#classic foot in mouth merry moment

[fallen-chances]

Arwyn: *bangs a book on the table in frustration*

Merriell: Stop that! How would YOU feel if I banged you against the table?

Arwyn: I—

Arwyn: I don’t know the correct answer to this question.

#classic foot in mouth merry moment #oc incorrect quotes #tes #my ocs #arwyn soft-step #merriell sartorius #q

[shimmerwindow]

I Never Really

Part Thirteen

Word count: 7.2k

Warnings: Alcohol use, cigarette use, blood, smut (18+)

Sexual Content: fingering, oral (f rec), overstimulation, dirty talk, a bit of breeding kink, fuckin', classic creampie

Playlist | Masterlist

Tag List: @jazzyfigz @dont-go-home-without-me @poochiesworld @stardustcatcher @83rkblogs @jaketsguitar @dannys-dream @gretavanfan @do-it-jakey-baby @gvfpal @ignite-my-fire @gardensgatekeeper @torniturntomyarrow

Sam, Sam, Sam. He was all you could manage to think about for the remainder of your days alone. It stung at times, picturing him with his family, in the town he came from, while you sat in the dorms alone. But you had the memories of the taste of his lips and the feeling of his body to keep you company. You’d been replaying the events of the other night constantly since the moment you’d stepped foot out of his car.

His yearning for you had been so obvious in every move of his body. You’d never be able to forget the way the calluses on his fingers were rough against your cheeks. Everything was easier now that you were riding on the high of mutual attraction. It seemed like nothing could possibly bring you down. Not even the impending stress of classes in a few weeks scared you, now that you had Sam.

Relieving was not a strong enough word to describe how it had felt. It was something more akin to world-altering. You’d been so stuck in your own head, so devoid of confidence in yourself, that you’d entirely convinced yourself you were not worthy of him. When all along, he had wanted you all the same. It all made sense, when you looked back on it. Every little touch, every glance, the nicknames, the compliments; they were not empty gestures as you’d suspected.

You were so excited to see him again, it gave you butterflies to the point of nausea to even think about it. He’d texted you a few times over his absence, simple things such as a merry christmas! and hope you’re well.

You were trying not to dwell on it too deeply, but the thought still lingered in the back of your mind – the feelings you had for him might not be entirely mutual. Sure, he wanted you physically, but the rest? It wasn’t clear to you. And, of course, the problem of Jake was still there. He hadn’t looked particularly pleased when he walked in on you and Sam the other night, and you were certain he knew what had happened. You prayed he would keep his mouth shut. You would have to address it some day, soon, but that day was not going to be today.

The hours ticked by, and you filled them with idle work, until the day came when Sam would return. When you woke on New Year’s Eve, your stomach ached with anxiety and, more powerfully, anticipation. He texted you to tell you when he would come by to get you – the two of you hadn't even discussed him picking you up. It was a sweet, small gesture that made you grin like a fool at your phone screen.

He was picking you up late – you didn’t want to give yourself too much time to get shitfaced. Throwing up in their bathroom once was more than enough for you, and you weren’t looking to ring in the new year while blacked out. The air outside the lobby was frigid, and a light snow was falling. It was beautiful and quiet, save for the occasional hollering from one of the houses just off campus. And the silence was fully broken by the sound of music playing loudly from Sam’s car as he pulled around the corner.

“Hey,” he said as you plopped into the passenger seat, thankful for a reprieve from the cold outside.

“Hey.” You couldn’t manage to meet his eyes, your entire body vibrating with need and nerves.

“How’ve you been?” You could hear the smile in his voice.

“Good. Missed you.” It slipped out before you were able to stop it.

“Missed you too.”

You finally looked up at him, met with a row of grinning teeth and two half-lidded eyes that could make you melt in an instant if you stared too long.

“I’m nervous,” you admitted.

He pulled away from the curb, placing a tentative hand on your thigh. “For what?”

It was too many things all at once, none of which you wanted to burden him with. Nervous for whatever the night with him would bring, nervous for the commotion of what was likely their biggest party of the year, nervous to see Jake. “Don’t know. Just nervous.”

He squeezed your thigh, giving it a gentle shake. “You can stick by me the whole night. We’ll have a good time.”

The warmth of his fingers gripping you was making you feel a bit dizzy. “I need a drink.”

“Almost there. I’ll getcha one. You’ve gotta get plastered with me,” he laughed.

The tension in the car was palpable. There were so many things you knew both of you wanted to say, but the words didn't need to be spoken. You communicated solely through your small talk, and the way you rested your fingers on top of his hand. You'd never noticed before, but his hands were big, far bigger than your own. You were trying not to imagine how those fingers would feel inside of you when he finally pulled up to the house.

“Ready?” He asked, turning the car off and looking at you expectantly. You nodded, and the two of you headed inside together.

It was jam-packed, with more people than you’d ever seen in there before. Music was playing from some unknown source, a speaker in a corner somewhere, you figured. Sparkly hats and funny glasses adorned every head you saw, a smile gracing every face. Everything felt hopeful.

You heard your name being called from the kitchen, a face peering out from behind the crowd in the living room. Daniel's hand raised up from behind the sea of people, waving at you and beckoning you over. You gave Sam a cautious glance, and he took your hand in his, leading the way and weaving the two of you through the people crowding the room.

“Welcome!” Danny wrapped you in a hug, and you could smell copious amounts of alcohol on him. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“Sorry,” you laughed. “School was kicking my ass.”

“Well, it's break time! You want a drink? Let me make you a drink.” His hands clumsily grabbed at a stack of red plastic cups on the counter.

“I’ll get it for her,” Sam interrupted, squeezing himself between Danny and the counter.

“Yeah, sorry, go ahead – make your girlfriend a drink.” Daniel said it in such a nonchalant way, like he genuinely meant it.

“G– girlfriend?” Sam turned back to him, and you could see a faint blush rising in his cheeks.

“Just a friend,” you corrected. Though it wasn’t entirely true anymore.

“Did you down a whole bottle in the time I was gone, Daniel?” Sam chuckled, taking the top off a bottle.

“Jake’s worse.”

As if summoned, you heard a familiar voice nearby. “Lovely angel!” You turned in time to see Jake’s eyes on you as he made his way towards the three of you. “So nice to see you again, finally.” His words were slurred, thoroughly drunk. “God, you look nice.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Sam set the bottle back down on the counter just a bit too hard.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, your eyes cast to the floor. The night had just begun, and the tension in the room was already unbearable.

A voice from behind Jake caught your ear. A woman’s voice, shouting "Jakey!”

You paid careful attention to the jealousy that pulsed through your heart as this unknown girl emerged from the crowd, and wrapped an arm around Jake’s waist and pulled him away. You told yourself several times in rapid succession that it was a temporary feeling.

“Who the hell was that?” Danny asked, leaning against the counter and pointing a finger in the direction of the duo.

“Girl of the week, I’d guess,” Sam replied, handing you your finished drink.

The three of you chatted about whatever came to mind, most of the conversation being taken up by Danny regaling both of you with tales of his golf outings.

“And then everyone on the course stood up and cheered, right?” Sam said after a particularly doubtable claim.

“Are you calling me a liar?” iii Danny gasped. “I would never."

“Right,” Sam replied. “And what about that one time when you said you–”

“Ah, whatever you’re about to say, I’m sure it wasn’t important!”

Sam looked at you, rolling his eyes with a smile. “Cigarette?” He asked, softly.

You nodded. You needed one right about now.

Daniel took his leave to go hit on some girl in the crowd, while Sam led you out the back door. It was nearly empty outside, only a few stragglers braving the cold for a joint or a smoke. Sam actually had his own pack this time, something you’d only seen a handful of times.

“Finally bought your own, huh?” You teased, poking a finger into his side.

“Well, I wasn’t seeing you enough to bum off of you. Had to take matters into my own hands.” He wiggled the cigarette between his fingers.

The two of you stared at the sky in mostly silence, watching the clouds creep over the moon. Though, your eyes were drawn to him, and you found yourself mesmerized. The way he inhaled through his teeth and tilted his head back to keep the scent off of himself, the way he held it between his index finger and thumb. As always, every movement he made captivated you.

“We should drink some of that champagne,” he said after a slow exhale.

“I don’t really like champagne.”

“If there’s one time I’m gonna force you to drink it, it's New Year’s Eve. You’re having some with me.” He put out his cigarette in the ashtray on the corner of the porch, opening the door back inside a bit. “You coming?”

You hurriedly finished your smoke and followed him inside, where he braved the crowds around the plethora of bottles to pour both of you a glass. A real one, not plastic, grabbed from the cabinet.

“Fine china for the lady.” He handed your glass to you, clinking his own against yours in a toast. “To whatever next year brings.”

It was cramped in the house, but you’d found a place to sit on the stairs, next to Sam. The two of you finally had a chance to catch up, without the awkward tension of loving-hatred holding back all of the words between you.

“So…about the other night,” he began, during a lull in your conversations.

“What about it?” You had just barely enough alcohol in your system to comprehend speaking with him about it.

“I didn't, like…come on too strong, did I?” He gave you a nervous smile.

“No, no, absolutely not.” You urged his worries away with a wave of your hand. “In fact…nevermind.”

“What?”

“I said nevermind.” You covered your mouth to stifle a laugh and turned away from him.

“What? Say it! C’mon!” He gave you a little shove and a grin.

“Maybe you didn't come on strong enough,” you said between giggles.

“Stronger next time, got it,” he replied. “Speaking of which, they’re gonna start counting soon.” He motioned to the TV, and the clock that now read 11:58. “Who’s your New Year’s kiss gonna be?”

“Gee, I wonder…” you brought a hand up to shield your eyes, and looked around the room. “Don’t know if there’s any promising suitors here.”

“I know one, actually.”

“Yeah? Who’s that?”

“Well, his name is Sam–”

“Oh, I think I know him! The cute one, right?”

“The cutest one.”

The two of you laughed, and he draped an arm around your shoulders. Sitting with him like this felt so right, like you were always meant to find yourself in this position. The warmth of his body was so radiant, and it felt good even against the drunk heat of your own body.

One minute was left, sixty seconds to the new year. The events of the past few months flashed through your mind, all of the loss, the heartbreak, the yearning, the pining, the redemption, the sex, the love…all of it was unlike anything you’d found in years before. You always thought your life was, for the most part, uneventful. Sure, you had fun and did things here and there, but the past years had been nothing compared to this.

Ten...nine...eight...

You thought about the roof, and the way Sam had been so thankful for your presence the first time you met him. Maybe this was all preordained, maybe he was meant to find you up on that roof. Maybe in every lifetime you would pull a cigarette out of your pack and give it to him without a second thought.

Three…two…one…

Happy New Year!

The room exploded into cheers and laughs as Sam’s hand caught the side of your face and he pulled you in. Your lips met with an urgency that hadn’t been there the last time you’d kissed. Like he needed this, like he'd been waiting far too long. You wrapped your arms around him, leaning further into your first kiss of the new year. You didn’t realize you were still holding your empty champagne flute in your hand, until you felt it slip from your fingers. Your hand darted out to grab it – an immediate mistake, when you heard it shatter, followed by a searing pain in your hand.

You winced away from him, pulling your arms back and looking at your palm, which now bore the bright red of a fresh cut from the broken glass.

“Jesus– what happened?” He asked, grabbing your wrist.

“I don’t know, I dropped it, and I tried to grab it, I– I’m sorry, shit!” You both laughed with the absurdity of it all. Of course your first move of the new year would be slicing your hand open.

“It’s alright, you’re okay. Let me look at it.” He gently loosened your fingers until your palm was flat enough for him to look at the cut. “Doesn’t look too bad. Go up to my room. I’ll meet you there in a second. And don't get blood on that outfit, I like that shirt on you." He gave you a smirk.

You did as he said, hurrying up the stairs before more worried eyes from the crowd could settle on you. He was there in only a few minutes, after cleaning up the broken glass, you assumed.

“Alright,” he sighed with a smile. “How much is it bleeding?”

You uncurled your fingers again to show him.

“That's not bad. C’mere.” He led you to the sink in the bathroom that connected his and Jake’s rooms and told you to rinse it, while he rummaged around in the cabinet. You were struck by a sudden familiarity, recalling the image of your own face in the mirror above the sink. Remembering the last time you'd been here. After the Halloween party.

“Sit.” He motioned to his bed, back through the open door. You obeyed, sitting cross-legged on the edge of his comforter. “Let me see,” he said, sitting across from you.

You gingerly held your hand out for him, your fingers shaking a bit. “I’m sorry,” you murmured. “Bad way to start the year.”

“Don’t apologize.” His voice was low and soft as he started delicately wrapping a bit of gauze around your hand. “Does it hurt?”

“A little bit.” The alcohol in your system was, thankfully, dulling the sensation just enough.

“I’ll put this on for tonight, then maybe tomorrow a few band-aids will be enough. I don't think it's deep enough for stitches or anything.”

You nodded, trying to control your breathing as he worked his fingers around your hand, putting down a small piece of tape to hold the gauze.

“You really sliced it up, sweetheart.” He lifted his eyes to meet yours, a warmth present behind them that you'd never seen before. “I’m no nurse, but that should be fine for tonight.”

“Thanks,” you sighed.

He took both of your hands in his, and a weight seemed to settle over both of you in the warm lamplight of the room. His care, his compassion for you, it struck a nerve in the most beautiful of ways. You wanted to tell him. You felt a pressing need to tell him. This was it, this was your chance, your one moment when it would come out effortlessly.

“What?” He gave you a little smile. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

Apparently, it was written all over your face. “Can I say something?”

“Say whatever you want to say. It’s a new year!”

“Alright, but…you have to agree that if you don't like it, we’ll both just forget it ever happened.” You couldn’t believe you were really doing this.

“Okay…” he replied, cautiously. “Go on.”

You looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, your lips parted in anticipation of your own words. “Sammy,” you sighed. The sentence chased itself out of your mouth before you could stop it. “It might be too soon to say this. I know you just kissed me for the first time, like, a week ago. But I don't just want...I just have to tell you that I feel like..." You were losing it, wrapping yourself up in attempts to dance around the point. You took one last deep breath, braced yourself, and spoke. "I’ve had a crush on you. For like, ever.” You closed your eyes, fearing his response.

It felt so stupid and cheesy. Like confessing to your middle school crush that you liked them. It was so typical of you to say it in such a silly way, too. You didn't exactly regret it, not yet, but you wished you’d been able to keep it to yourself just a bit longer. And that you’d been able to say it in a more graceful way.

Even through your mildly drunken haze, you could somehow feel him tense. You heard his breath stop, then quicken. His hands on yours tightened their grip. His voice came out as a whisper. “Seriously?”

You nodded, the motion making it feel like your world was spinning. You weren't sure if it was your hands, or his that were shaking. The silence was loud enough to make your ears ring.

“Are you pranking me or something?”

You shook your head. You wished you could take your words back. You scrunched up your eyes, willing the world to turn backwards just a few seconds. Steeling yourself for the inevitable response of rejection.

“Well, that’s…” You felt his hands slip away from yours, and you let your hands fall back into your lap. You couldn't imagine opening your eyes right now.

You could hear his breathing pick up. He sucked in a breath through his teeth and exhaled it slowly. You prayed to any god that was listening to end your suffering already.

But his hand gently grabbed your chin. He tilted your face up a bit. And you could smell the alcohol on his breath, far too close. You opened your eyes only a moment before it happened, his lips meeting yours. Softly, only the ghost of a kiss. He tasted like champagne and cigarettes and his hair brushed the sides of your face. Everything about it felt like heaven.

“I can’t believe you said it first.” He breathed the words past your parted lips. “I was gonna tell you the same thing.”

The tension broke, and you threw your arms around his shoulders, practically climbing into his lap. He breathed a contented sigh, bordering on a groan, and it sounded so god damn beautiful. Your lips locked fervently, one of his hands coming up to cradle the side of your face, the other digging into your waist, roaming along your back like he needed to feel every inch of you all at once.

You paused for a gasping breath, gazing upon that flawless face of his. You ran your fingers through his silky hair, watching his eyelashes flutter at the sensation.

“I never really wanted to tell you,” He whispered.

“Why not?"

“I need you too much.” The truth of his words was evident behind those dark eyes, pupils wide. “Was worried it would ruin everything.”

You tried to ground yourself with a deep breath, only floating further out into him when you took in his scent. It was something you could always smell on those long nights when you thought about him just a bit too hard. Incense and weed and whatever bit of cologne he wore.

“When you got mad at me, thinking I'd been with the other guys, was that–”

“I wanted you all to myself.” He planted another kiss to your lips. “Was pissed as hell that maybe someone else was gonna take you away from me.” Another kiss. “Then I just figured you didn’t like me. And after the other night…I figured you just wanted sex.”

“I can’t believe you never caught on,” you giggled. “Didn’t think I was very good at hiding it.”

“Oh, miss eclipse,” he smiled, shaking his head and brushing his fingers over your cheek. “I could tell. But I thought it was too good to be true.”

For once, the corny little nickname he’d chosen for you didn’t make you cringe. It felt so endearing, like he meant it with his entire heart that you were everything in his sky, morning and night.

“And by the way, I want that too. The sex part.” You said with a smile. You couldn’t believe just how confident you were acting in this moment. The words just barely left you before he was latching his lips onto yours. The two of you moved frantically, your hands fighting with his shirt to get your hands on his skin as quickly as you possibly could.

This was real. This was happening. You could barely believe it, the intensity of it all making your stomach flip. He was gentle, but moved quickly, like he couldn’t wait another second. He pulled his shirt off, throwing it across the room, and you hooked your fingers in the hem of your own shirt to do the same. But his hands settled on yours, incredibly delicate with the injured one, you noticed.

“My job.”

He freed you of your shirt, tossing it aside, and simply staring at you. You hadn't worn a bra tonight, so you were completely exposed in front of him. A desire to cover yourself washed over you, but dissipated quickly when you noticed the love in his gaze.

“God, you’re fucking perfect.” His voice was low, a tone you’d never heard before, positively dripping with need. You placed your hands on his chest, and he did the same, lightly brushing a thumb over your nipple, eliciting a sharp gasp from you.

He leaned in again, peppering kisses along your lips, your jaw, your cheeks, anywhere he could reach. All the while he pinched and prodded and just touched you, finally, exploratory, seeing what would make you whine the loudest.

“Please,” he breathed between kisses. “Please let me fuck you.”

You were stunned to complete silence, not even able to breathe as his teeth started sucking a bruise into your collarbone. It sent a shock through your body, the ache between your legs becoming a pressing need. “Yes,” was all you were able to say.

He pushed you onto your back, your head landing on the pillows. He hooked his fingers around the waistband of your pants and your panties at the same time, moving incredibly slow, like he needed all the time in the world to even process what was happening.

“Hurry up,” you whined, lifting your hips so he could pull your pants off. “I need it.”

“Need?” He smiled down at you, leaning down to place soft kisses along your stomach and down to your thighs, which you had clamped around his shoulders. “Be patient. I want to–” He ripped your pants the rest of the way off and tossed them aside, gripped your knees, and shoved your legs apart. There was a pause, his lips fighting against a smile. “Oh, she’s pretty.”

“Stop staring,” you whined, covering your face as you felt a drop of wetness roll down your core. You prayed he didn’t notice, but from the way he licked his lips, he absolutely did.

You could see his fingers shaking with need as he tried to take his time, kissing along your thighs. “I’ll stare all I want,” he breathed, and you could feel it fan out across you. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for this?”

“Since the day we met?”

He ran his tongue over your clit, almost too delicately, in a way that made you buck your hips against his mouth with a moan. “Since the day I first saw you. In that stupid class.”

You weaved your fingers through his hair, melting into the feeling of his mouth against you, trying to comprehend it all.

“Was praying I’d run into you somewhere. Guess someone heard me.” He didn’t pull his mouth away, every word sending a vibration straight through you. Something about his voice was striking you in a way you hadn’t felt for anyone else before, like you could listen to him talk for hours.

He worked a finger into you, his tongue never breaking contact with you. The room was filled with the obscene sounds of his mouth and your own moaning, and you just might have cared if you were entirely sober. Most of it was drowned out by the music and commotion below you.

“Fuck, you taste good.”

You propped yourself up onto your elbows to look at him, the sight taking your breath away. He looked up at you with those eyes you loved so dearly, the suggestion of a smile on his face. You felt so frail under his touch, as his hand wrapped around the outside of your thigh and squeezed hard enough to make you squirm away from him.

But he was having none of it, his hand migrating to your hip to push you down. “Stay,” he mumbled, just loud enough for you to hear it. “Let me make you cum like this.”

You couldn’t form words, couldn’t even say his name. He caught on to all your favorite spots, exploring you greedily, his eyes fixed on yours as he pushed you closer to your peak. You didn’t want it to be over yet, and held on as long as you could, your fingers knotted in his hair.

There was no use fighting it when he curled his finger, perfectly finding just the right spot inside you. The one that made your jaw drop and your breath stop, only silence and the obscene sounds of his tongue against you.

“Right there?” He asked, a smug smile still visible even though you could barely see his face.

You nodded, your nails scratching against his scalp as you tried to pull him closer to you. Your ability to speak was waning as your thighs tightened around his head. He pushed you over the edge, and his name was the only thing you could gasp out as you thrashed under his grip.

He didn’t pause, didn’t even slow down as you started to come down from your high. He held you tighter, his eyes still trained on yours, gaze dripping with lust. Between your whimpers and cries, you could hear him letting out quiet moans. Restricted, like he was trying to stay quiet.

It was becoming too much, your body still trembling from your orgasm. “Sam,” you gasped. “Too much, too much, you have to– you gotta stop, I can’t–”

“You’re fine.” He said it like you were complaining about a stubbed toe.

“It’s too good, please…” You had no control over yourself as you started squirming, thoroughly overstimulated, needing it to stop and needing more all at the same time. Your head was swimming, your fingers clawing at the sheets as he pulled the most ungodly sounds from your throat.

“Sammy, stop, wait– don’t stop, just– slow down, please!”

“Begging. I like that.” He didn’t slow down, licking at you like a starved man, while you tried to best to keep breathing. Every breath had begun to turn into a pitiful whimper or a please.

“You’re gonna cum again, aren’t you?” A complacent smile lit up the half of his face you could see. You’d probably be annoyed, if you weren’t trying so hard to keep breathing.

It felt like you were on the verge of blacking out, a second peak rising inside you. It creeped through your body, your fingers tingling with it as you got lost inside your own mind. All that existed in this moment was him. The rest of the world faded away into the muffled sounds he made against you, your moans falling silent. The heaving of your chest stopped, your jaw falling slack in a soundless scream.

“Breathe.”

One single word from his lips brought you crashing back down to earth, and you writhed under his firm grip on your thigh. You grabbed at him, tangling your fingers in his hair, only capable of saying his name and incoherently swearing between gasps. You’d never had anyone make you cum like this before, your entire mind and body swept up in it for what felt like minutes.

He finally relented, pulling himself away and staring at you. “Too much?” He grinned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Perfect, actually.” You gasped out each word around labored breaths.

He shifted, pulling away from you and standing at the foot of the bed. You closed your legs, a bit embarrassed by just how slick your thighs felt.

“Do you…want more?” He asked, his thumb already hooked in the waistband of his pants, a sweet innocence hiding behind his smile.

You sat up, a little woozy, but needing to be even just a few inches closer to him. “I’ll take whatever you give me.”

“God, don’t say it like that…” he laughed, his cheeks reddening.

“What?” You smiled, cocking your head to the side as you inched closer, coming to rest on your knees on the bed in front of him. “What’s wrong with that? Not allowed to tell you I can take it?”

“Jesus, shut up or you’re gonna get me all flustered.” He started to pull at the hem of his pants, but you stopped him.

“Wait.” You scooted even closer, resting your hands on top of his. “I want to.”

You seemed to leave your body for a second once you caught the first glimpse of him. There was no word you could use to describe this moment other than perfect. You reached out, your body moving of its own volition, tracing a finger across the underside of his cock.

“Just like you imagined?” He asked.

Your mouth fell open in stunned silence, and you had to fight back a smile. Only he could catch you on such little things like that.

“Hmm. Bigger, actually,” you replied, when you finally found your voice again.

“Scared?” He asked, a smug little smile on his lips.

You nodded, slowly. You honestly were, just a bit. You knew it would be good, but the idea of such unbridled perfect pleasure was a bit daunting to you. Especially after he’d sent you flying out of your body just a few minutes ago.

“Don’t be.” He leaned down to kiss your cheek. “I’ll be gentle, promise.”

He pushed you back down onto your back, crawling over you. It was a sight you'd envisioned so many times, it felt surreal to finally be seeing the real thing. The way his arms flexed and his hair fell into his face, the playful expression that graced those gorgeous features, all of it was just too good.

He ran the tip of his cock over your clit a few times, testing the waters, teasing you. “You’re on birth control, right?”

“Why? Don’t wanna knock me up? I thought you liked me.” You gave him an absolutely wicked smile.

He laughed, his eyes clouding over in a dark grin. “I don’t think you want me to answer that.”

You didn’t reply, only cocking your head at him and looking at him inquisitively.

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. The change in angle pushed him against you, just enough to make you literally ache for more. “Actually, that sounds quite nice. Putting a baby in you.”

You’d only been trying to tease him, fluster him a bit. You weren’t prepared for him to make it so dirty. But you loved every second of it, the way his words sounded so genuine. You tried to reply with something snarky, something to test how far he was willing to push it, but the words caught in your throat.

“You want that? It’d be a Virgo.”

You clutched at him, scarcely able to believe you were actually hearing the words coming out of his mouth right now. You needed him, desperately, now more than ever. “Sammy, please, just fuck me,” you whined, your voice broken down to a downright pathetic whimper.

“We’ve both been waiting for months. I’m not rushing.” He straightened back up, muttering a quiet oh, fuck as he slid into you, slowly, giving you time to adjust. Your fingers gripped at the sheets, your uninjured hand snaking up the back of his neck to tangle in his hair. When he was finally, finally inside you, it was almost too much. The thrill of finally having him, and the way it felt so fucking good, it was overwhelming. You were gasping for air, tightening around him like you needed to keep him there forever.

“Baby, baby, relax,” he breathed, cupping your face in one hand. “Open your eyes.”

You hadn’t even realized your eyes were shut, colors swimming across your vision in the shape of him. But when you looked at him, he seemed so godlike, a marble statue of a man that seemed to give off its own light.

“Do you want to stop?” He asked, wiping a tear from the side of your face. Whatever tie held your body and mind together, he had severed it – you didn’t even realize a few tears of bliss had slipped out.

“Please don't stop,” you begged, running your fingers through his hair and gripping his shoulder, trying to find some semblance of grounding.

“You’re alright. You need to breathe, though.”

“How?” You whimpered, narrowing your eyes at him, sending a fresh cascade of tears down your cheeks.

He let out a laugh you’d never heard before, like he was trying not to move too much. But you still felt every rise and fall of his chest. “Same way you always do, sunshine. You sound like you’re gonna pass out.”

“Feels too good,” you said between slow exhales.

“I know, I know,” he cooed. “Just chill. I won’t break you.”

“I think I need you to, actually.”

"You need me to?" He started up a rhythm, slow at first, trying to give you time to calm yourself. Every thrust was like a vision of heaven, knocking the wind out of you every time he pushed in a little deeper. "I can do that." The way he was looking at you, his eyes never breaking away from your face, and his expression…it might have been the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen in your life.

"You like it that way?" He gave you a smug smile, the one that always drove you a bit crazy.

“I just– fuck–”

He was being so gentle with you, giving you exactly what you needed, no more and no less. Words started to abandon you, and as he quickened his pace a bit, you began to fall deeper into a pit of bliss. Everything disappeared except for him, but he was all you needed. Incoherent babbles of pleasure and filth fell from your mouth, every word a gasp or moan.

“Yeah? How’s it feel, love?” He asked with a grin.

“So…full,” was all you could manage in reply.

“You’re taking it so good.” He hooked his fingers around the back of your knee, hoisting your leg up onto his shoulder.

He pushed in even deeper with this new angle, and for a moment it felt like he really was about to split you in two. He reached between the two of you, his fingers rubbing circles on your clit in time with each thrust.

“That feels so fucking good, baby,” you whimpered.

“Fuck, call me that again.”

A second orgasm was building within you, hot and fast and it was a bit terrifying how high you were climbing. “Baby,” you panted. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

“Am I? Is my sweet girl gonna cum for me?”

You could only manage to groan out a mhm, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to pull him closer.

“Go ahead baby, I’ve got you.”

You were trying to hold back, you weren’t ready for it to be over yet. Having him in your arms like this was all you’d ever wanted and more, and you never wanted it to end.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, the rhythm of his hips faltering a bit. “Gonna make me cum, too.”

You wrapped your other leg around him, locking him in place. “Inside,” was all you could say.

“Inside?” He parroted. “Want me to fill you up?”

You nodded frantically, panting out a yes between each sip of air you gasped on.

“Quit holding it,” he said between clenched teeth. “Cum for me baby, come on, please let me have it, please–”

His begging was all it took. You clutched at him, clawing marks into his back as you came, feeling yourself fluttering around him. It hit you hard, like smashing against a wall of pure pleasure so good it almost hurt. Above your cries of his name, you could hear him letting out the most beautiful-sounding moans you’d ever heard in your entire life, his voice pitched up a bit.

You were certain there was nothing in the world that could possibly be more wonderful to you than this moment, when his shaking arm collapsed down and he laid his weight onto you. He tried to speak, the words only coming out as incoherent praises.

“God, I can barely fucking talk,” he laughed.

You combed your fingers through his hair, damp with sweat at the roots but still silky-soft. He slid off of you, turning you on your side so he could cup his body around yours.

“‘M gonna stain your sheets,” you mumbled, barely able to keep your eyes open, so thoroughly drained.

“Don’t care. Are you cold?”

You were, as the sweat on your body chilled you a bit. The warmth of the crowd of people downstairs didn’t reach into this corner of the house, and a draft was coming in through the window above his bed.

“A little.” You curled yourself closer to his body, and the warmth he radiated.

“When my legs stop shaking I’ll get you some clothes.”

“It’s fine, I can–” you tried to lift yourself off the bed, finding your body felt a thousand times heavier than you were used to. Like he’d sucked every ounce of life from you. It felt oddly good, likely because you’d finally expended the excess energy you’d been harboring for months.

“No. Stay there.”

You mourned the loss of contact when his body pulled away from yours, turning over to watch him. It felt so deeply intimate, to a degree that almost felt wrong, watching his naked body move across the room. Like this was a moment reserved for somebody special, anybody but you, you didn’t deserve to see him this way. You watched the way the muscles in his arms and back moved when he pulled on a loose-fitting pair of pants that rested just below his hips, a look that was unbearably sexy to you.

“Here.” He walked over to you, a shirt and pants in each hand. “You’ll get cold.”

You only had the energy to pull the shirt on. “I should pee, too.”

“Right. Give me your hands.”

He helped you up, taking great care to pull you by the wrist of your bandaged hand. “How’s that feel, by the way?” He turned your wrist over in his fingers.

“Hurts, now that I’m something closer to sober.”

“I’m sorry, love. I hope it heals fast.”

In the bright lights of the bathroom, your emotions caught up with you at a frightening speed. The last time you’d been in here, you’d left an angel costume crumpled in the corner, while you tried to convince yourself you hadn’t made a terrible mistake. It was all washing over you, now. You’d have to tell him. From where you stood now, staring at your half-naked self in the mirror and washing the one hand you could wash, it was as if you were taking the first step on an impossible climb up a mountain. But it would have to be done.

Sam was pulling an extra pillow out of his closet when you finally stumbled your way out of the bathroom, clad in his clothes. You could hear his breath hitch when he saw you.

“You look nice, I’m glad it all fits right, also do you like your pillows softer or firmer? I’d take you home but I can’t drive right now, and I think it’d be nice to sleep next to you, but if you don’t want to–”

“Sam.” You interrupted him, placing a hand on his bare chest. “Softer, please. And I’d love to stay here.”

“Sorry,” he chuckled. “Make yourself comfortable. I gotta find a shirt.” He tossed the pillow into place on the bed, and went back to digging in his closet.

The comfort and warmth under the plush sheets was exactly what you needed. You hadn’t even realized how cold you were until you pulled the covers up to your chin. Everything he owned smelled faintly of incense, a signature scent of his.

"You never actually answered me earlier. About the birth control, by the way," he said as he laid next to you, pulling you close.

"Yeah, no, you totally got me pregnant. I can feel the baby bump forming already."

He shook your body with a bout of laughter, squeezing his arms around you. "Very funny. You better not be serious, though."

"Just joking. Nothing to worry about."

"Good," he sighed. "A Virgo baby sounds difficult."

Laying in the dark, curled into his chest while he stroked his fingers over your back, you thought that nothing could ever feel as good as this. There was a sense of finality to this night. The suffering you’d endured, the pain of being so sure he didn’t share the same feelings, the lonely nights you’d spent soaking your pillow with tears, it was all over.

Things were not perfect. They likely would never be. A glimmer of hope rose in your chest, gnawing at the darkness clouding the back of your mind. Maybe he wouldn’t care. Maybe his feelings for you would override whatever anger he harbored over Jake. Maybe, when you finally came clean, he would hear you out, and understand. You still weren’t entirely sure if you had done it with the intention to hurt him, but if you had, it was only a knee-jerk reaction to heartbreak. You’d have to pray he would understand.

As sleep began to claim you, your anxious breaths slowing, you could feel yourself melt into him. He truly was, in every sense, everything to you. Love had never felt like such a strong force in your life until now. A silly little emotion you'd always pushed to the side no longer felt very silly or little. You would do anything for him. He was every star in your night sky, he was the sun that warmed you in the mornings. You wouldn’t mind spending the rest of your life basking in his glow.

#greta van fic #greta van fleet fanfiction #greta van fleet fic #gvf fanfiction #gvf fic #sam kiszka fanfiction #sam kiszka fic #sam kiszka x reader #sam kiszka x y/n #inr #i never really #sam kiszka smut

[readyforthegarden]

Merry Christmas Darling - J.T.K.

Synopsis: A classic, family-filled Christmas with the Kiszkas and Wagners. Good food, strong drinks, and tons of holiday cheer, kisses and snuggles and a special heartfelt gift.

WC: 2616

Warnings: Slight inference to dirty talk, but it's a brief moment! Just more holiday fluff with our favorite guitarist!

A/N: This was my favorite holiday fic to write, so I saved it for last. I hope you all have enjoyed our little festive times together and I wish all my friends and followers a Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah! Another special thank you to @lunaindigoraven for always being a sounding board for the ideas and just being the best bestie in general ilysm!!!!! 💖💖💖 Happy Holiday’s yall!

Taglist

Josh’s Holiday Fic // Sam’s Holiday Fic // Danny’s Holiday Fic

🎄🎄🎄

"Can I please come in?" Jake whined from outside the bedroom door. He'd been antsy all day, knowing that you were wrapping presents and his was included in the pile. You took a sip of wine from your glass as your cheesy holiday romance movie played on your laptop at the foot of the bed, raising an eyebrow at the door. "Come on, I really need to grab something!"

"Like what?" you slid off the edge of the bed, making sure to cover the unwrapped presents with a throw blanket before opening the bedroom door just enough to see his face. He hesitated, and you could tell by his blank stare he was trying to think of an object he desperately needed from the bedroom.

"Uh....um..." Jake stammered, floundering in front of you. You chuckled and rolled your eyes.

"Your spare guitar strings are down in the studio, your charger is where you left it last night, plugged in by the recliner, and you don't even use a hairbrush so don't even ask for one." you watched his mouth fall open, and you reached out and gently tapped his chin upwards to close it for him.

"That's rude." he mumbled.

"You're not seeing your gifts until everyone is here and opening presents. Together." you shot him a look. Jake smirked.

"Oh, so there's more than one?" you sighed irritatedly and reached your arm out, shoving him lightly and away from the door as he tried to peek over your shoulders.

"You'll never find out if you keep being naughty." you chided. Jake's smirk grew even wider as he closed the space between you.

"I don't mind missing out on presents if we're talking about being naughty, darlin'." Jake's warm breath cascaded over your lips as his arms wound around your waist.

"Mm, but I think Santa has a really, really nice gift for me this year, I'd hate to do anything so close to Christmas that he won't come." you pouted, twisting a small lock of his hair around your index finger.

"Oh Santa's gonna come alright." Jake's voice was low and you laughed, pulling yourself from his arms and nudging him back in the hallway.

"Not if his little helper doesn't leave me alone!" and with that you closed the bedroom door, leaving him pouting on the other side. After a few moments, you heard him mutter as he walked away.

"'m not little." you giggled to yourself as he shuffled away, dragging his feet on the carpeting of the hallway floors while he retreated. When you were absolutely sure he was gone, you moved the throw blanket from the pile and dig through gently, finding the small bag with Jake’s present inside. It was something you’d found by chance one day during the summer, scouring an old bookstore on a girls trip to the east coast. You reached into the bag and gingerly lifted the old book from it, your hand running over the weathered cover with a soft smile.

It wasn’t quite a first edition by any means, but it was an early 1900s edition of the novel Treasure Island. Everyone knew Jake had a fascination with pirates. One of your first date nights, well, weekends, was marathoning all of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies. You thought it was cute, and even enjoyed when he’d slip into a rough, pirate voice every so often when tipsy. You hadn’t planned on his gift being pirate themed. In fact you were honestly puzzled on what to possibly get a man who has traveled the world over again. But when you came across this novel, your heart leapt into your throat and his name fell from your lips as you reached for it on the shelf. It was meant to be his.

You gently wrapped a few protective layers of tissue paper around it before wrapping it in festive paper, taking your time to make sure the creases and folds were perfect and tidy. You wrote his name on the tag and tied it to the velvet red ribbon you encased the gift in, smiling at your handiwork. Now that his gift was taken care of, you set to work finishing the rest of the families gifts, making sure to put just as much love and care into wrapping theirs as you did Jake’s. You didn't realize how much time had passed as you were busy making holiday magic, but the smell of garlic and onion wafted up the stairs into the bedroom and surrounded you, making your mouth water. You piled the wrapped gifts into the laundry basket next to the bed and lifted it onto your hip, excitedly opening up the door and bounding down the stairs. Your dropped the basket in the living room next to the large, ornate Christmas tree before skidding into the kitchen, where Jake was working away at the stove and counter.

"Something smells so good!" you praised as you came up behind him, peeking over his shoulder as he gently bubbling butter in a pan. "Onions?"

"Shallots, love, please." Jake chuckled, feigning offense. "We're not animals." you giggled under your breath, pressing a kiss to his cheek and looking at the puff pastry lining a baking sheet in a triangle. “Gonna make it look like a Christmas tree, and cut the sides and twist it.”

“That’ll be really cute!” you hopped up onto the counter. "Need any help?" Jake glanced over to you as you gently kicked your feet agains the cupboard beneath you.

"Mm, just your company is all I need for now." he smiled softly before adding spinach and cream cheese to the mixture on a lower heat, stirring in small bits of artichoke hearts and letting it all meld and cook together. "I'm excited for everyone to get here."

"Me too!" you grinned. "Last year with my family was fun, but I won't lie, I really missed your family party." Jake grinned wider at your admission.

"Your family was fun, too...but everyone was in bed by ten-thirty." he grimaced. You bit your lip nodded in slight shame.

"Everyone is older." you shrugged. "I'm the oopsie-baby, they didn't plan on having me near their forties."

"Hey, you're the best oops to ever have happened." Jake gave you a pointed look. He knew sometimes you felt insecure and sensitive about how old your family was compared to his, and that your parents, while making well-meaning jokes, reminded you that you were never planned. Jake shut off the burner and moved the pan to a cool one before coming and standing between your legs, resting his hands on your thighs. "You're the best thing to ever happen in my life."

"Not the band and the fame and money and screaming fans?" you joked, toying with the cord strand of his necklace as you tried to hide your face and the teasing smile upon it. Jake brushed the stray pieces of hair back from your cheeks and held your face gently, making you hold eye contact with him.

"Not even any of that comes close." he murmured. You felt your heart swell as his deep brown eyes studied your face, a soft smile tugging at the left corner of his lips. “I love you.”

“And I you.” you responded in a whisper, leaning down to place a sweet kiss on his waiting lips. Jake could be a quiet man, but his kiss always expressed to you everything he felt inside, and this was pure love and adoration. You were perfectly happy to sit there, enjoying the affection and adoration shared between the two of you, but unfortunately you were interrupted by the oven beeping that it was done preheating. Jake pulled away from you, giving you a quick peck before moving back to the stove, grabbing the pan and heating the mixture back up a bit, sprinkling his freshly grated parmesan cheese into it too. 

You watched him work, happily taking the small offering of a taste test of the mixture from his index finger and complimenting his work as he washed his hands and started putting together the appetizer. He asked you to start putting together the next one, and you hopped from the countertop, setting to work. 

By the time the doorbell rang, the counter was cleaned off and covered with various appetizers and crudités, ranging from a simple veggie platter to the baked brie with fig jam you’d made. The crisply wrapped presents were piled perfectly beneath the tree and you had your smart speakers playing your carefully curated holiday playlist. You smoothed out your sweater, skidding over to the door, yanking it open excitedly.

“Merry Christmas!!” you cheered, ushering the Kiszka family into your and Jake’s home. You were bombarded with hugs and squeezes, a few cheek pecks here and there. You squatted down to give Rosie, Sam’s dog a few pets, and cooed over her and her sparkly red bow. The Wagner’s were right behind, Danny bounding into the door jut as you started to shut it and scooping you up in a large bear hug as his parents and sister entered behind him.

“Something smells delicious!” Karen said after hugging Jake. His cheeks reddened at the compliment a bit and he nodded towards the kitchen.

“Been slaving away all day in there. Come on, we’ve got a lot of food.” he chuckled, leading the way to the kitchen as you finished hanging coats, Danny and Josh helping you before you all went to join in the chaos of the kitchen. Wine had already been pouring, a glass being handed to you as you passed by. Everyone happily dug in to the appetizers, stories about the ride over to your home, and stories of Christmases past were bubbling up as the alcohol set in. 

Throughout dinner, you all kept playing “Pass the Pea”, a game that originated at your first family holiday party with the Kiszka-Wagner clan. Danny scooped up the largest pea he could find on his fork, and placed it onto the lip of your plate. You scooped it up onto your own fork, and placed it back on his plate, thus beginning the back and forth war between the two of you. At some point Sam got involved, placing an extra pea from his plate on both yours and Danny’s and at that point, it turned into chaos, everyone trying to sneak a pea on someone else’s plate when they weren’t looking. The game ended when Lori ended up with peas in her wine glass, and soon it was time to open presents. 

Piles of different colored wrapping papers littered your living room floor. Ribbons everywhere, and a few stick-on present bows attached to various family members. The game of White Elephant was afoot, and you were adamant about keeping the haphazardly knit pair of mittens Josie had worked so hard on. So far, between a box of tissues that had been emptied and filled with quarters, and mini cheese sampler, it was the best gift from the pile.

“Mmm, I think I want the mittens.” Jake grimaced at you, holding out a roll of toilet paper to exchange. You gasped, clutching the mittens to you chest, resting them next to the Italian gold chain with a single saltwater pearl pendant Jake had adorned you with half an hour earlier, while surprising you with a romantic getaway to Lake Como, included a few winery tours.

“No!” you laughed, holding them away from him. “I love them, they’re from the heart.” Josie’s laugh peeled like bells as you fought Jake over her mittens.

“They’re not that great!” she giggled. 

“If I keep them, you can still have them, darlin’.” Jake whispered to you. Understanding flashed through your eyes and you, still slightly begrudgingly handed him the mittens in exchange for the toilet paper. You turned it over in your hands, feeling the indents from everyone’s fingerprints who’d had the good luck of getting the roll before. The game carried on until all the presents were accounted for, and you finally ended up with Josh’s insanely ornate box, that was filled with throat lozenges, Jake holding tight to the mittens. As the night wore down, you sneakily slid your hand under the tree skirt, pulling out Jake’s present. The fireplace crackled behind you as you turned and presented it to him, and he set his glass of whiskey down on the hearth next to him.

“Ah, I nearly forgot!” he accepted the bundle you gave him, and suddenly you felt like your gift was too small for someone like him.

“I’m sorry it’s nothing huge.” you whispered, watching his hands trace the edges of the paper. Jake shook his head, giving you a smile.

“I don’t need anything huge.” Jake assured you. “I’m sure whatever you got me is perfect.”

“I hope so.” you bit your lip and he grinned at you, opening his present slowly, teasing you almost. As the paper fell away, Jake’s grin widened, and he let his fingers run against the weathered, leathery spine. He gently thumbed through the aged, yellowed pages, before looking at you, thoughtfully.

“Darlin’, this is amazing.” he held the edition of Treasure Island in his hands tightly, grabbing your chin and pulling you in for a kiss. “This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten. How did you even find this?”

“It was on that girls trip, back in the summer.” you explained. “I just saw it and knew it was yours.” Jake wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tightly. 

“This is absolutely perfect. Have you ever read it?” you shook your head, admitting you’d only ever seen the Muppet movie version. “We’ll start it tonight, before bed.” you smiled softly up at Jake, excited to share this story with him. Josh had sidled over, asking what he got and Jake excitedly began showing Josh the old novel. 

Soon, your guests had found themselves in their rooms or sleeping arrangements. Jake and yourself, with the help of his parents, cleaned up the kitchen, putting away the remnants of the various desserts and scraps from dinner, and prepared tomorrow’s sweet breakfast pastries. Within an hour, you’d found yourself cuddled up in your bed, Jake sitting up beside you as you rested your head on his shoulder, listening to his soft, low voice as he read out to you. 

“For thirty years,” he said, "I've sailed the seas and seen good and bad, better and worse, fair weather and foul, provisions running out, knives going, and what not. Well, now I tell you, I never seen good come o' goodness yet. Him as strikes first is my fancy; dead men don't bite; them's my views—amen, so be it.’” after a few more lines, the chapter ended, and he placed a thin ribbon from his present into the pages to save his place. He placed it gently on his nightstand before looking down at you. “You look sleepy.”

“I am sleepy.” you replied. “It’s been a long day. Fun, but long.” Jake smiled down at you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

“It’s been a perfect day.” Jake adjusted his position, sliding down so you both were laying down and you snuggled into his chest. You felt your eyes start to feel heavy,  the events of the day hitting you all at once, including the many glasses of wine.

“Merry Christmas, Jakey.” you murmured into his chest. 

“Merry Christmas, darling.” he whispered back, and with those few words, the two of you were out, fast asleep and regaining your strength to do it all again with extended family tomorrow.

Taglist: @lunaindigoraven @lvnterninthenight @allieisacrybaby @xserenax-13 @sarakay-gvf @shutupdevvie @myownparadise96 @watchingovergvf @gretavanfleetposts @gardenofgreta @streamsofstardust @joshkiszkas @jakewhorecore / @tlexx @fictional-duchess @like-a-woman-in-a-dream @josiee-gvf @ascendingtostardust @joshkiszkatoothgap @andeejoness @gardensgatedaisy @kkdarling @demonrat444 @teddiie @writingcold

#jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka #greta van fleet imagine #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet #jake gvf #jake gvf fic #greta van christmas

[lovemewednesdays]

Louis Armstrong narrates A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS (‘TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS), the classic holiday poem by Clement Clarke Moore.

“This is Louis ‘Satchmo’ Armstrong, talking to all the kids from all over the world at Christmastime.”

(Transcript under the cut.)

[A piano plays lightly in the background throughout the reading.]

This is Louis ‘Satchmo’ Armstrong, talking to all the kids from all over the world at Christmastime.

“’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads. And mama in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below. When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh, and eight tinny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

‘Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on [Donder] and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!’

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky. So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot. A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a little round belly, That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly! [Louis laughs.]

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself! A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk. And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight, ‘Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!’”

A very good night. And that goes for Satchmo, too. [Laughs.] Thank you.

#louis armstrong #a visit from st. nicholas #'twas the night before christmas #clement clarke moore #audio #poetry #christmas #happy happy happy

[fantasydaydreamers]

so i never found a post about rules for you and if i accidentally break a rule then sorry but im pulling an all nighter soon and i really need some bnha fuel, whether it be nsfw or fluff- female reader if possible, im fine with most characters but i do specifically like a few which are bakugo, kurogiri, twice, kirishima, iida, all might and aizawa so 😌 do as many as you want, please and thank you

...So you've definitely already pulled your all nighter...I'm so sorry😭

Since it is the holiday season 😌 how about some scenarios based off of Christmas songs~?

Words: 1,837

Warnings: None

~*~*~*~*

Bakugou

"If I break my leg I swear to God-" You meant to sound threatening, but the shakiness in your voice gave it away. Bakugou watches you lace up your ice skates, rolling his eyes as he held out his hand to help you up.

"You're not going to fall, dumbass. Hold on to me and you'll be fine." Confident as ever, you glanced at him as his face flushed pink even though it was freezing inside the ice skating rink.

It was almost Christmas and Bakugou took you out to do something festive. Because of his quirk, Bakugou had an internship overseas in the tropics and you came along for support, but also since Christmas was soon. It was different not seeing any snow, but Bakugou had a plan to make it seem like home.

Which is why, as soon as he dragged you here, you knew he must've known how to already ice skate and that left you to suffer. On the bright side, you could spend time with him, but the downside?

You definitely would've preferred being at the beach.

Wobbling to your feet, you hold onto Bakugou's hand for dear life as he helps you walk to the opening to the rink, smirking. "You're like a newborn fawn."

Scowling, you couldn't even bother to retort with all your attention on trying not to fall. What amazed you the most was that Bakugou had been walking backward this whole time, smoothly. Because of that, he steps onto the ice first gliding slightly.

You stop right at the edge and glance up at him in question. Rolling his eyes again, Bakugou gently tugs you forward and as soon as you step on the ice, your foot slides all the way forward and you know your about to fall on your back.

Firm hands grip you tightly as you try to steady yourself, Bakugou snorting out laughs as he glides behind you. His arms wrap around your waist and his warm breath brushes your ear making you shiver for a different reason.

"Push off with your right foot and I'll push too. Then push off with your left. Alternate your legs and I'll hold you upright."

Nodding your head, you do what he says.

"If we were at the beach right now, we wouldn't have to do this." You mumble out, getting the hang of the rhythm.

Bakugou snorts again and pulls you tighter against him. "Not bad, (Y/n). Keep it up and maybe there will be some presents under the tree this year."

"Does Santa visit penthouse suites at hotels?"

"Haha. Now you're definitely on the naughty list, dumbass."

Before you knew it, Bakugou had loosened his grip around your waist and you realized just how well you were doing. "Hey look! I'm-"

Before you could express your excitement, you felt yourself falling backward and Bakugou couldn't catch you in time as you both landed in a pile on the hardened ice.

It was quiet for a second before giggles escaped your throat as you rolled off Bakugou. Looking over at him, he was staring up at the ceiling a little dazed. Leaning over, you peck his lips gently and watch as his eyes come back into focus. He grins and props himself up on his arms, moving in to kiss you again.

"Merry Christmas, (Y/n)"

"Take me to the ice-skating rink downtown

Even though it's 100 degrees, gotta get out,

Ain't no ice or no chills, no snowmen to build, most of our friends at the beach,

But my baby's in town and we're gonna do some winter things."

→ Winter Things❄️- Ariana Grande

Iida

(Y'all pls😭 the song I chose-)

Iida fussed around the Christmas tree, trying to make it look picture perfect as you flipped through his Christmas playlist, yawning at all the repetitive songs on there.

"Really babe? I understand all these songs are classics but don't you get tired of hearing the same thing over and over again?" Furrowing your eyebrows, you exit out of his playlist and open YouTube.

"(Y/n), I could use some help over here..." Comes his strained voice making you look over. Although he ignores your comment completely, it's clear to see why. Iida had managed to tie his hands around his back, tangled in lights, with a ribbon draped over his shoulders haphazardly.

He looked all too appealing sitting all tied up with his pleading eyes asking you for help. Smirking devilishly, you type in the Christmas song you had been looking for this whole time.

Putting the phone down, you strut over to Iida with a smirk on your face and his eyes widened in disbelief. The minute you dropped your ass low to the ground, you couldn't hold in your laughter as you then crawled towards him, arching your back as you did.

With his glasses disarray and mouth open, you crawl on his lap, reaching behind him to undo the lights while still humming the words. At a loss for words, Iida is immobile as you roll your hips over his lap, purposely leaning over his shoulder to see what you're doing, pressing yourself against him.

The lights fall free from Iida's wrists, but he doesn't move as you wrap your arms around his neck, brushing your lips against his teasingly.

He gulps as the song ends, closing his mouth. Smiling innocently at him, you peck his lips whispering softly, "Merry Christmas, Iida."

Later on, after he recovered from his initial shock, he lectured you on the importance of electrical safety and how he was in a hazardous situation.

"Santa I've been naughty but I swear I can be nice,

I'll throw it back baby for a stocking full of ice,

Diamonds, Rubies, Sapphires too,

Gimme that Gucci bag and let's see what I can do."

→ MERRY LiTMAS🔥- Mahogany Lox

Aizawa

Snow fluttered beautifully outside the window you and Aizawa were looking out of. The two of you were curled up together on a lounge chair, a weighted blanket keeping the chills away as the fireplace crackled off to the side. Both of you sat in comfortable silence, occasionally drinking hot cocoa and overall enjoying the peacefulness around you two.

The lights from the Christmas tree glowed softly, being the only other light source besides the fireplace and you sighed contently, curling further into Aizawa's side. His arm under the blanket curled around your waist and held you close as a light thump made its way between your bodies on top of the blanket.

Smiling, you reach from under the blanket, cold air coating your arm as you petted Aizawa's cat. The cat being Aizawa's because it was more attached to him than anything you've ever seen. The cat purred softly and you felt Aizawa kiss your forehead.

Humming softly, you tilt your head up and catch his eyes as he was staring down at you. Smiling, you tilt your chin, silently asking for a kiss to which he responded. Aizawa pecks your lips a few times and you savor the taste of chocolate on his lips, peeking your tongue out slightly to lick them.

A low growl escapes from his lips and you smile. "Don't even think about ruining this sweet moment, kitten. We have all the time in the world to do things like that. Right now I just want you to enjoy this peacefulness with me."

Snorting a laugh, you turn away and pick the cat up to cuddle him close to your face. "Awh, did you hear that kitten? Daddy Aizawa is thinking naughty."

Aizawa's grip tightened on your waist and you hide your smile behind the cat, turning to look at him fully, the cat staring at him too before meowing loudly.

Aizawa cracks a grin and leans down to kiss the cat and you release your hold on him, watching as the cat snuggles between to two of you. Aizawa watches too and you lean over to kiss him again.

"Merry Christmas, Daddy Aizawa."

"...(Y/n)."

"Chestnuts roasting on an open fire,

Jack Frost nipping at your nose,

Yuletide carols being sung by a choir,

And folks dressed up like Eskimos."

→ The Christmas Song🎄- Nat King Cole

All Might

It all started as a charity event.

Toshinori was offered to dress up as Santa, in his All Might form. In all honesty, you got a kick out of seeing him with a fake white beard on and glasses. The whole idea of a "buff" Santa was hot in general, but knowing it was your man, made it even hotter.

The number of kids who showed up just to see him was unbelievable and although Toshinori wouldn't be moving around much, just sitting, you worried that he wouldn't be able to hold his form for long. It wasn't hard to tell it was him and some kids had to of known it was really All Might, hell, even some of the parents came to him. It was hard not too jealous at watching the other women sit on his laps and twirl the fake beard around their fingers.

Toshinori didn't seem effected by it and you knew you could trust him. But, nonetheless, working as one of "Santa's elves," you ended up seeing everything that happened. It was an all-day job and the line of people never seemed to shrink.

It wasn't until late in the evening you finally seemed to catch your breath and Toshinori ho-ho-hoed at the last child. The person running the charity event hurried to close everything up and you heard Toshinori let out the biggest sigh. Since you were concerned all day, you ran over to him instantly. "Are you okay?"

He smiled tiredly up at you and let out another ho-ho. "Well, what a lovely young lady! What would you like for Christmas?"

Confused, you watch as Toshinori pats his lap, motioning you to sit. Feeling heat rise to your cheeks, you look around and see everyone else tearing down the decoration, too engrossed in their own world. "What's wrong, (Y/n)?"

Looking back, you saw the playful glint in his eyes and sighed before reluctantly sitting on his thigh. Wrapping your arms around his neck you raise your eyebrow in question and pretend to think of what you want.

"You."

Toshinori's eyes widened and he smirked, leaning closer to you. "Have you been a good girl this year?"

"Have I?" You whisper, everything around you two fading into nothing. It was only you and Toshinori at that moment, your head being filled with naughty ideas.

"I guess we'll just have to see about that later." He murmured, kissing your lips lightly before tugging his fake beard down. "Okay, I really need to change back now."

Scrambling off him, Toshinori changes back and you help clean everything up, excited to get home.

"Santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing,

A ring, I don't mean on the phone,

Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight"

→ Santa Baby🎅-Eartha Kitt

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha imagines #mha imagines #bakugo katsuki #bakugo x reader #Bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #iida x reader #iida tenya #shoto aizawa #aizawa x reader #all might #all might x reader #yagi toshinori

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

merry christmas, ya filthy animal

Hi guys! This is my contribution for @hockeynetwork holiday gift exchange, it’s 2.5k of sweet Tito fluff for @dreamypeaches and I hope you all like it. As always, I read all the tags and love love hearing your feedback, so hop into my inbox and reblog if you like it! 

word count: 2.5k+

Everyone has a favorite movie. Some go for a childhood classic like Cinderella, some find an indie documentary from a film class in college, some inherit their parents’ love for the Princess Bride or Casablanca. Not you. For you, there was no movie that could hold a candle to Home Alone 2: Lost in New York. You had watched it for the first time maybe around 7 or 8 years old, and had been hooked ever since, and even Donald Trump’s five-second cameo couldn’t taint the love you had for it. But your favorite part, other than the large cheese pizza and stretch limousine, was the end. The Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center, Kevin and his mom finally reuniting after she moved heaven and earth to get back to her son by Christmas. 

It wasn’t your first Christmas in New York City, but it was the first one where it really felt like it was your city, like you belonged to it. And it was your first Christmas with Tito. You had started dating earlier in the year, just as the team was starting to make the big push for playoffs and two months or so before he left to Montréal for the summer. It was strange while he was there, not just because he was hundreds of miles away and in a whole different country, but because the two of you had only been exclusive for a few months and were set to be separated for three. You flew up for Canada Day and met his parents, and he came back for a week in August, but the interim was filled with more FaceTime calls and lonely nights than either of you would care to admit. 

But summer was long over, the leaves had fallen from all the London planes, and the temperature had started to drop below freezing even in the day. The cold weather wasn’t always great; you didn’t love having to scrape the ice off of your windshield or trudge through the slush when it was too early for the snow to stick to the ground, but you wouldn’t change it for the world. One thing that winter changed was date plans. Unless you hit it at just the right time, coffee in the morning was more prone to freeze your fingers off than warm you up, having dinner outside — normally one of your favorite things to do together — was all-but banned after November, and you could only walk around Central Park so many times. And it wasn’t for lack of trying; you knew for a fact that Anthony had spent hours on plane rides trying to figure out what was open, flipping in between Google and the weather app. He was making an effort, though, and that’s what mattered. 

Which is why you weren’t particularly surprised when he showed up at your apartment door on Christmas Eve, twelve hours after he asked you if you had plans that night. You didn’t and it wasn’t a game day, so he told you to dress warm and be ready by 8. You were waiting by the door five minutes early. He greeted you with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, closing the door behind you. “Did you already eat? I know it’s pretty late already but I think I saw a few food trucks by where we’re going if you’re still hungry.”

You nodded your head. “Anthony. It’s 8 at night. ‘Course I’ve already eaten.”

He ducked his head in embarrassment, the slightest pink appearing on his cheeks. “Should have figured.”

“It’s fine,” you said, slipping your hand into his and smiling. “You going to tell me where we’re going, though?”

“Wouldn’t be a surprise if I did,” he said. 

You should have known by the duffel bag in the backseat what his plans were, but some thirty minutes later and he was pulling into a parking lot off of West 49th, shouldering the bag and looking over to you with a grin. “What’s a Christmas in New York without ice skating at Rockefeller Center?” 

You rolled your eyes, trying desperately to keep in a laugh. “You don’t think it’s a bit unfair? You’re paid buckets of money to balance on knife shoes and the last time I went ice skating was,” you tried to remember, “two years ago? Three?” 

Tito shrugged, taking your hand as you walked out the door of the parking lot. “What’s life without a little risk?” Whether the Harry Potter quote was intentional or not, you weren’t sure. 

“Fair,” you conceded. “You’ll have to look out for me, though.” He promised he would, handing his card over to the cashier, who in turn passed you your skates. Anthony led you over to a bench, grabbing a bag of roasted chestnuts from a street vendor before sitting down. You ate a few before tying your skates, swinging one up on his thigh for inspection. “Do these past muster, inspector?”

Anthony took one look at them before undoing your knot, adjusting your foot in his lap while rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “You didn’t tie them tight enough, you could break an ankle in these, babe, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?” You shook your head; he pulled you up to a standing position, leading you over to the gate to get onto the ice. “Don’t feel bad if you’ve got to hang onto the side for a little bit, it doesn’t look like the zamboni’s been over it in awhile so the ice is probably pretty chippy.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “I’m not completely hopeless, Anthony. I’m no professional,” you half-slipped while taking your first step onto the ice, clinging to the railing, “clearly, but I’m an adult and I can handle myself.” 

He held his hands up in surrender, gliding backwards on the ice before stopping. “I know you can.” The two of you skated for about an hour before taking a break, sipping cups of piping hot apple cider while sitting on a bench off to the side of the rink. “There’s always that one person who feels the need to go in the center and show off, huh?” Tito mused, glancing towards center ice, where a woman was indeed in the middle of a spin so quick and intricate you had no clue how she didn’t throw up from the sheer centrifugal force of it all. 

“Says the professional hockey player,” you quipped. 

“I’d go insane if I tried to do anything like that,” Anthony responded, drinking the last of his cider before dropping the cup into the recycling bin. “Just about the only thing hockey players and figure skaters have in common is our ability to skate in a straight line.”

You laughed, squeezing his arm. “Have a little more faith in yourself than that, Anthony.” 

“Mhm,” he said, noncommittally like he didn’t quite believe you. “You ready to get going, or do you think you’ve got more in you?” 

You looked down at your watch; it was 9:30; the rink didn’t close for another hour and plenty of people were still milling about. “I think I’ve got a little gas left in the tank.” 

Sounds good,” he said, taking your hand and doing an extremely admirable job of not laughing at your attempts to hobble over to the ice on your skates. “One of these days I’m going to get you to go backwards,” he said as he stepped on, gliding back easily before coming to a quick stop. 

“I’ve just stopped having to hold onto your hands like a five-year-old, Beau,” you said, rolling your eyes as you took a moment to find your balance on the slippery ice. In your defense, he had been right about the lack of resurfacing on the ice; the skate attendant said the zamboni only came around once a day, shortly before opening, and the lack of smooth ice couldn’t have done you any favors. But you were determined to prove yourself, to show him and everyone else in Rockefeller Center that you were a fully grown and capable adult who could skate for a few feet without needing assistance. Which you did, for approximately two minutes, trailing ten or fifteen feet behind Anthony as he skated backwards, executing poorly-attempted jumps and spins for no reason other than your amusement. You were doing fine, until the toe pick of your skate caught in a chip in the ice and you tumbled down, down to the ice before Anthony could skate over and catch you,. Down, trying to break your fall with your hands. Pain radiated up your left wrist, the cold of the ice already beginning to melt into your jeans. 

“Oh my God,” Anthony said, kneeling in front of you as several passers-by looked over in concern. “You okay? That looked like a pretty bad fall.” 

You nodded, trying to push yourself up to a standing position, but the second you put pressure on your hand, you let out a sharp shriek. “Fuck,” you said, moving to rub your wrist. Not a good idea; the pain only got worse when you touched it. 

His brow only furrowed more. “If you put your wrist out to break the fall, you could have broken it or something. We should go to the hospital.”

You shook your head. “I’m sure it’s nothing, Tito,” you said as the two of you skated off the ice, your wrist hanging limply by your side as you bent down to try and untie the skate laces. He looked up at your face, seeing you biting your lip with tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as you tried to pull them. 

“Hurts to pull?” You knew it was no use trying to lie to him, so you nodded. He pushed the sleeve of your jacket up as gently as he could after untying your skates, handling your hand and wrist with as little pressure as he could. “Not exactly how I thought I’d be kneeling in front of you,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. You knew he had only said it to distract you, try to get your mind off of the inordinate amounts of pain you were in, but the words still made your heart skip a beat. His fingers moved feather-light over your skin, keeping an eye on your facial expressions as he felt. “Hurts to close your hand?” You tried; you nodded. “Hurts to turn your wrist?” A second nod. “Has it gotten worse or better since you fell?”

“Worse,” you managed to squeak out. 

He bit his tongue in concentration. “Shit. Yeah, we should go to the hospital.” You knew it was no use to argue, even as you weakly kept telling him it was probably just a sprain that would heal on its own as he herded you into the car, looking up the waiting times of Manhattan emergency rooms. “The ER wait at Lenox Hill is twenty minutes, it’s like two miles away,” he said, puting the car into reverse and backing out of the parking lot. Of course, two miles in New York City on Christmas Eve really meant fifteen minutes, and by the time he parked at the hospital and you were walking into the ER, it was just past 11. And of course, an ER wait time of “twenty minutes” the day before Christmas meant that, as a relatively low-priority case, you weren’t seen for well over forty. “I feel terrible about this,” Anthony said, slumping back in the chair to the side as you sat on the exam table. 

“Not your fault,” you said emphatically. “Could have happened to anyone. Literally anyone, Tito,” you looked over at him; he still looked guilty. “It could have just as easily been you, if you’d hit the chip at the wrong angle or there was some kind of slippery patch you weren’t expecting. And,” you added as he opened his mouth, “you were too far away to catch me.” Your expression softened. “I know you would have if you could have, but I’m sure it’s not hurt too bad and I don’t want you to keep beating yourself up over it. I’ll be okay.” 

The nurse practitioner chose that moment to poke her head through the curtain, calling your name. You nodded. She flipped open your chart. “I’m Emily, I’ll be taking care of you tonight. It says here you’ve got a wrist injury?” You nodded, explaining what had happened. She pulled a pair of gloves on, fingers moving over your wrist. “With what I’m seeing and how you’re rating your pain, I think we’re probably looking at a bad sprain or a break, but we’ll have to get an X-ray to confirm.” Fifteen minutes later, you were in and out of the radiology suite, and Emily was looking at the images on a tablet. She leaned over the table, pointing to the images on the screen. “Okay, so what you’ve got is called a Colles’ fracture, it’s a break in the radius and they’re actually super common, by far the most common type of wrist break we see. Yours isn’t too bad, so I’d say it can come off in six weeks or so.” She left for a minute to get the casting supplies. Ten minutes later, your entire lower arm was covered in cotton and fiberglass wrap tape. You wiggled your fingers towards your boyfriend. “I think purple’s really my color, don’t you?” you said, nodding towards your cast. 

You saw him crack a smile, his first since the accident. “It’s beautiful, babe.” Fifteen minutes and more than your fair share of paperwork later, you had handed over your insurance information and gotten the okay to leave, with strict instructions to keep the cast dry and call if you had any problems. 

“I think this definitely wins as the most interesting date I’ve ever been on,” you said as the two of you crossed the parking lot. 

“I’ll have you agree with you on that one,” Anthony replied. “I’m glad it wasn’t anything more serious, though. I would have felt even worse.”

You nodded. “You and me both.” Anthony looked down at his watch as he held your good hand, smiling when he saw the time. “What is it?” you asked curiously. 

“Guess there was too much going on in there to keep track of time. It’s 1:37 AM.” 

The painkillers they had given you had kept the pain in your wrist to a dull ache, but all was forgotten as you realized what it meant, what it being past midnight meant, and you couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across your face. “It’s Christmas?” you said, almost like a question. Nothing could extinguish your love for the holiday: not the freezing cold air nipping at your nose or the apple cider that was so hot it burnt your tongue or the fact that you went out for a night with your boyfriend and came back with a broken wrist. You had him, and that was enough. 

Tito laughed, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your lips as he unlocked the car. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

#hockey imagines #anthony beauvillier #nhl imagine #hockey writing #hockey imagine #hockey #nhl imagines #nhl writing #nhl #anthony beauvillier the business major

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Gif credit @rainbow-motors

Dean Winchester x Reader 

Words: 1518

Summary: Alone on a hunt for the holidays, 19-year-old Dean calls up his childhood friend. 

Notes: I’ve been obsessed with Young Jensen content and I found this gif (Thanks to the creator!) and I really wanted to write something for a younger Dean. Call me lazy, but I didn’t want to include the hunt itself in this one. I thought writing the moments before and after would be cute, so enjoy! (Bit of a mess, but I hope you like it)

Want more Supernatural? Find it HERE

-

“Hey Sammy, it’s me,” Dean started the voicemail grimly. It was the third one he’d left for his younger brother, “I know you’re not happy with me and that’s why you won’t take my calls, but dammit man, I’ll be back as soon as I can. It’s just another hunt Sam. I’ll be back before you can say Hanukkah.” He thought for a moment before finishing. “Merry Christmas, Sammy.” 

He ended the message and tossed his phone on the motel bed with a huff. He knew Sam was pissed about him going on a hunt alone, especially over Christmas, but he didn’t think the silent treatment was going to last this long. Dad gave him an order and he wasn’t going to let him down. 

Dean sat down in front of a pile of books and sighed. He hated the research parts of hunts. He just wanted to kill the son-of-a-bitch. Unfortunately, he wasn’t totally sure what this particular son-of-a-bitch was. Over the course of seven years, 15 kids have gone missing right around Christmas time. No notes, no bodies, nothing. If his dad had any theories, he certainly hadn’t shared them. So research time it was. 

About three hours and two illegally obtained beers later, he had a couple of theories ready. It didn’t seem like a spirit or vampires, and without heartless bodies, it wasn’t a werewolf. Since the disappearances always happened around the holidays, he figured that the creature might have Pagan roots. Either that, or it could be a Grinch of a witch somewhere. Whatever it was, it was sure putting a dent in his holiday. 

Maybe that’s why he dialed the number. Sure, his dad told him he needed to do this on his own, but if it really was some Pagan entity, he wasn’t really sure he could take it on by himself- not that he would ever tell his father that. As far as his dad was concerned, Dean could handle anything that the dark world threw at him. But right now, looking at the Christmas lights through the frosty motel window, he wanted a friend. 

“Jack Frost, can’t say I was expecting a call from you.” Your amused voice made Dean smile. You had the phone wedged between your shoulder and your ear as you painted your toenails Christmas Tree green. Just because you were a badass hunter didn’t mean you couldn’t be festive. 

“Hey Y/N,” Dean chuckled, pushing away from the book covered table and cracking open another beer, “how’ve things been on your side of the Midwest?” 

“Oh, you know, vengeful spirit here, vampire there, nothing too exciting.” You twisted the top back on the polish and hopped off the bathroom counter, being careful when you walked so you didn’t get any polish on the carpet. “Mom’s been off with the twins, trying to give them a little bit of a normal Christmas up in Oregon.” 

“Why aren’t you with them?” Dean wondered. Your family wasn’t like his family. You and your mom somehow made it work. You weren’t usually separated, at least not for long. 

“I had a hunch that someone else was going to be needing me this year.” Dean let out a long, frustrated groan.

“Sam called you, didn’t he?” 

“Sammy boy was worried that you’d have a lonely Christmas so he asked me to hang around in case you needed some help.” You shrugged.

“Hang around? What do you mean hang around?” 

“Come to room 114 and find out Dean-o.” With a smirk, you hung up and waited at the foot of your bed, flipping through channels on the television. You settled on a channel that was playing The Year Without a Santa Claus. 

When you heard the knock on the door you walked on your heels to open it. Dean gave you an annoyed glare, but you could tell he was happy to see you. He barreled passed you, nearly knocking you off balance. 

“Watch the feet!” You whined, pointing at your newly painted toes. Dean rolled his eyes. 

“You painted your toenails?” He scoffed. “What are you? 13?” 

“Don’t be a Scrooge, they look nice.” You had long been able to handle Dean’s snarkiness. 

Your mother had run into John Winchester back in 1990 on a spirit case. Dean was 11, you were 10 and Sam and the twins were about 7. While your parents took down the ghost, you and Dean had to babysit. While he was obnoxious at first, the two of you got along pretty well. You bonded over being the oldest siblings, constantly having to look out for your kid brothers, worrying whether or not your parents would come home, remembering the parent that you’d lost, for Dean, it was his mother to a demon, for you it was your dad to a werewolf. 

After that, John and your mom would sometimes meet up if only to have you and Dean look after the younger kids. You even ended up going to the same high school for a while. Dean was probably the closest thing you had in your monster-hunting world to a best friend. And you, not that he would ever say it, were the closest thing he’d ever had to a crush. 

“I think I may have a lead on what we’re looking for here.” You informed, tossing him your journal. Astonished, Dean scanned the page. 

“How did you-”

“I’ve been researching gods in my free time.” 

“You are such a nerd.” Dean scoffed, taking a closer look at something you wrote. 

“Yeah well this nerd has saved your ass more than a fair share so shut it, Winchester.” You smirked, snatching back your journal. “Based on the case files of the missing kids, I have an idea of who we might be dealing with. Gryla is from Icelandic folklore and she, uh, eats naughty children.” 

“And here I complained about the coal.” Dean grimaced. 

“If we don’t figure out where she is, these kids become Christmas dinner.” While you dove into more research, Dean looked over your shoulder at the TV. 

“Are those puppets?” 

You scrambled to turn off the TV, but Dean stole the remote. 

“It’s a Christmas classic.” You reasoned, feeling yourself turn red. “I watched it with the twins all the time when we were kids.” 

“I think it’s adorable.” He leaned ever so closer to you without realizing it. Like a magnet pulling you together, you found yourself inching closer and closer until-

“Are we going to hunt this thing or not?” You suddenly exclaimed, backing away quickly. He was just kidding around. Dean was always pretty flirty. It was just part of your friendship. He didn’t feel that way about you- the way you felt about him. 

-

You burst through your motel room door, half carrying Dean in with you. In a panicked rush, you sat him down on the bed and scrambled to find your first aid kit. 

“At least we beat the damn thing, right?” Dean smirked before wincing at the pain. His wound wasn’t life threatening, but it sure hurt like a bitch. 

“This is going to hurt.” You warned, turning on the radio to drown out any pained sounds that Dean made. As you cleaned the wound, his eyes were locked on you. You tried not to notice. It was the pain that was making him look at you like that. You covered the wound with a bandage and put a fair distance between the two of you. You hoped he couldn’t see how much you were shaking. 

“Everything okay?” Dean asked. 

“Yeah, yeah everything’s fine, Dean.” You lied, laughing nervously. “I just got kinda freaked out when I saw her attack you.” 

“You sure that’s all that’s bothering you?”

“I thought you were going to die, Dean, I think that’s a sufficient reason to be a little jittery.” Dean got up from his place on the bed and walked towards you. 

“We’ve known each other for how long, Y/N? I can tell when you’re not telling me the whole story.” 

You ignored him, electing to listen to the Christmas music coming from the radio instead. It was one of your favorites. You mouthed the words to yourself. 

“Through the years, we all will be together. If the fates allow.” 

“Fate hasn’t exactly been our friend.” You scoffed. 

“Huh?”

“The song. It says ‘if the fates allow’. Fate doesn’t seem to like us this year.” 

“I don’t believe in all that.” Dean said, shaking his head. “And if I did, it looks like ‘fate’ has had it out for me for the past fifteen years.” 

“Fair enough.” You crossed your arms over your chest, watching snow start to fall outside the window. Neither of you said anything. You both just watched the white flecks tumble down to the earth. You turned around and found him standing right behind you. It didn’t startle you. It felt like he was meant to be close to you. You breathed in slowly before whispering. “Merry Christmas Dean.” 

“Merry Christmas.” 

You didn’t need any mistletoe for what came next. 

#dean winchester x reader #young dean winchester #Happy Holidays #supernatural christmas #supernatural imagines

[whelvenwings]

The Same Light

4.9k, destiel, Christmas fluff

a very wonderful and merry Christmas to @thebloggerbloggerfun, for whom this was written - hope you like your gift, Mich, ilysm and thank you so much for being you. you're just unparalleled <3

read it here on AO3 if you prefer!

-----

It was two-thirty in the morning on the seventh of December. Dean was still awake, opening up two boxes of Christmas lights that he’d ordered to go on the tree in his lounge: the eight-foot-tall, very impressive dark green fir tree.

He had appearances to keep up, after all - or maybe to make good, for the first time. This was his third Christmas living in this fancy neighbourhood, and he’d never quite felt like he’d done the damn thing right. Never quite kept up with the rest of them. And he knew, from the weird looks he got when he tried to talk to any of his neighbours, that they felt the same way.

This year, he was going big. It was a giant tree, and it was going to be resplendent with baubles and tinsel and lights. It was going to be bigger than Anna’s, next door; more sparkling than Charlie’s, along the way; and, without a doubt, it was going to be better in every way possible than the one right opposite, where Castiel lived.

Castiel. Dean rolled his eyes even thinking about him as he unravelled the first string of lights. The guy just always had to one-up Dean. At Easter, it was a big colourful egg display in his front yard. At Halloween, it was spiderwebs strewn through his shrubbery and an automated skeleton that laughed and waved. And at Christmas, it was always the most impressive tree standing proudly in his big front window.

Not this year. This year, it would be the second most impressive tree.

Dean had even shelled out for two boxes of expensive lights that had different settings, that he could switch via a remote control. He tried it now: the first setting was a soft glow, the second a gentle flashing, the third a raucous on-off-on-off that honestly hurt to look at a little bit - Dean quickly turned them back to the first setting. They were a tasteful golden colour, distinctively elegant. Dean switched the lights off, and reached for the second box. When he had these bad boys beaming out through his window, Castiel was going to be sick with envy. That handsome face of his was going to turn green.

The second set of lights came with another remote. Dean inserted the batteries and then tapped it, just to check that this set of lights worked, too - and both sets of lights switched on. The ones from the first box, and the ones from the second.

Seemed as though one remote worked for all the lights. That was useful.

Dean yawned widely. He’d been planning to have his tree completely decorated by morning, so that he could switch his lights on tomorrow and look smugly out over the neighbourhood. He was exhausted, though, and even though it was the weekend tomorrow, he was starting to get the old-man problem of not being able to sleep past his weekday wake-up time.

He turned in, vowing to make his house the most intensely Christmas-ified zone in the local area in the morning. It was going to be practically dangerous levels of festive, he thought as he crawled into bed. Candy canes were going to start growing spontaneously out in his front yard. People were going to have to wear biohazard suits to survive the overpowering scents of cinnamon and mint.

And Castiel wasn’t going to know what had hit him. The guy was so odd - sometimes standoffish, sometimes almost friendly, but always frustratingly distant. Well, he’d have to pay attention to Dean now.

----

Dean woke up and made himself a cup of spiced coffee, while his radio sang Christmas classics to him. He threw a couple more official-looking letters onto the giant pile of mail sitting on his kitchen counter - why did people even send mail anymore? If it was important enough, wouldn’t they just call? He’d get around to opening them all one day, he thought. Maybe. In his robe, fluffy slippers on his feet, he made his way through to the lounge, which had a view out to the front.

When he reached the window, Dean almost spat out his mouthful of coffee.

Over in Castiel’s front room, there was a tree in the window. A tree that was so tall, and decorated so magnificently, that it was breathtaking. A tree that had lights on it that were - well, they were distinctively elegant. They were golden.

They were Dean’s lights, clearly flashing on setting number two.

Had Castiel broken in, and stolen them? The wild thought was quickly dismissed by a quick glance down towards where Dean had left his sets of lights the night before - still there. So, Castiel had got his own, and they just happened to be the same as Dean’s.

Damn.

Damn.

If Dean put his lights up now, Castiel would be able to say that Dean had copied him. And of course he probably wouldn’t actually say anything about it, to Dean or to anyone else - he barely noticed Dean at all - but he’d look at Dean’s tree from across the road and Dean knew what he’d be thinking. Ugh. Not to mention the side-eyes he’d get from the rest of the neighbourhood.

He’d have to get some different lights, now, before he could decorate. Thankfully it looked as though Castiel had gone for a red and gold theme with his baubles, where Dean had been planning green and gold, so he didn’t have to rethink absolutely everything.

But his tree would be less incredible and breathtaking now than he’d planned. Damn Castiel and his ever-so-slightly-earlier tree decoration. Dean had been about to conquer the neighbourhood. He’d have been the king of suburbia. The ruler of his local area. People would have made tapestries of his tree. They’d have sung songs about it a hundred years down the line. He was certain.

Castiel just had to ruin it. Not even knowing what he’d done, he’d screwed up Dean’s master Christmas plan.

Dean looked morosely across the room to where his lights were sitting on the floor, with their remote controls beside them. A pity that he had no use for them, now. He’d have to donate them to the nearest thrift shop, or see if he knew anyone who wanted them. Strange, how the remote control worked for both sets.

Dean narrowed his eyes at the lights.

The remote… worked on both sets.

So, it was… it was probably reasonable to assume, wasn’t it, that the remote might work on all the sets of lights that were this model.

Which meant…

Dean looked back across the road, towards Castiel’s Christmas tree, and the soft glow of the golden lights that adorned it. He considered for a long, long moment. He weighed pros and cons.

He took a slurp of his coffee.

----

Enfolded in his thickest coat, with snow boots on and a scarf too, Dean stepped out into the evening. All down the road, lights shone out against the backdrop of the winter’s night. Rudolphs with flashing red noses and Santas with luminous white beards winked and sparkled in people’s front yards, and Dean’s breath was pluming into the air. He paused to rub his gloved hands together, and then patted his pocket.

The remote was still there.

Dean had bided his time. He’d waited for the opportune moment. A few nights of quiet and darkness had passed, and he’d let them, waiting - and his patience had been rewarded. Castiel’s house, right now, was all aglow and humming with the sounds of people talking and laughing.

A Christmas party. A neighbourhood Christmas party, no less, judging by the faces Dean had seen walking in - Anna, Charlie, Gordon, and even Garth had got an invite despite continuing to show up to every function in aviators.

No invite for Dean. Obviously. Castiel barely even looked at him, let alone spoke to him long enough to invite him to a party. Which was fine. It was completely fine. It was good, actually. Because it gave Dean just the opportunity that he’d been hoping for.

He strolled across the street, trying not to be too conspicuous. The guests all seemed to have arrived, because thankfully there was no one lingering outside Castiel’s home. The place was lit up by the display that Castiel had arranged in his front yard - a merrily laughing Santa sitting in his sleigh, pulled by his reindeer, with brilliant stars and gleaming Christmas trees surrounding him.

Dean stepped onto Castiel’s yard, his eyes on the tree he could clearly see through the front window. Those elegant golden lights were on the first setting - they were glowing softly. Just like Dean’s should have been. Dean’s face hardened. He just had to get close enough for the signal from the remote to work. He began to crunch his way across the snowy yard towards the window -

With a hiss of breath through his teeth, he ducked behind Santa.

Someone had come to the window, to look out onto the yard. Peeking round the edge of the pompom on Santa’s red hat, Dean saw a familiar outline. He gritted his teeth.

Castiel.

Dean stared at him. That asshole. Withholding his invites, thinking he was so much better than everyone, thinking he got to choose who was cool in the neighbourhood and who wasn’t. People around the place barely spoke to Dean because Castiel had decided he just wasn’t good enough to come to his parties. And there he was now, surveying his kingdom from the warmth of his house. Probably surrounded by amazing food and Christmas music and laughter.

After a few moments, Castiel turned away. Dean made a break for the house, trying not to outright run in case anyone spotted him through the window and he needed to be able to act casual about the whole thing. He turned at the last minute and slammed his back against the wall of Castiel’s house, breathing a little quickly. He chanced a glance in through the window to his left.

He caught sight of a few faces he knew, through the glass. Mostly, though, he could just see the tree.

The tree, with its golden glowing lights.

Dean reached into his pocket, and drew out the remote. There was a chance this wouldn’t work, he knew. Even though he was so close to the tree, there was still a pane of double-glazed glass between him and it. The signal might not get through.

He held out his hand and pointed the remote control towards the tree. The sounds of people laughing and chatting inside was a buzz in his ears. After just a moment of hesitation, Dean pressed Off.

Immediately, the lights went out. In a rush, he smacked his back against the wall again, out of everyone’s line of sight from the window; from indoors, he could hear people saying awww and a little kerfuffling of footsteps.

“No, it’s alright,” Dean just about caught someone say - a deep voice, less muffled by the glass than other higher voices. Castiel. “- got the remote here.”

Dean grinned out into the night.

He saw the lights on the tree come back on, the glow spilling out of the window and onto the snow on the ground, painting it gold. Dean waited a whole two seconds before leaning round and switching them off again.

“That’s strange,” Dean heard Castiel say, as he quickly leaned back out of sight. Other people were making suggestions, one on top of the other, all confused and blurred to hear through the closed window.

The lights came back on.

“The control seems to be working fine,” Castiel said.

This time, Dean turned and switched the lights to setting number three.

Setting three, the frenetic flash and glare, the instant migraine. He heard several raised voices cry out in surprise, and couldn’t resist taking a peek in through the window. Charlie was covering her eyes, while Gordon was standing beside Castiel and trying to take the remote off him. Anna plucked the remote out of both their scrabbling hands and turned the lights off.

There was a general sigh of relief.

Dean, one hand raised to cover his mouth and keep his laugh in, switched them back on again.

“What is happening?” he heard Castiel say, and this time Dean didn’t bother to hide - just kept watching Castiel and the rest of his party guests looking on in perplexion and consternation. The lights switched from off, to frenzied flashing, and back to off again, Dean stabbing at the remote at random, now. He was snorting with laughter into his glove. This was better than being invited. This was where the real party was. Out here, in the cold, making them all hide their eyes and make stupid suggestions like breaking the remote control they had or trying it closer to the tree - or switching the lights off all together.

“I’m already doing it,” said Castiel’s voice, much closer than Dean expected - and then he realised that Castiel was right by the window, ducking down behind his Christmas tree to find the kill switch for the lights.

Castiel was halfway to a crouch when he caught sight of Dean, staring in.

Dean gawped at him, his own remote control still in his upraised hand. Castiel’s eyes very slowly travelled from Dean’s face, along the length of his arm, to the remote.

Without saying a word, Dean lowered his hand.

Castiel looked back into his eyes.

Dean watched him. He didn’t know what to do but wait. If he ran, now, he was pretty sure Castiel would call out and everyone would look and they’d all see him making a break for it, back to his own house. If he waited, then in all likelihood Castiel would say something anyway, and they’d all come and stare at him through the window. But -

But as Dean watched, he realised that - only at the very corners - a small smile was appearing on Castiel’s face. They stared at each other through the window, unmoving, and Castiel was smiling at Dean, and Dean found himself pulling a face and then shrugging, and smiling back.

Someone said something that Dean didn’t quite catch through the window, in a questioning tone.

“No, I think it’s alright,” Castiel said. “I think I found what was happening. It should stop now.”

His tone sounded far too assured. Dean raised his eyebrows, and then lifted the remote control again. Castiel’s eyes narrowed.

Dean pointed it in the direction of the tree.

Castiel shook his head.

Dean nodded, and angled the remote more deliberately, about to press it back onto setting number three.

Castiel lifted a single finger. He mouthed, wait there.

And then he stood up abruptly, and shuffled out from behind his tree. Dean considered changing the lights setting again anyway, just to see the look on his face - but repressed the urge. Castiel hadn’t immediately busted him, and that was worth a truce, however brief. He leaned back against the wall beside the window once more, and realised that his heart was beating fast and hard. The adrenaline of getting caught, he thought. What was Castiel going to do? What would he say? Was he actually gathering all of his party guests now to come outside and point at Dean and laugh?

When the front door of Castiel’s house opened, however, it opened for Castiel alone. On quiet feet, Castiel came over to where Dean was standing, and leaned against the house beside him.

For a few seconds, they just stood there - the two of them looking out over the front yard. Dean wasn’t sure what to say. Sorry wouldn’t be honest - he wasn’t feeling particularly apologetic. Hi seemed kind of flippant. Why didn’t you invite me to your party would clearly be unnecessarily aggressive. It wasn’t as though Dean cared, anyway.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said eventually.

Dean cleared his throat.

“Uh. Hey,” he said.

“So. This is what you spend your time doing instead of coming to parties.” Castiel put his head on one side, still looking out over his own front yard as Dean watched him. “I do see the appeal.”

“You know how it is,” Dean said, because it was something to say.

Castiel looked at him.

“I... know how it is, when you somehow manage to find out what Christmas lights your neighbour has, so you order the same model to get hold of the same remote control so that at the neighbourhood Christmas party you can decide to stand outside in the cold and make everyone confused for five minutes?” he said.

Dean breathed out.

“To be fair,” he said, “I ordered the same lights. There wasn’t any recon. I just had this.” He waved the remote.

“Ah. I see.”

There was a pause. Dean watched Castiel, who was now looking upwards, towards the night sky. He really was an attractive guy, Dean couldn’t help thinking, even though he couldn’t think of a less appropriate time to be thinking that about someone than after attempting to sabotage their Christmas party. Which he hadn’t been invited to. While wearing a giant coat and oversize gloves, like a dork. Had he ever looked less dateable in his entire life, he wondered.

That didn’t stop his brain from running away with itself, thinking about all kinds of things he’d like for Christmas.

“Do you want to come in?” Castiel said.

Dean looked away, grinning a little humourlessly.

“Nah, it’s okay,” he said. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Castiel shift.

“I see,” he said.

Something about the coolness of his tone made Dean think that maybe he didn’t see, exactly.

“I just prefer to go to parties I’ve been invited to,” he said. “You know, instead of ones I crashed by flipping the lights on and off a few times.”

“You were invited,” Castiel said. Dean snorted. As if Castiel inviting him just now really counted.

“Yeah. I mean, I like to be invited before the crashing.”

“You were,” Castiel said blankly.

Dean turned to look at him. They met each other’s eyes.

Damn. Castiel’s gaze was steady and intense. His eyes were so blue.

“What?” Dean said.

“I sent you an invitation a month ago.”

“You - what? You don’t even have my mobile number,” Dean said.

“I put it in your mailbox,” Castiel said.

“My what?”

“Your -”

“Why would you put it there?”

“Because… that’s where letters go?” Castiel said, sounding unsure of himself. “Isn’t it?”

Dean could only look at him for a few moments. In his mind’s eye, he was seeing the giant stack of mail on his kitchen counter. The letters that he’d assumed were from the bank, or from insurance companies, or something.

“Wait,” he said. “Wait.”

Castiel was staring at him, still. Dean could feel embarrassment rising in him, hot enough to melt the snow in a five-foot radius.

“You mean… all these parties that I wasn’t invited to,” Dean said. “The Easter breakfast and the Halloween Spook Night and the Carolling last week - you mean, all of them, I was…”

“Of course I invited you,” Castiel said, with an expression of some consternation. “You live right across the road. It would have been incredibly rude to miss you out.”

“Well,” Dean said, and then stopped.

“You thought I was that rude?”

“Well… yeah.”

Castiel was frowning, but after a few seconds he nodded.

“I suppose I did also think that you were very rude,” Castiel said.

“You did?”

“Of course. You completely ignored every single one of my invitations. You didn’t RSVP once, Dean. In fact, I’m afraid you’re fairly notorious for it.”

“I am?” This explained a lot of the dirty looks that he got around the neighbourhood, Dean was thinking - he could feel things falling into place. It all made sense now. The way no one wanted to really talk to him. The way Castiel always seemed distant.

“Oh, yes. Even my friends living in other cities - and other countries - know all about you.”

“Do any of them think literally anything good about me?” Dean said. By just not opening his mail, he’d managed to gain himself an international reputation as an asshole?

“Well…” Castiel said, and then stopped, and looked away.

“Yeah?” Dean said.

“Well, I mean. Most of them. The ones who’ve seen you. They do…” Castiel was looking distinctly embarrassed. Dean stared at him. What Castiel could possibly have to be embarrassed about in this situation, he had no idea. Whatever it was, there was no way it was as bad as trying and mostly failing to sabotage a Christmas party that he didn’t know he’d been invited to. “It’s nothing,” Castiel said. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Uh, hey, if someone’s got something good to say about me in this situation, I wanna hear it,” Dean said. “If it’s a compliment of any kind, I’ll take it.”

“Well,” Castiel said. “Some of them - not me - but some people - think that you’re good-looking.”

Dean had to pause to take it in for a second, and then he snorted with laughter. Partly because it was so unexpected, and partly to get himself through the slight stab of disappointment at Castiel not feeling the same way as these admirers.

“So, what you’re saying is, everyone’s thinking - hey, he’s an asshole and a dumbass, but at least he’s got his looks?” Dean said.

“Everyone except me,” Castiel said.

Damn. He was really ramming that point home.

“Okay,” Dean said.

“I mean, not that I think you aren’t good-looking,” Castiel said, looking at Dean. “I don’t mean to be rude…”

“Oh, no, it’s fine. I mean, you like what you like.” Dean pulled a semi-grotesque face. “Can’t believe this doesn’t do it for ya.”

“It’s not - it’s not that I don’t like - you, I mean, it’s not that I don’t like you, or…” Castiel stopped, and Dean gave up making faces to search his face for a second, trying to figure out what that had been.

“Huh?” he said.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing,” Castiel said.

There was a silence. Dean kept looking at Castiel, who shifted his gaze down to the snowy ground.

Dean was half-tempted to go home, and part of him also wanted to ask if Castiel had been serious about inviting him in, because he was pretty sure there was going to be food inside at the party and that it was going to be really good - but there was a tiny, tiny part of him that was looking at Castiel’s face and seeing his embarrassment and his awkwardness and his denials and then, maybe, his not-denials, and thinking - thinking something.

He could shoot his shot. Out here, in the cold.

After all, Dean thought, he’d disliked Castiel all this time. If Castiel was offended, it wasn’t as though Dean was losing a friendship that mattered to him. And Castiel could just be aloof and distant with him for a different reason than before. He had nothing much to lose.

He was going to do it. He was going to tell Castiel that he was the good-looking one. And maybe things would go from there, and maybe they wouldn’t. But at least he could give it a go. Maybe Castiel would at least feel flattered, even if he wasn’t interested.

Somehow, even though he’d just been convincing himself that the stakes were low, Dean could feel his heart pounding.

“Well,” Dean said, “probably you...” His throat seemed to close up with sudden nerves, and that was as far as he got.

Castiel met his eyes.

“What?” he said.

“Nothing.”

“Oh.”

There was a pause. Dean stared up at the sky, and counted to ten. His chest was tight. Why was he freaking out? He’d asked people out before. He’d complimented people before. This was no different.

Standing beside Castiel, though, it did feel a little different.

There was something there that wasn’t there, normally. Something that went a little deeper than just thinking the guy was attractive and wanting to spend a little time together, see where things went. Something about the tiny smile Castiel had given him through the window, when he’d realised it was Dean messing with his lights. Something about how it felt to be standing out here, together, just the two of them. Dean could feel his hands tingling. His heart was still racing.

If he didn’t say anything, he was going to kick himself all the way home.

“You,” Dean said, and then his throat closed again.

Damn. Damn.

Dean could feel Castiel’s eyes on him, but he didn’t meet them. He’d thought he’d reached the peak of embarrassment in his life fifteen minutes earlier when he’d been caught with the remote control, but it turned out there were new depths of awkward to explore.

“Me?” Castiel said.

Dean looked at him.

“Yeah,” he said, with feeling. He tried to put it all into that word, into his face. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to actually say anything.

Castiel was frowning.

“Me,” he said again.

“You,” Dean agreed.

Castiel paused.

Then -

“You,” he said softly.

Dean felt his stomach flip, hard, a rush of feeling.

“Me?” he said, in the same tone that he might have said, really? Me? The person who just tried to kind of ruin your Christmas party? The dumbass who’s been ignoring your invites?

“You,” Castiel said. The certainty in his voice, the look in his eyes, left no room for doubt. He knew what he was saying. And he was saying it to Dean.

Dean wanted to smile but he thought he might have forgotten how. Was he already doing it? He breathed out, and it was kind of a laugh of happiness and kind of an exhale of shock.

One of Castiel’s hands moved forward, ever so slightly. And then Dean’s, just a little. By degrees, they reached for each other, until Castiel had Dean’s gloved hand in his own, and pulled on it, leading him towards the doorway into his home.

Dean wanted to protest - wanted to say that he was pretty sure everyone else inside the house hated him, and he wasn’t really ready to go ahead and try to change their hard-earned opinions of him, and he really only wanted to spend more time out here with Castiel and then maybe find some other place to go together with just the two of them that was maybe kind of warmer and had more food - but he let himself be pulled towards the door. Castiel walked up the couple of steps, Dean in tow. Castiel let go of his hand to open the door, and then stood on the threshold.

Dean, a step below him, watched Castiel turn to face him.

For a moment, they stared at each other. Dean felt as though he should say something about letting in the cold, but his throat still felt all closed up, in a good way, but also in an impractical way.

And then he noticed it. Right above Castiel’s head.

Green leaves, white berries. A sprig of mistletoe. And Castiel had led him here. Now he was standing underneath it, looking increasingly nervous and awkward.

“You…” Castiel said, obviously intending to say that Dean probably didn’t want to do this, and that was okay - but then Dean stepped in close, and stood on his tiptoes on the step below Castiel, and tilted his chin up, and kissed Castiel.

Just a brief kiss, really. Just a moment, when their lips were pressed and their eyes were closed and everything was exactly as it should be, right here in their little world within a world.

When he pulled back, Dean could only look at Castiel, and let his thoughts circle around what and how and wow, wow, damn, wow, and he wanted to do it again - and Castiel had that small smile back on his face, and Dean couldn’t resist it. When he leaned up and kissed Castiel again, he let it go on longer, let his body sway in closer, and then Castiel’s hand was pressed to his cheek, was moving back into his hair -

“Oh,” Castiel said, breaking away. “Oh - I knocked your hat off.”

Dean wanted to say something, but kissing Castiel seemed to only shut his voice down harder. He felt so much. How was he supposed to talk? What was he meant to say? He bent down and retrieved his hat.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked.

Dean nodded.

Castiel still looked concerned, so Dean cleared his throat.

“Better than alright,” he said.

When Castiel smiled, Dean’s world was brighter than the Christmas lights.

“Come in,” Castiel said.

“I don’t know… they’re not gonna want me…”

“I don’t care,” Castiel said. “I want you.”

It was enough. It was more than enough. Dean followed Castiel into the house, stepping into Castiel’s hallway for the first time in his life, hearing laughter and chatter, smelling mulled wine and pine needles and rich, heady food.

And it turned out that showing up to a party late, having tried to sabotage it, didn’t earn Dean too much ill-will. People talked to him, and laughed at his explanations, and asked questions and wanted to get to know him, even - and all the while, there was Castiel right beside him. Castiel’s hand gently brushing against his, fingers touching the inside of his palm, just now and then. Castiel smiling at his jokes. Castiel tugging lightly at his shirt to get Dean to follow him to the kitchen, where - in quiet, in their own world, without many words but with perfect clarity - they got to know each other better. When they touched, Dean was light, brilliantly light, bursting with it. And when Castiel looked at him, spoke to him, Dean felt it from him, too.

The same light.

#whelvenwingsfic #thebloggerbloggerfun #destiel #deancas #destiel fic #is it still the case that stuff doesn't show up in the tag #if you have an external link in the post #I don't knowwww #but HEY #HAPPY CHRISTMAS MICH #<333333 #HOPE U LIKE IT DUDE

[ella-se-vuelve-loca]

Story Time with Papá | Richard Camacho (5th Day of 🎄)

It’s still soft bitch hours guys! 🤣😌💕 I hope you enjoy!

(Credits to the owner of this gif!!!)

~~

I was finishing up laundry and about to go into mine and Richard’s shared room, when I noticed that Aaliyah’s room light was still on. Curiosity got the best of me, so I went to go and check to see why she was still up.

“Are you guys settled in?” I heard Richard say to his girls. And yes, you heard me right, I said girls. We’ve been lucky enough to have a child of our own – Valeria Camacho. When Aaliyah found out that she was gonna be a big sister, the biggest smile ever spread across her cute chubby cheeks. “I’m gonna be a big sister!” She would yell out in excitement.

“One quick story and you better promise me to go to sleep after this, okay?” He laughed and the kids nodded enthusiastically. I set the basket of clothes on the floor next to me as I crossed my arms over my chest and watched him get comfortable on his chair as his daughters sat on the bed. “This one is a classic and it’s one of papá’s favorites…” He opened the book in his hands, cleared his throat and began reading. 

“‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house. 

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. 

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, 

In hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there.”

I glanced at the kids faces as they looked at the pictures in the book their papá was reading to them. 

“The children were nestled, all snug in their beds.” He leaned in and tickled their stomachs as their laughter filled the room.

“While visions of sugar plums danced in their heads.

And momma in her ‘kerchief and I in my cap,

Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.

When out in the lawn there arose such a clatter, 

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.”

He smiled at his girls and watched them as they waited with anticipation for the next part to the story.

“Away to the window flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow, 

Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,

When what to my wondering eyes did appear,

But a miniature sleigh with eight tiny reindeer.”

I smiled at the interaction between the three of them. Aaliyah and Valeria snuggled close to each other with blankets wrapped around the both of them. 

“With a little old driver so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, 

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name. 

"Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen! 

On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donner and Blitzen!”

I chuckled to myself and continued to listen to his voice tell the story. 

“To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall! 

Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!’

As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky. 

So up to the housetop the coursers they flew, 

With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.” 

Aaliyah and Valeria scooted in closer to get a closer look at the pictures. “Look at the reindeer, Valeria.” Aaliyah spoke as she pointed to the page. “Oooh!” She spoke as Richard started the next part to the story.

“As I drew in my head, and was turning around, 

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. 

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot. 

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, 

And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.” 

His voice changed a bit and went a little higher than usual as he spoke. I have to admit, it was pretty funny seeing him like this, but adorable nonetheless.

“His eyes—how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry! 

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! 

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, 

And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow. 

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath. 

He had a broad face and a little round belly 

That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.” 

He stuffed a pillow in his shirt and let out a deep laugh. “Ho! Ho! Ho!”. Aaliyah and Valeria bursted out laughing as they watched their papá pretend to be Santa Claus.

“He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, 

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself. 

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. 

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.” 

He leaned in and pinched their noses. Their cheeks became so rosy as they looked at Richard. His eyes were just so full of love. 

“And laying his finger aside of his nose, 

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight —

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

They cheered at the end of the story as Richard placed the book down on the bedside table. He laughed and took the pillow out from his shirt. “Did you girls enjoy the story?” They nodded and yelled a big “yes!” 

He leaned in and placed a kiss on the top of their heads. “I’m glad you liked it mija.” He brushed a hair away from their faces and smiled at them both. “I love you girls…”

“I love you too papá.”

“Yeah, I love you papá! Thank you for reading us a story.” 

He chuckled and nodded. “You’re welcome.” He tucked them into bed, placed one last kiss on their foreheads and bid them goodnight. He made his way to the door and saw me standing there. “That was a lovely story.” I stated as his face turned a light shade of pink. “You heard all of it?” He asked and I nodded.

“I especially liked the part where you put the pillow in your shirt and started laughing like you were Santa. That was a really nice touch.” He laughed and playfully pushed me on the side. “Hey, I was trying to get into character and give them visuals. What I did was amazing.” He smiled. “Of course.” We smiled at each other as he leaned in and placed a kiss upon my lips. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

#Alondra’s 12 Days of Christmas #cncowners #cnco imagines #richard camacho #richard camacho imagines #richard christmas imagine #christmas imagine #happy holidays

[wordsysayswords]

Someone needs to put down a wet floor sign because Tucker’s pretty sure his heart has melted into a puddle around his shoes.

Or, Tucker gets to see Wash interact with children, including Junior, for the first time ever and, to quote Grif, he's so fucked.

--

Merry Christmas @washingtubb!  I hope you enjoyed this fluffy Blue Team bonding with just a pinch of Tuckington thrown in for good measure. Thanks for being so patient with this fic getting posted. @redvsbluesecretsanta

--

“Have you guys seen Junior?” Tucker asks, poking his head into the common room.

Carolina, who is sat perfectly still on the couch and in the process of having her long hair braided by three children, glances Tucker’s way without turning her head.

“He was with Caboose’s group earlier,” she says, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face. “In the mess hall.”

“Yeah, apparently they got told to leave because Grif tried to organize the kids into storming the kitchen. The things that guy will do for chocolate pudding.”

“BLARG!” Cries one of the twin Sangheili infants in Carolina’s lap. She rubs the alien’s back soothingly and raises an eyebrow at Tucker in a silent question.

“She’s ready for a nap,” Tucker translates.

There haven’t been a whole lot of opportunities for Tucker to exercise his Sangheili conversation skills on Chorus. That all changed two days ago when a ship full of Sangheili and human refugees landed, fleeing their own war-ravaged planet halfway across the galaxy. They had received Epsilon’s message and come seeking help because the reported conditions on their planet made Chorus seem like an idyllic paradise. Among the refugees were an almost comical number of children, outnumbering the adults six to one. The situation became a lot less funny when you realized 80 percent of the children were orphans.

“Here,” Tucker says, pulling out his datapad and selecting a playlist of classic Sangheili nursery rhymes. “They’ll recognize these. Puts ‘em right to sleep. You’ll have the songs stuck in your head for days, though.”

“Thanks for the warning.” Carolina gives a crooked smile as she accepts the datapad. “Can’t be worse than the crap Wash listens to.”

“Speaking of Wash, any idea where he’s hiding?”

Carolina cocks her head—as much as she can considering one of the aliens curled up against her shoulder is batting at her braid like a particularly curious cat. The kids finish up on her hair, and a little boy passes Carolina a pink hand mirror. Tucker bites his lip to keep from laughing as the Freelancer turns her head this way and that, inspecting the no less than eight messy braids sticking off her head at ridiculous angles.

“Looks great,” Carolina whispers, causing the kids to giggle and blush.

She turns her attention back to Tucker. “What makes you think Wash is hiding?”

“I don’t know, have you seen what it’s like out there?” Tucker asks, gesturing towards a window overlooking the track where groups of kids are playing frisbee or jumping rope, supervised by the lieutenants. “I’m having trouble keeping up, and I’m a dad!”

“Eh,” Carolina shrugs, “you’d be surprised.” She looks around at the cluster of children, “Do you remember our deal?”

The kids nod excitedly.

“If we take a nap, you’ll show us how to punch good!” A girl with wilting daisies woven into her hair punches the air, beaming.

Carolina raises an eyebrow. “And the rule?”

“Only in s-self, um,” lisps the boy missing his two front teeth, “s-self defenssse!”

“That’s right,” Carolina says, tapping the datapad. Plucky music starts to play as the kids curl up on the couch. She looks over at Tucker.

“Try the barracks,” she tells him. “They might have gone to get Caboose’s crayons and coloring books.”

“Thanks,” Tucker says, tossing a salute her way as he backs out the door. “Let me know if you need another teacher for punching class.”

“Sure thing. Watch out for—”

“HONK BLARG!”

A dark shape shoots out from under the couch and latches on to Tucker’s leg before he has time to blink.

“Holy fu—” Tucker catches himself. “Fudgsicles. Holy fudgsicles. Definitely what I was going to say. Right, little buddy?”

The small Sangheili wrapped around his leg hoots happily and starts gnawing on his boot laces.

“I think she’s teething,” Carolina explains. “Her brother is with Caboose’s group. Mind taking her with you?”

“No problem,” Tucker says, lifting his foot to get a better look at the alien. “And what’s your name, champ?”

“Firo 'Srattin,” yawns the little girl draped over Carolina’s shoulder.

“Strattin,” muses Tucker. “Good, strong clan name. Well, come on, Firo. Let’s go find your brother.”

“Say goodbye to Captain Tucker,” Carolina tells the children. A chorus of honks and goodbyes follows the teal soldier out of the room.

In the hall, Tucker looks down at his passenger. She’s given up on his laces and is now digging through his cargo pants pocket looking for snacks.

“All right,” Tucker says. “Which way should we try first, hm?”

Firo sniffs the air for a moment before pointing down the hall. “BLARG!”

“The barracks? Good choice. Let’s roll out, soldier.”

It ends up being a long walk to the barracks—and not just because Tucker has a honking deadweight wrapped around one leg.

Passing the empty lot behind the mess hall, he and Firo walk past the Reds organizing a game of football for the kids, and the pair promptly get roped into playing referees. They leave at halftime while Donut’s group of kids performs an impromptu cheerleading routine (The man’s created surprisingly passable pompoms out of old caution tape).

Despite the rest of the base swarming with children, the barracks are oddly quiet.

“I could’ve sworn they’d be here,” Tucker tells Firo after checking Caboose’s room and finding it empty.

“BLARG,” she agrees around a mouthful of a granola bar—wrapper included.

“I mean, I guess we could check bomb disposal range. Maybe they’re playing fetch with Freckles?”

“BLARG?”

“No, fetch with Freckles basically involves vaporizing tennis balls straight out of the sky. So, there’s no real ‘fetching’ happening.”

“BLARG CHONK.”

“I know, right? That’s what I said!”

“CHONKA CHONKA.”

“Watch the language!” Tucker chides. “I don’t want the parents thinking I taught you that.”

Just then, Firo perks up, her large grey snout sniffing the air intently.

Tucker stops walking. “What is it? Did you get their scent aga—whoa, hold up!”

In the blink of an eye, Firo lets go of Tucker’s leg and tears off down the hall.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Tucker calls, sprinting after her. “Firo 'Srattin, get back here! If you had a middle name, you bet I’d be using it right now!”

Firo only stops long enough to stick her tongue out at the sim trooper before racing away down another corridor.

“Why you little,” Tucker mutters to himself and looks up at the ceiling. “Mom, if this is what I was like as a kid, I am so sorry. Firo!”

Tucker skids around a corner just in time to see Firo squeeze through an ajar door and disappear inside.

“Oh fuck,” Tucker groans, picking up speed. He hisses. “Firo! Get out here! That’s somebody’s room, and they don’t want to wake up to an alien chewing on their socks!”

The maze of two-person bunk rooms all looks the same to Tucker, so he’s halfway up the hall before he realizes the alien just escaped into his room. His and Wash’s room.

“Damn it,” Tucker mumbles, screeching to a halt outside the door, a hesitant hand on the handle.

Okay, okay. No need to panic. Maybe Firo hasn’t turned any of Wash’s meager possessions into chew toys yet. The Freelancer isn’t one for trinkets or homely touches. If it wasn’t for Tucker, the man would still be living out of his footlocker rather than the closet and chest of drawers available to him. But that means any nonessential items Wash does keep around are all the more meaningful. Like Caboose’s messy drawings or the ugly-ass cat figurine that Tucker carved him out of a bar of soap (“No, no, Tucker, I appreciate the gift. It’s a cute giraffe.” “It’s supposed to be a cat!” “Uh, cat. Right. That’s what I said.”)

“Alright, whose turn is it to turn the page?”

Tucker freezes. Fucking of course Wash is hiding out in the desolate barracks while the base is swarming with children. Tucker’s never seen him interact with someone younger than the lieutenants outside of a military setting. You don’t exactly see a whole lot of kindergarteners toddling around an active military base (Caboose doesn’t count). Long story short, Tucker has been putting off even introducing him to Junior because everything about Wash; his anxiety, his control-freak nature, his stickler-for-the-rules attitude; screams that he and children do not mix.

So who the hell is Wash talking to?

“BLARG!” A high-pitched Sangheili voice shouts.

Tucker’s brow furrows. He’s just about to push the door open when someone else speaks up.

“It’s Ure’s turn,” a young voice translates.

“Alright, Ure, you can do the honors,” Wash says. “Careful this time.”

Tucker hears the sound of a page being turned.

“Great, where were we? Right,” Wash clears his throat. “The BR55HB Service Rifle entered service in 2548 and is employed as a medium-to-long-range marksman rifle.”

The fuck?

“Though its barrel is longer than that of the BR55, the weapon performs almost identically to its predecessor,” Wash continues. “The magazine housing is built directly into the underside of the stock of the rifle and is located behind the grip. And look, here’s a picture.”

That’s it; Tucker can’t stop himself from sneaking a peek around the door.

Wash is sat on the floor, leaning back against his cot. And around him are no less than twelve children and young Sangheili, cuddled up against him, hanging off his arms, sprawled across his lap, and peering over his shoulders at the yellowed paper gun manual in his hands. After turning the book for everyone to see the battle rifle diagram, Wash goes back to reading,

“Though the BR55HB SR is a select-fire weapon, it is most often used in its three-round burst mode.”

“This is my favorite part,” whispers Caboose to the three kids comfortably sharing his lap.

“Despite firing a very powerful cartridge, the weapon is subject to little recoil, even when being fired automatically.”

Curled up in the arms of one of the Sangheili is Firo, happily sucking on her brother’s shirt as she listens to Wash read with rapt attention, along with the rest of the children. Huddled up among them sits Junior, head resting in his hands as he drowsily listens with a content smile on his face.

Someone needs to put down a wet floor sign because Tucker’s pretty sure his heart has melted into a puddle around his shoes.

“Whose turn is it to turn the page now?” Wash asks, and a tiny boy pulls his thumb out of his mouth just long enough to raise his hand.

Wash smiles, and it’s so warm and natural Tucker momentarily forgets how to breathe. “Want some help?”

Thumb back in his mouth, the boy nods, and the Freelancer helps him turn the page with his free, chubby little hand.

“Great job. Now, it fires M634 X-HP-SAP round from a 36-round magazine, which fits flush in the receiver...”

Suddenly, Grif is there next to Tucker, whispering. “You’re so fucked, dude.”

Tucker startles so hard he stumbles face-first into the door. He turns to glare at Grif who disappears into his own room next door with a little wave. Tucker turns back around to find he’s accidentally pushed the door open and the entire room staring at him.

“I, uh, just...Firo!” Tucker recovers quickly. “There you are! I’ve been, ah, looking everywhere for you. Yeah.” Hell yeah. Fucking smooth. Definitely doesn’t sound like you’ve been creeping outside the door.

Wash has gone bright red. “I, uh. There aren’t any, er, kids books on base,” he stammers and starts to stand up. “They kept asking to read this one cause it has pictures. It’s stupid, I kno—”

“What happens next?”

“I—” Wash stops. His brow furrows. “What happens what?”

“What happens next?” Tucker asks again, coming to sit cross-legged on the floor beside Junior. “Dude, you can’t leave us in suspense. I gotta know who lives happily ever after, right guys?” He winks at the kids who giggle. Junior slings a massive arm around his father’s shoulders and pulls him close.

Wash just sits there, ears and cheeks still tinged with red. “You’re sure?” he asks, narrowing his eyes in the way he does when he’s trying to figure out if Tucker’s fucking with him or not.

Tucker settled in, leaning back against his son. “Just read the story, dude,” he says, grinning.

Wash flips the manual open, laughing under his breath. “Okay then,” he concedes. “Section 1.4 Service History. The introduction of the BR55HB SR led to an immediate increase in the BR55's popularity, prompting all branches of the UNSC Armed Forces, except the Army, to replace the M392 with the newer weapon...”

#rvb #red vs blue #lavernius tucker #agent washington #agent carolina #blue team #junior #michael j caboose #fanfic #fan fic #fanfiction #fan fiction #wordsywriteswords #wordsy writes words #rvb secret santa #red vs blue secret santa

[brownskinsugarplum76]

One Shot: A Very Tropical Christmas

OK… I hope you agree with me that better late than never is a good thing. ☺️ This is the Christmas Maggie/Robert story that I mentioned last week. This takes place after the events I'm writing up in Eye of the Storm, soon after Maggie and Robert have gotten back from their separate tours. Robert has a special Christmas surprise that he thinks is well deserved for Maggie, after her success on the road. There's a good mix of fluff and NSFW smut. Happy belated holidays! ❤️❤️❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"We’re almost there!” Robert was excited. Too excited. The suspension bridge jostled a little harder as he sped up his gait from his usual regal stroll.

Maggie was glad the walk was coming to an end, although the beauty of the lush jungle environment was a good distraction.

Brightly colored birds darted in and out of the variety of trees that closed tightly to either side of the bridge, all the while singing songs of joy to live in an undisturbed paradise. She breathed in the strong scent of tropical flowers and rich soil which, when coupled with the humidity that hung thickly in the air, gave the experience a dream-like quality.

She told herself she'd have to come back later with her camera so she could remember it all well into the future. Without exactly knowing what Robert had in mind, it was already a dream come true.

A few days before, Robert, grinning from ear to ear, confessed to Maggie that he had booked a special getaway for them. Robert succeeded in not blurting out the details, and Maggie was unable to get him to divulge any information after plying him with her repertoire of romantic tricks. Robert was committed to giving Maggie a big Christmas surprise.

After stepping off the bridge and emerging from the tree-lined gravel path, they stood before a multi-level treehouse. Maggie gasped. Robert had caught her admiring photos of this exact place in an issue of Look magazine right before she left on her tour.

He sat their bags down while he fished the key out of his shorts pocket. “Surprise and Merry Christmas! Welcome to our jungle hideaway.”

“Robert! My goodness, you remembered!”

“I’m always paying attention, love, even when you think I’m just ogling your--”

Maggie’s lips were on his before he could finish his sentence.

***

Once inside, the lovers explored the home, examining the wicker furniture in the living room, the large, mosquito net-covered four-poster bed in the bedroom, and the oversized claw-foot tub in the bathroom. For the next week they would indulge their senses and their fantasies in natural luxury.

“There’s also an outdoor shower, you know…” Robert hinted as they took the last of their things out of their suitcases. He stepped closer to Maggie and kissed her while his embrace changed to hands on a mission to remove her clothes.

“We could check it out now. There’s nothing else to do, I suppose…” She murmured and raised Robert’s t-shirt over his head.

“Well, there is one thing I’d like to do first…” He scooped Maggie into his arms and walked her to the bed.

***

The shower was a welcome experience after their indoor tryst. The open-air stall was surrounded by a dense array of trees and flowering shrubs for privacy. Two waterfall shower heads gently rained down from above, and smooth tiles in shades of blue and green made up the floor.

Maggie and Robert alternated bathing and arousing each other with lusty caresses. Being outdoors in the verdant rainforest of Costa Rica gave their togetherness a more primal edge.

“Wait here a tick,” Robert said, ending his embrace of Maggie and smoothing her hair out of her face. “There’s a present I want you to open now.”

"OK. I'll be here."

She remained under the shower head while she waited for Robert to return. She closed her eyes. By their songs, she could distinguish at least four different kinds of birds flying around. Her attention melted into the sounds of the tropical forest and she relaxed even more.

She smiled to herself. Robert knew exactly what she needed after her time away on the road. She loved the outdoors just as much as he did, and the resort was sure to make the tour a distant memory. Not that she didn’t enjoy learning several of the band’s shows were sold out, or having to spend extra time signing autographs before retreating in the van, or hearing the hearty cheers that greeted them at the clubs for after-parties. All of that went better than she imagined. But she missed Robert.

She had grown accustomed to being his live-in partner, and she needed more than the couple of nights that he was able to come to her shows. Both of their bands were finished touring and had no plans to start recording just yet, so he was looking forward to returning to Malibu and their quiet life.

"Your sexy Santa has arrived, darlin'."

Maggie opened her eyes as Robert's cheerful return interrupted her thoughts. She stepped out of the shower spray toward him.

He presented a small box, about the size of an 8-track.

"This isn't a copy of Presence, is it?"

His face screwed up in mock consternation. "I assure you it’s something new that you’ll like. Though it is a bit of a selfish present."

"Classic Robert… OK, sexy Santa, let's get this over with."

"Yes, let's. I can't wait to use it!" The side of his mouth curled into a devilish smirk.

Maggie ripped the wrapping paper off of the box.

After removing the lid, she stared at the sprig of plant that was spruced up with a red velvet bow.

“You horny devil…” Maggie was not surprised to see mistletoe lying in wait in the box.

Robert grasped it and discarded the box, held it over her, and leaned in for a kiss.

"Merry Christmas, my love."

Robert’s lips felt warm against Maggie’s, which had been cooled by the stream of water on her face. He rested his hands on her shoulders while he slowly tongued inside her mouth.

Maggie felt like she was melting as the kiss went on. Her need for Robert was heightened, along with her senses, by knowing she was outside on a balmy day with the sun rays and occasional breeze coursing over her naked skin. They had enjoyed a similar scenario at Robert’s house many times, but being at the unfamiliar vacation destination made her feel much more alive.

“Let’s head back here,” Robert said, leading her under the shower.

Robert backed Maggie against the smooth stones of the shower facade, and they kissed some more. Then his lips traveled down her chin and neck. The sensation of Robert’s hot tongue made Maggie weak.

He licked down to her breasts and held one while he licked and sucked its nipple to life. She arched against the wall and let her hands glide up and down Robert’s back, thanks to the slickness of the streaming water. “Robert, that feels so good…” Her murmur segued into a yelp when Robert tugged at her nipple with his mouth while his fingers made inflammatory contact with her throbbing clit.

After a few moments of Maggie’s bucking and wailing against his fingering, Robert gave her breasts a squeeze and then cradled her back. He moved her hair from her ear and whispered. “Turn around for me, love? I want to feel that gorgeous ass while I’m inside of you.”

Maggie could barely make contact with Robert’s lust-glazed eyes because hers were equally heavy in the heat of the moment. She kissed him one more time before turning around and arching for Robert’s entry.

Robert groaned as he connected intimately with Maggie. She moaned as his hardness teased her with a promise of powerful release.

She met his thrusting with the hungry motions of her body, milking him slowly. The water felt a little warmer, and she realized that Robert had adjusted the shower while her back was to him.

His large hands gripped her waist, and the water splashed in time with their movement. Her moans deepened as the sensations of Robert’s love continued to wear away her control.

Over time, her cries blended in perfect harmony with the birds’ songs and Robert added his groans to the environmental sounds. He gripped Maggie’s ass tighter as the tunnel vision of climax slowly descended upon him.

“Fuck, Maggie. So wet… So soft… You always take such good care of me…”

She wailed and arched more. “Your dick… So big… I love how you take me…” “Shit…” Robert was overwhelmed by the tightness of Maggie’s core. His cock was beyond sensitive.

The sensation of their beating hearts was overpowered by the primal throb of their bodies. Each caress or stroke of Robert’s sex was intoxicating, addicting. They knew it couldn’t last forever, but they desperately wished it would.

A shiver snaked its way through Maggie’s body and she tensed against the wall, eyes closed, until the full climax exploded into a long stream of exquisite pulsation. She gasped and her rapid breath flooded her body with much-needed air.

“Fuck. Fuck! I’m right behind you!” Robert announced his orgasm as his noises became wordless with the insistent coursing of his seed.

Maggie turned around and kissed him. “Robert… I’ve never been happier on Christmas. This place is amazing. You... You were amazing.”

“We were amazing,” Robert corrected. “Every time, I’m convinced more and more that our bodies were made for each other. You’re the best, love.”

Robert kissed Maggie and walked her to a blanket on the lawn near the house. They lay next to each other in cuddling bliss, warmed by the tropical sun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of my stories are here, or search for the hashtag #brownskinsugarplumlibrary.

#Robert plant #Led zeppelin #classic rock #robert plant fan fic #robert plant fanfic #robert plant fan fiction #led zeppelin fan fic #led zeppelin fanfic #led zeppelin fan fiction #my writing #short fiction #fan fiction #fan fic #fanfic #fanfiction #one shot #short story #Writing #writer #writers #Brownskinsugarplumlibrary

[moved-builtintripping]

Watchful

FF.net / AO3

“A minor inconvenience provoked Dorothea to swear, and Ferdinand warns her of the grave consequences of bearing a dirty mouth, whose owner won't wake up with a gift ready to open under the tree on Christmas morning. Dorothea can't place whether her boyfriend wearing a worried pout, his index finger placed on his lips to shush his girlfriend, looked punchable or kissable.”

Modern AU fic for @stag-of-almyra, who requested me to write a fic based on a prompt list i reblogged for shits and giggles~ I mean I only write sometimes, but it’s fun anyway, sooooo i gave it a try for, yet again, shits and giggles uwu

Prompt is “ferdinand/dorothea + “careful, santa’s watching”

Also merry christmas again!!

***

“Oh, shit!”

Dorothea shrieked when her pinky toe hit the leg of one of the kitchen chairs, the incredibly horrible sensation harshly coursing through her feet. She squeezed her eyes shut and repeatedly clicked her tongue as she brought her damaged foot in her hand as a fruitless attempt to ward off the tear-jerking soreness while her other hand gripped the edge of the table to balance herself. She might have bitterly spent her early childhood wandering the streets bare-footed, which meant stepping on the tiny littered glass shards of broken beer bottles and letting it sharply pierce through the sole of your feet had become second-nature to you. However, nothing could rival the indescribable pain of having one’s own pinky toe collide onto a hard surface.

“Be careful.”

A portion of her attention concentrating on her current anguish had redirected to Ferdinand’s worried voice. Had it not been for the unbearable stinging in her toe, she would guffaw and playfully swoon over the boy’s concern. Not that she was that touched by Ferdinand’s every sign of worry (or was she?), but come on, where’s the fun on reassuring your boyfriend on every passing second like in those cliché romantic dramas instead of exaggerating your partially-mock thankfulness for his fear for your safety like in those cliché romantic comedies?

When Dorothea regained enough strength (though she was fully convinced seconds ago that the sting could never recover), she cracked her eyes open to peek at Ferdinand, who’s supposed to be enjoying a nice cup of hot chocolate as he sat on the other side of the table. Instead of a mildly panicked look residing his cute face, she was greeted by what seemed to be Ferdinand shushing her, his index finger placed on his lips and his brows knitted so deep it could frighten Bernadetta until she falls for her (possibly literal) death, but never enough to win over Seteth-sensei’s classic disappointed glare.

Dorothea frowned back, her hand still clasping her aching foot. Before she could open her mouth, Ferdinand hissed through gritted teeth, “Santa Claus is watching.”

What?

Santa Claus is... watching?

Hold on a second, what on Earth had she done just now to disappoint Santa Claus? There’s nobody even at fault in this situation. Wasn’t she the one who’s even hurt here? And why was she wondering all of this nonsense and not Ferdinand bringing up that make-believe-

“You do know that he can listen to our every word and observe our every move at this very moment...” Ferdinand carefully said while lowering his finger from his mouth then took another sip of his drink, his amber eyes never leaving Dorothea’s.

Okay, Dorothea knew that Santa Claus watches over the children of the world like some creepy god to decide whether their stocking deserved to store candies or coals, she didn’t need Ferdinand to tell her that twice. That’s basic knowledge, even you wouldn’t catch an adult questioning the... questionable ways of the magical old man in red and white. Still, Ferdinand did not yet clarify her recent wrongdoing; it was starting to irritate her more than it should.

So Dorothea straightened up from her hunched posture, hands still not leaving her foot and the table, and deepened her scowl. On the back of her mind, she was somewhat impressed she managed to keep the scoff threatening to break free from her pouty mouth to herself. “And what did I do to have my name taken away from Santa’s ‘Good Girls’ list, if I may ask?”

“You just swore!” Ferdinand exclaimed with both his hands outstretched, nearly spilling his drink with a thunk at the process. When he caught his mug on time and muttered a small, ‘My bad,’ he continued rather sternly, “Surely you would know that Santa Claus does not appreciate children whose speech is littered with curses.”

Oh.

“Although you may have instinctively cursed out of inconvenience rather than insert one on your daily conversations, which I suppose is excusable, it will be wiser to still keep your language in check. Otherwise, he may not just gift you that chest box of ‘Elice’s Flavored Lip Balms’ you so desire to caress with your dainty hands for the past weeks.”

Oh.

Dorothea blinked and stared at Ferdinand. Judging by the frown (which now loosened a bit) that continued to camp on his stern expression, he didn’t look like the man to back down until his stand prevailed no matter how pointless the argument would transition into. 

Was Ferdinand von Aegir seriously correcting her vulgar mouth to retain her name on the nonexistent ‘nice list’ as if the boy never outgrew the lies of the so-called Santa Claus’s miracles and all that make-believe bullshit those greedy adults crafted and tricked him into believing as a child for their personal amusement? After all, the boy carrying his unstained past was known to behave several years apart from her since highschool, emphasis on his boasting eagerness to prove his nobility among the crowd plus his one-sided petty rivalry with Edelgard.

Or was this just his way of playing dumb and teasing his girlfriend? She swore as Ferdinand scolded his girlfriend, she caught glimpse of a glint of endearment passing through his eyes that greatly contrasts his disapproving face and firm tone.

Perhaps it’s the latter. Six years of friendship would be a long enough time to memorize the other’s behavior. Like all boys, Ferdinand might have inherited his dense nature from his father, but his brain size didn’t match that of a dinosaur’s. Although he appeared death serious on the entire childish matter, people could easily pass him as a ten-year-old possessing a twenty-one-year-old man’s (hot) body.

She should feel pissed. The nerve of that boy for shutting her up on her most distressed moment. Idiot sounded like he never removed his stinking boots, let alone his pegasus-themed socks, to experience the agony of your own pinky toe threatening to rip off from your precious foot.

But why wasn’t she? Why couldn’t she snap back? Her head did not even steam one bit... and was that a wide toothy smile creeping up in her face?

While she did earn herself a boyfriend as a means to indulge in his constant love and attention her lonely six-year-old self would starve and die for, it’s these silly moments when she’ll gladly surrender to the big sister instincts taking over. All the disgusting men she testily answered to their attempt on courting the emerald-eyed songstress would always greedily invite her under their covers as soon as possible, but this grown man, who’s currently lecturing his friend just so she could earn the gift they both know well would never arrive, had been the first she found herself fondly pampering over despite the numerous naughty activities they’d nervously engaged in.

The hearty laugh that bubbled out of her mouth raced first before words could make it out first. Despite her overwhelmed emotions, she faintly heard Ferdinand stutter in confusion, “D-Dorothea?”

“Oh, Ferdie,” Dorothea purred and walked around the table to close the distance between both lovers. She raised Ferdinand’s chin with a thumb and silkily said, “I don’t need no present from Santa, you see~ Can’t you tell I’ve got all I need for Christmas right here?”

“Huh?” Ferdinand gawked up at her, not once picking up the signal of her flirty intentions. “Whatever do you mean? All the gifts we prepared for our dear friends are under the tree, isn’t it? But unless there is one hidden in here, surely the kitchen is an odd place to hide a present...”

Oh, Ferdie. So dumb and cute as ever. What a pair.

Holding back was out of the question now; she leaned down to kiss Ferdinand, who stiffened the second their lips touched. He tasted of the remains of his delicious sweet drink with a hint of bitterness mixed in. Without missing another beat, he then reciprocated without question.

Before the kiss could deepen that would lead both lovers shuffling towards the comforts of the sofa a few strides away, she licked the remains of the chocolate staining his upper lip before breaking away, a goofy grin sneaking its way into her features.

“Take a wild guess~” Dorothea winked and turned away, humming and skipping towards the countertop where the thermos stood, ready to serve more sweet sweet hot chocolate for the lovebirds. “Want some more?”

“Y-yes, please,” Ferdinand spluttered from behind, clearly flustered from the intimate gesture. How adorable. They’d lost count of the kisses they shared behind closed doors, yet it still left him awkwardly fumbling for words. If there was one wish Dorothea wanted for Santa to grant for her, it would be for the day her lover could compose himself quickly right after a kiss to never come.

Ferdinand pulled Dorothea out of her wishful thinking when he cleared his throat louder than necessary. “I appreciate your attempt on flattering me, my love. However, don’t kiss me as a distraction from lecturing you! It is my duty to help you maintain correct behavior under Santa Claus’s watchful eyes until the day of Christmas when you and I were to receive our respective gifts from Santa Claus under the tree, and...”

Dorothea sighed. This game wasn’t over for Ferdinand, was it? Oh, how she’d love to shut him up with another kiss and another and then another until he understood truly that the joy a colorfully wrapped box incite could never compare to the warm company of a loved one. For somebody, even just one person, to embrace Dorothea Arnault for who she was behind the flashy songstress title all the way to the scared and lonely child who used to bear the cruel world all by her tiny helpless self with her tiny helpless body, it’s all her she would ever ask for if she was going to be perfectly honest. She would sing for eternity how grateful she truly was, that she would still be able to spend Christmas the way she used to dream as she scraped for leftovers of yesterday’s holiday feast in the nearby trash bin and sulkily curl all on her own in the deepest depth of a snow-covered alleyway, freezing to near death as the festive world carried on.

All that was left forgotten was the pain in her pinky toe. Honestly, how could this boy not only heal her emptiness, but also her physical well-being? His magic surely matches to Santa Claus. Perhaps, she could input a rule where Mrs. Dorothea Claus may swear whenever she pleased without meeting the dire consequences of losing a gift on Christmas morning. Knowing Santa Ferdinand von Claus and his pure outlook on things, he would outright refuse.

#fire emblem #ファイアーエムブレム #fe #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #fe16 #fodlan #ファイアーエムブレム 風花雪月 #black eagles #dorothea arnault #ferdinand von aegir #ferdithea #my writing #writers on tumblr #fanfiction #oneshot #au #modern au #merry christmas #happy holidays

[growingstronglikeahighgardenrose]

The Holiday part 4

Pairings: Esther/Babington, Georgiana/ Mr. Crowe, Sidney/Charlotte (in order of prominence)

Prompt: Merry Gentlemen/ Dance for the 12 days of Sanditon hosted by @sanditoncreative​ (way too late entry)

Synopsis: Babington, James Stringer, Crowe, Georgiana, Sidney, Esther and the Princey Regent prepare for Christmas Eve at Babington’s Scottish holiday home. As mysterious mistletoes keep popping up out of nowhere, the group of friends try to navigate through the more awkward moments as they’re striving towards their ultimate goal; to all go to bed as merry men on Christmas Eve.

Part four of my The Holiday series, can’t be read as a standalone.

Available on AO3

The students spent half of their next day studying for their exams, and half of their days exploring the woods and nearby cities, before returning to the Boat House for dinner and evening entertainment.

It was odd to think that no three weeks earlier, half of them had never even met. Their temperaments fit together.

Crowe and Princey being boisterous,

Georgiana and James being cheerful and encouraging of the bad behaviour of Crowe and Princey,

Susan and Sidney joining in on the holiday cheer brigade from time to time, but also regularly taking a step back to laugh at their ridiculous friends,

And Esther and Babington taking in their friends and quietly making funny remarks about them.

And just like the previous night, Babington found her on the parlour, pointed out a few more constellations to her, and had a small talk.

He could easily grow used to this, he thought.

The mistletoe wasn’t where it hung yesterday. He wondered where Georgiana had moved it to. He wouldn’t like to be caught under it with anyone in particular.

‘It appears we will be spared a good night kiss’, Esther smirked before venturing to the stairs.

‘Good night, Lord Babington. When we wake up next, it’ll be the day of Christmas Eve already.’

‘If that isn’t a great excuse to have breakfast with champagne, I don’t know what is.’

‘I’m afraid any more excuses to drink will start to be detrimental to our studies.’

‘Start to be?’

She rolled her eyes.

‘Goodnight.’

‘Sweet dreams.’

♦♦♦♦♦

‘They were the last ones to go to bed again, I think. Esther was outside when I went to bed, and Babington was the only other one still awake when I went to bed.’

‘You think they… You know?’

‘I’ve known Babbs for many years, he’s discreet but he wouldn’t be able to hide something like that.’

‘It’s clear she’s into him. Last time she let another man that close for something else than sex was.. Well. Actually I can’t remember her letting in another man since me, and she certainly didn’t warm up to me this quickly.’

‘Would your ginger friend ever initiate anything?’

Heads were shook.

‘Would William?’

‘He needs encouragement. He’ll approach women, but if they don’t give a clear sign he won’t try to do something.’

‘We’re going to need more mistletoes. If they don’t dare to do it on their own, we’ll have to force some intimacy.’

‘Operation Christmas wishes, mistletoe kisses is active.’

‘We’re not making this a thing.’

‘We are’, three voices replied passionately.

♦♦♦♦♦

The 24th passed in a flurry. Those with the least amount of exams left for a long shopping trip to get groceries for the next few days, and the others desperately tried to find some focus to get in at least a couple of hours of studying.

By four o’clock Georgiana announced that the working day was over, and the preparations could begin.

The couches were pushed to the sides and the large kitchen table was brought in and decorated with a cheap glittery tablecloth.

Esther commandeered the kitchen, and all were assigned with tasks.

Sidney, Babington and Princey were to cut vegetables, Georgiana had to peel the prawns, Susan was preparing the soup, Crowe and James got the long end of the stick and were allowed to go into the woods to chop some more wood, and Esther made sauce, meat and desert in advance. No doubt Esther had deliberately assigned the clumsiest and most hyperactive men with a task which would keep them away from ruining the Christmas meal.

When Crowe and Babington returned, they could hear the music from the outside.

The living room was deserted, and in the kitchen sat Princey, Sidney and Babington with their phones in front of them, on them pictures of certain appetizers they had to recreate.

‘Where are the women?’

‘Getting dressed’, Sidney replied.

As if they sensed being called, the men could distinguish women shouting and a sound on the stairs seconds before the oven started bleeping.

‘They can get it! Come back!’

‘I need to check to make sure! It might need an additional ten minutes!’

Esther stormed into the kitchen, wearing opaque black tights and a blue t-shirt. One eye was already sporting a winged eyeliner, and the other wasn’t.

Sidney closed Babington’s mouth, and James threw him an amused look. The man was completely besotted with her, it was nothing short of a miracle that Esther hadn’t caught on yet. She could usually smell a man’s interest from miles away.

‘Nice look’, Crowe grinned.

Esther faced Crowe, after closing the oven and turning the timer up an additional ten minutes.

She lifted her meat thermometer slowly.

‘I’ve gotten people into the hospital before’, she said ominously as she quirked an eyebrow.

Babington didn’t doubt it.

Crowe swallowed.

‘Easy there, pumpkin. The nearest hospital is quite far away. You really look good. I’m sorry, I was just laughing.’

She left without saying another word.

‘She once excitedly called out Charlotte’s name as she saw her walking down a flight of stairs. She’d succeeded for a course she thought she’d fail. Charlotte was startled and fell down the stairs. She couldn’t stand on her foot anymore, we feared she’d broken it so we took her to the hospital. She’d sprained her ankle instead’, James laughed after she’d left.

‘Well the way she said it…’

‘That was deliberate, airhead.’

The five men made quick work of the appetizers and raced to the only bathroom in the house. James was first, and the others blamed it on his youth. The others went to their rooms, to either wait for the shower, or accept defeat and put on their Christmas outfits. The men had collectively decided to put on awful Christmas sweaters on Christmas, and to suit up for New Year’s Eve. Babington was one of the men admitting defeat, putting on a fresh t-shirt and the sweater before being interrupted by Crowe.

‘Hey, Babbs, happen to have a razor? I forgot mine at home.’

‘I’m afraid I lost the charger of my electrical one two weeks ago, as you may have noticed’, Babington laughed as he rubbed the scruff on his cheeks. He was happy that he was blessed with a naturally full beard, he doubted patchy stubbles would look good on him.

‘Well Sidney deliberately grows a beard, and Princey has lasered his. Think James has one? He looks like a babyface, it would surprise me if he needed to shave every month.’

‘You can always ask.’

‘Shit. Okay, thanks. It’s what I get for skipping no-shave-November. No matter, what better place to look like a bushman than in the Scottish wilderness.’

‘Crowe, you barely have a stubble, don’t be dramatic.’

‘That’s worse. Beards are fine to kiss, I’ve heard,  but stubbles sting. I don’t want to blow my chances.’

‘Chances with… Georgiana?’ Babington guessed.

‘She’s just got that spunk I like. You can tell she’ll be a lively handful in bed.’

‘Wicked man. Well I wish you luck.’

♦♦♦♦♦

Babington looked himself over in the mirror, the large reindeer standing out on his dark blue sweater. He was no woman, there was little he could to get ready. His face was his face. He spritzed on a dash of perfume and left his room just as Esther’s exited hers. He hadn’t known in which room she slept, apparently it was right across of him.

‘Oh, could you help?’ she asked as she pulled back her hair. She stood almost as tall as him on her golden heels.

‘Sure.’ He took hold of her necklace, struggling with the clasp for a minute, before he could finally hook the chain.

‘Thanks.’

She turned around. She looked like a ‘40s movie star with her sleek straightened tresses, winged eyeliner, red lips and dress looking like molten gold, with a plunging neckline and billowing sleeves.

‘And?’ she asked, her red lips silently begging him to kiss her.

‘Gorgeous. Not that you’re usually anything else, but the time you ladies spent preparing yourselves instead of dinner was obviously well spent.’

‘No need to be so awkward. You can compliment me. I won’t be insulted. Come now, it’s almost six.’

Before he knew what was happening, she’d pressed her lips against his cheeks and strutted past him. He reached for his cheek as he looked up.

And yes, there hung the mistletoe. Right between their bedrooms.

He pulled his hand back, it was stained red with the oily lipstick.

‘That’s a cruel trick!’

He could only hear her laughter as she disappeared from view.

He quickly returned to his room to rub it off with a towel, before continuing to the living room.

♦♦♦♦♦

Three plates of appetizers stood on the large table, and everyone was standing, glass of champagne in hand, talking, as the stereo blared a classic Christmas song.

‘Alright, everyone’s here. Let’s play a game!’ James shouted upon noticing Babington.

‘I’m feeling like Never Have I ever. It’s about time we really get to know each other’, Georgiana decided.

‘I like your style, Georgie’, Crowe laughed as he pulled her onto his lap.

As Babington poured himself some champagne,  carrying the bottle with him towards the couches, he spotted James encouragingly patting Esther on the shoulder.

‘Guys, not only about sex, alright? It’s just boring and vain’, Susan decided.

Everyone agreed, and Georgiana kicked off the game.

‘Never have I ever watched Spongebob Squarepants.’

The group collectively moaned as they shared their first sip.

‘Never have I ever memorized the entire lyrics of Old Town Road’, James said. Crowe and Georgiana laughingly ticked their glasses against James’ before drinking.

‘Never have I ever heard someone else doing it’, Princey laughed.

Sidney, Esther, Susan and Babington drank.

‘Never have I ever been the one doing it’, Crowe confessed.

Georgiana awkwardly ticked her glass against his before drinking.

‘What, now?’

‘No!’ Georgiana shouted a bit too quickly.

‘We could though’, Crowe grinned.

‘I’m way too sober for that’, Georgiana simply huffed.

‘Never have I ever googled my own name’, Esther announced. Everyone drank.

‘Never have I ever flown in a glider.’ Babington was surprised to see Esther drinking as well. ‘My dad took me once, before he died’, she admitted.

‘Never have I ever stayed up all night’, James said. Everyone drank again.

‘Never have I ever sent a wrong person a text’, Susan laughed before everyone drank again.

The game went around another couple of rounds before it – inevitably – turned darker.

All the men and Georgiana admitted to smoking pot, James and Princey admitted to having been caught peeing against buildings, Crowe and Sidney admitted to having fled from the cops, stories were exchanged about how they’d gotten detention in high school, Princey’s fling with an underage girl came out, and Sidney had to tell about his brief boxing career.

And from bad behaviour, it turned to sexual behaviour. From going commando, to one night stands, from skinny dipping, to hickeys given, to public places being defiled. Babington couldn’t help but keep track of everything Esther drank for. Skinny dipping, being in love with bad people and one night stands had been things he had not been able to imagine her doing, but it turned out she had, and he found himself growing more and more intrigued as the game progressed.

‘Never have I ever known someone with gambling problems.’ Georgiana, Esther and James took a sip, before it was up to James.

‘Never have I ever been in love while the other person didn’t know about it.’ Esther and Babington both drank, together with James and Princey.

‘But isn’t that always the case? I mean, when you’re in love you only find out when one tells the other. Who can tell the exact second a person falls in love with them? That’s impossible’, Georgiana huffed.

‘But sometimes everyone can see, except the other person’, Crowe mused, throwing Babington a look.

‘Yeah okay, that can be true’, Georgiana admitted.

‘Sometimes you stumble into something, and you both only realize later on that you’ve fallen for the other. Never have I ever been cheated on’, Sidney sighed.

Esther shot upright, downing her glass before announcing it was time for soup and leaving the room.

Sidney gestured at the empty seat, silently begging for an explanation. James quickly followed her, offering to help.

‘Let’s not reference cheating. It’s taken her four years to get over Ed- … Her previous boyfriend’, Georgiana said, quickly stopping herself before she finished his name.

Ed? Edward? What Edward? She couldn’t possibly.

And with a horrible realisation, all the dots connected.

Esther had been together with Edward Denham, and must’ve found out about his philandering the night she’d cornered him. It had been exactly four years.

She’d been dating her stepbrother. He watched her as she exited the kitchen, carrying a large casserole of tomato soup.

She had fallen prey to one of the most awful men he knew, and in the most awful way possible. No wonder she felt hesitant to play the game. And no wonder the comment about cheating had made her jump.

Her shoulders were tense as she poured some soup into every bowl.

No wonder it had taken her four years to get over him. Having someone so close to her betray her trust with that many girls had to fuck up her faith in men.

No word was spoken about it anymore. Georgiana put on another cheerful song and Princey started telling them about an amusing adventure of his, pretending the awkward moment hadn’t happened at all.

♦♦♦♦♦

Babington attempted talking to her as he’d done the previous night, trying to catch her eye and joke about their friends, but she remained withdrawn, laughing without her smile ever reaching her eyes.

It was a shame she had such a hard time enjoying herself, as she’d put so much work in the evening, but to pay more attention to her, was to make her uncomfortable.

The other courses passed in quick succession, and before they knew it, the fish, roast turkey and cake had been consumed, and a tray of raisins in brandy was placed on the table. The lights were extinguished as the tray was lit to play snapdragon.

The men immediately made it into a competition. But Crowe, who’d been drinking as usual, quickly had to back out since his reflexes were too slow.

Georgiana quickly grabbed him when he yelped in pain. Dragging him to the kitchen, pressing a kiss on his lips beneath the mistletoe still hanging above the kitchen entrance, and returning from it, kissing him again, with his hand securely wrapped.

They didn’t really stop kissing afterwards.

‘Come on, Babbers, join us’, Princey laughed. Babington shook his head, nearing the table.

‘You shall all burn and it will be one hundred percent deserved’, Esther huffed.

‘Mother always told me to never play with fire… So like any good kid I respected her rules while in her house. Now I can make my own stupid decisions. No one’s going to stop me’, Sidney smirked.

‘Charlotte will love to hear.’ Sidney’s face snapped to Esther. She had filmed him as he’d snatched a raisin from the tray and talked about his mother.

‘No.’

‘Sent.’

Sidney groaned, taking a step back. James, Princey and Babington all stood on opposing sides of the table, and as they all grasped towards a raisin, they were blinded by Georgiana’s camera and Susan’s cell phone.

‘Damned all ye witches’, crowed James, rubbing his eyes and then moaning when it stung.

‘Babies’, Esther sighed. ‘Oh Sid, your girl answered.’

Esther twisted her screen towards him, Babington could see Charlotte frowning on the short clip.

‘But all particularly stupid decisions have to pass by me first’, Charlotte said, before she disappeared from the screen.

Rowdy cheers erupted. For the remainder of the evening, everything Sidney did, going from drinking from his glass of beer, to going to the toilet, earned a mocking ‘Doesn’t that have to pass by Charlotte first?’.

Charlotte, when she was notified of this by Esther, burst into laughter at her family dinner table.

♦♦♦♦♦

‘Alright merry gentlemen, time for dancing’, Georgiana decided after the fire on the tray had died.

‘But we’re with so few people’, Princey complained.

‘We’ll leave out the light. Eight is a perfectly acceptable number of people to start a party.’

‘Lady Susan, do you permit it?’ Princey asked before whisking Susan off onto the empty floor space intended for dancing.

Crowe and Georgiana started dancing as well.

Esther put small candles on every surface, illuminating the room with a warm and cosy light.

Bowls of punch and eggnog were placed on top of the table, as well as another crate of beer.

Glasses were drunk and laughter was shared. He gave up on trying to keep track of everyone’s occupations, simply allowing himself to join whatever activity he was included in.

He waltzed with Princey, lost a poker game, held a snowball fight with James against the united force of Georgiana and Crowe, and turned out to be the killer during a game of Clue.

♦♦♦♦♦

‘Fair maiden, it appears I have caught you underneath a mistletoe again. I’m afraid I must ask thee for yet another kiss, since I wouldn’t wish to curse thee for a year.’

‘How unfortunate, it seems I keep finding myself in these compromising situations.’

‘Perhaps I should take thee somewhere safe, away frome these devilish plants.’

‘Oh, my lord. That would be so knd of you’, Georgiana laughed as Crowe quite unsubtly took her hand and pulled her along with him to his chamber.

♦♦♦♦♦

Babington had just went to fetch a glass of water, when he spotted James sitting on the staircase, looking decidedly pensive, he found himself taking a seat beside him.

‘Quitting the merry gentlemen?’

The corners of his mouth twitched to attempt a smile. ‘Don’t know. Suddenly felt out of it, you know? Have you ever stood in a big group which was having fun, and suddenly you blink and start questioning everything?’

Babington nodded. James allowed his head to fall against the wall, hands playing with the empty bottle of beer.

‘Anything that could’ve caused it?’

‘No.’

‘Well… Yeah, actually. It was that game. We never should’ve played it’, he admitted.

‘The truth or dare?’ Babington guessed.

James nodded, raking his hand through his hair and getting his fingers stuck in a couple of knots.

‘Georgiana’s forgotten why we don’t play it in larger crowds. It’s something we only play amongst the four of us, if we play it at all.’

‘Why? Any bad experiences with playing the game?’

‘No, but we do have some bad experiences, which the game reminds us of. That’s the damned thing about the game, it always turns into sex and relationship statements… And if you’ve had as much bad luck in love as we’ve had in our first year, then the questions can become very unpleasant. When someone claims they’ve had sex in a certain place, and you’ve had sex in the same place with a romantic partner you had a bad split with for example… Or you’ve been in love with someone for some time, and see them drinking about being in love and having had sex with people that aren’t you… It can sting sometimes.’

The protruding face of the reindeer on James’ sweater rose as he took a deep breath to prepare himself for the next part of his speech.

‘Babington I’ve come to trust you. And I feel bound to tell you, for fear of becoming a victim of my own thoughts if I do not discuss them with another. Sidney’s your best friend, but Charlotte’s mine. I’ve been able to keep something a secret from my best friend, can you keep what I’m about to tell you a secret from yours?’

Babington nodded, curious but worried about what would come next. It was obvious Stringer had been struggling with the problem for some time.

‘Georgiana, Esther and I had a lot of bad luck in our first year. It hurt us so deeply, we had a hard time even talking about it with each other. It took us over a year before we could talk about it freely, and even longer before we could joke about it and play the game. We’re careful of mentioning things which could reopen old wounds. Some things are hard to explain to others, and explaining would reopen the wounds. I mean, you heard how many times the questions “how” and “when” were asked. I was in love with Charlotte for a while. She never noticed, and between the romantic tragedies of Esther and Georgiana, and Charlotte’s little flirtations here and there, they were too occupied to discover the truth. Except for Esther, of course. Esther always notices everything. She talked to me about it, comforted me, but kept it a secret.’

With shock, Babington realized he hadn’t seen her in hours. But it would be rude to ask for her when James was opening up to him.

‘But you’re not in love with her anymore?’

‘No, but the game did bring back those awful feelings of rejection and sadness. You see, there’s this girl.’

Babington couldn’t help but smile, and James shook his head.

‘Ah, I know it is silly but it’s only the second time I’ve been in love. She’s wonderful. But I’m terribly afraid it’ll turn out like last time.’

‘Why would you think that?’

‘Because she’s just as wonderful. So wonderful and accomplished you’re even surprised she’d be willing to spend time with you. Meanwhile I’m still poor young Mr Stringer.’

‘I don’t think you’re anywhere near a bad catch. As far as I’ve observed, you’re very nice to be around. Has she a similar character to Charlotte’s?’

‘Well… No.’

‘Does she dabble in little flirtations as well?’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘Why would you think she, who is clearly different from Charlotte, would fall for the same kind of man as Charlotte? Why couldn’t it be you?’

James shrugged.

‘That’s what I mean, I was lowkey insecure, but all these memories of Charlotte not even noticing, continuing to fall in love with others, it made me doubt myself.’

‘Just try. Those who don’t try shall never find out whether the other is interested. Staring and texting never got people very far, I’ve learned that through my many years of partying. One has to approach the other, or change the topic of conversation, if one wishes to get to the next part’, Babington smiled.

‘You’re right.’

They bumped their shoulders together.

‘But the same goes for you, Babbers’, James said as he stood up.

‘Me?’

‘All this staring and talking won’t get you far.’

‘Is it that obvious?’ He noted with a resigned smile. ‘Esther told me she wasn’t interested.’

‘She said that?’ James asked in amazement. He hadn’t known they’d talked about them being together. Had they all read the signs wrong?

‘Well, no. But she said she wasn’t flirting. And if you’re not flirting, you’re not trying to get together with someone.’

‘There can be a lot of reasons why someone wouldn’t flirt, like because they assume it would be unwelcome, or because they’re afraid. But what did she say exactly? If you can remember.’

 “It’s only flirting when we intentionally do it. And we’re not. And we’re just being thrown together because you’re the dad friend and I’m the mom friend.”

James laughed. Babington buried his face in his hands as James’ laughter only grew.

‘Dude. You’re going to tell me all that banter and stuff wasn’t flirting?’

‘It doesn’t matter how it sounds, what matters is whether she intends it to be flirtatious.’

‘Oh she’s flirtatious, alright. I’ve seen her reject a lot of men, and interact with many, when she flirts she’s fully aware of it. Has it ever crossed your mind that she simply assumed you didn’t intend it, and she was covering up for herself so it wouldn’t be embarrassing? Come on. Rule one of being in love: you don’t want the other to know unless you’re certain your feelings are returned. And with Esther, she wants to be really sure you care for her.’ It made a ridiculous amount of sense, but it was too good to be true.

‘Because she’s been cheated on multiple times by Edward?’

‘Yes. Wait. You- Georgie didn’t say a name.’ There was the confirmation for his suspicions. Wine had a way of loosening the tongue.

‘I was there the night she kicked Edward’s butt. She’d called him out for cheating on many girls. Never thought anything of it. But then when I learned she’d been single for four years, and her boyfriend started out with those first two letters… I don’t know, it was a wild guess. And it’s almost implausible since he’s her stepbrother.’

‘Yeah. It took her a year to confess. Apparently, their parents only got together two years before they had their accident. Esther was sixteen and Edward eighteen. When their parents died when she was seventeen, well, insert grief bringing them closer together. Edward insisted they’d wait until she was eighteen, meanwhile, he was at college, picking up girls left and right while she had no clue whatsoever. She’d hidden her relationship, and the nature of it, from us. We still don’t know any particulars, and I’m sure she’ll kill me if she finds out I told you anything. But it did scar her.’

‘I won’t say  a word. I pity her. He has betrayed her trust in the most horrible ways. I’m only glad to know that she’s rid of his influence now. James, thank you for trying to encourage me, but it doesn’t matter anymore I’m afraid. She’s gone. Isn’t she?’

That sobered James up. ‘Yeah, she left shortly after everyone started dancing. But there are still days left.’

‘Perhaps, on New Year’s Eve’, Babington laughed as they returned to the living room.

Sidney was gathering the glasses.

‘Ah, there you are. I thought everyone had gone to bed. Let’s do the dishes tomorrow, shall we?’

‘Has everyone else gone to bed?’ James asked.

Sidney nodded.

‘It’s four in the morning. We lasted a good while.’

Babington immediately started helping his friend.

‘You can go to bed James, three’s too much for the job.’

‘Alright well, if you say so. Good night I guess, or morning, as you wish.’

♦♦♦♦♦

Sidney and Babington carried the table back to the kitchen and put the glasses in the sink. Babington allowed Sidney to use the bathroom first. He didn’t know what motivated him, but he suddenly felt the need to go upstairs again. The evening had ended abruptly for him, which meant he was neither prepared nor willing to go to bed.

Perhaps he could gaze at the stars on his own. There were still a few hours of night left. Maybe it could relax him enough so he could go to bed.

The fire was still gently crackling in the hearth, and the room felt warm and cosy, the elated atmosphere of the past few hours still lingered. He softly pushed the couches back in place, but found the comforter missing.

Perhaps someone had taken it to bed with them.

He prayed the sweater would be sufficient, but the weather forecast had warned the temperatures would remain sub-zero.

The bench was unoccupied. It was strange, sitting there without her, staring at the moon on his own.

To gaze at the stars with her had felt so romantic and intimated under the cover of darkness, but to be alone with the billions of stars was a spiritual experience. He rose from the bench, descending into nature. The moonlight cast a special hue on the snow, and the stars reflected beautifully upon the lake. Cold permeated his skin, but he had no care, allowing the night to consume him, and fill him with wonder and cold.

Idly, he wondered why people had started worshipping a single God. Surely, anyone living underneath that awe-inspiring star-filled sky, experiencing the biting cold and scorching heat, suffering through love, and being burned by fire, had to admit that these were more logical powers to recognize. Man was but a plaything before nature, having no choice but to accept everything nature put him through.

He looked away from the sky, kicking a snowball which hadn’t disintegrated upon impact. With a smile, he turned back towards the house. A light was shining in the living room. Odd.

The woodwork of the parlour groaned underneath his weight. He was certain no trespasser could have been silent enough to sneak past him. Someone had to be up.

If anyone heard the creaking planks, he would be the perceived intruder.

He put another food towards the door. The plank creaked. The door flew open. It was Esther, still dressed, without shoes but with a knife which she was pointing at him.

‘Oh, it’s you’, she sighed, shoulders slumping as she let herself fall against the doorframe.

‘You’re still up? I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t scare you too much?’

‘Well, I assumed everyone here was asleep. So there were only two possibilities: either a Scottish rogue was about to kill us or…’ She didn’t finish the sentence, looking past him at the night sky instead.

‘Or?’ he inquired.

‘Or had come to seduce either me, Georgiana or Susan away like in one of those romance novels. I wouldn’t have minded to find a wild Jamie Fraser on the doorstep, but I prepared for the worst scenario.’

‘I’m sorry to destroy your Highlander fantasy, it’s only me.’

‘You can pass, you still fit into the second scenario.’

‘A seductive highlander?’

‘The scenario in which I wouldn’t mind the person at the door entering the house’, she replied with a smirk.

He entered and closed the door behind him, mimicking her posture by leaning against the other side of the doorframe.

‘So, what brings you to the living room?’

‘I’d been in my room, but I haven’t been sleeping. I didn’t even bother dressing for bed, I knew sleep wouldn’t come. Thought I’d come to check, see who was still up. I thought I was the only one, all the lights were out.’

‘Couldn’t sleep either’, Babington confessed.

She nodded, fingers toying with the knife in her hands.

‘And what shall your restless spirit do next?’

‘I had figured I might as well wash the dishes. I hoped it could tire me, and it would lessen the work tomorrow.’

‘You shouldn’t. We agreed on doing them tomorrow morning.’

‘I already finished, save some pots which are soaking with soap.’

‘What kept you up?’ he softly asked as he turned towards her. They weren’t far removed at all.

‘Nothing in particular. It was just a bit much, all the music and the dancing and the cheer. Georgiana and Crowe’s kissing, James and Susan talking, you were all having such a good time. I just knew I wouldn’t be able to get into the mood. So I spared everyone the trouble of feeling guilty for having fun while I obviously wouldn’t be able to join in. Perhaps I should ask for the role of the grandmother friend instead’, she smiled weakly.

‘And leaving me a single dad?’ he gasped. Which reminded him of the mistletoe which had previously been in this location. It still hung there. Esther became aware of it at the same time. Remembering James’ words, he decided he would risk it with a small peck on her cheek. But before he could as much as bend towards her, she pushed herself away from the door.

‘Don’t pretend you don’t know. Don’t pretend you don’t mind the mom and dad jokes, now that you know how tainted your mock wife is.’

‘Know what?’

He followed her into the living room.

‘About my love life.’

How could she know that he knew about her stepbrother? News could’ve impossibly reached her. Only he and James knew that he knew.

She came to a standstill in front of the fireplace. She’d put the music back on, it was silently playing in the background.

He knew he was treading dangerous territory. Whatever he said next would be decisive in how their relationship would continue.

‘May I ask what it is exactly that I am supposed to know and disapprove of?’

She didn’t look at him. In fact, she turned even further away from him.

‘Little Esther, having been in love but never having had a real relationship. Stupid silly goose, falling for a player who cheated on her with so many girls it’s a wonder she didn’t end up with mouth herpes. And still! The stupid cow needed years to recover from a superficial romance with a man she really shouldn’t have been together with in the first place. Now you know the truth, are you not disgusted? Afraid you'll be tainted by association? No doubt the full truth about my stupid mistakes will come out soon. And then everyone here shall look at me differently.’

She didn’t know that he knew his name. Perhaps he’d better keep it that way.

‘ Esther, we’ve all been fools in love. Everyone here has made decisions ranging between terrible and horrible concerning love and lust, no one is in a position to judge. Secondly, I doubt anyone will think badly of you. We’re friends. Friends don’t judge friends for things that happened years ago, especially not when they know how much you’ve suffered. Thirdly, you’re not stupid for needing time to get over it. It is only logical it would take time to start trusting men again. Is this what has been keeping you up? Fear of our judgement?’

She didn’t deny it.

‘I don’t give a damn about your past. I liked you back when I first met you, and I like you still, even better, now that I’ve learned more about you. That is what I base my judgement upon. The point of the game should be to trust each other with secrets, in the confidence that the others offer their secrets in return. That way, there’s a pact: you can’t call out others for the things they shared, since you can be judged for your secrets as well. You pretend like your past relationship is a reason for us to drop you, but why wouldn’t we drop Crowe for being arrested? Why wouldn’t you judge me for cheating on an exam? If they’d find out at college, I’d be expelled. Many of the things we’ve done were actually bad, your only gave your heart to someone. But the mistake made was his, by choosing to break it by being unfaithful.’

He couldn’t see her face, but he could see she brought her hands to her face to wipe away the tears.

‘Why are you always so awfully nice?’

‘I hope I can convince you that the world doesn’t always have to be a bad place where everyone is naturally unkind.’

‘I would like that.’

Babington noticed the music changing.

‘As it has become clear your hours spent in thought weren’t useful at all, might I suggest you catch up with our forms of entertainment? You might not have been in the mood for it, but you will find that simply partaking in it might change your mood.’

She looked at his outstretched hand with an amused smile, as if she couldn’t even believe she was agreeing to the proposal. But she took it, and he took her in his arms.

     I gotta take a little time, a little time to think things over  

     I better read between the lines, in case I need it when I'm older  

     Now this mountain I must climb, feels like the world upon my shoulders  

     Through the clouds I see love shine, it keeps me warm as life grows colder  

Her arms were wrapped around his shoulders, his hands on the middle of her back. There was the faintest of smiles on her lips as they slowly spun around the room.

‘So you have been doing this the entire night?'

‘There might have been the occasional snow ball fight.’

‘I’m sorry to have missed it. Who won?’

‘I did, of course. But I’ll be generous and admit that James helped a bit too.’

‘And who were your opponents?’

‘Georgiana and Crowe.’

‘You want me to believe Georgie lost a fight?’

‘They were no match for us, at least not after all the booze they’d consumed.’

The pitch changed, and Babington took that as his cue to take one of her hands and spin her around on her own.

A single breath of laughter left her mouth, but her smile finally reached her eyes.

     Can't stop now, I've travelled so far, to change this lonely life.  

     I want to know what love is, I want you to show me.  

        Their dance turned more animated, their arms pushing and pulling the other, playing with the ever electrically charged space between them.

Esther twirled away from him,  raising her arms as her skirts fanned out around her, she was a whirl of copper and gold. He stepped towards her again, catching her in his arms once again.

A hand trailed towards his shoulder, the other hesitantly nestling on his lower back.

They were a lot closer now, but she didn’t cower.

She didn’t make any inclination to start dancing again. And that’s when he realized, they’d landed right underneath the mistletoe hanging in front of the kitchen door.

     I'm gonna take a little time, a little time to look around me I've got nowhere left to hide, it looks like love has finally found me  

His eyes slid towards her lips. The lipstick had long since faded, but that didn’t make her mouth any less appealing.

If he wanted to test her feelings, he could kiss her on the cheek and slowly build their bond throughout the remainder of the holiday.

His eyes connected with hers. He’d started his day thinking she would never like him back, but tonight’s confessions had  unveiled turns and twists in the path of his destiny which he thought had been set in stone. Fate pushed them together one mistletoe a time. After three years of pining, it felt unnatural that the defining moment in their relationship would present itself so suddenly, and he felt awfully unprepared, his stomach an awful knot of excitement and dread as he resigned himself to his fate.

By the time morning chased away the mysterious dark cover of night, during which all happened which could not bear the light of day, he’d either be one of the happiest men alive, or the saddest.

The dice were thrown.

And his lips connected with hers.

The hand closest to his face, grasped for his hair and pulled him even closer to her. Her hips tipped forward, pressing against his thighs.

Lips celebrating, and minds rejoicing, they kissed for minutes on end, before the stereo shut itself off because it hadn’t been used in an hour.

A log crackled particularly loudly, breaking the moment between the two young lovers.

‘We should go to bed.’

Esther nodded in agreement.

‘We’ll already have little sleep as it is.’

He could faintly make out her smile, but as the fire had almost died out, there was very little light in the room.

They made their way towards their bedrooms. Both buzzing with excitement, but unsure on how they would continue from there on out.

‘Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight’, she breathed before taking the handle of her door.

He turned away, reaching for the handle of his door when he heard the sound of her door opening. He couldn’t resist a look.

Her sleek hair shielded a large part of her face, but there was no mistaking the look in her eyes as she wordlessly urged him to look up from where she was standing in her bedroom.

The mistletoe was still there between their bedrooms, and they were both standing on opposing sides of it.

They flew towards each other, the euphoria of young innocent love and sensual bliss making it impossible to separate for the remainder of the night.

#12 days of sanditon #sanditon fanfiction

[anjel-x]

A Visit from King Fluffy-Buns ...or ‘Twas the Night Before Gyftmas

Adapted by Anjel X from the Poem by Clement Clarke Moore

'Twas the night before Gyftmas, when all through the house

Not a creator was working with pen or with mouse;

All the Sans’ socks were propped 'gainst the wall with such care,

in hopes that new sticky notes soon would be there...;

The Papyri were nestled all snug in car beds;

While visions of Sans’ clean room danced in their heads;

And Classic with ketchup that’s missing its cap,

Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

Paps sprang from his bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window Paps flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The false sky on the breast of the new-fallen snow,

Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,

When what to Paps googling eyes did appear,

But a great big sleigh and eight Gyftrot rein-deer,

With a huge fluffy driver so lively and quick,

Paps knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!

Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As socks that before the trash tornado fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;

So up to the housetop the coursers they flew

With the sleigh full of toys, and King Fluffy-buns too—

And then, with a loud thud, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each Gyftrot hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Through the front door King Fluffy-buns came with a bound.

He was covered in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes—how they twinkled! demeanor, so merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His wide fanged mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard on his chin was golden you know;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round belly

That shook when he laughed, like a Moldsmall-like jelly.

He was very tall and plump, a jolly monster boss,

And Paps Nyeh’ed when he saw him, as not one bit cross;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,

And laying one claw aside of his snout,

He gave a nod, the front door he ran out;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—

“Happy Gyftmas to all, and to all a good night!”

#undertale #sans #papyrus #asgore #christmas

[theloversofmrsunshine]

The Better Ending, pt 10

This chapter is for those we miss, cherish, and love with all of our hearts. For those that left us too soon. For those who took with them a piece of us all.

If tears could build a stairway

And memories a lane;

I’d walk right up to heaven,

And bring you home again. 

-Author Unknown

Stairway to Heaven

It’s a fine day in Heaven, with the entirety of their population out and roaming in gay groups. The women huddle about like flocks, wearing beautiful silken dresses. The men strut mostly in pairs, discussing some matter or another in low voices. Huijin had found the entire thing ridiculous. Though abundant, the many enjoyments of Heaven had worn thin on her nerves within the first few years. An eternity here for her service to her family and her country feels rather more like torture. Her only enjoyments are the multitude of beautiful dogs in this place, but even their charms have limits for a woman like Huijin.

Then one day, one of the faeries had taken pity on her and shown her a very strange, yet magical mirror. Placed deep in the heart of The Emperor’s rose garden, it was not an easy place to access. Only thanks to her status as a hero was she even able to set foot in this place. This mirror, if awakened by the proper incantation and emotion, could become a window through which she could observe those she left behind. Huijin had almost no family, but there was one face she dearly missed. Ever since Aeshin was about five years of age, Huijin had taken to watching over her daughter. Gasping in delight whenever Aeshin discovered something new, cringing in horror when Aeshin was ever in danger. Laughing when her daughter suddenly made a face of angry surprise which reminded her so much of her husband. Her daughter was her only source of amusement and comfort in this sterile, sad Heaven she did not feel she belonged in.

“Now, wife, you can’t stay here all the time,” comes a voice, as Sangwan walks through the gateway that leads into the gardens. Her husband is stunning in his cream suit, his hair swept neatly back. In such a traditional setting, his more modern clothes set him jarringly apart. But Sangwan had never been interested in playing by anyone’s rules. Even as he scolds her, he’s smiling, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

“Says who?” she challenges, even as she holds his hand and turns her head to kiss his chin. He nuzzles her shamelessly, smiling, as he looks into the face of his now grown daughter.

“Has it really been seventeen years?” he asks, watching his daughter as she reads and faithfully copies down the words of Confucius. It brings back memories, as his father used to punish him in a similar manner when he had been fifteen and wild.

Huijin nods, smiling widely and proudly at her daughter. “Isn’t she beautiful?” Then her mouth turns down and she glowers. “She’s been working on Confucius for four days now. Must father-in-law really be so harsh?”

Sangwan hums in amusement, wondering if perhaps the old man had been growing soft. “He used to punish me with two authors at a time. I once spent ten days copying the texts my father mandated. My handwriting was practically squiggles by the end. Father had to bite his cheeks to keep from laughing.”

His wife doesn’t seem to find the same humor in the situation as he did. Her daughter is too precious to spend such prolonged periods of time on the classics merely because she wanted to stay informed in the modern happenings of the world. Her father-in-law is going overboard. She wonders if she could request special permission to haunt his dreams or something. He is going to get an earful from her!

“Do stay calm, dearest,” Sangwan persuades, helping his wife to her feet. “Let’s go have a meal, shall we?” The couple walks back to the merry streets of the Jade Kingdom, arguing all the way.

Joseph smiles as he walks about, enjoying his time in this place greatly. There is a mix of so many people, all of them friendly. They shout in greeting as they pass, walking or astride gorgeous mounts. Dogs abound, wagging their tails and weaving among the crowds with practiced ease. Their coats are shiny and glossy; all of them looking healthy and well cared for, despite seeming strays. Though there are places to eat, none of them accept any currency, as far as Joseph can tell. He’s almost sure this is Heaven, though he’s not convinced he’s in the right one. From what the Bible told, Heaven would be very different from this.

He’s not sure how different, but he’s pretty sure he might have landed in the wrong one. The dogs check out, but the people around him don’t seem to be believers of his faith. Could there have been a mix-up? He woke up here, but perhaps he somehow got lost from where he should have been?

He strolls along the streets and finds a bar. Though most religious men of his faith don’t drink alcohol, the people of Joseon had enlightened him to the wonders of alcohol, if consumed responsibly. Joseph doesn’t think that alcohol consumed in Heaven even counts. He takes a seat and clumsily asks for a drink. The lady taking orders nods amiably, recognizing the blond foreigner. Despite the fact that his Korean is still rather poor, the people seem to find him charming. He’s seen quite a few other foreigners around, but no Europeans or Americans in this place. Very few people here speak English, so Joseph gets by with the language skills he learned while stationed in Joseon.

“Hey, there, Father,” a lilting voice says from a neighboring table. “You ought not drink alone.”

Joseph looks up to find a handsome man dressed in Western clothing. His cream colored suit is stunning, accented by the blue handkerchief on his chest pocket, blue tie and the black oxford shoes. He is clearly of Asian descent, but he dresses like a European gentleman. The man stands, bringing his own cup and bottle of rice wine with him. He sets both on Joseph’s table, smiling widely.

“You look a little foreign for these parts, I presume you’re just visiting?” the man asks, filling Josephs cup with his own liquor once the restaurant lady brings both a new cup and bottle.

Joseph is rather used to how the people of Joseon tend to infringe on other people’s personal space. It’s been a while, but he doesn’t mind the behavior. It helps him feel welcomed. “Perhaps an introduction would be more in order? My name is Joseph. And you are?”

The man grins and holds out his right hand, clearly knowledgeable about foreigners and their ways. It’s not lost on Joseph that most of the people in this place are ignorant. It’s been dawning on him he’s basically surrounded by people long since dead. It would explain the disconnect; most of these people don’t even know America even exists. This young man, however, is obviously in the know. “My name’s Go Sangwan,” he says and they shake hands.

There is no true night or day in Heaven, but the eternal twilight of the place seems to vary between bright and gloomy. As the gloom grows and darkens, Joseph and Sangwan drink. They chat and munch on snacks, enjoying each other’s company. The drinks have warmed Joseph enough that he can finally answer Sangwan’s initial question with some semblance of honesty.

“I don’t quite know what I’m doing here,” he confesses, smiling. “Last I knew, I had a letter from the Emperor to deliver, then an explosion of pain… and nothing else.”

The man sitting before him clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Aye, you’ve been labeled a hero, then.” He laughs, slapping his thigh. “Here my wife and I thought we were the only ones in at least thirty years to end up here on heroism, but alas, it is what it is.”

Joseph, intrigued, leans forward. Glad to find a listener, Sangwan tells tales of his and his wife’s many dutiful sacrifices for the crown of Joseon. Their love for freedom and devotion to their country is what landed them here, after all. They still haven’t been given the possibility of rebirth, but that is out of their hands, really. Sangwan doesn’t worry too much, anyway. His wife clearly wants to wait this century out. She’d much rather keep an eye on their daughter than be reborn and forget Aeshin. Especially since their little apple didn’t fall too far from the tree. A rebel daughter is bad for their health, he tells Joseph. Joseph looks on thoughtfully, before finally chiming in.

“You must love your daughter very much,” he says softly, smiling. Sangwan stops for a moment, reading between the lines.

“I see you had a child, too,” he says, confused. “I thought men of the cloth weren’t allowed to have families.”

Joseph laughs, shaking his head. “My son was adopted. I found him… or perhaps, it is more accurate to say he found me. He was my greatest joy, though I could not give him all that I wished I could.”

Sangwan clears his throat, looking skyward. “That is popular among us who die young, I’m afraid. I wish I could have done so much more for my daughter, as well.”

They drink to their mutual feelings of paternal love, before a female voice interrupts them.

“Husband! You’ll never guess what has happened! This is incredible!” Huijin comes running across the street, heedless of the people jumping out of her path. She slams both hands on the table, smiling widely. “Our daughter and that Marine, oh, I do love them together! That Eugene is the perfect man, you must see him!”

She pauses for breath, and finally notices his companion. “Oh; my apologies. I hope I haven’t interrupted anything important.”

Joseph is staring at this somewhat wild, but beautiful apparition who seems to have come up from nowhere. Then, as his mind registers her words, he abruptly stands up. “I apologize, but did you say Eugene… as in Eugene Choi?”

Floundering, Huijin nods mutely, before putting both hands on her face. “Don’t tell me… you’re his adoptive father. The one who…” Her grimace of pain and understanding has Joseph realizing that this woman had truly spoken of his son. His son!

“My boy! You have seen him? How is he? Is he alright? Can I see him?” His flurry of questions come in both English and Korean, startling the couple. Huijin’s expressions grows smooth with clarity, and she gestures for him to come along. Sangwan follows after them, shouting his gratitude at the bar lady. As they walk, Huijin tells Joseph all that she has seen of his son. When Eugene and her daughter met, aiming weapons at each other. Their first dialogue, their second meeting, and so on. How they went from almost-enemies, to allies and now, to lovers. Joseph cries as he hears how his son shot himself in the arm for the sake of protecting his lady, spending the night in jail despite his injuries. He smiles at how clumsy Eugene is in his attempts to woo the lady. Huijin tells him of how her daughter had prayed for him to be lead to Heaven, despite their differing religions. Huijin offers a handkerchief for his tears, before gesturing toward the maze of roses that stand between them and the mirror.

“I cannot lead you,” Huijin explain, gesturing for him to go ahead. “If the Heavens permit, you will find it.” Sangwan joins his wife, smiling at his friend.

“Don’t worry and just follow your heart,” he advises. “We’ll see you at the mirror, Father.”

Joseph walks in, casting his gaze about this beautiful, but confusing rose garden. Everything looks exactly the same. He pauses for a moment, and sends a prayer to God. Opening his eyes, he walks swiftly and with determination. It doesn’t take long for him to get lost among the maze of beautiful roses. There are myriads of them, a beautiful collage of red and pink. Among them, he finds a white blossom, gorgeous in her solitude. Joseph walks toward it, gently touching its petals. She is fragrant and large, a lovely specimen. He commends it for its beauty, pauses, and follows the path she lies on. After a few meters, he finds another white blossom, then another… and another. As he follows their lead, the white roses behind him quietly and simply lose their petals and die.

Joseph walks for what feel like hours, panting and wondering if there is water in this garden. Just as he considers trying to find his way back, he sees a shimmer of light. Following the glow, he comes upon a gazebo, where Sangwan and Huijin await him. They smile and welcome him, offering a cup of cool water. Joseph gratefully accepts as the couple makes space for him on the bench facing the mirror and teach him the incantation.

As he whispers the words, thinking of his Eugene, his sunshine, his son… the mirror distorts and he can see his son sleeping quietly in his bed at the Glory Hotel. Seeing him, safe and all grown up, Joseph quietly cries. He had not seen him since he left him a boy that fateful day, lonely and waving on the pier, as Joseph set back to Joseon. They had only exchanged letters, and Joseph had seen the clumsy writing grow firmer, surer and more elegant over the years. Now, he sees the fruits of time, age and wisdom on his son. It breaks his heart and puts it back together again. He is, at last, whole.

For whatever Fate that brought him here, Joseph is grateful.

Hongpa stares about, finding her surroundings very disorienting. Last she remembers, she had been shot and had fallen into the water. This surreal, colorful place is starting to unsettle her. Perhaps… she is dead?

“Oh, young lady,” a voice hails her, and Hongpa turns. Before her stands a beautiful woman, dressed in silken finery. Somehow, this woman reminds her of someone, though she cannot place exactly who. “You look terribly lost. Do you need any help?”

There is a foreigner with the lady, calmly smoking a cigarette. Among the sea of Asian faces, the man is a stark contrast to those who surround her. The man smiles benignly, and Hongpa nods. She’s not one to accept help, but this place frightens her. She woke up here, with no memory of having come to this place. All she remembers is the Japanese men in her tavern, the terror, and how cold the water felt against her weeping wound. She shivers without knowing why, her hand straying to her shoulder.

“I see,” the woman says; a hint of sorrow in her voice. “You’ve died before your time.”

She puts her arm around Hongpa’s, gently steering the girl toward the warmth of a fire and perhaps a meal. “Tell me everything, I’m dying to know.”

Hongpa later came to learn she was in the presence of legendary heroes of the Righteous Army, singled out simply because of her acquaintance to their daughter. They welcome her, soothing her lingering memories of death and giving her peace. Heaven is an odd place, but Hongpa never minded dying. She had known her day would come, though she’d hoped to see Gunner Jang one last time before leaving him.

“I’ve heard you’re an excellent shot,” the woman, Huijin, says with mischief in her voice. Hongpa smirks, downing a shot of liquor. There is a challenge there, and Honga has never backed away from a challenge.

“The very best, my lady.”

Dongmae stumbles, grunting. His breathing is harsh, even as he slowly realizes his lungs actually work. He grasps desperately for a sword at his waist, missing, and glances wildly about. People around him don’t seem to mind him at all, parting around him like schools of fish avoiding a predator. The ground beneath him is unstable, his vision tunnels and he thinks frantically of the people he left behind. What of his friends, his followers, Lady Aeshin… Hina…

A voice sounds like the twinkle of a shaman’s bell. It calls to him, and he straightens in shock.

“Breathe, Gu Dongmae. Breathe,” her voice is a melody he wished he could forget. As he turns, shell-shocked, there stands Hina. She’s as beautiful as he remembers, resplendent in a blue silk, corset and petticoats. Her hair is pinned, curls around her lovely face. She holds a parasol over his head, though there is no rain or snow. It’s red, covering him where he crouches in the middle of the busy street. She’s bending forward slightly as she shields him, smiling warmly.

Gu Dongmae blinks, unable to breathe. This must be a dream. She cannot be here. He’d lost her; he knows he’d lost her. He’d felt her last breath on his back as he carried her across the sand that horrible, horrible day. Felt her grow cold and heavy and so very dead. Though he’d prayed, the Gods had taken her from him, and she’d died after confessing the impossible to him.

“I lost you,” he says, reverently and in agony.

Her touch on his cheek is feather-light. He leans against it, closing his eyes briefly, before opening them again. He does not want to look away, in fear of her disappearance.

“You’ve found me again,” she says, and he forgives her everything.

Hina finds Huiseong reading under the shade of a cherry tree, looming large in the gardens of Heaven. As usual, Dongmae is a few steps behind his lady, unwilling to leave her side. Hina lowers herself onto her knees, daintily sitting at the nobleman’s side. Dongmae is less covert, simply plopping down onto the tired roots of the First Cherry Tree. Huiseong looks up with a welcoming smile, lowering his book.

“You’ve come out of your abode at last,” he remarks with a cheerful lilt in his voice. “How fortuitous!”

The pair blush, Dongmae looking away to hide a smirk. Huiseong notes it, but says nothing. He is happy for his friend to have found joy and love in the afterlife. In his opinion, they both deserve that and more.

Hina decides it’s safest to change the subject. “Where on Earth did you find that book? I’ve yet to see a library here.”

Huiseong’s gaze is back to his book, humming softly. “Ask and ye shall receive,” he says loftily, to which Dongmae kicks him in the shin. Huiseong winces, glaring at his friend. “If you ask the right people, enough times, you’ll find the bookstore.”

“So you annoyed someone into disclosing the location of a bookstore,” Dongmae surmises, snorting when the nobleman clicks his tongue in annoyance. The petals fall around them, and the young man is momentarily distracted by the sight.

“So it is time…” he sighs, closing the book.

All three rise, turning toward the gates. The walk is brief, even if their steps lag in hesitance. There is a dichotomy to their countenance as they stride toward the newcomers; a melding of pleasure, dismay and mourning.

They find Aeshin’s servants already at the gate, their hands joined as they peer anxiously into the bright light that blocks their view of the river and the bridge beyond. More people join them, materializing almost out of thin air. A beautiful lady and her husband, an aged clergyman, the elderly Lord Go, Officer Jang, the tavern owner and many more people unknown even to Kudo Hina. The gates hum, vibrate and grow even brighter. Silence settles over those gathered, awaiting the new arrivals. It has been many years since their parting and they have been dearly missed.

Together, they wait.

To be Continued…

All dogs go to heaven. This is fact.

#fanfic #MrSunshine #Gu Dong Mae #Kudo Hina #kudohina #Kim Hui Seong #fanfiction #The Better Ending #TheBetterEnding

[tenjouu]

drabble dump: a very merry boarding school christmas

It comes to Sirius’ attention that they need to stage an intervention, now.

To clarify, this is all because of a boy called Lancelot Kingsley.

“The classic…Christmas…experience?” Harr repeats, squinting down at the parchment.

“Trust me,” Sirius says, and when has Harr not?

/

First thing’s first. Break into Lancelot’s room. Set up a makeshift tree. Sirius has a close approximation with a potted plant, and Harr does his best to doll it up with little paper ornaments.

“That is terrible,” Sirius says once Harr’s finished the body of the tree. “You’re terrible.”

“The classic Christmas experience,” repeats Harr, one eye shut with a smirk as he admires his handiwork—the star-shaped photo cutout of Lancelot’s golden haired-head.

/

Two—gifts.

Sirius thinks hard about what to get Lancelot because he knows that there’s not much Lancelot doesn’t already have, as the son of a king. He thought maybe a diary with pressed flowers, but that would take ten days and they don’t have ten days—Lancelot comes back in two. Therefore, separately—flowers, an empty elegant leather-bound diary, and maybe a homemade pastry.

Harr thinks hard about what to get Lancelot because he knows that there’s not much Lancelot wants anyway. Lancelot got him socks for his birthday. What goes around comes around.

/

Three—a classic Christmas has to smell like one. Sirius vetoes literally all of Harr’s ideas. Because mashed potatoes and corned beef is not a Christmas smell. And no forbidden forest pinecones. In Sirius’ family, Christmas smells more like a warm fireplace, hot cocoa, spiced apples, pomegranate spruce, and…

“Does he even like peppermint though?” Harr asks.

Sirius pauses, eyes widening. “Wait,” he says in horror to Lancelot’s room at large, which now is drowning in a thick cloying peppermint miasma.

“…We can play it off as a prank if he doesn’t,” Harr offers reassuringly. “Now, the bedcovers.”

/

Four—the classic Christmas decoration.

“Now you’re just pranking him for real,” Sirius says, snickering.

“You said your family puts one up.”

“But that’s because we’re a family.”

Harr gives him a look conveying clearly only families put it up?—but it morphs into a look of determination. 

He still hangs up the mistletoe.

/

Five—Dean as Santa Claus is an absolute no. Harr shoots the idea down before Sirius can even get it fully out his mouth.

/

Six—since there’s curfew, if they can’t bring Lancelot to a winter wonderland, then they’ll just bring the winter wonderland to him.

They stop by a fabrics store in Central Quarter while window-shopping for last minute materials. Sirius pulls Harr to a stop outside by the bicep. The coil of miniature crystal lights (for the tree) hanging off of Harr’s arm tinkles like a spritely wind chime. 

Sirius eyes a basket of cotton for sale at a massive discount. “Fake snow for the floor,” he says.

They’re already gotten too many decorations (it was a good deal, Sirius argued; they were on sale). If they trash Lancelot’s room any further, Lancelot will maim them.

“I can make it snow for real,” Harr replies, pulling Sirius forward again.

/

.

.

.

“Kidnapping me?” Lancelot asks casually with a blindfold over his eyes.

“Then you’re an accomplice in your own kidnapping, genius,” Harr retorts. He nudges Lancelot forward gently, a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him steady.

Sirius supports his other side. They exchange furtive glances behind Lancelot’s back.

Lancelot, though tired from the day’s trip back from Red Territory, still lets them guide him toward his room. It’s amazing that he agreed to the blindfold once Harr had pulled it out—it was not part of the original plan, yet he’d surprisingly agreed. His hands blindly fumble for the knob when they’ve reached the door.

His nose wrinkles when he opens it. “It smells like peppermint.”

“Do you like peppermint?” Harr asks casually.

“Not particularly.”

“Great,” says Sirius. “We should all sleep in Harr’s room tonight.”

“Why my—ow—yes, my room,” Harr grits out.

Lancelot’s sigh is telling. “Can I remove the blindfold?”

“Not yet!” SIrius scrambles for the lights. “Okay. Now—“ he says, as Harr’s eyes widen, mouth forming the beginnings of a Wait!

The room goes pitch black. 

Then goes the sound of the blindfold unraveling. 

Then a blue glow pops into existence. Harr’s grimace is contoured with shadow by the only source of light in this room—his hand. Sirius is some ways off by the light switch. 

A lone snowflake flutters slowly onto Lancelot’s impassive, illuminated face and melts there.

“Harr,” Sirius whispers. “Why is it dark?”

“You turned the power off,” Harr whispers back. “It’s plugged in.”

“Turn on the lights,” Lancelot suggests patiently, at normal volume. “You’ve closed the curtains too.”

Sirius switches the lights back on with a wince. Harr adopts a similar look of chagrin. Color floods the room again. But Lancelot takes in the sight and freezes.

The small crystals around the potted plant twinkle merrily in the corner. Maybe they went a little overboard…because the entire room’s practically swimming with festive garland and red and green streamers. Three stockings hang from the foot of his bed (Sirius tried his best with the embroidery). Harr’s clay ornaments of them (he didn’t try as hard) perch coquettishly on the window sill—which is stacked with other assortments of snow globes and candies. A big wreath sits right on the back of Lancelot’s door. His bedcovers were not spared from the Christmas confetti.

The only tidy part remaining in Lancelot’s usually pristine room is his writing desk, where their two gifts rest innocently (along with a single damn pinecone). 

“Merry Christmas, Lance,” Sirius says weakly when Lancelot still hasn’t rebooted his system.

Harr waves a hand in front of his eyes, earning a dazed glare.

“Christmas was last week, you fools,” Lancelot says, voice strained.

When the two of them try to gauge his expression, they find his face contorted with emotion, brows furrowed, lips twisted down in a frown.

“Lance?” Sirius begins worriedly. “Are you—“

Harr rolls his eyes. “It’s called happiness,” he says. “That thing in your chest that’s squeezing your heart tight.”

“Shut up,” Lancelot says gruffly. He seems to hesitate for a moment—and then he pulls Harr, closest, into a crushing hug. Harr’s loud noise of disgust and protest goes ignored. “Sirius Oswald, get over here.”

Sirius grins devilishly, and Harr’s eyes widen in alarm from where he can see Sirius’ expression and where Lancelot can’t.

“Let—let—go—! Oh no no no nono—“

Too late—

Sirius jumps right into the fray and tackles them forward onto Lancelot’s bed. The mattress creaks loudly in offense when they land. The slight rebound sends them centimeters into the air—and then they crash back down, like a toppled pyramid.

Harr groans loudly in pain from the bottom. Lancelot laughs a little windedly below Sirius.

“Get off, you oafs!” Harr exclaims, futilely wriggling underneath them both. “You’ll kill me! I’ll turn your jewels to stone!”

“I don’t know—I’m pretty comfortable up here,” Sirius says without a care in the world. “How’re you doing, Lance?”

“I’m doing well,” Lancelot replies through the muffled sound of Harr gagging from the peppermint. “…Merry Christmas, you two.”

“Merry Christmas,” Sirius says again, warmly.

“Merry Christmas. Now get off,” Harr begs.

/

(They end up sleeping in Harr’s room. 

Lancelot’s room smells of peppermint for a whole week.)

#ikerev fanfic #fic: drabble dump #ft #lancelot loves his friends #you know what really hurt me during the christmas event? lancelot said he thought santa never came to him because he wasn't good enough. #he's absolutely good enough so i decided to recity that because im not a coward likelancelot's father #wild #lol i'm late because it's already january going on february #but belated birthday & christmas to my favorite boyo #ikerev lancelot #ikerev harr #ikerev sirius #ham #ikerev