#I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy

[josephquinnswhore]

Christmas Eve - joel miller x female reader

summary: Christmas Eve with your husband.

word count: 2k

content warning: fluff..slight insinuations to sex, girl dad joel, heavily pregnant reader, anxiety surrounding pregnancy, birth etc. Pre established marriage, joel is in his early 30’s. no outbreak. I think that’s it?

a/n: it’s chrissy eve in Australia… 10:15pm as I’m posting this. Merry Christmas to all my moots / fans of Joel / Pedro / whoever reads this. Love you all x

Lights draped around the window frames and along the porch were strung up, emitting a golden glow along the cleared pathway to the front door. Tinsel is tightly wrapped around the wooden frame of the steps to your front house, complete with a beautiful wreath on your front door.

Through the curtains, you could make out Joel’s figure up on the step ladder, hanging more lights in the living room.

As you step foot into your home, the harsh wind follows you as you tap the snow off your boots on the doormat, a freezing breeze curls up your neck, making you shudder.

But as the front door closes behind you, all you feel is warmth. The ugly Christmas sweater you wore has poorly stitched reindeers, snowflakes and the ugliest shade of green you’d ever seen. Alas, You’re shocked to see Joel wearing his matching sweater as you step through the threshold of the living room.

Tinsel hangs along the hallways, the smell of the pine tree fills your lungs with warmth. Never did you think it could be possible to crave a smell—until now. The fresh scent of pine tree that Joel had cut down, he and Tommy had lugged it into your living room to use as a Christmas tree upon your insistence.

He turns to face you, raising an eyebrow at your messy hair and few intact snowflakes on your sweater. In hand, you’re clutching a sacred tin of powdered hot chocolate.

His ugly Christmas sweater is the same as yours, but red. His dark hair is littered with greys, feral curls untamed and his face framed with a pair of thick specs. The rainbow lights he’s hanging up with a hammer and nail reflect in them for a moment, before he removes them. His sweet, warm brown eyes meet your own.

“House looks good baby,” you call softly, admiring how beautiful the decorations looked with his determination, not allowing you to do anything more than decorate the tree, and wrap the gifts, since it was your favourite part about Christmas, excluding the gingerbread baking.

He climbs down the ladder, hooking his glasses through the neckline of his sweater, setting the hammer and nails onto the flat surface at the top of the step ladder.

“Without your vision this never would have come to life. Sarah’s going to love it.” He preens, stepping toward you. “How was it out there?” With an all recognisable voice of concern, you smile.

It was beginning to snow outside, and Joel was anxious the entire time you’d been gone.

“Chaotic, shopping on Christmas Eve isn’t for the weak. I had to practically fight an old lady to get this tin of hot chocolate you know?”

His soft laugh breaks the tension of his anxiety, just glad to have you back. His arms snake around you, resting on your hips. “Sounds like you needed your man to come with you hm? I’ve got no problems protecting my girl from the oldies.”

“I can handle them, plus.. I’m glad you stayed. Sarah’s going to be so happy when she sees all of this. Did you remember to do Santa’s footprints with flour?”

Tsk. “So much distrust baby, course I remembered, I ain’t the one with baby brain y’know?”.

You roll your eyes at him, shoving his chest lightly. “And who’s fault is that, hm?”

Joel chuckled as you rolled your eyes, knowing how much you secretly loved his teasing. He followed your gaze to the lights before smiling, proud of his work.

"I’ll take half the blame, honey," he said,

“If you don’t recall, I’ll recite the way you begged me to get you pregnant—“

With your cheeks warming you interrupt. “Alright.. alright. I remember.”

His thumb leaves your waist, curling into your cheek to caress you softly with adoration. "I’m glad you convinced me, baby. You look so beautiful, you’re glowing.”

Your cheeks feel warm at his praise. The warmth of the fire crackling inside of the living room begin to ease the ache in your joints, particularly your knees and ankles.

“I look and feel like a whale.” It had been hard on you, anyone could see, with your stomach so round and swollen, the Christmas sweater struggled to stretch over your stomach to cover it entirely.

Joel shook his head, slipping his warm hands underneath your sweater to caress your aching stomach in a soothing notion.

"No," he protested softly. "You look like my beautiful, pregnant wife who is about to bring a little bundle of joy into the world. Half of me, and half of you.”

With a soft hum, you find yourself smiling. The thought warmed your heart, a small bundle of love, made of you and him. “Flattery will get you everywhere with me, Joel Miller.”

"Hm?" Joel hums in return, planting a kiss on your cheek, his nose nudging your own. "That's good to know, I might have to use that to my advantage."

He leaned in to whisper in your ear, his hot breath sending a shiver down your spine. "Maybe... it'll get me everything I want."

With a baited breath, you breathe out a shaky response. “And what is it that you want?”

"Hmm..." Joel pretended to ponder about it for a moment, his hands sliding down to rest on your hips again, fingers curling into the curved surface.

"Since you asked," he murmured, his voice low and enticing. "All I really want for Christmas is to spend it with you. But if you're looking for a more tangible gift, I guess I could think of a thing or two."

With a roll of your eyes, you snag a candy cane off of the tree beside you, and uncurl the plastic and stick the hooked peppermint lolly into your mouth, sucking the flavour off with a pop.

“Hot chocolate first.” You insist, kissing his cheek, leaving sticky residue on his warm skin. “I didn’t drive through a snowstorm and fight an old lady for nothing.”

You shake the tin of chocolate powder as if to remind him, garnering his attention.

Joel chuckled wipes the sticky candy cane residue off his cheek. “You got it mumma. Hot chocolate first, then I'll tell you what I really want for Christmas."

Joel gestured towards the couch by the fireplace with one hand and an expectant gaze.

"Go take a seat and relax. I'll make the hot chocolate, and then you can tell me about that beautiful baby of ours and how you’re feeling."

He swats your ass softly, amusement clear in his voice.

“Thanks baby. For everything. My feet are killing me.” Minutes later you graciously accept the warm mug of hot chocolate, the white mini marshmallows are soft and starting to melt.

"Anything for you baby.” You know he means it too.

He took a seat on the couch beside you, the leather sinking under his weight. "How's everything been today? Any contractions?"

You shake your head with a small mouthful of the gooey, warm, sweet drink. “No, nothing yet. I feel like she’s never going to come at this rate..”

A soft hum vibrates within your chest as he encourages you to shift towards him, and he props your feet up onto his lap to remove your shoes and socks, promptly massaging your swollen ankles.

“Do you think she’ll come before the new year?”

Joel continued massaging your ankles, looking down at your huge baby bump as you rubbed it tentatively, he can sense some anxiety coming from you as a first time expectant mother.

Sure, you’d practically raised Sarah since she was twelve months, but this was different. A newborn, the birth.. that was all new to you.

"Hard to tell, baby," he said with a thoughtful expression, not wanting to cause you any stress. "But judging by how big you are, I wouldn't be surprised if she decided to make her debut soon."

He looked up at you, his gaze meeting yours as he decided to pry further, coaxing the truth from you. "You feeling ready for the big day yet?"

“I’m terrified,” you admit in a gentle whisper between you, a sudden sense of vulnerability curates between the two of you. It makes it all the more real.

Joel's expression softened as you admitted your fears, his fingers pausing in massaging your ankles. Watching as you set your now empty mug down onto the coffee table, having satiated your sweet tooth.. for now.

"Hey, I get it," he reassures quietly, his thumb gently rubbing circles on your foot in a comforting gesture this time, rather than a massage. "Giving birth is a big deal, baby. But you're gonna be incredible. You're strong, you're capable, and I'll be right there with you every step of the way. I promise.”

Joel smiled warmly, squeezing your shoulder gently as you slowly processed his words of encouragement, that no matter what happened through the birth, you’d soon have a family of four. “You’re right.. it’s all going to be okay.”

"You're damn right it's going to be okay," he said with conviction. "Because we've got each other, Sarah, and our precious little girl.. Sadie, right?”

He moved his hand from your feet, leaning closer to place his hands on your stomach, feeling his daughter actively kick at his affectionate touch. Seeing you nod in confirmation. “Yeah.. Sadie.”

"Just think, in a few days, you'll be holding our baby in your arms."

The thought is overwhelming, a small baby in your arms, Sarah, who had turned six earlier in the year. She was stoked to be a big sister, asking every day when the baby was coming. Constantly cradling your heavy stomach with her small hands, singing as she prompts the baby to kick.

The image of innocence, a young child that still believes in Santa, which will hopefully carry into the next few years of your lives.

The thought makes you smile, wrapping dozens of presents for everyone and sticking them under the tree for all of you, your family of four plus Tommy and Maria who annually joined you for Christmas celebrations.

Joel glances around the living room, taking in the sights of the lights and the decorations that adorned the house. The tree stood in a corner, covered in colorful, homemade decorations from Sarah, the topper at the top of the tree shaped like a snowflake coloured in with a half dozen colours being Joel's favorite of them all.

"You know," he said softly, his hand still resting on your tummy. "This is going to be our last Christmas as a a family of three..."

The thought makes your heart ache with guilt or perhaps anxiety, biting into your lower lip. “It’s all a bit much isn’t it?”

"Yeah, it is," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. He was getting older now, creeping into his early thirties. To start over again, he felt a little out of practice.

"It's a lot to take in, baby, I know. But that doesn't mean it's a bad thing. We can do this together, Tommy and Maria will help.. we aren’t doin’ this alone. Sarah will adore our little girl. And I know you’re goin’ to be an incredible mother.”

Ever the romantic.

With a wry smile and your heart swelling inside of your chest, you offer him what he had indignantly prompted for earlier in the evening. “Want to try and get this baby out?”

Your hand trails through his hair with a suggestive smile. Joel raised an eyebrow at your suggestion, a sly grin spreading across his face.

"Hmm... Now that's a proposition I can get on board with, baby."

[no-144444]

prison, not a promise- l.norris

summary: lando proposes and it doesn't go as planned...

pairing: lando norris x fem! reader

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He genuinely thought you would’ve been the woman he married. He believed that the moment he got down on one knee, you would’ve burst into tears in front of him and said yes. 

He’d never expected that. 

People (understandably) thought you were fucking crazy. Who would say no to Lando Norris? Who would give up the chance to be rich and famous forever, to have one of the most sought-after men on the planet forever? 

Well, those people didn’t know what it meant to be ‘loved’ by Lando Norris. They didn’t see the constant fights and beratings. They wouldn’t know about the fact that you hadn’t felt like yourself for an entire year. They didn’t know about the sleepless nights, sitting there and wondering, hoping that you were enough. They didn’t know that an engagement ring would've been a prison, not a promise. 

You both walked into his apartment, silent. You hadn’t said ‘no’, saying ‘yes’ while in public just to keep up appearances,  but Lando knew, the second you two got in the car, you weren't happy. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, wrapping his arms around your waist. You allowed yourself to lean into him one last time, be his one last time. That was the Lando you fell for. The one that hugged and kissed you like no one else would ever matter to him, the one that looked at you like you held up the stars just for him. You never expected the honeymoon stage to last forever, but these fights weren’t normal. He ripped apart your character, your appearance, anything, just to make you feel as upset as him. You\’d been together for 4 years, and the problems started when he became Max’s rival.

“Lando, we’re not happy,” you started, feeling his hands drop from your waist. You turned around to face him. “At least, I’m not. I do everything you ask of me. I cook and clean, I dress up nice, I follow you around the fucking world and I gave up my dreams so that you could always have me at races. Now, all we do is fight. I’m fucking sick of it, alright? I’m tired of the fact that you either don’t love me anymore, or you don’t respect me, and I’d like to thank you for the 3 wonderful years we had before this year, and give you back your ring. You deserve someone less ambitious. You deserve someone paper-cut to be a WAG, Lando. I’m not that girl,” you sighed tearily. “When you find her, I suggest you tell her that you can be mean, you can be selfish, and you can be forgetful, but the trade for that is the sweetest man on the planet once the anger wears off. I’ve been around angry men my entire life, and I will not marry one. I’ll grab my things tomorrow. Goodbye Lando,” you brushed back at him, placing the golden engagement ring in his hand as you passed him by. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You left Monaco with all of your belongings, and went back home. You bought an apartment, and started your new job as a college professor. Before Lando you had been the best mathematician in the world. You had offers from every college from every college, but you chose the one closest to home. You didn’t think about Lando for months. You focused all of you attention on your students, all of your life was spent around numbers. You were finally happy. For the first time in a long time, you felt appreciated, you felt beautiful, and you felt happy. 

“Y/n,” the British accent you knew so well made you physically cringe. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Is it a mathematical problem?” you asked, not turning around as you sorted through papers. 

“Not really?” he chuckled. “Please just look at me.”

You slowly turned around and looked at him. He looked like shit. 

“I won,” he smiled, but it wasn’t a real smile. “I’m the Champion of the World.”

You held out your hand to shake his. “Congratulations.”

He took it with a frown. “I’m quitting F1.”

You stopped in your tracks when you heard that. “Why?”

“I did something really fucking stupid two years ago, and i need to make it right,” he admitted. “Y/n, I’m sorry. There’s no one else for me. You’re it. You’re my person, you make me feel so alive, so happy, so free, and I couldn’t even imagine what life would be like without you. Then I lived it. And it sucked. I know I’m an asshole, and I know you’re probably much better off without me, but I’m begging you, just let me back in your life, please? I’m falling apart without you baby.”

You stared at him. “Lando, I’m not asking you to stop racing because of me-”

“I did,” he smiled. 

“I’m not taking you back,” you insisted. “You made me feel like a shell of my actual self for a year, and I held on because I knew you needed a punching bag so that you wouldn’t take it out on the people around you. I don’t miss you. I don’t love you. I don’t want to see you.”

His face fell and he was quiet for a moment. “So I’ve really fucked it up?”

“Yeah, now get the fuck out of my lab.”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅ A few months went by and the 2026 season started, and Landow as still on the grid, shocker. You didn’t care, he was a fucking asshole who didn’t deserve your time or companionship. You hoped he would choke every race start (which he did), get outperformed by Oscar (which he did), and loose to the WDC to Oscar (which he did). Karma.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

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[saintobio]

blue christmas

a sincerely yours christmas special. non-canon. angst. 900 wc. part of the sy side-stories.

It was quiet that night. 

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, and the scent of pine and cinnamon lingered in the air while the warm glow of Christmas lights twinkled on the tree. Outside, snow drifted lazily to the ground, covering the surroundings of your home in a soft, pile of white. It felt peaceful—almost too peaceful—and you sat back on the couch, lounging after a nice Christmas dinner with your teenage son, Sachiro, who cradled a mug of cocoa in his hands beside you.

You smiled faintly, admiring how much he had grown, and how this quiet night seemed so far removed from the all the drama that had once filled your life. But the comfort of the moment didn’t last long before he spoke. His voice, deep like his father’s, broke the silence of your supposed peaceful night. 

“Mom,” he began, “Why didn’t you ever choose to remarry Dad?”

The question hit you harder than expected, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the right words. Really, what were the right words? You had never been good at talking about these things, and you didn’t expect that your son would put you on the hot seat like this. The past, especially those connected to Satoru—sometimes it felt easier to leave them untouched, forgotten. As it should be. 

You glanced at your son, unsure of how to explain the complicated web of emotions that tangled inside you. “I thought... it was for the best,” you said quietly, voice soft as you searched for something that sounded right. His question was too sudden to be given a decent answer. “You know your Dad and I just couldn’t make it work. And for you, for us, it was better this way.”

Sachiro nodded slowly as if he already knew the answer, yet his fingers tightened around the mug. You could see the way he was processing your words, as if he was hoping for better reasoning. He had never even known the sibling he had lost until recently, the gap that finally forced his father out of your lives. Sachiro only saw the quiet love that both his parents shared, but it wasn’t enough, not for either of you.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like if my sibling were here?” he asked, clearly inciting. “If you kept her, mom. Would she be celebrating with us tonight?”

You felt the ache in your chest as the question landed. You knew Sachiro’s question came from a place of grudge, aiming really well at a spot that hurt the most. And it did good at bringing you a pang of grief from a memory you had tried to bury long ago. You weren’t numb. Of course the loss still stung, even all these years later.

“I think about it all the time,” you murmured, unable to hide the shame in your voice. “What she would’ve been like. How she would’ve looked like. But... I don’t want to remember, Sachiro. I’ve made peace with it.”

But he wasn’t done. “Then, why didn’t you try again?” His voice was so gentle, yet so curious. “Why didn’t you remarry anyone else? I mean... Dad’s married to someone else now. And they’re having another baby. Shouldn’t that be a sign?”

The words felt like a stab to your chest, your heart shattering with an emotion you couldn’t name. Satoru’s life had moved on without you, far far too long ago, yet every reminder of it still cut deep. 

“I’m happy for him,” you said softly, the words stuck in your throat. “But that doesn’t mean I want the same outcome for myself. It’s... complicated.”

Marrying someone else again was not in your books. 

You could feel the intensity of Sachiro’s gaze on you, as if waiting for more. But you didn’t have more to give. You didn’t know how to explain the parts of you that had been shattered, the pieces that had never fully healed. Even if your own son hated you for it. 

“I just want you to be happy, Mom,” Sachiro said, turning away from you, his gaze landing on the Christmas tree. “I want you to have what you deserve. When I have my own family someday, I don’t want you to be spending your Christmas all alone.”

You wanted to tell him everything. How much you loved him, how much you would do for him. How hard it was to move on, how hard it was to see his father moving on with someone else. But the words needn’t be said. At least, not for tonight. 

And then, just as quickly as the moment had come, it faded into a kaleidoscope of memories. The world around you shifted, and the warmth of the fire and the smell of Christmas began to dissolve. Suddenly, you were back in your bed, heart pounding recklessly in the darkness.

You woke up eyes wide in surprise, until the reality of your room finally made sense to you. You blinked, trying to steady yourself. It was a dream. It was all a dream. 

Sighing, you let your head fall into your hands. And just for a moment, you let yourself mourn the future you would never have. The family you would never see, the happiness you could never quite reach.

But as the soft glow of the Christmas lights flickered in the silent night, you slowly allowed yourself to breathe. Tomorrow would come. But tonight, you would let the dream linger just a little longer.

[achilles-rage]

achilles-rage’s twelve days of christmas

day twelve: have yourself a merry little christmas (ft. evan buckley)

summary: spending christmas eve with your boyfriend, evan buckley.

word count: 1.6k

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a/n: so sorry this is late, my grandparents just got here for christmas and i’ve been spending time with them!! and if i’m not online tomorrow, merry christmas!! i love and appreciate you guys so much, you have no idea!! enjoy<3

warnings: none, no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

Despite all the disorder and chaos the holidays bring, Buck loves everything about it. He’s often stressed about finding the perfect gifts for his loved ones, but the pure, unfiltered joy it brings him to see his friends and family happy always makes him completely forget about the hunt to find said gifts.

Coming home from work on Christmas Eve this year, however, felt off. His heart felt warm as he left work; feeling the brisk December air, seeing the multicoloured lights, and watching those around him frantically searching for last minute gifts and turkey dinner ingredients. He was only pulled back to his own Christmas Eve when he got to his apartment, remembering that you’re working late tonight, and he won’t be able to spend the night with you.

His face lights up, however, when he opens the door to Christmas music playing, and you standing in the kitchen in an apron, rather than a dark, empty house.

“Merry Christmas Eve, baby.” you say in a sickly-sweet voice, looking up from your mixing bowl to give him a wide grin.

He drops his bag and crosses the apartment to give you a kiss, unable to say anything as he wraps his head around the fact that you’re right here. He could already see his night in his head; all of his friends were spending the nights with their own families, so he’d be sat on the couch, all alone, wishing you were beside him in your matching Christmas pajamas.

“I thought you had to work?” he says when he pulls back from the kiss, one hand finding its home on your hip. 

You drop the spatula in your hand and raise your shoulders, giving him a cheeky smile. 

“I may have wanted to surprise you. My boss told me I could go home early, so I figured I’d keep it a surprise. I thought we could-” you explain, but you’re cut off by his lips on yours again, his shirt most definitely getting covered in flour and sugar as he presses his body against yours.

His kiss is slow and passionate, and it makes your head spin as his cologne invades your every sense. You haphazardly raise your hands to his wrists in a desperate attempt to ground yourself as he holds your face in his hands, and the stubble that scratches along your chin and your cheeks makes you shiver.

“This is the best surprise ever.” he murmurs as he pulls back, looking down at you with a dazed smile. 

He then looks down at the cookie dough on the counter, and smirks as he dips a finger into the bowl and raises a glob of it to his lips. You roll your eyes with a soft laugh, then push him away and take the mixing bowl back into your arm to keep him away from it.

“Hey, stop that! These are for dinner tomorrow.” you tell him sternly, although the smile threatening to make its way onto your face betrays you. You’re going over to Athena and Bobby’s tomorrow for Christmas, and you desperately want to make sure you don’t run out of sweets.

“I don’t think anyone will mind if we’re one cookie short.” he tries to reason, taking a step forward. You step away again, a quiet giggle escaping your lips as he lunges at you and wraps his arms around your plush middle.

“What about 10 cookies short? I know you; you always eat them when they come out of the oven.” you argue, raising your shoulders to protect your neck as he drops his head and begins to press sloppy kisses to your neck, his stubble tickling your skin.

“Quality check.” he mumbles against your skin, and you laugh again, trying to squirm out of his grip.

“Buck, I’m serious.” you get out through breathless laughs, feeling your heart rate increase at the feeling of being wrapped in your boyfriend’s arms.

“And I’m in love with you.” he purrs, pressing one last kiss to your neck before pulling away reluctantly. He looks at the big smile and your face, and his chest swells with pride. He loves being able to make you a giggling and flustered mess with just a few kisses.

“And I love you. Now, please, can you get started on dinner while I finish these?” you ask him sweetly as the oven dings to signal it’s reached the right temperature.

“You’re no fun.” he teases, but complies, making his way to the fridge to pull out ingredients for dinner.

“Hey, I came home from work early for you. And, I bought more cocoa powder at the store so we can make homemade hot chocolate and drink it while we watch Christmas movies in our matching Christmas pajamas, which I also bought for us.” you argue in a teasing tone, narrowing your eyes at him. 

He beams over his shoulder at you, and he has to resist the urge to pull you into him again at the thought of spending Christmas Eve with you on the couch, wrapped in each other’s arms with no worries or stress.

“You’re the best.” he tells you with a wink, balancing the food in his arms before dropping it on the kitchen counter.

“Damn right, I am.” you tell him with a smirk.

You both continue to work around each other in the kitchen, falling into a comfortable silence as the soft hum of the Christmas music envelopes you. 

When the cookies are done and cooling on the counter, and your bellies are full from the dinner Buck had made, you go upstairs to change into your pajamas. While Buck’s consist of pajama pants and a t-shirt, yours are shorts with the same pattern, and a long sleeve shirt.

You sit on the counter as Buck makes the hot chocolate, swinging your legs absentmindedly as you talk about your days, and the plan for tomorrow. You sit close enough to the stove that Buck can keep a hand on you when he’s stirring the hot chocolate, at his insistence, of course, letting him run his fingers over the soft flesh of your thighs.

Every now and then, you pull him towards you, distracting him momentarily with a kiss as you wrap your legs around his waist. He melts into the kiss each time, the task at hand slipping his mind as he gets wrapped up in you, but he always pulls away before the hot chocolate burns, and you’re not sure how it hasn’t burnt already.

You bring your hot mugs to the couch once it’s ready, and curl up under lots of blankets, sides pressed together as you rest your head on his shoulder and he extends his arm behind you on the couch. 

“What movie should we watch?” Buck asks as he turns on the TV, beginning to scroll through movies.

“How about It’s a Wonderful Life?” you ask, eyes following the flipping of movie titles passing on screen.

“What?” he says, brows furrowing as he looks down at you. Your brows furrow as well, and you look up at him quizzically, eyes searching his face.

“You’ve never seen It’s a Wonderful Life?” you ask in disbelief, letting your jaw drop as he shakes his head.

“No? Was I supposed to?” You sit up straight, hot chocolate in hand threatening to spill over the edge of the mug as you stare at him, completely dumbfounded.

“It’s a classic, I used to watch it every year growing up. What kind of movies did you watch as a kid?” you ask, turning your body completely to face him. He shrugs sheepishly, then looks down at his lap, feeling a little embarrassed.

“We never really celebrated Christmas much. I mean, there were presents and stuff, but there were never any traditions or anything. My parents got even more upset and distant around holidays, which makes sense now, I guess. But at the time, I just didn’t really see the point in celebrating Christmas if all it did was make my parents sad.” Your eyes soften at his words, and you feel a pang in your chest as you picture a little baby Buck wondering why his house seems to be the only one not filled with joy and laughter.

“Oh, baby. I’m sorry.” you whisper, a frown on your face. You move your fingers up to his chin and force his face back up, ducking your head a little until his eyes are back on yours. “We should make some new traditions, give you a real, happy Christmas.”

“Like homemade hot chocolate?” he replies, a small smile coming back onto his face. It’s true, his Christmases were never great, but now, with you, he’s extremely excited about the holidays.

“Yeah, and Christmas movies in matching pajamas.” you reply with a smile, leaning in to kiss him softly.

He hums as he kisses you back, and when your hand comes up to rest on his cheek, he lets out a content sigh. This has got to be the best Christmas ever. He has everything he could ever wish for right here in front of him.

“Sounds perfect. As long as it’s with you.” he tells you sincerely when you both pull away. 

You feel heat rise to your cheeks at his words, and you bite your lip, as you stare into his eyes, entranced.

“Merry Christmas.” you whisper, then move to face the TV again, settling against him.

“Merry Christmas.” he replies, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before resting his head on top of yours and clicking play on the movie.

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[pamwritessometimes]

Dig That Crazy Santa Claus

Russell Shaw x reader

A Tuesday's Gone Christmas drabble

Summary: Your daughter may have uncovered her dad's greatest secret ever.

Warnings: none

A/N: Surprise, haha! I couldn’t resist — I had to write a little drabble about their first Christmas together. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all of you!

Wordcount: 810

The house was dressed for the holidays in all its mismatched glory. The tree leaned a bit too far to the left, decked with candy canes and glittery, uneven ornaments. But it was perfect, because this was your first Christmas as a family of three, and you had gone all out: stockings hung by the fireplace, wreaths everywhere, and enough gingerbread to open your own shop. 

Yet, instead of the excited squeals you’d been expecting from a five-year-old, there was… silence.

Emma sat on the couch, arms crossed and lips pursed in a pout that could rival the Grinch.

“What’s wrong, bug?” Russell asked after noticing her little frown. His tone was light, but his brow was furrowed with concern. “You look like someone just canceled Christmas.”

“No one canceled anything” Emma mumbled, staring daggers at the floor.

You and Russell exchanged puzzled looks. Emma wasn’t usually subtle when upset. She was more of a dramatic-foot-stomping, full-volume protest kind of kid. This… this was new.

“Sweetheart” you tried, sitting down beside her and gently brushing her hair back. “Whatever’s bothering you, you can tell us. Did Misha eat your gingerbread man? Did Daddy burn the cinnamon rolls again?”

Russell shot you a playful glare but stayed focused on the scowling little girl. But Emma’s pout just deepened and gave you no reply.

“Okay, we’re going to need reinforcements” Russell muttered, plopping down on her other side. “Em, I’ll trade you a cookie for the truth… two cookies.”

Emma huffed but didn’t take the bait.

“Three cookies” Russell tried, wiggling his brows.

Nothing.

“Alright, we’re getting desperate here” he sighed. “I can give you four cookies, but that’s my final–’

She glared at him, her cheeks puffing with frustration. Finally, she burst out, cutting him off, “I saw Santa’s clothes!”

Both you and Russell blinked in unison.

“Santa’s clothes?” you repeated.

“In your room! Hanging with Daddy’s stuff!” Emma exclaimed, her voice quivering with the sheer weight of her discovery. “You’ve been lying to me! Santa’s not real!”

Russell’s eyes widened, and then, like a true master of improvisation, he leaned back with a dramatic gasp. “Emma Grace, do you know what you’ve just done?”

Uh-oh. He broke out the full name.

“What?” she asked, her pout faltering slightly.

“You’ve stumbled upon the biggest secret in the whole world.”

Her frown faltered, curiosity creeping into her expression.

“What secret?”

Russell leaned in close, lowering his voice like they were co-conspirators. “What I’m about to tell you is top-secret. You can’t tell anyone, not even your little school friends, ‘kay?”

Emma nodded solemnly, her earlier betrayal temporarily forgotten.

Russell leaned a bit closer, and whispered, “The truth is… I am Santa.”

Emma’s mouth dropped open. “No, you’re not!”

“Think about it” Russell said, tapping her temple. “Have you ever seen Santa and me in the same room?”

Emma squinted suspiciously. “...No.”

“And how do you think all those presents get here every year? Magic? Nah, it’s hard work, bug. I’ve got a sleigh parked in a top-secret location, and those reindeer? They’re on a strict carrot diet.”

You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh at his earnest delivery.

“But… you don’t have white beard!” Emma challenged, crossing her arms.

“Ah” Russell said, stroking his dark stubbled chin. “That’s my disguise. Can’t have people recognizing me at the grocery store, can I? Imagine the chaos.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she was intrigued now, her earlier anger melting into suspicion laced with wonder.

“If you’re Santa…” she started. ”Why do you live here and not at the North Pole?”

“Budget cuts” he said solemnly, earning a stifled laugh from you. “And between us, your mom’s cookies? Way better than the elves’. They get jealous, but I don’t care.”

That finally got a giggle out of her. “You’re just making this up!”

“Am I?” he countered, raising a brow. “Now, you cannot tell anyone, not even your friends. If word gets out, it’ll blow my cover. Deal?”

Emma hesitated, then slowly extended her pinky. Russell hooked his pinky with hers, sealing the pact.

“So… you’re really Santa?” she whispered, eyes sparkling with childlike excitement now.

“The one and only.” Russell nodded gravely.

Later that evening, as she cuddled up between the two of you in front of the fireplace, a mug of hot cocoa in front of her on the coffee table, Emma glanced up at Russell.

“If you’re Santa, can I ride in your sleigh someday?”

He grinned, ruffling her hair. “Sorry, kid. Only bad ones stay up that late. And you don’t wanna get on the naughty list, do ya?”

She shook her head and snuggled closer to him.

As Emma drifted off to sleep, her head resting against Russell’s arm, you leaned over with a soft smile. “Santa, huh?”

Russell shrugged, looking entirely pleased with himself. “What can I say? I’m a man of many hats. And apparently, one big red suit.”

I hope you enjoyed this little holiday treat, haha! Wishing you all a wonderful day and the happiest of holidays, loves!

xx Pam

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[saixria]

The ICHBW live stream animatic is hitting me hard hours after the fact I’m not a crier but I’m actually tearing up. Now I can fully articulate what I love about Athena’s part. Athena’s character came together so well I love it and I think the visuals combined with a day more of thinking + discussing with friends really helped me better understand everything. Those last 90 seconds of ICHBW was the BEST PART OF THE ENTIRE SHOW. Ridiculously long Athena character analysis under the cut which quickly devolves into thematic discussion lmao

First of all, the expressions they have on the animatic makes it abundantly clear that ody and Athena weren’t separated. HER SMILE!! HER LIGHTNING SCAR!! ODYSSEUS’ EXPRESSION SOFTENED TO A SMILE AFTER GETTING OUT OF QUICK THOUGHT!! Odysseus definitely pieced together what she did for her right then, there’s no other reason for Jorge to show Athena showing Odysseus that scar otherwise. It’s like they immediately slid back into place like puzzles pieces even after 10 years. They’ve been changed in completely opposite ways. Odysseus the mortal has been turned to be less human, more ruthless, while Athena the immortal goddess has been turned to be more human, more empathetic. The latter partially because of Odysseus. Tbh Athena ever showing her face to Odysseus after My Goodbye and saying “I can’t help but feel like I’ve led you astray” is as close to an apology as it’s gonna get LMAO. The unresolved WOTM melody in the end is actually because their story together hasn’t ended, it’s because Odysseus doesn’t have to be her warrior of the mind anymore.

I once said that open arms is more than mercy, but treating the world kindly to lead to kinder souls down the road, to change the world for the better, and it holds true even more now. Odysseus is too tired for this. He’s just a man, he knows a better world is possible but he can no longer be a part of it. He can’t witness the better world in his short mortal lifetime, he just wants his happy ending with his wife. He doesn’t want to be Athena’s warrior of the mind anymore, and that’s ok. And yet, and yet he knows it is possible. He needs it to be possible, and he needs Athena to make it possible. Athena accepts it with a soft “very well”. That doesn’t mean they won’t ever see each other again, just that they no longer have that obligation of mentor-student, they’re just two old friends. They can rebuild their relationship slowly but surely with what they have.

Telemachus is the Warrior of the Mind now (AHHHHHH HIS ATHENA CAPE AND HELMET I LOVE HIS UPGRADE). From here, Telemachus and Athena are gonna truly fulfill Athena’s mission of “making a greater tomorrow” except it isn’t to turn the world more logical and ruthless like she once thought, but to make the world more empathetic and kind — she’s finally found what she was fighting for. Perhaps this is why the WOTM melody in God Games ended with Legendary — Telemachus is the new warrior of the mind. Odysseus fought for a world where his son can be safe and grow up kind and he succeeded in that. Far from war, Telemachus grew up able to afford kindness and empathy while also retaining the ability to be ruthless in face of obstacles — and now he can use this to change the world to Athena’s new ideal — where people held each other with more empathy — as Athena’s new Warrior of the Mind.

Athena’s verse existing is a sign of her reconciliation with Odysseus (in character might I add! I don’t think they’re the type to express their affection so easily, they know each other so we’ll that they just know), so instead her verse is there to expand on the show’s theme as I will be talking about next.

I absolutely adore the depth Athena’s ICHBW verse adds to the thesis of the show. I’ve always thought of epic as mostly being about how it was best to strive for a balance between ruthlessness and open arms, but circumstances only allowed Odysseus to become ruthless which was tragic, while different circumstances allowed Telemachus to be both. But it’s not just that. Sure it’s good to have a balance between the two ideaologies but what if we could make a world where ruthlessness wasn’t needed at all? What if we could be unconditionally kind and be treated with kindness in return instead of taken advantage of or hurt? Where, when given the choice between open arms and ruthlessness, people would choose open arms? It wasn’t possible for these characters, but it could happen someday in the future. If Athena and Telemachus can work towards that future so can we. So should we, considering we’re in a much better place compared to them. A friend of mine said this was a call to action to us in the present and I just. Have not been able to stop thinking about it.

Athena has always thought in “maybes” about her purpose. from WOTM to My Goodbye we’ll be fine to ICHBW. “Maybe one day…” -> “One day you’ll…” -> “maybe if I…” -> “what if…” it’s like she’s representing the future, the “greater tomorrow” of what could be, because as Odysseus said, she’s immortal and she will live to see it and change it. Circe saga has something similar — “Maybe showing one act of kindness leads to kinder souls down the road”, “maybe one day the world will need a puppeteer no more, or maybe one day the world will need a puppeteer more”. The connection of these hypotheticals “maybe one day” with a future world that could possibly be changed for the better by spreading kindness and open arms extends from Athena’s songs to There are Other Ways, one of the only times in the musical where, when Circe could choose between ruthlessness and mercy, she chose to show mercy and help them in hopes of spreading kindness to the world and making the world a slightly better place — aka a scenario that showed how unconditional kindness, “open arms”, could work, for kindness isn’t the inability to be cruel but choosing kindness even when you have the choice not to be. “Kindness is brave”, like Polites said.

Because of her immortality, Athena is the character who’s most connected to “time” in the musical with her time-related abilities like “time dive”, making people think quicker, having a domain essentially outside of time and space… She doesn’t just have a connection with the future but also the past. As someone who lives forever, she is the one who can connect the past, learning from past mistakes, to change the future: “To fall is to learn one way”.

Speaking of her connection to time, You can almost see that at one point Athena was the narrator of the story (see cut songs: full speed ahead demo and Ismarus) like Hamilton’s Burr: simultaneously an observer and a participant of the story. In the animatic of ICHBW she’s overseeing everything happening from her hour glass, wondering out loud from a meta perspective about the themes of the show, hypotheticals of what a different story, a different world could have looked like, and bringing everything to a close. It really feels like Athena is who’s gonna “live and tell their story” as per Hamilton, as always has been the case from burrthena narration days of Old Epic. She’s not just the bridge between the past and future but also between the story and the audience, by bringing up these themes on a meta level to directly tell the audience to make the world a kinder place, because we have the choice, unlike Odysseus who can only choose to accept his actions and move forward. Because she lives forever she can carry on their memories forever. She can keep telling their story over and over again to remind herself and others to change the world by showing empathy and open arms, and she will keep telling this story to us until ruthlessness is no longer needed in the world. The world where this is possible is not theirs but OURS. It is WE who have the chance to choose between ruthlessness and open arms and the show is telling us that, when we have this choice and aren’t forced to be ruthless, to always choose kindness and empathy. Like Circe, like Telemachus. So that we may impart some kindness unto the world and make it a better place.

“Maybe one day we’ll reach them and we’ll make a greater tomorrow then they’ll see I know we’ll change the world cuz we are the warriors of the mind!” — yes, they have reached us. We are all also warriors of the mind, doing our part to change the world for the better, to be kinder.

To me, one part of Athena’s character that’s never clicked for me was her motivation in WOTM. “Make a greater tomorrow” “we’ll change the world” why? How? What’s the point of including this in her song when it’s never come back up again? Now with the ICHBW verse, everything is tied up with a beautiful ribbon. She has always wanted to change the world for the better, and now she’s finally found out how — to spread empathy and Open Arms — and it’s inspired by the desire to help her friends, to prevent what happened to Odysseus from happening again, honoring him, just as how Odysseus tried to embrace Open Arms to honor his dead friends’ memories.

All in all, I’ve grown to genuinely really really like Athena’s verse in ICHBW. It’s so short but so effective at conveying so much. I hope that made sense bc it’s more a compilation of thoughts I had rather than a structured essay. Perhaps one day I will restructure this into a proper essay but not today for after all I’m- *gets shot

[owlbeforesunset]

Here next year...

Pairing: San x Reader Summary:  You broke up eons ago when you were both young. You went off to uni and San went to an art school. You come back home for the first time for Christmas. You knew the only person you truly cared about the most had probably moved on but maybe… Genre: Fluff Au/Trope: Exes to lovers Rating: PG Word Count:  1.3k A/N: For my wonderful babycakes, @jaehunnyy. I hope it was to your liking. I was actually so happy when I got you for my secret santa and I chose San because you know... - For the @cromernet secret santa

It felt weird being so close to home, the familiar scenery passing by as I patiently sat on the bus waiting for the familiar stop. It feels like yesterday when I had just arrived at university and it was completely unfathomable to me that I would ever get to this day. The day I finally got to go home and say that I finished my degree. My heart felt whole knowing that I was so much closer to my dream career. Years of work and I was so much closer to becoming a sound engineer. All the sacrifices I made almost felt worth it, the sleepless nights and the lack of a social life. Now when I look back these sacrifices feel like a small price to pay to be able to get into the career I dreamed of. There was only one sacrifice that always pained me to think about…one that brought a familiar sting to my eyes when I think about the day I left.

The day I left him…

I quickly wiped the tears that escaped, running down my cheeks. That familiar ache settled in my chest as the day I last saw him. I could vividly remember it, how he was the one who dropped me off at the very stop that I was closely approaching. I could vividly remember him wearing the dark grey coat he wore that smelt so painfully like him when I gave him that last goodbye hug. His pained expression with his glossy eyes haunted me everyday as I started to walk towards the bus. As I sat on the bus, waiting for the bus to move, I couldn’t even look out the window at him. I remember the feeling of my tears falling onto my lap as I closed my eyes, trying to ease the pain of the loss. The loss of the man who never left my heart, no matter how hard I tried.

As I got off the bus, I was met with the joy of my family greeting me. I was really happy to see them again, excitedly hugging them after not seeing them for so long. It felt good to be back home, but at the back of my head, all I could think about was him.

“You miss him …don’t you…” My childhood bestfriend asked tentatively.

“...Is it that obvious?” I looked down at my hands, nervously playing with my fingers. “How’s he been… since I’ve been gone?’

“It’s been…tough. He’s just kinda focusing on school and dance.” You cracked a smile at that, happy that he still danced. The both of you bonded on your love for the arts, he loved to dance and you loved to sing. You were glad that he never stopped dancing.

“That’s good, that’s good… Is he, he- seeing anyone… right now..?” An unintentional sigh left your lips when your friend shook their head.

“He hasn’t seen anyone…just kind of focused on himself.” Your friend gave you a strange look, “would it bother if he was seeing someone?” You shifted in your seat uncomfortably, not wanting to answer the question. “Do you still love him?” 

The question hit you hard, because although years had passed since you left and communication slowly died out as time continued the love you felt never faded. Even though the long distance absolutely dismantled your relationship, you never stopped thinking about San. Although you still loved him, you know there was nothing stopping San from moving on no matter how much it hurt to think about.

“I do…” you hugged your knees against your body as your vision started to appear misty. Your friend approached you, gently caressing your back to comfort you.

“You should talk to him…you never know what could come from it.”

“I know I should but it’s been so long…and what if-” 

“You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

A week had passed and the shame had grown. You couldn’t bring yourself to face San again. You blame yourself for the end of your relationship since your shitty time management skills obviously pushed San away. How could you face him when you made him feel like he was secondary to your life. Now you were too much of a coward to even face him again… for him to tell you that he was no longer in love with you and he wanted nothing to do with you. No matter how hard you tried, you could not face that reality. 

It was Christmas eve and your family was a little bit too chaotic for you today. You decided it would be good for you to talk a walk around town to try and clear your mind. You were walking down the street, looking through the windows of the different stores. You loved the decor and lights, they looked so much prettier in the evening. Most of the stores were closed now but it was still nice to see the lights filling the snow covered streets. As you continued down the street you saw the most beautifully lit large Christmas tree adorning the street. A few people were gathered around it taking pictures and taking in its beauty. You made your way towards the tree, hoping to capture an image of the tree. 

As you start taking pictures of the tree, making your way around the tree for the best angle, you bump into someone. You completely lose your balance, falling forwards. Fully expecting to fall face first into the snow, you were confused that you were still up right. When you open your eyes, you are met with the familiar brown eyes from your past. What are the odds…? San quickly helped you steady yourself on your feet. You couldn’t stop yourself from staring at him, your lips slightly parted. 

“Hi.” His voice broke you out of the slight trans you were in.

“Hi!”  Your hand shot up quickly, your voice coming out a little bit more shrill than you intended. He gave you a puzzled look before hesitantly grasping and softly shaking your hand. The feeling of his skin against yours was electric even though his hand was slightly cold from the snow. You missed him. 

“So…are you going to let go or…” You quickly dropped his hand, your cheeks warming up in the cold winter air.

“Oh…I’m so sorry. I, I just- I’m sorry.” He smiled, the dimples in his cheeks becoming more prominent warming your soul like they did in the past.

“No worries.” You stood there in front of the tree in a comfortable silence, staring at the twinkling lights. Stealing glances at San, his figure gently lit by the lights of the tree, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself when you noted the lingering smile on his lips. The shame and worry you felt before felt silly now as you stood there together.

“Do you wanna go out sometime…with me?” A silence lingered as you looked into each other's eyes.

“I was hoping you’d ask.”

A year had passed and it was Christmas eve again but this time it felt a lot different. You had left your hometown again but this time you weren’t living in your crappy uni accommodation, you had your own apartment. This time you aren’t  stressing about how uni is going to be in the coming year, you were finally a sound engineer and it was no longer just a fantasy. This time you weren’t feeling the grief of your past love, you were…well now you were sitting in front of the fire, in those familiar arms that got you through so much. Now you looked down at your hand at the glimmering jewerly that solidified your future. 

The years you spent dreading the day you would have to accept the fact that you would spend every holiday, every Christmas alone came to this. Going into every Christmas knowing that the love of my life will be next year.

Please like and reblog if you enjoyed <3

[wardenparker]

Who Took the Merry Out of Christmas

Frankie Morales x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: Explicit for family dysfunction. This blog is always 18+ Word Count: 10.7k Warnings: Post partum depression, marriage trouble, mentions of addiction, demanding family, abusive parents, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, dysfunctional family, a very sweet baby who has done nothing wrong ever, parents abusing their adult children in front of others. (There is a happy-ish ending, I promise.) Summary: It's only been a few months since Frankie came home from South America, and both of your families are bearing down on you for the holidays. A rocky marriage and even rockier relationships with your parents are bound to make for a very tense Christmas. Notes: Sorry it's not light and fluffy this year, gang. It just hasn't been a light and fluffy time. Considering how dramatic this holiday season has been, this little slice of family trauma seemed pretty appropriate.

Christmas. The time of year that is supposed to merry and bright. Well, the bright is accurate, especially in south Florida. Not a dusting of snow to be had, the palm trees in the front yard decorated with lights and the temperatures still letting everyone wear shorts and t-shirts if they wanted. It’s definitely not the white Christmas you had grown up with, but Frankie prefers this over freezing his ass off while shoveling snow off the driveway just to go to the store to get diapers.

The magic rubs off over the years. From childhood we outgrow the sparkle of the Christmas season as we stop thinking of it as magical, and now it's just another set of expectations that inevitably seems impossible to meet.

Both sides of your family had expected you and Frankie to host this year. Because of the baby, they said. Because now that you had a real family, it was time for you to take on the responsibility of holiday hosting. It's frustrating enough to be a first time mother of an eight month old. It's sleepless and difficult and Frankie has only barely gone back to work so money has been tighter than tight.

“Why don’t we just tell them that we can’t?” Frankie leans back from the sink where he’s finally shaving to look at you perched in the bed. You are tired and he knows that despite what you’ve said, hosting Christmas is the last fucking thing you need. “We have the baby. It’s a lot.”

"Because Christmas is next week, Francisco," you remind him. The baby monitor is on your nightstand, and you fiddle with it, but it's mostly a nervous habit. Mirabel wasn't a good sleeper for the first few months and you're constantly worried that she'll start having trouble again. "And they're coming here because of her. It was a miracle they didn't all fly down to cram into the delivery room when she was born, it seems mean to say they can't see her at Christmas."

“One— I wouldn’t have let them in the delivery room.” That memory was for him alone, he has absolutely loved being the first to hold his daughter. To be there to help and watch as you pushed his child into the world. “Two, shouldn’t that mean that they want to save you the stress of hosting?” He asks, leaning back in and putting the razor back to his cheek. “Hell, I say we order Chinese and be done with it.”

"I would agree." Stretching out in bed helps a lot. You've been dealing with a little hip pain lately that gets exasperated by carrying Mirabel around and you make sure to do stretches every morning and night – at least for a few minutes. "But we're in it now. Flights are booked. Meals have to be planned."

“I’ve got to mow the grass tomorrow.” He knows you will remind him of it so he goes ahead and checks it off your mental list. “And you need more mushrooms, right?” He makes a face in the mirror, hating mushrooms but you don’t seem to have picked up on that.

"Beef Wellington on Christmas is a family tradition." Your mother made it ever year from the recipe that her mother-in-law taught her, and now you make it every year for you and Frankie and however many of your friends you end up having over to dinner on the holiday. Usually it's the Miller brothers, this year might include Pope as well.

It’s good that he’s in a different room than you are so you don’t see the face that he makes. He hates the Beef Wellington, he’s just never been able to admit that. When you were dating, you could have served him a boiled shoe and he would have praised it. It was better than an MRE or the shit they served in the chow hall most days on base. And Frankie’s idea of cooking was either firing up a grill or going out to eat, so home cooked whatever was good to him. Especially when he knew he was getting laid after dinner. Now he’s stuck eating mushrooms every damn Christmas and it sucks. “I know.” He sighs, turning on the water to rinse the hair out of his razor. “I changed the sheets in the guest rooms.” He tells you. “And made sure your mom has the ‘good pillows’.” He rolls his eyes, again, happy you can’t see him because you would definitely scold him for that.

“Thank you, honey.” You know damn well he thinks it’s ridiculous and probably had a running monologue going why he made the guest beds about how picky your families are, but his parents are just as bad as yours in different ways. That’s why this holiday is going to be so fucking stressful. Part of why you work so hard to make family visits perfect is because his mother has never approved of you. “We’ll make sure everything is perfect. It will all be fine.”

Frankie hums as he finishes shaving and wipes his jaw dry. It’s a little jarring to see the smooth skin, he’s sported a patchy beard since getting out, but he’d decided that one thing he needed to do was look better after getting his pilot’s license back. He steps out of the bathroom and grins at you. “Hey baby.”

“Hey.” You say it before you look up, and when you lift your eyes you do a double take. “Clean shaven, huh? It’s been a while.”

He shrugs slightly, reaching up and rubbing his cheek lightly. “Figured your mom would complain less if I was clean shaven.” He had even gotten a haircut, not nearly as short as when he was active duty, but trimmed from the longer curls he had recently been sporting.

“Mira’s going to spend half of tomorrow poking at your face,” you predict, smiling softly. It will be the first time your daughter has ever seen him clean shaven.

He snorts. “As long as she doesn’t cry.” He slides his eyes along your body, not caring that you are in a comfy t-shirt and short, you look sexy to him. “So what are my chances of getting lucky tonight?” He asks, lifting a brow.

“Are you suddenly into somnophilia?” It proves your point that you can barely stifle a yawn. Getting up multiple times a night to pee or see what Mirabel needs takes its toll on your rest, and god knows you never ever get to sleep in anymore. Sure, you knew being a mother was going to be exhausting, but this is above and beyond that.

His playful grin slips and he shakes his head. “No baby, not if you’re too tired to enjoy yourself.” He doesn’t sigh, but he does miss the intimacy, the closeness of sex. Instead of complaining, he reaches back into the bathroom to flip off the light and starts walking towards the bedroom door. He will check the doors and downstairs windows one last time before setting the alarm, a habit of his. “You need some water or something downstairs?”

"No, I'm okay." It's not that you don't want him. He's still the same gorgeous man you married and conceived your daughter with. It isn't a matter of want. It's a matter of being so exhausted and feeling so disgusting from never having time to thoroughly shower and always ending up sweaty and sticky somehow. You don't feel like yourself, and you haven't since your second trimester.

But unloading all of that on Frankie doesn't seem fair when he's finally getting back on his feet with work and therapy and kicking his drug habit. The man doesn't even drink anymore, because he doesn't want to slip up again. So you keep your mouth shut and don't bitch about your own discomfort.

He sighs softly as he goes downstairs. Another night where he’s turned down, but he understands. You’ve been dealing with some postpartum issues and he doesn’t want to push. He just wants to make love to his wife more than once a month. It’s another reason why he had thought hosting Christmas would be a bad idea. You are already worn down and frazzled, despite Frankie sharing the load of the house and baby with you as much as he possibly could. This is just going to add more stress to your already loaded down shoulders and he doesn’t like it at all.

You turn over and slip under the covers when he goes downstairs to check the alarms. Being overwhelmed and depressed has you feeling like you're out drowning in the middle of the ocean and have suddenly forgotten how to swim. The best thing you can do right now is try to sleep.

Frankie comes back upstairs, slipping into the bed and curling around you. He hates that instead of curling against him, you huddle against your side of the bed. Wondering if you are secretly still pissed at him for the entire Coke thing. “I love you.” He whispers before he closes his eyes.

You love him, too. You do. And you have this whole time. It's just so hard to pull yourself out of the bottom of the ocean of your depression and uncertainty that you just pretend to be asleep and hope that you both knock out quickly.

Maybe tomorrow will be better. Probably not, but maybe. After all, it can't be worse.

******

“It’s okaaaaaaay.” Frankie bounces his very upset little girl on his hip and shoves a finger in her mouth. She’s teething and of course woke up in a horrible mood. She hiccups and he grabs the teething ring to throw it back in the freezer for a little bit. “It’s okay, baby girl. I know it hurts. Believe me, it doesn’t get better when you have a cavity either.”

"But she'll have good dental hygiene and never have a cavity in her whole life." You call from the kitchen, working your ass off to make sure that each and every bit of Christmas dinner is accounted for perfectly. Frankie isn't the world's best cook by any means, but this family tradition is ingrained in your bones -- beef Wellington, scalloped potatoes, green beans with almonds, and a demi-glace gravy to make everything even richer and fancier. It's a far cry from what you normally eat but that is sort of the point. It's the holidays. This is the time to be fancy.

He snorts. “Not if she gets her teeth from my side.” He calls back. “I’m ninety percent fillings at this point.” That makes her giggle and he grins at her. “Was daddy funny?” He walks her back into the kitchen to find you frantically stirring something. “I’ve got the living room vacuumed and the egg nog is in the garage fridge.”

"Have you heard from your parents yet?" Your in-laws are always early, which is not exactly a sin but it is inconvenient. If they say they'll be somewhere at 7 then they are always there by 6:30, wondering where on earth you've been for the last half hour.

“Not yet.” He loves his mom, he really does, but he’s not blind to her persnickety nature. He’s talked to her about it but it seems like she doesn’t bother you. A wonderful thing considering she’s run off more than one girlfriend of his over the years. “You know her, she’s gonna show up when she wants to. At the most inconvenient damn time.”

“I just want to have dinner in the oven when they get here.” The Christmas after Frankie proposed, your own parents had hosted everyone and Vanessa Morales had been less than impressed when your mother was still getting things into the oven when they arrived. It apparently didn’t matter in the least that they were early.

“Roger.” He kind of treats the parents visiting like a mission, a hostile one.

“Where did the Millers end up this year?” You can’t tell if it’s better or worse to not have his friends here as a conversational buffer. Part of you is grateful for fewer people in the house and half wishes you had friends here to lean on.

“I think Will and Teresa are going to get back together.” Frankie admits. “He said him and Benny were going to have Christmas with her and her brothers.” Frankie had always liked Will’s ex-fiancée and he knew you did as well.

“Good.” That’s a relief, showcased with how easily your shoulders drop with just a touch of tension dropped. “Good. That’s…That will be really good for them. I know they’ve missed each other.”

“They have.” Frankie pauses for a second . “Ben said he was going to swing by and check on Molly and the girls.” He murmurs quietly, regret lacing his tone.

“Where is Pope spending Christmas?” It’s not necessary to express more regret over Redfly’s death. Every single one of you have shed your tears over it and you make sure to check in with Molly at least once a week just like you always have. Family that you choose means you choose each other over and over again.

“He’s still in Australia.” Frankie sighs softly. Yovanna has covered her tracks well and he’s still looking for the woman he had fallen in love with.

"Shit..." All you can really do is shake your head at that. Even if Santiago Garcia is on your shit list for inducing the entire team away to South America for weeks, what happened there wasn't really his fault. It sounds like everything that could go wrong did, and the best that you can do is be grateful that Frankie came home to you in one peace.

“Yeah.” He shuffles slightly, rocking the baby as she continues to gnaw on her first and drool all over his shirt. He knows you aren’t happy with what happened, and he’s never been able to tell you all the details.

The tentative expression on his face makes you shake your head, and you turn back to the pan you have on the stove with a sigh. "You'll tell me when you're ready." It's been months and he's still keeping the whole story from you, but you have always been patient. You have always let Frankie come to you. "Let's just not do it on Christmas Eve. Our families are almost here."

“Okay.” He knows you are upset that he won’t talk to you, but he steps closer and leans down to kiss your shoulder. “Thank you for understanding.”

He'll come to you when he's ready. And you're doing your damnedest to be patient. But it's fucking hard when you feel like you're weathering a private storm on the edge of an ocean hell bent on drowning you.

For better or for worse, that is the moment that the doorbell rings.

“It’s showtime.” Frankie mutters, trying to plaster a happy smile on his face and just managing to look constipated.

"Shit, shit." You shove two trays into the oven right away, barely able to check to make sure that everything is assembled correctly but just dying to have it all in the oven. "Okay. That's got to be your parents." Frankie has walked away with the baby, leaving you to quickly wipe down the kitchen and pray you're not smelly from the sweat you worked up preparing dinner.

Frankie opens the door, smiling when he sees his mother and stepfather standing on the porch. “You made it.” He greets them. “Made good time getting here.”

“Of course we did.” Vanessa Morales moved into the house with determination, but the first thing she does is reach for her granddaughter. “Ay, hola Gordita! Eres mucho más bonita que tus fotos.”

Suddenly feeling shy, she pulls back and buries her face in Frankie’s neck. “Está bien, es tu abuela.” He soothes, rubbing her little back. “She’s cutting another tooth.” He explains.

“Pobrecita.” Vanessa coos, not taking the baby’s cue at all. “Come give your abuela a kiss, Gordita. Dame un beso.”

Mira doesn’t like it when someone crowds her face that she’s not familiar with and she immediately starts to cry, clinging to Frankie and trying to get away from her. “Mama.” He huffs, holding her tighter and cooing softly. “Give her a few minutes to warm up to you.”

Vanessa frowns, but relents when her husband agrees with Frankie. Instead, all she says as she’s lead into the house is, “Your sister’s bebes didn’t need time to warm up.”

“Gabriella lives in the same town as you, mama.” He reminds her, rolling his eyes at her miffed reaction. “Mira has seen you twice since she was born.”

“Even so.” His mother huffs, as though it were a personal affront.

“Feliz Navidad, Vanessa.” You come out of the kitchen a second later with your face freshly washed just to give yourself a boost and offer your in-laws a smile. “Hi, Javier. It’s nice to see you both.”

“There’s my favorite daughter-in-law.” Javier might just be a step-parent, but he has always thought that Francisco had chosen the best woman for him, despite what his wife might say. Vanessa is prickly, and while he might find that attractive since he’s a self-confessed asshole, he tries to make you feel accepted when he’s around. He steps around Vanessa to pull you in for a hug.

“Feliz Navidad, Javi.” The extra moment of consideration from your husband’s stepfather is dearly appreciated, and you accept the hug whole-heartedly. “How’s things?”

“Same.” He doesn’t mind slightly offending Frankie, so he kisses your y forehead and leans back to wink at you. He was a ladies man back in the day and still a silver fox, so it’s always fun to raise the hackles of the man he loves like his own son. Just for shits and giggles. “Better now that I’m around three beautiful ladies.” He turns that charming smile on Mira and leans in. “This one most of all.”

He earns a full belly laugh from his granddaughter and you feel yourself breathe just a little easier. Javier in a good mood bodes well for the night. “Can I offer you both something to drink? Vanessa?”

“I don’t suppose you have wine,” Vanessa manages to make it sound vile, to not have wine in the house. “Actually, mom, she picked up a bottle of your favorite sangria.” Frankie pipes up.

“Let me get you a glass.” The atmosphere is already frigid but that’s just how it’s always been between the two of you. Thank God she doesn’t know about the coke or she’d surely find a way to blame you for Frankie’s addiction issues, too. Just like she’s blamed you for everything else she deems wrong with her only son’s life.

“Javi?” Frankie lifts a brow towards his stepfather. “You want a whiskey? I’ve got a bottle in the den.”

“Good man.” Javi commends, and clasps his stepson on the back as they disappear into the other room together.

Vanessa turns towards you expectantly and pulls a tight smile. “When will dinner be ready?” She asks. “Assuming you’ve started cooking, of course.”

It’s too much for how exhausted you are, and even being prepared doesn’t make it okay. Without a buffer, Vanessa aims all of her venom at you endlessly. “It will be ready in an hour. No need to worry.” And the sooner your own parents get here the better — not that they’re perfect by any means.

“You look tired.” It’s not an observation born out of concern, but criticism. “You should really put a bit of effort in.” She hums. “Fransisco deserves that, doesn’t he?”

Yes. He does. But your husband of six years is also well aware of how much work raising a newborn is. Which is why you just smile and bite back how much his mother's constant nitpicking bothers you. "Your son prefers a natural look," you inform her as politely as you can without snapping. "No make up. So that I always look like myself."

She can’t possibly argue with that, because it would mean insulting her precious baby boy. Instead she just looks around like she’s never seen the place and starts to wander off towards the kitchen.

You’re debating whether or not you need to follow her when the doorbell rings. It’s still a touch too early for your parents to arrive — they shared their location with you so you could track their driving route on your phone from the airport. It should be ten more minutes until they arrive.

“I’ll get it!” You call, wondering if Frankie heard the doorbell in the den, and head back to the front.

“That must be her parents.” Frankie sighs and looks longingly at the bottle of whiskey but he knows he can’t have any. It wouldn’t be fair to you or to Mira.

“Save it for later.” Javi advises. “When your mama’s gone to bed and the baby is down, and you can relax with your wife.” It seems like Frankie is struggling more than he has let on, but there isn’t time to talk about that now. “Go say hi to your in-laws. I can take Mira if she’s okay with it.”

Surprisingly, it doesn’t take much convincing on either man’s part for Mira to go to her abuelo. Immediately little fingers dig into the hair covering his upper lip and Frankie chuckles. “She doesn’t understand why I don’t have facial hair today.” He explains.

“She can play all she wants.” Javi laughs, bouncing the little girl in his arms. “I got her, Frankie. Go on.”

It’s almost jarring to the aloof and broody man he had spent his teenage years around laughing and chortling at a baby, but Frankie smiles at the sight before turning to see about mitigating the next disastrous arrival.

You’re already at the door, half-smiling and half-bewildered as your parents hand off a bag full of wrapped presents to you like a butler and chatter away as they enter.

“It’s good to see you dear.” Your mother hums, “our trip here seemed to take forever.” She opens her mouth to once again suggest that you move back home and Frankie comes in to greet them.

“It isn’t exactly a short flight.” You can acknowledge that, and it’s why your parents don’t visit more often. Your dad isn’t up to that much traveling anymore. “I’m glad we’re able to spend Christmas with you.”

“So are we.” The problem in Frankie’s eyes about his in-laws spending Christmas with you is that they treat the house like a hotel and you like staff for the visit. They don’t Think they should lift a finger for themselves. “Hey, glad you made it.” He gives them a polite smile and nods at your father before holding out his hand to shake it.

“Francisco.” Even after a decade together, your father still refuses to call your husband by his nickname. He shakes Frankie’s hand with unnecessary force, like usual, and grunts with approval. “How’s things?”

“Going well, sir.” Despite the difficulties raising a child, he knows voicing that to your parents would do neither of you any good. “And you?”

“Retirement is boring.” Your father gripes good-naturedly. “Thinking about finding something part tune just to get out of the house and avoid the nagging at home.”

Frankie snorts. “Yeah I could see how that would be a little overwhelming for you.”

"Never stop working, if you can help it." The older man claps Frankie on the shoulder like he's doling out the sagest advice in the world. "She'll be fine with the baby. But the second you're home for more than twenty minutes an extra day? You'll have a Honey Do list longer than your arm."

Frankie doesn’t mind spending time with his daughter and cleaning up around the house that is also his responsibility but he just hums. “That’s some advice.” He makes it sound like he agrees just to keep the peace. You need help with things and his father-in-law’s outlook is a little old fashioned for him.

“You’ll thank me for it,” your father advises, and gives Frankie another friendly-if-condescending pat on the arm before walking away in search of whatever it is he wants but hasn’t asked for yet. Presumably to find his wife, but that’s an assumption.

“Jesus.” Frankie sighs and turns to start taking jackets and bags from you. “I’ll get their bags to their room.” He grins. “Do I get a tip?”

“Does a kiss count?” Just because you’re both exhausted and you haven’t been in the mood for sex doesn’t mean you don’t love your husband or appreciate the things he does to help you.

“The best kind of tip.” He vows, leaning in and stealing a quick kiss before pulling away. You seem to shy away from physical displays when your parents are around. “I’ll be right back.”

“Thank you, honey.” Having him jump on board to help means everything, but you frown a second later. “Where’s the baby? I thought I put her playpen away.”

“She’s with Javier.” He smirks slightly. “Old man apparently still has it with the ladies.”

"Well, that's something, at least." Something that his mother is going to hate – that the baby hid from her and went straight to her abuelo instead. "I'm going to pour drinks for people and get the shrimp cocktail out of the fridge so everybody can focus on food instead of bickering."

“I’ll be there as quickly as I can dump these in their room.” He promises, you having already determined which room your parents are staying in.

But as fast as Frankie can move in spite of his bad back, it isn’t fast enough. By the time you walk into the kitchen you find all four of your collective parents staring at each other like it’s a stand off at the O.K. Corral.

“How about a little appetizer?” You ask, after a few seconds of trying to read the room and finding the stony silence completely impenetrable. The only thing you care about is keeping them reasonably civil and having your little girl back in your arms. “Thanks for hanging on to her, Javier.” You offer him a smile when you take her back.

“Oh that’s no problem at all.” Mira giggles at him and leans in to cuddle against his chest, making him smile proudly. “Nothing I wouldn’t do for this little beauty.”

“You wanna stay with abuelo, sweetheart? You go right ahead.” It leaves your hands free, and you’re grateful to have that for a few more moments. So instead of extracting your baby girl from her grandparent, you kiss her curls and cross to the refrigerator to retrieve the tray of shrimp cocktail you put together this morning. “Can I get anyone a drink? Or a refill?”

“Since we are already starting with the alcohol, I would like some wine.” Your mother eyes the glass of whatever is in Vanessa’s hand and tuts slightly. “White of course, red wines are too heavy for me.”

This is what holidays are. What family gatherings are. What they always are and why you dread them so much. Conversation can never seem to be civil, no one ever offers to help. Frankie is always putting out proverbial fires with all four parents while you work to be the perfect hostess but it’s never even enough to keep the peace. Everyone leaves feeling worse than when they came and yet they still insist on seeing the two of you. It’s enough to make you want to flee the scene, but you would never give your mother-in-law the satisfaction of seeing you run scared. It would only cement her low opinion of you.

So you pour drinks and serve appetizers, plastering the smile on your face and eventually taking Mirabel back from Javier just for utter relief of having your daughter back in your arms. By the time Frankie comes back downstairs, the doorbell rings again. Oh god, is all you can think, because you’re not expecting anyone else. What fresh hell is this?

Frankie frowns slightly, exchanging a confused look with you. “I’ll get it.” He promises, slightly caught off guard and wary by the unexpected arrival of someone else. Not that a fucking drug cartel would ring the doorbell. A firebomb through the window would be more their style.

The impatient chimes ring twice more before Frankie makes it across the house, not because it takes long but because of the insistent person on the other side. If your mother wasn’t already inside you would have guessed it was her without hesitation.

“Coming!” The friendly tone that Frankie adopts does stop him from reaching into the entry way dresser and pulling out the snub nosed .38 he keeps in there for just this occasion. He tucks it into the back of his pants before opening the door to find that it’s not necessary. “Benny!”

“Hey man.” Benny is grinning from ear to ear when he leans in the doorway to embrace his friend, slapping Frankie on the back in the process. “Sorry to drop in, but did you get Pope’s text?”

“Haven’t had time to look at my phone.” He hugs Ben Miller back just as hard as the bastard tries to squeeze him after the back slapping. “Everything okay?” He asks that quietly, since you have company and you don’t know about what happened in South America.

“Yeah.” Benny nods like a bobble head, immediately ready to reassure his friend. His brother. “He’s back. Brought Yovanna with him. He was texting around for a ride and a place to crash.”

“Holy shit, he found her.” He had his private doubts about tracking the lover he had sent to Australia down, but he’s happy for Pope. “And you decided to play Uber.”

Benny grins, wide and unapologetic, before standing aside with a flourish. “Special delivery!”

The shorter man grins but he doesn’t rush to embrace Frankie. A little unsure of how he will be greeted, but Frankie bursts out laughing “Cabron!” He huffs, lunging forward and wrapping his arms around his brother in arms.

“Feo.” Pope returns the hug easily, not caring that he holds his best friend a moment longer these days than he might have before. Shit’s changed, after all. “You remember Yovanna?” He knows that everything about that trip is burned into Frankie’s brain just like the other guys, but it seems the polite way to go about reintroducing them.

She seems nervous, hesitant. He knows that Pope had to have told her what happened to Tom. "Sure." He nods and flashes her a smile before he moves out of the doorway. "Come in. Please."

"Lotta cars here..." Pope observes, though 'a lot' is only two besides the cars that are supposed to be here.

"We'll see you guys tomorrow." Benny waves as he jogs back to his truck. Everybody is with family today and that includes him, because Will is the only member of this damn group that can cook worth a damn somewhere other than a grill.

“Thanks Ben!” He knows that Mira can sleep in the bassinet in your bedroom and he can pull down the Murphy Bed you both had decided to keep in there for those late, rough nights with the baby. “Take your shit up to the bedroom next to mine.” He tells him with a smirk. “I’ll let my mother know you are here.”

"Nessa's here?" Pope brightens measurably as he whisks Yovanna into the house. "Christmas with the fam, man. I'm telling you. This is going to be great."

He snorts as he closes the door. Hopefully this won’t make you feel even more overwhelmed than you already have been.

"Frankie!" You call from the kitchen, and he can hear shuffling chairs and footsteps. "Who is it, honey?"

“Well, uh—”

“Hoooooooney, I’m hooooome.” In typical, dramatic fashion, Pope swoops into the room with a broad grin, although he’s not directing it at you since you might actually hit him for that shit earlier this year. Instead, he aims that charm at Vanessa. “I heard the most beautiful lady this side of the border was here and I had to come.”

"Aye, Santiago mijo!" After a lifetime of being best friends with her only son, Vanessa looked at Santiago Garcia as being the baby boy she never had. She disregards everything else in the room to go and hug him, but for a single moment you're actually grateful for that. It gives you the time you need to catch your breath after your heart stops at the sight of your husband's best friend. The one who supposedly was still in Australia.

“There she is!” Pope shoots you a quick glance and an even quicker wink before he is folding Frankie’s mom into a tight hug. He knows that you and your mother-in-law don’t get along, and hopefully you won’t kick him out on his ass in exchange for distracting her from harassing you.

Immediately, Vanessa is fawning over Santi instead of picking on the fact that you haven’t dressed your baby girl specifically in pink. It’s so much of a relief to see him alive and well in your kitchen that you barely register anything else — and it takes you a second before you register the gorgeous woman standing anxiously in the doorway. Mira tucks her little face against your shoulder at the sight of a stranger, but you just at your daughter’s back and gently step closer. “You must be Yovanna?”

"Sí, I mean, yes." She knows that you and Frankie speak Spanish, but she also knows that she's in the United States, so practicing speaking English is necessary. Her eyes flicker between you and Frankie before she nods. "You must be the wife that is the best thing that ever happened to Francisco." After Pope had found her again, he had started telling her everything that he couldn't before. The flight from Australia filled with stories and names. "You're not Molly, right?" She asks, embarrassed that your name isn't quite coming to her. "That was the rude one's wife."

You tell her your name and disregard the comment about Tom because it’s accurate. You and Redfly never got along but you do try to respect the dead, so you won’t badmouth him now. “We’ll introduce you to Molly tomorrow, if you and Santi are going to be around. We always do a post-holiday thing with the team.”

"I think we are going to find a house?" She admits, shrugging slightly because she doesn't really mind where she is. As long as her brother is safe and she gets to be with Santiago. "That is what he was talking about."

“I’m glad to hear it.” To have him nearby and settled will do wonders for Frankie. He’s missed Pope and missed having his lifelong best friend close at hand. As much as you love each other and as much as you will always work to keep each other supported and happy, there is a part of him that isn’t quite full or right without Pope around. It’s the same way you feel about your own best friend. “Well, um…” Taking a second to grin at your bashful daughter, you turn slightly so the baby can see Yovanna over your shoulder. “This is Mirabel. She’s princess of the palace, and just…welcome. Merry Christmas. Dinner is in the oven and there’s plenty to drink.”

"I am sorry for intruding." She offers, smiling at the baby. "I hope it is not too much?"

“The team is family.” And sometimes family can be exhausting. Sometimes family can be troublesome. But family means doing the work. Which is exactly why you didn’t tell your parents to get stuffed over hosting this Christmas even though you’re exhausted and overwhelmed. “At the holidays, family is always welcome,” you tell her with certainty.

"He did not know how you would accept him." She admits softly, happy that he had been wrong about you being put off by him bringing your husband into the mess he had. "But it is good you have not had any problems since Lorea was killed."

“We haven’t,” you assure her quietly. “It’s the secret that we keep to make sure the boys are safe, and thankfully we have been safe.” For Santi? You can only shake your head and shrug while you bounce Mira in your arms. “I’ve over being upset with him, though it did take a while. Now? I’m just glad you’re both safe. That my husband came home to me. And that he won’t be doing anything like that ever again.”

“I understand.” She agrees. “It was stupid for them, for me. But at least they are home safe now.”

“Our families don’t know anything about it,” you tell her, not admitting for the moment that all you know is the name Lorea and that people had died. Two facts which Frankie had only told you so you could gauge your own safety if you were ever approached by someone who claimed to know him or know about what happened on that mission. You hadn’t asked more and he hadn’t offered, and since you had still been upset with him for going at all, it had never been brought up again.

Yovanna tilts her head in curiosity but she doesn’t comment on it. It’s very obvious that you don’t know the details and she doesn’t think that it’s her place to tell you about it. “Is there anything I can do to help?” She asks. “Since we are showing up unannounced.”

“Get settled and help yourself to a drink or an appetizer,” you offer, motioning to the small table on the other side of the kitchen counter. It’s where you and Frankie usually eat, especially with it being easy for placing Mira’s high chair, but tonight dinner will be served in the formal dining room. Which makes the little kitchen table a perfect apps-and-drinks table. “Welcome.” There will be plenty to talk about. More than plenty. But right now you refocus your attention. It’s time to give Mira a bottle and set her down for a nap, which will hopefully mean that she sleeps through the setting of the table and even the eating of dinner.

Everyone has been chatting, or at least Santiago has been distracting his mother while your father and Javi chat amiably. Your mother is fusing with something, one of the sides you had already prepared. Tasting it and adding something to it. He wants to stop her, but then he will just be told he doesn’t know what he’s doing in the kitchen, so he decides to not fight that battle today.

"I'm going to feed Mira," you tell Frankie as you slip past him in the kitchen. It will be a much-needed moment of relative quiet and you aren't going to pass it up. "I'll just go upstairs so I can feed her and put her down without fussing with a bottle. Is that okay?"

“You do that, babe.” He reaches out and squeezes your shoulder supportively. “I’ll try to keep everyone from killing each other.” It’s a large task, but hopefully he will be able to do it.

"Santi can help." It's not a suggestion that will take much pressing. Your quiet, introspective husband's best friend is a magnet for attention even without trying. "I'll be back down in a little bit. If you need me sooner, I have my phone on me. Just send an SOS text."

"I won't need it." He promises foolishly, unaware that the mothers will start in on him individually just as soon as he walks back into the kitchen.

"Good luck," you hum under your breath, before whisking your daughter off up the stairs.

"Francisco, be a dear and run this upstairs." Your mother's purse, one that she had earlier insisted that she needed to keep on her, now needs to be put in her room. She waggles the bag at him impatiently when he doesn't immediately jump to take it.

"She can do that, can't she?" Vanessa looks around, not even using your name to refer to you, and frowns after a moment. "Where did she go, Frankie? She should be taking care of her guests."

"She's feeding Mira, mama." He explains. "You remember what it's like to have a hungry, tired baby." He frowns slightly at her and takes the purse. "I'll take it upstairs, it's not a problem."

"So she took her away to feed her?" Vanessa clutches the pearls she isn't wearing. "One of us could have easily given her a bottle! She's teaching our granddaughter to hate us right away. Pobrecita Mirabel."

"She's breastfeeding." He huffs out. "Plus, she's putting her to bed."

"We're mothers too." To Frankie's surprise, your own mother chimes in, in support of Vanessa's viewpoint. "We can give a bottle just as easily as anyone else."

The look that your father shoots Frankie is apologetic at best but he says nothing, only drinks from his glass and turns to say something to Santiago, whom he vaguely remembers from your wedding. It's just about the least helpful atmosphere in the world but at least he isn't adding to the fire.

He shakes his head and doesn’t point out the glaringly obvious fact that if you are sticking your boob in his daughter’s mouth, then they couldn’t just as easily fed her, but it’s not worth the argument. Instead he turns around and hustles upstairs to deposit the bag at the foot of their guest bedroom.

It isn't exactly an ideal day. For anyone, it seems. But the only way out is through so he heads right back downstairs again once that is taken care of. When he comes back to the kitchen it's your father at the stove that catches his eye this time, but again Frankie doesn't say anything on that point. There's no use rocking the boat. Not now that his stepfather has most of the room entertained with a work story and no one is complaining at the moment.

"Oh damn." Your mother huffs, waggling the bottle. " We are out of wine." She raises her eyebrows at Frankie. "Will you be a dear and get another?"

"Is there another?" His mother asks, as if it was necessary to make the request any more irritating.

"Of course, mama." The implication that you didn't prepare well for today doesn't sit well with him, and Frankie heads straight out to the garage to get more of the wine that had been specifically bought for today.

You had bought an entire case. The sight of it makes Frankie smirk with pride. "That's my girl." He hums as he grabs another bottle. Hopefully this means that both mothers will get drunk enough that they won't be able to nitpick you.

It's a hope, as in vain as it might be, and when Frankie goes back into the house he finds things much as he left them. He refills both mothers' wine glasses and then ends up fetching the scotch from the den again for the fathers. It's constant back and forth, not able to sit and talk to Pope or to Yovanna, or even remember where he puts his own drink while he makes sure everyone else is settled.

"Goddamn." He mutters to himself. It's almost as if it's coordinated. Like a family who keeps a server running for their table by requesting something new every time they come back.

And it stays that way until the second you come back downstairs, baby monitor in hand, and sniff the air with a growing look of horror and panic on your face. "Shit. Shit!" You race to the oven with tears already stinging your eyes to find smoke and the smell of burning food coming from your finnicky, ill-behaved oven.

“What?” Frankie rushes back from den where he had been sent to dig out the bottle of bitters after Javi offered to make his father-in-law the best old fashioned he had ever drank. The bottle had been pushed to very back of the cabinet where the liquor was locked up and he had been half convinced it had been thrown out. “What’s wrong?”

"This!" When you drop the oven door open, a cartoonish cloud of smoke billows out. The once gorgeous-looking beef Wellington that you took such tender care to assemble is blackened beyong recognition when you pull the pan out and let it drop onto the stove top like a brick.

It's ruined. Completely and entirely. And you can feel your mother-in-law watching you while she picks out her preferred insult.

“Shit.” Frankie knows how much you have been anticipating this dinner. You hadn’t specifically said to look in on the damn thing but he feels guilty. “Babe, I’m so sorry.”

"I don't know how—" With your shoulders hunched and tears making your voice wobble, you pull the other pan out of the oven to find that the potatoes are scorched as well. Half of dinner is completely ruined. "I've made this a dozen times before!" Sure your oven isn't the best, but replacing it is expensive and you have just learned to live with how it cooks. But nothing like this has ever happened before. "How? How did this happen?"

“Well, you had the oven set to low.” Your mother offers and Vanessa nods. “You cannot possibly cook your little beef thing when it is set so low.” Your mother-in-law adds most helpfully. “I noticed it and asked your mother, so we turned it up for you. I’m sure that you are just too overwhelmed with things to have noticed.”

“It was set low on purpose.” You turn again, this time look at the temperature setting on the oven, and feel yourself deflate when the digital read out says 425F. “Our oven runs hot,” you explain to them, so upset that you’re physically shaking while tears stain your cheeks. They push in and they treat you like shit and then they ruin things and yet they’re still acting like you’re the one who is incompetent. “If you had just asked, I would have told you why it was set low. You’ve essentially set my oven to over 500 degrees and burnt half of dinner because you didn’t think i knew what I was doing.”

“How was I supposed to know?” Your mother gives you a bewildered hurt expression and covers her heart like you are attacking her. Frankie moves over to you and sighs softly as he sees the burnt remnants of the meal you had worked so hard on. “Why have you bought a new oven?” She demands. “Your husband is a pilot. He should be taking care of these things.”

“You should have asked, Mom.” But of course she didn’t. Your mother is the queen of that ‘Mother Knows Best’ attitude and has never admired to being wrong in your whole life. “Being a pilot doesn’t make him a millionaire, and we’ve got the baby. Life is expensive right now. We’ve been saving up like reasonable people.”

Vanessa bristles at the implication that there is something lacking in her baby boy but Santiago sees that as well and quickly steps in to distract her. “It’s being taken care of.” He assures your mother but she huffs and shakes her head. Which makes Vanessa snap her head to the side. “Don’t you dare think ill about Francisco.” She hisses. “He works all the time to make sure your daughter stays home. He’s working himself to death.” Frankie rolls his eyes. “Mama. Stop.” He ordered, feeling like this is getting out of hand. “It’s true. You don’t think I know you called Javi to borrow money?” She demands.

"I work from home, Vanessa. I don't sit around on my ass all day doing nothing!" True that you took your maximum maternity leave, but you had damn well needed it. Postpartum healing took its toll and the depression that went with it had hit you hard. And after Frankie had come back with so many secrets? Well, it's not as if your home life is all sunshine and roses right now.

"Then why does—"

"It doesn't matter why, Mom. It's only our business." None of them need to know about what happened with Frankie's license or anything else. It's not as though they have ever offered to help or support you before so you're not about to share your troubles with them now.

“But—”

“ENOUGH!” Frankie nearly bellows the order, making your mother jump and snap her mouth shut, eyes wide in near fear. Your father looks down at his glass guiltily and even his own mother gasps as she presses a hand to her chest. Only Javi looks somewhat amused by the entire thing, a small smirk of approval twisting his lips. “I don’t give a damn that you drove for hours or flew here to see us for Christmas.” He seethes. “This is our house and I am not going to put up with you mistreating my wife.” His eyes narrow as he turns towards his mother and then towards his mother-in-law. “Either one of you. You don’t like it? Leave.” His tone is stony and flat, leaving no room for argument.

Pope and Yovanna are dead silent in the corner, not willing to meddle in family drama when they've only just arrived, and three of the four parents exchange appalled looks.

"We didn't raise you to be so disrespectful." Your mother snaps, standing from her chair with steam practically pouring out of her ears. "Or to be a terrible cook. Go get our things. We're going to a hotel until you come to your senses."

“Go get them your goddamn self.” Frankie snaps back. “And you aren’t welcomed back until you apologize to her.” That’s one set of parents he’s pissed of completely, so he turns to his mom. “Mama? You gonna be nice or is it gonna be more passive aggressive bullshit comments? Because if it is, you can get the fuck out too.”

"I have never made a passive aggressive comment about--" she begins, but Javier actually laughs at her pious pearl clutching.

"Nessa, that's all you've said to your poor daughter-in-law for years." He tells her bluntly. "Come on. I'll get our stuff." Vanessa looks absolutely appalled, but Javier just shrugs. "Prove me wrong," he insists. "Apologize."

Frankie waits, brows raised and he actually hopes for a moment that his mother will apologize. Her mouth opens and she starts talking, making his heart sink.

“She should—”

“Nope.” He cuts her off, a disappointed look on his face. “I should have put my foot down years ago. That’s my fault. Until you apologize to her, and mean it, you aren’t welcomed in our lives.” He tells her, even though it breaks his heart. “You’re my mother and I love you. But this is my wife. The woman I vowed to spend the rest of my life with. The woman I love. You would have never put up with the kind of shit you give her out of Javi’s dad.” He reminds her. “And I’m done having her cry when you leave.” He nods towards the door. “Merry Christmas. Now I’d like you to leave.”

The stone-silent kitchen is a staring contest for long moments while Frankie’s mother realizes that her son is actually giving her an ultimatum. With a dramatic huff, she pushes out of her seat and storms to the door, shouting something about how his sister would never treat her like this. She shouts so loud that the sound of the baby crying bleeds through the baby monitor and cuts down the stairwell, but when you let out your own wretched, exhausted sob, Frankie stops you.

“I’ve got her.” He promises, reaching out and holding onto your shoulders. “I want you to pour yourself a big glass of wine and go upstairs and get into a bath.” He knows how much you love to soak in the tub, but you haven’t had much of a chance to do that since Mirabel was born. “I’ll take care of everything.”

"I have to figure out what the hell to make for dinner," you insist, intermittently glancing back between Pope and Yovanna, and toward the stairs where your baby girl is screaming.

“I’ll handle it.” Frankie implores, lifting his brows. “Trust me, baby. Go upstairs. I’ve got this.”

"I'm so sorry." The entire day has collapsed and it feels like it's your fault. Despite the fact that you were actively sabotaged and abused for the last hour – only an hour! – it still feels like you failed.

“It’s not your fault.” This comes from Javier, sighing softly as he glances at the two of you. Your mother and father are still upstairs, rummaging around after leaving the kitchen quietly in the face of Frankie’s ultimatum. “Don’t be sorry. Let your husband take care of you.” He looks at his step-son. “I’ll read her the riot act.” He promises.

"You're the only one I wish could stay," you admit to your father-in-law with a deflated shrug, but lean into your husband's side for a moment and just breathe Frankie in. "Okay. I'm going to have a wine bath. Whatever else we end up doing for dinner, there's a huge salad in the refrigerator and a tray of Christmas cookies in the pantry."

“Okay.” He kisses the top of your head before he pulls away to grab the monitor. “Big glass of wine.” He reminds you before he looks over at Pope and Yovanna. “You two good?”

"We're good." Pope nods, but he's already out of his chair and moving to wash his hands. Even after being gone for a few years, he still knows this house and these people as well as anything else in the world. "Go take care of your baby girl. We'll be ready to help when you get back."

“Thanks man.” He nods towards Javi and then rushes out of the room. “Daddy’s coming, Mira.” He calls out. “It’s okay.”

"It's...not usually like this." It's the best you can do to reassure Yovanna when you come out of the pantry again with a bottle of your preferred white wine and a large glass. That bottled sangria that Vanessa likes is garbage, no matter what she pretends.

“It is okay.” She promises. “Family can be difficult.” She smiles, knowing how often her brother puts her in hard situations.

"I'll...be back in a little bit." The idea of a glass of wine in a bath is basically unheard of in your life now and it's something you used to do at least once a week. The chance to relax and feel like you get to start the day over again is incredibly welcome.

"Take your time, hermana." Pope insists. "Take the bottle with you, if you want. We've got this."

With Mira, Frankie has her up on his shoulder, rocking her soothingly. “It’s okay. Shhhhhhh shhhhhhh.” He shushes softly, angry at his mother for not caring about waking his daughter up. She hiccups and starts to quiet down, not needing a bottle or a diaper, just some comfort. “It’s gonna be alright.” He promises, to both her and himself.

He can hear you in the hallway, light steps on the way to the master bathroom so that you don’t make more noise and disturb Mirabel any more than she already is.

It doesn’t take long for her to fall back asleep, although he spends precious minutes carefully laying her back down and making sure she stays asleep. Smiling softly when she shoves her thumb in her mouth as she sleeps. He creeps out of the room and back downstairs as he hears the water start to run from the master en-suite.

“Okay.” Pope is standing in the kitchen with a tied off trash bag sitting near the garage door and the two pans formerly full of burned food now scraped out and refilled with steaming, soapy water. “What’s the plan?” He asks, nodding to Yovanna beside him. “What can we do to help?”

“I’ve got some steaks in the freezer.” It’ll only take twenty minutes to thaw them. “If you want to go fire up the grill, I’ll pull them out.”

"Heard that." Thankfully the stunning Florida weather guarantees a warm Christmas with perfect grilling weather, and Pope heads outside immediately. He can have that grilled fired up and ready in no time.

"I can help, too." Yovanna insists. She would feel awful to not help out under any circumstances, but especially now. "Anything, Francisco. I'm happy to."

“There’s salad, but I know there’s also a carton of mushrooms.” Frankie explains. “Will you slice them and an onion to sauté?” He asks. “She loves onions and mushrooms on her steak.”

"Absolutely." A relatively small task that will make all the difference to someone who is having a hard day? She is more than happy to do what he asks. The three of them set to work immediately and within half an hour the smell of burnt pastry and potatoes is replaced with grill smoke and sauteed aromatics.

You come downstairs in clean, comfortable clothes with a glass of wine in your system, smelling like a bath bomb and looking like you're just starting a brand new day. When Yovanna is in the kitchen with a sautee pan instead of Frankie or Pope, you have to sit with your embarrassment for a moment.

"I'm sorry for...before. That wasn't the first impression that I wanted to make."

“The men are outside.” She tells you with a smile. “The salad looks gorgeous but Francisco said you like onions and mushrooms on your steak.” She explains. “And do not worry. I am just happy that you look more relaxed now.”

"Much." You huff out a laugh, feeling sheepish about the whole thing. "Families at the holidays..."

"Are always pretending to get along?" She laughs. "It is the same everywhere."

"Well...thank you, again." If you knew her better you might go so far as to give her the giant hug of gratitude that you would like to, but that will keep for later in the day. For now the two of you exchange knowing smiles about how ridiculous families can be and you go out the sliding door to the patio where Frankie and Santi are standing at the grill inspecting the image of your sleeping daughter on the baby monitor.

“I’m telling you man, she’s gonna be a problem when she gets older.” Pope huffs. “We need to start scaring away the boys now.”

"What if she grows up to like girls?" Of course they're already in protective mode. That doesn't surprise you in the least. "Or maybe she won't want romance at all. Anything is possible."

“Yeah but the boys can get her pregnant.” He points out, lifting a brow at Frankie’s immediate frown. “Well that’s not happening since she’s going to stay a virgin.” The overly protective father scoffs.

"She's going to be educated on her body and consent, and she's going to have the unwavering support of her parents," you correct them both. But there is still a soft smile on your face when you tuck yourself under Frankie's arm. "And if all else fails, she has Uncle Pope, Uncle Ironhead, and Uncle Benny to scare off anyone who doesn't respect her."

“What about me?” Frankie huffs as he settles his arm at your waist and hauls you closer. You look relaxed, and he’s glad. “How are you feeling, baby?” He asks.

"A little better. Pretty stupid, but better." When you lean into his chest he presses a kiss to your hair and you sigh. "Think our mothers are ever actually going to apologize?"

“If they don’t, we will have peace.” His eyes slip closed and he smiles slightly. “The dream.” He jokes before he opens his eye and looks at you seriously. “They will eventually. When they realize we are serious.”

"No contact with all of our parents except Javier." Another huffed laugh from you ends in a sigh. "Merry Christmas, I guess. Is it bad that I feel relieved?"

“We are having Christmas ribeye’s, with that salad you made, you can have your onions and mushrooms, and I know you have those rolls in there.” He grins. “Washed down with your wine and Christmas cookies.”

"Well...Mira is having a bottle the rest of the day anyway. No reason not to enjoy." With your arms around his waist, you tug Frankie tighter and practically shudder with that sigh of relief that rocks out of you. "Thank you, baby. I know neither of us ever wanted it to come to that with our parents, but thank you for stepping in. And for taking care of things afterward."

“Of course.” He knows that your trust and faith in him has been shaken by the drug charges and then disappearing to South America, but he wants to rebuild it. “Anytime, baby. I love you.”

“I love you too.” That, thankfully, was never in doubt.

******

A year passes with so much incident that it is a task of its own to decide where to start when someone asks you 'what's been going on?'. Planning the next Christmas is easier simply because of logistics. Hosting doesn't feel daunting when the people who are coming to the house are supportive, helpful, and kind.

Dinner is a potluck this year, with all the boys from Frankie's unit bringing their partners. Even Benny has a girlfriend – one who promises she's capable of bringing more to a potluck than jarred salsa and bagged chips – and Frankie is once again going to grill ribeyes. New traditions are falling into place, but the fact is that you're actually looking forward to things this year instead of dreading them.

“Babe.” Frankie ducks into the kitchen to admire the new oven that he had delivered six months ago. “Do you want to do that mashed potato casserole you were talking about or do you want to do baked potatoes this year?”

"Why don't we do baked potatoes and we can put out a bar of toppings and stuff? I can throw some bacon in a pan and chop some scallions." Things are better. You're talking more. You're listening to each other and asking questions instead of assuming. Frankie even comes home early from work once every other week to look after Mira while you have therapy. It's helped your postpartum depression immensely.

“That sounds good.” He agrees, grinning at you. “Pope and Yovanna are going to bring the salad this time. She loves that dressing recipe you gave her.”

"It's a good one." Yovanna has fast become a close friend, joining the sisterhood you have with Teresa, and now with Benny's girlfriend Roseanne. "Everybody should be here pretty soon. I figured there was no use in pretending this is formal. We're all perfectly happy to sit around together and hang out."

“Have you heard anything?” He asks softly, aware that you might have some feelings about everything that went down last year.

"Only from Javier." Frankie's stepfather was the only one who had been in contact, and even that was respectfully sparse. "I've sent him some photos of Mira and he texted this morning to say Merry Christmas and that he hoped the package he sent got here in time."

Even though you have been remarkable about the silence, Frankie steps closer and folds you into his arms for a reassuring hug. “It’ll all work out, baby.” He promises. “I just love seeing you excited for Christmas.”

“It’s easier to be excited when I’m not dreading the arguments and insults.” You lean into him a little tighter and sigh. It’s shit that things had to blow up the way they did last year, but things are better now. You’re both happier. The boys are all back together and Pope had proposed to Yovanna at Thanksgiving. Will and Teresa are ecstatic about expecting their first kid together. Things are good. “I love you, baby. So much.”

“I love you too.” He murmurs softly, kissing your forehead. He had told you everything that had happened and while you were unhappy about it, you hadn’t held it against him. That’s the best gift he could have ever asked for. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

[mallowsweetmiri]

christmas miracle • fred weasley x reader

use #mallowsweetmicros to find my imagines!

Christmas at Hogwarts was your favorite time of year. Flurries outside your window, the crackling fires, the carols sung in the hallways. It all made you indescribably happy. Even the Gryffindor common room was decked out in garland and floating ornaments, the smell of fresh balsam in every corner. You sighed contentedly to yourself as you sat by the fire. Exams were finally over and you were set to head home on the Hogwarts Express tomorrow. Things couldn’t be better.

“Y/N!” You heard your name being called from the portrait hole. It was Fred, George, and Lee. You waved at them and sat up, readjusting your blanket on your lap. To your surprise, only Fred continued towards you, waving to the other boys as they headed towards their dorm. George and Lee sent cheeky smiles your way.

“Hi,” you smiled, moving your books from the couch so he could sit.

“Hi love,” he beamed, taking a seat next to you. You blushed at his nickname. Fred had always been overly affectionate with most people, but you were grateful to have experienced it. You craved it, his hugs and his nicknames. The way he slung his arm around you at the Three Broomsticks. It made you smile and you didn’t care if it was just the way he was. It made you feel special.

“Excited to go home?” You asked, watching as he settled in. His arm was draped over the back of the couch, his body turned towards you. You wished you could crawl into his lap, but you’d never have the courage to do so. Although, you doubted he’d mind.

“Yeah, of course,” he shrugged, the fire reflecting off his hair. “But I’m a little sad to leave this year.” You furrowed your brows and gave him a curious smile. It was hard not to smile with his contagious energy so close to you.

“Why is that?” You wondered aloud. He was usually boasting about going home to his mums cooking.

“To be honest, I wish I could spend Christmas with you,” he replied. You let out a huff as your smile grew without your knowledge.

“What?” You laughed, brushing your hair behind your ears in a feeble attempt to cool your blush.

“I’m sad I can’t watch you open my gift on actual Christmas,” he said, his voice soft and quiet. You shook your head at him, thoroughly confused. “But I figured two days before is close enough. So here, open it.” He grinned at you as he pulled out a small box from his pocket. You took it from him and bit your lip. It was small, rectangular, and fairly light. You pulled off the ribbon and opened the lid.

“Fred,” you gasped, pulling out the quill. “How did you even know I wanted this?” Your hand flew to cover your open mouth as you admired the pearl handled quill. You felt like Santa Claus had magically made your Christmas wish come true.

“I remember you admiring it when we were in Hogsmeade a few weeks ago,” Fred chuckled, watching you run a finger over the smooth surface of the grip. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you want something that badly before. I couldn’t help myself.” Your eyes ripped away from the beautiful gift and up towards Fred. “Do you like it?”

“Do I like it?” You repeated. “Fred, this is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.” You flung your arms around him and buried yourself into his neck.

“Really,” he chuckled. “A quill is the best gift you’ve ever gotten?” You nodded you head into his shoulder.

“It’s not just a quill, it’s a beautiful quill. And-” it’s from you. You couldn’t exactly say that though, so you settled for, “I didn’t get you a gift!” You gasped and pulled abruptly out of the hug. Fred only chuckled again and held your arm from pulling away too far.

“It’s fine, Y/N. Seeing you happy with your present is more than enough for me,” he murmured, his voice laced with affection. Your blush deepened under his touch, his eyes holding yours captive. You were dizzy with realization. It was a Christmas miracle. Fred Weasley liked you back.

“Wait,” you said, reaching into your bag to grab your wand. “I think I have something for you.” You flicked your wand up, casting a flicker of red and green magic above you. It was a silly charm you had been practicing for fun, but now your festive spirit was proving worthwhile. Fred watched as the mistletoe took shape, his mouth slightly parted as his eyes fixed on the delicate bristle. You bit your lip to hold your smile as you watched his face flush red. You would certainly be replaying that image in your mind over the holiday.

“How did you learn to do that?” Fred asked in wonderment, still gaping at the red bowed mistletoe.

“I taught myself before December,” you chuckled. “Y’know. Just in case someone needed it.” Fred chuckled as his eyes settled back on you.

“I wish I’d known about this earlier,” he murmured, his hand moving from your shoulder to your cheek. “If I’d known how to cast this, I would’ve done it on December 1st.” He leaned forward gently, pressing his lips against yours with adoration. He was warm and sweet like hot cocoa, his lips moving against yours with an impossible gentleness. The kiss was unhurried and soft, and it practically melted you into the couch. When he pulled away, your body betrayed you, a soft whine escaping your pouted lips. Fred chuckled and pressed another kiss to your cheek.

“Did you like my gift?” You asked sheepishly, your rosey cheeks warming Fred’s heart. He smiled as the mistletoes shape shimmered and fell over the two of you.

“This is definitely the best gift I’ve ever received.”

[dany-is-my-queen]

A QUESTION OF LOYALTY XIX

Rhaenyra Targaryen x reader, Alicent Hightower x reader

Word count: 3.1k

Summary: When dragons of green and dragons of black dance, you have to choose the color that suits you best.

Note: Happy holidays 🎊

The air in Flea Bottom was thick with the stench of rot, smoke, and despair. You kept your hood low, blending into the squalor of the narrow, winding alleys. Mysaria’s message had reached you through one of her spies, instructing you to meet her in a decrepit building on the edge of the slums. You wondered what game she was playing this time.

When you arrived, she was waiting, seated on a rickety stool beneath the dim light of a cracked lantern.

"You came. I wasn’t sure you would.”

You didn’t bother with pleasantries.

“What do you want, Mysaria? I don’t have time for your games.”

She smiled faintly, gesturing for you to sit, though you remained standing.

“So sharp, always.“

You crossed your arms, glaring at her.

“Speak your piece.”

Mysaria leaned back, her fingers tracing the edge of the lantern.

“Do you know this place? It was once my world. The filth, the hunger, the men who thought they could own me. I swore I would never return to it. And yet, here I am. Funny how war pulls us back to the places we thought we’d escaped.”

“You didn’t summon me here to reminisce about Flea Bottom. Why am I here?”

She stood.

“To warn you. About Daemon.”

The mention of his name made your insides clench.

“Daemon? What are you talking about?”

Stepped closer, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Have you wondered why he has not returned? Why he remains conveniently absent while the war consumes her? Why he is not at her side, fighting for her crown. Daemon is many things, but loyal is not one of them.”

You frowned.

“If you know something, speak plainly. What is he planning?”

Mysaria tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with cunning.

“He waits. He watches. Men like Daemon do not take second place lightly. Rhaenyra rules, but for how long? He will not share power forever.”

Your stomach twisted, but you forced yourself to remain calm.

“What do you gain from this? Why warn me if you don’t care who sits the throne?”

“Peace will not come if Daemon takes what he believes is his. He thrives on chaos, on conflict. And you know it.”

“And what makes you so sure he’s planning something? What proof do you have?”

Mysaria shrugged lightly.

“Why does Rhaenyra fight alone while her husband remains in the shadows? Even queens are not safe from betrayal.”

“And are you planning to abandon her now that the war turns against us? Or were you ever truly on her side?”

“Abandon her? You misunderstand me. I’ve stood by her when others faltered, offered her what she needed when none else would.”

Her eyes glinted with amusement as she added,

“Can you say the same, my lady? You were too busy with the Hightowers to offer comfort, too entangled in your own drama to be the ear she needed when she was stranded on Dragonstone, desperate for support.”

Her words cut deeper than you wanted to admit.

“You’re twisting the truth. Whatever your motives, you’ve only driven a wedge between her and the people who truly care for her.”

Mysaria shrugged, her tone turning almost casual.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps I saw a void you left behind and filled it. Rhaenyra is a queen who carries the weight of the realm on her shoulders. She needed someone who would listen without judgment, someone who wouldn’t walk away from her.”

You clenched your fists, frustration bubbling beneath your calm exterior.

“And you think you’re that person? You’ve manipulated her, used her vulnerabilities to weave yourself into her court. She trusts you more than she should, and I’ll never understand how. You call me a traitor, but what are you? A whore masquerading as a queen’s confidante.”

“I’ve given her what she needed in her darkest moments. You may not like it, but I’ve been there when others were not. She knows my flaws, my ambitions, and still, she keeps me close. Can you say the same? Or do you doubt that you, too, have failed her in your own way?

“I haven’t given up on her, and I won’t”

Mysaria’s smile returned, her composure unshaken.

“Such conviction. You truly love her, don’t you? But love can blind as much as it can guide. Remember that, my lady.”

—————

Rhaenyra sat in the dim glow of her chambers, the fire crackled in the hearth, but it brought her no warmth. Mysaria entered silently, her movements fluid and calculated as she approached the queen.

“You look troubled, my queen.”

Rhaenyra sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples.

“How could I not be? The city is restless. Enemies rise from within. Tumbleton has fallen. And now… I fear I cannot trust even those closest to me.”

Mysaria’s lips curled into a sly smile as she stood, her voice turning honeyed with deceit.

“Trust, Your Grace, is a luxury you can no longer afford. Even those who swear their loyalty can turn against you when it serves them. Take… her, for example.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze hardened,. “She is loyal.”

“Loyal? Was she loyal when your sons bled and she was nowhere to be found? Or when she stood among the greens as they claimed the lives of your kin? And where was her sword when the Betrayer defected at Tumbleton? Where was her fire when your enemies burned everything you hold dear? Was she not the one who once stood in the court of the usurper and bent the knee? Did she not share whispers and secrets with Alicent Hightower—your sworn enemy?”

Rhaenyra’s jaw tightened, but her eyes betrayed her conflict.

“She has her faults, but she is loyal in her way. She has strayed, yes, but she has always returned to me.”

“Do not let sentiment blind you, my queen. Sentiment will cost you your throne. And when the time comes, she will choose Alicent over you, as she always has. If you cannot see this, you risk losing everything. You cling to the idea of who she was, the person you wish her to be. But people change, Perhaps it is time to accept the truth.”

Rhaenyra looked away, her fingers gripping the arms of her chair. Mysaria’s words gnawed at her resolve, but the image of you—standing by her side, loyal through fire and blood—flashed in her mind.

“No. She is not like that. I know her better than anyone. She’s made mistakes, yes, but haven’t we all? She was there when—”

Mysaria interrupted with a sharp laugh.

“When you needed her most? Or when it was convenient for her? Think, my queen. Think of the moments when her absence cost you dearly. Think of how her hesitations, her divided loyalties, have left you weaker.”

Rhaenyra leaned back in her chair, her expression clouded. For a moment, she was silent, staring into the fire. Mysaria’s words had planted doubt, but another part of her—the part that remembered your courage, your fire, your love—fought back.

—————

Rhaenyra sat upon the Iron Throne, her fingers drumming softly against the cold steel of the armrest. You approached her with steady steps.

“Your Grace,” you began, bowing slightly, though your voice held an edge of urgency, “I must speak with you about Alicent and Helaena.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze flickered briefly to you before returning to the hall, as though weighing whether to entertain the conversation. “Speak, then.”

“They’ve suffered enough,” you said plainly. “Whatever crimes you believe they’ve committed, whatever grievances you hold, let them go. Let them leave the capital. They pose no threat to you.”

Rhaenyra’s jaw tightened, and she leaned forward slightly, her voice sharp. “They are prisoners, Y/N. Not guests. Their presence here is a reminder to the greens that the war is not yet over. Letting them go would be seen as weakness.”

You took a step closer, your voice softening but no less resolute. “It would be seen as mercy. A show of strength in its own right. Holding them here serves no purpose beyond prolonging their torment.”

Rhaenyra rose slowly from the throne, descending the steps to stand before you. Her expression was unreadable, but her voice carried the weight of her position.

“Do you think I do not know torment?” she asked, her tone cutting. “My father is dead. My sons are dead. My throne has been usurped, my allies betrayed me, and my own husband…” Her voice faltered, and she looked away briefly before meeting your eyes again. “And yet you ask me to grant clemency to the mother of my greatest enemy and the sister of the kinslayer who murdered my son?”

You held her gaze, refusing to back down. “Alicent and Helaena are not responsible for Aemond’s actions, nor Aegon’s. They are pawns, just as you were once a pawn in the games of others. Freeing them would prove that you are above the pettiness of vengeance.”

Rhaenyra’s lips pressed into a thin line. ���I have treated them with dignity, far more than the greens showed my son when they tore him apart at Bitterbridge. They have food, clothing, safety. That is mercy enough.”

“It’s a cage, Rhaenyra,” you pressed, your voice rising slightly. “No amount of fine dresses or warm meals can mask that.”

Her eyes flashed with anger, and for a moment, you thought she might dismiss you entirely. But then she stepped closer, her voice low and dangerous.

“You speak as though you understand the weight of the crown,” she said. “You do not. My enemies circle like vultures, waiting for the first sign of weakness. I will not give them that satisfaction. Alicent and Helaena remain where they are.”

“So this is who you’ve become? The woman who would imprison the innocent for the crimes of others?”

Rhaenyra’s expression softened just slightly, but her resolve remained unshaken. “You may not agree with my choices, Y/N. But they are mine to make. My throne. My decision. And it is final.”

You stared at her for a long moment, searching for some flicker of the Rhaenyra you once knew—the one who valued justice, who fought for what was right. But the Iron Throne had its claws in her now, and it was not letting go.

Bowing stiffly, you turned to leave, your heart heavy with disappointment. “As you say, Your Grace.”

Behind you, Rhaenyra watched you go, her expression troubled, but she did not call you back.

—————

The Sept of Baelor stood solemn and still, its vast chambers bathed in the warm, golden glow of candlelight. You entered quietly, your footsteps muffled by the stone floor. At first, the emptiness seemed complete, but then you caught sight of her. She knelt before the altar, her auburn hair framing her face like a halo, her hands clasped tightly in prayer.

You took a moment to observe her. Even in the simplicity of her gown, she radiated an elegance that was impossible to ignore. But there was something else.

“I thought I would find peace here, My stepdaughter was gracious enough to permit it. Small mercies."

You walked closer, your boots echoing softly against the stone floor.

“Peace is hard to come by in times like these.”

Alicent finally looked up at you, her eyes red-rimmed from unshed tears.

“My children are gone or scattered, and all I can do is pray they remain out of the Stranger's grasp. Helaena, Daeron. How much longer before they are taken from me, too?”

You crouched beside her, your voice gentle.

“They are strong, my Queen. Daeron is a warrior, and Helaena is… very strong. She sees more than we understand. They will endure, just as you have.”

Alicent shook her head, her voice trembling.

“Endure? I endured losing Aegon and Aemond. My grandson, my own lord father, Gwayne. I endured watching my family torn apart by war. But enduring does not mean the pain lessens. It feels as though I am losing pieces of myself with every loss.”

You placed a hand over hers, squeezing gently.

“You have endured because you love them. And because you love them, you will continue to endure. It is who you are, Alicent.”

“Do you think I have failed them? As a mother, as a daughter, as a queen... Have I done enough to protect them?”

You leaned closer, your voice steady.

“You have done more than anyone could have asked of you. The burden of this war is not yours alone to bear, but you have carried it with grace and strength. Helaena and Daeron know that. They love you.”

A silence fell between you. Alicent looked down at your hand over hers, her fingers trembling slightly.

“And what of you? Why are you here, seeking me out in the quiet of the Sept, my lady?”

“Because you are not alone in this. And because I… I cannot bear to see you like this, weighed down by grief and fear. You deserve more than this life of sorrow.”

Alicent’s breath hitched, and she met your gaze again. This time, there was something different in her eyes—something raw and unguarded.

“And what do I deserve, then? Tell me.”

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you leaned in, your lips brushing against hers tentatively. Alicent froze for a moment, as though caught between her faith and her desires. But then, she yielded, her hands clutching your shoulders as she deepened the kiss.

The sanctity of the Sept seemed to fade away as you drew her closer. Her breaths came quicker, her lips parted, but no protest came. Instead, she let out a shuddering breath as your hand slipped beneath the hem of her gown. Your fingers brushed the soft skin of her thigh.

“We shouldn’t… Not here.”

“Then tell me to stop.”

She didn’t. Instead, she pulled you closer, her fingers threading through your hair as you pressed her against the cold stone pillar. You trailed kisses along her jawline, down to the hollow of her throat, as your hand explored further. She gripped your arm, as though torn between pushing you away and pulling you closer.

There was only the warmth of her touch, the taste of her lips, and the promise that, you were hers and she was yours.

————

Was eerily quiet at this hour, save for the distant murmur of guards stationed at their posts.

She stood near the Throne again, her silhouette outlined against the pale light of the moon streaming through the high windows.

“Your Grace,” you greeted, bowing your head slightly.

“My lady,” she replied, her voice softer than you expected, almost hesitant.

You straightened, fixing her with a guarded gaze. “I am surprised you called for me. I assumed you’d be attending to more important matters.

Rhaenyra’s lips curved faintly, though it was not a smile. “Speaking with you is important.”

Her words caught you off guard, but you held your composure. “I’m listening.”

She took a step closer, her hands clasped before her as if to steady herself. “What you witnessed the other day…”

“It’s none of my concern,” you interrupted, your tone clipped.

Her expression faltered, but she pressed on. “It was a mistake.”

“You owe me no explanation. I don’t wish to know.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and oppressive, until she spoke again, her voice quieter. “News has reached me. Mysaria has told me.”

At her words, your posture stiffened, a flicker of unease crossing your face. “The matter with… Lord Corlys,” she clarified.

You exhaled slowly, willing yourself to remain calm.

“I will release him immediately,” she said, her tone almost apologetic. “Though it’s a bit late, I don’t imagine he wishes to remain here with his fleet looming. I’ve lost him to my own paranoia,” she admitted, the vulnerability in her voice surprising you.

“I appreciate that,” you replied, choosing your words carefully. “I would speak with him, but if he’s made up his mind after this, there’s little I can do to change it.”

“I know,” she said, her gaze lowering briefly. “And I do not expect you to.”

“Thank you for understanding,” you said quietly, and for a moment, you thought the conversation might end there.

But then she spoke your name.

“Y/N…”

You turned to face her fully, and the intensity of her gaze rooted you in place.

“I know you are not his daughter,” she said, her voice steady despite the delicate nature of her words.

A chill ran down your spine. “It matters little,” she continued. “I know who you are, just as I knew who Rhaenys was. Your mother was an honorable woman, and I had hoped I’d grow in her image. I deeply regret that you never met your true father. But I know this: you carry the blood of the dragon within you, as do I, as do my children… The seed is strong,” she finished, her voice tinged with something akin to reverence.

You blinked, caught off guard by her candor. “Your court won’t take kindly to having a bastard among them,” you said cautiously.

“Do you think I would reveal it?” she asked, her tone fierce. “Never, Y/N. I have already threatened Mysaria to ensure she keeps silent.”

“She had no right to speak of it,” you said, anger simmering beneath your calm facade.

“We know who she is, where she comes from. I regret ever placing my trust in her.” Her voice softened, and she stepped closer, her gaze searching yours. “Se ao… nyke’ve missed ao sīr olvie (And you… I’ve missed you so dearly),” she said, her words trembling with emotion.

Your breath faltered as she closed the distance between you.

You didn’t reply, your lips parting as she looked into your eyes, her pupils dark and dilated. “Vūjigon issa (Kiss me),” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Issa dāria (My Queen…),” you began, your voice wavering.

“Kostagon nyke vūjigon ao? (May I kiss you?)” she asked, her voice so soft it felt like a plea.

You held her gaze, the world around you fading into nothing. Slowly, you leaned in, her lips brushing yours, but before the kiss deepened, you hesitated. Instead, you kissed the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, and finally, her forehead.

“Mazverdagon se paktot decisions hēzīr (Make the right decisions from now on),” you murmured gently, stepping back to put some space between you.

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she did not look away. “Will you be my Hand?” she asked hesitantly, her voice filled with hope and vulnerability. “Please accept,” she urged. “I need your wisdom.”

You studied her, your heart heavy with the weight of her request and taken aback. “It would... be an honor, Your Grace. But I need to know, will the persecution continue?” you asked, your voice firm.

“It will cease,” she confessed.

Taglist: @nnightskiess @loveislove4 @evattude @lethal-minds @sophiexoxsblog @claymoresword @tired-ninfa @glorioushamsterqueen @pinkponycent @newcaptainofsquad9 @pindoris @oh-thats-cute @rxscpctals @laenordeservedbetter @voniikg @toot-is-tired @letlovee-in @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valenciavv @the-camilucha @acidblum @itssecret2109 @i-nail-jello-to-walls @cone-fused-mind @livingdreams97 @unique0003 @wicked-laugh @lottiemsgf @duckiekong @thecavalrywife @username23345 @simp4women08 @vorsdany

[s4kura-tr3]

Jjk men — they dress up as Santa

An: happy holidays everyone!

Gojo satoru

Gojo Satoru as Santa was not something you ever expected to witness—mostly because his usual flair for dramatics meant he didn’t need a costume to be the center of attention. But when your little one excitedly declared that they had to meet Santa, Satoru decided it was time to step up.

He emerged from your bedroom dressed in a ridiculously high-quality Santa suit, complete with glittering snowflake patterns on the red coat (of course he’d have it custom-made). His signature white hair peeked out from under the hat, and he wore a pair of sunglasses instead of the classic round spectacles.

“Ho, ho, ho!” he bellowed, striking an exaggerated pose in the living room. “Santa Gojo has arrived to spread Christmas joy!”

Your child gasped, their eyes lighting up like the twinkling fairy lights on the tree. “Santa!” they cried, running toward him.

“Careful, my little elf!” Satoru said, scooping them up effortlessly and spinning them around. “Have you been good this year?”

“Yes!” your child nodded vigorously, pointing to the cookies you’d helped them bake earlier. “We made you cookies, Santa!”

“Well, well, you must be my favorite little helper!” he grinned, setting them down gently before dramatically sniffing the air. “Mmm, smells like the best cookies I’ve ever had. You sure you didn’t use magic to bake these?”

Your child giggled, and you rolled your eyes, standing back and watching the scene with amusement. Satoru caught your gaze and winked over the top of his sunglasses, clearly enjoying himself way too much.

Once the presents were opened and your child was fast asleep, Satoru dropped onto the couch beside you, tugging the Santa hat off and tossing it onto the coffee table.

“So,” he drawled, leaning closer with a smirk, “how do you think I did? Pretty convincing Santa, right?”

“You looked ridiculous,” you teased, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

“Ridiculous?” he gasped, clutching his chest as if you’d wounded him. “I was the perfect Santa! Admit it, you couldn’t take your eyes off me.”

“You’re impossible.” You laughed, shaking your head as he pulled you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you like a warm, festive cocoon.

“And yet, here you are,” he murmured, his voice softer now, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

Geto Suguru

Suguru Geto didn’t need much convincing when his two little girls asked him to be Santa. You’d teased him at first, thinking he’d wave it off, but he surprised you when he casually came home with a Santa suit, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips.

On Christmas Eve, he disappeared into the bedroom, emerging a little later dressed as Santa. The suit fit perfectly, the white trim contrasting against his dark hair. He even had a beard, though he wore it slightly crooked, clearly finding it amusing. His girls squealed in delight, clapping their hands and jumping up and down.

“Ho, ho, ho!” Suguru boomed, crouching down to their level with a warm smile. “Have my little angels been good this year?”

“Yes, Papa—I mean, Santa!” one of them giggled, giving him an obvious once-over but deciding to play along.

The other clung to your leg, shy but smiling, as Suguru extended a hand to her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Santa’s here to make Christmas magical,” he said gently, and she ran to him, wrapping her little arms around his neck.

You stood back, heart full as you watched him distribute the small gifts he’d secretly wrapped earlier. He made a show of handing them out, exaggerating his movements to make the girls laugh, even pretending to trip over the beard once or twice.

When the girls were finally tucked into bed, Suguru joined you on the couch, peeling off the beard and hat with a content sigh. He leaned back, pulling you close to him.

“How’d I do?” he asked, his voice softer now, his arm draped lazily over your shoulder.

“You were perfect,” you murmured, resting your head against his chest. “The girls loved it.”

“And you?” he teased, tilting your chin up so your eyes met his.

“I think Santa suits you,” you said with a small smile.

“Oh yeah?” he smirked, leaning down to brush his lips against yours. “Maybe I’ll wear it more often.”

You laughed, swatting at his chest. “Let’s not traumatize the kids.”

Suguru chuckled, pulling you closer, his fingers lacing with yours. “Merry Christmas, love,” he murmured. “Thank you for making our little family so perfect.”

Nanami kento

Nanami Kento as Santa Claus was something you never thought you’d see, mostly because it was hard to imagine him doing anything he deemed “unnecessarily festive.” But when your child looked up at him with those big, pleading eyes, asking if Santa would visit this year, he sighed in resignation.

That’s how you found yourself helping Nanami into a Santa suit on Christmas Eve. The red coat was perfectly tailored—of course, because Nanami refused to wear something that didn’t fit well—and he begrudgingly donned the hat, though he skipped the beard with a firm, “This is ridiculous enough as it is.”

When he stepped into the living room, your little one’s face lit up like the Christmas tree. “Santa!” they gasped, running toward him.

Nanami crouched down, a soft smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “Hello there,” he said in his warm, even tone. “Have you been good this year?”

“Yes!” your child declared proudly, holding up a plate of cookies they’d helped you bake earlier. “We made these for you, Santa!”

Nanami took the plate with a small chuckle, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment, filled with quiet affection. “Thank you. These look delicious.” He made a show of taking a bite, nodding in approval. “Best cookies I’ve ever had.”

Your child beamed, clapping their hands before Nanami handed them a small, wrapped present. “Merry Christmas,” he said, his voice softer now as he ruffled their hair.

Later, when the gifts were opened and your child was fast asleep, Nanami joined you on the couch, the Santa hat still perched slightly askew on his head.

“You’re a natural,” you teased, leaning against him.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t go that far. But it was worth it to see them happy.”

You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder. “You know, I think you make a pretty great Santa.”

He glanced down at you, a rare smile playing on his lips. “If it makes you and our child happy, I suppose I can endure it again next year.”

“Endure?” you teased.

He leaned down, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Merry Christmas,” he murmured, his voice steady and full of love.

Toji

Toji Fushiguro wasn’t much for dressing up or indulging in festive traditions, but for his family? Anything was possible. When little Megumi started pointing excitedly at Santa decorations in store windows, babbling about how he wanted to meet the “real Santa,” Toji couldn’t resist.

That evening, with you in on the plan, Toji grumbled his way into a red Santa suit, complete with a hat and an overly fluffy beard that he insisted was itchy. The sight of his broad frame squeezed into the costume had you stifling laughter.

“Stop laughing, woman,” Toji growled, adjusting the belt. “This thing’s ridiculous.”

“You look perfect,” you teased, smoothing the fur trim on his coat. “A little too muscular for Santa, but I’m sure Megumi won’t complain.”

As night fell, Toji made his grand entrance into the living room, where Megumi sat on the floor surrounded by twinkling lights and scattered wrapping paper. He froze when he saw Santa.

“Ho, ho, ho!” Toji said, his voice deeper than usual as he tried to sound convincing. “Merry Christmas, Megumi!”

Megumi’s eyes widened, his little fists clenching in excitement. “Santa!” he squealed, running to hug Toji’s legs.

You stood off to the side, heart melting at the sight of the usually stoic Toji kneeling to hand Megumi a small gift he’d picked out earlier. Despite his gruffness, Toji’s eyes softened as Megumi thanked him, clutching the present with all the joy in the world.

Later, once Megumi was tucked into bed, Toji collapsed on the couch, tugging at the beard. “Never again,” he muttered, though the fond smile playing on his lips gave him away.

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You made his night, Santa.”

“Tch. I’m retiring,” he grumbled, pulling you onto his lap. “Next year, it’s your turn.”

Sukuna ryomen

Getting Ryomen Sukuna to dress as Santa Claus was not an easy task—it required a hefty mix of bribes, teasing, and the promise of “entertainment” later. Despite his usual disdain for human traditions, he finally relented after your child toddled over to him, tugging at his sleeve and asking, “Will Santa come to visit us this year?”

That’s how the King of Curses ended up standing in your living room, dressed in a crimson Santa suit that clung to his broad frame in a way no Santa suit ever should. The hat was slung low over his pink hair, and though he’d refused to wear the beard, he’d charmed his face into looking slightly more “jolly.” His tattoos glowed faintly under the soft light of the Christmas tree, giving the whole scene an oddly magical feel.

“Ho, ho, ho,” Sukuna drawled, smirking as your little one squealed with delight. “Santa’s here, brats.”

“Papa—”

“Santa,” he corrected, arching an eyebrow.

Your child giggled, running up to him with arms wide open. Sukuna bent down, effortlessly scooping them up into his arms, the faintest trace of a grin tugging at his lips.

“Did you bring presents, Santa?” your child asked, eyes wide with wonder.

“Hmph. Of course,” Sukuna said, reaching behind him with exaggerated flair to pull out a brightly wrapped gift. “You think I came all this way for nothing?”

You watched from the doorway, stifling a laugh at the absurdity of it all. Sukuna caught your eye, his smirk widening as he mouthed, You owe me for this.

When the presents were opened and your child was happily playing, Sukuna finally flopped onto the couch beside you, tugging the Santa hat off with a low growl.

“This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done,” he muttered, though the way his eyes lingered on your child’s joy said otherwise.

“You loved it,” you teased, leaning against him.

He huffed, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Tch. Don’t get used to it.”

But as his hand absentmindedly traced soothing patterns on your arm, you knew better. The mighty King of Curses might grumble and scowl, but for you and your child, he’d play the part of Santa every year—whether he admitted it or not.

Megumi fushiguro

Convincing Megumi Fushiguro to dress up as Santa Claus wasn’t easy. He didn’t see the point, claiming it was “unnecessary” and “a little embarrassing,” but when you and your child teamed up with matching pleading looks, he finally gave in with a defeated sigh.

On Christmas Eve, he emerged from the bedroom dressed in a simple Santa suit that he begrudgingly agreed to wear. The hat sat a little awkwardly on his messy hair, and the coat was slightly oversized, but he looked endearingly uncomfortable, tugging at the sleeves as he stepped into the living room.

Your child’s eyes lit up the moment they saw him. “Santa!” they shouted, running over to him with a delighted grin.

“Uh… Ho, ho, ho,” Megumi mumbled, his ears burning red as he crouched down. “Have you been good this year?”

“Yes!” they chirped, holding out a plate of cookies. “We made these for you!”

Megumi took the plate, glancing at you as if asking for reassurance. You gave him an encouraging nod, suppressing a laugh at how out of his element he looked.

“These look… great,” he said, nibbling on one with a small smile. “Thanks, kiddo.”

When it came time to hand out the gifts, Megumi got into the spirit a little more, smiling softly as he passed your child a small box. He even managed to crack a joke, though his delivery was so deadpan that your child found it even funnier.

Later, after your child had fallen asleep, Megumi collapsed onto the couch beside you, the Santa hat slipping off his head.

“That was… exhausting,” he muttered, leaning back and closing his eyes.

“You did great,” you said, resting your head on his shoulder. “I think you’re officially the best Santa ever.”

He opened one eye to look at you, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “You’re just saying that because I caved.”

“Maybe,” you teased, reaching up to adjust his messy hair. “But you made them really happy, Megumi. That’s what matters.”

His expression softened as he glanced at the sleeping form of your child, their face still glowing with excitement even in their dreams. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I guess it was worth it.”

Then, without warning, he leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “Merry Christmas,” he said, his cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of pink.

Yuji itadori

When the idea of Yuji dressing up as Santa Claus came up, he was immediately all in. No hesitation, no complaints—he was excited. “Santa? For the kid? Say no more!” he declared, grinning from ear to ear.

On Christmas Eve, he went full out, donning a slightly oversized Santa suit (because the store didn’t have his exact size), a fluffy white beard, and even a pair of round, fake glasses for the look. His pink hair stuck out from under the hat, making him the most cheerful and youthful Santa you’d ever seen.

“Ho, ho, ho!” Yuji bellowed as he burst into the living room, nearly tripping over the hem of his coat. Your child squealed with delight, clapping their hands and running toward him.

“Santa!” they shouted, their face lighting up with pure excitement.

“Hey there, little one!” Yuji said, crouching down to scoop them up in his arms. “Have you been good this year? Like, really good? Eating your veggies, brushing your teeth, and helping out around the house?”

“Yes, yes, and yes!” your child giggled, nodding enthusiastically.

“Wow, you’re a superstar!” Yuji said, setting them down and reaching into his sack of presents (a laundry bag he insisted on decorating himself). “Then you definitely deserve this!”

He handed over a carefully wrapped gift, watching your child’s face light up as they tore into it. You stood by, your heart full at the sight of how natural Yuji was at this. His energy was contagious, and your child was clearly having the time of their life.

Later, after the festivities wound down and your child was asleep, Yuji flopped onto the couch beside you, still wearing the Santa hat but minus the beard and glasses.

“Well?” he asked, flashing you that goofy grin. “How’d I do? Best Santa ever, right?”

“You were amazing,” you said, leaning against him. “Though I think you enjoyed it even more than they did.”

“Hey, Santa’s job is to spread joy,” he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “If I don’t have fun, how’s anyone else supposed to?”

You laughed, tilting your head to look up at him. “You’re such a dork, Yuji.”

“And you love it,” he teased, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Merry Christmas, babe. Thanks for making this holiday so perfect.”

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part two

I'm bored so [smashes plate] ANOTHER! I've been writing this faster than I thought I would 🤭 Hope everyone is having lovely and relaxing holidays xx

Warnings: just angst and the case progressing! Hotch is kinda an asshole but it's just how they show their love to each other xoxo

“You and Hotch still got it, huh?” Morgan teases, leaning his head over to grin at you. Part of you missed car rides with Derek, and the other part of you remembers just how much of a little shit he can be.

“Shut up and look at the road,” you mutter, pushing his face away from you.

“I’m looking, I’m looking,” Derek taps the wheel, shaking his head to get your hand off him. “What is it with you two, anyway?”

You shrug nonchalantly. “We’ve never gotten along, you know that. You were there when we met.”

“Uh, yeah, I remember being glad Hotch got all the heat instead of me,” Derek chuckles. “You’re intimidating when you’re pissed off.”

“Good,” you say, smirking. “That’s the point.”

“Alright,” Derek says, letting the topic go. For now. “We’ve got five minutes ‘til we reach her house. What are we telling her?”

“Well, I want to take a look around, if you’d like to talk.”

“I can stall,” Derek nods.

“Five bucks says there will be no pictures of the father in the house, at least not in the living area or hallway, where family photos most commonly are.”

“You sound like Reid,” Morgan quips.

“Our IQ’s are really close,” you remind him. “I just don’t have a damn eidetic memory. That shit is insane. I don’t envy him there.”

“Me either,” Derek shakes his head. “I remember things plenty without a magic memory.”

“I hear that.”

Derek turns into the driveway of Lila’s home. One car is in the driveway, a silver Ford. Her mom’s car.

“Ready?” Derek asks.

“Never,” you reply, opening your door. “But it’s our job.”

Derek knocks on the front door, but stands back so you’re the first face the mom will see. Given who her ex-husband is, you suspect she might be distrustful of all men, regardless of whether or not they’re here to help.

As expected, the mom eyes Morgan’s badge more closely than yours.

“May we come inside?” you ask.

“Yes,” she says, pulling the door open to let you both inside. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Morgan says politely.

After shutting the door, the mom begins talking — rambling incoherently, more like.

“I don’t know what I was thinking, dropping her off at school this morning. I knew something felt off when I woke up, it just— I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Ma’am,” Derek says. “Please, sit down.”

“I can’t,” she says, waving both of her hands like windshield wipers in front of her body. “I need to pace. Helps me think better.”

Derek looks at you, and you shrug. She’s obviously too wound up to sit down. Which is a good sign. If she was indifferent or resigned, there would be a bigger issue at hand. Clearly, she had no idea this would happen, so she definitely wasn’t in on it.

You take a look around the living room while Derek calms the mother down, mostly just letting her ramble, and take mental notes of what to ask her about later.

As you predicted, there are no photos with the father in the picture. All of them are the mother and Lila, mostly baby photos. Lila is a pre-teen, she clearly doesn’t want her photo taken. There is one where Lila looks older, but she’s not happy.

You take a closer look. She’s really unhappy.

“Mrs. Monroe?” You turn toward her, a sympathetic smile on your lips. “Has Lila been depressed lately?”

Her mom nods. “She’s been struggling ever since uhm— Ever since her father left. I’ve had her in therapy every week, but her therapist says she’s not really opening up. She might later, but right now she just doesn’t talk at all. She doesn’t want to.”

“I understand,” you murmur. “You’ve done the right thing by getting her help. Even if it doesn’t seem like it right now.”

“She still ran away!” Mrs. Monroe cries.

“Please,” you move toward her, resting your hand on her arm. “Let’s sit. Can Agent Morgan get you a glass of water?”

She nods, looking up at Morgan. “Thank you.”

Derek disappears into the kitchen.

“What makes you think Lila ran away? Other than her mood, were there any other signs?”

Mrs. Monroe shakes her head. “She’s talked about it before, told me she wanted to run away and that she hated me. I thought therapy would help with that, but it hasn’t.”

“Would her father help her at all? Run away, I mean.”

“Richard?” Mrs. Monroe asks. Derek reappears with a glass of water, handing it to her. “Thank you. No, he wouldn’t, he— She doesn’t even know what he’s done. I’ve never told her.”

“Would she be capable of finding out?” Derek asks. He takes a seat in the chair adjacent to you, resting his elbows on his knees.

“No,” Mrs. Monroe shakes her head. “I monitor all of her Internet searches, who she texts, who she emails, everything. She thinks I drove him away. That I didn’t love him anymore and told him to get out. She doesn’t know that it was because I caught him burying a body.” She sobs into her hand, her words barely decipherable now. “And now she’s gone and she hates me and I don’t even know where she’d go— it’s like I don’t even know my own daughter.”

You take the glass from her hand and allow her to sob into your shoulder. You know what this is like. Because you were once Lila, a runaway who left her mother in pieces until she returned home. Your circumstances were different, but not by much at all.

“We will bring her home, I promise,” you say, despite yourself. Despite not knowing what the rest of this case will entail, what else you’ll uncover. “Did Lila have any friends that you didn’t approve of?”

Mrs. Monroe shakes her head again. “She doesn’t have many friends, but she talks to one girl, Marie, almost every day.”

“Where is Marie right now?”

“At school,” Mrs. Monroe says, sniffling. “I called her mom right away. My mind went to the worst case scenario, you know, I thought Lila would grab Marie and convince her to go with her—”

“Convince?” you question. 

Derek hears you and asks the next question you have on your mind. “Does Lila ‘convince’ Marie to do things she doesn’t want to do often?”

“Sometimes,” Mrs. Monroe admits, beginning to sob again. “Oh, God.”

You share a look with Derek, not liking where this is going, but you don’t know if you’ll get much else out of her right now.

“What things would Lila convince Marie to do?” you ask.

“Just small things, I don’t know,” Mrs. Monroe replies. She’s shutting down. “I don’t know why I said that, I—”

“Okay, okay, it’s okay,” you try to calm her down. “Do you mind if Agent Morgan and I take a look in Lila’s room?”

“How will that help?”

“We might be able to find something that could tell us where Lila might have gone,” Morgan explains. “Sometimes kids leave clues. We might be able to find them.”

Mrs. Monroe nods. “Okay. Can I— Is it alright if I lay down while you do that?”

“Of course,” you smile. “Come on, let’s get you to your room.”

You help her stand and walk back toward her bedroom, getting her inside. She lays down on top of the covers and shuts her eyes.

You close her door and meet Morgan back in the living room, his phone pressed to his ear.

“Y/N’s back, you’re on speaker, Hotch.”

You roll your eyes involuntarily. Hotch couldn’t leave the two of you — mainly you — alone, could he? 

“Alright, I want the two of you to stay there and go through Lila’s room. Tell us anything you find. The school has given Garcia their security camera footage; she’s going through it now. It’s like she’s disappeared into thin air and that is not good.”

“We’ll find her, Hotch,” Morgan says.

Hotch is quiet.

“Mrs. Monroe doesn’t think Richard had anything to do with this. She says Lila doesn’t even know—”

“Morgan told me,” Hotch says. “Call me back when you have something new.” He hangs up and you roll your eyes again.

“I’m gonna keep a tally of how many times you do that,” Morgan teases.

“Be my guest,” you reply. “And keep me updated. I bet it’ll be in the hundreds by the time this case is over.”

Lila’s room is everything you’d expect from a regular pre-teen girl. And reminds you too much of your room when you were her age.

It’s almost like she’s too open. Posters are everywhere. Her favorite movies, actors, and bands. Her bed is made. Her closet is neat. The desk is covered in schoolbooks, yet also clean. 

“Morgan, I know this room.”

He turns around. “What?”

“We can know everything about her from one glance. She’s organized. She loves English, hates science, but is very good at math. She likes alternative music, not boybands,” you point to the posters. “Fantasy movies only. Her closet is too neat. It’s like she’s not even living here.”

“I’m not following.”

“I think she’s been planning her escape for a long time,” you say. “Which makes me think she had help.”

“Okay,” Morgan goes with it. “From who? You heard her mom, she watches everything Lila does.”

My mom did too, you think to yourself as you pull out your phone. You already have Garcia on speed dial, something she suggested for you.

“What can I do for you, my new angel?” 

Morgan chuckles while you answer Garcia. “Can you possibly see the search history after it’s been deleted?”

“Duh,” Garcia says. “Give me the IP address and I can show you all the dirty, dirty secrets on there.”

“Perfect, I’m going now,” you leave Lila’s room, peeking in Mrs. Monroe’s room to be sure she’s still resting. She is. 

You head to the living room where you saw Mrs. Monroe’s computer. Thankfully, after wiggling the mouse, it comes right up. No password or anything.

“Okay, she must really watch what Lila does,” you mumble. As in, Mrs. Monroe must stand over her daughter’s shoulder before even letting her turn the computer on. “How do I…?”

Garcia laughs and tells you what to click to pull up the information she needs. You recite it to her and she quickly works her magic.

“Oh, no.”

“Garcia,” you reply warily. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Morgan hears you and comes into the living room. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” you glance at him. “Garcia, what is it?”

“I’m going to need a minute to go through everything but…”

“Garcia, spit it out,” you put her on speaker, lowering the volume so only you and Morgan can hear her. “Garcia?”

“I don’t know for sure, but at first glance, this looks…it looks like she wanted to go with this person.”

“Shit,” you mutter. “Okay. We’ll call Hotch, you keep digging.”

“Aye, aye.”

You turn the computer off and pocket your phone. “We need to go back to the precinct. I don’t want to risk her overhearing.”

“Okay. Good call.”

“I’m gonna let her know we’re leaving,” you say. “I’ll meet you in the car.”

You wake Mrs. Monroe briefly to let her know you and Agent Morgan are leaving. You assure her that you’re going to bring Lila home, but that you’re needed at the precinct right now, and don’t want to disturb her rest. You hand her your card, telling her the number is the same, even though it doesn’t have BAU yet on it. 

Morgan is leaning against the car when you emerge outside, sick to your stomach.

“You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “Just hate lying to mothers.”

+++

You and Morgan decide to wait until you’re at the precinct to tell everyone what Garcia found. Better to break this news quietly in person than on the phone.

Hotch is speaking to a deputy when you walk in, but you flag him down with a nod, hoping he won’t take it personally. You’re too on edge right now to bother being irritated with him.

Once everyone is in the conference room, you shut the door.

“Garcia should be calling any minute,” you begin. “She’s going through Mrs. Monroe’s computer. Mrs. Monroe said she watches everything Lila does, but clearly not close enough, because Lila was on a popular chatting site talking with someone regularly.”

“Right she was,” Garcia joins in, having been listening on the nearby computer. Her smile is sad. “And it does not look good. I’m still digging, but a Rich34 was in constant contact with her. I’m talking every single night for hours. Mostly from 1am to 4am, while I’m assuming her mother was sleeping.”

“What do the chats say, Garcia?” Emily asks.

“Nothing more than small talk right now, but I’m digging. It’ll take a while though, sir, I’m afraid they’ve been talking for months. Almost a year, I think.”

“Dammit,” you mutter. “I was afraid of that.”

Morgan sends you a sympathetic look.

“Garcia, see if you can track Rich’s identity in any way possible. It could be her father,” Hotch says.

“Or someone posing as her father,” you suggest, earning a glare from Hotch.

“Hey Garcia, send over all the chats, I can help you look through them,” Spencer offers.

“Alright kiddo, PG out.” The line clicks.

“Reid, look for anything relating to Richard Monroe’s history, or maybe Lila’s mother. Lila and her mother haven’t been getting along, and Rich might’ve used that to get Lila away,” Hotch instructs. 

Reid nods, already leaning over to grab the chat messages off the fax machine. Garcia knows him so well; she sent over hardcopies instead of electronic.

“Do we think it’s Richard Monroe in the chat room?” Emily asks.

“I’m not convinced,” Rossi says with a small shake of his head.

“I don’t,” you answer, shaking your head. “The username is too obvious.”

“He could be taunting us by using an obvious screen name,” Hotch counters. “He’s evaded us for this long. Why would he bother hiding now?”

“Yes, but I don’t think Richard Monroe is behind this,” you argue. “Murder in cold blood is his thing. So why wouldn’t he just go grab her from the house? Why is he playing the long game like this? Why form this emotional connection if he’s just going to kill her?”

“Because he’s a murderer with no regard for anyone’s emotions other than his own,” Hotch fires back. “And because he likely holds a grudge against his ex-wife for divorcing him and taking Lila away.”

Now all eyes of the team are on the two of you, going back and forth like a tennis match.

“He murders women his own age. Lila is barely thirteen. If he wanted her so badly, he could have easily grabbed her by now and killed her. Why wait almost a year?”

“Her mother is watching her closely, and he—”

“Oh now you agree that her mother is overbearing.”

“Yes, because you met with her and confirmed it with actual evidence,” Hotch snaps. He pauses, staring at you. “We cannot rule out Richard Monroe.”

“We’ll be wasting our time if we don’t.”

“Why are you so insistent?”

“Call it a gut feeling.”

“You haven’t been doing this job long enough to have a trustworthy gut feeling,” Hotch says coldly. “Now, if you want to continue arguing, I suggest you do so with the wall. Otherwise, we have a young girl to find and her father is a priority suspect. Am I clear?”

“As river water,” you mutter. “Excuse me.” You push past your new boss, hating that he’s already gotten so deep under your skin. Again.

[fandomgirlz01]

The Most Perfect Christmas Ever

JJ Maybank X Routledge Reader

Imagine on fandom instagram?: No

Prompt or Request or Requested Prompt?: Yes: (1) "Cute Christmas socks." (2) "Are you going to stay out there in the cold all night?" (3) "Come here. I bet you can fit in my coat with me and it’ll warm you up." (4) "Is that my scarf?" (5) "Be careful you’re clumsy and it’s really slippery out here." (6) "Ah. The ground is so slippy.!” (7) "Call me elf one more time!" (8) "Chaos has come again." (9) "Christmas is doing a little something extra for someone." (10) "Come here. I bet you can fit in my coat with me and it’ll warm you up." (11) "Everything I want I can’t have." (12) "Here. Let me pick you up so you can reach the top of the Christmas tree." (13) "How long ago did (Character) fall asleep?" (14) "I believe the Abominable Snowman may be real. I think there may be something in that." (15) "I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold."

Style of Writing: Single Fic 

Rating: PG ~ For all the fluff and cuteness, but a few adult comments…

Edited: Not edited so it may change around later guys. 

Word count: 6,717 

Post Date & Time: December 25th 2024 at 1:45 AM

Ko-fi

Masterlist

Warnings Here 

Listen to the story be read out loud here {coming soon}.

Summary: You, your brother John B and JJ (Jackson Jessy "Maybank" Groff) spend another Christmas together, your first Christmas without your father after he’d gone missing. This Christmas however is different than all the others that the three of you have spent together. 

Authors Note: I got these amazing prompts from a fellow writers page @bonniebird Bonnie is an inspiration to me as well as an amazing writer and artist. I did change some of them up so they fit the story better, but I did try to keep them pretty close to the original prompts. Anyway, Bonnie’s work never fails to make me smile and feel all the feelings that I should when reading. I WISH I could write as amazingly as she does, but I’m nowhere near her level yet, I hope and pray that one day I will be. Ladies and gentlemen please go give her love and support because she really deserves it. She’s one of my many inspirations and I’m so so happy to use her prompts because they really pushed me to write this fic even though I was blocked for all of my other works. I feel like it helped me break out of it, so THANK YOU Bonnie for everything 🩵🩵🩵

Also this is our first JJ Maybank fic. We have so much coming out for JJ he will eventually be added into our main people we write for so be on the look out for when we add that in. We both hope you guys enjoy this one. 🩵

You hum softly to yourself along with the Christmas music you have playing as you lay out the decorations. Every Christmas, you, John B, your dad, and JJ would enjoy Christmas together. When you were growing up and found out what JJ’s dad did to him (you didn’t tell them of course, because that’s JJ’s place to tell people about it), you begged for JJ to start spending the holidays with you. Ever since that very first time they agreed, he’s always come over. It’s always been your absolute favorite time of year. How could it not be? When you have JJ and John B around you, your two favorite people? This year is different though, because it’s the first Christmas without your father since he had disappeared only a few months ago now. 

“Hey. Wow. You’ve really got everything ready,” John B comments in shock as he looks at everything you’ve laid out so far. 

“It’s Christmas, JB, of course I’ve got everything ready. Don’t I always?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at him and shrugging. 

“I can’t believe it’s Christmas Eve and we’re only now decorating…” you shake your head and he chuckles. 

“I know normally you have it all started the last week of November,” he comments, amusement clear in his tone. 

“I know right! I’m so behind. This year has been a lot… it’s been one stressful year…” you mutter out with a roll of your eyes and he again hums in amusement as you bite your lip. 

“Hey. I get it. It definitely has been wild,” John B agrees and you sigh. 

“It’s just… it’s the first one without dad. We should still celebrate, be happy to still all be together right?” You ask, unsure of your own words. 

“Of course, bug. I’m sure we’ll enjoy it,” he tells you as he stops you for a moment to pull you into a hug. 

“Plus, I’ll have my two favorite guys with me. I’m happy and I refuse to not be happy during my favorite time of year,” you push away from the hug as you ramble while continuing to lay stuff out, not bothering to spare a look at your brother. 

“Hey. I get it. I do. No need to preach it to me, bug,” he reverently tells you, giving you a small shrug. 

You continue to lay ornaments and many other decorations out on the table. You step back to look at your handiwork, proud of how it looks. You get pulled out of your thoughts when your brother laughs, making you look at him instead. 

“What?” You ask him, eyebrow propped and he points down at your feet. 

"Cute Christmas socks," he tells you though chuckles and you look down at them, pushing up onto your toes. 

“Oh, really? Good, I got both you and JJ a pair of your own,” you inform him with a giant grin and his face falls. 

“There’s no way JJ will be wearing those…” he tells you and you giggle. 

“Who says! They’re cute!” You cry out and he chuckles, shaking his head. 

“Sorry to tell ya, bee, JJ doesn’t do cute,” he tells you with humor lacing his tone. 

“Fine. You’ll wear them though, right?” You ask, giving him puppy dog eyes. 

“Not a chance. Puppy eyes don’t work on me anymore, bee,” he tells you and you smirk even though he’s not looking at you. 

“Really? Then why won’t you look at me, huh?” You teasingly ask and he huffs. 

“No reason. No reason at all. Speaking of your two favorite people, where's the other?” John B asks with a hint of humor, changing the subject as he picks up an ornament to look at before carefully setting it back down. 

“Actually, he was supposed to be here about thirty minutes ago…” you comment as you finally look up at the clock. 

“Don’t worry, bug. It’s JJ, I’m sure he’s just running late,” John B tries to comfort you, but you shake your head, rushing over to start putting your jacket on. 

“Exactly. It’s JJ. He’s never late this time of year. He loves having Christmas with us,” you comment as you shove your feet into your shoes. 

“Bug? What are you doing?” John B rushes over to you and you shrug as you stand while zipping up your jacket. 

“I’m going to look for him. What if he needs us?” You counter as you wrap a scarf around your neck and John B sighs. 

“I’m coming with you then,” he informs you as he grabs his own jacket. 

You give him a look of exasperation before shaking your head once more. You pull the door open before starting down the porch, but John B pulls you to a stop. You go to yell at him, but he raises his hands in surrender before pointing over at something and you turn to look where he's pointing. You see JJ sitting curled up on the dock and you sigh in relief. 

“You go talk to him. I’ll finish setting up, okay?” John B offers and you smile softly at him. 

“Don’t you wanna go over?” You ask, popping an eyebrow at him and he pauses with lips pursed in thought. 

“No. It looks more like a you and him moment,” John B answers with a small soft smile. 

“Okay. If you’re sure, birdy,” you tell him, giving a side eye to see if he changes his mind. 

When he doesn’t show any signs of changing his mind, you firmly nod at him before starting to walk over to JJ as John B heads back inside. It’s a cold night so you bring your cupped hands up to your mouth and breathe into them, hoping to warm yourself up a little. Once your hands have warmed up, you move them under your armpits, trying to keep them that way as you move closer and closer to JJ. 

“Jayj…” you call out softly and you can see your breath in the air. 

“Hi, cupcake…” he mutters, not looking at you which makes you frown. 

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong?” You ask as you sit next to him, your feet dangling over the side of the dock. 

“JJ, talk to me…” you mutter out when he doesn’t answer and you move to cuddle into his side, but he uses his shoulder to shove you off, still keeping his face out of view. 

“JJ. Seriously, what is wrong?” You ask as you grab his shoulder, trying to pull him to look at you even though you have an opinion on what’s going on. 

“Just leave me alone cupcake. Please?” He practically begs, still turned away from you and you frown even harder. 

“Jayj, please…” you whisper out to him once again and he sighs, finally turning to you not liking the hurt sound of your voice. 

“Oh, JJ…” you gasp when you see his face full of black and blue bruises, you had a thought that’s it be about his dad, but you had no clue it’d be this bad. 

“See, that’s why…” he mutters, looking away from you once more. 

“I don’t want you pitying me again… you do it far too often,” he mutters after you haven’t said anything.

“I don’t pity you, JJ. If anything I think it makes you incredibly strong…” you tell him with a firmness to your tone and he feels himself getting choked up. 

“Yeah… whatever…” he responds, not believing you as he shoves you off again. 

“I’m really sorry, JJ…” you mutter softly, not knowing what else to say to get him to believe you. You frown with a shake of your head as tears well up in your eyes.  

“What do you have to be sorry for? You didn’t do this…” JJ asks as he still refuses to look at you and you reach out for him again. 

“I’m sorry you have to go through this. I’m sorry you got dealt such a bad hand in life. I wish… I wish I could force Luke to see you. To actually see you,” you explain as you're finally able to pull him to look at you. He wishes he could wipe your frown off but only smiles softly at you. 

“It’s not so bad. I’ve got you and John B. It could be worse I guess,” he tells you with a shrug as he looks away again and out to the water. 

“I mean, you are right. Having us is pretty awesome,” you agree playfully, bouncing your eyebrows and he chuckles to himself, shaking his head. You smile, seeing his tough exterior finally starting to break down.

“It really is,” he softly agrees as he still looks out over the water and you hold back a sigh. 

“Well, are you going to stay out here in the cold all night and stew in what happened? Or are you going to come in and have fun with your favorite person?” You goad him while nudging him with your shoulder. 

“Oh, John B’s my favorite person now, huh?” he playfully asks, his own lips forming a bit bigger of a smirk now and you gasp. 

“Umm, no. I was actually talking about myself,” you respond with a deadpan look that makes him smile even more as he laughs, shaking his head. 

“What makes you think you’re my favorite person?” he asks you, all smiles now and you can’t help but smile alongside him. 

“It made you smile, didn’t it?” You answer him with a shrug and he’s shaking his head in disbelief again. 

“Yeah… yeah. It did,” he chuckles, continuing to smile softly at you.

"Well come on, then, let's get inside. We have a tree to decorate still and many other Christmas festivities,” you tell him with a beaming smile as you go to get up, but he reaches out and stops you. 

“Can we maybe just stay here for a moment more?” he mutters out and you blink at him for a moment.

“Yeah, of course, Jayj…” you softly tell him and he smiles a small smile at you. 

The two of you sit in silence for a little while before JJ, who's not wearing a coat, starts to shake a little bit."Come here. I bet you can fit in my coat with me and it’ll warm you up," You tell him as you hold your coat open to him. 

“Thanks, cupcake,” he mutters as he slides in under your arm and you smile warmly at him. 

“Of course, Jayj. It’s us against the world,” you whisper to him as you bring your pinky up and he smiles again before bringing his up as well, wrapping it around yours. 

“Us against the world, cupcake,” he agrees and you sigh, laying your head against his that now lays on your shoulder. 

“Hey, is this my scarf?” he asks after a while of silence as he lifts one of the sides of the scarf up. 

“Umm. Yeah, I think it’s the one you left here last year. I found it in my winter clothes. You can have it back if you want,” you answer with your cheeks burning hot and you try to hide your face. 

“Nah. Keep it. It’s a better fit on you than me,” he tells you softly and again you can’t help but blush. 

He says nothing else after that, just cuddles back into your shoulder and you squeeze his shoulder. The two of you stay sitting there, cuddling while looking out over the water in silence and just enjoying each other’s presence. 

“Hey, tweedledee and tweedledum, are you two going to stay out there all night and make me decorate alone? Or are you going to come be of some help?”John B calls out for the two of you from the edge of the dock and you both roll your eyes. 

“Well, you ready to go in?” You ask him and he smiles at you before nodding. 

“Yeah, let’s go,” he agrees before pulling away and the two of you start to stand. 

"Be careful cupcake, you’re clumsy and it’s really slippery out here,” JJ tells you as he stands up and you cross your arms. 

“I’m not that clumsy!” You fight back and he hums in amusement. 

“Okay. I’ll believe that when you're not tripping over thin air,” he jokes back with a smirk and you scowl at him. 

“Whatever…” you tell him as you roll your eyes before turning and taking a step to head back to the house. 

You let out a small gasp as you start to fall back, but JJ, knowing you well, was already reacting and quickly pulling you back up. You stare at him in shock for a moment before you slowly start to smile, making him smile too. 

"You were right. The ground really is so slippery,” You joke, eyes wide in shock and he playfully rolls his eyes at you. 

“Never change, cupcake. You’re truly one of a kind,” JJ tells you with a grin that’s utterly infectious. 

“Only if you promise never to change yourself, Jayj. You’re one of a kind too,” you request and he nods in agreement. 

You both stare at one another for a moment, your eyes staring into the blue pools that are his eyes that you’ve come to love so much over the years and you have a burning need to kiss him. You can feel his heart going what seems to be a mile a minute as he watches your eyes flicker down to his lips and back up to his eyes, his eyes doing the same. He squeezes your waist gently with a million thoughts of how your lips might taste flying though his mind and he wishes he could just kiss the adorable frown off your face, but he knows he can’t, making him frown too. You frown even deeper before opening your mouth to ask him why he’s frowning, but before you get the chance, you get cut off. 

“Hey! Would you two stop making eyes at each other and come help me decorate!” John B calls out again, interrupting the moment and you almost groan. 

“Thanks for catching me, Jayj,” you whisper out and something flashes through his eyes for a moment, an emotion you can’t quite decipher before he grins again letting you go. 

“I’ll always catch you, cupcake,” he promises with a light smile before the two of you start to walk over to John B. 

You slip a little bit once more, but you reach out and grab onto JJ’s arm. He looks down at you and chuckles as you cling to him like a koala bear, making him chuckle. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll get you to the end of the dock safely,” he promises with a laugh as he laces his fingers through yours and continues to walk over to John B. 

"Chaos has come again, man!” JJ announces as you and he walk into the château before he’s letting go of you to walk over to John B. 

“Don’t think that’s a good thing man,” John B deadpans and you fight to hold back a giggle as JJ pulls back from the guy hug the share looking offended. 

“Fine then, I take it back. You’re definitely not my favorite person. It’s cupcake,” JJ says as he pulls you into him from behind. 

“Oh so now I’m your favorite,” you ask, crossing your arms and giving a faux annoyed look. 

“Let’s be completely honest bee, I think you always have been even when he lies outta his butt and says you aren't,” John B comments with a roll of his eyes as he picks up an ornament and hangs it on the tree. 

“It’s disgusting sometimes really,” John B continues with a fake gag as he hangs the ornament up on the tree. 

“Ohh. I wanna do the Angel!” You happily call out clapping your hands and John B chuckles. 

“Don’t you always do it? This year’s no different, Bee. It’s your one job,” John B comments in amusement making you pout. 

“It’s not my only job! I have others,” you fight back and JJ chuckles, slinging his arm around your shoulder. 

“Yeah, JB her other jobs lookin pretty,” JJ comments as he hugs you into his side and you fight a blush as you groan pushing him away. 

“I extremely dislike both of you,” you comment, crossing your arms with a look of dismay falling on your face and they both grin. 

“That’s not true. You LOVE us,” both of them singsong to you and you uncross your arms shaking your head. 

“Okay maybe I do, but let’s get this show on the road,” you finally cave and agree with them before walking over to start decorating the tree some more. 

“Okay miss head elf,” JJ jokes with a roll of his eyes and John B laughs. 

“Oh that’s a good one Jayj. She really is a snappy head elf this time of year isn’t she?” John B agrees before pushing the joke a little further and you pause crossing your arms. 

"Call me elf one more time!" You seeth out through clenched teeth and they share a look. 

“Awe come on elffie. It’s a cute Christmas nickname that’s all. Plus you're the perfect height for it,” JJ tells you again, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as he squeezes you affectionately and you huff, shaking your head. 

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, let’s get decorating already…” you tell them in annoyance and JJ snickers along with John B. 

Together you, JJ and John B all dance around and decorate making you completely forget about everything that’s been going on the past few months. For a moment it’s just you and your two favorite people living happily with nothing and nobody to take it away from you. You’d give anything to live every single day like this. You walk away still laughing at something JJ had said and walk back in with the scissors. You stop and fondly watch as John B and JJ fight over who gets to put an ornament on a certain branch. Blue Christmas by Elvis starts to play and without realizing it you start to cry. 

“You okay there cupcake?” JJ asks as he turns around to see you crying and worry flows through him. 

“I’m okay Jayj…” you tell him softly with a gentle smile on your face as you set the scissors on the table. 

“Then why the tears?” John B asks and you giggle wiping at your eyes. 

“I just wish we could all live like this everyday. Just us three having the times of our lives with nothing to worry about,” you start pausing to catch your breath a little bit and to sniffle. 

“Both Kie and Pope have their parents. I’m happy to just have you two,” you explain more tears welling up in your eyes and JJ clicks his tongue coming over to give you a hug. 

“I’m happy we have each other too, Bee, but unfortunately we can’t have it everyday. There’s always going to be good and bad days,” John B agrees with you as he to comes over to hug you. 

“I know, I just wish it could be that way,” you sigh out and JJ squeezes you once more. 

“I think we all do, cupcake. Let’s just try to live in this moment then yeah? Enjoy the time we have?” He asks and you grin up at him. 

“Yeah, okay,” you agree and he smiles happy to see you back to your happy go lucky self. 

You gasp as the song’s lyrics perfectly fit the moment. “But I’ll have a blue, blue, blue, blue Christmas without you,” you sing along to Elvis as you sway and JJ shakes his head, but smiles as he watches you enjoy the music. 

“Perfect timing, much?” He jokes propping an eyebrow making both you and John B burst out laughing. 

“Yeah… definitely don’t quit your day job bug,” John B jokes and you shrug seemingly unfazed by his playful insult. 

“And what day job would that be birdy? Hunting for gold?” You playfully ask back, sticking your tongue out at him. 

“Okay. Okay… you win,” he chuckles, holding his hands up in surrender. 

“I always win,” you say in a devious tone with an equally devious look. 

“Don’t I always win, Jay?” You ask, turning to JJ who looks between you and John B in a panic for a moment. 

“Sorry JB. I have to say she is definitely a winner in my book,” JJ tells both of you and you let out a cheer pumping your fist in the air. 

“Eat it birdy!” You cheer out as you do a little dance. 

“So not fair! JJ’s only on your side because he’s crushing hard. Let’s bring Sarah in as a tie breaker,” John B complains and you pause your dance crossing your arms as you prop an eyebrow at him. 

“How would that break the tie? One. Sarah, so would choose me too and second that’d only make it tied even more even if she did choose you,” you comment very pointedly and he shrugs sticking his tongue out. 

“At least it’d be more fair. Again, JJ only chose you because he’s crushing on you,” John B again points out and you shake your head. 

“And Sarah is so crushing on you,” you point out and JJ lets out an “ooooohhh” making you laugh. 

“She got you there JB,” JJ comments with a smirk that’s infectiously making you smirk too. 

“Okay birdy, you win. I take it as a compliment that my favorite person is crushing on me though,” you happily reply, leaving a kiss on JJ’s cheek and he blushes before awkwardly clearing his throat. 

“Okay. Okay. Enough fighting you two. I think it’s time to put the angel up right?” JJ cuts in only wanting to change the whole subject as he holds the Angel up for you to take from him. 

“Yeah, okay.” You agree as you take the Angel from him. 

You look down at the Angel in your hands, the angel you and your mom had picked out together when you were five. You don’t remember much of her, John B does because he’d been a little older (he’d been seven) when she left, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt when you think about how she’d just left the three of you behind. John B and your dad had told you so much about her that sometimes she felt like a phantom to you, like someone that was there for a second, someone you knew so well, then gone the very next. Tears well up in your eyes and you look up at John B. He immediately knows what you’re thinking and lets out a sigh, sad for you as always, he always felt sad you couldn’t fully remember her like he could. 

“I know, bug. I miss mom too,” John B sympathizes with you and you wipe under your eyes as JJ squeezes your shoulder. 

“I just wish I’d gotten to actually know her a little more,” you mutter and JJ pulls you into a hug knowing that’s the only sure way to comfort you. 

“Here, cupcake. Let me pick you up so you can reach the top of the Christmas tree.” JJ tells you after pulling away from the hug and he bends down before slipping his head between your legs lifting you as he stands. 

“You better not drop me Jayj!” You squeak out before giggling hysterically as you’re now sitting on his shoulders one hand in his hair the other holding the angel and he stands straight. 

“I would NEVER dream of it cupcake,” he sweetly tells you as he holds you a little tighter to make it known he definitely won’t drop you. 

You grin as you put the Angel on the tree before looking down to see JJ looking up at you. You then nod at him and he bends to let you down slowly. Once you have both feet on the ground he stands up straight next to you. You smile at him before suddenly you're letting out a gasp pushing JJ away just the slightest but in your excitement. 

“What? What’s wrong?” JJ asks immediate worry, taking over as he looks at John B for help, but John B just shrugs just as confused. 

“It’s If Everyday Was Like Christmas my favorite Elvis Christmas song,” you happily explain and JJ lets out a sigh of relief shaking his head. 

“We should have known,” John B playfully rolls his eyes 

“Oh we really should have dude. She is an old soul,” JJ agrees and he chuckles as you start to sway again just as you had with Blue Christmas and JJ shakes his head again too as you hold a hand out for him. 

“What?” JJ asks with an arched eyebrow and you grin making his heart melt at seeing you so happy. 

"I want to dance with you. Come on. Dance with me Jayj,” you beg, holding your hand out to him more insistently. 

“Okay, but you should know I’m not a good slow dancer sweetheart,” he informs you as he takes your hand in his and you smile as you help him get into position. 

“It’s okay J. Just sway with me. We don’t have to be all that fancy, we’re Pogues, remember? Not kooks,” you remind and he throws his head back laughing before calming as he sways with you. 

“P4L. Never a kook,” JJ happily agrees, proud that you feel the same way he does. 

You lay your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes and his leans against yours. He looks at John B for a moment over your shoulder who seems to be watching the two of you fondly. John B then surprises him by putting his hands up in surrender before leaving the room and JJ melts against you a little more. 

When If Everyday Was Like Christmas ends both of you slowly come to a stop and you lift your head from his shoulder to look at him. You smile softly at him and again there’s a moment where you lock eyes. His bright brilliant blue eyes shining with happiness and another emotion that makes you think you might just kiss, but just like all the other moments over the years where you’d been close John B walks back into the room. 

“And what’s going on here?” John B asks ever the overprotective brother that he is and you roll your eyes. 

“Nothing birdy. Are we watching die hard or not?” You ask changing the subject as you push away from JJ and he fights not to frown at the missing feeling of your body heat. 

“Not. I thought we could open a gift or two,” John B tells you and you arch an eyebrow at him. 

“I thought we all agreed on no gifts this year?” You ask and John B shrugs. 

"I’d be down. I know we said no presents this year but I wanted to get you both something special to show you how much I appreciate you, so I uhh did…" JJ admits with a shrug in agreement and John B grins shrugging along with JJ. 

“My gifts really aren't much. Just one to open tonight and tomorrow for each of us. All have super special meaning that’s all,” John B informs you and you grin shaking your head. 

“Well I really can’t say much. I did the same thing,” you admit with a giggle when they both give you a shocked look. 

“Bee! It was your idea!” John B cries out and you smile sheepishly. 

“Oppps,” you shrug feigning innocence, shrugging "Christmas is doing a little something extra for someone else right?” You ask with a lopsided grin and John B lets out a chortle shaking his head almost in disbelief. 

“I mean she’s not wrong dude,” JJ happily chirps out and you smirk, bouncing your eyebrows. 

“I’m never wrong Jayj,” you joke with him poking his side and he playfully scoffs. 

“Okay. Yeah, whatever you want to believe cupcake,” he humors you as he rubs at the spot you’d poked him in. 

After opening gifts you’d all decided to watch the movie so you cuddle up next to JJ and John B decides to sit in the chair off to the side. As the movie plays JJ lays behind you his strong arm wrapped around your waist like normal and anytime he laughs you feel the warm air from his mouth over your neck making goosebumps rise on your arms. You fight the whole movie not to fall even more in love with him and the way he holds you, but just like any other time the two of you cuddle you do. 

“Well, I’m beat. I’m going to bed,” John B announces as he slaps his hands down on the arms of the chair and pushes himself up. 

“Goodnight JB,” you call out as he walks toward his room and he turns around. 

“Goodnight bumblebee. Sleep tight,” he replies with a soft smile your way. 

“So cupcake, you heading to bed too?” JJ asks and you look up at him. 

“I’m not really tired. I might go lay in the hammock for a little while,” you inform him and he nods letting go of your waist. 

“You could come join me if you want, but you definitely don’t have to,” you tell him biting at your lip, nervous he might say no and he chuckles. 

“And skip out on our special hammock time?” He asks like he is offended and he smiles when you perk up. 

“Really?” You ask in excitement and he smiles even more. 

“Really cupcake. I love our hammock time. Let’s go,” he promises softly as he pushes up off the couch and grabs the blanket the two of you always use. 

He then turns to you and looks down at you sitting up before reaching a hand out to you. You smile almost shyly as you slip your hand into his and he pulls you up from the couch. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and together you walk out of the château. You both walk down the stairs and over to the hammocks. 

“After you princess,” JJ tells you as he bows like a butler would and you giggle shaking your head. 

“Why thank you. You're a very kind Prince, you know that?” You ask him as he lays down with you now and he holds his arm up for you to cuddle up to his side. 

“Well it’s easy to be kind to a princess like you,” he tells you and you roll your eyes at his flirty ness as he uses his other hand to put the blanket over the two of you. 

You giggle as he struggles to lay the blanket out evenly over the two of you and you reach out to grab the other side, pulling it over yourself. He chuckles softly, shaking his head before finally relaxing and he squeezes you softly as the two of you look up to watch the very prominent stars in the sky. 

“Can I tell you a secret cupcake?” He whispers out to you after a few minutes as he uses his fingers to rub your arm. 

“Of course Jayj… you can tell me anything. You know that,” you promise as you cuddle into his side even more. 

"I believe the Abominable Snowman may be real... I think there may be something in that." He whispers and you slowly grin, turning to smile up at him. 

“You might actually be right… I mean who’s to say he’s not real?” You ask and he chuckles, shaking his head loving the fact that you just agree with him. 

“I think I may have everything I want right here right now,” you whisper out as you cuddle back down into him with a hum of contentment. 

"Everything I want I can’t have." He admits and you frown pushing up to look at him again. 

“What do you mean? You don’t have everything you want? What else could you want?” You ask with a frown, sad that he could possibly not be as happy as you thought he was. 

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before letting them open once more. His blue eyes stare into yours and you almost lose yourself in them. 

“You,” he whispers almost nervously and you’ve never seen JJ at his nervous before as you raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Jayj. You have me. I’m not sure why you think you don’t,” you tell him in confusion and he huffs in anger, but not in anger at you, no he’d never be angry at you, but he is angry you're not getting it. 

“No princess. You don’t get it… I want us to be… uggh,” he groans out reaching up to rub at his chest and your eyebrow furrows even more as you reach up moving his hand before rubbing his chest for him. 

“Jay. Just calm down and tell me. It’s okay… you want us to be…” you prompt him to continue on as he seems to calm a little more. 

“Okay… uhh… I want us to be more than friends and I know Pogues don’t Mack on Pogues, but I’ve wanted to be so much more with you for years…” he admits hesitation clear as he once again for the second time in the night refuses to look at you and you smile. 

“Jayj… look at me please…” you whisper out and hit takes him a moment, but soon he’s doing it. 

"It was always you, through everything it was always you Jayj. Nobody else,” you whisper again with a grin growing on your face as you watch him slowly realize exactly what you’d said. 

“Wait… really? But wait… what?” He asks in confusion and you giggle. 

"I'd always choose you Jayj.” You softly promise and nuzzle into his chest bashfully and he chuckles bringing his hand up to your head to massage at your scalp. 

“I’d always choose you too Princess,” JJ promises just as softly as he leaves a kiss to your forehead. 

“You missed…” you tell him with a confident grin as you sit up to look at him and he chuckles again shaking his head. 

“Oh my bad. Let’s see if I can fix my mistake then,” he jokes right back with his own smile growing. 

Before you know it his hand trails from your hair and to your neck, lightly pulling you to him while tilting your head ever so slightly. He moves slowly and treats you so gently making the butterflies erupt even more in your stomach. There’s a thick anticipation that falls over you with how slowly you move closer together, but it’s the kind of anticipation you really don’t want to end. Finally his lips meet yours in a firm yet delicate and maybe a little desperate kiss. You are a little surprised thinking it would have been a little more heated with knowing how JJ is, but the delicacy of which he kisses you proves to you just how much he’s wanted this. 

He worries if he makes it anymore heated like he normally does with other girls he’d ruin this whole moment and he really doesn’t want to lose you. You're the most important girl outta all the ones he’s ever been with so if he messes it up he’s scared he might lose you all together. You take a leap and kiss him a little harder, surprising him for the smallest of moments, but he smirks into the kiss before reciprocating it even more. You smile into the now heated kiss as you reach up and wrap your arms around his neck and play with the hair at the nip of his neck making him groan. You then maneuver a little more so now instead of laying side by side you lay on top of him and he squeezes your waist after his hands move from your neck. 

Slowly you pull away breaking the kiss almost unwillingly and he chases your lips giving them another peck making you giggle. He then leans his forehead against yours and you grin wide as both of your heavy breaths mingle together. 

“Wow…” you whisper, biting your lip and he grins at you. 

“Definitely wow. I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time,” he admits and you grin as you use your thumb to trace his lips. 

“I know it may be early, but I love you Jayj. You’re my favorite Christmas gift,” you tell him as you scoot down and lay your head on his chest. 

“It’s not early at all, princess. I think we’ve loved each other for a while now. We’ve just been too scared to tell each other,” he tells you as he kisses your head and pulls you even closer then before. 

“Oh and you're my favorite gift too sweet girl. I love you,” JJ adds on and you sigh happily. 

“Merry Christmas Jayj…” you mutter out as tiredness takes over your body. 

“Merry Christmas cupcake,” JJ parrots you again, squeezing you a little closer. 

It’s a little while later and JJ smiles when he realizes you’re breathing has evened out meaning you’re happily asleep in his arms. He yawns, but refuses to fall asleep quite yet, just wanting to enjoy having what he thought he never could. 

"How long ago did, bug fall asleep?" He hears a whisper making him look up at John B. 

“Only a little while ago. She’ll probably sleep in a lot more than the last few years. I thought you went to bed?” JJ whispers not wanting to wake you as you sleep soundly on his chest. 

“I did, but I knew you two would come out here and I wanted to check up on the two of you to make sure you're all good before I actually fall asleep,” John B whispers back and JJ smiles a thankful smile at him. 

“Thanks man. We’re good,” JJ tells him and John B nods pausing to watch your sleeping face. 

“You take care of her, you hear me JJ. You break her and best friends or not I will break you,” John B says in a serious whisper and JJ’s eyes widen for a moment. 

“Don’t worry dude. I don’t plan to and if it ever does happen I’d break myself before you even hit the chance,” JJ whispers honestly and John B smiles at his best friend. 

“I know, but now that the two of you got wise and got together I still need to make it known. I’m her big brother first and foremost,” John B informs him with a shrug and a happy smile at seeing his sister happy as well as safe and sound in his best friend's arms. 

“Goodnight JJ. Sleep well buddy,” John B tells him before turning and starting back to the château. 

“Night man. You sleep well too,” JJ tells him in a happy whisper as he nuzzled into your hair. 

John B knows without a doubt that JJ is good for his little sister and you are for JJ too. He’s so happy the two of you have finally confessed and made it official. He’s had to watch the two of you pine for one another for years and it was painful sometimes because he cares for both of you so much. First and foremost though as he’d told JJ you are and will always be his first thought. It’s just a big brother thing to protect his little sister. 

JJ watches until John B makes it into the château before deciding to hold you close for a little while longer. Before he knows it though your soft, even breathing lulls him into his own slumber and his eyes close, but even in his sleep he holds you close never ever wanting this Christmas to end; the most perfect Christmas ever for the both of you. 

The End…

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[anbaisai]

Finally had time to sit down and write, but honestly there’s not much to be said other than thank you to everyone who wrote a message on my tree! I really enjoyed reading every single message and screenshotting to save them into a folder for when I need a lil boost ww (including one from Mr. Viper himself above that got a laugh out of me, thanks Jamil really appreciate you thinking I’m cool)

Some sappiness under the cut:

I never expected to receive this much support for my silly yume/oc ship content when I began posting, and I really don’t have the words to express how grateful I am. I’ve met many wonderful people through this fandom, and also just had lots of fun in general making art. I mean it when I say I genuinely never had this much motivation and inspiration to create for any fandom (or original content) in the past. There was a long, long period in my life during which trying to find even a crumb of motivation to draw felt impossible. There was always some reason that I couldn’t - be it school/life being too busy, feeling too tired, having other stuff to do first, etc. I thought I’d never rediscover my love and passion for art, until I finally pushed myself to design my Yuu for real (instead of just thinking about it) and then everything just snowballed from there. (For context, I began playing TWST in 2020 and, despite being very much in love with it, only began drawing anything for it this year.)

I have such a massive list of ideas that I still want to draw (plus several asks that I want to answer that I just haven’t had the time to yet), so I’m certainly going to be kept busy for a while. After previously making every excuse possible for not drawing, I’ve learned that yeah, once you really love something you will squeeze time out for it no matter how hard things get, because it kills you not to. All those times when I wondered when I’d ever be able to draw as much as my favourite artists now feel like a distant relic of the past, and I have Twisted Wonderland (especially Jamil) and this community to thank for it. If anyone reading this is going through something similar, I promise it gets better - you will need to put in the effort to make it start, but you will get there.

There’s also my past experiences of being in fandoms that, well, did not welcome yume/self-shipping type content. If I so much as thought of creating any, the fear of being ridiculed would make me back away from the idea immediately. I’m glad to see that sentiment seems to be no longer the norm, but also the TWST fandom has been one of the most supportive of yume content I’ve ever seen. To everyone wanting to participate but has been hesitating, you absolutely should! My only regret is not starting sooner, seriously. In a sense I feel like I'm fulfilling a childhood dream of mine, and all of my past hesitation and anxiety just dissipated once... as cringe as it sounds - once love took over. So go pour your love and passion into that character you adore, they deserve it.

Anyways, wishing everyone a happy holidays and happy new year! Here’s to another year of enjoying TWST and creating for the things we love ❤

[murpurpop]

Happy Christmas everyone!!! (And to those who don’t celebrate, Happy Holidays!!!) I’ve been run over by the truck known as “art block” in case none of you guessed from my unhappy remarks about being unable to draw lately- but here!!! Jonaeri!!! For you!!!!

Ever since Araki drew Jonathan with the goofy scarf I’ve been thinking that it was a gift from Erina to Jonathan after the Joestar mansion burnt down- so um ya.

I did try colouring and rendering but it was horrific so i gave up and grayed it up yknow. Sorry i really hated how the rendering looked :( I might post a version that is coloured if i get around to it but will NOT be anytime soon this season is verrryy stressful.

Ignore my rambles- hope everyone has a great holiday!!! Bye!!

[sugdenlovesdingle]

Happy Christmas @strandnreyes !! Here is your very late gift from your secret santa!

I had a plan, it was going well, and then I wrote myself into a corner and couldn't figure out how to fix it... and went with plan B at around 6PM yesterday. But I'm pretty happy with the result and I hope you are too!

written for @tarlos-santa for the prompt: roommate’s best friend AU

---

Strickland holiday special (AO3)

“December 24th, 7pm, dinner at my place. Bring yourself and your holiday spirit.” Paul announced when he sat down at Carlos’ table in the bar they’d agreed to meet for a catch up after work.

Carlos was thrown off guard for a second but then shook his head.

“Can’t. Nochebuena with the family. My mom will kill me if I miss that.”

“And you don’t want to spend the holidays with your best friend?” Paul asked, fake hurt, and took a sip from the beer Carlos had ordered for him.

“You’ve met my mother... and she likes you now… but if you keep me from coming to mass with her and the rest of the family, she’s going to put you on her naughty list for next year.” Carlos replied, only half joking. He wasn’t especially excited to spend the holidays with his entire extended family, but it usually was nice to catch up with cousins he only ever saw at birthdays and family gatherings.

Only this year he also had to avoid his sister and her interest in his love life ever since she set him up with a friend of a friend a few months ago.

“Ah but if I promise to feed her boy, even Andrea Reyes will forgive me.” Paul told him and Carlos had to admit to himself he was probably right. “Come on man, it’s just dinner with some friends. Some people from work, and you’ll get to meet Asha for real.”

“I’ve already met her!”

“Outside McDonald’s in the middle of Saturday afternoon shoppers doesn’t count.” Paul argued. “Come on, you know you want to say yes. I’ll make my famous chilli.”

“Well in that case I’m definitely not coming, you chilli heathen.” Carlos joked and Paul good naturedly rolled his eyes.

“If I allow you to assist me in the kitchen, will you come? I’ll even let you disgrace my chilli with your nachos.”

Carlos laughed.

“Ok, fine, you can be my sous chef. Maybe I’ll even let you stir something.”

“You keep telling yourself that, Reyes.” Paul replied and clinked his beer bottle against Carlos’. “Oh and my roommate can help us out too.”

“Roommate? Since when do you have a roommate?”

Paul shrugged.

“A few weeks. The new guy at work I told you about.”

Carlos frowned, trying to remember any new guy Paul had mentioned.

“Tyler. From New York. He’s not going home for the holidays and he doesn’t really know anyone in Austin yet.” Paul clarified.

“Right. And you take in strays now?”

“He was living in some shitty backpackers hostel! I couldn’t let him stay there. The place is a health hazard. And I have a spare room anyway.” He shrugged. “It’s just until he’s found a place of his own. He’s a nice guy. Cleans up after himself. A lot of wrong opinions about pizza though. Come to think about it, you two would probably get on great. You can be wrong about food together!”

“Are you trying to set me up with your new roomie?”

“No, but you might like the guy. You both could do with some new friends.”

“I have friends!” Carlos protested and pointed his bottle at Paul. “I have you.”

“And if you and Tyler hit it off you could have two friends!”

Carlos shook his head and took a sip of his drink.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Oh no. No, I know what ‘I’ll think about it’ means in Carlos Reyes speak. It means ‘no but I don’t want to say it to your face.’”

“No, it means I’ll think about it. I might have plans… with Marco.”

“Oh the boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Carlos insisted. “We’ve only been out a few times… I barely know him. Luisa set me up with him.”

Paul nodded.

“I remember. And you like him?”

Carlos pulled a face like the thought of admitting anything of the sort to Paul was causing him physical pain.

“I don’t know… He’s alright… He keeps asking about my job.”

“That’s what people do when they’re getting to know each other don’t they?”

“Well… yeah… but it’s all he talks about. I don’t even know what he does for a living.”

“So ask him.” Paul said simply and Carlos gave a huff in reply.

They spent the rest of the night talking about Paul’s party plans, and carefully avoiding the topic of Carlos’ love life. Which he was more than grateful for.

By the time the 24th came around, Carlos had struck a deal with his mother. He’d promised her he’d go to midnight mass with her and the rest of the family, and then spend the entire Christmas at the ranch with them, so he’d be able to go to Paul’s dinner party and help him cook in the afternoon.

They’d decided on a menu together, agreeing to stay away from any controversial dishes and just focusing on putting a nice meal together for their friends.

Carlos had managed to wrangle the guest list out of Paul, and he knew most people that would attend. All but one. The mysterious Tyler.

Paul had mentioned he’d be helping them prep and Carlos was curious about the guy. Apparently he’d moved to Texas after a break up, but Paul either didn’t know the details or didn’t feel like it was his place to share and hadn’t told him anything more.

Not even a last name, which meant Carlos couldn’t even casually run him through the system.

He parked his car outside of Paul’s building and grabbed the supplies he’d picked up from the backseat before making his way to the front door. He tried to shift the bags in his arms so he could ring the doorbell without dropping anything when someone jogged up to him.

“Wait, wait, wait! Let me get that for you.” The person said and reached around him to open the door with a key.

“Thanks…” Carlos mumbled and walked into the building, up to the elevator. The person followed him and pushed the button for him.

“What floor are you headed?” the guy asked when they stepped into the elevator.

“Uh four.”

“Me too. Do you need a hand with those bags? I can carry one for you.” The person offered. “I promise I won’t run off with them.”

Carlos chuckled and shifted one of the bags so the person could take it from him. He hadn’t been able to get a good look at them yet, just a flash of a silver grey jacket and brown hair, but when he moved the bag out of the way, he came face to face with easily the most beautiful man he’d ever seen.

“Thanks.” Carlos managed to say and the beautiful man smiled at him, making him even more beautiful.

“No problem. Do you live in this building too? I only moved in a couple of weeks ago, I don’t really know the neighbours yet.”

“Oh uh no… I’m just… visiting my friend.” Carlos stammered, mentally kicking himself for not being able to keep his cool around a cute guy. “He lives at number 425.”

“No way.”

“Uh…”

“You’re Carlos!” It was a statement, not a question.

“Uh…”

“I’m TK.” The beautiful man said as the elevator doors opened and they walked onto Paul’s floor. “Paul mentioned you would be coming over to help prepare for tonight.”

“I… oh… you… you work with Paul…” Carlos stammered.

“Yeah, and he lets me crash in his spare room until I’ve found my own place. You don’t happen to know of any apartments for rent that don’t cost a small fortune, do you?”

“No… sorry.”

“That’s too bad.” The beautiful man stopped outside of Paul’s door and put his key in the lock. “Hey, look who I ran into downstairs.” He called out to Paul when he walked into the apartment.

“Oh, great, you’ve already met. Saves me the introductions. Now let’s get to work, this meal won’t cook itself.” Paul said, clapping his hands to spur his friends on.

Carlos was put on chopping duties and did his best to focus on the task at hand. The three of them chatted a little while they worked, with mainly Paul and TK swapping work stories.

“Chicago FD could take NYFD.” Paul insisted and Carlos had no clue what they were talking about. “Hell they could take NYFD and AFD.”

TK laughed.

“Sure, sure.” He popped an olive into his mouth and Carlos was absolutely mesmerised by him. The way his eyes sparkled with mischief, the smile that never seemed to leave his face, the curve of his lips… the way they would feel against his own… the –

“Ow! Shit, shit, shit, damn it!” Carlos swore and sucked his finger into his mouth. “The knife slipped.”

TK wiped his hands on a dish towel and carefully pulled Carlos’ hand away from his mouth.

“I’m a paramedic.” He told him. “Let me see.”

“I’ll go get the first aid kit from the bathroom.” Paul announced but neither man even so much as acknowledged him.

“It’s nothing.” Carlos insisted.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” TK told him and guided him over to the sink to run his hand under the tap. “I don’t think it’s very deep.” He said after taking a closer look at the cut.” “I think a simple bandage will do.”

“Right… ok.”

“One first aid kit!” Paul said a little too loudly, dropping the box onto the kitchen table. “It cost me a small fortune so it better have everything you need.”   

TK nodded and grabbed a paper towel, pressing it to the cut in Carlos’ hand.

“Keep pressure on that while I get some gauze to wrap it up.”

“You really don’t have to go through all this trouble for me… it’s just a small cut. It’ll be fine.”

“Reyes will you just let the medic treat that damn hand instead of bleeding all over my kitchen?” Paul sighed. “Your boyfriend won’t be happy if we let you bleed out on the onions.”

Carlos winced and he saw TK freeze up for a few seconds.

Damn it.

“You have a boyfriend?” TK asked, trying to sound casual, not looking at him but digging through the med kit instead.

“No!” Carlos said, a little louder than strictly necessary.

“Oh no, we’re not allowed to use the B word.” Paul said, exasperated. “They’ve just been going on dates for like three months. That’s not boyfriend behaviour at all.”

“We broke up.” Carlos blurted out, almost desperate to see TK’s reaction.

“Oh, I’m sorry man.” Paul replied, giving him a sympathetic look.

“It’s fine. He… I… we uhm… it just wasn’t working. We wanted different things.” Carlos told them. He didn’t want to go into detail, but at the same time needed TK to know he did not have a boyfriend.

“Well at least you found out now and not during a romantic dinner with an engagement ring in your pocket.” TK said, removing the paper towel from Carlos’ hand and carefully putting a gauze pad on it.

“Y-yeah.” Carlos agreed, sensing there was a story behind TK’s comment but not wanting to pry.

TK wrapped up Carlos’ hand with the care and precision of someone treating an arterial bleed, when they both knew a simple band aid would have done the trick.

“How’s that?” he asked when he put the last piece of tape on the bandage. “Not too tight?”

“It’s perfect.”

They managed to get through the rest of the afternoon without any more injuries, and Carlos had managed to compose himself and function more or less like a normal person by the time the other guests started to arrive.

He knew most of them through work and in Nancy’s case from high school math and science. He enjoyed catching up with them but still his eyes were constantly drawn to TK.

And maybe he was imagining things, but it looked like TK was looking at him too.

“Hellooo, earth to Carlos.” Nancy waved a hand in front of his face. “I asked you a question.”

“What? Sorry… I kind of zoned out for a minute there.”

“Uhuh, I noticed. I was talking about the red vs blue baseball game.”

“What about it?”

“Are you playing? Who is on the APD team? I’m trying to scope out the competition.”

“I don’t know. It’s months away.”

“She’s got a whole file with stats on everyone on the FD team on her computer.” Marjan cut in. “And she’s trying to find out who’s playing for PD so she can put together the same kind of file for them.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being prepared! I just want to win next time.” Nancy argued. “TK, do you play baseball?”

“I was in little league. I was pretty good.” TK replied. “Well according to my mom and my step dad anyway.” He laughed a little and took a sip of his drink.

“Good enough for me. We’ll have to get you to the batting cages in the new year so I can see you play.” Nancy decided.

“Who died and made you coach of the FD team?” Paul asked and the two of them got into an argument that snowballed into a debate where somehow Paul’s girlfriend Asha ended up as some kind of referee.

Carlos however could only focus on TK. He was sitting on the other side of the table, leaning back in his chair, drink in hand and an amused look on his face. He’d gotten changed before dinner and he was wearing a dark sweater with stripes across the chest and a diamond stud in his ear.

Carlos’ mouth had gone dry at the sight of him and he’d felt severely under dressed in his simple button down shirt and jeans.

“Who wants dessert?” Asha asked the group, trying to steer the conversations to a safer topic.

“I’ll get it.” Carlos said quickly, happy to be able to escape the madness for a few minutes and get his head together.

“I’ll help.” TK said, getting up from the table too and following him to the kitchen. “How’s your hand?” he asked as Carlos started pulling bowls from the kitchen cupboard.

“Oh, it’s fine.” He flexed a few times. “I barely feel it.” He smiled. “You’re a great doctor.”

“Paramedic.” TK corrected him. “It’s not the same. But thank you.”

Carlos desperately wanted to keep talking to him but didn’t know what to say. He tried to scoop some ice cream into one of the bowls but barely managed to get anything out of the container and only ended up bending the spoon.

“I guess we should have remembered to take it out of the freezer earlier.”

“Yeah… I guess so.” TK agreed. “If you run the hot water and hold the spoon under it, it’ll be easier to scoop with.” He suggested. “Or… we could just wait.”

He stepped closer to Carlos in the tiny kitchen and his eyes flicked between the other man’s eyes and lips.

There was laughter coming from the living room and someone, probably Paul, had put on some music.

“Yeah, we could… do that. I don’t think they’re really desperate for that ice cream.”

TK smiled.

“I don’t think so either…”

The two of them stared at each other for what seemed like hours until they suddenly moved at the same time.

TK grabbed a fistful of Carlos’ shirt, while Carlos’ hands were on TK’s neck, pulling him into a desperate kiss.

He felt TK’s tongue running along his lips and Carlos happily opened his mouth for him.

They kissed, and kissed, and kissed and neither of them wanted to stop.

Carlos’ hands were firmly in TK’s hair, and TK had managed to undo some of the buttons on Carlos’ shirt. They were both breathless by the time they had to come up for air.

“I’ve wanted to do that all day.” TK admitted. “I was gutted when Paul said you had a boyfriend.”

“Don’t have one of those.” Carlos insisted. “I’m very single.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

“How would you like to change that?”