#last minute holidays to turkey

[inkteresting-art]

Well it official, my work place sucks and has favorites, my work just gave out Christmas bonus to management andand not any other staff members. I work in a hotel and work very hard as a janitor to keep this place looking good inside and out for almost 8 years AND doing extra by cleaning rooms, and that's what they do... give the management who sits on their asses all day 400$ for "great work"

How about the cleaners that keep this business going?! we got coffee thermos with the company's logo.. I'd quit if there was a better placement in this stupid town right now I swear. I'm grateful for at least getting something but that just pisses me off learning this.

[sycamorelibrary754]

Happy Thanksgiving

Summary: You invite Natasha’s family to join you for Thanksgiving. Holiday cheer and a surprise awaits!

Genre: Fluff

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x reader, Yelena Belova x reader (platonic), Alexei Alanovich Shostakov x reader (platonic) Melina Vostokoff x reader (platonic)

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: None

A/N: This was a fun one. Happy Thanksgiving!

When you first broached the subject with Natasha of inviting Yelena, Melina, and Alexi to your home for Thanksgiving, you weren’t sure how your wife would respond. True, things were better. Their relationship had gone through something of a healing process since they took down Dreykov and the Red Room together, but her family was still a lot to handle. Most of the team was going to Iowa to spend Thanksgiving with the Barton’s. Clint had gotten it into his head to deep fry the turkey this year. It was going to be can’t-miss-entertainment according to Sam. However, you and Natasha were looking forward to a more intimate holiday.

“You really want my family to join us for Thanksgiving?” Her eyes met yours as you snuggled up on the couch together.

“I think it could be really fun. Plus, you deserve to spend quality time with them that doesn’t involve death, destruction, or pigs,” you joked. 

“You don’t like mom’s pigs?” She smirked.

No, love. I do. They’re adorable. Especially once Yelena made them those personalized piggy vests,” you giggled.

“Oh, yeah… Pests!” Natasha laughed recalling the image. 

“So what do you think? A Romanoff family Thanksgiving?”

She thought for a moment before a smile reached her lips. “Okay, let’s do it. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think it could be fun,” caressing your cheek softly. 

You went into planning mode upon receiving Nat’s approval and confirmation that all three were available and would be there with bells on. You were determined to make it a memorable holiday for everyone.

*^~^*

You left early to hit the grocery store the Monday before Thanksgiving. It was crucial to avoiding the out-of-stock items and the rush of “fucking annoying slowpokes who don’t know a shallot from an onion,” you eloquently informed your wife after wiggling out of her warm hold. 

Nat mumbled something akin to, “See you later, detka,” her head buried in her pillow as you hurriedly put on your coat, scarf, and beanie and rushed out of the house. Your car keys and shopping list clenched purposefully in your fist.

*^~^*

The front door slammed shut a couple of hours later, alerting Natasha to your arrival.

“I’m home, love!” You called out.

“The conquering shopper has returned! How was the store?” Looking around at the mountain of groceries cluttered around you like presents under the Christmas tree. 

“It was good! I managed to get everything on the list,” removing your warm attire and running your hand smoothly through your hair. 

“I can see that, y/n. Did you leave anything for the other shoppers?” Nat smirked. 

“This is all necessary for the traditional Thanksgiving feast I have planned for us,” you explained. “Your family has never had an American Thanksgiving, so I thought, why not go all out?” 

Your wife stepped carefully around your grocery maze and wrapped her arms lovingly around your neck. “Have I told you how much I love you?” 

“Not in the last twenty minutes,” jokingly glancing at the imaginary watch on your wrist before planting a tender kiss on her lips.

Natasha offered to unpack the groceries for you. Meanwhile, you set about creating a cooking timeline for the meal preparation. You were so in your element your wife couldn’t help but smile. As you typed away on your laptop, your adorable expression reminded her of your demeanor in the field. You were focused, engaged, and confident. 

*^~^*

A creature of habit, Natasha awoke the following morning for her daily run. She groggily reached over to turn off her alarm until she realized the alarm hadn’t gone off. No, the clanging of pots and pans from the kitchen tore her from her blissful sleep. Nat rolled over to your side of the bed only to find it empty. She groaned softly and sat up, cracking her neck and stretching her arms over her head as a yawn escaped her lips.

Natasha padded down the hall toward the kitchen, still clad in her pajamas and the fuzzy socks you bought her. She turned the corner to find you floating around the kitchen in a whirlwind—dishes in the oven and stove.

“Moya lyubov? You’re already in the kitchen?” Rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“No rest for the wary, sweetheart. I’ve got to get the pumpkin pie out of the way so I can get started on the sides by this afternoon,” you explained, fervently whisking your pumpkin puree into your custard mixture. You glanced around the counter like you were looking for something. “Oh, can you hand me those spice jars behind you?”

She picked up the cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger, stacking them precariously on top of one another like blocks before appearing at your side.

“Nicely done. You missed your calling as a professional Jenga player.”

“Take your damned spices,” she snarked.

You sprinkled the spice mixture into the filling and let it sit. “Okay,” you said, wiping your brow. “I just need to grab the pie crust out of the oven. It should be par-baked by now.”

“I got it, detka,” pulling on the oven mitts and removing the pan from the oven. 

Perfect, now we’re just going to fill the crust,” carefully pouring the custard filling. “Then this is going back in the oven at 325 for 45-60 minutes.” 

Nat carefully placed the pie back in the oven. “Shall I close, doctor?”

“Please,” in your most professional voice before lapsing into giggles. 

“Now, that’s in. We can get started on the sides. Mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, stuffing, cranberry feta salad,” you listed.

Two types of potatoes?”

“Oh, it’s a must, love! You get both the salty and the sweet. It’s potato perfection.”

“Hmm, just like you,” she said suggestively.

“Smooth,” you replied.

“I try," putting her arm around your shoulder.

*^~^*

You were still in the kitchen when Natasha returned from her run. 

“Have you taken a break at all since I left?” She removed her running shoes and placed them by the front door.

“No time for breaks. Your sister just texted me and asked if Mac and Cheese was part of the American Thanksgiving tradition, so I’m whipping up one for her.”

Your wife rolled her eyes. “For God’s sake, that’s not necessary, malyshka. Yelena will survive one meal without her precious Mac and Cheese.” 

“It’s no problem. I want your family to feel comfortable! That’s why I also have a sparkling Vodka cocktail planned,” you winked. 

“That is so sweet, but there is no need to stress over it, y/n. They are going to love it no matter what you make. Plus, you know if you feed them this well, they’ll never leave, right?”

“Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” You joked.

“No, it wouldn’t,” she deadpanned.

The rest of the afternoon was spent preparing the stuffing, cranberry sauce, garlic green beanies, and gravy. By the time you finally laid down on the couch Tuesday evening, still in your apron, you were pleased with your progress. Your legs lay across Natasha’s lap while she massaged your aching feet. She wasn’t surprised to look over and find you sound asleep five minutes later as the television glow illuminated your features. Your wife could only smile at your sleepy form before gently picking you up and carrying you to bed.

*^~^*

Wednesday morning Natasha decided to let you sleep in, so she made the executive decision to turn your alarm off. Truthfully, she felt guilty for how hard you had been pushing yourself this week for the sake of her family. Nat was nursing a cup of tea and reading a book in the family room when she heard you down the hall.

“Oh, crap!” You shouted.

“3,2,1…..” Natasha counted down.

“Nat, why didn’t you wake me up!” Throwing on your favorite cardigan as you entered the room. “I’ve still got to make the pretzel bread and raspberry jello today.”

“You needed the sleep. I can’t tell you’re exhausted, and you were sleeping so soundly when I got up.”

You had a look of panic in your eyes.

“It’s okay, y/n. I found the jello and bread recipes on the table and got the jump on it for you. The jello is done and in the fridge, and the bread dough is under the towel rising.”

You blinked a couple of times as if she was speaking Latin. “You cooked?” 

“Are you questioning my abilities?” Raising an eyebrow. 

“Well.… yeah? I love you, sweetheart, but the only thing I’ve ever seen you make is a peanut butter sandwich.”

“See for yourself,” smiling proudly and removing her reading glasses.

Opening the fridge, you were pleasantly surprised to find a gelatinous raspberry jello staring back at you. You then peeked under the towel on the counter to find the bread dough had just about doubled in size.

“Well, turn me upside down and paint me blue!”

“Hmmm, tempting, but let’s save that for after my family leaves,” Natasha smirked as she kissed the side of your temple from behind. 

“This is awesome, my love. Thank you so much,” turning around in her hold. “I have to say, the thought of the Black Widow cooking Thanksgiving dinner is incredibly sexy.”

“Is it now?” She said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Very, I may have to get you your apron,” you teased as Natasha gently grasped your ear lobe between her teeth before placing soft kisses down your neck. Her phone dinged with a text notification on the counter beside you a few moments later. You glanced down at the screen out of the corner of your eye.

“It’s Yelena, sweetheart...”

“Is she on fire? Otherwise, I’m not stopping.” Moving the tender kisses to your lips. 

“No, she wants to know if she should bring anything,” you replied between kisses.

She feels terrible we’re doing all the work,”

“She’s bringing our parents, that’s a shit ton of work.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

*^~^*

The next day, you and Natasha got started on the crown jewel of your Thanksgiving dinner: the turkey. After letting it thaw in the fridge all week, your twenty-pound bird had been marinating in a salt brine for twelve hours. You placed the turkey in the oven at 425 degrees for 35 minutes, which gave you two just enough time to get ready before it needed to be basted.

You heard the doorbell after showering and putting on your best fall colors.

“Baby, they’re here!” you called, opening the door to welcome your guests.

Alexi was sporting a plush turkey hat while Melina held a freshly made appetizer. Standing in front of both of them, Yelena had Fanny at her feet. She quickly stepped inside first with a warm hug and a peck on your cheek. 

“Happy Thanksgiving, y/n! Thank you so much for inviting us. “Now,” placing both hands on your shoulders. “Where is the booze? I just had to spend the last 20 minutes in the car alone with them, listening to Alexi ramble on about his stupid hat.”

You point toward the coffee table, holding the sparkling Vodka cocktails as your sister-in-law gives you a cheeky smile. “I love you.” 

“Haha!” Alexi exclaimed. Greetings, my wonderful daughter-in-law. I am ready for turkey!” Wrapping you in a giant bear hug.

“Could’ve fooled me, Alexi,” you joked. “Ooh, Melina, what do we have here? It looks delicious.”

“A traditional Russian appetizer, Mushroom Julienne. Mushrooms and onions cooked in cream sauce, cheese, and sour cream.”

“My mouth is already watering. Here, let me take your coats. You can place them on the coffee table,” you offered. 

After tending to the coats, you rejoined the group as everyone settled in the family room for appetizers and cocktails. Holiday music played softly in the background, setting the scene perfectly. You sat on the sofa beside your wife while your in-laws treated you to numerous stories of Natasha and Yelena’s all-to-brief childhood in Ohio. Some of which you had yet to hear. 

“Y/N, has Natalia told you how she and Yelena used to stay up late on Christmas Eve to try and catch Santa Claus?” Melina asked. 

“Now, that was fun. You know, he comes down the chimney, girls. Look out! Where is he? You wait for him, and when the cookies are gone, you see he’s there.” Alexi recalled.

Yelena smiled fondly at the memory while Natasha turned red as Santa’s suit and hid her face in her hands.

“Aww, honey,” rubbing circles on her back. It’s precious! I’m sure you were adorable.” 

“As adorable as you can be with bright blue hair. You looked like cotton candy,” Yelena laughed. 

Nat threw a pillow across the room, barely missing her sister’s head.

“Ha!! Missed!” Yelena snarked.

“Girls, behave,” Melina ordered.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sisterly teasing and family banter. This was exactly what you were hoping for, and the evening was just getting started.

“Oh, detka, you don’t have a drink yet. Let me get you one,” Natasha offered, standing up, but your hand on her arm stopped her. 

“Oh, no thanks, love. I actually need to go check on the turkey.” 

“I’ll join you,” Yelena announced. “I want to see this bird you Americans are so crazy about.”

You opened the oven to reveal your delectable 20-pound turkey. “Do you want to brush it with the honey glaze for me, Yelena? I’m going to check on the side dishes.” 

“Just call me DaVinci!” She declared.

You turned around to find your sister-in-law had finished the glazing by painting a smiley face on the turkey. 

“Wow, I didn’t know our turkey had such a charming smile,” you joked. Reducing the heat to 325 and setting the timer for another 75 minutes. 

“Thank you again for including us today, y/n. While it would’ve been fun to watch Barton sear his eyebrows off trying to deep-fry a turkey, it's been nice to see Natasha so happy. We didn’t have any family holidays growing up. Not real ones, anyway.”

“Well, you always will now,” placing an arm around her shoulder. “I will spend the rest of my life trying to make your sister happy. That’s a promise.”

*^~^*

While the turkey finished cooking, you decided to share as many of your Thanksgiving traditions as possible. You watched the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, took in some Turkey Day football, and even played a rousing game of Pictionary.

“What the hell is that?” Yelena shouted as Nat was diligently engaged in her drawing.  

“Oooh! Ooh! A ladybug doing the Macarena!”You screamed just before the timer ran out.

“Yes!” Nat shouted.

“Unbelievable, what is that? Five in a row,” Melina remarked. No wonder you two are such a good team.”

“Well, it's no surprise you're a pro at Pictionary. Who needs talent when you can just doodle like a 5-year-old?” Yelena retorted.

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game, Lena,” dropping the marker like a microphone.

“Trust me, I do. It will be perfect for when I want to torture Kate Bishop.”

“With that, I think it’s time for dinner,” you announced happily. 

*^~^*

It only took a few minutes before your Thanksgiving feast was lovingly displayed on the dining room table. The sight and aroma of the food was a gentle massage to the soul.

“Before we dig in,” holding up your glass for a toast, “I just wanted to say how happy Nat and I are that you could join us today. We love you, and I’m so thankful to be a part of your family.”

Natasha grasped your hand and placed a soft kiss on your knuckles. 

“We feel the same way,” Melina concurred.

“Yes, we’re so happy that you and our little Natalia found each other,” Alexi added.

“Yes, y/n is a saint. It’s all very touching. Can I carve the turkey now,” Yelena groaned, holding up a sharpened carving knife. 

“You may proceed,” you declared with a Queen’s wave of your hand. 

Dishes were passed around the table like musical chairs. Wine filled everyone’s glasses while you opted for your favorite - Martinelli’s Sparkling Cider. You pretended not to notice Yelena sneaking a few scraps to Fanny under the table. The chatter rose and fell, every few moments dispersed with laughter. It was the kind of occasion most aren't aware they're genuinely enjoying yet look back at in warm nostalgia.

After hibernating in your Thanksgiving food comas, you returned to the family room for dessert. You were excited to finally bring out the homemade Pumpkin pie topped with whipped cream.

“Ah, now this is a beautiful pie.” Look at this, girls. I love America, you cannot get this back in St. Petersburg.” Alexi gushed. 

“Y/N made it from scratch,” your wife bragged, causing you to blush at the compliment.

“Did y/n also split the atom?” Yelena teased. She earned an eye roll from her older sister. “Could you BE more whipped?”

“No, I honestly don’t think I could,” Natasha looked at you like you had hung the moon and the stars. 

*^~^*

As the evening wound down, the hustle and bustle of the past week was starting to catch up to you. Your wife didn’t miss your heavy eyelids or the tiny yawn that escaped your lips as Fanny hopped up on the couch to lay down beside you. 

“Well, we should probably get going. Traffic will be annoying when crossing back over the bridge,” your sister-in-law said.

“Before you go, I have gifts for all of you!” You exclaimed, jumping up off the couch. 

“You do?”A bewildered expression on Nat’s face. 

“I do!” You’re voice trailed away as you padded down the hall toward your bedroom.

Natasha turned around to her family with a shrug of her shoulders. She had no clue what you were talking about. You returned a moment later with small autumn-gold gift bags. 

“This is just a little something for each of you,” clasping your hands together in front of your smiling face. Natasha was even more confused when you handed her one as well. “Go on, sweetheart,” you encouraged.

Natasha removed the delicate tissue paper. Her solid and calloused hands met the soft cotton hiding inside. She pulled the gift out and held it up in front of her. A tiny onesie that read “Mommy’s Little Turkey” was staring back at her. 

Natasha stared at it speechlessly, wide-eyed. A first for your relationship. Finally, her brain caught up with the moment. “Moya lyubov—what? We—you…you’re pregnant?”

You nodded vigorously, starting to cry. Natasha’s hands cupped your cheeks. Her lips met yours in a heartfelt kiss, not caring that her family was watching. You gently combed your fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck, returning the kiss.

Melina, Alexi, and Yelena held up their onesies to find variations of Natasha’s: Grandma’s Little Turkey, Grandpa’s Little Turkey, and Auntie’s Little Turkey.” 

“I knew it!”Yelena shouted.

Melina turned to Natasha and whispered, “You see what can happen when you keep your heart,” holding her lovingly in her arms.  

Vashe zdorov'ye! (Cheers) Alexi exclaimed. If it is a boy, you will name him Alexi. It is a strong and honorable name!” Kissing you on both cheeks.

“Oh God,” Yelena muttered under her breath. “For the love of Fanny, please don’t do that,” wrapping her arms around you. “I would love to babysit. I’m looking forward to passing on much to my niece or nephew.”

“Yeah, that’s not terrifying at all,” your wife mumbled in your ear. 

The shock was wearing off. Natasha reached down and gently placed her palm on your stomach. You weren’t showing yet, but just knowing that your child was growing inside you awakened a dream that she had put away in the Red Room long ago. 

*^~^*

Once her family left, Natasha insisted that she would handle the post-holiday clean-up, confining you to the couch with many pillows and a fluffy blanket. Foreshadowing what was to come for the duration of your pregnancy. 

“Sweetheart, those dishes go in the top right cupboard,” directing her from the couch.

“No worries, malyshka. I got it! You take it easy. The baby needs rest after all of this Thanksgiving cheer,” her protective instincts appear.

“The baby is the size of a plum, my love,”

“A very tired plum!” 

*^~^*

Thirty minutes later, the kitchen was clean, and you both were ready for a good night’s sleep. You would never admit it to your wife, but boy, were you tired. You donned your coziest pajamas and joined Natasha in bed. Snuggled into the covers, you found comfort and peace in your safe space. Nat rolled over to face you, your foreheads touching in a beautifully intimate gesture of love and affection. 

“This has been the best day of my life. Not only did you give my family an amazing Thanksgiving, you gave me a gift I’ll never forget. Though I have to admit now that I know you’re pregnant, I’m replaying the last week in my head in a loop of horrifying anxiety.” 

You giggled at her confession, “It’s alright, Nat. I’m ready for a nice long rest, and I just had a check-up with Helen last week.”

“Wait, does the team know?” 

“Dear God, no. You think that group can keep a secret?”

“We can tell them at Stark’s Christmas party in a couple of weeks if you’re comfortable with the idea.” 

“Perfect. I need time to prepare for the onslaught of attention from our little one’s aunts and uncles.”

Natasha reached over and grabbed your hand. “I love you, y/n. I can’t wait to welcome our little plum into the world,” she smiled.

“I love you too. You are going to be an amazing mother, sweetheart.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, y/n”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Natasha.”

[ioniansunsets]

heartsteel christmas dinner 👉👈 who brings what? i can picture Sett staying in the kitchen to prepare ham/turkey 🥰🥰

✖ Heartsteel Celebrating Christmas with You ✖

✖ Word Count: 1.1k

✖ Tags: Established R/S

✖ A/N: You host a Xmas party with your partner uwu (posting this early so maybe if you guys like this I’ll write another quick one for the afterparty and gift opening?)

----

Sett was the best person to celebrate with. Mama taught him well, he was there early in the morning, hells, he stayed over the night before. Up before the sun even rose, the two of you spent time lovingly together in the kitchen. Waking up early with Sett kissing the tip of your nose and carrying you to the toilet to freshen up. Trying to keep you awake as he holds your hand and leads you to the kitchen right after. Cooking up a mad delicious Christmas dinner, baking cookies and frosting them together, laughing as he held you close, face nuzzling into the crook of your neck, giggling together as frosting gets on his nose and his ears twitch in frustration. It was cold out, but with the oven heated up, his arms around your body and the two of you in sweaters Sett’s mom knitted. Maybe winter was even warmer than summer sometimes.

Kayn was a surprisingly thoughtful guy. He knows he can’t cook, he knows he can’t do any cute little handicrafts, he knows his limits. So he does what he does best, help out however he can. Sneaking into stores and buy whatever things you need last minute. Almost a challenge to him finding somewhere selling Christmas Cake and Turkey the day of and somehow still making it to the party early. Staying by your side and trying his best to do exactly as he’s told, you need dishes washed? Its your Christmas gift today, he’s on it. You need someone to decorate the tree? Easy, Rhaast is a surprisingly good at hanging ornaments on trees. You need motivation? Kayn has it covered. A cheeky smile, a soft kiss, loving words of support. He is there. (Hide the presents though, the one thing he doesn’t have is too much self control, Rhaast wants to know, Rhaast has to know, Rhaast found his gift hidden in the locked closet-)

K'Sante straight up tells you to take it easy today. He has friends and connections. You two have a private reservation to the best dinner spot at the roof of an expensive hotel. Sure having a Christmas party at home is sweet and humble but you’re his precious lover! And there was other opportunities to enjoy a warm homely holiday dinner together after you two get married. He was making sure you enjoyed all the glitz and glamor now, friends and family around the two of you, soft music playing in the background as the hotel staff handle all the food and drinks. He holds you close as the two of you overlook the city, lights sparkling both in the stars of the sky and across the ground as the lights in buildings, it was a sight to behold only emphasized by the soft kisses on the back of your neck and the warm hand wrapped around you.

Ezreal was known for holding the wildest of parties, everyone he knows was invited. So nothing was new when he said he would plan things, you just needed to show up and love him. It was a trademark Ezreal party alright. The largest and brightest tree you’ve ever seen set up by the fireplace, a potluck filled with all sorts of dishes from all his friends, decorations strewn across the room and gifts piled up so high in a corner it was almost its own tree, music so loud you heard it before you even stepped in. And when you did step in, eyes meeting his, he immediately blinks to your side, throwing himself at you in the tightest hug he’s given you in a while. A bright smile and a sparkle in his eyes before his lips meet yours, still almost embarrassing to be loved so brightly in front of everyone but at the same time so endearing to know how much he loves you to show you off like this. As everyone else talks loudly all around you, Ezreal sits by your side, one hand firmly clasped in yours under the table as he eats with the other.

Yone was more of a, “ I just want to spend time alone with you this weekend.” kind of guy. Something sweet and different about going out with him on a Christmas date, laughing together as you two go to ice skate (he tries and is graceful most of the time but when he trips and stumbles it is so cute), hands in yours as you two walk around in the evening, enjoying the lights as other sickly sweet couples walk past you. As the night comes and the air gets colder, he would hold you close, wrapping a scarf around you, hands wrapped around yours as he drives you to a dinner reservation in the heart of the city. Nothing too expensive but nothing to cheap either, it was a nice restaurant that he has brought you many times before, just that tonight there was a Christmas special menu, cute decor seen throughout the establishment as you two walk in. There was really just something nice about spending the whole day alone with each other for company. Maybe he was just old or sentimental, but he wouldn’t trade all this for anything.

Aphelios wants to be alone with you but at the same time, he loves his sister and band. So as a compromise, you two celebrate with Heartsteel at night but spend the morning in each others arms as he stays over the night before. Cold weather meant that snuggling up together as you wake up late, soft smiles and softer kisses in the warmth of the bed. Lazy mornings as Aphelios slowly gets up to get the two of you breakfast. With hot chocolate in one hand and some cute pastries in the other, soft music playing in the background, and your partner laying lovingly on your shoulder, this was truly the epitome of winter romance. Getting dressed together, adjusting each other’s hair and outfits, excitedly walking out of your place back to Heartsteel dorms to spend time with his family (both blood and non-blood related). Sure it was noisy with the other boys around, but when you two quietly sit on the couch, Aphelios could secretly admire you as your eyes light up, talking and interacting with everyone important to him. There was a soft of comforting silence enveloping his daydreams around you.

[sometimesanalice]

Oh Christmas Tree

Summary: Bradley’s never been one to look forward to the holidays, that is until he met you. He’s excited to do everything, including getting his very first real Christmas tree.

Warnings: Fluff, slight angst, allusions to smut. Minors DNI.

Length: 7.2K 

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X Female Reader

(What was supposed to be a quick fluffy Christmas fic, somehow turned into this, enjoy!)

The atmosphere at the Hard Deck was livelier than usual, the music seemed more upbeat and the voices a little louder. It was the first time in a while that the entire Dagger Squad was together in one place. News of the success of the Uranium Mission traveled fast and had been keeping them busy in the months that had followed.

Things seemed to settle down a bit as the holidays rolled around, some has dispersed home for Thanksgiving while a few others had been given last minute orders to ship out for a short mission. You’d been dying to take Bradley Bradshaw home to meet your parents in person, but he had been one of the few sent away only set to return the day after Thanksgiving.

You’re sitting across from Natasha at a high top near the pool tables in the back of the bar listening to Jake talk about his visit home, while your boyfriend next to you talks animatedly about something related to his latest mission with Bob.

“I shaved off an extra 5 minutes from the last Trot. Turns out I’m in even better shape than I was the last time I was home for Thanksgiving,” Jake brags smugly taking a swig of his beer from his nearly empty bottle.

“Wait, you come from a Turkey Trot family? That explains so much. Please tell me, you guys wear matching Seresin family shirts for it too,” you tease without remorse. “Oh! Or maybe those turkey leg bobble headbands?” 

You hear Bradley snort into his beer as he drops a well-defined arm across your shoulders. He’s wearing one of your favorite Hawaiian shirts from his collection, and you’ve been having a hard time keeping your eyes and hands to yourself.

“Bradshaw! Are you going to let your girl trash talk me like that?” You turn to Bradley to see him smirk with a shrug at Jake’s indignation.

“I mean, if the headband fits,” he replies lifting his bottle up in cheers.

“Darlin’, you wound me. And for the record they don’t match, since we all get to decorate our own with those paints in the little squeeze bottles,” he says pointing his empty bottle at you before turning to Bradley, “And see if I ever save your smug ass again.” He walks away making his way to the bar for another beer.

“Formal petition to change his callsign to Turkey now. Him and Rooster could be the Bird Bros,” Natasha jokes after he’s out of earshot. “What about you, how was your trip home?”

“It was pretty good,” you feel Bradley start playing with the ends of your hair, while he picks his conversation with Bob back up. “Since my sister had the baby, my parents have been leaning into the new grandparent thing pretty hard. So I set to establishing myself as the fun wine aunt, and basically drank cranberry mimosas all day.” You pause to take a sip of your drink, “Which I regretted immediately the next day when my parents decided it was imperative that we all go to their favorite Christmas tree farm as soon as it opened to cut one down together. Baby’s first Christmas all.” You unlock your phone to pull up the folder you made of pictures from the visit, handing over your phone to let her scroll.

“Since they’re flying out to spend Christmas with my sister and her in-laws in Philly, I tried to talk them into an artificial tree. Which is blasphemy where I’m from, I’m pretty sure the state tree is the Douglas Fir. My family takes the tree hunt very seriously, there’s a science to it and everything,” you lean over to swipe past some of the selfies you took to show her the completed tree in your parents sitting room. 

“However, as you can see, my attempt to talk them into the lower maintenance, yet slightly ostentatious, fluffy pink tree of my dreams was met with a hard pass,” you say laughing to yourself.

She swipes backwards a couple times on the pictures. “This one is cute, why didn’t you post this photo?” she asks holding your phone up showing a selfie of you at the tree farm.

“Which one? Let me see,” Bradley requests, his conversation with Bob now abandoned. He’s already leaning into you and reaching across the high top with his large hands to take the phone from Nat.

It was a photo of you that Bradley hadn’t seen before. You were pink nosed wrapped up in cozy looking scarf, surrounded by pine trees and grinning into the camera. And his heart swells at the sight of the image before him. It’s just so you.

“You really look pretty,” he states sincerely. He glances at you briefly to see a hint of a blush spread across your cheeks before turning his gaze back to the picture of you.

He’d known you had been just as eager as he was for to him come home with you to meet your parents in person. You had even concocted a plan that involved him to try and help you get your hands on your Aunt Christine’s corn soufflé recipe.

“My mom has tried to get it for years, and she refuses to share it with anyone!” you’d lamented to him one evening after a couple large glasses of wine. “She always says she’ll email it, but she never does!” You gesture wildly. He loved getting to know all sides of you, but two-drink you was a particular favorite of his.

“Mmm. Girlboss, gaslight, gatekeep,” he nodded along in solidarity.

“Exactly, Bradley! You get it!” You take another long, deep sip of your Merlot, your feet tucked under you on his couch. “Me with my wiles and you with your Rooster charisma, I think this might be the year! I’ll set the groundwork and you can lay the ruggedly-handsome-impossibly-sexy-American-hero-thing on thick,” he loved how animated you were getting and he was having a hard time keeping the indulgent smile off of his face. “And she’ll fall right into our trap and release the goods all while thinking she’s staring in her own Hallmark movie.” He knew he would do anything for you, what his girl wants she gets. If that involves some light to heavy flirting with your aunt, so be it. He was getting soufflé recipe for you one way or another.

However, those plans were quickly dashed when he got the mission orders at the last minute. His stomach was in knots when it came time to tell you, but you were quick to put him at ease by reminding him there was always next year. “Plus” you’d said, “it gives us a whole year to craft our Stealthy Soufflé Scheme. Although, maybe we can pop up in May or June? I want to show you all the sights, we can even go hiking! And I’m definitely planning on taking you on a beer tour.”

“That sounds like the perfect trip, Sweetheart. I’d love that. I’ll see about getting a request submitted first thing in the morning,” he was already setting a reminder in his phone so he wouldn’t get too distracted at work and forget. He wasn’t going to let you down again.

“Oh. That’s probably one I snapped really quick and forgot to send to Bradley. I was probably already spamming him too much as it was,” you answer in response to Natasha’s question. Even though you knew exactly why that one never made it his inbox.

Since you’d be spending the holiday apart, Bradley had requested that you send him pictures throughout your visit so that he didn’t feel like he was missing anything. You had sent him ones of you at the grocery store with your mom, of you holding your niece, a few silly ones fueled by too many champagne heavy mimosas, and some less family friendly shots of you in bed wearing the deep wine-colored lacy lingerie set you had planned to surprise him with. And then a few without the lingerie set too.

You had known he wouldn’t have the best reception, so you sent them as things happened knowing that he’d respond whenever he could. You just wanted them there waiting for him. However, a few days in was getting hard to know what was too much when all you could see were all your outgoing messages to him.

You had felt yourself getting a little self-conscious and started second guessing the things you sent, like the picture from the tree farm. You didn’t want to go overboard and scare him off or make it seem like you were rubbing his face in all the things he was missing while he was on assignment. You had just wanted him to know that you were thinking about him- which was pretty much all the time.

Turning your head to take him in next to you. He’s sitting there with a soft smile on his face while he is tapping away on your phone. When his phone lights up mere moments later, you realize he’d just sent the image to himself and was now paging through the folder looking for others.

“For being a Communications Specialist, you’re really bad about updating your own social media. That one was definitely worthy of making it to the grid,” Nat announces as she slides off the barstool taking Bob with her to go dominate on one of the pool tables.

Bradley hands you your phone back. “You know, I’ve never been to a Christmas tree farm. Or even had a real tree for that matter,” he murmurs a bit ruefully when it’s just the two of you, picking at the label of the bottle Natasha had left behind.

“When I was younger we only ever had a fake tree. And then after my mom passed, everything with Mav, and moving around so much I just kind of didn’t ever want to think about it. I never thought to get anything for myself.” He lets out a breath, shaking his head slightly. “I’m really happy you’re sticking around to show me the ropes this year,” he says earnestly, sounding much lighter than before.

The thought of him fending for himself for so long makes your heart hurt. You lean into him pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek. “I’m happy you want to spend the day with me,” you tell him brushing your nose against his as you pull away. 

“I did my good daughter duties, but flying home during the one of busiest days of the year was enough for me. And I wouldn’t want to subject you to the Richardson’s by going to Philly, my parents call them the Dickardson’s for a reason,” making a face that causes him to laugh.

“We’re going to have the best Christmas together, I wouldn’t want to spend the day with anyone else.” This time when you pull him in for another kiss your lips are eager to meet his. The slide of his mouth against yours never fails to make your heart beat wildly in your chest.

You could spend days kissing Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw and never want to break for air. It’s only at the sound of someone’s loud wolf whistle that you break apart as you’re brought back the moment.

“You know, I’m still not over the fact that my girlfriend withheld such ‘compelling content’ from me,” he teases, using air quotes the buzzwords he’s heard you say from listening to one too many of your late night zoom meetings.

“It was the last day! You were getting in before me, and I thought you’d want the real deal instead. And to tell the truth, I didn’t know if I was overdoing it. I didn’t want to make you feel left out,” you explain honestly. You’ve always been the type to keep those insecurities to yourself, but you’ve been trying to do better. He makes you feel safe enough to open up without holding back.

“Sweetheart.” He picks up your hand his mustache brushing the back of it as he places a kiss there. “You could never overdo it. Spam away, send me everything. I love getting those pictures, it makes me feel closer to you. But, I do know how you could make it up to me.” As he sends a mischievous wink your way.

You’re hit with a brief vision of you on your knees before him in that wine-colored set he still has yet to see in person. 

“Oh, do you?” You ease off your stool to stand in front of him, his legs automatically widening for you to step in between them.

“Wanna come help me pick out a tree this weekend?” he asks, slipping his hands into the back pockets of your jeans to tug you in even closer. “I hear you know a thing or two about picking out the best one,” his eyes crinkle around the edges as he smiles broadly at you.

You don’t bother fighting back the grin that takes over your face. “Stick with me, kid,” you say taking his sunglasses from where they rest against his chest and sliding them on, “I won’t lead you astray.” 

Bradley had the best afternoon learning the ins and outs of selecting the perfect tree at the tree lot with you. 

He had found a tree place with a festive name that was about 30 minutes away, it was probably a bit different than what you were used to, but he hoped you’d be happy with the options there. He had even called in advance to make sure they had the specific variety your parents usually got after texting with your dad to find out what he should be looking for.

He had wanted to pick you up from your apartment, but you had insisted on meeting him at his place since you had an early work meeting scheduled in the morning. And had greeted you with a coffee in hand from your favorite shop when you arrived.

He’d even worn the plaid flannel shirt you had bought for him when you were visiting home for the occasion. When he parked the Bronco in the lot, you had giddily exclaimed, “Bradley, look at all the trees! There’s way more than I thought there’d be. It smells like home!” 

Once you were both out of the car you had grabbed his hand threading your fingers between his, and set off like a woman on a mission. He’d felt rather pleased with himself. 

The outdoor speakers were playing the local Christmas radio station and there were rows and rows of trees under a few large white topped tents. He loved how seriously you were taking this, and if he wasn’t already totally enamored with you this would have sealed the deal.

You’d taught him how to determine its freshness, “You have to pull a needle off and see if it bends or snaps. If it snaps then it’s already way too dried out and you’re just purchasing a giant match stick.” 

From there the came the scent test, “Now sniff the tree, you have to get your face in there. The stronger the tree scent the longer it will last.” 

And finally, the aesthetics. 

“I like mine a little girthy and on the fuller side, but that’s all a matter of personal preference. You want some gaps, so that the heavier ornaments can hang better, but not too many. And the top has to be straight, no one wants a lopsided tree topper.”

“That’s not the only thing you like full and girthy,” he couldn’t help but let slip out.

“Bradley, there are children here!” you admonished while looking around wide eyed, but that didn’t stop you from grazing the front of his jeans every chance you got.

So, when he managed to find what you excitedly deemed to be the “absolute most perfect tree!”, he couldn’t help but preen his face feeling a bit warm from the attention and praise you showered him with.

He’d hauled the tree up to the check out where it was bundled while he paid, and then carried it over his shoulder out to the Bronco. You’d trailed behind him carrying the wreath you’d picked out humming along with the music.

“Is there such a thing as a competence kink? Because this,” you had mused gesturing to him tying the tree down in the back, his hands tingling, “is definitely doing it for me.” He had just grinned and shaken his head at you, his face heating up a bit. However, he couldn’t help but flex a bit more for your benefit as he finished up.

And when you made him pull off the road less than 10 minutes later, to indulge in that new self-discovery with your mouth around his cock, well that was very much for his benefit.

Now you’re with him at his place.  You guys had wrangled the perfect tree into the house and had gotten it set up in front of his windows in the living room near the upright piano he had tucked in the corner. He loved the smell that was filling the room and the way you’d lit up once it was in place. If he had his way, you’d be around all the time.

Bradley could hear you singing along to the Christmas album he had picked up that was playing on his Dad’s old record player as you worked on putting together some hot toddies in the kitchen. You had put him on light duty, and he was determined to make it the best-looking thing you’ve ever seen.

He worked going round and round the Christmas tree, the lights all shining merrily. He took his time making sure to wrap and tuck the lights around the branches, the cozy glow filling his chest with warmth.

But the longer he worked the more he was starting to get worried that he was coming down with a bug or something, his face starting to feel slightly feverish. His throat getting thick and uncomfortable.

He’d noticed it earlier at the tree lot, but didn’t want to give it too much thought. The Navy had ruined his Thanksgiving plans with you and he didn’t want to let you down again. He worked to string lights on a few more branches adamant to push through for you. 

“Sweetheart,” he reluctantly called out to you, “I think I might be coming down with something. I’m not feeling too hot, and my throat is kinda scratchy.” The guilt was starting to settle in the pit of his stomach, maybe if he rested now he could keep it from getting too bad.

He turns to see you coming out of the kitchen with two steaming mugs in your hand, your eyes going wide.

He turns back to the tree looking to see if he accidentally fucked something up. It was his first time with a real tree, maybe the lights needed to be strung differently.

“Bradley. Oh my god.”

You had just put the finishing touches on the hot toddies and were already walking out of the kitchen when Bradley had called out to you. Those beverages were quickly abandoned on his coffee table as you propelled yourself towards him.

His face was brightly flushed and his eyes were shade of red that made your own itch in sympathy. You reach up to tug at the collar of the flannel he was wearing to get a better look at the skin of his neck and chest. The scars on his neck were standing out in contrast to his reddened skin.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing?” Even his voice was sounding a bit scratchy. You ignore him in favor for undoing the buttons at the cuff and rolling up the sleeve of his shirt, trying to not let yourself get too anxious. “You tryin’ to get me to put these lights up topless like some kind of sexy Santa?”

You shush him as you finally get the sleeve rolled up when your suspicions are confirmed, his thick forearm is absolutely covered in angry looking raised red welts. 

“Oh no. Roos, baby. You’re breaking out.” Already pulling him away from the 7-foot issue occupying the living room and heading towards the kitchen, “I think you have pine tree allergy.” 

He finally looks away from your face and down to his arm, a deep furrow settling over his features, “Oh fuck.” You get him seated at his oval oak dining table grabbing your phone to figure out what to do next.

“Yeah, ‘Oh fuck’,” you repeat back to him eyes skimming the information on the page you clicked into.  You’ve always been the type to take charge in a crisis, this would be no different. You’d make sure he’s taken care of the way he needs to be. The way he deserves to be.

“How’s your breathing feel? Is your throat feeling tight or like it’s closing up?” you ask looking up at him.

His red-rimmed honey eyes seem to shift focus like he’s lost in thought for a brief moment.

“Rooster.”

He shakes his head. “Sorry, baby,” he says a bit bashfully. “I’m used to being the one levelheaded in stressful situations, but you should see the intensity on your face. I think you coulda been a pilot.”

“Bradley, I’m flattered. Truly,” you’ve learned that he isn’t the type to say things he doesn’t mean and you respect the hell out of what he does. “Although I’m sure there are a few more qualifications I’d have to pass than that,” you reply lightly, petting the back of his hand resting on the table. “But I need you stick with me here. I just need to figure out if we need to get you to the ER or not.”

He nods. “It’s a little thick, but not like it’s going to close up. And really scratchy, ‘s all.”

“Ok, that’s good. That’s good,” you repeat again more to yourself than him. 

You love this man so much, and he deserves the world. This is the last thing you would have wanted for him and his very first, and last, real tree.

You can still hear the record playing in the background as you try not to gnaw on the inside of your cheek working to put your game plan together.

After firing off a quick text to Jake, you quickly pop upstairs to Bradley’s medicine cupboard, hoping that he has some antihistamines tucked away in there. You breathe a sigh of relief when you see the pink box, grabbing it you tear off a couple squares from the silver lined sheet to bring back to him.

He’s still sitting where you left him at the dining table. He’s slumped down in the chair his mouth pulled down at the corners, and you think it’s probably because he’s not feeling the greatest right now. You hand him the meds and a fetch him a glass of water, watching as the tendons of his throat flex as they work to swallow the pills down. The red welts have finally made an appearance there too, and are an angry contrast to his usually golden skin.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes, hmm?” You bend down to catch his eyes with your and holding out our hands to him. He nods once taking your smaller hands in his as he lets you pull him up. 

You help him to unbutton and remove the flannel shirt trying to avoid further contact with the hives on his body, not wanting to cause him anymore discomfort. Once his wide chest and arms are uncovered, you work his jeans down his thick thighs leaving him in his tight black boxer briefs. There’s nothing more than you love than being up close with Rooster’s body, but right now you’re on a mission and can’t be distracted by all the skin before you.

While you’re still feeling concerned for him, you can feel your anxiety starting to settle a bit from where it was at earlier. You’ve got a plan, you’ve already checked off a few things, and you’ll be able to take a breath once Bradley is taken care of.

He’s ruining everything with you. First Thanksgiving and now Christmas. 

How the fuck did he not know he was allergic to pine trees? He’s 35, he should known those kinds of things by now. Shouldn’t he?

He is frustrated as fuck laying on top of the king-sized bed in his darkened bedroom, the stinging of the hives on his arms and upper body were driving him crazy. God, his eyes itched and burned. Although, he couldn’t tell if it as from the reaction to the tree or from fighting the sudden urge to cry for the first time in a very long time.

The afternoon was not going as he had envisioned it. He wanted to sing some carols loudly while getting tipsy off hot toddies with you. Dance with you in between hanging ornaments on the tree. Maybe fuck you under the tree if he played his cards right, he wanted to be the one to get your tinsel in a tangle. 

All he had wanted was to make you happy. You weren’t spending Christmas with your family, and he didn’t want you to miss out on anything being in California with him instead. He was really excited about the holiday for the first time in what felt like forever, and it had everything to do with you.

“Do you have any oatmeal here?” You had asked him not too long ago, and it was all he could do to point you in the right direction as the guilt was eating away at him. Once you had found it, you had sent him away to go upstairs to get him further away from the tree. His strong, capable, and pretty girlfriend was left to deal with the mess downstairs without him. 

He could hear the whir of the blender and wondered what you were up to. Sulking at the fact that all he could do is wait for the antihistamines to kick in, and hope that he’d be feeling better soon so that he could help you take care of things.

“Bradley? Baby, are you awake?” You entered the dimly lit room cautiously, approaching him gingerly on the bed and holding a large bowl with something fluffy and powdery looking in it. He hadn’t heard you come up the stairs.

He loved the sound of your voice. He loved it in the morning when it was thick with sleep, how excited you got when you were talking about something you were passionate about, and he especially loved the breathy whispers and words of encouragement from you in his ear late at night when he was moving so deep within you. What he didn’t love was being the reason you were so anxious, that he was at fault for why your tone was so laced with concerned. 

“Yeah,” although he was starting to feel sluggish, “’m still awake.” He felt your cool hands on his face and leaned into your soothing touch, pressing a kiss to your palm.

“I’m going to make you an oatmeal bath,” you informed him gesturing to the bowl in your hand. “From what I’ve been reading online that should help calm down the hives, hopefully stop them from spreading anymore.’

“Okay, Sweetheart,” he sighed. He can hear how pitiful he sounds, but right now his girl is the only thing that is making him feel good, and he will do anything you ask of him.

You set about turning the taps on for the large tub in the bathroom, twisting the handles to get the water to come out at the right temperature. Once you were satisfied, you swirled in the oat powder you had made watching as the water turned cloudy, then headed back into the bedroom to get Bradley.

“Let’s get you in the tub so you can soak for a bit, yeah?” He looks so miserable alone stretched out on the bed. “It’s not too hot, and it should help you feel better,” you help him to sit up placing a kiss to the lines of the scars on his cheek trying to comfort him.

Ever the soldier, he dutifully follows you into the bathroom. Once he is stripped of his briefs and comfortably situated in the milky mixture, his eyes flutter closed as he reclines back, leaning his head against the ledge of the tub. You move kneel on the floor next to him running your fingers through his sun-streaked waves.

Your little pocket of peace is disturbed a few minutes later by the ding of your phone.

“Jake just got here,” you announce filling him in on the next part of your plan, “He’s going to help me with the tree.” 

“’posed to be my job,” Bradley sulks making a petulant sound in his throat. You can’t help but let out a gentle tsk while fighting back a small smile at his response.  

“I just want you to relax here and let the oatmeal do its thing. I’m going to get things wrapped up downstairs it shouldn’t take too long, and then I’ll come back to check on you.”

“Mmhm, fine,” he sighs as you press a kiss to his forehead.

You let Jake in and he is quick to jump in taking over by unwinding the lights off from the partially lit tree. He’s even quicker to haul the massive thing out of the house and into the back of his truck, as the new owner of the 7-foot Noble Fir. After the tree is deposited, he heads back in and helps you coil the lights back up so they’re not in a tangled mess on the floor making some light small talk because he can tell your mind is elsewhere. 

On his way out the door he shoots you a cocky salute, a shit-eating grin already plastered on his face.  “You can thank my new Trot PR for how quickly I was able to run back to my place after I got your SOS text to get here as quickly as I did, Darlin’,” he drawls. 

You flip him off, but tell him to text you what meals he’d like you to make and bring over later in the week as thanks for his help. And with a quick kiss to his cheek, you shoo him out the door wanting to get back to your boyfriend.

After he leaves, you break out the vacuum and work on getting the needles off the ground before moving on to the laundry. You grab the pile of Bradley’s clothes from the floor in the kitchen where you had left them before stripping down to your underwear, throwing everything in the washer and turning it on to get rid of any potential lingering irritants.

You make you way back upstairs, stopping to slip on one of Bradley’s old UVA t-shirts and grabbing him a loose pair of navy sweatpants, before going in to check on him. He is still there soaking his head tilted back and eyes closed, just as you had left him. Thankfully the hives have seemed to stop their spread leaving his face untouched. His neck, chest, and arms still bearing the brunt of his allergic reaction.

You gently knock on the door to announce your presence, not wanting to startle him. “You ready to come out now, baby?” Before him you had never been a pet name person, but now all you wanted to be a source of comfort in his life. A soft place for him to land.

“Yeah,” he turns his head towards the sound of your voice, “I think I might be getting a bit prune-y, but that felt really good. Thank you, Sweetheart.” He has finally opened his eyes and looking right at you, with a smile small and soft, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

You’re trying not to read into it too much, not wanting to let your anxiety get the best of you. You help him up from bath and use the handheld to first shower him off, grabbing a fluffy towel to help gingerly pat him dry. As he bends to pull on the sweatpants you had brought in you turn to rinse out the remaining oatmeal residue from the tub. He presses a kiss to the back of your head as he passes by you to make his way back to the bedroom.

By the time you’re done he has already climbed into bed, the comforter on your side already pulled back as he reaches out for you to get in with him. The white percale sheets you had helped him pick out were cool and luxuriously soft to the touch, and you feel yourself release the breath it felt like you’d been holding since you entered the living room holding those long forgotten hot toddies.

Bradley is quick to lace your fingers together and tuck his face into the space between your neck and shoulder, his mustache ticking the soft skin of your throat there. For all of his golden retriever energy, he is soaking up your affection and attention like a lap cat as you slowly rub your free hand up and down his broad back.

However, he’s still entirely too quiet. Your lips press tightly together on their own accord as you begin to think that there’s something more on his mind that he’s not sharing with you than just the effects of the hives and double dose of Benadryl.

You’re about to speak up when he beats you to it, “I’m so sorry, Sweetheart. I just wanted you to feel at home and now I’ve ruined Christmas.” You’ve never heard his voice sound so small.

Oh. Oh no.

“Bradley, please look at me.” 

You lean back a bit as he removes his face from the spot it was tucked into and study his beautiful yet troubled looking eyes. “Is this why you’ve been so quiet? Please tell me you haven’t been spiraling thinking you’ve ruined anything.” He looks away, and you feel your brows scrunch together.

You cup his cheek in your hand, running your thumb down the cleft of his chin, “I love you so much and we’re going to have such a wonderful Christmas together, a tree is a nonissue here, baby. You matter more to me. I hope you know that.” His gaze finally meets yours and you continue on, “I need you to hear me. You’ve got absolutely nothing to apologize for. Nothing is ruined and nothing that happened today is your fault. Ok?” Nodding your head, needing for him to understand and let go of his misplaced guilt. 

You see the exact moment he absorbs and believes everything you’re saying to him, his shoulders releasing the tension that had gathered there. “Ok, I hear you.” You lean into him to place a tender kiss on his lips. “I love you so much,” he breaths against your mouth.

“I love you too,” you say pressing one more lingering kiss to his lips before encouraging him to settle his head back down again. He reaches for your hand, guiding it to his hair, prompting you to comb your fingers through his curls. 

“Now that we’ve settled that, how are you feeling? What else can I do to help?” 

“You’ve done so much for me,” he murmurs kissing your neck gently. “’M just tired now and want to hold you for a bit. The Benadryl is starting to kick my ass.” He pauses for a moment, “But maybe we can order some pizza, Sweetheart? And put on one of those Christmas movies you like? Y’know the ones where the people live in a town is named something like Tinselville and their dogs fall in love?” He asks his voice sounding a bit boyish and hopeful. 

You can’t help but let out a giggle because, really, his description is not too far off. You can feel his smile against the side of your neck as you turn the tv on.

“You can have whatever you like, handsome boy. Pizza and Oscar quality Christmas content, it is.” You grab your phone unlocking it and opening up to the delivery app, when Bradley plucks it from your hand tossing it to the side and placing his in yours instead.

“Order from mine instead, it’s my turn to take care of you,” he states slinging his arm low over your hip.

You click the button on the side to wake his phone up only to see your face smiling back at you on his lockscreen. Nose bright from the cold, surrounded by trees, and wrapped up in a scarf your mom had loaned to you since you hadn’t brought any practical winter-wear home with you.

It’s the picture that Bradley has sent himself the other night at the bar, and you’re flooded with a rush of affection for the man nestled against you. You notice his wallpaper is still the picture of you and him from this Halloween when you’d surprised everyone by dressing up as him, he’s kissing you squarely on the mouth while grabbing a handful of your ass. It was one of your favorites too.

You’d just finished submitting the order, when a text from Jake comes through, and you roll your eyes.

Those 5th Gens didn’t get you, but you’re taken out by a fucking a Christmas Tree. Would hate to see what one of those tree shaped car fresheners would do to you.

You’re not going to let him come for your boyfriend, even in playful roasting, when you just managed to picked his spirits up. Not tonight, Hangman. And you set to typing your response with your one free hand, the other still carding through Bradley’s curls. 

Listen up, Lieutenant Turkey Trot. I was planning on surprising you with a bottle of that Texas bourbon you like when I swing by with the food later this week, but now that’s up to you. Do with that what you will... xx

Not bothering to wait for a response you hand Bradley back his phone only to see it light up again. “Lieutenant Turkey Trot,” he snorts, “Damn. Hangman apologized. And he says he wants a lasagna and your chicken and dumpling casserole.”

Southern men are too easy. Nothing is as important to them as food and their mamas. You smile smugly to yourself, making a mental note to go to remember to stop by that speciality liquor store by your place.

The food is delivered not too much later, you and Bradley eat in bed the box sitting between you while making fun of the plot of the movie you had turned on. You can tell the Benadryl is staring to win when Bradley’s running commentary tapers and his breathing begins to even out.

“It’s ok to go to sleep, baby.”

“Just resting my eyes, wanna see if they figure out why the poinsettias aren’t blooming.”  

“You should get your rest,” you gently press, “I’ll set record it and you can find out tomorrow.”

“You’re gonna stay the night, right?” He asks sleepily as he concedes and begins to burrow down into his bed.

“Of course. If you want me here, I’ll stay.” Truth be told, you liked his bed better than yours. You’d even went back to the shop where you’d helped Bradley pick out his sheets from and bought the same percale set for your place in an attempt to help you sleep better.

You set an alarm for earlier than you’d like, remembering you have a meeting first thing in the morning. “I might have to leave a bit earlier than usual though,” you mention softly, “Since I’ll need to go to my place before I have to head in to the office.” You hadn’t originally planned on staying over due to your early morning and now you were kicking yourself for not grabbing a few things to keep in your car just in case.

“Yes. Stay,” he murmurs and reaches out to you, wrapping his arm around your midsection and pulling you to his chest. You let your fingers trace lightly down his forearm, feeling the hills and valleys caused by the welts that litter his arm. He lets out a hum of contentment in response, you’re pressed so close to him you can feel the vibrations of the sound from his chest against your back.

You think you’ve finally lost him to sleep when he mumbles already half gone, “Why don’t you keep more things here?” You can feel his warm breath against the back of your neck.

“How much were you thinking? You saying you want to share a drawer with me?” you lightly tease.

“Bring it all,” he sighs, “Want you here.”

The sound of his soft snores filling your ear only a couple minutes later.

You don’t bring up Bradley’s half-asleep musings, you won’t hold him to anything said under the influence of the antihistamines. While the thoughts of moving in and living with Bradley made your heart beat a bit faster, you kept those hopes tucked away just for yourself.

It was now a week after the pine tree debacle, Bradley’s hives were quick to clear up after a couple days and a few oatmeal baths later. Your skin was still reaping the benefits of the oatmeal too after he managed to coax you in with him one evening. 

He had texted you earlier in the day asking for you to swing by his place after work. You knew the door would be unlocked for you, and you let yourself in.

“That you, Sweetheart?” He called out from nearby, you can hear the sounds of some crooner singing in the background.

“Yeah, it’s me." You set your purse and work tote down before bending to undo your heels at the door. “Hey, I was thinking on my way over here, I bet lots of places still have artificial trees left in stock that we could get. I feel like we need a Christmas redo.” You get one off and begin working on the other, “I was planning on getting one to liven up my place too, maybe I can find one of those ostentatious pink ones I tried to talk my parents into getting and fulfill a lifelong dream.” You say that last part with a little laugh.

You finally win the battle against the top buckle of your cute shoe finally kicking it off and wiggling your toes out, “Ooh! Maybe we can go to that cute cocktail bar off 17th afterwards? One of my coworkers was talking about their new seasonal drinks today and it seems festive.”

You fish your phone out of your purse and make your way to the living room, “That is if you didn’t have anything planned.”

Your voice trails off at the end because when you round the corner you find Bradley in his living room looking very proud with a self-satisfied smile on his face already standing next to a Christmas tree.

A very large, very fluffy, pink Christmas tree.

You stand there entirely stunned. The juxtaposition of your tall, handsome naval aviator next to this truly over the top frosted tree has your brain working overtime. The entire room is cast in a dreamy glow from many strands of white lights he had already spun around it.

“I still feel bad that about what happened the other weekend, and I wanted to make it up to you. At the bar, I heard you telling Phoenix that you always wanted a pink tree, so I hope this is similar to what you hand in mind.” He seems to be getting a bit nervous now, since all it seems you can do is just blink at him. He reaches around into his back pocket pulling out a small tube, “I even got some of those scent stick things to tuck in if you-” 

He doesn’t get to finish since you’ve launch yourself at him.

“Bradley!” He catches you easily with one arm as you begin peppering his face with kisses.

His laugher fills the room and his grin lights up his face at your reaction, “Are you happy, Sweetheart?”  

“I’m the happiest! Oh my god! Are you for real?” you exclaim in between kisses. You stop the assault on his face to take it in your hands, “Seriously though, there is nothing to feel bad about. You’re what matters most to me. I mean, yes, I absolutely love this. But you should have what you like too.”

He takes a step back, with you still in his arms and propped up on his hip. He thoughtfully studies the tree in front of you both. “Yep. This is definitely the perfect tree,” he declares proudly, “It’s full and girthy. Has some good gaps, and look at that top. Straight as an arrow. Although we might need to get some more decorations for it, but I got it started.”

You look from him back to the tree puzzled, since you don’t see anything on it aside from the lights. He walks you both closer, and pulls off what looks to be a strand of curling ribbon with a shiny silver object dangling from it from a branch on the tree. 

A key.

He sets you down back on your own two feet, holding you close against his body bringing his forehead to yours. “I meant it, Sweetheart. Bring it all. There’s nothing I want more than for you to be here. All the time. With me. You’re the only thing on my list this year, you’re all I want. Will you let me give you more than a drawer?” His honey brown eyes gazing at you hopefully.

You already knew what your response would be even before he pulled that key from off the tree, and the answer must be all over your face because Bradley’s face breaks into a beam as he picks you up and spins you around.

The choice has always been easy with him, it’ll always be a yes.

Happy Holidays, everyone!

Causally hyper-fixating over all things TGM at bradshawburner

You can find the prequel to this story here!

Find out what happens during their second Christmas together here!

You can read more of my stories here!

[blues824]

hi blue! a little late to the requests lol but your event seems so cute, i had to make sure i stopped by to drop a request lolol

could i request lilia with the dancing to christmas music prompt? he seems like a very fun dance partner so :3 take your time as always! and thank you!

You requested: Dancing to Christmas Music + Christmas Dinner

Decided to compile these two together for obvious reasons lol

Lilia Vanrouge

You had invited the Diasomnia crew for Christmas dinner at Ramshackle before they left for Briar Valley. Grim was helping you cook the food, and he was actually helping because he was able to keep the food warm as you made more and more things. Mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, stuffing, and you even prepared ham and chicken. You were not going to attempt a turkey this last-minute.

Anyway, you then started to decorate, when you heard the doorbell ring. You were thinking that it was Ace, and that he got kicked out of Heartslabyul… again… but it turned out to be Lilia Vanrouge… your crush. If you were being honest, you didn’t know what you saw in him, but maybe you were into older guys??

He had a bowl of something, and he told you that he wanted to help you make the food. The thought alone, even though you liked him, made you want to throw up. You took the bowl, and immediately the smell was overwhelming.

“Sorry, Lilia, but all the food is ready! I do need some help decorating, if you could help with that?”

“How disappointing, Prefect. But alright!”

Now that his objective was diverted, you both started putting up the many different holiday-themed decorations that were in the attic of the dormitory. You grabbed a speaker on the way down, and you hooked your phone to it and started playing some Christmas music, humming along to the tune.

As you dusted off the fairy lights that miraculously still worked, you heard Lilia singing. He started getting closer and closer, and you looked up to see him right in front of you, reaching out a hand towards you.

“Would you join me in a dance?” Your face and chest both felt warm, and your heart was pounding.

“I-I don’t know how to dance-” He was not going to take any excuses, much to your dismay, and he just smiled.

“I can teach you.”

And with that, he leaned down to grab your hand and pull you into him.

“Place your right hand on my shoulder, and I’ll place my left hand on your waist.” You followed his instructions, and the hand he was originally holding stayed in his grasp. Your faces were rather close, and the warm feeling that was inside you grew hotter than hellfire.

The song Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow started to play, and it was a bit more jazzy. However, you both started spinning around the living room area anyway. The area seemed to almost transform, and it was just the two of you with the music. He let go, and he lifted your arm above you to spin you alone, and he pulled you back to him.

Your romantic dance ended in him dipping you, not even struggling a tiny bit because of the strength granted to him as a fae. Your faces were closer than ever before, and your lips were brushing against each other, your eyes were closing…

Then the doorbell rang.

“PREFECT, LET ME IN. IT’S FREEZING OUT HERE AND RIDDLE KICKED ME OUT AGAIN!”

[ghulehunknown]

Papa Headcanons - Thanksgiving

They may not be accustomed to American holidays, but they’re excited to eat food and spend the day with you!

Primo

Falls asleep in front of the TV during the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade (but grumbles a few times in his sleep “Is it ready yet?”) and doesn’t wake up until the ghouls yell “dinner time!”

Has to take an antacid before eating

Carves the turkey

Mostly only picks the mushy foods to eat (i.e. casseroles) and only eats half his plate

“I’m thankful for all my ghouls, even the least favorite one.”

Hogs and clogs the toilet after

Secondo

Helps by setting the table and running to the store for last minute things that were either forgotten or you ran out of

Makes a surprisingly good roux for the mac n cheese and the gravy

“What is this American shit?” he asks about half the food on the table

Proceeds to eat and enjoy literally everything, except he still can’t get behind the cranberry sauce. “It wobbles.” (Copia’s head pokes up from his plate, mid face-stuffing.)

“I’m thankful for good food and good company” (he would say while holding his glass up to cheer)

Dutifully helps clean up and washes dishes

Terzo

Peels one potato and says “I’m bored” and walks away. You have to finish peeling them. Then he brags about how he made the mashed potatoes. When you tell him off he says, “Okay, well I helped!”

“Why is everything the same color? I’m not eating that. Oh wait, actually…that’s very good…mmm. Can I have some more?”

Compares everything to Italian food and admits you are an amazing cook and could put his nonna to shame (he never met his nonna but he’s not going to tell you that)

“I’m thankful for titties and ass, dongs of every shape and size, and eh - the female orgas-” (gets interrupted by an elbow to the ribcage, courtesy of you)

Says he has to go to the bathroom to avoid having to help clean up and you never see him again until morning

Wakes you up early the next morning to go Black Friday shopping in his Christmas sweater. (“I’ve always been fascinated by this American sport”)

Copia

He’s in charge of the turkey and he’s very nervous and is taking this job very seriously

In fact he barely speaks to anyone all day because he’s busy burning things in the kitchen and sweating on everything. It’s like a scene from Ratatouille, except it’s just his rats running all over the stove and nibbling on the stuffing.

“I’m not even hungry!” as he shovels food in his face

“I’m thankful for my rats, and cheese. And of course, all of you.”

After dinner he runs dishes back and forth from the table to the kitchen until someone forces him to sit down

Passes the fuck out immediately afterwards in front of his video games

Also clogs the toilet (when did he even have time to do that?)

Nihil

Mumbles something about how he tried breeding dogs once while the National Dog Show plays on TV

Has been systematically picking things from the dishes as they’re being prepared so he truly isn’t hungry during the meal and doesn’t eat much on his plate

Complains about how much Copia burned things and that’s why he’s not eating

“I’m thankful for Seestor”

Falls asleep immediately after dinner

[bvnnyblood]

"if your left leg is halloween, and your right leg is christmas, can i come in between the holidays?"

what spending the holidays with the chuckle boys is like 🫶

★ halloween with schlatt is straight out of a cheesy romance novel. going on pumpkin patch dates, watching horror movies until the sun rises and you're cuddled up on the couch with jambo. for man of his stature and size, the poor thing cannot stand blood and gore, so there’s a limit to how much he can take at once. no texas chainsaw massacre, no saw, and definitely no terrifyer.

he’s hiding behind every possible corner with a mask on and giddy breath leaving his lips. the amount of times he’s seen you get so scared. the look on your face is so priceless that he can’t help but laugh seeing you clutch your chest as you give him a weak shove.

★ thanksgiving with charlie is the sweetest of times. the two of you waking up side by side, the light pouring into your bedroom as he presses soft kisses to your temple. the two of you going last minute shopping for the little things, like seasoning and cranberry sauce. sitting at home together all curled up on the couch, waiting in anticipation as you wait for santa to arrive in the macy’s day parade.

every year he brings out this stupid apron that you can never seem to figure out where he hides. he has to, because if you ever got your hands on it, you would burn it. it was a part of a matching set, but you had only been able to get rid of one of those stupid things. his apron had a rather large and smug turkey with the words, “i made the stuffing” in a small text bubble. every year he brings it out, and every year he chuckles at the tainted and heated flush he sees from you.

★ christmas with ted is something right out of a hallmark movie. the two of you buying each other small gifts for the twelve days of christmas just to find each other awake in the middle of the night on christmas eve, trying to put presents under the tree for the other. he showers you in cheesy holiday pick up lines and always seems to have a candy cane in his pocket. you never found the box anywhere. and yet almost every time you see him, he has a candy cane in his mouth and his kisses taste like peppermint.

there’s a lot of things to describe ted, but the three things that come to mind when it comes to ted around christmastime are as follows: smooth, cheesy, and romantic. the two of you are watching some kind of holiday-themed movie when you feel his arm wrap around your shoulder. “huh, that’s funny. i don’t remember hanging up mistletoe.” you hear him say, a stupid grin on his face as he turns to you. you look up and there you see his hand dangling above you, mistletoe hanging loosely in his fingers before he’s smothering you with his lips.

[moralesmilesanhour]

'cold turkey' but i rewrote it - part two!

summary: the festivities have begun! but you forgot the drinks. whoops. wc: 2k+ a/n: I almost cut this short at like a thousand words but I knew in my SPIRIIITT that I wanted to add more twists and turns to this thing. It's a bit rushed but let's just say I'm very glad I did! if you feel like it: comment your favorite holiday-related dishes :) part one part two

“Traffic was nuts today,” your older sister Alanna sighed as she hauled a carton full of cans of soda over to the kitchen. She looked up and saw Miles, who smiled and gave her a quick wave. “Oh my god, Miles?”

“One and only,” he replied. “Been a minute, ain’t it?”

The woman set the carton down on the floor. “When did you get so big? You're taller than me!”

Miles shrugged. “Growth spurt.”

“Alright then, nice seeing you,” Alanna turned and joined you on the couch with that glint in her eye and smirk that appeared only when she was scheming. “He’s mad cute now, right?”

You rolled your eyes and sighed, “ ‘Lana, no. Not happening.”

“Come on, I’ve seen the niggas you been with and he’s literally your type–”

“Can you lower your voice? He’s right there!” you yell-whispered. 

You craned your neck to see if Miles was listening. His head was down, all focus seemingly directed towards cooking beans. 

You turned back towards Alanna. “Anyway, he’s Jeff’s kid. I don’t want beef with Jeff or his mama if we break up. They literally live around the corner, do you know how awkward that’s gonna be?”

“So pessimistic,” Alanna’s lips were upturned into a pout. “How you just met him and you already imagining the breakup?”

“I’m being realisti–”

“The beans are done!” Miles’ voice interrupted. 

You called out, “That’s great, thank you so much! I’ll see you later this evening?”

He emerged from the kitchen and began to put on his sneakers. “Yup, lookin’ forward to it,” he stood up and made direct eye contact with you as he smiled. “Good luck with med school.”

With that, Miles grabbed his jacket off of the hook by the entrance, and left.

Your sister watched the door shut behind him with a satisfied grin. “He likes you.”

“No he don’t,” you retorted, keeping your eyes glued to your socks. “You want him to like me.”

The image of fluttering lashes and the scar on his cheek returned to you. How Alanna could tell even without her knowing about that little encounter was a mystery.

“Well, either way, do what you want,” she rose from the couch with a sigh of resignation. “I’m just saying he seems sweet. Now, help me decorate, and I’ll let you make the playlist after.”

You perked up at the thought of having DJ privileges and hopped to your feet. “You got it!”

-

Only half an hour had passed since relatives and family friends began trickling in, but you were already exhausted. One more inescapable hug and barrage of questioning, and you swore you’d have a breakdown. 

Ding dong!

“I’ll get it!” you announced, narrowly escaping being accosted by one of your aunts as you made a beeline for the door.

It was Miles again, this time with company.

“Welcome back,” you greeted Miles and stepped back to open the door wider. “Hey Mr. and Mrs. Morales!”

“Y/N! It’s been so long, tú eres tan guapa!” Rio Morales briefly took both of your hands in hers before entering, tugging Miles along with her.

Jefferson Morales was the last to go inside. His warm smile was a stark contrast to his wide, imposing frame. “I see Miles didn’t burn your kitchen down,” he laughed heartily. “He wasn’t too much trouble?”

Not in the way you were expecting.

You shook her head politely, “No, not at all! He even helped me finish dinner.”

Jefferson’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Well, that’s good to hear. We really appreciate the invite.”

“No problem,” you nodded as you shut the door.

“Y/N!” Alanna rushed up to you not a moment later, looking mildly panicked. “Do you remember where you put the drinks? The alcoholic ones, I mean.”

Your eyes widened. “Fuck, I think I forgot to buy them.”

“...Now, your mother was going to nursing school at the time, so she had to…”

Jefferson’s deep voice carried over the music, catching Alanna’s attention. He stood near the tin of mac and cheese telling a story that–judging by the look on Miles’ face–he had told several times before.

That same smirk from before spread across her lips. ‘Do what you want’, sure, but a little helpful push wouldn’t hurt.

“Miles, do you wanna help out Y/N again? She forgot to go out and buy drinks.”

He perked up, relief written all over his face. “Yeah, it’s no problem! I’ll drive her.”

You narrowed your eyes at your sister, but didn’t push back. “That’s cool with me. I’ll go get my sweater.”

-

You squeezed your fingers nervously as Miles turned the key and brought the car roaring to life. 

What could you possibly say to him? ‘Hey, so we almost kissed earlier. Thoughts on that?’ 

“What kinda drinks y’all need?” his voice ripped you away from your thoughts as he pulled onto the road. 

You didn’t answer, your eyes fixated on the motion of his hands spinning the wheel.

“Y/N?”

You blinked.

“Huh?”

“What kind of drinks are we looking for?”

“Oh, um, wine and cider and shit,” you waved a hand in the air, “Stuff that goes with turkey.”

“Cool.”

The ride was quiet, largely because you were busy racking your brain trying to think of something–anything–to fill the silence with. You’d already asked about school, and you knew Miles’ parents. But what about him?

He stopped at a red light, drumming his fingers on the wheel.

“So what do you do, like, outside of school?”

You winced. Small talk was not your forte.

Miles didn’t seem to mind though, appearing deep in thought before he answered, “I draw, when I got the time. Sing a little on the side.”

“I believe you. You look like you have a nice voice.”

An impish smile played on his lips. “Is that your way of saying I’m cute?”

“I…” the words were trapped in your throat. Part of you didn’t want to tell him the truth outright, but he was smiling at you and the sparkle in his eyes made you feel funny. 

“Maybe. Don’t get your hopes up, though.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So there’s a low, but non-zero chance.”

You snorted, “Alright, physics major. The light’s green.”

“Oh, shit. Thanks.” Miles focused his attention back onto the road and continued driving.

You didn’t say anything more for the remainder of the ride, but he caught you staring at him every now and then through the rear view mirror, curiosity written on your face.

Soon enough, he pulled over in front of the supermarket.

“Think you’ll find ‘stuff that goes with turkey’ in here?”

“I hope so,” you laughed, unbuckling your seat belt, “My sister’s gonna put me in the dirt if I don’t.”

“Well, good luck!”

Miles unlocked the door, and you set out on your mission.

Luckily, it only took you about twenty minutes to locate a bottle of moscato and some hard apple cider. Just as he saw you emerge from the double doors, though, a familiar buzzing in the back of his head tipped him off.

Really? On Thanksgiving?

A man wearing an inconspicuous black ski mask and hoodie stood waiting by the entrance, ready to strike. 

“Yo, empty your pocke–”

Miles swung into action the moment he spotted the gleam of a firearm.

You yelped as a string of white web shot out from seemingly nowhere and yanked the gun from your assailant’s hands. 

“It’s the holidays! C’mon, man!” 

“Spider-Man?” Your jaw dropped at the sight of the masked hero. 

He was perched on top of a low building right next to the supermarket, only his white eyes and the bright red streaks lining his suit visible in the pitch-black of night.

“At your service, ma’am!” 

With a quick salute, he was gone as suddenly as he’d appeared. Like, literally gone. You didn’t see him leave.

You let out a deep exhale and made your way back to Miles’ car, but you couldn’t see him in the window. A pit began to form in your stomach, until a voice made you jump.

“Hey, you alright?”

It was Miles, who had somehow appeared at your side without a sound. He was out of breath, leaning his elbow on the side of the vehicle for support.

Your eyes narrowed. “I’m…fine. Are you okay? Where’d you go?”

“Bathroom,” he lied. He pointed towards the bags you were holding. “Need help with those?”

You handed them over without a second thought. “Definitely. You know this nigga almost robbed me outside the store just now? Then, right as he’s about to pull a gun on me, guess who shows up?”

Miles grinned knowingly. “Spider-Man?”

“Showed up quick as hell! Even on Thanksgiving, can you imagine?”

“Crazy.”

He opened the door to the passenger’s side for you to get in. 

“Thanks.”

Miles did a slight bow, allowing you to catch a flash of red and black peeking out from beneath his jacket. You had assumed that he was wearing a turtleneck at first, but upon closer inspection–

“At your service,” he said with a grin before making his way over to the driver’s seat.

As you shut the door, Spider-Man’s voice returned to you.

At your service, ma’am.

The rest of the way home, you replayed both sentences in your head, alternating between the two and replaying the night’s events.

Miles had just so happened to reappear mere seconds after Spider-Man had said the words. They even shared an accent. You considered the absurd possibility for a moment; the police chief’s son being the masked vigilante would make quite the headline, almost poetic in its irony. 

Too poetic.

But just as you were about to let it go, Miles went over a speedbump, causing a jolt that made something begin to slip out from his jacket’s right pocket.

Black, red and white.

You pondered how to broach the subject once he pulled up in front of your house, when a lightbulb went off in your head.

Reaching over to the red button that released your seatbelt, you pressed it halfway, over and over again.

“Miles, I think my seatbelt’s stuck. Help me out?”

Miles removed his own with a click. “Sure, lemme see.”

He leaned over and reached the passenger’s seat with ease. His breath hit the side of your neck as he moved closer, making your heart rate quicken, but you maintained focus.

What mattered was that he was in close quarters. You had to see the suit.

“Got it,” Miles said once he released your not-actually-stuck seatbelt. “You’re free–”

Before he could move any further, you grabbed the collar of his jacket and unzipped it halfway.

“I knew it!”

The look of sheer terror on Miles’ face sealed the deal. Here was Spider-Man, in all of his glory.

“Are you…gonna…tell anyone?” 

His voice was hushed as he spoke. Almost small. You looked into those round, glassy eyes and felt a wave of guilt. 

“I–no, of course not,” you shook your head. “I just…I needed to be sure.”

He relaxed, some of the humor returning to his face. “And now that you’re sure?”

A cheeky grin spread across your lips.

“I guess I should thank you.”

You tugged at his collar one more time and brought his lips crashing against yours.

After getting over the initial surprise, Miles brought a hand up to caress one side of your face and deepen the kiss. Your other hand reached up and brushed the cold metal of one of his stud earrings before you snaked your arm around his neck.

Miles was the first to pull away, zipping his jacket back up.

“I don’t think I can stay in this position for that long,” he smiled. “We gotta get back inside with these drinks.”

You sighed, head still pounding with adrenaline. “You’re right, let’s get outta here.”

By the time you made it up the steps, Alanna was already holding the door open. She gave your face a good once-over and stifled a laugh.

“Did you two have fun on your little adventure?”

You took one of the bags from Miles and held it up like a trophy. “Yup, mission accomplished.”

“That’s not what I meant, baby,” she gestured towards her lips and mouthed “your lip gloss.”

Your eyes widened as she snickered, and let the two of you in. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll fix it in the bathroom. Hurry up!”

A few makeup wipes and a liner touch-up later, you emerged from the bathroom just in time for dinner.

Out of all the chairs strewn about the living room, you ended up seated between Miles and Jefferson. The former kept quiet, save for the occasional joke or wink thrown in your direction. Jefferson kept inquiring about your studies, which would then bounce back to Miles’ studies, which Miles then would somehow deflect back to you. Any and all conversation with Jeff became awkward, considering you had just made out with his son.

The party ending felt like a weight lifted off of your shoulders.

You stood at the entrance, waving goodbye to the steady stream of guests as their conversations stretched on, even from their cars. The Morales family were the last to leave.

After his parents went down the steps, Miles stopped in front of the door.

“Hey,” he smiled and tilted his head.

“Hey. You ready to go? I’m not letting you stay the night,” you teased.

“Wasn’t planning to, I promise. I just wanted to ask…” 

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “When are you goin’ back to campus?”

“Monday.”

Miles winced, “Damn.”

“I know, I literally gotta start packing to-night! It’s a nightmare!”

“In that case,” he took out his phone, and held it out to you gingerly. “Can we keep in touch?”

You accepted the offer, rapidly entering your digits and saving them under your name. “Worried about me spilling your secret identity?”

“Absolutely. I gotta keep an eye on you from now on. Like witness protection, but backwards–”

“Miles, vamos!” Rio called out from a distance.

“I’m coming, mami!” he replied before turning back to you. “See you winter break?”

You planted a kiss on his cheek. “Maybe. Non-zero chance.”

"I'll take it."

[archangeldyke-all]

Oooh for Roach Verse, what about:

-Holiday funtime antics?

-Jinx has a school bully and those chuckleheads create the most over the top plots to help her out, lol

-Jinx brings home a stray

-The gang gives Roach the day off from cooking/ healing/general caretaking and it goes about as well as you'd imagine

-Jinx has a crush on some kid, and Silco/Sevika are not coping well

That's off the top of my head, I gotta go reread the Roach series now! lol

these are so fucking fantastic, i might revisit this a few times to do some of the other prompts too omg. but the one with jinx bringing home a stray??? chaos i love it.

men and minors dni

lock's been avoiding you all day.

it's strange. usually, you, lock and ran are like the three musketeers-- always getting into and back out of trouble together.

but today... lock's been avoiding you like the plague.

it's a little funny. the man's three hundred pounds of pure muscle, tattooed and pierced on nearly every inch of his skin, but each time he walks in a room with you there, he turns on his heel and runs away like a scared little girl.

mostly, though, you're just worried that you've pissed off your friend.

"he really hasn't said anything to you?" you ask ran. they're 'helping' you make sandwiches for lunch-- eating more than they are assembling, but still. you appreciate the company.

"nah, he's been jumpy around me too." they mumble around a mouthful of turkey. you cringe in disgust as you watch them squirt a dollop of mustard directly into their mouth, on top of the mush of turkey on their tongue. "don' worry. we'll get 'im drunk and interrogate him tonight." ran promises, patting your shoulder. you giggle, smacking your friend's hand away from the cold cuts.

twenty minutes later, you're making your rounds across the bar and delivering sandwiches to the crew.

singed and deckard barely notice you, both of them searching the lab for something when you drop off their sandwiches. singed shouts a distracted "thank you roach!" before the basement door slams behind you.

thieram's still asleep-- preparing to stay up all night tonight for work. you put his sandwich on his desk and gently nudge him. "'s almost two." you whisper. he grunts.

"thamk y' r'ch." he mumbles.

your next stop is silco's office, since lock is still hiding from you. you gently knock on the door. "lunch!" you call.

"come in!" silco shouts.

silco's laying back in his office chair, his feet propped up on his desk, a cigar between his lips as he scrubs at his temples. you raise an eyebrow at his haggard appearance, gently placing his sandwich beside the papers littering his desk.

"rough day?" you guess. silco groans. from the sound of his groan alone, you know he needs a bitch-session. you happily plop down on the couch next to his desk, tearing into your sandwich and nodding at silco. "spill. but make it quick, i still gotta feed the kid."

silco groans again at the mention of his foster daughter, and you burst into laughter. of course it's about jinx. silco's never this angsty about business. "she's been avoiding me all day." he sighs, dropping his hands to look at you. you furrow your brows.

"it's only one." you say. he huffs.

"she was acting cagey last night too. has she said anything to you?" he asks. you shake your head no.

you're usually the first person jinx goes to bitch about silco to. you or sevika. so the fact that you haven't heard anything only makes her behavior stranger. silco groans again.

"i don't even know what i did! we were perfectly fine at lunch yesterday, and now she won't even let me in her room!"

"she's probably just hormonal. puberty, silco, it's different for girls man." you try to explain. he just shakes his head.

"no it's not that."

you take another bite of your sandwich, gesturing at silco to do the same. he huffs and rolls his yes, but he at least takes a bite, so you're happy. "lock's been acting jumpy around me too. maybe it's just somethin' in the air." you suggest.

silco's eyes sharpen at your words. the second you hear yourself say it, you figure it out too.

"oh, shit." you mumble, jumping off the couch. "what did those shits get themselves into now?" you ask, scooping up the last few sandwiches you have left to deliver and running toward the office door. silco starts to chuckle behind you-- a defeated laugh, one that means he knows he's about to have an even bigger headache that he did when he just thought jinx was upset with him.

"don't let them drag you into it, roach. i need you as my informant." he begs. you laugh.

"i'll let you know what i find out." you call over your shoulder as you stumble into the hallway and slam silco's office door shut behind him.

you take off toward jinx's room, not bothering to knock, knowing it would only give them time to hide whatever shit they're up to.

you slam the door open, and your eyebrows fly up your forehead when not just jinx and lock; but jinx, lock and sevika all turn to look at you with big guilty eyes.

you groan. "what did you do?"

"now, hold on, why do you assume we--"

"babe, i promise i had nothing to do with it until just this morn--"

"i am so sorry roach, i told her not to--"

they all start to speak at the same time, flailing wildly as their voices overlap. and then, from a pile of blankets and plushies on jinx's bed, a raspy 'meow' floats above all the rambling voices.

they all cringe simultaneously, their heads snapping over to the bed. you burst into defeated laughter.

"a cat!?" you ask, walking over to the bed. jinx's eyes grow a little wider at the smile on your face, and she's the first to run up to your side. "oh, janna." you groan through your smile as you look down at the mangy thing. "fuck, jinx, it's probably getting fleas and lice all over your covers."

she blinks up at you with wide eyes. "but she's so cute, roach!" she squeals. you giggle at the girl, then look up at your friends.

lock's cooing down at the cat, gently patting its forehead as it purrs into his hand. sevika's watching it with a smile she's trying and failing to bite back.

"you're all suckers!" you cry. they both look up at you guiltily.

"jinx is gonna name 'er shitstorm." sevika supplies. you laugh despite yourself, reaching out to ruffle jinx's bangs. it's the perfect name for the poor little cat.

"where did you even find this thing?" you ask. jinx shrugs.

"i heard meowing in the lab last night. found her hiding in a corner, all scared and alone." jinx pouts, reaching down to pet the cat. it seems to know jinx is it's savior-- licking at her hand and closing its eyes as she pets it.

it occurs to you that this is probably what deckard and singed were looking for earlier. you have to bite back a laugh-- this cat is one lucky fucker, narrowly avoiding a brutal death of shimmer experimentation to become a little girl's fur-baby.

"roach..." jinx whispers. you look up from the little cat, rolling your eyes at the wet puppy eyes jinx is blinking at you. "please can we keep her?" she whines.

you huff, throw each of your friends their sandwich, then lean forward and pick the cat up, holding it to your chest. it's a docile little thing, cuddling against you the second you got it in your arms. jinx is wiggling with glee before you, already knowing what your answer's going to be. you flip her off, and she grins.

"fine." you grunt. jinx and lock burst into happy squeals, jumping up and down as they hold each other's hands. sevika's grinning behind the pair. "but you three gotta help me take care of this mess understand?" you ask. they all nod.

"whatever you need, roach." lock promises, grining. you giggle.

"okay. lock, take jinx's bedding out back and burn it-- it's easier than trying to wash out all the bugs and diseases." jinx pouts a bit at the thought of losing her star-themed sheets, and you nudge her with your foot. "you still got your dinosaur sheets in the closet. and i'll buy you a new set next time we're at the markets, okay?" you ask. she nods up at you. lock gets to work stripping her bed.

"jinx, go talk to silco. he thinks you're mad at him."

"you think he's gonna let me keep 'er?" she asks, worried. you snort.

"jinx, you could ask silco for the moon and he'd find a way to bring it to you." you say. jinx smiles shyly at this, and you ruffle her bangs again. "tell 'im i say that pets are good for kids' social development, or some bullshit like that. she'll be good for pest control in the bar. get him to take you shopping for some food and a litter box for little shitstorm, okay?" you ask.

jinx grins and nods up at you, wrapping your legs in a quick hug before taking off down the hall to talk to silco. you laugh as you watch her go.

sevika's the only one left, blinking at you guiltily from across jinx's room. you snort at the sight of her. "come help me clean this little shit." you mumble, nodding toward jinx's bathroom.

sevika follows with a smile.

"you're the sucker." she teases as you pass her the cat, plugging the sink and filling it with warm soapy water. you snort.

"you know she was supposed to be one of singed's test subjects?" you ask. sevika bursts into laughter, scratching the cat under her chin. she purrs so loud it's like a little motor. "i went down there today, he and deckard were tearing the lab apart looking for the cat." you laugh.

sevika snorts. "after her bath i'll go break the news to 'em."

down the hall, silco's shocked voice rings out. "a cat!?"

you and sevika burst into giggles.

you take the cat from her hands, firmly holding it as you start to scrub it's skin free of bugs. she yowls at the water, but settles down once you start to scrub her, seemingly liking her bath. sevika wraps an arm around your waist, kissing your head as you work.

"she is a cute little thing. makes me feel bad for all the creatures jinx didn't rescue from singed." you whisper. sevika chuckles.

"honestly, babe, we're just lucky singed hasn't started experimenting on humans yet." she jokes.

thumping footsteps come running toward jinx's room. you both look up in time to see ran round the corner, a manic grin on their face. "a cat!" they squeal, pushing into the bathroom to coo down at the sweet little thing. "awe, hello sweet girl!" they cry, taking the cat out of your hands and into their arms.

you giggle at sevika's shocked expression-- ran's just a ball of sunshine under their bangs and eyeliner-- and pass ran a clean towel to wrap the cat in.

"you got it from here?" you ask your friend, trusting that they know how to care for the creature better than you. they grin, pressing kisses to the wet cat's head.

"jinx already named me godparent. suck it, bitches." ran says, sticking their tongue out at you and sevika, hugging the cat closer to their chest.

sevika snorts and you roll your eyes fondly.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub @glass-apothecary @m0numents @macaroni676 @vixel352 @artinvain

[sparkle-fiend]

Here is my entry for the Spicy Six Winter Fic Challenge hosted by @thefreakandthehair (thanks so much to you and @unclewaynemunson for the awesome events this month!) My prompt was “kiss in the snow”.

Eddie is ladling a mixture of brown sugar, cinnamon, and mashed sweet potatoes into a baking dish when the phone rings. He nearly drops the bowl, hastily wiping the sticky orange mixture off his fingers before answering.

“Munson’s House of Holiday Horrors, Eddie speaking,” he intones cheerfully. Steve snorts with laughter on the other end of the line.

“What if it hadn’t been me calling?”

“It’s Christmas Eve Stevie, and everyone we know is out of town. Who else would be calling?” He knows the exact expression that will be on Steve’s face right now. He’ll be trying not to smile, which will twist his lips into a crooked little smirk instead. It’s one of Eddie’s favorite expressions. “How was work today?”

“Awful. Remind me never to agree to a holiday shift again. The Christmas movies were out of stock by 9, so I’ve had people screaming at me all day. Like I’m personally responsible for the fact that they waited till the last minute to try and rent the Grinch that Stole Christmas.”

“Mmm,” Eddie hums sympathetically. “Poor baby. What time are you coming over?”

“The pie needs to cool another 30 minutes, then I’m leaving.”

They’d argued about the pie for days. Eddie insisted that he had enough dishes planned to feed a small army, while Steve insisted that he just had to bring a pecan pie (which, coincidentally, is Wayne’s favorite).

“You know – you don’t have to work so hard to impress him. Wayne already likes you.”

“Shut up,” Steve says. “I’ll see you at 5:30.”

“See ya.”

They’re not quite to the point of exchanging I love you’s yet, even though it sits on the edge of his tongue every time they say goodbye.

Eddie hangs up the phone and turns to survey the chaos strewn across the kitchen. He’s got half an hour – 45 minutes with driving time. The sweet potato casserole has to be baked, and he still needs to finish two more dishes after that.

“Shit,” he mutters.

***

When Wayne ventures into the kitchen twenty minutes later to check on him, Eddie is frantically stirring sour cream and shredded cheese into the mashed potatoes.

“Christ almighty it’s hot in here. You’re sweatin’ like a hog.”

Eddie scowls and swipes at the hair sticking to his forehead. “Thanks Uncle Wayne.”

Unfortunately, his uncle’s not wrong. The kitchen is sweltering – not surprising, considering the stove and oven have been going all day – and Eddie’s shirt is soaked through. He desperately needs a shower, but he’s running way behind.

“Alright… what can I do to help?”

Eddie pauses long enough to fix his uncle with a skeptical look. “Are you forgetting the famous incident of the frozen turkey? Your cooking privileges have been permanently revoked.”

Wayne looks unimpressed. “Don’t you sass me. I can pull a goddamn casserole out of the oven.”

Eddie snickers and allows himself to be chased out of the kitchen. “I’ll be back in ten minutes. Don’t let that casserole burn!”

He takes the stairs up two at a time. It’s still a novelty, living in a house with a second floor – even after half a year. The water pressure is pretty awesome too, although he doesn’t take the time to enjoy it today. He rushes through a lukewarm shower, just enough to cool down and rinse the sweat off; throwing a clean shirt on when he gets out.

With hair still dripping, he thunders back down the stairs in time to see Wayne pull the casserole out, marshmallows browned to a perfect crust on top. His uncle watches in bemusement as Eddie covers the dish with aluminum foil and then hastens to dump frozen rolls onto a pan.

“What time is Steve supposed to get here?” Wayne asks.

Eddie doesn’t even dare look at the clock. “Any minute,” he says distractedly. He adjusts the oven temperature and shoves the pan in. He had a checklist, which is buried somewhere in the pile of used dishes and discarded packaging on the counter. He starts searching for it, shoving things aside in frustration, until he feels his uncle’s hands land heavy on his shoulders.

“Calm down, okay? Everything looks amazing. You’ve done a real good job Ed.”

The old man’s expression is unbearably soft when he turns around. Wayne looks at him like that all the time these days – ever since March, and that tense week in the hospital, when they weren’t sure if infection would finish the job the demobats had started.

It makes Eddie feel warm and awkward at the same time. He darts forward for a quick hug, pressing his face into the smoky flannel of his uncle’s shoulder, before stepping back and shoving the old man toward the door.

“Go on. Let me know when Steve gets here. And turn on the lights!”

***

Eddie loses track of time as he scrambles to finish – last minute tasks keep popping up every time he turns around. When he’s finally ready to call it done, he heads for the living room, expecting to find Steve and Wayne watching something on tv while they wait.

But it’s six o’clock, and there’s no sign of Steve. Wayne is standing against the big picture window, curtains shoved aside so he can look out.

“Hate to break it to ya Ed, but I’m not sure your boy is gonna make it. Snow’s really coming down out there.”

Eddie takes his uncle's place against the window, pressing his nose against the cold glass as he cups his hands to shield the glare. It's dark out, and the only thing illuminated by the porch light is a swirling wall of snowflakes. Judging by the snow already piled on the railing, it's collecting thick and fast.

"Shit," he mutters.

Concern immediately churns his stomach. If Steve left the house when he planned to, he should have arrived over half an hour ago.

Eddie goes to the phone on the end table by Wayne’s recliner, dialing the familiar number, hoping Steve decided to wait out the weather. The Christmas tree twinkles merrily in the corner; red, green, blue, and yellow lights reflecting off the silver tinsel while Eddie listens to the phone ring and ring - until the click of the answering machine picks up.

He hits the switch hook to end the call, re-dialing immediately. Ring, ring, ring and the click of the answering machine again.

He stays on the line long enough to hear the recorded voice of Steve’s father announce: “You’ve reached the Harrington residence. Leave a name, number, and brief message…” Eddie hangs up again with a frustrated growl.

Wayne watches with a worried frown. “You don’t think he would try to drive in this mess, do you? Not in that fancy car of his.”

Only someone who didn’t know Steve very well would ask that question. If Robin or Dustin were here, they’d already be suiting up for a search party.

Apparently, the expression on Eddie’s face is answer enough, because Wayne’s lips press into a thin line before he nods. “Right then. We’ll put the snow chains on the truck – as long as you go slow, you should be okay.”

They throw on coats and boots and a hat for Wayne, before trooping out into the whirling snow. Working in tandem, it only takes a few minutes to get the chains wrapped around the front tires of Wayne’s truck, latched and tensioned tight.

They agree that Wayne should stay behind in case Steve ends up calling after all, and then Eddie is off, pulling slowly down the drive.

The little house (part of a generous government settlement in exchange for their silence) is on the outskirts of town, surrounded by trees and cornfields – and no neighbors for at least ten miles. Which means the only light comes from the feeble beam of the truck’s headlights, struggling to penetrate the wall of snow. It’s like driving into a tunnel.

Eddie holds his foot tense above the gas pedal, giving it just enough juice to keep the old truck bumping along at a snail’s pace, listening to the chained tires grip and grind over the snow.

I never said ,‘I love you’, he thinks. I never said it. Steve could be dead or dying somewhere along the road, and the last thing Eddie ever said to him was, “See ya.”

It’s unbearable.

After a nerve-wracking 15 minutes, scanning and straining his eyes nearly to tears – Eddie finally spots a faint shape in the distance. Just the silhouette of a person, no car in sight.

It’s Steve. It’s gotta be.

He slams on the brakes – too hard. Even with the chains on, the old truck slides a few terrifying feet farther than intended. Heart pounding, Eddie throws it into park and wrenches the door open.

He hits the ground ready to run and nearly busts his ass as he sinks into snow over his ankles; staggering like a drunk toward the huddled figure of his boyfriend.

Eddie grips the other boy by the shoulders, eyes raking over him head to toe, searching for injuries. It’s hard to see – the headlights cast everything in sharp relief, full of shadow.

“Shit Steve… are you okay? I was so fucking worried, Jesus Christ.”

Steve pats his chest and laughs through the audible chattering of his teeth. “I’m f-fine Ed, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“What happened?”

“Deer ran out in front of me. T-tried to miss it and the Beemer spun off the road. Car’s fine, but it’s stuck in a ditch.”

Eddie huffs out a relieved laugh and squeezes his boyfriend tight. Just stuck in a ditch – thank god. They’re so lucky the accident wasn’t serious; and lucky that Eddie came looking before Steve froze to death trying to make the long, cold walk to the house.

He pulls back to gaze into those beloved brown eyes, brushing aside a swoop of hair stiff with ice.

“I love you,” Eddie says abruptly. His breath hangs like dragon-smoke between them. It’s not how he intended this moment to go, but he can’t keep it in any longer. “I was afraid to say it, but then… when I thought something might have happened to you, all I could I think was that I never told you how I felt.”

“Eddie,” Steve whispers. “Eddie, I love you too.”

He laughs, giddy with relief, and cradles Steve’s jaw as he leans into a kiss. The world falls away - there’s nothing but Steve’s slightly chapped lips, warming slowly against his own, and the soft whisper of the snowflakes.

It’s perfect - until Steve shifts awkwardly and winces in pain.

“What the hell Steve, I thought you said you weren’t hurt?”

Steve grins sheepishly and leans against Eddie, trying to take the weight off his left leg. “I said the car was fine. I twisted my knee trying to climb out of that damn ditch.”

“Goddamnit… is there anything else I should know?”

His boyfriend unzips his jacket, revealing a towel-wrapped disc tucked securely against his chest. “I saved the pie,” he says proudly.

“Jesus Christ.” Overwhelmed by affection, Eddie kisses Steve again; it’s either that or shake the mad bastard. “Come on… let’s get you and your stupid pie home before you both freeze.”

[nico-di-genova]

Make Me Like Anything

Summary: Alex doesn't like Halloween, Pato is determined to change his mind. AKA: playboy bunny Palex

Dedicated to @raapija, because without Mari giving me a deadline this might never have seen the light of day.

Warnings: NSFW, this was meant to be PWP, it just spiraled away from me.

AO3 Link

Halloween, to Alex, has always seemed like a largely nonsensical holiday. Maybe because he’d never been allowed to celebrate it much in the first place – not to the extent that he found most people did, once he was old enough to move away from home and gain a new perspective. “Dressing up” as a kid had been largely limited to what he could make on his own out of discarded scraps of cardboard and tinfoil. He’d been a battery one year, a traffic light the next, and both times he had come home with a meager supply of candy and been made to count it out so he could learn to ration it appropriately.

Alex is old enough now to buy his own candy, keeps his house stocked with sugary snacks  ferreted away in the cabinets for when a sweet tooth inevitably hits. He doesn’t need to don a cheaply made costume and hunt the streets for it, wouldn’t be allowed to at his grown age anyway. And most of the adult activities associated with the holiday aren’t activities he much likes engaging in. Parties, loud and dark and filled with people whose faces are hidden behind macabre masks, are not really his scene. Alex isn’t big on horror, wasn’t allowed to watch the genre for most of his life, and he hardly likes being crammed into a room full of people when their faces aren’t dripping fake blood.

The problem is, like with a lot of things in their relationship, Pato holds an exact opposite opinion.

“What do you mean you don’t like Halloween?” the man had asked, when summer was beginning to tip into fall. The leaves on the trees had just begun to curl in on themselves from the slight chill that had crept its way into Indiana.

Alex, wearing a hoodie, hands stuffed in the pocket, had walked beside Pato as they made their way through his neighborhood. Pato had taken the dogs’ leashes, Brunner and Norbi pulling eagerly, because Pato never gave them the command to stop. He was stumbling along behind them in a rush to keep up. Alex, long legs and long stride, did not face this same problem.

“I just don’t like it,” he had shrugged.

The house that had prompted the conversation, already decked out with ghosts and fake skeletons littering the yard, was left behind them. Alex’s house didn’t have any decorations yet, because it was only the end of August, and he wasn’t insane. He’d put them out closer to October, and even then they’d be sparse.

“But it’s Halloween,” Pato pressed.

“And?”  

“What do you mean ‘and’? It should be exactly your thing, Rossi.”

“What? Because of my cheery personality and lovely disposition?”

He’d been told this before, by friends and family alike, that because the dark holiday matched his mood it should be one he loved. They were always shocked to learn Thanksgiving was the holiday he preferred, namely for the labor of it. The cooking, the preparation, the order to how it all proceeded, he preferred that to the chaos of a night founded on sheer unpredictability and secrets happening in the dark. Trick or treat, and Alex was never in control of which he was going to get. At least with Thanksgiving he knew there would always be three things: turkey, football, and a fight between family members who hadn’t seen each other in a year to keep things interesting. Dependability, predictability, that’s what Alex preferred, and Halloween had little.

It made sense for Pato though, who lived for chaos in all its forms. Last minute flights booked hastily as an afterthought, cars bought because he desired the rush of a new toy, money spent on a whim, while Alex watched him swipe his card with an increasing sense of dread. He couldn’t act on impulse the way Pato did, wasn’t made for it, unless he was solidly sat behind the wheel of a racecar – then it was all impulse, drilled into him from a young age, his senses hammered into reliability.

Even this, Pato here in a brief break between races, had been planned last minute. One second Pato was complaining on Facetime about how much he missed Alex, the next he was boarding a flight to Indiana. Alex wasn’t sure if Pato’s family liked him very much, was less sure after he indirectly cut into their vacation time with him.

Pato bumps into him, a not so subtle jab for his attention.

“I bet I could make you like Halloween,” he says, smirking, nearly tripping over Norbi when the dog pauses in his straight-line pace to double back and jump at Alex, twisting the leash across Pato’s legs in the process.

He leans down to pet the corgi, and then Brunner because the doodle doesn’t like to share his toys, let alone Alex – the impacts of being an only child.

“I doubt it,” he says, scratching behind Brunner’s ears, and then Norbi’s, stuck in a cycle because the dogs seem to be fighting for his affection.

Pato scoffs, “I’m very good at making people like things.”

“Making people like you, you mean.” Sponsors, fans, Alex – Pato draws them all in with an effortless magnetism. Not his dog though, Norbi is hardly paying him a bit of mind.  

The mock affront that Pato puts on is cute, all open mouth and raised eyebrows, the scoff he lets out is comical, “No. I mean, yes. But I’m a good salesman! I sell things all the time!”

“Yeah, your Electrolit sales are through the roof.”

“Exactly-!”

“The Mission tortillas are flying off the shelves. Because you pitch them so well, of course.”

“Rossi!” Pato’s voice goes all high-pitched when he’s indignant, Alex likes getting him to this point, because he gets defensive in a way he rarely is. He smiles to himself, hides it when he ducks his head to pet Brunner, kneeling on the concrete to better reach the dog. His shirt is going to be covered in dog hair, the corgi’s more than Brunner’s, because Norbi keeps jumping up on him in an endlessly energetic ball of fluff.

“Whatever,” Pato pouts, “I mean it though. Halloween with me will be fun.”

Alex likes that Pato is already anticipating being with him for the pseudo-holiday, likes that he doesn’t ask, but instead has inserted himself into Alex’s life with all the ease of a wrecking ball. The presumption of it doesn’t bother him nearly as much as it usually would, because Pato has a way of smoothing over the more brunt elements of his personality with a syrupy sweet grin and a laugh that makes it so that Alex forgets why he was rankled in the first place.

“Sure. Give it a go, O’Ward,” he challenges, already sure that this is an area where Pato will fail. Alex does not like Halloween, he never will. He doubts Pato O’Ward will change that.

-------------

 They are late.

Alex watches the time tick by on his watch, sponsor provided, and always just on the side of too expensive for his taste. James’ house is only ten minutes down the road, max, but Alex hates being late. Even if everyone will be too drunk to notice them arriving past the stated invite time, and even though James has assured him it’s fine, he cannot help but to feel his agitation grow. Schedules are important to Alex, he lives his life by him, and late to James’ party means out later than he intended, means up late for his workout tomorrow. Like a domino effect, he can see his perfectly coordinated calendar falling with each second that passes.

 All for a Halloween event he hardly wanted to attend. His one concession had been that he wouldn’t wear a costume, no more than the velvet black bunny ears Pato had slid on his head before he darted his way up the stairs. Alex had pulled them off immediately, had them resting in his lap where he was picking at the fabric with anxious fingers, his other hand tangled in the coarse fur of Brunner, who was snoring on the couch beside him.

The news was playing on mute on the tv, weatherman rambling about the projected first bit of snowfall heading their way. Alex watched him gesture at the projected clouds on the screen behind him, focusing on the way the guy pointed with energetic poise, trying to distract himself from the increasing tapping of his foot on the carpeted floor.        

Eventually, the anxiety won out.

“Pato!” he calls, leaning back on the couch to shout up the stairs. Pato had locked himself in the master bathroom, kicked Alex out in the process, told him he would be ready in a few minutes. That had been a little over an hour ago. “What are you doing, sewing the damn costume?!”

Pato’s reply is distant, muffled by the space and the closed doors between them.

“One second!” “You’re out of seconds!”

“Almost done!”

“We’re late!”

The argument was a well-trodden one by this point. Alex could almost play it on a loop in his head. Their perception of time differed, in that Pato had none, not outside of a car anyway. To him, late to a party was on time, to Alex it was enough to have tension building in his gut. He kept waiting for a text from James, despite knowing it wouldn’t come, because the start time was a suggestion, but Alex had wanted to adhere to it anyway.

His grip on the bunny ears was tight enough that he could feel the plastic of the headband creaking in his grip, threatening to snap. For a moment he considered it, figured it might just get him out of the night altogether. It was the shuffle of noise upstairs that eased some of the building frustration within him, the opening of the bedroom door and Pato’s footsteps on the stairs that helped him release the breath he’d been holding.

His footsteps are distinct, accompanied by the eager tapping of Norbi’s nails on the wood. They both needed a trim, he and Brunner both, Alex should add the groomers to his list of Sunday chores.

“Dude-“ he starts, complaint about the tardiness stuck in his throat when he twists around on the couch and sees Pato standing at the foot of the stairs. Any words he may have been forming leave, get lost somewhere between his mouth and the line of sight his eyes have taken.

“Yes?” Pato asks, voice lilting in the teasing way that Alex is used to hearing in the bedroom – rarely in the open space of his foyer where Pato is leaning casually against the banister of the staircase.

Alex stares him, at the substantial amount of exposed skin that his presence has brought. Broad shoulders, the wide expanse of his chest, all just barely covered by the black strapless bodysuit he wears. Alex’s ‘costume’ a t-shirt and jeans accessorized by the bunny ears Pato is making him wear, suddenly feels comically pathetic – more so than it already was.

“Are you-,” he starts to ask before the words catch in his throat all over again. Because yes, Pato is wearing makeup. Alex doesn’t even need to ask the question, he can see the eyeliner applied around Pato’s eyes, smokey and a little messy. It’s not much, confined to his eyes and the gloss that’s shining wetly on his lips, but it’s enough to make Alex choke a little on the breath stuck in his throat.

“What the fuck?” He manages to get out.

Pato grins, Cheshire wide, “You like it?”

Alex is not usually lost for words, not of his own volition. Normally, his lack of speech comes from choice, never from the ability being shocked out of him.

“It’s good, right?”

As if to tease him further, Pato bounces up on his tiptoes, turns to the side so Alex can just barely catch the sight of the white puff ball that’s meant to be a tail affixed to the bodysuit just above his ass. His thighs are as much on display as his chest, just as firm and solid as the rest of his body. Alex knows the feel of them beneath his hands, is used to grabbing Pato and sliding him down the bed, used to lifting one of them up to rest on his shoulder. He is not used to having to look at so much of Pato when they are not in equal amounts of undress.

“You’re-,” again the words refuse to come, again he swallows.

Halloween costumes are not meant to be this, Alex doesn’t know much about the holiday, but he does know this. Masked killers and comedic plays-on-words, that’s what guys are meant to dress as. James in a hot dog costume comes to mind. Pato is not in a hot dog costume, he’s barely in a costume. He’s barely in clothes. He’s in a one piece bathing suit with a fucking bunny tail.

“You okay, Rossi?” Pato asks, with all the air of someone who knows Alex is very distinctly not okay. He comes up to the back of the couch, leans over it so he’s inches away from where Alex is twisted around to face him. A strand of his hair falls free from where he’s pushed it back, curls over his forehead. Alex wants to pull it, wants to wrap an arm around the back of Pato’s neck and pull the man down onto the couch. Hinchcliffe party be damned.

“Earth to Alex,” he sing-songs.

“Fuck,” Alex breathes. This close he can see how messy Pato’s makeup really is, applied with an amateur’s hand, but somehow hotter for it. Alex used to hide a playboy magazine under his bed, stolen from his friend’s house and tucked between the box spring and mattress. He knows the look Pato was going for and finds that it’s exceedingly better in person – more than it had ever been on those sticky pages.

Pato’s smile widens, “Maybe later. C’mon Rossi, we’re gonna be late. Remember?”

The fucking tease.

------------

The ride to James’ house is exceedingly tense. Alex grips the steering wheel so tight he’s half afraid the leather will be molded with the shape of his fingers when he finally removes them. His eyes don’t leave the road, so locked in that it’s like he’s doing 220 on an oval. The suburban roads of Carmel don’t require this level of attention, not with their 15 mph average speed limit, but Alex is afraid that if he looks away for even a moment that he will end up in someone’s mailbox.

Pato’s spread thighs in his passengers seat are an open invitation, one that Alex would normally accept. He’s used to keeping one hand on the wheel, the other on Pato’s leg, but never when Pato’s exposed this much. The feel of Pato’s warm skin against his palm, no clothing to act as a barrier between them, it would send him into a tailspin.

It would have him parking the Silverado in someone’s driveway and fucking Pato in the truck bed, Hinchcliffe Halloween party be damned.

“I’m going to kill you,” Alex grits out through clenched teeth when Pato shifts, props one foot up on the seat and exposes the muscle of his inner thigh. He’s taken off his shoes, black Nike’s that clash with his whole ensemble, because as much as he’s trying to push Alex he knows better than to dirty up the freshly detailed interior of his truck.

Pato, playing at innocence, looks up from where he’d been scrolling through his phone. The dim light of the screen illuminates his face in the dark of the cab, casts shadows across the makeup, catches on the shine of his lip gloss.

“What?” He asks, while Alex casts him a sideways glance and clenches his jaw tighter.

“You know what,” he growls, grip on the wheel going white knuckled.

“Is it turning you on this much?” Pato asks, sounding genuinely surprised, genuinely thrilled at the realization that his costume is doing more damage than he had originally thought it would.

Alex slams to a stop at a stop sign so hard that they both lurch forward with the force. He takes a second to breathe, tries to clear his head of Pato on his knees, looking at him, eyelids smeared black with eyeliner. It takes him a significant bit of time.

“Baby-“ Pato starts.

“Don’t.” Alex warns, the pet name going straight to his cock that’s already half-hard in his jeans and aching with the pressure.

He counts to ten, breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, like he’s employing the tactics used to deflect an anxiety attack. He can feel Pato’s smug satisfaction, it’s rolling off of him in waves, seen in the smirk he catches when he glances back at Pato one last time before gunning it down the last stretch of street to James’ place. It’s late enough that all the trick-or-treaters have wrapped up for the night, confined by bedtimes and age, so he doesn’t have to worry about hitting anyone.

“Don’t forget your ears,” Pato commands when they park, climbing down out of the truck and casting Alex one last look over his shoulder before he’s bounding up to James’ front door. The white of his bunny tail stands out starkly against the black of the bodysuit, calls attention to his ass in a way that has Alex biting back a groan.

He’s not going to survive the night. Becky is going to find him fucking Pato in a closet, hand held over the man’s mouth to muffle any noise. If this is Pato playing with Alex’s self-control, Alex is sure he’s about to find the limits of it.

He forces himself to let go of the steering wheel, flexes his hands a few times to ease out the lingering tension. His shirt is sticking uncomfortably to the undersides of his arms with sweat, clothes feeling too tight already.

God help him.

-----------

“Your boyfriend looks good, man!” Conor yells to be heard over the speaker they’re stood beside.

James has hired a DJ, had the guy bring in professional equipment for his house party that spills from the living room out onto the back lawn. The Hinchcliffe Home for Wayward Drivers is commonly full, but never to levels that Alex can feel the heat of everyone crammed together. He’s steered clear of the crush of bodies on the makeshift dance floor that occupies where James’ couch once was, content to nurse his beer on the outskirts where pockets of AC can still be found. Pato does not share his need to stay cool, perfectly content to find himself in the middle of the dance floor, where he was practically grinding on Becky Hinchcliffe, dressed in a matching playboy bunny get up. Alex hadn’t been aware he was agreeing to a double couples themed costume when Pato had slid the bunny ears on his head, not until he’d seen James wearing a duplicate pair.

“What the hell, man?” He’d asked, feeling betrayed at not being told, still accepting the Bud Light the man offered him, before being ushered into the house.

He lost the bunny ears around the same time he lost James, now stood in his t-shirt and jeans with his arms crossed over his chest and tried not to make his staring obvious. He was failing.

Conor told him as much when he said, “You gonna get in there?” He nudged Alex with an elbow.

Alex shoved him back with a press of his arm against Conor’s side, sending him stumbling away. He didn’t justify Conor with an answer, too busy staring at the way Pato’s ass was half hanging out of his costume, the way the top had slipped down his chest with movement and sweat. Fucking indecent.

“It’s a good look for him,” Conor presses. It’s what he’s good at, especially when he’s drunk and the last smidge of a filter he possesses on a good day falls away. Alex can normally tune him out, finds it hard where Pato is concerned. He’s a lot like Brunner, he’s not good with sharing. Watching Pato grind on his best friend’s wife is sending waves of jealously through him. He has nowhere to direct it, other than at Conor in his zombie make-up, with his mixed drink spilling tendrils of smoke down his arm from the dried ice in the concoction. James had hired a bartender too, because he was anything but unprepared when it came to a party and a good time. 

“Surprised he didn’t dress you up like Hefner.”

“Shut up, man,” He snipes, rolling his eyes and grinding his teeth in a way he knows is going to make his jaw ache. Becky’s got a hand on Pato’s hip, Pato’s got an arm around her neck, he’s leaned close enough to her that there’s no space for anything to get between them. Their twin bunny ears are getting tangled together.

“Touchy,” Conor says, holding his hands up in surrender, drink sloshing in the clear party cup and spilling in a sticky tendril down his arm. “You know, if you want him that bad, you could probably just go dance with him.”

The heat of all those bodies alone is enough to keep him far-removed from the dance floor, the fact that he’d have to be nearly in the center of it to reach Pato is another. He likes his corner by the speaker, half stood in the fake cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. At least from here he can keep an eye on the front door and Pato, monitor the exit and his increasingly inebriated boyfriend.

But he can’t explain his anxiety about large gatherings to Conor so instead he settles for, “Fuck off.”

Conor does not. He’s never been a very good listener.

“I’m just saying, if you want to get grinded on by your boyfriend it’s not going to happen over here.”

Alex thinks about shoving him again, settles for glaring at him with all the aggravation he can muster. His grip on the bunny ears clenched in his fist goes tighter. They were giving him a headache, or maybe the music was, or the way he couldn’t seem to clear the tension from his jaw. Pato’s plan to make him love Halloween had started off strong but was falling apart with each bad remix the DJ attempted. He’d already heard Michael Jackson’s Thriller two times in the twenty minutes he’d been standing here. Pato had danced to it both times, not the actual dance, he and Becky were too drunk for any sort of coordinated choreography.

Alex is on his second beer, hardly feels the buzz of it. James had offered the guest bedroom for them to crash in, but Alex was craving the comfort of his own bed, keeping himself sober so he didn’t have to fuck Pato in the room right down the hall from James and Becky. He’d already spent half a year muffling moans into the pillow when he lived with them, sleeping in that exact bed, jerking off and feeling guilty every time he came. It was one of the motivators to finding his own place, the shame of having to wash his sheets while Becky watched him load the washer from the kitchen becoming too much.

He takes another swig from his drink, watches Pato tilt his head back to laugh, how it exposes the long column of his neck in the strobing lights James has hung from the ceiling – or that the DJ’s hung, fuck it if Alex knows. Purple and green lighting catching on the sweat coating Pato’s skin, the slick expanse of his chest. Alex’s mouth goes dry, his dick twitches uncomfortably in his jeans.

“Jesus, he’s really got you whipped, huh?” Conor says.  

Alex tunes him out, doesn’t care how intensely he’s staring or that he’s been caught at it. Pato, in the brief glimpses of him that Alex catches through the throng of people surrounding him, looks sinfully good. He looks like all the parts of Halloween that his parents warned him about, something sent to tempt him away from the light. Alex finds himself wanting to be lead, doesn’t care where it lands him.

He suddenly understands why his childhood experiences of Halloween had been largely confined to the one block of houses he was allowed to trick-or-treat at. He understands the strict curfew he was given, his dad trailing him as he walked to each doorway and held out his plastic shopping bag to be filled with candy. Of course they wanted him indoors and in bed before the night took a turn, and by the time he was old enough to sneak out of the house, he never once considered it. By then he was being homeschooled, little in the way of friends, or invites to parties. If this was what he was missing, Alex understands why his parents had fought so hard to hide it from him.

Pato turns, one hand held above his head as he waves it along to the music, the other trailing a line down his body, from his chest to his stomach, pausing when he catches sight of Alex staring at him. He smiles, wide, teasing. The bunny ears have gone lopsided on his head, tilting toward the left and making him look messier than he already did. Alex is thinking about later tonight, picturing how he’s going to lay Pato out beneath him and strip him slowly, if he manages to hold onto his willpower for that long.

He thinks he’s going to tell him to keep the ears on, likes the image of them sliding from Pato’s head with the force Alex is going to fuck him later.

-----------

It’s nearing one by the time Pato tires himself out dancing.

Alex is sat in the backyard, lounging on the couch that has been moved from the living room to the covered patio. He’s discussing the merits of pool ownership with James, the upkeep and the cost of it all, when Pato makes an appearance. He gets the brush of a hand along his shoulder as a warning before Pato is coming around to the front of the couch and depositing himself in Alex’s lap. He’s heavier than he looks, more muscle than anything else. Alex grunts under the weight of him.

“Jesus, Pato,” he grumbles, just barely managing to pass his beer to James, who takes it without question, finishes it off as he eyes Alex over the top of the can. James hasn’t removed his bunny ears yet, wears them like he’s trying to guilt Alex into putting his back on – of the four of them, Alex is the only one who’s ditched the ensemble. He’s been asked five times already what his costume was meant to be, James replying for him, ‘Buzzkill,’ while Alex not so subtlety flicked him off.

Pato’s lips ghost along his neck where he nuzzles up against him, breath warm and smelling distinctly of alcohol. He’s sweat most of it out though. His speech is clear when he whines, “Want you to fuck me,” quiet enough that only Alex hears it.

Alex coughs, shifts in his seat, regrets it when the movement shifts Pato’s weight In his lap. Pato’s arms are slung around his neck, fingers inching their way beneath the collar of his shirt. The feel of his nails barely there, just a light brush against his chilled skin, faint scratches along the top notch of his spine. Pato runs hot, and while Alex normally prefers the chill, would be perfectly content in his jacket in the October air, the heat roiling off of him in waves is welcome.

The look James keeps shooting him is less so.

“Pato-,” he starts, tries to shift again. His hands go for Pato’s hips, plans to hoist the man off of him going out the window when Pato grinds down on him. “Pato-“

Pato’s lips against the shell of his ear, his teeth nipping at the cartilage, are unexpected. Alex chokes on his words.

“Please, Rossi.”

“Fuck,” Alex grunts out, knows James hears him, because the man’s eyebrow arches obviously. He grins, slyly, like he’s getting anything on Alex here. Alex would be mortified, if it were anyone but James witnessing this. They’ve seen each other naked, shared a bed on nights that James didn’t have his own bus at a track, nights when the couch wasn’t cutting it. He’s woken up with his morning wood pressed against the curve of James’ ass. Neither one of them spoke of it, but he’s witnessed Alex in far more humiliating situations than this. Doesn’t mean he wants James to watch as Pato teases him in his backyard in a playboy bunny costume. Some things he doesn’t want to share with the man, Pato being one of them.

“Babe-“ he tries again, muffling a moan with his teeth digging into his bottom lip when Pato grinds on him again. His jeans are too tight, Pato’s weight on top of him too much. And there’s so much skin, Pato’s whole chest basically exposed by the costume that’s slid further down, his thighs that he’s got bracketed on either side of Alex. Alex’s hands stay on his hips because the feel of the costume’s fabric is the only thing keeping him sane.

Pato leans back, gives him enough space to breathe in air that isn’t heavy with the heat of him. His eyes go to the top of Alex’s head.

“Your ears,” he states, frowning slightly. His lips have been wiped clear of the gloss, lips only wet with his own spit when he licks across them.

The costume ears are the least of his concerns. He’s so hard in his jeans it aches, he can feel James staring at him, see other people around the party beginning to notice Pato’s half-dressed state and how he’s deposited himself in Alex’s lap. The attention only grows when Pato slides the ears off of his own head, and then hooks them over the back of Alex’s ears. Alex can feel that they’re lopsided, feel himself growing red when Pato adjusts them with fumbling hands. He maintains eye contact the whole time, lips slightly parted, tongue poking out between his teeth. They’re both flushed, Alex from the contact, Pato from the dancefloor. The red of Pato’s cheeks bleeds down his neck, to his chest, Alex follows the spreading expanse of it. When he looks back up Pato is still staring at him, eyes gone dark in the dim lighting from string lights James has strung along the roof of the patio.

“They look good on you,” Pato says, genuine, not teasing in the way most people have tonight.

Alex can’t help but grumble, “They look stupid.”

“It’s Halloween, baby. Everyone looks stupid.”

‘Not you,’ Alex thinks, doesn’t voice it, because he doesn’t want to stroke Pato’s ego right now – not when he’s got a lapful of him and Pato’s already proven he doesn’t mind the attention tonight. Besides, he’s too busy studying a curl of Pato’s hair where it’s fallen across his forehead and stuck with sweat. Too busy resisting the urge to reach his hand up and brush it away, trail his thumb along the messy eyeliner that’s gone from the corner of Pato’s eye to his temple, smear it further.

“Elba helped me do it,” Pato says, like he can tell that’s what Alex’s attention is most caught on. “That’s why I took so long. The facetime call kept going out. My stupid hands were too shaky.”

Alex finds that hard to believe. Pato is known for a lot of things, unsteady fingers is not one of them – so sure on the wheel when he executes a perfect save.

“It looks dumb-“

“No it doesn’t,” Alex interjects, quick. It’s messy and chaotic, and it’s not perfect, but that’s exactly why Alex likes it. He would never have had to confidence to wear the outfit Pato was, to sport the makeup he did, to dance the way he had. He’s too pent up, too aware of his own body and his own thoughts and never able to get out of his own head. He envies Pato’s ability to act on impulse sometimes. Putting on makeup for the first time just because he’s trying to impress Alex, because he wants to try something new for the simple pleasure of it. Alex could never have been half as bold as he was tonight. He won’t let Pato begin to doubt himself now.

“It’s hot, I promise. So hot, baby.”

His hand on Pato’s hip tightens, a brief squeeze, before he’s bringing it up to rest on the back of Pato’s neck and pulling the man down to kiss him. Despite the lip gloss being gone, Alex can still taste faint traces of it, sticky sweet and mixing with the lingering remnants of tequila when he licks into Pato’s mouth.

Pato moans against him, hands resting against Alex’s chest and fisting around the fabric of his t-shirt. It’s damp with sweat, with the beer Alex had spilled on it when he’d been speaking emphatically about the proper chemical balance of a pool to James earlier – James who had made himself scarce. Alex could feel the difference in weight in the couch beside him, knew his friend wasn’t there anymore. He’d apologize to him tomorrow, for practically dry humping Pato on his couch during what was meant to be a mature Halloween party. Tonight, he didn’t care about niceties.

“You ready to get out of here?” he asks, when they manage to break apart for breath.

Pato nods where they’re foreheads are pressed together, looking at Alex through heavy lashes and with lips bitten red.

“Please,” he begs, like he’s been waiting for Alex to suggest the idea.

Alex is going to show him just how much the makeup, the costume, Pato’s easy confidence has been driving him crazy.

------------

Alex gets him spread out on the bed easy enough, Pato’s danced himself into a state of borderline exhaustion. He doesn’t protest when Alex picks him up in the foyer, just wraps his legs around Alex’s waist, lets Alex press him against the wall of the entryway and kiss him senseless. Alex’s arms strain under the weight of him, he figures he’ll count it as part of his workout for the week. If his trainer asks why he’s so sore, he’ll say he was doing reps with the weights in his garage.

There’s a moment, before he lays Pato out on the bed, when he’s still carrying him up the stairs and to the bedroom, where he half thinks about how dirty their sheets are about to get. He adds laundry to his list of Sunday chores. And then he drops Pato onto the mattress.

Pato bounces, reaches for Alex, pulls him down with his fingers looped through his beltloops in the same movement he lays back on the sheets. Alex goes, easy and pliant and oh so eager. He’s been holding out all night, letting Pato tease him and toy with him, thinking about all the ways he was going to take him apart in retaliation. Pato’s got a glint in his eye, the barest hint of a smirk, that tells Alex that was his exact intent.

Pato’s been putting on a show with the sole purpose of entertaining Alex, gone to lengths to ensure Alex knew that. He says as much when he’s got his head propped up on the pillows, one hand raised to rest on the back of Alex’s neck, fingers ghosting featherlight along the stubble short hair at the base of his skull. It’s a sensitive spot for Alex, sends a shudder down his spine. Pato knows this too, it’s exactly why he’s doing it.

“Did you like my costume?” he teases.

Alex has one hand resting on the mattress, propping himself above Pato, the other tracing the exposed line of his collarbone up to the hollow of his throat, feeling Pato’s heartbeat skip a beat when he cups his palm around his neck. If this is a night of playing with one another, Alex won’t be left out. He knows Pato likes the warm weight of a hand around his throat, the threat of oxygen being lost without it ever being fulfilled.

He leans down, until his lips are just barely brushing along Pato’s jaw, up to his ear.

“I’m gonna rip the damn thing off of you,” he promises.

Pato’s breath hitches, Alex can feel the stutter of it against his hand.

He swallows the gasp Pato lets out when he leans down to kiss him. It’s not the gentle kiss they share on easy mornings, as soft and easy as the sun peeking through the blinds. It’s the crushingly violent kiss of two men who have been toying with something the whole night, walking the fine line between decency and fucking in the bathroom for the quick thrill of it.

Alex bites Pato’s bottom lip, nips at it enough that Pato keens and twist beneath him. And then licks at the chapped skin with a quick swipe of his tongue. He takes the last lingering bits of the lip gloss with him, tastes the makeup when it mixes with his and Pato’s spit.

The grip Pato’s kept on the back of his neck has gone desperate, fingernails just starting to scratch at the sensitive skin. Alex arches into the touch.

“I need-“ Pato pants, in the brief moments where they break apart. He’s been thrusting up against Alex with a desperation that’s rapidly approaching frantic.

He’s quickly silenced by Alex’s reply of, “I know.” Before he’s leaning back in, slipping his tongue into Pato’s mouth to keep him quiet. He uses one hand to pin Pato’s hips to the mattress, makes sure there’s no chance of him gaining the relief he’s so desperately seeking. It’s a bit like payback, revenge for the knifes edge that Pato’s kept him on all night.

“Rossi,” Pato begs, sounds so pretty as he’s doing it.

Alex bites at his lip again, and then commands, “Wait.”

Pato is obedient, doesn’t chase Alex when he pulls away. The bunny ears had fallen somewhere in their journey from downstairs to here, put back on Pato’s head when they left the party and slipped off from the force of Alex slamming him up against the wall. He finds them in the hall, counts it as a small blessing that Brunner and Norbi have stayed sleeping downstairs and hadn’t gotten to them yet.

Pato is still waiting for him when he gets back to the room, propped up on one elbow. The position accentuates the line of his body, draws attention to his exposed thighs. The top of the costume has given up on trying to stay up, has rolled down beneath his chest. Pato’s made no move to fix it. He’s looking at Alex with eyes shining in the lamplight, pupils dark and wanting.

Alex figures two can play at this game, makes a show of working his way back up the bed. His hand traces the line of Pato’s leg, mouth following behind it. When he reaches Pato’s thigh he bites at it, just to feel the way Pato jumps beneath him. The feel of the bodysuit is like liquid, cheap costume silk that slides against his fingers when he follows the seam up Pato’s side, kissing along his hip, just below the exposed skin of his pectoral, making his way back up to Pato’s shoulder.

Pato’s breath hitches with each ghost of warm breath along exposed skin, each touch that Alex gives him. By the time Alex gets to the line of his neck, licking along the sweat-sharp skin, Pato’s gone. Alex takes one look at him, slightly parted lips and heavy-lidded eyes, and knows he’s slipped into that space that Alex is always aiming to take him. The brown of his iris is a barely there ring, almost completely swallowed by dilated black.

“You’re gonna keep these on,” he tells the man, slides the bunny ears back onto his head with careful fingers. Pato leans into the contact, the feel of Alex’s fingers tangling with his hair, and then nods. “Don’t let them come off.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good boy.”

Pato whines, Alex silences the sound with another kiss.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he promises, “Gonna take care of you.”

Contrary to his promise, he doesn’t rip the costume off. It’s cheap, would give easy under his hands if he wanted to, but the force of it isn’t what Alex wants right now. Pato’s been so good to him, did all this for him, he plans to show him how appreciative he is of that. He’s careful when he slides it from Pato’s body, works it down over his hips, his thighs, and then tosses it off the side of the bed.

Pato, fully naked, spread out beneath him, flushes. All confidence and easy bravado until he’s got the full attention of Alex studying every inch of him, and then it falters. Alex knows he’s prone to bouts of self-consciousness where his body is concerned, lingering remnants of childhood insecurity making itself known when he’s got nothing to hide behind.

Alex strips off his shirt, throws it in the same general direction he did Pato’s bodysuit, unbuttons his jeans and kicks those off too, tries to level the playing field so Pato doesn’t start to feel so insecure. He also makes sure Pato knows how good he looks, praises him just to see the way the blush spreading across his cheeks deepens.

“You know how insane you’ve been making me?” he asks, leans down to nose along Pato’s jaw, suck at the warm skin of his neck, pressing a kiss to the mole that sits just above his collarbone.

Pato shudders beneath him, “Sorry.”

“No you’re not.” Alex corrects him, both of them knowing that getting him to this point had been the whole intention of the night.

“No, I’m not.”

Alex keeps working his way down, kisses at another mole dotting the right side of his chest. Pauses only to hold Pato down where he’s started rolling his hips up again, and to speak so that his breath ghosts warm over Pato’s skin.

“I wanted to fuck you on that dancefloor,” he admits, just to hear the way Pato’s breath catches in his throat. “Wanted to rip that damn costume off you and fuck you right there. Show everyone who you belong to.”

Pato’s hand comes up where it had been fisted in the fabric of the comforter, grabs desperately at the back of Alex’s head, like he’s trying to ground himself. Alex kisses just below his sternum, works his way down the line of Pato’s abs, looks up at the man as he does so. Pato’s looking down at him, chest rising and falling with each half-panted breath he draws in through lips Alex has bitten red.

“You could have,” he says, around a groan when Alex licks at his v-line, just barely avoiding his cock that’s hard and twitching against his stomach, “Fucked me, there. I would have let you.”

“I know, but then everyone would know what you sound like moaning my name,” Alex shrugs, looks at Pato as he takes the base of his cock in his hand, “Didn’t feel like sharing that.”

“Alex,” Pato keens when Alex wraps his lips around the head of his cock, licks at the precum beading there. His hand on the back of Alex’s head tenses, like he’s trying to grab for hair that’s not there, being met with rough stubble. Sometimes Alex regrets not trying to let his hair grow out, thinks he would like the pinpricks of pain he would feel if Pato was able to pull at it.

“You can’t- I’m gonna-,” Pato tries, thrusts up on instinct so his cock sinks further into Alex’s waiting mouth. “Please, I don’t want to-.”

Alex pulls off, gives Pato the reprieve he’d been searching for. So maybe they’d been toying with each other for too long, maybe Pato was more gone than he might have originally thought.

“Breathe, baby,” he soothes, sits back on his heels and gives Pato a second to collect his senses. He keeps one hand on his thigh, closer to his knee than to his dick.

“Don’t wanna come,” Pato cries, “not yet.”

“Okay, you’re okay.”

Pato’s young enough, could probably go again if Alex got him off now, but that would require giving him enough time to recover. It’s close to three in the morning, Alex has been exhausted, powering through on the sheer need to sink his cock inside Pato and feel him around him. But at some point the exhaustion is going to win out for both of them.

“Think you can take my fingers?” he asks, which is the wrong thing to say if the way Pato groans is any inclination, cock twitching against his stomach, hard and red and leaking and looking oh so pretty. Alex didn’t think a dick could look pretty, figures it probably wouldn’t if he wasn’t so horny, but Pato’s is – just like the rest of him.

“Yes,” Pato finally pants out, arm thrown over his eyes, jaw tense, “Yeah, just, quickly, please.”

The bunny ears are sliding down his head, resting more on the pillow than they are on him, but Alex still commits the sight to memory. The black of the silk against the white of the pillowcase, the red of Pato’s cheeks when he pulls his arm away and meets Alex’s gaze. Next year Alex thinks he should add the collar and arm cuffs to the ensemble, the black bowtie would look good resting against the hollow of his throat. His eyeliner is smeared further, nearly gone, just faint lingering remnants of kohl at the corners of his eyes.

He’ll need to make sure that gets cleaned away before they fall asleep, figures Pato won’t be thinking about it once Alex is done with him. At least that’s Alex’s goal.

Careful, he leans over Pato. The lube in the nightstand is nearly gone, another thing to add to his list for tomorrow, but there’s enough for tonight. Pato watches him as he grabs it, looks at the line of his arm, follows up until he’s looking at Alex again. Alex leans down long enough to give him a quick kiss, just to taste him, just because he can.

“Keep these on, remember,” he says, flicks at the bent ear of one of the bunny ears while Pato nods beneath him. He’s quick to adjust them, pull them back down on his head while Alex smiles approvingly.

With his other hand he’s been warming the lube, making sure it’s not cold when he coats a finger in it and slides into Pato.

“Ah,” Pato cries out, hand grabbing at Alex’s bicep where he’s propped above him. His grip is tight, just like the rest of him.

“Easy, Pato,” Alex soothes. He waits until Pato opens his clenched shut eyes, until he breathes and some of the tension leaves his body. Because as hard as he is in his boxers, he’s got no intention of rushing Pato into anything.

“Okay?” He asks.

“Okay.”

It’s been a minute since they’ve done this. Pato having only just flown in for Halloween, coming in late last night, so there hadn’t been much time for anything other than a messy hand job in the shower. Pato coming with his head thrown back against Alex’s chest, while Alex categorized the image away into his growing mental folder of expressions he liked on Pato. He’d already added a few more tonight.

Alex pulls his finger out, slides it back in, repeats the motion until Pato’s grip on his arm loosens.

“Second, add a second,” Pato urges, thrusts down like he’s trying to encourage Alex.

Alex complies, slides a second finger in beside his first, works his way up to a third. Eventually the tension in Pato’s expression fades. It’s replaced with the open-mouthed pleasure of someone who’s single thought is on getting off. He’s practically riding Alex’s fingers, moans spilling from him as he arches his back off the mattress. The ears slip back down his head, he doesn’t even seem to notice.

Alex lets him enjoy himself for a minute, content to watch the way he slips further and further into his own pleasure. He manages to slide his boxers off with his free hand, push them below his ass so they end up wrapped around his knees. His own cock his just as hard and leaking as Pato’s when it springs free and rests against his stomach. He’d been so caught up in Pato’s pleasure that he’d been ignoring his own, until the cool air touched his dick and he realized he needed this just as bad.

“Baby,” he chokes out, hand wrapping around the base of his cock, fighting the urge to stroke.

Pato’s eyes blink open slowly at the endearment, find Alex looking at him with pure want and need and barely held-back lust. He whines at the sight of Alex’s dick.

“Can I-?”         

“Yes.”

Alex slides his fingers free, lines his dick up with Pato’s hole. Distantly he remembers he was meant to be teasing the man, getting back at him for fucking with him the whole night, but the thought quickly leaves his mind when he slides inside Pato. Any logical thought of the night is quickly replaced by the feeling of Pato’s fingers clutching desperately at his shoulders, trying to drag him down and closer. The pinprick feel of his fingernails digging into Alex’s skin, it’s what he’s been searching for the whole night, grounding and all consuming.

He falls forward and Pato catches him.

“Fuck,” he pants out, once he’s fully inside Pato, enveloped by the warm, tight, heat of him. “Jesus. Fuck.”

“You can move,” Pato says, “Please, move.”

Alex has his forehead resting against Pato’s shoulder, can feel Pato’s arms snaked around him, fingers scratching lightly at his shoulder blades. He hopes Pato leaves marks, hopes they’re still there come morning, hopes when he slides his t-shirt on that he’ll feel the sting of them. The first time he did, he’d spent half the morning apologizing, until eventually Alex admitted to liking it. It made him feel owned, wanted, needed – he’d asked Pato to dig deeper next time. In return, Pato had told him the hickey he’d left on his neck was welcome. Alex made sure he always left them where the collar of his fireproofs would hide them.

Now, Pato presses his nails deeper into Alex’s back, goads him into thrusting forward, hips stuttering. They both moan.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he pants, slides back out until he’s just barely in Pato before thrusting back in.

Pato chokes on whatever reply he’d been crafting. His head falls back on the pillow, bunny ears shifting with the movement, long column of his neck being exposed. Alex takes the moment to suck at the skin at the base of his neck, where his shoulder blade meets his carotid, bites at it so Pato cries out.

His fingers scratch deeper at Alex’s shoulder blades in retaliation. Alex hisses, feels the pain go through him like molten heat. 

“Do that again,” he commands, setting a steady rhythm fucking into Pato while he obeys.

The strangled noise that escapes Pato when Alex nails his prostate is loud, enough that Alex finds himself muffling the rest of Pato’s cries with a kiss that swallows it down. Pato lets him slide his tongue into his mouth, commit the taste of him to memory. When he pulls away Pato’s lips are slick with spit, drool dripping down his cheek and trailing down onto the pillow. There are tears just barely beading at the corners of his eyes, when they spill they track a line through the lingering eyeliner.

Alex wipes them away with a trembling pad of his thumb, leans down to kiss another.

Pato nods against his unspoken question of ‘are you okay?’ Alex feels the motion against his lips, kisses Pato’s temple in response.

“Good boy,” he commends, just to hear the way Pato keens at the praise.

“Close,” Pato whimpers. Alex can tell, can feel it. He thrusts back into Pato and feels Pato clench around him in response, feels his fingers as they skitter desperately across his back.

It’s Alex’s permission that tips him over.

“Come, baby. I got you.” Alex wraps a hand around his cock, strokes him the way he knows he likes, swiping his thumb over the head and twisting on the downstroke.

Pato comes with a cry, a shudder running through him. Alex holds him through the whole thing, whispers praises in his ear as he spills across his stomach. He follows along right after, feeling Pato tighten around him, and the tightening of his stomach, just barely managing to pull out before he’s coming and adding to the mess on Pato’s abdomen.

Pato watches him through heavy lidded eyes, lips quirking into an obvious smile, sated and happy and continuing to be a tease when he swipes up the mess of their come with his finger and sucks it into his mouth. The noise that escapes Alex is indecent, a choked off moan that might have been an attempt at Pato’s name.

“Fuck, I love you,” Alex pants when he collapses down on the bed beside Pato, chest heaving, breath still returning to his body. He can already feel all the places he’s going to be sore tomorrow. Maybe he’ll cancel training.

If Pato hears him, he doesn’t respond, nothing more than the twitch of his lips. He’s already closed his eyes, drifted off into that space he goes into after they fuck, all blissed out and heady with it. Alex reaches up to brush a curl of his hair back from his forehead, sweat soaked, and damp to the touch.

“I love you,” he says again, because it’s easy to do so, surprisingly so. The confession is not one that’s ever come to him easy, wasn’t something he ever thought would. But Pato’s still got the bunny ears just barely clinging to his head, lopsided and resting fully on the pillow, but still where Alex placed them.

-------------

“Do you like Halloween now?” Pato asks the next morning, well – afternoon.

Alex had slept through his alarms, woken to Pato propped up in the bed next to him. His arm was in Pato’s lap, the man tracing Alex’s tattoo, nail following the pattern of the ink on his forearm.

“What?”

“Halloween. Did you like it?” Pato asks again, reaching the end of the pulse line and tracing back up the design until he reaches the pink heart resting along Alex’s vein.

He’s wearing one of Alex’s shirts, some faded thing advertising a local brewery, it’s what Alex had managed to slip him into after cleaning him off last night. Alex can smell his own detergent, his cologne, but beneath it there’s the familiar scent of Pato, mixing with the stench of sex from sheets they still need to clean.

He blinks, wipes at the sleep that’s crusting at the corners of his eyes, tries to get a sense of what time it is. The sunlight through the blinds betray the truth, it’s not the early morning light Alex is used to waking to, but the midday sun that brings a warm heat to the room.

“I missed training,” he grumbles, less of a question, more of a statement. His breath tastes of stale beer, like the sweat he’d licked from Pato last night.

Pato nods.

“Fuck.”

“I texted James, he said to just let you sleep.”

Alex hates when his system is thrown off, when the structure he’s so carefully put into place slips, which is maybe why Pato’s tracing figure eights around his tattoo trying to keep him calm. It’s working, surprisingly. He’s warm, comfortable where his head is resting against Pato’s thigh.

“That okay?” Pato asks.

Alex thinks it through, figures most of the areas he was meant to be working on today he’d done a pretty good job of working last night.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” he amends, curls closer to Pato. He’s so warm, heat roiling off of him in waves, and Alex would normally hate it. But from Pato, it’s a comfort, it’s like a blanket.

Pato keeps tracing figures around his tattoo, following the line of his vein, the repetition is lulling him back into the sleep he’d just clawed his way out of. He doesn’t fight it.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Pato says, when Alex is on the brink of unconsciousness, when opening his eyes takes monumental effort, so he just keeps them closed.

“Mhmm?” he says.

Pato huffs out a laugh, goes back to tracing a nail along the pulse line of the tattoo.

“Halloween. Did I make you like it?”

Alex is already slipping into sleep when the answer falls from him like water, “You could make me like anything.”

[sterekbros]

12.1K | Fluff | Soulmates | Meet-Cute | Getting Together

a glimpse of you and me (12129 words) by Winchesterek Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Summary: “You write about soulmates?” Derek asked, sounding curious as he leaned in. “I didn't know there was a market for children’s books about that.” “Yeah, it’s starting to pick up traction the last few years. I know there weren't many books like this when I was a kid, but maybe things would’ve been different if there had been.” Stiles shrugged. Then he paused, wetting his lips as he tried to control his breathing. “Do…you believe in soulmates?”

A gift to @evanesdust for the Fall 2023 @sterek-exchange And @sterekweekly Turkey

~*~*~

It was move-in day. A day that Stiles was dreading because he didn't want to move their whole life into their new home on his own. Then again, that was why moving companies existed. And he’d made enough on his last published book that he could afford movers along with what he’d saved to buy their first home.

He was so proud of it and hoped that his daughter would love it just as much as he did, despite having to leave her friends when they moved back to his hometown, Beacon Hills. It had been a while since he’d been here, since High School really. He hadn’t been back for more than holiday visits and to bring Hazel to see her grandparents.

But now they’d be able to spend more time together as a family because he was back in his hometown rather than halfway across the country.

“Hazel!” Stiles shouted, looking around for his daughter as he picked up a box.

“Yes, daddy?!” She shouted back, coming into view. Where had she’d disappeared to for all of a minute? Stiles had no idea. She was fast and sneaky. He was always worried that she would get lost. It was one of his biggest fears.

“What were you doing?” He asked, hefting the box into his arms and looking down at her.

“Oh. I was looking around the yard.” She held up a dandelion. “And I picked you a flower!”

Stiles smiled, always fascinated by what the mind of a seven-year-old was entertained by. Then again, dandelion flowers turned into puffy weeds that made Stiles sneeze, so he was happy for her to pick them from the yard so he could eventually throw them away when they dried out on the kitchen counter.

“Let’s go inside so we can check out your room,” Stiles suggested, motioning with his head.

“Okay!” Hazel replied cheerily and then skipped toward the house.

“I get to pick any room?” She asked, voice tinny. He trailed after her, thanking her when she stepped inside and opened the door for him, but then she dropped it on his face so he struggled to open the screen door and get inside the house at the same time.

Then again, she was seven. She had the attention span of a bee.

Stiles put the box down once he was inside and closed the door behind him, looking around. It was a two-story home with a modest living room and a nice open-concept kitchen that overlooked the backyard where he would be able to see Hazel playing while he cooked.

And it had three baths. Not that Stiles thought they’d ever use three baths and the four rooms in the house, but maybe someday if he had more kids he’d put them to good use. Right now, Hazel was enough to give him a run for his money.

She was up the stairs before Stiles could answer her, no doubt already running to each room to look at them and choose the largest one. He was going to have to break her heart that the master bedroom wasn't going to be hers.

He found her in the largest secondary bedroom, looking out the window and into the front yard. He tapped on the door jam with his knuckle to alert her he was there before he asked, “Is this the one, pumpkin?”

“I think so.” She didn't look at him, too focused on whatever had caught her attention outside. “Daddy, who is that?”

Stiles walked up behind her and looked out the window, searching for what she was looking at. His eyes landed on a man in the driveway of the house next to theirs, working on what looked like a motorcycle.

“It looks like that’s probably our neighbor next door. And he’s doing something with a motorcycle…” Stiles couldn’t help but stare a little too long because the guy was traditionally attractive and the shirt he was wearing didn't leave much to the imagination with how it stuck to his body from what Stiles could imagine was from his sweat.

“Can we go see him?” Hazel asked, looking up at him with bright, curious eyes.

“Not today, sweetheart. We need to finish unpacking boxes and eat lunch. And we should get all of your stuff ready in your room so you can sleep in here,” Stiles replied, running his hand over the top of her head.

“Is Mommy coming over later?” She asked, her red hair shining in the sunlight that trickled through the window.

“Maybe. I’ll call her and ask to see if she’s busy. You know your mommy works a lot, but she loves you.” That seemed to tide Hazel over as she nodded and looked out the window again, leaving Stiles to shake his head.

They’d explained to her early on as best they could that mommies and daddies weren’t always together, especially since his best friend Lydia had done him a solid and was the surrogate for the child Stiles had always wanted. She’d even donated one of her eggs to him because she said her genetics were superior and needed to be passed on. He always got a laugh out of that, but he didn't think she was kidding when she’d said it.

So, Lydia took Hazel on weekends when she could and they chatted all the time on FaceTime. They had family dinners when Lydia was in town and Hazel didn't seem any worse for it. It worked for them. Stiles had Hazel full time and he was perfectly fine with that because he was the one that wanted her and practically begged Lydia to give her to him.

He owed her more than he ever could repay her for the little girl in front of him now. He also cursed her name half the time too when Hazel was too smart for her own good and left Stiles often confused about what to tell her. She was quick and her wit was sharp. Stiles didn't want to think about what she might be like when she was a teenager.

“Come on, pumpkin. Let’s go get some of your boxes from downstairs while the moving men unload the rest of our stuff from the truck,” Stiles said, running his hand over the top of her head.

“Okay, daddy. Then I can unpack!” She smiled up at him and then turned around and hurried off downstairs. He could hear her trampling the whole way down. That was going to be something Stiles had to get used to.

They busied themselves moving the smallest boxes into Hazel’s room while the moving company finished unpacking the truck and dispersing the boxes to the correct rooms. Stiles left Hazel in her room to unpack her boxes while we headed downstairs to make lunch. Two sandwiches later, one without the crusts and with extra pickles, the other being Stiles’ which he would say is a normal sandwich, and Stiles was ready for a break.

“Hazel! Lunch is ready!” Stiles waited and listened, but didn't hear little feat trampling down the stairs. “Hazel?”

Stiles frowned and went upstairs to check on Hazel, not finding her there.

Oh, god.

They hadn't even been at their new home for twenty-four hours and Stiles had already lost his daughter. Inside their house.

He hadn't heard Hazel sneak by, so Stiles checked all the rooms, the bathrooms and anywhere else he could think of before heading outside to check the backyard. He didn't find her there so he hurried outside to check the front yard. The moving company had already packed up and left.

And the only thing in the driveway was Stiles’ blue Jeep.

Stiles sighed in relief when he heard Hazel's tinny, high-pitched voice nearby.

He followed it, finding Hazel standing in the driveway next door with their hot motorcycle-owning neighbor. Stiles was going to regret this, especially if he fell all over himself talking to him.

“Hazel,” Stiles said, walking toward them. “I was worried when I couldn't find you.”

Hazel looked up at Stiles with her bright eyes, red curls tumbling down her shoulders. “Sorry, daddy. I wanted to talk to Mr. Derek!”

When Stiles’ gaze returned to Mr. Derek, he was surprised to see an almost blinding smile that made his eyes sparkle like a kaleidoscope. Damnit. This wasn't good for Stiles. At all.

“Uh, hi. I’m sorry my daughter was bothering you…while you’re working on your motorcycle.” Stiles kicked himself internally.

“No, no. It’s completely fine. I needed a break anyway.” Derek cleaned his hands with a rag, stained with oil.

“I’m Derek Hale,” he added, reaching his partially dirty hand out in offering to Stiles. Stiles took it, giving Derek a firm shake, and tried not to drool on him before releasing Derek’s hand. “Hazel was telling me that you two are my new neighbors.”

Obviously, Derek couldn't have missed the moving truck, but Stiles liked how he entertained his daughter and their conversation. “Oh, yeah. I used to live in Beacon Hills growing up and I’ve been away for a while, but I thought it was time to move back home.”

Derek nodded, still smiling as his gaze glanced over Stiles. “Well, welcome to the neighborhood—-”

Oh. Right. Stiles hadn't given Derek his name. “Stiles. Stilinski.”

Derek’s face looked thoughtful as he asked, “As in Sheriff Stilinski?”

“That’s the one.” Stiles chuckled. “He really should retire, but I think he’d be bored if he wasn't working. He likes to keep busy, even when he takes time off.”

Derek laughed and god, Stiles wanted to see more of that.

“I can understand that,” Derek replied, tossing the rag onto a toolbox next to his motorcycle. “I try to keep busy, but it’s easy to do when I’m at the firehouse most of the time.”

Stiles smoothed his hand over Hazel’s hair as she leaned into him, knowing that her big ears were taking in everything that Derek was saying. “Firehouse? So you’re a firefighter?”

“Yeah. I wanted to be one as a kid. I guess I grew up and managed to follow my dreams.” Derek chuckled again and met Stiles’ eyes.

For some reason, Stiles hadn't expected that. “Wow. That must be exciting.”

“It’s…interesting, for sure. I can say that the job is never boring.” Derek leaned over and closed the toolbox, which Stiles took advantage of and checked out Derek’s ass, which was very toned and unfair. Probably because of how much he worked out due to being a fireman.

“Well, we should let you finish up here and get back to our place. I made lunch,” Stiles replied, looking down at Hazel. And she was far too fascinated with Derek already. He was sure she was thinking up a thousand questions to ask him about being a fireman the second she got the chance.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I didn't mean to keep you,” Derek replied as he straightened and turned to them. He reached his hand down to Hazel and said, “It was nice meeting you, Miss Hazel. I’m sure we’ll see each other another time.”

“We will!” Hazel confirmed as she shook Derek’s hand. Stiles chuckled.

“Come on pumpkin, before your sandwich is soggy.” Stiles scooped Hazel into his arms and perched her on his hip, his eyes casting back to Derek, who was smiling at him still.

“It was nice meeting you, Stiles. Welcome to the neighborhood.” Derek’s eyes were downright sinful and Stiles had to calm himself as warmth spread through him at Derek’s look. He wasn't even sure if Derek liked dudes.

“Thank you. It was nice meeting you too… I’m sure we’ll see you around.”

“You can bet on it,” Derek replied and picked up his toolbox, then headed off toward his open garage.

He really needed to get his thoughts under control or they’d never make it through lunch. He jiggled Hazel and she giggled before they headed off back to their house.

Stiles had a really good feeling about being home again. Like it was all going to work out perfectly.

Chapter 2

Stiles heard all too familiar giggles from the aisle over and he couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face. He couldn't remember how long it had been since he and Derek started dating, but it seemed just like it was yesterday.

He grabbed a couple of boxes of stuffing and put them into his basket, followed by two cans of cranberry sauce and a can of mushroom soup so they could make turkey gravy.

Stiles loved the holidays, especially Thanksgiving and Christmas. His Dad would be coming over, along with Derek’s family and they were going to have the biggest Thanksgiving dinner that Stiles had had since he was around 7 years old. He wished that his mom could be here, too. Stiles thought she would love Derek as much as he did.

He walked down the aisle and turned the corner, seeing Derek carrying Hazel under one arm like she was a bag of potatoes while she wiggled around and laughed. Stiles wasn't surprised. She often thought playing games in stores was the funnest thing. Stiles, on the other hand, was always afraid that he’d lose her. And god, he would never forgive himself.

Then again, Derek was always really good at keeping an eye on her. He walked up behind them and tickled Hazel as she squirmed and bucked, so Derek put her down with a grunt.

“She’s definitely your daughter,” Derek teased as Stiles wrapped his arm around Derek’s waist and kissed Derek’s cheek.

“I can verify that I was a wild child,” Stiles replied with a chuckle as Hazel climbed into the cart and sat down.

“I think you’re getting a little big for that,” Stiles told her.

“I’m only 9, Daddy,” Hazel replied, sounding annoyed like she often did these days. Hazel was 9 and it had been two years since they’d moved into their new house. Derek was rarely at his own place anymore and they’d been considering turning it into a rental for extra income. Not that they needed it, but it was a nice thought.

“And 9 is a little old to be riding in the grocery cart. Where are we going to put the turkey?”

“You can carry it!” Hazel said it like it was the simplest answer in the world.

Stiles frowned. “I’m not carrying one turkey, much less the three we’re going to need for our family dinner.”

Hazel sighed. “Fine. Can we at least get the stuff for our pie now? You know, the one that you said grandma used to make when you were little?”

“Of course. Why don't you grab us some cool whip from the freezer right there?” Stiles suggested, hoping that it would tide Hazel over since she’d be helping.

“I can do that,” Hazel said with a nod, climbed out of their cart, and went over to the freezer.

Stiles set his basket in the cart and turned back to Derek. “Hey there,” he said and leaned in to kiss Derek. The kiss was soft and sweet and Stiles wished he could kiss Derek longer, but it would definitely be indecent in the grocery store.

“Hey,” Derek replied, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You find everything?” Derek’s hands fell to Stiles’ hips as he tugged him closer.

“I think I got everything other than the pie crusts and the cool whip. I figured Hazel might want to get those.” He wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck, his fingers playing with Derek’s hair at the base of his skull. He knew that Derek loved it when he did that and if Derek could, Stiles thought he would purr.

“Good. Then we’re almost done getting everything. We just need the turkeys.” Derek gave Stiles another peck that sent shivers down Stiles’ spine, like the kiss was a promise of more.

Stiles sighed, letting the happiness settle in his chest. “I love you, Derek. So much.”

“I love you too,” Derek replied softly. “And our little family.”

And Stiles hoped that one day, their family might grow. After all, he did have extra bedrooms in his house that he needed to fill.

***

Stiles jerked awake and held his chest, his heart pounding in his ears. It felt like he was ripped from another life. He reached up to touch his head. Stiles was still disoriented, swimming in and out of his dream, trying to figure out what was real and what was a fantasy.

What the hell had that been?

He’d never felt anything like that before. Nothing had ever been that real. His dreams were just dreams and he'd never dreamt of someone he’d just met before.

They were also dreams that Stiles was told that he’d never have. After all, Stiles didn't have a soulmate and he was told that he never would. It just wasn't in the cards for him. So they for sure weren’t soulmate dreams. That was ludicrous.

He sighed as he laid back in bed, letting the mattress hug his body, sinking into the foam. He breathed in and out slowly, letting his heart calm and his brain sort out what had been a fantasy and the real world.

But all he could think about was Derek. Derek that had been with them at the grocery store like it was any other day. Derek that had a smile just for him. Derek whom he was in love with in his dream. DerekDerekDerek.

Stiles knew he was really attracted to Derek but he needed to get it together. He wasn't crazy and he wasn't desperate. It wasn't as if he hadn’t had relationships and that men and women hadn’t been interested in him. He just wasn't in one right now and didn't really have any plans to be. His life was focused on Hazel and his career and Stiles was completely okay with that.

His mind wandered… and Stiles ran a hand over his face as if it would push away thoughts of Derek.

He was screwed and not in the best way.

Fuck.

Chapter 3

It had been six months since Hazel had accosted Derek, making him tell her all about his motorcycle and what exactly he’d been doing to it. He’d been changing the oil, something that Stiles hadn’t found out until days later when he’d chatted with Derek at their mailboxes.

Now he’d often find Hazel chatting away with Derek in the driveway when he was outside working on his motorcycle, or when he was in his front yard taking care of the bushes or mowing the grass. She’d even managed to get Derek to play soccer with her, which Stiles had no idea where she’d gotten a soccer ball from. So likely it was Derek’s.

Stiles was not athletic. At all. So maybe it was for the best that Derek had been the one that she’d talked into playing soccer with her that day.

They hadn’t played soccer since.

Hazel’s interests were fickle like that since she was only seven years old.

But really, Stiles hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Derek. Especially since every time he spoke to Derek, he had another dream. It was always something so domestic and simple, something so mundane that it would be boring for most people. That was what made it so awesome for Stiles, though. It was like Derek just fit into his life. Like he had always been there and belonged there.

Stiles had stopped believing in soulmates a long time ago. When he was seventeen he’d visited a psychic, one that told him that he didn't have a soulmate. At the time he’d been so lonely that he needed to know if he’d ever find his soulmate. If he’d ever find someone that would be his world. After that, he’d given up on soulmates. He lived his life like a normal person, never expecting to meet their soulmate.

It happened sometimes. A person would have no soulmate, or people could have multiple. Or maybe their soulmate would just end up being their best friend and it would be platonic instead of romantic. No one ever really knew how the whole soulmate thing worked, but it seemed like it had a mind of its own. How crazy was that?

Stiles looked through the mail as he lingered by the mailbox. He didn't know if Derek was home since he worked the oddest hours. Derek would be on for 48 or 72 hours, then he would be off for 24 hours.

Not that Stiles was keeping track of that. Of course he wasn't. Which is why he didn't really know if Derek was home. Maybe he should keep track of Derek’s schedule if he was going to try bumping into him more often. That would probably be the best idea. Although, it was also slightly on the crazy side. He wasn't a stalker.

Stiles faintly wondered if Derek had been having dreams about him, too. Sometimes someone’s soulmate wasn't always the other person's soulmate. Stiles wondered if Derek had ever thought about soulmates before.

He had to have, right? At some point in his life? Everyone did…

It would kind of be a weird conversation starter, so Stiles dropped it and sighed, closing his mailbox. He quietly hoped that Derek would be home later and that Hazel would sneak off to talk to him just so Stiles could find her and have a reason to talk to Derek.

He was a terrible person who used his daughter’s curiosity in Derek just so he could talk to their hot next-door neighbor.

Stiles walked up the pathway to his house and climbed the steps, heading inside.

Hazel was out with Lydia for the day, so he had some time to himself for work. He tossed the mail on a side table and grabbed his tablet from the couch, falling back onto it and resting his head against fluffy pillows. Stiles could also use a nap, but he had to turn in a few pages at the end of the week to his publisher. Just an update of what he’d been working on since he had gotten an advance on his next publishing contract.

Stiles opened a canvas and looked at the sketch of a little wolf and fox. It was a story of them becoming fast friends and falling in love. It was probably one of the cutest stories he’d written in a while. He wasn't sure if he should be thankful or not that children’s publishing companies pushed for books about soulmates, so children could learn about them early on.

Stiles knew that the fox and the wolf would have a tough time, especially because they were different, but they were soulmates, and children learning about differences and challenges was always a good thing.

He started coloring in the scene, focusing on the wolf for a while, painting his black fur, and giving him minute details that didn't really matter in a children’s book. He smiled at the wolf and stroked his finger over the image.

“At least you have a soulmate little wolf,” Stiles said softly, then frowned when there was a knock on the front door.

He glanced at the time on his phone. It wasn't nearly time for Lydia to bring Hazel back and he wasn't expecting anyone. He closed his tablet and tossed it back onto the couch, then headed to the front door.

Stiles opened it, shocked to see Derek standing there.

“Uh, hi.” Derek smiled, shifting there awkwardly on Stiles’ porch. Then he wiggled something in his hand and Stiles’ eyes dropped to see a package. “It looks like this was delivered to my house but it’s yours.”

“Oh.” Of course Derek was here to do something as simple as return a package to him. It wasn't like he was there for Stiles. “Thanks.”

Stiles reached out for the package, his fingers brushing against Derek’s as it was handed over. He might have lingered a little too long during the exchange, but he told himself that was because he wanted to make sure that he had a good hold on his package before taking it from Derek.

If he were using an emoji right now, he would definitely be using a side-eyed Discord dog emoji in response to the lies he told himself.

“Would you like to come in?” Stiles asked, opening the door more and stepping aside. Why he was inviting Derek inside? Stiles had no idea. He just knew that he didn't want Derek to leave.

“Oh, sure.” Derek rubbed his hands on his pants, then stepped through the threshold. He looked around as Stiles closed the door. “Wow. I guess I wasn't sure what I expected it to look like in here, but it’s nearly the same design as my house.” Derek paused. “The layout, I mean.”

“Yeah, I figured they would all look pretty similar. I think when they made the neighborhood the developer had very little differences in the main layouts of the houses. It was really based on how many rooms there were. At least, that’s what I found online when I was researching. And by researching, I mean avoiding drawing,” Stiles rambled.

“You like to draw?” Derek asked, pushing his hands into his pockets as he faced Stiles.

Stiles smiled and nodded. “It’s kind of my job. I write and illustrate children’s books.” Which was probably what was inside the box now that Stiles was thinking about it. Derek looked star-struck when Stiles’ gaze flicked from Derek to the box in his own hands.

“Wow. That’s…amazing. I guess it wasn't expecting that either.” Derek’s cheeks were flushed and the tips of his ears were pink as Stiles studied him.

“What were you expecting?” Stiles asked curiously, wondering what Derek thought of him. But if Derek was expecting something, then at least he was thinking of Stiles, right?

“I’m not sure,” Derek replied, shifting from foot to foot. Stiles wondered why Derek seemed nervous. He never seemed nervous when they’d previously talked.

“I guess most people never expect me to be a children’s book writer and illustrator. So I shouldn't really be surprised that you thought I’d do something else for a living.” Stiles picked at the tape on his package.

“I guess because your father is the Sheriff, I thought you’d get into something doing with law enforcement. Maybe a lawyer,” Derek added, his gaze focused on Stiles.

Stiles laughed, nodding. “Yeah, I guess I can see that. At least, the law enforcement part. At one point I wanted to work down at the station and possibly become a detective. I wasn't sure what kind of detective. And on another occasion, I entertained the idea of being an FBI agent.”

“FBI, huh? I guess your life would be a lot different if you did that for a living…” Derek rocked on his feet but he didn't turn away from Stiles nor look away.

Stiles tilted his head, thinking about that. His life might look different and he might not have the stability to have Hazel. Which meant that there was no choice. He wouldn't have it any other way.

“I guess it would be a lot different,” Stiles said and nodded. He licked his lips, the back of his mind itching to tell Derek he’d been dreaming about him. “Do you want something to drink?” he asked instead. Damnit.

“I’d love something to drink,” Derek said with a soft smile, the offer seeming to relax something in both of them. “Water is fine.”

Stiles tipped his chin toward the kitchen. “It’s this way, but if your house is almost exactly like mine, then you’d know that.”

It was Stiles’ turn to flush for no reason and he kicked himself mentally. He walked with Derek to the kitchen and set his package down on the island. “So you’re off for the next 24 hours?”

“Yes. I just got off shift.” Derek leaned against the island as Stiles grabbed a glass from the cupboard.

“Ice?”

“Sure.”

Stiles filled the glass with ice from the dispenser and topped it off with water before turning and handing it to Derek. “You must be pretty tired, then.”

“A little. I’m still running on adrenaline from our last call. But it will wear off in a bit.” Derek took the glass, not pulling it away from Stiles’ hand immediately. “Thank you…”

“Of course.” Stiles smiled almost shyly. “It’s the least I could do for you returning my package.”

Once Derek took the glass, Stiles looked at the box again and grabbed a butter knife. He cut the tape and set the knife aside before opening it. Sure enough, there were some proofs for his next book.

“Are those yours?” came Derek’s voice over his shoulder. It really shouldn't take Stiles’ breath away and send a shiver down his spine with how close Derek was now.

“Uh, yeah. Well, the beginning of a series that I’m working on.” Stiles pulled a book out and smiled as he smoothed his thumb over the black wolf on the front cover. “It’s about a fox and a wolf meeting and finding out they’re soulmates.”

Well, there it was. The topic had been thrown out into the open. There was no avoiding it now unless Stiles wasn't Derek’s soulmate despite Derek being his. Then Derek would have never seen glimpses of their possible future together.

“You write about soulmates?” Derek asked, sounding curious as he leaned in. “I didn't know there was a market for children’s books about that.”

“Yeah, it’s starting to pick up traction the last few years. I know there weren't many books like this when I was a kid, but maybe things would’ve been different if there had been.” Stiles shrugged. Then he paused, wetting his lips as he tried to control his breathing. “Do…you believe in soulmates?”

Derek looked hesitant, like he was searching for the right answer. After a few moments, Derek said, “I’ve always loved the idea of soulmates…but just because you have a soulmate doesn't mean it will work out, or that it will be romantic. It could be platonic. That doesn't mean you can't fall in love with someone that’s not your soulmate. That you can't have a life with someone and be happy if they aren’t your soulmate.”

Derek set the glass on the counter and shifted to lean his hip against it, standing next to Stiles. There were only scant inches between them, which had Stiles’ heartbeat speeding up. If Derek had supernatural hearing, Stiles’ heart would completely betray him.

“I think soulmates could make it easier if you’re compatible with the person. At least, if you’re mutual soulmates. I know it doesn't work out for everyone that way,” Derek added.

“So…you haven't found your soulmate yet?” Stiles asked carefully, knowing he was treading water and hoping he wasn't about to drown.

“Well…I wasn't sure that I had one,” Derek replied. “I, uh—also wasn't out there searching for my soulmate either. I figured if I ever met them, then it would happen because it was supposed to. I’ve never signed up for those soulmate dating apps or anything.”

So…then maybe Stiles wasn't Derek’s soulmate even if Derek was his. His heart sank at the thought and he drew in a shaky breath. “Yeah, well, I haven't used those sites either.”

The silence hung between them like it was something fragile that neither of them wanted to break. Stiles wasn't sure how long it lasted until Derek’s words broke into his thoughts with, “I had dreams about you after the first day we met, Stiles.”

Stiles looked at Derek, confused. Had he just heard what he thought he heard? “What?” Stiles asked, his mind fuzzy with hope and his heart breaking if it hadn't been.

“After we met that first day, the day you moved in. I had a dream about you and Hazel.” Derek took a deep breath. “We were at a grocery store shopping for a family Thanksgiving dinner.” He looked like he was waiting for Stiles to process what he’d said and Stiles’ mind was spinning.

Derek had had the same dream he had. Of them being a family, of being in love. Of spending the rest of their lives together. Because that’s exactly what Stiles had dreamt and felt then, too.

“Really?” Stiles asked, still refusing to believe it. He couldn't let himself believe that it was true. That his whole life had been a lie up until now. That he actually had a soulmate. “I—I— I had the same dream,” Stiles breathed.

“And your family was going to come over. And my dad. We were going to have Thanksgiving here.” Stiles slipped back into that moment with Derek, standing in the middle of the frozen section aisle while Hazel went to grab the cool whip for his mother's pie. He remembered the way Derek’s lips felt against his, how Derek’s voice sounded when he told Stiles that he loved him.

“Stiles?” Derek asked gently, pulling Stiles from his thoughts again. “Are you okay?”

Stiles ran a hand over his face, trying to push away his memories of their shared dream. Did that mean that Derek had shared Stiles’ other dreams? “Yeah, I’m okay. Sorry… it’s just a lot to process.”

Derek nodded, crossing his arms and shifting to lean back against the island, his body turned away from Stiles. “Yeah… I understand. I wasn't sure if I should say anything…”

“It’s not that I don't believe in soulmates,” Stiles was quick to assure Derek, “It’s just that I didn't think that I had one. So, it’s a little more to process than just finding out… I guess, like, normally.”

Derek was nodding, but he didn't say anything right away. “Well,” he breathed out. “How about we start out by going out on a date? I mean, if you’re into guys. I guess I should have asked that first…”

Stiles laughed softly, brushing a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I am. It would kinda be weird if I wasn't and my soulmate was a dude, huh?”

Derek chuckled. “Well, I guess in that case we could have been really good friends… and maybe great neighbors.”

Stiles laughed again, then he breathed out all the tension he didn't know he’d been holding in. “You’re into dudes, right?”

Derek smiled at him like it was a given. “Well, yeah. I wouldn't have suggested we go out on a date if I wasn't.”

“I just had to make sure. You never really know with these things. I didn't want to assume.” Stiles looked down at the book in his hands that he’d completely forgotten about. “Did you want to look at the book? I’m working on the second one in the series now.”

“I’d love to,” Derek replied, uncrossing his arms and reaching out to take the book from Stiles’ hands. “So, you said it’s about a fox and a wolf?”

“Yeah…” Stiles turned to lean back against the island, scooting just a little closer to Derek as he looked at the book in Derek’s hands. “Obviously the black one is the wolf,” he added, reaching out to brush over the wolf with his finger. “And the fox is a red fox.”

Stiles didn't know why he was telling Derek what he could see for himself. “They meet in the forest and spend the day together and promise to meet again before winter sets in.” He smiled as he studied the cover. “It takes a long time, between getting ready for winter and taking care of the pack, but within that time they dreamed of each other and of what their lives could be like if they stayed.”

Derek opened the book, looking at each page like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Like maybe it was their story.

“And they decide to winter together instead of being separated again.” Stiles smiled as he touched the opening of the wolf den on the page. “And then they never parted after.”

“So, the second book?” Derek asked as he looked through the rest of the pages. “What is that one about?”

Stiles shrugged and smiled. “Life, I guess. Just because someone is your soulmate doesn't mean you won't have challenges, right?”

“Right,” Derek agreed and closed the book. “I think it’s a really great book. And I can't wait to see what you come up with for the second book in the series. How many are going to be in it?”

“I’m not sure. But right now I have at least three planned out. I guess it depends on the publishing company and if they want more books in the series. I can always create new characters, though, for another series. New stories. New lessons.” Stiles bumped his shoulder with Derek’s and Derek handed the book back to him.

“I’d love to see your other work sometime,” Derek replied, not pulling away as Stiles rested their shoulders together.

“Yeah, I have other books I can show you. I don't think I can share what I’m working on right now, but after it’s all finalized I can share then.” He took the book from Derek and set it on the counter behind them.

“So…where are we going on a date?” Stiles felt his cheeks heat at the question, telling himself he shouldn't be nervous about this.

“I’ll leave that up to you,” Derek replied softly, smiling at Stiles. “We can work something out.”

Stiles had always believed that soulmates were forever and he couldn't wait to explore that possibility with Derek.

Derek was right. They’d work it out.

Chapter 4

Stiles checked his watch and sighed, looking around Hazel’s classroom and the other 25 first graders in the room. Today they were going on a field trip and Stiles had volunteered to be a parent chaperone.

He was already regretting it.

Apparently, there were no other parental chaperones. So, Stiles looked at the list of names in his hand and counted the kids again to make sure they had the correct amount before they all filed onto the school bus.

Their field trip was a short ride and Hazel had been talking non-stop about it. They were visiting a local firehouse to see the trucks and learn about fire safety. Stiles continuously reminded her that it might not even be Derek’s firehouse and if it was, Derek might not even be working when they got there. Or Derek might be out on a call saving someone from a fire.

Hazel promptly ignored everything Stiles said, insisting that Derek would be there because she was ‘going to see him be a fireman today!’

Stiles couldn't deny that he wasn't excited at the possibility of seeing Derek all dressed up in his work clothes. He hadn't seen Derek in anything related to his job yet, not that Stiles didn't like Derek’s regular clothes. But he’d thought about Derek on more than one occasion dressed up as a fireman. It had definitely fueled some of his late-night thoughts.

It had been two months since they’d started dating. It was difficult since he had Hazel full time and Derek’s schedule was a little crazy, but they’d found the time. Even if it was only when Derek came over after his shift while Hazel slept.

They snuggled and fell asleep together on the couch probably a little too often.

Too often for Derek not to have kissed him yet.

Stiles had been thinking about kissing Derek for weeks at this point on a daily basis. He just wasn't sure how to go about it and Stiles was worried that Hazel would wake up and catch them in the act. She’d never seen Stiles kiss anyone, so that would be a whole conversation in itself.

After he helped settle the kids into their seats, he took a seat at the front and they were off.

The drive was less than fifteen minutes to the firehouse and the kids were way too excited and in a chatter as they started unloading them. Stiles tried to keep an eye on everyone, even as Hazel took his hand and the kids gathered around in a small group with the teacher in front.

“Alright, class! We are going into the firehouse and they’re going to show us the firetruck after we discuss fire safety.”

With that, they filed into the building as quickly as 26 first graders and two adults could. Once they were inside the cramped space that looked like a lounging area that also had a kitchen on one side, they were greeted by three firefighters. Stiles glanced at their name tags, which read: Erica, Boyd, and Isaac.

The blond bombshell stepped out from the group. “Look at all these cuties!” she exclaimed excitedly, beaming at the kids. “I am Miss Erica and these are my two helpers, Isaac and Boyd.”

All the kids said hi in near unison and Stiles chuckled as he watched them explain fire safety to the kids. Then the blond guy, Isaac, acted like he was on fire, fake yelling and all before he dropped to the ground. Boyd, with an unamused look on his face, took off his coat and covered Isaac with it to pat him down. Erica narrating the whole scene was almost just as assuming as watching the two men act it out. The kids were enthralled by the demonstration.

All of them except for Hazel, of course. Stiles looked down when he felt Hazel tug his hand.

Her eyes were big and bright, looking expectantly at Stiles like he had all the answers in the world. Which he definitely didn't.

“Daddy…are we going to see Mr. Derek?” she asked, which made Stiles sigh. Again.

“I don't know, pumpkin. I told you that he might not be here when we got here. Right now it looks like we have some fun people showing your class about stopping, dropping, and rolling if you catch on fire, though.”

Hazel looked sad and uninterested. “I already know how to do that Daddy. We talked about it at school with the nurse.”

Of course they did.

Stiles glanced up at a tiny girl, who announced herself as Kira, came into the room and started separating the students. It looked like she was a paramedic and not a firefighter.

“Okay! Sir, you will be with me and I’m going to show your group the ambulance. Our firehouse is assigned an ambulance that makes emergency runs on its own but also assists the fire trucks. In addition, they back us up when we leave the firehouse on separate calls, just in case we need extra help,” Kira started as she motioned for the group of six kids that had been corralled with them toward the ambulance parked in the bay.

When they reached the back of the ambulance, a dark-haired woman was sitting inside with the doors open. Her smile was warm, her lips red, and her eyes sharp as she greeted the kids. “I’m Laura. Welcome to our firehouse. We’re so excited to have you here with us today!”

Stiles’ brows furrowed as he studied her. She looked frighteningly familiar, but he’d never met her before.

Kira and Laura helped the kids into the back of the ambulance, showing them the various tools inside. Hazel seemed more interested in talking to Laura, rapidly firing a million questions at her. Laura didn't seem to mind, like she was used to it.

His daughter had a way of wrapping every person she met around her little fingers and Laura looked like no exception. It was a good thing that they’d only interact for the field trip, otherwise Hazel might have another person out there willing to do her bidding for whatever she asked. Stiles chuckled to himself.

“Stiles,” came a voice from behind him and he turned to see Derek there, half-dressed in his fire get-up. He was also dirty, as if he’d just come from a call.

“Oh, hey,” Stiles replied, his smile growing. “I didn't know you were here.”

“I just got back,” Derek replied, motioning to the fire truck parked right outside the bay where other firemen were inventorying.

“We haven't been here that long,” Stiles assured him, tilting his head and taking in Derek’s appearance more. It really was hotter than Stiles expected it to be, especially because Derek was sweaty and had soot on his skin. “You okay?”

Derek nodded, smiling tiredly at Stiles. “Yeah. Just had a hard call. I can't exactly give you details, but everything worked out.” He walked over, reaching out to hold Stiles’ hand and tug him closer. All Stiles wanted to do was kiss him, but he managed to control himself as Derek wrapped his arms around him and buried his face against Stiles’ neck. Stiles circled his arms around Derek and held him, giving him whatever comfort he needed.

“Mr. Derek!” Hazel shouted, pulling Stiles from his thoughts. Well, there went the whole trip. He couldn't blame Hazel for being infatuated with Derek. Stiles was too. It was more than that for Stiles, though.

Derek chuckled and drew back, letting Stiles go, and looked down at Hazel who was already next to them, raising her arms excitedly. He picked her up and perched her on his hip easily. “Hey, Peep,” Derek teased.

“That’s not my name, Mr. Derek,” Hazel replied, sounding offended. Derek had given her the nickname within the first couple of weeks because he’d said Hazel’s voice sounded like a little bird. Stiles thought it was cute. Hazel did not. He supposed it could have been worse. He could have called her Chirp. Stiles really tried not to laugh to himself.

“Alright, alright. Miss Hazel,” Derek replied. “How are you enjoying your field trip?”

“Good, now that you’re here!” Hazel hugged Derek and Stiles thought it was the most adorable thing, but she would likely need a change of clothes with the soot that clung to Derek transferring onto Hazel.

She pulled back and looked him over, then frowned. “You’re stinky,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“Hazel, that’s not nice,” Stiles chided, but he was smirking and biting his lip. “We don't say those things to people.”

“But he is,” she replied and shrugged.

Derek laughed. “Well, I was going to take a shower so I wouldn't be stinky, but I wanted to come say hi to you before I did that.” He glanced toward the ambulance and raised his chin at Laura.

Oh. Oh. Well, Stiles knew now why she looked familiar. She looked nearly identical to Derek.

“I see you met my sister, Laura.” Derek’s gaze returned to Stiles and he couldn't believe that he’d just met Derek’s sister. They hadn't really talked about meeting each other’s families yet.

“I didn't know she worked with you.” And why Derek hadn't mentioned it before.

“We both got our EMT certificates in high school, but I decided I wanted to become a fireman. Laura was happy with staying in an ambulance. She gets to help a lot of people that way. At least on a daily basis.” Derek jiggled Hazel and she giggled, holding onto him.

Stiles looked back over where Laura was letting the kids hear her heart through a stethoscope. Yeah, they were definitely related. And the genetics were strong. Derek had told him she constantly reminded him she was fifteen minutes older than him since they were twins.

Derek nudged Stiles with his shoulder.

“I’m going to shower and I’ll be right back,” he promised, handing Hazel over. Stiles shifted her onto his hip as Derek smoothed a hand over Hazel’s hair. “It won't be long.”

Before Stiles could respond, Derek was retreating and Hazel asked, “Are we going to see the fire truck, Daddy?”

All Stiles could think about was how fucking hot Derek’s ass was as he disappeared into the lobby.

He was going to Hell.

Chapter 5

Stiles closed the front door and locked it before taking a deep breath and running a hand through his hair. Lydia had just left with Hazel for the weekend. And if Stiles’ weekend went as planned, Derek wouldn't be leaving until Monday since he had two days off. Two days that Stiles wanted to spend enjoying everything he could with Derek.

“Hazel leave okay?” Derek asked as Stiles walked back into the kitchen. He was chopping asparagus at the island, smiling at Stiles. He looked like he belonged there, just like he had when Stiles first dreamed about him ten months ago.

Ten whole months of domesticity and Derek slowly integrating into their lives. Stiles couldn't believe that much time had already passed since it seemed just like yesterday that they’d moved in next door.

“Yeah. She was excited about spending the weekend with Lydia.” He walked into the kitchen behind Derek, wrapping his arms around him and leaning his chin on Derek’s shoulder. “Lydia even gave me a wink.”

Derek chuckled. “High hopes for this weekend?”

“Maybe,” Stiles teased as he watched Derek finish the asparagus and put it into the pan. “I think the pot roast is almost done and I was thinking, maybe tomorrow we can have steak and mashed potatoes?”

Derek set the knife in his hand aside and turned the heat down on the stove before turning in Stiles’ arms to face him. He leaned back against the counter, one hand moving up to wrap around the back of Stiles’ neck.

“That sounds perfect,” Derek said softly, drawing Stiles in for a kiss. It was soft and sweet, undemanding. Safe. It made Stiles warm all over as he leaned in, pressing his body against Derek’s. When they parted, he sighed and rested his forehead against Derek’s, Stiles’ hands trailing up Derek’s arms and resting on his biceps.

“I could get used to kisses like that…” Stiles didn't pull away and wet his lips. “Every day…” The suggestion twisted his stomach, filling it with butterflies.

Derek smiled, brushing his nose against Stiles’, causing Stiles to look at him. “Are you asking me to move in with you Stiles Stilinski?”

“I—” Stiles studied Derek, looking into his eyes like they held the answers to the universe. Was he asking Derek to move in with him? Was ten months too soon? They were soulmates, after all. It wasn't as if they hadn't spent the last ten months weaving in and out of each other's lives. “I… think I am.”

Stiles breathed deeply, wishing for courage. “Hazel adores you,” he continued. “And I—” Oh, god. Was he going to say it? Would Derek say it back? Would Derek say yes? “I love you, Derek.”

Derek didn't hesitate as he replied, “I love you too, Stiles. More than I’ve ever loved anyone.” He pressed his lips to Stiles’ again, this time kissing him a little deeper, almost tentative. “You’re my soulmate. This is the only place I want to be.”

Stiles squeezed Derek’s biceps as if they could ground him, taking a shaky breath. “So does that mean that you’re moving in with us? Is…that a yes?”

He didn't know why he was more nervous than he was before. There was no way that Derek would tell him no after what they just confessed, would he?

“Absolutely. Whenever you want. We can pack everything this weekend.” Derek’s smile was almost blinding as Stiles drew his bottom lip between his teeth.

“I… was hoping that we’d, um—spend our time inside this weekend. Together.” He could feel his skin flush, knowing it would make him blotchy all over. “Preferably with no clothes on.”

“Oh.” Derek chuckled. “Well, I can't say that I wasn't hoping for the same thing, because I was.” Stiles always thought Derek was cute when the tips of his ears turned red, but at least he knew that they were both flustered over the prospect of all-weekend sex.

Stiles laughed. “Well, we should probably at least eat first. We made all this food. Then we can put everything away. I can officially show you my bedroom.”

“I eagerly await the official tour,” Derek teased, giving Stiles a peck. Stiles knew it was more so neither of them would lose control and rip each other's clothes off right there in the kitchen. Not that Stiles was opposed to having sex for the first time with Derek in his kitchen. “Come on, let’s eat.” This was going to be the fastest dinner Stiles had ever eaten, knowing that he’d be practically inhaling it in anticipation.

He pulled away, moving to the other side of the counter to check on the pot roast in the oven, feeling Derek’s eyes roving over him.

Oh yeah. Dinner would be quick.

They’d eaten in record time and Stiles may or may not have been keeping track.

“Leave the dishes.” He reached out for Derek, his finger slipping into Derek’s belt loop, tugging Derek close.

Stiles didn't hesitate as he pressed their lips together, melting into the heat of Derek’s body. He whimpered against his lips as Derek’s hands found his hips. God, Stiles had been wanting this. Needing this.

He’d never needed anyone as much as he needed Derek right now that he was so overwhelmed with it.

“Fuck, I need you,” Stiles breathed, nipping at Derek’s lips and pressing his hips against Derek’s, letting him feel how hard he already was.

Derek’s hands slid over Stiles’ ass, rocking him against him. “Need to get to the bedroom before I fuck you right here over the counter.”

A needy sound fell from Stiles’ lips, his arms wrapping around Derek’s neck. “I wouldn't say no to that but we really need lube.”

Derek chuckled. “Definitely.” He kissed down Stiles’ neck, leaving gentle bites as he gripped and squeezed Sitles’ ass. “Hold onto me,” he whispered against Stiles’ skin.

And then Derek was gripping him firmly and lifting him, taking Stiles by surprise, which made him laugh. He moaned softly, his legs wrapping around Derek as his lips trailed along any skin he could reach.

“Are you going to brave the stairs while holding me?” Stiles teased, his grin mischievous as Derek carried him.

Derek looked dubious when they reached the bottom of the stairs, which only furthered Stiles’ amusement.

“If you drop me, you’ll regret it,” Stiles teased and Derek laughed nervously.

“Well, then I guess I better not drop you.” Derek kissed him briefly, a promise of more, and then they were ascending the stairs. Not that Stiles actually thought Derek would drop him. He did carry full-grown men for a living. And it was so fucking hot.

Stiles’ hands never stopped moving, needing to touch Derek, his legs squeezed tight around Derek’s waist. “Mmmm, okay, okay. My room,” Stiles motioned with the tip of his chin.

Derek took direction well, carrying Stiles to the door and Stiles’ hand reached behind him to twist the knob, letting them both in.

Stiles was just as reluctant as Derek seemed as Derek set him down, but their hands never left each other. Their fingers were frantic as they practically ripped each other’s clothes off, their lips kissing over exposed skin until they were both naked.

When Stiles felt the bed behind him, he sat down, his hands gripping Derek’s hips as he buried his face against the base of Derek’s dick. Derek groaned, his fingers threading into Stiles’ hair. “Fuck, Stiles. You make me so fucking hard.”

Stiles breathed deeply, taking in Derek’s musky scent, and rubbed his cheek against Derek’s cock as if he were marking him as his. Only his. “God, I need to taste you.”

“Fuck yeah. Please,” Derek breathed, sounding as desperate as Stiles felt. Stiles wasted no time drawing back just enough to draw Derek’s cock into his mouth, laving the head with his tongue and teasing it into Derek’s foreskin.

Derek groaned above him, his grip tightening in Stiles’ hair. It only made Stiles’ dick harder, precome leaking against his thigh, swallowing Derek down like he couldn't get enough. He was drunk on the taste of Derek, his skin feeling like it was on fire.

“Stiles—”

Derek tugged against Stiles’ hair and he whined as he let Derek’s cock fall from his mouth with a filthy sound. “You okay?” he panted.

“Yeah, fuck. I need—” Derek didn't finish his sentence as he dipped down and captured Stiles’ lips in a kiss. Stiles understood Derek’s need as it burned through him, licking into Derek’s mouth as they kissed fervently. He scooted back onto the bed, Derek following him down until he was pressing Stiles into the mattress with the weight of his body.

Stiles whimpered as Derek leaned down, kissing across his chest, and captured Stiles’ nipple between his lips. “Mmmm, god, Derek. I need—I need you to fuck me. I want you inside of me.”

They’d never discussed sex dynamics, but Stiles never thought Derek would deny him anything. He needed Derek like he needed to breathe and he knew Derek felt the same.

“Whatever you want,” Derek breathed, kissing across Stiles’ chest to give Stiles’ other nipple the same attention. “But first…I want to taste you too.”

Derek tilted his head up, kissing Stiles again, slower and deeper which sent a shiver down Stiles’ spine. His hand slid between them, gently stroking Stiles’ cock and brushing across the head teasingly.

“Mmm, yeah?” Stiles breathed, feeling Derek’s fingers slicken with his precome.

Derek released Stiles’ cock, his hand dipping between Stiles’ legs to stroke and tug at his balls. “I want to taste you… here,” he replied just as his fingers pressed between Stiles’ asscheeks to brush over his hole.

“Oh, fuck,” Stiles moaned, his dick twitching at the thought of Derek licking his hole. He pressed against Derek’s fingers, needing more.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, okay.” Stiles kissed Derek, needy and wet before he pulled away and rolled over, Derek’s hands running along his back and thighs as he settled. He could feel Derek shift on the bed, feel the heat of his body sliding down his side and the weight of Derek settle on his thighs.

Stiles arched his back, raising his ass as Derek gripped his cheeks and spread them. He couldn't move with Derek’s chest lying across his thighs and he groaned as Derek pressed his face flush to him, wasting no time teasing.

Derek’s mouth was hot and wet, his tongue demanding as he licked and sucked against Stiles’ hole until he pressed in and Stiles’ hole fluttered open. Stiles cried out in pleasure, his fingers twisting into the bed sheets when Derek fucked him with his tongue. He was relentless, filthy sounds falling from Derek’s lips, Stiles’ ass getting sloppy wet with Derek’s saliva.

“Derek—Derek—” Stiles begged, but he wasn't sure if he was begging for Derek to keep going or to stop. Stiles just wanted. “Derek, please—”

Stiles swore it sounded like Derek growled, but his mind was so fuzzy with his arousal that all he could do was focus on Derek’s hands and mouth. “I need—” Stiles whined.

Derek drew back with a wet sound, giving Stiles’ hole one more sloppy kiss before his fingers rubbed over it.

“Where’s the lube?” Derek asked, voice rough with desire. “Need to open you up for me.”

Fuck.

“Nightstand,” Stiles sighed out, the sound desperate as Derek pulled away and kneeled, leaning over to open the nightstand and fished out the lube. “Do you—want me like this?”

“On your back.” Derek closed the drawer and sat back on his calves as Stiles rolled over. “I want to see your face.”

Just Derek admitting that sent heat coursing through him and straight to his dick. God, if he could get wet from being so turned on, he’d be sopping with it. Stiles’ thighs fell open unashamedly, exposing himself to Derek. He reached down to grip his own cock, stroking it lazily, watching Derek open the lube and squeeze some onto his fingers.

Derek’s fingers were so much thicker than his, and fuck, it was so hot. “Derek—”

“I’ve got you,” Derek promised, leaning in to kiss Stiles thoroughly.

Stiles gasped, then groaned when three of Derek’s fingers pushed into him. He loved the feeling of Derek fucking him open, stretching him for his cock. And fuck, Stiles was so close to coming already it should be embarrassing, but he wasn't.

“I don't want to wait,” Stiles panted against Derek’s lips. “Mmm, fuck, I need you.”

“Yeah, okay.” Derek kissed him once more before pulling his fingers free and then slicked his cock.

“Nuh-uh,” Stiles grinned, pushing his hand against Derek’s chest. “You’re going to lay back and let me ride you until you’re filling me with your come. And I’m going to get every bit of it I can from your gorgeous cock.”

The sound that fell from Derek’s lips was debauched in the best way as he rolled onto his back, his eyes following Stiles hungrily. “I’m all yours.”

Derek stroked his cock, getting it nice and slick as Stiles crawled into his lap still kissing him.

“C’mere,” Stiles whispered against Derek’s lips, still grinning. His fingers circled around Derek’s cock, holding it as he settled into Derek’s lap. “God, you’re so thick.”

He didn't wait for Derek to respond before he pressed Derek’s cock to his already fluttering hole and then sank onto him, his head dropping back in pleasure. Stiles didn't take Derek in slowly, groaning as he stretched himself on Derek’s cock, the feeling of Derek’s fingers gripping his hips so hard that he’d have bruises later being the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Jesus—fuck—” Stiles gasped as Derek bottomed out, his hands pressing to Derek’s chest as he leaned down to kiss him.

“Fuck, Stiles, You’re so tight,” Derek hissed, his hands urging Stiles’ hips to roll.

Stiles laughed softly. “Well, it’s been a while. But I can promise you it’ll never be that long again.” He raised his hips just enough to feel Derek’s cock drag against his prostate, which had him mewling.

Derek’s arms wrapped around him and Stiles groaned into Derek’s mouth, swallowing the sounds Derek gave him as they moved. He fucked himself languidly on Derek’s cock, taking his time to feel each and every thrust, their hips moving in counterpoint. Every snap of Derek’s hips had Stiles whimpering with abandon until he gave up trying to keep his rhythm, his fingers digging into Derek’s arms as he held on.

Their needy, desperate sounds and the slap of skin against skin were the only things that filled the room, words having fallen away as they focused on the feeling of each other. Stiles couldn't feel anything other than Derek. Nothing else existed other than them in this moment, together. Stiles felt his chest swell with warmth as Derek’s hips started to stutter, Stiles’ lips brushing and pressing against Derek’s more than kissing him now. He couldn't catch his breath as the base of his spine started to tingle and —

Suddenly Stiles cried out, clutching Derek close, his ass squeezing and then pulsing around Derek’s cock as he came hard, dick spurting between them. He keened with unrestrained gratification, even as Derek tensed under him and fucked them through both of their orgasms. He faintly made out the needy, guttural sounds beneath him as Stiles collapsed on top of Derek, chest heaving and mind swimming in fire.

“Derek—” Stiles panted, unable to raise his head to kiss Derek like he wanted to.

“I’ve got you,” Derek promised, arms circling around Stiles as his hands smoothed up and down Stiles’ back. “I’m right there with you.”

They lay like that together for some time, lost in the aftermath, unwilling to let the rest of the world back in. Stiles only gave an unhappy sound as he felt Derek’s dick start to soften and slip out of him, already missing the feeling of his soulmate sharing his body.

“Don't wanna move,” Stiles whispered.

Derek kissed the top of his head, his hand trailing down until Stiles felt Derek’s finger pressing between his cheeks and stroking over his used hole, fingering his come back into Stiles. “Don't have to. We have all weekend.”

“Mmm, good.” Stiles turned to press kisses along Derek’s chest, enjoying the feeling of Derek’s fingers lazily fucking him. It was hard to describe how he felt, but he knew he’d never felt so complete before. “I love you, so much.”

“I love you too, Stiles.” Derek’s free hand stroked through Stiles’ hair, practically petting him down. “Until the day we’re no longer here and into the next life. That’s what soulmates are… and I’ll always find you.”

“And I’ll wait for you,” Stiles promised. “However long it takes. Forever.” His smile was loopy and content as he turned his face up to kiss Derek. “Mmmm, but I think I want—”

Derek’s smile was bright as he laughed, curling his fingers inside of Stiles until Stiles moaned. “You’re insatiable,” Derek teased.

“Get used to it.” Stiles grinned and nipped Derek’s lip. “After all, we have forever, right? Are you ready for that?”

“Always.”

It was a promise that Stiles intended to keep, always and forever, no matter how many lifetimes they spent together. Their love could span the universe. They were soulmates. And it was all that Stiles would ever need to make his soul complete.

Chapter 6

Three years later.

Derek rubbed his eyes, smiling to himself as he walked downstairs, yawning. It was bright and early Christmas morning and it was their tradition that he would make everyone the best breakfast they’d had all year long. Including powdered sugar waffles covered in both Stiles and Hazel’s favorite fruits.

Strawberries and blueberries and only strawberries and blueberries. No other fruits were acceptable. Not even bananas. Derek had found that out the hard way.

He didn't know how Stiles and Hazel didn't like pancakes, but they were definitely a waffle family now and Derek didn't mind one bit. Whatever made Stiles and Hazel happy, made him happy.

Once he was in the kitchen, he hit the button on the coffee pot to brew his morning cup and dug around in the fridge, pulling out ingredients for eggs, hashbrowns, bacon, sausage, and their decadent family waffles.

In a few short hours, Hazel would be up, eager to see if Santa had visited (Stiles always bit the cookies and drank the milk while Derek stomped on the roof jingling bells after midnight, just in case Hazel was waiting up to hear them).

The base of the tree was filled to the brim with presents, but Hazel knew that they couldn't be opened until her grandparents and Aunt Laura arrived. It was a true family event, with everyone converging at the Stilinski-Hale household for every holiday.

Derek set the ingredients aside, reflecting on the last four years of his life. He glanced at his hand where a traditional gold band adorned his ring finger, the memory of their wedding day held close to his heart. It had been two years ago when they’d said I do.

Other than the day he’d met Stiles and Hazel, it had been the best day of his life, followed by the day he’d adopted Hazel and they’d become an official family.

Derek busied himself making breakfast, whipping up the batter and sipping his coffee, warmth spreading in his chest. It wasn't long before he heard Stiles coming downstairs and he grinned as Stiles’ strong arms wrapped around him from behind.

“Good morning,” Stiles said, voice rough with sleep. He kissed Derek’s shoulder and then nuzzled against the back of his neck.

“Good morning.” Derek tilted his head just enough to press a kiss to Stiles’ hair.

Stiles responded with his usual sleepy grumble and then turned a loopy smile up at Derek as he rested his chin on Derek’s shoulder. “Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday.”

“My mother really robbed me of double presents,” Derek joked. “Me and Laura.” Stiles chuckled and Derek laughed. “If we have another kid and it’s a December baby, they’re getting double presents.”

“Yeah?” Stiles asked, his fingers trailing up and down Derek’s chest. “You want another one? Hazel is 10 now… a baby might be a lot for us, but I’m game if you are.”

Derek considered that. Hazel was as much his daughter as she was Stiles’, but he had so much love to share and they had extra bedrooms, which Stiles kept reminding him about at least once a year. “I think I’m ready…do you think—”

“I can ask Lydia for an egg if she won't carry a baby for us. I know she’s working on a big research project right now, but we can always ask someone else to carry our baby for us.” Stiles trailed kisses along the back of Derek’s neck. “Plus… this way, they’ll be related to Hazel.”

Derek licked his lips, focusing on the eggs in front of him, even as Stiles hugged him closer. “You think she would?”

“I think she would. And… If you want to, I think it would be amazing if you were the biological father. I’ve been dreaming about having a little boy or girl and they look just like you,” Stiles said softly, rubbing his cheek against Derek.

Maybe they’d have a boy with Lydia’s eyes and his hair, or a little girl with his eyes and Lydia’s hair, hair that would be exactly like Hazel’s. Or it could look just like him. What if they had twins? The possibilities were endless and Derek’s mind was racing with them.

Before he could answer, a happy shriek sounded from the living room.

“Oops…” Stiles chuckled. “I guess I woke her up. My bad.”

Derek laughed. “3…2…1…”

Hazel came barreling into the kitchen shouting, “Santa came! Did you see all the presents?!”

They both laughed. Derek was surprised that Hazel still let them pretend Santa existed. Probably because she always got exactly what she asked for. They still wrote letters to Santa every year.

“Good morning, kiddo.” Stiles reluctantly let go of Derek and pulled Hazel in for a hug.

“Ew!” She fake gagged. “You probably still have Dad's cooties. Don't kiss my hair!”

Stiles let her go, laughing, even as she made a barfing noise and stuck her tongue out at him before she hugged Derek.

“Oh. I see how it is,” Stiles replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well Dad makes the food,” she defended. “And he doesn't give me cooties.”

Stiles rolled his eyes as Derek returned the hug, Derek’s focus returning to making breakfast. “The both of you are ridiculous.”

“The day you think cooties are nonexistent is the day that I’m going to remind you of these moments,” Stiles told Hazel.

“Yeah, that’s not happening.” She moved away from them and opened the refrigerator, grabbing the orange juice and taking the cup Derek was already handing her before Stiles could remind her not to drink out of the carton.

“Thank you.” She went to sit on a stool at the island, pouring herself a cup. “So when is the pack going to descend on the house? Because I want to open my presents.”

Stiles snorted. “Well… they’ll probably start showing up—”

“In four hours,” Derek finished. “Isaac, Boyd, Erica, and Kira said they’d stop by too once they’re off shift. Laura has the day off so she’ll probably be here before our parents.”

“My dad will likely sleep in, even if my mom bugs him to wake up in a couple of hours. He keeps saying he’s going to retire, but I’ll believe it when I see it.” Stiles leaned against the counter as Derek put the eggs, bacon, and sausage on plates, then grabbed the waffle batter.

“Well, Grandpa is old.” Hazel’s smirk spoke volumes, especially since she loved to tease them about how old they were all getting.

“Yeah, yeah.” Stiles was shaking his head, but his face was light with happiness.

Derek smiled, looking between the two people he loved most in the world. He poured the batter into the waffle maker and closed it, turning it over and, set the bowl aside.

He wasn't sure what he did to deserve this, but he thanked whoever or whatever had given him Stiles as his soulmate and the daughter which was their world.

It was more than he could have ever dreamed of.

It was perfect.

And he could only imagine how much more it would be as their family grew with love.

[saltygilmores]

Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls, 3x9, A Deep Fried Korean Thanksgiving, Part IV

I just realized the winter carnival episode is next and tbh I'm pretty stoked about that one.

Ugh, someone left Gilmores on my front porch. Fetch me my broom. Shoo! Shoo! At Thanksgiving number one, we find out Lane is spinning yet another tangled web of lies to ensnare Soggy Rygalski (my new pet name for him, don't ask). Mrs Kim thinks Soggy is actually in a Christian band that Lane discovered through church and not a sinful rock band. Mrs Kim serves Tofurky and I feel as if our little vegetarian diner rat would have enjoyed that.

Welcome back, Soggy.

Dang. When Rory sees how people like her mother and Luke and Mrs Kim treat their employees, it's no wonder she doesn't want to get a job! Bad dum tssssh. Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all night.

Why did I remember that scene as being a lot longer than it was? It lasted less than three minutes. Weird!

Onward, from Soggy to Sookie.

"According to the National Fire Protection Association: deep fryer fires cause an average of 5 deaths, 60 injuries and more than $15 million in property damage each year. Deep-frying turkeys has become increasingly popular, but the new tradition is a recipe for holiday tragedy."

Men, eh? One minute they're lying about turkey preparation and the next they're lying about having a vasectomy.

Rory looking gravely concerned or lost in thought as usual. Thinking deep thoughts about frying. Asked Sookie not once but twice "What do you use the oil for"?

Granny creakily rising from her lawn chair to join the hordes of Jackson's screaming white trash relatives has to be one of my favorite bits in this episode (maybe the season?) so far.

Gather round, white trash young and old. Your king has arrived.

THE FACES!

This whole scene is top notch. I tip my hat to you, Miss AmyShermanPalladino. After departing the white trash jubilee, it's time to circle back to Lukes. I know small business owners are hard working people who don't always have the luxury of shutting down and taking a break, but do you think he ever closes the diner? For anything? Christmas Day? Yeah, I'm sure ya'll can name a few times on the show where he closes up shop (would actually be interested to hear what they were). It wouldn't matter. He'd try to close on Christmas Day and the Gilmores would show up anyway and demand to be served instead of drinking eggnog in their own home. For Christmas, Lorelai should buy Luke a massage. (A LEGITIMATE MASSAGE. You filthy readers).

Mommy Daddy please stop fighting

*smashes Jess and Rory together like I'm 9 years old forcing two Barbie dolls to make out*

Alarming to see Lorelai treat Jess this nicely because I worry she may be ill. Or possibly delirious from hunger (she didn't eat at Sookie's or Lane's, she threw out Mrs Kim's tofurky and just gawked at Sookie's house). It looks like Luke was nice enough to give Jess the day off, but Walmart (and its Hunger Games-style Black Friday festivities) may still be calling. Is this the first real, hot, home made, lovingly prepared holiday meal anyone had ever served him in his entire life? (I'll give partial credit to The Bracebridge Dinner). No street wieners for Jess Mariano this Thanksgiving! Jess says he's starving, but Luke told him not to eat until the Gilmores arrived first. That's some grade a bullshit.

All he wants this Thanksgiving is for his fellow white people to Check Their Privilege. Good luck with that, Lucas.

Serving lewks. Luke has just served the table four heaping plates of hot food and upon hearing that the Gilmores will be trotting off to the McMansion next, presumably to eat way fancier, he says they can just throw everything the fuck out and drink soda if they want. Kay... Jess: Please, Uncle Lucas, don't take away my hot meal. I'm ever so hungry.

A screen shot of Milo eating makes a great gift or any holiday or special occasion.

How DARE you Lucas. You are not going to make my poor tired boy serve coffee to the Gilmores on Thanksgiving Day! Lorelai's your ball and chain, you do it.

Yeah, what a pity that not everyone can kiss like Dean.

"You and Jess are a couple of chickens pecking each other." Yooo, it's about time you pick a lane, Lorelai. You're confusing the poor girl. The last time an adult got wind that Jess and Rory were about to peck like chickens The Incredible HulkLuke smashed down the door and put those two chickens out to pasture. Rory: Mind your own business. Lorelai:???????? I assure you she does not know the meaning of the phrase. R: I'm not good with public displays. L: You didn't have that problem with Dean Me: Trying fruitlessly to remember any scene where Dean and Rory passionately made out in public or showed any sort of affection with each other anywhere that Lorelai could see it R: I don't know how this first second boyfriend thing is supposed to go. L: Well he's your first second boyfriend so give it time. R: The whole town got used to me with Dean. L: It'll get easier, you'll have hundreds of men. Well maybe not hundreds. A couple. Three more. Dean again, Logan, then Logan again. L:They'll adjust to seeing with you Jess! R: What do I do about Dean? L: Well he'll move on too. All this sensible advice coming from Lorelai? It is truly the Thanksgiving of Miracles.

God bless you, Babette. God bless you.

The next scene, a Friday (Thursday) Night Gilmores Showdown at the McMansion goes on for around 8 minutes which is going to feel like more than an hour in Salty Time. I'm going to wilt.

[demonmew25]

How They Wrap Christmas Presents

Just some head canons I thought of while wrapping gifts the other day 😅

Muzan

He will use fancy wrapping paper. Some shit he bought in some posh shop somewhere.

He likes decent quality wrapping paper.

Will either have everything wrapped weeks before Christmas or will be last minute wrapping everything Christmas Eve.

Is surprisingly very bad at wrapping present.

The present is like 90% tape, good luck opening it. He just wants to make sure the gift is safe 🥺

He also doesn't want to accidentally rip the wrapping with his bitch ass claws.

Perhaps he will get you a pair of scissors to open gifts with next Christmas (if you can open them that is).

Kokushibo

He will put in the effort with wrapping.

Dude will even tie up all of his gifts in pretty ribbons.

Colour coordinated name tags matching the ribbons.

He starts wrapping his presents right at the beginning of December. This boi is organised and everything is under the Christmas tree ready to be opened 🤗

Makes a mess wrapping but will tidy after himself.

Douma

Very lazy with gifts.

Will probably wrap your gift in tinfoil.

"I am the gift sweetie!" He says "besides, tinfoil is Christmassy, they use it to wrap the turkey!". 😌

Will probably gift you a picture of him, he is a cult leader after all 😂

Speaking of, if he's feeling particularly lazy he will get his cult members to wrap his presents for him.

He may also bully some of the lower members of the Kizuki into doing his wrapping. Babygirl doesn't want to get his nails chipped.

Very messy when wrapping presents and will leave mess everywhere.

Akaza

He's not really a Christmas fan.

Would rather be out fighting or training to get stronger

If he likes you enough though, he will get you a little something 😄

Just uses basic wrapping paper but will make enough effort when wrapping.

Will definitely have a go at Douma for being lazy and using tinfoil instead of wrapping paper.

Kokushibo then has a go at Akaza for having a go at Douma, he's like "know your place bitch!".

Afterwards Akaza pouts in a corner, "I fucking hate this family!" 😠

And for funsies I thought I'd add Mew since she's in my comics a lot too 😂

Also uses way too much tape.

"Ooooh sparkly wrapping paper!"

Draws silly pictures all over the wrapping paper too. Some are obscene.

Makes a mess and forgets to tidy after herself.

She likes to buy thoughtful presents that will make everyone happy. 😸

Will probably accidentally wrap herself up instead of the present. Haha derp!

I don't normally do HC's but thought I would give it a go, as a Christmas treat 😸

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone! 🥰

[wheels-of-despair]

Under Pressure | Eric x You vs. The Apocalypse | Series Masterlist

Chapter Two: The First Thanksgiving Summary: Eric gets to experience his first American Thanksgiving! Words: 2.6k

Turkey, check. Stuffing mix, check. Cranberries, check. A ridiculous amount of potatoes, check. Oodles of butter, check.

Three light knocks interrupt your Thanksgiving checklist. You toss the notepad and pen on the table and walk to the door, looking through the peephole just in case.

Eric's in the hall, and he appears to be even more nervous than the last time you saw him: at dinner, two months ago, when he was squirming under the intense gaze of his disapproving father. You open the door and greet him with your warmest smile.

"Hi!"

"Hello," he mumbles, forcing a smile of his own.

"Come in," you say, stepping aside. Eric crosses the threshold, carrying a backpack and a bouquet of fall flowers. "I'm so glad you could make it!"

You'd insisted on inviting him to spend Thanksgiving with you. Your husband had protested, because they are not at all close, but you were not about to sit around and let a family member spend a holiday alone. Especially one who only lives ten minutes away.

"Thanks for having me," he smiles, less forced this time. "Oh, uh, these are for you." He holds out the bouquet awkwardly.

"You didn't have to do that," you gently chide him as you accept them. "But thank you, they're beautiful. They'll make a great centerpiece for tomorrow. Let me put these in some water, and I'll get you settled in."

You hurry to the kitchen and dig a vase out of the cabinet, filling it with water and putting your pretty flowers in it. When you turn back around, Eric's still hovering by the door.

"Pardon my mess, I'm trying to take inventory for tomorrow and I feel like I forgot something," you explain as you cross the room.

"All this is for tomorrow?" Eric asks with a quirked eyebrow.

"Oh, you sweet boy," you grin, hooking your arm through his. "It's not every day a young English gent gets to experience his first Thanksgiving."

He looks skeptical, almost frightened, as you lead him to his room.

"It'll just be the three of us," you assure him. "We're gonna wake up and watch the parade while the food cooks. Very laid-back. No pressure whatsoever. You don't even have to change out of your pajamas, if you don't want to."

Eric lets out a sigh of relief.

"What'd you think we were going to do to you?" you laugh.

"I dunno," he shrugs.

"It's just food. We're gonna hang out and eat. Dessert and all," you wink. Eric blushes. "This is you," you gesture to the freshly cleaned bedroom you've arrived at. "Make yourself at home. Bathroom's right across the hall. If you need anything at all, just let me know, okay?"

"Okay," he says quietly, carefully dropping his backpack on the bed.

"Evan had to work late, but he'll be home by dinnertime. I promise this one will be less painful than the last."

That draws a smile out of him.

"I'm gonna go start organizing that mess I made," you nod your head toward the kitchen. "If you're feeling adventurous after you get settled, come join me."

"Okay," he says again. You've talked at him enough. You head back to the kitchen and start organizing. Eric wanders in ten minutes later.

"Thank you again for the care package."

You smile at the memory. Soon after your first meeting, you'd done some investigating, found his address, and sent Eric a care package containing food that helped you survive your college years; Ramen noodles and Pop-Tarts and snack cakes. Brain food, you'd explained in a note. He'd texted a thank-you.

"My pleasure," you chirp, turning around to face him. "I can't believe you were living ten minutes away for almost a month without us knowing. Why didn't you tell us when you got here?"

Eric shrugs. "Didn't want to be a bother."

"To your own brother?"

He shrugs again. This relationship baffles you.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" He hesitates. "I promise, it's no bother. I've been living with an Englishman for so long, I can make a perfect cup of tea in my sleep."

Eric chuckles at this and nods, and you gesture to the table and start to make the aforementioned tea. A comfortable silence falls over the room while you wait for the water to boil. No words are spoken until you sit next to him, steaming cups of tea and a plate of cookies on the table in front of you.

"I'm sorry if this feels overwhelming, or like I'm badgering you. You can tell me to cool it at any time, I promise I won't be offended."

"It's alright," he smiles.

"Good," you smile back. You each take a sip. "How's school?

He squirms, almost like that night at dinner when his father embarrassed him. You immediately regret asking.

"Can we…" Eric looks up and bites his lip. "Can we not talk about that?" His voice is barely a whisper.

"Okay," you nod with understanding.

"It's just that I… I don't…"

"It's okay," you tell him, reaching out with a reassuring squeeze to his forearm. "I want you to be comfortable here. We don't have to talk about anything you don't want to. In fact, if you want to make me a list of approved conversation topics, I will abide by them."

Eric sits back in his chair, eyes teary, and lets out a sigh of relief. You focus on your tea to give him a minute.

"Thank you," he whispers.

"Of course," you smile. "What would you like to talk about?"

Eric's cheeks puff as he blows out a long breath, contemplating. What else do you two have to talk about?

"Can you tell me about Thanksgiving?"

"Absolutely," you grin. "Where should I start?"

You ramble about Thanksgiving for ages, answering all of Eric's historical questions to the best of your abilities. He's only ever seen Thanksgiving celebrated on TV, and he's quite excited to experience a real one.

You talk food, family, and traditions through two cups of tea, then start preparing a simple dinner together. When the key jingles in the lock and Evan enters the apartment, Eric stiffens like a board. His comfort level with you had been rising so subtly all afternoon, you hadn't even noticed until the abrupt change in his posture.

You have to put forth a little effort to make them interact over dinner, but the conversation is pleasant, and they seem to be getting on alright. Eric starts to relax again as the evening goes on.

The next morning, your husband situates himself on the sofa to watch the parade, and you get to work on the food. Eric wanders in soon after. He's the only one of you who bothered getting dressed.

"Good morning!" you greet, closing the oven door on the turkey you just checked on. "How'd you sleep?"

"Okay," he smiles.

"Coffee or tea?"

"Whatever's easiest," he shrugs.

"Stop being so agreeable, you're going to give your brother ideas," you joke.

"I heard that," Evan calls from the couch.

"You were supposed to!" you yell back.

You wink at Eric, who looks confused.

"You can help yourself to the coffee over there," you gesture to half a pot, "and the kettle's right next to it if you'd prefer tea."

Eric sidles over to the coffee pot and hesitates. You point to the cabinet above it, and he opens it and extracts a mug. Smart boy. He makes his coffee, turns around, and looks lost.

"You can watch the parade if you want," you nod toward the living room. "It's not that far away, but you can't see anything from here. That's why I told you to come last night. Traffic's going to be a nightmare all day."

Eric nods and walks to the living room, sitting as far away from his brother as possible. You roll your eyes and get back to work, quickly losing track of time as you measure and chop and season and stir.

"Do you need any help?"

You whip around to find Eric standing awkwardly in the doorway behind you.

"Not a parade fan?"

"Not really" he says quietly. "And Evan's asleep."

"Of course he is," you chuckle. "Thanksgiving is my holiday. Evan takes care of Christmas. This is his day off."

Eric nods in understanding.

"But I'd love an assistant. Or you can just sit and keep me company?"

"I'll help," he offers.

"Are you any good at peeling potatoes?"

"Um…"

"C'mon, I'll show you," you offer.

You reach for a sack of potatoes, but Eric beats you to it. He hoists them to the counter, and you open the bag and show him the quickest way to wash them. He's bulky and unsure, like he's never been in a kitchen before… has he ever been in a kitchen before? Evan's a great cook, but only because of that brief period where he wanted to become a chef. You'll save that conversation for another day.

You stand together over a bowl of freshly washed potatoes and demonstrate the proper potato-peeler technique. He picks it up in no time, but still seems unsure. You wash a bag of carrots and start to slice next to him with a knife, not wanting to go too far… or let him know that you don't quite trust him with sharp objects yet.

You work alongside each other, Eric with his potatoes and you with your carrots, in a comfortable silence. On your very last carrot, the knife slips. You drop the blade with a hiss and a thud. Eric has a towel around your hand before you can even see the blood.

"Medical supplies?" he asks quietly.

"Bathroom cabinet."

"C'mon," he says, leading you away from the sink. You follow, a little shocked at how he's taking charge of the situation. Is this the same guy who needed to be rescued at dinner? Has to be guided through conversations with his own relatives? Never peeled a potato before?

You point to the cabinet where the first aid supplies are located, and hop onto the counter while Eric fetches what he needs. You could do this yourself, but watching him work is fascinating.

He washes out your cut. Pats it dry. Applies ointment. Unwraps a band-aid and carefully sticks it around your finger. Even cleans up his mess and puts everything away after.

"Better?" he asks.

"Yeah," you say in surprise, looking at him curiously. He gives you a shy smile and steps back, leaning against the wall.

"Got scraped up a lot as a kid," he mumbles. "Mum had to patch me up all the time."

"She taught you well," you smile. "You've earned a five-star review, for a quick and nearly painless procedure."

He smiles in a way that transforms his whole face, from his chin to his hairline. He looks like a completely different person from the miserable boy you had dinner with a few months ago.

"I should get back to it," you say with a groan, sliding off the sink. "Can't believe I'm the one who caused bloodshed, and not the boy who's never peeled a potato before."

"I've peeled potatoes before," he protests.

"When?" you ask, stopping to look up at him.

He blushes, opens his mouth, and closes it again.

"Are we going to finish cooking, or not?" he asks.

You laugh, hook your arm through his, and return to the kitchen.

Two hours later, you have quite an impressive spread on the table. Eric puts the last bowl in place, and you stand together with crossed arms and admire all your hard work for a moment.

"Wait!" you suddenly remember, grabbing the vase of flowers Eric brought and clearing out a spot for them in the middle of the table.

"There we go," you smile, coming back to stand next to him. The table looks perfect. "I know it's probably illegal to allow a Brit to help with an American Thanksgiving… but you did a great job."

He ducks his head a bit to hide his grin, then looks to you with twinkling eyes.

"Thank you," he whispers.

"Ready for the best meal of your life?"

He nods.

"Let me go wake your brother up."

You walk to the living room and find your husband already awake, watching an old black and white movie.

"Pardon me, m'lord," you say in your worst English accent, "but the peasants hath finished their kitchen duties, and invite you to sup with them on this sacred day of giving thanks."

"Ehhhh…" he whines, looking like he's weighing his options. "Do I really have to dine with the help?"

"Get your ass up and come eat," you laugh, reaching for his hands. He grins and lets you pull him up off the couch, throwing an arm around your shoulders on the way to the table.

"Wow," he says. "This looks great."

"Couldn't have done it without my fabulous assistant," you grin. Your fabulous assistant blushes. "Eric's just so easy to work with. Unlike some people, who shall remain nameless, who have to measure things down to the milligram."

"It's called a recipe!" Evan growls, taking his arm away from your shoulders so he can properly convey his frustration with flails. "It's a set of instructions that you follow to achieve uniform results!"

"Yeah, yeah," you laugh, shoving him towards his chair. You and Eric take your seats, and all stare at each other for a moment.

"And now we're going to go around the table and each say one thing we're thankful for," you tease. Panic flashes across both of their faces. "I'm kidding," you laugh. "I'm thankful to be here with the two of you. Let's eat."

The dinner discussion is all food-related, which is nice, because you don't have to steer the conversation at all. Eric tries a little bit of everything, and while he has clear favorites, does not appear to be repulsed by any of your classic American Thanksgiving fare. (Take that, British Christmas Pudding!)

You all pass out on the couch afterwards. You've always hated that sectional, but now that there are three of you to spread across it, it seems pretty great. Eric is quite a fan of the Turkey Nap.

You're sad to see him go. But on Friday afternoon, after more lazing about and a few more rounds of leftovers, he stands by the door with his packed backpack and a tote full of food at his feet. He and his brother have already shared a few quiet words and shaken hands. Now it's your turn to say goodbye.

"You don't have to go yet," you remind him. "You can at least stay through the weekend and help us destroy these leftovers."

"I should get back," he protests. "I've got a lot of work to catch up on before term starts again."

"Okay," you smile, pulling him in for a hug. "I'm so glad you came."

"Me too," he mumbles. "Thanks for having me."

"Of course. You're coming back for Christmas, right?"

"If you want me?"

"Of course," you smile, pulling back and putting your hands on his shoulders. "You're always welcome here."

He nods gratefully, and you give his shoulders a squeeze.

"Take care of yourself, Eric," you smile and let him go. "Call us if you need anything."

"I will," he mumbles, picking up his bags. "See you."

"Not if I see you first," you counter, opening the door for him. You really are sad to see him go.

But Christmas isn't that far off.

[dameronscopilot]

Not that you have to give me more content but just an FYI, DBF Santi still haunts me okay thanks love u bye

hi ily here's an unhinged filthy little thanksgiving present xoxo!!

cut the brakes

Dad’s Best Friend!Santiago “Pope” Garcia x f!reader

Summary: The turkey isn’t the only thing getting stuffed this year when you come home for Thanksgiving.

Word Count: 3k

Rating: 18+ EXPLICIT

Content: NSFW, smut, DAD'S BEST FRIEND SANTIAGO, implied age gap (reader is of age), stuffed for Thanksgiving!, dirty talk, fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, mention of oral sex (m!receiving)

Shivering outside in the crisp November air, you gritted your teeth at the feeling of the light drizzle of rain falling from the sky. Couldn’t it at least be snow? You tucked your hands further into the long sleeves of your knitted dress—you’d be fucking damned if you had to march back up to the door of your shitty boyfriend’s house to say you forgot your jacket. No, you’d rather freeze.

At the sight of a familiar black pick up truck rounding the corner at the end of the street, your heart lurched in your chest. There was no fucking way.

And yet, clearly there was, because to your complete and total surprise, when the truck came to a stop beside the curb, Santiago Garcia stepped out from the driver’s side.

Santiago Garcia, the object of far too many of your wet dreams over the years. Wildly inappropriate dreams, given the fact that the man currently standing in front of you with his hands shoved in his pockets and a lopsided grin on his face was your dad’s best friend.

In an attempt to avoid busy holiday weekend traffic on the roads, you’d opted to take the train instead to come home for Thanksgiving. And while the initial plan was to spend the early afternoon with your boyfriend’s family before the two of you headed to your dad’s place, a nasty argument had thrown a wrench into the day.

When you’d called your dad and asked him if he could swing by to grab you, it sounded like he’d already had a few drinks, so you assumed one of your uncles or cousins would be pulling up. Not him.

The last time you saw Santiago was at a barbecue at his house shortly before you moved out years ago—after finishing your degree at a local university, you’d chosen an out-of-town grad school. The late summer evening had found you with just enough alcohol buzzing in your veins to corner him in the hallway inside, at which point all of the furtive glances and suggestive conversation building up between the two of you came to a head in a heated, messy, desperate kiss.

A kiss that Santiago quickly stopped between one heartbeat and the next, hands placed firmly on your shoulders as he took in your drunken state.

“Not like this,” he’d said roughly, shaking his head as he led you into the kitchen and poured you a cold glass of water.

You’d left the following week, and you hadn’t spoken to him since. Despite the amount of time he normally spent at your dad’s house, you’d somehow managed not to run into him on any of your trips home in the years since.

Until now.

You face burned in embarrassment as he approached you, and you glanced down at your feet.

“Where’s your jacket?”

Although you knew he was standing there, you still startled at the sound of his voice, and you awkwardly gestured back toward the house behind you.

Santi quirked an eyebrow and shrugged off his dark blue bomber jacket, draping it over your shoulders as he lightly rested a hand against the middle of your back and led you over to the truck, opening the passenger side door for you. You tried not to make it too obvious as you inhaled the scent of his cologne that was wrapped around you.

As he pulled back out onto the road, the cab of the truck was quiet save for the rumble of the engine, the occasional squeak of the windshield wipers, and the lulling pitter patter of raindrops outside.

When a few minutes had passed, Santiago finally broke the silence, “So what happened?”

You shrugged, “We got into an argument.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“I’m sure you don’t want to hear about my relationship problems.”

A huff of laughter left Santi’s lips. “We’ve got a half hour drive, try me.”

And so you sighed, leaning your head against the cool glass of the window and recounting the fight. An unfortunate series of events had led you to finally confront your suspicions that your boyfriend was cheating on you shortly after you arrived at his house, at which point he’d erupted into an avalanche of gaslighting—going so far as to blame you for living too far away. He’d punctuated the whole thing with an off-handed remark about how pathetic it was that you’d clearly tried so hard to dress up for dinner to the point where you looked ridiculous…and so you’d grabbed your purse and stormed out of his house before the food had even hit the table.

You looked at your distorted reflection in the wet side view mirror, frowning. Boots, stockings, and a cozy cable knit dress didn’t seem that out of place for Thanksgiving, but you sure felt pathetic either way as you flipped down the visor mirror, hastily wiping the corner of your eye where your mascara had protested against the tears that had strewn down your cheeks earlier.

“You look great.”

“What?” Although you had been talking to him, you’d somehow gotten lost in your own thoughts as you finished telling Santiago what happened.

You turned to find Santi staring at you as he came to a stop at a red light, and the weight of his gaze was heavy as he repeated himself, “You look great. Fuck your stupid boyfriend.”

—

Despite the fact that you found yourself wholly occupied in the hours that passed after you arrived at your dad’s, several family members taking turns catching up with you to ask about work and your studies, you were buzzing with a constant, palpable awareness of Santiago’s presence in the house.

More than once, you found yourself entirely distracted mid-conversation as you heard the rumbling sound of his laughter from across the room, your heart leaping at the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as he threw his head back.

Although he kept his distance, eventually you saw him wander into the kitchen out of the corner of your eye as you opened the oven, bending down to baste the turkey. When you squeezed the bulb of the blaster, you swore you heard Santiago choke, but when you turned around, he was gone.

And perhaps it was a bit over the top, but when he walked by you in the hallway a bit later with a slice of pumpkin pie on a plate, you darted a finger out and swiped a dollop of whipped cream off of it before you could stop yourself. His eyes widened a fraction, and his jaw ticked; he looked like he wanted to say something, but at the sound of your father’s voice calling out to him from living room, he swiftly turned on his heel and kept walking.

You didn’t find Santiago alone again until later, once some guests had begun to leave and the rest were strewn about the living room cheering and groaning as they watched the football game. Slipping his jacket back on, you quietly slid open the patio door that he had walked out through a few minutes earlier.

Eyes scanning the dark backyard, you eventually saw the dull, orange glow of a cigarette off in the corner. You strode over to find Santiago sitting with his legs spread wide as he leaned back in a chair, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

“Hey.”

The corner of his mouth turned up slightly as you approached, and he dropped the small white stick to the ground, crushing it under his foot.

“Hey.”

The toes of your shoes nudged against his as you came to a stop in front of him.

“Your idiot boyfriend call you to apologize yet?”

You crossed your arms, briefly glancing up at the collection of stars littering the sky. “Nah, I think it’s over.”

Santi nodded, biting his lip. “That’s good.”

You stepped closer, coming to stand between his spread thighs. “Yeah,” you agreed.

Suddenly remembering the guise you’d come outside under in the first place, you began to shrug the jacket off of your shoulders as you explained, “Figured you might want this back.”

Santi sat up and reached out to pull the jacket back up over your shoulders. “I’m fine, you wear it.”

You fought the urge to grab his hands as his fingertips briefly brushed across the bare skin of your chest exposed by the dip in the front of your dress.

“Aren’t you cold?” you asked, bouncing your weight from foot to foot as you began to wish you’d worn thicker stockings.

“I’ve been colder,” he responded matter-of-factly, an assessing look in his eyes as he gazed up at you, running a hand over the stubble on his chin.

Before you could think better of it, you shot a look over your shoulder at the dark windows in the kitchen before climbing right into Santiago’s lap, leaving your legs to hang off of the sides of the chair as you straddled him.

“Does this help?” you asked, voice far more even than it should have been, given the way your heart was rapidly beating in your chest.

Santi’s breath hitched in his throat as he tentatively brought his hands up to rest at your waist.

“Dios mío,” he muttered under his breath. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

He was right. You shouldn’t. You were so fucking stu—

But as you went to stand back up, Santi’s fingers dug firmly into your hips. “I said we shouldn’t. Not that I don’t want to.”

Oh.

Something heady fluttered in your chest.

“Kiss me then,” you breathed out.

And Santiago didn’t hesitate to cup the back of your head, closing the distance between your mouths as he crashed his lips into yours.

While your first kiss was lost in a haze of desperation, there was a heated, focused purpose now in the way Santi’s mouth melted against yours, one that left you dizzy as he tugged your bottom lip into his mouth.

When he licked his way across the seam of your mouth, you parted your lips, and you couldn’t help but arch your entire body into his at the possessive way his tongue claimed yours. Even with the chill, heat radiated off of his body and seeped into yours as you rolled your hips against him, and Santi moaned into the kiss at the feeling of your hot core pressing down on his growing erection.

You rocked into him again, whining at the pleasure that crept up your spine at the pressure of his hard shaft insistently prodding your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Santi’s lips detached from yours, and he grasped your left hand, bringing it up to his face. He stared at you as he pressed pointed kisses to the tips of your fingers and asked, “Are you sure you want this?”

Your heart swooped as he drug his lips down the inside of your fingers, stopping to mouth at the center of your palm. He brushed his tongue across your skin before pressing a searing kiss there, looking up at you once more.

“Yes.”

As soon as the words left your lips, Santi’s hands were pushing up the edges of your dress, but he faltered momentarily as he considered your tights. But before you could get up to take them off, he reached into his pocket, flourishing a pocket knife.

Jesus Christ.

You hadn’t woken up today expecting to find yourself tucked into a dark corner of your dad’s backyard, cunt gushing with arousal at the sight of Santiago fucking Garcia cutting a hole in your tights with a goddamn pocket knife. And yet here you were, whimpering and panting as he hastily shoved the knife back in his pocket and engulfed your lips yet again, kissing you deeply as he hooked a thumb in your underwear and drug a finger through your sopping wet folds.

“So fucking wet,” Santi’s voice was rough as he observed how needy you were for him. He had no idea.

Bucking into the feeling of his fingers dragging through your tight channel as he licked his way inside of your mouth, your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his pants. When you finally pulled his thick cock from the confines of his pants, wrapping your hands around it, Santiago moaned huskily into the kiss.

As you began to pump his shaft, Santi pulled away for a moment. “I don’t have a—“

After briefly assuring him that you had an IUD and confirming both of you were clean, you swore you felt Santi’s length stiffen even further in the grip of your fingers as you whined, “Wanna feel you inside of me, Santiago. Please.”

Santi curled the two fingers currently buried in your cunt, and you gasped, squirming in his lap.

“Cariño, you’re so fucking tight. Don’t know if my fat cock is going to fit in your pretty little pussy,” he leaned in to whisper into your ear.

Heat coiled in your gut as his thumb pressed against your throbbing clit. “Fucking stuff it in there, Santi. Fill me up, please. I don’t care. Make it fit. I need you so bad,” you whimpered.

Santi reached between you to take his shaft in one hand, and you lifted yourself so he could line his head up with your slick entrance. At the feeling of his head notched against your fluttering hole, you began to sink down onto him, slowly easing his cock inside of you.

“Just tell me if it hurts,” he said.

“I want it to hurt,” you panted out.

Santi cursed, burying his head in the crook of your shoulder, mouthing at your neck as you both moaned in unison. Your legs trembled as his wide girth split you open, sliding through the thick pool of arousal coating your narrow channel.

“You feel so fucking good, baby. Taking me so fuckin’ good.” Santi groaned, chest heaving as he bottomed out inside of you.

You slowly began to rock your hips, skin prickling at the delicious drag of his length through your sensitive inner walls, your cunt greedily clamping down on the thick intrusion.

“Wanted you for so long, Santi,” you panted as he left a trail of hot kisses up your neck, dragging his lips across the curve of your jaw before claiming your mouth again.

“Don’t think your boyfriend would like to hear that,” Santi said against your lips, nipping at them.

“Ex-boyfriend,” you clarified, writhing as he brought a hand down to toy with your clit.

“Gonna make you forget all about him when you come all over my cock,” Santi growled.

“I used to think about you when he was fucking me,” you admitted, one hand clutching Santiago’s shoulder and the other threaded into his hair.

“Fuck.” Santi moaned, lavishing your mouth with a hungry, bruising kiss. “Was gonna sneak you out of here and over to my place tonight, but you were probably soaking through your panties all night at dinner, huh? Couldn’t wait, so you needed me to fuck you right here in your dad’s backyard?”

Admittedly, this wasn’t your best choice of venue, and you could only hope that the darkness of the yard would give you time to scramble off of his lap should someone step outside. And yet the thought of getting caught sent a thrill of excitement down your spine.

Santi chuckled, feeling the way you clenched down on him in reaction, and the ache between your thighs continued to build as his shaft massaged your inner walls.

He continued, “I think you love the thought that someone might catch me fucking you out here, that someone might see what a good little dirty fucking girl you are, riding my cock like you were made for it.”

If this was the only chance you ever had to fuck Santiago Garcia, let it be known that the memory of his filthy words alone would be enough to get you off until the end of time.

“Harder, Santi,” you pleaded, eager to feel him lose control, to feel the head of his shaft slamming directly into your cervix.

Santiago obliged, hands grasping your hips in a solid, unrelenting grip as he pounded into you with fervor. You shuddered, muscles tightening as the heat pooling in your abdomen finally spilled over, pleasuring rushing through your body in waves. You quivered in his arms as you rode out your intense climax, cunt gushing on his throbbing cock.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Santi’s voice was hushed as he watched you come down from your orgasm and kissed you softly.

As you moved your lips with his, the kiss quickly grew heated again, and Santi increased the pace of his thrusts, You ground down into him, looking down to marvel at the way his cock disappeared into your body each time he sunk back into you.

You felt as his hips began to stutter, and Santi asked, “Where?”

“Inside. Please. Come inside of me, Santi,” you pleaded.

A strangled sound left Santi’s mouth, and he roughly slammed into you, your drenched cunt squelching wetly around his length. You bounced in his lap while the steady rhythm of his thrusts began to dissipate into a desperate frenzy of movement, until finally plunged deep inside of you to the hilt and sunk his teeth into your collarbone, moaning huskily as he filled you with the thick, hot ropes of cum spurting from his cock.

You remained in his lap while he softened inside of you, cum dribbling from your hole as he cupped your face with both hands and pressed his mouth to yours.

He kissed you languidly for a moment before pulling away. “So…is it terrible that all I can think about is driving you back over there to get your jacket so you can walk back into his house with my cum running down your thighs?”

You shivered at the thought. “In that case, it might be all over my lips, too, if I can do what I was thinking about earlier on the drive over here…”

Santi groaned at the thought of having your lips parted around his cock, taking him deep into your throat while his hands tightly gripped the steering wheel.

He pulled his keys out of his pocket with a flourish and grinned.

Part 2 - illicit affair

—

Comments, reblogs, and/or asks are always appreciated!

» SANTIAGO GARCIA MASTERLIST » OSCAR ISAAC MASTERLIST