#something about the christmas tree one like

[grayandthyme]

anon said:

I love your Tommy fics SOOOO much <3 it would be so awesome if you could write a super domestic fic, like a dinner or get together with all the millers. you always write Tommy so perfectly mischievous 😩 I think we could all use that in our lives rn

“when there’s so much love to go around?” ;

tommy miller x wife!reader ♫ meet me in the woods - lord huron

Synopsis: You and Tommy throw a dinner for Christmas. Tomfoolery with the town. Warnings: pure domestic fluff, dialogue heavy, reader is referred to as she/her, y'all just love each other okay, getting teased about children, barely smut, more so kissies.

authors note: your honor, i love them. i love domestic reader and Tommy—i say as they drag me tf away. ty anon ily for this.. keep requesting.. i see u our minds r the same..

Winter of 2033

It had been hours since you first rolled out of bed, feet hitting the floor before the sun even crept over the snow-covered ridge. The air in Jackson was sharp with winter, but your home was warm—alive with movement, scents, and soft laughter.

Tonight was the Christmas dinner. The big one.

And just like every year since you first settled behind these walls, you were hosting it.

It had only been a year ago that you brought the idea to Tommy—transforming the holiday from a quiet, private gathering to a community-wide Tipsy Bison feast. “Why keep it small,” you’d said, chin in his lap as he sat in that old armchair, “when there’s so much love to go around?”

You still remembered the way he’d looked at you then—like you’d strung up the stars yourself. His fingers had drifted through your hair, the other hand warm against your cheek. “You’re perfect, ain’t ya?” he whispered, not asking, just stating something true.

Now, the scent of roasting meat wafted through the air, kids screamed in the distance as they pelted snowballs, and inside the hall, you stood with your arms crossed, brow furrowed at the crooked evergreen bough above the hearth.

"Higher," you said, voice sweet but firm, hands settled on your hips as you leaned back to assess the greenery.

Tommy let out a long, theatrical grunt from where he stood on the chair, stretching just a little more to pin the garland. "You sure this ain’t high enough? I’m about to pull a hamstring for a damn pine branch."

You squinted, tilting your head, "Mmm… now a little to the left."

He froze. "…Sweetheart," he warned, glancing over his shoulder with narrowed eyes, "if you ask me to move this thing one more time, I swear—"

"You'll what?" you teased, stepping closer, a grin tugging at your lips. "Grumble at me until I die of old age? It's workin'…"

Tommy chuckled, low and fond, shaking his head. “You really like bossin’ me around, huh?”

"You make it too easy," you said, eyeing a bit of snow from his shoulder that had stuck to his coat when he rushed in from patrol. "Besides, you’re the one who ran here the second you got back. I didn’t even ask."

He stepped down from the chair then, hands going to your waist, eyes sparkling with something warm and wicked, “Didn’t need to ask. You say jump, I’m already in the air.”

You rolled your eyes, even as your heart stuttered. “Hopeless.”

“Hopelessly in love,” he corrected, leaning in to steal a kiss. “With a woman who makes me decorate trees after I’ve walked ten miles in the snow.”

You laughed against his mouth, fingers tangling in his coat collar. “And you love every minute of it.”

"Only 'cause it's you," he murmured, voice dropping just enough to melt something inside you. "Now… how crooked is it, really?"

"…Crooked enough that you’re gonna need to get back up there.”

Tommy groaned dramatically, already turning for the chair again. “Lord, give me strength.”

“Hey!” a familiar voice echoed through the mess hall entrance, followed by the unmistakable stomp of snow-covered boots. “This place looks sick!”

You turned just in time to see Ellie practically burst through the doors, cheeks red from the cold, a scarf wrapped around her neck like she got tangled in it mid-run.

Joel followed behind her, a little slower, shaking the snow from his coat, feet gliding against the entrance lip to keep snow from coming in, arching a brow at her enthusiasm.

Ellie spun around, arms stretched wide. “You guys really went all out this year—look at this!” She gestured dramatically to the garlands, the lights, the long tables draped in handmade cloths.

“Glad it passes inspection,” you said with a grin, brushing your hands off on a stray dish towel, shedding any dirt or pine oil.

Tommy once again hopped off the chair with a soft thud, muttering, “She’s lucky she showed up after the garland wars.” … “Only one casualty,” Tommy said, shooting you a playful glare. “My damn patience.”

Joel gave a faint, amused huff and patted Tommy’s shoulder on his way in, “It’s like… Hallmark threw up in here." Though it was quiet enough that only Tommy let out a huff of air in amusement.

You leaned in, stage-whispering toward Ellie, “Don’t let him fool you. He’s been humming Christmas songs under his breath all day.”

“Betray me, woman," Tommy gasped, placing a hand over his heart, mock-offended.

Ellie rolled her eyes, grinning widely. “You guys are gross.”

“You say that now,” Joel muttered, pulling off his gloves, “but wait ‘til she’s ropin’ you into hanging ornaments next year.”

Ellie made a face. “Yeahhhh—I’ll just be in charge of the music.”

“Only if it’s not that weird stuff you like,” Tommy teased. “Last year you played that sad punk song about—what was it—dyin' in the snow?”

“It’s poetic! It's Slipknot!” Ellie defended, dramatically offended. “It has layers!”

You just laughed and moved to straighten one of the place settings, glancing up at the group with a warmth that settled in your chest like the glow of a fireplace.

This was what you’d wanted when you first brought up the idea: a night where nobody had to be on guard, where jokes could be tossed around with ease, and where people who'd fought so hard to survive could finally just be.

Joel’s eyes wandered the room, lingering on the wreath above the hearth, the tables arranged with care. He nodded, quietly approving. “Looks good.”

High praise, coming from him.

You gave a little mock bow. “Why, thank you, Mr. Miller.”

He raised his lip, that semblance of a smile, “You’re welcome, Mrs. Miller.”

Tommy sidled up behind you then, slipping an arm around your waist. “If we’re done admirin’ her genius, how about y’all help set out the cider?”

Ellie perked up. “You made cider?”

Tommy grinned. “Well… mostly she did. I just stirred it once or twice and took the credit.”

“Shocking,” you said, elbowing him lightly as you walked toward the kitchen, his arm still draped around you.

Ellie bounded after you. “Okay, but is there whipped cream? Because if there’s no whipped cream, I’m filing a formal complaint.”

Joel sighed behind her. “Kid, it’s cider, not dessert.”

“Says you.” Was that a fat joke?

Tommy chuckled, then turned his head slightly, murmuring in your ear as the others bickered playfully behind you. “This right here? This is why I don’t mind bein’ bossed around by you.”

You looked up at him, heart soft. “Because I make great cider?”

He leaned down, brushed his nose against your temple. “Because you make this feel like home.”

𓇼ㅤ ㅤ𓂂ㅤㅤ ˚ㅤㅤ ◌ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏

“Ellie!" you called, already halfway back to the box of leftover decorations, “... you’re in charge of the string lights. Grab Jesse and have him help you run them along the ceiling beams.”

“On it!” she shouted back, already tossing her scarf toward a chair.

“Wait—why me?” Jesse called as he walked through the door, blinking snow out of his lashes.

“Because you’re tall, and you just got here,” you said, pointing towards the box.

Tommy let out a low whistle, watching you move from one task to the next like a conductor in front of a half-chaotic orchestra, “Lord help us. She’s in general mode now.”

Joel, who was currently uncoiling a bundle of firewood near the hearth, smirked under his breath. “Don’t fight it, Brother. It’s easier just doin’ what she says.”

You pointed a finger in their direction without even looking. “Speaking of—which one of you is getting the fire started?”

“Already on it,” Tommy said, tossing a small log into the hearth. “You want it roaring or romantic?”

“Roaring,” you replied. “It’s freezing out there.”

Tommy crouched beside his brother, striking a match. “Don’t think she knows how not to make things romantic.”

You caught that one and just smiled as you passed, hands full of small cloth-wrapped bundles for the tables.

You weren’t barking orders—no—no one would’ve called it that.

You had a softness in your voice, a way of asking that made people want to please you. Like it was their idea all along. It wasn't manipulative, but it was enough of a push that make people want to entertain. Maternal. Caring.

Ellie was already arguing with Jesse over how to untangle the lights, their banter echoing through the hall. “No, you loop it over that beam—what do you mean it’s stuck? Use your freakishly long arms!”

“Long arms?”

“Freakishly.”

You laughed to yourself, their bickering just adding warmth to your heart, adjusting a centerpiece on the nearest table, already moving to the next one.

There was a flow to all of it. Like the dinner wasn’t just being set up—it was being built by hands that wanted people to feel seen, safe, and loved.

You weren’t just hosting a meal.

You were holding a whole town’s worth of worn-down hearts together with pinecones and cider.

And maybe that’s what struck you, as you paused for a breath and watched them all—Tommy, grinning beside the growing fire; Joel, quiet and steady as ever; Jesse helping Ellie, begrudgingly, reach for another beam.

They were all yours, in some small way.

Not possession. Not only romance. Just… yours.

Trusted you. Looked to you.

It felt almost sacred.

You didn’t have to be just Tommy's woman. But it felt like, for the ones who had no one else—you were.

And that was enough.

He caught your eye from across the hall, hands now dusted with soot, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “You gonna sit down at some point tonight?”

“Eventually,” you said, blowing a hair from your face. “After I single-handedly bring order to the post-apocalyptic North Pole.”

He chuckled, stepping forward to press a kiss to your temple. “You know they’re all following you like you hung the moon, right?”

You gave a half-hearted shrug, not out of modesty, but because there was always more to do. “Somebody’s got to keep things moving.”

“And nobody does it better,” he murmured. “But don’t forget to let yourself enjoy it too.”

You leaned into him just for a second, letting the warmth of his chest and the crackling fire fill your lungs. “I am enjoying it. This is joy.”

You pulled away, clapped your hands, and called across the room: “Ellie, when those lights go up, you’re getting the first cup of cider.”

She whooped, hands leaving the ladder Jesse was standing on, “Hell yeah!”

“And Jesse, if you fall off that beam, I’m not bandaging you until after dinner.”

“I’m not gonna fall!” he said, “…probably.”

Tommy laughed beside you, and Joel shook his head as he stoked the fire, a quiet grin forming.

And for just a moment, with the scent of pine, the hum of voices, and the low crackle of warmth in the hearth—this place felt like the safest one on earth.

Taking your break, you slipped out of the main hall and into the kitchen, the swing door creaking gently behind you.

The warm scent of roasted vegetables and spiced cider hung heavy in the air, curling around you like a blanket.

The dishes were set out in organized chaos by Seth—covered platters, still-warm trays, foil-wrapped pots lined up for the eventual dinner.

You moved on instinct, checking lids, stirring where needed, straightening one of the larger trays that had started to tip. The clatter and laughter from the hall was muffled now, just a faint hum behind the door.

You didn’t hear Tommy come in until arms wrapped around your waist from behind, drawing you back into the solid heat of his chest.

“Caught you,” he murmured against your ear.

You grinned, still stirring the pot of mashed potatoes with one hand. “Caught me? I’m working, Miller.”

He moved into the crook of your neck, facial air tickling at air-sensitive skin, voice low and lazy, “Mhm. Always workin’. Always takin’ care of everyone else. Thought I’d steal a minute before you disappeared back into Christmas mode.”

You laughed, setting the spoon down and turning in his arms. “Oh, so now you want to slow down. Not when I was hanging garlands, or setting tables, or bribing Ellie to stop tripping over extension cords—now?”

Tommy leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. “Exactly now.”

His hands stayed at your waist, thumbs stroking idle circles through your sweater, his other finger through your belt loop to keep you put.

There was something in his eyes—mischief, sure, but also something softer. Admiration was tucked behind the usual boyish charm.

The kind of look that made you feel like the only light in a room full of lamps.

"You know," he said, voice just above a whisper, “you keep runnin’ around makin’ everything beautiful, I’m gonna have to fight off half the damn town.”

“Oh yeah?” you teased, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. “And who exactly would be bold enough to test your claim?”

He grinned. “Nobody if they know what’s good for them.”

You leaned up, brushing a kiss against the corner of his mouth, “Possessive looks good on you, Miller.”

He smirked, but it softened into something else, quick, “I ain’t just proud of you, y’know.”

You tilted your head, curious. “No?”

“I need you,” he said, voice suddenly quiet—serious in the way that made your chest ache a little, “All this—this whole town, this dinner, this life—it runs ‘cause you make it feel like it’s worth buildin’ Worth stayin’ for.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the weight of it. And he saw that in your eyes, because he gave you a small shrug and smiled again, a little more sheepish this time as if removing weight, “Just sayin’. While I got you to myself.”

You kissed him then. Slower, firmer. Your hand came up to cradle his jaw, thumb brushing across the scruff of his cheek. He leaned into it like it was something he’d been waiting for all day.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his.

“We’ve got about two more minutes before Ellie breaks in here demanding cider again.”

Tommy groaned, dramatically, “Can’t we just barricade the door and say dinner’s canceled?”

You laughed, kissed him once more—just quick this time—and turned back to the trays.

“Help me carry the rolls,” you said with a wink, lifting a basket. “And maybe later, I’ll let you sneak me into the coat closet.”

Tommy grabbed a tray, “Fuckin' Christmas miracle…”

You both walked back out to the hall, hands full of food and hearts full of something far warmer than the fire.

𓇼ㅤ ㅤ𓂂ㅤㅤ ˚ㅤㅤ ◌ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏

The mess hall had shifted entirely.

Where once it had been full of echo and motion, now it buzzed with a gentle hum—laughter bouncing softly off the walls, forks clinking on plates, chairs scraping as people leaned into stories and leaned closer to each other. The scent of roasted root vegetables, smoked meat, and spiced cider filled every corner.

You moved between tables like a steady current, checking on folks, sliding napkins back into place, refilling cider mugs as if it were second nature. Everyone looked so full—not just their plates, but their faces.

Smiling. Relaxed. Safe, for once.

Tommy had already slipped into his seat beside you, a little too proud of how many compliments he’d gotten on your recipes. The combination of your genius and Seth's skills.

You gave him a nudge and sat down at last, your plate mostly neglected, your chest still warm from the earlier kitchen moment.

Then, from the far end of the room, a voice called out, sounding like Eugene.

“Hey, someone’s gotta do a toast!”

A few cheers followed, cups raised in mid-air. Jesse added, “Not it…” quickly, and made a quick motion to lower his head. The future of Jackson just hid from a speech.

She shoved him, grinning. “Come on, don’t be a coward!”

You laughed, shaking your head, trying to retreat into your cider. But then Ellie’s eyes lit up, and she pointed right at you. Little shit.

“Don't hide, Cmon—” she said, smug. “You're the reason any of this came together anyway!”

Tommy turned toward you, eyes already warm. “Got my vote.”

The rest of the room started chiming in. Some teasing, some sincere, but all in agreement.

“Yeah, c’mon!”

“Speech! Speech! Speech!”

You could feel the heat rise in your face, not unwelcome—but definitely a little overwhelming.

Looking at Tommy for help, but he just gave you that look—half fond, half you got this, darlin’.

An even bigger shit.

You cleared your throat, standing slowly, mug still in hand. The chatter dimmed into expectant silence.

“I—uh,” you started, immediately laughing at yourself. “I didn’t really… plan anything.”

Someone from the back shouted, “That makes it better!”

You smiled down at your cider for a second, then looked up.

They were all watching you—not with pressure or scrutiny, but with the kind of warmth that came from knowing you were among people who loved you.

People you’d fed, and worried for, and teased, and built something real with.

So you tried again, this time a little steadier.

“I guess… I just wanted tonight to feel like home. Whatever that means to each of us.” You looked around the room, letting your eyes land on a few familiar faces—Ellie, laughing quietly over her plate; Joel, looking at you with the smallest of nods; Maria, arms crossed but with a smile that said she was proud.

“I know the world doesn’t make much room for softness anymore. But we made this. We kept this. And I think that means something.”

Your voice caught just a little, nerves, but you pushed through it, heart pounding.

“So if you’ve got a full plate, and someone at your table to share it with… then you’re already lucky. And if you don’t have that yet—then you’ve still got this room. These people. This town. And you’ve got us.”

You glanced at Tommy—his eyes didn’t leave you once. There was a glisten there, no hiding it.

“So… cheers,” you finished, lifting your mug with a bashful smile. “To Jackson. To the people who made it home."

The room erupted in soft clinks of mugs, low cheers, and a few watery laughs.

Ellie wiped her eyes in a dramatic-fake-crying motion, and Jesse pounded his hands on the table to add to the claps. Even Joel looked a little off-kilter, quietly murmuring, “That’ll do.” It only earned a breezy eye roll from your features.

You sat down again to Tommy slipping an arm around you, fingers kneading into your jeans pocket, lips pressing to your temple with barely-restrained pride.

“You’re somethin’ else,” he murmured, voice low, “Think I fell in love with you all over again.”

You rested your head against his shoulder, smiling like your chest couldn’t contain it.

“Good,” you whispered. “I was starting to worry your resolve was slippin'.”

He chuckled. “Not a fuckin' chance.”

The fire crackled low in the hearth now, casting golden light that danced across the walls.

Plates were being picked at lazily, conversation lulled into warm after-dinner murmurings.

Ellie and Jesse were halfway through a heated card game with Maria pretending not to keep score. Joel was quietly sipping cider, eyes distant but not unkind, adding his finger to the play, telling Ellie which card to deal. Backseat poker-ing.

And next to you, Tommy was fully leaned back in his chair, one arm slung over the back of yours. He looked content—belly full, boots stretched out, cheeks still a little pink from the fire. That belt buckle wouldn't last long if he had another bite.

Every so often, he'd glance around the room with that quiet pride, like he couldn't believe he got to be a part of this.

You turned toward him, shifting just enough so that your lips barely grazed the edge of his jaw, quirked near his ear. Your voice dropped, soft as the snow still falling outside.

“Y’know,” you whispered, brushing a hand across his arm, “I was just looking at you, and thinking…”

He glanced at you sideways, the faintest smirk already tugging at his mouth. “Dangerous start, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, “I was thinking… you’re my favorite thing here.”

He tilted his head toward you, eyebrow raised, teasing. “Outta the whole town? Even with the cider?”

“Even with the cider,” you whispered, leaning closer. “Even with the fire, and the lights, and the people I love more than life.”

Tommy’s teasing fell quiet under your voice, his eyes softening as you continued.

“I know I run around makin’ sure everyone’s got a seat, or a spoon, or a slice... I like doing that. But when I sit down next to you… That’s the part that feels like rest. Like breathing.”

You felt him exhale, slow and deep. His hand slid down to lace his fingers through yours, resting between your chairs.

“I love you, Tommy,” you said, still low and quiet, just for him. “I love this with you. All of it.”

He didn’t say anything for a second—not because he didn’t know how, but because he felt it. In his chest. In the place no one else had touched in years.

Then he turned, eyes so full of affection it almost hurt to look at.

He didn't reply.

As vocal as he usually was, sometimes love bit him hard, a little obscure in the back of his memories.

The small comments about his father and childhood. Desert Storm and the way he would clutch the handle of every iron in his grip. This felt like balm to soothe the constant panic.

You gave his hand a squeeze, letting your forehead rest against his temple for just a beat before pulling away.

“Just had to say it. Before the kids start asking for seconds and I forget again.”

Tommy chuckled, brushing a kiss to your temple, then to your cheek, then just beneath your ear. “Say it as many times as you want, sweetheart, I ain’t never gonna get tired of hearin’ it.”

You sat back in your chair, still holding his hand, still wearing that quiet smile.

The world outside was still cold. Still cruel. But here—in the flickering firelight, with laughter echoing and love so thick it was stitched into the walls—you were warm.

𓇼ㅤ ㅤ𓂂ㅤㅤ ˚ㅤㅤ ◌ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏

The mess hall had quieted into that sleepy, late-night hush—candles still flickering low, wax puddled around the wicks. Plates were mostly cleared, chairs pushed back, laughter long since mellowed into the softer kind, the kind that sat under the ribs and stayed there.

Ellie, Jesse, and Dina had darted out an hour ago—something about sleds, or a fort, you hadn’t really caught it. Joel just shouted “Gloves!” before they disappeared into the snow.

Now, it was mostly just the silent, contented ones left.

The ones with sore backs and full bellies and stories that always got better after midnight.

You were leaned against Tommy on a bench along the wall, both of you drowsy and loose-limbed from cider and comfort. He had an arm wrapped lazily around your shoulders, his thumb dragging light circles into your upper arm.

Gail and Eugene were still picking at dessert scraps at a table over, the two of them grinning in that knowing way old friends do. Their love was pure, one so obvious you can see it at first glance.

Joel was near the fire, legs stretched out and sipping from a cup of something strong—his usual kind of quiet, watchful.

“Y’know,” Gail said suddenly, looking straight at you with her chin propped on her knuckles, “it’s criminal how good you two look together. Like somethin’ outta one of those pre-outbreak holiday movies.”

Eugene chuckled, nudging her. “Yeah, all domestic and warm. Like a damn postcard. All you need now’s a couple’a rugrats running around.”

You felt Tommy chuckle beside you, a low vibration on your side. “Here we go,” It came out quietly, just for you.

You groaned playfully and lifted your head. “We host one community dinner and suddenly it’s baby shower season?”

“Oh, c’mon,” Gail teased, sipping her tea. “Don’t pretend it ain’t crossed your mind.”

“It hasn’t,” you said, at the exact same time Tommy said, “Maybe once or twice.”

That made everyone laugh—including Joel, who gave a soft, raspy heh from his seat, barely looking up as he took another sip of whiskey.

You turned to look at Tommy, arching an eyebrow. “Once or twice, huh?”

He shrugged, completely unbothered, eyes full of mischief.

“I mean, you’re good at takin’ care of people. Organizin’ chaos. Wrangling overgrown kids like me. Feels like it’d translate pretty well.”

You gave his thigh a gentle smack, pretending to scold. “You trying to flirt your way into trouble?”

His grin turned downright dangerous. “Ain’t I always?”

The table chuckled again, Gail fanning herself with a napkin. “Lord, you two are disgustingly in love.”

You laughed, cheeks warm, and tucked your head back against Tommy’s shoulder.

Joel looked over finally, that ghost of a smile still on his face. “If they do have a kid, we’re gonna need a whole second mess hall by next Christmas... Just sayin’.”

You pointed at him, mock, “You’re not off the hook, old man. I’ll be expectin’ somethin’ rustic and overengineered. Gotta put you to work somehow.”

Joel tipped his cup toward you. “Noted.”

Eventually, the others began to gather their coats and hats, leaving with hugs and cheek kisses and murmured thanks.

Gail gave you an extra squeeze, whispering something about how you’re already everyone’s girl, honey—wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to be a mama for real someday.

Jesus.

Something about the holiday had people saying their thoughts out loud.

When it was just the embers, Joel, and you, and Tommy left behind, the stillness finally settled.

Tommy yawned and leaned his head back, arm still snug around you. “Can’t believe we pulled it off again.”

You looked around at the soft glow, the empty plates, the leftover cider cooling in mugs. “We didn’t just pull it off,” you murmured. “We gave people something to believe in. And, I think that's pretty damn cool.”

He kissed the side of your head, slow and sure. “That’s all you, darlin’.”

You turned your face up to his, close enough that only he could hear: “…Think we’d be good at it?” you whispered. “If we ever did?”

His brows lifted—surprised, maybe, but not in a bad way. Then he softened like butter on warm bread. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”

You leaned in, kissed the corner of his mouth, and gave him a look. “Might not be tonight though. I’m still covered in pie crust and stress.”

He grinned. “Fine by me. I’m just enjoyin’ the preview.”

From across the room, Joel cleared his throat—not quite loud, not quite subtle—and stood with a smirk.

“I’m headin’ out before this turns into a second honeymoon,” he muttered as he passed, giving your shoulder a brief pat. “Merry Christmas, you two.”

“Merry Christmas, Joel,” you both said, voices overlapping.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And just like that, it was you and Tommy, finally alone in the quiet afterglow of something beautiful built together.

The mess hall was still warm, but the hush had settled in for good now. Just the crackling of dying embers, the faint hum of wind against the frosted windows, and the clink of ceramic as you and Tommy started clearing the last of the dishes.

You were both slow about it—not lazy, just… lingering. Hands brushing over each other’s as you stacked plates, trading little smiles over crumbs and napkin piles.

Tommy grabbed two mugs, swishing out the leftover cider into a pot. “I swear,” he muttered, “I saw Jesse hide a whole slice of pie in his coat pocket.”

You snorted, wiping down a table. “If he brings ants into the single dorms again, I’m blaming you.”

“Me?” Tommy grinned, tossing a rag at your side. “You’re the one who makes the pie like it’s magic.”

You caught the rag mid-air and lobbed it right back, hitting him square in the chest, mocking a huff, “That’s why I married you. Strong reflexes. Keeps things exciting.”

He caught your wrist before you turned, tugging you toward him with that crooked grin you’d fallen in love with—mischievous and soft all at once.

“Oh, that why?” he murmured, voice low as his other hand landed on your waist. “Not the shoulders? The hands? The fact I can fix a water heater and field-dress a deer?”

“All perks,” you hummed, fingers slipping up to play with the collar of his shirt. “But mostly it’s ‘cause you look real good holdin’ a broom and doin’ what I say.”

He laughed into your hair, the sound muffled and tender. “Woman, you own me.”

“Damn right I do.”

For a few seconds, you just stood like that, wrapped up in each other in the middle of a room still echoing with warmth.

It was wild, sometimes—how easy it was to forget the world outside these walls, how deep the roots had grown inside the two of you.

People came to this place because they needed safety. Peace.

You were the kind of love story folks whispered about in awe.

The kind that made them believe in second chances.

“I think we did good,” you murmured after a bit, voice soft.

Tommy nodded against your temple, “We always do.”

He stepped back reluctantly, just enough to finish the task—grabbing chairs to stack, humming low under his breath. You followed, drying the last few dishes, snuffing out candles with a licked thumb and forefinger.

By the time you turned off the string lights and locked the mess hall doors, the snow outside had grown thicker, quiet and pillowy under your boots. You looped your arm through Tommy’s as you made your way back to the house, the wind nipping at your cheeks.

The door creaked open with a low groan, familiar and unbothered. Tommy reached around you to flip the switch, but the overhead light stayed off. Instead, the glow from the hall lamp spilled golden into the room—just enough to warm the corners, to soften everything.

You kicked off your boots with a sigh that came straight from your soul. “My feet are killing me,” you mumbled, peeling off your coat and scarf. “I’ve been standing for, like, ten years.”

Tommy was already unbuttoning his flannel, eyes on you like you were the first thing he’d ever want to see in soft lighting. “You were runnin’ that dinner like a damn general,” he said with a grin. “Pretty sure even Joel listened to you when you told him to stir the gravy.”

You laughed, low and tired, and stepped forward to help him out of the shirt. He let you, arms lifted, smiling all lazy and smitten.

“I like being useful,” you said, brushing lint off his undershirt, “Makes me feel like I mean something.”

He caught your wrists gently, pulling your hands to his chest. “This place means somethin’ ‘cause of you, sweetheart.”

You didn’t argue. Not tonight.

You just pressed your lips to his jaw, soft and pebbled. Let yourself rest there, eyes closed. His thumbs rubbed soft circles into the back of your hands.

Eventually, you pulled apart, shedding the rest of your layers in tired silence. Eventually, climbing up the stairs and settling into the bedroom.

The fireplace was still glowing low from earlier—it hadn’t gone out completely—and Tommy knelt to add a log and stoke it back to life while you disappeared into the bathroom to wash up.

When you returned in an oversized flannel and wool socks, the bedroom was dim and golden, all low firelight and heavy quilts. Tommy was already under the covers, hair damp from a quick rinse, arm lifted in silent invitation.

You didn’t need to be asked twice.

You slid in beside him and tucked your body close, face pressed into the curve of his shoulder, one leg hooked over his.

“Mm,” he murmured, voice already sleep-heavy, rough with comfort. “You’re cold.”

“You’re warm,” you whispered back, fingers trailing lazily along his ribs. He had always been a personal heater, carrying so much warmth it was astonishing.

He shifted to hold you better, like instinct. One hand cradled your head. The other rubbed up and down your back, slow and steady.

For a while, neither of you said anything.

Just the sound of your breathing, the quiet pop of firewood, the way his thumb brushed behind your ear.

Then, so softly, you whispered, “Think we’ll always have this?”

Tommy kissed the top of your head. “Yeah,” he said, without hesitation. “I do.”

You smiled against his skin, nose brushing the hollow of his collarbone. “Feels like I belong here. Like we’re part of the house.”

“We are the house,” he mumbled. “You’re the heart. I’m the dumb cowboy who fixed the floorboards.”

You laughed, pressing a kiss to his chest. “I like the dumb cowboy.”

“Good,” he said sleepily, pulling the blankets tighter around you both. “He’s crazy ‘bout you.”

You sighed, eyes slipping closed, breathing in his scent—woodsmoke and worn cotton.

You were just about to drift off, legs tangled, the weight of the day finally softening in your bones—when Tommy shifted, just a little, and pressed his mouth to your jaw with slow intention.

One kiss turned into two, then three—trailing toward your ear, lazy but unmistakable. You smiled into the pillow. Damn, cowboy.

“Tommy…” you warned, voice already low with amusement.

“What?” he murmured, lips brushing just below your ear, “Can’t a man kiss on his wife a little before bed?”

But there was nothing little about the way his hand skimmed down your side, slipping under the hem of your shirt, or how his mouth found yours—hot, tender, teasing.

You responded without hesitation, fingers winding into black curls as the kiss deepened, stealing the breath right out of your chest.

It was slow at first, more laughter than urgency—soft giggles between kisses, teasing touches, his grin against your mouth when you tugged him closer.

Then the warmth grew into something deeper, heavier. Familiar. The kind of intimacy that only years of love could make feel both playful and feisty.

By the time your shirt was halfway off and the quilt was bunched around your hips, you weren’t laughing anymore—all teeth and tongue.

"On your stomach," His voice was hoarse—an area between sleep, and need. Something he so often craved at this time of the night, hell, probably every moment of the day.

You were quick to turn around in his grasp, face buried into the pillow—fingers lacing through thin sheets, white knuckling as he pulled each bit of fabric from your flesh.

Hands moving to the front of your shirt, a palm splayed against soft swell of breast—it was natural, reverent. He was quick to sink in, breathless and turbulent.

You didn’t even remember when you stopped kissing and started just… being.

The quilt had been dragged up again, wrapped around both of you like a shielding secret.

Your legs were still tangled, bare skin pressed to bare skin, the kind of closeness that made it hard to tell where you ended and he began.

You shifted just enough to glance up at him again, your fingers drawing light circles along his ribs. “Y’know… if this is how we’re doin' Christmas eve, I’m scared to ask what you’ve got planned for New Year’s.”

Tommy let out a lazy, shameless grin, eyes still half-lidded with sleep and satisfaction, “Darlin’, if you let me, I’ll make a tradition outta this.”

You raised a brow. “Mm. A tradition that involves nearly breaking the bedframe?”

“That bed’s tougher than it looks… I on the other hand…” He gave a mock groan, rubbing a hand over his face, “You might’ve just finished me off. You proud of yourself?”

You grinned, impossibly smug, “Devastatingly.”

Tommy reached out to pull you fully on top of him, your laugh muffling against his bare chest as he buried his face in your hair. “God help this town if they knew what their golden girl gets up to after hours.”

You looked up at him with a wink. “Please. Let’s not give them more reason to build me a shrine.”

He huffed a laugh. “Too late for that. I already light candles for you every time you bend over that damn bed.”

You let out a chuffed breath, somewhere between a whine and a laugh, smacking his chest lightly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he whispered, tilting your chin up with two fingers, “here you are, in my bed. Again.”

"Our bed," The correction lingered, you kissed him slowly, smiling into it, "Only ‘cause you’re pretty.”

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, pulling the covers up tighter around you both, “And humble too, don’t forget that part.”

You let your head fall back onto his chest, your laughter finally softening into a sleepy sigh, "So humble, Miller…"

A long pause stretched between you, soft and golden in the low firelight. Your fingers drifted across his chest like they had nowhere else to be.

Then your gaze caught something glinting just above the blankets. The leather band on his wrist. The scratched face of that old, worn watch Joel had fixed up for him last year, told him to finally get a handle on what time it was.

You squinted at it, blinking drowsily. And then you smiled.

“Tommy…” you murmured, tapping the watch face. “It’s after midnight.”

He lifted his wrist with a tired grunt, turning the watch toward his line of sight. The corners of his mouth twitched into a grin.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he said. “It’s Christmas.”

You looked up at him with a crooked smile, chin resting on his chest, “Guess that makes me your present.”

Tommy chuckled, low and rough. “Sweetheart, you were the best damn thing under the tree and the one who wrapped it.”

You laughed, nose wrinkling. “Smooth.”

He leaned in and kissed you again—softer now. Slower. All warmth and afterglow. “Merry Christmas, baby,” he whispered against your lips.

You touched his cheek, thumb grazing the stubble there. “Merry Christmas, Tommy.”

Settling into each other once more, bodies warm and tangled beneath the blankets, hearts still beating in sync.

The fire cracked low beside you, the snow fell silent beyond the window, and for one more night in Jackson—one more night in this life you built from the wreckage of everything lost—you were happy.

masterlist

[huntingcupid]

YOU RIGHT WITH LARA RAJ AND MERET MANON

you'd be thinkin' 'bout it every day don't believe in fairytales, but we got our fantasies and it's me and you, no she tryna be all through your sheets have you all on top of me acting like it's not that deep boy, you can take it out on me

⌗ MARZ — fem!reader, SMUT, this is nasty smut, swearing, fingering (r receiving), porn actress, recording while doing it, teasing, kissing, oral ( lara receiving ), thigh riding,mentions of bondage, drinking, everything is consensual! etc..

⌗ SYPNOSIS — how did you find yourself in between the two most beautiful women ever, and how did you agree to be part of their porn video

⌗ CUPID — THIS IS REQUESTED, WARNING THIS IS PURE NASTY SMUTT, anon u hv a genius mind

you partied a lot maybe more than a regular person should, every saturday night it practically became a routine, get dressed in your most sluttiest dress and maybe just maybe attract a woman — you do your makeup extra and make sure you'd smell good, yet with no luck you hadn't met a woman who was down to be with you

well atleast tonight was an exception right? — you wore a red backless dress, gold jewelry accentuating your neck and fingers, vanilla perfume masked all over your body with body shimmer on, you were determined tonight, the minute you enter the club you took three shots of straight alcohol at least it tasted like so, you stumble your way to the middle dancing to the music, the alcohol slowly making you tipsy

you danced slow and seductively, your hands roaming over your waist and torso, smiling at other women, fuck it's not working, not giving up right? though you needed to take a shot real quick, the alcohol needs more power it to make you more confident

you walk to the bartender asking for shots who just looked at you and sighed, ava was her name she knew you by now, she knew your plan and still hasn't understood why, “y/n this is like your third time this month here” ava sighs, you murmur back “so what?, at least im paying”, ava just rolls her eyes handing you two shots, you took it the burn trailing down your throat, you groan as it hit

two women approach your side, one had long black hair wavy and a nose piercing — the other had curly black hair and a few tattoos, you didn't know if it was the alcohol or actually them but you felt the others hands trail to your waist

“hey pretty, what are you doing alone hmh?” the taller one asks, “no one wants me” you giggle — “manon by the way, that's lara” she introduces, “its y/n” you replied, lara smiles taking your hand and leading you to the floor as she swayed to the song, god she looked ethereal, manon was behind you swaying along, you were sandwiched between them two and you couldn't complain, they smelled like cherries and cinnamon — manon's fingers trace your back muttering something about how smooth it was, lara got dangerously close to your face, her lips were glossed and so tempting to kiss

the night stretched, as the two women made you drink more, all three of you were drunk, well except lara she had less than the two of you and was more sober — she offered to take you home, at least to their home, you didn't care you wanted them so bad

the drive felt like 2 minutes from how loopy you were, manon carries you inside laying you in their bed, they both disappear, for a while they came back with a camera and some rope, lara sits beside you her hands slowly removing your dress like you were a gift under the christmas tree — “fuck your beautiful” she murmurs as she finally fully removed it leaving you in your lacy matching undergarments

“lace and red too?, you slut” manon muses, her eyes trailing over your body her hands massaging your thighs, lara sits just above you, assisting your head so your resting it on her thighs — “we can record this right?” lara asks before she turned on the camera you nod shyly

the two women share a look, smirking at each other, manon kisses the desi girl her hands still in between your thighs lara's moans were muffled but it was enough to make you go feral, after so lara points the camera to your thighs with manons hands in the frame — slowly manon peeled of your undergarments a line of slick connecting it to your cunt

“nasty” lara mutters making you clench around nothing, laras fingers come into contact with your lips, tracing over them before pushing in her thumb to shush you since you were obviously shy to make any noise — manon pushes in one finger then two, making you moan, your eyes watering as her fingers disappear into your entrance her finger tattoo getting wet every thrust

“your swallowing my fingers” manon murmurs, lara removes her top which made you finally see her breasts, woah, literally woah — manon's lips flew to her nipples sucking slowly as her digits never stopped inside of you, the camera was surprisingly still steady in laras hands despite her moaning and squirming

“remove your finger lara, let the camera hear how loud she is” manon says to the younger woman, who obeyed her immediately, you bit your lip trying to stop yourself from making noise, “why are you shy hmh?” manon asks tilting her head as she disconnected from laras nipples, “sorry” you whisper back your voice coming out a bit shaky — “bet you are” lara tsks

“can i?” lara asks, she lifts your head putting it on a pillow, as she closes the distance between her and manon sitting on the older womans thighs — thats when you realized lara didn't wear any undergarments, she rode manons thighs as the ghanaian fingered you with no stopping

you felt your stomach slowly feel full and sensitive as manon kept hitting that one spot, the camera long forgotten on the side — lara's moans didn't help neither, she was whiny and her head was buried in manons neck, shaking slightly

without any warning you convulse around manons digit moaning louder than you had expected, your legs shook as you bit your lip — lara follows after, manon then lays both of you on the bed, kissing you two softly on the forehead

“how about you?” you ask tiredly — manon looks at you smirking, “who said we are done anyways?” she smugly replied earning a chuckle from lara

wc: 1k words

[winterscaptain]

burn.

Aaron Hotchner x GN!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: welcome back to our regularly scheduled programming after several delays--I've decided to post this before the sideblog is ready because you've all been so patient!

words: 1.7k content advisories: PINING. so much pining its painful

summary: "you forget what you want to remember, and you remember what you want to forget." —cormac mccarthy. december 24th–26th, 2010

ajf masterlist (under construction) | sideblog under construction | what do you want to see next?

The party ends like all the best ones do—slowly, reluctantly, and with too many hugs at the door.

Penelope’s glitter trail fades down the hallway. Emily’s SUV engine kicks over just as Dave mutters something about Italian wine being better than Italian judgment.

You’re still holding your mug.

You should’ve left twenty minutes ago. Spencer caught your eye on the way out and gave you a look—not teasing, just curious. Like he wasn’t sure why you hadn’t moved yet.

The apartment is warm in the way lived-in spaces get after too many bodies and too much sugar. The tree glows soft and quiet. A few stray snowflake crafts litter the coffee table, evidence of Jack’s brief cameo before Jess picked him up for a Brooks-side thing.

You and Aaron are alone now.

He’s in the kitchen, rinsing the same glass twice. You’re in the doorway, trying not to overthink the fact that you’re still here.

“Thanks for hosting,” you say, just because it’s something to say.

He nods. “Sure.”

“Everyone seemed happy,” you offer, like it matters.

Aaron hums. Noncommittal.

He doesn’t have to tell you this is his second Christmas without Haley.

He doesn’t have to tell you the first one didn’t feel real. That last year, he didn’t decorate. Didn’t cook. Didn’t breathe, really. He spent the morning letting Jack unwrap presents and the evening staring at the bottom of a glass.

He didn’t feel the weight of it until this year.

Until the tree was up again. Until Jack drew a family picture and only drew two people. Until he realized how deeply silence cuts when you’ve survived chaos. Until he realized he didn’t know where Haley ordered the Christmas cards. 

You shift your weight on the kitchen tile.

Aaron folds the towel with unnecessary precision. His hands are steady, but his pulse is loud in his ears.

“You’re not staying over tonight?” It comes out sharper than he means. Less invitation, more... alarm.

You blink. “Should I?” Your voice is soft, teasing, maybe. He can’t tell.

His gaze dips to your mouth before he can stop it.

Don’t.

His eyes flick back up to yours. “I just thought maybe you had somewhere else to be.”

“Tomorrow, maybe,” you say. He gets the acute sense you’re hedging your bets. “Not tonight.”

He nods.

You step away first. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

Aaron doesn’t stop you. Not right away. But then—

“Stay.”

You stop. Half-turned. He sees your shoulders lift, slow and uncertain.

“You don’t have to,” he adds quickly. “I just—don’t want you to go if you don’t want to.”

Your mouth tips up at the corner. Not quite a smile. Not quite relief.

“Okay.”

+++

He doesn’t breathe until you sit beside him on the couch.

The movie is some forgettable holiday comedy. You’re not watching it.

The lights are off.

Except for the tree.

Tiny bulbs blink lazily across the living room—reds, golds, soft white stars casting a sleepy glow over everything. They reflect off the glass ornaments, scattering glimmers of color onto the ceiling, the walls, the blanket pooled over both of your legs. The room smells like pine, like clove-studded oranges, like a home that’s been lived in, like the candle burning on the coffee table.

Neither one of you has spoken in a while.

Your head is on his shoulder, your legs tucked under the afghan, one of his hands resting over your shin—absentminded, not possessive. Just there. His thumb moves in soft, unconscious circles. You can feel the way his breathing changes with yours, how still he goes every time you shift. You could swear he’s holding himself together with duct tape and hope.

And you��re not doing much better.

“I used to think,” you start, your voice barely more than a breath, “that Christmas would always feel like it did when I was little.”

Aaron’s head tilts, not enough to look at you. Just to show he’s listening.

“Not the presents. Not even the family part. Just that feeling—like the world was softer. Like it could pause for a second.” You smile a little. “Now it just feels like we’re holding our breath.”

A beat.

“Maybe we are,” he says. 

You glance up. The tree lights catch his profile. His eyes are on the window, not the TV, but you don’t think he’s looking at anything out there.

The light catches the scar on his nose, the one Foyet gave him. There’s another, fainter one under his chin—childhood bike accident, if you remember correctly.

You should say something. Ask if he’s okay. Ask what he meant. You look away. 

Instead, you reach down and tug the blanket tighter over both your legs. His hand settles back over your shin like it never left.

He’s so warm. Stupidly warm. His shoulder is firm beneath your cheek, and his sweatshirt smells like him. You want to tuck yourself closer. You want to crawl inside the space between his ribs and stay there until January.

You don’t look at him on purpose, but you do. He’s already looking at you.

The breath catches in your throat. His eyes are soft. Quiet. But they’re searching.

You shift.

You hear the subtle change in his breathing. Feel the way his whole body goes still.

It’s comforting.

It’s also unbearable.

You see his pulse thrum at his throat. Quick. Hard.

You’re a profiler. You know what adrenaline looks like.

Aaron can feel your breath against his neck. The scent of your shampoo. The weight of your body leaning into his like you were made to fit there.

There’s a fraction of a second where you’re both leaning in. You don’t know who starts it. You’ll never know. But you do know what stops it.

Fear.

Not the kind you’re trained for. Not knives-in-the-dark fear. Not even heartbreak.

This is worse.

This is the fear of breaking what you already have. The fear of crossing into something so big you can’t get it back. The fear that one kiss could end it all, or change it so irrevocably that nothing is safe anymore. That there’s no room to pretend it’s platonic. No way to wake up tomorrow and call it anything less than what it is.

Your lips part.

So do his.

You both lean in. Barely.

And then—

You duck.

Not far. Just enough to hide in his chest.

His breath halts. But his arm comes around you without hesitation. He tucks you close, chin on your head. Protective. Resigned. Maybe relieved. 

You don’t speak.

Fuck. 

+++

You wake up to the smell of cinnamon and the distant sound of clinking kitchenware.

When you get up, you splash water on your face and brush your teeth in Jack’s bathroom—your toothbrush has its own cup now (you try not to think too hard about that). There’s a cup of coffee waiting for you on the counter—already poured, just the way you like it, and still hot.

Aaron doesn’t say a word when you walk in.

Jack’s back from Roy and Kathleen’s , tearing into a new Lego set on the living room floor.

You sit beside him, bare feet on the carpet. Aaron takes the armchair. Not the couch. Not beside you.

Jack talks enough for all three of you.

You laugh once at something he says—short, bright. Aaron looks up at the sound. You meet his eyes. For a fraction of a second, it cracks something open.

He looks away first. You get the acute sense that he’s not purposefully icing you out.

He’s just protecting himself. 

His self-preservation instincts have always been better than yours. 

The day goes on. Wrapping paper piles up. Coffee cools. Aaron reads the instructions while Jack builds.

You fold the blanket before you leave. Smooth it. Set it on the back of the couch like it wasn’t the scene of a slow-motion undoing.

Aaron watches you do it.

You both pretend it’s just a blanket.

+++

On Boxing Day (a holiday Penelope insists on honoring despite its unpatriotic British origins) Dave’s house smells like rosemary and caramelized onions and something else vaguely Italian that Dave refuses to name until dinner is served. 

Spencer sits cross-legged on the floor helping his godson with a puzzle. Henry’s doing his best and to Spencer’s credit, he narrates his every move (for language development, of course). 

Penelope is making spiked hot chocolate for everyone but insists it’s ‘medicinal’, and Emily is on her third glass of wine and definitely snooping through Dave’s record collection, crouched by the cabinet. JJ loosely supervises, watching Spencer and Henry on the floor with a soft look on her face. Will’s on duty today. You all promised to set aside a plate for him. 

You’re sitting on the edge of the couch, laughing at something Derek said but not really hearing it. Jack is curled into your side, showing you the Lego starship he and Aaron finished that morning.

It’s loud. Warm. Safe.

It’s the perfect place to hide.

Aaron hasn’t spoken to you since he handed you coffee yesterday morning.

He hasn’t not spoken to you either.

Which is worse.

You’re good at playing normal. You’ve had years of practice. But every time you move, your senses stretch for him. And every time you look over—he’s already watching you.

Never long enough to call it staring. Always just a second too short to make you sure.

Jack shifts in your lap. You adjust him automatically, arms tightening around his middle. He’s warm. His hair smells like cinnamon. When he looks up at you, he’s grinning.

“Wanna see the secret compartment?”

You smile back, genuine. “Obviously.”

Aaron’s watching.

You know he is.

You don’t look at him.

Later, when the kids have bundled up and play outside in the yard, you’re still sitting on the couch, doing your best to slouch and relax without thinking too much about it.

You feel him before you hear him.

He sits beside you, not quite close enough to touch.

Neither one of you says anything.

You think, for a second, he might speak. That he might say thank you for staying. Or I didn’t mean to— or I wanted to—

But he doesn’t.

He just exhales.

So do you.

The front door creaks open. The kids come back in, tracking snow and laughter. Noise floods the room.

[chaosandcandies]

UNPLUGGED

CHAPTER XVII: Merry Christmas?

trope: fem!9th skz member warnings: angst, drama, insecure oc, cyber bullying, slow burn pairings: hyunjinxfem!oc prev|next

WHEN ISEUL WAS ADDED TO the Stray Kids group chat, it didn’t take long for her to gather that it was quite useless. And it took even lesser time to mute the group.

It wasn’t a big deal, she was only missing out on Han’s cursed memes, Felix’s bizarre TikToks, and the group’s constant arguments over the tiniest things. Besides, Chan or her manager always DM’d her the important stuff anyway.

Except they didn’t today.

Even words couldn’t describe her surprise when she walked into the dorm overflowing with people after a particularly exhausting vocal practice. And not just any people, but members of GOT7, TWICE, and ITZY, the very idols she had looked up to back when she was a trainee.

At first, she thought she was hallucinating. Maybe she had finally lost it, cracked under the pressure of the debut. Because why the hell would Jackson, Yugyeom and Jinyoung be sprawled in the living room, chatting with others as if it’s the most normal thing to do while Momo and Jihyo were cooing over Jeongin like he was a baby chick?

And why else would Yeji, Ryunjin and Hyunjin be mocking dance choreographies in the most hilariously stupid way?

And was that Bambam, Chan and Sana playing beer pong on the kitchen table?

It wasn’t until Changbin had pointed at her, laughing loudly at her expression, that she realised they were very much real.

“Oh my god,” he wheezed. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

No, Iseul wanted to say. A ghost wouldn’t give me a jump scare like this. But her mouth refused to cooperate, caught somewhere between gaping and grimacing as her eyes darted from idol to idol in disbelief.

Everyone was here.

And not in the casual, ‘Oh, we bumped into each other in the hallway’ kind of way—but in the ‘we’ve-been-here-awhile, made-ourselves-comfortable, and-might-never-leave’ kind of way.

And then, as if choreographed, they all turned to look at her.

She froze. Her tote bag slipped from her shoulder, dangling by a thread, but she didn’t even notice. Every nerve in her body screamed in slow motion as she made eye contact with Jinyoung—who offered her a polite smile so powerful it might’ve stopped time.

She blinked. Okay. Stay calm. Be normal. Just act normal.

Somehow, her body remembered what to do before her brain did.

She bowed stiffly. “Annyeonghaseyo, sunbaenim.”

A chorus of voices responded all at once—some telling her to drop the formalities, others laughing and calling her cute. But only one voice truly landed.

Tzuyu gave her a soft, almost shy smile and said, “Merry Christmas, Iseul-ah.”

In that moment, if someone had shot her in the heart, Iseul would’ve accepted it gladly.

And then it hit her.

Christmas?

Her eyes flicked around the dorm again, this time taking in the fairy lights tangled between cabinets, the paper snowflakes taped haphazardly to the windows, the faint instrumental of Mariah Carey playing from someone’s phone. There was even a tiny, plastic tree standing proudly on top of the coffee table, decorated with ramen packet wrappers and a single sock.

Was she so exhausted that she forgot about Christmas?

She swallowed hard.

God, her parents were going to kill her.

She also noticed something else—her clothes. She was overwhelmingly underdressed in her plain hoodie and sweatpants, a stark contrast to the festive energy buzzing through the room. Everyone else was dressed up, some in bright reds and greens, others in cozy holiday sweaters, while she looked like she’d just rolled out of bed.

A flush crept up her neck.

Then, Chan squinted at her, a playful crease forming between his brows. “Wait, why does she look like that? Did no one tell her about the early Christmas party?”

There was a beat of silence.

And as if it was all planned, her members at once turned and pointed at Han.

Han looked up from his cup, blinking innocently. “What? I did tell her. I messaged her three days ago in the group—”

Minho, who was lounging on the floor with a cup of cider and absolutely no patience, didn’t even look up as he muttered, “She has muted the group chat, you dumbass.”

Han gawked, scandalized. “She what?”

“Can you blame her?” Seungmin chimed in dryly from the armrest beside him. “Half the time it’s just you sending memes of screaming frogs at 3AM.”

“They’re art, you uncultured swine,” Han pointed. “Plus, she sent a thumbs-up.”

“That was a reaction to Felix’s TikTok,” she snapped.

Felix looked like he was going to cry, “Who reacts to a TikTok with a thumbs-up?”

“It was the only acceptable reaction I could think of that wasn’t going to hurt your feelings.”

The room erupted into laughter. Even Ryujin, mid-mocking dance move, paused to clap.

Iseul blinked, her heart still pounding from the sudden influx of laughter and warmth filling the room. “Wait. So… it’s not actually Christmas?”

“Of course not,” Jeongin piped up from between Momo and Jihyo. “It’s an early Christmas party. We leave for year-end schedules soon, remember?”

And just like that, the knot in her chest unravelled. Her knees nearly buckled with the wave of relief that hit her. She hadn’t missed Christmas. Her parents weren’t going to disown her. She still had time to buy presents. And maybe sleep. Eventually.

“God,” she muttered, dragging a hand down her face. “I thought I’d actually time-travelled or something.”

Minho, still lounging with his cider, smirked. “What you need right now is a good, hot shower. Go freshen up quick before you pass out.”

Iseul nodded as she toed off her shoes, grateful for the no-nonsense vibe he always brought and shuffled towards her room muttering greetings, sorry-es, and I’ll be back soon to idols she had never imagined interacting with.

Gosh, she will never live this day down.

Iseul stepped out of her room feeling a bit more confident. The soft, oversized sweater she now wore was the same one she and Jeongin had picked out on their recent shopping trip—a cozy shade of cream with tiny embroidered stars that made her smile every time she caught a glimpse of it. She’d put on just a touch of makeup—nothing heavy, just enough to brighten her complexion and make her feel presentable.

Just as she was about to head into the living room, two familiar figures appeared in her path. Jeongin, somehow managing to wriggle free from the grip of Jihyo and Momo, grabbed her hand. Seungmin followed close behind, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“We’ve got snack duty,” Jeongin announced, tugging her toward the kitchen. “And you’re gonna do the work with us.”

Iseul barely hesitated—anything to delay mingling with the visiting idols was welcome. She let herself be led into the kitchen, grateful for the brief reprieve.

She busied herself by pouring chips into a bowl, the crinkle of the bag loud in the otherwise quiet space. Jeongin glanced down and pointed at her sweater. “Hey—that’s the one we bought together, right?”

Iseul nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Seungmin squinted at her face, then leaned in with a teasing grin. “And you’re actually wearing makeup.”

Her cheeks flushed instantly. “God forbid a girl tries to look good,” she shot back, a defensive edge to her voice. “Now, will you two stop your conspiracy theories and take out the drinks?”

They obeyed, but Jeongin remained suspicious. “You never act like this around us. It’s weird.”

Iseul rolled her eyes, “Oh, don’t be ridiculo-”

“-Don’t you get it Innie?” Seungmin cut her off and Iseul could practically feel the smirk in his tone, “Iseul here has a crush on Jackson hyung. Didn’t you see her making heart eyes at him earlier?”

Iseul froze mid-pour, the chip bag suspended in her hand.

Slowly, she turned to glare at Seungmin, scandalized. “I did not make heart eyes.”

“You did,” Seungmin insisted, unfazed and far too smug for someone who was about to get decked. “You literally smiled so wide, your cheeks nearly ate your eyes. I thought you were gonna cry when he said hi to you.”

Jeongin gasped dramatically. “Hyung, she only smiles at me like that when I bring her yogurt.”

Which was, ironically, the exact moment Iseul noticed the unmistakable sound of a yogurt lid being peeled open.

It shouldn’t have mattered.

She was trying to cut down anyway. Less sugar, less dairy, less everything if she wanted to maintain her weight. But something about the way Seungmin looked so casual—lounging against the counter like he hadn’t just obliterated the last bit of comfort food she’d been saving for herself—sent her blood pressure spiking.

“You’re dead to me,” she whispered, horror dawning on her face.

Seungmin just raised an eyebrow and had the audacity to take another spoonful. “Relax,” he said around a mouthful of yogurt, “you can buy a new one tomorrow.”

Why couldn’t this menace of a man understand that she was already on edge? Exhausted from her vocal coach’s endless nitpicking, ambushed by surprise guests, emotionally wrung out—and all she wanted was one tiny cup of yogurt to make the world feel manageable again.

“I can’t just buy a new one, Seungmin,” she seethed. “This was the strawberry Greek yogurt. The one with the bits. The one with the actual crunch on top. It’s a rare species.”

Seungmin blinked. “I thought it was peach.”

“It was not peach!”

“Honestly? Tasted like peach.”

“YOU DON’T EVEN APPRECIATE IT—!”

At that, Jeongin wisely ducked behind the fridge door like a shield. Iseul flung the empty chip bag at Seungmin’s head, which he dodged with an infuriatingly smug laugh.

“I’m serious!” she cried. “Do you know what today was like for me?! Do you know how many times I got told to open my throat and lift my soft palate and find my fucking resonance zone? Do you know how many Jackson Wang eye contacts I’ve survived?! I earned that yogurt!”

Seungmin was still spooning the last creamy swirls from the cup. “You’re really making a scene.”

“Oh, I will make a crime scene.”

Jeongin, half-panicked and half-thrilled, burst out from behind the fridge and ran back to the living room. “CHAN-HYUNG! EMERGENCY!”

“Tell him I died doing what I loved!” Seungmin shouted after him, holding the yogurt up like a trophy.

Iseul saw red.

With an unholy screech, she launched herself at him. He barely had time to react before she tackled him sideways into the cabinets, sending a half-empty pack of paper cups flying through the air.

“MY KNEE!” he yelled dramatically.

“MY YOGURT!”

They collapsed onto the floor in a tangle of limbs, her trying to wrestle the spoon out of his hand, him laughing so hard he could barely defend himself.

“Give it back!” she shrieked, as though he hadn’t already eaten half of it.

“You can’t un-eat yogurt!” Seungmin laughed, somehow managing to twist out of her grip.

“Oh, you better!”

Iseul and Seungmin were already rolling around on the floor like deranged five-year-olds. She had him in a headlock, one hand trying to grab the yogurt cup while he flailed, still managing to shovel in another spoonful with a triumphant grin.

“You demon!” she shouted.

“You gremlin!” he countered, howling with laughter.

That was exactly the scene the rest of the party walked in on—Stray Kids, TWICE, GOT7 and ITZY alike, crowding the kitchen doorway in stunned silence.

Chan’s voice was hoarse, halfway between disbelief and fatherly resignation. “You were supposed to bring snacks. Not ruin them.”

Minho, entirely unbothered, sipped his cider. “Let them fight it out.”

“Are they… biting?” Yunah asked, half-laughing, half-horrified.

“I think she’s going for his kneecaps,” Jaebeom observed, eyes wide.

“Should we… do something?” Jihyo offered, already stepping forward to intervene.

But Changbin had doubled over, laughing into Hyunjin’s shoulder as Han was practically crying in the background. “This is the best party we’ve ever thrown.”

Felix clapped his hands, positively beaming. “We should livestream this!”

Meanwhile, Iseul had finally managed to wrestle the yogurt cup out of Seungmin’s hand—only to realize it was almost empty.

“You monster,” she hissed.

“You were cutting down on dairy anyway,” he wheezed, his hoodie half off his shoulder, hair sticking out in every direction. “I’m helping you!”

Iseul looked ready to commit murder.

But fortunately (or unfortunately), Chan finally stepped forward, exhaling a long breath as he knelt down and grabbed both Iseul and Seungmin by their shoulders, pulling them apart with surprising strength.

“Alright, enough!” His voice was firm but tired. “What the fuck is wrong with you two?”

Iseul and Seungmin sat back on their knees, faces flushed and breathing hard. The sudden awareness of the crowd of idols packed into the kitchen hit them like a wave. Their eyes met, a mixture of embarrassment and stubborn defiance flickering between them.

Neither of them said a word.

“Are you going to explain or keep acting like children?” Chan asked, his voice losing patience.

Iseul opened her mouth, but Seungmin shook his head.

“Nope,” he said flatly.

“Yeah,” Iseul echoed. “It’s stupid.”

There was a beat. Then Hyunjin and Changbin exchanged amused glances, suppressing chuckles.

Minho stepped forward with a smirk. “Fine. Then I guess we’re going for the weakest link.”

He turned to Jeongin, who looked like he’d rather disappear into the floor.

“Jeongin, I swear to god, if you snitch—” Iseul began, narrowing her eyes.

“Innie, you don’t want everyone to see your browser history, now do you?” Minho interrupted smoothly, his grin turning mischievous.

Poor Jeongin crumpled under the combined threat and blackmail, voice trembling but resigned.

“Alright, alright. It all started earlier, when Iseul was—uh—apparently ‘making heart eyes’ at Jackson hyung during the performance.”

“Heart eyes?” Yugyeom asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah,” Jeongin continued, cheeks reddening. “And then Seungmin started teasing her, saying she had a crush on Jackson hyung.”

“That’s not even the worst part,” Jeongin added, eyes wide as he recalled. “She got so mad she threw a bowl of chips at Seungmin.”

“A bowl of chips?” Chaeryeong echoed in disbelief.

“And then they started wrestling over the last yogurt,” Jeongin finished, voice low, “because Seungmin ate it.”

Everyone blinked, and then the room exploded with laughter and teasing, the ridiculousness finally breaking the tension.

Chan just shook his head, muttering, “I swear, this dorm is a circus.”

Iseul and Seungmin exchanged an exasperated glance, their truce unspoken but understood— at least until they got their revenge on Jeongin.

They eventually settled down—mostly.

The kitchen was behind them now, though its echoes hadn’t entirely left. The teasing was still bubbling, scattered like embers in a fire that had calmed but refused to die out. Seungmin was still catching side-eyes from Iseul, who kept muttering dire yogurt-related threats under her breath like an angry prayer. Jeongin and Tzuyu were trying to pile exactly nine blankets on top of Chan as some sort of bizarre inside joke, and Han had stolen the whiteboard meant for scorekeeping to draw progressively cursed caricatures of the entire room.

But the chaos had softened. The lights were low. Music buzzed faintly under the chatter—something jazzy and festive, blending into the background like snow.

Hyunjin leaned back on his palms, legs stretched out, shoulder brushing Changbin’s. It was warm. Lived-in. This wasn’t some high-stakes industry function, no cameras or stylists—just idols half out of their performance polish, tangled together in the loose knot of something that almost felt like a makeshift family.

Then, Bambam decided to ruin it all.

“Y’know Lee Know here had something very interesting to say,” he started, his grin devilish, eyes glittering with mischief as he nodded toward Minho—who immediately froze, mid-sip of yet another cider.

“Oh no,” Minho muttered, sensing betrayal a heartbeat too late.

“Something,” Bambam continued grandly, “about a secret Ahgase among us.”

A beat of silence followed. The kind of silence that hangs thick in the air before a storm breaks.

Minho sighed the sigh of a man who had made one grave mistake in confidence and was now reaping what he sowed but Bambam paid no heed to it. Instead, with with an overdramatic theatrical flair, Bambam pointed at Iseul, “It’s none other than Zhao Iseul!”

A gasp rippled through the room—some fake, some far too delighted to be fake. Iseul’s entire soul visibly left her body.

Iseul’s entire soul visibly left her body.

 “What? No way! That’s— that’s not true! I’m not an Ahgase,” she protested, cheeks coloring with a mix of embarrassment and indignation. “I mean, I respect all groups, but I don’t st— ”

“I saw the photocards you had hidden under your bed.” Felix said calmly, like he was just stating the weather.

Iseul’s eyes widened; mouth snapping shut as all eyes turned toward her like the spotlight had found its mark. The room held its breath for a second, waiting for her reaction, then erupted into a mixture of laughter and teasing jeers.

Unexpectedly, it was Jinyoung who asked the next question.

“Who was your bias then?”

The room collectively leaned forward, every idol and trainee suddenly far too invested. Even Jeongin paused in mid-blanket placement, mouth slightly open like he was watching a drama unfold live.

Iseul looked around wildly, as though an escape route might materialize between the coffee table and Tzuyu’s socked feet.

“No one!” she blurted out. “I didn’t have a bias. I was an OT7 fan. I loved everyone equally. Equally! Equality is important!”

“Lies,” said Jaebeom from somewhere behind the couch.

Iseul opened her mouth, maybe to protest again, maybe to implode on the spot—but she didn’t get the chance.

Because Changbin, sweet, traitorous Changbin, chose that exact moment to clear his throat loudly.

“I mean,” he said, hands raised in mock innocence, “if we’re being honest—wasn’t there that one time in the dorm when she tried to roast me by saying I’d never be as cool as ‘her real idol’?”

Iseul whipped her head toward him so fast the sound of her neck turning was practically audible.

Chaeyeong let out a snort, “Damn Iseul-ah, that's brutal.”

“No, no, it was taken out of context!” Iseul yelped, lunging for a throw pillow to hide her face. “He was being annoying! And I didn’t mean idol like idol—I meant, like, inspirational figure! Like, symbolically! Like—like a metaphor!”

“Oh yeah?” Changbin grinned, utterly unrepentant. “Was it a metaphor when you said, and I quote, ‘Jackson could do a backflip while singing and still have a better rhythm than you’?”

Dead silence. Then:

Jackson stood up.

He didn’t say anything. He just stood; arms spread slightly like a smug Greek statue brought to life.

And Hyunjin—well, Hyunjin forgot how to breathe for a second.

Not because of Jackson. Though the man did look insufferably majestic, bathed in the soft gold glow of the overhead lights, a smirk carved across his face like he’d just been declared king of the dorm. No, it wasn’t that.

It was Iseul.

Or rather, the way she looked like she wanted the couch to swallow her whole. Eyes wild. Hands gripping a throw pillow like a shield. Ears red. Lips parted in stunned horror.

She was so mortified it somehow looped back around to endearing.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Because Hyunjin had been trying really, really hard not to think about how endearing she could be when flustered. Not to notice the little things. Like the way she tugged her sleeves over her fingers when she was overwhelmed, or how her voice pitched up when she lied—like now, when she’d practically declared herself an ambassador for equality just to dodge the bias question. She was terrible at lying. It was kind of adorable.

Jackson turned slightly, hand over his chest like he was accepting an award. “Iseul-ah. I had no idea I was your standard of excellence.”

“You’re not!” she practically screamed, launching a decorative cushion at him. “I was fifteen! It was a phase!”

“Clearly not one of your best moments,” Jinyoung added.

Hyunjin pressed the heel of his palm to his mouth, trying to stop the giggles spilling out of him. It wasn’t working. Not even a little. Across the floor, Minho was cackling. Jeongin had fully collapsed against Tzuyu, giggling. Even Chan—buried under nine blankets like a human lasagna—was wheezing.

But all Hyunjin could focus on was Iseul, who looked like she was both about to cry and spontaneously combust.

He probably should’ve helped. Said something to defuse it. Reached out, maybe, changed the subject, taken pity on her like a decent person would.

But he didn’t.

Because part of him—deep, hidden, terrible—liked seeing her like this. Not humiliated. Just… cracked open. Human. Real. Not the careful, poised version of herself she carried into rehearsals. Not the quiet girl who kept half her thoughts to herself. This Iseul—the one who yelled at Jackson and threatened Seungmin over yogurt and accidentally exposed herself as a lowkey GOT7 fangirl—was messy and warm and kind of ridiculous.

And Hyunjin was in so much trouble.

Jackson, meanwhile, was fully soaking it up. “So, just to confirm—you did say I had better rhythm than Changbin?”

“Metaphor!” she wailed.

“I’m honoured.”

“I’ll cancel you online.”

Felix, now crying from laughter, wiped his eyes. “Hyung, please. Spare her. She’s never going to emotionally recover.”

“Why should he?” Chaeryeong chimed in, grinning. “She set herself up!”

“I didn’t set anything up!” Iseul groaned. “This is character assassination!”

Hyunjin didn’t mean to laugh.

But he did. It slipped out—low and unguarded—and Iseul turned toward the sound instantly. Her eyes narrowed. She pointed at him, accusingly.

“You! You’re enjoying this!”

His lips twitched. “I’m merely observing.”

“Asshole!”

The room roared with laughter, but beneath it, a surprising ripple ran through the group. The casual, sharp edge in Iseul’s voice—the unexpected curse—made Hyunjin’s pulse skip in a way he wasn’t quite ready to admit. He shifted slightly, trying not to stare as that sudden spark of boldness seemed to light her up differently, something fierce and real beneath the teasing.

Then Sana cut in smoothly, “Tell me, Iseul-ah, what’s the most embarrassing thing one of the boys has done?”

Instant groans echoed around the room. Jeongin immediately started protesting, while Minho looked like he might pull out his air fryer in defence. Yet, beneath the teasing resistance, a tangible anticipation hung in the air. Even the usually rowdy GOT7 had quieted, eager to catch every juicy detail from the Stray Kids’ camp.

“Well…” Iseul began, casting a glance around the room, “there was this one-time Changbin oppa tried to impress me by cooking dinner and somehow managed to set off the smoke alarm twice in one night.” She grinned, shaking her head. “Safe to say, the fire department almost became our uninvited guests.”

The room burst into laughter again, Changbin’s face twisting between embarrassment and pride. “Hey! At least I tried!” he defended, raising a mock salute.

The questions came fast after that.

“So, Iseul-ah,” Yeji leaned in with a cat-like grin, “be honest—who has the weirdest sleeping habit?”

Iseul blinked, trying to mentally flip through her list of traumas. “Channie oppa sleep-talks in different accents,” she said finally. “Last week he told someone to ‘cease fire’ in what I think was a Scottish pirate voice.”

The room erupted.

“No way,” Dahyun wheezed, nearly falling off the arm of the couch. “That’s oddly specific!”

“I do not—!” Chan started, only for Jeongin to cut in gleefully.

“You also once called me ‘Private Yang’ in your sleep and told me to secure the perimeter.”

Everyone lost it.

“I’m a man of many layers,” Chan muttered into his hands.

Seungmin deadpanned, “And apparently, military trauma.”

“Next question,” Ryujin grinned, eyes gleaming. “Who takes the longest to get ready in the morning?”

Iseul didn’t hesitate. “Hwang.”

Hyunjin’s head snapped up. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t ‘excuse me’ me,” Iseul said, pointing at him with a mock glare. “You once spent fifteen minutes trying to decide if your earrings clashed with your vibe.”

“They did clash!” Hyunjin insisted, scandalized. “I was going for tortured-artist-meets-accidental-angel, not streetwear disaster.”

“Tell that to the breakfast you skipped because you couldn’t pick between two beanies,” Iseul added, crossing her arms.

“You’re just mad because I looked better in both,” he shot back, but his ears were already turning red.

“They both were black!” She cried, with the tone of someone who had known true despair. “Same beanie. Different labels.”

That did it. Jeongin slid off the couch entirely, dissolving into a heap on the floor. Minho actually wheezed, shoulders shaking. Even Jinyoung cracked a rare grin.

Hyunjin threw his hands in the air. “You people don’t understand vision.”

The room howled.

“Next question,” Jihyo said, biting back a grin. “Iseul-ah, who’s the loudest in the dorm?”

Iseul didn’t even blink. “You would have expected it to be Changbin oppa but it’s actually Han.”

“WHAT?” Han shouted from the floor, exactly proving her point. “That’s slander!”

“You hum movie soundtracks at 3 a.m.”

“It’s ambiance!”

“You recite your own raps in the shower.”

“That’s rehearsal!”

“You narrated your cereal-making process yesterday. Out loud.”

Han looked around for support. “You guys like it, right?”

“I felt like I was in a cooking show hosted by a sleep-deprived squirrel,” Seungmin muttered.

“And yet,” Han said proudly, “the cereal slapped.”

Everyone groaned.

“No more holding back,” Bambam declared, kicking his legs over the arm of the couch like a judge delivering a sentence. “We want scandal, Iseul-ah. Gimme dorm dirt. Real exposé type stuff.”

“Dirt?” Iseul blinked, already wary.

“Scandalous dorm confessions,” Lia chimed in, eyes gleaming. “We want secrets.”

Iseul side-eyed Chan, who just buried his face in a cushion with a groan. “I regret inviting all of you.”

“No, you don’t,” Jinyoung said mildly. “Let her speak.”

“Okay,” Yuna leaned in with a grin. “Who walks around the dorm with the least clothes on?”

Iseul’s jaw dropped. “What kind of question—?!”

“Answer the question, Your Honor,” Ryujin added, smacking the armrest for dramatic flair.

Iseul sighed, giving in. “Chan oppa. No hesitation. Shirtless at all hours. Even when it’s snowing. I think he has a personal vendetta against sweaters.”

The room exploded with laughter again, Chan’s muffled protests lost beneath the noise. “I do not have a vendetta!” he shouted, glaring but smiling. “I’m just… liberated.”

Bambam grinned. “Liberated, huh? That’s one way to put it. Next question — who’s the biggest neat freak? The one who actually makes the bed and doesn’t let a sock lie around?”

Iseul smirked, tapping her chin like a seasoned detective. “That would be Minho oppa, no contest. He’ll rearrange the fridge just to make sure the yogurt faces the right way.”

Minho nodded proudly. “Order is peace.”

“Iseul-ah,” Ryujin said, her eyes narrowing like a cat ready to pounce. “Last one. You must answer. No dodging. If you had to share a room with one member for a whole year... no switching, no breaks... who would you choose?”

Hyunjin suddenly looked up, way too casual.

Iseul scanned the room, clearly weighing her choices like it was life or death.

“Seungmin,” she said finally.

“WHAT?” Han cried.

“Not even me?” Chan gasped dramatically.

“I do the dishes!” Changbin pouted.

Hyunjin’s eyes flickered sharply toward Iseul, a flash of something unspoken—hurt? surprise?—hidden behind his calm façade while Seungmin had a smug expression on his face.

“Why him?” Sana demanded.

Seungmin retaliated, “If not me then who?”

“Because,” Iseul said, “he has noise-cancelling headphones, doesn’t snore, and is emotionally stable.”

“I am emotionally stable!” Felix said, clearly offended.

“You almost cried over a broken eyeliner pencil,” Iseul reminded him.

“It was limited edition!”

Tzuyu tossed a blanket over both their heads to shut them up.

For a beat, the room slipped into a lazy hum again—laughter dying down into chuckles, limbs tangled comfortably into cushions and carpet. Someone (probably Lia) was humming off-key. The jazzy playlist had turned into some lo-fi holiday remix that made the windows feel frosted even though they weren’t.

Iseul pulled the blanket off her head eventually, hair slightly static, and caught Hyunjin looking.

He didn’t look away this time.

And to his surprise, she didn’t either.

Not immediately.

Instead, she gave him a look that was equal parts I hate you and you’re lucky I’m too tired to fight. Then she rolled her eyes—dramatic, slow—and leaned back into the couch with the kind of exaggerated sigh that meant she wasn’t really mad.

Hyunjin’s smile, when it came, was small but stupidly fond.

Yep.

He was absolutely screwed.

TAGLIST: @leewritesstuff, @athens-09xx, @allenajade-ite, @idjdndjzbsdm, @idjdndjzbsdm, @hyuneskkam, @geni-627, @valkirymin, @miminbin, @tillaboo, @dreamerwasfound, @youthsquaredd, @skzstannie, @nchhuhi, @rtyuy1346, @necrozica, @aemondsrhaenyra, @skzfangirl143

STORY HINT: Later when they all left, Jackson went on Twitter to upload a selfie of the hangout with caption “Just found out I’ve been someone’s high school crush this whole time. Should’ve worn nicer shoes.” It’s safe to say it broke the internet.

HEY YALL lol i was sittin on this chapter for so long but I waited cause i wanted to upload it on my bday LMFAO Yea yer girl is one year closer to her death so cheers to that bahahhaa Anywhoo, I genuinely never thought that this series will get sm love, like it was so unexpected but am i complaining? NAUR. I js wanna thank yall for showing sm love and waiting patiently and encouraging me to write yet another chapter. I really really love yall <3 Stay safe! ~candy

[ragghhhhhwindbreakerlomldjjrkdkd]

Interesting I very much love your perspective and analysis on this and your comments like the part time thing!

I suppose a part of it might also be the city rush? Like if you go to Starbucks there's so many people you can't really stop especially not the workers at best I throw a "thank you have a nice day!" Either at the till or out the door (depending on where they're situated) but since there's so many people you can only have that slow chat and wait in smaller more neich places that are sadly dying out especially with COVID

To my above point you see Kotoha and her cafe and how she connects to the people in it, there's often only one to five people at once unless they come in groups. This allows that connection.

I live in a very small village (not like 10 houses and we've got a primary school but in comparison to other villages it's still on the smaller side, a couple hundred or so I'd say) we have one pub (used to be two but one closed) I don't really go to because I'm underage and my mum's not the sort of person who would take me to one for dinner on a tired day she'd just make a soup or something idk, a farm for Christmas trees and pumpkins with reindeer (seasonal), a community centre mostly used for voting or oldie clubs in the day, the school, the park(outside the school, the chapel and a small post office/corner/general shop.

When put together like that it sounds like a lot but since you're from a city imagine those where the only places you could go without and half an hour walk down lanes (really dangerous In the dark) there and back, and that's only to another small(but bigger) shop of a nearby town. And yes there are busses and cars but they're quite expensive and kids can't just use em that's mostly for adults.

But even with this at the most full point (barring groups of like five kids grabbing snacks after school) the most people I've seen in the shop at once is like five? Maybe and that's on a popular time, and even then most people aren't in a rush so you can stop and chat while having the parcel dealt with or your food done.

So I think the rush also plays a part in it along with the rising individualism (I'm pretty sure this isn't just America because we've talked about it in sociology and I'm not American). You talk, because there's nothing else to do and then you get sucked in and loiter for a minute usually, at least with the girl with the other three odd I just say usual small talk like "how are you" talk about the weather etc but these do play a big part of how you connect. Like I might not know their names (although some people know them a lot better) just like we don't know the names of all of Makochi townsfolk we know that Sakura's new because no one's seen him before (realistic it's either they're new or they don't go out much) and that blah blah's son's birthday or something is soon and although this is probably realistic idk for me it's very much, her daughter was sick last week or something something like that.

Also I think your version of community is enlighten because I might not know most of them very well but I'll say afternoon on the walk home from school to people and I know that that woman would (when I was In secondary school I get off at a different stop at a different time now) be out if it was a nice day with her dog often chatting to that one other woman (idk there names or much else about them but I knew that and their face) I do know my neighbours tho, as I said I don't see them very much because of my shameful dark past but I know them better than the others (I live in flats so we share yards) so especially in sunny weather I'll often see them lounging outside, I know the next door neighbour has two cats and likes outdoors, A lot of my immediate neighbours are one big family (literally, there's the grandparents one flat, the granddaughters family in another and about two houses over (not very far at all they're flats) the daughter and her 18-20 yr old daughter (sister of the granddaughter but with a large age gap) (imma stop waffling about my neighbours 😭) and stuff and this is despite almost anyone I've befriended moving away (I'm a deterrent lol 💀) but what was my point again

Oh yeah I think this smallness also means people are less afraid to talk to strangers? If that makes sense or have strangers listen in like that one argument that happened on my street and then I learnt what happened because I went to buy crisps and she was talking to the girl at the counter about what happened.

Also back to the part-time thing like I've gone months without visiting the shop and I still know that she'll probably still work there as opposed to in the city where even if she was still working there (which she could not be) her shift could have changed or something. so I think that plays a big part in it.

I guess because I don't tend to go to popular shops other than Waterstones when I do go to town unless I go with my friends in which we might go to costa or a place like Casper's (I forgot the name but it's a desert place 😭) I don't realise this as much because I'm a charity shop girl, a that one store in the market that sells the nice vegan stuff girl, or even the fabric store (which is small) one. So I do believe in some cities it is possible to find one but they tend to be a disgointed community, like not everyone in your community will be in the others too. This is in the UK too so it might be different in America, but maybe it's because I grew up in community that I do the same thing in most places it's possible? But also don't realise it?

I honestly don't know but I am very thankful about your reply and points and point of view and I'm glad you weren't too annoyed by my yap (hopefully not by this one too)

Also another thing about "small talk" (as I was writing I remembered this) people in cities definitely do it less like I was waiting for a train and I've got anxiety, I'm not naturally 'sociable' in the culture near me, but I do yap a lot once I've got going (you could probably tell lol) but I was waiting for my train to visit a friend and there (at this point some kids came later closer to the train time) was only one more person there sitting next to me, so we started talking. I think the thing with "small talk" is that you tend to ask an opening question to be polite and see how much they will talk, if they answer "fine" and put earphones in you just chill by yourself or you can start a conversation, we talked on and off (she was going to the town before the one my friend moved to the one of the area we live for laser tag with her dance group) while on the train or platform and it was just something to do to pass the time.

As I've said before I think time plays a big part of it. Because unless you're going to work or school I'd say time is a lot more relaxed in countryside places. As much as people say about 'island time' I'd say that to an effect there's also 'rural?(Idk if I'm using that word right) Time' because everything you can do is either a few minutes away or a long slow walk away often times, so you do stuff to pass the long time and while there has definitely been a shift towards technology nowadays to do so it's often just chatting meaningless or even meaningfully. So I think the lack of rush around everyday things (especially with less queues) causes this as well (as previously stated) however it's probably just also to do with minor cultural shifts from a long time ago.

People would walk and knit/crochet with their friends to other villages, especially women in the old olden days (I don't want to say medieval but about that far back) in the sort of place I live although my village is rather new (16-800 (I ain't letting THAT much info 😭)) as apposed to others the people who moved there would mostly be farmers originally (it's still surrounded by farmland) so they would have probably come from other small communities with the same mindset, and even with people moving here from other places (hell my mum moved here) a lot of the people are still probably either people whose families lived here or somewhere similar and even if not their kids are likely to be taught the culture through the others there growing up (I'm calling it culture cause idk what else to call it)

I think that's one thing I'm wondering about because there's some luxury houses (Ew just found out they weren't flats which would be bad enough) being made and I don't think anyone is happy about it, it's next to the graveyard so it's taking land for that, the drains already flood when it rains, the school can't take everyone on some years and they look fucking ugly and out of place and while we're not an 'outsider Ew' place (as I've said lots of people gave moved here) this is very extreme and annoying because the whole reason they picked it and the charm would be destroyed by it.

Also to your tag, I'm a village girl and there are things that I love and hate about it. There are things I'm scared of too. I know that I can't live with my mum forever, but I'm unlikely going to be able to afford a place like where I live so I'm afraid, I'm afraid of losing that community, I'm afraid of not hearing the wood pigeons in the morning, I'm afraid of big crowds and places where I don't know people and have to rush through the correct social interactions while being quick about it. And I hate it, I hate having to either trade these things or else I'll have to pay 7 pounds a day to go to and from work as a minimum, and maybe this is something that's killing community too. The rising worry of work and housing. I can't stay in my community as I grow up and I'm afraid that I'll lose how to be a part of one like the many people in cities today.

But yeah looking back that looks a lot like a vent and emoy like it's not that deep but still a worry yk?

So yeah I think wind breaker does amazing things about communities and my worry, yes it's unlikely that I will find a place like that but there's a chance I won't have to give up another thing to live comfortably. Also just how it shows them the casual information about the little things (or big things depends on how you look at it) they might not know their favourite food but they might know the colour they wear a lot or that they got out of hip surgery or something similar. I just love it, I think it's very much a pallet cleanser from the rising individualism in the world but that has also been in the media.

Also also note is that the village my grandma lives in she knows loads about everything and everyone and everyone else does too. Like just in general. She says I don't know much and then pulls out a three page long essay about their backstory and their dog 😭 so I think for a community ours isn't as connected especially in comparison but it's apparently still there.

a Revelation i just had from talking with my roommate is that wind breaker is uniquely a story about cultivating, developing, and protecting your *local* community, i.e. in a small town. this may be a response to a cultural climate that is increasingly remote and globalized, where the people around you, especially in a big city, becomes more and more anonymous (the bread sellers, the flowershop owners, the neighbors living next to you, etc— that we see the characters interact with).

specifically, in the shounen sphere, while community, friendships, teamworks are strongly emphasized, they are typically a secondary theme. friendships and empathy are vital to one piece, but its primary motivation and focus are on freedom and adventures. haikyuu, too, and all sports mangas that i have seen, is hinges on teamwork and connection, but the dominant context/motivation is the passion for sports and dedication/conviction towards your dreams. actually, haikyuu quite uniquely insists on teamworks and connections in ways i didnt see (as convincingly, at least) in other sports mangas. nonetheless, the primary focus is not on developing a community that you live in. so on and so forth. here is the difference: while all shounen works necessarily emphasized friendships, interpersonal connections, co-existence and teamworks, most of the time the community is something that the goal necessitates rather than being the goal itself. it’s a tool, not an endgoal.

that is not to say, i emphasize, that these stories are not good. it’s just that the premise of wind breaker is unique in the current narrative climates in a way that is quite reactive, actually, to the cultural climate today.

because the people around us are getting increasingly anonymous. in a big city you are not expected to know who your neighbors are. you are not expected to have meaningful conversations with the flowershop owners, the baristas that make you drinks every tuesday, or, hell, anyone that “serves” you. especially as the cities get larger and you never quite see the same people with any reliable frequency (yet another way in which the current economy (ehem, capitalism) configured our communities and interpersonal connections). this is a problem humanity never have before, in such unprecedented scale— but alack, social changes happen all the time, and most of them are unprecedented.

thats why the premise of a dying town — one that is explicitly ignored by law enforcement, quite literally *left behind* — is also symbolic of the smaller, more concentrated, and more *personal* social structure we are abandoning. the smallness is why bofurin knows everyone in town. the constancy is why bofurin and makochi care for one another. the premise basically necessitates the story to occur in this small town. the smallness and mundanity is the point— things that our socio-economic focus on rapid “growth” and “development” is glossing over.

do i have a solution for what i am portraying as a societal decay? no. do i expect every place in the world become makochi? would be nice, but probably not. but the narratives do invites and encourages me to notice more of the people i see day to day. maybe this will gets a lot harder once i move out of my undergrad dorms and no longer sees the same baristas, cafeteria workers, custodians, facilities workers that i know by name. but i sure hope i will know the names of the people i live with, in a community, in a new city.

anyway, wind breaker is very refreshing and yet another example of how culture and arts response to and interact with each other 😌 i can only hope that, regardless of whether people read so deeply into this or not, the narratives encourages them to be kinder and more noticing of their community. maybe nurture it too, like ume does and is inspiring everyone in bofurin to be :)

[brofightiscancelled]

i'll never get over how perfectly suburban american the matsumusical set looks like i dont know how they got it so perfect it cracks me up so much every time

[sesamenom]

a partridge in a pear tree

well, more or less

[nightmanatee]

You can enjoy flawed characters and episodes and still acknowledge those flaws.

well this is what we both can agree on which is... at least something.

Yes, how convenient you can't "comment" on this post, by which you mean leave a snarky reply, instead of publicly reblogging which you were 'forced' to do; for exactly that reason. My replies are limited because racist assholes on a million empty side blogs love to leave snarky insulting racist or ableist replies on my posts if I dare call out their explicit racism, so my replies are limited to mutuals who I trust not to leave random witty "one-liners" in my replies.

i'm also glad you assume something about me without actually knowing me (for instance - i would've left the exact SAME comment in the comments and argue there instead of reblogs).

i'm not gonna leave a long reply bc we clearly argue about different things - you'll just keep adding chibnall as the bad white author (please google who CO-WROTE rosa with him btw) and i'll keep mentioning that on-screen thing is more important to me.

the thing you keep mentioning about yaz being bad as a cop and how she complains about wanting to do "heroic things"... well yes???? bc as i've said she's 19 and it *can be seen* as first steps of aknowledging it's not her career path. she needs a good lead (13 in s11-13) and help as to how properly do things - something her boss can't give her. if yaz had been shown as a "good" cop who actually resolves things as you've mentioned that would actually be worse imo (at least given all other stories in this era).

that Yaz became a cop to try to change the system for the better

literally not what i've said and not what the show says. she wanted to become a cop bc she thought she's gonna help people and instead she has to go and investigate a bike on a tree.

its *literally* the most generic characterization line you can give to an underdog hero cop character, to show that they're dissatisfied with the boring everyday cop work of parking disputes and tickets and instead want to instead do the 'real cop work' of busting crime rings, heroically stopping bank robberies, saving battered women from violent husbands, etc.

AGAIN??? yeah she wants a challenging work her complaining about her current job can be an indicator of dissatisfaction of career path and what do you think people do when this happens and if they can?? leave. another example of someone who WASN'T skipping work and loved their job is literally clara who's even made 11 have a SCHEDULE of their adventures.

despite her literally seeing the evidence of alien activity right in front of her in a world where aliens publicly invade every single fucking christmas.

CLARA: That is amazing. How will they explain this tomorrow? DOCTOR: You'll all forget it ever happened. CLARA: We are not going to forget an overnight forest. DOCTOR: You forgot the last time. You remembered the fear and you put it into fairy stories. It's a human superpower, forgetting. If you remembered how things felt, you'd have stopped having wars. And stopped having babies.

(cmon even graham says how they don't have aliens in sheffield)

and if you love pointing out author's ideas here's a part of the script you've described (clearly having a much different tone):

oh and thasmin. right as i've said that i don't want to argue about that.. AGAIN if you use the author and how his words are important here are screenshots of some things from the podcast that he did in 2023:

where he clearly states about thasmin having implications and even being deliberate in s11.

Yeah, you can say it's good that Chibnall "listened to audience feedback and made Yaz stop being a cop" but you can't say that while you're also arguing that he supposedly had this overarching plot where 'Yaz was always going to stop being a cop'

i've also never said "it was always like that" i've said that in RETROSPECTIVE this is how her arc works out. same thing with thasmin when chibnall listened to fans and has made it happen - i've only ever said how it's good when a showrunner LISTENS to fans and the critique.

as for the judoon mention: i've mentioned this bc chibnall as an author loves parallels and NONE of his characters who are cops are happy/good. yaz is unhappy and leaves, cops in rosa are super racist, jake leaves police (praxeus), judoons are violent against the actual main charater of the show, the division is full of shit and violence (even anita complains about salaries).

Do you really think that pointing out that Yaz's sister called the police on her for being suicidal instead of Yaz herself calling the police on herself for being suicidal really has any bearing on the fact that it's copaganda because the white police officer sees a young brown girl on the side of the road and gives her a life-changing, inspiring pep talk as cop propaganda

also didn't know white people are being called anita patel and look like this these days:

People are trying to say "chibnall's era didn't have any copaganda" because by the time Flux came around Yaz said she was an ex cop.

As though there weren't years and years in between her first season's appearance and the last appearance, filled with people pointing out the blatant copaganda in making Yaz a cop of color to try to make cops look better.

And yes, her backstory of becoming a cop because she ran away from home / was implied to be suicidal and was saved by a cop is further copaganda.

People who actually call the cops because they're suicidal usually end up getting murdered or brutalized by the police , especially people of color, not given a random inspiring one-liner that magically turns their life around. That's fucking copaganda.

If Yaz wanted to make the world a better place, why didn't she get saved by a random paramedic or nurse ? Why didn't she go into the medical industry?

Nope, instead gotta say she's a relatable quirky female cop of color, don't pay any attention to her racially profiling Ryan in episode one and the narrative not even acknowledging that harm when it came time to bastardize and whitewash Rosa Park's history!

You know, the episode that uses Ryan as the laughingstock of the rest of the non-Black cast so they can mock and deride him for not knowing Black History which they're all experts on????

Yaz and Ryan's first meeting in episode one is her LITERALLY racially profile Ryan and accuse him of a crime based on literally nothing except him being a young Black man!

When she knows for a fact that HE is the one who called the police in the first place!

Literally the only thing that saved Ryan from her no-doubt arresting him for "being a troublemaker" or "refusing to cooperate" is her recognizing him from school and that she knew his grandmother --

-- if that personal connection had not been made, do you have any doubt that Yaz wouldn't have treated him just as callously as the woman who had a hammer put through her windshield, for the crime of parking in the wrong spot, which was framed by Yaz as equal crimes???

One person parked in the wrong spot, and one person decided to violently put a hammer through her windshield in retaliation, costing hundreds of dollars and probably making that car legally undrivable?? Do you remember that 'funny' scene?

Hey guys, if I called the cops because my neighbor violently vandalized my personal transportation with the implicit threat of physical harm to my person, and the cop just looked at us and said both me and my neighbor who just put a hammer through my windshield and said we're both 'being childish'.... I'd say fuck the police because what the fuck.

Especially because Yaz goes right back to the station after this "funny relatable" scene and complains shes not getting to do "real police work" which begs the question of what the fuck does she consider to be "real police work"? Arresting criminals? Heroically stopping armed robberies, when she can't even handle property damage calls without being unprofessional and condescending to the victim?

The literal only reason Yaz stopped being a cop is because of the constant backlash from fandom and professional critics.

Because people pointed out how Yaz being a cop was trying to paint cops in a better light (especially with that "heart to heart" with Ryan in the shitty ahistorical, racist Rosa Parks episode, where Yaz promises she's one of the good ones, just pretend she didn't racially profile Ryan in episode one).

Because people actually pointed out the racism implicit in making a "good cop" let alone making a woman of color a cop when the discussions about police brutality and how cops are an inherently racist institution since inception has been in full swing for years at that point.

Yaz didn't quit being a cop because Chibnall was "actually doing the opposite of copaganda" Yaz quit being a cop because actual people spoke up against the copaganda and forced the writers to downplay and one-liner try to erase that plot point because he was desperately trying to regain relevancy.

Chibnall is not a master fucking writer of subtle anti-cop or anti-capitalist plotlines.

Yaz being a cop was copaganda that audience hatred forced them to downplay.

Kerbalm was capitalistic bullshit worshipping institutions like Amazon and Apple because "its not the exploitative company that's bad, it's the [capitalist system upheld by the exploitative company] that is the real bad!"

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

I can’t remember if I’ve said this here before, but holiday Barbies 2003-2005 were absolutely serving

[morgan-the-lonely-brick]

personal tag rant.

[bunnyboy-juice]

ok my annoyances aside: its the time of year my city changes out all the potted plants for mini trees with decorations and string lights and (hopefully soon) wreaths with pretty big bows and lights on the light poles and the sun is setting so early so everyday i go home i see the pretty pretty lights and i just. (:

[mildmayfoxe]

made banana chocolate chip pancake & slathered em in butter & my mom’s homemade red currant jelly & also homemade smoked maple syrup

[fazcinatingblog]

page 364 and the main character's mum becomes a Sophia

[avariceaside]

Oh poor babies, I need to get them a bigger cat tree

[ghostedbunnie]

thinking about how 141 men would take advantage of christmas or just a cold weather in general.

fem! reader, 18+ minors do not interact!!

johnny definitely takes some mistletoe and waits for the perfect opportunity to be like "oi look a' that bonnie, a tradition is a tradition." and he just swoops in on you to literally maul you. slobbers all over you like a dog, pants into your mouth and grabs handfuls of your ass unapologetically. honestly half of his brain shuts down as soon as he has his hands and mouth on you. also doesn't care about timing or privacy, he'd do this in front of a room full of people.

simon is a meanie. he loves coming back inside to your home, catching you unawares while you're singing some christmas songs and baking. it doesn't help that he can only be heard when he wants to so you really stand no chance. he walks up to you and shoves his cold ass hands under your sweater and holds on to you so you can't even move away. he would start by grabbing your hips and quickly moving forward to cup your boobs while you whine about the goosebumps. he definitely ends up grinding onto your ass and whispering into your ear about how he can warm you right up.

kyle lets you talk him into matching ugly sweaters mostly because he is too hot to look bad in anything. he loves seeing you happy so he will do anything. if you are celebrating with your family or friends he is literally the picture perfect boyfriend that gets everyone oohing and aahing. he helps you with the tree decorating when something is out of your reach (but he lets you try to do it yourself just to see the sweater ride up and show of your skin, he is still cheeky) and he always tastes your cooking telling you exactly what it is that you're missing and have been trying to figure out for the past 10 mins. but his mind is playing out scenarios in which he's gonna get to the lacy lingerie he saw you wearing underneath the sweater.

now john is more lowkey about christmas, if he was on his own he wouldn't even bother with a tree. he does end up getting one for you ofc (after mean mugging few part-timers that tried to flirt with you but every time you looked at him he didn't let anything show but the guys there started giving you a wide berth). he will bring you to a work christmas party that he was forced to go by laswell and when he sees people bring their kids and you interacting with them, his mind starts racing with some wild thoughts about how your christmas could look next year. when he corners you in the bathroom and locks the door the only response to your wide-eyed stare is that he is "gettin' into the christmas spirit, love. jus' like you wanted."

[mononijikayu]

i saw mommy kissing santa claus — fushiguro toji

“Mom, I saw you kissing Santa Claus last night.” You froze, the coffee cup halfway to your lips as your cheeks turned a warm shade of red. Your husband Toji, on the other hand, lowered his mug, his sharp green eyes sparkling with mischief. He looked at you, one brow raised, fighting the grin threatening to spread across his face. “Oh, really, kid?” Toji said, leaning back casually. “Mommy here was kissing Santa Claus, huh?” You stammered, caught off guard. “W-well, Megumi, I think maybe you were dreaming—" “Nope!” Megumi insisted, crossing his little arms over his chest. “I saw it, mom. You were right by the tree!” 

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence!;

WARNING/S: fluff, romance, nsfw, r-18, christmas day, santa, parenthood, pet names (babe, love, etc), love, humor, light-hearted, domestic life, slice of life, being in love, parenthood, married life, healthy relationship, toddler, family, late night sex, kissing, p-i-v sex, profanity, sexual intercourse, depictions of sexual acts, depiction of body praise, depiction of naked bodies, mention of sexual innuendo, mention of sexual intercourse, husband! toji, mamaguro! reader;

WORD COUNT: 7k words

NOTE: toji seems to me like the type who would have been so good at teasing mamaguro??? like he would definitely be the person that would also wear a santa claus costume just to put megumi's gifts on the tree and then know that megumi would be watching??? anyway i love their tiny family i am so floored every time i write about them. anyway merry fushiguro christmas!!! i love you all <3

box it up, christmas hun! (santa kayu 2024)

main masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

YOU ALWAYS ADORED CHRISTMAS. Even as a child, the magic of the holiday season was something your mother and father made sure to bring alive for you.

They worked tirelessly to fill each moment with joy, whether it was the way the house glowed with lights or how the scent of fresh-baked cookies lingered in the air. 

Your favorite memories were wrapped in those small, meaningful traditions—sipping hot chocolate while the snow fell softly outside, unwrapping presents by the fire, and gathering together to share stories and laughter. It wasn’t about the gifts or the grandeur, but the warmth of family and the sense of belonging.

Now that you had a family of your own, you were determined to recreate that magic, to pass down those same feelings of joy and love to the people you held closest to your heart. Fushiguro Toji wasn’t raised with those kinds of traditions. 

For him, the holidays were often just another day. Especially when he lived with his family and even after that. There was no desire for a fuss, no fanfare. But when it came to you, he was more than willing to step out of his comfort zone.

Toji might not have admitted it outright, but seeing how much the holidays meant to you made it easy for him to get involved. Whether it was wrestling with tangled strings of lights or holding your hand while you browsed for the perfect tree, he found himself drawn into the excitement. It was a quiet kind of joy for him, watching your face light up with happiness as you brought the season to life.

When your beloved Megumi came along, the holidays became even more special. Toji was quick to embrace his role, even if it meant helping you with putting out the tree or helping to bake cookies that somehow ended up burnt half the time.

He didn’t care if it was messy or chaotic—seeing the laughter, the wide-eyed wonder, and the unfiltered happiness of his family made every effort worth it.

What surprised him most was how much he’s slowly come to love those traditions, too. They weren’t just holidays anymore; they were the foundation of memories he never knew he needed.

He started to look forward to the little things, like staying up late with you to wrap presents or watching Megumi to try to stay awake for Santa, only to fall asleep halfway through their schemes.

Each holiday became another chance to build something new together, a season filled with traditions that were uniquely yours. Toji might have started off doing it for you, but somewhere along the way, he realized he was doing it for himself, too.

After all, your beautiful family meant everything to him, it’s now his safe zone—and these moments were proof that he finally had one worth celebrating.

So on this bright Christmas morning, your comely house was tenderly wrapped in a soft, magical stillness. The gentle hum of the house’s heater and the occasional crackle from the fireplace your husband had set up added to the warmth of the room. 

The Christmas tree glowed with colorful lights, their reflections dancing on the ornaments and the neatly wrapped presents beneath. The faint scent of cinnamon and pine hung in the air, blending with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

Young and bright four year old Fushiguro Megumi shuffled into the living room, his favorite blanket dragging behind him like a cape. His small, sleepy frame was bundled in his fuzzy pajamas, the ones with tiny snowflakes printed all over. 

His dark charcoal hair was a tousled mess, sticking out in every direction as if he’d been wrestling with his dreams. He paused near the doorway, rubbing his blue–green eyes, and blinked at the cozy scene before him.

There you were, curled up on the couch with Toji, both of you cradling steaming mugs of coffee. Toji was dressed in his usual casual sweatpants and a loose T-shirt, one arm draped lazily along the back of the couch, the other holding his mug. He looked relaxed, his sharp green eyes softened with a rare, unguarded warmth. 

You were tucked into his side, your legs curled beneath you, wearing an oversized Christmas special cardigan and your fuzzy faux fur slippers.

The two of you shared a quiet moment, sipping the coffee your husband brewed and exchanging conversation and content smiles as the early morning sunlight peeked through the curtains.

Megumi's sleepy gaze lit up as he took in the sight of the tree, its glowing lights illuminating the pile of presents waiting for him. His little mouth opened in a gasp, and he looked at the two of you with wide, sparkling blue–green orbs.

“It’s Christmas!” he announced, his voice still tinged with the rasp of sleep but filled with excitement. “It’s Christmas morning!”

You smiled, setting your mug on the coffee table and opening your arms to him. “Good morning, sweetheart. Merry Christmas.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He toddled over, crawling onto the couch and nestling between you and Toji. Toji chuckled, ruffling Megumi’s messy hair affectionately. “Morning, kid. Looks like Santa came through for you this time around, huh?”

Megumi nodded eagerly, his blue–green eyes darting back to the presents under the tree. “Can I open them now?” he asked, his voice filled with hopeful anticipation.

“Not even a good morning first?” Toji teased, arching an eyebrow. But the playful tone in his voice made Megumi giggle. “Too excited, you are.”

“Good morning, Dad.” Megumi said, grinning as he leaned against you. “Good morning, Mom.”

Your heart swelled at the sight of him, his excitement so pure and unfiltered. You kissed the top of his little head, wrapping an arm around him as Toji stood and stretched, walking over to grab the digital camera.

“All right.” Toji said with a smirk, motioning to the tree. “Let’s see what Santa left for you, kid.”

With a delighted squeal, Fushiguro Megumi scrambled off the couch and ran toward the presents, his blanket forgotten on the floor in his excitement.

You and Toji shared a tender glance, his usual smirk softening into a genuine, warm smile. You shake your head, looking at him with much contentment.

He walked back to you, settling beside you on the couch and slipping his hand into yours. His touch was steady, grounding, as the two of you watched Megumi dive headfirst into the pile of gifts.

His bright laughter filled the room, bright and melodic, blending perfectly with the soft crackle of the fireplace.

For a moment, everything was perfect—pure joy radiating from your son as he examined each box like it was a priceless treasure. Then, Megumi suddenly paused, his small frame still in the middle of the living room. 

He turned slowly to face you both, his expression shifting into something unusually serious, his little brows furrowing in a way that was far too mature for his age. When he wasn’t smiling, you were sure your son was quite a young old man in that tiny body. 

You blinked, puzzled, as Toji sat up straighter, his grip on your hand loosening. Before either of you could ask what was wrong, Megumi crossed his arms over his chest, his blanket forgotten entirely now, and declared with absolute certainty:

“Mom, I saw you kissing Santa Claus last night.”

You froze, the coffee cup halfway to your lips as your cheeks turned a warm shade of red. Your husband Toji, on the other hand, lowered his mug, his sharp green eyes sparkling with mischief. He looked at you, one brow raised, fighting the grin threatening to spread across his face.

“Oh, really, kid?” Toji said, leaning back casually. “Mommy here was kissing Santa Claus, huh?”

You stammered, caught off guard. “W-well, Megumi, I think maybe you were dreaming—"

“Nope!” Megumi insisted, crossing his little arms over his chest. “I saw it, mom. You were right by the tree!” 

His little pout was so serious it almost made you laugh. You tried to hold your composure, his cute little glare gleaming at you with the most adorable aggression. He looked too much like Toji when he was like this. And that had made you even more adoring of him in this way.

Toji’s chuckle deepened as he leaned back on the couch, completely unbothered. “Cookies and milk are standard, kid.” he said, shrugging casually. “But Santa? He’s a special guest. Sometimes he deserves a little extra appreciation.”

Megumi tilted his head, his little face scrunching in thought. “Like a hug?” he asked, glancing back at the presents under the tree, though his curiosity still lingered.

“Sure, sure.” Toji said, smirking as he threw a glance your way. “Or something like that.”

You nudged him with your elbow, your cheeks heating up again. “Toji, that’s not something you should be jumping into.” you whispered under your breath, giving him a look that was equal parts exasperated and amused.

Toji just grinned and leaned in closer to you, his voice low so only you could hear. “What? I didn’t even mention the mistletoe.” His tone was full of playful mischief, and you rolled your eyes, trying to suppress a smile. 

“Mom? Dad?” Megumi’s voice broke through, his tiny hands clutching a brightly wrapped box as he looked up at you both. “Can I open this one first?”

You gave a soft laugh, glad for the distraction. “Of course, sweetheart.” you said, smiling warmly at him.

Toji reached over, ruffling Megumi’s hair again as the boy plopped down in front of the tree. “Go for it, kid. Let’s see what Santa left you.”

“Hmm. Okay.” he finally muttered, turning his attention to the colorful boxes waiting for him.

Megumi’s attention shifted entirely to the gift in his hands, his little fingers working furiously to tear the wrapping paper. You let out a breath, glancing at Toji, who was still watching you with that infuriatingly smug look.  His hands wrapped against your shoulders. 

He leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “Kissing Santa, huh, babe?” he teased, leaning in close. “Got any more Christmas spirit for me?”

Your face burned as you playfully shoved him, your smile betraying you. “Shut up, Toji.” you whispered, though the giggle that escaped ruined the effect.

“Guess Santa’s the lucky one this year, don’t you think?” he murmured.

You bit your lip, shaking your head but unable to hide the smile that crept across your face. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, yeah.” he said, his smirk softening into something warmer as he looked at you. “But you love me anyway.”

“Merry Christmas, babe.” Toji murmured, stealing a quick kiss.

“Merry Christmas, love.” you whispered back, heart full and cheeks still warm.

══════════════════

TOJI SAID HE PLANNED EVERYTHING. And knowing how much you trusted your husband, you do believe him. He hasn’t ever failed you before, after all. Your husband wasn’t going to fail you now either. He said he’s going to make it happen and he will. 

The night before Christmas was serene, the kind of quiet that wrapped around you like a warm blanket. The only sounds were the faint crackle of the fireplace and the occasional rustle of branches as the tree swayed slightly under the weight of its ornaments. 

The vibrant living room glowed softly, bathed in the colorful twinkle of Christmas lights that reflected off the shiny ribbons and bows of some of the presents you had already wrapped and bought for Megumi and each other. All Toji has to do now is add the other ones you bought for Megumi.

You had just finished cleaning up after dinner, your feet padding lightly across the wooden floor as you straighten a few stray decorations. A hum of curiosity pulled you toward the living room, and when you peeked around the corner, you couldn’t hold back a small smile from appearing on your pinkish lips.

There he was— Fushiguro Toji, crouched by the tree, fully dressed in a Santa Claus suit. The red fabric clung to his massively broad frame, the white trim looking comically out of place against his rugged demeanor. 

The bright red hat was askew on his head, barely covering his wild, dark hair, and the sight of him muttering multiple times under his breath while adjusting a precariously balanced present was nothing short of endearing.

“Damn this tree’s too small.” Toji grumbled, carefully shoving a particularly large box further under the branches. “How the hell does Santa Claus even do this without knocking everything over? Like, this is just an insane operation for a break in. Mission impossible even!”

You stifled a laugh, leaning against the doorway as you crossed your arms. “You’re really committing to this Santa Claus thing, huh?”

Toji glanced up sharply, his green eyes narrowing at you in mock irritation before softening into a lopsided smirk. You sighed, smiling as he enjoys taking in the sight of you like this. He has never thought he would ever have something as enjoyable as this life. And he always has you to thank for it.

“Caught me, babe.” he said, straightening up and dusting his hands off. “Santa Claus really had to work harder for this. And I gotta commit like he does, babe. I mean, this is harder than it looks, you know.”

You stepped into the room, your gaze sweeping over the scene. “You’re supposed to look jolly, not grumpy, love. Kids don’t want an angry Santa Claus.”

Toji snorted, tugging at the crooked hat and tossing it onto the couch. “You’re lucky I even agreed to wear this, babe.” he said, gesturing at the suit with a faint grimace. “This thing’s itchy as hell. How the hell did people wear this without having to scratch everywhere? Even my crotch feels itchy.”

You rolled your eyes, walking over to adjust one of the presents he’d just placed. “You’re not exactly selling the magic of Christmas, love.”

He leaned against the arm of the couch, his smirk turning sly. “Oh, I don’t know. I think I’m doing pretty good. The kid’s gonna love it in the morning. He’s going to have fun about Santa bringing in lotsssss of cool presents.”

You turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. “And what about me? Does Santa Claus have any surprises for me? I mean….I should get gifts too, right?”

Toji’s grin widened as he pushed off the couch and sauntered toward you, his voice dropping to a playful, sensual murmur. “Actually, yeah. Look up, babe.”

Your eyes followed his gaze, landing on the tiny sprig of mistletoe hanging above your heads. You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. You looked at him with so much adoration, you couldn’t help it. He just made you feel giddy every single day. 

“You’re impossible, you know that?”

He took another step closer, his voice low and teasing. “Maybe. But I’m also a hardworking Santa Claus. And Santa likes to get paid for his trouble. I’m sure this pretty lady in front of him will ease his troubles.”

You rolled your eyes playfully once more, your lips twitching as you fought back a smile. “Naughty Santa, aren’t you?” you muttered, leaning up just enough to close the gap between you. “What about Mrs. Claus?”

“Don’t have one.” He smiles down at you, his thumb pressing against your lips. “Would you wanna volunteer to be one, pretty woman?”

You laughed aloud at his words. “Shouldn’t you take me out to dinner first?”

“Well, if you’d let me, then I will.” He grins at you.

“Alright, alright. I’ll let you.”

“Good. Santa’s happy about that.”

“Well, we only want that, don’t we?” You smiled at him.

“Hm, very great for securing your kid a spot on my gift list.”

You giggled at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but I’m your ridiculous, future Mrs. Claus.” 

You laughed at his words again, which made him very happy. Your husband Toji happily pressed hands forward and found your waist as he met you halfway, his sly lips brushing against yours in a passionate kiss that was far too warm for such a chilly night. 

You pushed deeper, kissing him back, pulling him closer to you. When you finally pulled back to take a breath, his grin was smug as it was shameless, his bright  green eyes gleaming with the endless joy that comes with having you as his beloved. 

“Best payment I’ve ever gotten. By far.” he murmured, his voice soft but smug.

You laughed, swatting at his chest as you stepped away. “Go finish your job, Santa Claus. There’s still a tree that needs all the presents to set up for the good kid.”

He chuckled, watching you with a lingering smile as you walked away. “Yes, ma’am. But don’t think this is over.” he called after you, his tone full of promise.

“I look forward to it, Santa!”

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OF COURSE YOU’LL NEVER FORGET ABOUT LAST NIGHT. You could still feel your legs sore and your throat full of his pleasurable bites. But that wasn’t important right now, even though, of course it felt really good. Santa was really good with blessings. But that wasn’t the point. 

You could feel your cheeks turn redder and your ears more scarlet. You tried to calm yourself down as you continued to clear out stuff in the kitchen. The cookies were more important. You had guests coming over.

Of course, on the other side of the wall, the living room was alive with Megumi’s excited giggles and the joyful chaos of wrapping paper flying in every direction.  His precious little voice carried as he marveled at each gift, holding up toys and books like treasures. 

You peeked at him from the kitchen, your heart swelling at how happy he was. Your son’s joys were the reason you always worked so hard at the prosecutor’s office. And he was, genuinely, the happiest little boy. And that made everything feel like it paid off.

You were in the middle of arranging cookies on a festive plate when you felt it: a pair of strong arms sliding around your waist, pulling you against a firm chest. The scent of pine and the faintest trace of cologne told you exactly who it was before he even spoke.

“Toji, love.” you started, a hint of exasperation in your voice. “What are you doing?”

“Mmm nothing.” he murmured against your ear, his voice rich and teasing. He grins slowly as he catches a peak of the hickeys from your side, hidden in the cardigan. “Just came to say thank you for, you know... last night.”

Your hands froze, the cookie you were holding slipping onto the counter as heat rushed to your cheeks. You were just trying to forget about it now but the images started to flood your head once more as your husband nibbles against your ear.

“Toji, please.” you hissed, glancing nervously toward the doorway to make sure Megumi was too busy with his presents to overhear. The last thing you need is to traumatize your little son.“Not now.”

But Fushiguro Toji, as always, was undeterred. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his lips grazing just close enough to your ear to make you shiver. He hums against your skin, bright eyes looking at you with wanton affection.

“What? I’m just saying Santa Claus didn’t just get a kiss under the mistletoe. I mean he enjoyed it really well too—”

You spin your head toward him, your bright eyes wide as you whisper with embarrassment. “Will you stop? Love, our son’s on the other side of the wall and—”

Toji only grinned, his hold on you tightening slightly as he leaned in closer. “Come on, sweetheart. Admit it. Santa Claus always deserves a little something extra for working so hard, don’t you think?”

“You sly fox of a husband.” you hissed, swatting at his arm as your cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red. “You are impossible. I swear, Toji.”

He let out a low, rumbling laugh, clearly reveling in your flustered state. “You’re cute when you’re all embarrassed like this, babe.” he teased, nuzzling the side of your neck in a way that made your heart skip. “But I wasn’t lying, you know. Best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

Your heart melted at his words, even as you tried to maintain your composure. “You’re lucky it’s Christmas, love.” you muttered, trying to sound stern but failing miserably as a small smile crept onto your face. “Otherwise, it’d be a different story.”

Toji shifted, leaning back just enough to study your beautiful expressions. His bright green eyes were soft, a rare tenderness shining in them that made your breath catch. The air of joy blossoming in his chest ever so fondly when he looks at you more. 

“Lucky, huh?” he said, a hint of sincerity beneath the teasing. “Nah. I’m the luckiest guy every day I wake up to you. Every day, every minute, every second. Every day. For forever. I’m the luckiest guy on earth, babe.”

Your face burned hotter, and you turned back to the cookies to hide your expression from him. You could feel your heart making flips and jumps against the wall of your chest. He’s always so good at making you feel this way. 

You were really going to be overwhelmed for all your life with how much he always makes you feel the universe with his love and tenderness. You were always going to be falling in love with this man over and over again like this. You sighed, admitting defeat to him. 

 “You’re ridiculous, love.” you mumbled, but the warmth blossoming in your chest betrayed your words. “Really….”

He couldn’t help but chuckled again, reaching around you to snag a cookie off the plate. You gasp as you try to stop him, but he lifts it up and you pout at him, knowing you can’t reach it. He snickers at you. You turn back and continue putting away the other cookies.

“That’s why you love me, babe.” Toji said, his voice smooth and teasing as he took another bite of the cookie, his smirk practically glowing with satisfaction. 

Before you could muster a response, he leaned down, his lips brushing against your temple in a kiss so gentle it made your heart flutter. “Don’t work too hard. Megumi and I are waiting for you, okay? Still got some presents left for us to open.”

You watched him stroll back into the living room, his broad frame relaxed, his laughter already mingling with Megumi’s excited chatter. His voice carried back to you, warm and playful, as he greeted your son again, seamlessly joining him in exploring his new toys. 

The sound of Megumi’s giggles and Toji’s deep chuckles filled the house, creating a melody that could warm even the coldest snowy, winter morning. It was what you wanted to wake up to every single day. It was all you could ever want for all of time.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, leaning back against the counter as a soft smile tugged at your lips. It was uncontrollable, this joy, this love that bubbled up in your chest. This was a love that had a place to go and blossom here in this place, in this family. In this life you have.

Ridiculous, you thought with a shake of your head. Toji was ridiculous. But he was also your, the most precious of men who made even the simplest moments unforgettable, who filled your life with laughter, warmth, and love.

And your precious Megumi. Your sweet, bright boy, was the perfect little light who completed the picture. Everything about life made sense when you met Toji and had Megumi together. Life began when you had this. And you knew he would agree with that sentiment.

You looked out at the scene before you, the two of them sprawled on the floor amid wrapping paper and toys, Megumi pointing animatedly at something as Toji nodded with exaggerated seriousness.

It was so small, so ordinary—and yet it was everything. It meant the world to you. No, you shook your head. It meant the universe to you. And you would never trade this for anything in the world.

You felt it all in that moment: gratitude, contentment, and a profound sense of love. How lucky you were, to have this life, this family. This was your everything. And no matter how many lifetimes you could dream of, you knew there would never be anything more beautiful than this.

“Babe, Megumi wants his mommy!” Toji’s voice called from the living room, pulling you from your thoughts.

You chuckled, pushing off the counter and heading toward the sound of your favorite voices. “Coming, love!”

As you stepped into the living room, Megumi beamed up at you, his hands full of his latest toy, while Toji looked over with a smirk that was both mischievous and affectionate. You settled in beside them, feeling their warmth wrap around you like a hug. 

Life wasn’t just great to live—it was perfect. 

And you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

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TOJI'S TAKING ALL THE OPPORTUNITIES HE CAN GET. But if you were being honest, so were you. Last night wasn't enough for you to get your fill. When your husband is someone like Toji, how could you?

The house was quiet now, save for the faint hum of the heater and the occasional creak of the floorboards as the winter wind pressed against the walls.

Megumi had been tucked into bed after a long, laughter-filled Christmas dinner, his tiny snores signaling that he was sound asleep. The evening had been perfect—filled with warmth, love, and memories you’d cherish forever.

Now, it was just the two of you.

Toji leaned against the doorframe of your bedroom, watching as you pulled off the festive sweater you'd worn all day. His gaze was heavy, but not with exhaustion—it was something else, something that made your skin tingle.

"You finally sitting still for once?" he teased, his voice low, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin that followed. "Maybe I am. Or maybe I was waiting for you to catch up."

That was all the invitation he needed. Toji crossed the room in a few long strides, his arms circling your waist as he pulled you close. His lips found yours almost immediately, hungry, but unhurried. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, and for once, it felt like you did.

Your fingers slid into his hair, tugging lightly as he deepened the kiss. His hands roamed, tracing the curve of your waist, the small of your back, and eventually settling at your hips, holding you firmly against him. The heat between you both grew, sparking like the fire you’d left burning in the living room.

"I’ve been waiting all day for this, babe." he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and filled with need.

"Me too." you admitted, your breath hitching as his lips moved to your neck, leaving a trail of soft, teasing kisses that made your knees weak.

The world outside didn’t matter anymore. Not the snow piling up on the windowsill, not the mess of dishes waiting in the kitchen, and certainly not the clock ticking down the last hours of Christmas Day. All that mattered was the way Toji made you feel. You always feel so seen, loved, desired when it comes to your beloved husband.

He guided you toward the bed, his movements slow and deliberate as if savoring every second. The night was yours, a stolen moment of intimacy in the chaos of life.

And as his lips found yours again, you knew this was the best gift you could have asked for—time together, just the two of you, wrapped in the comfort of each other’s arms.

Toji’s arm slid right back around your neck, firm yet careful, pulling you closer as his lips claimed yours once more. The way he touched you sent shivers cascading down your spine, every sensation heightened by the quiet intimacy of the moment.

His grip was confident, possessive, and it made your pulse quicken as pleasure rippled through you like a rising tide. Each kiss, each graze of his hands against your skin, ignited something deep within you, leaving no room for anything else but the heat building between you.

He knew exactly how to unravel you, how to make you melt under his touch, and he didn’t hold back. He never holds back. Not when it was you he has to make love to. Making love to you was his church. It was his patronage. It was his repentance, it was his atonement. It was his salvation. His love for you was his salvation.

“Toji…” Your voice was barely a whisper, a mixture of breathlessness and yearning.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and intense, filled with something raw and unspoken. His thumb brushed gently along your jawline as his other arm stayed firmly around your neck, keeping you grounded in the moment.

“You doin' so good, babe.” he murmured, his voice rough and low, sending a fresh wave of heat through you.

The way he looked at you, the way he held you. Everything about it was overwhelming in the best way. Your body responded instinctively, arching into him as the pleasure coursed through every nerve, building higher with each kiss, each touch, each whispered word.

Time seemed to blur as he continued, his movements unhurried but deliberate, as though savoring every moment with you. And in that moment, nothing else mattered. This was all there was right now, just the two of you, lost in the intoxicating rhythm of each other.

Toji’s lips trailed down to your neck, his hot breath against your skin making you shiver. He knew exactly where to kiss, where to linger, drawing soft gasps from you as his hand caressed your side, sliding over the curves he loved to touch.

The pressure of his arm around your neck wasn’t rough, but good enough to make you feel the tension of his touch against your flesh. Everything about his touch, it was deliberate, possessive, reminding you that he wanted every inch of you, body and soul.

Your hands roamed over his shoulders, pulling him closer, urging him to keep going. The sensations rolled through you like waves, each one stronger than the last, your body responding to his every move. You could feel the heat of him against you, the tension between you building with every touch, every kiss.

“Toji…” you murmured again, your voice trembling with need.

“Hmm?” He didn’t stop, his lips finding that spot just below your ear that made your breath hitch. “Say it again, babe.” he whispered, his tone dark and teasing, sending a fresh jolt of desire through you.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging gently, and the low chuckle that escaped his lips vibrated against your skin, sending shivers cascading down your spine. The sound was rich, deep, and filled with promise, igniting a fire inside you that grew with every passing second.

His lips trailed along your jawline, slow and deliberate, before finding the sensitive curve of your neck. He lingered there, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses that made your breath hitch.

Your body press instinctively closer to him. The warmth of his mouth, the scrape of his teeth against your skin, left you trembling, a quiet gasp spilling from your lips.

His hand slid lower, the roughness of his palm contrasting deliciously against your soft skin. His touch was teasing at first, featherlight, exploring, testing your limits.

But then it grew bolder, more certain, as he found the places that made you quiver beneath him. Every brush of his fingertips sent sparks shooting through your body, the intensity of it building with each moment.

You arched into him, desperate for more, the ache between you growing unbearable. A soft moan escaped you, unbidden but unstoppable, and the sound seemed to ignite something in him.

He let out another low, satisfied laugh, his breath hot against your neck as he murmured, “You sound so good, baby. Don’t stop.”

The pleasure rolled through you like a tidal wave, crashing over every part of you until all you could feel was him. It was all his touch, his heat, his weight against you.

The room seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of you locked in this intimate dance, your bodies moving together in perfect, unspoken harmony.

Your skin grew slick with sweat, the heat between you almost unbearable but so, so good. Every movement, every touch, every kiss only pulled you deeper into him, the connection between you electric and all-consuming.

“Toji…” you whispered, your voice trembling with need, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.

He lifted his head just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes smoldering with desire as he leaned in close.

“I’ve got you, babe. I got you.” he murmured, his voice rough and filled with raw emotion.

And with those words, he claimed your lips again, pouring every ounce of his passion into the kiss. His hand tangled in your hair, his other still exploring, holding you firmly against him as if he couldn’t bear to let you go.

Toji’s breath hitched as he stilled, buried deep inside you, his forehead pressed to yours. The heat of your body wrapped tightly around him, the soft, rhythmic flutter of your walls making him groan low in his throat.

It was almost too much for you, how big he was, how whole you feel when he fit you to the hilt. Everything about it the way you felt, the way your body seemed to pulse and cling to him, drawing him deeper into the moment. It all just felt too good.

His hands gripped your hips firmly, anchoring himself, trying to hold onto the frayed edges of his control. A thought flickered in his mind, unbidden and primal: Can I even last long with this?

The idea sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through him, his jaw clenching as he tried to steady his breathing. He didn’t need to move—didn’t need to thrust or grind or do anything but stay right where he was, utterly consumed by the way you felt around him.

The subtle contractions of your body, the way you tightened around him and the way he fluttered tightly against your walls, that was all enough to drive him mad. You were still as you were before, you were paradise in every sense of the word.

“Toji…love....oh—” you whispered, your voice a mix of need and wonder, your nails dragging lightly down his back. The sound of his name on your lips only made it harder for him to hold back.

“Shit, babe.” he murmured, his voice rough and strained. “You’re gonna kill me like this.”

He pressed his forehead harder against yours, his breath coming in uneven gasps as he tried to wrestle with the overwhelming pleasure. Your moans can only grow as he pushed in and out in a more passionate speed.

“I swear… I could come just like this, babe.” he admitted, his voice low and ragged. “The way you’re squeezing me so good, babe… you feel so damn good.”

The confession sent a shiver through you, your body responding instinctively, and he groaned again, his fingers digging into your hips as if to ground himself. He wanted to move, to chase that inevitable high.

But at the same time, he didn’t want to lose the sheer intensity of the moment—didn’t want to lose the way it felt to just be inside you, connected in every way. He still needed to last a little bit more, he wanted this moment to last.

He leaned in, his lips brushing yours as he murmured, “You’re perfect. You know that?” His voice was raw, filled with both reverence and desperation.

And as he stayed there, lost in the heat and intimacy, he wondered if he could ever get enough of this—of you. Every sensation was heightened, every second stretching into eternity, until nothing else existed but him.

The overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. In his arms, you felt completely unraveled, utterly cherished, and entirely his. The world outside faded completely—just the two of you, tangled together in the quiet intimacy of your shared space.

Toji’s movements grew more deliberate, his bruised lips finding your own again as he deepened the kiss, his arm around your neck keeping you anchored to him. His tongue wrestling against yours as he tried to thrust deeper inside your mouth, earning a groan from your throat.

The way he held you, the way he touched you—it wasn’t just desire; it was love, raw and unfiltered, pouring into every moment.

Your body trembled beneath him, overwhelmed by the waves of pleasure he brought you, and you clung to him, lost in the heat of the moment. Toji pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath, his voice low and husky when he finally spoke.

“You’re mine, babe.” he whispered, the words heavy with emotion and promise.

His calloused hand brushing your cheek as his eyes met yours. And in that moment, you knew there was no place you’d rather be than here, with him, wrapped up in the intensity of his love.

"Always." You whispered back to him.

He felt satisfied with that as he pushed deeper into you.

You couldn't speak words anymore by the end of that.

The world was cold from the snowing echoes, but you were warm.

Warm in the pleasure of the husband you loved the most.

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epilogue

The room was still bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, your breathing finally steady after what had been a Christmas evening full of all sorts of intimacy and bright warm laughter.

Fushiguro Toji, ever the opportunist, propped himself up on one elbow, the smirk on his face practically devilish as his fingers began tracing patterns on your bare shoulder.

“You know, babe.” he started, his voice low and teasing, “I’m thinking Santa deserves a little overtime bonus for all his hard work tonight.”

You turned your head, arching a brow as you caught the glint in his eye. “Overtime? Didn’t we just finish the main shift? Both last night and tonight?”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of energy left, babe.” he murmured, leaning in to nip playfully at your ear. “The question is… do you?”

You opened your mouth to reply, maybe to tease him back, but the sound of soft footsteps in the hallway made you both freeze. Your eyes darted toward the door, which creaked open just enough to reveal a mop of messy black hair and the outline of a sleepy little boy clutching his favorite stuffed animal.

“Mom? Dad?” Megumi’s voice was tiny, wobbling just enough to tug at your heartstrings. “I had a nightmare…”

Toji let out a low groan, his head dropping onto your shoulder as he muttered, “Of course you did, kid. Of course you did.”

“Shush!” you hissed, elbowing him lightly before sitting up and pulling the blanket around yourself. “Come here, sweetheart.” you said softly, patting the edge of the bed.

Megumi shuffled in, his little feet barely making a sound as he climbed up onto the bed and wriggled his way into the space between you and Toji. He immediately buried his face against your side, his stuffed animal squished between the two of you.

“What happened, bud?” you asked, stroking his charcoal hair gently.

“There was a big, scary monster…” Megumi mumbled, his voice muffled against your side. “It chased me, and it almost got me.”

You looked at your husband who sighed back at you. Toji pushed himself up onto one elbow, running a hand through his disheveled hair, looking towards his little son.

“A monster, huh?” he asked, his tone light but laced with mock seriousness. “Did it look like a giant turkey? ‘Cause I told you eating all that stuffing was a risky move.”

Megumi pulled his face away just long enough to glare at his dad, his little brow furrowed in unimpressed indignation. “No, Dad.” he said with a hint of exasperation. “It wasn’t a turkey. It was scary!”

“Scarier than me?” Toji teased, flexing his arm dramatically as if that would somehow settle the matter.

You shot him a look, biting back a laugh. “Toji, love. Please.” you warned softly, shaking your head.

“Okay, okay.” Toji relented, holding up his hands in mock surrender. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Megumi’s hair. “Listen, kid, no monsters are getting past me. You know that, right? They take one look at your old man and run for the hills.”

Megumi’s little body relaxed against you, his small hand clutching tightly at your shirt. “Promise?” he whispered.

Toji ruffled his hair. “Promise. Now get some sleep. You’ve got another day of playing with all those presents tomorrow, and I don’t want to hear any complaints about being too tired.”

Megumi let out a sleepy little hum of agreement, his breathing evening out as he drifted off within minutes. Toji flopped back onto his pillow with a long sigh, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

“So, what do you think? Nightmare slayer and round-two initiator all in one night? I’m a man of many talents.”

You smirked, leaning over to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “You’re also a man with a very tired wife and a son snoring between us. Maybe tomorrow, Toji.”

Toji groaned dramatically, throwing an arm over his face. “Tomorrow? I’m not getting any younger over here.”

You rolled your eyes, stifling a laugh as you settled back down, pulling the blanket up over the three of you. “Goodnight, Santa.” you teased, nudging him lightly.

Toji huffed but couldn’t suppress the faint smile tugging at his lips as he turned to wrap an arm protectively over both you and Megumi. He looked at you both warmly.

“Yeah, yeah. Merry Christmas to me." he muttered, his voice soft and warm. And despite his earlier grumbling, you could feel the contentment radiating from him.

For Fushiguro Toji, there was no better gift than this—his family, safe and sound, wrapped in the warmth of a love he’d never stop cherishing. Life was great.