#because i wanted them to go out and make snow angels

[kissedloveletters]

IN A WINTER WONDERLAND . ۫ ꣑ৎ . christmas activities w’ them

(˶ ˘ ³˘)ˆᵕ ˆ˶) warnings. fluff、fell-hard boys、gn!reader、established relationship、mild mention of burial [dazai]、minor ooc maybe .. [ jouno + atsushi]、vulnerability(?) ໒ ᩧ꒱ characters. akutagawa ryunosuke、dazai osamu、atsushi nakajima、ranpo edogawa、jouno saigiku、tetcho suehiro ♥ made with lots of love! / wc 3.1k

AKUTAGAWA RYUNOSUKE + MOVIE MARATHON

you knew akutagawa’s density of his general health and specifically his lungs is somewhat weak, he has a sensitive health so it’s bad for him to go outside when it was such cold weather and air. he still insists he has a strong health, he doesn’t want you to view him as weak or incapable.

putting that into thought you recommended a movie, though he actually enjoyed the thought. he urge you pick the movie and he can make the snacks, cue being he asks you what food or snacks you want and he gets or makes it.

you get a little conflicted about which movie you would choose, akutagawa notices this and suggests a random Christmas movie in which you hastily agree to choose and start playing it.

he doesn’t even know what the movie even is, he just overheard his coworkers talking about it T^T..

you both started watching the movie with your arms intertwined and a blanket on the both of you as you lean onto akutagawa’s shoulders, the snacks laid out on the coffee table in front.

you tilt your head up slightly to see akutagawa watching the movie with a blank expression, you know that stupidly cute doe-eye face he makes in bsd wan? he’s making that one.

you tried to fight the urge to ask him if he’s enjoying the movie or not, you let the question slip unfortunately and you’re replied by a strangely flustered akutagawa protesting he enjoys it, picking one popcorn and eats it

“are you…enjoying the movie ryu?” “I AM.”

he was caught off guard when you giggled and squeezed his arm once more and leaned back on his shoulder, the movie catching your attention again. he bites back a sigh and rests his head on yours.

when the movie is over—and his snarky comments—the credits starts rolling out in the screen; signaling you to get up, akutagawa is strangely quick to gently pull your arm back with a silent wait. you look surprised, mouth and eyes go slightly agape, he is also himself but doesn’t show it physically.

the small gesture was unusual for akutagawa. you’d think he isn’t fond of physical touch, maybe from others, but you’re not them. the thought is probably the reason why he likes your cozy touch so much, giving him the relaxation he never quite had since forever.

the words i love you flew out of his lips before he can stop it, he hates how his voice almost cracked. there was slight vulnerability in his voice if it was silent enough. his eyes that were once firm soften only-so-slightly, he bite the back-inside of his cheek on habit. the way your smile and eyes softening gets him every time.

“I love you too, ryunosuke”

DAZAI OSAMU + PLAYING IN THE SNOW

you firstly wanted to spend more time with you boyfriend, it’s the winter time so what’s more better than messing around with him in the snow?

apparently it seemed like dazai enjoyed it at first, he even went out of his way to find a way to annoy kunikida. which is to put—stuff—snow in kunikida’s locker (probably threw one or two snowballs at him when he’s caught), gets behind you when kunikida chases him out of the agency because he’s literally covered in snow ( he did so many snow angels, even one on the road? ) and made little puddles.

dug in the snow and made a literal burial, makes it dramatic and tells you he has a surprise and shows you it with a cheeky smile on his face, also does that thing when you revealing something with your arms and waving your hands. while you’re there looking like you’re sulking at your boyfriend he’s rambling on how great his creation is…

“feast your eyes belladonna!—” then there’s white noise for you after that…

you two did a snowball fight and he may or may not literally climbed on the tree like a animal. he’s basically holding the thick tree branch for his life, he looks so stupid.. whines in a dramatic tone how you’re torturing him..?

after some time, unfortunately, he’s now being more dramatic about being cold and faking his chattering teeth, lot of “my belladonna hates me. she wants me to die in the cold.” emphasizing the hate and die in the sentence while his hands are on both sides of his upper-arm as like he’s trying to warm himself with a pout on his face and a slightly red nose and cheeks.

you couldn’t help but chuckle at him, how couldn’t you when he looks so cute? (you tried to press on both of his cheeks when your hand was somewhat covered by snow and then he swats your hand away like it was hot iron) he looks at you with fake offense and starts whining about how you’re mocking him.

catering his needs, you both went inside. it was almost immediately when he tries to shake off the snow and make a brrr sound accompanying it, earning a major side-eye from you

(un)fortunately you found yourself later sandwiched between a clingyzai and the soft mattress, the cuddling would’ve been a warm moment if his weight wasn’t crushing on you. squeezing you more if you try to get up, you feel as if you’re dying, literally.

your hand found his soft, but moist, hair and started to caress his head. he leans in your hand more and visibly gotten more relaxed (and loosely let his vice grip on you)

you found sleep somehow and you both rested, when you woke up he’s snoring in your ear and drooling on you? you also had to wake him up because he was literally suffocating you.

ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA + BUILDING A SNOWMAN

atsushi had wanted to play in the snow since his childhood, he knew how childish it was, it’s because the orphanage didn’t allow for children to play out in the cold while it or after it snowed. the rule prevented the children to get sick but also leaving them yearning to do something simple like playing in the snow.

so, it was no surprise atsushi still wanted to do the activity, it’s even better when you’re with him. you both could see your own breaths, atsushi offers you his coat since he can use his ability to prevent him from freezing.

the two of you started rolling the snow and it slowly starts to pile on each other, it takes awhile but you swore it was longer than it felt.

atsushi (after awhile tried to do something to maybe impress you idfk ) tried to, like, form it with his tiger hands like it was sand?? T-T it was contrary to what he thought it would be like. it came out ok, but really bulky with lot of bumps and, okay it was not ok it was misshaped; it looked like a oval

kinda got embarrassed from that with you consoling him “it looks good babe, don’t worry!” and that got him feeling better but somehow more embarrassed? ( possibly from the pet name… )

the body was complete (and looked like a disaster) and it was just the head, atsushi was in charge with trying to find rocks and two sticks for the arm, face and buttons. you were making the head which looked like a gigantic snowball.

and then, wallah, the snowman is done! atsushi wanted to put his scarf and hat on it, being the good partner you were like “aren’t you gonna get cold?” and he was puzzled for a millisecond “yeah, you’re right..” you swore that was the most accidental dramatic sigh he let out

news-flash he still did and he got a cold the next day

RANPO EDOGAWA + BAKING COOKIES

ranpo was really just hungry and wanted an excuse to spend time with you, there’s many options to choose from when he needs both of these needs to be taken care of… then the very awesome idea crashed down at him, he was going to make christmas-y cookies with you!

ranpo really sometimes judges how things taste based the way they look, if a cookie is extraordinarily decorated he’ll assume it’ll taste as good as it looks, but simple goods as glazed donuts he enjoys so it doesn’t imply this for all sorts of baked goods, just perfectly in the middle…

he brought up the idea towards to you, and who knew, you of course would liked to! key word, liked.

most of the time you were the one baking it and he was… rambling about all of the cases he’s solved, poe’s recent mystery novel, the people that he called out as the perpetrator declining it idiotically and whatever comes to his mind.

while he was doing that, he ate most of the snacks he gotten yesterday and this morning, sometimes holds the chip bag in front of you as an indication for you to take one if you’d like, same with his half-eaten and wet lollipops…? which met him with a scrunch of your nose as an ew, he casually shrugs and puts it back in his mouth.

oh also eats the cookie batter when you’re away, when you caught him he declares it as taste testing as he takes another scoop of it with his finger and licks it ..

he eventually got bored of the routine and made (badly attempted) hot chocolate, it was a bit bitter than you expected but you’re glad it’s not overly sweet that your teeth would fall off… he putted those sweeteners in his cup

it was awhile when you two were chatting while the cookies were in the oven, the conversation was ranpo mostly doing he talking… per usual maybe? then gets the very bright idea to play in the snow… that may or may not be the best choice.

seconds later after your agreement he literally dashed to get his jacket, snow boots, mittens and hat (also yours dw). impatiently waits by the door tapping his feet while you’re putting on your jacket… “any day now” smh

he goes dashing out with your hand in his in the snow, literally trips and brings you down with him… makes so many snow angels with you it’s hardly countable, comes screaming to you later showing you his snowman, unfortunately … “looks like frosty the snowman’s child if it had a birth defect”

ranpo has the urge to check the cookie again, and again, and again until it was finally done. gets too distracted by the beep of the oven he forgot to put those oven gloves on and gets it anyways without it, but you literally slapped his hand away and handed them to him T_T.

defiantly eats the majority of them when your both done decorating, he also made one that he attempted to look like you and takes a fat bite out of it..?

theres many opportunities that ranpo could do this honestly, he just never found that much of the motivation or point if he got the store-bought ones, but he thinks the way you made it, even if the batter and all came from a recipe, he thinks yours is better than any pastries he tasted

JOUNO SAIGIKU + GINGERBREAD HOUSE

jouno’s eyes twitch in annoyance and grumbles when he got frosty on the wrong place again, he hates this. why would you choose out of any oh-so-festive activities out there in the world? he continues to let out a soft dramatic sigh every so often.

you wanted to spend some time with your boyfriend on christmas, he hates the snow (because it messes up his senses and his hair or something�� and you make him do all the snow shoveling) so you recommend such a fun activity to do even though you had the possibility he would hate it, what a good partner you are!

the ugly sweater you basically asked ( forced ) to wear itches at his skin, he keeps shuffling on the wooden seat he’s sat at, uncomfortable. from the radius he’s at from the fireplace that’s no farther away than seven feet, he’s practically sweating from his sensitive senses. it’s taking his all to not ripe himself out of that hand-made sweater you made specifically for him…

you notice this, and he knows that. he pretends to imply he hate this, in result you feel a little guilty for making him do this, even if you ask him about it he’ll dismiss it anyways for whatever reasons…

“sai… you look sweaty an’ annoyed, wanna stop?” “no, it’s alright” “oh—okay!”

having such-a soft spot for someone like he has with you is something he never experienced, his tone changes when taking to you compared to his companions, his smile ever so widening and being softer if you look close enough when he hears your familiar heartbeat and smell.

even if it takes all of the strength in his body to protest what you ask of him, he couldn’t bring himself to.

unfortunately, he got frosting over his sweater… shit, guilt and annoyance tugging at his soul, he furrows his eyebrow, he ignores the feelings and tries to wipe it off with a nearby napkin. grimaces slightly when he hears your snort, looking back up at you like a mad kitten, only fueling you more to laugh.

he ends up taking off the sweater, leaving him in the plain white t-shirt, matching the frosting that he was outlining the house with.

there was no doubt that his house looked like a disaster, the white frosting sprawled everywhere on the architectural creeks. the way the house look so… silly made you giggle in your seat as you reach out to get another house set up and put it in front of him.

you sat closer to jouno, shoulders brushing each-other. you leaned in closer, basically sitting apart of his seat, your hands ghosting over his as you rest your head on his shoulder blade. instructing him silently for him to follow your movements.

you didn’t notice the way he tensed up when you brush your fingers against his and whisper in his left ear “just follow my lead, m’kay?” the mhm and nod of his head was slow and untimed.

there weren’t many, actually, no times where jouno was nervous, this was an expection. his heart quickens the way you’re so close to him, he forgot about this stupid gingerbread house making. all he’s focused on is you, only you. not the way you tried to push the plastic bag for the white frosting, only the way you intertwined your hands with his while doing it.

it feels shorter than it actually was, unfortunate for jouno. he grimaces silently when you let go of his hand, returning them back to your lap as you sat up, looking over slightly at the almost-decent gingerbread house, he made—no, you both made together

he lets out a snarky remark and sighs, leaning on the table with the backside of his hand. “are we finally done with this” he says, turning his head to you. you huffed, the yes you let out indicates him something, he gladly lets out a relieved-dramatic sigh, again.

“thank god, thought we’d be doing this forever” empathizing the thank god. he hastily gets up from his seat, tugging the hand of yours on his left, leading you to your shared room. “maybe we could if you would like?” “fuck no”

TETCHO SUEHIRO + MAKING S’MORES

tetcho was the one who actually asked you if you both could make s’mores. fukuchi left the group take a well-deserved day off after their patrol, being delighted by this, tetchou went to you immediately. he forgot to change out of his military uniform when visiting your apartment, he ended up wearing the clothes he left at your apartment a few times when coming over, or kept it on… he doesn’t mind, really.

due to his work, he’s determined to keep the city peaceful and safe, so on days when he gets the day off he doesn’t really know what to do and just patrols around the city some more… same goes with expenses, ends up buying useless trinkets? buys oddly perfect wrapped gifts for his coworkers with the random-est things inside.

once bought jouno those cheesy best-friends necklaces that haves magnets inside and stick on the side. in the corner of the room there’s teruko who was trying to stifle her laughs with an awkward tachihara on her side, an confused fukichi because he doesn’t know what he walked into, and an irritated jouno in front of him slapping his hand so the necklace with the words best engraved on it would fall.

“jouno, i got us best friend bracelets. they magnetize together.” … “we are not best friends, idiot, I hate you” “but we work together a lot?”—“against my will! and you’re so useless in missions, you’re no use until we’re at the enemy, ugh!” … “PFFF-tetcho is such an idiot, tachihara!” “teruko…” “jouno you could use a few friends” … “captain!?”

there wasn’t really a chance where tetcho would spend with someone, of course he didn’t mind this, he didn’t consider himself a lonely person but there’s times.

(anyways back to s’mores)

it was at a popular and crowded campsite, it already had that s’more-y setup that only needed to be lighted. you both sat at the same wooden bench, getting the (sanitized) wooden sticks out and putting the marshmallows on the tip then stabbing it in.

he didn’t knew how it worked; burnt it once, twice, then five times. he got a little frustrated but then perfected it after you helped him time it correctly.

since you didn’t specify when you asked for chocolate, he got the white Hershey ones, not ideal but it would work… until you thought wrong, he sprinkles salt on his s’more and eats it with his usual blank face.

made another (slightly failed attempted) s’more but gives it to you, encouraging you lightly to try it. he didn’t pressure you though, he knows his taste wasn’t suited for most majority of people (may or may not be from the hard way..)

you loved him too much to decline it… expecting the worse, it wasn’t that bad as you thought, or your taste buds are messed up as his. nevertheless his little smile grew a little more wider when you did, if you look close enough.

you tried to bribe him to try it without the salt, with no offense possible, he surprisingly took the chance, taking the s’more you had without a moment of hesitation with a sure, takes a bite out of it without a moment later. his eyes widen like he didn’t expect it to be delicious.. or decent?

“it’s tasty” “…thought it was gonna be poisonous?” your joke earning an airy-laugh and smile from tetcho as he nods his head, playing along.

© 2024 KISSEDLOVELETTERS. do not copy or modify any of my layouts and writing. do not translate or repost onto any other sites.

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

Happy Hawthorne Christmas:

merry christmas to everyone reading this!! I hope you all have wonderful days, I thank you all very much for your love and support 💖💖 lowkey these headcannons are so bad so sorry but I wanted to make a post for xmas

taglist: @lovethornes @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @fleuriosa @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31 @loveinalocket @lanterns-and-daydreams @hermesenthusiast @eternal--dream

- every time rohan puts up mistletoe to kiss savannah under grayson takes it down

- libby does the twelve days of cookiemas

- xander makes an ornament of himself and puts it on the top of the tree because he is (quote) ‘the star of the family’

- grayson will return anything you get him for xmas

- jameson, xander and even grayson constantly make jokes about nash being one of santa’s elves (because he’s the shortest of the four of them)

- gigi once got a sugar high on candy canes and went around the house screaming christmas songs until she passed out

- avery has a whole drawer dedicated to christmas fluffy socks which she collects religiously and ONLY wears at christmas

- as a joke jameson stole and hid a pair and let’s just say… it wasn’t pretty

- max can recite every christmas movie known to man

- grayson knits christmas sweaters

- gigi starts christmas in august

- she has the brightest, craziest, rainbowest decorations ever that send grayson into a COMA

- xander eats his whole advent calendar on day one

- grayson 100% can play a violin solo of carol of the bells

- when the boys were little and tobias (ew) was strict about presents and christmas and just anything that resembled childhood joy, nash started the transition that the boys would open one present altogether on Christmas eve

- this was continues after tobias died

- nash gets cold so easily

- he also hates the snow for this reason

- BUTTTT libby loves snow so when she asks if he’d go on a snowy walk with her he practically bolted out of that door

- the christmas after emily died was the hardest christmas for jamie and gray to even be in the same room

- xander bought max a reindeer one year and they named it mince pie

- grayson = angel gabriel… need I say more

- gigi and xander always team up to find where their christmas presents are hidden

- seeing this nash and grayson play a little trick with really bad fake presents for them to find

- grayson refuses to start christmas until halfway through December

- christmas competition is a big part of a Hawthorne Christmas, along with secret Santa, there’s giant gingerbread house construction, best Christmas karaoke, ugliest christmas sweater and best christmas tree decorating competitions

- xander still believes in santa

- grayson is like one of those mum’s at christmas that will scream at you if you dare put a decoration in the wrong place on the tree

- he also colour coordinates all of his decor (silver and blue)

- rohan buys everyone socks

- jameson usually forgets he has to actually buy gifts for people (except avery)

- avery writes a letter every christmas to her mum that basically talks about her life that year, she seals the letter and never opens it and knows he mum reads it somehow somewhere

- drink or dare is always played at a hawthorne christmas

- savannah cannot wrap a present to save her life whereas rohan is practically an expert

- so naturally he loved to annoy her about it

- jameson wrapped himself up for avery to open

- one year gigi and xander were left to christmas dinner… that was the year the whole kitchen blew up and they ordered takeout instead

- avery and jameson have a tradition that every christmas eve they light a candle for avery’s mum and wait for it to burn out completely

- despite being a dancer lyra is horrible at ice skating

- when her and grayson went together she practically held onto him for dear life

- rohan never had christmas as a kid

- nash hates hot chocolate but didn’t have the heart to tell libby until three years into their relationship because she’d always make him cups

- avery always donates money away to charities at christmas

TIG masterlist

[midnight-mourning]

Sleigh Bells Ring (Are you Listening?)

❄️❄️Midnight's DCA December Day 16❄️❄️

Another cute fluffy fic for you all, what a surprise amiright? Anywho, really tried to capture the scenery with this one, personally a big fan of cold snowy winters mhm, and also kissing robots-WHAT WHO SAID THAT anywho, enjoy!

Prompt: Oouu bats my little eyelashes,,i have a request!!💥💥 i think going on a sleigh ride with the dca would be fun!!!

Word Count: 1796

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Your feet hit the floor with a quiet thump. You stretch, yawning as you check the time on your phone. Still early, but the smell of food cooking downstairs has made you wide awake.

You twist to look outside, seeing a white, rolling landscape looking back at you. You walk over to the window, putting your hand on the cool glass. There's a bit of snow still falling, not as hard as the past few days, but enough. 

When you first thought of the idea of returning to your family's old farmhouse all those months ago, you'd been hesitant. Mainly because you weren't sure how the attendant would react to such a stark contrast in environment compared to the Plex, and then your small cramped apartment. Two very different locations in terms of size, noise level, and population. 

However, after the devastation that was the fire, and the months of recovery that followed, you think a change of pace would be what was best for all of you. And, you were right. 

Both Sun & Moon had seemingly loved every minute of being on the farm, cleaning things up, taking care of the animals and the land, and so on and so forth. 

You walk downstairs, the old floorboards creaking with each step, the air getting just a little warmer as you enter the main floor. 

You spy Sun in the kitchen cooking breakfast. He turns to you as you enter. 

"Good morning, Sunbeam! Did you sleep well?'

You nod, pouring yourself a cup of coffee. "Yeah. You guys been up long?"

"Just a little bit!" Sun walks over, depositing a plate of pancakes, bacon, and other breakfast goodies in front of you. You don't ignore how the food resembles a smiley face, commenting on such. His rays spin at your words. 

Mid-bite you speak up. "I'm thinking after we check on the animals we clear out the back of the barn. There's a bunch of stuff back there that either needs fixed up or thrown out already. It'll be an all-day activity, if you're up for it."

"You know how much we love organizing!" Sun claps his hands. 

"Great. Let me finish breakfast."

The air nips at your nose, hands in your pocket as you make your way over to the barn. Sun's ahead of you, stopping every so often to examine the snow in detail, or to drop to the ground and make a snow angel. If you weren't trying to stay warm you'd join in, you were having a competition and you were losing severely. 

Upon arrival, the animals greet you. Cows mooing, goats bleating, and what have you. 

Before you open up the doors a bit further and hit the lights, you watch Moon retrieve a spare carrot from his sleeve, giving it to his—supposedly not favorite—favorite horse, Opal. 

"You're spoiling her." You say, unlocking the big doors and starting to push them apart.

Moon scratches the horse's head with both hands while she revels in the attention. "Nonsense. She needs it."

You scoff, but smile as the two continue to admire each other. 

You allow all the animals that want to out to roam in their yards for a bit while you and Sun work on cleaning and feeding them. With the help it takes very little time at all. Allowing you the chance to get started on your project in the back. 

It's as messy as you always remember it being, your grandpa wasn't a hoarder by any means, just a collector rather. Among the old farm equipment is random knick knacks and quite frankly, junk. No disrespect to the old man, but what use he saw in a five foot tall chicken statue, that was between him and the statue you supposed. 

You make good progress however, getting about half of it at least organized in piles before lunch time. 

You're about to head back inside and shut the barn up again for a bit when Sun calls you to the very back of the barn. 

"What's this, Starlight?" He points to a large mass half covered in shadow and a sheet. 

You furrow your brow and decide the best course of action is to just pull the sheet off. After the dust settles, something clicks in place in your memory. 

You can't help the grin that splits your face. "Hey! It's the sleigh my grandpa used to take us for rides in when we were kids." You take a step closer, hand ghosting over the brass trim. "Man, I completely forgot about this. Didn't know he kept it all these years. Still in good condition too."

It's true, it was a lot better than you would have ever expected. The dark green painted wood has only a few minor chips and scratches. The leather seats and have no cracks or tears, just a fine coating of dust. Even the brass that decorates and lines the edges of the sleigh look good, you can see your own warbly reflection in places. 

"It's beautiful..." Sun says beside you, his own hand hovering just above it, like he's afraid to touch it. "Would, would it still be useable?"

You shrug, looking back to the sleigh. "I don't see why not." You knock the side a couple times. "Wood doesn't seem to be rotted, meaning it should still be pretty sturdy. Why, would you guys want to go for a ride?"

"Please!" 

You look up to him, slightly surprised. 

Sun fakes a cough, rays flitting. "I mean, if we could, we really, really want to. Pretty please."

You laugh. "Okay, yeah. Shouldn't be too hard. Let's drag it out to the front and we'll clean it up after lunch."

After a bite to eat, you and the attendant work to clean up the old sleigh. Wiping it down, polishing, sharpening the blades and so on. It's tedious work, but you enjoy it and the conversation you share. 

By mid-afternoon, the sleigh is ready to go and both Sun and Moon are more than ready to go for a ride. 

"Sun hold on, I need to adjust the reins to make sure they're comfortable." You have to shoo him away from you so you can focus. 

His rays spin as he whines, but retreats to sit down in the sleigh. "I know, I know, but we've been waiting alllll day."

"And you've been so incredibly patient." You respond, adjusting the bridle on Marshmallow's—named by your cousin's kid—nose.

"Exactly!"

With a laugh, you double check everything before walking behind the horses to the sleigh. Picking up the reins you turn to the frantic bot beside you. "Ready?"

"Yes!" He clasps his hands together. "Please, Sunshine. I'm begging you. Let's go."

You sigh, long and dramatic. Then, you grin. "Alright, let's go." You click your tongue, tugging on the reins once and you start to move forward. 

The wind blows all around you, cold against your face. But, you're having too much fun to care. 

You swear Sun's eyes are sparkling as he takes it all in. Head whipping back and forth as you travel along. It's peaceful, the crunch of the snow under the horses' hooves, the skating of the sled. Despite the weather it's a gorgeous scene as you cross the countryside. 

The snow thankfully isn't too much for Opal and Marshmallow to handle, and you think they seem very content and please to not be cooped up in the barn. 

Besides the cold on your face, it's pretty cozy inside the sleigh, the two of you are wrapped up in an old fur blanket you'd found in the attic, and if you weren't so happy that they were having such a good time, you'd be burning up at the thought of sitting so close with them. 

Sun's knee bounces against your as he taps his foot, hands fidgeting with your coat sleeve as he has no other way to expel his energy. 

You spend a good hour or so out in the snow, even stopping by some of the neighbors places to check in. You return home, cold and hungry, and Sun is happy to usher you inside and cook up dinner. 

While cleaning up, you check outside and are pleased to see that the snow has stopped for now, leaving way for a clear night with a full moon. Just like you were hoping. 

It takes a moment of convincing, but you pull the boys back out into the snow, stating that it's only fair that Moon should get a ride too. 

Soon enough, you're back out in the world, the peace of the night just a pretty as the day. There's only a few stars out, but the moonlight is so gorgeous as it illuminates your path that it more than makes up for it. 

It's somehow even quieter out now. The wind blowing only every so often. The lantern you'd set in the back seat casts a yellow hue of the back of Moon's head as he enjoys the ride. While not as fidgety as Sun, he does stick close, hand having somehow intertwined with one of your own, rubbing small circles into the back of it every so often. 

All of the sudden, you feel his head rest on your own, it causes heat to grow on your ears. 

"Thank you for indulging us and our insistent demands today, Star." He sighs, snuggling closer to you. "This has been lovely."

You duck your head a moment, then clear your throat. "Yo-You're welcome."

Moon's chuckle reverberates against you. 

"Could you stop for a moment?" He asks after some time has passed. 

You nod. "Sure."

It takes a second, but eventually you're sitting still, waiting for what he's going to do. 

What you don't expect is Moon to shift, using his free hand to move under your chin and turn you to face him. 

"Wha—"

He bends down then, pressing his smile to your lips, pulling away after a moment. 

"That's all, you can keep going now." He snickers, sitting back in the seat. 

You blink, taking a moment to process before protesting. "Are you serious? You think you can just do that and not say anything more?"

"Opal wants to get moving, she has carrots to snack on when we return. Marshmallow too."

You hook the reins around part of the sleigh, twisting to face Moon fully. "Opal can wait. I have a few things I'd like to say first." You use both hands to pull his faceplate down to your lips, kissing him again. 

And as you sit there, kissing—one of—the bots you love, you can't help but feel a little more grateful that you'd found the sleigh.

So, very grateful.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Gah loved writing this one, thank you @crystalmagpie447 for the request! I hope you enjoyed the fluffy sleigh ride, I def did :)

Masterpost link

Tag list (if you would like added, see this post for more info):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8

@luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @amarynthian-chronicles

@robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva

@juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml

[firefly--bright]

hc request: snow angels with jean 🥹🩷

OOO HOHOHOH this is so CUTE im keeping this a modern au because thats what i prefer to write :') no gender/pronouns used for reader! :D

masterlist in pinned post! ❅ requests for headcanons are open!!!!! ❅ enter my taglist ❅

❅ ok ok so i imagine him being very begrudgingly into it. like its an incredibly snowy day right, and sasha connie and marco (and you, of course, by association) had dragged him out of bed.

❅ and his whole face is tinged a little red. he's wearing the first sweater he could find which just so happens to be the one his mom made for him, along with a big puffy black coat, a green checkered scarf and bright yellow gloves. not his first choice, fashion-wise, because all the colours are clashing, this looks fucking terrible, but you convince him it looks good enough to have fun and he has no choice but to agree.

❅ anyway. there's like small flakes of snow on his hair and at the corners of his eyes, and its a nice excuse for you to brush his hair with your hand. his nose is red. his lips are a little chapped and everytime he breaths it creates a small puff of air as a proof of his living. and hes building a snowman, with whatever materials all of you could find outside. no you dont have a carrot, who has the foresight for that? you make an executive decision to stick a very thin stick into the centre of the big snowball for his nose. jean complains about your art direction but gets distracted by the fact that connie's building boobs for it.

❅ every picture marco takes, jean is in the corner just standing. arms to his side. like slenderman. no smile. no pose. he's acting as though he hates this which pisses connie off just enough for him to fuck with jean more than usual.

❅ goes without saying but connie starts a snowball fight. and jean being ever-competitive HAS to strike back and now its a whole war but its mainly just jean and connie shouting at eachother while throwing poorly-formed balls of snow at eachother with terrible aim

❅ BACK TO THE MAIN POINT. during this whole. fight. both of them get really tired but now jean is fully smiling, because he's having fun, dammit, and you marco and sasha had gone inside somewhere during their feud to make hot chocolate and warm up some cookies because none of you had had anything to eat yet

❅ and connie immdieately runs inside the house when he hears you guys calling the both of them for food. and jean's all "HA YOU LOSER I WON. FUCK YOU. YOU THINK U COULD CHALLENGE ME?" but he doesnt follow connie inside

❅ and after a few minutes you decide to go out looking for him. his back is facing yours, and his foot is moving over the snow, creating a shape you cant really see. and you call out for him, and he just turns and waves you over to him

❅ turns out he was drawing both your initials in a heart with his foot :( and you HAVE to tease him. obviously.

❅ "youre so sappy i love you." "sappy? im doing the bare fucking minimum," "right." "youre the sappy one. making me hot chocolate and shit." "i made everyone hot chocolate. youre not special." "youre saying this after i made this artwork for you?" he says, smirk on his pink lips, faux offence twisted into his eyebrows and his arm finds it's way across your waist. "sorry, youre right. we should get this framed." "you think youre so smart, huh?" "you set a pretty low bar for it." "oh yeah?" and he starts fucknig tickling you because hes so fucking predictable, right, and you obviously end up loosing your already fragile balance and falling on your back into the snow.

❅ at first he's really apologetic but then he sees you smiling and rolls his eyes before collapsing next to you, cold ice pinpricking his skin despite the layers he wears.

❅ "you destroyed the heart i drew," he says. he wants to win this fake-fight. dumbass. "thats your fault." "right, blame me for your misjudgement-" "you tickled me!" "excuses, excuses." "im sorry, jean, for destroying your heart-" "my beautiful artwork," "- your beautiful artwork that deserved to be framed." "in a shrine. add that part." "no."

❅ its so cliche. he looks at you, his head turned to your direction, and sees your own breath fog up the sky and he thinks hiding his affection is reduntant because youre going to find a way to sneak it out of him somehow.

❅ and then you stretch out your arms, indenting the snow, waving them up and down. "im making new artwork." you say, and he loves you so much it makes him warm all over, imitating your motions with his long ass limbs, sounds of the snow crunching under his movements filling his ears along with your soft laughter.

❅ and after youre satisfied with the unseen outcome of your work, he complains about not being able to feel the tips of his ears and nose, and he helps you get up. you kiss his nose as compensation, and he kisses your forehead in return. "happy?" he asks, and you hum.

❅ "wait, we have to sign our names," you say before crouching down and writing your name under your snow angel, and then write his name under his, creating a heart after his name. he smiles softly after youre done, winding an arm around your shoulder to keep you warm but pretends its because "im so weak and hungry," to which you call him a drama queen. he spares a look behind the two of you to see the snow angels and cant help but wish it would never melt away.

also heres a moodboard. i couldnt help myself.

thank you for the request!! ive never. experienced snow before so im sorry for. any inaccuracies im going based off of my rom-com watching knowledge :') hope you liked it!! <3

taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic-again , @jeanscremebrulee , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes , @gojo-ana , @ppushable , @candleohappiness , @zombiefiedskeivy

[mossyscavern]

What’s this… christmas, you speak of?

_____________________

“AAGH! YOU GOOD FOR NOTHING-!”

Rumble and frenzy ran straight past the other decepticons as the two chuckled at their recent activity, a bit behind them chasing the two mini cassettes is a very upset starscream.

The two turned a corner to the computer room and ducked behind both mechs that’s present in the room. “Best. Prank. Ever!” Frenzy whisper shouts.

Turning to his twin, confused as to why he’s so quiet and looking up, he followed his gaze and… yeah now he sees why.

Both megatron and Soundwave both stares down at the mini cons, optic ridges arched at the two. “And who pray tell have you two ‘pranked’ this time?” Megatron asked, crossing his servos at the two identical bots.

“Rumble, frenzy: speak the truth.” Soundwave warned, standing threateningly as one does. “Uh… we’ve both pranked-.”

“Where did those tin can’s go?!” Starscream asked, stomping in. The seeker is covered in silver and gold glitter wearing a Santa hat with antlers and a red nose on him.

“Starscream, late as alway-.” megatron stopped, now seeing the mess rumble and frenzy caused this time. “You look ridiculous… it’s a good look on you.” Megatron comments. “.. frag you too! Soundwave.”

“Starscream: can’t be taken seriously, take it off.” The mech states, monotone almost falters.

“Can’t, it’s glued on-. Never mind that! Where’s rumble and frenzy?!” Starscream asks, tapping his ped impatiently. “Direction: went that way when you stormed in here.” Soundwave says, pointing.

“Yeah sure, that’s what they want me to think... They’re probably still in my birth room!” He shouts, running out of the room and back to the way he came. Leaving the four bots to question his decision.

“… I can’t believe he did that.” Rumble finally spoke. “Yeah. And he was a scientific explorer.. mech.. thing.” Frenzy responded, trying to find a word for it.

“Back to what we’re doing, why does starscream look like part of his designation?” Megatron asked, turning towards the troublemaking duo. “Just some fun Christmas pranks.” Rumble answers. “We figured out glitter is hard to get rid of, so we made a glitter bomb in his wash racks.” Frenzy answers also.

“The hat and nose is just for fun, plus a way to get screamer into the wash racks in the first place.” Rumble finishes with a shrug followed by a huge run with no regrets.

“What’s this… Christmas, you speak of?”

Megatron asks, intrigued by the sound of this ‘Christmas’ the twins speak highly of. If it’s a way to destroy the auto bot than it shall-.

“Christmas: a bonding holiday about joy, family, friends, laughter and the celebration of birth of a human being, followed by two other holidays known as Hanukkah and Yule.” Soundwave answers.

‘Oh… just a simple holiday these creatures celebrate.’ Megatron thought. “I see… and it involves your endeavours why?” Megatron asked, now noticing the saddened look the two provides.

“We actually want to go snowball fighting, but because we’ve been so busy finding new ways to get energon we never had time for a proper day off.” Rumble admits. “Yeah, the auto bots get that type of time, why not us?”

Megatron pondered. It is true, all they’ve been doing the whole time was trying to find other sources of energy, but it’s crucial for their survival they need it to sustain themselves…

but they never exactly had a proper day off… it makes sense with rumble, frenzy and most of the decepticons to be antsy.

“… Soundwave, take the day off.. let them have some well deserved fun.”

“Affirmative.” Soundwave nodded as both frenzy and rumble, looked to each other and celebrated when Soundwave nodded to them both. “Alright! Should we do an igloo or snowball fight first?” Frenzy asks.

“I’m thinking igloo, snowmen building, snow angels and then a snowball fight, gotta go for calm before the storm frenz.” Rumble says, mischief in his visor.

Before Soundwave follows the walking pair megatron told Soundwave to announce the rest of the decepticon’s to post pone their recent plans and to take the day off. When they finally left megatron contemplates.

Megatron always wanted a family… shocking, he knows.

But he’s seen how family’s would get together and eat, spend time with their sparklings and conjunx, even celebrate with extended families as well. And it just… makes his spark feel lighter, especially with how heavy it is.

Maybe in another life he has a family… “Heh, impossible.’ Megatron thought, shaking his helm, before his optics land on the computer, seeing the yellow mini bot make a snowman.

For some strange reason megatron always feels… proud at the things the minibots is doing, even some of the little things.

It’s odd… but he doesn’t hate it, not one bit.

_____________________

… this was done in the last minute.

Not really since… well.. it took some time.. I just wanted to write g1 decepticons featuring megatron first hearing about Christmas.

Part of it was base off one of @yourplaywright’s stories on ao3 cause dang it! I did not realise they did one of my favourite g1 stories on there too until I looked again.

Plus it’s Christmas/yule, I wanna write it plus g1 of transformers cause why not? And… I do what I want..

My gift to you guys. Wholesome decepticon moments… cause yes.

[evans23]

Daughter of mine V

Pairing : Judge Turpin x Daughter OC

Summary : Richard's daughter fell ill just before Christmas and he can only pray for a miracle.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : A bit of angst. Mention of prostitution and death. Awkward father. If I forget something, please mention it to me !

A/N: Hello dear 😁 Merry Christmas to all of you !

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV

Also read on AO3 - Wattpad

It had not taken more than one day for Catherine to fall ill after having spent the whole day outside, playing in the snow. Not a small cough or a low fever. No. A severe pneumonia.

Richard, beside himself, had threatened to fire the governess for having let his daughter rolling in the snow like a dog. Snow angels ! Only uneducated children enjoyed making snow angels. Not his daughter who had then stayed out the whole day with her damp clothes until his return.

If it hadn't been for the intervention of Anne and the butler, Richard would have fired her immediately.

"My lord, think with care how much Catherine likes her. it would break her heart to know that because of her and her illness, her governess was fired," Anne said, among a hundred other pleas that had had no effect on Richard decision.

This one, however had shaken him a little bit. Enough to make him change his mind. He didn't want to upset his daughter, not at a time when she didn't even have the strength to hold a glass of water in her hands.

It had started with a slight cough at the end of supper, a cough that had turned into an interminable coughing fit before bedtime. By the time it was time to go to bed, Catherine was burning with fever and Turpin had ordered for his doctor to be fetch urgently. The man had arrived in a hurry and had ordered that Catherine stay in bed until further notice.

"If she doesn't feel better in the morning, send someone to fetch me," he told Richard.

In the morning, Catherine was shivering, her fever had not gone down and she couldn't even stand the light of the day as her eyes made her suffer.

"Dad, it hurts everywhere in my body. Make the pain ebb away, dad," she begged Richard.

He had pretended to be indifferent to his daughter's plea in front of the servants, but as soon as he had reached his office in the Courthouse, his usual mask of coldness and stoicism had fallen, letting the worry etched on his features.

A servant had come during the day to tell him what the doctor had said. What should have just been a cold had evolved in less than one night into pneumonia. The child had to stay in bed and drink as much fluids as possible. She also had to eat a little, even if it was painful for her sore throat. It was the only way for her to keep her strength and recover.

That day, Richard had been more severe than usual, if it was possible. He had not temper justice with mercy at all. And if the man summoned to the bar had no good excuse for being sent to the Australian colonies, or better yet, hanged, he trusted The Beadle to make up an excuse so that he could administer the harshest sentences. However, for the first time, lashing out his anger in this way had done no good to him.

On his way home, he had stopped at the doctor's place to hear from him what he thought of Catherine's condition.

"Richard, she is frail, smaller than a child of her age should be and her constitution is much more fragile than normal," he had kindly answered.

"What does that mean ? She's not the first child with a weak constitution to fall ill. Many of them recover and reach adulthood. Look at that idiot of James, not only has he reached the more than respectable age of eighty years, but on top of that he has managed to reproduce himself and his son managed to do so after him, forcing me to have to put up with that bumbling of Matthew !" Turpin fumed.

It wasn't in his habits to let his emotions dominate him, but he knew that the doctor was right. Catherine was weaker than children of her age. No doubt it was due to the poor conditions in which she had grown up until she was seven, the lack of food that could have helped her grow and strengthen her immune system, the lack of time spent outdoors breathing fresh air and being in contact with other less serious diseases. Or maybe it was simply bad luck. After all, some children, even in the upper class, were born more delicate than others. At least in a rich family they were lucky enough to be treated by the best doctors and to have the best possible care. Catherine didn't sleep in a bed with rags for a blanket but in a big warm bed, in a room with a fireplace that her maid made sure to keep lit day and night. She would recover. She had to recover or Turpin wouldn't survive it, he knew it even though he tried so hard to lie to himself.

"The truth is, Richard, I cannot predict whether Catherine will recover or not. She is very young and the disease has spread in no time. It is one of the most severe pneumonias I have ever seen."

Richard looked at the doctor, disillusioned. The man had decades of experience, if he said that Catherine's condition was more than worrying, then he was telling the truth.

"But can she recover ?" Richard asked, his mask of stoicism still in place even if inside he was boiling with fear and rage.

"Of course. But I can't promise anything. Only time and the evolution of her condition will tell us if we can hope or not." the physician replied while handing over other bottles of a syrup that was supposed to help Catherine feel better.

Richard plunged his steely gaze into the doctor's ones, to probe his sincerity, but he saw no deception in them. When he returned that evening, Anne told him that the little girl's condition had deteriorated a little more and that she had swallowed nothing, neither water nor food, as her throat was causing her horribly pain.

Richard immediately went to her side, only to find that his laboured breathing and coughing were making it impossible for her to fall asleep.

"Da...dad," she spluttered.

"Catherine, you need to eat," Richard ordered as he saw an untouched plate on the nightstand.

"Not...not hungry," the sleepy child replied.

"My informants also told me that you have been refusing to drink. You will not recover if you do not hydrate yourself properly and regain your strength by eating."

With that, Richard took one of the toasts that rested on the plate and brought it to the child's mouth.

"No, daddy, please," she whined.

Helplessly, Richard put it down, but when he brought a glass of water to her mouth, he remained unyielding until she finished it. He then placed a hand on her forehead to see that it was burning, even more than in the morning. Her nightgown and sheets were soaked with sweat, so he ordered the servants to prepare a bath and change the bedding.

Catherine's maid took care of her in the bathroom, putting various essential oils including peppermint in the bath water to try to relieve the child's muscular aches and milder symptoms.

When she took her back to her bed, Richard was still there, a pitcher of water at his side. He was determined to see Catherine hydrate herself properly and eat a little. This took a great deal of patience, a patience he didn't know he had. He finally managed to coax her by promising to read for her if she ate half her toast, finished the whole pitcher of water by the end of the day, and took her medication without complain.

Later that evening, when she interrupted his reading to complain that her head was killing her, Richard rubbed diluted peppermint oil on her forehead and told her to sleep. Unfortunately, the poor child got no rest that night, the cough keeping her awake all night, making her vomit, and making the pain in her chest unbearable.

By the end of the week, Catherine's condition had not worsened, but it had not improved either. She was paler than the snow that had delighted her so much a week before, and her wheezing did not bode well.

The doctor was still unable to say whether Catherine would make it or not and could only give her the proper medication and ordering that she be kept in bed, kept warm, and forced to drink plenty of fluids and eat a little every day.

"Would a trip to the seaside do her any good ?" Richard asked.

He remembered his mother being sent to the coast when he was a child to recover from a similar pneumonia. But his mother was much better-built than Catherine and had a strong will.

"If it were summer, yes, but travelling in this changeable weather is not advisable. You might get stuck in the middle of the English countryside in the snow. Besides, the journey might be too tiring for her," the doctor had replied, "it would be best to keep her nice and warm here."

Two weeks later, Catherine was still not feeling better, and Richard was a bundle of nerves. Anything could send him into a fiery rage, even The Beadle had experienced it several times. At the manor, none of the servants dared to upset him. They scattered like mice as soon as they heard him arrive, only to disappear before suffering his wrath. To add to his bad mood, the festivities for the end of the year were beginning to be in full swing throughout London.

Richard had always hated Christmas. This holiday was linked to too many bad memories. Only bad memories. Despite Catherine's presence, it had not occurred to him to celebrate this cursed holiday or to decorate the house. He might have done so if she had asked him to, but she hadn't had the chance since she had fallen ill before. And now she might not even survive Christmas.

"My Lord, you need some rest," Anna said authoritatively.

Turpin gave her a dark look that didn't disturb him in the least.

"You will be of no use to anyone if you fall ill too. Catherine needs you by her side, in good health. Go and get some sleep, My Lord."

Richard told her coldly to mind her own business and the old maid left, but after she had gone he sighed heavily and listened to her. She was right, if he continued like this it was not one Turpin but two who would need to be taken care of and he couldn't afford to falter when his daughter needed him most.

Catherine would ask for him whenever he got home from the Courthouse. For the first time in years, Richard made a point of coming home before eight o'clock, his daughter's official bedtime, although she only slept fitfully now, when her persistent cough offered her some respite.

He would read her a few pages every night, put a few drops of peppermint on her forehead and a few drops of eucalyptus on her throat in the hope of helping her breathe to go better. He would kiss her on the forehead, wishing her some rest before retiring to his own rooms, where he would doze off like a log every night. Every morning, he would wake up hoping that she would be feeling a little better, but so far his hopes had always been dashed away.

However, there had been a glimmer of hope one morning, two weeks before Christmas, when her cheeks were slightly flushed and she seemed more awake than she had been before. She had eaten, not that much but at least three meals and had drunk water and tea with lemon and honey throughout the day, much to the relief of the household and her father who thought this was the beginning of her recovery.

That evening, when Richard had gone to join her to read her a few pages of a new book he had specially bought for her, she had talked to him about the hated holiday, as he had dreaded.

"Dad, when are we going to decorate the manor?" she had asked in a hoarse voice.

He hadn't answered. Instead he had asked her if she usually celebrated Christmas with her mother. She had answered that she had and that she had received gifts every year even though she knew that it was her mother who put them under the tree and that it was not much. A comb, an old second-hand book, a dress that her mother had taken up for her. Nevertheless, on Christmas Day, Elena didn't work and spent the whole day with her daughter making gingerbread cookies and reading her stories and that was all it took to make Catherine happy.

Because that day Catherine had been a little more lively and because she had worried about whether Christmas would take place or not, to her father's great disappointment, the whole Turpin manor had thought that the following days would see the child's recovery.

Unfortunately, the next day, her fever was higher than ever and she was coughing so much that she had ended up coughing up blood. The doctor had been called immediately and his diagnosis was not good.

"Richard, I don't want to be a bad omen, but you have to prepare for the worst..."

The doctor didn't have time to add anything before Richard's voice thundered throughout the manor as he ordered him to leave the premises immediately, which the man did but not before entrusting a list of medicines and herbs that should relieve the little girl to Anne.

Richard, who was drowning himself into his work to forget that his daughter was dying, hardly spent any time at the manor anymore. It was now Anne who took care of reading her stories and making her take her medicine. Catherine hardly ate anymore, and she, who was already not very thick, was now nothing more than a pile of flesh and bones. All the employees of the manor prayed to see the little girl recover while she did not stop asking for a father who didn't have the courage to see her waste away.

Colder and harsher than ever, Richard's judgments terrified even his colleagues, but not one of them would dare to make the slightest remark to him. Even The Beadle trembled when his boss called him into his office for fear of incurring unjustified wrath.

"You're an idiot," Anne told him one evening when he came home almost past midnight.

Richard had frozen, his eyes flashing. Anyone else would have shrunk in fear before him, but not the old woman who had seen far more worst.

"It's very cold outside and fresh snow will probably fall in a few days, it's to be feared, but trust me, I will have no mercy in throwing you out if you speak to me like that one more time," he had hissed coldly.

"I have no doubt. You have no heart, my lord. Only a heartless man would let his child call him in vain day and night."

And with these words being said, she had left him on the threshold of the still open door. Indeed, day and night, Catherine cried, screamed, begged for him to come and join her, but he couldn't bear to see her like this. He was going to lose her, he knew it and he cursed himself for having allowed himself to let her cross the walls he had erected all around him and the barrier of ice around his heart that had protected him all these years from the sorrow of life.

"Sir ?" said the butler's voice.

Richard, who was in his parlour, raised his head to acknowledge his presence. The butler brought him something to eat and a brandy, his favourite. He placed the tray and the bottle of alcohol on Richard's desk, but as he was about to take his leave, he hesitated, biting his lip.

"Something askew ?" asked Richard arching an eyebrow.

Upstairs, Catherine tossed and turned, her fever having soaked her sheets once again. She had vomited several times after having uncontrollable coughing fits and her fever was making her delirious. She had called her mother several times and had even mistaken her governess for the late woman several times, begging her to relieve her of her ordeal.

"Sir... I believe you must know something," the butler finally said in a cautious voice.

"And what ?" Richard thundered.

"You should ask Anne about that night in March when your mother asked to meet your Elena," and with that, the butler left without asking for more.

Surprised, his mouth hanging open, Richard remained unresponsive. The butler couldn't know about his past with Catherine's mother, since he didn't work for him yet. What on earth had Anne told him about ?

"You asked for me ?" asked the old maid he had immediately summoned.

"I don't know if I'm mad with rage or just disappointed. A bit of both, I guess," he hissed, his voice cold and sharp as a blade.

"What do you mean, my lord ?" asked the old woman, confused.

"What right do you have to talk about my private life with the employees ? You're not paid to spread gossip !"

Anne immediately understood what he was referring to.

"No one else knows except your butler. I told him because..."

She fell silent, hesitant, but Richard's look made her understand that she had no choice but to tell him the truth.

"He and I are having an affair. I know he can be trusted, and I confided to him because my heart ached for you, my lord, and for little Catherine," she said in one breath.

Richard, stunned by the news, might have been amused about the new of his head maid and his butler having an affair if his daughter were not struggling and losing the fight for her life upstairs.

"And what did he mean about that March night?"

"That night, my lord, I confess, I eavesdropped at the door..."

Richard was not ready to hear the maid's confidences. Because they called to question everything he had believed until now.

That March night, Richard's mother had had Elena brought by force to the manor where she lived with her husband near Windsor. There, she had threatened her on the purpose to force her to leave Richard. She, a girl of nothing, from a family of nothing, without a name, without a title, without money. Never could the Turpin name have been more sullied than with this whore who had given herself to their son without even being married. But the young woman, unyielding, had refused to accede to her mother's request. Elena had resisted, even when she had been threatened to be brought to Turpin's father, a violent man who would beat her until she listened to reason, or who would have killed her.

Seeing that nothing could convince Elena to give up Richard, her mother, perfidious, vile creature, had adopted another tactic. It was not Elena she was going to attack but her own son. She would have him disinherited, something she would have had no trouble to convince his father to do, she would have him disowned and he would lose everything. His title, his prestige, his job at the Court of London, his brand new wealth and his brand new manor whose he was so proud. If Elena refused to leave Richard, then she would destroy her son. And Elena, madly in love with Richard, had agreed to sacrifice her own happiness for the man she loved more than anything in the world. More than her own life.

"You know your parents would have done it without a regret," Anne said at the end of her story.

Oh yes, he knew it. His parents, those cold and distant beings who only lived for appearances would have had no regrets in throwing their one and only heir in poverty, only because he didn't meet the standard of his rank.

"Did she know ? About the child ?" Richard asked, his voice betraying his dismay.

"I do not know, my lord. No pregnancy was mentioned that night."

"Thank you Anne."

Without a glance at the maid, Richard, his gait stiff, left his property without even bothering to put on a coat as the wind whistled all its rage outside, making the windows of the manor shake.

Air, he needed air. Elena. His Elena. The one he had cursed every night since she had left him without a word, disappearing like a shadow in the night, his Elena had acted out of pure love for him, to protect him. And when he had the chance to help her, to bring her back on the right path, to give her a roof over her head and a decent life, that night when he had seen her in that brothel, he had preferred to look the other way and leave her for what he thought she was then : a common whore who deserved nothing better than the life of a slut she was leading.

Richard fell to his knees on the steps of St Paul's Cathedral.

"Oh, Elena ! What have I done !"

For the first time since he was eight, the age at which, after having been beaten to a pulp by his father for having stolen a cupcake from the kitchen, he had sworn he would never cry again, Richard began to sob.

His Elena had died because of her family. Because of him. And now his daughter was going to die. Turpin, that name was cursed ! It was cursed ! Everything that was beautiful and brought him a little joy and love was destined to wither and die at his side.

"Sir, are you all right ?"

Richard jumped. In front of him stood a priest.

"I... I..." he stammered.

It was the first time Richard was speechless. The man of God invited him to go inside the cathedral to get out of the rain.

"Do you want to talk ?" he offered.

"No. Not with you," Richard replied coldly.

"With him then ?" the priest offered, pointing to the cross of Christ.

He gently squeezed Richard's shoulder before leaving him alone with himself and his thoughts. Richard didn't know if he was a believer or not. He had been raised as an Anglican, but his profession had long since led him to believe that he himself was a god, with the power of life and death over those brought before him in the Courthouse.

No, Richard did not believe in any god. If there was a god, he would not let gentle women like Elena end up selling their bodies and dying in poverty. He would not let children be beaten for things they did not do, he would not let women be raped in the dark streets of London. He would not take his daughter from him. But just in case he was wrong and a higher power was there, ready to listen, he prayed for Catherine. Just in case.

He returned to the manor several hours later, soaking wet, and Anne immediately ordered a bath for their master while she brought him a hot drink and wrapped him in a thick bath towel.

"Anne, ask the servant to have the manor decorated," Richard asked, his voice less steady than usual;

"My lord?"

"Catherine asked me if the manor would be decorated for Christmas. It will be. Ask the servant to get to work on it tomorrow," he ordered before heading to the bathroom.

"Yes, my lord," the servant replied, amazed.

Never since she had worked for him had she seen the manor decorated for the holidays. Yet, the next evening, when Richard had returned from the Courthouse, the entire manor was breathing the festive spirit.

He had gone to his daughter's bedside, a plate of gingerbread cookies and a cup of warm milk in his hands. Too happy to see her father care about her, she had made the effort to eat a little and drink the whole cup, just to please Richard.

"You must try to sleep now," Richard told her, placing a kiss on her forehead.

He shivered as the fever that had been gone for the last two days and had now returned. During the night, a servant came to wake him to tell him that Catherine was vomiting blood and was barely breathing. The doctor had come as quickly as he could, but there was little more he could do.

"If she makes it through the night, then there's a chance she'll live," he had told Richard before leaving.

That night, Richard had returned to St. Paul's Cathedral. It was the day before Christmas Eve. Two days before that cursed day he hated more than anything in the world. His daughter, the apple of his eyes, could not die on the day she loved so much. She would not be one more bad memory to bear during this cursed holiday.

He came home late that night and went straight to her side to watch over her. Richard must have fallen asleep because the last thing he remembered was covering Catherine with an extra blanket after she complained about being cold, and now something was shaking him. He groaned in displeasure, cracking his eyes open to see what was disturbing his sleep.

"Catherine ?"

The little girl's eyes were wide open and the gray veil that had accompanied them for the last few weeks had faded. Beautiful colour had returned to her face and her fever had definitely broken.

"I'm hungry, dad," the little girl said hoarsely, her throat still scratchy from her days of coughing nonstop.

Richard laughed heartily, the joy invading him almost too much to bear. Food was immediately brought in and he watched her eat with gusto to his delight. The doctor had come once more, only to state that the worst was behind them.

"She must not go out. She must stay warm, but she can leave her bed. But no strenuous activities. And she must continue to take her medication until I say she can stop," he had ordered.

That afternoon, wrapped in a thick dressing gown and a woolen blanket, Richard had carried her around the manor to show her the decorations, Hector trotting happily beside them. The little dog had not left his little mistress's room during her bed rest and he seemed as happy as the rest of the household to see her recover.

Catherine's eyes lit up when she saw the many gifts waiting for her under the tree. She had never had so many presents just for her.

"But you can't open them until tomorrow," Richard reminded her kindly.

"Thanks, dad," she said, pressing her head against his neck.

Richard laughed, telling her to wait and see what the packages contained before thanking him. After all, she might be disappointed.

"No, I'll like them. I've never had anything new before."

Once again, Richard's heart sank at the child's words. He held her a little tighter, then carried her back to her bed. Early in the evening, she was again allowed to get up and accompany him to the parlour, where he made her comfortable on a sofa in front of the fire. He read her a Christmas Carol until she fell asleep.

When he had finished the book, he carefully lifted the frail, undersized body and carried his daughter back to her bed. He pulled the blanket up to her chin, making sure she was warm, Hector at the foot of the bed was watching over her. The fire crackled in the fireplace and fresh water had been brought along with more gingerbread cookies.

Richard stood for a moment watching his daughter sleep when the sound of bells startled him. He walked over to the window to watch London spread out before him, the moon reflected in the Thames, the church bells announcing Christmas. The bells of Christmas, which brought him good news with the unexpected recovery of his only child.

"I will take good care of her Elena," Turpin whispered into the night, "I have failed to be the husband you needed, but I will be the father Catherine needs. I will take good care of our daughter."

With that he turned, walked briskly to Catherine's bed and kissed her forehead. He blew out the many candles, leaving only one lit, and left the room, not without one last glance at the child's sleeping form.

"Merry Christmas, daughter of mine."

[aparticularbandit]

Warmth

Summary: Himiko is left with a captive Tsumugi during the first snowfall.

Prompted by @sammylbir.

Rating: T.

AO3

“Oh.”

Himiko rubs her eyes as she wakes up then rubs at them again as she stares out the window, uncertain that what she’s seeing is really there.  Sometimes, in the afternoon, when she finally gets herself out of bed (okay, sometimes it’s earlier than that…sometimes), her dreams linger long enough that she can see them in the waking world, like ghosts of a world that she…honestly doesn’t always like better, but usually does.

In the waking world, Angie and Tenko are still gone.  That ache still sits in the middle of her chest, even now, and it’s often worse first thing after she wakes, because she sees them in her dreams, because she has to remember that those were just dreams.  It’s not that she forgets, but that dreams hurt.

Not that she talks about that with the others.

Maki notices, she knows, and has the same pain, the same guilt.  Tenko died out of her kindness to Himiko; Kaito died because Maki tried to save him on her own.  (Kaito would have died anyway.  Knowing that doesn’t help.)

Shuichi only doesn’t notice because he feels like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.  His guilt is different because his comes from responsibility – his pain for Kaede is similar enough, but he’d chosen before they were even locked away to blind himself.  That choice to be blind—

It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter.

The world outside looked devastating – destroyed – but they’d found places that were still mostly put together, hovels nearby where they could drag mattresses and furniture and everything they needed for a general base of operations while they tried to settle.

They will need to explore eventually.  They all know this.  But they can’t do any of that until—

~

Himiko rubs her eyes and stares out the cracked window at a world covered with a thick layer of fluffy white.  Snowflakes fall from clouds that should be a deep, dark, stormy grey but are instead as soft a white as the snow covering everything outside.  She shivers.

“Oh.”

They’ll have to go back again today.  They hadn’t thought to bring winter clothes with them; in all honesty, Himiko hadn’t looked for them.

But someone should have—

~

“Don’t let her out.”

Maki doesn’t have to say it when she hands the length of Tsumugi’s rope over to Himiko.  She doesn’t have to say it, but she does.

That’s the thing of it – Maki and Shuichi are always the ones who go back to their last cage, and Himiko is always left behind with Tsumugi.  Himiko just isn’t physically strong enough to help carry what they might need, no matter how often she joins in their nightly work-out sessions.  It’s not anything against her, of course.

Which means that Himiko, more than the other survivors, has spent the most time with their singular captive.

Himiko sits down across from Tsumugi as the others leave, one leg propped up and her arm stretched across her knee.  She doesn’t say anything at first, and neither does Tsumugi – not that anything she says could be understood around the huge length of unidentified fabric they’d taken from what was left of Miu’s room and gagged her with it.  (Miu would make a joke about that.  She would like that – gagging the Mastermind, tying her up.  The three of them might not have really liked Miu’s jokes, but it’s a nice thought, at least.)

She shivers.

The thing is that the new place they’ve been staying doesn’t have heat.  Or air conditioning or running water or anything like that, and without Miu to go through and fix all of those things, they’re up a creek without a paddle.  There are probably ways to duplicate what was happening within their cage so that they could have those amenities or at least a purifier or something, but so far they haven’t found any of that.

Himiko tells herself over and over that this isn’t just a second season of a TV show, that they haven’t just become their own spin-off of the Danganronpa series that follows how their small group will survive in the world where they’ve found themselves, but she can’t be sure it isn’t true.  The Nanokumas were so small that they couldn’t see them, except for Gonta and Kiibo, but they’re both dead now, so they could still be around and they would never know.

Tsumugi would know.

No one has asked her.

Eventually, Himiko glances up to where Tsumugi is still tied up and notices that she’s shivering, too.  That’s normal – Tsumugi shivers a lot when her gag is in; sometimes she cries silently, but they all pretend not to notice.  She’s not crying right now, though.  She’s just shivering.  Worse than Himiko is, which is saying something.

“You’re cold?”

Tsumugi glances up just enough to hold Himiko’s gaze, but she doesn’t make a sound.  She doesn’t shake her head or nod either.  Just stares, silently.  Still shivering.

It’s her fault Tsumugi’s still alive.

It’s not like she thought the other girl deserved it or anything.  She was just so, so tired of all the killing.  Of all the death.  There was no convincing Kiibo to not destroy their cage, no convincing him to survive with them and try and do something new, because they needed to destroy everything to be free.  She’d understood that then.

But the three of them pulled themselves alive out of the rubble and then she’d found Tsumugi and….

It wasn’t that Himiko liked her, or anything like that.

She was just so tired of all the death.

“Nyeh,” Himiko says quietly, still shivering.  Tenko would say something about body heat helping keep them warm, and she’d be right.  She looks up again and meets Tsumugi’s eyes.  Then, hesitantly, she crawls over to her and curls up next to her.  “I’m cold,” she says by way of explanation.  “Keep me warm.”

It’s the least Tsumugi can do, after all.  After everything else, she can at least keep her warm.

She owes her that, at least.

[kittyloops]

christmas at ericsons.... gaahhhhh.....

[with-my-calamitous-love]

LEAVE THE WARMEST BED I’VE EVER KNOWN

katsuki bakugou x reader

on a cold winter night, you gain news that your ex boyfriend and pro-hero dynamight has returned from a work trip out of the country. coincidentally, he’s calling your phone right now.

part 1/2

inspired by ‘tis the damn season

everything you learned about katsuki while he was away was against your will.

following in all might’s footsteps, and right after one messy, icy breakup, katsuki left to do hero work in the united states. if you wanted to know who he was hanging with, what girls he was supposedly kissing, or who he was replacing you with, you could have asked. seeing his life in footnotes, on instagram stories and through headlines was the kind of cold that fogged up windshield glass.

theres a lingering ache in your heart, put there by the ache in katsuki’s.

your breakup felt inevitable, more than anything. circumstances, timing, stress… one second, he’s loving you. the next, he’s telling you he needs to think things through. and right after that, he’s on a plane to los angeles with kirishima.

it was almost nice, not having to see him at the agency or anywhere else. you wouldn’t be tempted to call his phone, since the international bill would only break your heart more. you couldn’t go to his apartment because it’d be empty- if you’re not counting the phantoms of lost love.

the 2 weeks he was gone felt like an eternity on your end. you blamed the time zones, though you knew they weren’t capable of freezing time and making your heart ache more each minute.

and with the first snowfall of the season, katsuki bakugou lands back in his home country.

he thanks the attendants in his private jet, shoving his already warm hand into his pockets as he steps out into the brisk air. its colder than he remembered, as if the world felt the same loneliness he was experiencing.

its 10pm, and the snow is glistening against the moonlight like a mirrorball. the sky is blanketed by clouds, a pink hue washing over katsuki as he steps out of the airport and into the night.

he stares at his contacts for a second. he intends on calling an uber.

but either his thumb slipped, or he missed you too much to care about the cold pricking his fingertips. each could be true.

you’re in the process of turning up your heater when your phone lights up through the dark. fingers peeking out the sleeve of your sweater grasp the device, nearly dropping it to the floor when you see who’s trying to reach you.

as if on instinct, your thumb hovers over the green button, before ultimately letting it go to voice mail.

after a hot shower to drown out the chill, you find him calling again. this time, you sit on the edge of your bed, finally resigning to pick up.

you don’t say anything first, wanting to hear him first. maybe you had to make sure this wasn’t some twisted dream.

“…hey babe.” katsuki says, his gruff voice lingering with a soreness in his throat that can only come from prolonged exposure to the cold. that, paired witb the familiar nickname despite the circumstances, makes you clutch your phone.

“hey, kats.” you say, shifting on your bed to get comfortable. after all, any emotional night with katsuki bakugo was destined to be long.

“when did you land?” you ask, fiddling with your fingers. you hope he doesn’t hear the trepidation in your voice.

“an hour ago.” he says, stifling a sniffle like a child would. you almost laugh, knowing him too well. he wasn’t the kind of guy you could forget easily.

“i just needed to hear your voice.” he admits, more to himself than to you. crimson eyes watch the way the snowflakes fall to the ground, dancing around in the wind. he remembers how much you love snowflakes. how you’d always try to catch them on your tongue, and how stupid he thought it was. the things he’d give to go back to that.

the uncharacteristic vulnerability in his voice makes your eyes water. it was something about the cold that brought out the aches in people. like holidays that linger like bad perfume, you both could run from the hurt before getting lost in the snow. you escaped into your warm apartment, away from the world, while katsuki escaped into crowds of adoring fans away from home.

whats funny is that both of you remember how the other left.

the cold air pricks at katsuki’s fingers while he waits for a response. he almost thinks the connections gone out, when in truth, your holding back tears.

with a shaky sigh, you speak. “lets… call it even, then.” you whisper, but he’s captivated by your words like a firework show. “i wanted to hear you, too.”

the breath of relief katsuki lets out can be seen in the cold, night air.

there was about 100 thrown out letters you wished you could send him. you could vomit words onto paper, send them out into the winter air and let the wind deliver your confessions to him.

and honestly, he wants you to. more than anything, he wants to sleep in with you, pull the blankets over that shield you from the cold just for old time sake. and if you don’t want him to stay this time, then he won’t ask you to wait.

if this doesn’t work out, he’ll go back to LA. he’ll let his so called fans write books and stories about him, about his heroism and his nobility without knowing how much his heart hurts on the inside. they’ll wonder about the only soul who knows what that hurt feels like. the only soul who knows all the smiles he’s faking: you.

he hopes that he only breaks his own heart, wanting to spare you from it. if he could, he’d leave you the warmest bed you’ve ever known. he’d call you babe for the weekend, and love you warm against the winter chill.

if somewhere, in his heart, katsuki’s love for you despite the breakup remained the same, then it was the same for you, too. if its okay with you, its okay with him. you could call it even. you’re missing his smile, and you want him to hear you out.

you might have to, with what he’s about to say next.

“…i’m outside, babe.”

part 2 soon 🫧

[sourvers]

WHEN YOU'RE PRICE'S BELOVED WIFE who exudes class and the fine mist of confidence through the click of your leather boots, the gentle swish of your trench coat and the glimmer in your earings. When you walk into base for the first time- delivering your husbands forgotten paperwork from your office- of course the boys can't help but soak up your velvety voice and candid laugh like the tint of red wine on your pretty lips. No wonder Price said, “My wife is beautiful.”

WHEN YOU'RE PRICE'S BLUNT WIFE who wants nothing more but to ensure a breathing Price walks through you're house doors. Which means you want the 'boys' to be safe too! You chide them firmly, crossing your arms over your chest, your voice that of a captain giving orders or a mother you can't refuse. Price can't help but stifle a laugh; attempting to nod his head while you point your fingers at towering men who could crush you with a flick of their finger. Yet, the three of them remain paralyzed. You shoot a glare at Price. Best not anger the missus...

WHEN YOU'RE PRICE'S HARD WORKING WIFE who stands firm in your opinions and speaks cut, clear and concise. When the boys find out you're a university professor: an academic of considerable standard, their not entirely shaken. They learn how hard you fucking worked for your position. While their out in the fields, you're teaching the next generation; plunging yourself into the heart of ignorance and rooting it out, lifting it up to the heat of the sun, watching it melt in palm of your tender hands. Price says its a relief you're so strong, just in case things go south.

WHEN YOU'RE PRICE'S KINDHEARTED WIFE who has the imagination of child and the freedom of a bird. You lift kids up in the air, make snow angels, bake cookies at 12 in the morning and laugh until the rest of the world can hear you. While your face may be riddled with acute angles and sharp turns- the curve of your smile shines like a star. You invited them over to your place for a night, cooking Price's favourite for all to share. That was when they saw you, really saw how much love was swelling in your big heart as you danced and sang with no care; pressing a kiss on Price’s cheek with each new song.

WHEN YOU'RE PRICE'S SECRETLY SAD WIFE who wishes life didn't have to be this way. Who wishes you didn't have to be so 'strong' all the time. Who questions if you were even strong from the start. Who desperately desires a stable life as the years go by— maybe your own kids in your arms and not your coworkers. You didn't think Soap would hear you that night in the backyard, crouched down drying your tears while muttering words he couldn't understand except the single phrase, “I wish my husband wasn’t a fucking captain.”

WHEN YOU’RE PRICE’S LONELY WIFE who thinks it’s best if you stopped visiting him at work— “I think I’m distracting you love.” Inviting the boys for dinner— “I’m afraid I’m busy as of late.” Or even talking to Laswell— “Best not disturb her!” Because the void of your home feels even deeper now despite all the years.

YOU’RE PRICE’S WIFE. You wake up and trace girlish hearts over your husband’s face— muscle memory. He pretends to sleep. You giggle. He brings you closer to his chest. You close your eyes and burry yourself in the tenderness of his heart: fighting the dread at the back of your mind. He whispers to you through a smile, “I can’t believe you’re my wife you know?”

Your lips form a tight smile, “Me too.”

cod masterlist. / similar posts

⤷ it honestly wasn’t meant to be this angsty. oh well. reblog and comments are highly appreciated!

[letsbangts]

baby, please come home || jjk

⤷ summary: when he's the only thing you want for Christmas

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ word count: 1.2k+

⟶ genre: fluff, angst (just a sprinkle), married couple au, established relationship au, christmas themed

⟶ content: husband!jk, dad!jk, pregnant!oc, oc is a slightly emotional expecting mother (eight months along), and koo being a deticated expecting father

⟶ warnings: none just some fluff with a dash of angst to make it sentimental because it's the holidays

↬ a/n: this isn't what I thought I would write for this request and I wasn't going to do it so soon but I got inspired & I thought it would make cute drabble so to everyone who reads hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :) angel xoxo

˖⁺. ༶ NOW PLAYING ༶ .⁺˖ christmas (baby please come home) mariah carey 01:43 ─✮───── 03:07 ⇆ ⊲ II ⊳ ↺ ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮

masterlist

The snow is coming down all around you as if encased in a snow globe. You watch it fall around you as it makes its way to add to the thick layer already accumulated on the ground beneath your feet. You walk through the Christmas market, looking at the stalls and decorations. Your eyes glance at the bodies around you: families, friends, lovers — surrounded by many people, except for the one you want beside you the most.

The church bells ring, blending with the happy sounds of the town's excitement buzzing in your ears. You finally make your way to the heart of the town square; the carolers begin singing "Deck The Halls" just as you arrive. The usual holiday cheer you would feel is absent, along with the person who brings that joy.

Your mind takes you back to this day last year and all the fun it held, all the memories made together. Sipping hot chocolate with his arm wrapped around you, the hand-holding with both your hands stuffed in his coat pocket, and your cold lips pressed against each other to warm them with sweet kisses.

As you gaze up at the enormous Christmas tree adorned with pretty lights like those shining all around the town, the loss of the new memories you should be making together this year creates a lump in your throat. He should be here with you, with both of you.

You pull out your phone and tap his contact; the phone rings for a few seconds before Jungkook's face appears on the screen. A bright smile on his face that rivals all the lights around you. His face is so close to the camera that you can't see anything behind him, but the snowflakes in his hair, paired with his red cheeks and nose from the cold— just like yours—show that he is also outside.

You can't help but smile back at him, although it doesn't quite reach your eyes. As much as seeing him brings you happiness, you can't help but feel a touch of melancholy that his presence can only be through the phone.

"Hey, sweetheart."

"Hey, baby. I wanted to show you the tree this year; it keeps getting bigger, I swear."  

You hold the phone out and lower it, trying to fit the whole tree behind you in the screen.

"Whoa, that thing is massive! I'd hate to be the person who had to wrap the lights on it; there must be at least ten thousand on it."

You giggle at Jungkook's remark as you raise the phone to speak to him.

"It's so pretty here, Kook. I wish you could see it in person," you say with a sad smile.

"I doubt it's anywhere near as pretty as you, but I wish I were there too, darling. I tried everything I could to find a flight back in time, but as you can imagine, I wasn't the only one trying to make it back home for the holidays."

"I know, but it's unfair for them to send you away for work so close to Christmas. Then, to extend it even more, it's as if they were plotting to keep you away," you pout.

"It is unfair, and trust me, I pleaded my case to the airline agents to please let me get home to my adorable pregnant wife for Christmas, but it didn't seem to work on them. They're all Grinches, I swear," he tries to lighten the mood and continues, "Speaking of which, how are my two favourite girls doing? Let me see!"

You hold the phone out again to angle the camera to show your eight-month-pregnant belly. You sigh as you rub a hand over it.

"We're good, just missing you. She hasn't been kicking as much; I swear she knows that Daddy isn't here."

"I miss you both too, but I'll be back before you know it, and we can celebrate then."

"But it's Christmas Day; I need you here. It is our first one as a family, and we're not whole without you. I wish there were a way for you to come home, baby," your voice cracks as you look away from the screen, trying to hold back tears.

Jungkook catches a glimpse of your tear-filled eyes gleaming under the lights and sighs. The cold weather allows you to see his breath as it floats in the air.

"Hey, you know I would do anything to be there with both of you."

You catch him glancing up over his phone before he continues.

"Now, don't cry. You look too beautiful standing by the tree, surrounded by all the decorations like a Christmas angel, to feel sad. The old man selling cookies will be offended; he'll think you don't like their smell if he sees you," he smiles to cheer you up.

You wipe your tears and sniffle as you softly laugh. You look around, trying to find said man, until you eventually spot his stall emitting the delicious aroma, selling gingerbread and sugar cookies.

You furrow your brows once everything processes in your head. You look back at Jungkook on the screen.

"Wait, h-how did you know that?"

"I'm quite aware of how beautiful my wife is," he chuckles.

"No, I mean, how did you know there is a cookie stall in front of me, and an old man is running it? You can't even see it. Did the camera flip, and I didn't notice?"

A hand taps your shoulder, and you jolt at the sudden touch before turning around. Your eyes widen, and a gasp escapes your mouth as you come face to face with Jungkook. Your husband's smiling face is no longer on the screen but right before you, and your hand holding the phone falls to your side. He opens his arms wide for a hug as you stare at him like a deer caught in headlights.

"But you just—when—how did you get here?" you stutter in shock.

Jungkook laughs, and when he sees you make no move to come into his embrace, he steps forward and pulls you into his arms. You snap out of your daze and immediately wrap your arms around him.

He kisses your forehead. "I told you I would do anything to be here with both of you," he whispers in your hair.

"But there were no flights," you mumble into his chest.

"Yeah, but there were still some bus tickets available. It might have been a much longer journey, but I had to be sure I was here." He pulls back and holds your stomach with both hands as he leans down and kisses it before looking up at you. "There was no way I would miss spending Christmas with my family."

He returns to a stand, and you run your fingers through his hair before your hands settle at the nape of his neck. You gaze into each other's eyes and lean in for a long-awaited kiss.

You break apart just enough to whisper over his lips, "I love you so much. Merry Christmas, Kook."

"I love you too. Merry Christmas, Y/N," he whispers back, lips brushing over yours.

You lean back in for a passionate kiss but are interrupted by a kick to your belly. You both break apart with a gasp.

"Did she just?" Jungkook asks with a smile.

"It seems we're both happy that you came home," you laugh.

Jungkook joins your laughter as he takes your stomach back into his grasp and leans back down, giving it another peck before he whispers, "And I love you, too. Merry Christmas, my little angel." 

↬ a/n: there you go just a little drabble for you all to snack on before mutt pt2 ;)

[crownofgildedlilies]

sick days

pairing: aged up!bakugou x reader summary: Katsuki is sick, which means forcing him to slow down. wc: 1.9k event masterlist

You should have known you were in for trouble the moment you woke up. 

While you were waiting until the very last second until your alarm sounded to get up, the other half of your shared bed was suspiciously empty. A box of cold medicine still sat on the bedside table where you had placed it, alongside a nearly empty box of tissues and a half full glass of water.

You frowned. Katsuki was clearly trying to go to work. 

Groaning, you climbed out from under the covers and shivered at the cold air permeating the room. The winter months were only just starting, but they had already brought forth their punishing symptoms. 

Ice, snow, holiday cheer, and—

“Katsuki Bakugou,” You huffed as soon as you found your stubborn boyfriend dutifully going about his morning routine in the kitchen. “You’re sick.”

And colds.

He froze, his back to you, but you knew exactly what expression he wore. He knew he was supposed to be in bed, preferably still knocked out on cold medicine that made the stuffiness of his nose and increasingly frequent cough just a tad bit more bearable. It wasn’t often that he got sick, but in all the years you had known him, it always was a fight you rarely won to get him to slow down and take time to heal. 

Though, when his head had been too foggy with sickness the night before to even hold a conversation with you over dinner, you had stood your ground in convincing him to call Kirishima and swap patrol days. 

“Katsu,” Your voice wasn’t going to be confused with soft, but the use of his nickname seemed to convince him that you weren’t going to chew him out for trying to sneak off to work while you still slept. Turning to face you, he copied your stance of crossed arms and firm looks, except he’s leaning back against the counter and you’re blocking the exit of the kitchen, like he’d try and bolt past you and out the front door. “We decided you were going to take the day off and rest.”

“No, you decided.” His response was quick, but he even sounded ridiculously sick, so much so that he grit his teeth and turned his head away from your glare. You could tell, just from the way he held himself, he knew that he was in the wrong. 

Not that he’d ever admit it.

“Don’t do that.” Dating Katsuki meant calling him on his shit, and it was a talent you had perfected before you had even gotten together. And though the day he asked you to be official with him he had said he loved that part of you, the way his jaw ticked in stubbornness told you that maybe he didn’t appreciate it all the time. Not that you would ever set aside your beliefs to cater to his explosive tendencies. “Don’t turn this around on me because I want you to take care of yourself, instead of rushing into the next mess at half your best.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He sighs, still managing to sound exhausted despite having just woken up. And you know it’s as close as he’ll get to apologizing, and that he really does mean it, but you meant what you said, too. “You know that, angel.” 

“Don’t angel me.” You snap, a little too quickly, glare mixing with a pout and Katsuki smirks. Because he knows that he’s winning you over with his stupid pet names and even more moronic face you struggle to say no too. 

“I promise I can make it through the day with some medicine.” He swears, and for a moment you want to believe him, especially as he uncrosses his arms and opens them with a lopsided grin, clearly trying to convince you to come closer. “C’mere. Come kiss it better.”

You shake your head and roll your eyes, but your feet are already carrying you across the well-worn and loved kitchen floor towards him. 

Except, you only make it halfway before his body shakes with the force of his cough, and any of your resolve he had chipped away comes back twice as strong. 

You don’t even wait for him to finish coughing, as rude as it sounds, before you knot your fist in the front of his shirt and tug him from the kitchen. Even sick, he could easily keep you rooted to your spot and refuse to budge, but he manages to find it in him to silently admit defeat—a fact that proves to you just how poorly he felt—and shuffle along behind you.

“Stay home today and rest.” You order, still tugging him by the shirt all the way back to your shared room. You only let go when he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, and that’s so you could stand between his knees and hold his face in one hand to get him to meet your eye. “Get better so you can kick villain ass the way I know you can.” 

“Fine,” He grumbled, pouting, but his hands still ghost up the backs of your legs in search of familiar comfort, so you know he’s not too chastised. “But ‘m going to work tomorrow.”

Rolling your eyes, you duck down just slightly to press a quick kiss to his cheek. He finds a reason to grumble about that, too, and you’re forced to listen to his complaints that it wasn’t a real kiss while you ready yourself for the day. 

“I’ll be home as early as possible,” You promise, blowing him another fake, long-distance kiss from the doorway to keep from catching his cold. Katsuki seemed to have finally accepted his fate, lounging back against the headboard with an arm behind his head as he scrolled through the various television channels to try and find one entertaining enough to distract himself. 

“Yeah, whatever.”

He would have gotten away with it.

Katsuki was so close to getting away with it, that it would have been amusing, if you weren’t so royally pissed off. 

He had your coworker to blame, when he no doubt looked for a scapegoat for the situation. Your poor, innocent, concerned coworker, who had ducked her head into your office and asked if you were following the incident, a live broadcast open on her phone. 

It only took one scan of the headline for your annoyance to boil over into anger and you to call out for the remainder of the day. 

Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight detonates on burglary ring!

You hadn’t even cared to watch the various clips attached to the article about your boyfriend’s latest victory in your race to the agency he spent his days at. No one even batted an eye at your presence as you swiped the badge Katsuki had given you for emergencies that gave you access to the building—and more importantly, his office. 

Predictably, he was there, sorting through the pile of paperwork that never seemed to shrink on his desk. A consequence of being a top rated pro, you assumed. But Katsuki had a few other consequences he needed to worry about first.

“Bank robbers? Are you kidding me?” You shouted as soon as you slammed open the door. Your boyfriend’s attention shot up at the sound of your voice, eyes wide and shoulders tense, like he was a child caught stealing sweets before dinner.  

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” He tried, and the almost nervous, almost bashful, attempt at a placating smile was halfway to amusing. But you were annoyed enough to see right through his flattery. 

“Save it.” You huffed, shutting the door behind yourself. “I’ve got half a mind to yell at Kirishima, too. He was supposed to cover your patrol, not cover for you to sneak out to patrol.”

Though, if Katsuki hadn’t listened to you about not working, then he probably didn’t even tell Kirishima that he was going in. 

“I wasn’t patrolling, swear.” He leaned back in his chair, clogged nose making his voice sound nasally. Sick or not, you weren’t going to go easy on him. 

“Half my office couldn’t wait to show me the newest footage of you fighting in the streets today.” It was a lie, but you felt like exaggerating.

“Really?” Confusion shot through you at the shit eating grin on his face, as if he wasn’t the one in trouble. 

“Yes!” Exclaiming, you crossed his office to lean your palms against the top of his desk, desperate to regain control of the situation you suddenly felt on the losing end of. 

“And you watched it?” He was smirking despite the dark bags under his eyes and the redness tinting his skin from blowing his nose so frequently, and you felt like you were missing something important. 

“You really want to try bragging right now?” Narrowing your eyes, you dodged his question. You hadn’t watched the clips from the broadcast, too mad at him for effectively sneaking out from the bed rest you had forced him into. 

“Angel, you didn’t watch it, did you?” His smug tone was interrupted only by a small cough as he grinned up at you from his stupidly comfortable office chair. Pursing your lips and standing tall, you crossed your arms over your chest and tried to find his angle. 

“Why does that matter?”

“Because I wasn’t on patrol. I happened to be walking down the same street those dumbasses tried escaping on and just helped the pros actually on patrol get them.”

It made sense, considering he wasn’t in his hero suit like he usually was at the agency, but a set of workout clothes he frequently lounged around the house in. He smirked even wider at your frown, and you knew he enjoyed watching you piece together the fact that he was right. 

“Okay,” You scrambled to find the upper hand in the conversation. “But you weren’t supposed to leave at all.” 

“Right, fine.” He huffed, his previous air of superiority quickly replaced by chagrin at being called out. “But I needed to get some paperwork to bring home. I was going stir crazy by myself.”

“It’s barely lunch, Katsuki. You couldn’t just relax?” 

“Not by myself.” He confirmed, managing to weasel his way back into your good graces with his charming excuses. Huffing, you make your way around the desk to lean back against it, next to his chair. 

“Well. I’m still mad you snuck out,” You watched as his hands clenched into fists on the armrests at your words, managing to pull a shred of pity out of you. You should have known better than to assume he would have been able to let himself relax after so many years of relentless training to be the best. “But I took the rest of the day off.”

“I’m fine, and all,” Katsuki dropped his attention from your face, suddenly finding a spot on the opposite wall incredibly interesting. And you knew if you pressed him about it, he’d only tell you that the flush high on his cheeks was only due to his sickness. “But let’s go home.”

“You look like shit, Katsu.”

“I deserved that one.”

“Like, death warmed over, bad.”

“Alright!” He shouted, though his volume triggered a coughing fit shook his shoulders. 

Snorting, you pushed off the desk and made your way towards the exit, waving over your shoulder for him to follow you. With a frown, he grumbled something akin to ‘bet you’re happy’ that had you humming your one word agreement. 

“Karma.”

[moonstruckme]

MAE!!! I'M HERE TO OFFICIALLY SPAM YOUR INBOX WITH REQUESTS (and no you don't have to answer all of them)

CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR 8K!!!

And first I would like to order a hot cocoa with James Potter and First Snow

Once again, massive congrats, Mae!!! Here’s to even more milestones (and my spam, of course)!

Thank you lovely <33

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 451 words

You’ve been up for hours by the time James rouses. 

You’d woken in the middle of night to peer outside, pulling open the curtains when you saw the snow blanketing your neighborhood. You had every intention of enjoying the peaceful view for a few minutes before you fell back asleep, except the peaceful view proved too exciting for you to drift off again. You’ve been half dozing while you’ve watched, mesmerized, as the pile outside your window has grown and the sun has come up. 

James reaches over and pulls you back into his chest with a warm, sleepy sound. You rub his forearm affectionately. 

His nose nudges behind your ear, cold. “Y��awake?” he mumbles. 

“Mhm.” 

He tugs at your hip, and you roll over, trading one view for another. James’ eyes are squinty and unfocussed the way they always are before he puts his glasses on in the mornings, his dark curls poofy on one side and crushed against his pillow on the other. He draws a line up your side with his palm. 

“It’s early for you, lovie.” 

You smile. You’re so happy your cheeks almost hurt. “It’s snowing.” 

“Oh, yeah?” James props himself up on an elbow to look over you out the window, then turns around to reach for his glasses when he can’t see anything. For reasons unbeknownst to you, watching your boyfriend adjust the bridge with his middle finger will never become less endearing. He blinks, taking in the scene outside. “Woah.” 

“Right?” You’re giddy. “It’s been going for hours.” 

“Looks like it,” James says, but his eyes are on you. He smiles adoringly. You kiss the uptilt corner of his lips on a whim, and it tilts further. “This is weird for me,” he admits. “Usually it’s me who wakes up first and has to try to get you out of bed.” 

“Who says I’m trying to get you out of bed?” 

He cups your cheek, squeezing. “You want to go out in the snow,” he says knowingly. 

You bite down on your lip in hopes of suppressing it, but your smile is unmistakably sheepish. James laughs, kissing you. 

“Give me just a second, angel.” He sits up, raising his arms above him in a stretch. 

“We can cuddle for a while first,” you offer. 

James looks at you. “You won’t be too eager to go?” 

You shake your head mutely. 

“Really? Because I was thinking that if I make cocoa now and let it simmer on the stove, it’ll be hot when we come back in.” 

You throw off the covers, going to find your clothes. “Good point. There’ll be plenty of time for cuddling later.” 

James laughs as he follows you up.

[hoshigray]

hey!! I love you works=) Can I request a fem!chubby(optional)reader x gojo,where gojo is her mean roommate and after a night when he had fun with a random girl and reader couldn't sleep because of it she confront him and he shows her how much he loves-hates her (NSWF if you can,when I say love-hate I mean he loves her,but she is not afraid to attack his ego so he finds this quite annoying) I truly understand if you don't want to write and I respect your decision =) I just say to try my luck and see if you like the idea

lol well, I'm lucky to have time to indulge in this idea, so why not? hope i did this right...

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Gojo x roommate! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - the reader can be read as chubby or not - implied mutual feelings/pining - kissing/making out - teasing - fingering (f! receiving) - oral (f! receiving) - clitoral play (swiping and licking) - doggy style + missionary position - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up or get tf up) - Gojo being a bit whipped for you - pet names (angel, baby, princess, sweetie) - implied usage of alcohol - mention of saliva/drool. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.1k

“God, you can be such a fucking dumbass…Who told you to drink so much?”

“Listen–hic–I was just being the life of the party. Plus, gotta impress the ladies~”

“Oh, for God’s sake, just eat your damn mocha bread.”

Lying on the living room couch with you sitting on your knees on the carpet, tending to his drunken state, was not something Satoru Gojo had planned. It was supposed to be a chill night at the club with the guys – Geto, Nanami, and Haibara – yet he somehow found his way to the dance floor and danced like a rock star, drinking like a fish from taking up all the shots bought by all the women infatuated by him. What can he say; he could never refuse the ladies, even if he doesn’t like alcohol.

However, he’ll admit he might have overdone it and puked in the club bathroom for a solid 20 minutes before his friends decided it was time to go. You opened your apartment door to your roommate being carried by Haibara and Geto, the dark-haired men apologizing for the inconvenience at the late hour after dropping their friend on the couch and leaving you to deal with the tipsy fool. 

Although, with him dealing with the raging headache and horrid acid from the vomit earlier ruining his tastebuds, Gojo would say this wasn’t all too bad. Why? Well, now he has his cute roommate to look after him like they always do.

Although he feels a bit bad that you were up to see him at this ungodly hour, watching you sitting beside him and feeding him his favorite snack to ease his subsiding intoxication made him feel warm. The little pout on your face as you break apart pieces of the mocha bread to feed into his mouth, your gorgeous eyes examining him to see if he’s okay, and your cute pajamas comprised of an oversized shirt and some shorts. If it meant being treated by you like this, the snow-haired man figured he ought to get drunk more often.

The only problem was you nagging at him like he was a child, grabbing for his hand to hold the glass of water on his own. “Drink; I don’t want you puking on my carpet.” Yup, you were his roommate, all right.

He rolled his eyes while taking a sip. “You’re supposed to be talking all sweet and slow to me here because my head’s going at sixty miles an hour. Aren’t you supposed to be sympathetic to the weak?”

You scoffed. “Oh please, you are not weak; you’re just dumb enough to drink whatever thing some pretty girl gives you.” 

“Hmph,” He puffs at you, evoking your eye to twitch. “Well, maybe I should just go back to the venue and find that pretty lady who was dancing with me all night!” He takes a bite of some more mocha bread. “I’m sure she’d be nice enough to minister to my drunk self.”

That was a lie. There was a lady he was dancing with, the same lady who hung out with the guys at the club and had a good time with them. The woman was a wild and entertaining girl, Gojo will admit. But in all aspects, she was just there; she was nothing. If anything, Gojo wished that you were there instead of her. You were busy with work, opting to sit this out and maybe go with the guys the next time. 

And although he didn’t try to argue (outside of pestering you in giving in and coming along), he couldn’t get his mind off you while he was away. You were all he could think about, wondering if you were okay or if you remembered to eat dinner. Or just imagining you being with him, wearing something nice and letting loose around his friends – around him. Fuck, just visioning him and you dancing together would’ve been such a treat and probably saved his poor liver and stomach from all the alcohol. 

Instead, he’s spending the last moments of his late-night high with you, who should be sleeping. You say to him, “Would you?”

He draws his brows upwards. “Hmm?”

“Would you go back?” he now notices the look on your face, as if you’re going back and forth with something internally. “I mean, probably not because I’m sure whoever has to deal with you can’t feed you your favorite bread.” 

He hums, taking note of your expression and your fingers playing with the edge of his plate. “Why do you ask?”

“Because Nanami called me earlier when you were getting a little too wild, like, five shots in,” The number throws the man in a whirlwind; damn, I had more than five? “And he told me you were so tipsy and touchy that you couldn’t stop asking about me. Like, ‘Where’s Y/n’ or ‘Man, I wish Y/n was here; they love this song.’” 

Did I say that? “I said that?” A curt nod is given to Gojo, and he presses his lips to a thin line. Ah, shit. 

“All I’m saying is,” you continue with a pout. “It would be pretty scummy of you to say you’d wanna hang with another woman and then turn around and worry about me, for whatever reason.” 

Sky-blue eyes observe yours downcasted to the plate with the sweet bread. He couldn’t ignore how cute you avoided his gaze — it’s what prompted him to say this: “…There is a reason.”

“Hmm?”

“I didn’t worry about you for nothing,” you watch the white-haired man bring his upper body up from the couch with his elbows. His face is now a foot away from yours, close enough for you to see the earnest glint in his eyes under the soft, warm glow of the ceiling lighting. “Nothing is for ‘whatever’ reason if it’s with you.”

Your brows furrowed together, eyes avoiding Gojo’s gaze. “What could that reason be, I wonder. You’re just saying that so I can stop being up taking care of—“You couldn’t finish that sentence; how could you when Gojo brought a hand to your chin and prompted you to look back at him? Azure eyes pierced right into yours; it made your heart skip, and your body dare not to move.

“You want me to prove you wrong?” He asks with a neutral expression, hard for you to gauge what’s on his mind. You know him; he likes to poke fun or try to get you riled up. So, this shouldn’t be any different (aside from him holding your chin).

You huff, “Go ahead.”

And it was there where you should’ve chosen your words carefully.

“Khaaa! Ohhh! G–Gojo, stop…! Y’r fingerss—Ahhaaa!”

“Aht, aht, don’t do that, angel. Open those legs up for me…Fuck, you’re so cute…Mmm”

It took you aback when Gojo stood up from the couch, took your hand, and walked you from the living room to his room. Confusion on your part turned into immediate shock when he brought you into a kiss. With wide eyes and thoughts going at a million miles per hour, you instinctively tried to brush him off you. But one kiss turned into two, and two kisses turned into three. And before you know it, you sink into the feel of his pillowy lips, a leg situating between yours while your hands come around his neck.

And the surprises don’t stop there; Gojo then hoists you up — yes, picks you up! — and brings you to his bed to continue laying his lips on you. Your shaky moans resulted from his kisses trailing from your chin to your collarbone, the humps of his lower half chafing the groin of your shorts. The twitch of your chasm happens involuntarily — how embarrassing! Especially when he distracts you by claiming your lips again so he can pull down your bottoms and panties.

And that’s how we end up here, you crying out for him as he kisses and nibbles on your ear while his fingers play with your wet folds. “—Ahahhnn!! G–Gojo, no..! Not there…Hnnfff…!”

“You say that, but you’re not letting my fingers go, huh.” He chortles before kissing your cheek, stuffing his middle finger to aid his forefinger in scraping your inner walls. The wails that escaped your lips were so unlike the stern persona he’d usually deal with; they provoked him into wanting to hear more. “Damn, didn’t know my little cute roomie could make such cute sounds. Let me hear more, ‘kay?” 

Cute!? The adjective had your cheeks increase in heat with the twitch of your southern walls clamping onto Gojo’s digits. “Hoooh! Q–Quit playing with me, Gojo; just stop going so fa—Aaahhhh!!” 

From your protest, his fingers go even faster. And worse, he sneaks his thumb to your clitoris, where he shocks your body with swipes and grinds to the delicate pearl. Too fast for you to chew on your lip to shield the creams, “Hey now, I said call me by my name.” He looks at you with flushed cheeks and soft, hooded eyes — way too late to blame the alcohol for such effects. But you can see the passion that’s burning inside those blue orbs of his. “Don’t be stubborn on me, pretty girl. What’s my name, Y/n?”

God, first cutie, now pretty girl; how many names was he gonna call you to drag you deep into your pool of embarrassment? “Haahhh, Satoru, please,” your body jerks to the jabs of his fingers hitting inside you. 

“Heh, good girl. My little angel…” Gojo kisses you again, sucking on your tongue with a teasing vigor before lifting your shirt to display your body to him in its whole form. Your breasts spill open for him to claim a nipple into his mouth for a quick suck. He then travels down your abdomen, playfully nibbling on your soft skin and flesh for you to jerk. His hands massage your inner thighs after spreading them further. 

His face then comes down to your bare cunt, blowing on it to make you squirm. “Fuck, I’ve been wanting to look at you for so long. You made such a gorgeous mess for me.” 

“Go fuck yourself, Gojo,” you peer down at him, only for him to beam with a mischievous smile. Damn, you cursed his dimples for making him look like a childish bastard!

“No thanks, I’m more interested in fucking this cute thing.” He snickers to himself before descending further in between your legs and having you gasp sharply at the feel of his lips on your slit. His tongue swishes between your folds and sucks in your leaking substances for him to savor, the wet muscle teasing its entrance of your vagina before inserting inside.

You almost choke on your spit, crying out for him to stop and trying to close your legs. But that proves worthless, Gojo’s hands holding them to your chest for him to feast on you properly. You’re forced to accept the laps of his tongue, and it has your ears ringing with the obscene sounds coming from the commotion.

“—Ohoo!! Satoru, stop!!” You bring a hand to his head to grab a tuff of his snow-white hair. It does nothing, only making him eat you out even more unsteadily.  His nose occasionally bumps into your clit, your other hand gripping the sheets. “Stooop it, I’m gonna cummm, if you keep….!”

“Go ahead, baby,” he withdraws his mouth, slipping his fingers back inside you to massage euphorically. Your eyes roll up when he licks on your clitoris. “Let’s see my pretty angel be messy for me.” 

You couldn’t prevent yourself from following his command even if you wanted to, the fingers and his wet muscle all doing their part in making sure you give in. And so you do, releasing the reins to let your orgasm overcome you, clamping onto his fingers as it pass through your body through the shocks and your erotic howls. 

And Gojo eats you up through your sensitive nerves and all, his hands not letting you writhe out of this as he stuffs his face into your cunt. Your body jolts with every passing shock until it relaxes. And even then, Gojo still carries a naughty grin when lifting his face and licking his digits. “Look at that, princess. Making my fingers all pretty.”

The display made your ears hot. “Don’t play with it like that!”

“Why, I’m gonna play with you a whole lot more, anyway,” he says while kissing your thighs. He surprises you with a bite, making you huff in surprise. “Gonna play and mark you all mine all night long.”

And he was not lying. Everything happened so fast; one moment, you’re lying on Gojo’s bed with him, eating you out until you come from his mouth two times. The next moment, your pajamas are stripped off you and thrown to the floor along with his. 

“—Noohhh!! Ohhh, fuuuck, ahh, ‘Toruuu, yer goin’ too fast…! Slow down!!”

“Hnngh! Ahhhh, easy for you to say with you gripping on me like crazy…Holy shiiiit, you feel so good…”

Now, you two in the nude are fucking like animals. The hour is way past late for noises to disrupt your neighbors, yet here you are on Gojo’s bed with your face down to the sheets and your ass propped up for him to drill his length deep inside you. He’s caged you beneath him, his strong arms on either side of you while his hips thrust into your plump ass and thighs. The sounds of the action were so raunchy to the ears, something straight from a porno.

The two of you have been going at it for about two previous rounds; your body is already sensitive and sweaty from this. You want to be tired – your mind is trying to tell you you’re exhausted. However, it’s impossible to think of anything else with Gojo hammering his dick into you like no tomorrow. Excessive come leaks from your cunt down your thighs, a white ring forming around the base of his shaft — evidence of your sexes union. 

“Ohhh Jesus, this ’s too much…Nnnphh!” The clap of your ass smacking onto Gojo’s pelvis made you sheepish, sinking your face further into the sheets to try and conceal your cries. But that’s not working when the tip of his cock grazes your velvety walls in such a precise motion that you almost choke on a sob, drool coming down your mouth. “Oh God, right there, ‘Toruuu…”

The white-haired man observes from above, examining your round ass and body jerk from his movements. Fuck, you looked so fucking sexy like this under him, wailing out from him being able to make you feel so good. It strokes his ego so badly, but that’s what happens when he’s finally proving to you how much he’s wanted your body like this. Your erotic body, your adorable mewls, and your amazingly tight cunt clenching on him as if you don’t want to let him go — it all makes his head pound, and his strokes smack on your harsher.

“Shiiiit, I’m so close…” He moans with a cold sweat that rolls down to his chin and hits the skin of your trapezius. Gojo then decides to switch things up before his evident release comes knocking. “Hey, sweetie. Let me see that pretty face of yours.”

You were already maneuvered to face him before he could finish that sentence, your front forced to be seen in his gaze. Your half-lidded orbs locked in with Gojo’s as he bucks his hips to you during missionary. Oh, what an intimate position! 

“Hic—Don’t look!” You say while putting your hands up to his face – accidentally hitting the bottom of his chin, taking him by surprise – not wanting him to see your disheveled and messy self under his observant eyes. 

But that didn’t fly by with him, immediately grabbing your wrists and pinning them down. “Oh, none of that, princess,” his face descends to brush his nose against yours. “I told you I’d prove you wrong. So, how am I supposed to do that with you hiding from me like that?”

You gulp to give him a snarky answer, “Mmmph—You’ve proven that enough!”

“I don’t think so,” he chuckles lightly; fuck, he sounds so hot. “With you, there’s never enough.” He takes your lips with him before you can say more, grinding his hips onto your squelching chasm to scrape your sensitive spots to evoke your screams to be taken from his mouth. 

Gojo then snaps his hips into you at an unsteady tempo, the rhythm too fast to comprehend and catch yourself. The rough hits of his dick so harsh and sporadic, and your mewls are muffled by his kisses. Your hands go to his back, preparing yourself for the climax that rushes back to you for the fifth time that night. 

Oh, fuck, oh my fucking God! And it hits you like a slap to the face; your exhausted body trembles for yet another crescendo to crash over you. Your legs come around to Gojo’s waist to hold on. And Gojo’s not too far from orgasming on his own; the fluttering contractions of your cunt force him to give in and spill into you once again, groaning into your wet and puffy lips. 

The two of you embrace the jolts of your bodies in union, your lips glued to his as he kisses you through it all. And he drops his sweaty body on yours, the heat between you two sticking to your skins from the contact. A hand comes to the top of your head, caressing and massaging your scalp to further your relaxed state.

Gojo breaks the kiss with a soft sound, and a string of saliva sticks to you two until it’s broken apart from his ascent. He chortles, using a thumb to wipe your mouth from spit. “Well, did I make my point?”

You send him a tired glare, sighing heavily while your finger traces his back. “More than enough, Satoru.”

He beams, the dimples returning to blind you. “Good! Because I was thinking of going for another round—“

Your lips quiver with dread at the words, grabbing for a pillow and instantly hitting him in the head with it, not caring about him exclaiming in pain from the impact.

“Hurry up and get off me, you drunk, horny bastard!!”

But one thing was definite; it wasn’t the alcohol that Gojo was drunk on — it was you.

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – dividers from @/benkeibear.

[pedrospatch]

fall into temptation | one

Jackson! Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter Reader

series masterlist

summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamned preacher’s daughters.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. SLIGHT PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER, mentions of her hair which she can put up into braids as well as her style of clothing. despite the nickname Joel gives her, it does not speak to her body type or size. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 56, i know, i know but this is self indulgent because my birthday is next month idk just let me have this one) canon language, canon violence, several mentions of religion, terms pastor and preacher are used interchangeably here and there, mentions of the bible and religious symbols (cross), innocent/virgin reader, very brief scene of attempted sexual assault, no explicit smut (yet). asshole Joel, protective Joel, hints of softish dom Joel (if you squint). reader has two sisters, the only physical description for them is their hair, which they can also braid as well as their style of clothing.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, NO MENTION OF RACE OR BODY TYPE.

word count: 8.4k

Jackson, Wyoming

Fall 2024

Joel had seen him around the community before. 

He’s an older man in his late sixties or possibly his early seventies with thinning, snow white hair and silver, wire rimmed glasses that always seemed to be perched on the tip of his pointed nose. He was a good, kind man from what Joel could gather—offering up warm smiles and friendly waves to anyone who happened to cross his path, stopping to greet and say hello to familiar faces. The hem of his starched white shirt is tucked into pressed black slacks and even from where he stood across the road near the horse stables, Joel noticed the book clutched in his right hand, old and bound in supple, worn black leather with the words Holy Bible etched into the cover in flaked gold lettering.

Jacob, he thinks his name is. Or was it Josiah?

Something biblical—a name fit for a man who was so fucking clearly devoted to the big man upstairs.

Joel knew his own name was a biblical one, but he was the furthest thing from a man of God. After all that he’d done in the past twenty years, there was only one place he was going and that place wasn’t exactly known for its pearly gates or sweet cherub angels playing harps.

Joseph? Was that it? 

He couldn’t be certain.

Not that Joel really even cared to know his name. 

It’d been a couple months since Joel arrived back in Jackson with Ellie after Salt Lake City and the truth of the matter was that he preferred to keep to himself whenever it was possible. Joel had zero interest in getting to know the people of this settlement, not unless he had to for the sake of patrol duties—and that’s only if he hadn’t been able to weasel his way out of getting assigned with a partner who wasn’t Tommy or Maria, the only two people in the whole fucking community Joel could stand being around. Minus his kid of course, but even he and Ellie could really only take each other in small doses lately. Perhaps it was their tense, strained relationship that was to blame for the fact that Joel Miller walked around this place with a standoffish attitude and a permanent scowl plastered on his face. 

Most people were smart enough to scamper off in the opposite direction when they saw him coming. He was never offended by it. It’s what he wanted. He wasn’t here to make friends.

In fact, the closest thing he had come to a friend outside of his brother’s wife was Esther, the woman Maria and Tommy had tried setting him up with when he first got back to Jackson. He wouldn’t go as far as calling her a friend, either. That’s a little too generous. Friend? No, more like a good fuck when he couldn’t drown his bitterness with Seth’s barrel aged bourbon and he was in need of a different kind of distraction.

But there was a reason this particular man piqued his curiosity. Actually, there were three reasons he managed to garner Joel’s attention and all three of those reasons were trailing behind him in an orderly, single file line, each one more fucking gorgeous than the last. He was positive he’d never seen them around before—because how could he possibly forget the faces of the most beautiful women in this town?

They’ve gotta be sisters, Joel thought to himself, his hand resting on the neck of the horse that he’d ridden out to patrol that morning, a dark, chestnut mare named Willow. Although he was supposed to be walking her inside the stables and back into her stall, he found himself far too distracted. While the three women weren’t identical to one another, the similarity in their traits such as hair color and their skin tone confirmed his suspicions that they were related. They all styled their hair in neat halo braids and wore slightly different color variations of the same getup—pressed, long sleeved blouses tucked into knee length floral printed skirts and worn, leather oxford shoes.

Clutching the brown leather strap of his rifle in his opposite hand, Joel leaned himself against Willow and squinted against the bright afternoon sunlight in an effort to get a better look at them. 

The first two were slightly on the older side. If Joel had to take a shot at their age, he would guess the women were in their thirties—a man of fifty six, he still had about two decades on them, easy. Joel let his gaze shift, his dark brown eyes flickering to the last one. His breath audibly hitched in his throat and part of him wondered just how fucking dumb he had to be to be drawn to the youngest one of the three. It couldn’t be fucking possible—you couldn’t be that much older than your mid twenties, if that. 

Joel’s grip on the strap of his rifle tightened. 

All three of you were beautiful beyond words—why the fuck did it have to be you who held over his interest?

“Take a picture,” Maria remarked with a tiny laugh. She dismounted her horse and peered at Joel over the black stallion’s back. “It’ll last longer.”

She’d led that morning’s patrol, her first time back on duty since she had given birth to her son in the spring. Joel had returned to Jackson right on time to meet his one month old nephew, Noah. 

He cleared his throat and shrugged. “Just tryin’ to figure out what their deal is, that’s all.” He paused, then remarked, “Didn’t know polygamy was a thing around here.”

His comment must have struck a nerve in his dear sister in law—fiercely protective of the people who were under her leadership, Maria hadn’t found the sister wives implication the slightest bit amusing. 

“Watch it, Joel,” she admonished, shooting him a warning glare. “He’s the town’s pastor and those girls happen to be his daughters. So let’s keep our wise ass cracks to ourselves, shall we?”

His daughters? He almost couldn’t believe it. Surely the girls must have taken after their mother because they sure as hell didn’t get their good looks from their old man. They hardly looked anything like him.

“Pastor,” Joel repeated with a small hum. He then remembered her pointing out an old church house back during the winter when she’d given him and Ellie the grand tour of the community. “So he ain’t got a real job like the rest of us?”

Maria rolled her eyes. “His job is a real job, Joel. It might be hard for you to believe, but there are still a lot of people of faith around here,” she explained to him. “He provides them with comfort and with hope—”

He snorted sharply through his nose. “Hope?”

“Yes, hope,��� she snapped at him. 

“Hope for what, Maria? That things will go back to fuckin’ normal? That the end of the world is temporary?”

Maria crossed her arms over her chest, jutting her chin. “Some people never lose hope, Joel. There’s a lot of people who need this man and he serves a much bigger purpose than what you’re giving him credit for.”

“And what about the girls? They have it easy too? Do they just stand there lookin’ pretty on Sundays while their old man reads verses out loud from the most useless fuckin’ book known to man?”

“If you must know, they work in the schoolhouse,” she answered, tossing him another glare. “They’re teachers. The oldest one, she teaches Ellie’s class. The middle one, she teaches the primary school aged children and the youngest? She takes care of all of our little ones. She prepares our preschool kids for her sister’s class by teaching them numbers and basic literacy. Shows them how to start counting, reading and writing, things like that. She also helps run the commune’s daycare.”

“At least they have real jobs,” Joel mumbled under his breath. 

“What was that?”

He feigned innocence. “Nothin’. Nothin’ at all.”

“That’s exactly what I thought.” Maria pointed her finger at him. “Come on, let’s get these guys back into their stalls. It was a long ride this morning, I’m sure they could use some rest.” Taking her stallion by the reins, she started leading him over toward Logan, one of the stable hands who helped take in the horses coming back from patrol. 

Joel took Willow’s reins in his hands—but before he could even think of moving another muscle, he glanced up and saw the preacher leading his three daughters past the stables and right past Joel. His self control faltered. All that he could do was stare at you, his eyes fixed on you so blatantly that one of your sisters had taken notice. Grinning, she turned back towards you and lifted a hand to her mouth. She used her palm to shield her lips from Joel’s view and whispered something to you over her shoulder.

Shit. 

He’d been caught gawking.

He thought about making a beeline for the stables but it was too late. 

Perplexed by whatever it was that your older sister had just said to you, you gave her an odd look, but then followed the subtle nod of her head. 

Glimpsing over in his direction, your lips parted in complete surprise and you came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the dirt road when you found your gaze meeting that of the much older, rugged man standing there with a gun slung over his shoulder.

Unsure of what else to do, Joel simply offered you a polite nod of his head. The gesture was innocent enough but it startled you. He could tell by the way you let out a small gasp and turned away from him, your eyes falling to the ground as you scurried to catch up to your father and sisters like a spooked little mouse. 

Joel couldn’t help but shake his head and laugh.

“Is the preacher aware that his precious little daughters pay frequent visits to The Tipsy Bison at such late and ungodly hours?” Joel quipped. He gestured to a booth nestled over in a corner of the dimly lit bar with a subtle jerk of his chin. “S’gotta be the third or fourth time I’ve seen them here in the last couple of weeks.”

Tommy’s eyes followed his brother’s gesture. “Oh man, not again,” he said with an exasperated sigh. He shook his head. “Those girls, they ain’t got no fuckin’ business hangin’ around this place and much less at this fuckin’ hour. But the middle one, she’s a whole lot of trouble.” He paused, just long enough to nod at one of the three sisters, the one who was wearing her hair loose around her shoulders, twirling a lock of it around her finger as she made flirtatious fuck me eyes at the group of drunk patrolmen sitting a few tables away. “She’s somethin’ of a rebel, that one. Likes to drink a lot, get herself involved with things that she ain’t really supposed to be messin’ with. She’s the one who convinces the other two into sneakin’ out and comin’ to the bar when their old man goes to sleep.”

Joel chuckled in disbelief. “You fuckin’ serious?”

“As a heart attack. And then there’s the older one. I know she likes to drink too, but she’s a lot calmer than the other one. Ain’t gotta worry about her all too much, y’know? She tries to be the chaperone—it don’t always work out that way, though. Her halo ain’t exactly perfect either.”

“What ‘bout the youngest one?” Joel asked in the most nonchalant tone he could possibly muster. “Where does she fall on the scale between angel and devil?”

You’re carefully perched on the edge of the booth, your pretty features twisting in disgust with every sip of the rich, amber colored liquid in your glass. Unable to stomach the burning alcohol, you set it off to the side, abandoning it in favor of a glass of water instead.

“Her?” Tommy grinned, leaning back into his chair as stated, “Oh, she’s an absolute angel. She’s just ‘bout the sweetest fuckin’ thing you’ll ever see in your whole damn life, big brother. She’s gotta be the kinda girl who all the little birds and woodland critters sing to when there ain’t no one around,” he laughed. “She’s real good. Too good. Wouldn’t surprise me if the lord sent her down from heaven himself.”

Joel tossed him a skeptical look across the table.

“She really as innocent as she seems?” 

“I don’t think she even knows what it’s like to hold another man’s hand,” his younger brother laughed again and reached for his beer, taking a generous swig. 

Joel hummed softly and lifted his glass of whiskey to his lips. The mere thought of you being so pure and so innocent—untouched by anyone else—caused something to stir deep in his lower belly. 

“She’s the old man’s pride and joy,” Tommy continued, breaking into his train of thought. “Kind. Polite. Behaves. Doesn’t get herself into any kinda trouble—I mean look at her, she can’t even choke down a glass of whiskey. She’s just too good of a girl.”

Joel proceeded cautiously with his next question. “Any of them taken?” 

Surprised, Tommy raised his eyebrows. “Joel, don’t fuckin’ tell me—”

“No, I ain’t interested,” he interjected, rolling his eyes. “Just a curious motherfucker, that’s all.”

He didn’t seem too convinced by Joel’s answer. “They’re all single from what I know. To be honest, there ain’t a whole lot of men around here their old man would approve of,” he remarked. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a nice man and all, but when it comes to his daughters, he’s real strict. Not that controllin’ has done him much good, though.” He lowered his voice as a fellow patrolman walked past their table. “The middle one’s fucked her way through this entire town and then back again. She even made a pass at me while Maria was pregnant with Noah, if you can fuckin’ believe that.”

Amused, Joel snorted into his drink. Ballsy. “How goddamn drunk was she?”

Tommy ran a hand through his jet black curls. “Wasted. Oldest one ain’t exactly the Virgin Mary, either.”

“And the old man doesn’t know?”

“Nope. Ain’t nobody gonna snitch on grown women in their thirties.” Noticing the amused expression on Joel’s face, he adds, “By the way, just in case you haven’t figured it out, this stays between us, Joel.”

He smirked. “Which part?”

“All of it. And take it from me, those girls? S’best you keep your distance from them,” he warned as he stood up from the table. He picked up the blue denim jacket draped over his chair, shrugging into it. “Don’t go gettin’ any dumbass ideas, alright?”

“Look, if the wild one makes a pass at me, I ain’t gonna turn her down. S’not like I’ve got a pregnant wife at home.”

“Joel, I fuckin’ swear. If you even think ‘bout it—”

He held up his hands to stop him. “Relax. Was just a joke.”

“Right. M’sure it was.” Tommy snorted. “Listen, I gotta get back home. Don’t wanna leave Maria on her own with the baby for too long.”

“How’s she been holdin’ up?”

“She’s been so tired. Jugglin’ motherhood, runnin’ this place, and bein’ back on patrol duty. I keep on tryin’ to tell her to slow it down, but she just won’t listen to me.” He let out a small sigh and waved a dismissive hand. “But anyway. If you’re all good to head out, I can walk you back to your place since it’s on the way to mine?”

Joel looked down at his glass, still half full. “I think I’m gonna hang back for a while longer. I’m on the roster for evenin’ patrol tomorrow, s’not like I’ve gotta be up at the ass crack of dawn.”

“Suit yourself.” Clapping him on the back, Tommy bid him goodnight and started towards the door. 

As soon as he was gone, Joel looked over towards your booth. He watched as you whispered into the ear of your eldest sister who nodded her head in understanding. You stood up and said something else to her, then spun around on your heel, long skirt flowing along with the movement. Head down, you hastily made your way across the bar, being careful so as not to bump into anyone along the way.

You were leaving. Alone. 

In the middle of the fucking night? While drunk morons poured in and out of the bar?

She’ll be just fine, he tried to convince himself. 

Joel frowned to himself, gripping his drink tightly in his hand as he scanned the room.

Sitting at a nearby table was Kent, some idiot he’d been stuck with a time or two for patrol. He clocks the smirk that crossed the younger man’s face, his eyes following you all the way to the door. Leaning forward over the table, he whispered something to his buddies, his smirk widening. His comrades, all who looked and behaved more like teenagers rather than grown men, lifted their beers to him, nodding in encouragement. Drunk off his ass, Kent drained the rest of his own beer, slamming the glass bottle down onto the table before clumsily stumbling to his feet. 

Joel momentarily froze as soon as he realized what was happening. 

Kent was going after you. 

Joel’s lips pressed together into a tight, thin line.

Setting his drink down, he stood up from his table and slipped on his jacket before following suit.

Joel stepped out of the bar and into the night, the chilly evening air nipping at his face. He took a look around. 

You were nowhere to be seen. Neither was Kent. 

That couldn’t fucking be good. 

“Where the fuck did you two go,” he muttered to himself under his breath.

That’s when he heard it. 

The sound of muffled screaming coming from the side of the building. Joel didn’t hesitate. Following your smothered cries for help, he whipped around into the dimly lit alley nestled in between the bar and the commune’s mess hall. You’re pinned underneath Kent with your skirt bunched up around your waist. One of his hands was covering your mouth while his other hand clawed its way up your bare thigh. 

“Aw, c’mon now, sugar,” Kent slurred his words together. “It’d be a fucking shame to let someone as cute as you stay a fucking virgin. Don’t be coy—I know you’re just like your stupid slut of a sister. She’s got no trouble spreading her fucking legs for me, y’know.”

Red.

It was the color that flashed in Joel’s mind. It was all he could see as he went up behind Kent, letting his hands reach for fistfuls of his leather jacket. He lifted him off of you with ease, slamming him hard against the brick wall of the mess hall. Pulling him forward, Joel slammed his body into the wall once more, knocking all the wind out of his lungs. 

“Miller, what the fuck are you doing!” Kent gasped out, frantically pawing at the older man’s hands in an effort to break free. “Get the fuck off me!”

“Takin’ advantage of an innocent girl?” Joel hissed at him, tightening his grasp on the collar of Kent’s jacket. “Think that makes you a fuckin’ man?”

Though he was still intoxicated, the sheer terror of being caught in Joel Miller’s hands sobered him just enough that he started sputtering an explanation. “I wasn’t fucking taking advantage of her! Her and her whore sisters were making eyes at me and the guys all fucking night! She fucking wanted it! She asked me for it, couldn’t even wait long enough to get back to my place—”

The lie came straight through his chattering teeth. The same teeth he would be picking up off the ground in the next minute or two. 

Joel knew he didn’t need to ask. Still, he turned to you, his rage only intensifying when he took in the sight of you lying there on the ground, the hem of your light blue floral skirt hiked around your waist. 

“That true?” He questioned you. “You wanted it?”

You stared at him with wide and fearful eyes.

A single tear slipped down the side of your face.

“Answer me, darlin’,” he prompted. “You wanted this?”

“No. I didn’t.” Your voice was small, barely audible.

But he’d heard it loud and clear. 

“She’s lying!” Kent tried to tell him. “She’s—”

Joel delivered the first punch, a blow so hard he’d felt the younger man’s nose crack underneath his curled fist. He struck him again and again, the blows coming in harder and harder, turning Kent’s face into a bloodied pulp.

If Joel didn’t get a grip, he would kill him. Part of him wanted to fucking kill Kent for putting his hands you—and more so for accusing of you wanting it. Pathetic fucking bastard. 

Holding Kent up by the throat with one hand, Joel pulled his switchblade from the back pocket of his jeans with the other. Fingers curled tightly around the hilt, Joel held up the knife into Kent’s view. He had left his eyes purple and swollen, but judging by the pitiful little pleas for mercy, it was clear that he could still somehow see the sharp blade being held an inch or so away from his face. 

“If I ever catch you anywhere near her again, I ain’t gonna be so fuckin’ generous,” Joel growled warningly. “I ain’t gonna let you walk away next time, boy. That understood?”

He nodded. “Un—Understood.”

“Good.” Joel released him, stepping backwards as he fell to the ground. “Get the fuck outta my face. Now.”

Kent managed to scramble to his feet and staggered off, disappearing from the alley. 

Chest heaving, Joel inhaled a deep breath through his nose, then exhaled it through his mouth before turning to you once more. 

Petrified, you still hadn’t moved a single muscle.

You looked fucking terrified. Whether it was from Kent’s assault or the way Joel had nearly beaten him to death right in front of you, it was hard to tell.

Crouching down beside you, Joel caught your subtle flinch. He proceeded to move slowly as he reached for the hem of your skirt. Delicately, he gripped the soft, flowing fabric and pulled it down into place. Joel then held his hand out to you. 

You hesitated for a split second, but accepted his hand and allowed him to help you up to your feet. 

“You alright, little dove?” The nickname had fallen from his lips before he could even think to stop it. 

“I think so,” you replied, nodding your head. You’d started to tremble and even though it had nothing to do with being cold, Joel took notice of it and he shrugged out of his camel colored jacket. He gave it to you, draping it over your shoulders. The scent of him instantly enveloped you—a mouth watering masculine mixture of clean soap, woodiness, and musk. It was far more intoxicating than the scotch you had tried back inside the bar. He didn’t utter a word to you as he wrapped his jacket around your body, both of his hands pulling gently at the lapels to bring them together in front of your chest. That was when you glanced down and saw he’d injured his hand. You gasped lightly. “Are you okay?”

Maybe it was the adrenaline, but Joel hadn’t even noticed that he’d split his knuckles wide open. Giving it a light shake, he assured you gruffly, “M’fine.”

Without thinking it through, you gingerly grabbed Joel’s hand, holding it in both of yours. “It doesn’t look like nothing,” you countered. You inspected it as best as you could in such poor lighting. “You’re bleeding.”

“Trust me, I’ve had a whole lot worse,” he deadpanned.

Ignoring his remark, you asked, “Can you move all your fingers for me? Just to make sure that it isn’t broken?”

Joel felt a strange warmth radiate in his chest. 

Fucking hell, Tommy had been right about you. 

You really were too good.

“Darlin’ I already told you m’fine—”

“Please?”

That word, and the way you’d said it, sent a shiver up the length of his spine.

Joel started wiggling his fingers in your palms. He winced slightly at the soreness. More than that, he knew his cuts and bruises would be all the fucking proof Tommy and Maria would need to know that he had been the one who rearranged Kent’s face. 

“See?” He spoke after a minute as he continued to move his fingers up and down. “Ain’t broken.”

“Let me clean you up,” you offered. Looking up at him, you cradled his hand as if it were a fragile baby bird you wanted to take home and nurse back to health.

“That really ain’t necessary.”

“You just saved me from—it’s the least I can do for you,” you insisted. Seeing him open his mouth just to protest again, you cut him off. “Please?”

There it was again.

Christ. That word sounded too good coming from those plush, pretty lips of yours. 

Joel sighed out in defeat. “Alright then,” he relented. “I s’ppose there ain’t no harm in lettin’ you clean me up a bit, little dove.”

Pleased that he had finally accepted, you carefully let go of his hand and took a step back, beckoning for him to follow you. “Come with me,” you said to him. “I know somewhere private we can go.”

When you came to a stop at the old church house, Joel shook his head and took a step backwards. 

Puzzled, your brows knitted together. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

He backed away further. “I ain’t goin’ in there.” 

You tossed him an amused glance. “It’s a church.”

“Yeah, I know that. I ain’t exactly a man of God.” 

You couldn’t help but giggle. “So? What does that have to do with me taking you inside to clean your hand up for you?”

Shuffling his weight from boot to boot, Joel shrugged. “Just don’t think I belong in there, that’s all.”

“Do you think you’re going to melt if you step foot inside?” you teased him. After a minute, it became apparent that he was being serious about it. Joel’s discomfort about going inside the church wasn’t some kind of joke on his part, it was real. “Don’t be silly. It doesn’t matter that you’re not a man of God. That doesn’t mean that you’re going to explode or burn into a pile of ashes for going inside, you know.”

“After all the terrible shit I’ve done?” He looked up at the building, shaking his head again. “I just might burn, little dove.”

You bit back a small smile. You’d already grown to be quite fond of his sweet nickname for you. 

“There’s a first aid kit inside I can use to patch you up,” you told him. “It won’t take long, I promise.”

His lower lip rolled in between teeth as he thought it over. “I ain’t too sure about this—”

“It’s only going to take me five minutes to get your hand cleaned up and then you can leave. Okay?”

You were as stubborn as you were sweet. How the fuck was he supposed to say no to you?

Reluctantly, Joel finally agreed to it. “Okay.” He followed you up the creaking, wooden porch steps towards the double doors. He’d just started to wonder how the two of you were even supposed to get into the building after hours when you leaned down, lifting the old mat on the floor to reveal a set of keys. Unable to help himself, he scoffed, “Serious?”

“Doesn’t everyone keep a key under their mat?” 

“Yeah at their fuckin’ house. Not their church.” 

“Well to be fair, this is kind of like a second home. I spend quite a bit of time here,” you confessed.

Joel raised an eyebrow at you. “So much time that you’ve decided to keep a set of keys under the mat?”

Sheepishly, you nodded. “Sometimes when I can’t sleep at night, I’ll come here alone and sit with my thoughts for a while.” You shrugged. “Maria let me have the spare set of keys. She knows I come here and so does the rest of the council. I trespass with their full permission,” you kidded with a small grin. 

Unlocking one of the two doors, you stepped over the threshold and waited expectantly for Joel. But he stood there, making no move to join you on the other side. 

“This place gives me the fuckin’ creeps,” he admitted. 

You laughed. “It’s only the outside that’s creepy, I promise.”

Grimacing, Joel finally walked inside, his back and shoulders stiff with tension as he stepped into the place of worship. 

You closed the door and flipped on the lights, then opened a second set of double doors with another key from the ring. 

“Whoa.” He was pleasantly surprised. For as old as this place was, the interior of the church was quite nice. He could tell that it had been well cared for in its lifetime—the former contractor in him had little choice but to appreciate the high ceiling, the large windows, and the satin finish of the white paint on the rustic, wooden panel walls. 

There were a total of twelve pews, six on each side of the church. There was an older, antique piano in pristine condition nestled over in one corner of the room and in another, there was a large chalkboard propped up on a wooden easel, biblical verses that had been the focus of the congregation’s previous gathering still scribbled across it in white chalk. 

“See?” You nudged his arm with your elbow. “This isn’t so awful, right?”

“S’ppose it ain’t all that bad,” he muttered. 

Your eyes twinkled with pure amusement, adding, “And you didn’t burn into a pile of ashes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joel grumbled out in response. “Can we just get this over with so I can get outta here?”

You tossed him a playful little eye roll then nodded towards the pews. “Go ahead and just have a seat anywhere,” you instructed him. “I’ll be right back.”

You disappeared down a short, dimly lit corridor.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Joel slowly made his way down the aisle holding his injured hand against his chest. Now that the adrenaline had started wearing off, it’d started throbbing with pain.

There was an altar at the front of the church—if he could even call it an altar. 

It was a plain oakwood table with a white fair linen cloth draped over it and nothing else. 

Above it, bolted onto the wall, was a wooden cross.

He averted his eyes, turning away from it. 

Of all the shit to be intimidated by in this world. 

A fucking slab of carved wood. 

Joel’s attention shifted over to the chalkboard. He squinted at it, silently reading the verse to himself.

God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability. 1 Corinthians 10:13

“But with the temptation, he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it,” you recited the rest of the verse from behind him.

“No offense darlin’, but it sounds like nothin’ but a whole lotta gibberish to me,” he remarked to you over his shoulder. 

“No offense taken, Joel.”

Whirling around on the heel of his worn boot, Joel blurted, “How did you know my name?”

“You’re Tommy Miller’s brother. Everybody in this town knows your name.” You held up the white tin box in your hands. A big, red cross had been spray painted onto the lid. You sat down in the first pew and patted the seat right beside you. “Come sit.”

He sauntered over and dropped down next to you, watching as you opened up the box and started digging through its contents. “You know my name,” he stated after a few seconds of silence. “Sure would be nice for me to know yours.”

Smiling politely, you told him your name.

Joel repeated it. It rolled almost too sweetly off his tongue.

“S’real pretty, little dove. Just like you.”

His compliment nearly knocked all of the air out of your lungs and for a split second, you have to remind yourself to breathe.

Cheeks burning, you murmured a small thank you and plucked a bottle of saline solution from the kit along with a piece of clean cotton. You tried not to think about the way his eyes were fixed intently on you as you unscrewed the cap and poured a bit of the liquid onto the cotton. “It shouldn’t sting,” you reassured him, reaching for Joel’s injured hand. It was rough and calloused, a stark contrast against your own soft and smooth. You set his hand down on your knee, a strange sensation fluttering in the depths of your lower belly when the warmth of his skin seeped right through the fabric of your skirt. 

Comfortable silence fell over the both of you like a curtain as you started cleaning the blood off of his knuckles and his long, thick fingers. 

“You really believe in all this stuff?” Joel spoke, his question echoing off the bare walls of the church. 

You continued dabbing at his cuts, thinking it over in your head for a moment.

“I honestly don’t know,” you admitted.

Your answer took him by complete surprise.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I have always been taught to believe in God, Joel. It’s all that I’ve ever known. I grew up in a religious community,” you explained to him, making sure to keep your eyes focused on his hand. Tossing aside the bloodied wad of cotton, you picked up another piece adding more saline to it. “After the outbreak, things changed, of course. I couldn’t imagine how He could let something like this happen. When we lost our mother to infection about five years ago, I stopped praying. I finally stopped holding onto the ounce of hope I had that He would make the world right again. I refused to believe in God. Sometimes I still do,” you confessed quietly.

“You said you spend a lot of time here. Why come to church if you’re not even sure you believe in any of this shit anymore?”

“I’m always here because there’s still a part of me that thinks there’s a chance for me to believe again. When I told you I come here when I can’t sleep at night, it’s true. It’s my time to be here completely alone, the time that I use to mend my broken relationship with God. Or at least, I’ve been trying to mend it.” Taking a little glass pot of homemade antibiotic ointment one of the women in the town made and traded, you took off the lid and scooped out some of the salve with the tip of your finger. You applied it carefully to his cuts and continued, “But lately, the more that I try to pray and talk to Him, the more foolish I feel. It’s just not working. It hasn’t been working for a long, long time.”

“Then why keep tryin’ if it ain’t workin’ anymore?”

“Because I don’t really have much of a choice.”

“Your old man?” Joel guessed, wincing slightly as you went over a particularly sore spot on his hand, right over the torn up knuckle of his index finger. 

“Mhm.” You nodded. “My father never lost faith in Him. He knows how I feel, but he refuses to let me give up on God. He won’t ever let me miss church or go to bed without reciting my nightly prayer. He won’t let me abandon our faith. Not until the day he is cold and buried in his grave.”

“So what I’m gettin’ is that he forces you?”

You finished applying the ointment and wiped the remnants lingering on your finger off on your skirt.

“Force is such a harsh word. I wouldn’t say that—”

“He’s forcin’ you,” Joel said, flatly. 

“Joel—”

“You can twist it however the hell you want, sweet girl,” he cut you off. “But if you’re tryin’ this fuckin’ hard to make yourself believe in somethin’ just for the sake of appeasin’ your dad because he can’t or won’t accept how you really feel ‘bout all this, well I hate to break it to you, but you’re bein’ forced.”

Your eyes widened ever so slightly at his words. 

You had never thought about it like that before.

Placing the lid back onto the pot of ointment, you put it back into the first aid kit and then set the tin box down onto the floor. You sat back and clasped your hands together in your lap, not knowing what else to say to him. 

He was right, after all. 

Joel’s fingers lightly squeezed your knee. “Hey.”

You brought your gaze over to meet his. “Hm?”

“Can I ask you somethin’ ‘bout your dad?”

“What is it?” 

Joel chose his words carefully. “Has he ever—he ain’t ever done anythin’ to hurt you, has he?” he asked you, earning himself a perplexed stare. He continued to elaborate. “What I mean is, he ever put his hands on you or anythin’ like that?”

Oh. That’s what he meant.

“Never,” you assured him quickly. “He would never lay a single finger on me or my two sisters.”

He gave your knee another squeeze. “Just needed to make sure of it, sweetheart. Back in the day, I used to hear and see awful things on the news ‘bout—”

You were quick to cut him off. “Look, my father isn’t perfect, but he’s not like that. He’s a good man who only wants what is best for us. He’s strict and he can be tough, but it’s only because he cares. He just doesn’t want us running down the wrong path.”

“The wrong path?”

You shrugged. “Life here in Jackson is decent, but there’s a lot of temptations he doesn’t want any of us falling into. He wants to protect us.”

“By controllin’ you.” 

It had been a statement, not a question. 

Giving him a wry smile, you assured him, “Joel, it’s really not as bad as you’re making it sound. I could be a whole lot worse off than this, you know.”

There was another short bout of silence.

Joel’s dark eyes fell to your blouse, noticing how a couple of the top buttons had come undone. 

He caught the slightest glimpse of the soft curves of your breasts—all it had taken was just a peek at them for his cock to twitch against the zipper of his jeans.

Don’t you get hard in a fuckin’ church, Miller.

His gaze wandered down a little further and that’s when he caught sight of the cross hanging from a delicate gold chain clasped around your neck.

Joel expected the sight of it to calm the straining in his jeans. Somehow, it only made it worse. 

“Earlier, when we were standing outside,” you had started to say, “You said you might burn if you came inside the church because of all the terrible shi—things that you’ve done.”

“S’right.”

You peered at him with curiosity. “So what exactly have you done, Joel?”

Joel leaned back into the pew, shaking his head at you as he finally pulled his hand from your knee. 

“You really don’t wanna know, little dove.”

“Why not?”

His answer was honest.  “Don’t want you to be scared of me.”

Angling your body towards him, you placed one of your hands on his thigh. Your fingers burned right through the dark blue denim of his jeans.

Joel’s lips parted slightly, taken aback by the bold move and the sudden shift in your demeanor.

Were you the same girl who’d nearly had a fucking heart attack a couple of weeks ago when Joel had nodded at you back at the stables? 

“I’m not scared of you,” you murmured, softly. You gave his leg a squeeze, pulling your plump bottom lip between your teeth. Between that and the wide innocent doe eyes that you were giving him, it was taking every last ounce of strength Joel had inside him to keep a straight face, to pretend you weren’t driving him absolutely wild with desire.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt such an incredible need to have someone. 

Want, sure. 

He had wanted Tess. He had wanted Esther. 

But Joel didn’t just want you. 

He fucking needed you. 

And he didn’t know why.

“I’m not scared of you,” you repeated, trailing your hand further up his thigh, setting a fire neither one of you would soon be able to contain. 

Joel leaned forward, bringing his face dangerously close towards yours. His warm breath fanned over your lips. It was still laced with bourbon. “You sure ‘bout that, darlin’ girl?” 

You tried to answer him in the steadiest voice that you could muster, but it was impossible for you to hide the effect this man had on you. 

You breathed out a shaky, “I’m sure.”

Lifting his uninjured hand, he reached up to tuck a loose lock of hair that had fallen out of your braids behind your ear. As his hand fell away, the palm of it grazed against the silkiness of your cheek. 

Though brief, the contact sent an electric current through each and every last single nerve ending in your entire body. 

Exhaling sharply, your eyelids fluttered closed. You nearly whimpered out his name. “Joel?”

“What is it, babygirl? What do you want?”

“I—I want you to kiss me.” 

Joel leaned in even closer, stopping only when his mouth was less than an inch away from yours. 

You heard him chuckle softly. 

“Y’know, I’d expect better manners from a good girl like you,” he tsked lightly, his nose skimming near the corner of your mouth. Closer. “What’s the magic word, little dove?”

“Please.”

“S’much better.”

Your heart pounded with anticipation.

It was almost too much for you to handle. 

Joel closed the remaining gap of space, capturing your lips with his own. He remembered his brother talking about you at the bar—how he had told Joel that you had never even held a man’s hand before.

It occurred to him that he was giving you your first kiss. Him. Joel Miller. The town’s resident asshole and a man who was well over twice your own age. He was the one giving you your very first kiss. 

The guilt suddenly started to creep in, sinking into his bones.

What the fuck had he been thinking? 

And what about you? 

Where the fuck had your common sense gone?

Probably ran off together with Joel’s.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling away slightly in an attempt to stop it from going any further. He tried again, mumbling against your lips, “We gotta stop. This ain’t right—”

You were having none of it. 

None. 

Clutching fistfuls of Joel’s denim shirt, you swung your leg over his thighs and straddled his lap. Your knees rested on either side of him on the bench. 

“Please,” you nearly pleaded. “Just kiss me. I want it—I want this. I promise you that I do.” You placed both of your hands on his broad shoulders, sliding them around him as you slowly sank down further onto his lap. “I want this, Joel.”

Suddenly, he realized that you were asking him for more than just his kiss. 

Now he knew for sure that all common sense had left that pretty little head of yours. 

“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”

Desperate, you uttered one final, “Please.”

Joel bit back a groan. How could he deny you? 

He couldn’t. Simple as that. 

“You sure ‘bout this?”

Your fingers toyed with the curls at the nape of his neck. “Yes. I’m sure.”

“C’mere then, darlin’ girl.”

Joel cupped the side of your face in his large palm and tilted his head up towards yours. Your mouths fused together and although he tried to be gentle, it was proving to be much too difficult—how could he be gentle when you were practically clinging to him? Holding onto him with fervor as if you’d been holding onto dear fucking life itself? 

Temperatures rising, you quickly shrugged out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor behind you with a soft thud before wrapping your arms around him once again. You melted against him as your mouth molded to his in a perfect fit. 

His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, silently asking for permission to explore the cavern even further. 

Eagerly, your lips parted, granting him access. His tongue slipped past them, meeting yours in a slow and sensual heated dance. 

You breathed him deeply into your lungs, a little moan vibrating at the back of your throat. 

Joel’s hands went to your waist and he yanked the hem of your blouse free from your skirt. 

“Can I feel you, baby?” he asked, breathlessly. His mouth abandoned yours and he began to trail hot, open mouthed kisses underneath your jawline. 

Dazed, all you could do was nod in reply and utter, “Mhm.”

Joel’s hands slipped under your blouse and he slid them up the length of your sides. “Fuck, you gotta be the softest fuckin’ thing,” he cursed against the delicate, tender flesh of your neck. His lips latched onto your pulse point, suckling at the skin there as his fingertips dug into your hips. He needed to feel more, but he forced himself to wait. The last thing he wanted to do was make a wrong move or move too fast and scare you off.

“Joel,” you mewled his name. “Joel, I need—”

You trailed off, moaning when his mouth released your skin with a loud, wet popping noise. 

“Tell me, sweet girl. Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you,” he promised. “Anythin’ you need or want, I’ll give it to you. Just say the fuckin’ word.”

“You, Joel. I need you.”

His hips involuntarily bucked upwards and you let out a startled gasp the moment you felt his bulge, hard as a rock, brush against your clothed cunt. 

Tearing away from him, it suddenly hit you. You’re in a church, straddling a much, much older man in a pew—and if that wasn’t sinful enough, the warm and slick arousal pooling between your thighs only proved that you were ready to fall into temptation, give into the lust and give your body to Joel. But it was none of those things that worried you. It was something else. 

You pulled yourself out of his arms and jumped up off his lap, nearly tripping over your own two feet.

“Darlin’ are you—?”

You didn’t even hear the rest of his question.

Knees trembling, you somehow managed to make your way up to the altar. Heart pounding and head spinning, you planted both of your hands firmly on the table and steadied yourself. Part of you hoped that Joel would just get up and leave. But a bigger part of you hoped he wouldn’t. 

Joel rose to his feet. “Listen, ain’t nothin’ wrong if you changed your mind, alright?”

“I didn’t,” you choked out. “That’s—that’s not it at all.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

Embarrassed, you tried to explain yourself. “I have never done anything like this before. I’m a—”

You couldn’t even bring yourself to say the word out loud. 

“You’re a what?”

Blazing heat flooded your face. “Joel, please don’t make me say it,” you groaned. “For the sake of my sanity, don’t make me say it.” You heard the sound of his brown leather boots as he walked up behind you, one heavy footstep after the other.

“Turn around, sweet girl.” 

Joel’s command was firm but still gentle. 

Swallowing dryly, you obeyed and did as you were told. He stood close and you found yourself at eye level with his chest. 

“Look at me.”

You tried, but couldn’t. 

“I said, look at me.” Joel gingerly took your chin in between his thumb and index finger. He lifted your face, forcing your gaze to meet his own, timid and submissive meeting bold and dominant in a sweet and tender exchange. “Never known the lovin’ of a man, have you little dove?”

He backed you up against the table, pinning you in between it and himself. Planting both of his hands on either side of you, he caged you in and brought his chest flush against yours, pressing your bodies together.

Close, but somehow not close enough.

Joel lifted his hand to your cheek, cradling it in his palm. His thumb swept over your quivering bottom lip.

You reached behind you, clutching at the fair linen as you tried with every fiber of your entire being to remind yourself that you were standing at the altar where your father preached and delivered all of his sermons to the faithful people of Jackson. 

The very same altar where your father encouraged you to kneel and pray in effort to mend the broken relationship you had with God. 

You couldn’t help but to think if you were to get on your knees tonight, it wouldn’t be for prayer.

“I asked you a question, darlin’.” Joel’s voice broke into your train of thought. “Need you to be a good girl and give me an answer, alright?”

“My father loves me,” you stammered out in reply. “He loves me and my sisters—”

“C’mon, babygirl.” He chuckled and shook his head at you, lightly pinching your cheek. “That ain’t what I mean and you damn well know it.”

Sighing softly, you finally answered, “No, Joel.”

“No, what?”

“No, I’ve never known the loving of a man.”

Joel slipped the tip of his thumb between your lips and leaned into you, his hardness pressing against your upper thigh. Even through all the clothes, you could feel every inch of him. “Do you wanna know how it feels, baby? What it feels like when a man makes you his own?” 

You nearly moaned around his finger. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” he prompted, pulling his hand away.

“Yes, please.”

“I can show you.” Joel paused. “But not tonight.”

You stared at him in disbelief. Both of you were so clearly riled up and he was going to take a pass?

He almost laughed at your expression. 

“C’mon, don’t give me that face.”

“But Joel—”

“Just don’t wanna rush it, not with you,” Joel said in a tone so soft it nearly threw you for a loop. “M’gonna need you to be real patient for me, just for a little while, alright? You think you can do that, little dove? Think you can be patient for me?”

Your answer came without an ounce of hesitation.

“Of course,” you breathed.

You would wait an eternity for Joel Miller.

[wroteclassicaly]

Eddie Munson loves the way that you pick at the chipping polish on your nails until it’s dangling from the cuticle. Enjoys how you only shave the bottom half of your legs but let the top grow out. Oh god, and when you chew and bite your straw to an unusable puncture, leaving lipgloss all over. The times at lunch where you’ll find him to ask, “Can I play with your hair?” You aren’t in Hellfire Club, but the group has taken to adopting you as a seat mate.

Well… you had simply settled down there before Eddie’s group approached. He’d leaned in to inform you that this was a private table. To which, you shrugged and asked who usually sat where, following suit with finding your own space - which just happened to be right beside the dungeon master himself. You’d put on your headphones, took out your spiral, and began writing, everyone free to converse as you let yourself get lost amongst new company.

Soon… things changed. It went from, “What’s she doing here?” To “What are you listening to today?”

Eddie often lets his thoughts scatter from campaigns conversations, the band’s music — all because he ends up watching you get lost to yours. Ink pen tapping, eyes fluttered closed. Every single bit of cafeteria commotion ceases to exist, footsteps echoing, Eddie’s heart thrumming in his ears (fucking tinnitus).

Vibrating your way into everyone’s affections, Eddie remains awe struck & jaw slacked that you can’t see how easy it is to connect with you, to feel like everything is okay when you’re around, how there’s not one single person on planet earth and beyond that is like you. You wear what you want, model a personal style that belongs to you, have prepared more comebacks than he’s seen in his twenty years of life (that would shrivel any man’s ballsack and make all the other girls envious). It’s how you tried to make red, white, and black knit scarves to match their shirts for Christmas, and it ended with balls of fabric, your bloody thumbs, and Eddie helping you fix each one with a gentle hand (because everyone has to have something, Eddie). How can he forget that you’re not a baker, but your boxed brownies are Eddie’s favorite, especially when you wrap them in Christmas paper, serving hot chocolate to go along, making your way around the table to plop marshmallows in each styrofoam cup, that way no one is forgotten.

“Something for you and the group to have during tonight’s campaign. Oh! And my mom actually taught me how to make the hot chocolate in a crockpot, so…”

Eddie Munson has tried convincing himself that you’re just another sheep to protect. His stomach isn’t fluttering like a hoard of bats are shredding his insides, his knees aren’t growing weak everytime you smile, his breath isn’t getting caught on the wall of his chest on days that your full figure wears a skirt or a dress to accentuate features you love to possess, but can’t see their beauty with your eyes. He’s seen you in the morning, in the sun, in the rain, in the dark, and now, as it’s snowing outside the walls of this school. You’ll get up to retrieve something in the lunch line and Eddie will peer into your notebook, ringed finger scanning the lined page of your latest short story.

A guy and a girl, one small town, looking at the simplicity of various Christmas lights. It’s traditional, differing from what you usually let him read. You’re a sheep, lost from your flock in the manger. An angel so soft that feathers have nothing on you. A fucking Christmas star, shining so bright it burns the entire town to the ground.

By the time you’re carrying a bowl of cheese fries back to the table with two forks, Eddie has already picked you up in his van, a thermos full of his mom’s famous hot cocoa recipe. Eddie loves the way that you - oh… fuck… he loves you.

Merry Christmas…