#christmas stocking holders

[bestphoneunder20k]

Product Comparison: Christmas Stocking Holders, Toilet Paper Holders, and Kindle Edition Holders

Hey there! We’re so excited to talk about some awesome products today. We’re going to be diving into the world of stocking holders and toilet paper holders. Now, you might be thinking, “What’s the big deal about these things?” Well, let us tell you, they can really amp up your holiday décor and bathroom organization game! Let’s start with stocking holders. These have been around for quite some…

[yourcoffeeguru]

Vintage Solid Brass Christmas Tree Stocking Mantle Hook Stocking Hanger Holder || SWtradepost - ebay

[wrappinghappinessblog]

Ho! Ho! Ho! 🎅 Tis the season to be jolly with gifts SO ADORABLE that you would want to gift back your Santa! Christmas mugs, personalized games, decorations, toys, wine bottle holders & covers, chocolates, stockings, bags, and so much more! Check out the latest Christmas collection today.

[eternal-kosmo-ghoul]

*°:⋆ₓₒ day 1. lingerie

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡ “all dolled up”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ — ❤︎ you wanted to look extra pretty for phantom on the holiday season

pairing: phantom ghoul x afab!reader

a/n: let’s kick off this seasonal event with our favorite bug :)

cw: nsfw content. lingerie. phantom going feral for reader.

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

“gorgeous little thing… all dolled up just for me. ohhh you’re going to make me lose it with how damn good you look.” —❤︎

┅✦┅

what a nice way to celebrate the seasonal festivities this year.

slipping on the last piece of laced fabric, a satisfied sigh escaped your lips as you checked yourself out in the mirror, admiring how your body looked.

“damn, i picked the perfect one.” you whispered to yourself, whistling as you traced your body gently with the tips of your fingers.

you were right, the lingerie you picked out looked hella fine on you. the white laced fabric hugged your body snuggly, highlighting every dip and curve, while still leaving a fair amount of exposed skin out in the open to just tease anyone who got as much as a glance.

the pretty little laced stockings just added to the look, creating a delicate look on your body, but it kept that seductive charm to it. the perfect blend of sweet innocence and spicy flair.

you looked like an angel. an extremely sexy one at that.

oh phantom was going to love how this looked on you.

he’s been so busy with the band, and the annual cheers of christmas were one of the only few times he could have a day off.

despite his demonic heritage making christmas rather frightening for a ghoul like phantom, he enjoys the quality time he gets to spend with you over his well earned and deserved vacation.

and you were going to make it extra special for him.

tying up the last ribbon on your laced arm warmers, the lingerie was just the finishing touch to this gift. you looked hot, and damn did you know it.

“oh he’s so gonna ruin his pants over this.” you snickered mischievously to yourself, running your smooth fingertips over the exposed skin on your thigh.

now it was time to set the stage for a warm, cozy and steamy night.

gathering a few things in a nicely wrapped up shoebox, you pulled out a container of rose petals, scented candles and a lighter. fluffing up the comforter on phantom’s bed, you scattered scarlet red rose petals across his bed to set the mood.

the candles all had scents related to nature and winter, but none of the smells were too strong to ruin the setting of this risqué abode. lighting the candles and setting them in candle holders, you carefully laid out each candle on a surface away from flammable objects, but were placed in a way that made the atmosphere even more alluring than it was before.

you laid down on the bed, head resting against the pillow as you posed in various angles. now, there was only one missing puzzle piece to this perfect surprise.

phantom himself.

but you were patient, you could wait.

the reward would only be more fulfilling if you did anyways.

spreading your legs slightly, you leaned back and rested your hands between your thighs, just testing out different positions to see what would get phantom the most riled up.

legs in the air? nah.. that’s too provocative for the start, something more subtle maybe. arms behind your head? no… that was too basic, at least in your textbook definition of basic.

on your stomach? now that’s a pose.

you laid flat on your stomach, hands clasped gently underneath your chin, perching your head up at the door where you were anticipating for a certain bugger to walk through.

your legs were crossed. this will definitely be a night to remember alright.

you could barely contain your smile, and just laid on phantom’s bed, looking as adorable as ever. your mind was already envisioning the different things phantom was going to do to you.

was he going to flip you over doggy style and push your head down in his pillow, forcing you to take him from behind? rip up that pearly white lingerie like a starving man and just eat up your cunt? perhaps he might even force you down on his him, make you gag on his dick until your vision was blurred and you were seeing nothing but stars.

you didn’t oppose to any of those ideas, as long as you and him got to feel good this year, that’s all that mattered.

and it seems that santa has heeded your wishes, because the faint sound of keys jingling together and a lock opening indicated that your ghoulish lover was home.

staying in your suggestive pose, you smirked devilishly as you watched the door to phantom’s door open.

there stood the quintessence ghoul, a little dazed from his guitar work, but when he fully took in his surroundings, his jaw hung wide open.

he even dropped a bag of what you could safely assume to be christmas presents.

phantom was just awestruck and absolutely dazed at the same time. he felt like he was being seduced by some sort of ancient, seductive deity.

goddamn did he like what he was seeing.

“merry christmas?” you asked, but your tone was very much amused.

“fuck.” is all phantom could utter out, inching closer to the bed, completely forgetting about the bags he was holding.

“well… i mean, if you want to then sure.” you teased, and phantom scoffed, rolling his eyes playfully.

“you little minx, you and that dirty tongue of yours.” phantom chided back, practically pouncing on the bed and crawling towards you.

you got up from your stomach and backed away from him on the bed, still holding that teasing gaze. it was like you were just begging to be taken already.

phantom’s calloused claws reached to grasp the soft, plump flesh of your skin, sighing delightfully as he kneaded the skin lustfully.

“fuck, doll face… where did you even get something like this?” phantom practically panted out, his slitted tongue tickling your earlobe.

“mmmh… secret.” you giggled. “let’s just say… aurora helped me out a bit.”

“of course she did. that little freak always has tricks up her sleeves.”

the quintessence ghoul just couldn’t resist, he attacked your neck with kisses and bites, lavishing your skin while he relishes the tiny gasps and moans you were making.

he smirked into your skin and continued.

“though i gotta say… she definitely did a good job.” phantom whispered into your neck. his tail tucking underneath your laced stockings and lifting up the fabric before letting it go and feeling it snap back onto your skin.

“gorgeous little thing… all dolled up just for me. ohhh you’re going to make me lose it with how damn good you look.” he praised, and his words left you melting.

phantom’s lips planted a soft kiss on your own lips, before he moved one of his hands to gently grip your jaw.

“white is definitely your color.” he growled out. “you look so hot, it makes me wanna do sooo many bad things to you.”

“heh, and you called me a minx. you’re getting riled up and hard over what i’m wearing.”

phantom just scowls and attacks your neck again, nipping upwards until he reaches your jawline, to where he starts attacking it with kisses and bites. he pushes you down on the bed and smirks.

“shut up.” he jeers with a lustful tone, pushing his hips between your legs. “you wanted me to be like this. wanted to get me all hot and bothered so i can fuck you like a goddamn animal.”

he pushes his erect, clothed cock against your delicate white panties, rubbing his hardness against your wetness, groaning in pure excitement as he watches you squirm beneath him.

“ahh.. and it seems the little minx wants to be fucked like an animal too.” phantom teases, and you just scoffed.

“oh fuck off.” you retorted. “hnngh… i wanna know what you got me for christmas at least..”

phantom chuckled.

“well, i got you something… rather risqué too.” he snickered. “i guess great minds think alike, eh?”

you perked up at this mention, and your eyes flickered over to the gift bags on the floor that phantom dropped. through whines and whimpers, you managed to utter out.

“nngh… what’s in the gift bag?” you asked, smirking as you already had an idea of what kind of gift phantom had gotten you.

the guitarist only mirrored your devilish grin and used his tail to grab onto the handles of the gift bag. reaching his hand in it, he pulled out a pair of fuzzy handcuffs.

giving you a lustful and needy look, phantom proposed an offer. “so, do you wanna make a mess?”

you couldn’t resist the idea. let’s make this a christmas to remember.

“damn right i do.” you finished off.

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

[starry-hughes]

decorating (mat barzal)

day 13 of star’s ficmas

mat barzal x reader

Mat should have called it quits, raised a flag in surrender, faked a stomach ache. But he didn’t and now he was stuck helping you decorate for Christmas. It wasn’t that he hated decorating or the holiday, he just would rather be doing anything else besides carrying the biggest Christmas tree the store carried up to his apartment.

At the moment, he was thanking himself for buying the wagon you said would help get the groceries up to the apartment in one trip. The wagon was stacked to the brim with Christmas decorations. You wheeled it up to the floor of the apartment as Mat struggled with holding up the tree in his arms in the elevator.

He watched with adoration in his eyes, watching you meticulously place ornaments on the new Christmas tree after watching you fluff the tree for forty-five minutes. “Mat, can you help me put the star up on the tree?”

You dragged over a dining room chair and Mat was there to make sure you weren’t going to fall. “Please be careful, the last thing I want is to spend my night with you in the hospital,” Mat nervously said.

After Mat safely got you down from the chair and the star was perfectly placed on top of the tree, you moved on to your next project. You made Mat help you put fake snow on the mantle above the fireplace before you placed down the two stocking holders. “Our stockings look good together,” he said, pulling you into his side and kissing the top of your head as the two of you admired the two red stockings hanging, one embroidered with your initial and one embroidered with an M. “Oh!” you gasped, remembering the wreath, “we have more to decorate.”

Mat helped you perfectly hang the wreath on the door, making sure the peephole of the door was still visible, Mat liked to spy whenever he heard someone in the hallway. He placed down the new doormat. You folded a Christmas blanket over the couch. Mat eventually gave into decorating, helping you hang curtain lights on the living room windows, you said they gave the home a more Christmas feel, Mat was convinced you were slowly teaching him to use soft lighting.

At some point, Mat ordered a pizza and you hung Christmas signs on blank walls. “Help me get the table set with the new table mats!” you grinned. Mat didn’t completely understand why you needed to set the table for four people when it was always just the two of you. He didn’t say anything, not wanting to burst your bubble or make you sad as he placed down Buffalo checkered table mats and you placed down small centerpiece trees.

Tinsel was taped around doorways, just to add to the feeling of the holiday spirit and Mat let you order Christmas village pieces, claiming they would be part of your presents for the year, he gawked at the prices of tiny decorative houses. Mat put all the Christmas cards up on the fridge with magnets and you added the new Christmas tea towels to the handle of the oven.

By the end of the night, the two of you sat on the couch, your feet were in Mat’s lap, a slice of pizza in your hand and a Christmas movie on. “Do you think we need more decorations?” you pondered aloud.

“No!”

[darlingsfandom]

smut ddlg with cillian on christmas!!

bless you! Hope your Christmas was nice✨

"Well... that was....fun?" You half heartily laughed as Cillian passed you the final dirty plate so you could wash it off and load it into the dishwasher.

"It's Christmas baby, just another excuse for some of tem to drink ya know." He shrugged his shoulders before wiping off the counters to help you out. You playfully rolled your eyes at him before shutting the dishwasher with your hip and tossing the cloth over your shoulder before wrapping your arms around his waist and slowly walking over to the mistletoe hanging above the arch way of your kitchen.

Cillian smiled down at you while tucking some of your hair behind your ear. His lips attached to yours slowly before turning hungry . His hands cuffed your face while his tongue pushed past your sugar coated lips and down your throat. Your knees went weak. The scent of warm cinnamon , sugar cookies and whiskey mixed with his naturally musky scent made your head spin as his tongue pulled out and found the sweet spot below your ear.

"Cillian... daddy!" You corrected yourself so fast as your newly red nails that he paid for slipped down his button up. "Wait! You have one more present.." your words stumbled out as his hands gripped your waist and squeezed.

"Oh do I? What is it darlin ?" He looked down at you with icy blue eyes before you pulled away only to leave a warm kiss upon his cheek. "You get comfy on the couch and I'll be right back okay?" You yelled from down the hall.

Cillian sighed happily as he made contact with the leather couch in the living room that you had decorated so beautifully for the holidays. Silver and gold color palates is what you went with. Garland hanging from the fire place , the candle in the window sat on a gold candle holder, throw pillows with cheesy Christmas puns laid on the couch and love seat, a big plaid Christmas blanket covered the back of the couch and the smells in the house from the sugar cookies and dinner you worked on, it was everything he could ever ask for.

"Daddy! Are you ready?" Your voice echoed down the hall to interrupt his mostly pure thoughts.

"Am ready princess!" He called back rubbing his thighs through his black slacks.

"Close your eyes!" You giggled as the sound of your feet running against the wooden floors filled his ears.

"Okay darlin! Closed."

You appeared in front of Cillian with a soft smile on your lips.

"Open!"

Cillian opened his eyes and his jaw fell on the floor.

"Merry Christmas daddy!" You stood up straight in a very sexy Christmas outfit. It was an X rated Mrs. clause outfit minus the hat. You just placed a plastic bow instead. The white fur lined your cleavage perfectly. The red was made from velvet that lead to more white fur that didn't even reach mid thigh. Your stockings fit nice and snug on your calves as you walked up to Cillian and ran your fingers through his hair.

"Oh my... I must have been a real good boy tis year." You placed your hands on his shoulders before sitting down on his lap.

"I take it you like your present daddy?" Your little eyelashes fluttered at him while you slowly moved your hips against his.

"Best present ever princess!" He gave you a soft kiss before the hunger took over in him again. You kissed him back with just as much energy and neediness while rubbing your exposed cunt against his clothed dick.

"Need you! Need you so much daddy! Need you to fuck my pretty pussy!" With each word you were humping him harder. Cillian lifted you up and switched spots so your hips were hanging off the edge of the couch while he stood over you with the animalistic eyes and mouth hung open once he had your legs spread open and realized you had no panties.

"Yer spoilin me darlin!" You watched as Cillian got down on his knees in front of you and stared at your pussy like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, even though he's seen it so many times before.

His long fingers slid over your folds to gather your wetness and spread it around. A soft moan left your swollen lips as his fingers slowly twisted inside of you. "Oh daddy!" Your hips bucked forward before Cillian pressed down on them to hold you still while his fingers twisted in and out of you. His eyes stayed glued to yours watching how they switched from innocent to dirty. His mouth attached to your clit causing your fingers to grip onto his hair. Cillian moaned against your clit when you yanked his hair.

"So fucking pretty! Prettiest girl with the prettiest cunt!" The sound of him lapping his tongue along your folds back up to your clit before sucking on it with desire echoed throughout the living room. "And tis mine! All mine!" He mumbled into your pussy as you laid there pulling his hair, wrapping your legs around his head and pulling him in closer so you could feel him deeper inside of you.

Cillian looked up through his lashes as his hands wrapped around your thighs and held you close as he ate you out. Your eyes filled with tears as pleasure filled every ounce of your body.

"Oh my god daddy! Fuck me please! Fuck me with your fat cock! Please please please daddy!" You cried out and Cillian couldn't say no! Not when you were begging so well and being such a good girl for him.

"Good girl darlin! Usin yer big girl words." He pulled away slowly before giving your clit one last kiss before standing up to rid himself of his slacks. Once his pants and boxers were being flung across the room you looked down to see that his cock was painfully hard, leaking and dark red.

"It looks angry daddy! Probably because it's not in me!" You gave him the sweetest doe eyes possible as you held open your legs and cutest smile on your lips while your pussy drooled out arousel for him.

"Tats exactly it darlin!" Cillian spit on his hand before rubbing his cock for a minute and slowly sliding it inside of you with ease. Your mouth made the perfect O as you watched him slide it in.

"DADDY! You always feel so big inside of me!" Something took over Cillian and he didn't hold back. The way he leaned over top of you pushing every inch inside of you as your nose scrunched up, the way his forehead pressed into yours as he pulled your tits out of the lingerie , he was hot and heavy all over.

"Tats it baby, take me cock, good girl yes! Fuck!" His words were coming out with grunts that made you wetter by the second as he reached up, yanked your head down by your hair and made you watch as he fucked your harder. A bit of insecurity hit you when you seen your stomach folded which showed off a few rolls but that didn't stop Cillian ! It made him fuck you harder. Sweat dripped from his forehead against yours as you cried out his name.

"Fuck meee! Fuck yeah daddy!" You were clawing at his arms through his shirt as you felt the head of his cock hit your g-spot just right which made your eyes roll back into your head.

"My good girl! Fucking hell!" His thrusts were getting faster but more sloppy as he held you tight. Cillian made you look up at him as he yanked your head back by your hair and your eyes were filled with pleasure.

"Daddy! Stop! I have to pee!" You tried to push him off.

"That's fine darlin! Tis not what ya tink! Just relax and trust daddy yeah? Relax and let it go!" His thumb snaked its way down to your clit and he pushed hard against it before rubbing circles like a mad man. You didn't know what to think! Your body was agreeing to his touch and you felt your orgasm on the edge.

"OH MY FUCKING GOD!! OOOOH MY OOH GOD!" You cried out as you squirted against his cock. Cillian rubbed your clit through it as he looked at you with such pride. Your thighs felt extra sticky when your body collapsed against the couch.

"Good girl baby! Good girl! Now yer gonna take me cum!" His eyes rolled back as he pulled your limp body closer to his and grunted loudly before he squeezed your thighs as his own orgasm washed over him and filled you up to the fullest you could be.

"Merry Christmas daddy!" You panted softly as he slowly pulled out of you and scooped some of his cum up onto his fingers before slipping them into your eager little mouth.

"Best Christmas present every baby, tank you! Merry Christmas ." He watched as you cleaned his fingers before laying down next to you on the couch, wrapping his arm around you and giving you a warm kiss on the forehead.

[freakymcnastys]

“possibly in michigan” a creepp book - headcannons

general headcannons:

slenderman is british.

despite what people might think the mansion is way bigger on the inside

it has its own theater, bar, hell even a convenience store, no one actually knows how the store gets stocked

ben is too scared to go down there bc of that

the slender brothers come over every thanksgiving and christmas but offender is limited to the living room and dining room…

sally FORCES jeff to dress up for tea parties

jeff cuts his own hair but is surprisingly good at it

thinking about how smile dog is basically jeffs therapy dog :(((

jack has def tried to eat jeffs kidneys but give up cuz jeff woke up 💔💔

toby is an AVID game theory/matpat stan like he loves watching everything matpat is in so when he announced his retirement….lets say it was ROUGH.

slender puts all of sally’s drawings on the fridge and when they isn’t enough room he would rather buy another fridge then get rid of them

masky is like the stressed out older sibling 🤷‍♀️

ben has drank paint.

has a snapchat gc where they send each other snaps

whenever slender and jeff (or anyone for that matter) talk/argue slender has to bend at a 90 degree angle 😭😭

devon’s headcannons:

definitely butt dials people and scares the shit outta them 💀

going along with that devon totally prank calls people with ben and is like “is ur refrigerator running” 😭

her and jack watch reality tv shows (love and hiphop, dr phil, kardashins, etc)

devon’s fav movie is donnie darko…😁

she always sends jack funny tiktoks while he sends her reels

her chainsaws name is jellybean !

sometimes when she goes out with the proxys she brings fake slender pages (saying stuff like “bitchless” and the entire bee movie script) and hangs them up (but slender always finds them and yells at her)

her fav slenderbrother is probably trenderman

PERSONALLY i think that like the demon and jack are two different ppl so like whenever ‘the beast’ gets out it’s not rlly jack? yk?

so one time ‘the beast’ was fed up with jack actually letting himself feel feelings for devon that he brought devon to the tree where she got hung, to kill her 😁 but dw he failed but jack felt bad after ☹️👎

has told hoodie to ‘turn that frown upside down’….

goes up to masky and gets up real close and whispers… “i know what you are..” and just walks away..

maxine’s headcannons:

isn't quite used to newer slang so she still talks how people in the 1920s did and nobody really understands her that well...

she hates her cellphone and WILL NOT use it unless it's direly needed.

she definitely has a record collection but it's all jazzy and "old-timey" music and she does not let anyone else near her records or her record player

she would teach ben how to ballroom dance and then force him to have dancing sessions with her because her favorite thing to do when she was human was to dance at parties

slenderman FOR SURE banned smoking in the house but maxine is allowed to break that rule so she waltzes around the house with her huge cigarette holder bullying jeff cause he definitely wants to smoke.

she generally dislikes getting help with wounds and stuff because of all the malpractice that was preformed on her when she was human

the phantom of the opera (1925) is her absolute favorite movie and one day slender comes back from the store with the 2004 version and she literally falls in love with him right at that moment

she's like your grandma that 1. doesn't know how to work her phone (or tv or anything) and 2. says things that she thinks mean one thing and they actually don't... like for example....maxine: im sending lols jack: maxine someone died...why are you laughing out loud... maxine: oh i thought that meant lots of love :( jack: oh my fucking god bro

the effects of her lobotomy pop up from time to time when she's doing stuff so sometimes she loses the ability to focus and kind of "dumbs down" because people who are lobotomized often lose their higher levels of intellectuals and then she loses the ability to emotionally respond so slender has to help her out and keep an eye on her cause she might do something dumb. :(( then once she comes back she feels so bad that slender had to basically babysit her and he feels worse cause how could anyone do his love like that

IDK HOW TO EXPLAIN THIS BUT- maxine and slenderman compliment eachother so well. he's a gentleman and she's a ladylike woman and they just...fit perfectly together

her favorite modern (ish) movie is the shining cause it reminds her of the good old days and she would be like "ah yes i remember when people would kill at parties" and everyone else is like "what"

her 1920s brain loves coloring books cause she's probably never been stimulated via colors so she has a bunch of coloring books and people come over and are like "slender i didn't know you found a child" and he's all like "oh no that's just maxine"

i think sometimes she forgets she doesn't live alone and she will walk out of her room in her underwear and is like "oh great heavens my bad gs"

- love always, kat + devina <3

[birdingbutch]

I'm a huge fan of Thriftmas/thrifting for the holidays! If you're looking for last-minute, personal, and inexpensive gifts for the holidays, here are some ideas using things you can find at your local thrift/charity store:

mugs (especially handmade ones, mugs that match their style, or ones that relate to their interests/hobbies) filled or gifted alongside hot cocoa/tea/coffee supplies

a cozy blanket, some gently worn socks/slippers, and DVD's of movies/shows you know they like or might be interested in (you could also throw in a bag of popcorn & their favorite candy)

a handwritten recipe of something you enjoy making, plus utensils/cookware/serving ware to go with it! examples: matching set of bowls + a recipe for your favorite soup, or a ceramic loaf pan with a spatula, whisk, and recipe for zucchini bread (this would also be cute to be gifted with an apron!)

gift a dinner-party-in-a-box (this would also make a great gift for someone with a new apartment!): create a set of plates, utensils, cloth napkins, a fun tablecloth, maybe a candle holder with candles, etc.

a book/books related to a hobby that they enjoy (or are just curious about) + items relating to that hobby. some examples: a book about houseplants, with a cute planter, and small glass containers for plant propagation. or a hiking guide, with a pair of durable socks, and a bandana

homemade treats (cookies, chocolate covered pretzels, candied nuts, etc) gifted in a metal tin, mason jar, or other thrifted container. you can find christmas-y tins, or tins that can be used by the recipient year-round :3

As with anything you get from a thrift store, be sure to give your items a thorough cleaning! You might be surprised how 'like-new' you can make something look with a quick scrub.

Thrift stores always have baskets, metal tins, glass jars, and gift bags that you can use to gift things in! I like to stock up when I find these things throughout the year, to use in December. Happy thrifting ^-^

[ashlingiswriting]

do i know you? chapter seven

[ 5.4k words ] [ masterlist ] [ prev chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six ] you figure you can be good and still take it a little easier. that’s all you’ve done today, take it a little easier, and it feels really fucking good. richie jerimovich x reader, past mikey berzatto x reader, slow burn

after an eleven-hour stretch of sleep, a three-egg breakfast, and cautious self-reflection, you come to the conclusion that something has to change. and fast. yesterday, richie fucking jerimovich—constant leather jacket tracksuit combo, stab wound, aggravated assault charge, and anxiety and depression diagnoses, that richie—asked you if you were okay. it was a reasonable question for him to ask, and giving him the truthful answer felt like peeling off your own skin.

usually you’d cut and run—you’re not big on torture—but richie’s become as much a fixture in your life as cigarettes themselves. whatever you go through with him, you have a feeling that things would be worse without. so you do the reasonable thing. 

you go to the library and google ‘how to stay mentally healthy.’

sure, it makes you feel like an idiot, but it’s not like you have other options. your health and benefits package consists of stolen medications, a grizzled retired doctor named beth, and weirdly extravagant christmas presents in years when the carusos are doing well. none of these qualify as conducive to mental health.

thus, doctor google. most of the listed mental health tips seem either impossible—you’re not about to make new social connections, you’re not that self destructive—or plain old stupid, as in a stress ball. like a little rubber ball to squeeze. great stuff.

there’s a few things that you think you can tolerate, though. you end up working out every day in your apartment, volunteer stocking the shelves of a food pantry every tuesday morning right before bed, and tackle the miserably unorganized state of your post-michael finances. occasionally you’ll eat a salad, but you’ll curse richie as you do it. 

cultivating mental health for its own sake is not something you’d usually engage in, but mental health as a one-sided competition that you are determined not to lose? it’s a tolerable game.

as for richie, he seems to be holding steady. the new and horrifyingly fancy specter of the bear does seem to freak him out, but at least the bear’s got a future. the beef, as far as you remember, only ever had a past.

though this winter’s turned bitter cold, you never invite him inside, not even past the double doors into the pathetic excuse of a lobby with its single fake potted plant. you had your one little breakdown and that’s fine. but the rules stay strong, and you get a little stronger. he tells you that eva liked the girl who loved horses the best, and you tell him she’s got good taste. there’s still bad nights, but there’s less fear. you haven’t fucked it up, that’s the point. you’re being good.

and then one day he doesn’t come back.

.

.

.

you’re not a fool. you wait for three days before letting yourself go. 

on the third day, you have to wake up to administer alessandera’s iud at the stupidly early hour of eleven in the morning. afterwards, too caffeinated to rest, you decide that you might as well head to the library to check his instagram. 

the most recent picture is from eight days ago, so that’s no help. his two pinned posts catch your attention anyway. in the first picture, eva’s got two blonde ponytails sticking out of opposite sides of her head, and her ponytail holders have huge round sky blue plastic beads on them. the smears of chocolate on her fingers match the ones on richie’s cheek, and they’re both giving the camera a goofy thumbs up. 

in the second picture, it’s him and michael. they’re both grinning, squinting against the evening sun, and staring at something or someone just out of frame. lake michigan spreads out glorious behind their shoulders. it was probably a fishing trip. it’s got to be an old ass photo, cause they’re both wearing shirts that say the original berf of chicago and you stole michael’s in the summer of 2020. you needed to have something of his during quarantine, and you kept it even after quarantine ended. it’s still folded away in your dresser, protected by mothballs. 

michael disappeared on you too. after you broke up, you kept texting him about meeting to give him back some of his things, but he wouldn’t answer. to be fair, all you had to do was ride the elevator up a couple floors and drop off a box by his door. but you kept texting him anyways, texting on into the silence, until finally it occurred to you: he was punishing you. two could play at that game. you stopped texting altogether, and that’s when it happened.

this is no number of push-ups or good deeds or leafy greens in the world that can defend against an experience like that. the silence was supposed to only last a week, a month at most, and then it became forever. 

so yeah, you go to the beef. the bear. whatever.

so much for being good.

.

.

.

the restaurant is closed for renovations, so you go around to the back and find an unusual pair sitting, eating sandwiches off paper plates, and arguing about greta gerwig’s little women. you recognize both of them from richie’s instagram. 

fak breaks off mid-rant and peers up at you from under his baseball hat, as bright-eyed as a squirrel spotting a potential nut. syd, on the other hand, looks neat and cool in an apron, kerchief, and cautious expression. she’s by far the more intimidating of the two to you, though maybe that’s just richie’s influence coming through. she’s on another level and you know it. 

can i help you? syd says.

yeah, you say. where’s richie?

he’s out sick. 

out sick, that makes sense. relief warms you like the first sip of hot coffee on an icy morning, and then you clock the expression on syd’s face. she’s shifted from suspicious to outright dubious.

why, she adds, does he owe you money? 

ah, fuck. you were so worried that you forgot that when you’re wearing your big coat and your stoic face, you look like trouble. 

nah, you say. he doesn’t owe me anything. is he okay?

from the way she stares, syd must think you bizarre, but she humors you. i mean, two days ago he texted me a video of three chimpanzees attacking a gorilla. is that okay? she shrugs. you tell me.

he’s such a fucking weirdo. why?

i don’t know, i told him that one of the restaurants i used worked at was a vegan place and he’s been sending me shit like that ever since. am i vegan? no, i’m not, but why should that make any difference, you know? who knows why richie does what he does.

who knows, you say. it’s fun to grumble about richie, but you don’t actually find him mysterious. one or two scares aside, he’s the easiest person to understand in the whole city. 

i should probably call him, you say. can i borrow your phone? 

sydney looks even more weirded out than before for a second, and then she seems to have a lightbulb moment, just as you see the back door opening. 

he does owe you money, doesn’t he? syd says, exasperated, but not surprised.

quién le debe dinero a quién? says somebody in an undertone, and then tina appears, her curly hair a little shorter than the last time you saw her, but otherwise unchanged. when she sees you, her expression breaks into a smile of welcome while her eyes get complicated. 

hey, julie, she says. how you doing?

usually, you hate it when people ask you that. but with her, you just don’t.

doing okay, tina. you?

oh, we’re doing good, right, chef? she says, with a fond glance at syd that seems to invite her in. 

still fighting for our lives with an auditor, but yeah, syd says. we’re on track.

you want to walk with me? tina says to you, and you nod, grateful that she seems to have instinctively guessed what you need. 

while you’re strolling out of earshot of the others, syd heads inside, which puts you on a ticking clock. the chances of carmy knowing your actual name are slim, but the chances of him coming out into the alley to investigate? those are dangerously high.

tina interrupts your train of thought, stopping by the chain link fence and turning to face you. 

so what’s wrong? she says, and though she’s as warm and genuine as before, you are reminded by the glint in her eyes that she’s perceptive and tough and not to be fucked with. no wonder michael loved her so much. she was one of the few people who knew how to love him back without drowning.

does there have to be something wrong? you say. 

not necessarily. but historically speaking? she says it almost apologetically.

yeah. 

you only ever met her two times, both in his apartment, once in the dead of night and once in the middle of the day. you remember meeting her, but that’s all. in your mind, each emergency blends into the nexxt, and you don’t probe them for details. all you remember is that one time she was there, you called for an ambulance even though he ordered you not to, and he hated that. tina stood firm and carried on amidst all the shouting, even when you lost it.

it’s a wonder she’s being kind to you now, actually.  

i still carry the narcan in my purse, tina says. 

the nasal spray? you say. the stuff that you gave her after the scare in october ‘21. that’s good. gonna find somebody savable eventually, right? and that comes out way more bitter than you meant it to, but you can’t figure out a way to take it back fast enough.

there’s a hint of steel to tina’s voice, a reminder that she’s deliberately granting you her patience and could revoke it at any time, when she repeats, so what’s wrong?

you take out your burner phone, your sad little nokia, and show it to her.

i busted my old phone, lost all my contacts, and i don’t have the money for a new one right now, so this artifact is all i got. do you have richie’s number? you say meekly.

sure, she says, pulling it up and handing it over so easy that you’re startled. you’re not used to being given something that you need simply because you asked for it.

you take her phone with a quiet thanks and start typing his number and address into your own.

i looked for you at the funeral, she says. it stings, whether she meant it to or not.

well, you say, still typing and glad of the excuse to not look up at tina’s face, i figured i’d spare his mom the fun of having multiple women show up. 

that’s not a fair hit, not the full story, but you don’t bother to clarify. 

to your surprise, she doesn’t give you what you deserve. instead, she says, you still mad at him? 

why even ask. aren’t you?

i was never mad at him.

you have to look up, and not just because you’ve run out of stuff to type. 

never? that’s impossible.

not after, tina says, her brown honest. he was just a kid, you know?

he was a thief and an addict and older than you. but yeah, you know. you really do. he was just a kid.

you want to tell tina that she’s a better woman than you are, that to love and forgive at the same time is a trick that you can only envy. but you don’t know how to say that. 

there’s another version, too, a simpler one, one that doesn’t compare the two of you. she’s sunlight and she’s concrete, the type of kindness that defies the laws of physics, and you can’t figure out how to say that to her either. 

how are you doing? you say instead. you already asked her, but you didn’t really ask her in the way she had asked you. this time you try to do it right.

from the way she smiles, you know you got close.

i’m good, she says. really. all the stuff they’ve got us up to out here? herbs and shit, fucking french. i don’t know, it’s working. and they’re gonna send me to the cia. 

delight looks good on her, and it’s infectious. you say, why not the fbi?

the culinary institute of america, dummy.

oh shit, the level up machine. you’ve heard of it before, of course, because it seems to have turned carmy into a rock star, so that’s gotta be a good thing, right? you gonna come back, kick his ass, and take over?

she grins. girl, you know i could already do that if i felt like it.

true, true. you’re grinning too, and god, it feels good.

and then, glancing over her shoulder at the sudden sound, you can see the back door open.

thank you, tina. you hand her the phone back, quick. if she notices the sudden change in you, she doesn’t let on.

anytime, she says, and presses her wrapped sandwich in your hand. here. 

i can’t take your lunch.

she waves you off. nah, there’s more where that came from.

hey tina, a voice calls. it’s carmy’s, so you keep your eyes trained on tina and hope he doesn't recognize you at that distance.

thanks again, you say, and then you flee, clutching your sandwich.

.

.

.

richie doesn’t pick up and your first call goes to voicemail. you’re wound too tight to enjoy the bill murray of it all, so you just hang up and call again.

he picks up after the third ring. 

what? he growls. 

hey asshole, where are you, you say, just as abruptly, but so pleased to hear his voice. 

richie barely skips a beat. you dont have to kill me, i’m already fucking dying, he says, which is his idea of reassurance.

yeah?

i mean, i’m alive, he says, like it’s a great concession. but for how long?

not much longer. where are you. 

dead silence. this, you did not expect and have no idea what to do with. you snap, richie, where the fuck are you? in a voice that makes a passing woman give you a wide berth on the sidewalk. 

calm your tits, secret agent. i’m on my fucking deathbed with saltines and espn, jesus christ. everything’s fine.

you’d really like to strangle him, but you don’t miss his hint. that’s his way of letting you out of this, secret agent, everything’s fine, so don’t cross a line and then regret it. thoughtful of him, but you’re already a world expert in regret. you’ve weighed your odds, you’ll take your chances.

i’ll be there in twenty, you say, unless you tell me to fuck off.

there’s a split second of hesitation before he says, will you bring me a popsicle? 

no. 

you hang up. then you go and buy some popsicles.

.

.

.

you dig out the ring of keys from your pocket, another inheritance. the gold key is for michael’s old place, the silver is for the beef, and the square-headed one is for richie’s. when you turn it in the lock, the door to his apartment swings open, easy as pie. 

his apartment is a mess. worse, it’s dead dull, with only a few old movie posters hung up over the off-white walls for decoration. at least it doesn’t smell. there’s a kitchenette to your left, one huge and incongruously new ikea wardrobe to your right, and across from you, his bed. it’s shoved up right next to the far window, so the deep windowsill serves as a side table to a tiny succulent and a laptop streaming espn. 

richie’s sprawled out sans blanket and sheets, which are all huddled in a lump at the foot of the bed. he’s not bothering to watch espn and he doesn’t bother to get up at the sound the door opening, either. just looks over and watches you. 

you lock the door behind you and take your shoes off out of habit, even though you know you might have to get out fast. as you walk over to him, you encounter some dirty laundry along the way and kick it into the corner. then you’re at hit bedside, looking down at richie.

he’s lying there in a worn out grey t-shirt, looking up at you muzzy-eyed, sweating, and unsurprised. 

come to finish me off? he says.

after a second, you say, open your mouth. 

he gives you a look that says, i could argue if i fucking felt like it, but then he does open wide with a little aah like a kid getting his tonsils checked. 

you take a quick glance inside, then close your hand to imitate a mouth closing, fingers meeting thumb. 

he does as instructed, but you can tell by the glint in his eye that he’s got a joke locked and loaded, so you lean over and put the back of your hand to his forehead before he can say a thing. 

as you expected, he goes quiet. his skin is hot and damp with sweat. 

after a second, you withdraw and straighten up, touch still echoing on the on the back of your hand.

yeah, you’re fine, you say. dehydrated, low fever, but you’re fine. 

and here i thought i was dying, richie says. he’s not usually subtle, but for once you can’t tell if he’s mocking you or not. is that for me?

he reaches for the plastic bag hanging from your shoulder, and you yank it back out of reach just in time. 

business first. when did you take your last tylenol?

richie slumps sulkily back onto his pillow with a petulant look. you’re no fun when you’re in doctor mode.

then don’t get sick, asshole. tylenol? 

this morning, he says, and then before you can volley a follow-up, he skips ahead. bathroom, behind the mirror. 

as a reward, you sling the plastic grocery bag onto his bed before you go investigate. 

sure enough, there’s a miniature pharmacy on the two small shelves behind the foldable mirror. at first glance, the only prescription stuff is xanax and pravastatin. you grab the tylenol and you’re just about to go when you notice, down at the bottom left corner, a small familiar white box edged in magenta. four milligrams of narcan, nasal spray, your old friend. you gave tina way more of it than she needed and told her to pass it on to anyone at the beef that she trusted, just in case. narcan’s not a cure, it just buys you a little time. that’s all you were doing by then, buying yourselves a little time.

looking at the box now, you suddenly feel sorry for richie. it’s been bad enough for you, and you’ve been living like a fucking vampire, no daylight, barely leaving your lair. richie’s had to go into the outside world, and the outside world fucking sucks. michael’s everywhere out there.

.

.

.

when you get back with the tylenol, richie has a grape popsicle already stuck in his mouth, the extra package of saltines on the windowsill by his side, and your sandwich in his hands. he’s trying to unwrap it when you snatch it away and deposit a tylenol in his palm instead.

with a shrug, he takes the popsicle out of his mouth and swallows the tylenol dry. 

trying not to think too hard about that, you turn away and head to the kitchen.

cups? you say.

upper left. he’s watching you make your way through his space, you can feel it. so you went to the beef, huh.

yup. in the upper cabinet, there’s an assortment of cups, none of them matching. you pick the plastic one with dora the explorer on it, then go fill that with water.

richie says, you talk to carmy? 

no, you say, with just enough edge on it to warn him off the subject. on your way back to his bedside, you pause to peek in his fridge and freezer. fuck me, did nobody ever teach you that man cannot live on microwave burritos alone?

news to me. what are you, some kind of fuckin gourmet?

you complete your circuit, come perch on the edge of his bed with the cup in your hand, and wait for him to sit up. 

woman can live on frozen pizzas alone, that’s a whole different thing, you say.

uh huh. he slumps back against the headboard, then accepts the cup from you and drinks. in the silence, you watch him. the small movements of his throat, the glint of gold slipping out over the nape of his neck. he wears that cross even in his sleep. hopefully it protects him. something should. 

you could sit here for a long time. 

but the cup runs out of water fast, and there goes your excuse. you take it back from him and say, just for the sake of saying something, your interior design is severely lacking.

he scrunches up his nose when he smiles, a wry little smile interrupted by a sniff. thanks.

go back to sleep.

but he doesn’t. instead, he reaches for the remaining half of his grape popsicle, so you go for your sandwich, unwrap, and take a bite. this is as good as the middle of the night to your body clock, so you’re not one bit hungry. but food works just as well as a cigarette, permission for silence. 

you get a sando and i get saltines? he says. talk about a raw deal, man.

mouth full, you say, these are actually pretty good, you know?

what, you didn’t think they would be? he scoffs. c’mon, i know you were never a regular, but the thing with the gun, that wasn’t your first time in. 

so he remembered you. even before he knew you had any kind of connection to the beef, he remembered you. 

you pretend not to notice.

i’ve just never had it with the peppers before, you say.

you’ve never had it with the peppers? his voice rises with each word.

i’m not normally a huge peppers girl, you say nonchalantly. 

you’re a fucking heathen is what you are.

for that, you take an extra big bite and chew as loudly and disgustingly as you can. 

it backfires immediately. he gags and presses his fist to his mouth, and you bolt to the sink to grab the trash can from under it, nearly tripping and hoping like hell he doesn’t throw up all over himself because you do not have it in you to do that kind of laundry. trash can in hand, you turn around to find that he’s giving you the thumbs up and grinning. not gagging at all, perfectly fine. 

oh, fuck you. you put the trash can back, stalk over, and drop down onto the bed beside him again, petulantly this time, making the bedsprings squeak. 

he’s still chuckling. you should’ve seen your face.

you know what my problem is? you say.

you think you have only one problem, j? i got news for you. 

that’s not the first time anyone’s used that nickname for you, but you still like it. 

my problem is that you’re not scared of me, you say. i need to make you more scared of me, and then you’ll treat me with the respect i deserve.

okay, well, fyi: you are already the third scariest person in the world to me, richie says.

the third? you echo with mock offense.

third is good, man. there’s stiff competition. like, you realize isis is still out there? his eyebrows raise and he gestures emphatically. and there’s a lot of them?

you snort. isis is not still out there.

i think they are. he tries to tick them off on his fingers. isis, al qaeda. and the other one. what’s the other one?

i think you need to stay well away from middle eastern politics when you’re running a fever, you say, getting up to go.

you said my fever was low! 

and yet you’re fuckin addled. go back to sleep. with that, you head back towards the kitchenette to see what you can do. 

his pantry turns out to be not quite as empty as his fridge, so you pick up a couple things and get to cooking him something basic and nourishing. no sense in trying anything impressive. you’ll be lucky if the result is passably tasty. 

sunlight comes in through the window, throwing a rectangle of warmth on your shoulder. you retrieve a pot, a cutting board, a large knife.

eva’s his number one scariest person in the world, obviously. number two’s probably tiff? donna’s scary, but you get the sense that she’d be worse to her kids, or at least that it’d feel worse to be her kids. richie’s never directly talked about her, though he did made a couple bitter remarks early on about what he did for ‘the family’, and given that sugar hates his ass and carmy wasn’t around, it has to be donna he was trying to take care of. wait, maybe carmy’s number two. no, it’s tiff. it’s definitely tiff.

yo, richie says, what the fuck are you doing? stop.

you look up, bewildered. what? 

he’s sitting at the edge of the bed with his feet flat on the floor, like he’s prepared to stand up and stop you. with the light coming in through the window at his back and the hanging lamp of the kitchenette throwing gold on his front, he really does look like he’s coated in sweat. 

put the knife down, he says. commands from his mouth are usually fruitless protests issued for comedic effect, but not this time. you put the knife down. 

you okay? you say it like a gentle person would, only to have your gesture immediately spoiled.

who taught you to cut onions like that? he says, like you’re physically hurting him. you do not cut onions like that! 

oh my god, fucking stop me. you roll your eyes and pick up the knife again, only to hear a tell-tale grunt from richie. no, that was a joke. don’t—you throw down the knife with an annoyed clatter. i’ll be fine. just watch your baseball or something, okay? sorry i’m not fucking carmy and i can’t go all human food processor on it, but let me do my thing.

after a second, richie says, ‘s gonna taste like shit, isn’t it.

you want me to go? you say, stung.

no, richie says immediately. i just want to know what you’re gonna do with those onions.

you shrug, a touch defensively. i was gonna brown it, add a couple cans of campbell’s beef and barley. something like that. it’s really sad when you say it out loud, just two ingredients: onions and canned soup. 

i don’t hate that, richie says. 

you look at him warily, unsure of whether that’s meant as an insult or the world’s most pathetic compliment. 

just curl your fingers when you cut, right? fuckin—he imitates, to show you how your left hand is supposed to be positioned, while he mimes chopping with his right. it really should not be charming. unfortunately, it kinda is.

yeah, yeah, you mutter, and then you go back to your cutting board and try to practice what he just taught you. 

usually, you have protein bars for snacks, frozen pizzas for meals, takeaway for variety, and pre-bagged salads for your recent attempts at health, so it really has been ages since you cooked like this. 

kind of feels like you’ve been missing out. there’s a peaceful feeling to this simple concentration, a bit like your work but without any of the stress. you take little breaks every now and again to prevent the onion from making you cry. with each break, you take a look at something new: the drawings from eva that he has pinned to the fridge, the poster for the movie white squall, the stack of books that look like somebody’s actually read them. 

when you start shoveling slices of onion into the pot, richie calls over, don’t turn the heat up too high.

i won’t, you say, unbothered.

you get about thirty seconds of peace, stirring your onions as you add some oil, and then richie pipes up again.

seriously, he says, if it doesn’t brown fast enough, don’t turn the heat up, just—

the heat’s at four out of ten, fuck’s sake. your swearing is just for show, because you’re feeling nearly mellow. there’s something so soothing about the crackling sound of the onions in the hot oil. are you drinking your water?

i already drank it all!

not believing him, you walk over, only to find that the cup is indeed empty. you refill it, then linger for a second, trying to make sense of the baseball he’s streaming on his laptop. 

look at this guy, richie says, referring to some player that you’ve never seen before in your life and probably never will again. the guy’s winding up to take a swing. you both watch. the guy hits a foul, and richie shakes his head in disgust. you grunt, noncommittal and happy, and return to your caramelizing onions.

by the time you’re done cooking, he’s asleep. 

.

.

.

you pour out two bowls of soup and put the rest of it in the fridge. that plus the saltines are enough to get him through the night and another day. you doubt the fever will last much longer than that. 

as you do the washing up, you make sure to scrub off every last bit of onion from the bottom of the pot, and then you leave all the clean dishes on the rack to dry.

between soup and saltines, richie should have enough for tonight and tomorrow, and you doubt the fever will last much longer than that. with the cooking and washing up is done, you walk over, sit on the bed beside him, and set down two bowls of soup on the deep windowsill that serves as his side table. his laptop has gone to sleep, and the silence in the absence of baseball is pretty much perfect. so is the sunlight.

you take off your hoodie, finally—you were starting to sweat yourself near the end there, thank goodness he was too sick to notice—and tug down your original berf shirt. it’s safe enough. richie’s out cold, snoring a little. with the tylenol doing its work, he’s not as sweaty as before, so you drag the sheets up from the foot of the bed and make sure they’re tucked over his shoulders.

taking out a sharpie from your coat pocket, you root around in the pile of assorted mail by his bedside until you come up with a pizza flier you can write on. you leave him the phone number of the burner you kept for michael. reason being, it’s the only number you know by heart, and you’re too tired to deal with any more unexplained absences. 

after all, you figure, you can be good and still take it a little easier. that’s all you’ve done today, take it a little easier, and it feels really fucking good.

settling down, you reach over richie again to get your bowl and your spoon. the bowl is warm in your lap, and even though you weren’t hungry before, the act of cooking has worked up your appetite. the soup smells good to you: sweet, savory, a bit like childhood. 

your father used to say grace at the table, and though you never do that anymore, there’s something still left to be said.

you know, you say, you’re the number three scariest person in the world to me too. you sit with that for a moment, and then you add, number two once told me he would shoot me in the face, so. there’s that. 

richie looks completely harmless like this, slumped on his side under the sheets, turned a little towards you with his eyes closed. he’s way easier to talk to when he’s unconscious, go figure. you can't touch him, though.

drink your fucking water, you say quietly. 

and then, still looking at him like he’s a photo to remember, you begin to eat your soup.

.

.

.

[ next chapter ] [ masterlist ]

.

.

.

@garbinge, @narcolini, @drabbles-mc, @beingalive1, @eternallyvenus, @cerial-junkie, @jackierose902109 — if anyone else wants to be tagged, let me know.

[leezlelatch]

The Christmas Waltz

The Christmas Waltz sung by Frank Sinatra is my favorite Christmas carol, and while it may be a little early, I'm feeling particularly festive, and it's always been my dream to dance with someone to it. Please enjoy.

The fireplace crackles merrily in the papal office of Papa Emeritus IV. Just above the dancing flames rests a string of golden tinsel and artificial pine, wrapped together to create a very pretty garland stretched whimsically across the mantle. Several tall candles sit within the garland, unburnt, in various reds and greens, and a funny group of nutcrackers marches through the festive décor, their hand-painted features beginning to crack from age.

Hanging from a crooked nail beneath the mantle is a long, patched stocking, an embroidered "C" on the soft fabric. You smile as you imagine it bursting with all the little gifts waiting patiently in your room under your bed, your eyes landing on the stocking owner in question who works diligently at his desk, hand sweeping across a document as he signs his name. Carols play from an old radio atop his desk.

Copia. You wonder if he realizes how beautiful he is. Not simply in the furrow of his brow or the quirk of his lips as he concentrates, but the grace of his being. The way he speaks. The smile that lights his face, and the terrible jokes he makes when he's nervous. His confidence on stage, and the red track suit he refuses to change out of when he's off duty. All of these little idiosyncrasies make him unapologetically himself, and you love him for it.

"Something you need, cara?" His voice startles you out of your thoughts.

"Oh," you breathe with an embarrassed smile. "No, Papa."

He scoffs, laying his pen down and wagging a finger at you, "None of that Papa business, yes? We're here...alone. Va bene."

"Yes, Copia," you turn back to the yule tree you spent the better part of an hour decorating.

"Amata mia."

"Copia."

You hide a smile as you hear him sigh behind you. His chair creaks as he sits back, and you glance over your shoulder to see him pinning you with an unamused glare. An ornament dangling from your fingertips, you turn to regard him with a raised brow.

"Whatever is the matter?" You tease.

“You’re not supposed to say it like that,” he pouts. 

Pretending to think, you hang the ornament off a branch, admiring the blues and golds you’re incorporating into the tree to reflect Copia’s papal colors.

“Say what in which way?”

Copia shifts in his seat, looking off to the side with a grumbled, “Comportandosa come se non lo sapesse,” and leaning his arm on his desk says, “You’re not supposed to say my name like it’s a place holder for ‘Papa,’ cara mia.”

“And how am I supposed to say your name?” You ask.

You can’t help the smile that plays around your lips, a hum escaping Copia as he takes in your expression.

“In the way that makes my very heart tremble, huh?” He places a hand on his chest, a vulnerable look filling his eyes as his voice goes very soft on the last syllable.

Stepping over to his desk, you place your hands on the wood, leaning toward him. A flush spreading across your cheeks, your lips part as Copia nearly closes the space between you, his own expression enraptured, waiting for what he craves so deeply.

“Copia,” you say with all the adoration and love you can muster. “I thought you liked when I called you Papa.”

Copia’s hands gently cup your face, his thumbs drawing circles against your skin as he pulls you forward to place the daintiest kiss against your nose.

“There is a time and place for that, topolina.”

A familiar tune croons from the radio and you pull away to smile widely, reaching down to turn it up, and forgetting your Papa’s subtle reminder of where he likes you to use his title.

“This is my favorite carol!” You gasp, your eyes wide and bright as the chorus gently leads Frank Sinatra into the classic song.

You look back at Copia with a most endearing look, your excitement palpable. “Isn’t it beautiful? It’s called the Christmas Waltz. I’ve always thought it would be lovely to dance to.”

Copia’s eyes shine as he watches you sway to the holiday carol, leaning his chin on his hand while the fingers of his other dive beneath your sleeve to stroke gently against your wrist. He didn’t think it was possible to be more in love with a person than how incredibly in love he is with you. Papa Emeritus IV is utterly lost to you.

“We shall dance, then, hmm?” He says softly, standing and quickly making his way around the desk to place eager hands at your waist. Your joy is infectious to him, and the idea of having you in his arms, a sweet song playing while surrounded by holiday cheer is too tempting to him.

Copia does so love the holidays, now that he has someone to share it with.

You look at each other. There is hardly a breath that you do not share as he guides you so closely, so gently around the room. His hand holds yours as if letting go means you’ll disappear forever, and his grip on your waist tightens as he attempts to pull you closer than you already are. You think at one point you’re crying, but so is he, overwhelmed by the incredible joy that comes with being wholly and completely wanted.

Overcome by a feeling for a holiday…you haven’t felt in such a long time.

It’s back.

You both giggle, sniffling, and Copia lovingly nuzzles his nose against yours before dipping his head to press such a beautiful kiss to your lips as the song fades into the quiet crackling of the fire.

Merry Christmas. Merry Yule. May your every new year dream come true.

[klaudia2646]

Much was done today. The house is still a big huge mess but I’ll do the rest tomorrow. And, the tubs containing the outdoors decorations are in the middle of the living room. I may put them in the 3 seasons porch.

We went to Kohls to get another St. Nicholas village ornament. We try to get one every year and have many but this year they had a lot less not only village ornaments but presents options for guys. I want to get something else for brother in law and nephew in Texas. Kohls used to have lots of options. Not this year.

I still need to get a table runner and some Christmas lights for the fireplace, also Xmas stockings holders. I may go back to Kohls without David. If not tomorrow, then Monday or Tuesday.

Now I’m watching a hallmark movie although I may fall sleep before it’s over.

[bestphoneunder20k]

Comparing Christmas Stocking Holders & Decorations: An In-depth Review

Hey there, folks! Today, we’re going to chat about some fabulous products that will add a festive touch to your Christmas decor. We all know how important it is to have those special touches that make the holiday season feel truly magical. That’s why we’ve gathered a collection of stocking holders and other accessories to spruce up your home and spread some holiday cheer. Stocking holders have…

[silverdune]

..humbug | prologue.

"please.. forgive the intrusion of us three festive spectres.."

minors dni. ageless blogs dni. blank blogs dni. you'll be blocked.

..humbug masterlist | next ->

character(s): choi seungcheol, yoon jeonghan, joshua hong as the ghosts of christmas past, present and future (ft. you as scrooge, mentioned ?? svt member)

tags: retail worker!reader, reader doesn't like the holidays, 95z are sarcastic and they sorta break-in(??) (it'll make sense), banter, mild suspense, ghosts, reader gets freaked out and questions their reality, retail stores during the holidays, stress, food (eating), christmas music, past relationships/breakups, crying, angst, explicit language

word count: 4.0k

summary: you come home, stressed from your christmas eve shift and three people have shown up in your apartment. they claim they're the ghosts of christmas past, present and future, but a christmas carol is a work of fiction.. right?

a/n: i didn't expect the prologue to be this long haha but here it is. hopefully i can get the rest of this up by christmas, if not, just after?? anyways, i hope you enjoy;

Christmas Eve.

It's always dialled up to eleven on the last day before Christmas. The speakers are only playing holiday music, you've got to wear the tacky sweater and your stress levels are indisputably at their highest.

This isn't your favourite time of year by any means.

Every chance you get, you eye what seems to be the only clock in the entire store. It rings an hour before closing time, and you've got to spend a further hour clearing everything away and shutting up shop before you can spend two blissful days in solitude.

The queue for the checkouts stretches as far as the eye can see. As you pass by to take a stack of baskets back to the entrance, you can't help but take a gander at everyone's trolleys, filled to the brim with their last minute buys. It truly makes you wonder why anyone would wait until the last second to get everything in for the holidays.

The journey is slow as people go back and forth across the aisles, trying their best to gather all the stuff they could possibly need and want. Your mind is ticking over, wishing and waiting for your shift to be done with so you can go home and eat.

The stack of baskets finally end up back in the holder, and you're immediately called away to jump back on tills.

An hour becomes forty-five minutes, to half an hour, to fifteen minutes, to shutters down.

The speakers are turned off and you glance at your co-workers with a heavy sigh. One of them remarks that it's another Christmas Eve over with!

You snort to yourself and say beneath your breath, "Ain't I glad for it."

You get to work wiping down the tills, making sure everything is tidied away, and helping a few other staff members replace leftover stock from customers who could not stomach the neverending queue. Soon enough, it's time for you to go home.

You had exchanged gifts with the rest of the staff throughout the week, and as you head to your car, you wish everyone a happy holiday and new year. They shout back with more energy than your sleep deprived self could manage, and you climb into your car before starting the engine and driving home.

You keep the radio off. You had heard enough Christmas music on this day alone.

Pulling into the tiny driveway of your house sometime later, you clamber out, collecting your bag of presents from your friends at work as well as your shoulder bag. Eventually, you get it all to the front door, and upon entering the code, you almost fall into your abode and haphazardly shut the door behind you.

The bags hit the floor. Your shoes are the first thing to come flying off, followed by your hat, coat and scarf. It had started snowing recently, though thankfully none had fallen so far tonight.

Stepping into your house, you take a deep breath in then turn on all the lights. You then decide to head to your bedroom and get changed into your pyjamas. Much better.

It's almost 10pm when you start preparing dinner. Nothing too fancy or elaborate, just a quick bite to eat before you inevitably get into bed and fall into the deepest sleep imaginable. Slumber had been slipping away for days, you know you'll be thankful for the first good night's sleep in ages.

The house is quiet and still, save for the sounds of the hood fan above your stove, the clacking of pots and pans, the faucet turning on and off as you wash your hands, and the timer on your phone letting you know your meal is done.

As you plate your dinner and toss the pans into the sink, the wind picks up outside. It howls at your kitchen window, startling you a little, before you notice drops of something fall in front of the nearby streetlight.

Immediately, you think it's snow, and a quick poke of the head outside your front door confirms that theory. You hum, then go back inside before your dinner gets cold.

You take the dish into the living room and place it on the table before taking a seat on the floor. Without a second to waste, you tuck in.

The wind gets stronger with each passing minute. You figure the snow could only be getting heavier. Perhaps it's cold enough for it to stick.

Thoughts pass absent-mindedly through your head as you eat. Gotta call parents in the morning. Make sure dinner is prepared. They're coming at around 2pm. I need to tidy up a bit before they get here too.

Finishing up your dinner, you get up to grab your phone from your bag. It lets you know it's just past 11pm and your eyes widen in surprise - has time really gone that fast?

As you re-enter the living room, you ensure you have an alarm set for 9am the following morning, then pick up your plate and take it into the kitchen.

The wind grows rather fierce outside, and the howling becomes.. eerie. A blizzard hails and you wonder when it's going to calm down, if it will at all.

You clear everything up and put everything back, then wipe the countertops down. It's an extra step before you can go to bed, but you know you'll be thankful for it in the morning. Once you switch off all the lights, you head into the bathroom and brush your teeth.

The baying wind causes a noticeable raucous outside as you splash your face with warm water and turn off the faucet. The nature of it is almost otherworldly and it brings you to a halt.

Never before have your hairs stood on head at the mere appearance of a gale force wind.

You pick up your towel to dry your face, now slightly perturbed at just how forceful these gusts are.

You won't lie, it's making you feel uneasy.

Setting the towel on the side, you hurry out the bathroom to switch on one of the floor lamps so you can feel comfortable turning off the bathroom light. You're not sure why the weather is making you feel like this, but the way it's picked up in the last hour is genuinely starting to scare you.

Your mouth is a few seconds ahead of your brain when you call out, "Hello?" You shake your head slightly, unsure of where that exclamation came from.

What, do you suppose there are ghosts here?

A chuckle escapes you - surely not. It is just an incredibly powerful wind, coupled with snow. This has happened hundreds of times before, this is nothing new!

Exhaling, you turn off the bathroom light, turn off the floor lamp, then go into your bedroom. The clock reads just shy of midnight.

For some reason, this makes you pause.

A lump forms in your throat that you promptly swallow. Nothing to fear, you think, and get into bed with the promise of a wonderful night's rest.

You close your eyes, knowing you'll be off to sleep in no time..

Thud.

You jolt upright.

"What the fuck?"

You heart picks up speed. You place a hand on your chest as you try and take the deepest breaths possible.

Your shaky hand reaches out to turn on the bedside lamp. Slowly, you pull back the duvet and get out of bed, grabbing your phone in the process and switching on the torch.

Inch by inch, you trudge out of the bedroom and head in the direction of the kitchen, where you assume the noise came from. It sounded like a clattering of pans.. you don't even know what would've caused it.

But more than that, you are chilled to the bone to discover you can.. fucking hear voices?

Coming to a stop in the middle of the hallway, every sense is on high alert as you point your torch to the floor. What the fuck is going on, and who the fuck is in my house?

Assuredly not what you were expecting in the early hours of Christmas morning.

Nobody had entered the house as you were getting ready for bed. There was no break-in, no disturbances other than the loud wind, and certainly no sign that someone had managed to find another way to enter.

This is truly something else.

And what gets to you more than anything, is that as you start treading carefully towards the kitchen again, the voices become more distinctive.. and there's three of them.

.

.

Usually, a more graceful entrance through the chimney would be in order.

But where no chimney exists, the next best option is.. the oven.

"Damn it!"

"Good one, Joshua.."

"Don't look at me, Jeonghan. I'm not the one who decides to get thrown down- or I guess in this case out- first." Joshua picks himself up off the ground and dusts down his jacket. Jeonghan follows suit, then moves to brush off Joshua's shoulders before getting shooed away. "And Seungcheol's going to get a lovely entrance, I bet.."

Much to their shock - and joy - Seungcheol flies through the open oven door and lands with a thud against the kitchen island opposite.

Jeonghan and Joshua both guffaw as the latter closes the oven. "Ah, I'm almost glad I spoke too soon."

"Bastard," mutters Seungcheol beneath his breath, rubbing his head as he scrambles to his feet. "Could've helped me.."

Both Jeonghan and Joshua - whom Seungcheol unabashedly nicknames The Bothersome Brothers - look at one another then turn to Seungcheol in mock sympathy. For dramatic effect, Jeonghan gently covers his mouth with his hand as Joshua shakes his head in shame.

"Oh.. we are so sorry, forgive us, dear elder.." Jeonghan drones, hand now on his chest to feign sadness.

Seungcheol fixes them a less-than-pleased glare and rolls one shoulder back at a time to relieve some tension. "I will roast you both."

The pair fake a gasp simultaneously. "The horror!" says Joshua.

"Couldn't imagine!" follows Jeonghan, back of hand on his forehead.

"Alright, enough you two. We need to figure out where we are and who we're assisting."

The two drop the act and instantly shift into gear. "Well.." begins Joshua, putting his hands behind his back and taking a walk through the kitchen, "we're in a house.."

Jeonghan snorts. Seungcheol does not have the patience for this.

"Seriously?"

"What?" Joshua exclaims; Seungcheol's raised brow says it all. "..Fine." Out of thin air, he retrieves a large, ancient book that he opens to about the halfway point. He recites the information within back to the other men. "LN.FN. Late 20s-early 30s. Retail worker. Reason for hating the holidays.."

Shriek.

.

.

When you wander into your kitchen, you let out an earth-shattering scream.

You abruptly reach for the nearest light switch and turn it on, revealing three men standing in front of your oven, one of them fumbling to hold onto a giant book as it nearly slips out of his hands.

The flashlight on your phone gets shut off. You stare blankly at the trio, unable to fathom just why they are currently standing in your kitchen.

"Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my house?" you yell, hoping to God this is either a very realistic nightmare, or that if it is real, one of your neighbours understands there are currently three intruders in your home so they can come and help you.

The man furthest to the right takes a step forward. They are all noticeably just as freaked out as you, and it befuddles you since, you know, they are the ones in your house.

"Our sincerest apologies.." He says it so intently and it's disquieting. "We did not mean to frighten you."

The man in the centre continues, "Please.. forgive the intrusion of us three festive spectres.."

The man holding the book completes the sentence, "You must be N." He smiles, and now you have to try and wrap your head around the fact that he just said your name. "It is very nice to meet you."

You are at a complete loss for words. Everything goes still as you try and make sense of all of this.

You try again with asking questions. "..Please tell me who you are and where you came from." The words leave you in a controlled yet urgent tone.

"Bizarrely, of the two queries, the latter will be the more difficult to understand.." remarks the man in the centre.

What in the- "What in the name is that supposed to mean?" you ask.

Bookkeeper answers, "What he's trying to say is that our method of arrival was both unconventional and incomprehensible."

Your head is spinning irrevocably. The walls feel like they are closing in. Everything about this is wrong and you just want to wake up from whatever sordid dream this is.

"Okay.." You try again, this time with a shaky voice. "I am going to politely ask you- in fact, no, I am going to demand that you leave my house this instant or I will call the police!" Your voice quickly reaches its peak volume and the trio are taken aback.

The first man to speak to you tries to de-escalate the situation. "We can explain why we're here!"

"And how!" says the man in the middle.

Good God, is this nightmare over already?

At that moment, the three men form a line. One by one, they introduce themselves.

"My name is Seungcheol. I am the Ghost of Christmas Past."

"My name is Jeonghan, I am the Ghost of Christmas Present."

"My name is Joshua, I am the Ghost of Christmas Future."

They bow in unison.

You laugh.

They glance at one another as they lift their heads, then look over at you. Both arms are tucked across your stomach and you are fully bellowing out laughter.

Their backs straighten. Joshua tucks the book under his arm. The three exchange another glance before they turn back to you.

Once you have finally calmed down and wiped a stray tear, you come back to the room and say, "Holy shit, that is the funniest thing I've heard all year."

Jeonghan goes to speak, "Um- we're- we're afraid that it's-"

You continue chuckling, effectively interrupting him. "That is quite the cover story."

"Beg your pardon?" Joshua cocks a brow.

"All fun and games, huh? Thought you'd get a last minute steal in, and if I found you, you'd pose as the three ghosts of Christmas from the Dickens novel." A snort involuntarily escapes you at the ridiculousness of it all.

The trio perk up at that. Jeonghan mutters to them, "That author's name again!"

Seungcheol gazes at you. "Um, excuse me? Did you mention.. Dickens?"

You stop. "Yes? His famous novel, A Christmas Carol has three ghosts that show up in it: Christmas past, present and future.." Their bemused facial expressions are not lost on you. "Surely you.. must have heard of it if you're referencing the characters and literally introducing yourselves as them." You are still in disbelief over that.

"Well," Joshua begins, "to be honest, we've only heard of the novel through other visits we've done.."

"Yes, literally everyone we have interacted with has brought that story up in connection to us but we have no knowledge of it!" Jeonghan explains.

"Some have even gone as far as to say we are actually from that novel and we've come to life!" says Seungcheol.

Frozen solid to the spot you're standing on, you take a good look at three men in front of you. They are all wearing similar attire of a vintage persuasion: suits under long trenchcoats with slacks. Their hair is styled in a way reminiscent of the 40s.

This is baffling to say the least.

Festive spectres..

"Jeonghan, is it?"

Jeonghan eyes you. "Yes?"

"You mentioned you were.. festive spectres.. Is-" You cannot comprehend the fact you're going to inquire about this. "Is that.. legit?"

Jeonghan smiles. "Undoubtedly. And if you want to know the answer to your other query.. We entered through your oven."

Your jaw drops.

That's enough.

"Okay!" You enter the kitchen and go to stand behind them so you can escort them out of the house. "Thank you very much for your company, but-"

As soon as your hand brushes Joshua's shoulder, you squeal and step back.

He is frightfully cold.

The men pivot and see you standing on the other side of the kitchen, back pressed against the sink with one hand covering the other.

"Oh!" Seungcheol understands. "Yes, we are.. quite chilly." The other two catch on and nod in agreement.

Your pupils grow three sizes. "Quite chilly?" you scoff. "You're a damn glacier, fuck.."

"Again, apologies," Seungcheol quietly laughs. "Comes with the territory."

You can do nothing but stare at them; this all well beyond you at this rate.

Joshua opens the book again to the same place as before. "Your name is N.. Late 20s-early 30s.."

"Hang on a minute!" You point a finger. "How the hell do you have that information?"

"Oh! When we are assigned folks to visit during the early morn of Christmas day, we're given a basic information log on who they are and their reasons for disliking the holiday season," says Joshua with a grin on his face.

That last part throws you off. "My.. reasons for disliking Christmas?"

"Yes! A few are listed here actually.. The music, working in a retail store, putting up with distant relatives, commercialisation, consumerism, etc, etc.."

The list is all accurate, but something stings in the back of your mind. You ignore it. For now.

"Right and as the self-proclaimed ghosts of Christmas whenever, you're here to try and make me less of a Grinch?"

"Grinch..?" Joshua furrows his brow in confusion.

"We had a few people mention The Grinch, remember?" says Jeonghan, trying to poke at Joshua's memory. "He's a cartoon of a character who hates Christmas so much he tries to steal it."

"And eventually his heart grows three sizes and he learns to love the holiday and be more cheerful," you finish explaining. Now your head is spinning much faster.

It eventually registers with Joshua, "Ah! Yes, I do remember that story now. Not mentioned as frequently as the other one."

"I mean.. no surprise there, you are literally telling people you're three of the characters from that story." You rub your forehead in exasperation. Quite frankly, you're tired, stressed and just want to go back to bed.

"So, I think with all that settled, we should get to the bottom of what really upsets you about the holidays," announces Seungcheol.

Your eyes split open. Huh?

"Excuse you?"

"The real reason for your hurt at this time of year," Jeonghan informs.

"Yeah, I got that part, but the fuck?"

You are yet to find a good explanation for anything occurring right now and these three "ghosts" want to unpack all the problems?

It is still unclear if they are even telling the truth!

Joshua closes the book and sighs. "I listed many reasons, all of which are perfectly valid and understandable, but there's something much deeper."

"It has been troubling you since well.. last year," laments Jeonghan.

"And only when you confront it, can you learn to move forward," Seungcheol affirms.

Your legs nearly turn to jelly and you have to prop yourself up on the side of the sink just to remain steady.

The something much deeper?

The thing troubling you?

The thing you must confront?

You have to turn away from them.

Staring out of the window, all the memories come flooding back.

You had spent three Christmases together.

Everything was going so well. You had considered moving in together up until late last year.

That was when things got worse.

You grew ever so distant in the weeks leading up to Christmas. It was to be your fourth together and yet, by the time December rolled around, you both decided it was best if you broke it off.

No closure. No final words. No cards or gifts or well wishes from either of you.

Truly a lonely holiday.

You had of course spent it surrounded by family, but after almost four years together, it hurt to have an empty seat beside you at the dinner table.

Even waltzing around your own house reminded you of everything you shared. You'd often stay the night at each other's places.

Now it was your second Christmas apart, and despite all the time that has passed, it could still bring you to tears just thinking about it.

You often wonder what he's doing. If he ever thinks of you. It crosses your mind that he clearly hasn't, otherwise he'd pick up the phone, but the hypocrisy would be so loud, and it never stopped you from thinking about him.

With a heavy weight on your shoulders, you take a deep breath in. It occurs to you that the three ghosts have been standing behind you this entire time, and you brush a tear away before turning around.

"Sorry.." you whisper. To them? To him? To yourself? You don't know.

"It is more than okay. We are only here to help," says Seungcheol, gently.

"And if you'd like us to, we can guide you through these three different times," follows Jeonghan. "But it is up to you."

"If you wish us to leave, we shall," Joshua vows on behalf of all three of them.

Something uncanny twists in your stomach. You are unsure of when or how the atmosphere shifted but, you find yourself unable to do much else but choke a sob. They watch on sympathetically, unable to conceal their sorrow.

"How do I- kn-know that you're really those ghosts?" you sniff.

"Well, aside from the temperature, does this help you?" wonders Joshua, before he levitates the book above his palm before throwing it into the air, causing it to vanish.

You blink. "W-Wow.."

"And perhaps.." Seungcheol backtracks out of the kitchen, subtly guiding you towards the standing mirror in the hallway. You follow, and once you're standing in front of the glass, it reveals zero reflection of the man beside you.

"Oh, shit-" You can't see, but Seungcheol smirks behind you. You lift a hand to the mirror and gulp. "Okay.. So.. How would you plan on guiding me through these times?"

"I answer your question with another: who do you see before you?"

".. Not you," you joke. The trio chuckle. "But, seriously.. myself, of course."

"Yourself, when?"

"Now. Today."

"And what year is it currently?"

"..2023."

"Correct. Now.." Seungcheol lifts an arm, then moves his hand in a circle motion, causing a spiralling ripple effect on the mirror.

Your mouth gapes open and a gasp escapes. This is insane, how is this even real?

Seungcheol eventually lowers his arm. "..What do you see?"

The picture clears. You say what you see. "Christmas lights.. That's the front of my house! It's snowing.. There's someone laughing-"

The words get caught in your throat.

Wonwoo.

Your ex.

"That's.." You struggle to say his name. It's like you haven't said it in years. "..Wonwoo."

The name tastes of salt on your tongue. Or maybe that's the tears that have since started shedding with reckless abandon.

"Your ex-boyfriend, correct?"

You swallow thickly. "Y-Yes.."

The picture starts to change. It becomes so much darker. The tone is shifting. It was only a vignette of the past and yet you wish you could hold onto it for dear life.

The world becomes foggy. The words are mumbled and the voices are not defined. You shudder in your own living room, wiping your cheeks free of tears.

Seungcheol stands before you and holds his hand out.

"I stood you before the mirror, as while it does give you your reflection at present, it can also reflect so much of what has been left in the past. It acts as a window to everything that has transpired to make you who you are."

You look at him, then the mirror, then back at him.

"Take my hand, if you wish to revisit the past."

Pushing your shoulders back, you take a moment to consider whether this is a good idea.

In seconds, your hand ends up in his.

He guides you through the mirror, and as the door closes, your living room is shrouded in darkness.

Jeonghan nudges Joshua, "Admirable."

Joshua nods. "I do hope this brings them some much needed closure."

× tristeetconfus (ave). do not repost. ×

[mezmer]

I was discussing with him useless wasteful gifts. My daughter recieved a lot of cheap toys and clothes, some of which have already broken and ended up in the garbage. I decided it isn’t ungrateful to think that it is really stupid to spend your hard earned money on a $5 Chinese karaoke mic for a 2 year old as a joke to piss off the parents. That is stupid as can be and I hope some people can realize how wasteful and awful it is; I assume millions are spent every year on these gifts and go to obscene companies and millions of tons of plastic thrown away, as are many toys. Some worth a little more time and love though, some toys very thoroughly enjoyed. You ever go see a kid’s toy box and it’s absolute garbage? Yeah. How disgusting it is that all of them will end up in the garbage right? Before Christmas, we had gone to a department store to get a Christmas dress for my daughter, and we stopped to look at the cheap / gag gift / stocking stuffer section. My gosh, board and card games that were absolutely ridiculous. Will sit in drawers for decades. Some game about being a “Karen”. Hello kitty chopstick holders. Anyone seen those “smallest etch a sketch ever” little miniatures? Total crap. Giraffe shaped towel hook or whatever. I think it’s all evil and it makes me feel lost and hopeless.

[soniabigcheese]

Our Borough Council has announced the Christmas Market and asking for vendors, entertainers and stall holders.

I was asked if I considered setting up a stall

Um, nope.

No stock

No transport

I need a license to sell stuff

Not interested

But we will take a nosey, once it is under way

[moonlit-stay]

The Countdown To SKZ-MAS: Day 8

-

Pairing: Jeongin x Female Reader

Activity/Tradition: Putting Up Christmas Decorations

Genre: Fluff and Smut

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Soft!Dom Jeongin, Sub!Fem reader, established relationship, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink, creampie

Other Warnings: None!

Please let me know if I missed anything

-

Color(s) Of This Fic: White and Bright Red <3

-

If you are under the age of 18, please do not interact with this fic. This fic contains inappropriate content and is strictly 18+

Everything written in all of my work is consensual. Even if not stated within the work.

Enjoy :)

-

The morning sun brightly illuminates your home in a beautiful white glow, snow decorating the outside of your home and all its surroundings in a thick, glimmering blanket.

Everything was calm and serene as you and Jeongin work together to bring all the totes full of Christmas decorations inside. The cold settles in as you haul in the last one, placing all three of them in a row in your living room.

"Is this all of them?" Jeongin asks you with a huff. Standing straight and placing his hands on his hips as he looks over the three totes.

"Yea." You huff out in response, mirroring Jeongin's stance before moving to take the lids off the totes.

You carefully take some of the decorations out of one of the totes, placing them on the nearby coffee table.

"These go on the dining room table." You softly say, more so to yourself as you make your way into the dining room, your eyes glued to the centerpiece as you carefully fix some of the details on it.

Jeongin smiles at you brightly as he grabs the rest of the decorations and follows you into the dining room of your shared home.

He places the table runner in the middle of the table, pulling it to an equal length on both sides and centering it. He runs his hands along the material, making sure it lays flat before watching you place the centerpiece right in the middle. He grabs two red glass candle holders, placing them on either side of the centerpiece and standing back by you to make sure everything was evenly spaced.

You clap out of excitement, a bright smile pulling at your features as you admire the decorations.

"It looks great!" You cheer, peering up at Jeongin. "Onto the next room!"

You head back to the totes, taking out the decorations for the living room next. You and Jeongin hang garland up around the fireplace mantle, adjusting it to frame the fireplace before plugging it in to watch the lights laced in the garland spark to life. You set a ceramic snowman in the middle of the mantle, Jeongin being quick to accompany that with more festive candles on each side.

You switch out the pillows and blankets on your couch for the Christmas themed ones. A red blanket with white snowflakes all over it and two pillows to match, along with white pillows with Christmas trees of different shades of green sewn onto them and a blanket to match that as well.

Jeongin places a small candle wrapped in garland in the center of your coffee table, stacks some Christmas books on the end tables, and hangs up the stockings.

You both look over your living room, admiring the fully decorated room as all the decorations finally accompany your decorated Christmas tree.

Next, you make your ways to the kitchen, replacing your everyday mugs with festive ones instead. You bring out your special Christmas plates, grinning at the little snowmen that sit right in the middle of the red rimmed plates.

"I'm surprised we don't have festive silverware." Jeongin chuckles, looking at how you have something festive for everything else in the kitchen, except for the silverware.

"Should we get some?" You ask with a chuckle of your own.

"Maybe we should." He shrugs, swapping out the hand towels for red and green ones.

"It could definitely be arranged." You reply, organizing the mugs.

After you and Jeongin finish decorating the kitchen, you take a little while to put away your everyday items that you replaced with the Christmas ones.

"Ok, what's next?" Jeongin asks, glancing at the three rooms you've already decorated.

"Our room and bathroom, and I think that's it." You answer, helping Jeongin slide the tote with the last of the decorations you'll need into your shared room.

Once in your shared room, you and Jeongin start decorating your bathroom. Red glass pebbles sitting in the bottom of each of your sinks, red and white striped soap dispensers placed carefully next to both sinks, candles placed on each corner of your bathtub, festive hand and bath towels being hung up on hooks and towel racks, and rugs placed along the tile floor.

You and Jeongin quickly move to your bedroom, working together to switch out your bed sheets. Continuing the red theme throughout your room as well as you pull the fitted sheet over your mattress. You fix the pillows and duvet cover before placing throw pillows and blankets along the top and foot of your bed.

After your bed was made, you move on to decorations for the rest of the room. Snow globes and more candles, tiny Christmas trees, festive little statues, snowflake string lights, and tall flower vases filled with cinnamon scented pinecones and fairy lights.

Your entire home now looked and smelt like a Christmas wonderland. Every room of the house decorated beautifully as you and Jeongin do a final walkthrough of your home, admiring your hard work.

You watch Jeongin plop down on your shared bed, a loud sigh leaving his lips as he closes his eyes.

"That was a lot of work." He mumbles out.

"Almost too much work." You agree, plopping down next to him. "At least our house is pretty now."

"You're pretty now." He grins, feeling you nudge his shoulder at the comment.

"Shut up."

"I'm being genuine! You always look pretty." He defends, lazily pulling you into his side.

"Stop that!" You whine, hiding your face in the crook of his neck as you hear him laugh in response.

"It's so easy to fluster you, baby." He chuckles, gently pulling your head out of the crook of his neck to press a kiss to your lips.

Your brain turns to mush as you melt into the kiss, all thoughts of a comment you wanted to bite back with leaving your mind as you relax against Jeongin.

You ball your fists into his shirt, sighing into the kiss when he rolls you both over so he's hovering above you. He rests his lower half against yours, parting your thighs further apart as he slowly grinds against your clothed core. You let out a shaky breath against his lips, feeling him smirk against you.

He pulls your shirt off your form, leaving your top half bare for him as his hands immediately find your tits, massaging the mounds in his big palms as his hips continue to grind against yours.

Your hands tug on his shirt, slowly lifting it until he gets the hint and takes it off himself. He pulls away from you, quickly stripping the rest of the clothing from both your forms until you were both left naked to each other's eyes.

He runs his middle and pointer fingers through your folds, collecting your arousal on his fingers before bringing them to his lips.

He hurriedly lines his length up with your entrance, slowly pushing into you until he bottoms out. Your hands come to grip at his shoulders, holding onto him as he slowly rocks his hips into yours. Low moans leave his parted lips as breathy more high-pitched moans leave yours.

"You taste so good, baby." He groans out, sucking on his digits as you watch his every move.

You watch him with hooded eyes, another smirk pulling at his lips when a barely audible whine slips past your slightly parted lips.

"You're so fucking tight around me, baby." He groans out, his breath hitching when your walls clench around him. "Fuck."

He thrusts into you at a faster pace, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as you bring him closer. He props his weight up on his elbows, burying his face in your neck as it becomes increasingly difficult for you to keep your moans at bay.

"Need you." You moan out, feeling Jeongin move from your neck to connect your lips.

"I'm..." he breathes out, pressing another kiss to your lips, "...right here, baby."

"Right here." You repeat, your head falling back against the pillows as his hips drive into yours with more force.

"Right here. Inside you, kissing you..." He breathes out, kissing along your neck and delivering a particularly harsh thrust to prove his point. "...loving you."

"Love you, so much." You moan out, wrapping your legs around his waist.

"Love you too, so much." He moans in response, feeling you clench around him again.

Your arms tighten around him as your nails dig into his back, your moans of his name loud as you grow closer to your high.

"Can I cum inside you, baby?" He asks breathlessly, feeling your walls clench around him once again at his question.

His hips stutter against yours, his head spinning as he lets out moans of your name.

"Please, Innie." You moan out, your legs shaking around his waist as he picks up his pace.

He cums inside you, long, breathy, drawn-out moans leave his lips as he buries his face into the crook of your neck again, lightly biting the skin as he listens to the high-pitched moans of his name leave your lips repeatedly as you cum around him. He rides you through your highs, feeling your grip on him slowly loosen as you melt back into the mattress, your body spent as he slowly pulls out of you. He lays next to you, pulling you close into his side as you both try and catch your breaths.

He quickly looks over your features, noticing your eyes getting heavy as he pulls one of the newly placed blankets at the foot of your bed over your forms, feeling your body go limp against him as you drift off.

He rests his head against yours, a smile pulling at his lips as he closes his eyes. Warmth bubbling in his chest as he pulls you impossibly closer, drifting off to sleep himself.

-

Main Masterlist

SKZ-MAS Masterlist

-

*·°Author's Note°·*

I hope some of these details made sense, because the visual for these details were so vivid in my head😭

-

°·*Taglist*·°

@kpophubb @whatudowhennooneseesyou @skzgallll

Send me a DM or an ask if you'd like to be added to the taglist!!

-

·°*Other Tings*°·

©All rights reserved to Moonlit-Stay. Reposting, modification, translation, and plagiarism of any kind is NOT tolerated. Please notify me if you see any work similar to my own.

Released: December 23rd, 2022

-

Please reblog my works. Share your thoughts if you'd like, even if it's just a simple keyboard smash.

I read every caption, tag, reply, ask, and dm. Feedback is what motivates me to continue to create content <3