#Christmas Theme Coffee Mug

[mycoolapparel]

https://backdropqueen.etsy.com

Ceramic Mug 11oz, 15oz,Personalised Christmas Mug,Secret Santa,Gingerbread House,Festive Drinkware,Christmas Gift,Holiday Mug,Coffee Cup,Kids

Warm-up with a nice cuppa out of this customized ceramic coffee mug. Personalize it with cool designs, photos or logos to make that "aaahhh!" moment even better. It’s BPA and Lead-free, microwave & dishwasher-safe, and made of white, durable ceramic in 11-ounce and 15-ounce sizes. Thanks to the advanced printing tech, your designs come to life with incredibly vivid colors – the perfect gift for coffee, tea, and chocolate lovers. .: Available in two sizes: 11oz (0.33 l) and 15oz (0.44 l) .: All mugs feature a comfortable C-handle and a shiny finish so that they're both easy to use and great to look at. .: Drink confidently on a daily basis as all mugs are lead and BPA-free.

https://backdropqueen.etsy.com

[yourcoffeeguru]

Summer River Collectible Ceramic Mug w Matching Decorative Box Christmas Theme || SWtradepost - ebay

[brunchable]

Christmas Present | B. B.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x F! Reader Themes: Christmas Meet-Ugly, forced proximity, enemies-to-lovers(ish), rom-com Summary: You and Bucky are fighting over the last deluxe holiday gift set. The petty bickering escalates into a full-blown argument in front of shocked holiday shoppers, causing store security to intervene. As punishment, the frazzled guard handcuffs you together in the security office until you both "calm down." A/N : This oneshot is part of my 4K Follower christmas themed celebration. I hope you enjoy this first one! Thank you so much for reading my stories! Dividers by @saradika-graphics

It was supposed to be a quick trip. Grab the deluxe toy train set, pay, and leave. That was the plan. But life had other plans, and those plans came in the shape of a six-foot something man with a smirk as sharp as the jawline above it.

You reached for the last box on the shelf—your prize, your golden ticket, the sole reason you braved the chaos of twenty-third shoppers.

"Excuse me, I believe I was here first," you said sweetly, gripping the box.

"Excuse you, sweetheart," the man countered, one metal hand already gripping the other end of the box. "I had my eye on this before you decided to swoop in like some holiday vulture."

"Holiday vulture?!" you spat, yanking the box closer to your chest. "I don’t see your name on it, Terminator."

He raised an eyebrow, leaning in just enough to make you flinch. “Name’s Bucky, not Terminator. And I’d be happy to write it on the box for you... after I take it home.”

“Not happening,” you hissed, tugging harder. The box creaked ominously under the strain.

“Let go,” he growled.

“You let go!”

By now, a crowd of amused onlookers had formed, phones out, capturing every moment like a live-action reality show. One kid shouted, “Go lady! You’ve got this!” while a woman in a reindeer sweater whispered, “This is better than The Bachelor.”

“Look, lady,” Bucky said through gritted teeth, “I don’t want to ruin Christmas for you—”

“Oh, really? That’s what this feels like!”

“But my friend’s kid specifically asked for this,” he finished, as if that were a valid excuse.

You rolled your eyes. “Well, so did my niece. And unlike you, I didn’t wait until the last minute to shop.”

“Your cart’s full of candles!” he shot back, pointing to your precariously stacked haul.

You gasped, scandalized. “They’re scented candles and they make great gifts! Not that you’d understand.”

“I understand they’re not as hard to find as this!” he said, gesturing wildly to the now-doomed train set.

The tug-of-war escalated, your battle waging in the aisle of festive chaos. The crowd grew, complete with commentary.

“Bet five bucks on the lady!”

“Ten on the guy with the arm!”

And then—CRASH. The box tore clean down the middle, spilling its contents across the floor. Tiny train cars scattered like shrapnel, and a miniature conductor figure flew into a nearby stroller, making the baby cry.

Gasps echoed through the store as you and Bucky froze, still clutching your respective halves. Somewhere in the distance, someone yelled, “SANTA WOULDN’T APPROVE!”

A whistle cut through the air. “Alright, break it up, you two!”

You turned to find a middle-aged security guard glaring at you like an exhausted babysitter. His name tag read “Carl,” and he looked about one tantrum away from quitting.

“We were just—”

“I don’t care!” Carl snapped, his moustache twitching with barely contained rage. “Both of you. Security office. Now.”

The security office smelled like stale coffee and regret. You sat handcuffed to Bucky, who, despite his protests, looked far too comfortable with the situation.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered, yanking futilely on the cuffs. “We’re adults!”

“Debatable,” Carl deadpanned, sipping from his 'World’s Best Grandpa' mug. “You two are staying cuffed until you learn how to act like it.”

“I’m not a criminal!” you protested.

“Not what the footage shows,” Carl replied, spinning his chair to reveal the grainy security camera feed of you and Bucky mid-squabble. The freeze-frame of you squawking like a bird while clutching a toy train in a death grip was particularly unflattering.

“I’m offended on her behalf,” Bucky said with a smirk, leaning back in his chair.

“Oh, shut it,” you hissed, elbowing him.

“You’re the one who tore the box!”

“You’re the one with the metal arm. That thing’s basically a wrecking ball!”

Carl slammed his mug down. 

“Enough!” He massaged his temples like a teacher on their last day before retirement. “You’re staying here until I feel confident you won’t burn the store down.”

“Burn the store down?” you repeated, aghast, throwing your hands in the air as much as the cuffs allowed.

“Trust me, I’ve seen worse,” Carl muttered, eyeing both of you like feral raccoons fighting over a sandwich. With an exhausted sigh, he locked the door behind him and muttered something about “needing a damn coffee break,” leaving you and Bucky alone in the tiny, overheated room.

The silence that followed was so oppressive it felt like the room had shrunk. Only the faint, mocking jingle of Jingle Bells played faintly from the store’s speakers as you and Bucky sat shoulder-to-shoulder, stewing.

Bucky, apparently unable to sit still, started bouncing his knee—a rapid, relentless motion that made your entire chair vibrate like a washing machine on spin cycle.

“Stop that,” you snapped, glaring at him.

“Stop what?” he asked innocently, his knee bouncing harder.

“Your leg,” you hissed. “The whole chair is shaking! Are you trying to make me seasick?”

His lips twitched, clearly enjoying your misery. “It’s a free country.”

“Not for your knee, it’s not!”

“Well, maybe I wouldn’t be bouncing my knee if I wasn’t chained to someone with candle obsession issues,” he shot back.

“Oh, that’s rich coming from the guy who went full WWE over a toy train set!”

“You’re the one who tore it in half, lady!” he said, pointing accusingly.

“I was fighting for my family’s honor,” you retorted dramatically, crossing your arms as much as you could.

“You mean your candles.”

“It’s called being thoughtful, you Grinch impersonator!”

His knee bounced harder, and you grabbed his leg in desperation, making him pause. “Seriously, stop! I’m going to throw up, and then you’ll really regret this.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop. But only because you look like you might actually hurl, and I don’t need Carl coming back and cuffing me to the radiator this time.”

“So,” Bucky continued after a beat of silence, “Do you always fight strangers over train sets, or is today special?”

You glared at him. “Do you always shop last minute and ruin people’s holidays, or is that your side gig?”

He snorted. “Ruining holidays? That’s harsh. I’m saving them.”

“By what? Sabotaging shoppers?”

“By making sure my best friend’s kid gets the one thing he asked for,” Bucky replied, voice softening slightly.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. 

“Okay, that’s… kind of sweet,” you admitted reluctantly.

“What about you?” he asked. “Candles for everyone?”

“No,” you mumbled. “The train set was for my niece. She’s… had a tough year.”

Bucky nodded, silence enveloping the two of you yet again, the tinny chorus of Frosty the Snowman blared overhead, and the absurdity of your situation finally hit you. You started giggling, and to your surprise, so did he.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, still grinning.

“This,” you said between laughs. “This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever been part of.”

“Right,” he agreed, laughing harder.

For the first time since being forced to sit there, you weren’t arguing. Well, unless you counted arguing about whose laugh was uglier.

Carl finally returned, jangling the keys like a janitor who had seen too much. His Santa hat was slightly askew, and his mustache twitched with a mix of frustration and exhaustion. He looked like someone’s adorable grandpa who had just been told the grandkids set fire to the Christmas tree.

“Alright, you two,” he grumbled, unlocking the cuffs. “You’re free. But before you go…”

He planted his hands on his hips, his gut straining against his red vest, and glared at you like you’d just stolen cookies from the jar. 

“I’ve been doing this job for fifteen years, and let me tell you, I’ve seen a lot of nonsense. But this—” he waved a hand between you and Bucky “—takes the fruitcake. Grown adults fighting over a toy train set like it’s the last turkey on Earth? Really?”

You started to open your mouth to argue, but Carl cut you off with a stern wag of his finger.

“No, no. Don’t even try to explain. You’re both guilty. Guilty of being Christmas disasters. And you…” he pointed at Bucky, his stubby finger trembling with indignation. “You’re what? Pushing 40? Shouldn’t you know better?”

That’s when Bucky’s lips twitched. And twitched again. And suddenly, he was laughing. Not just chuckling—a full-on, shoulder-shaking laugh that echoed through the tiny room.

Carl’s mustache twitched in annoyance. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said between gasps for air, “but… I’m being lectured by someone who looks like Santa’s understudy.” He wiped a tear from his eye. “You’re like a cute little Christmas elf—just missing the pointy shoes.”

Carl’s face turned as red as his vest. “I am not cute!” he barked.

“You kinda are,” Bucky said, grinning.

You smacked his arm. “Stop antagonizing him!”

But even you couldn’t suppress a giggle as Carl threw his hands in the air. “You know what? I’m done. Get out. Both of you. Before I call other mall security and have you escorted out by the Grinch Squad.”

Bucky saluted dramatically. “Merry Christmas, Carl!”

Carl muttered something about needing a stiff eggnog and waddled back to his desk, leaving you and Bucky to stumble out of the security office.

“Well, that was fun,” you deadpanned, starting to walk away, only to stop when Bucky called out.

“Wait! Hey!”

You turned, eyebrows raised. “What? Did you leave your dignity back there?”

He ignored the jab, shoving his hands into his pockets. For the first time since the ordeal started, he actually looked... awkward.

“I, uh… was just wondering what you’re doing after this.”

You blinked at him, genuinely caught off guard. “What am I doing? Are you serious?”

“Yeah, serious,” he said with a little shrug, his smirk less cocky and more boyish now. “You’re, uh… funny. And kind of cute, when you’re not threatening to strangle me over toy trains.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed. 

“This—” you gestured dramatically between you both “—is the foundation of your flirting strategy? Chaos, insults, and shared custody of a train set?”

“Worked, didn’t it?” he teased, grinning now.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I just spent an hour handcuffed to you while debating whether or not to throw you out a window, and now you want to… hang out?”

“Why not?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, like this was the most reasonable suggestion in the world.

“Because this is ridiculous!” you exclaimed. “I barely know you, we’re still enemies by all accounts, and—”

“You haven’t said no,” he interrupted, cutting you off with a pointed look.

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Damn him and his stupid smirk.

Finally, you sighed, half-laughing at the sheer absurdity. “Fine. But if this turns into another wrestling match over a menu, I’m walking out.”

“Sure,” he said, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “Whatever you want.”

As you both walked out of the office areas and back to the mall, you muttered under your breath, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Believe it, sweetheart,” he said, falling into step beside you. “And next time? Maybe we’ll skip the handcuffs… unless you’re into that.”

You glared at him, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you, curving into an unwilling smile. Maybe chaos wasn’t such a bad foundation after all.

The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, illuminating the room as Bucky groggily reached for the remote. Still half-asleep, he flicked on the TV, more out of habit than interest. The morning show’s upbeat jingle played, and he squinted at the screen, his brain catching up to the cheerful voices of the two hosts.

“—and now, for what might be the most hilarious Christmas shopping moment caught on camera!” the female host announced, barely suppressing her laughter.

Her co-host, a grinning man in a Santa tie, chimed in, “Oh, this is a good one. Forget Hallmark—this is real-life rom-com material, folks. Roll the clip!”

Bucky froze mid-stretch as the screen transitioned to shaky footage of himself and you, locked in a dramatic tug-of-war over the train set in the middle of the toy aisle. The commentary from the crowd was clear as day.

“Go lady! You’ve got this!”

“Ten bucks on the guy with the metal arm!”

“Oh, no,” Bucky muttered, sitting up straighter, dread pooling in his stomach.

The video jumped to the box tearing in half, scattering train pieces like confetti, followed by the baby wailing and someone shouting, “SANTA WOULDN’T APPROVE!”

The hosts erupted into laughter.

“Okay, okay,” the woman said, wiping a tear from her eye. “I’m calling it now—this is the meet-cute of the decade. I can hear the Hallmark writers typing this into a script.”

Her co-host nodded vigorously. “Absolutely. Two strangers, both fighting for the same toy on the eve of Christmas eve—classic enemies-to-lovers setup.”

They both howled with laughter as the clip transitioned to grainy security footage of you and Bucky cuffed together, bickering like an old married couple.

“And this is where the movie writes itself,” the man said, pointing to the screen. “They’re forced to spend time together, cuffed in the security office. Sparks fly. Cue the heartwarming ending!”

The woman leaned toward the camera, her expression conspiratorial. “So, the real question is… did they exchange numbers? Did they get coffee? Did they—”

Bucky groaned and buried his face in his hands as his phone buzzed on the nightstand. He grabbed it, flipping it over to see a message from Sam:

Sam: Congratulations, you’re famous. 

A second message immediately followed:

Sam: Also, what happened next? Don’t leave me hanging! Did you at least get her number?

Bucky tossed his phone onto the bed with a groan, only for it to buzz again. This time it was Steve:

Steve: They’re right. This does sound like the start of a love story. Please tell me you didn’t blow it.

“Unbelievable,” Bucky muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face as the TV hosts continued speculating.

“What do we think, folks?” the male host asked, gesturing dramatically. “Should we start a Twitter campaign to find out what happened next? I need closure!”

“Absolutely!” the female host replied. “If you’re watching this, toy train couple, please—reach out. America is invested.”

“I’m never leaving the house again.” Bucky groaned louder, sinking into the pillows. 

His phone buzzed again.

Sam: Famous AND trending. Look at you.

Bucky grabbed a pillow and smothered his face with it, his muffled voice barely audible: “I hate Christmas.”

He sighed and shifted, his pillow falling to the floor—he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head, his irritation melted away as he looked to his right, where your figure was still peacefully curled under the covers. Your hair was a mess from the night before, your cheek pressed against the pillow in a way that made you look adorably innocent—though Bucky distinctly remembered you weren’t so innocent a few hours ago.

A small, satisfied smirk tugged at his lips. He let out a breath, shaking his head as he muttered to himself, “Actually. . . Maybe I don’t hate it too much.”

tags: @lomlbuckybarnes @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @winterslove1917 @hzdhrtss @mostlymarvelgirl

@missvelvetsstuff @unaxv @carnal-vogue @bmyva1entine @wheredidiputmyfish

@thereoncewasagirlnamedjane @wanda-widow @filmologetica @awaywithtime @Thealyrs

@greatenthusiasttidalwave @winchestert101 @strawberrybisou @unaxv @asgards-princess-of-mischief

@fynnwolff @Janonymus0 @veronicapaula

[rosemariiaa]

~A Family Christmas Eve~

˖˙ ᰋ ── pairing: Paige x Azzi

˖˙ ᰋ ── rosie’s note: okkk, i loved the prompts in my inbox but i had two that were my favs so i out those together, i live for pazzi as moms omgg! but sadly this is the last oneshot until after a few chapter of HS, which should be coming out soon hah.. anyway happy reading lovelies 💌

˖˙ ᰋ ── theme: fluff

enjoy!!!

The living room is alive with the warm glow of Christmas lights reflecting off the shiny ornaments scattered on the coffee table. The smell of pine mingles with hints of hot chocolate from the kitchen, and the faint sounds of Christmas music play in the background. Azzi is kneeling in front of the couch, wrestling a tiny red pajama set onto a squirming two-year-old who has ideas of her own.

“Evie,” Azzi says patiently, holding up the pajama top. “Arms up, baby. Come on.”

Evie, soft curls framing her round face and lips set in a pout, crosses her arms instead. “Cookies,” she declares firmly, her voice carrying the kind of conviction only a toddler can manage.

Azzi sighs, sitting back on her heels and glancing toward the bedroom door. “Paige!” she calls out, clearly trying not to laugh.

“What?” Paige yells back from the living room.

“Your daughter’s holding me hostage,” Azzi shouts, her voice light but full of mock frustration.

Evie gasps dramatically. “Not hotage!” she insists, her little face scrunching up in indignation.

Paige appears in the doorway, her blonde hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, wearing a matching red pajama set. Her grin is immediate as she takes in the sight of Azzi kneeling on the floor and Evie sitting on the bed, stubbornly bare-armed. “What’s the problem?” Paige asks, crossing her arms.

“She won’t let me get her dressed because she wants to bake cookies right now,” Azzi explains, giving Paige a helpless look.

Evie points a tiny finger at Azzi. “Cookies now, Mama!”

Paige bites back a laugh and crouches to Evie’s level, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “Okay, Evie,” she says, her voice conspiratorial. “How about this—if you let Mama get you dressed, I’ll let you pick the first ornament for the tree. Deal?”

Evie narrows her eyes, clearly weighing her options before finally relenting with a dramatic sigh. “Fine,” she says, lifting her arms.

Azzi mutters a quiet “thank you” under her breath as she slips the pajama top over Evie’s head.

Just as they’re finishing, the sound of loud banging echoes from the front door. Paige groans, standing up quickly. “Oh my God. Who’s about to break our house down?”

Azzi stands, scooping Evie into her arms, the little girl’s curls bouncing as she giggles. “I have a guess,” Azzi says, smirking.

Paige opens the door to find the entire team—Caroline, KK, Ice, Morgan, Yanna, Sarah, Nika, and Amari—crowded on the porch in matching Christmas sweaters and grinning like maniacs.

“Twin!” Nika shouts, barging in first to give Paige a huge hug that nearly knocks her over.

“You can’t just—” Paige starts, but before she can finish, the rest of the team is pouring into the house, hugging both her and Azzi, and exclaiming over how festive everything looks.

“Where’s the star of the show?” Ice asks, looking around dramatically.

As if on cue, Evie wiggles out of Azzi’s arms and bolts toward Ice. “Auntie Icey!” she yells, throwing herself at Ice, who catches her with practiced ease.

“There she is!” Ice says, spinning Evie around.

The room quickly turns into a loud, chaotic swirl of hugs and laughter. Caroline helps Evie unwrap a candy cane, KK heads straight for the snacks Paige left out on the counter, and Amari spots the tree and claps her hands. “Alright, where do we start?”

“Nika, you’re slacking,” Azzi teases as Nika sits on the couch, already holding a mug of hot chocolate. “I thought you were her favorite.”

“I am her favorite,” Nika retorts, holding out her arms. “Right, Evie? Come to Auntie Nika.”

Evie scrambles out of Ice’s arms and runs to Nika, who picks her up and holds her close. “Told you,” Nika says smugly, sticking her tongue out at Azzi.

“Rah!” Evie says suddenly, spotting Sarah next.

Sarah grins, holding out her hand for a high five. “What’s up, Evie girl?”

“Moogan,” Evie says, pointing at the brunette, her small brow furrowed.

Morgan crouches down with a patient smile. “Mooorgan,” she says slowly, exaggerating the sounds. “Can you say it?”

“Moooo-gin,” Evie tries, frowning when it doesn’t come out right.

“It’s okay, baby,” Azzi teases, stepping forward and resting a hand on Morgan’s shoulder. “Morgan’s just the least favorite, anyway.”

“Wow, Fudd,” Morgan deadpans, narrowing her eyes as the group bursts into laughter.

Paige bites back a grin, watching Morgan attempt to recover her pride as Evie plants a soft kiss on her cheek to make up for it. “See? She loves you,” Paige says through her laughter. “You’re just not Nika.”

“None of us are,” Ice chimes in, throwing a fake glare at Nika, who’s still smugly cuddling Evie like a prized trophy.

“Alright, alright,” Azzi interrupts with a laugh, clapping her hands. “We still have a tree to decorate, stockings to hang, and yes,” she shoots a look at Evie, “cookies to bake.”

“Cookies!” Evie squeals excitedly, squirming until Nika sets her down. She dashes toward the kitchen, only to be intercepted by Caroline.

“Hold up, Evie. Ornaments first,” Caroline says, scooping her up and spinning her around.

Paige watches it all unfold with a fond smile, her arms crossed as she leans against the wall. She and Azzi have hosted team gatherings before, but this—everyone together, laughing, filling their home with chaos and love—this feels different. It feels special.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Azzi murmurs, stepping up beside her and bumping Paige’s shoulder lightly.

Paige turns her head, grinning. “Just thinking about how lucky we are. Look at this.” She gestures at the scene in front of them—KK and Amari tangled in lights, Sarah sorting ornaments while Ice takes an entire strand of garland for herself like a scarf, and Morgan carefully helping Evie pick the first ornament for the tree.

Azzi follows Paige’s gaze, her lips curving into a soft smile. “Yeah. We are lucky.”

“Also, you should’ve named her Christmas Eve,” Paige jokes, nudging Azzi again. “Because then it’d be Evie on Christmas Eve.”

Azzi groans, rolling her eyes. “Paige, that joke was awful.”

“No, no, it’s brilliant,” Paige insists, grinning even wider. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong,” Azzi deadpans, but there’s no hiding the affectionate gleam in her eyes.

Before Paige can respond, Evie toddles over to them with an ornament clutched in her hand—a glittery silver star. “Mommy, Mama, look!”

Paige crouches down, holding out her hand so Evie can proudly place the star in her palm. “Perfect choice, baby,” she says, ruffling the little girl’s curls.

“Hey, Eve,” Nika calls from the couch. “Can I pick the next ornament?”

“No!” Evie says immediately, turning to look at her auntie with wide, scandalized eyes.

The entire room erupts in laughter, and Paige scoops Evie into her arms, peppering kisses on her cheeks. “Don’t worry, baby, you’re in charge tonight.”

Azzi watches them with a soft look on her face, her heart swelling at the sight of Paige laughing with their daughter. It’s loud and chaotic and entirely imperfect, but it’s theirs—this is home.

Just then, Evie runs to the window and presses her small hands against the glass. “Mama, Mommy! Deer!” she shouts excitedly, pointing outside.

Azzi and Paige exchange a surprised glance, walking over to the window just in time to see a small herd of deer grazing in their front yard, the snow lightly dusting their backs. The scene is serene, almost magical against the Christmas lights twinkling around their home.

“Well, looks like Santa’s helpers are here early,” Paige says with a grin.

Evie’s eyes light up. “Deers! Santa’s deers!”

Azzi wraps her arm around Paige’s waist, leaning in to whisper, “This is the Christmas magic I wanted for her.”

“Me too,” Paige replies softly, her voice filled with emotion as she pulls Evie into her arms, kissing the top of her head.

As the night goes on, the team makes themselves at home in every corner of the house. The tree gets decorated, stockings are hung, and the smell of cookies soon fills the kitchen as Evie proudly stands on a stepstool, helping Sarah and Caroline cut out shapes from the dough.

Paige sneaks a piece of cookie dough when Azzi isn’t looking, only to get swatted on the arm when she’s caught.

“Mommy!” Evie scolds, her little brows furrowed. “No eat dough.”

“Yeah, Mommy,” Azzi adds, giving Paige a pointed look.

“Traitors,” Paige mutters under her breath, though she can’t stop the grin tugging at her lips.

As the chaos swirls, Paige’s eyes narrow slightly as Morgan subtly nudges Azzi toward the dining room. “Az, can you help me for a second? These lights are tangled, and it’s a disaster.”

Azzi frowns, clearly suspicious. “Why can’t you ask KK or Amari?”

“They’ll just laugh at me,” Morgan says, pouting. “Come on, teamwork.”

Paige watches them disappear, her smirk growing as she turns back to the group. “Alright, you guys have five minutes, tops.”

“Five minutes to what?” Caroline asks, already grinning as Ice pulls a roll of wrapping paper out from behind the couch.

“To wrap Paige as Azzi’s present,” KK says gleefully, tearing a piece of tape with her teeth.

“Not this again, that’s not what we talked about,” Paige groans. “I swear—”

“Shut up it’s tradition,” Ice insists. “The wives have to be presents.”

“It’s dumb,” Paige grumbles, even as Nika swoops in to lift Evie. “Evie, do you want to help wrap Mommy?”

Evie gasps, her little hands clapping together. “Mommy’s a pwesent?!”

“Yep,” Nika confirms, pulling Evie into her lap with the red ribbon in hand. “Special delivery for Mama Azzi.”

“Traitors,” Paige mutters as Caroline and Amari start clearing space, KK expertly lining up wrapping paper. “Every single one of you.”

“You’ll survive,” Ice grins, pulling Paige toward the center of the room.

—————

Meanwhile, in the dining room, Azzi is watching Morgan fiddle pointlessly with a string of lights. “I still don’t understand why you needed—”

“Almost done!” Morgan blurts out nervously. “Just—wait here for a second, okay?”

Azzi squints at her suspiciously. “You’re stalling.”

Morgan flashes an awkward smile. “Team spirit?”

Azzi mutters under her breath as Morgan blocks the doorway again, a little too obviously.

Back in the living room, Paige stands awkwardly, her arms wrapped tightly against her body under crinkled red and white paper. Ice slaps a giant bow onto her shoulder while KK sticks the finishing tag to Paige’s chest. In wobbly toddler letters, it reads: “To Mama, From Mommy.”

“Perfect,” Caroline says, grinning at her work.

“Azzi’s gonna kill you,” Paige mutters as Evie bounces excitedly.

Amari peeks toward the dining room. “She’s coming back! Get ready.”

The lights dim slightly, and Evie squeals in anticipation as the team scurries into position.

Morgan finally gives up and pushes Azzi toward the doorway. “Go see your surprise.”

Azzi steps into the living room, freezing as her gaze lands on Paige—fully wrapped, ribbon-tied, and looking both annoyed and amused. “What… is happening?”

“Merry Christmas, Mama!” Evie cries gleefully, pointing at Paige. “Mommy’s pwesent!”

The team bursts into laughter as Paige shuffles forward, the paper crackling loudly. “Your wife is the best gift you’ll ever get.”

Azzi blinks, then breaks into a soft, helpless laugh. “Oh my God. You guys did this?”

Evie scrambles over to hug Paige’s leg, her little arms patting the paper. “Mommy’s pwetty,” she declares proudly.

Azzi walks over, shaking her head as she cups Paige’s face. “You’re ridiculous.”

Paige smirks. “So… do you like your gift?”

Azzi leans in, pressing a quick kiss to Paige’s lips. “I think I’ll keep you.”

The team erupts into cheers, Evie clapping happily as Paige grins triumphantly. “Told you I was the best gift.”

“Wrapped and all,” Azzi teases softly, her gaze warm as she takes in the chaotic scene of their family. “Merry Christmas, P.”

Paige’s smile softens, her voice equally tender. “Merry Christmas, Az.”

—————

˖˙ ᰋ ── taglist:

@thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @juspeaks @sierrale8ne @imaginespazzi @makethemhoesmad @kmoneymartini @pazzilover101 @starlighttsv @lupinqs @absolutelydreadful @ashortyluvsports @melpthatsme @d3arapril @heyitssells

[roosterforme]

The Younger Kind Part 63 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: The arrival of the fourth member of the royal family means that Noah gets to meet his little sister. He has a lot to teach her, and he's planning on starting today.

Warnings: fluff, new baby, hospital, age gap (18+)

Length: 1200 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Several months later....

You were exhausted, and everything still hurt a little bit. The best word to describe the night of sleep you just had was restless. There were nurses in and out of your room all night long, and the harsh fluorescent lights were enough to wake you up at odd times and make you wish you were at home. You could hear the faint sound of babies crying as your husband, who had curled his large body up and spent the night in the arm chair, leaned down to kiss your forehead.

"I'll go pick up Noah and bring him back to meet his sister. You want me to get you some coffee?" he whispered, letting the baby doze in the bassinet next to your bed.

"Please," you told him, tipping your head back so he could kiss you. His lips were always perfect, but there was a reverence in his touch today that left you a little breathless. 

His fingers brushed your cheek and trailed down your neck before he stood tall and paused to look at your daughter who was the most precious, tiny thing you had ever seen. Bradley's smile grew and grew as he leaned a little closer to her and adjusted the pink pacifier in her mouth. "I'll be back with your brother," he told her, and then with one more kiss pressed to your forehead, he made his way out of the room to get Noah from Penny's house.

You sighed and stretched out in the bed, letting your gaze skim the placard that was affixed to the bassinet.

Noelle Bradshaw

Born: April 22nd

Length: 19 inches

Weight: 6 pounds, 14 ounces

"I love you." Your whisper was soft, but you watched her squirm a little bit in response. Part of you wanted her to wake up again so you could hold her, but you knew that she was probably as tired as you were. The Christmas theme of her name would always make you and Bradley smile, and you fell in love with it as soon as he first mentioned it to you. The theme for her nursery was purple watercolor flowers, but you made sure there was a pretty green pine tree painted on the back of her door. 

You felt yourself starting to doze while you waited for your boys to come back, and just as you heard Noelle start to stir, the door opened slowly. "Mommy!" Noah called out, running right past the bassinet and his sister with a gift bag in his hand. He climbed up onto the bed near your feet as Bradley shut the door behind him with a coffee cup in his hand. 

"Be careful, Bub. Mommy is really tired," he said softly, but you already had Noah snuggled up at your side, and he was pulling a mug from inside the bag.

"Me and Daddy got you this for your coffee, but you can still use the other ones at home, too."

"Thank you, sweet Noah," you told him, kissing his head as you read the purple mug which said Noah and Noelle's Mommy. "It's perfect. Are you ready to meet her?"

"Of course," he said with a casual shrug, but when Bradley scooped up the wriggling newborn, Noah's eyes lit up. "She's so little."

You watched as Bradley held her close, his nose bumping her much smaller one playfully as he whispered her name. She really��was so little. Even the pink cap on her head was dwarfed by his hand as he cradled her and kept her safe. You sipped your French vanilla coffee and ruffled Noah's hair as Bradley said, "Little Duchess Noelle," while he knelt next to the bed with her in his arms. "Meet your big brother, Prince Noah." 

Your son was so gentle as he reached for his sister, it made you gasp as tears filled your eyes. He'd been waiting months, asking about her every day, and now his tiny best friend was here. You watched as she pulled her hand free from her swaddle and reached out to him.

"Hi," Noah whispered, and sure enough her little fingers wrapped around his thumb, and he watched in wonder as she yawned. "Hi, Noelle."

"I think she loves you the most," Bradley said with a grin in your direction. "I'm just a peasant, obsessed with my royal family."

You shook your head before you leaned closer to him. "You're a Daddy in shining armor."

He kissed you while he laughed and held his daughter in one strong arm. He laced his fingers with yours and asked Noah, "Are you going to teach her everything you know?"

"Everything," he said, poking at her arm as she smiled at him.

"Like what?" you asked, taking another sip of your coffee.

Noah thought it through for a few seconds before he said, "Like how Daddy's not really allowed to cook anything. And what kind of snacks are the best."

Bradley groaned as you giggled. "Those are some important life lessons," you agreed. "What else?"

"Well I'll have to teach her how to feed Skittles and where all the stuff is at home."

"Yeah, Bub. You've got a lot of work ahead of you. Think you can handle it?" 

Noah was nodding as Noelle reached for his cheek while she yawned again. "Can we all go home soon?" he asked. "I really do have a lot to show her."

You and Bradley had to hold back your laughter, but you managed to say, "Hopefully we can all go home later today. But until we do, I packed you some coloring books to work on. Want to do one with Daddy while I feed Noelle?"

The four of you all ended up in the hospital bed together for a few hours. Noah worked his way through most of his books, and Noelle fell asleep again. Bradley got you anything you needed, and when it was finally time to go home, he was in full dad-mode. You watched the way he got both kids and then you situated in the Bronco. He double checked to make sure everyone was buckled in before he pulled away.

"I'll take care of everything for the next few days," he whispered as he reached for your hand. "You can rest and feed Noelle, and I'll take care of everything else."

"And then we can take care of everything together," you promised.

----------------------------

The end!

This family of four has been so much fun to write about! Thank you for joining me on this long journey! Thanks for sharing your thoughts and ideas along the way. Who knows...maybe we will see them again! Big thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls

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[misctf]

Christmas Curse

Hey everyone! Happy Holidays. If you have any holiday-themed asks, I will try to prioritize those. Hope you enjoy this story!

“Yeah, yeah Stacy, I know.” Matt grumbles, “You’ll be here soon. Got it.” He rolls his eyes, “ Jesus Stacy, I got the kids their presents. I know how to be a dad.” He hangs up, “Fuckin’ bitch.” He mumbles.

Matt yawns and starts preparing his morning coffee. He was going to need it. While he didn’t really mind having his kids over, he did hate having to see his ex-wife. Always nagging him, even after they signed the papers. It was that nagging that drove him to cheat on her with one of his clients at the gym. At least that’s how he justified it. A small frown formed on his lips as he sips his coffee.

“First Christmas since the divorce.” He mumbles, looking around his empty apartment, “Damn.” A part of him starts to feel guilty- his kids deserved better. No decorations, no tree, not even a single light, “Fuck. I won’t hear the end of this.” His thoughts return to his ex-wife.

He quickly walks to his closet where he had a few things that he got from the house after the divorce. He sighs as he realizes most of the decorations he took were broken- likely due to how unceremoniously he treated them during the move.

“Oh god.” He grimaces as he pulls out their Elf on the Shelf, “Terrifying little fucker.” He chuckles, “Yeah, you got me good, Stacy.”

It was the one decoration Stacy insisted he take in the divorce. Likely because of how much it creeped him out. Just another petty move on her part, he figured. Yet part of him can’t help but smile. His kids loved the thing.

“I guess this’ll do.” He quickly walks back to the kitchen and places it lamely on a chair.

He walks over to grab his coffee and upon turning around, he raises an eyebrow. The damn thing was on the ground. Matt walks over and quickly places it back on the chair, making sure there was no way it could fall.

“Creepy fucker.” He mumbles, turning around again.

Thump

“Really?” Matt turns back to find it on the ground again, “Seriously, what the hell?” He picks it up and looks at it closely, “Stay put.” He realizes he sounds insane- talking to an inanimate object.

“Make me.” Matt’s eyes widen as he realizes the decoration just talked to him. Its eyes blinking. Its giggles echoing in his ears.

“Gah what the fuck!?”

Matt cries out as it bites down firmly on his thumb and he throws it across the room. He stares at the small teeth marks on his thumb and watches as the little demon scurries away, its giggling filling his apartment. Matt’s breath became heavier as he stumbled to the kitchen sink and started cleaning out his cut. His thoughts were racing and he was feeling dizzy.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck...” He’s mumbling to himself, and he shakily grabs his cup of coffee.

But when the bitter liquid touches his tongue he gags and drops the mug. Its disgusting. Bitter, sour, and he spits out as much as he can. He quickly rushes to his fridge, looking for anything that might get that disgusting taste out of his mouth. But none of his protein shakes look appealing, nor does almond milk or his protein smoothies. Matt doesn’t know what compels him, but he grabs the chocolate milk he got his kids last time they visited. Without much thought, he begins to guzzle it, downing the carton in a matter of seconds.

“So good...” He giggles, wiping his mouth.

His eyes widen at the realization of what he just did. He just ruined his macros for the day without even thinking about it. At least the taste from the coffee was gone. Matt shakes his head- realizing he has bigger things to worry about. He needed to find that elf. As his thoughts return to his predicament, he can hear a giggle coming from the bedroom.

“Fudger...” Matt mumbles, “Fudger? No I meant fudger! What the fudge?” He shakes his head, trying to curse, “Sugar plums... I need to find that thINg.”

Frustrated at his inability to curse, and the strange cracking of his voice, Matt rushes to his room. Desperate to find the monster and give it back to Stacy. Of course she gave him a cursed doll. And as he storms down the hallway, he absentmindedly scratches at his beard. The hairs falling away, leaving his cheeks smooth and hairless. Unbeknownst to him, they take on a rosier complexion, filling out slightly and becoming rounder.

“ThERe you ARe.” Matt’s voice cracks as he notices the decoration sitting atop his tall dresser, “Come here.”

Matt approaches his dresser and reaches to grab it but finds his arms no longer reach the top of it. The elf grins and teases Matt, reaching out to Matt, who is unable to grab it. Just missing ever so slightly. The personal trainer is growing frustrated, now standing on his tippee toes as he desperately swats at the elf.

“Why can’t I reach it?” Matt thinks. At 6’3” he never had an issue reaching the top of the dresser.

And as he lifts his arms above his hand, he catches a whiff from his exposed pits. But it’s not his musk that invades his nostrils. No, it’s sweet. Like gingerbread and holly. He lowers his arms, not even registering that his pit hair has vanished.

“What’s happening to me?” He whispers, his voice softer. The masculine edge diminished. He looks up at the elf, who is smiling at him, “What did you do to me?”

Matt turns and looks over at his full body mirror. A high-pitched gasp leaves his mouth as he catches a glimpse of himself. He’s short... at least 5’4”. And his muscles look softer. He saunters over to the mirror, feeling his smooth face, rubbing a hand through his dissipating chest hairs. His tokens of masculinity vanishing at an alarming rate. His face cute- elfish even. Just like... just like...

“No, no, no!” Matt’s voice has settled on its higher tenor, “Stop this!” He hisses, hating how pouty his voice sounds, “Please! I...” He turns to confront the elf.

But it’s no longer on the dresser. Matt’s heart is pounding in his chest as he swings back to watch the changes continue. He grunts as his meaty pecs let out a hissing sound and deflate before his eyes. Days of chest flies and bench pressing seem to reverse themselves as his chest becomes flat, his two nipples becoming perkier and sensitive to the cool air in his apartment. He can’t help but massage his flat chest with his dainty and smooth hands. Part of him enjoying how cute he looks, another part utterly horrified at the loss of his gains.  

“Wait, please don’t... not my arms!”

In a moment of lucid thought, he realizes that his impressive tris and bis are releasing the same hissing sounds. Rapidly becoming stick-like and nonthreatening. Matt feels tears well up in his eyes. He loved to flex- to show off to his clients. He loved holding women in his muscular arms. How they would run their hands along them and his abs... His abs! He watches as they too smooth over and vanish, giving him a lean tummy. His treasure trail, another symbol of his masculinity has similarly vanished. The hairs falling to the ground, leaving Matt smooth.

“Oh god...” Matt feels for his Adam’s apple and frowns, “Even my voice...” He stumbles backwards and slides down the wall, “Oh!” He moans as his inflated ass cushions him, “Wh-what...?” He moans as he feels his larger ass. His hands filling with the flesh of his larger, jiggling mounds, “Ohhhhh...”

He gives them a squeeze, part of him embarrassed at how sensitive they are. At how each squeeze causes his dick to harden with pleasure. And as he moans again, he can’t help but realize that the bulge in his pants becomes less prominent. While part of him screams to stop, the pleasure he’s getting from just squeezing his ass overpowers any remaining willpower he might have. When he finally does pull his hands away from his ass and looks down his pants, his heart sinks. His dick has settled on 2 inches hard. Far from the thick meat women would beg for. And while part of him wanted to cry, to beg to return to his masculine form, another part urged him to give his ass another squeeze. And he did. Again and again and again...

It was a few hours later when he heard a knock at his door. Matt was lying face down, ass in the air, his dainty hands massaging his thicc ass. He slowly pushes himself up and giggles. His rosy cheeks rounding out more as a smile forms on his cute face. He quickly walks over to the closet where he rummages through tank-tops and hoodies.

“So ugly and boring...” Matt thinks as he hums a Christmas tune to himself.

And then he finds it. He never really remembered buying it, but the red footie pajamas, white fluffy mittens, and Santa hat are absolutely perfect. He quickly puts them on and walks over to the mirror.

“Ohhh I look so good!” He giggles, lifting his leg and doing a twirl.

Part of him registers that he looks exactly like the elf. A near perfect, human replica. And while he feels deep down this is wrong, that he isn’t some elf-like, twink with a big ass, he can’t imagine being anything else.

“No please! Let me out!” Matt’s giggling stops as he listens closely to the voice in his head. And when he stares in the mirror, he sees who he used to be. A desperate fear in the man’s eyes, “Please! I’m not...”

“Shhhhh!” Giggling fills the air, “We have a lot to do!”

Matt leaves the mirror, the sound of sobbing echoing deep within his brain. But Matt can’t be bothered right now. He quickly swings open the door and grins when he sees Stacy.

“Stacy!” He sings, “Merry Christmas Eve!”

Stacy grins, “Seems like you found my gift.” She says, “I just came by to pick up the presents for the kids. I think they should stay with me this Christmas.”

Matt frowns, “Alright... It’s not like I’m ready for Christmas anyway.” He pouts, crossing his arms.

Matt watches as Stacy leaves with the few presents he got for his kids. Internally, Matt is begging to be freed. This isn’t what he wanted. This wasn’t... His thoughts slow as he feels hands grip his massive ass. The two Matts moaning in unison. Their minds melding in the midst of their shared pleasure. And internally, Matt realizes it’s too late. As the new Matt opens up Grindr to find a hairy daddy to fuck his brains out, Matt realizes by the time Christmas morning comes around, he and this new Matt will be one.

As he dreads his future, he can hear a giggle coming from down the hall. One last mocking laugh from the elf on the shelf.

[flwrkid14]

The Batfamily’s Christmas List Tradition (and how Tim gets lost in it)

The Batfamily has a long-standing Christmas tradition: the List. With so many members in the family, it’s a necessity. Everyone writes down what they want (within reason, of course), and the list serves as the ultimate gift guide. It’s efficient, especially for such a big family, and it ensures no one ends up with seven pairs of socks or the same gadget twice.

Tim takes the list seriously. It’s his chance to ask for the small, thoughtful things he wouldn’t usually splurge on for himself. Things like:

New makeup brushes. His old ones are worn out and falling apart, and it’s not until he’s on a mission that requires cross-dressing that he realizes just how bad they’ve gotten. Having a new, high-quality set would make everything feel a little smoother—and maybe even a little fun.

Cozy hoodies. Between Wayne Enterprises business casual and his Robin gear, Tim rarely gets the chance to wear something soft and comforting. His favorite hoodies are all fraying at the edges, with loose threads on the pockets and fabric that’s stretched too thin. A fresh one would feel like a luxury.

A new game console. Tim is rarely ever not working, but on those rare days off, he realizes he doesn't have much to entertain him that's not work related, that doesn't require him to leave his nest. Plus, it’s a great way to connect with his siblings during low-stakes, playful nights.

Nice coffee cups or tumblers. His caffeine habits are legendary, but the chipped and mismatched mugs he uses don’t exactly scream "Tim Drake." A sleek, stylish tumbler or a high-quality ceramic mug would elevate the most important part of his day.

Random indulgences. Books, stationery, weighted blankets, maybe a nice figuring from his favorite movie, a cool gadget he wouldn’t think to buy himself—little things that spark joy and make him feel cared for, anything he knows his own parents would have never bought for him to help heal his inner child. He's never had the luxury of writing such lists before becoming a Wayne.

Tim doesn’t just take the list seriously for himself; he makes sure to go the extra mile for his family, too. He’s always had a knack for gift-giving, and he loves curating the perfect presents for his siblings. For Dick, it might be a rare vinyl of his favorite band. For Jason, an antique first-edition book he’d mentioned once in passing. For Damian, something handmade and unique, like a custom leather-bound sketchbook or a rare art supply. Tim remembers the little things—the throwaway comments, the subtle preferences—and builds his gifts around them, ensuring every box under the tree feels deeply personal.

But Christmas rolls around… and none of the thought Tim puts into his gifts is reflected in what he receives.

Instead, he gets tech. More tech. External hard drives, cables, chargers—things he already has backups for because, well, he’s Tim. He doesn’t need more, and he didn’t ask for more.

And the worst part? It’s not that they’re bad gifts. It’s that the family assumes they know him so well that they don’t even look at his list.

“Tim’s the tech guy,” they think. “Of course he’d want more tech.”

But he doesn’t.

He’s grateful, of course—Tim is always grateful—but there’s a hollowness that creeps in every year when he unwraps another stack of USB drives and ethernet cables. It’s not about the gifts themselves. It’s about the realization that the people he loves, the people who should know him best, don’t see him the way he wants to be seen.

In a way, it feels painfully familiar. Janet had always made sure his presents as a child reflected her vision for him, not what he actually wanted. New tailored suits instead of the hoodies or tees he longed for. Sleek, professional office stationery to replace his Robin-themed pens and notebooks. Vintage collectibles meant to sit on a shelf, collecting dust, instead of toys he could actually play with. The gifts always came with a message: who he should be, not who he was. And now, even with the bats, the gifts still feel like expectations—like they see him as "the tech guy" rather than Tim, with all his quiet wants and overlooked needs.

So, Tim starts dreading Christmas. Not because he doesn’t love his family or the season, but because it reminds him of how little they seem to notice the little things about him.

And maybe one year, he stops adding personal things to the list altogether. Maybe he starts asking for tech, just to avoid the disappointment.

But deep down, he wishes someone—anyone—would surprise him with a new hoodie, a weighted blanket, or a set of makeup brushes. Something that says, “I see you, Tim. I really see you.”

[mugglebornmarvelite]

Christmas Chaos

Paring: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Summary: Your first Christmas with the team is one for the books. The excitement of unwrapping gifts turns into delightful chaos. 

Word Count: Roughly 1.1k 

Warnings: Fluff, Mild Violence (threats and roughhousing), Christmas themes, Bucky's red henley (totally deserves it's own warning)

Author’s Note: According to TikTik, tons of people didn't get what they wanted for Christmas; so here’s a little something I whipped up because I’ve been awake since 5 this morning and I have had three cups of coffee. I typed this on my phone, so if there are errors, I apologize. If you like this, you’re welcome and if you don’t, it wasn’t me :)

Divider by: @strangergraphics 

You wake up to muffled noises from downstairs. You bury your face in your pillow, before looking at your phone for the time. It is too early to be up on any regular day, but today was different. It's Christmas day! Christmas day with your favorite people. You slipped on your fluffy slippers and quietly padded downstairs, rubbing your eyes and yawning softly. 

“Merry Christmas!” you chirped to the team.  

Natasha smiled and raised her mug of coffee. 

Wanda smiled and handed you a cup of hot chocolate. 

Tony was busy arguing with Bruce over an instruction manual, and Steve and Sam argued over who had better gift-wrapping critiques. But as you scanned the room, you noticed. Bucky wasn’t there.  

“Where’s Bucky?” you asked with a small frown.  

“He’s upstairs,” Sam said casually. “Brooding, probably.”  

“I can go get him…” You offered, only to be cut off.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Steve gave you a small grin, ruffling your hair. “Trust us.”  

Wanda passed you your stocking, filled with goodies. The works of small trinkets, candy and chocolate coins.

You grinned as you and Peter dove into the chocolates.

Tony already started complaining about the sugar rush you both would get.

Then, Steve pointed to a large, festively wrapped box.  

“This one’s for you, kid.”  

Your eyes widened. The box was massive, and you crouched down to peel the wrapping paper off. 

“What in the world?” you murmured, pulling off layer after layer. With a puzzled look, you pried it open.  

“Bucky?!”  

The former Winter Soldier was sitting cross-legged in the box, arms tied with rope, a gag around his mouth, and a pretty red bow on his head. He wore a snug red henley and gray sweatpants, looking both murderous and utterly done with life.  

He looked divine, even tied up. Delicious. Marvelous. He could make greek gods envious.

“Merry Christmas, sunshine,” Steve and Sam chorused, howling with laughter.  

Your jaw dropped, and then a giggle bubbled out of you as you knelt by the box. “Oh my gosh, you two didn’t! Poor Bucky!”  

Bucky’s piercing glare snapped to Steve and Sam. He growled something unintelligible through the gag, making them laugh harder. Your cheeks flushed as you gently began untying the bow and ropes.  

“I’m so sorry they did this to you,” you said, smiling softly as you helped him out of the box.  

Bucky’s expression was a storm cloud, but when his sharp blue eyes landed on your sweet, genuine smile, his hardened features instantly softened. 

“Merry Christmas, sunshine,” he murmured, pulling you into a surprisingly gentle hug. The heat of his body and the smell of fresh pine and something distinctly him filled your senses.  

You melted into the embrace, pressing your face into his chest as your arms circled his waist and whispered, “Merry Christmas, Bucky.”  

The tender moment lasted five seconds. Maybe eight, but who’s counting?

Then, he pulled back and turned to Steve and Sam.  

“You two are dead,” he growled, rolling his shoulders.  

Steve and Sam’s laughter ceased as they quickly stood. “Now, Buck, let’s talk about this—”  

But Bucky was already moving towards them, cracking his knuckles menacingly.  

“We’re going to run,” Sam muttered, and the two bolted out of the room, Bucky hot on their heels, shouting threats about payback.  

Watching the chase unfold, you couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped your lips. Natasha caught your eyes as she sipped her coffee.  

“Guess you’re his sunshine, huh?” she teased.  

You bit your lip, cheeks warm as you whispered, “Maybe.” 

Natasha smirked knowingly but didn’t push further. Instead, she was content to watch the chaos unfold as Bucky cornered Sam near the Christmas tree.  

“You think tying me up is funny?” Bucky growled, advancing with a predatory stride.  

“It wasn’t just me!” Sam yelped, using the tree as a barrier. “Steve came up with the idea!”  

Steve, who was inching toward the kitchen in a futile attempt to escape unnoticed, froze under Bucky’s glare.  

“Traitor,” he muttered under his breath, cursing Sam’s lack of discretion.  

“Traitor?” Bucky repeated, catching the word. “You both tied me up like a damn Christmas present and you’re calling him the traitor?”  

You stifled a laugh behind your hand, stepping closer. “Okay, okay, Bucky. Maybe don’t kill them? It is Christmas.”  

“Besides, we did it for her,” Sam pointed at you to soften the blow. “Right, sugarplum?”

“Do not call her sugarplum. Ever.” Bucky warned Sam.

“Bucky,” You called softly, looking up at him.

Bucky paused, looking back at you. 

His sharp glare softened into something almost dopey when he saw your pleading eyes and soft smile. 

With a sigh, he rolled his eyes and muttered, “Fine. They live. For now.”  

Sam exhaled audibly, his shoulders slumping in relief. “Thank you, sunshine!” he called to you, grinning.  

But Bucky turned sharply, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t push it.”  

Sam immediately zipped his mouth,

Steve, ever the brave one, chuckled and clapped Bucky on the shoulder as he passed. “Merry Christmas, old pal.”  

Bucky’s only response was a low grumble of curse before sitting on the couch. 

You disappeared into the kitchen and came back a few moments later, offering him a warm mug of hot cocoa in your hands.

“Here,” you said softly, “Hot cocoa. Consider it a peace offering on behalf of Steve and Sam.”  

Bucky eyed the mug for a moment, then you. He took it without a word, his fingers brushing yours briefly, sending a little jolt through you.  

“Thanks,” he muttered, taking a sip.  

You sat beside him, your own cocoa in hand, legs tucked beneath you as you leaned against the armrest. The room buzzed with holiday chatter and laughter, but your attention stayed on the super soldier beside you.  

“I hope they didn’t ruin your day,” you said after a moment, voice tinged with genuine concern.  

Bucky glanced at you, his lips quirking up in a faint smile. “Nah. Nothing can ruin my day when you are smiling at me like that, sunshine.”  

Your cheeks burned and you looked away.

Natasha, who had been observing the exchange from across the room, smirked and leaned over to Clint. “He’s whipped,” she whispered.  

Clint raised an eyebrow, glancing at you and Bucky before nodding. “Completely.”  

Bucky leaned back on the couch, sipping his cocoa and sneaking glances at you. Every now and then, his lips would tug into a soft smile. 

Without a word, he shifted, inching toward you on the couch. He casually draped his arm across the back of the couch, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

You eagerly took the opportunity to tuck yourself into Bucky’s side.

This time, leaving his cheeks burning.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Happy Holidays! Stay warm/cool wherever you're at.

Tell your loved ones that you love them.

And if nobody told you today, I love you <3

Much love x

- Maeve

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: i played myself on this one. posted that little barzy blanket thief headcanon post a million years ago and then i had to write this! the pro shop doesn’t sell the themed comfy, which i think it should but whatever. couldn’t resist writing this one and it just got away from me. full disclosure this was written before christmas but i didn’t want to post it in the middle of posting the other christmas fics so i held it back for a little bit! enjoy!!

word count: 6.2k

tw: brief unprotected sex, fingering, dirty talk, protected sex

summary: mat’s a blanket thief and tries to make it up to you

In theory, the king sized mattress that you’d bought for the new house was meant to stop Mat from stealing all of your blankets in the middle of the night. What with king sized sheets and blankets and comforters to go along with the king sized mattress, the thought was that Mat would have more than enough of his own coverings without having to take yours too.

Wrong. So wrong.

Every night for the first week in the new house, Mat rolls himself into a little burrito of blankets, cocooned up in the warmth that you’re missing. He’s oblivious to it too, which is extra annoying for some reason. It’s not even like he normally sleeps all rolled up in the covers. Usually Mat’s a restless sleeper, all that energy trying to escape even when he’s asleep, and he’s starfished on the mattress or rolling from one side to the other. Only after games or travel days does he pass out like the dead, after, of course, working you into the mattress and making sure you both have at least one orgasm.

For whatever reason lately, even when he’s got an off day, he’s been sleeping like a log, moving only to pull the covers over his shoulders and rolling them around his body.

“Mat,” you hiss his name, pulling at the comforter. He doesn’t budge at all. “Mat!”

If anything, he wraps himself tighter in the blankets.

You let out a frustrated little growl and pull harder, planting your foot flat against his outer thigh, or where you assume his outer thigh is, and kick a little, trying to get some leverage. Mat grunts a little in his sleep and shifts his lower body away from you, taking the blankets with him.

You flop back against your side of the bed, exposed to the elements and freezing. Stupid fucking Mat and his “the bedroom has to be at sixty-five degrees so we get the best possible sleep” arguments. A chill runs down your spine and you scowl to yourself, yanking at the little bit of sheet you managed to keep him from taking, wrapping it around yourself and snuggling up close against his back for a little warmth.

The next morning, as usual, Mat’s awake before you and you’ve got the covers back, having subconsciously pulled them over your body when he left the bed. Groaning at the thought of having to leave the warm bed, you drag a hand over your face before slowly getting up and padding to the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face. Feet shoved into Ugg slippers that have seen better days and pulling a sweatshirt over your head, you make your way down to the kitchen where you find Mat making himself eggs at the stove. You lean a hip against the kitchen island, watching him for a few minutes, the way his muscles work as he’s cooking, bare back displayed just for you. His sweats hang low on his hips and you want to press your hands against his lower back.

“Staring’s rude, Squeaks,” he says on a laugh. Without turning from the stove, he gestures to the counter with the spatula in his hand, “coffee’s hot.”

“Stealing all the blankets from your poor frozen girlfriend is also rude,” you reply deadpan, reaching up for your favorite mug and pouring yourself a generous serving of coffee. You doctor it up with sugar cookie flavored creamer and wrap your hands around the ceramic to warm them up before taking a sip.

Now he turns to face you and his eyes go wide and his eyebrows lift up his forehead. “Ah, shit. I’m still doing that even with the bigger bed?”

“Mhm,” you confirm with a roll of your eyes. “I’d say we should upgrade to a California King, but you’d probably keep doing it.” An amused smirk plays on your lips and Mat grimaces.

He sets the spatula down and flips off the burner before coming over to stand in between your legs. You keep your mug held up by your chest as a barrier. “I’m sorry, babe,” he brushes the tip of his nose against yours. His hands fall to your hips, sliding up underneath the fabric of your sweatshirt. His palms are warm and rough against your skin and you shiver a little. His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts and you can’t help yourself from pushing your chest further into his hands. “You should’ve woken me up, I would’ve given you the blankets back.”

A startled laugh bursts out of your mouth and Mat looks briefly offended. The pads of his thumbs freeze on your nipples.

“What?” He asks, flicking a nipple with his fingernail. You press your thighs together. “I can share.”

“If you,” you start, stuttering a little as Mat’s fingers roll over your nipples, “think that it’s just that easy to wake you up, you’re delusional.”

Mat huffs a laugh and you yelp when he pinches down hard. The menace. He knows he’s a heavy sleeper. You reach behind you to set your coffee mug down on the counter, afraid that the hot brew is going to spill everywhere. “Aw, come on,” he teases, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, “it’s so easy to wake me up.” His hands continue their work under your sweatshirt and you feel your panties growing damp.

“Mmm?” You hum, letting your knee rub up against the outside of Mat’s thigh slowly, opening yourself up to him. “I kicked you twice and not even a peep.” Your hands come up to lock around Mat’s neck. Your fingers play in the shirt bristles of Mat’s hair and you wish, not for the first time in months, that he would let his hair grow in again.

He lets his hands slide down your sides again, one over your stomach and one around your back. “Your mistake,” he says, pulling you closer so your core is flush up against the hard ridge of his erection. You grind against him mindlessly, tension building low in your stomach, already forgetting why you were annoyed. “I don’t respond to kicking,” his hand works its way underneath your sweats and grabs a palmful of your ass. The other hand remains frustratingly warm against your lower stomach, the tips of his fingers just barely brushing against the elastic of your panties. “Gotta be nicer to me, baby.”

“Oh yeah?” You breathe, wiggling against him, scratching your nails absently against his scalp. “What do you suggest?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs, kneading your ass with one hand. “Could’ve wrapped that pretty mouth around my dick.”

Fire pools in your stomach even as you giggle. “And how would I have penetrated that cocoon of blankets you stole?” You ask tartly, raising an eyebrow. Before Mat can answer, you continue, “besides, blow jobs are a reward for good boys.”

Mat’s ears go pink, but he smirks at you. “Just like getting your pussy licked is for good girls?”

Your cheeks heat and arousal floods between your legs, a little gasp punching from your lungs. You try to press your thighs together, but Mat’s hand is lightning fast, sliding under the band of your panties and cupping you in one warm, broad palm. You squeal at the sudden contact, grinding down onto his hand. “Maaat,” you whine his name, his fingers stroking gently between your folds, teasing at your entrance. He uses his grip on your ass to drag you closer to his chest and you allow him, knees feeling weak as his fingers play with you.

Your hands drift down to his biceps, gripping them for dear life to keep you upright. “Stop teasing,” you hiss, the tip of his middle finger sliding inside of you. You clench around him, chasing his hand and your pleasure.

“So fucking wet, babe,” Mat grins, dropping his forehead to yours. His hand never stops moving, drawing you closer to the peak of your pleasure. “So good for me.”

All the blood in your body rushes to your cunt at the praise and your back is arching, pressing Mat’s fingers deeper. He holds the pad of his thumb firmly over your clit and squeezes your ass, slanting his mouth over yours to muffle the moan that escapes when he rubs against your clit. Your toes curl in your slippers and your head falls back, legs trembling with the force of your orgasm as it washes over you. Mat’s fingers guide you through the aftershocks for a few lazy moments and you drop your chin to your chest, breathing hard.

“Why was I mad at you?” You mumble, laughing breathlessly. You wiggle your hips, starting to get overstimulated and uncomfortable with Mat’s hand still down the front of your panties. He takes the hint and pulls his hand out of your pants. His fingers are wet with your arousal as they brush against your lower stomach and you shiver happily.

Casually, he sticks his middle and ring fingers in his mouth to suck them clean, releasing them with a wet pop. “‘Cause I steal blankets,” he replies, without really thinking. He realizes his mistake a beat later, hazel eyes going wide and jaw dropping open. “Aw, fuck. If I haul you up on the counter and eat you out will you forget I said that?”

“Nope!” Your giggle turns into a shriek as you try to escape Mat’s lunging hands. He digs his fingers into your sides, tickling you mercilessly. “Nooo! Mat! Stop! No tickling-“

“Gonna make you forget about the blankets one way or another,” Mat laughs, holding your squirming body tightly. Your ass presses against his crotch and he hisses, biting gently on your shoulder.

“Never! If I forget, you’ll just steal them again,” your words are stuttered from laughter and you fight Mat’s hands. He’s stronger and manages to wrestle you to the kitchen floor, pinning your wrists above your head, straddling your lap, knees on either side of your hips. His sweats ride low and the chain around his neck sways with the momentum. His cock bobs behind his sweats and you swallow harshly. Mat grins down at you, flattening his body to yours, his cock pressing insistently against your stomach. He kisses the edge of your jaw as you wiggle under him.

“You look pretty warm to me,” Mat teases, rolling his hips against yours. The hard heat of his erection makes your thighs tremble.

You wrinkle your nose at him, fully aware that he has the upper hand in your positioning. “You’re going to be late to practice,” you say, even as your hips lift to his subconsciously.

“Always plenty of time to fuck my girl silly,” he says lightly, bumping his cock against your cunt again. “As long as she forgives me for being a blanket thief.”

“Mmm,” you whine, heat prickling up your spine, “you’re forgiven. Just…I need you.”

Mat’s teeth scrape at your jaw and one hand lets go of your wrists, moving between your bodies and tugging your sweats and panties down in one swift move. The cold kitchen tile against your bare ass has you yelping and instinctively bucking your hips off the ground, up into Mat’s hips. He soothes a hand over your inner thigh before pulling his sweats down enough to free his cock. You crane your neck to look down at him, grinning when you see the tip of him, groaning when he bumps it against your clit. Shocks of pleasure ripple through your body and you whine again, heels kicking against the floor, dripping for him.

“Gonna give you everything, ‘kay?” Mat mumbles, gripping the base of his cock and guiding it to your entrance, letting the tip slip inside of you. His head falls forward on a groan and you grind down on him, trying to get more.

“Just not - can’t come inside,” you babble, bucking your hips up into his. “Not without a condom.”

“I’ll pull out,” he promises and you know he means it. You’re on birth control and neither of you is ready for kids. “Gotta fuck you good. Make you come on my cock and gonna finish in your mouth.”

His words are punctuated with harsh thrusts that have your back sliding against the floor. Your free hand roams Mat’s body, scratching against his chest and arm, fingers tangling briefly in the chain around his neck. You egg him on, reaching down to dig your nails into his hips. “C’mon, Mat. Harder, please!” You beg, meeting him thrust for thrust.

“Fuck. Fuck, so good. You’re so perfect, baby,” Mat grunts, leaning down to kiss you and changing the angle so he hits harder and deeper inside of you. “Gonna fuck you everywhere in this house. Every wall, every floor.”

Your body tenses up with pleasure, gasps and moans leaving your lips along with Mat’s name. Your orgasm builds heavy and fast in your stomach, clit throbbing from the drag of Mat’s pelvis against the swollen, sensitive nub. “Gonna - Mat, please!” You cut off in a wail when his free hand finds your clit and pinches it, sending you over the edge of pleasure, sparks dancing in your vision, arousal leaking from your cunt down the curve of your ass. Your hand slaps against the floor, fingers scrabbling for purchase as he continues fucking into you, the hard, hot drag of his bare cock making you stupid.

Mat’s hips continue pistoning into yours and you’re faintly aware of the slapping of skin against skin underneath his babbling. “Jesus, so fucking pretty when you come. Love that face, love that I made you make that face,” the words fall from his mouth without him even focusing on them, too busy working his cock in and out of you.

You watch his shoulders tense up, feel his thrusts falter a little and you know he’s close. “Mat, not - no baby,” you remind him, pushing at his shoulder, hand slipping down to his chest, stomach, hip.

“Fuck,” he groans, pumping into you once more before pulling out completely, the sudden loss of him inside of you leaving you feeling too empty. You slide your own hand from his hip and let your fingers skate over your clit lazily, not really working yourself towards another orgasm, but just easing the empty feeling. Mat’s hand grips the base of his cock, jacking himself once, twice, three times before his entire body goes taut and he comes all over your sweatshirt covered chest, too far gone to even give you a chance to try and get your mouth on him. “Sorry, baby, sorry. I’ll buy you a new one. I couldn’t—“ he mutters around the groans and slick sounds of his palm sliding over his cock.

When he’s done, the hand holding yours above your head loosens and Mat flops down onto his back next to you. His cock is softening against his thigh and you have a literal puddle of his cum warming your skin through the material of your sweatshirt. Your ass is cold against the tile, wet where your arousal had dripped down the curve. You roll your neck and look at Mat, watching his chest heave while he catches his breath. His cheeks are pink from exertion and his limbs are completely limp.

“We’re disgusting,” you comment on a laugh, afraid to move.

“Why didn’t you say the tile was so cold on your ass?” Mat replies, lifting his hips so he can pull his sweats back up. You watch with a little pout as his cock disappears under the sweats, a little wet spot forming and turning the fabric a darker grey.

“I was a little busy getting railed on the kitchen floor,” you deadpan. “That I’m going to have to clean with, like, bleach now.”

Mat rolls onto his side, props his head up on his elbow, and gives you such a mischievous, shit-eating grin that you kick out your foot to make contact with his shin. “What’s with that look?” You comment, wiggling your sweats back up over your lower body. He whines a little.

“Just thinking about how hard up we were that I had to fuck you on the floor,” he laughs, his fingers coming over to tug on a piece of your hair.

“If anyone hears about this,” you warn, half-joking, half-serious, “I swear to God that I will never give you a blowjob again.”

A laugh startles out of his chest and Mat promises he won’t say anything, defends himself that he doesn’t usually talk about your sex life with the guys anyway.

“That includes Beau,” you warn him, carefully wiggling into a sitting position, wincing when Mat’s cum slides down your chest and pools in the fabric of gathered on your lap. “This is so gross, Mat.”

“He’s my best friend!” Mat yelps. “I tell him everything.” You whip your head in his direction, eyes wide and mouth dropped open a bit. There is no way Beau knows everything about sex life. Mat backtracks, his hands up in surrender, “not everything. I didn’t mean everything. He knows a lot, but not about the time we almost killed each other in the shower or the time I almost —“

You clap a hand over his mouth, muffling his ramble. “Enough. Oh my god. You seriously need to get a filter,” you can’t help the little disbelieving laugh that works its way out of your mouth. Shaking your head, you mutter to yourself, “to think this all started because you’re a fucking blanket thief.”

Mat opens his mouth under your hand to defend himself and you can physically see him gearing up for a long ramble, so you shake your head. “No, nope. Go get yourself cleaned up for practice. I need to get myself in a completely different headspace for the day,” you laugh. “Fucked on the kitchen floor was not how I pictured my week starting.”

Mat licks your palm so you’ll pull it away from his face. You grimace at him and wipe your hand on his bare chest, the faint smattering of dark hair over his chest tickling your skin. “Don’t say that’s gross, Squeaks,” he teases, leaning in to kiss you, “I’ve had my tongue all over that body.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “it’s the principle of the licking. Now leave me, I have to figure out how to get this sweatshirt off without making more of a mess and it’s not going to be cute.”

He laughs at you and gets to his feet, dropping a kiss to the top of your head. “Whatever you want, babe. I’ll be back down in a few to finish making breakfast.”

You’d almost forgotten that Mat had been cooking when you came downstairs. Thank God he’d turned off the stove. As he heads back upstairs, you drop back onto your back, arms spread out to your sides. What a fucking morning.

——-

Mat’s out of town for a few days, a mini road trip that has him gone from your bed for nearly a week, and so you get the bed and blankets all to yourself. You’ve more or less forgotten about Mat’s thieving habits when you have the thick comforters wrapped securely around your body.

So when Mat comes home on a Saturday afternoon, lugging a giant shopping bag along with his suitcase and duffel bag, you’re a little curious and a lot confused.

“Plane snacks?” You tease after accepting a hello kiss from him.

“Those didn’t even make it out of the Tampa airport,” he grins, setting the bag on the couch. “This is even better.”

You lean over the back of the couch and watch as Mat pulls a blue and orange something out of the bag. He shakes it out and you recognize it as the extra long Islanders-logo patterned, hooded Comfy that’s being sold in the pro shop at the Northwell rink. Mat holds it out in front of him with a little “ta-dah!” and a big, cheesy grin on his face.

“What is that?” You ask rhetorically, hand reaching out of its own accord to touch the fleecy fabric. It’s soft, you’ll give him that.

“It’s one of those Comfy things, for you to wear when I steal blankets,” he laughs. “I haven’t forgotten what happened last week.”

Instinctively, your gaze cuts to the spot on the kitchen floor that you’d scrubbed three times with bleach. Mat’s eyes follow yours and his grin turns into a feral little smirk. “Haven’t forgotten that either,” he continues. “But try it on.”

“This is ridiculous,” you say, grabbing for the hooded blanket. Pulling it over your jeans and t-shift, your voice is muffled, “you could always just stop making a cocoon out of the blankets - oh!”

It’s extremely soft, the Comfy. The hood is oversized enough that the hem of it flops over your eyes, obscuring your view of Mat, and keeping your head nice and warm. The sleeves hang a few inches past your hands and the bottom of it comes to your mid-shin. It’s like wearing a space heater. You wrap your arms around yourself and sway a little, giggling.

“I actually love this?” You can’t believe it. There’s so much room and you know that if you were sitting on the couch you could tuck your legs up under the fabric and still have plenty of space. “Okay, we still have to train you not to steal blankets, but this is a nice temporary solution.”

Mat’s laugh is delighted and you flip back the hood to look at him. “You’re adorable in that,” he says, coming around the back of the couch to get into your personal space. “Gonna share with me?”

“Absolutely fucking not,” you giggle, dancing away from him, the fleece swishing around your legs. “This is my reward!”

“For what?” Mat cocks an eyebrow at you.

“Putting up with you,” you retort, hands on your hips, knowing you look insane in your new getup.

Mat grabs for the fabric, snagging it between two long fingers and pulling you into him. “Babe,” he kisses your cheek, “you give just as good as you get.”

You cuddle up against his chest, head tucked under his chin and arms wrapped around his waist. “Missed you,” you mumble into his shirt.

“Missed you too,” his arms tighten around your back. “How about we do something fun tonight? I’ll take you out for dinner too.”

——-

The Comfy works wonders even though Mat continues to steal the blankets. More often than not, you’re wearing the giant hoodie to bed, tucking your legs up underneath and curling up in a little ball.

Mat loves the stupid thing too - if you’re wearing it while laying on the couch, he’ll crawl up underneath it too, laying on top of you, chest to chest, like a giant weighted blanket. The head hole isn’t quite big enough for both of you, so usually the top of Mat’s head is bumping up against your chin while he rests his cheek against your chest, groping and mouthing at your breasts.

“It’s hot under here,” he complains, voice muffled. He’s kneading one of your breasts in his giant hand, lazily grinding his half-hard cock against your thigh.

“The Comfy is only meant for one person,” you sigh. You’re getting sweaty and worked up from Mat’s body heat. “It’s a giant fleece blanket, what did you expect?”

“Dunno,” Mat says against your shirt, licking your nipple through the thin cotton. You arch your back, pressing your breast into his mouth. “Wasn’t really thinking.”

He bites the underside of your breast and you wince, even as a spark of pleasure fires low in your stomach. You’re surprised that you don’t have a permanent mark there - Mat’s a biter.

“Story of your life, Mathew,” you murmur affectionately. “How about I take the portable sauna off and you fuck me into the couch properly?”

Still under the Comfy, Mat tries to sit up, gets tangled in the fabric and before you know it, you’re both falling off the couch and landing on the floor in a pile. Your knee drives into Mat’s thigh, your elbow in his stomach and he grunts with pain. Your head takes a glancing hit to the edge of the coffee table and you see stars briefly. “Fuck,” you drag the curse out for a few extra seconds. Mat’s wiggling underneath you, trying to get out from the confines of the fabric.

“Are you okay?” You ask, trying to roll off of him and help pull the fabric away from his body. Mat’s face is bright red, but he looks okay.

“No one can ever know about that,” he says seriously.

You laugh and he breaks, cracking up too. “How about we never discuss our sex life outside of the relationship cone of silence?” You hold out your hand for him to shake.

“Deal,” he shakes your hand once, snorting a laugh. He leans up into a sitting position. “Can I still fuck you into the couch?”

“I think I’d be kind of insulted if you didn’t,” you pull the Comfy over your head and toss it off to the side before crawling into Mat’s lap so you can wind your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply. Mat’s hands roam up your back, under your shirt, pulling you closer to him. You rock your hips, grinding down over his cock and Mat moans into your mouth. He braces one arm around your lower back and gets up on his knees to lift you onto the couch, pressing you back into the cushions. He settles into the cradle of your hips, your thighs coming up to wrap around his waist, ankles crossing at his lower back.

He grinds his cock against your cunt and you whine into his mouth, breaking the kiss to say, “want it hard and fast, Mat. Don’t be sweet, just fuck me hard, okay?”

Mat’s pupils are blow so wide you can’t see any of his hazel irises. He nods like a bobble head, “yeah, fuck yeah, baby. Whatever you need.”

He makes quick work of your pants, leaning back on his knees to get both of you bare from the waist down. His jaw goes slack when he sees just how wet you are for him, his hands holding your thighs open so he can just stare for a bit. “Jesus,” he mutters and your cheeks warm. You kick at the back of his thigh, startling Mat.

“If you don’t get a condom on in the next thirty seconds,” you say, fighting past the blush that’s heating your entire body, “I can’t guarantee that I won’t just take matters into my own hands.”

Mat laughs hoarsely and springs into action, reaching for one of the little side drawers on the coffee table. A strip of condoms is hidden away there just for times like these. Your hands are already sliding down your stomach to tease at your throbbing clit. Mat catches sight of you and smacks your hands away, the condoms in his other hand. “Oh no way,” he growls. “I still have twenty seconds.”

You laugh and start a little countdown, making Mat’s fingers fumble on the foil wrappings. He scowls at you and shifts so one knee is pressed firmly against your cunt. You break off into a surprised moan, head thrown back against the couch cushion, “Mat!”

He shifts his knee, moving it slightly so your throbbing clit catches against his leg hair and you whine, grinding down harder on him. “You’re not gonna touch yourself,” he warns, finally getting the condom open and rolled down his straining erection, “are you, baby?”

“No, no,” the words stutter out of your chest as Mat keeps moving his knee against you. Your hands fly out to clutch the couch cushions and Mat grins down at you.

“This pussy’s mine,” he says, planting one foot on the floor and keeping one knee bent on the couch so he can stabilize himself. You whine at the loss of contact from your cunt, but the noise gets choked off in the next second when Mat grabs your hips and thrusts into you in one swift punch of his hips. His hips smack against yours as he bottoms out and you cry his name in a babble of breathless chants.

“Told you,” he grunts, pumping into you and using his grip on your hips to push and pull you closer, your ass hitting high up on his thighs. “Mine, fucking mine.”

Your legs lock around his hips, thighs trembling, heels pushing against the top of his ass. “Oh - god, more! Mat!” Your fingertips turn white from how hard you’re grabbing at the couch cushions, your body sliding up with the force of Mat’s thrusts. Your breath hiccups out of your lungs, fire burning in your veins. Every hit of his cock against your g-spot has you screaming his name.

“Fucking -“ Mat grunts, jaw slack as he watches where his cock splits you open, disappearing into your soaked cunt. “Gorgeous. Fucking all for me, baby.”

You need more, just a little more to push you over the edge. Mat usually pays attention to your clit, helping you finish, but he’s pounding into you hard and fast, just like you asked, so you reach a shaking hand down and circle your fingertips around your clit, arching your back with the added stimulation. Mat growls over you and bats your hand away, not stopping his pace.

“Told you no touching,” he huffs, pulling your hips flush against his and holding you there, his cock throbbing inside of your cunt. “Ask for it, baby.”

Tears slip out of the corners of your eyes and trail down your temples. You whine, “wanna touch my clit, Mat. Need it.”

Instead of touching you, Mat’s hands tighten on your hips and circle them slowly over his cock, your clit pressed tightly against the dark hair at his base, making you moan, eyes squeezed shut hard enough for you to see stars.

“Come on, baby,” Mat mumbles, watching you fall apart. “Come for me, gonna make you cum. Right here on my cock.” He pulls his hips back, all but the tip of him leaving your body and you babble at him, trying to grab at his wrists to pull him back in. “Who’s gonna make you cum?” He asks, snapping his hips back against yours, harsh and fast.

“You!” You wail, dragging out the word for several seconds, barely breathing as Mat bullies the orgasm from your body, holding your hips to his as you clench around him, shaking in his grip. Pleasure loosens all of your limbs as you gush around Mat, crying his name.

He strokes his thumbs over your hipbones and pumps into you a handful more times, but you’re barely aware of him filling the condom with a shout of your name, your head fuzzy with post-orgasm haze. Mat breathes heavily over you, slumping slightly to the side as he finishes, loosening his grip on you. You blink sleepily up at him, a lazy, satisfied smile forming on your lips. “What?” He asks, voice raspy and smoky.

“Just really like your face,” your smile turns a little wicked, “‘specially when you’re cumming.” You wrangle your features into a caricature of his orgasm face. “Looks like this.”

Mat pinches your hip and pulls out of you, wincing when he takes the condom off and ties off the end. “Yeah? Yours looks like this,” he throws his head back dramatically, squeezes his eyes shut, and drops his mouth open, letting his tongue flop out like he’s a corpse on a terrible soap opera.

You bark a laugh, kicking at him. “I do not!”

“Do too,” Mat grins, leaning down to cup your jaw and kiss you with tongue and teeth. “Good thing I think you’re the fucking hottest woman on the planet.” He climbs off the couch to toss the condom and you watch his ass as he walks away. It should literally be a crime to have an ass that tight. Your clit gives a pathetic little throb as you watch him, used and abused but so ready to go another round. You slip a hand between your legs, rolling the swollen nub between your fingers gently.

“Can we implement like naked weekends around here?” You ask, popping your head over the back of the couch. Mat’s laughter echoes through the kitchen.

“You know I’m never gonna say no to that,” he replies, and then in the next second, his t-shirt is flying through the air and landing on your head. “In fact, let’s start now.”

——-

You get in late from girls’ night - it’s close to one in the morning - and you know Mat’s asleep. He’d texted you around midnight, a typo-filled message that essentially said he was going to bed, but if you wanted to wake him with a blow job he wouldn’t be opposed to it. You’d snorted a laugh at the message, hiding your screen from the other girls while you typed back a definitive no. He’d replied with a pouting selfie that you ignored. You figure he’d gone to bed shortly after that since the boys have a game later in the day.

The house is dark when you get home, just a few of the under cabinet lights on in the kitchen so you don’t trip on anything.

You make your way slowly up to your bedroom, unsteady on your feet, discarding your shoes and clothes as you go. All you want to do is curl up in bed and pass out.

There’s a lump of blankets on one side of the bed that tells you Mat is passed out under there. Sure enough, when you get closer, you can see one of his bare feet poking out from the bottom of the covers. You smile faintly to yourself, getting rid of the last of your clothes and rummaging around in a drawer for a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. The alcohol has your body feeling overly warm so you don’t bother with retrieving your Comfy from the closet. You’ll manage with whatever blankets you can wrestle away from Mat.

The bed is nice and warm from Mat’s body heat and you settle happily on your side of the bed, cricketing your feet a little to really warm things up. Mat hasn’t wrapped himself all up yet, so you scoot closer to him, planning on pressing your chest against his back and spooning him, but instead of feeling bare skin or the cotton of a t-shirt, your fingers are met with a familiar fleecy material.

“What the fuck?” you forget to whisper and your voice is loud and echoes around the room. You squint and pull back the blankets that are partially covering Mat’s head.

The royal blue and orange of the Islanders’ logo comes into view and your jaw drops when it finally clicks that Mat’s wearing your Comfy to bed. The hood is secured over his head and his hands are tucked into the sleeves.

“Oh my god!” You shove at Mat’s shoulder and he startles.

“Hnghh?” He grunts, rolling onto his back, yawning.

“You took my Comfy!” You jab at his arm and Mat’s eyes crack open.

A faint, sleepy smile curves his lips. “Hey, babe,” he mumbles, reaching a hand out for you. “Have fun with the girls?” He stretches, blankets shifting around.

“Don’t ’hey, babe’ me!” You grumble, pulling at the blankets. “You literally gave me that because you take my blankets. Now you take my Comfy?”

Mat yawns again, jaw cracking. He doesn’t look apologetic at all. “It’s warm,” he whines, grabbing your hand to pull you closer. “And it smells like you.”

You go to him despite yourself, scooting over and curling up against his side, tucking your shoulder under his armpit. Your legs brush against his and you frown. “Are you naked in my Comfy, Mathew?” You yelp, pulling at the fleece fabric. “You cannot be serious!”

“I have boxers on!” He laughs in protest, swatting your hands away from him. “I’m not gross.”

“Yes, you are,” you grumble, growing sleepy again. “I want a new one now that you’ve taken this one.”

He slings his legs over yours, arms holding you close as he kisses your forehead. “I can share, Squeaks. I’m a generous boyfriend,” he laughs against your hair. You press closer to his warmth, burying your face in his chest.

“You failed sharing in kindergarten, Mat,” you tease quietly. He slaps your ass gently and you giggle, curling up closer to him.

“So mean to me,” you can hear the pout in his voice. “Definitely not sharing now. Gonna buy my own Comfy.”

——

When Mat comes home from practice three days later, he’s toting another giant bag that he hadn’t left the house with.

You eye it suspiciously and he’s laughing like a lunatic as he pulls out another Comfy, declaring, “we match, Squeaks.”

“Oh my god,” you laugh. You didn’t think he was actually serious about getting his own.

Mat pulls the fabric over his head and does a little twirl for you, holding his arms out. “How do I look?” He asks, striking a dramatic pose, pushing his lips out in an exaggerated duck face.

“Like the hottest oversized fleece hoodie model in the world,” you reply, reaching out to grab the fabric and pull him in for a kiss.

[joeyfranchise]

𝟙𝟚 𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕗𝕚𝕔-𝕞𝕒𝕤: 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕤𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟

i’ll be home for christmas

fiance!joe x fem!reader

summary: a bulleted blurb/fic about you surprising joe in athens on christmas.

warnings: NSFW, 18+. mdni. p in v, slight dacryphilia, not tooo descriptive.

note: my first bulleted fic with smut?? kinda feels like a crack fic but lmao it was so fun. love yaaaa 🫶🏻

joe was bored

he came to athens to be with his family because you

his lovely fiancée

the light of his life, even

you were away. on a business trip. IN LONDON

at christmas time?? CRIMINAL

but honestly like. joe could’ve stayed in cincinnati

gone to the facility every day. watched film. all that

HOWEVER

his mother convinced him to come home. AND FOR GOOD REASON

because you were conspiring

you were gonna make it home to surprise him. it was going to be sO EXCITING

you called robin to plan it all out. she was also SO EXCITED and she got you and joe some matching pajamas (that she had to hide)

she couldn’t tell jimmy or joe’s brothers you were coming

because they would’ve absolutely told joe considering he was MOPING

and like he’s a grumpy ass in general. BUT WITH YOU GONE?? OVER CHRISTMAS???

*insert grumpy pic of squidward here*

for days he sat and moped. and scrolled his phone. and just chatted with you

poor lil baby joey. texting you like

joe: miss ya

y/n: i miss you bub 🥺

joe: i love my family but it’s different without you

y/n: i know. i hate that i have to miss it. but work is going okay! i’ve learned so much while i’ve been here

joe: i’m glad to hear it baby. i can’t wait until you’re back

y/n: it’ll be sooner than you know it <3

joe: wish it was right now. miss your pretty face

y/n: attachment: 1 image *photo of you in one of his hoodies, showing off a pout with a coffee mug in hand, your gold necklace with a ‘j’ charm on full display*

y/n: miss you 😭

joe: wanna kiss those pretty lips

and GOD

YOU WANTED TO TELL HIM SO BAD. but you knew the pay-off of making him wait would be so daMN good

finally. it was time to fly back home. you had a window seat. thanK GOd. would you be jet-lagged? yes. did it matter? nO

robin arranged it ALL for you (what a saint) and you were able to arrive in the states on the 23rd

she had someone pick you up from the airport and drive you to their house, and you literally drug your luggage into the garage (you’d make joe get it later)

now. to enact your elaborate plan

you walked up the front porch steps SUPER CAREFUL not to be seen

you rang the doorbell

“joey can you get the door”

you can practically feel him grumbling after being asked to do that

but when he opens it. and it’S YOU???

IT’S YOU????

you’re in his arms in less than a second. just completely enveloped by him. he’s pressing a kiss into the top of your head

“you tricked me”

“but aren’t you glad i did?” you’re smirking as you look up at him

and he’s never felt happier. never felt such peace. because you’re here

you come inside and say hi to everyone and make a little small talk before retiring to joe’s room because

A BITCH IS TIRED

it doesn’t take you long to fall asleep, right there in his star-wars themed room

you and joe are awake by 1am

nobody else is, and you intend to keep it that way but

YOU HAVEN’T SEEN EACH OTHER IN SO LONG

joe kisses you tenderly on the lips, his hands roaming your body, peeling off your layers of clothing

you’re undressing him too, taking your time as your hands map each others skin

you laugh into the kiss, your eyes are focused on the wall

“hmm?” joe whispers to you, wondering what’s funny

“i think your anakin poster is staring at me”

“well don’t make eye contact with him”

finally the two of you are fully naked, still pressing kisses to each others skin, taking your sweet time

and trying yoUR BEST to be quiet (it’s hard to be quiet)

after what seems like forever of loving kisses and tender touches, joe lines himself up and presses his cock between your folds, pushing into you

you let out a soft gasp and immediately

“quiet, princess”

“m’sorry” you say, muffled from your hand covering your mouth

joe shoves a pillow between the headboard and the wall just in case because

IT’S GONNA BE CLANGING IF NOT

he takes his time with you, unraveling you so slowly

because again, it has been SO LONG

and he’s got you in the mating press

you’re biting back moans, every sensation feels like a live wire in your skin

and he hits you with that slow, deep thrust

the deadly hip swivel

tears are falling from your eyes, it’s so much but it feels sO good

“feel good, baby? love seeing you cry for me”

his voice. he’s so

perfect

sexy

amazing

when he talks you through it? oH GOd

“taking it so good. doing such a good job being quiet for me”

you loSE YOUR MIND

you can’t help it, you’re cumming around him

and still, he’s talking you through, helping you along as his fingers trace delicate patterns over your clit

“that’s it. good girl. doing so well”

and he makes you cum two more times before you’re finally ready for a shower

then you’re clean and back his his bed

now he’s falling asleep

AND SHE’S CALLING A CAB

no but really he falls asleep with his head resting on your chest

when you wake up christmas eve (technically you already were, but) you go upstairs and have breakfast with everyone

it’s so nice, his family is so loving

and you spend the whole day laughing, snacking, baking, and most of all just enjoying being back home with joe

he’s glad you’re back too

christmas morning is exciting as well. in more ways than one ;)

but afterrrrr you get to go upstairs in mATCHING PAJAMAS

and relax. and watch the kids open gifts. and most importantly

you get to watch football

joe’s the happiest you’ve ever seen him. and you’re so glad to be here

home for christmas is the best place to be 🫶🏻

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

taglist: @slimshiesty @starsinthesky5 @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 @joeyburrrow @yomamaslays4lyfe @gazebotori

[daydreamer-in-training]

✨OP Advent Calendar Masterlist✨

Door 6 - Under the Mistletoe Part 1

Eustass Kid x reader

Word count: 1.500+

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 (NSFW)

Themes: fluff; kisses; a tiny bit steamy at the end; Is Kid in denial or just an Idiot ? Who knows?! It's the Kid Pirates so : foule language; Bit angsty at the end If you squint, but there will be a Part two on another day so its okay; hight difference

Notes: This wasn't supposed to be this long! 😄And I haven't been able to sleep much the past three nights, this also took me until midnight as well. But Hope that makes Up for Yesterday 🥺✨ Have a wonderful day everyone! This is also for @fanaticsnail to turn her frown upside down 🫂

Please Note that Englisch is Not my first languages and i am tired when uploading ✨

Advent Calendar Taglist: @jintaka-hane @chibinasuu @stuckinmymind22 @eustasscapitankid @armiliadawn @pandora-writes-one-piece

The Christmas Chaos was evident on the Victoria Punk. Glitter, twinkle lights, and cosiness stood in stark contrast to the usual decor on the Victoria Punk. Bubblegum and Killer pestered Kid about decorating for their annual Christmas Event days before it happened until he gave his okay.

“Do whatever the fuck you want, but leave me alone already!“

Then the two went ham and a few hours later, it looked as if Christmas had thrown up on the Ship.

It took Kid a moment to get used to it. When he entered his chamber, everything was normal, but when he had woken up a few hours later from his nap and opened the door, he was blinded by fairy lights.

Bubblegum in particular was fond of Mistletoes and the tradition surrounding it, so they hung them up everywhere. They had so much fun, smooching everyone when they got the chance.

The crew memorized the locations where the Misteltoes would be and avoided them. Everyone became very good at taking the long way to the kitchen.

As did Kid, he had just woken up from his midday nap. He did the night watch all week -due to a bet he lost against Wire- and so he slept during the day. Still in his sleeping pans, he jawed and scratched his belly, he could already smell the coffee Killer was brewing in the kitchen.

Tired and deep in thought, he didn't notice that you were sneaking up on him.

“Hey, Captain?” Before he even realised what was going on, you had already stood on your tiptoes and given him a playful kiss on the corner of his mouth.

Puzzled and dumbfounded, he looked down at you, his amber eyes wide with shock. The stark contrast to his usual frown made you giggle. You didn‘t know his eyes were able to be that round.

“Look, up there,“ he followed your finger with his eyes up to the ceiling where a Mistletoe was hanging. Before he could say anything back, you were already gone with a ‘see you later at the night watch!’

Bubblegum! He moved the mistletoe somewhere else, the arse.

Kid slowly lifted his fingers to his lips, where your brief kiss still lingered as a tingling sensation as he watched you bounce away with glee.

“Oh wow… That was your chance, but all you did was stand there like a statue“ The Captain didn’t even have to turn around and see, to know the wide grin Wire had on his stupid face right now.

Kid clenched his fist and huffed “Shut-“ Wires grin became wider “-ta fuck-“ The taller man took a slow step back now, chuckling as his old friend turned around and stared daggers into his body „UP!“

Laughter from Killer came from the kitchen.

As the redhead finally entered his destination, he was greeted by a Mug of coffee from his first mate and plopped his buttocks onto the bench in the corner and drank it in fuming silence.

The two commanders exchanged knowing looks - if one can call it that with Killer mask and all. They both had already noticed the soft spot the captain had for you. They noticed long before Kid did. That poor fella is still in denial, but the red hue his ear had become since you kissed him, would beg to differ.

The three commanders had made up a plan, starting with Heat transferring his night watch tonight to you. He was your superior and you wouldn‘t question it. The Mistletoe incident was a lucky coincidence just now.

Wire and Killer went after their usual business, Wire taking a seat as well and opening the newspaper and Killer was making some Eggnog for everyone.

“So… you gonna have night shift with them tonight, did I hear right?“, the first mate said nonchalantly as he stirred his ingredients together. Behind his newspaper, Wire peered over to Kid, who seemingly short-circuited. “What?!“ he grunted, coughing up his coffee.

It was all your fault! Why did you have to be so incredibly cute, so gentle and at the same time so quick-witted and competent? Eustass Kid would never have reacted so stupidly when you kissed him in the fist place if you hadn't always treated him so gentle and understanding.

He was about to give you a piece of his mind. Kid was already way too late, but he was also captain so he could get away with it. Still loaded, he trudged up the stairs to the lookout.

But when he saw you standing there, leaning against the railing, watching the stars, his anger was briefly blown away. His gaze travelled over your body and lingered on your lips. Those plush and soft lips.

And then he remembered why he was upset.

You snapped to attention when you heard his footsteps stop and looked towards him.

“Hey Captain… good evening! The stars are so pretty tonight!“ the soft smile on your face turned into an expression of shook when you noticed his angry scowl.

No, you are so pretty tonight! Is what he almost blurted out.

“And what do ya think ya doing?! Ya think its okay ta just kiss ya captain when he lets his guard down!?“

He bridged the distance between you with long strides faster than you had expected. You stumbled back and realised that the wall behind you was much closer than you thought. You didn't see anger coming as his reaction. Especially not after Wire had talked you into it.

Kid slammed his hands on the wall to either side of your face, which made you flinch.

“Kid- Captain I m-mean“ you blinked up to him, now caged between the wall and the broad figure, that was Eustass Kid, not finding the words to explain yourself properly.

Afraid to look him in the eye, you scrunch yours shut.“I- I overstepped-“ fear that you had ruined your relationship with him collected itself in the pit of your stomach.

“Ya didn’t. Now shut up an‘ look at me…“ his quiet and hoarse voice near your face made you open your eyes slowly. He was so close to your face now, your noses almost touched. “I‘m the captain… I‘m the one that initiates things…“, your eyelashes fluttered as he gently caressed your face with his right hand to tilt it up to him. „I call the shots, aye?“, he whispered into your cheek.

You nodded slightly and turned your face invitingly towards him. He had been longing to hold your smaller body in his arms for a long time. Kid's feelings for you were finally spilling over and he allowed himself to take a little piece of you.

Hungrily, he pressed you against the wall and pressed his lips to yours, a satisfied growl escaping his lips. You let him take control, you had no other choice as he devoured your lips with passion. Your hands found his broad shoulders and held on tightly.

Briefly gasping for air, he released the kiss and your fiery eyes met. He wanted more, now that he was allowing himself to show his feelings for you.

His eyes darted back and forth between yours, searching for an answer to his silent question. With the usual gentleness in your eyes, you slide your hand down his neck to bring him back towards you.

And so his lips met yours with more hunger than ever before. Kid slipped his tongue into your mouth, dominating the kiss completely as he lifted you up. Both of your legs wrapped around his hips, seeking support. While his metal arm held you up with ease, he ran his other arm up your thighs.

After what felt like an eternity, he broke off the heated kiss, not without pulling slightly on your lower lip. You looked into each other's eyes, both gasping for breath, a thousand questions arising in this moment and neither of you finding the words to express them.

You lovingly took his face in your hands and placed a kiss on the bridge of his nose.

He sighed softly and unintentionally at your loving gesture. And the Kid was reminded that he was your captain, your superior. And that what he was doing here was not okay. At least he thought so.

You wouldn't think Eustass Kid ever had any scruples when it came to lust. But he cared about his crew, he fucking cared about you. You're like family and there was no way he was going to jeopardise that.

So he carefully put you back on the ground. You looked up at him in confusion, which gave his heart a twinge. He leant down to you and placed a kiss on your forehead. ‘Night watch is over, go to sleep.’ he whispered into your hairline. Then he turned and left the lookout without looking back. If he had still seen the hurt and confused look on your face, he probably wouldn't have been able to leave you behind.

You really hadn't expected this result when you gave the Kid a kiss under the mistletoe.

.

[tinylilacbun]

Rafe comes down the stairs to Sofia and little!reader decorating for Christmas the morning after thanksgiving, tree is up, Christmas music playing, Christmas cartoon specials on, cookies in the oven everything, and he’s like WTF it was literally JUST thanksgiving, but it’s little!readers favorite holiday and Sofia can’t say no to her🙂‍↕️

Rafe yawns as he goes down the stairs, his brain not noticing the Christmas decoration that adorns the staircase railing due to him just having gotten out of bed, he allowed himself to sleep in today and didn't realize how bad he actually needed it.

At the bottom of the stairs he rubs his hands over his face to wake up more as he approaches the kitchen, passing by the living room and taking a fleeting glance inside and stops in his tracks, taking a few steps backwards.

His jaw almost hits the floor at what he witnesses. The living room looks like a winter wonderland, decoration and fairy lights everywhere and a freaking tree already standing in one corner that you and Sofia are in the middle of decorating.

"What the..." He trails off, rubbing his eyes as if he's imagining things.

You turn around at the sound of his voice, practically beaming in your Christmas themed pajamas that match Sofia's. "Mornin' daddy!"

Sofia pokes her head from behind the tree, smiling at him warmly as he approaches you both. "Good morning, babe. Sleep well?"

"Wasn't it literally just Thanksgiving yesterday?" He asks, hugging you back as you crash into him, still looking at Sofia. "And how the hell did you get that tree here without- y'know, don't even answer that."

He kisses the top of your head, looking down to see you holding the star for the tree and a package with a pajama to match yours and Sofia's, staring at him with puppy eyes, the silent request clear.

"I gotta drink my coffee first to process all this, yea?" He says and you accept his decision, skipping away again with a giggle to continue with decorating the tree, pouring your whole heart into making it perfect.

Rafe disappears in the kitchen for a few minutes, a little baffled at seeing the cookies in the oven and asking himself since when you're both awake to have done all this.

He soon goes back to the living room with two mugs in his hands, a faint smile growing on his face as he watches his favorite people on this planet.

Sofia meets his gaze, walking over to him she grabs the mug he offers to her, standing on her tiptoes to give him a sweet kiss. They pull back from each other and Rafe smirks at her. "You both are crazy."

"I just couldn't say no. I mean, look at her." They both turn their attention to you who's humming to the current Christmas song that's playing in the background as you find another spot for the flake decoration you're holding between your fingers. "She's so happy."

"I'm still asking myself where you got that damn tree from." He shakes his head and Sofia just chuckles, taking a sip from her mug as they keep watching you.

"Daddy! You gotta put the star on top!" Your high pitched voice has him chuckling, placing his mug down on the coffee table he walks over to you, grabbing the star from you and goes to stand on the first step of the small ladder you and Sofia used for decorating the things you couldn't reach.

The moment he sticks the star on the top you clap your hands excitedly, wrapping your arms around him tightly the moment he steps back again, admiring the Christmas tree.

You feel Sofia kiss your head and grab her free hand with your own, the smile never leaving your face.

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse

@mythixmagic @iris-xoxo-juhu @mylettterstoyou @sunf1ower16

For Rafe:

@chiaraanatra @chimindity @erikasurfer

[brunchable]

Secret Santa | S. R.

Pairings: Steve Rogers x F!Reader Themes: Ex-lovers. Petty Revenge but Steve is just sweet ;_; Summary: You and Steve are forced to participate in your friend group Secret Santa gift exchange, and of course, you end up assigned to each other. You're determined to give him the worst gift possible, but his surprisingly thoughtful present throws you off—and leaves you questioning your assumptions about him. A/N: This oneshot is a part of my 4K follower Christmas Celebration. Also this one will be connected to Santa Baby that will be released next week. dividers by @saradika-graphics

It wasn’t your idea to do Secret Santa. You’d never suggest something so contrived, so obviously destined for disaster. No, this brilliant plan came courtesy of Nat, whose mischievous smirk while handing out the hat of names told you she knew exactly what she was doing.

The moment you unfolded the slip of paper and saw his name, you felt the universe mocking you. Steve Rogers. Captain Perfect. Your ex.

You stared at the paper as though sheer willpower might summon a new name. It didn’t. Across the room, Steve raised his eyebrows as he read his own slip, the corner of his mouth twitching. You had a sinking suspicion the universe had played a cruel joke on him, too.

“What are the odds?” Nat said, sidling up next to you with a glass of wine.

“Oh, I don’t know. Rigged?” you hissed back, crumpling the paper in your fist.

Steve Rogers had a habit of ruining things. Like relationships. Or, in this case, your plans to breeze through the gift exchange with a generic mug or a gift card. No, this was war. You were going to find the most obnoxious, useless gift imaginable. The kind of thing that screamed, I know exactly what you hate, and I’m leaning into it.

You weren’t just shopping for a gift. You were shopping for revenge.

The mall was an absolute hellscape of holiday cheer—children screaming, Mariah Carey’s All I Want for Christmas Is You blasting on loop, and couples holding hands like it wasn’t a battlefield. You were on a mission, weaving through the chaos, hunting for something so heinous that it would make Steve Rogers cringe.

The first store you entered was a pop-culture knick-knack shop. It was overflowing with mugs that said, “Live, Laugh, Love,” and socks decorated with pizza slices. You rolled your eyes. Too tame. Too basic. No, you needed something with bite. Something so wrong that Steve would open it and instantly regret ever existing.

That’s when you saw it. A coffee mug. But not just any coffee mug.

It was massive, comically oversized, the kind of mug that could double as a soup bowl. Bright red, with bold, white text plastered across the front:

“WORLD’S OKAYEST LOVER.”

You snorted so loudly a nearby teenager gave you a dirty look. But it wasn’t enough. Oh no. You needed more.

Two hours later, you stumbled into the most chaotic store in the mall: an unhinged combination of novelty items, offensive gag gifts, and borderline illegal paraphernalia. The walls were lined with things like glow-in-the-dark shot glasses shaped like butts and calendars full of “inspirational” quotes… all of which were expletives. And there, under a flashing neon sign that screamed, BEST GIFT IDEAS EVER, you found it.

The pièce de résistance.

A calendar. Not just any calendar, though. It was titled:

“12 Months of Aggressive Affirmations.”

The cover featured a cartoon bunny flipping the bird. Each month was worse than the last—January read: “GET UP AND FUCKING WIN,” February shouted, “STOP BEING A SAD LITTLE BITCH,” and March simply screamed, “YOU’RE NOT THE PROBLEM, EVERYONE ELSE IS JUST DUMB AS SHIT.”

You couldn’t breathe. You were doubled over, tears streaming down your face as you clutched the calendar. It was perfect. Aggressive. Vulgar. Completely unnecessary. And most importantly? It would absolutely short-circuit Steve Rogers’ clean-cut, wholesome brain.

You slapped it down on the counter, ignoring the cashier’s judgmental look as they scanned it.

“You okay?” they asked, clearly unnerved by the manic grin plastered across your face.

“Oh, I’m great,” you said, pulling out your card. “This is going to make someone very uncomfortable.”

————

On the day of the exchange, you could hardly contain your excitement. The calendar was wrapped in gaudy, glittery paper that shed sparkles everywhere—another little insult aimed directly at Steve. When he finally picked it up, his brow furrowed at the excessive tape you’d used to ensure he’d struggle opening it.

Everyone watched as he peeled away the layers, muttering something about how you always made things difficult. But when the calendar came into view, his face went completely blank.

“‘Aggressive Affirmations,’” he read aloud, flipping to January. “‘GET UP AND FUCKING WIN.’” His lips twitched, but he refused to give you the satisfaction of a laugh. Instead, he held it up, deadpan. “Wow. You really went for it.”

“You’re welcome,” you said, smirking.

Nat practically fell off the couch laughing. “This is… incredible.”

“Yeah, this’ll look great in his bedroom,” Bucky added, snatching it to flip through the months. “Oh, man, look at June. ‘YOU’RE HOTTER THAN A FUCKING FOREST FIRE.’ Steve, this is the kind of energy you need.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “I hate all of you.”

But when you caught his eye, you saw it—a flicker of amusement, quickly smothered by exasperation.

“This is going in my gym. Where no one else can see it.” He put the calendar down carefully, shaking his head. 

“Oh no,” you said, grinning wickedly. “It’s going on your fridge. Front and center. So every morning, you can start your day with a dose of aggressive self-love.”

Steve sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know whether to be mad or impressed.”

“Oh, be impressed,” you said, raising your glass. “It’s the best gift you’ll ever get.”

And when he smiled—small, reluctant, but genuine.

Steve wasn’t good at gifts. Not because he didn’t try, but because he overthought everything. For him, giving a gift wasn’t just about handing someone an object; it was a gesture, a piece of himself. And when it came to you—well, he hadn’t earned the right to give you anything, had he?

The relationship ended because of him. That much was clear. He’d been the one who pulled away, too overwhelmed by his own insecurities and the shadow of the life he thought he couldn’t offer you. And yet, here he was, standing in front of a boutique window, staring at the dress he knew you’d wanted for months.

He remembered the first time he saw you touch it. You weren’t even shopping for yourself. You’d dragged him into the boutique while looking for a birthday gift for Natasha, weaving through the racks with easy confidence. But then, you stopped.

Just for a moment.

The dress was simple—red silk, with delicate straps and a neckline that dipped just enough to make you bite your lip in that nervous way he loved. Your fingers brushed over the fabric, and you sighed, soft and wistful.

“Beautiful,” you’d murmured, almost to yourself.

Steve had stood a few steps behind, pretending to check his phone. He remembered how quickly you moved on, like you didn’t want to linger too long. You probably thought he hadn’t noticed. But he did. He always noticed.

Now, months later, Steve stood in the same boutique, heart pounding like he was about to charge into battle. The sales associate greeted him with a warm smile, clearly trying not to gawk at the former Captain America standing awkwardly among racks of designer dresses.

“I’m looking for a gift,” he said, clearing his throat.

“For someone special?”

He hesitated, the words catching in his throat. “Yeah. She’s, uh... she’s special.”

The associate nodded knowingly and led him straight to the dress. “This one’s a favorite. Classic, elegant.”

Steve reached out, fingers grazing the fabric just as yours had. It felt like silk against his calloused palms—soft, delicate, everything he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch.

“She looked at this one,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “A while ago. I don’t think she thought I noticed.”

The associate smiled gently. “Well, you noticed. That’s what matters.”

He bought it without hesitation, ignoring the price tag. The dress came in a sleek black box tied with a ribbon, and Steve carried it home like it was the most precious thing in the world.

————

That night, Steve sat at his kitchen table with the box in front of him, a pen poised over a blank card. Words had never been his strong suit, but he needed you to know this wasn’t just a gift—it was an apology, a hope, a quiet confession.

After a long moment, he began to write:

Y/N,

I’m not great at words, but you always told me it’s the thought that counts. I saw you look at this dress once, and I don’t know if you even remember, but I do. You should have something beautiful because you deserve everything beautiful in the world. I know I’m the last person who should be saying that. But maybe this can say what I haven’t been able to.

—Steve

He stared at the card for a long time before tucking it into the box.

On the day of the gift exchange, Steve handed you the box without a word. Your name was scrawled on the tag in his careful handwriting. You hesitated, eyeing him warily, but curiosity got the better of you.

As you untied the ribbon and opened the lid, your breath caught.

The dress.

The room felt smaller somehow, the chatter of your friends fading into the background. You didn’t know what to say, and Steve didn’t push. He just stood there, watching you with that quiet, earnest expression that used to make your heart ache.

Your fingers brushed over the fabric, just as they had that day in the boutique. For a moment, you couldn’t speak.

“You remembered?” you finally whispered, looking up at him.

Steve shrugged, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “I always remember.”

You froze at his words, the weight of them pressing down on your chest. It wasn’t just the dress—it was everything. All the times he’d been paying attention when you thought he wasn’t. All the moments you’d convinced yourself he didn’t care.

Your throat tightened as guilt began to creep in, sharp and relentless.

“I—” You stopped, fingers curling into the fabric. The silk felt too soft, too expensive, too meaningful in your hands. “Steve, I don’t... I don’t deserve this.”

His brow furrowed, and he took a small step closer. “Why would you say that?”

You laughed weakly, a bitter sound. 

“Because I’ve spent weeks trying to think of the worst gift to give you. Something obnoxious. Something petty. And you...” You gestured at the dress, your voice breaking slightly. “You did this.”

His gaze softened, but there was something unreadable in his eyes.

“Y/N,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “You don’t have to feel guilty about that. I get it. You’re angry at me. You have every right to be.”

You shook your head, the lump in your throat growing. “But I shouldn’t still be mad. It’s been months. You tried, Steve. You really tried, and I—”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he interrupted gently.

But that only made it worse. Because you did—not for being angry, but for the way you’d handled it. For not seeing how hard he was trying now.

“I just—” You exhaled shakily, holding the dress tighter against you. “I thought you weren’t paying attention. That I didn’t matter to you like that. And now... this.”

Steve’s jaw tensed, his hands fidgeting in his pockets. 

“You mattered,” he said simply, the rawness in his tone cutting straight through you. “You always mattered. I just... didn’t know how to show it before.”

The room was suddenly too warm, too loud. You felt exposed, vulnerable under his gaze. His words clung to you like static, leaving no room to breathe.

You lowered your eyes, staring down at the dress in your hands. “This... it’s beautiful, Steve. It’s too much. I don’t deserve it after—”

“You do,” he interrupted, his voice firm this time. “You deserve something beautiful. Even if you hate me, Y/N.”

You glanced up sharply at that, seeing the way his eyes flickered with something like regret—or maybe hope.

“I'm sorry. I don’t—” You stopped yourself. Lying felt crueller than the truth. “I don’t hate you, Steve. I just... I don’t know what to do with all of this.”

He smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You don’t have to do anything. It’s a gift. No strings attached.”

And somehow, that made the guilt worse. Because he meant it. You could tell. And it left you wondering if maybe he’d always meant it, even when he didn’t know how to show it.

“Thank you,” you said softly, clutching the dress like a lifeline.

Steve nodded, his hands still buried in his pockets as he stepped back, giving you space. But his eyes lingered, and for the first time in months, you felt like you really saw him. Not the perfect soldier, not your ex—but the man who’d been paying attention all along.

Tags: @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @strawberrybisou @alyana-luvs-u @rogersbarber @veronicapaula

@fynnwolff @bmyva1entine @thereoncewasagirlnamedjane @awaywithtime

[divinedelusional]

it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

nate archibald x gn!reader

word count: 962

warnings: i guess nothing except not proofread work and tooth rooting fluff!

a/n: so hi! uhm this is is my first work on here, so feedback and constructive criticism is welcomed! english is not my first language, so sorry if there's some mistakes. wrote this with female reader in mind, but there's no actual description of reader except reader loving christmas. i wrote it yesterday, on actual 1st of december, since i started counting days to christmas. also i was craving some winter coziness and nate. mild inspiration from gossip girl 5.02 where we have a scene of Nate baking or trying to.

that was long, anyway, i hope you'll enjoy xoxo

It was December 1st, one of your favorite days of the year. You loved how the cold month of December was actually so cozy due to the warmth of holiday spirit. You also loved first day of this month because it meant that you could finally take a breather after thanksgiving that most of the times was filled with drama. This year your family was meeting at your grandma's house in Connecticut and thankfully it was calm and you managed to avoid uncomfortable questions from your family, yet you still were a bit tired and thanked the universe that you were on your way to your boyfriend's place already.

You came into the suite, the doors were unlocked. You were greeted with the sight of living room arranged in holiday theme. Lights were dimmed, the windows were sprayed with snow form the can. The red couch was full of beige cushions, white fuzzy blankets sprawled out all over it, you couldn't even see the original red upholstery. The coffee table was moved closer to tv so there was more space on the carpet which, was covered with more pillows and blankets. Frank Sinatra's christmas songs were playing softly from speakers. Everything was perfect, except your boyfriend wasn't in sight.

"Nate!" you called taking of your coat. No answer so you decided to check the kitchen. There he was, wearing one of his flannels, leaning to kitchen counter, very focused on something. You didn't want to scare him and interrupt in whatever culinary task he was at, but he didn't even heard you coming in, so it was too good opportunity to pass up.

"Boo!!" you called, wrapping your arms around his waist. First you heard a small splash, then him.

"Y/N! Geez you scared me!" he exclaimed with a sigh, easying into your touch and turning in your hold so he could face you.

"Hi" you said after you stared in each others eyes for a while.

"Hi" he answered smiling, then he kissed you lovingly. He hasn't seen you for the past three days and you felt that in his kiss. You would gladly continue, but you're were also curious about the set up in the living room.

"What was that?" you asked after you pulled back.

"What?"

"What made this splash? And what is this situation in living room?" Nate stepped aside so you could see the kitchen counter.

"Natieeee, you're making us hot chocolate?"

"Yeah, and I was in the process of deciding whether to put couple of mini marshmallows on top or to put a giant one and cover it with cream when someone decided to scare me."

"Oh so you were measuring which one looked better, and I made you drop the big marshmallow in my mug?"

"Yeah that's exactly what happened" Nate gestured to your mug and milk that spilled over the side of glass.

"And the living room?"

"I wanted to welcome my baby home with a cozy Christmas date"

"Nate sweetie..."

"It's no big deal y/n, I know how much you love holiday cheer".

"You spoil me".

"I'm your boyfriend!" he chuckled "And I've been waiting to spoil you since you left for thanksgiving, how was it by the way?"

"Good actually, but I missed my boo" you said hugging him. He kissed your forehead.

"I missed you too" he said, smiling into your hair. "Sooo this hot chocolate serving is kind of a fail but I guess it'll do" he pulled back from you to put your glasses on small tray. "Shall we?" you nodded and followed your boyfriend out of the kitchen.

"Nate this is so beautiful, you did this by yourself?"

"Well, Blair brought me the blankets and cushions. But I set everything up". He smiled proud with himself.

"Okay I'm gonna test your cooking skills now" you said taking a sip of chocolate and let a small moan. "Oh my god"

"I passed I suppose" said Nate taking a sip from his mug.

"Damn right you did it's so good" you sighed. "The only thing missing is Christmas tree, but apart from that it's perfect, my big marshmallow" you leaned to Nate and kissed his cheeks and then nose.

"You're so cute, I can't even" Nate said, laughing when you kissed his nose again. "Actually Christmas tree is not here yet because I thought you'd want to decorate it together"

"You're outdoing yourself Nate, I would love to". Nate smiled and kissed you quickly.

"Oh and I got us a couple of Christmas movies, I didn't know what you'd be in a mood for, but we could also just sit together without a movie if you want" he said getting up from the floor.

"You have something form Disney?"

"Christmas Carol and this Beauty and the Beast christmas movie you like".

"Oh, Beauty and the Beast please"

"Whatever you want" Nate smiled and put the cd in. "Move to the couch?"

"Yes please".

You were few minutes into the movie, mugs with chocolate empty now, snuggled together in tons of blankets, but you'd be fine with just Nate since he was always warm. He had package of marshmallows in one hand and his right hand was playing with your hair. You loved it, it always made you feel safe. You could doze off when something disturbed your peace.

"Natie?" you put your head up from his chest. "Don't you feel something burning?"

Nate's brows scrunched and then he realized.

"Oh shit my fudge brownies!"

You didn't even bat an eye, when he untangled himself from blankets and run to the kitchen. You laughed at your boyfriend and then smiled to yourself, beyond grateful that you had Nate and you would make more memories with him while counting days to Christmas.

if you have any thoughts, please share! comments and reblogs also mean so much♡

[pinkrelish]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶Eddie's month began with a rough start, but as the days passed, and your time together grew, his mood improved. He opened up to you, and you listened. Then things escalated. Slow dancing in the garage? Openly flirting while hanging Christmas decorations? This wasn't what he was supposed to be doing with his coworker who was leaving in a few months. And to make matters worse..

"I swear I didn't hang that," he promised while Adrie held both your hands, giggling under the mistletoe.✶

NSFW — slow burn, fluff, flirting, mutual pining, mild sexual tension, light angst, depictions of poverty, mention of blood, reader wears eddie's work jacket, 18+ overall for eventual smut, drug/alcohol mention/use

chapter: 6/20 [wc: 16k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 6: May I Have This Dance?

Eddie opened the cabinet above the coffee machine in the breakroom, and took out his mug to replace it with a themed one of Garfield attempting to coax Nermal under a sprig of mistletoe for a kiss. He stepped back, admired the change in seasons, and clung onto the giddy elation before the impending stress wove knots into his muscles.

He’d be getting a lot of use out of that mug in the coming days..

————

Eddie disguised his crisis well.

He knocked on your desk while keeping the glass door open with his foot, “Hey, can you make me another pot of coffee?”

It was a favor you were happy to oblige. Pausing from thumbing through the filing cabinet, you smiled at him over your shoulder. “Sure!”

And later, he came to you again–diverting the stress from entering his eyes by focusing on the kindness in yours.

“Do you mind if I eat alone today?” he asked, flopping his black notebook back and forth for you to frown at.

“Fine, but you owe me.” And of course, he made it up to you the next afternoon, eating his sandwich made with the scraggy ends of the loaf, and no side container of leftovers, and downing it with a mug of coffee.

Adding onto that, Eddie concealed his problems through other means. Blocking out his suffering, disallowing it from bothering others, but to you, it was no bother.

You leaned over your desk to look into the garage, and asked Mr. Moore when he was passing by on the way to his office, “Did Eddie leave somewhere?”

“Awh, he’s probably out on a smoke break,” he said, rubbing his knuckles along his grayed beard.

“Another one?”

“Yeah, guess so.” He shrugged, inadvertently confirming your fears. “Been takin’ alottavem the past couple’a days.”

You had an inkling of what was going on when you caught Eddie eating his lunch earlier. Alone, scribbling in his notebook for the third time that week, dipping a knife into an unbranded metal can labeled PEANUT BUTTER and slathering the Government supplied commodity on a plain saltine cracker.

Sustenance to live, and hardly at that. You weren’t about to let him hide his misery behind excuses meant to keep you ignorant.

After closing, when everyone went home but you and Eddie, he poured himself the last of the coffee to stave off his hunger, and you shot up from your desk.

“Hey! I’m going out for a sec. I’ll be right back, ‘kay?”

He backed his lips off the mug mid-sip in order to remind you to be safe because it was dark out, and you really should wear brighter colors for cars to see you, and to slow down before the sharp turns because there could ice on the road and you could get hurt, and, and–

“Bye!” You cut off his worrying by riding past the doors with your eyes on him, not where you were going, narrowly missing a street pole by centimeters.

~~~

Back in record time–beating the previous record by default because you’d never had this idea before–you hopped off your bike, loaded your hands with the two paper bags sitting in the handlebar basket, and ripped the stapled receipt off them. You finagled your way into the garage.

“Eddie!” you shouted his name as you entered. And louder again as you approached him from behind. Tempting as it was, you didn’t want to scare him, but part of you hated raising your voice, as well. It felt blasphemous to disturb the scene which captured your heart time and time again.

He was at the workbench in the back corner, sat on a stool with his heavy boots on footrests, knees angled out, bouncing his legs in a rhythm offset from one another–most likely parroting the drumbeat of the tinny music funneling from his headphones so loud he’d surely lose his hearing one day.

The smooth expanse of his shoulder shifted and flowed under his coveralls as he worked, hunched over a set of parts he was cleaning. He settled his forearms on the edge of the creaky wood and swirled an old toothbrush into a bowl of cleaning solution, and scrubbed at the hunk of metal in his hands, setting it aside on the stained towel when he was finished to let it dry. A diligent worker, through and through. Tendons in his tired hands straining to hold the next slippery piece as he circled the bristles over the grooves craggy with grease. Muscles in his jaw tensing from the way he clenched his teeth in between mouthing the lyrics to the music vibrating his brain.

Concentration bundled itself between his eyebrows and above his scrunched nose.

It was endearing to watch him work; watch the menial things he was good at for no other reason than to familiarize yourself with all assets of him.

But good things must come to an end, for you had a better one in store.

You caught him right as he was dropping into a reserved headbang on a chord progression you could hear wailing from where you stood. “Hey there, handsome.”

He panicked, and knocked the headphones around the back of his neck. “Shit, I didn’t hear you come in.” He paused the cassette player clipped to his pocket with a sharp click, and after fixating on your sly grin for a second longer, he dropped his gaze to the oil-soaked paper bag in your hand. “Food?”

“The burger place down the street messed up my order,” you replied in soft amusement. “Do you want the extra?”

He didn’t need convincing.

~~~

The sounds of your togetherness filled the open room–wheels rolling on concrete, crinkly wrappers in your hands, and the grateful noises of him devouring his dinner. Sitting parallel to one another on the creepers, you rolled back and forth, brushing shoulders with Eddie on each pass, stuffing your faces until your taste buds dulled with french fry oil, and sparked with blooms of tangy ketchup.

Wordlessly, he told you he was ready to talk by coming to a stop past the point of your shoulders touching, and resting his arms atop his wide-spread knees, holding the last bites of his burger in front of his face.

You twisted around to observe the width of his back rise with a deep breath.

“Child support is late again. Happens every December, but it’ll come a day or two before it’s officially considered late in January.” Deepening his voice, he put an edge of distaste when speaking about Adrie’s mom, “She has the money–her and her husband have good jobs–so it’s just to be petty and get back at me, or whatever. Like being tied to me years later should affect our kid when I don’t even speak to her.”

“Eddie..”

He shook his head to dismiss the pointless pity imbued in your tender whisper of his name. “Doesn’t matter. Money’s tight, but we get paid tomorrow, so that’ll help.. I figured you knew something was up when I stopped eating with you, but anywhere I can save helps. I want to make sure Adrie has a good Christmas this year.”

Realizing something, he raised his hand to ward off any criticism you were about to give him, having been trained to expect it from others since his daughter was an infant. “I want to make it clear.. Adrie always has food,” he stated slowly, and from a place of loathsome apprehension in his chest.

“It never crossed my mind she wouldn’t.” You pushed yourself backwards on the rolly board, and leaned into him, bicep to bicep, gazes met. “I know you’re a good dad” –He glanced away– “You are, Eddie, and I know how well you take care of Adrie, even when shit like this happens. And Christmas will always be special because of how much you love her, not because of what you buy her.”

“But I want her to keep up with her friends, and bond over whatever they’re into.”

“I know you do..”

Even to his detriment, through the sacrifices he made, he’d make sure his daughter had whatever she wanted.

You ran a purposeful knuckle along his tensed tricep. It didn’t earn his eye contact, but he did relax his hand, dropping it to peel down the rest of the wrapper and finish his burger while you spoke. “Maybe they’ll mess up my order again tomorrow, and we can eat lunch together.. And maybe Robin’s mom will make an extra casserole for dinner tonight, and I can leave it in the breakroom, if that’s okay?”

“I’d appreciate it.” No malicious pride. No toxic masculinity. No senseless denial. Eddie accepted your offer with gratitude, and packed his trash into the paper bag while you still ate, settling in with his arms hugged around his knees, ensuring some part of your bodies remained touching–in this case, it was your shoulders again.

The sweet, trusting pressure of yourselves melding into each other’s comfort.

Then, while the candidness was raw, it was your turn to point your attention elsewhere as you asked something you were shy to voice out loud, “Uhm, when we were at Adrie’s school, her teacher kept saying something about, like, you not carrying her, and babying her, or whatever.” You gestured vaguely as if you weren’t eavesdropping the entire time. “And I’d been meaning to ask if I’m–uh?–too affectionate with her? Like if it’s weird, or something I shouldn’t be doing? You’re the parent and I never really asked if it was okay before picking her up, and hugging her, and–”

He cut you off.

“No, no, no.” His assurance was delivered swift, and earnest. “How you are with Adrie is fine by me. More than fine. It’s–It’s–Seriously, it’s great having her look up to someone who isn’t me.”

“What about what her teacher said?”

“I don’t care,” he scoffed. “I know she means well, but it’s not like Adrie’s going to be a kid forever, and if I want to coddle her, who gives a shit. Now, her teacher is great, and I don’t want to diminish what my uncle, and people like Steve and Nancy have done for my family, but for most of Adrie’s life, it’s just been me and her, and even if she annoys the living fuck out of me sometimes, she’s all I have, and if I want to carry her around, I will.”

“You have me now, too.”

You heard yourself say it.

You heard yourself say it aloud, after he said his daughter was all he had, and now you had to follow it up with a tongue-tied spew of clarifications.

“Just, you know, it’s not only you, Adrie, your uncle, Steve and Nancy, and her teacher. You have me now, too, as your friend.. I mean, we are friends, aren’t we?”

Warmth spread through your body. From your ribs, outward, where he jabbed his elbow into your side. Thrumming where his weight pressed into you, sending his hip into yours. Pleasure–blooming–from his silly grin to your romantic heart, to your platonic fingers snagging the fabric of his coveralls around his thigh to stop him from shoving your board away. Yearning. Sprung from the grease dirtying your skin being the same as the black streak above his eyebrow where he wiped his bangs off his forehead.

“Yeah.. Yeah, I think after this, you’re my friend,” he agreed, accidentally kicking over the takeout bag in his teasing. “No qualifier of reluctancy, or addendums, or prefaces. We’re friends.”

Yeah, definitely friends.

Friends who could calculate the exact degree of the arc of the other’s smile through memory alone, having stared at their lips for longer than friends ought.

————

And you played the part of companion quite well, you thought, when Eddie cursed as he came in from the garage with his hand cradled to his chest.

He ducked into the bathroom, and before the door closed, he was pushing it open on his way to the breakroom sink. “Shit. Don’t we have a first aid kit?” he asked.

“Oh! I left it in the women’s restroom after I got a paper cut.” You pushed yourself away from your desk, and found it in the cabinetry, bringing it to him as he scrubbed Dawn soap over his left hand, from upper wrist to fingertips. “Is it bad?” you asked cautiously. Blood was.. fine. But anything needing stitches was more than your red zipper pouch could help with.

“I’m okay,” he grunted, voice deep with the resonance of an inconvenience, more so than true pain. “Just one of those shitty surface cuts that doesn’t stop bleeding.”

The moment Eddie’s hands were dripping with diluted red water instead of blackened motor oil droplets, you tore a paper towel from the roll, cupped his palm, and folded it over his pinky and outermost knuckles. You bent over to keep his hand over the sink, and accepted the sharp jut of his elbow tucked into the softness of your waist.

The scrapes were shallow, as he said. You pressed your thumbs over the superficial wounds until the white paper dotted bright crimson–same color as his cheeks–and he remained silent. He didn’t deny your doting. Didn’t disrupt the gesture, nor break the spell.

It was a nice moment. Until you opened an alcohol wipe and swabbed it over the afflicted area. His mouth twitched at the stinging liquid cooling on his skin. As it dried, you made brief eye contact and shied away from his suspicious squint, like you had a secret to tell him sealed behind your lips all morning.

“What’s that look for?”

While pulling out two beige bandages for his knuckles, you answered in feigned indifference, “Oh, nothing. Just.. y’know.. Mr. Moore promoted me to Office Administrator, and maybe it came with a little raise, and who knows, an extra sick day or two.”

“Nice!” He angled his hand so it was easier for you to wrap the Band-aid around to the side of his palm where there was a wet, angry cut. He was trembling from the rush of adrenaline, endorphins, and relief he didn’t get more injured from his strained muscles giving out while wielding a power tool without protective gloves on.

“So now I have the confusing job of being both the person who cleans the toilets, and also organizes payroll.” You drew your eyebrows in. “Whatever organizing payroll means.”

Eddie watched you turn over the pouch to shake out the slots where the more grown up, adult bandages usually resided, and came up empty. Instead, a metal tin with Sesame Street characters clattered on the countertop. You popped it open.

“Hope you don’t mind,” you said.

Cookie Monster and Big Bird were gingerly wrapped around his pinky, protecting him from further harm.

Bright, cheery colors in contrast to the grime nestled into the crevices of his skin, and the dark blue coveralls he wore today. Your delicate touch. And his rough calluses. Your soft, chapstick-slick lips. And his cold-weathered mouth lifted at the corner. Your obedient body turning with his. And his face drawing near. Your tender, weak grip on his injured hand. And his sneaky fingers reaching past you.

He took three extra Band-aids and put them in the pocket below his embroidered name patch.

Eyelashes fluttering at the sensation of your forearm resting against his stomach, you chided him in the faintest exhale, “That’s stealing from the company, you know. I could write you up.”

Pleading with you amidst a persuasive smile, he begged, “If Adrie sees I have a cool Band-aid, and she doesn’t get one too, she’ll be upset.”

“That’s not fair.” Not like you cared if he took things from work, but if the Band-aids were for Adrie, you’d give him the entire tin, and he knew it. “You play a mean game, Eddie, using my greatest weakness against me.”

He took another Bert and Ernie, and slipped them in with the others, patting his pocket flat.

In a defeated sigh, you crumbled under the smug display of his proud chest, gaze trained on the cursive lettering composing his name, the motor oil blackening his cuticles, and the grease stain on his coveralls from the french fry he dropped earlier.

“Who’s the pushover now?”

“Considering you’re robbing me of Sesame Street Band-aids to bribe your daughter out of a tantrum?” You looked him up and down, from his half-closed eyes to the ketchup stain. “Still you.”

He hummed a warm reply, and twitched his other hand closed, curling his fingers over yours for a split second. A movement stunted by the bandages. Likewise, you drummed your fingertips on the heel of his palm, and let go.

“Wear your gloves next time, idiot.”

“Yes, dear.”

————

Taking on the role of Office Administrator meant one thing to the both of you: less time together.

The interactions were fleeting; sneaking a glance at each other when Eddie made an unnecessary trip to the breakroom to get his jacket for an equally unnecessary smoke break. But it meant he’d pass by Mr. Moore’s office twice while you were being taught how to fill out ledgers and spreadsheets. Two possibilities for you to become enamored with his hair flowing from underneath his bandana, and two chances for him to capture your interest with his charm–his larger than life presence stomping past the door with his chin held high and his hands in his back pockets, looking at you out the corner of his eye, and giving you that tight, knowing grin.

It was lonely working in the mornings, having a short lunch at your desk while scheduling business meetings with salesmen for Mr. Moore, and clocking out at 4PM to help take care of things at home while Robin was managing the night shift, and her dad was on bed rest.

You missed Eddie.

Eddie missed you.

————

It was a cold, bleak mid-December night after a dreary day of clouds and wind. The service bay doors were closed, except for one to allow the draft to carry out lingering exhaust fumes. Darkness smothered the world beyond the auto shop, interrupted intermittently by the odd car stopping at the streetlight. Turn signals blinked. Headlights peered into the warehouse, shining light on the single truck in the empty garage.

Blissful, tranquil winter. Crisp, throat-aching air. Bites of frost sinking into flesh. Numbed fingers. Frozen teeth nipping at the bone. Undisturbed. Quiet. No music.

“Man, it’s freezing in the lobby,” you complained loudly upon entering Eddie’s domain and crouching in front of the space heater next to the workbench.

The pair of legs sticking out from under the truck shifted.

Surprised by your sudden appearance, and grumpy about the loss of hot air directed at him, Eddie beat his wrench on the wheel axle to show his annoyance when you giggled and refused to move. In fact, you hunkered down, rubbing your palms together, hogging all the warmth while having the audacity to wear his tan work jacket.

He tapped the heel of his heavy work boot at you. “I thought you left for the day.”

“Did you really not notice me at my desk for the past hour?”

After waving the tool at the underside of the truck he’d been staring at for the better part of the evening, he then tucked his chin to make a snide remark, “Do you think I keep track of your whereabouts at all times?”

“Yes.”

No response except for a sour expression. Predictable. It was in his best interest to roll his head to the side, and pretend to be working by muttering mathematics to himself. You, however, stood up, and sidestepped the heater to read the buttons on the stereo radio, and dug for the cassette you slipped into the jacket’s pocket before coming out here.

Snap. Click. Whirr.

The black tape spun on the wheels, and from the speakers strung at the back corners of the garage, music began.

Eddie’s groan rose above the plucky piano keys. “Oh, please don’t tell me you’re subjecting me to Christmas music.”

You shushed him, “It’s just jazz.”

Ella Fitzgerald’s warbling hum filled the concrete walls. Her stunning voice and evocative, blunt lyrics soothed your eyes closed. Face-burning words you weren’t ashamed of. You let them take you. Dipping and swaying your shoulders side to side as the piano lulled you into its drunken blitheness. Guiding you two steps to the left, the right. A lazy turn. Paused on the cusp of anticipation. You stopped. Blinked lovingly at the boots beneath you.

“May I have this dance?”

Metal clinked to the ground. Eddie gripped the edge of the car, and pulled himself out. Pushed himself into a sitting position on the creeper, focusing on your hand extended to him, and climbing his gaze upwards. To the smudges of pencil lead and blue pen ink on the inside of your fingers from where you gripped the writing utensils, to the coffee stain on the cuff of his jacket, the name patch, the roundness of your cheeks from your hopeful smile.

“My hands are dirty,” he said.

“I don’t care.” You urged in all gentleness, “Don’t turn me down because you’re shy. I’ll teach you.”

Teach me, he mouthed.

A delicious secret emerged.

Excitement, charismatic boisterousness, unhesitating–eager–sincere excessive vulnerability, bursting to be the shameless youth he used to be and oh so endearing–Eddie sprang into action at the upkick in tempo. The namesake of the song vibrated under his ribs–I’ve Got a Crush On You–and the garage blurred in your dizzy eyes.

Eddie, Eddie, eddie eddie eddie, eddieeddieeddie. Hawkins’ reject, the town’s outcast, Eddie, in all his awkward, standoffish exterior built to protect his sensitive heart, swept your right hand into his left. Raised them. Compelled you into a fast, tight spin under his arm, and at the rotation’s completion, you sank into each other’s embrace like a released breath.

You used the solid curve of his shoulder as leverage, and fit your other hand in the space between his thumb and index.

Eddie didn’t lead.

He demanded you follow.

His muscles were braced with ego as he ushered you backwards. Large advances towards you, forcing you away from the truck, and half-turns to the side with an appropriate pressure at your waist to follow him to the unoccupied center of the garage. But his modest hand grew longing in the distance as you struggled to keep up in the short chase. The thick jacket meant for durability kept him wanting more, and he used it to reel you in. Draw you near. Bodies untouching, but radiating heat in the hushed sigh of winter rolling in from the service door.

Not once had you managed to sound the question on your parted lips, but he understood it, and answered.

“You’re not the only theater kid,” he said softly. “It was the only elective I liked. Had to learn to dance for a few parts over the years, and if I may judge by your reaction, I’m not half-bad.”

You laughed, “Wh-Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

The smug grin he wore waned to something more humble in nature. “Mm-nn. I never wanted to interrupt your stories. It’s more interesting listening to you talk about how you played a witch in a slutty Off-Off-Broadway rendition of Macbeth where you managed to snap both your stilettos in the first Act, than it is for me to go on about how I played background character #4 in my second senior year of high school and mostly used the class as an excuse to make props and shit.”

“Eddie,” you whined. Once upon a time, during your first days working here, he told you to leave him alone for jabbering on about the theater works you and Robin were a part of, and now he reveals this? “I didn’t even think you were listening when I told you those stories. And again! Why–didn’t–you–tell me?” Your words were minced from you shaking his shoulder.

“I didn’t think it’d be relevant,” he explained, speaking in that shy mumble of his.

“We could’ve been dancing this whole time.”

Eddie hung his head back, and bounced his brows upward. “Mmm. You make it sound like you’ve been wanting to do this since we met.” His hum, his words sent his Adam’s apple crawling up the deep shadows his jaw cast on his throat. Vibrating from within his alluring chest, and coming from the plump lips which appeared less blemished since the last time you were blessed with studying them up close.

The tube of Carmex you found in his pocket was doing wonders.

Basking in the overhead lights as flowers did in the sun, he listened to the end of the song fade. He willed his eyes half-open as it switched, dropped his face to lock onto your gaze, and obeyed the slower rhythm. Languid lurches into your compliant hips to the smooth saxophone. Step, step– With a pivot, guiding you around the floor in an unpredictable routine. One which kept you guessing. Had the rolled cuff of his pants brushing against your ankle, and his body coaxing you into a quick reverse turn at the piping trumpets on the following track. Broached the intimacy of his scent in your nose. Of course he didn’t smell great after a long day of working, but.. By your racing heart rushing blood in your ears, you had to admit, you didn’t find it as gross as you should, either.

Breaking you from your trance of staring at the frizzy baby curls sticking to the dried sweat on his neck, he suggested, “Dip?”

Your surprised shriek bubbled into a scathing yelp of Mother Fu–.

Impatient, ineloquent, and forgetful of manners. It was by the grace of your muscle memory you grappled for his upper body before your eyes could adjust to the upside down car cruising by the shop, puttering to a stop at the intersection. The arch he put in your back was wicked. Sinful, even. Supported by his strong arms.

Merciful, he righted your world. And in reconciliation, he observed you with the same obsessive interest he showed when he made you laugh. Watching for your reaction, and when it was adoring, he relaxed the apology from his features.

He hooked a finger around the lock of hair stuck at the corner of his mouth, and pulled it free; clasped your hand again–the other was slipped under the back of the jacket, and he settled his forearm around your waist, hot palm on your spine.

You took the cue. You climbed the scope of his shoulder to wager your dignity on the tight muscle at the crook of his neck. When he didn’t object, and his easy grin remained, you ventured under his unruly mane and found the back of his neck. You slipped your thumb into his collar, and rested it along the naked skin of his nape.

He shivered.

A car passed by.

The gossipers of Hawkins watched a mechanic and his boss’ receptionist-turned-Office-Administrator stare into each other’s eyes, and sway.

The distance between you two was unassuming, except for the tastes of more when the music encouraged, twirling yourself under his lifted arm as two separate beings, and rejoining as a pair, rocking back and forth, side to side, smiling from the exploration into something new.

The drum beats ebbed to a drowsy cadence.

Minutes passed. The embrace became familiar. Your held hands were sticky with shared dust and nervous sweat. His exhale mingled with your inhale. The steady sway was a polite shuffle in either direction, any direction. It didn’t matter. The embrace was the point.

“As Office Administrator,” you started, “I wanted to throw a party next week, the day before our holiday off. It’d be right after work, if you wanted to hang out, eat, and maybe bring Adrie?”

Before he could answer, you lowered your voice to an all-too-candid beg, “Please? I promise it won’t be boring. Mr. Moore said no one’s thrown a work party before, and I’m terrified no one but Kevin and his three dogs will show up.” You put a compassionate squeeze on the back of his neck. “Please don’t let it just be me, Kevin, and his three dogs.”

The bottom of Eddie’s two front teeth showed as he spoke on the verge of a grin, “I thought he only had two.”

You whispered dramatically, “It’s three now.”

He pretended to think over the offer, shifting from foot to foot.

“Eddie.”

As if he could keep up the act when you craved his name like that. “I’ll go,” he placated you, but not before inclining his head, viewing you through his messy bangs and long lashes. “And of course I’ll bring Adrie.”

You celebrated by punching up your linked hands–yours smelling of pencil shavings, and his of burnt brake pads. Eddie used it to maneuver you into another turn. Smooth, suave. A true gentleman.

“Would you help me decorate too?” you dared ask. His answer was an apathetic grumble. “And maybe bring any non-denominational wintry decorations you have because all I could find in town were very red and green, and very Christmas-leaning.”

“You’re not sweetening the deal.”

“But it’s a ‘yes,’ isn’t it?”

Another dissuasive grumble.

Whimsy, breathless lyrics about fresh love trilled from the speakers. The cassette was on its last song before needing to be flipped.

“Do you really listen to jazz?” he asked, skirting into the territory of curiosity as his frame rocked you to the left.

“I listen to a little bit of everything,” you answered honestly, engaging in a fluid stride to the right. “Are you asking because of the music you listen to?” At once, your expression went wry, and his widened to barely constrained intrigue, like you were two steps ahead of him, reading his private thoughts. “The kinda stuff you blast when you think I’m not around.”

“You’ve heard that?”

Not helping the pink hue stemming from the hot base of his neck beneath your palm, you were quick to tease him, “Well, I’m not exactly competing in the Tour de France, y’know. You don’t wait for me to ride away before starting up your little concerts in here when you tell me to leave early. Bet you play air-guitar ‘nd everything when I’m gone, like a dork.”

Visibly curbing his habit to lick his lips, not desiring the swipe of dust it’d come with, Eddie narrowed his eyes, and cocked his head back to regard you down the slope of his nose. “Yeah? And what do you think of the music I listen to?”

“Unsurprising. Suits your image.” Engaging in a bit of intentionality, you worked your hand from his nape and introduced your fingertips to his other shoulder, wrapping your arm tighter around him, and you were enveloped by his warmth doing the same. The waistband of his coveralls rubbed against the metal zipper of his bulky jacket you wore as you moved in unison. “I recognize the big stuff. Metallica, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest..” You shrugged. “Accept?”

The tip of Eddie’s nose came into focus, then his big eyes searching yours as he turned his face side to side, examining you up close. “I wasn’t even playing Balls to the Wall. No one just casually names Accept like that. You like them!”

“Okay, okay, slow down, don’t get too excited,” you calmed him before he strained a tendon in the very finger he pointed at you. “I’ve couch surfed with a lot of weirdos, and lived with six roommates at one point. I’ve listened to my fair share of music through thin walls whether I liked it or not.. But yeah, I like metal enough, I guess.”

Though he unlinked your waltzing hands in his rush to assert himself in your personal space, his arm around your waist persisted–and if he were wary of crossing boundaries, he showed no heed when he employed his strength to press your chests together through the layers of clothes in a sense of spontaneity.

Your view was eclipsed by the thrill in his boyish grin, and then, his hair was slipping from your curious fingers.

“Wait here–!”

And he was gone. His body heat bounded away and out the back door. You were stunned with your hands still posed as if he were there.

You dropped your arms to your sides, and clutched the rugged canvas jacket around you, waiting, listening to the gravel crunch and a car door slam, peering out into the dark to see what became so important he left his dancing partner in the middle of the warehouse in utter confusion.

“Got it,” he said in his stride to the stereo.

“Got what?” It was rude enough to abandon you, and now he was ignoring you in his frenzy. You followed him to the workbench, and turned to the side to rest your hip on it. The heater thawed your shins while Eddie pried open a cassette, but you couldn’t read the front from how he held it in his palms.

Snap. Click. Whirr.

He leaned his ass on the table top and folded his arms over his chest, instilling a narrow distance between you two. His gaze was on the floor. Eyes falling closed. For once, he did not want to see your reaction.

The speakers crackled with static.

You startled.

It was a hard left turn from the somber jazz from before.

Drumsticks crashed on cymbals, setting the aggressive pace for a piercing guitar to enter on a screeching note, quickly devolving into thrashy chords sure to make the fingers sore, along with a bass and rhythm guitar that were getting lost in your pounding head.

Though he wasn’t watching, you schooled the surprise from your features, and relaxed your shoulders. The music wasn’t offensive in the least, but it was loud.

After the initial assault, and a quick bass solo, you were nodding along, enjoying the overwhelming beat pulsing in your throat making it difficult to breathe.

The shredding guitar wept to a softer bridge, and the vocals began.

The vocals began.

The vocals..

The lyrics were spoken–sung–with the last word being dragged into a melodic ballad as the instruments went silent. A rich note held by a man whose voice was neither deep, nor falsetto. Perfectly in the middle. Perfectly fitting your preference. Perfectly matching the one you heard most days, and thought about at night, when your bed was lonely and your body was flushed with heat.

Perfectly matching..

You snapped your attention to Eddie’s face. His eyelids twitched with movement. Individual curls of his hair swung in time to his head dipping to the tempo. His cheek jumped at the start of the next verse, and he dug his fingernails into his sleeve until they turned white.

“This is you,” you expelled in pure infatuation. “Eddie!” You clasped his bicep, and leaned in to him, excelling at matching his enthusiasm from earlier, and surpassing it. “Eddie, this is you!” He opened his eyes and slouched away from your efforts in a laugh, angling his face into his hair to hide his shy grin.

You ran your hand along his forearm and tugged, wheedling him out of the tight hug he had himself locked in, urging him to open up. “This is you singing, isn’t it? This is your band.” The cassette case was behind him. Corroded Coffin. Same name as what was on his sweatshirt on Halloween. 

The second button on his coveralls snapped open, below the one he always kept unfastened. You didn’t know at what point you were bold enough to put your hand on his chest, nor gather the fabric into your fist while shaking some sense into him, but you did. You really did expose the tight white shirt clinging to his sticky skin. All for the sake of validating Eddie.

When he continued acting far too humble–shrinking into himself, and mumbling how it wasn’t that cool–you wasted no time embarrassing yourself by jumping on your tiptoes, telling him just how cool it was, you promised.

Reaching behind him, he slapped the volume knob down so you both could stop shouting.

“I appreciate the groupie attitude, but it’s not like we’re a big deal, or anything,” he said, awkwardly folding one of his arms on top of the workbench as he surrendered and turned to you. His other hand hesitated near the bottom of the jacket. “About once a month we get a gig in Indy. Doesn’t pay much, but it covers the cost of the trip, and we get a decent crowd, I guess. Uhm, the venue sells out.. sometimes. People know some of the lyrics. We sell a couple of shirts..” he trailed off upon making eye contact. “We only get to practice on the days I leave work early. Maybe on the weekend.. so.”

Overflowing with sincerity, you trusted your hands to behave themselves on his forearm, laying your decent fingers over the tensed muscle above his wrist where he wore his watch.

He canted his head, and gave you a cynical look. “It’s not like we’re famous or anything.”

“I think it’s so cool you’re in a band,” you stressed. “How come you never told me?”

Shrugging, he glanced elsewhere. “Being you, and being from New York, you probably know hundreds of bands who’ve made it big. I’m sure you’ve met way more impressive people.”

Is that what this was about? Not sharing his theatrical past, and now his band because he was insecure about not impressing you, of all things? Using a resentful tone when speaking about his life versus yours, as if the comparisons mattered when it took all of your willpower to not stare at his lips in this proximity.

“Who cares who I’ve met. You sound amazing. The music, your voice. Everything. It’s uniquely yours, and I can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner.”

Eddie sighed.

Cozying into the position, he leaned his weight on the arm you cupped your palms over, and there was a pull at the hem of the jacket. You shifted closer. He looped his finger into the pocket and rubbed his thumb along the edge of it, seeking an absent-minded distraction as he explained, “I also didn’t want to, ah–I don’t know.. Scare you off. Like, if you didn’t like it, or thought heavy metal was Satanic, or some shit.”

“Scare me off?” At least, you intended to repeat it back to him as a question, but your laugh interrupted you. “Oh, Eddie. Light of my day, my neverending fountain of mirth, a true joy to be around,” you gushed at his exaggerated sneer. “If you didn’t scare me off the first week of meeting you, where you made it a point to glare at me for the mere act of speaking in your direction, I don’t think your very obvious music taste would.”

He looked at his boots for a moment to reflect on his behavior, but forwent an apology, and instead asked, “So, you don’t think it’s lame for me to be pushing 30-years-old, and still playing in a garage band?” There was a truncated tension at the end of his question, like he wanted to add more self-deprecation to it, but stopped himself. Good thing, too, because you were about to voice your adulations until you were rendered to a puddle of embarrassment.

Sparing no sarcasm, you furrowed your brows and screwed your mouth into a snarky grin as you rolled your eyes. “Yeah, girls find it totally lame when hot guys with long hair drive fast cars and play loud music and are in a band. It’s totally the most unattractive thing, especially when they have tattoos and are good singers. Definitely isn’t a turn-on at all.”

Too far, too much, too inappropriate–

The last sentence was over the line, and you could see it in his surprised eyebrows wrinkling his forehead, and his wide pupils boring into yours, and his cheeks reddening as your words sank in.

The garage went viscerally quiet.

He stopped fidgeting with the jacket pocket.

Mistake, mistake, mistake.

“Not just the vocalist,” he said, voice cracking on the whisper. “I play lead guitar, too.”

You spat out, “Very cool,” desperate for the relief of his face cracking into a flattered grin.

But no, Eddie didn’t grant you such comfort. However, he did spare you the chance to scratch at the anxious sweat dripping down your back when he rearranged how he was standing, and spun around to the stereo. “It’s pretty late, huh? We should probably get going.” He pressed his hips to the workbench as he organized the tapes into their cases. Then, he paused.

The case yours went to was blank. Nothing written on the dotted lines on the back, nor on the front of the tape.

“I need my jacket back,” he reminded you.

“R-Right.”

You shimmied it off, and handed it to him. He draped it over his arm, and clutched the bulk to his stomach, covering his front as he turned to face you again. “Here.” Holding out the black and white cassette with a stylized logo he drew himself, he gave you his personal copy of Corroded Coffin’s first recording session. “You take mine. I’ll take yours.”

“Are you sure?”

Staring at the mixtape compiled of the cheesy love songs you made over the course of a few nights, he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.” And as he dragged his feet backwards–avoiding the space heater without looking–he said on his way to the tray where he kept his rings, “We should do this again. The whole.. dancing thing.” He gestured with the tape. “I’ll pick the music next time, too.”

With his back to you, he cleaned up his station, and let you know you could go. “I’ll lock up behind you.”

“You never answered if you were helping me hang decorations,” you found your voice. It was hiding behind a hammering heart, and shallow-filled lungs.

Outside, a car honked at a truck to take their turn at a green light.

The metal teeth on his jacket ground together as Eddie zipped it up. He sank his heavy hands into the pockets to weigh them down, and crossed his work boots at the ankle to about-face in a sort of pirouette, pinning you with his lopsided grin and mellow demeanor. “You know, I thought with all the life lessons I’ve had to learn over the past five years, I’d be able to resist a pretty girl asking me to do things for her.” He snorted and flicked his eyes to the ceiling, shaking his head. “But when they’re as beautiful as you, I just can’t.”

His gaze came crashing down onto you, and your tongue froze at the tip of your teeth.

“Alright, Casanova,” you let out in a shaky breath. “I’ll take that as you agreeing, and will see you bright and early, and without any complaints.” You left as fast as you could.

No, really. The Tour de France better have a spot open for you, with how fast you pedaled home to sit on your bed, cross legged, happily ruining your hearing from having the volume scrolled to the max on your Walkman, listening to Eddie’s voice, wondering at what point the endorphins would wear off and you were stuck agonizing over how blatant you were about calling your coworker hot. And how he called you beautiful in return.

————

Talking amongst the sputtering coffee machine beginning its brew:

“The fourth one–uh–Solivagant, is definitely my favorite!”

“That one’s instrumental,” Eddie pouted. “And here I was under the impression you liked my lyrics.. Mm, a little lower on your side.”

You put blu-tack on your end of the banner, and pressed it into the wall. “I do! But that one really got stuck in my head. The way all the guitars came together to play the harmony was just–Eddie! You did that on purpose.”

Stepping around to the other side of the lunch table, you threw your head back in a groan at the glittery Happy Holidays sign you wrongly assumed he would help you hang without turning it into a way to tease you.

“You’re the worst,” you grumbled on your way to fix the banner so it was even, and his side wasn’t higher by a few inches.

“Sorry,” he said weakly between his snickering. “Let me.”

There was no letting him do what he wanted. He was going to push his way into your space, regardless. Literally, shoving a chair out of his way with his hip, and standing behind you to peel the sticky tacky off the wall, and raising it from your face’s height, to slightly above your head, needlessly, infuriatingly, unhelpfully helping you. Barging in with his hand on your shoulder, and his body at your back. Closer, more intimate than the time at the grocery store.

His inhale swelled his solid chest against your shoulder blades, and his hum rumbled down your spine. “Am I supposed to dress up nice for your party?”

You twisted your head back to admire the underside of his freshly shaven jaw smelling of astringent spice. “Only if you feel like it,” you guessed. “The dress I’m wearing is pretty casual, but you don’t have to do anything special if you don’t want to.” After circling his thumb over the tacky corner of the sign, he dropped his arms, grazing them over yours, if only in passing. “I think the other guys are wearing button down shirts.”

His gaze drifted as he visualized his closet.

You stared. “Do you really not have one nice shirt?”

“I might still have the one from my job interview,” he said, tucking his chin to look at you, creating a silly amount of wrinkles along his burgeoning grin.

The front door chimed. Either Carl, Kevin, or your boss just walked in, and it was then Eddie realized the position he had you in. It struck him when his peppermint-candy-and-cigarettes breath caressed your fluttering lashes, and he could discern the bubblegum flavored chapstick on your lips, just like you could observe the balm on his.

If someone saw him trapping you alone in the breakroom against the wall with your backside pressed to him, there would be no delicate conversation about consensual workplace relationships. He’d be gone.

“Sorry!”

Eddie made his swift retreat–three, no, four steps away.

You widened your eyes at him, at his obviousness, and tried to communicate through your facial expression you knew what he was thinking, and everything was okay. You two were a bit too comfortable around each other, that’s all. It wasn’t something serious he needed to explain away. No one caught him. It was innocent, like slow dancing when no one was around. Innocent. Teasing.

“I, uhm– Y-Yeah, the shirt.” He forced his fingers to unclench into limp fists at his side. Face pale, yet hot. “It’s–I’ll wear it.”

Wringing your hand around the fridge door handle, you bent towards him, and raised your eyebrows higher, imploring him to chill. “Eddie, you can come in a t-shirt and jeans. It doesn’t matter. Adrie can wear whatever she wants, too. It’s just a casual thing.”

Totally casual. Like the body heat fading from the back of your green knit sweater where his chest became acquainted with the acrylic. Dissipating on his skin beneath his coveralls where the crown of your head met his shoulder. Very casual.

“Uhm–”

“So..”

You both started, and ended.

“Mornin’!” Mr. Moore’s gruff greeting came from the hallway.

Treating it as a warning, you each responded with an acknowledgement of your boss’ appearance as he walked into the room. “Good morning!” and “Salutations!” To which you shut your eyes in exasperation at Eddie’s unusual welcome, begging him to act normal while Mr. Moore poured sugar in his coffee.

After stirring in complete silence, he took turns smiling at you both, and meandered to his office, closing the door behind him.

Eddie shifted topics to the table where piles of garland remained coiled.

“Should we–?”

“Wanna just, uh, forget decorating for today, ‘nd do it tomorrow?” you spoke over him.

“Yeah,” he answered, nodding too enthusiastically. He tossed his hair out of his face, revealing the red tips of his ears for a split-second, and said, “Tomorrow, yeah. We can do the rest of this shit tomorrow.”

A very graceful conversation between two people who just had a very ordinary interaction without any explicit implications.

“We’re still having lunch together later, right?” you asked.

“Duh. You’ve gotta finish giving me your thoughts on the rest of our EP. The chorus for Taladasian Empire has some meta references to the other songs, I don’t know if you caught onto that, but the second verse mentions..”

Oh, he was adorable when he hyperfixated. Not only did it steer the conversation away from the previous blood-scorching incident, but it was rather nice to have a reason to stare at his lips move a mile a minute as he conjured an unprompted dissertation about his music’s lore, even as you were sitting at your desk, pointing at your ringing phone, and suggesting he should also get to work.

There were only two days left before the long holiday, and customers needed their cars before the shop was closed for the break.

————

Kevin sipped his coffee in the early morning sunlight filtering through the garage.

You garnered Eddie’s help whenever he was available, and the current task was dressing up your receptionist desk to look like a big present, complete with a gold bow flowing over the ledge where the candy bowl sat. Eddie crouched at one end holding a roll of wrapping paper while you unfurled it to the other, and measured it to the side facing the lobby.

Kevin watched the interaction through a unique lens, noting how Eddie bounced on his heels, appearing both bored and anxious to get back to work, but when he glanced over at you–at your face pinched in concentration as you fought with the tape dispenser with one hand–it was as if his worries melted away.

The boy calmed down.

Though Kevin didn’t come in often, the effect you had on the misfit was overt in the sweetest way. It reminded him of his first and last love, who had since passed.

~~~

Carl sipped his coffee as he stood in the doorway to the breakroom.

The lobby was taken over by a cheerful wonderment.

Eddie was hanging white and blue streamers from the drop ceiling tiles, while you decorated the windows with silver snowflakes. At first, Carl thought Eddie was pinning them up around the perimeter of the room because he lacked direction, but then he saw why he insisted on following you around, setting up the step ladder directly behind you.

Without discussing it, you reached out for Eddie’s arm as you stepped onto the cushiony lobby chair customers sat in when waiting for their cars, and he was at the ready. He lent his balance to you, crooking his elbow for you to slot your fingers into, and once steady, you let go.

The conversation picked up where it was left off, and the decorating continued.

Now that the glass door was unblocked, Kevin shuffled inside with his cold mug to get a refill, and stopped next to Carl on his way to the coffee machine.

“You sure those two ain’t datin’?” he asked.

Carl shrugged with his mug on the way to his mouth. “Apparently not. Ed said they’re just friends.”

At a sound in the lobby, they craned their heads to the furthest wall to witness Eddie beaming down at you. His smile was a rarity, and watching the enormous emotion take over him when you touched his arm and laughed at his joke; it was a sight worthy of remembering.

Kevin scratched at the side of his head, then straightened out the bill to his baseball cap over his wispy white hair, and squinted at the mischievous glint in Carl’s eyes.

“But David did say he walked in on them looking mighty flustered yesterday.”

“Did he, now?”

Swallowing the hot coffee with a wet smack of his lips, he emphasized a drawn out, “Yep.”

Kevin suggested, “Maybe the holiday spirit will take over, and they’ll confess their feelings under some mistletoe.”

“Uck,” he replied with a disgusted noise. “You’re always such a romantic.”

“You’re the one starin’ at them,” Kevin countered on his way to the coffee pot, shuffling from the arthritis in his knees, and focusing his energy into keeping his trembling hand still as he poured his drink. “Besides, I think his little girl would appreciate having someone like her in their lives.”

————

Four hours before the party, the auto shop was swept into a flurry of activity.

Carl and Kevin each had vehicles to work on; driving a truck out to the parking lot for a customer to pick up after you called them, and driving a car in. Working in tandem to the jolly Christmas music on the radio. Crowding the garage with discarded packaging from parts that would be gathered to be burned later.

“Guh–” You hung up the phone, and pressed a button to erase what you previously recorded after you stuttered over part of your script.

This outgoing message thing wasn’t going well.

Sighing, you picked it up and pressed the record button again. “You’ve reached David’s Auto Shop at..” you enunciated the number and address in an even tone. “We’re currently closed for the Holidays, and will open at 8AM, Mon–”

The smell of cigarettes should’ve been your first warning. The hand tipping your office chair back should’ve been the second. The general Eddie-ism of it all should’ve been the third.

Eddie blew a raspberry directly into the receiver.

“You! Why! That one was perfect. God, you are so–freaking–annoying. I swear. Obnoxious little..” Fuming, you hung up, and glared at him.

He cackled on his way to the garage. “Hey, since you’re not busy, can you help me roll this stack of tires to the Buick over there?” Before you could share the choice words you had prepared for him–before you could process the droplets of spit drying on your cheek–before the door could hit him on the way out–he spun and caught it and ducked his head back in. “Oh! Don’t forget your policy. Can’t say no to helping me, huh?” On his smooth exit, he winked and made a clicking sound with his mouth, flashing a gratuitous amount of teeth on the smirk.

“You are the absolute worst.” You grabbed your hoodie and followed him, pointedly not thanking him for holding the door open for you. “And you know what? I seriously regret ever telling you about my dumbass policy.”

“Really? I’ve only just begun to actualize the potential for making you do things for me. I’m loving it!”

~~~

Three hours before the party, you put the finishing touches on the breakroom before Robin arrived with the food you ordered from the bakery and deli at the grocery store. Some was excess that would’ve gone to waste; extra cupcakes, and cookies. Other things were ordered, like finger sandwiches, veggie trays, and an arrangement of cheese cubes with those cute toothpicks that have red and green cellophane at the top. You also gave her money for the makings of smores, bags of pretzels, and crackers, themed plates and cups to match. The works.

You cleaned the countertop free of appliances, putting them away in the cupboards to make space and give outlets to the crockpots Mr. Moore’s wife was bringing later.

Otherwise, you shoved a tall stool borrowed from the garage in the corner of the room, and placed the small TV from Mr. Moore’s office on it, intending to play Holiday programs while people funneled in and out.

~~~

Two hours before the party, the sun was setting on the horizon. Eddie moved his car to the end of the alleyway, and Carl rolled out a barrel to be stuffed with leftover cardboard boxes, and firewood he brought from home.

He and Eddie moved the workbench to the service door, and set up the bigger TV so people could watch the football game while standing around the fire.

~~~

One hour before the party, the garage was cleared of anything that a child could hurt themselves on or with, and the shop was hushed in wait. Eddie left first to get Adrie from school, and go home to change. The other guys did the same, leaving to collect what family they were bringing, while you stayed behind to stress over having enough food to feed everyone, even after Robin dropped off more snacks than you remembered listing, along with your party clothes.

————

The evening began trepidatious.

Guests filled the lobby like a sea of warmly-dressed sardines. Scarves, mittens, jackets brushed necks, hands, shoulders. Those recognizing each other hugged, while three rambunctious dogs wove through their legs. You introduced yourself to Mr. Moore’s daughter, Misty, and waved at her newborn. Carl’s teenage sons took the opportunity of their mom being busy to throw pebbles at each other outside. Mr. Moore’s wife and her brother and his eldest son were either setting up food or starting the fire. There was a moody girl of unknown origin moping in the corner. You lost track. It was hard to concentrate in the excitement.

You tugged your sleeves into your palms, and looked around the room for what must’ve been the hundredth time..

Eddie was late, and it was difficult keeping the concern off your face.

“Don’t look so worried,” Kevin said, landing a hand on your back as he shuffled by, carrying the scent of lighter fluid and smoke. “Your date’s still in his car. Probably workin’ up the nerve to come see you.”

“He’s not my date,” you corrected with a comically repulsed frown, hoping he’d buy it. “We’re friends.”

A twinkle danced in his stark blue eyes, and his open-mouthed smile peeked from beneath his thick mustache. “Look out.”

Look out?

A pair of tiny arms hugged you around your ass, and if it wasn’t for the tell-tale giggle, your stomach would be flipping with a much different emotion.

“Adrie!” You twisted and subtly scooped her arms higher on your hips before cupping the back of her head, and hugging her to your leg in the warmest greeting you could muster while your brain went to mush.

“You made it,” you said, staring, staring, staring.

Eddie pressed his lips together as he looked from his daughter to you. Happiness etched itself in every facet of his expression; in the tight smile he failed to control, to the tenderness of his half-closed eyes shining behind his lashes, his confident stance with his hands slotted into his work jacket pockets, in his washed hair falling to one side as he let his head loll from the heavy thoughts swaying his shoulders in a slow rocking motion. Everything about him was relaxed upon seeing you.

“You look beautiful,” he complimented with a magnificent amount of ease, as if he wasn’t a bundle of anxiety minutes ago. Yet, he didn’t withhold his praise. In gradual seconds–each longer than the last–he beheld your appearance in the highest regard, noting the vast departure from the jeans you usually wore.

The burgundy pinafore dress fit you snug, and the hem stopped high on your thighs. The thin white turtleneck underneath clung to your figure, and your black pantyhose matched your chunky Mary Janes.

It was one beret and a baguette short from being an outfit you wore for a skit with your comedy troupe, but he didn’t have to know that.

“Really beautiful,” he said to himself, taking you in, his whisper lost amongst the beginning strums of Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree playing from the garage.

Adrie grabbed at the dress around your waist, chaining herself to you in a needy act for attention, and you stroked your thumb over her hair in return, eyes refusing to leave her father.

“And what about you, handsome?” You signaled it was his turn to show off.

So far, the formfitting gray slacks with a faint plaid pattern were doing him justice, but you wanted to see the whole thing.

Peacocking, Eddie lifted an arrogant brow on the same side of his smirk, and put some confidence in how he unzipped his jacket, savoring the anticipation. Opening it slowly to unveil, unfathomably, a button up shirt. White with blue stripes. Untucked, of course. Dropping the jacket from his shoulders, he strutted in a circle, giving you the full view of his back–no rugged coveralls, no leather, no durable canvas, no sweatshirt–just thin polycotton blend stretched over his frame alluding to his musculature.

Working the jacket back up his arms, he presented one of his legs forward. “Think I gained some weight since I last wore these. They used to fit better.”

Oh. Oh, no. They fit perfectly.

While he was busy looking at where the slacks tapered to his black boots, you were commending other areas. Like his thighs, where the pants gave a slim shadow where his boxers ended. And a little higher, to the place the fabric bunched around, and forced the zipper to curve outward. The real deal. The whole package. The big show.

Jesus..

“You look good,” you croaked out with the last of the air in your lungs. He jerked his head up, and smiled his usual way–too wide, a little askew, showing more teeth on one side than the other. “Should’ve known you’d be just as handsome dressed up as you are in a t-shirt and jeans.”

“You hear that, Adrie? It was worth it being late, because I look extra handsome.”

“I didn’t say extra–”

“Who cares,” she whined at him. After demonstrating an ounce of patience while her dad took a shower, washed his hair, shaved, spritzed on too much cologne, and stood in front of the mirror debating over wearing his nicer clothes or his usual ripped jeans for an excruciating number of minutes, she was at her limits. “My outfit is way, way, way cuter,” she argued in her kid-like way, fighting for your approval.

You crouched to her level, and she twirled in a circle, copying him. “Oh my gosh, you’re right! Your sweatshirt is way, way, way cuter than his boring clothes. What does it say?” Somewhere above you, you heard Eddie suck his teeth.

Adrie pinched the red pullover and held it out for you to read along with her.

“Santa’s.. Widdle helper.” The pronunciation wasn’t her fault. Upon closer inspection, the text did indeed spell ‘little’ as ‘wittl’.’

“And who’s that?” you asked, pointing at the character jumping out of a Christmas stocking on the front.

“Tweety Bird!”

“Alright!” You held your hand up, and she high-fived you.

Thrown back into reality at a dog’s yip, and Mr. Moore’s survey of heads, you let go of the romanticized bubble you surrounded yourself in, where it was just you, Adrie, and Eddie, and took heed of the packed room lurching towards the smell of cooked meatballs wafting in the air.

“Everyone here?” Mr. Moore asked, and when a murmur arose, he rubbed his hands together, and announced, “Let’s eat! Game starts soon.”

The sardine conglomerate moved as one, making a concentrated effort to form a line from the breakroom, down the hallway, and ending where you stood at the glass door. Adrie struggled to accept being last in line, but you prepared many distractions for her; the first of which being Eddie’s present.

“I got something for you,” you said, and reached over the ledge of your desk, patting around in search of the special item. He expressed an unreasonable amount of suspicion. “You have to promise to wear it. Or else..” You gave Adrie a look, and she had a pout at the ready if he didn’t comply.

“I don’t like it when you two gang up on me,” he mumbled, eyeing you.

“Too bad. Here.”

Eddie snorted at the red, white, fuzzy, jingly accessory in your hand. “Really?” he asked, and laughed, “Would’ve worn it anyway.”

After a pause where he held the Santa hat in strange contemplation, he humbly knelt on his knees to Adrie, and asked her to do the honors, “Wanna put it on for me?” She did so enthusiastically, jamming the hat on his head, rattling the bell at the end of the cap, and calling him Daddy Santa while roughly combing his hair. He was sure to hold your gaze as he prompted Adrie, “Not real Santa, right?”

“No, you’re Daddy Santa. Real Santa is coming in two days! And he’s bringing me lots of presents because I’ve been good.”

You understood, then, the glaze of fatigue in the look he gave you. It’d be a few more years until Adrie thanked him for the miracles in her life, the food in her belly, the roof over her head, and as a father, he only hoped he’d fix his situation before she learned the full details of his sacrifices to raise her, to give her a room, to provide her with a bed of her own while he went without.

Still, he was in the constant battle of yearning for the acknowledgement, while fearing her growing up and discovering the real world.

A complex set of emotions to parse for both him and his daughter, and he had to do it alone.

“Ow, Adrie..”

Coming to his rescue when she began pinching his cheeks to a rosy state, you got her attention, “Don’t think I forgot about you, cutie pie.” From behind the ledge, you pulled out a pair of reindeer antlers on a headband, and slid them on for her, doubling as a way to keep her bangs out of her eyes.

Glee burst across her face in a smile which rivaled the dawning rays of the rising sun. Deep-seated satisfaction erupted in your chest at her joy over the small gesture. Her immediate desire was to be picked up by you, ready to be doted on, and in that moment, you wanted nothing other than to gather her in your arms. But Eddie stole her for himself. You were left Adrie-less. And the fact it bothered you, and the fact making his daughter happy affected you in a way you’d only begun to unpack last week when you asked Robin to drive you to the toy store at the mall, was complicated.

“You can’t coerce Miss Mouse into picking you up at your command,” he told her in a playful tone. “You’re a big girl now, and only Daddy’s strong enough to hold you.”

“Oh, puh-lease.” As if your tongue wasn’t already stuck out in disgust, it certainly was when he made a show of flexing his biceps. Under his jacket. Like that would prove anything.

Now, if he were wearing less..

You latched onto the change of subject in your mind, and moved on with the night, away from the poignant feelings of longing for something you hadn’t quite figured out yet.

For now, you made a sardine family. You, Adrie, and Eddie. Your hand in hers, she on his hip, and his kiss to her forehead, fond of one another. Huddled in shared conversation–the type where everything faded away. No one else. Just you, Adrie, and Eddie.

You volunteered to make their dinner. With Adrie clinging to his side, she was able to boss you into putting whatever she wanted on her plate, and you checked Eddie’s amused face every time she added another carrot or ham pinwheel, knowing he’d be the one to eat it when she was full. After hers, you made his, and after his, you made yours. Balancing them all on your palms and forearm, and bringing them to your desk, assuring Eddie he could have the office chair while you took the black stool.

Poor him, though. He sat with Adrie in his lap, desperate to maneuver around her antlers to get a mini cupcake in his mouth while you freely ate your sandwiches, and answered her questions about if reindeer were real, and if they could fly. (Yes, and yes.)

Other guests were present in the lobby, you knew, but at the impact of your knee prodding Eddie’s thigh, and his sly grin over Adrie’s head, they faded away once more.

Until a flash startled you both from your ga-ga gazing into each other’s eyes.

“Just saving memories!” Kevin exclaimed, scrolling his thumb over the disposable camera’s film cog.

And before you could blink away the spot invading your vision, he was gone. “Hope we looked good, at least,” you said to Eddie, not having a candid picture taken since you moved to Hawkins.

He snorted, and leaned around Adrie to see the meatball he was quartering for her with a plastic fork. “I don’t think you have to worry about that, sweetheart.”

Your heart fluttered at the endearment. He said it in a casual manner, not like when he was trying to fluster you. And the compliment was sincere, not teasing. It was sweet, with his arm around his daughter to keep her from squirming away, and the warm comfort of his leg against yours, body heat transferring from his slacks through your thin pantyhose.

A moment you’d like to remember. Including..

“Here,” you giggled.

He looked at the napkin you held out to him, and where you tapped at the corner of your mouth. “Oh.”

In true Eddie fashion, he used his tongue to edge at the green icing, following it with his thumb to get whatever he missed and sucking the rest from his fingers while still managing to entertain Adrie with questions about what she did in preschool today, and dipping a carrot in ranch, dropping some of it too onto his pinky and licking that off without hesitation too. A chaotic mess of a man.

~~~

As predicted, it didn’t take long for Adrie to get bored, and she wandered off to play with Kevin’s dogs. Eddie took it upon himself to finish the monumental task of eating the assortment of leftovers she surrendered on her plate. A real hero of the times, scarfing down the butter ring cookies she wore on her fingers, and downing the sip of juice she didn’t want.

The conversation between you two was the easy kind. Simple, flowing. He slouched to the side with his elbow on the desk, cheek to his fist, legs spread,  listening to you talk about nothing.

“And as you can see” –You pulled open the second drawer to the short filing cabinet under your desk– “I’m all organized for the new year. Got my Post-it notes, a new set of highlighters, some of those fancy pens that make my handwriting look nicer. Living a life of luxury over here.”

“Very cool,” he replied in a hollow tone, implying it was in a mocking ‘you’re adorable’ kind of way, and not a ‘wow, you bought the Bugs Bunny themed sticky notes, that’s very cool of you’ kind of way.

You pushed the drawer closed with your foot, and rocked on your stool, grinning.

Beyond the circle of touching knees, fluorescent lights, and brave glances, there was an abrupt cheer at a scored touchdown. In the lobby, the mothers grouped the chairs together to adore the hiccuping newborn. In the parking lot, the teenage boys drove a remote control car around. The moody girl brought a skewer and marshmallows out to the fire. A Jack Russell terrier panted at your calf. Kevin patted Adrie’s head, and stooped to whisper a secret in her ear as they passed each other outside the glass door.

Eddie took the pom pom end of his Santa hat between two fingers and rattled the bell at you. He looked like he was about to speak, but someone special interrupted him.

“I’ve been sent on a mission. You have to come with me!”

You both turned to Adrie.

When neither of you did anything besides raise your eyebrows expectantly, and she didn’t give more context, nor information, she got impatient. “Come on!” she pleaded with a stomp, and grabbed your hand, and you grabbed Eddie’s sleeve on instinct, practically tripping him over your stool while she dragged you into the hallway.

After several feet, she stopped. You stopped, Eddie stopped.

“What’s the mission?” he played along, linking his hand in hers so you were one big circle. A sardine family.

She didn’t speak. Only grinned, and giggled.

Not catching on, you exchanged a confused shrug with Eddie, and asked her, “Is it a riddle?”

More laughter. Harder, more persistent tugs around your pinky and ring finger where she snared you. And a direct, focused smile aimed above your heads.

Slowly–slowly–slowly–

You straightened up from how you were bent over, and listened to Eddie’s clothes shift as he did the same. You followed the invisible line to where she was looking, tipping your head back in curiosity to see what was taped to the doorway exactly between you, and her beloved dad.

There was silence all around.

From the sharp leaves and red berries of the mistletoe, your gaze began its slow descent to Eddie’s. Passing over the red hat, the wrinkled forehead with messy bangs flattened onto it, the worried eyebrows. His sickly pale cheeks, flushed red lips. Suspended in time. Heart in your tight throat, pounding pulse, stomach twisting. 

You searched the frightened sheen in his eyes.

“I didn’t hang that, I swear,” he whispered.

“I didn’t either,” you promised just as quickly.

It didn’t matter who did.

There was noise all around. The football game turned to a commercial, and heavy feet announced people entering the garage, and approaching the glass door, coming inside to refresh their drinks and nibble at the cheese cubes.

Quickly–quickly–quickly–

“She.. We’ve been watching a lot of Christmas movies, and she must’ve seen it in one of them.” Lowering his voice, he brought his hand up in a sympathetic gesture, trying to explain her behavior. You let go of his sleeve. “She doesn’t understand.. The meaning, and everything.” He paused. “Us.” Another pause, a tic in his lower lip like a tremble. “Working together, and stuff.” Voice almost mute. “That w-we can’t..”

As much as you wanted to smash your lips on his to stop him from overexplaining the multitude of reasons you two couldn’t, or shouldn’t kiss, (you’re at work, this place smells like meatballs, his daughter is right there, Mr. Moore’s shadow breached the lobby, the fact Eddie chose listing coworkers as his rationale for not kissing you and not because you two were friends, but then again, what if he was about to say that, that he only saw you as a friend, and maybe being coworkers was an easier excuse than saying he wasn’t into you like that, oh god–), you had to get out of this situation with grace.

“No, yeah, I get it. Uhm.” Think fast, think fast, think fast. “You know who else is under the mistletoe, hmm?” you drew out the hum to build tension, setting your sights on your target.

Adrie squealed when you snatched her up and spun in a circle, attacking her cheeks with an unrelenting amount of kisses; the type that were quick pecks with lots of kissy noises, so saccharine and fawning and annoying to listen to. Tender and pure and tempting to the man who made a conscious effort to release the pinch of frustration from his face, and remorse from his discontent sigh before answering your question.

“Can she have one of these chocolate snowmen?”

“Only if you’re willing to tire her out before we leave,” Eddie said, taking intentional steps towards you and Adrie on your hip, leaving the mistletoe and its implications behind. He placed a friendly hand along your shoulder blade. His other hand was more menacing on her back, as indicated by her eyes growing large.

He warned her in a stern tone, “If you have too much sugar and keep me up all night, you’ll never have another dessert again.”

She called him out, point blank, nose turned up in triumph. “You’ve already said that before, and I got cookies anyway.”

Your cookies, he said in a quick glance and eyebrow wag at you, before speaking to her again, “You got me there. However.. I would hate for Santa to find out you stayed up past your bedtime.” He sucked his teeth with a pitying shrug. “The consequences are steep. He’s very strict, you know.”

Adrie’s frown was serious.

Eddie was having too much fun using his one seasonal threat to get her to behave.

“Aw, don’t listen to him,” you soothed her. You lifted your chin so she could burrow her head against your neck, and amended, “Well, do listen to your dad, but I have something special planned for us, Adrie.” She roused out of her heart-wrenching pout, and hugged you harder, kicking her feet around your waist in excitement.

You smiled at him, but your gaze fell elsewhere, passing over the men in the hallway, and taking a last, long look at the mistletoe, seeing it for the confusing event it created, not the romantic scene it was known for. “I’ll take her for the night. You go watch the game, or something. Hang out with the adults. I’ve got her.”

The tiny room became overcrowded. Someone whispered, “Oh, aren’t they cute together,” and Eddie chewed on his inner cheek. He removed his hand from you, fingertips slipping over the back of your dress, catching the strap, then your side, below your ribs, above Adrie’s leg. Measured, methodical touches. Not accidents.

While his face lacked strong emotions, there were words in his eyes. Maybe they were an apology for the weirdness you now found yourselves in, or a thank you for taking her off his hands for a bit, or they were something else entirely. He didn’t say.

“You two have fun,” he expressed in his soft voice, and grabbed a cold soda on his way out.

~~~

A cold soda did not unwind him like a beer.

Eddie warmed himself by the barrel fire while the game played. Though any opportunity to talk with his peers rarely expanded past the usual topics of work and raising his daughter, and were frequently shadowed by what was happening on the screen, he didn’t mind the interruption. He knew the rules of the game enough to feel a sense of camaraderie when they celebrated. And really, he just wanted the time to think. Or not think. Definitely not think about how he reacted earlier, stumbling over his words to assure you he wasn’t some creep who hung mistletoe as a way to trick you into kissing him. Absolutely not agonize over his inability to articulate himself, and provide you with an out while also reminding himself why he shouldn’t listen to his impulse clawing to be released, and kiss you on the spot. And certainly not consider your mild response to the whole thing, and how your gaze lingered–for a millisecond–on his lips before you scooped Adrie into your arms.

Eddie ran the heel of palm along his jaw, back and forth, and worked it to the back of his neck, wringing his nape in tight squeezes to release the tension.

A beer was definitely better than soda, but so be it. He downed the rest of it, and justified going inside for another. Of course, his motives for going through the lobby weren’t to quench his thirst, but as he almost ran face-first into the glass door, his mouth went dry.

Your ass in the curve-hugging dress was the first thing he noticed. Noticed it because you were curled into the fetal position on the floor, pretending to die a dramatic death. Oh, and you were wearing a black cape adorned in shiny gold stars, and your mouse ears from Halloween, along with a crown.

The loud crunch of him crushing his soda can got your attention.

“You don’t always have to dress like a mouse for her; she knows who you are,” he said in cool nonchalance on his way to the fridge.

You pointed a pirate’s cutlass at him, regarding him down the plastic blade. “I’m the Rat King.”

The music on the portable radio changed moods from a battle march to a victorious, slow piece.

Ditching the mouse ears by throwing them aside into a small pile of other props, you instructed Adrie to exchange her rapier for a flower crown. “Ooh, ooh! And this is where Clara and the Nutcracker Prince dance. Yeah, hold my hand, lift your leg in arabesque. Just like that.” You walked around her, spinning her in a circle while she posed with her leg behind her, and when you let go, you granted her the stage to improv what ballet moves she knew through pop culture osmosis, clapping and gasping and cheering her on, both of you panting from the exertion of playing an entire cast of characters.

There was a pang in Eddie’s stomach. The usual stuff: wanting to watch, wanting to join, wanting to stop it. The jealousy of being left out of the intimate moment, the yearn to add a third to his and Adrie’s life, the grief of when things don’t work out and this was a mistake. Decisions, daydreams, the reality of you maybe moving away, maybe not. Maybe dating him, maybe not. Maybe making work a place he dreaded coming to again if he tried something and it ended in disaster.

He had no other job options.

And yet..

“Hey.” Eddie traced the rim of the chilled soda in his hand, collecting condensation. “Ah, the TV in there is playing those old claymation Christmas movies in a marathon. D’you guys wanna watch them with me?”

Teaching her to put her toe to her knee in the passé position, you asked, “Don’t you want to hang out and watch the game?” When he didn’t respond, you looked up at him. Immediately, your focus honed in on his shy habit of chewing on his bottom lip.

“Nah. Not really. I’d rather be in here.”

~~~

The breakroom lights were off, save for the dim set on either side of the sink lighting the buffet, and the air was humid from steam curling off the crockpots. On the table were three marshmallow snowmen held together by melted chocolate and pretzel stick arms; remnants of an impromptu competition of which he lost.

It was a warm and cozy affair, made more so by the three of you squished together to watch Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer on the small TV in the corner. 

Adrie nestled deeper into her baby blanket. She had the quilt cocooned around her, running her fingertips over her mouth while she watched. Beside her, you sat with your hands laced in your lap, and at the end, Eddie slumped diagonally in his seat, propping his elbow on the back of your chair. Half paying attention to the stop motion film, half congratulating himself on getting this far. It took all of Jack Frost to work up the courage to daintily set his elbow at the very corner of your chair, almost making contact with your shoulder without worrying if he sweated through his deodorant or cologne yet..

But what if his breath smelled bad from the weird combination of food he ate?

Fuck–

The golden retriever lounging on the floor behind Adrie wagged his tail. Kevin’s distinct shuffle came down the hallway. “Well here’s where you three gone off to,” he said. His dog lifted his head, and licked his lips in anticipation for a pet. “Don’t mind me, just came in for another pepperoni slice, isn’t that right, Coop?”

Cooper panted at his name.

Adrie mumbled around her fingers, “I love your puppy. He’s the best.”

“Yeah, she adores him,” you added.

“Aw, you’re a good boy, aren’t ya?” Kevin bent down to praise his dog with a couple of pets under the chin. And when he was finished, he made a fuss about his old knees, and the cold weather affecting them, and the–whatever else he said.

Upon struggling to stand, Kevin sought a place to put his hand for assistance–and wouldn’t you know, the perfect spot was right in front of him. He clutched Eddie’s forearm for purchase, which incidentally took him off guard before he could brace his muscles, and pinned it to the back of your chair. Once the move was complete, Kevin stood and patted the spot he held until Eddie’s arm curved flush against your shoulders. Then he winked and walked off, no longer shuffling. Eddie stared open-mouthed at the determination.

His insides clenched with unreleased tension. The holly hung in the doorway. Things he wasn’t supposed to do. Anxiety, nerves heightened with the sensation of your solid body breathing beneath the weight of him.

Adrie mumbled something about what was happening on screen, and you said something back, nodding.

It’s not like this was the first time he put his arm around a girl. But it was the first time he did so with the burden of pessimism warning him not to.

He scrutinized the side of your face for any sign of acknowledgement that his arm was around you, but if you cared, you didn’t show it. You remained poised as ever.

You didn’t mind, outwardly.

So he didn’t either.

It was only in front of his boss that he lifted his arm to comb the hair off his neck when Mr. Moore entered. And as soon as he was gone, Eddie strung it casually across the back of your chair again, twirling a curl of Adrie’s hair around his finger.

And when Carl came in, you sat forward for the entire duration of his stay, eating a marshmallow while he was in the room. And when he left, you sank back into your seat.

The third time someone came in, neither of you moved. You followed each other’s lead and did nothing. Subconsciously–or consciously–finding the courage to fit your bodies together in a purposeful way, relaxing towards one another, and slotting into the cushiony space his arm allowed against his bulky jacket.

Time went on like that.

The conversation between you two was the easy kind. Wordless, intuitive. Exchanged in the permanent grin affixed to his face, and your tender hums of affection when you looked at him or Adrie. Somewhere in the silent conversation, he summoned the balls to stroke his thumb–only once–over the soft slope of your bicep, and coped with the aftermath of studying the profile of your lips tugging up at the corners.

~~~

The party came to its natural conclusion when the game ended. Eddie scooped what was left in the crockpots into mismatched tupperware he brought from home, filling up an old butter container with chili, and rinsing out the cookware to give back to its original owner. He placed cupcakes in their plastic clamshell packaging, and downsized the veggie tray into a manageable load. You played the part of an amiable host, and wished everyone a happy holiday on their way out, insisting you’d take care of cleaning up. Really, it was no problem. You had Eddie with you, and Adrie was helping by falling asleep with a crayon in her hand.

Eddie listened to you usher them out the door, and lock it behind them once they drove away.

In truth, he preferred them gone when you both made trips to his car, loading the backseat with the leftovers. Didn’t matter if they were room temperature carrots, or the mangled overcooked meatballs from the bottom of the crockpot, he accepted them.

He took inventory of the last containers on the breakroom table while you woke up Adrie, and for once, he felt okay.

Normally stress chewed holes in his stomach this time of year, but knowing the panic of not paying the electric bill before incurring another late fee would be eliminated by the generous bonus Moore gave him in the white envelope tucked away in his inner jacket pocket, Eddie felt.. alright. Like things would be alright. He put enough aside for his daughter to have one big present this year, and things would be alright.

“Ready?” you asked, holding Adrie’s hand in the doorway.

“Yeah, it’s just these two containers, and we’re good. Were we doing anything about the decorations?”

“Nah.” You waved him off. “We can take them down after the break.”

More than happy to get home and reap the reward of a full night’s sleep, he picked her up mid-yawn, and you carried the last of the containers to the car for him. While you found available space to shove the tupperware without it spilling, Eddie swayed with Adrie. He rested his cheek on the top of her head, and closed his eyes, feeling himself meld into the drowsy moment, comforted by her weight in his arms.

He heard the gravel crunch from your movement, and your shivered exhale beneath your jacket. It was his turn to put Adrie in her carseat, but when he caught the dewy glimmer in your eye, he thought he might hold onto her for the next eternity if it meant he could earn that soft awe from you again.

However, it was cold out, and he should hurry up.

“Uh, there’s uh,” you started, standing back while he buckled Adrie in. “There’s actually one more thing inside.”

“There is?” he questioned dumbly. He glanced at your incessant finger guns pointed towards the back entrance door, and tried to picture what he left behind.

“Yeah, if you could just help me real quick.”

He shrugged and tucked the quilt tight around Adrie. “I’ll be right back, okay?” She nodded, and covered the lower half of her face with the blanket.

Still cool, calm, and collected, Eddie followed you into the garage, through the glass door, into the lobby, down the hallway, and stopped when you stopped. In the breakroom doorway. Under the..

He struggled to swallow around the lump in his throat.

Adrenaline raced to his nerves, to his brain, to his heart jumping in confusion. The addictive buzz enabled him to remember each detail of your lips parting, the sound of your shallow inhale, and the sting of doubt on his cheeks when you spun around and pried out the noisy keyring from your pocket, shaking them until you found the one to the storage closet.

You turned the key in the door opposite him in the hallway, and reached inside, into the dark. “I, uhm.. I got a present for Adrie, if that’s okay..”

“You..?” He went silent at the large gift bag you held out to him, with the giant portrait of jolly Saint Nick on the front bulging from what was inside.

Second guessing if you were overstepping boundaries with the gesture, you faltered, “If it’s not okay, I can, I guess–?”

“No, no,” he finally said, screwing his eyes shut at realizing he just stood there like a moron. “No, that’s, that’s so nice of you. I-I don’t even know what to say. Just, yeah.. You didn’t have to do something like that.” He accepted the bag, and hugged it to him, crushing the decorative tissue paper sticking out the top.

“I signed it as being from Santa. I figured that was appropriate.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s perfect. Uhm.. wow.”

He was doing his favorite trait–where his smile evolved into an open laugh; a little obnoxious, and a lot flirty–and he could tell when you beamed up at him and your cheesy grin overflowed into a giggle, it was your favorite trait too.

And you kept the presents rolling.

“As Office Administrator,” you said with a spry loveliness in your sidling up to him, “I have some insider knowledge that someone put in a good word for you, and uh, it looks like you’re getting a pretty nice raise at the beginning of the new year.” There was no mistaking who. “And I heard through the grapevine that Mr. Moore is going to start pulling from his retirement in June, and Misty isn’t interested in running the family business, so he’s seeking out a new owner,” you put more than a hint of inflection on the end of the sentence, and gave him a look.

You shrugged your shoulder to your chin. “Anyway, do with that information what you will.”

Eddie stayed stupefied, speechless, staring down at the bag. Because you were you, you ended the conversation with a weak punch to his arm when a car drove into the parking lot.

“That’s Robin,” you said.

He watched you walk away. Down the hall, into the lobby. Putting distance between him and the doorway to the breakroom, where his regrets taunted him.

The sharp leaves and red berries were lost amongst the shadows, but their warning rang true. The reasons he shouldn’t kiss you. The talk he never had with Adrie, the potential expiration date even if things did work out between you two, the issue of seeing each other every day and knowing he couldn’t handle the habitual rejection of ignoring the other’s existence if things went bad.

New year, same old coward.

Except.

An idea.

An impulse.

A vicious desire.

He rejected the rejection. “Wait!”

You turned, and jumped at his sudden appearance. Eyebrows raised in surprise, a fresh smile lighting up your face in the gentle moonlight.

Eddie stopped you by grabbing your hand, wielding you closer with his rough fingers pressed into your sweaty palm until your arms entwined, and your jackets rubbed. He dropped his head to the side with a shameful shake, and ran the tip of his tongue along his teeth, building to an apologetic admission. “I’m doing that thing again where I forget to thank you,” he said, not needing to speak above a whisper as he gazed down at you, unafraid.

“Then thank me,” you replied, curling your fingers around his.

His wavering voice went deeper in his chest, “Words don’t feel good enough anymore.” The bag under his arm crinkled as he lifted a finger at Robin who had come to peer inside the window, and very quickly made herself scarce after witnessing the moment she was intruding on. “You’re too sweet, and I don’t even get to drive you home.”

You encouraged him in a laugh. “Then think of another way to thank me that’s not transportation based.”

A bad thought bloomed warmth across his cheeks. “I will,” he promised, nodding. “I’ll find a better way to thank you for everything you’ve done for me and Adrie. Something good.”

“Looking forward to it.”

You lingered for a second, waiting, and when you both remained kissless, you rocked your body into him, cozying your sides together with your joined arms squeezed between in a sort of goodbye hug. “Speaking of Adrie, you might want to get back to her before she becomes a popsicle.”

He inhaled sharply and snapped his head up. “Yeah, I should probably go start the car.”

“Have a good holiday, Eddie. Get lots of rest over the break, okay?”

“I will, I will.”

With an absolutely astounding amount of memories made today, you were both content to step away from each other and go home to begin the tossing and turning, sickly sweet, cold-side-of-the-pillow reminiscing about the brave glances, and daring touches.

You reached for the door handle.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

You stalled with your back facing him. Thinking you were sly, you checked the reflection to see what part of you his gaze was admiring, and you laughed.

Finally. He was making eye contact with you through the glass.

“Goodnight, handsome,” you answered, and left with your smile ducked into your collar.

The evening ended spectacularly.

[georgeweasleyslostearhq]

From your Christmas prompt list, could you do #5 Joseph Quinn x fem!reader?

thank you for requesting!

Prompt 5: staying up late wrapping presents for your kids

PRESENTS

Pairings: Joseph Quinn x Wife!reader Summary: wrapping your kids Christmas gifts together. Warnings: none.

🦌𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ་༘࿐⋆꙳❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°°‧❆⋆.ೃ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ

"how about we get these kiddos to bed, yeah?" Your husband whispered as you snuggled into his side, your kids in your laps, fast asleep as the grinch played softly on the television

it's the first time you and Joseph have had a shared break together due to filming in a while and it was nice to have your family all together again after a couple of months apart. so you promised to spend as much time together for the holidays before going back to filming by the new year. Joseph having to go back to fantastic four only a few days later

it was difficult to handle having your little babies and work but it was good to have family near by. but you cherished these moments.

Little Ben on your lap and Ivy on Joe's, both snoring in their matching pj's

you yawned, nodding your head before Joseph got up, groaning at he lifted your 5 year old daughter as lightly, trying not to wake her up as you lifted ben up, getting up from your couch as you walked up to the second floor.

you tucked them in to their beds and kissed their foreheads before sighing when you shut the door to Ben's bedroom, letters with images of Dinosaurs spelling out B-E-N on the white door.

you felt the warmth of your husbands' hand on the small of your back, a kiss being placed delicately to your head as he started going down the hall, to your bedroom where you had hidden the Christmas presents for your kids.

you followed in after him and helped him carry things downstairs to the Livingroom, the movie still playing in the background before Joseph asked you

"I'm gonna make hot chocolate, do you want some?"

you smile before sitting on the rug on the floor right by your large Christmas tree "yes please"

you had brought out your wrapping paper and lined it up with the first gift for Ivy, trying to figure out how to wrap the big box without wasting or making it look bag.

you huffed and taped a few pieces before flipping it over, folding over the paper and putting a sticker on it, cutting a roll of ribbon to tie around the width on the present and tying a nice bow with the red mesh of lace, smiling to yourself before putting it under the tree

Joseph comes back a few minutes later, 2 festive themed mugs in his hands as he sits down beside you, placing the cups on the coffee table beside him before grabbing Ben's gift from Santa, picking up a different wrapping paper and wrapping it

"he's going to love this" he laughed

"I know. we're lucky you found it. I wouldn't know what else to get him" you shrugged, reaching over to grab your mug of hot coco, humming at the sweet taste of the melting marshmallows

pressing a sticker bow to Ben's gift, you placed it under the tree on the other side, going to wrap many of the other gifts

it was nice, staying together in silence, just enjoying each others presence after what seemed like forever apart, this was exactly what you wished for, a perfect relationship where you could be comfortable enough to sit together and just enjoy the moment without much having to be said, it was nice.

after a while he spoke up, looking over at you

"all these presents are making me want to give you yours early" he bounced his leg, hitting your knee gently

you had a no early gifts rule, he knew it, but he just couldn't wait to give it to you. the anticipation of your reaction will slowly kill him.

you shook your head "nuh uh- you'll have to wait until tomorrow, Joseph, because I don't want it, not yet" you laughed under your breath

"just one?" he placed his hand on your knee, tracing shapes on your skin as he leaned closer to you

"no" you denied, reaching up to cup his cheek, pressing a peck to his soft lips

"you're going to love it" he mumbled

"I love whatever you give me, you know that" you frowned teasingly

"I know, but I really outdid myself this year" he smiled proudly, leaning back to grab another one of the kids' gifts.

"I bet you did, Honey. I reckon I did better, though" you teased

"you could try, but I doubt it" he chuckled "I bet I'll love it too, though"

after a while, the presents were all wrapped, and the hot chocolate was all gone

you stood up and smiled at the stack of gifts under the tree, wrapping your arms around Joseph's shoulders, leaning your head on his chest

"I love you" he murmured, snaking his hands around your waist, swaying you side to side

you hummed "I love you too"

you stayed there for a while, swaying to the light music playing that you turned on halfway through wrapping.

everything was so perfect. him, the perfect father, husband.

you let go and took your mugs to the kitchen, loading them into the dishwasher after rinsing them out. walking out to see Joseph eating some of the cookies for Santa, dipping it in the glass of milk your kids had prepared before watching the Grinch, where they would fall asleep.

you stifled a laugh and turned the tv and lights off, the only light source being the streetlight illuminating through the windows, snow piling onto the windowsill.

you walked up the stairs and to the balcony and bit into the few carrots in the bowl of water meant for the reindeer.

it was an understatement to say you were tired, staying up late just so you could see the smiles on your kids faces in the morning, tearing the paper off the boxes and celebrating a new toy.

🦌𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ་༘࿐⋆꙳❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°°‧❆⋆.ೃ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ

"mummy! daddy! Christmas!" you groaned, immediately smiling as you watch your kids jump on your bed, waking you and Joseph up from your much needed sleep

"we're up, we're up" Joseph sat up, leaning against the headboard as he yawned, pulling them into his embrace, hearing a fit of giggles when he ticked their sides

you smiled as you stretched your limbs, rubbing your face as you woke up to the early cold morning of Christmas

"Merry Christmas" you mumbled as you yawned

Joseph paused his tickle fight, leaning over to you "Merry Christmas"

he kissed your cheek as Ben and Ivy jumped on you, smiling and yelling about presents, both jumping of the bed, Ben struggling as he leaned down, his feet dangling over the bed as he slipped down, Ivy holding his hand as they both ran out.

🦌𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ་༘࿐⋆꙳❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°°‧❆⋆.ೃ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ