#December Holidays and Observances | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kiwriteswords · 25 days ago

Note

Hi Ki! Could I get an Aaron Hotchner x Sunshine!Reader fic, where maybe she LOVES christmas and he's sorta grumpy about the whole thing and she really changes him!

A Season of Sunshine

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Sunshine!Female!Reader||Word Count: 6k

Tags/Warnings: 5+1, Christmas, Sunshine Reader, fluff, mentions of grief, mentions of holiday sadness, mentions of alcohol in social setting, legit tooth-rotting fluff, slow burn, no use of Y/N.

Sypnosis: 5 times reader brought sunshine to Aaron Hotchner around the holidays, +1 time Hotch brought sunshine to her.

Aaron Hotchner observed you from across the bullpen, your laughter ringing out like a bright bell amidst the quiet hum of clicking keyboards and murmured conversations.

The first snow of December swirled gently outside the frosted windows, a backdrop to your seemingly boundless energy. You were leaning over a desk, cheerfully handing out small, festively wrapped candy canes to your teammates.

You looked so happy. That was the thought that lingered in Hotch’s mind as he watched you move from desk to desk, your smile contagious enough to soften even the usually stoic faces of Rossi and Morgan.

“You’re going to give me a cavity, Sunshine,” Morgan teased as you placed a candy cane on his keyboard.

“That’s what dentists are for,” you replied with a wink, earning a chuckle from him.

Hotch’s lips twitched, but the smile never fully formed. It was a rare thing for him these days, and while he appreciated your attempts to brighten the team’s spirits, he couldn’t help but question how someone who dealt with the kind of darkness their job revealed could remain so light—so...sunny.

The holidays were always difficult. For everyone. Suicide rates spiked, depression deepened, and grief—a familiar companion for Hotch—seemed sharper in the winter cold. He thought about Jack, about the guilt that came with knowing his son’s memories of Christmases past were punctuated by his absence, his work always pulling him away.

And then there was you. The newest member of the team. This was your first Christmas with the BAU, and you’d already brought in a small, sparkling tree to decorate the corner of the bullpen, strung colorful lights across your desk, and started an advent calendar that you insisted everyone participate in. You’d even convinced Penelope to wear a reindeer headband, complete with jingle bells that she delighted in shaking whenever someone passed her office.

“Hotch?”

Your voice startled him from his thoughts. He realized belatedly that you were standing in front of his desk, holding out a candy cane with a hopeful smile. Up close, you were radiant, your eyes sparkling with holiday cheer.

“For me?” he asked dryly, glancing at the candy cane as though it might be a trap.

“Of course. Everyone gets one,” you said, placing it neatly beside his coffee mug. “It’s peppermint. Good for focus.”

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely. There’s research on it and everything,” you replied, as though your enthusiasm alone could make it true. You lingered a moment, tilting your head to study him. “You’re not much of a Christmas person, are you?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he replied carefully.

“But you wouldn’t say you are one, either,” you countered, your smile never faltering. “Don’t worry. I’ll fix that.”

And with that, you were gone, leaving him with the candy cane and a faint scent of pine and vanilla trailing in your wake. Hotch’s gaze followed you as you returned to your desk, now chatting animatedly with JJ about the best Christmas movies.

He shook his head slightly, turning back to the stack of case files in front of him. Fix that, you’d said. As if he were some project in need of holiday spirit. He supposed he should’ve been annoyed, but there was something about your relentless optimism that he found...endearing.

Over the next few days, your efforts to “fix” him grew more deliberate. A holiday playlist softly played in the background of the bullpen, courtesy of you and Garcia. You organized a Secret Santa exchange, somehow roping even the most reluctant members of the team into participating. When the team went out for an after-hours dinner, you’d insisted on ordering hot cocoa for everyone, complete with whipped cream and marshmallows.

It was infectious, your enthusiasm. Even Hotch, who prided himself on his unshakable focus, found himself humming along to a Christmas tune as he reviewed case notes late one evening. He stopped mid-hum, frowning. You’d gotten to him.

By the time the team’s annual holiday gathering rolled around, Hotch couldn’t deny the shift in the atmosphere. The bullpen felt lighter, more alive, and the credit undeniably belonged to you. Yet, he still struggled to reconcile how you could be so bright amidst the shadows they encountered daily.

That evening, after most of the team had left, Hotch found himself standing by the small tree you’d brought in. The lights twinkled warmly, and a single wrapped present with Jack’s name sat underneath. You’d insisted on helping him pick out something special for his son, your genuine excitement rivaling that of any child on Christmas morning.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

He turned to find you standing beside him, your coat draped over your arm.

“It is,” he admitted quietly.

“I know this time of year can be hard,” you said softly, your voice losing some of its usual buoyancy. “But it can also be really beautiful, in its own way.”

Hotch studied you for a long moment, taking in the sincerity in your expression. “How do you do it?” he asked finally. “Stay so…”

“Happy?” you finished for him, smiling faintly. “I’m not always happy, Hotch. But I try to focus on the good things, especially when the world feels dark. It helps.”

“Focus on the good things,” he repeated, almost to himself. His gaze shifted back to the tree, the warm glow of the lights reflecting in his eyes.

“Exactly. Like candy canes and Christmas trees,” you teased gently, nudging his arm.

For the first time in a long while, Hotch allowed himself a genuine smile. “Thank you.”

You blinked, surprised by the unexpected gratitude. “For what?”

“For reminding me.”

You tilted your head, your smile widening as you replied, “Anytime, Boss.”

And for the first time, Aaron Hotchner found himself looking forward to Christmas.

II.

Aaron Hotchner stood in the corner of David Rossi's cozy living room, a glass of sparkling water in hand. The house was warm and bright, filled with the soft glow of Christmas lights and the hum of cheerful conversation. Children’s laughter rang out from the area near the tree, where Jack, Henry, and Michael were busy examining their gifts while Savannah held baby Hank on her lap, cooing softly to him.

Hotch’s gaze drifted to you, as it often did these days. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor with Jack, helping him assemble a toy airplane with nimble fingers and endless patience. Jack’s face was lit with excitement as he explained the steps in his careful, deliberate way, and you listened with an encouraging smile. Occasionally, you glanced up to share a warm look or quick comment with the adults nearby, your laughter soft and genuine.

You looked so happy. And watching you, Hotch felt something he couldn’t quite name. Warmth, perhaps, or an ache just beneath it.

It had been over a year since you joined the team, and in that time, you’d become the one person who could cut through his carefully guarded exterior. You had a way of disarming him with your relentless optimism, your knack for seeing light in the darkest moments. He’d felt it most acutely during the holidays, when the weight of loss and responsibility pressed hardest against him. Somehow, you always managed to draw him out, to remind him that there was still beauty in the world.

“Dad!” Jack called, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Look at this!”

Hotch stepped closer to the group, bending down as Jack held up the half-assembled airplane. “That’s impressive,” he said, his voice warm. “You’ve got a good helper.”

“Your dad’s just saying that because I haven’t broken anything yet,” you teased, glancing up at Hotch with a grin. There was a faint blush on your cheeks—likely from the eggnog you’d been enjoying—and your eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Not yet,” Hotch replied, his lips twitching into a rare smile.

You gasped in mock offense, your laughter bubbling up. “I’ll have you know, I am an expert toy assembler. Just ask Henry.”

Henry, who was sitting nearby, nodded sagely. “She’s really good,” he said, earning a chuckle from the adults.

As the evening wore on, the children settled into a quieter rhythm, playing together under Savannah’s watchful eye. The adults moved to the kitchen, chatting over mulled wine and eggnog. You lingered by the doorway for a moment before making your way toward Hotch, who had retreated to the quieter edge of the room.

“You’re hiding,” you said, your tone light but teasing.

“Just taking a moment,” he replied, glancing down at you. You’d swapped your eggnog for water, but the slight sway in your stance betrayed your earlier indulgence.

“It’s Christmas,” you said softly. “No moments allowed. You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself.”

“I am,” he said, and it surprised him how true it felt.

You studied him for a moment, your smile softening. “Good. You deserve it.”

The warmth in your voice unsettled him, and yet he couldn’t look away. You had a way of seeing him that no one else did, peeling back the layers he worked so hard to maintain. It was disarming, intoxicating, and he didn’t know whether to thank you or guard himself more fiercely.

“You’re good at this,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “Bringing people together. Making them feel…better.”

You tilted your head, your expression turning thoughtful. “I try. It’s not always easy, though. Especially with you.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” you said, your eyes brightening again. “And you should also consider letting yourself enjoy things a little more. Just a thought.”

“I’ll take it under advisement,” he replied, and the soft, teasing edge in his tone made your smile widen.

For a moment, it was just the two of you, the sounds of the party fading into the background. You looked up at him with an openness that made his chest tighten, and he found himself wondering—not for the first time—how someone like you had ended up here, in a world so often filled with darkness.

“Merry Christmas, Hotch,” you said softly, your voice carrying a warmth that lingered long after you’d turned to rejoin the group.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. And for the first time in years, he meant it.

III.

Aaron Hotchner stared out the window of the small motel room, the cheap curtains drawn back to reveal the dim glow of Christmas lights strung up on a nearby house. It was the only reminder of the holiday, a faint glimmer of cheer amidst the grim reality of their current case. His reflection stared back at him in the glass, tired and drawn, the weight of the day etched into the lines of his face.

The case was bad—one of the worst. Children were involved, and they were short-staffed, with JJ staying behind to be with Henry and Michael. Hotch had insisted on it, even though it meant carrying the guilt of being away from Jack. Jack, who was now old enough to understand that his father’s work sometimes came before everything else. Old enough to feel the sting of his absence.

The thought gnawed at him, a sharp pang that had been with him all day. This was a Christmas Jack might remember—one of the few left before he stopped believing in the magic of the holiday. And Hotch wasn’t there. He should’ve been there.

A soft knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He turned, half expecting Morgan or Rossi, but it was you. You stood there with a small smile, a wrapped package tucked under one arm. Your presence alone was a balm, a brief respite from the heaviness that seemed to cling to him.

“Can I come in?” you asked, your voice quiet but warm. You weren’t your usual bubbly self tonight—the weight of the case had tempered your sunshine—but there was still a light in your eyes that seemed undimmed.

He nodded, stepping back to let you in. You placed the package on the small table near the window, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as you turned to face him.

“I know this isn’t how you wanted to spend Christmas,” you said softly, your gaze steady on his. “But I thought maybe we could try to make it feel a little more like home.”

Hotch felt his throat tighten as you handed him the gift, your smile tinged with something tender. He unwrapped it carefully, his fingers brushing against the edges of the frame as he revealed the photo inside. It was a candid shot of him and Jack, taken during one of their rare moments of unguarded joy. Jack was laughing, his arms thrown around his father’s neck, and Hotch’s own smile was wide and genuine—a version of himself he hardly recognized anymore.

“Where did you…” His voice faltered as he looked up at you.

“I snuck a photo of you two over the summer at the get-together Penelope hosted,” you admitted, a faint blush creeping up your cheeks. “I thought you might want something to remind you of him. Especially tonight.”

He swallowed hard, the emotion catching him off guard. “Thank you,” he said finally, his voice rough. “This means a lot.”

You smiled, that warm, gentle smile that always seemed to soften the edges of his world. “I’m glad.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled only by the faint hum of the heater. Then Hotch cleared his throat, his gaze shifting back to you. “Would you…stay for a while?” he asked, surprising even himself. “I…I think I could use the company.”

Your smile widened, and you nodded. “I’d like that.”

The two of you settled on the edge of the bed, a small laptop propped between you as you queued up an old Christmas movie. The screen cast a soft glow over the room, the sound of holiday music mingling with the rustle of case files as you both worked quietly. Occasionally, you’d make a comment about the movie, drawing a rare chuckle from him, or he’d ask for your input on a theory for the case, your perspective always sharper than you gave yourself credit for.

As the hours passed, the weight on his chest seemed to lift, just a little. Your presence was steady, grounding, and he found himself watching you more than the screen. The way your eyes lit up during certain scenes, the way your laughter softened the edges of his grief, the way you leaned just slightly toward him, as though drawn by some invisible force.

Eventually, the movie ended, and the case files lay forgotten on the nightstand. You’d curled up on your side of the bed, your head resting on the pillow as sleep claimed you. Hotch sat beside you for a moment longer, watching the rise and fall of your breathing, the peaceful expression on your face.

Carefully, he slid down beside you, his own exhaustion finally catching up with him. As his eyes closed, the photo of Jack on the nightstand caught his gaze one last time. For the first time that day, he felt a flicker of peace.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmured softly, the words barely audible in the quiet room. And for the first time in years, he meant it.

IV.

Aaron Hotchner adjusted his tie as he stepped into the bustling bullpen, the hum of holiday cheer filling the space. Twinkling lights wrapped around cubicle dividers, and Penelope Garcia had outdone herself again, transforming the office into a festive wonderland. The annual Christmas gathering was in full swing, and the team—his family, as much as he’d allow himself to admit it—were mingling, laughing, and enjoying the break from their usual grim reality.

He scanned the room automatically, his eyes landing on you. You were by the snack table, laughing with Morgan and JJ, your smile radiant under the soft glow of the holiday lights. You wore a deep green sweater that somehow managed to be both festive and professional, and your laughter, as always, was the kind of sound that warmed even the coldest corners of his heart. Jack adored you, the team adored you, and though he’d never said it aloud, Hotch knew you were the brightest part of his life. The thought lingered, unspoken but ever-present.

“Hotch, my man,” Morgan called, clapping him on the back. “Looking sharp as always. You’ve got to come try Garcia’s infamous eggnog. It’s got a kick that’ll put hair on your chest.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “I think I’ll pass.”

Morgan smirked but said nothing, his eyes flicking briefly toward you. Hotch didn’t miss the knowing glance, but he chose not to comment. The team had been teasing him for months now, their thinly veiled remarks about how well you two complemented each other becoming harder to ignore. And the truth was, they weren’t wrong. You were the sunshine to his shadow, and no matter how hard he tried to maintain his stoic demeanor, you always found a way to break through.

“Hotch, come here for a sec!” Penelope called, waving him toward the breakroom with an exaggerated flourish. Her excitement was suspicious, but he indulged her, weaving through the crowd of colleagues.

You were already there, standing by the counter with a cup of cocoa in hand, your head tilting in curiosity when you saw him approach. “What’s going on?” you asked, glancing between him and Penelope.

Penelope’s grin was practically devious. “Oh, nothing,” she said innocently, gesturing upward. “Except...look up.”

Hotch followed her gaze, his stomach sinking slightly as he spotted the small sprig of mistletoe dangling above the two of you. He heard the team’s collective laughter and chatter outside the door, and when he looked back at you, he saw the faint flush that crept up your cheeks.

“Penelope,” he said, his tone even but edged with warning. “This seems highly inappropriate.”

“Oh, come on, Hotch,” Morgan’s voice rang out from the doorway. “Don’t be a Grinch. It’s tradition!”

The team’s voices joined in, a chorus of good-natured peer pressure that only made the situation more absurd. You laughed softly, glancing at him with a mixture of amusement and resignation. “Looks like we’re outnumbered,” you said, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

Hotch’s lips twitched, the beginnings of a smile threatening to surface. “It seems that way.”

You stepped closer, your expression softening as you leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. The warmth of your touch lingered, and when you pulled back, you gave the team an exaggerated shrug. “That’s all you’re getting. This seems like an HR nightmare waiting to happen.”

The team erupted in laughter and groans, their teasing echoing through the room as they slowly dispersed, leaving the two of you alone. Hotch stood there, momentarily stunned. He was rarely caught off guard, but something about the way you’d handled the moment—with grace, humor, and that unshakable light of yours—had left him uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

“You’re quiet,” you remarked, breaking the silence. There was a hint of teasing in your tone, but your eyes held something deeper.

Before he could respond, you stepped closer again, your voice dropping to a softer, more serious note. “For the record,” you said, your gaze locking with his, “I’ve thought about doing this for a very long time.”

And then you kissed him. Fully, softly, your lips brushing his with a warmth that stole his breath. It wasn’t hurried or fleeting, but gentle and deliberate, a kiss that spoke volumes without a single word. When you pulled back, your cheeks were flushed, but there was a quiet confidence in your expression.

“Merry Christmas, Aaron,” you said softly, your voice carrying that same warmth that always seemed to anchor him. And before he could find the words to respond, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing there beneath the mistletoe, the faint taste of peppermint and cocoa lingering on his lips.

He stared after you, his thoughts a whirlwind of emotions he couldn’t quite name. You’d left him stunned, questioning everything he’d been holding back for so long. And for the first time, he allowed himself to wonder—really wonder—what he was waiting for.

Aaron Hotchner stood frozen beneath the mistletoe, replaying the moment over in his mind. Your touch, the warmth of your lips, the quiet confidence in your voice as you walked away—it all lingered like a soft hum, reverberating through him. For a man who thrived on control, who prided himself on composure, he was suddenly untethered.

The sound of laughter and conversation from the bullpen drifted faintly into the breakroom, but Hotch barely registered it. His gaze had followed you as you disappeared through the doorway, the gentle sway of your steps a stark contrast to the rapid thrum of his pulse. He raised a hand to his cheek, where your earlier, teasing kiss still burned faintly, before letting it drop.

He should follow you. Say something. Do something. But what? His mind, usually so sharp and analytical, felt slow and uncertain. You’d left him with no doubt about your feelings, and yet he still found himself grappling with the implications, the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

The door creaked slightly, and Morgan’s head poked through, a smirk firmly in place. “Hey, Hotch, you coming back out? Or are you still processing?”

Hotch shot him a look, but there was no real heat behind it. “I’ll be out in a minute,” he said, his tone even but quieter than usual.

Morgan chuckled, shaking his head. “Take your time, man. But don’t let her get too far ahead of you. She’s got a lot of sunshine to give, and you’ve been standing in the shade too long.”

With that, Morgan disappeared, leaving Hotch alone once more. He exhaled deeply, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. For all his teasing, Morgan wasn’t wrong. You were sunshine, the kind that warmed even the coldest, darkest parts of him. And maybe—just maybe—he was ready to step into that light.

With a resolute breath, he straightened his tie and stepped out of the breakroom, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. You were by the tree now, talking with JJ and Garcia, your laughter carrying softly over the hum of the party. For the first time, Hotch felt a clarity he hadn’t allowed himself before.

He wasn’t going to wait anymore.

Aaron Hotchner stood in the kitchen; his sleeves rolled up as he finished drying the last of the dishes. The faint sounds of Jack’s laughter drifted in from the living room, where you were sitting on the floor by the coffee table, sorting through the pieces of a puzzle you’d brought as a Christmas gift. Jack, now a teenager, had grown taller and lankier in the past year, but his laughter still carried the same unfiltered joy that made Hotch’s chest ache with pride and affection.

He glanced over his shoulder to see the two of you working together, your head bent close to Jack’s as you studied the image on the puzzle box. You wore a soft red sweater, simple but elegant, and jeans that hinted at your easygoing nature. The twinkling lights from the Christmas tree reflected in your eyes as you laughed softly at something Jack said. Hotch couldn’t help but marvel at the way you fit so seamlessly into his life, the way you made everything—even something as ordinary as a puzzle—feel special.

The evening had been everything he could have hoped for. You’d arrived earlier with a bright smile, carrying a bag of gifts and a small dish of your signature dessert. Jack had met you at the door with a quick hug and an eager grin, his awkward teenage reserve slipping away in your presence. You’d brought him a few thoughtful gifts, including a hardcover art book filled with sketches and techniques, knowing he’d taken up drawing. Jack had practically beamed as he flipped through the pages, his gratitude clear in the way he couldn’t stop thanking you.

For you, Hotch had chosen something more personal. When he’d handed you the small wrapped box after dinner, you’d looked at him curiously, your fingers carefully peeling back the paper. Inside was a delicate silver bracelet with a single charm—a tiny sun.

“It reminded me of you,” he’d said simply, his voice quiet but steady.

Your breath had caught, your eyes shining as you turned the bracelet over in your hands. “Aaron,” you’d murmured, your voice soft with emotion. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

He’d watched as you fastened it around your wrist, the charm catching the light in a way that seemed fitting. You were his sunshine, after all—the bright spot in his darkest days.

You hadn’t come empty-handed either. You had given Hotch a new tie, one that followed a similar pattern to his others--it was very him. You’d slipped back to your bag and pulled out another box, this one wrapped in dark green paper with a neat silver bow. “This is for you,” you’d said, holding it out to him with a touch of nervousness in your smile.

Hotch had unwrapped it carefully, revealing an elegant, framed photo of himself and Jack. The picture was candid, taken during one of Jack’s soccer games earlier in the year. Jack was grinning, his arm slung casually around his father’s shoulders, and Hotch was mid-laugh, a rare moment of unguarded joy captured perfectly. These moments so far and few these days, Jack growing up before his eyes so fast. He couldn’t help but worry if he had missed too much, but this photo was a reminder he was present.

“I thought you could use an updated photo of the two of you,” you’d explained, watching him closely. “I thought it might be nice to have a reminder of how much Jack adores you.”

For a moment, Hotch hadn’t been able to speak. He’d traced the edge of the frame with his fingers, his throat tightening as he looked up at you. “It’s perfect,” he’d said simply, his voice rough with emotion. “Thank you.”

Now, as he stepped into the living room, he saw Jack stretch and yawn dramatically, the puzzle only half-finished. “I’m heading to bed,” Jack announced, his voice carrying the exaggerated tone of a teenager.

“Goodnight, kiddo,” you said warmly, reaching up to ruffle his hair. Jack groaned in protest but didn’t pull away, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Goodnight, Dad,” Jack said, pausing by Hotch’s side before wishing you goodnight, “Thanks for the gifts; I loved them.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied, your smile softening as Jack disappeared upstairs.

Hotch settled beside you on the couch, the warmth of the fire casting a gentle glow over the room. You tucked your legs beneath you, leaning slightly into his side as he rested an arm along the back of the couch. The quiet filled the space like a comforting blanket, and for a moment, Hotch simply let himself savor it.

“I think he likes you more than he likes me,” he said, his tone teasing but tinged with sincerity.

You laughed softly, tilting your head to look up at him. “I’m just trying to win him over with gifts and puzzles. It’s all part of my master plan.”

Hotch chuckled, his thumb brushing idly against your arm. “It’s working.”

Your smile lingered, but your expression shifted slightly, growing more thoughtful. “Aaron,” you began, your voice softer now. “Can I tell you something?”

He nodded, his gaze steady as he turned to face you fully. “Of course.”

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers playing with the edge of the throw pillow beside you. Then you looked up, your eyes meeting his with an openness that made his chest tighten.

“This past year has been… incredible,” you said, your voice tinged with emotion. “Being with you, getting to know Jack, feeling like I’m part of something so special… I can’t even put it into words.”

He listened intently, his hand still resting on your arm, his thumb now tracing small, reassuring circles.

“What I’m trying to say is… I love you,” you continued, your voice breaking slightly on the last word. “And I’ve wanted to tell you for a while, but tonight felt right.”

The room seemed to be still, the faint crackle of the fire the only sound as your words hung between you. Hotch felt his breath hitch, his chest swelling with an emotion so profound it left him momentarily speechless. He reached for your hand, his fingers curling around yours as he leaned closer.

“I love you too,” he said finally, his voice steady but filled with quiet intensity. “More than I can ever say.”

Your eyes filled with tears, but your smile was radiant as you leaned into him, your forehead resting against his. For a long moment, the two of you simply stayed like that; the weight of the world momentarily lifted.

Later, as the fire burned low and the room grew quieter still, Hotch held you close, his arm draped around your shoulders. He glanced at the bracelet on your wrist, the tiny sun catching the last flickers of light.

“You know,” you said softly, breaking the silence, “I’ve thought about telling you for so long, but I kept overthinking it. I was so nervous you wouldn’t feel the same way.”

Hotch’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, his voice quiet but firm. “You never had to worry about that,” he said. “I think I’ve loved you since the moment you walked into my life. I just wasn’t brave enough to admit it.”

You looked up at him, your smile soft but full of emotion. “We’re quite the pair, huh? Overthinking everything when it’s so obvious.”

He chuckled, his chest vibrating against you. “Maybe. But I think we got it right in the end.”

Your hand brushed against his, your fingers intertwining. “The best kind of right,” you murmured.

Hotch pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, the weight of your words and the warmth of your presence filling him with a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in years. As the fire flickered its last embers, he held you close, silently marveling at how you’d turned his world into something brighter than he’d ever thought possible.

Aaron Hotchner stood in the middle of the living room, adjusting the final string of twinkling lights around the small tree you and Jack had picked out together the week before. It was early Christmas morning, and the house was quiet save for the soft crackle of the fireplace and the faint sound of Jack’s laughter from the video game he was playing upstairs. Hotch had been up for hours, carefully setting everything into place for what he hoped would be the perfect day.

Living with you had changed him in ways he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just the warmth you brought to his home but the way you’d taught him to savor moments, to lean into the joy of life rather than keeping it at arm’s length. This Christmas, he wanted to return the favor.

The first part of his plan unfolded at the BAU’s holiday party earlier that week. For the first time, Hotch had embraced the festivities rather than standing on the sidelines. He’d worked with Penelope to set up a hot cocoa bar, complete with toppings and festive mugs, and even organized a Secret Santa exchange. When you’d arrived in your cozy sweater and bright smile, you’d lit up even more upon seeing what he’d done.

“You did all this?” you’d asked, looking around at the decorated conference room.

“I had help,” he admitted, his lips curving into a rare smile. “But I thought it might be nice to bring a little sunshine to the team. You’ve inspired me.”

Your cheeks had flushed at his words, your smile widening as you leaned into his side. “I think it’s wonderful. You’re wonderful.”

Now, at home, he hoped to create something equally memorable. He’d waited until you were fast asleep the night before to finish wrapping the small but meaningful gifts he’d chosen for you. Among them was a leather-bound journal with your initials embossed in gold, a nod to the way you’d always jot down your thoughts or ideas. But the most significant gift was hidden beneath the tree, tucked inside a small box. It wasn’t extravagant—Hotch had never been one for grand gestures—but it was deeply personal.

When you came down the stairs later that morning, your hair still slightly mussed from sleep and a soft blanket draped around your shoulders, you froze at the sight of the living room. The tree glowed softly, surrounded by neatly wrapped presents, and the mantle was adorned with garland and stockings. On the coffee table sat a tray with freshly brewed coffee and your favorite pastries.

“Aaron,” you breathed, your voice thick with emotion. “Did you do all this?”

“Merry Christmas,” he said simply, stepping forward to press a kiss to your temple. “I wanted to make it special for you. For us.”

You looked at him, your eyes shining as you took it all in. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

The morning passed in a blur of laughter and warmth as you and Jack opened gifts together. The journal earned a quiet, heartfelt thank you, but it was the last box Hotch handed you that brought tears to your eyes. Inside was a delicate gold necklace with a tiny sun-shaped charm, a perfect match to the bracelet he’d given you the year before.

“It’s beautiful,” you said softly, your fingers brushing over the charm. “I love it.”

“It reminded me of you,” he said, his voice low. “And of everything you’ve brought into my life.”

Later, as Jack retreated upstairs to play with his new gifts--mainly video games this year, you and Hotch curled up on the couch together. The fire crackled softly, casting a warm glow over the room as you rested your head against his chest.

“You really outdid yourself this year,” you murmured, your voice filled with affection. “You’re like a whole new person.”

“Not new,” he corrected gently, his hand tracing slow, comforting circles on your back. “Just better. Because of you.”

You lifted your head to meet his gaze, your smile soft but radiant. “I love you, Aaron Hotchner. And you’ve given me the best Christmas I could ever ask for.”

He leaned down to kiss you, his heart full in a way he hadn’t thought possible. “I love you too,” he said softly. And as he held you close, the warmth of the season and the light of your presence surrounding him, he knew that this—this life with you—was the greatest gift he could ever receive.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

@person-005

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spencereidluver · 6 months ago

Text

M is for Merry Christmas

december 22, 2008

summary: It is the annual Christmas party hosted by Penelope at the BAU, you get a little too drunk- and in turn- a little too handsy with your shy boyfriend. He decides it's time to take you home, where he takes care of you as you sober up and deal with your hangover.

word count: 3.3k

warnings: drunk!reader, mentions of vomit and a somewhat descriptive scene of reader doing so, somewhat caregiver!spencer but not really (reader is hungover and he is just very sweet and caring) there is also sort of a brief one sided angst where reader thinks spencer is upset with them

“Watch where you’re flinging them arms sweetheart, I’ve got papers on my desk,” Derek laughs as you very ungracefully kneel to the floor next to his desk chair. Spencer was sat in Derek’s chair, calmly taking in the atmosphere.

“Well maybe if you did your paperwork faster you wouldn’t have to worry,” you teased, earning a laugh from your team which filled the bullpen of the BAU.

It was the annual Christmas Party at the BAU headquarters, a tradition that started when Penelope joined the team. The team didn’t often take cases over Christmas, unless they were urgent, and this year was one of those when you had the holiday off. Penelope stocked the party with plenty of goodies, and you’ll be the first to admit, maybe you got a little too carried away with the alcohol that she had provided. But in your defense, you rarely drank. This job didn’t allow for it often. And now that you had the chance, why not take it?

You were playing with the hem of Spencer’s charcoal gray slacks, the slacks that came up just a little too high on his lanky figure. It wasn’t too obvious when he was standing, but now that he was lounged in a chair, it was blatantly obvious his pants were a good three or four inches too short.

Emily approaches you, handing you a glass. “Another drink, Y/N?” She asks. You take the drink.

“Are you purposely trying to get her drunk?” Spencer questions. He reaches down to entangle his fingers in your hair.

“Babe, ‘m not drunk!” You protest. You’re lying.

Your words linger around Spencer’s head. Babe. You’d called him pet names before, but never so casual-like, and never had you in front of your coworkers.

You hide your giggle into Spencer’s leg. Nothing funny happened, but you felt like laughing. You knew you were drunk. But you were having fun. You took a sip from the glass Emily had just given you.

“Y/N, you’re laughing at nothing! You can’t tell me you’re not drunk,” Spencer chuckles at you. He finds humor in your attempts to convince him and a group of profilers you weren’t wasted.

“Hey hey hey, Pretty Boy, she’s having fun, don’t rain on her parade,” Derek says.

“Yeah, Prett’boy, don’t rain on my p’rade,” you say, mocking Derek and Spencer simultaneously. You take another sip from your cup before reaching your arm up and offering it to Spencer. “Drink?”

“No, thanks,” he says, shaking his head. You shrug before chugging the rest of the cup.

Penelope Emergers from her office, carrying a tray down the stairs. “Guess Whatttt?” She says in a sing-song voice. She rounds the corner and extends the tray out for the team to have access. “I brought shottts!”

You practically jump from your position on the floor, leaving Spencer in Derek’s chair and rushing to Penelope, well, more like the tray of drinks she was holding.

You, Emily, and Derek surround the shot tray while Hotch and Rossi were sat observing and eating crackers from two other desks in the bullpen. With three taps of his glass on the tray, you Emily and Derek have a mouthful of vodka. There are three remaining glasses of clear liquid remaining.

Derek takes a step away to open the view of the tray up. “Hey, do any of you guys want these?” He shouts. He was on the verge of being drunk, starting to lose control of the volume of his voice.

“No, I’m not a big vodka drinker,” Spencer says, swiveling gently left and right in Derek’s chair. He’s not drunk, but he may be having the most fun of anyone while he’s playing in the rolly chair.

Hotch and Rossi share a glance at each other, before Hotch speaks up. “No, you three go ahead, you seem to be enjoying yourself.”

Derek closes in the gap he’d opened, grabbing another shot glass. You and Emily follow his lead, waiting for his three taps. Your mouth burns as the liquor fills it, you’re quick to swallow before taking a sip of water as a chaser. You smack your lips, giving a three-way high-five to Emily and Derek.

“Those are my girls,” Derek says as he pulls you and Emily into a group ‘bro hug.’

You leave the tupperware party that had formed around Penelope, walking toward Spencer, who was still spinning in the chair.

“Hey,” you say as you approach him. You grab onto his tie, leaning forward and resting your free hand on his thigh to be face-level with him.

“H-hi, Y/n,” he chokes out, the position you’re in having made him a bit flustered. You lean in to kiss him, but your drunkenness causes you to stumble and miss his lips, leaving a big sloppy kiss on his chin. You let yourself fall into Spencer’s lap, situating yourself on his upper thigh and letting your legs fall over his lap. He wraps one arm around your waist, the other drapes over your shins and his hand holds your calf. He shoots you a worried look. “How much have you drank?”

You giggle, letting one of your hands reach around his back to fluff his hair. “Not that much,” you lie to him.

“Y/n.” His voice is slightly stern. You begin to fiddle with the buttons on his shirt with your free hand.

“‘m fine, baby, I promise,” you say, leaning into his shoulder. He jumps slightly as the word ‘baby’ falls past your lips. He can’t help but let the smile he’s forming peek through a tiny bit. Still playing with the buttons, you manage to pop the top two open with just your fingers. You let your fingers slip beneath the fabric of his shirt and begin to trace little shapes on his bare chest. He shivers into your touch, but tries his best to hide it.

His grip tightens a bit on your waist, fingers digging into your ribs slightly, causing you to squirm against his lap.

“I’ve got one more round of shots for three of my favorite agents!” Penelope says as she returns from her cave once again. You look to Spencer, almost as if asking permission, before standing up and stumbling to Penelope. She was only a few feet away, but your footing was sloppy.

You, Derek, and Emily grab the shot glasses, doing a “cheers” before pouring the liquid down your throats. Emily brings hers down with a “wooo!” sound. You and Emily sip down your chasers afterwards, but Derek has drank all his. His cup was empty.

“Hey sweetheart,” Derek says, raising his eyebrows at you, “Go grab that waterbottle off my desk, would’ya?”

You nod at him as you once again stumble over to his desk. This time, you make your way behind the chair Spencer’s sat in, grabbing the plastic waterbottle from the corner of the desk. “Catch,” you say, throwing the bottle directly into Derek’s hand.

“Damn, girl, the NFL should’ve drafted you, not the FBI,” Emily jokes.

You turn around, leaning over the back of Derek’s chair to rest your hands on the shoulders of Spencer. You’re starting to really feel the alcohol now, your head was swirling. Spencer reaches his hand up and grabs yours, running his thumb over the back of it. You let your other hand fall downwards, grazing over his few inches of bare chest that was still exposed from the open buttons. He gently squeezed your hand. You lean down, burying your face in the crook of his neck, planting soft kisses, and letting your hands chase further down his clothed torso.

Spencer clears his throat. “Alright,” he says, standing up and sliding the chair out of the way. “It’s time I get this one home.” He grabs the small of your waist, hoisting you up and throwing you over his shoulder without so much as a grunt. Gasps were heard around the room.

“Reid, you’ve been holding out on us. If I’d have known you could lift people like that so easily I’d be sending you on tacticals instead of Morgan.” Hotch said, half joking, but still with the serious undertone he always has with his jokes.

“Damn,” Derek gasps. “Look at those muscles.”

“Oh be serious, it’s just Y/n. She’s statistically much smaller than the average unsub.” Spencer states as he adjusts you on his shoulder. You’re face down to the ground, the blood rushing to your head.

“Yeah, be honest guys, Spencer would get his ass kicked by a majority of those guys,” you jokingly say.

“Not if I have my gun,” Spencer defends himself, beginning to carry you toward the door.

“Bye, Y/N!” Emily shouts, giving you a big wave that you can’t see. “I love you!”

“Don’t be too tough on her now, big guy,” Derek laughs, poking fun at him.

“Oh shut up!” Spencer says.

“Don’t let him take me!” You beg as you watch Spencer get closer to the door step by step. “He’s ruining all the fun!”

“Bring her back!” Penelope shouts from the top of the stairs.

“She’s had her fun, it’s way past our bedtime,” Reid says, turning around to face the team. He lifts one hand to wave goodbye, the other still holding you on his shoulder. “She’ll regret this when she’s throwing up all day tomorrow. Have a Merry Christmas, guys.” He turns and exits the building all while the team bids their farewells.

Spencer carries you the entire way from the BAU office to your car in the parking lot. You’re still slung over his shoulder as he opens the passenger door. He leans into the car and gently lets you fall into the seat. He tucks the loose strands of hair falling in your face behind your ear, then places a delicate kiss on your forehead. He buckles your seatbelt as he ducks out of the car, stopping in his tracks when he locks eyes with you.

Your eyes have glossed over, having had the time for the alcohol in your system to have begun filtering through, a terrible hangover was building.

“Are you alright?” He asks, leaning back into the car. You nod in response, resting against the headrest of the passenger seat. “Are you sure? You had a lot of alcohol, Y/N.”

“‘m okay,” you say, reaching a hand out to grab ahold of his forearm that was stabilizing him above the car seat. “Just got a headache.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Let’s get you home and into bed, m’kay?” He’s gentle with you. Soft. Caring. He runs his thumb over your cheek once before closing the passenger door, making sure not to slam it as he’s sure a headache has begun to form. He was right.

Spencer jogs quickly around the front of the car, climbing in the driver's seat and turning the key. He turns the volume on the radio down, another thing that could trigger your headache. “I’m gonna take you to my apartment, okay?” He says, placing his hand on the back of the passenger seat and looking over it to reverse out of the BAU parking lot.

‘Does he know how attractive that is?’ You ask yourself.

After reversing, he drops his hand down to your mid thigh and gives it a slight squeeze. You begin to doze off, the effects of the alcohol taking its toll much faster than expected.

...

You wake up in Spencer’s bed. He’s asleep beside you, arm wrapped around your waist holding you close. You’re unsure of the time. Come to think of it, you don’t even remember getting into Spencer’s bed. He must’ve carried you.

Spencer’s apartment is hot, which is strange because he always kept the thermostat at 68, and you could hear the air conditioner running. You gently lift Spencer’s arm from you and place it down next to him, the need to escape from the heat of the blankets outweighing the comfort of his embrace. Saliva begins to coat your throat, the kind that swallowing won’t help. Oh. Oh.

You are going to puke.

You hurriedly sit up on the bed, not giving yourself enough time for your body to stretch before jumping down and rushing into Spencer’s bathroom. You kneel in front of the toilet just in time before the contents of your stomach have become the contents of the toilet bowl. Tears well in your eyes as you struggle to catch your breath between bouts of vomiting. You’re trying not to gag, trying to be quiet, just wishing it would be over. The sound of your sickness echoes through the wall shared by the bathroom and Spencer’s bedroom, waking him from his sleep-addled mind. Spencer jumps to his feet as if his life depended on it, hurrying to the closed door to the bathroom.

“Y/n?” He called softly while pushing the door open. You’re sat on your knees in front of the toilet, pale and trembling. Once he sees you, there’s no hesitation before Spencer is knelt beside you, gathering your hair in one hand and gently scratching comforting patterns on your back with the other. Another wave of vomit hits you, leaving tears streaming down your face as you recover.

Spencer shushes you softly, still scratching your back. “It’s okay baby, I’m right here,” he whispers at you as he wipes tears from your eyes. “You’re going to be okay, baby. Do you want me to get you some water?”

You can barely muster a nod in response, feeling a bit neglected when he gets up to go retrieve it for you. Yes, you did want water, but you also wanted Spencer.

As soon as he leaves the bathroom, you’re hit by another round of vomiting, this time left to deal with on your own. Spencer hears you from the kitchen, causing him to rush. “I’ll be right there, Y/n,” you hear him yell from across the apartment as the bile spills past your mouth, some trickling down onto your shirt. Damn it, this was kind of a nice work shirt, and now it has hangover puke all down the front of it.

Spencer returns to the bathroom, glass of water in hand. He sees you frantically trying to pat away the vomit on your shirt with a few squares of toilet paper. He sits the glass on the edge of the counter, rushing to your aid. “Hey, let's just take this off,” he says, helping you to pull your shirt over your head. Only being left in your bra, the air is cool as it hits your bare back. It feels good.

Spencer grabs the glass of water off the counter, handing it to you. “Here,” he says, “rinse your mouth out real quick.” You do as he says, swishing the room temperature water around in your mouth and spitting it into the toilet. Spencer fills the bathroom sink about half way full with water, then places your soiled shirt in the basin to soak. After, he returns to you, taking the glass of water from your hand and situating himself back on the floor behind you.

You lean back against him, your back to his bare chest. You sigh, grateful beyond words for his presence, for the warmth of his touch amidst the cold grip of illness. His steady mind anchored you in the midst of discomfort. You remain there together on the floor of the small apartment bathroom for what felt like an eternity. Spencer offered you quiet words of reassurance and helped you to drink water while you struggled to regain composure. Eventually, the violent spasms of sickness subsided, leaving you exhausted and shaky in Spencer’s arms.

“Can we go back to bed?” You whisper, your voice hoarse and raw from vomiting.

“Of course, baby, let's brush your teeth though. Vomiting exposes your teeth to the stomach’s highly erosive acids which eat away at the enamel at lightning speeds.” Spencer rambles. You groan in response, not having the energy to hold your arm up for that long. “I can help you, Sweetheart, you just got to stand up for me, ‘mkay?” You nod, struggling to your feet. Spencer picks you up bridal style, carrying you the few steps to the sink and sitting you on the counter facing him. He removes your soaked shirt from the sink and hangs it over the edge of the bathtub to drip dry.

Spencer situates himself between your legs, takes your toothbrush from the cup and wets it, applying a swipe of toothpaste to the bristles. You part your lips as Spencer brings the toothbrush to your mouth.

His brushing was gentle and slow, yet thorough. You rest your head against his shoulder as he does so, too weak to hold your own head up for long periods of time. He uses his left hand to cup your cheek so as to keep your head still as the toothbrush makes friction against your teeth.

“You’re doing great, Y/n,” he says as he moves the toothbrush away from your mouth. “Need to spit?” He directs your head over the sink by your cheek, allowing you to spit the toothpaste into it. He rinses your toothbrush off and returns it to the cup, then hands you the glass of water. You drink the rest of it.

Spencer plants a heavy kiss on your lips, your cool minty breath causing him to shiver. “Ready to go back to bed?” He asks, locking his arms around your waist and pulling you up to his chest. You nod into his shoulder and wrap your legs around his hips and arms around his neck as he carries you back into his bedroom.

He carefully lies you on the mattress, pulling the covers snug around your cold, bare torso. He joins you on the other side of the bed, climbing under the covers himself and snuggling up against you.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur weakly as your hands explore his unclothed back.

“Don’t be,” he replied, brushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead. “I’m glad I could be here for you. It’s my job to take care of you.”

“I shouldn’t have drank that much in the first place,” you say. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

“No. You had fun, and you were in a safe environment. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying a night drinking every now and again. And each time you do, I’ll be here to take care of you afterwards.”

“Thank you, Spence. And I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.” You’re thinking back to him in Derek’s chair, and how you were being a little too comfortable with him. You knew Spencer was shy about showing off your relationship, not because he wanted to hide you, he was proud of you. He was just new at this, he was still learning how to love you publicly.

“No, Y/n. Don’t be sorry. It kind of made me realize I want to be able to show love for you in public too. Y/n, I love you so much. I could never be embarrassed to be loved by you.”

“I love you, Spencer. I love you so much.”

“I love you. Now, get some rest, honey. Hopefully you feel better in the morning.”

You smile into his chest, your heart swelling with love and gratitude for this man who held your hair back when you were at your worst. You could spend eternity here. In this raw, vulnerable state that made you feel at home between Spencer Reid’s arms.

_____

next chapter: N is for New Years

other parts: Spencer Reid A-Z Masterlist

view the masterlist in a calendar version!

_____

a/n: i wrote this fic way faster than i thought i was going to (three days) however i am pretty confident in it. i'm really enjoying being back! i'm really hoping i am able to stay on this writing kick for a while, i'm always the happiest when i'm writing. i'm hoping to get the next part out within the next week, so stay tuned for that!

_____

Have Recommendations? visit my recommendations page to submit your suggestion, no matter how big or small!

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eunandonly · 16 days ago

Text

cold hands, warm hearts, ──── ( 엔하이픈 )

a cold christmas day spent with bf!enhypen

( 対 ) ; enhypen x f!r 1074wc + fluff, christmas contains ! skinship, kissing, tooth rotting fluff / archive

은 : merry christmas everyone ~ enjoy the holiday season and make sure to stay warm!!

lee heeseung

the weather was freezing, the cold december air leaving your cheeks flushed pink.

heeseung twirled you in the snow - such an old fashioned thing, but it made you both giggle and smile as if it was the best thing that had ever happened to you two. — more under cut!!

“it feels like we’re in a movie,” you said, the snow crunching under your boots as you danced.

heeseung looked at you with lovesick eyes before leaning down to kiss you on the forehead, a soft smile playing on his lips as he murmured against your skin.

“everything is like a movie when i’m with you.”

he hummed a little song under his breath as you two swayed, dancing on the snow as pristine white piled up on the ground, turning your surroundings to a winter wonderland.

park jongseong

“jay, can you help me with the frosting?”

jay came up behind you, wrapping his hands around yours to help you decorate the christmas cookies. you watched him draw a little nose for the snowman imtently before whipping behind and smearing a dollop of green frosting on his face before giggling.

jay stared at you for a few seconds before attacking you with the frosting. the kitchen was filled with laughter before he finally managed to leave a line of red frosting on your lip and cheek.

you were about to protest, but he quickly shut you up with a kiss on your lips.

“tastes sweet,” he remarked, giving you a smirk before continuing with the cookies as if hadn't just taken a taste of the frosting from your lips.

sim jaeyun

jake wrapped a scarf around the snowman, finishing its look: twigs for its arms, button eyes and a carrot as its nose. it was perfect really - the scarf went well with its orange nose.

“aw, he’s so cute.” you said, giving him a little pat on the head. it had a little lopsided grin on its face, staring blankly at you with its plastic eyes.

jake pouted, hugging you from the back. his breath was warm against your cold skin, and you looked up at him to see his face.

“cuter than me?” he asked, eyeing the snowman with something that resembled jealousy.

you laughed, swatting him on the arm. "of course not! you’re the cutest.”

you turned around to give him a kiss on the cheek, and watched him mirror the snowman’s grin.

park sunghoon

sunghoon’s hands were surprisingly warm in the icy weather, warming you up pleasantly. he held you steady as you two glided on the ice to the sound of nostalgic christmas jazz playing out of the crackling speakers. snow was falling from the sky, leaving a dust of white on your hair, clothes and face.

“hoon, you’re pulling me along too fast,” you laughed as you tripped over your feet, stumbling clumsily on the ice before giving up and letting your knees give out.

sunghoon immediately helped you up, before pulling you into his warm embrace and giving you a soft peck on your nose. he dusted off the snow from your face, gloved hands warm and gentle against your cold skin.

“you’re just terrible at skating, princess.”

kim sunoo

“sunoo, how many more are you going to buy?”

you watched sunoo choose yet another item from the store, observing it carefully before placing it on the counter with the mountain of things piling up.

“i have a lot of gifts to give,” he said, beaming. his eyes were sparkling, and you found yourself staring at him as he walked around.

god, he was so pretty.

"what, are you santa?" you asked, staring as sunoo strolled around the store. the shopkeepers were probably celebrating at the back - sunoo was sweeping the store clean.

“a lot of those gifts are for you, y/n.”

he passed by you, giving you a quick peck on the cheek before picking up a chunky scarf from the rack.

“this is very christmas-y. you want it?”

yang jungwon

“wonnie, can you help me put the star on the tree?”

you and jungwon had been decorating the christmas tree for a while now, placing pretty ornaments and ribbons on the tree in the warm comfort of your home by the fireplace whilst a snowstorm blew around outside.

“of course,” jungwon smiled, strong yet gentle arms wrapping around your waist before lifting you up.

you placed the golden star on the top of the tree, finishing the look before jungwon set you back down on the ground carefully, his touch on your waist lingering.

“merry christmas, angel."he said, before giving you a kiss on the lips, soft and gentle.

“merry christmas to you too, won.”

nishimura riki

“riki, don’t pull the sled so fast, it’s going to-“

you had barely finished your sentence before you tumbled down the snow covered hill, screaming and yelling.

you finally came to a stop at the bottom, snow covering your face, hair and everywhere possible. you huffed, adjusting the hat that had nearly fallen off.

“y/n, you good?” riki asked, lending you a hand.

you didn’t make any move to get up but instead rolled your eyes at him.

“i told you you were going too fast.” you said, before pulling him down to the ground by his sleeve.

riki landed on the pristine snow with a soft thud, before tackling you and giving you a kiss on the lips.

“sorry y/n, didn’t mean to make you fall like that.”

✉️ : @icyy-hoon (send an ask or comment to be added on the taglist!!)

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 19 days ago

Text

Baby, I'm Cold

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: Your boss is a stubborn man but even he can get sick. (plus!reader)

Character: August Walker

Day Twenty-One of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - I swear I'm not sick

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Mr. Walker leaves his bag at the door, his jacket too. You move his shoes so they sit neatly on the drip tray and hang his jacket. You pick up his briefcase and carry it up to his office. As you near the closed door, you hear him coughing from the other side.

You slow as you approach and knock on the door, “sir, I have your things.”

He coughs again then calls through hoarsely, “in.”

You twist the handle and dip inside. You set the bag on the leather armchair where you always do and retreat as your employer sniffles. He lets out a crackly sigh after. He sits behind his desk, silent, stony. His usual self except for the raspy breaths he lets out.

You don’t await his dismissal. You know if he has to tell you to go, it means you’ve overstayed. Mr. Walker prefers discretion. He prefers solace. It makes your job both easy but difficult.

You leave and go down to the kitchen. At this time, he won’t have eaten. He’ll need dinner. With his cough and stuffed nose in mind, you prepare him some chicken and rice soup. You put a thick hunk of artisinal bread with it and a cup of tea.

You carry it up to him and announce your purpose at the door, “dinner, sir.”

He grumbles. You know his sounds well enough to enter. You bring the tray to his desk as he sits back in his chair, unmoving, eyes closed, hands firm around the rests. You hear the rattle in his chest from there.

“Anything else, sir?”

He opens one eye and the icy blue chills you. His single iris flicks down as he considers the tray. He opens his other eye and sits forward. He swallows another cough.

“What is this?” He touches the mug’s handle.

“Tea, sir. I found some ginger. I added a touch of honey--”

“Why?”

“Why, sir?”

“I don’t drink tea. I haven’t ever drunk tea. It’s for my mother. So why--” He snaps his mouth shut and his throat strains as he holds back another cough. He lets out a single croak and clears away the rocky crags. “Why are you serving it to me?”

“Oh, uh, sir, it will soothe your cough--”

“I’m not sick.”

“Yes, sir, the air is dry this time of year,” you agree.

“I don’t want the fucking tea.”

“Sir.”

You come around and take the cup. He sits back again and turns the seat away. You hold the steaming cup and quickly head for the door. You stop, remind by his reprimand of something else.

“Your mother and father will arrive tomorrow morning. I’ve arranged their room and all else.” You confirm.

“Great, you did your job,” he sneers dryly.

“Sir,” you murmur and turn to the door.

Just a few more hours and you’ll be free. It’s the holidays and even Mr. Walker gave you a day to spend with your family. Though you suspect it’s more that he doesn’t want you around his.

For the three years you’ve worked for him, you’ve never met a single other person in his life. You clean the house, you pick up his laundry, and you order groceries. You are peripheral. You are the tedium that fuels the more concerning parts of his life.

🌟

Your mother and stepfather are arguing on the porch. Again. Your aunt and uncle are showing off their toddler grandchild, and your brother, the terrible twins, more than a decade your junior, are flipping through their phones. You sit and observe it all.

You glance at the window, your mom’s anger expounded in the wag of her finger. You get up as the smell of ham draws you into the kitchen. You check to make sure it’s not overdone then piddle around, trying to distract yourself from the chaos.

Your back pocket rumbles. You ignore it. It’s some promo trying to entice you into ordering food. On Christmas of all day. As the vibration persists, you assume it’s some poor telemarketer, forced to make the rounds for a bit of overtime pay.

You ignore it. You work on finishing the brussel sprouts your mother left in the strainer. You cut of the ends and slice an X into them. Your phone starts again. You don’t put down the knife until the third call.

Walker.

You hesitate but pick up. Why would he be calling, today of all days. You fix your posture as you answer, as if he can see you.

“Mr. Walker,” you eke out, nervous you might have missed something.

“Hello, is this...” a woman says your name curiously.

“Uh, yes, it’s me,” you affirm.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to bother you, especially today, but we are in need of some help,” her voice is tremulous.

“I told you,” a male can be heard more distantly. “We shouldn’t bother them. There’s a reason they aren’t here, dear.”

“Pish,” the woman dismisses. “Very sorry again but my son--”

“Katherine,” you say, “Mr. Walker’s mother?”

“Yes, Auggy is my son,” she tuts. “As I was trying to explain, he’s doing rather poorly but he’s refusing my care. He’s always been awfully stubborn, you know?”

“Kath,” the man drones.

“Oh, I know, I know,” she squeals at him. “He doesn’t want his mommy fluttering around him like an old hen, but you understand, he’s my baby. I’m worried. And so we were looking and saw your name. A girl’s name so you must be someone special.”

“Katherine,” the man sighs once more.

“I’m his housekeeper, ma’am,” you explain.

“Hum, oh, of course. You would be,” she says. “Oh, my, I’m afraid I’ve assumed so much.”

“Is he still coughing then?” You ask.

“Oh, yes, terrible. He sounds as if he’s swallowed glass.”

“We’ll call a doctor,” the man intones.

“Octavius, please, which doctor do you suggest we call? They all fly out of the country on their salaries,” she chirps. “Honey, please, if you don’t mind, you might be able to coax him. If you are his maid, you’d only be doing your job. He can’t turn you away.”

You frown. She doesn’t know how wrong she is. He would and he will.

“Lucine, please,” your step father’s voice blows through with a gust as he comes inside. His anger is forged into his tone and the door slams. You wince.

“I can be there,” you tell Katherine. It won’t make a difference but it will get you away from all this.

🌟

Katherine as good as drags you through the door. You didn’t even knock before she swung it open. She’s a tall woman, plump, and her face is rosy. She’s not what you expect.

“Yes, come in, come in,” she says. “Oh, what’ve you brought?”

She gestures to the canvas bag on your elbow.

“Just some stuff to help,” you explain as the warmth of inside seeps beneath the chill in your cheeks. “Hopefully.”

“Oh, yes, how clever of you.”

She takes the bag and you let her. She sets in on the bench and unbuttons your top button before you can stop her. You gently catch her hands then do the rest yourself.

“Sorry, dear, sorry. It’s only, I’m so worried.”

“He’s a man, he’ll be fine. If you’d stop pecking at him, he wouldn’t be hiding,” a man appears in the archway to the den. He’s big like Mr. Walker, with white hair and paler eyes. He crosses his arms in the same way. That must be the father.

“He’s sick! You heard him. He wouldn’t listen--”

“He was doing just fine, Katherine.”

“Tosh, you don’t know that. You never were there when he was home sick. He needs his orange juice and chicken noodle.”

“He needs you to stop,” the man you assume is Octavius reproaches.

“I can check on him but... it’s probably just a cold,” you say as you slip out of your boots.

“So long as you try.”

“Right,” you grab the bag and twist the handles.

You go to the bottom of the stairs and look up. You peer side to side, from mother, to father, both tentatively watching you in turn. It seems Walker puts everyone at arm’s length.

You take the first step with trepidation. Then the second. Up and up, you climb until you reach the top. You turn down the hallway and come to the office door. You bite the inside of your lip and knock. You don’t get an answer.

You look at the bag in your hand and contemplate running back downstairs. You can say you tried and got the same result. Still, that Walker doesn’t shout for you to scram is worrying.

You knock again to the same result. Several more taps go unanswered before you are faced with another decision. Do you go in, just to make sure?

It would be a waste. You left your family, Katherine waited around for you, you suppose you can brave Walker’s wrath to give her the gift of knowing all is well.

You inhale and hold it in. You enter the office, peeking through as you do. It’s dim but for the light of the glass lamp on the desk. As you look for the broad figure behind it, you find only an empty chair.

You frown. He must be in his room or--

The grumble jars you. You squint as you try to see through the dark. You find Mr. Walker on the leather settee near the artificial fireplace set into the wall. Great. You should go. You can do that still. He’s not answering you so obviously he doesn’t want to be disturbed.

He coughs, a sharp, agonizing cough that makes even your throat hurt. You let your breath out. Ugh. He’s a big boy, literally, he can handle it. Right?

Shit.

You cross the room and turn the dial on the artificial fireplace. It lights up, casting a soft glow over the office. You turn to find Walker shivering on the cushions, arms crossed as he hugs himself, legs bent to accommodate the short furniture.

“Mr. Walker, I brought some cough drops and some cold medicine,” you say.

He groans and doesn’t move. He hacks again, the couch frame creaking under his weight. Why? You shouldn’t feel bad for him. Not for as unpleasant as he’s consistently been.

You move a leather stool closer and sit. You cradle the bag on your knees and sift through the contents. You take out the bottle of Buckleys. You shake it and reach with your other hand to touch his shining forehead. His eyes pop open and his mustache twitches.

“Mr. Walker, I have cough syrup--”

“I’m fine,” he insists, only to cough again. “I don’t want that—sh-- *cough*-- shi-- *cough*” He devolves into a fit and you wait patiently.

“If you don’t want it, you should try some of these ginger drops.”

“Why are you here?”

You steady your agitation. “Your mother called me.”

“Why did she--” He can’t finish the question.

“She asked me to help you. I’m trying but I can’t do much if you won’t let me. However, you are my boss so you can tell me to go back home to my family,” you shrug.

He looks at you then closes his eyes. He shifts onto his back and lifts his legs, extending them over the armrest. He is ridiculous big on the short sofa.

“Do whatever. I thought you were a maid, not--”

He can’t finish the insult but you get the gist. You dig around in the bag and take out the tin of menthol rub. You uncap it as his face contorts in an effort to repress his coughing. You hold it out under his nose and he sucks in and flinches.

He grabs his nose as you recoil and blinks, “what is that?”

“Just menthol, it will clear your airways a bit.”

“Oh,” he furrows his dark brows.

“Typically, you put it on your chest but it’s kind of greasy so--”

“Do that,” he insists and sniffs deeply, “it’s helping.”

“Oh, uh...” you stare at him.

He’s sallow, the brims of his eyes reddened, and his face drawn. You nod and lightly touch the gel. You hesitate. You won’t be able to reach him and... right.

“Can you...” You look at his shirt collar, “unbutton.”

He coughs again, a rumble in his chest, and he clumsily pinches his buttons until he frees them. He pulls the fabric apart to reveal his furry chest and you stand. You move closer and bend over him as you gently trace beneath his throat, that little crook of bone above his muscled pecs. You focus on spreading the menthol as he breathes deeper, further puffing out his chest.

“Better?” You ask.

He makes a noise, something akin to a purr. You rub the cream in until It’s absorbed then pull away. You cap the container and put it back in the bag. You put it all on the stool and back away.

“Where are you going?” Walker mutters.

“To wash my hands,” you say.

“Mmm, be quick.”

You take his orders and hurry out. You come down the hallway and dip into the bathroom to rinse your hands. As you dry off, you nearly squeal as a shadow appears in the door. Katherine wrings her hands as she shifts back and forth.

“Is he okay?” She asks.

“He’s fine, I think. Just sick. Stubborn.”

“Oh, very,” she agrees with your last statement.

“I’m just trying to get him to take some cough meds,” you explain.

“Ah, good luck,” she trills, “I will make some tea, if you like?”

“Uh, yeah, we can try that,” you agree.

She hurries off and you go back down the hall. The smell of menthol and the crackle of the fake fire welcome you in. You go to the settee as Walker lays quietly, breathing in and out, as his shirt remains open.

“I think the cough syrup will help,” you say.

He doesn’t respond. You watch the cadence of his chest. Is he asleep. You move around slowly, trying not to knock anything with your hip or step too heavy. You gather up the bag. He can probably sleep it off.

You let out a squeal as you feel a brush against your bum. You spin as Walker’s arm extends to you and he catches your hip. You stutter in surprise.

“S-sir!”

“I’m sick,” he whines, though the surrender is hardly a triumph. “Please...”

You stare at him. You don’t know what’s worse. The brave face or the pathetic victim.

“Baby, I feel so bad,” he squeezes and you look down at his large hand. He must be really sick if he’s calling you that.

“It’s alright, Mr. Walker,” you take his hand and move it off your hip. You lower yourself onto the edge of the couch and bend his arm over his chest. “Your mom’s going to make you some tea.”

“Mmmm,” he drones and reaches for you again. “Don’t leave.”

“Sir,” you look down as his touch follows your sleeve to your shoulder then curls down your back, stopping on your waist. You grab his wrist again. “I’ll stay, just... relax.”

“Yes, baby,” his fingers dip into your soft side, “whatever you want me to do.” He tugs free of your grip and trails along the top of your butt, “just stay.”

You narrow your eyes and once more stop his stray hand. You cling to it as you direct it away from you, keeping hold of him to keep from another rogue groping. He’s sick for sure. So sick, he must be delusional.

“Alright, I'm here, Mr. Walker.”

He opens his eyes and looks at you. You wince at the intensity in his glassy irises. His cheek ticks and he hums again.

“Mm...” he drawls weakly. “So... soft.”

#august walker #dark august walker #dark!august walker #august walker x reader #fic #december daze #mission impossible: fallout #navy and roo's sleepover

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 23 days ago

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Fire and Frost

17/12: Tinsel and Talking Dirty - modern!Aemond Targaryen Word Count: 1.7k~ | Warnings: pussy slapping, dirty talk, hair pulling

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

The faint hum of the central heating filled the apartment, its warmth fighting back the biting chill of the December evening. The scent of cinnamon lingered faintly, a remnant of the candle she had lit earlier. Aemond leaned back against the sofa, watching her with a bemused expression.

“I don’t celebrate Christmas.”

She could roll her eyes, again, but she doubted it would make a difference. Mr. I-don’t-celebrate-Christmas sat cross-armed, observing as she unwrapped a tangle of decorations, their bright colors gleaming under the soft, golden glow of the apartment’s floor lamp. A tiny artificial tree perched on the side table, not her usual five foot, real fir, but it would have to do.

She paused and gave him a pointed look. “Don’t be a Scrooge, help me decorate.”

“What in the Seven Hells is a ‘Scrooge’?”

The exasperation bubbled up again, and this time she did roll her eyes. “Seriously? Have you never had Christmas before?”

A faint shadow flickered over his face, so brief she nearly missed it. The idea left her both curious and sad, but before she could push the thought further, she shook it off and pulled out another box of decorations.

If he'd never had a proper Christmas before, she'd give a good one.

Soon, she was dragging him off the sofa, his exhaled huff carrying the faintest tinge of amusement. Together, they worked their way around the apartment. She hummed softly as she placed ceramic Christmas trees and wreaths on shelves and countertops, her enthusiasm battling with his stoic nature. Aemond followed, his movements reluctant but oddly endearing. She couldn’t help but smile as their shared space became cozier with every ornament.

The sharp metallic shimmer of tinsel caught her eye as she moved to the mantle. She turned, mid-smirk, just in time to see Aemond wrestling with a particularly unruly length of it.

“What the fuck is this stuff?” he muttered, holding it up as if it might bite him.

She snorted, “Aemond, you sound like an alien.”

“It’s awful. And it looks like shit—”

“Okay, okay,” she interrupted, laughing, “Are we still going out later?”

Aemond blinked, momentarily thrown by the shift in topic. “To the cocktail bar? The one you saw with Aegon…and whoever he was with?”

“Yes!” She beamed, “that one. I thought it looked festive.”

“I’m ready whenever you are. I’ll go out like this.”

She gave him a skeptical glance but didn’t argue. Slipping into the bedroom, she began to get ready. She rummaged through her wardrobe, pulling out her black leather boots and the outfit she had been saving. The faint hum of a holiday tune played in her head as she freshened up at the vanity. A bag of sparkly hair tinsel caught her eye, an odd souvenir from Aegon’s drunk ex in a bar bathroom.

She hesitated, then shrugged. Why not?

When she emerged, her boots clicking softly against the wooden floor, she called out, “Nearly ready, Aem!” She dabbed a little of her favorite perfume on her wrists. Floral and spicy.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him turn on the sofa, about to reply, but the words stalled as his gaze swept over her. She looked down at herself, smoothing her skirt before glancing up. “What?” she asked, her cheeks warming. “Too much?”

His lips parted slightly, his one good eye fixed on her hair. “No, it’s…it’s in your hair.”

“What is?” She blinked, confused.

“That…tinsel stuff.”

She reached up, fingers brushing against the glimmering strands. “Oh! No, it’s hair tinsel. It gives your hair an extra sparkle. Don’t you like it?”

For a moment, he didn’t reply, his expression unreadable. Then a slow, lazy grin spread across his face as he stepped closer. “No,” he murmured, his fingers reaching out to gently catch a sparkling strand, “it looks…nice.”

“Just nice?” she teased softly, her lips parting as his hand formed a fist in her hair.

For some reason it felt as if they wouldn’t even make it out the door tonight.

He tugged gently, enough to send a shiver down her spine and have her knees shake. She knew that look. The Christmas lights danced off her hair now, but the warmth she felt, she couldn’t say was from them alone. It started against her pulse point, thrumming through her blood, to settle in her stomach, fluttering with anticipation.

A bemused grin swept across his face, mismatched eyes looked back with amusement, his other hand dropping to her side, palming her backside and bringing her body flush with his.

“I've decided,” he starts, his breath ghosting across her cheek, “I don't like your outfit.”

She felt his lips drift across her jawline, to press open-mouthed kisses down her neck, over her pulse point, knowing exactly where all her weak spots lived.

“That so,” she whispered back, voice thick with need.

“Mmhm,” he murmured, using his grip in her hair to tilt her neck, eager for more skin. He could smell the floral notes of her perfume pressed against her flesh, and the more he tasted, the more he wanted.

“I think you're trying to distract me,” she mused.

“Am I?” he replied, his tone laced with faux innocence as he nipped at her skin, down to her collarbone, grinding himself against her to gain the slightest bit of friction. Her fingers curled into his shirt, to keep herself firmly on her feet.

“Aemond, we're going to be late.”

He smirked against her skin, a puff of air against her neck was all she needed to feel to know he felt that he'd won a game she wasn't aware they were playing.

“For what? Overpriced cocktails and obnoxious strangers?”

Her lips parted to retort, but his hand slid down her back, tracing a slow, deliberate path that left her unable to form a coherent thought.

He chuckled, the sound dark and rough, and the hand at her waist slipped lower, cupping her ass and pulling her firmly against him. She could feel the hard line of his arousal pressing against her, and heat bloomed in her core, spreading through her like wildfire.

“Now why would you think I'd waste my night out there…when I could stay in and watch you fall apart on my cock instead.”

Her breath hitched. “Aemond—”

“You like that idea, don’t you?” he interrupted, his tone smug and filthy. His hands gripped her hips now, guiding her against him in a slow grind that left no room for denial. “You’d rather let me spread you out right here, wouldn’t you? Make you beg for it, make you scream my name until you can’t think of anything else.”

The room felt hotter, the air heavier. She tried to steady herself, but his words were relentless, each one unraveling her resolve bit by bit.

“I’ll fuck you right here,” he continued, his hand sliding up her thigh, fingers brushing the hem of her skirt. “Against the wall, on the floor, over the back of the sofa, you can choose. But by the end of the night, you’ll be a mess. My mess.”

She pulled back to look at him, her cheeks flushed with need. There was no time for thoughts, she needed him, and clearly judging by his erection pressed against her stomach, he needed her too.

“Sofa,” she whispered.

He hummed, brushing his thumb over her kiss-swollen lips. “Fine,” he drawled, taking a step back and leading her toward the sofa.

His eye raked over her as he leaned back, one arm draped casually over the back, the other patting his thigh. “On top,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

She hesitated for a moment, the weight of his gaze searing into her.

“Don’t make me wait,” he snapped. “If you’re so desperate to be fucked, then you’re going to do the work, love. Show me how much you want it.”

Her cheeks burned as she straddled him slowly, the soft leather cool beneath her knees as she settled over his lap.

“That’s better,” he muttered, his hands gripping her hips with bruising force. “So good for me.”

She whimpered at his words, her thighs tightening around him as his fingers slid beneath the hem of her skirt, tracing the bare skin of her thighs.

“You think you deserve to ride me?” he sneered, his good eye narrowing as his hand slipped between them, finding the slick heat waiting for him. He groaned softly, his voice darkening. “Fuck, you’re already soaked. Such a desperate little slut.”

He punctuated the name with a soft, wet smack, her breath hitched in part pleasure and pain, but eased as his fingers brushed her clit, the teasing touch sending jolts of pleasure through her.

“Beg,” he commanded, his fingers circling lazily. “If you want to fuck yourself on my cock, you’re going to have to beg for it.”

Her pride wavered, teetering on the edge of defiance, but the ache in her core was too overwhelming. “Please,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

He chuckled darkly, his fingers pulling away entirely, leaving her whining in frustration. “That’s pathetic, even for you,” he smirked, “go on then, baby.”

She reached down, her trembling fingers undoing his belt and pulling his cock free. He was hard, thick, and the sight of him made her mouth go dry. She lined herself up, sinking down slowly, her walls stretching to accommodate him as her head fell back with a gasp.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his hands gripping her waist as he watched her. “That’s it. Take it all. Every inch. Don’t stop until you’ve got me buried inside that greedy little cunt.”

Her thighs trembled as she sank down fully, her body flush against his. She began to rock her hips, her movements tentative at first, but his sharp grip and the filthy words spilling from his lips spurred her on.

“Is that all you’ve got?” he taunted, his hand coming down hard on her ass with a sharp smack that made her cry out. “Come on, fucking work for it. If you want to come, you’re going to have to earn it.”

Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through her, the rough fabric of his jeans rubbing against her sensitive skin.

“Look at you,” he growled, his eyes locked on her. “So fucking needy, using me like a toy. Bet you don't even care about getting me off.”

And Gods, why would she when it felt this good?

General Taglist: @1lluminaticonfirmed @aemondsfavouritebastard @all-for-aemond @bellstwd @blackswxnn

@blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @cl-0-vr @eddieslut69

@emmaisafictionwhore @eponaartemisa @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust

@minholy223 @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @nixiefics

@primonizzutto @qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @sheshellsseashells

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the-cosmic-cauldron · 28 days ago

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Astrology Observation: ✈️🛫🇺🇸🇻🇳🇬🇧😜🫦💋☀️🥇🧘‍♀️🌳Places You Should Visit, Your Flirt Style, How You’ll Find Success & Spirituality That Resonates Based on Your Rising Sign ✈️🛫🇺🇸🇻🇳🇬🇧😜🫦💋☀️🥇🧘‍♀️🌳

Disclaimer: As always, if it doesn’t apply, let it fly. This was fun to make and I enjoyed being random and combining different themes. Happy December, the last month of 2024 & cheers to the holidays approaching 🎉🎊🥳

Aries Rising:

Places You Should Visit: Finland, Sweden, Switzerland, New Zealand, Japan, Canada, Costa Rica, Chile.

Flirt Style: Direct and clear, flirty teasing, compliments, showing off, taking intiative.

How You’ll Find Success: When you understand that your life is not meant for settling, you are the embodiment of constant refinement. If you succumb to pressure and don’t move at your own pace, you risk failure. For you, life is about finding pleasure and enjoyment in every moment.

Spirituality: Advaita Vedanta, Mystical Christianity, Kabbalah, Taoism, Shamanism, Buddhism, New Age Spirituality Animism, Theosophy, Pagnanism and Wicca, Indigenous Spiritualities

Taurus Rising:

Places To Visit: Traveling across the United States, Germany, Japan, Singapore, South Korea, Switzerland, Canada, Australia, UAE

Flirt Style: Subtle signals, listening, patient flirts, intentional compliments, subtle affirmations, quality time.

How You’ll Find Success: You are such an intellectually sound person who has the ability to change your trajectory at the drop of a hat. If you do not continue to explore your mental complexity and versatility, you will feel stuck. Explore all of your options; you are meant to expand, not limit yourself. Fill your cup up with all your wonderful ideas.

Spirituality: Stoicism, Confucianism, Bhagavad Gita, Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Paganism, Theosophy, New Age Spirituality, Indigenous Spirituality

Gemini Rising:

Places To Visit: Iceland, Finland, Netherlands, Sweden, Singapore, Switzerland, Canada, Uruguay, New Zealand.

Flirt Style: Open body language, sweet gestures, humorous, openly sharing, story telling, romantic gestures, casual and flexible.

How You’ll Find Success: Life for you is an intimate experience; the more intimacy you allow into your life, the more connected you will feel to all that is, which will spur much creativity to go after what you want. With support from the right sources, you’ll find that you are ready to kick-start your way to becoming a boss.

Spirituality: Buddhism, Taoism, Shintoism, Sufism, Hinduism, Sikhism, Christianity, Islam, Judaism.

Cancer Rising:

Places To Visit: Italy, France, Ireland, Switzerland, Japan, New Zealand, Greece, Indonesia, Turkey.

Flirt Style: Intense eye contact, calm demeanor, indirect comments, giving hints, subtle touches, deep conversations, giving full attention, engaging in shared interests.

How You’ll Find Success: When you embrace your playful side and allow life to be a mix of a hilarious comedy and a romantic film, you will find success. Instead of pigeonholing yourself to the mundane, express the most beautiful expressions of your mind and heart. When you’re supported by those who admire you and validate you, you will win! When your life is focused more on positivity and adventure, you will thrive!

Spirituality: Humanism, Unitarian Universalism, Rationalist Spirituality, Buddhism, Sufism, Modern Paganism.

Leo Rising:

Places To Visit: Major cities in the USA, Mexico, Spain, Switzerland, Iceland, UAE, Thailand, Japan, Brazil, Chile, Colombia, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, Morocco

Flirt Style: Adventurous and spontaneous, playful teasing, asking questions, animated body language, chill, very open, smiles a lot and expressive eyes, playful touching.

How You’ll Find Success: You have to be very clear and intentional about your goals. But you must find routines that work for you—your routine is everything. This includes your health, your presentation, how much you know, and how well you execute tasks. Carefully crafting these aspects helps create a successful person. Neatness, learning to communicate, and being a self-learner—constantly looking for ways to improve—are key to creating success.

Spirituality: Hinduism, Confucianism, Judaism, Shinto, Catholic, Islam, Wicca and Paganism, Tibetan Buddhism, Yoruba Religion, Ingenious Spiritualities

Virgo Rising:

Places To Visit: France, Italy, Switzerland, Greece, Portugal, Japan, Thailand, Bali, Vietnam, traveling across USA, Mexico, Argentina, Brazil, Colombia, New Zealand, Australia

Flirt Style: Cautious, straightforward and intentional, talking about their goals and standards, dressing up, emotionally distant, controlled body language, calm confidence, subtle tease.

How You’ll Find Success: The key for you is to put yourself out there. Once you start hanging around different people and having a great time doing it, you’ll find what really suits you and meet important people in your journey. Falling in love can also help give you purpose and drive. When you find more balance in your personality and life and can feel less driven towards hyperfixation, you will succeed.

Spirituality: Prosperity Gospel, New Thought Movement, Law of Attraction, Hinduism, Sufism, Yoruba, Taoism, Paganism, Buddhism, Kabbalah, Shamanism, Jainism

Libra Rising:

Places To Visit: Traveling throughout the USA, Japan, Germany, Singapore, Sweden, Canada, South Korea, Netherlands, UK, India, Finland, Israel

Flirt Style: Subtle and chill, quirky sense of humor, thoughtful and shares, mystery, hard to get energy, conversational, witty banter, talking about ideas, friendly debates, unique way of complimenting or gifting

How You’ll Find Success: To find success, you need to gain a very acute and keen focus and dedicate yourself to your passion—complete dedication for years and years. This starts with a need to experience change: change where you live, change your appearance. But overall, overcome your shadow side, embrace your darker elements, heal, and get deeply introspective. Through healing and becoming extremely focused and dedicated, you will reach success. Don’t let the past define you.

Spirituality: Buddhism, Jainism, Shinto, Taoism, Ayurveda, Zoroastrianism, Sufism, Christian Mysticism, Sikhism, Hygee, Stoicism, Native Spiritualities

Scorpio Rising:

Places To Visit: Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Finland, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, travel around the USA, Netherlands, Japan, Italy.

Flirt Style: Expressive through art forms, soft spoken, kind gestures, gentle touch, genuine interactions, calm and serene, understanding and patient.

How You’ll Find Success : To succeed, you have to allow yourself to think outside of the box and give yourself freedom. You need something that allows you to spread your wings and enjoy. Traveling will help you find success, as will moving your body, doing different things, and being explorative. Don’t limit yourself and stay positive—shaping your thoughts positively will help a lot, as well as surrounding yourself with different people, as they will bless you with a lot of support to gain success. Lastly, being authentic is a great way to ensure success.

Spirituality: Taoism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Sufism, New Age Spirituality, Progressive Christianity, Animism, Paganism, Humanism, Zen Spirituality.

Sagittarius Rising:

Places To Visit: Traveling around the USA, Spain, Brazil, UAE, Japan, France, Australia, South Africa, Netherlands, Hungary, Portugal, Argentina.

Flirty Style: Initiates conversations, expressive body language, playful and lively, uses compliments and verbal affirmations, playful teasing, direct, confident, engaged, positive vibes, animated.

How You’ll Find Success: The focus here has to be on patience. The key is to be patient so that when you take action, it’s not about instant gratification but about the long gain. Quality over quantity. Look towards what’s going to be lasting. Be discerning about who you let into your life, have discipline with what you do, be ambitious and go full throttle. Get deep into what you want out of life and be loyal to your goals. Grow thick skin and be resilient to any challenges by believing in yourself the most. Watch what you do because you have great positive karma—if you wield it well.

Spirituality: Gnosticism, Taoism, Mysticism, Occultism, Shamanism, Buddhism, Neopaganism, Sufism.

Capricorn Rising:

Places To Visit: Switzerland, Japan, Iceland, Norway, Sweden, Denmark, New Zealand, Canada, Australia, Netherlands.

Flirt Style: Touchy feely, eye contact, enjoying quality time, bonding over shared activities, consistency, building a foundation, being present, slow and steady.

How You’ll Find Success: Invest in your grand ideas; you have just the right amount of ambition and pragmatism to execute them. Don’t ever feel like you’re the odd one out because your brain is your asset, and it will carry you far. So, allow your vivid mind to be seen. Don’t be afraid because you can make predictions about the future without even knowing how—your intuition will lead you far if you don’t suppress it. Friends are important for your success, as well as being involved in life. Be hands-on, get out there, speak your truth, and share your voice. Show up, socialize, and share your message. A lot of people will be invested in you—don’t back out. Go far and accept the odd and eccentric parts of yourself. Don’t be afraid of giving because you will be blessed tenfold in return.

Spirituality: Taoism, Sufism, Buddhism, Humanism, New Age Spirituality, Paganism, Existentialism.

Aquarius Rising:

Places To Visit: France, Italy, Spain, Greece, around the USA, Australia, Switzerland, Canada, UK, Portugal, Thailand, New Zealand, Japan

Flirt Style: Quick witted, sharing knowledge, switching topics, funny jokes, teasing, switching up moods, constantly desiring stimulation or intrigue, intellectual conversations.

How You’ll Find Success: Look at your emotions and pay attention to them—they have such an impact. Don’t just abandon your feelings or retreat into hermit mode when you experience them; explore the reasons behind the feelings, do art, dance, and allow yourself to think of and imagine the endless possibilities available to you! Embrace your pure heart and connect with people who are calm, artistic, and chill—they will help you pour more into your essence and guide you towards your imagination. In your imagination lies the key to your success. Focus on your dreams, your intuition, those moments you can’t explain, and connect to your ancestors. Truly dive deep into the other world and heal your soul. Connect and find a genuine, loving group of people who will continue to create art, come up with endless imaginative ideas, and nurture you without judgment. This is where you flourish.

Spirituality: Christianity, Buddhism, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism, Taoism, Mormonism, Sikhism, African Religions.

Pisces Rising:

Places To Visit: Italy, France, UK, Greece, Turkey, Egypt, Japan, Czech Republic, Russia, India, Peru, Sweden, Mexico, Ireland

Flirt Style: Openly and thoughtfully express feelings, take their time to open up, slow and steady, kind and considerate, moody and can be expressive and then introspective, meaningful conversations.

How You’ll Find Success: Embrace your passions, as they fuel you to take action. Without engaging in things you truly love, you risk stagnation. Allow your passions to move you and get hands-on. Don’t feel forced into a box; allow your passions to change and to shift focus. The bottom line is to go after what ignites a fire in you and what brings peace to your inner child. Take action and don’t hesitate—you have the universe on your side when you make bold decisions. Learn to communicate clearly and don’t be afraid to work on your many ideas and fantasies alone! You shine brightly on your own, and people will be intrigued by you. Hang around people with dynamic, passionate, and assertive energy—they will help you significantly and allow you to take the reins yourself.

Spirituality: Humanism, Paganism, Unitarian Universalism, Sufism, Spiritual Humanism, Buddhism, Daoism, New Age Spirituality, New Thought Movement, Feminist Spirituality.

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alexanderwales · 19 days ago

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We watched the cartoon version of the How the Grinch Stole Christmas!, the old one, and when laying out his problems with Christmas, 95% of his complaints are that people are making too much noise.

And you know, I've always been a bit of a Grinch myself, but this is a crazy small scope for Christmas complaints. In his whole opening list of complaints, it's 18 lines about sounds, and 4 lines about the feast, and ... what, no trenchant observations on consumerism and waste? No skewering of the frankly hideous Christmas aesthetic? The light pollution draped over every house? The way the holiday has ballooned past an inflation fetishist's wild dreams to start fill the entire month of December and most of November?

But no, for the Grinch it's all about the sounds. Does the Grinch maybe just have misophonia?

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dailyrothko · 1 month ago

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News!

From the Rothko Chapel

We are pleased to announce that the Rothko Chapel, which has been closed since hurricane Beryl hit Houston last July, will reopen to the public on December 17. The Chapel will be open during the following holiday hours: 10 a.m. to 5 p.m.

Tuesday through Sunday, December 17-22, and from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. December 24-January 5 (except on December 25 and January 1, when hours will be 12 p.m. to 5 p.m.).

Hurricane Beryl brought exceptionally heavy rain and gale-force winds that resulted in leakage through the Chapel's roof. Part of the ceiling and several walls sustained water damage, and four of Mark Rothko's panels were also affected to varying degrees.

Immediately after the storm, the Chapel engaged Whitten & Proctor Fine Art Conservation, one of the country's premier art-conservation firms, to lead the conservation analysis and assessment. The affected panels are now undergoing careful restoration at an off-site facility and will be returned to the Chapel once the work is complete, with additional information on them forthcoming. The water-streaked walls and ceiling have also been repaired and repainted.

"Since the storm, our focus has been on the complete repair of the building, the restoration of the damaged panels, and on the reopening of the building so the public once again has access to this beloved space for contemplation and meditation; said Executive Director David Leslie. "Getting to this point has been a true community effort involving an amazing team of art conservators, scientists, art handlers, volunteers, community partners, and Chapel staff, and we are very excited to reopen in time for the holidays.

The Chapel resumed its program season this fall at off-site locations and will host its first program in the Chapel - its annual MLK Observance, "Sick of War: Discussing Health Impacts of US Militarism" - on January 15, 2025. The Suzanne Deal Booth Welcome House, located at 1410 Sul Ross Street, remains open from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. Tuesday through Sunday to provide information and hospitality to those who visit.

#mark rothko #rothko chapel

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honeyhae-svt · 23 days ago

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❄ mistletoe - h. joshua 🎄

hong joshua x gn!reader

december with seventeen ! 3/13 tags: joshua x reader, holiday au, christmas love story, snowball fight, mistletoe kiss, fluff, romance, cozy vibes, snow angels, warmth in the cold, friends to lovers, slow burn, winter vibes genre: romance, fluff, holiday/christmas au, friendship, humor warnings: none (this is a fluff-filled story with light teasing and playful moments) wc: 3702 a/n: 3/13 ! ten to go. PLAY MISTLETOE BY JUSTIN BIEBER RN !!

the town square was alive with the kind of magic only december could bring. strings of fairy lights draped over every lamppost, their soft glow reflecting off the freshly fallen snow. the scent of roasted chestnuts and cinnamon wafted through the air, mingling with the sound of laughter and the occasional jingle of sleigh bells. stalls lined the cobblestone paths, each one adorned with wreaths and red bows, offering everything from hand-knitted scarves to steaming cups of mulled cider.

you pulled your coat tighter around you, your breath visible in the frosty air as you glanced at the clipboard in your gloved hands. "decorations—check. food vendors—check. sound system…" your eyes scanned the square, landing on a small stage being set up at the far end. "pending."

"you’re doing great, by the way," a voice piped up beside you. turning, you saw karina, the friend who had somehow convinced you to volunteer for this event. she was bundled in a puffy coat and a bright red scarf, her cheeks flushed from the cold, pretty as ever.

"sure," you replied with a wry smile. "because frantically running around and triple-checking lists just screams ‘competent.’"

karina laughed, linking her arm with yours. "it’s your first christmas in town. you’re supposed to be soaking in the charm, not stressing over the details."

"says the person who handed me this clipboard," you teased, nudging her lightly.

"okay, fair," she admitted, grinning. "but trust me, once the festival starts, you’ll forget all about the clipboard. besides, we’ve got an amazing performer lined up."

"oh?" you asked, only half-listening as you scanned the square again. "who is it?"

karina's eyes sparkled mischievously. "you’ll see."

before you could press her for more details, she gave your arm a squeeze and darted off, leaving you standing there with equal parts curiosity and exasperation. shaking your head, you turned your attention back to the clipboard, unaware of the pair of eyes watching you from across the square.

joshua hong adjusted the strap of his guitar case, a small smile tugging at his lips as he observed the flustered but determined volunteer coordinating the chaos. he didn’t recognize you, which was unusual in a town where everyone seemed to know everyone. a newcomer, then. interesting.

"ready to soundcheck?" one of the event organizers called to him.

joshua nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before heading toward the stage.

the festival was in full swing, but you were too busy juggling a stack of boxes filled with ornaments to notice the festive cheer buzzing around you. balancing the boxes precariously, you tried to maneuver your way through the crowd, offering polite apologies to anyone who accidentally bumped into you.

"need a hand?"

the smooth voice startled you, and you turned to see a tall figure in a dark coat and scarf, his smile warm enough to melt the frost clinging to the air. he gestured toward the wobbling stack in your arms.

"uh, i… sure, thanks," you stammered, a little flustered as he easily took half the load. it wasn’t until you glanced at him again that recognition hit. this was the performer karina had been so cryptic about. joshua hong—the local celebrity with a voice that could make christmas carols sound like love songs.

"you’re doing all this by yourself?" he asked, his tone light as the two of you made your way toward the main decoration stall.

"it’s kind of in the job description," you replied, setting the boxes down with a relieved sigh. "volunteer extraordinaire, at your service."

joshua chuckled, the sound rich and genuine. "well, volunteer extraordinaire, you’ve got some serious multitasking skills. but even superheroes need a sidekick, right?"

before you could respond, a group of kids came barreling past, almost knocking over a nearby display of poinsettias. you instinctively reached out to steady it, your clipboard slipping from under your arm in the process. joshua caught it before it hit the ground, his reflexes quick.

"definitely a sidekick," he quipped, handing it back to you with a playful grin.

"thanks," you murmured, still trying to steady yourself—and not just because of the near mishap. there was something about him, a natural ease that seemed to blend seamlessly with the festive chaos, leaving you both intrigued and… frustratingly charmed.

the two of you spent the next hour working together, joshua insisting on helping with everything from stringing lights to setting up tables. his presence drew curious glances from passersby, but he didn’t seem to mind, focused instead on making you laugh with little jokes and observations.

"you’ve got glitter on your face," he pointed out at one point, gesturing vaguely toward your cheek.

"what? where?" you asked, swiping at your face awkwardly.

he leaned in slightly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "here, let me…" he said softly, brushing a thumb just below your cheekbone. the gesture was innocent enough, but it sent a wave of heat rushing to your face nonetheless.

as the evening progressed, the mistletoe seemed to become a running joke. every time you turned around, it felt like one of the sprigs was conveniently hanging nearby, and joshua never missed an opportunity to point it out.

"you know, it’s practically a crime to ignore mistletoe," he said, his tone teasing as the two of you stood under yet another sprig while rearranging a table display.

"pretty sure it’s optional," you shot back, trying to sound unfazed.

he tilted his head, feigning deep thought. "hmm, maybe. but it’s bad luck to tempt fate during the holidays."

"you’re impossible," you muttered, though you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

"and yet, here we are," he replied smoothly, his grin making it clear he was thoroughly enjoying this little game.

despite the teasing, there was a sincerity in his actions that made it hard to stay flustered for long. whether it was handing you a cup of hot cocoa when he noticed you shivering or helping an elderly vendor fix a stubborn string of lights, joshua had a way of making everything feel a little brighter.

by the time the night wound down, you couldn’t deny that he’d left an impression—one that lingered long after the last stall had closed and the fairy lights cast their soft glow over the empty square.

the festival's glow had long since faded as the crowd dispersed, leaving only a few lingering souls, each wrapped in the warmth of the evening's festivities. you were wrapping up, your clipboard now a crumpled relic of the day, as the final touches were made to the stalls. the soft crunch of snow underfoot was the only sound as you made your way toward the town's ice skating rink, your steps slow and heavy from a long day of coordinating and running errands.

but then, you heard it—joshua's voice, light and warm as ever, calling your name from behind.

"hey," he greeted, appearing beside you with a steaming cup of hot chocolate in hand. "thought you might need a break."

you smiled, accepting the drink gratefully. "thanks. this night’s been… a lot." your gaze shifted, following the snowflakes drifting down, blanketing the square in a thick layer of white.

"i can imagine," joshua said, his tone soft but carrying an undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite place. he fell into step beside you, matching your slow pace. "you’ve been running around all day, coordinating everything. that's impressive."

"well," you shrugged, wrapping your hands around the cup. "someone had to make sure everything was in order." you stole a glance at him, noting the way he seemed a little distant, his usual playful demeanor dimming slightly.

"yeah," joshua murmured, but there was a hesitation in his voice that made you glance at him more closely. "i heard you talking earlier. about leaving after christmas?"

you froze. the warmth from the cocoa seemed to drain from your fingers as the weight of his words sank in. "what?" you asked, trying to steady your voice, but a knot had already formed in your stomach.

"you said something about going back to the city, after the festival. thought i'd check if that’s still the plan." his voice was carefully neutral, though his gaze was intense, searching yours.

you couldn’t help the confusion that bubbled up. "oh, that… yeah, i’ve got some things to sort out. after the holidays, i’m going back." you tried to brush it off, but there was something in his eyes that made you pause. "but it’s not like i’m leaving forever. i’ll be back for work and stuff."

there was a long silence between you, one that stretched out uncomfortably as joshua seemed to retreat further into himself, his gaze now fixed ahead.

"right," he said quietly. "well, i guess that makes sense." his words were distant, the playfulness from earlier all but gone. it was strange, this shift in him. you were used to his teasing, the way he would joke and make everything feel easy, but now… now he seemed so different. like he’d closed off in a way you didn’t understand.

"joshua," you called softly, hesitating. "are you… are you okay?"

he turned to you then, his expression unreadable. for a moment, there was only the sound of the wind and the soft hum of the distant festival. and then, he smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "yeah, i’m fine. just, you know, a little tired. long day, that’s all."

you weren’t convinced. you wanted to press him for more, to understand why the joshua you knew was suddenly so distant. but the words caught in your throat, leaving you frustrated and unsure.

"i’ll teach you how to skate," he added quickly, as if to change the subject, his eyes lighting up with a new, brighter energy. "if you’re up for it, that is."

you nodded, grateful for the distraction. "sure, why not? i’ve never tried before."

joshua led you to the rink, his hand naturally brushing against yours as you approached the edge. there was a quiet moment between you, both of you standing there, bundled up in scarves and jackets, staring out at the ice. joshua grinned at you, his usual playful self returning just a little.

"okay, so," he began, his voice light. "first rule of skating: try not to fall."

"great," you muttered, already dreading the inevitable disaster that was about to unfold.

he laughed, a low, easy sound that filled the space between you. "don’t worry, i’ve got you. just hold onto my hand and follow my lead."

you hesitated but then took a deep breath, letting him guide you onto the ice. your legs wobbled beneath you at first, but joshua's grip on your hand was steady, reassuring. he guided you slowly, laughing when you nearly slipped.

"hey, you're doing better than i thought," he teased, his voice warm with the familiar teasing tone. "maybe i should start calling you a skating prodigy."

"please," you muttered, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest at the way his hand felt in yours. "i’m just not falling on my face yet."

joshua's grin widened. "yet."

you spent the next few minutes skating together, him teaching you the basics and laughing when you stumbled. the chill in the air seemed to disappear in his presence, replaced by something warm—something that settled in your chest every time his hand brushed against yours or he flashed you that smile. and yet, that nagging feeling still lingered, the one that told you something was off between you two.

finally, after a few more rounds on the rink, joshua stopped, pulling you to the side near a snow-covered path. the area was quieter now, the glow of the festival a distant memory behind you, and the snow felt like it had carved out a little world just for the two of you.

"i don’t want you to leave," joshua said, his voice quieter than before, his hand still holding yours, but this time, there was no teasing. only sincerity. "not just yet. i… i think i’ve caught feelings for you."

you blinked, taken aback by his confession. "joshua, i… i didn’t think you—"

"i know, i know," he interrupted, his face flushed from the cold and his words coming out a little rushed. "i've been acting distant, and i hate that i did, but i didn’t know how to say it. i just thought maybe you wouldn’t feel the same. or maybe you’d leave town and… well, then it would be too late."

you stood there for a moment, the weight of his words settling over you, mixing with the surprise and the warmth that bubbled up inside. it was hard to process, but the more you thought about it, the clearer it became.

"joshua," you said softly, your voice catching in your throat. "i didn't realize... but now that i know, i don’t want to leave things unsaid either."

he stepped a little closer, his gaze never leaving yours, and then, in a soft, sincere voice, he asked, "so… what does that mean? for us?"

you smiled, your heart suddenly light as the snow falling around you. "it means, i’m not leaving just yet. and maybe… just maybe… we should see where this goes."

joshua’s face broke into a grin, his relief palpable. but then, he hesitated, his eyes searching yours with a new intensity. "well, if that’s the case…" he began, his voice almost shy now. "how about you let me take you out on a date? nothing fancy, just… i don’t know, some hot cocoa and maybe a walk under the lights, or even a skating rink if you’re up for it?"

you felt your heart skip a beat. a date? it hadn’t even crossed your mind that he was thinking of this, of taking things further already. but the sincerity in his eyes, the way he held himself so openly, made you feel a warmth that spread through you.

"joshua…" you said, your smile growing, "i think that sounds pretty perfect."

his grin widened, and for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped moving around you. all that was left was the two of you, standing under the twinkling lights, the soft sound of falling snow, and the gentle press of his hand in yours.

"then it’s a date," he said, the playful spark returning to his eyes. "i promise, i’ll make it a night you won’t forget."

you laughed softly, feeling a little shy but also strangely giddy. "i’m looking forward to it," you replied, your voice lighter than it had been all evening.

the two of you stood there, the world quiet except for the soft hum of the holiday festivities in the distance, and as the snow continued to fall around you, you realized that this moment—this beginning—was more than you could’ve ever hoped for.

just as the two of you were about to say something, a snowball suddenly hit you in the back of the head, causing you to freeze in surprise.

"gotcha!" karina called out, her laughter ringing through the air. she was grinning mischievously, clearly delighted with herself. "you two look like you’re in your own little world over here, all lovey-dovey."

you turned to karina, your face flushed, and tried to glare at her, but it was hard to stay mad with the way her eyes were sparkling. before you could say anything, joshua was already brushing the snow off your coat, his hands gentle but quick.

"don’t want you to get cold," he said, his voice soft, but his eyes playful as he made sure no snow clung to you.

"oh, how sweet," karina teased, crossing her arms. "you’re really spoiling her now, huh?"

"well, someone has to take care of her," joshua shot back, a grin tugging at his lips as he wrapped his scarf tighter around your neck. you felt your heart warm at his protectiveness, but then—

"oh, it’s on," karina said, her tone wickedly playful as she scooped up a snowball, launching it straight at joshua.

he ducked easily, and with a smirk, he returned the favor. "watch out, karina!" he warned, before launching a snowball of his own in her direction.

within moments, snowballs were flying in every direction. karina and joshua were laughing and dodging, trying to outwit each other while you stood by, completely unprepared for the chaos.

"you’re just gonna stand there?" karina yelled, throwing another snowball, but you had no time to react. joshua immediately stepped in front of you, raising his arms to block the incoming snowball.

"stay behind me," he said firmly, his tone teasing but protective. "i won’t let you get hit."

"what?" you laughed, "you’re treating me like a princess or something."

"hey, you don’t have gloves on," he said, his eyes soft but mischievous. "besides, you’re too precious to get hit with a snowball."

you rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest made it impossible to say anything sarcastic. joshua had this way of making everything feel just a little bit magical.

"you better not be hiding behind him the whole time," karina shouted, tossing yet another snowball, but joshua dodged it easily, taking a few steps back to shield you further.

"i think i’ll hide behind him forever," you joked, poking joshua in the ribs as he grinned, clearly enjoying the attention.

before you could say anything else, karina threw a big snowball right at joshua, catching him off guard. the impact sent him stumbling backward, and before either of you knew it, he lost his balance completely and fell straight into the snow.

"oh no!" you gasped, quickly bending down to check on him. but as soon as you did, karina laughed triumphantly, her arms raised in victory.

"i finally got him!" she cheered.

but the celebration was short-lived, because in the next second, joshua reached up, grabbing your wrist, and pulled you down beside him. the two of you ended up laughing uncontrollably in the snow, your bodies making soft impressions in the cold ground as you rolled and tumbled together, trying to escape karina’s playful attacks.

"looks like we’re stuck now," joshua teased, his breath visible in the cold air as you both lay there, staring up at the sky, giggling.

"we’re definitely stuck," you agreed, a smile tugging at your lips as you made angel marks in the snow beside him, your body creating the perfect shape next to his. "this is nice."

"perfect, actually," joshua murmured, his voice low and warm as he reached over to take your hand, squeezing it gently. "snow angels with you? i can’t think of a better way to spend the night."

"me neither," you said softly, still laughing, but with a feeling of contentment filling you from head to toe. you looked at him, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade, leaving only the sound of your laughter and the soft, fluffy snow that surrounded you.

karina, watching from a distance, rolled her eyes dramatically. "you two are impossible," she muttered, but her smile was as warm as the Christmas lights twinkling overhead.

joshua turned to you, his grin wide and genuine, his eyes sparkling with something more than just playfulness now. "hey, maybe we can do this again tomorrow?" he asked, his voice filled with hope.

you smiled, your heart light as a snowflake. "i’d like that."

"good," he said, his hand still holding yours, his fingers brushing gently against yours. "because there’s no one else i’d rather make snow angels with."

after karina left to give the two of you some space (or maybe she was just going to find her next snowball victim), the quiet of the night settled in, with the soft crunch of snow beneath your boots as you walked together. the night was peaceful now, the only sound being the occasional giggle between you and joshua as you made your way back to where the lights twinkled in the distance.

as you were walking, joshua stopped suddenly, his eyes catching something above. you followed his gaze and found yourself staring at a mistletoe, hanging just above you both, tucked between two snowy branches of a nearby tree. the sight made your heart skip a beat.

"well, well," joshua said, his voice low and teasing, "looks like we’ve been caught under the mistletoe."

you looked up at him, trying to suppress a grin, but it was impossible. the way he was looking at you—like he was waiting for something, and maybe even hoping for something—made your cheeks heat up.

"what are we supposed to do now?" you teased, trying to play it cool, but the fluttering in your chest gave away just how nervous you were.

"i think you know exactly what to do," he replied with a smirk, his eyes softening as he stepped closer to you. snowflakes dusted his hair and shoulders, and his cheeks were still flushed from the cold, but his warmth—his presence—felt like a blanket around you.

you took a small step toward him, your heart racing. "maybe," you said softly, your breath mixing with the chilly air. "but it’s your turn to make the move."

joshua’s smile widened, his fingers brushing gently against your cheek, brushing away the stray snowflakes that had landed there. "well, if you insist," he murmured, his voice a tender whisper against the quiet night.

then, with a small laugh, he leaned in. the world around you seemed to slow down, the falling snowflakes swirling in the air, everything silent except for the beating of your hearts. his lips were warm against yours, and for that brief moment, everything else faded. there was only the softness of the kiss and the sparkling snow around you, as if the world had paused to give you this perfect moment.

when you pulled away, your noses still brushing, joshua chuckled softly. "i think that’s the best Christmas kiss i’ve ever had."

you laughed, feeling lighter than air. "i think i might agree," you said, your hand slipping into his as you both stood under the mistletoe, still covered in snow, but with warmth radiating between you.

"so," joshua said, squeezing your hand, "what else can we do to make this night even better?"

you smiled up at him, a mischievous glint in your eye. "we can start by making more snow angels."

joshua laughed, shaking his head. "always trying to get me into the snow, huh?"

"you’re lucky i like snow," you teased, nudging him playfully, your heart full of warmth despite the cold air around you.

"well, i’m lucky to be with you," he said, his voice full of sincerity. "this is the best christmas i’ve ever had."

"me too," you whispered, your heart swelling with happiness. and in that moment, with snow falling softly and the mistletoe still above you, everything felt perfectly, wonderfully right.

december with seventeen ! 3/13

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 1 year ago

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Do You Still Love Me?

masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here!

in which, harrys been acting shifty lately, when your looking for a shirt in his wardrobe, he gets hostile, when you say your going to go and shower, he gets hostile and for some reason doubts start to creep into your mind about what he’s been doing, so when you confront him about it, he tells you of his secret all along.

word count - 3.1k

23rd December, 2023.

The December air in Holmes Chapel holds a crisp chill, and as you sit in the cozy living room of Harry's family home in Manchester, the warmth envelops you. The room is adorned with festive cheer – a beautifully decorated Christmas tree takes center stage, casting a soft glow of twinkling lights.

The two of you had decided to spend Christmas at his family’s like you do every year, you’ve blended into a member of there family, as if you were always there. Anne considered you as another daughter, and sometimes on accident you sometimes referred to Gemma as your sister, so spending Christmas with them was undoubtedly a no brainer.

You were going to be staying for a total of three weeks, arriving two weeks before the big day and then going home January 1st.

You find comfort on the sofa, admiring the personalized stockings that hang from the mantelpiece, proudly displaying everyone’s initials. One for Harry, one for you, one for Gemma, one for Anne as well as one that is put up every year, an R, for everyone’s angel Robin. The stockings serve as a poignant reminder of the shared holiday traditions and the presence of loved ones, including a thoughtful tribute to his late stepfather.

As you await Harry's return from the grocery shop with his mother and sister, you revel in the tranquility of the moment. The crackling fireplace adds a soothing soundtrack to the scene, enhancing the coziness of the room. You can't help but reflect on the significance of spending Christmas in this familiar space, filled with memories of the past four years.

However, amidst the festive atmosphere, a subtle unease lingers. Lately, you've observed a shift in Harry's demeanor. His actions and words have become increasingly shifty, leaving you with a sense of uncertainty.

He dances around conversations, offering vague responses that only intensify your curiosity. It's a stark contrast to the openness and connection you've shared over the years, causing a quiet concern to settle within you.

You gaze at the stockings once more, the embroidered initials a testament to the bonds that tie your lives together. Yet, as you sit in the glow of the Christmas lights, a question lingers in the air – a question you can't quite bring yourself to voice. The flickering flames cast shadows on the wall, mirroring the uncertainty that clouds your thoughts, which happen to consist of the three moments that you’ve caught him acting weird.

15th December, 2023.

The date was December 15th, and the evening held a quiet tension as you sat on the sofa in Harry's family home, the soft glow of lamplight illuminating the room.

Anne, occupied herself with knitting a jumper, a rhythmic pattern of needles clacking together in the stillness. The warmth of the room, usually comforting, now seemed to underscore an unspoken discomfort.

Around eight at night, the front door creaked open, and Harry entered, an unusual weariness etched across his features.

He had gone out around two, and it was now evening, he just explained to you that a few friends from school wanted to meet up before Christmas, but there was a hint of doubt that remained in your brain.

You couldn't help but inquire about his whereabouts, a hint of concern in your voice.

"Where've you been, Harry?" you asked, eyes searching his face for answers. He shrugged nonchalantly, a vague response that only deepened the unease settling in the room.

Attempting to break through the tension, you pressed further, a furrow forming on your brow. "What's wrong?"

The question hung in the air, met with a dismissive reply.

"Just tired, m’love. Think I might hit the hay early tonight," he mumbled, avoiding eye contact. The words lingered, laden with unspoken weight, leaving you with a sense of disquiet.

As Harry made his way toward the stairs, you couldn't let the matter rest. Concern etched across your face, you followed him, determined to understand the source of his unease. His hand halted you mid-step, a silent plea for space. Unbeknownst to you that it pained him, because he was doing it for the right reason.

"I'd like t’be alone for a little bit," he uttered, the distance in his eyes leaving you feeling shut out.

Left standing at the foot of the staircase, a chasm seemed to widen between you and Harry. The uncertainty echoed in the air, and as he ascended the stairs, the door to understanding remained firmly closed. The normally familiar and comforting surroundings felt alien, the clinking of Anne's knitting needles a somber soundtrack to the unspoken rift.

That night, as you lay in bed, questions lingered in the darkness. The echoes of Harry's vague responses resonated, and a sense of foreboding cast a shadow over what was once a haven of warmth and connection.

19th December, 2023.

The chill of December hangs in the air as you step through the front door, returning from the farmers market with Gemma. The aroma of fresh produce lingers on your clothes, and a shiver runs down your spine as the warmth of the cozy living room beckons.

The house is quiet, save for the faint sounds emanating from the kitchen, where Harry is preparing a cup of coffee for himself.

You navigate the familiar space, following the scent of brewing coffee that wafts through the air. The kitchen is dimly lit, and there he is, Harry, standing by the counter, lost in the quiet ritual of making coffee. His silhouette is a comforting sight, a presence that adds to the warmth of the home.

You make your way up the steps, wanting to be comfy when you greet your lover boy.

The December cold clings to your skin, urging you to shed the layers of the outside world. A yearning for warmth and comfort consumes you, and the thought of slipping into one of Harry's oversized shirts becomes a tempting refuge. The familiarity of his presence in the adjacent room promises solace in the face of the winter chill.

As you move toward the bedroom, the creaking floorboards beneath your feet seem to echo in the quietude of the house.

Gemma strolled into the kitchen, the door swinging gently behind her. She found her brother,

Harry, leaning against the counter, sipping on a cup of coffee. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee beans hung in the air as he greeted her with a cheerful " ‘Ey, how was the market?"

Gemma looked up, offering a warm smile. "It was good, got some nice stuff.

Harry hummed before tilting his head to the side. “Where’s (Y/N)?”

Gemma mirrored his smile, her eyes lighting up. "She went upstairs to get changed, though."

Harry nodded, his attention momentarily diverted as he took another sip of his coffee. However, a realisation dawned on him, and he furrowed his brow. "Wait, she's upstairs?"

Gemma, unaware of the subtle shift in Harry's demeanor, nodded. "Yeah, she mentioned wanting to warm up and change. Why?"

Harry's gaze darted toward the staircase, a sudden sense of urgency gripping him.

"No reason, just wanted t’check on ‘er. Be right back," he said, placing his coffee mug on the counter.

With a quick stride, he headed toward the stairs, a mild curiosity turning into a subtle concern. As he ascended, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. When he reached the top of the staircase, he spotted you about to enter the bedroom, ready to change.

"Hold on a sec," he called out, hastily covering the distance to stand before you, his expression a mix of surprise and tension. "Y’not allowed in there."

Because in his head, if you wanted to get changed, you’d go to his section of the wardrobe because he knows that you’d want one of his shirts, and then you’d find the surprise and he wasn’t planning on ruining that any time soon.

You paused, mid-step, your brow furrowing. "What do you mean, not allowed? H, I'm just getting changed."

His features tightened with an unexpected intensity. "I said, y’not allowed in there," he repeated, the words hanging heavily in the air.

Confusion and concern painted your expression as you took a step back. "Harry, what's going on? Why can't I go into our bedroom?"

His gaze remained fixed, a wall building between you two. "Just... not right now. I need Don't go in there."

You sighed, a heavy breath escaping you, and nodded in resignation. "Fine, whatever. Just get me some clothes, please."

Harry's shoulders tensed, and he hesitated before nodding. "Ye’okay. I'll get y’some clothes."

22nd December, 2023.

You can't help but replay the scenes in your mind—the December evenings, the vague responses, the moments when he seemed to withdraw. Each memory adds a layer of doubt, and as you connect the dots, a stray tear rolls down your face. The fear of him cheating on you lingers, casting a shadow over the warmth that once permeated your shared space.

The absence of Harry, his mother, and sister intensifies the solitude, and the room feels emptier than ever. The Christmas tree, adorned with memories, offers little solace in the face of the growing suspicion. You contemplate the significance of the three instances, questioning the foundation of trust that once defined your relationship.

In the quiet of the room, the tear on your cheek becomes a silent witness to the emotional turmoil within. The fear of betrayal, the uncertainty, and the unanswered questions create a palpable tension, leaving you to grapple with the haunting possibility that the person you love may be slipping away.

As the front door creaks open, signaling their return from the grocery shopping trip, Harry, his mother, and sister step into the living room. The warmth of familial greetings fills the air, and they collectively acknowledge your presence with smiles and hellos. The shared laughter and banter among them, however, are met with a strained silence on your part.

As Harry approaches, intending to seal the reunion with a customary kiss, you rise from the sofa. The heaviness in the room seems to amplify as you avoid his attempt at affection. You make a deliberate choice to distance yourself, turning away from the warmth that once brought solace and comfort.

With measured steps, you ascend the staircase, each footfall echoing a growing emotional distance. The decision to retreat upstairs becomes a silent declaration of your need for space, a momentary escape from the complexities that have woven themselves into your relationship. The unanswered questions and the lingering fear make it challenging to engage in the familial camaraderie that unfolds below.

As you walk away and ascend the stairs, the atmosphere in the living room subtly shifts. Anne, Harry's mother, notices the change in dynamics and glances at her son, concerned etching her features.

"Everything alright, love?" she asks, a mother's intuition sensing the unspoken tension.

Harry, removing his jacket and shoes, offers a dismissive smile. "Ye’, just gonna check on (Y/N) . Be right back."

His attempt to brush off the situation adds a layer of ambiguity to the air, leaving Anne with a lingering worry that she can't quite shake.

Upstairs, Harry follows in your footsteps, the silence between you palpable. As he enters the room, he finds you standing near the window, gazing out into the night.

"Ey’," he begins tentatively, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty. "S’going on? Are y’okay?"

Tearfully, you turn around to face him, emotions laid bare in your eyes. The air is thick with a mixture of sorrow and uncertainty as you pose a question that lingers in the silent space,

"Do you still love me?"

The vulnerability in your voice cuts through the room, leaving an atmosphere heavy with the anticipation of his response. Harry, caught off guard by the rawness of the question, searches your eyes for understanding.

Harry, caught off guard, furrows his brow defensively. "F’course, I do. Why would y’even think otherwise?"

His tone carries a mixture of hurt and frustration, an instinctive response to the implication that the love between you might be in question.

The room becomes charged with an anguished tension as you gather the courage to voice the unspoken concerns that have festered. "It's just... you've been acting so differently lately. There are these moments, these instances when you seem so distant. I can't help but feel like there's something you're not telling me."

Harry's defensive stance persists as he denies any wrongdoing.

"M’don't know what y’talking about. S’nothing going on," he insists, avoiding eye contact. The weight of his denial adds another layer to the unease in the room, leaving you to grapple with the growing chasm between you two.

The frustration builds, and you press further, "Harry, you can't just brush this off. It feels like you're hiding something, and I deserve to know what's going on."

The plea in your voice is met with a guarded expression from Harry, his defensive walls standing tall.

The room seems to tighten with each passing moment, the emotional stakes escalating.

"M’not hiding anything," Harry asserts, his voice tinged with exasperation. "Y’reading into things, making a big deal out f’nothing."

As the back-and-forth continues, a sense of despair settles in.

"Harry, I need honesty. We can't move forward if you keep shutting me out," you implore, the depth of your emotions exposed. Yet, his walls remain intact, and the elusive nature of the truth becomes a palpable barrier.

The echoes of their laughter from downstairs seem like distant memories now, drowned out by the intensity of the conversation unfolding.

"Just tell me, Harry. Tell me what's going on,the time you stopped me coming upstairs with you, the time you stopped me coming into the bedroom and had a go at me for wanting to go on your phone " you plead, your voice cracking under the weight of the unresolved tension.

The emotional exchange reaches a breaking point, leaving you on the floor, sobbing, desperate for answers. The weight of the uncertainty, the unspoken tensions, and the fear of losing the connection you once cherished overwhelm you. The room becomes a backdrop for your vulnerability, the walls echoing with the sound of your heartache.

Amidst your tears, you hear Harry sigh, and the rustle of a box catches your attention. He crouches down beside you, the heaviness in the air momentarily shifting.

"Look at m’please," he implores gently, his voice carrying a tone of sincerity that cuts through the emotional fog.

Hesitant, you raise your tear-stained eyes to meet his. His gaze holds a mixture of regret and determination, and he asks you to stand up. Every fiber of your being is hesitant, a cocktail of emotions bubbling beneath the surface. Reluctantly, you rise, uncertainty written all over your face.

As you stand, Harry, now on one knee, pulls out a small box. The room seems to hold its breath as he meets your gaze.

"V’been acting shifty because v’been planning this," he confesses, his voice soft yet earnest. "I wanted it t’be a surprise, but the timing... it just got all messed up."

"From the moment we met, m’life gained a sparkle that I never knew I needed. V’been m’confidante, m’partner in laughter, and the steady warmth that completes every corner of m’world. These past four years ‘ave been a journey f’growth, laughter, and endless love. Y’seen me at m’best and m’worst, yet y’loved m’unwaveringly."

He lets out a soft sigh. “Will y’make m’the happiest person in the world and say yes?"

Overwhelmed by the heartfelt speech and the flood of emotions, you fall into Harry's waiting arms, the warmth of his embrace grounding you in the reality of the moment. His arms wrap securely around you, and you find solace in the familiar comfort of his presence. With tears of joy streaming down your face, you look into his eyes, a silent affirmation of the love that binds you.

In a tender exchange, you press a loving kiss to his lips, the connection deepening as the weight of the proposal lifts from the room.

"Yes," you whisper against his lips, the word echoing with the promise of a shared future.

"Yes, Harry, a thousand times yes," you repeat, each affirmation punctuating the joy that now fills the space between you.

The room seems to shimmer with the shared happiness, and Harry holds you closer, his own eyes reflecting the relief and joy of the moment.

"I love you," he murmurs, the words a gentle reassurance that lingers in the air.

Harry tenderly tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch a gentle reassurance.

"M’sorry f’being so sneaky and, well, a bit harsh," he admits, sincerity coloring his gaze. "I just wanted the proposal t’be a surprise, but I guess v’already messed that up."

A light laugh escapes him, the sound a blend of amusement and relief. "Guess I couldn't keep it under wraps as well as I thought."

You join in the laughter, finding the humor in the unexpected twists of the evening.

"Well, surprise or not, it's the most wonderful thing that could have happened. I can't wait to be Mrs. Styles," you express, your eyes reflecting the genuine excitement that courses through you.

Harry's eyes soften with affection as he hears those words, and he leans in to press a sweet kiss to your forehead.

"M’can't wait either, m’love," he whispers, his voice carrying the promise of a shared future.

The room becomes a haven of shared laughter, love, and the promise of forever. Harry, still on one knee, takes your hand and delicately kisses the engagement ring.

"S’ring represents the love we've shared and the life we're about t’build together," he says, his words a poignant acknowledgment of the significance of the moment.

The room, once filled with questions and uncertainty, is now brimming with the certainty of love and the anticipation of a future together as Mr. and Mrs. Styles.

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keelt9 · 29 days ago

Text

Paper 1

Masterlist

The first time Max saw her, she was sitting with her legs crossed in front of an old clockmaker's workshop writing in red paper as the snow kept falling slowly all over the small town.

Max’s family had the tradition of going to Benasque, in Spain, every Christmas and New Year, keeping far away from the busy world of racing and enjoying some time with family.

“What are you doing?” Max approaches the girl who didn’t bother to lift her eyes from her paper as she writes like her lifes depends on it.

“Writing.” Max bluffs rolling his eyes, but he insisted.

“Kinda obvious, what are you writing?” He tilted his head trying to read whatever she’s writing.

This time the girl with a red beanie lifted her face, rubbing her hands trying to get rid of the cold. “A Christmas wish.”

“For?” Max couldn't avoided, she had something that triggered his curiosity.

“For?!” Like Max just asked the most terrorist question, the girl sits properly and points to the big Santa Claus in front of the clockmaker's workshop, next to a red mailbox. “Kind of obvious too.”

“Really?” Max looked at her like he was observing the most outrageous person. “He’s n…”

The girl stood flooding his paper and got his pen on her big red cape. “Are you a Grinch or something like that?”

Max laughs purely following the girl who carefully walked waiting for the cars stopped to cross the street. “It’s an old clockmaker's workshop with an old mailbox, what makes you think that could even work?”

The girl opened the mailbox where, to his surprise, had a considerable amount of papers and letters, the girl looked at him with a self-sufficient smile.

“You’re kind of sourpuss for having what 6 year olds, maybe 7?” Max opened his mouth in total disbelief, who the hell was this girl.

“6 and half.” The girl nods, walking back to the bench unconsciously making space for him to sit.

Max sat next to her. “Now what?”

The girl laid back her head with a smile but didn’t look at him. “Well, I like to sit here and watch, from time to time you find interesting people who actually believe in Christmas magic.”

“I don’t say I don’t believe, it’s just I have my reserves.” Max stretches his neck and relaxes his body. “Let’s see if you have the right.”

For 4 hours they waited outside as they were covered in white and their faces turned red, spoke about every little thing like they were friends of life, and one more time the mysterious girl confirmed her theory. They saw little kids walking along their parents, teenagers who observed side to side of the street fearing someone could catch them doing something wrong, adults that simply stood longer like if closing the mailbox means as prayer and old people that after came across the street and gave them a small candy or coins for they bought something nice for these holidays.

When the few sunlights started to disappear, the girl stood and waved her hand to the other side of the street.

“Well, Mr. Grinch, it's been a pleasure, I have a lot of fun.” Max felt overwhelmed but happy. “Thanks for joining me.”

The girl extended her hand which Max gladly accepted and shook. “Oh my God! You’re freezing, you forgot your gloves or something?”

Max didn't forget them, it’s part of his training, resist the cold temperatures, hoping in a few years all these things bring thousands of joys for him and his family.

His lack of response made the little girl narrow her eyes but let it pass. “Put it on the fire as soon as you get home.”

Max chuckled. “Thanks, little elf.” He pointed to his beanie and her red black boots.

The girl laughs purely nodding her head. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Count me in.” Max walks away but he notices he doesn’t have a name. “What's your name?!” He screamed as the girl kept walking backwards.

“I’ll tell you later!”

As the years passed, that’s how Max spent every last two weeks of December, before parting ways the 2nd of January, walking around the small town, eating candies and spending hours in front of an old clockmaker's workshop; loving the company of a little girl with a red beanie and black boots.

Their name never comes and honestly they never needed it.

The year Max finally joined Red Bull he could barely wait for Christmas holidays to begin, he had big news to share.

But Christmas wasn't nice all the time, that year knowing he could turn in the main driver of Red Bull, his father strictly denied him to move far away from Milton Keynes, he must be there.

Max obedient waited at least for the 23rd of December hopping his father could change his mind, still he hasn't, so in a last attempted he asked to his sister Victoria, that please, at least she went there before New Years Eve searched in front of the old clockmaker's workshop for a girl with a red beanie and black boots, and told her he would go next year.

“Max, how would I know I found the right girl?” Victoria asked as they said goodbye in the airport.

Max shook his head and hugged his sister. “Please, just tell her to wait a little bit.”

The pleading eyes of his brother was all Victoria needed to agree and looked at the Christmas girl.

Unfortunately she didn’t get her goal, her mother and her flight connection delay a couple of hours by the time they arrived to Benasque, it was the first hour of the 4rd of January, even when Victoria went to the old clockmaker's workshop the owner told her the girl came like every year and go, last night.

“A little defeated, she waited for his little friend.” The owner said taking the red mailbox of the entrance.

Victoria left her number in case the girl came but the owner was cleared, like the snow, she and her family only came that three weeks every year.

The next year Max started to make his own powerful path, fearing he could miss an important moment, he started to write all the special moments in a red notebook, he didn't want to miss any little detail for sharing with his little elf.

The next year with a victory between his hands, and the support of his mother Max went to Benasque, just maybe his elf could be already there.

Until the day before Christmas she didn’t appear in any of the places they used to go.

The old man came outside of the clockmaker's workshop with a cup of hot chocolate and gave it to him. “It’s weird for me too.”

Max took a sip seeing the marshmallow floating. “She came like always?”

The old man smiles and nods softly like he could picture the scene of last year, a teenager girl coming in the last hours of Christmas eve with a folded blue paper for leaving in the mailbox.

“She waited a little bit longer that night.” Max felt his heart squeeze. “She waited for a last minute Christmas miracle.”

Max saw the mailbox and took a piece of paper from his notebook, leaving the cup next to him. “Do you have a plan in mind, young boy?”

Max smiled, writing as fast as he could. “Helping the big guy with a miracle.”

Max didn’t notice but the old man has a proud smile and the certainty that this bound is for life.

With a folded piece of paper Max crossed the street, opened the mailbox and put his wish and understood why the adults years ago closed the lid carefully, fearing that their wish would not come true.

His first championship came and the little elf didn’t, like every year he waited for hours every day as he kept writing in his second notebook, but she didn’t come, and every Christmas Eve he left his same wish on the mailbox.

When his third Championship came he walked the street covered in snow with a backpack, now with 4 notebooks in it.

However this time, the old man reached him before he even got to see the bench.

“She’s here!” The old man's face is bright beside the cold wind.

Max opened his eyes ready to run but he was stopped. “Wait boy. I heard from the woman at the bookstore that she was already here but she hasn’t come…”

“Thanks.” Max didn’t let him finish; he grabbed his arm before running to the bookstore three blocks away.

The woman repeated the same words, she was there, bought a book and left, without saying another word.

Max's blood froze but he had to ask. “Did she look sick?”

“Oh no, she is beautiful and healthy as always, the red cape is switched for a navy blue coat but stunning as always.” The woman smiles remembering how the small girl turned into this beautiful woman.

“Did she have a ri…” The woman smiles tenderly at Max and grabs his frozen hand.

“Any man or ring with her, boy, she just seems anxious.” Max breaths out feeling his chest doesn’t hurt.

He tried to think where she could be but for years, they spent all their holidays around the town, she could be anywhere.

Following his ritual he took a piece of paper from his notebook with his wish and left it in the mailbox, just this time in the next morning, in the mailbox a blue piece of paper appeared.

“Take it.” The old man said take it out and give it to him. “Maybe it’s your miracle.”

Max with shaking hands and holding carefully, he unfolded the paper.

She was there, she definitely was there.

“Are you nuts?!” Daniel said almost choking with his dinner.

Max has a plan in mind, using all his resources for having his wish come true.

“It’s just a few words in the air.” Max rest importance cleaning the corner of his mouth. “Besides it’s on the SIM, isn’t harmful.”

Daniel rolls his eyes. “Harmful? No, but come on Max! Everything you said in a blink will be on X, instagram, facebook, and other platforms.”

“Exactly! More diffusion, more reach.” Daniel shakes his head knowing trying to change his friend's mind, even if it is useless.

“You already talked with your team? Redline team.” Max didn’t answer, just kept eating. “MAX!”

Max laughs. “I’m planning to do it tonight!”

His team agreed with the strong belief that Max won't get it, not because they didn't want it, just because he's trying to find an old friend with any name and just barely any information that could be used to find someone.

“Ok Max, your turn.” Crane mentioned preparing the next race.

Max feels nervous, he giggles before speaking. “I would love to get some help from all of you.”

The chat immediately went crazy saying they would be glad to help.

“I lost contact with an old friend, so I was hoping you can help me to find that person one more time.” The chat lights on asking for the name or country. “Well, keeping things private I’m only going to tell you, I’m helping Santa Claus just this year.”

Max reads the comment that it’s like finding a fish in the ocean, impossible. “We used to spend Christmas together, in front of an old clockmaker's workshop.” That’s useful information, Crane laughs reading the comment. “So, can you please tell; little elf, I’m giving a hand to the big guy with red costume.”

The moment quickly goes viral, all the people are moved by the fact a triple world wide champion lost an old friend and he’s trying to find it for Christmas. It's so tender.

What wasn't tender was how the season is going, the first races all point to another brilliant season for the team until it isn’t.

Max constant researcher is paused everytime, and by the middle of the year the only useful information he gets is that the team is using this research to make more people know about it.

But Barcelona took him by surprise.

With another win Max is fully focused on celebrating until before leaving the paddock one of the girls in charge of liaison, runs to get him before he goes.

“MAX!” The girl looks like she's seeing a ghost, pale and with wide open eyes. “You must see this.”

She gives him what a plain sight looks like and an old photo, he takes it as they keep walking until the car.

Finally inside he takes his time, or that's what he planned to do until he notices he doesn't have to, he recognises the girl in the photo.

Standing in front of a big Christmas tree as another girl hugs her looking at the camera, the other girl older and taller, wearing a white cape and black boots is laughing; his little elf is standing there with that beautiful smile, her red cape, black boots and rosy cheeks.

“Where is she?” Max asks, grabbing the seat ready to open the door and go wherever she tells him she is.

“That’s the problem.” She moves her head indicating they're ready to go. “I don’t think she’s here.”

“What?” Max looks through the window in panic as the car keeps moving.

The girl gives him a piece of paper, as a number on it. “The girl who gave me the photo is the older one, she said the girl in red is her little sister but…” Max notices the hesitation on his teammate.

“But…” The girl turns around to see him in the back seat, as she narrows her eyes, Max is going crazy every second.

“Well, she isn’t that confident you’re looking for her sister at the right moment.” Max didn’t mean to explode, however it’s hard to control his emotions.

“What the fuck?!” He takes his cap rubbing his face in his hands. “Sorry, sorry, I just… What else did she tell you?”

“Call her, both of you need to talk.”

Max's mind surrounds for endless questions. Where is she? Did she know he’s looking for her? How is she? Why isn't it the right moment? What the hell has to do her sister in all this?

Arriving at his hotel room before going to celebrate he dialed the number, concreting a meeting tomorrow in the morning at his hotel.

“This isn’t true!” Daniel screams so Max could hear him among all the noise. “Come on Max! You’re not that foolish to believe this.”

“It’s the only coherent clue I had!” Max takes a sip of his drink.

“Or maybe it’s the sign for you to give up.” Max looks at him with cold eyes. “It’s been 6 months Max, let’s be real we’re not in a movie.”

Lando finds them on the table. “Are you planning to stay here so I can bring you a cup of tea or have fun?”

Next morning Max wakes up earlier than usual, his mind full and confused with Daniel words and the photo in his hands, when the hour they meet approaches he walks more than 10 times to the door and back to his bed.

Slowly he remembers when she turned 10 years old, and arrived before him. By the time he got to the bench she had in her lap a cheesecake.

“What is this?” Max pointed as she smiled, taking out a candle making space between them to put the cake.

“It’s my birthday, well… it was, but I’m making my own wish come true.” She carefully put the candle in the middle of it.

“Weirdo.” Max smiles at the ways she is so excited. “Wishes don't tell unless you don’t want to make it real.”

“Reason why I’m making it real, duh.” The girl lights the candle carefully as crosses her hands, closing her eyes.

Max immediately starts to sing a happy birthday song softly observing how her smile grows bigger, when it ends the girl blows her candle.

“Now, what was your wish?” Max asked, grabbing the spoon the girl gave him.

“Spending my birthday with my best friend.” Max froze in the moment a spoon stuck on the small cheesecake and a girl eating like she just said the most casual thing of the world.

Max smiles softly seeing the photo one more time, fuck everybody, he’s follow his little elf steps, making his own wish true.

#f1 #f1 imagine #formula 1 #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x female reader #max verstappen imagine #christmas writing #happy holidays #merry christmas

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capuccinodoll · 3 months ago

Text

The Invitation

Before the sun hits (chapter one)

Hi there, this is the first time I post something here, so I hope you like it! It's defenitely going to be a fun story to write. This is going to be a Joel series, so feel free to send any ideas and suggestions, as english is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any mistakes (if there are, don't hesitate to let me know so I can correct them), x.

DECEMBER 15th.

The window was misted over, softening the pale, nocturnal landscape outside. Winter had started creeping in, slowly but unmistakably. The asphalt below gleamed, slick from the recent rain, and a thin wisp of smog slipped through the narrow crack in the window that your mother had just opened.

"The heat is suffocating me," she murmured, and you nodded, understanding. You couldn’t really blame her; she'd spent the first twenty years of her life far away from Austin's warmth.

Inside, the living room felt warm and inviting. Soft, golden light illuminated the white walls, which were lined with family photos, each one a little piece of your history. In the corner by the window, the Christmas tree stood, decorated with a quaint charm that somehow stole the room’s attention.

Your father stepped into the room behind you, his smile wide and content. He wore a green sweater dotted with white stars and red hearts, holding his phone against his ear with exaggerated enthusiasm, his hands gesturing wildly as he spoke.

"Like a kid at Christmas," your mother observed, and she wasn’t wrong.

The holidays hadn't been your favorite for the past few years. They’d been tangled up with messy breakups, the stress of school and work, and a handful of regretful decisions. Like last Christmas, when you decided to leave early for New York instead of staying with family, and ended up drinking cheap wine on the cold floor of your new, empty apartment—far from home, and even closer to a personal catastrophe. Not that you could have known that at the time, of course.

"Joel is coming," your father announced suddenly, snapping you out of your reverie. "And Sarah too. Remember her, honey? She was this tall the last time we saw her," he said, holding his hand at his waist.

Of course you remembered Sarah. She had stayed with you for a weekend when you were twelve, while her father took care of her brother Tommy in the hospital. She’d been eight then—funny, wide-eyed, a little whirlwind of curiosity. The two of you had spent the weekend browsing your local library, eating far too many sweet treats, and giggling over childhood crushes on the Twilight cast.

"Of course I remember her," you replied, feeling the weight of those intervening years. "It’s been a while, though. She must be an adult by now."

"She turned twenty-one last July. I saw it on Tommy’s Facebook," your father added.

"He’s not coming?" your mother asked, but before you could catch the answer, you found yourself slipping out of the room, seeking a moment of solitude.

Upstairs, your old bedroom welcomed you with silence as you shut the door, muffling the voices from downstairs. You let yourself collapse onto the soft bed, feeling a heavy weariness seep into your bones. You hadn’t quite figured out how to deal with everything yet, but you kept promising yourself that you’d sort it out after the holidays. As you lay there, staring at the ceiling covered with old movie stills and band posters, Eddie Vedder’s frowning face seemed to stare back at you, almost judgmental.

You’d made a mistake. That was it. You hated your job, and you’d made a mistake. New York wasn’t what you thought it would be—at least, the people in it weren’t. The city had chewed you up, spat you out, and left you feeling raw and disillusioned. But your parents couldn’t know that, not yet. It would break their hearts to learn that their only daughter hated her career and needed a fresh start. They’d worked so hard to make this holiday special. Your mother had even won the family bet on Halloween, the one they did every year, where the winner got to choose the Christmas and New Year’s destination. She’d picked Canmore—her hometown in Canada—where she promised a true winter wonderland that would let everyone leave their troubles behind, if only for a little while.

Leave everyday life behind, you thought. It was exactly what you needed: three weeks away from New York, away from Austin, away from anywhere that already knew you. Maybe the snow would help wash it all away.

"Sweetie, it’s time for dinner," your mother’s voice interrupted your thoughts. She stood at the door, her smile tender, with Eddie Vedder’s glowering face staring over her shoulder from the poster on your wall.

"What time is it?" you asked groggily.

"Quarter past eight. We’re waiting for you downstairs. Fix your hair a little, Joel and Sarah are here. You should see her, she’s gorgeous!"

"I’ll be down in a minute," you mumbled, your eyes already sliding shut again.

"No, you won’t," she said knowingly. "I know you too well. You’ll fall back asleep the second I walk away." She perched at the foot of the bed, pressing down on your feet, and you let out a frustrated sigh.

With a resigned groan, you forced your eyes open and sat up, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. She waited, watching until you were fully upright before finally leaving.

In the bathroom, you saw what she meant about your hair—a mess of tangled strands falling around your face, the braid you’d done earlier completely undone. You quickly brushed it out, splashed some cold water on your face, and tried to shake off the haze of sleep. When you stepped back out, your mother was gone, but you could hear the voices from downstairs—Sarah’s laugh, bright and familiar, followed by your father’s. And then another voice, deeper and more reserved. That must be Joel, you thought.

You remembered him vaguely. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a serious expression that never seemed to soften. He was always in a hurry, rarely stopping to chat, always working to keep things afloat while raising Sarah on his own. Your dad used to talk about their childhood, how he and Joel and your Uncle Luke had grown up in the same neighborhood, the four of them inseparable as teenagers. For some reason, you lingered a moment longer in front of the mirror, fixing stray hairs, before heading downstairs to face whatever awaited you.

Before you even stepped onto the first stair, you paused, tugging at the off-the-shoulder black dress you’d chosen on instinct—or maybe not. Oh, of course you knew why you’d picked it. How long had it been since Sarah had last seen you? Back then, you’d been the effortlessly cool older daughter of her dad’s best friend. Now, you were twenty-four, slightly adrift, but she didn’t need to know that.

Still, you’d pulled yourself together in record time. Your skin had a soft glow, your cheeks rosy, your lips glossed with a shade of red that wasn’t too loud but just right. Your eyes, framed by delicate makeup, carried an understated glamour. And you’d even worn the choker your mother had given you three birthdays ago, a beautiful piece that added a touch of sophistication. Yes, you looked good.

As you descended the stairs, the murmur of voices grew louder, the conversation below taking shape. In the living room, your father was enthusiastically recounting a recent match, and your mother kept interrupting him, correcting his version of events with affectionate precision. Sarah’s laughter rang out, bright and easy, clearly entertained by their dynamic. Though you tried to make your footsteps light, they were quickly noticed.

“Sweetheart! Finally, come join us!” your mother called, her face lighting up with a wide smile. She was seated on the couch by the window, your dad beside her. Across from them, with their backs to you, sat Sarah and Joel. Sarah turned as soon as she saw you. Joel didn’t.

“I was just asking Sarah if she remembered that weekend,” your dad said, shifting to make room for you beside him, “She was so small back then! This small!” He held his hand out at the level of his face to demonstrate.

As you sat down, you caught your breath. Sarah wasn’t just grown up—she was stunning. Her smile was warm and playful, though her hands rested a little nervously in her lap. But her eyes were the same, wide and full of light.

“Of course I remember! It was such a fun weekend. You were like the big sister I never had,” Sarah said, her voice warm and nostalgic.

“Really? I’m so glad to hear that. I had a great time, too. I can’t believe how much you’ve grown,” you admitted, laughing. “God, I sound so old saying that.”

“At least someone had fun that weekend, huh, Joel?” your father joked, and it was then that your eyes finally found Joel for the first time that evening.

Maybe it was nerves that kept you from looking sooner, or maybe it was something else. But Joel was different—very different. Or had he always looked like this? You weren’t sure if you were about to laugh or choke. The transformation felt seismic.

“Don’t remind me,” Joel said, his voice deep, vibrating in the room. He turned to you then, his gaze locking onto yours for just a moment too long before he added, “Kid.”

During that weekend, twelve years ago, you saw Joel two times max; once when he dropped Sarah home, and again when he came back for her. He looked stressed and mainly angry. But you didn't remembered exactly why. Pretty sure it had to do with Tommy having a fall somewhere.

“Too bad he didn't come to dinner. I haven't seen the bastard in months, though I must say far fewer months than I haven't seen you,” your father added.

Joel leaned back on the couch, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and you took the opportunity to really look at him. He was wearing a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his dark jeans fitting snugly. His hair was streaked with gray, messy in that deliberate way, and God, he was massive. Broad shoulders strained against the fabric of his shirt, every subtle movement revealing the strength beneath.

Your dad had mentioned Joel was a contractor, and now it made perfect sense. That kind of body was built through hard labor, hours spent lifting, hammering, doing things that required strength and grit. His eyes, though, were what drew you in—dark, a little tired, but still sharp, with the lights of the Christmas tree flickering softly in their depths.

“He’s becoming a bit of a hermit,” Sarah teased, her voice lilting with affection.

Joel smiled then, his whole face softening. “Tommy’s with his in-laws this Christmas,” he explained.

“You owe me a couple of beers, Miller,” your dad teased, and Joel shot him a sideways grin.

“For now, be happy with dinner,” your mother interrupted, her voice brimming with excitement. “I’m sure we’re all starving!”

You couldn’t help but glance at Joel one more time as everyone began moving toward the dining room. There was something about him now, and as he rose from the couch, towering over you, you couldn’t shake the thought.

He sat across from you, elbows propped on the table, his focus fixed on your father, who was gesturing animatedly from his spot in the left corner. In this softer, golden light, his face appeared more open, less stern. You let your gaze linger over his features, taking advantage of the fact that he seemed wholly absorbed in your father's story. His eyes, which you remembered as dark and unreadable, now looked a little lighter, a warm honey hue emerging beneath the shadows. Faint lines etched the corners of his eyes and mouth, traces of a life well-worn, and you found it unsettling—indecent, even—how much you liked the way they shaped his face. He looked... you didn’t quite know how to put it. Weathered, maybe. But in a good way, like something that had been around long enough to carry a few secrets.

It wasn’t that you were into older men. You’d never been that girl. Your exes had all been within a reasonable margin of your age, maybe three years older, max. But Joel... well, Joel was looking at you now. And you, with your head tilted slightly and your lips just barely parted, were looking right back at him. Like he was a puzzle, a rare artifact you couldn’t help but analyze. Then reality caught up to you, and you straightened abruptly, trying to regain your composure, your face heating up with the embarrassment of being caught.

You shifted in your chair, trying to steady yourself, but your foot—unsettled by the awkwardness—stretched out a little too quickly, bumping against his under the table. You froze as heat flushed your cheeks, hoping he hadn’t noticed. But Joel's eyes flashed with a brief moment of surprise, which he smoothed over quickly, turning back to your dad.

He probably thought you were being clumsy, which, in fairness, you were. You glanced over at Sarah, who sat beside Joel, mirroring her father’s posture, absorbed in whatever they were saying. But then you caught the tail end of their conversation and realized they were talking about you.

“We’ve got to make the most of our time with her,” your dad was saying. “She’s a big city girl now. Since she’s been home, she’s been sleeping like the dead. Completely exhausted, isn’t that right, honey?”

“True, true,” your mom chimed in, leaning forward with a conspiratorial smile. “We’ve barely had the chance to chat about her life. I bet you understand that feeling, don’t you, Joel?”

“Mom,” you cut in, a twinge of discomfort in your voice, but Joel’s eyes stayed on you, his curiosity finally directed your way.

“What do you do?” he asked, his voice steady, his gaze unwavering.

You hesitated, feeling strangely self-conscious under his attention. “I’m in marketing area, in Arcor, uh, in New York.”

“The candy company?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. You nodded quickly, like you wanted to get past it.

“Yeah, that one.”

“And she’s been doing very well. We almost didn’t get her to come home for the holidays,” your mom said, eager to emphasize your success.

The truth was, you had been busy—insanely, overwhelmingly busy. The holiday season meant one of the biggest sales periods at the company, and even though your salary didn’t quite justify it, you’d spent countless late nights at the office, dealing with the endless pressure from above. Or at least, that’s what you’d told them. They bought it, of course. You were the golden child—never rebellious, never a troublemaker. So they believed every word you said. But when they offered to visit you in New York, you’d panicked. Somehow, returning home to Canmore seemed like the lesser of two anxieties.

“I’ve always wanted to go to New York,” Sarah piped up, her voice carrying a wistful tone. “I bet you never get bored there.”

No, you didn’t get bored. That much was true. Even though the city had left you feeling a little bruised, there was something undeniably captivating about it. The bustling streets, the ever-present hum of life, the art and culture pouring out of every corner—it was beautiful, in its own overwhelming way. If only you had more time, maybe you’d have enjoyed it more.

“You don’t, and it’s stunning, especially at Christmas,” you admitted. “The snow can be a mess, but it’s part of the charm.”

“You say that because you’ve never spent Christmas in Canmore,” your mom interrupted with a knowing smile. “Now that’s as magical as it gets.”

“What’s it like?” Sarah asked, her curiosity making your mom’s eyes light up.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” she said, leaning in with enthusiasm. “The snow-covered mountains, the twinkling lights, tourists bustling through the shops—it’s like a postcard. And there’s so much to do. I was there just last October, and it was lovely then, too. Are you a Halloween fan, Sarah?”

Sarah nodded eagerly, and your mom nodded back, feeding off her energy. “You’d love it in the fall, then. Canmore is perfect for any holiday.”

Your dad chimed in, a twinkle in his eye. “Speaking of the holidays, what about you, Joel? Got any plans?” His smile was wide, as if he’d just come up with the most brilliant idea in the world.

“He doesn’t,” Sarah cut in before Joel could speak, and he shifted in his seat, visibly uncomfortable.

Your mom’s brow furrowed. “How’s that?”

“I’m spending Christmas and New Year’s out of town,” Sarah explained. “I invited him to join me, but he doesn’t want to spend that much time with my boyfriend’s family. Right, Dad?”

“That’s not true,” Joel objected, sounding almost wounded, like he’d been caught in an unflattering light.

“Well then, you should come with us,” your dad suggested with a grin, clearly proud of himself. “We’ve rented a great cabin, and there’s plenty of room. Sarah can join us later. It’ll be fun.”

“I’d love to,” Joel replied, but there was a touch of restraint in his voice, enough to make your dad frown. “But I was hoping to use the time to catch up on some work.”

“Joel, you can’t spend the holidays alone,” your mom pressed, sounding like she wouldn’t take no for an answer. “We’d love to have you with us. Really, it’s a beautiful place.”

“We’re leaving next Monday and we’ll be back by January seventh,” your dad added for good measure.

“I’ll drive to the airport with Dean and then head to Canmore myself after New Year’s,” Sarah said, giving Joel a pointed look. “Come on, Dad, don’t be a Grinch.”

Your dad chuckled, taking the opportunity to refill his glass. After a quick sip, he leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “Look, Joel, Tommy’s out of town, Sarah’s leaving, so what’s your excuse? And don’t give me that ‘work’ line—it’s the holidays! If you turn me down, I’ll just assume you don’t want to spend time with an old friend who’s missed you.”

Ah, classic Dad, turning everything into a guilt trip. But now, instead of rolling your eyes, you found it amusing, watching Joel squirm a little, unsure how to respond. Even Sarah seemed to enjoy the show.

“Alright, alright,” Joel said, a small, tired smile playing on his lips. “Let me think about it, okay? And don’t try to manipulate me, Evans, you know that never worked on me.”

Dinner continued in a comfortably chaotic way, with your dad peppering Joel with jokes and playful nudges about the Canmore trip. Each time, Joel responded with a small, almost imperceptible smile, offering vague, evasive replies that left you wondering if your dad's persistent charm was working on him or not. You caught yourself studying the little shifts in Joel's expression, trying to decipher if he was actually considering the invitation or just humoring your dad.

Soon, your mother reappeared from the kitchen, carrying her signature apple pie, its golden crust steaming. She served it alongside cups of coffee, each in a mug sporting a different Christmas design. When Sarah mentioned how adorable the mugs were, your mother didn't hesitate to gift her one on the spot, complete with a matching saucer, her face lighting up as she watched Sarah’s delight.

But as the conversation continued, you found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. Joel had begun talking about recent renovations around his house, and your mind kept drifting. You imagined him on a ladder, paintbrush in hand, or lugging a heavy toolbox. How would he look after an afternoon of hard work—sweaty, hair tousled, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows? A warmth spread through you at the thought, but then Joel's gaze flicked toward you, as if sensing your thoughts. Caught, you forced a smile and looked away, focusing on your pie as the heat crept up your neck.

After everyone had finished eating, you busied yourself with gathering the cups and plates, carrying them into the kitchen in a self-imposed silence. As you placed them on the counter, a sudden hollowness settled in your chest. It was the kind of feeling that made you realize just how out of place you were—how far you’d strayed from the person your parents thought you were. How long could you keep up this act, pretending that everything was fine when, in reality, your life had unraveled months ago?

You found your phone sitting on top of the refrigerator, where your mom must have left it earlier. You’d been avoiding checking it, afraid of what you might find, but now you unlocked it and scrolled through the notifications: three messages from Ally, your only real friend in New York, and a random email from an old forum. You made a mental note to unsubscribe, then opened Ally’s texts.

Have you seen his Instagram?

He’s a jerk. I’m sorry.

Are you okay?

Your heart clenched, and you hesitated before searching for what would surely hurt. There it was—a photo of Liam, your ex-coworker, arm wrapped around a woman’s waist as she flaunted a ring on her left hand. You shut your phone with a sharp breath, the realization hitting hard. How could you have been so naïve? Tears pricked at your eyes as your mother’s voice drew nearer, drifting through the door from the dining room. You panicked, ducking out the back door into the hallway. No one could see you like this, not when you’d worked so hard to keep up the illusion. If your mom saw you, the whole truth would tumble out.

You made it to the small bathroom under the stairs, and just as you reached for the handle, the door swung open, making you lurch forward. Joel stood on the other side.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you blurted, keeping your eyes down. “I didn’t know it was occupied.”

You turned quickly, ready to retreat, but his voice stopped you.

“Hey, you alright?”

You turned back to him, forcing a smile. “Yeah, yes, I’m fine.”

He frowned, unconvinced. “You sure? Doesn’t look like it.”

“I... I just had a long day, that’s all,” you muttered, but you could feel your composure slipping. Your eyes were fixed on a button of his shirt, trying desperately not to meet his gaze. But then, without warning, your tears broke free. A soft sob escaped, and Joel’s expression softened as he pulled the door open wider.

Your hand flew to your mouth, but the tears kept coming. Joel placed a hand on your shoulder, the warmth of it anchoring you even as you felt yourself teetering on the edge of losing control completely. He glanced down the hallway, then back at you with a furrowed brow.

“I’ll get your parents,” he offered.

“No!” You reached out, gripping his arm too tightly. “Please don’t.”

He blinked, clearly taken aback, and for a moment, you both stood there, your grip firm on his forearm. You knew you were making him uncomfortable, but you couldn’t seem to care. You could see the confusion in his eyes as he tried to make sense of your desperation.

"You sure?" you asked, swearing you could read an expression on his face that screamed 'Do I really have a choice?'

Determined, you stepped between him and the door and into the bathroom. Joel turned around in confusion, but quickly understood and closed the door behind him. The moment felt strange, and it was. The room was cramped and the walls enclosed you in a non-existent, completely unfamiliar intimacy. You looked at him nervously and realized that you were on the verge of doing something irresponsable; of course he would tell your parents, of course he wouldn't keep your secret, why should he? If you had to be rational, you'll do the same thing. At the end of the day, they were best friends. But it didn't matter. The was no space for consideration as the verbal vomit was about to come out.

“I quit my job, and my ex-boyfriend—who also happens to be my former co-worker—is marrying the woman he cheated on me with. I’ve been pretending like everything’s fine, but I’m probably going to have to move back to Austin because I hate how everything turned out.”

Joel's eyes widened slightly as he took in your confession. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, seeming at a loss for words, and you couldn’t blame him. It was a mess, and you’d just thrown it all in his lap. Finally, he let out a deep sigh.

“So your parents have no idea.”

“No,” you admitted, voice cracking. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” he asked, surprised. “Why would you apologize?”

“Because... I don’t know. It’s not your problem.”

“Alright, don’t apologize,” he replied, sounding unsure of himself. “What’s your plan, then?”

You shook your head, feeling the weight of the uncertainty you’d been carrying. “I’m not sure. I thought maybe I’d figure it out over the holidays.”

Joel’s gaze lingered on your face, as if searching for something. Then, with another sigh, he leaned back against the door. “You think you can do it?”

The question stung more than you expected. “You mean, solve my life?”

He quickly clarified. “I mean, keep the secret. Pretending everything’s fine.”

You swallowed hard, looking away. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll try.”

Joel nodded slowly, pushing himself away from the doorframe. “Just... don’t push yourself too hard, alright? It’s not the end of the world. Trust me, I know.”

He turned to leave, reaching for the doorknob, but you couldn’t let him go just yet. “Joel,” you called out, your voice barely above a whisper. He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “Please don’t say anything to my parents.”

He studied your face for a few seconds longer than you were comfortable with, then finally nodded. “I won’t.”

Relief washed over you, loosening the tightness in your chest. At least one secret would stay safe, for now.

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