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#Fairy Lights for Christmas Party
girlsfashion19 · 4 months
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Warm and inviting, these fairy lights create a magical ambiance for any occasion. With 8 lighting modes and a remote control, you can easily customize the look to suit your mood. Fairy String Lights Christmas Lights. Buy now
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ihonorland · 2 years
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solar fountain with led
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marvelfilth · 4 months
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Break your heart in two
Pairing: Jenna Ortega x f!reader
Warnings: no warnings
Summary: She had obligations, a contract she couldn't break. You were ready to wait for her. Ready for sleepless nights just so you could hear her voice for a few minutes. Ready to fly across the world for a few days in her company. You were ready for it all. But it wasn't enough.
A/n: it's short and a bit painful :)
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“It's good to see you.”
The words are barely audible behind the faint buzz of the crowd of Emma's Christmas party, but you catch them nonetheless, clinging to the familiar voice like it's a lifeline - you've dreamed about hearing it again for so long, after all.
You stop breathing for a second, closing your eyes and savoring the moment, your heart hammering in your chest. You can feel her eyes on you, wide and earnest and so, so unsure, so hesitant. It makes your entire chest burn.
Yet you can't speak a word. You can't even turn around, can't make yourself look at her, because you'll fall apart if you do.
She steps closer, releasing a deep breath, and stands behind your shoulder, shuddering from the cold. It's only then you realize your fingers have grown numb from standing on the porch for too long, with snow clinging to your lashes and landing on your shoulders.
You nod slowly, shoving your hands into the pockets of your coat, and lean against the railing. “You, too,” you whisper at last, wincing at the scratchiness in your throat.
“You won't… you won't even look at me?” Her voice wavers, and you want to kick yourself for being a coward.
But you can't blame yourself for protecting your heart.
“Why are you here?” you ask, and she tells you that Emma invited her, tells you how long it took her to accept the invitation, how hesitant she was because she knew you'd come. She didn't want to hurt you. More than she already has, at least.
“No, Jenna, why are you here?”
She falls silent at that, and you see puffs of steam from her breathing as she inches closer. She finally stands beside you, and it's only when you realize that she's not even wearing a jacket that you turn - whip around, really - to face her, shaking off your coat and putting it over her shoulders.
You notice the tears right away.
“I wanted to see you,” she sniffs quietly, blinking away the glistening in her eyes.
“Why?”
“To tell you how sorry I am.”
You sigh deeply, finding grip on the wooden beams of the railing, grounding yourself. “Jenna-”
“I know,” she interrupts, all choked up, “I know.” She takes a deep breath, gathering herself. “I know, but I can't- I can't go on like this. I thought… I thought I was doing the right thing, I thought it would be better like this. Easier for us, for you, so I-”
You want to scream, but all that comes out is a croaked whisper. “Left me. You left me.”
She lets out a shuddering breath, looking impossibly ethereal in the warm glow of fairy lights, so fragile and broken. “I did. I left even though I didn't want to. I thought- I thought you'd be better off.”
“Jenna, I don't- I don't want to talk about it.”
This is too much, all of this - her voice, her tears, the words you've yearned to hear from her for months. You need to get away. You turn around sharply, ready to run for your car.
“Please don't go,” she sobs, “I love you. I love you so much it hurts.”
Love is not supposed to hurt, you want to tell her.
Your heart aches, thundering in your chest. She left you. She chose her career. Her face was carefully blank that fateful night when she broke up with you, not a tear in sight, only resolve. She had obligations, a contract she couldn't break. You were ready to wait for her. You were ready for sleepless nights just so you could hear her voice for a few minutes. You were ready to fly across the world for a few days in her company. You were ready for it all.
But it wasn't enough.
You square your shoulders. “You've said you're sorry, now what?”
You hear snow crunching under her feet as she takes hesitant steps to you.
“I want you back,” she breathes out, and you can hear the strain in her voice, knowing how much effort it takes her to keep herself from crying.
How ironic.
You dip your head, looking at your trembling hands. “You want me back? How long until you have another project that's more important than this?” Your tone is biting, making her flinch.
She thinks she deserves that.
You hate the way your torn heart yearns for her touch. You hate the way it screams for you to take her in your arms.
You suppose it makes sense - she owns it, after all.
“It might not seem that way, but nothing is more important than you,” she says with a conviction that makes you face her again. “That’s why I left. Because you deserve so much better than a girlfriend who can't even answer your calls. You deserve someone to be there for you, by your side, and I- I'm on the other side of the world for the better part of the year. You deserve everything that's good in this world and I…” she trails off, and you see the telltale shadow in her eyes that tells you more than her words ever could.
“Jenna…”
“I know I'm selfish and fucked up, but I can't do this anymore.” She hides her face behind her palms, sobs wrecking through her body. You close the distance between you in three steps, pulling her into your chest, letting her bury her face in the crook of your neck, her cold lips brushing against your skin. She clings to you, nails digging into your sweater as she pushes herself into you. “You're my life, you're all that matters,” she cries, shaking in your arms. “I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry.”
You let out a shuddering breath, blinking back tears. “It wasn't your decision to make. It was supposed to be us against the world.”
“I'm sorry,” she sobs, “I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I- I'll do anything, whatever it takes to get you back.”
You take a deep breath, and for the first time in months you let hope blossom in your chest. She whimpers, soaking you in her tears. You swallow, looking up at the dark sky.
There's a shooting star. You think it might be a sign. A sign of something good.
“Please don't leave,” she whispers, her breath hot on your neck.
You shush her, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “I won't. We'll figure it out. Together.”
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bussyslayer333 · 1 year
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All I want for Christmas (is you)
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summary: some fortunately placed mistletoe forces bob to tell you how he truly feels.
pairing: robert floyd x best friend!reader
word count: 2.6k
warnings: smut, swearing, mentions of alcohol, slutshaming jake LOL, bob is a pussyeater™️ bc i said so
MDNI this is an 18+ fic
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Robert Floyd has been your closest friend for the past 2 years. You had been worried when you first moved to San Diego for a fresh start that it had been a horrible mistake, in fact you were sat in homesick tears at the beach when he stumbled upon you. Since that day he hadn’t really left your side, which is where he could be found currently.
You were both nursing an interesting mulled wine that Rooster had tried to brew for the team Christmas party. You weren’t quite sure why you were here since you didn’t work with said group of aviators who had become your closest friends but they had absolutely insisted.
The night had just started really, Penny was graciously hosting the gathering at the festively decorated Hard Deck which she had closed just for the team. You had begged her to let you help in some way since you were leaching on to their party so she had allowed you to help her decorate along with Mav and Rooster. The perimeter was surrounded in sparkly tinsel and fairy lights, there was a large tree in the corner of the room covered in mismatched baubles and a large piece of mistletoe hanging down in the other corner. You were still wary of Rooster’s mischievous giggles as he taped it up.
When the rest of the aviators had arrived along with the few higher ups Mav had invited they had all commended your decorating skills, especially Bob. He had told you very early on that Christmas was one of his favourite holidays, evident now by his gaudy (and most definitely itchy) Christmas sweater he was wearing.
“Baby on board, you’re gonna have to turn that shit off I’m pretty sure your interfering with some type of space station signal right now.”
Jake laughed, referring to the Christmas lights which actually lit up on Bob’s sweater. You jumped to his defence immediately,
“What are you even supposed to be? Slutty Santa? Tasteful.”
Phoenix snorted into her wine, though you weren’t sure if it was because she had accidentally swallowed a cinnamon stick again.
Jake smirked, “you want to come sit on my lap and find out?”
He gestured down to the tight black slacks he was wearing, it was paired with a very lowly buttoned up red silk shirt and a tiny Santa hat that had been placed on his head by Maverick upon his entrance.
You roll your eyes and don’t dignify him a response whilst everyone slowly resumes their previous conversation.
“Thanks darlin’.” Bob smiled down at you somewhat bashfully.
You giggle at him and flick the button on his sweater which changes the setting on the lights to fade in and out of their colours slowly.
“I love this sweater.”
“I know you do, that’s why I wore it.”
You look up to meet his eyes and he’s looking at you earnestly. You flush slightly but blame it on the drinks you’ve been consuming.
You’re snapped from his gaze when Fanboy announces loudly that he and Payback will be starting off karaoke.
Their rendition of ‘Baby it’s cold outside’ isn’t the worst thing you’ve ever heard, and Fanboy has a surprisingly high vocal range. Bob is snickering into your hair behind you, trying to appear encouraging for his fellow WSO but failing slightly.
“Bet you 50 that bagman is gonna sing Mariah.”
You turn, shocked at Bob’s admission, “no way! He’s gonna sing some Frank Sinatra classic in hopes that I’ll start swooning.”
Bob raises his eyebrows and sticks his hand out for you to shake. You hum, considering your options then finally give in, placing your hand in his. Bob notes how soft your hand is compared to his, he strokes your thumb slightly before letting go. The contact brings heat to your cheeks that you hope isn’t too visible.
“You’re on Robby.”
Bob’s lips quirk up at the nickname but he doesn’t mention it, and he stalks off to get himself another drink. You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding as Phoenix approaches.
She has a sly smile on her face but still looks gorgeous nonetheless, she’s wearing an emerald satin top and black jeans. You go to complement her but she cuts in,
“You look gorgeous, I love this dress, when are you and Bob going to fuck?”
You’re still comprehending her comment about your dress before her full statement registers in your brain. You gawk at her for a second whilst she chuckles evilly.
“I- we’re not- Look me and Bob are just friends.”
She rolls her eyes, Phoenix has been your second closest friend since moving to San Diego. Her presence was always welcome and you usually adored her but you weren’t enjoying what she was currently insisting upon. And that wasn’t because it isn’t true, but more because you’re worried what will happen if you finally say it aloud.
“You are thinking so loudly right now.”
You shove her shoulder lightly, “He’s not interested in me.”
You look over to where Bob is stood at the bar, talking to a tall redhead. You think her name is Isla, she works in the control tower and to your knowledge was invited by Halo.
Phoenix laughs at your admission and wistful expression, “I cannot believe you’re this down bad for a man in a light up Christmas sweater. Also, he is head over heels for you.”
“I like his sweater!”
“You are the only one in here who thinks that.”
You hmph at Phoenix’s comment, “I bet she does as well.”
You gesture to the redhead who is now laughing heartily as Bob shows her the different settings on his sweater.
“Who? Halo’s girlfriend?”
You splutter slightly on your drink.“I thought she had a thing with that girl at work- ohhhhhhh.”
Phoenix scoffs slightly, “Glad to know you pay attention to the rest of us babe.”
“Shush, should I go talk to him?”
“You don’t need to.”
You look confusedly at Phoenix until you feel a familiar strong hand on your waist.
“I’m not interrupting am I?”
Phoenix answers for you, “Of course not, she’s all yours.”
With that, she winks and is off. You turn to face Bob, he’s significantly taller than you and it feels evident now even with your heels on. You’re craning your neck up slightly to make eye contact with him. You take a second to study how he looks, his cheeks are tinted slightly pink and his lips look incredibly soft, his blue eyes are dilated behind his glasses where his hair flops slightly down onto. He forwent the gel because he knows you like his hair in its natural state, even if it impairs his vision even more. He speaks up first,
“You look really beautiful tonight.”
You avert your eyes from his, aware of the rising colour in your cheeks.
“You think?”
You’re fiddling girlishly with the hem of your dress, it’s a babydoll style dress that always got you many compliments.
“I know.”
You can sense that Bob has something else he wants to say but he’s interrupted by Rooster announcing the next person to come and sing.
“Bagman, please take the stage.”
Jake grabs the mic off Bradley and you hear him mumble something about getting his callsign right. Bob’s hand is in yours and he’s pulling you over to the corner of the room furthest from the stage. You look at him questioningly and he’s explaining himself with a smirk on his face,
“I wanted to give you some privacy whilst you lose this bet.”
You smack his arm playfully,
“Shut up, you’re just embarrassed you’re wrong.”
��Sureee.”
Jake has finally finished his rambling and selects a song. You’re certain he’s gonna pick a Sinatra classic and wait for the opening notes to Have yourself a merry little Christmas. It’s safe to say you’re surprised when the familiar jingle of Mariah Carey starts up and Jake is already belting out the first notes. You look at Bob, accusatory,
“You’ve rigged this!”
Bob is doubled over laughing, you finally take your eyes off of him to turn around and huff. Which is when you notice your fortunate position. You and Bob are stood directly under Rooster’s mistletoe. You freeze slightly which catches Bob’s attention, he follows your eye line.
“Gosh, I promise I didn’t drag you over here just to kiss you!”
“Just?” You tease.
“No! I mean obviously I would love to kiss you but that’s not what i meant! I wouldn’t ever trick you into-”
You shut up his rambling my planting a kiss on his lips, they’re as soft as you imagined and he tastes sweet like the cinnamon in the wine. He kisses you back almost immediately and your lips mould together perfectly. You pull away first, noticing some of your lipgloss had transferred onto his slightly swollen lips.
“Woah.”
Bob’s exclamation makes you giggle, he’s gazing down at you in awe and you feel enclosed in a fuzzy bubble where it’s just the two of you. Hangman’s awful singing sounds light years away as well as the rest of the crowds cheers for him. Bob places one of his hands on your waist and the other he uses to lift up and brush a stray hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear.
“Can I kiss you again?” Bob whispers, ever the gentleman.
“I’d love you to.” You smile, leaning in.
You lips crash against each other again, with more vigour this time. Your hands rake through the hair at the back of his neck and he moans quietly into your mouth, giving you the initiative to slip your tongue into his mouth. He reciprocates your action, making you weak in the knees, unsteady in your heels. In the distance you hear Jake finishing up the last notes of Mariah Carey whilst everyone joins in at various different volumes. Bob pulls away and whispers into your ear,
“Do you think we could sneak out now?”
You go to protest, seeing as you haven’t been here long but see the lust blown look in his eyes and decide against it, instead nodding your head and slipping your hand into his. Bob drags you around the crowds to the exit of the Hard Deck. Before you can peacefully slip through the door you look back and catch Phoenix’s eye. She winks with a knowing smile and you giggle slightly. She was never wrong.
Finally leaving the Hard Deck you notice Bob is dragging you to his car,
“I’m only five mins away.” You smirk into his shoulder.
“Yours it is.”
The short drive to your house is tense, neither of you sure whether this was truly happening. Bob speaks up,
“As much as I want to fuck you, I can’t if it’s just gonna be a one time thing. I’ve been in love with you since the day we met. ”
You look to him and see how honest he looks, gnawing at his lower lip nervously, your heart races at his admission. You smack his arm in annoyance.
“Ow!”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner!” You urge him, “I’ve been yours this whole time. All you had to do was tell me you’re mine.”
Bob looks down at you with such love in his eyes it’s hard to imagine that you just smacked the shit out of him. You’re pulling up to the outside of your cottage when he finally speaks up.
“I’m yours.”
You smash your lips again his for the third time this night with even more urgency, but you pull away even quicker, wary of your nosy middle aged neighbours.
Once your front door is closed, Bob’s hands are all over you. He’s lifting the hem of your dress to your waist and grabbing at the exposed skin. You let out slightly pathetic whimpers as his kisses make their way down your neck, chest and stomach.
“Never stop making those sounds for me darlin’.”
You whimper at the pet name, satiating him. His kisses reach your lower stomach where he finally stops to admire your panties. They’re cherry red, lacy, and don’t leave much to the imagination. He groans at the sight, making you flush even further whilst he toys with the little bow at the top.
“Can I?” He gestures downwards.
“Please.” You whine.
Bob’s nimble fingers are hooking under the sides of your panties and he pulls them down to your ankles swiftly. He helps you step out of them, removing your heels along the way. You watch as he pockets the panties with a smile on his face and he quirks an eyebrow. Bob’s staring at your bare pussy like a man starved but you can’t help but giggle.
“Are you seriously about to eat me out wearing a light up Christmas sweater?”
Instead of dignifying you with an answer, Bob licks a fat stripe in between your folds, hoisting one of your legs over his shoulder and forcing you to lean back against your entry way wall.
“Fuck, yeah okay then.” You whimper breathlessly.
Bob seems pleased with your reaction as he continues his ministrations, now kitten licking at your clit. You can feel the cool edges of his glasses hitting your lower stomach and your whole body feels alight with need for the man in front of you. He moves his tongue down to your entrance and dips it in slightly, his nose nudging at your clit. You moan out at the contact, spurring him on further. Bob’s tongue is fucking in and out of you, each time his nose brushes against your clit making you even weaker beneath his touch. Your hands are curled tight in his hair as you feel yourself getting closer and closer.
“Fuck don’t stop, please Robby.”
Bob looks up at you from his position on his knees making you whine much louder than you should have. His hand moves down from its solid grip on your thigh to circle at you clit in tight circles. You’re moaning freely now, hips bucking up erratically. Bob can feel you’re close and he quickens his actions just enough to make you become even more high pitched as you reach you peak. Pleasure washes over you and Bob pulls his tongue away from you to watch you spasm.
“You taste so good darlin,” Bob whines, almost as breathless as you.
You can see your wetness around his mouth and his hard cock straining against his jeans.
“You’re incredible.” You simper, pulling Bob to his feet.
He pulls your lips together, making you moan at the taste of you on his tongue. Pulling away to look up at him, you finally rid yourself of your dress, pulling it up and over your head and dropping it to the floor beside you. You had forgone a bra whilst getting ready, so you stood bare in front of the still fully clothed Bob.
“God,” Bob groans, “You’re fucking amazing.”
“Robert! Your language is dreadful.” You giggle playfully.
He reaches for your hand and brings it down to his aching cock. It twitches beneath your palm which is significantly smaller than his,
“It’s just what you do to me.” He breathes into the side of your neck.
You pull away from him and turn around, making your way to the stairs that lead to your bedroom. Bob watches your figure retreat, focusing his eyes in on the way your hips sway and your ass moves as you walk. You turn your head to the side and beckon for him,
“You coming, Robby?”
Bob is hurriedly ridding himself of his sweater and jeans as he replies,
“Hopefully.”
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
a/n: CHRISTMAS BOB MY LOVE!!!! there will be more christmas fics for sure bc i am a festive gal tbh. lew lew loml
this is low-key self indulgent af sorry HEHEH
pls comment and reblog or send me an ask and tell me what u think !!
ty for readinggggg :)
- honey <333
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aziraphales-library · 3 months
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The requests for Christmas fics have started to come in... far, far too late. Remember folks, it takes us months to answer asks and then they're in the queue for a while before publishing.
Luckily this blog is a resource, not simply an ask blog. We already have a #christmas tag you can check for fics we've recommended before!
As a little bonus, here are a few new fics from this year...
City Of Blinding Lights by ShadesOfDeviant (G)
“Well, I sometimes—that is to say—I often considered an early evening walk round the area to see the lights quite the romantic endeavour. Arm in arm under the glow of the fairy lights, I even have a route planned out for should I ever get the chance to go.” “Should you ever get the chance?” Crowley snorts in a way that would be unattractive to almost anyone other than Aziraphale before he folds his newspaper in half and then half again, and casually tosses it onto the coffee table beside him. “You need to be a bit more subtle when you’re aiming for a temptation angel.” He adds with a quick wink before he rolls up onto his feet. AKA: Aziraphale has always wanted to go on a romantic evening walk round London to see all the Christmas lights. Now free of Heaven & Hell and able to openly express his feelings for Crowley, Aziraphale can't think of a better time to implement a plan nearly 40 years in the making.
A Dream Is A Soft Place To Land (may we all be so lucky) by randomramblingsofme (T)
Crowley feels as if the universe won't let him get his feet back under him. He has no plan, is juggling two jobs, coping with chronic pain from an old injury, expertly (so he thinks) hiding a raging crush on the bookseller across the street, and he is currently covered in tree sap. But things could be worse. For example, he could forget all about the Whickber Street Christmas party being hosted by said crush until five minutes beforehand. Oh shit. --- Modern AU, Barista Crowley/Bookseller Aziraphale
Eggnog and Effervescence by RepQueen15 (T)
Crowley turned so as to be able to watch the rest of the movie, and his ear pressed against Aziraphale’s thigh. He felt the angel tremble a little, as though this weren’t just some small service to him either, though that was nothing short of ridicule. Or perhaps…? No. This was just Aziraphale being his perfect, soft self. Though maybe, just maybe, Crowley wasn’t the only one who needed a little more physical contact in his life. *** Crowley and Aziraphale spend a quiet Christmas Eve putting up fairy lights, getting tipsy on eggnog, watching ridiculous Christmas movies and... cuddling.
Here’s a Hand (My Dearest Friend) by perilit (T)
Wherein Crowley allows himself to be comforted in the days leading up to the Christmas holiday, and repays with some comforting of his own.
I’m Dreaming of a Light (and Dark) Christmas by cheeseplants (T)
Aziraphale had begun plotting his revenge a few days after the encounter with the man he had begun to refer to as the demon in his head. Not that he was a vengeful person. He was a good and righteous person who believed it was important to bring light into people's lives. Lights, in fact. Several of them. _______ Two shopkeepers with very different ideas about Christmas battle it out on Whickber Street to create the most extravagant Christmas lights in London. But when the lights go out, they start to find they may have more in common than they first thought. An enemies to lovers human-AU Christmas decorations feud!
If the Fates Allow by catherineland (T)
Crowley makes a shocking discovery: Aziraphale claims to hate Christmas. Crowley’s new mission is to show his angel what he’s been missing.
- Mod D
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eternal summer [part one]
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part two: [soon]
word count: 2207 warnings: none ! notes: will get part two done as soon as i can, particularly if you guys seem to enjoy this <3 please always lmk your thoughts, don't be shy !!
You met him in the wintertime; he was all grey smoke and black coats and pale fingers blushed with red from the cold air. You had been at Charli’s house (practically a second home to you after years of friendship) watching the late-December snowfall while basking in the warm comfort of her living room, when a loud, almost obnoxious knocking came from the front door. Charli was quick to get up, rolling her eyes good-naturedly and simply saying, “It’s just Matty.” 
The two of them stood in her doorway talking, Matty undoubtedly looking for George. Your gaze returned to the soft and snowy scene outside the window, allowing you to become lost in thought. Matty, you said in your head. Best friend’s boyfriend’s best friend. Enough degrees of separation away for you to be vaguely aware of him, but not near enough for you to have met him before. Charli had plenty of stories to tell, of course, but that was about it. Curly-haired singer with a loud personality, a soft heart, and, according to several anecdotes you’d previously heard, someone who should be filed under Men Who Can Do You No Good. You had your doubts about the sources you’d gotten that from, though. 
You were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard Charli say to Matty, “Yeah, she’s just over there.” 
You turned to look over at the doorway. Matty was craning his neck slightly, as if trying to get a good look at you over on the couch. You sat further up and waved to him. “Hey.” It was your first time really seeing him, and you did your best to take in as many details as possible without blatantly staring: the few stray curls that escaped the rest of his neatly gelled hair, his slight stubble, the small silver hoop that hung from his ear, the way his eyes crinkled when he returned your smile.
“Hi.” He paused, giving you just a moment to collect yourself again. “I’m Matty.” He sounded almost awkward, like he wanted to say something witty or cool but had completely drawn a blank. You told him your name, he nodded, he said something to Charli, he left. That was that, completely (maybe disappointingly) unmonumental. 
Charli sat down next to you on the couch again. “Did he seem tense to you?” she asked.
You gave a noncommittal shrug of your shoulders. “Dunno. You know him better than I do.” Although, a very small part of you couldn’t help but briefly wonder what it would be like if you did know him better. What if you could tell when he was tense, what if you knew all the tells of when he was anxious, what if you could read his mind and he could read yours? You stopped before you got even further ahead of yourself. You sound insane, you told yourself. It was enough to make you decide to push Matty out of your thoughts for the foreseeable future. Besides, it would be quite a while before you’d have to see him again.
Except it wasn’t. Just two weeks later, you found yourself back in Charli’s home, the familiar air smelling of pine and cinnamon from the lit candles. Charli had decked the house out in fairy lights and colorful, sparkling ornaments – it was a Christmas party, after all. “Party” was a bit of an overstatement, though. Really it was just you, her, George, and the other three guys, with Carly accompanying Adam. 
Your eyes landed on Matty almost immediately after walking inside. This time, instead of the drab coat and slicked-back hair, he was drowning in a fuzzy, oversized jumper and had let his curls loose. They framed his face perfectly, and something about seeing him in this setting – warm, cozy, inviting – made your heart briefly skip a beat.
Halfway through the night you were perfectly at home with the group of people who had been near strangers just hours before. Everybody had drinks in hand, conversation was flowing with ease, and a warm glow seemed to illuminate the whole room. In your slightly tipsy state, you allowed yourself to sneak furtive glances in Matty’s direction – what harm could come from a little crush on him? He was cute, he was funny, he was intriguing. It would be weird for me to not be interested, you reasoned with yourself. It was just then that your thoughts were interrupted by yet another reason to keep him on your mind: his fucking fingers. The flicker of his lighter had drawn your eyes to his hands and the way they fidgeted with a cigarette before pressing it to his lips. Matty’s face was briefly highlighted in a bloom of yellow-orange, before the flame went out and was replaced by wisps of grey smoke. You blatantly stared  at his index and middle fingers as they held the cigarette to his lips, then studied the shape those lips took when he blew the smoke out to the side, wondering how they would feel against yours, soft and hungry. 
At this thought, you stood and excused yourself to the kitchen, deciding that another drink was in order. You were almost certain you could feel Matty’s eyes burning into your back as you walked away, but you weren’t sure if it was wishful thinking or anxious paranoia on your part. 
The sound of conversation from the other room was slightly muted in the kitchen, but it wasn’t long before you heard familiar footsteps behind you. You turned around, already knowing it was Charli. “He hasn’t got a girlfriend, you know,” she said with a sly smile.
You furrowed your brow in feigned confusion. This would not become something she could hold over you. “Sorry, who are we talking about?”
“Matty, obviously!” she exclaimed loudly. You gave her a warning glance, petrified that her voice would carry and your little crush would have to come to a swift end.
“I’m not interested.” Charli raised her eyebrows at your words. “Well, maybe I’m attracted, but I’m not interested!”
Your friend knew you well enough to understand that the topic was moot. There would be no changing your mind – at least, not that night. Charli began to sidle out of the kitchen, but not without saying, “I’ll keep my eye on you two,” in a teasing voice.
.♡♡♡.♡♡♡.♡♡♡.
And then it’s summer. Everything is the same, but now there’s a gold filter over it all. Everything is different, but the air still smells the way it did in the summer five years ago. Summer is a constant. Time will always pass and everything will always keep moving, but when the time is right, the sun will always warm your skin, and if you try hard enough, your skin starts to glow the way it did when you were six years old. 
One thing you’ve learned since May, when the weather really got warm and the sunsets began to linger a little while longer, is that Matty Healy is luminous in the summertime. Your interactions with him have become more frequent since that December, giving you the opportunity to watch him metamorphosize. Without you particularly realizing, lunch dates and movies and late night drives with him have become a part of your weekly schedule. Charli had been determined to work her magic, and while no romantic endeavors had occurred, her set-ups for the two of you had undoubtedly helped form one of the most meaningful friendships in your life.
You’re definitely over that stupid crush. 
There’s no time to contemplate your previous budding infatuation anyway, because a car has pulled up outside your home and the driver is incessantly honking on the horn. Speak of the devil. You grab your tote bag filled with a towel, snacks, sunscreen, sunglasses, and a paperback book and dash out of your front door, sandals hitting the ground loudly. 
Both the driver’s and passenger’s doors of Matty’s car have been thrown open. Alison by Slowdive is playing softly through the car speakers as you slide into your seat and place your bag on the floor between your legs. Matty raises his sunglasses up away from his eyes, pushing some of his hair out of his face. “You ready?”
“Mhm.” You have to bite your tongue in order to not say more, seeing as your heart rate has increased tenfold at the sight of Matty. Every button of his white short-sleeve shirt is undone, the collar hanging loosely around his neck. His tattooed arms are sunkissed, almost golden, as if a goddess of the sun blessed him with her touch. Glimpses of the tattoo across his chest peek out from his undone shirt, contrasting with the bright fabric. You’re filled with the insatiable desire to remove the shirt and press your fingertips to the ink, the only barrier left between you and his bones being that thin layer of skin. You could melt into each other.
There’s not much need for small talk today. Soon enough you’re speeding down an empty rural road, windows down and music loud. Matty is rhythmically tapping on the wheel to the beat of the music, while you reach your arm out the window and let yourself become enveloped by the roaring warm wind. Occasionally you turn your attention back to Matty and the soft smile that appears on his face as he mouths the words to the song. He could smile at you and the world could crumble down at your feet and you wouldn’t care; all you can see is Matty.
After a lengthy drive, a sparkling expanse of water comes into view, the sandy beach completely deserted save for two figures you can see in the distance – Charli and George. You have a feeling that this beach day is another one of Charli’s attempts to set you up with Matty, and for once you don’t feel so eager to protest; not when his eyes are pools of honey and his cheeks are dusted pink from the sun and his perfectly sculpted figure is right in front of you like this.
When you and Matty have carried your things down to the beach where Charli and George have placed their bags, the two of them are already down in the water; Charli’s loud laughter carries up to the sand where you stand with Matty. “They’re really cute together, aren’t they?” you say wistfully, almost to yourself.
“Yeah… yeah, they are.” You’ve discarded the large cotton shirt you were using as a cover-up for the black two-piece you had beneath it, and Matty’s eyes are trained on you. A pause before it hits you:
He’s staring he’s staring he’s staring fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck–
Matty clears his throat. His face is burning bright red now, and you’re quite certain he hasn’t formed a sunburn this quickly. “Sunscreen?” he says weakly.
“Sorry?”
“Uhm, would you like help with your sunscreen, I mean.”
“Oh!” Your mouth takes a moment to catch up with your brain. “Yes, please!.” You dig around in your bag for the sunscreen and hand it to him before turning around, your back facing him.
The cool lotion on your back applied by his warm and calloused hands nearly makes you gasp. You bite down on your lower lip and tense your shoulders, though the goosebumps across your skin give you away regardless. Matty’s hands work the lotion into your skin, fingers practically massaging your shoulders. Your eyelids flutter close, and before you can stop yourself, you let out a soft, contented sigh. Matty’s fingers pause and your eyes shoot open.
Fuck.
It wasn’t even that bad don’t worry it’s fine don’t worry–
Fuck.
Matty quickly finishes applying the sunscreen and takes his hands off you, allowing you to face him once again. His lips are parted almost imperceptibly and you’re sure he can hear your thoughts racing – a mortifying idea, as all you can think about is silencing his next words with your mouth on his, hungry like he’s fresh fruit, letting him drip down your lips to your chin.
“Are you two having a moment?”
You nearly jump out of your skin. You didn’t even notice Charli making her way up the beach toward you. A knowing look is on her face as she picks up a towel and wraps it around herself, telepathically screaming “Tell me fucking everything” at you. 
“No, we’re just–” You start, but Matty is quick to interrupt.
“We just realized we forgot something in my car, actually! Come help me find it?” Matty looks at you pointedly, nearly begging for you to go along with this. And who are you to say no?
“Yeah, yeah, of course! Tell George we’ll be right back, alright?” you tell Charli.
Before she can get a word in edgewise, Matty takes your hand in his and adamantly whisks you away. You wave to Charli, who’s watching with an open-mouthed smile, before returning your attention to the task of keeping up with Matty’s fast pace. His grip on your hand, the serious expression on his face, the white shirt slipping down his shoulder – you’re suddenly faced with the unsavory realization that you’re not, nor have you ever been, over that stupid crush.
On the contrary, you’re utterly fucked.
358 notes · View notes
kingkatsuki · 1 year
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— when you’re both caught under the mistletoe
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Masterlist.
Merry Christmas my loves! Thank you for giving me and my silly writing the time of day💕
I know I said there isn’t really an order to these, this one is the day after the secret santa.
Warnings: none, as always not proofread.
Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.
Word Count: 1.4k.
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Unlike most of the country, Bakugou liked working Christmas Day. It was quiet, the streets were empty, the office was peaceful and it was the perfect excuse not to go to his parents house early for festivities. The festive period was often a subject of contest between Bakugou and his mother, the judgement far worse than any other month of the year. Questions of when he would be giving them Grandchildren and when he’d finally be setting down and getting married. Questions that pushing thirty, pained him to answer.
Thankful that the building was still warm as he stepped in from the frozen streets, cheeks pink from the cold chill outside as he buried his hands back inside his coat pockets. The Christmas decorations were still up all over the agency, the fairy lights casting a soft glow on the building as he stepped into the elevator to take him up to his floor. Scoffing at the mistletoe that was positioned all over the building.
When the elevator door dinged open and he stepped out onto his floor, Bakugou was surprised to see the lights on and you sat behind your desk.
“What’re you doing here?” He rasped gruffly, his voice still laced with sleep.
Every year on Christmas he’d arrive at his agency, and spend the day alone— until now apparently.
After avoiding you at the work Christmas party the night before he hadn’t expected you to be in the office so early the next morning. Bakugou hated to admit that he thought about you for the rest of the evening when he finally made it home, collapsing onto his bed alone as he scrolled through the pictures of you on his phone. Wishing that he had stayed a little longer, if only to see you in your pretty outfit and wish you a Merry Christmas. To have you look at him the way you looked at Kirishima—
“Merry Christmas to you too.” You smiled softly from behind the desk as he stepped closer, “I knew you’d be alone in the office today, so I thought I’d come in to keep you company.”
Bakugou hated the way you made his chest ache from your words, the soft tone of your voice had him pining for you even more as he cherished being the reason why you were here on Christmas Day.
“Go home,” He shook his head, “Spend time with your loved ones.”
He wondered whether Kirishima knew you were working today, and if he’d blame his best friend for it.
“I’ll be okay for a few hours, Dynamight.” You teased, using his hero name, before your expression changed, looking up at him wistfully, “I missed you at the party last night, I thought you said you’d come.”
You missed him.
Bakugou’s heart shuddered against his ribcage at the words, trying to stop the heat from rising in his already cold, pink cheeks.
“Yeah, sorry. Somethin’ came up.” He tried to shrug it off, not wanting to tell you the real reason he left so early.
“I left your secret santa present in your office,” You smiled, “That weird guy from admin was eyeing it up, I wanted to make sure you got it.”
“Uh- thanks,” He continued, remembering the way you looked at Kirishima when he gave you your gift.
Bakugou noticed a new photo frame sat on top of your desk, the picture facing you as he tried to tilt his body to the side to see it. You must’ve noticed his subtle movement as you lifted the frame so he could see the picture, a photograph of you both.
“Oh, yeah. Kirishima got me it last night, he was my secret santa.” You smiled softly, looking down at the picture.
So that’s why Kirishima refused to swap names with him, the sly bastard. Bakugou would definitely be having words with him later as he looked down at the photograph on the desk. The thought of you displaying it like that for anyone to see had a possessive swirl in his abdomen as he remembered exactly where the picture wa taken. He felt so stupid for leaving last night after seeing you with his best friend, jumping to conclusions that there was something going on with him.
“That’s a pretty shitty gift.” Bakugou mumbled.
“I dunno,” You mused, “I actually really like it.”
Bakugou couldn’t hide the dopey grin that spread across his cheeks at your words, also the fact that there was now going to be a picture of the both of you placed perfectly on your desk so any Pro-Heroes visiting that felt the need to flirt with you would see it. The thought had his cock throbbing in his pants as he tried to calm his racing heart, nostrils flaring to try and control his breathing.
“You should go home,” Bakugou tried to avoid looking at the picture frame any longer, “I’ll only be here a few hours anyway.”
“If you’re sure, sir.” You worried your lower lip between your teeth as you began to exit out of your work programs, collecting your things as Bakugou hovered over your desk watching you. You would never admit to your boss that you wanted to see him on Christmas Day too.
“Before I suspend you.” Bakugou replied gruffly.
“Alright, alright. I’m leaving.” You laughed, and it had his chest puffing out with pride that you enjoyed his joke as you stood from your desk chair.
He wanted more than anything to have you stay with him, to spend the day with you instead of his family, but instead he patiently began to walk you towards the elevator. Pressing the illuminated button as it made the familiar ding.
“You don’t stay too late either, the world can cope without Dynamight for a few hours.” You smiled up at him as you fiddled with your fingers shyly.
You broke the gap by leaning forward and reaching up on the tips of your toes to pull Bakugou into a warm hug. The action catching him off guard at first as he stood awkwardly with his hands balled into fists at his sides, completely surrounded by the sweet scent of you. The warmth of your body against his had him melting into you, as he finally managed to get his body to react to his brain as he placed his arms around your waist to reciprocate.
Bakugou buried his nose into your neck as he inhaled deeply, crimson eyes clenched shut to try and imprint this moment to memory. Not wanting to forget how your arms felt around him, or the way your breasts pressed against his chest. It felt as though time stood still as you both stood in the foyer of his floor, the elevator dinging shut again beside you but it wasn’t like either of you cared.
This made up for missing you at the party last night, and getting a shitty secret santa. His cheeks ached from smiling so much with you, and it had only been ten minutes in the office. Bakugou may have held on a little longer than you as he felt your grip begin to loosen as you pulled back. His arms still settled gently around your hips as your gaze met his and you gave him a sheepish smile.
Bakugou had never wanted to kiss you more than he did in this moment.
“Merry Christmas, Bakugou.” You smiled softly, forgoing the titles as you leaned forward to press the button to the elevator again. The doors quickly opening for you, illuminating you in fluorescent light as you stepped inside.
“Yeah,” Bakugou smiled as the doors began to shut, “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”
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But if either of you had looked up as you were standing at the elevator doors, you would’ve noticed the fresh sprigs of mistletoe that were left hanging on top of the head jam. Mistletoe that could have granted both of your Christmas wishes.
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1K notes · View notes
ennysbookstore · 4 months
Text
Cold Snap - Part II (Seonghwa x Reader)
Summary: You begin to befriend both the younger and older members of the Park family, but to Seonghwa, it seems as if you’ve got other intentions.
Word Count: 6.24k
Genre/Warnings: slice of life, enemies to lovers(?), angst, fluff, cursing, Seonghwa has nothing nice to say, reader stands up for herself, mentions of alcohol, inaccurate art terminology, incorrect knitting terminology lmao, still no consistency with verb tenses
This is a work of fiction and is not meant to be a realistic representation of any real person mentioned in any way, shape, or form.
The moment your head touched your pillow, you were out. When you woke up, the sky was a deep, dark blue. You tap repeatedly on your phone screen, and it reads out the time for you: 10:02 pm. You let out a small sigh and slowly sit up. 
The howling of the wind outdoors was overwhelming, but through it, you can hear the padded footsteps of the evening-shift employee brooming the wooden floors of the lodge. Snow is falling, and in the dark, you watch it land on your warm window before melting slowly and sliding down. You relish in the silence a few moments longer before going to the bathroom to brush your teeth and shower. 
At 10:45 pm, you head down to the first floor of the lounge, canvas bag in hand. At night, the lodge looks otherworldly. Fairy lights circle the railing of the staircase and the Christmas tree in the corner of the first floor. The decorative pieces created from carved deer sheds hang around the dimmed yellow lights suspended from the tall ceiling of the cabin. The closed and cleaned bar glistens, and the centerpiece candles glimmer silently in the dining area. The grand fireplace has now come to life and purrs gently to douse the inside of the lodge in a warm, golden hue, creating an oasis from the harsh, blue world outside. 
At the bottom of the staircase, you spot the chef heading up to his sleeping quarters. Much older than the rest of the employees, he had become a grandfatherly figure for you in the past two weeks. 
“Hello, staying the night?” you ask. 
“Oh, yes. If I drove down the mountain now, I don’t think I would be able to find the motivation to come back up tomorrow morning. This Park party tires me out more and more every year,” he grumbles out. “I’ve left some dinner for you in the kitchen. Be sure to eat it all.”
You send him a smile and thank him, the hunger in your stomach suddenly more vivid. 
From the top of the staircase, the chef calls out to you again, “Start rationing the chocolate yogurts, I fear the young ones will go through them before the next delivery is due to arrive.”
In the kitchen, you discover your dinner under a silver cloche, and your stomach whines for it. As the plate heats in the microwave, you walk to the fridge out of curiosity. Surely, only a box of two dozen chocolate yogurts remains inside. 
You take your plate to the empty wooden slab table, now clear of its mats and centerpiece. The evening-shift co-worker calls out to you. Unlike your day-shift co-workers, who were older than you, your evening-shift co-worker is much closer to your age. In the past two weeks, you learned you both attend the same university in the town below. He graduated from the program you’re pursuing now and is on track to earning another degree. 
“Missed you at dinner today. The Park party must’ve done a number on you this morning,” he says, sitting across from you. He begins to remove his nametag from his uniform vest.
“They’re definitely something,” you say, forking a potato. Soft steam exhales at the puncture, and you blow down on it. “At least most of them are kind and understanding.”
“Most of them? I think they’re all pretty generous,” he questions. 
“Not the tall one. The one that speaks English? He’s a little…opinionated.”
“Ha, Seonghwa? He’s grown up quite a bit since the last time I saw him. He looks like a proper adult now,” he removes his vest and folds it neatly into fourths on the table. “He hasn’t come to the lodge in a while. He’s a pretty good kid, he might’ve just been tired?” he suggests.
You shrug half-heartedly, not at all convinced. You didn’t go around calling people imbeciles in a different language for a mistake that you made. “Are you staying the night?” you change the topic. 
“Not tonight. I have a midnight date to get to. Wife’s orders,” he says, standing and stretching. 
You smile, forking another potato. “Drive down safely, I’ll see you tomorrow,” you wave your fork goodbye. 
You eat the rest of your dinner quietly with the company of the purring grand fireplace. After cleaning your dishes, you saunter to the employee’s lounge to stamp your paper time card. Before you can pull out your art supplies and take on the grand fireplace, you’ve got a list of concierge tasks to get through. You check the counter of the front desks for any notes left by the other employees and find one from the chef, mentioning placing an order for the chocolate yogurts for the next delivery. You log onto the computer and place an order for another two boxes of the dessert and then switch to check the rooming system.
The tabs for all six rooms glowed green, and you paused. Before you knew it, you were clicking on each room to double-check the original reservation date for each of them. December 23rd. Which wasn’t due to arrive for another 43 minutes. You roll your eyes with a scoff and close the room tabs with sharp clicks. 
While you wait for midnight, you sit on the couch in front of the grand fireplace and turn on the television. A loud theme song startles you, and you scurry to lower the volume. Too bored to change it, you watch the reruns of an unfamiliar cartoon. Come midnight, you return to the front desk and run the night audit. As the pages begin to print painfully slow, your attention turns once again to the television. 
Finally, the pages cease to fall from the printer, and you staple the sheets together and place them in a yellow envelope, marking the date and time.
After the printer stutters to a stop and the television has been turned off, the howling wind makes a return. You breathe out a content sigh and grab your canvas bag to settle back in front of the fireplace. You warm your fingers first before getting your supplies out. You sketch out the basic shapes of the fireplace with a pencil and then go in with color pencils to block out the highlights and shadows. Satisfied with the shapes and shadows, you retrieve your watercolor set and begin to set light layers onto the paper. Tilting your head, you retrieve a cloth from your canvas bag to blot some colors off the paper. You try setting colors down again. 
For the next hour, you repeat the act of setting down colors and blotting them off again and again. The turbulent fire cast a different set of shadows against the bricked fireplace every second. Annoyed, you flip the page and restart altogether. Once again, you begin with your pencil and the basic shapes. Then, you move on to blocking off the highlights and shadows with your color pencils. 
“Hey, that’s the fireplace!”
You jerk your head in surprise. The young girl who was sat on Seonghwa’s lap earlier today leaned over the armrest of the couch. At your foot was the youngest Park, the toddler. 
The shock subsides after a few moments, and you sit up. “Yes, it is,” you set the sketchbook and pencils down to turn to them. “What are you both doing out of bed? It’s awfully late to be up right now.”
“I want a snack!” she splays her small hands across her stomach. “I’m really, really, really hungry!” She looks down at the toddler and adds, “So is she! We’re both super-duper hungry!”
You smile softly at her and hold out your hand, “Well then, let’s get you a snack.”
Within a few minutes, you are back at the wooden slab table with hot chocolates. Small marshmallows bob up and down inside the mugs. The little girl sips slowly at the rim of the mug, and her feet swing to the beat of a song from her head. The toddler rests her sleepy head in your lap, her body on the chair next to you. 
You hear another pair of footsteps from the staircase and turn to see a woman with an alarmed expression. She looks around the first floor of the lodge before her eyes land on the children sitting with you. 
“You are going to be in so much trouble! What are you doing down here, young lady? You better have a good explanation as to why you and your sister came down here without telling me,” she quickly shoots out word after word in Korean. 
After a fast and quick scolding, much of which you couldn’t catch, the woman plops down next to you and the toddler. “I’m so terribly sorry about them, I don’t know how they got away from me.”
“That’s okay, she was just hungry,” you look at the girl and the nearly empty mug. You turn back to the woman and ask, “Is there anything I can fix up for you?”
“No, no, that’s quite alright, but thank you,” she shakes her head. “Well, actually…” she hesitates, before hiding her mouth from the little girl and whispering, “Can you get me one of those chocolate yogurts? And do you think maybe you could put it in a different container?”
In the kitchen, you empty the container of yogurt into a glass bowl and take the disguised treat back to the dining area. The woman carries both of the now sleeping children to one of the many couches in front of the fireplace and sets them down. 
“I didn’t realize they’d fall asleep this quickly. I made you do all that work,” she says looking at the bowl, much too fancy for some chocolate yogurt. 
“It’s alright, it was nothing,” you say assuringly, handing her the bowl. She sits down next to the sleeping children, and you sit across from her. The fireplace lets out a steady stream of warmth towards the couches. The woman takes a big spoonful of the yogurt.
“Mm, I know this is for the kids, but I just got so jealous when I saw their dessert come out during dinner.” She takes another heaping spoonful, “I can’t believe I’m still on toddler time after all the travel.”
“Your kids?” you ask.
“Yeah, this one’s five, and this one’s almost three. I can’t catch a break with both of their sleep schedules. I thought for certain we’d all be out until tomorrow morning at the very least, but here we all are,” she points her spoon to the children. She gulps down one more spoonful. “With my luck, they’ll be up every night of this entire week, and you’ll have to deal with the pleasure of our presence.”
You laugh softly, “Well, I’ll be here to keep you company and supply you with chocolate yogurts.” She smiles back at you, thankfully. 
As predicted, the next night, the sisters make their way to you just after midnight once again and ask for a snack. Their mother follows soon after. Both children sleepily watch as the television quietly plays a rerun episode. You and their mother sit at the wooden slab table.
“These are so amazing,” she flips through your sketchbook. “Why aren’t you pursuing this? You clearly have more of a passion and drive for it,” she asks. 
“Oh, it’s a combination of things, you know? It’s not cheap to pursue art. Not to mention, there’s no job guarantee, and if I do somehow manage to land a job, there’s no security. It’s just not something I can pursue with my finances comfortably.”
“So, what’s your plan with these?” her fingers trace a douglas fir you painted last week.
“Well, the goal is to find a job I can tolerate that gives me enough time to practice art on the side. After that, I suppose I just hope for someone to take interest, or I guess I become another artist in a world full of artists,” you laugh.
“You can’t be serious. I mean there’s at least got to be a class or something you can take to self-study or someone willing to display your art,” she exclaims. 
You shake your head in laughter, “An introductory art class at the university would add another thousand dollars to my tuition, and that doesn’t even include the cost of the course materials. Everything I learned is on the internet for free, anyways.” You look over to the children rustling the pillows on the couch. “This is just something I do for fun, and it’s nothing more than a hobby to keep me occupied.” You turn back to her, looking at you incredulously. “All that aside, my art style isn’t anything unique enough to be picked up,” you add.
A small whine from the couch cuts your conversation short, “Mommy…”
Moments later, with a kid on either side of her hips, she begins to make her way back to her room. Halfway, she turns and says, “If I had even a shred of the skill you do, I wouldn’t stop pursuing this, and I’d drive other people mad advertising the hell out of myself. There will always be someone that enjoys your art. Always.”
Her words linger on the empty first floor of the lodge well after she’s gone. With a sigh, you settle into the couch to take another shot at the fireplace. You look at your unfinished page and ruined page from the day before and then back up at the fireplace. Pursue art seriously? Yeah right. Your fireplace could be a fireplace from anywhere. Why was the grandiose so hard to capture? You didn’t struggle with the mountains outside or even the other aspects from inside the lodge. You start to layer colors on the sheet again and continue to attempt to capture the essence of the fireplace for the next several hours. 
The chef makes his way down to the kitchen at 5:30 am, and you finally decide to give up for the day when the colors refuse to match the constantly changing fireplace. At the sound of pots and pans clattering in the kitchen, you stand to offer your help. You clean off the wooden slab table once more and place the refreshed centerpiece of arranged flowers, potpourri, and herbs back in its spot. 
You and the chef converse about the menu for the day, which includes an array of French dishes you couldn’t pronounce. You begin to clean the warm dishes and place them on the mats when Seonghwa’s grandmother walks down the stairs, a wide bag in hand. 
“Good morning, dear!”
“Good morning, ma’am,” you respond and look back to the chef who shakes his head. “I’m afraid breakfast isn’t quite ready yet, but I can get you some coffee or tea?” you say, placing the last plate on its mat. 
“That’s quite alright, I know I’m a little early. But some tea would be lovely,” she takes out knitting needles and a ball of yarn from her bag. 
You retreat to the kitchen and brew a kettle of tea for Seonghwa’s grandmother. The chef turns on the radio, and soft jazz music fills the dining area. He washes his hands and begins with his batch of eggs next to you. In the few minutes you were gone, Seonghwa’s grandmother had knit several rows of her piece. 
“Here’s your tea,” you place a steaming mug in front of her. She sets down her piece and takes a small sip. You look at the intertwining sparkling silver cashmere yarn. “What are you making?” you ask.
She sets down her mug and looks at her piece, “Oh! This thing? They’ll turn into gloves for my Seonghwa,” she says with a deep smile. “This is his favorite color,” she thumbs through the ball of yarn. Funnily, in the few moments you had looked at him, you hadn’t seen Seonghwa decorated in anything but glossy black. 
“He could use a little bit of cheering up,” his grandmother sighs. Her fingers circle the rim of the cup, and she continues, “He used to love these mountains. He would be the first one up and ready to go skiing,” she pauses. “I thought some normalcy would be good for him. He’s just been so down lately.”
You send her a soft smile, not knowing what to say. You didn’t know how to sympathize with her or with Seonghwa. You end up complimenting her knitting skills instead. “Well, if I had a grandmother knitting me gloves in my favorite color to keep me warm, I’d definitely be in a better mood,” you try.
She sends you an earnest smile and reaches to hold your hands, “Oh, thank you so much, dear.”
Outside, you see the sun rising up from its sleep. Inside the kitchen, you see the chef singing along to the jazzy tune from the radio as the smell of sweet flour engulfs your nose. You look at Seonghwa’s grandmother, dressed in expensive clothing, knitting gloves for her apparently depressed grandson. Before you’re able to catch yourself, you ask, “Can I draw you?”
After her initial confusion has settled, she smiles her deep smile at you and nods. 
*****
The sisters and their mother arrive like clockwork after midnight. The kids are situated in front of the television above the grand fireplace as a rerun plays quietly, while you sit with their mother at the wooden slab once again.  
The advertisement break rolls on, and both the girls jump up from their spots. “Now, I know what true power feels like!” the older repeats the lines down to the toddler, who responds with a squeaky giggle. 
You look away from them and turn to their mother. “I’m just saying, money would solve 90% of my problems, and I’m sure it can inadvertently solve the other 10%, too,” you say jokingly. 
“No, I definitely agree with you, but I don’t think my family would see it like that at all,” their mother laughs with you. She settles down before adding, “When you have the amount of money we do your entire life, it stops being a factor. We don’t have to think about whether we can or can’t do something, or if something is or isn’t expensive. Things are just… there for us.” She smiles solemnly, “And even with all of this, we fail to be happy.”
You look back to the sisters chasing each other around the couches. “It’s okay to not be happy all the time. Money guarantees happiness for me, but it doesn't have to do the same for you. I’ve found most of the time it just depends on the company and environment you surround yourself with.” You turn back to their mother, “The fact that you’re able to admit you have money and leisure is better than most people trying to act like they don’t.” You pause before adding, “But the amount of things that would turn around for me if I just had some money… it’s unfathomable.”
“I think you’d like talking to Seonghwa,” she says after a minute. “You both see the world so differently. Of course, you’ll probably drive each other up the wall by the end of it, but I still think you’d like it nonetheless.” She sneakily swallows a spoonful of chocolate yogurt, and says, “He’ll always end with the same conclusion: What good will a pile of money do for me on a deserted island? It doesn’t matter where you start with him, he always ends up back there.”
Both kids settle back down into the cushions as the episode resumes. 
“Well, we’re not on a deserted island right now, are we?” you say lightly. “Anyways, I don’t think he likes me very much, so he’d probably start fighting before I could even get a word out,” you sip on your own mug of hot chocolate. “Are you siblings?” you ask.
“We’re cousins,” she spoons out some more yogurt from the fancy bowl. “He hasn’t come on this trip for the past couple of years, so it’s nice to have him around after so long. But…” her face scrunches in sympathy. “He’s had to grow up a lot faster than the rest of us.”
Before you can ask her to elaborate, you’re interrupted. “Mommy, can I have chocolate yogurt, too?” the little girl asks from the couch, much more awake after having finished her hot chocolate. You’re at the freezer before her mother can tell her no. 
From the kitchen, you hear a chair scrape against the floor and think another one of the kids has made their way down for a midnight snack. Smiling, you grab another chocolate yogurt out of the fridge. Only 11 left, you note. 
Just as you begin to push the door to the kitchen open, you stop. You hear Seonghwa’s voice. 
“She seems like a gold-digger. She’s only getting cozy with you for a reason, so I’m just suggesting you be careful before promising her anything. I saw her having breakfast with Grandmother this morning, too.”
Maybe there’s a treatment that can get rid of my foreign language skills for the week. And to think of his grandmother that’s so worried about him. The shred of sympathy you had attempted to build up this morning is quickly fading away. Being depressed does not give you free reign to be openly hateful.  
“I haven’t promised her anything, and neither has Grandmother. We’ve just been talking about our lives. I’m not going around giving my credit card information to my friends, Seonghwa,” his cousin refutes. 
“Oh, she’s a friend now?”
You hear her scoff out a laugh, “She’s a nice girl, and I like talking to her. If that makes her my friend, so be it. You need to get out of your own head, Seonghwa. God knows you could use a real friend,” you hear her say, the malice from her voice missing. 
Not wanting to listen to whatever Seonghwa might say next, you exit the kitchen and put the yogurts and spoons down on the table. You ignore Seonghwa’s presence altogether, and look at his cousin instead. “I just forgot, I’ve still got the night audit left to run. Enjoy,” you say, walking back to the front desk. 
You uselessly run another night audit and decide to use the paper for scrap sketching. The printer whirrs to life and blocks out any further conversations from the cousins. From behind the front desk, you see Seonghwa and his cousin wordlessly finish off the yogurt. Before retrieving her kids, she says something to Seonghwa and walks back up the staircase after wishing you a good night.
Seonghwa sits quietly at the wooden slab for several minutes afterwards. His silken gray pajamas hang loosely from his body. His fingers follow the grain of the wooden table as he looks to the falling snow outside. The printer stops sputtering out pages, and the lodge is quiet once again. After a while, he stands up and takes the bowls to the counter outside of the kitchen. His eyes stay trained forward as he starts up the staircase. 
“Hey!” you call out.
Seonghwa pauses on the steps, his face so neutral, you almost don’t even bother. Fuck it. 
“If you want to question my qualifications for this job, fine. You can go right ahead and do that, but questioning my character is uncalled for. I didn’t reserve your rooms, you did. Everyone here is expected to take care of you and your family. We are paid to tend to your needs, and that requires talking to your family and understanding what they want. My shift just happens to be at night, your nieces just happen to get hungry then, and your cousin just happens to be on toddler time. I’m not after your money, I’m just doing my job, so I’d appreciate it if you would treat me with some more decency than calling me derogatory terms to better fit this narrative of me that you’ve built up in your head,” you huff out. 
Seonghwa’s eyebrows raise as his eyes widen. 
Not wanting a conversation, you quickly add, “Have a good night.” You retreat into the employee’s lounge and don’t come back out until you hear Seonghwa walk up the stairs and close the door to his room. 
With the left-over anger still bubbling inside of you, you return to the couch in front of the fireplace and lay out your supplies. You look at the sketch you had done of Seonghwa’s grandmother earlier that morning. Avoiding the fireplace, you begin to fill the sketch with watercolors. Her luxury clothes are layered with colors and textures. You add her deep smile and smatter her cheeks with a pale blush. Finally, when you reach the ball of cashmere yarn, you dig around the bottom of your canvas bag for the tubes of metallic colors you never use. You squeeze the smallest drop of the shimmery silver onto the yarn and water it down. The unmade gloves glisten on the page. I am not a gold-digger. 
Satisfied at the completed product, you turn the page to take yet another shot at the fireplace. You’re able to draw out the shapes, but stop yourself short before setting down color on the page. You should stop while you’re ahead. Instead, you resort to doing menial tasks for the rest of your shift like dusting the front desk, wooden tables, and even the televisions. You walk laps around the first floor of the lodge and broom up loose, fallen threads and dust bunnies from under couches and chairs. Who does he think he is? Finally, hours after the anger has subsided, you settle down on a chair near the window and lean your cheek on the cold glass. You watch the snow fall, just as Seonghwa did hours before.
*****
The next day, you wake up early enough to join the rest of the staff for dinner for the first time this week. There is a constant buzz on the first floor of the lobby with the smattering of conversations, children running, and radio blasting. 
You uneasily stand in the corner of the lodge. You felt severely underdressed in between the rich colors, sparkling diamonds, and cool attitudes. I should’ve stayed upstairs. Both of the day-shift co-workers are engaged in an exciting exchange with the middle-aged Park couples with the aid of a translating app, while your evening-shift co-worker and Grandfather Park make paper airplanes from the scrap sheets of night audit paper for the children. The chef shows off flaming pots and pans to Seonghwa’s cousin and her toddler. You shift in your spot and choose to occupy yourself by swirling the champagne around in your cup. 
Taking a sip, you decide to search for Grandmother Park to show her your completed sketch. Your eyes graze over the crowded lodge and find not Grandmother Park, but Seonghwa. He’s tucked away in the corner opposite of you, and like you, his hands play with a glass of red wine. He’s dressed in sleek, black trousers and a black see-through mesh shirt inside a black blazer. Aside from his thin, silver earrings, the only other silver you spot is a chain around his neck. You squint at the blur of silver under the mesh on Seonghwa’s chest. When you aren’t able to make out the shape of the pendant, you look back up at his face. A strand from his slicked, quaffed hair lays intentionally over his forehead. His eyes meet yours, and you dart your own away, continuing to look for his grandmother. 
“Hey! Are you joining us for dinner?” Seonghwa’s cousin walks up to you, drink in one hand, toddler in the other. 
“Hi! Yeah, I thought it would be nice to eat with everyone,” you respond. “Will your grandmother not be eating with us?”
She sets the toddler down to let her chase one of the many flying paper airplanes with the other children. “Oh, Grandmother’s a little tired from today. We dragged her all around town for hours, so she’ll be resting in her room during dinner,” she says, taking a sip of her drink. “But I wouldn’t worry. I’m sure she’ll be ordering room service just after we finish eating. She’s got impressive timing,” she takes another sip. 
Soon after, the chef is introducing the menu for the night, and the slightly drunk party responds eagerly at each course. After seating the Park family at the wooden slab with their meals, the employees begin to grab their own plates and seat themselves in the empty chairs. 
Plate in hand, you eye your seating options. Seonghwa’s cousin had a kid on either side of her. There goes that. There are empty seats between Grandfather Park and your day-shift co-worker. I’d rather not squeeze in between them. There is an empty seat between two children, who are busy tossing olives into each others’ mouths. No. There was an empty seat next to and across from Seonghwa, who was sitting at the end of the table. Would it be rude to eat at the front desk? Your evening shift co-worker pulls up an empty chair and sets it down in front of Seonghwa. He sits down and pats the chair next to him, smiling at you. What a savior. You take your filled plate and sit next to your evening-shift co-worker. 
Continuing a conversation from before, he asks, “Who are you taking the economics theory class with?” 
Seonghwa’s eyes follow your body as you sit down. Just like the night before, you ignore him and respond, “I think Maxwell? I’m not exactly sure. The department switches out professors last minute too often,” you keep your eyes on the plate. 
“I’m no stranger to that,” your co-worker laughs. “It doesn't matter who you take it with, just avoid Harby at all costs. Unless you really like group projects and making powerpoints.”
You let out a small laugh and start picking at your plate. The fancy arrangement of expensive ingredients was too unfamiliar to you. You look over and see your evening-shift co-worker devouring big bites of food. That was not the first dinner impression you want to make. Instead, you find yourself looking at Seonghwa’s hands. His slender fingers use the knife and fork to delicately slice into the food on his plate. You mirror his actions and start eating away at your plate.
You occasionally look up to see Seonghwa’s eyes trained on you. The moment your eyes meet, he flicks his own down to his plate or over to your co-worker. Ha, cute… what? In an attempt to stop your thoughts, you take a gulp of your refilled champagne and then one more. The chef spots your emptying cup and comes to refill it once more. 
You start to eat again and can feel Seonghwa keeping his eyes on you when he thinks you can’t see. You look up at him, trying to decipher his thoughts. 
“You know, I still might have some of my old notes for that class, if you want them, of course,” your evening-shift co-worker says to you, mouthful of food. 
“I’d really appreciate that,” you say, smiling at him. 
Seonghwa's utensils scrape harder against his plate. Jealousy? Your co-worker continues talking about Professor Harby’s strenuous syllabus and project deadlines, as you keep shifting your eyes between your plate, Seonghwa’s plate, and Seonghwa. You steal some more glances and see his furrowed eyebrows. Maybe admiration? When was the last time somebody stood up to him? Is he into that? He finishes his wine off in one swig. The chef’s sharp eyes catch it, and he comes to refill it. 
“Do you have anything stronger?” Seonghwa asks before the chef could pour any more wine into his cup. Anger, it was anger. Jealousy? Admiration? Who were you kidding? He was probably pissed at you for telling him off last night. He was only looking at you so often to memorize your face when submitting a formal complaint to the owners and to warn them that the Park family wouldn’t come back if you were still here. 
The sobering thought has you finishing the rest of your dinner quickly and steering clear of the alcohol. 
Later in the night, after the Park family has dissipated off into their rooms, you find yourself in the kitchen helping the chef dry off wet plates and stack them above the dishwasher. To get out of your own head, you force yourself to focus on what the chef is planning to prepare for tomorrow’s dinner after tonight’s success. Caramelized onion and bread soup with brûléed blue cheese, caramelized onion and bread soup with brûléed blue cheese you repeat in your head.
The shrill ring of the kitchen telephone stops the repetition. The chef leaves you alone to take the call, and you exhale deeply. It was probably nothing. You were just drunk, and your imagination was playing tricks on you. People can drink stronger alcohol without being mad. Right?
“We’ve got an order for room service for Room 6,” the chef says tiredly, looking at the washed and dried pots. Ticket between his fingers, he grabs the clean, wet utensils to begin on the order. Wow, Grandmother Park does have impressive timing. In minutes, the aroma of the clean dish soap and hot steam is replaced with butter, onions, and herbs. You finish drying the dishes and wait for the chef to complete the room service order. As he places the finishing touches and garnishes on the dish, you offer to deliver the food up to the room yourself.
“You’ve been working unbelievably hard, this is the least I can do,” you say, taking the plates from him and putting them on the delivery trolley. He gratefully thanks you and helps you load the trolley with napkins and utensils. You use the employee’s elevator to take yourself and the trolley to the second floor. Upstairs, you stand in front of Room 6 at the end of the hall. 
Suddenly, your completed drawing comes to mind. Leaving the trolley in front of the door, you run to your room to grab your canvas bag. You rip out the drawing from your sketchbook and run back in front of Room 6 to place it under the cloth-wrapped utensils. You throw the canvas bag near the stairs before gently knocking. 
For the second time tonight, in your search for Grandmother Park, you’ve come face-to-face with Seonghwa. 
You think you see the same surprise on his face, until he eyes the plates on the trolley and scrunches his nose. “This has mushrooms.”
You look down at the plate. You couldn’t even guess what was on the plate even if you tried. “Yes,” you say, safely.
“I said no mushrooms,” he crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the doorframe. 
Ignoring the way his hips slant, you pick up the order ticket. “You okayed the yellow onions, heavy cream, and brown crimini mushrooms when the chef asked,” said reading off the chef’s neat handwriting. You look back at him expectedly.
“No, I asked for everything but mushrooms,” his lips twist into a weird frown. “It’s a little ridiculous to mess those directions up. I thought I made it as clear as possible,” he says cynically. 
His arrogant posture and sardonic voice were really beginning to infuriate you. You did not want to be in a bad mood. Dinner had left you stressed beyond belief, your shift hadn’t even begun, and you hadn’t made a dent in drawing the grand fireplace in your sketchbook. Once again, you find yourself thinking fuck it. 
“Look, I didn’t order your food, and I didn’t make your food. I’m just here to deliver it to you. If there’s a problem, I’m more than willing to help you, but not if you keep treating me like the shit under your shoes.” You almost back-track and apologize for cursing, but then, Seonghwa let out the same deep chuckle he did on the day you first saw him. Twisting the knife further, he rolls his big, beautiful eyes before looking back at you with a bored expression. 
Great, he’s still an asshole. You let out a short sigh and slowly roll the trolley of food into his legs and further into the room. 
You turn around and make your way to the staircase. Fuck it to hell, this job was only temporary anyways. You pick up your crumpled canvas bag. But I get along with the rest of the Park family, so there’s no way the owners would be on me for not getting along with just Seonghwa, right? As much as you were trying to remain neutral, the lodge had really grown on you, and you were already looking forward to coming back next winter. You debate turning around and apologizing again, before Seonghwa calls out to you. 
“Wait,” you turn around to see a panicked Seonghwa. The expression looks unnatural and almost funny on his usually calm and collected face. “My… my grandmother can’t eat mushrooms. She’s allergic.”
Sighing, you make your way to his door once again. “Okay, I’ll have the chef prepare this without mushrooms,” you grab hold at the edge of the trolley and pull it out of the room and start towards the elevator. 
From inside, just as the doors are closing, you hear a small, “Thanks.”
Taglist: @aaasia111 , @atinytinaa , @yunho-mp3 , @iarayara , @chatsgotmytongue
Author's Note: I know I've posted a day earlier than intended, but I just wrapped up my last final for the semester with a better score than I was expecting today and decided to go ahead and release part II! Thank you to everyone who left super sweet comments and reblogged! Please tune in for part III, which comes out December 15th at 6:00 pm CST!!! (Bonus points for whoever can guess what show the sisters are watching!) Much love to you all <3
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ltbarnes · 3 months
Text
‘Tis the Damn Season
Stark U #6
Summary: It’s Christmas Eve, you’re too drunk, you’ve basically avoided Bucky and Steve for six months and the last person you’d want to meet at this party just happens to be yelling in your face. The panic attack is inevitable, really.
Pairing: college!Steve Rogers x reader, college!Bucky Barnes x reader, college!Sam Wilson x reader, college!Natasha Romanoff x reader
Word count: 7.8k
Warnings: so much angst, past SA, alcohol, talk about violence, Christmas celebrations, things finally start to happen, kissing :)
A/N: Happy holidays to anyone who celebrates and to those who don’t, I hope you have a good few days anyways <3 This is the first I’ve posted since July which is awful of me so sorry
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You didn't see them all summer. The day after your last exam was over, you bolted back to your hometown and spent the entire summer selectively ignoring messages from Bucky and Natasha and Steve and Sam asking what you were doing and how your summer was going and maybe you could all meet up and go somewhere and—
It's December now, and every goddamn day since June you have been trying to figure out if what Bucky said to you when you were sick was a fever-induced hallucination or if he really, actually, said that he wanted you to take his last name someday. It made you panic, because the entire spring term you tried to convince yourself that your feelings towards them were batshit crazy and any inkling to them feeling the same was a delusional reach, grasping for crumbs that in reality were just friendly gestures. And then he says that.
"She's just practicing her future last name, Stevie."
So, yeah...things have been weird. Three months have passed since classes started and none of you want to mention what happened right before summer break. Actually, with each day passing you feel more like maybe it was just a hallucination or a very vivid dream, because both Bucky and Steve act like it never even happened. Bucky even had his mouth latched onto some blonde sophomore at a dumb, stupid frat party on Halloween. You went home right after and cried for two hours. But it's not hard to conclude that even if there was some spark or connection or anything beyond friendship with either of them before summer, it has died out completely.
The subject will probably never be broached. You're too scared of confrontation and definitely too scared of revealing unreciprocated feelings for that to happen. The slightly tense atmosphere in the loft is entirely your fault—your lack of communication with anyone in the group during the summer has made them a little confused, you guess. You mostly spend time in your room, giving excuses of studying and talking with parents on the phone and 'I'm just tired, sorry'.
Spending too much time with Natasha scares you too, because she reads you so well and you don't want her to know how hurt and unhappily in love you are. She'll try to do something about it and then Steve and Bucky will catch on and then you will end up rejected and labeled as crazy, because who the fuck falls in love with two people?
That doesn't mean you've managed to avoid her. Living in the same apartment as her definitely makes that hard, but just the fact that she won't let you makes it impossible. Last week she even broke into your room when you had it locked, because apparently she knows how to pick a lock open in under ten seconds. She absolutely knows something is off, but so far she hasn't brought it up.
Natasha is the sole reason why you're now standing in the backyard of some rich kid's house just off campus, surrounded by smoke from cheap cigarettes and fairy lights hung up between the trees and one too many shots of vodka in your blood. It's December utterly and thoroughly—there's snow on the ground but people still haven't accepted the fact that wearing their short dresses and tank tops without jackets does not work anymore. Ice drops hangs from the tree where you stand, listening to Natasha talk with a drunken girl looking for her phone.
It's fun, sure. Not the worst party you've been to and not the best either. You talked to the girl you've been sitting next to in History class earlier for almost twenty minutes. Got free vodka. It's Friday and you don't have any exams to study for. None of that makes you forget that things aren't the same.
"Nat. Nat." You poke her shoulder repeatedly, obnoxiously probably, until she glances over her shoulder with a slight glare.
"What is it?"
"I'm gonna get 'nother drink. Inside," you tell her, pointing with your thumb towards a hedge even though it was meant to be the door. Natasha seems to understand anyway.
"Okay. Don't wander off too long. And come back here right after."
"Yes, ma'am." You give her a half-assed salute before turning around, swaying slightly in your step. It's the uneven and slippery surface of the snow-covered ground, you tell yourself.
There's a lot of people here, is what you note as you push yourself through the seemingly endless crowds of the living room. You kind of hate that they haven't played a single song you like and if Steve was here he would agree, because he doesn't listen to any music made after the internet was born. Bucky would then make fun of Steve and you would laugh and everything would be right in the world. Instead you're pressed to kitchen drawers of a dark kitchen, cheap vodka mixed with soda running down your throat.
The kitchen is crowded too, but either way it's a respite from whatever the hell's going on in the living room. Jumping up and down and calling it dancing (you were doing the same the hour before). You're too drunk to be miserable about everything happening in your life this entire term and much too drunk to feel the absolute atrocious taste of your drink.
In half an hour you will probably throw up and tomorrow will be spent nursing a horrible hangover, but those consequences seem insignificant right now. You just keep thinking about the image of Bucky shoving his tongue down someone's throat that wasn't yours. It was heartbreaking. That he's not here is a good thing, because you'd either witness the same thing again or actually bring it up to him, and that's much worse. God knows it's only a matter of time before Steve does the same thing.
Someone pushes into you, forcing the liquid from your cup to spill from the confines of the red plastic onto your dress. It's black, so it doesn't really matter, but the alcohol still seeps through the fabric until it reaches your skin.
"Shit, fuck—"
Your hand tries to somehow dry your dress by fanning the fabric, which obviously doesn't help very much, and the paper towels placed on the counter in front of you escape your drunken mind completely.
Fresh air and icy winter winds are the only options, so you push through and stumble into people on your way outside. It takes a lot longer than it should. You can't really see much considering the dizziness and darkness inside, but somehow, magically, you are eventually dragging your way towards Natasha who stands in the same place as before.
"Nat. Natty—I spilled. Look."
The black dress with the now wet patch is lifted towards her by your hands, highlighted for her to see. You sway as you tell her.
"Jesus, you can barely stand straight," Natasha answers with a stabling hand to your shoulder, shaking her head to herself instead of focusing on the very urgent fact that you spilled on yourself.
Natasha turns to the girl she's talking to, saying something you can't bother to decipher, before stepping aside with a guiding arm around you.
"We gotta get you home before you embarrass yourself for real," she mumbles underneath her breath.
"I heard that," you whisper, a loud hiccup following. Whoops.
She rolls her eyes, fishing her phone up from her pocket.
"Who—who you writing? To?" you ask, slightly aware that your sentences lack correct structure but not really caring. As long as the message comes across, right?
"I'm texting Steve. I can't drive and you sure as hell can't."
Even in your state, panic instantly sets in over the mention of his name even though you live in the same goddamn apartment.
"Nooo. No Steve."
Your hand grasps for her phone. Nat pulls it away from your reach much quicker than you can comprehend.
"Yes Steve. You're a mess and he's the only one with the patience to take care of this level of drunk. I don't care that you're avoiding them for some stupid goddamn reason," she tells you.
"Nat," you whine. "He can't see me. I spilled!"
She just glares at you. "I swear to god, Y/n...nobody cares that you spilled your drink. I can't even see it."
"I'm so drunk!"
"Yeah, I know. Just—just stay here, okay? I'm going to get you some water so you can sober up by the time your precious Steve comes for us."
Natasha is heading inside before you can process her words. Waiting in place for a few minutes turns into an eternity in your mind. She should know better than to leave you unattended and then expect you to stay—really, it's her own fault. You will accept no blame if Nat gets mad at you for going inside again. It's cold and you need to go to the bathroom. Also, you're mad at her. Telling Steve to come get you? That's just...embarrassing.
Once again you're shouldering your way past people on about the same level of intoxication as you. There's a bad remix of a Christmas song playing loudly. Makes you wanna punch whoever's phone is connected to the speaker. The bathroom is so, so far away. It's something the architect of this house should've thought of before he put it at the very end of this long hallway you're currently making your way through, but clearly he didn't have you in mind.
"Fuck! Watch where you're going, asshole," some girl seethes at you as your shoulder nudges against hers. A nudge is an exaggeration—you brushed against it at most. She's probably an aggressive drunk, that's all.
You don't answer, instead fumbling for the door handle to what you believe might be the bathroom. Some couple is making out in here, the girl with her ass planted on the edge of the bathtub and the guy nearly devouring her face. Doesn't look very pleasant, if you're honest.
"Out. I need to pee."
Your hands find their way to their shoulders, ushering the lovesick pair out of the room without much protest from either of them. They're still making out as they walk out.
Despite your less than sober state, you manage to remember to lock the door after they leave. Some of the mascara that previously inhabited your lashes has moved down to rest under your eyes. You rub it away, smudging it slightly, but it just makes you look a little more like one of those cool girls you always see on campus. It will do.
You kind of want to throw up, but decide against it. That hasn't happened since you were a freshman, and you'd like to keep it that way. Staring at yourself in the mirror occupies your time in the bathroom instead, swaying slightly with your hands placed on the cold sink. If Steve saw you now he would be so disappointed. At least you imagine he would be—that fatherly look on his face as he tells you how you need to be more mindful with your alcohol consumption. Did you even watch who poured your drink? Never go anywhere alone at a party. Especially not a frat one. You know better than this, Y/n.
Steve's imaginary voice is interrupted by someone banging on the door, shouting for you to hurry the fuck up. It's been over ten minutes, but to you it just feels like three, and Natasha has been looking for you ever since she returned to the garden with a glass of water in her hand and no one to give it to. It's not her banging on the door, unfortunately, but instead a dickhead guy who has no patience. Can't a girl spend some time alone in the bathroom doing nothing anymore?
The guy glares at you as you push the door open, stumbling out into the crowded hallway while paying him no mind. It's dark save for the red LED-lights plastered on the walls, making it feel like a seedy dive bar instead of a seedy house. You don't see much.
"Hey! Hey, you—the girl with the black dress!"
Someone pushes their way past the people talking and making out and leaning against the walls, shoving through them as he searches for your attention. Of course, you don't really think it's you he's after. Half of the people at this party are wearing black dresses.
A clammy hand finds purchase on your shoulder, halting you in your less than gracious steps and turning you around with ease. Head tilted back, gaze running upwards until they settle on the face of a quite attractive guy. He doesn't look pretty happy to see you. You're not very happy to see him either.
The blood drains from your face, stealing away all that alcohol-induced heat within a second as his curly hair and green eyes look down at you with that same contempt he had when Sam dragged him away from the kitchen almost a year ago. You had hoped you never had to see him again. It was a naive thing to wish for.
"Y/n, right?" he asks bitterly. You don't answer, but he takes your silence as a yes. It was probably a rhetorical question anyway. His slightly crooked nose was perfectly straight the last time you saw him. His face is committed to your memory, burned in to taunt you on sleepless nights and everytime an unknown man walks a little too closely when you're out alone. "Your little boyfriend broke my fucking nose. You know that?"
Another rhetorical question. Definitely more threatening. Might be the tight grip he has on your arm too. Either way, his mere presence has apparently stripped away your ability to breathe normally. It feels like you've been running to the point of nausea, dark spots dancing before your eyes as he shakes you in attempt to get an answer.
"You ruined my fucking reputation. For what? I barely touched you. Such a sensitive fucking bitch, going around telling everyone that..." His voice trails off, ushering you into a quiet corner when he realizes people are staring. "Got nothing to say now, huh? Been so good at running your fucking mouth before, haven't you?"
"Let me go," you whisper, voice wavering. You don't sound assertive at all, instead weak and fearful. It's what you feel, as an upbeat, slightly bad cover rendition of "All I Want For Christmas" booms through the house. Girls shrieking in excitement over in the living room reaches your ears. You would have joined them if you weren't currently cornered by the guy who assaulted you in your own kitchen a year ago.
"No, we're going to fucking talk. What the fuck were you doing, going around saying shit like that about me to everyone?"
"I...I didn't..." Your lips part between words, breathing out shakily, trying to articulate sentences long enough to make sense. Why can't you speak? Why can't you even think?
"You didn't what?" he seethes. "You're such a fucking bitch, you know that? Acts all innocent and hides behind her friends. My nose is fucking crooked forever because of that fuckhead you sent after me."
Is it the alcohol that renders you this goddamn useless? There's just tears springing to your eyes, unable to say anything in defense of yourself. Can't even walk away.
He pushes you against the wall, knocking the breath out of you. To other people it probably looks like you're hooking up. At least that's what you hope they think, because otherwise you want to wonder why no one is intervening.
"Joshua, please let me go," you tell him again, even more pathetic this time. You're crying now, curled in on yourself in attempt to make yourself as small as possible.
"Fuck, you're so—"
"She told you to let her go."
The assertive, familiar tone booms through the hallway. It doesn't really, can probably only be heard by the people around you, but it feels like it when Steve's tall figure pushes through with hasty steps towards where you and Joshua stand, followed by a glaring Bucky with his jaw clenched so fucking tightly. A sob of relief is drawn from your lips, muffled by the back of your hand.
Joshua steps back instantly. Kind of funny to think that he's so scared of those two, and sad to think that he only respects a 'no' when it comes from men.
"Nice nose job," Bucky speaks up, pointing at his own nose as he stares at Joshua's crooked one, courtesy of the damn good punch he managed to land with his left fist all those months ago.
"Fuck you," Joshua growls, taking a step forward in attempt to appear more threatening or something. He doesn't really succeed—both Bucky and Steve towers over him in both length and build, unrelenting in their stance. As if they're stone walls keeping out the enemy.
Steve rolls his his eyes, shaking his head with a sigh. "Just get out of here. Don't go near her ever again, you hear me? Bucky's glad to fix your nose otherwise. Break it right back. Can't promise the result will be very good, though."
Bucky stands slightly behind Steve, raising an eyebrow in Joshua's direction that tells him there's not even a trace of a lie in the blonde giant's statement.
"You—fuck this." Joshua throws his hands in the air, aiming the most distasteful glare over his shoulder in your direction, before pushing past Steve and Bucky with a shove.
Your body instantly deflates, the tension melting off your limbs as you close your eyes and lean back against the wall. Gentle, firm hands instantly reach your cheeks, your arms, searching for any trace Joshua might have left behind on your body.
"Hey, hey. Y/n, are you okay? Did he touch you? Sweetheart, look at me."
Bucky's voice draws you out of the anxious, panicked state you slipped into, fluttering your eyelids open to see his worried frown and an equally worried Steve looming behind him. Wet cheeks and red-rimmed eyes greet them, pupils dilated from the alcohol.
"Y/n, are you hurt? How long have you two been talking?" Steve adds, looming over you in such a way that his large frame blocks out any of the colorful lights plastered on the walls.
They already know you're drunk—Natasha was the one to call them here to get you, after all. Maybe your silence and obvious intoxication makes it clear to them after a couple of seconds that an answer from you is a few minutes away, a few miles of distance from this foggy, packed house. Nothing more is said or requested from you. Instead your trembling form is led away and out into the biting cold by gentle hands belonging to your friends. Even your slight shock can't shield you from freezing your ass off as soon as you get out into the fresh air again, teeth beginning to chatter within the second step on tightly packed snow.
"What the—where the hell have you been? I swear to god, Y/n, I was gone for two minutes! I've been looking for you everywhere!" an angry Natasha yells, running perfectly towards the three of you down the slippery lawn to where Steve is currently helping you into the backseat of his car.
"Nat," Steve says, giving her a pleading look that silently tells her it's not the time for a scolding.
"What? I told her to stay put when I went to get her a glass of water and she just disappeared out of nowhere. Slippery motherfucker while drunk, I swear she'll be the death of me—"
"Nat," he repeats, sternly this time. In that tone only he masters, silencing even the most eager tongues with a single exhale. "She met Joshua. And she's not okay. So please, leave your yelling for tomorrow and get in the car."
Steve holds the passenger door open, gesturing for the seat beside Bucky. He's turning the key, letting the car warm up properly while he clutches the wheel tightly. Natasha's irritated frown turns into a concerned one, nodding silently before slipping inside. Steve closes the door shut behind her.
You lean your head against the frost-covered window, fogged up by your breath two inches away from it, and close your eyes. Steve leans over you, reaching for the belt and fastens it over your torso. You forgot. He never does.
It's no surprise, doesn't startle you despite your absentminded state, when his warm hand cups your cheek, turns your head to face him. Soft, blue gaze and ridiculously long lashes. It's nothing but contrasting against the clouds released from your mouths with each breath—warm, concerned...loving? Maybe.
"Are you okay?" he whispers, thumb rubbing over your cheek.
You nod. "Yes. I am now."
Bucky puts his foot on the gas, turns on the blinker, and pulls away from the curb, out onto the streets. It's nearly soundless. The usual rumble from wheels against road is cushioned by the snow.
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"This was a mistake. Sorry, I can't—" Sam gags, moving his head out of the bathroom before returning his presence within a few seconds. "You're a real shitty guard, Nat. Why'd you let her drink this much?"
All four of your roommates are gathered in the bathroom, surrounding you as if you're a newly born lion cub in a zoo, while you puke your guts out into the toilet. Steve is kneeling on the floor beside you, a comforting hand rubbing your back, while Bucky sits a few feet away with a glass of water in hand, ready for whenever you need it.
"Fuck you. You weren't there—she was like a goddamn ghost, just slipping away everytime I blinked. Looked fucking everywhere for her. 'S not my fault," Nat answers, residing on the floor of the shower in lack of space.
"Not true," you murmur in answer, your voice echoing off the ceramic surrounding you.
You're pretty much done throwing up, it's just the exhaustion following that's keeping you slumped over on the bathroom tile. Your hand stretches out in Bucky's direction, reaching for the glass of water that's gulped down within a few seconds.
"Careful. Gonna get sick again if you do it this fast," Bucky says, unable to help himself from brushing away the stray drops of water running down your chin.
The gesture is nothing new from him. He did it when you were sick all those months ago too, and you haven't forgotten it at all. His thumb gently rubbing over your skin as if you're precious, something deserving of gentleness, is engraved into your mind. You're thankful for getting most of the alcohol out of your system, because you might not have remembered this moment in the morning if not. Fuck it if you forgot the way his pupils widen just slightly, as if he didn't mean to, as if he couldn't help himself.
"I'm fine," you whisper in answer, clearing your throat. "Got it all out."
"Good." Steve's hand moves up from your back to your head, stroking it for just a second before withdrawing his touch. "Let's get you to the couch."
"I don't wanna go to the couch. Wanna be in my bed." You're pouting. Maybe there is some trace of alcohol left in you.
"Steve and Buck will feel much less like creepy stalkers if they stare at you sleeping on the couch instead of hovering around your bedroom all night like a bunch of pervs," Natasha speaks up. A snort follows after, as if it was a joke and not a statement. Definitely tipsy too, despite unwilling to admit such a weakness.
Steve raises a reprimanding eyebrow Natasha's way, telling her to shut her mouth with just his gaze. She smirks in answer.
"Don't listen to her. A fucking liar," Bucky remarks, but there's still some form of amusement in his expression. He can't even deny the statement—he is going to watch over you. Doesn't really matter if it's in the living room or in your bedroom. "Now let's get you up. C'mon."
With a push from your arms against the cold tile, you're standing on two legs again. Steve is hovering his hand near your back, ready to support if the vodka decides to topple you over. But you're fine—just tired now.
For ten minutes it feels things are back to normal again. On the living room couch, nestled in between them, your head leaning on Steve's shoulder as a stupid Hallmark Christmas movie plays on the tv. Sam and Natasha are in their rooms sleeping, and for a few moments you forget why you kept your distance. Everything would have been good if this is how the night would end. If Steve didn't have to address the past six months.
"I've missed this. With us," Steve whispers as he strokes your shoulder absentmindedly, like it's second nature to him to have his hands on your skin. "You've been so distant lately. For months, Y/n."
The room instantly becomes tense enough to make you nauseous. A clearing of your throat, an attempt to sit up out of Steve's hold and away from this conversation that you'd much rather avoid is futile—it's instantly stopped by Bucky's hand on your chest that pushes you right back.
"No," he says sternly. "You're gonna sit right here, sweetheart, and tell us why you've barely let us see you since fall term started. 'Cause it's sure as fuck not something I take lightly. Why have you avoided us?"
You look away, shaking your head to yourself as you try to talk yourself down. You will not break. You will not confess a single thing. You are going to act like everything is fine and you are not currently freaking out being sandwiched between the only two men you would gladly be sandwiched between under different circumstances than this.
"What are you even talking about?" you answer meekly. It's clear as soon as the words come out of your mouth that no one is falling for your innocent act, not even sweet, naive Steve. Then again, you're doing a particularly bad job. "Both of you think I've been distant?"
"Cut the bullshit, Y/n. If we've done something wrong, just say so." Bucky bites his cheek, glancing down for just a second, but it's enough to let his vulnerability slip. He's hurt.
A wave of guilt instantly washes over your body, an unusual feeling. During all these months of avoiding any interaction with Bucky and Steve besides the necessary ones, you didn't think that they'd actually mind your absence that much. They might not be hopelessly in love with you like you are with them, but they're still your friends. Friends miss each other.
"Or if it's something personal, you can tell us, you know? Is it anxiety, or are you feeling generally low, or...?" Steve chips in, trying to drown out Bucky's accusatory tone.
"No, no...I'm not depressed, Steve. And none of you have done anything wrong, I promise," you say hastily, shutting down their concerns as quickly as possible while trying to buy yourself time to come up with an excuse. "I just...needed some alone time."
Bucky rolls his eyes, shaking his head. Sassy man. "Bullshit again. You've spent a bunch of time with Natasha. Sam, too. It's us you're avoiding." He points to himself and Steve with his hand. "It's been almost six months, Y/n. What the hell's your problem?" He pushes himself off the couch, standing up and blocking your view of the tv. It's as if his frustration is all contained while sitting down.
"Bucky," Steve scolds, glaring up at his friend. He's not appreciating the tone at all, that's for sure.
"There's no problem, Bucky," you tell him, shaking your head. Trying to dismiss this entire conversation before you reveal too much.
"No! Y/n, I'm going fucking crazy! This is the first time you've even let me touch you in half a year!" Bucky yells, a pleading tone in his voice that breaks your heart just a little. Because it's true. You have barely even hugged since June. You've barely talked for more than five minutes at a time.
"Don't yell at her, for god's sake, Bucky," Steve adds, his hands on your shoulders and ready to get up from the couch any second.
"What the hell's going on with you, huh?!" Bucky continues, ignoring Steve's statement. His eyes are solely focused on you, void of the usual softness. There's just anger. "Cause if you can't stand us, then tough fucking luck. I can have your fucking things moved out by tomorrow for all I care. Can move right into Walker's dorm. Bet he'd accept you with open fucking arms if you get to your knees and—“
The drop of your heart down to your stomach can almost be heard, an echoing, hollow sound. You're sure of it. Bucky shuts his mouth, as if he realizes what exactly was about to come out of it. What is not even a second of silence feels like a whole minute, before Steve shoots up from his seat beside you and grabs Bucky by the collar, rattling the whole room with the force in which he nearly tackles Bucky against the wall with. The tangy taste of iron starts to fill your mouth, your teeth biting down on your lip hard enough to draw blood. There's tears lingering in your eyes but you can't hold them back, not anymore.
"You don't fucking talk to her like that, you bast—"
"I love you! It’s ‘cause I fucking love you guys!” you yell, a pathetic sob marring the words. “So I’m fucking sorry that I’ve avoided you two but I’m trying to get over these goddamn—these feelings, but I can’t, okay! I can’t!”
The bitter delivery is punctuated by the sleeve of your sweater wiping away the tears furiously, cutting Steve off and drawing both of their wild eyes towards your figure now standing up, just a minute away from a complete breakdown. You don't even process the fact that Steve cursed. It would've been teased about endlessly in any other situation.
"I will go. I'll leave if that's what you want," you seethe with a voice so unsteady that it's almost unbearable to listen to. "But I don’t hate any of you. I don’t, and I get why you’re mad. But fuck you, Bucky. Fuck you for saying that.”
More tears fall. It's futile to wipe them away when they'll be replaced the second after. You want to say more, hit Bucky where it hurts, but you cannot get the goddamn words to form on your lips. Opening your mouth and closing it again, shaking your head, comes before hastily walking towards your room and locking yourself inside without giving them a chance to answer.
As soon as the door is slammed shut, your hand comes up to your mouth to muffle the sobs. Sinking down to the floor as if you’re in a movie, forehead resting against your knees. The rate of your heartbeats could be considered dangerously high, but you just blurted out a whole love confession for two of your roommates in the midst of a fight. How the hell could everything turn to shit so quickly? Half an hour ago all of you were joking around in the bathroom, and now you're not sure you have the courage to face any of them again.
It's a rash, impulsive decision fueled by anger and betrayal and shame, but you rush over to your closet and pull out an overnight bag that's soon filled to the brim with enough things to last you a few days. You're crying the entire time.
When you pass the living room again, Bucky isn't there anymore. But Steve is. Barely a glance his way is spared, with hasty steps heading towards the hallway. You remind yourself of a furious toddler when you angrily put on your jacket, stick your feet into your winter boots. The bag is slung over your shoulder, hand resting on the door handle.
"Don't go. Y/n, please don't leave."
Steve stands at the other side of the hallway, a broken down expression on his pretty face.
"Bucky went out of line, but he didn't mean it, I swear. He's just too prideful to admit it," he continues. You shake your head, biting down on your bottom lip. "Please, honey. It’s Christmas Eve. It won’t be the same if you’re not here tomorrow.”
"I just need some space," you whisper, brushing away a stray tear with the sleeve of your jacket. You’re so embarrassed and hurt that you can barely look him in the eye. "I can't be in the same apartment as him right now."
Steve sighs, looking about ready to just throw you over his shoulder to get you to stay. But he won't do that. That's not Steve. So instead he glances down to the floor, shaking his head to himself.
“Did you mean it?” he asks softly. “The thing about—you said you loved us. Did you mean it?”
It takes a few seconds before you nod tentatively, sniffling and keeping your gaze on a spot past Steve. He doesn’t say anything.
Steve gathers courage enough to walk up to where you stand by the door, grabbing your cheeks with his hands, thumb running over the tear-stained skin gently. For a few moments, he just looks at you. Loud thoughts running amok in that perfect head of his.
“Nothing I say right now will do my feelings any justice, so I’m gonna save any big speeches for tomorrow. But just…stay. It’s 2 am, it’s freezing out and you’re still drunk. I don’t want you out there on the streets alone. I need you to stay, even if it’s only for your own safety. Don’t have to talk to any of us if you don’t want to.”
His words makes you nod automatically. All it took was his hands on your skin and the flicker of hope his words ignite in your chest, and you conceded within a second. No hesitation left in that exhausted body of yours. He‘s not saying outright that your feelings are requited, but it doesn’t feel like a rejection either. He doesn’t seem disgusted by your confession, by the knowledge that you’re in love with both him and his best friend.
“Good girl. Let’s just—let’s get you to bed, okay?”Steve tells you, squeezing your shoulder gently. With your confirmation in form of another silent nod, he nestles the bag out of your grip and takes off the jacket from your torso.
The bed feels so soft and warm and comforting when you lie down. Steve tucks you in. It’s achingly sweet and you don’t really deserve it after avoiding him and Bucky like that for so long, but he looks out for you nonetheless.
“Steve,” you whisper, drawing his gaze up to meet yours. “I’m sorry. For being so distant.”
He shakes his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You were scared,” Steve answers. “Don’t worry about anything, okay? Get some sleep. You’ve had a tough night, Y/n.”
The softest of smiles grazes your lips, puppy eyes gazing up at Steve. Your wonderful, caring, perfect Steve.
“Are you alright? It must’ve been hard meeting Joshua again. And what Bucky said, it…it was far from okay.”
“I will be,” you whisper.
He nods, observes your face for a few seconds. Leans down to press a kiss to your forehead—what kind of college guy even does that? And then he leaves the room, turning the light off behind him.
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You’re woken up by a red headed, crazy woman sitting on top of you over the sheets, shaking your shoulders.
“Wake up, fuckhead. You’re gonna open the presents I got you,” Natasha urges, grinning down at you as you blink your eyes open, groaning.
“Fuckhead?” you ask, a tired chuckle from your lips as Natasha climbs off the bed.
“Yes. Don’t like it, huh?” she teases. “C’mon. The guys are already waiting.”
With slow steps and a loud yawn, the slightest trace of a hangover plaguing your body, you drag yourself out into the living room. Around the ugly, little tree that Sam insisted on cutting down from the campus gardens last week (he almost got arrested by the security guards) the three boys sit. Your gaze falls to the floor, scratching the skin right above your lip nervously, once Bucky looks up at you. Can’t really read his expression, but you figure you’ll lay the fight aside for the day. It’s Christmas, after all.
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” Steve says, urging you to sit down next to him right there on the carpet. You offer a soft smile, and an even softer ‘Merry Christmas’ back. You’re still unsure about yesterday. Despite there being no rejection from either of them, the uncertainty is kind of killing you. A pit of anxiety rests in your stomach, an uneasy feeling corrupting every cell as you sit down on the floor next to Steve.
Not even ten minutes later, the living room is drowning in a sea of wrapping paper. Natasha went overboard with the gift shopping this year, it seems like, but her absent father is also some kind of Russian oligarch or something so she tends to use up as much of his money as she can. You’re not complaining.
The special edition of The Hobbit, signed by the director of the movie, that you managed to get on eBay and cost you a fucking fortune is received with a whispered ‘thank you’ from Bucky. He holds it in his hands tightly, staring down at the book without a word, and you don’t know if he’s happy for it. Maybe he’s not happy with anything touched by you at this moment. He hasn’t gotten you a gift, it seems like, or maybe he threw it in the trash and burned it yesterday.
Steve got you three books that he’d heard you say you wanted months ago, and a dainty silver necklace with a bee pendant hanging from it. “You know, uh, I usually call you ‘honey’ and I thought it was a little funny, maybe. But I can exchange it if you don’t like it. It’s no problem,” he had said, even though there were tears of gratitude in your eyes. Your arms were thrown around him a second later, hugging him tightly as you thanked him profusely for the most thoughtful gift.
Now you’re leaning your back against the couch, still on the floor, watching as Sam and Natasha are tinkering with his new Nintendo Switch that he got from her (overboard with the gifts, as previously mentioned). He’s so happy it almost makes you zoned out as you watch his childlike excitement. It’s nice to see the two of them so calm and sweet with each other too. Usually bickering and getting on each other’s nerves all the time otherwise.
“Y/n, can we talk?”
Your head tilts back, looking up at Bucky standing nervously in front of you, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. There’s a deep hesitation within you, a pride that wants to say no and remain in your angry state forever without confrontation. But it’s Bucky. You hate this animosity between the two of you, the tension. Despite being pissed off and hurt and afraid that he doesn’t want you, you can’t say no, so you nod and push yourself up to a stand.
Bucky closes the door to his room behind him gently, clearing his throat and looking at anything but you. A sigh comes out of his mouth, shaking his head, before he parts his lips to speak.
“I’m so sorry, Y/n. What I said was disgusting and unforgivable and so fucking out of line. You didn’t deserve that at all. So out of proportion to what I was mad at you for,” Bucky says, running the palm of his calloused hand over his face.
“It was,” you answer honestly. There’s no use in denying that what Bucky said was stupidly hurtful. He nods, looking away from your gaze.
“It made me angry thinking that you ignored me, because at first I didn’t know what I had done, you know? And then I thought for a few months that me and Steve had been too overbearing and that you tried to keep your distance because you thought we were annoying or something. But that’s not the case. I should’ve known better by now than to think that you would do anything to purposely hurt us.”
You gulp, nodding, looking down to the floor. “I’m sorry too,” you whisper. “I didn’t know that you guys thought I had something against you until last night. Obviously, you…you know now that’s not the case,” you tell him, embracing yourself with your arms. “But last night, Bucky, I…you hurt me. I know you were angry, but saying those kind of things isn’t okay.”
“I know that. God, I know, Y/n. I’m so sorry. It was fucking childish of me, retorting to saying that Jo—“ Bucky shakes his head, hands coming up to tug at the roots of his hair. “And it felt stupid giving you that present in front of everyone, so now you think I didn’t get you anything, too, and—“
“You got me a present?”
“Yes. Of course I did, Y/n. But I saw how much Natasha had bought and that necklace Steve gave you and my gift felt stupid in comparison to that. Just didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone,” he says, a little awkwardly. A little boy giving his mother a drawing he made in kindergarten, he reminds you of.
“Bucky…that doesn’t matter. I don’t care what you have gotten me. I’ll like it no matter what if it’s from you.”
He shifts in his place, contemplating something, before picking up a sweater on his bed, revealing a wrapped present hidden underneath. Bucky took the gift from the pile without anyone noticing before, throwing it into his room so no one would see.
With a tentative hand, he reaches it out to you. Doesn’t watch as you unwrap it, instead biting on his thumbnail. You reprimand him for it, and the hand returns to his side.
“Is it a book?” You run your fingers over the cover, a hardcover with nothing on it. Blank.
“It’s a photo album. Shit, it’s stupid. I don’t know,” Bucky answers, looking about ready to snatch it back, but you open the first page up before he has a chance to.
A picture of you, Natasha, Sam and Steve on the first page. It was taken last year in November. You’re all running after one of Sam’s model planes, fall leaves singling down from the sky. It’s a beautiful picture.
“4 grown idiots running after a kid’s toy - November 12th, 2022”
“It’s just pics I’ve taken with my phone, so it’s nothing artsy or anything, but…uhm.” Bucky runs his hand through his short, brown hair.
You flip the page. You’re looking out through the kitchen window, the sun shining through and casting shadows over the room and your figure curled up on the chair.
“Angel in the sun - March 25th, 2023”
A soft chuckle is drawn from your lips, resisting the urge to run your finger over the photo, but you don’t want to smudge the blank paper. On the same page there’s another picture of you with your arms around Natasha’s shoulders, nearly wrestling her to the ground with the force of your hug. You look so happy.
Bucky looks nervous as you glance up from the photo album at him. “Know it’s not much, but…yeah.”
A loud huff of hair escapes Bucky as you throw your arms around him. It takes a second or two for him to hug you back, but he soon has his chin resting on top of your head, arms around your waist.
“I love it,” you whisper, holding onto him tightly enough to constrict his breathing.
“You do? I can take it back if you don’t like it.”
Your grip around him releases, arms coming down to your sides so you can take a step back and look him in the eyes. “This is everything, Bucky,” you say softly, feeling a lump in your throat that can turn into tears any second. “The fact that you took the time to make this for me is just…it’s the most thoughtful thing ever. And these pictures are so beautiful, Bucky, and just the thought of you sitting down and glueing them onto the page and writing captions and—“
His lips against yours. Oh god. Oh my god, Bucky has his lips pressed against yours. Gentle hands hold your jaw, his head leaning down to compensate for the height difference, and Bucky Barnes is kissing you with urgency and desperation.
The shock is enough to make you unable to return the kiss. He seems to take your surprise as rejection despite the fact that you literally yelled ‘I love you’ in his face last night. Bucky steps away and takes his hands off your skin, running his hand over his mouth, shaking his head.
“I’m so sorry, don’t know what the hell came over me, I—“
On your tiptoes, fingers grabbing his sweatshirt to pull him closer, and you nearly smash your lips against his to shut up any of that doubt he carries. It’s not a graceful or very romantic kiss, but by the sound akin to a very mild growl that comes from Bucky and his hands sliding down to your waist to pull you closer, you guess he likes it anyway.
It doesn’t last more than 20 seconds. A harsh knock on the door to Bucky’s room interrupts it, forcing you part from his lips and get down from your tiptoes again.
“What the hell are you doing in there? C’mon! I’ve made goddamn Christmas brunch!” Sam yells, drawing a soft chuckle from your lips as your forehead meets Bucky’s chest.
With a soft smile, nothing said, you back away from Bucky. Slipping out of his room and leaving him there all flustered and semi-hard from a 20 second make-out session. The first ever between you, though. He thinks it’s pretty understandable.
As Bucky follows you into the kitchen, sitting down at the table by Steve, he leans towards his best friend and whispers into his ear low enough to make anyone else unable to hear.
“I kissed her, Stevie,” Bucky says with a shit eating grin on his face. “I finally fucking kissed her.”
The blond man turns his head enough to look over at Bucky, the red flush of his cheeks and ears enough to tell anyone what’s been said.
“Are you serious?” Steve asks.
“I kissed her and she kissed me back, I swear. I gave her that photo album I’ve worked on for weeks. She said she loved it, Steve.”
“I guess it’s my turn then, isn’t it?” Steve answers, a shy smile on his lips as the two of them watch you sit down opposite of them at the table, glancing through the window out at the heavy snowfall. Natasha puts a newly toasted bagel on your plate.
“Go get our girl, Stevie.”
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mika-no-sekai-blog · 3 months
Text
Christmas with batboys
🎀Merry Christmas, everyone 🎀
I hope you'll enjoy this
Warnings: slightly spicy content
Rhysand:
Family dinner and celebration afterward is a must. It's tradition you all are looking forward
Last night Rhysand mentioned he has a special surprise for you, but he didn't want to share any details
And so you are waiting, excited
After opening the gifts when everybody is in good mood and bit drunken, Rhys finds your eyes and inconspicuously disappears to the hallway
You follow him
He leads you upstairs to your shared bedroom, playful smirk on his lips
"Finally alone," he grins closing the door behind you
You seriously can't wait any longer
"Will I get the special surprise you mentioned?"
He gives you a feral smile, lazily walking to you, hands in his pockets
"Don't be impatient, darling. You know that bad girls don't get presents."
After few playful kisses, slapping your ass he sends you to the bathroom to do your night routine
When you come out in a sexy underwear that Rhys prepared for you, you find him lying on the bed, watching you with shining eyes and smirking
Rhys is reclining on his side, completely naked except of a big red ribbon in his crotch, his muscles on full display
Your mouth waters, wetness between your legs growing
"Red suits you."
He's the most sexy male you've ever seen and he is fully aware of it
"Time to open your last present, darling," he purrs grinning wide
Let's say that the rest of night was full of Christmas themed games, but your most favourite was definitely "Santa's coming"
You will hardly ever forget the amount of orgasms this Santa gave you
Cassian:
When Rhysand disappears with his mate family party is over and Cassian is totally drunken or at least that's what you think
The moment you close the door of your room, he is sober, grinning at you with expectation
His eyes are darkening with lust
"Did you have a fun, doll?"
"Yeah, it was a lot of fun."
"But night is still young," wicked grin appears on his face
"How about you put in use the present I gave you," he pulls out the mentioned gift from behind his back
You blush fiercely. You haven't noticed he took it with him
When you opened it sitting with everyone under Christmas tree, you were really happy your friends were fully occupied with their own presents and didn't see contents of the box
Cassian opens the box and his strong fingers carefully catch and take out the sexy strapless bodice
It's red with gold details and white fur around the edges, red miniskirt with fur on its hem attached to it
There's also a thong made of strips and a small piece of lace in the same colour
"Will you wear this for me, doll?" One of his brows rises up and his grin turns feral
Your face is in flames, but you disappear to the bathroom to change
When you come out Cassian waits for you only in boxers
His eyes look you up and down, wings rustle with excitement, muscles of his broad chest tighten
"I knew it will suit you. Let me take a closer look, goddess," he pushes off of the wall and spreads his arms
You make a spin, so that he can see you from all sides
You can feel his gaze to caress your half naked ass, the skirt is too short to your taste, but you don't mind it when you see his arousal
That night you did it on every surface in your room and sadly several pieces of furniture were destroyed in the process
Next day you can't sit nor walk 😉
Azriel:
Azriel waits until everyone disappears and leaves the two of you alone
The house falls silent, fairy lights on Christmas tree and all around the room are lighten up, fire crackles in the hearth
You two take pillows and spread them on the floor in front of the hearth, shadows fish out glasses and bottle of wine
You make yourself comfortable
Azriel reaches to the shadows and pulls out small box
"Open it," he purrs to your ear leaving light kiss on the sensitive spot under it, his deep voice makes your heart skip a few beats
Carefully you accept and open it
On a satin pillow rest small angel with spread wings, its hands on chest holding blue gem of the same colour as Azriel's siphons
"Angel for my angel," he cooes
"It's beautiful, Az," you kiss his cheek. "I have something for you, too."
His eyes shine in excitement
Shadows bring your present from the kitchen and settle round box into Azriel's hands
"I know how much you love them," you smile while he opens the lid and finds his favourite strawberries in chocolate
"You noticed," he chuckles and eats one. "The best," he moans
"How could I not," you laugh at his expression and let him rest his head in your lap
You feed him the strawberries until box is empty, promising to make him more anytime he'd like
You spend next few hours talking until both of you become too tired to talk anymore
You quietly sit in your mate's embrace, your back pressed to his muscular chest, listening to his heartbeats while watching the dancing flames
Azriel's hands occasionally rub at your upper arms, caress your face, fingers draw circle on your body
He leans down kissing your cheek
You turn your head to the side giving him better access and his lips slowly travel to yours
His kiss is gentle at first, waves of love travel through your bond
After a while he changes your positions, now you both are lying on pillows
Azriel deepens the kiss, his hand starts to travel down your body, slips under your sweater and then once again trails up to cup your breast
You gasp
"What if somebody comes and sees us?"
"Don't worry, angel. They won't come down before the lunch. No one will disturb us," he says softly, his hazel eyes looking deep into yours
You can read all the love and lust in them. Your heart starts to beat faster
You hesitate for a moment, but not too long
It's impossible to turn your amazing mate down on this special evening especially with this romantic atmosphere
You smile and start to kiss him
Azriel groans in relieve into your mouth and passionately kisses you back
His wings spread behind his back, shielding you from any prying eyes
Shadows bring you a blanket and then disappear letting the two of you enjoy the night alone
That night was one of the most romantic ones you had with your mate
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gyeomsweetgyeom · 3 months
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[10:16 pm]
(cw: alcohol consumptions, suggestive pick up lines)
The music throughout the frat house was thumping loudly, Fratboy!Jaehyn could feel the beats vibrating through the floor beneath him. The lights were flashing in a red and green pattern, the vodka was vanilla flavored, peppermint flavored schnapps mixed with everything, and every brother of the frat had a Santa hat on. There was no better way to celebrate the end of finals, the end of the fall semester, and the beginning of winter break than the annual Winter Nu Chi Theta party. It was one of their most anticipated parties of the year, sure all their parties were great, but this was their best party.
A party that was so good that Jaehyun was having a hard time finding you, despite having received your ‘here’ text 20 minutes ago. He was walking around, fighting his way through the crowds of people to try and find you. He stopped and chatted to a few familiar faces, stopped to take a shot- or more, and helped clean up some messes.
This was happening eve before the party had started, the frat brothers were passing around bottles of vodka and schnapps while they hung plastic garlands, fairy lights, and placed Christmas trees on varying surfaces. They blasted Mariah Carey and Wham through the house with no shame, singing along with no shame at all. Needless to say, by the time the party had started they were all more than a little buzzed- some more than others. *cough cough* Haechan.
Finally, he saw your friends and walked up with a smile. “Ho ho,” you turned to face him with a bright smile, “…holy shit, you look good.” Yes, Jaehyun had bought the outfit for you, but it was one thing to see the outfit on a hanger, and another to see it on you. Jaehyun had told you he was going to be dressed as Santa Claus so he wanted you to dress as Mrs. Claus. You had no reason to deny him besides the fact that it would look totally stupid but then he reminded you he would also be dressed up. Well, he wasn’t dressed up.
“This is your Santa Claus outfit? A hat?” You ask with your arms crossed across your chest.
Jaehyun laughs as he hits the pompom at the end of his hat, “duh!”
You roll your eyes, “I should have never let you watch Mean Girls. Are you all dressed as Santa then?”
His eyes widened in happy surprise, “Yes! You understood the reference for your costume!” Looking down at your red camisole and fur lined plastic skirt, you really wondered how you didn’t catch his reference before.
“So if I match with you and all the other frat bros also have so called Santa costumes on, doesn’t that mean I’m also matching with them?” You ask slowly.
Just then a very drunk Haechan stumbles by and does a double take before walking back to you with a drunken wink, “Mrs. Claus! My wife! I sure ho ho hope I’ll see you later for a not so silent night.”
Taeyong tugs him toward his room upstairs with an apologetic smile while you look at Jaehyun with a questioning arch of your eyebrow, “And here I thought your pick-up line was original. Are all of you using them tonight?”
“No…” but then you hear Johnny trying “I’ve got a one-way ticket to the naughty list if you’re interested,” on a girl from your political science class.
Jaehyun blushes but clearly not ashamed enough to try, “Wanna pretend to be presents and get laid under the tree?”
You face palm, snatching the candy cane patterned shot glass from Mark’s hand for yourself. You tilt your head back and shake your head to help with the strong minty flavor, “How many of these pick-up lines do you have?”
“Santa’s lap isn’t the only place wishes come true, baby,” Jaehyun winks dramatically with a kiss blown your way.
You bury your face in his chest while laughing. He’s barely able to hear you over the remix of Justin Bieber’s Drummer Boy, but he managed to hear, “Shut up! They’re getting worse!”
He leans down to whisper in your ear, you can feel his breath, “wanna go up to my room and Scrooge?”
You screech, “Jaehyun!”
You can feel your face heating up with embarrassment while you wrapped your arms tighter around Jaehyun’s waist to keep your face hidden in his sweater.
And then possibly worst of all, “Wanna meet Santa’s little helper?”
You shove him away, your face heating while you fan your face from the immense embarrassment you feel. “Jaehyun, people are going to hear you!”
“What’s wrong with that?” He laughs loudly.
You cross your arms, “I’m going to look like a major loser passing by everyone here on my way to your room later.”
He smirks, “so what I’m hearing is the pick-up lines are working?”
“Unfortunately,” you sigh, “take me to your room?”
Jaehyun smirks at you and guides you up the stairs. He closes his bedroom door behind the both of you while you get comfortable on his bed. Then he turns to you with a cocky smile, “You’d be the first gift I’d unwrap Christmas morning.”
-
a/n: I used this prompt list by @novelbear
238 notes · View notes
medellintangerine · 3 months
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If We Make It Through December
2023 Secret Santa Fic for @tieronecrush
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Summary: Having moved back to your Texan hometown after a break-up, a Christmas party at your friends’ house brings Javi Peña, your first love thought long-lost, back into your life...
Word Count: 5.6 k
Dedicated playlist of songs that have inspired this fic here. 
Dividers by @saradika
Roughly takes place around the end of Season 2 of Narcos. 
A/N: My little Christmas postcard to @tieronecrush as part of the @pedrostories Secret Santa event. Thank you for organising this beautiful event and to @pedrorascal for your reminders and guidance throughout ❤️💚
I have truly, and entirely self-indulgently, gone overboard with the Phoebe Bridgers/Taylor Swift references here. I feel so lucky to have written in honor of the amazing creator of ‘Seven Minutes in Heaven’ Frankie, and for somebody who has such a similar taste (including our love for Javi P!). 
Not beta’d- I did not have as much time as I would have liked on this due to life being crazy prior to the holidays. But it got me started with my writing again, which has just been a great bonus, as Christmas this year brings a few issues for me, too. I would usually like to edit a fic like this a bit more, but it really shows my love for some slow burning, mutual pining dialogue. I hope this does @tieronecrush justice, which would be a huge Christmas gift to me. Thank you for your beautiful work Sam, hope this season treats you well - Merry Christmas!
Warnings: Javier Pena x F!Reader; Angst/Fluff/Smut/Drunken confessions and mutual pining/Lovers to Ex-Lovers to Lovers again/Emotional Hurt and Comfort/Subtle references to reader’s toxic previous relationship/alcohol consumption - reader thinks Javi is drinking a little too much wine to deal with issues/unprotected PiV(don’t do as I write)/some dirty talk - I will have forgotten some warning, please feel free to let me know!
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‘Come and join us, darlin’ - no good hiding back here all night’.
Brendan, your best friend’s husband, smiles at you softly as he clinks his beer bottle against your glass. Phoebe had insisted you try one of her ‘seasonal cocktails’, a sickly-sweet concoction of chambord and gingerbread syrup that is hiding the decent scotch you can detect in there somewhere. 
‘Yes, yes, just taking a quick breather’ you reply, hoping your smile reaches your eyes. Brendan smirks at you but doesn’t push the issue further. 
You grab some ice from the freezer, hoping it will dilute the drink somewhat, and move to the other side of the kitchen, leaning against the counter to will yourself to be sociable. The claustrophobic feeling that has been haunting you since returning to your hometown of Kingsville, Texas creeps up and wraps itself around your upper body. You force yourself to count the twinkling fairy lights on the Christmas tree in Brendan and Phoebe’s living room, swallowing down the pangs of envy at the scene of their happy domesticity. Only six weeks ago you had hoped that maybe the prospect of Christmas would bring some peace between you and Josh - telling yourself ‘if we make it through December, we’ll be fine’ over and over again like a mantra. 
But only two weeks later you had resigned to things being beyond what you could handle, and packed what you could of your belongings into your small car and made the drive back home to Texas, taking your mother’s friend up on the offer of a small apartment she was renting out. No more picket fence. But some calm at last. 
You sip on your drink and take a deep breath, about to join the crowd, when you see Brendan turn away from the small group of people he had been entertaining to grab a bottle of wine from Phoebe as she passes him. The motion allows a glimpse of who had been facing him and your breath hitches in your throat and your face heats up. Your hand finds the counter behind you as you will your features not to display the shock of spotting the one face you did not expect to see here. A face that was once the most familiar, most comforting sight to you until you slipped away from its sleeping features one winter morning, hoping to remember it like that forever. 
Javier Peña. 
You take in Javi and find a chuckle bubbling up your throat. He’s still sporting a moustache, the same checked shirt and tight jeans. Fashion had clearly passed him by. You guess that he most likely doesn’t care. His cowboy boots look recently cleaned - if he’s visiting home you just know his dad will have put him to work on the ranch immediately, so he clearly had gone to some effort tonight. You catch yourself checking out his hands for a wedding ring, and can’t quite process the fluttering in your stomach when you see there is none. 
Your pulse starts to race as you observe his broad shoulders, emphasized by the way his shirt stretches over his upper body. You suddenly remember vividly how it felt to rest the back of your head against those same shoulders as he held your back against his front  - at the cheap hotel as you watched your mutual friends dancing on the night of your high school graduation, in one of the bars downtown during the first year of college as you tipsily swayed to terrible Country music, or atop Bobby, Javi’s favorite horse as he guided the brown stallion down obscure paths just on the perimeter of his dad’s ranch.  
As the heat rises up your chest, which you doubt is caused by the alcohol, you see the expression on Javi’s face and feel like there’s an invisible string connecting you to him. He smiles along to Brendan’s jokes and nods at the other men politely when they speak, but his eyes mostly seem to study the floor and the vacant look on his face is unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. Brendan refills his glass and as Javi immediately downs almost half of it with a smirk, you suddenly realize how strange it is for you to see him with a wine glass in his hand. It was always whiskey for him. 
The knot in your stomach is still there, though you now feel a strange sense of serious concern for Javi. Something is up, you just know it, and you can tell he’d rather be anywhere else than at this Christmas party right now.
Hoping to be inconspicuous from where you have hidden yourself in the little alcove of the kitchen, you try to match up the figure in the room across from you with the snippets of stories you had heard over the years - of the local boy who had not only gotten into the DEA, but was actually at the forefront of fighting narco crime in Colombia, of all places. 
However, the man before you did not look like the eternal homecoming king you thought he’d always be, and as he empties the wine glass that looks way too delicate in his hands, you have become convinced something is deeply unsettling Javi and suddenly it feels like somebody has simply pressed rewind on the last couple of years and you yearn to speak to him. 
It might be dutch courage, but you find yourself checking your appearance in the toaster, smoothing out the sparkly dress you had grabbed at the last minute this morning to appear at least somewhat in a festive spirit. You grab the bottle of Scotch Phoebe had so perversely used in the cocktail, and know exactly where the tumblers are kept. Armed with your props you take one last deep breath and head out of the kitchen. 
You keep your eyes on Brendan as you stride over to his group, sliding up next to him. 
‘There she is! Decided to grace us with your presence, your highness?’ Brendan slurs slightly as he elbows you jovially. You smile at him. You’ve always felt safe and respected around him ever since Phoebe had introduced the two of you when they came over to L.A. at your last place. You were genuinely pleased she had found somebody so kind and solid, even though you couldn’t deny the sting of envy as you prayed for just morsels of the same affection from Josh. 
‘Yeah, yeah - thank you’ you reply sarcastically,, trying to keep your cool as you roll your eyes at the other three men.
Javi looks like he has been frozen to the spot. When your eyes meet, his deep brown irises bore into you, and you worry you might drop the fancy glasses you had grabbed on your way over, so quickly turn towards Brendan again. 
‘Actually, I was trying to rescue this fine bottle from another one of your wife’s mixology attempts if any of you fancy a sip?’ You try to sound cordial, but the fact that only Javi has finished his wine has not escaped you. 
‘Oh, um, think we’re on the vino for now, darlin’. Maybe later?’
You decide to go for it and turn your body towards Javi. 
‘What do you say, Javi? One for old times’ sake?’
Javi is still gawping at you in utter confusion. Luckily, Brendan is there again to iron out the awkwardness. 
‘Oh you guys know each other? Well, I guess that’s not surprising in this ltown’
‘Yeah, from as far back as high school actually.’ you respond, remembering that Brendan was actually not a local kid, though he seems to have inserted himself into the community seamlessly since moving in with Phoebe back in her hometown.
Your desire to speak to Javi alone now feels like desperation as you ask to admire Brendan and Phoebe’s new back porch. 
‘Sure, you two go catch up’ Brendan motions towards the French doors. You turn on your heel casually, and can practically feel Javi’s presence behind you. Phoebe is busy talking to some girlfriends, but nonetheless shoots you a stern look as she watches you head outside with your teenage sweetheart. You quickly avert your eyes and step out into the garden, setting the glasses onto the table and taking a seat on a deck chair.
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The music is muted as Javi closes the doors, and there’s a glint in his eye now, telling you you’re about to be at the receiving end of some Peña sass. 
‘Here’s a sight for sore eyes’ his deep voice rumbles as he pulls the chair to sit closer to you. He sits down and leans back, looking you up and down and you aren’t sure if it’s the cold causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. 
‘Last I heard you had disappeared out of state to live the domestic dream’. 
You exhale with a scoff as you open the bottle of Scotch and pour both of you a glass. 
‘Yeah. Something like that.’
Javi’s fingers brush yours as he takes the drink. 
‘Hm. So what made you come back then? Couldn’t handle the Cali life?’ He raises his eyebrows at you in challenge, but you try not to let it rattle you. 
‘Long story. Guess it was time to come back to my roots. Reconnect with old friends. Sometimes it’s good to go back to what you know’. You smile genuinely as you turn over your shoulder to watch Phoebe and Brendan laugh with their guests, most of them people Javi and you had grown up with. 
Javi chuckles as he follows your gaze. 
‘I guess. Though seriously, you’re telling me you’re choosing a provincial Christmas party over some swanky soirée up in L.A. now?’
You know you’ve got bold, quick-witted Javi in front of you now, trying to get a rise out of you as your gaze is on you. But you’ve always been more than capable of holding your own when he’s like this. 
‘Ain’t too bad. Full of… good food and lousy beer’ you respond as you break eye contact and watch the whisky swirling around your glass before taking a long swig. You say a silent prayer for your stamina when it comes to drinking. 
‘Darlin’…’ Javi starts and your throat constricts at the same pet name Brendan had used so innocently only a few minutes ago, now that it is uttered in Javi’s deep baritone voice. ‘How come you’re back here? Everythin’ alright with… what’s his name…John?’
You intently focus on the fairy lights in the trees ahead of you for a few moments. 
‘It’s Josh, and we've split up. So I’ve moved back here for the time being. Spend some time with Ma and Pa. But I’m doing really well, actually.’’ You swallow, fearing you’ve maybe said a little too much, sounded a little too cheery. Javi’s silence and the way he seems to be searching your face only feed into your anxieties further. You slowly sip some more Whisky, deciding to turn the tables on him:
‘You look like you could do with a listening ear yourself - don’t pretend all’s well with you either. You fancy a walk?’ 
Javi snickers: ‘Alright. I got some more whisky down at the ranch. You could say hello to the horses - still have a few there.’
‘Wanna show me your horse collection now, do you Peña?’ You wink at him. 
Javi says nothing but flashes you a lop-sided smile that makes your legs go funny. He tells you to wait outside and dashes back through the French doors. 
Within a few seconds, Phoebe is leaning out from the living-room.
‘You ok, hon? Need us to call you a cab?’ The look on her face tells you she already knows your answer.
‘Thanks, but I’ll be ok. Javi’s walking me. We’re just catching up‘’
Phoebe sips on her garish cocktail, but her eyes never leave yours. 
‘Alright. Guess Christmas is the time for some nostalgia. Just don’t go too far down memory lane.’
Javi appears holding the same denim jacket he was walking around in when you were dating in college. A leopard never changes his spots, you think to yourself. Silently, you pray he hasn’t heard Phoebe’s comment. You finish your drink and pass the glasses to Phoebe. 
‘Don’t worry about me - thanks for a great party.’ You give her a quick hug and turn towards Javi, who is hovering by the back gate. As you leave, ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ plays. Javi wraps the jacket around your shoulders and you wonder just how much the two of you look like your teenage selves. 
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A brisk walk in the night air had cleared your senses somewhat, but you were feeling the effects of the glass of Pinot Noir Javi had dug out from his dad’s pantry. Never did you think you’d see the two of you share a bottle of red wine out on the porch. 
You had been subjected to Agent Peña’s interrogative skills and had eventually told him about your and Josh’s relationship breakdown, entirely unfiltered. Your body felt like that invisible string was running between the two of you again, electricity sparking through your fingertips straight to your chest. The feeling overwhelmed you and the words were practically tumbling from your lips before you heard them yourself. You rattle on and on about the news, the terrible incident down in Dallas - his response a short grumble and an angry shake of his head - the all female spacewalk, the Supreme Court proceedings and your anger at them. Somehow, you end up sharing how things fell apart with you and Josh, how he would spend days on end making you feel like you weren’t worth the dirt on his shoes. At some point, you were sure you heard him sneer a ‘lo mataré’ (I’ll kill him’) through gritted teeth. 
The intimacy between Javi and you, which had picked up exactly where it had lied buried for years, had been a little overwhelming. Strolling through familiar streets downtown, past houses illuminated from the inside by grandiose Christmas trees in picture-perfect living rooms, you felt a sense of having fallen into one of those daydreams you had pushed down for years, only rising to the surface in the aftermath of the most toxic fights between you and Josh, when you had yearned for the simplicity and ease of your first love. You twist in your chair and pull your knees up to your chest as you look at Javi. 
‘Anyway, what’s going on with you, exactly? How come the golden boy also returned to his old stomping ground?’
Javi doesn’t answer for a few seconds, instead watching out over the paddocks of the ranch. The two of you had opted to sit out on the porch once again back at his place, a light wind providing a breeze but not yet making you feel cold. You kept Javi’s denim jacket wrapped around your shoulders nonetheless. 
The despondent look crosses over his face again and he is clenching his jaw. You can just make out the music playing from the stereo inside. 
You think Javi is about to speak when he reaches for the bottle of wine and pours you another large measure, then himself an even larger one.
‘Jav’ you prompt, tapping your foot against his. He glances at your ankle for a second, then looks at you directly. Suddenly, you feel tipsy and lightheaded but keep your composure. You take the glass from his hand, having to gently wrestle it from him. Yet his limbs seem to relax a little when you place your hand on his forearm.
‘I just…’ he starts, then seems to reconsider. ‘Things got intense down there, and I just wanted to stop those fuckers. At any cost. And I guess sipping mid-range wine at a Christmas house party is the cost of the choices I made. You won’t believe this, but this one time…’
Javi talks about the agreements he entered with people he wouldn’t usually want to share his air with and opens up about some of the things he had to witness down in Colombia. He clearly hasn’t gotten over how he was treated and made an example of, and your heart aches for the older and more jaded version of the idealistic, albeit hot-headed young man he had always remained in your head up until tonight. Cuddling up on the deck chair next to him, you place your hand in the crook of his elbow, and he trails off as you sit in comfortable silence for a while. 
‘C’m here’ Javi suddenly says as he grabs your hand and stands. ‘Let’s have a dance’. 
‘What?’ you ask and don’t move from your seat, but Javi simply takes your glass and places it on the large table behind him. He pulls you up towards him, placing his hand on the small of your back. You lean your head against his chest as you sway slowly. 
And it's hard to be at a party when I feel like an open wound
It's hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you
You're a flashback in a film reel on the one screen in my town
And I just wanted you to know
That this is me trying
(And maybe I don't quite know what to say)
I just wanted you to know
That this is me trying
At least I'm trying
‘You know I’ve never forgotten about you, right?’ 
Javi’s comment stops you dead in your tracks. You pull back from him to try to find his face. He is looking straight ahead at nothing in particular, out in the distance, but you can clearly see his glassy eyes, and he is now definitely slurring his words. You lean into the crook of his neck again as you whisper. 
‘I know. Me…me neither. It was for the best though.’ The knot in your stomach has returned.
‘Was it?’ he asks quietly.
‘Jav… you wanted to go and play GI Joe, remember?’ a little laugh escapes you. ‘There was no way you’d have turned down that DEA assignment to play house with me. And… that’s ok, we were basically kids.’
Javi mirrors your laugh now. ‘Hm. Guess that’s true, darlin’. Did you have to leave in the middle of the night though?’
You pull back slightly, but Javi is still holding you tightly against his chest. 
‘Jav, that last conversation we had was painful enough. And you were passed out from that night out with the boys. What good would it have done?’
Javi leans over towards the table and grabs his glass. He takes a quick sip as you continue to swing from side to side and you wonder how much searching the bottom of a glass has become a coping mechanism for him as he continues:
‘My dad would’ve wanted to see you before you left, too.’
You smile sadly thinking about Chucho.
‘I came back the day after to pick up the rest of my things, once you had already gone. He was so kind, given the situation.’
Javi looks surprised but chuckles.
‘Figures. He always liked ya.’
Warmth fills you remembering the laughs you shared with the older Mr Peña, his kindness radiating from him as you spent barbecues and movie nights with him and Javi at the ranch. The place you had often imagined living yourself at. 
‘You know you never asked me to come with you, either’ - a slight hint of bitterness infuses your words and Javi shakes his head. 
‘You? In Colombia? That place would have tainted you.’
‘And how did you know that, then huh?’ you widen your eyes in challenge at Javi, but he holds your gaze.
‘Ah come on, you just said how we were just kids. Plus, you were ready to leave, too. Always thinking of flying off…my little …’
‘Don’t’. It’s your turn to interrupt Javi now, as you pull away from him, unsure how you’ll react to the pet name the two of you only used for each other when you were alone together…
‘...butterfly’.
A single solitary tear falls down your cheek. You feel like the past few years have disappeared into a void, like it was only a few days ago that you closed the door to Javi’s bedroom one final time. Javi wipes the tear away gently, but keeps his hand on your face for a moment, rubbing your cheekbone with his calloused thumb. When he removes his hand as you start to speak, the warmth of him stays on your skin for a little while longer and comforts you. 
‘It’s really good to see you’ you admit. ‘That party was fun, but I think my social stamina isn’t what it used to be. It’s funny, but I’ve been around people constantly since coming back, mom and dad hovering around me all the time, but I’ve never felt more lonely’. Once again, the words have left your lips before you can think.
‘Guess you don’t have to be alone to be lonesome’ Javi replies as he places his chin on the top of your head. 
‘I’ve missed you’ you say softly. 
Javi’s eyes dash down to the ground briefly and you can smell the alcohol on his breath. You tell him he smells like a brewery and laugh at him, but realize you’re in the company of the only soul who could always tell which smiles you were faking. Closing your eyes, you allow yourself to drop the grin and inhale his scent to welcome the familiarity and nostalgia that lingers underneath. Javi wraps you up tighter and lifts your chin with his fingers, pulling you towards him before meeting his lips with yours. 
Whereas you felt a simmering kind of electricity before, your body now feels like it’s been hit by lightning. You try to focus on the music in the background as you taste wine, whisky and something that is purely Javi on his lips. 
Feeling like a teenager again, you run your tongue along his lower lip and he gasps, swallowing your moans in response. Javi strips off his jacket from your shoulders, and a chill that you know isn’t merely from the cold runs along your spine. His fingertips are rubbing up and down your arms and he smoothly pulls the straps of your dress down. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you try to anchor yourself to Javi as he sits back down on the sturdy deck chair and pulls you to sit on top of him. 
It feels like your heart is about to burst out of your chest when you can feel him hardening through his jeans underneath you. All you want is more of Javi, and pretend he was never gone from your life. Your core is aching with need for him and your muscles are stiffening with how tightly you are trapping him between your thighs. Eventually, you break the kiss to catch your breath, but stay pressed to him, his large hands now caressing your buttocks and providing you with some much-needed friction as he rubs you along his length.
‘I know we were so… young, but…did it ever…feel like it did between us with…him?’ Javi pants, interspersing his words with little pecks on your lips that feel almost chaste, were it not for the fact you are basically dry-humping each other like you used to in the back of his first car. 
You whine as you know the truth deep down: Nobody had ever made you feel the way Javi had, and though you had put the intensity of your time together down to teenage hormones, you had often made yourself come to the memories you had of his touch over the years. 
‘Javi… I need you… now’ you stutter as you frantically work to pry open his shirt. Running your fingernails down his warm chest, you feel his quickening breath on your skin. Javi drags your dress down, revealing your chest to him. He strokes your breasts, only stopping to swirling his tongue round your nipples, one by one. He halts suddenly, and you worry that he’s come to his senses. But when you move your head from where it was nestled in his shoulder, you realize that he has spotted the tattoo you got your first week after leaving Texas. 
‘Mi mariposa’ he whispers as he traces the outline of the turquoise butterfly on your ribcage with his fingers. You feel tears threatening to spill from your eyes again, flashes of Josh’s derision at your ‘common’ tattoo entering your mind.
Arching your back and gripping a fistful of Javi’s hair, you don’t care that you’re pleading with him now:
‘Javi, please. Fuck me.’
He growls as his lust-filled eyes find yours.
‘Fuck, baby. Sound so good when you beg. Thought I’d never hear that again. D’you wanna go inside?’
‘No…no, just… right here, now. Please’ you utter as you scoot backwards slightly to gain access to his zipper. Javi takes your hands and wraps your wrists behind your back with one of his, quickly shuffling his jeans down enough to reveal himself to you.
Javi is still holding your wrists in one of his hands, but pushes you slightly up and forward, before using his remaining free hand to guide his cock at your entrance. He moans when he feels how wet you are for him. You gasp and thank past you for daring to go without underwear tonight.
‘You ready, baby? Need you to ride this cock so much.’ Javi’s needy voice matching yours.
Your response is to kiss him once again as you sink down onto him, groaning when you take him inside of you. Both of you take a moment to adjust to the feeling, foreheads resting against one another. You can’t hold out much longer though and have to start moving on top of him before long. 
Your knees are sore from rubbing against the wooden deckchair, but you could care less about that now. The pressure is building from your pussy quickly, and as your moans become louder, you gratefully remember that Javi said his dad was spending the night at a friend’s house for poker night. 
You wrestle your hands from Javi’s hold to find the back of his head again, grabbing two fistfuls of his curls for purchase as you bounce on him, slowly, with control to savour the feeling. Javi runs a hand up your neck and pulls your hair just hard enough for pleasure and pain to mix deliciously.  
‘Yes, mariposa, ride me. Make yourself feel good. Need to see you come so bad’ Javi growls as he thrusts up into you, and you know you’re not far off. You run your cheek along his, his stubble scratching you softly as, emboldened by the alcohol in your system, you murmur into his ear.
‘...was never like us… he was never.. like you’.
Something between a moan and a sob leaves Javi’s lips and it’s what sends you over the edge, your orgasm rippling through you like a wave as heat envelops you. You tip your head back and Javi latches onto the soft skin of your exposed throat to him. He sucks hard and you can feel him pulsate inside you now.
‘Come inside me Javier’ you mutter as you ride out the last of your high. 
Javi’s fingers dig into your sides and you pray that he leaves marks on you so that you have something to remember this night by in the morning. He says your name over and over as he finds his release inside of you. 
Flushed and out of breath, the two of you stay in the same position for what feels like hours as you drift in and out of a light sleep, the music in the background fading in eventually. 
The holidays linger like bad perfume
You can run, but only so far
I escaped it too, remember how you watched me leave
But if it's okay with you, it's okay with me
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You wake on the couch, sunrays dancing on the wooden floor. You dimly remember Javi carrying you into the lounge and laying you down, stretching out behind you as the remaining warmth of the fireplace lulls you back into a deep sleep. A woolen blanket is wrapped around you, but you can’t feel Javi next to you. Panic floods you and you briefly wonder if that is how he felt when he woke up without you that morning all those years ago. But the next second, the smell of coffee enters your nostrils and you turn to your side to see Javi in the kitchen, his broad back to you as he moves around quietly, the birds singing outside and music from the radio the only sounds you can make out. 
You take your time to admire the man only a few feet from you, familiar yet new. Javi turns around and looks at you from over his shoulder, the soft smile you were desperately searching for last night now playing on his face.
‘Mornin’’ he says, cheerfully but quietly, as he walks over with two coffee cups in his hand. ‘Thought this might wake you. You fancy havin’ these outside?’
You stretch your limbs and only now notice how sore your head is.
‘Ew, yes please. Fresh air and caffeine sound heavenly right now.’
Javi nods to something above you. ‘I, uh, brought you one of my shirts, in case you… fancied some comfier clothes’. 
You turn to find a soft flannel shirt thrown over the back of the sofa. Smiling to yourself, you pull it on over your head. Javi chuckles silently and you feel slightly self-conscious. 
‘What?’ you ask slightly perturbed. 
‘Nothing, ‘s just… this is how I remember you’ he replies and moves towards you almost hesitantly. After placing the hot mug of coffee in your hand, he lightly pulls you towards him by your waist, placing a soft kiss on your lips. 
Sipping your coffee, the two of you sit once more in comfortable silence on the deck chairs you’ll never look at the same way, as life starts up on the ranch, Javi having let out the horses first thing in the morning, and you marvel at how right this feels again already. Surprisingly, it’s Javi who speaks first. 
‘So, what are your plans for Christmas?’
You had forgotten it was Christmas Eve today.
‘Uh, I’ll just be at my folks’ tomorrow.Guess I’ll go and see Phoebe and Brendan at some point. You?’
‘Just me and dad. Will be a quiet one this year, the holidays are hard for him, what with mom no longer around.’
You give Javi a soft smile and rest your head against his shoulder. 
‘I can imagine’.
Javi nuzzles the top of your head with his nose. 
‘Hm. Pop always says if we make it through December everything's gonna be alright.’
As you lean up to kiss Javi, he places yours and his coffee mug down and takes your face in between his hands, rubbing his thumbs on your temples soothingly, making you close your eyes. His voice sounds shaky, barely above a whisper:
‘Hey, I just… had a thought. Do you, maybe, fancy… going away for a bit after the holidays?’
You open your eyes and can see something like worry on his face.
‘Like, where?’ you ask.
Javi looks away but pulls you onto his lap, wrapping a blanket he had brought out from the couch around you.
‘I don’t know. Somewhere, somewhere different, new. Maybe even California? I‘m not talking L.A. - wild horses couldn’t drag me up there and I guess you don’t want to go back there right now… but somewhere out in the mountains, maybe? Somewhere quiet. Never been to Yosemite.’
Contemplating his suggestion, any worries you’d had about going back to square one suddenly seem a lifetime away. 
‘Yes, that… that sounds perfect, Jav.’
166 notes · View notes
mrsjellymunson · 3 months
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S.A.N.T.A. BABY
[A.KA. Stupid And Nasty Tinsel-Related Activities]
A Festive 5+1 Eddie Munson Fic
Summary: 5+1. Five times reader embarrasses herself in front of Eddie, and one time she doesn’t.
Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader
WC: ~10.5k (oops)
CW: 🔞 18+ MDNI!, SMUT, NSFW. Strangers to sort-of-enemies to lovers. Drinking, smoking, Eddie and reader call each other nicknames, loads of embarrassing situations, swearing, suggestive language, implied birth control, description of and discussion about a sex toy, flagrant and unnecessary use of the number 69, reader has a tattoo but it’s not essential to the story so you can ignore it if you want, bondage fantasy involving fairy lights, lap riding/dry humping, Eddie has tattoos and intimate piercings, fingering, unprotected p-in-v (always wrap it irl!), aftercare, fluff, the Upside Down hasn’t happened. I imagine reader & Eddie to be mid-late 20s and it might be the 90s, but hopefully I left it ambiguous enough that you can choose. I tried to keep reader’s appearance neutral, though I’m still new at this and I may have missed things - let me know if you spot anything (likewise typos or missed tags, etc). The elf outfit in the pic is for costume illustration only and does not indicate reader’s ethnicity or appearance.
A/N: Written for @bettyfrommars’ & @allthingsjoeq’s festive prompt party (thank you, guys!); I decided to smoosh five prompts 6, 8, 12, 14 & 15 together to create… whateverthehellthismutantthingis 😆 It’s my first 5+1, and my first festive fic, please let me know how I did! 🎄 I’ve taken artistic license with the format - if I’ve understood it, it’s way too long for a standard 5+1, and I don’t think they usually have 4+k of unnecessary smut at the end (‘What do you mean, Kittie? Smut is always necessary!’). I couldn’t bring myself to cut it because I’m a deviant and to paraphrase the song, it’s my fic and I’ll add what I want to 😂 Enjoy! 🥂🍷🎁
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Christmas was never your favourite time of year. You suppose that your early Christmasses were probably happy, but once your parents split and family politics came into play, the season just became less enjoyable all round. These days your mom and stepdad tended to use the extended break to visit your brother in California, and this year will be the third in a row that you’ve been left to your own devices. Not that you couldn’t go with them, but you just felt a little out of place and in the way, him with his scrapbook-perfect family and kids, you with your alternative interests and a dress sense that your stepdad once described as, “Far too much black for a family dinner. We’re not the Addams Family, you know”.
This year, though, you were optimistic. It’s your first year away at college in Indianapolis, and your roommate, Robin, who you get on outrageously well with, has invited you to spend the holidays not too far away in her home town, Hawkins.
Plus, Robin has taken it upon herself to, in her words, ‘“Christmas Carol the shit out of you”, after you’d told her about your disdain for the holiday season and that Santa stood for ‘Stupid And Nasty Tinsel-related Activities’. She’d declared that this year you’d have the “Best. Christmas. EVERRR!”, and she’s making good on it, despite the promise being made months ago when you were both soaked in tequila at the end of orientation week.
It’s going fairly well so far. You’ve met a couple of Robin’s friends, a nice girl called Nancy and Robin’s ex Vickie, and together you’ve had a shopping trip, a lunch out and a girls’ night in. You’re optimistic that the rest of her friends will be just as friendly and welcoming. Next on the ‘Best Christmas Ever’ agenda? Seeing a local band at a local bar…
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“Honestly, they’re, like, really, really good!”
“Really, Robs? This band that your friends started in high school are so good that they’re still playing dive bars in their home town?”
The bar is dingy and grubby, but it’s packed, Robin insisting it’s because the band is great, but you suspect it has more to do with the cheap beer prices.
You’re not averse to live entertainment, you just prefer places with a bit more space. More ambience, less… sweat? Ambiguous stickiness??
Half a beer in, you make the excuse that you need some air, not admitting you’re actually hoping to find someone to bum a cigarette off outside, feeling your most recent attempt at quitting is already on seriously shaky ground.
There’s already a couple of guys around the side of the building when you exit the front door, one in a torn flannel and another, his back to you, in a heavier-looking jacket.
You recognise Flannel as the bartender, a lanky, but not unattractive, somewhat worried-looking guy with a grungy haircut and ripped Clash t-shirt, who’s just finishing his cigarette and flicking it to the floor. As he leaves to go back inside he offers a cheery half-salute to his smoking partner and a, “See you inside, dude.” You assume the other guy must be a regular, and from the subtle glimpses you get as he flicks his ash, he’s about halfway through his cigarette.
Whilst he’s not looking you sneakily take in the view (your excuse being that you are a tourist here, after all). He’s tall, dressed all in black, with broad shoulders draped in worn-in black leather, long dark curls falling about them. You can’t determine the exact colour in the poor lighting of the bar’s neon sign, but they look shiny and well cared for, rather than lank and grimy like so many of your college buddies seem to think is the fashionable way to do it these days (ugh).
Trailing your eyes down his back, you see the hem of his jacket half-obscures a black leather belt that’s just visible sitting on his slim hips. It’s studded with silver rivets and adorned with a variety of draping silver chains that jingle at the slightest movement.
Well-fitting, dark black jeans cover his legs, and a scruffy pair of heavy black combat boots complete the look. They're unlaced at the top and casually flare out, his jeans crumpling, effortlessly stylishly, in the tops.
The belt chains catch your attention again as he shifts from one foot to the other, making them swing, drawing your eyes to the seat of his jeans and showcasing a cute, tight, rounded pair of butto-oh! He’s turning around! Shit, shit, okay, be cool, and definitely don’t look like you were just checking out his ass…
He looks at you with surprise, he obviously hadn’t heard you come out. He’s taken slightly aback, but manages to greet you with a quick, “Hey.”
You reply, eloquently, “Hey.”
Smooth.
Leather Jacket gets out his lighter.
“You, uh, smokin’?”
“I was kinda hoping to bum one, actually. I’m supposed to be quitting, but you know how it is when you get around bars and booze.”
You shrug a little, suddenly feeling sheepish, and more than a little selfish when you realise your presumption.
“Oh yeah, I sure do. Think I’ve tried quitting about, what, five times now?”
He chuckles a little, shaking a stick out of the packet he retrieves from inside his jacket, offering it to you.
“You need a light?”
“Oh, uh, yeah, thanks.”
He leans in to spark his lighter, and you’re briefly engulfed by the scent of him. Old leather, hints of a musky, spicy cologne, whiskey, clean sweat, and, of course, cigarette smoke. It feels like a warm hug, but something else too, something more primal, enticing.
You notice his hands as he holds his lighter close to your face. They’re big, strong-looking and veined, his fingers adorned with chunky silver rings that glint and twinkle in the faint neon glow.
It all catches you off guard. You pull back quickly once your cigarette is lit, not ready to explore that kind of sensation right now.
He’s turned sideways to you again, leaning his back against the side wall of the bar. He smirks in your direction, a dimple popping in the cheek nearest to you, and you feel a little heat rise up your neck.
His gaze flows over your form, taking you in from top to bottom. Is he checking you out?
“I, uh, I like your boots.” He nods down towards your feet, flicking a little ash from his cigarette off to the side furthest from you.
You automatically glance down, like some kind of idiot who didn’t dress themselves less than an hour ago.
Sheesh, way to make an impression on the locals…
“Oh, thanks!”
You smile, genuinely pleased. You’re wearing your favourite pair, laced and buckled black leather New Rocks with a chunky, steel-coloured metal heel. You know the style doesn’t have universal appeal, which is of course part of the reason you love them, but it’s nice to have your taste appreciated by someone as cu- erm, as friendly as he is.
“I haven’t seen you around here before. You new in town or sumthin’?”
“Yeah, kinda passing through, I guess. I’m just here for the holidays, hookin’ up with a friend.”
He nods in acknowledgment, curls bouncing softly around his face.
You continue, “Apparently I’ve been promised the ‘best Christmas ever’, and they think they’re going to achieve that by bringing me to this divey bar to see some schoolfriend in a lame-ass metal cover band. I mean, god, no offence, but this town is hardly Seattle. I can’t imagine they’re gonna be Nirvana-quality, right?”
The guy snorts through his nose and then genuinely laughs. “Yeah, they probably are shit. Towns like this are full of wannabe rockstars straight outta high school, y’know?” You don’t notice how his lips purse as he suppresses a grin, as he continues, “Singers are the worst, always such assholes. Second only to guitarists, of course.”
You answer with an enthusiastic, “I know, right?!”, thinking back to the musicians you’ve dated since high school and how they were all convinced they were destined to be the next Eddie Van Halen or Steven Tyler. Thinking of a couple of guys in particular as you take a drag of your cigarette, as you exhale you mutter, “Christ, guitarists really are the pits.”
He snorts, smiling again, then drops his finished cigarette to the ground, crushing it out with the sole of his heavy boot. “At least with all their equipment and shit it makes them easy to spot.”
You gift him a smile and a small nod. “Yeah, I guess it does.”
“I’m heading back inside. Maybe I’ll see you later?” He quirks an eyebrow at his last comment.
“Yeah, maybe.” As he moves to open the door you add, ”Hey, thanks for the smoke!”
He turns back to you, his distractingly broad grin now fully on display, half-shouting back as he moves through the doorway into the bustling interior, “No problem, all you have to do is ask. I’ll see you later, Boots!”
You finish your smoke and get inside just in time to get to your seat, a tall stool opposite Robin around a high table, your back to the stage, as the band start up.
There’s a few complicated beats from the drums as the guy behind them warms up, and the bass and rhythm guitars thrum a few notes, garnering whistles and cheers from the crowd.
You wait for the cliché of the singer coming up to the mic and introducing the band, but what you actually hear is a low, self-assured, somewhat recognisable voice, that’s both commanding and sultry, that drawls, “You know who we are.”
Suddenly there’s a burst of impressive guitar work and drums, and the crowd erupts as the room is saturated with the opening chords to Black Sabbath’s ‘War Pigs’.
You’re impressed, and intrigued. This isn’t the ‘dodgy 80’s covers schoolkid band’ you were expecting. These guys sound… accomplished.
You turn on your stool, and notice a subtly familiar form at the mic. Less bulky as he’s no longer wearing the leather jacket, a ripped band tee now showing off his pale arms and clavicles, and black ink that you can’t make out adorning solid biceps and veined forearms. Guitar in hand, confident, brash, cute. Chains dangling from a studded belt, silver rings glinting, hair flying as he flicks his head, commanding the stage, readying himself to sing the first lines…
Oh shit…
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The band’s cover of ‘War Pigs’ is faster than the original, and they give it their own twist, making it heavier and grittier. After the (irritatingly brilliant) guitar solo Leather Jacket Band Guy even throws in a few lines from Deck The Halls, the audience going wild, and joining in enthusiastically when the ‘Oh Lord yeah’ is replaced with a ‘Fa-la-la’.
The rest of their set is a mix of covers and originals, all in a similar, heavy style, and as they finish to a rapturous throng you realise, flustered, that you couldn’t tear your eyes from the stage the whole time. Robin totally notices. You even let her get in a cheery, “Told ya so!”, as you reluctantly admit they weren’t completely terrible.
You spot the frontman (singer and guitarist, cue internal facepalm) jump down off the low stage, and you feel a little uneasy as you see him start heading in your direction.
You’re at peak embarrassment and can’t bear the thought of having to face him after what you said outside. You hadn’t even heard them play and you dissed the fuck out of them, him specifically. What makes it worse is that they were actually really good. The last thing you need is to have that thrown back in your face, in front of Robin, by their cocky lead guy.
Suddenly you want Spontaneous Human Combustion to be a real thing, turn you to ash so your only presence would be scuffed up on those heavy, unlaced combat boots, going unnoticed and carried out on everyone’s soles into the chilly night. But science and physics are apparently not willing to defy themselves for you this evening. Bastards.
Quickly, you get off your stool, mumbling something about needing the bathroom, and head off in a random direction, in your haste to escape not even asking where it is.
You chance a glance over one shoulder. Oh god, he’s heading straight for you…
As you stumble about in the crowd, you notice a free seat next to a guy at the bar. You hardly register that his coiffed hair and polo shirt don’t quite fit the vibe of the place, so desperate are you to build an alternative narrative that doesn’t involve the guy whose band you just dissed coming to talk to you. You’d said you were visiting a friend, he’s not to know it wasn’t a boyfriend, right? If he sees you with someone he’ll back off and leave you alone, right?? Surely he wouldn’t confront you with a potential Defending Your Honour™️ fight on the table. Right???
So, that’s the plan.
A really good, foolproof one? Um, no. But Band Guy is moving through the crowd, and you’ve gotta do something, fast.
You reach the bar.
“Hey, could you do me a favour real quick? A creepy guy’s been hitting on me, and I need to give him the message that I’m not interested. If I buy you a drink, will you act like you’re my boyfriend for, like, the next 30 seconds?”
He turns to you, and you notice his features. Golden skin, chiselled jaw, stunning hazel eyes, hair to rival the hottest supermodels’, a scattering of moles that look like constellations. Goddamn, he’s pretty. What is it with this bar? Is everyone inside it cute? Why have you never been to Hawkins before??
You give him a pleading look, and tentatively hold out one hand towards where his is resting on his thigh, hoping he’ll take it.
“Well, for a sweet thing like you, how could I say no to that tempting double offer?”
He smiles then, full and beaming, and you almost slip off your stool. A warm palm comes to cup over yours, and you manage to blurt out an order to the barman, saying, “Two of whatever he’s having.”
Just then, Band Guy reaches you. You do your best to swoon at Polo Shirt as your drinks get delivered, lifting yours and clinking it against his with a, “Hey, sweetheart, thanks for bringing me here”.
“Oh, I didn’t realise you were here with someone tonight.”
“Yeah, this is the friend I was telling you about. We’re spending the holidays together. Isn’t that right, sweets?”
Band Guy purses his lips, you hope in consternation, but it’s whatever, you just want him to leave you alone to stew in your mortification.
He backs up half a step, saying, “Well, I guess I’ll leave you to it then.”
Success!
Just as you think your devious plan has worked, Band Guy turns to Polo Shirt, slaps his open palm against his shoulder a couple of times, and saunters off, with a, “Nice to see you, Steve-o. Just checkin’ you're wanting a lift back in the van with the guys, like usual?”
Oh. Oh god. They know each other?!
He turns away, smirking back briefly in your direction to fling a casual, “I’ll see you around, Boots”, before continuing his path to the other end of the bar. You see him greet Flannel with a high five followed by a bro handshake, the latter making exaggerated air guitar movements and clearly congratulating him on a great performance.
If cringing caused bodily trauma you’d be in the ER by now, most likely on life support. What are the chances of embarrassing yourself all to hell in front of a cute guy you’ve only just met, twice in one night?
Also, wait, you totally didn’t just admit that you find him cute. Nope. No siree. Nah. Niet. Definitely not.
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Stupid Robin convinced you to take this stupid job in the stupid mall and now you’re stuck here smiling this stupid smile at all the stupid local kids in this stupid elf costume.
Stupid striped tights, stupid short skirt, stupid tight green tunic, stupid fluffy collar.
And yeah, okay, stupid self-induced hangover from stupid drinks last night thanks to stupid Robin’s stupid friends. Actually, they were all really nice, especially ‘Steve-o’ and the barman, Jonathon, neither of whom mentioned your embarrassing faux pas with Band Guy, which makes them total heroes in your book. Plus, Band Guy mercifully gave you a wide berth for the rest of the night by doing Band Stuff™️, so that was a win too.
At least the dress code for this gig stated ‘black footwear’, so you could wear your own boots. You’d never admit it out loud, but you think the combination of the red and white striped tights with your chunky, alternative boots actually looks kinda cute. It’s just as well, because you’d packed light (you and Robin joking that so long as you had your ”Pills and panties” you were good to go), and hadn’t brought any alternatives.
You’ve been at this for a couple of days already, beaming artificially at the kids as you try to corral them into some semblance of an organised line, and handing out stickers and treat bags for the ones who’ve seen Santa, putting your best singsong voice on as you ask for what feels like the millionth time, “So, what did you ask Santa for?”, and, “Have you been good this year?”
Your face has begun to ache with the effort of all the smiling, although the cheery mall Santa (a big, friendly guy called John? Jack?) takes up most of the slack, with a voice deep and gravelly enough to control even the worst-behaved little shits. You hope his day job uses it, it would be a shame for a voice like that to go to waste. He should probably be in sports, or acting, or law enforcement or something.
You can’t deny the money is coming in handy though. It’s reliably supporting your holiday booze habit, and you’ve even treated yourself to a couple of Christmas treats, some silver skull jewellery from a surprisingly well-stocked accessory shop, and something more, um, personal from the ‘specialist interest’ shop you’d found hidden away at the back of the mall’s upper level. The nice lady who worked there, Karen, even kindly offered to drop off your purchase at your staff locker later today.
You’re on the later shift, so Santa’s already here, and as you make your way out to the grotto area (which is essentially just a few old stage props surrounded by a few giant polystyrene candy canes; you surmise this might be one of the first years they’ve done this) you’re greeted by a predictable, “Ho ho ho!”. But today it’s a different voice than usual. Still deep, still booming, but not the one you’re used to.
As you round the glittery candy cane on the corner, the deep baritone gives way to a much higher, cheekier pitch.
“Ho, ho- hoooooly shiiit, I’d recognise those boots anywhere!”
Oh no… It can’t be…
“Heeey, Boots! I didn’t know you’d be one of my little helpers today!”
Even behind the fake beard you can see the smugness spread across his face.
You stop in your tracks, hands coming up to your face in a vain attempt to shield your embarrassed self from the impending, and, you’ll admit, completely justified, teasing.
Realising you can’t hide from it, you huff out a breath and amble over to him. He looks way too comfortable sitting on that ornate throne, like he’s used to such a position, somehow…
As you move closer you see that even beneath the tacky acrylic costuming, he still looks cute (damn him). He’s foregone the white wig and opted to display his own locks, chestnut curls cascading over his shoulders, and the white faux fur of his hat and beard create a subtle frame around his eyes. You observe their colour properly for the first time, and even in the harsh fluorescent lights of the mall they look like swirling pools of liquid cacao, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen anything quite like them before. They’re fixed on you as you walk to him.
You plonk down on a fabric-covered hay bale next to the throne. There’s no line of kids waiting as yet, and you’re relieved you can get this next part done without too much of an audience. Deep breath, pull off the bandaid, or whatever that stupid phrase is.
“Listen, about last night. I’m really sorry. I not only stole your smokes but also dissed your band before I’d even heard you, and that wasn’t cool. And that thing with Steve at the bar? God, you must think I’m such a loser. And, I know you probably couldn’t give two pebbly shits about what I think right now, but you guys are actually really good.”
He turns to you, looking down his nose and through his lashes at you.
“Hey, don’t sweat it, sweets. I did kinda bait you into that first part. And at the bar? That was… creative. I actually thought it was pretty funny.” Smirking, nodding and turning his face to the front again, he continues, “And for the record, we do play other places, not just this so-not-Seattle town.”
You risk a glance at him. The Santa suit is obviously too big for him, the collar wide enough to show off his pale throat for a moment before he turns back to you and the comically-fluffy beard obscures it again. You can see the outline of his taut, muscular thighs under the loose faux velvet of his pants, and his boots (those boots) are worn just like they were last night, unlaced at the top, casually stylish, the red fabric pooling around the calf and ankle. And to finish it off, there’s what appears to be a large throw cushion stuffed down his front.
It turns out he’s covering for (Jim!) Hopper, who’s apparently the local police chief (nailed it) and has been called out to check on some weird occurrences at an old research facility on the other side of town.
Band Guy Santa continues, sarcastically, “Pfft. Providing the town of Hawkins with security and safety instead of performing the frankly, essential, public service of dicking about in a Santa suit. Inconsiderate, right?”
“Yeah, totally”, you giggle.
“The organisers heard from Hop that I was somewhat… theatrical, so they asked me to fill in.”
You remember how theatrical he looked whilst on stage, and you feel your throat heat up, hoping he won’t notice you subtly pulling at your collar with a finger, or see the perspiration appearing on your décolletage.
“So, you may wreak your revenge now, sweetheart. I’m not exactly in a position to defend my sartorial choices right now, am I?”, he says as he gestures to himself, sweeping a palm up and down his garb. “Gimme your worst.”
You’d feel pretty bad if you laid into him now, not only considering your own current garb but especially with what you’d said last night outside the bar. However, he is giving you an opportunity to even the score for his manipulation, and it would be a shame not to take it. You decide upon a combination of cheekiness and diplomacy. (And not flirty. Definitely not flirty.)
“I dunno, that beard covers most of your face, which obviously does you some favours. But don’t do yourself down, you look… good in red.”
He swallows as you stand to move away from him, and you hardly realise that you’ve rendered him speechless, as you joke, poking at the obvious cushion by his middle,
“Although, I’m totally not buying this padding, you know,”
Suddenly a party of schoolchildren appears from nowhere, and before they get between you and you get too far away to hear, he stammers out, “Uh, I’m Eddie, by the way.”
You half-yell your own name back, adding with a smile,
“It’s nice to meet you. Have fun today, Santa.”
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It’s late afternoon and Santa Eddie is on his regulation break. You’re doing your best to herd the over-sugared, post-school crowd into some kind of order, when Mrs Santa (a lovely lady called Claudia) calls your name and says you can go on your break now too, if you want, and to please tell Santa that he needs to get back here and start doling out Christmas wishes.
You jump at the chance for even just a few minutes away from the diminutive hoards (though you could listen to Erica, one kid you do like, diss commercialism and the ethics of lying to kids en masse all afternoon), and make your way to the locker room.
Eddie’s still there, sitting on the central bench, beard pulled down under his chin, and he appears to be holding a package in his hands, though from the look on his face you don’t think it was one he was expecting. As you move closer and peer into the box, you spy the contents, and a bright red, glittery shape becomes visible.
Oh god, no. No-no-noooo…
It’s the order you placed from the shop at the back of the mall, but Karen’s obviously dropped it off next to the wrong locker - Eddie’s is number 69 and yours is 96.
It’s a dildo (of course it is). A Christmas-themed, flexible, long, thick, glittery, red dildo, with a gold lamé ribbon tied artfully around the base.
Eddie’s face is a picture of surprise as he turns to look up at you, eyes and mouth wide and eyebrows practically disappearing into his hairline. He’s holding the packaging, your name visible on the wrapping, nixing any hope you’d had of feigning innocence and pretending you knew nothing about it.
“Uh, I think this is yours. I’m so sorry. I-it was left by my locker and I opened it assuming it was for me, and then I saw your name on it, but by then it was too late…”
He sees you slump down into the bench a few feet away from him, face in your hands. You don’t know him well, but you decide to let him get whatever he wants to say out of his system rather than potentially make everything worse by trying to get him to shut the hell up.
His tone is mocking, but not exactly mean, as he continues,
“It’s a pretty one, really. Y’know, festive. I admire your choice of aesthetics and commitment to the season.
But you know, Boots, if you wanted to feel special inside this Christmas, all you had to do was ask.
Wait, do you also have an Easter-themed one? Is it a rabbit?”
He’s turned to face you now, far too pleased with himself for that final quip. Arrogant bastard.
The tears come in a wave, and you fold in on yourself, trying to hide your face even more. The heat in your cheeks feels about the same temperature as the colour of that fucking dildo.
“Hey, hey. I was only kidding.” He scootches closer to you on the bench. ”Look, there’s nothing wrong with it. Everyone deserves pleasure, it’s healthy. And I get it, Boots, it can be hard for girls to find a guy who actually knows what the fuck they’re doing. And, maybe you don’t even want or need a guy, you just want some special time by yourself, right?”
There’s a short pause, like he could be considering his next choice of words.
“And anyway, I actually think it’s kinda hot…”
This surprises you. You’ve never met any guy who didn’t take the presence of your toy collection as a personal insult.
You risk a glance in his direction, hoping your wet and stinging eyes don’t look as red as they feel. “You really think so?”
“Oh yeah”, he responds, crossing his legs as subtly as he can, shielding his lap. “The one you chose? It’s… sophisticated. The glitter gives it a real nice touch. And,” he drops his voice a little, continuing in an almost-whisper, “I’d love to see what you do with it.” He clears his throat and looks away, finding a convenient patch of plain wall to focus his gaze upon.
Confused, upset, and unable to fathom exactly what’s going on (is this just banter? Or is he flirting? Wait, does he like you??) you grab the box from him and move to stuff it in your locker. Trying to hide the crack in your voice, you call over your shoulder, “Claudia says your break’s over and to get your jolly ass back out there, pronto.”
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Oh shit… shitshitSHIT…
Stupid collar, stupid faux fur, stupid cheap zips! Goddammit!
You’re at your locker - the one that should’ve secretly contained your special Xmas gift to yourself - trying to get out of your stupid elf costume, but the zip won’t budge. The top of it is enmeshed amongst the stupid faux fur of your collar, and your frustrated, unsighted and fumbling ministrations appear to be making it worse.
You need help. An empathic soul to come to your aid and diligently untangle you from this costuming hell. But there’s only one other person here, and, even though your last encounter ended better than it could have, he’s still the last person you want to see right now.
Why tonight? Of all nights? How could this happen on the one night where the literal only person left in the entire fucking building is him??
You can only assume you’re on the real Santa’s shit list. Were you really that naughty this year?
Your brain rewards you with a brief, but telling, synopsis of your year so far: smoking blunts behind the library with Robin during study breaks, skinny dipping in a freezing lake on a dare, all that tequila, that brief foray in the back of a Camaro with that guy (Bobby? Billy?). Okay, you were no saint, but this? Come on…
Dejectedly, you drop your chin to your chest and let out a frustrated huff.
Looking miserable, and literally dragging your heels, you shuffle back out to the grotto, steeling yourself for whatever mocking banter Eddie will subject you to this time.
He’s leisurely rearranging the grotto area, and fiddling with the fairy lights behind.
“Hey, Boots. What’re you still doing here?”
Still not looking up, and flicking your eyes everywhere but in his direction, you mumble,
“I, uh, I need your help.”
“What is it? C’mon, you can tell me. We’re quite intimately acquainted now, wouldn’t you say?“
You can hear the smirk in his voice and you want to slap it right off his face. Your response comes out in a rush.
“MyzipisstuckandIcan’tgetoutofthisfuckingcostume, okay?”
“Well, honestly, if you want me to undress you, all you have to do is ask…”
There’s annoyance in your voice as you spit out, “For fuck’s sake Eddie, are you gonna help me or not?”
“Of course, Boots, I’m just messin’ with ya.” His voice drops to an almost-rumble as he instructs, “Turn around for me, yeah?”
His voice is commanding, yet soft and velvety. Parts of your brain turn to marshmallow, and you consider that you’d do almost anything he asked, if he asked you like that.
You do as he requests, your back facing him. You tilt your head down slightly, allowing him better access to the top of the zip, inadvertently also exposing the back of your neck.
He exhales (is it a bit shaky?), and you feel the heat of his breath on your nape, the sensation raising goosebumps along your spine and worrying your legs a little. It’s all you can do to not drop to your knees right there and then. You let out a tiny gasp and try to cover it with a deep swallow.
Eddie works gently on the collar of your garment, fiddling with the fur and disentangling what he can. As he works you continue to feel his breath on your neck, and you wonder if he has any idea what it’s doing to you.
Seemingly satisfied he won’t make it any worse than it already is, Eddie grasps the tag with his fingertips and places the palm of his other hand on your shoulder blade, the heat of it radiating through you so intensely that you have to scrunch your eyes closed and try to ground yourself.
With a quiet, “You ready?”, Eddie begins to slowly lower the zip.
It dislodges under his delicate touch, and although the zip is now completely free-moving he continues to pull it downwards ever so slowly. You feel another frisson of excitement, and even though you could at this stage probably quite easily take over and get out of the garment yourself, you don’t move away.
As the opening reaches your shoulder blades, you feel something else. It’s featherlight, barely there, but you think you can feel the knuckle of one of Eddie’s bent fingers brushing the skin of your back as he pulls the zipper slowly downwards.
Part of you thinks you should be freaked, after all an almost-complete stranger is touching you without your consent, but somehow it doesn’t feel weird. It feels… nice. Safe. Right.
The lower the zip goes the more of Eddie’s breath you feel on your back, and as the sides separate the edges of the colourful tattoo on your shoulder blade become visible.
Eddie's breath stutters at the sight, and as his knuckle passes over your bra strap and connects again with your lower spine you abruptly shake yourself out of your reverie.
Clutching the front of your tunic to your body, you move quickly away from him, stumbling back towards the locker room and mumbling, “I’ll take it from here. Thanks Eddie, you’re a lifesaver.”
Plonking yourself down on the bench in front of your open locker, you take a few deep breaths, trying to centre yourself before you get changed and wondering how on earth you’re going to be able to face him again tomorrow, the (yes, you’ll admit it now) hottest Santa you’ve ever seen...
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Back in your own clothes (black, wide-gauge fishnets, an old tee from a punk band that no longer exists, and a flared black skirt - much better) you’re about to scurry out with your head down when you hear muffled grunts and groans from the main floor. What on earth is going on out there?
You amble back out to the grotto area, trying to appear nonchalant and like this is your usual route out of the building.
You see Eddie’s combat boots sticking out from behind a pile of fake snowballs. They seem to be twitching.
You move closer until you can see his entire form. He’s lying on his back, immobile, completely tangled in fairy lights. You can’t help but start to giggle, not least because for the first time since meeting him it’s he who’s the one in a compromising position.
He’s struggling, likely making it worse, and he starts as he sees you, barking out, “Oh god, Boots, you scared me! Well, laugh it up, fuzzball, I guess it’s your turn to rag on me now.”
“What on earth happened? Are you hurt?”
“I said I’d help rearrange these lights, so I was up that ladder, moving them around, when the rung gave way. The lights were the only thing I could grab for when I span, fell, and, well, here we are!”
He gives you a broad but sarcastic grin, realising the absurdity of his predicament, trying to spread out his palms in a jazz hands kind of illustration but only managing to do it with one, the other trapped at his belt line by a string of dazzling pink lights.
“Um, you need a hand?”
“Uh, yes please.”
You take a moment to appraise the situation. You see the broken ladder, the tangled piles of lights, scuffed-up fake grass and unruly piles of snowballs.
As for Eddie, he seems unharmed, if a little bruised in the ego (and, perhaps, the elbows). He’s still wearing the Santa suit. Well, most of it. He still has on the hat for some reason, and the trousers, but he’s discarded the beard and jacket, presumably for reasons of temperature regulation or ease of movement, and his ‘belly’ cushion is nowhere to be seen.
And his top half? Well, his top half is now adorned only in a tight, white tank top.
You swallow as you take in his torso. He looked good on stage that night at the bar, but you never really got to see him this close up. Or this well lit.
His skin is almost as pale as the fake snow that litters the area, but there’s a creaminess to it that just makes him look, well, edible is the only word you can think of. Apart from ’lickable’. Yep, that would work too…
He’s solid, well defined, but he’s not stocky. You imagine that years of carrying amps and band equipment around has toned his muscles rather than bulked them.
And the tattoos… Oh. God.
You’ve always had a thing for people with alternative tastes, but this guy takes the cake. Swirling black ink in a variety of designs and styles covers his pecs and biceps, with smaller but no less elaborate designs adorning his forearms.
You notice a subtle glint under the colourful strings of lights that enwrap him, and spot that one of his nipples is pierced, the ring of metal just barely visible through the taut fabric.
Your eyes drift to his hands (those same hands that entranced you that first night), and although there’s no rings tonight (you guess ‘Badass Santa’ wasn’t the version on the mall’s wish list) his hands are no less attractive, still strong-looking and veiny, and you spot a number of small finger tats that you hadn’t been aware of before.
His position and the fact that he’s still struggling mean his abs are tensed, with his forearms are in front of him, making them, and his shoulders, really pop.
Jeezus.
Your thighs clench and you feel a heat bloom in your core.
He notices you staring, and for a moment seems to revel in it, but eventually breaks you out of your trance, asking, “You gonna help me get out of this, or what?”
“Yeah. Yeah, of course, um, lemme just…”
You decide to start at his feet, reasoning that’s where the tangles are the least bad, and at least if his feet are free he’ll be able to sit up.
That decision has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you’d like to see him sitting, bound, tied up for you, naked…
Shit. Fuck. Concentrate…
Eventually you free him from the majority of his confines, your fingertips and the backs of your hands brushing his skin and the fabric of his clothes occasionally. As he’s able to sit up, his hair tickles you as you work, his scent invades you all over again, and the two of you share glances and timid little chuckles as you move around him, both aware that you’re closer than you’ve been before.
Eventually he’s completely freed, and as he stands and steps out of the final loop of lights he flops exhaustedly backwards into his golden throne, eyeing the pile of entangled lights and running a hand over his face, mumbling, “Shit, there’s no hope for them tonight. I’ll deal with it all in the morning.”
You stand to the side of the throne, wanting to check he’s ok, and in a bold move that you weren’t expecting he lifts one arm and takes the tips of your first two fingers in his, gently raising your hand in a silent instruction to come closer.
Mirroring your earlier comment, he says, “Thanks, Boots. You’re a real lifesaver”, adding, with a hand against his forehead, “I would’ve been here all night, could’ve starved to death. They'd've found my mummified remains in the morning.”
You find yourself stepping towards him, and with your free hand try to give his pec a playful slap, murmuring, “You’re so dramatic. No, wait, theatrical!”
The slap fails though, as he rapidly brings his other hand up to the back of yours, trapping your palm against his chest. You can feel the heat of his skin, the slight sheen of sweat just noticeable as your fingertips breach the low neckline of his top, the heavy thud of his heartbeat.
You don’t realise how close you’ve become, and you gasp as your knees touch the side of his. He gently grabs the hand that’s on his chest and pulls it to his side, and to stop yourself from toppling forwards you have to step around him, ending up standing astride his legs.
Your eyes lock, and something changes. For a long moment neither of you move, and you feel your breathing rate speed up.
Not breaking eye contact, Eddie slowly moves your arm up to his shoulder, and you find yourself climbing onto the throne with him, straddling his thighs.
He breaks out that low, rumbling voice again, as he murmurs,
“That’s it, Boots, come sit on Santa’s lap.”
As you lower down onto him, you feel the heat of his thighs through your thin tights, and then the contrast of the chill of your metal-coated heels against the backs of yours.
You also feel something bloom in the pit of your stomach. And further down. A warmth, heat, need.
Eddie moves one hand to hold the back of your waist, pulling you gently, moving you further up his lap towards him.
You feel the unmistakable bulge of his arousal between your thighs, and as he moves you closer you gasp as you feel it nudge your mound.
You look at each other for another long moment, aware that this is very new territory. His eyes flick between your eyes and your lips, as he asks, quietly, “Is- is this okay?”
It’s all too much and simultaneously not enough. You definitely weren’t expecting any of this, but at the same time you find yourself desperately nodding, needing more of him, of Eddie.
You answer by slowly rolling your hips lightly against him, your lips parting slightly.
The few layers of fabric between you aren’t enough to dull the sensation of his cock pushing against your centre, and you feel it gradually pressing between your folds, your growing slick making the movements easier.
Suddenly, his bulge nudges your sensitive bud.
You gasp again at the sensation, making Eddie exhale a long low, warm breath over your torso, before he speaks again.
“Boots, can I kiss you?”
You take a breath, considering how this could all go. You could walk away now (albeit with shaky legs and damp thighs) and leave any possible awkwardness or complicated entanglement in favour of a simple, uncomplicated holiday with your friend.
But then you look into his eyes again, as his hips gently buck and nudge you once more, and your decision is made.
Breathing out, you reply,
“Fuck yeah, Santa.”
Wearing a soft, sly smile, he gently brings one hand to the back of your head, bringing you to him as he moves forwards, chocolate eyes roaming your face, scanning your eyes and lips.
Noses bumping and lips millimetres apart, he pauses for a moment before closing the gap, pressing his soft, plush lips to yours. They feel divine, soft and velvety, and this close you can smell everything him now, with the subtle addition of something faintly minty.
You kiss him back, and then you both press forward harder, parting your lips at the same moment, the tips of your tongues touching and dancing before sliding past each other and deepening the kiss, your teeth bumping gently and hot breaths mingling.
It’s wet, hot and needy, your hands grasping his shoulders, and his arms pulling you closer to him.
The rolling of your hips gradually becomes stronger and more forceful, and he bucks harder up into you. You need more. Breaking the kiss for air, you take a couple of lungfuls, toying with the drawstring on his red pants before asking, bold and more than a little cheeky,
“How are you feeling? Still entangled? Do you need a hand getting out of these, too?”
“Yeah, fuck, I’m feeling very… entrapped, kinda claustrophobic. Might be in shock from such a traumatic experience. I might need to loosen my clothing a bit, y’know, for medical reasons.”
You give him a smirk, and untie the cords. Raising up on your knees slightly, you slide your thumbs hands into the waistband of those and his fitted, black boxers (fuck, is there anything about this guy that isn’t sexy?). He quickly takes the hint, lifting his hips off of the throne and allowing you to move his garments down to his thighs.
As you work his member gets caught on the elastic of his boxers, and as it releases from the fabric it springs back onto his abdomen with an audible slap. You can’t help but look, and you’re not disappointed. It’s pleasantly, but not overly, big, thick and veiny, curved slightly and with a large flared head. The tip is shiny and pinky-red, and as you stare it twitches away from his body and a tiny bead of precum leaks from the tip. You’re surprised, but also delighted, to spot a shining pair of steel balls decorating a frenum piercing, and that there’s a few pretty dot and line work tattoos near the base.
It’s beautiful. You want to tell him so, but he grabs you and pulls you in for another deep, passionate kiss, his length trapped between your bodies, hot and pulsing.
You melt into the kiss, tongues slipping and sliding, lips rubbing, noses smooshed against each other and enjoying it for as long as you can both do without air.
Needing another deep inhale, and also wanting to get your hands on his delightful cock, you sit up again, slipping one hand between you and grasping at his length. Eddie hisses, then moans,
“Oh, Boots, you’re gonna fucking kill me.”
You enjoy the feeling of him in your hand for a few moments, relishing the heat and hardness, before you position the palm of your hand behind his cock and push your centre towards him again, trapping his length between your hand and belly.
More thrusts of his hips moves him between you, your slightly adjusted position now pressing him firmly between your clothed folds, his cock dragging the fabric across your clit. You can’t help but let out a high whine, and you feel his cock twitch again.
“Too much fabric. Wanna feel you.”
His voice is gruff, desperate, wanting.
You lean back a little, resting one hand on the arm of the throne, keeping your other hand wrapped around his cock. You’re not sure you ever want to let it go.
His hands move from your ass to your thighs, running over them and squeezing. When he reaches the part exposed by your lifted skirt he growls, feeling the skin of your hips and belly through the mesh of your tights.
Suddenly, his chin dips and he gives you an almost evil grin. His eyes remain connected with yours as the tip of his tongue peeks out of the corner of his mouth as he pushes some of his fingertips through the holes, grabs tightly and pulls.
You freeze as the sound of snapping fabric echoes around the grotto, cool air now gracing your belly and inner thighs. You gasp, not only at his actions but because you packed light and don’t have any other tights with you. But as Eddie’s thumbs trace up to the crease of your thighs, dangerously close to your heated core, all thoughts of packing and capsule wardrobes are erased. You want, no, need him to touch you.
With a smirk, you say, “Please touch me, Santa. I promise I’ve been such a good girl this year.”
His jaw goes slack and he looks at you in awe. You notice how black his eyes have become, the beautiful chocolate hues all but obscured.
He flicks his gaze to your core, black satin panties with lace edging fully on display. He runs one thumb pad up your very centre, feeling the smooth, silky fabric, your heat, the dampness that’s already apparent.
“Christ, baby, is this all for me?”
“All for you, Santa. I’m pretty sure you’ve been a bad boy this year, but you deserve a treat anyway.”
His eyes flick to yours again briefly, his lips curling into a lascivious smirk, before returning to the beautiful display between your legs. He hooks his thumb around one lace edge and, much more gently than he handled your tights, moves the soaked satin to one side.
With a tenderness and reverence that you’ve never experienced before, Eddie parts your folds with his thumb and runs it delicately from your wet lips all the way up to your clit. His eyes are fixed there, jaw slack, and you genuinely think he might drool.
As he connects with your sensitive bud you keen above him, eyes closing and head rolling back.
“That’s the spot, huh?”
You come back to look at him, and manage to breathe out, with a lilting giggle, “Fuck, yes.”
He moves his thumb in a small circle, and your mouth falls open in an O, your brows furrowing slightly.
“You want me to keep going, Boots? All you have to do is ask…”
You’re lost, gone, away in space, and you don’t have the capacity to chide him for his cheek. All you can manage is a breathy, “Please Eddie, please keep going.”
His thumb speeds up slightly and he gradually and gently increases the pressure, and you can feel the coil in your belly tightening already. Fuck, he’s good at this.
Your hand remains clamped around his dick, squeezing it occasionally, his hips rutting up into your fist at a leisurely pace as he watches you fall apart on his lap.
He moves his other hand from where it’s been resting on your hip, and, widening his thighs slightly to create space beneath you, brings the tips of his index and middle fingers to your hole. You’re sopping wet and swollen, lips almost sucking him in just from the slightest touch.
He looks to your face again as he asks, “Is this okay?”
You manage a rapid, shallow head nod and a, “M-hm”, and he slowly plunges two fingers into you, scissoring them and generating a low groan from you, which in turn causes a harsher snap from his hips.
“Jeezus, Boots, you make the most delicious sounds, wish I could record them, listen to them on a loop. Fucking hell.”
“Maybe you can, you’re a musician after a-all…”
That’s the last thing you can say for a while, the combination of Eddie’s smirk, his talented fingers pumping in and out of you, his glorious thumb movements, the feel of his cock in your hand and his hips bucking beneath you all conspire to bring you to your peak.
You grip the arm of the throne hard, nails denting the pile on the velvety fabric. Your eyes close and your vision goes black before becoming a thousand tiny fairy lights, a firework igniting in your core and spreading throughout your body in the most delicious waves as you spasm around Eddie’s fingers.
You don’t notice you’ve been groaning until your senses return, and you feel a slight roughness in your throat. Eddie continues his movements, though slower, and helps you ride out your aftershocks as you pant on his lap.
Only when you start to twitch in discomfort does he remove his thumb from your clit. He slowly pulls his fingers from inside you, and to your surprise brings them up to his lips, pushing them fully inside his mouth and sucking greedily, closing his eyes and humming at your taste. Popping them out with a wet smack, he says,
“My god, Boots. You taste better than sugar cookies and cotton candy combined.”
Your arms feel suddenly weak, and you flop forwards, forehead on Eddie’s collarbone. You feel his warm, broad palm on your back, rubbing gently, soothing you.
“Y’okay there, sweetheart?”
You manage a little squeak, and mumble a tiny, “Mmph, yeaaah…”, as he chuckles lightly.
After a few moments you sit up a little, gazing into Eddie’s blown chocolate eyes through an endorphin haze, and you notice your cheeks are tense, in what must be, given Eddie’s somewhat lovesick expression, a goofy smile.
You realise you’re still holding on to his dick, and give it an experimental squeeze, to test whether your muscles are responding to signals from your brain (yeah, that’s definitely the only reason…). Eddie’s hips buck up, and you sneak a look down to see more precum leaking from the tip. You gather some with your thumb, circling it gently over his slit.
Eddie inhales with a hiss. His strong arm around your back goes to pull you in for another kiss, as his other hand reaches up to the hat atop his head, pulling it off and discarding it amongst the tangled fairy lights.
You move towards him for a deep kiss, releasing the grip on his member and running your hands around his (surprisingly muscular and delicious) neck and into the hair at the base of his skull, tangling your fingers into the curls and tugging gently, earning you another moan.
Shifting your hips along his thighs, you press your soaking folds against Eddie’s turgid cock, and the combination of sensations causes Eddie to break the kiss and emit a loud, low groan. His arms tighten around your torso and he moves his warm mouth down your jaw and neck with wet kisses, then lightly bites the top of your shoulder.
You sigh, knowing what you want.
“You ever fuck an elf, Santa?”
Eddies still mouthing at your collarbone as he mutters into your warm skin,
“Goddammit, you’re incredible.”
You move backwards slightly and Eddie takes the opportunity to reach behind him, grabbing the back of his tank top and dragging it off, dropping it carelessly to the side of the throne to join the lights and his hat.
Fuck, his chest is glorious too.
Bringing a little of your lower lip between your teeth, you run your palms down his solid torso. You want the opportunity to play with that nipple ring and examine each and every one of his tattoos, but right now there are more pressing desires on your mind.
He lets out a shaky breath as you brush his abs with your fingertips, shift your position and line up his swollen head with your eagerly awaiting hole.
“You sure about this, Boots?”
You look up at him, at his blown dark eyes and pink, kiss-bitten, shiny lips, and quirk an eyebrow as you run your fingers into his hair and murmur, “Oh yeah, Eddie. I want you to make me feel… special inside.”
He gasps as you angle your hips and sink down, pushing the head of his cock inside of you, gradually taking his thick length.
He kisses your lips once more, humming, as you acclimatise to his girth, then grins lasciviously as he thrusts his hips upwards, filling you completely. You’re close enough that the moans you let out mingle together and your breaths become shared, eyes locked and mouths agape.
You roll your hips, sliding Eddie’s length in and out of you at a gentle pace. You can feel every ridge and vein as he enters and pulls out, and you’re sure you can feel his frenum piercing dragging against your walls.
You can tell he’s holding back, consciously stilling his own hips and allowing you to set the pace. But this doesn’t last long.
Voice gravelly and ragged with lust, Eddie mumbles,
“Shit, baby, I gotta move. I wanna fuck you so bad, Boots. You gonna let me fuck you?”
Mouth close to his ear, you breathe out a small, “Please”.
It’s all he needs.
Grabbing your ass and squeezing hard but not harshly, Eddie pulls you down onto him as he thrusts up from below. His pace is ruthless as he lifts and drops you, matching his rhythm as he grunts and mumbles incoherent curses. You can’t make out much, but you do hear,
“Fuck, baby, you feel so divine, taking me so well, Jeezus Christ.”
Fuck, he feels amazing.
You remember his cock tattoos, and imagine how they might look, shiny and covered with your slick, disappearing in and out of your glossy lips.
This image, combined with a particularly hard snap of Eddie’s hips causing him to angle slightly differently and start to nudge that special place inside of you, causes you to let out a loud gasp, and your mouth drops open as you try to form a sentence.
“Oh fuck Eddie, I’m- I’m…”
“You gonna cum all over Santa, pretty girl?”
He continues thrusting at that delicious angle and you feel your legs start to tremble.
“Fuck! Y-yes, ye-ess!”
Heat building in your core, you just about hear Eddie mumbling,
“Shit, you’re squeezin’ me so tight, I’m not gonna last much longer. Where do you want…?”
Before he can even finish you’re blurting out,
“Inside me Eddie, please.”
You bounce on Eddie’s lap as his thrusts become deeper, faster, and then harsher and less rhythmic. You grind down onto his pelvis, your clit rubbing against his pubic bone and his thick, dark pubic hair, as his cock continues to bully your most sensitive spot.
Suddenly your muscles tense, thighs clamping around him, your forehead pressing hard into his, as his hips slam up into you. You let out a low whine as you peak again, vision blackening, all your muscles tensing as your walls clench around him.
Eddie follows almost immediately, thrusting harshly upwards and pulling your hips down onto him, and you feel rushes of warmth as he groans and empties himself inside your fluttering cunt.
There’s quiet for a moment, and all you can hear is your panting breaths and the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears.
You sit in silence for a few minutes, foreheads feasting against each other, heartbeats slowing and breathing becoming more regular.
Breathlessly, and without full clarity, you sit up slightly and mumble “Fuck, Eddie, that was…”
Eddie chews a little on the inside of his lower lip, and with the widest, sexiest smile you’ve ever seen, replies softly,
“Merry Christmas, Boots.”
After a few moments spent pecking kisses on various parts of your face, making you giggle, Eddie eventually helps you to lift off his slowly softening cock. He leans over to retrieve his discarded tank top and uses it to help clean the mess you both made between your legs.
You unpeel yourselves from the golden throne, feeling sure the heels of your boots have left marks in your ass, and he aids your passage back to the locker room on wobbly legs, helping you wash and making sure you’re ok.
As you gather your things he changes into his street clothes. They’re not dissimilar to last night, though he’s foregone the chain belt and has chosen a somewhat more fully intact shirt, and he watches you as he slings on his leather jacket.
Almost ready, you look down forlornly at your gaping tights, the hole barely covered by the hem of your skirt. Eddie chuckles, and tries to lighten your hosiery-related mood.
“Perhaps I could buy you a new pair? Maybe at lunch tomorrow we could go visit your favourite shop, and you could pick out something nice?”
The image of Santa and one of his elves nonchalantly browsing the displays in a sex shop amuses you greatly, and you tell him so, but he insists he would totally do it, if you wanted to.
There’s a pause as you retrieve your coat and go to put it on, and as you do he adds,
“Well, I’d call it a Christmas gift, but… I’d actually prefer to get you something a little nicer. If you’re around. And you’d let me, of course.”
You’re surprised by Eddie’s unexpected tenderness, and the implication that he might want to continue… whateverthisis. You don’t want to presume anything, but there’s certainly a little tingle in your belly at the thought.
You reply, sardonically, “Sure, I guess. So long as it’s not red and glittery, I think I've had enough things like that to last me for a little while.”
You both snort-laugh at this.
As you start to walk together to the staff exit at the back of the mall, Eddie offers to take your bag so you can fasten your coat and put on your hat and gloves.
Trying to sound casual, he asks, “Sooo, how’re you gettin’ back to Robin’s?”
“I was gonna take the bus, like usual.”
Eddie looks at you sideways, slightly bashful.
“Could I, maybe, give you a ride? We can stop at Benny’s on the way, if you’re hungry. It's a diner”, he clarifies, remembering that you’re not from around here.
Your tummy flips, and not just from the thought of a milkshake and fries.
“Yeah, sure, I’d like that.”
Eddie smiles that wide smile again, and you see his cheeks turn a little pink. It’s odd, him being all shy and self-conscious after what you two have just done, but somehow it’s also incredibly endearing.
As he walks you through the parking lot, still carrying your bag and toying with a stray piece of tinsel that he found in his pocket, he says,
“Y’know, I’d still really like to see what you do with that Christmas dildo.”
Thinking back to how he looked all tangled up, you smirk back at him as you think of how you’d quite like a redo of him tied up for you.
As you reach his van, you lean against the passenger door and coyly look at him.
“Well, maybe I could show you. Could we, maybe, do something after work tomorrow?”
With the sweetest dimpled smile you think you’ve ever seen, Eddie cocks his head to one side and lifts a hand to run the tip of one forefinger along your jawline, as he replies in that low rumble,
“Oh, Boots, you should know by now. All you have to do is ask.”
🎄You may not yet be completely sold on the whole idea of The Holidays™️, but you’ll have to admit to Robin that this might well be the start of your Best. Christmas. Ever.🎄
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Thanks so much for reading! ILY 🥰
Please support your content creators by not only liking but also commenting and reblogging - it’s so important. If you liked this there’s a good chance others will too, and comments and reblogs are the only way posts get seen. Consider it a Christmas gift to your writers and followers 😍🎅🏼 Thank you, and Happy Holidays, however you celebrate!
Resources: Proof that Deck The Halls can be sung to the tune of War Pigs (and vice versa), plus the ‘Fa la la’ 😊🎄
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pellaaearien · 7 months
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Pell I would LOVE to see a perspective flip for Mieux Aimé of Dream working himself up to present Hob with that single beautiful undying rose
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@arialerendeair you are both wonderful <3 The fact that you remember a one-off fic I wrote back in February means it's VALENTINES IN SEPTEMBER, Y'ALL!
Partie Deux
There are roses everywhere in the Dreaming.
It is Valentine's Day in the Waking world, as Dream reminds Lucienne, who keeps sending him ever more pointed looks. It is to be expected.
"Of course, my lord," she says, conciliatory. Allowing him his foibles. Valentine's Day, in its modern form, is a far more widespread observance than it had been before his imprisonment. It is as good an explanation as any.
Lucienne, of course, knows better.
"Is it the dreamers who are preoccupied?" she asks, finally, on the thirteenth of February in Waking time. "Or you?"
He has no answer for her.
Under normal circumstances, he would not allow even his loyal librarian to speak to him thus. But the circumstances are far from normal.
The Lord of Dreams is courting a human. A human who might reasonably expect his lover to mark occasions such as these.
(Christmas just past had been spent in the warmth of Hob's flat, with the sweet smell of baked goods and the soft glow of fairy lights adding to the ambiance of their lovemaking. It is a memory that shines brightly for Dream. Valentine's Day is, however, a far less ambiguously romantic holiday, and Dream is unsure of the protocol.)
"Have you spoken to him?" Lucienne presses further, finding, as always, the heart of the matter.
"We have. Spoken of it," Dream answers. It is the truth. Hob has told him about his plans for decorating the New Inn, "keeping it tasteful," as he says, "so those who aren't interested can still enjoy it."
He has given no indication as to whether he himself might be interested.
"Go to him," Lucienne urges. The days leading up to the fourteenth had in fact been inordinately busy, with stress dreams taking over a large portion of the subconscious. It has not done anything for Dream's mood.
"The work-" Dream begins.
"The work is well in hand," she says. "The dreams are well practised and have their assigned roles. I am certain there will be nothing so dire it requires your direct attention, my lord. Go. Even if he has no wish to celebrate, you cannot believe he will turn you away at the door?"
No, Hob will not turn him away, Dream knows. (The knowing was hard-won, and is yet a fragile, wondrous thing.) But Dream has been mindful that he must not impose upon such extraordinary hospitality. Must not presume upon Hob's affections.
Perhaps if he brought a gift...? Or would that be presuming yet further?
In the end, he selects a single bloom, a solitary rose that had dared to bloom upon the arm of his throne. He thinks, as he does so, of the rose he had so absentmindedly brought almost to the door of their 1589 meeting, before thinking better of it. Would aught have been different, if he had? He is not Destiny, and cannot know. This rose will have to suffice.
He cannot quite bring himself to manifest directly in Hob's flat as he usually might. For the first time, he seeks the dubious comfort of the threshold: to be ejected, he thinks, would be a far greater pain than to be turned away.
It takes several eternities, or five Waking minutes, to gather the courage to knock.
Once he has done so, he is no longer in control of events. The noise of the film from inside shuts off, and he hears Hob's plodding footsteps approaching the door. The heart he does not have is in his throat, obstructing the breath he does not need, as he waits for Hob to appear. For his fate to be decided.
Hob's expression, when the door finally opens, is confusion, which quickly morphs to surprise upon seeing Dream.
"Dearling, come in," he says, welcome given as unhesitatingly as ever. Dearling, sweeting, lykyng, culver. Endearments from the time when Hob was young. Such things he calls Dream. "I wasn't expecting..."
He fails to finish the sentence, but has brought Dream into his home. Dream ought to explain his presence.
"I had thought. This day. Is for lovers," he says at last. Lovers, at least, they surely are. Perhaps Dream might be forgiven, if he is mistaken.
Hob slips his hand around the one of Dream's that is holding the rose. Even if the bloom were a Waking bloom, and capable of harming him, it would not have the opportunity to, by virtue of how gently Hob is holding him. Hob's other hand slips into its favoured position at the nape of Dream's neck, and he feels the last of the tension he has been unknowingly carrying dissipate under the weight of sense memory, of all the wondrous times Hob has held him like this. Hob presses their foreheads together, and Dream takes unnecessary breaths of Hob's human scent; of age, old books, woodsmoke, sweat, and the strength of earth.
Dream should not find the smell of humanity comforting. But it soothes him more than anything he has ever known.
"Hey, sweetheart," Hob says, and Dream shivers, to know that he is welcome. Is wanted. Is loved. "I'm so glad you're here."
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acasualcrossfade · 1 month
Text
Balcony Kisses
Written for @steddielovemonth Day 26
Rating: T | Cw: mention of underage drug use | Words: 1240
Tags: established relationship, established Steddie, Steddie dads, making out
Prompt: Love is a fire that never goes out. @sidekick-hero
Steve and Eddie share a moment during their daughter’s graduation party.
--
Steve leaned against the railing of the master bedroom balcony, letting out a slow exhale. The balcony rails were wrapped in lights, still up from when Eddie decorated for Christmas, but their glow added a nice touch for their daughter’s graduation party. 
The party still continued in the backyard below and Steve could still hear the sizzling sounds of Hopper’s famous burgers on the grill, the faraway laughter of teenage kids and their friends, and the pulsing beat of some party music Dustin had chosen. 
The balcony was quieter than the party itself, and from here, Steve could hear the droning buzz of cicadas as he took in the blue-purple color of the summer evening sky. 
In the glow of the fairy lights that hung across the backyard, Steve spied their daughter, Sienna, at a table with her friends. Sienna turned her wrist every now and then, showing off her charm bracelet, sure to point out her newest charm, a gift from both him and Eddie. It was tradition to give her a new charm for each milestone: graduating middle school, first theater performance, first band performance, and most recently, her first published work. Her piece on the importance of music as a way to capture time and memories won the state essay contest earlier that year, and it was hard to imagine that she would be off to the University of Chicago next week. She’d been invited to their summer writing program before the semester started. 
It was exciting, but it meant Sienna left in a week instead of in a few months. Anxiety hummed between Steve’s ribs at the thought of Sienna on her own. The air was thick with the bittersweet taste that came with moving on.
Summer was just beginning, and yet, everything was ending.
“Thought I’d find you up here.”
Steve turned at the sound of Eddie’s voice as the man stepped out onto the balcony. Eddie looked as good as always, even with his long hair that he’d fussed over that morning now thrown in a messy bun, and his suit jacket abandoned hours ago for a UChicago sweatshirt. Steve spotted the tell-tale taquito grease stain on his sleeve.
“Thought you said you’d leave the taquitos for the guests,” Steve chuckled, loving the way Eddie’s arms laced to embrace him from behind.  
“Couldn’t resist,” Eddie murmured, kissing Steve’s neck softly. “They’re almost as delicious as you are.”
“And here’s when I’d say something about your cholesterol and–”
Eddie gave him a playful squeeze, cutting Steve’s sentence off with a surprised gasp. 
“I’ve been in the mood to indulge tonight. Guilty as charged. But I did take my medicine this morning,” he assured.
“Guess I’ll let you off with a warning,” Steve replied. He turned to face Eddie, leaning against his husband��s chest as Eddie’s arms wrapped around him. Steve couldn’t help but snuggle in closer.
“So, is the party better from up here?”
Eddie’s voice came at Steve’s ear, as Eddie’s hands rubbed the back of Steve’s neck. Instantly, Steve’s shoulders dropped, and Steve hummed in relief.
“Just needed some air.”
“Mm, and what else, sunshine?”
Steve almost hated the way Eddie could read him like a book. Still, the words stuck in his throat as he spoke. “Sienna. She’s leaving us, Eds. We get her for another week, but then…she’s gone.”
Eddie stroked Steve’s cheek, nodding along. “I know. I can’t believe it, either. Feels like yesterday when she was nervous for her first day of school.”
Steve hugged Eddie close as he continued to watch the party downstairs. His eyes drifted across the yard to Max and Nancy chatting excitedly to Erica, no doubt about their publishing company, who’s third office would open in Brooklyn next week. They already had locations in Chicago and Seattle, and Brooklyn was their biggest move yet.
“Everyone’s moving on. What are we even going to do with her out of the house?”
Eddie nibbled Steve’s ear in reply, earning another hum from Steve. “I can think of a few things, starting with you bent over this—”
It was Steve’s turn to surprise Eddie with a playful squeeze. Eddie’s sentence dissolved into laughter as leaned in and connected their lips, taking Steve in slowly with intention.
Steve’s mind went hazy. Eddie tasted like burgers and beer, and everything home and Steve responded by pulling Eddie’s hips impossibly closer, closing every centimeter of space between them. He felt a smile tug at his lips as Eddie’s hand moved down his neck and back to curl around the curve of his ass to give it a squeeze.
Steve let out a breathy moan; even after twenty-five years together, that move still made Steve’s entire body tingle.
“Of course they’ll be plenty of that,” Steve whispered against Eddie’s lips. “Might have to get a head start tonight. Clearly, we’ve got a lot to cover.” 
Steve moved his hand from Eddie’s hip to Eddie’s ass, glad when Eddie’s moan heated his lips. 
Steve had many plans for what he wanted next, starting with pushing Eddie back into their bedroom, but the moment was cut short with a Hey! shouted from the backyard.
“We can still see you up there, lovebirds,” Robin crowed from the backyard in her best sing-song voice. 
Steve broke apart instantly as he felt his ears heat, but Eddie, as always, took it in stride and flipped her the bird as he laughed and pulled Steve in for another deep kiss.
Eddie’s lips made him dizzy and this time was no different. The world went fuzzy in the best way, and Steve threw his arms around Eddie’s neck to tangle in his hair.
Ripples of chuckles, whoops, and whistles came from the backyard, and when they broke apart again, Steve caught Sienna laughing as she playfully gave them both a thumbs down.
“I think we’re embarrassing our daughter,” Steve chuckled. 
“Well that just means we’re good dads,” Eddie winked. 
The party picked back up as attention shifted back to food and socializing. Steve leaned against the railing, glad to get more time with Eddie.
“You think….we did okay?” Steve asked, turning to glance again at Sienna. She’d moved across the yard to join Nancy, Max, and Robin. “She’ll be okay, right?”
Eddie’s arms wrapped around him again, carrying the same safety and love as always. “She’ll be okay,” Eddie assured, pecking a kiss on Steve’s cheek. “Besides, she’s been doing her own laundry for years, so at least we’ll know she’ll be in clean clothes.”
“I guess that’s a relief.” 
“And she knows to call us about anything, too. And she has,” Eddie reminded. “Remember when she was at that awful 70s party and everyone was trying weed?”
“Oh god, yes.”
Their daughter hadn’t partook, but called them instead to have them pick her up because everyone was freaking out and acting weird. 
Eddie was right; Sienna knew to call them for anything. 
Steve leaned into the familiar love and safety of Eddie’s arms. “I’m gunna miss her so much.” 
“We both are,” Eddie hummed. “But we still have a week. We’ll make the most of it.”
Steve nodded in agreement, melting into Eddie’s touch as the man pressed gentle kisses into his neck. 
Although the taste of everything ending was still tangible in the summer air, Steve felt the beginning curl of desire in his abdomen as Eddie kissed him, knowing that some things never changed. 
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rustyelias · 5 months
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Alright dropping my tma Christmas headcanons this is as festive that I will get
Jonathan:
- only puts up with Christmas for Martin.
- Steals martins Christmas jumpers
- Terrible at buying gifts
- Hates getting gifts
- Never celebrated growing up when he lived with his grandma
- This man will info dump about a Christmas carol
- He is 100% a big fan of hot chocolate
- Hates mince pies (so real of him)
Martin Khrismas Blackwood:
- Knits his own Christmas jumper for himself and loved once
- Takes Jon on tree shopping dates
- Along with being able to make the perfect cup of tea he can also make a pretty wicked cup of hot chocolate
- He makes his own tree decorations
- Will always have Christmas scented candles burning to the point that Jon is scared the flat will set on fire
- He buys special fairy light that are dim so they don’t overstimulate Jon (URRGDHD GAY PEOPLE)
- Not a big fan of modern Christmas music refuse to let anyone play it
Tim:
- Always wears matching jumpers with Sasha
- [Makes everyone do secret Santa but rigs it so Jon never gets him
- Mother fucker walks around with mistletoe and waits for Martin or Sasha to walk past
- Always ends up drunk. It just happens
- “Come on Elias!? It’s Christmas! Lighten up double boss”
- “Oh come on don’t be a Scrooge” - Jon then proceeded to infodump about acc
- [ ecorates his flat fully but no tree. He forgot one year and it’s become a joke
Sasha:
- Makes her own mulled wine and bakes her own Christmas cookies
- Hosts a Christmas party every year and has every one round for Christmas dinner (she knows her friends are lifeless losers with no family)
- She really loves ear Muffes
- Every year she gets everyone super personal gifts even Elias and every year makes Martin cry
- She uses the holiday to show off the fact she can play Piano
Elias sexy pipe murder… wait what who said that 👀 :
- Shockes everyone every year by showing up one day in a Christmas jumper instead of his perfectly tailored three pieces suit
- This man just spawns in when ever Sasha brings in her Christmas baked goods
- He wears peters scarf (he stole it and yes Peter wants it back)
- “Yes Peter I know it’s Christmas darling but I still want another divorce”
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