo’s head.  He grinned triumphantly as Kosmo’s tail thumped against the ground. “I think he likes it.” “I would hope so,” Lance leaned against the doorframe. “You were bloodthirsty in that game.” “The only way to play White Elephant is seriously,” Keith said with a wry smile, getting to his feet and reaching for Kosmo’s leash.  “Don’t clean up without me,” he reminded Lance, giving him a short peck on the lips before leaving Kosmo towards the door. With an excited bark, they were out the door. Lance stretched, yawning as he surveyed their kitchen. There was a sizable stack of dishes and glasses, a trash bag full of wrapping paper from the White Elephant game, but other than that, there wasn’t much to clean. Still, Keith had a weird thing about sharing the chores, so Lance instead moved to tidy up the living room. He found himself smiling widely, heart full from an evening with friends.  With a sigh, he sank onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling. He imagined the rest of his night. Keith would return and maybe could be convinced to push back cleaning the kitchen a little longer. They could lay on the couch and watch the fire and talk in low, hushed voices, and watch until it was Christmas. Lance felt like dishes would be easier in the early hours of Christmas rather than the end of Christmas Eve.  Then they would go to bed, not rushed, a little lazy, and would spend the morning quiet and calm, curled together with coffee and Kosmo, and then they would load up the car with too many presents because Lance got carried away as he always does, and then go to his family’s house. It all felt perfect, like he had finally caught something he had been reaching for. It was like a dream.  Lance smiled as the door opened. 

[dandelionsresilience]

Dandelion News - November 15-21

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my Dandelion Doodles! (sorry it's slightly late, the links didn't wanna work and I couldn't figure it out all day)

1. Wyoming's abortion ban has been overturned, including its ban on abortion medication

“Wyoming is the second state to have its near-total abortion ban overturned this month[…. Seven other states] also approved amendments protecting the right to an abortion. A lawsuit seeking to challenge the [FDA]’s approval of abortion medication recently failed when the Supreme Court refused to hear it[….]”

2. Patches of wildflowers in cities can be just as good for insects as natural meadows – study

“This study confirmed that small areas of urban wildflowers have a high concentration of pollinating insects, and are as valuable to many pollinators as larger areas of natural meadow that you would typically find rurally.”

3. Paris could offer new parents anti-pollution baby 'gift bags' to combat 'forever chemicals'

“The bag includes a stainless steel baby cup, a wooden toy, reusable cotton wipes, and non-toxic cleaning supplies as part of a "green prescription". […] The city will also have 44 centres for protecting mothers and infants that will be without any pollutants[….]”

4. Indigenous guardians embark on a sacred pact to protect the lowland tapir in Colombia

“The tapir is now the focus of an Indigenous-led conservation project[… A proposed “biocultural corridor”] will protect not only the populations and movements of wildlife such as tapirs, but also the cultural traditions and spirituality of the Inga and other neighboring Indigenous peoples[….]”

5. Denmark will plant 1 billion trees and convert 10% of farmland into forest

“[…] 43 billion kroner ($6.1 billion) have been earmarked to acquire land from farmers over the next two decades[.… In addition,] livestock farmers will be taxed for the greenhouse gases emitted by their cows, sheep and pigs from 2030, the first country to do so[….]”

6. The biggest grid storage project using old batteries is online in Texas

“[Element operates “used EV battery packs” with software that can] fine-tune commands at the cell level, instead of treating all the batteries as a monolithic whole. This enables the system to get more use out of each cell without stressing any so much that they break down[….]””

7. Durable supramolecular plastic is fully ocean-degradable and doesn't generate microplastics

“The new material is as strong as conventional plastics and biodegradable, [… and] is therefore expected to help reduce harmful microplastic pollution that accumulates in oceans and soil and eventually enters the food chain.”

8. Big Oil Tax Could Boost Global Loss and Damage Fund by 2000%

“[… A] tax on fossil fuel extraction, which would increase each year, combined with additional taxes on excess profits would […] generate hundreds of billions of dollars by the end of the decade to assist poor and vulnerable communities with the impact of the climate crisis[….]”

9. Rooftop solar meets 107.5 pct of South Australia’s demand, no emergency measures needed

“[T]he state was able to export around 658 MW of capacity to Victoria at the time[….] The export capacity is expected to increase significantly as the new transmission link to NSW[…] should be able to allow an extra 150 MW to be transferred in either direction by Christmas.”

10. Light-altering paint for greenhouses could help lengthen the fruit growing season in less sunny countries

“[Scientists] have developed a spray coating for greenhouses that could help UK farmers to produce more crops in the future using the same or less energy[… by optimising] the wavelength of light shining onto the plants, improving their growth and yield.”

November 8-14 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[lvnleah]

— christmas cookies | leah williamson 🎄

find the twelve days of Christmas masterlist here!

The early December air was crisp and cool, but inside the warmth of your kitchen, everything felt cosy and festive. You were 37 weeks pregnant, your belly round and heavy with anticipation for your little one’s arrival. Each day felt like a countdown, the excitement growing, yet the exhaustion was starting to settle in. 

Leah had been so supportive throughout your pregnancy. She’d been the one to rub your swollen feet at the end of long training days, the one to help you adjust your shoes as your belly got in the way, and the one who never complained about taking on a little extra around the house to keep things running smoothly. Today, though, she was all about baking Christmas cookies with you. She’d promised that she would take care of everything, and that meant you could relax, even if only for a few hours.

The kitchen smelled like cinnamon and sugar as Leah carefully mixed together the ingredients for sugar cookies. You stood by the counter, leaning slightly to one side as you adjusted yourself to get more comfortable. Your hands rested on your belly, feeling the soft movements of the baby inside you.

Leah glanced up at you, catching the way you were gently stroking your belly and smiled. “How’s the little one doing?” she asked softly, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

You smiled back at her, feeling a sudden rush of affection. “Kicking away. Seems like they’re just as excited for Christmas as we are.”

Leah’s eyes softened, her gaze drifting to your belly for a moment before she returned to the cookie dough. “Can’t wait to meet them,” she murmured, a fondness in her voice that made your heart swell.

You shuffled over to the cupboard and grabbed the cookie cutters, setting them on the counter. “You know, I still can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” you said, your voice quiet. “We’re going to be parents.”

Leah chuckled, her hands never stopping their work. “You’re just realising that now? Bit late now babe.”

“Maybe a little,” you said with a playful grin. “It feels real now. I mean, we’ve been talking about it for months, but now that it’s getting so close…” You trailed off, not really needing to say more. The anticipation was tangible, and it was as though you could feel the excitement in every part of your being.

Leah finished mixing the dough and turned to you with a raised eyebrow. “Okay, what shapes are we making first?” She held up a rolling pin, clearly ready for the next step.

You smiled. “How about stars and trees? It feels appropriate for Christmas.”

“Stars and trees it is.” Leah handed you the rolling pin and watched as you gently rolled out the dough, your movements slow and careful. It had become a bit of a challenge to do things as easily as you once had, but Leah was right there beside you, guiding your hands when needed.

Once the dough was rolled out, Leah cut out the first set of shapes with a steady hand. “You know,” she said casually, “I’ve never actually baked with anyone during Christmas before. It’s always been just me and my family, but this… this feels different. Special.”

You glanced up at her, her face soft with the realisation of what the two of you were creating together. “It is special,” you agreed. “It’s the start of our own little family traditions.”

Leah smiled, her cheeks pink from the warmth of the oven and the shared joy of the moment. The next few hours were spent laughing, decorating cookies with icing and sprinkles, and chatting about everything and nothing. You couldn’t help but laugh as Leah concentrated so hard on making sure the snowman on her cookie had the perfect carrot nose.

“You’re too good at this,” you teased, pointing to her nearly perfect snowman.

Leah raised an eyebrow, holding up her own cookie. “And what about mine? I think it looks just as good.”

You held up your own snowman cookie next to hers. “Well, I mean… it’s not bad, but you may need to work on your icing skills,” you joked.

Leah laughed, the sound light and carefree, as she pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. “You’re still the best partner in crime, even with messy icing.”

As you both stepped back and surveyed the table covered in decorated cookies, you felt a deep sense of contentment. The house smelled like sugar and spice, and the world outside had gone quiet, save for the soft hum of holiday music in the background. There was a sense of calm about this time of year, one that you hadn’t always felt, but now you did. You were ready for whatever was to come.

Leah wrapped her arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “These will be perfect to leave out for Santa,” she said with a smile. “And maybe we can eat some of them before bed, too.”

You leaned into her, resting your head on her shoulder. “I think Santa will be pleased with our work. But honestly, I’m more excited for us to start this next chapter.”

Leah gave you a tight squeeze, her lips brushing the top of your head. “Me too. And I can’t wait to do all of this with you—every step of the way.”

As the evening stretched on, you two cleaned up the kitchen, your laughter and love filling the space. This Christmas, the anticipation of your baby’s arrival made everything feel even more meaningful. And no matter how much the world outside may change, you knew this was where your heart would always be—right here, baking cookies with the woman you loved and looking forward to the beautiful family you were about to become.

[softpascalito]

Christmas Baking for Three - Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: You're tired, pregnant, angry and you mess up the cookies meant for Joel. He gets a full blast of your hormones - and still manages to surprise you.

Relationships: Joel Miller x F!Reader WC: 1800 Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Baking, Christmas Cookies, Christmas, Pregnancy, Female Reader, No use of y/n, Fights, Mention of normal pregnancy struggles, Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Nicknames, Kissing, Crying, Joel Miller in an apron Read on AO3 full advent calendar (updated daily)

notes: another lil calendar piece that is also dedicated to steph's winter writing challenge (@toomanystoriessolittletime) with the trope baking <3 i also wanted to mention a very short but very lovely pregnancy piece by SwiggitySwagNightmareStag with peña that i found really inspiring in regards to p characters and how they handle pregnancy. you can read it here! <3

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

You swore under your breath as you opened the oven door, only to be met with a gush of heat and the smell of burnt dough. The cookies that you had so carefully prepared, cut out in the shapes of christmas trees and hearts, had taken on a dark brown color, the furthest row from you already smoking slightly.

“Fuck-” With a quick move, you maneuvered the try of burnt cookies onto the sink to let them cool off. Looking at them in broad daylight, it was clear that they were barely edible and in no way as enjoyable as they should be.

You ignored the surge of anger inside of yourself, anger at the oven for being so damn unreliable, at the timer that you’d meant to replace ages ago, at yourself. You’d been too distracted with cleaning up, then being forced to take a quick trip to the bathroom upstairs and getting sidetracked with laundry.

A groan left you at the realization. The laundry was still soaking in the bathtub, abandoned the second you’d caught a glimpse of the clock and realized how long the cookies had been baking for.

Angry tears shot into your eyes. It felt like a never-ending battle between you and your ever-growing list of things to do, to prepare, to keep track of. And this had been the one thing you’d wanted to do for him, to thank him for taking over so many of said things now that you were in your third trimester. Maybe you could start over, hide the failed cookies, to spare your another embarrassment in front of-

As if summoned by your thoughts, the door of the small mudroom bordering the kitchen opened with a creak. Merely a second later and clearly alarmed by the smell, he was hurrying into the room, eyes raking through the kitchen until they landed on you. His shoulders slumped slightly as he took in your form, checking you from top to bottom.

“Are you okay?” Joel's voice was soft, despite him being a little out of breath. You could see the basket filled with firewood behind him. Another task that used to be yours before your stomach had grown too big.

He watched your reaction, carefully making his way around the counter, glancing at the burnt cookies in passing. It was enough to make the tears finally spill from your eyes, rolling down your face and landing on the shirt that was already stained with flour. And the anger inside of you? It had finally found an outlet.

The poor man didn't even have time to brace himself before you started yelling.

“You arent supposed to be home, what the fuck are you doing here?!” He looked taken aback, but only for a moment. Then his face seemed to relax. You didn't want him to relax. You wanted him to be as angry as you were and in as much pain and misery. You knew it was a horrible, horrible thought, but you couldn't help it. You wanted him to have to run to the toilet upwards of twenty times a day, to have him woken up by a human kicking inside of him at the most ungodly hours.

“You said you'd be at work until five! You're not-” Another sob escaped you as the knot in your chest seemed to grow exponentially, “You're not supposed to be here yet and-”

You couldn't find a single trace of anger on his face. Not in the crease between his brows, not in the corners of his mouth, not even in his eyes. All you could find was concern.

“Hey-” Joel whispered, his hands cupping your cheeks. They were cold but you leaned into the touch regardless, “What's going on, darlin? Talk to me, please.”

You hiccuped slightly as you tried to speak, the words fighting hard to not get outside. As far as your body was concerned, there was no point in telling him, in making him a bigger part of your currently miserable experience than he already had to be.

“Burned- I burned the cookies-” You mumbled, “I wanted- wanted to surprise you.”

Your arms finally wrapped around him, your body fitting snug against his, even with your baby bump between you. Joel pulled you closer, one hand supporting your back while the other gently stroked your hair, “Shhh, it's okay. You're okay.”

He held you like that for a while, occasionally whispering words of gentle encouragement into your ear until the sobs had stopped. Then, he nudged you towards the living room, guiding you to sit down on one of the armchairs next to the window. He stayed by your side, kneeling down in front of you as he kept his hands on your legs, gently rubbing your thigh.

“There we are,” Joel mumbled softly, producing a handkerchief from nearby and wiping the last of your tears from your cheeks. He gave you a few more moments of silence before he spoke.

“Wanna talk about it?” You opened your mouth to decline, to push him away and deal with it yourself. It's what you would have done a few months ago. But, as he kept reminding you, you were a team now. No, not just a team. Parents. Soon-to-be-parents. He-was-once-before-but-you-were-new-to-all-this-parents.

“It's just been a lot,” you mumbled, watching as Joel nodded along, soft brown eyes radiating understanding. “And I'm already putting so much work on you on top of your normal duties so I thought- I wanted to do something nice for you.”

Joel hummed quietly, his thumb pressing into your thigh a little, “You do nice things for me all the time, darlin’.”

“I don't. Not with-” You helplessly gestured to your stomach. You could practically see Joel's expression getting a little more serious at that, “Baby, I promise you do. You're here when I come home, right? You fall asleep next to me. You kiss me when you wake up in the morning. Don't need more than that, baby.”

Almost instantly, the tears were back. A thick one rolled down your cheek and Joel reached up just in time to catch it.

“I appreciate you wanting to bake for me, godda-” He stopped himself from cursing, a habit he’d picked up in the last few weeks, with the due date coming ever closer and him insisting that you should at least try to bring up a civilized child. You had a feeling it had less to do with your child and more with the amount of curse words Ellie dropped on a daily basis, but if it made Joel happy, you wouldn't argue against it.

He sighed, “I really do appreciate it. And you know I think your cookin’ is nothing short of magic,” he mumbled quietly. Then he shook his head, his hand wandering to gently rest on your round stomach, “But it's not why I'm with you.”

“Besides, you're already doin’ a whole lot of baking in here,” he added with a small smile, gently patting your stomach and you couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

“I wouldn't exactly call it baking.”

Joel raised a brow, “No, ‘m pretty sure it is. I made a real nice dough, put it right in here, turned up the heat and now I just gotta wait for it to be done.”

“You're such an idiot, Miller,” you offered weakly as you leaned down towards him, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. He smirked against your lips, “If being an idiot gets you to stop crying, I'll do it more often.”

The kiss barely had time to get more heated before you gently pushed back against Joel's chest, “Gotta finish the laundry upstairs.” A small frown built on his face, “We agreed I'd do that. Ain't good for your back, baby.”

“I told you, I've been-” He actually cut you off this time, squeezing your thigh a little to make you fall silent, “Remember what I said? When you told me you were pregnant?”

You raised a brow, “Before or after you almost fainted?” Joel sent you a playful glare at that, causing you to sigh, “You said we were in this together. That you- that you'd be here for it all.”

“That's right,” he mused softly, his thumb still absent-mindedly caressing your thigh. 

“Now, let me go take care of the laundry and you take a nap, yeah? You look-” He paused for a moment, clearly trying to find a nice way to say it, “You look real tired, darlin’.”

You drifted off to the sound of clothes being washed in the bathtub in the next room and to Joel's soft humming of a lullaby he’d been practicing. If this works just half as good on our baby, you thought right before falling asleep, we’re not going to half a single sleepless night.

When you wake up, the rays of afternoon sun are filtering through the windows, giving the house the warm glow you like it so much for. Stumbling into the kitchen, you're met with a sight that you've never seen before.

Joel Miller, an apron tied around his front, kneading away on a piece of dough. Your small laughter alerts him to your presence and you swear you can spot the faintest blush on his cheeks as you practically skip towards him.

“If you wanted an excuse to wear that, you could've just said so,” you tease, leaning against the counter as you watch him. Joel grumbles softly but the small smile on his face isn't lost on you, “ ‘bout time you wake up. Wanna help?”

You frown slightly- and then you realize what he’s doing. Baking bread is something you do often, but this isn't that. The cookie recipe you'd been using earlier is placed next to him, the dough looks exactly the same yours had before you’d burned it.

“Figured we both like cookies. Plus it doubles as a Christmas activity and, well.”

You kiss him. Once, twice, only stopping when he forces you to. He's perfect.

You bake together this time, with you showing him how to get the cut-outs just right, him sneaking a few pieces of the dough into his mouth when he thinks you’re not looking. It’s cozy and relaxing and for the first time in weeks, you seem to forget all about the struggles of being a pregnant woman.

You both sit in front of the oven afterwards, you in Joels lap, your bodies intertwined, both watching eagerly as the cookies slowly turn golden. He kisses your head, his nose nuzzling your hair a few times.

“Next time you’re overwhelmed like that?” He mumbles quietly, “Just let me know, yeah? You know I'm here. For you and the little one”

You nod softly, resting your head against his chest, “I know.”

notes: as always, thank you for reading. i adore each and every one of you. if you enjoyed this, feel free to give me an early christmas present by leaving a comment or reblogging <3

[amethystarachnid]

FIRST CHRISTMAS MORNING

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Request: Thank you for tagging me! ❤️ I would like to request number 28 (first christmas with the baby) with tony stark x female reader, your family tony is always melting me so I definitely need to request you this ❤️ (@ccbsrmsf1 )

ᯓ★ Word count: 3.4k

ᯓ★ Summary: Christmas morning with a 11 months old baby boy is more chaotic than you ever thought possible.

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The first rays of Christmas morning sunlight filter through the thick curtains of your bedroom, painting the walls with a soft golden hue. You blink awake, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips as you register the muffled babble coming through the baby monitor on the nightstand. Tyler.

You glance to your left, where Tony lies sprawled out like a starfish, one arm draped dramatically over his eyes and the other claiming most of your pillow. His dark lashes are fanned against his cheekbones, and a faint snore escapes his slightly parted lips. Peaceful. For now.

Carefully slipping out from under the covers, you pad across the room on bare feet, the chill of the hardwood floor contrasting the cozy warmth lingering on your skin. Tyler’s soft chatter grows louder as you approach the nursery, punctuated by the occasional happy squeal. Pushing the door open gently, you peer inside to find him standing in his crib, tiny hands gripping the rails for balance as his legs bounce excitedly.

“Mama!” he exclaims as soon as he spots you, his face lighting up like the Christmas tree downstairs. Your heart swells, as it always does when he calls for you.

“Merry Christmas, baby boy,” you coo, scooping him up and peppering his chubby cheeks with kisses. He giggles, squirming just enough to make it a challenge but not enough to escape entirely.

Tyler smells like baby lotion and warmth, and his tiny fingers immediately latch onto a lock of your hair, giving it an experimental tug. You laugh, gently disentangling his grip.

“Let’s go wake up Daddy, huh? I think he’s been sleeping long enough.”

Tyler answers with a gleeful string of nonsense words, and you take that as a yes. Carrying him back into the bedroom, you glance at Tony, still completely oblivious to the world. He’s snuggled deeper into the blankets now, looking absurdly cozy and blissfully unaware of the mischief heading his way.

“Alright, Tyler,” you whisper conspiratorially, shifting him in your arms. “Time to unleash the chaos.”

You place him carefully on the bed, where he immediately starts crawling toward his target. His unsteady movements make the mattress dip and sway slightly, but he’s determined, his little legs propelling him forward like he’s on a mission.

Tony stirs just a bit when Tyler plops onto his chest, but he doesn’t wake up. Undeterred, Tyler lets out a loud, triumphant babble and slaps both hands onto Tony’s face.

“Wha—what the—?” Tony jolts awake, his eyes snapping open in confusion. Tyler, utterly delighted by the reaction, lets out a high-pitched squeal of laughter.

“Good morning, Daddy,” you say sweetly, biting back a grin as Tony blinks up at you, disoriented.

“Oh, it’s you two,” Tony groans, though there’s no mistaking the soft smile tugging at his lips. He sits up slightly, gathering Tyler into his arms. “Merry Christmas, kiddo. Did you conspire with your mom to sabotage my beauty sleep?”

Tyler responds by grabbing Tony’s nose, and you can’t help but laugh at the unimpressed look on Tony’s face.

“Don’t act so surprised,” you tease, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You know we’re a team.”

Tony raises an eyebrow at you, but his focus shifts when Tyler starts babbling again, as if trying to explain himself.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Tony says, feigning offense. “You’re already taking her side, huh? Traitor.”

Tyler giggles, his tiny hands patting Tony’s chest, and the sight is so ridiculously adorable that your heart feels like it might burst.

“Well, you’re up now,” you say, leaning over to kiss Tony’s cheek. “Might as well enjoy the chaos.”

Tony groans dramatically but wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “Fine. But I demand coffee, presents, and at least one uninterrupted hour to recover from the trauma of being attacked by my own offspring.”

You laugh, resting your head on his shoulder as Tyler wiggles between the two of you, babbling happily. It’s the perfect start to Christmas morning, and you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Tyler wiggles himself comfortably between the two of you, his tiny legs kicking against the covers as he babbles a mix of words and nonsense. Tony lies back against the headboard, his arm draped lazily over your shoulders, pulling you closer. His other hand cradles Tyler’s small back, keeping him balanced as the little one experiments with poking at his dad’s face again.

“You’ve got my nose now, kid. What’s next? My dignity?” Tony teases, dodging Tyler’s curious grab at his chin.

You laugh, watching their interaction with a warm fondness that fills you to your core. “Dignity? Tony Stark? That ship sailed a long time ago, Mr. Iron Man.”

Tony shoots you a mock-offended look but doesn’t stop Tyler from planting a slobbery kiss on his cheek. “You see this, Tyler? This is what your mom does—she roasts me in my own bed on Christmas morning.”

Tyler giggles, entirely on board with the banter, and Tony shifts him to a sitting position on his chest. “You’ve got her sense of humor already. Dangerous. I’m outnumbered.”

You roll your eyes and snuggle closer, running your fingers through Tyler’s soft hair. “Poor Tony. All alone in his tower of genius. Guess you’ll just have to get used to having a family now.”

Tony’s expression softens, and he looks down at Tyler, who’s now preoccupied with the zipper on his dad’s hoodie. “Yeah, guess I will,” he murmurs, leaning over to kiss your temple.

The three of you stay like that for a while, basking in the rare quiet of the morning. Tyler’s tiny hands keep exploring, occasionally yanking on Tony’s hoodie string or trying to grab a handful of your hair. Every so often, he lets out a delighted squeal, reveling in the attention and warmth.

When Tyler starts to squirm and make his “I’m hungry” sounds, you sigh and stretch. “Alright, baby boy, time for breakfast. Can’t have you eating Tony’s hoodie for sustenance.”

Tony sits up, keeping Tyler balanced as you climb out of bed. “I’ll handle breakfast,” he announces, shifting Tyler into your arms before standing and stretching dramatically. “The great Tony Stark, at your service. What are we feeling today? Pancakes? Omelets? Something fancy to mark the occasion?”

“Anything that doesn’t involve the fire extinguisher,” you tease, giving Tyler a playful bounce. “I’ll feed him while you figure it out.”

Tony raises a finger in mock seriousness. “Excuse you, I happen to be an exceptional chef when I put my mind to it.”

“Mhm. I’ll believe it when I see it,” you reply, grinning as you head for the nursery to grab Tyler’s bib and high chair tray.

A few minutes later, the three of you are in the kitchen. Tyler sits in his high chair, babbling happily as you fasten his bib and spoon out some mashed bananas. Tony is a flurry of movement behind the stove, flipping pancakes with the precision of a man who’s built world-changing technology but can’t resist a good breakfast challenge.

“Watch and learn,” he calls over his shoulder, sliding a golden-brown pancake onto a growing stack. “This, my love, is what they call culinary artistry.”

“Didn’t know culinary artistry came with a side of pancake batter on the ceiling,” you quip, pointing at a suspicious splatter above the stove.

Tony glances up, squinting. “Huh. Must’ve been sabotage. Somebody doesn’t want me to succeed.”

“Blaming the baby, are we?” you tease, scooping a spoonful of banana for Tyler. He opens his mouth eagerly, though a bit dribbles onto his chin.

“Obviously,” Tony replies, not missing a beat. “Tyler’s a budding engineer. I wouldn’t put it past him to mess with my tools of the trade.”

Tyler lets out a happy squeal, clapping his sticky hands together. You laugh, wiping his chin with a baby wipe before offering him another spoonful.

Tony finishes plating the pancakes, adding a few slices of fresh fruit for flair, and sets the plates on the table with a flourish. “Voilà. Breakfast, Stark-style.”

You strap Tyler into his chair at the table, settling him with some bite-sized cereal puffs while you take a seat. The pancakes are fluffy and golden, with just the right hint of sweetness, and you can’t help but be impressed.

“Okay, I’ll admit it,” you say after your first bite. “You’re not half bad at this.”

“Not half bad?” Tony repeats, mock horror on his face. “This is Michelin-star-level breakfast, and you’re giving me ‘not half bad’? Unbelievable.”

Tyler chimes in with a string of happy sounds, and Tony grins, pointing his fork at him. “See? The kid gets it.”

The three of you enjoy breakfast together, laughter filling the kitchen as Tony recounts dramatic tales of his supposed kitchen exploits. Tyler happily munches on his cereal puffs, occasionally tossing one onto the floor just to watch you pick it up.

When breakfast is done, you lean back in your chair, a satisfied smile on your face. “Alright, Mr. Stark. You win this round.”

Tony smirks, leaning over to kiss your forehead. “That’s all I wanted to hear. Merry Christmas, babe.”

You glance at Tyler, who’s reaching for Tony with outstretched arms. “And Merry Christmas to you, too, little man.”

Tony scoops Tyler up, lifting him high in the air to elicit another squeal of delight. “Merry Christmas, Tyler,” he says, his voice softening. “You’re stuck with us, kid. Hope you’re ready for it.”

As you watch them together, your heart feels impossibly full. Christmas morning with your boys is everything you could have hoped for and more.

After breakfast, you haul the three of you into the living room, wielding three matching Christmas sweaters you spent weeks finding. The sweaters are vibrant red with a ridiculous pattern of snowmen, reindeer, and candy canes. Tony squints at his.

“Are you sure about this? I feel like I’m about to audition for a role in a holiday special,” he says, holding the sweater up to his chest.

“That’s the point,” you reply, already wrestling Tyler into his pint-sized version of the sweater. It’s a comical struggle because he keeps trying to grab the sleeves and chew on them. “Hold still, little man. We need to make you look festive.”

Tyler responds by blowing a raspberry, drool dripping onto your wrist. You sigh but manage to wrangle the sweater over his head. Once it’s on, he gives you a toothy grin, clearly pleased with himself.

Tony, meanwhile, is still glaring at his sweater as if it’s personally offended him. “I’ve built arc reactors and flown in nanotech suits. This feels beneath me.”

“Stop whining and put it on,” you say, tugging your own sweater over your head. “It’s for the family Christmas photo. Memories, Stark.”

He mutters something about being a genius and an Avenger, but he pulls the sweater on anyway, grumbling the whole time. Once it’s on, though, you can’t help but laugh. The sight of Tony Stark—billionaire, philanthropist, world-saving superhero—wearing a cheesy Christmas sweater is enough to send you into a fit of giggles.

“What?” he asks, spreading his arms. “Do I look ridiculous?”

“You look festive,” you say, still laughing. “Very, very festive.”

Tyler, now on the floor and crawling at top speed, makes a beeline for the Christmas tree. He’s developed a fascination with the shiny ornaments, and no amount of baby-proofing has dimmed his determination to grab at least one.

“Tyler, no!” you call, hurrying after him. “The tree is not a toy!”

Tony watches with amusement as you scoop Tyler up just before he reaches a particularly delicate glass ornament shaped like an angel. “He’s got my focus and your stubbornness. Dangerous combo.”

“Tell me about it,” you reply, setting Tyler back on the rug with one of his own toys in an attempt to distract him.

The distraction lasts all of thirty seconds before he’s crawling toward the tree again, this time going for the lower string of lights.

Tony swoops in, lifting Tyler into the air. “Alright, bud. Let’s redirect that energy. How about you help us take some pictures instead?”

Tyler giggles, kicking his legs, but he’s clearly not interested in staying still. As Tony sets him down on the couch next to you, you pull out your phone and set up the timer.

“Alright,” you say, adjusting the angle. “We’ve got ten seconds. Everybody smile!”

The first attempt is a disaster. Tyler squirms out of Tony’s arms at the last second, leaving only a blurry streak where he was supposed to be. The second attempt is even worse because Tyler reaches up and grabs a handful of Tony’s hair, pulling it with surprising strength.

“Ow! Okay, new plan,” Tony says, handing Tyler a small, soft toy to keep him occupied.

On the third try, Tyler decides the best use of his time is trying to yank the glasses off your face.

“Is this a family photo or an extreme sport?” Tony asks, smirking as he attempts to wrangle Tyler back into place.

You’re laughing so hard you can barely hold the phone steady. “Just one good shot, that’s all I ask!”

It takes half a dozen more attempts, with you and Tony trying everything from singing silly songs to pulling funny faces, but eventually, you manage to get one perfect shot. Tyler is perched on Tony’s lap, grinning widely with his tiny teeth on full display, while you lean into Tony’s side, both of you laughing.

“That’s the one,” Tony says, inspecting the photo. “Frame it. Hang it in the Tower. Make it a national monument.”

You roll your eyes but can’t stop smiling. “It’s a Christmas miracle.”

As soon as the photo session ends, Tyler’s back at the tree, this time managing to grab a shiny red ornament before you can stop him. He waves it triumphantly, clearly pleased with his victory.

“Well, at least he’s festive,” Tony says, watching as Tyler attempts to stuff the ornament into his mouth.

You sigh, plucking it away from him and replacing it with a soft, baby-safe ornament you’d bought just for this reason. Tyler seems satisfied, shaking it like a rattle as he sits on the floor.

Tony wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Stark.”

“Merry Christmas, Tony,” you reply, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Even if it’s a little chaotic.”

“A little?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “It’s a lot chaotic. But it’s ours.”

You glance at Tyler, who’s now babbling to the tree as if it’s an old friend. Your heart swells with love, and you know Tony’s right. It might be chaotic, but it’s perfect.

After the photo fiasco—and a quick cleanup of Tyler’s drool-soaked sweater—you lead your tiny tornado of a child toward the pile of brightly wrapped presents under the tree. You’d expected this part of Christmas morning to take a while since Tyler is still just shy of a year old. Surely, he’d need help understanding what’s happening, right?

Wrong.

The moment you set him down in front of the gifts, Tyler’s face lights up like he’s discovered a treasure trove. He reaches out with both hands, zeroing in on the nearest box wrapped in shiny red paper. His little fingers grip the edge of the paper, and with surprising determination, he rips it clean off in one swift motion.

“Wow,” Tony says, watching with raised eyebrows. “I didn’t know we had a gift-unwrapping prodigy on our hands.”

You laugh, equally impressed. “He’s going for it like it’s a mission. Are we sure he’s not sneaking into your lab at night for practice?”

Tyler, oblivious to the commentary, babbles excitedly as he tears off another strip of wrapping paper. “Ba-ba! Ooo! Dah-dah!” His chubby cheeks are flushed with excitement, and his eyes sparkle as he uncovers the box inside.

“Go ahead, kiddo, open it up,” Tony encourages, crouching next to him.

Tyler babbles something incomprehensible in reply—possibly thanking Tony, possibly plotting world domination—and then flips the box lid with surprising dexterity for someone who still thinks chewing on socks is a good idea. Inside is a colorful stacking ring set, and Tyler lets out a triumphant squeal, grabbing the largest ring and waving it in the air like a victory flag.

“That’s from Aunt Pepper,” you say, watching as Tyler immediately tries to stack the rings—out of order, but with such enthusiasm that you can’t help but cheer him on.

Tony leans back on his hands, grinning. “Pepper’s got good taste. This might keep him occupied for, what, three minutes?”

“Five if we’re lucky,” you reply with a chuckle.

Tyler soon moves on to the next present, his methodical destruction of the wrapping paper leaving little shreds scattered across the floor. This one reveals a plush toy shaped like a rocket ship, complete with little buttons that light up and play sounds. The moment it lets out a cheerful “Blast off!” Tyler gasps, his mouth forming a perfect little “O” of wonder.

“Looks like we’ve got a winner,” Tony says as Tyler presses every button repeatedly, his delighted squeals drowning out the rocket’s beeping and whirring.

You lean against Tony’s shoulder, smiling as you watch Tyler crawl to the next gift. “I can’t believe how quick he is. I thought we’d have to show him how to do all this.”

“Clearly, he doesn’t need us,” Tony says, pretending to wipe a tear. “They grow up so fast.”

“Don’t start,” you laugh, nudging him with your elbow. “He’s not even a year old yet.”

The next box is a bit bigger, and Tyler struggles for a moment before Tony steps in to help. “Alright, buddy, teamwork makes the dream work.” Together, they tear off the paper, revealing a baby-safe toolset complete with a plastic hammer, wrench, and screwdriver.

Tyler’s eyes widen, and he grabs the hammer immediately, smacking it against the floor with a satisfied “Dah!”

Tony laughs. “Oh no. He’s already taken up my bad habits. Next thing you know, he’ll be taking apart the microwave to see how it works.”

“Not if I can help it,” you reply, though you can’t help but smile as Tyler examines the rest of the tools with intense concentration, babbling to himself like he’s giving a lecture on engineering.

One by one, the presents are unwrapped, each one met with an explosion of excitement and a flurry of babbling. There’s a soft book filled with textures and flaps to lift, a musical toy that plays an almost irritatingly catchy tune, and even a mini superhero cape from Clint that Tyler immediately tries to chew on.

“He’s going to love that once he’s walking,” you say, holding up the tiny cape. “It’ll go perfectly with his little Stark Industries onesie.”

Tony grins. “Every hero needs a uniform. We’ll make sure he’s got the best.”

By the time the last gift is unwrapped, Tyler is surrounded by a sea of toys, each one briefly claiming his attention before he moves on to the next. He’s in his element, crawling from one item to another, letting out happy sounds and showing off his finds to you and Tony like a pint-sized salesman.

“Look at him,” you say, your voice soft as you watch Tyler shake a rattle with intense focus. “He’s so happy.”

Tony slips an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “Well, we’re pretty good at this whole parenting thing. And by ‘we,’ I mean mostly you.”

“Oh, stop,” you say, but you lean into him, your heart full as you watch your little family.

Tyler crawls over to Tony, clutching the plush rocket ship in one hand and the plastic hammer in the other. He plops himself down in Tony’s lap, holding up both toys as if to say, Look what I’ve got, Dad!

Tony takes the hammer and gives it a dramatic inspection. “Hmm. Excellent choice, Tyler. Very versatile. I can see why you’re a fan.”

“Bah!” Tyler replies, smacking the rocket against Tony’s chest.

“Okay, maybe a little dangerous in your hands,” Tony jokes, setting the toys aside and scooping Tyler up for a quick spin in the air. Tyler squeals with delight, his giggles filling the room.

You grab your phone, snapping a picture of the two of them. “Perfect. That one’s going in the album.”

“Album?” Tony asks as he lowers Tyler back to the ground. “I thought you were making a shrine.”

“Oh, don’t tempt me,” you reply, grinning as Tyler crawls back to his new stacking rings.

As the chaos of present-opening settles into the content hum of playtime, you take a deep breath, savoring the moment. It’s not about the toys or the wrapping paper; it’s about the laughter, the joy, and the overwhelming love that fills the room. This is Christmas. This is your family. And it’s absolutely perfect.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

12/25/87

Prompt Day 8: Gift | Word Count: 613 | Rating: T | CW: Language | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, Older Steddie, Established Relationship, Reminiscing

It might have looked like it was wrapped by hands that were all thumbs, but at least it was covered, Eddie thinks, looking down at the photo in his hand. That was a long, long time ago. And he likes to think he's gotten at least a little bit better at wrapping gifts since this picture was taken.

He might be fooling himself, though. Steve wraps almost all the gifts they give these days, and there's definitely a reason for that.

He glances at the timestamp in the corner: 12/25/87.

Decades fly by faster than you'd ever expect them to, that's for damn sure. 

Eddie flips to the next one in the stack of photos, and it's just wrapping paper all over the floor from the same Christmas. They were just kids back then. Living in their first apartment, fresh out of Hawkins, probably working four or five jobs between them. They did that a lot in those early years. Passing ships in the night, barely seeing one another.

That usually meant their ends would always meet, though, even if barely at times, and they were together. Even if not exactly in the same room most of the time.

Eddie remembers how happy he was that he could afford to buy gifts for Steve that year, picked out with only a little help from Robin.

"Do you remember this Christmas?" Eddie asks, flashing the photo in Steve's direction. 

Steve pulls his reading glasses up from the chain around his neck. He smiles, "That's the year the heater went out."

Eddie had forgotten about that. Steve banging on the radiators, like he was CC Bloom. A few years later, when they finally watched Beaches at Robin's bequest, which still, fuck her for that, because it made him cry, but as soon as the clanging on the radiators scene happened, Steve looked right at him. A familiar scene thrust right to the forefront of their minds: Steve, wrench in hand, banging with gusto.

He didn't accomplish anything other than annoying the neighbors, but that's okay. It's a good memory, of years gone by. The heat might have never come on, but bundling up was a much more productive endeavor, anyway. 

That Christmas, with no heat to speak of, but presents under the tree, they'd been happy. The two of them, in layers upon layers of clothes, curled up together on that old broke down couch.

They were happy then, and they're happy now. 

They've seen relationships crumble, break, bend, and they've somehow kept on an even keel together. Growing at the same pace, in the same direction. It's luck. A miracle.

Eddie knows that this thing between them could have ended in a million different ways if things had only gone a little differently, here or there. He doesn't think they are destined, or fated. He doesn't think they are soulmates.

But those relationship-ending events never happened, because they worked together to make sure they never would. They wanted to stay together, so here they are.

And Eddie will always be grateful that it all worked out. He nearly died, bitten and bleeding, but he didn't. He was given the gift of more time.

Steve had that wreck ten years later, and the timeline could have diverged again right there. But it didn't. And they were ahead of the curve. They already knew how to recover in each other's presence, how to mend all the broken pieces into something so good that Eddie can hardly stand it at times.

It's been a gift.

The gift of a life together, a full happy existence, with Steve.

And it's the best gift he's ever gotten.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun! 🎁

Notes: The Beaches soundtrack still slaps. I said what I said. I definitely wore out that cassette as a kid. It's right up there with the Dirty Dancing soundtrack for me.

[mulberrymyrtle]

THE CHALLENGE

ONE-SHOT (PJO x reader)

pairings : (slight will solace x reader) (slight nico di angelo x reader)

SUMMARY :

In a spur of typical ADHD indecisiveness, you challenge Clarisse La Rue to an archery competition to “heroically” save the new camper.

One thing – you have never held a bow. Actually, two things, your only experience in firing something are online shooting games you were obsessed with before you came to camp.

Third thing, you aren’t claimed. So, here you are – prepared to face another “dunking” your head in the toilet cliche.

a/n : very short, spur of moment! so don’t expect something really good.

warnings : reader may use gaming terms? also to people who do archery, I apologize for inaccuracies , this is something i thought up quickly!

The snow that elegantly bows down the ground is a sight you’ll grow tired of, soon. However, with the steaming cup that flows within the air and the warmth that Will gives you when winter enters is a feeling you’ll miss, forever.

Camp has once again been shrouded in the comforts of winter, the cold shifting in the bodies of those unprepared. The piling of jackets and puffers that the Aphrodite cabin have been handing out to the shivering campers paired with the Apollo kids carolling at the early of night – the shaking of tambourines and bells ringing through your earmuffs. The grassed terrain is overfilled with litters of soft snow that squish under your boots, a satisfying crunch heard in every step. Internally, your mind is wrapped around fleeced and heavy blankets that snug comfortably in warmth – winter is here, and it’s a time where you have peace. 

Unlike the previous seasons, where in Summer – Percy Jackson changed the whole trajectory of peaceful camp life. His forbidden nature of a child of the Big 3, the prophecy, the betrayal of Luke and of course, you can’t forget that damn pine tree becoming Thalia. It was a compilation of events your brain always wants to etch out. It gives you enough headaches, you swear that both the Hephaestus and Apollo cabin have to be in an alliance to either heal or re-work your memories.

“Thank Olympus, hope no one’s gonna ruin Christmas,” the fog that erupts from your mouth makes you awe, playfully mixing in with the steam of hot chocolate.  

You hear the laugh of the boy beside you, his bright eyes squinting at your words. “Don’t say things like that, you’ll get jinxed!”

“Will, c’mon you seriously can't believe what Travis has been saying,” you huff, a nudge to his shoulder. “Not everything has to be jinxed, let camp be peaceful for once!”

The look Will gives you is half-turned smile, blonde curls shaking as his disagreement is obvious. “No no, when has camp ever been peaceful?”

That question makes you think, a little yeah, your right erupts from a slight whisper.

With the slight admission, he raises his brows – warm laughter once again emerging from his throat. “Told you! Have you seen my half-siblings running around the infirmary?” His fingers pointed at the unusually packed line that was held within the rather run-down building. Following his direction, you find Lee Fletcher bouncing around and talking in everyone – voice echoing. You flinch a slight bit, the nagging from his mouth reminiscing you to the times you wound up there, a bandage stuck to your head and ambrosia sticking to your taste buds.

“Well…” trailing off, the mug nestled in your hands – an idea popping in, a new way to battle Will’s words. “Well, that’s like normal – it’s practically peaceful enough…” 

You see the twist in his face, which makes you have to explain yourself even further. “I mean like, peaceful like when not faced with pine trees turning to humans, weird threats… that stuff! It’s different, no very- very- ultra dangerous threats!”

“Ahhh,” he finally nods, a cheer escaping your lips. “Guess you’re right, but I did hear news about Percy coming back…” he sighs, a rather big smile on his face. “That means I get to meet this “legend” camp’s been raving about.” 

The news practically has everything in your mind shattered, divided into little minions that scream murder and crowd up your thought process. 

“W-what?!” The growl that manages to bubble up makes Will jump in surprise, eyes wide.

“H-he’s gonna return?” you shake his shoulders, hot chocolate now soaked deep in the snow. The noises that come out are frantic, like an old lady spouting crazy visions paired with whined moans like a toddler not getting their sweets. “You’re joking!”

“I heard Chiron and T-thalia talk about it,” Will tries to tell you, but the constant shakes spurs his speech – bubbles of thoughts entering your ears. He gently grabs on your face, patting it to stop. The assault (and the warmth, unknowingly) has you slow down your movements, a more rational thought entering your frazzled state. He still holds onto you, and in a brief shared glance – a gentle gaze deep into yours. Your mind slowly dissipates, talking in the crisp air, his soft touch, and the snow falling onto your nose.

“You’re good at this,” you hold onto his hands, detaching it slowly – but you still hold on, weirdly enough.

“At what?”

“Calming people down,” you let go of his hands. “Like a healing touch, I guess?”

“Healing touch?” his brows are raised high, “Are you saying that because I’ve been claimed by Apollo?”

“Well, it fits?”

He lets out an awkward chuckle, “I don’t even have any abilities yet!”

“Hey, it’s just been like 4 months,” you pat his shoulder. “You’ll be able to channel some cool Apollo-like things – like… Archery?”

He gives you a disappointed whine, “Look I’ve tried everything, singing –”

“Yeah,” swallowing a lump in your throat, “that was really bad.”

“Oh, shut,” he punches your shoulder, “I’ve done musical instruments, poem writing, and archery yesterday was a big fail!” He buries himself deep in his hands, a sigh lifting from his tongue. “Gods, I'm virtually just a heatwarmer.”

Your eyes soften at his words, rubbing his hands. “You haven’t tried healing yet, right, maybe you’d do good there.”

“But healing’s scary,” he confesses, muffled sounds now on your end. “I see Lee handle that and...” He raises to meet your face, worry seeping through his expression. “I don’t know if I can handle that.”

“Then… “ you mumble off, eyes darting to think of a solution. “Well medic work in the online games I’ve played were simple enough.”

“Oh my, this isn’t a game,” the slight amusement in his tone has you brighten up, “that stuff is automatic, a simple press and they’re healed.”

“Hey hey, I’m trying to comfort you.”

“It’s not effective, I can’t just find some medkits and throw it at someone and hope they’ve been healed.”

“You’re missing my point!”

“That point was?”

You shake your hands around, deflecting the conversation. “W-whatever! I… we can have Lee teach us.”

Hope shines in his eyes, “Us, you mean you’d wanna be a medic too?”

The nod you give makes his eyes sparkle a tad bit brighter, “I mean, I’m unclaimed. So there’s no skill I have, same boat right?”

“Aside from being obsessed with shooting games?”

You push him off the log, “It doesn’t hurt to learn something. Let’s just do it together. Okay?”

He groans from the confines of the snow, lifting your body to kneel over his side – cheeky smile to your face. A hand reaching over to help him up, “You up for it?”

His hand finds yours, a slight complaint from his mouth. “If there’s nothing to do, we can try.”

You bump his head in a lighthearted manner, “Hehe, I can eat the stacks of ambrosia and nectar by the cabinets.”

“Really? I’d wanna try that,” his movements slow, his gaze faced down. “It reminds me of mom's pie,” his voice held longing, seeing how his fingers grip onto his coat.

The tone he had made you pause to look at him, the reality set in despite the air of Christmas that you two confided yourselves in. That even if he was finally safe, in a haven where he had no fear of monsters creeping up to attack him and his mother. An explanation to the massive questions he had about himself – a place where he could be himself, freely. 

It also came with weird nightmares that’d have you stare in the starry sky, the fingers of death coming and closing in at the clock of your birthday, and to spend Christmas without the comforts of someone dear – you understand why his eyes dulled and his smile now neutral.

You stood up, dusting yourself up. “Well,” a rather mischievous look covering your features. “First to go there can eat it infinitely, losers only get a small bite!” with a head start, your feet dash along the path towards the infirmary. 

The cold air filling in your lungs, yet the running brought intense fire burning – the clash of these feelings made you giddy. Laughter heard between you two, Will’s steps catching on. His voice rumbling and shouting the words cheater echoed in the seeming empty woods.

The two of you found yourself streamlining through some nymphs playing by the snow, the satyrs hunched around fires, campers rolling snowmans and shooting snowballs. You had to save Will from Katie’s intense aim, her vision automatically thinking you were the Stolls.

“Woah that was a nice headshot,” you awed at her aim, “Better than those online weirdos who…”

“I’m ahead!” Will sings, blowing a raspberry to your way.

“H-hey no!”

Then you passed by the arena, hearing the clash of metal and taps of feet moving synchronously. The slings of arrows warping through the air heard within the distance.

It’s just a normal camp day, free from fear, from monsters.

It was a day where campers could be free from their obligation, the burden of being a demigod lifted for just a little second —

“Oh–!”

You tumbled down the snow, rolling down a hill, the weight on top of you has your breathing choked out. Holding onto the weird pressure tightly – was it a person?

In the disarray of everything, the bundles of white entering your vision, the cut-off breathing, and some guy rolling with you? Your ambrosia and nectar were at stake!

You two crashed on something, immediately pushing off the person.

“What the –?!”

Settling your sights on the boy who lumped against the snow, his face was unfamiliar. He had ebony hair that messily contrasted the white beneath him, his skin tanned, he looked the same age as you – 10. His hands gripped onto a figurine, you see his breathing slowly. In a quick motion, you hovered the boy with concern all over.

“Are you okay?”

With a twitch in his eyes, bits of snow littering his eyelashes. It fluttered open, and he jumped – the figure clutched used to hit your head.

“O-ow!” you staggered back, hands rubbing over the sore spot. “The hell!”

“I-i’m sorry!” the boy says, coming more into your view.

“You better be!” you roar back to him, “Why’d you do that? God that hurt!”

“You looked like a monster, “ he says in a haste, hands playing with his figure. “You know we were just attacked by one – a manticore.” He awes, bringing out a holographic card to shine to your face. “3000 ATK plus you get an extra 5 to save throws, cool right?” 

“Y-you just called me a monster!” you barked out, and though your eyes lingered on the card a bit too long you shook him off. “Look, you need to apologize two times,” you told him firmly, crossing your arms. Scanning him up and down, you figured – he was new. “That was hurtful – twice the pain and now I’ve lost the race against Will!”

He sets down the card, looking at the bruise forming on your skin (and also your heart). Holding his hands together, he mutters in a sincere tone.

“I’m sorry, for all that.” 

Silence overtakes the two of you, your defensive position slowly crumbling down. You stare at the card planted between the space you two had. The intricate designs and the holographic sticker had your eyes entrapped, the anger you also bubbled up because he made you lose the race wilting away.

“The card is… cool,” you mutter, picking it up to hand it over. “What are they?”

His face gets overcome by a toothy grin, seeing excitement threatened to burst out if he spoke one more word. “They’re Mythomagic cards!” he sputters out in a daze, closing in to you.

Before you try to say anything, a rough hand lifts you up by the collar. Then instead of an excited boy ready to say all kinds of things about cards, you’re met with a fuming girl who practically said i’m gonna kill you, kid with no words at all.

With the burly build, scars littered even when the fur coat (that looked like she hunted herself) that hung around her body. Her chopped, but curly strands entered your view and her eyes glinted a dangerous red – her grin akin to boar’s animalistic growl to take down enemies. 

“Clarisse?” you uttered in a meek tone, feet dangling above the ground. “Why?”

“You, you made this mess?” she brings your body towards the crashed crates and archery targets, throat suddenly filled. “You puny lil’ chump making me miss my shot!” she rages out, shaking you with vigor.

“But it was just a —”

“It was a bet for something,” she barked. “A bet for the next Capture the Flag game.”

Oh.

If there’s one thing about Ares kids, they don’t play around with Capture the Flag.

With one swallow of your throat, you prayed to a god and accepted your fate.

“I’m sorry Clarisse,” you begged, her steps dragging you two away. “Please don’t hurt me.”

An evil snicker ruptures through her, bringing you down to hit against the wooden frame of an archery target. With a small, condescending pat – she places something on your head.

“I won’t,” she says pointing to the pack of equally angry Ares’ kids who were stringing bows. “But they’ll help.”

“Oh, I'm just 10,” you cried out, eyes a bit watered.

“And? You need to be taught something —” her words get cut off by a snowball entering her mouth, muffling her speech. Darting to whoever threw it, it was the boy from earlier. Chest heaving as he shouted a quick “goal!” as he rushed over to your side.

But with Clarisse’s booming command the group huddled over and caught him. With new-found rage in her senses, she marches over to him and with a grip so harsh the veins popped out of her hands.

“Y-you! Oh, I can wait to get two lil’ kids knowing their lessons,” dragging him next to you.

“Let us go, you pig!” he lashes out, weak punches on trying to fight back, using his figure as a line of defense.

Picking up the figure, she mockingly waves it around. “Ha, it’ll be fun to make you my slaves.”

You worriedly watched, the scene making your body feel numbed, meant to just watch.

What should I do?

She once again laughs in his face, “Are ya’ new here? What’s your name!”

“Nico!” he shouts to her, trying his best to get it back. “Nico di Angelo – I bet your name is Ms. Piggy!”

You see the boy’s face determined, yet it glints with fear – so different from the happy look he donned. His toothed grin, and rather sporadic bounce was heartwarming.

His first time here and he was subjected to this, your heart dropped at the memories. The times you were new, the same face you shared – begging on your knees with tears streaming down your face. Even if you were in a time of peace now, they’d resurface and the guilt gnawed everywhere.

You didn’t want that again.

You don’t know if you should thank impulsivity for this, but your mouth ushered out words you shouldn’t have said.

“Clarisse! I-i’ll make a bet!” the tremble in your voice, slow steps as you walked towards her. “If I win, you leave us two alone – for a long time. If I lose, I’ll be your slave for everything.”

That makes her smile, dropping the figurine by the snow. Confidence roared through her every move, a scary tilt as she regarded the offer.

“That bet is?”

You swallowed your own saliva, that didn’t really enter your mind – you know what? Go with the flow, you internally told yourself. Taking in your surroundings, the only thing that registered was the fact you were in the archery range. With shaking hands, you grabbed a bow and gave it to her, pointing to the targets.

“It’s easy, we’ll shoot arrows in those three targets continuously, and whoever has the most points – wins.”

She gives you a wide look, “Are ya’ underestimating me? This is light work.”

Taking a good, she shakes her head. “Know what, this just makes it easier for me and harder for you. No need for goodluck,” she chuckles as she takes her position. You find that the archery range has garnered more people, a crowd forming in.

The nerves in your body shout at you, taking the hand of the boy – you settle him there in the bustling chatter of people. He only stares at you, with a gaped look and his hold tighter on the cards and figure he held.

“No worries,” you whispered, holding his gaze. “I-i’m good at FPS!”

“FPS?” he tilts his head, “what?”

“You know, video games…?”

“What? Oh like those arcade things in the casino?”

You give him a confused look, ready to explain before Clarisse calls your attention. There you see her work, and your brain could only burst up in haywire.

The first two, though not perfect, had the arrow shoved up near the target– while the third one nestled an arrow perfectly on the red dot, a bull’s-eye.

She tosses the bow to you, your hands clumsily catching it, a slight off-balance when you stumble. You walk through the crowd – recognizing the Hunters of Artemis who regarded what Clarisse did with impressed gazes. You find Will’s mop of hair, his face etched with concern, god’s they’re watching your demise.

How in Olympus were you gonna do this! The bow in your hands was unfamiliar, if it was a console or joystick you’d bet 20 drachma that Clarisse would be dead – but the actual thing? Oh, if you were in some online lobby you’d be hit with the most creative curses known to man.

However, you looked at the boy – face filled with hope, encouraging you to go on.

So even with the tremble in your hands, you did.

Just treat it like a game.

Just treat it like a game.

The words repeated in your mind, taking position.

Maybe someone took over your body, but the bow felt light – pliable and easy to mold. The string was flexible, following your movements like water. You drew your arrow, perching and fixing it. In your vision, you found yourself in the setting you were used to. The crosshair, the bow – like the gun, you went slow and waited for the perfect time. The arrow stuck to your face, the feather brushing your skin – the crisp wind slithered through your whole being. Removing you of the fear you felt, a quick surge of confidence coursing through. It was your warzone, and you weren’t gonna back down.

This is just a game.

Then you let go, the feather cutting through your cheek. It cut through fast, the bow spun and in a blink —

“Bull’s eye!” a voice says, it’s melodic, maybe someone from the Apollo cabin. But that didn’t concern you, the adrenaline seeped in – grabbing another arrow to nock on the string.

“Bull’s eye again!”

Then the dread came over again, faced with Clarisse’s perfect shot. But you turned back to the expecting crowd, and returned to face the red dot that loomed over you.

“Man, you’re too tense,” a voice rang through your mind, like a gentle whisper. “It interferes with aiming, sometimes all ya’ gotta do is shoot – “

Before camp, online games were your only escape. From the failed grades, the laugh of peers that followed you, and the disappointment that weighed in your whole mind. The feeling of bringing out your anger through shooting online randoms wasn’t the best, but it worked for you. The way you could get control, to feel a sense of victory – and to win wasn’t by hastily shooting the enemies or buying the newest gear.

All you just needed was a quick breather, a calm mind, and to take every chance.

So as you once again felt the arrow cut through your skin, the anticipation danced through. 

And maybe you were dreaming, or maybe some prayers were answered.

But the crowd’s cheering and words behind you confirmed that it was both.

The arrow spun, a fast sling – hearing the loud crunch of wood entering your ears. Seeing how the arrow pierced through Clarisse’s with a split, halving hers to pieces. You find your arrow buried deep in the target, the bundles of feathers placed delicately in the middle.

“B-bull’s eye!”

Then something caught your eye, a soft red glow reflecting off the snow. The crowd gets even louder, their stares looking at something on top of you.

You held a confused gaze, head turning around – you caught Clarisse’s gaped look. The anger seething through her skin, but it wasn’t the usual. It held some respect? Everyone gave you a hard gaze, hearing Chiron’s hooves run through the crowd.

In a sudden movement, they all bowed. You were left to only look up — the red glow surrounded a symbol. It screamed strength, power, fear even if it was a simple spear. Your eyes widened at the recognition, an audible gasp from your tongue.

“Ares,” Chiron said, his voice rigid and filled with respect. “Destroyer of men, raider of walls, master of the art of blood.”

“Hail. (Name) (Last Name), Child of the God of War.”

[lexirosewrites]

hopping in for slick sunday with some holiday cheer :)

Thinking about Steve and Eddie, and their first official Christmas as a family of 3. Their little one is 8 months old when the holiday season rolls around. Eddie is probably the most excited, so happy to continue traditions with his own pup that he and Wayne had started so many years ago. He loves Christmas; lights and ornaments, tinsel, and Christmas trees, spending time with Wayne that they didn't get very often back then. He loves the snow, despite how cold he always gets. What he loves even more, though, is Christmas with Steve. Curled up on the couch together with mugs of hot chocolate. Watching cheesy Hallmark movies. Dancing around the kitchen in their fuzzy socks and kissing under the mistletoe.

When they found out Steve was pregnant, Eddie was so ready to give everything he had into a being a dad. He wanted to break the cycle set by his own father. He wanted to be the best dad he could be, and try to patch that broken feeling he'd had in his own chest for so long. The Christmas before their pup was born, Eddie insisted on taking a few polaroids of Steve next to the tree they had decorated together. Steve rolled his eyes, but indulged his mate with a smile anyway.

Of course, Eddie made Steve recreate that picture the following year, with their pup in his arms instead of a bump on display. And if Eddie spent a little longer than necessary staring at the way the lights on the tree reflected in their pup's eyes, full of magic and wonder, that was no one's business but his own (and Steve, who definitely noticed Eddie's staring immediately).

Eddie finds himself staring a lot during the holidays that year. He just wants to soak everything up while he can, enjoy his little family and spend every day grateful that he's still alive to see it grow. He watches Steve dance around the kitchen with their baby, wearing fuzzy socks and singing along to the radio while their pup giggles in his arms. He watches Steve kiss their baby's cheek under the mistletoe, right before he pulls Eddie under with them. Eddie can't help but grin as he kisses both of them.

Eddie never thought he could love Christmas more than he already did, and then his family grew. There was something so beautiful to Eddie about seeing the joys of Christmas in his pups' eyes (because you know they didn't just stop at one). Each year, and with every new addition, Eddie falls more and more in love with his family, and with Christmas.

so cute!!!!! and thank you for playing along with my slick sunday christmas challenge!🥰🎄❄️🎁☃️

[vvachillessongvv]

Fade Into You

written for the music poll challenge (not even close to 5 sentences- more like 600 or so words)

✨️

“I don't know how you didn't see it.” Wille admits breathlessly, his cheeks blazing, his heart so high in his throat the words almost don't come out. 

“I–” Simon stutters. His lovely brown eyes are impossibly wide, reflecting twinkling lights and flickering candle flame. “See what?”

Wille sighs, bringing a hand up to run his thumb across the sharp angle of Simon's jaw, resting his fingers on the soft skin of Simon's neck wordlessly. Wille watches his mouth drop open the tiniest bit as he leans into the touch and they're so close Wille can feel Simon's breath fan across his face. Wille frowns, his heart twisting in his chest. 

Simon is everything he has ever wanted. If only he wanted Wille, too. But it's impossible to keep it in any longer. Every second he spends with Simon somehow feels like the warmest embrace and the cruelest torture all at once. He felt like he might go insane this entire weekend, being so close to Simon, every tentative smile and brush of fingers so close to what he really wanted to have with him. He swallows and forces out the words that have been choking him for months.   

“That I– I love you.” Wille's voice shakes, and hot tears sting his eyes. This is the end. The end of their friendship, the end of them, whatever fledgling thing that had began to grow between them being squashed by Wille's impulsive words.

Because Simon doesn't feel the same. He doesn't. 

Right?

Except Simon's breath hitches in his throat, and his eyes are shining with more than just the Christmas lights adorning his tree. There's something swirling in them, something Wille has seen before but has never been able to put a name to. It stirs a hope inside of him that threatens to burst the dam in his mind, letting all his repressed feelings for Simon flood out and drown him. 

“Wille.” Simon breathes, and Wille's entire world tilts on its axis as Simon leans forward, covering the hand Wille still has laying on his neck. There's a second between them where time seems to stand still, a simultaneous intake of breath, and then Simon's lips are pressed against Wille's, soft and sweet and everything. His fingers grip Wille's hand while he uses his other hand to grip Wille's shirt and pull him impossibly closer.

They part with a gasp, too soon. “Simon.” Wille says his name between them like an exaltation, running his hand up into Simon's hair, threading his fingers through silky curls. 

“Say it again.” Simon murmurs, his eyes closed. Because Wille knows Simon, knows him to his core, he doesn't need to ask. He leans his forehead against Simon's gently, rubbing circles into his scalp.

“I love you.” Wille replies without hesitating. He feels the words like they're a part of him entirely, like there will never be Wille without loves Simon. 

“I love you, too.” Simon gasps wetly, his eyes shining with tears, his mouth stretching into a wide smile, all gleaming teeth and crinkling eyes. A warmth blooms in his chest, the sweetest ache. Wille feels like he might crack under the weight of this moment, the beautifully synchronized way they lean into each other again, the blissful feel of Simon pressed against him. It rivals every fleeting fantasy he has harbored over the past year. 

Beyond them, a room over, the track-list plays the next song, soft and sweet to match this moment. Simon throws his arms around Wille's neck and nuzzles his face into it, his warm breath sending a shiver down Wille's spine.

He wraps his arms around Simon and squeezes him closer as Hope Sandaval sings the lyrics fade into you. Pressing his face into Simon's hair and inhaling deeply, he can't help but to think that's exactly what's happening.

✨️

[adnauseum11]

First Aid Kit (John Price x Reader)

You return home after a trying Christmas.

1.3k words

CW: none

Feedback welcome!

While not explicitly written for @glitterypirateduck O' Captain Challenge it does fit the criteria. For more John Price deliciousness check out the other works submitted!

This work is part of the S.N.A.F.U. series, the Masterlist is also pinned to my blog.

Ao3

O, Captain Challenge

Masterlist

You realize Christmas with your brother and his growing family is a mistake approximately a day after you arrive. There’s only sixteen months between the two of you, but with your parents gone, you’ve slowly been drifting apart. You hadn’t actually spoken to him in weeks, life being too chaotic, but when you called on Christmas Eve and said you wanted to come for Christmas (desperate not to be alone) he had dutifully accepted and agreed to make the guest room up.

At first, your adorable three-year-old nephew is a welcome disruption from your misery. Seeing him rip open presents and make a joyful mess around the tree was heartwarming to say the least. But watching your normally annoying brother loving on his pregnant wife had only made you miss John more. Somewhere along the line you had gotten used to John always having a hand on you, or being nearby, and the way you had turned away from him before he left was haunting you. Your brain kept whispering agonizing things. What if that was the last time you saw him? Anxiety is a ball in your stomach you can’t seem to shift, no matter the distraction. You had gone to bed with a heavy and bruised heart and a thin smile pasted on your face the first night. The second night brought a familiar text from John, and all the conflicted emotions you tried to put off came roaring back with it.

JP: Back here.

JP: Where are you?

JP: What’s going on love?

Stewing on what to do about John drains you. You don’t answer the texts, opting to try for sleep instead, knowing he can see you’ve read them. It feels childish, a tit for tat situation, but you know it will drive him crazy to be left without a reply. You exact some small revenge where you can.

You decide to lie to your brother and say you are being recalled to your nonexistent job as you lay awake, listening to the bangs and crashes of the household waking the following morning. Everything is too raw to explain, especially as you had never actually gotten around to telling your brother about the shift in yours and John’s relationship – never mind the rest of it. It is too much to get in to, and the wrong time to bring it up.

With John back, the itch to get home is tempered by the argument left hanging, gnawing away at you. You are too distracted and anxious to even pretend at happy family now. Your brother, who grumbles about driving you back to the railway, mercifully doesn’t otherwise question the departure that is as sudden as your arrival.

Your anxiety further ramps up when you see John’s car parked at the flat when the Uber drops you off. You had expected him to be away longer than a few days given the urgent nature of his departure. You can feel your heart fluttering in your throat, excitement at his return mixing with nerves, unsure what is waiting for you as you walk up to the front door. His rucksack still leaning in the front entrance is the first thing to greet you, making you frown. It’s unlike John to leave his stuff laying around. You toe off your boots and call for him, instinctually heading towards the bedroom to drop your bag. The lights are off in the room but there is still daylight coming in through the gauzy curtains over the windows, making John’s big body in the centre of the bed easily visible. You recognize your IDAHO shirt, draped over his eyes and realize he’s got another migraine.

“John?”

You try again, bumping your thighs against the mattress, your heart feeling too large for your chest and impossibly tender as you drop your bag.

“Darling?”

John jerks upright, yanking the shirt off his face, his intense blue eyes bloodshot and squinting against the throbbing behind them.

“Are you alright?”

You’re reaching across to push against his shoulder, trying to settle him back against the mattress but he’s resisting, searching your face for something. He looks awful, his eyes sunken with exhaustion and pain, his normally sharp blue eyes red, and eyelids slightly swollen. His hair is matted to his head with dried sweat at his temples and his normally neatly trimmed facial hair is overgrown. He’s clearly slept in his clothes, his shirt and jeans rumpled. Your heart lurches, your instinct to soothe overwhelming your anger. Right up until John opens his mouth.

“Was going to ask you the same thing, you scared the shit out of me when you weren’t here.”

He’s accusatory, his narrowed eyes piercing.

“John, I told you I didn’t want to be alone for Christmas! I went to see my brother!”  

Only John could summon the energy to fight with you while feeling dreadful, and it concerns you as much as it does annoy you.

“Could have left a note or sent a text, love, I would have gotten it when I was back.”

He’s stubborn, his brows drawing together but he finally physically relents, letting you press him back against the pillows. Annoyingly, he’s not wrong and arguing is only going to wind him up when he’s already suffering.

“Yes, I should have.”

You agree, flummoxing him into silence and you take the opportunity to swipe your palm over his fevered forehead gently, closing his eyes again in the process. He blindly follows your touch, his hand capturing your wrist. Your heart gives a kick when you glimpse the bandage around his forearm.

“Darling – “

John’s voice sounds thick with emotion and your chest clenches tightly in response. You find yourself sitting on the bed beside him, shushing him before he can speak any further.

“Let’s talk when you’re feeling better, hot stuff.”

“Will you stay with me?”

He’s plaintive now, his own annoyance taking a backseat for the moment. It reminds you of when you were younger and he would try to wheedle you into staying for another pint. And then another. The sincerity gets you every time.

“Of course, I’m not going to leave you like this.”

The deep sigh of relief that escapes John would make you smile if you weren’t feeling so fragile. Instead, you smooth his hair down, stroking the crown of his head. You can’t stop watching his face, mapping any sign of pain or discomfort. He seems content to let you lightly run your hands over his face and head, his hands settling back in the blankets.

“Do you want anything?”

“No. Just you.”

This time you do manage a small smile, the motion forcing the water gathering on your bottom lashes down your cheeks.

“I missed you, you wretched man.”

Your words are just as wet as your cheeks, hiding nothing from John even with his eyes closed. He wraps his hand around your wrist and kisses your palm, whispering something against your flesh before returning your hand to his cheek. You can’t help but stroke his wiry facial hair, running your thumb over the apple of his cheek gently. You replace your soft and well-worn t-shirt over his eyes, soothing him further. Gently you return to stroking his hair, massaging his scalp intermittently until your fingers ache and John’s finally in a deep sleep, his breathing slow and measured.

You wait until he’s out cold before shimmying out of bed to unpack your bag and shower, leaving the door open so you can hear if he wakes and calls for you. Seeing John in obvious pain activates some primal part of you, the urge to tend to him nearly overwhelming. It’s an odd sensation, especially after days spent conflicted about his actions. You spend the entire shower mulling over the situation, half your awareness directed towards the bedroom. Without allowing yourself to think too deeply any further, you give in to your impulse and forgo dinner to crawl back in beside John’s sleeping form, tucking yourself against his side with a sigh. Sleep comes easily, even at the early hour, the warmth of John’s big body bleeding through your relaxed limbs.

Next Chapter

Taglist:

@deadbranch @beebeechaos @cadotoast @syoddeye @writeforfandoms @itr-00 @chloepluto1306 @batw3nch @magsmagic @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @chickennn-soupp @fruitymoonbeams-blog @redwites

[brodygold]

12 Days of Christmas: Day 1

Hey everyone! A good friend of mine @hypnozys convinced me to try the 12 days of Christmas challenge, so expect a post every day from now until Christmas. As an extra challenge each day will be themed around the song and the Golden Army/Polo Drones! Why am I doing this to myself? Who knows! Be sure to check out his challenge too

On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: a partridge in a pear tree.

Ethan walked through the woods on his usual path, eager to get home before dark to see his girlfriend. He had taken this path every day ever since he moved to this town a little over a year ago, but something felt different this afternoon.

As he turned a corner, he froze. There, in a small clearing, stood a pear tree. It was strangely lush for the season, its branches heavy with golden-hued pears and snow. At the top of the tree perched a magnificent partridge, its feathers shimmering faintly in the muted sunlight. The bird’s beady eyes seemed to fix on Ethan, as though beckoning him closer.

Cautiously, Ethan walked towards the tree. Sitting underneath the tree, half hidden amongst the snowflakes, was a shiny gold football jersey with the number 10 on the front. He felt compelled to try it on, the fabric soft and lush against his fingertips as he picked it up.

Ethan hesitated, but the pull was too strong. He slipped off his coat and tugged the jersey over his head. The moment the fabric touched his skin, a rush of energy surged through him. He gasped as his body began to change.

His shoulders broadened first, the bones cracking and realigning as thick cords of muscle wrapped around them. His chest ballooned outward, his pecs becoming firm and square, while his abs hardened into a sculpted six-pack that looked as though it had been chiseled from marble. His arms lengthened, biceps swelling to the size of grapefruits, veins snaking under his now bronzed skin. He could feel his hands growing rougher, as though years of gripping footballs had calloused them.

His legs were next, his thighs and calves thickening into powerful pillars. His stance widened instinctively, his body built for strength and speed. Even his neck thickened, supporting a head that now seemed both commanding and rugged. His jaw sharpened, his cheekbones more pronounced, and his hair took on a short, slightly tousled style, perfectly framing his new face.

Then his mind fogged for a moment, and when the haze lifted, everything seemed...simpler. The worries and complexities of his old life melted away, replaced by a singular focus: the game. Football. Winning. Training. Teamwork. His vocabulary shrank as complicated thoughts gave way to a simpler mindset. His previous memories of dating women and having a girlfriend vanished into thin air. Why would he ever want to date chicks? He ha his bros to take care of those needs for him, and he'd return the favor!

He grinned, flexing his massive arms and letting out a low chuckle. “Bro, this feels sick,” he muttered, the words spilling out naturally. All he'd ever have to know was football, his bros, and the Golden Army. Nothing else mattered to him.

As Ethan left to go rejoin his team, the partridge flew down from the tree. It landed right on Brody's shoulder, hidden behind a tree deeper in the woods.

"You did good, bro," he said, "this went exactly according to plan. Thanks for helping me spread the love this season. Only 11 days to go..."

Brody smirked and walked off with his friend still on his shoulder, ready to go welcome his new bro to the team.

[jennaispunk]

I’m not one to toot my own horn or bring attention to myself but I was inspired by the lovely @jolapeno (ilysm 💜💜), @wethairjoel, @sawymredfox (ily bestie!! 💜), @toomanystoriessolittletime and others, I decided to post my own favorite things.

2024 was the year I started writing fic. I posted my first story in February and the rest is history. My journey has had its ups and downs (self-doubt, writers block, etc) but I wouldn’t change a thing. I’ve made some wonderful friends in the Pedro fandom (too many to tag) and I’m grateful for each and every one of you and all your shenanigans. 🤪

Now, for the things:

Just Another Saturday Night- The first fic I ever posted and it was for none other than Javi P for Space Sisters Valentine’s Day Exchange. I love writing for Javi. This was a fun story to write about Javi and reader baby sitting for Steve and Connie on Valentine’s Day and their feelings are revealed. Javi singing to Olivia will live in my head rent-free forever.

Like the Rain- my first Frankie fic. If you don’t already know, I love Frankie, and I mean LOVE (I really should write more for him). This one was for @guiltyasdave 1.5k kisses challenge and the prompt was kisses in the rain. If you don’t know by know, I love Frankie, and I mean LOVE. I really need to write more for him. This little story was ultimately about Frankie learning to accept love and the rain provided a good metaphor for washing the slate clean and starting again.

A Symptom of Being Human- my first Joel fic. This one was a bit different for me because it was the most heavy thing I’d written up to that point. It dealt with loss and panic attacks and I cried while writing it.

It’s Only Make Believe- my first Dieter fic written for @burntheedges Roll-A-Trope Challenge. My prompt was fake dating/relationship. This one was a bear, y’all. I struggled with this one quite a bit and it’s my longest fic to date. I had a hard time finding Dieter’s voice but I think I managed okay. This one made me fall for Dieter even more (and also made me rewatch the Bubble 🤣) and I’ve written two more fics for him since then.

Amid the Falling Snow- My first Ezra fic. Ezra has always been a favorite of mine but I had shied away from writing because I was nervous I wouldn’t be able to capture his voice. After a few rewatches of Prospect (a terrible thing to have to do I know 🤣) and some reading some fantastic resource material from @morallyinept, this just flowed out of me. I think I really found my stride here in terms of being able to paint an image with my words.

Miller’s Christmas Tree Farm- I tried something new this year: co-writing. This was a piece of Joel Christmas fluff I wrote with @toomanystoriessolittletime. I had so much fun writing this with you and I hope we can team up in 2025 to do it again!!

I also made a few moodboards (not related to any of my fics) that I’m proud of.

Frankie and Mouse- for @beefrobeefcal. Frankie and Mouse will always be one of my favorites and I will ship them until the day I die. This series has it all: smut, humor and tears.

Jagged Scraps of Him- for @moonlitbirdie. This was the first Ezra fic I read and boy did it blow me away. I love the way Birdie writes Ezra. If you haven’t read it, what are you waiting for?You can find the fic on A03 if you’re a registered user. I’m posting the moodboard as I pic because I can’t link it.

I participated in quite a few writing challenges this year (some of which I mentioned above) and helped me grow as a writer. I’m looking forward to the writing challenges you all come up with in 2025!

I stepped out of my comfort zone a bit in 2024 and participated in @morallyinept’s Pike’s Pick-n-Mix, where I was paired with the amazing @beefrobeefcal who I’m blessed to say became a good friend. ily Beef!! 💜

I also participated in Pedro Scouts. @goodwithcheese-Thank you so much for all your hard work and dedication into creating such a welcoming and fun space for the fandom. Scouts Summer Camp was probably my favorite part of this year. The shenanigans and group activities were hilarious and so much fun. Because of summer camp, I met @jolapeno, who has become a good friend. I’m truly blessed. 💜

I can’t say goodbye to 2024 without thanking all of those who have supported me, laughed with me and shared thots with me. I can’t tag you all because there are just too many. Here’s just are just a few that I haven’t already tagged and/or mentioned in this post who have made my 2024 worth remembering:

@whocaresstillthelouvre @secretelephanttattoo @bitchesuntitled @artsy-girl-76 @sixhours

@mothandpidgeon @yopossum @tinytinymenace @hellfire-state-of-mind @maggiemayhemnj

@romanarose @perotovar @toxicanonymity @wordywarriorwrites @mando-abs @timelordfreya

Here’s to a great 2025 for all of us!!

Much love,

Jenn 💜

[bookloover35]

A Holmes Family Christmas- Sherlock Holmes.

The snow had been falling gently all day, creating a soft, white blanket over the streets of London. The smell of pine and cinnamon filled the air as the house was transformed into a warm winter wonderland. The Christmas tree stood proudly in the corner of the sitting room, adorned with twinkling lights, delicate ornaments, and a star at the top, which your daughter had insisted on placing herself.

It was a sight to behold — one that made your heart swell with warmth. It had been an eventful year, one filled with both joy and challenges, but now, as Christmas Eve settled in, there was nothing you wanted more than to soak in every moment of this beautiful family gathering.

Sherlock stood by the window, a half-smile on his lips as he looked out at the snowfall. The typically aloof detective was positively glowing today — not because of any grand mystery solved, but because of the happiness that filled your home. His usual sharp demeanor softened when he was with you and your daughter, and today, there was an undeniable tenderness in his eyes.

"Do you ever tire of the snow?" you asked, stepping up beside him and resting your hand gently on his arm. You were still getting used to the idea of being pregnant with your second child, but your growing bump was a reminder of the love and life that had blossomed between you both.

Sherlock turned to you, his gaze affectionate. "Not at all. It's quite peaceful, isn't it? I've always appreciated the quiet after a snowfall."

You laughed softly, rubbing your hands over your stomach. "I think I'll take the warmth of the fire over the snow, especially now that we're expecting another little one."

Sherlock's lips curled into a smile, and he placed his hand over yours, gently caressing it. "I'm rather looking forward to it. But tonight, it's all about our daughter's first Christmas."

Just as he spoke, the sound of little feet scampering across the floor interrupted your moment. Your daughter, barely a year old, toddled into the room, her tiny face lit up with excitement. She had her hair in adorable little pigtails and was dressed in a soft, knitted Christmas dress. Her eyes were wide with wonder as she stared at the tree.

"There's my little adventurer!" you cooed, kneeling down to lift her into your arms. She giggled, her tiny hands reaching for the ornaments on the tree as Sherlock chuckled softly beside you.

"She's certainly taken to the decorations," Sherlock said, his voice full of warmth. "I think she's already plotting which one she'll claim as her own."

You and Sherlock exchanged a smile, one that was filled with love and contentment. Your daughter was already a perfect blend of both of you: curious and bright-eyed like Sherlock, but with your warmth and nurturing nature. You couldn't wait to see what the future held for her, and the thought of bringing another child into the world filled you with a sense of peace.

Soon, the doorbell rang, and a flurry of activity erupted throughout the house. Sherlock's family had arrived: Mycroft, his stoic older brother, was the first to enter, his usual sharp suit looking as impeccable as always, though his eyes softened when he saw his niece. He greeted you both with a polite nod before making his way to the sitting room.

"Ah, it's good to see the Holmes household in such a festive mood," Mycroft remarked, his tone dry but warm. "Though I do believe there will be far too much noise for my liking tonight."

You laughed, "Well, Christmas is a time for cheer, Mycroft. You'll have to make do with it."

Not long after, Enola arrived, bringing with her an air of excitement. She was much less formal than the rest of the family and instantly made a beeline for your daughter, who was now tugging at the ribbons on the tree.

"There she is!" Enola exclaimed, scooping your daughter into her arms with a dramatic flourish. "The first Holmes Christmas," she said, looking at you with a wide grin. "And I suspect it will be just as chaotic as the rest of our holidays."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow but said nothing, content to simply watch as his family filled the room with laughter and light. He was the one who usually stayed outside the festivities, preferring solitude or quiet investigation, but there was a soft comfort in seeing everyone gathered together, celebrating this rare moment of joy.

"Enola, could you please be careful?" Sherlock called over. "She's very interested in the tree right now."

Enola grinned but lowered your daughter gently onto the ground, allowing her to continue her exploration under the watchful eye of both parents. You chuckled softly, feeling a swell of emotion as you watched Sherlock interact with his family, a side of him that was so rarely seen — affectionate, grounded, and surrounded by love.

As the evening wore on, the house filled with the sound of laughter, the clink of glasses, and the chatter of your extended family. You all sat together for a Christmas dinner that was as cozy as it was grand, the warmth from the hearth mixing with the warmth in your hearts.

Sherlock, ever the quiet observer, had his arm around you, his hand resting protectively on your growing belly. He leaned in close and whispered, "I'm glad you're here. This feels like... the beginning of something beautiful."

You smiled, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. "It is, Sherlock. It really is."

As the evening came to a close, Sherlock's family began to say their goodbyes. Mycroft left with a curt nod, Enola gave your daughter a final squeeze and promised to visit again soon, and everyone else trickled out into the snowy night, leaving just the three of you.

Sherlock gathered your daughter into his arms, her eyes drooping as the excitement of the day finally wore off. "Let's get her to bed," you whispered, standing and wrapping your arms around him from behind, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

Sherlock nodded, his lips turning up slightly. "I'm glad we have this. A family."

Your heart swelled, and you placed your hand over his. "A perfect family," you agreed softly.

As you followed him upstairs, the soft sound of carolers drifting in from the streets below, you couldn't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. This was your home, filled with love, laughter, and warmth. And with another little one on the way, your family was only growing stronger.

Christmas had always been a time for hope and renewal, and this year, it felt even more magical than ever.

[hwaslayer]

project: make you love me (jyh) | twelve.

♣︎ spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: yunho can’t stand how you’re so wrapped up in the notorious campus fuckboy, park seonghwa. he would gladly love you the way you deserve, despite being shy, awkward and the complete opposite of seonghwa. thus, when he finds himself spending more time with you over literature reviews and random study sessions, he decides to take on the challenge to win you over.

—pairing: jeong yunho x f. reader x park seonghwa

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers/friends to lovers, college au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 4.3k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing/mature language, seonghwa, a cute christmas hangout with yunho, yeosang and friends!, little acts of affection, soft kisses, making out, dry humping, neck kisses, cute lil teasing moments, progression!! 😚

—on rotation: snow flower - v & peakboy

—a/n: hi everyone! sorry for the delay, my updating schedule is outta wack rn 😭 i've been on vacay from work but i've been trying to take this time to rest so i haven't been writing as much. thanks for waiting for the new update! as promised, i also released san's one shot 🖤 you can find it here if you missed it!

"Oh my god, it's so cold!" Chaeryong squeals and squeezes your arm as the two of you find a good spot in front of the tree near the main entrance into campus. Tonight was the campus tree lighting, so tons of students and residents in the surrounding neighborhood came to get into the holiday spirit. "Okay, this is perfect! Come!" She gestures for Soobin and Seungmin to hurry.

"Who else is coming?" Soobin asks, sipping on the coffee he's been babysitting for an hour now.

"Hyunjin, Yeonjun, Minnie, Jongho—" Chaeryong puckers her lips to the side. "Everyone, basically." She chuckles. 

"Is Yunho coming?" Your eyes quickly dart to Seungmin as he bites on his bottom lip to prevent himself from smirking. But, it's too fucking late cause now, the asshole has you blushing just by mentioning his name. You knew Yunho was coming, but you couldn't help but be nervous every minute you hadn't seen him.

"Hm, I think your answer is right there." Chaery subtly points to a wild Yunho standing in the crowd, speaking to Mingi before his eyes start to scan the place. His eyes meet yours and a soft smile grows on the corners of his lips. He bids farewell to his friend before walking over, your smile slowly growing as he gets closer. "Wow, he looks really good." Chaery says in your ear and giggles.

"Yeah, he does." You eye him in his black coat, white longsleeve, black jeans, black boots and a black and white scarf messily sitting around his neck. "Hey." You smile at him once he's finally in front of you. "You made it!"

"Mhm. And I bring hot cocoa." He hands over one of the cups in his hand and you scrunch your nose.

"Thank you." 

"Of course." He looks at Chaery, Seungmin and Soobin. "Hey, sorry. If I had more hands, I would've brought more."

"Nonsense, Yuyu. I appreciate the thought!" He chuckles when she calls him that nickname he can't really stand, but he excuses it for Chaery anyway. "I'll make these guys useful." She turns to Soobin and Seungmin. "Come with me to get some hot cocoa please."

"I forgot my wallet." Seungmin lies, though he's only teasing and he'll buy her hot chocolate if she really wants him to.

"You liar, you have your card right there." Chaery points at his card on the back of his phone. "After all the things I've done for you.." She continues to go on as she drags Seungmin to the hot chocolate booth, leaving you, Soobin and Yunho in your spots.

"You know that place in town just opened, right?" Soobin sips on his drink. 

"The christmas village with the ice skating rink?" He nods.

"Yup. We should go afterwards. The later we wait, the busier it might get." He looks at Yunho. "Yunho, you should come along with us!" Yunho gives him a smile and nods.

"Sure, I'm down." Sooner or later, the rest of your friends arrive, saying their hello's to both you and Yunho before squishing into the tight spot near the tree. But, because of the tight space, you find yourself now in front of Yunho while he stands closely behind you— chest barely ghosting your back. "You okay?"

"Mhm." You slightly turn over your shoulder to look at him and give him a reassuring nod. A few people are rushing over to the front, causing you to stumble to the side when they force their way through you and your group.

"Can you guys relax? Damn." Jongho says out loud, rolling his eyes. "It's a tree lighting, not a fucking mosh pit." Yeonjun laughs loudly, trying to calm him down.

"Jeez." Yunho puts his hand out to protect you from the rest squeezing their way through. "Come here, stay close to me." You feel his arm wrap around your waist, gently ushering you to the side and out of harm's way. 

"Thank you." You lean into his touch, hoping he doesn't release the hold he has on you right now. Even though the both of you have gotten rather cozy over time, you still find yourself shy around Yunho because you like him.

A lot.

And you didn't want to rush anything, especially since you and Yunho haven't necessarily moved into a more 'serious' territory. Not that lots of time has passed, but part of you was starting to feel a bit scared and conflicted— wondering why Yunho hasn't taken you out on a date yet, or why things haven’t progressed much in general. 

Little do you know that he's already been planning this for awhile, hoping to ask you on an official date tonight.

Yunho smiles to himself because he can already pick up on the little things you do, the little ways you ask for affection. He tightens his hold around you, giving you a small kiss on the back of your head before playfully resting his chin on top.

"Are you warm?"

"Kinda?" Yunho squints with a small smirk in his face.

"Lying to me?"

"Never." You pout and he laughs, handing you his cup.

"Please hold." You take his cup and watch him remove his scarf. He wraps it around your neck, enough that it engulfs you and instantly provides the heat you were looking for. His scarf smells exactly like him— hints of detergent with vanilla and musk. "Better?"

"Yes." He smiles at you in pure adoration before grabbing his cup and stepping back, resuming his hold on you from behind. "Yunho?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you actually wanna go later?"

"Yeah, why not? It'll be fun."

"I'm just making sure." He chuckles.

"Don't worry about me." He kisses you on the temple just as Chaery and Seungmin find you two in the crowd.

"Lovebirds! What happened? Why is Jongho making that face?" Chaery furrows her brows at the group before sipping on her cocoa.

"Some people were rushing to the front." Chaery subtly eyes at the way Yunho is holding your waist, your fingers loosely laced with his.

"Aw, and Yuyu kept you safe!" You flash her a look as she stands nearby with Seungmin, Yunho giggling to himself.

"Hey." Suddenly, Yeosang pops up next to Seungmin and Chaery, his hands dug deep into his racer jacket.

"Was not expecting you to be here." Yunho laughs a bit, grabbing your cup to throw it away in the nearby trash can with his.

"I was already on campus so I figured I'd come." He looks at you and your friends, giving you all a small smile. "You guys look cozy."

"Trying to be." Chaery snuggles into her own scarf, while Seungmin dips into the neck of his jacket. "Nice to see you out though, Kang Yeosang! You should stay with us." She gently tugs on his jacket to bring him closer to the group.

"Can you let him decide on his own, please?" Seungmin  looks at her, softly grabbing at her elbow to stop her from tugging on Yeosang's jacket.

"What! His roomie is here too. He's not entirely alone." Yeosang laughs and stands next to you and Yunho, also eyeing the way Yunho now has his arms around you to keep you close.

"Cute." Yeosang says, clearing his throat shortly afterwards. "What time did you get here?"

"Not too long ago." Yunho looks at his roommate. "I had to go home and change really quickly."

"Change, hm?"

"Too cold." Yunho shivers a bit, holding you close to him as you continue to talk to your friends.

"Yeah, he would!" Yunho and Yeosang overhear you say before you swing back to look at them. "Yeosang, you'd go with us to Santa's Wonderland, right?" Yeosang points at himself and you nod.

"I mean, I wouldn't just go there myself—"

"Then come along with us! We're going right after the lighting ceremony." You smile. "It'll be fun! Yunho is going, too!" Yunho turns to him and nods in agreement.

"You should, it'll be cool. Holiday season only comes once a year." Yunho shrugs.

"Uh, sure? I'll come. But, what is Santa's Wonderland?"

"It's super nice. They have a long light maze that's just made up of a ton of Christmas lights hanging everywhere. Then, there's the ice skating trail, plus there is a part called The Village where you can buy food or drinks." Soobin pauses. "Plus, you can listen to people sing or wait for their turn to talk to Santa. It gets you in the spirit." Soobin finishes his statement before you let out a small giggle.

"Sounds dope. I'll go." You release the breath you've been holding while waiting for Yeosang's response. You're glad he agreed to go, especially being that Yunho is the only person he knows well. You want to get to know Yeosang better, especially since you find yourself spending more and more time at the apartment. You want to be respectful of his space, too.

Just as everyone continues to talk about Santa's Wonderland, the university's president comes near the tree with a mic in hand— beginning the ceremony with his opening remarks. Shortly afterwards, a choir sings a few christmas carols before the president comes back to countdown the tree lighting. Yunho continues to hold you close, your hands resting on his arms as you both subtly sway to the christmas songs now playing on the speakers. The tree is lit beautifully in front of you, beautiful white and gold ornaments lining the branches. Yunho peers over, smiling to himself when he sees the light in your eyes, the glow bouncing off of your skin.

"It's so pretty." You mumble.

"You are." He says against your temple before planting another soft kiss there. You smile to yourself as your attention now shifts to the crowd, your friends happily swaying along to the music. Then, your eyes land on a familiar face across from you— your smile fading when they meet yours.

"Okay, please don't ruin our nice evening because of them." San taps Seonghwa on the chest when he realizes his bestfriend is still fixed on you and Yunho.

"Why can't you just let them be, Hwa? What's the purpose—" Mingi says through his teeth.

"Why, cause that's your friend?" Seonghwa looks at Mingi. "Why don't you go over there then?" Mingi sucks on his teeth.

"I'm just saying, don't you get tired? Let the girl be happy if she's happy."

"It's a phase."

"I don't think so." San mumbles under his breath, tired of seeing Seonghwa act this way when he should've gotten his shit together earlier. But he stays quiet; what can he do at this point? It's not like Seonghwa listens to any of them.

"Hwa." Hyeri pops out of the blue, her hand snaking around his arm. 

"Hey."

"I was looking for you, you didn't answer my text so I wasn't sure if you were still coming." San and Mingi shoot each other a look when she comfortably stands next to him and holds onto his arm— you, now suddenly an afterthought with Hyeri around.

But, to each their own.

You truly hope Hwa moves on because you're happy.

"Should we get going? There's a couple of us that have cars."

"I drove so I can take a few people too." Yeosang says with his hands dug into his pockets.

"Same." Yunho adds.

"The lovebirds should be alone in the car." Seungmin says, laughing when Chaery pinches his arm. "It's the only privacy they'll get right now!"

"Alright, alright." Hyunjin finishes helping sort people into different cars. "Let's go!"

And so with that, the group splits between a few cars, including Yeosang's. As Seungmin promises, you are riding solo in Yunho's car; the heat blasting as soon as he drives off and follows Soobin's car. 

The drive is about 15 minutes back north, nestled right by an outdoor shopping plaza. Your group circles the lot a few times before you all find parking in different areas, only meeting up at the entrance once you're all out of the cars. You happily hold Yunho's hand heading into Santa's Wonderland, the christmas lights hung everywhere shining nicely against the night sky. Yunho playfully twirls you around as you walk under the lit tunnel, gently nudging you to the center so he can take a few pictures of you. After he takes your pictures, the girls grab you and rush over to  another portion of the maze, making the guys snap more pictures before it switches off. 

"Pretty girl, look. Mind if I take you there?" Yunho comes from behind you and says softly in your ear. He points up at the mistletoe hanging above one of the archways you're approaching. 

"Not at all." You smile, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks when he leads you right underneath— cupping your cheeks to place a soft, feathery kiss against your lips.

"I wanted to ask you something." Yunho caresses the surface of your cheek with his thumb.

"Hm?" You hum, head tilted to the side as you wait patiently for his next response.

"I.. was wondering if I could take you out, o-on a date? I know it's been some time, but I've been trying to plan the perfect date and all. I-I was hoping I could take you back home so we could do a few things there before seeing my mom and aunt." You blush and nod.

"I'd like that, Yunho."

"Nice." He says, making you laugh at how shy he's getting. At this moment, he feels everything inside ignite. He feels unstoppable, he feels like he's on top of the world;

Jeong Yunho is in love with you. 

So, so genuinely in love with you.

"God, they're so cute." Chaery squeals as the group continues on, leaving you two to follow behind.

"It's nice to see Y/N genuinely happy. She really deserves it." Soobin digs into his hot fudge sundae.

"Yunho, too." Yeosang chimes in, drinking a white mocha. "He's been happier since they started.. I don't know what this is? Dating, I guess? They're like, official but not?"

"Huh, I guess you're right." Jongho adds. "Have they gone on a date yet?"

"Not that I know of."

"I think he's been planning it. He's asked for my opinion on a few random things, can't help but feel like they're part of his plan." Yeosang responds. "He's a really good guy. Whatever it is, I'm sure Y/N will really like it."

"I agree." Chaery giggles.

After taking more pictures and enjoying the rest of the light maze, the group finds their way to the ice skating trail. Everyone takes their time getting through the trail, your friends spread out at all different points. Yunho is surprisingly good at ice skating. You're not necessarily terrible, but you're not great either. You would rather take your time than try and breeze through the entire thing, just out of comfortability. He patiently holds your hand through the entire path, laughing loudly from time to time at the few instances you almost fall over.

Lastly, the group finally heads towards the village area to find snacks to munch on. There are a few local small businesses selling souvenirs and christmas gifts that you buy from along the way before finding yourself in front of a churro stand with Yunho. You and your friends take your snacks over to the live music, singing along and enjoying the music to wrap the night up.

It was a good time, and you loved that Yunho and Yeosang got along well with your friends. You wouldn't have imagined a better time with everyone, and you're really glad Soobin brought up the spontaneous idea.

Just an hour before closing, the crew heads home— with you, Yeosang and Yunho making your way back to their apartment, Chaery almost playfully dragging you back until Yunho promises her that he'll walk you back home the following morning and won't interrupt your time with her for the upcoming week. She giggles and waves you off, dragging Soobin and Seungmin back to your place.

Yeosang swings the door open to the apartment, and you immediately kick your shoes off to the side. The apartment is warm, causing you to shake off the remaining cold from your bones. 

"What are you about to do? Hop on?" Yunho asks, making Yeo laugh.

"For a bit. I'm kinda lazy, ice skating took everything out of me." You giggle and nod in agreement.

"Yeah, I agree." 

"Today was cool, though. Thanks for inviting me." Yeosang smiles at you and Yunho before slowly making his way to his room. You unwrap Yunho's scarf from around your neck and fold it neatly. Yunho grabs two water bottles before nodding towards his room, heading in first as you follow behind.

"Tired?" Yunho asks as he tosses his keys and wallet onto his dresser.

"Extremely." You look at him. "Is it okay if I grab a shirt and wash up?"

"Go for it." You quietly grab a longsleeve shirt from his pile, waddling into the bathroom to get ready for bed. Once you've deemed the hallway clear of Yeosang, you spring back into Yunho's room in his shirt; him eyeing your cute ass in his clothes.

He honestly will never get enough.

"Comfortable?" You plop onto his bed and start catching up to texts and your social media feed.

"Mhm."

"Did I ever mention how cute you look in my clothes?" Yunho scratches at his temple as he approaches his closet to grab his pajamas to change into.

"No." You giggle, making him turn to face you— leaning onto the edge of the bed to give you a quick kiss on the lips.

"You look really cute in my clothes." He smiles against your lips before pulling back and heading to the bathroom. After a good couple of minutes, Yunho is back in the room and settles on his game chair. He pops his computer on, saying he'll probably play for a bit and that you're welcome to use his laptop for anything. 

But, an hour quickly passes and Yunho is still immersed in his game. Which, you find endearing and cute. You love seeing him comfortable around you, just as you are with him. But after today and how sweet he was being, you just want Yunho. You want him to yourself, now, to be in his hold and to kiss him until you both get worn out.

You want him.

You find yourself straddling his lap again, your clothed core already feeling incredibly needy when you feel the bulge beneath you. 

"What happened to being extremely tired?" Yunho teases as his eyes roam up your body. His hands are at your sides and underneath the shirt, radiating warmth against your skin.

"What happened to playing for a bit?" You tease back, hands at the nape of his neck.

"Sorry, princess." The petname sends shivers down your spine. "I was gonna wrap it up soon."

"Were you?" You giggle.

"I was. But, I can just do that later. What can I do for you right now?" He smirks, finger tracing a soft circle against your side; soft eyes now glued onto yours.

"I just want your company."

"Mm." He hums. "You have my company."

"Nah uh." You pout. "You're over here smashing the fuck out of your keyboard."

"Was not." He laughs. "Tell me." He says close to a whisper, lips only inches away from yours. "What do you really want?"

"A kiss."

"Just a kiss?" You shake your head just as his lips ghost yours. 

"More than just a kiss."

"I think I can help with that." He responds. It's not long before he's locking his lips with yours, the first initial kiss being deep, long; connected until the both of you pull back for a breath. But, Yunho continues to take initiative— dipping in for another, more heated kiss. Your hand gently tugs on his hair, the kiss intensifying by the minute. Yunho slips his tongue in, his grip becoming tighter on your hips when he feels you shift in your position. He feels you subtly roll against him and it instantly drives him insane, sending the blood straight to his dick. 

"Need you, Yunho."

"Hold onto me." He quickly says in between kisses. Suddenly, he swoops you up in one motion, careful not to break the kiss as he sits on the edge of the bed— giving you more space to rock against him and keep him close. The kiss is becoming sloppier, while you're no longer able to control yourself as you grind against Yunho's bulge. He lets out a small groan, his large hands coming to cup your ass to egg you to move more. "Was this what you wanted all along?" He asks as you nibble at his jaw before leaving a trail of kisses down his neck, sucking at the surface near the base. 

"Yes." You breathe out, clit feeling the friction against the fabric of your panties, his clothed cock. You want Yunho so bad, you don't even realize how much you're rolling your hips against him, pace steady but enough to drive the both of you crazy.

"Fuck, feels too good." Yunho breathily says against your lips before gently biting onto your bottom lip and pulling back. "Baby—" He lets out another breath. "When that time comes—" He says against your neck before gently sucking on the surface; slowly, delicately, pausing in between his moves. "I'll make sure to make you feel good." He kisses your neck again. "I'll show you how much I adore you." Again. "Appreciate you." And again. "Want you to feel how special you are."

"Yunho—" His name comes out in a whimper, still grinding against him as you chase your high. Your lips fall back onto his for another sloppy, wet kiss; tongues fighting for dominance while Yunho tightens the grip on your hips. "Oh fuck—" You whine.

"Close, hm?" He gently grabs your chin, lips back against your ear before he nibbles onto your earlobe. "Wanna let go for me, pretty girl?" His voice is husky, fingers digging deep into your side. The petname he murmurs while he sits underneath you is enough to tip you over the edge, face contorting in pleasure when you feel your release completely take over. And Yunho is glad, because one, he can see how pretty you look when you reach your peak— trying your hardest to keep some control over your body as you ride out your high.

And two, Yunho felt like he was gonna fucking pop any second. Watching you tips him over the edge, allowing him to release all of the pent-up pleasure he had been harboring. 

Yunho calls for your name before letting out another soft moan, his body slightly twitching against yours when he reaches his climax. You don't really stop moving until Yunho has finished, head shyly coming up from his neck to meet his eyes. Yunho thinks you're the most beautiful thing he's laid his eyes on, especially now with the post-pleasure glow. He can't wait to see what you look like when he finally gets to feel you, all of you, completely.

"You okay?" Yunho chuckles as he brushes the hair away from your face and gives you a tiny peck on the lips.

"Mhm." You shyly respond and he can't help but laugh a little more.

"So cute." He smiles at you before kissing your forehead. "I gotta go to the bathroom again." He taps your hips. "Kinda made a mess." You giggle and hop off his lap, plopping under the covers while he grabs a new set of boxers and sweats. You hear him quickly turn the shower on before he's out in the next 10 minutes, smelling fresh of his body wash. He tosses his clothes off into the hamper, shutting off his computer before slipping into the bed next to you.

"Do you still wanna watch that movie?" Yunho snorts.

"I'm okay. But, are you? You'll fall asleep."

"I can stay up!" You pout as you look up at him from his chest.

"Okay, cutiepie. If you say so." He pulls up his laptop to bring up Netflix.

"Yunho, what if your mom and aunt don't like me?"

"What?" He looks at you. "They will. I know they will. How could they not?"

"I don't know, I'm just nervous to meet them. I want to make a good impression, of course. I want them to like me and have no worries about me, or.. us?" Yunho gives you a tiny smile.

"They won't. I promise, okay? They'll love you." He navigates the movie. "Besides, they already know about you and have probably looked you up on Facebook." You shoot up from your position and look at him with a brow cocked up.

"What do you mean they looked me up on Facebook— you gave them my Facebook?!"

"No!" Yunho smiles. "More like.. I told my mom your name and she took the initiative to look you up. I'm sure she showed it to my aunt by now."

"Yunho." You whine. "My picture on there is so old!"

"So?! I'm sure you still look beautiful as ever." He grabs your hand and pulls you back down. "Y/N, don't worry about it. I swear they'll love you, okay? Old Facebook photo or not."

"Okay, okay." He kisses your forehead.

"Okay." He repeats after you.

"Where are you taking me for our date?"

"Um, don't worry about that either." Yunho laughs. "Don't try and be slick. You won't get it out of me." You pout again and he shakes his head. "Nope. Here, the movie is playing."

"Fine." You snuggle against him, eyes glued onto the screen as the movie starts.

Sooner or later, Yunho doesn't hear you reacting anymore, and it's obvious that you indeed fell asleep. He tilts his to get his confirmation, seeing your eyes shut and your breathing at a resting rate. He chuckles to himself before gently shutting off his laptop and setting it aside, adjusting his position to engulf you in his arms.

"The movie." You sleepily mumble.

"Too tired. Let's sleep. Goodnight, babygirl." You don't respond. Yunho smiles and kisses your head before shutting his eyes— going to bed the happiest he's been in awhile.

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