#Anyways I love festivals and the fall feeling and that was all I wanted to encapsulate with this

[jadewritesficshere]

Spin

Eddie Munson x reader

Synopsis: a night at the fall festival with your boyfriend

Contents: fluff, really just wanted to encapsulate a fall feeling

The cool brisk breeze sent a shiver down your spine. Red, brown, and golden yellow leaves swayed on trees and fell without a care. You watched the leaves on the ground, stepping on the ones that looked to have a good crunch to them.

The annual fall festival had arrived, signaling fall in Hawkins. The streets near the town hall had been taken over with booths and rides. The smell of popcorn and hot dogs filled the air. The mechanical whir of rides and screams of excitement from children filled your ears. Strings of fairy lights twinkled between trees, neon colors flashing from rides and booths alike. Instead of joining the throngs of people mingling about, you stood waiting near your car. Waiting for your best friend recently turned boyfriend.

And like you summoned him, he appeared. In between the sea of people and cars, your boyfriend. Tall and scrawny, metal and leather, loud and magnanimous. Eddie. Your beautiful metalhead.

The moment his eyes fall on yours a bright smile spreads across his face. He does a half walk half jog over to you before bowing," My Liege." You giggle," My Knight." Eddie straightens and places his hands on either side of your face. Hidden between cars, he gives you a quick kiss on the lips as his wild smile turns softer, sweeter. Something only for you to see.

Eddie takes his hands away from your face, and you would mourn the loss of contact except he intertwines his hand with yours. The rings on his fingers like ice due to the breeze. But you don't pull back- no, if anything you hold his hand tighter. And together you traverse into the festival.

You weave between people, smiling at the feeling that fall had arrived. Eddie walks up to a booth selling tickets for rides while you stand watching the excitement taking place all around. Kids throwing ping-pong balls into bowls of water, squealing with delight when they win a fish, whilst their parents grimace but grin. A man winning his girl a plush prize by throwing a ball at a stack of bottles, tumbling with a loud crash. A ferris wheel in the distance, reaching towards the sky.

Eddie leads you towards the ferris wheel, knowing it is considered romantic. The basket sways as it takes you into the sky. Of course, it isn't as romantic as the cart below you that held the couple cuddling. No, Eddie was causing your cart to swing back and forth, cackling wildly while you held on for life and scolded him. Romantic? No. Fun? Yes.

You wanted to weep for joy at the feeling of solid ground beneath your feet, making a mental note to never do a heights attraction with Eddie again. The smell of popcorn catches your attention. You head towards the area that sold food. Popcorn, hot dogs, fries, cotton candy, caramel apples, lemonade, and many more foods available. You smile, watching Eddie dart to the booth selling funnel cakes. Though Eddie may try to deny it, he had a sweet tooth.

You get your popcorn and a soda, keeping an eye on Eddie. He had a habit of wandering off- you weren't much better actually. Eddie is munching on the funnel cake when you return, powdered sugar dusting his lips and cheek. "Want some?" Eddie holds the plate towards you. A warm fuzzy feeling lights up in your stomach, as you know Eddie never shares his food. You tear off a small corner and put it in your mouth, Eddie beaming at you.

Once you both have ate your snacks and walked around, discussing the sights and people watching, Eddie goes to toss your trash. You smile as he sees a squirrel and tries to coax it to him. The squirrel is completely unenthused by Eddie, running the opposite direction. You turn your attention to the sunset. Hues of orange and pink spread across the sky, mimicking the colors around you. Even though you are in a loud section of the festival with people talking all around, you've never felt more peaceful.

A tug on your hand signals the return of your boyfriend. He talks animatedly about his newest campaign whilst you walk. You stop in front of a brightly colored ride. The platform spins in a circle, having a slight incline and decline on either side. Carts sit atop smaller circles that spin one way or the other depending on gravity. The neon sign saying Tilt-A-Whirl catches your eyes on the spinning attraction.

"Want to go on?" Eddie asks, smiling at you. All the lights and bright colors around, all the sights and fun, and yet you were the prettiest thing he could look at tonight. Your soft smile answered the question, Eddie leading you to the line. You squeeze his hand with yours briefly and he tugs on your arm, making you fall into him. You laugh as he wraps his arms around you. Eddie kisses your forehead and you can feel your heart pick up.

"You know what we gotta do right?" Eddie asks and you pull back with a questioning look. "We have to lean to one side, get gravity on our side. We'll spin super fast." Eddie nods, a determination set in his eyes. You blink a few times, wondering if maybe it was a mistake to choose this ride, remembering the ferris wheel. However, you get ushered in before you can change your mind.

Eddie rushes past you and jumps up on the platform, holding his hand out to help you up," My liege." "My Knight." You grasp his hand as he tugs you along. He clambors inside the cart. Eddie flops into the seat, his chains and belt clanging against the metal. You sit next to him and he pulls the bar in place. There is enough of a gap it doesn't press down on you, but you won't be able to slip out of the ride either. It seems like it is almost designed for you to move around on the seat to help aid or deter the spinning of the cart.

You glance over at him and feel your heart stutter. The neon flashing lights of red and blue seem to cause an ethereal glow around him. His eyes are lit up with excitement as he shifts in the seat. His little wriggles cause the chains on his belt to jingle, a nice melody in your ears. Eddie's eyes dart to yours before looking away, quickly doing a double take and staring back at you. "Why are you watching me?" Eddie laughs out, swatting at you.

"You're just so pretty." Your heart feels full. Eddie's eyes widen and his face flushes slightly. He grabs a piece of hair to hide behind, batting his eyes at you," Says the prettiest person around." You reach over and grab his hand, squeezing it lightly and giving him a grin.

His smile softens as he leans in towards you. Your lips are millimeters away from touching when the ride jolts as it starts. You both jump back as your cart turns. "This is it! We have to lean together!" Eddie barks out a laugh and leans into your space," I won't complain." You roll your eyes at him as the cart spins.

And as you spin wildly, listening to Eddie's laughter and shouts of directions to lean to, you know you wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Just like there may be ups and downs in life, crazy turns, and things that cause your head to spin, you know you can face it with Eddie at your side.

[archerstreet]

sometimes my bestfriend is like an angel in disguise istg

[thefairywithboots]

And The Gods Made Love (Thor 1!Loki x Fem!Reader)

As requested by @mischiefmaker615, I present to you And The Gods Made Love!

Summary: Reader gets tired of the rowdiness of the feast, and slips off to the library for some peace and quiet. Loki has the same idea, but things don't go as planned.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: Smut, sex, oral sex (female receiving), body worship.

Rating: Explicit (minors please DNI)

I hope you all enjoy this fic. I spent several days on it because I wanted it to be better than my last one. Comments and thoughts are always appreciated. :)

I tag @oswildin @mischieffae @bitchy-bi-trash @merakifreedom @kathren1sky-blog

@groovy-lady @trash-panda-kitty @mischief-dream @simone818283 @soulpiercing

@lokisgoodgirl @buttercupcookies-blog @stilleobjection @wolfsmom1 @firedrakegirl

If you would like to be tagged for future Loki fics, just let me know. 👍

~~

The sound of the merriment from the feast faded into the background as I stepped out into the corridor. It was far too loud for me to handle Thor and his friends loudly shouting over each other, smashing their goblets... They had always teased me about not caring much for parties and festivities, about always having such a low social battery. But it wasn't something I could help. I longed for the quiet and solitude of the palace library, preferably with Loki's company.

I quickly but quietly made my way down the corridors of the palace in case Sif came to look for me to drag me back to the feast to try and get me to drink more mead. I would fall on my face after two goblets. Me being a lightweight was another thing they liked to tease me about. 

I made it to the doors of the library, hoping to slip in there without making too much noise, but the familiar sound of a silken voice caused me to nearly jump out of my skin.

"Tired of the festivities already, are we?"

I turned to find Loki leaning against the wall of the corridor, so still and casual, that I didn't know how long he had been standing there, watching me. I placed a hand over my heart, trying to calm myself. 

We had been meeting each other in secret for the past couple of months, stealing kisses when meeting up in the woods and empty corridors. He never failed to make my heart race when he stood before me, appraising me with those smoldering green eyes.

"I wish you wouldn't sneak up on me like that."

"Sorry, love. I saw you leaving the feast and knew I couldn't leave you alone in such a big palace, and let you get lost..." he said while moving closer to me.

I rolled my eyes. "You were tired of the loudness of it all too, weren't you?"

"Of course. I don't like loud gatherings anyway... I can only handle so much of my brother's idiocy." He smirked, his gaze never leaving me. 

I felt my cheeks heat up as my hands fidgeted. "I plan to spend the rest of the feast in the library... would you care to join me, my prince?"

A soft chuckle escaped Loki's lips as he stepped forward to practically tower over me. He never failed to make my knees weak with his height, when I was not even short myself. He brought one hand up to gently caress my chin as he lifted my eyes to meet his.

"Nothing would make me happier, love." 

We snuck into the library together, the silence of the room during nighttime pressing down on us as we walked through the shelves of books together. The moonlight softly illuminated the large tomes on the towering shelves as it poured in from the tall stained glass windows. The absence of the librarian and other patrons browsing the books made the place feel like a desolate land, filled with forgotten stories. 

Being in here alone at night always felt strange to me. It carried a serene peacefulness but at the same time, it felt eerie. Sometimes I could see the shadows dancing in the corners of the room as if the characters from the stories were trying to get free, but when I looked closer, nothing was there. But having Loki with me felt like we had an entire kingdom to ourselves.

I quietly made my way to my favorite armchair near the fireplace, picking up the novel I had been reading. I turned to the fireplace to light it with some flint, but Loki was already using his magic to instantly cause the hearth to burst to life, illuminating that area in a soft orange glow.

Footsteps echoed behind me as he made his way around my chair to peer over my shoulder. I blushed when I felt his warm breath on my neck as his lips ghosted over the shell of my ear. "Loki..."

"Yes, love?"

"What are you doing?"

I could feel him chuckle softly as he brought his arms around me and rested his chin on my shoulder. "I can't help myself, love. You look simply ravishing."

His voice seemed to go straight through me to the pit of my stomach. I sighed and closed my book, turning to face him. He didn't waste any time and crushed his lips into mine.

I brought my hands up to wound through his silken raven-black hair, kissing him back passionately. Despite our many meetings, his kisses never failed to make my heart race and my thighs tremble.

When I felt his tongue slither its way into my mouth, I couldn't hold back a soft moan. He made a soft sound between a moan and a sigh as his lips trailed down to my neck, leaving small bites there.

"Oh, how I love that sound..."

I shivered slightly. "Loki, don't..."

"Hmm? Don't what?"

"If you leave a mark on my neck, Thor, Sif, and the others are not going to let me hear the end of it."

Loki didn't relent with his kisses. "Mmm... maybe I want to leave my mark on you... let the others know who you belong to."

I couldn't resist him when he talked to me in that voice. It sounded like velvet to my ears, and I felt myself tilting my head to give him easier access to my neck. 

"I want you," he whispered against my ear, his teeth gently tugging at my earlobe. The sensation caused a strange sensation in my loins.

I sighed, turning my head. Embarrassment filled me as I felt him leave more intoxicating kisses over my neck and up my face. He noticed my hesitation and looked at me, a frown creasing his handsome face. "Am I hurting you, love?"

I shook my head. "No... I want you too, Loki... but... I-I've never... I don't have any experience with..." 

Loki smiled softly and pressed his lips to my cheek gently. "Such an innocent little princess... I know you don't, love... but I can teach you. But only if you want me to." 

I closed my eyes and kissed him again, breathing in his scent, trying to memorize every little detail of him. I had always found comfort in his scent; warm and earthy, like the woods on a warm day, but also with sweet floral undertones. It was something no cologne or perfume could ever replicate.

"Yes..." I whispered against his lips. "I want you to show me..."

He smiled against my lips, his breath hot against my skin. "I can give you pleasure that you've never felt before..."

He took my hand and led me over to the sofa, pulling me into his lap. I gasped, wrapping my arms around his neck, trying to keep myself steady. When our lips met again, his hands gently stroked up my sides, as if feeling me up through the fabric of my dress. 

When I felt his hands start to unfasten the back of my dress, I froze. He stopped.

"Do you not want to go through with it?"

I could feel my cheeks flame with embarrassment. "I-I do... but... here? What if someone walks in...?"

"No one is crazy enough to be in the library this time of night. No one except for us..." His smile made me melt like putty in his hands. He leaned forward to press his lips to my neck, and the feel of his lips made me shudder. "And if anyone does happen to walk in on us, I can use my magic to make us both invisible."

I closed my eyes, letting him kiss me again. I didn't want to admit that I was scared, but it all felt so strange to me. We'd never done anything more than kissing. But I wanted him, I truly did. Every fiber of my being craved him.

"You don't have to be afraid," he whispered while running his fingers through my hair before pulling me closer by the nap of my neck. "I'll take care of you. I'll guide you through the entire thing. You can trust me."

I nodded, resting my forehead against his. "I trust you..."

Loki's hands unfastened my dress, causing the snug fabric to loosen on me. He gently pulled the dress off my shoulders, pressing kisses to my skin as it was exposed. The warmth from the fireplace kept me from shivering, illuminating my skin with a warm glow.

A wave of self-consciousness came over me at the idea of being exposed to him, and my arms tightened around my midriff. He pressed gentle kisses to my exposed shoulders, his breath teasing my skin.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered against my shoulder as he trailed kisses up my neck. "You are truly the most beautiful woman in all of the Nine Realms. You are befitting for worship, like the goddess you are..."

His voice made me melt against him, my arms loosening from around me. He used this as an opportunity to pull my dress the rest of the way off my shoulders. "Says the god..." I whispered as he kissed down my back and he slid the sleeves off my arms, exposing my breasts. 

My dress was now around my hips, and he pulled back to appraise me like he might a fine sculpture. My heart raced in my chest as I brought my arms up to cover my chest, but he shook his head, gently taking my hands into his to stop me.

"My love... if I had my way, you'd rule alongside me as my queen for all eternity. To me, you are a goddess." His lips pressed to my neck, and I felt like I could melt right into his hands. "Don't cover yourself. You're too beautiful. Allow me to worship you instead."

I couldn't speak, I was breathing too heavily, my heart racing erratically in my chest. Loki knelt before me like a devoted worshipper would to his goddess. It was such a strange sight to see him like this. He gently tugged the rest of my dress off my hips, causing it to fall into a pool around my feet. 

My face was burning now, my hands covering my face so that I did not have to see his reaction to my naked body. 

"My love... look at me," he said gently while taking my hands in his and kissing them gently. I looked down at him, my hair spilling over my shoulders and curtaining my face. He pushed a strand of hair behind my ears. "We can stop any time you want to."

I swallowed thickly. "I want you..."

"Then why do you hide from me? Why do you attempt to cover yourself?" 

I bit my lip, bringing my eyes down to our joined hands. "I'm sorry, I just... I've never done this before... I don't... know how..."

He shushed me and gently kissed my neck, sending every nerve of mine on fire. "I'll show you how... but only if you trust me."

I tried to hold back my moan as he nibbled softly on my neck. "I trust you..." I whispered breathlessly as my hands wound through his raven locks. 

His arms wrapped around both of my legs as he kissed down my neck until his mouth reached my breasts. I flinched when he took one nipple into his mouth, his green eyes glaring up at me as he gauged my reaction. My cheeks were aflame, and I knew it wasn't because of the fireplace. I leaned my head back, closing my eyes as I tried to focus on the feelings and sensations he was bringing me.

He spent time using his mouth on both of my breasts; kissing them and tugging the nipples into taut points with his teeth. The sensation was overwhelming for me, and I could do nothing but gasp and mewl, and then bite my lip in case someone might walk into the library and hear us.

"Please..." I whined, my hands fisting in his hair, unable to decide if I wanted to push his head away or pull him closer.

Loki brought one of his hands out from underneath my legs and pressed firmly on my clit. My eyes widened as an unbelievable amount of pleasure shot through me. When he started rubbing firm, slow circles, I thought I could see the Nine Realms behind my eyes. I couldn't hold my moans back this time. It wasn't as if I was foreign to this kind of pleasure. I had touched myself before; oftentimes when thinking about him. But the skill and pace at which he did this caused me to writhe and squirm in his arms.

"Does that feel good?" he whispered gently.

I nodded quickly, keeping my eyes screwed shut.

"And how many times have you touched yourself in this exact same way? While thinking about me...?"

I felt the color drain from my face. "S-Stay out of my head!" I snapped. I couldn't believe he was going to use his magic on me here.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he pressed kisses down my chest, traveling down between my thighs. "I apologize, my goddess. Will you forgive me for my transgressions?" 

The moment I felt his mouth on my core, I gasped. I could feel his tongue probing at my folds, licking a stripe up my slit before settling on kissing and sucking on my clitoris. 

I let out a sultry moan that I had no idea I was capable of making. "O-oh my gods..."

"Does this mean I am forgiven?"

It seemed like such a stupid question in a moment such as this. But he wanted an answer. When he pulled away briefly, I whimpered in frustration. "Loki... don't you dare stop..." My voice then softened. "Please..."

"You didn't answer my question. Am I forgiven?"

I gasped, my head falling on the couch. "Y-yes... just please... keep going..."

He hummed softly before bringing his mouth back to me, his tongue skillfully manipulating my clit. The pleasure I felt was nearly unbearable. My hands fisted back into his hair, and I pulled harder than I had intended. Instead of expressing pain, however, Loki moaned into my core, the sounds muffled by lewd slurping noises. I felt a tightening in my stomach as if I were a spring being tightly wound around the very being that was him. I didn't realize my legs were wrapped so tightly around his neck until I felt my heels dig into his back.

He continued to go down on me, glaring up at me occasionally as he watched my reaction. I let out a few soft moans, despite trying to hold back as much as possible. 

I felt like the soft sounds that I was making would echo throughout the library, down the corridors, and into the feasting hall. I could just imagine Thor, Sif, and the warriors three overhearing us and coming to investigate, giggling and jeering like a group of drunken teenagers. If they caught me and Loki in here like this, they'd never let us hear the end of it. 

I tried to shove those thoughts out of my head as Loki used both his tongue and his fingers to stimulate my clitoris, rubbing and licking faster. He used his fingers on my clit while alternating between giving my slit thorough licks and my clit firm sucks. He continued these ministrations until the tightening that had formed in my stomach unraveled, causing a wave of pleasure so strong to shoot through me, it felt like I had been taken under by a giant tidal wave, the ocean of ecstasy I was in throwing me around as I was completely powerless to stop it.

I heard an aria of moaning and mewling, and it took me a moment to realize that they were coming from my own mouth. I could feel Loki licking up every drop of my release as my hands convulsed in his hair, pulling hard. 

The aftermath of my first orgasm left me dazed. I didn't realize how tightly my legs were wrapped around him until he had to pull them off his shoulders to pull away from me.

He wiped his mouth as he looked down at me, drinking in the sight of me lying on the couch. "Look at you... so limp and satisfied. You look so... exquisite spread out like that. Your breasts and cunt are swollen because of my attention. Your cheeks flushed and lips parted... your hair around you like a halo." He started undoing the buttons of his shirt. "You look every bit of a goddess as I am a god." He slid his shirt off his shoulders, revealing his lithe yet toned chest. I was still so dazed, all I could do was stare at him. "And now tonight, we will witness what happens when the gods make love."

He unfastened his belt, shimmying out of his trousers, the warm glow of the fireplace illuminating his divine figure. He was larger than what I had expected, and for a moment, I wondered how he was going to fit inside me. I wanted to get up off the couch and go to him, but my legs were so weak, I knew I would fall straight on my face. 

Loki kicked his trousers to the side, getting down on all fours as he crawled towards me. The idea of what else he might have planned for us made my thighs clench in anticipation. He was soon kneeling in front of me, but instead of burying his face between my thighs again, he grabbed me by the hips and pulled me onto the floor on top of him, adjusting my legs to straddle his waist.

I clutched his shoulders to steady myself as he lifted my hips slightly off his lap to align his cock with my soaked slit. He pushed into me slowly, the feeling of him stretching me causing me to gasp, burying my face in his neck.

"Gods..." I moaned.

"Am I hurting you?" his silken voice whispered in my ear, warming my heart...and my loins. 

I shook my head quickly, breathing in sharply, his warm scent filling my senses. He had stilled inside me, giving me time to adjust to his size. "No... I just feel... full."

He wrapped his arms around me, cradling my head like a child's. "I love you. Have I ever told you that before?"

I felt my heart skip a beat at this confession. "No. You haven't."

"Well, now you know. I've looked forward to this moment for so long... I've wanted to be tied to you in every way possible... both in mind... body... soul."

I gasped when I felt him thrust sharply into me, my hands gripping his shoulders. "L-Loki...!"

He groaned as his hands went down to grip my hips, lifting me only to push back into me again. "I love when you moan my name, love..."

I dug my nails into his shoulders, my breathing becoming more labored as his pace gradually increased, his hands controlling the rhythm even though I was on top of him.

Gathering my courage, I rolled my hips against his, a sharp sting of pleasure shooting through me as his cock pushed deeper inside me. 

Loki stared up at me, his eyes glazed and his mouth open. "Gods... yes, love... roll your hips against mine... just... like... that..."

I gripped onto him, moving in time with his thrusts. All sense of insecurity or uncertainty had been peeled away from me, awakening a raw, primal need for him, and him alone. 

Loki wound one hand through my hair before pressing his forehead against mine. Our breaths mingled together as our moans and heavy breaths made a symphony throughout the library. 

My hips continued to bounce on top of his as if they were acting on their own accord. He was so deep inside me, I could feel the tip of his cock brush against my cervix. 

I felt that familiar tightening in my stomach again, and the idea of having another powerful orgasm both scared and thrilled me. Loki's breath came faster, and his movements were more hurried as he must have been approaching the edge as well.

"Loki... I-I love you..." I broke out in a hushed whisper as I moved so fast, that my breasts were bouncing wildly.

He grunted, thrusting his hips forward at such a fast pace, my walls clamped hard around his cock while my back arched. I couldn't stop myself from screaming right in his ear during my second climax. One hand convulsed in his hair while the other clawed down his back. 

He waited until I was in the throes of ecstasy before taking my nipple back into his mouth and biting down on it. He pumped his hips, allowing me to ride out my orgasm. He finally came, shooting his seed into me as he let the warm release seep through me. He groaned loudly, burying his face in my neck as he rode out his own climax.

When we finally stilled, I felt boneless and limp in his arms. We both lay there on the floor of the library, catching our breaths as we stared up at the ceiling that was adorned with intricate imagery during the daytime but was immersed in darkness with nothing but the dying fire in the hearth dimly illuminating our exhausted bodies.

"You were incredible, darling," he finally told me with his arms wrapped around me tightly. "A natural..."

I breathed in his scent deeply, burying my face in his chest. "Thank you... for showing me..."

His chuckle reverberated through his chest, vibrating against my ear. "You know once is never going to be enough, don't you?"

My eyes widened slightly. Loki took my hips and pulled out of me slowly before setting me gently down on the floor. "Not tonight, obviously. I don't want to render you unable to walk."

He lay down beside me on the floor of the library, using his magic to conjure a thin green blanket to cover both of us with. I was still dazed and exhausted from the evening's activities, but I used what little strength I had left to drape my arm around his waist and cuddle into him. I felt his strong arms encircle around me, pulling me against his chest.

I let out a breathless sound, too drained to laugh. "You're unbelievable."

"Oh? And why is that?" he asked while massaging my scalp idly.

"I had always thought my first time was going to be... painful. And you made me... feel things I never imagined I'd feel."

I barely registered his lips pressing against my forehead. "I guess your body is just made for mine, love... our souls were tailored for one another. And it does get even better than this... that I can promise you."

I tried to fight the sleep, but the steadiness of his heartbeat along with the blaze of the fireplace lulled me into a sated doze. I tried to tell myself that if we stayed here when dawn came, we'd be caught by the librarian, or even more embarrassing, his mother. The mere idea of the situation mortified me.

Loki must have been listening to my thoughts because he pushed a strand of hair over my shoulder. "Rest, little one. The feast is still ongoing, and I will have us out of here before dawn. You don't have to worry about us being caught."

I was too exhausted to snap at him and tell him to stay out of my head. I instead gave into the lull of his heartbeat against my ear as it started to slow, and the slow dimming of the fireplace as I gave in to my exhaustion and slipped into the comfort of sleep in his arms.

[mononijikayu]

nonsense christmas — nanami kento.

“Tell you what, Kento.” you said, voice low and teasing. “If you don’t kiss me under a mistletoe by the end of the night, I’ll stop. No more flirting, no more teasing. I’ll leave you alone.” Kento tilted his head slightly, as if considering your words. “And if I do?” Your breath hitched at the question, but you managed a grin. “Then I’ll finally have my Christmas wish.” His lips parted softly, as though he were about to respond, but instead, he exhaled slowly, his warm gaze dipping to your lips for the briefest moment before meeting your bright teasing eyes again.  “You’re impossible.”

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Canon Convergence;

WARNING/s: AFAB! Reader, Safe For Work (SFW), Romance, Crushes, Getting Together, Classmates, Friends to Lovers, Persuasion, Teasing, Teenagers, Feelings, Friendship, Fluff, First Love, Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Flirting, Humor, Domesticity, Slice of Life, Mild Angst, Idiots In Love, Light-Hearted, Confessions, Pining, Kissing, Mistletoe Kiss, Christmas;

WORD COUNT: 5k words.

NOTE: nanami kento come to the front because??? you made your lover wait for this long??? but its okay guys, he'll love you forever so that he'll make up for his making you wait. anyway, i hope that you enjoy christmas!!! ill come back with more stuff!!! i love you all <3

box it up, christmas hun! (santa kayu 2024)

main masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

IT WAS THAT TIME OF THE YEAR. The ballroom felt alive, sparkling with the magic of the season. Music drifted through the air, a soft, lilting melody that seemed to heighten the intimacy of the moment. You couldn't help but notice how the warm golden light cast a soft glow on Nanami Kento's sharp features, making him look even more handsome than usual. His presence in the crowd was magnetic, his quiet strength standing out against the festive chaos of the room.

You couldn’t help but admit it: you liked this man too much. Nanami Kento was just that man. More than anyone else in this room. Maybe even more than anyone in the entire world. It was a thought that lingered in your mind far too often, but you couldn’t shake it, not when every moment with him felt like the only thing that mattered.

You decided that he was the one the moment you both were at Jujutsu High. The very first time you saw him, sitting there in the classroom, casually dressed in his uniform, a book in his hands. The image was burned into your memory, as clear as if it had happened yesterday. The way he looked—so effortlessly cool, so calm, so utterly engrossed in his reading. It could’ve been plucked straight from the pages of a shoujo manga.

And yet, as much as it was cliché, it was perfect. Every detail about that moment was perfect. His sandy blond hair, the way it fell in messy waves over his brow, the soft crease of his shirt, the relaxed way he rested his chin in his hand as he flipped the page. You could almost hear the soundtrack of a gentle string instrument playing in your mind as you watched him, caught in a moment that felt as if it had been orchestrated just for you.

You could still remember the flutter in your chest, that instant of realization. It wasn’t just admiration. It was more. It was the kind of feeling that felt destined, as if the universe had conspired to place you in that moment, in that room, with him. And just like that, you were hooked.

You didn’t even need to know him then to know that you wanted him. His presence was magnetic, his energy effortless, and you found yourself thinking of nothing but how perfect it would be to spend the rest of your life with him.

Looking back now, you could trace the beginnings of your feelings to that very moment—so simple, yet so profound. A single snapshot in time that made you realize that sometimes, the best things in life happen when you least expect them. That moment with him, so ordinary and yet so extraordinary, felt like fate pulling you toward something you didn’t even know you wanted.

And now, here you were, so far from that classroom, so far from the days when the idea of him seemed like an impossible dream, and yet… it was real. He was here, and he was yours. You smiled softly to yourself, your heart full as you looked at him, knowing that it all started with one perfect moment—and you would always fall for him, every time, in every way, for the rest of your life.

The memory of that moment still lingered in your mind, vivid despite the years that had passed. You had spent weeks psyching yourself up, rehearsing your words in front of Haibara, who always smiled and encouraged you.

“He’s too serious, but you’ll break through!” Haibara had said with his usual sunny grin. “You’re good for him, you know? Like sunshine cutting through all those storm clouds he carries around.”

Those words had fueled your determination, and when the day finally came, you’d found him sitting under the big tree near the practice field, reading. His tie had been loosened, his sleeves rolled up, and he looked so effortlessly put-together that it made your chest tighten.

“Kento, hey.” you’d called softly, your voice shaky.

He’d looked up, his expression calm as always, though his brow furrowed slightly when he saw the nervous way you fidgeted with your hands. You shouldn’t be nervous like this in front of him, but you were. It was hard, when you felt overwhelmed by someone. 

“Can I talk to you?” you’d asked, and he’d nodded, setting his book aside.

The confession spilled out in a rush, your words tumbling over each other as you tried to make sense of your feelings. You’d told him how much you admired his dedication, how his quiet strength made you feel safe, how you couldn’t stop thinking about him. By the end, your cheeks burned, and your hands trembled.

“I like you, Kento.” you had finished, your voice barely above a whisper.

Nanami Kento had listened without interrupting, his expression steady but unreadable. When you finished, he let out a quiet sigh, his caramel gaze dropping to the ground for a moment before meeting yours.

“I don’t think I can give you the answer you’re looking for.” he had said, his voice even but kind. “At least, not right now.”

The words had stung, but they hadn’t been a rejection. You nodded, forcing a smile. “That’s okay, Kento. Don’t worry.” you’d said, and you meant it. You didn’t want to pressure him or push him into something he wasn’t ready for.

Haibara had found you afterward, your head resting on your knees as you tried to process everything. “How’d it go?” he’d asked, sitting beside you.

“He didn’t say no, Haibara.” you’d replied quietly, your lips twitching into a small smile. “That’s something, right?”

Haibara had nudged your shoulder gently. “It’s more than something. He’s just the kind of guy who overthinks everything. You’ve planted the seed, though. Give him time.”

But time had passed, and Nanami Kento left Jujutsu High not long after. You never got another chance to talk to him like that again. You told yourself you were content loving him from afar, finding solace in the way your heart still fluttered at the thought of him.

But when he returned, something in you had stirred—a flicker of hope, fragile yet insistent. Maybe, just maybe, things could be different now. Time has changed both of you. The boy who had quietly declined your feelings at Jujutsu High had grown into a man, more self-assured but still carrying that same steady, composed demeanor that had drawn you to him in the first place.

You were adults now, and that alone made you believe there was a chance. Life has taught you patience, resilience, and the courage to keep trying, even when the odds seemed slim. That was why you hadn’t given up on him.

And so, you pursued him.

Every opportunity to be near him, to share a moment, you seized with the quiet determination that had defined your feelings for years. You sought him out for coffee when you knew he preferred a quiet café to the bustling city. You’d “accidentally” bump into him at the farmers’ market, pretending it was a coincidence even though you’d memorized his routine.

“Kento!” you’d say with a teasing grin when he raised a suspicious brow at you. “What a coincidence running into you here. Do you always buy the same sourdough every Saturday morning?”

He’d sigh, but there was a faint twitch at the corner of his lips, a ghost of a smile he didn’t quite let show. “You’re persistent.”

“Someone’s got to make sure you don’t spend your weekends brooding, you know?” you’d reply, nudging his shoulder. “Come on, loosen up!”

It became a habit, this delicate dance of seeking his company without being too obvious about your intentions. You’d ask him to spar under the guise of “staying sharp” though the truth was, you just liked the way he’d carefully correct your stance or the brief flicker of admiration in his eyes when you managed to land a hit.

“You’ve improved, a lot.” he’d say, his voice calm but laced with sincerity, and it would make your heart race.

“Good teacher, as always!” you’d reply, hoping he couldn’t see how much his approval meant to you.

Every moment with Kento, no matter how mundane, felt like a gift. Whether it was sharing a quiet cup of coffee on a rainy morning, or simply sitting in comfortable silence while reading, there was something in the way he looked at you, spoke to you, and allowed you to be near him that made everything feel extraordinary.

And though he didn’t openly reciprocate your pursuit, even after all these years. Never rushing into declarations of affection or sweeping gestures—he didn’t push you away, either. It was a slow process, but he let you in, bit by bit, his walls coming down in small, subtle ways.

You could see it in the way he’d glance at you when he thought you weren’t looking, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You noticed it in the way he trusted you enough to share a casual comment or a fleeting thought during the moments when he felt most comfortable.

One evening, you found yourselves sitting on the couch in his modestly minimal apartment. The sound of the rain pattering against the window and the occasional crackle of the radiator filled the air as the two of you shared a bowl of popcorn. 

Nanami Kento looked so effortlessly at ease, his long legs stretched out and his sweater sleeves pushed up to his forearms as he focused on a historical documentary you’d both stumbled upon online.You leaned your head on his shoulder, your voice soft as you broke the comfortable quiet.

“You know, you’re not as cold as you pretend to be, Kento.” you said, stealing another handful of popcorn.

He glanced at you briefly, his lips parting slightly in surprise before he let out a small, amused chuckle. “Not cold?”

“You’re warm, always.” you said with a grin. “You let me in. You don’t push me away, even when you could.”

There was a moment of silence as Kento stared at the television, his hand resting on the couch beside you. His expression wasn’t guarded, but it wasn’t entirely open either—just enough for you to read the smallest hint of vulnerability.

“I guess I never really had a reason to push you away.” he finally said, his voice low but steady. “Never.”

His words lingered in the air for a moment, and you could tell he’d chosen them carefully. His voice had a softness to it that was rare for him, but just enough for you to feel the weight of his trust.

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze, catching the faint glow of the television reflecting off his glasses. “Why’s that?” you asked, your curiosity getting the better of you.

He hesitated for a moment, his shoulders shifting as he adjusted his position, and then he looked at you fully. “Because you make things easier,you make life feel kinder, in some ways.” he admitted, his words simple but honest. “You don’t ask for much, you listen, and you’re just there.”

You held your breath for a moment, your heart tightening at his words. His walls had come down, even if only by a fraction, and you could feel it. His tender tone, his presence, his warmth—it all felt so sincere. Too sincere for you to handle.

“I care about you, Kento.” you said softly, unsure if he truly understood the depth of your feelings.

His caramel gaze lingered on you for a moment, his hand reaching for the bowl of popcorn absentmindedly. His lips pressed together, his expression unreadable, before he looked back at the screen, the conversation shifting back to the documentary.

But the weight of his words, and his willingness to let you in, lingered with you, wrapping you in a warmth that felt both fragile and strong. You knew there was still much more to uncover with Kento, but for now, this….his presence, his openness, his choice to let you stay—it felt like it was more than enough.

And sometimes, enough was everything.

But sometimes, you know that doesn’t fill the hole.

You still wanted more than what enough was.

And that was human of you, truthfully enough.

You weren’t naive enough to think it would be easy. Nothing about life, especially when it came to love, had ever been simple. You knew this, just as you knew there was a layer of reluctance in Kento—a hesitation, a kind of guarded distance he fought to keep even when you could feel the pull between you both.

Kento was, and still is, someone who struggles with the idea of letting go completely. His walls were strong, built from years of experience, loss, and quiet battles that no one but him could fully understand. It was clear to you that he struggled with the need to distance himself.

As if pulling back were his only defense against the weight of inevitable heartache. His fear of loss, perhaps, weighed heaviest on his mind, an unspoken ache that lingered just beneath the surface. And he’s never gotten over it.

He never told you, not in words, though you could feel it. Sometimes, late at night, you could see it in his tired caramel eyes or hear it in the hesitancy of his voice. He still dreams of Yu Haibara sometimes, in the most grievous ways.

And it was there in his moments of quiet, the small ways he hesitated to open up, even when you wanted him to. His reluctance was both a shield and a barrier, but it didn’t mean he didn’t care. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to feel things he does for you.

Because even through that fear, even through his uncertainty, you knew he still wanted you close. He still wanted you around him. His need wasn’t entirely spoken, but you could sense it in the way his hand would linger near yours, in the way his shoulders would relax just a bit when you sat beside him, in the way his smiles felt so much warmer when they were aimed at you.

He wanted your companionship. Your warmth. Your smiles. Even if just for a little while.

And you found yourself wondering if you could ever bridge that gap, if you could ease away the weight of his fears, of his walls, just enough to allow him to breathe. But you knew it wouldn’t come easily. It wasn’t about convincing him or rushing him. It was about staying close without suffocating, about being the kind of presence that felt like home without overwhelming his heart.

So you stayed. Patient. Gentle. Hopeful.

Because sometimes, love wasn’t about having all the answers. Sometimes, it was just about simply the ability to be there. But of course, that didn’t mean you didn’t like being playful with him sometimes. 

Sometimes you ended up teasing, flirting absentmindedly when the mood suited you. It kept things light, kept the tension from building too heavily between you both. And you knew Kento liked it, even if he would never openly admit it.

Now, you watched him, standing by one of the tall windows with his usual composed grace. The snow was falling outside, the icy tendrils of white dancing against the backdrop of the gray sky, and it cast a dreamy, ethereal glow over his figure. 

His sharp handsome features looked even more striking in the pale light, his stoicism seemingly as solid as ever, but something about his posture seemed a bit softer, more contemplative, more… approachable.

He had a half-full glass of champagne in his hand, the bubbles dancing at the surface as if mirroring the cold, soft beauty of the snow. His gaze was fixed outside, distant, a world away from the warm interior you occupied.

You felt that familiar pull—the urge to go to him, to close the distance, to connect. It wasn’t a conscious thing, really. It just happened. And as you took a step toward him, you couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at your lips.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you took his hand gently, drawing his attention as you swayed toward him. His stoicism faltered, ever so slightly, his usual confidence wavering under the warmth of your smile.

“Care for a dance?” you asked, your voice light, playful.

His eyes flickered down at you, the quiet surprise in them both unexpected and endearing. He hesitated for only a heartbeat before nodding, his lips parting into the faintest, almost-smile. “I suppose one dance couldn’t hurt.”

You held his hand as you moved into a slow, natural rhythm, the sound of the music faint in the background as you swayed together. His movements were smooth, calculated, but you could feel the tension in his shoulders ease as he allowed himself to follow your lead. His fingers were strong, steady, warm as they pressed into your hand, grounding you.

For a moment, everything felt still. The soft sound of the snow outside, the faint music, the warmth of his touch—everything blended into this gentle, fleeting moment that felt like it belonged to just the two of you.

You met his gaze, playful and soft, as you twirled, and he followed you easily, his composure blending seamlessly into the rhythm you created together. You could feel his walls, his hesitation, but this time they felt far less imposing. His defenses, ever so slightly, had come down.

It was in these moments, in these small dances and quiet gestures, that you felt yourself reaching him bit by bit. Not with force or words, but with your presence, your laughter, your warmth. You grinned again as he looked at you, a genuine, rare smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, and you knew this was enough.

“Come on.” you teased gently, tugging him toward the floor. “It’s Christmas, Kento. Loosen up a little.”

His grip on your hand tightened briefly, a subtle indication that your forwardness had caught him off guard. Still, he followed, the faintest hint of pink brushing against his ears. As the two of you swayed to the music, you let your fingers glide lightly over his shoulder, relishing the solid warmth beneath your touch. 

“You know, Kento.” you began, your tone playful, “I wasn’t lying earlier. You’re on my wish list this year. Like last year and the year before that.”

Kento raised an eyebrow, but the slight flush deepened across his cheeks. “That so?”

“Mm-hmm.” you replied, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “You’ve got that whole ‘Santa-but-make-it-dashing’ thing going on. Makes a girl want to write a love letter to the North Pole.”

He cleared his throat, his warm caramel eyes darting away briefly before returning to yours. “I doubt Santa would entertain... that kind of correspondence.”

You leaned in, your voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “Good thing I’m not sending it to him, then. I’d deliver it straight to you. No middleman required.”

For the first time that night, Kento faltered. His confident posture shifted, and his eyes widened just a fraction. “You’re relentless, you know that?” he murmured, a hand coming up to adjust his tie, though it wasn’t even out of place. “Always have been.”

You laughed softly, the sound warm and teasing. “Oh, Kento, don’t tell me I’ve made you nervous. It’s just a little harmless flirting…….but well,  unless you want it to be more.”

His lips parted, but no immediate response came. That small victory sent a thrill through you, and you leaned closer, just enough that your words were for him alone. “Tell me, does this kind of thing make you uncomfortable? Or are you just not used to someone being so... direct?”

Kento’s hand tightened slightly on your waist, his composed exterior visibly cracking. “It’s not discomfort, not at all.” he admitted, his voice low but steady. “Just unexpected.”

“Unexpectedly charming?” you pressed, your eyes twinkling with amusement.

He exhaled sharply, a sound that might have been a stifled laugh. “Something like that.”

Encouraged, you let your fingertips trace the seam of his suit jacket. “You know, Kento.” you continued, a playful lilt in your voice, “if you’re ever feeling generous this season, you could always fulfill my Christmas wish.”

“And what would that be?” he asked, the words coming out more strained than he probably intended.

You leaned in, your lips barely brushing the shell of his ear. “You. Under the mistletoe.”

When you pulled back to gauge his reaction, you were rewarded with the rarest sight: Nanami Kento, speechless. His hand flexed slightly on your waist, and his gaze flicked away as he struggled to compose himself. He looks at you for a moment. 

“You’re incorrigible, really.” he finally muttered, but his voice betrayed him—soft, amused, and maybe even a little flustered. “You haven’t  changed.”

“Only with you, Kento.” you said sweetly, squeezing his shoulder before stepping back. “But don’t worry, I’ll wait for my gift. After all, good things come to those who are patient.”

As you walked away, a satisfied grin on your lips, you couldn’t help but glance back to find Nanami Kento standing exactly where you’d left him, his calloused fingers brushing absently over his tie, his expression a mixture of bewilderment and something you dared to hope was intrigue.

The night carried on, the hum of conversation and the swell of holiday music forming a cozy backdrop, but you couldn’t keep your attention off Nanami. He had retreated to the edge of the room, standing by one of the tall, arched windows. The faint reflection of twinkling lights played across his face as he stared out at the snowfall, the earlier flush still faintly visible on his well defined cheeks. You decided you weren’t quite done with him yet.

Grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing server, you wove your way back through the crowd, your dress swishing lightly with each step. When you approached him, you tilted your head playfully, holding out the glass. 

“For the most stoic man at the ball, our dear Santa.” you teased.

He glanced at you, his lips quivering in what might have been a reluctant smile, and accepted the drink. “I didn’t realize I had a title.”

“Oh, you’ve earned it, Kento.” you said with a wink, leaning against the window frame beside him. “But don’t worry—I like a challenge.”

Nanami Kento took a measured sip of the champagne, but you caught the way his jaw tensed, as though he were bracing himself for whatever you might say next. It only spurred you on to tease him even more.

“So, Kento.” you said, turning slightly to face him. “Are you enjoying the ball, or are you just here to fulfill some jujutsu society obligation?”

He hesitated, clearly weighing his words. “I suppose I’m here out of tradition. And obligations. These events aren’t really my style.”

“I could’ve guessed that, you know.” you said, grinning. “You’re not exactly the life-of-the-party type. But you know, Christmas is about more than tradition. It’s about joy. And sharing it with someone.”

Kento gave you a sidelong look. “You’re quite persistent.”

“And you’re quite stubborn.” you shot back, smiling. “But I think there’s a soft side to you, Kento. One you don’t show often enough.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Oh? And what makes you think that?”

“Well, for one, you haven’t walked away yet. I’m sure that you could end up doing that, knowing how much I tease you.” you said with a smirk. “And two... you keep looking at me like you don’t know whether to scold me or kiss me.”

His composure faltered again, a faint cough escaping as he set his glass down on the windowsill. “You certainly have an active imagination.”

“Oh, come on,Kento.” you said, your tone playful but insistent. “Admit it—you’re at least a little tempted. And if you’re not, then prove me wrong.”

Kento looked at you then, really looked at you, his sharp gaze softening just slightly. For a moment, you thought you might have pushed too far, but then he straightened, adjusting his tie with a deliberate slowness. 

“I don’t think I need to prove anything.”

“Ah, I see.” you said, stepping closer, emboldened by the flicker of challenge in his tone. “So, you are tempted.”

He said nothing, but his silence spoke volumes. The tension between you was palpable, the space narrowing until you could feel the faint warmth radiating from him. You bit your lip, deciding to go all in.

“Tell you what, Kento.” you said, voice low and teasing. “If you don’t kiss me under a mistletoe by the end of the night, I’ll stop. No more flirting, no more teasing. I’ll leave you alone.”

Kento tilted his head slightly, as if considering your words. “And if I do?”

Your breath hitched at the question, but you managed a grin. “Then I’ll finally have my Christmas wish.”

His lips parted softly, as though he were about to respond, but instead, he exhaled slowly, his warm gaze dipping to your lips for the briefest moment before meeting your bright teasing eyes again. 

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stalling for a while now.” you countered, a laugh bubbling up. “But that’s okay. I can wait. I always will.”

You stepped back, letting the tension linger as you gave him a playful wave and walked away. You didn’t have to look back this time—you knew he was watching. He was trying to memorize this moment, to observe it for what it was. And somehow, you had the distinct feeling that before the night was over, Nanami Kento would be fulfilling your wish.

As you moved away to get another glass of champagne, your heart fluttering with equal parts exhilaration and nervousness, you wondered if perhaps you’d gone too far. But before you could fully retreat into the crowd, you felt a hand on your wrist. It was a gentle, but firm pull enough to stop you in your tracks.

You turned around, with a surprised look on your face as you found Nanami Kento still standing there, his expression unreadable. His warm fingers lingered just a moment before he released you, his caramel gaze steady but softer than you’d ever seen it. The air between you seemed to hum with unspoken words.

“I—” He hesitated, his usual composure slipping just enough to make him seem almost vulnerable. He exhaled sharply, his shoulders relaxing as if surrendering to something he’d been holding back. “I need to say something. I should have, a long time ago.”

Your pulse quickened, and you nodded, stepping closer. “I’m listening.”

Kento glanced away briefly, as though gathering his thoughts, before looking back at you. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet but steady. “I’ve been aware of your... feelings. For a long time. I always knew about it. You were frank about it.”

Your cheeks flushed at the admission, but you didn’t interrupt. His words felt heavy, deliberate, as if each one had been carefully chosen. You could see the warmth in his eyes and the guilt and the desperation swirling through into one, your reflection echoing softly.

“I didn’t know how to respond, I never have.” he continued. “I thought it was... better to stay distant. With how things are….To keep things professional, I thought it was the best course of action. But… I made you wait. And that wasn’t fair.” He paused, his brow furrowing slightly, and when he looked at you again, there was something raw in his eyes. 

“What are you saying?”

“I’ve realized I’ve been lying to myself.”

Your breath caught, and you stared at him, hardly daring to believe what you were hearing. “Kento... you don’t have to—”

He ran a hand through his hair, his usual calm veneer cracking further. “I like you, I think I’ve always have.” he admitted, the words escaping like a confession he could no longer contain. “I’ve liked you for longer than I care to admit. More than I can express in words. Maybe…Maybe if I had loved you less, I’d be more able to talk about it.”

You gasped at his words, your mouth opening as wide as your eyes in surprise. “But I didn’t know how to handle it. You... you’re bold, and relentless, and you make it impossible for me to think clearly. You make it impossible for me to know what to do. Because I’m overwhelmed by you. And I…I surrender to it.”

“Kento, I just….” A surprised laugh bubbled out of you. “This is just….”

Kento gave you a small, self-deprecating smile. “You challenge me in ways I’m not used to. And while I’ve tried to ignore it, I’ve found that I don’t want to anymore. I don’t want to keep playing games, especially tonight.”

Your chest felt like it might burst, a mix of disbelief and elation washing over you. “So... does this mean I get my Christmas wish?”

Kento let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, darling.” you said, stepping closer, your voice playful but trembling with emotion. “You like me anyway.”

He sighed, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. “I suppose I do. More than I could ever understand.”

“You made me wait a long time.”

His eyes looked warmly at you. “I know. And I have….I want to spend the rest of my life making it up to you, for making you wait for so long.” 

Before you could overthink it, you closed the remaining distance between you, your hand resting lightly on his chest.  You smiled at him. “Good. I’ll take that as your apology.”

“Does….does this mean—”

“Kento.” you murmured, your voice soft but sure, looking at his eyes more closely. You smiled at him. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

His warm caramel gaze dropped to yours, and for the first time, you saw no hesitation in his eyes. Not one bit. He smiled back at you, his warm palm resting against the tresses at the edge of your hair, tracing it as though to memorize every bit of you.

“I think I do.” he said, his voice low and steady, and then, as if finally giving in to everything he’d been holding back, he leaned down and kissed you.

The world seemed to fade around you, the music and chatter of the ball becoming nothing more than a distant hum. His lips were warm, firm, and deliberate, and the way he held you. His one hand steady at your waist, the other lightly brushing your cheek. It made you feel like the only two people in the room.

Your heart soared, the years of unspoken feelings and quiet longing finally culminating in this perfect moment. His kiss wasn’t rushed or hesitant. Everything about it was purposeful, full of emotions he’d kept bottled up for far too long. Everything about it made you swore into the clouds, ever so happily.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting lightly against yours, you couldn’t help the soft, giddy smile that spread across your lips. His face was red as the scarlet sunrise, but he smiled even warmer than that as your gazes lock in an embrace.

“Merry Christmas, Kento.” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly with emotion.

He huffed a soft laugh, his breath warm against your skin. “Merry Christmas.” Then, with a smirk that was both rare and devastatingly charming, he added, “I suppose you got your wish after all. After all this time.”

You laughed, the sound bright and uninhibited, before teasing back, “Well, you are my Santa, you always have been.”

“Am I really?” He responded back, heartily.

“You do have a big sack too, so……” You trailed off, leaning closer with a mischievous grin. “Let me unpack it tonight, Santa?”

His face turned into an even more impressive shade of red, his composure slipping for a moment as he stared at you in disbelief. You laughed as he looked away for a moment, trying to gather himself. Your arm wrapped against his own. 

“You—” He cleared his throat, his grip on your waist tightening slightly as if to steady himself. “That’s... incredibly bold.”

You tilted your head playfully, your grin widening. “My boldness worked on you, didn’t it?”

He exhaled sharply, his lips twitching as though trying to suppress a smile. “I’m starting to see that, darling.” he muttered, his voice laced with reluctant amusement.

The nickname had made you feel even more giddy inside. “Hm, I suppose so, my love.”

“I’m sure that you’ll be more creative about it.”

“Well, you are right.” you said, looping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. “Stick with me forever, Kento. I have plenty more where that came from.”

Shaking his head, but unable to hide the warmth in his warm mahogany gaze, he leaned in again, ever closer this time. You could feel his voice in a low murmur against your ear. He gives you a small smile as his fingers trace the back of your neck. 

“Something tells me I’m in for quite the adventure.”

“Absolutely, my love.” you said, beaming as his lips found yours once more, sealing not just a moment but the beginning of something you’d both waited far too long for. “Buckle up.”

He snickers. “I look forward to each and every nonsense Christmas then.”

You laughed. “Expect it for all your days too.”

“Hm, that’s what I signed up for.”

[mustangbby]

How about blind!reader with genshin men (you can choose) and she accidentally slipped and somehow managed to mess up genshin man’s important work and he ends up blowing up on her? Angst please and I don’t mind if you do comfort or no comfort!!

Have a great day🌚

-> blinded mistakes

synopsis -> you're blind, and you accidentally knock over a months worth of your husbands work, and it gets ruined.

warnings -> super angsty!!! brief mentions of ayato putting his hands on reader (no hitting or anything) might do a part 2 for comfort part cus i wanted to focus on the main argument w this one...

a/n -> ooooooomg i'm a sucker for these tropes i love angst so much. thx for ur request, this was sm fun to write! 💗💗

w/c -> 1.1k

-> ayato

ayato knew you were blind, and he was as understanding of it as he possibly could be.

but in times like these, where all of this work was to be turned in for city matters by next week, he had no patience for anyone.

he had been cooped up in his office for a while at a time over the past month. these documents were incredibly important to him and how the words written on the paper could impact how festivities were held to be a much easier way for himself and the city. 

basically, his papers were pretty damn important. and you knew that.

you walked in his office one day with thoma helping you through the hallways. you didn’t want to trip, especially with a mug of tea in your hand, and you didn’t want to bring a cane with you. 

but, thoma may have made a big mistake of leaving you in ayatos care as soon as you walked through the door. because you knew ayato was in no way shape or form able to draw himself from his work at the moment.

you were not able to use your cane to feel around the room, so without knowing where the rug was, you tripped.

and the tea you held in your hands went all over his desk, soaking his documents. the ink was splotchy and obviously ruined. you weren’t able to see what happened, but by the way ayato gasped and grabbed your wrist you knew you fucked up pretty bad.

“what the hell were you thinking???” he pulls you up forcefully and pushes you down on his couch, where you started tearing up. you weren’t necessarily used to him yelling at you, for arguments, especially over such as this, were very minimal. he always found a way to come to an understanding with you, no matter what you may have ruined. 

“i’m sorry! i didn’t think thoma was just going to leave-” you were cut off by an angry voice.

“this isn’t thomas issue, y/n. it’s yours. how clueless can you be?” he brings his hands to his face, rubbing the bridge of his nose before groaning loudly. 

“i’m sorry that i can’t fucking see, ayato!” you yelled back, slamming your hands on the couch and leaning back. “is that what you wanted to hear?”

he shook his head, but you didn’t know that. he lays his hands on your thighs, squeezing them, before getting close to your face. you could smell his hair, the sakura shampoo he uses being evident. 

“i don’t want a fucking apology, y/n. if these documents are not in by friday, there is no change for inazuma. the change you’ve been awaiting, the change i’ve been awaiting, and the change everyone of the city has been awaiting. you took that away from all of them. because you decided you weren’t going to bring your cane to make sure you don’t fucking fall!” he yells to your face, making the tears spill out.

“i’m sorry! i just wanted to bring you something to drink because i was told you were overworking yourself. gosh, how bad of me for caring for my husband,” you yelled, hands shaking in both fear and rage. you knew talking back to him this way wouldn’t lead to anything good, but you tested your luck anyways.

“remove yourself from my office. i don’t care how the fuck you do it, but i demand you leave,” he said with a low, threatening tone. you knew he was enraged, and you stumbled through the door to the hallway, where ayaka was waiting to take you back to your room.

-> wriothesley

you always felt grateful for wriothesley, and the last thing you wanted to do was to upset him. he was one of the only people to look past your disability and see your heart, see your kindness and purity. 

so when you come up his office stairs very, very slowly with a cup of tea and trip on an uneven plate in the ground, ruining his documents that were incredibly important to him and the palais mermonia, especially to neuvillette, you knew you were screwed.

normally, this didn’t happen. he’d meet you down by his office door after a guard or sigewinne escorted you through the fortress, and help you walk up the stairs with the support of his arm.

he immediately slams his hands down on his table, walking over to where you were. 

you felt his presence looming over you, though unable to see it, you slowly and carefully sit up. he lifts up your chin before speaking.

“why. why would you do that,” he starts in a low tone, something similar he’d use to speaking to misbehaved criminals. “i told you not to visit me today. and what do you do? the complete fucking opposite!” 

you rub your eyes, trying to show no signs of weakness. you stand up, and he grabs your hands, making you feel the mess you made. ripped papers, bleeding ink. a month of progress is officially gone. 

“you feel what you did? that has taken me months! and it’s ruined! if i lose my job because of this-” he starts, dropping your hands as you turn around, your bottom leaning against the desk. 

“i’m sorry! i should’ve either stayed home or have a guard escort me up, i didn’t mean to ruin your progress!” you wipe more tears away, hearing him give an annoyed sigh. 

“you’re right. you shouldn’t have come at all. this would never have happened if you didn’t come. do you understand how much trouble i could be in? if you didn’t visit me at all, i wouldn’t have to go through the embarrassment of asking for new documents, and i wouldn’t have to do hundreds of papers in three damned days!” he says, obviously distressed.

“look, i’m sorry, okay?! you can tell neuvillette and all of fontaine that i was the one who ruined everything if you want to! i’m sorry about the hassle and i’m sorry for putting more stress on you! all i wanted to do was bring you a cup of tea because you left the house stressed this morning!” you yelled back, crying at this point. “if you don’t want the embarrassment, then you can embarrass me. it seems like i’ve done enough to deserve it, so do it! tell the whole world what i did wrong, and how horrible of a wife i was!”

you called a guard in to escort you out, and that was the last wriothesley had seen of you that day.

[whisperiin]

You want to write for Xiangli Yao 🤝 I have a request

"Being on someone's mind so much that they shove their face into their pillow and scream"

YESSSSSSS!!!!! YEEEESSSSSSSS!!!!!! happy xiangli yao day i hope you all got your free boyfriend and also his weapon!!!! i was planning on starting and posting this sooner but i was busy staring at his pv and also at him ingame... but it's here !! and it's still the 7th in my timezone so i'm not late...

sorry for yappery. anyways. i feel like the intention was for reader to be like this but i like the idea of flustered xly so i.... did that.... either way, i hope you enjoy!

consuming their thoughts ft. xiangli yao

content warnings: none

When XIANGLI YAO falls asleep, he dreams of cool autumn nights at the tree overlooking Taoyuan Vale, of the stars humanity has been forced to abandon, and his arm outstretched towards both. Perhaps it’s greedy, to wish for so much — but the wind is so calm and the moon is so bright at this time of night, even with the fireworks being set off nearby… how could he possibly bring himself to choose either?

Tonight, Yao falls asleep and dreams of you.

It’s an odd feeling, one he’s unfamiliar with — a warmth in his cheeks and an uncharacteristic disorder in his thoughts. They divert and diverge until observation, hypothesis, and conclusion all lead back to you, to the golden ratio curvature of your smile. In his dreams, he reaches out his arm to pluck a stray petal from your shoulder, hooks his little finger with yours as you walk through the festival. In his dreams, he never has to look away from the sight of you bathed in moonlight, never has to question how easily his mouth shapes the words 'text me when you get home' and 'I’ll be waiting for you at the usual place' and 'I love you.'

Xiangli Yao rises with the dawn, a murmur of your name still sitting on his lips.

He buries his still-warm cheeks deeper into his pillow. A bashful smile tugs at his lips, and as he looks down at his hand, he swears he can still feel the warmth of yours against it.

Ah, he chastises himself, he shouldn’t linger here for too long — you were waiting for him, after all, and with how thoroughly you’ve trapped him in your orbit, the fact that he’ll always find a way back to you has always been a foregone conclusion.

[sanjisleggy]

to deserve perfection (red-haired shanks x fem!reader)

req: Could you do a Shanks x reader (fem or gn) hurt comfort where Shanks gets really insecure about having only one arm. Maybe like during a fight they fall and another crew member catches you or like during a party or something she dances with one of their crewmates and Shanks gets sad and insecure he can't fold her like that

a/n: my first request YIPPEE :D tysm for requesting anon it means a lot :’D also i’m not super familiar with Shanks’ crew so i’m basing my knowledge of them and the general crew dynamics on OPLA and other fics i’ve read :3c

contents: fem!reader, unexplicit mentions of chronic pain and drowning, insecurity, angst to fluff, hurt/reverse comfort

wc. 2.3k

i.

Shanks is often of the opinion that if any one person in the world is deserving of nothing less than perfection, it would have to be you.

you, the beloved botanist and assistant doctor of the Red Hair Pirates.

you, one of the few people he’s ever known to able to balance logic and empathy flawlessly. it’s a skill he finds quite lacking in the world in general, which makes your presence in the crew all the more valued.

you, the one he watched grow from timid young girl to confident woman just as he, himself, grew from a playful young boy to a man worthy of your seemingly endless love—or at least he hopes.

Shanks has never thought of himself as a perfect man—far from it actually. but now, only a little over a year since he lost his arm saving Luffy, he feels the most imperfect he’s ever felt.

ii.

he fears he’s a burden.

but Shanks keeps his worries to himself, opting to simply smile softly in gratitude whenever your eyes flicker over his face as your hands gently rub the special ointment over his stump. he didn’t even ask for your help tonight, as usual you simply read him like a book and ushered him over to your bed, bottle of the homemade remedy at the ready.

as much as he feels unworthy of your time and effort, he can’t help the light fluttering feeling in his chest, especially when your fingers travel up past his shoulder blade toward the back of his neck. you play with the ends of his hair before pulling him down to close the gap between your mouths.

“feeling better?” you ask after pulling away. you can’t help but chuckle when his lips chase after yours for a moment before opting to simply pout pitifully when you stop him by pressing your fingers to his bottom lip.

”i always feel better with you.” Shanks doesn’t quite answer the question but you accept it anyway. you trust he’d tell you the truth if your medicine truly stopped being effective; just as you trust him to lean on you in times of need, whether it be physical or emotional.

you’ll learn in the near future, however, that trust of such a nature can be easily shattered even from the purest of intentions.

iii.

the longing look in his captain’s eyes as he watches you dance with the locals is not lost on Shanks’ first mate. while the rest of the crewmates cheer and clap, all now inebriated to a certain degree as always, Benn Beckman walks over and takes a seat beside him as inconspicuously as possible.

”y’know you still have your legs, right?” the ever-easygoing captain can’t help but laugh out loud in response.

”straight to the point, huh?” he replies before taking another gulp of beer.

”i’ve known you both long enough to know she’d love to dance with you.”

“i know.”

i just don’t want to embarrass her.

the conversation dies for a few minutes as the two men sip at their drinks, eyes glued to the festivities taking place under the starry night sky. the massive bonfire illuminates your face in a way that accentuates your wide, carefree smile and your crescent-shaped eyes. 

Shanks watches as you clumsily imitate the traditional dance moves, cheered on and encouraged by men, women and children alike as they take turns holding your hands and spinning you around. Even though a relaxed smile is plastered on his face, he can’t help but feel a soreness grow in his chest at the sight of you being twirled and dipped by the handsome male warriors of the village.

”are you sure we won’t get caught?” you whispered, though your willingness to follow and excited smile stretching across your face screamed that you didn’t care about getting caught at all.

”of course we won’t, just be quiet.” Shanks carefully pushed open the door leading to the front deck.

when the coast seemed clear enough he led you over to the centre of the deck of Roger’s ship before dramatically bowing and offering his hand.

”may i have this dance, milady?” you could only let out a muffled laugh as you placed your hand in his, a silent acceptance. he wrapped his other arm around your middle and started to sway to an imaginary tune.

neither of you knew how to actually dance, especially not like how the rich folk do in their fancy ballrooms. but earlier that day he’d asked what you wanted for your birthday and you said the first thing on your mind: to dance with him under the stars.

thus he made your dream come true, even if it did end with sore toes and sweaty skin.

“it’s not like you to just sit back and watch.” Beckman breaks the silence between them, yanking Shanks out of his memories. the first mate gestures to what essentially looks like a queue of men and women waiting their turn to dance with you. a bitterness emerges in the back of his throat at the sight.

both of the men know that on any other day, Shanks would’ve long intervened to steal you away for himself. reclaim his treasure, is how he used to describe it.

”whatever it is,” his dear friend says with a hint of resignation in his voice as he stands up. “don’t let it fester. you both share something special, don’t let it go to waste.”

iv.

you can tell he blames himself. no one else on the crew does but you also know that it doesn’t matter to Shanks, not when a mistake involves your safety.

a scuffle with the marines was not on that day’s agenda; especially not one out in the open seas while the darkened clouds overhead poured mercilessly. 

what started as an issue that could have been resolved in under and hour lasted nearly twice as long due to the unfortunate weather impairing everyone’s vision and movements. the deck was simply too slippery, the waves were too high, and the ambush was too sudden.

you struggle to remember much of what actually happened after you slipped and fell overboard. all you can really recall is clinging onto the deck’s edge for dear life, Shanks reaching out as he cried your name, your fingers slipping from his desperate grasp, and then a bone-chilling coldness overwhelming your entire being. you remember gasping for air only to ingest a mouthful of salty water. 

then, you’d woken up in the infirmary.

now you find yourself standing outside your own locked bedroom door, knuckles sore from knocking for the past hour. 

“Shanks, my love,” you plead, “let me in, won’t you? i just want to see you.” you try to keep your voice steady but it gets harder with each subsequent word. “please? don’t lock me out.”

first you nearly drowned and now the love of your life is refusing to let you into your own room? tired and confused, you blink away the hot tears pooling in your eyes as you breathe deeply and slowly in an attempt to soothe your aching heart.

after a few more minutes of waiting, your sadness twists itself into some mixture of confusion and indignant frustration. it’s not like Shanks to cut you off like this and you refuse to believe that a single incident is enough to ruin a lifetime spent by each other’s sides.

it takes five kicks to break the lock of your bedroom door and four steps to reach the bed where your beloved husband lays curled into himself. just the sight alone melts away your anger; and when he lets out a strained whine, you feel your heart sink as your body enters autopilot.

you swiftly grab a bottle of ointment from the bedside drawer before crawling on the bed towards Shanks’ back. gently, you pull the blanket off him and reach over his body to roll him into a better position. thankfully, he doesn’t resist.

”is this why you weren’t opening the door?” you ask softly as you sit him up to unbutton his shirt. “was it too sore?”

oh how easy it would be to say yes and just leave it at that and receive your unconditional, undeserved forgiveness for my selfishness.

but i can’t lie. 

not to you.

”No,” he whispers, avoiding meeting your eyes with his own. you hum in response, focused more on gently rubbing the soothing ointment over his aching stump.

”then why?” you prod, though your tone remains soft and genuine. “why didn’t you want to let me in?” you scoot closer, your chest now brushing against his right shoulder as you reach around to apply more medicine. your other hand subconsciously rubs his back.

”you must’ve known i wanted nothing more than to sleep in my own bed and cuddle my own husband after being fished out of the sea,” you add on with a laugh that Shanks doesn’t reciprocate. 

ah, gotcha.

”so this is about me falling into the ocean, hmm?” you redirect your ointment-coated hand to his chin before tilting his face over to lock your eyes onto his own. “everyone knows it was an accident.” you offer him a small smile as your hand on his back travels up to rub at his neck. “aside from the shock of it all, i’m totally fine.”

”i should’ve been able to pull you up,” Shanks finally chokes out, lunging forward to bury his face into your chest. “i shouldn’t have let you fall into the water to begin with. the waves were so rough, we could’ve easily lost you.” he wraps his arm around your waist, fingers gripping tightly onto the back of your shirt; as though you would disappear once again if he wasn’t holding on tightly enough.

”but you didn’t lose me,” you coo, feeling your own heart twist and ache as you return the hug, holding him as close to you as possible. “i’m still here. it’s okay, my love.”

”i was fucking useless,” he exhaled, shoulders beginning to tremble. “i couldn’t even be the one to dive in after you. i wouldn’t have been able to swim and pull you up at the same time.”

you feel your eyes burn with tears for the second time today as you listen to Shanks berate himself.

”i couldn’t hold onto you. i couldn’t keep you safe. i can’t even dance with you like how we used to.” for the first time in years, he was losing it and it terrifies you. 

“stop! stop saying all that!” you can’t help but raise your voice as you pry his face away from your body, no longer allowing him to hide anymore. when he finally looks at you, you see that your teary eyes are mirrored on his handsome face. although he looks up at you silently, you feel his hand tremble from how hard he’s holding onto your clothing. 

“you—” you struggle to find the words. how were you supposed to reassure the most amazing man you’ve ever met that his thoughts of self-loathing are unfounded?

”Shanks, you’re…” you feel a fresh wave of hot tears run down your face when you see how tired he looks. it’s as though these thoughts have been running in his mind for longer than you think, and it’s exhausting him. 

“you’re perfect,” you finally say as you cup his face between your hands before leaning down to brush the tip of your nose against his. “you’re so perfect. i don’t care how many limbs you have or scars you collect. i’d love you all the same until the day i die.”

“you deserve more.” Shanks can’t help but say what’s been plaguing his mind for weeks. although the relief of letting it out feels good, he can’t help the tightness in his chest when he sees you frown.

”what more could i possibly deserve, you silly man?” you let out a choked laugh, rubbing your thumbs under his eyes to wipe away his tears, old and new. “i don’t think you realise how lucky i am to have had you for so long. i’ve been loving you since we were children, for crying out loud.” you pause to breathe. “and with all the beautiful women we meet at every new island we visit, who clearly want to take my place; sometimes i feel like it’s only a matter of time before they steal you away—”

you’re cut off by Shanks capturing your lips with his own. the hand that was previously crumpling your shirt now trailing up your body before stopping at your face. you lean into the warmth of his palm whilst keeping your lips on his, saliva mixing with salty tears.

“don’t be ridiculous,” he pants the words out the moment you pull away for air. “don’t ever say such a thing.”

”now you know how i felt when you said all those awful things about yourself.” you turn your head to press a kiss to his palm, smiling when you see how his cheeks flush redder than they already are. “but you shouldn’t hide these thoughts anymore, my silly boy. you need to talk to me so i can tell you how ridiculous you’re being.” your finger pokes his chest, drawing a warm chuckle from the love of your life as he smiles for the first time since you were pulled out of the ocean depths.

“i love you,” Shanks whispers, words muffling halfway when presses his lips to your forehead mid-sentence.

”love you, too.”

[junislqve]

ᯓ seasons — ot7

syn i used to hate it, until i found out it was your favorite thing. (1504 words)

pairs ot7 + reader | cw petnames — mlist navi

note synopsis was actually more of a prompt but err i hope you guys enjoy anyway >< also im writing this half asleep so im sorry if there are any mistakes !! everybody thank peng cause without her this wouldn’t even be here rn

LEE HEESEUNG

“why don’t you warm me up?”

heeseung never liked winter. he hated the coldness and the gloom that came with it. ever since he was young, he’d stay cooped up in his room refusing to go out and play with the snow.

even as an adult, heeseung would be more silent during the season, chattering his teeth even though he wore about a dozen coats.

well that was until he knew you. you were the complete opposite. you loved the coldness and the festive feeling of winter. finding the beauty in the falling snowflakes.

ever since heeseung started dating you, your love for winter created a small fondness in him. he loves it when he gets to see your pretty smile and your nose red-tinted from the cold.

he loves it most when you both would take the train back after a day out and you would fall asleep on his shoulder, hands tucked on his to keep yourself warm.

PARK JONGSEONG

jay had never really been picky with anything. having being the cook back at home and even now cooking for you made him accustom to people’s likes.

one thing, however, that never had he enjoyed was caffeine. he hated the bitter aftertaste of it. the smell that always lingers.

but when you once bought him an americano back when you both were still friends, he downed the whole thing. making you laugh, he liked hearing your laugh, it was addicting. he saw how you were savoring the taste after every sip. thinking that if you liked it, it shouldn’t be that bad.

and now, every morning before you woke up, he’d add coffee-brewing to his routine. making both of you coffee before heading for work. but really, he just loved seeing you hum in delight after a sip, a small smile on your lips.

“you’re so good at this, babe” you say, complimenting his brewing skill.

“why don’t you give me a kiss for it then”

SIM JAEYUN

you loved musicals. from hamilton to phantom of the opera, you’ve always loved watching them if they played in theaters near you.

jake, however, would rather spend his time playing soccer or watching a movie at the comfort of his home. he didn’t find musicals interesting, refusing whenever his friends offered to go watch one together.

however, when you offered, he found himself sitting near front seats in a large theatre. completely invested in the story line. he took down internal notes in his head knowing you’d start talking about it the moment you both walked out the theatre, just so he could give his own perspective in case you asked.

he would listen to you talk all day if it meant having to watch musicals often. asking you to repeat things to see your smile grow. his eyes linger on you, observing the pretty smile you have and the excited glint in your eyes as you talked away.

“wait, can you explain again about what happened to her in the end?”

PARK SUNGHOON

possibly the biggest hater of mint chocolate chip ice cream, sunghoon would not get near it. if he had a choice, he’d rather choose something more simple like vanilla.

but all in all, sunghoon never really liked ice cream. he doesn’t understand the enjoyment people get whenever they’d crave it.

apparently all it took for him to finally try the flavor he most despised was for you to (barely) beg him to hang out with you. he was too flustered when you asked him what flavor he wanted and when you asked if he wanted the same order as you did, he just nodded. barely registering what you said.

he unfortunately did not realize this until he scooped up a spoonful of the ice cream and tasted the familiar, yet, unfavorable taste. however, after much thought and probably the sweet smile you were giving him, he concluded that it didn’t taste as bad as he thought it would.

after dating, sunghoon would often pick up ice cream for you two after a long week, eating it together while huddled up watching a movie in your living room.

the taste of it was always there, but he understood why you adored the flavor. it growing on him more than he’d expected, especially when you’re the one he’s eating it with.

KIM SUNOO

being alone creeps him out. he gets terrified if he was ever left home alone. that’s one of the reasons why he loved going out.

he finds it comforting being surrounded by people, chatting along with anyone and everyone, catching up with them.

before you were in his life, he felt like being alone further makes him feel unwanted. busying himself with anything if, in a case, he were to be left alone.

when you did come into his life, though, it was like you rearranged the meaning of being alone. you love the peace and quiet of being alone. the silence that seems to fill the room letting you breath for a moment.

technically, he still didn’t really like being alone. sometimes, he’d call you to his apartment to ‘be alone’ with you. none of you speaking any words to each other, just laying down and listening to each other’s breathing. so many words unsaid but the feelings able to be conveyed through gestures.

you’d taught him how to enjoy the quietness. he finds that when he’s alone he felt more calm and centered. still, as a person who loves talking, he would always prefer being with people.

but, you redefined the meaning of being alone and he loves you for it. he loves the way you look happy and at peace all the time, he loves it when you both be alone together.

YANG JUNGWON

“babe, can you get my socks pretty please?”

as a person who gets cold easily, you love bundling yourself up before sleeping. your necessities were your 2 blankets, a pillow for your side and socks.

jungwon always found it iffy to wear socks in bed. even if he were to buy new ones to wear only in his house, he still wouldn’t like the feeling of it.

that was until he was introduced to you by a mutual friend. when you two started talking, he found your many quirks adorable.

however, one that he only found out when you started dating, was that you loved wearing socks to sleep. his horror back then showed on his face when you asked him if he were okay.

overtime, you gradually convinced him. especially if it was winter and the coldness would go up by twice the usual weather. being used to your routine, he didn’t even realize he started wearing socks to bed until you pointed it out when he was sleeping over.

the realization he had was baffling, but as he accustomed to it he didn’t find it weird at all. he would start buying you both matching socks when he was out and was thinking of you.

NISHIMURA RIKI

“let’s get back to bed, love”

everyone knows riki is not a morning person. he hated waking up early more than anyone. it’s not weird to find him coming out of his room at 1 pm.

by 1pm, you’ve probably already went to a cafe, had breakfast, catches up with a friend, and had a 2-hour lecture.

when you got involved with riki, you tried your hardest to wake him up early. his friends had told you to give up many times saying they’ve tried over and over again.

but miraculously, on your 7th try, he woke up. although, grumbling, he started sitting up and asking what you were doing at his dorms.

the first time you tried you were just there to drop off some food to your big brother. but when you knocked and no one answered, you were about to leave. until one of his dorm mates opened the door to let you in.

they were all stood crowded in front of his room, shouting at him to wake up, but he never moved. still sound asleep after a whole debate session ensued in the dorms.

after your brother and his friends collectively decide to leave him alone instead of trying to wake him up, you put it upon yourself to try as well. little did you know, he’d heard all your wake up calls, just too afraid to face you, seeing his bedhead and all.

7th times the charm however, when he finally braved himself to wake up and reply to you, although his heart pounding abnormally when you smiled at him.

when you two started dating, he couldn’t not wake up before you. much more aware of his surroundings when he’s around you.

riki however is riki. if he were to wake up earlier, then you would also have to wake up later sometimes because of him. deciding to stay in for a bit longer when he asks to, surrounded by his warmth.

© junislqve 2024. liking, commenting, and rebloging are appreciated.

[joeyfranchise]

𝟙𝟚 𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕗𝕚𝕔-𝕞𝕒𝕤: 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕥𝕖𝕟

last christmas, i gave you my heart

ex!joe x fem!reader

note: (& kinda summary) SURPRISE! i said cindy lou didn’t have a part two but…. how could i spoil it for you? here’s what happened after the instagram dm, from joe’s perspective.

word count: 1.3k.

warnings: more sadness, hurt feelings, joe isn’t really an ass but he has poor decision making skills… etc. this fic is sfw but minors please do not interact with my page.

song inspo: cindy lou who by sabrina carpenter and lips of an angel by hinder.

joe didn’t really care about likes or comments on instagram.

he didn’t care to post too much either, regardless of what it was, because he preferred staying private and in his own lane. sure, he posted brand deals on there, the occasional game day fit or victory post, but he wasn’t one to flaunt a relationship around… not until today.

the christmas eve festivities were in full swing, and joe and his new girlfriend, along with his parents, were spending the evening together. they’d been to dinner, stopped by a few local places and eventually ended up at a rec center to watch a local christmas play.

when it was over they decided to take photos out in the hall, where the archway was decorated to the nines and the lighting was absolutely perfect for those warm, christmas-y shots.

joe and his girlfriend posed together alone, and then with his parents, and then they each took photos alone. once the photos were sent to him, he vetted through them carefully, selecting which ones he should post.

in his mind, he knew what he was doing was wrong… but in his heart, he wanted to know if you still cared. he wondered what you were up to this christmas. he assumed home with your family, maybe out with your sister. that’s something he knew you’d missed doing since you’d spent the last few christmases with him. he hoped you were able to go with her, that your holiday still felt special.

it didn’t. he didn’t know you didn’t go home to your family, that you were sat on your couch ready to drown in your wine glass and cry over a heart-breaking christmas movie. he didn’t know you were all alone there with him on your mind.

but in a sick, sick way… he also hoped that you were thinking of him, too.

joe posted the photos to his instagram with no caption, but he made sure to tag his girl. he slid his phone into his back pocket before joining back in the conversation she was having with his parents. his mind lingered on you.

joe wasn’t a cheater - nor would he ever be. he really enjoyed having his new girl around, and he didn’t know if he was in love yet, but he knew she felt like she could be right for him.

he sat with his thoughts for another hour before he checked his phone again. in the time since he posted the photos he laughed and talked with his company, holding his girlfriend’s hand and smoothing his thumb over her palm soothingly.

when he slid his phone from his back pocket and opened instagram, he had a multitude of notifications. family, fans friends.

but he looked at the likes anyway. it was wrong of him, toxic of him to hope you’d seen it… but you had. and you liked it. his chest began to feel tight.

why did he do that to you?

when you and joe broke up, it was all him. he knew it, you knew it. you were still completely in love with him. it made him physically sick to think about.

joe’s issue was… he still loved you too.

around the time of your break-up, things were incredibly tense. he was injured, he was in the roughest mental place he’d ever been in, and despite your valiant efforts to help him work through it, all he ever did was push you away. he continued to treat you poorly out of anger, and out of love you stuck by him.

he should have thanked you for that.

joe didn’t think he was falling out of love with you per se, but he wanted a break. he wanted space to find himself again, and though it completely broke you, you agreed. you would never force yourself into his life, not if he didn’t want you there.

he knew you thought you were the problem, and no matter how much he tried to explain you weren’t, you didn’t listen. he knew his actions weren’t conveying that he loved you, and that’s what forced the wedge between you… so when you split, there was never a reconciliation.

joe never reached out to you because he was afraid you’d reject him after all the pain he put you through. you didn’t reach out to him because you were convinced he was done with you, that he didn’t love you anymore.

when he met his new girl he was in a better place, and she was sweet. she was kind, beautiful, she had a heart of gold. she took his breath away, he hadn’t felt that in a while.

they started seeing each other casually before diving in head first, and he knew she loved him. he was getting there. but he still needed to let you go. the air in the room was getting hot, and although it felt like he’d been on his phone for an eternity, it was just a few minutes.

the hallway was full now, people who were in the play and family friends gathered around. his parents were chatting with the neighbors, his girlfriend was talking to one of the stars of the play. he looked around his periphery to make sure nobody could see him click your profile, and quickly he tapped your message button and typed something out.

joeyb_9: merry christmas, y/n.

he pressed send. his heart was hammering against his chest. his parents and his girl didn’t seem to notice. he didn’t expect you to answer so quickly. his breathing felt shaky as he saw you typing.

y/n: merry christmas, joe. i’m so happy for you.

the room began to spin. joe was getting hot. why why why. why did he do this?

he made a quick impulsive decision, against his better judgement. the voice in his head told him to stop, don’t do this. but his heart had to know. he excused himself quickly, claiming he had to make a work call.

he stepped outside of the rec center, the cool december air felt hot on his newly flushed skin. he closed the instagram app, clicking on the phone app and dialing your number. ring ring ring.

you answered.

“um… joe?” you asked. your voice sounded groggy, like you’d just fallen asleep.

“fuck. i’m sorry. i don’t know why i called.” he admitted. he ran his hand over his face.

“are you— is everything okay?”

“it’s fine. i’m… fuck. i’m sorry. i hope you’re having a good holiday. i guess it just feels weird not to be with you.” he doesn’t know why he’s telling you this. in the building behind him, his girlfriend is laughing with his parents. she’s having a lovely holiday. and joe’s outside, on the phone with his ex.

“it is weird. but it seemed like you were having a good night based on your post. go back to whatever you were doing, please. i can’t do this.” he heard your voice crack. he imagined your face. he knew your hand was probably clamped over your mouth, he heard you start to cry.

“fuck, y/n. i’m so sorry.” he says. he feels like he’s going to cry too.

“don’t be upset for me, joey. you’ve got a beautiful girl in there. i saw the love in your eyes in those photos. don’t fumble this one, okay 9?” you told him through tears. hearing you call him that felt like a slap right across the cheek. he missed what you used to have.

he felt sickly. he knew he was probably as white as a ghost. you were right… but he needed the closure.

“thank you, y/n. i hope you’re doing well… and uh, it was good to hear your voice.” he said, scratching at the back of his head lightly.

“yours too, joe.” you said, and then you hung up. he heard the door to the rec center open and turned around, coming face to face with his girlfriend.

“you alright?” she asked, coming down the short steps to caress his cheek. “i’m okay.” he said. he put on a smile and let her link their arms before he walked back inside with her, leaving the last of his feelings for you outside in the freezing winter air. he was thankful that you let him go, and now he could finally let you go too.

all photos and dividers used are not mine. cred to owners.

taglist: @slimshiesty @starsinthesky5 @joeyburrrow @kykysinlovewithafairytale @burrowdarling @joeyb1989 @loveyatopluto @toterry @unhingedfangirl @superheroprincess22 @burreauxsworld @definitelynotdomanique @samanthamark5 @superstarshitblog @fa1ry03 @wickedfun9 @xbriexx @venic-bxtch @burrowdarling @angels555 @idbe-theman @yelenasbraid @ladyluvduv @joeburrowshaircurl @joeybisbootiful @livinobx @blairsworld22 @jarring-behavior @yomamaslays4lyfe @gazebotori

[eevees-hobbies]

Watching Fireworks with Your Hashira Boyfriend

Content Warning: Fluff. Reference to intimacy with Gyomei but nothing major. Also, gender neutral.

Contains: Obana Iguroi, Kyojuro Rengoku, Tengen Uzui, Sanemi Shinazugawa, Gyomei Himejima & Giyu Tomioka

Obanai Iguro

Isn’t this the spot…? You find yourself questioning your conversation with Obanai as you look around for any sign of the Serpeant Hashira. You’re standing on the only small hill that overlooks the Hashira Estates; you both agreed to meet at this exact location to get a better view of the fireworks.

Blue and yellow dual-colored eyes look down at you, amusement hidden by the bandages wrapped around the lower half of his face. “When will you stop falling for this trick?” Obanai’s smooth voice travels from above you, and your head snaps up.

Fuck, when WILL I stop falling for this trick? 

“I knew you were there along! But hey…I thought we were watching the fireworks together?” 

“This angle is far superior,” he responds cooly, his gaze never leaving you.

You huff and look at the ground. Guess we aren’t sitting next to each other for the show. Your sulking session is interrupted as the ground disappears beneath your feet, and your nose is unexpectedly pressed against his uniform. For an instant, you feel like you're floating until Obanai sits you carefully on the thick branch that originally housed only him. Your brief disappointment in not having his arms wrapped around you quickly dissipates as the first firework launches into the sky, illuminating his face a dazzling yellow.

“You’re right. This is the far superior angle,” you smile and take his hand into yours. 

Kyojuro Rengoku

Kyojuro Rengoku is a pure romantic, so it’s no surprise that he approaches you first about the fireworks show before it even crosses your mind. 

“Y/N! You must accompany me on a date to see the fireworks!”

You enthusiastically agreed, but when you offered to bring snacks to share and enjoy while you watched, Kyojuro insisted that you should not worry about planning anything.  

You wait patiently at the agreed-upon location, but Kyojuro is nowhere to be found. Ten minutes pass before you see him heaving two large baskets in your direction and a large blanket under his arm. “Sorry, I’m late! Turns out packing a basket with copious amounts of food is its own skill!” He drops both baskets at your feet with a loud thud.

“Kyo! A picnic. I’m flattered, but you could have asked for help.” Kyojuro spreads the blanket out before you both and carefully unloads the baskets' contents. He’s brought all your favorites—sweet, fried, salty—and even has warm drinks in small thermos containers.  

“I did not want you to worry about anything, my flame! Please sit.” He pats the space next to him; you lower yourself onto the blanket and lean your head on his shoulder. “I love you,” you whisper as a cool chill makes you shudder. Not missing a beat, Kyojuro whips his Haori from his shoulders and transfers it to your own.

“Kyo, you’re perfect, you know that?”

He blushes but smiles at you nonetheless, “I’ve never thought of myself as that, but it pleases me that you see me that way! Now, what should we eat first and might I be so bold to ask you if I can feed you?”

Tengen Uzui

What’s flashier than fireworks? Only the God of Festivals himself! Tengen is fucking stoked for the firework show and lets you know that it’s his tradition to watch them every year, and while none of his wives like to attend, he’d enjoy it if you watched with him! 

Unfortunately, a Kasugai crow arrives two days before the light show, instructing Tengen to head North in search of a demon that is hunting children in a small fishing village. Duty calls, but of course, it’s a significant blow to your intended plans.

Tengen leaves on his mission but only after telling you that you should watch the fireworks anyway. Who knows, depending on where he is, you both might be watching at the same time, and that’s kind of exciting, too, right? 

So, on the night of the fireworks show, you perch yourself on a small wall and look up at the sky, your mind wandering and wondering what Tengen is doing at that exact moment. You shiver, a sudden presence envelopes you and pulls you into an embrace from behind. 

“Hey, beautiful. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” 

Your body melts into his chest as the first fireworks fly into the night sky. You don’t have to look back to see the joy that overtakes his features—you can just feel it.

Sanemi Shinazugawa

Does Sanemi enjoy fireworks? Not especially. He thinks they’re too loud and hates it when the air gets polluted with so much smoke it makes his eyes burn. Those may seem like silly reasons, but there’s also a more relevant explanation for his disdain, which has to do with demons. At one point, he fought a demon that was using the cover of fireworks to devour villagers; the loud pops and smokey environment created the perfect storm. 

Regardless of those reasons, he’d never tell you that he hates fireworks, and as he glimpses over at you, the pure joy written all over your features as a firework whizzes into the air and explodes into blue-like gems that cascade downward from the sky. He thinks that, in some instances, fireworks may be okay. 

Sanemi pulls you into his lap and rests his face in the nape of your neck. “Nemi!” you protest, “you’re going to miss the show.”

“Naw, I’m good like this.” He snakes his arms around you and allows himself to exist—and relax—in this moment with you.

Gyomei Himejima

“That one was beautiful, Gyomei.”

“Describe it to me.”

You search for the right words to describe the light show in front of you—you always thought you were decent with words until you met Gyomei who made it a habit of asking you to describe things that had always felt painfully ordinary. It wasn’t until you started to describe the world around you with vibrancy and depth that you began to appreciate the beauty of the world around you. 

"Well, those lights, in particular, were a bright orange and crimson color and…you know how when we wake up in the morning, you can feel the sun touching your face as it peeks in through the window; how the rays feel gentle, warm, and exactly like what you need to start your day on a good note? That’s what those colors feel and look like, to me.”

You blush, hoping your descriptions are enough to paint a picture for him. Gyomei doesn’t need you to describe things to him, especially with his enhanced senses, but your honeyed voice never ceases to stir something in him, so he makes you narrate—a lot.

Gyomei hums approvingly, “thank you, my sweet girl. But I hate to admit that when I wake up every morning, I no longer associate the sun with warmth. For me, you and your presence embody every bit of warmth I feel.” 

“Gyomei,” your voice dripping with warning. “Keep talking like that, and we’ll be cutting this show short.”

Gyomei chuckles, knowing that you’re half teasing and half threatening him—and while usually, he’d never turn down a heated romp with his beloved—he’s enjoying being here with you in a rare moment of respite from his Hashira duties. He takes your hand into his, rubbing his thumb gently against your palm. “My apologies. I’ll contain myself for now. Please, don’t stop. Keep describing them to me.”

Giyu Tomioka

“This is a date?” He says in his deadpan voice. You suck in a large amount of air, getting ready to verbally admonish him for being such a smart ass, but the corners of Giyu’s mouth twitch upward, “kidding.”

“You’re not even as remotely funny as you think you are, Tomioka.” You turn back to the night sky, which is littered with explosions. You feel your cheeks growing hot and your temper flaring, frustrated at Giyu’s inability to take something so meaningful seriously.

“Ouch, my last name. Like I said, I was only kidding.” You refuse to relent, your arms crossed over your chest. Giyu sighs loudly, “look at me, Y/N. Of course, this is a date. I…I’ve been thinking about this since you asked me to come with you and that was weeks ago. I’ve never felt so nervous and excited at the same time before.”

You turn to Giyu, your eyes shining brightly at his openness and confession. " Do you mean it?”

“Yes, now be quiet; I’m trying to watch the show.” And before you can huff, he leans back and lays his head on your lap.

“Do that thing I like, Y/N.”

You pull the tie from his hair and rake your fingers through his dark blue tresses. 

[gil-galadhwen]

Elrond X Reader (gender neutral)

After seeing a stunning floppy haired, battle midst Elrond in the new Rings of Power teaser trailer, I got inspired to respond to an ancient request in my inbox which has since myseriously disppeared?!

Anyway, the prompt was Tell Me What You Want from this list

Summary & Warnings: Elrond returns from the battle haunted and desperate to tell you how he feels about you… (closed door spice)

Word Count: 900+

Tell Me What You Want

Elrond and the others returned to camp in the dead of night. You weren't asleep of course. It was impossible when not only did the fate of your kind hang in the balance, but the fate of your greatest love did too. 

Elrond didn't know how you feel about him. You'd kept the desires of your heart hidden for years, holding it close as you watched him ready for a battle he may not return from.

Except he had returned.

You peer through the gap in your tent as the warriors are celebrated in their triumphant homecoming. Their smiles are bright and gleaming against their filthy armour. You scour the crowd in the dim firelight until you see him standing off to the side with his helmet tucked under his arm. His hair has grown longer over the many months, dark curls falling into eyes both familiar and haunted by something you don't recognise. 

Elrond smiles at every well wisher who passes him. Shaking hands, embracing and gripping the steel shoulders plates of his comrades until they crunched. You want to go to him, but you're somehow locked in place. Even as his eyes dart around the camp as though looking for something, for someone.

Looking for you.

You chide yourself for thinking such ridiculous thoughts. He's not looking for you at all. Why would he? You're barely acquaintances, nevermind friends. You’d certainly collaborated on projects for the king in the past and often sat together during formal dinners and gatherings. Even sharing a bed once when travelling back to Lindon after completing a quest for the king. You’d stopped at an inn that only had one bed, yet Elrond was ever the gentleman, ensuring you were comfortable with him there and never giving you more than a friendly glance. 

Except for the night he left for battle. 

As the soldiers prepared to leave, he’d sought you out and then wordlessly lifted your hand to his lips, pressing them to your knuckles. You’d been too surprised to speak as he held you there, suspended in a moment you thought would never come. Perhaps it was his way of saying goodbye, yet you watch him now, with a flicker of hope igniting in your chest that it had meant so much more.

***

The fires are banked and the once loud cheers and cajoling have quietened to a murmur as you finally emerge from your tent. The scent of burning cedar and honey mead lingers in the air as you meander through the thinning crowd of elves squeezing as much out of the festivities as possible before the sun rose on a new day, bringing with it new challenges, as is the nature of war. 

As a Scribe to King Gil-galad, you're free to move anywhere within the camp. You feel a strange mix of peace and anticipation when you reach the row of tents reserved for the king's most revered soldiers, but it occurs to you that you have no idea which is Elrond's. Then suddenly he’s there, standing in front of you with an expression of such pure relief on his face that your eyes start to sting.

“You are well, my lord?” you ask, cringing at how formal you sound.

“As well as can be.” Elrond smiles weakly in return. “And you?”

He sounds different. As though the usually reassuring tone of his voice has been stripped away, leaving behind a weariness you find almost overwhelming to witness. He takes a step towards you and you reach for him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck as his own wind firmly around you, holding you close. You feel his lips press to the exposed skin of your shoulder where your robe has slipped down. You hear the words he whispers into your skin like a litany… 

I missed you. I missed you. I missed you…Meleth nîn…

My love.

You pull back to look at him. He’s removed his armour and bathed, his wavy hair still damp and mussed.

“I missed you too,” you say, taking his hand in your own. “Which tent is yours?”

***

As soon as the flaps close on Elrond’s private tent, you come together as though magnetised. The kisses are hotter than the flames of the campfires. They burn deliciously, branding your skin so that they feel permanent. Like invisible tattoos. 

You fall together onto the low bed and you release a giggle when you find yourself straddling Elrond, but then you stop when you see the way he’s looking at you. Has he always looked at you this way, you wonder. It’s everything you've ever wanted, but what of him? He’s always been so sweet and polite.

And alone.

Has he wanted you all this time, like you’ve wanted him?

“Tell me what you want,” you say, breathless and willing. “I’ll give you anything.”

Elrond’s eyes glitter as he slowly tugs on the tie holding your robe closed.  The fabric pools around your waist and you feel your skin warm at the exposure. At the vulnerability of being like this in front of him.

“I want you just like this,” he says. Tilting his hips so that you feel him beneath you, hard and wanting. 

“I want us to join and then never be parted–” the words become caught in a net of emotion and he looks away.

Tears begin to well as you bring your hand to Elrond’s cheek in a caress. You do not speak again, but an understanding passes between you as you give the revered soldier everything he wants.

You like this.

[theemporium]

Christmas baking with max my darling please and thank you xo @postracehair

whatever thanks for your requesting i guess🫶🏽🙄

.

“I don’t think this is enough chocolate chips.” 

You didn’t even need to turn your head, already reaching over to smack his hand away as your eyes continued to read the recipe on your phone. “It would be enough if you stopped eating them all.” 

“Well, that was something that should have been taken into consideration when the recipe was made,” Max retorted.

“I don’t think having a hovering boyfriend was something the baker who wrote this recipe had in mind,” you mused, turning to find him eyeing up the bowl of chocolate chips still. 

“I’m not hovering, I’m helping,” Max insisted because that was his original intention when he wandered into the kitchen before you began. “I cracked the eggs!” 

“And you did such a good job, baby,” you assured him, leaning in to kiss his cheek. It was endearing the way his face instantly brightened. 

“I thought you said everyone was bringing store bought stuff anyways,” Max commented absentmindedly, settling in behind you as he hooked his chin over your shoulder so his eyes could also scan over the recipe on your phone. 

“They are,” you murmured, your brows furrowed as you skimmed over the steps. “But, I don’t know, it’s Christmas, you know? It would be nice to have something homemade too.”

You could feel Max’s smile against your skin as he placed a kiss on your shoulder. “How thoughtful of you.” 

“Don’t patronise me,” you murmured, smiling a little when you felt Max laughing behind you.

“Never,” he grinned. “Wouldn’t want to hurt my chances of getting a cookie after you’re done.”

You tilted your head back to look at him. “Only if you make us both hot chocolate.” 

“Deal,” he nodded, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before he began moving around the room.

As much as you loved your boyfriend, patience wasn’t always his virtue. You liked to think it came from the fact he was a racer, that he was so used to everything being fast paced and imminent that he didn’t know how to slow down and wait. It went against everything he knew and loved. 

It was why cooking with him always ended up being an ordeal, Max insistent that he knew better than the recipe and turning up the heat higher than intended, just for the food to almost burn or even reach a point beyond repair.

You honestly assumed baking would fall under the same category, but you were pleasantly surprised at how seriously he took baking. 

Or, as serious as Max Verstappen could get. 

“Baby,” you choked out between laughs, looking at the array of cookies he was in charge of decorating.

“What?” Max asked innocently, as though his eyes weren’t crinkling with mischief. “It’s Christmas ornaments! Attached to a bit of rope!” 

“It’s a dick,” you deadpanned.

“A festive dick,” Max corrected, looking far too pleased with himself as he continued. “Jingle Balls!” 

“You’re such a dick,” you grumbled between your own laughter, letting him tug you close as he reached for you. 

“A festive dick?” He asked in a teasing voice.

“I swear to god, if you attach ornaments or bells to your dick the next time we have sex, I am breaking up with you.”

Max only laughed louder in response.

.

[writer-freak]

New year | Twst x reader

Characters: Leona, Rook, Vil, Idia, Lilia and Malleus

Warnings: Gn reader, fluff, english isn't my first language, written quickly

A/n: Another small thing before the new year that I have written pretty quickly. Just some first thoughts that came to my head about them. Also I'm thinking about opening requests next year, but we will see if that works out

Leona Kingscholar

Leona is not really a fan of the loud noises or the effort it takes to set up fireworks. If you want to see them, he’ll suggest watching from a distance, maybe from a rooftop or through a window.

He’s more interested in spending New Year’s Eve relaxing with you. He might claim to "accidentally" fall asleep, but when the clock strikes midnight, he’ll lazily pull you close and mutter a soft, “Happy New Year, herbivore.”

He’s likely to enjoy stargazing more than fireworks, using it as an excuse to be outside in the cool night air with you.

If you do manage to coax him outside to watch the fireworks, he’ll bring a cozy blanket and claim it’s “for you,” but you end up sharing it anyway.

Leona loves the quietness after the fireworks are over, just enjoying your company in peaceful silence as you settle down to sleep.

Rook Hunt

Rook absolutely adores the whole spectacle of fireworks! He’ll insist on finding the perfect spot to watch them, probably somewhere high up with a great panoramic view.

He might even prepare a poetic monologue about the beauty of the fireworks and how they remind him of you.

He’s full of energy and excitement, making sure that the night feels magical. If the fireworks aren’t enough, he might bring along sparklers or even suggest setting off a small display of his own.

Along with sparklers, he might bring a camera or a sketchbook to immortalize the beauty of the moment, with you being his main muse.

As the fireworks burst in the sky, he’ll take your hand and kiss it, proclaiming how this year will be one filled with endless romance.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil appreciates fireworks for their aesthetics but prefers to enjoy them from a more stylish setting, think a private balcony or an elegant private rooftop.

He’s the type to dress both of you up for the occasion. Doing skincare together before he does your makeup and hair. And finally you would put on your slightly matching clothes.

As the clock strikes midnight, Vil will look at you with an affectionate smile, saying something sweet about how he’s grateful to have you by his side for another year.

Vil might coordinate the timing so that you’re both in the perfect spot for a breathtaking photo with the fireworks in the background, making it look like a glamorous movie scene.

At midnight, he may lean in and press a lingering kiss to your forehead, whispering about how much brighter his life has become with you in it.

Idia Shroud

Idia’s not a fan of the loud cheers and crowds associated with fireworks. He’s more likely to watch them through a livestream from the comfort of his room. He might grumble about the noise outside but secretly enjoy the colors lighting up the night.

His idea of a perfect New Year’s Eve involves gaming with you. If you end up gaming together, he might try to pick a co-op game that has a winter theme or even a story with a fireworks scene. It's subtle, but he’s trying to make it special.

At midnight, he might get flustered but muster up the courage to thank you for being the highlight of his year, all while trying to hide his red cheeks behind his hair.

Ortho might pop in, surprising you two with glowing lights or little holographic displays to celebrate the new year, much to Idia’s embarrassment but your delight.

After midnight, Idia might awkwardly hand you a small, thoughtful gift he’s been holding onto for the occasion, mumbling that it’s “no big deal.”

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia loves fireworks! He’s the type to suggest setting off your own or finding a lively festival or crowd where you can celebrate with others.

He’s really playful and mischievous throughout the day, teasing and challenging you to try strange 'New Year’s snacks' he prepared (which may or may not be entirely edible).

When the clock strikes midnight, he’ll scoop you into a spin, laughing joyously as he wishes you a happy new year.

He might pull you into impromptu dances under the starlight, spinning you around as he hums an old melody from his youth.

As the trickster he is, Lilia can’t resist surprising you with a sudden New Year’s kiss just as the clock strikes midnight.

He pulls back with a cheeky grin, claiming it "didn't count" because you didn’t reciprocate properly. With a teasing glint in his eyes, he declares that you’ll need to initiate the next one for it to be a proper New Year’s kiss.

Of course, every time you lean in to fulfill his request, he finds something “wrong” with it, too quick, not dramatic enough, or lacking “passion.” It’s an obvious ploy to steal as many kisses as he can, his laughter ringing in the air as he continues teasing you

Despite his antics, there’s a softness in his eyes that betrays just how much he cherishes the moment with you.

As the night comes to an end, he’ll suggest sitting down next to the fireplace, just cuddling and chatting about the year before them.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus has mixed feelings about fireworks. He’s fascinated by their fleeting beauty but he’d much rather light a single sparkler and hold it with you than deal with an overwhelming display.

He prefers a more quiet celebration, perhaps a walk under moonlight with you through a snow-covered garden. The calmness of the moment is what matters most to him.

Malleus might surprise you with a delicate charm or trinket imbued with his magic, a symbol of his wish to keep you safe and close to his heart throughout the year.

He’d present it shyly, almost uncertain, before explaining its meaning, hoping that you would also wish to stay next to him.

At midnight, he’ll look deeply into your eyes, quietly vowing to protect you and cherish the time you have together in the coming year.

He might create a private fireworks display just for the two of you using magic, ensuring it’s quiet and perfectly tailored to your taste.

After midnight, he’ll offer you his coat or cape to ward off the cold, taking your hand as he whispers a promise to make the coming year as beautiful as this one.

Divider by: @cafekitsune

[sushirrrry]

RIBBON a harry styles christmas one-shot; 15.4k words cw: intercourse (m/f) summary: harry, a cynic during the holidays, meets marianne, who turns his holiday blues into the prettiest colors of reds, greens, and whites. happy holidays <3

The only thing that Harry hated more than Christmas was the obligational Christmas parties that would precede it.

Anything that revolved around Christmas seemed to harsh his mellow; it was a build up to a day that truly didn’t seem to mean anything to him. He wasn’t religious, wasn’t surrounded by the family anyone would call supportive or happy, and most of all, he was alone most of the time beside his friends that seemed to keep him grounded. But they all had lives, families of their own to celebrate with.

Maybe it was because he never felt the joy in it—the simplicity of laying around the fire in the morning, sipping coffee as he looked out at the snow falling in heaps from the sky.

The holidays felt like a chore, like something people did because they always felt that they had to. Harry didn’t want to, so he just chose not to. Maybe that disillusioned cynicism led him to be more Scrooge than Frosty, but his hatred of the color red, twinkling fairy lights, and eggnog didn’t seem to cease when he was walking towards a house with a gift tucked under his arm, and a bottle of red wine was held in his other hand.

His friend, Manuel, had invited him for a holiday party—while he had attempted to say no, the office where he worked seemed to convince him that it wasn’t just about the party, but more about the conversations and refreshments that would also be involved. Drinking was a hobby that Harry could definitely get behind, so he found the bit of holiday joy in him.

Just for an hour, anyways, he had told himself.

Harry had been sat at his desk, staring at the blinking cursor on his laptop screen. It mocked him, a silent reminder of the article he had promised to deliver three days ago, but had been caught up on his phrasing, which meant that his true journalistic tendencies had given him the worst imposter syndrome since he had begun working there over five-years prior.

The topic was festive cheer in London—a piece meant to capture the magic of the holidays for his editor’s seasonal roundup. But every time he tried to summon the right words, his mind wandered to the irony of it all.

Harry, the self-proclaimed Grinch of his social circle, tasked with romanticizing a season he barely tolerated. Yet, there he had been, writing about the holiday markets, sending letters to Santa, and the most festive places to find the holiday lights.

The idea of writing about twinkling lights and joyful carolers felt disingenuous, like trying to paint over a gray sky with glitter. He sighed, rubbing his temples. Maybe he’d made a mistake trying to test his abilities on writing what he didn’t know—he had decided to try something new in taking on a project that he didn’t necessarily love. He was good at writing what he liked, so he was trying his hand in writing something he knew nothing about.

Now, the only person to hold accountable for choosing this was himself. It mocked him;  Harry’s cynicism made every attempt to write about holiday joy feel like a bad joke.

It was then that he heard Manuel approach his desk, a sly look on his face as he started off with, ‘I know that you probably won’t come, but.’. Harry had rolled his eyes, but kept the smile on his face to let his friend and coworker know that he wasn’t just doing this for the holiday, but that he was still a good member of society, and a social one, at that.

So, instead of complaining, he had found a small gift for Manuel and his girlfriend, Franny—again, against everything that Harry was, and found it in himself to at least look the part of joyful.

When he had approached their home, Manuel looked him over with a already drunken, precarious smile that welcomed him as soon as the door opened.

“There he is,” Manuel laughed, pulling Harry inside, “Didn’t get the memo that you were supposed to wear red or green, but I guess I can’t be picky.”

Harry looked down at the black jumper that coated his body, the black denim pants making him stand out against the bright, bold colors of the holiday season. He handed Manuel the small gift—which was a puzzle of Dachshunds with Santa hats sitting around a fireplace. He knew that Manuel and Franny had two, so he was a bit chuffed with himself that he could find a gift that would actually make sense.

“Red and green just aren’t my colors,” Harry told him with a smirk. “Coal is black—still Christmas themed.”

Manuel laughed, “Only for the bad boys and girls.”

Harry shrugged with the same smirk that he had been wearing; Manuel took Harry’s coat, along with the gift and led him to the kitchen. “You can put the wine there in the kitchen—feel free to open it and get yourself a glass.”

The flat was already buzzing with the chatter of partygoers and the faint strains of Christmas music when Harry arrived. The scent of mulled wine and spiced biscuits lingered in the air, mingling with the occasional waft of a fresh pine wreath hung by the door.

Warm fairy lights draped across the walls cast a golden glow over the room, illuminating the sea of faces as people laughed and mingled, their cheeks rosy from the warmth and alcohol. It seemed that Harry knew most people here—knew was also a strong word, but he had been familiar with a lot of the faces here.

Harry could hear bursts of laughter coming from the kitchen, where someone was loudly debating the merits of figgy pudding and the actual necessity for fruitcake in the holiday season. The whole scene was a chaotic patchwork of holiday cheer, meticulously curated to appear effortless. He scanned the room, his writer’s mind noting every detail as potential material, before grabbing a glass of mulled wine from a nearby table and retreating to the sidelines.

Manuel’s place was decorated within an inch of its life: fairy lights twinkled around every doorway, garlands adorned the walls, and a massive Christmas tree dominated the living room, its branches weighed down by an excess of ornaments—each one meticulously placed. Harry stood with his glass of mulled wine from the kitchen and tried to blend into the background, his writer’s mind quietly cataloging the clichés for potential use later.

That was the way his mind worked, using every ounce of inspiration he needed was standing in this room with him.

“Enjoying yourself?”

The voice caught him off guard from his studying of the atmosphere. He turned to see a woman standing beside him, her dark hair tied up in a loose bun as strands fell into her face. She had an easy smile and the kind of confidence that put people at ease; the reindeer on her sweater was wearing an elf hat, which Harry took note of quite quickly.

“It’s... definitely festive,” Harry said, lifting his glass took take a small sip of the warm liquid, nodding to himself. He hadn’t recognized the woman, not knowing if she had worked in his building or not.

“Festive?” she repeated, her eyes narrowing in mock offense. “You’re not a Grinch, are you?”

Harry took a moment to look at her, wondering if she had been serious with her approach. When she saw her smirk and lifted eyebrow, he bit the inside of his lip and shrugged at her.

“I prefer the term ‘realist’,” he countered. “But sure, I guess we can villainize the term with ‘Grinch’.”

She laughed, a warm, genuine sound that made him smile despite his deepest will to not show any smile at all.

“Marianne,” she said, extending her hand out to him; her eyes were a deep chocolate brown, almost matching the doe-like creature on her sweater. Her lashes fluttered, long and full of volume to brighten them in a way that Harry felt intrigued by.

“Harry.” He shook her hand, noting the faint speck of paint on her knuckles. “Artist?”

“Teacher,” she corrected. “And you?”

“Uh, a writer,” He nodded, referencing Manuel who had been standing next to the tree, talking to a few other coworkers of his, “I work with Manuel, actually. Same agency. Currently battling a deadline, actually. Thought I’d come tonight to find some… inspiration.”

“Ah, the glamorous life of the creatively tortured,” Marianne teased, which made Harry’s heart skip a beat at the nonchalance of her wit, “What are you writing about?”

Harry sniffled, feeling his body get warmer at the thought of her initial intrigue; she was watching him intently.

“Uh, well,” He swallowed, “Really just writing about the festivity of London during the holiday season. What makes everyone so happy this time of year. That kind of thing.” Harry looked down into his cup, almost like he had been ashamed that he was unable to come up with those areas in his life.

Marianne nodded in understanding, humming along as she thought about it.

“You’ve really got that ‘I’d rather be anywhere else then here’ look, which is ironic considering this party is practically a Hallmark movie, and I’m not sure I know anyone that would pass up a comfy little Hallmark movie.”

Harry felt the smirk he had been wearing continue to creep up on his face. “Don’t let Manuel hear you say that. He’s very proud of his aesthetic,” Harry looked at the 8ft tall tree, “Lots of… color.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Did you see the mistletoe over the door? Also, very subtle.”

Harry turned towards the mistletoe that he had been standing underneath in the doorway from the kitchen space to the living space. A flush grew on his face as he took a few steps forward.

Marianne noticed, biting the inside of her cheek at his forward awkwardness before she took in a breath.

Harry licked over his lips before he turned back towards her, “So, how do you know Manuel and Franny?”

Marianne held onto her own mulled wine taking a gracious sip, her other hand in her back pocket before blinking a few times. “Uh, well, I work with Franny, actually. We work across the hall from one another.”

It occurred to Harry that he recalled Franny being a teacher, “Oh, right—I knew that. I mean—I knew that she was a teacher.” He corrected himself. His eyes looked up at the television that had started to play Last Christmas, people’s faces were audibly excited to hear it. Harry took in a breath, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the sound of it.

Marianne hummed, “Yeah, she teaches older kids, but I’m with the little ones,” She showed him her knuckles again, “As you can see by the lack of coloring inside the lines.”

Taking another long swig of the mulled wine, Harry cleared his throat noticing that it had gone down rather smoothly. His shoulder was bumped by someone trying to get by, and he took a step towards Marianne. But this time, he was tackled by the smell of an ocean breeze, coconuts and the salty air.

He furrowed his brows before shaking his head.

Harry glanced at her knuckles, biting back a smile now that he was a bit closer to her. “You have the hands of someone who truly understands chaos.” He teased her dryly, licking his lips to taste the subtly of the mulled wine remnants.

Marianne raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Ah, yes, artist. I think some artists may be offended by the comparison. Don’t expect me to pull out the crayons and start coloring in the lines with you, Harry.”

Harry chuckled, the sound light and easy, then his gaze flickered back to the TV, where the first few notes of Last Christmas were filling the room. Again. He groaned, shaking his head. “If I hear that chorus one more time tonight, I might just start questioning my life choices.”

“Poor Harry,” Marianne said dryly, a mischievous grin tugging at the corner of her lips. “Are you going to cry into your mulled wine now? Do I need to get you a tissue?”

“My empty mulled wine cup,” Harry shot back, half-joking. “I mean, it’s basically a Christmas carol written by a sadistic mastermind who knew exactly how to ruin people’s will to live. It’s basically Stockholm Syndrome in song form,” He rolled his eyes, “But I only give it a small pass because it’s Wham!”

Marianne snorted into her drink, clearly trying not to laugh. “Honestly, though, I get it,” She raised her brows, “The Wham! part, I mean. I love George Michael.”

Harry said, a playful edge to the tone in his voice. “We’re all trapped in this toxic cycle of holiday cheer, Marianne. How are we supposed to be happy in the state of the world?”

Marianne shot him a look, trying to suppress a laugh. “You’re ridiculous. You know that, right? Did Santa spit in your eggnog? Maybe you should think more about being thankful that your world is supplying mulled wine and Last Christmas on repeat rather than the worst parts of the world right now.”

“Sounds kind of dirty.” Harry said, leaning in with a grin, ignoring her attempt to turn his thoughts around, “Don’t want to think of Santa spitting anything.”

Marianne flushed at his comment, “Oh, so you’re freaky, too? Who thinks of Santa doing salacious acts?”

“You’re telling me Santa isn’t getting it on up there?” Harry quipped, “You’re telling me there’s other things to do in the North Pole than having salacious affairs with his wife?”

Marianne’s eyes widened in mock horror, and she nearly choked on her mulled wine. “I—what? Oh my god, Harry, stop.” She quickly wiped her mouth, though her face was flushed with both laughter and embarrassment. “I did not sign up for this version of Santa Claus. I’m just trying to have a holiday conversation here, and you’ve turned it into... whatever this is.”

Harry leaned back with an exaggerated look of innocence, grinning ear to ear. “What? You’re telling me you never wondered why Santa is so jolly all the time? Living in the coldest place on Earth... how do you think they stay warm?”

Marianne rolled her eyes, her expression a perfect blend of disbelief and amusement by his conversation. She hadn’t found this kind of conversation all night. “I don’t even know where to begin with that. First, no one needs to know about Santa's... extracurricular activities. And second, you're really going to make me picture Santa in some very inappropriate situations, aren’t you?”

Marianne reached into the kitchen, grabbing an open bottle of red wine before pouring more into each of their cups.

“Hey, I’m just trying to broaden your holiday perspective on the why,” Harry teased, nudging her shoulder. “Maybe you’ve been too focused on mulled wine and Christmas carols and not enough on the real holiday truth of it all.”

Marianne let out an exaggerated sigh, pretending to be exasperated, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “Yeah, because Santa's private life is exactly what we need to be focusing on. Forget world peace. Forget the spirit of giving. Let's talk about Santa's salacious affairs with Mrs. Claus, maybe that’s what will save our Christmas joy.”

“I’m just saying,” Harry shrugged with a playful grin, “some things need to be looked at a bit more closely.”

“Well, maybe it’s you that needs to be unpacked,” Marianne quipped, she raised an eyebrow. “Honestly, I think this may have some underlying tones for you. I saw you walk away from the mistletoe, but,” She bit her lip, “Maybe you’re ignoring some aspects of your life.”

Harry looked into his cup, pursing his lips to the side before he felt a chuckle leave him.

“All I’m saying is ff I’m not here, who will remind you that everything isn’t as wholesome as it seems?”

“True,” she said, taking a longer, deliberate sip of her drink, clearly still flustered but enjoying the chaos of the conversation. “But next time, could we please talk about something that doesn’t involve Santa Claus' imaginary affairs, or the world’s most depressing Christmas carol?”

“You’re just mad I’m ruining this precariously false magic of Christmas for you,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head. “But, fine. Next topic: What’s your big Christmas wish this year? Aside from not having to think about Santa’s... extracurriculars.”

Marianne gave him a long, pointed look. “It’s for world peace and... if you make sure the wine stays full.”

“Well,” Harry grinned, taking the bottle that she had just sat down back on the table. He tilted it up pouring in a bit more to her cup, “that’s a wish I can definitely make come true.”

Her eyes narrowed for a split second as she studied him. “I mean, you’re tolerable. For now.” She took another sip of her wine, then leaned back against the wall, clearly enjoying the playful back-and-forth. “But honestly, I don’t know how you manage to be such a Scrooge with the Christmas spirit in the air.”

“I’m just realistic,” Harry replied, winking. “You can’t expect people to act like happy little elves when they’re being force-fed Last Christmas and peppermint lattes all month long. It’s exhausting.”

Marianne shook her head with a smile, clearly enjoying the banter between her and Harry now. “Maybe you just need to let loose a little. Have some fun. I don’t know... maybe kiss someone under the mistletoe or something.”

“Did the wine go straight to your head, then?” Harry’s grin widened as he met her gaze. “Is that an offer?”

Marianne shrugged nonchalantly, feigning indifference. “Only if you stop conspiring about Santa and his possible sexual affairs with Mrs. Claus. I must paint the holidays in a positive light for you, it seems.”

“Bold move,” Harry said with a half-laugh. “But I think I might need some help doing that, however, with your painting skills, I don’t know how well that will work.”

In a confident pass, Harry took a large step backwards, letting himself standing under the doorway that the obnoxiously large mistletoe had been hanging. Leaning against the doorframe, he took another large sip of the maroon wine before raising his brows at her.

Marianne soon felt a rush of adrenaline; her eyes landing on his green ones that had somehow been completely thought upon until they met in that moment. Taking a step or two, Marianne moves closer to him, letting her hand move to the nape of his neck. Taking the initiative, she let the distance between them close—her lips landing on his quicker than he had expected.

When they kissed, it was impulsive but electric, the kind of spark Harry hadn’t felt in a long time. His breath hitched as their lips met, the warmth of her touch grounding him in a way that startled him. Marianne’s fingers brushed against the nape of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine, while his free hand instinctively settled on her waist, pulling her closer. Their hips touched, brushing against each other.

For a moment, the room around them blurred—the music, the chatter, the festive chaos fading into an unimportant hum.

Harry’s mind raced, caught between the raw intensity of the moment and a nagging disbelief that this was actually happening. Marianne tasted faintly of mulled wine, her kiss both confident and exploratory, as if testing the boundaries of this unexpected connection. The steady rhythm of his breathing had grounded her in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, both catching their breath even when neither had exerted any energy whatsoever. Something about it was breathtaking.

Harry chuckled softly, his voice low and a little unsteady. “Well, that was... unexpected.”

Marianne let her hand drop, a bit confused by his statement, “You knew it was coming, right?”

Harry blinked, swallowing as he shook his head then, “Oh—yeah. I wasn’t talking about… that.”

Marianne blinked a couple of times as if trying to process what just happened, seeing his eyes sparkle by the help of the twinkling lights that hung around the living space filled with people. But, in some odd way, she had found herself drawn to the one person who sat in the corner on his own.

“So, there you go,” Marianne took a step back, letting the space between them became vacant again, “Just making sure you are given the first-hand experience for your Christmas writing piece.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, a smug grin creeping across his face. “I’m just here for learning the traditions.” He looked in his cup, wondering how it was empty again. But the dizziness of his head had started to make more sense, he thought.

She tilted her head, clearly not buying it, but there was a flicker of humor in her eyes. “You know, I don’t think you’re as smooth as you think you are.”

“Hey, I’m just going with the flow,” Harry said, shrugging dramatically. “Can’t help it if I’m naturally charming. You were the one telling me I should take part in the mistletoe of it all.”

She narrowed her eyes, a hint of mischief in her smile. “Oh, I see how it is. You think this is your grand holiday conquest? I’m just one of many victims of your holiday charm?”

“Victims is a crazy word to describe yourself in this moment, Rudolph,” Harry’s thumb nudged the redness of her nose, knowing it was a fresh blush from the wine—possibly the kiss they partook in, “Now I’m the villain in your Christmas story? I was just trying to make your night a little more interesting.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” Marianne replied, her lips still slightly parted, her expression a mix of disbelief and amusement at the way that he had certainly waltzed into her life. “But I’m going to need a little more than a holiday kiss to think you’re anything other than trouble. A quiet, Grinch sitting in the back of the Hallmark movie of a party. How do I get myself involved with your type?”

“Trouble?” Harry chuckled, leaning against the doorframe casually, still watching her with that confident smile. “I’m nothing but a good time, Marianne. Don’t act like you’re not enjoying yourself.”

“I’ll enjoy myself more when you stop making me think about Santa's love life,” she shot back quickly, her tone still playful at him. “You seriously ruined that whole festive fantasy for me, by the way.”

Harry grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself. “What can I say? I’m a truth-teller—it’s a gift. Someone has to keep you grounded in this reality.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “That’s what you think, huh? Well, I’ll admit, the night wouldn’t be nearly as interesting without you here. I had a conversation with someone who was a banker. Don’t know if I made great financial decisions this holiday season after that convo.”

Harry stepped forward again, not too close, just enough to keep the tension hanging between them. “I’m pretty sure that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all night,” He licked over his lips, which he noticed she had taken quite an interest in, “Being a tortured poet, or whatever you called me.”

The words sat between them when Marianne tucked her hair behind her ear, the parts that had fallen out of the messy bun. The moment stretched between them, the playful tension still hanging in the air like the faint scent of mulled wine.

Harry broke the silence first, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he glanced toward the door that he hadn’t walked in too long ago. “So… want to get out of here?”

Marianne blinked, caught off guard by the suggestion, but the idea wasn’t entirely unappealing—she was just a bit unsure that he had offered at all. She took a small step back, still holding onto her drink. “Really? Just like that?”

“Well, yeah,” Harry said, his grin widening as he stuck a hand in his pocket. “It’s the holiday season. The lights are up, the streets are empty, bit of snow on the ground... I don’t know. Seems like the kind of night you’re supposed to be doing something a little reckless.”

“Reckless, huh?” Marianne repeated, arching an eyebrow as she looked him over. “Is that the angle we’re going for now? I’m supposed to just follow some guy I barely know into the night and trust it’ll be… memorable?”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, a laugh escaping him. “Fair point. Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. But, y’know… it could be fun. I mean, it’s not like we’re going to exchange deep secrets or anything.”

“Right,” she said, her voice slightly guarded but still curious at his intentions. “A walk could be good. In the cold. And no deep secrets—got it.”

Harry took a step closer, his eyes flicking to the door as if to give her the opening to say no if he was being a bit too forward. But he felt that he had been listening to and reading the signals correctly. “Well, if you’re not too afraid of a little adventure, I’d be happy to escort you around.”

She gave him a look, trying to read him, her lips quirking up at the corners despite herself. “I don’t know. A walk with a guy I just met. Seems a little… risky.”

“That’s the fun of it,” Harry said, his voice lowering slightly, his smile taking on an edge of uncertainty as if he was testing the waters himself. “Who needs safety when you’ve got the Christmas lights and a bit of mulled wine to keep us warm, right?”

“Mm, right,” Marianne murmured, her eyes flicking between his, the flicker of doubt still there but quickly overshadowed by something else entirely. “You’re really persistent, aren’t you?”

“It’s the innate journalist in me,” he answered with a soft chuckle. “But maybe I just really want to know where this night goes, and it’s something I have to investigate for myself.”

She paused, still unsure, but the weight of the moment—the chance to step outside her own box, to experience something unexpected—tempted her. “Okay, fine. But only for a little bit,” she warned, her voice light but serious, as though setting a boundary. “I’ll have to get my coat.”

“I’ll make no promises,” Harry replied, grinning. “But I’ll try my best.”

Marianne took a deep breath, then reached for her coat that had been hanging by the front door. When she had moved towards the door, he turned towards the open bottle of wine, taking it in his hands nonchalantly, hiding it against him before following her.

“Here, take this,” He handed the bottle to her, putting on his own coat, finding it within himself to tease her further, “Figure we don’t need a cup. Already shared lips, and all that.”

Marianne rolled her eyes, attempting to be disgusted by his charm but it was seemingly working against her.

“Alright. Let’s go, then. But I’m warning you—I’m not some easy Christmas miracle.”

Harry’s eyes sparkled as he held the door open for her. “You don’t have to be, but I’m already smiling in the face of a ten-foot tree filled with nutcrackers and elves, so you’re already doing something right.”

As they stepped outside into the crisp winter air, slipping away from the noise of the party, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that this walk—this simple, uncertain step into the night—was somehow an attempt at him moving outside of his sheltered, inhabitable box. But, then again, they barely knew each other. It could be awkward. It could be nothing. Yet, as the chilly air hit his skin, he found himself hoping for a little something.

Their conversation meandered from the absurdities of Christmas traditions to a shared love of books. With each few steps, Harry took a sip, passing the bottle to Marianne before she’d stop at a house and marvel at the lights that covered the snowy homes.

Marianne lit up as she described her favorite art books, her hands animated as she talked about the way colors and brushstrokes could evoke emotion. Harry, in turn, shared his fascination with biographies, his voice gaining energy as he recounted tales of writers and their chaotic lives.

“So, what’s the most pretentious book you’ve ever read?” Marianne asked, a teasing glint in her eye as she tucked her hands into the pockets of her long coat.

“Easy,” Harry replied, his breath frosty in the air. "Proust’s In Search of Lost Time. Took me two years to get through it, and I’m still not sure I understood half of it."

She laughed, tilting her head. "Two years? That’s dedication. I gave up on it after fifty pages. Life’s too short for that much existential pastry talk."

“Pastry talk?” Harry chuckled.

“You know, the whole madeleine thing? It’s like an entire chapter about a biscuit or tea cake or whatever the hell it was. Something about taking the time to look back.”

Harry smirked at the way that she described it, almost laughing at her memory. “Fair point. What about you? What’s the most overrated book on your shelf, then?”

"The Great Gatsby," she said without hesitation. "It’s just rich people being sad."

Harry gasped in mock offense. "That’s a classic! That actually has a good point to it.”

"Sure, if you like a story where everyone’s miserable and nobody learns anything and it doesn’t even have a happy ending—Daisy just succumbs to societal pressure, and Gatsby lets her get away. And Tom is a fucked-up man with residual trauma and blood on his hands."

Harry chuckled, raising an eyebrow as he glanced over at her, clearly intrigued by the passion in her voice over talking about the story. His own thoughts and curiosity raging inside of him as he continues to question and push her thoughts, “But I still think there's something about the way it captures the illusions we all chase, right? The idea that money can buy happiness—or at least the appearance of it. Gatsby just sits in that large house, waiting, and longing for something that money can’t buy him.”

Marianne snorted, kicking a small patch of snow off the sidewalk as they walked. "That’s exactly it. It’s like a big, glittery metaphor for capitalism. Everyone’s just pretending to be happy, but underneath, they’re all screwed up. Like… it’s not even about Gatsby wanting Daisy—it's about him wanting the dream she represents. The 'American Dream' that’s totally unattainable and hollow, if you ask me."

Harry gave a low whistle. "Okay, you're really passionate about this." He smirked, trying to tease her, but buying into to rile her up more, "Maybe you're right. Or maybe I just like reading about rich people doing dumb things. It's... comforting in its own way."

Marianne shot him a side-eye, amused by his statement. "You would. You’re probably one of those people who reads Gatsby with a glass of scotch in hand, pretending to understand the intricacies of wealth and how the story itself was stolen in the first place."

Harry took a swig of the bottle of wine, handing it over to her, kicking a bit of snow himself. "Okay, maybe not the scotch part, but... you can't say it isn't fascinating. The idea that these people are stuck in their own version of the dream, but none of them can see how messed up it is because they’re just blind to their own misery. Gatsby is kind of tragic, in that way."

Marianne raised an eyebrow, her breath misting in the cold air. "I’ll give you that," she said, turning to face him, a teasing smile on her lips. "Maybe you're not as much of a lost cause as I thought. Understanding tragedy in a way that Shakespeare would be proud of."

Marianne took her own swig of the bottle; the warmth of her fingers was thankful for the liquor flowing through her veins.

Harry grinned, his hands stuffed in his coat pockets as they walked through the snow, the soft crunch of their footsteps blending with the gentle fall of flakes around them; he grinned at the sight of them falling from the dark sky. "Do you think it’s a love story? Gatsby?”

Marianne shook her head, laughing softly. "It’s not a love story. It’s an existential crisis in a green light. A beautiful, well-written existential crisis."

"Now who’s the cynic?" Harry remarked, his tone warm despite the teasing. "You know, for someone who seems to always look on the bright side, you’re sure good at analyzing all these sad, tragic romantic stories."

She shrugged nonchalantly, her breath visible in the cold before she felt a ping in her chest that was going to lead them down a different road of conversation.

"Sometimes the most realistic thing about life is that it doesn't end the way we want it to. And that’s fine. People don’t always get happy endings. So, yeah, maybe I’m a cynic in that way, but I do try to think about happy endings. But I think the stories that end badly are the ones that have the most to say."

Harry’s eyes lingered on her, a little more serious than before. “Yeah, maybe. Or maybe we just don’t know how to recognize a good ending when it’s staring us in the face. So used to being cynical you forget there are happy parts sprinkled into the story.”

For a moment, the lightness of the conversation faltered, the cool air between them carrying a heavier silence. Then, as if breaking the spell, Harry smiled, nudging her with his elbow. “But hey, I’m still not convinced Gatsby was a waste of time. He had a plan—he had the right idea for how to be romantic, but it just didn’t turn out in his favor that time. At least it’s better than reading a book about some random guy pretending to be some tragic, tortured soul who ends up alone, right?”

Marianne shot him a smirk at his placed words. “You wouldn’t happen to be describing yourself, would you?”

Harry’s grin grew wider, shaking his head. "Well, I did just say I wasn't the tragic type—so... guess we’ll never know."

Marianne felt the laughter dance out of her, the sound light and genuine, and they both slipped back into an easy rhythm as the snowflakes danced around them, each of them lost in the moment but strangely at ease with one another despite how little they really knew about each other.

Their banter flowed easily, the conversation peppered with playful jabs and surprising insights. By the time the topic shifted to their favorite holiday stories, the space between them had shrunk. Harry found himself watching the way Marianne’s eyes sparkled when she laughed, while she noticed the way his face softened when he spoke about writing. The connection between them deepened, unspoken but undeniable, as the night carried on.

As the night wore on, their banter became more flirtatious, the space between them shrinking until they were leaning in closer than necessary, arms practically touching each time they would stop to linger and look at the lights of the house. The way that the wine worked was in their favor, letting them be loose with the spirit of the holidays wrapping around them—even if Harry hadn’t expected it.

When they were stopped for a moment, Marianne turned her head into a tilt as she stared at the house in front of them. There happened to be a slur in her words as she mumbled out, “I have a bad astigmatism, and don’t have my glasses on, so these lights are kind of wigging me out. Feels like I’m on one and I really don’t know how I feel about the stupid light up gnomes.”

Harry bit his lip as he started to laugh at her remarks, trying his best to keep it inside. But when she turned to look at him, she noticed that the dimples in his cheeks were trying extraordinarily hard not to bust out laughing—which in turn, made her start to laugh even harder.

Tears started to build up in her eyes as she found it harder to breathe then, pulling her sweater over her face. She used her hand to push at Harry slightly, “Stop laughing,” She said, finding her breath, pointing her finger at him.

But it didn’t stop—he didn’t stop. Instead, he found himself laughing harder. Marianne wiped at her eyes, feeling the coolness of her fingers before shaking her head.

Harry let out a snicker, still grinning from the laugh she’d triggered. "I’m sorry, but you’ve got to admit it’s hilarious. Gnomes, really? Someone got paid and spent their money on Christmas gnomes? Horrifying. Especially if you can’t see that well."

Marianne rolled her eyes, trying to fight off the smile that threatened to spread across her face. "You're awful. I’m out here having a moment with these damn lights, and you're over here cackling like some evil villain."

Harry raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening at her accusations. Unfortunately, his lips hurt from the amount of smiling he had done that evening, "I can't help it! You’re too easy to amuse. You’re all serious about gnomes, and then—" He stopped himself, letting out a breath of laughter. "Sorry. Can we pretend I’m a gentleman for, like, five more seconds? I liked that part of the night."

She bit back another laugh, wiping at her eyes. "You are ridiculous. You know that, right?"

"Hey, I’m just appreciating the moment." Harry stepped closer, trying to hold his composure. "Look, we’re out here in the snow, freezing our asses off. Gnomes are the least of our worries, except if you’re you."

Marianne tilted her head slightly, her eyes still glinting when she took another close look at him. "Yeah, maybe we should get out of here before it gets worse."

Harry’s expression was far too immodest to hide from her, suddenly looking at her with the same glitter in his eyes that he had shown he before stepping under the mistletoe. “And you were the one saying it was too risky to go on a walk. Now you’re taking me home? Sounds like a perfect excuse to find somewhere warm.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, the weight of his words starting to sink in as she felt herself warming from the inside out. “I mean, if you’re cold, I do have a warm place nearby,” she said, her tone garnered in a bit of a tease now, though a little less controlled than before.

Harry’s expression shifted, a teasing spark in his eyes as he tilted his head. “A warm place, huh? What, like Mrs. Claus, offering me a drink to get me in out of the snow?”

Marianne found herself laughing again, shaking her head. "You’re seriously comparing me to Mrs. Claus now? Maybe I’ll just have to start baking cookies to seal the deal."

"Honestly, though, that’s probably how she got Santa in bed." Harry smirked, crossing his arms as he gave her a sideways glance; he rolled his eyes in a bit of mocking manner, “I mean, you can’t just offer someone warmth without it leading somewhere.”

Marianne chuckled, shaking her head but giving him a sidelong glance to match his. “Oh, you think you're that irresistible, huh?”

“I mean… you’re the one inviting me to warm up at your place,” Harry stepped closer, his voice lowering, the flirtation more obvious now. “So, if the shoe fits.”

She felt a flutter of something unfamiliar at the way his gaze softened, but she shook it off, trying to keep the conversation light. "Alright, alright. If you’re really that desperate for warmth, my place is a couple blocks away." She shrugged, pretending to be casual, but the slight flush on her cheeks betrayed her as she fell into his touch a bit more; his hands moved to the sides of her arms before she turned to look at the gnomes once again.

Harry raised an eyebrow, his grin growing wider. "Well, you are offering warmth... can’t turn that down, can I?"

The air between them shifted. Marianne swallowed, her heart suddenly beating a little faster. “You sure about that? It’s not like I’m offering you a hot tub and a massage, you know. It’ll be more…” She thought for a moment, “More momentary than that.”

Harry chuckled, stepping even closer, “I’m sure. Besides, how bad can it be? Worst case, I end up on your couch with a drink and no gnomes. Preferably no Christmas lights. Not exactly the worst way to spend a night,” He shrugged, “But I guess I could also get behind us taking our clothes off and lying next to each other to conserve body heat—preferably you on top of me, if that is an option I can choose.”

She met his gaze, biting back a smile. "You’re intolerable."

They started walking again, the snow falling more steadily now, the night feeling warmer despite the chill. Neither of them spoke for a few moments, the tension thick but unspoken, a shared understanding between them as they made their way down the street, the promise of something more hanging in the air.

When they arrived at Marianne’s home, she walked up the small steps before reaching for her keys in the jacket pocket. They were both covered in a bit of snow, as it had started to fall more than before. The streets were starting to line with it; Harry stood with her under the awning to hide from the weather.

Her hands slipped the key into the lock before opening the door, the warmth of the house meeting Harry as he walked in behind her.

“Shit, it’s cold,” She cursed, kicking off her shoes and hanging up her jacket. “You can—I mean, just throw your stuff down there.”

Harry nodded a few times, kicking his own shoes off and placing his coat on the hook next to hers. The moment now started to feel a bit more real as he turned to notice her home around it. It was the definition of warmth and comfort; the space smelled like gingerbread, his eyes homing in on the garland wrapped around the staircase railing.

“Would you like something to drink? Hot Toddy maybe?” She offered, shuffling her way towards the kitchen, throwing away the empty wine bottle she had been carrying, “I can also do just tea if you think the alcohol limit has been breached.”

Harry put his hands in his pockets, moving his way into the kitchen to follow her. “Uh—whatever you’re having is fine with me.”

Marianne licked over her lips, tucking her hair behind her ear before she set the kettle on the stove and turned on some hot water.

“I—you know what, actually,” Harry made a remark as they stood in the kitchen. His eyes turned to her as he watched her lean against the counter, her arms were crossed over her chest as she watched him approach her with a look on his face that melted the frigidness of her hands.

Instead of speaking again, his hands reached to grab at her face, pulling her into him with a swift motion. The fluttering of her stomach nearly making her drop to her knees as he tilted her head back, letting his lips roam around hers.

Marianne felt herself moan into the kiss, her hands reaching to hold onto his wrists that held onto her so delicately, but with a needed force that had practically picked her up off her feet.

Pulling away for a moment, Marianne caught her breath; the kiss was unsuspected but entirely encouraged. “Okay, so— uh, let’s—”

“We—I think—” He pieced together, nodding, letting his nose rub against hers.

“Sofa—that’s fine.” She hummed, letting her eyes dim at the feeling of his hands wrapping around her waist. In an instant, his hands picked her up, placing her on his hips as she let her legs hold against him tightly.

The soft feeling of his black jumper under her hands was welcomed as he took them into the living room, placing her down on the sofa—she fell quite a bit from his hips, but laughed at the feeling when her back hit the cushion.

Harry’s eyes stayed on hers but flashed up to the window before he scattered a chuckle, “Window’s fully open.” He murmured, walking over before closing the curtains dramatically quickly. “Your neighbors almost saw you get fully rattled.”

Marianne placed her hand over her eyes in a flush of embarrassment by his words, shaking her head at the way that he spoke. Her feet hung off the edge of the sofa arm where he had left her, “You’re just so charming.”

Harry pulled the jumper off over his head, revealing the white t-shirt he had underneath, his eyes a bit dazed in the heat before he returned to his called upon place. Practically crawling, he found his way above her, the giggle coming from her made him smile. Her legs opened to allow him space for him on the sofa before her hands ran down the cotton of his t-shirt.

Marianne pulled herself up, letting her head rest against the accent pillow closer to the other armrest. Harry braced himself with one hand on the armrest, the other slipping around her waist, pulling her closer. His grin softened as his eyes scanned her face, lingering on the flush in her cheeks and the way her lips parted slightly now, caught somewhere between teasing and expectation.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low, “for someone who just called me charming in an entirely mocking way, you’re making it really hard to believe you’re not into it.”

Marianne raised an eyebrow, her hand still resting against his chest, fingers curling slightly in the soft cotton of his shirt. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself too much. This is about getting warm, remember?”

Harry let out a soft laugh, leaning in closer, his breath brushing against her ear. His nose making it nudge against her throat as he felt her sink into the feeling; her eyes shut at the way that his tongue softly lapped at her jaw. “Is that so? Because from where I’m sitting—or, well, crawling—it feels like you’ve got me wrapped around your finger. Maybe vice versa.”

Her lips twitched into a smirk, but she didn’t move away. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just easy to manipulate.”

His laughter faded into something softer, lifting his head as his gaze dropped to her lips. “Dangerous words, Marianne. You keep talking like that, and I might have to prove you wrong. Play hard to get and all that.”

She met his gaze, her pulse quickening as the air between them thickened. “Big talk for someone who was just crawling.”

“Actions speak louder than words,” He whispered, his mouth finally brushing against hers, tentative at first, as though testing her reaction. “I have a feeling that you could get me to crawl anywhere right now.”

Marianne didn’t hesitate. Her hand slid up to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. It was slow but deliberate, a mixture of heat and resistance, the kind of kiss that felt like it could spiral out of control if either of them let it.

When they finally broke apart, her forehead rested against his as they both caught their breath. Marianne let out a shaky laugh, her fingers still tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Well… this escalated quickly. I thought my night was just going to be mulled wine and ginger biscuits.”

Harry’s grin returned, lazy and utterly pleased with himself. “What can I say? I told you that holiday shit was overrated.”

Marianne rolled her eyes but didn’t move away from him.

Harry tilted his head, his fingers lightly tracing circles on her waist as he felt he needed to draw her attention back a little. “Maybe we’re both a little to blame. You’ve got this whole… 'irresistible' thing going on.”

She laughed, the sound more genuine now, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “You realize we’re strangers, right?”

Harry nodded, his grin softening into something more sincere. “We know each other’s stance on Gatsby, and you’re calling us strangers? At the very least, Marianne. At the very least.”

When he pulled back, she let out a soft sigh, the weight of the moment settling over them. “Well,” she said after a pause, her voice lighter but with a subtle edge of mischief, “if you’re feeling so confident, maybe we should find another way to get warm. A heater would work splendidly in your place.”

Harry laughed, his voice low and rich as he leaned closer. “Oh, is that what we’re calling it now? A heater?”

She smirked, nudging him with her knee. Instead of reacting, Marianne took her fingers at the bottom of his t-shirt, letting it wrap in her fingers before pulling it up. The reveling underneath made her mouth dry at first; she didn’t want to give him too much attention, or it would only make his confidence stronger.

As their lips met again, Harry’s hands cupped Marianne’s face gently, his thumbs brushing along her cheekbones as though he were committing every detail of her to memory. The warmth between them intensified, their breaths mingling as the kiss deepened, slow and deliberate. Marianne’s fingers found their way into his hair, tugging softly, and he exhaled a low, contented sound against her lips.

The room around them seemed to fade into the background—only the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree casting a soft, warm glow in the dimness. Harry shifted, his hands sliding down to her waist as he pulled her closer, their movements unhurried but full of intent. Marianne let out a soft laugh, her head tilting back as she felt his lips trail along her jawline and down her neck, each kiss sending a flutter through her.

“Harry,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, a mixture of hesitation and invitation. Her hands moved to rest against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palms.

He paused for a moment, pulling back to meet her gaze. His eyes searched hers, a question lingering in their depth. She smiled softly, her hand brushing along his jaw, answering him without words as she leaned in to kiss him again. The way she melted into him left no room for doubt.

Harry stood, pulling her with him, their bodies fitting together effortlessly. His hands lingered at her waist, steadying her as they moved toward the sofa, her laughter soft against his shoulder as they stumbled slightly. He eased her down onto the cushions, the glow of the Christmas lights illuminating the warmth in her expression as she looked up at him.

Their movements slowed, deliberate yet electric, each touch and kiss building the connection between them. Neither rushed nor hesitant, they navigated the space between them with care, the world outside falling away entirely. It wasn’t just the warmth of the firelight or the blanket that had been tossed aside earlier; it was them, discovering something in each other that felt both new and undeniably right.

As they drew closer, their hands found new places to hold to steady, and their breaths fell into sync. In the quiet of the room, surrounded by the soft hum of Christmas melodies and the faint scent of pine, their closeness became something unspoken, a silent understanding that this moment was theirs.

His hands moved to quickly remove her pants, threw her sweater off, his pants were off. The touch of their skin was electric as he practically panted into her kiss, noses nudging one another as he moved to touch along the edges of her panties.

Marianne bit on her lip as his fingers moved against her, she pressed herself against him. Harry moved the edge of her panties away, letting his fingers brush against her without the barrier between them. She gasped the feeling, knowing that she had been practically dripping for him without direct touch. The teasing, the night they’d had had been building to this moment before she threw her head back in anticipation for what she needed most.

“Don’t wanna’ wait any longer,” She murmured, the wine felt like it had been sitting on her brain, making her decisions cursed, “No messing around.”

Harry nodded into her neck, kissing her softly before he took himself in his hand, pushing open at her entrance before he let his mouth drop open slightly. He had been ready from the moment that she wrapped her legs around his waist. His brows furrowed at the feeling; the way that she wanted to surrender to him so quickly. When he pushed in, they both gasped at the feeling.

“Oh, fuck,” Harry breathed out, his eyes shutting before he clenched his fist on the armrest, his shoulder holding him up. He knew if he opened his eyes, he’d look down to see Marianne looking up at him with the bright, chocolate brown eyes—the demeanor of two people just needing affection to the highest.

It had been quick, no frills. They had barely undressed; her sweater was off, the black lace of her bra pushed against her breasts, her underwear pushed to the side, the thrill of their need for someone—anyone—had gotten the best of them as Harry’s hips pushed her legs apart.

The warmth that enveloped him was almost overwhelming. Marianne let out a soft gasp, her fingers digging into his hips as she pulled him closer. The urgency of their encounter left no room for gentleness or finesse; it was raw and intimate and something that neither of them had expected going into that night, but only what could have possibly been the best outcome.

Harry's hips began to move, slowly at first, then with increasing fervor. The creaking of the sofa that held their bodyweight beneath them punctuated their ragged breaths and muffled moans. Marianne arched her back, pressing herself against him, seeking more contact, more friction from their compromising position that was entirely unsuited for what they both desired.

"Harry," she whispered, her voice thick with desire. "Look at me. Please."

He hesitated, knowing that meeting her gaze would make this real, would shatter the illusion that this was just a nameless, faceless encounter. But the pull was too strong. Harry opened his eyes, looking down to find Marianne's warm brown eyes locked onto his, filled with a mixture of vulnerability and passion that made his breath catch in his throat. In that moment, the world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them suspended in time with the only light of the lamp in the dark living room space.

Marianne's lips parted, her breathing shallow as she reached up to cup Harry's face with trembling hands. The tenderness of the gesture contrasted sharply with the urgency of their coupling, adding a layer of intimacy that neither had anticipated. She hadn’t expected to feel the way she had, only knowing him for so long but the feeling of their skin on skin had somehow felt right.

"I—" Harry started to say, but the words died on his lips as Marianne pulled him down for a kiss. It was deep and desperate, their tongues tangling as they sought to convey through touch what they couldn't through words.

The kiss seemed to ignite something within them both. Harry's thrusts became more purposeful, angling to hit the spot that made Marianne gasp and shudder beneath him. Her nails raked down his back, leaving red marks in their wake, a physical manifestation of the intensity building between them. The pain mingled with pleasure, driving Harry to push harder, deeper, chasing the release that hovered just out of reach.

Marianne broke the kiss, throwing her head back against the arm of the sofa. Her legs wrapped tightly around Harry's waist, heels digging into the small of his back as she met his thrusts with equal fervor. The room filled with the sound of skin against skin, punctuated by their shared gasps and moans.

"God, Marianne," Harry groaned, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He inhaled deeply with a groan following, drinking in the scent of her perfume mingled with sweat and arousal. It was intoxicating, clouding his senses and pushing him closer to the edge.

Marianne's hands tangled in Harry's hair, tugging gently as she felt the familiar tension building within her. Her body trembled beneath him, every nerve ending alight with sensation. She could feel herself teetering on the brink of that all too familiar feeling of want, desperate for release but wanting to prolong this moment for as long as possible.

"Harry, I'm close," she whispered breathlessly, her lips brushing against his ear. "Please, don't stop. Please. Fuck."

Her words spurred him on, his movements becoming more erratic as he chased his own climax. The couch creaked dangerously beneath them, but neither paid it any mind, too lost in the sensations coursing through their bodies.

Marianne's back arched sharply, a strangled cry escaping her lips as she finally tumbled over the edge. Her inner walls clenched around Harry, pulling him deeper as waves of pleasure washed over her like the ocean of her dreams. The sight and feel of her coming undone beneath him was too much for Harry to bear.

With a deep, guttural groan, he followed her over the precipice, his hips stuttering as he spilled himself inside her, the shaking of his body only stilled that her hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer for the relief he desperately needed.

For several long moments, they remained locked together, bodies trembling with aftershocks as they struggled to catch their breath. Her chest pushed upwards as she breathed; their lungs practically touching as Harry laid upon her, feeling light as a feather. The reality of what they had just done began to seep in as he stared at the nape of her neck for a few moments, replacing the mystical haze of lust with a mixture of confusion and lingering desire.

Harry slowly lifted his head from Marianne's neck, his eyes meeting hers once more even when he realized that he shouldn’t have. The vulnerability he saw there made his chest tighten. He opened his mouth to speak but found himself at a loss for words.

What could he possibly say to make sense of this unexpected turn of events?

Marianne's hands slid from his hair, trailing down his back before coming to rest on his shoulders. She bit her lip, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features as she searched Harry's face for any sign of regret or disappointment that could have possibly been lingering in that moment. Finding none, that she could notice, she let out a shaky breath, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin.

"I... I don't know what to say," Marianne whispered, her voice barely audible. She swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. "This wasn't... I mean, I didn't expect..."

Harry nodded, understanding her unfinished thoughts. “Me neither," he admitted, his voice rough.

It was unspoken; but he concluded that he was still inside of her, blinking a few times in the heat of the moment. He shifted slightly, suddenly aware of their still-joined bodies and the awkwardness of their position. With a soft groan, he carefully disentangled himself from her, immediately missing the warmth of her embrace.

It was the odd feeling of wondering why he missed it then; he had only met her, but he knew that could have been the first and last time.

Marianne sat up, pulling her underwear back into place and readjusting her bra. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for her discarded sweater, pulling it over her head.

Harry watched her, feeling a strange mix of emotions as he tucked himself back into his pants and zipped up his jeans. The air between them felt heavy, charged with unspoken questions and lingering desire. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, trying to gather his thoughts before either of them was able to speak again.

Harry cleared his throat, licking over his lips as he sat next to her, fully dressed in her still in her underwear.

"I should probably..." he began, gesturing vaguely towards the front door.

Marianne looked up, her eyes wide and vulnerable. "Oh," she said softly, disappointment evident in her voice as she realized that he hadn’t wanted to stay. She glanced towards the window, where she could see the snowflakes lashing against the glass, driven by howling winds in the silence between them. "I-I mean, it’s really coming down out there."

Harry followed her gaze, noticing for the first time the storm raging outside. He'd been so caught up in the moment, in Marianne, that he hadn't even registered the sound of the wind or the snow that seemed to harbor on the glass.

"Yeah," he agreed, his voice hoarse. He hesitated, torn between the desire to flee from the intensity of what had just happened and the practical need to not walk back to his place in the weathering mix of snow and ice. "I suppose it wouldn't be safe to walk back home yet, then.”

Marianne nodded, a flicker of hope crossing her features. "You could... stay, if you want. Just— I don’t know, of course, whatever you want." she added quickly, not wanting to seem too eager or presumptuous that he would want to stay the night.

Harry considered her offer, his eyes roaming over her face. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, he found himself drawn to her, unable to ignore the connection that had sparked between them. "Yeah, okay," he said softly. "Thanks."

A small smile tugged at Marianne's lips as she stood up, smoothing down her sweater as she placed it over her; leaving her in her panties that had the pink lace over the waistband. "I'll get us some tea," she offered, padding towards the kitchen on bare feet. “You— uh, if you’d like to clean up, you can head upstairs to the bathroom. I can be up there in a moment.”

Harry watched her go, his eyes lingering on the sway of her hips as she disappeared into the kitchen. He let out a long breath, running his hands over his face as he tried to process everything that had just happened. The sudden intimacy, the intensity of their connection - it was all so unexpected.

With a soft groan, he pushed himself up from the couch and made his way upstairs. The bathroom was small but tidy, decorated in shades of pale blue and white. Harry caught sight of himself in the mirror above the sink and paused, taking in his disheveled appearance. His hair was a mess, his shirt wrinkled, and there was a faint red mark on his neck where Marianne had nipped at his skin.

As he washed his hands and splashed some cool water on his face, Harry's mind raced. What did this mean for them? Would things be awkward now?

Harry stared at himself for another moment longer, looking directly into the mirror before he pushed the hair off his face. When going to leave the small upstairs washroom, he found himself standing in the hallway near the stairs; tension in the room was palpable as Marianne returned, two steaming mugs of tea in her hands. Harry had settled to follow her into her bedroom, his hair still damp on the front from the quick wash in the bathroom.

Their eyes met, and a spark of electricity seemed to pass between them.

Marianne set the mugs down on the nightstands; first one side, and then the other, her hands shaking slightly. She hesitated for a moment before sitting next to Harry at the end of the bed, close enough that their thighs brushed. The contact sent a shiver through both.

"I..." Harry began, but words failed him. Instead of being able to finish his words, his face turned towards hers when he felt her reach out, cupping Harry’s face in her hand. He leaned into her touch, eyes fluttering shut as they faced one another now.

In an instant, the tentative atmosphere shattered. Their lips crashed together in a desperate kiss, all thoughts of tea forgotten, once again. Marianne climbed onto Harry's lap, straddling him while his hands moved to push her down onto his crotch; the feeling of her once again drove his eroticism to a new height.

“Wait,” Harry told her softly, holding onto her wrists to pause her action. His hands reached to hold onto her in an affection to let her know that he hadn’t wanted to push her away, but to give him a moment. “Marianne, uh,” He swallowed, but felt her hips push into his, causing a moan to escape his lips unintentionally, “Fuck. I—I forgot.”

Marianne chuckled a little bit, her tongue leaving a small lick on his upper lip as she teased him.

“Was it important?” She asked, her voice a bit hazy and erotic. “You’re not married, are you?”

With a heavy breath, Harry held her hips into place again, letting a grin take over before he shook his head. “No, no—uh, but,”

Marianne stopped at his word; a bit curious to his need to speak then. Her eyes searched his face. Harry’s sentence hung in the air, unfinished as Marianne tilted her head, her darkened eyes searching his face. Her breath was warm against his cheek, her lips still ghosting over his as if daring him to finish the thought. She moved her hips slightly, testing his resolve, and Harry’s grip on her tightened, his fingers pressing into her waist as though anchoring himself.

“But what?” Marianne prompted; her voice soft yet dripping with playful challenge. She leaned in, her lips brushing against his jawline now, teasing him further. “You’re not exactly making a convincing case for stopping.”

Harry let out a breathless laugh, his head tipping back against the air as his hands slid to her thighs, squeezing gently. “It’s not that I want to stop,” he murmured, his voice rough with the strain of holding back. “I just... I don’t usually—”

“You don’t usually what?” she interrupted, her lips trailing down to the corner of his mouth. “Get this lucky? Because trust me, I don’t usually climb into laps, either.”

That earned a laugh from him, one that was half-frustration, half-admiration. “You’re relentless.”

“And you’re stalling even thought we could already be halfway through round two by now,” she countered, her fingers brushing over the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. “So, unless you’re about to tell me that you’re some kind of undercover royal or a spy with a secret identity, I think we’re good here.”

Harry’s lips parted as if to say something, but instead, he caught her mouth in another kiss, silencing any further conversation. This time, there was no hesitation, no holding back. His hands roamed her sides, sliding beneath her sweater to find the bare skin of her lower back, and Marianne gasped softly against his lips. Her nails grazed the nape of his neck, drawing a low groan from him that reverberated between them.

Marianne leaned into him, pressing her chest against his as she tugged at the hem of his shirt. “Off,” she murmured, her voice edged with impatience. Harry obliged, breaking the kiss just long enough to yank the shirt over his head before pulling her back to him.

The warmth of her skin against his sent his pulse racing, and his hands found their way under her sweater again, mapping out the curve of her spine. Marianne shifted on his lap, her movements deliberate now, and Harry’s grip on her tightened instinctively.

“God, you’re trouble,” he muttered against her lips, his voice laced with both amusement and desire.

“You love it,” she shot back, her smile audible even with his eyes shut, even as she kissed him again.

Marianne pushed at his chest so he would lay on his back, letting the softness of the flannel blanket that laid across her neatly made bed touch his hot skin. As she crawled up his body, letting her lips flutter against his, he smiled again.

“You’re really going to make me go again? Christ, Marianne, you’re a bit of a minx.”

She paused for a moment; letting the tension sit with him. When he responded, making his lips yearn for hers, she had the answer that she desperately wanted from him.

“Seems like the want is mutual.” Her voice was a whisper, hot against his lips—his were parted, letting a moan fall through them.

Harry shook his head, “I’ll go all night.”

The tension between them crackled like static, the rest of the world falling away as their shared laughter melted into something deeper, something raw. The flicker of the Christmas lights reflected in their eyes as they lost themselves in each other, the cold night outside forgotten in the heat of the moment.

Marianne woke to the faint light of dawn streaming through her window. For a moment, she lay still, her mind piecing together the events of the night before. The complete covering of her body under the covers kept her warm, taking in a deep breath.

She turned her head, half-expecting to find Harry still beside her, but the bed was empty.

The night had been overwhelming in the most unexpected way; she rolled onto her back, looking up at the ceiling. Pushing her hair away from her face, her thoughts traveled to how the night had unraveled a stream of ribbon – her skin felt hot remembering the touches of his hands on her.

It had been a while since she had been that intimate with someone like that. One of the deepest regrets was knowing that she was waking up with him not there. It was always unspoken; waking up in the morning from the night before, padding out of the room with a mission to leave before you wake the other. She should have expected this, but in her mind, it had been more than just going home with someone.

She had felt that her and Harry had a connection of some sort. She wouldn’t even know how to get in contact with him if she wanted—she didn’t know his last name. She supposed that she could ask Franny at work for his contact information, but given that he wasn’t there the next morning, she figured that maybe he didn’t want to hear from her.

It had been a whirlwind. Making their way to the bed that night felt like a triumph in itself; she hadn’t expected their lingering touches to last, but almost every hour she would feel his hand creeping along her side, almost like he had been thinking in his sleep.

As Marianne sat up, she tried to not think too much of the night before but think more of the upcoming day instead. She stretched up, letting her arms dance above her head as her shoulders and neck felt tight.

When her feet hit the floor, it felt cold beneath her. She searched through her drawers, finding a long-sleeve cotton sweater that hung to her thighs. She threw her hair into a bun on the top of her head, before making her way to the stairs.

Padding into the living room from the staircase, she found him standing by the front door, his coat in hand. He looked up, startled, as she made her entrance.

Even in the morning, hair tousled with sleep, eyes a bit puffy from the early morning rise, he looked good. It looked like he may not have slept too well, which made her heart sink at the thought that she may have kept him awake.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, shaking his head. His coat dangled from his arm. “Didn’t mean to wake you. I was just heading out.”

“Couldn’t figure out the lock?” She teased, her voice still husky with sleep.

Harry chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “I—yeah.”

Marianne crossed her arms, leaning against the railing. “Guess you can’t get away that easy,” She took in a deep breath, “Or without saying goodbye first.”

Harry took in a breath, putting one hand in his pocket as he turned towards her then. “I—I mean, I didn’t want to just leave, but I- I didn’t—”

Marianne shook her head, “No, I get it. Hook-up etiquette is…”

“Weird.” Harry bit his lip, “I’m a bit out of practice, I guess.”

“Hooking up with a lot of broads, then?” Marianne’s tone was teasing, and she smirked when the flush returned to Harry’s cheeks.

They stood in a beat of silence before she cleared her throat, trying to make the most of the time that he had been standing there—maybe to break the awkwardness that had come into the room yet again.

“Well, if you’re here, you might as well help me with something. I have a hard time doing it by myself—physically.” She bit her lip, eyes widening at the way her words may have been perceived, “Oh! I mean—not that, uh,”

“I mean, I guess we can go again, then. I guess I was pretty good at it last night, wasn’t I?” He chuckled, interrupting her to make the joke, then shrugged. “But, yeah, I can help with whatever.”

“Decorating the tree,” She pointed to a box of ornaments and a slightly crooked artificial tree standing in the corner of the room. Harry followed her gaze, a skeptical eyebrow raised. “I can’t reach a lot of the top. It’s just easier with two people.”

“You’re really leaning into the Christmas spirit, huh?”

“When you live alone, you’ve got to make your own magic,” she replied, already pulling the tree upright. “Or are you going to stand there and criticize my technique?”

Harry sighed but set his coat aside on the edge of the sofa. He had taken note that she still hadn’t put on pants, her underwear now had small bows of ribbon patterned in red, “Alright, then. Let’s do this—uh, is there any way that this can involve coffee?”

Marianne lit up, “Oh—yeah, of course. Let me go make us some. Can you start to take items out of that box?”

On her way to the kitchen, she put on a pot of coffee, waiting for enough for the two of them. Harry had begun to look through some of the items that she had for decoration.

Marianne opened the second box when she returned, setting a cup of coffee next to Harry on the coffee table. When she looked in the box, she was suddenly met with the remembrance of last Christmas; the way that she hadn’t put the lights away alone but was going to have to bring them out alone if Harry hadn’t been here. As they worked, untangling fairy lights and hanging mismatched ornaments, their banter softened into a rhythm that felt almost natural, like they had done this a dozen times before.

"Do people actually enjoy untangling these?" Harry muttered, holding up a knot of fairy lights with a grimace.

"Maybe they see it as a metaphor for life," Marianne quipped, carefully hanging a glittery bauble coated in silver. "Unravel the mess, and you find the beauty."

Harry snorted at her cute remark, "That sounds like something out of a self-help book."

"Hey, some of us need a little optimism to get through the day and the holiday season," She shot back, though her tone was light. "Besides, it beats your Grinch-like grumbling."

"Touché," He admitted, smirking. "Alright, Cindy Lou, where do these go?" He held up a string of lights, their multicolored bulbs catching the morning light.

Marianne stepped closer, her fingers brushing against his as she guided the string toward the tree. "Around the middle, I think. It needs some sparkle in there."

As they worked together, the conversation drifted from playful teasing to quieter, more introspective topics. Marianne shared snippets of her life—how she’d recently picked up pottery to distract herself after the breakup that past spring, how her students had surprised her with handmade ornaments last Christmas, especially when Harry picked one up and examined it with a bit of curiosity.

"One of them made this," she said, holding up a slightly lopsided clay star painted in bright primary colors. "He told me it was supposed to be ‘abstract.’ Big word for a four-year-old."

Harry chuckled as he looked up at it, he placed a red bauble on the tree, "Abstract is a solid excuse for anything that doesn’t go as planned."

Marianne gave him a warm gaze, letting her eyes fall to the way that his sweater sleeves had been rolled up. She watched the way that he took a step back, letting his eyes fall over the way the that the lights cast a soft colorful light over the room then. It was still early, but it looked like he had been contemplating for a moment.

Harry hesitated before speaking, then confessed, "I think I’ve been stuck in my own mess for so long that I forgot how to step back and just... appreciate things."

Marianne looked at him, her expression softening. "Maybe untangling fairy lights wasn’t such a bad metaphor after all."

The morning light filtered through Marianne’s small space, highlighting the modest but cozy living room. The faint smell of coffee mingled with the scent of pine from the Christmas tree standing bare in the corner. Harry stood beside it, holding the string of tangled lights, his hair still slightly disheveled. Marianne sat cross-legged on the floor, sorting through a box of ornaments, her sweater slipping off one shoulder as she worked.

“Alright,” Marianne said, holding up a particularly gaudy ornament shaped like a snowman. “This one’s either going on the tree or in the trash. Thoughts?”

Harry tilted his head, inspecting it with mock seriousness. “Trash. Absolutely trash.”

She laughed, tossing it to the side. “Wow, you’re ruthless. Remind me not to let you near any sentimental ornaments. My niece made me that.”

He smirked, kneeling beside her and picking up a small, glittery star. “This one’s safe, though, right? It’s classic.”

“Classic,” she agreed, handing him a hook for it. “Go ahead, looks like the last one.”

Harry rolled his eyes but stood, carefully placing the star on one of the branches. He stepped back, pretending to admire his handiwork. “Perfect. The tree’s basically done now, right? The lights are placed right?”

“It looks great,” Marianne shrugged, letting her smirk take over with a quick tease, “Well, the parts I was involved in.”

He chuckled but didn’t respond, his smile faltering slightly as he stared at the tree. Harry took a seat on the sofa, letting his gaze over the tree settle. Marianne noticed the shift in his expression, the way his shoulders tensed just a bit. She crossed her arms over her chest, her voice softening. “Hey. You okay?”

Harry glanced at her quickly, hesitating as if he didn’t want to answer, before he shrugged. “Yeah, just… thinking.”

She moved over to take a seat next to him, brushing her hands on her sweater as she moved closer to him. “Thinking about what? I—I mean, I don’t know if you have something against Christmas, I figured it was just your sense of humor, but…”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not really my favorite time of year,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. There was a part of him that felt odd giving her any information like this, but he figured that she had more intimate memories of him, so this didn’t seem quite as big, “Never has been.”

Marianne frowned, folding her arms. “I think it can be difficult for a lot of people, for a lot of reasons.” She trailed off, watching him closely.

He let out a soft laugh, though it lacked his usual warmth. “Shouldn’t be.”

She didn’t press, just waited, and after a moment, he continued.

“It’s just… growing up, I didn’t really have a family to spend it with. My parents… they weren’t around much. And when they were, Christmas was more about them fighting or making a show for other people than it was about actually being together, just the three of us, you know? By the time I got older, it just felt pointless to even try to get everyone together. They were never happy memories. Everyone else was celebrating, and I was just… there.” He gestured vaguely, as if searching for the right words. “I guess it just became this reminder of what I didn’t have.”

Marianne’s heart twisted at the vulnerability in his voice. She reached out, her hand resting lightly on his arm. “Harry, I’m sorry. That sounds… really lonely.”

He shrugged again, his gaze fixed on the tree. “It was what it was. But there just didn’t seem to be any reason to make any memories surrounding it. I just ignored this time of year.” He glanced at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“It—but this is nice. I like this,” He chewed on his bottom lip before he stared at the way that her hand settled on his forearm, his fingers brushing hers for a moment. “Thanks, Marianne.”

“For what?”

“For… I don’t know. Letting me be here, I guess. For not making this weird.”

She smiled, her expression soft as she took in a deep breath, “Everyone deserves to have one happy Christmas memory, at least,” She swallowed, looking back at the tree then, “I hope this is one of those.”

He nodded, swallowing hard as he looked back at the tree. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat, “Very much so.”

For a moment, silence settled between them, not awkward but contemplative. Harry felt a quiet shift within himself, a glimmer of something he couldn’t quite name but wasn’t ready to dismiss. Marianne’s sarcastic edge gave way to quiet vulnerability, while Harry’s usual cynicism melted into genuine curiosity about her. She told him about her students, and her decision to spend Christmas embracing her independence this year.

Harry glanced at her; her face illuminated by the soft glow of the fairy lights. For a moment, he felt the tension of his deadline and his usual holiday cynicism slip away, replaced by an unfamiliar warmth that tugged at the edges of his guarded heart. The glow of the fairy lights and Marianne’s quiet presence seemed to momentarily bridge the gap between his disillusionment and the simple joys he had long dismissed.

The multicolored lights blinked haphazardly, casting a kaleidoscope of hues across the room. A patchwork of ornaments dangled from the branches—some glittering with polished perfection, others endearingly imperfect like Marianne’s lopsided clay star. Tinsel shimmered unevenly, catching the soft glow of the fairy lights. Harry tilted his head, his critical eye scanning the mismatched decorations. It was far from magazine-perfect, but something about its imperfections made it feel... genuine.

"It’s a little chaotic," he murmured.

Marianne smiled, nudging him gently. "Kind of like us, don’t you think?" He glanced at her, the warmth in her eyes mirroring the soft glow of the tree, and felt his usual cynicism begin to wane.

"I think it’s perfect," he admitted quietly. It was far from perfect—the lights blinked unevenly, and the ornaments clashed—but it felt oddly right.

Harry let his gaze linger on Marianne, taking in the way the soft light caught the curve of her smile and the slight furrow of her brow, as if she were deep in thought. He wondered what was going through her mind, whether her thoughts mirrored the strange mix of contentment and uncertainty that churned within him.

Marianne, for her part, noticed the way Harry’s fingers tapped rhythmically against the side of his mug, betraying a nervous energy he seemed intent on hiding. It was a moment suspended in time, the world outside the small flat fading into irrelevance as they sat side by side, each silently grappling with the fragile, burgeoning connection between them.

Marianne glanced at him, her resolve to keep things casual wavering.

It was then that Harry decided he should be getting home. Marianne agreed, nodding a few times before Harry lifted from the sofa. She had followed him to the door, his coat in his hands before they stood in front of the door again.

“I had a great time,” He finally said, “With you.”

Marianne let out a breath, crossing her arms over her chest as she felt the cold from behind the door already. She pulled her top lip in her mouth before she cleared her throat, contemplating whether she wanted to say anything else. She noticed that he had been baiting her to speak, tilting his head.

“What are you doing tonight?” She asked tentatively, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry looked at her, his usual cynicism replaced by something warmer, softer. “No plans.”

Marianne bit on her bottom lip, taking every part of her independence away as she stared at him with a longing glance that caught his attention

“Would you like to go,” She shrugged, “On like, a real date?”

Harry pushed his hair off of his forehead, trying his best to hide the smile that caught on his face. It somehow wouldn’t go away. “I—yeah. I would, actually.”

Letting out a breath of relief, Marianne rested her hand on the back of her neck. “Great. Great—yeah.” She grabbed a piece of mail that sat next to the door, using a pen to write down her phone number. She stood to hand it to him, “Text me when you get home, and we’ll set something up.”

As a gesture, Harry took the half of the envelope she wrote, to write his own number—just in case they were to lose touch. Harry took the empty envelope she wrote on, folding it and putting it in his pocket before he leaned in kiss her. It was a soft kiss this time, one that melted for a moment before he pulled back and let his eyes fall over her. The breath was held in his lungs before he nodded a few times.

“Will do,” He told her, reaching for the front door, “Bye, Marianne.”

“Bye.” She stated softly, watching as he pulled the door behind him, a last fleeting glance.

Marianne stood by the door for a moment after Harry left, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, running her fingers through her hair. The reality of the night settled over her like the falling snow outside—quick, fleeting, and somehow magical.

She wandered back to the couch, sitting down and pulling the throw blanket over her lap. The Christmas lights on her tree twinkled softly, casting a warm glow around the room. She sipped the last of her coffee, the faint hum of the music station still playing faintly in the background.

For a moment, she thought about texting him first but decided against it.

“Let him make the move,” she whispered to herself, smiling at the memory of his crooked grin, the warmth in his eyes when he looked at her.

Across town, Harry walked briskly, his hands buried in his coat pockets, the envelope she’d written on folded neatly inside one of them. The snow crunched under his shoes, the cold biting at his cheeks, but he didn’t care. His mind replayed the way her lips felt against his, the sound of her laugh, the spark in her eyes when she teased him. He felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time—lightness, as though the weight of the world had been lifted.

When he reached his flat, Harry sat on the edge of his bed, pulling out the envelope at the quickest moment he could. Her handwriting was rushed but endearing, the kind of messy scrawl that hinted at a bit of chaos, a bit of charm. He smiled as he unlocked his phone and began typing.

Harry: Made it home in one piece.

Harry: Free all day. Don’t want to sound too desperate, but I’d love to have dinner tonight.

He hesitated for a moment before sending another text.

Harry: Would love to do more Christmas light viewing, too.

He stared at the screen for a second longer than he needed to before hitting send. Tossing the envelope on his nightstand, he leaned back against his pillows, his mind drifting back to the warmth of her apartment and the way she’d looked at him like he wasn’t just passing through.

Back at Marianne’s place, her phone buzzed on the coffee table. She picked it up, her smile growing wider as she read his message. With a grin, she replied:

Marianne: Glad you didn’t freeze. Dinner and a walk would be great.

Harry’s reply came almost instantly.

Harry: Pick you up at 7?

Marianne laughed softly to herself, leaning back into the couch as she typed her response.

Marianne: I’ll be the one in the ugly Christmas sweater.

Harry bit his lip, shaking his head.

Harry: I’ll be the one in black.

As Harry set his phone down on the nightstand, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. The faint glow of the sun trying to peak from behind the grey clouds outside his window cast long shadows across the room, but his thoughts were nowhere near the cold night or the city beyond. Instead, they lingered on Marianne—her laugh, the sparkle in her eyes, the way she’d somehow made him feel less like a cynic and more like someone who might just believe in the magic of the season again.

He stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling with a contented sigh.

Christmas had always been something he tolerated rather than celebrated, a time of year that often felt more like a reminder of what was missing. But now, as he thought about seeing her again in just a few short hours, the easy way they fit into each other's company, he couldn’t help but chuckle softly to himself.

For the first time in a long time, Christmas didn’t feel like a burden. It felt like a beginning.

[valacre]

: ̗̀➛ A Merry Tradition Filled with Longing and Warmth

Optimus Prime x Reader - transformers prime

You were practically bouncing as you walked back and forth from your parked car, humming and grinning as boxes were loaded out. You’d refused help, saying that you had arms and legs for a reason and that they’d fall off if you didn’t use them. A quick reassuring to both him and Ratchet later affirmed that that wouldn’t be the case, you’d just been silly, as you’d said.

Still, he couldn’t help but notice the knowing glances his team sent his way, their optics shining brightly as they attempted to stave off their smiles.

When he caught them looking, they’d glance towards you. He did the same.

You were often jolly, all smiles and soft words, but you did look different today. Your car was dripping with melting snow, and your long red hat with white patterns and woollen puff hanging at the end glittered slightly with melting remnants of ice crystals. Your jacket was blue, also with white details, and your winter boots were bright red—oh. Realisation dawned upon him as he stared openly, optics widening slightly as his spark jumped. You were covered from head to foot in his colours.

His optics met your eyes, and you were grinning at him, rosy cheeks growing redder as you finished setting down the last box from your car.

You’d done it on purpose.

Optimus had to look away, though there was no mistaking the small smile upon his face plates.

The trail of thoughts that were filled with you, beautiful and adorable all the same, did not meet any resistance as he subtly glanced back over at you again, watching you as you rolled out a red carpet onto the platform you and the kids often stayed at. You were preparing to surprise Jack, Miko, and Rafael with a Christmas-decorated space for them to enjoy during this cheerful month, so you were going to spend the night at the base – something you occasionally liked to do anyway.

Ratchet had mildly complained at first but had grown flustered and had to turn away as you’d beamed at him instead, telling him how much you were looking forward to spending this festive season with him and the others. You had a unique way of wiggling your way into Ratchet’s spark, and Optimus admired you for that.

You’d done the same with all of them, but more so with him. It was no secret to himself that his feelings had turned from charmed to adoring in too quick of a time, but he’d been too late to notice it. Too late to stop himself from letting it get too far. Then again, he wasn’t sure if he’d wanted to stop it at all.

The warmth that spread throughout him whenever you were near was comforting and as soft as you, but the longing that accompanied it did little to soothe him. He ached to hold you near, to let himself stare without shame, and to gently press his face plates against your soft body.

Those thoughts were for him alone, he couldn’t possibly ever reveal them, but the urge to let it all out whenever you smiled up at him… It was becoming more difficult as the days passed. He would manage it, of course, he was a Prime, after all, but it didn’t mean that it would be easy.

You turned to look at him, garland in hand as you set to prepare for hours of decorating.

“I hope you won’t be too busy today. I’d love to have you around for company,” you said, smiling shyly despite the open declaration.

Optimus could feel the optics of his team turn to him, but he did not look back at them, instead, he kept his optics fixed on you; you, who were surrounded by glittering ornaments and golden detailing. You looked like a lovely piece of art, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“It would be an honour to aid you in your decorating, (y/n),” said he, and the shine that seemed to appear in your eyes as your smile widened helped ease the longing in his spark; for now.

[justanotherfluffreader]

what happens at the sleepover, may not stay at the sleepover

-- in which you let your new friends in on a secret... and xiangli yao hears something he wasn't meant to --

characters -> xiangli yao x gn!reader (ft. chixia, yangyang, baizhi) <-

content -> fluff, lowkey pining <-

warnings -> may be ooc (i only read main questline + moonchasing festival), minor spoilers for moonchasing festival quests, cursing (1 time) <-

wc -> 0.9k <-

a/n -> a random writing i wanted to do to celebrate the moonchasing festival + release of my favorite robot guy :) | reader is a rover insert <-

4:13 AM / Baizhi's apartment / Jinzhou, Huanglong

"Soooooo..." your red-haired friend started, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. You, Yangyang, Chixia, and Baizhi were sprawled out on the floor of Baizhi's bedroom. After hours of laughing, chatting, and typical sleepover activities, the four of you were almost ready to sleep. The sun was going to be up in just over an hour, but a certain Patroller was still full of energy. "Any of you.. ya'know, interested in anyone lately?"

As she said this, you felt a suspiciously sharp gaze coming from across the room. You picked your head up from your pillow, just in time to see Baizhi's eyes shift to stare at the ceiling.

"Hey, what was that about?" you asked, half-joking, but half-serious. "Have something you want to share with the group?"

She shivered. "Please, don't ever say that again. You sounded just like my old professor at the Academy just now."

The four of you laughed, but there was just one thought going through your mind. "Does she know...?"

"Oh, come on! I'm sure at least one of you has your eye on somebody... Yangyang?"

"Um... nobody in particular." Despite having "nobody in mind", her face flushed and a light pink began to appear on her cheeks. Nevertheless, Yangyang had always been somewhat secretive when it came to romance, so you decided to just let her be.

"Baizhi? C'mon, we all saw that look you gave Y/N."

Her long, black hair seemed to ripple as she fervently shook her head. "Don't tell me you're serious. I spend most of my time at the Academy, and falling for a co-worker is just asking for trouble. Besides, there aren't any good options there anyways."

You could feel your eye twitch slightly at her last words. "No good options? Are you sure?"

"Seems like our dear Y/N begs to differ. Go on, surely there must be someone you've got your eye on?" Chixia egged you on.

You sighed. "Fine... if you insist. Have you met Xiangli Yao?"

"WHAT???" the others looked at you in shock, almost screaming.

You looked absolutely mortified. "Keep it down! You're going to wake people up!"

"...He's good, right?"

"You mean the Principal Investigator? How do you know him?" Yangyang wondered aloud.

"Ohh, I get it. Wasn't he that guy you kept talking to at the festival?" Chixia reasoned.

"Yeah... we did meet at the festival. We've been talking for the past few days, and he's been so sweet and caring. He's gentle, and smart, and his voice is so soothing, not to mention his looks..."

You went on and on, and the other three exchanged a knowing glance.

"Oh Y/N... you're so in love with him."

Realizing how much you had been talking, you could feel heat rushing to your cheeks.

"Fuck." You put your head in your hands. "I really do love him."

4:25 AM / Xiangli Yao's apartment / Jinzhou, Huanglong

Finally, it was time for Xiangli Yao to go to sleep. Working on a new research paper, he had been working almost entirely through the night, and by the time he realized the time it was too late to take more than a long nap.

He yawned, shuffling over to the other side of his bedroom to turn off the lights. Sliding into bed, he closed his eyes and prepared to rest. All of a sudden, he heard a shriek from the room below him.

"WHAT???"

...Hm. One of those voices sounded familiar, and that was when it hit him. The room above him belonged to Baizhi, a fellow researcher at the Academy. More importantly to him, though, was that she was one of your close friends since your arrival in Jinzhou. Worried, he sat up, debating whether or not to go check up on her.

"These walls are definitely thin... likely not a sign of danger, Jinzhou is rather safe, perhaps just shock? But at what?"

He would have just gone right back to sleep, had he not heard your voice.

"Keep it down! You're going to wake people up!"

Oh, your voice. He loved the way you spoke, from sweet, rich tone of your voice to the way you pronounced every syllable. Even then, your panicked voice sounded the way honey tastes.

He was intrigued. As much as he scolded himself for being too nosy, he desperately wanted-- no, needed-- to know what sounded like a secret of yours.

Gently pressing his ear to the floor, he tried to listen for a hint as to what you were discussing in the room below.

"...the Principal Investigator?"

That was the moment he realized that you were talking about him. The researcher pushed his head closer into the floor. He reasoned that if you were talking about him, secretly, then perhaps...

Perhaps he really would have a chance.

All throughout the Moon-chasing Festival, you had been by his side, helping him uncover the meaning of people's wishes, including his own. Maybe it was the time you had spent together, or the fact that you now knew so much about him and his life, but he couldn't help but be attracted to you.

He listened closely, pink spreading across his face and heart racing as he heard you ramble about everything about him. By the end of it, Xiangli Yao was lying on the floor with a huge grin on his face.

"Oh, Y/N... if only you knew. I'm in love with you, too."

Part 2? lmk

as always thanks for reading <3