#but for now it’s my blanket as a background and my string lights for lighting ❤️

[bat-colony]

things i wish i’d known before my freshman year of college - june 2024

[lazysoulwriter]

Cozy night... and more. - Paul Mescal.

The rain pattered gently against the window as you set two steaming mugs of spiced apple cider on the worn wooden table. The living room was dimly lit, the only glow coming from the crackling fire in the hearth and the string lights draped along the shelves, giving everything a golden hue. Paul was already sprawled on the couch, a blanket thrown over his lap and a book resting on his chest.

"You're lucky I like you," you teased, handing him a mug.

He gave you that easy, boyish smile. "I knew you'd come around eventually."

It had been a tradition between the two of you for years now—cozy nights in when the weather outside refused to cooperate. Tonight, though, there was something different in the air. Maybe it was the soft music playing in the background, or the way his eyes lingered on you a little longer than usual.

You curled up on the other end of the couch, tucking your feet under the blanket. Paul shifted slightly, enough for your legs to touch his.

"You’re hogging all the warmth," he complained, nudging you playfully.

"You're literally sitting next to a fire," you shot back, but you let him pull your feet onto his lap anyway.

The hours slipped by as you talked about everything and nothing, the kind of conversations that felt like they could stretch on forever. At some point, the book was abandoned, and the mugs sat forgotten on the table. His hand absentmindedly traced patterns on your ankle, and you felt your pulse quicken at the touch.

"Do you ever think about..." Paul began, then stopped, his voice unusually tentative.

"Think about what?"

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to his hands. "What it’d be like...if we weren’t just friends."

Your breath caught, and the room seemed to shrink, the warmth from the fire suddenly amplified.

"Paul..."

"I’ve always wanted to do this," he murmured, leaning in.

His lips brushed yours, soft and hesitant, like he was afraid of crossing an invisible line. But then your hands found their way to his collar, pulling him closer, and his uncertainty melted into something deeper, something you’d both been skirting around for far too long.

When you finally broke apart, the firelight danced in his eyes, and he gave you that lopsided grin that made your heart skip.

"So...is this a one-time thing, or do I get to kiss you again?" he asked, his tone light but his gaze steady.

You laughed, your fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. "We’ll see. Maybe you should ask me again next time it rains."

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

If you want me to write about someone or something specific, just let me know—send me a request, and I’ll do my best!

[rorysburrow]

NYE

Pairings ➼ Joe Burrow x Reader

Summary ➼ New Years Eve in the burrow household.

Word Count ➼ 1,201

Warnings ➼ None just pure fluff once again

A/N ➼ Hey guys I hope you have been enjoying my writing. My requests are open you can submit them in my bio where it says lets chat!

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

New Year's Eve in the Burrow household was nothing like the glitz and glam of red carpets or flashy celebrations. No, tonight was about something entirely different—a low-key, laugh-out-loud evening spent with Joe Burrow, where the only competition was between who could make the other laugh hardest.

It had been a long year for Joe—full of victories, hard work, and the intensity of a football season that demanded everything from him. But now, here he was, relaxing in the living room, wearing an old college t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, as comfortable as you’d ever seen him. The lights in the house were dimmed, save for the soft glow of string lights and the flickering of a TV in the corner where the countdown show was already running.

The clock was ticking toward midnight, but for the moment, Joe was sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the coffee table, a stack of board games in front of him. The pile ranged from classic Monopoly to something a little less conventional—a trivia game that you had picked up on a whim.

Joe flashed you a mischievous grin as he picked up a card from the trivia game. “Alright,” he said, holding the card between two fingers, “this one’s easy. What’s the capital of Australia?”

You raised an eyebrow, already sensing a trap. “Canberra,” you said, smiling confidently.

Joe shook his head dramatically, as if you’d just made the biggest mistake of your life. “Wrong!” he said, holding the card up. “It’s Sydney!”

You leaned forward, crossing your arms. “Joe, are you serious? Everyone knows it’s Canberra.”

He just winked at you. “Okay, okay. You’re right. But I had to test you.”

You laughed, throwing a pillow at him. “I’m pretty sure the trivia game isn’t supposed to be about tricking your opponent.”

“Oh, it absolutely is,” he replied, giving you a playful nudge. “The best games are the ones that have the most twists.”

As you both laughed, the excitement in the room started to build. The countdown show had begun in earnest, and the anticipation was growing. You kept your eyes on the screen, where the cameras were showing people all over the world celebrating, the energy contagious even from the comfort of your couch.

Joe, still trying to act like he wasn’t keeping track of the time, grabbed another card from the trivia game. “Okay, one more. This one’s a good one. Who’s considered the father of modern physics?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Einstein. Easy.”

Joe held the card up to his face and squinted at it. “Hmm, I don’t know. Are you sure?”

You shot him a look. “Joe, I’m very sure.”

He smirked. “Okay, I’m just messing with you. You’re right. But now I’ve learned something important.”

“What’s that?” you asked.

“That you’re unbeatable,” he said, leaning back with a satisfied look. “And now I’m gonna have to find a way to win at something tonight.”

You chuckled, enjoying the easygoing nature of the night. It wasn’t about the trivia game or the board games—it was about the moments, the playful teasing, the way time seemed to slow down when you were with him. The fire crackled in the background, sending a gentle warmth through the room as you both gathered around for the final stretch of the evening.

With the clock ticking closer to midnight, you both took a break from the games and leaned back on the couch, your feet tangled under a blanket. Joe reached for the bottle of champagne sitting on the coffee table, popping the cork with a flourish.

“You ready for this?” he asked, holding the bottle out toward you.

“Definitely,” you replied with a grin. “It’s a Burrow tradition, right?”

He nodded. “Exactly. A tradition of fun, friends, and good times.”

The bubbles fizzed as he poured two glasses, the sound of the champagne flowing adding to the atmosphere of the night. The TV countdown flashed 10... 9... 8..., and Joe turned toward you with a mischievous smile.

“Alright,” he said, raising his glass. “Before the clock strikes midnight, I’ve got one more challenge for you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Another trivia question?”

Joe shook his head, a twinkle in his eye. “Nope. A challenge of the heart.”

You were curious now. “A challenge of the heart?”

He took a sip of his champagne and leaned closer, his voice low and teasing. “I want you to make a New Year’s wish. Something real, something you really want for this year. But no wishing for the obvious. No wishing for world peace or to win the lottery. I’m talking about something personal. Something just for you.”

You met his gaze, a bit surprised by the depth of his request. It was rare for Joe to get serious, but when he did, it always carried weight. He was always thinking about the future, but in this moment, he was asking you to think about something even more important: what you truly wanted for the coming year.

You thought for a moment, then smiled and lifted your glass to his. “Alright. My wish is for more moments like this. More laughter, more silly games, and more quiet nights with the people I care about. Because this... this is what makes life good.”

Joe smiled back, his eyes warm and filled with affection. “That’s a good one,” he said softly. “I’ll drink to that.”

As the clock hit 3... 2... 1, you both shouted, “Happy New Year!” in unison, clinking your glasses together just as fireworks lit up the sky outside. The celebration was happening all around you, but in this quiet little corner of the world, it was just you and Joe, laughing together and making memories.

The fireworks outside reflected off the windows, casting colorful light across the room. Joe looked at you, his face lit up with that easy smile you loved. “Okay, now we’ve got a whole year ahead of us. What’s next?”

You nudged him, playfully. “I think we still have some board games to finish. But you better bring your A-game. I’m not going easy on you.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I think we both know I’m going to crush you in Monopoly.”

“Oh, no chance,” you said, sitting up a little straighter. “You’ve been warned.”

The playful banter continued long into the night, with the two of you casually debating the best way to play the games, each of you trying to find new ways to outwit the other. As the hours passed and the New Year’s festivities continued outside, you both kept the vibe light and fun, basking in the comfort of being together.

Eventually, as the first hours of the new year slipped away, you both collapsed onto the couch, tired but content, your hearts full of the kind of warmth that only comes from spending a night with someone who knows exactly how to make every moment feel like magic.

And as you both drifted off to sleep, with the quiet hum of the world outside, you knew that this was exactly the way you wanted to start the year—full of laughter, love, and the feeling that the best moments were still ahead.

[st4rlvr]

Christmas kisses || KSM

The air was thick with the familiar warmth of the holiday season. The smell of cinnamon and roasting vegetables wafted from the kitchen as soft Christmas music played in the background. Laughter echoed through the room, mingling with the sounds of Felix’s groans and Jeongin’s triumphant cheers as they raced each other in Mario Kart.

You sat tucked into the corner of Jeongin’s couch, a knitted blanket wrapped snugly around you as you cradled a steaming mug of hot chocolate. The whipped cream had melted into the drink, leaving a sweet foam that stuck to your lips when you sipped. Beside you, Seungmin was unusually quiet, his shoulder brushing against yours as he leaned back, one arm resting casually along the back of the couch.

It was your first Christmas together, and while Seungmin wasn’t the overly affectionate type—at least not when others were around—there was something undeniably soft about him tonight. Maybe it was the twinkling string lights reflecting in his eyes or the way the quiet hum of holiday joy seemed to settle into him like a second skin.

“You’re really bad at this, Felix,” Seungmin teased, watching as Jeongin claimed yet another first-place finish.

“I’m not bad! I just—my controller is broken,” Felix shot back, his brows furrowed and mouth in a pout.

“Sure,” Seungmin replied with a smirk. His hand found yours absentmindedly beneath the blanket, his thumb brushing over your knuckles with a tenderness that sent butterflies to your stomach.

You couldn’t help but glance at him, a small smile curling at your lips. He caught your gaze, his own softening just enough to make you wonder what was on his mind. Before you could ask, Seungmin leaned in slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. It happened so quickly, so naturally, that you almost didn’t register it.

But then you froze. And so did he.

From the kitchen, you could hear the clatter of pots and the sound of Jeongin’s brothers laughing with their mom. Felix and Jeongin were still engrossed in their game, shouting something about banana peels and shells. No one had noticed.

Seungmin pulled back just slightly, the tips of his ears turning red. He blinked at you like he was only now realizing what he’d done, and for a moment, he looked as though he was about to pull away completely.

“You’re blushing,” you whispered, grinning at him as you tightened your hold on his hand.

“I am not,” he mumbled, clearing his throat, though the flush on his face gave him away.

“It’s okay,” you teased softly. “I liked it.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth lifted in that shy, boyish smile you loved. Seungmin didn’t let go of your hand. Instead, he adjusted the blanket, tucking it further around both of you like he was shielding you from the rest of the world.

Jeongin’s triumphant yell broke the moment. “First place again! Felix, you owe me hot chocolate.”

Felix groaned loudly, throwing his head back. “This is rigged. I’m taking your controller next time.”

Seungmin shook his head, his demeanor falling back into its usual calm composure as he chuckled under his breath. But when his fingers squeezed yours just a little tighter, you couldn’t help but look at him again.

Even if Seungmin wasn’t big on public affection, tonight felt like an exception—a secret shared between just the two of you, wrapped up in the quiet magic of the holidays.

And maybe that was what made this Christmas, your first Christmas together, so special.

Dinner was a warm, lively affair. Jeongin’s mom and brothers had outdone themselves—the table was filled with steaming dishes, from roasted vegetables to perfectly golden rolls. The smell of the feast alone could have been a Christmas miracle. The room was full of chatter and laughter, with Jeongin acting as the unofficial host, making sure everyone had enough food while Felix animatedly recounted a story from practice, using exaggerated gestures that made everyone laugh.

Seungmin sat beside you, subtly refilling your glass of water and quietly ensuring you had your favorite dishes without making a big deal of it. It was just him—thoughtful without needing recognition. Every so often, his hand would brush against yours under the table, and you’d exchange soft smiles.

By the time dinner was finished, everyone was full and content. Jeongin stood up dramatically, stretching his arms overhead. “That was amazing, Mom. I’m going to need a food coma nap.”

“Not so fast,” his mom replied with a teasing tone. “You and Seungmin are on clean-up duty.”

Jeongin groaned but didn’t fight it, waving Seungmin toward the kitchen. “Come on, loser. Let’s do this.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes and got up, trailing after Jeongin. Before he left, he shot you a quick look—just a small glance, but one that lingered longer than usual. You felt your cheeks heat up.

Felix flopped onto the couch beside you with an exaggerated sigh, resting his head on the back of the cushion. “Jeongin’s family is elite at Christmas dinners. I don’t think I can move for an hour.”

You laughed. “Agreed. I don’t think I’ve ever been so full.”

“Jeongin’s mom needs to write a cookbook,” Felix said, turning to you. “We need to make it happen.”

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Jeongin turned to Seungmin, who was drying dishes with practiced efficiency. Jeongin had a mischievous glint in his eye as he wiped a plate. “So…”

Seungmin didn’t look up. “So what?”

Jeongin grinned. “Don’t play dumb. I saw you kiss Y/N’s cheek earlier.”

The dish Seungmin was holding nearly slipped out of his hands, but he caught it just in time. “What?” he muttered, feigning innocence.

Jeongin leaned against the counter, grinning wider now that he had the upper hand. “You heard me. You kissed Y/N. Right there. On the cheek. In front of everyone.”

“No one saw that,” Seungmin replied quickly, his voice a little higher than usual.

“I did,” Jeongin sing-songed. “I knew it! Seungmin, the ice prince himself, getting all soft? I can’t believe my eyes.”

Seungmin turned sharply to glare at him, his face quickly turning red. “It’s not a big deal. Drop it.”

“Not a big deal? You’re blushing,” Jeongin teased, pointing at him. “Seungmin, you’re like a tomato right now.”

Seungmin shot him a look that could have frozen over an entire lake, but the effect was ruined by the unmistakable flush spreading to his ears. “Jeongin, I swear—”

“Relax, hyung,” Jeongin laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. “It’s cute. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Seungmin groaned, focusing intensely on the dishes to avoid Jeongin’s smug grin. “You’re the worst.”

Back in the living room, you and Felix were mid-conversation when you heard Jeongin’s laugh echo from the kitchen. Felix paused, looking in that direction with a smirk. “Sounds like Jeongin’s stirring something up.”

You raised a brow. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not,” Felix said with a chuckle. “But I’m guessing Seungmin’s on the receiving end. Jeongin’s like that. He loves messing with people he cares about.”

You smiled softly. “Seungmin can handle it.”

Felix tilted his head with a knowing look. “You guys are cute, you know that?”

You felt heat rush to your face. “I—Felix, stop.”

“What? It’s true!” Felix grinned, nudging your arm. “I’ve never seen Seungmin so… I don’t know, soft around someone. You’re good for him.”

Before you could respond, Jeongin appeared in the doorway, dramatically wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Felix, come on, you’re next to do dishes. I need someone to witness Seungmin’s embarrassment.”

Felix laughed and stood up. “I’ll be right back,” he told you before disappearing into the kitchen.

Not long after, Seungmin reappeared, his cheeks still faintly pink. He avoided Jeongin’s triumphant look as he crossed the room to sit back beside you on the couch. You smiled at him softly, noticing the way he let out a small sigh of relief now that the teasing was over.

“What was that about?” you asked playfully.

Seungmin shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “Jeongin thinks he’s funny.”

You bit back a laugh. “You’re still blushing, you know.”

He shot you a look, though there was no real edge to it—just a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Seungmin took your hand again, intertwining your fingers. This time, there was no hesitance, no second-guessing.

“You’re worth the embarrassment,” he said quietly, his voice just for you.

And that, more than anything, made your heart flutter.

[inksoakedparchment]

YOU BELONG TO ME

pairing: bucky barnes c fem!reader

genre: fluff

trope: couple goals

word cunt: 696

tw: nond

a/n: my poor love

The quiet hum of Christmas music filled the cozy apartment as you added the finishing touches to the hot cocoa. Steam curled from the mugs, carrying the scent of cinnamon and chocolate, and the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights cast the room in a warm, golden hue. You could hear Bucky moving around in the living room, his heavy boots thudding softly on the floor as he adjusted a string of lights on the window.

“I think you missed a spot,” you teased, stepping into the room with the mugs.

Bucky turned, his lips quirking into a small smile. “You’re lucky I’m letting you talk to me like that,” he replied, his tone light. “I don’t do this decorating stuff for just anyone, you know.”

“Wow, I’m honored,” you said, handing him a mug.

He took it, his gloved fingers brushing against yours, and for a moment, the room felt warmer than it should have. His smile softened, and he nodded toward the couch. “Sit with me?”

You followed him, settling beside him on the plush cushions. The snow was falling steadily outside, the world beyond the window a blur of white. It felt like you were in your own little bubble, removed from the chaos of the world—a feeling you cherished more than you cared to admit.

“I don’t remember the last time I had a real Christmas,” Bucky said quietly, his gaze fixed on the snow.

You glanced at him, your heart tugging at the vulnerability in his voice. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, taking a sip of his cocoa. “I mean… all of this. The lights, the tree, the quiet moments. It feels normal, you know? I haven’t had normal in a long time.”

You reached out, placing your hand over his. “Well, you’ve got normal now. And you deserve it, Bucky. More than anyone.”

His eyes met yours, and something unspoken passed between you—a quiet understanding, a recognition of shared pain and resilience.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice so soft you almost didn’t hear it.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, but rather comfortable, like a blanket wrapping around you both. You leaned your head against his shoulder, and he didn’t pull away. Instead, he shifted slightly, his arm coming to rest along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing against your shoulder.

“You’re good at this,” he said after a moment.

“At what?”

“Making someone feel like they belong.”

Your heart squeezed at his words. You tilted your head to look up at him, finding his blue eyes already on you. “That’s because you do belong, Bucky. Here, with me.”

For a second, he looked like he was going to say something, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. Instead, he reached up, his hand cupping your cheek as his thumb brushed against your skin.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

“You don’t have to do anything to deserve being loved,” you replied softly. “You just have to let it in.”

His eyes searched yours, as if trying to find the truth in your words. And then, slowly, he leaned in. The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, as if he was afraid of breaking something fragile. But as you kissed him back, his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and the hesitance melted away.

The world outside disappeared, the snow, the lights, the music—all of it fading into the background. All you could feel was him, the steady warmth of his body, the way his lips moved against yours like he’d been waiting a lifetime for this moment.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads resting against each other, you couldn’t help but smile. “Merry Christmas, Bucky.”

He chuckled softly, his breath brushing against your lips. “Best Christmas I’ve had in a long time.”

The snow continued to fall outside, and for the first time in years, Bucky Barnes felt at peace. And as you sat together by the light of the Christmas tree, wrapped in each other’s warmth, you knew this was only the beginning of something beautiful.

taglist: @sunkissedscribbles @kandis-mom @idkkkkkkk123lgb @nottslvttt

[meazalykov]

sickness

kika nazareth x reader

summary: embarrassing yourself in front of your lover is not how you pictured your first night-in

warnings: food poisoning, vomit!!, possible emetophobia trigger, comfort

you’re in your apartment, setting up for movie night. 

the living room is cozy, and the soft glow of string lights hung across the walls creates a warm, intimate space. the midcentury modern style of your place makes everything feel neat for tonight. 

kika is coming over soon, and it’s only been two weeks since you both became official. you can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement mixed with nerves every time you think about her. 

the both of you have been playing together at barcelona for a while now, but this new chapter between the two of you still feels so fresh.

you’ve just finished arranging the sushi you ordered—a spread of different rolls and sashimi, all kika’s favorites—on the coffee table in front of the couch. 

you’re not the biggest fan of sushi, but you got yourself some california rolls, figuring it was the safest choice. you’re not too worried about it. tonight is about making kika happy, and you’re more than okay with that.

just as you lay the blankets on the couch, there’s a knock at the door. your heart skips a beat. it’s her.

you open the door to see kika standing there in her pajamas, a filled tote bag, a pair of loose sweatpants and a comfy t-shirt, hair slightly tousled as if she’s just rolled out of bed. 

she’s got a shy but warm smile on her face as she holds up a bottle of wine.

“thought this might be nice with the sushi,” she says, stepping inside. the moment she’s through the door, she wraps her arms around you, pulling you into a hug that instantly makes you feel like you’re home.

you laugh softly, squeezing her back. “you read my mind.”

kika pulls away just enough to look at you, her eyes twinkling. “i missed this. missed you.”

you smile, your heart swelling. “i missed you too. it's nice to finally get some time alone. between training and games, it’s like we never have a moment by ourselves.”

“well, we do now,” she says, her voice soft but filled with affection. she glances over at the coffee table and her eyes light up when she sees the sushi. 

“oh my– y/n…this is a lot don’t you think?”

you nod, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. “it is, but i know it’s your favorite.”

kika’s smile falters slightly as she looks back at you. “but you don’t really like sushi, do you? i don’t want you to feel like you have to eat it just for me.”

you shrug, trying to brush it off. “it’s fine, really. i got california rolls. i can handle those.”

she hesitates, her brows furrowing with concern, but eventually she lets it go, her smile returning. “okay, if you’re sure.”

you both settle on the couch, the sushi laid out in front of you, and kika picks the movie. it’s halloween season, so you go for something on-theme but not too scary—something you can both enjoy without losing sleep later. 

as the movie starts, you curl up into kika’s side, her arm around your shoulders, and everything feels perfect. the ambient lighting sets the mood, and you’re grateful that there’s no training tomorrow. it means you can fully enjoy this time with her, no interruptions, no alarms to wake up early.

you both dig into the sushi, kika happily eating her favorites while you cautiously nibble on your california rolls. 

for a while, everything feels great. you’re laughing together, making playful comments about the movie, and you can’t help but feel how easy it all is with her. how natural.

but then, as the movie goes on, you start to feel…off.

you’re nestled into kika’s side, the movie playing softly in the background. her arm is draped around you, fingers absentmindedly tracing small patterns on your arm. the ambiance in the room feels perfect—the dim lighting, the cozy couch, the quiet intimacy of just being together. everything feels right.

but then, a subtle discomfort blooms in your stomach. it’s nothing major at first, just a slight unease, like maybe you ate too fast or didn’t drink enough water. 

you shift in your seat, trying to adjust, hoping the feeling will pass. kika’s fingers keep moving on your arm, her body warm and relaxed next to yours, and you try to focus on that, on the ease of being with her.

still, the discomfort doesn’t go away.

instead, it grows. your stomach feels heavier, the sushi you ate sitting like a rock. you swallow hard, hoping it’s just a passing sensation, but each passing second makes the nausea more real, more pressing. your heart starts to race, the panic creeping in faster than you can control it.

you’re not just uncomfortable now—you’re scared.

it’s sudden, like a switch flipping inside of you. the fear of being sick, of throwing up right here, in front of kika, crashes over you. you can feel your chest tighten, your breath quicken. the last thing you want to do is throw up. 

the memories from when you were a kid flash in your mind—how helpless you felt, how terrified you were every time it happened. that fear has never left you, and now it’s rising like a tidal wave.

your muscles tense involuntarily, and you can feel your body starting to revolt. the room feels too warm, your skin prickling with anxiety, and all you can think about is the inevitable. 

your throat tightens, a warning. it’s coming, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

you glance at kika out of the corner of your eye. she’s so calm, so content, her attention still on the movie. she’s enjoying this—enjoying being with you—and the last thing you want to do is ruin that. you don’t want to alarm her, don’t want to spoil the rare moment of peace you have together. 

the nausea is growing unbearable, and you know you can’t stay here. not like this.

you shift again, trying to find a position that might ease the discomfort, but it only makes things worse. your stomach lurches violently, and a cold sweat breaks out across your skin. the fear hits you hard, your mind racing with thoughts of what’s about to happen. 

the thought of throwing up makes your heart pound in your chest, your body trembling with dread.

"shit," you whisper under your breath, a faint, desperate sound that kika doesn’t hear.

you can feel the bile rising, and suddenly, you know you can’t hold it back any longer. you shoot up from the couch, your hand instinctively covering your mouth as if that will somehow stop what’s coming.

“y/n?” kika’s voice is full of concern, but you don’t have time to explain. you’re already halfway down the hall, panic driving your feet as you run toward your bedroom and into the bathroom.

the entire time, your mind is spinning, fear gripping you like a vice. what if this ruins everything? what if kika is grossed out by this, by you? what if she doesn’t want to be with someone who gets like this?

however, the nausea is too overwhelming, drowning out all other thoughts. your only focus now is making it to the bathroom before it’s too late. you stumble through the doorway, collapsing to your knees in front of the toilet just as your body gives in.

you retch, your body convulsing as the sushi comes back up, and with it, all the panic you’ve been trying to suppress. tears blur your vision, and the fear of being sick, of throwing up, grips you so tightly it feels like you’re suffocating. 

the taste, the sound, the feeling of your stomach turning inside out—it’s everything you dreaded, and it’s happening now.

throwback to when you were a kid, how you’d cry for hours every time you got sick. the fear, the helplessness—it’s all flooding back now, and you’re doing your best to keep it together but your body has other plans.

your breath hitches, and panic sets in as you realize this isn’t something you can just ride out. the nausea is overwhelming now.

“y/n, are you okay?” kika’s panicked voice cuts as she reaches you in the bathroom. 

you gag, your body trembling as you cry– tears streaming down your face as you clutch the toilet bowl, feeling like your entire body is betraying you. 

your chest heaves, your throat burns, and the panic sets in deeper, choking you with fear.

kika is right behind you in an instant. she kneels down next to you, gently pulling your hair back and out of your face. her soft hand rubs soothing circles on your back, and even though you’re in the middle of a full-blown panic, you can hear her soft voice.

“shh, it’s okay, i’ve got you. just breathe, y/n. it’s going to be okay.”

you shake your head, your body still convulsing as more of the sushi comes up. it feels like your entire body is revolting, and the more you throw up, the more you panic. 

you hate this. you hate feeling like this. it’s all too much, and you’re scared, so scared.

“i’m so sorry,” you manage to choke out between sobs, your voice trembling with fear and exhaustion. “i didn’t want this to happen, i should’ve—”

“y/n, don’t,” kika interrupts gently, her voice firm but kind. 

“you don’t need to apologize. i’m here, okay? i’m not going anywhere.”

you continue to cry, your body spent and weak as you finish throwing up. all you can do is collapse onto the cool tile of the bathroom floor, your head resting on the soft bathroom mat. 

kika stays with you the entire time, never leaving your side. she’s calm, collected, even though you feel like a complete mess.

after a moment, she stands up. “i’ll be right back,” she says softly, and before you can protest, she’s out the door.

you’re left alone for a few moments, the silence of the bathroom settling around you. your body is trembling, your head spinning with the aftershocks of panic, and all you can think about is how humiliating this must be. 

kika had to see all of that. you just threw up in front of her, cried like a child, and now you’re lying on the bathroom floor because you don’t even have the energy to move.

what if this is too much for her? what if she’s grossed out? it’s so early in your relationship, and already she’s seeing you at your worst. is this going to be the thing that pushes her away? you start to spiral again, your mind racing with insecurities. 

before you can dwell too much on it, kika returns. she has a small pile of things in her arms—a bottle of water, some medicine, a warm rag, and a banana. she kneels back down beside you, her eyes filled with nothing but concern.

“here,” she says gently, placing the rag on your forehead and offering you the water. 

“small sips, okay? you need to rehydrate.”

you take the water gratefully, your hands still shaky as you bring it to your lips. kika watches you closely, her expression soft and caring.

“i’m so sorry,” you mumble again, your voice hoarse from the vomiting and crying. 

“i didn’t mean to ruin the night.”

kika shakes her head firmly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. 

“you didn’t ruin anything, y/n. don’t even think that.”

you take another sip of water, your eyes avoiding hers. “but i should’ve known. i shouldn’t have eaten the sushi. i just wanted to—”

“y/n,” she cuts you off again, her voice gentle but insistent. “it’s not your fault. we can always get something else next time, okay? it doesn’t matter. what matters is that you’re feeling better.”

you glance up at her as your head lays on her thigh, your eyes wide with worry. 

“are you grossed out?”

kika pauses for a moment, then gives you a small, reassuring smile. “no, i’m not grossed out. honestly, i was more scared than anything.”

you blink, surprised. “scared?”

she nods, her hand resting on your arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “yeah. i hate seeing you like that. i just wanted to help.”

you feel a wave of relief wash over you, though the embarrassment still lingers. 

kika smiles softly, leaning in to kiss your forehead. you didn’t respond to her due to your lack of energy, but its like she knows what you’re thinking. 

“y/n, it doesn’t matter if we’ve been together for two weeks or two years. if you’re not feeling well, i’m going to take care of you. that’s what this is, right? being there for each other. you’d do the same for me.”

you nod slowly, the weight of her words sinking in. she’s right. you would do the same for her without hesitation.

kika adjusts herself so that you can lay your head on her thigh more comfortably. she strokes your hair softly, her fingers running through the strands in a soothing rhythm. 

“just relax, okay? you’re going to be fine.”

you close your eyes, focusing on the warmth of her touch, the gentle way she’s taking care of you. it helps calm the lingering panic, helps you feel grounded again. 

you don’t have the energy to move to the bed, and honestly, you’re too comfortable here, with kika by your side.

she hands you the banana, breaking off small pieces and encouraging you to eat. “just a little bit,” she says, her tone light and encouraging. “it’ll help settle your stomach.”

you take a few bites, slowly, and she makes sure you take your medicine too, watching over you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“thank you,” you whisper, feeling a mixture of exhaustion and gratitude. “i’m sorry this happened.”

kika shakes her head again, her thumb brushing against your cheek. “stop apologizing, y/n. i’m glad i’m here with you, okay? we’ll have plenty of other movie nights. i just want you to feel better.”

you nod, feeling a bit more at ease now, though the embarrassment still lingers at the edges of your mind.

the night didn’t go how you planned, but somehow, it feels like it brought you both closer. there’s a kind of intimacy in this moment, in the vulnerability, and you can feel how much she cares about you.

masterlist

[kathaelipwse]

Stuck With You

Masterlist

<<<previous chapter

Pairing: CEO!J.Yunho x Secretary!Reader

Trope: Grumpy x Sunshine

Warnings: Smau, fluff, teasing, flirting, cameo - seonghwa

Word count: 0.5k

Chapter 12 – Forever & Always

5 Years Later – The Wedding Day

The soft hum of a string quartet filled the grand wedding hall, the scent of fresh roses and jasmine lingering in the air. Elegant chandeliers bathed the venue in golden light, and rows of familiar faces turned toward the entrance, waiting.

Yunho stood at the altar, dressed in a sharp black tuxedo, fingers slightly curled as he exhaled slowly. He had faced boardrooms full of intimidating executives, negotiated billion-dollar deals, and led an empire—yet standing here, waiting for you, was the first time in years he felt nervous.

Then, the doors opened.

His breath hitched. The world fell away.

You stepped into the aisle, adorned in a breathtaking wedding gown, delicate lace trailing behind you, shimmering in the light. Your veil framed your face, but it couldn’t hide the soft, radiant glow of your expression.

Yunho froze.

His jaw clenched as emotion swelled in his chest. You were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Seonghwa, standing beside him as his best man, nudged his ribs. "Breathe, bro."

Yunho barely heard him. His entire being was focused on you.

Each step you took toward him felt agonizingly slow, yet he wanted to memorize every second.

By the time you reached him, his hands were itching to touch you.

And then, as you stood beside him, he finally leaned in, his voice teasing but husky.

"Are you ready for a baby? I mean, I don’t mind waiting… but I could always just devour you tonight—"

Your eyes widened in horror, and without hesitation, you elbowed him hard in the ribs.

"Jeong Yunho!" you hissed under your breath.

He only chuckled, shameless and entirely unrepentant. "What? I’m just saying, wife."

"We are at the altar—"

"And?" His grin was downright sinful.

The officiant cleared his throat, eyeing Yunho with barely concealed amusement. "Shall we proceed?"

You gasped in embarrassment, while Yunho winked at you.

When it was Yunho’s turn to recite his vows, the teasing was gone.

His gaze softened, and when he took your hands in his, his thumb traced your skin slowly, reverently.

"Loving you has been the greatest privilege of my life," he began, voice steady but thick with emotion. "From the moment I met you, I knew I was doomed—in the best way possible. You drive me insane. You challenge me. You steal the blankets at night. But you also give me a home. A reason to slow down. A reason to be better. A reason to love."

Your throat tightened as he continued.

"You are my home, my peace, my greatest love. And I promise to stand by you for the rest of our days."

You swallowed the lump in your throat, blinking back the tears threatening to spill.

"Jeong Yunho," you whispered.

His fingers tightened around yours, silently urging you to continue.

"You are the most insufferable man I’ve ever met," you started, making the guests chuckle. Yunho smirked. "But you are also the kindest, most loving person I have ever known. You love fiercely, you protect without hesitation, and you look at me like I’m the only thing that matters in this world."

Your voice trembled slightly.

"I don’t need a grand promise. Just you. Forever."

The crowd awwed, and Seonghwa was aggressively sniffling in the background.

"You may now kiss the bride."

Yunho didn’t wait.

He grabbed your waist, pulling you in so suddenly that you gasped against his lips before melting into him.

The kiss was deep, slow, and lingering, filled with the overwhelming love and passion he had held for you all these years.

The entire crowd cheered loudly, but Yunho didn’t care.

His hands cupped your face, lips still brushing against yours, and when he pulled back slightly, he rested his forehead against yours, voice low enough for only you to hear.

"God, you look so beautiful… but I can’t wait to rip this wedding dress off you and officially claim you as mine."

You gasped again, heat flooding your face as you smacked his arm.

"Yunho!"

He only smirked innocently, eyes twinkling.

"What?"

"You are UNBELIEVABLE."

"And you love me for it."

Yunho refused to let go of you the entire night, either holding your hand or keeping a possessive hand on your waist.

Every speech ended with some variation of: “I can’t believe our grumpy CEO is now the biggest simp.”

Seonghwa’s speech: “For years, Yunho acted like he was allergic to emotions. And now? He literally kissed his wife like a man starved, so I guess love truly changes people.”

Yunho? Completely unfazed. “Yeah, and I’d do it again.”

His father sat at a distance, watching with a contemplative expression. Eventually, as Yunho passed by, his father muttered a simple, gruff approval.

"You chose right."

Yunho didn’t respond immediately, but his grip on your waist tightened slightly.

"I know."

By the time the reception ended, you were exhausted.

You entered the honeymoon suite, finally free from the chaos of the night, and exhaled in relief.

"I’m so tired—"

But then you heard the click of the door locking.

A shiver ran down your spine as you turned to see Yunho, standing there, loosening his tie. His tuxedo jacket was already discarded, and the top few buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing just enough skin to make your breath hitch.

His gaze was dark, intense, filled with something entirely different than before.

Slowly, he walked toward you, fingers brushing your cheek as he tilted your chin up.

"You’re mine now." His voice was low, husky. "Forever."

You swallowed, heart hammering. "Yunho—"

He smirked. "What? I waited all night, baby. You’re my wife now. And I think it’s time we…" He leaned down, lips ghosting over yours. "Celebrate."

Your stomach flipped. "You're so shameless."

"And you married me anyway."

Then, he kissed you, deep and slow, as if he had all the time in the world.

And he did.

Because forever was only just beginning.

THE END. ❤️

---

New Series:

Carved in Sin | Dokyeom

— Trailer

— Masterlist

[kaiyunsim]

dreamer -

pairing : childhood bestfriend!yushi x gn!reader (no pronouns used)

summary : having a sleepover at your childhood bestfriend's place !

warnings : fluff, crack, short read, friends hanging out !

a/n : i love nct wish <3. hope you enjoy !

queueing : dreamer - laufey, no one noticed - the marias

- wc : 1.1k - not proof read ! -

it's a lazy saturday evening when you find yourself at tokuno yushi’s house, a familiar routine that’s been part of your friendship for years. he’s sprawled out on his living room floor, a pillow tucked under his chest, while you’re curled up on the couch with a fuzzy blanket thrown over your legs. the soft hum of a cheesy rom-com plays in the background, but neither of you are really paying attention to the movie.

yushi’s hair is a mess of dark waves, falling into his eyes as he props himself up on one elbow. "so," he says, breaking the comfortable silence, "what’s your snack of choice tonight? popcorn or instant ramen?"

"you’re asking me to choose between two staples of fine dining?" you tease, tossing a throw pillow in his direction. it lands near his head, and he grabs it dramatically, pressing it to his chest like you’ve wounded him.

"i need answers, not sarcasm!" he exclaims, but his grin gives away his amusement. "your indecision is delaying our feast."

"fine, ramen," you say, stretching your legs out over the couch. "but you have to make it."

he groans like you’ve asked him to climb a mountain. "you’re lucky i’m feeling generous."

you watch as he stands and heads toward the kitchen, his oversized hoodie nearly swallowing him whole. it’s endearing, the way he moves with a casual ease, like this is exactly where he’s meant to be. you’ve always felt that way around him—like the world slows down just enough to let you breathe.

he comes back a few minutes later with two steaming bowls of ramen, balancing them carefully as he kicks the coffee table aside to make room. he plops down next to you on the couch, handing you your bowl. "don’t burn your tongue," he warns, already shoving a massive bite into his mouth.

"hypocrite," you mutter, but you’re smiling. the warmth of the soup seeps into your hands as you cradle the bowl, the savory aroma filling the room. it’s nothing fancy, but it’s perfect.

"so," yushi says between bites, "what’s the plan for tonight? do we marathon terrible movies, or do i crush you at mario kart again?"

"excuse me? 'again'?" you nearly choke on your noodles. "you’ve never crushed me at mario kart."

"oh, the denial," he says, shaking his head in mock pity. "it’s okay to admit defeat, you know. it builds character."

"let’s settle this right now," you challenge, setting your bowl on the table. "prepare to eat my dust, tokuno."

his eyes light up with excitement as he grabs the controllers, handing you one with a flourish. "may the best racer win," he says, already selecting his character. you both know this is going to get competitive, but that’s half the fun.

the next hour is filled with laughter, shouted insults, and dramatic cries of "betrayal" whenever one of you launches a blue shell. yushi’s couch becomes a battlefield, your legs tangling with his as you both lean into the game, fingers flying over the buttons. at one point, he’s so focused on trying to overtake you that he leans too far and nearly falls off the couch, catching himself at the last second.

"serves you right," you say, nudging him with your foot. "that’s karma for stealing my item box."

"you’re ruthless," he says, but he’s laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that makes your chest feel warm. "i respect it."

after your victory—which you’re quick to rub in his face—the two of you collapse back into the couch, the controllers forgotten. the movie’s still playing in the background, but neither of you pays it any mind. the only light comes from the soft glow of the tv and the faint string of fairy lights draped along the wall.

yushi’s quiet for a moment, his head tipped back against the cushions as he stares at the ceiling. "hey," he says softly, "thanks for coming over. it’s been a weird week, and... i don’t know, it’s just nice having you here."

his words catch you off guard, but they’re not unwelcome. "of course," you say, nudging his shoulder lightly. "you don’t have to thank me, yushi. you’re kind of stuck with me."

he turns his head to look at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. "i wouldn’t have it any other way."

the warmth in his gaze makes your cheeks heat up, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close he is. you clear your throat, trying to shake off the butterflies. "okay, enough sappiness. what’s next on the agenda?"

"pillow fort?" he suggests, his grin widening. "we haven’t built one in ages."

"you’re on," you say, already grabbing the nearest blanket. the next half hour is a chaotic whirlwind of pillows, blankets, and some questionable engineering. yushi insists on being the "architect," which mostly involves him balancing precariously on the arm of the couch to drape a sheet over the top. you’re in charge of "structural integrity," which basically means you’re holding everything together with sheer determination and a few strategically placed clips.

when it’s finally done, you both crawl inside, the makeshift fort lit by a single flashlight. it’s cramped but cozy, and yushi’s shoulder presses against yours as he settles in next to you.

"not bad," he says, surveying your handiwork. "i’d give it a solid 8 out of 10."

"excuse me?" you say, feigning offense. "this is at least a 9.5."

"we’ll compromise on 8.7," he says, grinning. "deal?"

"deal," you agree, rolling your eyes. "you’re impossible."

he nudges you lightly with his elbow. "but you love me anyway."

the words hang in the air for a moment, and you’re not sure if he meant them as a joke or something more. either way, your heart does a little flip, and you’re grateful for the dim lighting that hides the flush creeping up your neck.

"yeah," you say softly, "i guess i do."

he glances at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before it softens. "good," he says, leaning back against the pillows. "because i’m pretty fond of you too."

the rest of the night passes in a blur of quiet conversation, shared laughter, and the occasional sound of rain tapping against the windows. eventually, you both drift off to sleep inside the fort, your head resting on his shoulder and his hand brushing against yours. it’s simple and sweet, the kind of moment that feels like home.

and as you drift off, you can’t help but think that there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

[b38rman]

IS IT NEW YEAR’S YET? *ੈ✩‧₊˚ Ollie Bearman

tags - ollie bearman x afab!reader, meet-cute, beach fic, holidays, strangers to lovers, fluff

synopsis - You’d originally planned the trip as a romantic getaway, but now, stuck alone at a beachside bar and haunted by what could have been, you chose to face the season head-on. Then, a chance encounter with a charming stranger and a stolen drink turns the night on its head.

rating - teen and up

warnings - alcohol consumption, swearing

a/n - the five-minute drink and the overall setting is loosely based on a place called flotsam and jetsam in la union ! here is what the five-minute drink is and here is what the vibe is like 🏝️❤️ merry christmas and happy new year everyone (: based on the sabrina carpenter song of the same name

The holiday cheer felt more like a taunt than an escape. The bar’s radio played another overplayed Christmas song against the crash of the waves in the background, and you fought the urge to groan.

The whole trip was starting to feel like a mistake—everything about this season just reminded you of what you didn’t have. Couples crowded the beach outside, string lights twinkling over beach blankets like some cruel reminder. December was supposed to be magical, but all it felt like was a prison, locking you in with your own thoughts.

“Why am I even here?” you muttered under your breath. Maybe it would all be easier if you could just fast-forward to next year.

This was supposed to be a different kind of trip—a romantic getaway for two, a toast to the year that was, and everything that could have been. You’d booked it far in advance, fighting for one of the few coveted rooms in this hotel with those views. A balcony overlooking the endless stretch of perfect blue ocean, the kind of place designed to take your breath away. It wasn’t easy to get, but back then, it had felt worth it.

You could still remember the way your ex had smiled when you showed him the reservation far before the -ber months. And now? Now that smile only lingered in fragments, fading into the glow of your phone screen as you scrolled past holiday posts you didn’t want to see. The reservation had been non-refundable, but somehow it felt like that wasn’t the only reason you’d kept it.

“One five-minute drink,” the bartender announced, sliding the glass across the counter. You muttered a quiet thanks, your mind elsewhere, watching the waves beyond the window as the opening chords of “Sweet Child O’ Mine” replaced the Christmas music.

A moment later, you reached for your drink—only to find a distinct lack of one.

“Oh, that’s not good,” a British voice muttered beside you. You turned to find a guy holding your drink, his brows furrowed as he realized his mistake. “I don’t suppose this is mine?”

“It’s not,” you said flatly, crossing your arms. You could almost ignore how his hair fell perfectly in waves atop his head or how his eyes glistened like the endless shoreline. His shirt fit him well too—damn it, you were supposed to be furious.

He winced and set it down like it might bite him. “Sorry, I thought service was absurdly quick here. Guess I’ve just nicked your drink.” He smiled sheepishly, an apologetic tilt to his head.

“That was supposed to be my five-minute drink,” you said, gesturing to the glass.

“Five-minute drink?” he repeated, looking intrigued.

“It’s their strongest drink,” you explained. “And the rule is you’ve got to finish it before the song ends.” You tilted your head toward the speakers as Axl Rose’s voice hit another high note.

He let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Well, that’s quite a rule for a drink. I’ve ruined it for you, haven’t I?” He waved to the bartender before you could protest. “Let me get you another one—you’ve got time to set a proper record before the guitar solo.”

You let him order another five-minute drink for you, and when the bartender brought him a glass filled with what you guessed was his own—dark, smoky, and definitely a classic old-fashioned—you smirked and took it in stride. Once the familiar pink concoction of your own drink arrived, you humored him with a brief “cheers” motion and knocked it back in record time, finishing in far less than five minutes—closer to five seconds, really.

He raised an eyebrow, slightly impressed. “I don’t suppose I’ve had enough to ask why you’re here downing your five-minute drinks all by yourself?”

A laugh escaped you, though it was bitter, not amused. “I guess some people thought I was better off alone this season.”

He paused, his gaze softening as he studied you, the edge of his smile fading slightly. Something in his expression lingered, as if something clicked, but he didn’t press—just kept his thoughts to himself as you quietly sipped your drink, feeling strangely lighter than a few minutes ago.

“Ex?” he asked, gently probing, clearly giving you the space you needed to decide how much to say.

You nodded, letting the edge of a grim smile touch your lips. “Yup. Well, it’s a blessing and a curse that he couldn’t even wait ‘til the air got colder to break up with me.”

For a moment, it felt like you’d given him a little more than you intended—an insight into just how much this holiday season was grinding you down. But, for some reason, his silence felt comforting instead of heavy, a rare feeling among a sea of well-meaning but annoying sympathy.

He shifted in his seat, as if deciding to shift the subject just enough. “I’m Ollie, by the way,” he said after a beat, offering his hand. You gave him a sideways glance but took his hand nonetheless, feeling the casual warmth of it. “I’m here with my family, actually. Parents are off doing their thing, and my siblings are off… well, let’s just say they’re not big fans of hotel bars.” His smile was wry, clearly unbothered by the family activity you might’ve expected to be mandatory for holiday time.

“Ah, the classic ‘doing my own thing while the family enjoys their own’ situation,” you said with a teasing half-smile. “Sounds like a good deal. I’ll trade you—family chaos for solitude, no problem.”

Ollie chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m sure it’s not always that simple, but yeah, I figured I’d come check out the vibe here… and, you know, after seeing someone finish that drink in five seconds, I thought I could probably take a break myself. The family does seem to want some space.” His smile deepened, the kind of easy, friendly grin that was making you reconsider the chance you’d almost passed on by leaving earlier.

“You’re right,” you replied, setting your drink down and meeting his gaze. “It’s a bit of a mess if I’m being honest. But maybe this whole ‘holiday escape’ idea wasn’t a total wash.”

“Well,” Ollie said with a teasing twinkle in his eyes, “I’d say it’s officially turning into a good night. Just don’t finish your next drink in five seconds… don’t want to set the bar too high for me.”

You raised an eyebrow in mock challenge. “You’d be surprised, Ollie. Five-second drinks are practically my thing.”

He leaned back in his seat with a mischievous smirk. “Guess I’ll just have to find something else to keep you entertained.”

You looped your arm through his as he guided you back to your room. Maybe you shouldn’t have let him—especially not when the alcohol buzzed in your head, making you giggly and a little off-balance. But there was something about him that felt trustworthy, like the one stable anchor in the midst of the chaos. He seemed to have a solid head on his shoulders, even though he was caught up in the same holiday madness as you.

“Your ex-boyfriend must have been real boring if he left you while you were this fun,” Ollie said, breaking the silence with a teasing tone.

You tried to suppress the small pleased smile that pulled at your lips, not wanting to be too obvious.

“And you’re fun, huh?” You poked him lightly in the rib, a teasing glint in your eyes.

“Only good reviews so far from what I’m seeing.” He met your gaze with that same steady look, and for a moment, it was just the two of you—no pretense. “Let me guess, he was some super-serious finance guy?”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the urge to laugh. “Shut up. Like your job is any better.”

Ollie slowed his steps, pausing in the hallway with a thoughtful look on his face, like he was weighing something. It was brief, but you could tell he was considering what to say next.

“Not really boring no,” he said, his voice softer now. “Well, I’d say my job doesn’t really define me does it?”

“Yeah, well, people don’t always fit the box,” you quipped, still feeling that comfortable sense of ease between you, despite the night’s whirlwind.

As the door to your room neared, Ollie paused just before stepping inside, his hands still holding onto yours. He looked at you like he had one last thing he wanted to say—and then it all happened in a moment.

He kissed you.

It was warm, slow, lingering. Not a rush to start the year or check something off your list. It was simple—something genuine in the press of his lips against yours. When he pulled away, he smirked slightly.

“But it isn’t New Year’s yet,” he said, his voice low with a soft edge.

You hummed in reply, a smirk playing on your lips as you tugged him closer, brushing your mouth against his once more before answering.

“Don’t need it to be.”

With that, you pulled him into your room, the door clicking shut behind you, and a wave of unexpected excitement took hold.

You had no idea what you were getting yourself into—but for once, that didn’t seem like such a bad thing.

[alieinthemorning]

Low Temperatures [Sylus]

Content: Fluff, Established Relationship, Sick Character, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert

Pronouns: None

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

“Why is it so cold in here?” The moment your bare feet grazed the marble floor of Sylus’ room, a sharp chill ran up and down your body.

“Did you know that you should sleep with the room temperature at between sixty and seventy-two degrees?”

“So fucking freezing and freezing?” You padded your way over to the thermostat, turning it up to 75. “Don’t touch it.”

“It’s my thermostat.” You rolled your eyes at Sylus’ pout, heading over to the bed. 

“Well now it’s our thermostat since I’m sleeping in here tonight.” Throwing the covers back, you flopped down.

You should have known simple words wouldn’t have stopped Sylus. You should have walked out the moment he brought up that cold ass “correct” temperature bullshit. All you wanted was sleep, a quick rest, a simple rest of the eyes. But now here you were, cold, cranky, and cuddled up against the culprit. 

“Why is it so fucking cold?” Your voice was rough, you sure were sick. 

“It feels quite comfortable to me.” Despite being burrowed deep in the covers, you could hear the smug smile. “You were holding onto me so tightly…am I to assume it was because you were cold and nothing else?”

“Shut up—” Your words became a wet, garbbed mess of coughs. 

You felt Sylus shift closer. “Are you seriously sick?”

“Did you seriously touch my shit when I told you not to?” Another string of harsh coughs. 

Silence blanketed the room, for once he had nothing to say. You untangled yourself from the blankets, making your way to the thermostat. You could feel Sylus’ gaze on your back, but you ignored it. 

It was at 62 degrees. 

You headed for the door.

He didn’t try to stop you. 

You hated being sick. You hated being away from home, and sick. You especially hated being away from home, sick and living under the same roof as the person who made you sick as a fucking gotcha (or whatever). 

“Man, you’re weak.” 

“Yeah, sixty-two degrees isn’t even all that cold.”

“Get out.” 

You were not in the mood for Luke and Kieran shenanigans because if they were gonna shenan once, they would shenan again.

“No can do.”

“The boss gave us explicit orders to watch over you.” 

You groaned (mistake, turned in another bad cough), and rolled your eyes. “Then watch me quietly. I want to sleep.”

“But you’ve been doing nothing but sleeping this entire time.” Kieran pointed. 

“And that’s boring.” Luke agreed with a nod. 

“Yeah, we should—”

A ping cleared the air, cutting Kieran off. Luke slipped his phone from his pocket, glancing at the message. 

“It’s boss. He wants to see us.” 

“Really? I thought we had the day off.”

“Good, hurry up and don’t come back.” You would have physically pushed them out, but your body was aching, so you hoped a fierce glare was enough to get them moving. 

It wasn’t. They took their sweet ass time leaving your room, but at least they were nice (see: being a nuisance) enough to turn the lights off as they left. 

Finally, peace and quiet. Well, peace, quiet and pain. But with a commentary video on in the background, you were able to lull yourself to sleep. 

The next few days went by slowly, and uneventful. The twins never came back after Sylus had called for them. You were both grateful and a bit annoyed (you would have liked to have a bit of entertainment as you were getting better). Then you were fully recovered, and the twins still hadn’t reared their masked heads. You rolled your eyes, turning on your heel and headed for the reason why.

Entering the room, you immediately beelined it for the thermostat.

It was set to 75 degrees. 

You headed for the bed.

He didn’t try to stop you nor move from his spot.

You snuggle into the bed, happy with the comfort that surrounded you. You were content with the silence, not really expecting him to speak to you, and you weren’t willing to extend the olive branch. But then he spoke,

“I’m sorry.” He sighed, as his book clapped shut. “For disregarding your words, and getting you sick.” 

You let the apology settle in the air for a moment before responding. “I don’t like that you did that—I’ve got a weak constitution.” You paused, toying with your bottom lip. “...but I should have told you that before just changing something and expecting you not to change it back. So I’m sorry too.”

“Now that we’ve both gotten the apologies out of the way,” You felt him lean over you, “Will you return to the bedroom?”  

“Oh? Was someone lonely without me?”

His lips grazed your ear. “Of course I was.”

“Oh.” You shuddered. “What should we do about our loneliness then?”

“I can think of a few things.”

For the first time ever

NSFW Continuation

Everyone thank my friend and Sylus for this.

Ko-Fi | Commission | Masterlist

[healingpage]

When the home holds you - choi soobin

♡ pairing: choi soobin x f!reader

♡ genre: fluff

♡ warning: none just very soft fluff because it's been a month since his hiatus and i really miss my home soobie :(

♡ word count: 716

The city pulses with its usual blaring chaos— cars honking impatiently in the peak hours of getting off work and the chatter of countless voices that you can’t make out even a word. You drag your footsteps through the crowd, the weight of the day pressing heavily on your shoulders. Everything seems to get on your nerves today, the bus left early before you can catch it in the morning, the barista got you the wrong coffee order, and on top of it the higher ups at work today pulled forward your deadline to resolve a marketing issue.

Your bag slings over one arm, and your phone stays clutched in the other. The notifications have long ago demands your attention, your phone put on a do not disturb since afternoon.

Yet, through the haze of weariness, a single thought brings you forward: You just need to get home—to him.

The memory of his warm, dimpled smile softens the furrows of your brows. Your shared place wasn’t grand—far from it—but it is the greatest sanctuary. The coziest part of the world where all worries dissolve, and the only thing that matters is the sound of his laugh or the way his large arms wrap around you like a shield against everything outside.

The pace fastens as your eyes spots the building, the familiar tune chimes when the access card allows you through. As you reach the highest floor on the building, with the elevator that feels like it’s taking forever to keep you from seeing your darling, you huff a relief sigh when you see the white door, a welcoming sight. Fumbling with the pass and keys, you finally let yourself in. The smell of something savory greets you first, followed by the faint sound of television playing in the background.

There he is. Your lovely Soobin.

Sitting cross-legged on the couch in sweatpants and a hoodie that swallows him whole, he looks up through his bangs as you stride towards him, his face breaking into a grin that eases the tension from your chest. His hair is a little messy, just usually how you like it to be, and his hand holds a mug of tea—your favorite kind you can smell it already waiting for you.

“Hey, baby. How’s your day?” he asks, his voice soft but steady.

You don't answer, not at first. The bag you carry throughout the day drops with a heavy thud on the cabinet by the door before you take a few steps, sinking into his arms without a word. Soobin stretches a bit to put the mug back on the coffee table, giving you space to cuddle into. His warmth wraps around you like a blanket, and for the first time all day, you feel yourself calming down. “I missed you,” you whisper into his shoulder.

“Oh— ‘f course I missed you too,” he murmurs, his hand is gentle when he takes off the claw clip that has been holding onto your strands, and he starts stroking your hair, massaging your head a little bit.

“Feels like the whole world was not on my side today,” you tell him, voice cracking with sadness. His brows furrowed hearing your answer, lips pouting a bit as he takes the clue in your gloomy appearance since you entered.

“But I am,” the answer sounds light hearted, but he means it truly. “You wanna talk about it?”

You shake your head, not wanting to go into details, “just glad it’s all over and you’re here now.”

Soobin’s lips break into a small smile, rubbing your back as he cuddles you tighter. He goes on about how his day went instead, what dinner he plans to get you tonight and the date on this weekend that he plans on going with you. You keep composed and listen attentively, fingers trailing on his hoodie’s string.

And just like that, the tiring day begins to fade away, replaced by the comfort of being home—not a place, but a person. You love coming home to him, hearing his heartbeat as you lay on his chest, his hands that roam everywhere on your body feels like a healing touch. This home holds you close, and you feel a deep sense of belonging, always.

[daisyblog]

Love Day

Our Story Masterlist Summary: Harry and YN celebrate their first Valentine’s Day as a married couple.

“Happy Valentine’s Day baby!” Harry whispered to YN, whose eyes were still closed as they laid in bed. With his hand resting on her now rounded tummy, Harry placed a small peck to her exposed skin, where his white t shirt at risen up her bump. “And happy Valentine’s Day to my other favourite girl!”. 

YN’s lips turned up slightly when she felt his lips kissing her baby bump, where their little girl was growing nicely. “Happy Valentine’s Day Mr Styles!”. YN tugged at his arm so he was now hovering above her, her hands sitting on his bare shoulders.

“G’morning Mrs Styles!”. Harry smiled into the kiss, their lips moving slowly against the other. Their hands gently exploring the others body. “God I love calling you my wife.”. 

Wednesday had started with a lazy morning for the newly wed couple, Harry had made them both breakfast in bed, which later resulted with their clothes being thrown on the floor and the pair tangled in between the sheets. 

Before they got out of bed, Harry pulled a white envelope from behind his back. “I know we said we weren’t going to do presents…but I couldn’t resist this one and it’s kind of for both of us”. 

“Harry!” YN whined and her now plump lips from a busy morning pouted. “We agreed”. She carefully opened the envelope and inside was an appointment card for a private baby scan dated for that day. “Is this a joke?”. 

“No…no joke baby”. Harry reassured her, as he smiled brightly, his white teeth on full display. “We’re going to see our baby!” YN pulled him closer and placed her lips on his whilst she mumbled ‘thank you’ over and over again. 

After showering and getting ready for the day, they headed out for the afternoon for a walk around London. They had stopped off at a small coffee shop for a drink and some donuts. They were sat at the back of the cosy vintage shop and Harry couldn’t help but smile as YN took a bite of her donut. 

“Whot?” YN eyed Harry suspiciously, wondering why he was grinning at her all of a sudden. She dabbed the napkin against her mouth quickly. “Do I have something on me face?”.

“No…I was just thinking about our first Valentine’s Day and now we’re married with our baby girl on the way”. Harry’s hand naturally went to YN’s tummy, where he could feel some movement of their daughter. 

“I guess our wishes did come true!”. 

---

12th of February 2012

As One Direction were on tour in Glasgow on Valentine’s Day, Harry had planned for YN to stay at the flat after their London show to celebrate early. He wanted to wine and dine her, but with YN still being seventeen it just wasn’t possible. So to Harry’s benefit, Louis was travelling to Scotland earlier than the rest of the boys which meant he had the flat to himself. 

Whilst YN was in the bath, and pampering herself ahead of the relaxing night they had planned, Harry was getting the living room ready with blankets, pillows, duvets, snacks and everything else they needed. He had just finished lighting some candles, that created a soft glow in the room, when YN entered. 

YN was cuddled on Harry’s lap, the film playing in the background as they both spoke, not really paying attention to the film. YN’s fingers played with the strings on Harry’s hoodie. “Do you ever think about the future?”.

“Yeh quite a bit actually” he confessed, as he moved his hand to YN’s exposed thigh. “Why? Do you?”.

She only nodded as her fingers continued to twist the cotton. “What do you want yours to look like?”. 

Harry scratched the back of his neck, whilst he thought. “I want to be happy…I’d like to have a wife and children…uh yeah keep making music and touring”. He could see YN try to hide her smile. He wanted to add that he’d like that life with her, but only being a few months into their relationship he was worried it may come across too much. “What about you?”. 

“Well I’m just going to be really forward…I want to be your wife and have a family with you”. YN said matter of fact. Harry could feel the pink appear on his cheeks as he tried to act cool about the conversation. 

---

Entering the small private clinic, Harry and YN were greeted with a warm welcome from the lady behind the reception desk. “Oh waw…you are glowing!”. She complimented YN as she stood in front of her. 

“Aww thank you…I think being pregnant is my new favourite thing!”. YN smiled and let out a chuckle at Harry’s raised eyebrows. 

The receptionist took some details from YN before they were both told to sit in the waiting room. They didn’t have to wait long until a young female called. 

“Mrs Styles?”. Her voice was soft and a warm smile filled her face. They followed her into a smaller room which had a bed and a few chairs by the side of it. “Come on in…I’m Jessica and this is Paula”. She pointed towards the older woman who sat on a chair near a desk. 

“Ahh so you’re the famous Harry that Jess is always talking about!” Paula revealed, a teasing tone to her voice, showing the type of relationship the two colleagues had. 

“Paula!”. The younger of the two gave her a warning look. But Harry and YN only laughed and reassured her that it was okay. “I am a fan…but I am professional and I wouldn’t reveal any of your details”. 

“You’re alright babe…it’s nothing I wouldn’t reveal myself”. YN’s laid back tone was enough to reassure her. 

YN laid down on the bed, Harry taking a seat next to the bed. They had been to a few scans already so it was like second nature to them both now. As Jessica got the probe ready, YN pulled up her jumper and lowered her leggings down that exposed her bump. 

Within a few minutes, they could see their baby girl moving her arms and legs around on the smaller screen. “Oh you have a very active little one”. 

“She’s following her Daddy!”. YN teased Harry. 

“You know you’re having a little girl…how sweet!”. Paula smiled over to the couple, totally in her element at the scene in front of her. 

“YN’s always said I’m a girl Dad…whatever that means”. Harry revealed, looking between the screen in awe at how much their daughter had grown. 

Jessica smiled down at YN. “She’s growing beautifully in there…she’s weighing about two pounds always so whatever you’re doing Mama, keep doing it.”. 

YN and Harry walked out of the clinic with bright smiles, new photos of their little girl, along with a few extra gifts from the two women, a teddy that played their daughters heartbeat and a free appointment for another scan. 

“The best Valentine’s Day yet…don’t you think”. YN spoke as they spoke drove home. 

“And next year will be even better!”. Harry looked down at YN’s bump. 

ynstyles

liked by annetwist, lottietomlinson, and 2,675,986 others

ynstyles Happy Valentine’s Day to my Husband and Baby Daddy❤️ View all 12,877 comments

harrystyles Happy Valentine’s Day Mrs Styles! X ⌞harryfan4 HARRY!! ⌞ 1dfan6 MRS STYLES!! 🥹🥹🥹 ⌞ harryfan9 hi Harry!!!

niallhoran Aww my three favourite Styles’😂See you soon xx ⌞ ynstyles Baby Styles is excited for her Uncle Niall’s tour 🫶🏼

gemmastyles Too cute 🥹

annetwist Love you three very much 🤍🤍🤍

lottietomlinson Look beautiful sis😘 ⌞ ynstyles It runs in the genes babes ❤️

louist91 Watch your hands Harold!!😂 ⌞ynstyles A bit late for that Lou, not sure if you’ve noticed but I’m already pregnant xx ⌞harryfan3 these two never fail to make me laugh😂😂😂 ⌞louisfan7 the best siblings❤️

louteasdale How are you married? I swear we were just on tour😉

Tag List:

@pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @harrys-flower @platinumbarbie143 @frickin-bats @harrysbbyh0ney @chronicallybubbly @goldensunflowe-r  @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @kaverichauhan @peterholland04 @panicattheuc @or-was-it-just-a-dream @hittiesontour @bunnyharold @fanfictioncafe @lilfreakjez @iamahallucinationnn @theekyliepage @indierockgirrl @buckybarnessimpp @ashleighsss @jerseygirlinca @fake-coolbeans @itsmytimetoodream @treehouse-mouse

[kaces-graham-crackers]

Twelve Tolls 'Till Midnight - (Part 1: The Wish That Wouldn't Burn) - Christmas Special

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Summary: Nevermore’s Yule Log tradition is simple—write a wish, burn it in the fire, and let the embers carry it away. But when one wish refuses to burn, Y/N finds it perfectly intact among the ashes. At first, it’s just a mystery. A harmless, unanswered question. But then, strange things start happening. And with each passing day, you can’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—is watching. And the clock is ticking.

Word Count: 3.1k

Snow had dusted the grounds of Nevermore overnight, clinging to the stone pathways and blanketing the ancient rooftops in a thin, icy sheen. The air held the chill that bit through coats and scarves, turning breath into fleeting ghosts in the evening air.

Despite the cold, warmth thrived inside the common rooms, where the academy was fully immersed in the holiday season. Wreaths hung from the doors, golden ribbons were draped along the railings, and the crackling fireplace illuminated the sprawling parlor in a flickering orange glow. A vintage Christmas record played somewhere in the background—a jazzy, eerie rendition of Carol of the Bells that somehow fit Nevermore's unsettling aesthetic.

It wasn't an official school event, but the students had made their own tradition out of gathering in the weeks before break. Some strung lights across the bookshelves, others sprawled across the couches in clusters, indulging in hot cider, peppermint bark, and whatever holiday treats had been smuggled into the dorms.

I stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching as Xavier struggled with a particularly tangled set of lights. His frustration grew as the string looped around his wrist for the third time.

"Are you winning?" I deadpanned.

Xavier huffed, tugging at the cord like it had personally wronged him. "If by 'winning,' you mean slowly losing my will to live, then yes."

Next to him, Ajax—whose idea of 'helping' was offering unsolicited advice while eating a candy cane—grinned. "Bro, you gotta work with the lights, not against them."

Bianca curled up in an armchair near the fireplace and scoffed. "If you had to deal with Xavier's questionable decorating skills every year, you'd know that's a lost cause."

Divina chuckled from where she sat, nestled comfortably against Yoko's side. "Maybe we should let the artist stick to painting."

Yoko smirked. "Or make him the Christmas tree instead."

That earned a laugh from the group, even as Xavier shot them all an unimpressed look.

I leaned back against the wall, hands shoved into the pockets of my flannel. Despite the easy comfort of the moment, I felt the faintest tug of something… off. It wasn't the Christmas cheer—it was too easy to get wrapped up in the warmth of it all, in how my friends naturally fit together like pieces of an unspoken tradition. No, it was the presence of someone sitting in her usual corner of the room, untouched by the festivities but watching them all like she was collecting evidence.

Wednesday Addams.

She was perched on the arm of the couch, a book in her lap, and her posture was rigid despite the casual setting. Her dark gaze flicked up now and then, scanning the room, lingering in places longer than necessary. She was too perceptive for her own good, and I knew it was only a matter of time before her curiosity sank its claws into something.

"Hey," Yoko's voice broke through my thoughts, and I turned to see my dormmate watching me with a knowing look.

"I think it's time to start the important discussion of the night." Yoko nudged her drink toward me in mock seriousness. "You confessing your undying love for Wednesday."

I choked on my cider. "Excuse me?"

Divina sighed, shaking her head. "Yoko. Subtlety."

"What?" Yoko gestured vaguely. "It's Christmas. Confessing is like, a thing."

I exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of my nose. "It's also a thing to not embarrass me in front of an entire room of people."

"Pfft, they're all distracted," Yoko waved off. "Besides, me and Divina are the only ones who know, so chill."

I shot them both a pointed look. "Enid knows, too."

Divina lifted a brow. "You think she told Wednesday?"

My stomach twisted at the thought. "No. I trust her."

"Okay, but why haven't you told Wednesday?" Yoko leaned in. "Be honest."

I hesitated, gaze flickering toward Wednesday's usual spot, only to find her already staring in our direction. Of course.

I turned back quickly, exhaling. "Because she wouldn't care."

Yoko made a tsk sound. "See, I know you're smart, which is why it baffles me that you're being so dumb."

I shot her a glare. "Gee, thanks."

Divina shook her head. "Y/N, Wednesday likes you. Enid sees it. We see it."

I scoffed. "Wednesday doesn't like anyone."

"Correction," Yoko smirked. "She tolerates very few. You're at the top of that list."

I rolled my eyes, refusing to engage further. "I don't know why I even talk to you two."

"Because we're right," Yoko sing-songed.

Across the room, Enid was having a very similar conversation with Wednesday.

"I think you should tell them," Enid said, voice light but firm.

Wednesday, still watching me from a distance, didn't look up. "Tell them what?"

Enid sighed dramatically. "That you like them."

Wednesday's eyes flicked to her roommate, expression unreadable. "That would be unnecessary."

"Would it?"

Wednesday went back to her book. "They wouldn't be interested."

Enid groaned, dragging her hands down her face. "You know they like you, right?"

Wednesday's brow twitched. "You're speculating."

"I'm not. Yoko and Divina literally know."

Wednesday hummed, flipping a page. "That sounds like gossip."

"That sounds like me being right and you avoiding your feelings."

"Feelings," Wednesday repeated flatly. "A fascinating concept."

Enid gave her a deadpan look. "You're impossible."

Wednesday smirked. "And yet, you persist."

Before Enid could further argue, the lights in the room flickered suddenly, the warmth of the common area dimming as a draft rolled through.

I straightened. "Huh."

Wednesday's fingers tightened around her book, gaze flickering toward the fireplace.

It shouldn't have been possible—the fire had been crackling brightly all night. And yet, as they all turned toward it, a single piece of parchment sat in the embers, untouched by the flames.

"Uh," Xavier blinked, stepping closer. "That's weird, right?"

Enid frowned. "Did someone throw a wish in late?"

Slowly, I stepped forward, crouching down. Carefully, I reached for the paper, my fingers brushing the surface.

It was smooth. Unburnt.

And written in ink darker than the shadows was a single sentence.

A wish.

Someone's wish.

And for some reason, the fire refused to take it.

My fingers brushed against the slip of paper nestled among the embers, its edges still intact, untouched by the fire. 

A perk of being a Flame Atronach—I was unharmed.

That wasn't right. The Yule Log tradition was simple—write your wish, burn it, and let the flames carry it away. But this one refused.

Curiosity got the best of me. The fire was still going, flickering orange and gold, yet the paper sat there, defiant against the heat. Carefully, I reached in, feeling the warmth lick at my skin but never entirely burn. It was strange—almost as if the fire itself had decided to spare it.

I plucked the paper from the ashes, brushing off the soot as I went to unfold it. The handwriting was neat, precise, and immediately familiar.

Before I could read a single word, Enid practically tackled me.

"Whoa, whoa—what do you think you're doing?" she yelped, grabbing my wrist before I could fully open the paper.

I frowned. "Reading? Someone's wish didn't burn. That's weird, right?"

Enid's eyes widened in horror as she snatched the paper from my fingers. "You can't read it! That's like… like, instant bad luck. It definitely won't come true if you do!"

I blinked, taken aback by how serious she sounded. "You actually believe that?"

"Yes," she said, deadpan. "Do you want to be responsible for some poor soul's wish going up in smoke? Well, not going up in smoke, but—" She shook her head. "You get what I mean."

I hesitated. A part of me wanted to brush it off, to open the paper and solve the mystery. But Enid looked genuinely distressed, and despite my skepticism, I wasn't cruel enough to stomp all over whatever holiday magic she believed in.

With a sigh, I reached for the fireplace again. The flames curled around my fingers, warm but strangely harmless. I tossed the paper back into the fire, watching as it landed among the embers.

It didn't burn.

Enid chewed her lip. "It's probably just some weird mishap," she decided, but her voice hinted unease.

I couldn't blame her.

As the flames flickered, failing again to consume the wish, I couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't just a random fluke.

But, like the others, I let it go.

That was mistake number two.

Later that night, The strange incident with the wish should have faded into the background, drowned out by the usual Nevermore chaos. But as the night wound down, something lingered.

It clung to the air like the scent of smoldering wood, like the faintest trace of something just out of reach.

By the time I got back to my dorm, the warmth of the holiday gathering had been replaced by an unsettling chill I couldn't quite shake. Yoko was already sprawled across her bed, scrolling through her phone, earbuds tucked in, vibing to whatever playlist she had on rotation.

I tossed my jacket over my chair and exhaled as I sat at my desk, the dim glow of my lamp casting long shadows against the walls. But even as I tried to push the thought aside, the memory of that unburned wish gnawed at the back of my mind.

I should've paid more attention to that feeling.

Because by the time the clock struck midnight, Nevermore had already started to change.

At first, it was subtle.

I wasn't a light sleeper, but something stirred me awake—a shift in the air, a wrongness that hadn't been there before. I blinked against the darkness, the room bathed in nothing but moonlight filtering through the window. Yoko was still asleep, her breathing steady and undisturbed.

Then I heard it.

Tick.

It was distant, almost deafening, like an old clock shifting gears after years of neglect. I sat up, frowning.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

It was coming from outside.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I crept toward the window, pressing a hand against the cold glass. The Nevermore courtyard stretched below, silent beneath the dim glow of lanterns.

And that's when I saw it.

The old clock tower—the one that had been broken for years—was moving.

I watched, frozen, as the massive hands jerked into motion, slow and deliberate, like something that had been trapped in stillness was finally waking up.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The sound rattled in my bones, deep and resonant, like a pulse thrumming beneath the skin of Nevermore itself.

I didn't realize I was holding my breath until another sound broke the quiet.

A whisper.

It came from directly behind me.

I spun, pulse hammering in my throat, but my room was empty. Yoko was still asleep, undisturbed. The shadows in the corners of the room sat still, unchanged.

Swallowing hard, I glanced back at the window. The clock continued ticking, slow and steady.

I didn't know why, but I had a sinking feeling this was only the beginning. Meanwhile, in Wednesday's dorm, Wednesday knew something was wrong.

She had felt it the moment the first ember sparked.

Sitting at her desk, a candle flickering at her side, Wednesday's fingers hovered over the spine of a book she had long abandoned reading. The air in her dorm was… off. It wasn't tangible. It wasn't something she could pin down with certainty. But there was a shift in the very fabric of Nevermore—a pulse of sorts.

The anomaly of the unburned wish nagged at the back of her mind, an unsolved equation demanding resolution. Wishes were nonsense—foolish sentiments wrapped in superstition, meant to be reduced to ash. And yet, one had refused. Defied the flames entirely,

That was not a coincidence.

She hadn't believed in the tradition, of course. The very idea of wishing for something was as repulsive to her as cheerful holiday music or Enid's excessive use of glitter.

It had been meaningless.

At least, it was supposed to be.

Now, she wasn't sure.

A memory flickered in her mind—the moment the slip of parchment left her fingers and landed in the fire, the flames devoured it instantly.

And then… the clock tower had started ticking.

That old thing had been broken for years.

She tapped her fingers against the desk, deep in thought.

What did the others say earlier that night? That a wish refused to burn?

Her jaw tightened slightly.

If a wish had survived the fire, then logically, it had to be connected to whatever this phenomenon was.

The clock. The feeling in the air. The change.

She closed her book with a quiet snap, her mind already working through possibilities.

Something had been set into motion. 

The following morning, Breakfast at Nevermore was its usual mess of clashing personalities and half-dazed students. The dining hall buzzed with conversation, forks clinking against plates, the occasional burst of laughter breaking through the hum.

I slid into my usual seat, still feeling the weight of the night pressing against the back of my mind.

Across from me, Enid was already halfway through a muffin. "Morning, sunshine! You look…" She squinted, tilting her head. "Okay, not to be rude, but kinda haunted?"

I huffed out a laugh, rubbing my temple. "Great. That's exactly the aesthetic I was going for."

Yoko dropped into the seat next to me, sunglasses firmly in place despite the dim lighting. "Yeah, you were kinda twitchy last night. Bad dreams?"

I hesitated, my gaze drifting to the others across from me where Bianca, Xavier, and Wednesday sat.

Wednesday, as always, was absorbed in some old tome, her usual resting murder face in full effect.

"No," I admitted, lowering my voice slightly. "But something weird happened."

Yoko raised a brow. "Weird, how?"

I hesitated before saying, "The old clock tower was working."

That got their attention.

Enid's eyes widened, her muffin forgotten. "Wait—what? That thing's been broken forever."

"Not anymore," I murmured. "It started ticking again last night. Right at midnight."

Yoko frowned. "Okay, weird, but maybe they fixed it? You know how Weems is. Probably had maintenance finally patch it up or something."

"Yeah. Except…” I exhaled. "I swear I heard something after. Like—whispering."

Yoko's expression didn't change, but Enid visibly shuddered. "Nope. Absolutely not. We are not starting ghost season right before Christmas."

"I mean… it is Nevermore," Yoko pointed out. "Ghosts kinda come with the territory."

"Still," Enid huffed, crossing her arms, "it could be anything. A creaky old building making noises? Drafts? Your imagination?"

"Could be," I said. 

At the same time Wednesday sat:

The dining hall was its usual mess of noise and movement, students scattered in their usual places, laughing and talking over plates of food.

Wednesday barely registered any of it.

She sat at her usual spot at their table, her mind still tangled in speculation, barely listening as Xavier attempted (and failed) to hold a conversation.

It wasn't until Y/N walked in that something shifted.

She felt it—a tug, a sharp pull of attention.

She didn't look up at first, but something in her instincts twisted, that same sensation of something being wrong settling in her chest.

Then, a voice.

"I swear to God, if Enid calls me 'haunted' one more time, I'm throwing her into a snowbank."

Wednesday stiffened.

The voice had been clear. Too clear.

And yet—no one had spoken.

Her gaze flicked up, sharp as a blade, locking onto Y/N.

Y/N had just sat down across from Enid and beside Yoko, placing a tray on the table.

Wednesday's frown deepened. She had heard… something.

But Y/N hadn't said a word.

She clenched her jaw, shaking it off. Perhaps she had misheard something in the noise of the dining hall.

And yet—when she looked back at her plate, her ears still buzzed.

A few minutes passed.

Wednesday focused on her food, tuning out the useless chatter around her. She had almost convinced herself she imagined it—until it happened again.

"What is she staring at? If I have something on my face, someone better tell me."

Her fork stilled against the plate.

Her grip tightened around the handle.

Slowly, deliberately, she lifted her gaze—straight to Y/N.

They weren't speaking.

They sat there, sipping coffee, not saying a single word.

But Wednesday had heard her.

Loud and clear.

Her breath stilled.

This time, she knew she hadn't imagined it.

The realization settled like cold steel in her gut.

She was hearing Y/N's thoughts.

No. That wasn't possible.

That wasn't how telepathy worked. There was no logical precedent for suddenly understanding someone's thoughts.

And yet—there it was.

Her hands curled into fists.

The sensation wasn't constant. It didn't come in waves. It came in bursts—only when she focused on Y/N.

Her mind was a fortress, yet something had torn a hole in the walls.

For the first time in a long while, a flicker of frustration ignited in her chest.

She hated things she couldn't control.

"I guess Enid's right…it must be my imagination..." 

In the present: 

She suddenly dropped her fork, pushing her plate away.

Bianca arched a brow. "You good?"

Wednesday stood abruptly. 

And that's when Wednesday spoke.

"You're wrong."

Her voice cut through the conversation like a scalpel.

Enid jumped, startled. "Jeez, Wednesday—do you always have to sneak up on people?"

Wednesday ignored her, stepping into place at the head of the table. Her gaze locked onto me, studying me like a puzzle she had already started solving.

"The clock tower. When exactly did it start working?"

I hesitated. "Midnight."

A flicker of something crossed her face—calculation, recognition. Interest.

She already knew something was happening. 

Later that night, Enid sat cross-legged on her bed, tossing popcorn into her mouth while Thing lounged beside her, flipping through an old magazine.

Wednesday stood by the window, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

Enid squinted at her. "Okay. You've been in a mood all day. What happened?"

Wednesday didn't respond immediately.

She should have kept this to herself, ignored it, and buried it in research until she could make sense of it.

But something about this wasn't normal.

Finally, she spoke.

"Something happened."

Enid groaned, flopping backward. "Care to elaborate, or are you gonna keep being cryptic?"

Wednesday turned, deadpan. "Would it matter?"

Enid pouted. "Probably not."

Thing tapped against the bed, prompting her to continue.

Wednesday inhaled slowly.

"It started this morning."

She didn't mention specifics, and she didn't tell Enid that every time she looked at Y/N, a voice whispered into her mind.

That she could hear things she shouldn't.

She understood Y/N in a way she had never done before.

And the worst part?

The voice was infuriatingly distracting.

Wednesday clenched her jaw, pulling her sweater tighter around herself.

She had a growing suspicion that whatever was happening…

It was only going to get worse.

[athenasdaydreams]

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: bucky spends Christmas rediscovering old traditions with you, decorating cookies, laughing over sprinkles, and finding joy in the simple warmth of the holidays.

chapter warnings: mention of food, other than that not any to my knowledge!!

A/N: merry christmas!! this is my first themed fic and lowkey i had so much fun writing it haha hope yall enjoy!!!

The snow fell in fat, lazy flakes, clinging to the edges of the window like frosted lace. Bucky Barnes stood in the quiet, watching the city transform under a blanket of white. His breath fogged the glass as he leaned closer, his reflection faint against the winter night. For years, snow had been nothing but a reminder of cold nights and colder missions.

But now, the sound of your laughter carried from the kitchen, bright and soft like a melody, pulling him back into the present.

“You’re just going to stare out the window all night, soldier?” you called, your voice teasing.

He turned, catching sight of you standing by the counter, your sleeves rolled up, a streak of flour smudged across your cheek. His lips curved into the faintest smile. You were coaxing him into this season the way sunlight coaxed a frostbitten earth into spring—patiently, gently, without expectation.

“I’m coming,” he said, his voice low but warm.

The kitchen was a riot of Christmas cheer. Strings of twinkling lights framed the windows, casting a golden glow over the mess of mixing bowls, cookie cutters, and open jars of sprinkles. The radio played something old and crackly, Bing Crosby crooning in the background like he’d stepped straight out of Bucky’s childhood.

It all felt familiar in a way that made his chest ache.

“You remember this? I mean obviously now we have flatscreen TVs and sprinkles, but other than that it's still...christmasy?” you asked, handing him a rolling pin as he joined you at the counter.

He paused, his metal hand brushing the handle as if testing its weight. His face scrunched up in surprise. "You think they didn't have sprinkles back then?"

You shrugged. "Not like these, maybe, but we still had little candy beads and coloured sugar. You think you invented sprinkles?”

You stared at him, your mouth slightly open. “I just—sprinkles feel so... modern.”

“But yes, I do remember,” he said, a flicker of something wistful crossing his face. “My ma used to bake this time of year. Gingerbread, mostly. Me and Becca would try to help, but we always ended up eating half the icing before it made it to the cookies.”

You grinned. “Sounds like my kind of Christmas.”

Bucky chuckled softly, the sound low and almost shy. He reached for the dough, his movements slower than yours, deliberate in a way that spoke to the years he’d spent relearning how to trust his hands.

“Did you ever have snowball fights?” you asked, pressing a star-shaped cutter into the dough.

“All the time,” he said, a spark of mischief lighting his expression. “I had the best aim in the neighborhood. But Becca? She had no mercy.”

Your laugh was soft and easy, like the sound of a fire crackling. “I’d love to have seen that.”

“You’d have been on her team,” he said, smirking. “I’d have been outnumbered.”

“Well,” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder, “maybe we’ll have to start a new tradition. Snowball fights, gingerbread wars... I’ll even let you win sometimes.”

“Oh, you’ll let me, huh?”

The banter was light, but underneath it was something heavier, something that made Bucky’s chest tighten and loosen all at once. This—this moment, this warmth—it was what he hadn’t realized he’d been missing.

As the cookies baked, filling the air with the scent of cinnamon and cloves, you brought over a box of ornaments. “Found these at the market last week,” you said, opening the lid to reveal a collection of mismatched treasures.

Bucky’s hand hovered over a wooden reindeer, its paint chipped and faded. He picked it up carefully, running his thumb over the worn edges.

“Reminds me of one we had growing up,” he said, his voice quiet. “It wasn’t perfect, but Ma always put it right in the middle of the tree.”

“Then this one should go in the middle too,” you said softly, holding out your hand.

Together, you hung it on the tree, your hands brushing as you stepped back to admire the way the lights caught on its surface. The glow from the tree bathed the room in warmth, and Bucky felt something stir deep inside—a quiet kind of peace that he hadn’t known in decades.

Later, after the cookies had been frosted (and more than a few had been eaten), you settled together on the couch. A blanket was draped over both of you, and a steaming mug of cocoa sat in your hands.

The snow outside was still falling, muffling the world beyond your little sanctuary. Bucky’s arm was draped around your shoulders, his metal fingers tracing absentminded patterns against your arm.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low, “for a long time, I didn’t think I’d ever feel this again. Like... like it was all too far away. Too broken to fix.”

You turned to look at him, your gaze soft but steady. “You’re not broken, Buck. You’re still you. And you’re here, right now. That’s what matters.”

He swallowed hard, his throat tight with the weight of your words. “You make it easier,” he admitted. “To remember. To... feel.”

You reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “Then we’ll make more to remember,” you said simply.

His lips curved into the kind of smile that reached his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “We will.”

As the night deepened and the snow piled high, you stayed curled together on the couch, the world outside forgotten. Bucky’s past wasn’t something he could change, but for the first time in a long time, he realised he didn’t have to. The present was enough—more than enough—with you by his side.

“Merry Christmas, doll,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“Merry Christmas, Buck,” you whispered back, and for the first time in years, he truly believed it.

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic may 11th & 13th - gentle & mischievous - 634words

bickering boyfriends~ <3

The thing about Regulus is that he’s a little thief.

A remote thief to be exact.

James plops down on the couch next to him and dumps the chocolates in his lap. He smacks a kiss against the side of his head and Regulus hums in appreciation.

His eyes are trained on the little baggie of M&Ms and James can’t help the smile tugging on his lips as Regulus crunches away happily.

“Brooklyn99?” James asks, flipping the remote once and burying his feet underneath Regulus’ blanket as well.

Regulus makes a grumbling noise and buries deeper into James’ chest.

James grins, “Modern Family?”

Regulus huffs and then turns to blink sweetly back up at him, voice all saccharine innocence, “Bridgerton?”

James groans, “Again?”

There’s a hand caressing down James’ abdomen, resting low just above his waistband. It’s distracting, sort of. Regulus twirls his fingers into the strings of James’ sweatpants, rosy lips contorted, “There’s a new spin off.”

James narrows his eyes. “I dunno.”

“It’s about the queen,” Regulus explains, nosing at the crook of James’ neck and eliciting a small shudder. One of James’ hands twists into the curls of his boyfriend’s dark hair, the other fisting the cushion.

“Baby,” he reprimands. Regulus is dangerously skilled at distracting James, pushing his buttons.

Regulus licks and James breath hitches and then he’s pulling him off gently.

Before James is even entirely back in the present he registers faint classical music in the background.

He whips to the screen and sees fancy dresses and a horse carriage.

James scowls. When he turns to glare at Regulus he’s already immersed into his show.

James clears his throat pointedly.

Regulus gives no reaction.

“Regulus, love?”

“Hm?”

“Where’s the remote?”

Regulus shrugs feebly, “Dunno.”

His voice is way too light. Faux innocence.

James hums, “So the TV just opened Netflix and chose Bridgerton all on its own, huh?”

Regulus makes a vague meh sound, “Y’know how electronics are these days. CIA listening and everything.”

“You-” James huffs, “baby, gimme the damn remote.”

“I don’t have it,” Regulus insists. “Now, shush.”

“Ohh,” James chuckles, “Oh, that’s how we’re gonna play it?”

“Play?” Regulus inquires, “I don’t know what you’re talking ab—James!”

James is too busy to respond, currently forging his way under Regulus’ blanket where James knows he’s hiding the remote.

“James, stop it! You’re invading my personal space! Stop—”

“Hand me the remote control, Reginald.”

“You’re violating,” Regulus growls, “my boundaries.”

“You’re violating my trust,” James counters.

“No!”

“Yes!” James volleys back, “Clearly you are, you little—”

“Ja-ames,” Regulus whines, still trying to fight him off, angling his body this way and that and hiding the device somewhere.

James lets himself fall back into the cushion, glowering at Regulus. “My love.”

“What?” Regulus bites out. He’s all flushed in the face, breathing shallowly.

James wants to snog him but his detest for 19th century drama wins, “I am trying to reason with you.”

“And I’m trying to watch this show.”

“I will cut the power cable.”

Regulus gasps dramatically. “You wouldn’t.”

James only raises an eyebrow in challenge.

Magically, the TV clicks off.

They’re pushed into immediate silence, both facing forward as they pout, shoulder against shoulder.

“Now what?” Regulus asks.

James looks over. Regulus’ cheeks are flushed angrily and his mouth is all twisted and teeth worrying the inside of his cheek.

“Look at me,” James orders softly and suddenly they’re nose to nose.

Regulus’ eyelids flutter, blinking him into focus. He blushes more deeply, eyes flitting down to James’ lips.

James slips into a grin.

Regulus blinks again, then scowls, “No.”

“Yes, baby,” James responds, cupping his jaw.

Their lips brush and James hears his boyfriend’s breath stutter. Victory.

Needless to say they get the hours of the evening filled just fine without any Netflix.

[elf1998]

Gentle Glow, A Heart's Whisper [James Sunderland X Reader]

anon asked: it seems like James just suffers so much even in fanfics 😭 can he and female reader have something good happen to them at least on Christmas? I just want this man to be happy...

synopsis: It's Christmas Eve, and it appears like the time is against him in these final days of the year. James' darling is waiting for him at home to have Christmas dinner together, but he is working late and doubts he will make it in time. What's the holdup on a holiday like this? You fall asleep on the couch while waiting.

status: oneshot, read on AO3

content warning: female reader, reader described as pale in some parts [?], self-deprecating thoughts, grieving and trying to move on, men crying, established relationship, fluff, romance and kissing n stuff, a Christmas trope

author's note: This was a request that came in before my previous blog got suspended and I didn't have a chance to post it! Wherever this finds you, sorry if this took too long, hope you'll enjoy. Also, this is really long, I got a little carried away...

Aside from the faint hum of fluorescent lights, the sporadic click of keys and clinking of coffee cups as James works on his computer, the office is silent. In an attempt to finish some last-minute work before the holiday break, he has been at his desk for hours on end, sustaining himself on copious amounts of caffeine. Outside, the world is blanketed in snow like in a magical fairy tale, but inside, it's just another bland day at the office. Except today, he's eager to actually leave early instead of taking extra hours.

James glances at the clock on his computer screen. A bunch of gray pixels mockingly blinks 9:30 PM at him. His fingers drop and pull off his computer glasses as he groans and runs a hand through his hair in annoyance. Sensing the impending headache, he closes his eyes and rubs the lids. Just his luck, huh?

He knows you're waiting for him at home, expecting to have dinner together, and there's nothing more he wants than to be wrapped up in your embrace right now, sipping some hot cocoa under a warm blanket. But with the way things are going, he doubts he'll be able to make it in time. It's unpleasant enough to be working on Christmas Eve, but staying late is just on another level of evil, especially when he has someone special, all wrapped up in holiday cheer waiting on him.

He picks up the office phone and dials your home number. James knows he's not exactly allowed to use the corporate line for personal calls, but he doesn't care in the slightest. This is important. He can feel the inside of his palm sweating, waiting for you to pick up anxiously as he fumbles with the ballpoint over some stupid spreadsheet. A few painfully slow rings of the dial are followed by the distinctive rustle of the handset and your well-known, sleep-drowsy voice. James feels sick to his stomach from all the coffee he's guzzled. How is he going to deliver this?

— Uh, hello? — you complain softly, your voice still raspy from sleep. James can hear the faint sound of some holiday program in the background, the audience's laughter and music tugging on his heart strings. You are all alone in your small flat.

— Hey, it's me, — James coos, feeling partly guily for waking you up, the ballpen running in circles on the white sheet, — Merry Christmas.

Several of his few coworkers are gazing up at him curiously from their cubicles as he nervously looks around. Calling you casually in public is still something he's not used to.

— James? — Your voice brightens up a little as you clear your throat and he hears you rise up from the couch, — Where are you? Are you coming home soon?

Home. James feels a pang of guilt surge through him.

— I'm still in the office, — he admits begrudgingly, feeling the wave of anxiousness rise up as he hears your little "oh" through the dial, — I'm sorry, hun.

Over the phone, he hears you whine deeply, his own disappointment weighing hard on his chest.

— I know, I know. I'm so sorry, — he drops the pen, annoyed with himself as he fidgets in his seat, — There's just so much to be done with these blasted invoices, you know how it gets before the holidays.

There's a pause on the other end of the line, and James can almost imagine the expression on your face turning from sour to bittersweet compassionate.

— It's okay, don't worry about it, — you utter finally, your voice softening, — I understand. But I still think they work you too hard, James.

James feels a surge of gratitude for your understanding, even as he knows he doesn't deserve it.

— Thank you, — he says, his voice quiet but thick with adoration, his lips turning up slightly, — I'm just... Sorry I can't be with you right now.

You two keep chatting for a few more minutes, making small talk about your plans for the holidays, the presents you got each other, and his favorite food you've made. Although James attempts to make his part of the conversation lighthearted and upbeat so as not to upset you too much, he is a jumble of self-loathing on the inside. Some partner he is. He should have insisted on a day off or taken an unpaid leave, but he left you on your own on a day like this.

— I miss you, — he whispers finally, a slight blush creeping up his ears as he tries to stare at his computer screen to avoid unwanted eye contact, — I'll see you soon, okay? I'll be there, I promise.

— I also miss you, — your voice is filled with longing as you respond softly, — I'll wait for you and keep the food warm, so drive carefully.

After hanging up, James feels the burden of his guilt pressing down on him. The idea of disappointing you again makes him nauseous, even if you claim you're not angry with him. He knows he's already let you down. He has to make it home before midnight at least, even if continuous typing will make his fingers blister.

With a weary gaze, James surveys the office, taking in the abandoned cubicles and the shadowed windows outside, the only sound being the buzz of his computer. The scarce remains of his coworkers gradually leave the office, waving him warm goodbyes and happy holidays as they head home to be with their families. Leaving him alone and jealous of them in the dead quiet of the building, just the way you are now. He sighs, turning his attention back to his computer screen.

As he types away, his mind wanders to thoughts of you, curled up on the couch at home with your cozy blanket keeping you warm. As you sleep, James imagines your face, calm and soft, your chest rising and falling with each delicate breath. He sees himself sitting next to you, holding you close and engulfing you in his arms. The way your eyes would brighten when you saw him get home in time to wake you up with a tender, passionate kiss. The way they would sparkle with laughter, the lovely pink pearl earrings he got you catching the light, outlining your shoulders' slope and your neck's exquisite curve…

God, how much he longs to see you. James closes his eyes and sighs in anticipation. He has to focus on finishing the paperwork now and stop daydreaming about you, or none of this is going to happen with the way things are going.

He puts in another hour of effort, but his progress is frustratingly slow. The dates don't match, the figures won't add up, the last person working on the file is making him angry and swearing under his breath, and he's anxious about finishing on time — everything seems to be trying to slow him down.

By the time he's finished, it's nearly midnight, and the office feels even more empty and desolate than before. James gathers his things, hurriedly swiping them into his briefcase, and grabs his coat, dismissing his hat and gloves to save the little time he has left. Legs heavy with fatigue, he rushes out of the office and to his car, never minding the strain in his feet. There's so little time left he doubts he will make it, but he still pushes. You must've given up on waiting for him, feeling disappointed and abandoned, finally falling asleep, and the thought clutches at his heart, making him walk to the parking lot faster.

The cold night air hits him like a slap in the face, prickly snowflakes getting caught in his eyes, but he barely notices, his mind focused solely on marching through the snow slopes as quickly as possible. James hurries across the parking lot, his feet pounding against the white pavement with each step, the snow crunching under his feet, reminding him of the forgotten holiday. The strain in his legs is starting to take its toll, but he pushes through it, determined to make it to you on time.

He fumbles with his keys as he gets closer to his car, the lock severely frozen and his fingertips numb from the cold. After a while, he unlocks the door and enters, slamming it behind him in despair.

— Come on baby, don't let me down now, — he breathes out pleadingly to his old but still beloved light blue Pontiac as he turns the keys, the roar of the engine making him instantly elated.

James starts the engine and pulls out of the parking lot, the tires screeching against the icy pavement. The roads are empty, but he still drives with a sense of urgency, his heart racing in his chest. As he drives, his mind drifts to thoughts of you, curled up on the couch at home, waiting for him. His knuckles whiten as he tightens his grasp on the driving wheel as a wave of shame sweeps over him. He ignores his icy limbs, even though the leather seat and the wheel are frozen cold with the car staying out on the street all day.

With the Christmas lights glittering in the distance, he rushes through the deserted streets. The sight would be lovely to him normally, but tonight it simply reminds him of what he's missing out on. Despite James' best efforts and the radio music blasting, the negative thoughts continue to bombard him. He feels terrible, like a monster that leaves his family alone on Christmas Eve. His mind tracks back to the last year when he met you, and his heart soars with warmth and adoration. His mind's eye brings out your smaller frame before him, giving the most beautiful smile to the weird, not really there, stubbled stranger at the bar. Was it back then when he started catching these feelings for you?

He sees your flat's window ahead as he turns onto his street, the living room's muted lights still on. The sweet feeling of knowing you're there somewhere puts an excited smile on his face. James pulls into the driveway and cuts the engine, his heart pounding in his ears as he pats on your present in his breast pocket, snug and secure. For a short while, he sits in the car and looks out the window at the lights you strung on the Christmas tree while trying to soothe his racing heart.

James walks up to the door, fumbling with his spare set of keys once again. At last, he gets inside by carefully turning the key in the keyhole, hardly making a sound, and meticulously shutting the door behind him.

— Sweetheart? — James calls out gently, his voice laden with unspoken worry, — I'm home.

The house is quiet, save for the gentle ticking of the clock on the wall. James walks down the hallway, his heart in his throat. He feels a surge of gentleness as he quietly discharges his boots and coat, tiptoeing to the living room that is only lit up by the lights of the Christmas tree that you so diligently decorated all by yourself. His socks and the edges of his slacks are effectively soaked with snow.

The man walks quietly to the living room, only the light sounds of your breathing and his soft footsteps echoing in the stillness of the room as he takes in the sight of his lover. The sight of you sleeping with the phone clenched in your hand makes James' heart skip a beat as he walks over. You've been calling the office, searching for him.

With the colorful lights creating a rainbow of hues on the walls and ceiling as well as your serene features, the space is filled with a cozy, joyous glow. He pauses to look at you, huddled on the couch, slumping over the edge with the pastel-colored phone handle clenched in your hand. James feels a wave of affection rush over him as you appear so tiny, so comfy, so much like home.

His hand reaches out to brush a stray hair off your forehead as he kneels on the plush cream carpet next to the sofa. You stir slightly at his touch, your eyelids fluttering, but you don't wake even as he slides the back of his palm gently on your cheek. Seeing you waiting for him and missing him makes him realize how fortunate he is to have you in his life and to be allowed to be in yours, even if he knows he let you down tonight.

James gently presses his mouth against your forehead in a kiss, his lips still a little dense from the cold. You radiate warmth in return.

— Merry Christmas, — he whispers, his voice barely audible in the silent room, as he gazes upon your ethereal form.

James sits back on his heels, his eyes still fixed on your sleeping form. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart, keeping himself from planting gentle kisses all over your face like he yearns to; your rosy cheeks, adorable tip of your nose, soft eyelids and lips. Reaching out, he removes the phone from your grasp, delicately uncurling each finger individually before placing it on the coffee table. You've been waiting for him all night, and he doesn't want to wake you up.

He stands up slowly, his joints popping from the long day of sitting at his desk. He doesn't stretch, though, to not let them crack and destroy the tranquility of the peaceful haven that you've turned your living room into. James looks around the room, taking in the decorations you put together. The tree he took care of mainly; the stockings hanging on the wall, and the wreath on the door were of your making. You did it all for you both, for your first holiday together.

Admiring the antique ornaments he chose especially for you, he approaches the tree and runs his fingertips down its branches before placing the small jewelry box underneath. He smiles as he remembers the way your face lit up when you opened the colorful store box and saw the ornaments, the way you hugged him tight and thanked him for making your first Christmas together so special. James recalls the way he laughed and teased you for how you found joy in the simplest things; those were just silly trinkets after all. But seeing joy on your smiling face was worth so much more than this ordinary gift. He would give you the world if he could, everything you'd ever ask for, though he knew you wouldn't.

It has now been five years. He finds it hard to comprehend how quickly time passes sometimes. It's been nearly five years since... The pain never truly left, not really anyway, lingering somewhere deep in his subconscious and daring to come out in the late hours of the night. Recently, however, things have been beginning to improve a little bit; his heart craving for new things that are beautiful, warm, and welcoming, drawing him into their embrace and instantly numbing his guilt and hatred for himself, even if just for a short while.

"Mary, I... I think I'm falling for someone else", he thinks to himself, and surprisingly, he does not feel distraught.

The way you accepted him and continued to gaze up at him like he was your treasure, your beacon, even after revealing what he's done. Like he was the only man in the world for you. Sometimes, it made him think of the dark side you shared with him. James was aware that he did not deserve it, but perhaps fate — or whatever it was — was offering him a second chance to try to change and start again. Perhaps he will have an opportunity to make amends soon as well.

James' hazel eyes catch a particular shiny ornament, a silver bell that hangs too far on the branch, threatening to fall off. He touches the ornament on the tree, attempting to adjust it a little, causing it to jingle slightly, melodically erupting through the silent room, disturbing its peace. He lets out a startled moan, yanking his hand back immediately, but it's already too late; the fiddled branch gives under the weight of the mischievous toy. James' hand freezes in midair as the ornament falls with a pitiful thud, the sound reverberating through the room like a gunshot. As he turns to look at the couch frantically, he finds you fully awake, looking at him with your eyes still half-lidded, hands rubbing your face.

For a moment, your face is a mask of confusion, brows furrowed comically as you try to process the sight of him. But then, recognition dawns, and your expression shifts, a smile spreading across your face. Your bleary eyes widen with surprise, and your face immediately changes when you realize that your love is home. Still clad in his office job suit, his clumsy silhouette illuminated by tens of sparkling lights. You glance at the clock rapidly; it's minutes before midnight.

— James! — you exclaim, voice filled with joy and relief.

You jump off the couch, almost tripping on your wrinkled blanket, his rushed "careful!" following suit, arms outstretched and ready, as you leap towards him with abandon.

James extends his arms to embrace you, his heart bursting with affection. You collide with him, your heated body molding against his chilled one, your arms wrapping around his waist, your face buried in his shirt, inhaling his cologne and the faint smell of coffee.

James holds you tight, bones almost cracking, his hand running through your freshly washed hair, his lips pressing against the top of your head. He breathes in your wonderful scent, a mix of floral shampoo and the faint smell of cinnamon apple pie you've baked, as his blonde hair mingles with yours. He feels your pajama-clad body relax against his frame, arms tightening around his waist, fingers digging into his back. He knows you've been waiting for him all night, so beautiful, so perfect.

— I'm sorry for waking you, — he murmurs, apologizing yet again this night, his voice muffled against your fluffy hair, seemingly unable to stop inhaling your heavenly smell as he takes long and deep whiffs of your locks.

You pull back slightly, your delicate hands cupping his face, your eyes searching his deep hazel-green puppy gaze.

— It's okay, stop apologizing, — you grumble, your voice softly scolding him for berating himself, — I'm just glad you're here now, it's all that matters.

James leans in, pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes meeting yours, and his lashes lowering in delight at your closeness.

— I missed you, — he murmurs, his voice full of feeling, — Missed you so much today.

— Missed you too, honey. I've been waiting for you, — you mumble gently, trailing off as he daws closer to you, his breath fanning against your face.

James leans in, his lips chapped from the cold, brushing against yours in a soft, gentle kiss. As you sigh, granting his mouth and tongue much-needed permission, he pours all of his love and passion into your hungry lips. His cold hands cup your warm face, and his thumbs caress your cheeks, allowing him to sink in their warmth. He presses his torso into you until there is no more space, pulling you up and closer by your waist, hands raking your middle. Deepening the intense kiss, your lips moving gently against one another, and the room filling with the subtle sounds of wet skin on flesh.

Just when you start feeling your insides tingling with the added sensation of his stubble rubbing against you, he pulls back, his eyes searching yours, his heart racing in his chest under your palm.

— Merry Christmas, — he whispers, his voice husky and low.

You smile, eyes shining with joy and love,

— Merry Christmas, — you whisper back, voice filled with warmth.

As you stand there, surrounded by the glow of the Christmas tree, James feels a sense of peace wash over him. For the first time in a long while, he feels truly content, truly... Happy. And the thought of it doesn't scare him.

James cradles you close, his chin resting on top of your adorable head, his heart bursting with love and yearning. He can feel the warmth of your body, the softness of your hair against his chin, tickling him slightly as he blows it away gently.

He listens as you mumble into his chest, voice still sleepy and groggy from the sudden awakening.

— I love you, James. Thank you for being with me this year.

James's eyes sting, his throat tightening with your sudden heartfelt confession. He knows the past years hasn't been easy for either of you. The loss of his wife still raw in his heart, the tragedy of Silent Hill, the struggle to rebuild his life again and again, starting therapy and failing, then trying to quit his addiction. But through it all, you've been there, a constant source of love and support, his never-giving-up unwavering light in the dark, guiding him to his better self. Giving him the resolve to try, not for Mary or you, but for himself.

James tightens his arms around your waist, grabbing at your pajama top as he does, as if afraid that you'll slip away like a dream if he does. His lips press against your ear, breathing out almost brokenly,

— I love you too, — he whispers, his voice thick with sentiment, — More than you know.

— You deserve this, James, — you say gently as you cradle James' face in you arms, sensing his distress. Gazing directly into his eyes, your own gleaming like two brilliant stars under the sparkling lights, — We both do.

— We both do, — he echoes, his voice soft and filled with wonder. He leans into your touch, savoring the warmth of your hands against his skin, relishing the feeling of your palms cradling his tired face as he closes his eyes in bliss.

And you deserve it more. You deserve more than him, in fact. You've been there for him through everything, a beacon of light in the darkness. You've loved him unconditionally, even when he felt like an unlovable monster, even when he pushed you away at the beginning. James's eyes begin to water, tears spilling down his cheeks. He doesn't try to stop them, doesn't try to hide his emotion from you, knowing you of all people won't judge him. For the first time in a long while, he feels truly free.

— I love you, — he repeats, his voice breaking slightly, feeling embarrassed of his wet cheeks suddenly.

As you give him butterfly kisses all over his damp face, lips gently fluttering against his skin, his heart rises with joy and awe. James can feel the sweetness of your breath, the softness of your rose petal lips, the tenderness of touch.

— I know it. And I do, too, — you whisper back, tasting the salt on his skin.

James knows this is the best present he could have asked for. Not the presents beneath the branches, not the decorations on the tree, but this moment, this bond, this emotion he hopes will last forever.

With his hands on the small of your back and his arms still around your waist, he goes to spin you around a little, which makes you laugh slightly. Inhaling the pleasant scent of your warm skin, he buryes his face in your dainty neck.

— Thank you, — he murmurs, his lips brushing against your nape, making you shiver and hum pleasantly, — For everything. For being here, for loving me, for giving me a reason to keep going.

You tighten you arms around him, holding him close, fingers tangling in his golden rye hair.