#need to put them in a jar and shake them around

[helloitsdusk]

thinking forever and ever and ever and ever and ever about the fact that alex, aaron, and meghan were childhood best friends. how alex AND AARON were there for her infractions. how aaron was the one who reported her. how meghan punched him in the face in shipwrecks. do you think aaron ever felt guilty for her death that he technically orchestrated? he thinks about it in graves. he wonders if alex feels as horribly about meghan as he does about secretary. secretary, who he killed. meghan was angry with sean for being accepted by their parents again while they turned her away and do you ever think about how she and alex could relate on that. i think we dont talk enough about how aaron betrayed meghan. i dont think we talk enough about aaron and meghan in general.

[soapyakships]

mzen on the mind

[cubezart]

I Depend On You

[phonification]

something something about worth

[intrusivepng]

Who else up missing these freaks it’s me I am

[captainjimothy]

hypersexual self-destructive depression weyoun who instigates sexual encounters with (at minimum) all the key leaders of the Dominion's allies, bargaining that this will result in:

the target reveals valuable intel, blackmail material, or vulnerabilities to exploit

and/or

the target degrades, abuses, or damages the weyoun unit, possibly even killing it--all of which is exactly what he deserves.

and that's a win-win scenario for him <3

[waitineedaname]

I am not a nie brothers scholar nor a jgy scholar so idk how to properly put these thoughts together, but I think it's unfair to act like nie huaisang would've tried to break up nieyao. what makes the tragedy and betrayal so delicious is that meng yao was his friend. in cql, he's visibly really worried about him and is pacing outside while nmj decides to kick him out. in the novels, jgy was constantly showering nhs with gifts tailored to his interests. nie huaisang liked him and trusted him, and that ultimately makes what happens later far more interesting than if he had hated him the whole time

[much-ado-about-whomst]

Hunger games! AU (with a dash of ETN)

-Ness is the first name pulled for district 12

-Abby is pulled, but Mike volunteers

-Mike is a Baker from a family of bakers

-Ness is a hunter/ cook

-Mike is only interested in surviving

-Ness is the planner, trying to keep them both alive.

[livinginadumpster]

need to print out tiny pictures of edwin, charles, crystal, and niko so I can actually put them in my pocket

[xjustkay]

just here to say i recently read ‘by my hand alone’ and i’m obsessed ok goodbye 🙏🏼😔

OH thank you sm 🥹

god i love those feral and snarky pirate little shits so much truly, they’re such a TIME, they make me insane. so many feelings fr

but really i’m glad that you’ve been enjoying them thus far, it means a lot! 💚💚

[capricioussun]

The reason i say i have like seven different versions of UF on rotation in my brain is because there are several different Styles of UF that i really like and can never really decide on which I'd consider my Main one, on top of also Lore, which i have a few different ideas for, too.

So like, we have the one i talk abt most often probably, which we'll call AngstFell, because. I'll be honest i love angst and i love doing terrible things to characters. This is the one where they have core issues, supply issues, food shortages, LVlost culling, very complicated and sort of miserable relationships between just about all of the characters. No One is having a good time pretty much, but despite everything, there is still hope...

Then there's how i often mentally refer to it as SillyFell, which is basically just like. If everyone in UT decided to try to be mean and was mostly really bad about it. In this one, things are still generally worse, but having LV is still somewhat uncommon, mostly only guards would have it, and people are generally more sad than they are mean/angry.

And then we have what's probably """closest to canon""" as far as my understanding of it goes, where it's sort of somewhere in between the two prior ones, in that there's definitely still silliness, and their UT selves aren't too far removed from them, but it still can get pretty heavy, and problems aren't as surface level as Silly.

Then we have my """fanon"""fell which is essentially something I've done for most AUs, where i try to imagine circumstances that could possibly, believably (by my own standards and interpretations) make the characters behave more in line with fanon portrayals. This one's way more difficult to summarize since the changes are more character specific, but generally, as far as "seriousness" goes, it falls in a similar place as "Canon"Fell.

And then there's Tale to Fell (v.1) which is essentially based around the idea that UF kind of started as UT, but slowly became UF due to Circumstances like core trouble and slightly different events going down with the humans, both during the war, and with what happened to Chara and Asriel. (End results are similar to "Canon"Fell)

But there's also Tale to Fell (v.2) which is based on the premise of UT slowly becoming UF after Frisk has fallen into the underground due to waaay too many resets and gradual code fuckery. (Opposed to v.1, this is actually a concept I've never seen explored before! Not to say it isn't out there somewhere, but i have a rough draft layout of a potential fic abt it that will...probably never happen bc it would take a lot of commitment lol)

So we have those bad boys, but then there's also differences depending on Lore. Like there's one version i think of sometimes where Papyrus is the older brother, or a version where Gaster didn't make Sans and Papyrus but was actually their adoptive uncle, and another with Gaster Papyrus where, as it goes, the incident that "shattered" Gaster created Papyrus, one where Undyne knew the bros as kids briefly, one where Asgore's just Terrible for like, no real reason, like. There are a lot of ways to think about it!!

And that's not even taking into account all of the Fell based story ideas like the psychonauts one, the one where the bros are gb shifters, one where Papyrus is [redacted], one where there's a zombie like plague outbreak that can only affect monsters with LV, one where Frisk winds up living underground with them all for a Hot Minute, and then of course there's the AUs, like Vesselfell, Horrorfell, Heartfell, Lovefell, Invertedfell, Orangefell, that mysterious one I've been mulling and have not talked about at all with Albatross-

Clearly i am very normal about this 👍

[secretlysheikah]

Hmmmmmm sheikah brain rot.

[garbageonion]

i love this picrew so much!! i've already done it a bunch of times but not since i dyed my hair green, so it was about time i revisited it anyway

@magenta-somethings @mayrine @stainedpurplehoodie @indy-ug @lolitrix2002 + anyone else who wants to do this ^^

cute thing im coming up with

this picrew of yourself and your current hyperfixation !!

no pressure tags @pearlzier @julesssyy @reidsfavoritegirl @whitney23317 @willowsblanket @flowercrownsandtrauma @rottenletter

[strangerexee]

ꜱɪʀ, ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ꜰɪɴᴇ | ʙᴏ ᴄʜᴏᴡ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴘᴛ.2

Set in 1932 Reader x Bo Chow (Smut | NSFW | 18+ | stamina king Bo | backshots | riding | size kink | dominance ("good girl," "show me how bad you want it") | manhandling (he moves her around) | keep going until he’s satisfied | overstimulation (but hot and willing) | mild spanking | praise mixed with teasing) ᴡᴄ : 3ᴋ ᴘᴛ.1

You were still trying to catch your breath — still perched all pretty on that wobbly old stool in the back storeroom — your dress hitched up indecently high, your thighs sticky and trembling.

And Bo Chow — Lord have mercy — he just stood there.

Cool as you please.

Straightened up to his full height — the buttons of his crisp white shirt stretched just a little across his broad chest — and tilted his head at you.

That little tilt— like he was studying something he was about to break just to put it back together again.

And then—

his voice.

Low. Sweet. Thick like honey poured real slow from the jar.

"Where you want it, sweetheart?" "Front or back?"

Your whole body shivered.

A deep, aching heat rolled through you so thick you almost couldn't breathe.

You should’ve been embarrassed. You should’ve blushed, fidgeted, something.

But you didn’t.

You met his gaze — eyes wide, breathing uneven — and somehow, somehow, you found the guts to say it:

"However you want it…sir."

Something dark and wild flickered in Bo’s eyes.

Not surprise.

Satisfaction.

Like he knew all along you were gonna fold for him — and now you had.

Good and proper.

He huffed a little chuckle through his nose — low, raspy, wrecking you without even trying.

"Yeah?" he said, cocking an eyebrow.

Drawled it out slow, almost teasing. His hand flexed loose at his side — like he was thinking about how exactly he wanted to handle you.

The tension crackled in the air— sweet and hot and dangerous.

Bo took a slow step toward you.

Boots heavy on the old wood floor.

You couldn't look away — felt frozen in place, heart pounding in your throat.

Without a word — he leaned down, slow and deliberate, and wrapped those big, rough hands around your ankles.

Gentle.

Almost careful.

You shivered when his fingers brushed your bare skin.

He found your panties — the ones bunched messily around your ankles — and with a little smirk, pulled them back up for you.

Real slow. Real deliberate. Like he was taking his time dressing you — only because it was his pleasure to undress you later.

The soft fabric dragged up your calves, your thighs — until it snapped back into place under your dress.

Bo let his hands linger at your hips— thumbs pressing into the soft curves — before he straightened up again.

God, he was so tall. So broad. So dangerous.

And still—

still a damn gentleman about it.

"You still got a job to do, sunshine," he murmured, voice syrup-sweet and rough-edged.

"Customers waitin’."

He winked — the cockiest, filthiest little wink you ever saw — and then turned and strode for the door without a second glance back.

Left you there.

Shaking. Flushed. Soaked through. Panting like you’d just run a mile barefoot.

You slid off the stool with shaking knees — hands smoothing your skirt down, trying to fix yourself — but it was no use.

You felt ruined.

And Bo Chow?

He knew it.

He wanted you to feel it.

The door swung back open a second later — and he popped his head in, grinning that wicked grin.

"Don't fret, sweetheart," he drawled. "I'll give it to ya later."

And then he was gone again — his voice still floating in the air like smoke and sin.

You stumbled out into the main store — face hot, hands shaking, body still thrumming with leftover need.

The bell over the door jingled as a new customer walked in. And there was Bo — already behind the counter, wiping his hands on a rag, cool and casual like he hadn’t just had his mouth on you five minutes ago.

You caught his eye across the room.

He winked again.

Slow. Confident. Wicked.

You almost dropped the basket you were holding.

Lord have mercy.

You were in so much trouble.

And you loved it.

The second the store closed and that front door clicked shut, Bo was on you.

No words. No soft coaxing. Just heat—raw and blinding.

He gripped your wrist, real firm but not hurting, and pulled you to the truck outside without a damn care for anything else. Tossed your basket onto the seat beside you like it weighed nothing.

You barely had time to blink before he was climbing behind the wheel— those big, work-worn hands flexing around it tight enough to make the leather creak.

You sat there, squirming on the cracked leather bench seat, heart hammering outta your chest, sneaking glances at him out the corner of your eye.

Good Lord.

The rolled-up sleeves. The thick forearms dusted with dark hair. The way his jaw ticked when he caught you looking and grinned like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

Bo didn’t say much on the ride.

Just kept one big hand firm on your thigh the whole way back. Fingers squeezing sometimes, like he just had to remind himself you were real. His thumb stroking lazy circles on your skin. Low, rumbling hums escaping his throat when you shifted, when your skirt crept higher, when your breathing hitched.

You pulled up to a squat little house on the edge of town — plain and sturdy, just like him.

Before you could reach for the door handle, Bo was already moving.

Rounded the truck, opened your door for you, and when you hopped down — too slow for his liking — he just grabbed you.

Big hands under your thighs — hauling you up against him like you weighed nothing.

You gasped, clinging to his shoulders. The muscles there flexed hard under your fingers.

"Don't worry, sunshine," he rasped, lips brushing your ear. "Ain't gonna drop ya. 'M gonna take real good care of you."

He carried you clean into the house — booted the door shut behind him — and didn’t stop moving 'til he had you in his bedroom.

Dropped you right on the mattress — rough but careful — and stood back just long enough to unbutton his sleeves and shove them up his thick forearms.

You stared.

Lord have mercy.

The cut of his arms. The thick veins. The wide, calloused hands that had already ruined you once today and were about to do it again.

You scrambled up onto your knees at the edge of the bed, reaching for him without even thinking.

And Bo — God bless him — caught your wrists in one big hand, smirking like the devil himself.

"So greedy already, sweetheart?" he teased, voice syrup-slow and mean-sweet.

You nodded fast — bold and shameless now, drunk on him — and whispered:

"Please."

Bo chuckled low in his chest — that filthy sound that made your whole body clench.

He leaned down — gripped the hem of your dress — and yanked it up over your hips without ceremony.

You were soaked for him.

His eyes darkened, heavy and hot.

"Fuckin' hell," he muttered. "Look at you. Drippin' for me already."

He told you to get on your hands and knees. Of course you listened.

He shoved at your back, real gentle but real firm, until you were braced on your elbows, ass high for him.

You gasped when you felt him— big, hot, hard against the back of your thigh.

You twisted around to look at him— wide-eyed, panting.

Bo just laughed under his breath.

One hand gripped your hip— tight enough to bruise— and the other lined himself up right at your entrance.

"Hold still for me, sugar," he rasped. "Gonna make you feel real good."

And then he pushed in— slow at first—just the thick head stretching you open— until you whimpered desperately and pushed back against him, needing more.

Bo groaned — low and filthy — and gripped your hips even tighter.

"Greedy lil thing," he panted. "Want all of it, huh?"

"Y-yeah—sir—" you gasped.

He laughed — a rough, broken sound — and slammed the rest of the way in.

You saw stars. Your elbows buckled, your body rocked forward with the force of it.

Bo grabbed a fistful of your hair — yanked your head back just enough to murmur in your ear:

"Takin' me so good, pretty girl." "So tight around me."

Then he started to move.

Rough. Hard. Deep.

Driving into you like he owned you — like you were his and only his — like he was gonna fuck every other thought right outta your pretty little head.

You cried out — loud and gasping and needy — hand reaching back to push against him — as if that would do anything. but not broken.

Never broken.

Just wild and burning for him.

Every time his hips snapped against your ass, his hand slid rough over your waist— holding you still, guiding you where he wanted you.

At one point, he gave your ass a light smack — just a quick, sharp tap — and rumbled:

"That's it, baby. Take it."

You keened — high and breathless — and he laughed, rough and full of filthy pride.

He didn’t slow down. No —

Kept you bent just right, his thick cock hitting that sweet, aching spot inside you over and over— kept you teetering right on the edge of breaking.

Every inch of you burned for him. Every thrust punched little moans from your throat. You could barely breathe, barely think—

And you loved it.

You loved the way he handled you— like he couldn’t get enough, like he needed you.

"Gonna come for me, sweetheart?" he panted against your ear. "Gonna let me fill this sweet lil pussy up?"

"Yes—sir—yes—" you sobbed, desperate and honest.

Bo groaned low — like he was proud of you — and reached around, sliding two thick fingers to rub tight circles over your clit while he kept pounding into you from behind.

That was it.

The world shattered — heat exploding behind your eyes — your body locking up, clenching around him hard enough to drag a deep, broken curse from his throat.

Bo drove into you three more times — deep, brutal strokes — before he spilled inside you with a low, ragged groan.

You collapsed forward onto the mattress, gasping, shaking. Bo slumped over you, breathing heavy against your shoulder.

He didn’t pull away.

Just stayed there — heavy and warm and solid — pressing kisses to the nape of your neck.

Real soft now. Real sweet.

After a minute, he finally leaned back— ran a hand over your back, your ass, your thighs — soothing, praising, claiming.

"Good girl," he murmured. "Took me so fuckin' good."

You smiled — soft and wrecked and stupidly happy — and let him roll you into his arms.

Safe. Satisfied. Ruined.

You barely had a second to catch your breath before Bo was shifting under you — reaching up, grabbing your hips, flipping you onto him with zero effort.

You landed across his broad chest, sprawled and gasping, blinking down at him.

He looked wrecked— hair wild, jaw tight, chest heaving.

But his cock— Jesus Christ— his cock was still hard.

Thick and heavy against his stomach. Still leaking, still hungry.

You swallowed hard.

Bo just grinned — slow and wolfish — and tapped two fingers against your thigh.

"C'mon, sugar." "Ain't done with you yet." "Get up here. Ride me like a good girl."

Your whole body throbbed at the command. You nodded — eager, aching — and scrambled up.

Bo leaned back against the headboard, hands braced behind his head, just watching you with lazy, hooded eyes.

Letting you do the work.

Letting you prove yourself.

You straddled his hips — reached down to wrap your hand around the base of him — and whimpered a little at the sheer size.

Still so thick. Still so hot and hard it made your mouth water.

You hovered over him, breathing fast.

Bo chuckled under his breath.

"What's the matter, sunshine?" he rasped. "You scared now?"

You narrowed your eyes — stubborn — and shook your head.

He smirked.

"That's my girl."

You lined him up again — rubbed the fat head against your soaked folds — and sank down slow.

FUCK.

Your body clenched around him, struggling to take it — as if your pussy just forgot what he felt like. He stretched you so wide it bordered on pain— but it felt so good you couldn't stop.

Bo groaned low when you bottomed out — his hands gripping your thighs so tight you could already feel the bruises blooming.

"Tight fuckin' pussy," he muttered. "Jesus Christ. Fit me like a damn glove."

You whimpered, dizzy with how full you felt.

But he wasn’t satisfied yet.

Bo loosened one hand from your thigh — licked his thumb — and reached down, slicking it over your clit with rough, filthy circles.

You jerked, crying out, hips grinding against him without meaning to.

"That's it, pretty girl," he growled. "Show me how bad you want it."

You started to move.

Slow at first — rocking your hips back and forth — feeling every thick inch of him drag against your walls.

Bo leaned his head back, eyes fluttering shut, mouth open on a ragged moan.

You rode him harder. Faster. Chasing that hot, electric feeling building low in your belly.

"Boooo." your head tilted back, eyes squeezing shut. the man onl

Your hands planted on his chest — fingers digging into the hard muscle — and you used him like he told you to.

"Fuckkk, baby," he grunted. "Look at you. Bouncin' on my cock like you were fuckin' made for it."

You whined — high and broken — but kept going.

Kept grinding down on him, riding him so good his thighs flexed under your knees.

At some point, he grabbed your hips and started fucking up into you — meeting your thrusts with brutal, punishing strokes. Had your jaw slack, letting out broken moans.

The slap of skin on skin filled the room. The headboard banged against the wall. You didn’t care.

You chased it — the pleasure, the heat, the way Bo made you feel like nothing else in the whole goddamn world mattered.

You felt yourself getting close again — too fast — overwhelmed but desperate for it.

Bo saw it.

Felt the way you started trembling on top of him.

He grinned — sharp and feral — and gripped your chin in one hand, forcing you to look down at him.

"You wanna come?" he panted. "Wanna make a mess all over my cock?"

You nodded.

"Please—please, sir—"

Bo's thumb pressed tight against your clit — cruel and perfect — and he groaned:

"Then fuckin' take it. Show me how bad you need it."

That was it.

You shattered again — crying out his name — body locking up around him so tight he cursed under his breath, fucking up into you harder to ride it out.

You collapsed against his chest, shaking.

But Bo didn’t let up.

Not yet. The man sighed like he was bored.

"Uh uh," he rasped against your hair, wrapping one big arm around your waist, holding you pinned. "Ain't done with you, sweetheart." "Gonna ride me 'til I say we're done."

You whimpered — not from fear, not from pain — but from the raw, burning NEED he dragged out of you.

You wanted it. You wanted him.

You nodded into his chest — barely managing a breathless:

"Yes, sir."

Bo chuckled — soft and rough and full of pride.

He grabbed your hips again — started bouncing you up and down on his cock, using your body like his favorite toy.

You moaned, wrecked and shaking but so fucking happy you couldn’t even think straight.

You'd give him anything.

Everything.

It felt like forever.

Bo kept you riding him through two more orgasms — holding you there, stuffed full and gasping — until he finally groaned deep and broken against your neck, hips jerking up hard one last time.

You felt him pulse deep inside you — hot and thick — and you whimpered at the stretch, the heat, the feeling of being so full you could hardly breathe.

Bo slumped back against the pillows, dragging you down with him.

Panting. Shaking.

You both laid there — sweaty, trembling, ruined — and he ran a heavy hand up and down your back, soothing you.

"You did so good," he murmured, kissing your hair. "Took every goddamn inch of me like a fuckin' champ."

You smiled against his chest — weak and giddy and so, so full — and whispered:

"Anything for you, sir."

You laid flat on your back, dazed, the sheets twisted under you. Your thighs still trembled from the way Bo had used you, and you could feel his cum already leaking out of you, sticky and warm between your legs.

You barely had the strength to lift your head.

Bo shifted beside you — big and solid and alive — and you thought maybe he was just gonna pass out too.

Instead, you heard him grunt softly.

"Stay there, baby," he murmured.

You felt the bed dip as he stood up — bare-ass naked, heavy steps toward the bathroom.

You tried to lift your head again, but everything was heavy. You flopped back down, whining a little.

Bo came back a moment later — shirtless, flushed, eyes dark but soft — holding a warm, damp rag in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

He dropped the rag on the bed for a second — reached out — and brushed your hair back from your sticky forehead.

"Look at you," he said, voice low and rough. "Wore you the fuck out, huh?"

You gave a weak, sleepy nod.

Bo chuckled — not unkind — and leaned down to kiss your temple.

"'S what happens when you ask for all of me, sugar," he whispered.

He crouched down beside the bed, gentle but firm.

Picked up the rag.

And started cleaning you up.

Slow, careful wipes between your thighs — soft shushing sounds when you whined at the oversensitive feeling.

He was so tender you wanted to cry — but not from sadness. From how safe he made you feel.

He cleaned every inch of you — your thighs, your stomach, even the sticky patches on your hip where he'd gripped you too hard — until you were fresh and warm and shivering again for a different reason.

Bo tossed the rag into the laundry basket without even looking.

Grabbed the glass of water.

Sat on the edge of the bed and slid his big hand under your head — lifting you up against his chest like you weighed nothing.

He pressed the cool glass into your hands.

"Drink, baby," he said — voice brooking no argument.

You blinked blearily up at him — exhausted, limp — but you tried.

Took a few weak sips.

Bo watched you, unsmiling now. Patient. Waiting.

When you faltered — your hands shaking — he tsked quietly.

Took the glass from you with one hand, tipping it back to your lips.

"Uh uh," he said under his breath. "Told you to drink, sweet girl. Need you hydrated for me, yeah?"

The water spilled against your mouth as he tilted it — not enough to choke you, but enough that you had no choice but to swallow.

You drank it down in slow gulps, the cold water easing some of the haze in your brain.

Bo murmured soft praise against your hair the whole time:

"There you go." "Good girl." "My good girl."

When the glass was empty, he set it aside.

Held you against his chest for a minute longer — stroking slow, lazy circles on your bare back — before pulling away just enough to look you in the eye.

His hand cupped your jaw — thumb stroking your cheekbone.

"Bathroom now, baby," he said, voice firm but quiet. "Need you to go pee for me, alright?"

You wrinkled your nose, sleepy and a little embarrassed.

Bo smirked — saw it all over your face.

"Don't get shy on me now," he teased, flicking your forehead.

You grumbled — soft and half-hearted — but you slid out of bed.

Bo watched you the whole way — arms folded behind his head, cocky and content — until you disappeared into the bathroom.

You heard him chuckle low when you slammed the door behind you.

When you came back out — legs still wobbly, wearing nothing but his crumpled button-down — Bo held out one hand.

You crossed the room like you were sleepwalking. Crawled right back into the bed, right back onto him, like you belonged there.

Bo caught you against his chest — kissed the top of your head — and tucked the blankets up around your bare legs.

"Good girl," he murmured again — a low, private sound just for you. "My best girl."

You mumbled something — half a thank you, half a love letter — but it didn’t matter.

Bo already knew.

He kissed you — slow and deep and tender — his hand cradling the back of your head like you were the most precious thing he'd ever touched.

You sighed against his mouth — soft and full — and melted into him like you were made to fit there.

Bo smiled into the kiss.

"Get some sleep, sugar," he whispered, nuzzling your cheek. "Ain't done with you yet. Got a whole night left to love on you."

A/N: I was supposed to post this yesterday...sorry

[chleem]

Mistletoe

One shot: bf drew starkey x gf yn

Summary: In which your secret relationship with drew gets exposed due to a quick kiss beneath the mistletoe.

Genre: fluff (making out wdrew)

⋆.˚ please dont copy or translate my work!

♡⸝⸝ happy xmas! | halloween | mr & mrs starkey

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You thought no one would say yes to a Home Alone marathon, but here you were—with seven friends huddled on your couch the week before Christmas.

You were prepared for rejection from them; watching the entire trilogy alone - well, not alone. With Drew, of course. 

Your boyfriend, of three months. Secret boyfriend. 

No one knew about you and Drew. And you both planned to keep it that way. The moment anyone found out, the teasing would be relentless. The questions would come. And honestly? You weren’t ready for that invasion of privacy.

It was easier this way. Just the two of you. Even if Drew was laughing along with everyone else, sitting across the room, his gaze on you would linger longer in a way only the two of you understood. 

What did Taylor Swift once say? Romance is not dead, if you keep it just yours. 

Maybe, the best thing she’s ever written. 

You stand up from your seat, carrying your empty cup. You needed a refill of hot chocolate, the only thing (other than Drew) that’s keeping your sanity alive in this cold weather. 

When you walk past where Drew’s sitting, the heavy weight of his stares makes your heartbeat uncontrollably speed up. 

Entering your kitchen, you immediately reheat the milk using the coffee machine, then pouring a bag of the instant chocolate powder into your cup. 

It feels like hours has passed waiting for the coffee machine to stop. 

Luckily, you weren’t alone while waiting. 

Before you can even react, arms snake around your waist, caging you between his body and the kitchen counter. His chest presses lightly against your back, and the warmth of his body sends a shiver down your spine.

Your heart already knows who it is: Drew. 

“Hey you,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing. 

He kisses your temple, and you sneak a look past his shoulder. The kitchen had a wall separating itself from the living room; but you could never be sure. 

“No one saw me,” he says, reading your thoughts. You look into his mischievous blue eyes with your skeptical ones, trying to suppress your smile. 

“Well, you can’t just sneak up on me like that,” you say, leaning into his touch. Without thinking, you let your nose drift near his neck; because why not? 

And as expected, he smells nice. 

“Mhm,” he’s never going to stop sneaking up on you. Drew’s eyes avert themselves down to your lips, before licking his own. “When are they going to leave?” 

“You know what a movie marathon means, right?”

Your words causes Drew to frustratedly groan, and throw his head back dramatically. You laugh at his reaction, finding it cute. “And we’re only on the second one…” 

“Patience, baby, okay?” You coo at him, a smile appearing on your face. 

You reach for the hot milk, pouring it carefully into your cup. As you finish, Drew’s hand moves up, effortlessly reaching the cupboard above you. Without a word, he pulls down the jar of marshmallows and hands it to you, his fingers brushing against yours. 

“We should just send them all home,” he whispers in your ear, seductively and annoyingly so, knowing that no one’s in here but the both of you. 

You send him a glare, shaking your head at him. “You mean I should send them all home. No.” 

You try to step away, cup of hot chocolate in hand, but before you can make it to the door, Drew pulls you back toward him again. His grip tightens around your waist, his hands feeling like they've found a permanent spot there.

You stumble slightly, not expecting the sudden pull, and end up having your chest tightly pressed against his. The heat from the mug in your hands is nothing compared to the warmth radiating from him.

One hand goes and takes the hot drink away from you, putting it back on the counter. “C’mon, I’m not done with you yet,” he smirks, undeniably teasing you. 

“Seriously?” you mutter, eyes narrowing at him, but the way your lips twitch betrays you. You like how he impatient he is; how he acts as if he can’t spend seconds away from you. 

You watch as Drew straightens up, his eyes gleaming with excitement, hand still firmly around your waist. The other slips into his pocket, and you raise an eyebrow, already bracing yourself for whatever this latest move will be.

“What now—” you start to ask, but your words die in your throat as Drew pulls something small out of his pocket.

The smallest sprig of mistletoe possible.

Your breath catches as you look up at him, eyes wide in disbelief. You expected anything but that.

He holds the mistletoe above the both of you, now expecting you to kiss him.

Then…“With you~ shawty with you,” the familiar tone of Justin Bieber’s Mistletoe leaves Drew’s mouth, but completely out of tune. 

You snort, unable to hold it in, the goofy sound escaping your mouth before you can even stop it. Romantic moment? No, maybe the complete opposite. 

Drew’s grin widens, and before you can even get a word out, he continues to sing the last chorus of the song. 

Your soft giggles encourages him to sing even more dramatically, adding in ad-libs. And when the song comes to an end, he attempts a high-note on the last lines, “kiss me underneath the mistletoe.” 

“You dork,” laughing, you hit his shoulder lightly in attempt to push him away.

“C’mon, kiss me,” he leans down closer to you, “especially after that performance.” 

You look up at him, eyes still gleaming with laughter, but something shifts. The playfulness in his gaze deepens, the smile slipping into something a little softer, a little more serious. He’s still holding the mistletoe above your heads, but it no longer feels like a joke.

And because it was such a good performance, you wrap your arms around his neck, pull him even closer, and kiss him. 

You pour your emotions into it; kissing him soft and slow. Drew immediately melts into it, kissing you back with the same tenderness. 

He drops his hands to wrap around your body, the rough leaves of the mistletoe tickling the skin your top doesn’t cover. You giggle into the kiss, leaving the invitation for Drew to thrust his tongue deeper into you. 

His hand slips lower and cups your ass, giving it a tight squeeze. 

Moaning into his mouth, you know this kiss is escalating. Escalating, rather fast. 

The pulse that speeds up in your lower stomach can support your thoughts. 

You pull away from him, breathless and slightly starstruck. 

Drew is definitely starstruck, lips plumped, cheeks red, and his blue eyes no longer able to hold a single thought behind them. 

He leans down to continue, and when you pull away, a pout is evident on his lips. 

“Earth to Joseph,” you giggle breathlessly, cupping his face. 

He smiles at the mention of his full name, lazy look in his eyes. “They didn’t notice I was gone,” he murmurs, his voice laced with desperation to kiss you again. 

“They will soon,” you gently tell him, before planting a quick kiss to his lips again. 

“Fuck,” he groans, biting down on his lower lip. His gaze drops down between the both of you, and you follow his trail of line. 

Sure enough, the crotch area of his jeans is slowly emerging, a line evident.

“Forgot how easily aroused you are,” you tease, patting his shoulder as you walk past him.

Your gaze flickers to the doorway, and when your mind confirms it, you freeze.

“Shit.”

Your eyes lock with Madelyn’s. She’s standing there, mouth opened in a gasp, eyes wide with shock. She doesn’t even try to hide the fact that she’s caught you in the act. 

Her eyes flicker between you and Drew, who immediately turns his back to face her (obvious reasons why). Her opened mouth turns into a full-wide grin, before raising a finger to point between you and Drew. “Oh! Oh-“

Madelyn’s loud remarks echoes through your apartment, making herself heard to the rest of the group in the living room. You embarrassingly bury your face into your hands, hearing the footsteps of your friend group entering your kitchen. 

Great. So much for keeping this relationship a secret. 

“What happened?” You hear JD ask, worry in his tone. 

“They were making out! And- and Drew’s hard right now!” She practically yells it, leading to a chorus of gasps and laughs. You’re pretty sure Rudy laughs the hardest, his laugh full of amusement and disbelief. 

You groan in embarrassment, your face burning as you sink to the floor, hands instinctively covering your face like a shield. "Fuck," you mutter under your breath.

“You owe me fifty bucks!” You hear Chase happily chirp to someone. 

Everyone takes advantage of you and Drew’s discomfort, just like how you expected them to do once they found out.  

You then feel hands cupping your face, forcing you to look up. 

You meet the familiar blue, Drew now kneeling beside you with an embarrassed smile that matches yours. He rests his forehead against yours, his chest vibrating with laughter, “guess the cat’s out of the bag.”

You giggle at his capability to joke along, hitting his shoulder lightly. “You’re so annoying.”

“Merry Christmas to you too,” Drew says, brushing off your comment with a playful shrug.

You shake your head, but the warmth in your chest is undeniable. With a quick move, you grab the collar of his sweater, pulling him close. You tilt your head just enough to meet his lips in a kiss.

It’s soft. Brief. Sweet. Just enough to drown out the noise, to remind you of the quiet between you two amidst the madness.

When you finally pull away, your breath mingling, you murmur softly, “Merry Christmas,” your voice a gentle whisper that only he can hear.

Drew’s eyes soften as he looks down at you, his smile warm and genuine. “Merry Christmas,” he repeats, as if this moment—this simple kiss—is exactly what he needed too.

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word count: 1.6k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: merry christmas!! hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it! i love writing these little holiday specials, bc it gives me the opportunity to write something fun & weird! last one i wrote was hallow's eve, and i just wanna say thxs for liking it. that is, im currently writing another christmas oneshot, so look forward to it!

elevator | other | mr & mrs starkey | hallow's eve

[mwagneto]

i was right

i cannot be held responsible for the person i become when the doctor and donna are on my screen again btw. levels of mental illness never before seen