#Christmastime Missing Moment

[merrymagicalmenagerie]

Oh look, I actually wrote something! Harry/Ginny Incognito Elf Exchange 2024 for Macknificent101

More under the cut, or check out the link to my AO3

Like Her Paper Chains 

It’s Christmastime at the Burrow and Harry can’t sleep as usual. The cozy home was quiet, despite the many guests filling the rooms. Harry stared up at the violently orange ceiling for yet another night. His mind still raced over the comings and goings of Snape and Malfoy. The previous night’s dream of a particular ginger-haired girl didn’t help much either. Resigning himself to make something to drink, Harry quietly slipped out of bed. Moving around in Ron’s room wasn’t a difficult task, but he did worry about the landing and that one odd step that needed to be skipped.

As Harry quietly descended the stairs toward the kitchen, he heard an odd shuffling and crinkling sound coming from the living room. Ever the detective, he put his back against the wall and silently moved toward the sound, wand at the ready just in case. What greeted him was quite a sight–the room was covered in cut-up strips of paper of every color. Harry had never seen such a vast amount of paper in one place, let alone so many different varieties of color and patterns. He scanned the room for a moment before he spotted her.

Ginny was sitting in the middle of the vast crafting project, her back to him. He was awestruck by the way her hair glittered under the candlelight. He watched as she reached to the left and, without looking, snatched up a small handful of colorful strips. She let out an exasperated sigh and mumbled something that he couldn’t quite make out. Harry knew, of course, that Ginny liked making paper chains. But he always assumed it was something she did over time, like a quiet task to wind down for the night. But this—this was insanity.

He tempted fate and quietly called to her. “Ginny?” She jerked her head similar to a cat caught being naughty, eyes wide. Harry couldn’t help but smile softly at the sight. “How come you’re up so late doing…this?” he gestured to the paper forest on the floor.

“What? You expect Father Christmas had House Elves decorate every home before Christmas morning?” Her nose scrunched up as she giggled at him causing his heart to skip a beat. “You’re up late too, you know. Come help.” She shoved a small pile of multi-colored striped cuts on her left further aside and patted the floor.

Caught like a mouse, he obliged. Grabbing a pillow from the sofa on his way, he sat down next to her—too closely, but it was the amount of space she allowed him. Ginny looked at him expectantly. “Can’t sleep, pretty normal for me. You don’t need to worry; ’m fine.” He felt his face growing warm as he struggled to look directly in her eyes, but something told him that it was important to do so.

“If you say so,” she hummed. She finished her current link of the paper chain and bumped his shoulder with hers. “Help me get through this then. I’d be up for ages if you didn’t. Phlegm has totally taken over my room; otherwise, I’d normally be already done.” She handed him a Pritt Stick from her box of supplies and grinned widely.

“Hadn’t used this in a while. Didn’t think wizards would have glue sticks like Muggles do,” Harry replied as he reached for some strips of paper in front of him, returning her smile.

“Oh no! Daddy actually just got me a bunch of these for my birthday and some other muggle stationery. Before, I’d just use a sticky paste that I had to make myself. This is so much more handy!” Harry took a mental note to buy her crafting supplies for any upcoming gift-giving. By the way she smiled, he would spend all his gold in Gringotts getting her every paint, paper, glue, and glitter known to wizard and muggle alike.

Waving a few strips in the air between them, Harry spoke earnestly, “Well, Ms. Paper Chain Queen, you will have to show me how you do these ‘cause I have no clue.”

In response, Ginny brought her hand to her upper chest and gasped, “Nonsense! How can you not know how?” She dramatically sighed as she leaned over Harry’s lap to grab a glittery green strip, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind her ear as she went. “Let me show you…”

He didn’t dare move an inch, didn’t dare breathe until she was upright again.

He tried, honestly. He tried to pay attention as she twisted the strip of paper through the existing red link and glued it together. But her hands…her soft hands that held remarkably few calluses despite playing Quidditch with such fervor. Small, delicate fingers weaving paper as if it were nothing. Were they warm or a little cold? How would they feel—

"See? Easy! Surely you can manage,” she interrupted his thoughts, holding her addition in the air proudly.

He couldn’t recall if she did anything in particular. Harry was far too preoccupied with staring at her hands to watch what she was doing with them. Certainly nothing that wouldn’t haunt his dreams later. “I think so? Does color matter...?” He looked away, shuffling through the nearest strips of paper to hide the red that he knew was spreading across his face. “...this deep blue is my favorite…” he mumbled, hoping to escape the hell he was creating for himself.

“I’ve got you. I’m always here for you, Harry.” Ginny spoke solemnly as she squeezed his upper thigh. Alarms rang in his ears. Before he could fully turn his head, the moment passed as quickly as it appeared. Harry couldn't help but stare as she pulled her silky tresses through a hair band with ease as if she said nothing remarkable at all.

After a beat, Harry quietly said, “You look pretty good with your hair up like that.” Realizing what he said, he hastily went back to trying to glue up the blue bit of paper he was holding in his hands to a mustard yellow one.

“Didn’t know you were so into fashion. Maybe we should set up a meeting with Witch Weekly?” Ginny teased, bumping his shoulder again, seemingly oblivious to his heart beating out of his chest.

“Ha! You’d love to take the mickey out of me on that one.” Harry chuckled as he bumped her shoulder back, silently hoping to transfer the energy of his pounding heart to her. “Let’s get these done. I’ll make some hot chocolate when we’ve finished.”

“What a gent!” Ginny flicked her hair, long even in a ponytail, dramatically over her shoulder.

She had to know what she was doing to him, surely. How much more could he take before he said or did something stupid? He was certain that she could hear the frantic beating of his heart. Perhaps this is the moment to say something, he thought before reminding himself but she's still with Dean. At this moment though, it didn’t matter really. Nothing but sitting next to her did. Harry shook his head and smirked before returning to his feeble chain.

A few hours passed in glorious small talk. They made crude jokes about Ron and Lavender, gossiped about Hermione’s scandalous date with McLaggen (he would most definitely need to talk to her when they return to Hogwarts), talked shop about Quidditch strategies—anything and everything that came to their minds. It was as if no one else existed; Harry’s whole world was in the living room with Ginny alone. He could stay in this moment forever and be content.

The dark sky was giving way to an inky blue when all of the colorful paper chains were put together and the pair was finishing draping them across every surface in the room. Ginny was standing next to Harry, hands on her hips, as he secured the last link over the entryway to the kitchen. “How about that hot chocolate then?”

The next evening, the Weasley's and their guests were sitting in the living room, which everyone assumed Ginny had decorated so lavishly in a paper chain explosion alone as she always did. No one knew that Harry helped into the dawn hours. She discreetly winked at him when he came down the stairs for dinner, and he smiled in return. It was their little secret.

Despite his misgivings about his feelings toward Ginny and the eternal debate in his mind, Harry felt as if they grew a little closer the previous night. Something seems to have shifted between them, moving them forward toward some unknown goal, as if they were linked together like her paper chains.

[goodeapple]

dry clean only (modern hotd pwp, jace x sister!oc x luke)

pairing : Jacaerys x Ysilla (sister!OC) x Lucerys

warnings : MDNI. jesus where do i start... this is filthyyyyy. PWP, threesome, sibling incest, rimming, anal, DP, slight coercion, sibling incest, accidental voyeurism, unprotected intercourse, breeding kink (ofc), & did i mention sibling incest?

word count : 4,000+

note : i kind of lost my marbles with this one... brain drove straight to Hornyville and set up camp. in the nicest way, if u don't like, don't read <3

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Laundry day. Fucking laundry day.

“Laundry day.” Ysilla had said when Jace stopped her in the hallway, and she shrugged before heading towards her room. So simple, so nonchalant, as if it were normal for her to parade around in nothing but one of his t-shirts. He lasts a solid forty minutes- a new record- before he pauses his game, and yells into the nearly empty house.

“Sil! Get in here!”

She takes her sweet time, minutes passing until she appears in his open doorway, propping her hip up on the jam. “You rang?”

Jace bristles at her nonchalance, bouncing his knee anxiously, still sitting in his gaming chair.  

“You doin’ that on purpose, Silli?” He waves a hand in her direction, a sweep from the tips of her white pedicured toes to the spirals of her midnight curls. 

His sister finishes texting, before at last giving over her attention.

Ysilla bats her feather duster lashes at him, all doe eyes and a pouty pink mouth. “Course not, I told you. Got nothing else that’s clean.” 

“I find that hard to believe…” Jace grumbles. She swipes their mum’s Amex like it’s going out of style. Her wardrobe looks like a Christmastime department store. 

“You don’t like that I’m wearing your clothes?” She asks, plucking at the hem of his shirt, pulling the thin material tight over her tits. The shadows of her areolas become prominent and Jace feels his balls draw up tight. Even so, familial annoyance is stronger than that of a hundred men and he rolls his eyes. 

“It’s mine. Don’t take my shit without asking, brat.” 

It’s a tepid delivery at best, but it has a fire lighting in her that makes her amethyst orbs glow.

“Fine.” Without any preamble, Ysilla strolls into his room until she arrives in front of him and pulls his shirt off and over her head. Tossing it in his face, she crosses her arms under her breasts, her rosy mocha nipples pebbling in the artificially cool air. “Happy?” He misses her smirk but he can hear it in her voice. 

“Not on purpose my ass.” Jace growls, ripping the shirt off of him. Springing to his feet, his fist finds its way into her hair and he yanks her to his mouth. She tastes like matcha and spearmint, and the strawberry gloss thick on her lips.

She melts into his chest, putty in his devout hands. Her own hands rise to cradle his face, still lost in their kiss as she strokes her thumb over the defined edge of his jaw. Jace unwinds his fist, unclenching it to lay his palm flat at the nape of her neck. Too soon, she pulls away, smiling triumphantly as he tries to chase her lips. 

“You’re so easy to tease, little brother.” 

“Nothing little about what I’m about to give you.” Jace goads, running his hands down her bare back, tracing the twin dimples dotting the bloom of her backside. He pulls her forward until there’s not even a whisper left between them. The new stance does wonders for them both, Jace sliding his thigh between Ysilla’s. She’s not wearing any panties. And she’s already wet. He rocks his knee along her clit, the pearl perked and pronounced, and Jace knows if he keeps it up she’ll cream all over his leg. 

“Bed. M’not bouncing on your lap in your game chair.” She whines, tugging off his hoodie and shimmying down his basketball shorts, a woman on a mission. 

“Not like you haven’t done it before.” He bites but concedes, ushering her backwards into his bed. He gets her underneath him for a brief, blissful moment before he’s maneuvered onto his back. She likes to be on top- a throne fit for a princess, as she said once before. Plus, I like to see the face you make when you cum. 

He spits into his palm, stroking himself quickly. A little extra slide is never a bad thing. “Sissy, spread your legs.” 

Ysilla does what she’s told (for once) and goes gooey as Jace slips the head of himself into her opening. He gets a handful of her hips, thumbing at her hip bones as he eases her down, letting her slide onto every rigid inch. She whimpers, wiggling on his lap as she bottoms out on his dick. Gods above. Targaryen men and their horse cocks will be the absolute death of her. 

“Jaceyyyyyy,” she whines, the pressure in her lower belly a heaviness she can’t shake. 

“If you wanted dick, all you had to do was say so.” Jace chuckles but it’s labored. She’s so fucking tight- he doesn’t know if it’s the pilates she does or good genetics, but it’s like being in a turtleneck in July. 

Within a second, his door squeaks open and the two tangled Targaryens would jump apart if they didn’t know exactly who would be getting home at 4PM on a Wednesday. 

“Ooohhhh, what are you two gettin’ up to, eh?” Luke’s hand smacks down a greeting on Ysilla’s backside, and she jumps from the sting. He sprawls out in the previously occupied chair, giving himself a front row seat to his brother and sister’s debauchery. 

Luke is sprouting, taller than even their dad. He tugs down his trackies, of course a stereotypical grey that hugs him just right, and his cock springs up, bobbing back and forth like a metronome. He’s not super thick around his shaft, but the kids got length that you feel knocking in your stomach. 

Ysilla stares, shamelessly, her throat awfully lonely. He notices and lets her attention go straight to his head (both of them).

“See something you like, babe?” Luke winks at her, a cheeky grin plucking up his lips. He pumps himself once, a bead of precum crowning his pretty cock. 

“Lukey,” he whines at Ysilla’s croon. His sister is so fucking stunning- gorgeous, breathtaking. He’d do anything for her. She’s the voice in his head, the drive in his passion, the star in his fantasies. She’s been there for everything- it’s hard for him not to be a little bit sprung. 

“You forget about me, love?” Jace places a wet kiss at the cradle of her jaw. Ysilla smiles, tangling her fingers in his tight curls. 

They have curly hair, all three of them. Ysilla knows Harwin isn’t her dad- her sperm donor, she means. Harwin has been there for all the things that mattered and those that didn’t, he’s her fucking dad. Blood doesn’t get to take that away from her. And in pictures, it’s easy to believe they’re all from the same vine. Until you account for Viz and Aeg and their momma, and then every family photo is a whole motley crew snapshot.

“Don’t be jealous, Jace.” She coos, in a mellow mocking voice. 

He rolls his eyes, a pink blush prickling at his freckled cheeks. He steals a proper kiss this time, a wet peck that has Ysilla coming back for more, opening her mouth in a slow, sensual lick. Jace grinds into her, basking in her gasps that he drinks down drunkenly.

A particularly pitiful moan from the foot of the bed reminds her to be generous with her attention. Jace lets go of her mouth, head dipping down just so that he catches her swinging breast in his mouth. He widens his jaw, tongue lapping lewdley at her flesh, looking as if he’s trying to swallow it whole. Ysilla strokes his cheek fondly. He gets so needy like this- needs his big sister to keep him grounded. She lets her head loll back, pinning Luke with a simmering stare that is reminiscent of predator and prey. It shouldn’t twist up his belly like it does but he’s long passed caring about what gets him off. As long as she’ll let him taste her. 

“Wanna join us, bud?” 

Luke nods, all boyish enthusiasm, eager to please. “Wherever you want me, sis.” 

Ooooh, that’s a fun thought. Her mouth floods with saliva, her taste buds perking up at the thought of Luke’s salty spunk. She gives a good handy, she could jerk him off until he busts. Or, she could flip onto her back, ride Jace in reverse and let Luke straddle her chest and maul her tits until he’d gift her a pearl necklace. Decisions, decisions. Ysilla rocks faster on Jace’s cock, dragging him in and out of her in a way that has her clit fluttering like butterfly wings. 

Absently, she rubs down her left cheek, still stinging from Luke’s slap, and lets her fingertips dip into her cleft. She’s wet there too- fuck, more like soaked. She was riding her vibrator until Jace had finally called her to him. She’d been dripping since she stole his shirt from his dresser, going absolutely mental at the soft cotton caressing her nipples, his cologne soaked into the fabric. She huffed it like an addict, brought it up to her nose while she rode the vibe until her hand cramped.

Luke’s eyes follow her wandering hand, and his brows scrunch in agonized pleasure as she slips a finger over her tight, clenched hole. Decision made. 

“Want you right here, Lucerys.” Ysilla murmurs, knocking her knees further apart, bringing her stomach to stomach with Jace as a result. “Want you both, at the same time.”

Luke’s eyes go gumball wide. “You forreal?” 

She bites at her lip, moaning as Jace thrusts hard. He’s as excited by the idea as she is. She nods fervently, arching her back more invitingly and Luke fucking moans, tightening his grip on the base of his cock. 

“Fuck, you two are so hot.” He grinds into his fist, his other hand drifting beneath him and rolling his balls between strong fingers. He kicks his sweats the rest of the way off, unable to stop himself as he jerks off faster, his sack tightening in a tantalizing threat.

Jace notices, releasing Ysilla’s breast from his famished mouth. “Don’t blow yet, bro. Wait ‘til you’re inside her.” 

Ysilla smirks, turning her sights back to the man buried in her cunt. 

“Yeah? Wanna wait until he’s inside me? Want you both to fill me up with your cum ‘till it leaks out of my holes?” She whispers at Jace’s throat, dropping an open mouthed kiss over his Adam’s apple. 

Jace can give as good as he gets. “What if I do? What if I want to see my cum drip out of your tight cunny, and plug you up with something so it sticks? Could get you barefoot and pregnant, could get you bouncing on my cock all day long while your belly grows with my babe.” He rubs at her tits, pinching and plucking at her spit slick nipple with a tenderness he means wholeheartedly as he whispers his depraved fancy into her ear. 

Ysilla clenches around him, tight enough that his vision whites out for a moment. She can’t help it, bouncing up and down on his fat cock, his words liquid lust in her tummy. 

“Oh, Jace. Jacey Jacey, fuck, little brother.” She pants, taking every inch of his shaft over and over again, hissing at the stretch of it burning up her insides. Gods, she never tires of it- his cock is such a treat, one she only indulges in when she has the time to truly savor it. 

“You got one more little brother right behind ya, pretty girl.” Luke whispers at her ear, kissing her pulse point with delicate lips.

Jace reaches into his bedside drawer, pulling out a bottle and tossing it on the duvet. “Lube, man.” 

The eldest brother busies his hands, grabbing ahold of his sister’s plush backside, a cheek in each palm, and pulls her apart to expose her to their little brother’s lecherous gaze. Dropping to his knees, Luke spits a glob of saliva into her puckered hole, enjoying how her sensitive skin quivers under his attention. He coats his fingers generously with the thick gel, and he’s gentle as he presses one past the thick muscle of her entrance. She squeals sharply before Jace occupies her mouth, shoving in two fingers for her to suck on. Ysilla has an oral fixation- a dick, chewing gum, popsicles, all her go-to’s when she’s stressed. 

Luke takes advantage of Jace’s help, gliding in another finger that makes her cry out even louder. Shit, she’s got to gut up if she wants to take his dick. He scissors them back and forth, methodical in working her open. He’s only ever done this to himself, but he’s got the basics down: preparation, lube, going slow, more lube, etcetera. He keeps it up until her whimpers have died down, and when he starts to feel her rock back against him.

Satisfied, he pulls out his fingers and coats his shaft with the lube, hissing at the cool sting on his sensitive skin. He spreads it over his head with a loose grip. He’s already worked up enough, the last thing he wants to do is let his big sister down by cumming on her ass instead of inside of it. 

He edges up onto his hands, ready to push upwards onto the bed so that he can take his place behind Ysilla but he’s stopped by something straight out of a wet dream. Luke whistles low. That’s a million dollar shot right there: Jace’s thick veiny cock pulling out before pumping back into Ysilla’s hot pink center, the shine coating their thighs glistening in the late afternoon sun. He wonders if he could convince either of his siblings to let him film them. He knows the answer is most likely a hard no, but a boy can dream. 

The carpet beneath his knees is starting to give him rug burn but he's so transfixed, it's like he's been hypnotized. A simple, sinful thought comes unbidden into his mind and he grins. While he's down here, he might as well sightsee. Luke ducks down, and sucks one of Jace’s balls into his mouth, just to hear his brother curse him in Valyrian. He rolls it around his tongue, before releasing it with a satisfied pop! and takes a lick of the cream seeping from Silli’s hole. 

Ysilla flinches away, kicking out her foot to shove at his shoulder. He chuckles and relents, adrenaline tight in his muscles as he wraps his arms around her dainty waist and lines up behind her.

"Here goes nothin', gang." Luke shudders out a breath as he maneuvers into position, and edges forward painfully slow as Ysilla's pretty ass swallows his dick. It takes forever and a day, but finally, thankfully, he's all the way in, flush with the back of her thighs and mind melting out of his ears.

“Good Gods above, Lukey.” Ysilla has to remind herself to breathe. 

“You okay sissy?” Luke pecks her temple, tucking her bangs back behind her ear. She blushes, cheeks burning hot- he’s such a good boy. 

“I’m fine, dude. It’s just… neither of you are small. I can feel you tickling my tonsils.” 

“Fucking hell. I can feel him, mercy, I can feel him through you, Silli.” Jace sobs wetly, hands shaking where he has a hold of her hips. Mother, Father and fucking Crone, this is infuckingsane. He can’t last like this, he isn’t superhuman for Gods’ sake. 

“Don’t you fucking dare, Jacaerys. If I’m taking both of your cocks, I’ll get time to enjoy it. You’ll cum when I tell you to.” She commands, all eldest child superiority, even with a strained voice. 

“Yes, sissy.” He croaks out, his irises misty like a spring rain. She hums approvingly, withholding her praise until he can deliver on his promise.

“Same goes for you, kiddo.” She aims over her shoulder.

“Anything you say, Silli.” Luke draws out, letting her agonize over every long inch before fucking himself back into her ass. 

The brothers start to build a gentle push-pull rhythm, one in one out, trying to get her adjusted to having two dicks inside of her- as if that’s something that someone can get used to after five fucking minutes. But as the pain and discomfort fade into a fullness that she feels up to her throat, little jabs of pleasure have Ysilla pushing herself back and forth against her boys. 

“This is crazy, holy shit this is crazy.” She gasps, hands wildly clutching at anything she can.

“Never felt something this tight. Squeezing the fuckin’ life out of me, bloody hell.” Luke gasps into her shoulder, eyes screwed shut in concentration, dragging his hips back and forth.

Jace can't talk- all of his focus on not blowing his top and facing his sister's wrath. Sparing a glance at her, he can't help but sigh out:

“You're so fucking pretty, Sil.”

The look of love that accompanies Jace’s hushed praise has the tightening snapping loose in Ysilla's belly, vainly getting off from his attention. Well that, and the fact that she's double stuffed like an Oreo.

Her orgasm slices through her, a hot knife through butter, and a violent shiver racks up her spine. She bows upward in some type of silly attempt to get away from Jace’s plundering cock, but all she succeeds in doing is arching into Luke’s greedy hands and greenlighting him into slamming into her hole even harder. 

“Oh, oh! I can’t take it. It’s too much, stop!” Ysilla pleads, pushing and pulling at all of the naked skin surrounding her, overwhelmed and overfucked.

“Do you think she really means that, Lukey?” Jace asks and it’s too sugar sweet to be anything but condescending. 

“No fuckin’ way, mate. This ass wouldn’t let me go for anything.” Luke slurs, half fucking stupid, his smarts being squeezed out by way of his prick. 

“I’m not a unnhhhh. Not just a hole for you two to fuck.” Her words would land a better mark if there wasn’t a thin line of drool dripping off of her bottom lip, her eyes gone glossy. Her pussy throbs, her heartbeat pulsing there as well as violently in her ears. 

Luke fish hooks her, pulling her into his lips by the meat of her cheek. “Shut the fuck up, Ysi.” He says it so adoringly before releasing her, only to keep her quiet as he slides his tongue into her mouth. It does the job, Ysilla suckling at it like it’s a lolli. 

Jace lets his hands wander, worshiping the beautiful bodies laid out for his ravenous gaze. His fingers tickle over the dip of Luke’s slight waist, his thumb strokes the flare of Ysilla’s ribcage- his hands discovering and mapping a route of impassioned fealty that he will never forget. They're both his. It's an absolutely mental thought, one he should have no business entertaining but here, in his bed, none of them are to think of anything else but each other. 

Jace grabs Ysilla tight by her jaw, ripping her away from Luke’s tongue. He brings her in close, forcing her to stare into his sweet chocolate eyes. “I’m gonna nut in your pussy, sissy, and Luke’s gonna fill that ass up. And you’re gonna take it, like the good girl you are, or I’ll put you on your knees and have you suck my cock until dinnertime.”

Ysilla giggles, delighting in the way Jace’s smirk turns down into a sneer. Humbling her brothers is an A1 skill, one she’s perfected over the years with a constant dedication to her craft.

“Promise?”

Jace chuckles, because he’s sick like she is. Still holding her close, his grip slips down to wrap around her throat. He pushes up, palm tight to her windpipe and forces her flush to Luke’s sweaty chest. He presses his feet into his mattress, praying for leverage, and plows every inch of his thick dick into her cunt. 

Luke’s lungs shrivel up, the friction of his brother’s thrusting cock through the thin skin separating Ysilla’s holes too much for him to take. He hunches over her, slinging his arm around her hips. He yanks her into an arch, his forearm digging tightly into where her lower belly meets her mound, and humps desperately at the curve of her backside. 

Jace chases them, fucking his hips up into his siblings wildly, the wet smack of his thighs against Ysilla’s fucking nasty. He wraps his legs around all of them, crossing his ankles above Luke’s tight, thrusting ass, keeping them all nice and close. 

“Fuckkkk yeah, take that dick. Both of you.” 

Gods bless football, the muscles threaded through his chicken legs all due to his practicing and playing. Fuck, he should make Sil wear his jersey after his next game. Maybe even convince Luke to give him a mouthful of his junk, make him stretch out his throat while Silli rides his lap. Do it in the car park after the match. His tint is dark enough- he could have them together, anyway he wants while the rest of his team would pile into their own cars, none the wiser to sinful shit their star striker gets up to with his own flesh and blood. 

Jace knows he doesn’t have much left in his tank; he was ready to bust as soon as Luke slid home alongside him. He doesn’t want to finish yet- somewhat pridefully, not before his little brother. One thing is on his side though- he has a big fucking mouth. 

“So pretty, both of my fucking sluts. Gonna knock you two up, breed you until you’re fucking sick of it.”

Ysilla and Luke’s eyes roll back, mirror images of lust, and Jace doesn’t know if he imagines it but he swears he can feel it as Luke breaks, his cum molten hot through the partition of Silli’s walls as he spills deep into her guts.

“Fuckkk yes, cum inside of her Luke. Make it messy, shit, I’m cumming, I’m cumming.” Jace spits through clenched teeth, digging his heels cruelly into Luke’s soft thighs. As if on cue, both brothers’ trembling fingers dive between Ysilla’s legs, and rub furiously at her clit. She chokes, her nails rooting into each one of them, keeping them close as she breaks the fuck apart. One of them shouts as she clamps down in a vice grip, but it's all static in her ears, her orgasm washing anything away that's not white hot heat. It lasts so long her toes go numb and her knees shake tremors throughout her thighs.

Luke and Ysilla topple like a house of cards, landing in a jumbled pile of limbs and other sweat soaked appendages. Jace’s bed is a King but even so, the trio chooses to remain wrapped up in each other, gasping for breath and stretching out sore legs. 

The peek of sky through the blinds gets dimmer the longer they all lie there, the glow from the TV glaring brighter and brighter as the room dips into darkness. Jace searches for his remote, doing his best not to jostle his bedmates, until he finds it under his pillow. Going for the red power button, his thumb hovers over it until a flashing icon in the corner of the screen pitches his stomach like he’s on a rollercoaster. 

“Oh, fuck me.”

“I don’t think I have the energy to do that.” Luke groans, face buried in his sister’s back. 

“Me either.” Ysilla chuckles wearily, already well on her way to unconsciousness, snuggled between her favorite boys. Jace winces, letting them enjoy the last few seconds of afterglow before he ruins the rest of their lives.

“Okay… neither of you can hit me for what I’m about to tell you.”

Ysilla blinks at him, suddenly wide awake at the tense tone he’s taken on.

“Jace… what is it?”

He stares at the F1 pause screen, Aegon T. connected via headset still lit up in green in the top right corner. His own headset rests innocently atop his desk, the mic almost pointing accusingly towards the bed. And there’s no way in any of the Seven Hells that their uncle didn’t just get an earful of his niece and nephews railing each other into oblivion. 

“I think we may have a huge fucking problem.”

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[crappymixtape]

gold & glitter

REQUEST → @superblysubpar, A VERY MERRY MIXTAPE ❝ i’m thinking a little rich!steve harrington, a little spicy somethin, somethin and a holiday play – spicy is right, steve takes you to see the nutcracker, but you don’t even make it to the first act • 18+  | ( 3.1k – smut with a dash of fluff, rich!steve x reader )

G O L D & G L I T T E R 🎶 the nutcracker suite, tchaikovsky

“Good evening, Mister Harrington. Miss. May I take your jackets?”

“Thank you, Charles. Did you order the MacCallan Anniversary malt?”

“Of course, sir. It is available neat here from your decanter or we can dress up however you like. Miss, your jacket?”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you opened them again expecting the finery before you to disappear into thin air like a dream, but it didn’t.

“Oh ye-yeah. I mean-yes. Yes, thank you,” you stumbled over your words as the waitstaff took your coat and disappeared behind the curtain. God, you were working overtime to maintain the same level of calm and collected sophistication that seemed to come so easily to your date.

Steve Harrington. Son of John Harrington and heir to the Harrington fortune. One with a foundation built by generations of brokers and wealth managers. Carried on throughout the years to be passed down to the eldest or, in Steve’s case, the only son.

You’d been together for over a year now, but you still weren’t used to it. This lifestyle.

Going anywhere with him meant multiple planned routes in and out of your destinations. Private cars with dark tinted, bullet-proof windows. Black American Express cards, Gucci loafers, and champagne flown direct from the Garonne Valley in Bordeaux, France.

And of course, at Christmastime, a viewing of George Balanchine's The Nutcracker from a private balcony, performed by only the finest troupe at the New York City Ballet.

You’d been to the theatre, the opera, but never like this. A suite all to yourselves, up and away from prying eyes, and upon each seat rested a pair of exquisitely golden opera binoculars for your viewing pleasure. It felt otherworldly. Lush and dark, gilded and polished. Long, red, crushed velvet curtains draped heavy to the floor and on a small table thick, crystalline tumblers sat next to a matching decanter full of only the finest single malt whiskey.

Lifting a hand, you ghosted an immaculately manicured finger around the rim of one of the glasses.

“Is it up to your standards, honey?”

The low, warmth of Steve’s voice broke your trance and pulled your gaze quick to look up at him.

“What?” you wondered aloud, still surprised at how he could ask such questions, “My standards? God. It’s beautiful.”

“Good. M’glad you like it.”

A smile tugged up at the corner of his mouth as he watched you walk to lean out over the balcony and look down at the sea of seats below. You were wearing the emerald green dress he’d bought you especially for the occasion. Made of the finest silk and fitted tight against every curve and dip of your body. Your hair swept long over one shoulder, soft skin exposed through the keyhole cut into the back. You were exquisite.

And you were all his.

Tucking a hand into the pocket of his slacks he reluctantly looked away from you and took up the decanter to pour a measure of whiskey for himself. MacCallan, single malt, from 1928 and around three-hundred thousand dollars a bottle. Lifting the tumbler he inhaled deeply and let his eyes drift shut. Worth every single penny.

“Charles,” his voice notched up in volume and the man from earlier appeared through the thick, velvet curtains.

“Sir?”

“A bottle of Dom and a chilled glass,” Steve took a drink from his whiskey and let it sit on a his tongue for a moment before swallowing it down. “Oh, and my cigar case.”

“Sir, you know smoking isn’t permitted–”

Steve hummed, a low thrum in his throat, and stepped forward toward the other man.

“How much do I pay for these seats, Charles? How much does my family pay for these seats? Since the theatre opened in 1964…I’ll let you do the math,” he took another sip of whiskey and lifted a hand to smooth down the other man’s cravat, “My cigar case.”

“Yes. Of course, Mister Harrington,” the man replied quietly, eyes glued to the cheap, shiny black plastic of his dress shoes.

Steve put on a smile, the one he gave to clients when he knew he’d closed an account, and gripped the man’s shoulder, “Good man.”

And without another word Charles was off again through the curtain.

There was no denying it, Steve’s presence always held weight. Held power. No one could tell him no. Stood in boardrooms dressed to the nines. Gold heirloom cufflinks, custom tailored jackets and Tucci de Lusso oxfords included, but this version of him was different. Somehow more and you didn’t know how it was possible.

Brunette locks perfectly coiffed. Custom black Armani suit fitted tight across his chest and shoulders. Gold signet ring with his initials engraved upon it shining up from his index finger, and damn if his ass didn’t look incredible in those slacks.

You clicked your tongue at him and fixed him with a look, closing the gap between the two of you.

“Babe, he’s just trying to enforce the house rules,” smoothing a hand up his chest, you pretended to adjust his tie as an excuse to touch him.

“Honey, you and I both know who makes the rules around here,” he drawled, his tone making you weak in the knees, and he set his glass down in favor of taking hold of your waist. His hand wide and warm on the small of your back as he ran it down the curve of your ass and squeezed, pulling a gasp from your lips.

“Steve,” you chided, no heat behind it, and he dipped down to press a kiss to your neck.

“This really is your color,” he whispered in your ear and your eyes fluttered at the sound. Pressed your thighs together as he traced a finger across your exposed collarbone. Warmth blooming in your core as he followed the hem that chased along the edge of your shoulder.

“You’ve got good taste,” you whispered back, swallowing the moan that had crept up your throat and he grinned.

“I do, don’t I.”

“Sir, your cigar cas–oh!”

Charles came back through the curtain to find the two of you pressed into each other, Steve’s nose buried in the crook of your neck. Your cheeks burned at being caught.

“My sincerest apologies, sir! I should’ve–”

“S’alright,” Steve chuckled, pulling away from you to casually take the case from the other man without missing a beat. He reached into his money clip and slipped a hundred dollar bill into Charles’ hand, “Now. That will be all. If I need anything, I’ll ring you.” The finality of his words hung in the air.

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Excuse me,” and with that Charles disappeared again for what you were certain, after all that, would be the last time.

“Shit,” you breathed, cheeks still bright red as you bit back a laugh.

Steve was laughing too, but no where near embarrassed, and he grabbed your hand to pull you close to his chest again as the theatre lights flickered and slowly dimmed.

“Mmm, damn. Showtime,” he murmured softly into your hair.

You felt your stomach drop at the thought of having to sit so still, and so far from Steve for three hours, but then another thought came to you. One that made your cheeks flush again and you pressed your face into his lapel, breathing in the citrusy, cedar scent of his cologne.

Pulling away just enough to meet his gaze the expression you maintained was innocent, but the look in your eye wasn’t. It was dark and needy. Warm and flickering at the feeling of his hands on your waist.

“We could freshen up first,” you suggested quietly and as Steve put your words together his pupils blew wide. Pools of black edged in gold and he squeezed at the plush of your hip.

“Uh-huh,” came out strangled and it was all he could manage. Unable to focus on anything other than rucking that silk dress up around your thighs, and without hesitation he grabbed your hand and pulled you through the thick, velvet curtains.

The corridor was empty, Charles hiding wherever he’d rushed off to, and everyone else was in their seats to catch the opening act as Steve led you the short distance down the hall.

Luckily for you, the neighboring balcony’s ticket holders had filed for bankruptcy earlier in the year and now the restrooms on this wing were exclusively Steve’s. Doors crafted from thick oak and etched with breathtaking carvings of Swan Lake and Slyphide, they were heavy enough to drown out anything happening on the other side.

Thank god.

Ignoring the men’s and women’s signs, Steve chose the closest door and shouldered into it, bicep straining against the tight fabric of his shirt as he held muscled it open. It was a hurried mess, both of you tripping into the room on the train of your dress in a fit of giggles as Steve huffed a laugh and cursed under his breath.

“Baby.”

Heels clicking on the white granite tile floor, you regained your footing and finally took in all the exquisite details of the ornate room. Wide marble slabs. Bottles of lotion and perfume that cost more than your mortage. Gold fixtures shining in the low light falling from crystal chandeliers that refracted bright shards of color against the walls.

You would have appreciated the incredible beauty of it all, but Steve. You couldn’t have cared less and neither could he.

He spun you around to face him and hooked his arms behind the backs of your legs. Scooped you up off the ground and pulled a squeal from you as you held on tight around his neck to steady yourself.

Squeezing his hold on you, he freed an arm and swept it across the counter. Knocked the soap dish clattering into the sink basin and paid absolutely no attention to the lush basket of designer hand towels that fell to the floor as he lifted you with ease onto the marble surface.

“Steve,” you protested weakly and when he notched himself between your legs you felt yourself melt under him.

His hands were everywhere. Your waist, the small of your back, fingers pressing into your cheek and pushing your hair over your shoulder to drag messy, open-mouthed kisses against the skin there. It pulled a moan from your lips and at the sound he groaned into you.

“Christ, babe. I’ve wanted to get my hands on you since you climbed into the limo. Pretty as a fuckin’ picture in this thing. So damn hot. All for me, huh?”

“S’always for you,” you half-laughed, but it caught in your throat as he slipped a hand between your thighs, “God, Steve.”

“This for me too, honey?”

He gathered a handful of emerald green silk in one hand and pooled it at your waist as the cool air of the room sent a shiver up your spine. Then he caught sight of the black lace panties hugging tight against you and sucked in a breath. Bit down on his bottom lip and looked like he might cry.

“You’re gonna kill me with these. Are you kiddin’ me? Baby. Look at this,” he babbled, just standing there not touching you and you grabbed hold of his wrist and tugged him back into you.

“Talk too much,” you murmured against his ear, running a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck and dragging your nails against his skin, “It’s all yours…Mister Harrington.”

And fuck if the dress and panties weren’t enough, the sound of your voice wrapped around his name did him in.

“Damn right it is.”

He growled as you tugged on his hair, slipped his hand back between your legs and tugged the thin fabric of your panties aside. The way he had been kissing and talking at you out on the balcony had been plenty to send you pressing your thighs together, but the way he was handling you in here had you soaked.

His fingers slipped in your slick as he felt just how wet you were and he smirked against your skin as he dragged his lips up to your jawline. Tutting softly he slowly circled your clit, his other hand moving to wrap gently around the column of your throat.

“Bet you want me to talk now, huh honey? You want that? Talk dirty to you?” his voice was barely above a whisper as his fingers slid down to press against your entrance.

You swallowed against the hand he had on your throat, your lips dropping open into a perfect little ‘o’ as you squirmed against the counter, impatient for him.

“Uh-huh,” you breathed and he smirked at how he had you wrapped around his finger, literally as he slid one into you.

“That’s my girl. I know what you like, don’t I? Give you everything you need. Take care of you, hm?” he babbled, kissing and sucking at the hollow behind your ear as he began to slide his finger in and out, in and out. A slow drag at first before adding a second finger and pulling a moan from your lips.

“Good care of me,” fell out mindlessly as he gently tightened the hand on your throat making your heartbeat thud in your ears.

“This isn’t enough though, is it? Not enough. Want me to fill you up, don’t you honey?” he whispered and you nodded, your throat too tight to speak, and god you wanted him to make you see stars.

He pulled his hand from between your legs to undo the button on his pants and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes at the loss of his touch.

“Shh, I got you, baby,” he coaxed, pulling down his zipper and reaching in to free his rock hard cock.

It sprang out of his pants without any encouragement and he wrapped a hand around it. Rubbed it against your slit as it practically cried in anticipation and as he slowly pushed himself into you it made you sucked in a rasp of a breath.

“Steve,” you begged and he moved his hand to grip your thigh.

“I know, baby.”

An inch more and he was into you up to the hilt. Filling you so much that you could feel the tip pressing against the spot only he could reach. Easing out he groaned as you clenched down on him before pushing back in and he set the pace there. A slow drag. In, out. In, out.

The wet sounds coming from you as he fucked you slowly were obscene. Made louder by the empty room, but you didn’t care. You wanted more.

“Harder,” you pleaded. He wanted it too and as he looked down at the sight of his cock sliding into your cunt he nearly lost it.

Letting go of your throat he grabbed onto your other thigh for purchase and pulled you to the very edge of the counter. Picked up the pace and started fucking you faster, the slap, slap, slap of his thighs against yours filling the air.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Feel so good. You like that? Huh? Want more?”

“More–shit. Yes, god. More, Steve.”

Your knuckles were white with how hard you were gripping the counter, moans falling freely from your lips now as Steve pushed you both closer and closer to climax. You could feel the coil tightening in your stomach as he squeezed into the plush of your thighs and your hand flew up to grab at the back of his neck.

“Gonna–ugh–come, baby. Come with me, baby,” he said through gritted teeth, jaw ticking when he clenched down, and as he rocked his hips back into you, you both came.

Your orgasm wrapped around you tight. White hot. Electric. Every inch of you buzzing and sparking like fireworks on the fourth of July and you cried out as his thrusts fell out of sync, jerky and messy as he came down.

A soft thud echoed against the tile as your head fell back against the mirror behind you, beads of sweat holding your hair messy across your forehead. Steve leaned into you, rested his head on your chest, and slowly your breaths evened out.

Your lips twitched with a smile, your hand lifting to cover your mouth as you held back a laugh, and Steve seemed to have the same thought as he chuckled against your dress.

“Someone heard us. For sure,” you finally said, voice crackly from breathing so hard.

“And? Who gives a shit. Maybe we just gave them a good idea,” Steve grinned, looking up at you from where he rested his chin on your belly.

You swatted at him, gasping as he pulled out of you to avoid getting hit.

Bending down, Steve grabbed a couple of the hand towels from where they’d landed on the tile and ran warm water on them. Quickly cleaned himself up and then took his time with you. Paid close attention to where he’d held onto your throat. Where his fingertips pressed into your thighs. Dabbed softly across your forehead and spent extra time on the mess between your legs.

You touched up your makeup and perfume, adjusted Steve's tie and hair, and when you both finally emerged from the bathroom the piece the orchestra was playing reached a crescendo and the theatre filled with applause.

It couldn’t be the end of the first act?

Steve walked you easy back to the balcony and held the heavy velvet curtain open for you. Your gilded opera binoculars were still sitting perfectly upon your seat where you’d left them and the bottle of chilled Dom Perignon was on ice along with a champagne flute – you hated whiskey.

You both sank into your seats as the orchestra began to play again and you recognized the piece and shot Steve a look.

“The party scene just started,” you whispered, “We’re not even out of the first part of act one.”

“Christ,” he groaned, grinning into his hands as he rubbed them across his face. Then, glancing over at you he grabbed his cigar box, “We can always make up for it next year. Right?”

Your eyes grew wide.

“Skip the Nutcracker?” you asked incredulously and he quirked a brow at you.

“Yeah. Skip it and we’ll go catch part two of the bathroom scene at mine,” he said giving you a wicked grin and you feigned shock, your own grin threatening to shatter your facade.

“Mister Harrington, what would your mother say?”

And the look he gave you then was the absolute definition of smug.

“My Stevie boy always gets what he wants.”

And damn if she wasn’t right about that.

[steppin-on-the-last-train]

Happy Xmas (War Is Over)

Natasha Romanoff x Taskmaster!Reader

Summary: Settling down within S.H.I.E.L.D hasn't been easy, but Christmastime is here, and Clint Barton extends an invitation that seems too good to be true. You follow him to his farmhouse where you're met with a few surprises. With Natalia by your side, you try to accept your new life in America, and maybe find some holiday spirit along the way.

Foreword: Happy Holidays everyone! This is a beast of a fic (14.5k words) so strap in. It's also very much an original character just written in second person, but I hope you enjoy.

You sat slouched on a sofa in the common room of SHIELD headquarter’s residential wing. You weren’t sure why the designers had felt the need to include this room. Spies weren’t well known for their extroverted nature. But the holidays had left the area quiet, rather the entire building seemed to have wound down with the slowing nature of the cold and snow outside. You found the space to be useful when you became sick of staring at the same four blank walls of your standard issue apartment. Having recently defected from Russian ranks you and Natalia weren’t allowed to leave campus without an escort, which left you exactly three places to spend downtime. Your room, Natalia’s room–which looked exactly like yours save for a book Barton had given her–or the common area. 

The two of you were working on the latest mission report. Well, you were supposed to be working on the write-up, but the end of year evaluations had been released and yours begged to be raked over. So Natalia worked on hers, fingers diligently tapping away at the keys. She was sitting sideways along the couch, legs lounged over your lap and back to the armrest. You didn’t know how she found the position comfortable. You narrowed your eyes at your computer screen and the unkind words it harbored. “Do you think I am uncooperative and have a tendency to disobey the orders of superiors?” You asked the redhead.

She looked up from her laptop, eyes searching your profile. “Where is this coming from?”

“The end of year assessments,” you frowned. “They are out.” 

“I thought we were working on the reports for the Minsk mission.” She raised a reprimanding eyebrow. 

“I was,” you said, dragging out the second word ever so slightly. “But they are just so tedious now. Why do they need to know the amount of bullets I used? I miss when all we had to do was take a photo of the dead guy for proof of accomplishment.” Natalia nudged your ribs with her foot. “Ow,” you complained.

“We do this because it’s the normal thing to do. Because what we do in the field is necessary, but the violence has to be justified so we can continue doing our jobs.” She tucked a strand of hair that had escaped from her braid behind her ear. “We’re with the good guys now,” she reminded gently. “The world may still be brutal, but we don’t have to be anymore.”

“So we count the bullets,” you concluded.

“So we count the bullets,” she stated. A moment of silence passed, only the sound of Natalia resuming her typing filling the air. That was something you were still getting used to. Silence always preceded something terrible, the inhale before you faced hell on earth. “You are uncooperative.”

“What?” You asked, turning to face her indifferent expression.

“Your question from earlier. I’m answering it.”

“You too?” You shook your head. “You are supposed to take my side, not Fury’s.”

“You are the person who let themselves get captured by the enemy after you heard they’d gotten to me. And,” she paused, “if you finished that report you’d get to the part where you chose not to listen to Agent Riley.”

“I had it handled,” you said, reaching for your coffee cup on the side table.”That man thinks he knows what is better just because he has fifteen years on me. I think he is too cautious. That is why the Americans are leagues behind us in intelligence. They do not have the guts to do what needs to be done.”

“We are Americans now,” she reminded. You wrinkled your nose. “I mean for all intents and purposes, you get that.” She put her laptop on the coffee table and sidled next to you. You could feel her warmth bleed into you where your bodies met. Her knees pressed into your legs, her shoulders turned into your chest. “You can do it, I know you can,” she whispered, taking your hand.

“Do what?” You asked dubiously. 

“Beat them. Unlearn what they taught us. You just have to make an effort.” She put a hand on your cheek, fingertips caressing the side of your face. You almost swore she wanted you to kiss her. You swallowed down nothing but a bubble of air and desire. Not today.

You looked at her, gaze narrowing. “I am here, am I not?” Two large windows allowed the morning light to stream in behind Natasha and wash her in a fresh aura. The blue sky shined bright as fat snowflakes whirled down to meet the pavement of the U.S. capital. Far below, pedestrians hustled from building to building, jackets pulled tight against the cold. Your heart began to pound when you thought about calling this place home. Everything was just so wrong. “I think fighting the urge to run is about all I can manage right now. I believed in the cause, at least I think I did. Turning my back on the Red Room, on him any faster and I think I might break.”

“I know, and I see you. But you have to show them that,” she said, tapping the now black computer screen.

“Like you do? Do not tell me you actually trust anyone here.”

“I don’t,” she said carefully, as if there might exist an exception. “But you have to cooperate, to let someone else take the reins for now.”

“I do not know if I can.” You bit your lip and traced the room with your eyes. The clean, modern furniture and the off-white walls. You knew you shouldn’t but you missed the familiarity of the old wooden mansion. “I am not like you Talia. I cannot see the good in people.”

“And I’m not asking you to. Do you trust me?” She asked, eyes that reminded you of the dawn of spring boring into yours.

“Always,” you breathed, not missing a beat. “You are the only thing in this world that makes sense to me.”

“Then follow my lead. I’m worried about you. I don’t want you digging a hole you can’t climb out of.”

“Okay, I will try.” You were not sure you meant it. Humanity given too much freedom would eat itself alive. A familiar mantra marched across the back of your mind like the incessant buzz of an insect. Correct and control. Correct and control. Correct and control. Correct–

A noise from down the hall caught your attention. Quick footsteps heading your way echoed into the room. You looked at Natalia. The two of you had thought everyone else had left the building for the holidays. 

A frazzled Clint Barton walked into the room, looking about to take off in a full sprint. He wore faded blue jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. A duffel bag hung over his shoulder, storing a fair amount of his belongings if you had to guess. He glanced in your direction, but refused to slow his stride. You watched him go, when suddenly he dug his heel into the ground and spun around.

“What are you guys doing here?” He asked as if just now processing your presence. 

“Working,” Natalia answered. You liked Barton well enough and there was no question that you owed him an unpayable debt for sparing Natalia’s life. He looked unassuming, quick to smile and kept a short crop of hair as blonde as a field of wheat. You weren’t quite on casual speaking terms though, not because he bothered you, no. It’s just you weren’t keen to talk to anyone except the girl still halfway sprawled across you. 

He furrowed his brow and adjusted the strap across his shoulder. “It’s Christmas Eve,” he stated plainly, as if that in itself was explanation enough. 

“It is,” Natalia agreed. 

“Well you can’t sit in here all day.” He made a sweeping gesture about the room and all of its bareness and almost surgical detachment. His gaze lingered on you for a moment, silent surprise weaving its way across his face. Feeling off put, you fixed your posture, spine straightening and causing Natasha to slide away. You had yet to encounter him outside of a professional setting, but here you sat wedged into the couch and rather at ease. You wore sweats, albeit SHIELD issue, but still something you’d normally not be caught around in.

“And why is that?” Natalia asked, tone laced with faux confusion. She blinked at Barton, eyes doe-wide.

He shifted his stance and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re really going to make me say it?” He waited, looking at Natalia indignantly. “It’s sad. You can’t stay at work during Christmas.”

“What would you suggest we do?” She asked, still playing her one-sided game. Bemusing to you, but not so much to the Hawkeye.

“I don’t know. Go home? That’s what I’m doing.” Home, you thought. If you ran back to the place you still called home, SHIELD would call for your head. Even still, the house beckoned out to you in your dreams; not warm, never safe, but structured and oh so familiar. Come home my child, a gruff voice compelled. Come and take your rightful place as my sword and shield. 

Something behind Natasha’s eyes flickered for a moment before disappearing behind a wall of apathy. “There’s not exactly a home for me to go back to.”

“Oh. That’s right. Erm,” Barton stammered. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget.”

“Forget that I’m an outsider?”

“That’s one way to put it I suppose. I mean, you’re one of us now, right? We all come from different places so in a way we’re all outsiders. Most of us have pasts we’d rather forget. You don’t do the kind of thing we do because you grew up with two loving parents,” he said.

Natalia tilted her head, hair brushing against your neck. “And where did you come from?”

He smiled, one side of his mouth pulled slightly higher than the other. “Nice try Romanoff. Put a couple of beers in me first and you might have better luck.”

“Oh that’s right, I forgot. Fury found you wandering around the sewers,” she teased. You didn’t know who she did it. How she joked and spoke so freely. How she saw a friend and ally where you saw a threat and a future enemy.

“Ha ha,” he said dryly, lips still curled in a smile. “You’re actually not too far off.” He waited before saying more, eyes flicking to you as they often did when the three of you gathered together. Patiently offering a chance for you to join the conversation, but never calling you out. You were running out of excuses to mistrust the man. “Even still, you guys ought to get out of here. Drive to New York or something. They put up a giant tree in Times Square. I’ve never seen it in person, but,” he raised an arm for emphasis. “Huge.”

This time Natalia’s expression fell for long enough even Barton picked up on it. She turned away from him and stared down at her hands. “I’d love to see that,” she murmured. “We can’t leave though. Not yet. Not without an escort from an authorized superior.” Technically there was nothing stopping you from leaving the building. You’d picked up the nasty habit of prowling the streets in the dead hours of the morning after a nightmare left your hands shaky and your heart clawing its panicked way up your throat. Natalia however had not made one move even remotely close to toeing SHIELD’s strict line. A fact made clear when she’d caught you sneaking back in as the sun rose one morning. You’d promised not to do it again with an overwrought frown on your face. You went out again the very next night and left a mugger to bleed out in an alleyway.

“Oh, that’s right.” It was Barton’s turn to look away. “You know what?” He asked, lifting his chin and pulling out a cell phone. He let the duffle bag down from his shoulder and onto the ground, putting the phone to his ear. Natalia looked at you and you shrugged. She knew him better than you anyway.

“Hey honey,” he said, not bothering to turn away or lower his voice. You didn’t know he had a girlfriend. Between the way you had only ever seen him consume pizza and his obsession with trying to make the most difficult shots possible on missions you had assumed he was single. “I’ve got a pair of stragglers here at the office.” He paused, sucking on his teeth for a moment. “I know, I know I was just about to get on the road I promise. I’ll still be home by five. No, I’ll be careful, I won’t get a speeding ticket this time.” He adjusted the phone and flicked his gaze in your direction. “Yeah, Laura, it’s them. You know me. They don’t have anywhere to go and I thought.” He paused. Slowly, a dopey grin curled onto his face. “Yeah, I do. You know I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t.” A final pause. “Okay. I’ll see you later. Love you.” He stuffed the phone back in his pocket and looked up with new excitement sparkling in his eyes. “Have you guys ever been to Iowa?”

Natalia shook her head. “No. I’ve got a soft spot for the Midwest though.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? Go pack for a few days. Laura’s going to kill me if I’m another minute late,” he said, hoisting the bag over his shoulder. 

Natalia’s eyes went wide and she opened her mouth, speechless. Even you were taken aback. Was Barton really inviting you to his home? Certainly he didn’t trust you yet. You hadn’t even been at SHIELD for a year, the first six months of which you spent firmly locked in a cell. Yet there he stood, hands in his pockets and waiting for you to move your ass and follow him out. “I didn’t,” Natalia started. “When I said we couldn’t leave I wasn’t asking for you–”

“Nope. Don’t do that. I want to. You guys are never going to be comfortable here if you’re not extended some freedom. Trust me, I know.” You watched the other man with suspicion, waiting for the trap to spring. The SHIELD agent who had spared Natalia’s life when he had explicit orders to put an arrow through her heart. The American who believed in the good in people and making the world a less gruesome place in the small way he could. The person who extended a hand to others in a time of crisis. “I used to spend Christmas alone and cold without a home. Then I got Laura and I couldn’t be happier. But it can get lonely just the two of us out there. If you really would rather stay here I won’t force you to come,” he said matter-of-factly. “But I would really appreciate the company, and I know Laura would love to meet the two of you.”

Natalia shifted, putting one foot on the floor. She looked at you and you knew she wanted to go, but wouldn’t if you said no. But oh, you would do anything for her. Subtly you nodded. You didn’t care how much you were struggling, you’d pull yourself together for the weekend. “We’re in.”

You pushed yourself off the couch and went back to your room to pack what little you had. All of your clothes were plain which you didn’t mind, but something about knowing they were SHIELD issue left you feeling claustrophobic. You gripped a black dress shirt in your hand a little tighter than you needed to. To you it screamed, you are not free. We own you now. You threw your toothbrush and toothpaste in alongside the clothes before stopping at the bedside table. Carefully you pulled open the drawer and snagged a little necklace from inside. Tucking it into a side pocket you jogged out to find Natalia and Barton waiting in the lobby.

Barton’s truck was nowhere near extravagant, but it held a sort of coziness that only came from years of ownership. Natasha sat in the passenger seat while you took the back, wincing when you found the lack of legroom. The interior smelled of old air freshener, dirt, and worn leather. “Strap in,” he said. “We’ve got a long ride ahead of us.”

Barton tuned the radio to play Christmas music and introduced you to his atrocious singing as he belted along to ‘Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town’. As you left the thick jungle of Washington D.C. and moved west across Virginia the city whipped away as the sun traveled across the sky. When you reached the interstate proper and were well away from the prying eyes of the urban center you finally allowed yourself to relax a little. Natalia began to hum along to a new song, a small smile on her face. Barton turned the volume up a notch and you leaned your head against the cool window pane, eyes tracking the snow covered countryside. 

At a gas station in Ohio Natalia asked to switch seats with you. She curled up in the back using a sweatshirt as a pillow and closed her eyes, pretending to sleep. You checked the rearview every few minutes and eventually she had fallen asleep for real, lips parted slightly and breathing slowing down. 

Barton had given up on his singing endeavor and had reduced himself to whistling and tapping the steering wheel to the beat of the radio. As you passed a sign welcoming you to Indiana he spoke up. “Okay, truth time,” he said, stealing a concerned glance at you before staring back at the two lane road before him. The truck's wheels ate up yards of the sun bleached asphalt. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Yes,” you said.

“Don’t take this the wrong way but you’re not gonna kill me in my sleep tonight, right?” He asked, trying his best to clear the nerves from his voice.

“No. I like you, Barton. And even if I did not I owe you a great debt,” you said. 

A crease formed on his brow. “A debt?”

You looked back at the woman sleeping soundly in the back of the truck. Her feet were tucked up on the seat, head laying on a sweatshirt stuffed in between the window and the headrest. You thought it might have been the most at peace you’ve ever seen her. “Yeah,” you breathed. “For giving her a better life.” One that I never could, you thought.

“I didn’t do it looking for any favors. Not from her, and certainly not from you or Fury,” he insisted. “Fury was pissed of course. He knew who I was when he hired me, but I still think he underestimated my loyalty to my gut. And you,” he said, nodding in your direction. “You were a wildcard no one saw coming.”

“Good or bad?” You asked, already sure of the answer.

“To be honest, I’m not sure yet. I think that’s still up to you,” he said.

You held a groan back. Moral dilemmas made your head ache. You’d wanted a straight answer. Tell me how to be good. “What do you mean?”

 He ran a hand through his hair, spiking it up in three different ways. “Well, you’re good out in the field. Like scary good, and I know you’ll watch my back. That’s the most important thing,” he said. “But then we get back and I see you pacing around the compound like you’re stuck in a cage. I guess I’m just not sure what’s going through your head.”

You clenched and unclenched your fist, overcome with the urge to tell the other man more than you’d told any of the SHIELD shrinks in a year. He felt safe and genuine, but you knew that was an impossibility; you knew people to be horrid pretenders. You opened your mouth anyway, Natalia’s urges for you to try ringing in your ears. “I can follow orders on a mission no problem. Shut off my brain and listen to authority. Protect your team, take the shot, retrieve the files. That is what I was built for,” you sighed, eyeing Barton warily. Waiting for him to snap at you. “But when the job is done, and I have time to sit and think on it…I feel like I have just ripped myself in half.” 

“That’s, well, that’s some intense shit,” he said, tipping his head. “What I can tell you though, with absolute certainty, is that General Dreykov is a bad man. For me, for SHIELD, for her…” Clint said. You knew very well who he was referring to. “There’s no gray area there, man. We’re going to shut him down.”

“I know," you said, short and quick. You knew that's what they all said, but Dreykov had protected you for a long time. He had raised you. He had loved you as his own. You didn't want to see him in a cell, or worse, in a grave. “I cannot get it straight in my head. Everyone has been telling me that working for SHIELD is a step toward being better, to making something of myself. If that is true, then how come the longer I am here the more I feel like I am betraying everything that makes me me?” You knew why. Something inside you was broken and twisted beyond repair. It made you see the world backward. Everyone around you could smell the festering rot of the mangled heart inside your chest. They just needed an excuse to put you down for good.

“Well, you are just about the most Russian person I’ve ever met,” he said. You tried your very best not to glare at him when he looked over. “Before about five minutes ago the only sentences I’d ever heard you speak were two word acknowledgements in the field. And the accent. You’re playing it up, right?”

“Maybe a little.” You were more than capable of fixing it and putting on an American one, but you felt entitled to keep this little part of yourself. To remind yourself and everyone else where you came from. The pressure to conform was a constant torrent but you refused to let them win, for better or for worse.

“As for actual advice…I would say don’t look at it from a good versus bad perspective. In this field, none of us are really good. Not even at SHIELD. I don’t care what some of those righteous assholes think. Forget what anyone told you before and what anyone tells you now,” he said, drumming his fingers along the steering wheel. “Take a step back and compare the before and the now. How did it make you feel?” He asked, stressing the you. “What cause do you believe in? Tough thing is there’s not a right and a wrong answer. Took me a hell of a long time to figure out what I thought about it all. I used to operate strictly outside of the law and now I’m a fed,” he said, shrugging. “Just know I’m rooting for you.”

“And if I come to a conclusion you do not agree with?”

“I’ll make sure to give you a headstart,” he said, winking and throwing you a playful smirk.

“Ah, I am grateful Barton,” you said, cracking a smile. It felt good, like feeling the sun on your face after being inside for a long time. You reveled in the feeling while it lasted.

“No. No more of that Barton stuff. It’s Clint.” He said, shaking his head. “Unless we’re on a mission. Then it’s Hawkeye.”

“The infamous Hawkeye. Tell me, Clint. Where do you get a name like that?” You could tell he was fond of the alias.

“Would you believe me if I told you it’s from the circus?”

A million questions crowded your mind. You looked over, mouth hanging open. You didn’t know much about circuses. They had shown you all a cartoon once about an elephant that had giant ears and could fly. It led the other circus animals in a rebellion against the human handlers. In the end the ringmaster cut its ears off and strung them up as a lesson against exceptionalism. “You were in the circus?” You asked.

“Even better,” he answered. “I was raised up in one.”

“Did you have elephants?”

“No,” he scoffed, chuckling. “We were classier than that. All acrobats and good old fashioned theatrics. I used to sharpshoot. Struck apples off of people’s heads. That sort of thing. Although when I wasn’t on stage I was running through the audience, taking wallets out of pockets.”

You squinted your eyes at him. “Baby Barton raising hell. I can see it. And it would explain the mess in here.” You scuffed your shoe on the floor, stirring up bits of dirt and dried mud. Items crowded the backseat next to Natalia. A winter coat, a pair of sneakers, a hunting knife, handle worn from use. The cupholders were stuffed with old receipts and loose change, and something rattled in the glove box everytime the truck took a left turn. 

“It’s messy in here?” He asked, glancing about the cabin. “I don’t think it’s too bad.”

“You are funny.”

“No, I'm being completely serious. Doesn’t everyone’s car kinda look like this?” His bewilderment would be slightly endearing if you weren’t such a neat freak.

“No, not really. I will help you clean over the holiday,” you said, leaving no room for protest. “I cannot stand the ride back like this.”

“If you insist. Just don’t throw anything out without running it by me. I promise everything in here is important.”

“Whatever you say,” you said, eyeing a stack of coffee cups wedged in the door.

“Can I ask something? I mean, I don’t want to overstep.” You were learning Clint did not do well with silence. 

“Go ahead.”

“What’s the deal with you and Natasha? Are you dating? It’s been killing me trying to figure the two of you out.”

“No, uh, we are not,” you stuttered. “We are friends.” Even that label seemed to hold too much weight. You weren’t supposed to have friends. And to befriend one of the Widows no less. You were above them, primed to not only serve the Red Room, but to be the embodiment of its crusade. Dreykov’s right hand. The Taskmaster. 

Clint had the nerve to scoff. “I’ve seen you just about butcher an entire compound of enemy combatants without batting an eye. And you can never ever tell Fury this but you intimidate the other agents more than he does.” He took one hand off the wheel and stretched it out, flexing his fingers. “And as far as I can tell the only person who can get you to listen to anyone but yourself…” He pointedly stared at the rearview mirror. “I didn’t even recognize you earlier back at SHIELD. You looked so, unagitated. Like you finally managed to dislodge that stick up your ass.”

“Ha, ha,” you laughed dryly. “You know, I am going to find something to shove up your ass.”

“You were letting her lay on you like a cat. You can’t tell me you guys haven’t slept together.”

You glared at his profile until he got the hint and faced you. “That is none of your business.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry I crossed a line,” he said. Your chest twisted with an unfamiliar sensation. One that made its way to your face in not quite a smile, but certainly an expression of gratitude. You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek. Apologies were new for you. 

“It is alright,” you said, vehemence leaving your voice. “It is just complicated. We had,” you hesitated and took a deep breath. “We had more than we should have in, um…before. They tried to keep us apart, make me think she was as heartless as the rest of the world.” You stared out the windshield, not willing to risk eye contact with Barton. A bug came flying at the truck and splattered green guts right in your eyeline. “And for a while I believed them. I hated her. But I was wrong. It is actually the opposite. Natalia is just, she is good. She stupidly stuck by me and dragged my head up from the sand when I was intent on suffocating myself.” 

“I’m no expert, just a guy with a wife and a couple of kids, but that sounds a damn lot like love to me,” he said. 

A choir of sardonic voices roused to action in the forefront of your mind. What do you know of love? You bite the hand that needs you, do you understand? You bite it clean off. A bitter laugh lunged from your throat before you could stop it. “You are wrong. Love is a fantasy to hold over the heads of the masses.”

“Wow.” Clint blinked dramatically, twice. “I didn’t think it was possible, but you just got even more Russian.”

“Fuck off, Hawkeye,” you said, grinning freely. 

 “Seriously though, I’ll never understand what you guys went through. Not in any way that counts, but the fact you made it out together tells me how fucking strong the both of you are.” He flicked his gaze to you. “There’s something there for you to think about too, but you gotta find it on your own.”

But you would rather take a knife to the chest than admit to harboring any sort of four letter words for Natalia. “Wait, you have a kid?” You asked, turning the conversation back on Barton.

“Yeah,” he said, smile reaching up to crinkle the corners of his eyes. “I have two now, if you can believe it. My oldest is Cooper. He’s a little over three. Lila is the baby. They’re why I was a little nervous about bringing you out. My number one priority, before SHIELD, before the mission, before myself are those kids.”

“And you were driving me all this way worried that I would turn on you? That I might hurt your kids?”

“Well, you know. Don’t trust anyone, especially other spies. Especially Russian spies if you’re American. I was fairly sure, but there was a voice in the back of my head asking ‘what if,’ and I had to ask,” he admitted.

You wanted to tell him you’d never hurt a little kid. That he shouldn’t have worried. Except you had, so so many times before. “How do you feel now?” You asked instead.

“A lot better. Glad to know you’re not a robot.” Silence grew as the radio paused in between songs. You laid back against the seat and watched the plains rush by outside. The speakers came back to life and a new sickeningly cheery jingle began to play. “I love this one,” Clint said, turning the volume back up. He hummed with contentment and drummed his fingers on the wheel, looking over at you. “I am going to teach you all about the joy of Christmas music, just you wait.”

“Oh, great,” you remarked wryly. The small grin on your face however betrayed your stark tone. Maybe this place wasn’t so bad after all.

—

The old Chevy fought its way up the snow covered path toward the farmhouse in the middle of the field. White and red lights hung from the roof and wrapped the pillars of the porch in heartwarming hues. A little plastic snowman stood ambassador to the front door, waving a mittened hand and welcoming the incoming entourage. Clint parked a couple dozen yards from the house, grumbling about how he’d have to dig the truck out before he left again. Natalia hopped out, eyes wide as she took in the home. Your breath puffed out in visible clouds, but you hardly felt the cold. You were raised in the deathly Russian winters. 

The front door cracked open, a woman standing silhouetted in the warm light behind her. “Clinton Francis Barton! You better get inside right now,” she said, a wide smile brightening her voice.

“Clinton?” Natalia asked, walking close behind Barton up to the porch.

“Yeah, yeah. Now you know my biggest secret.” He trudged up the stairs, snowflakes dusting his shoulders and hair. Laura met him in the doorway with a kiss. “Sorry we’re a little late,” he said.

“You’re excused this time, but only because you brought guests,” she said. Up close you could see she had big brown eyes and brown hair that fell to her shoulders. The inside of the house beckoned, the haze of meat and pine wafting outside. You dragged your feet along the stairs. You didn’t belong here. “Get inside now, you’re letting all the heat escape.” She patted Barton on the butt as he trod inside, fondness lacing her eyes as she looked after him. Natalia stood at the entryway, not yet stepping up into the house. “I mean you two as well,” Laura insisted, ushering you through the door.

“Daddy!” A little boy came barrelling around a corner, wrapping his arms around Clint’s leg and staring up at him with a toothy grin. The house immediately opened up into the living room, a worn brown couch facing a fireplace and an evergreen tree adorned with ornaments and twinkling lights. To your left a staircase spiraled upward and disappeared to a second floor. You stomped your shoes off on a welcome mat, watching the slush melt away. 

A drumbeat of footsteps pattered your way and suddenly the child was wrapped around your leg, his fingers digging into your calf. Your muscles tensed and you began to lift your leg to shake him off, heart in your throat.

“Coop!” Laura scolded. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He’s usually pretty shy around strangers.”

But Cooper didn’t listen and you didn’t kick him away. This kid was not a threat. He ogled up at you with wide eyes the same shade as his mother’s and hair somehow blonder than his father’s. “Hi. I’m Cooper,” he said with the grace of someone just learning to speak.

“Hi,” you said, heat rushing to your cheeks at being startled by a three year old. 

“Who are you?” He asked.

“I am a friend of your father’s,” you said, also telling him your name. 

“Looks like you’ve been replaced, Clint,” Laura teased. “Come on, buddy, let’s get up. Daddy’s got to show them upstairs.”

But he only sank down further, sitting firmly on your shoe and jutting his lip in a pout. “Walk with me.”

You looked at Natalia, a tender smile on her face. “It’s alright,” you told Laura. “I can take him upstairs.”

“Are you sure?” She asked. “I can make him get down.” 

“Yeah.” You couldn’t explain the tight feeling in your chest whenever the boy smiled up at you. “Are you ready?” He nodded eagerly and you took a step, following Clint up the stairs. Cooper giggled the entire time, clinging on with little hands.

“I hope you guys are okay with sharing a room. We’ve got Coop and Lila in their own rooms right now. Lila keeps you up at night, doesn’t she buddy?”

He nodded against your knee. “Lila cries a lot.”

“This is great,” Natalia said. “Thank you.” You and her still slept in separate rooms, but at this point you would have been willing to sleep out in the barn if he told you to. You hadn’t realized how crazy you’d been in that SHIELD compound. The wind whipping against your face outside had been like finally breathing deeply after having your head held underwater.

“The door on the end is the master bedroom,” Clint said, pointing left down the hall. “That’s Coop’s room, then there’s the nursery, the bathroom, and finally,” he stopped, opening a door to the right. “Here’s the guest room. I’ll let you guys get settled. Take your time. I’m going to help Laura get the table set.” He knelt down, scooping Cooper up under his arms and lifting him high in the air. The toddler shrieked as Clint settled him on his shoulders and stomped downstairs.

You set your bag down as Natalia moved around the room, running her hand over the nicely made bed. You cleared your throat, nerves and a foreign feeling clashing in your mind. “I can sleep on the floor.” 

She turned to you sharply. “You know I would never ask you to do that.”

“I know. But I am offering.” You walked over to the window, pushing the curtain open and peering outside. You couldn’t see much of anything, even with your enhanced eyesight. Even still, the countryside was a refreshing landscape after being firmly locked in the city. But the wilderness sheltered different threats. The red dot of a laser sight burned your retinas, and glowing yellow eyes stared blankly back at you. 

Natalia pulled your hand into hers, lacing your fingers together. “We’re okay here,” she mumbled into your shoulder as if reading your mind. 

“Do you really believe that?”

“I do,” she said, coming to stand in front of you. You wrapped your arms around her and rested your chin on top of her head, imagining you could shield her from all harm this way. “Listen.”

You strained your ears, searching for alarming sounds. The wind outside stirred quietly, enough to flurry the falling snow, but not so aggressive as to rap the window pane. Beyond that there was only quiet. No footsteps prowling around the back of the house. No click of a rifle’s safety being switched off. “I do not hear anything,” you said.

“You’re listening for the wrong things,” she said.

You frowned, glancing around the quiet room. Through the closed door the lazy tune of an American Christmas song made its way to your ears. You recognized the singer. Elvis Presley. The King of Rock and Roll. Laughter charged the music with a warm undercurrent. The infectious snicker that belonged to Barton mixed with the high-pitched giggle of his son to create a different kind of melody. You dropped your shoulders and let all of the air out of your lungs. Natalia pulled you closer until her spine pressed flush into your front. Her hands felt like ice, but you didn’t mind. You had always run hot. 

“Barton asked me if we were a couple on the ride up,” you said.

“Oh yeah? And what did you say?” She asked, watching the snow swirl in arcs outside. The wind rushed down, only for the next gust to excite the flakes into the navy sky again. 

“I told him it was complicated. And that we are friends.”

“And what if we made it less complicated?”

You pulled away to tug off your sweatshirt, feeling feverishly warm. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what if we gave it a shot? We can call it what we want, we don’t have to call it anything at all. You could stay in my room some nights, or I could stay in yours. Maybe I’d let you kiss me,” she said, scrunching her nose and lifting one eyebrow. 

You laid the shirt on the bed, folding it into a tight little rectangle. The offer dangled in the vanilla scented air, taunting you. There must be a candle burning downstairs. You wanted so badly to say yes. To give yourself over to Natalia completely. Somewhere in between your heart and your throat the words got caught. A dark entity snagged what you wanted to say in its rows of jagged teeth and ripped it to shreds. “I think our friendship works,” you said. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” she sighed. “I was being selfish.”

“No, you were not. You could never be selfish. I am sorry,” you said, kneeling beside your bag and placing the sweatshirt inside. You would slit your own throat if Natalia Romonava asked you to. How cruel was it that you couldn’t tell her you cared? 

She crossed the softly lit bedroom, coming to rest by the door where you hung your head in defeat. “There’s nothing you need to be sorry for,” she said. Her voice washed over you and carried away some of the pain in your chest like the sea’s cool tide. Her fingers combed through the short hairs at the base of your neck. You leaned into her, resting your forehead on her leg. She smelled of the air after a storm and the beginnings of a fresh wound. “Come on. Let’s get downstairs before they put out a search warrant.”

You pushed yourself from the ground, an all too familiar action, and followed her into the greater expanse of the house. 

“There you are,” Clint greeted, pulling cups out of a cabinet. “Just in time.”

“Hi,” Laura smiled, crossing the kitchen and offering a hand. “I didn’t properly introduce myself before. I’m Laura.”

“Natasha,” Natalia said, shaking the woman’s hand.

“Cooper, come wash your hands!” Clint called. The boy ran in from the living room, making a beeline for the sink.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Barton,” you said, clasping her hand. Her palm held faded callouses. 

“Oh, please. It’s Laura. You come to my house, you call me Laura. Gosh, Mrs. Barton makes me feel old,” she said, smiling good-naturedly. “You two make me feel old. How old are you?”

“Twenty one,” Natalia answered. 

“Oh, wow,” she blinked widely. “Clint, you’ve got a run for your money. You might have to retire soon.”

“Tell me about it,” he said. “You should try sparring with Nat, hon. I’ve never been more sore in my life.” Clint scooped Cooper up and set him at the table. “Alright buddy hang tight, I’m gonna go grab your sister.”

“How are you guys doing at SHIELD? Fury not giving you too much grief I hope,” Laura said, grabbing a couple of plates and handing them over.

“You know Fury?” Natalia asked, recalculating the other woman.

“Oh, yeah. I knew Fury before he was such a hotshot. I knew him when he was still an ambitious agent gunning for the reins.” She scooped a bunch of mac and cheese into a bowl and carried it around to Cooper. “Feels like yesterday I was in the field though.”

“You were a SHIELD agent?” You asked, interest peaked. 

“Yep. Had a fancy codename too. People used to call me the Mockingbird.” The three of you settled at the table, plates filled with turkey and potatoes and sauteed green beans. “Don’t tell Clint I told you this but when he joined he chased after me for months before I’d even look in his direction. Don’t let him ever fool you, he’s always been a big dork.”

“Don’t tell Clint what now?” He asked, walking in with a baby in his arms. She couldn’t have been more than six months old. Natalia’s eyes went wide, her mouth parted open. She looked as if she were about to spring from her chair. You knew she had a soft spot for kids, but didn’t know it ran this deep. You looked from her to the baby and back again, head tilting. She’d never looked that excited to see you.

“Just sharing your most embarrassing moments,” Laura said. 

“Great.” He took a seat, cradling the baby in one hand and picking a fork up in the other. He pointed the utensil across the table at you and Natalia. “Just remember I’m still your superior,” he said. 

“The food is great, Laura,” you said in between bites. You forced yourself to slow down. You guessed you hadn’t realized how hungry you were until you sat down. SHIELD cafeteria food was certainly less than subpar. 

“Thank you. Clint, you better take notes from this one. The kid has better manners than you.”

“I’ll have you know that you chose to marry me,” he retorted.

“That I did,” she conceded, dipping her head. “And I’ve never had cause to regret it…so far.” 

“So far? Clint asked. “How could you ever say no to this face?” He jutted his bottom lip out and pouted.

Laura shook her head and grinned, almond eyes sparkling. “You are a child. I’m raising three children.” She turned away from her husband. “Anyway, I was asking you two about SHIELD. Clint told me you’ve taken the place by storm.” 

“It’s been good,” Natalia answered carefully. In the face of two senior agents, you had to choose your words carefully, even if one of them was retired from the organization. She donned a coy smile you recognized as one reserved for when she was chasing an objective and dipped her chin, peering up at the couple. “Everyone’s just been so great. We’ve been getting along perfectly, haven’t we?”

You took the signal and nodded in agreement. “I have found SHIELD to be an exceptional establishment.”

“I honestly think Fury would take that as an insult,” Clint said. “There’s no penalty for criticism. There’s a reason we’re spies and not soldiers.”

Natalia tilted her head, listening. You knew she gave the archer’s words considerable weight. “I think the director would agree that it’s considerably better than where we came from,” she said. “Which makes it near perfect in my eyes.”

Your leg bounced underneath the table, on the verge of taking off. To hear Natalia sing the song of American praise grated on your nerves. The worst thing was that she sounded genuine. She liked working under Fury. To you SHIELD was a pit stop on the way to a new life. For the woman who everyone underestimated and no one but you could decipher however, there was no escape plan, no next step. She’d convinced herself this was home.

“I’ll drink to that,” Clint said. “I’m where I am now because of SHIELD. And I wouldn’t trade this for the world.”

Laura practically beamed. “You sweet talker. I love you.” The feeling like you didn’t belong here roiled over you like a nauseating fever. You snapped to attention when you heard your name. “How are you adjusting?” Laura asked, eyes far too sympathetic.

“Fine,” you grimaced. You couldn’t help but think back on the lengths SHIELD had gone to glean information from you and remold you to a proper agent. In the end, they had been weaker than you. You were cast iron forged in the backwoods of Russia. You did not adjust. You did not yield. 

“What does Fury have you working on?” She asked. “I know I can’t have the details anymore. I don’t think I’d want them anyhow, but...He’s getting you guys back out there all right?” 

“Yeah. They call us Strike Team Alpha. We have been working with Agents Coulson and Hill to–,” you cut yourself off. You had been working to track down the Red Room and formulate a strategy to take out Dreykov. You complied enough to be deemed cooperative, but kept vital intelligence to yourself. Even still, time trickled away like sand in an hourglass. They’d have him before long, and you weren’t certain you could stick around to see it through. “We have been busy,” you pivoted. “We work with Clint a lot. Your husband is a good man.” 

“That he is,” she agreed. “But don’t discount yourself either.”

“Do not worry,” you said. “I know exactly what kind of person I am.”

“We all think we know who we are,” Laura said. “But most of the time it’s not as simple as we think. Lives are multi-faceted and it’s impossible to understand every part of ourselves as we should.”

“She’s right, you know,” Clint added. “I never thought I’d work for the government, much less ever be a father. But here I am.” He looked down on the sleeping baby tucked in his arm, running a thumb over her chubby cheek.

Under the table Natalia tugged on your pinky finger, intertwining her finger with yours. She squeezed softly and the action sent a current all the way to your heart. She had a smile on her face when you looked over, cat-green eyes glimmering with hope. “See?” She asked. “We can be whoever we want to be now.”

You nodded, even if it was just to reassure the woman beside you. Without order, without someone’s heels to follow you didn’t know who you were. And the prospect of discovering you weren’t worthy of all you’d been given...well that scared you more than the thought of a bullet carving a neat hole through your brain.

Clint cleared his throat and stood, walking to the counter and grabbing more food. You stared at your now empty plate, stealing a glance back at the countertop with the dishes of food. You stamped down on the flare of desire in your stomach, sitting silently and stacking your hands in your lap. “You can have more,” Laura said gently.

You shook your head quickly. “I am alright.” You were to never take more than what was allotted. 

“I’m serious, we’ll never eat all of this food. Please, take more,” she insisted.

You nodded, slowly getting up and slinking away from the wooden dining table. Natalia picked up the conversation. “So, you don’t work for SHIELD anymore then?”

“No,” Laura said. “I opted out of field work when I got pregnant with Cooper and when we decided to have Lila I took myself out of the game completely. Even being a deskbound spy has a way of taking over your life.” She picked up a napkin and wiped Cooper’s cheesy face off. “At that point I knew I had greater priorities than to SHIELD. Being a parent wouldn’t be everyone’s first choice but it was the right decision for me. We moved out here from the city a little over a year ago.”

“What do you do now?” Natalia asked.

“I’m a counselor for military personnel and veterans,” she said as you sat down again. Your foot caught on one of the legs and the table jumped a few inches.

“Sorry,” you cringed, gingerly pushing it back into place.

Cooper’s eyes went wide and he clapped his hands together with little coordination. “Again.”

“The table is pretty dense,” Laura explained. “We had trouble moving it in here and now Cooper’s made a game out of trying to push it around. Clint won’t touch it though, he’s worried he’ll hurt his back.”

“Ah,” you said, staring down at your lap. You didn’t like people knowing how strong you were. Nothing good had ever come from it. The serum was a fear tactic, a killer’s tool. The doctor’s at SHIELD had been practically drooling with questions when they found out, needles armed and ready behind their backs. “Must be lighter than you remember.”

“I’m done,” Cooper announced, slamming his spoon down. 

“Cooper Barton!” Laura chastised. “What do we say when we’re done?”

The toddler grumbled, pushing his empty bowl away. “May I be excused?”

“Yes you may,” his mother answered.

He jumped from his chair and ran around the table back to the living room. Clint ruffled his thick brown hair as he sped past. “Attaboy,” he saluted.

Laura carried the dishes over to the sink, running the water and filling the basin. You stood abruptly, snapping to attention. “I can take care of it.” You’d been sitting around for too long and letting people work for you. You needed to do something with your hands. She waved you off, not sparing a glance. “Please,” you said, ants crawling beneath your skin.

 She turned to you and something on your face must have given you away. “Okay. You’re not going to hear any argument from me.” 

You gathered up the rest of the plates from the table and scraped the food scraps into the trash. Chore rotations had been part of the routine growing up and the repetitive nature of scrubbing plate after plate calmed you some.

“Let me help,” Clint offered, handing the baby off to Laura and joining you in the kitchen. 

“Why don’t we go out to the den?” Laura offered to Natalia. “Let the boys clean up in here.” She whispered into the redhead’s ear as they left the room. You couldn’t make out the words.

You handed a clean plate to Clint for him to dry. “Thank you,” you said. The kitchen was cozy, all wooden floors and off-white countertops. The fridge stood across from the sink, decorated in crayon drawings and various magnets in the shape of dinosaurs.

“You’re welcome. Laura gets on me all the time for forgetting to clean up anyway. Figured I could earn some points while I’m home.”

“I meant for bringing us here,” you clarified. “It has been, nice.” Nice was a safe word. “You have a nice home. You were right. I think I was–hm, what is the term? Something crazy. Like when you are stuck inside for too long.”

“Stir crazy?”

“Ah yes. I was being stir crazy,” you said. “I am glad to be far away from the compound, from the job, all of it.”

“You were going stir crazy, not being stir crazy,” he said.

“Ah. I do not struggle with languages too much, but the figures of speech are always difficult to follow.”

“I’m glad you’re comfortable here. It’s nice to be able to share this with someone,” he admitted. “Fury is literally the only other person who knows about this part of my life. It’s kind of exhausting walking around pretending it doesn’t exist.”

LIttle footsteps came pounding around the corner and into the kitchen. Cooper crashed into Clint’s leg, tugging on his shirt to get his attention. “Mama said I have to help. Lila is sleeping,” he panted.

“Why don’t you dry this off for me, bud?” Clint handed him a rag and a plastic cup.

You watched the boy as he cleaned the cup, tongue poking out of the side of his mouth. “I will protect your secret, Clint. I know Nata-” You caught yourself before finishing the second half of her name. “Natasha will too.” The sound still felt awkward on your tongue.

“Thank you,” he said, laying a warm hand on your shoulder. The muscles in your back tensed, pinching your shoulder blades together. You inhaled and counted to five. You didn’t pull away. “I’ve made a lot of dumb decisions in my life, and I mean a lot. Taking a chance on the two of you though…that I don’t think I’ll ever regret.”

Part of you preened at the praise, no matter who’s lips it fell from. The other part reared at the fact you responded to someone other than your designated handlers. “You are welcome,” you said.

“Done!” Cooper announced, handing the dry cup back to his father. “Can I go play now?”

“Yeah, sure bud. We’ll be right out.”

You put the last plate away and drained the sink before joining Natalia and Laura in the living room. You froze when you rounded the corner and saw Natalia. She held Lila in her arms, the most tender smile on her face as she watched over the baby. Laura knelt by the fireplace, stoking the logs before shutting the grate. The mantle held little framed photographs of the Barton family and red and green stockings hung over the fire. A Christmas tree stood in the corner, yellow lights shining like halos. A star topped the tree, inches away from scraping the ceiling. Natalia sat on the couch cradling the baby as she played with one of her fingers.

Cooper slid onto the bench at an upright piano, mashing away at the keys. “Not right now, Coop,” Clint said. “You ought to be winding down for bed. We all have to be asleep for when Santa comes, remember?” You blinked at the instrument, starstruck. Longing filled your chest like air in a balloon. 

“Fine,” he whined, but listened and scooted from the bench.

Natalia swiveled her head, careful not to shift and disturb Lila. “Does one of you play?”

“I used to when I was little,” Laura said. “The piano belonged to my grandparents originally. I don’t think I could play much of anything anymore.”

“I can play.” Clint piped up.

“Twinkle Twinkle Little Star does not count, babe.”

“You know who can play?” Natalia spoke up. You imagined the expression on her face, one eyebrow raised and mouth poised in a smirk. 

“Who?” Cooper asked, rounding the couch and sitting on the coffee table. 

“I’ll give you a hint,” she said. “They’re in the room with us right now.”

“Is it me?” He pointed to himself, little eyebrows furrowed as deep as he could make them go.

“Nope,” Natalia answered, voice sing-song sweet.

“Is it you?” He twisted his head to the side and pointed at Natalia. She shook her head and Cooper looked around the room, eyes catching on his mother and father before landing on you. “Your friend,” he said. 

“Yep,” she said. You could hear the smile in her voice. 

“I knew it. I knew it,” he insisted. 

You tore your gaze away from the piano as attention fell onto you. “Oh.” You waved them off. “I would not say I could play. I posed as a pianist in a hotel lobby for a mission once a long time ago. Memorized some music that is all. I am not classically trained.” You crossed your arms to ward off the unease that accompanied so many eyes on you.

“Do you still know it?” Laura asked. 

“Yeah, I do.” Your peculiar memory would never allow you to forget. And you’d never tell a soul, but sitting there at a piano all night long had made you feel alive in a way nothing had before. But that couldn’t be. Musicians were jesters, and you were no fool. 

“We’d love to hear it,” Laura said, picking Cooper up and settling down with him on her lap. “If you’re comfortable. I hate the thought of the piano just turning into decor.”

“Okay,” you said. You were never one to shy away from a task. “I am afraid I do not know any Christmas songs.” 

“That’s all right. I’m sure whatever you know will be beautiful,” Laura encouraged.

Clint stood in the corner, eyes upturned to the ceiling. He perked up, springing into action. “I’ll be right back,” he said, jogging upstairs.

You took a seat on the polished wooden bench, stroking the keys and marveling at the instrument. You warmed up, playing a couple scales and conjuring the music in your mind’s eye. The patterns were as fresh as the day you had played them. The notes from the aged piano were by no means comparable to that of the expensive grand you’d used before, but somehow the music sounded sweeter here. As you struck the opening bars of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata you craned your neck to find Natalia’s gaze. She smiled at you and you couldn’t help but mirror the expression. Your heart picked up its beating and your head buzzed with a strange feeling. You felt as if you might explode with it. 

You took to the music like you took to fighting, or dancing. You didn’t struggle with movement like other people did. Ever since you could remember you could watch and replicate. Eventually you learned to mimic a fighter’s strategy so that you could predict their next moves. Flay their neck into a gushing fountain before they could touch you. 

Your foot pumped the pedal in time with your left hand and when you closed your eyes you could see the notes weaving into the dark. You liked how the music elicited harmony instead of chaos. Music didn’t scrape the skin from your knuckles or leave you lying on the floor with the world spinning around you. You changed the song, easing into Chopin’s Nocturne in E Flat. 

Clint came marching down the stairs, CD player in one hand and a disk in the other. He stayed quiet for a moment, busying himself with finding an outlet to plug the player into. Finding a natural way to end the song prematurely, you slowed your hands and lightened the force with which you struck the keys. Clint stood near the other end of the couch, doing his best to look patient. 

“Barton?” You asked.

“I told you earlier that I was going to teach you the joy of Christmas music,” he said. “Well, here you go. Now you can play along and really appreciate the music.” He knelt down and pressed the play button. 

An easy tune filled the living room, bathing all in attendance in a sense of peace. Time seemed to slow, and for a moment, you forgot about the world outside of the farmhouse. All that mattered was the family reaching out in embrace, two parents and a little boy. Their smiles shone brighter than the blazing fire in the hearth. You watched the woman settled on the couch, absorbed by the baby in her arms. She looked up at you as you traced the curve of her jaw with your eyes. Natalia’s pupils were wide when she met your gaze, and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. You looked away first to stare at the piano instead, focusing on the music instead of the way your cheeks warmed in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature.

You caught onto the song as it began to repeat, taking a shallow breath before following along. Just like with anything else music obeyed a pattern. Once you unlocked the way the parts fit together, the rest of the song revealed itself to you. All you had to do was continue the line of code. The next track played, prompting Cooper to sing along. Imperfection had never sounded so flawless. 

The CD turned out song after song and you let yourself get lost in the game. You didn’t recognize any of the pieces, but Christmas music had a distinctive charm to it. Some might call it magical. You sat back for the first thirty seconds of each song, picking out the tempo and key. The notes charged your hands with energy which you poured out into the latter half of the song. Each one was unique, a victorious smile forming on your face when you pulled together the entire arrangement in your head.

When the tracklist ended you took a breath, feeling lighter than you had in a long time. Laura took Lila from Natalia, holding her tight against her shoulder. Her hand, a mother’s hand, rested on the sleeping baby’s back. “I’m going to put her down,” she said, just loud enough to be heard.

“Hey bud.” Clint gently shook Cooper awake from where he’d fallen asleep on the couch against his leg. “It’s time to brush our teeth and go to bed.”

The boy only turned further into Clint’s body, refusing to be stirred. 

Clint stood and picked him up. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

Only after his footsteps had receded upstairs did either one of you move. Natalia pushed herself from the couch and stretched. Her arms extended toward the ceiling with a dancer’s grace. She took a seat next to you on the bench and laid her head on your shoulder. “That was amazing,” she said. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“That is all you,” you said. “I did not know you were so good with babies.”

“Me neither,” she admitted. “When Laura asked me to hold her I was so nervous at first. I thought I might drop her or pinch her or that I’d make her cry.” She lifted her head, her gaze soft as a lamb’s. You wanted to preserve it so that no one may ever taint it, including from yourself. “But she was okay.”

“That is because you are a good person. They say babies have a sixth sense for that sort of thing. Like dogs.”

“But, I’ve hurt so many people,” she said, voice fragile like a twig in a storm. “I’m afraid…I'm afraid I’ll never be able to redeem myself.”

“No. Do not say that, Natalia. You are the best person I know. The fact you care so much means you are already there.” You huffed a quick exhale. “I think you are the only person who cannot see how big your heart is.”

“They say the holidays are for spending time with the people you love the most,” she whispered, tracing the lines on your palm with her finger.

You stayed quiet.

“I’m glad that I’m here with you,” she said.

Another window, another chance to dive off the deep end. I think I’m in love with you, you thought. The laws of society had been drilled into your head by the Madames and reinforced by what little exposure of the world you’d received. Natalia stood in defiance to all of them. She was a sapling in a field of ash, and refused to be uprooted. She turned to grace like you turned to anger. She was infecting you, and you couldn’t push her away.

Footsteps sounded down the stairs and you shut your previously parted mouth. The words scattered into the recesses of your throat. “Hey guys,” Clint said. “The kids are down and Laura and I still have a lot of Santa’s work to do. You’re more than welcome to stay down here and watch TV or whatever. We’ll be around. Just holler if you need anything.”

“Okay,” Natalia said. “Thank you.” He turned to go. “And Clint. Merry Christmas.” She smiled.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, giving a sharp nod. 

You yawned. Between the food and the warmth and the music, tiredness had snuck up on you. “Let’s go upstairs,” Natalia said.

“Okay.” You left the piano behind and made your way upstairs. You brushed your teeth and splashed water on your face in the hall bathroom. The shower curtain was adorned with colorful flaming monster trucks and a little blue step stool gave height before the sink. Cooper must have primary use of this one. 

Natalia sat on the edge of the mattress in the bedroom, untangling her braid with deft fingers. You stole a pillow and dropped it on the floor on the other side near the door. “What are you doing?” She asked.

“I am going to sleep.” You didn’t meet her eyes.

“Why are you being weird? We’ve slept in the same bed before,” she said.

“That was different,” you insisted.

“How so?” She asked, infuriatingly patient.

You crossed your arms over your chest and rolled your shoulders back, shadows of old handlers and teachers flickering behind your eyes. “Because…because there were lines before. Ones we did not cross.” Emotional ones. “It was survival. You were a warm body.”

A smudge of hurt clouded over Natalia’s bright eyes. She blinked and it disappeared. “You don’t mean that.”

You paced the length of the room, wishing you could run farther. You meant it and you also didn’t. “Of course not. I am sorry,” you breathed. 

“Then come here. All we’re doing is sleeping. I’m not letting you stay on the floor like a dog.” She combed through her hair, waves of red cascading down past her shoulders. 

Except it wasn’t just sleeping. If you indulged in this vice once you’d never want to quit it. You’d paw desperately at her door every night. You shook your head and backed away like a spooked horse. “I have slept in worse places.”

“Is it me?” She asked, shoulders slumping with the words. “Do you not trust me?”

“No. No, it is not you.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

You shook your head as if to fling the question away. The problem was that you weren’t cut out for relationships of any kind. Didn’t she know how dangerous you were? Shouldn’t she know that you bit? “There is no problem.”

“I know you well enough to know when you’re not telling me something.” You started to get the feeling this wasn’t really about where you slept anymore.

“Can we talk about this in the morning?” You tried, rubbing furiously at the back of your head.

“No. I hate feeling like you’re not comfortable around me,” she said. “Is there something wrong with me?”

“No. I trust you with my life. You know that.” Your voice cracked at the end. It was never her fault, and you hated yourself for not being able to be what she needed. To reassure and support her. To be normal.

“Then please, tell me what’s going on.”

“I–”

“What are you so afraid of?” She asked the question at barely more than a whisper, but the words lit a spark in you like a gunshot. 

“Leave it Natalia,” you commanded in Russian, spinning on your heel. You fixed her with a cold stare, no longer seeing her as you should be. Perched on the bed sat the Black Widow, and she had broken rank.

“No,” she scolded, rising to meet the challenge. “You don’t get to talk to me like that. We are not in the Red Room. Do you understand?” Anyone else and you would have seized them and smacked them clean across the cheek. Anyone else and they’d have a dozen fresh bruises to remind them of their place. But this was Natalia. And you’d never hurt Natalia. You clenched your jaw and drew your lips back, fighting the urge to pound the wall in. 

“I hate you.” You felt as if you’d just barely outran an onslaught of attackers, and they were still watching. 

“No you don’t,” she said, face still as marble and expressive as a wall of stone.

“Why are you here? Why will you not leave? You are the reason I am like this,” you said, voice cracking as a growing child's did. If it wasn’t for her you’d be perfect, you knew it. Instead she tempted you down a path of distraction, convinced you to embrace weakness.

“I’m here because I will always stand beside you. Always,” she said as if it was all too simple.

“But you left. You were going to die and leave me alone.” Defecting to SHIELD had not been her original plan. Letting them kill her was. Lucky it had been Clint Barton behind the trigger that night. “And now I am stuck here because of you and I hate it.”

“You feel stuck?” For a second the wall slipped and a flash of hurt escaped Natalia’s gaze.

“Yes,” you said. “I do. You ruined my life.” Red hot anger ignited itself within you. And it was all aimed at the woman before you.

“I didn’t make you do anything. I never have,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re here because you know deep down that the Red Room is an awful place. A place that takes little children and beats them into weapons.”

“It made us strong.”

“It broke us.”

You grimaced and kicked aimlessly at the ground. “I still cannot stand it here.” The wrath began to dissipate. Shame swelled to take its place.

“We are safer now than we ever have been.”

“I cannot trust you. You are a Widow. You–You are lying to me. You always have been.” Paranoia twisted smiles into smirks, kind words into carefully crafted scalpels. She’d learn all of your weaknesses and leave you gutted on top of her rotting pile of victims.

“I am not a Widow. Not anymore. Do you understand?”

You grunted an acknowledgement.

“Markov.” She called your surname. “Yes or no.”

“Yes,” you ground out. “I understand.” Regret pooled in your belly like bile. She had asked what you were so afraid of and you’d gone and shown her. The closer Natalia became the less control you felt you had. Emotions twisted together in a whirlwind inside your head, mutating into a throbbing mass of anger. Natalia handled her emotions, always choosing the correct words and wearing the face she wanted people to see. Dreykov had taught you that pretty words were for the Widows and the women. Unchecked, the rage festered until your hands shook with it. “I do not want to hurt you,” you said, switching back to English with an accent hanging heavy over the words.

“I know,” she sighed. “But you do, you know. When you lash out at me it hurts.” 

A dozen excuses ran through your head. None of them even came close to making it up. You were just a bad person. “This is why you have to let me sleep on the floor.” You felt as though you’d finally been allowed to regain control of your body after some raging force had overtaken you. It left you dizzy with the shame of your words.

Natalia didn’t say anything. Her green gaze bore straight through you. Vulnerability raked at your spine as if she held your bleeding heart in her fist.

“Please,” you added. You did not beg.

“You can sleep on the floor,” she relented. The cool release of relief soothed your aching mind. “But you have to promise me something.”

“Okay.”

“Promise me that when we get back you’ll work on talking through whatever’s going on in your mind. If not with me that’s fine. But you have to talk to someone.”

The offer was steep. The urge to shut it all in was more than an instinct. Being guarded was the key to your survival. “Fine.” If tearing yourself apart meant Natalia could find peace, you would rip the flesh away yourself. “I can do that.”

She blinked as if she hadn’t expected you to agree. “Here.” She held out a blanket that had been folded at the end of the bed. 

“Thank you.” You shut off the light and laid on the floor. For a moment before your eyes adjusted you couldn’t see a thing besides pitch black. Your heart thundered in your chest as shapes began to fall back into focus. The rectangle dresser, the thick bed frame, the moonlight filtering in through the blinds on the window. Covered in the rather large blanket and supported by the carpeted floor you fell asleep. 

You dreamt most nights. Vivid atrocities doused in blood and the screams of pigs to the slaughter. The tip of a sword, plunged through the hearts of the guilty and innocent alike. A metal fist, knocking you sideways and ramming you in the face until your eyes swelled shut. Never stopping until its master called it off. Faceless bodies behind surgical masks, watching as you writhed under a spotlight like a bug under a magnifying glass. A burn beneath your skin so violent your jaw locked with the pain and you felt as if you couldn’t even draw the tiniest of breaths. 

None of them held a candle to the nightmare that cursed you tonight. It had visited since you were small, and it came often. Not just the feeling, but the memory of being suspended in limbo.

Your limbs froze, even your neck refused to lift your head as you stared at a single spot on the popcorn ceiling. The walls, the fear-soaked smell of your own sweat, the buzz of a lamp to your right all closed in on you. You couldn’t cry, you couldn’t speak, it took everything you had just to breathe.

Time stretched on and all you could do was lay there and stare at the ceiling. You tried to focus on the drone of the lamp instead of the heavy panting a foot away from you. But you never could completely. Your chest constricted with every breath but never reached the point of constriction. Your stomach crackled with repulsion, but bile never rose into your throat. You forever hung teetering on the edge, violation wrapped around your frail body. 

I’m trapped. I’m trapped. I’m trapped. I’m–

Your eyes flew open and you sat up, knocking skulls with someone else. A strangled noise leapt from your mouth into the silent air. No buzzing lamp. No heavy breathing besides your own. Your limbs had become tangled in a blanket and you thrashed to free yourself. 

Your head snapped up at the sound of your name. The word lassoed your mind and hauled you to the present. Concerned green eyes peered at you in the dark. You knew those eyes. For a second you imagined they belonged to a child no older than thirteen. She wasn’t supposed to be in your room. She wasn’t supposed to see you like this. “What are you doing in here?” You thrust your hand out to keep her away. “Get out.”

“Hey,” Natalia said, voice as gentle as the evening breeze. Her kindness would get her killed. She spoke your name again and the illusion dissolved some more. “You’re safe. You were dreaming. We’re at Clint Barton’s house in Iowa.” 

You got to your feet on shaky legs, looking through the woman in front of you. The room around you was not the one in the lingering dream and not the one you grew up sleeping in. 

A cool hand found your cheek and tilted your gaze down. “Come back,” Natalia said.

The shadows fled, no match for her. Not truly gone, but subdued for now. “I am sorry I woke you,” you said. 

“Don’t apologize.” She drew a breath. “I was awake anyways.”

“I guess sleep is not especially kind to either of us.”

“No. I guess not.” 

She pulled away, stepping into the splash of moonlight on the wall. You thought she looked like an angel, or maybe a ghost. Either way she looked ethereal, as if she might turn to smoke if you reached out to touch her.

“I thought you said you’d grown out of them,” she whispered, facing the light, and away from where you hunkered out of its reach.

Your jaw twitched. “I lied.”

She nodded to herself. Disappointed but not surprised. You thought she might berate you for it, present a list of the consequences until they were seared into your brain. Instead she just extended a hand and said, “Come here.”

You fell into her and let her pull you onto the edge of the bed. You sat there, feet planted on the floor. “I hope I did not wake anyone else,” you said.

“You didn’t,” she said, settling down beside you. “You were so quiet. I almost didn’t notice something was wrong.”

“What happened?”

“I just…had the feeling something was wrong. That I needed to check on you.” She turned your forearm up and traced her thumb over the pulse point on your wrist. “Your forehead was all sweaty and you were breathing super fast. You seemed so scared.”

“I am okay,” you said.

“It’s okay to not be sometimes. I think I’m starting to learn that.”

“I really am.” You wanted to say more. You chewed on your lip, staring at the door as if it could tell you what to do. Natalia, so small yet stronger than you in a million ways. She deserved to know how much she meant to you. “I am always more than okay when you are with me. You make me feel safe.”

“Do you mean it?” Her eyes met yours, pupils blown amidst the fern green iris. You wondered if it was because of you or the dark. 

“Yes,” you said. “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I think…I would go through all of it again just to keep you.”

“I don’t know if I’m worth that much.” You wished she could see herself through your eyes so that she understood. 

“Natalia Romanova, you are worth the entire world.” Hesitantly you leaned over and kissed her temple, lips just grazing the soft skin. You pulled away, scanning her face for any sign of reproach. “Was that okay?”

“It was more than okay,” she said. She leaned her weight against you, shoulders pressing into each other. 

You sat like that for a while, listening to the sound of her gentle breathing and basking in the peaceful moment. Maybe if you could remember how you felt now you could summon the strength to serve SHIELD. You allowed your mind to wander to places you normally didn’t entertain. Someday you and Natalia would have your own place like this. A bubble no one else could touch where you could sit just like this every night. You would never have it though, only the filmy mirage of pretense.

Natalia moved to the other side of the bed, laying down on her side. “Come lay down with me,” she said.

You didn’t want to return to the floor, but you weren’t sure you could stay on the bed either. 

“Please.” Behind you the best dipped and a pair of arms slid around you. One of her hands came to rest right above your heart. She tucked her chin into the space between your neck and shoulder and involuntarily, you dropped your head against hers. “It is Christmas after all.”

Natalia tugged you down and you let her, lowering yourself until your back was flush against the mattress and your head lay in her lap. You refused to move your legs, leaving them draped over the side. “I am so sorry for the things I said earlier. I did not mean it.” Shame stabbed at your lungs and behind your eyes. Your jaw ached with it, and your tongue was sour with traces of your own bitterness. 

“It’s okay. I understand,” she said. You didn’t deserve her tenderness.

“You should not have to, Natalia. It is not fair for you to deal with.”

“Remember when we promised each other we’d never leave the other one alone?” 

You huffed a dry laugh. “We could not have been more than fourteen years old.”

“So more than old enough to know what we were saying,” she countered.

“It will happen again,” you said, tone darkening. 

“And I’ll be there when it does.”

“I cannot control it. Sometimes things happen and I feel everyone is out to get me.” You flicked your gaze away from her face. “Then the shouting and the hateful words and the rage comes. I do things I cannot take back.”

“That’s why you need people who know that that isn’t really you. Who know you’re kind and loyal to the bone. Who will help you heal.” 

“I am not sick,” you insisted. 

“I know. But we need to understand whatever this is,” she said. “Before it gets you into trouble with the wrong people.”

You took a deep breath, ribs shuddering like the bars of a rusted cage. “I am scared,” you whispered. 

Natalia ran a calloused hand across your cheek. “I know,” she said. “Just know you’re not alone. We’ll figure this out together.”

You nodded your head, afraid that speaking might reveal the lump in your throat.

“Come on, let’s get some rest,” she said, tugging on the collar of your shirt.

 “You are unbelievable,” you mumbled.

“What happened to me being the best person ever?”

“You can be both.”

She peered down at you, eyes alight with mischief. “I haven’t heard a ‘no’.”

Exhaustion had broken down your resolve, and you’d have a better chance of sleeping through the rest of the night in the bed. “Okay.” Your agreement had nothing to do with the way Natalia blinked slowly at you, nor the way she had taken to sifting her fingers through your hair.

“Finally,” she said, lips quirking up in a victorious smile. “You’re almost as stubborn as me. Not quite though.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you said, pushing yourself fully onto the bed. “Do not make me change my mind.”

You laid down and Natalia settled her head on your chest. “You’re so warm,” she said.

“Is that why you wanted me up here? Cause you were cold?” 

“No,” she said as she pressed her cheek further into your collarbone. “Go to sleep.”

“Goodnight Natalia.”

“Goodnight.”

You woke in the morning not to the terror of memory infiltrating your mind but to sunlight illuminating the space before your eyelids. You blinked rapidly, clearing away the morning bleariness. You couldn't recall the last time you had started your day after sunup. 

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” Natalia said, still buried into your side. Under the sheet her legs tangled up in yours. 

You yawned, stretching your arms above your head. “Have you been awake long?”

“No,” she said. “Just a few minutes maybe. I think we should get up though. I imagine Cooper will be awake soon. It would be cruel to keep him waiting. I remember how exciting Christmas morning was.” She said, sounding far away. “It wasn’t real, but…there is something really magical about this time of year.”

You rubbed gentle circles on her upper back in between her shoulder blades where you knew she held tension. “It is real now, no? For the Bartons and for us, Christmas means something?” 

“Yeah,” she breathed, crinkles around her eyes when she looked at you. “This is real.” You had a feeling she wasn’t referring to the holidays anymore.

“Before we go downstairs I have something for you,” you said. You palmed the thin silver necklace that had been stored in your bag. “Turn around and close your eyes.”

“Should I be nervous?” She asked as she faced away from you.

“No, no.” You clasped the chain around her neck. “Okay you can look now.”

Natalia examined the charm, cupping it in her hand. “I um—I didn’t get you anything.”

“And you do not need to,” you said. “You are all I could ever want.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“Clint took me out. I was saving it for the right time. Now seemed perfect.” You looked at the little silver sword strung hilt to blade tip along the necklace. Your signature weapon. “Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful. Thank you,” she said, smiling up at you in a way that made your head go empty and quiet. You felt as if everything might be okay when she smiled at you.

“It is, uh…It is to remind you that I am always on your side. That I am always with you even when it may seem like I am not.” Your heart pounded with fear she may reject the gift. She would cast it aside, and you with it.

“It’s perfect,” she said instead. “You’re perfect.”

“Merry Christmas Natalia.”

“Merry Christmas.”

A/N: The drive from D.C. to Iowa is definitely NOT doable in the time they make it in the story.

[delumineight]

romione fic list

because it’s hard to find good ones

disclaimer, these are mostly all on ao3. this will be updated every now and then and open for suggestions !!! if you have any suggestions please reblog with them. this is an ongoing list that i will be adding to whenever i find something that i like enough to rec.

list below the cut, just so people who aren’t on my account or in the tags for this don’t have to see it.

rec list

the reasons by incalculablepower

— RATED T: background harry/ginny, past lavender/ron, a tad of inappropriate humor at the end, takes place at the end of sixth year or half-blood prince

SUMMARY: “As the school year comes to an end, it's time to reflect on the one that's passed and prepare for the next year. And with their two best friends otherwise occupied (that is, snogging all over the castle), that means a lot of quality time spent together...”

resistance of the mind by tuesday_piracy

— RATED G: background harry/ginny, current lavender/ron, pining hermione, black hermione, black lavender, takes place during christmastime sixth year or half-blood prince

SUMMARY: “Hogwarts is hosting a Winter Solstice Ball for their older students, and naturally, Ron and Lavender plan on attending together. However, as the night of the Ball arises, Ron is racked with familiar concerns over his attire, his looks, and his hair. So, naturally, he turns to Hermione, and she can't help but aid him. — Or: Hermione gives Ron a haircut. Absolutely nothing (something) happens.

anywhere with you by kieunlocked

— RATED G: takes place during deathly hallows during the horcrux hunt before ron leaves, discussing where they would rather be then in a damp tent in the middle of nowhere

“One-Shot of Ron and Hermione talking about places they’d rather be than the cold, miserable tent during the Horcrux Hunt. / “Though, to be honest I might rather be in the Potions dungeon right now than in this bloody cold tent any longer,” Hermione groaned, wrapping her arms around herself. / “Not the Potions dungeon, Hermione!” Ron said with mock disgust, slinging an arm around her easily, effortlessly. As if he’d done it a million times. And when Hermione thought about it, he really had been doing it quite a bit lately.”

don’t talk (put your head on my shoulder) by sarahxxxlovey

— RATED T: shell cottage, pre relationship, aftermath of torture, missing scene, takes place during deathly hallows

““I don’t know what I would’ve done if—” Ron said in an uncharacteristically tender voice, pulling away slightly to cover her cheeks with large hands, tears dripping down his nose. “I couldn’t— I thought I was going to lose my mind.” / “Me too,” she said, swallowing and nodding, looking up at him. “I didn’t think I could take it… I—” / Words failed her. She broke down into sobs again. / “Hermione,” he said, his voice cracking, kissing her wet cheek quickly before hugging her even tighter. “I’m just so glad you're okay.””

let the golden age begin by incalculablepower

— RATED T: missing scene, during lavender/ron, during apparation testing, maybe a tad and i mean tad bit of emotional cheating, as in people mistake them for boyfriend and girlfriend and neither of them make corrections, half-blood prince, sixth year

“A couple of awkward moments in a still-healing friendship. Half-Blood Prince missing moment.”

funny little frog in my throat by anonymous

RATED T — pining, specifically pining ron, fluff and humor, idiots in love, my personal all time favorite, they’re still magical but no war au

“Ron loves Hermione. It's an ugly business, he's very upset about it, but he loves her and that seems to be the axis on which his world turns.”

self recs

meet me in the woods

— RATED T: secret dating au, starts at the end of sixth year and runs until the shell cottage scene in deathly hallows, written for romione week 2023, oblivious harry, 9k words… oops

““We could just… not tell him.” / “Just keeping it a secret? Okay.” / Whatever Joanne wrote for Deathly Hallows was NOT real. This is (trust me).”

that damned cat

— RATED G: post-war, hermione’s eighth year, crookshanks fic, cuts to around 2009/2010 i think, cat dad ron, and just general dad ron, wine uncles drarry

“Ron hates that cat—but he loves Hermione more.”

[drarryspecificrecsdaily]

2023.12.31

Complete fics posted on AO3 this day

1. Curiosity is Never Enough by @annanother-thing [E, 10k]

►Draco is a food writer and TV personality, Harry is confused and horny, and Pansy is a bitch.

2. meet me in the dark by Scarlet_Moons [T, 9k]

►After a botched mission, Harry and Draco are stranded without their wands and with no way to get home or back to the ministry. Their only option is to spend the night in a muggle hotel. The only problem is, there's only one bed and each of them is hopelessly in love with the other.

3. Should old acquaintance be forgot by @jtimu [T, 1k]

►Draco comes to New Year's at Grimmauld.

4. Straight Boy by @suunfun [E, 12k]

►Young, blond and handsome, Draco attracts unwanted attention in prison. When his cellmate offers him protection, Draco accepts the offer, even though he doesn’t trust the guy. Little does he know how much it will change his life. When he’s released from prison, Draco finds himself needing and wanting things he shouldn’t want. Draco is straight. He is. He has a girlfriend. What happened in prison stayed in prison—or so Draco tells himself. Until he meets his former cellmate again. Harry. The guy he hates and craves.

5. This is moving much faster than I was expecting by @writingfanficsfan [T, 1k]

►Draco trailed his fingertips down Harry’s naked torso, feeling the muscles flex underneath him. Harry was panting deeply, clutching the sheets and Draco wished he had a camera at that moment. [...]

6. When it's exactly twelve o'clock that night by @andithiel [T, 6k]

►After they sorted their differences a few years ago, Draco and Harry have struck an unlikely friendship. Draco knows he should be satisfied with that, but despite his best efforts, he’s been secretly in love with Harry for years. And now, one year after Harry and Ginny got divorced, Draco’s working up the courage to ask Harry out to a New Year’s party.

---

Fest/Exchange

1. The Mystery of the Missing Missive by Anonymous [G, 1k]

►Horrified to discover he’s been left off the guest list for a faculty holiday party, Draco Malfoy begins plotting. ★ Harry/Draco Owlpost 2023 | @hdowlpost

2. Never Mind the Bollocks by Anonymous [E, 118k]

►If someone told Harry six months ago that by autumn he would be single, living on whisky and toast, and dancing the night away with Draco Malfoy, he would have told them to get their head checked. And yet, here he was. ★ H/D Erised 2023 | @hd-erised

3. There’s No Place Like Home (Unless I’m with You) by @maraudersaffair [E, 40k]

►It’s Christmastime, and someone is trying to kill Harry (again). He takes shelter at Malfoy Manor, but the house’s reclusive owner seems determined to keep his distance. What Harry doesn’t know is that Draco is desperate to have him. He is also desperate to protect his heart. There is no way the Chosen One could ever love a lonely single father with a disability, right? ★ 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2023 | @slythindor100

[shay-the-writer]

December Writing Prompts

November didn't go as planned but whatever. It's Christmas time now. The following are a list of Winter/Christmas-themed prompts.

Going camping at a cabin in the winter // Snuggling up at a cabin for a weekend // Staying at a ski resort

INSPIRED THE PLOT: A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

Watching the Christmas classics together

Making Christmas cookies and/or desserts

Character accidentally wishes for it to be Christmas every day and it comes true

Decorating the house for Christmas // Buying/Bringing home/Putting up the Christmas tree

Sharing/Remembering Christmas memories

Christmas morning

Listening to Christmas music // Child has a Christmas concert/pageant

Christmas shopping

The smell of Christmas trees/cinnamon/any scent that makes you think of Christmas

Christmas wishes (normal ones, not like prompt 5)

Character A has cold hands/feet and Character B warms them up

Falling in love throughout the month of December

Being with family/Having, and making, a family dinner on Christmas Eve or Christmas night

Getting cozy by the fireplace

Experiencing the first snow of the season

Character A notices Character B is cold and gives them their coat

Getting snowed in

Making gingerbread men and/or a gingerbread house

Hot cocoa

Going ice skating

It's Christmas Eve and the snowstorm outside caused a complete blackout for the whole night

Writing a letter to Santa // Visiting and getting pictures taken with Santa

Sharing a moment at midnight on Christmas Eve/Day or New Years Eve/Day

The Most Magical Time of the Year

Naughty/Nice OPTION 1: Much like the Trick-or-Treat game from my Halloween prompts, it's a Truth or Dare-ish type of game

Naughty/Nice OPTION 2: Write a Nice story (G-rated, wholesome content), then rewrite it as a Naughty story (explicit and definitely not wholesome content)

Office Christmas parties don't have to be boring

Wrapping presents late at night on Christmas Eve

Red & Green

Silver & Gold

Character dresses up as Santa Claus for an event/family gathering/for Character B's kid(s)

Characters A & B have to play Santa & Mrs. Claus for a night. Perk: They do not like each other and are forced to play nice for the kids ... but, as the night goes on, their feelings for each other change

Santa Claus is real

Candles and a character's love of/obsession with them

Sharing a blanket on a cold night

Going sledding

Riding in a sleigh

SNOW DAY FUN

Warming up in a big bathtub

A couple gets cozy underneath the lit up Christmas tree

Two people (friends/lovers/enemies-to-lovers) in a store/mall over Christmas (just ignore the fact that everyone has phones, and stores and malls have security cameras or guards and the situation would, in reality, get resolved quickly)

'Twas the Night Before Christmas ...

They nearly burn the house down (baking goes awry/fireplace/candles [way too many candles in such a small space]/decorations can be a fire hazard)

Getting stranded on Christmas Eve (in a stalled or stuck car/at the airport/at someone else's home/in an elevator/at a hotel or motel, without their luggage or with less luggage than they'd brought with them)

Mistletoe (meeting someone for the first time under one/potential couple meeting under one, accidentally or intentionally/accidentally meeting under one with someone they don't like/doing something other than kissing under one)

A Hallmark-style fic

SONG FICS: CHRISTMAS EDITION

All I Want for Christmas is You - Mariah Carey

An Old-Fashioned Christmas - Frank Sinatra

Baby, It's Cold Outside [a non-predatory version, obviously]

Blue Christmas

Hard Candy Christmas - Dolly Parton

Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home)

Christmas Eve - Kelly Clarkson

The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire)

A Christmas to Remember - Amy Grant

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

I'll Be Home for Christmas

It Must Have Been the Mistletoe - Barbra Streisand

Last Christmas

Let it Snow! Let it Snow! Let it Snow!

Merry Christmas, Darling

Miss You Most (at Christmastime) - Mariah Carey

Please Come Home for Christmas

Santa Baby

Sleigh Ride

This Christmas

The Twelve Days of Christmas

Underneath the Tree - Kelly Clarkson

White Christmas

(There are no TV or movie quotes this time since I didn't have enough of either that fit for the season)

[thewisesaltine]

A Very Gabagool Christmas

So, recently I've been watching The Sopranos for the first time. It's a pretty good show, but by sheer happenstance I got to a Christmas-themed episode during the Christmas season. This was not planned at all, but dammit if I'm not gonna take advantage of this coincidence to post jokes on the Internet.

The Sopranos: Season: 3 Episode: 10: To Save Us All From Satan's Power

Now, it's gonna be kinda difficult to talk about a single episode of a serialized television storyline on its own terms, so just to make things clear if you haven't watched the first 3 seasons of The Sopranos...this ain't gonna make much sense.

In this episode it's Christmas in New Jersey, and your favorite Italian stereotypes are feeling the holiday spirit AND seasonal depression. That's right, Tony and his mob friends are sorely missing the presence of their now deceased friend, Pussy. It's been nearly a year since Tony shot him in the face multiple times and then sank the boat that his corpse was in, and he's kinda starting to suspect that doing that may have had some negative repercussions on his mental health.

The episode isn't the first to deal with the repercussions of Pussy's death, but it is the first where you see how deeply the whole ordeal has left a scar on Tony and the gang. The only real "mob activity" of the whole episode is that they need to find another fat guy to play Santa at their Christmas Party now that their usual guy is currently rotting at the bottom of the ocean. Also I think a Russian guy got the shit beaten out of him but I don't really care about that subplot.

It's mostly an episode about Tony's guilt. He's been largely running away from it since the end of the last season, but now certain things are beginning to creep back up. Not consequences or karmic justice, per say, just feelings. The Santa ordeal brings up all sorts of memories in the group. How certain moments in the past suddenly make sense now that they know Pussy was working for the government.

If this all sounds dire and not Christmas-y at all you would be sort of right. Seeing as how it's just another chapter in the extended story of the show, it's not going to suddenly pivot into Christmas cheer so a guy online in 23 years can write a blog post about it. It's still gonna be an episode of The Sopranos, but for an episode of The Sopranos it does commit to the whole Christmastime setting pretty fully.

Basically every plot and subplot is reliant on it being December. Obviously, the main plot with Tony feeling guilty is reliant on them finding the Santa costume. But there's also a whole bit about Carmella and Janice arguing over Christmas dinner. Also they continue Jackie and Meadow's relationship storyline...that's probably the least Christmas-y part of the episode but it DOES come up!

I guess what I'm trying to say is I like that the show actually went through with doing an episode set at Christmas, and didn't just have it be a normal episode with a tree in the background of a few scenes to demonstrate the fact that time is passing in tandem with when these episodes are being released. Paulie and Christopher talk about Jim Carrey's Grinch movie. I mean come on. David Chase should be given every Emmy ever for allowing that scene to happen.

Now, I understand this has been an extremely poorly constructed review. How can if not be when I'm discussing what is essentially a slow, character-building episode of a show? But if I can leave you with any sort of opinion or idea to take away from this it would be this.

...I laughed out loud when Tony got the fucking fish toy for Christmas. Hahaha! GET FUCKED YOU GABAGOOL EATING SON OF A BITCH! THIS IS WHAT YOU GET FOR REFUSING TO FUNDAMENTALLY ADDRESS YOUR FLAWS AS A HUMAN BEING AND ALSO PROBABLY ALL THOSE PEOPLE YOU'VE KILLED!

8.5/10

[danime25]

Wonderful Christmastime

ao3 // normal masterlist // christmas masterlist

*Summary: Lars is a people pleaser. And he loves cookies to boot.

*Ratings: +18 for explicit mature content

*Content Tags: Feedism, Feeding Kink, Slight Praise Kink

*Status: Oneshot/Complete

“Okay. Can you guys finish off the cookies for me please?” Karin asked the couple in her kitchen

“Definitely.”

“Thank you, you’re a life-saver.” She smiled, “Bye guys, I’ll see you later.”

Lars looked across the table at the spread of Christmas cookies. His girlfriend matched his gaze before asking him, “What are we going to have you eat, big boy?”

“We shouldn’t touch the cookies.” Lars bit his lip softly

“I can make more.” She smirked and settled on his lap, she worked her hands underneath the sweater he was wearing and let her fingers get a good squeeze at the belly he was hiding underneath. He moaned softly as she lifted the fabric up and let his stomach spill over his pants. “You’re so handsome like this, Lars. But I think you can put a little more weight on before Christmas. You want that, don’t you dear?”

“Yes.” His words were breathless as he looked down and at the way her hands kneaded the fat like it was a loaf of bread. 

“Good boy.” She kissed his cheek, and reached behind her to grab a plate of cookies. He noticed now that she had been careful to keep the cookies she was going to feed him away from the cookies that Karin needed for the church cookie walk. She hovered the sweet before his lips for a moment and let him take the bite. “That’s it.”

“I…”

“What?”

“I need milk.” Lars whined, “Your cookies are so sweet.”

“Oh sweetie, I can do that for you.” She unhooked herself from his chair and got up. He watched as her hips swayed, making the trip to the fridge only a few feet away so much more painful for him. She poured him a tall glass of milk and brought it over to him. When he went to reach for it, gently pushed his hand away and tipped the glass up to his lips for him. He quickly swallowed the drink down and tapped his fingers against her arm to let her know he was ready for more cookies. She put the glass back down on the table and fed him the other piece of the cookie she had given him. When he was finished with that, she fed him a sugar cookie. He practically inhaled that and she fed him one more while she decided what kind of cookie he’d get next. She tisked quietly to herself before settling on a large gingerbread cookie. It was missing the frosting and gumdrops on it, but did it really matter to her if it was just going to add to Lars’ waistline? He seemed to eat that one a little bit slower, so she switched back to the sugar cookies until the plate was empty. “My you have such a sweet tooth, honey. It’s no wonder you’ve gone from chubby to fat since we’ve started dating.”

“Yes…” He reached for a gingerbread cookie

“You’re always so willing to eat for me. I love it.” She shoved another cookie in his face before he could finish the first one. He took it carefully from her fingers by his teeth and looked at her with some sad puppy eyes. She knew this look all too well. He was starting to get full. They had a pretty filling lunch, and she was proud of him for that but she knew he had it in him for a couple more cookies. Her hands sunk into his plush skin and moved them around slowly to help relieve some of the pressure. He let out a sigh of relief before she fed him another cookie. She straddled his lap once more and reached behind herself to grab a plate of assorted cookies. “You’ll finish these for me, won’t you honey?”

“Yes…” His breath escaped from his nose. He was so full. 

“That’s good. You’re such a good boy, and I love making sure you’re well fed. I try my hardest to provide for you.” She kissed his cheek

“You do such a good job of caring for me.” He moaned. Like that the tray vanished and Lars groaned softly after drinking the last drop of milk from his glass. Her hands worked their way down and rested on his hips before slowly working off his belt. He let out a heavy sigh as the pressure was taken off his swollen belly and her hands moved back up to massage the tension out of his taut skin

“What a good boy you are.” She smiled, “Now, you should go sit on the couch and rest. I’ll work on the rest of these cookies for Karin.”

“Okay.” She got up from his lap and he struggled to get up in a way that didn’t jostle his stomach and let out a burp. He slowly managed to get up and walked to the living room. He tried to relieve some of the pressure as well, but his fingers didn’t feel nearly as wonderful as hers. A couple of minutes later she sat beside him, resting her hand on his stomach which was once again covered by his sweater. She kissed his cheek and with a smile whispered in his ear,

“You’d better keep at it, you’ll never be big enough to be Santa if you don’t.”

[fandoms-in-law]

Paperwork Reunion at Christmas

Summary: A month ago the Harrington's returned to their Hawkins home and found some paperwork that by all laws should be invalid and illegal signed by their son.

Yesterday they finally found where his address was saved so now, a week from Christmas, they're finally reaching out, realising how badly they treated their son.

Author's Note: Happy Christmas everyone. I have no clue why this was what happened when I wanted to write something christmassy but I like it.

/\/\

There were no lights on the house, nor visible on the tree in the window.

The glass icicles hung along the window had nothing to make them glow and there was only baubles and garland wrapped around the tree.

The angel sat atop the tree looked less picturesque and more alike a nurse than a heavenly being.

Mr and Mrs Harrington paused outside their sons home wondering if it was right to call in. They knew, or at least, knew now, that how they'd treated their son all those years ago was wrong and had missed a lot of a story they still didn't understand and probably couldn't without Steve sharing, but they'd expected the kid that had adored all the lights and decorations of Christmastime to have more up now he's established in his own home.

Mr Harrington looked into the box he'd pulled out of the car before realising how few decorations were on the house and decidedly made his way up the steps to knock on the front door, with his wife following just behind.

Whether it was right or wrong to make this trip at Christmas, the legal papers they'd found left in their sons room when returning to their house in Hawkins did need returning. The month it had taken to remember where Steve's address had been noted down was already too long for them to have kept it all since finding it.

“Which of the kids do you think it is, Eds? Make your bet now before I open the door.” Steve's teasing voice could be heard behind the door and Mrs Harrington shared a nervous smile with him while listening for the reply.

“Max and Lucas. Dustin can't get out here until next week.” The second voice was quieter and not one either of them recognised, but their focus was kept on the door now opening and their son's face falling into confusion at the sight of them instead of whichever kids he'd been expecting.

For a moment he was quiet, blinking as if trying to check they were real. “Mother, Father, um, hello?” Steve asked, glancing back into the house before clearly deciding that he'd prefer to invite them in whatever his reservations against doing so. “I wasn't expecting you but come in? Do you want anything to drink?”

“Which kid was it, Sweetheart?” The second voice was closer now, soon identified as belonging to a curly haired man leaning around the door.

Steve glanced at them again, now cautious as well as confused. “Hey Eddie, these are my parents, Richard and Lucille Harrington. Mother, Father, this is Eddie, by partner.” He introduced. “I was just going to get us some drinks.”

Lucille gasped a little, but moved forwards, holding her hand out towards Eddie. Richard would have done so first except he was trying to see if there was somewhere to place the box down. “Thank you for being here for Steve. I'm sorry we haven't met you sooner.” She said, ignoring the slightly stunned expression now replacing the confusion and caution in their expressions.

“Steve, before you get us drinks, perhaps I could put this box somewhere, preferably not difficult to reach.” Richard asked, glancing around, and sighing when Eddie immediately took it from him, disappearing back into the room he'd be in the doorway of.

“I've got it Stevie. Mr and Mrs Harrington, would you like to come into the sitting room while Steve sorts the drinks out?” Eddie called back, just as they noticed Steve coming back across the kitchen.

Lucille was already following Eddie, but Richard hung back, a questioning glance at Steve. “Need any help in there, even just to bring the drinks through?”

“I'm just making coffee for us all. I'll set a tray up. Unless you're going to get in an argument you can go and chat with Eddie.” He reassured, waving him through.

In the living room Eddie was already talking about the kids they'd mentioned. “Max is a spitfire and honesty I'd wonder how Lucas keeps up with her sometimes but Steve manages to match me so who am I to question love?”

“They sound lovely, but who's kids are they?” Lucille asked, looking over the framed pictures on the wall.

“We call them ours, because Steve's been looking after them all since he was dating Nancy way back. Mike's her little brother. Will's the brother of the guy she got with after Steve and the rest are all their other friends.” Eddie gestured to the photos but the reference to Nancy only reminded Richard again of the papers they were returning. He didn't bring it up and Eddie was still chatting away, “I tried to steal the boys away with the D&D club I ran in the school, well not really, but it was definitely a competition between us for a while. Dustin especially. Once that brat adopts you, it's too late.”

Steve laughed coming through the door, “Are you talking about Dustin, Eds? He'll love knowing that my parents have heard the most about him.”

“I think that goes to Max and Lucas currently. How have you been, Steve? It's been so long.” Richard asked, accepting the mug that was offered to him and turning to add milk from the jug included on the tray.

“Happy.” Steve simply replied, gesturing back to the wall of photos. “It was a lot of studying while working but I started teaching last year and it's so fulfilling. Teaching in a beautician school, not actual kids. I've had enough of herding kids for now.”

Lucille leant closer to the picture he'd pointed out, smiling at the graduation photo for the school. “Who's this?”

“Robin. She's my best friend, has been since we worked together at Scoops Ahoy.” Steve beamed at the question. “She lives next door as Nancy and Eddie wouldn't let us buy one big house for the four of us.”

“They're ridiculously co-dependant. We had to find some way to separate them. Honestly I'm not quite sure how Nancy managed it.” Eddie teased with a grin.

Richard laughed while Steve rolled his eyes, “You've built a family around yourself. I'm proud of you.”

“Thank you. It's a shame you haven't visited to hear about them before.” He agreed, “Which does make me ask what brings you here today?”

“We found that box last month. It seems like pretty important stuff you probably shouldn't have left behind when you moved, but also seems pretty illegal too.” Richard nodded, growing serious as he remembered what contracts were in there.

Steve frowned at that. “Illegal how?” He asked, moving to look through the box.

“Illegal as in you signed those papers without a lawyer present, without us present, when underage and given there seems to be a couple of drops of blood on some of the pages, signed while injured as well. All things that make those documents invalid in a court of law.” Richard listed off the things he'd realised while looking through their things. “Please tell me the kids Eddie was telling us about weren't made to sign anything similar, or at least had their parents informed and aware of what they were signing.”

“You're about to fight the government if I say they were, aren't you?” He explained, pausing in tugging the papers out to check what they were.

Lucille nodded, just as resolute as she moved to sit beside Richard. “Yes. I don't know what went down during your teenage years but they have a major lawsuit coming their way and whatever they gave you to get that signature should be tripled at minimum because of the laws they broke even as you followed their contracts.”

“If you're willing to introduce us to one or all of these kids and any of your other friends made to sign similar contracts it would make it easier to bring the case up. You mentioned still being in touch with Nancy and I've heard that she's made quite a name as an investigative journalist and would probably be fantastic for making waves with articles about this.” He continued.

Steve and Eddie shared a long look, before nodding slowly. “This is really interesting, but it's Christmas. Perhaps we could arrange a big get together for you to meet the party in January and discuss the legal action you want to take.”

“Of course, if you're willing to remain in touch with us.” Richard offered easily. “I know we need to apologise for all the times we left you alone and these years without any contact. This wouldn't even be the beginning of our apology.”

“You're right, but I guess, being late to get to know you is better than never.” Steve said, a private smile directed to Eddie that they didn't understand.

Richard smiled as well, hopeful that this meant they'd have that chance. “We did bring a few gifts. I'm sorry they might be a little generic, but I wasn't quite sure what you'd want or need. I can fetch them from the car if you want.”

“Please.” Steve said, looking a little stunned, “I – Eddie'll tell me off if I apologise for not having anything for you. It's a rule that we can't apologise for things we couldn't predict, but you are welcome to join us for Christmas dinner next week.”

“As long as you have space, we'd be delighted to.” Lucille agreed for them both while Richard stood to go and fetch the gifts.

/\/\

Christmas came easily and once again Richard and Lucille were parking outside their sons house, looking around in confusion. For all Steve and Eddie had mentioned a lot of kids as theirs they hadn't expected to find what amounted to a fleet of cars and vans parked outside.

"He made a family without us, Richard. Why weren't we there for him?" Lucille asked, already emotional and wondering if she could make up for the years.

Richard sighed heavily, unable to find a satisfactory answer now when in previous years he'd have simply answered that their law firm and clients were more important. Hard to believe that after discovering the papers. "Because we lost track of our priorities and forgot to include him in them. We'll make up for it. Help me get the gifts for his kids out."

That had been their first plan after leaving Steve's the other night; to get gifts for anyone they'd be meeting Christmas day, generally themed around the d&d game Eddie had mentioned playing with the kids. It didn't feel like enough but it hopefully showed they were ready to fit in rather than expect Steve to adjust for them.

"I knew I saw someone pull in. Come on Mr and Mrs Harrington, come and meet everyone!" Eddie called, leaning out the door and waving an arm to beckon them in.

"Rich strangers with presents. Are you sure they're safe to invite in?" A girl with fiery hair called as they entered, addressing Eddie.

"They're my parents." Steve countered, taking the bag from them. "And you didn't have to get anything else. The gifts you already brought were more than enough."

Richard shook his head. "We weren't going to come without something for everyone, most of these are for your kids if Eddie and you will peek in the bags to give them to the people who'll like them most?"

“Damn, you actually do want to make up with him and paid attention when you turned up last week. Wasn't sure I believed you'd even show.” A woman who appeared around Steve's age and draped herself over his shoulder said. Before Richard could try to identify her from his memories of the photos she carried on, “I'm Robin, platonic soulmate and the one who will murder you without a trace if you hurt him again.”

“We'll all do that, Robin, so you'll treat our Steve nicely now, won't you?” The curly hair was enough for them to be certain that this was Dustin, but being threatened multiple times about hurting their son definitely had the Harrington's reeling.

Lucille nodded, nervously but thankfully too. “Of course, we can't agree more and will accept it if you find the need. I can't say how grateful I am, we both are, that he found a family so worthy of him when we weren't.”

A girl with an intense stare sized them up, the rest of the group all watching her in silence as if waiting for her approval to be given so Richard and Lucille did too, trying to subtly glance at the photos they were now in view of to identify which of Steve's kids this might be. Near a tree that hadn't been put up the week before Steve and Eddie were ignoring the scene, and tugging Robin down with them to look through the gift bags they'd brought and separate them into the piles that had already been formed.

“You're being truthful.” The girl decided, nonchalantly reaching for a tissue as her nose began to bleed. “The breakdown once you got home last week was dramatic but your intentions are currently good. Encourage that in yourselves.”

Somehow everyone relaxed and tensed up again simultaneously, and Richard could only assume the challenge in their eyes was to do with her knowledge that she shouldn't have had. “I intend to. I know Steve's asked that we leave it until after the new year, but we're intending to raise a lawsuit against the government regarding the legal documents they had Steve, at least, sign as a minor without parental or legal advice. If you've, any of you, been made to do the same, we're quite enthusiastic to expand the lawsuit for all of you as well.”

“Which you can all think and talk about later. For now, I think Richard can put his hat and beard on and play Santa for us all.” Eddie called, clapping his hands and leaping up, tugging a Santa hat and beard from behind the sofa.

As confident as he sounded and looked there was something cautious in Eddie's gaze and Steve had a hand raised as if ready to retract the request until Richard laughed taking the accessories. “Ho ho ho. Let's begin.”

A few hours passed of gift giving, laughing and watching the family tease each other even if some of the jokes didn't make sense to Lucille and Richard. All of Steve's family did include them though, sometime explaining jokes they seemed confused by but mostly distracting them with other conversations.

Lucille did notice Steve occasionally disappearing from the room, only once with Eddie just before he called everyone to set the tables out. “Mom and Dad, get over here please.” He added on, after watching the kids all jump up and hurry out of the room with the gifts they'd received.

Richard and Lucille had both been given a notebook and bottle of their favourite drink each, the notebook filled with memories Steve or Eddie had written out as something they might like to know. They picked these up at the call, wondering if there was something to do with that that their son called them over for.

Before they could ask however Steve had a hand on one shoulder of each of them and was tugging them closer to the wall just as Dustin and Mike came hurrying back with a table top between them, legs folded in and only just noticeable. “It's not the biggest house so for meals like Christmas the kids are in charge of putting the table and chairs up after clearing everything else away.” Steve explained. “You can help me plate everything up to take through.

“Of course. This reminds me of the chaotic family Christmases I miss from childhood.” Richard laughed, following him through as more kids hurried around, bringing tablecloths, chairs and place mats.

It was a lovely day he could hardly believe Steve was allowing so soon after their first apology was made, but the Harrington's looked forwards hopefully to many more.

[honeyjars-sims]

1.47 I Won't Be Home for Christmas

Lexie: So I guess this is Christmastime in Del Sol Valley.

Johnny: Yeah, it’s no winter wonderland. I bet it’s more festive in Brindleton Bay. Are you going there for Winter Break?

Lexie: Well, I was supposed to, but my mom just told me that she and my dad are going skiing on Mt. Komorebi this year. 

Johnny: Oh, that sounds nice. Are you going with them?

Lexie: Nope. It was pretty last minute and they won’t be getting back until after the new semester starts.

Johnny: You sound disappointed.

Lexie: I am. I didn’t get to see them on my birthday, and now this. I’ve never not spent Christmas with my parents. It’s extra hard because I’ve been feeling a little homesick lately. I’ve never been away from my family this long.

Johnny: I’m sorry, baby. You’re welcome to spend Christmas with me and my family if you want.

Lexie: Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.

Johnny: Yeah, my parents would love to have you over! They’ve been hounding me to bring you around.

Lexie: Well, in that case, I’d love to come! I have a feeling your family knows how to entertain.

Johnny: Oh, for sure! There’s never a dull moment when we get together. I know it doesn’t make up for you missing out on time with your family, but I’m glad we’ll get to spend the holiday together.

Lexie: Me too. Christmas has always been a big holiday in my family. I was just thinking about my favorite Christmas memory. When I was 6, my parents surprised me with my favorite stuffed animal. You remember that little white dog from the dog food commercials?

Johnny: Yeah, he was so cute!

Lexie: I was obsessed with that dog. Apparently they made him into a stuffed animal and that’s what my parents gave me that year. I named him Snowflake and I took him everywhere. After a while he was more of a dingy gray.

Johnny: Aw, that’s cute! Do you still have him? Don’t tell anyone, but I still have my favorite stuffed cat from when I was a kid and I still sleep with it every night.

Lexie: I think that's sweet! Unfortunately our dog mistook Snowflake for a chew toy. My mom tried her best to salvage it, but it was a lost cause. I wish I still had him, though. Maybe having Snowflake to cuddle up with would help me feel less homesick.

Johnny: I’m sorry you’re missing home so much. I know I can’t replace Snowflake, but if you ever need a cuddle buddy, you know I’m here.

Lexie: Hmm, well, you’re not as soft and fluffy, but you’re still pretty cuddly. What’s your favorite Christmas memory? 

Johnny: Well, Christmas growing up was pretty rough. We didn’t have much money and my mom usually had to work so it was never much of a thing in my house.

Lexie: Oh, I’m sorry. I keep forgetting you didn’t grow up like I did.

Johnny: That’s ok, I haven’t really talked about it much. Maybe I’ll tell you more about it someday. But things were much better once I moved in with my dads. 

Lexie: That’s good. What do they do for the holidays?

Johnny: Well, Dad is Jewish and Pops grew up Protestant so we do a secular “Chrismakkuh” thing where we combine traditions from Hanukkah and Christmas. On Christmas Eve we make cookies and popcorn and hunker down in the living room for the night to watch cheesy holiday movies. We get our sleeping bags and make snarky comments about the movies. 

Lexie: Oh, like those movies where a woman goes back to her hometown and discovers the true meaning of the holiday season, which always involves a guy?

Johnny: Yep. Our first Chrismakkuh together, my parents kept trying to get me hyped up, but I wasn’t having it. I was just being a typical 14-year-old who was too cool to hang out with his family. But I ended up having a great time. That’s probably my favorite memory. 

Lexie: It sounds like a lovely one.

Johnny: It was. I remember waking up the next morning with the TV still going and seeing the rest of my family still snoring away in their sleeping bags. That was the first time I really felt like I was home.

Lexie: I’m glad you finally got to make some positive holiday memories. That must have meant the world to you.

Johnny: It did. And it means the world to me that I’ll be making memories with you this year.

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

[tss-whumper]

That sounds awful; I'd love to read it. (But maybe someone could comfort him at the end? Remy? You like Remy and Roman together, right? Right? /lh)

(okay this is ridiculously late considering that i wrote this fic at christmastime and now it's february, but here is the long-awaited sequel to christmas when you're alone!)

(cw -> attempted solitary confinement, panic attacks, mentions of emotional abuse)

word count: 1.9k

The wafting scent of Christmas dinner made Roman's mouth water, but he couldn't bring himself to summon any food. A part of him didn't think he deserved it. After all, he had been stuck here, locked in his room with a magic seal for almost ten hours now.

Usually, Roman wouldn't keep count, but it was one of the only things keeping him from going insane.

With his powers, Roman was typically able to sink in and out of any room in the mindscape, but when Janus made the magic seal at his door, it prevented his ability to do that, rendering him trapped in his bedroom, where he almost thought he could sense the walls starting to close in on him.

The laughing and chattering outside never stopped, and it was driving Roman mad. Why did they sound like they were having so much more fun when he wasn't there? Before he knew it, more tears were sliding down Roman's cheeks as he reflected on the dreadful morning he'd had.

It just wasn't fair. He had tried so hard. Everything he did was in spite of his abilities and personality. Despite being the ego, he did nothing but care for other people. Despite being insecurity, he let the other sides dig at him over, and over, and over. Every single thing he did sitting down at that Christmas tree was unnatural, and that meant that it took so much effort. But nobody seemed to care. In fact, it was almost like they made a game out of trying to break Roman, shattering his attempts at being good and obedient.

It was like they didn't want him to succeed.

The prince curled in on himself in the bed, and he was starting to sob so loudly that he grew hoarse from how much energy it was taking. But the tears kept coming, causing his body to spasm unnaturally. He was trying so hard not to choke on his own tears that he didn't even hear the signature sound of somebody rising into his room.

"Come on, girlfriend. You gotta breathe."

When a gentle hand touched Roman's back, the prince immediately flinched away, expecting an unfriendly touch. But when he smelled a very overpowering coffee-scent and saw that the hand reaching out was sunkissed tan like his instead of pale like the other sides', fear gave way to confusion.

"Sleep?" Roman whispered, "What- what are you doing here? It's only 5pm. It's not time for bed yet."

"Please. Call me Remy. And I wanted to come by and see if I could join in on the festivities," Remy said, "Even bitches like to have fun sometimes, right? I don't know. They let me hang out, but...it didn't seem like they actually wanted me around, you know? And when I saw you were missing, I asked around. Nobody gave me a real answer. So I thought I'd investigate for myself. And here we are."

And now, Remy leaned in, and he took off his sunglasses, propping them up on top of his head. He gazed at Roman with those shockingly sharp gray eyes, eyes that sought truth.

"What the hell did they do to you?"

Roman shuddered as the question was asked. It was strange and unfamiliar, as his tongue flailed to come up with an answer. Frankly, Roman wasn't used to being pitied. He wasn't used to his side of the story being heard out without being ridiculed or dismissed. And because of the events of the morning, Roman couldn't bring himself to tell and risk getting punished again.

"It was my fault," he whispered, "You should go back with them. I'm supposed to be alone. I'm...supposed to think about what I've done."

Roman expected the weight on the side of his bed to lift, and he expected Remy to sink out the moment he was dismissed, with an air of relief. Thank God he didn't have to deal with the whiny little prince anymore.

But no such thing happened. Remy only stared, and he crawled onto Roman's bed fully, his gaze never faltering for a second as his mouth pressed into a tight line. Roman could feel the rage emitting off him in waves, and the feeling made him shudder.

"What you've done?" Remy practically spat, "What did you do?"

Roman judged Remy's tone as an indication that he was angry with him. So words spilled from the prince, in a desperate attempt to correct anything wrong he might have done to vex Remy. He couldn't have somebody else hate him. He just couldn't.

"I was bad on Christmas," Roman whimpered as he held back his tears, "I was bratty, I got the others the wrong gifts, I was insensitive, I- I wasn't grateful enough for my gifts, I cried. I cried and I ruined everything, and- maybe I never should have been there to begin with. Maybe I'm the problem and I need to just- stay here. Out of the way. I never should have left my room to begin with, I-"

"Girl. Girl, calm down. Please."

Remy's gentle tone cut through Roman's hysteria as he hugged the prince tightly, attempting to ground him with his limbs. Trying to use his body to let the panicking side know that he was still on the ground. He wasn't floating away. He was here. And he mattered. His words mattered. Roman couldn't help but lean into the touch, starved of comfort and human decency.

"Please," Roman whispered desperately, "Please don't leave me, I can't be alone again, I can't. I'll do anything, I'll do anything you want, I'll never cry again, I'll never speak again. I'll make you anything you want, I'll be anything you want. Just please- please-"

"Oh, babydoll..." Remy hugged Roman closer, starting to rub circles on his back. Roman could feel the rings on his fingers, but it was comfortable. "Babydoll, please, stop. Stop talking about yourself like that. You don't have to do anything to keep me here, you don't have to pretend to be something you're not. I'm your friend. I want to help you no matter what."

Roman winced.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry- I'm sorry-"

"No. None of that, honeybun. Please?"

Remy gazed at Roman with such earnest eyes, Roman couldn't tear his own tear-filled gaze away. This was so different from what he was used to. Why wasn't Remy yelling? Why wasn't he laughing? Why wasn't he taking Roman away, why wasn't he rolling his eyes? This felt like the stuff of fantasy, something that Roman dreamed up. He stayed silent as he stared at Remy, trying to drink his presence in fully. If it was a hallucination, Roman was sure as hell going to try and enjoy it.

"You're not going to say sorry when you didn't do anything wrong. That's not gonna happen," Remy said carefully, holding Roman's trembling hands and squeezing them, "You're spiraling. You're panicking. That doesn't usually just happen to a person, especially someone like you. You're generally mentally okay, you're usually doing fine. But lately...things have been so off. And I think I know why."

Roman couldn't help but tense up, terrified of what Remy was going to say.

"Why?" he whispered, purely because he felt like he had to.

"Those bitches out there are abusing you."

"What??"

The word burst out of Roman before he even had the opportunity to control it. His mouth hung open and he felt like his entire world had turned upside down with that statement. He tried to rush to defenses, to tell Remy that it wasn't abusive to help Roman become a better person, that he deserved it, that the others would never abuse anybody.

But he couldn't speak.

Roman couldn't say a word because deep down, he was wondering if Remy was right.

None of this felt right. Instead of a person, Roman felt lately like a caged animal at the zoo. Trapped, stuck, mistreated, dirty, forced into humiliation so people could gawk at him and laugh. No matter what he did, it was always wrong. No matter how hard he tried, it was never enough. Was that really how life was supposed to be?

"Honey, do you really think it's fair that you got locked up on Christmas day?" Remy murmured, "Or that instead of a nice present, you got a book about fucking manners? The other sides out there told me everything, or rather, as much as they wanted me to tell. I'll bet there's so much more that's so shameful that they couldn't even say it. They know what they're doing is wrong. They know they're hurting you beyond repair, and they don't want to admit it because they don't want to lose their toy."

Roman flinched, and Remy shook his head quickly.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to say you're a toy. You're not. It's just- they treat you like one. They think they can break you over and over with no consequences. But that's wrong. There's gonna be consequences. I'll make sure of it."

"You can't," Roman said immediately, his eyes growing wide and desperate, "Please. They'll hate me. They will, I know they will. They'll think I pushed you onto them, they'll think I'm using you. I can't get punished again, Remy. Please. You don't get what it's like to be trapped here alone."

"You're right, I don't," Remy said, "But you shouldn't be able to get it either. Nobody deserves to be locked up like this, especially on Christmas. I know you can be a bit...rambunctious, Ro, but you're a good person. You're good, Roman. I know that. And I think you know that too."

"I-..." Roman deflated. "I don't know. No matter how good I try to be, it's just not good enough for them. And what's the point of goodness if it doesn't help the people around you?"

"That's the thing, babydoll, you are helping the people around you," Remy reassured, starting to gently run his fingers through Roman's thick, curly auburn locks. "Virgil hasn't taken off those shoes. They fit him perfectly. None of them had to take on the burden of decorating the house, or arranging the gifts to look pretty, or setting the table with milk and cookies. That was you, honeybun. That was Roman. Nobody else. The Christmas magic doesn't come from anybody else here. It comes from you. No matter what they have to say about it, you created all this. Without you, this holiday wouldn't be in the mindscape at all."

Roman opened his mouth to speak, but he was just overwhelmed. He started to smile, almost deliriously. It felt so good to be seen, to be recognized in such away, to get attention that wasn't bad. And Remy was somebody that Roman had always admired. Confident, cool, sassy, always able to stand up for himself, no matter what. Remy was the type of person that Roman wished he was more like. And here he was, helping him, reassuring him, telling him how much he mattered and showing him what made him special.

Roman couldn't have asked for a better Christmas present than that.

"Thank you," he whispered, "I'm sorry. Merry Christmas. I...should have gotten you a present."

"Hmm, I know a present you can give me," Remy said with a gentle smirk, "Can I have a magic hug from my magic boy?"

Roman laughed breathlessly and threw himself once again into Remy's arms, relishing in the endless warmth that the man gave, marveling at how he always managed to smell like a warm, fresh cup of coffee sweetened with honey.

"You're magic too, Remy," Roman whispered, curling up closer to Remy and hiding his face in his chest, so Remy wouldn't see how his face went red. "You helped me believe in Christmas again."

(i hope this was some nice food for my rosleep shippers! also i'm sorry this is literally a month and a half late. uh...things happened! but i'm sure a bit of christmas magic is great no matter what season, right? thanks for reading!!! and feel free always to put in an ask if there's anything else whump writing wise you wanna see from me!)

[iamthecomet]

if christians celebrate christmas… does the ministry celebrate idk… lucifersmas? satansmas? if yes, what date would it be?

and like if at christmas they have retellings of the birth of christ, then at lucifersmas the ghouls would recreate lucifers fall? who would play lucifer, god, the angels, etc?

Oh, man I really love this!? So like, I feel like they definitely celebrate a winter holiday. Maybe just for the fuck of it. Sol Invictus (the Satanic Temple's Christmastime holiday) is an option, or of course, Yule. Or maybe just the solstice. Whatever it is they need an excuse to drink mulled wine, and egg nog, and eat too much food and cuddle up in front of a fire. And of course, give gifts. But besides that they have to celebrate the fall of lucifer. It has to be their biggest holiday. I feel like it must also take place around a solstice, all big holidays do. Maybe the summer solstice, the return of heat. Regardless, it's a big deal. Midnight mass. Huge feasts. Presents. And yeah, of course, plays. I think Dew always wants to be lucifer, but isn't ever allowed, he either takes it far too seriously, or not seriously enough depending on how pious he's feeling at the moment. Rain usually gets that role. Pretty, with an ego, he suits the character well. Cumulus and Swiss trade off as the narrator. Cirrus, Mountain, and Dew are Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel, respectively. No one wants to play God, so Aether usually takes one for the team and does it--albeit reluctantly. They honestly all hate the guy and wish he didn't have to be part of the play at all. Sort of like how Christian's have an intense aversion to Satan--the ghouls feel much the same way about God. Sunshine, Aeon, and Aurora play Lucifer's most loyal friends who fall with him. They refuse to allow any other cast members so there's a lot of turn over once God and the angels are out of the way. There's a lot of gauzy white fabric flying as the arch angels try to rapidly change into demons, or humans enlightened by satan. And even though all of these ghouls are more than capable of putting on a good show, and they do exactly the same thing every year, this play always feels a little like watching an elementary school production. It's forced, choppy, someone is always missing a cue or skipping a line. They do not take it nearly as seriously as maybe they should. And for some unknown reason the production budget on it is huge. But at least everyone is having fun. Sister imperator is very annoyed by the whole thing, but Copia really enjoys it, so she green-lights it every year.

[man-down-in-hatchet-town]

THE CASE OF THE GREATER GATSBY EPISODE 17 MOMENTUM AND EPISODE 18 SMOOTH

What a lucky girl am I. Citizen Jasper Fox one week, then Mel’s Christmas party (narrated by Cliff and Willie of all people!) the next. The Persauds truly are spoiling me. And so many details to mull over!

Full mulling under the cut. It’s long, there are theories, blah blah blah. You know the drill.

So, uh, guys, DID I ACTUALLY GUESS IT?? Is my wild-and-crazy Sheilah/Mel theory from a couple of posts back actually on the money??? We haven’t gotten full confirmation from the story yet, just suspicion from our characters, and since it’s my theory I’m going to refuse to truly believe until there’s no room for doubt. But Fig and Ford have happily jumped aboard the good ship Meilah, and I’m soooo here to see how that plays out.

On the other hand, the other part of that theory, that TD is Fitzgerald’s mysterious midnight murderer, doesn’t hold up as well. Wilhelmina and Cliff vouch for the fact that he was at the party between Fitzy’s exit and 1am. This doesn’t necessarily mean anything—Scott was too drunk to record the exact time of his own murder, and while we can infer that it was before 1am (as he probably started recording the moment he arrived home), we don’t know for sure. But even if TD didn’t head to Fitzgerald’s in the dead of night, we still have to account for his hour-long disappearance earlier in the evening. Sheilah notably mentions that she cannot find her keys at around the same time that TD goes missing. As staff able to take people’s coats, TD was perfectly situated to lift her keys without being noticed. He likely spent that missing hour breaking into Scott’s and Sheilah’s house, right? He could have been trying to acquire a copy of Greater Gatsby for Mel, accomplish something related to his quest to join the Brigade, or even follow some order from Mel related to Sheilah’s and Fitzy’s latest spat. After all, we know from an off-hand comment from Cliff that the pair had recently had a fight dramatic enough to become full-blown Hollywood gossip.

But Fitzgerald’s murder is not the only mystery to solve. Do we think this Horace Beanslot, with his apparent disdain for original stories, has anything to do with the mysterious death threats plaguing adaptions? Think about it: Horace strikes down Mel’s passion project idea, over-ruling her enthusiasm for genuine storytelling and art (who knew?) because adaptions are a financially safer bet. Barely a week later, Wilhelmina receives the first in a series of threatening letters targeting those involved with making said Hollywood adaptions. What if the letters are an intentional plan cooked up by Mel and/or TD to make adaptions toxic to Hollywood, encouraging Beanslot to allow Mel’s original passion projects instead? That would explain why so many of the letters were dropped off around the Grapes set without anyone noticing—it would be easy for TD or hired help to deliver all manner of things without attracting any attention. A quest to destroy Hollywood’s adaption habit could also explain why Mel seems to be almost actively sabotaging The Grapes of Wrath at every turn.

And then, ever so inevitably, there is the Dash of it all. What the flippity-flappity-frick was he doing at that party? Fitzgerald had yet to be murdered, Wilhelmina had yet to receive the first letter… all of the cases Fig and Ford are investigating technically hadn’t started. So was Dash there on a matter unrelated to what he’s working on now? Or is he part of something that began much earlier than we know? I mentioned last time that Dash only really appears when Willie is around, and this pattern held true once again. Maybe Roger hired him to keep an eye on Wilhelmina while he was away in the slammer? Alternatively, is/was Dash somehow working for Penny? I don’t think this is particularly likely, their alleged Christmastime hook-up feels more like a cheeky nod to Joey and Lauren’s real life marriage, but it seemed worth asking.

As for the interviews, I’m afraid they were a little more informative to Ford than they were to me. It appears we are fast approaching the part of most detective stories in which said detective has figured out the case and chosen to keep their loyal audience (me) in the dark. We’ll just have to see if I can catch up before everything is brought to light. I didn’t get much from Mel and TD, and the Farnsworth Farnsworth aside simply feels like a silly audio-drama bit, but Vivian and Barnaby were as fascinating as always. Much like Ford himself, I was particularly interested to hear that the cops had already questioned Barnaby about his tie clip. Assuming Ford or Claudette didn’t slip up, there’s only a couple of ways the cops could have grabbed that info: Sheilah could have tipped them off, or the cops could have placed it there themselves. We know that Vivian and Mo are very deep in cahoots—what if she gave him the tie clip to place at the scene, and Mo was the mysterious trespasser spotted by Citizen Jasper Fox? We’ve known from the beginning that Vivian is intent on placing the blame for Fitzgerald’s murder at Barnaby’s door, whether he’s guilty or not. Perhaps, due to their pre-nup, locking him up is her attempt to get him out of her life without losing access to his wealth. But if she’s working with Mo, why hire Fig and Ford? And what does our least favorite cop get out of this? Is it tit-for-tat for some help stealing the bar from Bixby? Who knows, maybe Vivian’s having an affair with Mo as well.

Also, speaking of tie clips, Vivian gave F. Scott one on the night of his murder. Coincidence?

Other Stray Thoughts: -Why was Leery’s Christmas so sad? Are the Persuad’s just poking fun at country music tropes, or did he really just lose a love? And does that have anything to do with anything? -Well, Barnaby’s middle name is “Ellis,” not “Eugene.” But you can’t win them all. -We know Mel has mob ties through her sister’s high school boyfriend Lucky Luciano. Does this play into any knowledge she has of Luigi? -Our little Ford’s ice-cold heart is slowly but surely melting and it’s a lovely bit of character development. Just in time for real-life Christmas. -I love Cliff and his friendship with Willie. He’s constantly lowering his expectations and she’s constantly limboing right under them nonetheless. -I desperately want to see this tap-dance adaption of The Grapes of Wrath. Like, what do you mean it will feature actual wrathful-looking grapes??

That’s all I have for these episode! Six more to go!

[practically-an-x-man]

2, 18, 22, and/or 26 for the injury prompts (no pressure)

Oooh alright, let's see what we're working with...

2. “Someone get the medic. Get the medic!” 18. "Stop. No. Wake up. Wake up! I said wake up!" 22. “Shit. Shit, that’s a lot of blood.” 26. "[name]? [name], this isn't funny. Stop... please..."

(Injury prompts)

I'm actually thinking I want to try something for Eris this time around. We'll see how that goes, this is my first time writing a piece for them.

____ Battle Wounds

Word Count: 1.9k Content Warnings: depictions of war/fighting, graphic injuries ____

They said war was Hell.

If so, Hell was a very fun place to be.

Eris tore through the battlefield like a hurricane, all whirling blades and animalistic snarls. He was a force of nature, a force of terror, violence and discord incarnate. He carved his name in the battle lines, slashed through his enemies with a grin on his face, ripped through their formations like a bullet. He wreaked havoc.

She'd never claimed to be a good person. She hardly counted as a person at all.

"You countin', Flag?" she taunting, startling him by kicking off his shoulder and leaping forward to slice down the next adversary in her path. They didn't know which side they were fighting for - only that it was Rick's side.

"You're kind of terrifying, you know that?" he remarked, ducking back as a bullet whizzed past his ear. Eris grimaced. Guns. She hated guns.

"Yeah, cause you've got such a problem with a little blood." they fired back, plucking a throwing knife from their belt and promptly burying it in the heart of the shooter. "I think that one makes ninety-six. What're you up to?"

"You know I don't count. Those are people's lives."

Eris shrugged.

"You'd be on someone else's count if I didn't kill that guy," he pointed out. He opened his hand, and the bloodstained knife whistled back into his hand. It was out of her fingers in another moment, buried in the skull of another soldier. "Or that one."

"Truly the pinnacle of morality." Rick drawled, though he lifted his semi-automatic back up to his shoulder.

"Right, 'cause you're going for only nonlethal shots." Eris fired right back, twirling their spear in a lazy circle, "They'll all get a purple heart and walk away just fine, because that's how war works. We'll all play soccer at Christmastime and send each other gift baskets."

As he spoke, he darted out with his spear and slashed down another adversary.

"Ninety-eight."

"Metahuman!" someone shouted from across the battlefield. Eris winced.

"And thus signals my exit." he said, dropping into a theatrical bow, "Since your frail human body is a lot less resistant to bullets than mine."

"Frail?" Rick echoed, sounding half-amused even as Eris sprinted to put distance between them. Gunfire followed her, the surrounding fighters all finding a unified target as she bobbed and weaved across the uneven earth. She cut down any soldier who stood in her way, then plucked a semi-automatic from a dead man's hands and turned it against the array of shooters behind her.

The gun kicked against their shoulder as they fired. They were sure they'd find bruises from its relentless jackhammering. They hated guns. It pulled all the grace out of war, made things too unpredictable. Survival and victory became less the mark of a skilled fighter and more just a deep stroke of luck. There was far more blood and far less honor in a death like that.

He spent the cartridge and tossed the gun aside, then kept moving. His spear was back in his hand in a heartbeat, and he almost smiled at the comfort of a more familiar weapon. Eris turned, weapon in hand, and prepared to face his next opponent.

Something struck her shoulder hard enough to make her stagger back. Then came another- two, three, six, barreling into their chest and stomach. Eris stumbled, the spear falling from their hands.

Another bullet whizzed past their ear, missing by an inch. Another caught his thigh, making him drop to a knee. It was the sound of fireworks and rainfall, explosions and impact. Her body felt like a live wire, buzzing with adrenaline and pain. It hurt.

That was new.

Fresh gunfire rained down, and bodies dropped around him. Somehow Eris was still upright - mostly, though his entire body was screaming for mercy.

At least his spear granted mercy. It was a quick death. This, being pumped full of lead from these humans and their machines, would be anything but.

"Eris!" There was Rick's voice, and a clatter as he cast his gun aside. Her mind felt slow, sluggish, hardly processing the sight as he ran up to her. His hands fell to their shoulders, those amber eyes of his passing over their body in a cursory, worried glance. He had such pretty eyes...

"Shit. Shit, that's a lot of blood." he muttered, enough to make Eris glance down.

"Blood? My blood?" they echoed, dazedly, "That's not..."

Rick's rough fingers caught his jaw, keeping him from catching a look at the wounds. Strangely, Eris found himself grateful. It felt... bad. He was in pain, and felt strangely hollow, and cold...

In a heartbeat, Rick had scooped her into his arms and was sprinting across the battlefield. At least she wasn't so cold, being wrapped in his arms like this. It was almost nice. If they weren't in so much pain.

"Someone get the medic!" Flag shouted, his voice oddly hoarse. Normally he was so much more composed out on the battlefield. It was part of why she liked him. "Get the medic!"

"I don't need a.... need a medic," Eris mumbled, shifting a little in his arms, "M'a fuckin'... metahuman.... m'fine."

"You're not fine. You need a doctor." he muttered, "Who's frail now, huh?"

"Lemme go, I'll get back out there."

"Not a chance in hell."

"Rick."

He didn't respond- or if he did, it came out muffled and warped. The world was starting to blur around her now, everything going hazy at the edges. At least the pain had eased some. They couldn't feel their wounds- or anything else. Rick's face above her was hidden in a cloud of fog.

And then she was jarred, dropped onto a table, and the pain was back. Eris groaned, wanting to crawl out of his traitorous skin. Pain like this didn't happen to him. He was so careful, so skilled. He'd been shot before, but this was something new entirely.

Something bit into their skin, teeth and claws ripping into their flesh. They might have screamed.

"....sealed over... healing... have to..." Words drifted through the fog of pain. They caught glimpses here and there - a nurse in fatigues, a gleaming scalpel, scarlet and crimson on every surface. Then the pain was back, a leech burrowing in deep.

Then... gentler fingers, rough and callused, tracing down his face and over his collarbone. That was nicer. Easier. Not so bad. A distraction from the knifelike agony tunneling into him.

And then he could feel himself sinking lower. The pain, the soft touch, faded away around him. The fog deepened, welcoming and blanketing him. She wanted... she wanted to sleep...

Sleep was good. Sleep meant... no more of this. No more bullets. No more guns. No more blood or knives or pain. It was only fun when it was his to dish out. This was horrible. He wanted it to end.

"Eris- stop. No. Wake up-" Rick's voice, through the fog. And then- something sharp and bright across his face, enough to make him groan. "Wake up! I said wake up!"

"Fuckin'... slap me?" she muttered, dazed and squinting through the fog.

"You're not leavin' us just yet," His voice, his drawl, that Southern twang. So different from Eris' own voice, an accent preserved for centuries. Rick's voice was so... gentle, but frightened, a strange combination. His fingers were wrapped around Eris' own, his grip tight but the sensation oddly muddled.

"Hate guns." he mumbled, his body tensing as another wash of agony rippled through him. He'd never felt this cloudy before. He wondered for a moment if he was dying. She thought she might've been. It wasn't as frightening as she imagined. She'd been alive so long already.

"Yeah, I'm startin' to hate 'em too." Rick agreed, squeezing their hand as he spoke, "Hang in there, darlin', we're almost done."

"Done with...?"

"Gettin' the bullets out," he answered, his voice trembling but oddly patient with her, "You started healing around 'em. They've got... three left, I think."

She only made sense of about half the words. Pain stole the rest from her. There was only one real thing in all the world, and that was Rick's hand in hers. Everything else had dissolved into smoke.

"Hang on, hon... almost there."

"Almost gone."

"What?" His voice had spiked with panic, bright and hot like fire, and only then did Eris realize what they'd said. Rick's hand tightened around their own. "Eris, hang on- what do you mean by that? Talk to me."

They opened their mouth to respond, but no sound escaped. The cold had returned, the fog settling deep into their bones. Hundreds of years, dozens of wars, and here they were... pulled from the battlefield for the last time.

At least Rick was here. That made things a little easier. He was the one bright spot, the one flicker of sunlight through the clouds.

"What did you mean by that? Eris?" His voice again, rough with pain and fear, "Eris, this isn't funny."

No, it wasn't funny. But it was nice enough. He couldn't feel the pain anymore, the knives and needles digging into his abdomen. He couldn't hear the sounds of the battlefield, the beeps and groans of the infirmary. Her heart began to stutter and slow, taking the chill and ache with it. The last thing was Rick's voice, all fuzz and warmth, and that was... that was a good way to go out. She was past due.

"Eris, stop... Please..."

That much shook her from the fog. Rick Flag did not plead. He didn't have that... that wavery, crying sound to his voice. Rick was strong, he was sturdy, he was reliable. He was steady, an anchor in the chaos. He didn't get rattled like this.

Were things really so serious?

It made her pause.

Just a little.

Just enough.

"Got a heartbeat!" A woman's voice. They didn't recognize it. "You're lucky they're so regenerative, or they'd have been gone by now."

"There you go, darlin', come on," There was Rick, a little less panicked. His rough fingers stroked their cheek, the touch a blazing fire against her frigid skin. Her other hand was gripped tight in his. They could feel it. Real. Tangible. Alive.

The pain in his chest had dulled to a fuzzy ache, tingling as his skin began to knit itself back together. Eris blinked, watching the world come back into clarity before him. He turned his head and found Rick's worried face, streaked with blood and dirt.

"Told'ja, Flag, m'a fucking metahuman." Eris croaked, smiling through cracked lips, "Don't look so scared."

"I hate you." he muttered- though his grip on her hand never softened.

"You don't. Couldn't if you tried."

"Watch me. You keep pulling stunts like this, and I'll..."

"You'll what, cowboy?" he taunted, that smile widening to a grin. He was feeling a little stronger now - not quite enough to sit up, but at least the fog had lifted from his mind. He caught a few glances at the nurses and found them all wearing the same interesting expression: relief and confusion in equal measure.

"Well, I..." Rick trailed off, shaking his head with a low sigh. He squeezed Eris' hand, clasping it tight between both of his own. "I don't know. But don't do that again."

[achromaticsremixture]

Tomoya Scout: Winter Santa TL

Chapter 1 

Hajime: Wow, it’s so beautiful…

Hajime: Look, Tomoya! The lights are sparkling! 

Hajime: And, there’s a giant Christmas tree over there…looks like the city’s been decked out in Christmas decorations already! 

Tomoya: Yeah~ It’s already Christmastime~ Somehow, I always feel more excited than usual when it’s this time of year~! 

Tomoya: And with Christmas comes the New Year. Good things just keep on coming! 

Tomoya: Yumenosaki Academy hosts an “S1” every season. On Christmas Day, there’ll be a giant StarFes! I bet it’ll be super crowded. 

Hajime: StarFes…I’m actually a bit nervous. It is an S1 after all, and nearly all the units will be participating…

Hajime: I don’t know how many people will come to the live this time. 

Tomoya: Ah, like the Halloween Party! 

Tomoya: The scope for the Summer Festival was also huge, right? And then they expanded Halloween Party even further. I can’t imagine how big the StarFes will be. 

Tomoya: The only thing I can determine is that the school will host StarFes on Christmas Day, so there’s no chance of a lighthearted and casual Christmas for us. 

Tomoya: And we’ll start training for StarFes soon. So I’m not even sure if we’ll be able to come out and walk around like this anymore…

Tomoya: Hajime, this is why you decided on an outing, right? 

Hajime: Ehehe, I really can’t hide anything from Tomoya! 

Hajime: Though, that’s not the only reason why I wanted to come to this popular tourist spot. The main reason is because I want my siblings to be able to see this beautiful view~! 

Hajime: But here, there’s a lot of stray snow piled up, and a lot of people too…it would be dangerous for them to come here. So I want to show them the view through my photos! 

Hajime: If I take more photos, they’ll be happy for sure! 

Hajime: ~~~ 

Tomoya: I’ll help you take one too, Hajime! Let’s use the Christmas tree as a background prop! 

Hajime: Ah! N-no need! If Tomoya doesn’t take the photo with me, then I won’t take the photo either! 

Hajime: If I show this to my siblings, then they’ll surely ask, “Where’s Tomoya?” 

Tomoya: Ehe…do we really stick together this much? 

Tomoya: I’ll set this to selfie mode. Come a bit closer, Hajime! Otherwise the picture will be incomplete, okay? 

Hajime: Y-yes! C~heese! 

Hajime: Ehehe, the picture turned out great! This counts as an early Christmas gift for my siblings~ 

Tomoya: Can you only gift them these? If you’re talking about a gift, I think you should give them something more like…

Tomoya: Wait, did you prepare any Christmas presents, Hajime? 

Hajime: Yeah! I’m going to give them to a few of my classmates and some senpais that have taken care of me before~ 

Hajime: For the sake of everyone’s happiness, I decided to set a bigger budget this time~ I’ve saved up for this moment! 

Tomoya: Don’t…don’t run yourself into the ground…

Tomoya: Oh, but I’m also planning to give presents to my classmates, Anzu-senpai and my club’s senpais as well! So I’ll need to prepare a lot too…

Tomoya: For my club, I was only planning on gifting to Hidaka-senpai, but I felt like Wataru-senpai would bother me if I didn’t gift him one…so I had to prepare one for him as well. 

Tomoya: Other than that, I’ve prepared gifts for all of you in Ra*bits! Even though we might be very busy at the time, I still want to host a Christmas party and exchange gifts with everyone there. 

Madara: Come all, come here! You, the lady across the street! And the grandparents too; come over and see! 

Madara: We’re having a sale on the most mouthwatering cakes, and they’re only on sale for 3000 yen! It’s so cheap, if you didn’t buy it, then you’d be missing out…you wouldn’t want to miss out on this AMAZING opportunity, would you? 

Hajime: Huh?! Wait, what’s going on over there? There’s a loud voice…

Tomoya: Eh…they seem to be attracting customers. 

Tomoya: …eh?! What?! The guys standing in front of the cake shop is Mikejima-senpai and Narukami-senpai!

Hajime: You’re right! It feels weird if we just walk away after seeing people we know…Tomoya, let’s go say hi!