#twelve days of christmas fanfics

[assortedseaglass]

🌟Mistletoe | Yuletide🌟

Michael Gavey x Fem!Reader

Summary: Michael's Christmas plans are scuppered, but a chance encounter lifts his hopes for the New Year.

Content: Fluff, Language.

Yuletide Masterlist

December 15th. The night of the Catton Christmas party in Brasenose College. Term ended a week ago, but the prospect of partying with the university’s hottest boy and his gaggle of gorgeous followers was too delicious to pass up. Freshers to third-years clamoured to rub shoulders with the prime ministers and business men of tomorrow. Any way to get your foot in the door, and maybe some Christmas action too.

The single-pane windows of the old college dorm room rattled to the beat of NOW XMAS, and each time the door opened a pair of drunk undergrads tumbled into the quadrangle.

The latest two, a straw-haired girl in a Juicy Couture tracksuit and a burly boy wearing a rugby polo, stumbled from the old double doors leading to the common room. On their way, between sloppy kiss and over the top giggles, they bumped into a solitary figure.

“Sorry, mate,” the drunk boy said, watching the other young man through alcohol-heavy eyes. The girl beside him eyed the stranger and snorted. “Merry Christmas.”

Hands tucked into his pockets, scarf wrapped neatly around his neck, Michael Gavey stumbled. The pair got no reply, only a cold glance of annoyance as he made for his dorm.

Gold, string-light bulbs decorated Brasenose quadrangle, tacky Christmas trees were perched in various student windows, and the saccharine chorus of Band Aid 20 was shouted from the common room.

Michael didn’t hate Christmas. He quite enjoyed the fuss from his aunties and the jumpers his grandmother bought him. His mum snuck extra roasties onto his plate and his dad made a point to buy him each year’s Telegraph Quiz Book. This year would surely be even better. The pride on his family’s faces, each asking about his first term at Oxford. First one in his family to go to university and he gets into Oxford.

It was precisely because he liked Christmas that this one was so miserable. Michael was neither surprised nor upset when he checked his pigeonhole that morning to see no invitation to the Catton Christmas part. Him and Oliver. A pair of nobodies.

He took the new Nokia his dad got him for his A Levels out of his pocket. No texts. Punching the numbered keys, he sent one to Oliver.

Back at BC. Mince pies and port ready.

The corridor to his dorm room was empty. With the turn of his key, he opened the door. The room was cold. The ancient radiator was ticking into life and the old windows were beginning to fog with condensation. On top of his stack of maths textbooks a bottle of unopened port gleamed.

Turning on his bedside lamp, Michael gathered two dusty glasses his mother insisted he pack with him, and from his Tesco bag produced a pack of mince pies. He placed them on a paper plate and emptied the rest of the carrier bag (wallet, keys, pencil case, workbook) next to the E45 cream and battered copy of GH Hardy’s biography.

The Nokia buzzed aggressively on the table. Removing his scarf, Michael checked the screen. It was from Oliver. He unlocked the phone and checked the small envelope icon.

Something’s come up, sorry.

Michael slumped on the bed. His thumb hovered over the keypad.

Get a better offer, did you?

He deleted the text, locked the screen and threw it on the cheap duvet.

The others would still be at the pub. He could just go back and meet them there. Could, were it not for his pride. It just wasn’t the same, a group of people forced together, as opposed to those who found each other.

The pub was full of his fellow mathematics students. Spotty, eager to please and reeking of desperation to prove themselves. Michael didn’t need to. He watched as they fought for Professor Mathison’s attention, keen to discuss tutorial projects and career prospects. Mathison was already keenly aware of Michael, judging by the way his jaw dropped when Michael recited the Lagrangian form to the last letter.

With Oliver it was different. They were two outsiders, making their way in a world entirely foreign to their own, their intellect their only way in. Now it seemed the friendship Michael was working so hard to cultivate with Oliver was slipping away.  

He stared at the empty glasses. Fuck it. Pouring a little too much port in one of the glasses, Michael stuffed a mince pie into his mouth, grabbed another and made for the door.

The air was crisp, but mild for mid-December. The music of the Catton party across the quadrangle had mellowed, and through the misty windows Michael could make out shapes dancing close together, swaying slowly.

A pang of jealousy twisted in his naval and he twitched awkwardly. He wondered what it would be like, having another body pressed against his. Or rather, to have someone want to be that close to him. His mind flashed to the French girl in tutorial. She’d pressed her leg against his at the pub when Mathison mentioned a partnered project for the new year, and when he’d looked down, he saw her fingers brushing the cuff of his jumper. He’d flinched away.

Everyone was doing it. Quick flings with no regard for consequence. He supposed he could do it too. With the French girl, or the girl with agoraphobia. Lord knows, she was getting as much action as he was. But there was something in his studious nature, his desire for knowledge, that meant he had to be consumed by knowing someone fully, or nothing at all.

Perching his bony bottom on the cold concrete step under an old brick archway, Michael took a gulp of port and began on the mince pie. He took the top off, ate it, and thought of his grandfather, and how he would add brandy butter before replacing the pastry cover. He ate the rest quickly and sipped his port slowly, thinking over the last term. The successes; far and away the best student on the course, and the failures; one (?) friend. It was as he did this that the door behind him opened.

“Shit, sorry! Didn’t see you there!” You hadn’t done anything wrong. Not opened the door on his back or tripped over him. Michael waved his hand noncommittally and without answer. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

He looked up at this. An old grey coat at least a size too big was wrapped around you, a scarf pulled up to your nose and muffling your voice. Michael couldn’t make much of you out, just the eyes peering down at him from above the scarf, but he could tell you were beaming at him. Why?

He gestured to the cold step. You sat beside him, gave him a bright smile that didn’t falter when he stared at you a little too long, and turned to look at the night beyond the small archway.

“Pretty, aren’t they? All the lights?” Michael didn’t respond. He shifted his body slightly away from yours and took another sip of port. You weren’t deterred. “You a Billy-no-mates too then?��

“It’s Norman-no-mates-”

“I don’t think it matters.” You cut him off. “Well?”

Michael turned his face to you. You were still watching the lights but sensed him looking at you. In turn, you looked back at him, unabashed and direct.

“I might have mates waiting inside.”

“You might, but you don’t. You’re out here drinking wine,”

“Port.”

“Port’s just fortified wine. Drinking on your own when everyone’s off partying.”

Michael didn’t blink as he watched you. You weren’t being cruel by making him feel bad for his social ineptitude. Nor were you prying into what it was that made him so deplorable to seemingly everyone in college. No. You were just stating the facts. Michael loved facts.

“NFI.”

“Snap.” You held out your hand and gave him your name. Michael’s heart didn’t leap, but it did give a strange sort of jolt.

“Michael Gavey.” He shook yours and his mouth twitched when you gave him a firm smile.

“What about you? Why are you sitting on a cold step with a stranger?”

“Mate’s back there screaming at her fella cos he necked some girl in Exeter after a Hooch too many.”

“Let me guess, Business Management?”

“The very same.”

There was a contented silence a while. Michael sipped his port and watched you from the corner of his eye. The fingerless gloves you wore were fraying a little. Everything looked second hand. From your slightly battered Mary Janes and baggy jeans to the bag by your feet. Even the scarf still wrapped around your neck. The hair there was bunching under the fabric and a few wisps kept sticking to your lip gloss. Too pretty to be sitting with him, and too rough around the edges to be the usual Catton-fodder.

Michael licked his lips. “What are you reading?” Please be something good.

“Computer Sciences.” Merry fucking Christmas. “You?”

“Maths.”

“Ah, we could have done with you at the pub quiz! ‘How many birds in total are there in the twelve days o-’”

“One-hundred and eighty-four.” Michael rattled off as though the answer was a grocery list. You stared at him, an impressed smile playing at the corner of your mouth. Michael’s heart vaulted that time. He wanted more.

“Ask me anything. I can do any sum.”

You eyed him with barely supressed glee. “Twelve times thirty-one.”

“Three-hundred and seventy-two. Come on, ask me something harder.”

“Three-hundred and seventy-two times eight.”

“Harder.”

“Times twenty-three?”

“Harder.”

You almost shouted with excitement. “Three-hundred and seventy-two times forty-seven!”

“Seventeen-thousand, four hundred and eighty-four.”

You giggled and let out a low whistle. “Fuck me,”

Yes please.

A broad flush spread across Michael’s cheeks and he licked his lips again. “I can also-”

“Better check madam is ok,” your eyes indicated behind you as you took you phone from your pocket. The white light from the small screen was garish amongst the soft golds of the Christmas lights, and Michael’s heart sank as he watched you scroll through your contacts list. So many names. He’d give anything to be among.

He didn’t pay attention to anything you were saying as you chatted to your friend. The shine of your lip gloss beneath the fairy lights was too mesmerising. Michael raised his port glass to his lips, took a sip and let the glass linger there as you ended your call. He was entranced.

“Love you, mate. Alright, chat tomorrow.” You sighed as you hung up and looked at Michael. “Home for me, I think.”

As you stood, Michael did too, pulling his trousers up and tucking his hands into his pockets. “Nice to meet you, Michael.” You shook his free hand again and took the port from the other. He watched, agog, as you downed it in one. “Graham’s? Very nice.” You passed him the empty glass and began making your way to the end of the archway. He followed you like a shadow.

At the end of the passageway into the old quadrangle you turned to face him. “What are you doing for Christmas, Michael?”

“Home,” his voice was unnaturally high and he coughed. “Home, to see family but not much else.”

“And new year?”

“Seeing some boring old school friends then back here before term st-starts-starts,” you were leaning towards him. With no hint of shyness, and perhaps a little too forcefully, you kissed him. You pulled back, smiling.

“What was that for?” The surprise of your lips on his made him shout, and it sounded more hysterical than genuine shock and curiosity.

“Mistletoe,” you stated simply, pointing at the small poesy hanging from the archway.

Michael coughed. “Of course, yeah. Thank you.” He made an odd movement and almost clicked his heels. You laughed again, turning into the dark night.

“See you in the new year, Michael.” Your voice echoed off the old stone walls. Just as Michael expected, you sounded so certain. In all your ten minutes of knowing each other, he’d learned that about you. The statement wasn’t speculation or conjecture. It was a fact. Michael loved facts.

Merry Christmas everyone! I hope it's been a kind and calm one. H x

The usual suspects: @arcielee @targaryenrealnessdarling @theoneeyedprince @ewanmitchellcrumbs @ellrond @cyeco13 @babyblue711 @exitpursuedbyavulcan @humanpurposes @myfandomprompts @barbieaemond @anjelicawrites

[amywritesthings]

meet me on christmas. / an eddie munson holiday ficlet

pairing: eddie munson x f!reader ( stranger things ) word count: 1.2k / rated mature summary: It's the Christmas of '87. You and boyfriend, Eddie Munson, cruise Hawkins for your annual town lights crawl. tags: post s4, eddie munson lives, explicit language, holiday lights, christmas fluff, childhood friends, established relationship credit: dividers by @saradika / header by @nicostiel

welcome to the sixth day of the twelve days of amymas 2023 !!

“The rich assholes always have the good stuff.”

“Just because they’re rich doesn’t mean their decorations aren’t tacky,” you argue back, ripping a Twizzler at the center of the rope with your teeth.

"Can't argue with that," Eddie Munson quips in return, holding out a hand for the Twizzler pack.

You hand it to him — if he wasn't idle in the driver's seat of his beat-up van, then you would have tossed it.

Since the battle of the Upside Down, you could argue his reflexes have gotten much better.

Eddie likens it to Spiderman-esque rabies powers from those nasty vampire bats.

(You're just happy he's here.)

“That’s way too many reindeer on that lawn — look."

You lean over the passenger seat to point out of the windshield towards a bloated, light-infused lawn.

"The Weston's put up a ton of them, but that's inaccurate. Santa did not have twenty reindeer.”

“Damn, did Mr. Weston feel bad about the team rejects?” Eddie comments with a feigned sigh of sympathy, tone melodic. “Gave the bench reindeer the gift of playing in the big leagues for Christmas of ‘87.”

“Imagine wanting to do your job.”

“Couldn’t fuckin’ be me, that’s for sure.”

You’re lucky Eddie even agreed to do this with you.

Then again, you’re pretty certain you could have asked him to watch A Christmas Story fifteen times in a row, and he would still enthusiastically say yes. 

Whatever made you happy — when most boys said it, they never meant it.

Not Eddie.

Now that you're home for the holidays from college, you're happy to close the distance with your best friend — your boyfriend — and rekindle old traditions.

Cruising around the better-off parts of Hawkins in his beat-up van was a staple ever since Uncle Wayne taught Eddie how to drive.

Thirteen years old and all too eager.

(A little too young, but hey, 'tis the damn season.)

Truth be told, hiding here with Eddie felt more in line with the Christmas spirit than anything your family had planned for the holidays.

All of the incessant inter-connected drama...

The non-stop questions about college...

The inevitable judgment when you talk about the future they don’t wholly approve of...

None of that mattered here.

Eddie cranked Dio really loud to make sure of that.

(He loves to argue that Dio could put out a killer Christmas album, same as the Carpenters, but they’re too busy churning out the sickest tunes of the decade.)

“I think their neighbors gave up on decorating this year,” you judge, holding out your hand to get the Twizzler pack back. “Look: only a stupid wreath on the door. Remember when the Thomas family used to do that crazy display with the boombox and stuff?”

Eddie keeps one hand on the wheel as he holds out the pack to you, plucking out two final red ropes for himself.

“Apparently Mrs. Thomas divorced Mr. Thomas," he explains, "so they don’t exactly have the budget to be Hawkins’ beacon this year.”

You gasp, jaw dropping.

“No.”

Eddie smirks, chewing on the candy.

“You missed way more than real-life Dungeons and Dragons in Hawkins, Indiana in your pursuit of higher education, Miss Thing.”

He isn’t wrong — you caught the tail end of this town almost getting swallowed by a Mindflayer.

Apparently what few months you had spent away from this small town gave the evils below plenty of time to rip the fabric of reality in half.

Then there was that one time Eddie almost died from a flock full of vampire bats.

Neither of you really talk about that day.

No one involved in that mess does. 

It’s for the best.

“Oh — shit, do you see that one?” you ask out of the blue, leaning over the dashboard to point at an upcoming house littered with string lights.

“What?”

“That!” you exclaim, smudging his windshield as you press against the glass.

A two-story house is decorated from roof to foundation full of sparkling white lights, changing its pattern every few seconds.

In truth, it’s a little disorienting.

Still rad, though.

Eddie slows the car down to a near stall, squinting ahead under his heavy, curly bangs.

“It’s all white. That’s so lame.”

“Lame?” you ask, turning your chin towards him.

He turns to you, too, then a smug smirk crawls over his lips.

The boy leans over, pecking a kiss to your pursed lips.

“You’re cute when you pout. But yeah, fuck white. Multicolored all the way.”

“I didn’t think you had opinions on string lights, Munson,” you tease, smiling wider from the tiny kiss.

You want to pull him into a deeper kiss, but safety first: you have to convince him to park the car first.

“Well, my sweet Christmas angel, that’s where you’re wrong. I am very opinionated.”

“You didn’t even decorate the trailer this year,” you remind him, flopping back down to the passenger seat. “Which, by the way — I noticed. Talk about being disappointed when I rolled up this afternoon to see a totally blank canvas.”

His brows knit together in playful confusion.

“What, did you seriously think I was going to do the lights this year without you?”

The statement surprises you.

Sure, you helped the Munson duo decorate — it’s almost as much of a tradition at this point as the holiday lights crawl.

Ever since you and Eddie became best friends, you’d spend hours meticulously turning a two-person man cave into something warm and cozy, with fake buffalo snow and tiny string lights.

According to Uncle Wayne, something about your touch on the place was warranted for the holidays.

Yet you had assumed they would have started without you this year on the principle that you’d be coming home for the holidays later than anticipated.

(That, and the near death of Eddie had taken a large toll on Uncle Wayne altogether.)

But neither were the real case:

They waited for you.

Your heart swells with the realization.

Before you can turn the moment sappy, Eddie winks and turns left at a corner. 

“Let me show you a real house. C’mon, it’s down the block from here. I scoped this shit out when you were busy with finals.”

You stay in your seat, too busy staring at the curly-haired boy as he navigates the streets of Hawkins to find a perfect house.

Suddenly the town isn’t so interesting.

Truth be told, it never was.

If it wasn’t for Eddie, then you’d never come back to Hawkins.

You imagine he feels the same way about his Uncle Wayne.

He can't leave, so you'll stay.

“Why don’t we go home?” you suggest.

The boy frowns as he pulls over.

“Home? You don’t wanna look at other lights?”

He gestures to the grand outdoors.

“You love this shit.”

“I love decorating with you and Uncle Wayne way more,” you tell him.

Finally, Eddie takes a pause.

The boy studies you for a moment, considering, before a smile starts to grow so wide that he has to bite his lip to keep it at bay.

“Yeah?”

“Hell yeah,” you promise.

You raise your boot, poking it at a hole in the calf of his ripped jeans.

“C’mon. Fuck the rich assholes. We can outdo them by miles.”

It takes another pause to pass, but Eddie finally grins like a Cheshire cat. 

“What my lady wants, my lady gets.” 

He switches the van in reverse to ready a three-point turn. 

“Christmas with the Munsons, it is.”

.

[zylophie]

( ˘ ³˘)♥ — day 2 featuring kamishiro rui

knock knock!

heres some mail!

ଘ(੭´꒳`)°* ੈ‧₊ 💌

⌨️ᶻᶻᶻ...anon is typing... ♡

↻ᴹᵉˢˢᵃᵍᵉ ˡᵒᵃᵈᵉᵈ !

❝Hello! If it hasn't been taken yet, can I request prompt 2 for Rui?❞

━━❝I'll give you a kiss hot enough to melt the snow❞

"Ruiiiii, I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting!"

You were late. Very late.

Rui was standing under the roof of a nearby store, waiting for you...but it's been a few hours from the meeting time that you both agreed on... stupid traffic jam.

"Ah, there you are" He waves at you as you stop in front of him, out of breath.

"Why didn't you get inside?! Oh my gosh, you must be freezing right now!"

"I didn't want to miss you so I was waiting outside"

"Rui..." You absolutely feel bad now for being late now...

"...But I'll let you make it up to me by warming me up" Rui was staring at your face as if expecting something.

"Huh?" You grabbed hold of his right hand and squeezed it tightly. It was cold enough to make your hand tingle, it was nearly frozen solid.

"What are you doing?" He asked, confused.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm trying to warm you up like you said"

"That's not what I meant when I told you to warm me up"

"Eh?"

Still holding your hand, he yanked you towards him, wrapping his arms around your waist "Mm. It's warm"

He nuzzled his face up close, getting tangled up in your hair then he rubbed his cheek against yours...

"What the heck?! Rui! Your cheek are cold as ice and it's scratches!!"

"You can't escape~" He smile playfully much to your dismayed as he pulled himself closer to you, clinging to you even more tightly "Ruiiiii-!!"

...Did you just see a white dot just now?

"Oh..."

Snowflakes flutter gently around the two of you as the white snow begins to fall.

Rui slowly loose his arms around you as he turns towards the dark skies "It's our very first snowfall experience together..."

"It's supposed to be extra chilly today so there was a possibility of snowfall happening today" You paused for a second, slowly unwrapping the scarf around your neck and then wrap them around his neck to keep him warm "Aren't you cold? We should go home soon, I don't want you to catch a cold because of me..."

He then turns towards you suddenly as his gaze make eye contact with yours which makes you feel a little awkward "...Rui?"

He cocks his head "You've got some snow on you"

"What?" You start patting your head "Where? Is it on my cheek? Or is it on my hair?"

"You aren't even close" He chuckles, amused by the looks of confusion on your face "Right here... I'll give you a kiss hot enough to melt the snow"

"Huh-" You didn't get to react much as Rui presses his lips gently against yours as you froze up, taking by surprise as he then wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace "Mmm!"

He pulls away abruptly and give you a peck on the lips as he gives you a little smirk, looking amused by your flustered expression "Well?"

"I-I...wha...?"

(っ'-')╮=͟͟͞͞💌 You receive a letter from Santa Yue!

↻ᴹᵉˢˢᵃᵍᵉ ˡᵒᵃᵈᵉᵈ !

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .

yahoo~! it's me again~ not gonna lie...if I could, I probably name this as snowflake kiss because why not, hehehe~ anyways it's a first for me to write for Rui! If you were here from the start, I was formerly ModRui before ! Pretty cool, right?

calling... @nogenderbee !

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[biirdiee]

Santa Baby

Read on AO3

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Draco/Hermione

“Now, if I were to say yes to this whole…thing, what do I get out of it?” She asks hesitantly, hating the way he perked up immediately.

“My, my, Granger— how Slytherin of you.” She narrows her eyes and he relents, surely very aware he did not have the upper hand in the situation. “You’ve been shot down for funding time and time again for that very generous Wolfsbane project–”

Now it was her turn to perk up, spine straightening as she leans over the desk, hands clasping as her brain puts together what he’s offering her.

“If you agree to this, agree to being my girlfriend until at least after Christmas, then I will fully fund your Wolfsbane project for the next two years.”

-

Draco Malfoy needs a favor, and Hermione Granger seems to be the only witch around to fit the bill. Attempting to get out of yet another marriage contract, Draco tells his mother he’s dating the one and only Hermione Granger. One little issue, they’re not actually dating.

With a good old fashioned bribe of funding the Wolfsbane Project she’s been trying to start for years, Hermione reluctantly agrees.

No need to worry dear readers, it’s not like they’d develop feelings for each other or anything…

Right?

[frostandflamesfanfic]

Of Sweets & Sweaters (Steve Harrington x Reader)

Of Sweets & Sweaters (Rated T)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader (gender neutral)

Word Count: 2.1k+

Warnings: Brief language and suggestive comment made by Steve, nothing too crazy.

Summary: Stevemas Day 5- A few months after the Great Hawkins 'Quake, Robin decides to throw a little holiday celebration for the party and the older kids. However, Steve isn't too happy with the dress code. Is there anything you can do to convince him otherwise?

“Hey, babe?” Steve’s voice called out from your shared bedroom.You had to bite back the smile that threatened to stretch its way across your face at his tone of voice. It was fairly obvious what his whining could be about. What was so wrong about having a little fun in the process?

“Yes, honey?” you replied in the sweetest tone you could muster. 

“You love me, right?”

You couldn’t help it; a small snort escaped. “Of course I love you. Why would you ask that?”

“Because if you loved me,” your boyfriend’s voice grew louder as he approached the kitchen, “you wouldn’t be forcing me to wear this absolute and utter monstrosity.”

He stepped into the room wearing the brightest red sweater you had ever seen in your life. Covered in pom-poms and tinsel, Steve looked as though he had stepped right out of an offensive Christmas card. To top it all off, there was very exaggerated Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer stitched into the front of the sweater.

You gave a low whistle. “Damn, babe,” you mused. “And here I thought it looked good on the mannequin. This is so much better. I think red really is your color.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve raised an eyebrow. “Well then, where’s yours? I wouldn’t want you to miss out on sharing this experience with me.” 

You smiled and held up your hands, which were currently covered in dough. There was a dusting of flour all over your clothes, making you look as though you had spent plenty of time in the fresh snow from the previous evening. For the last few hours, you had been slaving over a hot oven putting together the fixings for some of your friends’ favorite holiday desserts. 

Dustin loved brownies, especially when you folded pieces of Three Musketeers bars into the batter. Eleven had found herself becoming partial to your peanut butter blossoms, although it’s most likely because Mike introduced her to the best part: the Hershey’s kiss. There were cookies for Max and Lucas, who preferred to have their snacks on the go. Nancy always preferred the elegant classics, so you went with a chocolate silk pie, which you knew she would love to share with your queen of sweets: Robin. For Eddie, you made your spiked eggnog meltaways, which you knew for a fact Jonathan always stole a few bites of when no one else was looking. 

“My god, it looks like a bakery exploded in here,” Steve remarked, walking over to the counter to swipe some cream cheese frosting that you made for Argyle and Will’s pineapple-banana hummingbird cupcakes. 

“Hey!” you exclaimed, swatting his hand away after he stuck the dollop in his mouth. You tried your best to shoo him back from your workstation. “You have your own desserts coming. I’ve been baking for four days now. Wait your turn, mister.”

“Desserts, as in plural, hm?” Your boyfriend sidled up behind you and snaked his arms around your waist, face buried into the crook of your neck. 

“I may have made that chocolate bark you love so much,” you said with a hum, allowing yourself to melt into his hold for a moment. There was something so special and intimate about these moments with your boyfriend. Steve made you feel like you were the most important person in the world, not just to him, but everyone. You always hated attention, but the love and admiration you noticed in his eyes every time he tells you he loves you makes you overlook that distaste – if only just to see him happy. 

“Oh, yeah?” Steve smiled against your skin, his lips pressing against it in the form of many light kisses. You had to refrain from giggling. “What else?”

“And there might be some fresh gingerbread in the oven right now.”

There was a gentle nip to your ear, which was accompanied by wiggling fingers that danced along your sides. “Mmm, nothing else?”

You gasped and turned to swat at him again. “Steven Joseph Harrington!” you exclaimed. “You get your mind out of the gutter this instant! How dare you try to seduce me while I’m baking for the children.”

Steve groaned. “I can’t help it how hot you look in that apron, babe,” he whined. “Just want to eat you up.”

A hot flush burned at your neck as it spread up and across your cheeks. “Well, maybe later,” you stuttered out. “But for now, I have to get back to work on these treats if they’re going to be ready for us to take to Robin’s tonight.”

In preparation for the holiday season, yours and Steve’s shared best friend, Robin Buckley, had decided to throw a little impromptu party for your friends. After everything that had gone on in your small town over the years, she was determined to salvage one of the happiest (or, to quote the great Andy Williams, the most wonderful) times of the years. She had been planning the party for weeks, selecting only the “best” Christmas films of all time and records that would keep everyone feeling the Christmas spirit – even if it meant playing a few Black Sabbath songs for Eddie. Everyone was meant to bring something to eat and you had volunteered to bring the desserts. While you had nothing against the local bakery, there was nothing like the taste of a freshly made baked good that came from the heart rather than a plastic container. 

The only catch? The dress code was U.C.S.O.:

Ugly Christmas Sweaters Only, otherwise known as what Steve liked to refer to as his own personal hell.

Speaking of your boyfriend, he sighed and stepped away from torturing you momentarily to run his fingers through his dark brown hair. “Fine,” he relented. “Do you need any help, though?” 

With a sigh, you glanced around the warzone of a kitchen and placed your hands on your hips. Everything was pretty much done for the most part. There were a few things in the oven, but everything that needed to be prepped before the party was already set aside and cooling. “I mean, I think I’m just about done. Just have to clean up and get everything out of the oven.”

“If you want,” Steve offered, “I can finish and clean up so you can get ready.”

You felt your heart grow soft as you smiled at the man before you. “Really?” you asked. “You’d do that for me?”

Your boyfriend shrugged. “Of course! How could I say no to my baby like that? I would be, like, the world’s worst boyfriend then, wouldn’t I?”

You giggled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Not the worst. But you would most certainly still be the cutest.”

“Well, shucks, babe,” Steve teased as he began to roll up his sleeves. “I’m flattered.”

With a wink, he pulled on his yellow rubber gloves and procured a sponge from beside the faucet. His outfit reminded you of the old days, back when your relationship was still new and the two of you were battling an alien dog that had eaten one of your babysitting charges’ cat. While you were glad those days were behind you, there was still a part of you that missed the adventure and worried if the quiet domesticity would be enough for Steve. 

It wasn’t that you were afraid it wasn’t what he wanted– the two of you had had a lengthy conversation about your futures, with both of you being in agreement of wanting to start a family together at some point. You were more worried about the fact Steve may become bored with the idea of a domestic you, where the most rebellious thing you did each day would be whether or not you cut the crusts off your sandwich. 

“Babe?” Steve’s voice cut through your thoughts, snapping you back to reality. When you glanced over to acknowledge him, you noticed the concern practically radiating off of his face. “Are you okay?”

“Hm? Oh, uh, yeah,” you tried to console him. “Just…got lost in thought is all.”

Unfortunately, that hardly did anything to lessen the stress your boyfriend exhibited. His frown only deepened as he set down the sponge and pulled the gloves off to cradle your face in his hands. There was an emotion you couldn’t quite place flickering in his expression. It was almost like a twinge of sadness mixed with…guilt? 

“Are you sure?” he asked, more urgently this time. “You looked like you were in, like, another world or somethin’.”

Oh. 

It made more sense now. Ever since the earthquake, Steve had been increasingly protective over you. He worried about your every move for months, especially since you had become seduced by the siren song of a ticking clock. The same song that took the lives of so many others. It almost took you away from him, too. The night you froze in his arms, shaking in fear with eyes rolled toward the back of your head. They didn’t know your favorite song, they didn’t know how to save you. In an act of blind desperation, Steve had hummed the only song he could think of, which was coincidentally the first song you danced to at the kid’s Snow Ball: Time After Time. 

You can still remember how soft and broken his voice sounded as he sang to you. 

“If you're lost, you can look, and you will find me,” he whispered between tears. “Time after time. If you fall, I will catch you, I'll be waiting. Time after time.” 

If you didn’t believe in the power of true love before then, you did the moment you broke free from the trace and came face-to-face with Steve’s teary hazel eyes. When he finally realized you had come back, he pulled you into a dizzying and searing kiss you can sometimes still feel if you think about it. It wasn’t just a declaration of love, or the feeling of relief, but a promise of a future he one day hoped to share with you. 

“Steve.” You reached up to grab his face with your own hands. “I’m fine, I promise. I was just thinking about things.”

“Are- are you sure?” His voice came out a bit crackly, as though he was on the verge of anxious tears. 

“Absolutely one-hundred-percent sure,” you assured him. With a bit of additional height gained from being on your tiptoes, you pressed a kiss onto his lips. I’m here, it said. And I’m not going anywhere. 

“Now. I’m going to go get cleaned up and get this flour out of my hair so we can get ready to go. If we make them all wait for too long, Robin’s gunna put us on dishes duty.” 

Steve groaned. “But we already did so much…” 

“No, I did the baking. You just stood there and looked pretty.”

Your boyfriend playfully lifted a nearby dish towel and proceeded to swat at your butt with it. “Okay, that’s enough outta you, babe. Go get ready.” 

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

About an hour later, you arrived back downstairs feeling refreshed and excited for the holiday festivities that undoubtedly lay ahead of you for the rest of the night. You tugged are your sweater, hoping the material wouldn’t rise up too much over the course of wearing it. When you had washed the sweaters, you had made the mistake of drying yours a bit too long. You were pretty sure it had shrunk, but there was nothing else you could do about it. 

“Well, damn,” Steve let out a low whistle. “I think it’s official. My baby can make anything look good.”

Flattered, you blushed and gave your boyfriend a playful twirl. The sweater wasn’t that much different than his. Fashioned from a similar red colored yarn, your sweater boasted more snowflakes that pom-poms. A non-red-nosed reindeer outfitted the front, its grin appearing a little too eager for the holidays. Tinsel adorned the neck and wrists of the top, as well, ensuring that you’d definitely stand out alongside Steve. 

“Why thank you,” you teased. “But I still think you wear Melvald’s originals better than I do, babe.”

“Remind me to burn that store to the ground one day.” 

You rolled your eyes and slipped on your coat. “It’s not that bad, Steve!” 

“Says you!!” your boyfriend argued. “You literally look smoking hot, while I’m over here looking like a very festive tomato.”

“Ah, yes. But you’re my festive tomato.” You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before you picked up a tower of cookie containers. Was this potentially too many desserts? Possibly. But what else are the holidays for if not enjoying sweet treats with the ones you love most? 

“Come on, tomato boy!” you called from over your shoulders. “Help me load in these desserts so we can go show the kids just who means business at Christmas trivia.”

==============

Author's Note: Anddd we're back. How's everyone enjoying Stevemas so far? We're almost halfway through at this point, and I have to admit, I'm starting to lose a bit of steam. I have about four unplanned fics left to write, so if anyone has any Christmas (or other holiday season) ideas, please feel free to send them my way!

If you enjoyed this story, make sure to leave a comment, tag a friend who might be interested, and give this post a cheeky reblog! These types of interactions really help me out as a writer. They tell me what you like to see and keep me motivated and writing! I mentioned this last time and I think it helped out a bit with the engagement, so if you want to stay in the loop of all things Stevemas or any of my other fics, don't be afraid to follow or ask to be included in my tag lists. I promise I'm a very friendly person who won't spam you too much with my fandom musings :)

Until next time, my little sparks <3

Taglist: @bakerstreethound

[captainswanholidayspecialreruns]

Captain Swan Christmas Reruns presents: The Twelve Days of Storybrooke

Written by: @whimsicallyenchantedrose

Recommended by: @kmomof4

Summary: Emma and Killian find themselves dealing with yet another town crisis--this one with a very Christmassy flavor.

What we love: This latest crisis is just hysterically funny!!! Enjoy!!

read it here!

[superblysubpar]

hi!! 🤍 if you have any spots left open in your 12 day of christmas i’d love to request ‘tis the damn season by taylor swift w eddie! (only if you’re feeling it ofc! the song is kinda angsty)

The spots have all been taken - here’s the masterlist of what’s been posted and what’s to come.  The playlist is linked at the end of the story. Let me know what you think, any interaction is so appreciated and loved! 

Summary: You’re back home for the holidays and your mistakes count you down to the new year (very much an angsty, not a happy ending, listen to the lyrics of the song) | swearing, not a happy ending, implied smut so 18+ / minors DNI

A/N: I apologize for getting this out so late and I appreciate the patience, I hope it was worth the wait! (I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry this is SO angsty).

1.6k words

Day 11 | Track 11: “ ‘tis the damn season” by Taylor Swift

People make mistakes - it’s a fact, a constant of the universe, a steady truth. Even you weren’t immune to the intense mistake making the holiday seemed to bring out in everyone - a last hurrah of stupidity before the new year. The mistakes build and count down to your demise without you realizing it. 

Ten. 

Returning to Hawkins for the holidays - this mistake was simple, easy to define, undeniably preventable, and the fuel which filled the mistake filled fire that consumed your transition into the new year. 

You knew why you made the trip home, the truth there, although buried deep - a thread you could easily pull out of the air and unravel to reveal it all. But perhaps you were denying what was right in front of you, running from it for as long as and as far as you could. Yearning for a past you’d left behind for a reason you couldn’t remember suddenly. 

You were seeing it all through rose colored glasses as you made your way down the familiar snow lined sidewalk to Steve Harrington’s house. 

It looked exactly the same as it had every year of your childhood - the Christmas lights still strung up perfectly, the sounds of laughter and music echoing from inside, the splashes coming from the back of the home and its heated pool, the cars overcrowding the entire street. 

It really was all the same, right down to the vehicle in your sights now. Everyone in Hawkins showed up to the Harrington’s for New Years Eve, so the sight of the familiar van shouldn’t have been a shock to you.

Stopping on the sidewalk with your hands in your pockets, you look inside the passenger door window - the window that used to be yours - and you quickly turn, shoving the past behind you where it belonged. 

You rationalized with yourself that it was a big house and you’d probably not even run into each other tonight, stepping over the threshold and into the party.  

Nine.  

After making the rounds and hearing how your friends were doing the same things they had been, or getting married and having kids already, the party started to ramp up a little. Dumb jocks sticking their tongues down girls' throats, red solo cups littering the floor and a smoky haze filling the room, you were starting to remember that reason for leaving.

And then 'Don't Stop Believing' started playing and you watched the house full of drunk and high idiots lose their shit as the clock ticked closer to midnight.

Leaning against the doorway, you rolled your eyes but had to laugh at the drunken belting out of the lyrics and shenanigans of all the party goers. 

Feeling a pair of eyes on you, you turn to find the source, a smile still twitching at your lips as you lock eyes on those familiar brown ones and you see him, mirroring your stance completely in the doorway across the room, the lyrics screaming overhead, "For a smile they can share the night...."

He smiles and knocks his head backwards, the message clear, 'wanna get out of here?'

And you do.

So you go.

Eight. 

Finding each other again at the front door, he’s exactly the same, just like everything else in the town. From the same long, dark hair falling in waves over his leather clad shoulders to his dirty white Reebok's. 

He opens the front door, bowing slightly as he gestures outside, "Ladies first," pressing his palm to your back as he follows.

Your stomach spinning in a knot as you pull away from him, "Eddie, I don't think-"

He's holding his hands up in surrender, brown eyes a little brighter than when you last saw them this close, smiling as he blows out his breath, "Sorry babe, old habits die hard," he opens the passenger door for you, the same rusty spots screeching through the quiet night. You smirked as he mimes crossing his heart, "I promise I'll behave."

You smile, hand touching his on the door as you whisper, "Don't make promises you can't keep Munson," climbing into the van and holding your breath as he leans in.

"But those are the best kind to make," winking and closing the door gently.

Seven.

Eddie's van was exactly the same, stepping into a part of your personal history that seemed to be frozen in time. Stickers on the dash, cassette tapes littering the floor, and the smell - the cigarettes and weed mixing with the leather of the van and hints of his cologne. The smell that should smell terrible but was pulling you back in like an old friend you’d never left.  

He hopped in the driver’s seat, hands searching his pockets and you picked up the lighter in the cup holder as he pulled a cigarette from his coat and began the search for it. 

Holding it up and flicking it, his eyes dart up to you. Sticking it between his lips, he leans forward and lets you light it for him, inhaling slowly without his eyes ever leaving yours as he offers it to you. 

Staring at the glowing orange tip, you close your eyes and Eddie whispers, “Ah, should have guessed you don’t smoke anymore.”

You pull the cigarette from him and narrow your eyes, “Tonight I do.”

Eddie smirks as you nod towards the road, placing your feet up on the dash like you’d never stopped and inhaling as he moves the car into drive. 

Six.   

The chains of the swing creak as the wind whistles through them and you groan around the bite in your mouth, “Fuck me, they don’t make burgers like this anywhere else, I swear.”

Reaching your hand into the bag for a stray fry, Eddie kicks the rocks under his feet as his body slowly kicks the swing he’s on back and forth, throwing his head back, “And yet, you still left.”

Your eyes dart over to him and your breath hitches. The moonlight casting him in a soft glow, you follow the column of his outstretched neck, his jaw line and to his lips twitching as he sings, “You-re stare-ing.”

You turn abruptly back to your burger, kicking your own feet and then look around, Hawkins Middle in front of you and you smile, “Hey, do you remember-”

“Don’t.”

You stop in the middle of your reminiscing to see his bleak face staring at the building, like you’re not seeing it the same at all, like you’re not remembering it the same. 

You sigh, “Eddie, please don’t-”

He turns his sweet brown eyes to you, his lips and chin trembling, “Why’d you leave me here?”

You close your eyes and whisper, “Did you get my letter?”

He laughs, a dark and cold one that isn’t the laugh you remember at all as he jumps out of the swing, “Yeah, yeah I got your letter alright.”

He clenches his hands in fists at his side and when he turns his eyes to you again, you take in the boy you left behind two years ago. In some ways, he’s the same - the clothes, the mannerisms, the car, the same hang out spot. But he’s changed. You’ve changed. His voice is deeper, he’s got the hint of some facial hair, and he’s got a sort of confidence about him that he always had, but somehow even stronger now. And you were missing him, thinking about the person he’s become in just two years and who he would continue to become after this. 

You weren’t swinging anymore, but it felt like you were in that spot, right before you fall backwards, like you could fly away and be free of the gravity of earth and responsibilities if you just let yourselves pretend that’s the way it could be. 

You stand and step towards him, grabbing his hand. You speak softly, pleading with him, “If you got my letter, then you know why I had to leave. And to be honest, I don’t know why you’re still here, Eddie.”

He laughed again, palm pressing into his eye, “Didn’t ya hear babe? Your ex boyfriend is repeating his senior year…again,” dropping his hand he shakes his head, “But, you know, ‘86 is my year - I can feel it.”

His voice falters on the last sentence, sweet eyes melting you and you lean in, hands finding his cheeks and his your waist. Your breath mingles with each other before your lips press together in a kiss that was two years too late. 

Five. 

Getting back in the car with Eddie and letting him drive you to the familiar trailer, kiss you more as you both clumsily made your way to his bedroom that looked exactly the same.

Four.  

Kissing that wandered from each other’s lips, brushing over spots that had yearned for his kisses every day for years, bruising and buzzing fingertips that made your back arch off the bed - convincing yourself it can work this time, maybe you could stay.

Three.

That moment, right before it all crashes over you and you’re there, holding each other like you used to - arms around his shoulders, his around your waist and he kisses you like no time has passed and you’re calling out his name over and over again until you’re too far gone to care about why you shouldn’t be doing it. 

That is, until he falls asleep and you’re still awake, knowing it will never work, knowing you’re delusional as you see the metal lunchbox, the corroded coffin flag, the room that hasn’t changed and will never change next to the boy who didn’t follow you out of that town. 

Maybe he’ll follow you this time.

Two. 

Quietly slipping out of the trailer, you steal his keys, driving yourself to your parents house. Leaving the keys on the dash with a note that says ‘86 is your year Eddie, come find me this time’. 

You don’t even say goodbye to your parents, slipping into your car, windshield fogging up, or maybe it’s your tears blurring your vision, as you drive over the town line, leaving Eddie Munson for the second time. 

One.

Happy New Year.

tagging my lovely ladies: @boomhauer @loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean

[teddyshoney]

Klaine Advent Day 1: Team

I have posted a new story that I will be working on for the next 12 days, Twelve Days of Daycare Christmas. You can read the first chapter on AO3 by clicking HERE!

Here is a little snippet:

---

Blaine’s energy was back as soon as Ms. Fairy woke them up that afternoon, and he raced to the table, his eyes running over the items laid out in front of him. “We has fwostin’, my Kurt. Gween! An’ spwinkles an’ nem ‘n’ nems an’ sticks! And yick-wish!”

Kurt picked up his pace at the news they had M&Ms, sliding into a seat beside Blaine, his eyes just as wide as Blaine’s. He had never seen a spread like this at daycare, and he didn’t know what to make of the cones and frosting and sprinkles laid out in front of them. Clearly, they were going to do a project, but he didn’t know what.

“Don’t touch or eat anything in front of you until you’re asked, please,” Ms. Fairy told them, seeing Blaine’s finger already halfway to dipping into the frosting. “I will tell you what to do. Just wait for everyone to come over here.”

Blaine frowned but did as he was asked, pulling his hand back and wriggling in his seat.

---

[drawfee-quot3s]

seven swans aslurpin

- jacob

drawfee: "making drawings out of random fanfic tags"

[roitaminnah]

someone needs to tell me I do NOT need to finish this chapter tonight but i am SO CLOSE and I am having SO MUCH FUN but if I continue writing I fear I may forget to sleep until seven am

[sailor-aviator]

Don't Hang'em Til Noon: Chapter Twelve

Don't Hang'em Til Noon: Chapter Twelve

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake "Hangman" Seresin is a notorious leader within the Dagger Gang of the old western territories of the United States. You, a recently orphaned socialite from the eastern seaboard, find yourself swept off to live with your older brother who has set down roots in said western territory. Determined to to make the best of your situation, what will you do when said outlaw sets his sights on you?

Warnings: Smut (fingering, p in v), Dirty talk, Language, Flirting, Miscommunication, Fluff, Romance, Jake being an idiot. Think that's it.

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: Wow, okay. I told myself I wasn't going to be emotional, and yet here I am. Crying. This has been such an incredible journey, y'all. This fanfic got me through my lowest this year, and to finally see it finished now that I'm in the spot that I am? I am truly without words. A special shoutout to @goldenseresinretriever who is not only my fan club president, but one of my dearest, dearest friends. I hope I continue to do justice by these two, but I know you'll be there to make sure I do! And a shoutout to @fanficfandomlove as well! Thank you for all of your support, and I'm so lucky to count you as one of my friends! Friendly reminder that I have two writing challenges going at the moment! My Christmas Challenge and my Playlist Challenge are both still taking entries! As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!! 18+ ONLY!! Find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator! If You're feeling kind, please consider donating to my ko-fi!

Masterlist || DGU Masterlist || Playlist || Jake "Hangman" Seresin Tag List

The house was still when you entered, the afternoon light streaming through he windows and illuminating the room in such a way that it made you question reality for a moment. You clung to Jake who stood beside you, his arms strong where they were wrapped around your frame. He had almost died. You had almost been too late to save him.

You collapsed to the ground with a shuddering gasp, a sob escaping seconds later. You clasped a hand over your mouth to try and stop the noises coming from you. You had to be strong. You needed to be strong. But the sobs kept coming, wracking your body and you were vaguely aware of Jake kneeling down next to you.

“Scout,” he said gently, running a hand through your hair. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m safe.”

“I know,” you sobbed, reaching over to cling to him. “I know, but you almost weren’t, Jake. I almost lost you, and there would have been nothing I could have done about it.”

He was silent for a moment, letting you calm down before he continued.

“But you weren’t, sweet girl. You never gave up on me, and you made it. I’m right here with you, okay?” He cooed, helping you to your feet. He gently wiped your tears away, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to your forehead. “But if you ever pull something like that again, I will take you over my knee, do you hear me?”

You balked, pushing away to look at him. He was grinning, but there was a look of seriousness in his eyes and you began to splutter.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am, honey girl.”

“Jake Seresin,” you growled, “I just saved your life.”

He chuckled, leaning in closer to you, and you felt your cheeks warm at the proximity.

“And while I’m very thankful for that, sweetheart,” he drawled, eyes growing dark as he looked you up and down, “it doesn’t change the fact that you put yourself in danger.”

“Unbelievable,” you groused, pushing past him and towards the stairs. You made it up the first three steps before he grabbed you, causing you to let out a shriek as he threw you over his shoulder. He gave you a swat on the rear, chuckling when you yelped.

“That mouth of yours is gonna get you into trouble one day,” he murmured playfully, walking up the stairs and towards your bedroom. Once inside, he tossed you down onto the bed where you landed with a bounce. He was on you in an instant, molding his lips over yours in a kiss that you eagerly returned. The kiss was one of desperation and relief, knowing that the both of you were alive and safe and just needing to feel one another. He nipped at your bottom lip as he pulled away, chuckling when you chased after him with a whine. He placed a chaste kiss to your lips before pulling away once more.

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” He rumbled, green eyes meeting yours. You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak as you got lost in how dark his eyes had become. He clucked at you disapprovingly, shaking his head. “Need to hear that pretty voice of yours, honey girl. Let’s try again. Are you gonna be a good girl for me?”

You swallowed thickly, shifting slightly under the weight of his stare. “Y-yes.”

“Yes, what?” He smirked. You took a steadying breath, meeting his gaze with your half hooded one.

“Yes, sir. I’ll be a good girl for you.”

He hummed, leaning in to steal another kiss from you. His tongue delved between your parted lips, licking languidly into your mouth. You moaned into the kiss, reaching your hands up to run your fingers through the soft locks of his hair, tugging slightly. It was Jake’s turn to moan, and he pulled away, breath coming out in pants as he looked at you.

“Strip for me.”

You moved out from underneath him to stand, turning to face him as you began to undress. Jake watched you with hungry eyes as you slowly revealed yourself to him, stopping once you were standing in only your chemise. Without breaking eye contact, he moved to his feet, taking slow steps towards you. He ran his fingers over your cheekbone before cupping your jaw and kissing you once more.

“I love seeing you like this,” he whispered, voice low and gravelly. “But when I say strip, sweet girl, I mean all the way.”

Your breath hitched, eyes going wide and face heating with embarrassment. This man had seen you before, but somehow this time felt different, filled with more anticipation than nervousness like the first time. He cocked an eyebrow at you before slowly kneeling down and taking the hem of your chemise in his hands.

“Here,” he murmured, mischief in his eyes. “Let me help you.”

He slowly peeled the garment off of you, moving to stand as he did so. He pulled it gently over your head, tossing it towards the corner as he looked at you. You could practically feel the trail his eyes took as he gazed hungrily at you. He began to unbutton his own shirt, untucking it from his trousers as he gestured towards the bed.

“On the bed, Scout.”

You did as instructed, watching with hooded eyes as he stripped bare before you. Once he was finished, he crawled up the bed towards your waiting arms, meeting you in a passion filled kiss. His right hand crept up to palm at your breast, causing you to mewl into his mouth.

“Can practically smell how wet you are for me,” he growled as he pulled away, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck. Your fingers once again found purchase in his hair, desperate for something to cling on to.

His lips left a trail down your chest until they enveloped your nipple, alternating between sucking and licking. You let out a keening cry as you arched into his mouth, hands holding his head steady.

“Feel good, sugar?” He smirked up at you, nipping at the surrounding skin. “Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

“Jake!” You cried, eyes clamping shut as you squirmed beneath him. He pressed more of his weight into you in a bid to keep you still, the hard length of him pressing against your thigh.

“You feel what you do to me, honey girl?” He murmured, moving back up to capture your lips with his. This kiss was all tongues and teeth as you bucked up into him. “Feel how hard you make me?”

“Jake, please,” you whined, eyes begging as they stared at him, letting out a gasp as he snuck a finger between the two of you to press against your slit. “Need you.”

“You have me,” he cooed, pressing his finger into you slowly, earning a high-pitched cry from you as he began to slowly pump in and out. “Let me make you feel good first.”

“Jake,” you gasped, fingers moving from his hair to his shoulders, surely leaving scratches behind. “More, please.”

He slipped another finger inside of you slick entrance, scissoring them before crooking them in search of that special spot inside of you. You cried out as he found it, stars in your eyes as you called out his name, practically wailing when his thumb circled your clit and sending shocks of pleasure through you.

“Can feel how close you are, sweet girl,” he whispered, placing chaste kisses against any piece of skin he could find. “Can feel you squeezin’ my fingers. God, you’re so fucking tight. Can’t wait to feel you wrapped around my cock. Need you to come first, though. Come on, baby. Come for me.”

“Jakey,” you cried, the coil inside you snapping as your vision went white, a soundless scream on your lips.

Your breathing was ragged as you watched him slip his slick soaked fingers into his mouth, humming at the taste.

“Taste so good, honey girl,” he murmured as he looked at you, the greens of his eyes practically swallowed by his pupils. “Gonna taste you-”

“No,” you said breathlessly, causing him to frown. You shook your head as you fought to control your breathing. “Want you inside me. Please, Jakey.”

A grin broke out over his face at your words.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he chuckled, already moving to line himself up at your entrance. He ran his length through your folds, coating himself in your slick before slowly pushing in. You sucked in a breath as your nails dug into his shoulders, Jake groaning at the combination of pain and pleasure you were provoking in him.

“Shit, baby,” he gasped, head flying back as he continued to slide into you. “Can feel you sucking me in. So wet and tight. Shit.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist once he was fully seated inside of you. The two of you basked in the feel of finally having each other so close, the emotions of the past two days catching up with you. You didn’t even notice that tears began to fall until Jake was wiping them away, still seated inside of you.

“You okay?” He asked, eyes filled with concern.

“Yeah,” you nodded, cupping his face in your hand. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, nodding once more. “Need to feel you. Need you to move.”

“I’ve got you, honey girl,” he smirked, thrusting slowly into you. You gasped out, head thrown back as he built a rhythm, finding an angle that worked for the both of you.

“Always feel so good,” he groaned, nuzzling into the crook of your shoulder as his thrusts became harder. “So wet and warm. Always such a good girl for me, yeah? Made just for me. Love the pathetic little sounds you make as you’re creamin’ all over me. Makin’ a mess of the sheets as I ruin you.”

“Jakey,” you whined out, barely able to form a coherent thought as he rutted into you, the pleasure becoming overwhelming.

“What’s the matter, baby?” He smirked, pulling back to look at you and brushing a stray hair out of your face. “Too cock drunk to answer me? Am I makin’ you feel too good?”

He pulled out of you, and you cried at the loss. His hands landed on your hips as he flipped you onto your stomach, positioning you on your knees. A crack sounded in the room and you let out a gasp as Jake’s hand landed on your ass.

“Jake!” You exclaimed, eyes going wide as he landed a second blow to the other side. You could practically feel yourself grow wetter, and your cheeks heated with shame.

“You going to stay out of trouble from now on?” He asked lowly, kneading the flesh of your ass greedily. He landed another blow when you didn’t answer, and you jolted forward, but his hands held you in place.

“Jake, please,” you whined, pushing back against him in a bid for him to slip back inside you. He tsked before landing another light slap to the other side, soothing the sting before answering.

“You gonna answer my question, sweetheart? I can do this all day.”

Two more smacks resounded accompanying your moan of pleasure. You could feel yourself practically dripping onto the sheets below with how wet you were. Tears of frustration began to prickle at your eyes the longer he kept you like this.

“What’s this?” Jake mocked. “Is my honey girl a slut for pain?”

“Jake!”

“Answer the question, Scout.”

“Yes! Yes, I’m a slut for pain.”

Another smack landed on your ass, and your head fell forward onto your arms as you let out a sob.

“Are you going to stay out of trouble when I tell you to?”

“Yes! Yes, please Jakey!”

He hummed as he leaned back, admiring his handiwork. You were sure your ass was as red as it felt, and you hung your head in shame as his fingers ran through the slick that was running down your thighs.

“Who knew you’d love being treated this way,” he rasped, leaning in and licking a line up your slit. You cried out at the sensation, your hips surging back to seek out more. He chuckled as he ran his length through your folds once more. “Who knew the prim and proper lady from Baltimore was just a cock hungry slut. Is that what you want, sugar? You wanna be filled up, nice and full?”

“Yes,” you hissed, arching your back as the tip of his cock slipped into you. “Want you to fill me up.”

“As you wish,” he smirks, slamming back into you. His pace was relentless, hips slamming into yours with a force that nearly knocked you over. Jake gathered your hair into a ponytail, using it to guide you back until your back was flush to his chest. His hand drifted down to wrap around your neck, squeezing slightly and earning a debauched moan from you. He slowed his pace until he was gently rocking into you. He pulled your head to the side to face his, hooded gaze meeting hooded gaze.

“Open your mouth,” he commanded, and you did as he said. Jake spit into your mouth, and a part of you knew you should be disgusted at how he was treating you, but another, larger, part entirely craved it.

“Swallow.”

You closed your mouth, swallowing. You opened your mouth without prompting, earning a wicked grin from the man behind you.

“Good fucking girl,” he growled, one hand moving to guide your hips back onto him. “Love having you like this. I’m gonna fill you up so full, you’ll be leaking me for days to come, you hear me? Can’t wait for you to be all round and swollen with me, with our baby. Gonna keep you full for as long as you’ll let me. You like that? You want me to fill you up? To breed you?”

“Please,” you gasped, feeling the coil tighten in your belly for the second time. Jake released your throat, snaking his hand down to toy with your clit. You keened as the precipice approached, and you could feel him begin to twitch inside you.

“Need you to come for me, honey girl,” he rumbled, pace faltering as he neared his own high. “Need to feel you squeezin’ me and milkin’ me dry.”

You flew over the edge with a cry, the coil snapping once again as you came harder than you thought possible. Jake groaned behind you, hips stuttering as you felt spurts of warmth fill you, triggering another, smaller orgasm as you continued to flutter around him. Moments passed as the two of you rode out your highs, breathing slowing to a calm.

Jake slowly lowered the two of you to the bed, rolling to the side as you turned to face him. His skin shone with sweat in the afternoon sun, his hair sticking up every which way as he smiled softly at you. You were sure you looked a similar state, but you couldn’t find it in you to care as he cupped your jaw and pulled you into a slow, sweet kiss. His tongue ran gently over yours, and you sighed as you basked in the feeling of being there with him. He pulled away, but stayed close enough to nuzzle his nose with yours.

“I love you,” he murmured. You couldn’t help the grin that broke out across your face as you placed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I love you too.”

“I meant it, you know,” he started, eyes uncertain as they watched you. “I want to have a family with you. We’ll get married, and I’ll build us a new house. One where you and I can grow old together.”

“Do you promise?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper. He nodded earnestly.

“I’ve never meant anything more in my entire life. Your aunt and uncle already gave me permission to marry you.”

“They did?” You asked, brow shooting up in surprise. You thought back to your trip those weeks ago. “Is that what she whispered to you before we left?”

“That?” He frowned, shaking his head. “No, they gave me permission after the first week of us bein’ there. No, Aunt Jo told me…”

“Told you what?” You pressed as he trailed off. His eyes held confusion as he shook his head.

“It didn’t make much sense, but she said ‘Adeline would approve.’”

You felt a pang in your chest at his words, and tears flooded your eyes once more. Jake looked panicked as the tears began to fall.

“Scout, are you okay? Did I say something wrong?” He asked frantically.

“No, not at all,” you laughed, wiping the tears away. “Adeline was my mother, Jake.”

He froze, eyes growing wide as he took in your words.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “And she’s right. She would have liked you. Both of my parents would have.”

“You think?” He questioned, eyes hopeful.

“I know so.”

You sat at the bar of the saloon, head buried in your hands as you let out a frustrated sigh.

“I just don’t understand,” you said for the umpteenth time, raising your head to look at the girls that surrounded you. “Why hasn’t he proposed yet?”

“Are you two fighting about something?” Birdie asked. You shook your head.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Maybe he’s waiting for the right time,” Penny suggested. Nat snorted, rolling her eyes.

“Knowing him,” she started, fixing you with a look, “he’s just being an idiot.”

“You don’t think he’s changed his mind about me, do you?” You whispered, fear gripping at you at the possibility. You knew that Jake had never had any intention of marrying before you came along. Maybe he had grown tired of you? Was the thought of marriage and a life together too much for him now? Things had seemed fine between you, but you were now into spring, and still no proposal. You fidgeted with the pendant around your neck. After your reunion, Jake had been quick to put it on you, chest puffed out in pride every time he saw you wearing it, which was always.

“No!” Penny assured you, resting against the bar top. “No, that boy is smitten with you, Scout.”

“You know,” Bunny spoke, causing all eyes to turn to the usually quiet girl. “If you’re really doubting his feelings for you, maybe you should try pulling back. You know, to see if he does something.”

You were quiet for a moment as you all pondered her words.

“It could work,” Penny conceded thoughtfully. “Jake is new to this kind of relationship, and asking him directly might not work. Try it Bunny’s way and see what happens.”

You nodded, moving to leave.

“And let us know what happens!” Nat called after you, earning a chuckle.

Another week had passed, and you had effectively been avoiding Jake at every turn. Every kiss dodged, every moment alone averted, and every conversation kept to a minimum. You could tell it was driving Jake crazy, but you knew he needed to be the one to confront you. How else were you supposed to know where his mind was at? Jake was kind, and perhaps he was trying to find a way to spare your feelings? No, he needed to be the one to say something.

You were carrying a bucket of feed into the barn when someone grabbed you and pushed you up against the wall. You let out a gasp as the bucket fell from your hand with a clang, your arms trapped between yours and Jake’s chest. His hands were on either side of your head as he pressed a heated kiss to your lips. You kissed him back with fervor, hands gripping onto his shirt. You had missed this. This week had been just as hard for you as it appeared to be for him.

You shoved him away, Jake stumbling back a few steps as you attempted to calm your racing mind, the both of you panting and glaring at each other.

“Why are you avoiding me?” He growled, eyes running up and down the length of you. You swallowed thickly, straightening to your full height.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, yes you do,” he snapped, pointing a finger at you accusingly. “You have been dodgin’ me left and right all week, and I wanna know why.”

“Are you tired of me?” You blurted out. All anger drained from Jake’s face as it was replaced with confusion.

“What?”

“Are you tired of me?”

“Scout, that’s a stupid question,” he huffed. When you didn’t say anything, he rolled his eyes and fixed you with another glare. “No, of course I’m not. Why would you think that?”

“Then why haven’t you proposed yet?” You murmured, bottom lip wobbling as you fought to keep your composure. “It’s been weeks since everything happened, and you still haven’t asked me to marry you.”

Jake looked at you incredulously, taking the few steps until he was standing right in front of you.

“Well, shit, honey girl,” he chuckled. “I gave you the necklace, didn’t I?”

“What?” You blinked up at him.

“I gave you the necklace,” he continued, picking up the pendant and toying with it. “Figured that was as good as declaring we were gonna get married one day.”

You stared at him, his words slowly running through your head. You shoved him back again, this time following him as you slapped at his chest and shoulders.

“Ow, hey! Scout!” He hollered, grabbing your arms to stop you. Once you realized you were immobile, you stamped your foot, glaring up at him.

“Jake Seresin,” you shrieked, cheeks warm from exertion, “giving me the necklace does not equate to a proposal!”

Now it was his turn to stare. His bewildered expression melted into one of mischief and wonder as he ran his thumbs up and down your wrists.

“Alright, honey girl. You just wait. I’ll blow you away,” he smirked, bringing his forehead to rest against yours. You hummed, melting into his touch as he released your arms to wrap his own around you, swaying the two of you side to side.

“You better,” you muttered, a ghost of a smile on your lips. You felt him place a kiss to the top of your head as he held you tighter.

“How are you feelin’ now?” He asked, running a comforting hand up and down your spine as the two of you continued to sway.

“I’m happy,” you whispered, closing your eyes and pressing your ear to his chest. His heartbeat was strong and steady, a sound you’d never tire of.

“Yeah,” he hummed, resting his cheek against the top of your head now. “I’m happy too.”

Coming January 2024...

Tag List: @jakeseresinlover @haley-hotchner @queerqueenlynn @dempy @fanficfandomlove @aworldwideapart @stoptaking-the-good-names @maximus890 @sky2nd @devil-angel-winchester @hopip99 @hookslove1592 @lemmons1998 @yuckosworld @uniquedreamlandcheesecake @imamomof8 @pietrothemovie @kmc1989 @mamachasesmayhem @hangmansgbaby @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog @deliriousfangirl61 @hangmandruigandmav @na-ta-sh-aa @witchybabel @keyrani @i-wanna-be-your-muse @buckysteveloki-me @clancycucumber230 @dreamlandcreations @emotionallysalty @fandom-life-12 @a-girl-who-loves-disney @nouis-bum @topherwrites @squeaky-bumblbee22 @hangmansgbaby @goldenseresinretriever @bobgasm @linkpk88 @number-0-iz @xl-pr @stillreadingfantasy @shibble @horseshoegirl

@nerdytreeflower @roostersforevergirl @bucky-sdoll @alldaysdreamer @piceous21 @ziuridian @princessofglitterland @agentorange9595 @reidshearts @lynnevanss @pittbull-enthusiast @mrsevans90 @powellssugarbaby @amortentiadrops @redbarn1995 @queenies1x1 @craftytrashprincess @owenniasstars @els-marvelvsp @blue-aconite @mycobrakai1972 @callsigncurse @ellavm @luversgirl @shotgunhallelujah

[irondadfics]

I have literally read every single one of peter meets the rogue avengers fanfic that you guys recomended.do you have more cuz im dying for a new peter meets the rogues fanfic

here are a few recommendations. You can also try the “Peter Parker meets the Avengers” tag. https://archiveofourown.org/tags/Peter%20Parker%20Meets%20the%20Avengers/works?page=1

https://archiveofourown.org/tags/Peter%20meets%20the%20Rogues

happy reading!

It's All Just Static In My Head by Blue__Dreams

"Cause tonight I'm feelin' like an astronaut Sending SOS from this tiny box And I lost all signal when I lifted off Now I'm stuck out here and the world forgot Can I please come down, come down 'Cause I'm tired of drifting round and round Can I please come down?" -Astronaut by Simple Plan ~~~~~~ And then May was shot.  Foolishly, childishly, Peter hoped Iron Man would swoop in and save the day again.  He hoped and hoped and hoped.  And Ben drank and drank and drank.  As Ben grew worse, and their fridge grew empty, as Peter’s face became more bruised, and his powers grew, Peter realized, you can’t depend on superheroes.  So Peter created his own hero - Spiderman. ~~~~~~ OR 5 times Peter met an Avenger, and the one time Spiderman met them (all while he struggles with an abusive uncle at home)

Twelve Days Of Peter Parker by grilledcheesing

In each of the twelve days leading up to Christmas, Tony runs into one Peter Parker — for better or for worse.  In other words, an excuse for this author to write gratuitous Peter fluff/angst/nonsense with a Christmas theme, because 'tis the season.

Cyanide? In My Shawarma? by losingmymindtonight

Pepper convinces Tony to bring Peter along on his first dinner with the Rogue Avengers since their pardoning. Poor Tony had thought the whole thing was a recipe for disaster before someone decided to shove some cyanide in his food.

Peter Parker and the Art of Drawing a Water Drop by Dontcryto0much

After two years, Peter’s water droplets easily looked photorealistic.   It was pretty damn impressive if he did say-so himself.

[kittyball23]

Birthday Teen (a Trolls fanfic)

Summary: Not-so-baby-anymore Branch's 13th birthday is not all that it's cut out to be...

A/N: Got inspired to write two more oneshots over the Christmas weekend. Here's the first, a follow-up to Birthday Boy

__________________________________________

Near silence filled the space.

There was no laughter. There were no shrieks. There were no rambunctious squabbles or playful shenanigans. Not even a silly, improvised tune. There was just Branch, his bunker, and his sole cupcake.

It was a stark contrast to the scene that it was for this very occasion twelve years ago. To the fun that existed then, when things were simpler and he would hold no concerns for tomorrow. Back then, he didn’t have to grow up so fast. He could enjoy his time in diapers, clapping his small hands and giggling with delight. He could play with his brothers, enjoy the warm hugs from his grandmother, and sing to his heart's content, all without a worry in the world.

Back then, when there weren't any problems to be solved, and  Branch knew nothing of the hardships the future would bring for him.

But this wasn't like that now.

It was never going to be like that again.

At least, not the way he saw it.

With a sigh he prodded at the rich, vanilla icing on the cupcake in front of him and watched the frosting indent. 

Branch scrunched his nose, a feeling of disgust welling inside of him. He'd lost his taste for cupcakes long ago. They were far too sugary, and in the end didn't provide the appropriate nutrients that were needed to sustain a healthy diet. Nowadays, such a thing was critical, if it meant ensuring his survival. Because, unlike before, he had nobody else to ensure of it.

But, he had gone through the trouble of baking the treat, and it was not trouble he would've gone through without anything to gain in return. Every minute he took with every task he performed was a spent effort.

With a hint of reluctance, and a hint of longing, he unwrapped the confection from its paper covering, and brought it up to his lips. The taste melted sweetly against his tongue and left behind a myriad of  flavors. It was simple but elegant. No extravagance or excess. Just what he needed in such a time.

Inhaling deeply, Branch closed his eyes. He savored the sweetness, marveling at how closely he had hit home with his Grandma's recipe and wondering that, if his brothers had been there, perhaps they wouldn’t even be able to tell the difference.

Trouble was, they weren't there, and had not been for quite some time…

They weren't there for when he'd hit his 3 inch milestone in height, or when he'd become fully potty trained, or when he'd had his first day of school, or when his voice had deepened, or whenever ANY little thing that was important to him had happened. Their absence was a constant ache in his chest that only intensified day after day, year after year, paining him to realize that he couldn't see his brothers as the young men that they were sure to be now... and that they couldn't see him for the one that he was becoming.

Dismay pricked Branch like a thorn.

It wasn't fair. It was completely unfair. He loathed the solitude. The bunker that lacked the very trolls for whom he built it for. His sickeningly sweet cupcake, mocking him with its perfection.

He chewed the last few morsels he was willing to eat away, savoring the flavor, before setting down the unfinished treat on the table and pushing it aside.

This is the worst birthday yet.

[zylophie]

(*o＿　_)o — day 12 featuring aoyagi toya

knock knock!

heres some mail!

ଘ(੭´꒳`)°* ੈ‧₊ 💌

⌨️ᶻᶻᶻ...anon is typing... ♡

↻ᴹᵉˢˢᵃᵍᵉ ˡᵒᵃᵈᵉᵈ !

❝12 for toya plzz?❞

━━❝I want to bake some Christmas treats with you❞

"Oh, it's snowing... just like the weather forecast predicted" You could see your own breath as little fogs form itself in front of you.

"It's getting colder out here, will you be alright with just that?" Toya was walking right by your side, holding plastic bags in one hand.

"Yeah, I'll be fine-ACHOO!" You let out a loud sneeze, nose turning a little red as you cover your nose with your right hand.

He sighed, dropping the bags down to the snowy platform, slowly unwrapping his scarf "You're going to get a cold at this rate"

"B-But! You're going to get a cold too"

"...then we can share it together"

"Huh??"

You stood still, surprise when he starts wrapping the long scarf around the two of you and once he was done, he grabbed your unoccupied hand before picking up the bags from the snowy platform "Better now?"

You couldn't help but stare at him, blinking your eyes slowly as a faint hue of pink spread across your cheeks "Y-Yeah...much better"

"Good"

You couldn't see it but you could feel that he was smiling behind that big scarf covering his lower part of his face... it's embarrassing but oh well as long as he is happy, who cares about the stares.

...

Actually maybe a little bit-

»»-----► some time later... ❍✧

"We're back!"

You shout out to the empty hallways, creating a slight echo throughout the apartment.

It was around noon when the two of you returned to your place, taking off your shoes before making your way to the living room and scream in delight "Oh wait, toya!! Come over here for a second!"

"What is it?" You could heard his soft footsteps coming closer and closer to the living room and soon enough, you could see his head pop in through the entrance of the room.

"Oh, wow...you got one of those heated tables with a blanket, a kotatsu right?"

"Yeah, I thought you would like it whenever you're coming over to my place during the winter season so I took a chance and bought it"

"Wasn't it.... too expensive for you to buy them?"

"Oh, it's fine... you're more important than my own wallet anyways"

"What was that?"

"NOTHING! nothing at all, I swear!"

Flustered, you try changing the subjects to hide your embarrassment "Come on, let's try the kotatsu! You're still cold from being outside for so long as well"

You were so excited that you immediately sit down yourself under the kotatsu "Ah, it's so warm~"

Toya couldn't help but let out a few chuckles at the sight of you melting onto the heating table, taking a sit himself under the warm blanket.

"There are mikan oranges if you want one?" You pick an orange from the small basket in front of you, slowly unpeeling it.

"Sure, I'll take one if you don't mind"

"Anyways I'll have a nap first... I'm feeling all warm and cozy from the heated kotatsu..."

"No way, did you forgot what we were here for?"

"But it's so coldddd..."

"But I want to bake some Christmas treats with you and you promised that we would make them together..."

He looks so dejected at that moment, almost like a kicked puppy from how his eyes look so downcast as he stare down at the table in front of him "I just want to spend more time with you..."

Ugh, that face is so unfair.

"..."

You stood up suddenly.

"(name)?" Toya turn to look at you, confused by your sudden change of mood.

"You know it's really unfair of you to use that cute face against me"

"Wha-?"

"Come on, off to the kitchen we go!"

He could only watches as you immediately ran off to the kitchen, loud noises could be heard from where he was sitting at.

"(name) really is like a storm..."

He couldn't help but smile softly, making his way to where you were as you continue to run around to prepare tools and ingredients.

...thus the beginning of a game of trials and errors, ending the day with laughters and joy. The time spent with loved ones is the true meaning of a christmas miracle...

(っ'-')╮=͟͟͞͞💌 You receive a letter from Santa Yue!

↻ᴹᵉˢˢᵃᵍᵉ ˡᵒᵃᵈᵉᵈ !

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .

words can't describe how much I love writing for Toya uwuuu thank you for participating everyone! merry christmas and I hope you all have a wonderful time with your family and friends~! this is the last fic for our first christmas, I was really happy to see how you guys really enjoy our event, thank you for supporting us !!

calling... @toyaslove , @toyaswif3y , @akitosheart

PREVIOUS PAGE | PAGE 12

[biirdiee]

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus

Read on AO3

Pairing: Draco/Hermione

Rating: Explicit

--

“What does what mean?” James asks through a mouthful of cake.

“Milf,” Scorpius says, watching the other two’s expressions cautiously for reactions. “McLaggen just called my mum a ‘milf extraordinaire’.”

James just cackles while Albus looks sheepish.

“Mum I’d like to fuck.” The older boy says simply while Scorpius blinks in confusion.

“Excuse me?”

“That’s what milf means, mum I’d like to fuck.”

-

While at the annual Hogwarts Fundraiser, Scorpius learns a new word and that unfortunately people associate his mother with it.

Meanwhile after the event is over, Draco is more than happy to demonstrate to his wife just exactly how much she fits the definition.

[frostandflamesfanfic]

Santa Who? (Dad!Steve Harrington x Reader)

Santa Who? (Rated G)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader (gender neutral)

Word Count: 2.1k+

Warnings: None, just Christmas cuteness and toddler hijinks! Dad Steve is back, everyone!

Summary: Amy and Emery Harrington are three years old and cannot wait for Christmas! When your husband tries to keep up a tradition, they begin to question who this mysterious man in a red suit is. Can Uncle Dustin save the day?

“Now Dasher, now Dancer, now Prancer and Vixen!” your husband read out dramatically, glancing up excitedly at the two little girls sat comfortably on either of your legs. Only one had managed to stay awake the entire way through, whereas the other was watching him read with rapt attention. It was officially the Christmas season and Steve was beyond excited to be able to continue his tradition of reading the beloved holiday poem to your twins.  

“On Comet, on Cupid, on Donner and Blitzen!
 To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall!
 Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!” You couldn’t help but giggle at Steve’s attempt to deepen his voice similar to that of the man in red. He gave a jolly laugh which woke Amy up before continuing with the story in his normal voice. “And I heard him exclaim as he flew out of sight, ‘Merry Christmas to all! And to all, a good night!’”

As he closed the hardcover book and moved to set it on the side table, little Emery Harrington reached over to tug on his shirtsleeve. “What dat ‘bout, Daddy?” 

Steve smiled down at his little princess. “It’s about Christmas, babe,” he explained gently. “When Saint Nick comes to visit.”

He was met with an adorable head tilt. “Daint….Nick?”

You pecked the soft tufts of light brown copper locks upon her head. “Santa, squirt,” you tried to help. “Remember Santa?”

To your surprise, both girls shook their heads in your lap. 

“You never taught your children about Santa?!” Dustin’s voice cracked in disbelief from his position on the floor. It was your brother’s last Christmas in Hawkins before he would be moving to New York for college next summer. You had made the terrible decision to offer for him to stay with you and your family for a few days during the break. “You really are a disgrace to the Henderson name. I mean, honestly….”

“Hey!” Steve reached around your waist and pulled you closer toward his lap protectively. “It’s Harrington now, you little shiiiiiitake mushroom.” He smiled sheepishly at the eye roll you gave in response to his terrible cover-up of a swear in front of the kids. “Besides, we told them about Santa last year. I think they were just too young to remember.”

“Sure, Steve.” Dustin sighed and straightened his back as he stood up, eyes now locked onto yours. “I have to make a call.” 

He was already halfway to the receiver before you even gave a nod, the phone cord soon stretched under the guest bedroom door. 

“Sure, go ahead,” you remarked under your breath. “Use our phone. What’s mine is yours, dear brother. Not that you even care.”

Steve laughed at your remark, reaching over to pull Em into his lap. “You should have known this was going to happen if you invited him over for the break,” he said, bouncing the dark haired three-year-old up and down for her amusement. 

“Yeah, I know, but-“

“Who Fanta?” Em interrupted you with an innocent pout. 

Your husband glanced down at her small frame in his hold. She almost looked like a miniature grown-up, big brown eyes serious, stare evident. “Santa?” Steve asked her. 

She nodded. “Yesh. Who dat?”

“Well, you kind of know who he is, babe,” he explained. “Remember we got yours and Amy’s picture taken at the mall the other day?” A fond smile lit up both of your faces at the memory. It had been a literal fight with the devil to get the girls in their holiday outfits and to the mall before close. You had told Steve you were going to just take the day off of work to get them prepped, but he had insisted upon helping after work — a mistake that caused a total race to the finish at seven o’clock on the dot. The girls were nearly asleep by the time you got them situated with the kind man in red, but to the two of you, it was a well-earned victory that left you driving home with ten copies of images in your bags. 

“Well, Santa knows the names of every little girl and boy in the world and brings presents to the ones who are especially good,” your husband continued to explain. “And on Christmas Eve, he visits everyone’s houses with his reindeer and leaves presents for the good kids and coal for the naughty ones.”

Amy whimpered in your lap and pressed her face against your stomach. Concerned, you frowned and stroked a hand through her short hair. “Whatsa matter, bean?” you cooed. 

“Dun want Fanna!!” The light haired angel sobbed into your shirt. 

Sharing a confused glance with Steve, you lifted Amy up in your arms to gently wipe at her tear-streaked face. “What’s wrong with Santa, bean, hm?” 

Amy only continued to sob, small hands grabbing onto your shirt. 

“Babe, you have nothing to worry about,” Steve tried to console her next. He reached over to run three of his fingers up and down her small back. You felt her shiver against you and give a small shake of her head. “You’ve been such a good girl this year. Santa’s not going to give you coal.” 

This only made Amy howl more. 

What happened? Your gaze silently questioned Steve. Your husband merely gave a shrug in response. Your guess was clearly as good as his. 

“I think it’s time for a bit of a nap, don’t you?” he proposed softly. “Then we can have dinner and watch a movie.” 

⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ 

Aside from the earlier confusion, the rest of the evening went on as most did within the Harrington house. You and Steve worked together to make dinner. Actually, that was a lie. Steve mostly made dinner. You sat at the kitchen counter, eyes locked onto the way a smile wormed its way across his face and how his body swayed to the faint melody of whatever Christmas Carol he had been humming. It had taken the two of you a while, but before long, a warm home cooked meal was ready to be eaten at the kitchen table. 

Dustin sat between Amy and Em, at the former’s request. It wasn’t surprising. Uncle Dustin was her idol and everything he did was interesting to her. Amy herself seemed much better after her nap. She had apparently forgotten about the whole Santa conversation and was quick to lose herself in the mashed potatoes on her plate. Much to your chagrin, she discovered how her spoon could be used as the perfect catapult (something you felt sure you could blame Dustin for teaching her at some point). Fortunately, said brother appeared the target of the projectiles, so perhaps he already had his just desserts moment. 

“Amy, bean, don’t play with your food,” you pleaded as you reached over to wipe her hands free of the starchy side dish. The next task you busied yourself with was cleaning up the spoon, which you planned on using to help feed her, should her escapades get out of hand. 

“My paddews!!” Amy howled sadly. She reached her arms out toward you as you wiped at the utensil before ultimately deciding to swap it for a new one. 

“….your what?” Steve couldn’t hide his smile at her antics. 

“Her paddles, obviously,” Dustin came to his faithful niece’s aid. He looked far too proud in your opinion, aside from the glob of potatoes still stuck in his curly hair. “Her paddles to guide her on her latest curiosity journey.”

You sighed, and were about to chide your brother for providing the spark for too much curiosity, when there was a knock on the door. Confused, you turned to Steve with a knit brow and frown. “Were you expecting anyone else?” 

Your husband shook his head. “No,” he replied. “Could be carolers, though. It’s around that time.” 

The knock sounded again — three short ones to be exact, separated with a brief pause each time. It continued two more times before a quick double tap. When the cycle repeated, you could almost make out the familiar beat of jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way….

“Maybe the girls should answer it!” Dustin supplied suddenly. “I think it might be a good idea to start teaching them some independence during this wonderful time we call the holiday season, don’t you?”

Steve narrowed his eyes at your brother in suspicion. “What are you up to, Henderson?”

“Me? Oh, uh, nothing! Nothing at all! Can’t an uncle want to teach his nieces some life skills during Christmas?!”

When the knocking repeated its rhythm for a third time, you heard the low mumble of laughter coming from outside. “Ho Ho Ho,” a deep voice let out. “Is this the Harrington residence?” 

You blinked and looked from the door in the hallway over to your brother, who merely smirked and gave a small shrug. “I told you. I had to make a call.” 

Without another word, you and Steve got up from the table and picked up a daughter each. As you neared the front door, you could see the shadow of a very familiar looking hat. Turning the doorknob and opening the door, you were surprised. Sporting a belly as jiggly as a bowl full of jelly and nose as red as a cherry was the man in red himself: Santa Claus. You felt your heart swell as you glanced up at his sparkling eyes and incredibly bushy white beard. 

Jim Hopper gave you a small wink as he leaned down to smile at both of your girls. “Well, hello here, Amelia and Emery,” he said in an overly deep voice. “Merry Christmas. Do you know who I am?”

Em could hardly keep herself from flying out of Steve’s arms. “FANTA!” she exclaimed. “FANTA CLAWS!” 

Amy, on the other hand, was as frozen as an icicle in your hold. She blinked at the man before her in fear. Your heart broke to see her lower lip quiver in what you could only assume was an indication of an upcoming tantrum — something you rarely experienced with your typically quiet child. 

As though he could sense the impending doom, “Santa” turned his attention over to Amy. “I heard from my elves at the North Pole that you two were some of the first kids on the nice list this year,” he said in a jolly tone. “That’s pretty impressive, so I thought I might drop by and give you a little something special early.” 

With a wink, he turned behind him to brandish a red and gold embroidered sack. You let out a small snort at his antics, wiggling his white-gloved fingers before reaching dramatically into the bag to pull out a small mailbox outfitted in red and green paper. Along the side of the box in gold lettering was written, For Santa’s Eyes Only. With a smile, he held it out to you and Amy. “No one else has one quite like this,” he exaggerated his whisper. “You and your sister are the only ones that’ll be able to have direct contact with us up in the North Pole. You can be my little helpers, okay? Can I count on you two?” 

Em grinned. “YESH!” she shouted in excitement. 

“Santa” returned her grin in a similar fashion. “Why thank you, Miss Emery,” he replied, turning to face you and Amy. “Now, what about you, Miss Amelia?”

Almost in deep thought, Amy hesitated before waving her hand in a “come hither” motion. With a confused smile, “Santa” obeyed and leaned his ear closer to hear her whispers. After a moment, he grinned and gave a jolly laugh. “Oh, I think we can definitely manage that,” he replied with a smile. “You two take care of that special mailbox for me, alright? I have to head back to the North Pole to help the elves get ready for Christmas. I heard Rudolph may have gotten loose in the kitchen again.”

After saying your goodbyes and sending a silent thanks to Hopper, your little family made your way back inside. Em was far too excited and eager to tell Dustin about their latest visitor, jumping around the mailbox you had set on the living room coffee table as she shared the story. Even Amy was in far better spirits. Later that night, she asked for your help to write her first original letter to Santa, thanking him for stopping by and keeping their little secret. 

When you asked Dustin what she meant by that the next day, he only smiled and gave you a wink. “Never trust an uncle and his nieces around a cookie jar, my dear sibling,” he responded rather dramatically, “for it only leads to temptation.”

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Author's Note: Dad Steve is back everyone and he brought his adorable little munchkins alongside him. You all seemed to love Amy and Emery so much with my thanksgiving fic, Recipe for Family, I just had to bring them back. They are absolutely adorable and I would be lying if I said I didn't squeal several times whilst writing this fic!

If you want to see more dad!Steve fics on my blog or during Stevemas, make sure to leave a comment or reblog! These two interactions really help me understand what you all like to see from me -- plus it gives me the motivation to keep writing/posting. I'm not sure if it's Tumblr eating my posts or if I'm just picking the wrong times, but it would really make my day to see how many people are enjoying my first Tumblr event! If you have any suggestions for future fics, send me an ask or DM and I would love to chat with you about it. Who knows...maybe it'll end up on the fic schedule ;)

Until next time, my little sparks <3

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