#is costco open on christmas eve

[srsumeet]

What’s open and closed on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day 2024?

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[joelmillerisapunk]

Pretty Boy Sub!Javi x F!Reader

Masterlist ★ Wordcount: 4.2K

📽 —★ Summary: The Christmas you made Javi your sub

-or -

javi teases you at the dinner table and you make him pay for it

📽 —★ Warnings: 18+, mdni, javi is a sub, lots of edging an obscene amount, javi is called pretty boy, good boy, m!oral receiving, javi is tied up with a ribbon that is stronger than steel lol, reader wears a dress and has breasts

📽 —★ Notes: thanks to @thundermartini I wrote this at 10am in a Costco on Christmas Eve waiting for them to have chickens ready to pick up because what else was I supposed to do... so anyway, thank you and @milla-frenchy for reading and being the best Javi girls around. I love you both so much. ty @saradika-graphics for your amazing dividers as always

The Christmas dinner table is a picture of warmth and cheer, twinkling lights reflecting off wine glasses and silverware, the low hum of conversation blending with the soft holiday music playing in the background. Everyone seems caught up in the festive spirit—everyone except Javier Peña.  

He sits beside you, his broad shoulders relaxed in a way that’s almost deceptive, his dark eyes glinting with something far less innocent than holiday cheer. The corner of his mouth lifts in a knowing smirk as his hand disappears beneath the tablecloth.  

It starts innocently enough—a light brush of his fingers against your knee as he leans over to pour you another glass of wine. But then his hand doesn’t retreat. Instead, it inches higher, his calloused fingertips drag along the inside of your thigh, setting your skin on fire even through the thin fabric of your dress. If anything he could say you were asking for it, not wearing underwear at the table.

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep your expression neutral and your hand tightens around the stem of your glass. Javier leans closer, his lips brushing against your ear under the pretense of saying something.  

“You’re awfully quiet, cariño,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “Something wrong?”  

You shoot him a pointed look but his fingers slide higher, just grazing the edge of your folds, and it takes everything in you not to let out a soft gasp.  

The chatter at the table continues, oblivious to the silent battle happening under the tablecloth. Javier’s thumb presses lightly against you, slow moving, sending a pulse of heat straight through you. You squirm slightly, and his smirk widens.  

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice dripping with faux concern.  

You don’t answer, but your hand drops to your lap, brushing his wrist away just long enough to regain your composure. When your fork slips from your hand and clatters to the floor, Javier barely hides his amusement.  

“I’ll get it,” you say sweetly, pushing back your chair and slipping under the table.  

The faint flicker of triumph in his expression vanishes as your hand slides up his thigh, your nails dragging over the denim of his jeans. Javier tenses, his breath hitching when your fingers press against the bulge straining against the fabric.  

“Careful papi,” you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear, your lips brushing the edge of his belt as you work the button open. His hand twitches as he grips the tablecloth, but he doesn’t stop you.  

You free him, your hand wrapping around him with a firm, teasing stroke. His hips shift slightly, a faint curse slips from his lips as you run your tongue along his length, savoring his quiet reaction.  

“Everything alright, Javier?” one of the relatives asks, and Javier clears his throat, forcing a smile.  

“Yeah,” he replies with a tight voice. “Just, uh, enjoying the food.”  

You suppress a smile, your movements are languid, making it as hard as possible for him to focus. His thighs tense and his fingers twitch against the table as he struggles to keep his composure.  

Satisfied with your small victory, you tuck him back into his jeans and rejoin the table, your expression as innocent as ever. Javier’s dark eyes follow you as you sit back down, smoldering with a silent promise of retribution.  

Later that night, after the dishes are cleared and the guests have gone, you take Javier’s hand and pull him into the bedroom. The way his eyes follow you, heated and curious, tells you he knows something is coming—but not exactly what.  

“Sit,” you command softly, nodding toward the bed.  

He arches a brow at the sudden authority in your tone but obeys, settling on the edge of the mattress with his legs spread, casual yet confident. You hand him a small box, wrapped neatly with a red bow, and watch as curiosity flickers across his face.  

“What’s this?” he asks, tugging at the ribbon.  

“Your Christmas gift,” you reply, your voice deceptively sweet.  

When the lid comes off, his expression changes. His eyes widen slightly, and then he chuckles as he pulls out a long length of red silk ribbon and a smaller spool of the same material. A tiny bottle of oil is nestled beneath it.  

“You’ve been busy, haven’t you?” he says, his smirk curling upward.  

“I had to get creative,” you reply, stepping closer. “You’ve been a very bad boy tonight, Javi.”  

“Oh, have I?” he drawls, amusement flickering in his tone as he eases back onto the bed, propping himself up with his hands. His eyes glint with a playful challenge. “And what exactly did I do this time?”

You slide a hand up his chest, wrapping it around his neck and  lean in close enough that your breath fans across his lips. “You know exactly what you did,” you whisper. “Teasing me under the table like that? Getting me all worked up in front of everyone?”  

His grin grows wider. “You liked it.”  

“I did,” you admit, pulling back before he can kiss you. “But you don’t get to tease me like that and get away with it. Tonight, I’m in charge, papi.”  

You step back, letting your gaze sweep over him as you tug at the hem of his shirt. “This is in my way,” you say, pulling it up and over his head. He raises his arms obediently letting you take charge.  

Your fingers slowly trail over his chest, down his stomach, following the trail that leads lower to the waistband of his jeans. “These, too,” you murmur, undoing the button and zipper.  

“Eager, are we?”

“Quiet,” you reply with a smirk, tugging his jeans and boxers down in one smooth motion. His cock springs free, hard and already glistening at the tip, you take a moment to appreciate him.  

“Mmm look at you, now lie back handsome.” 

There’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes—he loves control, loves the chase—but there’s also curiosity. Slowly, he leans back against the pillows, his broad shoulders sinking into the mattress as he looks up at you.

You climb onto the bed, straddling his hips, and slide your hands up his arms, guiding them above his head. “Let’s make sure you don’t forget who’s in charge tonight,” you say, as you wrap the red ribbon around his wrists and tie him to the headboard.  

“Red ribbon, huh? Very festive hermosa.”  

“I'm not done,” you reply, holding up the smaller spool. His eyes darken as he watches you unwind a length of it.  

“What are you planning to do with that?” he asks.  

You smirk, trailing the ribbon down his chest, lower and lower, until it brushes against his growing erection. “This,” you say, wrapping the silky material around his already weeping cock, tying it snugly, the bow perched just below the tip.  

Javier groans and his hips jerk slightly. “You’re killing me.”

“Oh no,” you purr, sliding your fingers down the length of him, your touch featherlight. “Not yet. But you’ll wish I would.”  

You smirk and watch his eyes burn with hunger, his body already taut with tension. You get off him admiring your beautiful sunkissed gift before slowly reaching for the hem of your dress, dragging it up inch by inch until the lacy bra underneath is revealed. His nostrils flare, his jaw clenching as he fights against the silk binding his wrists, desperate to touch you.  

"Look at you," you murmur, letting the dress fall to the floor, your bra quickly following. "So eager, so needy. You can’t wait to bury your face between my tits, can you?"  

"Fuck, no, I can’t," he growls, his voice rough. His cock twitches against the ribbon, the sight of you makes him ache.  

You step forward, leaning over him just enough that your breasts brush against his lips. His tongue flicks out instantly, trying to catch one of your nipples, but you pull back with a grin.  

“Not so fast,” you say, cupping your breasts and squeezing them together, the movement making his gaze darken with lust. “You think you’ve earned this, Javi? After teasing me all night? No, baby. You’re gonna have to work for it.”  

He lets out a guttural groan, his hips jerking as he strains against the headboard. “Let me taste you, baby. Fuck—please.”  

You laugh softly, dragging your fingers over your nipples, tweaking them until they’re stiff, your breath hitching slightly at your own touch. His eyes are locked on you, his desperation is palpable.  

"Look at how hard you are," you taunt, glancing down at his cock, admiring the pretty ribbon straining against his shaft. "You’re throbbing just watching me, aren’t you?"  

“You’re fucking killing me,” he growls, his voice is rough with frustration.  

“Oh, I’m just getting started,” you reply, leaning down again to press your chest against his face. This time, you move them against his lips, letting him feel the softness he craves but pulling back just as he tries to latch on again.  

“Bet you want to suck on these tits so bad, don’t you?” you purr, dragging a nipple across his cheek. "Bet you’d bury your face right here, lose yourself completely, wouldn’t you?”  

“Fuck, yes," he rasps, his voice breaking. "Let me, baby, please. I’ll do anything."  

You trail your fingers down his chest, over his stomach, until you’re lightly stroking his cock. His hips buck at the touch, his head tilting back as he groans.  

“You’ll get what you want,” you promise, gripping his shaft just enough to make him gasp, “but not until I’m done with you. And baby, I’m gonna take my sweet time ruining you tonight.”

“Please,” he groans again, as you straddled him. His voice drips with need, more desperate than ever. The sound of his beautiful, breathless whines sends a shiver down your spine—you think you could grow addicted to them.

“Please, what?” you ask, leaning down to kiss his neck, letting your teeth graze his skin.  

“Let me touch you,” he murmurs, his tone is rough with need like a man that has been starved for far too long and it turns you on even more. “I’ll be good. I’ll make you feel so good, baby, just let me—”  

“No,” you interrupt, with a firm voice.   

He groans. “You’re torturing me.”  

“Good, you deserve it.”  

You shift your hips, grinding against him slowly, the friction drawing a strangled moan from his lips. His head falls back against the pillows, eyes closing as he fights to stay still.  

“You’re so sensitive, poor baby,” you tease, your nails grazing his skin as you move lower. “I could make you come just like this, couldn’t I?”  

“Try me,” he challenges, never one to back down.

You smirk, sliding off him, in between his legs, your tongue darts out to flick over the head of his cock—a quick, teasing touch that leaves him trembling. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, his hips jerking as he tries to chase your touch.  

“Ah, ah,” you chide, sitting back. “If you can’t behave, I’ll have to tie your legs, too.”  

You smirk as you settle between his legs, your fingers tracing the red ribbon tied snugly around his cock.  “You look so pretty like this, Javi,” you say as you press a featherlight kiss to the tip of his length.  

“Pretty? I don’t think anyone’s called me that before.”  

“First time for everything,” you tease, your lips brushing against him again. “And right now, you’re all mine, pretty boy.”  

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond—not when you take him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the head slowly. His reaction is immediate—a sharp intake of breath, his thighs tensing beneath your hands.  

Fuck, hermosa,”his voice is strained, thick with need, desperate for more. “Stop teasing. Just—let me—”

You hum around him, taking him deeper, the ribbon soaking with his arousal and your spit. Your hand strokes the base of his cock in tandem with your mouth. The sounds he makes are delicious—low groans, muffled curses, the occasional helpless whimper when your tongue finds just the right spot.  

But just when his breathing starts to hitch, just when his hips start to buck up slightly, you pull away with a soft pop.  

“Goddamn it. Baby I can't do this, please. You already got me begging what more do you want?”

You smirk, enjoying his strangled pleas. You wipe the corner of your mouth with your thumb. “You don’t get to come until I say so.” 

You return to your slow, torturous rhythm—taking him into your mouth, sucking and stroking him just to the brink before pulling back. Each time, his curses grow louder, more desperate, until his voice is raw with need and he's begging.  

“Please,” he groans. “Please, baby, just let me—”  

“No,” you interrupt, with a sharp tone. “You don’t get to beg your way out of this, Javi. You’re going to take it, just like I did at the dinner table.”  

His eyes blaze with frustration and arousal, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. You crawl up his body, capturing his mouth in a heated kiss. His tongue pushes past your lips immediately, tasting himself on you as he groans into the kiss.

“Feel that?” you whisper against his mouth, grinding your soaked cunt against his cock, the ribbon still snug around his shaft. “Feel how close you are? How much I want you?”

You shift again, letting the head of his cock brush against your entrance, your wetness coats the tip. “You’re so close to getting everything you want, Javi. But you have to behave.”

“I’ll behave,” he promises. “Just—please, baby. Just once. Let me taste you.”

You lean over him, letting one nipple graze his lips. "Once," you whisper, your voice dripping with warning. "You get one lick, or I’ll stop. Completely. Do you understand?"

His eyes burn with hunger as he nods, and you lower yourself just enough for his mouth to capture your nipple. His tongue flicks over the sensitive peak, and you moan softly, arching into him.

The second his tongue flicks out and tries to suck harder, you pull back abruptly. “That’s all you get,” you tease, dragging your fingers through your dripping folds, coating them in your slick arousal before pressing them firmly against his lips. “Taste that, baby? Taste how fucking soaked you’ve made me?”  

Javier growls, sucking your fingers into his mouth greedily, his tongue swirling around them like a man starved.  

“You’re fucking merciless,” he rasps, his voice raw, thick with desperation.  

“Merciless?” you echo, smirking as you slide your slick fingers down to the base of his cock, stroking him slowly, torturously. “No, baby, it's just you don’t get to come until you’re begging me like your life depends on it. And even then…” You pause, leaning in close so your lips brush his ear. “I might just make you wait even longer.”  

His breath hitches, his head falling back against the pillow as he bites out a string of curses. "Fuck, baby, please. You can’t do this to me.”  

“Oh, I can,” you purr, capturing his mouth in a searing kiss, your tongue teasing his as you taste the mix of your arousal and his desperation. “And you love every second of it, don’t you? You love being completely at my mercy. You want me to let you come, Javi? Maybe I’ll just ride that pretty cock of yours until I come and leave you tied up like this, dripping and desperate.”

Satisfied with his desperation, you shift, crawling up his body until you’re straddling his face. His eyes widen slightly, and then his lips curl into a knowing smirk.  

“Oh, you want this nena?”  

Shhhh,” you snap, your grip on his hair tightening as you yank his head back. His lips part, his breathing heavy as his eyes burn into yours. “You don’t get to talk. That mouth has one purpose right now, and it’s not to speak.”

You lower yourself onto his face, thighs bracketing his head, and he immediately dives in like a man starved. The first swipe of his tongue against your slick folds draws a sharp gasp from your lips, and your nails dig into his shoulders as you grind down against him.

His muffled groan vibrates against your core, and the sound sends a shiver up your spine. His tongue works you with precision—long, slow strokes that have you trembling, alternating between licking and sucking on your clit until your head falls back, your hips moving on their own.

“Good boy,” you murmur, your voice low and breathy as you roll your hips against his face. “That’s it. Just like that. Eat me like you mean it, Javi.”

A growl rumbles from his chest, muffled by your thighs, as his tongue plunges inside. His nose presses against your clit, and the way he moves beneath you—licking, sucking, devouring—makes your thighs shake as you grip his hair tighter.

“Fuck, you’re so greedy,” you moan, your nails raking over his scalp. “You love being smothered by me, don’t you? Love how I taste, how I feel?”

Javier’s response is a guttural growl, his lips locking around your swollen clit as he sucks hard, pulling a strangled cry from your throat.

“Look at you,” you pant, grinding harder, your thighs squeezing his flushed cheeks. “You’d suffocate just to get one more taste of me, wouldn’t you? Such a desperate, filthy little thing.”

His moan vibrates against your cunt, and you let out a breathless laugh, tugging his head back just enough to let him catch a fleeting gasp of air before pushing him right back where you want him. “Not until I’m shaking, Javi. You don’t get to breathe until I say you can.”

Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, and you cry out his name, your body arching as your thighs tremble against his cheeks. He doesn’t slow, doesn’t let up—his tongue keeps working you through every shudder, every pulse of pleasure, until you’re left panting and boneless.

Finally, you lift yourself off him, your legs unsteady as you look down at him. His face is flushed, his lips shiny and swollen, his chest heaving as he gasps for air.

“You’re such a good boy for me,” you murmur, dragging your fingers over his slick, damp hair. “You’d do anything for this, wouldn’t you?”

He licks his lips, his gaze dark and feral as he nods. “Anything,” he rasps, his voice raw and wrecked.

“Good boy,” you murmur, stroking his jaw. “You earned that one.”  

Javier smirks up at you. “Can I touch you now?”  

“No,” you reply, sliding back down his body until you’re straddling his hips. His cock is still painfully hard, weeping with need.

You trail your fingers down his chest, your touch featherlight as you reach for the ribbon. “Now,” you say, your voice teasing, “let’s unwrap my real present.”

Javier’s groan is low and desperate as you untie the ribbon with deliberate care, letting it fall to the side. His cock stands free, thick and glistening, and you take a moment to admire him.

“Such a pretty gift,” you murmur, wrapping your hand around him and giving a slow stroke before positioning yourself over him. “You’ve waited long enough,” you say, sinking down onto him slowly, savoring the way he stretches you.  

Javier groans, his head falling back against the pillows. “Fuck, nena,” he mutters. “You feel so—”  

“Quiet,” you interrupt, placing a hand on his chest. “Be good for me papi and you'll get a treat.”

He nods and you start to move, your hips roll in slow, deliberate circles. The friction is exquisite, and the way his eyes darken as he watches you is enough to make you feel drunk on power.  

“You’re so good for me,” you murmur as your nails drag down his chest. “Taking everything I give you, just like a good boy should.”  

“Ah,” you warn, pressing him back down when his hips buck up again. “You don’t get to move unless I say so.”  

“Cariño,” he groans, his voice a mix of frustration and need.  

You lean down, your lips brushing against his ear. “If you’re a good boy,” you whisper, “I'll let you come.”  

You adjust your hips slightly, taking him deeper, drawing a strangled groan from his lips. His jaw tightens, but he obeys your command to stay still, though you can feel the tension in his body as he fights the urge to take over.  

“That’s it,” you purr, your fingers trailing down his sides, nails grazing his skin. “You’re learning.”  

His dark eyes lock onto yours, smoldering with restrained desire. “You’re making this harder than it has to be,” he murmurs.

“Good,” you reply, rolling your hips again, the pace slow enough to keep him on the edge without giving him relief, you lean down closer to his face. “You deserve it for what you pulled tonight, might just sit still and keep your cock warm all night.”  

A low growl rumbles in his chest. “You’re being a brat hermosa, I'm gonna return this favor later.”  

“I know,” you say with a smug smile. “But you like it, don’t you?”  

Instead of answering, he lifts his head just enough to nip at your shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin. The heat of his breath sends a shiver through you, but you don’t let him distract you.  

“Careful,” you warn, your nails dragging over his chest hard enough to leave faint red marks. “You don’t want me to stop, do you?”  

His head falls back onto the pillow with a frustrated groan. “No, don’t stop, please, don’t stop.” He begs you.

You tilt your head, pretending to consider his plea. “I don’t know,” you say, tightening your grip on his shoulders as you grind down harder. “You’ve been awfully bossy for someone tied up.”  

He grits his teeth, his hips shifting involuntarily beneath you. “I’ll be good,” he promises, his tone desperate now. “I’ll do whatever you want, just—don’t stop.”  

Your smirk widens. “Whatever I want?”  

“Anything,” he breathes. “Just tell me.”  

You pause your movements, watching as frustration and arousal war in his expression. His cock twitches inside you, and the sight of him so undone and needy sends a thrill through you.  

“Then you’re going to stay just like this,” you command. “No moving, no talking unless I say so. Got it?”  

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and nods.  

“Good,” you murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead.  

You resume your slow, deliberate rhythm, rolling your hips in a way that leaves you both gasping. Every movement is calculated to draw out his pleasure without letting him fall over the edge.  

You lean forward, dragging your lips along the column of his throat, your teeth grazing his pulse point. His body arches beneath you, and you feel the control he’s so used to having slip further and further away.  

“Please,” he rasps again, his voice thick with need.  

“Please what?”  

“Let me come,” he groans, the words ripped from him. “I need it baby. I can’t—”  

You cut him off with a sharp roll of your hips that has him biting back a curse. “Shhh pretty boy. I know you're hurting, I got you, don't worry, but you need to be quiet for me.” 

Javier’s chest heaves, his dark eyes pleading with you, but you don’t relent. 

His entire body is taut like a bowstring, his lips part as if to speak, but no words come out—just a low, guttural sound that makes you shiver.  

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” you murmur, your nails raking lightly over his chest. “You can feel it, can’t you?”  

“Fuck, yes,” he chokes out, his head thrown back as he teeters on the brink.  

You slow your movements again, watching as frustration clouds his features. His hips jerk upward in a desperate attempt for more friction, but you press him back down with a firm hand on his chest.  

“No moving,” you remind him, your voice a soft but stern command.  

Javier’s growl is deep and feral, but he forces himself to obey, his body trembling with the effort it takes to stay still.  

Finally, when you decide he’s suffered enough, you quicken your pace, your hips grinding down on him with a purpose. His entire body tenses beneath you, his breaths coming in harsh, uneven gasps.  

“That’s it,” you purr, leaning down to nip at his earlobe. “I want you to come for me, Javi. Show me how good you can be.”  

The permission is all he needs. With a strangled groan, his release crashes over him, his body shuddering violently beneath you. You don’t stop moving, drawing every last wave of pleasure from him until he’s a trembling, panting mess.  

You finally slow to a stop, your body still trembling from your own lingering aftershocks. Leaning down, you press a soft kiss to his lips, savoring the way he melts into it.  

“Good boy,” you murmur against his mouth, your fingers tracing the faint red marks on his wrists as you untie him.  

Javier groans softly, his arms falling to his sides as he gazes up at you with a dazed, satisfied expression. “You’re going to be the death of me, cariño,” he mutters.  

You grin, brushing a strand of hair from his damp forehead. “And you wouldn’t have it any other way.”  

[theworldoffostering]

Arrived to my mom’s beautiful house at 6am. I am exhausted. God bless my mom. She was asleep, but had made the house so that we could all crawl into a bed immediately. I was so grateful.

Her house is tiny—two bedrooms. I sent one kid in to sleep with her, and then DH and I have the other bedroom. We put NB between us in the king size bed, and then Baby in a pallet in the closet (we told him he’s like Harry Potter). My mom has a pull out sofa so H and DS slept on that. The house is an open concept, so once people go to bed, there’s really no place to congregate except the lanai, but that will work just fine tonight because I need to go to bed at like 8pm.

We are now off to have a very late seafood lunch (except for DH who is allergic), and then go to Costco to get a ham for Christmas Eve (I don’t eat ham, so I’m getting myself a steak). It’s on the cooler side in Ft. Myers today, but my kids are asking for the pool, so I may take them later depending on how everyone is feeling, but hoping for a mostly low key and low stress afternoon/evening. 

[leafatlas]

Target, Walmart, Costco & More Hours – Hollywood Life

Enter and Win With Amazon Image Credit: Getty Images It’s Christmas Eve, and whether you’re working or not, you may need to make a quick stop for last-minute essentials. As the Midwest and Northeast are getting pounded by snow or cold temperatures, many have to stock up on their kitchens. So, what is the main store which is open on December 24? Keep reading to find store hours for Target,…

[okgooglenews]

What grocery stores are open on Christmas Day 2023? - NJ.com

* What grocery stores are open on Christmas Day 2023?  NJ.com * Christmas Eve 2023 hours: Costco, Walmart, Target, Macy's close early  Axios * Merry Christmas 2023: Know date, history, significance, and tradition  Mint * What's open on Christmas Eve 2023? See the hours for major stores and restaurants.  CBS News * Is Walmart Open on Christmas 2023? Details on Walmart Store Hours  TODAY http://dlvr.it/T0ZCzg

[customercares4u]

Michaels Arts & Crafts Hours | CustomerCares4u

The Michaels Companies is one of the largest providers of home decor merchandise like arts and craft materials, wall decor, floral, framing, etc. If you are finding Michaels Hours from your nearest location? For more info, visit us at CustomerCares4u.

[thegirlonpeetamellark]

Christmas Break - Part 1

Surprise!! After a looong time away Court returns to Everlark fic world with a little holiday treat for everyone  - enjoy! :)

Hi everyone. So 2020 has sucked. For me, the beginning of quarantine was actually a bit of a gift. Being home gave me the gift of time, something I haven’t had much of as my daughters (who were very little when I started writing in this fandom) have gotten older. While I never stopped writing, it was a struggle to find long enough chunks of time to get into a flow. I started writing again with earnest. Not all of it was my fanfiction; some of it was my original work. El keeps me posted on the humbling and kind asks she gets about my writing. I felt bad that despite my increased writing, I still wasn’t ready to update any WIPs. But I did remember a story I had started for the final holiday PiP that I was never able to get past the first page (due to lack of time that year) and to my surprise, it started flowing. I had every intention of finishing it and having El post it as a gift to this fandom. But once my school went “back” in October and hybrid learning started, that was it. My time was gone. And further, my family experienced the very sudden and non-Covid-related death of my aunt. So while I have nearly half of this story written, it’s not done. But it will be, very soon, since it is a one-shot. As with all my stories, it took on a life of its own and it needs more love. So what I have for the readers who have loyally followed me is the first part, the part that involves Christmas. It’s my hope to have a second part posted in a week or two, so that by the time that part posts, a final part is nearly done. 

Thank you for your asks and your patience, and thank you to El, one of my favorite people in this world and the best thing my time in this fandom has given me. Thank you for your encouragement. Our friendship means the world to me. 

Here’s to a better 2021. Love to you all. Court

Christmas Break

Fuck, not again, Peeta grouses as the opening notes of that insidious Mariah Carey song pipe through the loudspeaker. That’s the third time in the last two hours. He’s all for holiday spirit, but if he never hears this fucking song again it will be too soon.

Leaning his forehead against the cold pane of glass, he peers out of the fourth-story window into the darkened sky. When he had arrived at work a few hours ago, the snow had just been starting to fall; a slow, lazy tumble of flakes. Now it’s coming down in a tumultuous swirl. It figures Panem would finally see a white Christmas his first Christmas Eve on rotation in the emergency room. No doubt the weather is partially to blame for the crush of bodies crowding the waiting room tonight. 

Peeta walks away from the window and opens the cabinet where he stashes his Clif bars. The economy-sized box looks suspiciously closer to empty than it did the other day. He’s heard complaints from other doctors and nurses that snacks are pilfered on a regular basis and was warned to label his own boxes. But he had forgone the warnings. If someone needed an energy bar badly enough to steal one, what was the $20 he had spent on them at Costco. He snags one and unwraps it. 

He’s just raised it to his mouth when his Apple watch pings and his silenced cell phone pulses insistently against his thigh. Heaving a loud sigh, he sets down the energy bar and withdraws the phone from his pocket. 

“Mom, you’ve got exactly 60 seconds,” he grits out. He doesn’t even need to look at the screen to confirm it’s her. She’s called twice already tonight, calls he’s ignored with good reason, but somehow his mother thinks a phone call from her trumps any actual emergencies her doctor son could be dealing with. Which, tonight, have been nonstop since his shift began at six. 

“Please tell me you ate something,” she begins. 

“I was just about to, when you called,” he replies. “I’ve only got a couple of minutes. It’s been utter chaos for the last four hours.” 

“We missed you at dinner. I can’t remember the last Christmas Eve when I didn’t have all three of my boys together.” Peeta closes his eyes. All these years my mother has been gushing about having a doctor in the family, and yet she never stopped to consider the ramifications of actually having a doctor in the family, he thinks. Particularly its impact on holiday gatherings. She obviously hadn’t learned anything from this past Thanksgiving, as now, just a month later, she’s already dumping a fresh guilt trip on him for missing another family dinner.

She continues, “And Jackson and Maxwell were just devastated when they heard you weren’t coming, until I assured them they’d see you tomorrow. We will see you tomorrow, yes?” 

Peeta suppresses another exasperated sigh and breaks off a chunk of the Clif bar. “Yes, Mom, I’ll be there.” And though it’s childish, he crams the bar into his mouth and mumbles around it, “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” His chewing masks the sarcasm that weighs down the words. 

“Excellent. We need an updated family portrait before Everly and Rye have to leave for her parents’ house.” Placated, his mother moves to ends the call, but not before getting in a less-than-subtle comment about how much she adores his brother Rye’s fiancée and how happy she is Rye is settling down. 

Staring at the disconnected call flashing on the screen, Peeta tries not to let the remark get to him. Mostly because he knows it’s a lie. His mother has complained more than once about Everly and how she’s not good enough for Rye. Peeta knows the dig was directed at him. He hasn’t truly had a serious girlfriend since junior year of college; just a few casual relationships that barely qualified as relationships. He doesn’t know how his mother expects him to meet someone with the hours he keeps. And his father, for as close as they are, never seems willing to jump to Peeta’s defense. 

Taking a deep breath to let his irritation suffuse, he jams his phone back in his pocket and scarfs down the rest of his pathetic dinner. All three bites of it. Then he uses the restroom, dutifully washes his hand, and stalks out of the staff lounge, his short break over.

As he strides up the corridor, he hears loud shouting coming from the ER waiting room. 

“…should be asleep in her bed, waiting for Santa Claus to come, but instead, we’re still here waiting for someone to take a look at her arm! It’s been over two hours! Don’t you people have any compassion? Or is Ebenezer Freaking Scrooge running this place tonight?”

Curious, Peeta veers towards the reception desk, where his eyes land on the ranting woman. She’s young, probably no older than her mid-twenties, and in spite of the fact that her dark hair is spilling out of a messy braid and she’s not wearing any makeup, Peeta is immediately struck by her beauty. The rosy flush to her cheeks from her tirade actually makes her even prettier. She’s cradling a toddler and protectively shielding the little girl’s right arm. The toddler’s blonde head rests on her mother’s shoulder, her thumb wedged into her tiny pink mouth. Her left arm clutches a stuffed orange cat. She looks tired. Actually, both mother and daughter do. 

“Miss, I understand your frustration, I really do,” the receptionist says calmly, her eyes cutting to Peeta as he stops by her side. He reads the name on the file on top of the stack, the next patient scheduled to be seen: MCMURPHY, JOSEPH. Clearly not the little girl in front of him. 

“I don’t think you do!” the young mother cries, her eyes flashing steel. “She’s three, she’s in pain, and she’s scared. And what’s more, I’ve seen at least five people go ahead of us who came in after us!” 

“That’s not how the emergency room works, miss,” the receptionist replies. She drums her fingertips on the desk, offering the young mother a tight smile. 

“It’s Christmas Eve,” the young mother adds, an edge of desperation creeping into her tone. Discreetly, Peeta moves around the receptionist’s chair, scanning the desktop until he spies the stack of files for the patients awaiting admission. While the receptionist continues to give the young mother the run-around, he thumbs through the stack, searching. His eyes land on what he’s looking for: a date of birth. His lips tip up. Bingo. This has to be it: HAWTHORNE, IVY ANN. 

At the exact second his hand snatches Ivy’s file from the pile and slips the other one in amongst the stack, the young mother’s eyes lock on his. Her gaze narrows. He can see the exhaustion all over her beautiful face. Her full lips twitch, her countenance suspicious as they stare at one another. 

“Ivy Hawthorne?” Peeta taps the file he had extricated. An immediate flicker of relief lights the young mother’s mercury eyes, and that lush mouth breaks into a grateful, relieved smile. The receptionist’s neck snaps up. “I’ve got this,” he adds, his tone leaving no room for her to argue with him. It’s not protocol for Peeta to take a patient directly, but it’s also not blatantly against the rules. Sure, it might mean a little more work for him, but if it means he can get this little girl home sooner on Christmas Eve, it’s worth it.

He smiles at the little girl. “Ivy, I’m Doctor Mellark. I’m going to help make you feel better, okay?” She nods once but doesn’t lift her head from her mother’s shoulder. Peeta’s arm sweeps to the side, ushering the young mother and Ivy past the desk. He scans the hallway and spies a partially drawn curtain halfway up the corridor. He leads them to the available partition and close the curtain behind them. As he turns to face them, he nearly slams into the woman. She hasn’t moved, and her luminous grey eyes fasten to his. She looks as if she’s going to say something, but several seconds pass and she’s still quiet, still watching him. The silence starts to become uncomfortable. Peeta clears his throat.  

“If you’d have a seat, please, Mrs. Hawthorne. You can hold her while I get some more information from you.” 

The young woman’s lips part slightly, again appearing as if she wants to say something, but instead she shuffles forward and Peeta waits while she settles on the edge of the hospital bed, gingerly adjusting Ivy so she’s sitting sideways across her mother’s lap. 

Peeta sinks down onto the stool and scoots towards the edge of the bed. This close he has a much better look at Ivy’s mother. She really is a beautiful young woman, and given how adorable Ivy is Peeta assumes her husband is probably also very attractive. He feels a twinge of jealousy. Lucky bastard. Pretty wife, cute kid…probably has a nice little house and a golden retriever too. Living the dream. His dream, if he allows himself to admit it to anyone but his mother. If he was being perfectly honest, he had always envisioned himself married by now. 

“How old are you, Ivy?” he ask, even though he knows from her chart and her mother’s declaration that she’s three years old. She hesitates, and still clutching the stuffed cat, manages to display three fingers. Peeta smiles at her again.

“I have a nephew who is the exact same age as you are. He told me just last week that he’s a big boy now. Are you a big girl, Ivy?” He keeps his tone gentle, hoping it will put her at ease with him. She nods, her big blue eyes lightening imperceptibly. “I thought so. Can you be a big girl and tell me what happened to your arm?” 

Her mother answers automatically, “She fell. I was only gone—” Peeta holds up his palm. He has the triage nurse’s initial assessment, so he knows Ivy’s arm is likely broken. What he doesn’t know is how the arm got broken. And those details he needs to try to get from Ivy herself. Kids her age always tell the truth when it comes to how they were injured, and unfortunately it’s part of Peeta’s job to make sure there isn’t a more sinister reason she’s in the E.R. tonight, no matter how sweet and innocent her mother appears. He’s already had a few encounters with suspected child abuse, though his gut tells him that isn’t the case with Ivy Hawthorne.

“Please. I would like Ivy to tell me how it happened.” 

Something dangerous flints in Ivy’s mother’s now stormy grey eyes.

“She. Fell.” The words are curt, enunciated coolly, but her voice is soft and Peeta can tell she’s keeping her temper in check for the benefit of her daughter. Eyes still pinned to his, she inhales deeply. A second later, her shoulders relax. “Go ahead and tell the nice doctor how you hurt your arm,” she whispers, stroking Ivy’s curls. 

“I was trying to see Santa,” Ivy replies, her tongue tripping in a lisp on the “S’s.” 

“What do you mean by that?” he prompts her. 

Ivy scrunches up her button nose. “I was trying to see up the chimney. ‘Cause the chimney at Aunt Katniss’s house is so skinny and Santa Claus is real fat and I don’t know how he’s gonna fit down it to bring me my presents!” Her blue eyes brim with tears and her lower lip starts to tremble. Peeta reaches over and pats her knee. 

“I wouldn’t worry about that, sweetheart. Santa Claus is magic. He’ll get you your presents, no matter what the chimney looks like.” He exchanges a look with her mother. 

“It was all my fault,” she says quietly. “I went in the kitchen, to get the cookies and milk—”

“And the carrots! For Rudolph and the other reindeer!” Ivy chimes in, her eyes shiny wet. 

“I never should have left her alone, not even for a second. This is my fault. It’s my fault. She wouldn’t have slipped and fallen off the hearth if I had been watching her.” Guilt chokes her words, and it sounds as if she’s close to tears. 

“Accidents happen, Mrs. Hawthorne,” Peeta says empathetically, “that’s why there are emergency rooms.” She presses her lips together, her brows knitting.  

“It’s Everdeen,” she says quietly. Peeta drops his eyes to Ivy’s chart, and furrows his brows, his gaze wandering to the young woman’s left hand. No ring. A brief thrill curls through him at the thought that she’s single. Asshole, he immediately chides himself. So not what you should be thinking about right now. He scans the chart more carefully and shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, “but this lists Primrose Hawthorne as the mother, under the Parent/Guardian information, and a Rory Hawthorne as the father. I just assumed—”

She cuts him off. “Primrose Hawthorne was her mother. But I’m not Primrose Hawthorne. I’m Katniss. Katniss Everdeen. I’m her aunt. I should be listed as her primary emergency contact.” She swallows and squeezes her eyes shut briefly. When she opens them, they plead with his. Peeta glances down at Ivy, and then raises his eyes to Katniss again. The guilt that was clouding those silver irises a moment ago has dissipated, replaced with anguish. He doesn’t know what the full story is here, but he didn’t miss Katniss’s usage of the past tense in referring to Ivy’s mother. So he honors her silent appeal not to ask questions.

“Okay, Ivy, you fell, and you landed on your arm? I bet that hurt,” Peeta says to the little girl, but his gaze stays fastens on Katniss. She gives him the faintest smile and mouths, “Thank you.”

~*~*~*~

An hour later, the orthopedist informs Peeta that Ivy Hawthorne is ready for his approval to be discharged. Not wanting to keep her and her aunt waiting any later than necessary, he sets down the X-ray he had been studying, and heads back to where Ivy is. 

Standing outside the curtain, he hears quiet singing. He draws back the curtain and sees Katniss seated on the bed, with Ivy nestled in her lap. A bright pink cast safely cocoons the girl’s arm. Her blonde head rests on Katniss’s shoulder. Her eyes are closed, and her little body rises and falls with the deep breathing of sleep. 

Katniss continues to sing, unaware of Peeta’s presence. He doesn’t recognize the tune she’s singing. It’s not a Christmas carol, at least not one he’s ever heard before, but he continues to listen, captivated by her voice. It’s soft and decidedly feminine, but there’s raspy undercurrent to it that gives him chills. It’s like the first sip of a rich, smoky bourbon.

Gingerly, he tiptoes towards the bed and stands before her for several more minutes, until Katniss finally lifts her eyes. She immediately stops singing. Peeta smiles and nods towards Ivy.

“Someone is worn out,” he whispers. Katniss’s lips twitch into a chagrinned smile. 

“I’m sure the second we get home she’ll be wide awake and it’ll take forever to get her into bed. She was already amped up about Santa Claus before this.” She tips her head and gestures with her chin towards Ivy’s arm. 

“Warm milk. With a little bit of cinnamon,” he suggests. 

“Really?” Her eyes round. “Cinnamon? That really works?” Disbelief clouds her words. He shrugs sheepishly.

“I have no idea. No kids. And I’ve never had much trouble sleeping. I’m usually asleep the minute my head hits the pillow. But I’ve heard from a friend with a toddler that it does the trick.” He waits for her to say something—anything—in response, but she doesn’t. Her gaze is back on the sleeping toddler in her arms. 

Watching her stare tenderly at her niece causes something unexpected to claw at Peeta’s chest and he’s overwhelmed by a fierce compulsion to want to keep her here, to get to know more about her. It’s been a long time since he felt this kind of instant attraction to a woman. Why couldn’t he have met her under different circumstances? 

“Are we all done, doctor?” 

Peeta startles from his thoughts and offers Katniss an apologetic smile.

“Yes, sorry. You are good to go as soon as you sign here—” He holds the clipboard at an angle, to allow her to sign without having to disturb Ivy, “and here.” He flips the sheet back to the second page and she scrawls her name across the line there, too. Normally a nurse would go over discharge papers and protocol with patients, but Peeta had taken it upon himself to grab Ivy’s. He needed to spend every possible minute in Katniss’s presence. 

Once the release forms are complete, he review the plan for Ivy’s follow-up care, including how to manage any pain she has and when she’ll need to return to have the cast removed. Katniss listens attentively. 

When he’s finished, she stands up slowly, her movements tentative so as not to jostle Ivy. A sigh parts the little girl’s lips and she stirs, but she remains asleep. God, she’s cute, Peeta thinks. 

“Thank you, Dr. Mellark,” Katniss says softly. “For everything. I know what you did…” She falters. “I mean, I know we, ah, weren’t next, and ah…” Peeta waves a hand dismissively, sensing her discomfort with his hijacking of the queued patients.  

“It was my pleasure,” he replies. “Little girls should be home on Christmas Eve. Waiting for Santa.” He echoes Katniss’s earlier words. “I hope he’s good to her.” 

He doesn’t miss the forlorn expression that flits across Katniss’s face as she glances down at her sleeping niece. 

“He can’t bring her what she wants most, but he’ll try,” she murmurs and moves towards the open curtain. Just before she steps out into the hall, she pauses and turns to face Peeta.

“Merry Christmas,” she adds.  

“Merry Christmas,” he concurs. With a faint smile, she steps around the curtain. It rustles in her wake and resettles. Peeta exhales and slumps against the wall, regret washing through him, followed by a stronger wave of sadness at seeing Katniss go. If it hadn’t been for Ivy, he might have concocted some kind of delay to keep Katniss here longer, found some excuse to pry more information out of her. Like if she’s single. A surge of adrenaline spikes in his blood. He can’t let her go this easily.

He bolts out into the corridor, scanning the bustling hallway for any sign of Katniss and Ivy, but they’ve vanished. Disappointed, his shoulders slump as he trudges towards the nurses’ station to hand off Ivy’s file. 

It’s probably best, a nagging little voice inside him taunts, and he reluctantly concedes that it probably is. As much as he’d love to finally shut his mother up and find a woman that he’d want to spend more than a night with, it’s not fair to subject one to the kind of schedule he has to keep. New doctors are low-man-on-the-totem-pole. He’s had mostly graveyard shifts and he’s often on call. It’s his dream to have a pediatric practice, but he’s well aware that he’ll have to toil for a couple of years to get on track to make that dream a reality. 

A few minutes later, en route to his next examination, Peeta spies Johanna, one of the triage nurses, coming out of the room Ivy had occupied. His eyes immediately narrow when his gaze lands on her left arm.

“Was that in there?” He motions towards the vacated room and then nods towards the stuffed cat Johanna has wedged under her armpit. 

“What, the cat? Yeah. It must have fallen under the bed. I’ll take it to the station, in case someone comes back to claim it.” 

Ivy’s cherubic little face flashes in Peeta’s mind. He remember how fiercely she had been clutching that cat, and how she had reluctantly agreed to put it down when it had been time for Delly, another one of the triage nurses, to take her for X-rays. 

Peeta’s pulse quickens and he immediately thrusts his hand towards Johanna. “I’ll take it,” he says impulsively. She wrinkles her nose and cocks her head, her hazel eyes intensely scrutinizing him. Though they have a casual friendship, Johanna is far too insightful for her own good. Peeta doesn’t really need her questioning his motives for taking possession of the toy. 

“The little girl it belongs to goes to preschool with Max. I’ll make sure he takes it to her after the holiday break.” Fuck, that lie flew off his tongue so easily he almost believes it himself. Johanna shrugs and tosses Peeta the cat. 

“Suit yourself. One less thing to overflow the Lost and Found.” She strides past him and disappears into Triage 6. He stares down at the stuffed animal. His heart skips another beat and a slow smile tugs at his mouth. 

~*~*~*~

Stifling another yawn, Peeta squints at the numbers above the garage. He’s definitely in the right place. He kills the engine and sits for a moment, glancing at the clock on the navigation system. It’s quarter after nine. Early, but not obscenely so. When his shift had ended at six am, he had driven home and fought the urge to crawl into bed; instead, he grabbed a quick shower and freshened up. True, part of him hadn’t wanted to see Katniss Everdeen again looking like the bedraggled, exhausted mess he was at the end of a rotation, and also true, he was going to have to clean up before he’s due at his parents’ house at one. But he also knew he couldn’t really have shown up at Katniss’s house at the crack of dawn on Christmas morning, even if he suspects Ivy likely had her up by then. He recalls, with a wistful smile, that Christmas morning was the one morning he and his brothers were always awake before his father. It was only a question of which Mellark brother was going to be the first to rouse the others. Him being the youngest, it was usually him, he admits with a wider grin.

He quietly exits his car, careful not to slam the door, and gingerly steps across the icy driveway. He pauses at the un-shoveled front walk, where a pristine blanket of snow blocks his path. “Shit,” he whispers, gritting his teeth as he takes the first step. His foot plunges into the deep drift, up to nearly his calf. He braces himself and takes a huge step, hoping to eat up the distance in a few long strides. Fortunately, it’s not a long front walk. He reaches the also un-shoveled front steps and carefully ascends them. He contemplates ringing the doorbell, but instead raps his knuckles against the door. His breath pipes out in white plumes and he rubs his palms together for warmth as he waits. 

No one comes to the door, at least not immediately. Peeta lifts his fist again, but just before his knuckles can connect with the wood again, the front door opens a crack and he’s suddenly looking at Katniss. Those silver eyes round almost comically as recognition lights them. 

“D-Doctor Mellark? Wh-what are you….”  

“Hi. Merry Christmas,” he begins. “I thought Ivy would be missing this.” He smiles and holds up the stuffed cat. 

Katniss stares at him, her lips parting faintly, and shock and confusion war on her pretty face. But then her grey eyes darken with what Peeta can only describe as restrained fury. 

She opens the door fully and glares at him.  

“You had Ivy’s cat?” she accuses. 

“Uh…yeah…” he stammers, his own confusion welling. Why is she so angry? “My nephew…he has a bear. Otis. Can’t sleep without that thing. I thought if Ivy is anything like Max…well, she’d be missing this.” He holds the cat out to Katniss. She snatches it so violently that she stumbles backwards. Peeta is equally jarred, but his jolt is from the very brief brush of Katniss’s fingers against his when she had grabbed the toy. 

But Katniss gives him no time to revel in the feeling.

“So this is why no one at the hospital had a goddamned clue what I was talking about when I called there looking for this cat an hour ago!” she spits. 

Shit, Peeta thinks, an uneasy feeling clawing its way into his gut. 

“Why the fuck—” He can’t help but notice her slight hesitation before she lobs the obscenity at him. “—would you take my niece’s cat? Is this something normal people do?” She’s shivering visibly as she rants, a clear consequence of stepping onto her front porch wearing nothing but green plaid pajama pants and a threadbare black Henley shirt.

“I….I…” He shakes his head. He’s not even sure how to defend his actions. He can’t very well tell her his ulterior motives in bringing the stuffed cat back to her niece. Not now. He definitely fucked this up.

“I was just trying to be nice. That I’d save you a trip on Christmas morning,” he finishes lamely. 

Katniss’s nostrils flare and her jaw flexes. “Christmas morning,” she mutters, just barely audible over the clattering of her teeth. “Did it occur to you, Dr. Mellark, that I might be looking for Ivy’s cat and I might call the hospital looking for this cat?” She shakes the toy in his face. “And did it occur to you that, in spite of all the toys she had just opened, Ivy might be bawling and throwing a fit because Buttercup was missing?”

Buttercup, he has to assume, is the stuffed cat.

She pauses, as if waiting for him to defend himself, but all he can do is swallow against the lump crowding his throat.

So she continues, “They made me think I was crazy—but not until after they left me on hold for 20 minutes while I tried to calm a wailing toddler. And then they said there was no toy matching this description in the Lost and Found. And that’s because you had it!” Her eyes are a maelstrom now, but he notices that an edge of frustration has crept into her furious tone. 

“And now Ivy doesn’t have it. So thank you. Thank you very much, Dr. Mellark. Merry Christmas.” And before Peeta can release the breath he’s been holding during her outburst and plead his case, she whirls around, her disheveled braid lancing through the air like a whip, and slams the door behind her. Stunned, Peeta can only stare at the wreath on the door as he processes what just happened.  

What. The. Fuck. 

Heart pounding, gut churning, Peeta retreats to his car. He takes a few minutes to absorb the shock of his encounter with Katniss, his mind reeling through the accusations she made. He never would have expected her to react like this. So much for any shot with Katniss Everdeen. 

He finally gathers his composure and navigates out of her complex. As he drives, his mind continues replaying Katniss’s words over and over, and he finds one thing nags at him. 

And now Ivy doesn’t have it.

Those words don’t make much sense to him. He just gave the stuffed animal back to Katniss. She can give it back to Ivy. She’ll have it now. In her wrath, Katniss just wasn’t being rational, he decides. 

But her words continue to haunt him off and on for the rest of the day. Along with persistent images of Katniss that further torment him. She is never far from his conscious thoughts. As he sits down next to the fireplace in his parents’ house with a tumbler of scotch to exchange gifts with his brothers and his nephews, he finds himself wondering who Katniss is celebrating with. Ivy, obviously. But does she have other family? 

By the time the Mellarks all settle around the table for dinner, he’s conjured up the notion that Katniss may not be married, but she surely has a devoted boyfriend who is showering her with gifts at this very moment. Her mood is infinitely better than what Peeta witnessed earlier. She’s probably dressed nice for him, and he’s sitting around her dining room table with Katniss and Ivy, like a makeshift family.

His mother’s irritation is palpable when she has to command his attention twice to try and draw him into the discussion centered on Rye’s upcoming wedding. Peeta murmurs the apology he knows she expects and feigns his dutiful brotherly interest for Rye’s benefit the remainder of the meal. But a dull ache has taken up residence in the center of his chest and he realizes just how badly he wants what his brothers have. 

He just won’t be having it with Katniss Everdeen.

[gukyi]

i’ll give you my heart | myg

⇒ summary: gift exchanges are cool. gift exchanges with your ceo-slash-best friend min yoongi are less cool, because what the hell are you supposed to get the man that already has everything? 

or, the three times that you could find something material to give to yoongi, and the one time you had to think outside of the box.

⇒ {christmas!au, friends to lovers!au}

⇒ pairing: min yoongi x female reader

⇒ word count: 6k

⇒ genre: fluff

⇒ warnings: none

⇒ a/n: here she is!! first off, shoutout to everyone who voted for this in that poll a while back. secondly, shoutout to everyone for being patient with me while getting this fic out. here it is, in all of its fluffy, soft glory! it’s also 1k longer than i thought it would be. big rip. 

i. 

Yoongi and you have had this tradition ever since freshman year of college, where you would spend Christmas together, holed up in whatever room the two of you decided to share because both sets of your parents (and other relatives) were always busy around this time of year. Not to mention, you went to university across the country. So that’s a thing. You become recluses for a day, confined to a building or a room, and spend the entire day exchanging gag gifts and watching Christmas movies, drinking your entire body’s weight in hot chocolate.

It’s a pretty fucking great tradition, if you think about it. Nothing better than spending a day with the one person you could never get sick of.

Things began to change once the both of you moved out of the dorms, Yoongi’s fabulously wealthy parents hooking him up with a sick apartment right off campus, in the heart of the city. Human nature had always taught you to be envious of the things other people had that you did not, strive to be greater than them, but human nature can suck your left toe, because you’re happy that Yoongi’s happy and lives a better life than 99% of the human population. Kid deserves it.

You’d then begin to spend your Christmases at his place instead of the shitty dorms at the university, his place always extravagantly decorated for the season. Yoongi really spares no effort. What a guy.

And now it’s senior year of university and Yoongi’s only gotten bigger. So has his place, because he upgraded.

He upgraded and you’ve literally spent the entire break thus far lounging around at his house, eating through his cupboards, which are now devoid of all the ramen in the world. Seriously, he needs to get more. Thank God you didn’t make the same mistake you did last year, which was leaving all of your Christmas shopping until the last minute, because you ended up buying Yoongi a gigantic tin in the shape of a gingerbread man, filled to the brim with little gingerbread cookies inside. Like a gingerbread Russian doll. And you don’t need a gingerbread Russian doll repeat this year. This year, you swear you have a gift that’s worth giving to Yoongi.

His house is so damn big that you’re afraid you’ve hidden his gift somewhere so discreet you won’t even remember where you put it. It’s nearly midnight on Christmas Eve and you’re going to have to make up some excuse to scurry off and find his present since the two of you have done absolutely nothing all day except pig out on store-bought Christmas cookies and watch Elf over and over and over, to the point where you have definitely memorized the entire movie.

You’re lying together on his massive couch, big enough for at least four other people to fit onto it as well, your feet resting in his lap as you mindlessly stare at his television, letting the movie play in the background haze of your mind. It’s so natural for the two of you to be so close, at this point.

“Oh shit, it’s almost Christmas,” Yoongi blurts out after checking his phone, catching you off guard.

You squint your eyes as you peer at the clock under his television, only to be greeted with the fluorescent sight of 11:58PM.

“Oh shit,” you repeat, immediately scrambling up because it’s tradition that you do your gift exchange at midnight on the dot, and you are wholly unprepared.

“Miss something?” Yoongi taunts as he calls after you, watching you run down his massive hallway in nothing but an ugly Christmas sweater and pajama bottoms. Your bare feet are cold on his hardwood floor, but you don’t really mind, not when Yoongi’s body can warm them right up.

You fish through one of the many closets in his hallway until you snatch your gift up, pristinely wrapped in some festive paper. When you return to his living room, Yoongi is proudly waiting with a massive box beside him, your name written in obnoxious letters across the side of it.

“Holy balls,” you say, mouth dropping open. His gift could probably swallow yours up, if it tried hard enough.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N!” Yoongi shouts happily, though you can barely hear him, brain blocking out everything except the sight in front of you. you don’t know what on this godforsaken Earth Yoongi could have gotten you that looks to be the size of a small apartment (you’re kidding, it’s just double the size of you), but it’s here.

“Merry Christmas, Yoongi,” you say in response, holding out your gift to him warmly.

“Wanna open yours first, or should I?” He asks as he sits down on the couch. You follow him happily, curling up beside him, signaling that you want him to go first. He complies, ripping off the wrapping paper in the most ungraceful way possible. “You got me a Banksy book?” He asks, wonder lacing his features as he looks up at you.

“I know how much you love his work,” you admit sheepishly, recalling the one time you had taken a trip to New York City, remember him pointing out all of the graffiti that decorated the sides of the buildings. “I thought you’d like it.”

“I love it, Y/N, holy shit,” he says, and the way his face glows in the dim light of the living room warms your heart right up. Yoongi beams, his face illuminating, whenever he is truly happy, and nothing brings you more joy than knowing you’re the source. He envelopes you in a crushing hug, catching you by surprise as your palms to go rest on his chest as he engulfs you in his arms. “You always know me so well.”

“I try my best,” you admit when he lets you go, hand going up to rub the nape of your neck.

“Your turn,” he says excitedly, placing the book down beside him as he turns to face your gift. He pats his lap in anticipation as you get up, a little wary. You have half of a mind that whatever this thing is is going to come to life like a Christmas horror movie and brutally murder the both of you.

“How the fuck did you manage to wrap this thing?” You ask as you approach the box. It must have taken enormous amounts of wrapping paper to cover.

“With faith, trust, and Pixie dust,” Yoongi deadpans. “Open it!”

You find where the wrapping paper ends, and tear at it until you’re faced with an overwhelming pile of crumpled up paper beside you and a massive brown box.

“Merry Christmas!” Yoongi cheers, standing up. “I got you a box.”

“I’m touched,” you joke, knowing that there must be something in here. “For real, what the fresh hell is this, Yoongi?”

Yoongi just shrugs, being absolutely no help at all. You reach over to open the box, and when you take a good enough look inside, you see a fluffy bear head.

“No fucking way!” You shout as the realization dawns on you. One great tug and out pops one of those massive teddy bears, the ones that are double the size of you and the ultimate Cuddling Machine. You remember going to Costco with Yoongi a while back and mindlessly telling him that you always wanted to own one of those huge bears, and, well, looks like Yoongi remembered as well.

“Do you like it?” Yoongi asks, hopeful.

“Are you kidding? I love it!” You tell him happily, resisting the urge to collapse on the bear in a flurry of giggles and fluff. “This is amazing, Yoongi!”

You reach over to give Yoongi the same bone-crushing hug, only you lose your footing on a loose bit of wrapping paper and find yourself dragging him down with you. You land comfortably on the plush tummy of the bear, arms wrapped around each other.

“I could stay like this forever,” Yoongi admits, succumbing to the cuddliness that is the massive giant bear.

“Me too,” you agree, not taking your hands off of him as the beginning of Christmas slowly passes you by.

ii. 

First Christmas out of university and, to be honest, you don’t really know where to begin. Yoongi’s taken after his father’s hugely successful instrument company—biggest in the nation—CEO-in-training as he learns to navigate the ropes of business life. You, on the other hand, are just living your best life, getting by with a job you don’t hate but you don’t particularly love either, and crashing with Yoongi most of the time. Your roommate’s nice and all, but she has an awful lot of sex for someone in her mid-twenties, so you find yourself sexiled more often than just plain kicked out.

Not that Yoongi minds you show up at his door, ever. It’s practically wide open for you, and he could be in the middle of a Very Important and Serious business phone call and happily toss his studying aside if you knock on his door. You think it’s a bit unhealthy, how he puts his definitely overbearing best friend ahead of the company that basically determines the fate of the rest of his financial life, but that’s on him.

He says that you’re a respite from the crushing pressures of business life, and you say that he needs to start worrying more about his company’s financial stability and less about his annoying best friend.

But it doesn’t matter, because Yoongi’s already got more money than he knows what to do with.

At this point in your long-term friendship, you don’t even knock on his door to alert him of your presence. Knocking is for friends who haven’t quite reached that stage of relationship yet. Knocking is also for chumps. You type in the passcode that opens his creepy automated door that talks to you if you get particularly lonely, and walk inside.

Despite the sheer massiveness of Yoongi’s mansion, you can hear his voice clear as day. It’s literally Christmas Eve and he’s screaming to someone on the phone, in that No-Nonsense Business Voice that definitely gives you the jitters. You hate hearing him like this, when he’s all serious and “I want what I want when I want it”, because it makes you feel like he’s a different person. Business Yoongi and Best Friend Yoongi are scarily different, but they both have that same determination, same wonder.

It’s still a bit freaky, though.

You’re standing in the middle of the foyer of his mansion, looking like a lost puppy, when he turns a corner and sees you, the phone pressed up against his ear. You send him an awkward wave, making absolutely no effort to disguise the box in your hand that is clearly his present.

“Um, can I call you back to get the details of the deal?” He asks to the person on the other end. “Make no mistake, I want this to happen, but under my conditions, not theirs. Got it?”

With that, Yoongi hangs up, and his furrowed brows immediately relax at the sight of you.

“Hey,” he says, voice a lot less intimidating. “I didn’t think you’d get here for another hour.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” you reply, pouting. “But you don’t seem that excited to see me.”

“Believe me, Y/N, I’m always excited to see you,” Yoongi says, breathing out a hefty sigh of relief as he pulls you in for a hug.

“Poor Mr. Min,” you mock, bottom lip drowning out your top one. “Busy busy busy businessman. You seem stressed, my good dude.”

“I am,” Yoongi huffs out. “God, you’re a sight for sore eyes, you know that? I’m so glad to see you,” he says, keeping you close to his body as he rocks the two of you back and forth. It’s a little romantic, terrifyingly so, and you resist the little voice in your brain that tells you to keep hugging him, savor the feeling, and tug yourself away.

“What’s up, hey?” You ask as you wander into his massive, state-of-the-art kitchen that even Gordon Ramsey would envy. Through his enormous, Plexiglass windows, the sun is setting against the frozen horizon.

“Ugh, nothing,” Yoongi says as he whips out two Minute Maid Lemonade cans for the both of you. He seems to have an endless supply, thank God, because it’s the only drink the two of you never get sick of, other than, of course, hot chocolate. “I’ve just been having this tussle with another production company. We’re trying to negotiate a deal on our marketing systems but they won’t budge.” He collapses in the bar stool next to you. The two of you open your cans at the exact same time, clinking them together before downing them.

“Want me to fight them for you?” You offer helpfully.

“You’d probably do a better job of scaring them into agreeing with me than I would,” Yoongi supplies.

“Oh, are you kidding? Have you even heard yourself when you’re all business-y?” You ask rhetorically. “You’re all serious and scary. It’s kind of terrifying, to be honest. If I didn’t know you so well, I’d avoid Business Min Yoongi at all costs.”

Yoongi chuckles. “Glad at least one person thinks that way.”

You give him a nudge, almost making him choke on his lemonade. “Give yourself more credit, Yoongi. Have a little faith. You’re a great businessman, you know. If you weren’t, your father wouldn’t have retired so early.”

Yoongi smiles softly at your words, and you know you’ve done your job.

That night, Yoongi makes the two of you a quiet Italian dinner (he insists it be called that, when really it’s just linguine and a Caprese salad that you could have made yourself in five minutes, given the ingredients) and the two of you eat on his mildly-stained nice leather couches, tinted with the remains of hot chocolate spills and popcorn butter.

Oh, these couches have seen better days. Days where you and Yoongi aren’t as messy and try to behave just like normal human beings and not weird best friends. Days like that don’t happen very often.

The Christmas movie of choice is The Polar Express, which, if you’re going to be totally real with yourself, freaked you out severely up until you were about sixteen. You don’t know what the hell it is, but the way the characters were animated had goosebumps appearing on your skin. You swear you’re not scared of a silly kid’s movie anymore, not as you settle into his couch for the night, piles of blankets wrapped around you, but Yoongi takes the liberty of teasing you anyway.

“Scared of Santa?” He asks, playing with your feet under the blanket.

You kick at his leg. “You’re such a little asshole. Do your employees know that?”

Yoongi scoffs. “They think I’m the Lord and Savior, the Jesus Christ of the country’s biggest instrument company.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” you remark. All hostility aside, you eventually settle into his arms as the day draws to a close, letting yourself curl up next to him as you find yourself dozing off to the movie. It might be the second or third time you’re watching this stupid movie, you just can’t help yourself—the sound of bells is tiring.

Yoongi keeps you awake, though, poking and prodding at your chubby cheeks to make sure you don’t conk out on him, keeping you awake for your tradition of the Midnight Gift Exchange.

Midnight rolls around and Yoongi gives you a pretty heavy shove to jerk you awake, one that has your arm extending out in instinct and hitting him straight in the nose. If this were anyone else you just totally smacked, you’d be apologizing, but the sight of Yoongi scrunching up his nose and blinking like that White Guy Meme has you on the floor, in tears.

“You’re such a sadist,” Yoongi comments as he gets up to retrieve his gift. You’re still laughing.

Eventually he returns with a box that scarily resembles the size of your own, and oh god, you have a feeling you know where this is going. He settles down beside you, the soles your feet matching up under the blankets, and on the count of three, as Christmas Eve turns to Christmas, you hand them to each other.

It’s unclear to both of you who rips open their gift first, but when you look down at yours to find a scarily expensive necklace, your heart stops. You remember dragging Yoongi into one of the high-end jewelry stores in the clean part of town, musing to him about how much you’d love to be able to afford a necklace or something from a place like this. One had caught your eye, a silver locket with a heart chain so delicate you’d probably live in constant fear of breaking it.

That same necklace rests in the box in your hands, right now.

Meanwhile, Yoongi is staring down at the watch in his hands, awestruck, making the blood rush to your cheeks as they heat up from the sensation. Yoongi never asked for that watch, but you remember him complaining about breaking his favorite one two weeks ago. Knowing him all too well, you had a feeling he wouldn’t get around to replacing it before the new year.

“Yoongi…” you begin, trailing off unhelpfully. You simply lack the right words to say. Or any words, for that matter. You recall staring down at the hefty price tag of this silver necklace, imagining only owning it in your dreams, and here it is.

Yoongi has more money than he knows what to do with, but you can’t quite put a finger on the feeling of him spending it on you. It feels too familiar, like he’s done it before and he’ll do it, over and over. You never ask him for expensive things like this but he gives them to you anyway, and it’s foreign and wonted all at the same time.

“Do you like it?” He asks, leaning over. “I remember you telling me you wanted it, at that jewelry place.”

“I love it,” you say, wishing that your words were a little more eloquent and a little less blunt. “But, why did you—?”

“I wanted to, Y/N,” Yoongi supplies, as if that’s any help. “You deserve it. You got me this sickass watch, after all.”

“You broke yours two weeks ago because you’re a dumbass,” you joke.

“It’s gorgeous. It’ll go great with my new hair,” Yoongi comments, staring down at the gift in his hands.

“New hair?”

“Didn’t I tell you?” Yoongi asks, smirking. “I’m going platinum for the new year.”

“My god, your hairstylist is probably shaking,” you say, shaking your head. Yoongi chuckles, taking the necklace from your delicate fingers and wrapping it around your neck, fastening it at the back. The action is soft, gentle, and it has you turning around to face him in something akin to confusion and wonder, like there are so many dreams on the tips of his fingers.

“I’m glad you like it, Y/N,” Yoongi says happily. “It looks good on you. What are you going to put inside of it?”

“A picture of us,” you respond. “It only seems right.”

iii.

It’s becoming increasingly more difficult to get Yoongi gifts. Not that it hasn’t always been difficult, because it has. Kid owns everything, and you refuse to stoop as low as a gift card for something as special as Christmas.

It’s tradition.

You’ve spent the last several months hunting for something for Yoongi, something meaningful that he doesn’t already fucking own, and every time you go shopping, you come up short. It’s just so damn hard to pick a present for Yoongi that isn’t some ridiculous gag gift, because while Yoongi does love a good fake piece of shit, it’s not something that should be a Christmas present.

What makes matters worse is that you don’t make nearly as much money as he did, not that that’s ever been a problem before. You’re perfectly fine with where you are, financially, at least, but the Christmas season always reminds you that Yoongi is willing to buy you the moon and the stars if you ask for it, and you have trouble dropping cash on a new blender.

Ah, tradition.

Tradition also happens to consist of you finally getting to have your sweet, sweet revenge on your roommate for Christmas Eve, kicking her out of the apartment for the next two days so that you and Yoongi can have the place entirely to yourselves. She says goodbye with a whistle, hinting at something that you don’t want to know about.

Sure enough, not much later Yoongi is buzzing into your apartment, voice hazy on the speaker. You let him up, hear him knocking on your door hardly a minute after.

“Hey, stranger,” Yoongi says, little box tucked under his palm. Oh God, if he’s gotten you another necklace, you think you’ll lose it. He needs to stop getting you all of these expensive things.

“Oops!” You respond, pretending to shut the door on him. “I thought you were the pizza delivery guy.”

“Damn, pizza sounds good,” Yoongi says, barging his way in. He’s been over hundreds of times before, but strangely enough, you feel small in his presence. Like your apartment just isn’t good enough in comparison to his mansion of a home. The feeling is brief but very much there, and you’re hyperaware of it as Yoongi collapses on your couch and plucks a chocolate from the complimentary bowl on the coffee table. He unwraps the Dove and pops it into his mouth, smiling into the taste.

“Feet off of my couch,” you order playfully, grabbing your already-prepared bowl of popcorn and sitting next to him, using one hand to swing his legs off of where they’re resting on the arm rest so you can fit.

If you were at Yoongi’s place, both of your feet would be on his gigantic couch, big enough to fit your entire extended family without many compromises. But you’re not, and the two of you have to resort to resting your feet on the floor like peasants instead of kings.

“God, is this the crappy popcorn?” Yoongi asks, surprisingly excited for such a strange question. When you nod, he beams. “Nice. I love that smell of fake butter. It gets me hard.”

You’re at the point in your relationship where out-of-the-blue sexual comments like this hardly faze you, but still, you giggle at his random remark. You hold the bowl out to him, and he happily plucks a handful from it, shoving it all in his mouth at once as you channel surf to find whatever shitty Hallmark movie is playing.

You don’t really watch the movie this time, too busy trying to chuck popcorn bits into each other’s mouths (turns out you’re a lot better at this game than he is) and crunching down on unpopped kernels. Your dentists are shaking. They really are.

Yoongi’s right, shitty popcorn really is the best popcorn, because it’s rich and fattening and tastes sort of like cardboard. Like, the good kind of cardboard, if that’s a thing. You can’t seem to stop wanting more, and pretty soon you’ve gone through the entire box of popcorn bags before the night is even over.

“You ever think we’ll stop doing this?” Yoongi asks randomly.

“Doing what?”

“Watching crappy Christmas movies and spending the night at each other’s places and exchanging gifts at midnight,” Yoongi elaborates.

God, you hope you never stop doing this. Other than your immediate family, Yoongi is the one constant in your life. He’s always been there, he’ll always be there, even if he tries to get away. You won’t let him escape from you, not when you’ve made so many memories together already. He’s your best friend. You wouldn’t trade him or his presence for anything in the world. All this tradition does is confirm that, confirm the way you feel about him. Confirm that he’s it, he’s the end game. You’ll go through a hundred other friends but he’ll always be by your side.

It’s a strange feeling, knowing that someone will always be there. It’s like you have nothing to worry about.

“I hope we don’t,” you say, letting your head rest in the crook of his neck, between his shoulder and his chin. “I love doing this with you.”

“Me too,” Yoongi says, reaching an arm around you to rub at your side. “Christmas season is always busy for me, because everyone wants to buy their kid an instrument but at a discounted price, but you’ll always be there to calm me down.”

You hum in thought.

“Even when I’m about to lose it, you’ll always be there to save the day. I know you will.”

Soon, the shitty Hallmark movie on your beat-up television is ending, signaling the end of Christmas Eve as you know it.

“Oh, you know what that means.” Yoongi grins, winking at you as he whips out his gift. You don’t have much to give him in return, just a thin envelope you hope will be worth your while. “Who’s first?”

“I am,” you say, handing Yoongi the envelope you were hiding behind your back.

“What’s this?” Yoongi asks, eyes curious as he opens it, pulling out a certificate. His brows are furrowed as he reads through it, eyes squinting (kid forgot his glasses, how typical of him), but then his cheeks turn a bright red shade and his face begins to glow. “You bought me a star?”

“The one and only,” you say proudly, happy to see that he’s happy. “I know it’s not much, but I wanted to do something fun for you for Christmas—”

He hugs you, something that happens way too often these days, and you hear the crinkle of the paper certificate as he wraps his arms around you. “I love it, Y/N. I do. No one’s ever gotten me a star before. You’re brilliant.”

“What are you going to name it?” You ask him innocently.

“I’m gonna name it after you,” he says warmly, eyes crinkled up into a smile. “You’re the only sun in my life.”

You can do absolutely nothing except scoff, the noise hopefully covering up the sound of your thumping heart at his words. He’s always been cheesy like that, you swear. You swear that nothing’s changed.

“What did you get me?” You ask, motioning to the little box Yoongi’s playing with in his fingers.

“Oh, nothing,” Yoongi says, handing it over tentatively. As you begin to open it, his hand shoots back to the nape of his neck in nervousness. You wonder what on Earth could be in this box.

When you open it, you’re greeted with a note. Just a note amongst a bunch of that gift-basket shredded colored paper.

Please let me take you out to a fancy dinner party I was invited to, it reads. You’re the only person I’d want to go with.

“A dinner?” You ask, an eyebrow raised.

Yoongi grimaces. “If you don’t want to, um, you don’t have to. It’s just—they want me to have a plus one, and you’re the only person I’d want to take. We can go shopping beforehand, for a nice dress for you. If you’d like.”

You don’t go to dinner parties much and you’re not exactly sure how you feel about Yoongi spending his hard-earned money on something as trivial as a dress you’ll only wear once, but unsurprisingly, something akin to a date with Yoongi doesn’t seem as out of the question as you thought it would.

You set the note down on the table, smiling. “I’d love to go with you, Yoongi.”

iv. 

Christmas is cancelled.

Not really, but it’s literally the morning of Christmas Eve and you are absolutely, completely, one-hundred percent giftless. You’ve searched for months for the perfect gift for Yoongi, something meaningful and special that he doesn’t already own, that you haven’t already given him, and you’ve come up entirely short.

Needless to say, you’re in a bit of a panic. What the hell are you supposed to do, after all, when you know Yoongi’s probably gotten you something wonderfully expensive in return. What are you going to say to him? Hey, thanks for this expensive gift I don’t deserve, I didn’t get you anything but you can have my undying friendship?

Oh yeah, what a great way to start off Christmas.

Come to think of it, you don’t really deserve Yoongi. You don’t. You never have, not since freshman year of college when the two of you were just nervous underdogs, little fish in a very, very big pond. Even then, when you had no idea that Yoongi was the son of the CEO of the biggest instrument company in the country, no idea he had money to burn, when you thought all he could give to you was the love and support in his heart, you didn’t deserve him.

You don’t deserve him now, when he is so giving and kind to you, a ray of sunshine in this decaying world. When he buys you expensive things not because they’re expensive, but because he thinks of you when he sees them. When he has so much love to give to you and you can hardly provide him with half of it in return.

You don’t live like him, you can’t give him expensive things to celebrate his birthday or Christmas because that’s just not your reality. All you can give him are things touched by your love, your appreciation for your friendship, the generosity between the two of you that it���s based on.

If you asked him, Min Yoongi would give you the world. If he asked you, you’d wish you would.

You wonder what it is about him that draws you to him. Cements him as the end game, because you could never imagine a life without him by your side, without his sarcastic yet sage wisdom guiding you every step of the way. It’s not his money, because if it was, he’d have figured that out by now. It’s not his status, either, because even during freshman year, when you knew nothing about each other other than your favorite types of ramen, you knew that he was it. It’s Yoongi or nothing, and you’d rather lose everything than lose him.

It’s so strange. It’s always been like this, really. You always knew that Yoongi was meant to be in your life, but things are changing now, and you wonder if the way Yoongi acts as a part of your world is the way it should always be. Question whether or not he might be on this Earth, part of the life that you live, for a different reason.

The dinner party last year really switched things up. People there, Big Business Moguls who would faint if they found out about your commoner status, thought the two of you were a thing. An item, if you will. You were Mr. and Mrs. Min Yoongi, despite there being no ring on your finger.

The most peculiar part about it? Neither of you made any effort to stop the comments, explain that you were just friends. You just took it, went with it and happily obliged. You walked around that night with aching feet, almost tripping over the expensive dress you were wearing at least ten times, and with your arm wrapped around his. Like a real couple.

Even now, you don’t think you’d mind it. You don’t. You wouldn’t mind being a couple. You don’t see how it could change anything, how giving a different label to the relationship that the two of you share would make it all that different. But even now, when you think of Yoongi, you think of his bright smile, his warm brown eyes. The way his hair feels soft under your touch despite being dyed countless times. How your head fits perfectly in the crook of his neck.

The door opening in front of you snaps you out of your trance. Yoongi’s standing there in all of his Christmas glory, decked out in a terribly ugly Christmas jumper with a beaming glow on his face. You’re empty-handed when you walk in, though if Yoongi notices, he makes no comment about it. He probably thinks you’ve already stowed away your gift in his place, somewhere where he’s too lazy to look.

“Can you believe it’s already our seventh year doing this?” Yoongi asks.

“No, I can’t,” you admit, surprised at how fast the time passes by, how it feels like nothing at all when you’re by his side. “Feels like just yesterday we were just freshmen in college, trying to navigate our way through the semesters.”

“Damn, what a time,” says Yoongi fondly, reminiscing. “Since we’re starting a bit late today, let’s skip the part where I make a shitty dinner and go straight to movie watching.”

“Hmm…” you say, pausing as you pretend to think on the suggestion. “Sounds good. What are we watching?”

Yoongi presses a couple of buttons on the screen on the wall that he’s got hooked up to his entire electronics system in this house, something that you have no idea how he did. Rich people. When you turn to face the television, you see the menu screen for Love, Actually.

“Love, Actually?” You ask, an eyebrow raised.

“What?” He asks defensively. “Can’t always watch shitty kids’ movies. Besides, I wanna make jokes about that one kid who looks like he’s five even though he’s like twenty.”

And so, with hot chocolate warming your palms and milk moustaches decorating your lips, you settle in for the night, curling up together under layers and layers of blankets as the movie begins.

This is such a common occurrence, cuddling together like it’s no big deal, but for some reason, this time there’s something else there. Something you can’t quite pinpoint, not as Yoongi wraps his arm around you to pull you closer. Not as he makes constant jokes about that poor young-looking fellow, or drinks his hot chocolate until he’s scraping at the sides for more.

And then it’s nearly midnight, and the guy on the screen is professing his love for the woman who speaks broken English, and you realize that this is it. This is how you want to spend every holiday season, with Min Yoongi by your side. Curled up together like two birds of a feather.

This is when you realize you know exactly what you’re giving to Yoongi, and it’s more meaningful and special than any other gift you can think of. One that doesn’t cost you a cent, just a bit of courage and a little bit of charm.

The movie ends at exactly midnight, and Yoongi claps his hands together cheerfully, getting up to get his gift for you. When he returns with a large, relatively thin box, your heart skips a beat, and momentarily, you wonder if the gift you’re giving him will compare.

“Guess I’m opening first, then?” You ask, and Yoongi nods, handing you the item with a delicate touch. He sits back down, eager to see your reaction.

You remove the lid of the box to find an absolutely stunning guitar, gleaming from all angles as it catches the Christmas lights that decorate Yoongi’s house. It’s gorgeous, a model that definitely cost Yoongi upwards of several thousand dollars, and all you can do is stare at it.

“Do you like it?” Yoongi asks, pressing closer. “I know you wanted to learn guitar. I thought this would be a good first step.”

“Yoongi, I—this is—” You say, unable to form even a coherent phrase with all of your stuttering. Now you’re really not sure if your gift can compare to this, to this absolutely stunning instrument in your lap and the breathtaking boy who gave it to you.

“If you want, I could teach you,” he helpfully adds, as if you need further convincing of his gift’s greatness.

“I love this,” you tell him, too scared to even lift it out of its box. All you want to do is ogle it, stare at it until your eyes bleed. It’s too beautiful to be played. You pick it up and gently set it down on the floor beside you. “I don’t—I don’t know what you’ll think of my gift. Or if you’ll even accept it.”

Yoongi shakes his head in disbelief. “I’ll love anything you give me.”

“Take my heart.”

“What?” Yoongi asks.

“Take it. It’s yours,” you tell him. “My heart is all yours.”

“Y/N, I don’t understand—”

“I’m giving you my heart, Min Yoongi,” you murmur. “Because it’s filled with love for you, and only you. You’re the only person my heart belongs to, so take it. Because I love you.”

Before you let him say anything else, you’re leaning over to him, pressing your soft lips on his in something of a playground kiss. It’s just lips on lips, gentle touches that convey nothing but love in them. Yoongi makes a noise of surprise but easily allows his body to give way, and out of the corner of your eyes you can see the way the blush creeps onto his cheeks.

When you part, you’re greeted with that eye-smile that you love so much, one that radiates a heavenly glow.

“I love you too,” he whispers back, soft enough for only you to hear, just in case the world may be listening in. This is a secret between friends. Between lovers. Between you. “I always have. Take my heart, too. It belongs to you.”

“Merry Christmas, Yoongi,” you murmur, staring up at him with nothing else but pure adoration. He’s it. You knew he always was. It’ll always be him.

He beams back, warm and bright, and it feels like home. “Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

And sitting there, as the world slowly turns around you, you think that this might be the best Christmas yet.

⇒ hmu with feedback or just talk to me here!

[kpopfanfictrash]

Begin (M)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Baekhyun

Rating: 18+ (Explicit sex, dirty talk, light choking)

Word Count: 4,104

Summary:  After moving into a new building, you keep running into the same man. The same, annoying, impossibly beautiful man - who just might like you back. (HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TO THE WONDERFUL @knockknocksoosthere ! Here’s your Baekhyun, the number two EXO bias)

You’re barely awake, the first time you meet.

When the elevator doors open to floor thirty-six and he steps in with his dog, you can’t help but think about that one joke. The joke about dogs, who look like their owners. Or maybe it’s the reverse – owners, who look like their dogs. Whatever the case, it’s oddly applicable for the two of them. The man is medium height, lean with blonde-brown hair – his dog is similarly well-groomed.

He enters quickly, as though he’s going somewhere and not just walking his dog. You watch him from the corner of your eyes, looking down when he suddenly looks back – awkward, embarrassed, at having been caught staring.

The man stands close to you, though careful not to encroach on your personal space. He’s dressed in a dark grey pea coat, holding his leash in one hand – which honestly, doesn’t seem necessary, given the extremely well-mannered appearance of his dog. He sits patiently, watching the crack in the elevator doors while the numbers tick by. In contrast, your own puppy – Kookie – leaps up the second they enter. You yank him back quickly, coaxing him to sit but still he’s excited, wagging his tail happily while he looks at the strangers.

The elevator falls silent, from floors thirty-six to the lobby. When the doors open once more, swishing aside with a ding – the man glances sideways. “Puppies respond to a firm hand,” he blinks, a small smile on his lips. “Even if you’re still training him, you shouldn’t be afraid to be stern.”

Your mouth drops, since you can’t recall having asked for this man’s opinion. It’s true, Kookie is still being trained. It’s also true, that he jumps a little too high – but then again, Kookie himself is little. He’s a tiny mess of golden fur and big eyes, so you glare at the man as you step from the lift.

“Thanks,” you nod, turning the collar up on your coat, “for telling me. If you see any good sticks in the park – let me know! I won’t have Kookie chase them, I’ll save them for later.”

The corner of his mouth tilts. It’s a pity that the man is such an ass, because he’s really quite attractive. Pointed face, delicate features, tousled hair. The man grasps his leash tightly, sticking his free hand in his pocket. You note with some annoyance, that his dog continues to sit patiently on the ground beside him.

“Cookie?” he asks, confused. “Like – the kind that’s baked in an oven?”

“No, Kookie,” you correct, hand on hip. “Like the kind that’s a little bit crazy.”

He laughs, which surprises you. It’s a startled, bright sound and when he laughs, his expression brightens considerably. “Funny,” he remarks – a statement. Then the man shrugs, turning around. “Nice to meet you, Kookie.”

You stare after, and by the time you come to your senses – the man is too far for you to tell him your name.

The second time you meet is in the mail room, with neither one of you holding onto your dogs. He enters while holding a phone, running a hand agitatedly through his hair while biting his lower lip in frustration. You glance up, since the door is rather noisy – and your eyes widen, recognizing him. The man doesn’t see you, not at first, which gives you ample time to look at him.

Now that you’re awake, now that you’re fully dressed and aware – you recognize the guy isn’t just cute. He’s ridiculously handsome, which makes your pulse flutter as he nears.

“I hate people,” the guy grumbles, slipping his phone into his pocket. When he sees you he blinks, startled to recognize he’s not alone. “Oh,” he smiles, lips lifting. “It’s you.”

“It’s me,” you agree, sliding your key into your mailbox. “My friends call me Y/N. What about you?”

“I’m Baekhyun,” he nods, reaching for a mailbox further down. “My dog’s name is Joseph.”

You pause in your motions, arching a brow. “I’ve never really trusted people naming their dogs human names.”

“Yes, well,” Baekhyun sighs. “I tried calling him Rover, but he just wouldn’t respond to anything but Joseph.”

“But how –” you start, confused as to how that even started in the first place.

“It’s a long story,” Baekhyun shuts his mailbox, hiding his grin to look at you. “Are you new to the building? I haven’t seen you around.”

“Yes,” you nod, shutting your own box. “I moved in two weeks ago.”

“Ah,” Baekhyun observes. “New apartment, new dog. Lots of change.”

You swallow. “Yeah, that wasn’t really planned.”

He looks at you a moment longer, seeming to sense what you don’t say – a break-up. An awful one, the kind which devastated you for a long time. You’re only just now starting to feel like yourself again, which explains why all these new things seemed necessary. You wanted to start over, moving here. Wanted to discover what you like – alone, this time.

“I see,” Baekhyun seems as though he wants to say more, but the shrill ring of his cell phone interrupts him. “Sorry,” he winces, checking the caller ID. “I need to take this.”

“That’s fine,” you nod, turning as he answers the call.

Baekhyun becomes business-like, clearing his throat, “Byun Baekhyun, speaking.”

You adjust your mail, offering him a quick smile as you walk past. He couldn’t have meant for you to wait, couldn’t have possibly wanted to discuss your ex-boyfriend – which is why you leave, shutting the door behind you. There’s a small moment, as you pass which makes you wonder if maybe you’re wrong. He tilts his head, a questioning look to his gaze which makes you wonder if maybe, just maybe, Baekhyun wants to continue your conversation.

You abandon this thought immediately, brushing it aside as wishful thinking. A man like him, so put-together and competent would never be interested in someone like you. You’re what you like to call a project, a just-mended mess of person and a guy like that needs more. It’s nice to dream though, you think, walking away.

It can’t hurt, just thinking about him.

A few weeks pass with no noteworthy run-ins with Byun Baekhyun. The two of you see each other occasionally, stepping on or off the elevator. He always smiles at you, a brilliant flash of teeth but then you notice Baekhyun says hello to everyone. The two of you are friendly, always smiling and waving – but nothing more.

At least, this is how things are until the eve of the Holiday Party. A night out for your apartment building, the concept of which is odd to you. You’ve experienced nothing like it at any of your previous residencies, which explains why you spend most of the day getting ready. You have no idea what to wear, how to act – made all the worse by the fact that you’re going alone, nerve-wrecking in itself. Your sister was supposed to come but cancelled last minute, because of the flu.

You toyed with not going at all, but the dress you bought stares you straight in the face. It’s been forever since you’ve had a night out, so here you are. Sliding straps of silk over your shoulders to survey yourself in the mirror. Your hair is up, curled at the ends and you shiver, wondering if this is too much. As you fasten your earrings higher and turn your head from side to side, there’s a small flutter of nerves within your stomach.

It’s silly, for you to keep thinking of Baekhyun. You two have barely spoken, barely interacted beyond casual conversation but still, thoughts of him fill your mind. The way he walks, the way his fingers slide over his keys, the way he cackles when you react to his jokes. It’s just a crush, you know, turning from the mirror. Just a crush, which means there’s no reason for you to be nervous.

Pushing thoughts of Baekhyun from mind, you leave your apartment. In the elevator right down, your stomach is tight with nerves and upon entering the lobby, it’s hard to keep your feet from stumbling. The place is beautifully decorated. You saw this when you first arrived from work but since then, even more lights have been added. The overhead lighting is dim, the room bright instead by twinkling lights and Christmas trees. Directly overhead is mistletoe, something which makes you pointedly step aside –  just in case the strangers get any fresh ideas.

Waiters are carrying trays of champagne – a glass you accept gratefully, thankful for something to do with your hands. Soft, orchestral music is playing as you move towards the wall. It feels safer here somehow, having a wall at your back. It lets you observe the room, lets you see everyone coming and going – which means that you see Baekhyun, when he enters the room.

He’s dressed in a suit. A devastating cut, white button-down underneath and his hair styled dangerously back from his forehead. He looks – you swallow, watching. He looks wonderful, and it’s alarming when he glances your way. Baekhyun smiles, walking forward as you look around, certain he’s going to turn and dodge at the last second.

“Hey,” Baekhyun smiles, stopping before you to snag a glass from a nearby waiter. “How’s the party going? Did I miss anything fun?”

“Tons,” you nod, sipping on your champagne. “You know the woman from the twenty-sixth floor, the one who yells at the vending machines when they’re out of Oreos? Well, she threw a fit when she found out the champagne is actually sparkling wine.”

Baekhyun considers his glass, dubious. “Is there a difference?”

“Champagne,” you wave your flute in mid-air, “comes from one, specific region in France. All champagne is sparkling wine, but not all sparkling wine is champagne. Or so I just learned, from what she yelled at the waiter ten minutes ago.”

Baekhyun blinks, then starts to laugh. “How horrifying for her,” he leans his elbow on the table, glancing wickedly around the room. “You think if I tell her the towels in the gym are from Costco, she’ll pitch a revolt?”

“Definitely,” you nod. “If you ate Oreos while you told her, I think you’d have to go on the lam.”

“Shit,” Baekhyun whispers, leaning in. His eyes are bright, wide. “I need to find a hiding spot, since I just emptied the vending machine from Oreos before I came down here.”

“You’re fucked,” you say to him sadly, shaking your head. “You’ll need to move buildings, switch apartments and start over.”

Baekhyun’s smile disappears. “That’d be a shame,” he muses, “since then I wouldn’t see you.”

The air around you seems to buzz, filled with sudden silence while you find yourself at a loss for what to say. Baekhyun takes a sip from his glass, watching your expression. He waits for your response, while your hand tightens automatically around the stem of your glass. All around you, the party continues.

“I didn’t know you cared,” you say softly, looking away. The revolving door behind you opens, letting in a cold gust of air.

Baekhyun surveys you form the rim of his glass. “I do,” he says seriously. “I like your smile, how it lights up your face. I like how, when I say crappy jokes, you throw them right back. I like that you own the tiniest dog I’ve ever seen, that you named him after a dessert and,” he pauses, flush lightly when he adds, “I like how brave you are.”

“Brave?” you repeat, dazed when he takes a step closer.

Baekhyun nods. “I got the feeling,” he ventures, words soft, “that when you talked about moving the other day – it wasn’t just because of a new apartment. I think it was brave of you, starting over.”

“Oh,” you say quietly. “That.”

“That.” When you look back at him, Baekhyun remains serious. “I like that, about you.”

You stare at him, finger trailing the rim of your glass. “If I’m being honest,” you blush, since you’re normally not this forward, “I like you, too.”

Baekhyun smiles, and you realize then how silly you were to consider all his smiles the same. This one is filled with relief, excitement – a new beginning.  “That’s good to know,” he declares, setting his glass down on the table. “I’ll need people on my side, when the whole ‘Oreo bandit’ thing comes out.”

You snort, turning to place your glass on the tray of a nearby waiter. “I think,” you start – and when you turn back, Baekhyun is inches away from your face.

His chest is practically touching, his breath warm and minty – as he softly, slowly bends his head to kiss you. It’s barely anything, just a quick press of the lips. Your mouth opens though, automatic as his thumb moves to stroke your cheek. His arm wraps around your waist and it’s almost a shock, when your tongue brushes his.

Baekhyun returns the motion, body pressed tight to yours. Just a moment, just a second before he pulls away – eyes fluttering as he opens them. “Mistletoe,” Baekhyun explains hoarsely, pointing vaguely towards the left.

You blink at him, heart slamming against your ribcage – and then, you remember where you are. “You like me, though,” you repeat, and Baekhyun nods his head.

“A lot,” he murmurs, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Then,” your heart races, twisting away. You walk a few steps from him, before looking over your shoulder. “Are you coming?”

Baekhyun’s eyes widen before he nods, pushing himself quickly from the wall. He catches up to you at the elevators, hand sliding into yours as he stands beside you. The air is thick, tense with unsaid words. The music is softer here than in the hall and when the elevator dings, doors sliding open – Baekhyun practically drags you inside.

He waits until the doors close, waits until the room starts to move before finding your body. His hands push into your hair, lips eager while backing you against the mirror. Baekhyun’s lips are hot, needy as his hips move slowly below. You gasp, turning to a groan when his mouth slides down your throat. Baekhyun sucks at the base, finding where neck meets collarbone as you push against him in pleasure.

It’s hard to concentrate, with him looking at you like that. With him drawing back to stare, before dropping his hands around your waist. Baekhyun kisses lazily, tenderly – though his lips harden, when you yank his body to yours.

The elevator dings and you enter the hall, continuing to kiss as Baekhyun fumbles with the key in his door. He pushes you to the wood, turning his key in the lock while his lips tangle with yours. When he pushes open the doorwa, you stumble inside – Baekhyun flicking on his lights with one hand.

His apartment is cluttered, things tossed haphazardly onto counters and chairs. “Sorry,” he winces, tugging his blazer free. “I didn’t think this would happen. Not,” he hastens, as you step closer, “that I think something will happen. I mean – I’d like for something to happen.”

You stop inches away from him, unable to keep from smiling. “I’d like that, too.”

Baekhyun exhales, sliding his hands to the curve of your wrists, stopping at your elbows to pull you forward. He moves closer, body finding yours as his fingers drift under the straps of your dress. “This,” he breathes, tugging the sleeves lower. “Is a criminal piece of clothing, which shouldn’t be allowed.”

“Then take it off,” you breathe, and Baekhyun does exactly that.  

His hands follow the strap, eyes darkening as more and more skin is revealed. “Turn around,” he demands, and you obey. Placing your palms flat on his counter, his fingers skimming your sides as he tugs your dress down to your waist.

You lean forward, pressing your ass to his crotch while Baekhyun sharply inhales. He says nothing at this, just yanks your dress fully to the ground. Stripping you entirely to leave you bare. Standing in just your panties, since you weren’t wearing a bra with the outfit. You shiver, surprised at the touch of Baekhyun’s lips on skin.

His hands graze your front, cupping your breasts while sliding your nipples between his fingers. Tugging with thumb and forefinger, rolling until they’re hardened peaks. “Turn around,” Baekhyun instructs, voice low and when you oblige – you spot the obvious signs of his erection. “Take off my tie.”

You do this quickly, unknotting the object to toss it aside. When it’s on the ground, you start on his buttons. Shoving his shirt from his shoulders, only to stare at the sight of his chest. His muscles are long, lean – Baekhyun’s hair falls forward when he takes you by the hand. He doesn’t say a word at this, just tugs you into the living room.

When he sits onto his couch, you straddle his waist. Baekhyun’s eyes widen, hands reaching up to cup your ass. His thumbs slide under the thin material of your panties, hips shifting beneath the weight of your thighs. When you kiss him readily, he catches your lower lip between his teeth. Pulling you close, grinding from below and when he lifts you up – flipping you beneath on the couch, Baekhyun’s eyes are dark with hunger. He lowers his head to your neck, teasing until his mouth finds your breast. He kisses lazily, sucking until you’re hard and your thighs are wet with wanting him.

Your legs frame his waist, clutching him tight as he thrusts against you. The fabric of his pants grinds into your frame, making you gasp while reaching a hand between. He’s already half-hard, pressed to your body and your thumb strokes lightly up the length of his cock. Baekhyun lifts his head, dazed when you palm him over the crease in his pants.

“Do you,” he groans, struggling to concentrate, “want to go to the bedroom?”

You nod, saying nothing when he stands from the couch. Baekhyun pulls you with, walking the two of you backwards down the hall. He doesn’t bother to be careful with his lips, his grip – which is bruising, on your ass – and by the time you reach the room, you’re groaning his name out loud. Baekhyun leads you to his bed, yanking his zipper down and stepping quickly from his pants.

Baekhyun lowers his hands to either side of you on the bed, kissing you as his hands find the last material left on your body. He slides your panties down, letting cold air hit your center before dropping them onto the floor. Baekhyun’s hands start to wander, tracing the smooth lines of your body as he lowers himself onto the bed.

When he drops between your legs, he looks up. You’re already wet, so much so that his first finger slides in easily. You groan at the intrusion, biting down on your lip as his finger curls upwards. Baekhyun presses a kiss to your hip, teasing while his finger moves slowly in an out of you.

When you’re aching, begging him for more, Baekhyun adds his tongue. He presses his lips between your legs, playing with your clit while his finger continues to fuck below. His tongue traces circles, flattening and dragging upwards before sucking again. He repeats this motion over and over, alternating until you’re a soaking mess beneath him.

Your hips buck upwards, trying to find a rhythm as Baekhyun pins you tighter to his bed. “Do you like being talked dirty to,” he murmurs, looking up as his finger traces around your opening.

You nod, gasping brokenly when he eases two fingers inside you.

“Do you like,” Baekhyun drops a kiss to your hip, “being told what a sweet, little cunt you have? Like hearing how badly I want to fuck this tight,” he curls his finger, “pussy of yours.”

“God,” you groan, as Baekhyun flicks his tongue over your sex, “Baekhyun.”

“That’s it,” he murmurs. Baekhyun sits up, spreading your legs to watch his fingers enter your body. “I want to hear you moaning, when I fuck you into my sheets. Want to hear how wet you are,” he sighs, pulling his fingers back out. You whimper at the loss, until he closes his mouth around one finger and sucks – which oddly enough, is the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen from a guy. “You’re fucking drenched,” Baekhyun observes, looking down at your cunt before him. “I really want to be inside you.”

You nod because you want this too, you want him and Baekhyun quickly leans to yank open the top drawer of his dresser. He finds a condom quickly, pulling back to rip open the packet.

Meanwhile, your fingers work on his underwear – you groan at the sound of his cock, hard against his stomach. Baekhyun rolls his condom onto himself, stroking his shaft with one hand while leaning forward. He rubs the tip against your opening and it’s a struggle, not to slam him onto his back and drop your body on top of his.

“You want more?” Baekhyun murmurs, watching your face while teasing you. He pushes into you halfway, then stops – smirking at the way that you moan. “You want to fuck yourself on my cock?” he asks, watching your hips push fruitlessly against him. “Go ahead,” he says silkily, bending to kiss the column of your throat.

Lifting your hips, you force him deeper and Baekhyun groans. He gives up on teasing, too caught up in how good this feels – in how good you feel, as he sinks fully into your body. When he starts to move, it’s at a slow pace – a speed which intensifies, when he lifts himself onto his elbows.

“Y/N,” he groans, sliding into you. “You’re so fucking tight. I swear – how,” he grunts, hips slamming into yours, “can you be this fucking tight and wet?”

You whimper, wrapping your legs tighter as Baekhyun sets a more punishing pace. He lifts himself higher, fucking you harder while his lips find your own. The angle deepens, as he finds a part of your body which makes you tremble – then Baekhyun pulls out entirely, grabbing you around the waist.

He flips you onto your stomach, barely pausing before yanking your ass into the air and thrusting back inside. You gasp, clutching the sheets tight because it’s so much deeper this way. Every thrust Baekhyun makes hits your core. He fucks you slowly, leisurely as his hands knead your ass from behind.

“Do you need more,” he murmurs, wrapping one hand around your waist. His fingers slide between your legs, teasing your clit while you tremble. “Do you want to come, baby?”

You nod, unable to say more. “Yes,” you moan, while Baekhyun’s hand slides to your throat. “God, yes,” you groan, and he pulls you upright.

It’s so deep like this, the back of your body flush to his as he slides in and out of you. One hand on your throat, the other slowly circling your clit. Baekhyun fucks you this way, making you clench around him. “Baekhyun,” you gasp, unable to hold yourself together, “I need to come.”

“Good girl. Come for me, baby,” Baekhyun murmurs, releasing his hand from your neck. Air slams back to your lungs, his hips bruising as you shudder apart his arms. “I want you to come all over my dick,” he murmurs, grabbing your ear between his teeth, “you’re already so fucking wet.”

His words, hips, cock are too much for you and your vision blacks out slightly as you lose yourself. Nothing but his body, his hands holding you up while as he finishes inside you. Baekhyun groans out your name, pulling you backwards as the two of you fight to catch your breath.

When you’re slightly less sensitive, breathing slowed to normal, Baekhyun pulls out. He cleans himself off, tossing his condom into the garbage as you collapse down onto his bed. When he turns to meet your gaze, his face brightens in another one of those smiles. Baekhyun flops down next to you, pulling you tight in his arms.

“Stay,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “I want you to stay.”

You nod, hardly able to believe your luck. It’s hard to believe, as his finger trails your side, that he’s all yours. Baekhyun pulls you closer, pulls you to him – and you realize then, that you’re already far deeper than you could have imagined. You realize, staring up at him, that this just might be the start.

“I’ll stay,” you smile – and begin again. 

Author’s Note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, FAL! *devil grin*

[abtc]

Costco Holiday Hours: Christmas Eve And New Year’s Day Opening Times

Costco Holiday Hours: Christmas Eve And New Year’s Day Opening Times

Costco Wholesale Corporation is an American multinational corporation that operates a number of retail stores and warehouses. Costco is known worldwide and it has been ranked as the largest retailer of organic food, beef and chicken in the whole world. Costco was founded on July 12, 1976, and it is ranked as one of the top United States of America corporations by total revenue. Walter Craig…

[elizabeth-owens]

Brand-Spanking-New PHOTOSET & REVIEW:

STACKED LIKE PANCAKES (V.I.Pancake Tour) at Rams Head Live! (Baltimore, MD), November 22nd, 2017

On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, most people are either traveling like mad across the country to see their loved ones, or rushing around to make sure their homes are ready for company on the big day.

This year, I spent my Thanksgiving Eve with a different kind of family: the Baltimore chapter of the #PancakeNation.

After opening for third-wave ska mainstays and Warped Tour buddies, Save Ferris, in six Californian cities, the seven brass-rockers of Stacked Like Pancakes headlined a month-long nationwide “V.I.Pancake Tour.” The final date of that syrup-slathered stretch took place inside the finest rock venue in the band’s home city, Rams Head Live!, and I was determined to catch it.

After seeing them play The Fillmore Silver Spring in January, and on the Warped Tour in July at Merriweather Post Pavilion, I knew I’d be gutted if I missed the chance to see SLP play a full-length set in Charm City!

The evening kicked off with four energetic, genre-bending performances from Joint Operation, PLEVYAK, The Never Ending Fall, and The Hollow Party, priming the crowd perfectly for the main event. As I waited at the Stage Right side of the photo pit for SLP, I took a moment to get a good look at the audience.

While I was happy that I could spot many people of all ages donning SLP t-shirts, I was even happier to see the weird-yet-creative accessories — among others, a sombrero and a plush shark hat — that the feistier fans showcased.

The lights went low, and suddenly, a strange tune filled the speakers over the P.A. It didn’t take long, however, to realize that it was just the meme-tastic mashup of the “Bacon Pancakes” bit from the cartoon, “Adventure Time,” and the Jay-Z/Alicia Keys modern classic, “Empire State of Mind.”

At the time, if I hadn’t been so focused (read: palm-sweatingly anxious) about not messing up my first time in a headliner’s photo pit, I would have obnoxiously groaned. But there was no time to reward the band mostly comprised of fellow Towson University alumni with a sarcastic reaction. Bright white light flooded the stage, revealing that the pancake men had arrived!

The band jumped right into the catchy pop-punk tune “Suburban Superhero,” setting the tone for the high-energy set that was to follow. Lead singer Kellen McKay and lead guitarist Mike Busch wasted no time in getting up-close-and-personal with the fans. Both of them bounced off the stage and onto the back of the rail at different moments during the first three songs (which included the mid-tempo groove of “Sway” and the ska-leaning bop of “Pimp for a Day”). Kellen even borrowed the aforementioned crowd sombrero for a few seconds!

The five remaining members (bassist Will Lopez, drummer Kevin Goren, trumpeter Alec Leventis, trombonist Andy Dawson, and bass trombonist Zach Foote) were arguably just as mobile. I had quite the time trying to keep track of each of one of them while trying to avoid mowing down my fellow photographers in the pit!

The breakfast-monikered band couldn’t have been more thrilled to be back home playing their favorite venue, even though Kellen stated between songs early in their set that he felt the large club was still “too big” for them to headline now. While the stairwells to the upper levels of the venue were roped off, the energy and love from the crowd made the room feel like a sell-out (RBF pun intended).

That feeling only swelled as SLP launched into two back-to-back covers of classic Panic! at the Disco tunes, playing “But It’s Better if You Do” before leading into “I Write Sins Not Tragedies.” The horn section were the stars of the dual cover, as the fresh arrangement by Alec, Andy, and Zach wove a new layer of drama to the “scene”-era songs.

After Kellen and Andy took some time to proclaim their love for Brendon Urie, the night continued with more genre-spanning hits from 2015’s This Is Us. The chill, daydreaming number, “Sharks in the Sky,” allowed Kellen to flex his lyric-writing abilities in both English and French — and made the night extra-special for the fan in the shark hat! “Planetary” transported the room to galactic heights with powerfully fast riffs, while a deep dive into the SLP back catalog with the ska-licious skankfest, “A Song for the Broken,” from their 2011 debut, We’re Not Insane, brought the audience’s feet back to the ground.

The gig also marked the retirement of a cover that only Twitter could love, Smash Mouth’s “All Star,” which was preceded by a surprise soundbite of Shrek saying “DON-KEYH!” and a mile-wide grin from Kevin — who secretly cued up the audio clip without Kellen’s knowledge.

The death of that ogre-adjacent cover was followed by a welcome take on Blink-182’s “Dammit” — which, as the band clarified to the crowd, was a cover they were “not retiring” anytime soon. The recently-reworked rendition of their own track, “Laughing at Me,” took out the exaggerated tempo changes that lead into each of the verses on the album. Subtle changes like those streamlined the Twenty One Pilots-inspired song, and allowed its anxiety-themed lyrics to stand out against the staccato riffs in the background.

With a sudden confetti-like tossing of a Costco-sized-supply of various Warheads candies into the crowd, Kellen announced that the band only had time for “four— no, wait, two more songs.” That flub-up was naturally met with a chant from the  crowd of “FOUR MORE SONGS! FOUR MORE SONGS!” (Oopsies!)

Even though Mr. McKay accidentally gave away the encore, the remaining portion of the set capped off the whirlwind night just right. The main set ended with two fast-paced rock songs via “It’s Too Late” and their new Dorito-in-Chief protest anthem, “45.”

The beginning of the encore, however, took a slower, quieter turn, as Kellen reemerged from the shadows with a PRS SE Angelus and played “Money Sucks” in all of its acoustic, sing-along glory. The audience didn’t miss a single line, making that moment my favorite in the entire set.

But, of course, a Stacked Like Pancakes gig can’t end on a quiet note! The full lineup returned to join Kellen for one last song: the band’s most legendary fan favorite, “SFDD.” (How could you end a brass-rock-pop-punk-etc. show without getting to jump around and yell “SHIT, FUCK, DAMMIT, DAMMIT!” at the top of your lungs amongst friends? It just wouldn’t feel right!)

As the house lights turned back on and the crowd sifted out, I hung around for a bit and and ended up chatting with both Andy and Kellen to thank them for the photo pass. I also introduced them both to my brother, Billy, who had just interviewed them a week prior over the phone for a piece published by the Baltimore Watchdog! I left Rams Head feeling like Christmas came early, with too many photographic “presents” to count that were now stored in my SD cards.

Thanks once again to Kellen, Andy, Alec, Zach, Will, Mike, and Kevin (and Becky at Big Picture Media!) for letting me snap your faces and instruments from the pit! (And also thank you to the staff member at Rams Head Live! who unlocked the coat check closet for those of us “stragglers” who nearly left without our jackets!!!)

If you want to see all 17 of my photos from the last stop of the V.I.Pancake Tour, visit my Flickr or my Facebook!

Check out SLP on social media:

Twitter (@SLPancakes)

Instagram (@slpancakes)

Facebook (SLPancakes)

[canadaecodaily]

New Year's Eve, New Year's Day 2020 store hours: When retailers close

New Year’s Eve, New Year’s Day 2020 store hours: When retailers close

[ad_1]

If you’re looking to take advantage of end-of-the-year sales or want to pick up another bottle of bubbly to ring in the new decade, take note.

Many stores will close early Tuesday and have limited hours New Year’s Day.

Unlike Christmas, many more national chains are open but a few major retailers – Aldi, Trader Joe’s, Costco and Sam’s Club – will be closed Wednesday.

“If you plan to…

[fnewstoday]

How To Carry Out New Year Party Shopping Efficiently

Holiday sales in the USA are a tradition and an integral part of American culture. These days, you can really save well if you reasonable approach to shopping. To carry out New Year party shopping, you need to take into account some points that will help you buy all the gifts that you wanted to give to your close people and friends, while saving as much as possible. How many discounts and special offers, so many opportunities to spend money on yourself for your family. But is it worth rushing to the offers of stores? How to be sure that the selected offer is really profitable, and not just another advertising move, or worse - the scam bait? We took care of you and wrote some tips that will help you efficiently carry out New Year party shopping and navigate the world of American sales this holiday season.

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Black Friday

Black Friday marks the unofficial start of holiday sales in the United States, and more and more in other countries of the world. Many large retailers offer discounts on popular gift items such as electronics - smartphones, tablets? computers and others, clothing and shoes, as well as household goods. As a rule, promotions begin a few days, or even weeks before Black Friday, and continue until the new year. In recent years, many stores also start selling themselves under the slogan “Black Friday sale” not on Friday, but a few days before Friday and they last a few more after Friday. Of course, shops do this in pursuit of greater profits, but buyers only benefit from this, as they have more time to look for really worthwhile offers. In this regard, here are some tips from the shoppers on how to efficiently carry out New Year party shopping.  Go to the stores websites with the goods you are interested in a few days before the "Black Friday" to find out when they start selling and how many offers will be valid. Make sure that you have not missed any notes about the quantity of a product that will be sold at discounts. Often stores make limited offers and you may not have time to buy goods at a discount, simply because they will be sold out to you. This often happens with the most popular and trending goods this season. Also make sure that there are no conditions for the discount to affect the product you are interested in before deciding where exactly you will buy this gadget, for instance, as soon as sales begin. For example, an iPhone or tablet may be at a big discount, but only when connected to a certain mobile operator, or the discount on a computer is only valid if you purchase an additional guarantee. When comparing offers from different stores, pay attention to details. The same-looking goods, even of the same model, can have different characteristics, which will affect the difference in price.

Cyber monday

Have you had time to buy a Michael Kors handbag or G-Shock watch on Black Friday discounts? Don’t worry, you still have a chance for New Year party shopping and get a discount on Monday following Black Friday, and often in the next few weeks. Cyber Monday is a popular day of huge sales in US online stores. As with Black Friday sales, many stores make unique discount offers for online purchases.

Christmas Sales

Starting from Black Friday until Christmas, US stores conduct promotions and sales under the slogan "Christmas Sale" at December 24th-25th. Christmas sales are traditionally considered the most ambitious and most generous on discounts for the whole year. Naturally, the largest selection of products in online stores at the very beginning of Christmas sales. As Christmas approaches, the assortment of goods at sales decreases noticeably and it is no longer always possible to buy a thing you like or choose the right size. Goods are bought back so quickly that stores do not always have time to update availability information on their sites. Christmas Eve discounts may up to 80%, but don’t delay your purchases at the last moment of the Christmas Eve, because you may simply not find what you need after a big sale. It is better to use a personal loan to buy gifts earlier at a slightly higher price with a lower discount than to leave your loved ones and yourself without welcome gifts. Walking around the Internet in the holiday season, it is safest to make purchases in trusted online stores and not succumb to too huge discounts from unknown sellers. For a list of popular stores with which you can be sure of your purchases. Enjoy safe shopping by following our tips.

A New Year sale

New Year and New Year discounts close the main sales season in America. Since the main winter holiday in the USA is, after all, Christmas, and not the New Year, the New Year's sales are not as large as Christmas ones. New Year's sale lasts until the end of January: everything that did not have time to sell for Christmas is being sold. There is no longer such an abundance of goods and such big discounts as before Christmas, many sizes and colors are missing. However, you can still find interesting offers from stores.

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How and when is it profitable to buy?

Of course, the most profitable shopping during holiday sales. Most chain stores often have sales, and products in the SALE section are updated daily. To efficiently carry out New Year party shopping get the chance to use biggest and most attractive offers can be found on holidays. Sales take place in the USA all year round, when stores try to get rid of the stale goods of the old collections at the end of each season, they necessarily lower prices before major holidays, such as Memorial Day in May, Independence Day and, of course, before Christmas. In addition to the holidays, stores often carry out one-day sales, arranging rainy days when you can buy goods many times cheaper than the original cost. Follow the store, subscribe to store news and stay up to date with all the special offers and discounts. For example, in one of Macy's, one of the largest and most popular American retail chains, one can often find clothes, shoes and accessories at lower prices than on the websites of the brands themselves, especially during short sales. There you can find models that are not on the official website of the brand or the size of some model that is not available on the official website. Sometimes, for the sake of this opportunity to buy what you need, you should use the support of creditors, if you did not initially expect such a chance. Most often, you will find Wal-Mart Stores stores that sell all kinds of goods and products and belong to one large network. Also in the very popular Masy's scattered across the country it is worth taking a closer look at clothes and shoes, electronics are also sold there. In almost every area of the city, you will also see Costco department store self-service stores. You can search for electronics at Best Buy Co, but if you are interested in products, then you have the supermarket chains Kroger, The Great Atlantic and Pacific Tea Company, as well as the small 7-Eleven. Fans of the "all at one price" system are waiting in Family Dollar and Dollar Tree stores, where, as the name implies, all products cost 100 cents, and in Dollar General prices can be slightly higher. Also in many stores you can try to bargain. If you laid eyes on an expensive thing, call the manager and discuss with him the possibility of discounts, for example, based on the fact that the subject of your dream has a slight defect, is in the window for some time or was a demonstration model, if in another place the same sold cheaper. Those who wish to save money are advised not to neglect coupons. They are not in vain very popular because they really work. They are printed in newspapers or on packages of goods, they will allow you to buy things at a discount. If you are planning to visit a large department store, be sure to visit its website the day before, where you will certainly find information about discounts, special promotions, and happy hours, all the same coupons can also be found there. This approach often allows you to save enough to recoup the costs of credit funds that you use for New Year party shopping.

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Observe safety measures and save your money

Do not give in to excessively tempting offers in search engines or social networks from unknown sellers. Fraudsters can offer huge discounts on popular products in order to get your information. By contacting them, you will voluntarily give away the data of your payment method, and your order will remain virtual. Many retailers offer to use their mobile applications in exchange for an additional discount. To protect yourself, download mobile applications from the official websites of online stores. Fraudsters can create so-called “impostor applications” in order to get your personal information. Be sure to use a secure Internet connection - avoid making purchases , especially payments, using public Wi-Fi. If you still have to surf the Internet through public Wi-Fi, you can always create a personal account on the website of the online store and add goods to the basket, and pay already in a secure Internet space. The store will save the added goods in the basket if you added them there, after entering your personal account.  Take advantage of the opportunities that open during the holidays to efficiently carry out New Year party shopping. Use a personal loan https://app.fnews.today/welcome if you are not sure if your budget is enough for all purchases. Since in spite of the fact that you have to pay the interest rate, big discounts compensate for these costs and you can even save extra on this. We hope our tips were useful to you. Remember them not only during the holiday shopping, but also at any other time, so that shopping is always profitable and safe. Read the full article

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When retailers, grocery stores are open

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If you still have Christmas gifts left to buy Tuesday, you are late.

But you’re not alone or out of luck. 

According to the National Retail Federation’s annual December holiday consumer survey, 13% of Americans were expected to buy their final gifts on Super Saturday but more than 6% were waiting until Christmas Eve.

Catering to the true procrastinators, the majority of stores and malls across the nation are opening early Tuesday and many will close by dinner time with few exceptions.

Amazon is offering same-day Christmas Eve delivery on millions of items, which is free for Prime members in eligible areas on orders over $35. Orders must be placed by 9:30 a.m. local time. Prime members in select cities also can get free two-hour grocery delivery Tuesday.

To help plan your last-minute shopping down to the minute, here are Christmas Eve store hours for department stores, discount retailers and grocers.

What’s open Christmas Day?: The list includes CVS, Starbucks and 7-Eleven — but not Walmart

Traveling for Christmas?: Burger King offers free Impossible Whoppers for delayed flights

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Christmas Eve store hours

Check with your closest location to confirm hours as hours may vary. In most cases, store names below link to retailers’ websites.

Academy Sports + Outdoors: 7 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Apple: Many stores open 8 a.m. to 6 p.m.; special store hours are listed at https://apple.co/2ZjW41n.

Barnes & Noble: 8 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Bass Pro Shops: 8 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Bealls Florida: 6 a.m. to 7 p.m.

Bealls Outlet: 8 a.m. to 8 p.m

Bed Bath & Beyond: 8 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Belk: 8 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Best Buy: 7 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Big Lots: 7 a.m. to 10 p.m.

BJ’s Wholesale Club: 8 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Bloomingdale’s: 9 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Boscov’s: 7 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Burlington: 7 a.m. to 9 p.m.

buybuy Baby: Most stores close at 6 p.m. but opening times vary.

Cabela’s: 8 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Conn’s HomePlus: 7 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Costco: 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.

CVS: Most stores open regular hours Christmas Eve and Christmas Day; pharmacy hours vary.

Dick’s Sporting Goods: 7 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Dillard’s: 8 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Dollar General: All stores will close at 10 p.m.

Dollar Tree: 7 a.m. to 7 p.m.

DSW: 8 to 6 p.m.

Dunham’s Sports: 7 a.m. to 6 p.m., mall hours vary

Five Below: 7 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Fleet Farm: 8 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Fry’s Electronics: 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.

GameStop: 8 a.m. to 8 p.m., though some locations are closing at 6 p.m.

Guitar Center: 8 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Hobby Lobby: 9 a.m. to 5:30 p.m.

Home Depot: 6 a.m. to 5 p.m.

Home Goods: 7 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Ikea: 10 a.m. to 5 p.m.

J.C. Penney: 7 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Joann Stores: 9 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Kirkland’s: 10 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Kmart: 8 a.m. to 10 p.m.

Kohl’s: Open through 6 p.m. (Stores have been open 24 hours a day since Friday)

Lord & Taylor: 7 a.m. to 7 p.m.

Lowe’s: 6 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Macy’s: 7 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Marshalls: 7 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Menards: Stores close at 5 p.m.

Michaels: 7 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Microsoft: 8 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Neiman Marcus: Hours vary, but locations will close between 4 to 6 p.m.

Nordstrom and Nordstrom Rack: Hours vary and posted at www.nordstrom.com.

Office Depot and OfficeMax: 8 a.m. to 5 p.m.

Old Navy: Hours vary with some stores open from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. and others from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Old Time Pottery: 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.

Petco: 9 a.m. to 7 p.m.

PetSmart: 8 a.m. to 6 p.m.

REI: Opening times vary, but stores close at 6 p.m.

Rite-Aid: Hours vary.

Ross: 7 a.m. to 10 p.m.

Saks Fifth Avenue: 9 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Sam’s Club: Stores close at 6 p.m.

Sears: Varies.

Shoe Carnival: 8 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Sierra Trading Post: 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. Wyoming stores; all others 7 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Stage Stores: 7 a.m. to 8 p.m.

Staples: 8 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Stein Mart: 8 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Target: 7 a.m. to 10 p.m.

TJ Maxx: 7 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Tractor Supply Co.: 7 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Ulta: 7 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Walgreens: Most stores open until midnight and open regular hours Christmas Day; pharmacy hours vary.

Walmart: All stores close at 6 p.m. and all locations will be closed Christmas Day.

World Market: 7 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Shopping around the clock: Kohl’s is staying open 24 hours a day for late shoppers

Christmas Eve grocery store hours

Acme Market: Hours vary.

Albertsons:  Hours vary greatly, check at www.albertsons.com. 

Aldi: 9 a.m. to 4 p.m.

BI-LO: Open until 8 p.m.

Casey’s General Store: Stores close at 6 p.m.

Cub Foods: Stores close at 4 p.m.

Dillons: Stores close at 6 p.m.

Earth Fare: Stores close at 7 p.m.

Fairway: Hours vary.

Food Lion: Open until 7 p.m.

Fresh Market: 7 a.m. to 7 p.m.

Fresh Thyme: 7 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Giant: Open until 6 p.m.

Giant Eagle: Close at 5 p.m.

Harris Teeter: Open until 7 p.m.

Harveys Supermarket: Varies. Florida stores close at 9 p.m. and stores in other states at 8 p.m. 

H-E-B: 6 a.m. to 8 p.m.

Hy-Vee: Closing times vary.

Ingles: Stores close at 7 p.m.

Instacart: 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. local time

Kroger: Varies. 

Lowes Foods: Closing at 6 p.m.

Lucky’s Market: 7 a.m. to 4 p.m.

Meijer: Stores close at 7 p.m.

Publix: All stores close at 7 p.m.

Ralphs: Hours vary.

Safeway: Hours vary.

Save A Lot: Corporate stores will be open from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m.

ShopRite: Hours vary.

Shipt: Delivery times are based on retailer store hours. 

Sprouts Farmer Market: 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. 

Stop & Shop: Stores in Connecticut, New Jersey and New York close at 6 p.m. while Massachusetts and Rhode Island stores close at 7 p.m. 

Trader Joe’s: All locations close at 6 p.m.

Weis Markets: Stores close at 6 p.m.

Wegmans: All locations close at 6 p.m.

Whole Foods Market: Hours vary, but stores close early.

WinCo Foods: Stores close at 6 p.m.

Winn-Dixie: Open until 9 p.m.

This story will be updated as not all holiday hours were available as of posting.

Follow USA TODAY reporter Kelly Tyko on Twitter: @KellyTyko

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