#gndw Build a fic

[girl-next-door-writes]

Wrapped In You

Characters: Eddie Munson x reader

Summary: Snowy Hawkins sets the stage for Eddie and his best friend’s Christmas Eve adventure, leading to heartfelt confessions.

Word Count: 1369 words

Prompts: Best friends to lovers. Wearing their clothes.

A/N: This one is for the brilliant @saramelaniemoon and I can honestly say Eddie has been such fun to write.

Snow coated the small town of Hawkins like powdered sugar, the streets lined with twinkling lights and festive wreaths. Christmas was in full swing, and Eddie Munson had somehow convinced you to help him pick out the "perfectly imperfect" Christmas tree for his uncle’s trailer. You’d been best friends for years, ever since Eddie decided you weren’t like the others who shunned him for his love of all things metal and his disdain for conformity. Now, here you were, bundled up in Eddie’s worn denim jacket with the furry lining, trudging through the snow at Hawkins' only Christmas tree lot, which was somehow still open on Christmas Eve.

The air smelled of pine and sap, a mix of freshly cut trees and the faint burn of a fire pit at the lot’s edge. The snow crunched rhythmically under your boots as you stepped around crooked rows of evergreens, each one dusted with sparkling frost under the glow of the overhead lights.

“Eddie,” you called out, your breath puffing like smoke in the crisp winter air. “I can’t feel my toes. Can we please pick a tree that isn’t taller than the trailer?”

Eddie turned around, his unruly curls poking out from beneath a Santa hat he’d adorned just for the occasion. “Sweetheart,” he drawled, dragging the word out like he was savoring it. “You can’t rush art. The Munson Christmas tree must be chosen, not settled for.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. Eddie Munson was a force of nature, even in the dead of winter, and the warmth in your chest had nothing to do with the jacket you were wearing. You stuffed your gloved hands into the too-big pockets, the frayed lining a reminder that this was Eddie’s favourite jacket.

The fact that he’d handed it over without hesitation earlier, when you’d started shivering, made it even harder to ignore the growing ache in your chest—the one that screamed you were hopelessly in love with your best friend.

Eddie let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head like a disappointed artist. “Fine,” he said, pointing to a tree so lopsided it looked like it had been in a bar fight. “This one speaks to me.”

You laughed, a sound that melted into the winter air, and for a second, the cold didn’t matter at all.

“Oh! Or maybe this one!” He pointed out a tree that looked even more dilapidated than the last.

After much debate and a lot of teasing, Eddie finally found “the one”—a small pine tree that was more branches than needles.

“Perfect,” you say, rolling your eyes as he gesturing dramatically like a proud artist unveiling his masterpiece.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he replied with a wink, hoisting the tree onto his shoulder with ease.

Back at Eddie’s trailer, you helped him wrestle the tree into the corner of the living room. Wayne was at work, and Eddie had insisted that tonight was “tree night.” It didn’t matter that the two of you were the only ones decorating.

The heater in the corner of the room hummed loudly, fighting off the December chill that seeped through the thin trailer walls. The faint scent of pine mingled with Eddie’s cologne and the unmistakable aroma of old, second-hand furniture. Eddie put on his favourite Christmas album—a rock-infused holiday record you were sure Wayne would grumble about later—and started untangling the multicoloured lights.

“Here, hold this,” Eddie said, thrusting a tangle of lights into your arms with the enthusiasm of someone handing off a live grenade.

You helped him drape the tree in mismatched ornaments, some homemade and others clearly rescued from thrift store bins. Eddie held up a tattered angel with one bent wing, his face alight with mischief.

“Think we can fix her?” he asked.

You grinned, your fingers brushing the delicate figure. “She’s perfect just the way she is.”

Eddie’s gaze lingered on you a moment too long, his brown eyes catching the soft glow of the Christmas lights. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the hum of the heater and the distant croon of a holiday ballad on the stereo. Then he cleared his throat and climbed onto the couch to place the angel atop the tree.

He perched her in place with exaggerated care, as if she might fall apart in his hands. For a moment, you thought about how fitting she was: a little worse for wear but still shining, still loved.

When Eddie hopped back down, his shoulder brushed yours, lingering just a second longer than it needed to. You smiled at him, but he was already untangling another strand of lights, the moment slipping through your fingers like smoke.

Hours later, you found yourself on Eddie’s couch, wrapped in a scratchy but warm blanket while a cheesy Christmas movie flickered on the TV. The heater hummed softly in the corner, filling the trailer with an uneven warmth, and the faint scent of pine from the tree mixed with the sharper tang of Eddie’s cologne. Eddie was sprawled out next to you, his legs stretched across the cushions, one arm draped over the back of the couch like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Admit it,” he said, nudging your shoulder with his own. “This is the best Christmas Eve you’ve ever had.”

You laughed, leaning your head against the back of the couch. “It’s up there. You make things… fun.”

Eddie’s expression softened, and the teasing glint in his eyes faded into something quieter, more sincere. “You’re the fun one,” he said. “I’m just the weirdo who drags you into my ridiculous schemes.”

“Eddie,” you said, shaking your head. “You’re not a weirdo.”

He smirked, his dimples flashing. “You say that like being weird’s a bad thing.”

You huffed a laugh, but your heart was racing now. His gaze was intense, locking on yours like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

“I mean it,” he said, his voice low and steady. “You make everything better. You always have.”

“Eddie…” Your throat tightened, the weight of his words wrapping around you like the blanket. You weren’t sure if it was the heat of his confession or the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

He leaned closer, his curls brushing against your cheek. “I’m serious. You’re the best part of my life, and I’ve been trying to tell you that for years, but I’m a coward.”

Your breath caught. “You’re not a coward.”

“I am when it comes to you,” he admitted, his voice cracking just slightly. “You’re my best friend, but… I want more. I’ve wanted more since the day you sat in Garreth’s garage for hours, fixing my amp after that disaster of a gig. You didn’t even complain once—just sat there, rolling your eyes at every bad riff I played.”

You blinked, your heart hammering in your chest. The crackle of the TV, the hum of the Christmas lights—everything else faded, leaving just Eddie and the raw vulnerability in his eyes.

“I want you too,” you whispered, the words trembling on your lips.

Eddie’s face broke into a grin, the kind of smile that could light up even the darkest corners of the trailer. He let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Before you could overthink it, Eddie cupped your face with one hand, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. He leaned in slowly, giving you all the time in the world to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you met him halfway, your lips brushing his in a kiss that was soft and sweet and electric all at once. His lips were warm, slightly chapped, but the kiss was perfect—filling you with a giddy warmth that spread from your chest to your toes.

When you finally pulled back, Eddie rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

You smiled, your cheeks flushed and your heart racing. Outside, the snow fell softly against the trailer’s windows, but inside, everything was warm and bright. “Merry Christmas, Eddie.”

[girl-next-door-writes]

Between the Stacks

Characters: George Weasley x reader

Summary: Snow falls softly at Hogwarts, but George Weasley’s mischief sparks warmth in the library—and maybe, something more.

Word Count: 1247 words

Prompts: Library. Mutual pining. A hug that lingers.

A/N: A lovely sweet anon requested this one, so I hope you see it. I have missed writing my favourite Weasley.

The library was quiet, the soft rustle of pages and the occasional scratch of a quill the only sounds breaking the stillness. Snow fell softly against the windows, casting shifting patterns of light on the stone walls. Christmas was just a week away, and most of the students had already left for the holidays, leaving the Hogwarts library eerily empty. You had told yourself you stayed back for the quiet. The peace. But the truth was, the silence felt heavier than you’d expected, wrapping around you like a too-tight scarf.

“You’re staring at that book like it insulted your gran,” a familiar voice broke your concentration, and your heart did a little flip. George Weasley slid into the chair across from you, his signature mischievous grin firmly in place.

“Maybe it did,” you quipped, snapping the book shut. “I’m not entirely convinced Potions theory isn’t some form of cruel punishment.”

George chuckled, leaning back in his chair, and you couldn’t help but admire the way the firelight turned his hair into copper and gold. He was always so at ease, like the world bent just slightly to accommodate him.

“What are you still doing here, anyway? I thought you’d have escaped this place by now.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” you countered, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged, an easy motion that somehow felt practiced. “Fred and I thought we’d stick around. Fewer teachers means more room for…creative experimentation.”

“Ah, I see. And by ‘creative experimentation,’ you mean causing as much chaos as possible?”

“Precisely.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and for a moment, his grin softened into something thoughtful. “But what about you? Why spend your holidays buried in books when you could be…I don’t know, having fun?”

You hesitated, twirling your quill between your fingers. The truth was, you’d stayed back partly because you enjoyed the quiet, but mostly because of him. George. His laugh, his jokes, the way he made everything seem brighter. Not that you’d ever admit it.

“Maybe I like the quiet,” you said finally, glancing away to hide the heat rising to your cheeks. “It’s…peaceful.”

“Fair enough,” he said, though there was a glint of something knowing in his eyes. “But don’t you ever get lonely?”

“Not when I have people like you interrupting me,” you teased, grateful for the shift in tone.

He laughed, the sound warm and rich, shattering the stillness of the library. For a moment, the cold stone walls seemed to fall away, and all that was left was him.

Over the next few days, George seemed to pop up wherever you went. In the Great Hall during meals, he’d slide into the seat beside you with a cheeky comment about your “intense focus” on your soup. In the common room, he’d swipe your parchment to doodle absurd caricatures of Snape, complete with a crooked nose and bat wings. And in the library, he’d appear from behind the stacks, always with a joke or a story that left you laughing despite yourself.

“You know,” he said one evening, as you both sat in the library again, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding me.”

“Avoiding you?” you repeated, feigning innocence as you turned a page in your book. “Why on earth would I do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, leaning back in his chair and tapping a finger to his chin, the picture of mock seriousness. “Maybe because you’re worried you’ll fall madly in love with me.”

You rolled your eyes, though your heart raced. “Please. I think I’ll manage.”

“Suit yourself,” he said with a wink. But his grin faltered—just for a second, the smallest crack in his usual bravado. His eyes lingered on you, softening in a way that made your stomach twist, before he quickly glanced away.

It wasn’t until the evening before Christmas Eve that things came to a head. You were alone in the library, the faint strains of carols drifting from the enchanted suits of armor in the corridors. The fireplace crackled softly, casting long shadows across the rows of books, and snow tapped gently against the frosted windows. The quiet was almost soothing, and you’d been lost in thought when you heard footsteps behind you.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually studying so close to Christmas,” George’s voice rang out, tinged with mock horror.

You turned, startled, to find him standing there, a box wrapped in red and gold paper in his hands. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, and there was a certain nervousness in the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“What’s that?” you asked, eyeing the package.

“A present,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “For you.”

“For me?” You blinked, surprised. “Why?”

“Why not?” he said with a shrug, though his grin was unusually subdued. He stepped closer and set the box carefully on the table. “Go on, open it.”

Your fingers brushed the crisp paper as you peeled it back, the firelight reflecting off the gold paper. Inside was a small, intricately carved wooden box. You lifted the lid to reveal a quill, its handle engraved with your initials and the crest of your house. The silver feathers shimmered faintly, catching the glow of the fire.

“George…” you began, your voice catching. You ran your fingers over the smooth handle, marveling at the detail. “This is beautiful. Thank you.”

“I thought you could use something special for all those notes you’re always scribbling,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding your gaze. “Figured it might make studying a bit less miserable.”

“It’s perfect,” you said, looking up at him, your chest tightening. “Really. Thank you.”

He grinned, but this time there was a softness to it, a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

“You know,” he said after a moment, his tone quieter, “I wasn’t entirely honest earlier.”

“About what?” you asked, though your pulse quickened.

“Why I stayed for the holidays,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to the floor. His hand drifted to the edge of the table, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on the wood.

Your breath caught. “Why did you?”

He looked up then, his brown eyes meeting yours with an openness that made your stomach flip. “Because I… I didn’t want to spend so much time away from you.”

The words hung in the air between you, soft and tentative, like snowflakes that might melt if you moved too suddenly. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, before you could think twice, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. He froze for a heartbeat, then pulled you close, his hold firm and warm and lingering just a little too long to be purely friendly.

“You’re an idiot,” you murmured against his shoulder, though your tone was affectionate. “But thank you.”

His breath was warm against your hair. “For what?”

“For staying,” you said softly, tightening your hold for just a moment longer.

When you finally pulled back, his hands lingered on your arms, his touch warm despite the chill in the air.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, his voice just above a whisper, his gaze locked on yours.

“Merry Christmas, George,” you replied, a smile tugging at your lips.

And as the snow continued to fall outside, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something wonderful.

[girl-next-door-writes]

Across A Crowded Room

Characters: Mycroft x reader

Summary: Your path had crossed with Mycroft at previous events, but perhaps the magic of Christmas would make this party something special.

Word Count: 1487 words

Prompts: Crowded party. Mutual pining. First kiss. Falling into their arms.

A/N: This is for @encounterthepast, @vintagevalentinex and @savvy-devine666 who all requested basically the same fic.

The frost on the windows of the grand estate sparkled like diamonds under the golden glow of the Christmas lights. Mycroft Holmes had been coerced, under significant protest, to attend his mother’s annual charity holiday party. Though he would never admit it, the scene was tolerable—festive, even—with glittering decorations and the warm hum of cheerful conversations. He nursed a glass of wine in the corner, observing the chaos with a quiet air of detachment.

For someone as cerebral as Mycroft, parties were little more than exercises in social endurance. But there was one variable tonight that he hadn’t accounted for: you.

He noticed you the moment you walked into the room. You were a vision in a simple yet elegant outfit that caught the flickering light from the enormous tree, your face illuminated by a radiant smile as you greeted his mother. Mycroft’s heart, traitorous as it was, skipped a beat. It had been years since your paths last crossed—a chance encounter at a gala he barely remembered the details of, save for the way your laughter had stirred something long dormant in him.

And now, here you were again, weaving through the crowd like a spark of warmth in an otherwise cold world.

Unconsciously, his gaze lingered.

You were entirely unprepared to see Mycroft Holmes again. The party invitation had been a surprise, and while you hesitated to accept, the allure of a Christmas evening spent among fascinating characters outweighed your initial doubts. Besides, it was Christmas—a time for magic, forgiveness, and maybe even a little romance.

Still, you hadn’t expected to see him. Mycroft, the man who had simultaneously infuriated and fascinated you during that gala years ago. The man whose sharp tongue and wit had left you breathless, though you’d hidden it well behind playful banter.

As the evening progressed, your paths crossed briefly—a fleeting exchange of pleasantries, polite smiles, and the kind of tension that left you questioning if you’d imagined it. But you hadn’t, had you? His soft gaze, the faintest hint of a smile curling his lips, spoke volumes, even if his words did not.

It wasn’t until you found yourself alone on the balcony later in the evening, savoring a moment of peace from the lively crowd, that you heard his familiar voice behind you.

“So, we meet again.”

Mycroft stood in the doorway to the balcony, his tall frame outlined against the glow of the party inside. He held a new glass of wine in one hand, the other casually resting in his pocket. The sight of him was enough to send your heart racing, though you kept your composure as you turned to face him.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you replied, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

He chuckled softly, stepping closer until he was at your side. “Quite the opposite, in fact. Though I admit, I did not anticipate running into you tonight.”

“Why’s that?” you asked, tilting your head to study him. His sharp suit was impeccable, but there was a warmth to his expression that softened the edges of his usual severity.

“You don’t strike me as the type to frequent such… boisterous gatherings.”

You laughed, the sound light and easy. “And yet here we are, both of us at a Holmes’ Christmas party. What’s your excuse?”

“I had none, save for a stubborn mother with a penchant for dragging me into situations I’d rather avoid.” He hesitated, his gaze flickering to yours. “Though, as it turns out, not all aspects of tonight have been entirely unpleasant.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard. The silence that followed was not uncomfortable; rather, it was charged with the kind of unspoken tension that begged to be broken. The crisp winter air nipped at your cheeks, but the heat between the two of you was undeniable.

“You’re not so bad at this party thing yourself,” you teased, leaning on the railing. “Who knew the great Mycroft Holmes could be so… human?”

He raised an eyebrow, though there was no mistaking the faint smile that played on his lips. “Your assessment of me is far too kind.”

“Or maybe you’re just too hard on yourself.”

The sincerity in your tone made his throat tighten. It had been so long since someone had spoken to him with such honesty, such kindness, without any ulterior motive. He wanted to say something—anything—to express how much your words meant, but the weight of vulnerability held him back.

Instead, you reached out, your hand brushing his arm lightly. “Are you always this quiet, or are you just holding back to make me nervous?”

The playful spark in your eyes was his undoing. He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You have a rather disarming way about you, don’t you?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“As you should.”

The hours seemed to blur after that. The two of you returned to the party, though you found yourselves naturally gravitating back to one another again and again. It was easy to forget the crowd around you when his low, smooth voice wrapped around you like a blanket, drawing you deeper into conversation.

At some point, the music shifted, and couples began to take to the makeshift dance floor in the center of the room. You felt Mycroft stiffen beside you, his discomfort at the display evident, though he remained stoic as always.

“Not a fan of dancing?” you asked, teasing him lightly.

“Dancing,” he said dryly, “is a frivolity I’ve never quite mastered.”

“Oh, come on,” you said, holding out your hand. “It’s Christmas. Live a little.”

He hesitated, his gaze darting from your outstretched hand to your face. “I’m not sure that’s advisable.”

“Advisable?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Are you afraid you’ll enjoy it?”

His lips quirked into a reluctant smile. “Perhaps.”

“Then you’ll just have to take the risk,” you said softly, your hand still extended.

After a moment of silence, he placed his glass on a nearby table and took your hand in his. His touch was warm, steady, and it sent a thrill through you as he allowed you to lead him to the dance floor.

The music was soft and slow, a classic Christmas melody that enveloped the room. Mycroft was stiff at first, his movements measured and careful, but as you guided him with an easy smile, he began to relax. His hand rested lightly on your waist, and the other held yours with a surprising gentleness.

“You’re not so bad at this,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the music.

He tilted his head, his eyes meeting yours. “I have an excellent partner.”

The warmth in his tone made your heart flutter. For a man who was often so guarded, his openness in this moment felt like a gift—a rare and precious thing you didn’t want to squander.

As the song came to an end, the two of you lingered for a moment, reluctant to break the connection. His hand slid from your waist, but before he could step away, someone bumped into you from behind, sending you stumbling forward.

Without hesitation, Mycroft caught you, his arms wrapping around you protectively as he steadied you. The world seemed to stop as you found yourself pressed against him, your hands resting on his chest. His heart was racing beneath your palms, and his eyes searched yours with an intensity that left you breathless.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly, his voice low and steady despite the flush of color in his cheeks.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, though your voice wavered. “Thanks to you.”

You didn’t move. Neither did he. The air between you was thick with unspoken words, and you realized, with a sudden clarity, that this was the moment.

“Mycroft,” you began, your voice trembling slightly, “I—”

He silenced you with a kiss.

It was soft and tentative at first, as though he wasn’t quite sure if this was allowed, but when you melted into him, his grip on you tightened, and the kiss deepened. It was as though the years of pining, of unspoken feelings and stolen glances, had all led to this—an explosion of warmth and sweetness that left you both dizzy.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, your fingers brushing the lapel of his suit. “Probably as long as I’ve wanted you to.”

His laugh was soft, and he pulled you closer, wrapping you in his arms as though he never wanted to let go. “Merry Christmas,” he said, his lips brushing against your temple.

“Merry Christmas, Mycroft.”

And for the first time in years, Mycroft Holmes felt truly at peace.

[girl-next-door-writes]

Fake it til you fall

Characters: Armitage Hux x reader

Summary: Anxiety spikes at a holiday party until an unexpected ally, Armitage Hux, helps you fake-date your way to triumph—but is your evening as fake as you first thought?

Word Count: 1274 words

Prompts: Crowded party. Fake dating.

A/N: A sweet anon requested this one, and I hope they see it.

The clamor of the holiday party swirled around you like a chaotic symphony. Laughter, the soft hum of music, the clinking of glasses—sounds that should have been comforting felt anything but as you scanned the room for a familiar face. The sprawling penthouse, draped in tasteful holiday decor—gold and white lights twinkling against polished wood and sparkling glass—felt more like a museum than a place for merriment.

You had one mission tonight: survive this.

Across the room, you caught sight of your co-worker, Lila, and she wasn’t alone. She was surrounded by her usual gaggle of friends, none of whom you could stand. They'd zero in on you the moment they spotted you alone, hurling the same passive-aggressive questions as always: "Oh, you're here alone again this year? How independent of you!"

The air caught in your throat at the thought. Not again. Not tonight.

You edged closer to the refreshment table, trying to look busy by fussing with a glass of eggnog. The bubbling anxiety gnawed at the edges of your mind, but then, as if summoned by some miracle—or maybe just sheer desperation—you saw him.

Armitage Hux, the last person you expected to be at a party like this.

He wasn’t mingling. Of course he wasn’t mingling. The man looked as out of place as a cat in a dog park. His tailored suit was immaculate, the dark fabric setting off his ginger hair and sharp features. His arms were crossed, his expression one of thinly veiled disdain as he surveyed the room with the air of someone who would rather be anywhere else.

But he was here, and more importantly, he was alone.

You’d worked with him tangentially—sort of. He was a consultant for a neighboring department at your firm, and while you’d only exchanged a handful of words, you knew one thing for certain: he was someone who commanded respect.

Or fear.

Either way, the idea struck like a bolt of lightning.

You could ask him to fake date you. Just for tonight.

You almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it, but then you caught sight of Lila again, her eyes narrowing as they landed on you. Time was running out.

You squared your shoulders, grabbed two champagne flutes, and approached Hux.

“Hi,” you greeted, forcing a smile and holding out the extra glass like a peace offering.

He raised one perfectly arched eyebrow, looking at you as if you’d just interrupted a very important thought.

“Yes?”

You resisted the urge to wither under his gaze. “I… I need your help.”

His other eyebrow joined the first. “My help?”

“Look,” you said, glancing over your shoulder toward Lila, who was now whispering to her friends and shooting pointed looks your way. “There’s this group of people here who always make my life miserable at these events, and I just—well, if I could pretend I wasn’t alone tonight, they’d leave me alone.”

Hux blinked slowly. “You want me to pretend to be your date?”

“Just for tonight,” you said quickly. “No strings, no weird expectations. Just stand near me, maybe talk to me every now and then, and let people assume we’re together. Please.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his green eyes piercing. You braced yourself for rejection, for mockery, for him to laugh in your face and leave you to fend for yourself.

But then he said, “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yes,” he said curtly, taking the champagne flute from your hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

It didn’t take long for the ruse to kick into effect.

Hux, to his credit, was an exceptional fake boyfriend. He stood close enough to you that no one would question your supposed relationship, but not so close as to make it uncomfortable. He offered you his arm when you moved through the room, and his sharp, dry wit kept even the most insistent small talkers at bay.

You found yourself relaxing in his presence, the initial awkwardness giving way to something almost… fun.

Lila, of course, made her move.

“Oh, wow,” she said, sidling up to you with an exaggerated smile. “I didn’t know you were bringing someone. Who’s this?”

“This is Armitage,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “My boyfriend.”

Her eyes flicked over to him, and for the first time in your life, you were grateful for Hux’s intimidating demeanor. Lila’s smile faltered for just a fraction of a second before she recovered.

“Boyfriend?” she repeated, her voice a shade too sweet. “How… unexpected.”

Hux, who had been sipping his champagne, gave her a cold, thin smile. “The best things in life often are.”

You almost choked on your drink.

Lila, flustered, made some excuse and quickly retreated, leaving you and Hux standing together in victorious silence.

“Thank you,” you said, your shoulders dropping as the tension left you.

Hux shrugged. “It was nothing. People like that are… predictable.”

“Still, I appreciate it. You’ve made this party a lot less miserable.”

He glanced at you then, his sharp features softening just slightly. “You’re welcome.”

As the evening wore on, you found yourself talking to Hux more than you’d anticipated.

It turned out that he had a dry sense of humor, one that matched your own. He wasn’t as cold and unapproachable as you’d once thought; he was just guarded. But beneath that icy exterior was someone who was intelligent, quick-witted, and—dare you say it—kind.

You told yourself not to read into it too much. This was just a favor, after all.

But as the party wound down and the crowd began to thin, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment at the thought of the night ending.

“You’ve done more than enough,” you said as you both stood near the exit, coats in hand. “You’re free to go. I mean, you were always free to go, but—”

“I’ll walk you home,” he interrupted, his tone brooking no argument.

“Oh. You don’t have to—”

“It’s late,” he said firmly. “And cold. I insist.”

You didn’t argue.

The walk back to your apartment was quiet, the snow falling softly around you. The city lights reflected off the white blanket covering the streets, casting everything in a golden glow.

“Thank you,” you said again, breaking the silence. “For tonight. Really.”

Hux looked at you, his expression unreadable. “You’ve already said that.”

“I know, but I mean it. You didn’t have to help me, but you did. That means a lot.”

He was silent for a moment, his breath visible in the frosty air. Then, he said, “You’re not as insufferable as most people. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant.”

You laughed, the sound echoing in the quiet night. “High praise coming from you.”

His lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile you’d seen all night.

When you reached your building, you turned to face him, suddenly unsure of what to say.

“Well,” you began awkwardly, “this is me.”

“So it is.”

“Thanks again. I guess I’ll see you around?”

He hesitated, his green eyes searching yours. Then, to your surprise, he reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Perhaps we should try this again sometime,” he said, his voice soft.

“Try what?”

“Pretending,” he said, though there was a hint of something in his tone that suggested he wasn’t entirely pretending anymore.

You felt your cheeks flush, the cold forgotten as you nodded. “I’d like that.”

And as he walked away, his coat billowing behind him, you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe, just maybe, fake dating Armitage Hux wasn’t such a ridiculous idea after all.

[girl-next-door-writes]

Golden Hour

Characters: Steve Harrington x reader

Summary: On a snow-kissed Christmas Eve, the quiet magic of a museum visit brings unspoken feelings between you and Steve Harrington to light, culminating in a heartfelt confession under twinkling lights.

Word Count: 1321 words

Prompts: Museum. Mutual pining. A hug that lingers.

A/N: This is the final of my Build a Christmas Fics, and a birthday gift to myself. A sweet anon requested it, and after writing it I decided it had to be my Christmas Eve post, so enjoy.

The museum was aglow with warm light, golden and soft, casting long shadows across the gleaming marble floors. Christmas Eve had brought a quiet charm to the usually bustling space, and the twinkle of fairy lights strung along the banisters only added to the enchantment. Outside, snow fell steadily, blanketing the city in a layer of pristine white. Inside, you wandered the halls, your hands stuffed into the pockets of your coat, your breath still thawing from the cold.

Steve Harrington was a few steps behind you, his gaze less on the exhibits and more on you. He wasn’t subtle about it—he rarely was when it came to his feelings. But you’d managed to ignore it for months, chalking up his lingering looks and sweet gestures to Steve just being Steve. Today, though, something felt different. There was a charged warmth between you, one that even the vast, echoing halls of the museum couldn’t dissipate.

“This place is nice,” Steve said, finally breaking the comfortable silence as you entered the Impressionist wing. His voice was soft, reverent even, as if afraid to disturb the peace.

You glanced over your shoulder, smiling at him. “Told you it would be. Thanks for agreeing to come.”

“Yeah, well, it beats sitting at home with a TV dinner,” he teased, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You frowned, catching the hint of melancholy in his tone. Christmas Eve had a way of amplifying loneliness, and you knew Steve’s family wasn’t exactly the “let’s gather around the tree” type. “You’re not spending it alone,” you said firmly. “And this place has paintings, history, charm… what’s not to love? I mean, I know you have to put up with me…”

He laughed, his eyes crinkling in that way that made your heart stutter. “You say that like it’s a bad thing to hang out with you.”

You laughed, shaking your head and bumping your shoulder against his arm. “Come on.”

Steve didn’t reply, but his gaze softened, lingering on you a moment longer than necessary before he turned his attention to the nearest painting.

The museum was nearly empty, save for a handful of other visitors and a few staff members. It made the experience feel more intimate, as if the grand halls and priceless artwork existed solely for the two of you. You wandered from gallery to gallery, pausing every so often to admire a particular piece or read the accompanying placard. Steve trailed beside you, his presence steady and warm, even in the cavernous space.

In the Renaissance wing, you stopped in front of a painting of a winter scene. It depicted a bustling village square, with townsfolk ice skating and children throwing snowballs. The colors were rich, the scene alive with movement and joy.

“That one’s nice,” Steve said, standing close enough that his shoulder brushed yours.

“It is,” you agreed, your voice softer now. “Makes me wish we had more days like that.”

“Like what?”

“Simple ones,” you said, gesturing toward the painting. “Skating on a frozen pond, building snowmen, spending time with people you care about. No chaos, no stress. Just… peace.”

Steve was quiet for a moment, and when you glanced at him, you found him looking at you again.

“Sounds nice,” he said finally, his voice low. “You make it sound really nice.”

Your stomach flipped, but you pushed the feeling aside, turning back to the painting. “It’s just a painting, Steve. Don’t read too much into it.”

He chuckled softly. “Too late.”

The hours passed quickly, the two of you slipping into an easy rhythm. You found yourself relaxing, the weight of the season—and everything left unsaid between you and Steve—falling away as you shared quiet moments and exchanged lighthearted banter. The museum’s festive decorations added to the atmosphere, each twinkling light and garland reminding you that it was, after all, Christmas Eve.

Eventually, you found yourselves in the sculpture garden, an open-air courtyard in the center of the museum. Snow drifted down from the sky, the flakes catching in your hair and on Steve’s coat. The garden was lit by warm golden lights, and the sculptures cast long, intricate shadows on the snow-covered ground. It was breathtaking, the kind of scene you’d expect to find in a holiday card.

“This is amazing,” you said, spinning slowly to take it all in. Your breath formed little puffs in the cold air, and you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face. “It’s like a dream.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, though his voice was distracted. When you turned to look at him, you found him watching you again, his expression unreadable.

You felt your cheeks heat under his gaze. “What?”

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Nothing. Just… you look happy.”

“I am,” you admitted. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this… light.”

“Good,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You deserve that.”

The air between you shifted then, growing heavier but not uncomfortable. It was as if the snow, the lights, and the golden glow of the courtyard had wrapped around the two of you, drawing you closer together. Steve stepped forward, his hands stuffed into his pockets, his breath visible in the cold.

“Hey,” he said softly, his gaze meeting yours. “I… uh… I’ve been meaning to say something.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Yeah?”

He hesitated, glancing down at the snow before looking back at you. “I know I’m not always the best at this stuff, but I just… I wanted you to know that I… that you mean a lot to me. More than I think you realize.”

You blinked, his words sinking in slowly. “Steve…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he added quickly, his cheeks flushing. “I just… I needed to tell you. Because being here with you, it’s the best Christmas I’ve had in… well, maybe ever.”

For a moment, you couldn’t speak, your heart pounding too loudly in your ears. Then, without thinking, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. He froze for half a second before hugging you back, his hold warm and firm, as if he was afraid to let go.

“You’re such an idiot,” you murmured against his shoulder, though your tone was affectionate.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice muffled. “But you love me anyway.”

You laughed softly, pulling back just enough to look at him. His hands lingered on your arms, his touch gentle despite the strength behind it. The golden lights reflected in his eyes, and you felt yourself falling for him all over again.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I do.”

Steve’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he just stared at you, as if trying to memorize every detail of your face. Then, slowly, he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours.

“Is this… is this okay?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You nodded, your gloved hands cupping his face as you close the gap between the two of you.

His lips met yours, soft and warm, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away. The snow, the lights, the sculptures—everything faded until there was only Steve, his kiss gentle but full of unspoken emotion. When he pulled back, his gaze searched yours, his expression equal parts hopeful and nervous.

His smile was radiant, and as he saw nothing but adoration in your eyes, he pulled you back into his arms, holding you close as the snow continued to fall around you. In that moment, wrapped in his warmth and the golden glow of the courtyard, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

And as Christmas Eve gave way to Christmas morning, you couldn’t help but think that this—Steve, the snow, the kiss that had left your heart racing—was the best gift you could have ever asked for.

[girl-next-door-writes]

Amidst the Chaos

Characters: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: A glimpse or ‘normal’ might just give Dean the space to figure out what he feels and how to tell you.

Word Count: 1276 words

Prompts: Library. Mutual pining. A hug that lingers.

A/N: This one is for @roseblue373. A very merry holiday season my friend. I hope you enjoy this.

The ski resort buzzed with energy, laughter ringing through the crisp mountain air as snowflakes swirled lazily from the sky. Twinkling Christmas lights adorned every corner, and the scent of pine and cocoa seemed to follow you wherever you went. You tightened your scarf against the chill and glanced around, wondering where Dean had wandered off to. He had a knack for disappearing in the middle of your adventures, only to reappear with some grand excuse or, more often, snacks.

This trip had been Sam’s idea. He’d insisted you and Dean needed a break from hunting, a chance to experience something “normal” for once. While Dean had grumbled about it being a waste of time, you’d caught the faintest hint of excitement in his eyes when Sam had mentioned the ski resort. It wasn’t often Dean let his guard down, but you’d hoped this trip might coax out the softer side of him—the one you secretly adored.

“There you are,” a familiar voice said, and you turned to find Dean striding toward you, his green eyes bright against the winter backdrop. He was holding two cups of hot chocolate, steam curling into the cold air.

“Took you long enough,” you teased, accepting the cup he offered.

He smirked, his cheeks tinged pink from the cold. “I got held up. Some kid tried to swipe my marshmallows. Had to defend my honor.”

You rolled your eyes, sipping the rich, sweet drink. “Right. Because nothing says ‘Dean Winchester’ like battling a seven-year-old over hot chocolate.”

“Hey,” he said, mock-offended. “That kid was scrappy.”

Laughing, you bumped your shoulder against his. “Thanks for this, by the way. I needed it.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, he just looked at you. “Yeah. Me too.”

The next few days passed in a blur of snowy adventures. You’d managed to convince Dean to try skiing, which had been equal parts hilarious and terrifying. He’d started out cocky, insisting it couldn’t be that hard, only to end up sprawled in the snow after his first attempt.

“You okay down there?” you called, trying and failing to hide your laughter.

“I’m just taking a rest is all.” He huffed.

“A rest? In the wet snow?” You smirked

He pushed himself up, snow clinging to his jacket and hair, and shot you a mock glare. “You say that like it’s a bad thing to take a break.”

“Break?” you said, arching an eyebrow. “You’ve been on the ground more than you’ve been on your skis.”

“I’m just…assessing the terrain,” he said, brushing snow off his gloves. “You know, making sure it’s safe for you.”

“How noble of you,” you teased, offering him a hand.

He took it, his grip warm and steady despite the cold, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his fingers lingered just a moment longer than necessary. It sent a shiver down your spine, though it had nothing to do with the weather.

By Christmas Eve, the resort had transformed into a winter wonderland. Strings of lights twinkled in every tree, and a massive Christmas tree stood in the center of the main plaza, its ornaments reflecting the golden glow of the fire pits scattered around.

You and Dean had spent the day exploring the quieter trails around the resort, enjoying the rare peace. As the sun set, painting the snow-capped peaks in shades of pink and orange, you found yourselves at the lodge’s outdoor terrace, overlooking the slopes.

“Pretty view,” you said, leaning against the wooden railing.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, his voice softer than usual. You turned to find him looking at you, not the mountains.

Your cheeks warmed, and you quickly looked away, focusing on the falling snow. “So,” you said, trying to lighten the mood, “what’s the verdict? Are ski resorts better than hunting demons?”

“Tough call,” he said, stepping closer. “I mean, the food’s definitely better. And the company’s not half bad.”

You laughed, the sound echoing in the quiet night. “Not half bad, huh? I’ll take it.”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You know,” he said, his tone turning serious, “I’m not great at this kind of stuff.”

“What stuff?” you asked, your heart pounding.

“The…normal stuff,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “Holidays, relaxing, just…being. It’s not exactly my wheelhouse.”

“You’re doing fine,” you said softly.

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and you felt like he could see every thought you’d ever had about him.

“You make it easier,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before you could respond, a sudden burst of laughter and music from the lodge broke the moment. Dean stepped back, his usual mask slipping into place.

“C’mon,” he said, his tone light again. “Let’s grab some food before Sam eats it all.”

Later that night, you found yourself alone in the lodge’s library. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the rows of books. You’d come here for some quiet, needing a moment to process the way Dean had looked at you earlier. It had been different, more intense, like he was on the verge of saying something important.

You were so lost in thought that you didn’t hear him approach until he was right behind you.

“Figured I’d find you here,” he said, his voice low and warm.

You turned to see him standing there, hands in his jacket pockets, his expression unreadable. “Couldn’t sleep?” you asked.

He shook his head, stepping closer. “Nah. Too much on my mind.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Dean Winchester, overthinking? Never thought I’d see the day.”

He chuckled, but it was short-lived. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he said, his tone suddenly serious.

Your heart skipped a beat. “What is it?”

He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “I… I’m not good at this, so I’m just gonna say it. Being here, with you, it’s the best thing I’ve had in a long time. And it scares the hell out of me, because I don’t want to screw it up.”

You stared at him, your chest tight with emotion. “Dean…”

“You mean a lot to me,” he continued, his voice rough with emotion. “More than I know how to say. And I get if that’s… too much. But I needed you to know.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, without thinking, you closed the distance between you and wrapped your arms around him. He froze, surprised, before hugging you back, his arms strong and steady around you.

The hug lingered, neither of you wanting to let go. His hand slid up to cup the back of your head, his touch gentle despite the strength in his grip.

“You’re not screwing anything up,” you murmured against his chest.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his green eyes searching yours. “You sure about that?”

“Positive,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

And then, before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned up and kissed him. His lips were warm and soft against yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded away. When you finally pulled back, he was staring at you like you’d just flipped his entire world upside down.

“What was that for?” he asked, though his lips curved into a small smile.

“For being you,” you said simply.

He grinned, pulling you back into his arms.

As the fire crackled and the snow fell outside, you stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, savouring the quiet and the promise of something new. Amidst the chaos of your lives, this moment was yours, and it was perfect.

[girl-next-door-writes]

Worth It

Characters: Steve Harrington x reader

Summary: Steve Harrington always thought Christmas parties were a little overrated—until he met you. Between a crowded room, stolen glances, and one unexpected act of heroism, Steve discovers that some things are worth every awkward moment and every bruise.

Word Count: 1191 words

Prompts: Crowded Party. First Kiss. Protective/taking a punch.

A/N: This is for @mayhem24-7forever and I have LOVED writing my boy Steve.

The house was alive with the chaotic hum of a Christmas party in full swing. Bright lights twinkled from every corner, illuminating clashing reds, greens, and golds. Mismatched decorations were strung across the ceiling like a child had been let loose with tinsel. Steve Harrington took one look at the packed living room and sighed.

Why did I come here again?

The answer arrived in the form of you, laughing as you squeezed past two tipsy partygoers who were attempting to dance to Wham!’s Last Christmas. Your cheeks were flushed, eyes sparkling with a mix of holiday cheer and exasperation. You carried two red plastic cups, balancing them like precious cargo.

“Steve!” Your face lit up when you spotted him, relief bubbling up as you wove your way through the crowd with the grace of someone who’d done this before. The room was warm, buzzing with laughter, but you only had eyes for him.

Steve straightened up from where he was leaning against the doorway, his hand brushing through his hair as if smoothing it down. “Hey, you made it out alive,” he teased, flashing you one of his signature smiles—crooked just enough to be disarming.

You rolled your eyes as you handed him a cup. “Barely. I’m convinced this party is 50% people and 50% fire hazards.”

Steve chuckled, accepting the drink. “I believe it. I’m just waiting for the Christmas tree to catch fire at this point.”

You laughed, loud and clear above the noise, and Steve felt his heart skip in a way that it definitely shouldn’t. He blamed it on the season. Christmas was a time for dumb romantic comedies and questionable life choices—he wasn’t immune to either.

“I’m glad you came, though,” you said, and Steve turned to look at you. Your voice was softer now, almost drowned out by the music, but it hit him like a jingle bell to the head.

“Yeah?” he asked, suddenly forgetting how words worked.

“Yeah,” you replied, sipping your drink and shooting him a grin. “Who else would keep me company while I try not to burn alive in this sardine can?”

Steve smirked, trying to play it cool while his heart did backflips. “Happy to be of service.”

Somewhere between people spilling eggnog and someone (Eddie, of course) starting an impromptu karaoke session, Steve found himself in a corner of the kitchen with you. The two of you had slowly drifted there after deciding that the dance floor wasn’t worth risking an elbow to the face. The hum of the party felt quieter here, and for once, Steve didn’t mind missing out on the centre of attention.

“So, what’s your verdict?” you asked, leaning against the counter.

Steve blinked. “Verdict on what?”

“Christmas parties. Are they worth the hype?” You tilted your head, smiling mischievously.

Steve pretended to think about it, pursing his lips. “I don’t know. The jury’s still out. I’m starting to think they’re only good for people-watching and free drinks.”

You gasped in mock horror. “You mean you don’t love being crammed into a room with 50 strangers, half of whom are sweaty?”

“Shocking, I know.” Steve grinned.

You snorted, trying to hide your laugh behind your hand. “Okay, fine. What would make this party worth it for you?”

Steve shifted under your gaze, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were. The twinkle lights reflected in your eyes, and for the first time that night, he wasn’t sure if the warmth in his chest was from the crowded room or you.

“Hmm,” Steve started slowly, his voice quieter than before. “I think… I think the company makes or breaks it.”

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard. “Oh.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes. Did I just say that out loud?

“Steve,” you said softly, and he glanced back up to find you looking at him like you were trying to figure him out.

“Uh, anyway,” Steve stammered, desperate to steer the conversation somewhere else, anywhere else. “How’s your drink?”

You just smiled, and Steve knew he was toast.

Time passed by in a blur and it happened faster than Steve could process.

One moment, you were laughing at Eddie’s butchered rendition of Jingle Bell Rock. The next, some guy—a little too drunk, a little too loud—stumbled into your space.

“Hey, sweetheart,” the stranger slurred, leaning a little too close for comfort.

Your smile fell. “Uh, excuse me?”

“Don’t be like that,” he continued, grinning in a way that made Steve’s blood boil. Before you could say another word, Steve stepped forward, his hand landing firmly on the guy’s shoulder.

“Hey, buddy,” Steve said, voice sharp and steady. “Why don’t you back off?”

The guy blinked, swaying as he looked Steve up and down. “What’s your problem, pretty boy?”

Steve barely had time to react before the guy shoved him. Hard.

Steve stumbled back, catching himself against the wall. The party seemed to pause for a heartbeat—a moment of tension strung tight like a bowstring. And then, before he knew what he was doing, Steve was moving forward again.

“I said,” Steve repeated, his tone darker now, “back off.”

The guy took a swing, sloppier than Steve expected. Steve ducked, but the fist still grazed his jaw with enough force to sting. Before the stranger could try again, Eddie and Garreth swooped in, dragging him toward the door with muttered apologies.

The crowd slowly dispersed, the moment slipping back into party normalcy, but you were still staring at Steve.

“Steve!” You stepped closer, your hand grazing his cheek. “Are you okay? He hit you!”

Steve winced at the sting but gave you a lopsided grin. “Nah, it’s fine. I’ve had worse.”

“Worse? That doesn’t make this okay!” You frowned, your thumb brushing over the faint red mark. Steve swore his heart stopped.

“It was worth it,” Steve blurted, his voice softer now.

You blinked up at him. “What?”

“I mean… you shouldn’t have to deal with guys like that.” Steve shifted under your gaze, his cheeks turning pink. “It’s… worth it, y’know? Keeping you safe.”

You didn’t say anything for a long moment, and Steve was ready to kick himself. Way to sound like an absolute sap, Harrington.

And then you smiled. Really smiled. “You’re kind of an idiot, you know that?”

Steve blinked. “Wait, what?”

Before he could say another word, you leaned up on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, right where the bruise was forming.

Steve froze.

“Merry Christmas, Steve,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to meet his wide eyes.

He stared at you, stunned, before finally managing to speak. “Did… did you just..?”

You laughed, shaking your head as you looped your arm through his. “Come on, hero. Let’s find some ice for that face of yours.”

Steve let himself be pulled along, a goofy grin spreading across his face. For once, he didn’t care about the bruise, the party, or the crowd. The warmth in his chest wasn’t from the holiday lights or the crowded room—it was from you.

And honestly? It was totally worth it.

[girl-next-door-writes]

The Winter He Fell

Characters: Pietro x reader

Summary: A cozy ski trip turns magical when Pietro Maximoff's cold exterior begins to thaw, leading to laughter, confessions, and love.

Word Count: 1612 words

Prompts: Ski resort. Best friends to lovers.

A/N: This one is for the wonderful @captainsophiestark. Merry Christmas.

Snowflakes spiralled gently from the sky, blanketing the resort in a pristine layer of white as the team huddled around the lodge’s roaring fireplace. Tony Stark, ever the extravagant host, had spared no expense for their “mandatory decompression trip.” After weeks of relentless back-to-back missions, the team was worn thin, desperate for a moment to breathe.

Still, Pietro Maximoff looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. His perpetual scowl deepened as he tugged the zipper of his jacket all the way to his chin.

“I don’t understand why we couldn’t just go to Hawaii,” he muttered, his Sokovian accent sharpening the edges of his words.

Beside him, you laughed softly, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Because Tony wouldn’t get to flaunt his flashy ski gear in Hawaii,” you said, gesturing toward Tony, who was currently parading around in a state-of-the-art insulated suit that probably cost more than most cars.

“And besides, look at this place,” you continued, gesturing out the frosted window. The snow-covered slopes stretched endlessly beneath the twilight sky, dotted with golden lights from distant cabins. “It’s magical.”

Pietro turned his head, intending to counter your point, but the words never came. Instead, his gaze softened as he took you in—the way the firelight painted your face in warm hues, the excitement sparking in your eyes. It was a look he’d come to recognize, the one that always made his heart stumble: a mix of admiration and affection he hadn’t yet figured out how to voice.

“It’s tolerable, I guess,” he said, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed him. His eyes lingered a beat too long, and he hoped you didn’t notice.

By morning, the resort was alive with the sounds of laughter and skis cutting through the fresh powder. For Pietro, though, the day had already taken a turn for the worse.

“I’m going to fall on my face,” he grumbled, glaring at the awkwardly large rental skis now strapped to his boots.

“You have super speed and agility. You’ll be fine!” you teased, already gliding toward the ski lift with an ease that only deepened his scowl.

He trudged after you, muttering in Sokovian under his breath. Pietro could’ve easily sped down the hill and been done with it, but that would mean missing time with you. So, despite his protests, he tromped through the snow, every step heavy with reluctance.

At the top of the beginner slope, Steve Rogers launched into an enthusiastic pep talk about balance and technique while Tony critiqued everyone’s outdated gear. Pietro, however, barely registered their words, his attention fixed squarely on you.

“You know I hate you for dragging me into this,” he said as you adjusted your goggles beside him.

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” you replied, laughing as you gave him a playful nudge. “I’ll go slow so you can keep up.”

His eyebrow arched, a crooked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You? Slow? Now this I have to see.”

As you started down the slope, true to your word, you kept your pace leisurely, glancing back to make sure Pietro was still upright. His initial attempts were clumsy at best—his skis wobbled precariously, and within seconds, he tumbled into the snow with a loud groan.

By the time the two of you reached the bottom, you were breathless from laughter, your cheeks rosy from the cold. Pietro collapsed dramatically into the snow, spreading his arms like he was making a snow angel.

“I think I broke something,” he declared, his tone somewhere between exasperation and amusement.

“Oh, please,” you said, standing over him with an outstretched hand. “You’re invincible, remember?”

He clasped your hand, but instead of pulling himself up, his grip tightened. Before you could react, he gave a mischievous tug, sending you tumbling down beside him.

“Pietro!” you squealed, landing in the soft powder. Your laughter echoed across the snowy hills as you swatted at him, brushing snow from your coat.

Pietro chuckled, leaning back into the snow, his breath misting in the crisp air. When the laughter faded, he turned his head to look at you. The sunlight caught the tiny snowflakes in your hair, making them sparkle like stars. His heart squeezed in a way that felt both terrifying and wonderful.

“I think I could get used to this,” he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze. “Lying in the snow? I think we’d freeze.” Your tone was light, teasing, but there was a warmth in your eyes that lingered, soft and unspoken.

The following day, after a spirited debate about the potential catastrophe of letting Bucky loose on the slopes, the team opted for a safer—though equally amusing—activity. The resort’s frozen lake stretched out like a mirror beneath the afternoon sun, its surface reflecting the snow-draped trees that surrounded it.

Natasha, of course, glided effortlessly across the ice, her movements so graceful it was as though she was born to skate. The rest of the team, however, was a very different story. Between Steve’s cautious shuffling, Tony’s exaggerated flailing, and Sam clinging to Bucky for dear life, most of them spent more time hitting the ice than gliding over it.

Pietro, though, was the picture of ease. He zipped across the ice with effortless confidence, weaving between his teammates with a cheeky grin.

“Show-off!” you called, wobbling unsteadily as you attempted to skate toward him.

He smirked, skating backward to meet you, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. “Need some help, slowpoke?”

Before you could come up with a witty retort, he reached out and grabbed your hands, pulling you forward with a suddenness that made you yelp.

“Relax,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically soft as he guided you across the ice. “I’ve got you.”

His touch was steady and sure, his fingers warm even through your gloves. Your breath caught as you looked up at him, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. His usual smirk was replaced by something quieter, something tender, and the intensity in his blue eyes sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

“I think you’re enjoying this,” you managed to say, though your voice betrayed the faint tremble in your chest.

He chuckled, the sound low and rich, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Maybe a little. But you’re not falling anymore, are you?”

Your cheeks burned under his gaze, the faint blush of warmth spreading despite the icy air around you. You quickly looked away, focusing on your feet to steady yourself.

“Thanks,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“Anytime,” he replied, his hands lingering on yours even as you found your balance. His touch was light, hesitant, as though he wasn’t quite ready to let you go.

The moment stretched, and when you finally glanced back up at him, you caught the flicker of something unspoken in his expression—something that made your heart ache in the best way.

The final night of the trip was spent in the lodge, the team gathered around the fireplace for a movie marathon. Pietro claimed the seat beside you on the oversized couch, his shoulder pressed against yours in the cozy space.

As the night wore on, you found yourself leaning against him, the warmth of his presence lulling you into a comfortable haze. His arm draped casually across the back of the couch, and when your head finally rested on his shoulder, he felt his heart race.

“You falling asleep on me?” he teased, though his voice was barely above a whisper.

“Maybe,” you murmured, your eyes fluttering open to meet his.

The room seemed to fade around you, the crackle of the fire and the chatter of your teammates a distant hum. Pietro’s gaze flicked down to your lips, then back to your eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation.

“I need to tell you something,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically serious.

Your heart pounded as you sat up slightly, your face inches from his. “What is it?”

He hesitated, the usual confidence in his smirk replaced by something vulnerable. “I think I’ve been falling for you. Actually, I know I have.”

The words hung in the air, your breath catching as you processed them. “Pietro…”

He shook his head, a nervous laugh escaping him. “You don’t have to say anything. I just… I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore.”

For a moment, you simply stared at him, the warmth in his eyes chasing away any lingering doubt. Then, with a soft smile, you leaned in and closed the gap, your lips brushing his in a tender kiss.

When you pulled away, his grin was as bright as the morning sun on freshly fallen snow. “Does this mean you feel the same way?”

“I think I’ve been falling for you too,” you admitted, your cheeks flushed.

The team’s collective cheers and whistles broke the moment, and you realised too late that your private confession hadn’t been as private as you thought.

“About time!” Tony called, raising his glass in a mock toast.

Pietro groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”

You laughed, slipping your hand into his. “Probably not. But it’s worth it.”

As the snow continued to fall outside, the two of you settled back into the couch, the warmth of his embrace making the world beyond the cabin seem unimportant. For the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

That winter, Pietro Maximoff had fallen—and not just on the slopes.

[girl-next-door-writes]

A Demon's Devotion

Characters: Crowley x reader

Summary: Caught between holiday cheer and lurking danger, you find solace—and sparks—in the unexpected devotion of the King of Hell.

Word Count: 1579 words

Prompts: Crowded party. First kiss. Protecting.

A/N: This one is for the amazing @scolfer77. Merry Christmas!

The Christmas lights strung around the room twinkled like stars, casting a festive glow over the bustling party. The air buzzed with chatter, laughter, and the occasional clink of glasses, but none of it mattered to you as much as the man—well, demon—standing in the corner.

Crowley was his usual brooding self, impeccably dressed in his signature black suit, sipping something dark from a crystal tumbler. The crowd parted around him like he carried an invisible force field, and maybe he did. After all, even on Christmas Eve, he was still the King of Hell.

You weren’t sure why you’d invited him, and even less of a clue why he’d actually shown up. Maybe it was the way his dry wit made even the most desperate situations bearable. Maybe it was the fact that, against all odds, he always seemed to have your back. Or maybe—though you’d never admit it—it was because the thought of celebrating without him felt... wrong.

“Enjoying yourself, darling?” Crowley’s smooth voice broke through your thoughts as you approached.

You shrugged, offering him a smile. “I’d enjoy myself more if you looked like you were having fun.”

He smirked. “Christmas parties aren’t exactly my scene. Too much... cheer, not enough deals.” His tone dripped with disdain, but there was a twinkle in his eye that suggested he wasn’t entirely miserable.

“Well, if you’re going to stand there looking like the Grinch, at least hold a plate of cookies to complete the aesthetic.”

Crowley chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re adorable when you try to boss me around, you know that?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the warmth creeping up your neck. “Whatever, Crowley. Just try to mingle, okay? This party is for everyone, including you.”

He gave a mock bow. “As you wish, my lady.”

Hours passed, and the party grew even more crowded. You moved through the throng, making small talk and ensuring everyone was having a good time. Every so often, you caught sight of Crowley, always at the edges of the room, his sharp eyes tracking your movements. It was comforting and unnerving all at once.

At one point, you found yourself at the makeshift bar, pouring yourself another drink. A man you didn’t recognize sidled up next to you, his smile a little too wide, his gaze lingering a little too long.

“Hey there,” he said, leaning closer than necessary. “Having a good time?”

“Yeah,” you replied, taking a step back. “It’s been great.”

“I bet it has. A pretty thing like you must get a lot of attention.”

You forced a polite smile and turned back to the bar, hoping he’d take the hint. He didn’t. Instead, he placed his hand on the small of your back.

Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut through the noise. “I believe the lady’s made it clear she’s not interested.”

You turned to see Crowley standing behind you, his expression dark. The man faltered under his gaze, mumbling something incoherent before retreating into the crowd.

“Was that really necessary?” you asked, though you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of gratitude.

Crowley shrugged, his lips twitching into a smirk. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress.”

“I wasn’t in distress.”

“Of course not. You’re perfectly capable of handling yourself. But sometimes, it’s nice to have a little backup, isn’t it?”

You hated how easily he could get under your skin, how effortlessly he could make your heart race. “Well, thanks. I guess.”

“Anytime, darling.”

The night wore on, and the party showed no signs of slowing down. But something about the atmosphere had shifted. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but there was a tension in the air that hadn’t been there before.

You found Crowley again, this time leaning against a wall near the fireplace. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes flicked toward you the moment you entered the room.

“Something’s wrong,” you said quietly as you approached him.

“I know,” he replied, his voice low. “There’s someone here who doesn’t belong.”

“What do you mean?”

Crowley’s gaze swept over the crowd. “Call it a hunch. Stay close to me.”

Your stomach twisted with unease, but you nodded. The festive atmosphere suddenly felt oppressive, the cheerful decorations like a cruel mockery of the danger lurking beneath the surface.

It didn’t take long for Crowley’s instincts to be proven correct. A loud crash shattered the hum of conversation, and the room erupted into chaos. Guests screamed and scattered as a figure stepped forward, brandishing a gun.

“Where is she?” the intruder demanded, his wild eyes scanning the room. “Where’s the girl?”

You froze, your heart pounding in your chest. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who he was looking for. He was the husband of someone you’d failed to save, not through lack of trying.

Crowley stepped in front of you, his posture radiating calm authority despite the weapon pointed in your direction. “I suggest you think very carefully about your next move, mate.”

“Stay out of this,” the man snarled. “She knows what she did.”

“I don’t think she does,” Crowley said smoothly. “But you’re welcome to enlighten us. Preferably without the theatrics.”

The man’s hand shook as he tightened his grip on the gun. “She ruined everything! My whole life—gone! And now she’s going to pay.”

Before you could process his words, the man pulled the trigger. You barely had time to register the sound of the gunshot before Crowley moved.

The world seemed to slow as Crowley stepped in front of you, his body taking the full impact of the bullet. He staggered but remained standing, his eyes locking onto yours.

“Crowley!” you cried, reaching for him as he swayed.

“I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “Takes more than that to take me down.”

But his pale complexion told a different story. You felt a surge of anger and fear as you turned to face the intruder. Before you could act, Crowley raised a hand, and with a flick of his wrist, the man crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

“Problem solved,” he said, his voice strained. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll sit down.”

You helped him to a nearby couch, your hands trembling as you pressed against the wound. “You idiot,” you muttered, tears stinging your eyes. “Why did you do that?”

He gave you a faint smile. “Couldn’t let anything happen to you, could I?”

“Crowley—”

“I’m fine, darling. Demons don’t die so easily.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re invincible,” you snapped. “You scared me.”

His hand covered yours, his touch surprisingly gentle. “I’m sorry. Truly.”

The room had cleared out by now, the remaining guests either too scared or too tactful to stick around. It was just the two of you, the flickering firelight casting shadows across Crowley’s face.

“You’re an idiot,” you said again, though your voice had softened.

“And you’re annoyingly stubborn,” he countered. “But I suppose that’s part of why I love you.”

“You… what?” Your brow furrowed slightly with confusion, not entirely sure you’d heard him correctly.

“Did I just say that out loud?” he asked softly, not breaking eye contact.

You let out a shaky laugh, the tension in your chest easing slightly. “You really scared me, Crowley. I thought—” You broke off, unable to finish the sentence.

He cupped your face in his hand, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “I’m not going anywhere, love. Not as long as you need me.”

His gaze searched yours, and for a moment, the weight of everything unsaid hung between you. Then, before you could overthink it, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but it quickly deepened, the weight of your emotions pouring into the moment. Crowley’s hand moved to the back of your neck, holding you close as if afraid you’d disappear.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless. His forehead rested against yours, a rare vulnerability in his eyes.

“Well,” he said after a moment. “That was unexpected.” Crowley chuckled, his voice warm and full of affection.

You laughed despite yourself, the sound breaking the tension. For the first time all night, you felt safe.

The party was long forgotten as you sat together by the fire, Crowley’s arm wrapped around your shoulders. The wound on his side had already begun to heal, his demonic nature working its magic.

“So,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence. “Does this mean you’re sticking around?”

He smirked, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Someone’s got to keep you out of trouble.”

“You’re the one who attracts trouble,” you teased.

“Perhaps,” he conceded. “But I’m also the one who keeps you safe.”

You couldn’t argue with that. For all his flaws—and there were plenty—Crowley had proven time and again that he’d do anything for you. And tonight, he’d proven it once more.

“Thank you,” you said softly. “For everything.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his voice low and sincere. “Anything for you, darling. Always.”

As the fire crackled and the snow fell softly outside, you realized that this Christmas, you’d received the greatest gift of all: the unwavering devotion of a demon who, against all odds, had found his heart in you.

[girl-next-door-writes]

Between the Lines

Characters: Steve Rogers x reader

Summary: In a snow-dusted library glowing with holiday magic, you and Steve Rogers embark on a whimsical literary scavenger hunt.

Word Count: 1477 words

Prompts: Library. Best friends to lovers. Wearing their clothes.

A/N: This one is for the lovely @allofmytoxicity. I hope you like it.

The snow outside the library’s grand windows danced like powdered sugar, coating the world in a soft white blanket. Inside, the air was warm and inviting, infused with the smell of old books and a faint whiff of cinnamon from the hot cocoa cart stationed near the entrance. You sat curled up in one of the library’s oversized armchairs, the fringes of a familiar scarf wrapped snugly around your neck.

Steve’s scarf.

It was navy blue, soft, and a little too big for you, which made it perfect. He’d left it at your apartment the week before when you had an impromptu movie night, and it had been calling your name ever since. Wearing it felt like carrying a piece of him, a comforting reminder of your best friend’s steadfast presence in your life.

“You’re hoarding my scarf again,” Steve’s familiar voice rumbled, warm like the cocoa in your hands.

You looked up to see him standing there, an easy smile on his lips, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. Steve Rogers looked annoyingly good all the time, but today? He was unfairly festive in a forest-green sweater that made his eyes pop and jeans that fit just right. His blond hair had a dusting of snow, making him look like he’d just stepped out of one of those cheesy Hallmark movies.

“I’m not hoarding it,” you replied, tipping your head back against the chair. “I’m borrowing it.”

Steve raised an eyebrow as he slipped off his jacket and slung it over the back of the chair opposite you. “Borrowing implies you asked.”

“Well, you left it at my place. Technically, it’s on you.” You sipped your cocoa, giving him a cheeky grin over the rim of your mug.

He laughed, the sound rich and hearty, and sat down. “Fair enough. Keep it. It looks better on you anyway.”

Your cheeks warmed, and it had nothing to do with the cocoa.

Steve leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. “So, why’d you drag me to the library today? Thought you’d want to spend your day off doing something festive—like, I don’t know, ice skating?”

You rolled your eyes. “Steve, the last time we went ice skating, you ended up carrying me off the ice because I fell approximately a hundred times.”

“That’s an exaggeration,” he teased. “It was maybe eighty times.”

“Either way,” you said, ignoring the flush of heat in your chest at the memory of him lifting you like you weighed nothing, “the library is festive. Look at the decorations!”

It was true; the library had gone all out for the holidays. Twinkling lights framed the towering bookshelves, garlands wrapped around the railings of the second floor, and a massive Christmas tree stood in the centre of the room, ornaments catching the light with every shimmer.

“You’ve got a point,” Steve admitted, glancing around. “But you still haven’t answered my question. What are we doing here?”

You set your mug down and reached for the bag at your feet, pulling out a leather-bound journal. “We’re doing a Christmas scavenger hunt. Well, sort of.”

Steve tilted his head, intrigued. “Sort of?”

“It’s a literary scavenger hunt,” you explained, flipping open the journal to reveal a neatly written list. “We have to find books that match these clues. It’s like a bookish adventure.”

His eyes softened as he leaned forward to read the list. “You really love this stuff, don’t you?”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “It’s fun. And, you know, it’s Christmas. We’re supposed to do stuff we enjoy.”

Steve’s gaze lingered on you a beat too long, his expression unreadable. Then he smiled. “Alright, book adventurer. Where do we start?”

The next hour flew by in a blur of laughter and whispered debates as the two of you navigated the library’s labyrinth of bookshelves. Steve was surprisingly good at the scavenger hunt, his sharp memory and quick thinking helping you solve clues faster than you expected.

“Okay,” you said, holding up the journal as you scanned the next clue. “Find a book about an unlikely hero who saves the day.”

Steve tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Does ‘unlikely’ mean someone who doesn’t think they’re a hero or someone who really isn’t cut out for it?”

“Good question,” you mused, glancing at the shelves. “I think either works.”

“How about this one?” Steve pulled a book from the shelf and handed it to you.

You read the title aloud. “The Hobbit? That’s perfect.” You grinned up at him. “Good job, Captain America.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks. Though I think Bucky would argue I still owe him a copy of this one.”

“Bucky can wait. We’re on a mission,” you declared dramatically, clutching the book to your chest.

Steve’s laugh echoed through the aisle, and for a moment, you felt like you were the only two people in the world. The library seemed quieter somehow, the festive lights casting a golden glow around you both. You caught Steve’s gaze, his eyes warm and searching, and your heart skipped a beat.

“Hey,” he said softly, breaking the silence. “Thanks for bringing me here. I didn’t realise how much I needed this.”

“Steve, it’s a library. Not exactly groundbreaking.”

He shook his head, his expression earnest. “No, I mean… just spending time with you. It’s nice.”

Your throat tightened, and you nodded, unsure how to respond without your feelings spilling out. Because the truth was, you didn’t just enjoy spending time with Steve. You craved it. He was your best friend, your anchor, and somewhere along the way, your heart had started hoping for something more.

But that wasn’t part of the deal. Steve had been through so much—he deserved stability, not the mess of unspoken feelings you carried.

“Come on,” you said, forcing a smile and holding up the journal. “We’ve got a few more clues to solve.”

By the time you finished the scavenger hunt, the sky outside had darkened, the snow falling heavier now. The library was quieter too, most patrons having gone home for the evening.

You and Steve settled by the Christmas tree, your haul of books stacked between you. The soft glow of the lights made his features look impossibly kind, and you found yourself staring longer than you should.

“What’s next?” he asked, leaning back against the wall.

“Nothing,” you admitted, tucking the journal away. “We finished the list.”

He frowned playfully. “No grand finale? No prize for solving it all?”

“The prize was the journey, Rogers,” you said, smirking.

“Hmm.” He pretended to think. “I don’t know. I feel like there’s gotta be more.”

Before you could argue, Steve reached over and gently tugged at the scarf around your neck. “You’re still wearing this,” he murmured.

Your breath caught as his fingers brushed your skin. “It’s warm.”

His lips twitched. “Yeah. But you know, you’re welcome to keep it.”

“You sure?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

He nodded, his gaze steady on yours. “I’m sure.”

The air between you shifted, the playful banter giving way to something deeper. Steve’s hand lingered near your neck, and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Steve…” His name came out as barely a whisper.

“I have to tell you something,” he said, his voice low and steady. “And if I don’t say it now, I might never get the courage.”

Your pulse quickened. “What is it?”

He hesitated, his blue eyes searching yours like he was looking for an answer. “You’re my best friend,” he began. “But somewhere along the way… you became more than that. I don’t know when it happened, but I can’t stop thinking about you. About us.”

The world seemed to stop spinning as his words sank in. You stared at him, stunned. “Steve…”

“I get it if you don’t feel the same,” he continued quickly. “I just… I needed you to know. Because if there’s even a chance you might, I’m—”

You didn’t let him finish. Closing the distance between you, you pressed your lips to his, pouring every unspoken word into the kiss. Steve froze for a heartbeat, then his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close.

The kiss was soft and sweet, filled with the warmth and tenderness that defined him. When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together.

“I feel the same,” you admitted, your voice shaky but certain. “I’ve wanted this—you—for so long.”

Relief and joy lit up his face, and he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

You smiled, tears pricking your eyes. “Merry Christmas, Steve.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing yours again. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

[girl-next-door-writes]

Snowfall Serenade

Characters: Loki x reader

Summary: Best friends, winter magic, and a holiday resort straight out of a dream—will a week of snowy escapades spark something more?

Word Count: 1496 words

Prompts: Ski resort. Best friends to lovers. Wearing their clothes.

A/N: The fantastic @savvy-devine666 requested a little festive Loki and who am I to object?

The air was crisp and smelled of pine, the snow falling in thick, glittering flakes that coated the resort like powdered sugar on a gingerbread house. Christmas lights twinkled in the distance, casting a warm glow across the frosty landscape. You adjusted your scarf and rubbed your gloved hands together, staring up at the grandiose lodge that you and your best friend, Loki, would be calling home for the next week.

“This place looks like it belongs in a holiday movie,” you said, nudging him with your elbow.

Loki arched an eyebrow, his dark hair falling just shy of his shoulders, and gave you that trademark smirk that always seemed to hold some secret. “A bit over the top, isn’t it? All the glitz and glitter. Too festive for its own good.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “You say that, but I know you’ll be the first to steal the best seat by the fireplace.”

“Not if you claim it first, darling.” There was a teasing lilt to his voice, but you noticed the faint flush on his cheeks. Probably the cold, you thought. Definitely the cold.

The truth was, being here with Loki already felt like magic. After years of being inseparable friends, this trip had been your idea—a break from the chaos of life and a chance to finally relax. Loki had reluctantly agreed, muttering about “tourist traps” but secretly excited, as you’d caught him researching the best ski routes days before you left.

Inside the lodge, it was even more beautiful. A roaring fire crackled in the stone hearth, and the scent of mulled cider and cinnamon wafted through the air. Loki, ever the gentleman, helped you out of your coat and scarf, his touch lingering a moment longer than usual. You ignored the way your heart skipped at the gesture. This was Loki, your best friend. Nothing more.

“I’ll grab the key for our suite,” he said, his green eyes flicking toward the reception desk. “You find us some hot chocolate, perhaps?”

“On it,” you replied, grinning as you made your way to the cozy café corner.

When you reconvened, steaming mugs in hand, Loki led you to your shared suite. It was charming, with rustic wooden beams, a Christmas tree adorned with silver and green ornaments, and a balcony overlooking the snowy slopes.

“This is... nice,” Loki admitted, setting his bag down and glancing around.

“I knew you’d like it,” you teased. “It’s practically screaming your aesthetic.”

“I suppose it’s tolerable,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

The next few days were a whirlwind of winter activities. You dragged Loki to the slopes, where he proved to be a surprisingly graceful skier, despite his earlier complaints. You weren’t nearly as skilled, but Loki stayed by your side, catching you every time you wobbled.

“You’re doing splendidly,” he said after your fifth near-tumble.

“Liar,” you laughed, breathless. “You’re just saying that so I’ll keep humiliating myself.”

“Nonsense. I’m saying it because it’s true.” His voice softened, and for a moment, his gaze lingered on you, unguarded and vulnerable. Then he cleared his throat and turned away.

Nights were spent curled up by the fire, sipping cider or cocoa while playing cards or talking for hours. Loki seemed more relaxed than you’d ever seen him, the usual sharp edges of his sarcasm dulled by the holiday cheer. You found yourself watching him more often than you should, noting the way the firelight danced in his emerald eyes or the rare but genuine smiles that crossed his face.

You tried to shake it off. He was your best friend. Nothing more.

On Christmas Eve, the resort hosted a moonlit snowshoe hike. Loki was skeptical, but you convinced him with the promise of a quiet night under the stars. Bundled up in layers, you followed the group through a trail that wound around the forest. The snow sparkled under the full moon, and your breath puffed in white clouds in the frigid air.

Somewhere along the way, Loki fell behind the group, and you stayed with him.

“You’re brooding,” you teased as the two of you trudged through the snow.

“I am not,” he replied, his voice defensive but tinged with amusement. “I’m merely... thinking.”

“About?”

He hesitated, glancing at you briefly before looking away. “Nothing of consequence.”

You stopped walking and grabbed his arm, forcing him to face you. “Loki, what’s going on? You’ve been weird all day.”

He sighed, his breath visible in the cold air. “It’s nothing. Truly. I suppose I’m just not used to this sort of... festivity.”

“You mean fun?” you teased, earning a small chuckle from him.

“Yes, fine, fun,” he admitted. Then, softer, “I suppose I worry I’ll ruin it for you. I’m not exactly the ideal companion for such a cheerful holiday.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you said, stepping closer. “Loki, this trip wouldn’t be the same without you. I wouldn’t want to be here with anyone else.”

His eyes met yours, wide and vulnerable. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he gave a small nod, his lips quirking into a faint smile.

Later that night, back in the suite, you found yourself rifling through your bag for warmer socks. Loki had gone to take a shower, leaving his clothes draped over a chair. Without thinking, you grabbed his oversized sweater and pulled it on. It was soft and smelled like him—a mix of cedarwood and something you couldn’t quite place.

When he walked back into the room, his damp hair curling at the edges, he froze.

“Is that my sweater?” he asked, his voice somewhere between curious and flustered.

You looked down at yourself and grinned. “It’s mine now. It’s warm.”

Loki’s cheeks flushed, and he looked away, muttering something under his breath.

“What was that?” you asked, stepping closer.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, his gaze darting anywhere but you.

“Loki...”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I said you look lovely in it”

You blinked, startled by the sudden confession. A warmth spread through your chest, and before you could stop yourself, you smiled. “You did. And thank you.”

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the air between you seemed to shift. He opened his mouth to say something, but then hesitated.

“What?” you prompted gently.

“Nothing. It’s... nothing.” But his tone was soft, almost wistful.

The next evening, Christmas night, the resort held a small gathering outside by the firepit. Guests milled about, sipping hot drinks and chatting. But you and Loki had wandered off, drawn to the quiet beauty of the moonlit slopes.

You stopped by a clearing, where the snow fell gently around you, the world bathed in silver light. Loki stood a few steps away, his hands tucked into his coat pockets, his expression thoughtful.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you asked, breaking the silence.

He turned to you, his green eyes catching the moonlight. “I was just thinking how odd it is that I’ve spent so much time resisting things like this. Happiness, connection. I’ve always thought they were... out of reach.”

“They’re not,” you said softly.

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the snow. “Perhaps not. But they’re frightening, nonetheless. To care for someone, to let them in... it’s a risk.”

“It’s worth it,” you replied, stepping closer.

Loki’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, he looked as if he might argue. But then his expression softened, and he reached out, his gloved hand brushing against yours.

“You make me believe that,” he said quietly, his eyes widening as he realised the words had escaped him. “Did I just say that out loud?” he chuckled sheepishly.

Your breath caught as he stepped closer, his gaze searching yours nervously. Snowflakes clung to his dark hair, and his cheeks were flushed from the cold. He looked impossibly beautiful, and your heart ached with the intensity of it.

“Loki...”

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

You shook your head, your voice barely a whisper. “Don’t stop.”

His lips met yours, soft and tentative, as if he was afraid you might vanish. The world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you, caught in the moonlight with snow falling around you. When he pulled back, his gaze searched yours, uncertain and vulnerable.

“Was that...” he began, his voice barely audible.

“Perfect,” you finished for him, a smile breaking across your face.

He let out a soft laugh, his tension melting away as he pulled you into his arms. For the first time, Loki looked at peace, his insecurities replaced by the quiet certainty of your presence.

And as the snow continued to fall, the two of you stood there, wrapped in each other and the magic of the moment, knowing that this Christmas had given you something far more precious than either of you could have imagined.

[girl-next-door-writes]

Lingering Heat

Characters: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: In a festive dive bar brimming with hunters and holiday cheer, Dean Winchester’s protective instincts collide with his long-hidden feelings for you. A cocky stranger, a heated confrontation, and one impulsive kiss change everything, makes for a very interesting Christmas.

Word Count: 1033 words

Prompts: A Crowded Party. Mutual Pining. Protective Dean. ‘Why do you have to be so damned attractive?’

A/N: This is the first of this years Build a Festive fic for you, requested by the lovely @witchygagirl. I did change the dialogue prompt slightly but I hope you enjoy.

The bar was packed. Dim holiday lights strung across the room cast a soft, festive glow on the crowd of hunters, locals, and a handful of faces neither you nor Dean recognised. The music was loud — a mix of Christmas classics and rock — and the smell of spiked eggnog mingled with spilled beer and cheap whiskey.

Sam had convinced Dean to get out of the bunker for once, and now the three of you were at this dive, celebrating a so-called “hunter’s Christmas” with an assortment of acquaintances. Dean leaned against the bar, whiskey glass in hand, his green eyes scanning the room.

You were nearby, chatting with a couple of hunters, your laughter ringing out over the hum of conversation. Dean’s gaze found you easily, like it always did. You wore a fitted red sweater, paired with jeans and boots — simple, but stunning, and certainly keeping in the holiday theme. Your cheeks were flushed from the warmth of the crowd, your eyes sparkling under the fairy lights.

Dean tried not to stare. He failed miserably.

For months now, he’d been stuck in this endless loop of wanting to be closer to you but feeling like he had no right. You were smart, funny, beautiful — way out of his league, in his mind. Still, the protective streak that had grown over time was impossible to ignore.

That instinct kicked in when he noticed one of the guys you’d been talking to — an overly confident young man by the name of Kyle, if Dean remembered right — stepping too close.

Kyle leaned in, his hand brushing your arm. Whatever he said made your smile falter for a moment before you laughed it off, taking a small step back.

Dean’s grip on his glass tightened.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Dean turned to his brother, who raised an eyebrow knowingly. “You’ve been staring at her all night.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m not staring.”

“Sure,” Sam said, smirking. “You’re just keeping watch. Like you don’t do that every time we’re in the same room as her.”

Dean ignored him, his attention shifting back to you just in time to see Kyle reach for your hand.

“That’s it,” Dean muttered, setting his drink down and pushing off the bar.

Sam sighed but didn’t stop him.

Dean crossed the room quickly, weaving through the crowd until he reached you and Kyle.

“Hey,” Dean said, his voice cutting through the noise. He nodded toward Kyle, his tone casual but firm. “You good here, or is this guy bothering you?”

You looked up, relief flickering in your eyes when you saw Dean. “I’m fine.”

Kyle snorted, clearly unimpressed. “Relax, Winchester. We’re just talking.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean said, his eyes narrowing, “she doesn’t look like she’s enjoying the conversation.”

Kyle’s cocky grin faded slightly, but he didn’t back down. “You her bodyguard or something?”

Dean’s jaw tightened. “Something like that.”

Kyle raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Didn’t realise she was off-limits.” He shot you one last smirk before disappearing into the crowd.

Dean watched him go before turning back to you. “You okay?”

You nodded, the tension in your shoulders easing. “Yeah. Thanks, Dean.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he said, his voice softer now. “Guy was a jerk.”

You smiled, the corners of your mouth quirking up. “Why do you have to be so damned attractive when you’re all protective like that?”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and your cheeks burned as soon as you realised what you’d said.

Dean blinked, his expression shifting from surprised to amused. His lips tugged into a smirk. “Did you just—”

“Nope. I didn’t say anything,” you blurted, waving your hands in a desperate attempt to backtrack.

He chuckled, the sound warm and teasing. “Oh, you definitely said it.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “This is not happening.”

Dean reached out, gently pulling your hands away. “Hey, don’t hide.” His voice was low, almost tender. “For what it’s worth…I think you’re pretty damned attractive too.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your eyes searching his for any sign that he was joking. But he wasn’t.

“Dean—”

“Hey, Winchester!”

The sharp voice interrupted the moment, and both of you turned to see Kyle standing by a pool table, clearly drunker than he had been earlier.

“She gonna give it up after your ‘knight in shining armour’ routine?” Kyle taunted.

Dean sighed heavily, his patience snapping. “Stay here,” he muttered to you before stalking toward Kyle.

“Dean, don’t—” you started, but he was already moving.

Kyle barely had time to react before Dean’s fist connected with his jaw. The punch sent him stumbling back into the pool table, clutching his face.

The bar went quiet for a moment, all eyes on Dean.

“That’s your warning,” Dean growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Kyle muttered something under his breath but didn’t make another move. Dean turned and walked back to you, shaking his hand out.

“Dean!” you hissed, grabbing his hand to inspect it. “Are you crazy? You could’ve really hurt him — or yourself!”

“He had it coming,” Dean said with a shrug, though he winced slightly as you turned his hand over.

You shook your head, exasperated. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” he said, his lips quirking into a grin. “But you like me anyway.”

You froze, your heart pounding as the words hung in the air.

“I do,” you admitted softly.

Dean’s smirk faded, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. “Yeah?”

You nodded, your cheeks heating. “Yeah.”

A slow, disbelieving smile spread across his face. He stepped closer, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You know, I’ve been wanting to kiss you for a while now.”

“What’s stopping you?” you whispered.

“Not a damn thing.”

His lips met yours in a kiss that was warm and electric, the noise of the bar fading away as the two of you melted into each other.

When you finally pulled back, Dean rested his forehead against yours, grinning like an idiot.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he murmured.

“Merry Christmas, Dean,” you replied, smiling softly, the rest of the party completely forgotten.

[girl-next-door-writes]

Something

Characters: George Weasley x reader

Summary: When George bumps into a familiar face he begins to realise what he truly wants for Christmas.

Word Count: 1167 words

Prompt: Best Friends To Lovers. Tugging You Closer By Your Waist. Coffee Shop. “You know you’re stuck with me right?”

A/N: This is the second of my Build-A-Festive-Fics so thank you to the amazing @achromaticerebus who put these prompts together for my favourite Weasley.

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It was mid-December and George Weasley strolled through the enchanting scene of Diagon Alley, a swirling snowfall turning the bustling wizarding street into a winter wonderland. The shop windows were adorned with glistening decorations, casting a warm glow on the cobblestone streets. Everywhere he looked, green wreaths and twinkling lights illuminated the magical atmosphere, creating a festive charm that hung in the air. His breath visible in the crisp winter air, he couldn't shake the subtle ache in his chest. The laughter of couples echoed around him, their shared moments of joy accentuating his sense of loneliness. His eyes drifted toward a couple in front of him, heads close together, exchanging whispered secrets beneath the glow of a magical lamppost.

Trying to shake off the melancholy, George decided to visit his favourite coffee shop, "Brews and Brews." The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and the warm glow of the fireplace greeted him as he stepped inside. The place was filled with laughter and chatter, providing a comforting backdrop to the holiday season.

As George waited for his order, his attention was momentarily diverted when he noticed someone familiar across the room, and a soft, nostalgic smile tugged at the corners of his lips. There you were, seated alone at a cozy corner table, bathed in the flickering glow of the firelight. You seemed completely engrossed in a book, a world of words and magic unfolding before you. George couldn't help but take a moment to watch you, the fondness evident in his eyes. The two of you had been firm friends since your school days, and this wasn't the first time he had found himself captivated by your presence.

Memories of shared laughter, late-night conversations in the common room, and countless adventures together flooded George's mind. But somewhere in amongst all the shenanigans, there had been a subtle shift that had taken place over the years; a shift that George had only recently begun to acknowledge. As he observed you, a warmth spread through his chest, and his heart skipped a beat. Picking up his coffee, he made his way over to you.

"Hey, stranger," George greeted with a playful grin, smoothly sliding into the seat opposite you. The rich timbre of his voice pulled your attention away from the book, and as your eyes met his, a genuine smile illuminated your face, recognizing the familiar presence.

"George! What brings you in here? I’d have thought you’d be working every hour you could up to Christmas," you remarked, curiosity lacing your words as you closed the book and set it aside.

George leaned back, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, you see, even pranksters need a break now and then and I thought I'd take advantage of the festive charm. What about you? Any exciting plans for the holidays?"

As the conversation flowed, the warmth of the fireplace mirrored the growing warmth between you and George. The laughter and shared memories from your school days echoed in the air, creating a comforting backdrop to the catch-up session.

"He didn’t! I always thought it was Lee!" Your laughter resonated through the cozy café, and George couldn't help but feel his heart swell with joy.

"I swear it was Fred! Honest! And that’s why Samson had to wear a hat for a month," George insisted, a playful glint in his eyes as he recounted the mischief from their Hogwarts days.

Your sceptical look only fuelled the mirth in George's expression. "And you had absolutely nothing to do with that?" you questioned; your tone laced with a hint of disbelief. The mischievous twins' reputation for pranks was legendary, after all, where you would find one of them it was fairly certain the other would be.

George responded with a nonchalant shrug, his expression confessing more than his words. It was clear that he was just as involved with the prank as his twin had been. The memories of their shared antics seemed to weave a thread between you, a thread that connected past mischief to the present moment.

Time passed in a blur, and before you knew it, the two of you were bundled up against the cold, strolling through a snow-covered Diagon Alley, and every step seemed to conjure up memories of laughter and shared stories. Beneath the gentle glow of the streetlamps, the soft light intermingled with the delicate snowfall, casting a romantic ambiance over the cobbled path. The crunching sound of snow underfoot accompanied your laughter as you exchanged tales of past adventures. The air was filled with a sense of enchantment, the flickering lights and the serene snowfall conspiring to create a moment suspended in time.

"I've missed this, you know," George admitted softly as the conversation lulled, his breath creating little puffs of steam in the crisp winter air.

"Me too. It's been too long since we've just hung out."

A comfortable silence settled between you, broken only by the soft crunch of snow beneath your feet. George felt the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air, and a nervous energy danced in his eyes as he searched for the right way to express what had been quietly brewing within him.

“I didn’t mean that I just missed hanging out. I missed you. I missed us.”

Your gaze met his, and the sincerity in his words lingered in the frosty air. George took a deep breath, hoping to summon the courage to delve into uncharted territory.

“You know you’re stuck with me, right?” you teased, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

George chuckled, a mixture of relief and affection evident in his expression. "Well, perhaps I want to be stuck with you."

The moment hung in the air, suspended between the snowflakes and the twinkling lights of Diagon Alley. The realisation of unspoken feelings coloured the atmosphere, as the two of you stood looking into each other’s eyes.

Suddenly, George reached out, gently tugging you closer by your waist. The gesture felt so natural, as if he had done it a million times before, and your hands came to rest against his chest. It was right then that George knew he couldn’t let this moment pass.

"You know," George began, his voice low and sincere, "if I’m stuck with you, that also means you're stuck with me, right?"

You met his gaze, a soft smile playing on your lips. "Good thing I wouldn't want it any other way."

And just like that, beneath the twinkling lights and the falling snow, George realised that the best Christmas gift he could have received was standing right in front of him. The transition from best friends to something more felt like the most natural progression, a love that had been quietly brewing for years, he just hadn’t realised it until now. Cupping your cheeks, he took a chance, leaning down and capturing your chilly lips in a soft but searing kiss. Perhaps this Christmas he wouldn’t feel so lonely after all.

[girl-next-door-writes]

Wrapped In The Warmth Of You

Characters: Remus Lupin x reader

Summary: On a snowy Christmas Eve, your cozy cottage becomes the backdrop for love long unspoken. As fairy lights twinkle and embers fade, Remus Lupin’s quiet confession changes everything.

Word Count: 1266 words

Prompts: Best friends to lovers. Wearing their clothes.

A/N: This was requested by a lovely anon, so I hope they see this.

Snow fell softly outside the frosted windows of the small cottage, blanketing the world in pristine white. Inside, warmth radiated from a crackling fire, and the smell of mulled cider and freshly baked gingerbread wafted through the cozy living room. It was Christmas Eve, and the world outside seemed to hold its breath, wrapped in the stillness of a winter wonderland.

You glanced over your shoulder, as you rearranged a string of twinkling fairy lights above the mantle. Everything had to be perfect. This was your first Christmas hosting, and you were determined to make it magical for your closest friends. Especially for Remus.

Remus Lupin, with his quiet smile and kind eyes, had been your best friend for years. Through heartbreaks, through battles with self-doubt and scars—his and yours—you had been each other’s constant. Yet, lately, something had shifted. There was a heaviness in the air between you, a quiet, unspoken yearning that neither of you dared to acknowledge.

“Need some help?”

His voice startled you, soft and rich like honey poured over tea. You turned, nearly dropping the strand of lights you were holding. He stood in the doorway, wearing a faded maroon sweater that looked impossibly soft, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Snow dusted the tips of his tawny hair, melting into droplets that clung to his scarf.

“You could have knocked,” you teased, though your chest tightened in that familiar way it always did around him. “I could’ve been hanging upside down from the ceiling, for all you knew.”

His lips curved into a smile, and he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “And miss the chance to rescue you from such a perilous situation? Never.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help grinning.

As Remus peeled off his coat and scarf, hanging them on the newel post at the bottom of your stairs, you returned to your task, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened at the sound of his footsteps drawing closer. He stopped beside you, his hands brushing yours as he reached for the other end of the lights.

“You don’t have to help, you know,” you said, though you didn’t pull away.

“I want to,” he replied simply. His voice held a tenderness that made your heart flutter.

The evening passed in a blur of laughter and soft, stolen glances. Sirius, Arthur and Molly had arrived not long after Remus, bringing with them their usual brand of chaos and inquisitiveness. The tiny cottage was soon filled with the sounds of their banter, the clinking of mugs, and the occasional off-key carol.

By the time the others had bid their farewells, leaving only the two of you by the dying embers of the fire, you felt both exhilarated and exhausted. Sitting down heavily in your armchair, you shivered at the slight chill. Grabbing the nearest available item of clothing, you pulled it over your head and wrapped your hands around your mug of hot cocoa, savouring the way it warmed your fingers.

Remus sat on the couch, leaning back with an easy grace that belied the tension in his frame. He was quiet, his eyes focused on the firelight dancing in the hearth. You could see it—something shifting in him, some invisible weight pressing on his shoulders.

He was quiet, his eyes fixed on the firelight dancing in the hearth. You could see it—something shifting in him, some invisible weight pressing on his shoulders.

“You’re awfully pensive tonight,” you said softly, breaking the silence.

He glanced up, startled, as though he’d forgotten you were there. “Just thinking,” he murmured, his voice low, rough around the edges. His fingers flexed against his knees, fidgeting in a way that didn’t suit his usual calm.

“About?” you pressed gently, though your heart thudded in anticipation.

For a moment, he didn’t answer, his gaze dropping to his hands. The fire crackled, filling the stillness. Finally, he looked at you, his eyes searching yours, and something inside you tightened.

“You,” he said, almost too quietly to hear. “Us.”

Your breath caught, but you forced yourself to stay still, even as your pulse raced.

“Remus—”

“Wait.” His voice was sharp with urgency, and his words tumbled out in a rush. “Let me say this, or I won’t. I—I don’t think I can keep it in anymore.”

You nodded, afraid to speak, afraid to break the fragile thread of courage in his voice.

He took a deep breath. “You’ve always been there for me. Through everything. Even when I didn’t deserve it. And tonight, seeing you…” He trailed off, his gaze flickering over you as if he still couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “Seeing you with all our friends and the soft lights and… sitting there in my jumper, like you belong in it, I—I don’t know. Something inside me just… became so clear.”

Your chest tightened, your fingers clutching the fabric of the sleeves that were far too long for you. His jumper. You hadn’t even thought about it when you’d pulled it on to ward off the chill, but now the realization hit you like a wave.

“It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?” he continued, his voice shaking with a self-conscious laugh. “It’s just a jumper. But it’s mine. And seeing you in it, like it’s where it’s always been meant to be… I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and he quickly dropped his gaze, as though afraid of your reaction. “I think I’ve been in love with you for longer than I can even remember,” he said, softer now. “And if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. But I—I had to tell you. Because I don’t think I can keep pretending anymore.”

The world seemed to tilt. For a heartbeat, you couldn’t breathe. You glanced down at yourself, at the way his jumper hung over your frame, the sleeves pooling at your wrists, the faint scent of him still clinging to the fabric. Something warm and aching bloomed in your chest.

“Remus,” you whispered, standing before you even realised it. His head snapped up, his wide, disbelieving eyes locking with yours.

“You daft, wonderful man,” you said, your voice trembling but firm. “Of course I feel the same.”

“You do?”

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you crossed the space between you, sinking down beside him on the couch. His breath hitched as you reached for him, your hands finding his cheeks, your lips brushing his in a kiss that was soft, tentative, and filled with every unspoken feeling that had simmered between you for years.

His hands trembled as they came up to rest on your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss deepened, slow and certain, like a truth neither of you could deny any longer. When you finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes glistening as he studied you.

“You know,” you murmured, a teasing smile tugging at your lips, “if wearing your jumper is all it took to get you to confess, I would’ve stolen it ages ago.”

He laughed then, a low, quiet sound that vibrated against your skin. “I’ll remember that,” he said softly. “But you don’t have to steal it anymore. It’s yours, if you want it.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with warmth, and as the snow continued to fall outside, wrapping the world in its quiet magic, you realized you’d never felt warmer—or more at home—than you did in that moment, wrapped in the comfort of his love.

[girl-next-door-writes]

Then There Was You

Characters: Mycroft Holmes x reader

Summary: A chance encounter in an airport at a magical time of year might make a believer out of even the most logical of men.

Word Count: 2076 words

Prompt: Airport. Mutual Pining. Eyes meeting across the room. “You feel like home.”

A/N: This is the first of my Build-A-Festive-Fics so thank you to the wonderful @savvy-devine666 who put these prompts together for the enigmatic Mr Holmes. Hope you enjoy it, I may have got a little carried away.

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In the departure lounge, the holiday spirit is palpable, creating a lively and enchanting atmosphere. The glittering decorations and twinkling lights transform the space into a festive haven, immersing travelers in the magic of the season. As passengers navigate through the terminals, the air is infused with a sense of excitement and anticipation, each step bringing them closer to the warmth of family and the joy of holiday celebrations.

Sparkling lights, glittering ornaments and garlands filled with holly and tinsel seem to adorn every surface, forcing the joviality of the season upon all who enter this artificial winter wonderland.

The sounds of classic Christmas carols fill the air, creating a harmonious backdrop to the lively conversations and laughter. The departure lounge becomes a stage for a symphony of joy, where people from all walks of life unite in the shared celebration of the season. The place somehow feels more than just a transit point, it feels almost held outside of time itself, where anything could be possible.

Mycroft Holmes, ever the embodiment of control and authority, sat in the plush surroundings of the first-class lounge, a haven for the elite travelers. The atmosphere exudes sophistication, but the irritation on Mycroft's face betrayed the inconvenience he felt. The hum of quiet conversations and the clinking of glasses momentarily ceased as an announcement crackled over the speakers, signaling yet another delay.

His brow furrowed in annoyance. The delay was unacceptable, a disruption to the carefully orchestrated schedule he had in place. He retrieved his phone from the pocket of his impeccably tailored suit and began to type furiously. His fingers danced across the screen in a rapid and precise ballet, as if Mycroft believed his typing could somehow command the weather outside. His gaze never wavered from the device, as though the intensity of his focus could single-handedly rectify the situation.

The snowfall outside the window continued unabated, indifferent to Mycroft's attempts to influence it. Despite the annoyance etched on his face, Mycroft remained the epitome of composure. The delay might persist, but Mycroft Holmes, with his phone as a weapon and his ice-cold demeanour as a shield, was determined to restore order to the chaos, even if only within the confines of the first-class lounge.

Mycroft's discerning gaze swept across the crowded first-class lounge, his mind momentarily shifting from the pressing matters of flight delays to the intriguing spectacle of human interaction unfolding before him.

His attention settled on a peculiar scene: a man, who seemed to have overindulged a little at the lounge bar, engaged in rapid-fire conversation with a young woman who appeared young enough to be his daughter. She seemed uncomfortable with the invasive nature of his questioning, but the man appeared unperturbed by her avoiding answering.

Further down the bar, an elderly gentleman called the barman by his first name. Mycroft's keen observation suggested a regular patron, a man who had traversed the halls of this exclusive lounge on numerous occasions. The over-familiarity hinted at a sense of entitlement, a privilege earned through repeated visits, and he couldn’t help but smile at the deference the bar staff paid the man. Clearly a big tipper, Mycroft surmised.

As Mycroft continued to survey of the room, he noted that everyone appeared to be bathed in the fake joviality of the festive season, papering over the cracks in their lives, and Mycroft wondered why people felt the need to cling so desperately to the promise of hope and possibility during the festive season.

Mycroft, usually the embodiment of control and emotional detachment, found himself in the throes of an unexpected internal turmoil as he observed the attractive figure across the bar absentmindedly stirring their drink. The subtle shift in his composed demeanour betrayed a rare vulnerability, and an uncharacteristic ache in his chest stirred his emotions. In his mind, he grappled with the unfamiliarity of this emotional response.

Blinking rapidly, he attempted to shake off the unusual sensations and refocus his thoughts. This wasn't the Mycroft Holmes he knew; the man who thrived on logic and control. It had to be the effects of sitting in what amounted to an oversized festive snow globe for far too long.

Despite the internal turmoil, Mycroft couldn't resist the urge to deduce. It was a coping mechanism, a way to regain a semblance of control. Not married, not romantically attached: these deductions flowed effortlessly. The presence of a book in your bag and your apparent nonchalance about the flight delays intrigued him further. As he continued to observe from a distance, Mycroft found himself at a crossroads, torn between the familiar comfort of his calculated control and the allure of exploring beneath the surface, the possibility of creating a connection with someone who had unexpectedly captured his attention.

In that unguarded moment, just as Mycroft was contemplating the probability of instigating a conversation with you which would make him somehow favourable, your eyes met his. Time seemed to stand still as a profound shift occurred within him. The man who thrived on logic and science, the master of cause and effect, found himself inexplicably lost in the depths of an unfamiliar emotional landscape.

The carefully calculated moves in the chess game of life, the strategic thinking that defined Mycroft Holmes, dissipated like mist in the face of an unexpected connection. It was as if the world had momentarily slipped from the moorings of reason, and he was caught in the uncharted territory of raw, unfiltered emotion. The air seemed to crackle with unspoken possibilities, and Mycroft Holmes, the orchestrator of order, found himself suspended in the magic of a moment that defied the logic he held so dear.

As Mycroft was caught in the whirlwind of his own thoughts and emotions, unbeknownst to him, you had not been quite as passive as he believed. Upon entering the lounge, your attention had been immediately drawn to the striking man in the finely tailored suit. The ambient glow of twinkling fairy lights seemed to play upon his features, creating an aura of both mystery and sophistication. Your observant eyes didn't just see the meticulously groomed exterior; they delved deeper into the subtle expressions that danced across his face; stern, frustrated, yet undeniably captivating.

In the backdrop of the festive ambiance, you began to weave your own internal narrative, a fictional backstory for the handsome stranger engrossed in the world within his phone. The tapping fingers and furrowed brow sparked your imagination, and you found yourself concocting scenarios that might explain his intense focus. Perhaps he was a high-powered executive handling a critical business deal, his mind navigating the complexities of global affairs. Or maybe, he was a brilliant doctor, eager to get back to the hospital where he worked in order to save the lives of several orphans who had been in a horrific accident, him being the only one who could perform the surgery. The finely tailored suit hinted at a life of privilege and authority, but the flicker of frustration painted a more human portrait beneath the veneer of sophistication.

Your eyes met Mycroft's, and both of you instinctively looked away, a fleeting moment of embarrassment shared in the silence of the lounge. Yet, as if drawn by an unseen force, your eyes found each other again and a soft smile graced your lips.

Caught off guard by the unexpected warmth of the encounter, Mycroft returned your smile nervously. His usual calm exterior seemed to falter in the face of these unfamiliar feelings bubbling inside him, threatening to breach the carefully constructed walls of his emotional reserve. It was a sensation he wasn't accustomed to, and the vulnerability it brought unsettled him.

Your hand rose in a small wave, and Mycroft hesitated for a moment before reciprocating. This was ridiculous. He had faced the most powerful people in the world, had even given some of them a dressing down, he could walk to the end of the bar and strike up a conversation with an attractive stranger. Surely it wasn’t that difficult. Yet, here he was, feeling like a teenager with their first crush. 

With a mixture of anticipation and trepidation, he got to his feet and navigated his way towards you.

"Would you mind if I joined you?" Mycroft's voice betrayed a hint of vulnerability, a departure from the usual confidence that defined him. You, however, seemed not to notice his nerves.

"That would be lovely."

As the two of you engaged in slightly awkward small talk, there was a palpable tension in the air. Mycroft couldn't shake the feeling that he was not excelling in this arena, that the art of forging emotional connections eluded him. The potential for something wonderful lingered in the air, but he couldn't shake the sense that it was slipping through his fingers.

"So… are you headed home for Christmas?" Mycroft asked; a question he knew the answer to but felt compelled to inquire nonetheless. The conversation seemed to teeter perilously on the edge of uncertainty.

"Yes. I suppose so." You said thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?"

"Well… home is such a strange concept. Somewhere can feel like home despite it being the first time you are there. People can feel like home. Not just family, not just the familiar. Have you ever been somewhere and felt like you have been there before? Like you are remembering a place you have never visited. Or met someone who just feels like they are new but also so familiar? Sorry, that took rather a strange turn. When people talk about home, they mean the place they come from, not some abstract concept." You gave him a bashful smile, clearly embarrassed by your ramblings.

The conversation had indeed taken a turn into the realms of introspection and philosophy and Mycroft found that delightful. As you spoke about the abstract nature of home and the peculiar familiarity one can feel with places and people, Mycroft found himself drawn to the depth of your thoughts, drawn to you.

For a moment, the awkwardness seemed to dissipate, and Mycroft discovered that he did indeed understand point of view.

"You feel like home," he said softly, the words escaping him before he could stop them.

"What?"

"I said, Yule feels like home. The time of the year. There is something about it that just feels…" Mycroft trailed off, the weight of his words hanging in the air. In that vulnerable admission, he revealed a layer of himself that rarely saw the light of day.

"It does. There is something so cozy about the festivities. You can't help but feel something magical could happen."

Your response held a warmth that echoed Mycroft's sentiment and he couldn’t help but think what his brother would say if he heard this conversation. There would be severe mocking, but Mycroft found he didn’t much care.

The moment between the two of you was abruptly shattered by an announcement over the lounge’s speaker, signaling the boarding call for passengers.

"Well… that's me." You rose from your seat, casting a bittersweet smile in Mycroft's direction. "It was lovely to meet you, Mycroft."

“You too.”

As you walked away, Mycroft's gaze lingered, and he couldn't help but feel a tinge of regret. The encounter had been brief but had carried a weight of unexpected connection and shared sentiments. The lounge, once a stage for silent glances and meaningful conversation, now felt a bit emptier as you moved toward your departure gate.

The first-class lounge, adorned with holiday decorations and a twinkle of lights, returned to its bustling atmosphere as other passengers prepared for their journeys. Mycroft, still lost in thought, found himself contemplating the significance of the brief encounter and the unanswered questions that lingered in the air.

"What am I doing?" Mycroft muttered to himself, a sudden realisation propelling him to his feet. The urgency of his thoughts overrode any hesitation as he hurriedly headed after you. The encounter had left an impression, and he couldn't bear the idea of letting you simply walk out of his life.

The bustling atmosphere of the airport became a blur as Mycroft navigated through the crowd, his determined strides reflecting a sense of urgency that contrasted with his usual measured pace.

Mycroft reached your departure gate just in time to catch a glimpse of you preparing to board. With a breathless yet determined expression, he approached, the echoes of uncertainty and vulnerability replaced by a sense of purpose.

"Wait!”

[girl-next-door-writes]

Build-A-Festive-Fic RETURNS!!!! LAST FEW SPOTS REMAINING!

The Holiday Season is approaching and so I am launching my Build-A-Festive-Fic again for this year.

Rules:

Step 1- Pick a character that I write from the list below.

Step 2 - Pick up to 4 emoji’s, one from each category you will find beneath the cut. You don’t have to choose one from EVERY category, you can simply pick fluff and 1 emoji if you wish.

Step 3 - Send me your choices in an ASK! I will not be accepting dm’s for this one guys.

THINGS TO NOTE:

All my blurbs will be fluffy character x reader because that’s the lane I am sticking in.

I will only be accepting 12 so get your requests in asap.

Characters I will write:

HARRY POTTER: George Weasley, Remus Lupin, Ominis Gaunt

MARVEL: Steve Rogers, Steven Grant, Loki, Pietro Maximoff,

SHERLOCK: Mycroft

STAR WARS: Hux, Poe

STRANGER THINGS: Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson

SUPERNATURAL: Sam, Dean, Crowley

Set 1: Choose 1 from this list.

🎉 Crowded Party

🛍️ Shopping Mall

📚 Library

🗿 Museum

🎿 Ski Resort

Set 2: Choose 1 from this list

🥰 best friends to lovers

😍 mutual pining

🥸 Fake dating

🥴 Drunk confession

😘 First Kiss

Set 3: Choose 1 from this list

😏 Putting your head on their shoulder

👕 Wearing their clothes

📝 Love note

👊 Protecting, taking a punch/bullet

🫴 Falling into their arms

🫂 A hug that lingers

Set 4: Choose 1 from this list

🤝 ‘So, we meet again.’

📢 ‘Did I just say that out loud?’

💕 ‘You say that like it's a bad thing.’

🤞 ‘Okay, let's call that plan B.’

👀 ‘Why do you have to be so damned attractive?’