#finally i could read this beautiful christmas piece

[mickyschumacher]

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐃 .ೃ࿐

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: the racing season is finally over and lando is more than excited to have you all to himself. or in which lando prefers his breakfast in bed with you as the main course.

��𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minor dni), breastplay, grinding(?), teasing, oral sex/eating out/cunnilingus, fingering, pure moments of fluff because bf!lando is the sweetest, discussion of lando mentally struggling at the start

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: bf!lando norris x fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2k+

𝐀/𝐍: i promised a post before the end of the year and it happens to coincide with a holiday of giving ;) merry christmas and happy hanukkah to those who celebrate it! and happy new year! // as usual poorly proof-read ♡︎ (sorry if it's shitty, i haven't written a full-piece in a while)

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⋆  •°.  。  .°•  ⋆

The season was over. Finally.

Not to be offensive or anything but you had been waiting for this moment for what, this year, felt like forever.

Yes, it was action packed–largely due to the fact that a certain RedBull wasn't winning every race. Yes, McLaren had whipped up the fastest car on the grid to shake things up. And yes, the same team had clinched their ninth World Constructor's Championship.

And while that made you absolutely over the moon, all you had wanted was for some peace and quiet on a random Wednesday morning so you could (maybe creepily) ogle your handsome boyfriend.

Was that too much to ask for?

It had been a tough season for Lando and naturally, as you promised from the very start of your friendship alone–that you would stick by his side no matter what–you had also been through the thick of it.

Convincing Lando to not look at the comments after every session or race had been difficult. You tried your best to remove any negativity that clouded his mind. Some days it worked and some days it didn't.

But that was life. And that was then.

Now you were wide awake at some odd time in the morning, laying comfortably on your stomach with your head turned towards Lando. There was about one degree of separation between the both of you, allowing you to carefully observe him.

Lando was never an early bird. If he was, it would be by some miracle or your upper arm strength pulling him from the sheets. A small smile crept onto your face. You had been friends for years now and together for even shorter. Yet you still couldn't believe that the sleepy bird next to you was yours entirely.

His dark tousled and recently cut curls, the stress lines on his forehead you were always aching to smooth out and comfort with the pad of your thumb, his "perfectly normal sized ears" that you definitely never made fun of, his lovely lashes you were jealous of, and the soft pink lips you couldn't decide whether to touch or kiss.... all yours.

Behind all the stupidity, humour, and claimed 'indifference' Lando sported on camera and with others, you always knew his heart. It was open for everyone and had more than enough love to go around. You were in love with the biggest sap you had ever known.

And on top of all of that, he made it out of that car to you... alive... every goddamn time.

You were luckier than you could ever imagine.

"How long are you going to stare at me, love?" Lando's voice queried, thick with the rasp of the morning and the events of last night.

You slightly widened your eyes, watching him open those beautiful baby blues and land on you. An flustered flush of heat wavered up your skin. You bit your lip before slipping beneath the covers, feeling the warmth envelope your skin entirely. You started with a muttered curse.

"How long have you even been awake, Lan? That's so embarrassing," you chided with a muffled tone.

Unbeknownst to you, Lando couldn't help but grin at your sudden shy demeanour. It was hard for anyone to imagine you as shy but he had seen every side of you. How enjoyable it was that even after all these years, he could tease you and see how flustered you could get. If he had met you when you were kids, this is exactly how he imagined you'd be.

He stretched out his taut arm, grabbing you by the waist. His skin swarmed with heat as he felt your bare waist under your shirt as he pulled you over him. He moved your knees so you straddled him.

He pressed his lips to prevent a full blown smile at what he was seeing.

Your hair was fully covering your face, head down and hands hovering over to hide the tinges of pink and red on your skin.

"Baby... come on, love. Show me your face," Lando encouraged, nudging your hair lightly with the side of his finger. "Come on, baby."

You groaned, lifting your head, feeling all your tresses go back. You blankly stared at your boyfriend with burning cheeks. "I hate you," you mumbled, giving him a small glare.

Lando snorted, putting his hands firmly on your waist. His fingers edged up behind the hem of your shirt, rubbing small circles into your bare skin. "You love me. Someone who hates me wouldn't stare at me so lovingly."

"I–" You tried to open your mouth to retaliate but to no avail as you quickly came to the realisation that he was indeed correct. As Lando usually was with these things.

"Fine. You got me," you sighed admittedly, "I just missed waking up next to you in the morning. Is that such a horrible crime?" You dramatically asked, tease heavy in your voice.

In any other situation, Lando would've narrowed his eyes at your teasing but all he could do was gaze softly at you. You weren't able to travel with him all the time and he wasn't able to spend every day with you. You both knew that. And while it sucked, you had both gotten used to it, cherishing when you were together.

But this year... Lando had spent every living second wishing you were next to him. He wanted you to tell him your god awful jokes. To look at him from across the room and take his entire breath, mind, whatever, away. To drop the fake smiles and rest in your arms with all the time in the world.

"No," Lando whispered, warm eyes travelling over your face, trying to find anything new to memorise. Anything he had missed since seeing you. "That isn't a crime. If it was, I'd be guilty as charged."

Your breath hitched while a small shiver trickled down your body as Lando pushed back a lock of hair behind your ear. You chewed down on your lip before breaking into a smile gently. "I love you, Lando Norris. Forever," you murmured, placing a brief kiss onto his lips.

Lando stared at you hard, far more awake than he had ever been. He lifted his head slowly, holding you close to him. And without a second thought, he brought his lips to yours.

This kiss was different from the others you had shared. Perhaps it was the atmosphere or context that accounted for that different but the need, the love, the softness and the brutal passion was poured into every fibre of your being

Your hands curled around the back of his neck, pulling him tighter while your nose glided against his as Lando only just begun ravaging your mouth. He sucked on your lips with a small nibble here and there, relishing the muffled moans passing your lips.

His own hands continued to travel the path of your body he had committed to memory. He knew as he traversed your heated back exactly where the dark freckles he had come to love were.

Your soft moans became more audible and pleasing to Lando's ears as he curled his lips to your neck, leaving the sloppily yet controlled path of possessive kisses down base of your skin. He could feel your pulse against his skin and God, he wanted to burn it into his brain and save it.

"Lando," you gasped as you felt a sudden jerk underneath you, feeding into the pooling wetness between your thighs. Your teeth sunk into your pillowy bottom lip, your hips automatically responded by grinding down onto Lando's bulge.

"Ah, fuck," Lando cursed, feeling his cock throb in his underwear. His eyes fluttered shut, hands immediately returning to your hips to continue the stimulating pleasure.

You were driving him crazy.

Both of your skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat as you felt Lando's clothed cock rut into your poorly covered pussy. You rocked your hips harder into him, feeling a slight jolt against your clit. "Oh, fuck, Lando," you moaned his name in his ear, fingers curling into his skin.

Lando opened his eyes, drawing back to capture your face. Your dazed eyes, glowing skin, panting lips, the way your hips bowed towards him... he had missed you. So. Fucking. Much.

"I want breakfast," Lando blurted with a slight gasp as the pleasure rocked through his body.

You stopped moving your hips, body shuddering from the halt. You raised a brow at the sudden desire but shrugged it off considering you were way past breakfast hours and you were only human. "Okay," you responded, about to move off of Lando to head to the kitchen.

Lando reached over, hand pulling your body back towards him, rolling your body so he hovered over you between your legs. "Where are you going?" he tutted, "Breakfast is right here."

You seemed to lose the ability to speak with Lando's hand kneading the flesh of your thighs, implying exactly what he wanted. You breathlessly watched his head move over your body. His tongue lapped at your skin, travelling to any bare patch he could find as though he wanted to feast on you. His warmth made your core tingle as you arched into his touch.

You were positively going to lose your mind.

His hands slid under your shirt, burning your skin until he could fill his palms with your breasts. "Oh baby," Lando moaned, fingers teasing your soft mounds. "I love your tits so fucking much."

A choked cry broke through your lips upon hearing his confession, fingers brushing against your hardened nipple almost painfully slowly. No matter how many times he said it, it set you alight.

"Lando," you moaned loudly, hoping he could read and hear the sound that beckoned him towards your aching core.

He paused, allowing you to take in the heavenly sight of Lando's bare chest, decorated only by the necklace you had gotten him on his birthday last year. In turn, his gaze was only focused on your core.

You tested your lung capacity, taking in a sharp inhale as he pressed his knuckles against your panties, purposely pushing harder against on the ball of your clit. You faltered at the smile sprawling on his face, your hips jolting forward and mouth unable to contain a desperate yelp.

Lando was every inch as desperate as you were, taking no time to waste. His fingers hooked onto your panties and removed them in one swift motion, leaving you bare from the waist down.

Your stomach churned at the sight of Lando nestling his head into your inner thigh, his once light blue eyes now dark and heavy with desire as he inhaled the scent of you. The moan escaping his lips made you shiver.

You were sure you were dripping. You could feel the slick trail down your pussy, glistening in a patient wait to be touched just like you were.

Your eyes fell back to Lando who groaned your name. "I promise to God, I'm going to make you cum so hard that breakfast in bed will be the only option you have," he stated so surely against your skin as his fingers slid from the seam of your entrance to your clit, bundling all your wetness onto his hand.

Oh god.

"Lando, please," you begged shamelessly, legs aching to clench together to relieve the pain of being untouched.

Your legs trembled around Lando's head, his hot breath nearing your pussy while his mouth drew closer. You watched him take you in for the last time before his lips firmly sealed over your aching clit.

The burst of pleasure cut through your body so sharply. Your cry of joy echoed in the late morning, hips bucking against his mouth.

Lando's hands travelled to the outside of your thighs, grasp tightening to keep them spread open on his shoulders. "Keep them open, baby," he ground out.

It took everything in your power to keep your legs from collapsing, particularly as he made his point with another hard to suck to your clit, but you body seemed to follow his command. His mouth returned your wet folds, tongue swirling around every crevice before coming back to the most sensitive part of you, turning you into absolute mush.

Your hands had found their way to those mop of curls you cherished so much, legs trying to conform around Lando's shoulder to welcome any better angle of pleasure.

Your gasp at the sudden dismissal of his mouth was short lived, any chance to complain gone as his fingers pushed into your slick folds, stretching your clenching muscles out.

"Fuck yourself on those pretty little fingers for me, baby. I need you ready for me," Lando encouraged breathlessly as something feral inside of him emerged.

His fingers stroked your swollen walls from the inside, ensuring you felt every inch of them along the sensitive front wall of your pussy while his tongue glazed over every puffy slick fold like you were golden honey.

Lando watched in torture as he pushed his fingers in and out of your walls, your body jerking forward at the sheer pleasure. "That's it, baby," he continued to praise you.

"Doing so well for me, hmm?" He asked, a gleam of your wetness coating his lips. Moving his free hand down your thigh, he gathered your flesh in his fingers before reaching the small bundle of nerves, thumb going in small firm circles.

You were beginning to feel numb. A cold yet hot tightness coiling within your core, waiting to be unleashed. "Lando," you gasped, struggling to keep your head up, "fuck, I–I think I'm going to cum."

"Yes, baby," Lando coaxed, fingers speeding up with every action they had entailed, "Cum for me, please. Keep your eyes open. Look at me, love."

You fought the urge to squeeze your eyes shut, forcing your eyes to travel to those familiar baby blues. All the trillion nerves in your body felt like entangled knots tied by Lando's tongue while his fingers found the sweetest spot of your pussy and held to you that pinnacle.

Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip while Lando held your gaze, tongue sliding, curving up, and pushing in and out of every crevice. Your pussy finally succumbed to the hard pressure, clenching muscles squeezing hard at the sharp pinch of pain.

The pain was explosive, searing, and all-consuming.

You cried.

You cried so loudly you were sure your neighbours would be complaining any minute now.

It didn't matter. Not when the pleasure shooting through you was disproportionately and literally blowing you out of this world as though it had been seated and waiting to be released since the dawn of time itself. Your hips bucked and stuttered while you squirmed and writhed against the bed, the fabric of your shirt sticking to your sweaty skin.

Lando's mouth had never left you through your orgasm, tongue still deep in your folds, savouring all the convulses, shudders, and clenches of your body.

Even better yet, he had watched every second of you falling apart.

And it absolutely drove him crazy.

Lando's hand rushed to catch your falling body, holding you up as a small wave of exhaustion crashed into you. You stared at Lando shiftless, still seeing the faint image of floating stars across his face.

Oh my god.

Lando had broken you with his tongue.

You watched Lando lick his fingers clean as you slowly removed your legs from his shoulders. You lifted your head, pressing a long kiss onto his lips.

Lando grinned, cradling his arms around your body as he pushed you both into the bed yet again. He pushed back your slightly greased hair, caressing your cheek gently. "You okay?"

His query made you feel soft all over. You smiled into his hands and nodded. "Perfect," you chirped, hands hanging over his neck.

"So... breakfast in bed?" Lando offered knowingly as he massaged your thighs gently. You were not walking to that kitchen.

You furrowed your brows. "What about my breakfast?"

Lando wanted to question you but as his eyes followed your gaze, the answer became as clear as the aching bulge underneath his boxers.

"Oh."

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[mangoshorthand]

A Hargreeves Christmas Carol | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader | Ch5 Final Chapter!

SUMMARY: Luther is the sort of idiot who goes around with a 'Merry Christmas' and a goofy smile on his lips. In your opinion, he should be roasted with his own turkey and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. Who better to teach you the error of your ways than Luther's brother, the man who holds the power of Christmases Past, Present, and Yet to Come in the palm of his hand? Info/Announcement Post

<< Read Chapter Four

Chapter Five (Rated E, 4.9k words)

The End of It

You awoke on Christmas day with a feeling of unreality. Was any of it real? Was this real?

Yet the bedsheets were your own, the bed was your own, the bedroom was your own. And, as what happened solidified in your mind, you realised that, best and happiest of all, all the time ahead of you was your own. 

Time to make amends, time to build some bridges, time to live your life. 

Today, you had three things to do. As you jumped in the shower, you imagined each of them with a smile. The first was so simple, the second so overdue, and the last so needed. 

The first two could be completed almost immediately so, fresh out of the shower, you immediately set about choosing a nice outfit for the day. 

As the wardrobe door creaked open, you smiled again. It was a beautiful wardrobe, big enough for a grown man to hide in before taking you on the trip of a lifetime. For that, you’d love it as long as you lived.

Dressed, you cantered into the living room intent on another piece of furniture. The old bureau had been left virtually untouched since the apartment passed into your name. You laid hands on it, smile trembling with emotion, and felt beneath your palms before you unlocked it.  

There it all was: keepsakes and framed photographs stacked or stowed away in inner drawers. Your hand went automatically to the topmost drawer, where you knew you’d find what you were seeking. You remembered carrying it numbly back from the hospital and locking it up tight; locking away the fact she was gone.

You picked up her necklace and held it to the light. The silver encrusted with rhinestones still looked like diamonds to your eyes. It sat on her collarbone, twinkling in the light day after day. The pendant was one snowflake-delicate flower hanging from another, leaf detailing leading off them to form Y shape up each side of the chain. 

It was her all over, and you kissed the pendant in your hand. 

“I love you, Grandma.”

Your heart fluttered with the small moment of feeling, and then soared as you fastened it around your own neck. It was like a talisman: with its comforting weight against your chest, you could honour the past, live for the present, and look with new eyes towards the future. 

The first of your three tasks done, you set about the second, pulling out your phone and sitting down to compose a message to Robbie.

When you rang their doorbell later that morning, intent on your third task, you bounced nervously on the balls of your feet, bottles clinking in the stuffed-full bags by your sides. 

Sloane answered, and you faltered, remembering what you heard her say yesterday, but when you looked at her face, she seemed more surprised than anything.

“Happy Christmas,” you said, smiling a little awkwardly.

She returned your greeting with a slightly cold smile. 

“Is Luther in?” you asked, “He invited me today, but I was pretty rude to him so…”

You tailed off, and her expression softened slightly.

“I brought booze.” you joked tentatively, “A peace offering.”

Sloane smiled then.

“Come in, it’s cold out there. He’s in the kitchen.”

“Cooking since five AM I bet?”

She gave a surprised chuckle.

“Yes actually. They’re been working their asses off. Just let me go get him.”

You gave her brief thumbs up and she walked briskly towards the kitchen.

You looked around affectionately at the Academy’s entrance hall. Far from being intimidating, it now felt like an old friend. 

Only a few seconds later, hurried footsteps announced Luther’s arrival.

“You came!” he cheered, bounding towards you. 

He was wearing an expression of pure, unbridled joy on his face and a comically tiny apron embroidered with poinsettias and adorned with frills. You held out your arms and hugged him.

“Happy Holidays. I’m so sorry about yesterday,” you said fervently, “I was such an asshole.”

“Forget it,” Luther replied, sounding as if life could afford no greater promise for the day than to have you here, “water under the bridge.”

“I don’t deserve you.” you said, hugging him harder, “Thank you so much for putting up with me.”

“I don’t put up with you, I like you.”

When you broke apart, you briefly hugged Sloane too.

“You’ll stay all day, right?” she asked, “And sleep over. We have so many spare rooms.”

Apparently her dislike of you wasn’t so deep that a decent apology couldn’t undo it all, and you were glad for that fact. You knew from Luther that Sloane was his perfect match, and you hoped to find a friend in her too.

“If you’ll have me, I’d love to stay.”

“Gladly,” said Five’s voice.

You broke apart from Sloane to find Five standing in the doorway, clad in his own frilly apron tied over his new sweater and drying his hands on a dishtowel. 

Though you said goodbye to him only a few hours ago, it felt like much longer. You felt renewed, joyful, and invigorated, and with it came a new perspective. Every person was a fellow passenger onwards through time, but only you and Five were united in having seen the destination and decided to change it.

Luther and Sloane exchanged a significant look as you and Five moved towards each other.

“Happy Christmas,” you said. 

The consciousness of what passed the previous night crackled between you, and you exchanged conscious, conspiratorial smiles.  

“Happy Christmas.” he replied, tucking the distowel in his apron pocket, “Nice necklace.” 

“Thanks. Nice apron.”

He gave a self conscious smile, and his arms gave a strange sort of twitch outwards, hands hovering uncertainly at his sides as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them.  

You took pity on him and hugged him, which he gladly returned. 

So far, most of your touches had been unconscious, unconsidered, or instinctive. This time, you made a conscious decision to kiss him on the cheek. It was platonic enough, but that didn’t stop Five’s grip almost imperceptibly tightening around your upper arm as shivers ran down his spine. 

The four of you entered the living room, where you were finally introduced to the people you’d seen last night. Viktor and his girlfriend Annabelle, visiting for Christmas for the first time; Klaus all smiles in his sequins; and Lila and Diego, joined at the hip. 

“You’ve been cooking with him?” you said to Five in an undertone the moment you got an opportunity, “That’s sweet.”

One corner of Five’s mouth rose in his lopsided smile.

“He’s a surprisingly good cook, actually. Taught me a thing or two.”

“I’m glad for you.”

“What are you two whispering about?” asked Lila, honing in on an interesting dynamic with the precision of a sniper. 

Five turned to her with the air of a father holding his patience with a bratty child. 

“Just making a pact to grin and bear it when one of you idiots inevitably suggests Charades after dinner.”

“Ooh! Charades!” Lila said, boisterously, “Yeah, great idea!”

“Uh. Charades?” grumbled Diego.

“Shut up, Diego,” she scolded, slapping him on the arm, “don’t be a killjoy.”

The day progressed as most family Christmases do: there was Christmas meal in which the potatoes were slightly overcooked (Five’s fault), little squabbles breaking out over the gravy, (Diego and Luther’s fault), and one serving platter broken in the production-line of dishwashing (a mortified Annabelle’s fault).

Afterwards you all retired back to the living room and, while Viktor piled up the fire and the family began to chat, someone mentioned drinks.

“I brought some stuff with me from Maggie’s,” you said, eagerly, “I thought I could say thank you for inviting me by making a few cocktails, if you’d like that?”

“You sure?” asked Luther, looking at you doubtfully, “I don’t want you to feel like you’re at work.”

“I’d love to actually,” you said, earnestly, “mixology never feels like work to me.”

You caught Five’s eye, but continued speaking as if to Luther.

“And I’m taking a step back in the New Year anyway. I’ve asked Robbie to manage the place for me.”

“Really?” Sloane asked, surprised, as you went to grab your supplies from the entrance hall. 

“Mm-hm,” you said, re-entering the room, “It’s long overdue. Robbie’s always wanted to manage, and I need to reevaluate what I want in life.”

“Good for you,” said Five, quietly.

You couldn’t help but look at him then. His approval felt good. Very good. 

“I wanted to try out a recipe idea I had.” you said, again deliberately addressing anyone but Five, “Tell me what you think: it’s whisky, cinnamon, maple syrup, egg white, and a dash of lemon.” 

You turned to catch Five’s eye as you finished, eyes practically sparkling with mischief: 

“I call it the Ebenezer Splooge.”

There was a polite chuckle around the room, and Five’s face worked very hard not to draw attention to himself. There was a blush high on his cheek, and his mouth gave a violent twitch.

“Hence the egg white?” he asked, careful to keep his voice steady.

“You’re a quick learner,” you replied.

Five bit his lip, the line bringing back the memories you’d deliberately evoked; that night back in March when you turned his drunk ass down. It hit something inside him. 

Up until last night, he’d been content with masochism: drinking in your little touches whenever he could get them, enjoying the flirting and quietly dying inside every time you so much as poured a drink with that elegant poise of yours. 

He couldn’t do it anymore, not when he knew what it was to hold you in his arms, to feel your lips on his skin, to be party to your grief and revelations. It was better to look to love that he could have rather than pining after yours. It felt so near sometimes, yet, whenever he reached for it, it was inaccessible. 

The promised game of charades came and went. The booze flowed, and the atmosphere got livelier. It was all a whirl of caterwauled Christmas songs, champagne, and late-night turkey sandwiches. 

They were a friendly group, and it felt good to be among them. This was what Christmas was supposed to be, spending time with people who made you feel loved and welcome.  

By this stage, all of you had been dancing, and you flopped down on the couch beside Five, a stitch in your side. 

“I’m going to have to go to bed,” you said, grinning at him, “Klaus is going to tire me out!”

“He has that effect.” Five remarked, glancing fondly at his brother, “Want me to show you to a guest room?”

“Yes please.”

You said your goodnights, and when you were both out of earshot in the entrance hall, Luther turned to Sloane:

“I bet you fifty dollars Five doesn’t come back downstairs.” 

“It’s about time,” Sloane replied, grinning, “he’s been hung up on her for months.”

“How about you and I go upstairs?” he said, with a sly smile. 

“Soon, sugarplum,” she promised, and kissed him gently.

“So you’re taking a step back from Maggie’s?” Five said, as you mounted the stairs together.

“Yeah,” you said, with a gentle smile, “I woke up this morning and I just knew. I don’t want to sell the bar, but I don’t want to spend my life chained to it either.”

“So what’s your plan now?”

“The plan is no plan,” you beamed, “I’m just going to build my bridges, follow my heart, have some fun, and see where it leads. I’ve got some catching up to do.”

Five was silent for a few moments. 

“And where’s your heart leading you now?” he asked, uncertainly. 

“No idea. I guess we’ll see.”

He stopped and opened a nearby door.

“Does this room work for you?” he asked, casting an eye around to check its suitability. 

“Are you in love with me?”

He blinked once at the unexpected question, and then answered without hesitation or preamble, as if he was simply giving you the time.

“Yes.”

Your arms, legs and sex tingled with the admission.

This was it. You were done with self denial and done with pushing people away. Five was everything you wanted right now, and you wanted to pull him as close as two people could be.

“Then spend the night with me.”

His mouth fell open, and he let out one or two disbelieving breaths. You took each of his elbows and pulled him closer to you.

“This is…unexpected,” he said, and swallowed. 

Your eyes immediately flew appreciatively to his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, and when you raised your hand to touch his face, you were surprised to see a hard expression there. 

“I don’t want to be a one night thing for you.”

“You won’t be.”

“I don’t believe you.” he replied, resentfully, “You just said that your plan is ‘no plan’. You’re just throwing spaghetti at the wall and seeing what sticks. I’m not going to-”

You silenced him with a kiss, pulling him to you by the collar. It was one you’d been holding back for as long as he had, and when your lips connected with his, you felt your body wanting to melt, permeate his skin and sink into him.

You could taste his last scotch on his lips, you could smell that maddening cologne. 

But he took you by the upper arms and pushed you away, firmly. 

“Five,” you pleaded, “Five, please. Please.”

“No. I’m not going to be some experiment for you. I’ve wanted you for too long to just be some no strings fuck. I’m done.”

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted you?” you pleaded, shaking him slightly by the front of his sweater, “Pretty much since you first came into Maggie’s!”

There was a needy, beseeching tone in your voice. It would have embarrassed you before, but now it just felt good to wear your heart on your sleeve. He opened his mouth to object, but you spoke over him:

“I’ve been hiding from my feelings for years: hiding from Grandma dying, hiding from how I feel about you, and I’m done hiding!”

Five looked down at you, at your pleading face. 

To think you were literally begging him for sex - the stuff of his wildest fantasies - and he was turning you down.

He bit his lip again and looked up at the ceiling, away from you, and tried to think. 

This didn’t help quell your desire, finally released from its bounds after years of repression and cold showers. His neck looked unbelievable, all stretched and arched that way, and it took some restraint not to dive forward and taste his skin. 

“God, Five. I need you.”

He let out a little growl of frustration. 

“No. I need to know we have a chance at a future!”

The fragile note in his voice broke through your fever. Guiltily, you loosed your hold on his sweater and backed off. 

You closed your eyes for a second or two, and then spoke again:

“Okay. I understand. I’m sorry I kissed you like that.”

“It’s fine,” he croaked, sounding far away.

You put a hand on the spare bedroom door frame, signalling your intent to leave him alone. 

“I’m going to go to bed, but let’s talk in a few days, okay?”

He nodded, opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again.

“Maybe we’ll go for dinner?” you added, tentatively, “We can take it slow. You’re worth the wait.”

He flushed at this, and his fingers moved restlessly at his sides.

You gave him an understanding smile, and then, echoing his leavetaking of the previous evening, you took one of his hands, raised it to your lips, and gave two delicate kisses to the backs of those fingers. 

“Goodnight,” you said, tenderly, “Thanks for today. And last night. Thanks for everything.”

With that, you retreated into the bedroom. 

But before you could close the door, he was over the threshold.

“I won’t last long,” he said, voice low. 

And, before you could process what he meant, he kicked the door closed behind him with a bang, pulled his sweater over his head and cast it away from him. 

If his voice smoldered, his eyes were aflame; being the object that gaze felt like being scalded by hot honey. It seared your skin. 

With a rush from your toes upwards, you threw yourself at him, sending him falling back against the door with another loud bang.  

His tongue was in your mouth: plunging, searching, tasting; teeth clashing against yours with the urgency of desire. You moaned into his mouth and sagged, weak with the feel of it, and he grunted in displeasure. His hand came to the back of your head and held you fast, pressing your face harder against his. 

Though you initiated the kiss, though it was you pressing him against the door, though it was you begging for this only a few moments prior, it was his passion that won out, leaving you wilting in his arms, eyes helplessly closed. 

At last he came up for air, loosening his hold on you and breathing hard.

He looked too full of lust for words, eyes were darting all over you, teeth exposed. You could relate, your pussy aching like a tuning fork struck too hard. 

You dropped immediately to your knees, hands coming up to fumble at his waistband.

He groaned in anticipation, head hitting the door as he slumped back against it, the mere prospect of being sucked almost undoing him. 

“You shouldn’t -” he gasped, sounding a little embarrassed, even through the lust-induced haze. “I’ll come. It’s been a long time, I’m already-”

But he gasped again when you took him, hard and heavy, into your hand. It was clear that he hadn’t been exaggerating; his white underwear and pink cockhead were already moist with leaked arousal.

His cock was thick, uncut, and long enough to exceed your grip by half. His shaft was curved and sculptural like his forearms; veins standing out attractively. It twitched invitingly in your hand and, as a little more precome dripped from the slit, you felt yourself gush into your panties.

“I want to taste you,” you said, looking up at him.

“And I want to give you a good time,” he said, fretfully.

“You will.” you smirked, lips an inch away from his tip. 

He answered only with another sound, and when you tasted him, he hissed, and bucked his hips immediately into your mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, “it’s hard to control.”

You only smiled and took him back into your mouth, tasting the salt of his arousal, the delicate musk of his cock, and yet drinking in his whines more greedily than either. 

“Oh fuck,” he choked. 

He was perfect: sensitive and desperate. He writhed, cursed, tensed, and whimpered: one fist contracting in your hair and the other against the door handle as he fought fiercely against the need to come.

You took pity on him then, content with having had him in your mouth for the few moments he could manage.

“You’re going to kill me,” he said, breathlessly.

You grinned up at him. 

“Then eat my pussy and calm down.”

His cock twitched, and he gave another small cry. 

“That didn’t help!” he yelped, agonized. 

You chuckled mischievously and stood, just he started to unbutton his shirt, kicking the pants and underwear off from around his ankles. 

Even this momentary delay to getting some part of your body back on some part of his was too much, and you cast your dress away as roughly as Five had his sweater. Meanwhile, he was wriggling out of his shirt, swearing as his wrists caught in the cuffs. Your fingers shook as you unclasped your bra and, as you struggled, his eyes fed on you.

“Can I take off your panties?” he asked. 

No sooner had you answered in the affirmative, finally succeeding in removing the cursed bra, Five was on his own knees, shimmying your panties down your legs, and helping you to step out of them.

“Against the wall,” he growled, cock protruding invitingly between his legs and bobbing with his movement. 

No sooner had you obeyed than his mouth was inches away from your pussy, helping one leg up onto his shoulder to give him better access.

He looked at you for a moment, fascinated.

“Holy shit,” he said, awed, “you’re so wet.”

“I’ve been wet since the hallway!” you breathed.

With that same expression of fascination, he dragged a single finger between your labia, from your hole all the way to your clit, collecting your juices, and then put it in his mouth. 

He let out a low moan as he sucked his finger clean, one hand darting lower to gently roll his foreskin back and forth. 

He looked up at you with a cocky grin at the effect he’d already had on you, the appearance of even more thick fluid evidence enough that you liked what you saw. 

He leaned forward, nose less than an inch away from you, and lingered there.

“Please!” you said, desperately. 

“Call this payback for the Ebenezer Splooge,” he said, playfully.

“No! Please!”

He took another, momentary pause, and then mused:

“You do sound good when you beg.”

His tongue protruded, his breath hot and torturous against your inflamed, excited pussy… and then he paused there, tongue tip millimeters from your clit.

Just as one of your hands came to urge him forward by means of his hair, he gave your clit two or three experimental licks. 

You squeaked, hand finding a grip in his hair anyway, and he dragged his tongue deliberately up and down. 

“Oh fff-fuck.”

He hummed delightedly against you, and started to eat you out in earnest, kissing your labia, slipping his tongue inside you, and alternating between nudging your clit and sucking on it. 

You urged him on, trying hard not to moan too loudly, stroking his thick hair, and trying hard not to surrender too much of your weight to the wall as your supporting leg went weak. 

His face wormed its way further between your thighs, and his mouth closed around your clit, lips and tongue at work against you, eating you like a ripe fig; sucking your juices down his throat with a snarling, feral sound. 

As it turned out, Five didn’t need to worry about his lack of stamina: he might not last long, but neither did you. With only a few minutes of concerted licking, tongue swiping side to side, he only had to introduce a finger for you to keen, shout, and then come. 

You flailed and cursed as the pleasure slammed through you like a wave smashing you against the rocks. It floored you, and then that hot-honey was back, engulfing all your senses in a thick, shimmering molasses haze. 

As the feeling subsided, Five slowed his licks, kissing your pussy lips and easing you out of the orgasm with increasingly gentle attentions, mercifully avoiding your over-sensitive clit. 

When your breathing was back to normal, you unhooked your leg from his shoulder, and he looked up at you, face wet with your juices. 

“Good?”

You didn’t need to answer him, your fucked-out haze of an expression was enough. 

He smirked and stood so that you were on a level once more. He kissed you deeply, hands coming to cup and fondle each of your asscheeks and holding you up as you slumped bonelessly against him. 

“We need a condom.” you said, breathlessly. 

“Right,” he agreed, distractedly, setting you on your feet and bending to locate his wallet from his pants pocket. 

“Still in date,” he said, sounding slightly surprised as his trembling fingers located the rubber and opened the package, “I haven’t needed one in a while.”

“You can’t get STDs from the cable porn ladies,” you quipped.

“Shut up,” he smiled, rolling the condom down his shaft and leading you to the bed.

He sat down on its edge and looked up at you. 

Ride me,” he said huskily, “I promise I won’t take long.”

Though already exhausted from your orgasm, the need to have him inside you overwhelmed it, and you nodded. He guided you onto his lap facing him, your thighs around his waist and his arms around your own.

As wet as you were, it was still a slow, tight slide down onto his cock. Five buried his head between your breasts with a strangled moan at the sensation, intense even through the condom. When you started to ride him, he was beside himself in no time at all, feet planting on the floor and pushing helplessly up and into you. 

It felt good; full and intimate with your arms wrapped around each other, eyes and mouths occasionally locked as you thrust into one another, meeting the other’s body and pushing as deep as you could go. 

It was his face that made your nipples harden, the feel of his strong, lithe body between your thighs that made you bite your lip, and his pelvis moving against yours that made you bend to finally taste his neck. 

“Fuck,” he said, roughly, “Gonna come already. Been too long - thinking about you - can’t believe we’re - oh sh-iii-t!”

He came with a yell, surging upwards in the grip of his orgasm, head thrashing and arms tightening reflexively around you. His thrusts became disorganised, messy and uncontrolled, eyes screwed up, teeth gnashing against the air, and neck once more arching in that delicious way. 

He collapsed onto the bed, panting, and you leaned forward to give him a final kiss before climbing off him and wriggling into bed beside him.

You stroked his hair idly as he came down from the high, regaining his breath and dealing with the condom. For a few moments afterwards, he just stared at the ceiling. 

“That was amazing,” you said.

“Yeah,” he replied, distractedly.

“All okay?”

“Yes,” he said, sitting up but not turning to face you, “I’m gonna go get cleaned up, but I’ll be back, okay?”

Sitting in his pajamas on his own bed, Five plucked another hair and inserted it into the briefcase on his lap. 

He’d get over you. If that really was a quick fuck while you rediscovered yourself, then that would suck, but he could face it and survive. What he couldn’t face was becoming that lonely man with the child-molester mustache. 

He had to know that it wasn’t inevitable. Because if that wasn’t inevitable, then it proved that the power really was still in his hands.

And maybe it even proved that he had a chance to make you love him back.

He set the briefcase to the same date as last night, braced through the static of time travel, and then immediately regretted not putting on shoes.

Snow was soaking through his socks. 

“Great,” he grumbled.

He was standing in the front yard of a little house, alone on a snowy country road, and a quick glance at the briefcase proved to him that it was the same night as before: Christmas Eve, ten years from the present. 

It was different, that was for sure.

He hurried as quickly as possible off the snow and onto its covered doorstep, where the light from the front window drew him to it. With a strange sense of deja vu (shouldn't he be standing beside an azelea?), he looked through. 

There was a small but cozy living room, a lit wood fire, a Christmas tree with wrapped gifts beneath, and himself. 

He was wearing the same sweater Klaus got him for this Christmas, his socked feet up on the coffee table and a book in his hand, reading contentedly. Instead of the pedo ’stache, he sported only a little scruff around his jaw. 

It was all he needed to see, and Five let out a deep sigh of relief. 

Alone he might be, but with that many presents beneath the tree, he at least had family coming.

It was almost perfect, he thought, as he set up the briefcase for the return journey.

But then something caught the periphery of his vision.

There you were, entering the room and handing him what had to be a glass of Ebenezer Splooge, garnished with a twist of orange zest. 

“Hi,” he whispered, climbing back into the guest bed beside you.

“Hey,” you replied, sleepily, shuffling up beside him and laying your head on his shoulder. 

For a few moments, he just enjoyed the warmth from inside and out. 

“Thank you for tonight,” he whispered, “that was amazing.”

“It was a long time coming,” you mumbled, “and when we wake up, we’re doing it again.”

“Good,” he said, breathing in the smell of your hair.

His future was all here in the here and now: his family downstairs, you held here in his arms, and his resolution to deserve it all by being good to you all.

And he’d do it too. He’d be better than his word. He’d be as good a friend, as good a brother, and as good a man as he could. Perhaps his siblings might laugh to see the change in him - all loved up and cheerful for once -  but he found he didn’t care. His heart sang: and that was quite enough for him. 

As he drifted off to sleep, the woman he loved in his arms, he barely heard your sweet voice as it observed:

“Your feet are fucking freezing!” 

The End

A/N: Did you think I was ending this without smut? Have you met me? Thank you for all your lovely comments and reblogs throughout this fic and all my others this year. They really do make the difference and constitute roughly 80% of my self esteem. Happy Christmas to all who celebrate, and here's to a better 2025, (slim hope, but bring on the revolution etc etc).

Scrooge and Bob Cratchit, or The Christmas Bowl by John Leech, 1843 in Dickens' A Christmas Carol, first edition (1843).

Dickens' A Christmas Carol full text available here.

Read it! It's a much better than this, and you can see how many lines I stole verbatim or clumsily referenced.

Dividers used in this series by @bernardsbendystraws (garland) and @strangergraphics (lights)

Taglist: @nevbrooke-555, @fiannee, @abeeabee6969, @chalametabingbong, @lolawassad, @icantpickanamefromonefandom @thebearmage @kaybreezy3000, @starlitflora (comment to be added or removed)

Megalist

Request info + rules

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

[stardustrebels]

More of You- Chapter 1

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

WC: 1.6k

Rating: 18+ for eventual smut, MDNI

Series Masterlist | Blog Masterlist Next Chapter

Summary: After a devastating betrayal and loss, you left everything behind on the East Coast and promised yourself a fresh start in Austin, Texas. Independence as your new mantra, you vow never to let anyone too close again. Then you meet Joel Miller- a man whose warmth and Southern charm makes it hard to stick to your resolve. As your feelings deepen, you’re forced to confront your past- and question if letting someone in again is worth the risk. 

A/N: No outbreak!AU. Coffee shop meet-cute with a slow-ish burn. Sickly sweet fluff with eventual smut. I wanted to write something that gave me the warm fuzzies, and I am kicking my feet and giggling while I write this. Joel Miller just deserves a good life, you know? Joel and reader have a teeny tiny age gap- Joel is 42, reader is mid 30s. Sarah is 19. No use of Y/N, minimal descriptions of reader. She has hair long enough to tie back and she wears skirts and dresses.

I didn’t really proof read this, we’re just going with the vibes. I made myself swear I would post something before Christmas. 

Enjoy!

The coffee shop on the corner of Sixth and West, Harrison’s, was nothing fancy. It was a solution to the problem of your productivity, or lack thereof, over the last few weeks. What had initially been a stop-gap that you’d put in place to get out of a rut had become routine, the place you chose to begin each morning, rain or shine. The only place you could ever consider yourself a ‘regular’. 

It wasn’t the trendiest, but it served good coffee, nice cakes, and had beautiful big windows that allowed you to watch the world pass by over the top of your laptop screen. It was a welcome addition to your new life in Austin, a life you’d rebuilt piece by piece. Moving here had been a leap of faith, a desperate bid to put as much distance between you and what had happened. You didn’t talk about it, hell, you hardly even allowed yourself to think about it, never letting the grief brush against the edges of your carefully crafted new world. 

Austin was meant to be a fresh start. A city big enough to disappear in, but warm enough to allow you to sit close to the fringes of society and feel human again. To gain sense of belonging by osmosis. You’d thrown yourself in to the change head first- new apartment, new routines, new job, new goals. Taking one day at a time, the weight of the past feeling less and less heavy with each new dawn. You’d been here for six months now, and were finally starting to feel settled. 

This morning, you had claimed your usual spot in Harrison’s- by the window - and set about trying to get your emails under control. The soft murmurs of early-morning conversation filled the room, blending with the steady hiss of the espresso machine and the occasional clinking of cups. It was the perfect atmosphere- relaxed, comfortable and conducive to helping you focus. You were typing away when a clatter of crockery made you glance up over the rim of your cup as you took a sip of coffee. It was then that you caught sight of him- a man seated a few tables away, bathed in the soft glow of late summer sunlight streaming in through the windows. You took a breath and placed your coffee cup back down, eyes flicking quickly between him and your screen in a way that was anything but subtle. 

His broad shoulders filled out the green flannel shirt he wore, the fabric stretched just enough to hint at the strength underneath. The sleeves rolled up to reveal firm forearms, leaning casually against the table while he was engrossed in the book resting between his large hands, his fingers his fingers absently toying with the edge of a page. The sunlight caught the specks of grey peppered through his dark, tousled hair and short beard in a way that felt almost deliberate, like nature itself had conspired to pick him out of the crowd and highlight him to you. 

As if he sensed eyes on him, he glanced up. The moment his dark eyes met yours, your stomach flipped and you froze. For a brief second, it felt like the world slowed down. Then, almost imperceptibly, he smiled at you. A small, lopsided curve of his lips, confident, maybe a little arrogant, that sent a heat creeping up your spine. Your lips quirked up before you could stop them.

The heat reached the back of your neck and you quickly looked back down at your laptop. You tried to ignore the thrumming excitement making your fingers tingle, and stared hard at the screen and pretended to be engrossed in your work.

You could feel the weight of his presence now that you’d noticed him even without looking. It wasn’t that he was doing anything- just sitting quietly, reading a book and drinking coffee, but you felt like the air in the room had just shifted, like you were trying to take a breath through a sudden gust of wind that had hit you square in the face. You looked around, but everything else in the coffee shop was how it had been before; no one else even spared you a glance. You took another sip of coffee and hoped that it looked casual.

Your fingers hovered above the keyboard, though the words you’d been writing just moments before had evaporated from your mind, and you urged your eyes to stay fixed on your screen, but the temptation was too great and you stole another quick glance over the rim of your coffee cup. Your pulse skittered when he leaned back slightly in his chair, moving through the sun beam that was on him, causing it to accentuate the contours of his face. 

His profile was striking- the strong line of his jaw was softened by the neat scruff that framed his face, an aquiline nose that led down to full lips set in a tiny pout as he read. The soft sunlight highlighted the creases at the corners of his eyes, and the lines of his furrowed brow that had settled there with age. They weren’t harsh; from what you could make out each one seemed earnest, a testament to a life lived fully. There was something deeply endearing about them.

Your gaze darted away again before he could catch you staring, heat pulsing over the back of your neck and up to your cheeks. Focus, you scolded yourself. You had work to do. Deadlines to meet.

You found yourself curious to know what he was reading, what kind of coffee he drank, what his voice sounded like. You considered the possibility of introducing yourself to him- approaching his table and flashing him a smile as you asked about his book. The thought filled you with equal parts giddiness and horror. 

You adjusted in your chair, the movement causing the legs to scrape along the floor, and glanced over at him again despite yourself. This time, he had been looking at you, his head tilted slightly like he was aware of your attention but wasn’t sure what to make of it. His lips twitched in to another small smile and your stomach did a somersault. 

The sound of the barista calling out an order snapped you back to reality. You blinked, glancing back down at the dregs in your coffee cup and sighed as you considered the half-finished email on your screen. By the time you looked up again, the handsome stranger had pulled on his jacket and was getting ready to leave. You watched with interest as he checked his watch for the time instead of his phone. When he stood, he adjusted the fit of his leather jacket, shrugging it across his broad shoulders before he returned his coffee cup to the counter. He patted his jacket pockets checking for his keys and wallet and made his way to the door, hesitating for a second, as if he’d forgotten something, before disappearing out on to the street. 

You exhaled slowly. You’d been holding your breath without meaning to while watching him. You chastised yourself silently. Stop it. Stop being ridiculous. 

You glanced toward the door, half-hoping that he might have truly forgotten something, but it remained firmly shut, the activity of the coffee shop continuing uninterrupted. You squared your shoulders and refocused on the work in front of you.

Your work as a newly freelance graphic designer had its perks: flexible hours, creative freedom, and the ability to work from anywhere. But it also meant self- discipline, something you’d struggled with lately. Once you hit send on the email, you opened your project dashboard; a local bakery had hired you to revamp their branding. You’d sketched a few ideas the day before, and it was time to digitise them. 

You spent the next few hours, and the next four cups of coffee, on the draft of the logo and by lunchtime, the shop had shifted from its relaxed morning hum to a more distracting bustle. You gathered your things and decided to take a walk before heading home. 

The leaves on the trees lining the sidewalks were still green, stubbornly clinging to summer despite the calendars insistence on autumn. You took your time strolling through the streets, reminded of the easy charm that had drawn you to Austin in the first place. You decided to do some quick errands and took a long detour back to your apartment, choosing to wander and browse the window displays of independent shops you passed along the way. You stopped in a sunbeam streaming through a gap in the buildings opposite you and were reminded of the handsome stranger in the coffee shop. 

The memory of the warmth in his eyes as he smiled at you sent a little shiver down your spine.  You allowed yourself to consider him for a moment, standing there with the sun on your face. You knew there was no harm in it. You’d promised yourself- sworn up and down, really- that you would focus on yourself. No distractions, no romantic entanglements, no chance of getting hurt again. After everything that happened, you couldn’t afford to let your heart lead you in to another minefield. Thinking about the handsome stranger was silly, you told yourself as you turned the corner toward home, the sun casting long shadows across the sidewalk. You made a point not to think about him as you hurried through the front door of your building, and as you stepped in to your apartment and set your bag down, you tried to dampen the tiny stab of disappointment that you might never see him again.

[orchid3a]

A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE. ( zhongli x reader )

╰┈➤ you always believed in christmas miracles, but he took this concept to another level for you.

pairings — zhongli x fem!reader.

warnings — reader and zhongli are single parents before meeting each other, t*xic relationship (not with zhongli), mentions of domestic v*olence and ch*ating, a bit of misogyny and overall prejudice of the society with single mothers, fluff with children and between the parents, sugestiveness at the end.

word count — 5k

notes — this is a repost from the beggining of the year bc i had some problems back then, but this fic was supposed to be a christmas one and for zhongli's birthday. either way, it's now here! reblogs and feedbacks are appreacited &lt;3

you’ve always loved christmas. 

it was a time when everything was magical, especially when you were a child, but such a magic didn’t die when you were growing up — it actually only grew, especially after you had your daughter. her father, your ex-husband, wasn’t the biggest fan of christmas. zandik was a doctor, and a logical one, and he almost spilled to your daughter that santa wasn’t real in the last christmas you three spent as a family, though you couldn’t tell if he was being mean or the idea of santa claus was so illogical that he didn’t comprehend why your daughter should believe it. 

either way, nahida still believed in santa, and you were sure your boyfriend and his children would do anything to keep such magic in your daughter’s life — and you couldn’t be more grateful. 

ganyu and xiao were two sweet hearts, accepting to go shopping with you to buy presents for your daughter and their father. it was a tradition that was passed down from your father to you, always bringing you along when he went to buy presents for your mother and siblings — you loved nothing more than to choose what they would be given, and seeing their eyes lighten up with the perfect gifts you had chosen. you used to take nahida with you, too, when you and zandik were still together, and you knew she loved to see the small smile on her father’s face when he opened his gift and saw the shirt or the new white coat his daughter had chosen for him. 

but that was in the past now, and your ex-husband didn’t want anything to do with nahida now. 

it was a shame, though. despite the bad way your relationship ended — with him cheating on you with one of his coworkers while you stayed at home taking care of your little treasure and doing everything to please him — nahida was still his daughter, a child that he had spent hours and hours talking when she was still in your belly, a child that he had treasured and did lots and lots of plans with you while she laid on his bare chest in a warm night of summer. but ever since your divorce, he hadn’t made any effort to be present in his daughter’s life again, but it didn’t seem like nahida was missing him. 

your boyfriend was a better father figure to her, anyway. 

after your divorce, you didn’t have anywhere to be — your ex husband made you quit your job after you got pregnant, so you could put all your energy into taking care of your baby and raising her the bestest you could. your best friends, cyno and tighnari, offered you a place to stay until you had a job and a good income to be able to live on your own with nahida, and you couldn’t be more grateful to them. if it wasn’t for them, you wouldn’t have been hired in your boyfriend’s company as his secretary and become the neighbor of his younger brother, who played matchmaker for the both of you. 

zhongli was a kind boss, always understanding when you needed to call a sick day whenever nahida needed you, to the point that rumors about your involvement began even before you two were actually together.

apparently, he had always looked at you with a lovestruck expression that everybody saw except you — because, in your head, how could a man as successful as him, as handsome and kind as him, would look at you with love in his eyes instead of pity? with a failed marriage and a little girl to take care of, you had already made up your mind that you would never find love again. but zhongli was stubborn and would do anything to show you that he was different than your ex-husband, his plan coming to fruition when you found a job in your actual line of field, with venti’s and ei’s help. 

you were, at first, a bit hesitant in opening your heart again for another man. but you came to know that you and zhongli had passed by the same situation, a cheating wife that left him for her new affair, leaving two small children for him to take care of. if it wasn’t for venti and ei, in the words of the said younger brother of your ex boss, zhongli wouldn’t be able to raise his children to be such good kids. another thing that made you more prone to open yourself to him was the way he treated nahida, in such a care that you never saw your husband treating her — zhongli always coaxed giggles and giggles from her, and you knew you were in love with him watching him play with your daughter as if she was his own. 

now, after one year of being together and two months of living as a family, it was the first christmas you five would spend together. 

“aunt y/n, do you think daddy will like a new shirt? we can buy it blue to match with my hair!” ganyu’s excited voice took you from your thoughts, and you smiled at the young girl, nodding at her words, like xiao glared at his older sister.  

ganyu and xiao were nine and seven, and the kindest children you ever met. they had accept you and nahida in their lives as if you both had always been a part of it, and the three of them had a very special bond — none of your friends had children on nahida’s age, and it was good to see the sibling bond she was forming with zhongli’s children. she and ganyu became sisters in less than a day, and while xiao was shyer than his sister, nahida was already calling him big brother by the end of the first week you all were living together. you and zhongli couldn’t be happier, being able to be together and watching your children getting closer — he’d always whisper how good of a mother you were while kissing your forehead, making you hide your face on his chest due to embarrassment. 

“i think he will love one.” you agreed, hand messing ganyu's blue curls. “but maybe for his birthday? we need to remember that we need to buy two gifts for daddy.��� sometimes it was bothersome the fact that your boyfriend's birthday was in the new year's eve, a date when people were already celebrating, but you tried to make it more special for him — zhongli's birthday celebration started as soon as he wake up, and it went through the whole day. he would turn thirty-four this year, and you wanted to make it as special as you wanted christmas to be. 

“why didn't daddy choose a better day to be born? like us, or nahida!” xiao's complaint was cute, his hand clutching your skirt and his brows furrowed in an unhappy face. 

you smiled at the younger boy, watching as ganyu looked at the dress shirts in the store. “we don't choose the day we're born, little man.” it was cute how he still flushed at your pet names for them, and you wondered if someday he'd grow too tired of them and ask you to stop. you hoped not, because both of them, ganyu and xiao, already had their special places on your heart — right at nahida's, but you feared it was too soon to call them like that.

“hmpf.” he pouted and you giggled, fighting the urge to pinch his cheeks and call him cute. 

“aunt y/n!” ganyu called you, a beautiful blue dress shirt in her small hands. “i'm sure daddy will like this one! it's like my hair!” she proudly exclaimed, a smile full of white teeth adorning her chubby cheeks. but before you could answer, you heard an irritated sound coming from xiao’s mouth, who was still clutching your skirt, narrowed eyes looking at the shirt his sister chose. 

“what about my hair then?” he asked and you sighed, knowing it would take a while to make those two agree on something. 

— 

zhongli smiled seeing the christmas’ lights shining on nahida’s green eyes. 

he had always worried about his relationship with your child, even before you two were a thing — it was embarrassing how much he had daydreaming about being in a relationship with you, a thirty two three old man fantasizing about his twenty-seven secretary, but he couldn’t help himself. not when you smiled so sweetly at him, always making sure that he had a cup of water and coffee with him and that he wasn’t overworking himself. you were zhongli’s dream woman, and he knew he needed to court you properly. 

you first told him about your daughter in a rainy day, after you had received a call from your friends, eyes glossy with tears — you explain that she had a fever through the whole night and you left her with your best friends so you could work, but it seemed like her condition was worse since you left. zhongli didn’t think twice about offering you a ride to your friends’ house then to the hospital, his heart contracting itself seeing your distressed face. you reluctantly accept, and the rest was story. 

that day was the confirmation that you needed that you should accept his moves on you, already searching for a new job so you could fully welcome zhongli in your life. the way he made nahida feel safe, despite the doctors' scaring and the needles in her little body, made the tears you were holding back to fall from your eyes — your ex-husband’s last words ringing in your head, of how much of a bad mother you would be without him and his help.

now, zhongli was walking hand in hand with your six-year-old daughter through the jewelry store, trying to look for the perfect ring to propose to you. 

“what gem do you think mommy would like, nahida?” he asked, his amber gaze eyeing some diamond’s rings on display, hands unconsciously reaching to take nahida between his arms so she could help him choose. she nuzzled between them, sighing contently before casting her green orbs on the rings and gasping softly. zhongli suppressed a chuckle — he missed when his children were small and innocent like her.

she pointed to a gold one with some green details, the diamond shaped in a heart with some emeralds around it. he wasn’t surprised though, as her favorite color was green — even the tips of her hair were dyed green, a courtesy of the day she, ganyu and xiao spent with venti. “that one, uncle ‘li!” she exclaimed, her face lightening up at the thought of your finger adorned with it. “but why are you gifting mommy it, uncle zhongli? my papa used to give her clothes or books.” nahida was the most intelligent and curious kid zhongli ever met, and he knew she’d ask why he wanted to give you a ring — though the mention of her father brought a sour taste to his mouth, he could never be angry at her for bringing him up. 

she was too small to understand how much her father made her mother suffer. 

“well,” he started, smiling at the vendor and pointing to the ring nahida liked. “i want to marry your mommy, and i’m going to ask her with the ring i’ll buy today. do you think she’ll accept it?” 

he didn’t want to admit it, but his heart was hammering inside his chest like he was a teenager once more — nobody knew about his plans of proposing, and zhongli wanted to keep things a surprise to everyone, but he knew he needed to ask nahida’s permission first. she was your entire world, just like his children were his, but he wanted to make a space for himself there, like you and your little girl had on his. and nahida’s acceptance was what he needed to feel confident enough to ask you those three little words. he knew you wouldn’t do anything that would hurt or put her in danger, and he couldn’t blame you. you were a single mother in a world that looked down at you with disdain in its eyes. 

though, nahida’s words caught him by surprise. “you promise you won’t make mommy cry like my papa did?” he looked puzzled at her, though he understood what she meant. “mommy thinks she hides things from me, but i’m not dumb. i remember when papa left us, she cried so much! and i don’t want to see her crying again.” she hid her face on his neck and zhongli sighed, stroking her back. 

“i promise, my sweetness. i will never make mommy cry sad tears, alright?” he almost didn’t notice her small nod, but he felt her small hands gripping the back of his dress shirt tighter. “does that mean i can marry mommy?” 

his heart felt more at ease when he heard her giggles. “of course!” nahida exclaimed while coming out from her hiding spot, a big smile on her face. “does that mean you’ll be my daddy, too?” as much as her voice had excitement on it, zhongli could recognize a bit of shyness, alongside the soft pink dusting her cheeks — but he felt his heart warm, and even though nahida didn’t know that, he already considered her his child, his youngest daughter. and to know that she wanted him to be her father figure was better than any other scenario he could think of. 

“yes, i’ll be your daddy too, my sweetness.” 

—

you looked down fondly at ganyu and xiao, both of them looking at their ice creams as if they were the richest treasure in the world.

at the end, they decided to buy a blue shirt as zhongli’s christmas’ present, and a gold wristwatch, with his black ornaments, as his birthday present. it was adorable to see how dedicated they were to find the perfect gift for their father, debating and arguing to try to find what he would like the most — in the end, you knew zhongli would use his gifts to work, showing his employees how cute and thoughtful his little angels were. 

“this ice cream is so good, mommy.” you smiled, at first, hearing xiao’s words, napkin ready to clean his lips off the almond cream around it — but you stopped dead in your tracks when you noticed how he called you. 

you never wanted to take their biological mother’s place in their lives, though zhongli always said that she never loved them like a mother should — she saw them as a way for him to continue married to her, so she could maintain her lifestyle as a ceo’s wife intact, partying and cheating on him behind his back and leaving his children to be taken care by nannies. once, he admitted to you that his biggest regret was choosing such a woman to be the mother of his children, whispering soon after that what happened to him and her led him to you, and zhongli couldn’t be more grateful. hearing him calling you that, although, filled your heart with warmth and your smile grew wider. 

xiao was more introverted and reserved than ganyu, perhaps because of the so little time he spent with his mother before she and zhongli divorced. you thought he would be the last one to call you that, and you would be alright if he never did — the love you felt for them and the love they felt for you couldn’t be described in just a simple title. 

“you’re getting your mouth all dirty, dummy.” as a good older sister, ganyu scolded him gently, though her mouth was dirty with some of the chocolate toppings of her ice cream. “it isn’t mommy’s job to clean you.” 

you didn’t know if it was influence of her brother or just the mood that made her call you like that too, but you swallowed the lump in your throat. “it is mommy’s job to clean him, baby. it’s mommy’s job to look after the both of you, and nahida, and daddy too.” you tried to explain, napkins ready to clean them both. they giggled and, to any onlooker, you looked like a happy and small family — as you were, though two components of it were missing. 

however, your giggles died down when you spotted familiar curls of light blue hair and a pair of red eyes looking straight at you. 

you could recognize zandik’s eyes anywhere you went — they were sharp and calculating, the emotion shining on them always indecipherable. you used to find them beautiful, especially in the early days of your relationship with him, when they used to shine and sheer adoration, but now they only brought a sour taste to your mouth. but as soon as you noticed his presence there, you returned your eyes to your children, continuing to smile at them. 

“mommy!” before you could say something, you heard your sweet girl’s voice, her small hands waving at you while she was perched comfortably between zhongli’s arms.

“daddy and ‘hida are back, xiao!” ganyu exclaimed, feet already taking her to where her father was standing. you offered your hand to xiao, who took it with more enthusiasm than normal, you two followed his big sister to finally find the two other members of your family. 

though you could still feel your ex-husband’s gaze on your back. 

you sighed relieved when zhongli’s arms embraced your body, burying your face on his neck — his sandalwood scent managed to ease your heart a bit, though you were still waiting for disaster to happen with zandik around. you heard the girls’ giggles and xiao’s little ‘tsk’ at your display of affection, and you could feel your boyfriend’s smile while he kissed your lips. 

“i hope these little rascals didn’t give you any trouble, my dearest.” he spoke, voice deep and soothing, as if he could sense your distress at the moment. you smiled, shaking your head, while ganyu and xiao snuggled themselves in your sides. 

surprisingly, xiao was the first one to speak. “we would never give mommy any trouble, daddy.” you watched as surprise and pure love passed through zhongli’s features, his eyes the warmest you ever saw — it was as if he had dreamed about the day his children would finally acknowledge you as their true mother, despite the blood running through his veins. ganyu nodded and joined her brother’s chorus, nodding. 

“you’re the only one who we give trouble to, daddy!” 

you ruffled their heads. “i hope my little rascal didn’t give you any trouble, my love. i know how curious she can be.” you returned his question to him, hands still caressing xiao’s and ganyu’s hair, winking at your little girl who giggled between zhongli’s arms, that being your favorite sound in the world. she looked so at ease and at her place being nursed and loved by him, as if he was the one supposed to be her father from the very beginning. 

“my fault. she inherited it from her father, i suppose.” 

you didn’t remember his voice being so cold, as if it was the chill of the first snow of the year — it wasn’t fitting no, as your husband hailed from the west, from a place that never snowed. maybe it was the influence of some of his coworkers from the north, but you still remembered when that voice used to be your source of peace and comfort. “zandik.” you greeted him, not bothering to turn around to look at him, more concerned in protecting your children from his venom. they seemed to understand how dangerous he was, clinging to you even more. 

though, the worst part was watching nahida’s expression seeing her father after so long. her eyes were wide, but her lips were trembling and her small hands were clutching zhongli’s shirt with a strength you never saw before. you wanted nothing more than to just take her away from here, but zhongli’s expression told you he was willing to protect her like you would. it hurt you to know that your daughter was aware of the monster her father was, and you felt as if you had failed your mission to protect her childhood innocence. 

he chose to ignore your presence, focusing his attention on zhongli and nahida, as if his ego was hurt by the fact his daughter didn't run straight to his arms. “why a strange man is holding my daughter, y/n?” you turned to face him, instinctively putting ganyu and xiao behind you, hoping to protect them.

“he's my boy—” 

“he's my daddy!” nahida's voice cut you off, leaving everyone speechless. “he's going to marry mommy and not make her cry like you did, papa.” she explained, voice quiet like a feather reaching the ground after failing — though, to you, her words resonated inside your head, for two reasons: she was too young to be worried about someone making you cry. 

and zhongli wanted to marry you. 

zandik answered with a dry chuckle, his eyes shining with the same anger it did back then. “what poison about me did you feed to my daughter, you bitch?” you watched as his hand started to move towards your figure, and you closed your eyes, memories of the day when you confronted him about his cheating played in your head — the screams and the tears, the harsh words and his hands bruising your face. 

though, the impact of his fist in your jaw didn't happen again. 

you opened your arms to see zhongli in front of you, nahida being supported only by one of his arms but looking worried at your shaking form, his other hand holding zandik's arm, fingers squeezing your ex-husband’s wrist — even ganyu and xiao got away from their hiding place, now in front of you, as if they were ready to protect you. 

“do not ever dare to touch my wife like that again, scum, or i will make sure you regret messing with my family again.” zhongli said, voice firm and demanding. “get out of my sight or else nobody in this world will make me stop hunting you for hurting y/n.” 

— 

it pained him to see you like this. 

zhongli could see how strong you tried to look for the children, especially nahida. after the encounter with her father — and his boyfriend now, the same man who zandik had cheated on you with, who was lurking in the shadows until zhongli stepped up — she was visibly shaken up, not leaving your arms until your little family arrived home. in the walls of her safe place, nahida regained her light, and xiao and ganyu seemed relieved, ready to play with his little sister. 

nor you or zhongli touched the subject in front of them, and he was waiting for night time, the only time when he was alone with you in the confines of your shared room, to extract your real feelings. he could see how your smiles didn’t reach your eyes, or how your laugh seemed forced — it seemed like the kids did too, all three of them snuggled in your arms during the movie you were watching, while you were snuggled at his side. he couldn’t ask for anything better than to have the love of his life and his children safe in his arms, though his mind was running miles trying to find a way to make your husband pay for what he made you and nahida go through.

another thing that he wanted to discuss was the little secret nahida spilled. 

he didn’t blame her, of course. zhongli understood it was her way of protecting him and her mother from her father’s words, and he couldn’t be more grateful for her actions — it was a testimony of how well you were raising her, and also a testimony that you both were better without the shadow of zandik looming over you. nahida now had space to grow her opinions and be whatever she wanted, and zhongli was happy that he was able to provide such an environment for her, alongside you. 

the sound of the door opening made him tear his eyes from his book, gentle gaze now focused on your form. you were wearing some pajamas pants and an old t-shirt of his, and he swore you looked the most beautiful you ever did looking like that — perhaps, you in a white dress walking down the aisle to meet him could beat such a sight. he opened his arms and you took no time to just jump between them, face nuzzled on his neck, his warm hands drawing circles on your lower back. you sighed contentedly. “how is she?” he knew you were putting nahida to sleep, being the one who aided you in putting the children in their respective rooms, staying a bit more in her room to make sure she was alright. 

“she’s still a bit shaken up.” you answered, voice muffled by his shirt. zhongli tightened his arms around you, kissing your hair. “i explained to her that zandik will never take her away from us, but she made me promise it at least three times.” your chuckle was a sad one, and he feared you bursting into tears for someone who didn’t deserve it — though, he couldn’t help and feel warm inside by the fact you included him and his children in your family. 

he kept his silence, only humming, knowing you had to say more. “why is he like that? why i couldn’t see how horrible he was from day one?” you seemed defeated, and his blood boiled at the sensation of your tears soaking his shirt. 

zhongli knew very well how you felt. “love normally clouds our senses, dearest.” you took your face from its hiding spot, meeting his amber eyes — gentle and shining with endless love for you, making your heartbeat race just like in the first time you saw them. “but he will never try to approach you or nahida again, do you hear me?” he held your face between his large hands, thumb caressing your cheeks in a loving way. you nodded, giving him a smile that resembled your normal ones. 

“i wish you were nahida’s father from the start, ‘li.” you admitted, a pout on your lips. he pecked them briefly, almost giving you no time to melt into the kiss, kissing your forehead soon after. 

he helped you to get up from his embrace, legs straddling his thighs, while taking a small black velvet box from under your pillow. “if you say yes, i can.” 

you looked between him and the velvet box as if you didn't understand what was happening, but in reality, you couldn't believe it. why zhongli, a man so fine like the most delicious wine, wanted to marry you? a poor excuse of a woman and mother, who still got shaken up with the presence of her ex-husband? you knew he deserved someone so much better than yourself, but you wanted to be that person — but the tears were already glossing your vision and your head came to rest on his chest, his hands holding you close to his body.

you cried like a child, the velvet box between your hands and zhongli's long fingers between your hair. his warmth was almost soothing you, almost whispering that you were made and born to be in that position, between his arms and feeling his love for all eternity. 

your sobs calmed in the same intensity zhongli's love professions became more and more passionately, his words making you see that even if you didn't feel like you were deserving of his love, he felt like you were. and that was enough, you came to realize — zhongli's love was his to give to anyone he deemed worthy of, and he deemed you and your daughter worthy of his endless affections. 

“yes.” you whispered against the pale skin of his neck, now a bit red from the small love bites you gave him after you calmed down. the velvet box was still resting in your hands, and after giving his neck another kiss, you positioned yourself to face him and his amber gaze, eyes already tearing up by the love shining on them. 

zhongli's hands were ready to open it, showing you the most beautiful ring you ever saw in your life — a gold band with a heart shaped diamond in the middle, some emeralds, as the same color as your sweet girl's eyes, around it, making the ring perfect for you. you nodded again, heart racing when he took your hand in his and put the ring on your finger. as soon as you felt the cold band in your warm skin, you cupped his face, bringing his face to meet yours in a passionate kiss.  

“thank you.” zhongli whispered against your lips after he broke the kiss, and you smiled, though not ready for his next words. “thank you for loving me, for choosing this scarred and brute man to be your husband.” you just stroked his face, letting him talk his heart out. “thank you for being the best mother for nahida and now to ganyu and xiao.” his lips soon found your face once again, now caressing your cheek. “i love you.” he whispered with his nose on your cheek, his plump lips pressing a big and sloppy kiss there, his hands now roaming through your body — you knew what he wanted, already grinding your hips against his. 

“you'll make me cry again.” you managed to say between the shaky breaths leaving your mouth due to his wandering hands. “i— ah— love you.”

both of you couldn't wait to be intertwined as one for eternity, expressed by the sounds and movements of your bodies — and the proposal would always be remembered by you as one of your christmas's miracle.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Whumpcember (day 15)

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Prompt: Broken glass

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: slight mentions of panic attacks; crying; Bucky being a sweetheart because I love him so much

Author’s note: This got unnecessarily long somehow. Again, this was meant to be a shorty. Also, I was in my feels when I wrote this. Anyway, thank you for reading!

Masterlist | Whumpcember Masterlist

The final box of Christmas decorations thuds to the ground as you let it down with a heavy huff. You straighten up your back with a grimace, rolling your shoulders.

You might think as an Avenger, carrying a few boxes, would be an easy task. After all, you are trained to thrive under the most punishing conditions, with sharp skills and boundless stamina. But after hauling all those cartons stuffed with tinsel, garlands, and ornaments up from the storage room to the towering Christmas tree in the compound’s common area, you are left panting like you’ve just run a marathon.

It’s almost laughable. Thankfully, you are alone for now. Sam would have a field day, smug grin plastered across his face at the state you’re in.

Wanda, Natasha, and Clint meant to help you with this but they were all still glued to the desk, writing reports, but Bucky is supposed to be back from his latest mission any minute now and you wanted to do this nice thing for him at least. He did sound a little worn out on the phone earlier when he called you to tell you they were on their way back.

So perhaps decorating the Christmas tree would lift his spirit a tiny bit. It’s the first step in what you hope will be a cozy and inviting scene - something Bucky might walk into and, for once, not feel like a soldier returning from a war zone but a man coming home.

The tree is a statement, of course. Tony insisted on it. It’s so tall, it might even brush the high ceiling of the room and there is no way you’ll get some ornaments all the way up without risking your life. And Bucky would definitely not brighten up if you tried it out.

So you’ll absolutely be needing Wanda’s help sooner or later. With a flick of her wrist, she could make this whole thing a hell of a lot easier but you don’t have the time to wait until she is done writing her report.

You let your eyes roam over the many ornaments lying neatly in the box before you and one of them immediately sparks your attention. Your fingers brush against the delicate surface of the red ornament placed almost carefully beside the others.

Its glass is smooth and cool, the color a deep crimson so much more in depth than all the others. You hold it up to the light, turning it slowly, marveling at how the glow from the tree’s string lights catches on its curves and the unique and detailed pattern all across.

It’s heavier than expected, the weight surprising for something so fragile. The gold clasp at the top gleams faintly, tarnished just a little with age. A thin ribbon dangles from it, curling at the end like it has been tied and untied countless times.

There is something about it, some intangible quality that draws you in - a sense of history, of significance.

And then it happens.

The ribbon slips from your grasp, too quick for your fingers to snatch it back. If you weren’t so enamored with the beautiful piece, you would have gotten access to your reflexes a little earlier.

It’s too late now though, and you can only watch in stunned silence as the ornament tumbles to the ground, the crimson surface catching flashes of light as it falls.

It hits the hardwood floor with a sound that is both sharp and final - a crack, then a splintering.

Disappointed in yourself, you crouch down to the shattered remains. Tiny shards of glass fan out like a constellation, glinting under the glow of the tree. The ornament is no longer whole, splintered into different-sized fragments.

Annoyed that you were so stupid and careless to let this special ornament fall to its devastation, you begin to pick up the many red pieces into your palm.

It really was unique. It would have looked great on the tree-

Your movements freeze. Your heart leaps to your throat. A rush of panic claws at your chest and rises up to your ears where it floods and pounds tremendously.

Rebecca B.

It’s a name ingrained into the largest surviving piece of the glass - a faint, looping scrawl. Clearly written by hand.

Rebecca Barnes. The realization makes you weak in the knees and you fall back onto your heels, your ass hitting the floor with a thump.

This isn’t just some random ornament. This isn’t another piece of holiday cheer to hang on a tree and forget about for the rest of the year after packing it back into boxes to store it in a corner of the storage room.

This ornament belonged to Rebecca Barnes. Bucky’s sister. Something Bucky kept all these years, hidden among the other decorations like a relic of a life he’d lost long before his own had been ripped apart.

The air around you feels heavy. The smell of pine from the tree now stings in your nose. Your heart might actually have fallen along with the ornament because it too is shattered in pieces.

The shards tremble in your palm and you stare at them along with the rest still lying helplessly on the ground, as if there is actually something you can do right now to go back in time and not pick it up ever again, just to make sure.

But there is nothing you can do.

Your heart breaks even further at the thought that Bucky might have put it here deliberately. Maybe it was an attempt to move forward, to share the memory of his sister. Maybe he thought the ornament didn’t belong in some dusty package hidden away, but out in the open, a part of the holiday warmth he’s been so hesitant to feel. Maybe it was his thought of remembering her with someone else this time, instead of alone.

This would be such a huge step for him. And you would feel so proud if you weren’t on the verge of a panic attack.

Because it’s broken, divided into so many pieces. You just dropped something so carelessly that probably meant the world to Bucky. And, god, did he deserve the world. But you took it. You contorted the precious memories of his little sister. Unwillingly, of course. But that doesn’t make you feel any better right now.

You have known Bucky for a few years now. Though knowing him feels like a word too shallow for what you share. You never labeled it, both of you walking the fine line, and never crossing it.

But you see that Bucky trusts you - the kind of trust he doesn’t hand out freely. And for good reason, after all. In fact, you’re not even sure he’s ever given it to anyone else in quite the same way, not even Steve. And that’s saying something.

You see it in the small things, in the way his guarded demeanor softens when it’s just the two of you, the soft smiles that seem to be reserved for you. It’s the kind of friendship where silence doesn’t have to be filled, and words don’t have to be spoken to be understood.

He lets you sit with him on the couch in the living room on nights when his past pulls him under and doesn’t allow for him to get some shut-eye. You are usually awake yourself, sometimes just running on adrenaline after coming home from a mission and accompanying him silently. He always seems to linger out here when you are away on a mission anyway, so you usually meet him here after getting home, watching his shoulders slowly droop and his back rest more comfortably against the back of the couch.

You are the first at his bedside when his nightmares claw at his mind. You’ve seen him at his most vulnerable - shirt clinging to his sweat-soaked chest, hair plastered to his face, his breaths coming in uneven gasps as you help him fight to pull himself out of his memories.

Those nights, you never push him to talk. You don’t ask him to explain or tell you what he saw. Without a word, you would hand him a glass of water and wait while he drinks, his hands trembling so slightly it makes your stomach feel heavy every time. Sometimes you tell him to breathe with you, in and out, until the panic subsided and his shoulders stopped shaking.

You were never sure how much touch he needs in those moments so you usually stay at a small distance from him, but it seems your presence alone does wonders.

When he would be ready, he always searched your face so long and intensely, before croaking out a heavy but meaningful “Thank you.”

And his small acts of kindness always fill you with a jittery feeling that makes your knees weak and unfortunately doesn’t help at all when fighting against Natasha in the ring.

Just a few weeks ago, Bucky spent an entire Saturday afternoon fixing the squeaky hinge on your bedroom door because he heard you muttering to Wanda about how annoying it was.

He never even told you he was going to do it. You just came back to your room later that evening to find the door silent as a ghost. It took a whole week for you to find out how this happened. And it wasn’t him, who told you. It was Clint, who saw him walk around with a toolbox and a satisfied smile on his face that Clint, as he told you found a little terrifying.

Additionally, he always seems to know when you need a break during training sessions, tossing you a water bottle before you even realize how tired you are. Or he would plant himself wordlessly between you and your opponent for the day, with his arms crossed and a chastising glance at you when you’ve been fighting for hours without acknowledging the way your movements already grew sluggish and wobbly.

You are always aware when his hands linger on your shoulder a second longer after a sparring match, his metal fingers cold but careful, as if he’s memorizing the feel of you there. Or the way your stomach twists when he catches your eye across the room, and for just a moment, it’s like the rest of the world falls away. And the way he talks to you, even when people are around, his voice lower, softer, words chosen with an almost uncharacteristic care, makes you feel like you’re the only person he truly is interested in talking to. You also love the nights he shows up at your door with takeout, wordlessly handing you your favorite meal, and striding into your room to settle at the foot of your bed with a contented sigh.

Through it all, however, was always this persistent question you had. The one that molded into an ache inside your chest. Because what if? What if you took one step closer and stopped holding back? What if you risk everything you have with him now for something more?

But right now you feel like those questions don’t hold the same energy anymore. The same weight. No, they just got weightless. Pointless. Because you just ruined everything without even risking it.

You just destroyed something that can’t be fixed with glue and an apology. It can’t be fixed with you sitting with him and comforting him in the dark while his mind goes to the same cruel place like many times before.

This feels like you’ve crossed a line you can’t uncross.

The wrong line.

Shaking hands pick up the largest fragment, the soft loops of her name still visible through the fractures. The sharp ends bite into your palm like the memory of something sacred that’s been lost. You don’t feel the sting. You don’t feel the sensation of the few droplets of blood sliding over your palm where the ends nicked your skin.

The only thing you register is that this foolish mistake might actually unravel everything you’ve built with him.

He let you in, further than anyone, but that doesn’t mean he won’t push you back out if you give him a reason. And this definitely feels like a reason.

Your mind presents you with his reaction when he comes walking in here and sees what happened.

At first, there’d be nothing - just the stoic silence he uses to sink into, the kind that makes it impossible to tell what he’s thinking. But you’d see it in the smallest of things - the way his jaw tightens just enough to be noticeable, the flicker in his eyes that he’ll try to hide but won’t be able to, the stiffening of his shoulders. And then the desolation, like a tide pulling back just before it crashes. You wonder if he would say anything at all, or if the silence would hang heavy.

You swallow hard, begin to feel the sting behind your eyes, and try to force the lump in your throat down.

You’ve worked so hard to be someone he could rely on, someone he could trust in ways he hasn’t trusted anyone else in decades. You’ve sat with him, listened to him, stayed silent with him. Learned to know him so well, you even memorized the subtle shifts in his expressions, the things he won’t say but still lets you feel.

And now, here you are with broken glass in your hands and a painful feeling in your chest, terrified that this could be the moment that shatters the thing between you.

He might pull away, retreat behind those walls he’s spent years building. What if he doesn’t let you sit with him anymore. Or what if he does, but his shoulder would only grow more tense. What if he starts holding back, measuring his words, locking the parts of himself away that he once entrusted to you?

The idea of losing him - not just losing him, but losing this connection, this unspoken, almost-more-than-friendship thing that you’ve both been too afraid to name - makes your breath catch and something rise in your chest that might be bile.

A sob comes out instead.

It comes out like a wound ripped open before it could begin to heal. You press a quivering hand to your mouth, in hopes of muffling the sound, but it’s no use. More broken sobs come anyway.

You try to pull yourself together, to force the tears back, but your body feels so weak under the guilt and shame.

More parts of the broken ornament bite into your skin, red droplets welling up and sliding down your skin, pooling at the curve of your wrist, before falling soundlessly to the floor.

Pain should ground you. It should pull you out of this spiral, force you to snap back to some semblance of control. But it doesn’t. It doesn’t do anything at all.

Instinctively, your hand gives way, the pieces tumbling from your fingers and scattering across the hardwood once more.

You only sit there, frozen, your breath hitching and catching in your throat as tears streak down your face, warm and unwelcome. You can’t stop them.

You’re not supposed to be this weak. You’re not supposed to break down like this, over something so small. And yet that makes the sobs only harder to contain. Because this isn’t small - not to Bucky. And that’s the part that leaves you as shattered as the crimson glass. Perhaps as shattered as your relationship with the person you fell for as hard as the ornament fell to the ground.

It’s Rebecca. His sister. His past. His grief. It’s a tiny piece of his life that he trusted enough to bring out of hiding, to put here with the rest of the world, in the open where it could be seen. Where it could be touched. And you touched it, only to let it fall. Only to ruin it.

Shame knocks down on you so hard, you draw your knees up to your chest, curling into yourself as though you could make yourself smaller, invisible, anything but this.

You don’t even know what to do with your blood-streaked palm, only letting it hover in the air, the shallow cuts glistening under the still-glowing lights of the tree. It’s a mess. You are a mess. Curling your fingers into a fist, you wince in pain at the stinging of the cuts but you leave it like that.

Perhaps you are overreacting, sitting here on the floor in the common area of the compound with a bleeding hand and the shattered remains of Rebecca Barnes's memory, but you feel so helpless and remorseful, you can’t really think straight at the moment.

The sound of the elevator is faint, but it’s enough to reach your ears. You freeze. You just sit there, knees drawn to your chest, blood smeared across your palm, the shattered glass of the ornament glittering like broken stars on the floor.

You are tear-streaked, trembling, your chest still hitching with uneven breaths and Bucky just got home.

Those approaching footsteps are so familiar to you, you would always recognize his gate. Usually, it’s comforting, grounding to know he got home and would leave you with relief in your chest.

But there is no place for relief in your chest right now.

His footsteps sound normal, steady, perhaps a little hurried but he hasn’t reached this room yet.

You don’t look up. Instead, you bite your lip to stop the sob that threatens to escape. The shame is too sharp, cutting deeper than any piece of the ornament and making your heart bleed as well.

Maybe if you stay still, if you stay quiet, he’ll miss you somehow.

But then his steps come to an abrupt halt and you know you are screwed.

Burning tears spike once more and the sob breaks free.

“Woah, hey-” he calls out, so urgent, so worried.

Bucky is across the room in a heartbeat, dropping to his knees in front of you with a speed that catches you off guard.

“Sweetheart, hey.” It falls from his lips so softly, so worried, it nearly breaks you all over again.

Tears fall more freely at the kind of tenderness in his tone and suddenly his hand is cupping your face, thumb, and knuckles brushing the streaks of wetness from your cheeks.

But they keep coming.

“Look at me, please! Doll, look at me,” he murmurs, his voice impossibly gentle, but dripping with so much concern. His metal hand is on your face as well and he tilts it upward, guiding your gaze toward his.

His brows are drawn so deeply, lips parting slightly as he studies your face - the tear tracks, the desolation in your eyes, the shame and guilt, the trembling of your shoulders.

You can’t look at him. Can’t bear to see it. So you squeeze your eyes shut, hoping you’ll ever be able to forget that look on his face. Not when you know what’s coming. Not when you know what you have caused.

Just wait until he sees it, you think. That look will change.

“No,” he whispers, his voice so soft again, but there is a firmness in it. The pad of his flesh thumb smooths gently across your cheek again, while his metal fingers move to your hair. “Hey, no, don’t do that. It’s okay. Y/n, it’s okay!”

You shake your head quickly and try to say something, anything, but all that comes out is a choked sound, half-sob, half-breath. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He doesn’t know what this is about.

You want to stay hidden behind the veil of your closed eyes, safe from not seeing what you know will be there in perhaps seconds when he figures it out - disappointment, maybe anger, the grief of what you’ve broken.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart, please.”

There is something in his voice you can’t ignore. It sounds unshakable and steady, yet fragile and thick.

Slowly, reluctantly, your eyes flutter open to meet his, but when you do, you freeze.

Because he already knows.

He looks at you. Just looks, but you see he already put the pieces together. He saw the shards scattering around your knees. His expression is softer than you’ve ever seen it but he looks at you with an intensity that is new to you. There is that understanding in his eyes. But it’s so soft. So gentle.

There is no anger, no frustration, no disappointment.

There is nothing of the reaction you had feared for.

Yes, there is pain in his eyes as well. It’s unmistakable, flickering in the soft blue of his irises. But it’s not the pain you expected.

It’s not for the ornament. It’s not for what it meant.

It’s for you.

You can see it in the way his brows crease, the frown that tugs at his mouth. And the way he never once lets his gaze stray to the shards on the floor. All he looks at is you.

Bucky keeps his hands on your face, continuing to swipe over your cheeks like he’s afraid you’ll crumble if he lets go. Then, his thumbs still, resting against your cheekbones, his touch so achingly gentle that it only makes more tears fall.

“Sweetheart,” he says again, and the word cracks, quiet and uneven. He still doesn’t look angry. He still doesn’t look disappointed. He looks devastated - not for what you’ve done, but for what it’s done to you.

Your lips tremble, barely able to form words.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. Come here.”

Baby definitely is a new one. It’s something he’s never called you before. But there is no time to linger on it, no chance to unpack the flutter it sparks in your stomach because he’s already pulling you toward him.

His flesh arm wraps around your body, tugging you against his chest, while his metal hand finds its place at the back of your head, cold but reassuring fingers threading through your hair.

He lets you cry against his chest. Cradles you so tightly to him, you might actually get worried about your ribs, but it feels so good. His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, his heart is pounding. The fabric of his tactical suit presses against your skin, rough and worn from the mission he just came back from, but it grounds you to some extent.

“It’s okay. Just breathe, alright? Breathe,” he keeps whispering, exaggerating his breaths against your body to invite you to follow his lead. You try.

“I’m so sorry,” you sob, the words spilling out in a choked, broken rush as you bury your face in his chest. The tears won’t stop, soaking into the dark fabric of his suit.

“Shh,” he keeps on with his soft voice. His arm around you tightens, holding you closer, while his metal hand stays solidly at the back of your head. His fingers brush through your hair in slow, soothing motions. “Don’t be. Don’t you dare be.”

He continues murmuring to you when you try to apologize again, his voice low and warm. He talks so calmly and sure, you feel something inside of you churn.

Bucky tilts his head slightly, resting his cheek against your hair, and you feel the warmth of his breath as he talks to you.

And yet, biting guilt gnaws its way through your ribs. You feel terrible - worse than terrible - because it should be you comforting him, not the other way around.

It’s him who lost something precious, something you had broken. And here he is, holding you, brushing tears from your face, whispering words meant to stitch you back together.

But somehow, he doesn’t even seem to care. He holds you like you are the only thing that matters right now.

Remorse burrows deep, heavy, and shaming, until it pulls you back to yourself - slowly, shakily, but enough to loosen the sobs caught in your throat.

You sniff and take a breath, a real one this time, ragged but yours.

Then, you shift in his arms, gently pressing against his chest to put space between you. His hold loosens, slowly, with a hesitation that tugs at something in you. As if he is reluctant to let you go. Still, he relents.

His flesh hand slides away first, but his metal one lingers, brushing through your hair one last time before settling on your shoulder. He keeps you close, his thumb brushing absentminded sweeps across your sweater.

His gaze never strays and it’s heavy. You can’t meet his eyes for long. They’re too full of that care you don’t deserve, the care he shows you in so many small gestures all the time.

So your gaze falls to the floor, but then you freeze again.

The broken shards that had glinted so mockingly against the floor just moments ago are gone. Instead, settled carefully on the coffee table as though it had never fallen at all, is the ornament.

Whole.

It takes you a moment to process it, to trust what you’re seeing. The cracks are gone, smoothed over seamlessly. The gleaming red glass catches the light of the Christmas tree, its golden little details shining like something out of a memory, timeless and unbroken. As beautiful and aesthetic as before.

For a moment, you even wonder if your eyes are playing tricks on you, but then you notice Wanda standing at the far side of the room. Her hands lower slowly, the telltale red glow of her magic fading from her fingertips.

She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t step closer - just tilts her head slightly, offering you the faintest, knowing smile. Her eyes are warm.

God, of course. You should have thought of that. It even makes you feel a little ridiculous. You live together with people who possess supernatural abilities, powers beyond comprehension. You should have thought of Wanda. How her hands could have mended it back together in seconds.

A choked breath stumbles out of you, somewhere between relief and disbelief. Bucky follows your gaze, his brows furrowing, only to soften when he sees the ornament resting perfectly intact on the table. He stares at it for a moment.

But then he looks back at you and his sweet smile could melt any ice this winter has to offer.

His flesh hand moves a few strands of hair out of your face and tugs them tenderly behind your ear. His hand stays on your cheek. “Told you it’s okay.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I still broke it,” you say, words slipping out quietly, somberly. Your gaze remains fixed on it. Wanda seems to have slipped out again.

“Stop,” Bucky cuts in, his voice more firm than before but still gentle as always. He shakes his head, moving closer to you again, gaze fixed on you.

You feel his hand brush against yours, but then his shoulders stiffen up. He stops. His eyes catch on something and his expression shifts in an instant.

“Jesus-” His frown deepens, something like a shadow crosses his eyes. Sharp eyes lock onto the red streaks lining your palm, the cuts where the shattered glass had broken your skin.

You hadn’t even realized you were still holding onto the pain - too caught up in everything else to notice the dull throb of your hand or the sting of the scratches.

“You’re bleeding. Why didn’t you say anything?” The words are a quiet exhale, soft but weighted. There is no reprimand in his voice, no anger - only concern coloring every syllable.

His thumb ghosts over your wrist, careful not to brush against the cuts. His intense gaze flickers from your injured hand to your face, searching your expression.

“It’s not a big deal-”

“Don’t.”

Bucky shakes his head. His jaw tightens and he exhales sharply through his nose. It’s not frustration - not with you, anyway. It’s something deeper, something that seems to pain him in his chest as he studies the scratches like they’re a personal failing.

“Bucky,” you say while trying to pull your hand back from his grasp when he tilts it more toward the light to get a better look. As if he hasn’t the eyesight of a super soldier.

“Doll. Let me see.” His lips press into a thin line, the faintest hint of exasperation ghosting across his face.

The sigh you let out drags down your chest and you don’t resist when Bucky keeps cradling your bleeding hand and studies the scratches. His brow is furrowed in concentration that feels too much for something so small.

You want to tell him it’s fine, that this is nothing, but the words die before they reach your tongue.

“Let’s get you fixed up,” he says tightly, the tone of his voice all business and leaving no room for argument.

But you shake your head. It’s your fault the ornament broke in the first place. You’re aware it’s whole again, but it was in shambles just moments earlier and you cut yourself thanks to your own stupidity.

“Bucky, you just got back from a mission-” you protest, your voice quieter than you’d like.

“Not too worried about myself right now, doll,” he interrupts, his voice insistent but warm. The hint of steel beneath his words not directed at you but at the way your guilt is still in control, trying to downplay yourself.

“Come on.” He says it softer now, but before you can argue any further, he’s already moving.

Without so much as a pause, Bucky stands and scoops you up into his arms as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You barely have a second to process the shift, before you’re pressed securely against his chest.

“Bucky!” you exclaim, startled, your uninjured hand reaching for his shoulder to steady yourself.

“Relax, doll. I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice low and almost amused, though his expression remains calm, focused.

You sigh again, but there is a laugh on your breath. “Buck, I can walk. You don’t have to-”

“Not hearing it,” he says simply, almost flatly. He just continues striding along the halls with you in his arms. His steps are heavier, but you know it’s not because of your weight. He holds you like you weigh nothing at all. “You’re hurt.”

That doesn’t sound like a plausible explanation to you, since you’ve come home with way worse injuries from missions over the last months alone. But the gruffness of his voice, the one that always accompanies him when you’re injured, no matter how small - the seriousness, the concern - it shuts you up for the time being.

You let your head rest against his shoulder. He smells a little like gunpowder and dust, but you only latch onto the parts that are him and breathe them in.

“I didn’t mean to break it, Bucky,” to whisper, gaze dropping to the tightly pressed ball that is your bloody fist. “I’m so sorry.”

You feel the intake of Bucky’s breath against your body and his eyes warmly falling down on you. You don’t meet his gaze.

“You didn’t break anything, sweetheart.” His voice is like velvet, brushing so softly against your skin. So reassuringly. So profoundly gentle. “You’re okay, doll. We’re okay. I promise.” His hands curl tighter around you.

You blink, your head tilting to glance up at him, and your breath catches when you meet his gaze.

It is intense. His brows are pulled together - not with anger, but with concern. Like the only things he cares about right now are the tears that linger in your eyes and the way you’re still trying to curl in on yourself, still letting your body slightly shake with the guilt that he refuses to let you carry.

Something stirs in your belly. Something flutters, as if thousands of tiny wings brush against the walls of you, demanding to be seen. To be felt.

Because you let your mind spiral so much earlier, bracing yourself for a reaction of disappointment, frustration - that flicker of something unnameable that might pull the two of you apart.

But it still isn’t there.

Not even close.

It’s the opposite, really.

[justdontaskme]

It Was Always You (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

A/N: Here you go, just as promised, the second part to this fic here. You should probably read that first to better understand this one. I probably should have proofread it again, but felt like I needed to get this out or it would forever sit as a WIP. So please enjoy and I hope to see you at my next fic.

After finally finishing what felt like the longest season of your life, you were ready for a long vacation surrounded by beaches with plenty of alone time for you and Alexia. Hawaii had been screaming your name since Christmas. The surprise planned proposal was just an added bonus for your good mood. 

Ever since you had exchanged Christmas presents, Alexia had been very tight-lipped, deflecting any and all questions you asked about the upcoming proposal you knew was coming, just not when exactly it would happen. She refused to give you even the slightest hint. 

While you packed for your two week trip to Hawaii, you felt discombobulated, running around like a madwoman as you packed and unpacked an unhealthy amount of times. Knowing that you were going to Hawaii with your girlfriend and coming back with a new shiny ring and a fiancee was driving you insane in the best kind of way. 

As the trip came closer, Alexia started sharing pieces of the itinerary with you. The schedule was very flexible, allowing you to add in your fair share of ideas of things you wanted to do while on the vacation islands. There was a good mix of adventure, romance, and relaxation packed into a short two weeks. 

This extra information also had your mind running on overdrive. You were googling everything that Alexia was booking, mentally calculating how likely her plans could lead to a proposal that day. You were dissecting every tiny morsel of information she was giving you. It led you down a long rabbit hole of what-if scenarios that was literally scrambling your brain. 

But the midfielder knew how to keep you on your toes because there were just so many possibilities. It could be during a cute, romantic dinner or an adventure with a picturesque background for a proposal. It could be during a morning stroll on the beach or a helicopter ride over the beautiful island. It could even be next to a raging waterfall or underwater during a snorkeling trip. The possibilities were endless and you felt as if you were going crazy with each new idea that popped in your head. 

When Alexia came home the night before you had planned to leave, the apartment you two shared was an utter mess. You had to fit a handful of outfits you could mix and match during your two week vacation. But you also had to prepare for the wide range of activities Alexia was planning for the two of you. Narrowing down what to wear was an obstacle all on its own. 

“Almost done packing, mi vida?” Alexia whispered, slipping behind you as she looked at your bags over your shoulder. 

She held in her chuckle as she noticed there were more clothes laid out everywhere in the room instead of in your suitcase. They were still only half packed, clothes hanging all over the bed. Some draped over your opened suitcase, others thrown haphazardly in a pile. 

“I don't know what I’m going to wear, Ale,” you whined, leaning forward to grab a top and holding it up as you contemplated whether it would make the cut. 

“Just pack some sleep clothes and swimsuits,” she said, her eyes falling shut as she laid her head against your back, loving the warmth and comfort of having you in her arms again. “You won’t be needing much of anything else.”

“But I want to look good. This is a special vacation,” you whined. 

“You know I think you’ll look good in whatever you wear,” she told you, reaching over to pick up an item from your discard pile so she could neatly fold it and make a new pile.

You glared at her because you knew she was trying to keep you happy, but she was being no help whatsoever. It also irked you slightly that she was already fully packed, her bags sitting by the door, ready to be whisked away in the morning rush to the airport.

“Half the time you’ll be dressed in a nice little swimsuit, so it’s not like you need much else. Anything else you need, we can either buy there or you can borrow from me. Besides, the other half of the time, we could be in our room which means, you won’t really be needing any clothes,” she murmured, teasingly nipping at your neck. 

You giggled at the sensation, nudging her away, as you twirled in her arms. 

“I want to look cute for this,” you amended. 

“You always look cute,” Alexia said, leaning down to press a kiss to your nose. 

“You're not helping,” you grumbled, slipping out of her hold and sitting on the bed. The pout on your face was adorable, but Alexia could tell you were taking this whole situation very seriously. 

“Don’t stress about this too much, mi amor,” she cupped your cheeks, making sure you were looking at her. “This vacation is about relaxing. You shouldn’t be getting riled up over this.”

“I know, I know. But this time it's special. And since you won't tell me what you're planning,” she rolled her eyes playfully at you trying to trick her into revealing everything, “I have to be ready at all times.”

“Good try, but how about I actually help you back your stuff?” Alexia deflected, wanting to help wind you down from this overthinking tirade. 

You sent her a relieved smile, quickly nodding your head as you both got to work sorting through your clothes once more until you had a full suitcase. With one less thing to worry about, you slowly felt a bit of the tension in your shoulders momentarily wash away. 

After you set your packed bags next to hers by the door, we flopped onto your couch, the mental exhaustion catching up to you. It didn’t take much coaxing from Alexia to get you to agree to order in food and relax before the whirlwind of vacation swept in. 

But for the rest of the night you planned on enjoying the fleeting bliss before your mind could conjure up more scenarios to work you up again. And it was always so much easier to do that with your girlfriend by your side, arms around you, her softly humming into your ear to help calm you. 

****

As soon as the plane touched down in Hawaii, you found yourself buzzing with both excitement and a tad bit of anxiety. All you wanted was to know when and where the proposal was happening. You wanted to be photo ready and emotionally prepared, so the surprise was killing you.

Even though it was supposed to be all happy, you felt like you couldn’t relax. Your mind refused to let your guard down completely. Thankfully, it all came in waves. You could indulge in the nice moments between you and Alexia, taking in the sights and emptying your mind for pieces of time. 

What sucked was the slightly quieter moments that allowed your mind to wander. When you had too much time to think, you always overthought everything. Your head was constantly on a swivel as you searched for Alexia everytime she was out of sight for a moment too long. Then you’d think about the outfit you were wearing and if it’d fit the occasion if you were to turn and find your girlfriend on one knee, staring up at you with a hopeful smile. 

Fortunately for you, your girlfriend was quick to step in before you could work yourself into a tizzy. She was good at redirecting your thoughts, whether it’d be to point out the beautiful scenery surrounding you on these magical islands or if it’d be as simple as unintentionally flexing her tanned and defined muscles that’d leave you flushed as your mind wandered. 

Alexia was extremely attentive this trip, and you made sure to soak it all in. 

The midfielder was an amazing girlfriend, but at times during the season, you and your relationship with the talented captain would sometimes have to take a backseat while she uplifted a legendary club and a thriving national team. 

Even with you being on the same team, it could get difficult to balance everything. So Alexia, over the years, had come to affection overloading you in her break times, and you’d be a liar to say you hated it. 

It had been almost a week of full bliss with your girlfriend in Hawaii and still no sign of a ring. You’d already gone on two breathtaking hikes, eaten at delicious hole-in-the-wall restaurants she had researched, and sunbathed to your heart’s content. 

Each night so far had ended with a private, romantic dinner where the two of you would talk about anything and everything for hours. You found yourself throughout the trip feeling as if you had travelled back in time, and you were learning about Alexia all over again. 

You reminisced on the dates you had been on at the very start of your relationship, and it reminded you so much of what you were feeling now. But instead of those crazy, scary nerves you had about possibly messing up a relationship before it even started, you now felt warm, loved, and safe. 

The way the two of you had grown together throughout the years has been one of your favorite things in the world. Yes, the two of you would occasionally fight and argue, but in the end you were always in each other’s corner. Your bond allowed you both to step up and support each other whenever needed. When one of you felt down, the other worked harder to help bring you back up. 

She was there to help heal you whenever you tried to deny you were sick even though you were coughing up a lung with snot running down your nose. She was there to lift you up when you felt your chances on your national team slipping away. She was there to make you smile whenever you felt upset about missing another milestone like a major birthday or even wedding in your family’s life as they lived a whole ocean away.  

And just as she was there for you whenever you needed her most, you were there for her. 

You were there to keep her company and out of her head and she watched endless game films after a tough match, win or lose. You were there to remind her to love whenever she and Alba got into any heated arguments that led to weeks of no contact between the two sisters. You were there to pull her from the depths of her despair when she tore her ACL and the devastating recovery that followed. 

Each and every milestone in both your careers and life since the two of you made it official was shared and celebrated with one another. 

Despite being in such close proximity to each other almost all the time between working and living together, there was never a dull moment. You took turns planning dates to help keep the romance alive. It was hard to feel like you never had anything to say because you two could talk for hours on end and still have more to add. And on the flipside, you could sit in complete silence and never feel an ounce of awkwardness. 

You really felt like you won the dating lottery with Alexia. 

This trip was needed for so many reasons, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. To begin with, you felt like you could decompress after what felt like a long, grueling season. There was also the opportunity to reconnect with your girlfriend, catching up on missed date nights or even spending quality time with one another that didn’t revolve around work. And of course, it was going to help move you two into the next step of your relationship. 

You were ready to start the next day of your vacation, optimistic that today could be the day, just as you felt every morning since you woke up in the Aloha state. 

While you had come to expect it, you still weren’t thrilled to wake up and find Alexia was no longer in bed with you. Being the athlete she was, and not being able to take off a full day, Alexia was always out for a morning run.

Checking the clock by your bedside, you saw that Alexia was due to be back any minute now, so you figured you’d get started on a quick breakfast to hold you over until lunchtime. With that in mind, you got up from bed, slowly sliding out from under the covers. The cold hardwood floors beneath you caused goosebumps to form up and down your arms. 

There was a chill in the suite you were staying in. The warm air outside was nice and welcomed, but inside you both liked to keep the AC low, prompting you to search for a hoodie instead of turning up the heat. You knew Alexia packed one of her favorite hoodies, which also happened to be your favorite to steal, and you were dying to wear it right now. 

Digging through Alexia’s stuff, you quickly find the hoodie you were searching for and throw it on. The encompassing smell that is purely Alexia immediately calms you. As you’re hugging yourself to warm up and breathe in her scent, you noticed something out of the ordinary in the back of the drawer. 

Curiosity got the better of you, so you reached out and pulled out the offending item. A rather loud gasp escaped upon finding a black box sitting in the palm of your hand. 

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what it was. You knew she had to have hidden it somewhere, but you didn’t expect to find it before the time was right. 

You couldn’t help yourself, your hand gently lifted the lid of the ring box, a small gasp escaping when you took in the ring perched in the middle of the box. 

It was absolutely stunning. The diamond itself was just the perfect size for you, nothing too in your face but still big enough to catch the eye. The white gold shimmered along with the tiny diamonds set on the band, caging in the diamond in the middle. 

The ring was perfect.

“You weren’t meant to see that yet,” you hear from behind you, snapping you out of the trance.

At the sound of her voice, you quickly shut the box in your hand, feeling incredibly embarrassed and insanely guilty. Slowly, you turned around, your eyes trained to the floor, afraid of her expression. Your mouth opened and shut a few times as you tried to find the words to apologize. 

“It’s okay, mi amor. I’m not mad,” she reassured you, stepping into your personal space, her hands slowly taking yours. 

You threw the box onto the bed, needing it out of your hands as you hid your face behind your fingers, mortified for messing everything up, “I’m so sorry, Ale.”

“Don’t be. In fact, I’ve been watching you for awhile,” she admitted, revealing that she’d been quietly standing at the door watching as you pulled the ring out and inspected it. 

“I’m sorry, Ale,” you repeated, not even able to bring yourself to peek through your fingers to gauge her true reaction.

She shook her head, “Stop apologizing. I could have stopped you but I didn’t. Besides, you were going to see it soon anyways.”

Your jaw literally dropped as your girlfriend lowered down to one knee in front of you. “This isn’t how I planned it, but seeing you in my hoodie with the ring in your hand, I don’t want to wait anymore.”

“Alexia…” you breathed out, your voice wispy as tears began to well in your eyes. 

“I’ve known since day one that you would be an important person in my life,” the midfielder started, reaching over to grab the ring box off the bed, opening it and staring down at the carefully crafted piece of jewelry. “Every day we spend together, I find another reason to never let you go and promise myself that I will do whatever I can to make you smile at me for the rest of our lives. I don’t want to wait to call you mine forever,” the slight crack of her voice told you she was nervous, despite you two talking about this very moment numerous times in the past. “Will you marry me?”

The question was barely out of her mouth before you were shouting, “Yes!”

With the biggest grin you’d ever seen, Alexia shot up, pulling you in for a deep kiss, as she slid the ring onto your finger. You pulled away from her, immediately hugging her close, not quite ready for her to anywhere but pressed up against you. 

The next second the switch flipped as you both turned to celebrating this momentous occasion by slowly stripping each other of your clothes and finding the bed in your haste to feel one another. 

After a few rounds, you found yourself lying on your back, Alexia on her side, watching you as one of her hands continued to trail innocent, lazy paths along your exposed body. 

Both of you basked in the afterglow of your previous activities, the calm quiet allowing your minds to catch up to present. 

“Will you tell me what you were planning to do? I know you had some crazy proposal actually planned out,” you said to her, turning over so you could face her. 

She hummed, not quite ready to escape the state of bliss. 

“Well your family and my family are actually flying in later today,” she started. “They know everything, so you’re going to have to pretend this never happened and act surprised when I propose. I think they’d kill me if they found out I already did it,” Alexia said, her voice wavering slightly because she would totally get berated by Alba and at least one of your sisters and possibly a brother. 

Her admission started as a chuckle but quickly turned into a full belly laugh. Your laugh was infectious, and soon Alexia couldn’t find it in her to not join in. 

“I like that. It’s like our little secret,” you said, sinking into the bed, Alexia leaning over until she was practically sprawled out on top of you. 

She explained how your immediate families were coming in to witness the beginning of the next chapter in your life. The two of you agreed that as soon as you saw them, you had better act surprised to not arouse any suspicion. They were to keep any details about the proposal under lock and key. 

Their first day there was meant to help them acclimate to the new scenery and time change. Alexia had planned a very chill day for that exact reason, allowing everyone to gather their bearings with a nice hearty meal and exquisite sights. 

Your now fiancée then started to go into detail of how it was supposed to take place at a little private beach at sunset because it reminded her of that one sunset on a beach years ago where she first realized she loved you. And how a couple of weeks later, she took you back to that exact spot to confess it. 

She showed you her notes on her phone about what she wanted to add to her speech, which was much longer and just slightly more heartfelt than the way she had thrown all caution to the wind, unexpectedly proposing to you in the middle of your hotel room. 

Alexia went over every detail she had planned out, from photos and videos of the proposal to where she planned to take everyone to dinner afterwards. Each new detail made your heart stutter, as you felt the genuinity of each carefully masterminded idea. 

While in bed with a new shiny ring on your finger, one you’d have to return temporarily so she could initiate the actual proposal in front of your loved ones, you realized you couldn’t stop grinning. You pictured everything she was saying to you, each little detail its own way of her saying she loved you. 

The scenario you had playing in your mind was the exact way everything played out the next day. 

It was the perfect second proposal from her. You couldn't wait to show everyone that you were now officially engaged to the love of your life.  

[bitchlessdino]

pane-ting you a picture

An @camandemstudios winter collaboration Pairing: wonwoo x gn!reader Genre: romcom, fluff, slight angst Word count: 6.1k rating: pg tags: Artist!reader, shorter!reader, mentions of food, mentions of jobs loss, mentions of loneliness, snowed in, penpals, yearning, slice of life Summary: Snow is beautiful—when you’re not trapped in it. After days of relentless snowstorms that left your family without electricity—let alone entertainment—you found an unexpected refuge: sketching on the condensation of your windows. What began as idle doodles soon turned into shared exchanges with someone in the neighboring cabin. Though you don’t know who they are or even what they look like, the icy walls and snow couldn’t keep them out your head. author note: thank you @highvern @haologram @gyuswhore @lovetaroandtaemin with brainstorming, banner development, and finalizing this very fluffy piece of work for me. I hope that everyone that reads enjoys. Happy holidays 💗

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @kyeomiis @wonwooz1-blog @horanghaezone @stagefrjghts @pantumin @aaniag @mochisdayone @gyuguys @idubiluranghae

You expected the holidays to feel lonely this year—just not in the way you imagined.

Instead of the dreaded reality of working through Christmas again, like you had the past couple of years since moving away from home, you’ve found yourself right back where you started. Living with your parents, grappling with the weight of feeling like you failed at adulthood. Paying the bills had become a distant fantasy, leaving even your dreams to taunt you with the craving for a livable wage. It all became too much—and yet somehow, not enough. Moving back home felt like the only option left.

Your parents were thrilled, to say the least—ecstatic, even—to have their eldest back under their roof, having the whole family under one roof again. But for you, it wasn’t the homecoming you had envisioned. You had hoped to return someday with something to show for your time away, some proof that you’d made it on your own.

To mark the occasion, they planned a family getaway, a trip to the mountains surrounded by endless snow. It had been years since the last time you did anything like this together, long before the separation. You had looked forward to it—briefly—until the melancholy of the weather seeped into your chest the moment you arrived. The “lots and lots of snow” your parents had promised quickly turned into an unavoidable obstacle.

Not even a day after you settled in, the whole unit was told that the power had gone out in all the nearby cabins. A widespread blackout had left you stranded in the middle of nowhere, with snow flooding the roads to the nearest businesses. It would be a while before you could even dream of grabbing a snack or anything hot that wasn’t water or those sickly sweet instant hot chocolates.

And now, you were starting to remember just how hard it could be to live with your family again—especially under such trying circumstances. The constant back-and-forth over the tiniest matters, the unsolicited lectures about concepts that were commonsensical, and now the pitying glances. Worse yet were the relentless offers from your parents to set you up with jobs through their friends. If you had to hear about mom’s friend, Barbara, needing an office assistant at her day care center again, you feared you’d lose it.

The weight of it all was becoming harder to bear. Overwhelm was no longer a passing feeling but a constant companion. Your only reprieve was retreating to your bedroom, a cramped space with a single window that came off cozier than anticipated.

You were grateful to have a space of your own again after going without it for as long as you did. If there was one thing you had loved about living alone, it was the solitude—even in the brief moments when your roommate was out. At least then, you could find ways to entertain yourself. Sadly, one of those distractions, your sketchbook, was left behind in the city, abandoned alongside your ambition, your will.

You resorted to tracing shapes in the frost on your windows, the delicate squeak of condensation yielding beneath the pad of your finger the only sound breaking the serene stillness around you. Through the fleeting transparency of your doodles, once tracing the outlines of distant mountains, you spotted another cabin buried under just as much snow as yours.

Curiosity piqued, you press your hands against the cold glass, wiping away the condensation for a clearer view. A window in the other cabin stood nearly parallel to yours, like a portal into another world just out of reach. Before you could even imagine what might lie beyond, a hand suddenly slammed flat against their glass, startling you—a moment straight out of a horror movie.

You nearly yelp but quickly clasped your hand over your mouth to stifle the sound, regaining confidence to look back at the window. Through the neighboring window, the figure with a blurry mop of dark hair began tracing something in the rapidly forming frost. A sloppy ‘hello’ took shape on their side of the glass—backward, but unmistakable.

You chuckled at the sight, assuming the person on the other end was some bored kid, just as restless and bored as you were. Deciding to play along, you traced a reply—a proper, right-sided ‘hello’—before adding a smiley face for good measure. It was a lighthearted exchange, the wholesome moment making you genuinely grin for the first on this trip.

‘Name?’ you drew on the glass, the letters quickly fading as the frost crept back.

‘Wonwoo,’ appeared in shaky but right-side-up letters this time. You couldn’t help but smile at the effort. ‘You?’ they added beneath it, their hand pausing as though waiting with bated breath.

Your finger hovered hesitantly over the fogged-up window as you traced your name, watching the letters slowly take shape. There wasn’t much time to second-guess your decision before they replied with a simple, ‘Nice,’ making it harder to regret it.

Though it was hard to decipher much of what they were trying to communicate, one thing was clear: they loved to talk. And talk they did through endless doodles and barely decipherable scribbles against the glass, turning this serendipitous encounter into a game of charades. From your side, though, most of it looked like nonsense.

Still, it didn’t matter. You were having fun—exchanging prolonged moments with an unseen stranger on the other side of a different window.

A moment stretched into minutes, hours, even days. Long enough that it no longer mattered who was on the other side—though, judging by the look of their hands, it was definitely no kid. Slowly but surely, you found yourself starting to see them as a friend, a routine while you were stuck in the depths of snow.

‘Dinner?’ You’d ask one night, depending on the dim lighting powered by solar energy, listing up the shadows that would lift the surface of Wonwoo’s window.

‘Spaghetti,’ he replied, adding a clumsy doodle of noodles on a plate. ‘You?’  

‘Beef stew,’ you answered, following it up with your abstract attempt at drawing a cow.  

‘LOL, COW?’  

‘Yeah, why?’  

‘Kinda sucks.’  

You scoffed, a grin spreading across your face at the unexpected insult. ‘Rude.’  

‘Honest...pretty bad.’  

You couldn’t help but laugh, enjoying these exchanges far more than you expected. The two of you had learned to condense your conversations into quick, simple words, racing against the frost that always made its speedy return. But that made your efforts more of a game, adding a bit of challenge to an otherwise simple conversation.

Your parents were starting to notice how much time you spent cooped up in your room, often calling you out for quality family time—which, in your opinion, you were already doing enough of stuck inside. They seemed to see your alone time—if you could call it that—eating time away at their opportunity to bond. Even your sister, normally so self-involved, had begun making remarks, wondering if the downfall of your life in the city affected you now to have you become such a recluse.

Still, a small part of you wondered if they had a point. Maybe you were spending a bit too much time at the window. But if you were being honest, talking to Wonwoo had become addictive. It was turning into a deliberate decision—to spend every available morning, afternoon, and night tracing words and shapes on the frost, granted the time allowed it.

What began as a way to cope with the isolation, a means to burn through the endless hours, had become a light in the pit of your self-loathing and your emotional turmoil. The more you learned about your mysterious pen pal, the more you found yourself wanting to meet him, eager to put a face to the distraction that took your mind off the snow and things beyond.

“The snow’s finally letting up, sweetie. Why don’t we take a trip to the grocery store, hmm?” Your mom’s hand rested gently on your back, her warm, soothing tone wrapping around you like a blanket.

You glanced at her, your features softening at the tender smile she offered. “Why about Jan?” you suggested, nodding toward her bedroom door, knowing it awaited your sister past it. “She might want to go.”

“But I want you to go.” Her voice had that unmistakable motherly insistence. “I think it’ll do my baby some good to get some fresh air. You can take Dad’s car.”

You hesitated, your gaze drifting toward the window as curiosity tugged at your thoughts. What might he be doing now that the weather was finally clearing? You’d waited for a response, wondering if his family had roped him into another board game or if he was outside, just as your mom was trying to get you to be. Either way, you missed him—but perhaps not enough to keep waiting around.  

“Sure,” you said with a small sigh. “Why not.”

The roads were still rough but manageable, and it was admittedly refreshing to see more than just the endless expanse of white that had dominated the past few days. The sun beamed down, its warmth seeping into the interior of the unheated car, a welcome change from the cold.

The grocery store sign loomed ahead, bright and almost obnoxiously loud against the snow-covered landscape as you eased into the parking lot. As expected, the place was bustling with an influx of customers eager to take advantage of the forgiving weather. Every aisle seemed occupied—parents with children, couples, or solo shoppers—shuffling between essentials and indulgences to make the most of their outing.  

You clutched the list your mom had handed you, systematically rummaging through shelves and coolers, tossing the requested items into your cart aisle by aisle. You were almost finished, having gathered just about everything your family needed, when something unexpected caught your eye.  

In the kid’s toys section, tucked between vibrant miniature trucks and rows of Barbie dolls, a single sketch pad stood out. It was plain but familiar, similar to the one you had lost so long ago. It would be useful in your attempts to communicate with the neighboring cabinet and perhaps revive a passion that you were quick to give up then.

You decided to inconspicuously maneuver your cart closer, as subtle as one could with its squeaky wheels, and reached for the pad as you moved away from the cart. At that same moment, another hand landed on it, fingers brushing the cover in perfect synchronicity with yours.

You met his eyes, shielded by a single pair of eye frames, but nonetheless deep and warm. His hair, a dark and familiar but common shade of black, fell slightly over his forehead as the two of you crouched face-to-face. Rising in unison, the sketchpad still clutched between you, you offered a polite smile.  

“Sorry, but do you mind letting go? I found it first,” you said with as much civility as you could muster.  

“Not to be rude,” he replied, his voice low and mellow, “but I’m pretty sure I saw it first. We just happened to grab it at the same time.”  

“Ha. Well, I wouldn’t know that, seeing as all I saw was my hand reaching for it.”  

“And that’s why spatial awareness is so important,” he pointed out casually. 

You sighed, feeling an almost tangible heat simmer behind your temples. “Look, I think it’d be really kind of you to just let me have this—”  

“And what if I don’t?”  

“It’s a sketchpad, not water, not batteries, not a ham radio. A sketchpad. They’re a dime a dozen.”  

He raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge glinting in his eyes. “Then why don’t you go find another one?”  

“Because it’s here, and I happen to need one.”  

“As do I.”  

“Well,” you huffed, “I’m an artist.”  

“As am I.”  

You groaned in exasperation, tightening your grip on the pad. “This isn’t going anywhere.”  

“Agreed.” His expression shifted, resolute yet calm, his features almost annoyingly defined and symmetrical. “I take the sketchpad, and you find something else.”  

“You—” You stopped yourself, drawing a deep breath, trying to suppress the steam threatening to escape your ears.  

He chuckled softly, the sound light but deliberate, as if enjoying the minor conflict he’d stirred. When you opened your eyes, his slight smile met you—subtle but undeniably captivating, his amusement as clear as the sky was blue, free of storm clouds.

“There has to be a way for you to give this up,” you said, attempting to negotiate. “What do you want?”  

“For starters,” he said, nudging the sketchpad in your hands with insistence, “this.”  

“What else?” you pressed, rolling your eyes. “Something you’d want in exchange.”  

He paused, considering, his large hand still gripping the sketchpad like it was a lifeline. “How desperate are you for this notebook?”  

The hairs on the back of your neck stood as you instinctively took a step back. “I’d like it very much…”  

“Why do you look scared?”  

“Why are you behaving creepy?”  

“Creepy?” he echoed, sounding almost offended.  

“Well, what else am I supposed to think when you ask questions like ‘how desperate are you’ over something as mundane as a sketchpad? I should be running away screaming right now.”  

“But you’re not,” he pointed out smugly. “Because of this so-called mundane thing.”  

“Well, it’s all I want,” you said firmly. “So.”

“Fine,” he said, his tone shifting. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll let you have it—”  

“Really?” You perked up in excitement.

“—if…”  

“…If?”  

“If you draw me.”  

You blinked at him, utterly baffled as you repeated after him. “Draw you?”  

“Yeah,” he confirmed, shrugging as if it was an easy task. “Draw a picture of me, and it’s yours.”  

You stared at him, skeptical. “Are you some kind of egotistical maniac who makes people sketch his portrait before killing them?”  

He scoffed. “No. I’m just bored. You said you were an artist, didn’t you? Seems fair. Besides, we’ve got time to kill. Draw me.”  

You eyed him cautiously, weighing whether this sketchpad was truly worth lingering in the presence of this weirdo—an undeniably good-looking weirdo, but a weirdo all the same.  

“What? Worried about the ice cream melting?” he teased.

You shot him a glare before snatching the sketchpad from his grip as he finally relented. “You want a profile or full body?”  

“Full body, of course.”  

“Of course, you do,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.  

After finishing your purchases and loading up your cars, the two of you set off in search of a private, scenic spot. The cold bit the sliver of skin that was exposed, and the snow crunched beneath your feet as you trudged through the frosted terrain. Fortunately, you stumbled upon a small clearing, tucked away and shielded from the relentless winds. The landscape, blanketed in untouched snow and dappled with soft sunlight, offered a rare moment of peace, tranquility—perfect for capturing the stranger in his essence.

"Wow," you murmured, stepping out of your car and taking in the breathtaking scene before you.  

"Wow is right," the stranger echoed, towering over you in his thick winter coat, a snug layer of wool wrapped around his neck and top of his head. His presence felt larger than life against the serene backdrop, a picture-esque image. A perfect muse. "Almost feels like a waste, setting all this up for little ol’ me. But hey, not my problem."  

He unraveled his scarf slightly, the crisp air brushing against his now-exposed features, sharp and striking in the natural light of the beaming sun. Casually, he settled onto a rock perfectly positioned in the clearing, leaning back as if it were a throne made just for him.  

“Your call,” he urged, flashing a playful grin. “Draw me like one of your French girls, Jack.” 

You let out a soft chuckle, taking a few steps back to put some distance between you and your subject. With the pencil you’d serendipitously scavenged from your car, you raised it to eye level as if you were a seasoned artist with half an idea of what they’re doing, squinting slightly as you angled it toward him, pretending to search for the best perspective to capture his features. “I have a feeling you’re gonna be hard to work with.”

“Only if you're doing it wrong.”

Finding your stance, you began visualizing his figure on the first page of your newly acquired sketchpad. You focused on the broadness of his shoulders beneath the thick fabric of his coat and the subtle shift of his boots scuffing the snow. He remained still with little effort, making him all the easier to sketch.

“You’re getting my good side, aren’t you?” he asked, his grin nonchalant, but clearly amused as he adjusted his scarf towards the direction of the wind.

“I met you today. How am I supposed to know which side is your good side?”  

“Well, I figured you’ve been looking at me long enough to figure it out.” He leaned back slightly. “But that’s a trick question—all my sides are good sides.”  

You shook your head, shading in a bit of shadow on the outline of your sketch. “You’re insufferable,” you commented, not looking up.

“Well, God is fair.” He sighed exaggeratedly, his breath visible in the crisp air. “If I were humble too, I’d be too perfect, don’t you think?”  

“I think you’d make a better model with your mouth shut,” you replied, glancing up briefly as his grin widened.

The flow of the conversation felt familiar, inviting—weirdly amusing unmatched most conversations you’ve had the past couple years, except perhaps your exchanges with Wonwoo. That is, if you could ever manage to say more than three words at a time to him through the frosted traces on the window. Perhaps your gravitation for either of these men stemmed from the absence of a partner in your life all these years, a quiet longing projected onto them. Either way, there seemed to be no harm in indulging in the attention.  

This stranger exuded a certain kindness—an audacious, unconventional amicability that defied explanation but felt undeniably real. It radiated through the harsh winter winds and the ever-deepening snow, a humanity that seemed to drip effortlessly onto your sketchpad. As you captured his form in the way your hands could manage in this damning weather, you found yourself rediscovering your passion thanks to an entitled no-name.

"How's it going?" he asked, curiosity coloring his tone.  

"Almost done," you replied, focusing on penciling in a few final details.  

"Let me see."  

Before you could respond, he hopped off the rock and stepped closer, leaning over your shoulder—his presence towering over you. "Huh. Not bad. But you're missing the defining features on my face,” his hand swept over his face, “you know—the eyes, my cheekbones. My distinct features."  

You tilted your head, fixing him with a deadpan stare. "Okay, well, your glasses are in the way, so I can only do so much."  

"Fine," he said with exaggerated resignation. Without warning, he took your wrist, his fingers brushing over your surging pulse, and gently guided you to sit against the cold, weathered rock behind him. He crouched in front of you, his face now level with yours, the sharp angles of his features highlighted by the pale, wintry light. The mischievous glint in his eyes was undeniably captivating, the blood pumping through your veins in a way the cold never could. "Here. A closer look—for accuracy."  

"For accuracy?" you echoed, raising an eyebrow.  

"Just don’t get any funny ideas," he added, his frost-touched breath, lingering the remnant of hot chocolate, making that smile on his face sweeter than you’d like it to be.

"Wouldn’t dream of it," you retorted, shifting your grip on the pencil on the sketchpad as you tried to ignore the way his proximity set your nerves buzzing.

As your eyes moved from the stranger to the sketch, you could notice as he stared back at you just as intently, as if looking directly into your soul, taking note of you and tracing you from memory. Perhaps that was his task as a self-assigned model, to familiarize themselves with their creator—or in his case hostage. 

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, drawing attention to the slender curve of his neck, bare and delicate. The smooth skin there traced a path upward, leading to the sharp features of his face—his soft lips, the high bridge of his nose, and his keen, fox-like eyes. Your breath was caught, unbidden, as you took a moment to take him in. Your eyes locked with his—just for a fleeting second—before you quickly returned to your sketch, pretending as if you weren’t for a moment thinking more than an artist should.

“Okay. Done,” you concluded with the tap on the page.

The stranger looked it over, holding the sketch pad towards him, smiling. “Don’t forget to sign it.”

”Oh, yeah that’s right,” you said, adding your initials in a prominent spot. “Been so long since I’ve had to do that.”

“Haven’t drawn in a while?”

You shook your head. “Not of people no, not as seriously either.”

”Well, it’s good. Keep it up.”

As you started to tear off the sheet with the sketch—holding the first page reluctantly between your fingers—you hesitated for a moment, then decided to gather the first half of the pages from the sketchbook. You tore them off in one satisfying swift motion and handed the stack to him. “Here.”

His eyes slightly widened in surprise, and he took the papers from you cautiously. “Are you sure?”

“There’s hundreds of pages.” You shrugged, “What do I need the whole stack for?”

He snickered, dusting off the eraser shavings as he admired the sketch again, he grinned happily with his exchange, making him a satisfied customer. “I wonder how much I can sell this for.”

“Maybe your mom will buy it off you,” you playfully retorted.

He, still unnamed, tucked his drawing in his bag, closing the passer door to his car, he walked back toward you, a lingering wistful smile on his face. 

“I guess this is where I leave,” he said, a raise and fall to his voice, something dramatic in his tone. “Never to be seen again.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yep. All's well that ends well, I guess.”

Before you could retreat to your car, his voice stopped you. “That’s it?”

You turned back, meeting his expectant gaze. “What?”

“I thought we had a moment here. Shared something special.”

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. “What? You want a scout badge for it?”

“No…”

“Then say what you mean.”

He scoffed, loosening the scarf around his neck to reveal the faint pink flush coloring his skin. “You’re really just gonna leave without saying goodbye?”  

You grinned, tilting your head. “We’ve known each other long enough for goodbyes?”  

“Why not?” he replied with a shrug that was meant to seem casual but instead came off surprisingly endearing.  

You mirrored his shrug, the flutter in your chest quickening as you met his gaze. “Then…bye, I guess,” you said softly, the words carrying a weight only got heavier.

“Bye,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, the word almost lost in the cold air between you. His smile lingered, faint but visible.

As you climbed into your car, you glanced back to find his silhouette watching, hands stuffed in his pockets. His expression was unreadable but unmistakably drawn to you, even as you moved out of view. Driving away, the sight of him standing there etched in your mind, like a ghost of regret, leaving you wishing there was more you could’ve done. You tapped against the wheel, shaking your head side to side, trying to decipher the significance of the encounter—what it meant and what it meant to you.

By the time you got home, the sun was already dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink. The day had slipped away before you even realized it, leaving you drained as you ushered your family to help with the groceries. Your sister, begrudgingly helpful, carried a single bag into the kitchen, while your parents, far more efficient, managed the rest with ease. They smiled at you as they asked about the store run.  

“It was fine,” you answered casually, omitting any mention of the fleeting encounter with a strange man and his self-absorbed request. Instead, you clutched the sketchpad tucked inside your puffer jacket, its presence comforting as you moved quickly to avoid further questions.  

After thanking everyone for stocking the groceries, you huddled inside, wasting no time darting to your room. Solitude awaited, and with it, the opportunity to test out your new sketchpad. And there was no better subject than Wonwoo. 

You wrote something in bold block letters, loud enough to catch his attention and you pressed the pad against the window.

‘Look who found something to write on!’

You held onto the sketchpad for a few minutes, waiting for a response that never came, wondering if Wonwoo was still out for the day—or maybe even the evening. Shrugging off the silence, you decided to put it to other uses, taking it to the living room as the familiar dynamics of your family unfolded before your eyes.  

By the time you got home, the power had returned. Jan had powered her phone, attached to the charging cable on the couch. The fridge, no longer relying on the backup generator, hummed with life as Mom filled it with everything cold. Meanwhile, Dad, his hankering for a beer quenched as he finally cracked one open, releasing a sigh of satisfaction.  

You settled on the stairs, sketchpad in hand, and began to recreate the scene before you. Each line brought their motions to life—the way Mom gestured animatedly, how your sister rolled her eyes with a whine, and Dad chimed in with his usual lecture in support of Mom. Their interactions flowed like a motion picture, filling your pages effortlessly.

A smile crept across your face as your pencil scratched vastly against the surface, then rapidly. You envisioned the warmth of their voices, how it would play with the lines of their shapes, drawing them how your eyes saw them. The small but welcoming chaos that was your family began to feel less like an obligation and more like something precious. What you had once dreaded, you now basked in, appreciating it for what it was. And on your sketchpad, it thrived, living through your fingertips and onto the paper. 

It was a fun little show and tell to share at dinner that night, bringing smiles to your family as you broke bread together. Even Jan, usually hard to impress, couldn’t help but seem genuinely happy for you.  

After the meal, with the house settling into its usual rhythm, you decided to try reaching out to Wonwoo again. You used the sign you had first had to catch his attention, holding it up against the glass, grasping at straws. This time, you waited longer, your breath fogging up the window as the evening chill seeped in. When nothing happened, you knocked lightly, the sound dull against the barrier between your world and his.

Just as you were about to give up again, something caught your eye—shadows of a moving figure, then a scrawl appearing faintly on what looked like a blank surface. It wasn’t elegant—messy even, like chicken scratch, but the message was somehow comprehensible:  

‘I found some paper too!’

It was hurried, uneven, written in an excited rush, and it made you break out in the biggest of smiles.

Despite the electricity restored and the household bustling again, your amusement in the simplest forms of communication never ceased to amaze you. There was a charm in it, something oddly intimate and endearing about written notes—just like Wonwoo. 

‘Where have you been all day? You weren’t here this morning,’ you interrogated.  

‘Errands. The power came on, and my parents kinda pushed us all out of the house,’ he replied.  

That answered your question well enough, not giving you much reason to doubt it—until Wonwoo threw a question of his own your way.  

‘What did you do to entertain yourself without me? Bet it was boring,’ he wrote.  

You rolled your eyes, a small grin tugging at your lips, before scribbling a reply. The more lengthy phrasing really let his personality shine. Although it didn't even take half a mind to know a mind to know Wonwoo was both silly and amicable, seeing the development was something you didn’t realize you longed to see ‘Mine kinda did the same thing. Was out grocery shopping for most of the afternoon.’  

‘Shopping took up the whole afternoon? The market’s only 30 minutes away. Something happen?’  

You hesitated, chewing on the end of your pen. Was there any point in telling Wonwoo about your encounter? Did it even matter? After a moment of thought, you decided there was no harm in sharing.  

‘Met some weirdo. An okay guy, I guess.’  

‘Interesting. Weirder than me?’

‘Up for consideration.’

‘Funny we were out at the same time. Maybe we passed by each other without knowing,’ he responded.  

‘Maybe,’ you agreed, looking back at all the people that have passed that could’ve possibly been him. 

Your exchanges had come a long way from simple signs and one-word notes, now flowing effortlessly into full sentences. There was an ease in your back-and-forth, a connection that felt as natural as breathing. You would miss this interaction when it’s time to go. And admittedly, you’d miss Wonwoo.

After playing catch up with him until the late hours of the night, scribbling your heart’s content on paper until every inch of a page was filled, you eventually grew tired, falling asleep and waking up again unsure of the time of day. You rubbed your eyes of sleep, attempting to perk yourself up, before looking at your phone for the time, the only reason you look at your phone as of late.

5:45pm. Just about plenty of time before dinner. 

When you came out of your room, it was vacant, almost eerily quiet how the living area was. “Hello,” you resonated out in the open space, legs trodding over to the kitchen.

Your gaze flickered over to a note, plucking it off the stainless steel. “Letting you sleep, some lunch in the fridge, and coming back with dinner. Love, Mom,” you recited, smiling.

It seemed your family had granted you some alone time, which you were more than happy to take advantage of. Grabbing your sketchbook from your room, you flipped through the filled pages, relieved to find a couple still untouched. The beauty of the day caught your eye, and you decided to capture it—particularly the landscape of the mountains, now finally visible beneath the layers of snow.

You flipped to any empty page, twirling a pencil between your fingers before starting out with an outline, tracing over the peak of the mountains and down its slope. You could get used to this feeling, this inspiration. Your smile widened when the picture was coming together: the shading, the rocks, the snow, even the birds that would sometimes linger on nearby trees. Your heart swelled in bliss like nothing else, any other sensation unmatched.

As you let out a frost bitten breath, presenting your picture to view as the sun was beginning to set in front of you. 

“Wow,” a deep voice called out from the darkness, startling you so badly that you dropped your book and pen.

A figure stood under the overhang of the neighboring cabin, tall but obscured by a blanket of shadows. “Who goes there?” you called out, your voice firm despite your unease.

“Who goes there? Are you a troll under a bridge?” he teased, clearly not taking your alarm seriously.

“I’m being serious. Who are you?” you demanded, stepping back cautiously.

“You can’t see me?” he asked, his voice tinged with genuine confusion.

“You’re standing in the dark like Slenderman. Of course, I can’t see you!”

“Oh. My bad.”

”Oh?! Why are you just standing there in the dark like a weirdo?”

“How am I being weird? I’m not being weird!” he protested, his voice rising slightly.

“Stop with this creepypasta crap—you scared the hell out of me! Are you a pervert or something?”

“Pervert?” he repeated, sounding offended. “Are you saying that just because I’m a man?”

“I’m saying that because you’re standing in the fucking shadows you have a knife behind your back!”

The shadowy figure finally started to get to the point and stepped out of the darkness, revealing himself to be more than a mere stranger. You blinked in surprise, recognizing him right away.

”You’re the guy from the grocery store.” You pointed out, your tone flat. “You stalking me or something?”

He narrowed his eyes, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “How do I know you’re not stalking me?”

”So, you’re saying I found you so alarmingly attractive that after drawing your picture that you requested I do, that left first to follow you all the way to your cabin, and then decided to draw mountains for fun in the middle of my stalking. Sure.”

”…Can I see them?”

You held out a cautionary hand. “Stay where you are, I have an orange belt.”

The man let out a long sigh, and your name rolled off his tongue so naturally it stopped you in your tracks. “Seriously, how do you not get it yet?”

Your eyes widened. “How do you know my name? Oh my god. You are a stalker.”

He slapped a hand against his chest in mock offense. “I’m Wonwoo, you clueless loser. The person you’ve been talking to for the past—what, week and a half?”

“…Huh.” You blinked, the pieces starting to fall into place. “That would make a lot of sense.” Still, a flicker of doubt lingered. “Prove it.”

He rolled his eyes. “You may be a good artist, but you can’t draw cows.”

You bristled. “I tried my best.”

“Your best sucked,” he quipped without hesitation.

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes at him but feeling the corners of your mouth tug upward despite yourself. “Hmm. Maybe you are Wonwoo.”

He crossed his arms to match yours, a grin spreading across his face at your acceptance. “I kinda had a feeling it would be you.”

You stepped closer, tilting your head. “Oh yeah? How?”

“Well…” His grin grew wider. “I was more so hoping it’d be you. You’re just as interesting in person as you are through…messages? Notes? Can we even call them that?”

You laughed, his words bringing back every ridiculous attempt you’d made to communicate—doodling, caveman vocabulary, the chicken scratch that was already hard enough to read with the condensation on the window.

“Well, it’s good to finally meet you,” you said, extending a hand. “Wonwoo.”

He glanced at your hand, amused. “A handshake?”

You shrugged, smiling. “What’s a better way to officially say hello?”

He shook his head, chuckling, and clasped your hand. The handshake started innocently enough, but then he tugged you forward, pulling you against him. Your breath caught as your bodies pressed together, the warmth between you defying the winter chill. His gaze locked onto yours, holding on to like and suddenly, the world around you seemed to fade.

You weren’t sure how to react, your heart pounding like it was trying to break free, leaving you standing there, suspended in what felt like a hallmark film annoyingly enough. And with that thought, you broke from the spell, finding the courage to speak. “What was that for?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Couldn’t help myself,” he replied, his gaze fixed on you as if time had frozen, a lingering smile playing on his lips.

The corners of your mouth twitched upward despite yourself, almost melting under his playful watch. “Funny.”

“What?”

“We just met, and you’re already hitting on me?”

He scoffed, practically beaming at you falling seamlessly into his rhythm. Thought that was a given, considering the time you’ve known each other. “Actually, we’ve met a total of three times. And, as they say, the third time’s the charm.”

You mused up at him, for a moment entertaining the idea, seeing the picture he was trying to paint. “For what exactly?”

He nonchalantly shrugged, gaze softening as they fell over your features lower, arms sliding up your sides, “Well, ever since you drew me on that rock, I’ve wanted to hug you because I didn’t know if I would ever get the chance to.”

”And now?”

His hand reached up to brush the top of your head, and fingers delicately found themselves through your hair, weaving through with a slow reverent touch. “I hadn’t gotten that far yet,” he softly admitted, “but if you’ll let me, maybe I can make you a part of my art one day.”

”You know…that doesn't make you sound any less like a serial killer.”

”You can’t let me have one serious moment, can you?”

“I think you’ve known me long enough to answer that question yourself,” You grinned.

[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (07)

chapter seven: built to break

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; the gorlies are fighting...?, not much for warnings in this chapter ig word count: 4.3k note: i finally got off my ass and wt is finally back lol. i had a last minute change of plans and thought "oh! you know what would be pretty neat? if we prolong the angst so everyone can be sad for longer!" <3 and this is how i announce that the next chapter is not wt8 but wt7.5 and it's written from his pov <3 merry christmas

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

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I’ll hold my breath as I wait for your answer I’ll leave it up to you Tell me whether it’s yes or no Baby, love me or leave me tonight

Love Me or Leave Me - Day6

The warning signs, they're there. You can see them before they materialize. You know your own tells.

Your metaphorical bags are packed, your shoes are already on. You're about to run again, leave a half empty house before it has the chance to become a home. No one has to tell you that you're a flight risk; you're well aware of it yourself.

Wednesday Min: got plans tonight? You: booked and busy with ze old canvas Min: tomorrow? You: same thing probably. sorry Min: u're working hard lately You: yeah this one is just driving me crazy and i need it to turn out decent Min: it'll be perfect. it's u

Thursday Min: running errands at the store Min: want me to bring u anything? that caramel popcorn u like?

Friday Min: don't work too hard. remember to eat

That was three days ago, the last time you'd heard from him after you left him on read. It wasn't a complete lie; this project is driving you kinda crazy and you do need it to end up a decent piece, but you weren't exactly holed up in your apartment to slave over your painting. And you suppose Minho didn't find it all that suspicious because you tend to do this sometimes - disappear for a couple of days and force yourself to focus whenever you had a project to finish, before you come back to everybody again. You've come back to him before; it stands to reason that you'll do it again.

It's been about two weeks since you'd seen him, though the memories of that evening are still fresh in your mind - the evening of the group dinner, when he'd kissed you goodnight and left for his parents' house the following day. True to his words, he did send you pictures of the cats - ones of Soonie wearing a matching hoodie with him, a few of Doongie and Dori napping at the foot of his bed. There was an accompanying text - The kids miss you - along with a frowning emoji, and it made you wonder if what he really meant was I miss you.

You wanted him to miss you, because you missed him too.

The photos brought a smile to your face despite the predicament you found yourself in. A smile that was short lived, a smile that was soon wiped off when you realized your heart shouldn't be swelling with that much affection for him. It shouldn't, but the truth was that it did and you don't know how to live with it.

Love isn't something you've ever learned to hold.

It's beautiful yet full of thorns, and your hands are too clumsy to ever keep it from slipping from your fingers.

You remember when you first met Minho. Freshman year, at some popular senior's house party.

It feels like forever ago when you were just an awkward freshman at orientation who didn't have a single clue on how to make friends. Jess was your first friend in college, and you'll always be grateful that you got along well enough that she adopted you into the group with the rest of the guys.

You didn't cross paths with Minho until you were already acquainted with everyone else. On the night of the party, you remember being enamored with him for those couple of hours, and it wasn't the side effect of too many solo cups of cheap beer. Who in their right mind wouldn't be infatuated with him? He was beautiful, absolutely alluring, and you would always tell him as much.

Back then, he had brown hair, slighter shorter than now but it was tinted with the most gorgeous shade of red. You didn't know much about Minho, only been told that he was pretty quiet and might be off-putting to new people. It was sort of true; that night, you were intimidated by the aura he exuded. Mysterious, couldn't be bothered, didn't seem to give a shit. He looked like a scary little thing, while you were the new kid who was only trying to observe everyone's dynamics, not wanting to overstep any unspoken boundary.

To this day, you're still not sure what really happened, how you two immediately clicked and he's been one of the most important parts of your life ever since.

Maybe it was just him. Maybe it's always been him.

Minho, the one who makes you smile when all you want to do is curl up and cry. The one who makes you laugh when you look for joy but the search comes up empty. The one who grounds you every time you lose your way. Your anchor, the safe harbor you can always return to. The light at the end of a long, long tunnel.

You don't know where you stand, don't know where it goes from here now that everything is changing. He told you so himself, that nothing changed for him, but how could he possibly know that everything is changing for you? And it infuriates you to no end because you don't even have anyone to talk about this with. You're the only person whose world is being turned upside down after all.

You can't tell your friends because they can't know about you and Minho. You can't tell Minho because what would you even say? That you think you're in love with him? That the implications of what it means are devastating to you?

For the first time, you regret everything. Kissing him that night, sleeping with him, becoming whatever this is with him. Letting down your guard and falling for him somewhere along the way and you didn't even stop to notice it. You regret all of the decisions you've made up until now, because they've only led you to the point of no return, the point of losing him. You made bad decision after bad decision after bad decision, until you couldn't anymore. All along, there's been no one else to blame but you.

Maybe it hasn't happened yet, but it's inevitable. You will lose him. You are going to lose him.

There's no other ending, no other alternative that you can imagine. You're going to leave because you're a coward and it's what you do best. You ruin things before they get a chance to hurt you. You leave because if you don't leave then you'll be left behind, and you'd rather not bear the brunt of it.

Now, when you think of Minho, the thought is always accompanied by a painful reminder - Nothing changed for him.

When you get to the cafe, Hyunjin and Seungmin are already seated in a corner booth, three drinks in front of them, one of which they'd ordered for you before you arrived.

You slide into the seat next to Hyunjin, smiling at him appreciatively for the drink. There's still over half an hour before you have to walk to your shared class, over half an hour before Seungmin parts ways with you two to do whatever or whoever it is that Seungmin does on his off days.

"I still think it's Nara," Hyunjin says, casually sipping his iced coffee.

"Nara from your Lit class last semester?"

"Yup."

"Why?"

"I saw them talking at a party once."

"Okay. And?"

"And what? That's it."

"That's... all the evidence you have to back up your claim?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

You wave your hands in front of them. "What are you bozos talking about?"

"He’s still trying to figure out who Minho is hooking up with," Seungmin is the one who answers you without missing a beat, then he turns back to Hyunjin. "Anyway, it can't be Nara. She's dating Jaehyun on the basketball team."

The friend next to you flails his arms like a petulant child, like he couldn't have possibly seen this coming, like he was so sure that he had finally solved the mystery. "Great. I'm back to square one again."

You straighten your back and reach for your drink, tentatively gulping down the beverage as if it'll hide the fact that you've gone stiff the second this topic is brought up. You feel bad about it, sure. These are your friends that you're lying to after all. They don't have to look anywhere far; the answer to the secret is right in front of them.

"We're still on about that?" you ask in the calmest, most nonchalant voice you can muster. You usually consider yourself a believable liar (which, to be honest, isn't really a flex at all), but whenever someone mentions this little arrangement between you and Minho that shouldn't be common knowledge for anyone else, you feel like you're been put under a spotlight for the whole world to scrutinize.

"Duh," Hyunjin says. "You know, I'm kinda surprised that you don't know. You two are like, attached at the hip sometimes."

You give him a thoughtless shrug, your hands fiddling with the sticker on the plastic cup as you avoid looking at either of your friends. "Maybe he just wants to keep private things private, y'know? You wouldn't like either if all of us is suddenly all up in your business. And besides, what if it's just casual?"

Hyunjin scoffs. "Please, I'm an open book. I tell you guys everything. I tell you every time I hook up with someone."

"Yeah, but you see, literally no one needs to know that," Seungmin says.

The taller one only scoffs, waving his hands around dismissively in Seungmin's direction before he turns to you. "If it was just casual, would he save her name as - oh my God, I forgot what her contact name is. Freaking bird person or something."

You make a face. "What?"

"Dude, seriously?" Seungmin rolls his eyes. "You forgot one word? Dove? What is the matter with you?"

Perhaps it's the half-hearted teasing judgment in Seungmin's voice that makes Hyunjin take offense and drop the topic. The conversation veers off course when they start bickering like children in the busy cafe. You suppose it works in your favor, but you can't focus. You drown it all out.

Your hand is still on the cup but the sticker has been left alone and forgotten, half peeled off, half still clinging to the plastic underneath the condensation.

The single word repeats itself in your mind, over and over and over again.

The entire time you're in class, you don't really focus on anything. You can't bring yourself to listen to whatever your professor is saying, not after what Hyunjin and Seungmin told you earlier. At some point, your friend has to nudge your shoulder to bring you back down to earth when usually, you're the one who has to remind Hyunjin to pay attention. Class ends soon enough though; time tends to fly by when your mind is lost elsewhere.

"What's wrong with you today?" he asks with his bag slung over his shoulder, slowing down his steps to match your speed as you walk out of the lecture hall together.

You scratch the back of your neck sheepishly. "Nothing's wrong. I was just tired."

"You wanna grab dinner with me and Felix?"

Any other day, you would've agreed in a heartbeat. But today, you want to be alone. Sometimes, you'd rather wallow in your own misery than settle for a temporary distraction.

You're still stuck on the conversation from earlier, on the small detail that Hyunjin and Seungmin had let slip in the cafe.

Dove.

His dove.

Maybe it doesn't mean anything. Perhaps it's only a nickname that he's assigned to you out of mere platonic fondness, but it makes you conscious about the dove on your own wrist nonetheless, the one that you feel compelled to hide from your friends underneath your long sleeve.

"No, it's okay," you tell Hyunjin. "I'll just go home and sleep it off."

"Okay. I can walk you for a bit," he says. "Just wait with me here. Minho's coming to give me back something he borrowed."

"Minho's coming?" you ask too quickly for it to sound casual. There's a panicked edge that you can hear in your own voice, though you don't think Hyunjin picks it up as he unlocks his phone and types something on the screen.

"Yeah, he was at the library. He's coming over right now, should only be a couple minutes. Then I'll walk back with you."

You shift on your feet uneasily, but you cover it up by rubbing your hands on your arms to pretend like you're just cold. There's no excuse that you could think of that would justify why you can't stand here with Hyunjin for just two more minutes, without giving it away the fact that you're avoiding Minho.

You take in a quiet breath, put on your best brave face. Casual, nonchalant. It's just Minho. Just Minho...

He comes up from behind, where you can't see him. A warm hand gently lands on your shoulder, and it takes everything not to shy away from his touch. It takes even more not to lean into his side.

You've missed it. You've missed him.

"Hey." He smiles at you while Hyunjin only gets a nod in acknowledgment.

"Hey." You return the smile, though you're sure you look a little rigid. You can tell there's an inkling of confusion in his eyes when he senses that your energy is off, but you're thankful he doesn't comment on it, at least not in front of Hyunjin anyway.

You don't notice the paper bag in his other hand until he hands it to your other friend with a simple Thanks, to which Hyunjin just nods along in a silent You're welcome.

"I was going to walk with Y/N for a bit and then meet Felix for food," he tells Minho. "You wanna get burgers with me and Lix?"

"No, thanks. I'm not hungry, I had a late lunch. I'll take the walk though."

You didn't plan on being alone with Minho today, even though you knew you had to talk to him eventually. You just thought you had a little more time, at least until you got your shit together and face him with a brave façade.

Minho's hand brushes yours the entire time you walk, and it's nothing if not confusing. It's unbearable, the way your fingers twitch with the urge to intertwine them with his.

It persists even after Hyunjin has waved you goodbye to you two and turned to head wherever he and Felix agreed to meet. You think Minho would hold your hand now that it's just you and him, but he doesn't. He lets your skin continue to brush, lets you suffer alone and wanting in your sunken disappointment.

It has very little to do with him and everything to do with you, the conflicting thoughts inside your head piling up one by one the more time you spend in his presence.

Dove, the brief display of jealousy at Yeonjun's party, the way he looks at you sometimes that you can't really decipher the meaning behind, how he kisses you so tenderly that it can't possibly be strictly platonic. You want these things to all mean something, and yet...

You want him to hold your hand, but you know you'd wave it off if he tries to reach for your fingers. You want him to stop you right then and there to kiss you breathless, just as he had that night two weeks ago, even though you're sure you'd only dodge his lips and push him away. You want to stay, you want to leave. You're terrified of things changing, but you wish that something, anything, would be different for him; that you aren't the only one who's spinning out of control. You love him, but you wish you didn't.

Eventually, Minho asks, "You okay?"

It's not until now that you realize this is the first time you've ever been this quiet around him. You purse your lips, glancing down briefly at your feet as you keep on treading the rest of the way home. "Yeah, all good. I'm just tired," you tell him, visibly unenthusiastic despite the smile you try to fake. "I just need to sleep it off."

"The project stressing you out?"

"I guess, yeah."

"And here I thought maybe you were avoiding me," he says, half a joke, half inquisitive. "Were you?"

"Was I what?"

"Were you avoiding me?"

You give him a weird look, one that's meant to be dismissive and call his question ridiculous even though you know you've been caught. And maybe it's the over-the-top glance that you throw his way and the way your pitch goes higher when you reply, "Why would I be avoiding you?" that makes him stop walking.

On the other side of the street, there's a couple of kids in high school uniforms, exchanging shy glances and sharing fond giggles.

Minho calls your name softly, and it's like you're just waiting for the ball to drop. You don't want to turn back and look at him, but what other option do you have? What else is there to do?

You can't decipher the expression on his face. He's still calm, but the air has turned serious, the silence of the mostly empty streets surrounding you only serves as the soundtrack of your impending heartbreak. The tender and innocent laughter fades away when young love moves further and further from where you stand. "What?" you ask with faux nonchalance as you look at him, another attempt at stalling. Biding your time even though a few more minutes aren't going to do any good for your case.

Anyone with half a braincell could tell that clearly it's not the truth, let alone someone who has learned to read you better than the back of his hand. He doesn't look like he believes you, though he doesn't push it, much to your surprise.

"Okay," he says after a moment of studying you, and this should be the part where you heave a sigh of relief because he's letting you off the hook for now, but your chest doesn't feel lighter at all. Your head is clouded with dread, with the anticipation that you're only delaying the inevitable.

You walk the rest of the way in awful silence, because you know that he knows something is wrong. You try your best to appear composed, but he sees right through you. You know he does.

You must look like a frightened animal, one that's about to take off running any second now.

When you reach your building, Minho is quick to keep you with him before you can make up a lame excuse and bolt.

"Hey," he starts, his voice so impossibly gentle that it hurts. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Heavier and heavier, it weighs you down until you feel like your chest is going to collapse. The nerves gnaw on you, clawing into you until you feel your heartbeat quicken, the overwhelming dread simmering low in your belly.

"I know," you say, but deep down, what you're really thinking is, Not this. This is the one thing I can't tell you.

"Is everything okay?"

It's the way that Minho's got his gaze set on you with those deep brown irises, the concern so apparent in them that it hurts you. It's the way he looks like he wants to reach out and touch you - a comforting hand on your shoulder or your back like you're so familiar with - but he has to hold himself back or you might slip away.

It's him, how he always puts you first, how he cares about you in ways that you've never been cared about before. He understands you, he sees you. It feels like it could be love if you let the lines blur just enough.

Is love supposed to hurt? Like this?

Maybe it's not that you don't know how to hold love. Maybe it's because you're not meant to hold it at all. Insignificant, unlovable.

And... it's the reminder that cuts through the dread like the sharpest knife.

You leave his question unanswered, because nothing is okay and you can't tell him any of it. You can't lie to him either, because it's the last thing that you want to do to him.

Instead, you ask, "We're good... right? We're okay?"

"What do you mean?"

You gesture between the two of you, though you're not sure what that's supposed to signify. "Just...," you trail off for a second, hesitant. "Nothing's changed, right?"

Minho doesn't answer right away. He looks at you for a moment, searching for something in your eyes that you can't tell if he's able to find.

He nods, seemingly wistful as he says, "Nothing's changed."

He seems unsure about it, at least more than he was just a few weeks ago when he told you the same thing in your apartment with his fingers wrapped around your wrist. The tug between his brows - though barely noticeable - tells you as much.

Is it because something is different now? Or does he only sound uncertain out of concern, because of you and how you're acting?

Then he continues, "For me, at least."

And there it is.

It's the confirmation this time around that turns you inside out so his simple words could cut into you.

You swallow thickly, put on a smile like you're pleased with his answer even though you're trying your hardest to stop yourself from shaking. Whatever energy you had left is instantly drained from you just because of a few words.

Your sentences get smashed together, tangled up like barbed wire and they only make you bleed when you try to pull them apart. All your nervous tics coming out to play despite your best efforts to keep them at bay. A frustrated hand running through your hair, gripping at the roots a little harshly. Your bottom lip pulled between your teeth and your eyes turning glassy for a split second before you blink the moisture away, because you can't let Minho see you like this. See you trying to keep your pathetic heart intact while he's none the wiser.

He's fine. And unlike you, he's going to be okay when this is over.

Unavoidable and inevitable, the end will come whether you like it or not. You're the only one who won't make it out unscathed, and it will only shatter you into more pieces the longer you drag this out.

Just rip the bandaid off. Salvage whatever you can. Stop digging the grave even deeper for yourself.

One second, then two, then three. You don't speak until you have enough faith that your voice is even enough to carry out a few sentences.

"Okay, uhm... I think I need some time for myself. We should..." But it isn't, and you crack halfway through. The sound is deafening to your own ears. "We should take a break. We should stop this."

Minho doesn't question if you mean the secret between the two of you, or your friendship entirely. Instead, he asks, "Why?"

"I told you." You clear your throat. "I need time for myself."

You can't tell what he's thinking, but the knife twists inside of you nonetheless.

He takes a step closer, you take a step back.

You watch as his face falls, and the same feeling mirrors itself within the confines of your ribcage. Your heart drops at the sight of his eyes, deep brown irises stained with a little confusion, then a little hurt though it lasts for only a few seconds. The slight slump of his shoulders, the absence of the familiar playfulness he always sports when he's with you.

He blinks.

"Time for yourself, or time away from me?"

You say nothing.

You don't address his question directly, and your reluctance to do so is a loud enough answer in and of itself. "Why does that matter? What's the difference?"

"It matters if I did something to upset you."

"You didn't."

"Okay. So?"

This is confusing, because he's not letting you rip the bandaid clean off and you don't know why. "Nothing's changed, right? If it didn't mean anything to you, why can't you just drop this?"

Minho is quiet for a beat. His eyes are searching again, but this time, you think he finds something.

Everything is still and you hate it - the silence of the streets, the scrutinizing orange glow of the streetlights as if they're watching the scene unfold, even the innocent cat that's sitting by itself on the balcony on one of the floors higher up. You hate all of it.

"I never said it didn't mean anything," he tells you.

It makes you a little angry for some reason, and there's enough red to cloud your vision because his words are contradicting and you're tired, you're so exhausted that you can't focus on what it is that he's really saying.

"So you lied to me?"

"I've never lied to you."

"I asked you before and you said nothing's changed. Now you're saying whatever this is didn't not mean anything. Make up your mind."

It gets redder when he keeps his eyes fixed on you, still so calm despite the frown that has returned to its place between his brows. Still so collected, while you're being pulled apart at the seams.

The ball doesn't drop the way you expect it to. It keeps falling so insufferably slowly, hanging over you like it's mocking you for being stupid, like it's milking every second of suspense to make you implode.

Until Minho speaks next and suddenly, it feels like the air has been sucked out of your lungs. His voice, still so soft and tender. His eyes, reading something in yours that you can't bear to admit out loud.

"You really don't see it, do you?"

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 24.06.2024]

[writingstoraes]

merry and bright 🎄

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!reader

type: instagram imagine, social media au

notes: aaaa i really missed writing here! it's been months since i last posted but since i have a short holiday break, i thought why not get back into it! sooo here's a small holiday piece! hope you're all having a nice holiday so far 🤍

about: christmas shenanigans with charles!

yourusername

liked by joris__trouche, arthurleclerc, wags4eva, and 205,283 others

yourusername someone's finally home for the holidays 🎄missed you beyond words, my love!

lecslover MY PARENTS

scuderiaferrari Happy holidays, Y/N and Charles! ❤️

charles_leclerc Brb, putting mistletoe in every corner of the house 😅

hamilwhattt HES SO????

charles_leclerc

liked by carlossainz55, alexalbon23, maxverstappen, and 670,294 others

charles_leclerc 'Tis the season

yourusername why didn't you post your very beautiful gingerbread man cookies? 🤔

arthurleclerc Beautiful???? pierregasly Come on Arthur, it's Charles - of course Y/N is being sarcastic charles_leclerc I do not wish any of you a Merry Christmas 😑

maxverstappen Tell Y/N Penelope misses her baking!

lecssainz55 if you zoom in on the tree you can see me on top of the star about to jump

yourusername and charles_leclerc recently added to their instagram stories!

yourusername

liked by lilymhe, racingthusiasts, lorenzotl, and 321,242 others

yourusername freezing cold these days... thanks for keeping me warm charles_leclerc 😘

charles_leclerc Only put in this world for your thermal purposes, amour

lestappenz THERMAL PURPOSESHWBHW

hotcars need me someone to keep me warm too 😣

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liked by maxverstappen, scuderiaferrari, arthurleclerc, and 832,394 others

charles_leclerc The best gift I could ever ask for 🎁

yourusername is???

charles_leclerc You, obviously 😘

pierregasly Happy holidays, lovebirds 🎄

alexalbon23 Merry Christmas, Charles and Y/N!

danielricciardo Soulmates are reunited I see...

riclaren OHH daniel is a charles and y/n enthusiast???

yourusername

liked by lorenzotl, wagslove, scuderiaferrari, and 203,294 others

yourusername best time of the year 🎄 hope everyone is feeling merry and bright 🤍

tagged: charles_leclerc

lilymhe Happy holidays my loves ❤️

isahernaez happy holidays, y/n and charles! meet up soon xo

wagstuff THE RING??? IS THIS???? AN ANNOUNCEMENT

yourusername merry christmas, user wagstuff :)

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notes: wishing everyone happy holidays! hope you're all surrounded by loved ones :) tysm for reading and pls don't be shy to let me know what you guys thought of this!

tagging: @slytherheign, @honethatty12, @siovhanroy, @fdl305, @iloveyou3000morgan, @cxcewg, @sassyheroneckgiant, @ang3licho3, @pitlanebabe, @riverdalexvixens, @msliz, @boherahpsody @storminacloud @leclercdream (if anyone else wants to be a part of my taglist or if i forgot anyone that asked to be tagged, pls lmk by replying or sending me a message hehe)

[pitinthelanepages]

La Route Vers Toi

summary: moments where charles leclerc found himself having questionable feelings for his best friend, you, since he was seventeen.

pairing: charles leclerc x best friend! reader

word count: 4.5k

genre: romance, angst, drama

a/n: please be aware that this piece of writing mentions death but it isn't the focus of the story. it is mentioned to show how the characters deal with loss and the grief and sadness that comes with it. if it's upsetting to you. i advise you not to read it. thank you!

gif credit to @countingstars-17

Charles was seventeen when he had realised something was awfully wrong with him. It was a Friday night, and he was sitting on the couch with his best friend, you, watching a low-budget Christmas movie. The main reason to do that was so that both of you could point out the mistakes and get a good laugh out of it. Just like how you did once in a while when you finally had free time.

However, on that particular night, his eyes kept wandering to you, who was sitting next to him with your legs tucked under you. He couldn't help but notice the way your long lashes brushed against your cheek when you laughed, or the way your full lips curled up in a smile.

It was then that he realised he had been feeling this way for a while. He had always thought you were beautiful, which, of course he would think because you were his best friend. He couldn’t just think you are not beautiful but now he found himself drawn to you in a way that he couldn't explain and now, it’s not out of the reason that you were his best friend. He just didn’t know what that meant, not yet.

He couldn't stop noticing the small things about you, like the way your jet black hair fell in soft waves around your face or the way you absentmindedly twirled a strand of hair around your finger.

As the movie continued, Charles found himself growing more and more restless. Instead of pointing at the screen of the TV before him and bursting out in laughter before saying something awfully mean about the movie, he went still, as if he was frozen. 

He tried to focus on the movie and ignore the flutter of his stomach when you placed a hand on his arm, but it was impossible. He found himself studying your hand instead, how it’s so much smaller than his. How it would fit perfectly in his-

A hand appeared in front of his eyes before he heard the fingers snap. “Charles? Are you even listening?” you asked, a frown taking over your features.

Charles snapped out of his thoughts and looked up at you. "Uh, sorry. What were you saying?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

"I said this is so bad it's good," you said with a chuckle, pointing at the screen.

"I can't believe they even made this," Charles replied, shaking his head in amusement but also relieved that he could finally distract himself from thinking about you.

"Look at that CGI," you pointed out as the poorly rendered reindeer flew across the screen. "It's like they didn't even try."

Charles snickered. "And the acting! It's like they picked up random people off the street and put them in the movie."

You couldn't help but giggle at his comment. "I bet we could do a better job than this."

"Definitely," Charles agreed, a mischievous glint in his eye. "We should make our own Christmas movie."

You couldn't help but grin at the idea. "With reindeer that actually look like reindeer?"

"And actors who can actually act," Charles added with a chuckle.

At one point, you paused the movie and got up to make some popcorn. Charles watched you as you moved around the kitchen, admiring the way you moved with such grace and ease.

When you returned with a bowl of popcorn, you plopped down on the couch next to him and resumed the movie.

As the movie went on, the jokes and laughter continued. Charles found himself feeling more and more comfortable in your presence, like he could truly be himself around you. He couldn't help but think about how lucky he was to have you in his life, as both his best friend and someone he was starting to feel more for.

Finally, the movie ended, and both of you collapsed on the couch in exhaustion from laughing so hard. Charles turned to you, a wide smile on his face.

"That was so bad," he said, shaking his head.

"I know, right? I can't believe we actually watched that," you replied, giggling.

Charles leaned in a little closer, feeling a rush of courage. "You know what wasn't bad though?" he asked, his eyes locking onto yours.

"What?" you asked, looking at him with a quizzical expression.

"This. Just hanging out with you. It's always the best part of my tiring weeks of training," he said, feeling his heart pounding in his chest.

You smiled at him, and for a moment, Charles thought he saw something more in your expression. But before he could fully process it, you leaned in and gave him a warm hug.

"I feel the same way, Charles. You're the best friend I could ever ask for," you said, squeezing him tightly.

Charles felt a pang of disappointment, his face falling. But he pushed it aside, what mattered is having you beside him for now. The two of you stayed on the couch for a while longer, talking and laughing until the late hours of the night.

Charles was nineteen when he had lost the most important person in his life, his idol, his father. The world had come crashing down on him, leaving him in a sea of grief and sadness. It was as if someone had pulled the rug from under his feet, leaving him stumbling in the dark.

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, but the pain never went away. To the world, he was a strong young boy who had won the Formula 2 race in Baku just four days after his father’s demise. However, the grief had become a part of him, a constant companion that he couldn't shake off. Everywhere he went, he saw reminders of his father. The sound of a car engine, the smell of gasoline, the sight of a racing track, all brought back memories of the times they had spent together.

Charles sat on his balcony, his eyes fixed on the distant skyline. The sun had just set, casting a golden glow across the city. He didn't move, didn't speak. He just sat there, lost in his thoughts.

As you approached him, you could see the sadness etched on his face. You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he turned to look at you, his eyes red-rimmed from crying.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to be so distant."

You shook your head. "It's okay," you said, taking a seat beside him. "You don't have to apologise."

Charles sighed deeply, and you could feel the weight of his grief pressing down on him. "It's just...it's hard, you know? Losing someone you love."

You nodded, knowing that there were no words that could ease his pain. "I know. But you're not alone, Charles. I'm here for you."

He looked at you then, his eyes searching for something. "Thank you," he said softly. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

You smiled, reaching out to take his hand. "You don't have to do anything alone. That's what friends are for."

Charles leaned his head back, his eyes closing as he took a deep breath. "I know," he said. "It's just...sometimes it feels like the weight of the world is on my shoulders."

You squeezed his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. "You don't have to carry that weight alone, Charles. I'm here for you, always."

He looked at you then, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "Thank you," he said again, his voice choked with emotion.

You sat there with him, the two of you watching the city lights twinkling in the distance. You knew that you couldn't take away his pain, but you could be there for him. And in that moment, that was enough.

In those dark moments, when Charles felt like he had no one left to support him, you were there. As his best friend, you stood by him through thick and thin, offering a shoulder to cry on and a listening ear whenever he needed it. You never judged him for his tears or his anger, but rather held him close and whispered words of comfort and encouragement.

It was in those moments that Charles realised just how important you were to him. You were his rock, his safe haven, his confidante. Without you, he didn't know how he would have made it through those dark days. You gave him hope and reminded him that he was not alone.

Charles is twenty-five years old and things aren't exactly going his way. Actually, things are only going downhill. The 2022 Formula 1 season started off well for him, but lately, everything seems to be going wrong. His car has been malfunctioning, and he's had to retire early from the last few races. His team wasn’t exactly the best at their job, in fact, they were nowhere near descent and his confidence is at an all-time low.

Adding insult to injury, his girlfriend recently broke up with him. They had been dating for a while, and Charles thought things were going well. But then things somehow didn’t work out for them. They were adults with two very different lives and priorities after all but Charles couldn’t help but be devastated. It’s like the world was punishing him for some godforsaken sin he had committed without knowing. 

He's been feeling lost and alone, with no one to turn to. You have been busy with your own life and job, and he doesn't want to burden you with his problems. But as he sits on his couch, staring blankly at the wall, he can't help but feel like he needs someone to talk to.

Just then, his phone buzzes. It's a text from you. "Hey, how are you doing?"

Charles hesitates for a moment before typing back, "Not great, to be honest. Can we talk?"

You reply immediately, "Of course. I'll be there in 20 minutes, let me finish this meeting."

And you do keep your word. You arrive at his apartment in about thirty minutes, the apartment door opening to reveal a Charles who has lost the glow of his face. You can sense the pain through his eyes. 

"Hey, what's going on?" You ask, concern evident on your face as you frown.

Charles takes a deep breath before starting to speak. "My season's going terribly. My car's malfunctioning, I keep crashing, and my girlfriend just broke up with me. I don't know what to do," he shrugs, doing a terrible job at playing nonchalant because you know him too well and can see through his facade before anyone else.

You nod, sighing. "I'm sorry, Charles. That must be a lot to handle." 

"I just feel so lost," Charles says, his voice cracking. "I thought things were going well, but now it feels like everything's falling apart."

Honestly you have a lot to say but Charles doesn’t seem to be in the mood to take advice so you place a hand on his shoulder, knowing what he needs at the moment is comfort. "I know it's tough, and what I am about to say is gonna sound toxic but you can't give up. You're a talented driver, and more than that, you have worked too hard to be where you are right now, Charles. You know I have witnessed you going through it all, don’t you?"

"But it feels like nothing's going my way," Charles says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so tired of all of this."

You look at him with concern. "Have you talked to anyone on your team? Maybe they can help you with your car."

Charles shakes his head. "I don't want to seem like I'm not capable of handling things on my own. Plus, they are the last people I would wanna talk to right now knowing how they’ve been recently." He mumbles, his head on his palm. 

"Charles, you don't have to do everything on your own," You say firmly. "It's okay to ask for help when you need it. You have people who care about you and want to see you succeed."

Charles looks at you, his face softening. "What would I do without you?"

You smile at him. "You don't have to worry about that. I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

Both of you sit there in silence for a few moments, with your arm around Charles' shoulder. The only sound is the ticking of the clock on the wall.

Finally, Charles speaks up again. "I'm sorry for burdening you with all of this. You have your own life and your own problems."

You sigh, here he goes again. “Charles, please. Why do you have to make things awkward by saying these, huh? I’m your best friend for a reason. Stop saying sorry,” You huff, looking annoyed to which he chuckles, his voice resonating in the living room of his quiet apartment. 

“There you go.” You say, smiling as you poke at one of his dimples. “Here is the actual Charles who is back.”

Charles rolls his eyes before pushing you by the shoulders, playfully. “You’re so cheesy, eww.”

Later that night, Charles lies in bed staring at the ceiling, his mind racing with thoughts. The conversation with you had helped him feel better, but it had also brought up some confusing feelings.

He has always known that he cares about you deeply. You have been best friends since forever, and you have been there for him through his good and bad times. But now, he wonders if there could be something more than just friendship between you two.

As he lies there, he can't help but wonder if you ever thought of this possibility. He has never been good at reading people, but he has always thought that there is something more between you two.

He shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. This is not the time to be thinking about this. He has enough on his plate as it is.

But no matter how hard he tries, he can't shake the feeling that something has changed. He can't stop thinking about the way you had looked at him earlier, the concern evident in your eyes. He can't help but wonder if there is something more behind that concern.

He sighs, turning over onto his side. He knows he should talk to you about this, but he is scared of ruining the friendship you two have built over the years. He doesn't want to risk losing you, but at the same time, he can't keep these feelings bottled up inside forever.

As he drifts off to sleep, his mind still filled with thoughts of you, he knows that he will have to confront his feelings sooner or later. But for now, he will try to push them aside and focus on getting his life back on track.

Charles is sitting on his couch, lost in thought, when he hears a knock at his door. It's late, and he isn't expecting anyone, but he gets up to answer it anyway. As he opens the door, he sees you standing there, completely drenched from the rain, tears streaming down your face.

Despite the tears streaming down your face, Charles can't help but notice how beautiful you look in that moment. The rain has matted your hair to your face, your nose and lips are red and swollen. The vulnerability in your eyes makes his heart ache, and he wishes he could do something to take the pain away. He doesn’t remember the last time he has seen you like this before, so raw and exposed, and it makes him want to wrap his arms around you and hold you close.

Without a word, he pulls you inside and closes the door behind you. You collapse onto his couch, still crying, and Charles sits down next to you, unsure of what to say.

"Hey, it's okay," he says, brows pinched together in concern, placing a hand on your shoulder. "What happened? Why are you crying?"

You take a deep breath before answering. "It's him," you say, your voice shaking. "He's left me for another girl. I don't know what to do."

Charles feels a pang of anger and sadness for you. He knows how much you care for this guy and how much you have invested in the relationship. But he also knows that he hasn't been the best friend to you lately, too wrapped up in his own problems to notice yours.

"I'm so sorry," he says, squeezing your shoulder. "That's terrible. Do you want to talk about it?"

You nod, wiping away tears. "I just don't understand how he could do this to me. We were so good together. And now he's just gone, with someone else."

Charles listens as you talk, offering comfort and support where he can. As you speak, he realises how much he has taken you for granted as a friend. He has always known that you are there for him, but he has never fully appreciated just how much you have given to him.

He stares at you, noticing yet again how even with tears streaming down your face and your clothes drenched from the rain, you still look so breathtakingly beautiful. 

"I'm sorry," he interrupts you, voice laced with guilt. "I should have been there for you more. I've been so wrapped up in my own stuff that I haven't been a good friend to you. And that's not fair."

You look up at him, surprised by his words. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean it," Charles says, looking you in the eye. "I should have been there for you more. You've always been there for me, and I haven't done the same for you. And I'm sorry."

Tears well up in your eyes again.. "Thank you," you say, leaning into him for a hug. "I don’t think that’s true but saying that means a lot to me."

Charles wraps his arms around you, holding you close. In that moment, he realises that he doesn't just care about you as a friend. He cares about you as something more, something deeper. And as he holds you, he wonders if he will ever muster up the courage to tell you about it.

But for now, he will focus on being the friend you need. Because that's what you deserve, and that's what he should have been all along.

Charles doesn't know how to react when he finds his phone buzzing at the odd hour of 3 am. He rubs his eyes and squints at the caller ID. It’s you. He can’t help but frown. You have always been the more responsible one out of you two. What could have caused you to call him this late at night?

"Hello? Are you okay?" Charles asks, his voice deep and hoarse from sleep.

"Chaarlessss!" You slur into the phone. "Dude, I am at this stupid club… and I have no idea where the exit is," you giggle into the phone as if it’s something funny.

Charles’ brows pinch together in concern, his heart sinking at the sound of your voice. He can tell from the background noise that you are drunk at a club and making little sense.

"Okay, turn on your location so I can come find you," he says patiently, trying not to sound disappointed. How down bad did you have to be for a man to react like this? He can’t help but let the wave of sadness wash over him. You must’ve liked the guy a lot.

You do as you are told, and Charles quickly gets dressed and heads out to the club. When he arrives, he can hear the thumping bass from outside. He soon finds you sitting slumped against a wall, looking lost and dishevelled. And yet at a time like this, he can’t help but notice how pretty you look, even in your current state. Your hair is a mess, but your eyes glimmer in the dim light of the club.

"Hey," he whispers, gaze softening, kneeling down next to you. "Let's get you out of here."

He helps you up and leads you out of the club, shielding you from the flashing lights and thumping music. He carries you in his arms at one point to settle you into the passenger’s seat safely, and gets into his Ferrari before speeding back to his apartment.

You are still talking nonsensically, but Charles tries to listen only to fail because he can’t understand a single word coming out of your mouth. His chest feels tight at witnessing the person who usually gave him words of encouragement and strength, being a mess herself.

Once he arrives outside his apartment, he turns to find your eyes barely open. "Hey," he says, nudging you gently. "You alright?"

You mumble something incoherent again as your eyes are unfocused. Charles sighs, realising he has to carry you again.

"Come on," he whispers, crouching down beside you. "Let's get you to bed."

You don’t seem to have the energy to protest as Charles carefully lifts you into his arms. He can feel the weight of your body against his chest, and he adjusts his grip to make sure you are comfortable. He walks to his apartment with calculated steps and then to his bedroom, being careful not to jostle you too much. You lean against his chest, your head lolling to the side during the process of him carrying you.

Once he arrives in his bedroom, he carefully sets you down on the edge of the bed as he kneels down in front of you before gently beginning to remove your shoes, one at a time. He can see that you are struggling to keep your eyes open, and he knows that you could fall asleep any moment.

With your shoes off, Charles stands up to run his fingers through your hair in an attempt to untangle the mess. He has known you for long enough to know you are a control freak who would hate waking up with tangled hair, and he wants to make sure you are comfortable. He can feel the softness of your hair against his fingers as he gently brushes through the knots.

Finally, when your hair is smooth and soft, Charles gently guides you back onto the bed, pulling the covers up to your chin. You look up at him with bleary eyes, a small smile on your face.

"Thanks." you hum, before your eyes close.

As he is about to leave, he feels a hand wrap around his wrist. He turns to find you looking up at him, a sad smile playing on your lips as you struggle to keep your eyes open. 

"He told me I have been in love with you and not with him, that I don't know," you mumble, your words slurring together.

Charles's heart skips a beat as he stares at you, frozen in disbelief. He has always suspected that his feelings for you ran deeper than just friendship, but he has never allowed himself to entertain the thought that you might feel the same way about him.

"What?" he whispers, leaning in closer to hear you better.

Your eyes turn glassy with tears as you shake your head slightly. "Do you know how mad I was? I was more mad than upset because I knew he was right the moment he said those words. Him leaving me for another woman feels deserving," you say, your voice filled with emotion.

"Hey, it's okay," he says softly, reaching out to wipe away your tears with his thumb. "You don't have to worry about him anymore. You're here, with me."

You look up at him, your eyes shining in the dim light of the room. You reach out and touch his cheek, your fingers warm against his skin.

"I know," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "And I'm glad I am."

A warm sensation spreads through his chest. He can’t believe that this moment is finally happening, and he wants to savour every second of it.

"Me too," he whispers, kneeling down before he runs his hand through your hair gently. He contemplates for a moment as he stares at your long lashes to your plump lips, wondering if he should kiss you or not.

“What?” you frown, pouting your lips in the process. “I know what you’re thinking. What’s stopping you?”

He smirks, amused at your growing confidence. “That you’re drunk…? And that, you might not remem-”

“Shhh. I am drunk enough to confess but not drunk enough to forget all of this by tomorrow. This is done purposefully for a reason,” you place a finger on his lips while winking at him. 

He gasps, “Oh wow! Amazing! Elaborate what that means or you’re not getting the kiss.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re so annoying. What I mean is that I knew I would never have the courage to confess to you unless I am drunk but not blackout drunk so that I’d forget everything by the time I wake up. Happy? Or do you want me to say I love you again?”.

Without hesitation, Charles takes your face in his hands and leans in to kiss you. His lips soft and tender against yours. He can feel you responding eagerly to his kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer.

Your tongues tangle as his hands slide down to your waist, pulling your body against his. He can feel your curves press against him, and he savours the sensation of your warmth and softness.

As you kiss, Charles can’t help but feel like he is finally where he belongs. He has spent so many years pining for you withouting even knowing, hoping and praying that you would one day see him the way he sees you. And now that you have, Charles feels like he is on top of the world.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring the depths of your mouth, and he feels you moan softly in response. The sound sends shivers down his spine, and he knows that he never wants this moment to end.

But eventually, you pull away, your breaths coming in short gasps. Charles gazes down at you, his eyes sparkling with love and desire.

"I never want to let you go," he whispers, his voice husky with emotion.

You smile up at him, eyes crinkling to signal how happy you are. "You don't have to," you reply, your hands still resting on his shoulders.

Charles leans down to kiss you again, his lips tracing a path down your neck as feels you shudder. You have waited so long for this moment, and now that it is here, Charles knows that he is never going to let it slip away.

[eviesaurusrex]

ꜱᴜɴꜱʜɪɴᴇ ᴋɪꜱꜱᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴄᴇᴀɴ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜᴇꜱ | ʜ. ꜱᴛʏʟᴇꜱ

GIFs not mine!

»kinda pt. 2 to this little request but it’s not required to read this now«

summary: After getting rid of every contraception method they ever used, Harry and YN finally start trying for a baby while enjoying their time in Australia.

word count: 7.3k (whoopsie)

warnings: +18 content, MDNI (I mean it), oral sex (both receiving), p in v, fluff, sweet lovemaking, loads of praises, some dirty talk, Harry has a breeding kink, and they’re both a bit possessive (not even sorry), sweet, fluffy aftercare, mentions of anxiety and future talk, mentions of pregnancy tests and being pregnant, pov always kinda jumping between YN and Harry because I obviously can’t stick to one, not 100% proofread

author’s note: This is my first ever full-on smut piece, so be gentle with me. I’m trying my best, okay? But I just couldn’t help myself, so I had to write this. Plus, I saw the pictures and gifs of Harry during his Australian shows, and he looks so damn happy there, so that certainly was another reason to write this. I don’t use the taglist this time because of the prominent 18+ topic.

»ᴍᴅɴɪ«

***

Impatiently, YN sat on the edge of the ridiculously large king-size bed their hotel suite was practically dominated by, eyes jumping between the door to the grand bathroom, in which Harry took a well-deserved shower after another exceptional show, and the phone in her restless hands, showing their shared cycle tracker. Ever since their lengthy talk right after Christmas about their future and the family planning they might wanted to start sooner rather than later, YN had abandoned every protection method in use and had gifted Gemma the several unopened packs of condoms waiting on their bathroom shelves and in their nightstand drawers.

What could she say? Harry and her always heavily indulged in the passion as soon as it came upon them—they probably had fucked on every possible surface in their shared homes. Even the floor of the several rooms they owned wasn’t unscathed.

A grin tucked at her lips as YN thought about the many risky escapades they continuously had found themselves in after a glass of wine too many in the hours prior to them, and almost fell off the bed as the door suddenly opened without warning, letting a steamy Harry back into the bedroom. The woman, already dressed in a too-large, on-her-body-hanging t-shirt of his and ready for a cozy night in bed with some Netflix, jumped from the edge she had been perched on the entire time since her phone had alarmed her of the day right after turning off the Do not disturb mode she always used during his shows. Wide eyes looked over to an only barely dried-off man, steam evaporating behind him into the warm air of their shared suite, the balcony doors widely opened to let in the fresh breeze of a beautiful Sydney night, the salty smell of the ocean mixing with the heavy scents of his favorite shower gel and shampoo.

YN couldn’t press a single word out of her abruptly constricted throat, her vocal cords twisting at the delicious, quite unexpected sight in front of her. Her eyes jumped from his handsome as-ever face over his exposed broad chest and chiseled abs, down over his veiny arms to his sexy hands—she was a weak woman, and she adored his hands to an unhealthy extent—in one he held his phone, showing the same screen she had faced for over fifteen minutes of agonizingly building anticipation of what might come tonight.

Harry’s eyes had already settled onto her own hand, holding her own phone before jumping back up to her face, cocking one perfect eyebrow before a lazy, teasing smirk made its appearance, letting him seem even more handsome than he already was. “You should’ve joined me in that shower, love,” he stated, turning off the light behind him. He walked through the room, his feet making almost no sound on the stone floor, coming closer and closer to her already overheating body. With a dry swallow, YN softly shrugged her shoulders. “Thought you could use the downtime, y’know?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she felt her heartbeat picking up, jumping even as Harry finally stopped right in front of her, right in arms reach. He cocked his head to one sight and watched her closely, eyebrows now gently furrowed in loving worry. “We don’t have to do this tonight, darlin’. We can easily wait for next month, or the month after, or even the month after that one if you think we should wait a bit more. I’ll do whatever you’re most comfortable with, y’know that, don’t you? I would never pressure you into this, no matter how many alarms we’ve set in the past because we thought we’d be ready.” His voice had lost the teasing, almost feral undertone and only left space for the man who would always put his woman first, no matter what.

Stretching her hand out, YN took the phone out of Harry’s and threw both devices onto the armchair next to the bed where her concert outfit lay, entirely forgotten, and letting her hands cup his face tenderly. He wrapped her into his arms straight away, pulling her body flush against his, and watched the woman he loved while she watched him just as closely. She let her fingertips glide over his skin, gently caressing his cheek, his neck, before burrowing them in the short, curly hair at the nape of his neck. Instantly, she could feel something twitch against her stomach, and with a small grin, YN tucked at his hair a second time, tickling a silent groan out of him.

“I know you would bring me the stars if I ever asked for them, but tonight, I want you to ravish me. I want you to fuck me as hard and best as possible. I only want to be able to moan your name because that’s the only thing on my mind,” YN whispered, lips barely touching, and moaned as Harry pressed them together, kissing her with a moan escaping himself. She could feel his strong, long fingers wandering from the curve of her hips over her spine to wrap them around her neck, letting her soft strands glide between them before gently winding them around his fist. With already heavy breaths escaping them, Harry ended the kiss by pulling his head jerkingly back and exposed YN’s soft neck with all the tender spots he had learned to know like the back of his mind, pulling softly at her hair still wrapped around his fist and bent his head impatiently.

With a deep, satisfied moan escaping them both, the man littered the skin soft like silk with even softer kisses, nibbling at the one spot right under her chin, definitely leaving his first mark for the night on her, before moving his lips to the next spot he knew she loved. “Fuck,” YN whispered into the void of their suite as Harry bit her neck right underneath her ear, feeling how the wetness between her thighs pooled even more in her already soaked panties—just as always when Harry had his hands, and lips, on her. “Feeling good already, darlin’?” The woman felt his whispered question more than she heard it and nodded, desperation clear in that one, quick movement, her fingers tucking urgently at his strands, moving his mouth off her neck and back to her own, hungrily awaiting his lips. With the other hand, YN reached for his, still resting on her hips where his fingers pressed into the soft flesh and the fabric of one of his shirts to move it right where she needed him most.

His chuckle was deep and held the familiar sound of utter satisfaction, and it was almost embarrassing how her body reacted to that sound.

“Oh, love,” Harry mumbled into the next kiss, but YN interrupted him with her fingers gripping between his thighs, wrapping them around his hard member and giving him a few short strokes before she got way too agitated and pulled at the white towel resting lowly on his hips. She giggled at the sound of Harry’s groan as soon as she wrapped her hand around his hard cock again, a thumb teasingly nudging the leaking tip, while she could feel his own fingers moving between her thighs. He knew how to play her body like a symphony, so it wasn’t a surprise as one of his long fingers slid through her wet folds, parting them to gain better access to all the right spots before putting more and more pressure onto her aching clit and tickling whimper after whimper out of her mouth. “Yeah, I know, love. S’feels so good, doesn’t it? Already so warm and wet and ready for me, darlin’. What a fucking good girl you are for me.” She really tried to bite back on a few of her desperate-sounding moans, but Harry’s relentless finger, teasing her clit without pause, even pushed her to only hold onto his cock without moving an inch, preventing anything like that. “Nah, don’t do that, love,” he grinned and nudged YN to stare into his pretty eyes through heavy lids. “Wanna hear every single one of those sweet sounds you only make for me. You know what you’re doing to me with them, making me fucking feral for you, always. Wanna hear how good I make you feel, can you do that for me? Yeah?”

With another breathy whimper, YN nodded, head almost floating in the pleasure. Harry smiled at the short movement and kissed her deeply before moving his hands to cup her ass and lift her up as easily as a feather, carrying her to the soft mattress. He sat her back on the edge and peppered YN’s face with kisses while his hands swiftly picked up the hem of his shirt and threw the annoying piece of fabric onto the ground in his back, his eyes already wandering up and down over the body of this living artwork right in front of him. YN leaned on her elbows, breasts heaving with every labored intake of breath, thighs rubbing against each other to release the still building-up tension. Harry sank to his knees, eyes never leaving her pretty face, hands gripping her calves and spreading her legs, gaining access to where he wanted to be just as badly as she wanted him there. “Always so beautiful for me.” Words were mumbled against the skin of her left knee from which he worked himself upwards—kissing every inch of soft exposed skin until Harry was faced with the most soaked panties he had ever witnessed since their first night together in her small apartment in London, surrounded by too many candles to still be save.

YN’s scent enveloped and invaded his senses entirely, and Harry couldn't contain the deep in his chest rumbling moan slipping over his lips as he pressed featherlike kisses to the drenched fabric he adored on his woman in every shape and form possible. He could feel the flood of precum dripping over his tip and running down his thick, veiny shaft at the first taste of her. “Fucking soaked for me, darlin’. Someone is eager.” Another set of kisses followed these words, tickling whimper and moan after whimper and moan out of YN, and he couldn't wait for a second longer before he pulled down the wet fabric covering her delicious pussy he intended to devour whole.

His cock twitched at that thought.

Putting both her thighs over his broad shoulders, the singer hummed in deeply felt pleasure as the tip of his tongue started to move between her lips, slowly opening for him, inviting him, luring him in. And he was a weak man when it came to the woman in front of him, spread open and vulnerable, only for him to see her in that state.

Even after years, Harry didn’t take it for granted, and it fueled him with utter satisfaction and something more… primal.

“Fuck, you taste so good for me, darlin’. Always so fucking sweet,” he praised her with his tongue still between her opened lips, tasting her and drinking her in. He never got enough of her—not of her taste, not of the sounds she made, not of the way her body moved for him. “But it’s different today, isn’t it? Even sweeter. All ready for me and my cock, aren’t you? So eager to get fucked and filled up.” Those last words were muffled by her soaking pussy because Harry dove right into it, his need to make her feel even better too urgent, too all-consuming.

Tongue licking from the bottom of her lips up to that little, hidden pearl he may love more than YN did, or maybe not, according to the sounds she suddenly let out as his lips wrapped around it after teasing it for only a second with the tip of his eager tongue. His mouth sucked and tasted her, his tongue nudged and teased, his teeth nibbled and tortured her until the cock between his legs ached and begged for just a tiny form of release. But he wasn’t able to move, even if Harry wanted to, because YN’s thighs had wrapped around his head and held him right where he was. He wouldn’t have left until she had experienced her first of hopefully many orgasms tonight anyway. Harry was nothing but an eager pleaser for his girl, just as YN was for him, and the prospect of one of her otherworldly blowjobs with those delicious lips made him moan even louder around her pulsing clit, while two of his fingers slowly buried themselves into her leaking and twitching pussy.

“Tha’ so good, darlin’? Yeah? Letting all those people out there know who you belong to, hm? Haven’t even properly started taking care of tha’ sweet, little cunt of yours, love. Bu’ keep goin’, lovie. Keep being a good girl for me, and enjoy yourself on my fingers and tongue. Y’love tha’, don’t ya? C’mon, baby, let me hear how much y’love it.”

He could sit in front of her and talk dirty to her without even touching a single inch of her body, and YN knew she would cum on the spot. But this, this was so much better.

With a breathy moan, one of many, she pushed herself slightly back up on her arm, stretching a hand out for him, and buried her fingers into his soft locks. Her eyes were heavy from lust and the impending orgasm she already felt building up slowly, but still, she locked eyes with Harry, moaning again at the tasty sight in between her thighs.

Only mere hours earlier, he had sung for every single one of his fans, but now, he only belonged to her. It was an exhilarating thought and almost pushed her over the edge.

Wetting her lips with her tongue, YN sucked in a shaky breath as Harry sucked harder on her aching clit and made her feel every tuck of his mouth through her entire body. “Feels so good, H, so fucking good. You’re the only one w-who makes me feel this good, makes me so wet, turns me into a mess. Fucking hell.” She let her head fall back, eyes closing, and moved her hips against his mouth, increasing the pressure on her clit, pushing his perfect fingers deeper inside her. “’m only yours, H. Was ever only yours, from the first moment, from the first time you said my name. Oh god, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop. Right there, fuck.” Turning her into an incoherent mess was an easy task for him, YN knew that, and still, it always amazed her. She looked back down at him while moan after moan left her mouth, couldn’t rip her eyes off him, not even when he started to suck harder on her clit. He between her legs, eating her out, was nothing more than a piece of art. “Cum for me, love. C’mon, make me proud and cum for me,” Harry whispered between sucking and thrusting his fingers deeper and faster into her tight pussy, angling them just right to hit that spot over and over again. YN didn’t know where upside and down were as the orgasm that had built up ever since Harry had started his delicious torture finally snapped like a rubber band inside of her and turned her into a moaning mess while her ears still picked up on the words he spoke between softer licks and kisses and in between moaning his name for the world to hear. “That’s it, good girl. C’mon, just a bit more. Yeah, that’s it. Bloody hell, y’did so well for me. My perfect girl.”

After a few moments, YN could feel how her legs got softly opened, unwrapped by his loving hands, and felt the mattress dip right beside her as Harry climbed into bed, pressing his body right against hers as she still came down from the otherworldly bliss. Kisses were pressed against her shoulder and onto her face, fingers gently caressing over slightly damp skin, letting goosebumps return once more. Blinking, the blissed-out woman looked up at the man next to her and returned the smile with the same intensity. “Back with me, darlin’?” A nod followed the question before YN rolled on Harry and kissed him, letting her tongue glide over his full bottom lip while she felt his rock-hard cock pressed against her thigh, desperate for some attention. “’m not the only eager one, am I?” She grinned, and Harry chuckled but gasped for air as her fingertips slowly glided from the base of his shaft to the wet tip of his cock, feeling it twitch against her skin. YN kissed him once more and wrapped her hand around him, only barely able to reach around with her fingers, and hummed, satisfied, at the deep moan Harry let out into the kiss. “Wanna make you feel good, baby,” she whispered between soft pecks of their lips, nearly whimpering at the thought of pleasing him. “Wanna make you feel so fucking good. Is that okay?”

One of his hands nestled into the curve of her neck to press a hard kiss to her lips, swallowing the moan escaping him again. “Please, fuck, yes, whatever you want, love.” Another small grin stretched over YN’s face, covering his chin and neck in tender kisses before moving lower and lower, working her way over the expanse of his chest, tucking at one of his nipples with her teeth and giggled as Harry arched his back a bit. She felt his hand clench and unclench, still resting on her neck, his thumb softly stroking over her skin. “You’re so pretty, love,” YN mumbled against the skin of his stomach, following the mountains and valleys of his abs with the tip of her tongue, alternating between licks and kisses. “You’re the most handsome and loving man this earth has ever seen, and I’m the lucky one to call you mine,” she continued, kissing his left hipbone before moving to the right, but leaving out the angry red tip of his cock stretching its way towards her. “I’m the luckiest woman on this planet, y’know tha’? Only because you chose me over all the others. Never gonna take that for granted, my love. I’ll cherish you forever and ever.”

Gently, she bit into the skin of his pelvis but couldn’t move further because suddenly, Harry pulled her up as he sat up, legs spread deliciously wide, and kissed her deeply, his tongue invading her mouth and conquering every part of it. Fingers clung to one another, burrowing and holding, caressing and gripping. “Bloody hell, I love you so much,” Harry breathlessly whispered, making YN smile softly. “Just as much as I love you,” she returned with another tender kiss. “Can I continue now, though? I finally wanna taste you. Wanted tha’ since I saw you in the dressing room in those tight jeans. You have such a pretty ass, baby. Wanted to bite it and push my hand in the back pocket, so everyone could’ve seen that I’m the only one allowed to touch you like that.” YN meant every single word, not only because Harry always looked like the tastiest snack on earth but also because she expressed her love primarily through acts of physical affection. Gladly, Harry was just the same.

“‘Been checking me out, baby?” Harry grinned, but the grin soon disappeared as his mouth parted in utter bliss. Her hand got a tighter grip around his cock, his skin burning against hers, and while she felt that one thick vein pulsing heavily against her palm, YN moved back to one of her favorite spots—right between his legs, her eyes never leaving his.

She held his gaze captive like a goddess at her first arrival on earth, captivating every living creature. Her eyes alone made him moan softly, his hand wandering back to her, cupping her cheek. Harry didn’t even let his head fall back into his neck as her lips touched his aching cock, even though he felt the urge to revel in that feeling—but watching YN was much better and almost made him cum on the spot.

He watched how her lips pressed open-mouthed kisses from his heavy balls over the entirety of the underside of his shaft, feeling her tongue play with the prominent vein running alongside it, observing her tongue as it got more and more visible the closer she got to his leaking tip. Harry couldn’t contain a single moan leaving his mouth, his thumb started to caress the skin over her cheekbone lovingly, his lips parted and his breath hitching in his throat at the moment of her kitten-licking the underside of his sensitive mushroom tip. Groaning, Harry let his head hang down and took a deep breath in but kept watching YN, entirely mesmerized by the view in front of him. She started gently sucking on him, and he moaned just as much as she did as he felt the vibration of her sounds echoing through his cock and his entire body, teasing and working him up even more. His hips jerked upwards, and Harry felt as if he would lose his mind with more of his cock covered by her warm mouth and the pressure of her perfect lips wrapped around his member, pushing him to whimper quietly.

“YNN…,” he couldn’t stop from moaning her name in that desperate tone. Instantly, he felt her sucking stop and opened his closed eyes, looking down at her again, locking gazes with her. Harry let the pad of his thumb stroke over her cheek and chin again. “Don’t tease me, don’t stop, don’t torture me. Barely can stop myself from jus’ taking you, l-love.” He wasn’t able to finish his sentence before YN started sucking again, harder and deeper this time, swallowing almost every inch of his impressive length, her stroking hand taking care of the few inches she couldn’t quite fit. But it didn’t matter because Harry reveled in the warm and wet, literally perfect feeling of her sucking mouth, the alternating pressure of her lips when she moved up and down his thick, demanding cock, the swirl of her perfect little tongue around his messy head, leaking precum all over it. Her moans gave him the rest every time she tasted the salty drops trickling out of his slit to which she tended special care, always letting her tongue kitten-lick it, letting her lips close around it to suck the living daylights out of him. Harry was a moaning mess underneath her magic mouth, thrusting his pelvis up into her mouth and apologizing with deep, rumbling but breathy whispers when he made her gag around his cock by mere impatience and thoughtlessness.

Only a few more of her sucks was he able to endure before Harry pushed his hand into her neck anew and roughly pulled her with a deep “Bloody hell, woman” up, straight to his lips. They crashed against each other, and Harry was fast to grab her soft hips with both hands, pulling her closer to him and only stopped when he finally felt her peaking nipples pressed against his chest and her dripping pussy hovering over his cock, already teasing the tip with those perfect wet lips, hugging him.

“You want that, love? You wanna get filled up by me? Filled up by my cock and my thick cum? Wanna get all full and round with my babies, pretty girl? Wanna finally make me a daddy?” His voice sent shivers down her spine, deep and husky with all the lust and feral need he felt, and embarrassingly, YN felt how her pussy dripped down onto his mushroom tip, soaking him with her own need. All she could do was nod quickly and jerkingly, already losing the ability to move her body. But Harry couldn’t leave it at that. YN felt how he gently took her chin between his fingers and forced her to look at him, moving their foreheads apart. “C’mon, love. I know you can be my good girl.” She felt how a soft whimper left her lips and wanted to hide her face at his neck for being so needy and whiny, but instead, she cupped Harry’s face with both hands and moved her hips slowly to tease his cock right underneath her. “Need you to fill me up. Need you to fuck me full of your cum, so I can carry your pretty babies, Harry. Want to make you a dad, wan’to have all your babies, fuck, want to spend the rest of my life with you, love.” YN felt as if she needed to cry in a few seconds with all the emotions bubbling up inside her, but Harry pulled her flush against his chest again, forcing their lips to crash against each other, and entered with one quick thrust into her, stretching her so good and deliciously that she didn’t want to hold back the screaming moan.

The opened windows weren’t on their mind any longer.

His moan in her ears was better than every song he could ever write for her. How he let his head fall backward with closed eyes and parted lips was more beautiful than any sculpture of the old masters combined.

She couldn’t get enough of him and the noises he made because of her, so she started to move on top of him, both arms tightly wrapped around his shoulders and neck now, letting her hips circle his cock, stretching herself further and further with every deeper hitting thrust. Harry’s hands wandered over her body and grabbed her hips again, supporting her thrusting movements, pulling her even further down until he was buried with every inch inside her warm, him tightly gripping pussy. “Tha’s it, love. Fuck, you feel incredible. Gosh, so fucking good. So tight and warm around me. Didn’t want me to leave that tight cunt again, don’t you? Holding onto me like a damn vice, bloody fucking hell.”

With that, Harry switched their position as easily as getting up from a chair, pressing YN down into the mattress, and wrapping her legs around his waist again. Her hands rested on his abs while he started to fuck into her—every thrust grew bolder and harder before he slowed down again to let his hips circle and his pelvis rub against her clit, letting YN arch her back against his body. “I love you, love you so much, H. More than anything,” she almost sobbed through the fog of pleasure, hands gliding over his chest and clasped them behind his neck, her fingers tangling into his soft locks and pulling him down to her, kissing him with every ounce of love she held for him. “I know, darlin’. God, you’re the best thing in my life, y’know tha’, right? The best fucking thing. Making my days always so bright and joyful, letting me feel like floating on a freaking cloud, baby. Can’t wait to call you my wife, the mother of my children. Oh god, you’re everything.” YN moaned at his lips as he stilled, deep inside her, feeling his cock twitch once, twice, before he moved again, so much slower this time.

His hand on her neck and his thumb caressing her jawline made her open her eyes again, moaning and whimpering softly as he hit that spot perfectly, over and over again. And with that came another building-up orgasm, making her clench around his throbbing, thrusting cock, pushing her to wrap her legs tighter around his hips, her fingers burying themselves deeper into Harry’s soft strands, tucking gently at them and making him choke on another moan. He grunted above her, eyes never leaving hers or her face, always staring down at her, taking her in. With every kiss, they drank each other in before Harry turned his attention to her breasts, still fucking her slowly into the mattress, his lips gently wrapped around her right nipple and started to suck and softly bite on it. “They’ll be so full, m’love,” Harry whisper-moaned between kisses. “So full after I’ve cum deep inside and bred you, lovie. Can’t fucking wait for it.”

With every word leaving his mouth, every syllable whispered against her skin, YN grew wetter and wetter, arching in his direction, pressing her hips into his, following his thrusts. “I’ll keep you pregnant, darlin’ because I already know I’ll love every second of it. Will worship you even more than I already do, praising the ground you’re walking on, never letting you out of my sight because I’ll be fucking obsessed with you. You’ve already bewitched me, love, how is this even possible, fuck.” YN had to giggle between a whimper and a moan, making Harry chuckle against her right breast as well before he came back up and kissed her longingly, nudging her lips apart with his eager tongue, teasing hers, moaned into her mouth as he buried his cock as deeply as possible in her clenching and twitching pussy.

A hand wandered from her neck over her breasts, down over her stomach, and right between them. Fingers started teasing, gently circling her clit, and letting YN throw her head back into the pillows, gasping for air as the impending orgasm came closer and closer. “I want you to cum for me again, darlin’. Want you to cum for me so I can fill your tight little cunt up with my thick cum. Let me breed you, love. Let me make you a pretty mommy. C’mon, lovie, c‘mon. I know you want it. Y’want it just as badly as I do.” Harry didn’t let go of her and continued to fuck into her, never letting go of her clit, always teasing more out of it. “Oh, shit,” YN whimpered, one hand gripping the pillow next to her while she pressed the other onto her mouth, screwed her eyes shut, and let her head fall back once more. It only lasted for a few seconds because she needed to see him, needed to see his face when he’d finally released inside her, realizing that they might have made a baby together.

“Please, Harry. Fuck. Please,” she whimpered against his lips after he had bent down to her again and pressed loving kisses to them, begging him for everything she wanted. “Use your… fuck… use your words, baby,” he moaned above her, steadying himself with a hand right next to her face, using the perfect angle to hit as deeply as physically possible. “Please—oh god—cum inside me, Harry. Need you to cum inside me and fill me with your cum, need t-to carry your babies. ‘s all I ever wanted.” YN could feel how his thrusts became harder and more uncoordinated with every passing moment after her whimpered pleads, how his finger moved a bit harder and faster on her slightly overworked clit, pushing her to feel the orgasm rolling towards her like a breaking wave. “Good girl. My good, pretty girl,” Harry breathlessly mumbled against the corner of her mouth, their foreheads touching and their eyes locked into one another. “Need you to cum for me, darlin’. I can barely hold it any longer. Wanna cum deep inside you, but I need you to cum first, okay, love?”

Only mere heartbeats later, YN felt her second orgasm approaching and screamed his name for everyone to hear, begging him to keep going, to stop, to get her pregnant, she wasn’t sure. She only remembered the expression on his face as her cunt clenched around him, gripped onto his twitching cock, and as he filled her with a deep, almost feral-sounding moan and kissed her like a man possessed.

***

“There you go, love.” Harry’s voice and tender touches pulled YN back out of her trance after orgasm number five. He knelt between her legs, a warm, wet washcloth in hand, and gently cleaned the remnants of their third—and last—round off her thighs. He pressed a kiss to her knee after he had made sure that nothing sticky was left but got a hold of her left hand where he had put his ring. “I know you’re probably worn out”—YN raised a brow at that and tickled a soft laugh out of him—“but I think it would be better if you’d come with me to the bathroom. Just a quick wash under the shower, nothing long, maybe a quick go to the loo. Sounds lovely, doesn’t it?”

Sighing, YN let Harry pull her up to her feet with both hands and leaned tiredly into his still-naked side. “Bu’ only because you’re pretty and because I love you,” she mumbled and closed her eyes at the feeling of one of his forehead kisses she always craved. “Sure thing, darlin’. Thank you.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he led her into the bathroom and prepared the shower while she indeed used the toilet before joining him under the refreshing stream of water. With Harry in her back, YN felt his hands sneaking around her body and resting them on her lower stomach, a thumb gently caressing the wet skin there. With a soft smile, she covered them with her own before intertwining their fingers, and she accepted the many kisses pressed onto her shoulder, up her neck, and to her cheek. “‘Think we made a baby today?” Even though he tried to ask it casually, as if it wasn’t something he craved and wanted somewhere deep in his heart, YN knew him better and heard the anxiety creeping up in his voice.

Turning around in his arms, she cupped his face and gently shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t know, love. Maybe. Maybe no’. It won't be the end of the world if I get my period next month. Would I be disappointed? Hell, definitely. Bu’ that’s part of the process. You know how long Emma and Jean had to try for a baby.” It still pained her to think about the long and painful journey of one of her best friends. And Harry knew that, so he only nodded and kissed YN’s forehead again. “We will get there, eventually. Someday, my period will be late, and we will take a test, and it will be positive. We just have to wait and be patient and leave that nasty bitch duo named anxiety and stress out in the rain. Okay?” Again, Harry nodded at that, a deep sigh leaving his body and his tense shoulders slowly relaxing. “Okay,” he whispered in agreement and kissed his woman tenderly, which soon turned into an unexpected new last round under the warm water of the shower.

***

Nervousness crept up on her as she continued to stare at the several at-home pregnancy tests she had made in the last three hours. It had been a struggle throughout because the instructions had been all in Japanese, and she most definitely didn’t speak that language. Even Google translator had been a constant pain in the ass, leaving her metaphorically standing in the rain. At least Jeff had been so kind and had helped her find someone in the team who could speak Japanese and who swore an oath to keep silent until YN could be sure about it.

“It’s too good to be true.”

That’s the sentence she mumbled to herself ever since realizing that her period had been late—incredibly so. And that’s usually not her thing, so the hope of a fucking miracle had spread its roots inside her and didn’t let go. In order to be alone, she even lied to Harry to get some uninterrupted hours to herself while he performed another wonderful show and was adored by all his fans. She knew it was stupid to lie to him instead of just coming clean about her suspicion, but… she just couldn’t do it. She didn’t want to get his hopes up, only to see them crushed when the tests all came back negative. It was enough that her hopes would get destroyed in a matter of seconds.

The alarm of the timer on her phone scared her almost to death, and after taking a deep breath to steady her shaking hands, YN stretched them out towards the lid of the toilet in front of which she sat crossed-leg. She hadn’t moved since she had started taking them one after the other, and not a single one was turned over.

“You bloody headless chicken. Do it.”

And with that last bit of self-esteem she somehow owned, YN started to turn them all over, one after the other, without taking a closer look at the several displays. Only after another deep breath, to keep the nauseous feeling in check, did she glance from one test to the other, remembering what one of the assistant stylists had told her about the different result displays.

In the first few seconds, shock settled in her body, freezing her on that stupid spot on the bathroom floor. Her heartbeat picked up, and she heard every single beat in her ears, the blood rushing through her veins. Instinctively, a hand had made its way to her stomach, covered by one of Harry’s Pleasing hoodies he had worn during their shared breakfast and which smelled like him. It had kept her sane and safe and comforted in the past hours, filled with anxiety and stupid hopes.

The sound of an opening door brought life back into YN, and with a scream, she jumped up, grabbed a handful of tests, and hurried over into the suite. Harry was already on his way towards the bathroom after he had heard the sound, worry on his face, and they almost collided in the middle of the room, his hands the only thing that kept her from tumbling to the ground.

“What’s wrong, love? You still feeling sick? Has it gotten worse? I should’ve taken you to the doctor’s this morning already instead of listening to you and keeping you alone here, fuck—“ But he stopped himself as YN held up several white-pinkish and white-bluish sticks, seeing her teary eyes, taking in her flushed cheeks. So, he scanned them but didn’t understand a single word written on them, furrowing his brows. His head only slowly caught up to it, and with a whispered, unbelieving No, he cupped her cheeks with both hands, staring into her wide eyes with a similar expression.

“Is this real? Is this really happening? Does it mean what I think it does?” He got several nods as answers, and still, he couldn’t believe this luck, this bliss.

He had been anxious all day long, first because YN had told him she didn’t feel quite well and would sit out tonight’s show and then because he had taken a glance into the cycle tracker, realizing that she hadn’t had entered her first day of period almost a week ago. Of course, he had gotten his hopes up, especially after Jeff had been weird all night long, and now, his hopes wouldn’t be crushed? It took a while to get this knowledge into his brain, a bit too long for YN’s liking, because she started fidgeting on the spot.

“I’m sorry if this isn’t how you thought it would be, and maybe you now think it’s way too early and that we should’ve waited, or that I should have made a big announcement thing out of it or—“

YN didn’t end her anxious rambling because Harry gripped her waist and lifted her off the ground, pressing her against him. Out of surprise, she let the pregnancy tests tumble down onto the hotel room floor and wrapped both arms around his neck, feeling how the happy tears slowly trickled down her cheeks. Harry grinned widely, tears of his own in his eyes, and spun them around, laughing and crying, breathless from excitement and utter joy. “We’re gonna be parents!” He shouted it through the suite, the people walking past the door probably hearing every single word, and YN couldn’t contain the laugh bubbling out of her any longer.

Cradling her face in both his hands after he had put her back down, Harry stared into her eyes with astonishment and mild wonder. “We will really be parents,” he whispered and covered her face in kisses. “Thank you. Thank you so much. You’re incredible, my love. I love you so much,” he continued and made YN cry even more—from happiness and joy. “It’s only possible because of you, H. Because you chose me and decided to spend the rest of your life with me and make me the bloody happiest woman on earth.” With a smile, she wiped off the tears off her cheeks, and Harry erased the remnants with his tenderly stroking thumb. “We will raise wonderful children because they’ll have you as their dad, H, and I can’t wait for it.” He smiled down at her and pecked the tip of her nose. “Don’t forget yourself, darlin’. You’re this incredibly strong woman, always fighting for what’s right. Our children won’t have anything to fear.” Softly, he nudged her chin lovingly and kissed her smiling lips before suddenly dropping down to his knees and getting a hold of YN’s hips.

She watched him intently, one hand covering one of his on her hip and the other slowly and tenderly running through his silky locks. But then, her hand stilled in its tracks as Harry bent forward to press slow kisses all over her lower abdomen and took his time with it. “Hey there, little baby,” he mumbled against the fabric of the hoodie, continuing to kiss YN’s stomach. “It’s your dad, but you can call me whatever you want. Your mom and I are incredibly thankful that you’re with us now, and we’ll love you to the moon and back. Just… please, be gentle to your mommy, can you promise me tha’? She’s this wonderful and strong woman, and I know that she’ll handle anything like a champ, but I don’t want her to suffer too much. Can we agree on tha’, sunshine? Yeah? Perfect. Love you so much.” That little monologue was followed by another kiss, leaving YN speechless and stunned, and she only could let the tears spill out of her eyes, watching him as Harry stood up again. “You’re too good for this world, H,” she whispered between two sobs and let him envelop her with his body, feeling its warmth seeping into her, calming her. “Nah. ‘m just that dude who is entirely whipped for his soon-to-be wife who just gifted him the best present of a lifetime,” he grinned down at her and let her wrap both arms tightly around his waist. “Gosh, don’t remind me of the hassle of finding you good enough birthday gifts now.”

A chuckle left them both before YN looked up at Harry as he hummed. “Wanna take a bath together? I could use some time with that gorgeous woman who’s obviously stupid enough to marry me.” Giggling, the woman nodded. “The stupid woman would love that, but we have to tidy up some… stuff first.” Following Harry with slower steps, YN watched him as he took in the chaos still dominating the bathroom floor, with several ripped-open test boxes and instructions lying all over the place. He turned and cocked a brow in question. “How many of these did you do, woman?” Shrugging, YN stepped closer and picked up the first few boxes to throw them away. “About seventeen? I’m not sure anymore because I think I wasn’t entirely there. With my head, I mean. I may have spiraled a bit while I sat here and drank one bottle of water after the other.” She heard him laugh softly under his breath before getting a hold of the paper and cardboard in her hand and dumping them back onto the floor. “Silly woman.” Kissing her, he turned the faucet of the bathtub open and started to pull the hoodie over YN’s head. “Forget about these. I’ll do that later. Now, I want to have a nice bath with my baby momma.”

***

The end sucks (probably like the entire rest), but here it is! I hope y’all liked it at least a bit, and as usual: Reblogs, comments, and likes are much appreciated

[incogrio]

christmas, don't be late

SYNOPSIS: in which keeping christmas presents a secret is especially hard for yeonjun

pairing: yeonjun x gn!reader word count: 1.1k+ warnings: none, maybe slightly annoying reader, probably ooc yeonjun

AUTHORS NOTE: this fic was actually really fun and easy to write! lately i've been getting kinda annoyed w yeonjun fics because everyone writes him as a cool, macho guy, but he is also super silly!! he's a silly guy!!! so i wanted to show the silly guy some love. when i am writing this, my jack frost fic just went up, so i hope you guys like that fic :)) does anyone actually read these authors notes btw? LMAO, i might do a fic w an enha member bc i'm more into enha than txt, soooo maybe??? idk!! okay thats it, im yapping, love u!

as millions of people knew all around the world, yeonjun was great at many things. he was great at dancing, singing, being kind, hardworking, and empathetic. 

one thing he was never good it, however, was lying. while he didn’t necessarily find himself wishing he could deceive others well on a day to day basis; the closer it got to christmas, he wished he could. 

the first hurdle of the holidays was figuring what exactly you wanted. new clothes? a new watch? jewelry? they all seemed mediocre at best, and yeonjun knew he deserved significantly better than mediocre. 

then, as though sent from the gods above, you suddenly gained an interest in painting. at first, you simply mentioned liking painting videos on youtube, then, he’d catch you drawing little sketches of your environment. the final straw was when you bought yourself a set of 50 tiny paint tubes for less than five dollars. yeonjun was supportive, of course, and your paintings were beautiful, but he knew you deserved the most expensive paint in the world, with the highest quality canvas money could buy. more more than your printer paper, and dollar tree supplies. that’s when he finally jumped over the first hurdle of the holidays. 

now, the second hurdle, was keeping it a secret. at first, it was sort of easy for him. he would simply close his tabs when you came near, and made sure to avoid the topic of getting you art supplies whenever it arose. 

“junnie, what are you up to?” you asked, walking up behind him and his computer. the speed in which you watched him close all of his tabs was akin to superhuman.

“ahh, nothing…” he muttered, before turning around in his office chair and throwing you a charming, lopsided grin. he’d decided the best way to get your mind off his secretiveness, was to be seductive. so, he grinned, he looked you up and down, he bit his lip. 

safe to say, you weren’t too focused on his tabs that night. 

but, there’s only so much sex a man can have before his man gets suspicious. and, with the packages beginning to come in, hiding them from you was becoming harder and harder. 

the first package to arrive was your easel. he’d asked countless people and read countless reviews to make sure he got you the sturdiest, most functional, aesthetically pleasing easel. 

he was lucky when the package arrived and you were at work, but unlucky when he realized it came completely in pieces, and he would rather die than have you waiting over his shoulder as he struggled to build it on christmas day.

“i’ll just…. build it now! it shouldn’t be too hard.” oh yeonjun. what a fool you are.

you came home to him with his head in his hands, an instruction manual on the floor and seemingly random wooden parts strewn throughout the living room. 

“jun, what…” he cut you off, immediately jumping up and covering your eyes.

“yah!” he shouted, “don’t look! don’t!”

“i didn’t! i didn’t see!”

“be honest now.”

“i am!”

“promise?”

“pinky promise.”

“then go away!”

the next time he allowed you into the living room, a large blanket was hanging over the easel, blocking you from seeing the shape of it. you walked out, eyeing the gift suspiciously.

“keep moving mister! nothing to see here!” he exclaimed, gesturing you through the house like an airplane marshal.

when the second package arrived, a large pack of multiple canvases, it was significantly easier to hide. he simply wrapped the box in wrapping paper, and shoved it under the tree.

“baby, what’s in the box?” you asked during dinner, feigning innocence.

“hm? what… box?” yeonjun responded, picking at his food nervously. 

“you know what box.”

“haha! i don’t!! let’s have dessert!”

slowly, you knew you were breaking him down, softening him up. you were in bed together, after secretly putting some of his gifts under the tree.

“junnie…” you mutter, putting on a bit of a soft tone. “tell me what’s under the tree… and i’ll tell you what i got you!”

his only response was turning away from you and your charms, shoving a pillow over his head and loudly singing ‘lalalalalala!!’ for five minutes straight. 

finally, when the paint arrived, he felt relieved. the other gifts would be easier to hide, being small jewelry and clothes, so this would be the last of the big gifts he’d have to wrap. 

he felt so relieved, that a few days later, he was casually speaking to you about your gifts without even realizing it. 

“i ran out of paint today right in the middle of a new landscape!” you whined, grabbing a cold water from the fridge.

“ah, well, it’s good that i-,” he paused. his stomach flipped. he stared at the wrapped gift and almost felt it stare back at him. wrapped. gift. it was wrapped for a reason! he can’t go around revealing gifts just a few days before christmas!

“that i… um… saw… a bird…” 

“what?”

“bird.” he blurted out, before covering his mouth and dashing to the bedroom to hide.

so when christmas finally arrived, yeonjun was as happy as a five year old would be. he woke you up at five am, practically bouncing off the bed as he dragged you to the living room. within the next two seconds, all three of your main gifts were shoved into your lap. 

“open!” he said, the balls of his cheeks high as he beamed at you. 

you slowly and carefully peeled the wrapping paper off, partially to make him impatient, and just as you were about to reveal up your gift, “it’s paint! the best paint in the world!” he blurted out, practically shaking at the excitement of no more secrecy. 

“i see! thank you, junnie! i love it. here, you open one of mine ne-“

“no! you go, go go go!”

you chuckled, grabbing the giant, blanket covered one and shoving it off. 

a second before you could process what it was, yeonjun shouted again.

“it’s an easel!” 

you began laughing at his absurdness. “wow yeonjun! thank you so much! this is so thoughtful. should i open this now?”

he beamed, momentarily trying to contain his excitement by biting his lip, and nodded.

you peeled the wrapping off extra slow, watching him get more squirmish and impatient. 

finally, before taking the last bit of wrapping paper off, you paused. you leaned back, looking at your excited boyfriend.

“go on,” you softly commanded.

“it’s a pack of canvases! i did a lot of research, made sure i got the very best…” he rambled, going on about reviews and critics whilst you gazed at him. once you had finished exchanging gifts, yeonjun quite literally collapsed on the couch, letting out a relieved sigh.

“i hate secrets.”

you chuckled. “at least i know you could never cheat.”

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[sturn-wrld]

🏮christmas gift

pairing: chris x reader

summary: where chris buys reader a christmas present that is great for the both of them

genre: SMUT!!! if that makes you uncomfortable dni! warnings: unprotected sex (before you get silly, wrap that willy), nicknames (babe, baby, ma, mamas)

a/n: last day of smutmas. i actually really like this. i have no idea what i'm going mg to write now but i'm thinking a little more fluff. happy holidays to everyone no matter what you celebrate 🫶

masterlist

---------------------------------------------------------

you open your eyes, adjusting them to the bright sunlight by beaming through large window infrared front of the bed you and your boyfriend, chris currently occupy. the realise hits, it's christmas.

you had loved christmas for your whole life. you didn't know what it was about christmas that you liked so much because very year it changed. when you were five it was opening presents. when you were ten it was the music. when you were fifteen it was gifting presents. but now as a twenty year old it was a mixture of all it, plus the time you can spend with loved ones around you.

you look down to your beautiful boyfriend, laying on your chest and slowly start shaking him. "baby, it's christmas" you cooed not wanting to abruptly wake him. "five more minutes ma" you looked at him rubbing his face deeper into your chest as he fights away the waking up sensation and give in. "okay. five more minutes" after what seemed forever you finally woke him up. "okay it's been five minutes, wake up now. it's christmas" you said emphasising the fact that it's christmas. "alright let's wake up the other two then" chris stated trying to rid the sleep from his eyes.

as you both clawed your way put of bed there was a sudden bang at the door followed by nick and matt slamming their ways into the room. "WAKE UP ITS CHRISTMASSS!" nick said definitely more excited than the other people in the room. you smiled in response turning to chris, "told you to wake up" chris just chuckled as he slowly trudged out of the room. "what a grouch" nick said snarling at him "i know right" you added standing next to him.

as you made your way up the stairs towards the living room area followed by nick and matt, chris was sat on the couch with a. sudden change of demeanour. "let's open presents" nick said excitedly walking towards the sparkling tree in the corner.

as you all finished all the gifts from each other, you split your seperate ways to move presents into designated rooms and clean the house before guests started arriving for the day. as you and chris walked into your shared bedroom, he walked straight to the wardrobe pulling another gift from under a pile of laundry sitting in the closet. "what's this?" you asked walking towards and starting to play with the blue bow tied around the red paper. "it's for you. open it." he said moving to the bed sitting and placing it on your lap. as you ripped open the paper you noticed a familiar pink stripped box. once the box was bare you read the logo guessing what it could be. "victoria's secret" you said looking to your boyfriend, who was smiling so wide. "open it" he said prompting to the box. you lifted the top of the box to reveal a lingerie set. one you had been looking to buy for a while. "thank you baby" you said looking to chris kissing him on the cheek, picking up the lacey piece. "do you want to go try it on?" he said biting his lip, you nodding and moving to the bathroom to change.

you observed yourself in the mirror feeling the lace under your fingertips. "i'm done" you called from the bathroom, your boyfriend on the other side of the door waiting for you to walk out. "show me mamas" he instructed you walking out as he finished his words. his jaw dropped to the floor. "you like it?" you asked travelling your hands up your thighs and walking towards chris as he stood. "like it? i love it. it looks so much better than what i could imagine" he said gripping your waist looking you up and down. "your thighs look so nice and your boobs. don't get me started on your boobs" he blabbered out, causing a giggle to escape your lips.

he looked at your lips and then your eyes, licking his lips. you then leaned into him starting to kiss soft kisses to his lips. with that chris deepened the kiss, causing you to lightly moan into his mouth as he sat down pulling you onto his lap. he started kissing down down your jaw and neck as you felt him become harder under his sweatpants. as he marked your lower neck and chest you started grinding on his now tight sweatpants needing more friction. he traveled his hands from your ass up to the back of your bra unclipping it and throwing it somewhere you didn't care about in this moment. he started massaging your tits as you grind harder against him. he lifted you slightly, now able to slip his pants down revealing his hard cock, slapping against his stomach. he slowly starts traveling his hands down from your boobs back towards your ass and aching core. he starts slipping his fingers through your dripping wetness. "your so wet mamas" he said as you start releasing whining moans. "all for you baby" you said whipping your head back moaning at his movements.

suddenly he slams his fingers into you, stretching your tight hole, rubbing your clit with his other hand. "i need you to fuck me baby" you said whining for him. "anything for you my baby" he said flipping mg you over so you were now below him. he runs his tip down your folds before slamming himself into you causing you to both moan at the feeling. "oh fuck mamas your so tight" he said continuously pounding you at an animalistic pace. "holy shit baby i'm already so close" you said the pleasure building in your stomach. "play with yourself for me ma" he said wanting to push you towards your finish as fast as he was arriving. you starting toying with your clit the pleasure already becoming too much. "i'm going to come baby" you said as he started pounding deeper into you chasing his high "me too" he said as you let go riding out your high. he piled out before he came, continuing the motions with his hand as he came all over your stomach and chest.

he flipped himself down next to you, huffing and puffing.

"that was probably the best christmas gift ever"

taglist

@ermdontmindthisaccount @frozenvegitableoil @its-jennarose @ilovemattsturn

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Sebastian's Offer (AKA Demand) | Sebastian Sallow x OC #13

buckle up this is a long INCREDIBLY TOOTHROTTING FLUFFY ONE.

Summary: Hogwarts empties for the winter holiday, Evangeline finds herself spending Christmas at Sebastian’s cozy cottage in Feldcroft after he surprises her, insisting she shouldn’t be alone. Their time together is filled with simple joys—exploring the snow-covered village, exchanging thoughtful gifts, and sharing quiet moments by the fire as they each struggle to keep their growing feelings in check.

Words: 12,922

Tags: FLUFF. BIG TIME FLUFF. Slow Burn, Friends To Lovers, Christmas, Romance, Soft Moments, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

Read on AO3

The bustling halls of Hogwarts had grown quiet, a peaceful stillness settling over the decorated common rooms and candlelit corridors as most students left for the holidays. Only a few remained, their footsteps faint echoes in the castle’s vast, snow-dusted expanse. Ominis had departed for London to spend the holiday with Anne, Sebastian had returned to Feldcroft, and Lysander had left early that morning.

For Evangeline, saying goodbye to her boyfriend should have been a moment to savor—a culmination of the closeness they’d been building over the past months. The night before, he’d surprised her, guiding her up the winding staircases to the Astronomy Tower for a private exchange of Christmas gifts under the stars.

She’d climbed the final stairs to find a picnic blanket spread across the stone floor, flanked by candles glowing warmly in the dark. A basket waited, filled with sweets and cocoa, and the faintly twinkling stars above cast a gentle light over them. The whole setup had been undeniably thoughtful, even romantic in its intention, and she’d felt a flutter of gratitude at the effort he’d put into planning it.

They’d settled in together, sharing quiet laughter and the soft clinks of cocoa mugs in the chilly air. Evangeline had given him her gift, a carefully selected book on magical creatures that she knew he’d wanted, and he’d thanked her warmly, brushing his fingers against hers in a soft, unhurried gesture before reaching for his own gift to her.

“Open it,” he’d said with an eager smile as he passed her the elegantly wrapped package. She’d carefully peeled back the layers of paper, revealing an ornate, glimmering necklace resting within a velvet-lined box. It was a beautiful, extravagant piece that sparkled with intricate stones and delicate, twisted chains.

“Oh, it’s…wow,” she’d murmured, running her fingers over the gemstones. It was dazzling, but so far from her style that it almost felt like someone else’s necklace entirely. She tried to imagine wearing it, the heavy gleam of the stones catching the light, but it felt too bold, too ornate.

Lysander’s eyes had shone with satisfaction, clearly pleased with himself. “I knew it was perfect for you the moment I saw it,” he’d said, leaning in to press a warm, brief kiss to her cheek.

She’d smiled back, the gratitude sincere, though there was a strange twist in her heart as she admired it. It was an undeniably generous gift, and she didn’t want to seem unappreciative. But try as she might, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the necklace was a little too extravagant, almost gaudy, for her taste. She wore jewelry sparingly, preferring simpler, understated pieces, and this necklace—stunning as it was—felt almost like it was meant for someone else.

Still, she’d thanked him, appreciating it nonetheless. This was a gesture of his affection, after all, and she chided herself for her own sense of dissatisfaction, for not simply being grateful for his thoughtfulness. Surely she could get used to it, she’d told herself, even enjoy the grandeur of it over time.

After the picnic, he’d walked her back to the Gryffindor Tower, his arm around her waist as they strolled through the emptying castle, her gift clasped carefully in her hands. When they reached the portrait hole, he had kissed her goodnight, the familiar warmth of his lips against hers a soft, reassuring presence. He’d whispered goodbye with a warm smile, his fingers grazing her cheek, “Have a lovely Christmas, Evangeline. I’ll be thinking of you.”

The moment should have left her glowing with contentment, the perfect close to their budding romance. But as she watched him walk away, a faint ache gnawed at her heart, an uneasy feeling she couldn’t ignore. Her mind drifted, unbidden, to memories of the Ball, of Sebastian’s steady hand in hers, his eyes searching hers as they’d danced.

It was wrong, she knew, to linger on thoughts of someone else while Lysander had gone to such lengths to make the night special. And yet, that ache lingered, that same gnawing, confusing pull toward thoughts of Sebastian that she couldn’t quite push away.

And this morning, while Evangeline sat on one of the plush couches, the last few students trickled out of the Gryffindor common room and the castle settled into its winter quiet. In the silence, she told herself she’d be fine spending Christmas alone, that she’d stay busy. She had plenty to do, after all—a Potions project to finish, a stack of library books waiting by her bed, and, tucked away in the bottom of her satchel, a book she’d impulsively bought on her last visit to Hogsmeade.... One of those intimacy books Sebastian had told her was stocked at Tomes and Scrolls.

The memory of that day in the bookstore came back to her vividly. She’d slipped inside, praying she wouldn’t be noticed by anyone she knew. Her face had burned as she’d picked up the thin, nondescript book, thumbing through its pages just long enough to confirm it was indeed filled with all the “detailed” advice Sebastian had hinted at. She hadn’t dared meet the shopkeeper’s eye as she’d purchased it, her cheeks hot as she mumbled a thank you and stuffed the book into her bag. She’d tucked it away when she got back to the castle, unable to summon the nerve to actually open it.

But now, with the castle empty and her only company a restless feeling she couldn’t shake, the book seemed like a good distraction—something she could read without interruption, maybe something to satisfy her curiosity. Taking a steadying breath, she reached into her satchel and pulled it out, the cover plain and unassuming. The title was innocent enough, “Intimacies and Affections: A Guide to Healthy Romances.” She ran her fingers over the smooth cover, her heart beating a little faster. Even though no one was around, she still felt self-conscious, as though someone might walk in at any moment and catch her.

Steeling herself, she wrapped herself up in blankets, stretching her toes towards the fire. She stared at the book for a long moment, and part of her was worried about what she’d find—if it would be embarrassing, if she’d feel foolish for wanting to understand more about things people like Sebastian seemed to know so effortlessly.

She was about to turn the first page when a loud banging sounded at the portrait hole.

She froze, her fingers gripping the edges of the book tightly. The banging continued, loud and insistent, echoing through the empty common room. Her heart leaped, and she quickly stashed the book behind a cushion, her face flushing as though someone had caught her red-handed.

The banging grew louder. Whoever it was wasn’t about to give up.

With a quick glance at the hidden book, she took a deep breath and crossed the room, pulling open the portrait hole. She hadn’t expected anyone she knew, least of all Sebastian Sallow, to be standing on the other side.

His face lit up the moment he saw her, shaking snow from his hair and his coat, his eyes glinting with a determination that almost startled her. “Evie,” he began, his voice a mix of insistence and a rare softness, “you’re not spending Christmas alone in this drafty tower. Pack a bag.”

She blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “What? Sebastian, what are you doing here? I thought you went home?"

He crossed his arms, a determined glint in his eye. “I came back to get you, Sterling. You’re not staying here alone.” His tone softened, though the conviction remained. “Come to Feldcroft with me.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way he looked at her, took her by surprise. Her stomach twisted in a way that felt all too familiar. “Sebastian, I… I appreciate it, really, but I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Lysander…”

“Lysander’s gone home for the holidays, isn’t he?” Sebastian’s gaze didn’t waver. “It’s just Christmas with a friend. No harm in that.”

She hesitated, glancing over his shoulder as though searching for an excuse, but found none. The castle was empty, the quiet pressing in around them, and the thought of spending Christmas without anyone made her heart sink. And despite the conflict churning inside her, Sebastian’s warmth and the earnestness in his eyes made it hard to refuse.

“Come on, Evie,” he murmured, his voice softening, almost pleading. “It’s Christmas."

His gentle insistence broke down her resistance. She knew there was no way she could truly say no—not to Sebastian, and not when he was standing there, offering her a holiday break that was more than just her and a stack of unread books.

With a quiet sigh, she nodded, her heart pounding. “Alright. I’ll go pack.”

She turned to leave, letting the portrait swing behind her, but Sebastian called after her, leaning casually against the edge of the opening. “Are you really going to leave me standing out here, Evie? Do you need me to admit that I’ve always wanted to see the legendary Gryffindor common room?”

She paused, turning to give him an amused, slightly exasperated look. “Sebastian, I’m pretty sure you know that’s against every rule we have.”

He shrugged, unfazed. “Rules, schmules. The way I see it, if they didn’t want Slytherins sneaking in, they should've made it harder to find the entrance,” he said, smirking. “Come on, you Gryffindors are always bragging about how cozy it is. I think it’s time I get a look for myself.”

She rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile, but stepped aside to let him through. “Fine. But if you tell anyone I let you in here, I'll hex you into next year."

Sebastian’s grin widened, clearly thrilled by her concession. “I’ll take that risk,” he said, stepping inside with the same casual confidence that seemed to accompany him everywhere.

The warmth of the Gryffindor common room enveloped him immediately, a stark contrast to the cooler, shadowed ambiance of the Slytherin dungeons. The fire crackled cheerfully in the hearth, casting a soft, golden light over the plush armchairs, the scarlet-and-gold tapestries, and the mistletoe that had been charmed to float just above the fireplace.

“Not bad at all,” he murmured appreciatively, his voice softened with something almost reverent. “It’s… different up here.”

Evangeline watched him with a mix of amusement and curiosity. She couldn't deny she quite liked seeing him in her world, here among the soft glow and rich colours that had become as much a part of her as her own heartbeat. She found herself smiling, despite herself, at the sight.

Sebastian caught her gaze, “What?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, chuckling, “It’s just… unusual, seeing you in here."

His smirk deepened as he moved closer, letting his fingers trail over the arm of a red armchair, as if savoring its plushness. "It's definitely a change from the Slytherin common room, but I admit, there’s something very cozy about it. It suits you.”

She felt a warmth rise to her cheeks at his words, brushing it off with a playful scoff. “Now you’re just trying to charm me. Be careful, or you’ll start thinking you actually like it here.”

He laughed, glancing around with a look that was almost fond. “Maybe I do. You Gryffindors might be onto something with all this… red and gold,” he admitted, “Certainly feels a lot more alive than the dungeons. But anyway, enough stalling, Evie. Go on—pack your things."

Evangeline chuckled, a warmth spreading through her at the teasing authority in his voice. With a playful eye-roll, she turned and hurried up the stairs to the dorms, her heart beating faster than it should as she grabbed her travel trunk and hurriedly tossed in clothes and essentials, too aware that Sebastian was still waiting below.

In record time, she was back down the stairs, breathless as she maneuvered her trunk into the common room. But she stopped short, her heart dropping as she took in the sight before her.

Sebastian was sitting comfortably on one of the couches by the fire, legs stretched out and posture relaxed, with her book resting in his hands. His brow was raised, lips twitching with the beginnings of a smirk, and his eyes danced with unmistakable mischief as he looked up at her.

Mortification spread through her, her face flushing hot. “Sebastian!” she sputtered, rushing over and snatching the book from his hands. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He bit back a laugh, holding his hands up defensively. “Just reading the dedication page. Didn’t think you went in for this sort of literature.”

She hugged the book tightly to her chest, her eyes narrowing in embarrassed exasperation. “I can’t believe you—do you know how rude that is?”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, "I'm the one who told you these books existed in the first place, Evangeline." he said, her name rolling off his tongue with a kind of playful insistence that made her stomach flip.

He rarely ever used her full name—only when he was either trying to make a point or when he was deadly serious. Each time he did, it sent her heart into a confusing tailspin, as if he was reaching past her defenses to tug on something deeper. Now was no different; hearing Evangeline instead of the casual Evie threw her off balance, adding to her already burning embarrassment.

Her cheeks warmed, and she struggled to hold her ground, clutching the book tightly to her chest as if it might shield her from his gaze. “That doesn’t give you permission to just pick it up and read it,” she replied, her voice coming out higher than she’d intended. “It’s private.”

Sebastian’s expression softened, the smirk fading into something almost understanding, though the humour remained in his eyes. “Alright, alright,” he conceded, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I get it—private. But you know,” he added with a grin, “I’m actually impressed. Didn't think you'd be brave enough to buy it.”

Her cheeks burned even hotter, and she fumbled for a response, her thoughts scattered. “Sebastian Sallow,” she muttered, trying to keep her voice steady, “if you ever bring this up again, I’ll—”

“—hex me into next year, yeah, I know.” He chuckled, leaning back against the couch with a satisfied grin.

Her heart did another strange flip, but she fought to ignore it, shooting him an exasperated look instead. “Enough of that. Are we going or not?”

With one last, unrepentant grin, Sebastian stood and grabbed her trunk, his hand brushing hers briefly as he hoisted it up. “Of course we’re going. As long as I'm around, you'll never spend another Christmas alone.”

As they stepped out of the Gryffindor common room and into the quiet, candlelit corridor, Evangeline let herself breathe a little easier, her cheeks cooling as the familiar, teasing banter with Sebastian settled into a comfortable silence. He kept her trunk balanced effortlessly, his stride purposeful as he led her toward the nearest Floo connection, his quiet confidence making her stomach flutter despite herself.

They reached the nearest fireplace, and he extended a hand, gesturing for her to go first with a slight smile. “Ladies first,” he said, his voice warm and steady, as if they weren’t about to make an impromptu trip halfway across the country.

With a soft laugh, she tossed the powder into the flames, calling out, “Feldcroft!” She stepped in and felt the familiar rush of spinning green flames before stumbling onto a cobbled street in the little village. The chilly winter air greeted her, and she wrapped her cloak tighter around herself, glancing around.

To her surprise, the usually quiet village had taken on a festive charm for the holiday. Garlands hung between the street lamps, twinkling softly with enchanted lights, and small wreaths decorated the shop doors. The air smelled faintly of pine and something sweet, perhaps from a nearby bakery. It was simple but charming, and a smile crept over her face as she took it all in.

Sebastian appeared beside her in a swirl of green flame, and he noticed her smile, a hint of pride flickering in his eyes. “Nice, isn’t it? The locals put in a bit more effort around Christmas,” he said, glancing around.

Evangeline nodded, genuinely touched by the quaint scene. “It’s lovely. A bit different from Hogsmeade’s bustle, but it suits the place.”

Sebastian returned her smile, then nodded toward the familiar little cottage he called home. “Come on,” he said, his tone softening.

As they approached, Evangeline’s eyes drifted over the cottage. It looked to be in better shape than she remembered from her last visit. The old stone walls seemed newly cleaned, the windows freshly painted, and a soft glow emanated from within. She couldn’t help but feel a flicker of admiration—Sebastian had clearly put effort into maintaining it, something she hadn’t been sure he’d do.

“Have you been keeping it up on your own?” she asked, glancing over at him.

Sebastian shrugged, a casual smile tugging at his lips. “Well, it’s mine now. Didn’t see much point in letting it fall apart.”

Her heart warmed, a surge of affection rising in her chest as she looked at him. “You’ve done a wonderful job.”

He held her gaze a moment longer than necessary, his smile softening. After a moment of fishing out a key and fiddling with the lock, he pushed the door open and stepped back to let Evangeline enter first.

She crossed the threshold, and the sight that greeted her left her momentarily speechless. The once-small, simple interior had been magically expanded, and a warmth filled the space as though it had been expecting her. What had once been a cramped sitting room was now a cozy yet spacious area with a wide hearth crackling with a welcoming fire, casting a golden glow over plush sofas and thick rugs in deep, warm tones. Strings of garlands and holly adorned the walls, twinkling with soft lights, and a small Christmas tree sat in the corner, decorated simply but beautifully with sparkling ornaments and a silver star on top.

She turned to look at him, her eyes wide. Sebastian grinned, clearly pleased with her reaction, "You like it?"

She stepped further into the room, taking in the small, thoughtful details—the knitted blankets on the back of the couches, the set of mugs by the hearth, and the scent of pine mingling with the faintest hint of something sweet, maybe mulled cider.

"Like it?" She laughed, her voice filled with genuine delight as she spun around to take it all in. "Sebastian, I love it. It’s perfect. When did you do all this?!"

He rubbed the back of his neck, his grin softening into something almost bashful as he watched her take everything in. “Well, yesterday. I wanted to get it done before I brought you over."

She looked at him, her eyes bright with a mixture of admiration and disbelief. “You did all of this just for… me?”

Sebastian’s gaze softened, and he shrugged, though she could tell by the faint color rising to his cheeks that he was genuinely touched by her reaction. “Well, I couldn’t let you spend Christmas alone in that empty castle,” he replied, his voice quieter, more sincere than usual. “Besides… it’s not really Christmas here without some company.”

Her heart gave a little flutter. The room was beautiful, yes, but it was more than that—it was thoughtful, filled with small, intentional touches that felt warm and welcoming, like he’d crafted a space just for her.

“Well, I think you might be better at this Christmas thing than I am,” she teased gently, her voice laced with affection. “You’ve really outdone yourself, Sebastian.”

He let out a soft chuckle, his usual smirk tempered with something softer as he looked at her. “I’ll take the compliment… though I have to admit, seeing you this happy is already worth all the effort.” He glanced away briefly, almost as if he were embarrassed by his own words.

Evangeline’s smile lingered, and she took a step closer, feeling the pull between them as natural as the crackling fire beside them. “Thank you,” she said softly. “This really means a lot to me.”

For a moment, he looked as if he wanted to say something more, his gaze searching hers, but instead, he just held out his hand. “Come on. Make yourself comfortable. I have everything we need—including your favourite biscuits,” he added with a wink.

She laughed, slipping her hand into his, feeling the warmth of his touch spread through her. With a gentle squeeze, he led her to the armchairs by the fire, and she settled into the plush seat, savoring the comfort of the moment.

Sebastian returned moments later, a steaming mug of hot chocolate in each hand. He passed one to Evangeline, who took it gratefully, letting the warmth seep through her fingers. She inhaled, catching the faint hint of cinnamon mixed with chocolate, and smiled as she took her first sip, the rich sweetness flooding her senses.

“Just the way you like it,” he said with a satisfied grin, settling into the armchair across from her. He set down a small tin of her favourite biscuits on the table between them, the top half-open in a silent invitation.

Evangeline’s gaze drifted to the old, familiar chessboard on the side table, and Sebastian’s eyes followed hers, his grin widening. “Fancy a game?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “I seem to remember you’re quite terrible at Wizard’s Chess, but I’d be more than happy to teach you a thing or two.”

She narrowed her eyes, smirking. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”

“Well,” he replied, shrugging casually as he set up the board, “I did just transform my whole cottage to make you feel at home. I think I’ve earned a little self-congratulation.”

She shook her head, laughing, and took another sip of hot chocolate. “Fine, I accept the challenge. But don’t get too smug—I might surprise you.”

Sebastian snorted, setting his pieces in place as she mirrored him, and the game began. Within minutes, her poor strategy had led to her queen being unceremoniously smashed to pieces by one of his knights. Sebastian’s laughter filled the room, light and teasing as he rested his chin on his hand, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

He shook his head, laughing, “I did warn you, didn’t I?”

“Oh, don’t you start,” she huffed, glaring at her remaining pieces as though they’d betrayed her.

Despite her efforts to focus, she lost the first game in a matter of moves, much to Sebastian’s delight. And yet, she insisted they keep playing, his teasing grin never faltering. They played round after round, and although her skills didn’t miraculously improve, the warm, playful banter that filled the room was worth every crushing defeat.

Between games, they chatted about everything and nothing—school gossip, upcoming exams, and rumors of pranks planned by Leander and Garreth that had left half the Slytherins looking over their shoulders.

Hours passed, and the cottage grew darker, save for the flickering firelight. As the evening wore on, Evangeline grew more comfortable, tucking her feet under herself as she leaned back in her armchair, finishing the last of her hot chocolate.

Eventually, she sighed, eyeing the board as another one of her knights crumbled under his rook’s relentless attack. “I think I officially surrender,” she laughed, raising her hands in mock defeat. “There’s no coming back from that.”

Sebastian grinned, leaning back with a contented sigh. “Well, it only took you… what, ten games?” He reached for the biscuit tin, offering it to her.

“Ten games and far too many of my pieces sacrificed in battle,” she replied, accepting a biscuit and nibbling on it, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of playfulness and gratitude.

“So, tell me,” he said suddenly, adopting a mock-serious tone, “how much of that book have you actually read?”

Her cheeks flushed as she fumbled with her biscuit, nearly dropping it in her lap. “I—um—” she stammered, trying to downplay her interest.

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Didn’t seem like you’d gotten too far given how I found it. By the way, your hiding skills could use some work.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, feigning indignation. “Excuse me, how did you even find it in the first place?”

“Because,” he replied, his tone matter-of-fact. “The moment I walked into the common room, it was obvious where you’d been sitting—blankets thrown everywhere, that very you-shaped cocoon.” He chuckled, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “And then I spotted the book sticking out from the cushions.”

Evangeline groaned, covering her face with one hand.

“Oh, come on, Evie,” he teased, nudging her shoulder. “You can’t expect me to resist when it’s so… conveniently placed.”

“Curiosity?” She shook her head, her lips twisting into a smirk. “More like a complete lack of boundaries.”

“Boundaries are for strangers,” he replied smoothly, leaning a little closer, his voice lowering. “And we’re hardly strangers, are we?”

The warmth in his voice sent a shiver down her spine, but she forced herself to stay collected, giving him a mock-glare instead. “I’ll make sure to hide anything ‘private’ next time you’re around, then.”

Sebastian chuckled, leaning back with a look of pure, unrepentant amusement. “You can try, but I have a talent for uncovering secrets. Especially yours, Evie.”

Her face flushed, both at his words and the way he seemed to be enjoying this. She wished she could deny it, but he was right: he was far too good at reading her. His perceptiveness had always unnerved her, especially when it came with that sly grin and those knowing eyes that seemed to peel back every layer of her defenses.

“Fine,” she huffed, crossing her arms in an attempt to look stern, though she was sure the effect was undermined by the lingering smile she couldn’t quite suppress. “Maybe I’ll just start keeping my books locked up.”

“Oh, now where’s the fun in that?” Sebastian leaned in closer, the flickering firelight casting a warm glow over his face. “Besides, I already know what you’re reading. So… was it helpful? Any earth-shattering revelations?”

"I'd barely had the chance to open the cover before you were pounding on my common room door." She said, raising an eyebrow at him. "So any ‘earth-shattering revelations’ will have to wait until after you’re done dragging me around Feldcroft.”

Sebastian chuckled, leaning back with a look of mock disappointment. “Oh, the tragedy. Here I was, thinking you’d have all sorts of interesting theories to share. Guess I’ll just have to wait.”

“Well, if you hadn’t interrupted me, maybe I’d be a little more enlightened by now,” she shot back, folding her arms in mock indignation.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Interrupted? I was saving you from Christmas boredom.”

Sebastian raised his mug, savoring another sip of hot chocolate as he watched her with a glint of curiosity in his eyes. After a comfortable silence, he set his mug down and tilted his head thoughtfully, the firelight casting shadows across his face.

“So, did you and Lysander exchange gifts before he left?” he asked casually, though the way his eyes lingered on her hinted at something more than idle curiosity.

Evangeline’s smile faltered, and she attempted to look pleased as she nodded. “Oh, yes. We did… a little something up in the Astronomy Tower before he left.” She tried to keep her tone light, as if recounting a perfectly pleasant memory, but there was a hesitation she couldn’t quite mask.

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed, picking up on the subtle shift in her expression. “What did he give you?” he pressed, leaning forward with an intensity that was both endearing and a little unnerving.

She hesitated, feeling the warmth rise in her cheeks again. “Well… he gave me a necklace,” she said slowly, glancing away as if studying the intricacies of the room. “It's beautiful, really ornate, elegant—"

"You hate it," Sebastian interrupted, his tone matter-of-fact, though his eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and something else she couldn't place.

Evangeline’s mouth opened to protest, but the words faltered, and instead, she let out a reluctant laugh. “I don’t hate it,” she insisted, though even she could hear the weakness in her own voice. “It’s a lovely necklace. Just… a bit much. And maybe… not exactly what I would have picked for myself.”

Sebastian looked at her for a beat, his gaze steady, as though something had just clicked in his mind. Without a word, he pushed himself up from his chair, crossing to the small Christmas tree in the corner. He crouched down, reaching for a small box wrapped simply but neatly in red and gold, and then straightened, turning back toward her with a thoughtful expression.

Evangeline watched him, her curiosity piqued. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer immediately, just walked back to her and held out the box, “Might as well open it now.”

She glanced between him and the box, her heart beating a little faster. “Sebastian… what is this?”

“Just open it,” he said softly.

With a hesitant smile, she carefully unwrapped the box, peeling back the paper to reveal a plain black velvet case. She glanced up at him, a question in her eyes, but he just nodded, urging her to continue. Taking a steadying breath, she lifted the lid.

Inside was a simple gold necklace, delicate yet sturdy, with a small garnet pendant gleaming in the center. She reached out to trace the charm with her fingertips, her heart swelling with warmth as she took in the intricate yet unassuming design. She could tell at once that it was crafted with care—its simplicity made up for in the precise detailing around the edges of the pendant and the fine, golden links of the chain. It was the kind of piece she knew would feel right in any setting, a bit of elegance without the weight of grandeur. And it felt so personal, as though Sebastian had somehow managed to capture something essential about her and turn it into this gift.

She glanced up at him, her voice barely a whisper. “Sebastian… this is beautiful. You didn’t have to-"

“Don’t even finish that thought,” he interrupted softly, a faint smile curving his lips.

“But it looks… it must have been expensive,” she continued, her fingers still resting on the pendant, marveling at its perfect simplicity. “This isn’t just… a little something, Sebastian. This is…"

He shrugged, looking a bit bashful now, rubbing the back of his neck. “It just… it reminded me of you,” he admitted, his gaze steady, even as a faint color rose in his cheeks. “You don’t need anything over-the-top or flashy. And when I saw it… I just knew.”

“It’s perfect,” she whispered, looking down at the necklace again, touched beyond words. “Thank you, Sebastian. Truly.”

He shifted a bit, a softer smile replacing his usual grin. “I’m glad you like it.” After a pause, he reached forward, meeting her eyes. “May I?”

She blinked, realizing he was offering to put it on for her. She nodded, unable to speak, and turned slightly, lifting her hair to the side as he took the necklace from the box.

His hands brushed lightly against the back of her neck as he clasped it, sending a gentle warmth through her. When he finished, his fingers lingered just a second longer than necessary before he pulled away, and she turned back to face him, her fingers drifting to the pendant now resting just below her collarbone.

He took a step back, his eyes lingering on her as though committing the sight to memory. “Looks perfect on you,” he murmured, his voice low.

Evangeline’s mind raced, her thoughts spiraling as she touched the pendant lightly. This gift, from Sebastian of all people—her best friend, the one she’d been trying so hard to suppress feelings for—felt so achingly perfect that it was almost painful. The necklace was everything she hadn’t known she wanted, simple yet thoughtful, understated but full of meaning. And it hit her, uncomfortably, that this was a better, more personal gift than the one Lysander, her actual boyfriend, had given her.

She swallowed, the reality pressing in, mingling with the warmth of Sebastian’s gaze, and a flutter of guilt twisted in her chest. She shouldn’t be comparing them, shouldn’t be reading into what was surely just a gesture of friendship from Sebastian. But then, why did it feel so… significant?

In an effort to distract herself, she cleared her throat and managed a shaky smile, hoping he didn’t notice the slight tremor in her voice. “So, it’s only fair I return the favor, right?” she said, forcing a lightness into her tone as she moved toward her bag. “I have something for you, too… well, a few things, actually."

Sebastian’s brows lifted in surprise, a smile curving his lips. “You do?”

“Of course I do,” she replied, glancing back at him with a softer smile, grateful for the change in focus. “You didn’t think I’d come here empty-handed, did you? But don't get too excited, we're only spoiling one. gift”

She rummaged through her bag, pulling out a small bundle wrapped in emerald green paper and tied with a simple black ribbon. It was unassuming, not grand or flashy, but she’d spent ages thinking about what to get him this year. As she handed it to him, she caught herself holding her breath, anticipation prickling at the edges of her nerves.

Sebastian took the package, his expression softening as he glanced from the gift to her. “Should I be nervous?”

She laughed, feeling some of her tension dissolve. “I’d say no, but you’ll just have to open it to find out.”

Sebastian unwrapped the gift with an amused smirk, but as he lifted the lid of the small box inside, his brow furrowed. A simple, elegant compass rested there, its polished surface catching the light of the fire. Yet as he picked it up, he noticed something odd: the needle wasn’t pointing north—it was pointed directly toward Evangeline, steady and unwavering.

He tilted his head, glancing at her in mild confusion. “A compass? And it’s… pointed at you? Are you secretly magnetic or something, Sterling?”

She laughed, “Maybe the compass is just pointing to the center of the cottage.” She gave a nonchalant shrug, "It's enchanted."

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Enchanted how?”

“It’s charmed to always point toward wherever you feel safest or… most comfortable,” she explained, her voice softer now, a hint of nervousness slipping into her tone. “I thought it might come in handy if you’re ever… lost.”

Sebastian’s gaze flickered back to the compass, “So… it points towards home,” he murmured, his voice soft as he felt a faint, steady warmth spread through him. Of course, it was pointed directly at Evangeline. There was no need to question it, not really. But Merlin was he glad she brushed it off, chalking up the needle’s direction to the center of the cottage rather than toward her specifically.

She nodded, a little shy now. “Exactly. For… whenever you need it.”

Sebastian’s throat tightened, and he swallowed, the depth of the gift hitting him all at once. He closed his hand around the compass, and looked back at her, his eyes softening. “Evie… I don’t even know what to say. This is so thoughtful. Thank you.”

Evangeline’s cheeks flushed under the warmth of his gaze, and she quickly looked down, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well,” she murmured, trying to sound casual, “I know how you get yourself into trouble, so it seemed… practical.”

Sebastian chuckled, the sound low and filled with something that almost felt like gratitude. “Practical, sure,” he replied, his voice gentle. “But more than that.” He thumbed over the compass once, the weight of it settling into his hand like it belonged there. “It’s… perfect, really.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the quiet filled only by the soft crackling of the fire. For once, Sebastian didn’t rush to fill the gap with humor or a smirk. Instead, he kept his eyes on the compass, a look of peacefulness crossing his face as he considered the small but meaningful charm she had placed in his hands.

The moment stretched, each of them acutely aware of the other, of the small but powerful significance of the gift between them. Then, with a soft smile, Evangeline gently nudged his shoulder, breaking the spell. “So, where's the guest room in this new-and-improved cottage?"

Sebastian blinked, his thoughtful expression breaking into a grin as he tucked the compass carefully into his pocket. “Ah, tired already are we?" He stood up, gesturing for her to follow him down the narrow hall. “Your room is this way,” he said, leading her to a small but cozy room on the left. “It’s nothing grand,” he added, opening the door to reveal a room with a neatly made bed and a small nightstand holding a softly glowing lamp. A window overlooked the snowy fields beyond, a view softened by a sheer, lacy curtain.

Evangeline stepped inside, taking it all in. The space felt warm, personal—he’d even left a few books on the nightstand, ones she recognized as her favorites. She turned to look at him, surprise and gratitude in her eyes. “My room?”

Sebastian leaned against the doorframe, his grin softening as he took in her reaction. “Well, I couldn’t let you spend Christmas feeling like a guest." He shrugged, attempting to play it off with his usual nonchalance, though she noticed the faint color rising to his cheeks. "You'll always have a home here, Evie."

She shook her head, swallowing the lump in her throat as she turned to him, her eyes bright. “Sebastian Sallow, who knew you had such a sentimental side?”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck as he tried to appear unfazed. “Don’t go spreading it around, Sterling."

They shared a quiet smile, the moment stretching comfortably between them. The crackling fire in the distance, the gentle warmth of the room—it all made Evangeline feel like she’d been given something truly precious, far more than just a place to stay. It was a reminder of just how well he understood her, even the little things she often didn’t realize mattered.

“So, settled in?” he asked, breaking the silence with a softer tone. “Anything else you need?”

She shook her head, clutching the compass gently in her hand. “No… it’s perfect. Thank you, Sebastian.”

For a moment, he looked as though he wanted to say something more, his gaze lingering on her face. But instead, he nodded, giving her one last warm smile before he turned to go. “Well then, I’ll let you get settled. But I’ll be just down the hall if you need anything… or if you feel like getting thrashed in another game of Wizard’s Chess.”

As he left, she couldn’t help the smile that lingered, her fingers drifting down to the necklace resting against her chest.

~

The morning sunlight filtered through the soft lace curtain, spilling gentle warmth over Evangeline as she blinked awake. The room was peaceful, and the quiet of the cottage—so different from the lively bustle of the Gryffindor dormitories—made her feel as though she’d woken in some forgotten, secluded world. After a moment, she slipped from bed, careful not to make a sound as she pulled on a robe and crept into the hallway.

The cottage was still, and from the quiet, she knew Sebastian wasn’t awake yet. Not that it surprised her—she couldn’t recall the last time he’d risen before her. A faint smile crept over her face as she wandered through the cozy space, curiosity urging her to explore the changes he’d made to his home.

The hallway extended further than she remembered, leading to a new room she hadn’t noticed last night. She pushed the door open and was greeted by the sight of a neatly furnished guest room, with soft shades of blue and dark wood furniture. It was spacious yet personal, with familiar touches—like the old record player Ominis adored—that made it clear he’d designed the space specifically for his friend.

Her chest tightened, warmth blooming at the realization. Sebastian hadn’t just expanded the cottage for himself—he’d done it to create a home for those he cared about.

Continuing her quiet exploration, she discovered another newly added door that led to a small office. Inside, the desk was scattered with neatly organized notes, spare quills, and a book on advanced defensive magic that looked well-thumbed. She could practically picture Sebastian poring over it late into the night, always striving to outdo himself.

She wandered back down the hall, stopping when she reached the last closed door—Sebastian’s bedroom. The urge to peek in tugged at her, her hand hovering by the doorknob as her curiosity wrestled with her better judgment. It was just one look, she reasoned, but even as she thought it, a familiar pang of guilt twisted in her chest. She’d been so careful, trying to keep her feelings for him buried. Spending Christmas here was already pushing the boundaries, and she knew Lysander would be hurt if he ever found out. With a sigh, she took a step back from the door, scolding herself for even considering it.

She moved to the kitchen, eager to occupy her thoughts with something practical. As she surveyed the cabinets, she chuckled under her breath. For all his meticulous preparation, Sebastian had somehow forgotten to stock the basics. She’d seen a bakery on the way in yesterday and decided to make a quick trip. Pulling on her coat, she slipped out quietly and crossed the village square, the early morning air crisp and quiet.

The bakery was a charming little spot, its interior warm and inviting, with rows of freshly baked bread, pastries, and other morning treats on display. Evangeline breathed in the comforting scent, her eyes scanning over the assortment before settling on a loaf of crusty bread and a few sweet rolls. She couldn’t resist adding a couple of flaky pastries to the basket—knowing Sebastian would appreciate them.

As she moved toward the counter, she noticed shelves along the wall stocked with basic necessities: fresh eggs, small jars of jam, even a few pints of milk and bundles of herbs. She picked up a dozen eggs, milk, and a jar of strawberry preserves. Her basket quickly filled, she approached the shopkeeper, who offered her a warm smile as he wrapped each item in brown paper.

With her arms full of fresh supplies, she stepped back into the crisp morning air, a sense of contentment settling over her as she made her way back to the cottage. The quiet village, dressed in snow, felt like a scene from an old storybook, each step crunching softly beneath her feet as she followed the little path back.

When she reached the cottage, she nudged the door open with her shoulder, stepping inside to the warmth and soft crackle of the fire. She set her bounty on the counter, unwrapping the items and setting up a small workspace as quietly as she could. But, just as she cracked the first egg into a bowl, she heard soft footsteps behind her and turned to find Sebastian leaning in the doorway still wearing his pyjamas, his hair a tousled mess and a sleepy smirk on his face.

“Didn’t know you were planning to sneak off on me,” he murmured, his voice warm with a hint of amusement as he noticed the spread on the counter.

She smiled, pulling out a loaf of bread. “Well, it turns out that in your grand plans, you thought of everything except breakfast,” she teased.

Sebastian smirked, clearly unbothered. “I never said I was perfect,” he replied, pulling out a chair settling down at the dining room table. “But it seems you have everything under control.”

Evangeline rolled her eyes, amused as she cracked another egg into the bowl. “Lucky for you,” she replied, whisking the eggs with a bit more flair than necessary.

He chuckled, stretching his long legs out under the table, watching her with that lazy, satisfied grin she was far too accustomed to. “You know,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep, “I could get used to waking up like this."

Her heart skipped, and she quickly focused on the skillet, pouring in the eggs, though she couldn't stop herself from asking, "Waking up like what?"

Sebastian’s smirk faltered just a bit, realizing he’d nearly let slip more than he intended. He cleared his throat, sliding back in his chair and stretching as if suddenly fascinated by the cabinets. “Oh, you know,” he drawled, shifting his gaze to the kitchen counter, “waking up to the smell of breakfast. Speaking of, we’re missing a key ingredient: coffee.”

Evangeline raised an eyebrow as he headed for the kitchen counter, watching him rummage through the cabinets.

Moments later, he set two mugs on the table, a fragrant steam rising from the freshly brewed coffee. He settled back into his chair, his usual confidence restored as he watched her transfer the scrambled eggs and toast onto plates.

“Looks impressive,” he said, raising his mug in a sort of approving toast. "Didn't realize you were such a chef."

“Guess growing up in the muggle world had its benefits,” she replied with a grin as she placed his plate in front of him.

They ate while exchanging stories and laughter. He listened with genuine interest as she recounted memories of growing up, the small traditions and quirks of her world that always felt a bit different from life at Hogwarts. And she found herself caught up in his tales of the antics he and Ominis would get up to in the Slytherin common room, and their half-hearted schemes that sometimes ended with the two of them nursing their bruised egos.

Sebastian looked around the room, taking in the morning light filtering through the cottage windows, his gaze eventually drifting back to her. “So, what’s the plan for the day?”

“Well, since we’re officially in the middle of nowhere,” Evangeline began, setting down her knife and fork, “I thought we might venture out a bit, maybe see some of these haunted woods you mentioned last year. You wouldn’t be afraid, would you?”

“Afraid? Me?” He rolled his eyes, mock-offended. “Sterling, please. I’m practically the very picture of courage.”

“Oh, of course,” she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “A Slytherin known for his bravery.”

Sebastian grinned, clearly delighted. “But yes, I’ll take you up on that ghost hunt,” he said, "I'm surprised you remember me mentioning that."

Evangeline felt a small, knowing smile tug at her lips. “Of course, I remember. You went on about it for nearly an hour that day in the Three Broomsticks,” she said, looking over at him with a spark of amusement in her eyes. “You painted quite the picture—how you and Anne would sneak off into the woods, convinced you’d find something no one else had seen.”

Sebastian’s grin softened as he recalled the memory, leaning back in his chair. “I may have exaggerated a bit,” he admitted with a chuckle, “but in our defense, we really did think those woods were haunted. Every little sound felt like some dark creature lurking in the shadows.”

She laughed, picturing a younger, wide-eyed Sebastian creeping through the trees with Anne by his side. She could almost see it, the two of them finding excitement in the unknown, each noise adding to the thrill. There was a certain innocence in the way he told those stories—a rare glimpse of the boy he’d been before Hogwarts, before everything changed.

“And yet,” she continued, a mischievous look in her eyes, “I don’t remember you ever mentioning that you two actually found anything.”

Sebastian shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Perhaps we will today."

~

The days leading up to Christmas Eve drifted by in a quiet, comfortable rhythm, each one blurring gently into the next as Evangeline and Sebastian settled into an easy companionship. They filled their time with simple joys—wandering through Hogsmeade’s snow-dusted streets, taking the Floo into London to explore shops adorned with twinkling lights, and, on occasion, heading out into the Highlands for a bit of exploring.

And when they were back at the cottage, their days continued in that same, effortless cadence. She’d found herself brewing tea for both of them in the afternoons, adding cinnamon and a dash of milk because he liked it that way, while he’d taken to fetching wood for the hearth and setting it alight in the evenings, his face flickering in the warm glow as he joked about having a “natural talent” for lighting things on fire.

It was strange, she realized, how easily they’d fallen into a routine as if they’d been doing this for years. And the more time she spent with him, the harder it became to ignore the insistent tug in her heart. She could feel it with every small gesture, every look they shared across the room—she was falling, deeper than she had ever expected or wanted to. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to pull away, not even with the nagging guilt that occasionally pricked at her when thoughts of Lysander surfaced.

But whenever that guilt began to claw its way up, it was quickly brushed aside by the overwhelming sense of rightness she felt here, in this little world they’d created. She hadn’t missed Lysander, not really, and the realization was almost as startling as it was inevitable.

Christmas Eve arrived with a hushed, magical stillness, and that evening found the two of them curled up on the couch in front of the fire, noses buried in books, each lost in their own worlds yet entirely aware of the other’s presence. Outside, snow had just finished falling, casting a gentle white sheen over the world beyond the window.

Evangeline stretched out on the couch, her feet finding their way across Sebastian’s lap as he absentmindedly shifted to make room, neither of them needing to say anything as they settled in. She glanced over her book at him, watching the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the firelight casting warm shadows across his face.

And in that quiet, stolen moment, she felt the weight of everything settle over her—how deeply she cared for him, how easily they fit together, and how strange it felt to think about returning to Hogwarts, where everything would once again be complicated by the presence of others, by the reality of her relationship with Lysander, by the fact that she and Sebastian weren’t meant to be anything more than friends.

But here, with him, it was impossible to feel anything but a gentle, aching happiness.

Sebastian looked up then, catching her gaze. A soft smile curved his lips. “Getting bored?” he asked, his voice a gentle murmur that sent warmth curling through her.

She returned his smile, shifting her feet slightly as if that could somehow diffuse the tension that had thickened between them.

“Not at all,” she replied, her voice softer than she intended. “Just… thinking.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, setting his book aside as his gaze softened. “Dangerous business, that. What’s on your mind?”

She hesitated, glancing away for a moment, but there was something about the quiet warmth of the cottage, the way he looked at her, that made her want to answer honestly. “Just… how easy all of this feels,” she admitted, gesturing to the cozy scene around them. "Six months ago, I wouldn't have thought this possible."

Sebastian’s expression softened, his gaze searching her face as he absorbed her words. “Six months ago, I wouldn’t have thought so either,” he admitted quietly. His voice was steady, but there was an underlying vulnerability that she wasn’t used to hearing from him. “Feels strange, doesn’t it? How everything changes and yet… some things feel like they’re exactly where they’re meant to be.”

Her heart beat a little faster, her eyes meeting his as his words lingered in the quiet. “Yeah,” she murmured, feeling a warmth settle in her chest. “Exactly like that.”

Sebastian glanced toward the window, his gaze shifting to the faint starlight peeking through the frost-lined glass. A small smile crept onto his face, thoughtful and a little mischievous. “How about a walk?” he suggested, his voice light. “The sky’s clearing up—maybe we could get a proper look at the stars.”

Evangeline’s eyes lit up, but she hesitated, glancing down at her feet. “I’d love to, but my last pair of dry socks got soaked this morning.” She shrugged, chuckling softly.

Sebastian’s grin widened as he rose from the couch, brushing off her concern with a dismissive wave. “Lucky for you, I have plenty of socks to spare.”

He disappeared down the hall, returning a moment later with a thick, woolen pair in hand. “Here,” he said, holding them out to her. “They'll be a little big, since you've got fairy-sized feet, but they’ll keep your feet warm.”

Evangeline took them, her fingers brushing his as she did. “Thanks,” she murmured, slipping them on and feeling the cozy warmth spread through her toes. They were indeed oversized, but somehow that only made them more comfortable, as if she were taking a small piece of his warmth with her.

Once they were bundled in coats and mittens, they stepped out into the crisp night. Snow blanketed the ground, a fresh layer glistening under the silver light of the moon. The world felt hushed, as though all of nature was holding its breath, and the stars overhead shone with a fierce clarity, illuminating the sky in a way that made her heart ache with wonder.

They walked side by side down a winding path that led through the trees, their footsteps muffled by the snow, the silence between them thick with a sense of shared tranquility. Occasionally, Sebastian would reach out to steady her on an icy patch, his hand lingering just a moment longer than necessary before letting go.

Eventually, they reached a small clearing where the trees parted, revealing a perfect view of the heavens above. Stars scattered across the sky in brilliant clusters, and Evangeline tilted her head back, her breath forming small clouds in the cold air as she took it all in.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he murmured, his gaze shifting from the stars to her face, as if he were searching for something in her expression.

She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen them like this. It’s… like they’re closer somehow.”

Sebastian gazed up at the stars for a moment longer, then raised his hand, pointing to a particularly bright constellation. “See that one?” he murmured. “Canis Major. It’s supposed to represent the loyal hunting dog of Orion.” He traced the shape in the sky with his finger, drawing her attention to the bright star in its shoulder, Sirius. “That’s Sirius, the Dog Star. It’s the brightest star in the night sky. Legend says it represents loyalty and guardianship. Protectiveness.”

Evangeline followed his gaze, surprised he'd paid so much attention in Astronomy class, though her eyes traced the lines he’d pointed out. “A protector,” she said softly, glancing at him. “Seems fitting for you.”

He chuckled, though there was a touch of something serious in his expression. “Think so?”

She nodded, tucking her hands deeper into her pockets to shield them from the cold. “I do. It suits you. You’re… protective.” A faint smile tugged at her lips. “And a more than a bit stubborn."

Sebastian laughed softly, shaking his head. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is one,” she replied, her gaze lingering on the constellation. After a beat, she added, “Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if your Patronus was a dog of some sort.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “A dog?”

She shrugged, smiling a little. “Or maybe a wolf. Something loyal and fierce, the type of animal that sticks by the people it cares about, no matter what."

He shrugged, a slight smile playing at his lips. “When you put it that way… maybe I don’t mind being compared to a dog."

They continued walking, slipping into an easy rhythm as they wandered further down the moonlit path. The silence that followed was comfortable, each lost in their own thoughts as they took in the beauty of the snowy landscape around them. But eventually, Evangeline began to feel a shiver run through her as the cold seeped past her coat.

Noticing, Sebastian stopped and turned to her with a faint grin, unwinding the Slytherin scarf from around his neck. “Here,” he said, reaching out to drape it over her shoulders. “We can’t have you freezing before we’ve even made it back.”

Evangeline’s hands moved to protest, but the warmth of the scarf, and the scent of Sebastian clinging to it, was too inviting. She pulled it closer around her neck. “Thanks,” she murmured, her cheeks warming despite the chill in the air.

Sebastian crossed his arms, looking entirely too pleased. “I’d say green suits you.”

She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips as they resumed walking. “Only a Slytherin would think that.”

They shared a quiet look before he nodded toward the path, his eyes glinting in the starlight. “Come on, then. Let’s get you back before I have to start carrying you.”

Once back inside the cottage, warmth quickly enveloped them, a comforting contrast to the frigid night air outside. Evangeline unwound Sebastian’s scarf from around her neck, but hesitated before handing it back.

Sebastian, already shrugging off his coat, didn’t seem to pay much attention as she tucked the scarf under her arm, a small, guilty smile tugging at her lips. He must have plenty of scarves, she reasoned. He wouldn’t miss one. And the thought of having a piece of him nearby—a small memento—felt comforting, like carrying a bit of this shared evening with her.

Sebastian shot her a quick grin as he sauntered down the hall. “Going to change."

She nodded, her cheeks still warm as she slipped into her room as well to pull on her pajamas. The soft cotton and fleece were a far cry from her outdoor layers, and she sighed in relief, reveling in the coziness. She slipped Sebastian’s scarf in her bag, smoothing it out and letting her fingers linger for a moment over the fabric before she turned back toward the hallway.

When she re-emerged, Sebastian was already in the living room, his dark pajama shirt and trousers a relaxed contrast to his usual attire.

“Comfy?” he asked as she approached.

Evangeline nodded, crossing the room and settling into the armchair by the fire, its warmth immediately enveloping her. She pulled her knees up, curling into the chair as Sebastian took his usual spot on the couch while the silence settled between them, comfortable and familiar.

Evangeline watched him quietly, her gaze lingering on the details she scarcely allowed herself to fully appreciate. The firelight danced over him, illuminating the slight scruff along his jawline and the lines of his face that seemed a bit more defined than she remembered. Somewhere along the line, he’d begun growing up—she realized with a soft pang. She noticed how his pajama sleeves, once a perfect fit, now rode up just slightly on his wrists, revealing the lines of his forearms and the faint shadows of veins that ran along them. The hint of adulthood in him, subtle yet unmistakable, made her pulse quicken.

Sebastian, seemingly oblivious to her gaze, leaned his head back against the couch, his eyes half-closed. A soft sigh escaped his lips, the sound almost melting into the warm crackle of the fire. He looked peaceful.

And then suddenly, the clock on the wall chimed, the soft notes echoing in the stillness. Midnight. Christmas.

Sebastian’s eyes opened, meeting hers, and a slow smile spread across his face as he sat up a little, his gaze softening. “Happy Christmas, Evie,” he murmured, his voice low and warm.

“Happy Christmas, Sebastian,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper as her heart raced. She kept her eyes on his, feeling her cheeks grow warm under his steady gaze.

Sebastian rose from the couch, his movements casual yet purposeful. He wandered over to the small Christmas tree in the corner, kneeling to retrieve a couple of gifts wrapped in deep greens and silvers, each tied neatly with white ribbon. His back was to her, but she saw the faint hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

"Alright," he murmured, glancing back at her with a glint in his eyes, “time to make it official. Let’s see if Father Christmas stopped by after all.”

Evangeline blinked, jolted out of her reverie. She’d been so caught up in simply watching him that she’d nearly forgotten about the gifts she’d brought. Feeling her cheeks warm again, she quickly pushed herself out of the armchair and hurried to her room, rummaging through her bag until she found her carefully wrapped bundle of gifts. She’d spent ages choosing each one, thinking of things that might hold meaning for him, but now, with the quiet magic of the moment still lingering in the air, she suddenly felt nervous.

When she returned to the living room, she found Sebastian already settled back on the couch, his gifts neatly stacked on the small table between them. He looked up as she approached, his eyes softening at the sight of her with her bundle in hand.

“Thought you might’ve forgotten about me there for a second,” he teased, his voice low, though his gaze held nothing but warmth.

She managed a smile, sinking back into her chair and setting the gifts down beside her. “Never."

Sebastian reached for one of the green-wrapped gifts, holding it out to her with a playful grin. “Ladies first.”

She carefully unwrapped the paper, peeling it back to reveal a small, leather-bound journal with her initials embossed in gold on the cover. The pages were thick and cream-colored, and a small quill was tucked inside. She traced her fingers over the letters, her breath catching slightly. “Sebastian… it’s beautiful.”

He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, though there was a hint of satisfaction in his expression, "It's a forget-me-not journal... charmed so that it always returns to the owner’s side when they need it," He explained, his gaze softening further as he watched her flip through the first few pages. Then, after a moment, he gestured to the gifts by her side. “Go on then. Let’s see what you’ve got up your sleeve.”

She picked up one of her carefully wrapped gifts, her heart pounding as she handed it over. Sebastian’s expression grew curious as he tore away the paper and opened the box, revealing a small, elegantly stoppered vial filled with a swirling, golden liquid. He turned it in his hand, the shimmering contents catching the firelight, his eyes widening as he recognized what it was. “Evangeline… is this—?”

“Felix Felicis,” she confirmed, a bit shyly. “I know how much trouble we got into last year trying to find a vial. So… I thought maybe you’d like your own.” She laughed softly. “I spent months trying to get it right, following every rule— it was quite the endeavour, if I'm honest."

He was silent for a beat, his thumb brushing over the vial, visibly awed. “You made this for me?”

She nodded, biting her lip nervously. “I thought… if you ever need a bit of extra luck. Merlin knows you find enough ways to get yourself into trouble.”

Sebastian’s eyes softened, and he carefully set the vial down before looking at her with an intensity that made her heart pound. “You didn’t have to go to all that trouble,” he murmured, his voice lower, as though he were struggling to find the right words. “But… thank you."

He held her gaze a moment longer, and then, as if realizing he’d almost said too much, he looked away, his cheeks faintly pink. “Alright, my turn,” he said, picking up another of the gifts and holding it out to her.

Evangeline took it and carefully peeled back the green paper, her fingers trembling slightly as she revealed a small, elegant satchel with a soft, worn-in leather texture. She looked up at Sebastian, a mixture of curiosity and surprise in her eyes.

“Wow, Sebastian... this is such a beautiful bag,” she breathed, tracing her fingers over the smooth surface.

Sebastian grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Not just any bag. Here, watch."

He leaned over, taking the satchel from her hands with a glint of excitement in his eyes. “Let me show you,” he said, and in one swift motion, began picking up random objects around the room—a few books, a teacup, even a throw pillow from the couch—and tossed them into the satchel.

Evangeline watched, half-amused and half-baffled, as he kept adding things, the bag barely bulging under the growing weight. When he was done, he handed it back to her with a triumphant smile.

“Now, think of something you want from the bag,” he instructed, gesturing for her to give it a try.

She took a breath, humouring him with a skeptical smile as she thought of one of the books he’d tossed in. Almost instantly, her fingers brushed against it, and she pulled it out, marveling at how easily it had appeared.

“Oh, Sebastian, this is incredible!” She ran her hand over the bag’s smooth leather, the realization dawning on her that this was no ordinary charm. “It’s like it knows exactly what I’m looking for.”

Sebastian’s grin widened. “Because it does. No more endless digging for whatever you need; just think of it, and there it is.”

She stared at the bag, overcome by how thoughtful—and genuinely useful—the gift was. “How did you even think of this?” she asked, her voice full of wonder.

He shrugged, trying to look casual but clearly pleased by her reaction. “I noticed how you’re always carrying around way too much stuff. Figured it might help you actually find what you're looking for,” He paused, a hint of softness entering his voice. “Besides, if you’re going to be off getting into all sorts of trouble, you’ll need to be prepared.”

Evangeline chuckled, a warmth spreading through her chest as she glanced down at the bag, feeling a surge of gratitude for his thoughtfulness. “Well, it’s perfect. Honestly, I don’t know how you thought of something so… exactly what I needed.”

Sebastian’s expression softened, his gaze holding hers for a long, unspoken moment. Finally, he reached for another small bundle, handing it to her, “Alright,” he murmured, his voice almost shy. “Last one.”

She took the gift, her fingers tracing the delicate edges of the wrapping before she carefully peeled it open, revealing a small candle encased in a glass holder, the wax a soft shade of purple. Her brow furrowed in curiosity, looking up at him.

“A companion candle,” he explained, watching her reaction closely. “It’ll light up whenever the person you’re thinking of the most is also awake.” He rubbed the back of his neck, as if trying to brush off the vulnerability in his voice.

"How lovely," She murmured as she reached for the candle’s lid, lifting it with a faint tremor in her fingers. The moment it came free, the wick flickered to life, as though it had been waiting for her touch. Its soft glow filled the room with a warm, golden light, and the scent of vanilla and lavender drifted between them.

Sebastian watched the flicker of the flame, casting its soft glow across her face, accentuating the warm curve of her smile and the gentle sparkle in her eyes. He couldn’t help but wonder, for the hundredth time since he bought the candle, who the it might connect her to—was it him, right now, as he sat here beside her? Or could it be someone else entirely? The thought twisted uncomfortably in his chest. It could even be Lysander, he supposed, and that thought made him hesitate, his gaze flicking to the flickering flame.

But before he could dwell on it, Evangeline’s soft voice pulled him from his thoughts. She held the candle close, watching the flame with a tender smile as she murmured, “Well, I guess now I'll always know… if you’re up causing trouble at odd hours.”

Sebastian’s heart stilled, her words sinking in slowly, their meaning filling him with a quiet thrill and palpable relief. His mind raced, replaying the words in his mind. The candle had tied itself to him—of all people. It was him that Evangeline thought of most often, him sparking the candle’s flame.

He felt his lips curve into a soft, almost bashful smile, trying to cover the swell of happiness by brushing off the comment with his usual humour, “Trouble?” he echoed, feigning innocence. “Me? I’m practically a model citizen.”

She gave him a playful, knowing look. “Uh-huh, sure,” she teased, rolling her eyes. “You’re practically a Slytherin saint.” Then, with a gentle smile, she reached for her own final gift, retrieving a small box, “For you,” she said, her voice a soft murmur.

He chuckled, but there was a softness in his gaze he couldn’t quite hide as he took it, his gaze lingering on her face for a moment before he carefully peeled back the wrapping, uncovering a smooth, dark case.

Inside, nestled in velvet, was a delicate glass vial, its contents swirling with a faint, silvery shimmer. Sebastian’s breath caught as he looked up, meeting her gaze with a mixture of surprise and wonder.

“Another memory,” she explained, her voice barely above a whisper. “One I... thought you might want to hold on to."

He smiled, tilting the vial gently as the memory swirled within, "I can't wait to see which one it is this time."

Evangeline’s lips curved into a soft smile, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Well I'm not going to ruin the surprise,” she murmured.

With a smile, Sebastian slipped the memory back into its case, his fingers brushing over the smooth velvet with a reverence that made her heart ache, and before she could stop herself, she reached out, gently pulling him into a hug. Immediately, his arms were around her, strong and sure, wrapped her in his warmth. His hand pressed gently against her back, his fingers splaying as if he wanted to memorize the feel of her there. She relaxed against him, letting herself melt into his embrace, her cheek resting against his shoulder.

Sebastian’s chin brushed the top of her head as he held her close, his heart pounding in a way that felt unsteady, vulnerable. He could feel the softness of her against him, every breath in sync with his, and for a fleeting moment, he let himself hope—let himself feel the way she fit perfectly there.

He knew he should pull away, that he shouldn’t linger like this, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go. His fingers found their way to her hair, brushing a soft strand away as he pulled back, just enough to look down at her. Her hazel eyes met his, and Sebastian could feel his unspoken feelings clawing their way up his throat in the quiet.

Their faces were close, close enough that he could see the faint reflection of the candlelight in her eyes, feel her breath warm against his cheek. A heartbeat passed, and then another, as though the whole world had narrowed to just this moment, just them.

But finally, with a gentle squeeze, Sebastian forced himself to pull back, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Happy Christmas, Evangeline,” he whispered, his voice low, holding a softness that was just for her.

Her own smile mirrored his, warm and steady as she whispered, “Happy Christmas, Sebastian.”

~

Late into the quiet hours of the night, Sebastian lay on his bed, his room dimly lit by the soft glow of his own companion candle, still flickering on his nightstand. He watched the flame closely, feeling a slight tension in his chest as he waited for it to go out. His fingers traced the edge of the memory vial, its delicate glass smooth under his fingers, while his thoughts drifted to the scenes it might hold.

He’d been so tempted to view the memory earlier, but something about doing so while Evangeline was still awake felt too revealing, too personal, and the last thing he wanted was for her to somehow sense his presence in her thoughts. So when the candle flickered out… when she’d fallen asleep… then he’d be free to let his curiosity slip into her memory, to see this moment she had chosen to share with him.

It felt like it took ages before the flame wavered and went out, leaving the room in near darkness. A mix of relief and anticipation fluttered in Sebastian's chest as chest he took a breath, steadying himself as reached under his bed for the pensieve she had gifted him.

Setting it on his bedside table, he poured the silvery contents of the vial into the pensieve, watching the memory swirl and settle. His heart pounded, a blend of curiosity and anticipation making his movements careful as he leaned forward, letting himself be drawn into the memory Evangeline had chosen for him.

As the memory sharpened around him, he found himself in the grand hall of the Solstice Ball, every detail vividly brought back to life: the sweeping, ornate decor, the glittering chandelier casting soft, romantic light, and the quiet murmur of distant voices blending into the melody of a slow, stately waltz. For a moment, anxiety twisted in his stomach, worried that the memory she’d chosen to share might show something he wasn’t prepared to see. A memory with Lysander, perhaps, or a glimpse of her feeling genuinely at ease within the stiff rituals and grandeur of pure-blood society.

But then, she and Ominis materialized before him, smiling at each other as they finished their dance. And then, he saw himself approaching from across the room and the breath she held in her chest as he drew close. It was then that he noticed how Evangeline's gaze lingered on the finer details—the slight, self-assured smirk he wore, the uncharacteristically intense way he looked at her as though he were seeing her for the first time.

As the memory continued, Sebastian found himself captivated by the way Evangeline had experienced their dance. Everything beyond their shared space was muted, softened into indistinct shadows. The vastness of the grand hall, the elegance of the other guests, even the opulence of the Solstice Ball decorations—all of it had faded into a hazy backdrop in her memory. It was as if, in that moment, she’d seen nothing and no one but him.

He watched himself dance with her, his touch at her waist light but firm, his gaze lingering on her face with an intensity he now knew she’d noticed, even in those fleeting moments. The small gestures he’d made—the way his thumb traced over the back of her hand, the slight pull to bring her closer—were magnified in her memory, each touch and glance recorded with perfect clarity.

Her focus shifted as he leaned closer, her attention drawn to his smile, the curve of his mouth, the way his eyes softened whenever she met his gaze. Sebastian felt a surge of warmth realizing she had noticed these details so closely.

And then, as the final notes of the second dance began to fade, he saw himself pause, his reluctance to let go as apparent as her own. They lingered together, the air between them thick with the unspoken, but eventually, he watched himself step back, forcing himself to let her go.

Sebastian expected the memory to end there, his heart already heavy as he watched himself turn and walk away. But it didn’t. Instead, the memory lingered, holding steady as he watched Evangeline’s form move toward Lysander. And just as she neared him, something unexpected happened: she hesitated. Her steps faltered, her body shifted, and before she fully reached the Ravenclaw, she cast a glance over her shoulder.

Sebastian’s heart stilled. In that fleeting, tender look, she followed his retreating form, her gaze lingering on him in a way that felt unguarded, searching, almost reluctant. She had turned to Lysander as he had expected—but her focus had remained on him.

In her memory, Lysander’s figure was blurred, an indistinct silhouette against the brightness of their dance. Sebastian had been the only one fully in focus, as if even then, even after stepping away, he was still the one who held her attention.

The memory’s edges began to blur, the ballroom fading until Sebastian found himself once more sitting sitting alone in his room. He let out a long, shaky breath, his heart full of emotions he hadn’t expected. The memory had held more than he could have hoped, more than he could have ever guessed.

Setting the empty vial gently back on his bedside table, he allowed himself a smile, the ghost of hope flickering within him.

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

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Falling Without A Harness - Chapter 5

AU where Tom Ryder is still an asshole, just not a psychotic one. When he has good news, but no one to share it with, Parker invites him along to her brother's birthday party. A moment of weakness, or a moment for him to prove he's more than just his Hollywood ego?

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"—and Jody said she was going to wear something simple, maybe jeans and a t-shirt, but I'm not really sure I want to match that vibe or go for something a little more, you know, fun. Maybe I could finally break out the bucket hat tonight," Colt's voice droned on from the phone tucked indelicately into the crevice of her neck and shoulder. Parker was only half listening, as was the usual when it came to her brother's incessant rambling about anything related to the pretty blonde camerawoman, and while he talked, she made work of slowly peeling strips of painters tape from the freshly painted wall. The ball in her hand was nicely sized by this point of the conversation. "So, anyway... uh, wait, what was the point?"

"Was there a point?" she mused aloud. "I stopped listening when you started talking about some pony she rode once at her twelfth birthday party."

She heard him snap his fingers. "Right—the birthday party."

"Hers or yours?"

"Mine! Listen, I know that you all put a lot of work into planning this shindig—"

"Shindig? God, you're old!"

"—but I would really appreciate if you told me what to expect tonight. Just a hint will do. I'm not trying to show up wearing dress shoes to a disco if you know what I mean."

Parker stuck another piece of tape onto the ever-growing ball with a blithe snort. "I never know what you mean."

"Park," he whined, much like a child, and not the thirty-something year old man that he was. Was this year number thirty-seven or thirty-eight? She should probably figure that out before putting candles on his cake. "Come onnnnnn. Just tell me. Just a hint!"

"And ruin the surprise? No way, Jose."

"But it's my birthday surprise! You can spoil it for me. I mean, realistically, no one would blame you if, maybe, you accidentally let the surprise slip. It'd be expected coming from you, actually."

She frowned. "What do you mean it would be expected coming from me?"

"Well, you know, you can't keep a secret to save your life."

Parker tossed the ball of tape into the trash and picked up the broom with an indignant scoff. "Excuse me, I am a very good secret keeper."

A long winded and high-pitched whine followed, and she winced at the volume of it. Parker switched the phone to her other ear, certain that between her brother and Melissa she had permanent hearing damage.

"Oh, so now all of the sudden you're a locked vault!" he blathered on. "Where was this dedication to silence when I got sick at Macy Lindwigs wedding and you spent the entire evening telling everyone you could find?"

An image of Macy Lindwig, dressed to the nines in a beautiful handmade wedding dress, staring in horror as her brother puked in an azalea bush three minutes before the ceremony started came to mind.

"Oh, I totally forgot about that," she snickered, the memory almost too sweet to ignore now that it had been brought back up. "You ruined her heels that night, you know. What was I supposed to do? Not tell everyone?"

"For starters. Or, at the very least, you could have refrained from blabbing about it at Christmas," he muttered petulantly. "Grandma never looked at me the same way again. She still won't let me near her rose garden."

"Cause and effect," Parker chirped. "You drank one too many tequila shots the night before, and thus, you have to suffer the fate of Grandma judging you every Christmas Eve."

"Miami Vice premiered the night before!" he argued, shouting, in what she suspected was a deranged manner. Parker hoped he was somewhere public; perhaps a grocery store or laundromat. "Just another example of how you can't keep a secret for the life of you, not even when your brother's good name is at stake. Your only true sibling, might I add."

"And here I thought I was an orphan found in a box."

She could hear Colt kicking something, palm clasped over the speaker as he whined, before he was back. "You're worse than Judas, you know. You ruin lives just for the fun of it, no silver needed."

"Are you offering silver?"

A cough. "Uh, I mean, I'm a little tight on silver at the moment. I think I have a free sub from Publix somewhere around here."

"A coupon. Wow. So generous."

"It's a punch card, and those aren't easy to fill out, you know," he huffed indignantly, obviously put out that Parker wasn't going to accept his lackluster offer. "What if I say pretty please?"

"Ha! Nice try. I happen to like Jody, so even if I wanted to tell you what we're doing tonight—which I don't—I'm not going to. She was really excited to help me plan this year."

Some spluttering followed her resolution, before he was kicking something again. Apparently, whatever he kicked was harder than he thought, however, and the next moment her brother was wheezing in pain.

"Jesus, take it easy, alright? You're going to need your toes for tonight."

In a breathless voice, he weaseled, "tonight at...?"

But Parker was no novice when it came to keeping secrets from her brother, and so she didn't fall for the trick. "Ha, nice try," she snorted while stooping to sweep her pile of dust and paint chips off the ground. Shades of green and white stained her hands, but she didn't bother to clean them off. It would be a pointless endeavor, after all, considering what they had planned for Colt's birthday party later that evening. "I'm trying to stay on Jody's good side."

"Both of her sides are good sides," was his immediate response, something wistful coloring his tone. "She's gorgeous. If you haven't noticed."

"Trust me," Parker deadpanned with a blithe glance at her own disheveled appearance, "I've noticed."

"Do you think I should bring her flowers?"

"To your birthday party?"

"Girls like flowers. Plus, she's planning the whole thing."

"I helped!"

"I'm not bringing you flowers to my birthday party, Park. It's not about you, you know."

"Right, of course, how could I have forgotten?" she deadpanned. However, despite his disinterest in showing her any gratitude, Parker smiled at the concept that there was a man out in this world so infatuated by a woman, that he not only spent all his time talking about her, but he also wanted to bring her flowers for no good reason. If only she could find someone like that who wasn't her brother. Wishes and wants, she supposed. "As nice of a thought as that is, don't bring her flowers tonight. They'll end up wilted by the time she gets back home from the party. If they aren't totally trashed first, that is."

His tone pitched higher, eagerly. "Trashed? Why would they be trashed? Are we doing some floral vandalism tonight? Oh!" Colt cried, hands clapping together. "Are we going to a wreck-it room? I've always wanted to do something like that. You know, somewhere that wasn't on a set, anyway, where I'm being beat up for a living with props."

Parker covered the speaker of her phone to curse at herself. While she hadn't ruined the surprise, Colt was like a dog with a hambone, and was not likely to let it go anytime soon.

She cleared her throat and attempted indifference. "Not even close," she said, but it didn't sound super convincing, and with an exasperated huff, she threw her hands up. "Jesus, Colt, you're going to get me into trouble! Just chill out. Jody should be picking you up soon, anyway."

"Picking me up soon for...?"

Colt's whining was interrupted by the tinkle of the front bell, and as she switched her phone back to her right ear, Parker took a moment to scoop up the paint-splattered tarp sprawled across the floor.

Melissa had been on to something with her suggestion to repaint the store, and while they had only gotten the walls finished over the past two and a half weeks, the mossy green color with gold accented picture frames really gave some life back to her shop. It still had that musty smell, as well as a pair of flickering lightbulbs from the janky electrical sockets, but they were definitely taking a step in the right direction. The color made everything feel cozier, and once they coated the bookshelves with shades of blue and yellow and replaced the overhead fluorescents with something warmer, she thought it might look like an entirely new store for the price of a few gallons of paint.

Not to mention the color stood out from the recent tan and brown trend that had swept across Hollywood hills. Win, win.

"Ugh! Stop trying to spoil your own surprise and let it happen, alright? You're going to love it," she pacified half-heartedly while booting a stool out of the way. Too deep of a breath had the smell of laquear and paint fumes killing off some braincells, and Parker dropped the tarp along with the rest of the paint materials with a cross-eyed huff. "Plus, it was all Jody's idea, so if you hate it, I would keep that to your..."

Parker paused halfway up the aisle.

On the far end of it, a brown and black colored dog sat patiently wagging its tail at her. Its tongue was sticking out of the side of its mouth, but despite Elon Musk's predictions about the existence of intelligent life in the galaxy, she was pretty sure that the local population of Hollywood mutts had yet to grow opposable thumbs capable of opening a door.

She blinked at it.

"Er, listen," she muttered into the phone, gaze darting past the dog, but not seeing its owner. "I have to go. There's a dog situation that I need to take care of."

"A dog? I've been asking you for years to get a dog, and now you finally decide to get one on my birthday! That's so totally fu—"

Parker hung up before he could complain any further, and slowly tucked her phone into the back pocket of her jeans. The dog barked at her, as if excited to finally have her attention.

"Er—hi. Did you—how did you get in here?" she asked.

It responded by tilting its head to a ninety-degree angle. She stared, waiting, as if the language barrier would suddenly disappear.

Unsurprisingly, it didn't. The dog barked a second time.

"I don't have any treats on me," she said again, not sure else what to say, but certainly feeling like she should say something. It trotted towards her, and though it seemed friendly at first, when it stuck its head into her crotch to take too deep a sniff for comfort, Parker jumped backwards. "Ah—fuck! Buy a girl dinner first, huh?"

She sidestepped the dog, hands splayed out in front of her like she was a robbery victim, and did her best to avoid being felt up as the dog followed her towards the storefront. It nosed her rear end, and Parker let out an undignified squeak.

"Jesus! I know the humane society is underfunded and all, but this is a little ridiculous, don't you think?" she asked it.

The dog darted in front of her, nose going right back for the crotch, and Parker just barely managed to leap onto Melissa's sunken reading chair when an increasingly familiar head of blonde hair stepped out from behind one of the bookshelves.

"Talon, Jean Claude," he said, and as though the dog hadn't just been harassing her, it plopped down onto the floor right beside him. Dog and owner blinked at her in bemusement. "Don't seriously tell me that you're afraid of dogs."

Parker shot him a disgruntled glare in response, but Tom didn't seem to mind the heat packed behind it. Instead, he smirked at her, crossed one arm over the other, and languidly leaned back against the front counter.

It was obvious he was laughing at her, and not with her, and Parker added it to the list of all the things she couldn't stand about Tom Ryder. Worse though, she couldn't help but subconsciously smooth a hand over her hair, because where Jody was effortlessly gorgeous, Parker required quite a bit of effort not to look awful. And right now, with paint-stained pants, a half-assed pair of dutch braids, and miscolored converse, she was certainly not showing him her good side.

If she even had one, that is.

"I should have known you would have a pervy dog," she said while looking down her nose at him. Literally, too, considering she was still standing on the chair. Parker flushed a bright red at the realization and none-too-glamorously clambered down onto her feet. "And French, too. I think that's stereotyping, Ryder."

Despite the distrustful look she shot the dog, he seemed a whole lot less pervy and rabid now that she knew he had an owner, and when she approached it, its tail flapped back and forth excitedly.

"Insulting an entire country?" Tom harrumphed as she started to scratch the dog between its ears. "Maybe you should sit through PR training with me next time Gail hosts a session."

She blew a bland raspberry as she read the dog's name tag.

Jean Claude. Huh. Cute.

He let out a low whine when she hit a particularly sensitive spot, and in delight, he rolled onto his back with half-lidded eyes.

"Is this the one you were talking to the other day, or do you have any other expat mutts that I should know about? I can only be felt up so many times before I file a harassment complaint."

"Jean Claude isn't a mutt," he corrected her, disdain at the very idea of owning a mutt. Parker supposed adopting a kennel-dog was likely below him, being a superstar and what not. "He's an Australian Kelpie, pure-bred, and he certainly wasn't fucking cheap. His parents are award winning cattle dogs in the Australian circuit."

"That's an award category?"

"Hmph. Laugh all you want, but I'd bet he's better trained than you are. He's even trained to attack someone in the balls on command."

"So am I," she sassed while making kissy faces at Jean Claude. "Oh, he's cute. Yes, you are. Yes, you are," she cooed.

He ate it right up, tail flapping in every direction, and when she spared Tom a glance, she could feel the jealousy rolling off him that someone else was getting more attention. Dog or not. Parker snickered.

"Sorry you're stuck with this one," she added, jerking a thumb over her shoulder to gesture in Tom's general area. "But trust me, you're way cuter, and probably lower maintenance than he is."

Tom cleared his throat. "Are you done?"

"Jealous?"

"Of a dog?" he deadpanned, rolling his eyes beneath a pair of expensive Ray Bans—not at all disproving the theory—and Parker smiled at her private joke. "Hardly."

She leaned closer to Jean Claude, and spoke in a stage whisper, "I think he's jealous."

And—yup—that seemed to do it.

Tom pushed off the counter with a sharp huff, unamused by her teasing, and make a command in French. Jean Claude bounded onto his feet, trotted to where Tom was, and curled up between his legs.

Parker stood and planted her hands onto her hips. "Real mature."

"I can always show you his attack command," Tom threatened. "I doubt you'll find him as adorable when he attacks you. It's always a hit at parties, watching someone get their balls bitten off."

"I think I'm missing a critical component for that trick to work," she pointed out with a dry smile. "But, anyway, what are you doing here? If you came to return my books, they're yours, considering how much you paid for them the other day."

He shrugged. "Maybe I want my change."

"You came all the way here, through traffic, to get your change?" she echoed, clearly disbelieving his piss poor excuse. Under her stare, Tom shuffled uncomfortably on his feet. "Hm. I thought I was supposed to be the penny pincher between the two of us."

"Maybe it's not the money I care about. It's the principle of the whole thing."

"Ha! You expect me to believe that you have principles?"

Tom huffed, but she caught the crooked upturn of his mouth. Still, he played the victim—always acting, this one. "You're right. I don't just deserve change. I should get a full refund, considering how awful your book recommendations were. Not to mention the books practically fell apart when I touched them. Clearly, you sell cheap products."

"Clearly," she muttered, while flipping the sign on the front door from OPEN to CLOSED. There wasn't much going on outside, anyway, and she doubted she would be missing any customers by taking the day off early.

"You want to tell me what you're really doing here? Because we both know you liked my recommendations," she said matter-of-factly, moving to the cash register now. She had made a few sales throughout the day, more than a typical Friday, and so she carefully began stacking her receipts. "I mean, who wouldn't? Those are good books I gave you. Contact is in my top ten."

Tom leaned on the counter. "Books I bought."

She waved him off, stack of receipts in hand, as she locked the lower cabinet. Tom could complain all he wanted, but she did know that he liked her book recommendations. He had finished them all within a week, when he likely should have been spending more attention devoted to practicing for his audition. Granted, it was a sci-fi movie he was auditioning for, but—

She startled.

"Oh, duh!" Parker sprung to her full height with a curious look. "Did you get the part?"

Tom smirked.

It wasn't bashful or pleasant or soft like authors typically described their tall, dark, and handsome characters, but it was so very him that she hardly minded it. In fact, Parker sort of liked it. It crinkled the soft lines by his eyes, loosened the tension in his shoulders, and made him look younger. Nicer. Cuter.

"Of course I did," he sassed. "I told you I was going to get it."

She ignored his blatant peacocking to punch him in the shoulder. The action seemed to shock him, and Tom clutched the spot with his other hand—as if she had done some real damage—while Parker grinned. "Holy shit, that's great! I mean, sure, you were a shoo-in or whatever, but this is a big deal. Right? It's a big deal? You must be jumping off the walls right now!"

Tom gave a bemused huff, eyes darting over the length of her face, and nodded. "Biggest movie I've gotten yet," he said. "My first sci-fi film too, so, that's going to get my name out there even more than it was. I mean, if I thought I was well known before... after this, everyone will know who Tom Ryder is."

"That's awesome!"

Tom rolled his eyes at her enthusiasm, clearly not buying into it, and though Parker was so excited on his behalf, Tom seemed like he was fighting off indifference to the news. "Yeah, well, a role's a role, you know."

"Well, yeah," she hedged, waving a hand at him, "but this is your first sci-fi role, and it was one that you even told me you wanted to get. You must be at least a little excited for it. Sci-fi is so interesting, I bet filming it is gonna be a ton of fun."

"Sure," he echoed dryly. His smirk had returned, and though she wouldn't necessarily classify what his face was doing now as a smile, it was certainly close. "Fun. That's what I'm aiming for in my career: fun."

"Oh, please," she clucked her tongue at him, receipts shoved hastily into their folder. "You can be a huge movie star and still have fun doing it. I mean, isn't that the point? Doing something you love and all that. I'd imagine it's going to be a whole new experience for you, stepping into a sci-fi set."

He hemmed, mouth twisting between a smile and a frown. "I guess."

He didn't sound all that convinced. In fact, when Parker thought about it, she seemed to be far more excited about the role than he did. She tilted her head at him suspiciously. "Alright, well... what are you doing to celebrate?" she asked. "A vacation? Buying yourself a new car? Oooh—Legoland?"

He furrowed his brows at her in surprised. "Legoland?"

"It's what I would do," she shrugged. "Probably, anyway. I've never been because the tickets just don't seem worth the price, but if I had just landed a giant role in a giant blockbuster, I think buying a ticket would be the least of my worries. You could probably even write it off on your taxes."

He blinked at her. "Poor people are so sad to me."

She stuck her tongue out at him, and took delight in the way that he huffed in amusement. "Well? Come on—make me jealous—what are you doing?"

Tom shrugged. "Gail's throwing a big party next week to announce the role. She always does that. Invites her producer friends and talent agents and that sort of stuff. There'll probably be some sort of attraction, singers or a zebra or something."

"Casual," she snorted.

"She has a weird thing for exotic animals, I don't know."

"Seems like it. But that's what she's doing, what are you doing?" she needled further. "I mean, I assumed you would do a big party with your friends before then. You know—cops get called, party crashers—the whole scene."

Tom hesitated to answer, and when he did, he didn't sound all that much like himself. "Well, I can't really do that—she controls when I make go public with the news—has the whole timeline figured out, and manages all the press for it. She doesn't let me tell people ahead of time."

"I'm people."

He rolled his eyes. "You're a nobody," he said. Not to be mean; no, Tom was very clear in his words when he intended to be mean. Instead, he had said it nonchalantly, as if it was a universal truth that everyone understood. And, in all honesty, Parker got it. "I mean, who are you going to tell that would care, you know?"

"Okay, ouch," she muttered still, before barreling on. "Don't you have any non-work friends that you can go get drinks with?"

"All my friends are work friends."

"What about people that don't know Gail?"

Tom huffed and waved a hand at her. "That's the same thing, you know. She introduced me to everyone I know in the industry. Other than some set hands, we have the same circle."

Parker sank onto her heels, feeling slighted on his behalf, but knowing that she didn't really have a right to. Surely, Tom Ryder would have stood up to Gail if he didn't like her hands-on, helicopter parent approach to managing his life. And clearly their work relationship was beneficial to them both. He certainly didn't need a nobody like her feeling sorry for him.

And yet, she did.

Because, as she listened to him talk, it felt like he had to give up everything just to be a somebody in Hollywood. And while it might have been the norm for him, it was absolutely not the norm for everybody.

Did he even realize that?

"Fuck that," Parker said before she could think better of it, emotions getting the better of her. Colt always joked that she had a bleeding heart, but she had never thought there was anything wrong with that. "Come hang out with me, then."

Tom arched a brow at her, mouth parted dumbly. "...what?"

She shrugged, feeling a little like a specimen beneath a microscope, and struggled to explain herself. "I mean, you just said that Gail doesn't want you telling anybody that matters, and I only hang out with people that don't matter in the grand scheme of Hollywood politics. I'm getting ready to head to Colt's birthday party after this, and if you're not doing anything else, you may as well come with me. It won't be a celebration for you, obviously, but... it'll be fun."

He blinked at her slowly, surprise written in the fine lines of his face.

"We're not going to murder you," she huffed indignantly.

"I—I never hang out with Colt or those guys."

"Yeah, for good reason. They all sort of hate you for being an asshole on set to them. Like, all the time. I wouldn't want to hang out with you outside of work either, if I was them."

He scowled. "Oh, well, when you put it like that," he huffed. "Obviously, they're not going to want me to come. And, I may be an asshole, but I try not to gatecrash birthday parties."

She waved his concern away with a paint-stained hand. "First off, you won't be gatecrashing, I'm literally extending an invite. And secondly, they only hate you because you're a prick on set. What better way to prove that you're not a prick, by coming to Colt's birthday party, and—you know—actually being nice for once. Just don't be a dickwad. Or an asshole. Or any sort of thing that you usually are on a normal day."

"I think the saying is 'always be yourself'," he deadpanned.

"That absolutely doesn't apply here."

"Smartass."

Parker nudged him in the shoulder with an exasperated look. "Come on! What else are you going to do? Do some irresponsible spending and buy everyone a round of drinks. I bet they'll think differently of you after everybody is a few beers in."

Tom didn't seem too convinced with her logic. "Crashing his birthday party doesn't seem the best way to get on Colt's good side. I didn't even know it was his birthday."

"Now you do," she shrugged, as if it wasn't a big deal. And—well—her brother was probably going to bitch about Tom's presence at the party, but Parker also believed that after a few shots of liquor, everyone would get over the issue fairly quick. Not to mention the party itself was designed for stress relief. Bringing Tom may actually make the night. With a conniving wiggle of her brows, Parker tried again. "I know for a fact that there's room for one more. Jody and I planned the whole thing together, and if she's allowed a plus-one, so am I. Jean Claude can even come. Colt loves dogs."

Tom seemed to sway a little further with her reasoning, and with a slow nod, he finally agreed. He certainly didn't look happy about it though.

Parker punched the air. Oh, Colt is going to love this.

"Awesome! Give me a minute to lock up, and then we can go."

"Fine," he huffed, not too unlike that of a sulky toddler. "But I'm driving."

Parker smiled. Her car was a piece of shit that barely worked on a good day. She was going to insist he drive in the first place. Plus, now, she could get really drunk.

"Fine by me," was all she said, not eager to give away that piece of information just yet. "Just promise me you won't be an asshole. I won't be able to keep my reputation of favorite sister if you ruin the night."

"I'm not going to ruin the night," he snarked with a petulant glare. Parker shrugged, grabbing her things, as he asked, "...wait, I thought you were his only sister?"

"Exactly. Now, come on, I want to get there before they start assigning teams."

The bell rang as she stepped outside, Jean Claude trotting with her, and Tom hesitated for a brief moment before what she said caught up to him.

"Wait," he called, jogging after her. "What do you mean teams?"

---

Tom's presence did not go unnoticed. In fact, it had taken a mere three minutes before Jody was elbowing her to the side, a stern, disbelieving look furrowing her brows. She had let it go in a huff, however, when Parker pointed out that Tom had promised to be on his best behavior, as well as promised to buy the first round of drinks once the game was over.

That had been a lie, of course, but she supposed she could deal with that tantrum later.

Colt, on the other hand, hadn't been so easily placated, and as the twenty odd players stood in a circle, listening to the instructor drone on about safety, he weaseled next to her with a glare.

"I can't believe you brought Ryder," he hissed for the third time that night, hot breath on her face. She would have shoved him away if the instructor hadn't already reprimanded then twice for being distracting. "I mean, seriously Park, I can't stand the guy."

"Oh, really? I couldn't tell."

"Really!"

"Well, I'm sorry," she shrugged, although the apology was half-hearted at best, and Colt seemed to know this as he narrowed his eyes at her irritably. She huffed. "What was I supposed to do? Leave him behind?"

"Yes," Colt whisper-yelled. Dan glanced over his shoulder at the pair, and in perfect Seavers' sibling unison, they plastered fake smiles onto their faces with a friendly wave. He shook his head at them, but likely didn't think they were worth whatever trouble they caused, and faced forward once more. "That's exactly what you should have done!"

"It's not that easy," she argued, hissing as well. "He looked so sad! Like a little abandoned puppy dog that had just been kicked. It was a moment of weakness!"

"Oh, really?" Colt drawled. Together, they glanced over at Tom to find him ignoring everyone in the group with his head stuck in his phone. When a fly buzzed too close, he swatted at it with an icy glare. "That? You couldn't say no to that?"

"I said I was sorry!"

Parker's voice hitched higher than she intended, and the instructor paused in his speech to glare at the duo. She gave him a weak smile in return, mouthing, a guilty, sorry!

The man only got two words back into his speech, however, before Colt started whining again.

"Look, I'm totally stoked about the surprise party, okay? You did a stand-up job on it and the guest list. So how could you fuck it all up so close to the finish line?"

"What the hell does that even mean?" she asked in bewilderment. Parker shook her head. "Seriously, you need to update your sayings."

"Update my—?" Colt bit off a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose to take a long, overdrawn breath. "Why was he even at your bookstore? Since when did you two become friends? What happened to the whole—asshole, asshole, asshole—bit you had going on?"

"I still think he's an asshole," she shot back. But, well, when she caught Tom's gaze across the grass, she faltered. Did she think he was an asshole at his core? Or had he simply become someone she was beginning to understand—a dog that lashed out when someone got too close? Parker rubbed circles into her temple. "And we're not friends. And, even if we were, you have no one to blame but yourself."

"Myself?" he echoed in disbelief. "What do I have to do with this?"

"You're the one that gave him my phone number."

Colt snorted, shaking his head at her. "Fat chance of that," he said. Parker, thinking he was joking at first, fell silent when he caught the look in his eye. But, if Colt hadn't given Tom her phone number, then who had? she wondered, mentally counting down the list of people it could have possibly been.

Bigger fish to fry, she reminded herself when the list made her go cross-eyed.

"Whatever. We're not friends or buddies or whatever you think we are, so you can stop worrying about that."

Colt snorted. "Oh, sure you're not. He just happens to hang out around your bookshop and you share recommendations and, oh yeah! You bring him as a plus-one to my birthday party!"

Parker scowled. "I made the guest list, I think I have a right to bring someone along with."

"Sure, someone. Not Jaws over there."

She frowned at him, thrown off by the random insult. "Jaws?" she echoed, crinkling her nose distastefully. "What does a shark have to do with this?"

Colt sighed. "No, not the shark, the James Bond villain."

"That's a stupid name for a villain."

"I didn't write the damn thing."

"Okay, well, maybe he has the arrogance of a James Bond villain, but at least pick one from this century."

"Silva?"

"Nah. Whose the the one with the weird eye?"

Colt hummed thoughtfully, gaze darting over towards Tom. "Le Chiffre?"

Parker snapped her fingers and pointed at him. "That one!"

"Yeah, alright, I'll give you that," he conceded, nodding. "He does give off Bond villain vibes with the sunglasses and hair-do."

"Right? Oh you should have seen these glasses he was wearing last time. They were huge, and yellow tinted; like Tony Stark would wear. They were so ridiculous."

Colt snickered for a moment, enjoying mocking Tom with his sister, before realizing that he was currently mad at her. He threw his head back with a subtle groan. "Stop doing that! I'm still mad at you!"

Parker gave her brother a blithe look. "I think you're looking at this all wrong."

"Wrong? What other way should I look at it?" he snarked. "With my eyes closed?"

Resisting the urge to smack him, Parker instead gestured to their instructor, the paintball gun in his hand, and then towards Tom. "You literally get the chance to chase down and shoot, Tom Ryder, bane of your existence or whatever. Shoot him. Think about all the welts and whining and, maybe, if you're lucky, the tears you can get out of this experience. Legally. Without getting fired or arrested. What's better than that, huh? It's your very own personal rage room."

Colt considered all of that silently. He swept his gaze from the large pile of paintball guns set off to the side, to the acres of arena in front of them with inflatable obstacles, and then to his blonde alter-ego sulking at the edge of the group.

He slung an arm around Parker's shoulder with the boyish grin. "Have I ever told you how much I love you?"

Parker snorted, amused by his mood swings. "Not nearly enough. It's all Jody this, and Jody that anymore."

Jody, having finished listening to the instructor's demonstration, peered around Colt's shoulder to blink at the siblings. "What about me?"

Colt and Parker shared a silent look.

"Nothing," she said, whilst he cooed, "just talking about how pretty you are."

Jody blushed a bright rouge instantly, and Colt obviously took pleasure in that when he slung his other arm around her shoulder. Taking a deep breath, he let out a happy sigh. "My two ladies. Paintball. The smell of tears and blood on the horizon. What better way to spend a birthday?"

Parker glanced at Jody, expecting her to roll her eyes, but the camerawoman instead just smiled with something soft in her eyes.

Parker responded by wiggling out of Colt's reach. "Ew, blegh, that's disgusting. They say cooties are contagious you know."

"What on Earth are cooties?" Jody asked.

"An STD," Colt replied, only half joking, and though Jody appeared mildly disturbed by his joke, Parker had known her brother long enough to appreciate his odd ball sense of humor. "And they're not contagious if you have a shot."

Jody, not wanting to know if he was serious or not, let it go as the group slowly filed forward to get their guns, face masks, and coveralls. They followed shortly after, snickering like kids the entire way through.

In the end, Colt and Jody both got white, while Parker and Tom were given black ones.

Karma, she supposed, is that she wouldn't be able to shoot the asshole after all.

"Somehow, this is a step up for your usual clothes," said asshole chirped, pinching the baggy material hanging at her waist between his forefinger and thumb. Parker swatted him away, only for Jean Claude to bark at her. "Easy, you want to get taken down before the game even starts?"

"Please, you're lucky we're on the same team," Parker teased. He didn't seem to buy it if the blithe look he shot her was anything to go by, and she huffed at him. "I bet I could have gotten the first hit on you if we weren't on the same team. I have mad skills at paintball, Ryder. Seal Team Six type stuff., you don't even know."

Tom rolled his eyes at the same time that Colt reappeared, face mask propped on the top of his head, looking just a tad too comfortable in his onesie. Jody and Dan flanked him, and Parker didn't like their smiles one bit.

"What?" she asked.

"You suck at paintball," Colt egged. "Remember Tallahassee? You were covered in welts for weeks!"

Tom snorted, and Parker considered him the greater threat considering the fact he was standing closer to her than Colt was. She glared at him to state, "I'm not joking. I could literally take you out. Any of you," she added with a stern point of the finger sweeping through the group. "All of you!"

Not a single person believed her.

Tom went so far as to snicker at her. "I don't buy that. for a second. You're a total klutz."

She gasped. "Am not!"

Colt raised a hand. "Are too. Remember when you broke your ankle trying to play hopscotch?"

"Just—stay out of this!"

He did not, in fact, stay out of it. "What was it you said, Park? Cause and effect? You suck at sports, and the effect of that, is you're about to go down on the course."

She blew a rather wet raspberry at her brother. "Please, if you and Tom were on the same team, I would smoke both of you."

They bickered for a moment, amusing some, but boring Tom, and the A-lister broke up their argument with a long-weary sigh. "Oi! Whose to say either of you could get a shot on me?" he taunted.

The siblings turned to face him.

"Is that a challenge?" Parker asked, hands planted on her hips, whilst Colt raised his brows.

Tom shrugged, unconcerned.

"In fact, I bet I'll make it a whole round without getting shot once," Tom tacked on, ego puffing his chest out as he smirked at the group standing around. Dan rolled his eyes, while Jody coughed into her hand to hide an obvious laugh at his showboating. "I'm serious. First one to hit me gets five hundred dollars—"

Thwack! Thwack!

Tom gaped at his chest, now dotted with one yellow and one blue splatter. Parker and Colt stood in front of him, guns still smoking, and while his eyes widened in anger, the pair of siblings were more concerned with claiming the prize to notice.

"First!" Colt cried.

"What? No fucking way," Parker argued. She waved at the yellow paint splatter haphazardly, almost taking out Jody as she did so. "I was so first. Tom! Tell him!"

Tom, now even more unamused by their bickering, blinked in wide-eyed disbelief at them both. "Are you fucking serious?" he shouted. "The game didn't even start yet!"

"But you just said—"

"I meant during a match. Christ, Parker, we're on the same team," he blustered, attempting to wipe off the paint, but only managing to smear it further down his chest like a bad Jackson Pollock painting. "Fuck!"

Colt, sensing a blow-out was coming, swung his gun behind his back with a wide eyed, innocent look. "Hey man, it was all her," he started. "Totally uncool. And immature. And, really, if you need me to smack her around a little after this I totally can."

Tom glared at Colt, effectively shutting him up in seconds, before turning to Parker. Everyone watched in baited breath, nervous what he might do, and while Parker hadn't been on set long enough to know what his meltdowns looked like, the ones most familiar with Tom were left stunned by his reaction.

Or, really, how utterly tame this one was to the hundred others they had seen.

"Are you happy now?" he asked.

Parker hemmed and hawed for a moment before deciding that honesty was the best policy. "I mean, I'd be happier if you gave me my five hundred dollars."

"I'm not paying you shit."

"Oh, come on," she rolled her eyes, popping a hip as she did so. "It's not like you're cash poor or anything. You're just upset that I shot you."

Tom gaped at her in disbelief. "No shit!"

Parker, shifting her gun over her shoulder, waved the other at him blithely. "You'll get over it once the game starts. It's—heh—surprisingly therapeutic."

"Shooting me is therapeutic?"

She paused, caught up in her own statement. "Er, well, not you exactly. Just someone, in general, you know." Parker swallowed when Tom continued to stare at her. Awkwardly, she laughed. "Just... wait till you get out there, and you'll see."

Tom remained silent, blinking at her for a long, tense, moment before he rolled his eyes with a heavy sigh. And—

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

His gun went off before anyone could stop him, and Parker gaped at the trio of yellow paint that was now splattered across her chest. "Fucking ow!"

Tom smirked at her, blowing the muzzle of his gun for extra flare, before swinging it over his shoulder. "Huh. I guess you're right. I do feel better."

"Asshole!"

"Yeah, well, takes one to know one, right?" he snarked.

And—oh.

She could kill him. Really, seriously kill him.

But, well, the longer she stared at him and he stared at her, eyebrow cocked and a daring smirk in place, Parker realized above the hatred simmering in her chest, she felt something kindred and wanting flutter like butterflies. Something amused by the curve of his smirk, flushed by the scorching burn of his gaze, and—dare she think—understanding at the retaliatory strike. She had, afterall, shot first.

He had only lowered himself to her level; played by her rules.

And with a strong suspicion that Tom Ryder wasn't so much an asshole as he was just looking for someone to understand him, Parker's only response to that was to throw her head back and howl in laughter.

Despite this, no one else moved for a long moment, too busy darting their gazes between Parker and Tom in case they needed to intervene, but in an even more surprising turn of events, he laughed as well. Not so outright, and not nearly as loud, but he did. Prompted by his positive reaction, it wasn't long before Colt started to laugh, and then Jody, and then suddenly everyone was knelt at the waist in laughter.

It wasn't until their instructor honked a blow horn at them, none too amused with the pre-game warfare, that they calmed down. He honked the horn a second time at Parker and Tom, threatening to kick them out if they kept breaking the rules, and while they managed to stay straight-faced, the moment he turned his back on the group, they shared matching grins.

Maybe, she thought as they got into place, it hadn't been such a bad idea to bring him along.

And maybe, her brother thought at the exact same time, Parker and Tom being friends wasn't the end of the world.

[lucywritesagain]

All of the stories will be updated soon with links

Last updated: August 8th 2024 Navigation

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Loki’s first Christmas

Creating a family: You and Loki are trying to have a baby, but it’s harder than it seems.

Ordinary Life for an Ordinary Prince : As a former prince of Asgard it is hard for Loki to adjust to his new lifestyle which consists of working and being tired all the time. Thankfully, you are there to make things better.

Forever?: You and Loki have been together for two years. Are you willing to make it forever?

Kintsugi: Every scar has a story, but does it mean you should hate them?

Exquisite: When your insecurities show up Loki is there to remind you of your beauty

Please forgive me:Loki wants to keep you safe but you don’t like their methods

Welcome to Asgard: You visit Asgard and meet Frigga who quickly notices the way Loki looks at you

True colors: As a healer your job was to take care of the staff in the palace but when the younger prince comes to you in the middle of the night a secret is revealed and bad choices are made.

Best friends fur-ever: Loki brings home a tiny cat who quickly steals both of your hearts

Jackie and Wilson: Loki used to hate Midgardians but something changed when he met you

Silent love confessions: Loki says something they didn’t mean for you to hear.

Ace of hearts:  Loki invited you to her apartment to celebrate the day of love, hoping to take your relationship to the next level but your date went in a different direction.

Querencia:  After months of hard work you have finally achieved what you dreamed of. Loki is happy because of your success but how do you explain a god that you don’t quite share the enthusiasm?

The only one that matters: It’s a party at the tower and Loki can’t help but to feel insecure about your relatiomship with them.

New year, new love: Your boyfriend left you for another woman but Loki is there to pick up the broken pieces. During that time your crush on the god becomes something more but your own insecurities won’t let you make the first move.

While I breathe, I hope: You were sent on a mission with Loki as your partner but things didn’t go as planned.

Battlescars: Loki knocks on your door, bringing with him a sense of urgency. Something has gone wrong. What is it? How do you handle it? Is Loki coming to you first, or are you the last resort.

The beginning of something great: You and Loki celebrate the god’s birthday and you have a very important question to ask them

A lesson in ice skating:  We have read so many times about Loki teaching the Reader how to ice skate but what if this time it’t the god of mischief himself needs help. In other words you take Loki ice skating and it resolves in, well, you will need to read it to find out <insert wink face>

Halloween: Loki agreed to go trick or treating with Peter and finally starts to believe he deserves to be called a hero

Broken mirrors: During one of his depressive episodes Loki wonders if someone like him would ever be worthy of you. Will your love be enough to keep him alive?

My Silly Midgardian:  Loki’s friend/crush has the flu. Loki having no knowledge  about midgardian diseases panics and tries his best to make her feel better.

Sunflower: Loki couldn’t understand what was so spacial about sunflowers. Why you found them so beautiful and magestic. After all it was just a plant, wasn’t it?

The one with the pillow fort and lovestruck God:  You and Loki decided to build a pillow fort

Could a human love a monster :  Loki is again in a spirale of negative thoughts but can your feeling for him change the way he sees himself

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Coffee scented love: After a long day at work you come home to your favourite trickster

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