girl-next-door-writes

[girl-next-door-writes]

your yearly reminder that Baby It’s Cold Outside is a song about a woman having CONSENSUAL sex, at a time when premarital sex was frowned upon. The female singer is offering up the token demurrals society expects her to, because it’s expected, not bc she doesn’t fully intend to stay and have awesome sex with a dude she’s into. The male singer knows this, and is in turn offering her an excuse to give to the neighbors in the morning (“it was too cold for me to go home, the only responsible thing to do was spend the night at his place. because of the weather, get your minds out of the gutter”). A 1950s audience would have understood all this, but the nuance gets lost in a modern age where women are actually allowed to say yes when they mean it.  

Also the “hey what’s in this drink” thing was a common joke at the time, where the punchline was that there was in fact nothing in the drink. the woman’s making a joke that she wouldn’t do this if she was sober, oh goodness no! it’s only a joke bc both she and the man are in on the punchline: she is sober, and is only staying bc she wants to

[girl-next-door-writes]

#Consume All The Fics:    @captainsophiestark  @hannibal-shits-people @vintagevalentinex @alicenwrites    @asgards-princess-of-mischief

#Wonderous Weasleys:   @afunkyfreshblog  @sweetjedi    @george-weasleys-girl  

Between the Stacks

Characters: George Weasley x reader

Summary: Snow falls softly at Hogwarts, but George Weasley’s mischief sparks warmth in the library—and maybe, something more.

Word Count: 1247 words

Prompts: Library. Mutual pining. A hug that lingers.

A/N: A lovely sweet anon requested this one, so I hope you see it. I have missed writing my favourite Weasley.

The library was quiet, the soft rustle of pages and the occasional scratch of a quill the only sounds breaking the stillness. Snow fell softly against the windows, casting shifting patterns of light on the stone walls. Christmas was just a week away, and most of the students had already left for the holidays, leaving the Hogwarts library eerily empty. You had told yourself you stayed back for the quiet. The peace. But the truth was, the silence felt heavier than you’d expected, wrapping around you like a too-tight scarf.

“You’re staring at that book like it insulted your gran,” a familiar voice broke your concentration, and your heart did a little flip. George Weasley slid into the chair across from you, his signature mischievous grin firmly in place.

“Maybe it did,” you quipped, snapping the book shut. “I’m not entirely convinced Potions theory isn’t some form of cruel punishment.”

George chuckled, leaning back in his chair, and you couldn’t help but admire the way the firelight turned his hair into copper and gold. He was always so at ease, like the world bent just slightly to accommodate him.

“What are you still doing here, anyway? I thought you’d have escaped this place by now.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” you countered, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged, an easy motion that somehow felt practiced. “Fred and I thought we’d stick around. Fewer teachers means more room for…creative experimentation.”

“Ah, I see. And by ‘creative experimentation,’ you mean causing as much chaos as possible?”

“Precisely.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and for a moment, his grin softened into something thoughtful. “But what about you? Why spend your holidays buried in books when you could be…I don’t know, having fun?”

You hesitated, twirling your quill between your fingers. The truth was, you’d stayed back partly because you enjoyed the quiet, but mostly because of him. George. His laugh, his jokes, the way he made everything seem brighter. Not that you’d ever admit it.

“Maybe I like the quiet,” you said finally, glancing away to hide the heat rising to your cheeks. “It’s…peaceful.”

“Fair enough,” he said, though there was a glint of something knowing in his eyes. “But don’t you ever get lonely?”

“Not when I have people like you interrupting me,” you teased, grateful for the shift in tone.

He laughed, the sound warm and rich, shattering the stillness of the library. For a moment, the cold stone walls seemed to fall away, and all that was left was him.

Over the next few days, George seemed to pop up wherever you went. In the Great Hall during meals, he’d slide into the seat beside you with a cheeky comment about your “intense focus” on your soup. In the common room, he’d swipe your parchment to doodle absurd caricatures of Snape, complete with a crooked nose and bat wings. And in the library, he’d appear from behind the stacks, always with a joke or a story that left you laughing despite yourself.

“You know,” he said one evening, as you both sat in the library again, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding me.”

“Avoiding you?” you repeated, feigning innocence as you turned a page in your book. “Why on earth would I do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, leaning back in his chair and tapping a finger to his chin, the picture of mock seriousness. “Maybe because you’re worried you’ll fall madly in love with me.”

You rolled your eyes, though your heart raced. “Please. I think I’ll manage.”

“Suit yourself,” he said with a wink. But his grin faltered—just for a second, the smallest crack in his usual bravado. His eyes lingered on you, softening in a way that made your stomach twist, before he quickly glanced away.

It wasn’t until the evening before Christmas Eve that things came to a head. You were alone in the library, the faint strains of carols drifting from the enchanted suits of armor in the corridors. The fireplace crackled softly, casting long shadows across the rows of books, and snow tapped gently against the frosted windows. The quiet was almost soothing, and you’d been lost in thought when you heard footsteps behind you.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually studying so close to Christmas,” George’s voice rang out, tinged with mock horror.

You turned, startled, to find him standing there, a box wrapped in red and gold paper in his hands. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, and there was a certain nervousness in the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“What’s that?” you asked, eyeing the package.

“A present,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “For you.”

“For me?” You blinked, surprised. “Why?”

“Why not?” he said with a shrug, though his grin was unusually subdued. He stepped closer and set the box carefully on the table. “Go on, open it.”

Your fingers brushed the crisp paper as you peeled it back, the firelight reflecting off the gold paper. Inside was a small, intricately carved wooden box. You lifted the lid to reveal a quill, its handle engraved with your initials and the crest of your house. The silver feathers shimmered faintly, catching the glow of the fire.

“George…” you began, your voice catching. You ran your fingers over the smooth handle, marveling at the detail. “This is beautiful. Thank you.”

“I thought you could use something special for all those notes you’re always scribbling,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding your gaze. “Figured it might make studying a bit less miserable.”

“It’s perfect,” you said, looking up at him, your chest tightening. “Really. Thank you.”

He grinned, but this time there was a softness to it, a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

“You know,” he said after a moment, his tone quieter, “I wasn’t entirely honest earlier.”

“About what?” you asked, though your pulse quickened.

“Why I stayed for the holidays,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to the floor. His hand drifted to the edge of the table, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on the wood.

Your breath caught. “Why did you?”

He looked up then, his brown eyes meeting yours with an openness that made your stomach flip. “Because I… I didn’t want to spend so much time away from you.”

The words hung in the air between you, soft and tentative, like snowflakes that might melt if you moved too suddenly. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, before you could think twice, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. He froze for a heartbeat, then pulled you close, his hold firm and warm and lingering just a little too long to be purely friendly.

“You’re an idiot,” you murmured against his shoulder, though your tone was affectionate. “But thank you.”

His breath was warm against your hair. “For what?”

“For staying,” you said softly, tightening your hold for just a moment longer.

When you finally pulled back, his hands lingered on your arms, his touch warm despite the chill in the air.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, his voice just above a whisper, his gaze locked on yours.

“Merry Christmas, George,” you replied, a smile tugging at your lips.

And as the snow continued to fall outside, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something wonderful.

[girl-next-door-writes]

Between the Stacks

Characters: George Weasley x reader

Summary: Snow falls softly at Hogwarts, but George Weasley’s mischief sparks warmth in the library—and maybe, something more.

Word Count: 1247 words

Prompts: Library. Mutual pining. A hug that lingers.

A/N: A lovely sweet anon requested this one, so I hope you see it. I have missed writing my favourite Weasley.

The library was quiet, the soft rustle of pages and the occasional scratch of a quill the only sounds breaking the stillness. Snow fell softly against the windows, casting shifting patterns of light on the stone walls. Christmas was just a week away, and most of the students had already left for the holidays, leaving the Hogwarts library eerily empty. You had told yourself you stayed back for the quiet. The peace. But the truth was, the silence felt heavier than you’d expected, wrapping around you like a too-tight scarf.

“You’re staring at that book like it insulted your gran,” a familiar voice broke your concentration, and your heart did a little flip. George Weasley slid into the chair across from you, his signature mischievous grin firmly in place.

“Maybe it did,” you quipped, snapping the book shut. “I’m not entirely convinced Potions theory isn’t some form of cruel punishment.”

George chuckled, leaning back in his chair, and you couldn’t help but admire the way the firelight turned his hair into copper and gold. He was always so at ease, like the world bent just slightly to accommodate him.

“What are you still doing here, anyway? I thought you’d have escaped this place by now.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” you countered, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged, an easy motion that somehow felt practiced. “Fred and I thought we’d stick around. Fewer teachers means more room for…creative experimentation.”

“Ah, I see. And by ‘creative experimentation,’ you mean causing as much chaos as possible?”

“Precisely.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and for a moment, his grin softened into something thoughtful. “But what about you? Why spend your holidays buried in books when you could be…I don’t know, having fun?”

You hesitated, twirling your quill between your fingers. The truth was, you’d stayed back partly because you enjoyed the quiet, but mostly because of him. George. His laugh, his jokes, the way he made everything seem brighter. Not that you’d ever admit it.

“Maybe I like the quiet,” you said finally, glancing away to hide the heat rising to your cheeks. “It’s…peaceful.”

“Fair enough,” he said, though there was a glint of something knowing in his eyes. “But don’t you ever get lonely?”

“Not when I have people like you interrupting me,” you teased, grateful for the shift in tone.

He laughed, the sound warm and rich, shattering the stillness of the library. For a moment, the cold stone walls seemed to fall away, and all that was left was him.

Over the next few days, George seemed to pop up wherever you went. In the Great Hall during meals, he’d slide into the seat beside you with a cheeky comment about your “intense focus” on your soup. In the common room, he’d swipe your parchment to doodle absurd caricatures of Snape, complete with a crooked nose and bat wings. And in the library, he’d appear from behind the stacks, always with a joke or a story that left you laughing despite yourself.

“You know,” he said one evening, as you both sat in the library again, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding me.”

“Avoiding you?” you repeated, feigning innocence as you turned a page in your book. “Why on earth would I do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, leaning back in his chair and tapping a finger to his chin, the picture of mock seriousness. “Maybe because you’re worried you’ll fall madly in love with me.”

You rolled your eyes, though your heart raced. “Please. I think I’ll manage.”

“Suit yourself,” he said with a wink. But his grin faltered—just for a second, the smallest crack in his usual bravado. His eyes lingered on you, softening in a way that made your stomach twist, before he quickly glanced away.

It wasn’t until the evening before Christmas Eve that things came to a head. You were alone in the library, the faint strains of carols drifting from the enchanted suits of armor in the corridors. The fireplace crackled softly, casting long shadows across the rows of books, and snow tapped gently against the frosted windows. The quiet was almost soothing, and you’d been lost in thought when you heard footsteps behind you.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually studying so close to Christmas,” George’s voice rang out, tinged with mock horror.

You turned, startled, to find him standing there, a box wrapped in red and gold paper in his hands. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, and there was a certain nervousness in the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“What’s that?” you asked, eyeing the package.

“A present,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “For you.”

“For me?” You blinked, surprised. “Why?”

“Why not?” he said with a shrug, though his grin was unusually subdued. He stepped closer and set the box carefully on the table. “Go on, open it.”

Your fingers brushed the crisp paper as you peeled it back, the firelight reflecting off the gold paper. Inside was a small, intricately carved wooden box. You lifted the lid to reveal a quill, its handle engraved with your initials and the crest of your house. The silver feathers shimmered faintly, catching the glow of the fire.

“George…” you began, your voice catching. You ran your fingers over the smooth handle, marveling at the detail. “This is beautiful. Thank you.”

“I thought you could use something special for all those notes you’re always scribbling,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding your gaze. “Figured it might make studying a bit less miserable.”

“It’s perfect,” you said, looking up at him, your chest tightening. “Really. Thank you.”

He grinned, but this time there was a softness to it, a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

“You know,” he said after a moment, his tone quieter, “I wasn’t entirely honest earlier.”

“About what?” you asked, though your pulse quickened.

“Why I stayed for the holidays,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to the floor. His hand drifted to the edge of the table, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on the wood.

Your breath caught. “Why did you?”

He looked up then, his brown eyes meeting yours with an openness that made your stomach flip. “Because I… I didn’t want to spend so much time away from you.”

The words hung in the air between you, soft and tentative, like snowflakes that might melt if you moved too suddenly. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, before you could think twice, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. He froze for a heartbeat, then pulled you close, his hold firm and warm and lingering just a little too long to be purely friendly.

“You’re an idiot,” you murmured against his shoulder, though your tone was affectionate. “But thank you.”

His breath was warm against your hair. “For what?”

“For staying,” you said softly, tightening your hold for just a moment longer.

When you finally pulled back, his hands lingered on your arms, his touch warm despite the chill in the air.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, his voice just above a whisper, his gaze locked on yours.

“Merry Christmas, George,” you replied, a smile tugging at your lips.

And as the snow continued to fall outside, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something wonderful.

[girl-next-door-writes]

Dear Fandom readers - an etiquette fail

AO3 is not goodreads. It is not the NYT bestseller list.

You paid no money to read these stories. They are, in fact, a labor of love, done on the off time in the off hours of people who are writing for the joy of writing and the joy of the story.

Your ratings are not appreciated. Not by other readers, who don't know you from adam. Not by fandom-savvy passerby.

And not, in fact, by the author. Who again: Wrote this for fun. In their spare time - around work, around family and friend commitments. Around the rest of their lives. Fandom clout almost never "pays off" in any monetary gains, in any form of physical or financial security.

So please stop "rating" us on something we do for joy.

Today, a fellow fanauthor shared this with me. It was not on any story of my own, but they understandably needed a moment to go "wtf" and process it all. With their permission, I now share this with you.

You won't find this comment on AO3 anymore, by the by.

I have... a lot of issues with this. First of all being something that would be a C-grade in any US school system is not a "Good Rating" for most folks, but many of my issues would be the same even in this commenter had rated this a 10/10.

It boils down to this:

Why are you grading us on something we all are here to do solely for fun and personal enjoyment? Why does it have to be good?

Why can't it just be a labor of love and of joy to be good enough for you, dear commenter?

Do I, as a fanauthor, want to write well? Sure! I do want to write good stories. But I didn't ask random readers to grade me on them. Not in bookmarks that I can easily check, and certainly not in my comments section. And I never will want them to. Every author I've talked to agrees. Is there someone out there who might want this? Sure. Most likely, even! The human experience and desires are broad and varied. But in my experience, if they do exist in Fandom, they're the vast minority. So please:

Don't.

[girl-next-door-writes]

#Consume All The Fics:    @captainsophiestark  @hannibal-shits-people @vintagevalentinex @alicenwrites    @asgards-princess-of-mischief

#Stranger Boys:      @saramelaniemoon   @ali-r3n @fandom-princess-forevermore @itwasallblue

Wrapped In You

Characters: Eddie Munson x reader

Summary: Snowy Hawkins sets the stage for Eddie and his best friend’s Christmas Eve adventure, leading to heartfelt confessions.

Word Count: 1369 words

Prompts: Best friends to lovers. Wearing their clothes.

A/N: This one is for the brilliant @saramelaniemoon and I can honestly say Eddie has been such fun to write.

Snow coated the small town of Hawkins like powdered sugar, the streets lined with twinkling lights and festive wreaths. Christmas was in full swing, and Eddie Munson had somehow convinced you to help him pick out the "perfectly imperfect" Christmas tree for his uncle’s trailer. You’d been best friends for years, ever since Eddie decided you weren’t like the others who shunned him for his love of all things metal and his disdain for conformity. Now, here you were, bundled up in Eddie’s worn denim jacket with the furry lining, trudging through the snow at Hawkins' only Christmas tree lot, which was somehow still open on Christmas Eve.

The air smelled of pine and sap, a mix of freshly cut trees and the faint burn of a fire pit at the lot’s edge. The snow crunched rhythmically under your boots as you stepped around crooked rows of evergreens, each one dusted with sparkling frost under the glow of the overhead lights.

“Eddie,” you called out, your breath puffing like smoke in the crisp winter air. “I can’t feel my toes. Can we please pick a tree that isn’t taller than the trailer?”

Eddie turned around, his unruly curls poking out from beneath a Santa hat he’d adorned just for the occasion. “Sweetheart,” he drawled, dragging the word out like he was savoring it. “You can’t rush art. The Munson Christmas tree must be chosen, not settled for.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. Eddie Munson was a force of nature, even in the dead of winter, and the warmth in your chest had nothing to do with the jacket you were wearing. You stuffed your gloved hands into the too-big pockets, the frayed lining a reminder that this was Eddie’s favourite jacket.

The fact that he’d handed it over without hesitation earlier, when you’d started shivering, made it even harder to ignore the growing ache in your chest—the one that screamed you were hopelessly in love with your best friend.

Eddie let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head like a disappointed artist. “Fine,” he said, pointing to a tree so lopsided it looked like it had been in a bar fight. “This one speaks to me.”

You laughed, a sound that melted into the winter air, and for a second, the cold didn’t matter at all.

“Oh! Or maybe this one!” He pointed out a tree that looked even more dilapidated than the last.

After much debate and a lot of teasing, Eddie finally found “the one”—a small pine tree that was more branches than needles.

“Perfect,” you say, rolling your eyes as he gesturing dramatically like a proud artist unveiling his masterpiece.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he replied with a wink, hoisting the tree onto his shoulder with ease.

Back at Eddie’s trailer, you helped him wrestle the tree into the corner of the living room. Wayne was at work, and Eddie had insisted that tonight was “tree night.” It didn’t matter that the two of you were the only ones decorating.

The heater in the corner of the room hummed loudly, fighting off the December chill that seeped through the thin trailer walls. The faint scent of pine mingled with Eddie’s cologne and the unmistakable aroma of old, second-hand furniture. Eddie put on his favourite Christmas album—a rock-infused holiday record you were sure Wayne would grumble about later—and started untangling the multicoloured lights.

“Here, hold this,” Eddie said, thrusting a tangle of lights into your arms with the enthusiasm of someone handing off a live grenade.

You helped him drape the tree in mismatched ornaments, some homemade and others clearly rescued from thrift store bins. Eddie held up a tattered angel with one bent wing, his face alight with mischief.

“Think we can fix her?” he asked.

You grinned, your fingers brushing the delicate figure. “She’s perfect just the way she is.”

Eddie’s gaze lingered on you a moment too long, his brown eyes catching the soft glow of the Christmas lights. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the hum of the heater and the distant croon of a holiday ballad on the stereo. Then he cleared his throat and climbed onto the couch to place the angel atop the tree.

He perched her in place with exaggerated care, as if she might fall apart in his hands. For a moment, you thought about how fitting she was: a little worse for wear but still shining, still loved.

When Eddie hopped back down, his shoulder brushed yours, lingering just a second longer than it needed to. You smiled at him, but he was already untangling another strand of lights, the moment slipping through your fingers like smoke.

Hours later, you found yourself on Eddie’s couch, wrapped in a scratchy but warm blanket while a cheesy Christmas movie flickered on the TV. The heater hummed softly in the corner, filling the trailer with an uneven warmth, and the faint scent of pine from the tree mixed with the sharper tang of Eddie’s cologne. Eddie was sprawled out next to you, his legs stretched across the cushions, one arm draped over the back of the couch like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Admit it,” he said, nudging your shoulder with his own. “This is the best Christmas Eve you’ve ever had.”

You laughed, leaning your head against the back of the couch. “It’s up there. You make things… fun.”

Eddie’s expression softened, and the teasing glint in his eyes faded into something quieter, more sincere. “You’re the fun one,” he said. “I’m just the weirdo who drags you into my ridiculous schemes.”

“Eddie,” you said, shaking your head. “You’re not a weirdo.”

He smirked, his dimples flashing. “You say that like being weird’s a bad thing.”

You huffed a laugh, but your heart was racing now. His gaze was intense, locking on yours like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

“I mean it,” he said, his voice low and steady. “You make everything better. You always have.”

“Eddie…” Your throat tightened, the weight of his words wrapping around you like the blanket. You weren’t sure if it was the heat of his confession or the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

He leaned closer, his curls brushing against your cheek. “I’m serious. You’re the best part of my life, and I’ve been trying to tell you that for years, but I’m a coward.”

Your breath caught. “You’re not a coward.”

“I am when it comes to you,” he admitted, his voice cracking just slightly. “You’re my best friend, but… I want more. I’ve wanted more since the day you sat in Garreth’s garage for hours, fixing my amp after that disaster of a gig. You didn’t even complain once—just sat there, rolling your eyes at every bad riff I played.”

You blinked, your heart hammering in your chest. The crackle of the TV, the hum of the Christmas lights—everything else faded, leaving just Eddie and the raw vulnerability in his eyes.

“I want you too,” you whispered, the words trembling on your lips.

Eddie’s face broke into a grin, the kind of smile that could light up even the darkest corners of the trailer. He let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Before you could overthink it, Eddie cupped your face with one hand, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. He leaned in slowly, giving you all the time in the world to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you met him halfway, your lips brushing his in a kiss that was soft and sweet and electric all at once. His lips were warm, slightly chapped, but the kiss was perfect—filling you with a giddy warmth that spread from your chest to your toes.

When you finally pulled back, Eddie rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

You smiled, your cheeks flushed and your heart racing. Outside, the snow fell softly against the trailer’s windows, but inside, everything was warm and bright. “Merry Christmas, Eddie.”

[girl-next-door-writes]

Wrapped In You

Characters: Eddie Munson x reader

Summary: Snowy Hawkins sets the stage for Eddie and his best friend’s Christmas Eve adventure, leading to heartfelt confessions.

Word Count: 1369 words

Prompts: Best friends to lovers. Wearing their clothes.

A/N: This one is for the brilliant @saramelaniemoon and I can honestly say Eddie has been such fun to write.

Snow coated the small town of Hawkins like powdered sugar, the streets lined with twinkling lights and festive wreaths. Christmas was in full swing, and Eddie Munson had somehow convinced you to help him pick out the "perfectly imperfect" Christmas tree for his uncle’s trailer. You’d been best friends for years, ever since Eddie decided you weren’t like the others who shunned him for his love of all things metal and his disdain for conformity. Now, here you were, bundled up in Eddie’s worn denim jacket with the furry lining, trudging through the snow at Hawkins' only Christmas tree lot, which was somehow still open on Christmas Eve.

The air smelled of pine and sap, a mix of freshly cut trees and the faint burn of a fire pit at the lot’s edge. The snow crunched rhythmically under your boots as you stepped around crooked rows of evergreens, each one dusted with sparkling frost under the glow of the overhead lights.

“Eddie,” you called out, your breath puffing like smoke in the crisp winter air. “I can’t feel my toes. Can we please pick a tree that isn’t taller than the trailer?”

Eddie turned around, his unruly curls poking out from beneath a Santa hat he’d adorned just for the occasion. “Sweetheart,” he drawled, dragging the word out like he was savoring it. “You can’t rush art. The Munson Christmas tree must be chosen, not settled for.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. Eddie Munson was a force of nature, even in the dead of winter, and the warmth in your chest had nothing to do with the jacket you were wearing. You stuffed your gloved hands into the too-big pockets, the frayed lining a reminder that this was Eddie’s favourite jacket.

The fact that he’d handed it over without hesitation earlier, when you’d started shivering, made it even harder to ignore the growing ache in your chest—the one that screamed you were hopelessly in love with your best friend.

Eddie let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head like a disappointed artist. “Fine,” he said, pointing to a tree so lopsided it looked like it had been in a bar fight. “This one speaks to me.”

You laughed, a sound that melted into the winter air, and for a second, the cold didn’t matter at all.

“Oh! Or maybe this one!” He pointed out a tree that looked even more dilapidated than the last.

After much debate and a lot of teasing, Eddie finally found “the one”—a small pine tree that was more branches than needles.

“Perfect,” you say, rolling your eyes as he gesturing dramatically like a proud artist unveiling his masterpiece.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he replied with a wink, hoisting the tree onto his shoulder with ease.

Back at Eddie’s trailer, you helped him wrestle the tree into the corner of the living room. Wayne was at work, and Eddie had insisted that tonight was “tree night.” It didn’t matter that the two of you were the only ones decorating.

The heater in the corner of the room hummed loudly, fighting off the December chill that seeped through the thin trailer walls. The faint scent of pine mingled with Eddie’s cologne and the unmistakable aroma of old, second-hand furniture. Eddie put on his favourite Christmas album—a rock-infused holiday record you were sure Wayne would grumble about later—and started untangling the multicoloured lights.

“Here, hold this,” Eddie said, thrusting a tangle of lights into your arms with the enthusiasm of someone handing off a live grenade.

You helped him drape the tree in mismatched ornaments, some homemade and others clearly rescued from thrift store bins. Eddie held up a tattered angel with one bent wing, his face alight with mischief.

“Think we can fix her?” he asked.

You grinned, your fingers brushing the delicate figure. “She’s perfect just the way she is.”

Eddie’s gaze lingered on you a moment too long, his brown eyes catching the soft glow of the Christmas lights. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the hum of the heater and the distant croon of a holiday ballad on the stereo. Then he cleared his throat and climbed onto the couch to place the angel atop the tree.

He perched her in place with exaggerated care, as if she might fall apart in his hands. For a moment, you thought about how fitting she was: a little worse for wear but still shining, still loved.

When Eddie hopped back down, his shoulder brushed yours, lingering just a second longer than it needed to. You smiled at him, but he was already untangling another strand of lights, the moment slipping through your fingers like smoke.

Hours later, you found yourself on Eddie’s couch, wrapped in a scratchy but warm blanket while a cheesy Christmas movie flickered on the TV. The heater hummed softly in the corner, filling the trailer with an uneven warmth, and the faint scent of pine from the tree mixed with the sharper tang of Eddie’s cologne. Eddie was sprawled out next to you, his legs stretched across the cushions, one arm draped over the back of the couch like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Admit it,” he said, nudging your shoulder with his own. “This is the best Christmas Eve you’ve ever had.”

You laughed, leaning your head against the back of the couch. “It’s up there. You make things… fun.”

Eddie’s expression softened, and the teasing glint in his eyes faded into something quieter, more sincere. “You’re the fun one,” he said. “I’m just the weirdo who drags you into my ridiculous schemes.”

“Eddie,” you said, shaking your head. “You’re not a weirdo.”

He smirked, his dimples flashing. “You say that like being weird’s a bad thing.”

You huffed a laugh, but your heart was racing now. His gaze was intense, locking on yours like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

“I mean it,” he said, his voice low and steady. “You make everything better. You always have.”

“Eddie…” Your throat tightened, the weight of his words wrapping around you like the blanket. You weren’t sure if it was the heat of his confession or the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

He leaned closer, his curls brushing against your cheek. “I’m serious. You’re the best part of my life, and I’ve been trying to tell you that for years, but I’m a coward.”

Your breath caught. “You’re not a coward.”

“I am when it comes to you,” he admitted, his voice cracking just slightly. “You’re my best friend, but… I want more. I’ve wanted more since the day you sat in Garreth’s garage for hours, fixing my amp after that disaster of a gig. You didn’t even complain once—just sat there, rolling your eyes at every bad riff I played.”

You blinked, your heart hammering in your chest. The crackle of the TV, the hum of the Christmas lights—everything else faded, leaving just Eddie and the raw vulnerability in his eyes.

“I want you too,” you whispered, the words trembling on your lips.

Eddie’s face broke into a grin, the kind of smile that could light up even the darkest corners of the trailer. He let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Before you could overthink it, Eddie cupped your face with one hand, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. He leaned in slowly, giving you all the time in the world to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you met him halfway, your lips brushing his in a kiss that was soft and sweet and electric all at once. His lips were warm, slightly chapped, but the kiss was perfect—filling you with a giddy warmth that spread from your chest to your toes.

When you finally pulled back, Eddie rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

You smiled, your cheeks flushed and your heart racing. Outside, the snow fell softly against the trailer’s windows, but inside, everything was warm and bright. “Merry Christmas, Eddie.”

[girl-next-door-writes]

#Consume All The Fics:    @captainsophiestark  @hannibal-shits-people @vintagevalentinex @alicenwrites    @asgards-princess-of-mischief

#Supernatural Stars:     @sweetjedi    @witchygagirl   @440mxs-wife @justagirlinafandomworld    @claireelizabeth85  @roseblue373 

A Demon's Devotion

Characters: Crowley x reader

Summary: Caught between holiday cheer and lurking danger, you find solace—and sparks—in the unexpected devotion of the King of Hell.

Word Count: 1579 words

Prompts: Crowded party. First kiss. Protecting.

A/N: This one is for the amazing @scolfer77. Merry Christmas!

The Christmas lights strung around the room twinkled like stars, casting a festive glow over the bustling party. The air buzzed with chatter, laughter, and the occasional clink of glasses, but none of it mattered to you as much as the man—well, demon—standing in the corner.

Crowley was his usual brooding self, impeccably dressed in his signature black suit, sipping something dark from a crystal tumbler. The crowd parted around him like he carried an invisible force field, and maybe he did. After all, even on Christmas Eve, he was still the King of Hell.

You weren’t sure why you’d invited him, and even less of a clue why he’d actually shown up. Maybe it was the way his dry wit made even the most desperate situations bearable. Maybe it was the fact that, against all odds, he always seemed to have your back. Or maybe—though you’d never admit it���it was because the thought of celebrating without him felt... wrong.

“Enjoying yourself, darling?” Crowley’s smooth voice broke through your thoughts as you approached.

You shrugged, offering him a smile. “I’d enjoy myself more if you looked like you were having fun.”

He smirked. “Christmas parties aren’t exactly my scene. Too much... cheer, not enough deals.” His tone dripped with disdain, but there was a twinkle in his eye that suggested he wasn’t entirely miserable.

“Well, if you’re going to stand there looking like the Grinch, at least hold a plate of cookies to complete the aesthetic.”

Crowley chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re adorable when you try to boss me around, you know that?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the warmth creeping up your neck. “Whatever, Crowley. Just try to mingle, okay? This party is for everyone, including you.”

He gave a mock bow. “As you wish, my lady.”

Hours passed, and the party grew even more crowded. You moved through the throng, making small talk and ensuring everyone was having a good time. Every so often, you caught sight of Crowley, always at the edges of the room, his sharp eyes tracking your movements. It was comforting and unnerving all at once.

At one point, you found yourself at the makeshift bar, pouring yourself another drink. A man you didn’t recognize sidled up next to you, his smile a little too wide, his gaze lingering a little too long.

“Hey there,” he said, leaning closer than necessary. “Having a good time?”

“Yeah,” you replied, taking a step back. “It’s been great.”

“I bet it has. A pretty thing like you must get a lot of attention.”

You forced a polite smile and turned back to the bar, hoping he’d take the hint. He didn’t. Instead, he placed his hand on the small of your back.

Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut through the noise. “I believe the lady’s made it clear she’s not interested.”

You turned to see Crowley standing behind you, his expression dark. The man faltered under his gaze, mumbling something incoherent before retreating into the crowd.

“Was that really necessary?” you asked, though you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of gratitude.

Crowley shrugged, his lips twitching into a smirk. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress.”

“I wasn’t in distress.”

“Of course not. You’re perfectly capable of handling yourself. But sometimes, it’s nice to have a little backup, isn’t it?”

You hated how easily he could get under your skin, how effortlessly he could make your heart race. “Well, thanks. I guess.”

“Anytime, darling.”

The night wore on, and the party showed no signs of slowing down. But something about the atmosphere had shifted. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but there was a tension in the air that hadn’t been there before.

You found Crowley again, this time leaning against a wall near the fireplace. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes flicked toward you the moment you entered the room.

“Something’s wrong,” you said quietly as you approached him.

“I know,” he replied, his voice low. “There’s someone here who doesn’t belong.”

“What do you mean?”

Crowley’s gaze swept over the crowd. “Call it a hunch. Stay close to me.”

Your stomach twisted with unease, but you nodded. The festive atmosphere suddenly felt oppressive, the cheerful decorations like a cruel mockery of the danger lurking beneath the surface.

It didn’t take long for Crowley’s instincts to be proven correct. A loud crash shattered the hum of conversation, and the room erupted into chaos. Guests screamed and scattered as a figure stepped forward, brandishing a gun.

“Where is she?” the intruder demanded, his wild eyes scanning the room. “Where’s the girl?”

You froze, your heart pounding in your chest. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who he was looking for. He was the husband of someone you’d failed to save, not through lack of trying.

Crowley stepped in front of you, his posture radiating calm authority despite the weapon pointed in your direction. “I suggest you think very carefully about your next move, mate.”

“Stay out of this,” the man snarled. “She knows what she did.”

“I don’t think she does,” Crowley said smoothly. “But you’re welcome to enlighten us. Preferably without the theatrics.”

The man’s hand shook as he tightened his grip on the gun. “She ruined everything! My whole life—gone! And now she’s going to pay.”

Before you could process his words, the man pulled the trigger. You barely had time to register the sound of the gunshot before Crowley moved.

The world seemed to slow as Crowley stepped in front of you, his body taking the full impact of the bullet. He staggered but remained standing, his eyes locking onto yours.

“Crowley!” you cried, reaching for him as he swayed.

“I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “Takes more than that to take me down.”

But his pale complexion told a different story. You felt a surge of anger and fear as you turned to face the intruder. Before you could act, Crowley raised a hand, and with a flick of his wrist, the man crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

“Problem solved,” he said, his voice strained. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll sit down.”

You helped him to a nearby couch, your hands trembling as you pressed against the wound. “You idiot,” you muttered, tears stinging your eyes. “Why did you do that?”

He gave you a faint smile. “Couldn’t let anything happen to you, could I?”

“Crowley—”

“I’m fine, darling. Demons don’t die so easily.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re invincible,” you snapped. “You scared me.”

His hand covered yours, his touch surprisingly gentle. “I’m sorry. Truly.”

The room had cleared out by now, the remaining guests either too scared or too tactful to stick around. It was just the two of you, the flickering firelight casting shadows across Crowley’s face.

“You’re an idiot,” you said again, though your voice had softened.

“And you’re annoyingly stubborn,” he countered. “But I suppose that’s part of why I love you.”

“You… what?” Your brow furrowed slightly with confusion, not entirely sure you’d heard him correctly.

“Did I just say that out loud?” he asked softly, not breaking eye contact.

You let out a shaky laugh, the tension in your chest easing slightly. “You really scared me, Crowley. I thought—” You broke off, unable to finish the sentence.

He cupped your face in his hand, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “I’m not going anywhere, love. Not as long as you need me.”

His gaze searched yours, and for a moment, the weight of everything unsaid hung between you. Then, before you could overthink it, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but it quickly deepened, the weight of your emotions pouring into the moment. Crowley’s hand moved to the back of your neck, holding you close as if afraid you’d disappear.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless. His forehead rested against yours, a rare vulnerability in his eyes.

“Well,” he said after a moment. “That was unexpected.” Crowley chuckled, his voice warm and full of affection.

You laughed despite yourself, the sound breaking the tension. For the first time all night, you felt safe.

The party was long forgotten as you sat together by the fire, Crowley’s arm wrapped around your shoulders. The wound on his side had already begun to heal, his demonic nature working its magic.

“So,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence. “Does this mean you’re sticking around?”

He smirked, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Someone’s got to keep you out of trouble.”

“You’re the one who attracts trouble,” you teased.

“Perhaps,” he conceded. “But I’m also the one who keeps you safe.”

You couldn’t argue with that. For all his flaws—and there were plenty—Crowley had proven time and again that he’d do anything for you. And tonight, he’d proven it once more.

“Thank you,” you said softly. “For everything.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his voice low and sincere. “Anything for you, darling. Always.”

As the fire crackled and the snow fell softly outside, you realized that this Christmas, you’d received the greatest gift of all: the unwavering devotion of a demon who, against all odds, had found his heart in you.

[girl-next-door-writes]

A Demon's Devotion

Characters: Crowley x reader

Summary: Caught between holiday cheer and lurking danger, you find solace—and sparks—in the unexpected devotion of the King of Hell.

Word Count: 1579 words

Prompts: Crowded party. First kiss. Protecting.

A/N: This one is for the amazing @scolfer77. Merry Christmas!

The Christmas lights strung around the room twinkled like stars, casting a festive glow over the bustling party. The air buzzed with chatter, laughter, and the occasional clink of glasses, but none of it mattered to you as much as the man—well, demon—standing in the corner.

Crowley was his usual brooding self, impeccably dressed in his signature black suit, sipping something dark from a crystal tumbler. The crowd parted around him like he carried an invisible force field, and maybe he did. After all, even on Christmas Eve, he was still the King of Hell.

You weren’t sure why you’d invited him, and even less of a clue why he’d actually shown up. Maybe it was the way his dry wit made even the most desperate situations bearable. Maybe it was the fact that, against all odds, he always seemed to have your back. Or maybe—though you’d never admit it—it was because the thought of celebrating without him felt... wrong.

“Enjoying yourself, darling?” Crowley’s smooth voice broke through your thoughts as you approached.

You shrugged, offering him a smile. “I’d enjoy myself more if you looked like you were having fun.”

He smirked. “Christmas parties aren’t exactly my scene. Too much... cheer, not enough deals.” His tone dripped with disdain, but there was a twinkle in his eye that suggested he wasn’t entirely miserable.

“Well, if you’re going to stand there looking like the Grinch, at least hold a plate of cookies to complete the aesthetic.”

Crowley chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re adorable when you try to boss me around, you know that?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the warmth creeping up your neck. “Whatever, Crowley. Just try to mingle, okay? This party is for everyone, including you.”

He gave a mock bow. “As you wish, my lady.”

Hours passed, and the party grew even more crowded. You moved through the throng, making small talk and ensuring everyone was having a good time. Every so often, you caught sight of Crowley, always at the edges of the room, his sharp eyes tracking your movements. It was comforting and unnerving all at once.

At one point, you found yourself at the makeshift bar, pouring yourself another drink. A man you didn’t recognize sidled up next to you, his smile a little too wide, his gaze lingering a little too long.

“Hey there,” he said, leaning closer than necessary. “Having a good time?”

“Yeah,” you replied, taking a step back. “It’s been great.”

“I bet it has. A pretty thing like you must get a lot of attention.”

You forced a polite smile and turned back to the bar, hoping he’d take the hint. He didn’t. Instead, he placed his hand on the small of your back.

Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut through the noise. “I believe the lady’s made it clear she’s not interested.”

You turned to see Crowley standing behind you, his expression dark. The man faltered under his gaze, mumbling something incoherent before retreating into the crowd.

“Was that really necessary?” you asked, though you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of gratitude.

Crowley shrugged, his lips twitching into a smirk. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress.”

“I wasn’t in distress.”

“Of course not. You’re perfectly capable of handling yourself. But sometimes, it’s nice to have a little backup, isn’t it?”

You hated how easily he could get under your skin, how effortlessly he could make your heart race. “Well, thanks. I guess.”

“Anytime, darling.”

The night wore on, and the party showed no signs of slowing down. But something about the atmosphere had shifted. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but there was a tension in the air that hadn’t been there before.

You found Crowley again, this time leaning against a wall near the fireplace. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes flicked toward you the moment you entered the room.

“Something’s wrong,” you said quietly as you approached him.

“I know,” he replied, his voice low. “There’s someone here who doesn’t belong.”

“What do you mean?”

Crowley’s gaze swept over the crowd. “Call it a hunch. Stay close to me.”

Your stomach twisted with unease, but you nodded. The festive atmosphere suddenly felt oppressive, the cheerful decorations like a cruel mockery of the danger lurking beneath the surface.

It didn’t take long for Crowley’s instincts to be proven correct. A loud crash shattered the hum of conversation, and the room erupted into chaos. Guests screamed and scattered as a figure stepped forward, brandishing a gun.

“Where is she?” the intruder demanded, his wild eyes scanning the room. “Where’s the girl?”

You froze, your heart pounding in your chest. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who he was looking for. He was the husband of someone you’d failed to save, not through lack of trying.

Crowley stepped in front of you, his posture radiating calm authority despite the weapon pointed in your direction. “I suggest you think very carefully about your next move, mate.”

“Stay out of this,” the man snarled. “She knows what she did.”

“I don’t think she does,” Crowley said smoothly. “But you’re welcome to enlighten us. Preferably without the theatrics.”

The man’s hand shook as he tightened his grip on the gun. “She ruined everything! My whole life—gone! And now she’s going to pay.”

Before you could process his words, the man pulled the trigger. You barely had time to register the sound of the gunshot before Crowley moved.

The world seemed to slow as Crowley stepped in front of you, his body taking the full impact of the bullet. He staggered but remained standing, his eyes locking onto yours.

“Crowley!” you cried, reaching for him as he swayed.

“I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “Takes more than that to take me down.”

But his pale complexion told a different story. You felt a surge of anger and fear as you turned to face the intruder. Before you could act, Crowley raised a hand, and with a flick of his wrist, the man crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

“Problem solved,” he said, his voice strained. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll sit down.”

You helped him to a nearby couch, your hands trembling as you pressed against the wound. “You idiot,” you muttered, tears stinging your eyes. “Why did you do that?”

He gave you a faint smile. “Couldn’t let anything happen to you, could I?”

“Crowley—”

“I’m fine, darling. Demons don’t die so easily.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re invincible,” you snapped. “You scared me.”

His hand covered yours, his touch surprisingly gentle. “I’m sorry. Truly.”

The room had cleared out by now, the remaining guests either too scared or too tactful to stick around. It was just the two of you, the flickering firelight casting shadows across Crowley’s face.

“You’re an idiot,” you said again, though your voice had softened.

“And you’re annoyingly stubborn,” he countered. “But I suppose that’s part of why I love you.”

“You… what?” Your brow furrowed slightly with confusion, not entirely sure you’d heard him correctly.

“Did I just say that out loud?” he asked softly, not breaking eye contact.

You let out a shaky laugh, the tension in your chest easing slightly. “You really scared me, Crowley. I thought—” You broke off, unable to finish the sentence.

He cupped your face in his hand, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “I’m not going anywhere, love. Not as long as you need me.”

His gaze searched yours, and for a moment, the weight of everything unsaid hung between you. Then, before you could overthink it, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but it quickly deepened, the weight of your emotions pouring into the moment. Crowley’s hand moved to the back of your neck, holding you close as if afraid you’d disappear.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless. His forehead rested against yours, a rare vulnerability in his eyes.

“Well,” he said after a moment. “That was unexpected.” Crowley chuckled, his voice warm and full of affection.

You laughed despite yourself, the sound breaking the tension. For the first time all night, you felt safe.

The party was long forgotten as you sat together by the fire, Crowley’s arm wrapped around your shoulders. The wound on his side had already begun to heal, his demonic nature working its magic.

“So,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence. “Does this mean you’re sticking around?”

He smirked, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Someone’s got to keep you out of trouble.”

“You’re the one who attracts trouble,” you teased.

“Perhaps,” he conceded. “But I’m also the one who keeps you safe.”

You couldn’t argue with that. For all his flaws—and there were plenty—Crowley had proven time and again that he’d do anything for you. And tonight, he’d proven it once more.

“Thank you,” you said softly. “For everything.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his voice low and sincere. “Anything for you, darling. Always.”

As the fire crackled and the snow fell softly outside, you realized that this Christmas, you’d received the greatest gift of all: the unwavering devotion of a demon who, against all odds, had found his heart in you.

[girl-next-door-writes]

@sweetjedi tbf, this one has some of my favourite lines in. And I like to think he took one look at Lila and was like ‘oh, no, this bitch needs taking down’. 🤣😂🤣😂

Fake it til you fall

Characters: Armitage Hux x reader

Summary: Anxiety spikes at a holiday party until an unexpected ally, Armitage Hux, helps you fake-date your way to triumph—but is your evening as fake as you first thought?

Word Count: 1274 words

Prompts: Crowded party. Fake dating.

A/N: A sweet anon requested this one, and I hope they see it.

The clamor of the holiday party swirled around you like a chaotic symphony. Laughter, the soft hum of music, the clinking of glasses—sounds that should have been comforting felt anything but as you scanned the room for a familiar face. The sprawling penthouse, draped in tasteful holiday decor—gold and white lights twinkling against polished wood and sparkling glass—felt more like a museum than a place for merriment.

You had one mission tonight: survive this.

Across the room, you caught sight of your co-worker, Lila, and she wasn’t alone. She was surrounded by her usual gaggle of friends, none of whom you could stand. They'd zero in on you the moment they spotted you alone, hurling the same passive-aggressive questions as always: "Oh, you're here alone again this year? How independent of you!"

The air caught in your throat at the thought. Not again. Not tonight.

You edged closer to the refreshment table, trying to look busy by fussing with a glass of eggnog. The bubbling anxiety gnawed at the edges of your mind, but then, as if summoned by some miracle—or maybe just sheer desperation—you saw him.

Armitage Hux, the last person you expected to be at a party like this.

He wasn’t mingling. Of course he wasn’t mingling. The man looked as out of place as a cat in a dog park. His tailored suit was immaculate, the dark fabric setting off his ginger hair and sharp features. His arms were crossed, his expression one of thinly veiled disdain as he surveyed the room with the air of someone who would rather be anywhere else.

But he was here, and more importantly, he was alone.

You’d worked with him tangentially—sort of. He was a consultant for a neighboring department at your firm, and while you’d only exchanged a handful of words, you knew one thing for certain: he was someone who commanded respect.

Or fear.

Either way, the idea struck like a bolt of lightning.

You could ask him to fake date you. Just for tonight.

You almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it, but then you caught sight of Lila again, her eyes narrowing as they landed on you. Time was running out.

You squared your shoulders, grabbed two champagne flutes, and approached Hux.

“Hi,” you greeted, forcing a smile and holding out the extra glass like a peace offering.

He raised one perfectly arched eyebrow, looking at you as if you’d just interrupted a very important thought.

“Yes?”

You resisted the urge to wither under his gaze. “I… I need your help.”

His other eyebrow joined the first. “My help?”

“Look,” you said, glancing over your shoulder toward Lila, who was now whispering to her friends and shooting pointed looks your way. “There’s this group of people here who always make my life miserable at these events, and I just—well, if I could pretend I wasn’t alone tonight, they’d leave me alone.”

Hux blinked slowly. “You want me to pretend to be your date?”

“Just for tonight,” you said quickly. “No strings, no weird expectations. Just stand near me, maybe talk to me every now and then, and let people assume we’re together. Please.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his green eyes piercing. You braced yourself for rejection, for mockery, for him to laugh in your face and leave you to fend for yourself.

But then he said, “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yes,” he said curtly, taking the champagne flute from your hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

It didn’t take long for the ruse to kick into effect.

Hux, to his credit, was an exceptional fake boyfriend. He stood close enough to you that no one would question your supposed relationship, but not so close as to make it uncomfortable. He offered you his arm when you moved through the room, and his sharp, dry wit kept even the most insistent small talkers at bay.

You found yourself relaxing in his presence, the initial awkwardness giving way to something almost… fun.

Lila, of course, made her move.

“Oh, wow,” she said, sidling up to you with an exaggerated smile. “I didn’t know you were bringing someone. Who’s this?”

“This is Armitage,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “My boyfriend.”

Her eyes flicked over to him, and for the first time in your life, you were grateful for Hux’s intimidating demeanor. Lila’s smile faltered for just a fraction of a second before she recovered.

“Boyfriend?” she repeated, her voice a shade too sweet. “How… unexpected.”

Hux, who had been sipping his champagne, gave her a cold, thin smile. “The best things in life often are.”

You almost choked on your drink.

Lila, flustered, made some excuse and quickly retreated, leaving you and Hux standing together in victorious silence.

“Thank you,” you said, your shoulders dropping as the tension left you.

Hux shrugged. “It was nothing. People like that are… predictable.”

“Still, I appreciate it. You’ve made this party a lot less miserable.”

He glanced at you then, his sharp features softening just slightly. “You’re welcome.”

As the evening wore on, you found yourself talking to Hux more than you’d anticipated.

It turned out that he had a dry sense of humor, one that matched your own. He wasn’t as cold and unapproachable as you’d once thought; he was just guarded. But beneath that icy exterior was someone who was intelligent, quick-witted, and—dare you say it—kind.

You told yourself not to read into it too much. This was just a favor, after all.

But as the party wound down and the crowd began to thin, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment at the thought of the night ending.

“You’ve done more than enough,” you said as you both stood near the exit, coats in hand. “You’re free to go. I mean, you were always free to go, but—”

“I’ll walk you home,” he interrupted, his tone brooking no argument.

“Oh. You don’t have to—”

“It’s late,” he said firmly. “And cold. I insist.”

You didn’t argue.

The walk back to your apartment was quiet, the snow falling softly around you. The city lights reflected off the white blanket covering the streets, casting everything in a golden glow.

“Thank you,” you said again, breaking the silence. “For tonight. Really.”

Hux looked at you, his expression unreadable. “You’ve already said that.”

“I know, but I mean it. You didn’t have to help me, but you did. That means a lot.”

He was silent for a moment, his breath visible in the frosty air. Then, he said, “You’re not as insufferable as most people. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant.”

You laughed, the sound echoing in the quiet night. “High praise coming from you.”

His lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile you’d seen all night.

When you reached your building, you turned to face him, suddenly unsure of what to say.

“Well,” you began awkwardly, “this is me.”

“So it is.”

“Thanks again. I guess I’ll see you around?”

He hesitated, his green eyes searching yours. Then, to your surprise, he reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Perhaps we should try this again sometime,” he said, his voice soft.

“Try what?”

“Pretending,” he said, though there was a hint of something in his tone that suggested he wasn’t entirely pretending anymore.

You felt your cheeks flush, the cold forgotten as you nodded. “I’d like that.”

And as he walked away, his coat billowing behind him, you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe, just maybe, fake dating Armitage Hux wasn’t such a ridiculous idea after all.

[girl-next-door-writes]

Armitage Hux + text posts ♾️

[girl-next-door-writes]

#Consume All The Fics:    @captainsophiestark  @hannibal-shits-people @vintagevalentinex @alicenwrites    @asgards-princess-of-mischief

#StarWars Sweeties:     @sweetjedi    @meganlpie   @littlesatanicassholebitch  @littlemisfortunes-world    @afunkyfreshblog   @lemongingerart 

Fake it til you fall

Characters: Armitage Hux x reader

Summary: Anxiety spikes at a holiday party until an unexpected ally, Armitage Hux, helps you fake-date your way to triumph—but is your evening as fake as you first thought?

Word Count: 1274 words

Prompts: Crowded party. Fake dating.

A/N: A sweet anon requested this one, and I hope they see it.

The clamor of the holiday party swirled around you like a chaotic symphony. Laughter, the soft hum of music, the clinking of glasses—sounds that should have been comforting felt anything but as you scanned the room for a familiar face. The sprawling penthouse, draped in tasteful holiday decor—gold and white lights twinkling against polished wood and sparkling glass—felt more like a museum than a place for merriment.

You had one mission tonight: survive this.

Across the room, you caught sight of your co-worker, Lila, and she wasn’t alone. She was surrounded by her usual gaggle of friends, none of whom you could stand. They'd zero in on you the moment they spotted you alone, hurling the same passive-aggressive questions as always: "Oh, you're here alone again this year? How independent of you!"

The air caught in your throat at the thought. Not again. Not tonight.

You edged closer to the refreshment table, trying to look busy by fussing with a glass of eggnog. The bubbling anxiety gnawed at the edges of your mind, but then, as if summoned by some miracle—or maybe just sheer desperation—you saw him.

Armitage Hux, the last person you expected to be at a party like this.

He wasn’t mingling. Of course he wasn’t mingling. The man looked as out of place as a cat in a dog park. His tailored suit was immaculate, the dark fabric setting off his ginger hair and sharp features. His arms were crossed, his expression one of thinly veiled disdain as he surveyed the room with the air of someone who would rather be anywhere else.

But he was here, and more importantly, he was alone.

You’d worked with him tangentially—sort of. He was a consultant for a neighboring department at your firm, and while you’d only exchanged a handful of words, you knew one thing for certain: he was someone who commanded respect.

Or fear.

Either way, the idea struck like a bolt of lightning.

You could ask him to fake date you. Just for tonight.

You almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it, but then you caught sight of Lila again, her eyes narrowing as they landed on you. Time was running out.

You squared your shoulders, grabbed two champagne flutes, and approached Hux.

“Hi,” you greeted, forcing a smile and holding out the extra glass like a peace offering.

He raised one perfectly arched eyebrow, looking at you as if you’d just interrupted a very important thought.

“Yes?”

You resisted the urge to wither under his gaze. “I… I need your help.”

His other eyebrow joined the first. “My help?”

“Look,” you said, glancing over your shoulder toward Lila, who was now whispering to her friends and shooting pointed looks your way. “There’s this group of people here who always make my life miserable at these events, and I just—well, if I could pretend I wasn’t alone tonight, they’d leave me alone.”

Hux blinked slowly. “You want me to pretend to be your date?”

“Just for tonight,” you said quickly. “No strings, no weird expectations. Just stand near me, maybe talk to me every now and then, and let people assume we’re together. Please.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his green eyes piercing. You braced yourself for rejection, for mockery, for him to laugh in your face and leave you to fend for yourself.

But then he said, “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yes,” he said curtly, taking the champagne flute from your hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

It didn’t take long for the ruse to kick into effect.

Hux, to his credit, was an exceptional fake boyfriend. He stood close enough to you that no one would question your supposed relationship, but not so close as to make it uncomfortable. He offered you his arm when you moved through the room, and his sharp, dry wit kept even the most insistent small talkers at bay.

You found yourself relaxing in his presence, the initial awkwardness giving way to something almost… fun.

Lila, of course, made her move.

“Oh, wow,” she said, sidling up to you with an exaggerated smile. “I didn’t know you were bringing someone. Who’s this?”

“This is Armitage,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “My boyfriend.”

Her eyes flicked over to him, and for the first time in your life, you were grateful for Hux’s intimidating demeanor. Lila’s smile faltered for just a fraction of a second before she recovered.

“Boyfriend?” she repeated, her voice a shade too sweet. “How… unexpected.”

Hux, who had been sipping his champagne, gave her a cold, thin smile. “The best things in life often are.”

You almost choked on your drink.

Lila, flustered, made some excuse and quickly retreated, leaving you and Hux standing together in victorious silence.

“Thank you,” you said, your shoulders dropping as the tension left you.

Hux shrugged. “It was nothing. People like that are… predictable.”

“Still, I appreciate it. You’ve made this party a lot less miserable.”

He glanced at you then, his sharp features softening just slightly. “You’re welcome.”

As the evening wore on, you found yourself talking to Hux more than you’d anticipated.

It turned out that he had a dry sense of humor, one that matched your own. He wasn’t as cold and unapproachable as you’d once thought; he was just guarded. But beneath that icy exterior was someone who was intelligent, quick-witted, and—dare you say it—kind.

You told yourself not to read into it too much. This was just a favor, after all.

But as the party wound down and the crowd began to thin, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment at the thought of the night ending.

“You’ve done more than enough,” you said as you both stood near the exit, coats in hand. “You’re free to go. I mean, you were always free to go, but—”

“I’ll walk you home,” he interrupted, his tone brooking no argument.

“Oh. You don’t have to—”

“It’s late,” he said firmly. “And cold. I insist.”

You didn’t argue.

The walk back to your apartment was quiet, the snow falling softly around you. The city lights reflected off the white blanket covering the streets, casting everything in a golden glow.

“Thank you,” you said again, breaking the silence. “For tonight. Really.”

Hux looked at you, his expression unreadable. “You’ve already said that.”

“I know, but I mean it. You didn’t have to help me, but you did. That means a lot.”

He was silent for a moment, his breath visible in the frosty air. Then, he said, “You’re not as insufferable as most people. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant.”

You laughed, the sound echoing in the quiet night. “High praise coming from you.”

His lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile you’d seen all night.

When you reached your building, you turned to face him, suddenly unsure of what to say.

“Well,” you began awkwardly, “this is me.”

“So it is.”

“Thanks again. I guess I’ll see you around?”

He hesitated, his green eyes searching yours. Then, to your surprise, he reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Perhaps we should try this again sometime,” he said, his voice soft.

“Try what?”

“Pretending,” he said, though there was a hint of something in his tone that suggested he wasn’t entirely pretending anymore.

You felt your cheeks flush, the cold forgotten as you nodded. “I’d like that.”

And as he walked away, his coat billowing behind him, you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe, just maybe, fake dating Armitage Hux wasn’t such a ridiculous idea after all.

[girl-next-door-writes]

Fake it til you fall

Characters: Armitage Hux x reader

Summary: Anxiety spikes at a holiday party until an unexpected ally, Armitage Hux, helps you fake-date your way to triumph—but is your evening as fake as you first thought?

Word Count: 1274 words

Prompts: Crowded party. Fake dating.

A/N: A sweet anon requested this one, and I hope they see it.

The clamor of the holiday party swirled around you like a chaotic symphony. Laughter, the soft hum of music, the clinking of glasses—sounds that should have been comforting felt anything but as you scanned the room for a familiar face. The sprawling penthouse, draped in tasteful holiday decor—gold and white lights twinkling against polished wood and sparkling glass—felt more like a museum than a place for merriment.

You had one mission tonight: survive this.

Across the room, you caught sight of your co-worker, Lila, and she wasn’t alone. She was surrounded by her usual gaggle of friends, none of whom you could stand. They'd zero in on you the moment they spotted you alone, hurling the same passive-aggressive questions as always: "Oh, you're here alone again this year? How independent of you!"

The air caught in your throat at the thought. Not again. Not tonight.

You edged closer to the refreshment table, trying to look busy by fussing with a glass of eggnog. The bubbling anxiety gnawed at the edges of your mind, but then, as if summoned by some miracle—or maybe just sheer desperation—you saw him.

Armitage Hux, the last person you expected to be at a party like this.

He wasn’t mingling. Of course he wasn’t mingling. The man looked as out of place as a cat in a dog park. His tailored suit was immaculate, the dark fabric setting off his ginger hair and sharp features. His arms were crossed, his expression one of thinly veiled disdain as he surveyed the room with the air of someone who would rather be anywhere else.

But he was here, and more importantly, he was alone.

You’d worked with him tangentially—sort of. He was a consultant for a neighboring department at your firm, and while you’d only exchanged a handful of words, you knew one thing for certain: he was someone who commanded respect.

Or fear.

Either way, the idea struck like a bolt of lightning.

You could ask him to fake date you. Just for tonight.

You almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it, but then you caught sight of Lila again, her eyes narrowing as they landed on you. Time was running out.

You squared your shoulders, grabbed two champagne flutes, and approached Hux.

“Hi,” you greeted, forcing a smile and holding out the extra glass like a peace offering.

He raised one perfectly arched eyebrow, looking at you as if you’d just interrupted a very important thought.

“Yes?”

You resisted the urge to wither under his gaze. “I… I need your help.”

His other eyebrow joined the first. “My help?”

“Look,” you said, glancing over your shoulder toward Lila, who was now whispering to her friends and shooting pointed looks your way. “There’s this group of people here who always make my life miserable at these events, and I just—well, if I could pretend I wasn’t alone tonight, they’d leave me alone.”

Hux blinked slowly. “You want me to pretend to be your date?”

“Just for tonight,” you said quickly. “No strings, no weird expectations. Just stand near me, maybe talk to me every now and then, and let people assume we’re together. Please.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his green eyes piercing. You braced yourself for rejection, for mockery, for him to laugh in your face and leave you to fend for yourself.

But then he said, “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yes,” he said curtly, taking the champagne flute from your hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

It didn’t take long for the ruse to kick into effect.

Hux, to his credit, was an exceptional fake boyfriend. He stood close enough to you that no one would question your supposed relationship, but not so close as to make it uncomfortable. He offered you his arm when you moved through the room, and his sharp, dry wit kept even the most insistent small talkers at bay.

You found yourself relaxing in his presence, the initial awkwardness giving way to something almost… fun.

Lila, of course, made her move.

“Oh, wow,” she said, sidling up to you with an exaggerated smile. “I didn’t know you were bringing someone. Who’s this?”

“This is Armitage,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “My boyfriend.”

Her eyes flicked over to him, and for the first time in your life, you were grateful for Hux’s intimidating demeanor. Lila’s smile faltered for just a fraction of a second before she recovered.

“Boyfriend?” she repeated, her voice a shade too sweet. “How… unexpected.”

Hux, who had been sipping his champagne, gave her a cold, thin smile. “The best things in life often are.”

You almost choked on your drink.

Lila, flustered, made some excuse and quickly retreated, leaving you and Hux standing together in victorious silence.

“Thank you,” you said, your shoulders dropping as the tension left you.

Hux shrugged. “It was nothing. People like that are… predictable.”

“Still, I appreciate it. You’ve made this party a lot less miserable.”

He glanced at you then, his sharp features softening just slightly. “You’re welcome.”

As the evening wore on, you found yourself talking to Hux more than you’d anticipated.

It turned out that he had a dry sense of humor, one that matched your own. He wasn’t as cold and unapproachable as you’d once thought; he was just guarded. But beneath that icy exterior was someone who was intelligent, quick-witted, and—dare you say it—kind.

You told yourself not to read into it too much. This was just a favor, after all.

But as the party wound down and the crowd began to thin, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment at the thought of the night ending.

“You’ve done more than enough,” you said as you both stood near the exit, coats in hand. “You’re free to go. I mean, you were always free to go, but—”

“I’ll walk you home,” he interrupted, his tone brooking no argument.

“Oh. You don’t have to—”

“It’s late,” he said firmly. “And cold. I insist.”

You didn’t argue.

The walk back to your apartment was quiet, the snow falling softly around you. The city lights reflected off the white blanket covering the streets, casting everything in a golden glow.

“Thank you,” you said again, breaking the silence. “For tonight. Really.”

Hux looked at you, his expression unreadable. “You’ve already said that.”

“I know, but I mean it. You didn’t have to help me, but you did. That means a lot.”

He was silent for a moment, his breath visible in the frosty air. Then, he said, “You’re not as insufferable as most people. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant.”

You laughed, the sound echoing in the quiet night. “High praise coming from you.”

His lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile you’d seen all night.

When you reached your building, you turned to face him, suddenly unsure of what to say.

“Well,” you began awkwardly, “this is me.”

“So it is.”

“Thanks again. I guess I’ll see you around?”

He hesitated, his green eyes searching yours. Then, to your surprise, he reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Perhaps we should try this again sometime,” he said, his voice soft.

“Try what?”

“Pretending,” he said, though there was a hint of something in his tone that suggested he wasn’t entirely pretending anymore.

You felt your cheeks flush, the cold forgotten as you nodded. “I’d like that.”

And as he walked away, his coat billowing behind him, you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe, just maybe, fake dating Armitage Hux wasn’t such a ridiculous idea after all.

[girl-next-door-writes]

#Consume All The Fics:    @captainsophiestark  @hannibal-shits-people @vintagevalentinex @alicenwrites    @asgards-princess-of-mischief

#Stranger Boys:      @saramelaniemoon   @ali-r3n @fandom-princess-forevermore @itwasallblue

Worth It

Characters: Steve Harrington x reader

Summary: Steve Harrington always thought Christmas parties were a little overrated—until he met you. Between a crowded room, stolen glances, and one unexpected act of heroism, Steve discovers that some things are worth every awkward moment and every bruise.

Word Count: 1191 words

Prompts: Crowded Party. First Kiss. Protective/taking a punch.

A/N: This is for @mayhem24-7forever and I have LOVED writing my boy Steve.

The house was alive with the chaotic hum of a Christmas party in full swing. Bright lights twinkled from every corner, illuminating clashing reds, greens, and golds. Mismatched decorations were strung across the ceiling like a child had been let loose with tinsel. Steve Harrington took one look at the packed living room and sighed.

Why did I come here again?

The answer arrived in the form of you, laughing as you squeezed past two tipsy partygoers who were attempting to dance to Wham!’s Last Christmas. Your cheeks were flushed, eyes sparkling with a mix of holiday cheer and exasperation. You carried two red plastic cups, balancing them like precious cargo.

“Steve!” Your face lit up when you spotted him, relief bubbling up as you wove your way through the crowd with the grace of someone who’d done this before. The room was warm, buzzing with laughter, but you only had eyes for him.

Steve straightened up from where he was leaning against the doorway, his hand brushing through his hair as if smoothing it down. “Hey, you made it out alive,” he teased, flashing you one of his signature smiles—crooked just enough to be disarming.

You rolled your eyes as you handed him a cup. “Barely. I’m convinced this party is 50% people and 50% fire hazards.”

Steve chuckled, accepting the drink. “I believe it. I’m just waiting for the Christmas tree to catch fire at this point.”

You laughed, loud and clear above the noise, and Steve felt his heart skip in a way that it definitely shouldn’t. He blamed it on the season. Christmas was a time for dumb romantic comedies and questionable life choices—he wasn’t immune to either.

“I’m glad you came, though,” you said, and Steve turned to look at you. Your voice was softer now, almost drowned out by the music, but it hit him like a jingle bell to the head.

“Yeah?” he asked, suddenly forgetting how words worked.

“Yeah,” you replied, sipping your drink and shooting him a grin. “Who else would keep me company while I try not to burn alive in this sardine can?”

Steve smirked, trying to play it cool while his heart did backflips. “Happy to be of service.”

Somewhere between people spilling eggnog and someone (Eddie, of course) starting an impromptu karaoke session, Steve found himself in a corner of the kitchen with you. The two of you had slowly drifted there after deciding that the dance floor wasn’t worth risking an elbow to the face. The hum of the party felt quieter here, and for once, Steve didn’t mind missing out on the centre of attention.

“So, what’s your verdict?” you asked, leaning against the counter.

Steve blinked. “Verdict on what?”

“Christmas parties. Are they worth the hype?” You tilted your head, smiling mischievously.

Steve pretended to think about it, pursing his lips. “I don’t know. The jury’s still out. I’m starting to think they’re only good for people-watching and free drinks.”

You gasped in mock horror. “You mean you don’t love being crammed into a room with 50 strangers, half of whom are sweaty?”

“Shocking, I know.” Steve grinned.

You snorted, trying to hide your laugh behind your hand. “Okay, fine. What would make this party worth it for you?”

Steve shifted under your gaze, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were. The twinkle lights reflected in your eyes, and for the first time that night, he wasn’t sure if the warmth in his chest was from the crowded room or you.

“Hmm,” Steve started slowly, his voice quieter than before. “I think… I think the company makes or breaks it.”

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard. “Oh.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes. Did I just say that out loud?

“Steve,” you said softly, and he glanced back up to find you looking at him like you were trying to figure him out.

“Uh, anyway,” Steve stammered, desperate to steer the conversation somewhere else, anywhere else. “How’s your drink?”

You just smiled, and Steve knew he was toast.

Time passed by in a blur and it happened faster than Steve could process.

One moment, you were laughing at Eddie’s butchered rendition of Jingle Bell Rock. The next, some guy—a little too drunk, a little too loud—stumbled into your space.

“Hey, sweetheart,” the stranger slurred, leaning a little too close for comfort.

Your smile fell. “Uh, excuse me?”

“Don’t be like that,” he continued, grinning in a way that made Steve’s blood boil. Before you could say another word, Steve stepped forward, his hand landing firmly on the guy’s shoulder.

“Hey, buddy,” Steve said, voice sharp and steady. “Why don’t you back off?”

The guy blinked, swaying as he looked Steve up and down. “What’s your problem, pretty boy?”

Steve barely had time to react before the guy shoved him. Hard.

Steve stumbled back, catching himself against the wall. The party seemed to pause for a heartbeat—a moment of tension strung tight like a bowstring. And then, before he knew what he was doing, Steve was moving forward again.

“I said,” Steve repeated, his tone darker now, “back off.”

The guy took a swing, sloppier than Steve expected. Steve ducked, but the fist still grazed his jaw with enough force to sting. Before the stranger could try again, Eddie and Garreth swooped in, dragging him toward the door with muttered apologies.

The crowd slowly dispersed, the moment slipping back into party normalcy, but you were still staring at Steve.

“Steve!” You stepped closer, your hand grazing his cheek. “Are you okay? He hit you!”

Steve winced at the sting but gave you a lopsided grin. “Nah, it’s fine. I’ve had worse.”

“Worse? That doesn’t make this okay!” You frowned, your thumb brushing over the faint red mark. Steve swore his heart stopped.

“It was worth it,” Steve blurted, his voice softer now.

You blinked up at him. “What?”

“I mean… you shouldn’t have to deal with guys like that.” Steve shifted under your gaze, his cheeks turning pink. “It’s… worth it, y’know? Keeping you safe.”

You didn’t say anything for a long moment, and Steve was ready to kick himself. Way to sound like an absolute sap, Harrington.

And then you smiled. Really smiled. “You’re kind of an idiot, you know that?”

Steve blinked. “Wait, what?”

Before he could say another word, you leaned up on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, right where the bruise was forming.

Steve froze.

“Merry Christmas, Steve,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to meet his wide eyes.

He stared at you, stunned, before finally managing to speak. “Did… did you just..?”

You laughed, shaking your head as you looped your arm through his. “Come on, hero. Let’s find some ice for that face of yours.”

Steve let himself be pulled along, a goofy grin spreading across his face. For once, he didn’t care about the bruise, the party, or the crowd. The warmth in his chest wasn’t from the holiday lights or the crowded room—it was from you.

And honestly? It was totally worth it.

[girl-next-door-writes]

Worth It

Characters: Steve Harrington x reader

Summary: Steve Harrington always thought Christmas parties were a little overrated—until he met you. Between a crowded room, stolen glances, and one unexpected act of heroism, Steve discovers that some things are worth every awkward moment and every bruise.

Word Count: 1191 words

Prompts: Crowded Party. First Kiss. Protective/taking a punch.

A/N: This is for @mayhem24-7forever and I have LOVED writing my boy Steve.

The house was alive with the chaotic hum of a Christmas party in full swing. Bright lights twinkled from every corner, illuminating clashing reds, greens, and golds. Mismatched decorations were strung across the ceiling like a child had been let loose with tinsel. Steve Harrington took one look at the packed living room and sighed.

Why did I come here again?

The answer arrived in the form of you, laughing as you squeezed past two tipsy partygoers who were attempting to dance to Wham!’s Last Christmas. Your cheeks were flushed, eyes sparkling with a mix of holiday cheer and exasperation. You carried two red plastic cups, balancing them like precious cargo.

“Steve!” Your face lit up when you spotted him, relief bubbling up as you wove your way through the crowd with the grace of someone who’d done this before. The room was warm, buzzing with laughter, but you only had eyes for him.

Steve straightened up from where he was leaning against the doorway, his hand brushing through his hair as if smoothing it down. “Hey, you made it out alive,” he teased, flashing you one of his signature smiles—crooked just enough to be disarming.

You rolled your eyes as you handed him a cup. “Barely. I’m convinced this party is 50% people and 50% fire hazards.”

Steve chuckled, accepting the drink. “I believe it. I’m just waiting for the Christmas tree to catch fire at this point.”

You laughed, loud and clear above the noise, and Steve felt his heart skip in a way that it definitely shouldn’t. He blamed it on the season. Christmas was a time for dumb romantic comedies and questionable life choices—he wasn’t immune to either.

“I’m glad you came, though,” you said, and Steve turned to look at you. Your voice was softer now, almost drowned out by the music, but it hit him like a jingle bell to the head.

“Yeah?” he asked, suddenly forgetting how words worked.

“Yeah,” you replied, sipping your drink and shooting him a grin. “Who else would keep me company while I try not to burn alive in this sardine can?”

Steve smirked, trying to play it cool while his heart did backflips. “Happy to be of service.”

Somewhere between people spilling eggnog and someone (Eddie, of course) starting an impromptu karaoke session, Steve found himself in a corner of the kitchen with you. The two of you had slowly drifted there after deciding that the dance floor wasn’t worth risking an elbow to the face. The hum of the party felt quieter here, and for once, Steve didn’t mind missing out on the centre of attention.

“So, what’s your verdict?” you asked, leaning against the counter.

Steve blinked. “Verdict on what?”

“Christmas parties. Are they worth the hype?” You tilted your head, smiling mischievously.

Steve pretended to think about it, pursing his lips. “I don’t know. The jury’s still out. I’m starting to think they’re only good for people-watching and free drinks.”

You gasped in mock horror. “You mean you don’t love being crammed into a room with 50 strangers, half of whom are sweaty?”

“Shocking, I know.” Steve grinned.

You snorted, trying to hide your laugh behind your hand. “Okay, fine. What would make this party worth it for you?”

Steve shifted under your gaze, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were. The twinkle lights reflected in your eyes, and for the first time that night, he wasn’t sure if the warmth in his chest was from the crowded room or you.

“Hmm,” Steve started slowly, his voice quieter than before. “I think… I think the company makes or breaks it.”

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard. “Oh.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes. Did I just say that out loud?

“Steve,” you said softly, and he glanced back up to find you looking at him like you were trying to figure him out.

“Uh, anyway,” Steve stammered, desperate to steer the conversation somewhere else, anywhere else. “How’s your drink?”

You just smiled, and Steve knew he was toast.

Time passed by in a blur and it happened faster than Steve could process.

One moment, you were laughing at Eddie’s butchered rendition of Jingle Bell Rock. The next, some guy—a little too drunk, a little too loud—stumbled into your space.

“Hey, sweetheart,” the stranger slurred, leaning a little too close for comfort.

Your smile fell. “Uh, excuse me?”

“Don’t be like that,” he continued, grinning in a way that made Steve’s blood boil. Before you could say another word, Steve stepped forward, his hand landing firmly on the guy’s shoulder.

“Hey, buddy,” Steve said, voice sharp and steady. “Why don’t you back off?”

The guy blinked, swaying as he looked Steve up and down. “What’s your problem, pretty boy?”

Steve barely had time to react before the guy shoved him. Hard.

Steve stumbled back, catching himself against the wall. The party seemed to pause for a heartbeat—a moment of tension strung tight like a bowstring. And then, before he knew what he was doing, Steve was moving forward again.

“I said,” Steve repeated, his tone darker now, “back off.”

The guy took a swing, sloppier than Steve expected. Steve ducked, but the fist still grazed his jaw with enough force to sting. Before the stranger could try again, Eddie and Garreth swooped in, dragging him toward the door with muttered apologies.

The crowd slowly dispersed, the moment slipping back into party normalcy, but you were still staring at Steve.

“Steve!” You stepped closer, your hand grazing his cheek. “Are you okay? He hit you!”

Steve winced at the sting but gave you a lopsided grin. “Nah, it’s fine. I’ve had worse.”

“Worse? That doesn’t make this okay!” You frowned, your thumb brushing over the faint red mark. Steve swore his heart stopped.

“It was worth it,” Steve blurted, his voice softer now.

You blinked up at him. “What?”

“I mean… you shouldn’t have to deal with guys like that.” Steve shifted under your gaze, his cheeks turning pink. “It’s… worth it, y’know? Keeping you safe.”

You didn’t say anything for a long moment, and Steve was ready to kick himself. Way to sound like an absolute sap, Harrington.

And then you smiled. Really smiled. “You’re kind of an idiot, you know that?”

Steve blinked. “Wait, what?”

Before he could say another word, you leaned up on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, right where the bruise was forming.

Steve froze.

“Merry Christmas, Steve,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to meet his wide eyes.

He stared at you, stunned, before finally managing to speak. “Did… did you just..?”

You laughed, shaking your head as you looped your arm through his. “Come on, hero. Let’s find some ice for that face of yours.”

Steve let himself be pulled along, a goofy grin spreading across his face. For once, he didn’t care about the bruise, the party, or the crowd. The warmth in his chest wasn’t from the holiday lights or the crowded room—it was from you.

And honestly? It was totally worth it.

[girl-next-door-writes]

I'm glad you enjoyed it. This was one of the first of the Christmas fics I wrote for this year. Mycroft is always a joy to write.

Across A Crowded Room

Characters: Mycroft x reader

Summary: Your path had crossed with Mycroft at previous events, but perhaps the magic of Christmas would make this party something special.

Word Count: 1487 words

Prompts: Crowded party. Mutual pining. First kiss. Falling into their arms.

A/N: This is for @encounterthepast, @vintagevalentinex and @savvy-devine666 who all requested basically the same fic.

The frost on the windows of the grand estate sparkled like diamonds under the golden glow of the Christmas lights. Mycroft Holmes had been coerced, under significant protest, to attend his mother’s annual charity holiday party. Though he would never admit it, the scene was tolerable—festive, even—with glittering decorations and the warm hum of cheerful conversations. He nursed a glass of wine in the corner, observing the chaos with a quiet air of detachment.

For someone as cerebral as Mycroft, parties were little more than exercises in social endurance. But there was one variable tonight that he hadn’t accounted for: you.

He noticed you the moment you walked into the room. You were a vision in a simple yet elegant outfit that caught the flickering light from the enormous tree, your face illuminated by a radiant smile as you greeted his mother. Mycroft’s heart, traitorous as it was, skipped a beat. It had been years since your paths last crossed—a chance encounter at a gala he barely remembered the details of, save for the way your laughter had stirred something long dormant in him.

And now, here you were again, weaving through the crowd like a spark of warmth in an otherwise cold world.

Unconsciously, his gaze lingered.

You were entirely unprepared to see Mycroft Holmes again. The party invitation had been a surprise, and while you hesitated to accept, the allure of a Christmas evening spent among fascinating characters outweighed your initial doubts. Besides, it was Christmas—a time for magic, forgiveness, and maybe even a little romance.

Still, you hadn’t expected to see him. Mycroft, the man who had simultaneously infuriated and fascinated you during that gala years ago. The man whose sharp tongue and wit had left you breathless, though you’d hidden it well behind playful banter.

As the evening progressed, your paths crossed briefly—a fleeting exchange of pleasantries, polite smiles, and the kind of tension that left you questioning if you’d imagined it. But you hadn’t, had you? His soft gaze, the faintest hint of a smile curling his lips, spoke volumes, even if his words did not.

It wasn’t until you found yourself alone on the balcony later in the evening, savoring a moment of peace from the lively crowd, that you heard his familiar voice behind you.

“So, we meet again.”

Mycroft stood in the doorway to the balcony, his tall frame outlined against the glow of the party inside. He held a new glass of wine in one hand, the other casually resting in his pocket. The sight of him was enough to send your heart racing, though you kept your composure as you turned to face him.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you replied, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

He chuckled softly, stepping closer until he was at your side. “Quite the opposite, in fact. Though I admit, I did not anticipate running into you tonight.”

“Why’s that?” you asked, tilting your head to study him. His sharp suit was impeccable, but there was a warmth to his expression that softened the edges of his usual severity.

“You don’t strike me as the type to frequent such… boisterous gatherings.”

You laughed, the sound light and easy. “And yet here we are, both of us at a Holmes’ Christmas party. What’s your excuse?”

“I had none, save for a stubborn mother with a penchant for dragging me into situations I’d rather avoid.” He hesitated, his gaze flickering to yours. “Though, as it turns out, not all aspects of tonight have been entirely unpleasant.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard. The silence that followed was not uncomfortable; rather, it was charged with the kind of unspoken tension that begged to be broken. The crisp winter air nipped at your cheeks, but the heat between the two of you was undeniable.

“You’re not so bad at this party thing yourself,” you teased, leaning on the railing. “Who knew the great Mycroft Holmes could be so… human?”

He raised an eyebrow, though there was no mistaking the faint smile that played on his lips. “Your assessment of me is far too kind.”

“Or maybe you’re just too hard on yourself.”

The sincerity in your tone made his throat tighten. It had been so long since someone had spoken to him with such honesty, such kindness, without any ulterior motive. He wanted to say something—anything—to express how much your words meant, but the weight of vulnerability held him back.

Instead, you reached out, your hand brushing his arm lightly. “Are you always this quiet, or are you just holding back to make me nervous?”

The playful spark in your eyes was his undoing. He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You have a rather disarming way about you, don’t you?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“As you should.”

The hours seemed to blur after that. The two of you returned to the party, though you found yourselves naturally gravitating back to one another again and again. It was easy to forget the crowd around you when his low, smooth voice wrapped around you like a blanket, drawing you deeper into conversation.

At some point, the music shifted, and couples began to take to the makeshift dance floor in the center of the room. You felt Mycroft stiffen beside you, his discomfort at the display evident, though he remained stoic as always.

“Not a fan of dancing?” you asked, teasing him lightly.

“Dancing,” he said dryly, “is a frivolity I’ve never quite mastered.”

“Oh, come on,” you said, holding out your hand. “It’s Christmas. Live a little.”

He hesitated, his gaze darting from your outstretched hand to your face. “I’m not sure that’s advisable.”

“Advisable?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Are you afraid you’ll enjoy it?”

His lips quirked into a reluctant smile. “Perhaps.”

“Then you’ll just have to take the risk,” you said softly, your hand still extended.

After a moment of silence, he placed his glass on a nearby table and took your hand in his. His touch was warm, steady, and it sent a thrill through you as he allowed you to lead him to the dance floor.

The music was soft and slow, a classic Christmas melody that enveloped the room. Mycroft was stiff at first, his movements measured and careful, but as you guided him with an easy smile, he began to relax. His hand rested lightly on your waist, and the other held yours with a surprising gentleness.

“You’re not so bad at this,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the music.

He tilted his head, his eyes meeting yours. “I have an excellent partner.”

The warmth in his tone made your heart flutter. For a man who was often so guarded, his openness in this moment felt like a gift—a rare and precious thing you didn’t want to squander.

As the song came to an end, the two of you lingered for a moment, reluctant to break the connection. His hand slid from your waist, but before he could step away, someone bumped into you from behind, sending you stumbling forward.

Without hesitation, Mycroft caught you, his arms wrapping around you protectively as he steadied you. The world seemed to stop as you found yourself pressed against him, your hands resting on his chest. His heart was racing beneath your palms, and his eyes searched yours with an intensity that left you breathless.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly, his voice low and steady despite the flush of color in his cheeks.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, though your voice wavered. “Thanks to you.”

You didn’t move. Neither did he. The air between you was thick with unspoken words, and you realized, with a sudden clarity, that this was the moment.

“Mycroft,” you began, your voice trembling slightly, “I—”

He silenced you with a kiss.

It was soft and tentative at first, as though he wasn’t quite sure if this was allowed, but when you melted into him, his grip on you tightened, and the kiss deepened. It was as though the years of pining, of unspoken feelings and stolen glances, had all led to this—an explosion of warmth and sweetness that left you both dizzy.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, your fingers brushing the lapel of his suit. “Probably as long as I’ve wanted you to.”

His laugh was soft, and he pulled you closer, wrapping you in his arms as though he never wanted to let go. “Merry Christmas,” he said, his lips brushing against your temple.

“Merry Christmas, Mycroft.”

And for the first time in years, Mycroft Holmes felt truly at peace.

[girl-next-door-writes]

#Consume All The Fics:    @captainsophiestark  @hannibal-shits-people @vintagevalentinex @alicenwrites    @asgards-princess-of-mischief

#Holmes Ho’s:    @afunkyfreshblog   @meganlpie     @littlesatanicassholebitch  @littlemisfortunes-world          @soupofmushrooms 

Across A Crowded Room

Characters: Mycroft x reader

Summary: Your path had crossed with Mycroft at previous events, but perhaps the magic of Christmas would make this party something special.

Word Count: 1487 words

Prompts: Crowded party. Mutual pining. First kiss. Falling into their arms.

A/N: This is for @encounterthepast, @vintagevalentinex and @savvy-devine666 who all requested basically the same fic.

The frost on the windows of the grand estate sparkled like diamonds under the golden glow of the Christmas lights. Mycroft Holmes had been coerced, under significant protest, to attend his mother’s annual charity holiday party. Though he would never admit it, the scene was tolerable—festive, even—with glittering decorations and the warm hum of cheerful conversations. He nursed a glass of wine in the corner, observing the chaos with a quiet air of detachment.

For someone as cerebral as Mycroft, parties were little more than exercises in social endurance. But there was one variable tonight that he hadn’t accounted for: you.

He noticed you the moment you walked into the room. You were a vision in a simple yet elegant outfit that caught the flickering light from the enormous tree, your face illuminated by a radiant smile as you greeted his mother. Mycroft’s heart, traitorous as it was, skipped a beat. It had been years since your paths last crossed—a chance encounter at a gala he barely remembered the details of, save for the way your laughter had stirred something long dormant in him.

And now, here you were again, weaving through the crowd like a spark of warmth in an otherwise cold world.

Unconsciously, his gaze lingered.

You were entirely unprepared to see Mycroft Holmes again. The party invitation had been a surprise, and while you hesitated to accept, the allure of a Christmas evening spent among fascinating characters outweighed your initial doubts. Besides, it was Christmas—a time for magic, forgiveness, and maybe even a little romance.

Still, you hadn’t expected to see him. Mycroft, the man who had simultaneously infuriated and fascinated you during that gala years ago. The man whose sharp tongue and wit had left you breathless, though you’d hidden it well behind playful banter.

As the evening progressed, your paths crossed briefly—a fleeting exchange of pleasantries, polite smiles, and the kind of tension that left you questioning if you’d imagined it. But you hadn’t, had you? His soft gaze, the faintest hint of a smile curling his lips, spoke volumes, even if his words did not.

It wasn’t until you found yourself alone on the balcony later in the evening, savoring a moment of peace from the lively crowd, that you heard his familiar voice behind you.

“So, we meet again.”

Mycroft stood in the doorway to the balcony, his tall frame outlined against the glow of the party inside. He held a new glass of wine in one hand, the other casually resting in his pocket. The sight of him was enough to send your heart racing, though you kept your composure as you turned to face him.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you replied, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

He chuckled softly, stepping closer until he was at your side. “Quite the opposite, in fact. Though I admit, I did not anticipate running into you tonight.”

“Why’s that?” you asked, tilting your head to study him. His sharp suit was impeccable, but there was a warmth to his expression that softened the edges of his usual severity.

“You don’t strike me as the type to frequent such… boisterous gatherings.”

You laughed, the sound light and easy. “And yet here we are, both of us at a Holmes’ Christmas party. What’s your excuse?”

“I had none, save for a stubborn mother with a penchant for dragging me into situations I’d rather avoid.” He hesitated, his gaze flickering to yours. “Though, as it turns out, not all aspects of tonight have been entirely unpleasant.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard. The silence that followed was not uncomfortable; rather, it was charged with the kind of unspoken tension that begged to be broken. The crisp winter air nipped at your cheeks, but the heat between the two of you was undeniable.

“You’re not so bad at this party thing yourself,” you teased, leaning on the railing. “Who knew the great Mycroft Holmes could be so… human?”

He raised an eyebrow, though there was no mistaking the faint smile that played on his lips. “Your assessment of me is far too kind.”

“Or maybe you’re just too hard on yourself.”

The sincerity in your tone made his throat tighten. It had been so long since someone had spoken to him with such honesty, such kindness, without any ulterior motive. He wanted to say something—anything—to express how much your words meant, but the weight of vulnerability held him back.

Instead, you reached out, your hand brushing his arm lightly. “Are you always this quiet, or are you just holding back to make me nervous?”

The playful spark in your eyes was his undoing. He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You have a rather disarming way about you, don’t you?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“As you should.”

The hours seemed to blur after that. The two of you returned to the party, though you found yourselves naturally gravitating back to one another again and again. It was easy to forget the crowd around you when his low, smooth voice wrapped around you like a blanket, drawing you deeper into conversation.

At some point, the music shifted, and couples began to take to the makeshift dance floor in the center of the room. You felt Mycroft stiffen beside you, his discomfort at the display evident, though he remained stoic as always.

“Not a fan of dancing?” you asked, teasing him lightly.

“Dancing,” he said dryly, “is a frivolity I’ve never quite mastered.”

“Oh, come on,” you said, holding out your hand. “It’s Christmas. Live a little.”

He hesitated, his gaze darting from your outstretched hand to your face. “I’m not sure that’s advisable.”

“Advisable?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Are you afraid you’ll enjoy it?”

His lips quirked into a reluctant smile. “Perhaps.”

“Then you’ll just have to take the risk,” you said softly, your hand still extended.

After a moment of silence, he placed his glass on a nearby table and took your hand in his. His touch was warm, steady, and it sent a thrill through you as he allowed you to lead him to the dance floor.

The music was soft and slow, a classic Christmas melody that enveloped the room. Mycroft was stiff at first, his movements measured and careful, but as you guided him with an easy smile, he began to relax. His hand rested lightly on your waist, and the other held yours with a surprising gentleness.

“You’re not so bad at this,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the music.

He tilted his head, his eyes meeting yours. “I have an excellent partner.”

The warmth in his tone made your heart flutter. For a man who was often so guarded, his openness in this moment felt like a gift—a rare and precious thing you didn’t want to squander.

As the song came to an end, the two of you lingered for a moment, reluctant to break the connection. His hand slid from your waist, but before he could step away, someone bumped into you from behind, sending you stumbling forward.

Without hesitation, Mycroft caught you, his arms wrapping around you protectively as he steadied you. The world seemed to stop as you found yourself pressed against him, your hands resting on his chest. His heart was racing beneath your palms, and his eyes searched yours with an intensity that left you breathless.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly, his voice low and steady despite the flush of color in his cheeks.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, though your voice wavered. “Thanks to you.”

You didn’t move. Neither did he. The air between you was thick with unspoken words, and you realized, with a sudden clarity, that this was the moment.

“Mycroft,” you began, your voice trembling slightly, “I—”

He silenced you with a kiss.

It was soft and tentative at first, as though he wasn’t quite sure if this was allowed, but when you melted into him, his grip on you tightened, and the kiss deepened. It was as though the years of pining, of unspoken feelings and stolen glances, had all led to this—an explosion of warmth and sweetness that left you both dizzy.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, your fingers brushing the lapel of his suit. “Probably as long as I’ve wanted you to.”

His laugh was soft, and he pulled you closer, wrapping you in his arms as though he never wanted to let go. “Merry Christmas,” he said, his lips brushing against your temple.

“Merry Christmas, Mycroft.”

And for the first time in years, Mycroft Holmes felt truly at peace.

[girl-next-door-writes]

Across A Crowded Room

Characters: Mycroft x reader

Summary: Your path had crossed with Mycroft at previous events, but perhaps the magic of Christmas would make this party something special.

Word Count: 1487 words

Prompts: Crowded party. Mutual pining. First kiss. Falling into their arms.

A/N: This is for @encounterthepast, @vintagevalentinex and @savvy-devine666 who all requested basically the same fic.

The frost on the windows of the grand estate sparkled like diamonds under the golden glow of the Christmas lights. Mycroft Holmes had been coerced, under significant protest, to attend his mother’s annual charity holiday party. Though he would never admit it, the scene was tolerable—festive, even—with glittering decorations and the warm hum of cheerful conversations. He nursed a glass of wine in the corner, observing the chaos with a quiet air of detachment.

For someone as cerebral as Mycroft, parties were little more than exercises in social endurance. But there was one variable tonight that he hadn’t accounted for: you.

He noticed you the moment you walked into the room. You were a vision in a simple yet elegant outfit that caught the flickering light from the enormous tree, your face illuminated by a radiant smile as you greeted his mother. Mycroft’s heart, traitorous as it was, skipped a beat. It had been years since your paths last crossed—a chance encounter at a gala he barely remembered the details of, save for the way your laughter had stirred something long dormant in him.

And now, here you were again, weaving through the crowd like a spark of warmth in an otherwise cold world.

Unconsciously, his gaze lingered.

You were entirely unprepared to see Mycroft Holmes again. The party invitation had been a surprise, and while you hesitated to accept, the allure of a Christmas evening spent among fascinating characters outweighed your initial doubts. Besides, it was Christmas—a time for magic, forgiveness, and maybe even a little romance.

Still, you hadn’t expected to see him. Mycroft, the man who had simultaneously infuriated and fascinated you during that gala years ago. The man whose sharp tongue and wit had left you breathless, though you’d hidden it well behind playful banter.

As the evening progressed, your paths crossed briefly—a fleeting exchange of pleasantries, polite smiles, and the kind of tension that left you questioning if you’d imagined it. But you hadn’t, had you? His soft gaze, the faintest hint of a smile curling his lips, spoke volumes, even if his words did not.

It wasn’t until you found yourself alone on the balcony later in the evening, savoring a moment of peace from the lively crowd, that you heard his familiar voice behind you.

“So, we meet again.”

Mycroft stood in the doorway to the balcony, his tall frame outlined against the glow of the party inside. He held a new glass of wine in one hand, the other casually resting in his pocket. The sight of him was enough to send your heart racing, though you kept your composure as you turned to face him.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you replied, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

He chuckled softly, stepping closer until he was at your side. “Quite the opposite, in fact. Though I admit, I did not anticipate running into you tonight.”

“Why’s that?” you asked, tilting your head to study him. His sharp suit was impeccable, but there was a warmth to his expression that softened the edges of his usual severity.

“You don’t strike me as the type to frequent such… boisterous gatherings.”

You laughed, the sound light and easy. “And yet here we are, both of us at a Holmes’ Christmas party. What’s your excuse?”

“I had none, save for a stubborn mother with a penchant for dragging me into situations I’d rather avoid.” He hesitated, his gaze flickering to yours. “Though, as it turns out, not all aspects of tonight have been entirely unpleasant.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard. The silence that followed was not uncomfortable; rather, it was charged with the kind of unspoken tension that begged to be broken. The crisp winter air nipped at your cheeks, but the heat between the two of you was undeniable.

“You’re not so bad at this party thing yourself,” you teased, leaning on the railing. “Who knew the great Mycroft Holmes could be so… human?”

He raised an eyebrow, though there was no mistaking the faint smile that played on his lips. “Your assessment of me is far too kind.”

“Or maybe you’re just too hard on yourself.”

The sincerity in your tone made his throat tighten. It had been so long since someone had spoken to him with such honesty, such kindness, without any ulterior motive. He wanted to say something—anything—to express how much your words meant, but the weight of vulnerability held him back.

Instead, you reached out, your hand brushing his arm lightly. “Are you always this quiet, or are you just holding back to make me nervous?”

The playful spark in your eyes was his undoing. He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You have a rather disarming way about you, don’t you?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“As you should.”

The hours seemed to blur after that. The two of you returned to the party, though you found yourselves naturally gravitating back to one another again and again. It was easy to forget the crowd around you when his low, smooth voice wrapped around you like a blanket, drawing you deeper into conversation.

At some point, the music shifted, and couples began to take to the makeshift dance floor in the center of the room. You felt Mycroft stiffen beside you, his discomfort at the display evident, though he remained stoic as always.

“Not a fan of dancing?” you asked, teasing him lightly.

“Dancing,” he said dryly, “is a frivolity I’ve never quite mastered.”

“Oh, come on,” you said, holding out your hand. “It’s Christmas. Live a little.”

He hesitated, his gaze darting from your outstretched hand to your face. “I’m not sure that’s advisable.”

“Advisable?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Are you afraid you’ll enjoy it?”

His lips quirked into a reluctant smile. “Perhaps.”

“Then you’ll just have to take the risk,” you said softly, your hand still extended.

After a moment of silence, he placed his glass on a nearby table and took your hand in his. His touch was warm, steady, and it sent a thrill through you as he allowed you to lead him to the dance floor.

The music was soft and slow, a classic Christmas melody that enveloped the room. Mycroft was stiff at first, his movements measured and careful, but as you guided him with an easy smile, he began to relax. His hand rested lightly on your waist, and the other held yours with a surprising gentleness.

“You’re not so bad at this,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the music.

He tilted his head, his eyes meeting yours. “I have an excellent partner.”

The warmth in his tone made your heart flutter. For a man who was often so guarded, his openness in this moment felt like a gift—a rare and precious thing you didn’t want to squander.

As the song came to an end, the two of you lingered for a moment, reluctant to break the connection. His hand slid from your waist, but before he could step away, someone bumped into you from behind, sending you stumbling forward.

Without hesitation, Mycroft caught you, his arms wrapping around you protectively as he steadied you. The world seemed to stop as you found yourself pressed against him, your hands resting on his chest. His heart was racing beneath your palms, and his eyes searched yours with an intensity that left you breathless.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly, his voice low and steady despite the flush of color in his cheeks.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, though your voice wavered. “Thanks to you.”

You didn’t move. Neither did he. The air between you was thick with unspoken words, and you realized, with a sudden clarity, that this was the moment.

“Mycroft,” you began, your voice trembling slightly, “I—”

He silenced you with a kiss.

It was soft and tentative at first, as though he wasn’t quite sure if this was allowed, but when you melted into him, his grip on you tightened, and the kiss deepened. It was as though the years of pining, of unspoken feelings and stolen glances, had all led to this—an explosion of warmth and sweetness that left you both dizzy.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, your fingers brushing the lapel of his suit. “Probably as long as I’ve wanted you to.”

His laugh was soft, and he pulled you closer, wrapping you in his arms as though he never wanted to let go. “Merry Christmas,” he said, his lips brushing against your temple.

“Merry Christmas, Mycroft.”

And for the first time in years, Mycroft Holmes felt truly at peace.