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moonstruckme · 4 months

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A Christmas Special

summary: after Christmas Eve at Remus' flat, thick snowfall prevents you from going home. He's more than happy to host you

cw: mentions of alcohol, smut mdni, p in v, oral (fem receiving), praise, inexperienced reader, shy little idiots in love

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 11k words

Remus isn’t sure entirely how he’d gotten strongarmed into hosting Christmas Eve at his flat. James and Lily usually host, but James claimed that this year their house was in too much a state of “baby mayhem” to have any hope of being tidied enough for a gathering. He’s said it in such a lovesick voice Remus couldn’t push back for long, his friend’s happiness so potent it was like looking into the sun. Sirius had begged off quickly, saying that his “bachelor pad” was too small to have a group over. As usual, when Remus spoke last, the matter was settled before he’d gotten the chance to have much of a say.

He’s made an effort to live up to the hosting legacy passed onto him by the Potters, but it’s a flimsy attempt at best. Thankfully, the snowfall outside is doing a fair amount of the work for him. Remus’ street is coated in fresh, gleaming powder, enough that the trees look weighted down with it and his neighbor had put her little dog in a knit sweater to go into the yard and do its business. It’s still coming down, the snowflakes visible in crisp contrast against the darkening sky as they drift lazily to the earth.

Inside Remus’ home, the Christmas tree is nearly covered in tinsel to make up for his scant supply of ornaments, he’s run out of stockings to put up above the fireplace and has had to use one large sock (that one will have to be for Sirius), and he’s still stringing up popcorn when a knock sounds on the door.

Remus is surprised (he’d told everyone to come at six, but that was only because he didn’t think anyone would actually show up until a couple hours after), but that dies away when he unbolts the door and opens it to find you on the other side.

“Hi,” you say, teeth nearly chattering as Remus ushers you inside. “Sorry I’m late, traffic was worse than I expected.”

“It’s hardly fifteen after six.” Remus takes your coat, tsking. “People do seem to become worse drivers around the holidays, don’t they?”

“Well, I suppose not everyone on the road tonight might be used to driving in the snow,” you allow, ever forgiving.

Remus smiles. “Merry Christmas, love.”

Your face is already flushed from the chill outside, but he could swear it goes pinker as you unwrap your scarf, smiling back at him. “Merry Christmas.” You’re merry as can be, cheeks dimpling and eyes sparkling under the twinkling lights Remus is suddenly very glad he decided to purchase for the occasion. “Where is everyone?”

“Well,” Remus says, heading back for the couch, “Sirius is hitching a ride with James and Lily, so if I had to guess I’d wager that James is just putting the finishing touches whatever food he’s decided to bring while Lily tries to rush him out the door. And then they’ll go to Sirius’ place and have to wait for him to finish wrapping the presents he undoubtedly just remembered today.”

You sit beside him with a half-exasperated laugh. “I was thinking I’d be the last one here,” you admit, “but I’d forgotten how they can be when it comes to events.”

Remus shrugs. “Easy to forget.” Lily is usually able to marshal James and Sirius most places on time these days, but the frenzy when they actually have things to prepare is inevitable; Remus has learnt to account for it. He reclaims his half-finished string of popcorn, clumsily stabbing the needle into another kernel and wincing when it goes through easier than expected, pricking his finger.

“Oh no, did you hurt yourself?” you lean over, trying to see his hand.

“No, just a scratch.” Remus has about a billion of them by now. He’s far from coordinated on a good day, but the unwise decision to have coffee earlier has resulted in shaky hands that make working with a needle somewhat hazardous.

You watch him try again, and it’s really the distraction of your cute frown more than anything else that messes him up. His needle goes through the fluffy edge of the popcorn, stabbing him and giving the string hardly anything to hold onto in the process. The flake falls to his lap for his efforts.

“Remus, your hand’s not a pincushion,” you say, and you weren’t yourself he’d almost think you were chiding him. You reach over, taking the needle and thread from him. “Here, let me do that.”

“I didn’t mean for you to come here early so I could put you to work,” Remus protests, watching as you string up the next piece of popcorn with nimble fingers. Jealousy wars with admiration, but his esteem for you wins out. “You’ll never come back for New Year’s if this is what you have to look forward to.”

You smile down at your hands. “Sure I will. You’ll still be there, won’t you? And I really don’t mind helping, it gives me something to do.”

Remus smiles back even though you’re not looking. “Alright, well I guess that means I can start rolling out the gingerbread dough. Thanks, love.” He touches his hand lightly to the crown of your head as he stands, letting the urge to press a kiss there pass as quickly as it arises. He goes into the kitchen and a second later you decide to follow. Popcorn swishes against the floor behind you as you make your way over to the bar counter, sitting on a stool with the string trailing all the way back to the couch.

“You’re making gingerbread cookies?” you ask, watching with eager eyes as he plops the dough onto the floured counter, rolling it flat.

“Mhm. You like them?”

“Never had one.”

Remus feels his eyebrows inch upwards. “Seriously?”

You look almost sheepish, as though this is a crime which you expect to be held against you. Honestly, you’re not far off; had James been here, you would have been questioned and scolded to hell and back, and then he would’ve made Remus give you some dough to try, salmonella be damned.

“No,” you answer him. “We made ornaments of them in school, once, but we weren’t allowed to eat them. I always thought they were so cute, though, with the little people cutouts.”

“They’re the best,” Remus agrees, pressing out the shapes and laying them on the baking sheet. “If you finish that quickly enough, I might even let you help me cut out a few.”

“Yes!” you cheer, and he laughs as you start working quicker with the needle.

“Don’t hurt yourself. The privilege of cookie cutting is not actually contingent on your labor.”

“I know,” you say, but your hands don’t slow. Remus has barely finished filling his second baking sheet before you’re done, having made more progress in the last twenty minutes than he had over nearly an hour.

Remus’ hip touches yours as he shows you how to give the cookie cutters a little shake in the dough, freeing the shape before lifting it and placing it on the sheet. It’s not a painfully difficult task, and still he’s impressed by how quickly you catch on. You’re a machine of efficiency. You seem to enjoy rolling out the dough almost as much as pressing out the shapes, falling into a quick, happy rhythm. Before long you’ve pushed Remus out of the way (Lily would be proud, he thinks), urging him to go and hang up the popcorn garland before everyone else arrives.

You haven’t seen each other in over a month, both of you caught up in the hustle and bustle of the season, and you catch up as you work on your separate tasks. Remus talks to you about his job, the students who plague him and the ones he wishes he could take home after work each day, and how none of them had liked the film he’d put on the day before break. (“Mister Magoo’s is a classic!” you protest as Remus shakes his head. “They’re too young to get it,” he says. “Our classics are just old to them.”) You tell him about your new cat, and the sweater you’d crocheted her for the holiday which she despises above all else, and he promises to come over sometime soon to meet her.

You’ve poured yourselves spiked eggnog and sampled a few ginger cookies (“They’re twice as good when they’re fresh,” Remus says. “Don’t let the others’ tardiness rob you of the experience.”) by the time the door bursts open again, Sirius of course not bothering to knock.

“Hello!” he calls from somewhere behind a tower of presents. “Merry holiday to you, Moony!”

You get up to help, and so Remus is compelled to do so as well, taking a couple sloppily-wrapped boxes from Sirius’ arms.

“Merlin, it smells good in here,” James declares as he comes through the door, Lily carrying a beaming baby Harry on her hip behind him. James’ eyes fall on you. “Aw, you beat us here?”

Remus scoffs, setting down the gifts by the tree and leaving you to arrange them as you see fit. “Not a very difficult task, when you’re over an hour late,” he says. “You’re lucky Y/N’s good company, or I’d be more cross with you.”

“Sorry,” Lily says as Sirius makes a dismissive sound, flopping onto the couch. “We had some trouble fitting everything in the car with Harry’s seat, and then Sirius—” she shoots him a glare, and he grins like she’s sweetly cooed his name “—wouldn’t leave without his hat, even though he’d lost it.”

“One only gets to wear one’s elf hat every so often,” Sirius justifies, unperturbed. “I wasn’t going to miss the occasion even if it took me all night to find it.”

“It nearly did,” Lily shoots back, but then James is at her side, having discarded his load of food and presents and now vying to hold Harry.

“Come here, my handsome little guy.”

“Used to call me that,” Sirius quips with his mouth full of gingerbread cookies, a heaping plate seeming to have found its way into his lap.

Remus isn’t going to smile at that poor attempt at a joke, but once you laugh he can’t help it.

“Only on special occasions,” James replies, taking Harry under the arms and hoisting him into the air. Harry laughs, and it’s probably the most contagious thing Remus has ever heard. Everyone smiles; James most of all, grinning ear to ear as he does it again.

“He never lets me hold him,” Lily complains fondly.

“Because I know how much you like seeing me with him,” James says breezily, making a face at Harry above him. “You’re mad with lust right now, Evans, don’t try to deny it.”

“Sleaze,” Sirius says to him, the bell on his hat jingling when he tilts his head.

“I know you are, but what am I?”

“I,” Remus says, “am hungry. And I’ll bet Y/N is too, since she’s very politely refrained from snacking much while we waited for you lot.”

James' attention actually leaves his son for half a second to look at you and see if what Remus says is true, and you go instantly bashful. It doesn’t seem to matter how long you’re friends with them; having attention drawn to you will always bring some color to your cheeks. Lily comes to your rescue, ushering you into the kitchen like she needs somewhere to channel her mother hen urges while James is monopolizing Harry.

“I hope you really are hungry,” she says, “because James has made enough bhaji to feed us all for a month.”

❆ ❆ ❆

Soon even James is stuffed and you’re all a bit tipsy on eggnog. Some of your natural anxiety fades as everything starts to feel slower and more fluid, your insides warm and soft as wax.

“No, because it was so obvious,” Sirius says. He’s telling a story of a girl he’d seen at a coffee shop that he’s sure was enamored with him. James, naturally, agrees completely, but Lily and Remus aren’t so sure. “She did the—the thing. Y/N, back me up. When a girl makes eye contact with you and then looks off to the side, it means she’s not interested, but when she looks down, it’s because she’s nervous, right?”

You raise your eyebrows. “I think you made that up,” you tell him, tiny bits of laughter running in between your words. “Anyway, is her being nervous necessarily a good thing?”

“She was nervous because she’s obsessed with me,” Sirius insists.

“Or,” Remus says, “she was nervous because you were staring at her, and she thought you were going to follow her outside.”

“And probably kill her,” Lily agrees.

James’ eyebrows shoot up. “Merlin, you two are dark. Our Padfoot’s not putting out murderous vibes. He’s got too much boyish charm.”

Sirius nods appreciatively, but Lily only shrugs, careful not to jostle Harry where he’s sleeping on her lap. “Girls have to think of those things.”

“Gross,” James says, looking slightly troubled as he kisses the side of his wife’s head. “Well, I think she was in love with you, Pads.”

“Yeah,” Remus rolls his eyes, “he should show up at her house and find out. It’d be romantic.”

“And on that note,” James goes on, ignoring him, “shall we do presents?”

You all agree, and Sirius looks at James with an older brother’s entitlement. “Go ahead and distribute them, Prongsie.”

James, well used to this, doesn’t even question it, scampering back and forth between the tree (which you can’t help but notice is somewhat lacking in the ornament department but quite sparkly) to deliver your presents at your feet. After a few rounds of this, you can’t stand it anymore and get up to help, laughing through the protests of your remaining three friends. (“He’s got it, love,” Remus says, and Sirius adds, “He’s got energy he needs to run off anyway.”) Between the two of you, the bottom of the Christmas tree is bare within a couple of minutes, small piles of presents next to each of your friends. You go to sit back by the pile meant for you, touched at the fact that you have a box from every person there.

“S’not fair that James and Lily get to do couple’s presents now,” Sirius complains. “I’m going to start buying gifts for you like you’re one person, see how you like it.”

The biggest pile is obviously for Harry, and you all start there, no small amount of eagerness in James’ expression as he tears open the first box. “The Velveteen Rabbit,” he reads aloud. “Wow, this is kinda hefty for a children’s book.”

“Who’s it from?” Lily prompts, as if you don’t all already know.

“Shit, I forgot to check.”

“And that’s why we read the box,” Lily says slowly, and you get the sense this is a conversation that’s happened more than once, “before we start ripping, honey.”

“It was me,” Remus volunteers, lips pulling into a half-smile.

“Course it was,” James says, taking a break from sticking his tongue out at his wife to smile at Remus. “Thanks, Moony.”

“You had the opportunity to get him Goodnight Moon,” Sirius tsks, “and you just let it pass you by.”

Remus rolls his eyes, but then Lily says, “He already has that one,” and you watch as he tries and fails to suppress the shy smile that takes him. It shifts the scars on his cheek and lights his eyes with a warm tenderness.

He looks especially pretty under the Christmas lights, you think. The warm glow suits him, bringing out the amber in his eyes and richening the various brown shades of his hair. It makes his skin look softer too, smooth even where you know he has stubble around his jawline. You want suddenly to reach out and touch it, and you’re glad you’re sitting too far from him to act on the urge.

You’ve noticed Remus over the years, of course. It’d be impossible not to. You’ve always harbored a tiny crush on him, but you keep it shoved deep down in your gut where it can’t hurt anyone. You think the world of him, but you love your little group of friends more than anything else. You’re not unaware of the fact that Remus is a more crucial fixture in it than you are; if anything happened between you and it made things awkward for everyone, you’d be the one to go.

“Aw, is this a hat?” Lily pulls something tawny brown from a box, and you realize they’ve gotten to your gift. “Oh my god, it has little antlers!”

You try not to smile too hard as she shows it to James and he coos, taking it from her hands. “No way, he’ll be like our little Prongsie! I’m going to put it on him.”

“Don’t wake him,” Lily warns, but James waves her off.

“He can sleep through anything,” he says, settling the baby beanie on Harry’s head. Sure enough, he doesn’t stir.

“Oh, that’s so darling.” Lily presses a hand to her chest. “Y/N, where’d you get this?”

You feel your face heat and hope the lighting is covering your blush. “I made it,” you admit. “I know we’re already well into winter, but I hope he can still use it a little.”

“Um, he’s never taking it off. Like, ever.” James leans around Lily to press a smacking kiss to your cheek. You laugh, trying not to shrink in on yourself from all the attention. “Thanks, love.”

Once all the cooing over Harry’s presents is done, the rest of the gift opening proceeds with decidedly less fanfare, though no shortage of gratitude. You get a bunch of purple eyeliners from Sirius (you’d complained to him a few weeks ago that they’d stopped selling your old one, and he’d been thoughtful enough to find you options to help decide upon new one), a cookbook from James and Lily (“Now you can stop eating all those frozen meals,” James tells you with a meaningful look), and a set of mittens from Remus (“They’re alpaca,” he explains. “Supposed to be extra warm, and your hands are always freezing.”). The rest of your gifts are received happily too, and then Remus’ living room is covered with the wrapping paper Lily had tried but eventually given up on getting everyone to put in piles as they went and you’re all starting to yawn.

“Alright,” Lily says after a while, “it’s well past Harry’s bedtime, and ours, and I’m sure Remus would like his flat back.”

“Booo.” Sirius lays back on the couch, letting his head loll over the edge of the armrest. “Domestic life has made you lame, Evans-Potter.”

“Yeah, yeah,” James drawls, gathering Harry against his chest, “I saw you yawning, Pads. Let’s go.”

You stand with the rest of them, going to find your shoes by the door. “Thanks for everything, Remus,” you say. “It was great.”

“For a first time hosting,” James allows, jokingly prideful, “I suppose you did a pretty decent job. Big shoes to fill, and all that.”

Remus smiles as he rolls his eyes, but it falters when his gaze settles on something behind you. “Are you all going to be alright getting home? It looks like it’s really picked up.”

You follow his stare out the window. He’s not wrong. The unusually thick snowfall you’d arrived in has morphed into something that looks more like a blizzard, the wind whipping white across the black backdrop of sky outside Remus’ flat.

James looks between the scene outside and his family once before seeming to make a decision. “Yeah, we’ll be alright,” he says, watching Lily as he talks. She nods her approval, and James’ voice becomes more solid. “We don’t have far to drive.”

Remus nods, still looking worried. His brows furrow as he turns to you. “What about you? Are you gonna be okay?”

“Yeah.” It’s the only answer in these situations, though you’re sure Remus would be alright with the alternative if you felt very strongly. “It doesn’t look too bad out there.”

Remus casts another dubious glance out the window, and a particularly loud gust of wind whooshes past as if to spite you. “Are you sure? It looks pretty bad to me.”

“Yeah,” James says, “don’t you live a bit far?”

“It’s not that far,” you fib, at the same time as Remus says, “She does.”

You laugh awkwardly, pulling on your coat “It’s not. Anyway, I’ve driven in a lot worse than this.”

Lily gives you a small smile. “That’s hardly reassuring, babe.”

“You can stay here,” Remus offers, but you’re shaking your head before he’s even gotten the words out.

“That’s sweet of you, but I can make it home.” You give him your most competent smile. “If I end up driving off the road and have to camp in my car, at least I’ll have fantastic mittens to keep the frostbite from my hands.”

He gives you a deadpan look. “While I’m glad you’re excited to use my gift, I’d prefer to keep it from coming to that.”

“You can’t get in a crash and die on Christmas,” Sirius says. “It’d be, like, a super huge downer for us every year.”

“I’ll be fine,” you insist.

“Shortcake, I don’t care if we have to lock you in here,” James says, frowning in a way that doesn’t look particularly tough when he’s swaying back and forth to rock Harry on his chest. “There’s no way you can drive all the way to your place in this.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly, wrapping your scarf.

“Okay, you know I would never usually say this,” Lily says, gnawing on her lip as she watches the snow blow past outside, “but I think you should listen to the boys. It looks too scary out there to drive that far.”

“It’s…” You look between them, your argument dying of futility on your tongue. James seems prepared to blockade you in Remus’ flat, and even Lily’s giving you a stern look. Your gaze lands on Remus, and the last of your resistance melts away.

“You really should stay here,” he says kindly. “Actually, I’d feel a lot better if you did. Okay?”

You sigh, slipping your scarf back over your head. “Okay.”

“Phew!” Sirius says, pulling you into a one-armed hug. “Glad that’s settled. See you all soon, thanks for Christmas Moony!”

“He’s so tired,” Lily says after Sirius is out the door.

“Wiped,” James agrees, adjusting his grip on Harry so that he can wrap one arm around Remus’ neck. Remus leans down into the awkward hug, begrudgingly fond as he pats his friend on the back, then kisses Lily on the cheek when James moves to you.

“Thanks for the gifts,” James says, grinning down at Harry’s knit antlers after he releases you. “He’s never taking this off.”

“He means it.” Lily sends her husband a look as fond as it is weary as she hugs you. “I’ll probably have to bathe Harry when James is asleep so he doesn’t catch him without it.”

Your face is feeling hot again. “I’m glad you like it,” you say with a little shrug, but your friends are used to your shyness and only smile and wave on their way out.

And then the door shuts, and you and Remus are left alone in the quiet.

“Are you tired?” he asks you, moving back into the living room. Lily had sneakily taken care of a good deal of the cleanup, but there’s still a few half-empty glasses of eggnog strewn about which Remus begins gathering.

“Not really,” you answer honestly, beating him to the sink and forcing him to hand you the glasses to wash. “Are you?”

“No,” he agrees, and the look he shoots you has to be the gentlest form malice has ever taken as he takes up the dish towel and stations himself beside you. “Fancy a film?”

“Mmm, a Christmas film?”

“Obviously.”

The dishes are finished quickly thanks to Lily’s interference, and Remus makes you some hot cocoa while you scroll through movies, calling out possibilities. The only conflict between you is your equal complaisance to whatever the other prefers, and you eventually settle on the first one you’d seen just to put an end to it. You take your cocoa gladly when Remus passes it to you, blowing gently while he settles a blanket over the both of you, your knees curled towards him and his one leg crossed over the other angling him towards you.

The first few minutes of the film are spent in that contented quietude that the two of you so often fall into when you’re alone together, but then Remus asks you, “What is it?”

You look over at him. “Hm?”

“You’re frowning.”

“Oh.” You laugh. “I’m just thinking about snow.”

His lips quirk. “It is kind of the bane of your existence tonight, isn’t it?”

“No.” You smile down at your hands, hoping it's not obvious how not unpleasant you find your circumstances at the moment. “That’s not it. I was thinking, I kind of hate how it always has to snow in these movies. It makes any Christmas where it doesn’t snow feel like it’s not up to par. Or not quintessential enough, or something.”

“Mmm, I see.” Remus looks back to the screen, considering. “Does that make this your quintessential Christmas, then? Are we living up to the movie standard?”

You watch him while he watches the TV, blue light cast over his handsome features. “I guess so,” you say.

The longer you sit there, the closer you get. You blame it on the late hour, your bodies relaxing towards each other on the couch. Remus’ arm brushes yours when he lifts his mug for a sip, and your knees dig into his thigh under the blanket. Soon you’ve drooped enough that you’re leaning nearly entirely against him. You don’t notice until Remus puts an arm around you to encourage your head to his shoulder. You tense but don’t sit up, and eventually his head comes to rest atop yours.

“Are you crying?” he murmurs during one scene near the end.

Your reply is equally soft, not wanting to jostle either Remus’ head or his shoulder with your speech movements. “I really like this part.”

“You know how it ends. It’s going to be okay.”

“I know.” You sniffle, bringing a hand up to wipe your face now that you’ve been caught. “I know it is. It’s just really profound.”

“Sure it is.”

“It’s the spirit of Christmas, Remus. Goodwill to man.”

“Okay.” He rubs your shoulder, and you pretend not to feel his shaking with quiet laughter. “Okay, I agree with you.”

And awhile later: “You’re tired,” he accuses.

You hum a denial.

“Sweetheart” —your stomach flutters, and there’s a jolt somewhere behind your ribcage; you ignore it— “you’re practically falling asleep right here.”

“Are you tired?”

He shifts slightly, stubble tickling your forehead. “No. But you are.”

“I want to finish the movie.”

He seems to debate this for a moment, then his shoulder relaxes beneath you. “Alright.”

The credits start, and neither of you move.

You let your head slump more heavily onto his shoulder. “Your place really does look lovely. Thanks for having me.”

“Of course, love.” You can feel his smile squish up against the top of your head. “Would you go so far as to say my hosting measures up to James’?”

You chuckle, gesturing to yourself. “I’d say you’ve gone above and beyond, for sure.”

Remus laughs too. “Perfect. Tell him so, would you?”

You’re going to agree when a great yawn takes you. You keep it quiet, but there’s no avoiding the way your chin digs into Remus’ shoulder, your shoulders rising with the prolonged inhale. He moves away from you.

“Ready for bed?” He smiles down at you as you run a knuckle under your eyes, collecting tears from your lashes.

You shrug an admittance. “Sort of. But I don’t want to kick you out of your own living room if you’re not tired yet.”

“No, I’m pretty wiped too,” he says. “Anyway, I’m the one kicking you out. You’re staying in my room.”

You had a feeling he would say something like that. You grab a throw pillow, getting situated with your head near the armrest. “No, I’m not.”

His laugh is disbelieving. “Yeah, you are. Come on, you’re my guest. I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.”

You tug the blanket off his lap, curling up with your pillow stubbornly. “I’m not going to steal your bed. You’ve already done so much. You’ve helped me try gingerbread cookies and given me nice mittens and hosted an amazing Christmas. Let me sleep on your couch, please.”

“While I appreciate all that,” he says, “no.”

“Remus.” You’re near pleading at this point. “Your back will hurt.”

“Your back will hurt.”

“Not as badly as yours.” You give him a hard look. “I’m not taking your bed.”

There’s a brief silence, terser than your usual ones but no more awkward for it. You stare each other down.

“Right,” Remus says, reclaiming the remote from where he’d set it on the coffee table. “I suppose we’d better start another movie, then.”

“Remus, come on.” You sit up, giving his shoulder a gentle nudge. “You’ve just said you’re tired. Go to bed, please.”

The TV flickers back on. “I’m not leaving this couch.”

“Well, neither am I,” you laugh, completely serious.

He rolls his eyes, then snuggles up to you under the blanket. You take this as a sign that he’s not really very cross with you. “You’re much more argumentative than usual tonight, you know that?”

You huff, laying your head back on his shoulder. “I could say the same about you.”

“True, but I know I’ll win out in the end.”

“You can think that if you like.”

“Want to watch this one next?”

“Sure.”

❆ ❆ ❆

Remus watches as your eyes drift closed, then twitch back open, over and over again. He thinks his bony shoulder is the only thing keeping you from falling over the precipice of sleep. If he were James Potter, he’d simply pick you up with ease and carry you to his bed, but Remus can’t say he’s entirely sorry for this extra time with you, even if neither of you are awake enough to make much conversation.

Silly as it sounds, he enjoys just sitting here with you nearly as much as talking. Your cheek squished into his shoulder, your legs curled up atop his, you’re warm and weighty against him.

He should have known it would be a hopeless endeavor trying to get you to agree to take the bed. You’re a gentle thing by nature, but stubborn in your selflessness. Even if you had gone, Remus knows he wouldn’t have slept all night anyway, too preoccupied with thoughts of you all wrapped up in his sheets, your face pressed to his pillow, getting your shampoo-smell on the pillowcase. He doesn’t know if it smells like him (does he have a smell?), but he would have wondered all night if it does, if you were noticing.

Your head nearly rolls off his shoulder, and a pitying sound escapes Remus when you jerk awake to set it right. He lets his head rest on yours so it doesn’t happen again. Your eyelids droop closed almost immediately, and Remus begins dragging his thumb over your shoulder blade, a nice, slow back-and-forth. You’re quiet for a long while.

“Are you trying to put me to sleep?” you murmur, words all sloshed together.

It’s a conscious effort not to let his thumb slow. “No,” he says.

You hum.

“Unless you mean it’s working.”

Another long silence. “It’s not,” you reply, head growing heavier on his shoulder.

He chuckles. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you to bed, hm?”

“You go to bed,” you mumble, and if he thought you were capable of it he’d say there was some bitterness lining your words.

He sighs. “You’re too nice for your own good,” he tells you.

“No,” you reply, softly, plainly, like it’s a fact, “that’s you.”

He picks his head up off of yours to see your face. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Your eyes are closed. You don’t know he’s looking. Your face is wholly relaxed, no hint of pretense about you. “You’re the best I know.”

Something warm and wheedling works its way through Remus’ ribs to the soft gooey core of him. “Well,” he tells you honestly, “you’re the best I know.”

You seem unconcerned. “Another impasse for us.”

He actually laughs at that, instantly guilty when it jostles you on his shoulder and your eyelids peel apart. He can’t regret it, though, when you look at him the way you do. You’re glowing in the light coming off the tree, soft and warm and lovely, and yet you’re looking at him like he’s the only place your eyes want to go. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You come gradually more awake, eyebrows twitching towards each other just slightly. “Remus,” you murmur, and he finally does what he’s been wanting to since you’d shown up at his door hours ago. He kisses you.

Your lips are pliable, parting for his almost instantly, like you’d been waiting. His hand coasts from your shoulder to cup the back of your head, keeping you close as your nose slides against his. You both all but fall back onto the bed you’d made yourself on the couch. He’s careful not to put too much of his weight on you, but when his tongue brushes across the inside of your lip and you inhale, he draws back.

“I...” He pants into the space between you. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

You make a sound that’s half hum, half whine, and bump your chin up into his.

Remus loses himself again with frightening quickness. It’s even better now that you seem more sure, your mouth asking, coaxing against his. You taste like gingerbread. An low, embarrassing sound pries free from the back of his throat when you wind your fingers into the hair at his nape, and he slips his free hand beneath your back, getting as close to you as he can. Your legs make room for him automatically, knees tipping open so he can slot between them.

“Do you—” you breathe when his attentions move downward, tilting your head to the side to offer access as he mouths at the skin just under your jaw. “Do you want this?”

The word leaves him in a soft exhale, muffled against your skin. “Yes.”

You swallow. He feels the movement in your throat. “Are you sure?”

His eyelashes brush your jaw as his kisses slow, become more tender, more intentional. “Lovely girl,” he murmurs. “You’re silly, you know that?” His mouth meanders it’s way over to your pulse, getting stuck there and sucking at your skin lazily. “I mean, you’re smart.” The words are all mushed up against you. Noticeably amused. Remus quit the eggnog hours ago, yet he feels half drunk. “You’re really smart, honey, but you can be so oblivious sometimes.”

You don’t respond, and as much as he loves the sound of your voice, he’s hoping your silence is in his favor right now. He wants you wrapped up in him, wants to engross you so completely you forget how to form your lips around speech.

“Do you want to move to my room?”

You take a breath. Fuck, even the sound of you breathing is nearly enough to undo him. He moves back to your mouth as if to intercept it, nipping at your lower lip.

“Is this a ploy to get me off the couch?”

“You’re relentless.”

Your lips curve against his, and he mirrors them without thinking. You stay quiet.

“Fine. I promise it’s not, okay?”

Your laugh is fizzy like champagne, and it warms Remus’ chest like it too. “Okay,” you say in that lovely voice. “Okay, let’s go.”

❆ ❆ ❆

You’d always thought Remus was all softness. He’s made up of soft looks, soft colors, and hair that you can now confirm is soft as dandelion fluff. But this night has defied your expectations in a thousand ways. And your Remus, soft, gentle, kindhearted Remus, is scraping at your throat with his teeth.

You have to suck your lip between your teeth to keep from making a humiliatingly desperate sound when he passes his tongue over his work, another crescent moon that’s sure to be purple by morning. Your hands are beseeching in his dandelion fluff hair, keeping him close while his hands are busy lower, one gripping the fat of your hip while the other drags tantalizingly slow up and down your side. He’s kissing you like you have all the time in the world, sometimes rough but no more urgent for it, and you’re breathy and molten and useless beneath him.

You’re brimming with adoration and something else too. Something that you think you could almost identify—you’ve felt it before, but never like this.

“What do you want to do?” There’s a raspy quality to his voice that would send you to your knees if he hadn’t already taken them out from under you. He dots leisurely, open-mouthed kisses up the column of your throat, soothing over spots he’s already nipped and sucked into oblivion. Your head feels fuzzy. “Sweetheart?”

Christ, is he trying to send you into cardiac arrest? Remus doesn’t stop kissing you even at your silence, finding your lip still held between your teeth and encouraging it free with his own. You try to remember what he’d ask you. What do you want to do? You have no idea. Where would you even start? You want him to keep talking to you in that raspy voice, that’s for sure. You want…you want to keep kissing him, to know what his hands would do if you let them beneath your clothes. You want to keep investigating that warm feeling in your gut. See where it takes you.

Remus’ kisses slow, then stop. He pulls back to look at you. In the dim street light coming in through the window, you wonder what he sees. “You alright?” His voice is soft, gentle, saying it’s okay if you’re not without saying it.

You take a breath. It shakes a little on the way out, but you don’t think he can tell. “Yeah, I’m good. Just nervous. But not in a bad way.” Nervous-happy.

“Don’t be,” he implores, lips brushing your cheek. “It’s only me.”

Exactly, you think. It’s you.

“What do you want to do?” You turn his own question back on him.

His smile is tinged with bashfulness. “I mean, whatever you’re alright with.” There’s a tentative quietness to his voice. “Have you…”

If it were possible for you to get any warmer, embarrassment would do it. “No,” you say, shrinking away from him though there’s nowhere to go. Whatever the end to that question might be, the answer is no.

“That’s okay,” he says quickly, dropping another kiss on the corner of your mouth like a cure-all remedy. “That’s okay, you just tell me if you want to stop, yeah? If you don’t like something, or you want to slow down—anything at all, you let me know.” He kisses you again, further up on your burning cheek. “Okay?”

You swallow. “Okay.”

“Don’t be nervous.” He says it like a promise, hand stroking your side again as if to soothe you. His lips find your shoulder, nosing the fabric of your sleeve. “Can I take this off, lovely?”

You nod, words all stoppered up in your throat, then realize he can’t see you and do it yourself. He has to pause as it comes off, taking the opportunity to do away with his own sweater, tossing it on the floor beside the bed. You do the same, and your bra quickly follows. You’d always thought (largely influenced, admittedly, by trashy novels) that this was the part where the guy stops what he’s doing and openly oggles the shirtless woman in front of him, but Remus has seen tits before and wastes no time in getting his mouth back on yours, pressing you into the mattress. His skin is as heated as yours, the areas where you touch deliciously warm despite the cold still whipping past his bedroom window. You allow yourself one sweeping, appreciative pass over the muscles on Remus’ back before your hands go down to your bottoms, shimmying them down your legs. A long-fingered hand finds the exposed skin of your thigh and kneads reverently. You swallow Remus’ groan, and he kisses you more deeply, long, savoring passes of his tongue along the inside of your mouth until his lips move downward.

One hand stays at your hip while the other strokes up and down your thigh, spit cooling in a path down your stomach. You try to relax as he passes your navel, but the anticipation is hard to shake. You’re nearly trembling when he kneels between your legs, kissing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“Is this okay?” he murmurs.

It’s all you can do to nod, gasping when his teeth drag over one of the stretch marks there. You clutch at the sheets above your head like a lifeline.

“We can stop anytime you want.”

You inhale raggedly. “No,” you manage. Your breathlessness is obvious in the quiet room. “I want—I want to keep going.” You pause. “Do you?”

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah, love, that sounds good to me.”

Good, you’re about to say, but Remus’ next kiss lands on your slit, and your voice withers and dies in your throat. He uses a hand to push one of your legs open further while bringing the other over his shoulder, spreading you open. His breath fans hot over your cunt.

You’re writhing at the first broad stroke of his tongue, and he wraps his fingers around the outside of your thigh, keeping you still while placating you at the same time.

Remus takes his time, lapping experimentally at your entrance before making his way upwards. You gasp as his tongue skims over your clit, burrowing your hand in his hair before hesitating.

“Is this okay?” you ask.

His hummed assent has you tightening your grasp. He brushes over your clit one more time, and when this gets a similar reaction from you, begins sucking on it gently. You’re panting, and Remus has to move his grip to your hip to hold you in place, squeezing indulgently at the fat there while he narrows in on what you like. Before long you’re trembling all over, grasping feebly at his hair as you squeeze your eyes shut against the odd sort of bliss that’s taking you under.

“Remus,” you breathe, and it’s a miracle that he hears you but he does, raising his head with a lewd suctioning sound.

He looks at you questioningly with eyes almost all pupil.

“Come here,” you plead.

He obeys, crawling back up you to peck at your bitten lips. “Doing alright?” he asks you.

“Yeah,” you promise, cupping his head in one hand and wrapping your leg over the back of his as if to prevent him from leaving. “Just wanted to kiss you.”

You feel him smile against your lips. He slots his mouth over yours, and you dedicate yourself to his top lip. He tastes like sex, braver now as he explores your mouth. He drags your bottom lip between his teeth, and you make a high, breathy sound. His grip on you tightens.

“Do you think—can we—”

He hesitates, kissing softly at the corner of your lips. “Are you sure?”

“I want to. Do you?”

Remus actually laughs, muffling the sound against your cheek. “Yeah, I fucking want to. I’ve wanted to forever.”

You can’t think about that. Think about that and you’ll fall to pieces.

He noses affectionately at the underside of your jaw, slipping down you once again to stand at the end of the bed. He steps out of his pants and grabs a condom from the drawer of his nightstand. “You’ll tell me if I do anything you don’t like, yeah?”

“Mhm,” you promise, anticipation coiling up snugly with that other thing in your stomach. They don’t feel all that distinct from one another.

“Alright,” he says, palm slipping under your thigh. “Can I lift this up, love?”

You nod, and he grasps the soft underside of your knee, bringing your leg up to your stomach as he lines up. You gasp as he pushes in slowly, watching your face to make sure you’re doing okay. You’re already slick and worked open from his ministrations, and it’s still a bit shocking. His thumb strokes beside your knee as your walls adjust to the size of him. “How’s that feel?”

“Good,” you say honestly. There’s a note of desperation to your voice. “I can—more, please.”

He’s quick to accommodate you, pushing deeper as he folds himself over you to recapture your lips. Your breaths shallow. His free hand moves to your breast, kneading gently at the soft flesh. He gives it a firm squeeze at the same time as he moves inside you, and you nearly bite Remus’ lip off, a half-suppressed keening sound escaping you.

“So good,” he mumbles. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Taking it so well.” He lifts his head, kissing your temple. “Think you can handle a bit more?”

Your response is barely more than breath, but he catches the affirmation, pressing another firm kiss to your forehead before he bottoms out inside you. Your head lolls back, fuzzy with the strange pain and even stranger pleasure. Remus tightens his grip on your leg to keep it up, dotting kisses down the side of your face.

“Good girl,” he says hoarsely. “Still doing okay, lovely?”

“Yeah,” you say, somewhat dizzy. “Remus, it feels so good.”

“Good,” he croons. “It should feel good, love. Ready for me to move?”

“Mhm.”

He pulls out slowly, dragging against your sensitive walls. He starts mouthing at your neck again before he pushes back inside you, filling you up all over again. A slew of expletives roll out of your mouth, unbidden and entirely unlike you, as Remus begins pumping your breast again, the rhythm matching that of his thrusts. He sucks the flesh of your neck between his teeth, and you bite down hard on your lower lip to repress what promises to be a high-pitched and deeply mortifying sound.

Remus praises you amply, soft kisses and reverent touches and a raspy “Fuck, sweetheart, just like that.” Your head floats or swims or both, your body tensed all over and yet completely plaint beneath Remus’ hands. He moves back to your mouth, discovering your bottom lip held captive between your teeth.

“Come on, don’t do that,” he chides, easing it free with gentle kisses. “Let me hear you, bet you sound so pretty.”

The Welsh accent that’s grown faint after years of living away from home is emerging now, as is the crude vocabulary it's tied to in memory, a host of barely comprehensible profanities spewing from Remus’ lips when you clench on him again. His grip tightens on your tit, and a moan tears from the back of your throat.

“That’s it,” he praises, head dipping to kiss the soft spot he’s found under your ear. “There you are, lovely girl.”

The coil in your core grows impossibly tighter, your thighs quivering as you approach a peak you’ve never known before. Remus feels it, cooing softly even as he drives into you harder.

“You gonna cum, sweetheart?” You nod dazedly. “Good, good, just let it happen, I’ve got you.”

“Come here,” you demand again, and he wastes no time in obliging you. He kisses your lips sore as you dig your nails into his shoulders, pulling his body flush against yours, the feeling inside you growing so great you don’t know where to put it, don’t know if you can contain it. You can’t remember ever feeling this close to someone, Remus’ touch the only thing keeping you from hurtling off some unknown precipice.

“Let go,” he urges, and you do. You trust him to catch you.

It’s bliss like you’ve never known. You cry out, and Remus’ hand slides down from your breast to spread wide and flat against your ribs. Steadying. He kisses soothingly at your jaw as you gasp and pant your way back to him, grip slackening on his shoulders.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, though you really haven’t done much at all.

“Are you—” You swallow, choking on the emotion that’s risen unbidden in your throat. “Are you close?”

Remus smiles, coming back to your lips like he can’t help himself. He pecks you once, twice. “Sweetheart, I’m more than close. I’ve barely been holding myself together since you kissed me.”

Well, he’d actually kissed you, but you’ll take the compliment anyway.

“Do you think you’ll be alright if I move again?” he asks. “It’s okay if not.”

“You can,” you say certainly, leaning up on your elbows to see him better. “Is there…anything I can do to help?”

The smile fades from his face, leaving something far more tender in its wake. “Just, keep looking at me like that?” He says it almost like he’s embarrassed, voice quiet with supplication.

You want to tell him you’d never needed asking to look at him, but you don’t, keeping your eyes on his obediently as he pumps into you. He really must have been close, because he’s cursing again not long after, accent twisting his syllables with a gruff pleasure. Your walls contract at the movement, still sensitive, and that’s all it takes. Remus digs his fingers into your waist and makes sounds you’re sure you’ll dream about, panting, breathy moans you sit up to smother against your lips. He follows you back down onto the mattress, mouth slotted against your own. You hold him to you until his breaths even and his grip on you loosens.

“Was that alright?” he asks, some of the rasp still lingering in his voice.

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, dizzy with affection. “Yeah, it was good,” you promise him. Understatement of the year. “Really good, Rem.”

“Good,” he echoes, lips brushing the skin under your eye. You don’t know how you know, but you can feel the amusement building in him just before he asks, “Tired yet?”

You guffaw. The force of it jostles him on top of you, and his lips curve against your cheek. “A little bit, yeah.” Actually, you hadn’t realized how exhausting sex would be. If it didn’t mean having to take your eyes off Remus, you’d have closed them and passed out by now.

“Good,” he says again, hands sliding down your waist as he moves to stand again. You make a small sound as he shifts, and Remus shushes you, slipping out from inside you. You watch fascinatedly as he removes the condom, sticky with cum. He tosses it in the wastebasket under his desk and walks away from you.

“Hey,” you protest. “You’d better not be sneaking off to sleep on the couch.”

His chuckle echoes in the bathroom, followed by the sound of a cabinet opening. “So mistrustful,” he says when he comes back in with a damp towel. “What’ve I done to arouse such suspicion?”

Your fuzzy brain gets stuck on the word arouse in his teasing tone, and it takes you a second to answer. “Well, I’m here and a blink away from falling asleep, so you tell me.”

“Fair enough.” He rolls his eyes good-naturedly, taking your thigh in his grasp to move it aside. “Alright if I clean you up, love?”

You startle, coming up on your elbows to see where Remus is holding the towel between your legs. “I didn’t realize it’d be so messy,” you admit. “You don’t have to, though, I can do it myself.”

“I don’t mind,” he says, thumb soothing over your knee. “S’my mess anyway.” He seems to have not quite agreed with himself to say that last part aloud, a blush spreading over his cheeks.

“Sure,” you say, mostly to alleviate his embarrassment. You let your weight lean more heavily on your elbows, trying your best to look relaxed. “Sure, if you’re alright with it.”

“Might be a bit sensitive,” he warns. You’d guessed as much, but it's worth it for all the praises he rains down upon you as he works, finishing with a kiss to the side of your knee.

You miss him humiliatingly when he goes to the bathroom again to discard the towel. It’s all you can do not to reach for him when he comes back, but luckily Remus reads your mind anyway, slipping under the covers and tugging you to him until his lips rest against your forehead.

“That was really great,” you tell him.

“I thought so too.”

“You’ll stay here, right?”

A low laugh. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’m staying here.”

❆ ❆ ❆

Remus hasn’t known anyone to sleep in longer than Sirius, but you seem to be vying for his title. The sun has long since passed above his windows when Remus wakes, and still he has time to spend idle hours marveling at the closeness of you. His nose is cold above the covers, but everywhere your bodies are pressed together is warm, your palm flat against his chest and one of your legs wormed between his own. Your fingers twitch as you dream.

It has to be early afternoon by the time he rises, slipping his hand carefully from beneath you and plodding into the kitchen. The blanket is still on the couch where you left it, throw pillow creased with your indentation. Your mugs are discarded on the coffee table with globs of once-hot cocoa stuck to the bottom. Bright light refracts off the snow outside and into his kitchen, making everything look shiny new.

Remus starts the kettle first, letting that warm up while he rifles through the cabinets for his big mixing bowl and starts whisking together ingredients. A bird chirps outside as the kettle gurgles, and somehow the peace of Remus’ kitchen feels more complete knowing that you’re sleeping just down the hall.

Until, apparently, you’re not. Your footsteps are so silent he startles when you appear, still blinking yourself awake as you cross your arms over the sweater you’ve thrown on with your bottoms from the night before. Remus’ sweater. And Remus had thought he’d come to terms with the idea of you here, in his apartment like the best Christmas gift of all time, but apparently not, because his heart stutters and stops at the sight of you.

He’d thought you’d looked adorable in the soft glow of the Christmas lights the night before, and again tucked into his sheets this morning, but you’re almost ethereal now. Sunlight bathes the planes of your face and gleams off your hair, making you appear almost like you’re emanating the bright light rather than standing in it. You smile at him, seraphim.

“Morning. Sorry I didn’t ask,” you say, fingering the hem of Remus’ sweater. “I was cold and you were gone, I hope you don’t mind.”

Mind? Remus can’t even think.

“Course not,” he manages, but just barely. It’s more an exhale than a statement. “Did you sleep alright?”

“Really well,” you say. His sleeves cover your fingers as you rest your elbows on the counter, and your gaze has gone a bit shy again, but Remus can hardly blame you. You both seemed to have experienced unusual nerve the night before. He only hopes you aren’t regretting your part in it. And now that he’s had some time to think, he hopes even more that you’d truly wanted it in the first place. “Did you?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

You lean a bit closer in a way that he doubts either of you are even slightly unaware of, peering into the mixing bowl. “What’re you making?”

“I’m experimenting,” he says, though he wishes now he weren’t. He wanted to make you something good, but his confidence in his adaptation is waning now that you’re in the room. He should have gone with something basic, tried-and-true. “Or, I’m attempting. Gingerbread pancakes?”

His voice crawls up into a question, as if he really has no idea what it is he’s trying to make (maybe that’s closer to the truth), but Remus’ regrets vanish instantly at the genuine elation that lights your expression.

“Really?”

A laugh startles out of him, giddy. “Yeah, does that sound alright?”

“More than alright,” you declare with full seriousness, seating yourself at the bar counter. “That sounds amazing, Rem, thank you. Merlin, I owe you so big for all of this.”

“I think you’ve more than made it up to me.” It slips out without permission, Remus too high on the flow of your conversation to filter the words through his brain before they reach his mouth. His loathsome, traitorous mouth. “I mean, I’m sorry—fuck, that sounds awful—I only meant that I’ve had a really good time with you here. I’m glad you stayed.”

You flush horribly, and Remus doesn’t expect he’s faring much better.

“Not that I’m only glad because of—or, I’m always glad to have you. As a friend, too.”

There’s a tiny pinch in your features, gone before he can diagnose it. Somehow, you seem even more uncomfortable. “Right.” You give him a thin smile. It’s a hearty attempt, but you’re too genuine a soul to fake it. Remus hates himself for it. “As a friend.”

They’re his own words, put hearing them from your mouth and with that piss-poor smile feels like having a fire poker jammed between his ribs.

With his track record this morning, he really should be taking a vow of silence, but he can’t seem to stop himself. “Just friends, then?” Hesitance makes his voice sound quiet even in the silent kitchen. He looks down, stirring the batter to avoid watching the answer take form on your face.

“I mean,” your tone is a match to his, “is that what you want?”

A short, soft laugh escapes him. “I think I made what I want fairly clear last night.”

There’s a short silence. “I thought I did too.”

It’s a conscious effort to keep stirring. Had you? Remus had kissed you, he’d brought you to his room, he’d been the one to ask if you wanted to do more. And you’d been game for it all, sure, but he can’t help but wonder if you were just going along with it. If maybe you’d thought it was just a fuck, something he’d come up with to pass the time while you were both snowed in, no strings attached. Remus could understand that. He could disentangle the strings from last night if it’s what you want. But he’s liked you for years. He could love you oh so easily. He’s practically teetering on the edge of it already, though you’ve only been friends all this time.

Remus spoons some batter into a waiting pan on the stove. He’s debating asking what exactly it is that you thought you’d made clear when you speak again.

“I understand if it’s too much for you.” Your voice is shy. He looks up, and your shoulders are hunched as if you’re trying to hide yourself. You shrink further under his gaze. “We can stay just friends if it’s…if that’s what you want. I want whatever’s easier for you.” Your next words are so impossibly soft, Remus has to strain to hear them over the low sizzling of the pancake batter. “I really want you to stay in my life.”

“What?” It’s a staccato, loud enough that it surprises you both, Remus stepping toward you while you nearly flinch back. “Sorry.” His hand goes up, reaching into the space between you as if he can soothe you from feet away. He lowers his volume. “Sorry, sweetheart, I just—I didn’t realize that was even on the table. I would never want to not be in your life.”

“I just mean that I don’t want to make things weird for you, or for everyone else—”

“Hey.” He manages to cross the distance this time, his hand landing on your wrist atop the counter. Remus isn’t sure why he needs it there so desperately, but he suddenly feels much better. “There is nothing that could make any of us not want to be friends with you. I can speak for everyone in that regard. Okay?”

You look at him consideringly for a moment. Remus holds your stare, letting you see his certainty. “Okay,” you echo, sounding unsure. He’ll deal with that later, he decides.

“Okay,” he says once more, and it’d almost be firm if it weren’t so gentled by the tenderness he can never seem to get rid of around you. Even so, what he says next doesn’t sound particularly tender. It’s not very kind to you, he knows, but Remus is selfish, and he feels (selfishly) like he’s done his part already. He tries to phrase it as nicely as he can. “Can you tell me what it is that you want, please?”

You try to shrink again, and Remus’ grip tightens on your wrist instinctually as if to keep you from running off. He swipes his thumb over your skin apologetically. “Remus, come on.” You sound almost upset, but it’s hard to tell with your voice so quiet. “I know I’m not that good at—at covering myself up. I must have hearts in my eyes half the time I look at you.”

Remus would give a month’s rent to know what you can see in his eyes right now. Even if he’d been hoping for an answer something like that, he hadn’t expected it. And for you to act like it’s been obvious…he does his best to think back.

You’ve always been a shy thing. It had taken James months to get you to be remotely yourself around them, and though you’d seemed to warm to Remus first, you’d always retained some of your bashfulness when you were alone together. He’d chalked it up to the result of two people, quiet by nature, with no wildly extroverted James or Sirius or Lily to run interference.

You’ve always been kind to him, but you’re kind to everyone. How is anyone supposed to suspect favoritism from a soul as indiscriminately sweet as yours?

He recalls your voice last night, thin and reedy and fragile as the cattails that had bordered the river behind his house as a kid. Wary of getting swept along by the current, but willing to go if Remus would take you. Do you want this?

He’d called you oblivious for asking. How could you wonder, when he’d been the one to kiss you and has probably been looking like he wanted to for years? He’s certainly been thinking about it for as long. But perhaps your obliviousness is another congruity between the two of you.

So much for opposites attract.

“I think I’m an idiot,” he says, and mercifully, a smile far more real than the last sneaks onto your face.

“You are not,” you reply, ever forgiving.

“Don’t tell Sirius,” he warns, “but I really think I am.” His voice drops into a more earnest register. “I had no idea, love, I’m sorry. Maybe you’re a better actress than you thought. But if you don’t want to be friends, I don’t want to either.” Remus hesitates. “Or, I always want to be your friend, just—”

“Remus?”

Finally. Someone needs to stop him. “Yeah?”

“Your pancake…”

He turns to find a thin spire of smoke rising from the pan. “Oh, fuck.” He grabs a spatula and quickly flips the pancake, but there’s no saving it. The bottom side is completely blackened. It’s inedible. “Sorry, I…I’m not sure I have enough batter for much more.”

“It’s fine.” There’s laughter in your tone, and that’s more than enough to make up for it. “It was a really sweet thought, that’s what matters anyway.”

Remus turns to find you’ve slipped out of your seat and are standing uncertainly on the threshold of the kitchen. His heart warms with incandescent, aching fondness.

“Would you come here?” he asks.

You comply with an eagerness he wonders he’s never noticed before, stepping forward to let him fold you into his arms. Your wrists cross over his mid back and the tip of his nose mushes into your hair as he touches his lips to the top of your head. He can’t believe he could have been holding you like this all along if only he hadn’t been so thick. He supposes he’ll have to make the most of it now.

“Let’s do away with asking about want, does that sound alright?” He rubs lightly between your shoulder blades, wonders if you like the feel of his breath on your scalp. “How about you tell me if anything comes up that you don’t want, and I’ll do the same.”

“Yeah.” Remus knows he likes the feel of your voice on his skin, chin moving against his chest. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Good.” He smiles, pressing another kiss to your head. “Okay, should we venture out to find something for breakfast? Or lunch, I suppose it is by now.”

You ease out of his arms. “I really should go home.” There’s an apology already embedded in your tone, but you add one anyway. “Sorry, but my cat’s been there all night by herself, so…”

“Right.” Remus ignores the dull throb behind his sternum, which is really a bit dramatic. He’ll see you soon, surely. “Yeah, that makes sense. Think you’ll be able to drive?”

“I mean, I looked outside.” You shrug, backing towards where you’d hung your coat the night before. “The roads here are cleared, which I hope means they’ve gotten to most of them already.”

“That’s good,” he says, though he feels the opposite. Your poor cat, he’s pitted completely against her now. She’s done nothing to deserve the resentment he’s directing at her, almost petulant in his malcontent. “Good, good.”

You’re both silent as you put on your shoes, your scarf. It’s not unusual for the two of you, but it lacks its usual easy contentedness. Your eyes flit up as you pull on your new gloves, a silent thanks in them that you know Remus won’t let you voice aloud again. Despite the upset in his chest, he smiles.

“I…listen, I have to go home,” you tell him, looking down as you wriggle your fingers more snugly into the gloves. “I have to feed my cat. But that doesn’t necessarily mean I want to…leave.”

Remus can’t see how that changes anything, but he recognizes it for the olive branch it is. You’re both so uncertain, and you’re trying to alleviate his worries about what you leaving right now means. He can return the favor.

“I don’t want you to leave either,” he says, “but I get it. She seems important to you, best to keep her well.”

“Exactly.” You smile, relieved. “But I mean, if you’re not doing anything, you could come meet her? We could pick up breakfast on the way. Or I could make you something there.”

Remus can’t believe his luck. And, once again, his stupidity in not getting there himself. Why is it that all of a sudden, everything that has to do with you seems so absurdly difficult? At least one of you is thinking clearly.

“Yeah, that would be fantastic.” He’s grinning hugely, totally unlike him but liking it very much. “Let me grab my coat.”

“Wait.” There’s a newly familiar breathless quality to your voice, and when Remus turns you’re already coming forward to meet him. Your palm slides against the stubble along his jaw as you stretch your neck, kissing him sweetly on the lips. “There,” you say, timidity shrouded beneath a good layer of happiness, “now we’re even.”

Remus laughs, loud and startled. He wants to be generous with you, he really does, but he still thinks you’re far from even. “I’m not sure about that, sweetheart,” he says warmly, pressing a brief kiss to the corner of your eyebrow, “but we'll get there.”

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fushic0re · 5 months

Text

𝐀 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃❜𝐒 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐎

𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐓 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗨 𝗚𝗢𝗝𝗢, 𝗦𝗨𝗚𝗨𝗥𝗨 𝗚𝗘𝗧𝗢, 𝗞𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗢 𝗡𝗔𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗜, 𝗧𝗢𝗝𝗜 𝗙𝗨𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗚𝗨𝗥𝗢, 𝗥𝗬𝗢𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧 𝗦𝗨𝗞𝗨𝗡𝗔, & 𝗔𝗢𝗜 𝗧𝗢𝗗𝗢.

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟑 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝑹𝒊𝒌𝒂𝒏𝒆 𝑾𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑨𝒅𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒓 ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ─ how they are as gift givers (how soon do they shop, do they shop late, etc.)

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ─ 18+ ONLY; MINORS DNI. a bit of angst for toji because i can’t help myself. mentions of violence.

꒰ ͜͡➸ 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘, 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆! 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒❜ 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 & 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑! ♡

𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

WE’RE STARTING OFF WITH THE BEST.

You literally don’t need to make it overt what you want for Christmas–not even just Christmas if we’re being real.

Takes gift giving very seriously. It’s more than just handing you things he has bought for you, it’s about celebrating you and how highly he regards you

…..Though there’s no price that can be put on how much he loves you. So, he’ll settle for spoiling you instead.

Every first of the year, he starts game planning his next gifting season.

He pays very close attention to you, memorizing your every habit down to your breathing pattern. Do not be surprised by the fact that his gifts are always immaculately packaged with wrapping paper that is the exact shade of that new color you’ve been into (yes, that one) paired with a complimentary bow and card to match.

A professional spy when it comes to purchasing your gifts.

Oh, that top you looked at for literally only 5 seconds? He’s already putting it on hold in your size for him to come pick up later.

If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought Kento never bought you anything because you never noticed a change in routine. Not a single one.

He also doesn’t put his gifts under the tree until two days before Christmas so that your nosey self doesn’t snoop through them.

You literally wake up one morning to the tree flooded with gifts and him just nonchalantly sipping his coffee.

His favorite gifts to plan are vacations for you guys. You are his motivating factor to rest and actually live the life he has made for himself.

While his gifts are immaculate, it’s his cards that are the real tear jerkers.

He writes you the most beautiful things. You stopped reading his cards when people were around because they made you sob.

Truthfully, the real gift is the sweet messages your lover leaves you.

𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎

Suguru is right up there with Kento in terms of gift giving.

This man is observant and prepared, putting in lots of time, care, and effort into buying you gifts.

He isn’t above sourcing your friends too. Every year, your friends get a text like, “If she mentions wanting something to you, text me ASAP please. Thank you!”

At this point, he has a whole database of things you like and want.

Unlike Kento, Suguru won’t be as secretive. He knows you know when he’s out shopping for you and loves teasing you when you get curious.

He’ll literally taunt you about all the things he’s getting you until you’re foaming at the mouth and going feral while trying to guess what he got you.

Packages his gifts and immediately puts them under the tree when you’re asleep that way you wake up to a new gift every morning until Christmas.

“Oh! Someone got a gift from Santa. Sigh, I wonder, I wonder, I wonder.”

Gift giving is symbolic to him as well. Every gift of his is sentimental and has a connection to aspects of your relationship.

Remember the cherry blossoms that had just bloomed at the park you guys were at when he first asked you out? He stuffed some in his pocket and had them framed. The dried Sakuras now hang on your office wall, a reminder of his love for you every time you work.

𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

Money is clearly nothing to this man…but that’s what makes Christmas shopping for you hard.

He literally buys you everything you want on the spot! What the hell else is he supposed to give you?

Struggles a bit for this reason.

He tries to splurge on your less throughout the year to build up Christmas, but it’s impossible. He absolutely cannot see something that makes him think of you and not get it.

For this reason, you tell him that it’s okay that he doesn’t get you anything on Christmas since every day with him is like Christmas….this falls on deaf ears.

Really he’s most concerned with getting you something meaningful since like I said, you have everything you could possibly need and want.

Uses Megumi and Tsumiki for his emotional appeal factor.

For sure asks Suguru and Kento for help.

Ultimately, he decides to go for something simple and sentimental yet still very Satoru–a gorgeous ring with your birthstone with a sweet message engraved inside and a family photo of both of you with Megumi and Tsumiki.

That ring is just a warm up for the real deal…but he’ll plan that a little bit more elaborately.

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

Women like perfume, flowers, and shit right?

God bless this man. It’s been a while since he had to shop for a woman, he’s just trying his best.

He still needs help though.

Since the passing of his late wife, he hasn’t opened up to anyone, let alone another woman.

But here comes you in all of your glory waltzing into his life and defying all of his expectations, bulldozing his walls down like they were made of straw.

He wanted so badly to give you a token of his appreciation and love for you, but it’s so hard.

It’s hard walking through the familiar flower shop he used to frequent to buy his late wife flowers.

It’s hard thinking of her so much because he can’t help it when he does things like this.

It’s hard subtly comparing you both as he shops for you, but she’s the only other woman he’s ever loved and his only guide to doing right by you.

Toji’s not a rich man. He won’t ball out on you the way Satoru or even Kento does.

He resorts to a lot of homemade gifts with the help of Megumi because lord knows he can’t craft for shit.

He takes the traditional approach with flowers, breakfast in bed, homemade ornaments–little things that bring life and love into your shared home.

He saves all of his measly paychecks to buy you a locket. Inside is a picture of you, him, and Megumi.

On the other side of the locket are the words he’s too afraid to say out loud because they’ll break him…..

“Thank you for loving me.”

𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

………God.

Do not tell this man you want anything because he will get it for you, but tenfold.

Oh, you enjoyed your trip to Kyoto? He’ll kill everyone there so you both are the sole inhabitants of the city. Kyoto is now yours.

You love the ocean? Great, it’s yours and whoever roams it without permission will be considered trespassers and dealt with accordingly.

Fuck a beach house, he’ll just give you the whole sea.

He will literally mount the heads of your enemies on the mantel or hang their beating hearts on a gold chain that you can wear around your neck if it brings you joy.

In his head, there are no limits when it comes to his Queen of Curses. None whatsoever.

He wants you to be instantly gratified. You are the one person he feels the need to prove something to.

There really isn’t much to be said other than this.

This man would burn the world if it meant keeping you warm, so don’t be surprised when he does.

𝐀𝐎𝐈 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐎

……God 2.0.

Aoi is the kind of guy to buy you a whole present just because you sneezed and that calls for a pick-me-up present.

He buys you apology gifts when you have to open a door by yourself because he isn’t around.

Christmas is his time to SHINE.

He approaches it like it’s an Olympic sport that he needs to win otherwise he’s unworthy of being your man.

Shops early as hell so that the things you want don’t sell out.

Not above throwing hands if he needs to snag the last of your items.

Your wishlist is essentially a binding vow to him and if he doesn’t fulfill it, he’ll die.

Horrible at hiding them because he gets so overwhelmed with excitement that he wants you to see what he got you right away. The gifts don't even get wrapped.

By the time Christmas actually arrives, his presents are the only ones under the tree because he forced you to open all of yours prior.

He tried to control himself, but at some point he literally starts waking you up in the middle of the night because he will not sleep out of pure adrenaline.

SO DRAMATIC. He practically gives you his presents like he’s acting out a Shakespearean play.

He’ll kneel, bow, and grandly bestow each present upon you with two hands.

Your reactions mean the world to him.

Each time you get all giggly and happy opening gift after gift, his heart swells.

He could deadass start crying tears of joy right then and there tbh.

Those reactions are his gift.

#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #aoi todo x reader #aoi todo #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk headcanons

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noosayog · 7 months

Text

[baby fever] ft. kageyama tobio

wc: 300

iwaizumi | ushijima | atsumu | osamu | sakusa

“Have you ever thought about having a kid?”

“A kid?” you echo.

He nods, the sunset light dyeing his face in an orange-red hue.

“Tobio,” you laugh lightheartedly. “Is this what you’re thinking so hard about?”

He looks put out by your laugh, the sure signs of a budding Tobio Tantrum. “Yeah.”

“Tobio, we’re so young! Maybe one day…”

He nods, but you’ve known him for so long, you notice the slight puff of his cheeks and jut of his bottom lip.

“Tobio, are you seriously pouting about this?”

“‘M not pouting. I don’t pout.” he says as he crosses his arms over his chest. Turns his cheek away from you.

Tobio gets like this with you sometimes. And he always gets over it. So you just laugh his attitude off and continue the walk home with a sullen Tobio toddling behind you.

It’s only later that night when the two of you are in bed that he broaches the topic again.

“But the others have them already,” he grumbles against your back.

“What?” you say, turning around to face him in the darkness.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Nope. What did you say?”

He tucks his chin inward, hiding his face. “Oikawa already has kids. Even stupid Hinata has ‘em.”

“Tobio,” you sputter in disbelief. “It’s not a contest!”

“But I’m ready.” he says, blue eyes clear and sure even in the dark. “And I love you. Don’t you?” He looks at you expectantly.

“I guess I’ve just never thought seriously about it. But… I don’t not want a baby with you.” you offer hesitantly.

He lights up like a christmas tree. “You mean it?”

“Yeah, I mean, I love you and…”

He doesn’t let you finish because he’s already all over you, body flipped on top of yours, hands reaching under your shirt, and lips tracing your face.

“Love you too. Love you so much…” he slurs between kisses.

And you were going to finish your thought by saying that the two of you need to talk it through thoroughly, preferably when you aren’t drunk with sleep, but his kisses are turning you into mush and now you’re feeling drunk on something else and this one’s a secret, but the image of your pouting Tobio gives you visions of a future baby who pouts exactly like their father.

#noos writes #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq x y/n #hq x you #hq imagines #hq fluff #kageyama tobio #kageyama x you #kageyama fluff #kageyama tobio x you #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama x reader

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libraryofloveletters · 4 months

Text

Stuff It

Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader

Warnings: cheesy boyfriend charles, horrible artistic skills, pascale knows you two are just idiots in love, first christmases together.

Word Count: 661

Author's Note: charles seems like the type of guy to go to his mom when he's stuck on what to give as a gift so here we are lmao

Charles goes a bit over board seeing that it’s your first Christmas with him, as his girlfriend that is. He revives an old tradition you two had as children.

The thing about lifelong friendships, they often leave a little to no room for a surprise.

So on you and Charles, your lifelong best friend, finally being to date, there isn't much he could do to surprise you.

It's your first Christmas together as a couple officially, and Charles just wants to do something to make it special for you. He's tried to do everything he could think of, from googling to Pinterest to asking his brothers, who let's be real, weren't much help. He finally turned to the one person he knows would have an answer for him.

"Maman, je ne sais pas quoi faire." (Mom, I don't know what to do.) Charles's chin rests on the palm of his hand, watching as his mom cuts the fruit at the kitchen counter

Pascale hums, as if in thought for a moment before she speaks. "Why don't you stuff a stocking for her?"

"I'm not 6 years old, maman." He huffs, his brows furrowed and she smiles - he looked exactly like he did when he was 6 years old right now.

"I know that Charles, but when you guys were little you used to exchange stockings, remember? You draw her a picture and we put sweets and little toys in for her."

Charles tries to think, it sounded familiar and he nods. "Yeah, okay."

"Are you staying for lunch ?" The woman asks and he shakes his head, kissing her cheek after he gets up. "I'll be back tomorrow, love you!" He shouts to her as he heads out the door.

He has the shops with one thing in mind, find you a stocking that suited you best. He searches and searches and with no luck does he find one with a picture that suits you. Finally in a last ditch effort, he ends up in some random shop that sold random odds and ends for Christmas.

There's a blue stocking with snowflakes, and printed along the side of it with your initials on the top; Charles thinks what is his luck to find this.

He pays the man at the counter and heads home with the stocking shoved into the bag. He had picked up a few things he thought you'd like while he was at the other store.

The stocking sits on the coffee table, filled with all your favourite beauty products, sweets, and a few other odds and ends that Charles thinks that you might need or like.

He was working on the last thing that he wanted to put in, a drawing of you and him in front of his race car, which was, in his words, rather poorly drawn.

He folds the paper carefully, slipping it into the side of the stocking before picking it up to put it away before you come home.

It was as if he summoned you, the front door opened and in you came with a bag in hand. "Hi love," you smiled.

Charles's hands are behind his back and he's a bit shifty. You look at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows. "You okay?"

"I have something for you," he says, pulling the stocking out from behind his back.

You can't help but laugh, a big smile on your face as you reach into the bag that you brought in with you. You pull out a red stocking with Christmas trees on it and show Charles.

"Did you talk to my mom?" He asks, as you two switch stockings. You nod, smiling, "I guess you did too."

It was no surprise that you and Charles found your way to each other, you are identical in almost every way. The stockings contain a few of the same things, the same sweets, the same drawings.

To be fair, your drawing was a bit better than Charles' but it's the thought that counts.

Your hand rests on his jaw, giving him a kiss. "thank you baby, this is the sweetest thing you could have done."

#holiday extravaganza blurbs 23 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x y/n #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 imagine #f1 blurb

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daddyricsdoll · 4 months

Text

Last Christmas ✭ Lando Norris

Summary: Christmas couldn't be finished without a special present from Lando, maybe more than one.

Warnings: Masterbating, voyeurism, thigh riding, face riding, usage of toys, bondage, unprotected sex and creampie.

Word count: 1.9k

A/N: This took a little while longer than expected, but I hope you enjoy it just like me and Lando did last night.

Lando walks back into the room with a medium sized box between his large hands. I shake my head in unbelief as he brings me what seems like the 100th present of the night.

“I swear, this is the last one. The best.” A smirk on his gorgeous tan face as he places the box on my lap. I observe it, trying to guess what he could’ve kept in here but then easily give up and untie the delicate bow. The lid is removed right after and my eyes are met with a dildo, vibrator and flimsy but such beautiful lingerie. I squeeze my legs together as it reminds me of last Christmas, our first Christmas together. Lando had gifted me long pieces of silk, which ended in me tied up and helpless while Lando used me however he liked.

My eyes revert back to Lando when he speaks. “I want you to use it.”

“When you’re not here?” I ask so innocently, imagining sending him the videos of me utilising these toys.

“No, now.” A spark in his deep eyes as he silently ushers me to slide my clothes off. I slowly remove the box off my lap and stand in front of him, taking my clothes off leisurely in the way he had always enjoyed me to do. Lando’s eyes glide all over my body as they make contact with his favourite piece of lingerie that I own.

His calloused hands reach out to me and pull me on his lap by my hips. He doesn’t kiss me, but eyes move around my face. They move from each of my eyes to my mouth, and his warm breath touches my face as it leaves the gap between his parted lips.

Inevitably I lean in, trying to close the centimetres between us. “Not yet, let me watch you.” He says against my skin and I have to hold back from disobeying his wishes, just for that little contact. But another need for contact grows, and that contact is between my legs. He quickly tilts his head up, chin pointing toward the blank space on the carpet next to the fireplace and christmas tree.

“Show me what you would do if I wasn’t here.” Lando hands the dildo to me and I get up to stay situated on the floor in front of him. My legs widen and his pigmented eyes lock onto my dripping core. The little bite of his lips force me to clench around nothing before he nods and I run the dildo through my folds.

My lips parted and deep breaths left my mouth as I tease my clit with the dildo before slipping it inside of me slowly. I adapt to the size, not as thick as Lando, and certainly doesn’t feel like him, but it helps ease the need between my legs for now.

My eyes shut close as I started harshly pumping it inside of me. “Open your eyes.” He commands me as his legs are spread and he leans back on the sofa. I find his gaze as he watches me intently, moving from my face then down my body and to the place that holds all the action.

The room silent apart from hushed moans and wet sounds. Deep groans are kept in Lando’s throat as mine are let out involuntarily. I raise my hips and force the dildo to go deeper just to tip me off the edge. My arm grows tired but the look on Lando’s face keeps me ravenous for more.

I curse his name multiple times, eyes struggling to stay entangled with his and he tells me he knows by the curl of his lip. My stomach flew at his little smirk, and it was all I needed for my climax to nudge me. I don’t stop thrusting as I release even after it washes over me.

“Get up.” The first words I hear leave his mouth after minutes. I slide the dildo out of me, feeling empty and in need of something to fill it soon. I stand up and make my way to Lando, my arousal stuck between each of my thighs, and slowly reaching lower.

My waist is pulled into him, and I land on one of his thighs. My slick immediately covers his pants and the fabric of his pants brushes against my clit harshly. A quick moan fleeing my mouth before he captures me in a kiss. Hands gripping me tightly, and lace probably making indents in my skin.

I grind against his thigh as the feeling is now a drug to me. Our lips seem like magnets that can’t have any second away from each other. My fingers pull against the curls on his head as we exchange moans. My swollen clit so sensitive that the feeling of his pants against me brings my climax back up.

My knee strokes the bulge in his pants and Lando bites my lip. Each feeling making us so vulnerable. I cum in those short seconds and suddenly my body is being lifted. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively as he holds me as he walks us to the bedroom.

My body is thrown onto the bed and I watch as Lando slips his blazer off. “Fuck, you came on my pants from riding my thigh.” He licks his lips before biting them slowly. “I want you to ride my face.” Lando strides toward me, full of purpose. I stay where I am, leaning on my elbows and my legs slightly parted near the end of the bed. His large hands grab my legs and pull me toward him before they grip the lace of my lingerie and he rips it off of my body.

“I’ll buy you another. Fuck I’ll buy as many as you want.” A moan leaves my mouth at his words. He crawls onto the bed and rests his head on a pillow before I leisurely crawl up his body and hover just above his thick neck. I look down at him, eyes silently commanding me to make another move and let it be one where his tongue can touch my pussy.

His hands hold my ass as mine grip the headboard when I slowly inch closer to his face. Lando pulls me down onto him and I whine at the first stroke of his tongue against and through my folds. He guides my hips to move along with his mouth and when his lips wrap around my clit my fingers go into his perfect curls. I continue riding his face, certain my arousal covers his skin.

The little glimpse I got of his face was enough to make me feel more comfortable and my muscles lose tension. Lando mumbles words against me which sends a vibration on my core and tingles throughout my body.

I let his fingers dig into my skin and help move my body around. Each movement he makes adds onto the friction and escalation to my climax. He buried his tongue inside of me and curled it multiple times. Involuntarily making my hips writhe.

And just like we had both expected, I cum onto his face for the first time this intriguing night. I flop onto the duvet beside me, out of breath and most definitely tired. My pussy is most definitely swollen and I probably can’t take anymore, but with Lando, I know there’s more and he’ll make me handle it.

The weight of his body leaves the bed but I don’t question it as my eyes don’t stop fluttering. His footsteps leave then come back and when my eyes open I see him standing beside me. “You tasted so good, but time for something else.” He lifts four silk ribbons in front of my eyes and I know exactly what my next moves are. I stretch out each of my limbs, letting them get tied to the bed and making me feel a sense of vulnerability.

The light sound of buzzing fills my ears and when I strain my neck to catch a glance at the man who holds all control, a relatively small vibrator is in his hands. I had already felt so much this one night that I can feel it even when it doesn’t make contact with me. The contact wasn’t firm, and I couldn’t handle his teasing which results in begs leaving my mouth.

“Please Lando. I need to feel it. I-I can see how close it is and-” My words are cut off when the vibrator is pushed roughly against my clit. Loud moans and whines leave my mouth and my eyes shut close at the feeling. The feeling is soon gone when he lets go of the vibrator and it lays between my legs, but not touching any of them.

I can hear and feel it against the duvet before I’m distracted with Lando now tying a piece of that silk ribbon across my eyes. “I don’t want you to see how close it is, I want you to feel it.” The sentence leaves his mouth smoothly.

All of my other senses now heightened and my hearing now is the only thing still keeping me sane as I lose contact with him. The light sound of his belt travels to my ears before it’s covered by a buzz of the vibrator.

I wait and the anticipation grows. The weight of Lando on the lower half of the bed splits my attention and instead of feeling the vibrator against my folds it’s the tip of his dick. My breath hitches and Lando doesn’t take his time as he thrusts into me.

Not stopping so I can get used to his size, but making sure it happens while he stretches me during every ram. I have no control of my body at this moment, but I don’t see it as a problem. Lando lifts my hips and my g-spot becomes an easier target for him to hit. Doing more than just stroking it with every drive into me. My mind remembers every little nanometre of him while he ruins me with his dick. Hands balling into fists, but only wishing to be in his hair.

I wish to see the little grin on his face, but the blindfold steals that privilege from me, but it gives me the one of feeling him even better. I take notice of his movements more prominently as it’s the only thing that can help me predict what will happen next.

His skin brushes along my oversensitive clit and it brings my climax right in front of me. I allow my body to go limp in his arms as he uses me like an object. My climax comes faster than expected when I clench around his dick and make him groan in such an unholy way. The wet noises of Lando riding my high out to get him to his was more than music to my ears. But when he finally came, he made sure it wasn’t the same as others.

I feel his cum fill me, not leaving a place untouched. Lando pulls out and his tongue circles around my nipple while his other hand teases my other, soon swapping to evenly spread the sensation. His cum seeps out of me and slowly starts to cover the duvet. I can’t help but feel aroused at the thought of him filling me up so much that it drips out of my ruined pussy.

“This was better than last christmas huh?” Lando mumbles against my lips as he finally takes my blindfold off. I get to be welcomed by his eyes and I don’t manage to look anywhere else for moments too long. Moments I was glad were used on him.

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belokhvostikova · 3 months

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𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | After five months of no reconciliation with the man whose lifestyle became too much for you to manage, you're met with your ex-boyfriend, the rockstar, after an accident leaves you in the hospital, and you face the realization that Eddie Munson is still your emergency contact.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, crying, mentions of alcohol consumption, hard drug use, insecurities, minor jealousy, fighting, breakup, brief mention of infidelity (no cheating, though), hospital setting, head injury, concussion, mentions of stitches, mentions of blood, and mentions of seizures.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Y'all, I'm 19! So, as a gift to you (whatever logic that is) here's a fic that takes place around Christmas, so I guess, also a belated Christmas gift. Happy birthday and Merry Christmas! Also, the extent of my knowledge on injuries is purely based on the fact that I took both Health Science I and II in high school, and, well, that's it. So, if anything is inaccurate, NO IT'S NOT (because I said so).

“Will you-” so vividly, you heard his boisterous laughter dense the air sweetly, his face glowing with the ever peaking sunlight that glimmered the sparkling snow outside each time you peered up to his extended height. “It’s like you’re trying to make me fall!” His dramatic accusations were merely met with your fits of giggles, something he so gladly wished to always be met with, as the graze of your cold fingers buzzed his skin with the excitement of what used to be your touch. “Seriously, baby, I can’t finish this if you’re attacking me.”

But you made no effort to stop, continuing your precise placement of delicate ornaments upon the belt loops of his jeans, the links of his chain, the pockets of his backside, perhaps even one snuggly secured in the threaded rips of his pants. With your boyfriend at your mercy—stuck a couple feet higher atop the fifth step of the ladder to fulfill your dreams of draping green garland to surround your high rise windows—you couldn’t help the ebullient urge to decorate him as you pleased, bringing some loving festivities to the black denim ensemble he regularly sported.

Effervescent balls of sparkling reds and yellows accompanied the hanging bandana of his back pocket. “You’re like my very own personal Christmas tree!” You beamed upwards, watching a smile that was personal to himself, as he lavished in the innocence this holiday expelled from you. “C’mon,” a fatuous whine that had him chuckling with strings of fake green leaving his hand to secure around the window frame, “have a little spirit!”

And perhaps, that’s all you were trying to have now: spirit.

Because in the blink of an eye, the purity of crystalline, white snow had turned into sludges of watery dirt to meet the once twinkling hues to stringing lights that now simply became the bane of your existence. Because to you, everything embellished itself as a mockery to the happily ever after you now no longer had.

But it never hurt to try, and yet, trying became the very literal thing that hurt you.

“…What occurred in the midst of their fourth track, Corroded Coffin’s notable ‘Goliath’s Wrath,’ left fans in a frenzy, when frontma…” Your eyes blurred with exhaustion, attempting to fight back the heaviness of your eyelids that left your vision impaired by spotty shades of blacks and whites. Various pitches of ringing clashing with static voices began provoking that throbbing ache in your head that pounded your brain to mush. “…Information falls scarcely upon accuracy, though there were mentions of a family emergency as to the reaso…” One harsh breath for your dense chest left your nose to be invaded by the artificial, bitterness of antiseptic. All more of a reason for your eyes to screw shut in a brutal endeavor to appease the gnawing of your head. “…Demanding refunds for a set that had to go on without the leading m-”

“You’re up!” Your eyes shot open. His aging skin told stories of his life, crinkling into an abundance of creases that welcomed your startled awakening. “I know things may seem a little scary and confusing here, kid.” Heaving became an understatement when your eyes accepted the burning tiles of white around the room, and suddenly, whatever news outlet that was recounting the upheaval of 90s Hollywood from the tiny television that served its purpose of passing time was becoming drowned out by the abrasive beeping of monitors that clung to your body with tubes. “But just bare with me, alright, everything’s going to be okay.”

Okay? Your body felt cold under the roughness of hospital linen. “I-I…” A reckless try at sitting up left your mouth soaring with an agonizing groan from the pain, your sore body all too weak for the heavy lifting at your head, that suddenly felt the density of a dozen bricks that smashed together.

“Take it easy, alright.” The older gentleman smiled, urging you to lay back against the flat pillow with his simple gestures. “I know things are a little hazy here, but my name is Dr. Rosenthal, would you be able to tell me yours?” Your brows scowled at the disparaging child-talk the man thirty years your senior was showcasing you.

With a roll to your eyes—something instantly regretted because of the pain in your head—you dryly croaked. “Y-Y/N.” It was all too bright. God, what would it give to flip off the overhead lights? You never really were a fan of overhead lights, but his excuse of, “we have money now, these lights can stay on,” had a knack for making you giggle. It’d been five months since those overhead lights were ever turned on again. You wondered how often Ed-

“That’s great!” Dr. Rosenthal smiled, and you accepted the scraping scribble of his pen against his papered clipboard to satiate the buzz of your brain. “Tell me, Y/N can you remember anything about how you may have gotten here? Any recollections you may-”

“Where is- is she here?!” You fought the throb of your head to snap into the direction of the door, where Dr. Rosenthal mimicked your concern. In truth, the smell hadn’t been all too great; beads of perspiration coated his body in part with the concoction of spiced cologne and the bitter bourbon he regularly downed before coming face-to-face with thousands in a packed arena. “Y/N- she’s- what, what happe- oh, shit!” Cindy Jaurick had been a renowned makeup artist in Hollywood, but with the dryness of his skin, even she couldn’t conceal the bruising of his sleep-deprived eyes; splotches of alabaster cream became patchy upon his bags that smeared with the waxiness of black liner.

Eddie Munson, all leather and chains that clashed with his truest self of denims and tees. A facade so greatly curated by the hands of top executives that in a span of three years, millions were acquired to his name. Such a stupid name, you now thought.

A heavy step forward left his booted foot clanking against the white tiles, a movement too abrasive for your liking, as his incoming hand has you pushing back from his reaching touch. “Excuse me, sir, you need to step back and calm down.” Dr. Rosenthal proclaimed, a man of loyalty to his position, clearly perturbed by any bothersome that came to his patients.

“I just- what the hell happened, are you okay?!” His jewelry—the real kind, far from the fake silver he once adorned that periodically fused his fingers green, but loved them more than anything—jingled to the admission of his distress, hands harshly raking through the chunks of sweaty hair over the sight of your damaged self.

An audible clap came with the hit of Dr. Rosenthal’s clipboard to Eddie’s exposed chest, where the buttons of his designer brand had been deliberate to showcase the permanent markings of his tattooed skin. “Sir, unless you are a relative or partner of-”

“Yes! Yes, I’m her boyfriend-”

Your memory hadn’t served you right for the occasions that brought you to the hospital, but you knew enough that Eddie Munson no longer brandished the title of such, given the circumstances that occurred five months ago. “N-No, he’s, um, not… anymore.”

“Then, sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave-”

“No, I- do you even know who I am?” Eddie watched your face scrunch with disgust at his language to the doctor, but whatever damage control he attempted fell short on your solidified opinion of a distasteful eye roll against him. “Shit, no- like, I mean you called me. I-I’m her emergency contact! I swear it, I’m Eddie!”

And you slumped back against your bed. Clear as day, you remembered the cursive handwriting that marked the page with the name and number of your ex-boyfriend. When a year ago, months apart finally came to a halt as Eddie’s touring schedule cleared for the coming holidays. It would suffice to say the bedroom of your quaint Indianapolis townhouse saw little abandonment, with silk sheets becoming imprinted with the weight of your bodies that refused to leave the warmth of each other’s depraved company. In doing so, your judgment became clouded from the usual routine of bathroom care that came after a heated rendezvous. But could you be blamed? Believe it or not, there actually was a time when Eddie’s embrace brought you comfort and peace. What eventually transpired into a run-of-mill UTI had actually worsened quicker than expected. Over-the-counter medication did little to relieve you from the infection, and when your back suddenly began to ache, you knew a trip to St. George's Hospital was in need. With a close call, your kidneys were able to stay intact to your body, and the use of dialysis was spared from your future. And yet, who knew the most haunting occasion of that experience would come with the boyish smile of Eddie Munson, as he watched with lovesick eyes as you entrusted him as the man you’d want in the case of an emergency.

My god, how times have changed…

“Um, yeah, yeah, he is.” You swallowed the dryness of your throat, hoping the commotion of everything would finally settle to alleviate the stress of your head.

“Well, Ms. Y/L/N, it’s up to you if you’d like him here.” Dr. Rosenthal sighed, a harsh click to his pen that surely cemented his dislike for the gaudy man upon him. “Your neighbor has already left, but I can assure you that the nurses will make frequent routines to keep you in care.”

Neighbor? “I- um, Trevor?” Your head spun with the lack thereof details that painfully tried to piece themselves together.

Eddie's hair flew with the snap of his head to your doctor, as his scowl silently demanded the explanation you both were desperate to hear. Dr. Rosenthal cleared his throat. “Ms. Y/L/N, you took quite the fall off a ladder in your home. After a while, your neighbor had found you, and did the deed of bringing you over. He mentioned you had borrowed his ladder to put up-”

“Christmas decorations.” What a wonderful feeling it was to have the epiphany that was as simple as regained memory. Where you no longer had a boyfriend to gladly bear the brunt work of Christmas decorations for your sole enjoyment, you now had to dish out yourself. Unloading dusty boxes had usually accompanied a teasing compliment to the muscles that bulged from his arms, though now, your back felt the strain of heavy lifting, because you refused to properly use your legs. “Um, y-yeah, I remember- well, I don’t remember falling, but, uh, I used Trevor’s ladder for the, um, y’know, what do you call them? The green, leaf stringy-”

“Garlands?” Dr. Rosenthal and Eddie spoke simultaneously.

And you perked up as best as your body would allow. “Yeah, garlands!” Your voice excitedly croaked. “You, uh, y-you remember?” For once, in five months, you actually acknowledged him. Eddie. “I-I like those garlands around our- my windows.”

He remembered. Your giggles ringing in his ears like magical sleigh bells. Your touch warming his skin against the burning cold. Your eyes twinkling over the simplicity of green garlands… something he couldn’t even provide you with now.

“That’s good.” Dr. Rosenthal smiled. “You’re recalling events and… history,” he pursed his lips against Eddie’s cold demeanor, “wonderfully. It’s a good sign of minimal memory loss, which falls quite commonly against those in situations as yours. When you fell, Ms. Y/L/N, your neighbor had informed us of a seizure-”

“Seizure?!” Eddie spat.

“Yes, seizure; fifteen seconds.” He clarified. “And with that, an immediate grade II concussion. We ran a necessary EEG and CT scan prior to your waking, as such classification can offer some findings. Fortunately, all we saw was the inevitable stretching of your neurons which caused a burst of electrical impulses in your brain explaining the seizure. Checking for any fracturing of the skull, or swelling, and bleeding, and you were quite lucky. Completely cleared.” His smile broke through his wrinkled face. “Though, you were brought in with quite the gash on the left side of your head, right between the parietal and occipital bone. Nothing too extreme on the severity scale, but in order to stop the bleeding we did have to repair the tissue damage with stitching.” A vapid explanation of the overly tight gauze that somehow felt like a ton of bricks around your cranium. “But other than that, your vitals are excellent.” Check, check, check off his clipboard. “It’s very likely you’ll continue experiencing a headache, perhaps some nausea, or dizziness. I do recommend an overnight stay to ensure secondary swelling doesn’t occur, and to guarantee your memory continues to function properly. But a morning discharge should be fine.”

A deep breath allowed your head to nod along. “Yeah, um, thank you… really.” You earnestly smiled.

But where you could muster a staid beam of politeness, Eddie Munson gleamed a smile so faux, even Dr. Rosenthal piqued him with a scowl—though miniscule for his professional aptitude. The heavy click of the door closing behind Dr. Rosenthal granted the heaviest breath to escape from Eddie before his attention scrutinized you.

“What the hell were you thinkin’?!” He ambushed. Seriously, he knew you for seven years. Seven years of his fucking life, and not once had you ever dared to lift a finger for manual labor. Okay, call him old fashioned, but that’s exactly what he liked about you; you know, the whole damsel in distress that needed him whenever something fell loose or broken. That’s it, just the need for him. The need to want him around. “I-I mean, seriously, you- why couldn’t you just call me- or, or, like, Steve, or someone, so you wouldn’t get hurt?” Okay, so maybe calling him wouldn’t have been your first option. If the fact of being no contact for five months wasn’t enough, surely living across the country would have ruled him out. You stopped keeping up with his whereabouts weeks ago. But that wouldn’t stop him. It was you, for Christ sake! You wanted your garlands, Eddie would have given you your garlands. No matter the lack of communication. No matter the distance.

Eddie Munson would have given you everything.

You dryly blinked. Twice. If only he felt like that when you both were still together. “Get out.”

“Okay, no- wait, I’m not trying to blame you-”

“Really? Because that’s exactly what you’re doing. Get out!” Your tired voice tried to muster.

“No, sweetheart, c’mon, I-I know- I just worded it wrong, okay? Please, I just- I don’t know why you would try to do something that would get you hurt like that. You could have, I don’t know, asked for help, like called me up, I promise I would have answered to help you-”

Your eyes rolled against his sentiment. “What, so I’m just too dimwitted to use a couple of tools?!”

“Well, you did fall.” By your stare, Eddie Munson had two seconds to live. “N-No, I didn’t say that- I, look, I just wish you would have called or someth-”

“And I wish you would just get out!” But your rash endeavor to sit up and shove him away legitimized the pitiless reality of your gnawing head hazing your vision and dismantling your balance, forcing Eddie to rush to your assistance.

“I- okay, I’ll shut up, just lay back, relax, please, sweetheart. I don’t want you hurting yourself more.”

“I’m fine.” You gritted.

“There’s a chunk of your head missing.” Eddie retaliated with a deadpan so infuriating mocking.

A huff of disbelief rippled from your dry lips. “Dr. Rosenthal just said it was no big deal.”

“Like I care what that old fuck has to say.” Your scolding eyes ripped him a new one. “Okay, geez, didn’t know you two were such close friends.”

With no energy to fight back, you permitted his touch to push you back against stiff pillows, where his ink-engraved hands worked swiftly to cover your frail body from the harsh chills of the hospital air conditioning. “I’ll be quiet, promise.” He whispered, adhering to his words, as he silently watched you close your eyes away from him, now that his presence has garnered a throbbing headache.

By the seventh beep, you no longer found interest in counting the indications of your working monitors. But where your mind lost the simple activity, you also gained attention to the whirring voices of the television. Sat by your side on the hardened chair, Eddie’s tapping toes forced your eyes to tear back-in-forth from his stance to the static colors of live footage coverage.

“Man, all I hope is for a refund!” Drunk out of his mind, as the lights of cameras began emphasizing the drugged redness of the young man’s eyes. “Like, seriously, we’re all here for The Freak, and for him to just run off like that, dude, we paid for a Corroded Coffin show, and we’re gonna get it, or else we want our money back!”

A pan to the well-dressed reporter stocked drastically to the metalheads on scene. “Well, you heard it here first, folks. As we wait for more updates on the events that occurred that left Eddie Munson running off stage to what would have been his biggest performance in his home state, fans are pressuring for a refu-”

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere right now?” Eddie's head pulled itself from his intense stare that followed the grout of the tiled floors.

“Huh?” His gaze followed yours which briefly led to the boxed television that delivered MTV’s insistent need to showcase a replay of Eddie “The Freak” Munson, lead guitarist and singer of Corroded Coffin, running off stage in the midst of their newest single, ‘Goliath’s Wrath.’ “Oh, um,” his hand waved you off, “my team will rip me a new one later, it’s fine.”

You sighed. “And just for the record, I am self aware, so I did have someone there to help me.” You muttered, leaving his brows to furrow. “Trevor?”

“Oh.” Eddie’s lips maneuvered awkwardly. “Trevor, right.” Knee bouncing, fingers tapping, Eddie knew he should have kept his mouth shut, but the question burned his mind for too long not to suddenly blurt out. “So what, are you seeing him or something?” And perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut, given the death glare you killed him with that had him reeling back his words. “I- sorry.”

“Trevor has a girlfriend. And a ladder.” You scoffed. “And you of all people cannot be talking.”

Three weeks post the headlines that announced the separation between rockstar, Eddie Munson, and his longtime girlfriend, new reports were eager to air Hollywood’s newest romance between the amoral and Playboy’s finest, Lindsey Sawyer. To say you cried for weeks was quite the understatement, when your body physically impaired you from leaving the shielding comfort of your bed. While you rotted, Eddie danced on the grave of your love with his new girlfriend, whose six inch stilettos pierced your bludgeoned heart. Granted, it lasted nothing but a couple days, though it didn’t stop from the new pattern of recurrence in which Eddie found Hollywood’s new recycled “it” girl to accompany the image of a rager rockstar. Gisele Camarella, Pam Densely, Yvonne Huntsford; a new name, face, and body to compare yourself to.

“I-” his shame flooded his cheeks crimsen, “those were never real- not, like- not like you, not you and me real. Just what management thought looked best.” Though, his quiet admission did nothing to soothe over painful memories. “I’m sorry.” Three scrapes of wooden legs scratching against white tiles was all it took to have Eddie Munson sitting by your side. “How do you feel?” His eyes fervently raked your face. “Honestly.”

“My head hurts.”

“About seeing me?” He clarified.

Silence crept up in a suffocating manner, as Eddie watched your stoic lines revise his being. “I don’t like seeing your face anymore, Eddie.” How were you able to speak those words so calmly? Eddie’s throat choked him with unbearable bitterness that burned his insides. “You look stupid. You used to never look stupid.”

Eddie Munson had a haunting past of failures; D’s and F’s marked such a bloody red over white papers, tainting any scribble of hard work he, at least, attempted at times. And what followed failed tests and quizzes only came with the taunting laughter of jocks and cheerleaders, jeering their distaste for his “kind” that branded his leather and denim as the epitome of all things they deemed nauseating. For a while, Eddie Munson believed himself to be nothing but stupid. The grades and reputation being all the evidence needed to solidify his self worth to him. Every compliment to your intelligence he gave you knew came with an underlying insecurity within him. Because you were smart, so smart. What was a smart girl like you doing with a stupid guy like him?

So, yeah, your words hurt. As they intended to.

Eddie’s eyes dropped with shame, his Adam’s apple following suit with a thick bobbing gulp of guilt. His eyes casted upon his tight leather jeans that felt insufferable under a building layer of sweat; too much eyeliner, at times clouding his vision from the very fans he loved seeing; sheer shirts waving in a draft of uncomfortableness, forcing him to long for prized t-shirts that gave him the movement to be him on stage; and a god awful personality detailed so preciously by management to make his name a headliner’s favorite.

Yeah, Eddie Munson looked so fucking stupid.

“I-I don’t like ‘em.” He stammered.

“You used to.”

July once brought Los Angeles, California a blistering heat. You hate heat.

Five months ago.

“No, no, no, he’s full of shit, I was the one who came up with ‘Goliath’s Wrath!’” The cigar browning of Gareth Emerson’s scotch dribbled his lips wet with his drunken blubber, as men surrounding—all big money and titles alike—huffed out laughter worth millions to the men that provided them such wealth.

Eddie’s nose burned with the ecstasy of white powder, dusting his beautiful features with the hedonism of all glory and power… for once, right in his hands. “Oh, fuck off, you were passed out drunk laying in your own piss when we wrote that god awful fucking song!” He laughed, joining in on the obnoxious cacophony of guffaws that held no sense of reality.

A shoulder knocked into his. Greased slicked hair, gold rings, and a suit worth your car payment; Iverson Green. And Eddie had no fucking clue what he did. “You really don’t like the upcoming song?” He whispered.

And Eddie would never know. Information as such mattered little, as long as the man helped pay his check. “These braindeads approve of all this rock shit for the image.” Eddie bit back. “If I had it my way, I’d show ‘em real metal.” He smiled.

A blood red stiletto acrylic stabbed at his shoulder before a cloud of Chanel °5 invaded his itching nose. “Got you booked.” She spoke, her breath tickling his ear over the sheer closeness needed over the vibrating base of stereos.

Eddie turned his head to see her, a smiling Judy Carawan that had him beaming right back. “For what this time? I’m not doing some late night news bullshit again.” After the way Larry Parsons of Hollywood’s Friday Nights called out his delinquent behavior, executives were buzzing for another clash between Eddie “The Freak” Munson and talk show hosts to get the papers running.

“Hilfiger.” Judy leaned in, a smirk of confidence for her work truly accomplished. “A fitting, then you wear one of his suits to the VMA’s, and that’s cash in your pockets. And mine.”

Eddie’s face glowered with disgust, as he attempted to move away, her smell becoming too strong for his liking. “Save me a line.” He instructed to the man breaking rows of snow on the mahogany table. “Fuck no, I’m not wearing some posh-y model shit in front of the fucking cameras.”

“It’ll be one time, and a check worth a lifetime.” She rolled her eyes, a habitual stance against the troubles that came with personally assisting Eddie Munson. “Also, see.” Her slender finger pointed to the lengthy body of Cierra Kalahi, perched against the marbling chimney of your Hollywood Hills home. “Miss America’s Next Top Model will be wearing Hilfiger, too. You and some Shalom Harlow wannabe wearing the same designer is just enough to spark some attraction to your name.”

Eddie knew the venomous implications of her suggestion. “I’m not playin’ into your bullshit dating rumors.” A vicious cycle you two had to go through; you hurting more than the other, though.

“Okay, fine, then we get your pretty, little girlfriend to wear a matching dress… that is if she’ll stop being a bummer.”

“Don’t fucking do that, alright?” Eddie huffed, dragging his sweaty hands down the heat of his cheeks. His eyes felt like they were going to crack out of his skull from the dryness of being opened for the past forty-three hours. But the umpteenth swig of Old Fashioned was fueling him alongside the unstoppable fuel of crystalline cocaine. “She just- I- look, I’m not putting her out there where she doesn’t want to go. S-She’s too good- she’s too good for the cameras.”

“She’s not good for your career.” Eddie felt her words echo into a repeated ringtone that irritated his ears. His vision grew blurred with his impulsive movements against her face.

His hot, alcoholic breath fanned her bangs with each huff of his chest. “Remember who pays your fucking bills!” Nothing but the voices of Mötley Crüe tormented the background, as everyone but the music quieted to bask in the events of another Eddie Munson meltdown. “You say one more fucking word about her, and I’ll leave you to the fucking street.”

Judy Carawan cinched her eyes against his lost ones. Whatever bad boy facade he drugged himself into every night never scared her. Hell, she fed into it. “Eddie, I’m going to be quite frank with you, since no one else will be. You and your goody girlfriend will never last. If she truly cared for you like she says she does, she would do anything to keep your name in the spotlight. And if you truly cared for her like you say you do, you wouldn’t be snorting snow on your fucking anniversary.” Eddie's hardened muscles fell from realization. And Judy smiled such a sick smile. “And FYI, I was someone before you.” Eight years of work with Hollywood’s hottest clientele. “Can you say the same?”

Your lip wobbled under the harsh bite of your teeth to suppress the stinging tears from an embarrassing downpour. Despite his promises of a private evening, you braced your arms over your chest, where it became exposed from the strapless dress you uncomfortably endured, after too many magazine headlines criticized your lack of “looks” for the hottest rockstar in town. You’d never admit it, always brushing him off whenever he became concerned for your well being because of the tabloids, but he always noticed the subtle changes you made to look like the women in the city that felt like another plant from olde Indiana.

And now, unwarranted flashes of cameras settled outside the Michelin Star restaurant that burrowed burdening humiliation into your skin, as a cautious peer around the setting allowed you to notice the pitying and gossip of the goers around you.

Every minute that passed, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. But an hour and fifteen minutes just prevailed you to be a doormat. But could you be blamed? Seven years ago today, you ran into the man, himself, who turned the dreaded day of Hawkin’s High open house into a new adventure. Where you had the excuse of an actively involved mother, who became adamant on touring the unknown environment of the orange and green halls after your father’s relocation to the rural town, Eddie had an intransigent uncle who refused to watch his nephew lose another year of his life to failing high school, and imposed the young man to abide by the staff’s fake smiles, as they greeted parents and students for the coming school year.

It’s funny how one sullen face can find another in a crowd of PTA parents and their goody-two-shoe children alike. Meeting eyes and a devilish smirk on his face was all it took for two strangers to find trust in one another, and sneak away in the depths of bushy, green woods. In retrospect, asking Eddie Munson to be your boyfriend after only three hours of knowing him was quite rash—he, himself, was quite taken aback, as well—but the worst that could happen was it didn’t work out. I mean, what high school relationship ever does? But his informative trek across lush grass, a shared cigarette, and talks that had your stomach cramping from fits of giggles was enough to solidify your decision at heart. And who was Eddie Munson to ever say no to a pretty face and soul like yours.

And it worked out… surprisingly.

It was quite the experience learning the ins and outs of someone you already called your boyfriend, but the pureness of it all bloomed into the most innocent love of two people navigating the world and finding themselves together.

But suddenly, the world had a place in your relationship. The people had a say. In what you wore, what you looked like, who you had to be. And he allowed it. Allowed everyone to measle their way in. After the first promise to you that nothing would change, every single one to follow became a lie.

Because he changed.

You mustered the will to sniffle away any tears. He no longer became worth it to you. And it broke your heart. Your heels clicked their way out of the restaurant, where your being was blurred under the paralyzing flashes of people who invaded your life, capturing and exploiting your lowest moment for a check, and branding you the girl that held the greatest rockstar back.

Eddie stumbled back on wobbly feet, his mind too disorientated to care about the bodies he shoved that consequently left glasses of cocktails to shatter against the polished flooring of his home. Though, nothing mattered as long as he got to the door. But your crying self had beat him to it from the other side, swinging the grand doors that were always too heavy for your liking, and entering your home that was invaded by strangers and their substances, and Eddie… your Eddie standing in the middle of it all.

His red, beclouded eyes had disallowed him the privilege of blinking your beauty straight, but through the haze of blear lines, he saw your face so clearly fall from disappointment.

From pure defeat.

“W-Wait!” Eddie fought the incoordination of his legs to follow you outside, leaving his guest to watch in awe. “Baby, I- fuck! I-I’m sorry- ugh, I just- I forgot!”

Los Angeles’ humidity suffocated his airways that were already constricting from his sobbing chokes. His insides burned from the concoction of drugs and sweltering heat that only fueled at the sight of your broken face. “You forgot?!” You cried, swinging your body around to face the man you no longer recognized. “For the past seven years you’ve never forgotten, but now you do! What, is it no longer important for you?!”

Spit blubbered with his words, as his lips moved a mile a minute to keep your love preserved. “N-No, I mean- yes, of course, it’s i-important-”

“Then why weren’t you there?!” Mascara stained the softness of your cheeks, now too darkened for Eddie to ever kiss the pain away. “Why aren’t you ever there?! For me!”

“I-It wasn’t my fault.” He heaved. “J-Jude, she-she said this s-stupid thing was scheduled, and-and she said it’d be quick-”

“Of course, it’s never your fault!” You bit back with the deflation of your arms. “It’s always the alcohol, or the drugs, or Judy, but it can never be your fault, can it, Eddie?!” His fist balled into his eyes, as snot caved down his nose.

“N-No, it is my fault! I’m sorry, Y/N- I’ll fix it! I’ll do anything, I’ll make it up to you, I swear!”

“Don’t you get it?!” You marched up to his wrecked body. “Your promises mean nothing to me anymore!”

“Don’t, please!” Eddie sobbed. Shameful embarrassment ate him alive in the middle of your Hollywood Hills driveway. “I-I’ll stop all this, th-the drugs,” his arm smeared away the remnants of snot and cocaine against his nose, “the drinking, partying, everything, I mean it!” Because something deep within Eddie Munson knew this was the last straw.

You were done.

“Stop lying to me!” Your eyes stung with tears. “Why are you so comfortable lying to me, and h-hurting me?!” His head adamantly refused your words with a harsh shake to his head, but the history of abandonment that brought you to your wits end weighed more than his inebriated actions. “You touch me and it feels like a lie. You k-kiss me and it feels like a lie. E-Everything you do has become bullshit, Eddie! I don’t trust you. I-I just worry. Worried that anytime you’re not next to me you’ve drugged yourself dead, or-or knocked out somewhere, or… with women-”

“Don’t fucking say that! I’d never do something like that to you!”

“The Eddie I knew would never leave me to snort coke with strangers, but here we are!” You bawled in retaliation, forcing his mouth quiet in disbelief. “You’re not Eddie anymore! So, don’t stand here and tell me you wouldn’t do these things, when everything you do leads me to believe you are capable of doing something like that… something to hurt me! Because you do, Eddie! You hurt me.”

“I’m so fucking sorry! Please, Y/N, baby, I fucking love you, everything’s just been too much, a-and I forget things, I’ll be better!” You scoffed at his utter patheticism that grossed you out, turning your heel, but his large hand caught a tightening grip to your wrist. “No, I’m serious, sweetheart, I’ll change! I-I’m still Eddie!”

“Get off.” You quietly pleaded, exhausted from the sobs that wrecked your body.

“Y-You can’t leave me, Y/N, no, I-I need you.” He choked. “I love you. So much. With everything in me. Please. We don’t do this to each other!”

“Then why do you keep doing this to me?!”

“Darling, Ms. Y/L/N?” Yours and Eddie’s head parted to the soft voice of Debby Weiser. Nearly a year ago, your elderly neighbor—who came into stardom in the 50s for her acts that revolutionized the spreading use of colored television—welcomed you into the gated neighborhood with a gluten-free muffin basket that had tasted like pure shit. But the kindness of her effort garnered a budding friendship with the mature woman who offered her wisdom on enduring Hollywood’s notoriety. “You alright there, sweetie?” Her southern accent never had assimilated to the Valley.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You turned to his eyes, staring down the saddened roundness that no longer held the precious life they once used to. “I was just leaving.”

That night, you left to your shared Indianapolis townhouse that became your starter home when Eddie’s career was first taking off. You were so happy then.

And he hadn’t seen you since.

Until now.

Eddie Munson had fallen quiet.

Everything had, in fact.

The constant beeping of your medical instruments drove him to madness, but he figured the insanity was substantial punishment for the hurt he caused you. He’d been suffering for five months already, what’s a couple more minutes? If anything, he’d be suffering for the rest of his life should it continue without you.

But it didn’t have to.

Eddie knew he had no right to gain your love once more, and the vulnerability of your state worsened the situation tenfold, but there was a reason Eddie received that call. A reason why his heart sank amidst a phone call that identified your beautiful name in an emergency, that left him dropping everything in front of thousands that cheered his name. Whatever cynicism that tainted his heart had long left upon your sweet arrival; a ‘thank you’ filled with such gratitude towards his uncle, when Eddie busted into the trailer with a smile too large to be because of Hawkins High’s yearly open house. Wayne Munson had never asked, mostly due to the fact that his nephew locked himself in his bedroom, where the nineteen-year-old worked endlessly for his new upcoming Dungeons and Dragons campaign that followed the grounds of fate and destiny.

In the mere three hours of your presence, you gave Eddie Munson hope.

He’d be damned not to devote his eternal life to you.

“Y/N, I…” his eyes laid low, examining the threads of linen that covered you, as his fingers twiddled with his rings to appease the constant bounce of his anxious knee. “I need you to know how terribly sorry I am for everything I did. All the times I hurt you.” He sighed, as his teeth sunk into his bottom lip. “I- uh, I just really need you to understand that everything that happened to us was not your fault. At all. You-” his breath shook with a tremble, “You really were so fucking perfect during everything. So patience, so communicative, and I-I never listened to you the way you deserved, I just- I don’t know, I thought maybe-maybe if I gave it my all to this career, I could finally give you everything you deserve.”

His eyes attempted to blink away searing tears, but his emotions were getting the better of him. “A-And I know how fucking selfish that is, I had- fuck, I had no right to assume what you wanted from me, and-and put you in a position where you had to go through all my bullshit, all because I thought that in the end it would make you happy… without even speaking to you about it.” Eddie's voice cracked with a harsh sniffle to gather his strength.

“I-I’m getting clean, um, it’s been really fucking hard, but I-I got the boys s-setting me straight everyday. Especially after I practically tortured them with my cries after you left.” His pity laughter softly broke through. “B-But yeah, sweetheart, I-I’m doing pretty good for myself- well, tryin’ to, at least. Still kinda always, constantly, forever feel like shit,” Eddie chuckled, “but I’m managing. T-The drugs n’ everything flushed n’ all, n-now just trying to hold off the booze, y’know? But fuckin’ hell does a beer get me through it.”

A smile began etching upon his face, where the history of all the laughter you provided him with creased his face with the lines of joy that only truly showcased in your presence. “Talked to our manager, he sure as hell was pissed when I insisted on getting rid of Jude. And she sure as hell went out with a bang, and smeared by name to the tabloids, but, uh, you probably already read about that- or not, I don’t, like, expect you to keep up with me or anything, honestly I kinda hope you didn’t, because, well, those first couple of weeks after everything real-really, uh… brought the worst out.” A deep breath escaped his mouth, as his fingers dug into the temples of his head to alleviate the dull pain.

“I-I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m really… trying.” Eddie swallowed thickly. “F-For my fans, the boys, myself, a-and you, Y/N. And I c-can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am for taking, y’know, taking this long t-to get better, and for not trying better before, for having to h-hurt you just to learn, I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N. A-And I’m not askin’ for a second chance- well, I know I don’t deserve one, not now or-or ever if you feel like it, I just need you to know I’m Eddie, somewhere inside- I’m working really hard on just being me- oh, but, of course, I do want to be with you. T-That wasn’t me saying I didn’t. I do, I-I always wanna be with you, I just- I, okay, I’ll shut up now.”

The deliberation was excruciating.

The process of his words that rambled on for an eternity was too much to process, especially with a head injury, and he understood that to the fullest, but the quietness was becoming deafening, as he waited for your words… your rejection… your reciprocation.

Anything.

And he couldn’t dare look you in the eyes, the ones that pierced his soul so deeply, and he desperately urged you to say something. Anything!

“Y/N?” Beep. Beep. Beep. “Sweetheart…?” His eyes fluttered forward. “Jesus H. Christ, Y/N!” Your peaceful sleep had garnered a frightful reaction from Eddie, as he jumped to his feet to urgently caress your face awake. Of course, when doing so, your eyes tiredly awoke to his face all too close for your liking, and a frown broke your face, as you attempted to move from him.

“Christ, Eddie.” You debilitatingly rasped. “What are you doing?”

“Me?! What are you doing? Are you okay? You shouldn’t be going to sleep, you have a concussion! I-Isn’t that, like, something you shouldn’t do?!” He cupped your face straight to the blinding ceiling light, that had you mewling with annoyance.

“Eddie, I can remember Reagan’s speech, and the fall of the Berlin Wall.” You dragged, prying his concerned hands off your face. “I think I’ll be just fine going to sleep. God, did you just expect me to stay up all night?”

A shuddering breath left his strangling throat, as his hands flexed at the electricity of the touch of your skin. His body tensed, as his round eyes worriedly followed the contours of features. “You didn’t- did you hear me, like, anything that I just said? B-Before you- I woke you up?”

Your brows concave with a furrow of confusion, as you peered up at him through wispy lashes. “What’d you say?”

A deep sigh left his dry lips, as he flashed you a small smile filled with sincerity. “Don’t worry about it, okay? It was nothing.” His hands gently worked to cover your body further with blankets to keep you warm, as your suspicious stare hesitantly nodded in acceptance to his words. “Y-You hungry, or-or need more blankets? Painkillers, anything?”

You delicately rejected his help with a shake of your head. “Just tired.” You softly answered. “And you should probably leave, too. Get some sleep.”

Despite his mind refusing your proposal, he knew your rest was vital for recovery, and he watched you slowly turn your back to him, as his slow steps marked his way to the door. So lonely, he gazed at your tired body curl up into itself like it once did when his presence was actually yearned by you; all safety once found in his embrace, as he promised to never let go. And though he never did, his actions forced you to let go, as he now had to bear witness to seeing you become content with yourself. Something he could never imagine doing so.

His finger flipped the switch. You never were a fan of the overhead lights. And once so, a peaceful sigh buried its way from your parted lips, as your mind rested in tranquil darkness.

Eddie’s hand wrapped around the doorknob that allowed the hallway light to bleed in. But his eyes couldn’t dare leave you once more. Five months of deprivation killed him every passing day, and one glimpse of your beaten self made him feel like an addict breaking their withdrawal. There was once a time in which he was beckoned with the devastating occurrence of you leaving him no choice but to watch you walk away. Now, he had an opportunity. A chance. To walk away. Or stay. Leaving you alone, hurting, in a cold, empty hospital room was too heartbreaking of an option to ever endure, and he was vowing to his words of never hurting you again.

He gently closed the door with no intent to deceive you, but rather care for you. Right now, what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you. And his mind felt at peace knowing he could watch over you; his heart dissipating to the rhythm of calmness only you could bring him to. His quiet steps guided him back to the stiff chair that numbed his bottom and stabbed at his back. But it all became worth it, finally seeing you at peace, after the last weeks he ever got to see you your face had been permanently etched in distress, because of him.

Despite being awake for nearly twenty-two hours now, Eddie Munson spared a couple more just to look at you.

The morning to follow, Dr. Rosenthal had commented greatly on the normalcy of your brain. And Eddie felt envious. You could take thirty more blows to the head, and your brain would still function far better than his ever could. You, unfortunately, had no chance to question his lingering presence, since your body had been awakened by the prodding of a nurse who kindly checked if your vitals were up to par. You figured you’d save her the awkwardness of interrogating your ex-boyfriend, the rockstar.

“If necessary, just some acetaminophen of your choice once every four to six hours depending on the instructions. But if your pain seems to not be improving, I’ll surely write you a prescription for a triptan, whichever one we can work out best for you.” You nodded along, subtly watching Eddie in the corner of your eye, who was listening too intently for someone who was bound to leave in a couple minutes. “And for your stitches, twice a day, remove the old coverage, clean off, and apply a new gauze. After a while, you should be okay with doing it once, and by the two, two and half week mark, I’ll have a referral to remove them when the time comes.” You sighed, taking a minute to let your head process the instructions of the older gentleman before you. “Alrighty, any questions?”

“No, really, you’ve been so helpful with everything-”

“She can’t drive, right?” Eddie butted in.

Dr. Rosenthal took a long second to peer at him, before clearing his throat. “Wouldn’t recommend it under your symptoms. Nausea and dizziness can impair your ability, so we can call someone, arrange transp-”

“I already got that covered.” Eddie spat a smirk back in retaliation.

“As long as it’s okay with you.” Dr. Rosenthal sympathetically smiled at you.

You drew out a defeated sigh, and watched Eddie react like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Fine.” You begrudged.

“Alright then, you go ahead and take the time needed to gather your things, and you can check out at the front desk.” Your trusted doctor assured you. “Call me if you have any questions or concerns, and I’ll gladly help. You have a Merry Christmas, Ms. Y/L/N.” Eddie was spared from a polite holiday goodbye.

You gently smiled. “Thank you, have a Merry Christmas, as well.”

With a click of the door behind him, Eddie was quick to let out a breath of relief, as though Dr. Rosenthal lifted a burden off his shoulders. His hasty movements brought your bag of clothes from beneath your hospital bed to plop against your legs. “These yours?” He pried the drawstrings open.

“No, they’re the lady’s who gave birth before this became my room.” Eddie deadpanned, continuing to rummage through your belongings.

He snorted. “Psh, no pregnant lady would wear an Anthrax tee.” Something that very much still belonged to him, as he threw your t-shirt to your chest.

“Did you stay here after I told you not to?” Your eyes glared in a deadly squint that challenged his snarkiness.

“N-No.” A big, fat lie. His gaze was avoidant of yours, as his hands worked hurriedly to empty the bag of your pants… a brown flannel… your right Reebok… then the left, of course… an earring that stabbed him… the other that didn’t, because he learned his lesson… and some pretty, pretty pink panti-

“Stop looking at those!” You snatched the lacy material from his hands, as he threw his arms up in defense. “And if you didn’t stay, why are you still wearing the same clothes?” You prodded further.

“Oh, my god, I didn’t stay.” He huffed. And you hated the portion of your heart that allowed his words to hurt you, because how come he didn’t stay? “Just headed back to the hotel, took a nap, and came back here early.”

You allowed your hurt to bite back. “That’s gross, you smell.” But he’ll permit your chastising insults if it meant you wouldn’t be angry at him for going against your wishes.

“Can you just hurry up and change, so I can take you home.” He rolled his eyes. “I arranged a car to have us picked up, and take you home.”

“I hope you know how pretentious that sounds.” And Eddie Munson stared and stared, as you balled your clothes into the sanctity of your lap. “Well, don’t look, turn around.”

Eddie’s mouth gaped, laughing in disbelief. “Please, sweetheart, I’ve been staring at you naked for the past seven years of my life.”

“You know what? Just for that, you can go to the bathroom and wait, until I say so.” You smiled, so pleased to watch Eddie scoff incredulously.

Eddie turned on his heels with an exhale of exasperation to match, as he strutted his way into the tiny bathroom. “Can just close my eyes, and picture you naked.” Luckily with his back turned, he wouldn’t dare notice the small smile that cracked your face.

Eddie’s mind had been buzzing with thoughts for the entire forty-five minutes it took for the chauffeur to pull up and parallel park in front of your townhouse. Like clockwork, your brow arched upon seeing the movements that followed yours: Eddie clicking his seatbelt. “Look, don’t give me that look, I already know what you’re about to say, but please, just let me come in, and help you.” You huffed, letting your eyes bounce from the window to his face that was hardened with determination. “C’mon, let me make it up to you this one time.”

Another defeated ‘fine’ was murmured under your breath, as Eddie made the quick trip to help you out of the car. “Just head back, man, I’ll call you when I need to.” Numerous bills were discreetly slid into the hands of the driver, before he took his cue to leave the neighborhood.

“Hey, Y/N!” The blizzarding winter left the precisely planted trees along the sidewalk to lose their green shrubbery; your one shield from the sun that still blazed its light down the Demember wind. But through the glares, you matched that voice to the friendly neighbor who lent you his ladder… and subsequently took you to the hospital once you fell off.

“Oh, hi, Trevor!” You waved to him from atop of his stairs, as you caught sight of the reusable bags of groceries in his hand.

“Hm, Trevor.” Eddie hummed quietly beside you.

Despite the cold, he took the needed steps down to speak to you at a volume that didn’t require yelling. “Hey, I’m sorry for leaving you at the hospital so suddenly, Andreas’ car broke down when she tried to leave from work, and I had to go help her-”

“Oh, please, don’t worry about it, it’s okay!” You reassured him from any guilt. “Seriously, I was out for most of my time there, and you already helped so much with bringing me there.”

“Yeah, and I was going to head back to check on you, but they told me your partner-”

“Yeah, me! Y’know…” Eddie interjected with a wave, as you suppressed the roll from your eye, watching him proudly identify himself as such with an eager point of his finger.

“Yeah, hey, Eddie, been a long time since I’ve seen ya, man-”

“Oh, Y/N! Trevor told me all about you!” Andreas' voice echoed from the front door, as her robe clung closely to her body in an effort to house any warmth she could. “How are you feeling? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, nothing to worry about, just a couple stitches and a concussion.” As polite as they were, your flannel was only doing so much to shield you from the cold, which was already in hand causing that throb to return from the sharp blinding of the sun. Why wouldn’t they shut up?

Eddie watched the twitch of your eye succumb to your expression. If anything from the last seven years taught him anything, it was that you were two sentences away from a fully engraved scowl chiseling your face; always so unaware of how blatant your emotions showcased. “Speaking of which, I should probably go get her to lay down, and rest!” Eddie smiled, as he took your hand up the stairs to your front door.

“Of course, no problem.” Trevor kindly smiled. “And, hey, keep my ladder as long as you need, don’t worry about it.”

An exchange of ‘thank you’s’ finally allowed your neighbor to leave you be, as the key slid into the lock of your door. “That was Andrea, his girlfriend. Are you gonna be jealous if I speak to her, too?”

His laughter warmed the chilled air that smoked his breath. “Fuck off, sweetheart.”

Your house had been all but welcoming upon the first steps. A puddle of blood had stained your wooden floor with the injuries of your head, as fallen garlands messily draped down your walls from your lack of skills with a hammer and nail. You’d never admit to him in a lifetime, but Eddie Munson was surely right that you, personally, were too dimwitted to use tools with no guidance. Turns out a leveler and stud sensor were actually quite useful in keeping your house from being hammered with the countless holes that now decorated your walls. You watched Eddie take in the amateur scenery, his will working overtime to stifle the chuckle that quivered his lips thin. “You make any comments, and I’ll kick you out.”

His hands flew up in defense. “I wasn’t going to say anything- although, how gnarly would a photo of your blood be as our next album cover?”

Giggles of shock coming from you rang in his ear like a catchy melody. “Listen, you came here to help, so please do. I want to shower, and sleep-”

“And eat. That hospital food was shit.” He prioritized. “Go shower, I’ll make you some breakfast,” his watch proved otherwise, “or lunch, I guess, and you can eat before you sleep- oh! And take your medicine, as well. I’ll switch out your bandages when you’re done showering. Don’t worry about anything here, okay? Just relax for me.”

And you did just so, following the words of his advice brought you to the warmth of your shower, where your limbs fell slack from destressing. You worked around the stitching of your head that stung under hot water, as you maneuvered your hair through the rainfall of the showerhead. But too much steam was beginning to blur your vision, and your shower was cut unfortunately short after you swiftly rid your body of any lingering antiseptic smell that clung to you.

“Ow, Eddie!” Your hand squeezed his, as your forehead became cushioned by the tone of his torso, where he stood before you.

As you sat on the toilet, he looked down, and caressed your head gently. “Sorry, sweetheart, just gotta get it clean, ‘s all.” A new square of gauze concealed your wound, before a long strip of bandage secured itself around your forehead. Your head lifted from the comfort of his belly, and he bent at the waist to examine your face. A smile grew so naturally. “There… beautiful as always.” There was no denying the lunge in your heart that soared at his words, but your stubbornness withheld the swoon that would have usually followed with a new inure look to your face. Eddie guffawed at your pertinaciousness. “Fine, I hope you know you have a bald spot on the back of your head.”

And he devilishly smiled at your sudden movements to feel around your hair. “It’s only because of the stitches.” You gruffed in protest. “Plus, what the back of my head looks like is none of my business.”

“Still, you’re balding before me.”

And you wanted so desperately to wipe that smirk off his face. “Push back your bangs right now.”

Touche. “You should really eat your food before I spit in it.”

You had the liberty of delving into Eddie Munson’s personally made lukewarm tomato soup, and a sandwich so untimely perfect, the burnt bread did little to match the cheese that surely did not melt. And yet, it did everything to fill that little hole in your heart, as one bite brought you back to the cozy trailer, where endless nights were spent concocting meals from ingredients that scientifically went together, but for some reason refused to work when Eddie touched them.

He left you alone in the comfort of your bedroom that was once shared with him, as you quietly endured enjoyed your meal, and sat with the events that came about. Seeing Eddie had tumultuously screwed with your already bruised head, and set you back a mile on the path to peace. Where you blamed yourself over the rise of bubbling feelings, you also gave yourself the grace of remembering this man had been the love of your life for seven years. Facing him would be anything but peaceful, and yet, his stupid, round face managed to conjure that settling tranquility of deep contentment within your heart that only ever built under his hands of love and care. But he also managed to tear it, and that was something beyond the repairs of five months apart. No matter how brutal. Your pillow still stained with the tears of endless cries over the insecurities of no longer being good enough for him. But if you sniffed deep enough, his burrowed cologne would fume into your nose at night that allowed you to gain a safe sleep during the dark hours.

How polarizing he could be was beyond the study of any scientist.

Between the last slurp of your soup, your eyes succumbed to the heaviness of your eyelids, as what was intended to be a half an hour nap prolonged into a five hour doze, until the sun decided to rest for the evening, bleeding its red into a darkening sky. As advised by your doctor, a couple pills were to be popped to alleviate that ache that would haunt you for days to come, so with a march to the kitchen ahead, you called for the man you needed most. “Eddie!” Drowned by your tiredness, your voice did little to amplify his name from the second floor. “Eddie!” But a second call of his name proved to be useless when nothing followed in return.

Dr. Rosenthal surely hadn’t been lying about the aftermath of dizziness, as the simple event of walking down your staircase had turned into an olympic sport that nearly caused another blow to your head if it hadn’t been for the obscene tightness of your grip on the railing that descended. “Eddie, seriously! I’ve been calling you, can’t you hear?!”

The quietness of your home answered back, as you approached the bottom steps of the stairs, where suddenly soft lights straightened the blurred lines of your eyes to the clarity of a beautiful glow. Warm lanterns and sticks of candles kindled your chimney and center table, where red bows of various sizes decorated themselves along your living room to match the ribbon of your Christmas tree that had not been put up prior to your waking. Sweet scents of cinnamon and pines worked magically to calm the agitated nerves of your head, and your eyes dragged in awe to the breathtaking display of green garlands that dressed your home to the Christmas perfection you always dreamed of.

Your eyes watered, and though you knew he wouldn’t answer, you still quietly spoke. “Eddie?”

So simple, yet so fulfilling, your heart soared at the work of his hands that ached for your happiness. While it did not amount to the pain he once dragged you through, a meaningful smile that hadn’t been flashed in months finally etched its place onto your face where it perfectly belonged.

And much to your dismay, but simultaneously your biggest hope… it was because of him.

While it broke your spirit for his efforts to take so long to return, you smiled through your hurting cries, as you finally gained the wish for your Eddie—once lost, now running through the wooded path to be found—to return. And with it, a note to keep your heart content with the soundness of peace. Whether it be with Eddie. Whether it not be with Eddie.

At the very least, you got your Christmas spirit.

Management wants to bitch me out, I’m sorry I had to leave you :( but I’m gonna convince ‘em to let me stay in Indy for a while. Kinda hard to say no to a face like mine, you know? You know. Call me to make sure you’re okay, sweetheart, or I’ll break into your house! - Love, Eddie

P.S, gave Trevor his ladder back, so don’t speak to him :)

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader

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shares-a-vest · 4 months

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@steddiemas Day 16: Angst-Themed (Saturday Sentence Starters)

wc: 1k | Rated: T | cw: Steve’s parents are arguing (he is overhearing it briefly but there are some descriptions of yelling), toxic family dynamics, unstable marriage, cheating

Tags: Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Angst with a Happy Ending, Unstable Marriage, Toxic Family Dynamics, Cheating

“I don’t want to fight with you, Caroline,” Steve hears his father bellow from downstairs, “Not tonight.”

He snaps his comic closed and tosses it on the floor.

Steve has no idea what his parents are arguing about. Hell, they don’t even need an excuse these days, he thinks. Someone can so much as fart and it will start a goddamn screaming match.

He guesses he shouldn’t be surprised. It’s the holidays and his parents are both off work until the beginning of the New Year. It’s snowing heavy out so they can’t go down to the Martens’ house – their best friends-come-buffer zones.

“Oh, John!” his mother chides before there is a lower muffle that he can’t quite make out.

While being hard of hearing allows him not to hear anything below a shout, the broken argument is still frustrating.

His parents might not need an excuse to fight, but he’d still like to know what it’s about. Gain intel for the inevitable coming days of being stuck in the middle.

Steve has a few guesses as to what it could be.

His mother bought a new car with her Christmas bonus finally topping up her bank account and thus justifying an indulgent and expensive purchase. His father always hates that.

Steve smirks.

If his father didn’t like that kind of independence, why did he marry a high-paid lawyer?

But, the more likely scenario considering his father’s apparent insistence he ‘doesn’t want to fight’ is that he is cheating again.

Cindy, his secretary, or someone new – take your pick.

The telltale signs have been there for a month or two. A renewed cheery attitude, longer office hours, a fresh haircut and new clothes.

Actually, now that he thinks about it, it might be a little bit of a motivator behind his mother’s car purchase too –

“ – Cindy!” his mother shrieks.

Yep, there it is.

Steve rolls off the bed, planting his feet on the carpet right by his shoes.

“Fuck this,” he mutters, scooping up his keys and wallet from the nightstand.

He’s just about halfway to Forest Hills, driving at a snail’s pace because he can’t see for snow, when he begins to regret his decision to leave the house.

Maybe he shouldn’t just barge in on the Munsons unannounced. Like sure, his friendship with Eddie is… teetering on not being entirely platonic. But this might be too much.

He always thought it was too much when he’d walk down to stay at Carol Perkins’ house for an impromptu sleepover. And there was always this awkward, knowing going on with the Wheeler’s when he was dating Nancy and spending a lot of time just hanging about.

Lingering for too long in the kitchen chatting to Karen or watching a game with Ted until the guy started snoring too loud to hear the commentators.

It was all there but largely unspoken.

Only Robin knows the details. And even then, he’s sure that her father’s friendliness towards him was partly due to his daughter telling him all about the trouble at the ‘ol Harrington house. He doesn’t blame his best friend for likely doing so. And he doesn’t consider it blabbing, either. Robin’s parents – her whole family – are amazing.

But some of his parent’s shit is stupid at best, hard to take at worst.

And he is scared to let Eddie in on it.

It’s too much.

He’s too much.

Being a Harrington is too much.

Wayne answers the door with a cup of cocoa that seems glued to his left hand in winter.

“Steve,” he says, voice gruff as ever despite a warm smile.

“Hi,” he replies, looking down at his snow-covered boots, “Eddie in?”

Of course, he’s in, his van is parked outside.

Steve can feel the warmth from inside the trailer. See the twinkle of lights from the Munson’s small, but heavily-decorated, Christmas tree. The smell of cocoa overpowering the ever-present hint of cigarettes.

“Eddie!” Wayne calls over his shoulder, “Steve’s here.”

In a flash, Eddie runs to the front door and practically bumps into his uncle.

“Come in!” he insists, wide-eyed as he looks past his shoulder at the falling snow.

And before Steve can even step in, Eddie is pulling him by his parka sleeve. He only just manages to scrape off his boots on the ‘Home Sweet Home’ adorned welcome mat.

“What some cocoa?” Eddie offers, eliciting a grumble from Wayne.

“I asked if you wanted some,” he chides.

“But Steve might want some,” Eddie grins.

“How about I heat up a pot now, and whoever wants some’s got it?” Wayne suggests, pursing his lips at Eddie and moving to the stove before his nephew can make any more requests.

“Follow me,” Eddie says, grabbing his hand, “I made cookies.”

He wiggles his brows and begins leading Steve to the kitchen.

As he is pulled along, Steve tries not to think about the fact that they are holding hands. Or how he wishes his fifteen-minute-ago Self had thought to bring an overnight bag and allowed himself to assume the Munsons would allow him to stay the night.

But it might be even harder to stop himself from squeezing his friend’s hand and lacing his fingers with Eddie’s.

Eddie lets go of his hand to gesture to the tray of Christmas-themed shapes, all looking a little too dark for gingerbread as they rest on the kitchen island.

“Pick one, Big Boy,” Eddie beams.

Steve reaches for a reindeer, flexing his fingers as he goes and commits the feeling of Eddie’s rings to memory.

“No!” Eddie shrieks, lightly smacking his hand enough that he drops it, leaving the cookie to snap in half as it falls back onto the tray, “His antlers are broken.”

“Christ, boy!” Wayne curses, stirring the pot on the stovetop.

Okay, a tree then…

“The star is missing!”

A bell?

“That was already snapped in half when I got them out of the oven”, Eddie admits with a tight-lipped smile.

Steve places his hands on his hips and rolls his eyes. To him, they all look at least a little crumbly – some he would even describe as lightly charred.

“How about you pick one for me then, Betty Crocker?” he chuckles.

Eddie giggles, twirling a lock of his hair as he carefully considers the tray of mostly broken, dry cookies.

He watches Eddie for a long enough time that Wayne pushes a mug into his hand, the warmth of Eddie’s hand remaining in place due to the heat of the cocoa. It’s a Chicago Cubs mug, one that he finds himself holding at some point each time he is here as if Wayne considers it Steve’s own.

He smiles for the first time in three days.

#i have a few days i've missed and fell behind finishing so i might go back and post them later #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington has bad parents #steve harrington angst #steddiemas #wayne munson #steddie #steddie fic #lily writes a fic #harrington family TM

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lavendermunson · 4 months

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i want you, bless my soul - eddie munson

from the candy cane box at leia's christmas tree farm

summary best friend au, with the prompt “So, um. That was something. Should we do that again?” for the one and only @onegirlmanytales thank you for requesting my love, I hope you like the direction I took and enjoy it so much!!

cw FLUFF. best friends to lovers. two oblivious idiots in love. r's first kiss. brief mention of insecurities. steve and robin cameo!

w.c 1.7k

“No one has ever kissed me… let’s just forget about it!”

You sigh, placing the freshly baked cookies on a beautiful porcelain bowl Eddie gave you last Christmas. Their scent calming every nerve your best friend decides to play with today. All of your friends are arriving in a couple of minutes for the annual Christmas party.

“You are telling me no one has ever kissed you under the rain?”

“Eddie please, just stop it”

“No one has ever kissed you under the moonlight!”

He tries to guess. You regret telling him about your first kiss. It hasn’t happened yet… but he thinks it has, he just thinks it was bad or embarrassing because you’ve never told him. And you tell him everything, he is your best friend.

“You are never going to guess, I'm tired of this now”

He chases you around your house, as you walk with the bowl of cookies in your hands. You place them on the coffee table of your living room, alongside all the other snacks and drinks to enjoy the night.

“I know! no one has ever kissed you under the mistletoe. That’s why you don’t have one”

Eddie thinks he hit the jackpot, smiling brightly at you.

“No one has ever kissed me, okay!” you snap, tired of his games. “I haven’t had my first kiss yet”

You throw your hands in the air, standing in front of him. Eddie was the only one who didn’t know about this. The rest of your friends know, because you know they weren’t going to laugh or make fun of you. But Eddie is capable of it, not because he is mean. His personality is just like that, he is the joke expert and the prank master. This was a serious topic to you, something that kept toying with your self-esteem.

Your arms fall to the side, your hands close on a fist, white knuckles and eyes shut trying to hide the embarrassment that’s eating you alive as you wait for Eddie to laugh at you and make a hundred jokes about this.

You wish the floor could swallow you whole.

Eddie notices the way you tense up, confessing the secret you’ve held for a long time. He thought there was some catch to it, but there wasn’t. Who the fuck can live without ever kissing your lips? he asks himself, when he has been dreaming about it since the first time he met you at the arcade.

You were babysitting the kids, holding their quarters for them as you paced around the sticky carpet. Back when Eddie’s ears got used to quieting down everything around him except your sweet voice.

He didn’t want to lose you, he could never. And he was sure he wasn’t your type, with your room having a Karate Kid poster and a picture of Michael Schoeffling ripped out of a magazine.

Missing the picture of Eddie Van Halen on your jewelry box, he knew your type was far away from him.

You were never going to like him, his friends would tease him about it. They would fill Eddie’s mind with ideas that tormented him before going to bed. You are way too out of his league.

He is happy with the best friend title because he gets the best friend treatment. He gets to hug you when you see him, cuddle with you on movie nights, and hang around his trailer all day. He would never trade your presence for anything, not a metal concert, not even the fame some rockstars get overnight.

For Eddie you are everything, you mean everything. His life is so much better with you around.

But he doesn’t laugh or start making a full comedy show, instead, you hear the thump of things falling out of his pockets. His lighter, a pack of cigarettes, previously chewed gum wrapped in a piece of paper, and his van keys. He empties his pockets trying to find what he has been looking for and when he finds it, he goes around your house looking for tape.

“What are you doing with that? no one is coming here to kiss me, only our friends”

“Well? m’lady. I doubt you want to spend another Christmas unkissed” He takes your hand, guiding you closer to him until you are both under the mistletoe. “This is how it works, you stand here, and as the rule says you kiss the person in front of you”

You watch as Eddie taps the branch with his finger. Pointing at it, then at him, and finally at you. You are exactly in the spot, you look at him. Begging him to kiss you.

You've thought about it for a while. What would it be like to kiss him? Not someone random, not a guy who coats your ears with sugar at work. Just Eddie.

The guy who sits on the edge of his bed, shirtless, and while his fingers are gentle with the strings of his guitar you can’t do anything else but admire. Trying to memorize all of his features and tattoo that scene on your head for the rest of your life.

The guy who asked you to color his tattoos, trusting your artistic eye and trying to kill time before the pizza got to his trailer. You asked for a rain check that night, knowing you’d lose your mind the second your fingers touched his bare chest.

“And who’s gonna kiss me?” you ask.

“Uhh, Jonathan?” Eddie asks, raising one of his eyebrows. Trying to question you to see who your type is.

“I pass”

“Steve?” Eddie’s voice cracks. If you passed at Jonathan, there’s a high chance you could say yes to Steve and he would fall to his knees, defeated.

“I don’t think so”

His brown eyes are wide open. Shit. Not even Steve?

“Let’s just enjoy our evening…” Unless you want to kiss me, you think. “Let’s forget about it”

You try to escape from the compromised positions, but your legs feel heavy as you step aside. You thought Eddie was going to kiss you.

When you try to escape, he wraps his fingers around your wrist and pulls you back to him.

“Wait”

You feel a jolt of electricity, his touch being hard on you yet not hurting. His eyes looking for yours and when you finally lock your gaze with his. He takes a deep breath, ready to risk it all.

Eddie pulls you to his chest, resting a hand on the small of your back. You feel the goosebumps all over your body, his breath tingling your lips. He notices the shine in your eyes, pleading for him to do something because you are too nervous to move.

If he wanted to kiss you, he would kiss you. That’s what you believe.

He looks at your eyes, at your lips. Impatient, he is making you melt under his touch, and you feel your insides are screaming at him to do something. You decide to wrap your arms around his waist, afraid of him slipping through your fingers and regretting this moment.

You capture him. As he looks down at you like a starved man.

Eddie’s mind is clouded with hundreds of thoughts. This could be so good, this could get bad and ugly. It’s your first kiss, it should be special. It should be with someone you like, Do you like him? Do you want him?

He snaps back to reality when you reach for a strand of hair that fell to his face. Tugging the curl in the back of his ear. Your fingers send shivers through his spine, feeling your gentle touch against his skin. He melts under your touch too.

“Let’s get this over with” he breathes out, digging his fingertips on the small of your back to keep you close. His lips press against yours, you close your eyes enjoying the moment.

But it’s your first kiss. You don’t know what to do, but just as you start to panic Eddie cups your cheeks, his thumb pressing against your warm skin.

“Relax” he whispers on your lips, taking control of the situation. You feel his lips crash with yours, dancing against them as you try to keep up with the pace.

Is this how it feels? To kiss someone for the first time, or even better, to kiss the boy you love for the first time. Your mind is in the clouds, every part of your body feels lighter as a feather.

His lips are so soft. What the actual fuck? How were you able to survive so long without this?

It’s your first kiss. But it feels like it’s Eddie’s too. He can feel his body fill up with electricity, his heart thumping against his chest – just like yours – He has kissed girls before, even boys. But this feeling is new, he is finally kissing someone he loves.

“WOAH! They are kissing” You break away from the kiss as you hear Robin’s voice. She looks at you then at Eddie, a smile showing off on her face. “Sorry, keep doing that!”

“Good job, guys!” Steve says, pushing Robin to the kitchen as she keeps her thumbs up in the air.

Eddie shakes his head, looking down at you. Seeing that smile he loves so much as you giggle, with your body so close to his. You try to catch the air he knocked out of your lungs, keeping him pressed against you.

“Woah indeed” His eyes look at the mistletoe, at your puffy pink lips, and at your flushed cheeks. He grins proudly.

“That was… something” you smile, scrunching up your nose as you look at his matching pink lips and cheeks.

“Should we do it again?” he asks, his chest heaving up and down.

“Please” you whisper, feeling your body yearning for more of him.

“Anything you want, princess”

He kisses you again, this time he quickens the pace of it. You feel his tongue brush against yours causing you to whimper. He giggles at your reaction, groaning for more of you. Eddie is addicted to your taste already. If the smell of your chapstick made him crazy, this sure is going to kill him.

You start to move your tongue, feeling the closure as your teeth crash with his, and the mix of chapstick and saliva, with a touch of cigarette coats your bottom lip. You can’t get enough of the feeling of his lips keeping yours warm and nice.

“Fuck, you taste good” his shaky words come out as he takes a breather, inches from your lips. His teeth find your bottom lip, nipping at it as you open your mouth for him once again.

You won't be spending Christmas unkissed.

reblog to support your creators! comments are appreciated !! ♡ thank you for following my christmas event, your support means so much to me 🎄

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fangirl-dot-com · 4 months

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Chapter 12 - So This Is Christmas (WAR IS OVER)

Guys I finally did it! This fic is officially over 10k words and this is my Christmas gift to you all! So please, sit back - relax - and enjoy this Christmas Special!

Like always comments, questions, concerns, reblogs, and likes are appreciated! Love you all <3

TAG LIST IS CLOSED

You looked around the paddock as everyone packed away the motor homes. You had only been in this Formula 1 life for less than a month, but you wouldn’t change it for the world. A sigh escaped your lips as you peered into the Red Bull garage. Mechanics, engineers, and strategists alike were all celebrating a season well done. You guessed that after this they were all ready to head back to their homes to see their families and get ready for the winter break.

You really wondered what that was going to be like: to go home and have someone waiting for you. Your hands gripped your backpack a little tighter as you thought about your empty and small apartment back in Nice. It would probably greet you with that damp air that seemed to cling to the walls and another drippy faucet. Your heart ached at the thought.

You slowly walked back inside, trying to find Max so that you could say goodbye until you’d see him again at pre-season testing. Your eyes found him and Kelly quietly talking in the back. Not wanting to interrupt them, you quickly averted your gaze to someone else. Mitch’s brown eyes caught your attention and you made your way over to her.

“Hi Mitch,” you smiled, hands still gripping your backpack straps.

Her eyebrows raised in confusion, “I thought you left already?”

You looked down, almost in embarrassment. “I think I just don’t want to leave without saying goodbye.” Your hand gestured to the couple in the corner, who were now joined by Christian.

“Ah, well I would have been sad if you didn’t say goodbye to me.”

Your face lit up at the sight of her open arms. As you stepped in, the tenseness in your body practically melted away. You sighed as Mitch squeezed you a little tighter.

“Do you have any fun plans for the break?” she mumbled into your hair before stepping away. You grimaced at the thought of having no plans.

“Uh, I think I’m going to finish this show I’ve been binging,” you said, cringing at your own uncertainty. Because in reality, you really had no clue what you were going to do.

Mitch’s eyebrows pinched. She opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by Christian, Max, and Kelly joining your little group. The corners of your mouth tilted up by their arrival.

Christian had an amused look on his face.

Mitch turned to the boss. “What has you so jolly?”

He let out a laugh before speaking, “Gerri and I are taking a cruise for Christmas to get out of the colder weather that is about to hit.” He shivered dramatically, making you laugh.

“Ah,” she turned to Max and Kelly. “Do you two have anything fun planned for the break?”

Kelly spoke up first, “We’re going to be spending it with Max in Monaco. Penelope really likes the area and I think it would be nice to have everyone there.”

Max followed, “My sister and mom are planning to come over for Christmas evening. Her kids are super cute.”

“I think P is just happy to celebrate Christmas and find a tree as soon as possible. I’m glad she’s not scared of Santa like she was last year,” Kelly confessed.

As you listened, you heart squeezed just a bit more. What you would give to decorate a tree for the first time ever or stay up late trying to catch the big man in the red suit. Kelly then turned to Mitch.

“What do you have planned?”

Mitch shot you a glance before responding, “I’m going up to my parents to spend it with my family. Lots of cute nieces and nephews to run around and keep me busy.”

Christian seemed to finally take notice of you. “And what about you kid?”

All eyes were now on you. You gulped, honestly not wanting to share your less than mediocre plans for the break.

“Uh, there was this show I was planning to finish?” Your shoulders raised as the pitch raised in your voice as well, trying to hide your nervousness.

Kelly’s head cocked to the side, “Anything else?”

Your eyes widened. Oh how you wished that they would just let it go. You shifted your balance from foot to foot.

You sighed before confessing, “Nope. That’s it.”

If you could live in one TikTok sound at this moment, it would be the frantic lyrics from Taylor Swift, “Horrified looks from everyone in the room.” Your cheeks heated at the impending embarrassment that you had found yourself in.

Wanting to get out of there swiftly (pun-intended), your lips poured out, “So I need to catch a flight and I think my Uber is here. I will see all of you for pre-season testing.”

You turned to leave, but not without forgetting to also say, “And I hope you all have a good Christmas.” Your feet took you far and quickly away from the four, who were now looking at you with sad eyes.

Max’s eyes longing gazed at your fleeing figure. He really thought that you two were getting close enough for you to share what you were thinking, and not having to lie about things. Kelly’s hand found the lower area of his back to share some comfort.

Mitch was the first one to speak up, “I think she’s spending the break alone.”

“Surely not. Must have private family plans with her parents,” Max quipped, not liking the thought of you being alone.

Christian had a guilty look on his face, before his hand ran down it. “Vito didn’t want us to tell you,” he trailed off.

Max’s face spun toward the older Brit.

“Tell me what?” he almost demanded.

Mitch shared a look to Christian before spilling, “Y/n’s parents disowned her in the beginning 2019. She’s been living alone since that season of F3 finished later that year.” Her eyes focused on the cold, concrete flooring of the garage.

A long sigh escaped Max’s lips at the revelation. His fists tightened at his sides. He did the math in his head. Four years.

You had been alone, by yourself, on your own, for four years. You hadn’t talked about your godfather, so Max didn’t even know if he was still in the picture. You could talk to him about that when you were ready.

He whispered, “She was fifteen right? Her birthday is later in the year.”

“Yeah,” Mitch matched his tone.

Max found Kelly’s eyes, silently communicating all of his thoughts and emotions. He was never good about verbal communications, but eyes are the window to the soul, right?

A slight nod of her head gave everything that Max needed.

Mitch broke the silence once again, “I think Arthur has been asking her to join his family for Christmas evening. I’ll send him or Charles a text describing the situation so that they can really try to convince her.”

Christian nodded and spoke, “That sounds like a good plan. Max, I’m guessing you have a plan?”

Max nodded before stepping away from the group, heading in the direction where you took off. Kelly stayed behind, bringing out her phone with the intent of making a few calls.

“We’ll take care of her,” she assured the strategist and team principal.

Mitch smiled in the direction that Max had stomped towards. “I wouldn’t doubt it.”

You, who had missed everything, were currently waiting at the entrance for your Uber. Your eyes glanced around, looking for the correct car. Your body bounced with anxiety as your knuckles hand now turned white with how hard they were gripping the straps.

“Kid!” a familiar voice called out, causing you to whip around and bump right into the source. Big hands caught you from falling off the kerb. Your head lifted and was met with the worried face of one Max Verstappen.

“Uh, hi?” you questioned.

Max, probably planning for this to be said differently but didn’t want to beat around the bush, blurted out, “Spend the break and Christmas with me.”

Your eyes looked for malice in his, but came up empty. However, you were shocked.

“What?” you breathed out, very confused.

Max inhaled and exhaled rather sharply. Keeping his hands on your shoulders, he positioned you back up on the sidewalk, away from the parking area. In your head, you were only thinking of how you might miss your Uber and flight if Max kept you here.

“Y/n,” uh-oh, he used your legal name, “Kelly and I would love it if you spent the first bit of break with us and Christmas.”

Your ears must have been deceiving you, or you needed hearing aids after being around the formula cars for the majority of your life, because there was no way that Max had just asked you to spend the first bit of break, let alone Christmas, with him and Kelly.

You scoffed before looking away and muttering, “Very funny Max. I get that you have an amazing family to do nice things with, but some of us don’t have that luxury. Now if you’ll excuse me,” you all but ripped yourself out of his grasp, “I have an Uber to get into and a flight back to Nice.”

You stepped away, but were stopped by someone’s hand grabbing your backpack. You sighed rather harshly, arms dropping to your sides, before speaking, “Max, let go of my backpack.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about geitje.” If you had looked behind you, you would have seen a smirk on his face.

“You know I finally looked up that word, and I don’t think that’s the correct word for kid.”

Max let out a playful scoff. “Yes it is. It’s my language after all.”

You rolled your eyes, “You are literally calling me a baby goat.” Your arms crossed your chest. You were still annoyed but weren’t trying to get away as you had been. Max pulled you backward and into a hug. His hand was placed on the top of your head, lightly ruffling your hair.

His chest vibrated as he hummed. “I know exactly what I am doing. Stubborn and cute like one.”

You let yourself melt into his hold for just a minute as you thought over the offer. Honestly, by now it was a no-brainer. Spend the break alone and cold, or get over yourself and spend it in a warm house surrounded by people who seemed to love you regardless of your past.

Max felt the moment that you had accepted, since your body went lax in his hold. His smile grew larger at the thought of you giving in. However, you mind was still mulling over one fact. A large sigh escaped your lips.

“What’s wrong?”

Your cheeks heated once again before turning to bury your face in Max’s chest as to hide from the Dutchman.

“I don’t know how.”

Max was getting confused. “How do to what Kleintje?”

“How to celebrate Christmas. Never done it before,” you stumbled over your words.

Max was quick with a solution. “P turned four this year, and I think she can actually grasp what Christmas really is. You can learn right along with her, nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“And I don’t have any presents or anything to give.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. Christmas isn’t all about giving gifts.”

You huffed. “But I want to.” Your eyes were suddenly welling up with tears, making Max panic a bit.

He quickly spoke, “Then we can go shopping. Maybe Lando can join. If it’s important to you, then we can do whatever you’d like.”

You looked up into blue eyes. “We can stay up for Santa?”

Gosh, you were truly melting this man’s heart. His eyes softened as he looked back into yours. His head dipped in a small nod.

“Yes Kid. We can stay up for Santa. Now let’s go, AirMax awaits.”

Your Uber was long forgotten as you sat in the nice plush seat of Max’s private jet. Your eyes sparkled with a child-like wonder as you stared around. Kelly and Max just enjoyed watching you look around with wide and tired eyes.

You may be 20, but that doesn’t mean that you’re done maturing in life. Max definitely was still trying to heal his inner-child at 26, but he had a whole support system behind him. Yes, his dad wasn’t the best, but he couldn’t image growing up without him. Jos may have been an asshole, but he helped shape Max into what he was today.

From what he and Kelly now knew, you had had no one. You had offhandedly told Max that you rarely had friends growing up. He and Christian really thought you may have been joking. But after tonight, Max swore to never joke about that again. He knew that you were going to be good friends with some of the grid. Secretly he was hoping that Lando would be one of them.

He was a good kid in Max’s eyes. And it was a plus that he also lived in Monaco as well. People need friends and family to thrive and flourish, and you had done your waiting.

Max also knew that if your parents ever showed up to anything, now that you had made it to Formula 1, he would personally cuss them out and then have them banned from every single paddock for the rest of their lives.

His eyes found you, desperately fighting off sleep. His lips curled up into a smile as you finally gave in and closed your eyes. You were all curled up in with your Dior blanket that you carried everywhere with you - the same one you had in Vegas.

Max turned his head to see that Kelly was also looking at you with a warm smile on her face, eyes full of love.

Kelly’s head leaned near his as they both watched you cuddle your beloved blanket a bit more.

“She looks much younger,” Kelly whispered, not wanting to wake you up.

Max leaned over as well, “Yeah, makes you realized why everyone calls her kid.”

A soft laugh came out of Kelly’s lips.

Max continued, “Thank you for being fine with her coming. I know this wasn’t in our plans.”

Kelly quickly hushed him, her eyes glancing at him before looking back on your sleeping figure, “I think it was a wonderful idea for her to join. We should have asked sooner.” A sad smile crept on her face.

He nodded as Kelly made a small home under his arm and against his side. She hummed as she closed her own eyes, wanting to sleep a bit before landing in Monaco.

Max, however, was preoccupied with texting a group chat that he had made a few minutes before getting on a plane.

Tax Evaders Max has added Trophy Breaker, Emotional Support Rival, and Kid’s Leclerc to the chat

Mad Max: I bet you all are wondering why I have gathered you here

Trophy Breaker: Um, yes And what is with the chat name mate?

Emotional Support Rival I think he means to imply since Monaco does not make us pay taxes And yes, Max why are we here? Miss us already?

Kid’s Leclerc I’m just wondering who these numbers are other than Charles?

Mad Max: This is Max Verstappen The other one is Lando

Trophy Breaker: Way to give my number away to a total stranger ass-hat Who the heck is Kid’s Leclerc

Kid’s Leclerc: This is Arthur

Trophy Breaker: Oh that makes more sense

Emotional Support Rival Seriously Emotional Support Rival? Max I thought we were more than this

Trophy Breaker: Yeah – you said you let the whole trophy thing go

Mad Max: All of you be quiet

Kid’s Leclerc: I never said anything

Mad Max: As I was saying… I’m guessing maybe Arthur knew But Y/n had planned to spend Christmas alone

Trophy Breaker: Her parents out of town or something?

Emotional Support Rival: About that…

Kid’s Leclerc: Y/n’s parents aren’t in the picture anymore

Trophy Breaker: THEY DIED?!

Mad Max: NO But I’ll make them wish they were They disowned her when she was 15

Trophy Breaker: … I second your statement

Mad Max: Back to what I was going to say Y/n is spending the first part of break with me, Kelly, and P Arthur, I need you to up your begging game to get her to join you for the last half Charles you too

Kid’s Leclerc: Sir yes sir

Emotional Support Rival: On it If it will help any

Trophy Breaker: What am I supposed to do?

Mad Max: She really wants to get presents and other things I’m not comfortable letting her walk the outdoor shops by herself somewhere she’s never been too I was hoping that you’d join us when we go?

Trophy Breaker: For sure It’s the Monaco Center right? Where you can drive the cars through?

Mad Max: That’s the one Kelly has been talking about going for a while to take P Might as well do the shopping then

Trophy Breaker: Sounds good I’ll let you know when I’m back from Italy

Kid’s Leclerc: I will start the begging when we get back

Emotional Support Rival: Same here

Mad Max: Thanks guys I’m hoping she’ll have a good time First real Christmas and all

Trophy Breaker: Awe, Max does have a heart

Emotional Support Rival: He really said Grinch? Never heard of him I’m Max Verstappen

Kid’s Leclerc: I do not group myself with them sir

Emotional Support Rival: Thur is just trying to get on his good side

Trophy Breaker: And why would that be?

Kid’s Leclerc: No comment

Mad Max: Plane is about to land and I have to wake Miss Whiny up from her nap

Kid’s Leclerc: Just lightly nudge her shoulder Works wonders and she shouldn’t complain too terrible

Trophy Breaker: Oooohhhh I get it now Little Leclerc is smooth

Kid’s Leclerc: Goodbye

Max let out a chuckle before taking his arm from around Kelly, who had actually fallen asleep as well. He stood up and lifted his arms above his head to stretch. It only took him three steps to reach you, since the main cabin wasn’t big to begin with.

Heeding Arthur’s advice, he gently nudged your shoulder a few times. You blinked, multiple times, trying to get the fuzziness to go away.

Like Arthur had said, there was no whining that joined your waking up. Your hands came up to rub your face and eyes, trying to rid the evidence of sleep.

“How long was I out for?” you questioned, voice deeper and quieter.

Max’s hand found your shoulder and gently rubbed it. “We’re actually about to land.” Your eyes widened as you quickly looked out the plane window to view the Monégasque land below.

By now, Kelly had woken up and was now fondly looking at her boyfriend and, well, his kid. She knew that Max wanted to try to be more of a big brother to her, but he honestly couldn’t help it. Deep down, he was trying to fulfill a role that he wished he had had when he was growing up. She quietly raised her phone and took a quick picture to maybe upload later. But for now, she’d let them bask in the excitement of being home.

Unboarding went much easier than regular flights. The private exits were your favorite since you didn’t have to be stopped by fans or anyone else. By the time the three of you got back to Max’s house, or giant mansion since it was so huge, the sun was just rising: which meant that you were in desperate need of a nap. As far as you knew, Penelope was still with the sitter and Kelly wouldn’t go get her until later that day, to give you three some time to rest and recuperate from the long racing weekend.

Max led you to one of the apparently multiple guest bedrooms for you to put your stuff in. He explained that you could stay here for the time being unless you found one of the other rooms much better.

You only laughed and told him that it was enough. Max, in your opinion, looked too nervous for someone who had a multi-million dollar home.

“Max it’s fine I swear,” you reassured him.

“I just want you to be comfortable.” He shrugged, looking around at the room, eyes glancing from one corner to the other, trying to find something to change.

“Max, you could give me an air mattress on the floor and I’d be happy. Besides, this bed is much better than the single bed I have back in Nice,” you muttered the last bit.

Max seemed to take that as good enough, and left you to your own devices. You quickly sent a text to Arthur, who had begged for you to let him know when you got in safely. You rolled his eyes at his mother hen antics and let out a big yawn.

You could definitely unpack after you took a quick nap. The moment your head hit the nice pillow, you were out like a light. The sound of laughter woke you up a couple of hours later. You groggily walked out of the more than adequate room, rubbing your eyes to rid them of sleep. Max thankfully invested in a house with a large first floor so that you didn’t have to walk down any stairs.

Max was the first one to spot you standing a bit awkwardly in the opening frame to the living room. Max stood up from where he was sitting with Kelly and Penelope. Walking over, he brought you into a side hug to lead you to the middle of the room.

He crouched next to his almost actual kid and gestured to you.

“P, this is Y/n. She’s going to be staying with us until Christmas.”

You awkwardly looked at the toddler, not knowing what to do. Penelope leaned closer to Max.

“Does she like dollies?”

You let out a little laugh at the question. Max and Kelly smiled at the child and then glanced back at you.

“Why don’t you ask her?” Kelly gently pushed P towards you. She was clutching a small Barbie to her chest as she got closer to you.

Her neck bent backwards, looking up at you. She held out her doll for you to take, which you did: not wanting to offend her.

With a shy smile, Penelope questioned, “Do you want to play dolls with me?”

“Sure!” You tried to make your voice seem as though you were over the moon to play. “Although, I honestly don’t know how. So, why don’t you show me?”

Penelope quickly took hold of your hand and all but dragged you down to the floor, where multiple other Barbies lay, waiting to be played with. The toddler quickly started to talk in animated gibberish, trying to explain that your Barbie was trying to take over her Barbie land. You only nodded at the very detailed and elaborate plot that she had come up with.

Max and Kelly giggled at your wide eyes as you tried to keep up with the small doll in your hands. However, it seemed as though you finally caught on to what was happening as Penelope had gotten more excited as you continued to play. The two adults watch the both of you fondly as your Barbie was finally overtaken by one of P’s bigger dolls that she had. Giggles escaped the toddler’s lips as you dramatically fell over, laying on the ground defeated. Penelope had squirmed over, trying to get you to get back up.

“P, I think I’m done for.” You put a hand over your eyes, laughing as P tried to tickle you “back to life.”

“No,” she dragged out the vowel.

You continued, “It’s a very nice rug. I think I’ll just sleep here tonight.”

She apparently did not like that as she draped her body over yours. You let out a grunt at the unexpected weight on your chest. You retaliated by tickling her as you sat up from the ground. Her squeals echoed the room.

Max and Kelly thought it was good to leave the two of you alone for a moment. They made their way to the kitchen to start dinner. As Kelly was getting the ingredients out, Max suddenly remembered something.

“Hey kid?”

“Yeah?” you perked up from around P’s head, since she was now sitting in your lap.

Max looked down at the box of pasta in his hands. “Do you have any food allergies or any dislikes?”

You thought for a moment before responding, “None that I know of. I’ll pretty much eat anything.”

“All right.”

Your attention was once again turned to the little girl that was showing you her multiple toys. You wanted to laugh when you spotted one of the scale models of Max’s car. You quickly held it in your hands to look it over.

“You race with Maxie?” Penelope asked as she took the car out of your hand. You didn’t mind: since it was her toy to begin with.

You softly smiled. “Yep, going to be the fastest on the track.”

Your hands started to softly stroke her hair and part it into three strands. You felt the mini car go up and down your leg. Soft “vrooms” left P’s lips as she trailed the car over your thighs. Your hands overlapped and formed a braid in the thin strands that you held.

An amazing smell started to waft through the air as dinner was close to being done.

“You staying, right?” P’s big eyes locked with yours.

“I’ll be staying until Christmas.”

Kelly and Max were listening to your conversation while everything simmered for a bit. With drinks in their hands, they leaned against each other to watch the two of you interact. It was crazy how fit you looked together. Honestly, there was a weird resemblance between the two of you, and Max would bet that if the four of you went out and about, people would really question if you were truly just a friend and not family.

“We wait for Santa together?”

You looked fondly down at her as you tied the braid off. “We’ll wait for Santa and make cookies and do whatever you want.”

P took that to heart and nodded multiple times in excitement.

It wasn’t long until dinner was ready. The meal was truly a simple dish: some type of chicken and pasta. Something plain enough that P would eat, but flavorful enough that the other three could enjoy it as well.

The table was filled with laughter and engaging conversation. There seemed to be an unspoken rule about not talking of Formula 1 conversation at the dinner table, and you were thankful for that. Your mind wanted to run back to memories of a time where you found yourself at your own dining table, alone. Most of the time, the food was long cold and not very good.

But, the happiness that you found yourself in right now deterred any thoughts of those times. The conversation of the plan for the next day was brought up by Kelly.

“I was thinking that we could take a trip to the shopping centers tomorrow,” Kelly mentioned before taking a sip from her wine glass. You, of course, had a plain water in front of you.

Max nodded, “I think that’s a good idea.”

You stayed silent, mulling it over. You cut into your chicken to take another bite, before realizing that the two adults were waiting for an answer from you. Your cheeks heated as you put your fork down.

“I’m good with anything honestly. It sounds fun.”

“I feel like there’s a but coming,” Max pointed out, smirking when Penelope laughed at the second to last word. You couldn’t help but join in with the young girl.

You shifted in your chair. “I’ve just never been before I guess.”

Max sent you a soft smile. “I thought of that. What do you think of Lando joining to walk around with you?”

Your eyes widened at the offer. You…go shopping…alone…with Lando Norris?

“I think I ran him over in an elevator one time.”

Max almost choked on his drink at your confession while Kelly could only laugh.

“Kid, I don’t think he remembers that. It’ll be good for you so that next season, you can start off with a familiar face and friend.”

Your heart soared at the thought of that and you quickly accepted.

“Great, I’ll text Lando that we’ll see him in the morning. But knowing him, he’s going to want to start shopping in the afternoon.”

And Max was correct as Lando practically whined about the idea of shopping in the morning while he was on call. Reluctantly though, the two came to a shared decision of shopping in the early afternoon around 1 pm.

You were nervous in the car, but Penelope in her car seat was a good distraction. This time, she told you that your Barbie was secretly a mermaid and needed a prince to save her. Sadly, all the Babies she had was the one you were holding, and another female with bright pink hair. You quickly noted to maybe find a prince doll for her while you were out shopping.

Your mind also raced with questions of what to get Max and Kelly, since they had taken you into their home and treated you as one of their own. Maybe you could ask Lando.

But what do you get two people who seem to be happy and content with what they have?

You were brought out of your thoughts at the lack of motion from the car. By now, you finally noticed that Max and Kelly had gotten out of the car, the latter now unbuckling P’s car seat. You quickly leaned over to unbuckle your own seat belt.

“Almost thought I had to unbuckle you myself,” Max joked as you finally got out of the car, stretching your limbs.

“Yeah, yeah.” You waved him off while you looked around at the shopping center. Lights, wreaths, and trees were everywhere. Your eyes really sparkled with the reflections of the all the lights. What you didn’t realize is that one Lando Norris had finally joined the group. You only noticed when he decided that it was a good idea to place both hands on your shoulders and yell really loudly.

What he didn’t know was that you had taken a few self-defense classes in your past. And his face was met with the knuckles of your hand. At least it wasn’t a very hard hit as your hand was covered in a very soft glove.

Your eyes widened as you let out a gasp as Lando cupped a hand to his nose.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to,” you frantically looked around, trying to see who had seen the altercation. Thankfully, no one had seemed to notice. However, Max could not stop laughing. You thought that any moment he would fall on the concrete from his wheezing. Kelly just held P with a look of concern.

Lando waved his hands, “I will not be doing that again.”

“I truly am sorry.” You grimaced at the sight of a red mark growing on his face.

“I thought that was hilarious.” Max could only offer, still laughing. Lando only squinted his eyes at him in mock offence.

“Lanno!” Penelope yelled from her jail of her mom’s arms. Kelly let her down and she bolted to the Brit. Lando caught her and held her.

“Hey P,” he greeted. P’s head found sanctuary in the crease of his neck. “At least one Verstappen likes me.”

“She’s not a Verstappen, yet.”

“I do like you.”

“I’m not even remotely related.”

Lando just shook his head. “Max needs to hurry up; you laugh at my pain; you are Max’s kid, so a Verstappen by proxy.”

You just looked confused and lost at the revelation from Lando. Max let out a nervous giggle as he glanced at Kelly.

“Are we ready to start shopping?” Max clapped his hands.

“Y/n, you’re coming with me?” Lando questioned as he put the toddler back down.

Your hand scratched the back of your head nervously. “I guess so?” You had tried to make it not seem like a question, but you couldn’t help it.

Max was the one to pick up Penelope this time. “Just text us when you’re done. We will meet up back here.” And with that, he, Kelly, and P turned to leave. Which left you with Lando, who was looking at you with waiting eyes.

“Uh, lead the way?”

Lando cocked his head. “You’ve never been? Surely Arthur has taken you.”

You only shook your head as the two of you turned in the opposite direction. “I’ve only visited Monaco a few times and they were most for promotions or dinners with higher ups. Didn’t have a lot of time to go exploring.”

“Fair enough. Well, you just tell me when you see a store that you want to visit.”

“About that, do you have any ideas of what to maybe get Max or Kelly? I know what I want to get for P, but they’re a bit harder to think of gifts for,” you confessed as you walked down the sidewalk.

Lando hummed as he thought. “I know Max had talked about needing a new steering wheel for his sim. Something about the buttons being sticky from spilling a drink.”

“It was probably a Red Bull, if we’re being honest here.” That earned you a laugh from the older driver.

“True. Now Kelly, I really don’t know. Maybe you should text Max?”

“I’ll think of something, hopefully.”

And think of something you did. You had barely passed a jewelry store when something caught your eye.

“Lando, I’m going to go in here for a moment. I need to by a few things.” The Brit nodded and followed you in. You shot him a confused look.

“Might as well find a present for my mom and sister while we’re here.”

Thankfully, the two of you went in opposite directions of the store. Your eyes glanced over the glass cases full of valuables. You knew your bank account couldn’t quite handle some of the pieces, but you hoped that the item you were thinking of didn’t cost much.

As you hovered over the necklaces, a sales rep had come over and asked if you had needed anything.

“Can I see the locket, please?”

“Why certainly.”

The man unlocked the glass case and pulled out the beautiful chain with a heart-shaped pendent on it. The front was plain, probably because many would want to personalize it. You gently took it in your hands to give it a look over.

“I could customize the front and give you a picture to put it in right?”

The man quickly told you all the different things that you could do with the small item. To your surprise, the upcharges weren’t much to get it custom.

You requested for Penelope’s and Max’s birth flowers to be etched into the front. You quickly scrolled through Pinterest and Instagram to find a nice picture each of Max and P. Satisfied with both, you sent them in to the store and was told that you could pick it up in around 2 hours.

You thanked the man for his swiftness before requesting to look at another bracelet and a watch. You had made a mental note that you had finally accepted the offer from Arthur to join him, Charles, and their mom for Christmas night.

You, again, asked for a special inscription to be put on the nice watch. By the time everything would be ready, you and Lando should be headed back to the car. You told the man that you’d like to pick up the second necklace at that time too, even though you didn’t need anything custom on Charles’ present.

You found Lando waiting for you at the front of the store, hands holding two small bags. He looked up from his phone when his eyes caught you walking closer.

“Find anything?” he asked, glancing at your empty hands.

“I actually did. But I have to come back to get them when they’re done.”

Lando let out a ‘ah’ before turning around to leave the nice store.

“Are you good if we stop by the gaming place?” Lando questioned, looking over his shoulder as you tried to keep up.

“Only if you show me what wheel to buy Max. Then I need to go to the toy shop that’s across the way.”

Lando nodded and took your hand, almost dragging you along – which you didn’t mind, since people have said that you tend to get lost easily. As you approached the shop, you saw Lando’s eyes light up at the sight of all the gaming equipment. You wanted to laugh, but you knew you’d look the same way if you had stepped into a mechanic shop or a Porsche dealership.

Lando quickly walked you over to the wall of wheels, pointing out which ones would be compatible with Max’s sim. Your bank account wanted to cry at the amount of zeros before the decimal point, but your heart was set on getting it for Max. He had given you what you always wanted, so you could at least get him something nice for Christmas.

You ended up picking the one with the middle price, not the most expensive but not the “cheapest” one either. Your hands grabbed the box and held onto it tightly, not wanting to break it. The girl at the cashier register turned out to be a fan and asked for a picture.

“As long as you don’t say what I’m buying. Gotta keep the present a surprise.”

The girl nodded eagerly as she took a selfie with you.

As she rang you up, she started to talk, “I know it’s not Formula 1, but I do E-Racing and you have been nothing short of an inspiration to me. It wasn’t easy being the only girl on my team, but you gave me the strength to keep going.”

Wow. It was not on your agenda to cry today, but you couldn’t help the tears that formed in your eyes. You leaned over the counter to give her a quick hug and tell her how much those words meant to you.

You hadn’t noticed that you were holding up the line until Lando yelled something from the back of it. Saying goodbye, you stalked back to where he was, hands full of gaming equipment.

You raised an eyebrow. “All for you?”

He only smirked in response. “Most of it is for my friend Max.”

You cocked your head and heart dropped at the sight of the same steering wheel that you currently had in your bad. Did Lando plan to up-one you in gift giving. You held up the bag that held the wheel.

“I thought I was getting the wheel for Max?”

Lando had a look of confusion before his eyes showed an understanding. “You are not the only one with a best friend named Max.”

You pouted. “Max is not my best friend.”

“Oh yeah,” Lando tilted his head, “then who is?”

The two of you stepped forward in the line. You hesitated before a deeper pout formed on your lips.

You only grumbled, “Max.”

Lando through his head back in laughter as you finally made it to the front of the line. Lando quickly payed for his things with a tap of his card. Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head when you saw the grand total for his purchases. Boy, oh boy, you couldn’t wait to drive for real and get that bank.

You definitely had some money from over the years. Winnings, your godfather’s will (where everything went to you), and then the bonus you got for signing with Red Bull in the first place. But you had been planning to look into getting an apartment in Monaco and one in London along with a vehicle to be in both places so you didn’t waste money on rentals.

Speaking of apartments, you phone buzzed with a notification from the agent that you hired to find you a suitable one. Your smile grew as you saw that she had told you that you had been approved for one about a ten minute walk from Max and that you could start moving in after Christmas. You quickly sent a text back where you profuse your thanks for her.

“What’s got you all smiley, Bug?” Lando tried to peer over your shoulder to look at your phone.

Your once smile turned into a scrunched face as you looked up at him.

“Bug?” You tried out the name on your own tongue.

Lando just shrugged. “Well, everyone calls you Kid. You’re not that much younger than me, so it doesn’t work the same. But you are shorter.” You hit his arm. “What?! It’s true. So Bug it is.”

“I guess that’s fine.”

“Now, do you want to tell me what message you got? Secret boyfriend? Arthur? Meme from Max?”

You tried to bite back your grin, but you were just so happy. “I, uh, got approved for an apartment here, in Monaco. It’s about 10 minutes away from Max’s house.”

“Well congratulations!” Lando brought you into a side hug, bags swinging.

“Thank you, Lanno.” You were now the one dishing out nicknames. Lando’s smile only grew, but he didn’t mention anything about the name. Somehow that was good enough for you to infer that he liked it and didn’t think it was stupid.

From there, the two of you stopped in a toy store while you quickly grabbed a few toys for Penelope: one being a prince doll, another a toy version of the RB19, and then a couple of stuffies that you hoped the girl would like. Lando also pitched in for a couple of extras.

You also went back into the jewelry store to grab Kelly’s necklace, Arthur’s watch, and Charles’ bracelet. All had been exactly what you wanted and the engravings were beautiful. The McLaren driver also had good things to say about them as well.

You asked for them to also be all packaged up, ready to go right under the tree that Kelly and Max had already put out, but not decorated. He had given that task to the ladies of the house. You had giggled when Kelly told you that he had absolutely no decorating skills.

There weren’t any stores left for you and Lando to visit, and before you knew it, goodbyes were being exchanged with the promises of hanging out another time.

y/n.89 posted

christmas shopping with kevin mccallister tagged: landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1, and 104,284 others

landonorris the slander is just wrong - where is your christmas spirit

y/n.89 I have plenty, just not for you logansargeant any for me? y/n.89 plenty mr. american

Christa72 thank you again for the picture!

y/n.89 it was so lovely to meet you!

box_box_official love seeing y/n become friends with the drivers outside the races

y/n-lover our Christmas queen

oscarpiastri you are right, he is giving kevin

landonorris oscaaaahhhhhh y/n.89 ahahahahahah get wrecked landonorris I think I heard a bug around here

Funny enough, you and P both fell asleep in the car on the way back. You were only woken up by Max lightly shaking you, something he remembered from the plane. With sleepy eyes and hands full of bags, you walked to your “room” and flopped on the bed. As Max passed with an armful of toddler, he chuckled at your form. He’d leave you for a bit until dinner was ready.

He carefully put Penelope in her small bed, covering her lightly with a small blanket. As he turned to get up, a small hand reached out and pulled on his. His eyes widened a tad as he looked back at the sleepy girl.

His big hand cupped her head and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “Hey P, you sleepy or do you want to stay up with Maxie and Mommy?”

Penelope rubbed her eyes as she sat up. “Is KiKi gonna be there?”

Max cocked his head. “Who?”

“KiKi.”

Max thought for a moment. “Y/n?”

The toddler just nodded holding her arms out, waiting to be picked up. Max quickly scooped her back up. Knowing that she’d want to see you, he brought her to your room, where you hadn’t moved an inch. He gently placed the toddler in your bed. To his surprise, in your sleep, you unconsciously moved to make room for P and put your arm around her bringing her closer.

Max’s heart melted as he took out his phone to quickly text Kelly to come to your room. She was quick since she stood next to him in under a minute. He brought her close as they watch the two of you snuggle. They both heard a content hum escape your lips as your arm tightened around the girl. Tears made their way to Max’s lash line, but he managed to keep them at bay.

“Let’s go make dinner,” Kelly whispered.

Around an hour later, Max woke the two of you up for dinner. Once again, the meal was delicious. Your heart swelled at the soft smiles exchanged around the table.

This is basically how the first part of the break went. Movies were watched, tears were shed (you definitely didn’t cry while watching the Polar Express), cookies were made and decorated (after many failed attempts), snow men were built, standing proudly in front of the house, and snowballs were thrown (Max apparently lost a snowball fight for the first time in 20 years).

Before you knew it, Christmas Eve was finally here. You had woken up early, wanting to prepare for everything. Max definitely laughed when he saw you sitting by the chimney looking up at the sooty dark hole.

“But how does he fit through there?” Your eyebrows were scrunched as you pondered over this with a bowl of cereal.

Max sipped his coffee. “Magic.”

“That makes zero sense.” You bit your spoon, eating the cereal that was there. Sadly, that was the last of your breakfast. Max ruffled your hair, making it messier than it was.

All day long, you waited and waited and waited. You finally had something to do after dinner while the four of you decorated the tree. Somehow, Penelope had climbed on your back to reach the upper branches.

“Higher Kiki! Higher!” She giggled as you hoisted her higher on your back.

“Any higher and you’ll be in the ceiling.” You laughed along with her, Max and Kelly watching the two of you with fond smiles as well as taking pictures from time to time. Max was practically vibrating in his seat. He thought that last year with just him, Kelly, and P was the best that life could be. But seeing you with his “almost daughter” and seeing his “almost wife” look at you like you were her own: it was such a different feeling.

He was brought out of his thoughts with your voice.

“I think we’re done!”

You and P held out your arms as to display your decorating jobs. The two adults clapped lightly. The toddler and you took a dramatic bow, before rushing to the kitchen. Giggles and laughs echoed through the warmly lit house. The two of you returned with a full glass of milk – carried by Penelope with two hands (like you reminded her) and you held two plates – one with cookies decorated with colorful icings and one with carrots (for the reindeer – of course).

With a kiss on your head and one on P’s, the two of you were left to sleep by the Christmas tree. You, however, couldn’t stop wriggling: you were too excited about Santa. You had just gotten sleepy when you heard a noise, come from deeper in the house. Your once wiggly body quickly froze. If Santa was supposed to come down the chimney, which was at your feet, then why was there noise coming from the kitchen.

You slowly sat up and grabbed the closest thing near you – funny enough it was “How to Build a Car” by Adrian Newey that Max used as a table topper. You slightly shook as you stood from the couch. You were thinking to yourself – was Santa just a home invader to come steal your things?

Well, Max had invited you to his house and you were not about to let some fat man come rob him. You were an athlete, with real sweat – athlete sweat: you could take him.

Gingerly you stepped around where P was sleeping and made your way farther into the house. Your eyes caught something red, and you froze once again when your eyes landed on another figure.

What was Kelly doing with the burglar?

Had he threatened her? Did he have a gun? Where was Max? Was he knocked unconscious and tied up in their bedroom, alone, possibly bleeding? Or even worse – dead?

Tears welled in your eyes at the thought. Max couldn’t possibly be dead. Your sleepy mind was getting the best of you. You peered around the corner once more and your blood boiled.

Santa was now leaning in – FOR A KISS?? That did it.

You stepped out from behind the corner, book clenched in your hands in front of your chest. If he had a gun and shot, the book would save you – hopefully.

Kelly finally saw you and her eyes widened at your shaking figure. She quickly tapped Santa (well, Max in a Santa suit) and gestured to you. With wide eyes, Max turned around and froze when he saw you as well.

You were not supposed to be up.

He stood up straighter and took his hands off his girlfriend. Trying to dissolve the situation carefully, he wanted to be the first one to talk, but you always had the upper hand.

“Where is Max?” You voice wobbled.

Max wanted to cry when he heard the shakiness in your tone.

He cleared his throat before speaking with a deep tone. “He’s still asleep.”

You glared at the fake robber-wanna-be. “Oh so you decide to come rob our house and threaten Kelly while Max is asleep?” By now, the book was slowly rising above your head.

Max wanted to sigh, this was not going according to plan.

“Kid, Kelly just need to show me something about the, uh.” Max looked at Kelly, trying to speak with his eyes.

“The cookies sweetie,” Kelly came up with the excuse on the spot.

Your book was slowly coming down. “What about the cookies?” Now your voice sounded worried. Had you screwed up Santa’s cookies and was this the real Santa? And you were threatening him?

“Nothing’s wrong with them Kid. I got a little lost in this big house,” his gloved hands gestured to the giant ceilings, “and I couldn’t find the cookies, milk, or carrots for the reindeer.” Max was able to come up with the second lie, but he could tell it was working. His eyes watched as you finally lowered the book.

You exhaled sharply and yawned. Max and Kelly’s hearts melted at your sleepiness. Your head nodded as you tried to make sense of everything.

Well, it would make sense for Santa to get lost in a home that he’d never visited before. And you and P didn’t put the cookies, milk, and carrots on the actual fireplace because you two were nervous he would step on them. Honestly, you were falling asleep where you were standing.

Max cautiously stepped closer and put a hand on your back to lead you back to the couch. With eyes closed you let him guide you. He finally exhaled once you were tucked in.

Kelly and he shared a glance at each other and disappeared around the corner and back to their room. Quiet laughs echoed through the bedroom as Max almost tripped on the red pants as he tried to get out of them. They quickly fell asleep when their heads hit their pillows. They could laugh at that for years to come.

They felt as though they hadn’t gotten any sleep by the time Penelope came screaming through their room.

“SANTA CAME! SANTA CAME!” The toddler’s arms were up in the air before she used to them lift herself onto the giant bed. Max groaned when she found a spot right on his stomach to park herself.

Max picked her up as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Present time?”

Penelope sat silent for a moment before the words really hit here before squeals left her lips. Once again, she darted out of the room to rush back to the main room.

You had been in the kitchen making coffee.

Honestly, you don’t even remember what happened. (And that’s probably for the best.) Before long, Max and Kelly waddled into the kitchen, barely awake. They were met with warm mugs in their hands and the smell of coffee in the kitchen.

With smiles, they thanked you and headed into the living room where P was practically vibrating in her spot, yet was waiting for everyone.

Max had been designated as “Santa” this year to pass and hand out the presents. He and Kelly shared a knowing look and a wink that you picked up on and flashed a confused face, but you let it go. It was probably some inside joke that didn’t involve you. Right.

You were thankful for the first present that Max passed you, but where surprised when the second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth present also made their way into your lap. You again had a confused look on your face, but the comforting smile on Kelly’s face helped you realize that these were all on purpose.

Max and Kelly were also surprised when they also got a gift from you as well. You sheepishly smiled at them and went to speak, but the sound of paper ripping interrupted you.

Well, there went Penelope. Laughs were shared as the young girl ripped and tore through the previously carefully wrapped present.

When she got to yours, she stared at the prince doll and the stuffies. She felt each one and traced the dolls face. She quickly got up and wrapped her arms around your neck.

“Thanks Kiki!” She had the largest smile on her face.

You rubbed her back and hugged her tightly. “You’re very welcome.”

She immediately sat back down and started to play. Possibly this time the story line would go much better as the prince could now save the princess.

You guessed it was your turn now. You were about to open the first present, but Max stopped you.

“Open this one first.” He gave you the smallest one first.

You opened the small package and a gasp left your lips.

Inside, was a small circular ornament. It was decorated with a family of four – two girls with a man and woman – with lettering underneath them. You read the words out loud.

“First Christmas as a Family of Four. Max, Kelly, Penelope, and Y/n.” You looked up from the ornament to the two adults who looked at you with such love.

Max broke the silence. “Uh, we just wanted to get you something meaningful. No matter what happens you’ll always find yourself in our home and intermingled in our lives.”

Kelly leaned in closer to Max. “We always want you here honey. You’re family now.” She intertwined her fingers with Max.

You ducked your head with a small smile. “Can I put it on the tree?”

With quick and eager nods, you stood up and tiptoed over the piles of papers that littered the floor. You found a nice branch right in the front of the tree and made sure it stayed. You walked back to your place and sat back down.

“Your turn now.”

The Dutch adults took their presents that you had bought them a few weeks ago. Kelly may have shed a tear or two when she noticed that the flowers were Max and P’s birth flowers. Yet, she promised that she’d take it to get your put there as well. That’s when you had started to cry.

Max was shocked by how you had possibly known what steering wheel he had needed. You sheepishly said that you had received some help from Lando.

“Kid, this is too expensive.”

You crossed your arms.

“I’m not poor.”

Max rolled his eyes. “I know you aren’t but…”

“No buts. I wanted to so you have to accept it.”

Max finally sighed as he looked down at the wheel. “Fine.”

You did a little wiggle dance at the small victory.

“Yeah, yeah. Now would you please open the rest of your presents?”

The next ones that you opened were a paddle kit (because you had once told Max that it would be good to bond over another sport), new shoes (yours were falling apart), small mini versions of Lightning McQueen and Sally (you promised to put it on your dash when you bought a car), some jewelry that Kelly picked out (she also promised that she’d help you renew your closet when you found a permanent place to stay), and then finally a Lecia Q2 camera (something Lando told Max that you might enjoy to have a separate hobby and one that he could help you out with).

When every present had been unwrapped and played with for just a bit, you quietly stood up and cleared your voice. All three pairs of eyes were now on you.

“I uh, just wanted to say thank you. I’ve never had something like this before, and you have definitely shown what I’ve been missing. But, I wouldn’t want to spend Christmas like this with anyone else – past or present. I’m glad that I have people like the three of you that love me and welcome me with open arms.” You took a deep breath.

“I also wanted to say that I am happy here and really never want to call another place home like I’ve started to call this place home.” You reached for your phone.

“Kid,” Max started to say. He wanted you to stay, but knew he would have to talk to Kelly about letting you stay here permanently.

Except you had other plans. You sat in between them so that they could look at your screen.

“Like I said, I would never want to leave now that I have finally found a place where I feel like I belong. So a couple of weeks ago, I hired an agent to find me a small apartment in a radius around her. And I got approved when we went shopping. It’s about a ten minute walk from here but it’s private enough where people really won’t think to look for me.”

Max looked at you with a bright smile as he brought you into a hug. Kelly also leaned over to hug you as well. Penelope, who didn’t want to be left out, jumped into your lap. But, as your eyes glazed over the walls, you let out a gasp.

Thinking that something was wrong, Max pulled away quickly, eyes glancing over you, trying to see what was wrong. Yet, you pointed at the window.

“Snow.”

Three heads whipped in that direction to also look at the white fluffy stuff that was falling from the sky. You quickly stood up and rushed to change into something warmer. Kelly, Max, and P followed suit. Once the four of you were bundled, you all walked outside to stand under the fresh snow.

This wasn’t the first time you saw snow, but this would be your first white Christmas. You stood at the side as you watched Max and Kelly kneel near Penelope and start to build a snowman. You laughed as you watched Kelly put snow down Max’s jacket and Max desperately try to get the snow out. It looked as if he was break dancing as the snow slid down his back. Penelope just watched and laughed as Max wiggled.

Max finally glanced at your and beckoned you over to join them. You shook your head as your own laugh started to sound in the stark white world that you were in. You stalked over and started to help them build the snowman. You could worry about other things at a later point. Here, this is where you belonged.

With your family.

So, this is Christmas.

maxverstappen1 posted

my christmas girls tagged: kellypiquet and y/n.89

liked by y/n.89, landonorris, and 1,109,837 others

max-max-super the caption just destroyed me

emotional_support_rivals drivers during christmas are my favorite

y/n.89 love you maxie <3 thanks for loving me

maxverstappen1 anytime kid, anytime charles_leclerc like I said, max does have a heart maxverstappen1 watch it leclerc or I won't let her go over later arthur_leclerc Charles shut up please

iamred-iamyellow I'm not crying, you're crying

kellypiquet all my love for you, P, and y/n

y/n-updates the way he called y/n one of "his girls" - goodbye

landonorris Arthur wants to call her that as well *comment has been deleted* change_ur_f-car DID ANYONE ELSE SEE THAT?! landonorris close your eyes

y/n.89 has posted

I have everything I ever wished for right here - Merry Christmas tagged: maxverstappen1 and kellypiquet

liked by arthur_leclerc, carlossainz55, and 130,274 others

lastlaplando the verstappen household woke up and chose christmas caption VIOLENCE

maxiel-lover I know right, both had me bawlin formula1fan my favorite version of max is "soft for y/n" max

y/n's_version our christmas girl

redbullracing who won the snowball fight and snowman contest?

y/n.89 me maxverstappen1 me y/n.89 wanna think about your answer again???? maxverstappen1 y/n did

y/n.89 the last picture was pre-snow, max just got too cold to stand still for a winter family photo

landonorris typical max, always ruining lives somehow maxverstappen1 eXcUSe mE?!

emotional_support_rivals live, laugh, love y/n verstappen

y/n.89 no, we're taking Kelly's last name maxverstappen1 when did we talk about this? kellypiquet you were asleep

author MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

y/n.89 what are you doing here? author breaking the fourth wall? y/n.89 continue

For the full Christmas Day experience, read this chapter of Besties for the Resties!

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